#okay I don’t think there’s technically a confession in here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wildwestdean · 2 months ago

Text

enmity

based on both this request by @nochedie, and this request by @somethingsomethingcranberries! thank you so much for sending these in! 🤍🤍

summary: this wasn't the first time a hunt had gone wrong. sure, the injuries dean patched up for you were a little worse than usual, but it was nothing new - so, why was he so pissed off about it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 7.1k+

warnings: working a case/hunting, mentions of missing kids, gore, blood, reader gets injured, stitches + motel room first aid, descriptions of wounds, swearing, angst, hurt/comfort, nicknames, yelling, fighting, mature themes, kinda slow burn but not really, minor self-doubt (reader), dean acts like a dick, name calling (stupid, idiot), best!friend sam, mentions of pain killers, alcohol consumption, confessions, idiots in love, fluff, brief mention of age gap

You sat in your motel room with books and papers scattered across the bed, and a plethora of tabs open on your laptop.

“Anything?” you asked with a sigh, looking up at Sam who was across the room - the table he sat at practically mirroring your bedspread.

He huffed and set his book down, leaning back in his chair while running a hand through his hair.

Your shoulders slumped at his reaction, a frustrated chuckle escaping your lips. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

He shook his head, glaring at the pages in front him before meeting your gaze. “I don’t get it. At all.”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Get what?”

Sam’s eyes widened, and he waved his hands over the littered table. “This! This whole case. I mean, there’s zero background for this- this- whatever it is!” he exclaimed.

“Okay, maybe we should just take a break? Dean should be back with the food soon...” you trailed off as a passage suddenly caught your attention, fingers tapping atop your knee as you scanned the page.

He noticed the shift in your demeanour and sat up straight, looking at you intently. “Did you find something?” he asked hopefully.

You shook your head as you glanced at him. “No, I don’t think so, but-” you cut yourself off, feeling unsure, but you could practically feel him watching you, his eyebrows raised as he waited for you to continue. “What if we’re looking in the wrong place?”

“How so?” he questioned.

“Okay, well,” you started. “Right now we’re looking for things that are common around here and travel in groups. Like werewolves, demons, or vampires, right?”

Sam nodded his head, looking at you as if you were losing your mind. “Yeah…” he said slowly.

Huffing at the fact he wasn’t following, you carried on. “So, right now we’re looking for groups of monsters. Monsters that are likely native to this area. Maybe that’s why we can’t find anything,” you tried to explain.

Sam nodded, eyes lighting up in realization. “So… you’re not only thinking this is something mainly solitary, but also not typically known to show face around here? Like Lamia?”

“Yes, exactly! Technically there’s multiple, but-”

“There were only two found around here,” Sam finished for you, clearly deep in thought.

Folding your arms over your chest, you leaned back against the headboard. “What do you think?” you asked softly.

He grabbed his laptop and placed it in front of him. “I don’t know,” he sighed. “Seems like it could be a good shot, though.”

You smiled once more, gathering up the abandoned books and loose papers just as the motel door creaked open.

“So, what did you nerds find out while I was gone?” Dean asked, clicking the door shut behind him.

You opened your mouth to answer, but Sam beat you to it. “Girl wonder over there may have just found us a good lead,” he said, eyes still locked on his computer as his head jerked in your direction.

Dean beamed at you as he set the bags down, settling for the empty chair across from Sam when he couldn’t find any free space on the table. “That’s my girl!” he cheered. “What did you find?”

Trying to prevent a blush from blooming across your face because of his comment, you focused on organizing the piles of research in front of you. “Sam’s giving me too much credit, I didn’t even find anything concrete.”

Dean walked over and sat down on the other bed, a look of interest on his face. You shifted nervously as he accidentally brushed your knee along the way, feeling your heart rate quicken like a smitten teenager. You glanced up and caught Sam’s eye, and his gaze darted between you and Dean before resting on his laptop screen, a tiny smirk playing at his lips.

“Tell me what ya got,” Dean said, popping open a bottle of beer that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

You shrugged dismissively. “Like I said, nothing concrete. I just suggested to Sam that we were looking in the wrong place.”

Dean shook his head, taking a sip of his beer. “You already lost me.”

“I mean, most things we’ve hunted have come in swarms, and were typically common to the area. I suggested that perhaps we were hunting a singular thing, something foreign, like when you guys took down that Lamia,” you supplied, standing up with a stack of books to move out of the way.

You could practically feel Sam’s smirk behind your back as you set things on the dresser. Ever since you realized that, when it came to Dean, you felt something stronger than your adopted kinship, you confided in Sam. He’s been one of your best friends and confidants for as long as you’ve known him, yet a small part of you regrets telling him; he still refuses to let you live it down, and is smug as shit about it at every possible moment. Between him, and the fact that your behaviour is growing increasingly uncharacteristic around Dean due to the fear of your own feelings, it won’t be long until Dean realizes that something is going on.

Dean laughed softly behind you, and you were thankful he couldn't see the smile that grew on your face because of the sound. “Assuming I even remember what the hell this Lima-”

“Lamia,” you and Sam both pitched in to correct him.

“Whatever,” Dean huffed. “What makes you think this thing is some lonely foreigner?”

Shrugging your shoulders as you set the last book down on the stack, you thought about it. “I don’t really know,” you said, spinning around and walking back to your bed. “Just a hunch, I guess? I mean, I could be really off base here.”

“Nah, your hunches are never wrong, sweetheart,” Dean told you, bringing his bottle to his smirking lips.

You heard Sam snicker, and you sent him a death glare before declaring that you were starving.

Setting the bottle on the nightstand, Dean eagerly stood up and grabbed the bags. “I got your favourite,” he declared, sporting a proud grin as he brought it to you.

“Thanks, De,” you said earnestly, matching his grin as you took it from him.

One quick glance confirmed that he didn’t forget a single detail of your order, and you felt your heart swell about three sizes.

“Sammy?” Dean asked tentatively, looking over to his brother now; the remnants of his smile still lingering.

Sam shook his head, keeping his eyes locked on his screen. “You can go ahead, I’m not all that hungry right now.”

Rather than argue, you and Dean simply shared a look and shrugged before digging in. The three of you brainstormed some more while you ate, resulting in Sam sending you and Dean an occasional look of ‘stop talking with your mouths full, it's disgusting’ - which only encouraged you both to do it more.

Eventually, Sam had all he could take and shut his laptop with a groan. “I’ll be in my room,” he muttered, all but storming away to the room next door.

He always got his own room whenever he could, given that not only was he often up late with a lamp burning to carry on with research, but he was also always up before the sun to go for a run if the case allowed for it. It was now more than ever, though, that you assumed he got his own room to also just escape the pestering from you and Dean.

You both watched him march out of sight for a moment before Dean turned to you, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“It’s just too easy sometimes,” you giggled.

He couldn’t help but snort a laugh, a grin taking over both your faces as you high-fived.

The two of you carried on together for the rest of the night; working on the case a little more, coming up with new ways to mess with Sam, settling onto your bed to watch a few episodes of your favourite show - one that he always complains about, yet refuses to miss a single episode of.

It was the same as every night.

Only this time, you could’ve sworn that he sat a little closer to you. That he laughed a little harder at your jokes. You even thought that you saw more fondness than usual reflected in his gaze whenever he turned to smile at you.

Yet, you didn’t dwell on it. You couldn’t dwell on it.

It was a dangerous game to think that he saw you the way that you saw him, and it was a game you refused to play.

A few days later, you were all seated around the room again, growing increasingly frustrated over the lack of answers. Children kept disappearing, no one knew why, and panic was rising.

You scrolled through the page, sitting up straight as something caught your eye; and you noticed Sam do the same a few moments later.

“Gurumāpā!” you both yelled, looking at each other.

Dean looked up from the book he was searching through to stare at the two of you. “Uhh... gesundheit?"

“The Nepalese bogeyman,” you confirmed, ignoring Dean’s confusion.

“You really think?” Sam asked.

You spoke quickly, excited yet unsure “I mean, I don't know. It could be. It’s our best shot. Stories vary here and there but the moral is the same.”

“He takes disobedient kids,” Sam agreed with a nod.

Dean shut his book with a snap. “Great! So, where do we find it, and how do we kill it?”

You opened your mouth, but had nothing. You looked at Sam, but he only shrugged.

“Awesome,” Dean sighed, resting his cheek on his palm as he dramatically threw the book back open to flick through the pages.

“Are we sure about this?” you asked suddenly, having two heads snap to attention.

Dean spoke first. “Are we ever?”

“Dean’s right, most of the time we barely have a leg to stand on,” Sam added.

“I know, but,” you started to say. “Why’s he here? He’s supposed to be secluded on a field in Nepal. It doesn’t make sense he’s here.”

“Nothing ever makes sense,” Dean said, rubbing his eyes. “This is the best lead we’ve had so far, we can’t turn back now. For all we know, someone could’ve found a way to summon him- hell, or smuggle him here.”

Sam nodded. “It has happened before,” he reminded, and you all took a silent moment to remember that case before shuddering.

“We’ve done a lot more with a lot less - so come on,” Dean said, tapping a finger on your laptop to get you to keep reading.

You obliged with a heavy sigh, and silence stretched on for a few more hours; all of you painstakingly searching through any book or entry you could get your hands on. You, working on finding a possible location this thing could be camping out in, while they tried to find a way to kill it.

You considered it a lucky break when Dean announced he may have found something, thus allowing him to help you when Sam took it upon himself to dive deeper on what was discovered.

After a few more hours, you all found yourselves outside of town and surrounded by nothing but abandoned farmland and its ramshackled buildings.

“Great, so… now what?” Dean asked, surveying the expanse of seemingly endless land.

“I guess we split up? Try and find any kids first?” Sam suggested with a shrug.

Opening your mouth to respond, you were quickly cut off by Dean.

“No,” he said firmly, taking a subconscious step closer to you. “We don’t even know if what we’re after is what we think we’re after.”

“So?” you asked, glancing up at him. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“No,” he repeated, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. We stay together until we get a better feel for what’s going on.”

“Well, let’s go then,” you declared, slinging your duffel over your shoulder and strolling down the path.

The brothers were hot on your heels, the only sounds to be heard being the gravel under your shoes and the birds up above as you explored the property.

“This isn’t gonna work, Dean,” Sam huffed after a while. “This place is massive and we’re wasting time. It’s gonna be dark soon.”

“He’s right, De,” you agreed softly. “We need to split up.”

“Fine, okay,” Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “Do not do anything stupid. Call the second you find anything, got it?” he added with a pointed look; seemingly only directed at you.

“Yeah, I got it,” you said in annoyance. “I’m not an idiot.”

“I never said-” Dean started to argue before Sam interrupted with a loud groan.

“Guys? Can we, like, not do that now? Kinda life or death here.”

“Right, yeah,” Dean grumbled with a curt nod. “No one get dead,” he muttered, choosing a direction and walking off.

You and Sam exchanged a quick glance before following suit, heading off in your own directions.

The sun was getting lower and lower on the horizon, and you grew increasingly frustrated as every single place you checked came up empty.

You were just about ready to start landing punches on some unsuspecting barnwood when you heard it. It was quiet, distant, but unmistakable.

Someone - or something, you guessed - was in the next building.

It was dark.

Dark and quiet.

Why was it so dark?

The sun still wasn’t set as you stepped into the barn, and that was only moments ago; wasn’t it?

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you tried to recall what happened: the noise that caught your attention, the apparent nesting ground you came upon, the footsteps behind you, the struggle, the fight, the searing pain as you were sent flying.

A small whimper escaped you as it all came back, breathing rapidly as you realized you were alone with no idea what was happening outside these creaking walls. You tried to move, but searing pain shot through you, a hand instinctively going to your side to instantly become warm and slick.

“Dean?” you tried to call out, but his name only came as a broken sob.

Choking back tears, you forced yourself to calm down so you could listen to your surroundings; yet all you could hear was your own heart pounding in your ears.

“Dean?” you tried again, but it was like all the air was being stolen from your lungs.

Taking a big breath, you forced yourself to your feet with a yell, bracing yourself on the closest beam you could find as you fumbled for your phone. Panic continued to rise within you when you realized it wouldn’t turn on, and fear for the boys’ whereabouts turned your blood to ice.

Moonlight was filtering into the barn through the slats, piercing the darkness around you just enough to help you see the way out. You didn’t know where you’d go once getting outside, but you knew you just had to get outside. Forcing yourself to move once more, you pushed off the beam and trudged through the rubble and debris, heading towards the opening you had squished yourself through to get in here. Shoving your way back out, however, was not as easy, and you couldn’t help but let out a scream as the wood pressed into your wound on the way through.

Suddenly, you heard your name being called. It was soft, like an echo in the distance, but you recognized the voice - you would know it anywhere.

“Dean-” you attempted to call in return, but you still couldn’t find your voice.

Once you were completely outside, you made your way in the direction you thought he was in, trying to keep pressure on the wound as best you could; thankfully, it didn’t seem to be bleeding too badly. Your head was absolutely pounding, and you weren’t sure if your vision was blurry, or if it was just too dark to clearly make anything out. Nevertheless, you carried on, using Dean as a beacon to guide your way.

The second you saw his familiar silhouette appear up ahead, you knew you were safe. You knew you could finally let yourself give in to the pain and exhaustion, collapsing to your knees with a heavy sigh.

You faintly registered him yelling out your name before sprinting towards you, his voice growing louder as he got closer.

“Hey,” he cried out, skidding to his knees in front of you. “Hey, look at me. Look at me,” he pleaded, cupping your face in his hands in a desperate attempt to try and meet your gaze.

“The barn,” you said urgently. “I tried to-”

“It’s okay,” Dean hushed you, shaking his head. “It’s okay, you’re okay, we got it.”

“You got it?” you asked hazily.

“We got it, sweetheart,” he assured, his fingers brushing away your hair to try and examine you better. “It’s over, you’re okay.”

“I don’t feel okay,” you admitted quietly.

Your vision grew even cloudier, and you didn’t know if it was your consciousness slipping away, or more tears starting to flow.

“No, you’re okay,” he said shakily, wiping away what must have been tears.

You nodded in response, but the movement caused your breath to hitch as the pain grew worse, and your hands shakily reached up to grab his wrists in a feeble attempt to stop everything from spinning.

It was at this exact moment he noticed your hands were painted with your own blood, and the fear that surged through him as he glanced down made him want to throw up. Quickly slipping his flannel off, he wrapped it around you with unsteady hands, tying it tightly after warning you it might hurt.

“See?” he asked nervously, swallowing thickly. “It’s not even that bad, alright? It’s not that bad.”

The fact that it was too dark to properly assess the damage was setting his nerves on fire, and at this point he didn’t know whether he was trying to convince you or himself that everything was fine.

He doesn’t even remember calling out for Sam, yet he must have, because his brother was suddenly skidding to a stop beside him after finally finding you.

Sam took a moment to assess you himself, though once realizing there was nothing that could be done right here and now, he decided it was time to move.

“Can you walk?” Sam asked you, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Not as quickly as you two gigantor’s can,” you admitted, huffing a bitter laugh.

Neither of them laughed with you, and they shared a pointed look that you couldn’t see.

Dean dug in his pocket, pulling out his keys before tossing them to Sam. “Get the car and start heading our way. We’ll meet you.”

“Got it,” Sam nodded, sprinting away.

“Alright, let’s get you up, sweetheart,” Dean announced softly, grabbing you as firmly as he dared. “Ready?”

With a tiny nod of your head, you let out a groan as he helped guide you to your feet, letting you lean heavily on him for support.

“Good,” Dean encouraged. “Good. How’re you feeling?”

“Tired,” you breathed out, resting your heavy head on his shoulder.

“Okay, hey,” he called, gently lifting your head back up. “I’m gonna carry you, alright? But I need you to stay awake. Can you do that for me?”

You really, really wanted to say no. It seemed like he had three heads, all dancing around in front of you, and all you wanted was to close your eyes. You didn’t understand why you couldn’t.

“Why?” you asked, clearly confused.

“Can’t let you sleep until I check out that head,” he told you, getting ready to scoop you up into his arms as gently as he could.

You were somehow even more confused. “My head?” you asked, before letting out a strangled gasp as he picked you up.

“It’s bleeding,” he pointed out, swallowing down the lump that formed in his throat.

As if in a way of question, you gingerly brought your fingers up to the side of your head - only to flinch in response as you came in contact with what must’ve been another wound. “Oh.”

It wasn’t long before the world around you became aglow with headlights, and Sam pulled to a screeching stop before rushing to help Dean get you in the back seat.

“Are we close to a hospital?” Dean asked, placing your head on his lap as Sam spun the car around.

“Not at all. The motel’s our closest option right now,” answered Sam.

“Fine, then drive faster,” Dean ordered, running a hand through your hair.

“I’m going as fast as I can, Dean,” Sam grumbled.

“Well, I said go faster,” Dean replied curtly, before fully turning his attention back to you.

He focused on keeping you talking as Sam sped towards the motel - discussing the latest episodes of your show the two of you had watched, how there was a new movie playing that he wanted to take you to see once back at home, that during the drive back home he’d stop at that cute cafe you spotted on the outskirts of town earlier this week; anything that came to mind, he said it.

There were multiple motives behind him doing so: to keep you distracted from the pain, to keep you awake, to keep him distracted from your pain, and to try and gauge how bad that head injury was - so far, it didn’t seem to be so much damaging as just a nasty blow. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, and the wound by your hip wasn’t bleeding as much, so he was hoping all it would need was a few good stitches once he could look at it.

The panic he had felt since first finding you was finally starting to subside, yet he had still never been so thankful to pull into a dingy motel parking lot before. After carefully leading you to your room, he and Sam both took turns to evaluate your wounds and current condition.

“Looks worse than it is,” Sam told you, letting out a breath of relief. “Definitely gonna be sporting a nice goose egg for a while, maybe a stitch or two, but your head seems fine.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally fine,” Dean pitched in, sarcasm dripping from the words. “What about that nice gash on her side - what would you say that is, Sammy? Four, maybe five inches?”

“Dean,” Sam chastised, shooting him a warning look.

“Oh, here we go. Sammy the protector,” Dean muttered, heading to gather the first aid kit. “Well where the hell were you when she got turned into Raggedy Ann, huh?”

“Where was I? Where the hell were you?” Sam spat back with a scoff.

“I was the one who didn’t want to split up in the first place!” yelled Dean, snatching a bottle of liquor off the counter to use as a disinfectant.

“Guys?” you cut in, hoping to stop them before it escalated.

“What?” they both shouted, turning their attention to you

“Oh,” Sam said, realizing he was now yelling at you. “Sorry,” he added awkwardly, clearing his throat.

Dean, on the other hand, remained quiet as he approached you. His face was as dark as an impending storm, yet his hands remained as gentle as the touch of a summer breeze while he tended to you.

Time stretched on, and the silence that now filled the room was almost harder to bear than the needle Dean was currently threading through your skin. You cast a glance over at Sam, hoping for some reprieve, but he looked just as helpless as you were.

“Did you end up finding anyone?” you asked tentatively, addressing the room instead of either Sam or Dean.

“Sam brought a couple kids over to the station while I looked for you,” Dean informed, voice as taught as the suture he pulled through for one final knot.

“That’s good,” you replied, wringing your fingers together. “What about-”

“Everything got dealt with, alright?” Dean interrupted, cutting the excess material off with a harsh snip as he finished his stitching.

“Okay,” you said, feeling like a scolded child. “Look, I-”

Your words got stuck in your throat as Dean stood abruptly, tossing everything aside before storming over to the sink. You watched as he stiffly scrubbed your blood from his hands, the silence becoming as overbearing as before until Sam broke it.

“Look, you just…” he trailed off, as if he were testing the water before continuing. “You really scared the hell out of us.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, mainly because you didn’t know what to say. It’s not like you meant to get attacked, for crying out loud.

“Sorry?” Dean barked, whipping around to face you. “You’re sorry?”

You stared at him, watching as the fury swirled in his eyes while you thought of what you were supposed to say.

“Okay- maybe we should all take a breather here,” Sam quickly jumped in, trying to diffuse his brother’s anger.

“No, I don’t think so,” Dean said, dismissing the idea as he stared daggers at you. “I think we should go ahead and talk about what a goddamn idiot you were back there!”

The words felt like a slap in the face, and they hurt more than anything else you endured tonight. “I was not an idiot.”

“No?” he asked, stepping towards you. “Because last I checked, you were supposed to call us if you found something! Not go blindly running in to meet who knows what without any fucking backup!”

“Oh, please!” you groaned, already fed up. “Just how was that gonna work, Dean? I just stand there and wait for you guys to show up while potentially letting some innocent kid bite it? I had to check it out!”

“It was stupid!” he shouted back. “You wanna check it out solo, fine, but you still drop a dime! We had no idea where the hell you even were!”

“Guys, c’mon,” Sam pleaded, desperately wanting to put an end to this.

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean spat. “She needs to own up to her mistake.”

“It wasn’t a mistake!” you yelled. “I’m not in this gig to play it safe, I’m in it to save lives.”

“Yeah, and then I’m the one who ends up with your blood on my hands!” he cried out.

“Oh, do you always have to be so goddamn dramatic?!” you asked. “Don’t act like getting hurt isn’t part of the job. You’ve got over a decade on me, Dean, you should know that better than I do!”

He laughed sardonically, shaking his head as he backed up to lean against the counter, hands rubbing at his face. “I just don’t understand how you can’t see how fucking stupid you were.”

“Ah, yes,” you replied saccharinely. “Stupid little me. Just a naive girl who can’t do the job, huh?”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” he barked, rubbing his face in exasperation.

“No?” you asked incredulously. “Then tell me, Dean! What the hell are you saying, huh?”

“God, just- you know what?” he asked, shoving himself off the counter. “Screw this. I’m done here. I’m getting my own fucking room for the night,” he muttered, storming away.

Before you could even blink, he was slamming the door behind him. You must’ve made a move to follow him, because you suddenly felt a hand lightly grip your wrist as Sam kept you in place.

“Just leave him to cool off for a bit,” Sam told you quietly.

You wanted to argue, to rip yourself from Sam’s grasp and go find Dean, who was likely pacing around outside in an attempt to blow off some steam. Yet you knew it was best to do as Sam said; Dean didn’t want to listen right now, and following after him to try and talk would only make things worse.

“Yeah,” you said belatedly, slipping from his hold. “Okay.”

“Do you need any help?” Sam asked, watching as you gathered your things for bed.

“I’ll be fine,” you told him, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he sighed, not fully believing you but knowing better than to call you on it. “I’ll go next door and grab my stuff. I’ll stay with you tonight.”

“Sounds great,” you said, despite not fully listening to him. You were too focused on trying to hold yourself together until you made it to the bathroom, letting the emotions run through you as soon as you were locked inside.

Time seemed to slip away from you while you were in there, lost in thought while the water melded with your tears as you cleansed yourself both physically and emotionally. It was only when Sam knocked on the door with a call of your name that you finally came to your senses. Once you assured him you were fine, you quickly finished up.

Doing your best to avoid eye contact with Sam, you made for your bed as quickly as you could move. Hiding yourself away in the safety of the blankets, you hoped to avoid any further discussions of this entire event.

You should’ve known better.

“You do know we need to talk about this, right?” Sam asked softly.

“Do we?” you asked in return, staring up at the ceiling.

He sighed, and soon after you felt the end of your bed dip under his weight. “I meant what I said. You scared the hell out of us.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you said meekly, keeping your eyes trained on the stain above your head.

“I know that,” he said calmly. “I’m sure Dean does, too, but-”

“Does he?” you cut in incredulously.

Sam sighed again, falling silent as he weighed his response in his head. “Yes. C’mon, you know Dean - hell, probably even better than I do. He was more scared than he was angry, and I think you know that.”

“Well you were scared, too, weren’t you?” you asked, finally turning your gaze to his. “You didn’t try ripping my head off.”

“That’s because my biggest fear didn’t almost become reality tonight,” he said simply, giving you a look as though you should understand; which, you didn’t.

“What?”

“Look,” Sam started, carding his fingers through his hair. “Death is part of the job, right? We all know it’s the risk we take with this life. But you… if I’m being honest, I don’t even know what the hell I’d do if I ever lost you; you’re my best friend, the annoying little sister I never had, and I love you. But Dean… him losing you… I don’t know if he could ever come back from that.”

You stared at him carefully, his words echoing in your head as you searched his face for any insincerity - you didn’t really know what to say once you found no trace.

“I’d like to get some rest, if that’s okay,” you finally settled on.

Sam smiled sadly, knowing you didn’t believe him. “Sure,” he agreed, squeezing your calf affectionately before standing up. “I’ll check on you in a few hours, okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded, tucking the sheets up under your chin. “Night, Sammy.”

“G’night,” he responded gently, quietly getting himself ready for bed as well.

It was torture. Pure, never ending torture.

You had been laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, for hours, unable to sleep a wink.

Not only was your mind still reeling from your fight with Dean, but you weren’t able to get comfortable; the stitches in your side pulled every time you shifted positions, sending a new wave of pain through you that even the painkillers you swallowed down earlier did little to conceal.

Letting out an irritated huff, you tossed the covers off and slid from the bed to search the dark for your shoes, doing your best to not wake Sam - all you wanted was some fresh air, and you didn’t want to deal with his questions or insistence he go with you.

After shrugging on a flannel that Dean had left in his haste to get away from you, you carefully slipped from the room and did your best to make sure the door shut silently in your wake.

“Running away?” came a voice from behind you, making you jump out of your skin as you whirled around.

You came face to face with Dean, who was leaning against the trunk of his beloved car, one hand shoved deep in his jacket pocket and the other holding a can of beer. The moonlight cut through the darkness, mingling with the fluorescent and neon lights to cast an otherworldly glow upon his face.

“Why?” you asked tightly, folding your arms over yourself. “Hoping you won’t have to deal with my stupidity anymore?”

You may as well have slapped him for the way your words made him flinch, and he fixed his gaze on the can in his hand. “You know that’s not how I meant any of it,” he muttered guiltily.

All you could do was scoff, biting back your snippy response in the hopes of trying to avoid another blow out.

“Why are you out here?” you asked after a few moments of silence. “Thought you got your own room.”

Dean shrugged, chugging down some beer before jerking a thumb in the direction of the upper level. “I asked for one, but all they had was one up in the corner.”

“What, too many stairs?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He shook his head, falling silent as he stared at the puddle by his feet. “Just… too far away.”

“From?” you asked, taking a few steps to lean against the closest pillar.

By the sigh he let out, you could tell he didn’t want to answer, yet after a small stretch of silence he finally looked up to meet your gaze. “You.”

“What, not mad at me anymore, then?” you questioned, hoping to mend this bridge.

“Oh, no. I’m still fucking pissed,” he instantly admitted.

“Right, well, spare the lecture this time,” you replied with a scoff.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” he snapped, setting his can down on the trunk.

“You wanna know what I don’t get, Dean?” you quipped, glaring at him. “Have you always thought I was such an incompetent hunter, or did your opinion of me just suddenly change?”

“That is not-” he started to argue, before taking a calming breath. “That is not what I think,” he finished, more quiet this time.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered with a roll of your eyes.

“Okay, you wanna know how I see it?” he asked, shifting his stance a little straighter.

When all you did was meet his gaze with your own look of determination, he carried on.

“You almost died!” he said adamantly.

“No, I didn’t!” you denied, throwing up your hands in exasperation.

“Well you may as well have!” he yelled, palm slamming down on Baby’s exterior in an outburst of rage. “You disappeared! You disappeared, and I couldn’t find you, and when I did-... I mean what else was I supposed to think, huh? I find you on your damn knees, covered in your own blood, and I can’t even see how bad it is because we’re literally out there in the fucking dark. So you know what? As far as I’m concerned, in that moment, you did almost die.”

Stunned into silence by the intensity of his words, all you could do was watch the storm of fear and fury dance behind his eyes before he turned away.

“I thought I was gonna have to watch you die,” he muttered, choking on his words as he braced his hands on the car to steady himself.

“I-” you tried to speak, but all words failed you at that moment.

“And I know, okay?” he carried on desperately. “I know that this job, this life… that’s the risk. And me? Hell, if I go, I go, I can make peace with that. But I’ll be damned if I get to keep on living and you don’t. I’ll be damned, if I have to sit there and watch you die.”

“Dean-” you tried again, feeling like an idiot for not being able to form a proper response.

“Look, I- I overreacted okay? It’s what I do, I know that, but-” Dean cut himself off with a sigh, quickly wiping at his eyes before the tears had a chance to appear. “I can’t- I can’t handle the idea of facing a world without you in it.”

“You’ve… I mean, I don’t understand,” you admitted with a chuckle of disbelief. “I’ve been hurt before.”

“Trust me, I know,” he sighed, finally returning to sit against the rear end as he fixated on the ground before him.

“So… what made it so different this time?” you hesitantly asked.

Dean’s gaze slowly lifted from his boots to your face, and the look he gave you was one you’ve never seen before. He held your gaze as he stood tall, easily closing the space between you two with just a few steps. He reached out to carefully brush your hair away from the gash on your head, tucking the strands behind your ear. Your breath hitched as his fingers gently traced your skin, his touch lingering as he examined your wound.

“Guess I just reached my breaking point,” he whispered, letting his palm rest against your cheek.

“What does that mean?” you found the courage to ask.

“You know what it means,” he replied, reluctantly pulling his hand away.

“Say it anyway,” you pleaded, heart hammering in your chest as you fought to steady your breathing.

He shook his head, averting his gaze as he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I don’t think I can.”

“I know you can,” you encouraged, trying your best to catch his gaze.

He closed his eyes as if to brace himself for what he was about to say, yet he only stayed silent. When the silence began to stretch on into minutes, you knew it was time to give up.

“Okay,” you concluded, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in your chest from the jagged edges of your now broken heart. “Have a good night, De.”

He let you turn away from him. He let you walk the few feet to your motel room door, but he couldn’t let you go back inside. Despite being an irreligious man, your name fell from his lips like a prayer, stopping you as you grasped the door handle

“I’ve been in love with you for longer than I even care to admit,” he confessed. “Yeah, maybe I went a little crazy earlier, but you know what? You make me crazy. The idea of losing you makes me crazy. The fact that you’re selfless enough to risk your life so easily makes me crazy. I can apologize for the way I handled it, for the things I said, but I will not apologize for being scared about losing you, okay? I just won’t.”

“Dean,” you found yourself saying once more, feeling like you were moving in slow motion as you returned to stand before him.

“Never thought I’d actually tell you that,” he announced, letting out a nervous chuckle as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I get it if you don’t-”

“I love you, too,” you admitted quietly, cutting him off.

“What?” he asked, blinking in shock.

“You aren’t the only one who’s been harbouring that secret,” you told him, laughing softly.

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but it was Sam’s voice that called out first.

“Hey, I’m really happy for you guys and all… but could you just, like, shut up and kiss already or something? I’m actually trying to sleep in here.”

It took you a few seconds to realize he was calling out from inside your room, and the realization that he likely heard the entire conversation caused laughter to bubble up from your chest and burst from your mouth. The sound was only short- lived as Dean captured your lips with his, rendering you quiet with a searing kiss that made you so weak in the knees you would’ve crumpled had he not been holding you.

You wanted to kiss him forever. You wanted to stay here with his lips on yours, his large hands framing your face as your small ones rested on his chest, for the rest of your life; and you would have, had the burning in your lungs not forced you to pull away for a proper breath.

He refused to let you go, pulling you in close as he rested his forehead against yours. You wished time and space would cease to exist as you stood in his embrace, slowly catching your breath; though as far as you were concerned, the two of you were the only ones to exist in this moment.

“Wait, hold on,” he said, pulling back to look at you, dancing his gaze between you and the door to your room. “Has he been in there this entire time?”

“Ever since you left, yeah,” you told him, a little confused by his sudden question.

“So his room’s been empty?” he asked, a little annoyed.

“Uh- yes?”

“So you’re telling me I’ve been standing out for hours, looking like a creep and getting drizzled on, when I could’ve been using his room?” he questioned.

A laugh escaped your lips without you meaning it to, but the longer you took in his annoyed expression the more giggles you let out.

“Well, it’s your own fault for storming out,” you told him with a laugh.

He rolled his eyes as you carried on laughing, shaking his head as he let you go. “The things I do for you,” he muttered under his breath as he checked the door next to yours.

“Aw c’mon, you’ve had to do worse while on stakeouts,” you pointed out, watching as he swung the door open to Sam’s former room. “Although, I’m not usually the one you’re watching - wait, or am I?” you added playfully, grinning mischievously.

“Just shut up and get in here,” he sighed, holding his hand out to you as he fought off a smile; though the twitch in the corners of his mouth gave him away.

You made your way over to him, ready to take his hand in yours as you continued to tease him. “Can’t help but notice you didn’t say no.”

He rolled his eyes once more, clasping your hand and pulling you into the room so swiftly you let out a squeak of surprise. “You,” he said, kicking the door shut as he took your face between his palms. “Are a pain in my ass.”

You grinned, placing your hands on his wrists. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, running his thumbs across your cheeks. “I really do.”

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rxreid · 2 months ago

Note

hi!!! would you be up for writing a soft dom bellamy x best friend reader fic/oneshot? maybe he gets jealous when he sees other guys flirting/talking about y/n in a sexual way. and bellamy being protective, pulled reader away and confesses his love to her?

realms of friendship - b.b

also requested: “hi gurll i didn’t know 100 writers were still active you’re feeding me bc no one writes bellamy smut anymore 😞 i just need porn with a plot please surprise me and keep em comin !” + “hi this is my first time asking but can u plsss write blake smut. like literally anything im so deprived of him im begging.”

warnings: SMUT! unprotected p in v, that’s pretty much it. brief mention of a gun?? but not kinky. technically takes place in s3 of the 100.

word count: 5.1k

characterisation: reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns & feminine terms.

comments: here u go anons!! i hope this is okay…it’s far from the best thing i’ve written, but i wanted to write a bellamy fic whilst i was sure i had some free time. it might be a little ooc, only because i’m not super used to writing for him yet. nevertheless, feel free to send in more request for blurbs/hcs/fics! the first two are more likely to be answered quickly <3. if you don’t wanna read the smut, there’s a divider before it gets spicy :)

“I just think if you popped a couple of buttons open, maybe let your hair loose once in a while, the guys in camp would be all over you,” Jasper shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans into the backseat of the rover, his lips carrying that same ‘carefree’ smirk he’s had since getting out of Mount Weather.

Murphy snorts, sitting opposite Jasper in the trunk. “As if,” he snickers, his nose crinkling in amusement. “The guys in camp are already all over her, she’s just too frigid to give them a try, ain’t that right?” he grins, leaning forward to rest his hands on the leather of her seat, placing his chin on the edge as he peeks into the front. She internally grimaces at his proximity, twisting in her spot to lean against the window, her brows slightly furrowed at the two boys.

“Shut up,” she grumbles quietly, mirroring Jasper’s position and folding her arms, the expression on her face betraying her distaste for the topic of conversation. She's aware that the two boys are purposely trying to rile her up, but that doesn’t make them any easier to deal with when they get like this.

In the backseat, Jasper kicks his feet up, somehow managing to stay upright despite the bumps in the track as Bellamy roughly drives the four of them back to camp. “Yeah, right. Like who? You?” he muses teasingly, raising a brow at Murphy, as if daring him to take their game further.

“Hell yeah, me,” Murphy retorts cockily, still flashing his borderline predatory grin to her. “With a face that pretty and an ass like that, I can’t understand why she’s not been snatched up,” he smirks, his words complimentary in his own mind yet being perceived entirely different by the recipient. He keeps his gaze on her as he talks to Jasper, briefly glancing over at Bellamy in the driver's seat. The older boy’s nose is turned up in disgust as he listens to the conversation, the veins in his hands becoming more prominent from his grip on the steering wheel.

She scrunches her nose up too, her cheeks heating up at Murphy’s words, feeling a wave of embarrassment pass through her body. She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply, and he takes it upon himself to lean further over her seat, his chest fully pressed against the back. “What? Not even a thank you?” he taunts, his grin getting wider at the way she squirms under his stare. “Eh, whatever. You look better with your mouth shut. Plus, I can think of other ways to keep it occupied,” he snickers crudely, lifting his arm as he begins to reach his hand around her chair.

In an instant, Bellamy’s fingers are clasping Murphy’s wrist, his grip too tight to pass as merely playful. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, his voice stern as he pushes him into the back of the rover once more. “Back off, Murphy, you don’t need to be so close to her,” he mutters gruffly, his lips slightly pursed into a scowl.

A huff escapes Murphy’s lips as he’s roughly pushed back, thudding into the seat opposite Jasper again, who’s tickled by the entire situation. “Ow. Jeez, Blake, loosen up a little. She knows I’m just fuckin’ with her,” he grumbles, his thumb and pointer finger wrapping around his wrist to soothe the ache of Bellamy’s previous grip. “She’s dead weight, anyway. Dunno why we bring her on these trips if we can’t have some fun with her.”

Bellamy glares at Murphy through the windscreen mirror, his protectiveness for the girl beside him flaring up. He knows he should probably tone it down to avoid suspicion of any deeper feelings for his best friend, but he can’t let her be mercilessly teased when he knows she won't stand up for herself. Plus, the insinuation of her friends bringing her on supply runs purely to sleep with her makes his skin crawl. “Stop being a fucking perv,” he snaps, his grip on the wheel tightening slightly as his hand returns to it.

Murphy furrows his brows, clearly displeased with Bellamy’s interruption of his fun. “I’m not bein’ a perv,” he retorts, his voice laced with offence, “I’m just lettin’ the lady know that she’s got options if she wants it,” he shrugs, rolling his eyes over dramatically, his ego bruised.

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t want that, and she sure as hell doesn’t want you,” Bellamy grits, pressing down on the gas a little harsher, his mood souring at the thought of spending any longer in the vehicle whilst Murphy shamelessly flirts with his friend. friend.

“Now shut up for the rest of the drive or I’m throwing you out and you’re walking back to camp. Both of you.”

Her eyes go slightly wide at Bellamy’s defence, raising her brows in surprise. She looks back at Jasper and Murphy, who are both staring at her incredulously, and shrugs her shoulders. The rest of the short drive is spent in silence, with nobody wanting to get onto Bellamy’s bad side again. Her gaze remains focused on the landscape flying by, thoughts wandering to the boy beside her, as they most often do.

Upon the group’s return to Arkadia, Bellamy pulls into the garage, the roaring of the rover dying in an instant as he shuts it off. “Out,” he orders gruffly, earning a grumble from both Murphy and Jasper as they hop out of the vehicle, slamming the doors behind them before heading away from the garage. She follows suit, watching Bellamy climb out too, and she instinctively starts heading away, not wanting to catch the brunt of his lingering moodiness.

“Not you.”

She stops in her tracks as his words echo through the empty garage, slowly turning around to face him. “Not…me?” she questions, her brows arched. She’s half expecting him to tell her she’s forgotten something, or that she needs to help him unload the rover, but the way his expression has softened tenfold from just minutes ago makes her slightly uneasy.

“Not you,” he repeats, his voice softer, taking a few steps towards her. “What was all that about? Why were you just sitting there letting Jasper and Murphy talk about you like that?”

A dry chuckle escapes her lips, and she fights the urge to roll her eyes at the memory. “Used to it by now,” she shrugs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Murphy’s been that way since the dawn of time, and Jasper’s new emo phase has him acting like a dick 24/7. It’s whatever,” she huffs, puckering her lips as she stands awkwardly, her gaze shifting around.

“It’s just not ‘whatever’ though, is it?” he retorts sarcastically, narrowing his eyes at her as he steps closer once more. “You shouldn’t let them believe they can talk to you like that, it’ll just get worse if they think they can get away with it. I know what guys are like,” he says, the idea of her being so compliant with being objectified stirring a flame deep in his heart, his instincts screaming at him to shield her from such taunts.

She snorts at his sass, amused by how insistent he’s getting. “I really don’t care about what they have to say, Blake,” she says, shaking her head slightly and shrugging her shoulders. She’s speaking truthfully - the teasing she endures from other boys in camp is practically an everyday occurrence by now.

“Bellamy,” he corrects.

“What?”

“You’re my best friend. It’s Bellamy to you, not Blake. You know I don’t like that.”

“Okay…” she says, dragging her syllables out briefly. “I don’t really care, Bellamy,” she repeats.

“I do,” he shrugs simply, placing his hands onto his hips. She, too, narrows her eyes at that, scanning his features from any ulterior motive to his words. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his brows slightly furrowed as usual, but his eyes carry a hint of concern, and she’s trying to figure out why without straight up asking.

After a few seconds, she sighs softly, tilting her head backwards as she lets out a groan, a little embarrassed by the entire situation. She lets her head fall straight again, looking over at him. “Bell, I appreciate it, I really do, but I don’t want you barking at your friends for me. I can handle it.”

He chuckles at that, and she’s almost offended that the one thing to make him laugh is the thought of her defending herself. “Listen, you can tell me to back off, tell me whatever the hell you want, but you should know by now that I’m not the type of guy to stand by when you’re evidently uncomfortable, princess. If they pull that shit again when I’m around-,” he says, placing his hand on her shoulder and leaning down slightly, raising his brows, “-I’m gonna say something.”

“You’re really annoying,” she deadpans, her eyes still narrowed as he leans to be level with her.

“Not annoying, just protective of my friends,” he shrugs, his hand trailing down to lightly skim across her arm, stilling there. “And you happen to be my best one, so you get the brunt of it.”

Rolling her eyes, she lets out a huff, her gaze roaming the garage. “Gee, thanks, lucky me,” she grumbles, her brows softly furrowed together.

He hums, straightening up once more as he looks down at her. “Damn straight, lucky you,” he grins, a rare sight from the usual scowl adorning his lips. His gaze is downcast, a twinkle in his deep brown eyes always prominent when his focus is on the girl before him. “And stop that, you’ll get premature wrinkles,” he mutters teasingly, lifting his free hand to smooth out the dip between her brows with his thumb.

A faint blush dusts her cheeks as his thumb swipes across her skin, her gaze briefly dashing to his teeth poking behind his lips before back to his eyes. She’s used to him being somewhat touchy, always greeting her with a reunion hug or squeezing her shoulders when she needs reassurance, but something in the air feels different with him tonight.

“Why’d you really defend me against Jasper and Murphy, huh?” she murmurs, her eyes roaming his features skeptically.

He doesn’t answer her verbally, but his grin widens cheekily as he steps forward again, his thumb moving to swipe her jaw, silently signalling his next move.

“Don’t,” she mumbles, her eyes widening a smidge as she pieces together what he’s boldly getting at, her own mind running a thousand miles per hour. She finally uncrosses her arms, letting them fall slack at her sides, subtly opening herself up to him. If Bellamy Blake, her best friend, kisses her right here in this garage, she might just have to face a year's worth of pent up emotions, and she’s not sure she’s ready for that.

“Why not?” Bellamy whispers, his grin widening as he slowly leans in. At first he was teasing her, but the closer he gets, the more tempting it is to close the gap.

“It’ll change everything,” she retorts quietly, unable to stop herself from taking a peek at his plump lips, his cupids bow littered with stubble.

“No it won’t.”

“Liar.”

“We’ll see.”

With that, he leans in, closing the gap until his lips are ghosting over hers, their noses brushing together. He doesn’t take it any further, keeping their lips a mere few millimeters apart as he waits for her to make the final move, his own lips curved up in a smile so bright she thinks she might go blind.

She huffs at him, seeing what he’s playing at. “I hate you,” she grumbles, all prior thoughts ditching her brain as she presses her lips against his, feeling him chuckle into the kiss as they both close their eyes. He’s slightly chapped, but she hadn’t expected much different, so she’s not bothered. She has no room to complain when her best friend, likely the most sought after man in Arkadia, is kissing her so sweetly.

Sweetly doesn't last too long, his lips pressing against hers with more insistence as his hand gently squeezes her arm, his other cupping her cheek. He pokes his tongue out, swiping it across her bottom lip in a silent ask for entry to her mouth, wanting to deepen the kiss he’s so desperately been waiting for. When she keeps her lips firmly pressed together, he furrows his brows.

“Lemme in,” he mumbles against her lips, trying again with his tongue.

“No,” she retorts quietly, closing her lips up immediately to keep him out.

“Why not?” he groans gruffly, pressing his forehead against hers, a hint of a pout on his face.

She pulls back fully, her hands lingering in the air by his waist, not quite willing to place them yet. “Not until you tell me why you’re kissing me,” she whispers, her voice holding a vulnerability that wasn't there minutes ago.

Shaking his head in amusement, he drops his gaze briefly to quietly laugh at her question, before looking at her once more. “Are you seriously asking me that, princess?” he grins, his forehead creasing. “Why does anyone kiss another person?”

She looks up at him, her mind racing with possible answers. For love? For lust? For the hell of it? “I dunno,” she decides is the best answer, shrugging her shoulders.

“Are you really gonna make me say it?” he chuckles, his thumb moving to brush across her chin.

“Yeah. Say it,” she mutters.

Bellamy huffs, smirking at her obliviousness. “Okay, listen carefully, yeah? I…want to kiss you…because I like you, ‘kay? Romantically. R-O-M-A–”

She cuts him off with a smack to his chest at his sarcasm, her cheeks flaring up. “Yeah, yeah, okay, I get it!” she grumbles, letting her head fall down to his shoulder on instinct, wanting to shield herself from his teasing. His grin only widens as she hides her face from him, his hands going to her waist as he nudges his nose into her hair.

“Might even go as far as to say I love you,” he whispers, gently moving her hair out of his way to ghost his lips against her neck, his touch a lot softer than she ever would have anticipated.

“You don’t,” she retorts, lifting her head just an inch to open up her neck to him.

“I do,” a kiss to her pulse point.

“You don’t.”

“I do. Can’t stand hearing other guys talk about you like how they were earlier,” a kiss to her jaw.

“You don’t.”

“I do, princess, and you love me too,” a kiss just below her ear.

“I-” she cuts herself off with a groan, knowing she can’t in good conscience stand here and tell him she doesn’t love him.

Bellamy chuckles at her groan, tilting her head to make her look at him once more. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he mutters cockily. “You gonna let me in now?” he questions, his lips hovering above hers for the second time in a few minutes.

“Fine,” she scoffs.

The gap is closed once more in an instant as he presses his mouth to hers, wasting no time before slipping his tongue into her parted lips. He hums at the taste of her, living up to everything he’d ever imagined and more. Her world narrows down to just him and his mouth, her hands finally placing themselves on his waist, fingertips skimming beneath his tan shirt. She can’t help the small moan that passes her lips as he laps his tongue against hers, kissing her like a man starved.

He laughs against her lips again as she moans, hooking his hands under her thighs and hoisting her up, directing her to wrap her legs around his waist. She does so without hesitation, though she’s slightly stumped by his haste.

“Eager, much?” she mutters as she pulls away, the string of saliva between their mouths breaking as she talks.

A grin breaks onto his lips once more, and he looks over her shoulder as he quickly navigates out of the garage and down the hall, heading for his quarters. “You want me to slow down? You wanna drag this out any longer than we already have?” he grunts out, barely even straining under her weight in his arms as he walks through the remnants of the ark.

“No,” she replies quietly, tucking her head into the crook of his neck.

“Exactly.”

He finds his quarters relatively quickly, even with his vision slightly impaired by her hair. Nudging the door open, he takes them both into the room, ensuring it’s closed behind him before he gently lays her down against the pillows, his frame hovering above hers. She’s been in his quarters many times - they usually hang out in one another’s rooms - but she’s never been beneath him, and she has definitely never felt his growing arousal against the junction between her thighs. Yet, here she is. There’s a first for everything.

She can’t tear her gaze away when he sits up on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere in his room. She squeals as he roughly tugs her boots from her feet, followed by his own, their shoes additionally being tossed aside. Her eyes roam his now bare chest, and she audibly gulps. It’s not like she hasn’t seen him bare chested before, of course she has, but never this close, and never with the knowledge of what he’s about to do to her.

“Rude to stare,” he mutters, pressing himself between her legs as he dips his head to her neck, starting off with light, gentle kisses.

She rolls her eyes at that, her knees nudging his sides and her arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Well, apparently we’re more than friends now, so I think I’m allowed to,” she mumbles, tilting her neck to grant him better access.

A chuckle escapes him, and he can’t argue with it. “Fair enough,” he murmurs against her skin, biting down softly on her flesh before letting go. “Can’t tell you how many times you were here in my room,” he mumbles, rolling his hips slowly against hers. “Sittin’ pretty on my bed… or at my desk,” he grunts, his hands holding her waist, slipping beneath her shirt. “And I couldn’t stop imagining having you like this.”

At the roll of his hips she lets out a small gasp, her eyes fluttering closed. Her hand worms into his hair, tugging on his curls as he continues his assault on her neck. “And yet you called Murphy a perv?” she teases breathlessly, her head dropping back against his pillow.

He growls at the mention of Murphy, pulling away from the love bite he’d been curating to look down at her. “Who’s the one who actually got the girl, huh? Yeah. Me. Fuck him, the little freak,” he grumbles, his fingers tugging on the hem of her shirt. “Lift,” he instructs quietly, his tone immediately changing to a more delicate one with her.

She obliges, reaching to grab the hem of her shirt, sitting up slightly and lifting it over her head, tossing it into the forming pile. She reaches behind her back, fumbling with the clasp of her bra before finally getting it undone, leaving it covering her breasts.

He narrows her eyes at her as she teases him, not letting it last long before he grabs her bra straps, carefully tugging them down until she’s fully exposed, her bra joining the pile.

“Fuck,” he whispers under his breath, his hands moving to knead her chest without hesitation, and he feels any remnants of blood running straight to his crotch. “Way better than I imagined. Perfect, even,” he mutters, hastily leaning his head down to capture one of her buds in his mouth, swirling his tongue as he groans around her.

Giggling at his haste, she keeps both hands tangled in his hair, her back arching slightly towards his mouth. “Mm, baby, you gonna stay there forever?” she breathlessly murmurs with a grin, watching as he spends at least a few minutes lavishing at her chest.

“God, I could get used to you calling me that,” Bellamy groans, finally letting his mouth leave her chest. “I’m coming back to you two. Mark my words,” he mutters, giving her a final squeeze before he sits back on his haunches. He fumbles around with his toolbelt, mindlessly throwing it - along with the gun nestled in it - somewhere in his bedroom, before his hands begin to work at his zipper.

She looks up at him, biting her lip at the obvious tent in his cargos. She decides to occupy herself whilst he’s busy, undoing her own zipper and lifting her hips, wiggling out of her pants. They both finish undressing at the same time, gazing at one another with massive grins as they take in the sights.

“Shit, I can’t fucking wait to be inside of you, princess,” Bellamy blurts out, his curls loosely falling across his forehead as he leans over her again, his hands roaming her hips with intent.

Her lips part at his words, a little shocked, but she's not sure what else she was expecting him to say. “You can’t just say things like that,” she whispers breathlessly, grinning up at him as she pushes back his curls.

“Yeah? Why can’t I?” he mutters, catching her wrist in his hand and pressing a lingering kiss to her palm. He looks down at the space between them, the sight of her in just her panties sending him borderline insane. “Any- fuck, any other time I would usually love a little foreplay, but I’ve literally been waiting a year for this, and I don’t think I can wait another second,” he huffs with a grin, looking down at her for approval.

She nods in agreement, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck and tugging him down, sealing their lips together in another kiss. It’s much more desperate now, their shared hunger evident in the way their tongues bind together, a mess of pants and pent up longing. His fingers hook into the sides of her underwear, tapping her hips twice so she lifts them, before slowly pulling her panties down her legs, his lips never leaving hers.

Bellamy reaches his hand carefully between her legs, caressing her hip for a moment before finding the spot between her thighs, the tip of his middle finger sliding through her folds. He groans against her mouth, elated to be greeted by a slickness evidently just for him. “D’you always get this wet,” he mutters against her mouth, pressing sloppy kisses against her lips between his words.

She gasps quietly at the contact, shaking her head. She definitely is not usually this aroused, and she’s certain it’s because of how long her body has been waiting to feel this specific set of hands against her skin.

“Oh, yeah?” he grins cockily, moving his lips to her neck once more. “So this is all for me, princess? Just me?” he teases, his fingertip lightly caressing her now, teasingly moving around and avoiding where she needs him most.

“Yeah,” she whispers, her hand tugging on his hair, desperate for more contact. “Bell, I thought you said no foreplay,” she whines.

He beams at her whine, feeling a rush of pride at how quickly he can reduce her to a mess of desperation, even on their first time together. “Yeah, yeah, I got you,” he murmurs against her neck, reaching his hands down to free himself from the confines of his boxers. He groans as the cold air hits his skin, slowly positioning himself between her thighs. A quiet moan leaves her lips at the sensation of the head of his cock running between her folds before he slowly sheathes himself fully, having to bite down on her shoulder to muffle his moan.

She can’t help but whimper at the sheer size of him, her eyes widening as he eventually bottoms out. She hadn’t had the chance to actually see him before he conjoined their bodies, but god, she can feel every inch and crevice of him, pressed snugly against the wall of her cervix.

“Fucking hell, you’re tight,” he grunts, gritting his teeth as he pulls back from her neck, watching the space between their bodies. He slowly pulls all the way out, before pushing back in, his hands on her waist keeping her steady. “Couldn’t ever conjure up a dream this good,” he mutters, his voice strained.

A moan is all she can let out, her brows furrowed as he steadily begins to move. She’s on the same wavelength as him, trying to register that this is really happening, she’s not dreaming, and her best friend is definitely fucking her.

He moves to grip her thigh with one hand, pulling it up around his waist as he finds a rhythm, deepening himself within her. His strokes are steady and forceful, each one perfectly designed to elicit that sweet moan from her lips as he works, his thighs tensing with the exertion. “Mine,” he growls, punctuating his words with a particularly harsh thrust.

She whimpers sharply at his words, her legs curling around his waist, heels digging into his ass as he picks up the pace. She reaches for him again, one hand gripping his bicep as the other grasps his hair. “Oh my god,” she moans, her eyes slipping closed as her back arches up towards him. “Fuck, there’s perfect.”

Bellamy grins at her moans, a rush of satisfaction coursing through his veins. He angles his hips to replicate his previous thrust, driving into her from that same position. “Right here, princess?” he groans out, his other hand holding her hip with a bruising pressure, feeling her clench around him. “Oh, yeah, you liked that, huh? Lookin’ so gorgeous beneath me, fucking perfect, every inch of you.”

The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, her moans gradually increasing in octave as he learns his way around her body, figuring out what works best for her. His cock slides in and out with ease, twitching within her as his tip smacks against her womb, letting him know just how deep he is. She can barely think straight, her mind a whirlwind of Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy. Her eyes open once more, instantly met with his own warm brown ones looking back at her, his gaze unwavering as he studies her expression, committing every movement of her face to memory. He grins wolfishly at her as she looks at him, driving his hips into her with a newfound force, desperate to see her face contort with a release.

Unexpectedly, he sits back on his calves, bringing her with him. His hand moves to her lower back, looking up at her as he quickly encourages her to move with him. “There you go, princess,” he mutters, one hand holding her hip to guide her. She obeys, of course, her nails digging into his shoulder blades, imprinting crescent moons into his skin as she moves her hips on top of him, whining loudly whilst he drives up into her, meeting every thrust she makes. “Good girl, fuck, so pretty like this.”

The moan that escapes her is borderline deafening as he praises her, her head dropping into the crook of his neck. Her body moves sensually against his, her breasts bouncing against his cheeks with every movement she makes. He presses a kiss against the valley of her breasts, grunting as he feels the coil in his stomach tightening. “I love you,” he mutters against her skin, his tongue darting out to taste her. “So fucking much. Should’ve done this so long ago, baby, god, should’ve done this back at the dropship,” he moans, twitching inside of her as his release rapidly approaches.

She whimpers relentlessly against his neck, her hand bunching up his hair so tightly she’s worried she might rip it out. She would respond if she could, but she’s too focused on the pleasure he’s giving her, feeling drunk on every jolt of his cock within her.

Bellamy whines a little at the grip on his hair, his head tilting back as he uses all of his strength to pound up into her. He keeps one hand on her lower back, the other reaching down to find her clit, rubbing tight circles against her, needing to feel her come around him. “So close, princess,” he gasps, his free hand moving down to grip at her ass, kneading it between her fingers. “So fucking close. Gonna come and make you mine for good, yeah? Nobody’s gonna say shit about you anymore,” he moans, his head still thrown back.

Nodding rapidly, she pulls back too, her eyes roaming his exposed neck as she continues moving, despite the ache in her thighs. The sight of his Adam's apple bobbing, the small stubble gracing his chin and mouth, the way his lips are parted, it’s all too much. His tongue darts out to lick his upper lip, swiping across the scar there, and she can’t take much more, tugging his hair to smash her lips against his yet again.

He groans against her mouth, unable to keep himself upright as he falls fully against the bed, his back hitting the mattress. From here, he can angle his hips to drive up into her at a brutal force, her ass smacking against his thighs with every thrust. He can feel her walls tightening around him, knowing he’s just as close as she is.

“Come with me, princess. Let me make you feel good,” he whispers against her lips, her clit dragging against his pelvis with every harsh pound he delivers to her.

It's not long before he’s thrusting in harshly one final time, coming with a loud grunt of her name and spilling deep into her womb, painting her as his.

His orgasm spurs on her own, her body convulsing around him as she comes, his tongue swallowing her moans, along with a muffled screech of his name. She pants heavily, pulling away from his mouth and collapsing against him, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. “Holy fucking shit,” she whispers, pressing a soft kiss to his tanned skin.

He huffs out a laugh, his pupils wide with bliss, wrapping his arms around her as she collapses. “Yeah, holy fucking shit,” he repeats, his hand slowly running up and down her back, trying to soothe her trembling body. “You okay?” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Was that okay?”

She grins against his chest, her eyes closing and her body relaxing. “That was more than okay,” she whispers, slowly lifting her hips so he slips out of her, softening now, the both of them able to get more comfortable. “You’re like…way better than I imagined,” she teases.

“Oh, you thought I’d be bad, huh? I don’t have a reputation for nothing,” he smirks, sitting up with her in his arms and shuffling them around so they're pressed against the pillows, her head on his chest. the slight sheen of sweat over the planes of his muscles isn’t a bother, an overwhelming sense of comfort washing over her.

“Mm, actually, you were totally shit,” she teases, snuggling closer to him, feeling the exhaustion begin to settle in.

“Liar,” he grins.

“We’ll see,” she mutters tiredly, echoing their previous words. “But, for the record, I love you, too.”

congrats if u made it this far <3 ty for reading i promise they’ll get better 😔

#blake.txt * ˚ ✦#xrated.txt * ˚ ✦#myfics.docx * ˚ ✦#bellamy blake fluff #bellamy blake smut #bellamy blake fanfiction #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake #the 100 #bellamy blake x female reader

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jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue · 10 months ago

Text

Our Little Love part eight - OT7 Mafia/Yandere au

Mr Kim has a chapter all to himself of 6.8K words, please enjoy and PLEASE let me know what you think. Trigger warnings: manipulation, coercion, corruption, interrogation, mentions of murder and other crimes, swearing, jealousy, possessive yandere behaviour, fingering, orgasm denial, mirror sex, light choking. I am awful with warnings, please forgive me.

Namjoon wasn’t all that impressed with seeing the Chief of police visiting his cell, the syndicate boss was dressed too well to belong there, it was almost an eyesore. A glance to the camera, the normal red blinking light absent tells him all he needs to know. There were no eyes or ears to this conversation.

“I thought I paid you to keep your men in line,” Namjoon says in lieu of greeting. “Was a bullet to the knee not warning enough for your dear Captain?”

“He wasn’t an issue when I spoke to him, the man was on leave!” the chief replied. “Your girl was the problem he-”

“Be very careful how you finish that sentence,” he advised with a deep angry rumble from his chest. “I am well aware who is at fault here, and regardless of what our little love does, she is never to blame.”

Chief Lee Soo-man only nods once, biting back his complaints.

“I asked you to sort out Kim Suho, I told you to keep him in check,” Namjoon growls. “Keeping your pockets full isn’t an act of charity Lee, it’s a purchase. I own you.”

“Yes sir,” he mumbles in response. “I assure you this arrest is just a formality, the case won’t stand once it’s revealed Detective L/n-”

The glare the man in the blazerless three piece suit gave him was enough to stop him in his tracks. Right, he couldn’t involve you in this, that was going to make things harder than they needed to be.

“What do you recommend then sir?” he asks when he finds his voice and wavering courage.

Namjoon sighs harshly, and the Chief swears he can almost see smoke.

“I want to be alone with my little love,” it’s not a request, the chief didn’t let the soft lilt of his fool him.

“I don’t know how that would be poss-”

“I want-” Namjoon cuts in, unable to bear another second of this blithering idiot, “her to be the one to interrogate me. And I can trust you understand the rest.”

“Y-yessssir,” he stutters, not completely hearing the words between the lines, and that was clear enough on his face.

“I want her alone, Sooman,” Namjoon repeats himself, if this were one of his men he would never have needed to. “I don’t want a single soul witness to what I’m going to do to her.”

—

Suho tugs you along by the arm, stumbling in his urgent pace, pulling you out of ear shot.

“We have a problem.”

“What problem?”

“I’m technically on health leave, brass says I can’t interrogate him,” he stares a hole into you as if his eyes were telling you the rest but you couldn’t understand.

“Okay so who’s replacing you?”

He huffs out a breath of air from his nose, knowing you weren’t going to like the command from way over his head.

Your heart beats hard in anticipation, why was he looking at you like that?

“As far as Brass are aware you were deep undercover,” Suho informs you slowly, deliberately, looking like he was about to tear your world to trash. He sighs, unable to get the words out.

“Suho what?”

“They want you to interrogate him,” he breathes, you think you’ve misheard him, but you know you haven’t.

Your world spins, you’re already shaking your head.

“I can’t,” you whisper, he knows full well that you can’t. “I resigned, I’m not a detective anymore.”

He sighs again, hesitation in his eyes.

“I never processed it,” he confesses.

“Y-you di-”

“I couldn’t, I knew you would see reason, I knew you would come back,” he doesn’t let you process the shock, explaining himself quickly.

“Suho I can’t I can’t,” you beg, the conviction you had to punish them now suddenly taking a back seat as fear overtakes you, “right now they believe I was deep undercover but he’s not going to let that-“

“Listen to me,” he interrupts you before you can fully submerge into a panic attack, taking your hand in his. “I’m going to be in the next room, as soon as he says anything that compromises you, I’ll turn off the cameras, okay?”

“But-“

You’re interrupted again when the door opens, both of you whipping your heads to see him being transferred by four officers to the interrogation room. His eyes find you, staring stoic holes into you before his gaze finds Suho’s hands comforting yours. The snarl of displeasure is brief but you definitely see it, and you can’t breathe.

Suho draws your attention back to him, tugging your hand softly.

“Do you trust me Y/n?” he implores you, eyes searching yours in a way that made Namjoon want to strangle him with the chains on his handcuffs. You look up at your Captain with such light in your eyes, a way you should never look at another man, and then you have the audacity to nod.

—

You’ve done this a hundred times, if not more. So why were you hesitating at the door? Your hand on the handle, all you had to do was turn it and face the music but you couldn’t even manage finding your breath.

Interrogation was a science, it was like riding a bike, you knew what you had to do, you had to command the room. It almost sounded like a joke, the worst one you’d ever heard. Command a room when Kim Namjoon was in it?

The thought makes you hyperventilate. No, it wasn’t going to be easy but you could control what you could. You borrowed clothes from an old colleague, a skirt and blouse, simple but professional. Suho’s old blazer too, as if layers would protect you. You had splashed water on your face in the bathroom, using makeup from evidence to make yourself look presentable, composed. Your impromptu freshening up had meant you left the syndicate leader waiting for a long time, and it absolutely 100% was not because you were trying to kill time, it was to make him stew in the room, a technique you had used multiple times prev- who were you trying to convince?

You needed to get this over with.

Your face is impassive when you finally open the door, his gaze is on you immediately and you can feel a certain type of guilt and shame try to seep its way into you, but you push it down far enough that you can pretend it’s not there.

“Mr Kim Namjoon,” you greet him stoically.

“Detective L/n,” he returns, playing along with a small smile, as if seeing an old acquaintance after a long time. The way he addressed you shouldn’t cut you, logically it made no sense not when you’re the one that got him in the box, but it did.

You approach the table he’s chained to, looking at the wood instead of his eyes as if he didn’t matter, or at least that’s how you wanted it perceived. Avoiding eye contact with the most dangerous man the whole country had ever come to know, meant you missed the way his stare moved to your clothes, particularly your blazer, recognising it was a man’s, and he could confidently guess exactly who it belonged to. Any friendliness on his face disappeared, he wanted to play games and now he just wanted to torture you a little, punish you for you actions. Patience, he tells himself, that would come later.

The file in your hands slaps the table as you throw it down, taking a seat opposite your boyfriend, a man you now convinced yourself you wanted behind bars.

What do they say about a woman scorned? Namjoon thinks to himself, admiring the fire he could see burning underneath your skin, and though he knew he would feel the burn, he would welcome it. It was no secret that he had a fantasy about you interrogating him, he introduced the role play to the bedroom soon after your return to them but it lacked the flames of heat he could feel today.

“Allow me to formally introduce myself,” you reply. “My name is detective Y/n L/n, I’ve been undercover at your… establishment for the past year and a half.”

“Is that right?” he barely suppressed his amusement but it didn’t phase you. Your professional head was on, this was just another criminal you had to put away, that was it.

You open the file, sliding out photos of him that you had sent in as intel in your early days undercover as well as surveillance photos that Suho had taken since you were MIA.

“Do you know who this man is Mr Kim,” you say, sliding the first of the photos to him.

“Can’t say I do detective,” he shrugs nonchalantly, not even glancing away from you.

“Do you want to try looking at his face first before you answer,” you insisted unimpressed.

He smiles, still staring at you.

“I don’t recognise him,” he repeats himself slowly.

“So this isn’t you in the photo?” You ask.

“I don’t know,” his grin only grows.

“This man, Jackson Wang, is dead, and the last person who saw him alive seems to have been you Mr Kim, at least based on the time stamp on this photo and the time of death from the post mortem.”

“Is that right,” he says again, sounding like a broken record. His eyes swim with admiration for you, you can see it though you can’t understand it at all with the current scene. Why wasn’t he fuming, why wasn’t he demanding an answer or explanation?

“Okay let's cut the crap since I know you’re far too clever for that Mr Kim,” you scoff with a roll of your eyes. “I have gathered evidence of your crimes from the last 18 months, and I will stand in court as a witness against you.”

“Are you allowed to do that little love?” he asks, the name has a pang of panic hit you, but you tell yourself you can explain it away to brass.

“The charges you're facing so far are murder, battery, and grand larceny to name a few,” you state ignoring him, flicking through the photos, throwing each one in front of him. “There are many more to follow.”

“I didn’t know partners could testify against each other,” he mused, smirk still strong on his face.

“I’m not your partner,” you object. “I was undercover.”

“No,” he contends, shaking his head like this was just a game to him. “You can’t fake a love like ours, heaven.”

You almost snort as if his point was ridiculous.

“I don’t think I could ever love someone like you Mr Kim,” your stare was ice cold, that finally wipes the smile off his face.

“You’re angry,” he states as if it was new information for you. “I get that little love, but this is a bit too much, don’t you think?”

“I think justice needs to be served, don't you?” you sneered. “People got hurt, some people died, someone needs to pay.”

“You and I both know they deserved it,” he declares as if there wasn’t a camera recording his confession. “You’re just angry because I stepped on a bug.”

Utter rage brewed like a storm in your chest, and you wanted the downpour to drown him.

“You sound like you’re ready to sign the confession Mr Kim,” you don’t break your stare. “That’s great, saves us a lot of time, thank you.”

You close the file, pushing the chair back to stand.

“I’m not done with you,” he growled.

“But I’m done with you.”

“Y/n sit,” he commands calmly, composing himself. “Throwing a fit isn’t going to fix things.”

“Throwing a fit?” The audacity of this man, you stand there in shock.

“Let’s talk it through,” he says to you as if you were being hysterical.

“Fuck you,” you spit.

“Talk to me Y/n,” he scolded you like you were a child. “Without this bullshit.”

“Fine! You wanna talk about it Namjoon,” you snapped, taking the seat again, throwing the file haphazardly on the desk. “Let’s talk about it.”

The glare you present him with doesn’t make him flinch, it doesn’t phase him. You hope Suho had enough sense to turn the cameras off by now, this would go nowhere.

“You manipulated me, you lied to me, you made me play the fool.”

He didn’t react, not a single muscle on his face moved and it fanned whatever flame explode inside of you like a bomb. This was his true colours underneath the mask of love and adoration he created for you.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore Namjoon I can see right through you,” you state. “And you are never touching me again.”

That made him look at you, really look at you, something shifted in his gaze, a slight smirk as if he was mocking you.

You could cry kick and scream about the injustice he put you through in the name of this fucked up love and he wouldn’t flinch. He would sit there and watch and then the fucker would have the audacity to laugh afterwards. He must’ve laughed at how stupid you were in trusting him when he lied.

“At least if you go to prison, I’ll finally be free,” you whisper like it’s a life line.

He’s still unmoved, sitting there as if you were invisible and it irked the fuck out of you. He was the one who wanted to talk, why the fuck was he silent now?

You wanted him to hurt you wanted him to feel an ounce of what you did in the light of his betrayal. He tore your heart out and you weren’t going to forgive him.

“I must’ve looked so pathetic,” you say in a self deprecating tone, looking at the ceiling as if someone could answer you. “Suho was right.”

That comment makes his blood boil hard enough to show on his face. There it was, the reaction you were waiting for and you took the bait without thinking about what you were trying to catch or what you were trapped with.

“I should’ve trusted him, he’s always had my back and my best interest at heart.”

His jaw clenches, a fist squeezing nothing but air although he probably wished it was the captain's neck.

“Kai and Suho are all I have left,” you goad him, unsure of what exactly it was that you wanted to prove. “And finally I’m back where I belong.”

“If you don’t want a bullet in each of their heads, you need to stop talking love,” he grunts through gritted teeth.

Something inside of you felt vindicated and you realise then what you wanted from him, proof he fucking cared, that you weren’t some pawn or prize in this game of crime. You wanted him to soothe the very cuts he caused, or rip your heart out hard enough that you could bleed him out of your system forever.

“Oh please Namjoon, just admit why you kept me around for so long,” you scoff. “I can only imagine how it felt to have the lead detective on your case in the palm of your hands, like a trophy, a big fuck you to the justice system.”

You laugh sounding a little maniacal.

“You had me, and I fell for all of it.”

“You’re forgetting I didn’t know your true origins at first little love,” his low voice is a warning, he looks at you like he needed to remind you who you belonged to.

“And you’re forgetting I know you,” you bite back. “Any hint of betrayal and you pull the trigger first and ask questions later.”

He stares at you, grimacing.

“And yet here I am, alive.”

“Because I love you,” he says it so casually it throws you off, like it was a fundamental part of his being, like breathing.

“Because you saw an opportunity,” you rationalise.

“Because I could never lose you,” he confesses. “You could rip out my heart, little love and I would still want you, why else would I be here?”

You frown, what did he mean? He was here because you paid an eye for an eye, you betrayed him.

“What’s done is done,” you say as if you were unconcerned. “I will testify against you.”

He leans closer across the table, words for your ears only.

“Do you think you’ll be able to handle seeing Jungkook in prison, love?” Namjoon whispers. “Knowing you put him there? It would kill you.”

The pain his words brought forth only proved them to be true. You did have a soft spot for the youngest, always had. You break eye contact first, looking down at the file and turning back and forth a page as if in contemplation but really to cool your nerves.

Were you really doing this? Sending Yoongi, Jin, Hoseok, Jimin, Tae and Kookie to jail because of an angry outburst? Now your emotions had time to settle after the bomb that exploded when you saw Suho; you weren’t so sure.

“I never thought you could betray us like this,” he says solemnly, continuing to manipulate your guilt, but he forgot about your fire. He could almost see the coals ignite in your eyes, a misstep on his part, one he realised when a snarl forms on your lips.

“You. Lied.” You state ferociously. “I asked you if you hurt him and you lied to me.”

“So you decided to have us all arrested,” he continues, “for a man you stated you didn’t care about like that.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you seethe, unable to sit with him any longer, pacing the room before you raised a finger to his face. “You played me like a fool Namjoon, and I refuse to play the part anymore.”

“I wanted him dead, little love,” he states in a low voice through gritted teeth. “Do you understand what a mercy-”

“I asked you not to hurt him!”

“Then you underestimated our wrath!” he retorted. “I couldn’t let him go in one piece, and you didn’t need to know.”

“No. You underestimated MY wrath Kim Namjoon!” You burst, slamming the desk with your hand, the sting burning, your face heating more and more with rage as it concealed your heartache. “I am not some docile doll for you to play with, and manipulate and LIE TO! You took my love for granted when it was a damn fucking privilege.”

Your chest heaves with each breath, he stayed composed while you looked like a wild animal finally let out of her cage.

“You think this obsession is love,” your voice broke at the last word, the floods of heartbreak dampening the fires. “And I did too, but it’s fucked up everything.”

His silence was eating you alive, his face giving nothing of his heart away while yours laid bare out between you.

“You know what I’m done,” you breathe, “have fun rotting in jail Namjoon.”

Tears drop out of the corner of your eyes as you walk away, his piercing gaze doing nothing to deter you. He might’ve had power over you once but that was before he betrayed you. You reach for the door handle, tugging, ready to leave him behind until his trial, but the door doesn’t budge. You still, mind blank for a second before panic overwhelms you. You try again with all your might, pulling as hard as you can over and over before releasing your grip with a harsh breath. You take a gulp, calming yourself, he planned this.

You’re not surprised when you hear the sound of the handcuffs undo or the chains hit the floor. Fucking bastard. An alarm started blaring in the building, loud and overwhelming, but it came too late. Red lights flash, the room glowing as if warning you about the oncoming danger.

“Are we done with your outburst little love,” he says coldly, like your grievances were nothing more than a tantrum.

You turn to face him slowly, more tears dropping without a sound, shaking your head at the way his words cut you down to nothing.

When he stands from the seat your heart gallops with fear and panic. Although it’s helpless you turn back to the door, trying with all your might to open it and escape him. The fire alarm blaring does nothing to ease you, you hang onto the door as you feel him approach, tears falling out of your eyes without control.

Fuck, you were stuck here with the man you sent to jail, you were left to his mercy. His presence looms over you, you can feel him a hair's width behind you, not touching you, not really, but he’s so close it’s overwhelming.

It’s when you feel his breath you freeze, your body shutting down with dread. He presses his cheek to your hair, inhaling you softly. The action makes you jolt away, turning to the side but he grabs your wrist tightly. You don’t look at him, you stare into the two way mirror, your cheeks pathetically wet. You were supposed to hold the power in this room, but you could feel it dwindle away to nothing but smoke.

You’re slammed against the door hard, a whimper escaping your lips as your eyes scrunched in pain. You miss the flash of guilt in his eyes, realising he pushed you too hard. An apology on his lips but the glare when your eyes open stops him. He’s seen anger in your eyes before, hate even, for he knew love didn’t come without it. But fear? Never of him, not even in the days when you were undercover and your life was one unveiled secret away from ending.

“Get away from me,” you seethe, meaning every word, even when you saw the hurt in his eyes.

Regret, Kim Namjoon never knew the feeling before, but he knew he never wanted you to look at him the way you were. He needed to keep his calm, one wrong push and you would tear him out of your own heart.

Your eyes fly all over the room, trying to piece together a way to gain some distance. Suho… maybe he was still behind the glass. You tug your wrist as hard as you can, taking steps away from him but his hold is relentless. The blare of the alarm stops ringing but the flashing red lights remain, staining the walls like blood pumping.

“Little lo-“ he starts to say with a sigh, he was being patient but there was only so much time left.

“Suho?” You call desperately trying to look through the glass. You know you’ve made a mistake before you even said his name but fear drives people to do stupid things without thinking.

The most notorious criminal in all of Seoul pulls you back against his chest hard. An arm wraps around your waist, the unforgiving grip on your wrist turning lethal. He rests his chin on your shoulder, staring at you through the mirror. The hairs on your skin stood on end at the frightening change in his eyes, danger rolled off of him and you had no choice but to take every wave.

“Do you think he’s there, love?” The corner of his lip lifts in a smirk that makes you think of a snake, the saccharine tone of his voice hypnotising. “Do you think he’s watching us?”

The palm on your hip moves down to your thigh, he squeezes the flesh. You could feel your heart jumping in your throat.

“Should we give him something to watch?” He murmurs seductively, turning his head to bring his lips so close to your neck. The bruising clutch on your wrist is gone only to find its way to your hair, yanking it back to give himself better access.

Your eyes in the mirror are begging but the inner turmoil from his touch is making you question what exactly you’re asking for. Reason tells you it’s for Suho to save you, to grant you escape, but the way you feel a familiar heat swim to your core has you doubting yourself.

“If he was in there,” he whispers, his lips now on your ear, “don’t you think he’d come in here and try to take you from me, love?”

He chuckles to himself, a joke only he can understand.

“Fuck I’d love to see him try.”

His groan has you aching, your body relapsing to what it knows, anticipating the pleasure and pain only they could provide.

“I’m not mad at you for having us arrested, heaven,” he whispers in your ear, gaze softening for a second in the mirror lulling you into a sense of security you couldn’t tell if it was a trap. “In fact I’m a little in awe, a little proud.”

The smirk he gives you seems genuine.

“We deserved it I know,” reassurance fills his voice, he wants you to hear his sincerity. “What I’m mad about, little love…”

The softness is gone, eyes turn piercing, the proverbial snake about to strike.

“Is the fact you let another man touch what’s mine.”

The guttural rumble of his possessive claim sent waves of need down to your cunt, you could feel it pulsing.

“I’m mine,” you return meekly, trying to find your resolve, but it sounded like a whine.

“Make no mistake Y/n, you’re always going to be mine.”

You didn’t have it in you to argue, not when he sent your eyes rolling back and a shiver down your spine. Fuck he hadn’t even touched you yet, maybe it was true, maybe a part of you would always belong to them, but that didn’t mean all if you did.

“Look at me,” he commands, his breath hitting your neck.

Your blown out eyes meet him in the mirror, that predatory but protective gaze piercing through you. He hums in approval the deep vibration fucking with your senses, making you hazy.

You both hold eye contact even when you can see the fingers on your thigh stroke soothing circles up your skin. Your lips part with a harsh breath when they rub your mound through the fabric of your panties, the touch light and testing and not nearly enough.

“You’re fucking soaking wet baby,” he calls you out with a grin.

You grab his wrist when his fingers cup your heat, his thumb soothing circles on your clit. You press against him, the warmth of his chest enveloping your back. You both fit so well together, you were forgetting why exactly you were so angry at him, but simmers of it still remained even through his touch.

“You know,” he says, opening your leg with his knee to give him more access, “a lot of couples fuck through their problems, should we try?”

He hides his grin, burying his head in you but you can feel it against your skin, the arrogant asshole.

“You can go and fuck yourself,” you sassed back, lying to yourself that you could be fine if he stopped now, that it wouldn’t leave you a needy mess.

“But I’d rather fuck you,” he chuckles, breathing you in, savouring the moment while his fingers slide the fabric aside.

You choke back a moan at the contact of his skin right where you wanted him, the way he spread your wetness until every inch of you was covered in it.

“You can pretend to regret our relationship all you want, but this,” he emphasises his point by slapping your cunt hard, making you gasp, “still wants me.”

“It wants to get fucked,” you spitefully remark through gritted teeth, “doesn’t have to be you.”

That makes him pause, and you have to bite back the words of displeasure.

“You’ll pay for that next time love,” he murmurs dangerously.

“There won’t be a next time,” you try to ridicule him through a laugh but his fingers circle your entrance.

“You’re lying,” he hums, “next time, I think we should tie you down, make you watch other women touch us in ways only you’re allowed to.”

You bury the fury that ruptures at the image, clenching your jaw to keep from swearing at him and proving the point he was trying to make.

“Maybe then you’d have a semblance of understanding of what you did- the torture you put us through.”

“I wouldn’t care,” you breathe, squirming against his fingers, he needed to shut up and move.

“Liar,” he chuckles knowingly, seeing right through you. Before you, there were many females in his organisation, until his little love demanded he get rid of them all. The memory stretches his grin wider.

“Why the fuck was it me?” You whisper, your eyes starting to water at the vulnerability of your tone, remembering the same moment he was. “When I went undercover there were so many beautiful women-“

“They’re not you, little love, don’t for a second compare yourself to them,” he kisses your temple softly in reassurance. His face is in your hair, his hand on your throat as you preen to his touch. “You were sweet and addicting with a fire you were trying so desperately to contain.”

He thrusts two fingers in gently, watching your face contort in want in the mirror, smiling at the way your eyes rolled back. You whimper when he squeezes his grip on your neck.

“To think that passion we saw in your eyes was hatred at first,” he smiles as if amused, watching every little reaction you gave him, every proof of love.

“I did,” you confess, pressing your ass against his hard length and making him groan, “I hated you.”

“You were sent to destroy us, love, but instead you reached into our souls and thought there was something worth saving,” he chuckled, nuzzling into you softly as if he wasn’t knuckle deep inside of you, feeling every part he knew so well. “And save us you did, it was so dark before you our little light, how could we ever let you leave?”

“You’re fucking with my head,” you whimper, head falling back to his chest, it rumbles when he laughs.

“Hmmm? I’m definitely fucking your brains out today Y/n,” he promises with a chuckle, kissing your temple again, but emphasising his point when he scissors his fingers reading you for his cock. “If that’s what you mean.”

This was your fault, you knew what you were getting into when you fell for them. You especially knew Namjoon was the worst of them all. You let his soft side brush away his true nature, and while you never forgot his ruthless persona, you put it to the back of your mind. You foolishly thought you had tamed his cunning cold cruel-

“Oh fuck,” whatever train of thought you had died, the palm of his hand rubbing your clit, stimulating your already aching cunt to the edge. Your parted lips open wider to release a silent scream, his fingers stroking so deep.

You were so close, you could taste it, unable to control the delirious sounds escaping you. So when he stops and slips his fingers away from you, you have to stop yourself screaming in protest.

“Up against the mirror Y/n,” he commands gruffly, but you don’t move, you were so fucking close. Fuck him, fucking asshole, you were so fucking close.

He picks you up with ease, pushing you against the wall so your breath fogs the surface. You hear the zip pull down, your forehead falls forward, your core pulsing in anticipation. He grabs your leg, opening you for him, the head of his cock sliding across your folds until you're whining.

“Stop squirming love,” he warns, but you don’t listen, of course you don’t, so he makes you listen.

The sound you release when he slaps your clit with his hard dick over and over has him questioning his restraint, fuck he wants to just pound into you but you needed to be taught a fucking lesson.

“Joonie sensitive,” you whine, but he’s relentless, making you cry out over and over. Fuck you could actually maybe cum like this.

His self control wavers, his jaw clenched with such a force he thinks it’ll shatter. He couldn’t take it anymore, the swell of his head finds your entrance. Inch by inch, he relishes the feeling of your walls hugging him so fucking tight, the pulse of them pulling him in. He leans over you, trying to regain composure but you feel so good he doesn’t want to move, he wants to stay like this forever, inside of you where he belongs.

You try to push back into him, but he grabs your waist with one hand to keep you still, grinding his hips against you and he knows it’s not enough.

“Look at you arching your back little love,” he smirks, “Your body knows where you belong, it’s a shame you tried to take it away from me.”

Your hands ball into fists on the mirror, you can’t even look at yourself right now, you can’t stop writhing on the surface, trying so hard to get him to move. You squeeze him hard, making his head fall against you with a grunt.

“Behave little love,” he warns, “or I’ll show your colleagues just how well you can take me.”

“Make me,” you dare him even though it comes out as a mumble.

You were dizzy and disorientated and all you wanted was for him to fucking move. He pushes you against the wall hard, every inch of him covering you so you couldn’t budge. You whine, the cold of the hard surface making you seek his warm body, you slot against him like a damn puzzle piece. He was hell bent on torturing you today, as if you hadn’t suffered enough.

“Joonie move,” you almost sound like a brat, trying to order him around.

“I’ll move when I’m ready,” he growls animalistically, barely holding himself back, but he needed to savour this.

You do everything you can to break his control, writhing against him like a bitch in heat. He swallows hard when you clench again. He spanks your ass hard in return, the air gets thicker, you find it harder to breathe. You keep still, the sting of your ass satisfying your craving for a moment, but not for long.

He picks up your skirt, watching himself inside you, watching the beautiful mess you were making. So wet, so perfect, how did you ever think for a second he would ever let this go? The sight is too much, he releases a restrained groan, done with holding himself back.

His hand grips your cheeks, turning your mouth to his, forcing his tongue down your throat as he finally pulls out only to push back in impossibly deeper. You took every punishing thrust, his presence surrounding you everywhere, even in front of you where his reflection painted the surface. He smothered you with his existence, the heat of him scolding, but you liked it, you craved it.

“Do you think your ‘friend’ understands who you fucking belong to now detective L/n?” He chuckles deeply watching your fucked out face in the mirror.

He uses his grip under your knee to turn you towards the camera in the corner of the room.

“Think they can all see little love?” He pants. “How well you fucking take it? How good you are for me?”

You shake your head in protest but it feels too good. Your head falls back on him without the mirror to lean against. His fingers find your clit, his sole purpose to make you lose yourself to him.

“Fuck look at you shaking baby,” he groans, feeling you pulse around him, drawing closer to the edge. “Your poor pussy just needs to come huh?”

You can hear the smirk in his tone, fucking self satisfied prick.

“Not as badly as you need it,” you taunt back, feeling your defiance flare despite how your body was begging you to behave..

“Fuck you might be right,” he groans, going harder, faster. “I’m always going to need it.”

His confession takes you over, the words pushing you so hard you come apart violently, thrashing against him as you unravel, but he holds you tight. He doesn’t let you fall. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think, all you could feel was him and the burst of pleasure that carried on wave after wave, and you never wanted it to stop.

“This is mine,” he grunts as he comes undone inside of you, fucking his cum deeper until it got through to your soul.

He was a part of you, and you could try to deny it now with his mistakes on the table, but he was so embedded in the fabric of you he couldn’t see where he began and where you ended. His entire existence was for you, it was only fair your cunt, body and soul belonged to him. Maybe the others too, as an afterthought, but you were his first.

He feels the mess slide out of you as he leaves your warmth, turning you softly so you could lean against him as you catch your breath. He holds you tight, arn arm around your middle like the steel of a bar. He has every intention of letting you recover but the way you look up at him with those glossy eyes confirms the fact he will never be satiated, he will always want more of you even if there was nothing left to give.

“Our little love,” he breathes in your face, stealing a hard kiss, “our little downfall.”

His mouth held you prisoner again and again, humming pleasantly as you let him devour you in so many ways. His kiss was bruising, hungry, overindulging.

Your eyes search his as he parts reluctantly, your mind still hazy, the bliss of sex still circulating your body.

“Why did you lie to me?” You whisper breathlessly against his lips as you come down, and he can hear the vulnerability in your tone, it makes a guilt spread across his chest that feels almost alien. The way you could make him ache like no one else, he should cast you aside for introducing a weakness in him but he wouldn’t even dream of it.

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he confesses sincerely. “I didn’t want you to hate me.”

“I asked you not to hurt him,” your eyes tear up again, and he curses himself and the existence of Kim Suho.

“I know.”

“But you did it anyway,” you continue, “and then you had the gall to lie to my face.”

You wipe away the tears that fall harshly, your mind clearing. You push him away and fix yourself up, knowing from the glances in the mirror you were a mess.

“You always own up to your actions, right or wrong, you never hide them,” you laugh and you think you must sound psychotic. “The Kim Namjoon… I remember the days you would drop dead bodies in front of me without remorse, without ever feeling the need to explain yourself.”

“I was testing you then,” he grunts, remembering those days well. “I needed to know you had the stomach to be with us.”

“I hated you so much,” you confess, swallowing down a sob. “And for the first time since I fell in love with you Joonie, I can feel that hate grow again.”

His jaw clenches, his fist too. He could feel a threat on the tip of his lips, one where the Captain's head would end up on a plate in front of you for dinner but he holds himself back.

“You don’t mean that,” he says between gritted teeth.

“I had you fucking arrested Namjoon,” you argue back fiercely. “Don't tell me what I mean or don’t mean.”

“You also fucked me after the fact,” he states and the harsh words slap you hard. You did. You let him defile you here only moments ago.

“Old habits die hard.”

“Not with me love,” he dismisses the thought. “Not as long as I’m alive.”

“We’ll see,” you challenge, feeling that earlier conviction rise.

“Understand something Y/n,” he says seriously, his face solemn and hard in a way you had witnessed rarely. This was Kim Namjoon with something to lose. “You can run, you can fight, you can hate me if you need to, but there isn’t a life worth living for us without you in it.”

He takes his seat back in the interrogation chair, putting his handcuffs back on with ease, all while keeping his eye contact with you.

“You want me here, you want to punish me,” he continues, “fine, this where I’ll stay until you’re appeased, until you forgive me.”

“I won’t,” you deny, shaking your head.

“You will.”

#bts au #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts angst #bts smut #bts mafia imagine #bts mafia!au #bts mafia series #bts yandere!au #yandere bts #bts yandere #bts ot7 au #bts ot7 x reader #namjoon mafia au #namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon angst

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starry-fame · 5 months ago

Text

18+ Overboard [Caleb x Gender Neutral!reader/MC]

Summary:

“You planning on going back to bed soon? Or what?”

You chew on your lip, trying to gauge the meaning in his words. You pull up nothing, so you decide to just answer honestly. “…Not really.”

“Alright then, keep me company.” Caleb swings around to face the foyer, casting a long glance over his shoulder. “I’ve always been more of a night owl anyway.”

The liar. Caleb’s always been able to get up at the crack of dawn since he was a teen. It’s such an obvious fib, but he says it anyway, shamelessly directing you to his room.

Like a moth to a flame, you follow.

Tags: Smut, Pining, Confessions, Porn with feelings, Dom/Sub Undertones, Overstimulation, Body Worship, Penetration, Rough Sex, Begging Ambiguous Genitalia!reader/MC, Gender neutral!reader/MC

Word Count: 11,734

Author's Notes: I posted this a while ago on ao3 and wanted to try tumblr as well! I can also post silly MC stuff and character edits haha. Anyway, I hope Caleb lovers enjoy! Also, certain parts technically aren't canon as of A World Underneath release, but that's okay :')

Ao3 Check out Linkon Lounge, an 18+ Lads Themed Otome Discord Server! We stream otome/anime/movies, have lads boys rp/text bots (+Caleb ofc), and chill!

Masterlist

Sequel - Caleb Loves to Bully You in Bed

It burns.

The air’s filled with plumes of smoke, darkened to an ugly red clouded in ash. It waters your eyes and fills your lungs with soot, wracking you with dry coughs that destroy your throat. It’s hot — so hot — your body feels heavy. You’re crawling — you think? But the ground seems to slide beneath you, and your palms scrape against the concrete, bloodied.

Though your ears ring a terrible, destitute tune and your chest cries in agony — the only thing your mind screams is to get away. Run. Crawl. Slide. Drag your useless limbs and get away. You have to run; stand up and run but your body just lays there.

It’s coming. You can’t get away — you’ll die. You don’t want to die. Shelter’s right there. So close — so close. You drag past a mangled, severed arm, and instantly retch. But you keep moving. So near. Right there. But the sound of inhuman dragging grates your ears behind you and—

Your eyes shoot open, body doused in a sheen of sweat and heart ready to burst. The sheets feel far too sticky and clammy under your fingers and you’re quick to peel them off — rid yourself of anything that makes you feel hot. Confined.

One breath, two, three… it takes a moment to gather your bearings. You’re not freshly seven drowning in a sea of pain and desperate tears. You’re in your childhood home, resting on your sheets and surrounded by memories of the past.

Seems that no matter how much time passes, your dreams will always find a way to torment you as though you lived them yesterday.

What a mood-killer. You’re finally in your old home after an extended absence, and all your mind can do is taunt you by conjuring up your darkest memories.

The room’s bathed in darkness — a glance at your watch shows it’s late in the middle of the night. Not exactly time to rise, but you’re not so trusting of your dreams either. The sweat that dampens your brows and the front of your shirt feels disgusting, so you fan yourself mindlessly. You have to do something, be anywhere but here.

You’re quick to stand, stumbling a little from the sudden shift in gravity. Your eyes are still bleary, crusted, and you rub at them as you trudge out your room.

The house is dead silent, which only makes the sound of your footsteps more apparent, has you silently wincing at every step. Still, you do your best to move quiet as you can to the fridge. Grab yourself a water and chug about half of it in one gulp, cooling your clammy skin and ridding that feeling of scalding — of hot ash coating your throat. You enjoy the crinkle of the cool bottle in your grasp, how the mundane, predictable noise reminds you of reality and the now.

The incessant buzz of crickets in the distance is almost calming. The house is otherwise tranquil and calm. Peace and — you hear a quiet thump. Okay, not as quiet as you thought. Setting the bottle down, you slowly turn toward the noise, reminding your quickening pulse that unless your hunter’s watch is buzzing with a warning, there’s no imminent danger.

A few footsteps and… a tall figure emerges from the doorway, bending so he can properly fit through. Though he’s doused in shadow and you can only make out the slight glimmer of his two-toned irises, his name naturally falls from your lips.

“Caleb…”

“Thought I heard someone sneaking around in here. Why am I not surprised?” He languidly strides across the moonlit room, pausing to gently ruffle your hair like its tradition; he’s been doing it for so long, it might as well be. Even when you two were little and you had a bit of height on him (he’d prop up on his tip toes to pat your head — it was pretty adorable, in hindsight.) So you can’t bring yourself to swat his hand away as he goes for the fridge to grab a drink of his own.

Instead of drinking, though, Caleb pauses and scrutinizes the water, like it did a personal wrong to him. Before you get the chance to probe his mind, he presses the chilled bottle against your forehead. The cold makes you flinch on instinct and shoot a quick glare at him.

“What was that for?”

“Wake up call. Did you get thirsty in the middle of the night? Or you just can’t sleep?” He raises a brow, wearing a grin coated with worry as he takes a drink. Caleb’s always been terribly perceptive, he seemed to just know when you were having a terrible day or if something was amiss. Whether it was the years you’ve spent in each other’s company or Caleb’s innate sensitivity to human emotion, you have no clue. A mix of both, maybe.

Like always, he watches. You look away.

“Thirsty.”

“Uh huh. And I guess all that thirst’s what made your eyes red. You’re looking a little hot there too. Should I crank up the A/C?” Caleb raises a brow, and you wonder why he even bothers asking when he comes to his own conclusions. He should hardly be able to tell these things in the dark — does he just know? Or are the faint streaks of moonlight through the window just enough to tell him everything he needs?

“It’s not a bad thing to admit when you’re having nightmares, y’know. I mean, when you were a kid, you’d come knocking on my door in near tears and—“

“I get it, Caleb. I don’t need the whole rundown.” You snap, fighting the immediate embarrassment that wells up at your vulnerability and dependence as a child. For how strong you like to deem yourself now, it’s not like that was always the case. You were an easily frightened kid, especially jumpy after the attack. You clung to everyone and everything around you because you lost everything you held dear once before.

“And for the record,” you add, “it was a two way street. I can name a few times you came to my room saying you just wanted to talk. You look like you’d been crying for the past hour.” Right. Seeking solace in one another because you were confused kids who had their lives flipped upside down in a single afternoon.

You and Caleb were friends before the tragedy, neighbors who played together a few times at most. Not best friends, but he was the nice kid down the block you enjoyed spending time with.

When you found Caleb during the Catastrophe, you remember like it was only days ago. Crawling frantically, trying not to collapse from the pain that engulfed your being enough to make your vision swirl. In the makeshift shelter, you saw a few injured adults — some minimal, some fatal, and even fewer children crying tended to by lesser wounded adults. You could barely sit up. Someone tried to offer assistance, you think, but then a kid your size rushed beside you and knelt down, asking if you were okay.

Your ears were ringing and you could barely get a noise out, but you could tilt your head up and see those raven eyes with a hint of amber, full of absolute terror. You whispered his name so hoarse — “Caleb…” and like the turning of a faucet, an ugly mesh of tears and mucus immediately began streaming down your face. The smell of red — death, the sights, your bloodied hands, aching body, screaming heart, all honed in at once. All you could do was sob while Caleb knelt down beside you and cradled your head, tears prickling his eyes. It didn’t take long for you two to break down in one another’s arms.

From then on, you couldn’t help but stick to Caleb like glue. Caleb was the only person you had connected to your old life — the only remaining stability when everything else crumbled to dust. When you were bundled in your room and didn’t even want to talk to Grandma because she was some strange adult whom you now lived with — Caleb would sit in with you. He’d remain as long as he had to, validate every last awful thought you had in your frustrations and soothe you with sweet caresses and gentle words. As embarrassing as it is to recall, as a child, he was your lifeline. Caleb’s the reason you didn’t run away in a frenzy when everything was too much and you felt like you just needed to be away and gone. He’s the reason you were able to eventually adapt to your new lifestyle and warm up to Grandma over time. It’s ridiculous, really, how much Caleb meant and was able to do for you by just existing as himself. Caleb could sit in your room minding his business, and his presence alone was enough to soothe your tired limbs and mind from punching your pillows and recalling every terrible thing that happened that fated day.

He was always there for you, one way or another. It’s just the way it’s always been.

It’d be nice if you had something of an effect like that on him, too.

“Right. Because sometimes a little chat is all you need when you’re not doing so hot,” Caleb says, leaning on the counter and gesturing his bottle to you. Yeah, just like him alright, to flip it around on you even when you try to call him out. Makes it feel like every conversation with him is a losing battle, like he always has the upper hand because he knows just the right thing to say and how to say it.

“Alright, alright. Yeah, I had a nightmare. Happy?” You sigh, resigned at this point. You can’t even really be angry when Caleb’s been nothing but reasonable from the start, speaks out of pure care and concern. Rather, perhaps it’s the fact that he’s always reasonable you tend to get irate.

“‘Course not. It’s not like I like hearing you still get them. But it’s nice to have someone to talk to instead of keeping it all to yourself, right?” His eyes crinkle so sweetly, non-judgmental. It’s that look that always breaks you, forces you to spill anything and everything he can pull from you. He never takes advantage, just offers support, so you fall into his trap every time.

“It’s not like I’m a kid anymore. I can’t just run to you every time I have a bad dream,” you still utter. It’s weak at best, but you can’t toss all your issues onto Caleb like you did as a child. He lost everything that day too, and he still took the time to comfort and spoil you every single time you sought him out (or he came to you), no matter the day or hour. How many of those times did he cry himself, but choke back the tears just so he could attend to you?

“I didn’t say all that. But it’s not gonna kill you to quit bottling up your emotions, y’know.” The amber in Caleb’s eyes seem to flash, and yours flicker down in turn. Sometimes it feels like he still sees the same seven-year-old you once were, pitiful and dependent.

“I… know that. It’s just….”

A heavy breath leaves Caleb’s nose. He closes his eyes, sits on his words, and opens them with a twinkle of clarity.

“You gonna fall back asleep soon?”

You blink. “Huh?” Caleb doubles down.

“You planning on going back to bed soon? Or what?”

You chew on your lip, trying to gauge the meaning in his words. You pull up nothing, so you decide to just answer honestly. “…Not really.”

“Alright then, keep me company.” Caleb swings around to face the foyer, casting a long glance over his shoulder. “I’ve always been more of a night owl anyway.”

The liar. Caleb’s always been able to get up at the crack of dawn since he was a teen. It’s such an obvious fib, but he says it anyway, shamelessly directing you to his room.

You’ll let him have this one though; swallow your complaints and choose his method. You dip your head and follow him to his room, still decorated with posters of My Life as a Hunter and old-school shooter games he raved over as a kid. Though he grew a passion for piloting after a period, he still had an interest in Hunter shows as an early teen, posters and figures scattered about his room proof as such. You think they existed in attempt to ease the public into the idea of Hunters, hell, even to coerce a few impressionable people in the process. A small part of you always wanted a way to reign in control of your life, to be someone who can do the saving, not sit in tears and wait to be saved. The show just increased your resolve, if anything. Though, you remember a short period where Caleb tried to convince you otherwise.

Eventually, you think he understood well enough to quietly show his support, if only because you weren’t backing down. And it tickles the nose a little, knowing you’re now something he admired with sparkling eyes as a kid.

Like always, he sits on his bed, and you take a spot in the swivel chair at his desk, idly spinning back and fourth. There’s a dim, pale night light to give the room a low glow. It’s easy on the eyes and you can still comfortably make out the ridges of Caleb’s face, his indiscernible expression when he settles and just seems to think.

“…Feels like we haven’t done this in forever,” You murmur, eyes trailing around each and every corner. You well with nostalgia, so much it makes your heart ache, bittersweet.

“Yeah, guess we didn’t get much time once I left. Not soon after you were off getting your Hunter’s license, so we were both pretty busy,” Caleb responds, and you wonder if he feels the same way you do. A tinge of sadness, but serenity at the familiar scene. Getting to sit in one another’s company like you always would in the past.

“Getting used to you not always being around was…” It feels embarrassing to just admit how much you missed him, how empty the house felt without his lively presence. “Hard. Harder than I expected, anyway.”

“It was weird not waking up to Gran’s cooking or your demands, that’s for sure.”

“Demands?”

“Don’t take it the wrong way. You always act so proper around other people, but not with me and Gran. Everyone needs a place to loosen up, someone you can just be yourself around. And a little selfish.” Caleb’s laugh makes your cheeks warm, though your ears seem to love it. It fills you with various memories and you realize man, you really missed Caleb. When you talk, it’s like you two were never separated. But it’s times like these the feeling of truly getting to see him every day, just be with him, swells in your heart. You sigh, grasp your nightshirt, and peer at Caleb through your lashes because you fear how telling your expression is.

“Then… is it the same for you? Or was it easier to loosen up around your friends?” You ask nonchalantly, as though the question wasn’t gnawing at you from the inside out. Did Caleb feel at home, or like he had to put on a show and be the ‘strong one’, only able to let loose when he’s around peers and not biting off more than he can chew?

“Mmm…” You hear a low hum, and fingers ghost over your forehead, gone before you can even get a noise out. Caleb watches you intently, enough to make you break his gaze first. He looks pleased.

“It’s different with other friends, sure. Because you’re not them, and they’re not you. There’s ways I can relax with them, and reasons I can relax here,” he answers. His gaze feels loaded, and you vaguely wonder if there’s more to that answer with how his eyes bore into you. But you bite your tongue and decide to let the question go unsaid.

“I see.”

Caleb’s gaze persists. It’s gentle, not demanding of anything, or even expectant. But for some reason, it makes you want to turn away so you don’t have to be subject to it.

“I did miss home y’know, pipsqueak.” You wonder if that’s what Caleb was watching for, trying to see if you were silently doubtful. You bite your lip and decide to just let the words spill out before your pride makes you swallow them whole.

“I missed you.”

Caleb’s eyelids widen almost imperceptibly, but you still catch it. He blinks, and they relax with this look that feels fond, but also seems to carry another aspect you can’t decipher with so little light.

The sound of crickets buzz in the distance. The extended silence makes your grip tighten on the arm rest.

“This necklace is nice, y’know. Whenever anyone asks, I get to bring you up. They probably get sick of it after a while,” Caleb murmurs, and he lifts the silver chain you placed around his neck, ruby glimmering in the light. Knowing he kept it, the way he so proudly handles the chain, makes you feel fuzzy.

“You tell other people about me?”

“So much they could probably write an essay. How you’d cling to me as a kid, when we’d hang out together, how, for a short while, we were all the other had.” Caleb squeezes the chain and lets it dangle against his tee, expression gentle, and part of you wishes you had a chain too. Something to remind you of Caleb, an excuse to think or talk about him. To rub between your fingers and recall a time you were both in a fit of laughter, young, happy and free.

“I relied on you a lot. More than you deserved, especially as a kid. …Sorry.”

“Seriously?” Caleb gapes, and a snort leaves his mouth. “Never thought I’d hear that. But you don’t have to—no. I don’t want you to apologize. It was nice. Part of me kinda misses it. I mean I get it, you can handle your own. It’s not like you need me looking after you anymore, but… I liked it. And nowadays, I can’t help wanting to at least support you,” Caleb shrugs, like those words don’t penetrate your core and settle deep in your chest, breath hitching. A million responses swim through your mind, none of them breaking the surface.

“Oh, uh…” It’s… embarrassing, hearing that blatantly said aloud.

“And, to be perfectly clear, I missed you too,” he adds. Your throat bobs. You enjoy hearing those words from his mouth, the way he says them so easily with a hint of affection. While it’s enough to make your body feel flush with embarrassment, it’s nice he’s never too stubborn to show his care. If anything, you’re far more stubborn in admitting your feelings. Perhaps that’s why you told yourself to just say it, not let the pride win and be honest every once in a while.

“It… sucks. I only get to see you for a few days at most and poof, you’re gone,” you gesture along with your words, hastily getting them out while you still have the weak confidence to. “Your cooking, waking up to you everyday, when you get me little snacks just because…” Your legs swing back and fourth, antsy, but your heart feels lighter when you can freely speak your mind, say all the things you were too prideful to say as a kid.

Caleb listens silently with solicitous eyes. His mouth parts, closes again, and he seems to swallow. You time the kick of your legs, so you don’t start kicking them faster while you’re left on the waiting end, mute until Caleb responds.

“It’s pretty dull not having your own personal 5-star chef, huh?” He finally says, with a grin, and you softly deflate. Your legs slow to a stop, and your heart feels heavy again.

“Yeah… I… I guess—“

“No,” Caleb hisses under his breath. You think it’s to himself. But he leans forward on his duvet and reaches up, brushing his fingers over the jut of your eyebrows so light you can barely feel the touch. Your eyes shut reflectively, and his hand eases to your cheek, knuckles gently sliding down. You peek an eye at the sudden touch, trying to not make your mild startle too known. He’s the type to stroke your head or push you away in jest. This brand of touch is new. Foreign.

Your lips tremble and Caleb’s eyes flicker down to them.

“I’d do all those things every day, if I could. Listen to you get ridiculously excited about those rare kitty cards, see you when I get home from work; when you get home from work…” His knuckles trail down to your chin, dangerously close to your lips.

You inhale slowly, and try not to show your panic when your heart begins to beat an erratic rhythm. This is the first time Caleb’s ever made your heart race — like this anyway, and a flurry of thoughts and emotions you never dared consider all invade you at once. If you were standing, you’d stumble on the spot.

“I miss seeing your mug, what can I say?” Caleb laughs, gives your face two playful pats, and retracts his fingers. You withhold the urge to chase them, press his palm against your cheek. Instead, you bite the inside of your cheek to curb the desire.

They’re nothing but strange thoughts in the heat of the moment, a little too drawn in by the touch of his fingers after not seeing him for so long. Equating nostalgia with attraction is not a good look, and you know to smother it in its wisps before it engulfs into a bed of flames.

“When — when we were kids it was kind of like this,” you begin, trying to even out the tremor in your voice. “We weren’t telling each other we missed one another, of course. But I’d sit in this chair. And you’d wipe my tears when I was sad. No matter how long it took.” You say, and you know you’re just making conversation to push your mind away from uncouth thoughts. With luck, Caleb won’t pick up on a thing.

“Yeah, you were a bit of a crybaby. Always barging in, no matter the time, just to have someone to cry to. It was pretty cute, though.” Caleb stands slowly, already no more than a foot in front of you, and he bends down to rest one hand on the armrest while the other palm holds your cheek, thumb swiping under your eye. “Just like this.”

This… feels dangerous. The part of you that automatically reacts to his teasing wants to glare and push his hand away, scoffing and spouting some retort. That’s how you should respond, how he expects you to.

This new, faint part of you wants to close your eyes and lean your cheek into his palm, turn your head so your lips rest on his fingertips. You do neither, and just peer up at him through your lashes, too scared to tilt your head up and have your face reveal every dirty thought racing through your brain.

“It was cute when you’d come to me, too. You’d sit next to me, trying to act all strong. Then I’d pat your shoulder and you’d go ‘I’m not crying’ while you kept wiping your eyes. Couldn’t fool a baby. But it made me happy. That you came to me,” You speak, and reach up to Caleb’s shoulder, giving it a few soft pats. “Just like this.”

Caleb’s fingers dig into the armrest though his face remains moderately amused. He tilts his head, murmurs a “Guess we were both the type to tear up,” with a cryptic smile, and moves to pull his hand away.

Subconsciously, against any rational thought, you chase after him and hold tight to his shoulder, other hand keeping Caleb’s palm firmly in place.

He blinks once, twice. The moment is palpable. You know you can’t explain yourself out of this, but your gut instinct just doesn’t care. It craves to stay in Caleb’s proximity, to keep him by you. Like he’d melt away if you let go, and the moment would be lost to eternity.

“Pipsqueak?” He murmurs, rubbing a curious thumb across your cheek and it’s all you can really take. You feel the way Caleb tenses up when you bury your nose in his palm, when you shakily inhale and just settle into its warmth. You think you’re trembling a little, and fear eats at your racing heart. Fear of shattering the relationship you have — pushing beyond the bounds of your preconceived ‘normal’. This isn’t what you and Caleb are. Caleb calls you an infuriatingly affectionate nickname when he checks up on you. You and Caleb bicker about mindless things and easily make up in a few hours because Caleb always gives in. You and Caleb were friends since you were children, kids who played together, teens who begrudgingly got along, and adults who were still close and made efforts to visit home on your shared time off.

It wasn’t whatever the hell this was. And the guilt that rises in your throat is immense, taking Caleb’s actions to make them something they’re not — twisting his kind gestures into something awful. You force yourself to recede from his palm, mouth open to utter a soft apology.

Just as that soft ‘sorry’ passes your lips, Caleb coaxes your head up, peers long and hard into your eyes, like he’s searching the depths to find whatever it is he seeks, needs.

You think he finds it, because his breath hitches, the hand on your face seems to quiver, and his face leans so close to yours. Not touching, no, his hot breaths ghost over your lips, his nose tickling your cheek. You swallow thickly, and the warmth from his proximity spreads like wildfire.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers, urgent. Almost desperate, like it takes every ounce of self-restraint to remain as he is. So near but never bridging the small gap.

“I…” You start, knowing this is the tipping point. He’s still kind enough to give you an out, to let you reject any notion of whatever this is and pretend none of it ever happened. Makes it seem like he doesn’t want it to happen. Caleb’s always been kind like that. And maybe, in the long run, it would be the better option. To not risk destroying the relationship you’ve built and nurtured for well over a decade.

But, meeting his pleading eyes with your own, you know the only words that can leave your mouth. It’s the sole thought that repeated over and over in tandem with each shaky sigh that parted from his pink lips.

Slowly opening your mouth, you take the plunge. “I do.”

You don’t know whether Caleb’s face flashes with relief or pain — maybe both — and his lips press so deep into yours, slow and heated. It elicits a quiet, gasping noise from your throat that Caleb swallows. You have to wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself because his kisses are starved, like he’s been craving this moment forever and you wonder if that’s really the case. His hand on the armrest moves down to grasp your thigh and a pleased noise rumbles in the back of your throat, his thumb stroking the inside of it so tenderly you could tremble. The sense of relief, of immediate euphoria of having this man on your lips almost makes you wanna cry as he kisses you senseless, licks his tongue into your mouth and coaxes every soft noise he can with each repeated press of his lips. When your fingers sneak up to his neck, quiet sounds hum in his throat and they envelop your mind, drugging you with the sound and feel of him. You could do this for hours, kiss Caleb until the only thing your mouth knows is the taste of him.

“I can’t believe —“ Caleb gasps between breathless kisses, speaking against your lips and sliding his hand down to rest on the junction of your head and neck. You tremble and he pecks the corner of your mouth in response, as though to soothe you. “You’re actually—“ He kisses at your cheek, then your nose affectionately. You feel the heat rise in your neck and avert your gaze out of pure embarrassment. “Letting me…” He laughs against your cheek, face alight and you hope the pain you perceived earlier is a little lessened now.

“I didn’t know you wanted to…” You murmur, and stretch your neck up again to capture his lips. Somehow, each kiss only seems to improve upon the last, and when his fingers slide against your neck, a quiet moan vibrates in your throat. Caleb pulls back with low lids and ragged breaths, lips pinker than you’ve ever seen and covered with a sheen of saliva. Kiss swollen’s never a look you imagined on him, but you quite like it.

“Guess I’m good at keeping secrets then,” Caleb says in a huff of soft laughter, and he’s gently tugging, guiding your body up and off the chair to sit beside him on the duvet. “Or,” he leans down and pets the front of your throat, lips steady against your fluttering pulse. “You’re just stupidly oblivious.”

“There’s no way I would’ve…” you begin to murmur as your fingers clench on his nightclothes. Your body reacts to the sensation of his lips kissing every bit of skin he can reach on your neck, licking but mindful enough to not leave marks and the consideration alone is hot enough to make you shudder.

Could you have? Your mind is hazy and each time Caleb mouths at your throat you lose it a little more, but you vaguely replay memories in your mind. Caleb’s mindfulness, his perception, his endless kindness — but he’s like that with everyone, so how could you have known you were special beyond your friendship and shared past? Granted you probably got a little extra pampering from him — but you shared a home. Of course you’d get more if you saw him more.

“Good. I was never gonna tell you, y’know,” he breathes. His large hands gently ease you backwards and you comply, letting him press you against the mattress. It smells like a mix of him — that same oak body wash he’s used since he was a teen (thankfully you bullied him out of that terrible smelling cologne phase), and fresh detergent from the laundry he took care of earlier. You resist the urge to turn your head and bury it into the covers, inhale deep, for you’re sure it’d come off as a little strange.

“Never?”

“Never.” He rests his forearms next to your head, face mere inches away. He seems to like watching you, those dimly lit eyes of his boring into you. “I mean, I thought about it sometimes. But we’ve known each other what, sixteen years now? We played together since we were preschoolers,” he sighs, thumb brushing over your cheek. His face is so raw and open, flushed and longing. Like he can finally spill every dirty little secret he’s kept hidden forever. His thumb moves to swipe across your lip and you kiss it �� innocently enough. His breath stutters.

Then you open your mouth, gently suck on the digit, and he stops breathing altogether.

“Mm…” You hum in agreement, though with the way Caleb’s eyes darken, you figure it more resembles a moan.

“Damn,” he curses, and experimentally swipes across your tongue. You shamelessly take his thumb in deeper, revel in the way his lips tremble and he bites them, as though to curb some thought or action that sprung in his mind in response.

“You’re friends with someone that long, you figure there’s no chance. Figured you saw me as a brother or something. I mean, I kinda did it to myself,” he speaks, but looks absolutely enthralled by your mouth around his thumb. The way you swirl your tongue around him, encouraging him to just let go. You think his words are half spoken on instinct with how dazed and red-faced he looks.

“Fuck , if I just knew…” Caleb hisses, and he leans forward for balance, forehead pressed against yours (he’s so warm) while his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, resting just below your navel. The proximity to your waistband makes you subconsciously squirm a little, and his hand presses firmer, stilling your hips. “I could’ve done this so much sooner.”

You try to murmur a response past his thumb but the welcome intrusion makes your words incoherent. He gently retracts it from your lips to press against them, saliva coating his thumb, your lips, and wetting your chin.

“What’s that, pipsqueak?” He murmurs. You feel his hand creep up to trace your abdomen, catch at your side and massage there mindlessly.

“For someone who wants to do this so bad…” you sigh, and look up at him, unamused, trying not to let your mild fluster show. It seems even pinned under him, you can’t help but want to be a bit of a brat in his presence. “You’re sure taking your sweet time.”

Caleb’s brow twitches and he completely stills, staring at you with those gorgeous sunset eyes of his up close. You watch his throat bob as he swallows, and his fingers on your torso squeeze, not painful, just a firm hold.

“What the hell am I gonna do with you?” he finally exhales, exasperation plain on his face. He affectionately rubs his forehead against yours, the gesture so sweet it makes your heart swell. “Don’t forget, you’re the one that spurred me on.”

And like a man on a mission, the sweet moment is gone, replaced by greedy lips and needy hands. His mouth is back on yours and you gift him an appeased hum, instantly lost in the warmth of lips and the way he kisses you like he’ll never kiss again. So heated, so, so perfect, and you reach your fingers to tighten in his hair, lift your hips to wrap your legs around his torso. You both sink into the duvet with the strength of his kiss, his hands shamelessly trailing up and down your torso, mapping it out, squeezing when he hears quiet noises and whines emerge from your throat.

You think Caleb enjoys the sounds you make most, because he’ll do anything and everything to draw them out of you, hands frisky and shameless. They’re calloused and rough in the best way and you squeeze his hair in approval, press fleeting kisses to the corner of his lips when you part to breathe. He laughs, happy, and you laugh in turn.

“It’s a little hot, don’t you think?” He murmurs, and uses that as his excuse to push the hem of your shirt past your chest, encourages you to slip your shirt off and sit with your bare torso.

The way he stares at your body, your chest, like there’s nothing else in the word makes your body singe. You reach a hand up to cover his wandering eyes, scoffing. “Don’t just stare, it’s embarrassing.”

“All that talk and you’re embarrassed when I look at you?” He gives your hand a few taps before prying it away, taking in the view just as shamelessly as he did before, if not more so. You’d smack his face with a pillow if he didn’t have your hand held so tightly. “Telling me not to look’s like telling a dehydrated man not to drink. It’s plain cruel,” he laughs, and pulls your hand to his lips to give your fingers a fleeting kiss. Your eyelids flutter alongside your heart, and he grins.

Satisfied with the view, he slides down on the covers (you have to loosen your legs to accommodate), and stares up at you with a playful, shit-eating grin, his chin rested perfectly above your chest. “You don’t mind, right?”

“Don’t ask, do,” you huff, turning your head away in mock annoyance. Caleb’s more than happy to oblige and hums his approval while his hands move to trace the contours of your chest, moves down to press a light kiss to one side, and is quick to focus his mouth where it’s sensitive, have the bud harden under his tongue and send shocks of pleasure coursing through your body.

It even surprises you, how much you feel your face flame not just from pleasure, but pure embarrassment. This is Caleb , of all people. Not just some guy you started crushing on. Being this vulnerable and having his lips on your chest isn’t something you imagined even yesterday. If he saw you like this yesterday, you’d definitely die from shame. There’s not a glimmer of regret, but there’s heaps of embarrassment to spare and you bury your face into the pillow under you, tensing the more he plays. You knew nipples could feel good, but wow, they can feel good and his mouth on them sends shocks straight down your abdomen, makes heat settle low between your legs.

Finally, he pulls away, though his thumbs still graze over them, and he moves up to press a kiss to your jaw. “Don’t get all shy now. C’mon, show me that cute face of yours,” he hums, and you want to bury it even further being called cute (seriously, what the hell? You don’t know if it’s more embarrassing or insulting). But if only to show some semblance of control and confidence, you pull your head away and force yourself to meet Caleb’s adoring eyes, giving him a halfhearted glare with lips curled into a small pout.

“Looking at me like that only makes me wanna tease you more,” he murmurs, and moves to kiss your cheek (he’s so affectionate. It’s so much you almost don’t know how to handle it). And his hands slide down from your chest, settle at your waist and massage right above the band of your sweatpants. So close but not enough, the more his thumbs tease the more the heat becomes unbearable.

“Maybe you should use that mouth of yours for something other than talking,” you grumble, palms pushing Caleb’s head away. You huff with a side-turned head and peer at him from the corner of your eye, wiggling your hips. You couldn’t be more obvious.

“Demanding today, aren’t we?” He rubs his hands forward and back on your hips, trailing a slew of kisses down from the center of your chest to your abdomen, leaving flames in its wake. “Like what? I could make out with you until the sun rises, easy.”

The way Caleb looks at you, eyes flashing, you know what he wants. Those words to fall so reluctant from your tongue, to watch you drop your pride and ask. But Caleb’s had his way well enough, so instead of giving him the satisfaction of your words, you slide down your sweats and underwear, exhaling at the lack of restriction, the free air against your throbbing arousal. Caleb’s eyes go wide and you’re dragging his face between your thighs before he can retort, trying not to tremble from the absolute need that courses through your body. The thought of Caleb’s mouth on you, his tongue against you until your mind is numb.

“This.” You breathe, and Caleb can only let out a breathy chuckle.

“Whatever you say, your majesty,” he teases, smug but lets you guide his head, him dragging his hands down with it and across the planes of your thighs. They slide and down, palming close to your hips and earning him a small jolt, a bitten down noise.

Your fingers dig into his short hairs, dragging him down and rolling your hips to meet him halfway, urgent, needing. Caleb complies, gently mouthing at your inner thighs, biting at them (that gets a startled sound out of you that you instantly smother in fear of making too much noise.) And kisses and licks his way further up until he’s exactly where he needs to be, breaths hot and lips so close they could brush over you.

“To think you’re like this already…” he murmurs, cheeks flushed, and he dives his head down to slowly lick you into his mouth, your legs tensing and fingers shivering. His hands pet your thighs soothingly (it only makes you tremble more) and he sucks, holds your thighs so nice while they shake in his touch. He’s horribly slow, taking his sweet time to mouth against you, kiss against your aching heat and so gently take it into his mouth, painstakingly swirls his tongue. It’s not enough and you roll your hips into his mouth, mumbling curses.

“Dammit Caleb…” you groan, urging for more, grabbing and releasing at his hair, and his eyes flicker up to you, pupils blown and face a pretty red.

“Mm…” He hums, you shudder, and try not to burn at the sight of Caleb so pleased between your legs. Hands anchored to your thighs, mouth busy with a hardworking tongue as he eagerly lavishes you with attention. It’s good this time, not slow torture, and Caleb easily lets you rock your hips into his mouth, whine under the flat of his tongue and the sight of him between your legs. He pushes, holds you when you gasp and jerk into his touch and murmurs soothing hums while his mouth is busy on the taste of you. Your hips develop a rhythm of their own, chasing Caleb’s mouth over and over and when he briefly pulls back, he’s quick to stroke his fingers where his lips were, watch you sigh and and clutch at the parts of him you can reach.

“I wanna—“ he breathes, leans down to kiss the swell of your heat, laughs when you jump because of how swollen, how sensitive you are to his every move. You drag his face back down, his lips around you, not letting him finish the words he was trying to say. You just — his mouth — his warmth, you need, and you buck your hips into his touch, bursts of pleasure coming through you in waves the more his mouth moves in rhythm, the perfect pace he sets and the unfair way his tongue seems to do just the right thing to make you whine against bitten lips.

“Caleb,” you whisper, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. Caleb’s tactic changes, he’s using one hand to keep a steady grip on your thigh while the other reaches up stroke at your sensitive hip, then sneaks up to your nipple to tease it under his thumb and forefinger. His mouth remains occupied, tongue and lips unrelenting, and the dual pleasure is so much it almost feels like too much. But he moves, hot, mouth in tandem with your restless hips, confident and warm and the almost unbearable heat between your legs grows and grows, until you’re biting back a strangled noise and digging your fingers into Caleb’s scalp. You hold his head in place while you ride out the throes of pleasure, Caleb’s mouth easing you through it, still pressing and stroking with the heat of his tongue when the orgasm ebbs away. You have to squirm and push Caleb’s head away, panting and soaked in a sheen of sweat.

Caleb’s lips, nose, chin, are coated in you and he shamelessly licks what he can away, watches as you breathe, catch your breath amidst the aftershocks of your pleasure. Your entire body feels flushed with heat, and the only sound you’re capable of making are quiet gasps for a moment or two.

“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, presses a hand over his mouth and he’s scrambling off the bed, rushing to rifle through his drawers. He pulls out a bottle of lube and jerks his head to where you’re still settled on the bed, steadying your pulse. You’ve eased yourself to sit up on your elbows, so you can watch in your curiosity, see what’s got him so worked up. Seeing him still fully clothed while your pants lay sweat-ridden and bunched at your ankles, shirt tossed in some corner makes your face fill with heat.

“Can I—would you—“ he returns to the bed, crawls between your open thighs and presses his forehead to yours. The heat of his breaths make you dizzy, and you can feel the flicker of a flame despite just bursting with heat. “Fuck, I just…” he murmurs, moving his head down to rest against your shoulder, lips pressing against the jut of the bone. And the way his nose presses against you, he nuzzles against you and so dearingly asks makes the answer come far too easy. You inhale, stroke his cheek, and nod.

“Mhm,” you agree, moving your head to press a sweet kiss to Caleb’s temple. He groans, wastes no time coating his fingers and slipping them against you, stroking in a tease, then pressing in one.

It’s cold, you tense and Caleb mouths at your collarbone, murmuring “I got you,” while his fingers sits, letting you adjust and you relax to the chill, shudder to the way the digit settles in you, doesn’t feel like enough, and he moves.

Maybe — you think — you didn’t properly think this through. Because while you’ve a short respite from coming, now you have a finger inside you, a hand exploring every inch of your body it can reach, and lips playing with the soft patch between your neck and shoulder that has you sighing and subconsciously quivering. Somehow it’s all too much and not enough all too soon after — and you actively dig your teeth into your lip to keep quiet, not risk sounds traveling through the walls.

“So…” Caleb inhales, his lips travel down to kiss at your chest, lick at your nipples once more and they stand to attention at his efforts. “So damn warm…” You wonder if he means the heat from your body or the way you feel around his finger. His lips tease while his finger thrusts at a steady rhythm and when it becomes comfortable (and lacking). You start to grind into his touch, craving more, shuddering when a soft noise leaves his throat.

You exhale, peer at the pink cheeks of your childhood friend — hell, your best friend. You feel your heart melt, then your body melt in tandem when his finger slips out so he can ease two of them in, slowly stretching you. They move deep, curling inside you and with the just perfect brush of his fingertips, you let out a pitched gasp and pull a hand up to cover your mouth. Caleb doesn’t say a thing, instead makes sure to move against that bundle of sensitive nerves over and over, watches you tense and squirm the more he focuses his attention.

“You’re pretty good at keeping quiet,” Caleb praises, and moves his face up to draw you into a long kiss, mouth in sync with the way he fucks you with his fingers, steady and perfectly bent to leave you panting. You whine against him, chasing his fingers with your hips. He sucks on your bottom lip, pulling away with a dirty pop, lips glistening. “Can’t wait for the day you don’t have to hold back.”

“Hah—shit…” You curse, wanting to come up with a coherent response but your words catch in your throat, interrupted by gasps, and your mind can’t even conjure what to say to something like that, but you feel your body throb, your hips jump at his praise. Caleb hums, presses a kiss to your cheek, and slides down.

He does that thing where he looks up at you from between your legs, cheek rested on your thighs damp with sweat. His lips curl into that gorgeous, sinful grin that’s stupidly hot and infuriating all at once and you squeeze his hair in half-assed annoyance. He kisses one thigh, turns and sucks a gentle bruise into the other - fuck, why does that feel so damn good. And he busies his mouth with the taste of you, fingers working a slowly building rhythm that has your palm firm over your mouth and the other hand steady in his hair while you try — and fail, to not fall into a haze of pleasure. You almost want to curse, being so weak under his fingers and mouth. Flip the scene and give him a taste of his own medicine. But his tongue knows just what to do and he knows just the way to move his head to have you unable to do anything but let out choked gasps and rut into his eager mouth.

Though you take his fingers easily now, feel prepared enough to handle all he has to offer, he doesn’t stop. The sound of his fingers sliding in and out of you and his pretty, obscene mouth on you fill the otherwise silent room, save for your gasps and sighs. You curl against him and huff, biting your lip and using both palms to still his head.

“If you keep going, I’ll—“ you warn, because his fingers aren’t enough but his mouth is too much, and if you’re left a quivering mess you won’t be able to handle Caleb fucking you on top of it. Caleb hums, his glimmering eyes flicker up to you, and you think they crinkle in amusement. You’ve learned not to trust that face of his.

And of course, the dick , he keeps going. Holds you down with one hand so he can push and spread his fingers deep, taste you on his tongue as he sucks. It’s enough to have you arching your back, whimpering quiet noises into the pillow you bury your face into. Your hips squirm of your own according, the heat pooling in your gut and threatening to burst and you try to push his head away, gasp weak complaints. Too much if he doesn’t stop you’ll — But he’s relentless and overwhelming. Fingers curling, mouth moving, his hand gripping your waist. And your body accepts it all until that feeling crescendos again, you turning into a shaking mess as you whisper quiet curses into the pillow, try to escape his mouth but he licks and pumps his fingers into you all throughout it to prologue how your back arches, the high washes over you over and over. When you slowly relax, he pulls away with a messy mouth, leaving you with breaths labored and somehow still sane enough to sport a glare.

“I told you—“

“Sorry,” he says, and kisses at your navel while he watches you with enthralled eyes, like you’re a piece of stunning art. But his eyes aren’t apologetic in the least, and you’d think it right to demand a proper one if your heart wasn’t thundering so quick you think it’ll leap out your chest. He sighs, scoots up to press a kiss against your chin, and whispers, so quiet. “Can I…?”

You huff, try to steady your breathing, and zone into the dull ache between your legs and the empty feeling from losing his fingers. Of course you want it, want him, it’s a matter of already having been pleasured to hell and back by this man twice. You’re spent, even if the idea of Caleb nude and flushed against you is hot as hell.

“There’s a reason I tried to tell you…” you sigh, brush some slick hairs from his eyes and observe the dazed, greedy look in his eyes. He really just wants it all, doesn’t he? You always thought you were spoiled by Caleb, but maybe, there are times when you spoil him.

“Mmm… it’s just nice, seeing you lose your composure,” he nuzzles into your neck, breath warm and your entire body reacts to something so small, so soft. “But we’ve got all the time in the world. Next time.”

And he exhales so warm, pulls his head away and you immediately grab both cheeks, drag Caleb’s lips to yours and kiss him so sweetly it feels something akin to love. Your hips tingle, and the idea makes you absolutely dizzy, but you mouth it against his lips anyway.

“Finish what you started.”

Caleb doesn’t immediately answer or react, he simply observes you, watches the way your arms cling to him. For good measure, you wrap your legs around him and roll, right into the hard erection confined in his pants. He gasps, gripping the duvet beside your head.

“If… If it’s too much. Just pinch me. Or tap me a few times. Do whatever, really, shit,” Caleb hisses, and he’s finally stripping off that stupid bed shirt of his and tossing it unceremoniously across his room, breaths slow and deep as though to calm himself.

It’s not your first time seeing Caleb shirtless, but it is the first time you’re able to admire the full view in dim glory. Amidst the streaks of moonlight through the window, the red of his necklace sparkles. He wears it, even in his sleep, and you try not to think too much on how he must’ve cherished it. Treated it like a prized possession, because it makes a surge of happiness flood through you with a mix of guilt for never treating Caleb’s gifts or gestures just as precious.

“Oh, so when I stare, it’s a problem. But when you stare, it’s fine, huh?” Caleb chuckles, and his pants are kicked off with no shame. He’s so eager he doesn’t even try to make it sexy, he just looks like he’s dying to feel every inch of you, finally be able to feel the whole of you tight around him. It’s so silly and so Caleb you just have to laugh, and it’s nice when he laughs in turn, makes you feel serene.

“Think of it like payback,” You decide to say. Payback for making you come from his mouth and fingers when he knew you wanted to feel him inside of you. Caleb makes an approving noise, leans back over you, and the sight of his flushed, toned body with his necklace dangling down is way sexier than it has any right to be. He slides a hand up your thigh, gives it an encouraging squeeze when you tremble, and his lips find yours in a fleeting kiss.

“Guess I gotta do all I can to make up for it,” he whispers in a ghost of a kiss, and settles between your legs, erection strained in his underwear and words way too calm for someone who looks like he can’t stand waiting a minute longer. He shoves them down well enough with one hand and he springs free, eager and leaking at the pink tip. You think it’s almost pretty, the way it stands, twitches when you thumb his cheeks.

He captures your lips the same moment he lifts your thighs, lines himself where he had his fingers buried deep only a minute or two ago, and slowly, slowly pushes. Sighs into your mouth as he sinks into you, and you grab at his back, wrap your arms so tight around him as he just fills you, moves as you cling to him. You think the wait alone is torture when he finally settles deep, hips flush to yours and mouth swallowing any weak noises you utter. You’re still so sensitive and even just the feeling of his cock inside, barely moving, is enough to make you clutch at him.

“You feel so perfect,” he utters, shaking hands settled on the sides of your face, lips plush on your jaw. He buries his face in your neck, slowly, slowly moves out, and you can feel his entire body shaking on top of you as he pushes again, deep into you and fills you perfect. So hot inside of you, you can’t help but squeeze around him. He chokes against your skin, kisses at it while his hips steadily draw out—then you think he loses his composure a little. His hips sputter, and his pushes into you quicker, steady, and holy fuck is your body just quivering and you already feel a mess, heat between your legs near unbearable and Caleb’s cock stretching you open for him.

“Caleb…” You gasp, bite back the moans that want to continually spill from your throat while Caleb steadily pumps, in and out. It’s so tender, and even though your body is an absolute mess, you just need more and drag in Caleb with the strength of your legs wrapped around him, helplessly grind into his cock, and Caleb understands the message loud and clear. He shakes, kisses your shoulder, and pulls out to snap his hips against yours, murmurs small affirmations against your skin as he fucks you, heavy and deep and your body is a squirming mess, like it isn’t even your own. You’re whining and biting back every loud, broken noise that threatens to leave your mouth with the rock of his hips.

“Shit—Caleb, it’s—“ you gasp, be hums into your shoulder and looks at you with wild eyes while he pushes into you over and over. Your legs are a mess and you’re gasping, trying to focus on swallowing down the noises in your throat but Caleb’s driving you absolutely insane and when he positions himself just right, you’re letting out a sharp cry and your body arches into his touch.

“Don’t wake the whole neighborhood now.” He coos against your collarbone, and gently covers your mouth, palm flat so all you can do is groan against his hand, weak noises and sharp gasps muffled. Every inch of you feels sensitive, alight, and the hand not silencing you gently massages your chest while he fucks you deep into the mattress, the sounds of skin against skin filling the room. It’s filthy and you absolutely love it, even if your body is screaming it’s on fire, and all your nerves are alight from being so thoroughly handled.

“Mmn—!” You gasp, unable to even articulate how it feels to have Caleb rolling his hips into yours so damn hot while you can barely control the way your body reacts. You think he swells even more when inside you, thick and hot and nearly every thrust hitting you so you see stars. You gape, claw at his neck and anything you can cling to on him, while his movements gradually speed up and he pounds into you relentlessly, cries muffled by his palm.

“You have no idea how much I wanted this…” Caleb gasps, breaths heavy, lifting his palm and resting it sweetly on your face instead. He looks at you so damn adoring while he’s fucking you senseless, watching you gasp and start to squirm under him when the sensation builds upon too much. “Wanted you. Like this.”

“Gh… Y-Yeah…?” You somehow manage to choke out while your body has a mind of its own, squirming and shaking and Caleb’s hands hold you right where he needs you as he slides in and out of you again, pulls out so only the tip is in and snaps his hips against yours in a fluid motion. You wonder if it’s because your most recent orgasm was so close, left you so sensitive you feel like you’re already on the brink. You hang onto Caleb for purchase and try not to cry out as he pushes into you over and over and over.

“You’re way too hot. You feel way too—haah —good.” Caleb curses as he moves, hold your hips and reaches a hand down between the two of you to tease you with sweet fingers while he pumps into you. “You. Undone. Under me,” he murmurs, and your hips helplessly buck into his touch, fingers clutch him tight as he fucks you.

“Y-You…ah—Caleb,” you try to respond, but the way Caleb rocks his hips, and his hand wastes no time driving you mad, you feel that feeling build, build and build so quick, so perfect. You want to retort, say anything to flip his words on him, but you know you’re a gasping mess and can’t focus your mind enough to put up a decent argument. So you clutch at his slick skin, bury your fingers so deep it pales, and whine “I’m… I’ll… ‘M about to…”

Caleb hears you loud and clear, keeps the pace of him pumping into you and is always sure to angle the way your hips slot together perfectly, so each thrust hits you with a deep wave of pleasure and his fingers leave you weak.

“You always act so strong, so tough. It’s nice I can get you like this,” he speaks, and if your mind wasn’t in such fog you’d probably be a little annoyed, but all you can do is whimper at how his voice whispers low in your ear, and the way he circles his hips perfectly to make you gasp, clench, and make him groan in return.

That feeling approaches, the familiar feeling of being undone by Caleb and at the mercy of his mouth, fingers and thrusts. He murmurs sweet words against your lips, and it’s all you can handle when you’re biting your lip and your body is pulled taught like a string, shuddering and powerful as you feel a burst of pleasure like no other, so strong and prolonged you wonder if it’ll ever end, so much you actually see white. Caleb doesn’t relent on his thrusts, fucks you through it, and he doesn’t stop when you’re quivering either and suddenly it’s too much all at once. Your body is still in tremors and shakes as he grasps your hips firm, presses a soothing kiss to your temple as you start to squirm and let out weak noises.

It’s too much and too fast and you’re so sensitive and you can’t— “Caleb,” you choke out, body naturally moving to escape the sensation, but Caleb’s hands hold you steady.

“Want—“ he rasps, “want me to stop? All you gotta do is tap me,” he murmurs so sweet in your ear, and tears prick in your eyes as the pleasure, the sensitivity is so blinding you can’t keep them from your face. And you quietly cry and squirm but hold on tight, not tapping, not pinching. It’s torture but it feels terribly amazing in the best way, even if Caleb has to keep a firm hold so you don’t scramble from his grasp.

“Too much, I can’t, Caleb,” you sob, Caleb kisses the tears that fall down your cheeks so sweetly and proceeds to fuck you silly. Your heart is pounding, your whole body is a shaking over sensitive mess and the feeling is so intense your mind can barely formulate words. “I—please, fuck…” you babble, can’t string together full sentences and just whimper under him. Fuck if you’re never at someone’s mercy like this, you wonder if it’s better or worse that it’s Caleb.

“So damn cute,” he breathes out in broken fragments, breaths quickening as he thrusts deep, hard, accepts every whimper and plea that leaves your wet lips. “You can relax around me, trust me. Let me take care of you.”

“Ah…!” You wish you could respond, you really do, but the only thoughts you can formulate are pleads and Caleb, the endless pleasure bordering pain he pushes you through. He’s so sweet in your hair as his pace quickens and his breaths are shallow, ragged. His face is a damp mess and strings of hair cling to his forehead as he utters your name — your name, not ‘pipsqueak’, over and over. Whispers your name in your ears, mouths it on your temple, presses his lips against your neck as he sighs it. You melt and squeeze your teary eyes shut, clawing at Caleb and letting him pound you into oblivion. You feel fucking ruined and Caleb kisses your tears and pets your head all throughout it.

“Dammit, seriously, what am I gonna do with you…” He rasps, and you think your hazy mind can classify it as positive. His thrusts are quick and it’s not soon after that he’s suddenly groaning, hips going still as he holds deep inside you, trembling as he spills. Deep, warm. You quiver and finally find relief in his slowed thrusts, the way he holds himself with shaky breaths and bright red cheeks, sweat sliding down his temple. Slowly, he stills, panting, and when he’s nearly done shaking, he slowly pulls himself out. The feeling of both being empty and filled is filthy, but you haven’t the energy to burn on feeling embarrassed when you can barely form a sentence. You gasp, wipe at the tears that rolled down your face, and can’t keep the tiny quivers from racking through your body even after the high has passed.

“You okay, pipsqueak?” He whispers after, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. You nod, mute, and have to give yourself a bit to be able to respond in full. He seems to understand that much, and rolls to the side so he can gently hold you in his affection.

“That was…wow,” you murmur, and bury your head into his damp chest, the sent of oak and sweat. “Can’t move…” The thought of so much as standing seems impossible, your brain is in this weird, pleasant fog and you can barely focus.

“Did I go overboard?” His laugh is light and raw, lips settled on your forehead.

“It was a lot,” you answer, and your fingers trace over his bicep. Who knew fighter pilots had to be so toned? “It’s hard to think but…” you hum, and adjust your buzzing limbs so you’re a little more comfortable. “It was… good.”

“Good. Guess I’ll put that on the list of things you like,” you feel his lips curl against your forehead, probably grinning. You don’t even have the energy to glare.

“You have a list?”

“In my mind,” he says, and you decide to pull back from his chest a little, if only to see his expression.

Sweat-ridden but sparkling with an air of pleasant satisfaction. Eyes alight, cheeks warm. Since when was Caleb so damn beautiful?

“Next time…” You look up at him with heavy eyes. Feel almost drunk as your body sags and your speech comes out in quiet rasps, throat spent from all the cries you swallowed down. “It’s your turn,” you run your fingers across his lean chest, feel the way his muscles jump with laugher and his heart is starting to slow into a steady rhythm. He’s so irritatingly attractive.

You’re not used to feeling so utterly spent, helpless after. Your legs would collapse under you like a fawn learning to walk if you tried anything right now. You’d like to see Caleb come undone under your fingers, unable to keep himself from writhing while you tease him endlessly. In that way, you’re both similar, you suppose, and you can hardly blame Caleb for the way he gets off on you clawing at him.

“Can’t wait,” he says easily, almost makes you more mad at how easily he accepts your words. He strokes your cheek, wipes the remnants of tears, and holds you comfortably in his palm. “You look so good when you’re a mess.”

“Hush now,” you sigh, and turn your head to kiss his palm. He pads your lip so gently, traces shapes across them (you think one is a heart). It’s so silly but so him and he continually manages to make your heart fill.

“I’m scared I’ll wake up and this’ll all be a dream.” He pulls you to him, buries his nose in your hair and strokes your back like he hasn’t seen you in years and needs to confirm your existence. “It feels like a dream. You in my arms. Kissing me. Wanting me.” He draws back so he can tilt your head up and peer into your eyes. You think the sun is starting to rise, his eyes are as clear as ever yet clouded with contentment and apprehension. “You like me, don’t you?” His hands hold you so sweetly, his eyes are so raw. “Pretty sure I’ve loved you as long as I can remember.”

You blink, try to process his words in the fog of your mind and feel yourself run warm when you’re able to take his words piece by piece and understand them, digest them in full. The word ‘love’ tickles your ears, and you try not to let the tears flow again (who knew being so wrecked made you stupidly emotional) and nod quickly, covering the hand that holds your cheek.

“Of course I like you. I’ve trusted and cared about you as long as I can remember.” Your hand on his chest stills, presses so you can hear the drum of his heartbeat that’s now relatively fast. You can’t judge, when your heartbeats are so heavy you feel them in the back of your throat. “I’ll love you back, someday. The way you love me. I’ve loved you like my best friend, as a person, for the longest, though.”

“I’ve waited so long to hear that…” Caleb sighs, your eyes flicker to the chain around his neck, and you silently vow to yourself to sometimes let go of your stubborn streak, take care of Caleb the way he loves to take care of you. You hum and nuzzle into his chest, basking in how warm he feels, skin against skin, heating you, like a pleasant wood fire on a cozy winter night.

You sigh, can’t bite back a small smile, and let your eyelids flutter, your weak body sink into the mattress as Caleb’s slow breaths and caresses lull you, goad you to rest.

Caleb’s skin, heat, the love and affection you feel encased in each featherlight touch draws you in, comforts you enough to let your consciousness fade. Like a soothing lullaby.

It’s perfect, knowing you’ll wake up in his arms the next morning.

—

Sequel — Caleb Loves to Bully You in Bed

#love and deepspace #caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x mc #gender neutral reader #caleb love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace smut #xia yizhou #xia yizhou x reader

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taintandviolent · 1 month ago

Text

new tattoo ; Eric Draven x Reader

summary: You’re visiting your friend, Chance, for a new tattoo; a chest piece. While he's working, one of his friends comes over to chill; someone you've never seen before. His name is Eric Draven.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 3.5K | female reader, smut, unprotected sex, kissing, canon divergence/alternate universe (technically), neck kissing, tattoo needle mention, sex in someone else's apartment, hook-ups.

a/n: Shelly doesn't exist in this -- all in the name of reader getting fucked good n' hard. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

It’s been about an hour since Chance started on your newest tattoo; a beautiful chest piece of a bat, nestled perfectly below your breasts. The room is filled with the hypnotic buzzing of the tattoo gun, and whatever music is playing on his speakers. You tap your fingers on the table beneath you, a staccato rhythm against the smooth leather.

The light is angled over your chest, illuminating the nakedness of your torso for Chance – who is completely unfazed by the lack of clothing. He’s working, and despite doing tattoos out of his apartment, he is ever the professional. You, on the other hand, enjoyed flashing your tits whenever you got the opportunity. You could’ve brought pasties, sure, but why bother? He’s already tattooed spiderwebs around your nipples, it’s not like this is something new.

Knock knock knock. Your eyes move first, but your head follows stiffly, careful not to move your torso too much and cause an error.

“Do you wanna’ get that…?” You ask. Chance shakes his head.

“It’s open!” He shouts without pulling his attention from your tattoo. A thrill runs through you; whoever is about to open the door is going to get an eyeful.

The man that walks through the door stuns you. Literally. It takes everything in you not to let your jaw hang slack like a fool, like a teenage girl who has just seen the hot new guy. He’s tall, easily surpassing six feet, wears a black jeans, and a sheer tank top that allows you to see through the fabric, letting you see all the ink that decorates his toned torso. Your eyes dance over his tattoos, wondering passively which ones Chance did. You recognize his style in quite a few pieces. Your gaze holds a weighted bias; you do love an inked up man. But even if he weren’t, you think your reaction would be the same.

“What’s up, man?”

“Nothing,” he says casually, his voice low and smooth. There’s a sadness there, something that you want to reach your fingers into and pull out, but you refrain, watching him quietly as he approaches the couch to your left.

Chance pauses, pulling the gun from your chest, to introduce you to the nameless friend. He fist bumps him and nods to you. “This is Eric.”

“Hi Eric,” you say with an obvious, enticing smile in your voice, extending your hand nonchalantly upwards to him. You don’t seem to shy away from the fact that your tits are just… out, but Eric seems daunted by the visuals – god, is he shy? Your stomach clenches at the thought. The way he’s desperately trying to avoid looking at them is cute, and you feel your smile widen further. You let out a tittering laugh, and push your hand closer to him, urging him to take it.

“It’s okay, they’re kind of unavoidable right now…” you confess, assuring him that any glances won’t be met with a smack across the face. Secretly, you welcome them, wanting his pretty green eyes to trail over every inch of your body until he has it memorized, or can’t resist touching you. Either or. He chuckles, breathily, and takes your hand, giving it a gentle shake. Like the rest of his body, his hand is covered in tattoos, and you can’t help but play with his long fingers as he pulls away. As your hands break apart, you suppress the urge to reach for it again, pulling it back to you. Eric takes his place on the sofa, grabbing a cigarette from the pack that lies on the table. You hear the flick of the lighter, and the familiar scent fills the room.

Chance’s hands return to your chest, laying carefully atop your skin. The hypnotic puncturing of the tattoo needle lulls you into a relaxed state, but every time you look over, Eric’s enchanting green eyes dart away, feigning innocence. He looks at the window, Chance’s bookcase, anything that isn’t you. Each time, you smile, feeling like the butterflies in your stomach are going to rupture through the layers of your skin.

When you finally catch him, his eyes are sweeping along your body, watching as your chest rises and falls with each breath, watching as Chance draws on your skin, creating a permanent piece of artwork to be admired, though you gather that he’d rather admire the artwork that was your body. After painting your form with his gaze, his eyes finally meet yours, and as though by supernatural force, you hold him there, squeezing as tightly as you possibly can. He doesn’t look away, and you blink your eyes slowly, affectionately, like a cat. Eric’s full, pink lips pull up in a crooked smile, and he looks down at his hands, nodding softly. You wonder what he just agreed to in his head. There’s an undeniable draw to him, a pulling sensation deep in your stomach, and you think, with the way his eyes dance over your face, he feels it too.

Chance interrupts the staring contest going on between the two of you. “Alright, I think we’re finished. There’s a full length mirror in the bathroom.”

Carefully, you sit up and scurry to said bathroom. There’s a few moments of silence until it’s shattered by a high-pitched squeal; your reaction can be heard throughout the apartment. The bat is hanging perfectly between your breasts, clinging to a crescent moon, and looking so real that it might just flap away at any moment.

“Chance!” You rush back into the living room, and clap your hand over your mouth for a moment before speaking. “Chance, oh my god, I love it! Thank you so much!”

“What do you think?” You turn around, bouncing on your heels excitedly. Eric’s pupils dilate, black amongst the green. He watches as your ample cleavage jiggles with your enthused little steps, and makes a fist on his knee. You can see the wheels turning as he coaches himself to focus on the tattoo, to stop staring at your tits and actually comment something useful.

“It’s really sick, man. Nice work.”

Chance thanks him with a handshake before tapping the table again. He has a piece of Saniderm on his lap, cut to size and ready to cover up your new ink. Eric watches, knowing the process well.

Once you’re sealed up, you hop off the table and reach for your shirt and the wad of cash that’s tucked in your pocket. You pass the cash to Chance, and shake out the tank top. Eric almost seems sad to see you get dressed, watching silently as you pull the sheer grey tank top over your head – as though it really covers anything. It’s sheer enough to see the tattoo through, and your nipples are two peaks in the fabric.

“Hey, I’ll be back. I gotta do a tattoo downtown. You guys gonna chill here?”

You both exchange a glance, and seeing nothing wrong with that proposal, you shrug. Eric nods his head. “Sure, we’ll hang here.”

“Cool, cool. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

And just like that, you two are alone. The silence hangs heavy between you two, an adolescent awkwardness crackling in the space between your bodies. You clear your throat. He raises his attention to you, brows lifted on his forehead.

“So… how about a tattoo tour?”

“A… tattoo tour?” He asks, confused.

‘Yeah, y’know. I show you mine, you show me yours.” You pause, looking into his eyes, letting the innuendo land as heavy as he allows it to. “What they mean, where we got them, so on and so forth.”

“I get tattoos because I like them… a lot of mine are just…”

“I don’t care,” you say, standing up. “I want to see them.”

He stands up, and you crane your neck to look up at him. Now that you’re next to him, the size difference is staggering. “Holy fuck, you’re tall.”

He chuckles, and tosses his shirt on the sofa. You mimic the action, tossing your own shirt over to join his. Taking it a step further, you pull your grey sweats down your hips and step out of the circles. You take a step closer, fingers outstretched to touch him. You start at his hairline.

“Face tattoos... crazy. Commitment is off the charts.”

Again, he laughs.

“To someone?” Bold. Your fingers continue their path over his shoulders.

He shakes his head solemnly, fingers trailing over a quote on your forearm. “No. Not to anyone.”

So he’s single. Good. His hands scan over your tattooed arms, ghosting over the flesh like a nervous lover. His thumb rubs over the tattoo just before the crook of your arm – a portrait of a cat.

“My cat. She died.”

He furrows his brows, knowing the staggering sensation of loss. You hum, and continue your exploration of his body, digits gently raking over each piece of artwork that decorates his toned physique. Your fingers trail over the giant eye that stares at you from his sternum, trailing over the rays that come off it. You ghost over his biceps and his highly-inked forearms, your fingertips tasting each tattoo.

Finally, you reach his torso, his abdomen. All taut skin and muscles. He reaches between your breasts, lightly tracing the new addition. It’s still tender and warm underneath the plastic. He smiles.

“Why is good crossed out?”

“Hm?” He looks down. Your finger hovers over the GOOD BOY tattoo.

“Are you not a good boy?” You ask, dropping the pad of your finger to his skin, and outline the words carefully. “Why’s it crossed out?”

His cock stirs in his jeans at your delicate touch. It doesn’t help that you’re so close to him. “I don’t think I am, no. Not with all the shit I’ve done.”

A laugh tumbles from your lips and your hand trails farther down, caressing the centipede that curves past the waistband of his jeans. You long to go deeper, but in a shocking act of good behavior, you start to let your hand drop to your side. Eric’s large hand catches it at the wrist, encircling it with ease.

“Don’t… stop… please?”

Your eyes light up with a tantalizing mixture of lust and disbelief.

“Eric,” you mutter almost tauntingly, tasting his name on your tongue. “I can’t see the rest. You’ve got clothes on…”

The statement is a weighted one, but it’s also factual; the clothes are impeding you from seeing the inevitable ink that decorates his lower body. His gaze drifts from yours to the couch again, before he takes long, careful steps, dragging you with him. His grip is soft but stern, his fingers circling your wrist like a shackle.

“Sit with me.” His voice is soft, subdued, barely above a whisper and dripping with an eroticism that you want to wrap yourself in. Instead of pulling him next to you, he pulls you harshly down on top of him. Your legs spread on either side of his hips, straddling him. Between your legs, pressed against the fabric of your jeans is a growing stiffness. You look at your bodies, pressed together and spot the bulge in his jeans, considerably more prominent than before. You laugh through your nose – it’s a giddy chuckle, one that tumbles out of your mouth with an elation behind it. Hearing your laugh, Eric looks up, his brows pulling together.

“I don’t usually do this,” he confesses. You can tell, he’s worried you’re laughing at him, poking fun at his desperation – which couldn’t be farther from the truth. To remedy that, you lean down and press your mouth against his pouted one, feeling the firmness of his chin against yours. It takes a moment, but eventually, his soft, pink lips relinquish and press back against yours. You nip at his bottom lip, begging for entrance. He grants it, and your tongue swipes along his, teasingly.

He’s warm against you, the heat comes off his skin in waves. You wrap your arms around his neck and tug your body closer like you’re trying to melt together. His hands find your ribcage and sink downwards, trailing over the curve of your waist, and the gentle flare of your hips. You shudder into his touch, contentedly. His hips twitch up into you, pressing his hardening cock into your heat.

“Eric,” you breathe into his open mouth. “I think you’re really hot.”

He nods against your lips, wordlessly agreeing that the feeling is mutual. You inhale his scent as it mingles with your own and pull back, resting your forehead on his.

“I wanna’ see the rest of your tattoos…” you whisper. Your fingers play with his hair at the nape of his neck, twirling the dark strands gently.

Eric separates from you, just enough to bring his hand up between your bodies, to cup your cheek, completely enveloping it with its size. He looks at you, memorizing all the features of your face. He seems satisfied with whatever he sees, and pulls you back in for a fiery kiss, his tongue slipping out to wrestle with yours.

Your hands are the ones that are wandering now, finding the button of his jeans. Breaking the kiss to free his cock, you pause to admire it. Framed by a thatch of dark hair, it’s long like the rest of him, and the head already weeps with anticipation. You pull his jeans down his hips and underneath his ass, tugging until they’re pooled at his ankles, over top his combat boots. His legs are heavily tattooed too, but your attention is elsewhere. Greedy to feel the warmth in the palm of your hand, you reach forward, wrapping your fingers around his shaft, your thumb swiping over the tip. Just as you expected; throbbing, velvet warmth. As your thumb spreads the bead of precum down the head, down the length of it, Eric’s breath hitches.

You look up.

He’s watching you. Intently. His eyes are locked on your hand as it moves, teasing him. Like he feels your gaze on him, without moving his head, he looks up at you. There’s a deep, deep longing in his eyes, a desperation and a plea to continue… he’s begging without saying a word. He longs for the comfort of pleasure, of knowing someone intimately. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s been with someone, how long his apparent loneliness has consumed him.

Taking a breath, you let go of his dick and straighten up. Your fingertips scrape along your own hips, dipping underneath the elastic of your underwear, catching them on your hand. You continue sliding your hands down your legs, taking your underwear with them. Once you're free of them, Eric’s eyes flicker from tattoo to tattoo, but come to rest on your face, looking deep into your eyes. You suck your bottom lip, catching it between your teeth and return to the couch, straddling him once more. Tenderly, he kisses a heated line from your neck down to your breasts. His lips press against one of the aching, swollen peaks before drawing it into his mouth, his tongue swirling around your sensitive nipple. You look down, watching him and let out a particularly pornographic whimper. It feels so fucking good… he’s so attentive.

You’re on your knees, but he’s big enough to reach you, even there. Eric’s dick twitches against your aching center, twitches up between your folds. You whimper, nodding, granting him whatever permission he needs. It’s enough, because he reaches down, taking himself into his hand, and after a few strokes, he lines it up with your wet slit. He kisses you as he pushes himself into you, as though it lessens the shock of his thick cock as it breaches your slick heat. Your jaw comes down, poised in a silent scream as he splits you open, finding comfort within your clenching walls.

He jerks his hips once, burying himself all the way inside. A deep, throaty groan erupts between you two, and you wrap yourself around him tight, supporting yourself on his neck. You raise yourself off his cock slowly, feeling the slick tug as it slides out. Your walls clench around it like they’re desperately trying to pull it back in, and you grant them their wish, slamming yourself back down on his cock with a high-pitched whine. You find a quick rhythm of bouncing on his cock, and Eric tenses underneath you, his cock twitching deep inside you.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Oh my god.”

You nod, already breathless. Though you’re in control of the speed, his cock is bullying, and the tip kisses your cervix every time you lower down onto it. Your breaths are replaced by moans as you ride him, bouncing on his length with reckless abandon.

Mid-movement, Eric suddenly grips your hips tight, freezing you in place. You look down at him, pupils blown wide with lust, but perplexed. He’s focused on your cunt with his debauched expression; slack-jacked and heavy lidded with lust. He bucks his hips up hard, slamming into you with a renewed fervor. You jerk forward, collapsing into his shoulder. Silently, you thank god for the music that’s cutting the heavy sound of his hips as they slam against you and the wet squelch of your cunt as it swallows him whole, otherwise, you’d be almost embarrassed. You hold yourself up on your knees, letting Eric do the work.

“Fuck yeah, baby… you feel so fuckin’ good…” he growls, one hand slithering around to grip the firmness of your ass. He kneads the soft, pliable flesh with his massive hand, pulling a desperate, whimpering moan from your lips. He feels so good. Your senses are consumed with him; the way he looks at you, hungrily, deeply, like he’s trying to unravel you from the inside out. The way he smells, cologne, the faint lingering scent of cigarettes, and the heady mix of mutual sex and sweat as he continues his assault on your dripping cunt. The way he feels, fucking into you with an insatiable hunger, like he’s trying to get deeper than he actually can. Everything about him is consuming you and you quickly feel yourself growing obsessed with him.

The coil in your stomach winds tight around itself, a building pressure deep in your core. Your breaths are ragged, broken with pleasurable whines and moans, as he buries himself inside you over and over again.

“Fuck, Eric… fuck, don’t stop… don’t you dare stop…! Shit!”

His hand abandons its place on your cheek and comes to rest between your legs. His middle and ring finger slide down to your entrance, feeling his own cock as it slides in and out; slick and coated in mutual arousal. He grits his teeth, bringing some of the slickness around to your clit, where he encircles it with tight movements with his thumb. Electricity courses through your veins, and you shudder at the explosion of white, hot heat on your cunt, your eyelids fluttering shut in bliss.

You feel his muscles draw up tight as he slams into you with one final, hard thrust. His cock twitches as he releases, pumping his essence deep inside your cunt. You feel it flood you and leak out the sides, running down your thighs and dripping heavily onto his. Languidly, Eric thrusts his cock up into you, feeling every clench, fucking the cum back up into you as it dribbles out. The feeling of that paired with his ministrations on your cunt makes you come. Hard. You let out a deafening moan as your spasming walls clamp down on his cock, milking it as your own orgasm washes over you. You seize up, back arching with pleasure, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red, indented crescent moons amongst the ink.

“Fuck m-me… oh my god…. Oh my god, Eric!”

Eric’s chest heaves as he catches his breath, still coming down off the high of the fuck. Sweat glistens on his forehead and chest, and you run your hands along the length of his torso, scraping your nails against the skin.

“That was fuckin’ amazing,” he pants, his hands coming to rest atop your thighs. His cock softens inside you, and you almost don’t want to move. But… this isn’t your apartment and while Chase has seen your tits, he hasn’t seen you fully naked and it’s going to stay that way.

You lift up, letting Eric’s heavy, flaccid cock fall from your cunt. You wince as you straighten up, backing off the couch carefully. Your lips are spread in a delighted smile, watching Eric as you dress yourself, pulling your clothes back onto your sweaty, fucked out body. Eric reaches down to pull his jeans back up, tucking himself into the confines of the fabric.

You plop down next to him, laughing lightly. “That was really great. I don’t think I’ve gotten fucked like that in a long time. Maybe ever.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

By the time Chance gets home, you’re both asleep on the small sofa, back to chest, and Eric’s arm wrapped sleepily around your waist. Chance knows what’s happened, but he doesn’t mention it when you wake up.

#myfics #Eric Draven x reader #eric draven x you #eric draven smut #the crow 2024 #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard smut #bill skarsgard fanfiction #eric draven #the crow #x reader #female reader #reader insert #x you

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melosliving · 26 days ago

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kelvin harrison jr x actress!reader

we listen and we don’t judge …

The TikTok begins with Kelvin already recording, holding the phone way too close to his face. His mischievous grin is the first thing you see, and you can already tell he’s about to start some drama.

“Hey y’all, It’s your boy Kelvin, and we’re about to do the ‘We Listen and We Don’t Judge’ challenge. So, uh, we listen… and we don’t judge, right? Cool. Here’s mine : I might have tried on your wigs once or twice when you weren’t near.”

Your head whips around so fast you almost pull something. “Kelvin what the fuck” He bites his lip to keep from laughing, but his shoulders shake from trying to hold it in. “You said no judgment ! That’s the challenge!”

The camera now focusing on y’all’s feet, you snatch the phone out of his hand, scandalized. “First of all, this is not the challenge. Second, which wigs, Kelvin?!”

He raises his hands like he’s innocent. “Just the bob ones! I look good in a bob!”

You stare at him, speechless, while he’s cackling like he just won a prize. Finally, you roll your eyes and turn to the camera. “This man is deranged. I don’t even know why I agreed to this.”

Kelvin leans into the frame, still laughing. “We listen and we don’t judge, though!” You hold up a hand to stop him. “No, because you’re doing this all wrong. It’s supposed to be about quirky things you actually do, not whatever nonsense that just was.”

He smirks, leaning back into the couch. “I mean, technically, I do try on your wigs…”

“Kelvin, I’m serious,” you deadpan, narrowing your eyes at him. “Can you behave for one second?”

“Alright, alright,” he says, putting on an innocent face that you know is a complete lie. “Let’s do it your way.”

You sigh, refocusing the camera. “Okay, I’m starting this over because clearly, Kelvin can’t be trusted. Now, we’re doing the ‘We Listen and We Don’t Judge’ challenge, the correct way. Let’s go. Kelvin, start.”

Kelvin takes a deep breath, clearly trying to hide his smirk. “Alright. We listen, and we don’t judge… but the first time I saw you, I said ‘smash’ in my head.”

Your jaw drops as you stare at him in disbelief. “bro !” He throws his head back, laughing. “What? I’m just being honest! I mean, have you seen yourself?”

You try to hold back your laughter, shaking your head. “I can’t believe this man just said that on camera.”

“This is a safe space,” he replies, smirking. “No judgment, remember?”

“Fine,” you say, rolling your eyes but grinning. “We listen, and we don’t judge… but sometimes I purposely mess up my lines just so I can hear you repeat yours. Your accent is distracting.”

Kelvin stares at you, stunned, before breaking into a wide grin. “Wait—hold on. You’re telling me I’ve been messing up my takes because you can’t focus ? Are you not ashamed ?”

“I am really proud of myself when thinking about this,” you admit with a shrug. “It’s not my fault you sound good like that.”

Kelvin leans back, hand on his chest like you’ve wounded him. “You know what? I’m not even mad. That’s a compliment, low-key.”

“High-key,” you reply, smirking. Kelvin shakes his head, still smiling. “Alright, my turn. We listen, and we don’t judge… but I once told my mom you were my favorite co-star, and she called me out for blushing.”

Your eyes widen, and you laugh, covering your face. “Kelvin, stop! You’re lying”

“Im not, I’m just telling the truth,” he says, leaning closer to you. “Your turn.” You take a deep breath, pretending to think before confessing, “We listen, and we don’t judge… but sometimes I search myself on TikTok and click on edits of either myself or us because they’re so cute.”

Kelvin’s grin gets even wider. “You watch our edits?!”

“I do,” you admit, laughing. “Listen, they’re good! And honestly? The chemistry is undeniable.”

Kelvin smirks, clearly enjoying this. “See? Even the internet agrees we’re iconic.” The mood softens slightly as Kelvin says, “We listen, and we don’t judge… but sometimes I feel like I’m not doing enough to show people how much I care about them. Especially you.”

You blink, surprised, before smiling warmly. “Look at him" you pout, your eyes glistening at him. "Kelvin, you’re one of the most thoughtful people I know.”

Kelvin looks at you, his grin softening into something genuine. “Alright, last one. We listen, and we don’t judge… but I think you’re one of my favorite people, and I don’t tell you that enough. Working with you on Mufasa was amazing, but getting to know you outside of all that? Even better.”

Your cheeks flush as you nudge him playfully. “Kelvin, you know what you’re doing. You’re never beating the allegations.”

“Let ‘em think what they want,” he says with a wink. The video ends with you both laughing as you lean into each other, the undeniable chemistry between you leaving the comment section in shambles.

#TikTok!Comments

@user 1 NOT HIM SAYING ‘SMASH’ I’M SCREAMING. 🫠

@user 2 The way they flirt so casually?? Get married already.

@user 3 Her admitting she searches their edits?? I’d do the same, sis.

@user 4 Kelvin really called her his favorite co-star, and I’m crying real tears.

@user 5 The chemistry is too real. aaron punching the air rn.

@user 6 They’re so natural with each other. This isn’t acting; this is love.

@The lion King Forget Mufasa. These two are the real stars.

@ melosliving 2025

#mufasa : the lion king #kelvin harrison jr.#kelvin harrison jr x reader #kelvin harrison jr fluff #kelvin harrion jr x black!reader #actress!reader

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steveseddie · 5 months ago

Text

home run

steddie | rating: m | wc: 3,6k | no warnings | tags: post-season 4, love confessions, first kiss, first time, dry humping, coming in pants, car sex, or technically van sex

for week two of @softsteddieseptember “confessing your feelings” and “road trips” and week two of @steddiesmuttyseptember “backseat” and “clothes on”

read on ao3 here

Steve’s fingers tighten around the grab handle as Eddie’s van skids dangerously on the wet road. “I really think we should stop, Eddie,” Steve says, finally voicing the thought he’s been having since they got caught in the rain.

Eddie leans forward on the driver’s seat, struggling to see the road through the sheets of water slashing at the windshield, the wipers failing to keep up.

At first, Steve thinks he didn’t hear him over the heavy pitter-pattering but then he waves dismissively at him. Steve flinches when he lets go of the wheel and the van swerves.

“No way, Stevie, if we stop we won’t make it in time for the game!”

“If we don’t stop you’ll drive us off the road,” Steve says in a bitchy tone. “And then we won’t make it to the game either because we’ll be dead.”

Eddie groans, using a rag to wipe the fogged-up windshield. “But-”

“Pull over, Munson.”

With a defeated sigh, Eddie hits the warning lights and stirs the van to the side of the road. “As Your Majesty commands,” he says, matching Steve’s bitchy tone.

“Hey, don’t get pissy on me,” Steve protests when Eddie kills the engine. “It’s not my fault the sky opened up on us!”

Eddie slumps into the driver’s seat, air puffing out and making his bangs flutter. “No, it’s mine.”

Steve snorts. “What? You suddenly control the weather or something?”

“No, but I made us stop for lunch and waste time and got us trapped in this fucking downpour!” Eddie crosses his arm over his chest, pouting. If Steve didn’t think Eddie would throw him out of the van for it he would lean over and pinch his cheek and call him adorable.

“We had to stop for gas anyway,” he says instead, shrugging.

“Yeah, but we could’ve had lunch in the van!” Eddie throws his arms up, almost hitting Steve in the face. “It’s called a road trip for fuck’s sake. And now we won’t make it to the game, so it was all for nothing!”

Not for nothing, Steve thinks. They spent the last couple of hours bickering over who got to pick the music and then singing along horribly to whatever they picked to annoy the other one further, which is one of Steve’s favorite parts about driving around with Eddie. That and watching him while he drives, less worried about being caught staring at him. Not to mention the milkshakes they had at the diner where they stopped for lunch were the best Steve’s ever had. Even if they miss the game, which was the whole reason for this trip, Steve would be okay with it.

But Eddie sounds genuinely upset about it so Steve turns to face him and puts his hand over his knee. “I bet we can catch the rerun at our hotel in Chicago.”

Eddie huffs. “That’s lame, Steve.” His eyebrows knit into a frown. “You were supposed to be there and watch it live, maybe get hit by a ball or something.”

“Eds, why are you so butthurt over this?” Steve can’t help but ask. Missing a basketball game—even a big one that they drove all the way to Chicago for—shouldn’t be getting under Eddie’s skin like this. “You don’t even care about basketball.”

“No, but you do,” Eddie says with a sigh. “And you- you’re always doing things for the kids and for Buckley and for me so I just wanted to do something for you. Wanted us to do something you want for once. That’s why I got the tickets.”

It’s Steve’s turn to frown. “Wait, I thought Wayne got the tickets from someone at work.”

Eddie hangs a hand from his neck, watching the rain fall through the window, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “Er, no, I asked him to get them for me like a month ago when he drove to Chicago for a job,” he explains shyly. “’Cause, you know, you need a credit card to get them on the phone and well, obviously I don’t have one and neither does Wayne, so-”

“Why?”

Eddie blinks at him. “Because we’re poor?”

“No, Eds, why- why did you lie about the tickets?”

“’Cause I knew you’d get all—” he gestures wildly at Steve, “—you about it and offer to pay for them or something and that wasn’t the point. The point was me doing this for you, y’know? Driving four hours just to sit and watch a game that I don’t give a fuck about because you give a fuck about it and I give a fuck about you. Many fucks, in fact.” He lets out a shaky laugh in the middle of his rambling. “Fuck, Steve, I actually love-”

And then Eddie snaps his jaw shut so hard that Steve is surprised he doesn’t bite his tongue off.

One minute he’s looking at Steve like a startled deer, big cow eyes wide and spooked, and the next he’s flinging the door open and stepping out into the rain before Steve can do anything to stop him

He blinks at the empty driver’s seat. “What the fuck?”

He watches through the windshield as Eddie paces anxiously in front of the van, muttering to himself as the rain hammers down on him, soaking his hair and clothes. With a sigh, Steve grabs his jacket from the backseat, zipping it up before following Eddie out of the car.

“Eddie! What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m drowning myself,” Eddie says, running a frantic hand through his rapidly soaking hair and talking just loud enough for Steve to hear him over the rain.

“Why?”

Eddie whirls around to face Steve. His bangs stick to his forehead because of the rain and Steve wants to reach over and brush them back. “C’mon, Stevie,” he says, shaking his head. His expression is open, vulnerable, terrified. “You’re smart enough to know that was a love confession. And a shitty one at that.”

Steve blinks, feeling droplets of water fall from his eyelashes. His heart hammers in his chest. “You- you love me?”

A laugh escapes Eddie’s lips—a mix of amusement and incredulity. “Sweetheart,” he says, his lips curling into a sad smile. “I’m so in love with you that I was down to drive us through a torrential storm to watch dudes throw balls into laundry baskets with you.”

Despite the rain soaking Steve’s clothes by the second, he feels warmth spreading through him at Eddie’s words. “Eddie-”

“I don’t expect anything, Stevie,” Eddie interjects. “You don’t even have to let me down gently or apologize-”

Steve tries again, taking a step forward, but Eddie instinctively takes a step back. “Eddie, I’m not-”

“I know-”

Steve growls, exasperated. “No, you don’t know,” he snaps when Eddie keeps interrupting him. “God, you’re infuriating sometimes.”

Eddie laughs but it’s a little shaky. “Big word, Stevie. Twenty points for you.”

Steve shakes his head. He closes the distance between them in two long strides, trapping Eddie against the hood of the van. Eddie looks spooked at the proximity so before he can run away Steve cups his cheeks, keeping him in place.

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “Uh, Steve?”

“I need you to shut up, Eddie,” Steve says, brushing his thumbs over Eddie’s cheekbones. His lips part, undoubtedly to make another remark but Steve beats him to it. “‘Cause I’m trying to tell you I’m also in love with you.”

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut immediately.

“There you go,” Steve says with a chuckle. His stomach flip-flops in anticipation. “Eddie, you know I love basketball-”

The words make Eddie frown. “This isn’t the love confession I imagined-”

“Christ. Shhh!” Steve presses his finger against Eddie’s lips with an amused chuckle. Eddie yelps but otherwise stays quiet.

“I said I love basketball,” Steve starts again, “but I’m happy to watch it just on TV, y’know? The reason why I agreed to a four-hour drive for a game was you. I wanted to go on a trip with you. We hang out all the time and it’s never enough. I’m fucking- obsessed with you! Christ, I love you!”

His finger leaves Eddie’s lips, telling him it’s okay to talk, but Eddie just blinks at him, and for a moment, all they can hear is the rain falling around them.

Finally, Eddie clears his throat. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you do a love confession,” he says in an awed voice.

“Do I get another twenty points?” Steve asks with a chuckle.

Eddie giggles. Steve has to fight the urge to pinch his cheek again. Adorable. “You get all the fucking points, sweetheart, that was romantic as fuck.”

His thumb brushes over Eddie’s cheeks, warm and pink despite the cold. “Do you know what’s more romantic than a love confession in the rain?” He asks. Eddie shakes his head, water dripping from his bangs. “A kiss in the rain.”

Eddie’s eyes widening in realization are the last thing Steve sees before he surges forward, all but mashing their lips together.

There’s barely half a second of Eddie’s frozen shock before there are hands in Steve’s hair and lips moving slowly and tenderly against his own. Steve moves closer, pinning Eddie against the hood of the van, one of his hands leaving Eddie’s face to settle on his waist. He wants to move even closer but the angle is a little uncomfortable, and he can’t lay Eddie down against the hood the way he could do if they’d drove the Beamer. Also, the rain isn’t stopping and Steve is starting to get cold after standing under it for so long.

So he breaks them apart despite wanting to kiss Eddie longer but keeps their foreheads pressed together. “Can we get back in the van now? Before we drown for real or catch pneumonia or something?”

“Whatever you want, baby,” Eddie says in a deep voice. The way Steve shivers this time has nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with how Eddie sounds and what he just called Steve.

Hooking his fingers through Eddie’s belt loops, Steve drags him towards the passenger’s side, pausing to kiss him every few steps. There, instead of reaching for his door, he reaches for the sliding door handle.

Eddie frowns. “Wait, I thought-”

“It’s still raining.” Steve kisses Eddie’s cheek. “We’re not going anywhere for a while.” He kisses the other one. “So I thought we could keep this going in the backseat.” He places one final kiss on his lips.

Eddie’s eyes widen and he nods fiercely, grabbing a fistful of Steve’s jacket and pulling him inside. They land on the backseat, Steve on top of Eddie, and while that’s exactly what Steve was after when he led them to the van, he still needs to get the door. Eddie doesn’t seem to care about that—he hooks his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

Steve lets it happen for a moment, already addicted to kissing Eddie but he must put a stop to it when he feels water starting to get into the van. He pushes himself up, his hands on either side of Eddie’s head, and effectively separates their lips. “Gotta get the door, Eds,” Steve says when Eddie whines.

“Hurry up,” he says impatiently. With a nod, Steve goes about sliding the door closed and then he’s back to hovering over Eddie, leaning down to bring their mouths together again. This time he licks the seam of Eddie’s lips, and when he parts them immediately, Steve slides his tongue inside, licking into Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie makes a small needy noise in the back of his throat and Steve takes it as approval, kissing him harder, letting one hand snake under Eddie’s wet shirt, feeling him up, while he holds himself up with the other one. Eddie’s hands make their way to Steve’s hair, fingers tangling in the wet strands, tugging lightly on them, making Steve momentarily break the kiss so he can let out a moan when the tug goes straight to his dick.

Eddie looks up at him with dark eyes. He gives his hair another tentative tug to see if he can drag that sound from Steve a second time.

He can.

“Fuck, Steve,” he whispers like he can’t believe this is happening. “You’re a dream.”

Steve desperately wants to hear Eddie too, so he starts kissing his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. Eddie tips his head back with a heartfelt groan, exposing the column of his throat. Steve takes that as an invitation, sucking at the pale skin until a mark starts to bloom. He bites lightly at the skin and soothes the sting with his tongue, listening to Eddie’s delicious string of gasps and whines.

His legs come up to wrap around Steve’s waist, pulling him closer until Steve is lying on top of Eddie.

Eddie who is hot and close and already hard against him.

Steve is hard too, he can feel his dick pushing against his wet jeans. He knows they should probably get out of their wet clothes soon but right now he doesn’t have enough patience to do that. He doesn’t want to waste any time that could be spent kissing Eddie, not until they’re satisfied. If the way Eddie is wrapped around Steve like a needy koala means anything, he doubts Eddie wants that either.

So instead Steve slowly moves his hips to meet Eddie’s.

A whimper slips past Eddie’s lips at the friction. “Oh, fuck, Steve,” he pants against Steve’s lips. The way Eddie moans his name goes straight to Steve’s dick, making it twitch as it begs for more friction. He rolls his hips again. “Jesus, fuck- I’m- sweetheart-”

“You okay?” Steve asks when Eddie can’t seem to finish a sentence. When he rolls his hips again, Eddie makes a noise like he’s dying, failing to utter any words. “Want me to stop?”

“No!” Eddie protests, shaking his head, hair wild and fanned out on the seat. “Don’t stop. Just uh- fair warning, I’m about to embarrass myself and come in my pants like- fuck, like this.”

Steve groans. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding enthusiastically, Steve starts rolling his hips at a steady pace. “Yeah, I want it. Wanna make you come, Eddie. Wanna see you.”

“Holy shit, Steve,” Eddie swears. On the next thrust, he pushes his hips up just as Steve grinds down and they both moan loudly.

They fall into a rhythm after that, approaching the edge quickly. Hoping to make Eddie come first, Steve wedges his hand between them, cupping Eddie’s hard dick with his palm. It feels big and Steve’s brain feels like it’s melting out of his ears when he so much as thinks about touching Eddie without his jeans and his underwear in the way, about blowing him, about Eddie fucking him. His own body jerks almost involuntarily against Eddie’s thigh.

He does his best to rub the length of Eddie’s dick as best as he can through his clothes, pressed so close together. Eddie lets out a string of moans and whines that shoot sparks of pleasure down Steve’s spine.

“God, Eddie, you’re so- you sound so good. So fucking hot.”

Eddie shudders against him, his breaths coming quick and short. “Don’t stop,” he pleads even if Steve has no plans to stop what he’s doing, not when he’s so close to giving Eddie what he wants. Instead of stopping, he squeezes the head and strokes him faster. “Fuck, Steve, I’m close.”

“Yeah, come on, Eddie,” Steve urges him on. Eddie sobs against Steve’s neck, hips jerking along with the movement of Steve’s hand. “Come for me, baby. Let me hear you.”

Eddie whines, high-pitched and needy. “Steve, I’m gonna-” He bites out just as Steve squeezes the head of his dick, his words trailing off into a moan as he tips over the edge. Steve watches Eddie come undone for him—head thrown back as his eyes roll into his head. It’s the hottest thing Steve has ever seen. It’s too much. He needs to come.

He grinds against Eddie’s hip, hard and desperate, chasing his own release as Eddie catches his breath. He’s so close already.

Eddie must realize it too. “Your turn, sweetheart,” he tells him, his hand finding its way back to his hair, brushing it away from his face. “Fuck baby, you look gorgeous like this. Flushed and needy. Humping my leg, so desperate,” he whispers, kissing Steve’s cheekbones, his jaw, his neck. Little whines escape Steve’s lips as Eddie starts to run his mouth.

“Can’t wait to do this somewhere else, Stevie, someplace where I can drop to my knees and blow you.”

Steve’s breath hitches, his dick twitching when he pictures Eddie on his knees for him—lips wrapped around his dick, eyes molten as he looks up at him. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah? You want that, sweetheart?”

Steve nods eagerly. “Y-yeah. Wanna blow you too.”

One of Eddie’s hands cups his cheek. He runs his thumb over Steve’s bottom lip. “‘Course, baby. You can do anything you want to me.”

Steve’s hips stutter, his brain foggy as he gets closer. “Y-you too. Anything. Fuck, Eddie, please.”

“I got you, baby, c’mon,” Eddie whispers. His hand travels down until he’s cupping Steve’s ass, urging him to grind harder against his hip. Steve feels like he’s on fire. He’s so close, he can feel it, he just needs something more-

That’s when Eddie tugs harshly on his hair at the same time Steve grinds down, and just like that, he’s done for—he moans Eddie’s name as he spills into his boxers. Eddie kisses him through it, whispering praises against Steve’s lips that make shivers run down his spine.

Steve can’t kiss him back at first, the aftershocks of his orgasm leaving him feeling a little stupid, yet Eddie doesn’t seem to mind—happily taking control of the kiss, licking into Steve’s pliant mouth.

Once his brain comes back online, Steve kisses him back lazily until his neck starts to hurt and the arm holding him up cramps and he has to lower himself on top of Eddie, his head resting on his chest.

They’re quiet for a moment, the only sound in the van is their labored breathing, as well as the rain falling outside, though not as hard as before.

Eddie runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, which is slowly starting to dry. “We might’ve missed the game—” Eddie starts, and for a moment Steve is confused, having completely forgotten about it, “—but that was definitely a home run.”

Steve snorts. He gives a weak slap to Eddie’s shoulder. “That’s baseball, you dork.”

“Eh, whatever. I won, ‘s what I’m saying.”

“You lost your money though,” Steve says, absently playing with Eddie’s curls.

“Worth it!” He says, and Steve can hear his grin in his voice. “Hey, it’s not raining as hard anymore. We can try and make it for the last few innings.”

“Again, Eds, that’s baseball,” Steve giggles. Eddie shrugs, jostling him slightly. “And I told you I’m fine watching it in our hotel. I prefer it, actually. Can’t do this—” He props himself up on his elbow and kisses Eddie, “—at the game.”

“Good point.”

Steve smirks. “Can’t fuck me at the game either.” Eddie splutters, his eyes nearly bulging out of his face. Steve laughs. “You okay?”

“Yup! I just- I think my brain broke just by thinking about fucking you.”

“But you want to?”

A hysterical laugh falls from Eddie’s lips. “Do I- Steve, sweetheart, baby, that’s the understatement of the year. Of the century even!”

Steve smiles, pleased. “Then it’s settled, we skip the game and head straight to the hotel.” He pauses, thinking something over. “Maybe dinner first. It can be our first date.”

“You don’t need to wine and dine me, baby,” Eddie says, “you already got into my pants.”

Steve glances down at their still wet clothes. “Technically, I didn’t.”

Eddie snorts. “Guess you’re right. Okay! You can take me out to dinner, big boy. Though we should probably change first.”

Steve shifts, grimacing when he feels the mess in his boxers. The fact that his clothes are soaked only makes him feel more gross. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

They dig through their duffel bags for dry clothes and use the back of the van to change. Steve lets himself look at Eddie in a way he never allowed himself when he stayed over or when they hung out at the pool and finds Eddie staring right back, both of them smiling—giddy and slightly disbelieving.

By the time they change, the rain has stopped completely so Steve steps out so he can move to the passenger seat. Eddie simply climbs to the front and flops gracelessly onto the driver’s seat. Steve watches him maneuver his long limbs with a fond smile, reaching over to smooth his hair down.

Eddie smiles back at him, dimples digging into his cheek. Steve can’t help but lean over the space between them and kiss each of them before finally kissing Eddie’s lips.

“Are you sure you’re not even a little sad we missed it?” Eddie asks when Steve pulls back.

He shakes his head, leaning back against his seat. “No, Eds.” He grabs Eddie’s hand, interlacing their fingers together in the space between the seats. “As far as I’m concerned, I already won tonight.”

“Steve Harrington, you sap,” Eddie teases yet he squeezes Steve’s hand, placing them on top of his leg, refusing to let go, going as far as using his other hand to switch gears as he starts the van. “Let’s make sure you score a few more times tonight.”

“Oh yeah, baby, talk sporty to me,” Steve says in a deadpan tone that makes Eddie cackle loudly.

But despite the two of them joking about it, they score again that night.

And a few more times after that.

#steddie #steddie fic #soft steddie september #steddie smutty september #stranger things fic #hello i am once again late but i was so busy during the week i couldn't finish this until tonight whoops #also it's been a while since i wrote any kind of smut so i hope this is okay #steve harrington #eddie munson #monse writes

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hiitsm · 9 months ago

Text

Bound by Trust: Navigating Turbulance Together

Part 2.

You hesitate to open up to your girlfriend about what's happening at home because you've been explicitly instructed not to share it with anyone.

Angst, Hurt, Undetailed physical abuse by a parent (reader's), lot's of Comfort & Fluff

Part 1

Kindness

"Y/n, how are you doing, dear? How's football practice?" Alexia's mother, Eli, inquires during dinner. You've always felt welcomed and loved by Alexia's family, especially by her mother.

"It's been going great. Coach wants me to play a bit more defensive midfield instead of attacking, so it's a bit of a change, but I think it'll go well," you reply with a warm smile directed at Eli.

"She's so good, mami," Alexia adds, beaming with pride.

"I'm glad, y/n. I bet you'll do great. Remind me of your next match, I'll try to come watch with Alexia," Eli says, her smile radiating warmth and genuine affection. A surge of love and appreciation swells in your chest at her words.

"Maybe we can also bring Alba, she would love to come along and watch," Alexia suggests with a cheeky grin, her tone tinged with sarcasm directed at her fifteen-year-old sister. Alba responds by throwing a piece of potato towards Alexia's head, eliciting laughter from you.

"You don’t have to come, Albs, you know that," you assure Alexia's sister, smiling warmly at her. You've always had a good bond with Alba. "How's high school been treating you anyway?" you inquire, turning your attention to the brunette teenager.

"Same old, same old. Another day, another tampon flushed through the toilet and the whole school ground is under water," Alba responds with a hint of dry humor, drawing another round of laughter from the table.

A little while later, as you help Eli with washing the dishes, she notices a bruise on your arm, a mark you hadn't even noticed yourself yet. "Did you have a rough football practice lately, dear?" she asks, nodding towards your arm. Panic flickers within you for a moment.

"Oh, uhm, yes, it was a bit rough. Lots of pushing and pulling, you know?" you reply, flashing her a small, apologetic smile.

"Please be careful at the next training," Eli says with genuine concern evident in her voice. "I will," you assure her, grateful for her caring nature and silently vowing to pay more attention to your bruises and how to cover them up.

After finishing the dishes, you and Alexia retreat to her room. Though not overly spacious, it feels perfect to you—a sanctuary of calm where you feel utterly safe. Alexia pulls you onto her bed, your bodies snug against each other, her arms wrapped tightly around you. You bury your head in the crook of her neck, reveling in the sense of security she provides.

As Alexia's hands trace gentle circles on your back, her touch soothes you, easing away the tension of the day. But then, her hand slips beneath your t-shirt, and she pauses, seeking your consent.

"This is okay for you?" she asks softly, her kindness and consideration never failing to touch your heart. The two of you had agreed to take the new intimacy slow, and her gentle approach reassures you that she respects that.

"Yes, amor," you assure her, momentarily forgetting the troubles of the morning in the comfort of her embrace.

Alexia's hand encounters a rough patch of skin, prompting her to sit up slightly to inspect it. "You have a scratch here, amor. Did you fall this morning or something? The cut on your eyebrow is a bit similar," she inquires with concern, her gentle touch soothing. She traces her finger along the scratch, her expression filled with genuine worry.

"Uhm, yes," you reply quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. Technically, you did fall.

"How did that happen?" she asks gently, her eyes filled with worry.

"The stairs," you admit quietly, the weight of your confession hanging heavy in the air. It's not completely a lie if your mother pushed you violently, causing you to fall from the stairs.

"Amor, are you feeling okay? You know I'm here for you, always, right?" Alexia asks gently, her concern evident in her voice.

"I know, mi vida, it's just that—" Your phone interrupts, your dad calling to ask where you are and if you can come home. With a heavy heart, you hang up and sigh. "I'm sorry, amor, I have to go," you apologize, feeling the weight of your unspoken burdens.

Alexia's expression shifts to one of concern and sadness as you prepare to leave abruptly. Determined to ease her worry, you muster a smile. "Is it okay for you to come pick me up tomorrow before uni?" you ask, already knowing her answer.

"What do you think I have my drivers license for, bebe?" she responds with a wide grin, her playful demeanor returning.

"Okay, come on, go home, so I can come pick you up tomorrow," she says, teasingly pushing you off her. You share laughs as Alexia walks you to the door.

You say your goodbyes and thank-yous to her mother and sister, then Alexia walks with you to the door. Before parting, you give her a gentle kiss and whisper, "Te amo mucho."

As you arrive home, the atmosphere feels tense and subdued. You find your mother on the couch and greet her with a soft, "Hi, Mom," hoping to ease the tension.

"You haven't talked about this morning to anyone at school, have you?" she asks, her tone carrying a raw undertone. You feel a pang of hurt and disappointment at her question. After the morning's events, where her anger over a jacket led to a violent outburst, it stings that this is the first thing she brings up.

"I haven't, Mom. I promise," you reply quietly, struggling to hide the turmoil brewing within you.

"Good. Nobody needs to know about it. You shouldn't have to talk to anyone about it," she responds curtly, and you nod in acquiescence.

Feeling exhausted and emotionally drained, you excuse yourself, citing early university classes in the morning as a reason to head to bed. Climbing upstairs, you notice your father has already retired to his bedroom. You wonder if he noticed what happened earlier, a tear slipping down your cheek at the thought.

As you lay in bed, your mind swirls with thoughts of Alexia and the comfort she provides. Unable to resist, you send her one more text, expressing how much you miss her already and how excited you are to see her tomorrow morning.

Your girlfriend shows up at your place earlier than expected, but in truth, you should have anticipated it. When you open the door, there she stands, a wide grin stretching from ear to ear. "The girlfriend pick-up service is here," she announces proudly, holding out a beautiful bouquet of your favorite hibiscus flowers.

"This is beautiful, amor. Thank you. Do we have a little time? I'll put them in a vase," you reply, excitement bubbling within you.

"Of course, amor. Let's go," Alexia responds eagerly as you both step inside your house. She's been here before, and though it's not quite the same as her mother's house, she understands that no other place can compare.

"Are your parents still asleep?" she asks, noticing the absence of anyone else in the living room.

"Yes, they both have the day off, I think," you explain as you carefully arrange the flowers in the nicest vase you own. Quietly, you lead Alexia to your bedroom, seeking her opinion on where to place them.

"Next to your bed looks nice," she suggests, and you follow her advice, positioning the bouquet in a prominent spot.

Satisfied, you both head downstairs quietly and make your way to Alexia's car, ready for whatever the day may bring.

"Dinner was fun yesterday," you remark to your girlfriend, reaching over to gently squeeze her hand, the one not occupied with steering the car.

"I had fun too. You're great with my family," Alexia responds warmly, returning the squeeze. The feeling of contentment and love washes over you both.

"Your cut above your eyebrow looks a bit healed. I'm glad," she adds, and you notice the relief in her posture as she speaks. Another wave of the urge to confide in her washes over you.

She deserves to know, right? What could your mother possibly do if she found out you had told someone? Hurt you even more? You're already hurting, so why not tell your girlfriend? Maybe she can help you. Maybe you can let her help you. You're caught in a conflict within yourself.

"...and I thought maybe when they're away for the weekend, you could come to my mother's house to spend the weekend together?" Alexia suddenly says, interrupting your thoughts. How long has she been talking to you?

"I'm sorry, do you mean that your mother and Alba are away, and I can come spend the weekend with you?" you ask, hoping you've understood correctly.

"Yes, mi amor, but it's totally fine if—" Alexia begins, but you interrupt her.

"I would love to, amor," you say, a smile tugging at your lips. Alexia grins in response, and for a moment, everything feels perfect.

For a moment, there's a comfortable silence between you, until you break it. "So, yesterday I told you my mother got upset, but it might have been more—" Your words are interrupted by the ringing of her car kit. It's Mapi.

"Alexia, can you please come pick me up? My alarm didn't go off, and I'll be screwed if you don't pick me up. Ingrid is already there" Mapi's panic voice crackles through the speaker.

You sigh quietly, feeling a pang of disappointment. Perhaps the universe is signaling that it's still not the right time to confide in your girlfriend.

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas #mapi leon #mapi leon x reader #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen

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lovelyjuju · 3 months ago

Text

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐤 [𝟐] - 𝐛𝐲𝐮𝐧 𝐞𝐮𝐢𝐣𝐨𝐨

bf!euijoo x fem!reader

genre: love at first sight – college au!, fluff

warnings: cheeeesy, nicknames (love)

word count: ~2k

finally, part 2 of starstruck that was requested here, i hope you enjoy!! 🤍

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

the hallway was buzzing as students went in and out of rooms, but euijoo didn’t seem to notice any of it. standing outside your exam hall, he held your hand a little tighter, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

“so, i’ll see you later?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the chatter around you. "you're going to do great, okay? don't worry about it," he reassured you.

you replied with a nod and a soft smile, glancing down for a moment and feeling a warm blush creep up your face.

he leaned in and brushed a kiss against your cheek, just long enough for it to feel like more than a friendly goodbye. when he pulled back, his smile was bashful, like he wasn’t sure he should have done it but also couldn’t stop himself.

as you slipped into class after wishing him good luck for his own exam, you didn’t notice the figure standing just down the hall, arms crossed, an amused grin spreading on his face.

nicholas waited until you disappeared, then strolled over, nudging euijoo's shoudler playfully.

“alright, alright, hold up,” he began, his voice light but full of accusation. “so, we’re just kissing in the middle of campus now? since when have we moved on from hopelessly staring in the library every tuesday at 3 p.m.?”

euijoo startled, running a hand through his hair, but his guilty smile betrayed him. “it's not like that, it’s… new. i was going to tell you.”

nicholas shot him a playful glare. “new? you’ve been obsessing about her for an entire semester, and i had to watch you agonize over every tiny interaction. i mean, seriously, torture. i was the one who pushed you to make a move and now you’re dating her, and i don’t even get an update?”

euijoo chuckled, trying to defend himself. “well, technically, we’re not… dating. i mean, we like each other, but we haven’t really talked about being official or anything.”

nicholas shot euijoo a look of exasperation and let out an exaggerated sigh. "seriously, juju, do you need step by step instructions? you've confessed – you've done the hardest part. don't you think it's time for an actual relationship talk?"

euijoo blinked at nicholas, his expression blank as if letting what he'd just said sink in. then, he nodded slowly, "i think you're right."

“i always am,” nicholas said, smirking. “how about a date with candlelight or stargazing or whatever else that daydreamy head of yours can come up with? come on, make it official.”

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

the day you finally finished your last exam, you went home, took a quick shower and stood in front of your wardrobe for what felt like an eternity to think about what to wear.

euijoo had told you to go for something you felt comfortable in, but he'd seemed so nervous about asking you out that you couldn't help but think he might have planned something special. it would be special either way; you felt like with euijoo, everything would be special.

after you'd decided to go for a pair of comfortable jeans and your favorite top, you got your hair and make up done just in time for euijoo's text.

"i'll leave now, i'll be there in five"

you replied with a quick 'okay', told him you were looking forward to it, and grabbed your bag and keys, deciding to wait for him in front of your door.

when he pulled up, you couldn't help but smile, feeling anticipation and excitement bubbling up in your stomach as he opened the car door and stepped out a second later with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in one hand.

you quickly rushed over to him, letting him pull you into a careful hug and immediately felt a warm feeling spreading across your chest.

"hey," you greeted him after pulling back.

"hey," he replied gently, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he handed you the bouquet almost a little hesitantly as if he was too shy to do it.

"these are for you," he explained the obvious, " i don't know if you like them, but i thought they were pretty and you have some clothes and accessories in that color, so i was hoping you'd like them, but if not then–"

you pulled him down by the collar of his shirt to press a soft kiss onto his lips, interrupting his rambling. euijoo's eyes widened in surprise, but he reciprocated the kiss almost immediately, his cheeks slightly blushed when you pulled back.

"actually, these are my favorite," you said with a bright smile. "thank you, euijoo, they're beautiful."

not as much as you, he thought, but the words got stuck in his throat.

you quickly rushed inside, placing them in a vase to make sure they wouldn't dry out during whatever plans he'd made, and sat in the passenger seat of his car once you were done.

the drive was filled with silence, only the quiet sounds of the radio playing and the traffic, but it didn't feel awkward. euijoo's hand was wrapped around yours, resting on your thigh, and he only let go when he had to shift.

when he parked in front of an apartment complex, you glanced over to him. he stopped the engine and turned to look at you.

"i know it's not special, but i wanted today to be more personal and less... public?" he asked rather than explained.

your lips curled up into a small smile and euijoo could practically feel a weight lift off his shoulders.

"everything is special with you," you replied, barely louder than a whisper, causing euijoo to smile a little more brightly and to look down for a second like he always did when he got flustered.

after he’d opened the passenger door and led the way to his apartment, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back, he opened the door and stepped inside after you.

the moment you entered, a delicious scent filled the air, tickling your senses. before you could ask, euijoo spoke up. "i’ll show you around first," he said, and you nodded in agreement.

after a quick tour of his small apartment, he took your hand and guided you to the last stop: the cozy kitchen. the aroma was even stronger here, and as you looked around, you spotted a few pots simmering on the stove.

"like i said, i wanted today to be a bit more personal," he said, bringing his hand up to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly, "i hope it's edible."

you chuckled softly. "if it tastes half as good as it smells, you’re doomed to cook for us for the rest of your life," you teased, standing on your toes to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

euijoo motioned for you to sit at the small kitchen table, lighting a candle in the center before filling two plates with food.

you shared the meal, you going on about his impressive cooking skills, and him quietly admiring how beautiful you looked in the warm candlelight.

after you’d finished, he reached for your hand resting on the table, brushing his thumb softly over your knuckles. for a moment, you simply looked at each other, the flickering light casting shifting shadows across your faces, and you felt your heartbeat quicken just from watching him.

"come with me for a second," euijoo said softly, letting go of your hand only to stand up and offer you his hand again. you stood up, took his hand, and followed him to the living room, where he opened the glass door that lead to his balcony.

the two of you slipped outside, the night air brushing against your face as you moved closer to the railing, gazing down at the illuminated city below.

euijoo stood behind you, carefully wrapping his arms around you and placing his hands over yours on the railing. he rested his chin on your head, his warmth enveloping you as you both stood in comfortable silence for a while.

"y/n," his soft voice broke the quiet after a bit.

"hmm?" you replied, slipping your hands out from under his and turning to face him. you were close enough to feel his warm breath mixing with the cooler night breeze.

euijoo closed his eyes briefly, exhaling before meeting your gaze again. "do you remember how we confessed on that balcony at the party?"

you giggled softly and nodded, "of course i remember." you could feel your heartbeat pick up, but you tried to keep cool, not letting it show.

"i thought… maybe it’d be nice to, you know," he hesitated, "make things official?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically careful, as if he was afraid to ask.

you furrowed your brows slightly. "you mean–"

"yes," euijoo interrupted. "will you be my girlfriend?"

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

a few days later, you found yourself at euijoo's place again, helping him to arrange some snacks while waiting for his best friend nicholas. you hadn't properly met him yet, and euijoo wanted to introduce you two to each other, so he invited you both over for a cozy get-together.

when the doorbell rang a few minutes later, euijoo answered, soon returning with nicholas. you offered a smile, which he returned as you introduced yourselves.

“i can’t believe my best friend finally gets to be with the girl he’s been obsessed with for a whole semester,” nicholas announced as soon as you’d all settled on the sofa.

you and euijoo both blinked in surprise, and while you asked a surprised “huh?” euijoo let out a mortified “nicholas!”

“wait– a whole semester?” you asked, looking back and forth between them.

“actually a bit longer–” nicholas began.

"nicholas." euijoo interrupted, eyes stern but cheeks too pink to look actually annoyed.

“euijoo, that’s sweet,” you said with a pout, your stomach bubbling with butterflies at the thought of him liking you that long. but you paused, furrowing your brows in confusion. “wait, we only met at the start of the semester?”

before euijoo could reply, nicholas blurted out: "trust me, he was gone from the first time he saw you in the hallway," a grin on his face.

euijoo just sighed, running his hand over his face in frustration. "you're embarassing me, nicholas, stop it."

nicholas turned to euijoo and stuck his tongue out childishly, "i'll tell her about all the times you stopped and stared when she walked by!"

"i did not stare," euijoo protested, his cheeks only deepening in color.

you hid a smile, looking at euijoo, feeling warmth blossom inside. he’d liked you for so long, never giving up, yet never making you uncomfortable with it. and now here you were, with him as your boyfriend – something you couldn’t have wished for more, as everything he did for you came so naturally to him.

"i had no idea..." you said softly, leaning your head against euijoo's shoulder and feeling his warmth welcoming you as always.

when nicholas left a few hours later, the two of you stayed cuddled up in comfortable silence. eventually, euijoo’s fingers stroked through your hair, drawing your gaze up to him.

"sorry for... that," he said, cheeks faintly pink. "i didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable, please don't think i'm some creep who–"

"euijoo. love," you interrupted gently, his eyes widening in surprise at the nickname, "it's sweet. i didn't know, but i'm glad you didn't give up on me, even when i was busy being clueless," you chuckled.

a soft smile curved euijoo’s lips as his fingers continued their gentle path through your hair. “well, i tried… didn’t work,” he chuckled.

you smiled back, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, and he looked at you, eyes bright, revealing all the love he was still finding the words to express.

see my other works here | join my taglist here

ღ taglist: @chiiyuuvv @bananielle @enha-hype @20cubee @tako-takiiii @lakoya @makissecretgirlfriend @sudi109

#&team #&team x reader #andteam #luné #&team fluff #andteam x reader #euijoo x reader #ej x reader #euijoo fluff #ej fluff

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treason-and-plot · 4 months ago

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“What?” says Roy. He shakes his head in an effort to wake up his brain, which seems to be suffering from momentary paralysis. He is on the one hand delighted that Michael is in deep shit, but he is also dismayed that Anya is so upset. It hurts his heart to hear her cry. But his dismay is exacerbated by the fact that she had such a strong reaction to the revelation- she’s acting as if her father had been caught having an affair. Which obviously isn’t the case.

“How did your mother find out?” he asks Anya, deciding to reserve sharing any of his personal thoughts about Michael’s indiscretions, at least for the moment. Anya puts the phone down to blow her nose. She takes a few deep breaths. When she speaks again her voice is a little less wobbly.

“The bank rang her about an unusual transaction on their joint credit card and she asked them to email her a statement. Dad looks after all the bills including the payment of their credit card and normally she never gets to see any bills or statements. The unusual transaction just turned out to be my sister borrowing the card to buy §300 worth of Simmora makeup, but Mum went through the rest of the transactions and she noticed that every week there was a charge of §200 billed to a company called-“

“Active Advisory Pty Ltd,” Roy’s brain whispers to itself.

“Active Advisory Pty Ltd,” Anya says. “Which sounds like a financial services company or something, right? Which Mum thought was really bizarre. So she did some investigating and found out it’s actually the company name of the owners of a strip club called The Pink Pony. So Mum confronted Dad about it and he admitted he’s been going there every week for the past year! And spending §200 on private sessions!”

“Well, shit,” says Roy. “That’s…that’s a lot of visits.”

“Mum’s devastated!” says Anya. “I am too! I can’t believe Dad would cheat on Mum like that! It’s just made me question everything I thought was real.”

“Technically, is it really cheating, though?” says Roy.

“How can you say that!” gasps Anya. “Of course it’s cheating!”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m just trying to wrap my head around everything,” says Roy quickly. “And hey, what about your sister stealing the card to spend §300 on makeup? That’s terrible!”

“Roy, I don’t think you understand. My parents are probably on the verge of divorce over this! My mother hasn’t stopped crying since my Dad confessed and she’s talking about going to stay with her sister in Barnacle Bay! The last thing they’re concerned about is Eva blowing money on make up!”

“Well, maybe they should be at least a little bit concerned,” says Roy. “Just saying. But, ah, okay, obviously the other stuff is a bit more concerning. Particularly the amount of money he’s been spending-“

“The money isn’t the issue here, Roy!” says Anya. “You just don’t seem to be getting it! My Dad has been visiting prostitutes! Sex workers! I can barely think of a worse betrayal! P….poor Mum….”

She starts sobbing again.

#Roy #Anya #back to Bridgeport #5 years later #sims 3 #sims 3 story

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eschairsnotebook · 7 days ago

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So, my husband’s body (45M) got hijacked, and I (42M) had the best sex of my life. Now what?

Okay, so I wasn’t sure where to post this, but I need to tell somebody because I’m still reeling from what the hell just happened. Maybe this is more of an r/confessions or even an r/trueoffmychest post? I don’t know. But anyway, here goes.

So, my husband (let’s call him Mark) and I have been married for almost eight years. We’ve got two adopted kids, a pretty routine life—work, school drop-offs, grocery runs, weekend movie nights, all that good suburban dad shit. Mark is… steady. Like, extremely steady. Dependable, sexy in a “solid oak tree” kind of way. Always been a great dad, great partner. Reliable. So when he tells me a few days ago that he’s planned a surprise date night for us, I’m excited, right? This is rare. He arranges for my sister to take the kids for the evening, makes reservations at a fancy-ass restaurant, the works. Romantic as hell.

So, cut to last night. I drop off the kids, come back home, and Mark is already dressed up, looking fucking delicious in a crisp button-up and slacks. But something is…off. Like, he looks like Mark, sounds like Mark, but the energy? Not quite the same. He’s standing differently, like looser? More fluid? Mark’s always been confident, but this was something else. He gives me this slow, knowing smile when I walk in, and I swear to god my dick twitches before I even fully understand why.

Then, in the most casual voice ever, he says, “The kids are gone?”

And I nod, still kind of stuck in my head trying to figure out what’s different.

Then he laughs. And that’s when I know something’s wrong. Mark doesn’t laugh like that—low, smug, like he’s savoring something. And then his throat convulses. His lips curl back, and suddenly, his jaw stretches too wide, too unnatural, and something pushes through.

I freeze. Because it’s a head—a different head—emerging through Mark’s gaping mouth, black and slick and grinning.

It looks familiar. Like that comic book goo-monstery thing from the Venom movies.

My husband’s body jerks as "Venom" forces himself forward, wearing Mark like a grotesque meatsuit, controlling him like a glove. His voice slithers out from Mark’s throat, two-toned and taunting. “That’s a shame,” he says, “you were really into it a second ago.”

My breath hitches. “Who—what—are you?”

His stolen grin stretches wider. “Tonight, you can just call me Mark.” And then the goo monster retreats, slithering back inside, leaving my husband’s body standing there—but now, Mark is different.

And then the new Mark throws me onto the bed.

What happens next is a blur of strength, heat, and raw, unapologetic power. He moves with purpose, with an intensity that Mark never has. His hands grip me like he owns me, his mouth claiming mine, his body relentless as he watches our every move in a full-length mirror across the room. The way he touches me, devours me—it’s overwhelming, mind-meltingly good.

Mark never takes control like this. He never uses me the way "Venom" does.

And I fucking love it.

Hours later, after I’ve been utterly ruined, my body aching in the best possible way, "Venom" shoots off me and away, a black mass peeling from Mark’s body like liquid shadow. My husband collapses onto the mattress, unconscious, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths. When he wakes in the morning, he remembers nothing.

But now, every time I look at him, I keep thinking about that other version. And how badly I want it to happen again.

If I’ll ever be able to go back to normal.

So yeah. Am I cheating if it was still technically my husband? Because uh. Yeah. I think I might be in trouble.

#m2m possession #venom symbiote #possession #alpha muscle #male shapeshift

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thatonesonicfanfictionwriter · 1 month ago

Note

Omfg your writing is so cute !! I already requested a couple times before but I just can’t help it

Sonic x reader that admires Shadow, But Sonic misunderstands this as reader having a crush on Shadow when reader just sees Shadow as a mysterious, cool role model, so this causes Sonic to try and compete and up throw Shadow in order to gain readers affection. Only for reader to confess to Sonic and him being confused like “i thought you liked Shadow???” And reader explains that they just admire him and look up to Shadow, but Sonics the one they actually like!

Sorry if this is hard to understand but take your time!

🐛

“The Wrong Idea”

Pairing(s): Jealous Sonic the Hedgehog x Reader, background Knuxadow/Shadknux (Knuckles x Shadow)

Requested: Yes (by an anon).

Description: Sonic the Hedgehog never got jealous! At least…that’s what he tells everybody. So why was it always that faker that made him feel this way?

Notes: Wooooo, request number seven (eight?- technically the eighth one I’m posting-)! And don’t feel bad for requesting multiple! I’m having fun writing these!

(Reader will be gender neutral.)

(Not proof-read/beta-read.)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

Sonic the Hedgehog never got jealous.

At least…that’s what he told everyone.

But right now, it seems like he wasn’t telling the truth.

He has no clue why, but every time he sees you chumming up with that faker, he gets jealous.

He knows it’s selfish, but he wants your eyes on him, not Shadow of all mobians.

Right now, you and Shadow were outside of Rose’s Bakery, Amy’s bakery that she set up with the help of Vanilla and Cream, eating sweets and drinking bubble tea.

Shadow had some kind of coffee-flavored one with tapioca bubbles (because of course he did), while you had a simple fruit tea with your favorite fruit-flavored bubbles.

…Not that he remembered your exact order each time you go to Rose’s…

Oh, who was he kidding. He had a massive crush on you but he was 90% sure you had a crush on the faker.

So all he had to do was one-up him, right?

Sonic zoomed off, paying for a bouquet of your favorite flowers, before zooming back over to where you and Shadow were, only to find you both gone.

His ears droop in disappointment, the flowers drooping as well in a sad yet funny irony.

“(That’s okay, that’s okay. You’ve just gotta catch ‘em next time!)” Sonic thinks to himself. “(It won’t be that hard! You’re the fastest thing alive after all!)”

The next time he sees you both, you’re on your way over to a movie theater, chatting on the way there.

Bingo!

“Hey [Name]! Shads! Good to see you guys!” Sonic says, zooming over to you both.

“Oh! Hey Sonic!” You say, waving at him with a warm smile on your face, one he always cherished.

“Sonic,” Shadow acknowledges. “What are you doing here?”

“Well sheesh, can’t a guy say hi to his friends without the suspicion??” Sonic asks. “Anyway! What are you guys up to?”

“[Name] offered to take me to see a movie in theaters, to have the “full Mobius experience,”” Shadow states, doing air quotes with his hands.

“Oh, sweet! Mind if I tag along?” Sonic asks.

“You sitting still in a theater for hours? Doubtful,” Shadow states.

“I can too sit still in a theater,” Sonic grumbles.

“Sure thing! Though, we are going to see a horror movie, just warning you in advance,” you tell Sonic.

He makes a “Pshhh!” sound, waving you off.

“Puh-lease! Horror is my middle name!” Sonic states.

“I thought it was Maurice-” you start, only for Sonic to take your hand in his, gently pulling you along.

“C’mon! We wanna get the best seats!” Sonic states.

Boy, was Sonic not prepared for this movie. Luckily (or maybe not so luckily, he hated seeing you scared), you weren’t, either, with you and Sonic clinging onto each other every time there was a scary scene.

When you all exited the theater, you were still slightly shaking.

“R-Remind me not to trust movies with holiday names in them anymore…” you mutter.

“You did say it was gonna be scary, [Nickname].” Sonic tells you.

“Would you like me to take you home?” Shadow asks, holding out a hand for you to take.

“I’ll take ‘em home, Shads!” Sonic suddenly announces, putting an arm around your shoulder. “Besides! I can get them there lickity-split!”

“I appreciate that, Sonic,” you say with a small smile, and Sonic swears he sees a light blush on your cheeks, but he brushes it off.

“Sure thing!” he tells you, before scooping you into a bridal-style carry. “See ya later, Shads! Now hold on tight, [Name]!”

You wrap your arms around Sonic’s neck and he rushes off towards your home to get you back safely.

A few days later, when you texted him asking him to meet up, he was nervous.

What if you were mad at him? What if you told him you didn’t want to be friends?

What if you were dating Shadow?!

He took a deep breath, exhaling sharply.

“Calm down, Sonic. They just want to talk with you. It’s fine,” Sonic says to himself before rushing out of his and Tails’ shared home.

Getting there in the blink of an eye, Sonic immediately notices something.

You.

You’re dressed in a really nice outfit and you have a picnic set up, hiding something behind your back.

You look-

“You look gorgeous…” Sonic mutters aloud.

Your face turns pink, and you look to the side, a bit embarrassed, but you wave him towards you, which he does, sitting on the blanket next to you.

“So…” you start.

“So…” he continues.

You clear your throat with one hand before bringing out what was behind your back; a bouquet of blue orchid flowers, Sonic’s favorites. You hold it out to him and he takes it with a shocked expression, his face tinted pink, cradling the flowers carefully.

“I- But- We- I thought-” Sonic sputters. “I thought you had a crush on Shadow!”

You blink twice before bursting out laughing, hunching back before hunching forward, wiping a few tears from your eyes.

“No, silly! I’ve liked you this whole time!” you tell him. “Shadow felt like a mentor to me. And don’t tell him I told you, but he came to me for love advice.”

“Love advice??? Him???” Sonic questions. “Who could he possibly like??”

Looking around, you cup a hand around your mouth before whispering in Sonic’s ear, and Sonic’s face quickly morphs into one of genuine shock.

“HE HAS A CRUSH ON WHO?!” Sonic yells.

“Don’t say it so loud!” you tell him, letting out another laugh.

“I just- Knuckles???” he questions. “I would’ve never thought!”

You giggle before placing a kiss on Sonic’s cheek, a smile appearing on both of your faces.

Neither of you could be happier.

#sonic the hedgehog #sth #sonic fanfiction #sonic the hedgehog x reader #sth fanfiction #x reader #knuxadow #i mean it's mentioned but it's there #oneshot #gender neutral reader #shadow the hedgehog #etc #insert tag here #can you guys guess the horror movie #i've never seen it but i'm a wuss so #i hate horror XD

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carmenilla · 3 months ago

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okay so the thing about mike’s “i love you” speech is that we technically don’t have 100% concrete evidence that mike is lying when he says i love you. obviously we have a lot and it is enough to prove that mike doesn’t, but people will still choose not to believe us because it’s not directly stated in the show that this is not true.

however. what IS 100% not true is that mike fell in love with el in that first moment that he saw her. “i knew right there, in that moment, that i loved you.” mike literally wanted to get rid of her when they first found her, even if he cared enough to get her out of the rainstorm and give her shelter/clothes. he literally plans a way to get rid of her with lucas and dustin. and also he was like 12 obviously he didn’t madly fall in love with some kid he found in a rainstorm the second he saw her

yet mike still claims he did. which is concretely proven to be a lie. anyone who denies this is incredibly delusional - it’s right there in the second episode of the series

now here’s my point - why the hell would mike lie at all in this speech?? he could just be honest??? if he really loved her, he would talk about his real feelings of love and that should be enough?? he could talk about all the things he loves about el, and the REAL moment he fell in love with her, instead of making up an obvious lie that el could probably very easily identify as such. if he was really so madly in love with her, him being honest about his feelings would have been enough. why would he lie at all??? WHY???

since we are 100% sure he lied about something pretty big during his love confession, to his choking girlfriend, i really don’t think it’s that much of a stretch that, maybe, perhaps, he doesn’t really love her in that way

why would he lie???

#mike wheeler #anti milkvan #anti mileven #mike wheeler analysis #byler #byler proof #mike wheeler is gay

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circeyoru · 11 months ago

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Unwanted Soul _ Part 7 = Requested

[Yandere!Alastor x Owner of his Soul!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 2.5 (ask) — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5 — Part 6 — Part 7 (here)

It’s been around a few good months since the attack on the hotel, everything has been quiet around the hotel and you’ve been adapting well to the residents of the hotel. Since you were technically a staff member. Plus, since you’ve confessed to Alastor, things didn’t change much

Was what you wanted to say

You find yourself pulled out of your comfort zone when you’re set to have some form of duty. Then there was your little self-imposed obligation to go on dates with Alastor that suited him. While you were happy Alastor was enjoying your time, you can’t help but find yourself drained by the end of it

Not to mention Charlie’s insistent of your inclusion in her various activities. You really really preferred to be in the comforts of your room watching aime and reading manga or manhwa or whatever they are called

Still though, Alastor always knew when you were burn out from socializing and would put a stop to your suffering. Followed by a relaxing cuddling and anything you prefer. His attitude and behaviour towards you didn’t change all that much if you don’t count the increased intensity and the easiness of making him flustered

Because you and Alastor were a ‘confirmed item’, there were a lot of teasing from the hotel members to which Alastor prides himself on blocking off and you let him. Though there was an odd dynamic between Alastor and Lucifer

What you could describe as a parent or father judging his child’s lover type of deal. An example was you leaning against Alastor while on the lobby couch then Lucifer comes sitting next to you as well and moved you so that you were leaning on him. Or another where they were both preparing your meal and had a contest over, but because they took too long, you made your cup noodles

It was all weird and all, though nothing to stress over. You like staying at the hotel all the same, even though your friendship with them isn’t all that strong compared to what you share between Alastor or Lucifer

“You know, Pager, it got me thinking.” Lucifer started. It was a random quiet and slow day, as rare as it is, Alastor was out in Cannibal Town to gossip with Rosie. Of course he told everyone else he had important business to attend to.

“Yeah? You’re not thinking of making another library themed duck collection, right?” You gave him a suspicious gaze, looking up from your novel. “I’m not accepting those. I have like… a whole shelf of them back home.”

Lucifer awkwardly chuckled, “Okay, I mean, no! Of course not.”

You gave him a look of pure doubt. “If you gave me some and Alastor knew about it, you bet he’ll burn it.”

“Just gotta make them fireproof or something.” Lucifer whispered, but he shook his head and cleared his throat, sounding more professional. “Okay, this is serious! Very!”

Without warning, he suddenly dragged you into a portal of his own and you two arrived in a realm of his making. A realm where everything was golden. You hugged onto him tightly when you realized it was a gold sea below you two. Naturally, you yelled at him for doing this out of the blue

You had him held onto your while you wrote ‘wings’ on your page to form a pair of them behind your back to keep you afloat. You went back to yelling at Lucifer before he gestured to you, saying this was the point

Unable to comprehend, you said of course because you were no angel. Nor did you expect him to just drag you into another realm out of the blue

“What if you didn’t need to write on your pages to get things done?” Lucifer suggested, his wings flapping from time to time to remain in the air over the flowing golden liquid below you two.

“Then I can’t do anything. I’m nothing without my quill and pages or at least a surface to write on.” You answered, pointing to the wings that magically appeared from your words alone. “You know that.”

“I mean as in you don’t use them. Maybe start small, like don’t use your pages and only your quill to write.” Lucifer cryptically explained, you gave him a raised brow and he groaned, “Oh, come on! You watch your little shows, you know what I mean! Writing it in the air and poof!”

You laughed. Yes, you’ve seen these things happen in TV shows and anime, but you never got the chance or want to try it out. You see, you don’t exactly see yourself to have something so overpowered in your skillset or ability list

From what Alastor told, his immense power came from the evil deeds he has done in his years alive. His ticket to Hell had his name when he first killed. Then his power slowly built up from the serial killings he did. Adding to that, there was fraud, manipulation, and corruption. His twisted moral of how a hunter make good use of their prey was way too concerning for you

Cannibalism. He ate his victims as a method of exposing the bodies, well, only the ones he saw were healthy. But still. Then he told you like a storybook before bed how he dug up graves in the bayou where he dump the bodies or put it somewhere noticeable on purpose to catch the attention of the public

Afterwards? He speaks through the microphone in his booth while the radio all over his hometown state listens, he sympathized with the victim and their family and friends, he warned listeners to be careful, he wished the authorities to make quick work in finding and arresting the killer. All while a sick smile was on his face as he made those broadcast

It’s times when he tells you his cruelty that you’re reminded with who you rescued, sure Hell was a piece of work, but Alastor was another story. He’s something straight out of a serial killer movie, but in real life. You can’t question enough how Alastor fell for you and turned to a yandere type as well, but not like you’re regretting it now. He grew on you far too much

In contrast to Alastor’s build-up or something like a pre-register in Hell for power, you’ve done doing to that degree. You didn’t kill others, you aren’t even manipulative, and you definitely wasn’t brave enough to commit some other crimes. If anything, you were a victim

You already can’t understand why you had the power you do now. Alastor theorized before it was due to the fact you love books, but then the question changes to how your powers were this unique. Why were you any to summon and conjure items you understand?

Alastor can do something similar but it’s just that. Similar. He snaps his fingers and things just appear. There were limits, but something he can’t do was summon angelic steel or weapons like you can

Once you joked how you were actually destined to be in Heaven. That got Alastor into a frenzy. Immediately pinning you down and patting your back to see if there were wings

“A joke! It was just a joke!” You shouted at him, there was that crazed look in his eyes that sent a chill down his spine. Even though you have his soul and limited his powers, he was still the more powerful one between you two.

Alastor blinked and got off of you, his eyes narrowed as his smile shrank, “A poor joke, Darling. Even if you’re destined for Heaven and taken away from me… I will find you and drag you back down to Hell.”

You got Lucifer to bring you back to your room and leave thing as that. You don’t think you can do it, it was a pleasant thought, to be able to do that you’d be more powerful. Then again, you’re not seeking to be powerful. There was nothing for you to fight for. You had Alastor, that was enough

Not in Lucifer’s case though. He kept pestering you on learning, randomly bringing you to his golden realm that you got used to it and just prepared pages with the word ‘wings’ written on it. His persistence caught Alastor’s attention

At first, Alastor was annoyed that Lucifer was trying to spend time with you and to your delight chased Lucifer away, but after you told him what it was about, he was interested to see your power grow as well. Claiming that it was a great opportunity

Of course, he added that it wasn’t due to him doubting he can’t protect you in times of needs, but he didn’t want what happened on that roof to happen again

What if you didn’t have a surface to write on? What if you didn’t have your book with you? What if your pages were wet? What if your quill was taken away from you? What if you were put into a situation where you can’t rely on your pages and quill?

In that sense, Alastor was all for Lucifer’s idea. Since Lucifer was the one to see how your power developed, he was the better supervisor than Alastor. As much as your love hates to admit it. Though he wanted what’s best for you and he thinks you needed this now that you were staying at the hotel where sinners and demons can roam freely

“Fine…” You sighed, “I’ll try your little idea…”

“Yes! Come on! We’re starting training!!” Lucifer opened up the portal with his apple cane.

“Have a productive time, My Beloved!” Alastor hugged your good luck, kissing the top of your head, “I’ll have your favourites ready when you return.”

And so started with your little power upgrade project

Lucifer spared no expenses when it came to dragging you out of bed from your comfort activities to do more trial and error

It felt like the days when you were back in your living years, having to study and work. The twist was that you enjoy it since it was your first friend from Hell that got you to work. If anyone was in doubt about Lucifer being the King of Hell. He was a hellish tormentor for you

Turns out, that golden realm he has was all under his control and that golden sea could have been dry land. Oh you were so pissed when you learned that. Sure it helped with exercising your wings ability but he could have told you in the first place!

You’re very very tempted to just smack him in the head. But you told yourself not to give into temptation and just be good and get this over with. Lucifer is still the King of Hell and a powerful fallen angel that was leagues above you. You can never compare or try to win over

Alastor, the sweet thing, was always there for you when you needed some comfort or when you didn’t have motivation to continue

He provided you with so much that you thought back to your time alive

When you were down in the dumps and burn out, you longed for someone to be by your side to support you through thick and thin. You thought you had it, but it was a lie you told yourself. You thought that was happiness, it was nothing but a joke you drown yourself in

You truly enjoy your time with Alastor and all that he has given you, devoted to you. You can’t thank him enough

In the end, there was truth to Lucifer’s little theory. You started with plainly writing in the air with your quill, nothing happened naturally. Later on, you started to envision writing on something and it worked just a smidge. You soon learned to see the air as your surface, treat it like there was a hologram of a page there and write on it. Like all those sci-fi movies and TV shows you watched

Letters started to appear in a neon glow, coloured in your signature colour of your aura. In no time, the letters appeared more constant to your writing, then words formed. That was a big step, your next goal was to actually summon something

That took more time to perfect, but you got it since you were past the big goal of writing on nothing or air. The items you summoned grew in size and weight, then you barely managed to summon your angelic weapon. You fainted right after it appeared

You lacked stamina and energy to maintain it after using so much to summon it into existence. A short break was taken before you pushed yourself to continue. Lucifer and Alastor both supported you while reminding you that there was no pressure

No pressure. They actually mean it. It wasn’t a tactic to guilt-trip you into working harder. Figures appeared in your mind but you shook it away. No, you’re doing this because Alastor and Lucifer believes you can do it. You’re doing it not because you were forced. You want to do it

It was when you finally managed to summon an angelic weapon and maintain it for a good while that Lucifer deemed your powers successfully upgraded. Him having to act like a system congratulating your work, it left Alastor confused, but he too praised you for your achievement without giving up

Next step was to not use your quill to write, you already had an idea to use your fingers like a particular anime’s protagonist from long long ago. Maybe you should rewatch it for some more ideas. But there was something else that you never got around to ask

“Oh yeah, why is it that you keep bringing me to this goldy realm of yours?” You poofed away some random objects you summoned with a wave, “Can’t we just do all this in the hotel? It’s big enough for it and we didn’t actually use much space anyways.”

Lucifer groaned, “Oh, no. No~ No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Thats, uh hah, no. Bad idea.”

Your head tilted, “Bad idea? That’s the hotel you rebuilt with the others, right?”

Lucifer would be banging his head from that movement, sadly and unfortunately for him, there was no wall in sight in this weird golden realm. “Yes, but now Charlie let Vox’s people install these screens all over the place and… Arghhh… I had to destroy the TV in my room cause of all the heebie-jeebies I got from it.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it was like the day before I asked you if you thought of that power upgrade thing.”

No wonder Alastor was more pushy about you staying in your shared room or his radio tower recently. Never letting you away from those areas. Now you understand what it was about. You did wonder why Alastor didn’t tell you, but then you recalled how it was you that have been stressing about the deal with Lucifer and your power, so there was never a chance for him to tell you that

And naturally the other hotel members would assume Alastor told you so they never approached you. Ohhh… You feel like a jerk now

You quickly made your way down to the lobby, easily finding everyone you needed

“Charlie!”

“Oh! You want to join our activity? We’re gonna do some online competition with this new—”

“No, Charlie, why did you accept VoxTech’s stuff?” You questioned immediately, stepping between the group and the large screen.

“Vox was sponsoring us! He gave us so much help! He even had his employees install everything around the hotel.” Charlie praised, though you noticed how her eyes stayed glued to what was behind her. The others all nodded in agreement, seemingly in a trance.

Your eyebrows furrowed, you looked behind you, just a peek was enough to see that Vox had been hypnotizing them to say good things about him. You glared at the screen, showing Vox and his hypnotic eye. This doesn’t work on you. “Alastor!”

“Darling!” Alastor appeared through the shadows, immediately turning you away from the screen as his hands held your face so that you stare at him, “Did he do anything to you?”

“It’s okay, hypnosis has no effect on me.” You spoke through squished cheeks, you squeeked when Alastor stole a peck before releasing you. You blush, never will you get used to this, you peeked around your lover, seeing the group recover. “Alastor, destroy all VoxTech products in this hotel. No matter how big or small.”

Alastor’s grin grew, “With pleasure.”

You wrote ‘recovery’ on your pages and restored the gang back to conscious minds. You would try your newest technique, but this was more concerning since it was on someone other than you

When the group snapped back to their senses, Charlie and Vaggie shouted at you for what you told Alastor to do. You argued back that they weren’t even aware that they were mind controlled by Vox, it was a matter of time before they were mere puppets. You pointed over to Angel who’s boss, Valentino was Vox’s partner, and Angel backed you up easily

Lucifer offered his thoughts on the matter as well, claiming that’s why he doesn’t watch TV that often. He didn’t want to say anything because the hotel was Charlie’s and it was her decision on what she does with it

You went on to warning them how controlling and unseemingly evil Vox could get, he truly is manipulative with that perfect CEO outlook he gave everyone around him. When things don’t go his way, he was sure to retaliate like a baby throwing a tantrum. You relate with Alastor on how you two view Vox. Truly, you wonder why he was accepted as an Overlord with that personality of his

From this the group honestly saw how you were once an informant for Lucifer. You speak your mind, acting swiftly and precisely. Your knowledge on other demons, Overlords even, was a deadly weapon at your disposal. Your secretive nature made things more complicated since you wouldn’t be one to share unless necessary

Alastor praised and sang you words of flattery at your action, even though he was the one that did all the work. You merely had to drag him to your level and kiss him to shut him up, then you two went back to your shared room to cuddle while having your movie night

Charlie and Vaggie cut all contacts with Vox and his company, warning him to stay away from the hotel if and when he has ill-intention to associate with it

“F**k!” Vox slammed his fist onto the table, his screen face glitched with error messages as his rage continued to raise. All his cameras and speakers in the Hazbin Hotel was gone, the connection wasn’t merely lost, it was completely gone.

He didn’t expect someone with authority to make Alastor destroy them all. He thought the bleeding princess will keep him at bay, and he was so close to finding out about that figure on the roof that day. Someone that protected Alastor and removed all the eyes he had to watch that battle.

“Pages…” Vox mumbled, he tugged on a chain that suddenly appeared. A contract chain. “You better stop meddling in my plans!”

“It wasn’t me! I swear!” The pulled in figure cried, her long hair covering her crying face, “I’ve been here all this time! How can I do anything!?”

Vox glared, pulling on the chain until it was choking her, “Well, it’s not everyday you see a sinner with the power to command pages to do their bidding, right? Who else if not for you? Huh?”

The female demon cried and sobbed more, “It wasn’t me, it really wasn’t… Don’t punish me…”

Vox eyed his giant tank with aquatic creatures, his grin grew, “Yeah, I think you need some reminding.” He told his little weak contracted soul to his eye level, “Who it is that owns you, you don’t get to decide. Copy-Kat.”

Note: Hi hi everyone!! This is back from a bit of a pause (as you can tell, I've been working on another series). Though this part might not be as good as you'd like. But necessary for the future parts. Haha~

The requests sent a long time ago on the Reader's/your past acquaintances and interaction with Vox will be added to the parts after this! Or treated as trivia when direct contact is made!

Give this series a warm welcome back~

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: (those that don't specify to being in all the works' taglist will automatically be assumed to be in whichever series they comment on)

@aconfusedwonderland @crowleysthings @donustellaron @mistpurpl3 @lucifers-silhouette @fluffy-koalala @nevermore-ramblings @justboredforreal @youroneandonlysimp @falsemain @scenteddelusion5 @anni1600 @readergirlstuff @salutations-demonsanddappers @mistpurpl3 @haruskrd @biadoll21 @speedycoffeedelight @wendds @paninibit @emperatris-rinaka @lucifers-silhouette @an-idyllic-novelist

#Circe's Nighty Writings #Circe's requested writings #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #yandere alastor #yandere alastor x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel imagines #Unwanted Soul

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solarnomoon · 1 year ago

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get a guitar - lee heeseung

your boyfriend every third thursday/best friend not boyfriend/(not-so) secret crush, heeseung, gets a little too tipsy for you.

pairing >>> heeseung x male reader

tags >>> college au, alcohol consumption, confessing feelings???, misunderstanding, slight angst, fluff, comfort, (not super) drunk hee, suggestive content

author's note >>> i have a few things to say. first, this was inspired by drunk heeseung hello he's adorable ･ﾟ･(｡>ω<｡)･ﾟ･ and second, i rly liked riize's debut song! and ik, it's supposed to be fun and innocent, but it's fun to think there's more to it!

the rattling of your bedside table was not uncommon for you to be awakened by, but was what uncommon was the fact that as you open your eyes to silence your phone from the blasting alarm, there was no light that peered through the curtains, causing you to groan at being woken up so early.

you reach for your phone and see who dared to wake you from your slumber, and after your eyes adjusted to the bright light, you immediately pick up seeing sunghoon’s name. you figured it was important as sunghoon has never once called you, the reason being as he hates calling and only texts, dms, hell, even replies on twitter.

“hello?”

“h-hey y/n!” the voice that rang through was not sunghoon, now keeping in mind that technically, sunghoon had still never rung you. “what’s going oonnn!”

it’s not like you didn’t recognize the voice though, “sunoo? not much, but it’s fucking… 1:30 in the morning, what’s up?” you slowly sit up, rubbing your eyes after flipping the on switch for your ambient lamp next to you.

“heyy, so, basically we all went out as you know, and oh em gee, you have to look at the pictures we took, they are SO funny…” you hear someone else’s voice in the background to tell him to focus, whom you can only assume is jay. “sorrryyy, anyway we called because your little lover boy over here is like, a little like, too fucked up.”

“heeseung? and he’s not my lover boy.”

“notice how i didn’t say a name~” the guy over the phone just giggles, you letting out a sigh after hearing that heeseung might’ve gotten himself in trouble. “anyway, his roommate has his fuckbuddy over, probably getting her pregnant. he’s so fucking irresponsible with condoms, agh, i hate him!” the sudden outburst from sunoo makes you snort, the love-hate relationship they have is probably one of the most entertaining things you’ve seen in a while.

“it’s okay, sun, tell me how much you hate ‘lix later.”

an audible gasp is heard through the phone, with sunoo adding, “ugh, i hate that you’re friends with that stupid australian!”

“felix is not a bad guy, sunoo, and you know this too.” you take this opportunity to tease him back, “plus, you’re just jealous that he’s not fucking you instead, don’t lie.”

“not the point y/n. the real point is, can seung stay at yours? i know your roommate is out for the weekend, and none of us have space for him.” he pauses for a few seconds, then jay tells him to ‘tell y/n the other thing!’ sunoo lets out a noise of agreement, then continues. “he also has been asking about you all night. like, i mean literally talking about you every moment of his life. so i think it’s time to just give him what he wants…”

“he’s been asking about me?”

“uhh, when is he not? seriously, when are you guys gonna get together?”

“you know he doesn’t like me like th-“

this time, sunoo lets out a sigh, interrupting your sentence. “i don’t wanna get into this with you, we’re coming to your dorm.”

“but i didn’t say you c-“ and with that, your dorm room opens wide open, with heeseung holding on to jay’s shoulder to keep himself up. “-ould come."

after jay puts him down onto your chair, sunoo and jungwon walk in the room as well, with jungwon giving you a wave while sunoo gives you a hug. "he's your responsibility now, y/n. we couldn't get him to go anywhere else to be honest..." jay admits, his hand reaching to the back of his neck.

"it's... fine, just go have fun and enjoy the rest of your night. i can take care of heeseung." at the sound of his name, the guy looks over to you, mouth forming a wide smile when he recognizes your face.

"hey you, just the man i was looking for!" heeseung stands up from the chair and practically jumps into your bed with you, hugging you by the waist while his lower body stays on the floor. you nod to the other three, signalling them to leave, with jungwon and jay giving you a sheepish smile. sunoo on the other hand just wiggles his eyebrows and does the "salt shaking" motion, then leaves with them, shutting the door behind him.

you place your hands on heeseung's head and angle his face as to look at him, immediately feeling the warmth of his cheeks. as he looks up at you, you notice that he has a natural red glow, presumably from the alcohol he had consumed. "jeez, how much have you drank?"

he puts his fingers into a pinch, "a little bit." he removes his other hand from your waist to match the pinch, "just a little, a little." he puts his hand into a motion as if he's drinking a cup, signaling to you that he drank (as if you didn't already know that...) "actually, i drank a little."

"yeah, heard you the first... and second... and third time, heeseung. do you want some water?" you lean over to your bedside table to grab your water bottle, but when you try to hand it to him, he pushes it away. "you don't want?"

"i only want it if you drink it first!" he grins at you, confidence filling his voice all of a sudden.

"dude, how can you drink it if i drink it?"

"easy, you just pour it from your mouth into mine."

"what are you fucking talking about?"

heeseung gets up from the floor and sits next to you, leaning over to have his head on your lap. "it would be really easy like this, you just pour it into your mouth and then drip it into mine..." he wraps his arms around your waist again, putting his face into your shirt. "or, you could just kiss me with the water in your mouth."

you thought you heard him wrong, with the fact that he muttered his last sentence into your shirt, but after asking him to repeat it, you realize that what you heard was what he said. "...heeseung, i thi-" a muffled whine interrupts your sentence, and for a second, your heart squeezes, nervous that whine was one out of pain (definitely not because you liked the way it sounded coming from him). "heeseung?"

another whine erupts from his mouth, but before you could ask again, he answers, "stop calling me that, y/n."

"dude, you know that's your name, right?"

the movement was so quick that you didn't even know his drunk self could manage it, but in the blink of an eye, the positions had changed to where you were sitting in his lap, his arms wrapped around your waist still, but his face laying on your back. "but that's not what you call me."

"what are you talking about, seungie?" and with that, you could literally feel the muscles on his face form a slight smile, his face pressing harder into your back. after that, he removed it, putting his lips oddly close to your neck.

"that's my boy, much better..." his lips graze the bottom of your ear, before moving to the side of your neck, planting a small kiss. "so much better."

the minute you felt his lips on your skin, your instinct was to push away, your pulse quickening, and the area on the back of your neck tingling like sparks. "hey, don't fucking do that!" you looked back to scold him, but the tiny pout on his face made you soften up. "just... you can't do that kind of shit... not when..." i'm practically in love with you, you had wanted to say, and although heeseung was drunk, you couldn't take that chance of him remembering in the morning and prematurely ruining the friendship.

you knew it was bound to happen. it was only a matter of time before he found out himself or your feelings had grown immense amounts to the point where you couldn't take it anymore. either way was a lose-lose situation, but even knowing this, you couldn't lose heeseung as a friend, or a sort of fake lover the way he had treated you.

in fact, it was how he had treated you that made this impossible. he clung to you like a fucking leech. you and him were rarely seen without the other, and everyone around knew that if you invited one, you had to invite the other.

he'd play stupid horror games on roblox late at night with you, running halfway across campus the minute you said you were too scared to continue, and he'd hold you in his arms as you slept until dawn.

he'd invite you to his dorm and watch rom-coms with all of your favorite snacks, ramen that he had cooked for both of you guys, and heated blankets, massaging your back as you watched together while you laughed at the stupid jokes, periodically asking you if those pick-ups lines would work if someone used them on you.

he'd pick you up to go to a fancy dinner date, paying for your entire meal, then afterwards, bring you on a drive to the scenic areas and talk deep conversations with you as you guys admitted shit you never had before, discussing innate and learned fears, future plans, and why the earth revolved around the sun.

if you guys were dating, heeseung would be the absolute perfect boyfriend. he brought you to theme parks, county fairs, arcades, family meetups, holidays, pretty much everywhere. you couldn't imagine life without him, he was a staple to your life, and everyone knew you guys were practically inseparable.

but you and heeseung weren't dating. you had done all of these things in the past few months out of pure best-friendcy. and yet, you didn't want to lose this intimacy with him.

"not when you what, y/n?" heeseung leans to the side so you could see his face, curiosity floating in his eyes as he gazes at you.

"...not when you're drunk, heeseung."

"i'm not fucking drunk. and didn't i tell you to stop calling me that? it doesn't sound right coming out of your mouth." heeseung strengthens his grip around you, pulling you closer into him, as if he let go, you would fall out of his life for good.

"heeseung, you have to let go, you drank too much and you don't know what you're doing," before you could even realize it, your voice had started raising in volume and desperation little by little, "and it's like this isn't normal best friend behavior and i feel like i'm trapped in this fucking bubble of keeping to myself because i don't want to ruin us but i can't just leave you because you're so fucking important to me and i just!" you hold your breath, not knowing what to say next. "i just think it's unfair..."

you didn't even realize you were crying until heeseung was wiping the tears away with his hands, leaving small kisses on the top of your head. "hey, hey, baby..." heeseung whispered, making you even angrier. you turn around in his lap, hitting his chest.

"heeseung! don't even fucking call me that right now! that's part of the problem, you don't call your best friend that! stop fucking playing with my feelings!" you then grab his shirt and cry into it, muttering the last part, "if you wanna play with something, play with that stupid fucking guitar you have, not me..."

he chuckles softly at your sentence, but before you scold him for laughing at a time like this, he gently presses his lips against yours, encapsulating you into a slow, loving kiss. instead of fighting back, you lean into him, allowing yourself to be taken by his soft lips, kissing back with just as gentle of pressure, not wanting to be overwhelmed by a feeling you have dreamed of since you met the man.

as he pulls away, he wipes the tears stained on your cheek with his thumb lovingly, leaving his hands on your face. "you've been wanting to say all of that for a while huh? i feel like that outburst has been building up overtime." you just nod, not knowing what to say. "y/n, i swear to god, we've been dating. maybe not officially boyfriends, but dating." the confusion on your face must've been extremely evident, because he squishing his eyebrows together in retaliation. "you... you know i'm like... in love with you right...? right?"

"huh?" you sniffle, the tears stopping from the perplexed feeling overtaking your sadness. "you've never asked me out!"

"yes, i did! remember, at the park, when we had a picnic and i brought strawberry soju and the whole charcuterie board. i asked you that day, i remember what i said because i wrote it down. i said 'y/n, can we take this to the next step?' and you were like, 'yes!' so i thought you knew!"

oh.

you have never felt so fucking stupid in your life.

"that's what you meant?! i thought you meant to the next step of the stairs we were on!"

heeseung just looks at you blankly, mouth ajar. after a few moments, he just laughs, the sound so loud it reverberates through the room and even rumbles the bed. "n-no fucking way! is that why you randomly picked up the fucking blanket and moved it up to the actual next step?!"

"'cause that's what i thought you meant!" you exclaimed, the anchor in your heart that you didn't even know existed being relieved the more heeseung talked.

heeseung embraces you, placing another kiss onto your lips for a second, then just hovers in front of them, looking into your eyes. "then let me make it explicitly clear. y/n, i'm so fucking in love with you. please let me be your boyfriend."

you respond to him with a kiss of your own, allowing yourself to be overtaken with the absolute relief from the dredge that had been weighing you down on your guys' relationship for weeks upon weeks now. "yes, heeseung. i'd love for you to be my boyfriend."

he just smirks, hands moving from your face down to the hem of your shirt, wanting for you to take it off, which you gladly comply with. "fucking good. been wanting to kiss you, strip you, make you mine for weeks now, but you never reciprocated, so i just thought you weren't ready..." he takes your shorts off with efficiency, not wanting to waste any time with you.

"oh yeah? aren't you still drunk, heeseung?"

"was never that drunk to begin with, just wanted to get that water thing to work, but this..." placing his hands on your thighs, he spreads your legs and pulls you closer, "this is so much fucking better."

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