#so if i don’t get this done now it’ll be too late

[shaiyasstuff]

intimacy | rafayel

synopsis : You and Rafayel have been dating for almost a year. He’s the perfect man for you, sweet, caring, a little aloof but he’s also very good at making you safe. However, he’s never initiated contact with you beyond just a kiss. One girl talk later, you find yourself wondering if it was time to give it a try.

content : smut(well it’s more romance than actual smut), first time, no pull out, a little bit of awkward ness, rafayel x non-mc!reader, Shaiya is an OC, fluff, MDNI

writer’s note : i have no idea how to write smut, but I decided I should try to learn now LOL

You’ve been dating Rafayel for over a year now.

You first met him at the amusement park one evening, when you overheard a particularly dramatic sulk-fest about a missing cotton candy.

Apparently, some kid had “stolen” it from him.

You later found out his lady hunter friend had given it away.

Willingly and with a smile.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. Out loud. Before you could slap a hand over your mouth, it was too late.

Two pairs of eyes landed on you.

One, vaguely confused and highly entertained.

The other, hopelessly love-struck.

He asked for your number five minutes later, pressured—or really, bullied—by his lady hunter friend, who gave him a not-so-subtle jab in the ribs and whispered something that sounded suspiciously like “grow a pair.”

The next day, he brought you to the sea.

Just a chill, no-pressure, totally-not-romantic beach date.

Until he asked you to be his girlfriend with all the nervous energy of a schoolboy confessing to his crush behind the gym.

And things just… took off.

You had café dates where you tried, and failed, to beat him at Kitty Cards.

You endured constant third-wheeling by his lady hunter friend, who took it upon herself to be your official ship captain—teasing the both of you mercilessly and often.

Despite the chaos, you were genuinely happy.

Life was good.

You had a boyfriend who was equal parts adorable and infuriating, and a new best friend who always had your back when said boyfriend decided to be a lovable idiot.

Then came the day it hit you.

Like a truck.

Or a surprise test.

You were lounging in your living room with Shaiya, legs tossed over your couch arm, when she peeked at you over a bag of chips and asked with a smirk, “So… have you two done it yet?”

You choked on your drink. “Excuse me?”

But before you could even mount a proper comeback, something clicked.

Wait.

Hold on.

In the ten months you'd been dating Rafayel, he hadn’t initiated anything even remotely intimate.

You gasped. “…No…”

The horror in your voice only made it worse.

That was all the invitation Shaiya needed. Your loveable—albeit infuriating—lady hunter friend burst into laughter, clutching her stomach as she doubled over.

“Don’t laugh!” you hissed, watching her wipe away tears from the corners of her eyes.

“I was just asking for fun,” she said with a smug grin. “You’re the one who took it seriously. That’s one point for me, zero for you.”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “You’re right. He’s sweet. He’s an adorable puppy when we’re out and about, but I’ve never… thought of that.”

Her laughter softened, and so did her expression.

“Maybe it’ll happen soon. Don’t let it get you down.”

You threw her a half-hearted glare. “Now I’m insecure.”

That set her off again.

She laughed, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “I’m sorry! But it’s part of my job, being your personal third wheel and emotional instigator. Besides,” she leaned in slightly, her tone more sincere now, “if I don’t talk to you about this, who else will?”

You paused. She wasn’t wrong.

There weren’t many women in your life you could talk to like this. And the old lady who sold potato sticks outside the café definitely didn’t count.

You let out a quiet sigh. “I just… never really thought about that.”

Your voice dropped as the weight of the thought settled.

Shaiya reached out and rubbed your shoulder gently. “Hey. I’m sorry if I went too far.”

You gave her a faint smile. “No, it’s not that. It’s just…”

Your words drifted off.

It wasn’t like you actually wanted Rafayel to be intimate with you.

Well. Maybe you did.

But it had never been the point.

You liked the playful arguments. The way he curled around you on the couch when you were sick or too tired to move.

The quiet comfort of simply existing beside him while he just… was.

And somehow, that had always felt like more than enough.

A knock tapped gently against the doorframe.

Both you and Shaiya looked up.

Rafayel stood there, casually leaning against the wood, his dusky purple hair slightly tousled, a paint-stained jacket slung over one shoulder.

His mismatched eyes flicked to you, then to Shaiya, one brow raising with practiced laziness.

“Well, well,” he said, voice smooth and low, “should I be worried, or flattered?”

Shaiya grinned. “You’re always worried and flattered.”

“I prefer revered, personally.” His gaze settled on you, softer now. “Everything alright?”

Your heart hiccuped.

You nodded quickly, too quickly. “Yeah. Just… girl talk.”

“Dangerous territory.” He stepped in, the scent of charcoal and citrus trailing after him. “I could feel the emotional tension from the hallway.”

Shaiya laughed. “I should go before I get accused of emotional arson.”

She rose and headed to the door, whispering as she passed you, “Think about what we said.” Then she tossed a wink at Rafayel. “Be gentle with her.”

He gave a mocking bow. “Always.”

When the door clicked shut, silence settled between you two.

Not uncomfortable, but charged.

Rafayel stayed near the door for a moment, watching you.

Then he crossed the room and lowered himself beside you with a graceful kind of stillness, the way he always moved when he wasn’t performing for the world.

“She meant well,” he said, voice barely above a murmur. “But she rattled you.”

You looked at your hands. “She just… made me think about things I wasn’t ready to think about.”

His fingers brushed yours. “Things like me?”

You didn’t answer. He didn’t push.

Instead, he leaned back slightly, eyes searching your face—not with judgment, but a quiet kind of curiosity, as if trying to see what you were protecting.

“I never expected you to be ready,” he said finally, “but I’m not going anywhere.”

There was no playful smirk now. No lazy swagger.

Just Rafayel, stripped of all the performative charm. Just him—deep and devastating and completely real.

And in that stillness, something shifted.

Maybe it was the way he didn’t demand anything. Or the way he offered the truth so gently.

But maybe—just maybe—you were starting to think about him after all.

“Well…” you began, turning to face him slowly, unsure where the words would land.

“I mean… we’ve kissed. A few times.”

He tilted his head, watching you with that same unreadable calm, eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. “Yeah…?” he said. “That’s normal, isn’t it?”

You nodded too quickly, then froze, your thoughts catching up to you a beat too late.

The memory of those kisses—soft, fleeting, innocent—brushed through your mind.

But then your thoughts slipped further, imagining what could come next. What might come next.

And suddenly, your face burned.

You glanced away, unable to hold his gaze now.

The idea of anything more than those kisses… anything more than the safe rhythm you’d settled into with Rafayel…

It felt daunting.

Especially when you looked at him.

Your boyfriend, with his tousled hair and teasing grin, who always reminded you of an affectionate puppy curled too close to the fire.

It was hard to align that image with the heat curling in your stomach.

Hard to reconcile the softness he gave you with the weight of want.

Rafayel leaned in a little, not close enough to crowd you, but enough for his voice to dip lower.

“Are you scared?”

You hesitated, then whispered, “I don’t know.”

And that was the truth.

You weren’t scared of him. Not really.

You trusted him with your life.

It was the idea. The change.

The possibility of crossing that invisible line where intimacy stopped being soft and started becoming something raw, something deeper, something you couldn’t undo.

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease.

He just nodded, like he understood.

“Then we don’t rush,” he said simply. “You tell me when you’re ready.”

And that, somehow, made your heart ache more than if he’d kissed you right then and there.

Because he meant it.

Because he saw you.

“I mean…” you trailed off again, glancing at him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t you have… needs?”

The words hung in the air like fog—equal parts awkward, honest, and unintentionally hilarious.

You watched his expression shift, not in offense or surprise, but in that subtle way he always did when he was trying to read between your words.

There was no malice in your question. No pressure.

Just confusion.

Because it had started to gnaw at the edges of your thoughts—this quiet, growing need to understand him.

To repay him, even, in your own clumsy way.

For tying your shoelaces without being asked. For picking up the things you dropped when your hands were too full.

For tucking you in during thunder-heavy nights and crawling under the covers just to be near, to be warm, to be something steady when your world wasn’t.

For all the ways he took care of you without ever asking for anything in return.

And that’s what made it strange.

That he had never once initiated anything beyond a kiss.

Never reached for more.

Rafayel blinked slowly, his lips quirking—not into a smirk, but into something softer. Something unreadable.

“I have needs,” he said eventually, voice smooth, but not flippant. “But they’re not more important than you.”

You felt your breath catch.

“But… I want to make you happy,” you murmured. “Isn’t that part of it? Like… giving back?”

A shadow crossed his features, fleeting but there. He reached over, his fingers curling gently around yours.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said, and for once, there was no teasing in his tone. “I do those things because I want to. Not because I expect something in return.”

You looked down at your joined hands.

“I just… thought maybe you were waiting. Or holding back. For me.”

“I am,” he said, without hesitation. “But that’s not a burden. That’s a choice.”

He lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, warm and unhurried.

“You’re not a debt to be paid. You’re a story I want to keep reading, one page at a time.”

Your cheeks flushed hot, your heart thrumming in a way that had nothing to do with embarrassment.

It was the way he looked at you—like you were already enough.

And that, somehow, made you want him even more.

“But what if… I want to?”

Your voice was barely more than a breath, but it was enough to break the quiet between you.

You hesitantly lifted your gaze to him.

Rafayel’s expression softened immediately, as if the weight of your vulnerability wrapped around him like silk. Not fragile, but precious.

You felt nervous—tingly all over, your skin aware of every inch of space between you and him.

He was the first.

The first guy you’d let this close. The first who made it past the walls you didn’t even realize you’d built.

You’d never actually done it before.

Never crossed that invisible line with anyone.

And now, here you were—sitting beside the man who looked at you like you were made of starlight and sea glass. Like fire couldn’t burn him if it came from you.

“I…” You swallowed. “I’ve never done this. With anyone.”

Rafayel didn’t move at first. His gaze lingered on your face, absorbing every word you didn’t say.

Then, gently, he reached up—fingertips brushing the side of your cheek, slow and featherlight.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

You blinked. “For what?”

“For trusting me with that.”

Your breath caught.

He leaned in, close enough that his forehead almost touched yours, but stopped short. His voice dropped to a near whisper.

“If you’re ready, really ready… then I’ll be whatever you need. I’ll move at your pace. I’ll hold you. Kiss you. Worship every inch of you.”

A flush bloomed down your neck.

“But if there’s even a sliver of doubt,” he continued, thumb brushing your jaw, “then I won’t lay a finger on you. Because I want all of you. Not just your body.”

You nodded slowly, your heart thrumming in your chest like wings caught in wind.

Rafayel didn’t ask again. He didn’t rush.

He just waited.

And something about that—about him—made your fear melt into something warm.

Something that felt like love.

You stayed still, your breath mingling with his, your heartbeat loud in your ears.

Rafayel didn’t move any closer. He didn’t try to sway your decision.

He just stayed there—close enough to feel, but far enough to wait.

Your fingers twitched against your lap before finding his. You laced them together, slowly, tentatively, and he squeezed once. Firm. Steady.

“I don’t know what I’m ready for,” you whispered. “But I know I want you.”

His smile was soft, almost pained in how tender it looked on him. His eyes shimmered—not with fire this time, but something far more fragile.

“You already have me,” he said.

There was no heat behind his words. No hunger, no pressure. Just truth.

And for the first time, that truth didn’t feel daunting. It felt like a quiet, open sky.

You leaned into him, letting your forehead touch his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you like you were something precious, not breakable—but worth protecting.

His breath came slow, steady, and you felt it rise and fall beneath your cheek.

No more words were needed.

No promises, no decisions.

Just this—warm skin, slow breaths, the sound of his heart beneath your ear.

He held you like that until your nerves melted into calm. Until the tremble in your hands faded into stillness.

And outside, the night rolled on, untouched.

—•

When you woke the next morning, everything felt soft.

The light was dim, filtered through the curtains in streaks of pale gold.

The room was still, quiet, heavy with the warmth of sleep.

You blinked slowly, disoriented at first, until the familiar scent of smoke and citrus drifted through your senses.

You shifted slightly.

That was when you felt it.

Something firm, pressing lightly against your lower belly.

You froze.

Rafayel was still asleep, his arm draped around your waist, his breathing slow and even beside your ear. His body curled protectively around you, one leg tangled with yours, holding you in place as if even in dreams he couldn’t bear to let go.

And you realized, slowly, that you were still on the couch.

The two of you must’ve fallen asleep like that last night, somewhere between hushed confessions and shared stillness.

You swallowed.

You had never noticed things like this before. You’d always been so… innocent.

But after yesterday—after Shaiya’s teasing and the conversation that followed—you were suddenly aware.

Aware of the way Rafayel’s body was pressed to yours.

Of the heat between you.

Of every subtle shift in his breath when your thighs brushed.

You felt your heart stutter in your chest, a flush creeping up your neck.

Not from fear.

But from knowing.

From finally understanding the unspoken gravity that came with loving someone like this.

You tilted your head, just slightly, watching him. His hair had fallen over his eyes, his expression soft, almost boyish in sleep.

Still, there was something undeniably real about him like this.

Vulnerable.

Human.

And maybe a little bit yours.

You closed your eyes again, pressing your face gently against his collarbone.

You weren’t ready for everything.

But you were ready to hold this moment.

To feel.

To want.

And to slowly, carefully, let yourself fall.

You weren’t sure how to do it.

Your knowledge was limited to a blurry, awkward twenty-minute video from sex ed in high school, filled with sterile diagrams and uncomfortable silence.

Nothing about it had prepared you for this.

For the quiet rise and fall of Rafayel’s chest beneath your cheek.

For the weight of his arm still around your waist. For the strange, beautiful ache blooming low in your belly—tender, unexplainable, but insistent.

There was no plan. No clear thought.

Just a need.

Something stirring and restless and new.

You shifted carefully, your fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt as you tilted your head.

Your lips brushed his collarbone.

Featherlight.

A second kiss followed. Then another.

Each one just a little more deliberate. A little more brave.

You felt it when he stirred.

The faint hitch in his breath.

The way his muscles tensed slightly beneath you, as though part of him was trying not to move.

But he didn’t stop you.

He stayed still. Waiting.

You kissed your way higher, barely skimming skin, heart hammering in your chest. It wasn’t about knowing what to do.

It was about feeling.

Rafayel shifted, just enough for his hand to find the small of your back.

Not pulling you closer—just resting there.

Warm. Grounding.

His voice came low and rough with sleep.

“…Y/N?”

You froze, your lips hovering near his throat. Embarrassment flooded your chest.

“Sorry,” you whispered, already pulling back. “I didn’t mean—”

His hand tightened just slightly, not to stop you, but to hold the moment in place.

“Don’t be sorry,” he murmured. “Just… tell me what you want.”

You looked at him.

Really looked at him.

Hair tousled, eyes still hazy with sleep, voice like smoldering embers.

He looked breathtaking like this.

And vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before—waiting for your answer, for your choice.

“I don’t know how,” you admitted softly.

His gaze didn’t waver.

“Then we’ll learn together.”

There was no urgency in him. No hunger that would push past your hesitation.

Only patience. Only care.

And in that silence between your heartbeat and his, you realized this was what it meant to be ready.

Not to know everything.

But to want to share the unknown—with him.

Rafayel’s touch was warm against your back, his fingers tracing lazy, soothing circles as if he were trying to calm not just your nerves, but his own.

You felt the way your heart stammered against your ribs.

You weren’t sure what you were doing, but you knew one thing.

You wanted him.

Not just in the way people talked about behind closed doors, not just out of curiosity or some shallow idea of closeness.

You wanted this.

This softness.

This warmth.

The reverence in his voice.

The way he looked at you like you were something sacred.

You tilted your head, brushing another kiss over his collarbone.

He exhaled slowly, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek.

Your eyes met.

And even though your chest felt tight and your fingers trembled, you whispered, “I want to.”

His expression softened.

Not with desire—but with something deeper.

Something tender.

“Are you sure?” he murmured.

You nodded. “I don’t know how. But I want it to be with you.”

Upon hearing that, there was a subtle flicker of something in his eyes.

Something that resembled desire.

Rafayel leaned in and kissed you, slow and full of meaning, as if he’d waited forever to be told that.

His lips moved against yours with care, slow and deliberate, as if he was memorizing the shape of your mouth with every kiss.

He gave you space to breathe between them, never rushing, never pushing.

But then, something shifted.

A warmth, low and unfamiliar, unfurled beneath your belly—soft at first, then insistent.

You found yourself leaning into him, seeking more, like your body was moving on its own.

And when you exhaled a quiet moan into his mouth, you felt it.

The way his body tensed against yours.

Rafayel pulled back, barely, his forehead resting against yours as he fought for breath.

“I can’t hold back,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “not if you sound like that.”

His eyes met yours, no longer just soft with affection.

They burned now.

Still full of love, but threaded with something deeper—raw need, and desire so carefully restrained it made your chest ache.

You could see it in the way his jaw tightened. In the subtle tremor in his arm as he held himself still.

You reached up, brushing your thumb gently along his cheek.

And with a soft, trembling smile, you whispered, “Then don’t.”

His lips found yours again—this time with hunger.

There was no hesitation now, no careful pauses between kisses. Just heat. Intention.

You startled slightly at the sudden intensity, but his hands were already there, grounding you, guiding you—and soon enough, you melted into him.

The kiss deepened, breath hitching between the spaces where your mouths met.

Soft, involuntary sounds slipped from your throat—quiet, breathy mewls that you couldn’t have held back even if you tried.

And that was all it took.

Whatever restraint Rafayel had left unraveled, unraveling with the delicate curve of your waist beneath his palms, the way your fingers clutched at his shirt like you needed more of him.

His hands roamed now—reverent, searching, hungry. Not to claim, but to feel.

Desire poured off of him, thick and tangible, warm enough to set your skin alight beneath his touch.

And through it all, he still moved with care, even in his urgency.

As if your body was a canvas, and he wanted to memorize it with every brush of his hands.

Every kiss tasted like longing.

Every breath felt borrowed from something sacred.

And still, you wanted more.

When his fingers found the hem of your shirt, he stilled.

The heat between you didn’t fade, but his hands—once so eager—held still now, trembling faintly as his eyes rose to meet yours.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

It was written all over him.

The reverence. The restraint.

The barely contained desire he kept shackled beneath every careful breath.

You nodded.

Just once. But it was enough.

His jaw tensed, and he exhaled slowly, as though the motion alone steadied him. Then, with hands that betrayed nothing of the fire he felt, he lifted your shirt—inch by inch, never rushing, never daring to look away from your face.

As if watching for the moment you might change your mind.

But you didn’t.

You let him undress you with that quiet devotion, every movement full of patience, full of care.

His touch never once felt greedy.

Only awed.

As though this was something sacred. As though you were.

And in that silence between heartbeats, you realized—he wasn’t just touching your skin.

He was memorizing you.

His lips found your collarbone, warm and open, pressing kisses that trailed lower with aching slowness.

Each one was deliberate. Soft. Reverent.

You gasped, the sound catching somewhere between surprise and surrender, as a moan slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

It was a sensation unlike anything you’d ever known—foreign, yes, but raw and deeply, inexplicably real.

His mouth moved against your skin like he was learning it, worshiping it. Like this was something sacred to him, something he didn’t dare rush.

Your breath came shallow now, fingers curling gently into the fabric of his shirt, the weight of his body a comforting warmth above yours.

Rafayel paused only to look up at you again, his lips brushing just below your throat, his voice low and rough with restraint.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, as if the words weren’t for you, but something he needed to say aloud. Something he needed you to know.

And with every kiss that followed, you believed him a little more.

You let yourself explore him with trembling hands—fingertips grazing along his collarbone, then gliding lower, over the firm lines of his chest and the warmth of his skin.

He felt solid beneath your touch, alive and real in a way that sent shivers across your spine.

Your palms traveled along the curve of his back, tracing the dips of muscle, the heat of him burning beneath your skin.

Rafayel inhaled sharply, his hands catching yours in his own, gripping them tightly.

Not to stop you.

But to hold you.

As if anchoring himself.

As if grounding you both in this fragile, precious space between hesitation and surrender.

His fingers wove through yours, then slowly guided your hands back to him, encouraging, wordless, wanting.

He made you feel safe even in your uncertainty—made you forget the quiet fear of not knowing what came next.

Because with him, it wasn’t about perfection.

It was about presence.

And the way his body reacted to yours—the slight tremble in his breath, the way his muscles tensed when your touch lingered—made something ache sweetly within you.

His mouth returned to your throat, kisses hotter now, lingering longer, trailing lower.

When his lips closed gently around your skin and sucked, your breath hitched, a soft sound leaving you without permission.

The friction of your bare skin against his, the growing heat, the mounting need between your legs—it was all overwhelming in the most beautiful way.

And when his hands slid down your sides, drawing you flush against him, every inch of you humming, you let yourself stop thinking.

You just felt.

You moaned again, breath catching sharply, when his fingers found your nipple—already sensitive, already aching for more.

The contact sent a jolt through your body, a sharp gasp slipping from your lips before you could stop it.

Rafayel’s eyes darkened at the sound, and in one swift, practiced motion, he unclasped your bra, letting the fabric fall away.

Then came the heat of his mouth.

Warm. Wet.

You almost cried out at the sudden sensation—his tongue swirling, lips pulling gently around the peak of your breast.

It was overwhelming, the way he worshipped you, the way his mouth moved with such purpose and reverence that your spine arched off the couch.

You felt his hands on your hips, steadying you, holding you in place as he continued—slow, focused, unrelenting in the way he tasted you.

Your hands threaded through his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as your body writhed beneath his.

Every flick of his tongue sent sparks scattering through you, every subtle graze of his teeth made your thighs clench, the heat building between them unbearable.

And through it all, he never rushed.

He took his time—worshipping you like you were the only thing that existed.

And in that moment, in his arms, beneath his mouth, you felt like you were.

“R–Rafayel…” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need.

Your fingers tangled into his lilac waves, clutching them tightly as your body instinctively arched into his mouth. You pulled him closer, unable to help yourself, craving more of his warmth—his weight, his worship.

He growled low in his throat, the sound rumbling against your skin like thunder.

The way his name spilled from your lips—it undid him.

His tongue returned to your nipple, this time slower, more deliberate, tracing teasing circles before flicking softly across the sensitive tip.

The sensation sent your breath stuttering, your moans spilling freely now, raw and unrestrained.

You could feel him pressing against you, his arousal impossible to ignore—thick and straining against his jeans, the heat of it pressing right into the growing ache between your thighs.

Even through the layers of fabric, the pressure made your body tremble, made you more aware of how badly you wanted him—every inch of him.

Your legs shifted instinctively, parting just enough to invite him closer, to let him settle between them.

He rose slowly, lips trailing up your body, peppering your skin with kisses as he came to hover over you. His breath was ragged now, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with desire, but still watching you—checking, searching, waiting for your consent.

His voice, when it came, was rough and strained.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours. “Anything, and it’s yours.”

“You,” you breathed, barely able to form the word. “I want you.”

And with that, whatever thin thread of restraint Rafayel had been clinging to snapped.

He surged forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was nothing like before—sloppy, desperate, filled with the kind of need that had been simmering far too long beneath the surface.

You gasped into his mouth, startled and breathless, but welcoming it—welcoming him.

His hands fumbled at the button of his jeans, the motion rushed, clumsy in a way that made your heart stutter. This wasn’t polished or perfect. This was real.

Raw.

Human.

And it made your chest ache with affection, even as your body burned for more.

He kissed you through it—deep and unrelenting—and when your lips parted on a shaky breath, he took the invitation without hesitation.

His tongue slid against yours, slow and claiming, exploring you like he had all the time in the world.

You whimpered beneath him, hips lifting instinctively as your thighs framed his waist, inviting him closer, pulling him in.

The heat of his body pressed into yours, every inch of him now impossibly close, and still it didn’t feel like enough.

You wanted all of him.

Not just the weight, the warmth, the passion.

You wanted the connection.

The kind that set fire to your body and soothed your soul all at once.

And Rafayel—he gave it.

Every kiss. Every touch. Every breath.

All of it, only ever for you.

He pulled away from the kiss, breathless, lips swollen and eyes dark with heat.

“I have to prepare you,” he murmured, voice husky and low. “Is that okay?”

You couldn’t find your voice, so you nodded—your body already trembling with anticipation.

Rafayel’s hands moved with care, helping you out of your underwear.

Every movement was gentle, reverent, his touch lingering as if he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch you like this.

You nearly cried out when you felt it.

Hot. Wet. Unbelievably intimate.

His tongue pressed firmly against your core, slow and purposeful, and your back arched instinctively off the couch.

Your toes curled, thighs snapping shut on instinct, but his strong hands were already there, holding you open, steady, as he groaned into you.

The sound vibrated through your skin, deep and raw, sending another wave of pleasure crashing through you.

“So… sweet,” he breathed between licks, his voice thick with hunger and awe.

He devoured you slowly, like he had all the time in the world, like your pleasure was the only thing that mattered.

Each stroke of his tongue was deliberate—teasing, tasting, coaxing soft, helpless sounds from your throat that only seemed to spur him on.

And all the while, his grip never loosened.

Like he needed to keep you close. Like he wanted you to fall apart in his hands.

And slowly, piece by piece, you did.

The sounds—wet, lewd, unrestrained—filled the quiet of your living room, echoing off the walls like a secret you were no longer trying to hide.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Not when he was between your thighs like this.

Not when Rafayel, your purple-haired boyfriend who always held you like you were something fragile, was now tasting you like you were something divine.

He buried himself between your legs with single-minded devotion, tongue gliding through your folds, slow at first, then firmer—more confident—as he found the places that made you gasp and twitch beneath his hold.

Your fingers dug into the cushions, your hips rolling into his mouth without thought, chasing every flick and swirl of his tongue.

He groaned again, the sound low and hungry, vibrating against your sensitive skin as he mouthed at you like he was drunk on the taste of you.

And maybe he was.

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open wider, grounding you while your legs trembled around his shoulders.

You felt exposed, undone, utterly vulnerable.

But with him—there was no shame.

Only heat.

Only want.

Only the slow, steady build of something that was about to consume you whole.

Something coiled deep under your belly—tight and burning, like a knot drawn taut with every languid stroke of his tongue.

Your breath came in shaky gasps, the tension building faster than you could keep up with. Your body trembled, hips rising instinctively to meet his mouth, to chase the feeling you were terrified and desperate to reach.

Your fingers found his hair, sinking into the soft lilac strands, gripping tight as your body began to shake.

“R–Rafayel,” you gasped, your voice high and breathless.

He growled softly at the sound, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you as he doubled down, tongue flicking and pressing with deliberate, perfect rhythm.

The coil inside you tightened to the breaking point.

You were unraveling beneath him, your entire body flushed, teetering at the edge of something you had no words for—only feeling.

“Just let it go,” he cooed gently.

Rafayel’s hands never left you, his grip firm on your hips as he kept you grounded, held you open, guided you through it.

You felt yourself shatter.

Quietly.

Completely.

With his name on your lips and his mouth still worshipping you like you were something holy.

You were still shaking, the aftershocks rippling through your limbs like waves on a trembling shore.

Before you could catch your breath, his lips were on yours again—urgent, hungry, claiming.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, warm and heady, as he kissed you with a passion that made your head spin.

Your moan was muffled by his mouth, your mind hazy and dazed from the high you had barely begun to come down from.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as you felt him slide into you, slow but unrelenting.

You broke the kiss with a choked cry, the stretch overwhelming, unfamiliar, real.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes—not from pain, not exactly, but from the intensity of it all.

The sensation. The closeness. The raw, unfiltered reality of finally becoming one with him.

Rafayel stilled immediately, his hands cradling your face as he leaned in close, lips brushing your temple.

“Shh… it’s okay,” he whispered, over and over, each word a soft litany, a promise.

“I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

He kissed the tears before they could fall, his forehead resting gently against yours.

His voice was low, trembling with restraint. “Just breathe… we’ll go slow. You’re safe.”

And with those words—his warmth, his love wrapping around you like silk—you let yourself relax into him.

Let yourself feel.

Because no matter how overwhelming this moment was.

You weren’t alone.

You had him.

All of him.

You rolled your hips slowly, cautiously at first, adjusting to the stretch of him inside you. The ache was still there—sharp at the edges—but with every slow grind, it dulled, softened, giving way to something deeper.

Something hotter.

You gasped softly as your body relaxed around him, the pain melting into a slow-burning pleasure that made your skin tingle and your breath catch.

Rafayel groaned above you, his jaw clenched, chest rising and falling as he fought to hold himself still beneath your careful rhythm.

His fingers gripped your waist, firm but reverent, like he was anchoring himself with you.

“God,” he hissed through his teeth, voice low and wrecked, “you’re so warm… so tight.”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

He dipped his head, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You feel like heaven.”

You whimpered, your thighs trembling around his hips as you moved again, grinding just enough to feel every inch of him drag deliciously along your walls.

He shuddered, his breath stuttering as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, mouthing at your skin, kissing and biting gently as your pace gradually built.

Each movement became easier, slicker, the room filled with the obscene, wet sounds of your bodies moving together.

You moaned louder this time, your hands running over the planes of his back, nails dragging lightly as your hips met his again and again.

The friction, the fullness, the stretch—it overwhelmed you in the best way, your body burning, trembling, needing.

Rafayel lifted his head, eyes meeting yours, completely undone.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, thrusting into you with a slow, deep roll of his hips. “So perfect around me.”

You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure began to spiral inside you again, tighter this time, urgent and all-consuming.

And as he began to move faster, matching your rhythm, all you could do was hold on—moaning his name like a prayer, unraveling piece by piece beneath him.

“Let me,” he whispered, voice rough with desire.

His hands slid firmly to your hips, holding you in place as to still you, then began to move.

The first thrust was slow, deep, dragging along every sensitive inch inside you.

You gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, your head falling back as your body trembled from the sensation.

He set the rhythm carefully at first, hips rolling into you with steady, deliberate strokes. Each one made your breath catch, your core fluttering around him with need.

He moaned into your ear, low and broken, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“God… you feel so good,” he groaned, pace beginning to build.

You moaned as he picked up speed, your voice rising with every thrust—soft gasps giving way to louder, breathless cries as pleasure rippled through your body in waves.

Your walls clamped around him, clenching with every stroke, the friction maddening, perfect.

“R–Rafayel,” you choked out, your body rocking with his, overwhelmed by how full you felt, how completely he claimed every part of you.

He answered you with a kiss—hot, desperate—his mouth crashing into yours to swallow the sounds spilling from your lips.

You kissed him back, open-mouthed and hungry, moaning into him as his thrusts grew deeper, harder, the slap of skin echoing with every movement.

His hands roamed your body—palms sliding up your back, thumbs brushing the swell of your breasts—never stopping, never breaking the rhythm as he lost himself in you.

You felt it building again, that heat coiling low in your belly, unbearable and perfect, and with every breathless grind of his hips, it drew tighter, closer.

He felt it too, in the way you pulsed around him, in the way your cries turned into sobs of pleasure against his mouth.

And still, he didn’t stop. He gave.

All of him.

Your body tightened around him, trembling with the rising pressure that coiled low and hot inside you, each thrust sending sparks down your spine.

Rafayel groaned against your mouth, hips moving harder now, more desperate, his rhythm faltering just slightly with the intensity.

“Fuck—” he breathed, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were wild with heat, pupils blown, flushed skin glowing under the low light. “You feel… so good around me. So fucking perfect.”

You cried out, voice breaking as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot deep inside you that made your vision blur.

Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, your body clinging to him as if you could pull him even deeper, never wanting to let him go.

He grunted through gritted teeth, his control unraveling.

“Don’t hold back, cutie,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “Let me hear you. Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you did.

Your nails dug into his back, your head thrown back with a loud moan as your orgasm crashed over you, blinding and all-consuming.

You pulsed around him, muscles spasming, hips jerking as waves of heat tore through you, leaving you gasping his name like a plea.

He cursed under his breath, his rhythm faltering again as you clenched around him.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me—”

His mouth fell open with a low, guttural groan as he thrust deep, grinding into you once, twice more before he came.

You felt it—the sharp, delicious jerk of his body as he spilled into you, heat flooding your core as he buried himself to the hilt, trembling through his release.

You moaned at the feeling of each rope, filling you up.

“God… Y/N,” he gasped against your neck, lips pressing against your sweat-slicked skin, “I love you. I love you.”

He kept whispering it, even as his body slowly stilled, even as he collapsed gently onto you, careful not to crush you beneath his weight.

The only sounds left were your shared, heavy breaths, your heart pounding against his chest, and the soft hush of his voice murmuring your name like a vow.

The world had gone quiet again.

Not silent—but still.

The kind of stillness that settles after a storm, where everything feels washed clean, softened by the weight of what had just been shared.

Rafayel lay above you, his forehead resting gently against yours, eyes still closed as he caught his breath.

Your bodies remained tangled, skin damp with sweat, his warmth wrapped around you like a blanket. Neither of you moved to speak at first. There was no need.

It was all there, in the quiet.

The trust.

The vulnerability.

The love.

After a while, he pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing your hair gently from your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

His thumb ghosted over your cheekbone, and he leaned in to press the softest kiss to your temple.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice hushed and a little hoarse.

You nodded, too full to speak for a moment.

Then, “Yeah… I’m okay.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. He looked at you like you were something fragile, sacred, something he could never take for granted.

“I didn’t hurt you?”

“No,” you whispered. “You were… perfect.”

You saw the relief in his face, the way his shoulders finally relaxed.

And then he tucked you against his chest, his arms sliding around you, holding you close like he never wanted to let go.

Your head rested against the curve of his collarbone, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“I’ve never felt anything like that before,” you murmured. “Like… I could break apart and still be safe in your hands.”

He tightened his hold around you. “You are safe with me. Always.”

You lay there together, your fingers trailing gently over his chest, his hand drawing lazy circles along your back. The room was filled only with the sound of your breathing, the occasional quiet kiss he’d press to your hair, your forehead, your shoulder.

“Was it okay?” you asked, almost shyly.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again. “Okay?” He gave a breathless laugh. “It was everything.”

Your lips met again—this time slow, sweet, lingering.

No hunger now. Just gratitude.

Intimate. Love.

And as he pulled the blanket up around you, as you curled tighter into his chest and let your eyes flutter closed, you realised.

You hadn’t just given yourself to him.

You had found yourself with him.

And he had held every part of you like it mattered.

Like you mattered.

[dix0nspretty]

Ye Trying Tae Kill Me?

Summary: Resident dumbass Johnny MacTavish gets injured again and has to be stitched up without any pain medication.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x GN!Reader, 1.7k words.

Era: MW2

TW: Stitches without medication, descriptions of blood.

It's Day 21 if I say it's Day 21, even if it is now 5 a.m. for me... the day ends when I sleep, not when the clocks hit midnight :))

Day 21 of my bastardized version of Russian Roulette Febuwhump/Kinktober for March that I'm affectionately calling Trinket's Cause of Death. It's basically 50/50 whump/kink where I generate a number corresponding to a prompt. This first whump prompt!

Day 21: Stitches without medication with Soap (whump) for @isavuu

“If you don’t sit still, I swear to God, I’ll let you bleed out.”

Leave it to Johnny to get himself severely injured on a mission- again. If there’s one member of the 141 most prone to getting fucked up on a mission, it’s Soap. Bullet grazes, gashes from knife fights, shrapnel from explosions (both his and from hostiles), bruised to hell and back from hand-to-hand combat.

If there’s a way to end up injured, Johnny will find it and it’ll be up to you or Gaz to keep him in one piece until the medics make it to you or you can drag his ass to the exfil point. Half the time the crazy bastard’s laughing through the pain about how cool the situation was.

“Ye would ne’er,” Soap laughs through the pain as you start up the process of stitching up a large gash the reckless Scot managed to get across his ribs. How he got it around all the tactical gear, you’ll never know, but the wound is too deep and bleeding too much for him to walk it off and you don’t have any pain medication to offer, not even a loose ibuprofen. “Y’like me tae much.”

He’s trying to flirt his way through the pain, that much is obvious. Trying to play like his whole world isn’t wobbly and the cold sweat on his skin is really just regular sweat. Like you can’t see the way his entire body is trembling and his breaths come quick and shallow.

“You wish,” you scoff lightheartedly while pushing the second stitch through and giving the gentlest tug you can to ensure the stitching will hold, ignoring how his entire body jerks. “I’d offer you up for a large fry right about now.”

You’re both aware that you’re joking, a multitude of memories of being under and over one another, tangled in the dark caress of late-night shadows and a loneliness that settles in your chest when base gets a bit too quiet at night. Johnny’s never been one to enjoy being alone with his thoughts and neither have you.

The quickest way to kill a soldier is to leave them with their memories, up all night until breakfast. On the rare occasions they do sleep, they’re waking up with a scream choking them and phantom blood staining their hands. Sticky and cloying to the point of late-night scrubbing in the sink until the only blood there is their own. Out, damned spot.

What started as slipping into one another’s bed as entertainment and distraction has slowly morphed into crawling under the comforter in search of solace from the nightmares. A gentle touch in your hair and a caring whisper in your ear acting as a balm to a tortured psyche.

The banter’s just that- banter.

“First, it’s nae a ‘large fry’, ye traitor,” Johnny pants out, hands bunched so tight on the tactical vest in his lap that his knuckles turn white. “It’s chips, numpty. Where did you even come from, steamin’ Jesus… Second-”

The third stitch makes his face pale, the cold sweat only intensifying. It’s clear that he’s in a significant amount of pain and trying to power through. He’s Soap MacTavish, a few stitches won’t take him out… even if he does have no pain medication. “Fuck. Second, I’m worth at least a dram as well.”

The sight of Johnny is so much pain is enough to put a lump in your throat and a sting in your eye. But there’s work to be done and so the most you can do is try to speed up the process, going as fast as you can without lowering the quality of work. The needle is slippery with his blood, warm and bright against your bare fingers. Stitching with tactical gloves on is no good. “Maybe a small drink. Like the kids’ size at McDonald’s.”

Johnny laughs weakly, a tired, borderline-wheezing noise that scares the shit out of both of you. He sounds too weak. Fuck quality, what’s one more scar if he can actually live through this?

His back arches off the pillar he’s propped against in the abandoned warehouse as you wait for Ghost, Gaz, and Price to regroup. This just might be the first time you and Johnny beat anybody to exfil. The pained whimper echoes in the silence and sets your teeth together.

“Hold on Johnny, I’m working on it,” you murmur softly and pick up the pace. Why did those fuckers have to do so much damage with one swipe? “Breathe, love, I’ve got you.”

“I’m ‘love’ now?” Johnny teases you breathlessly once he’s partially recovered from the pain, those pretty blue eyes trailing over your face with a reverence the two of you have been trying to pretend isn’t building. “When did I earn an upgrade? Finally admitting ye love me, bon?”

Smug bastard, having the nerve to tease and pick on you like half his body’s blood content isn’t staining the floor between you both.

You need to pick up the fucking pace.

“I didn’t say anything along those lines.” It’s supposed to come out snippy and firm, but the tone is too soft. Too caring, too close to those silent feelings that you’ve tried to ignore. Too close in every manner of the word and it draws a moment of silence from you both.

That silence is broken by a cry from Johnny’s lips the further along you get with the sutures, the thunk of his head against the wooden pillar as he does his best not to swat your hands away and fight off your patching up. “Fucking- God, ease up. Ye trying tae kill me?”

“I’m sorry,” the words nearly wobble and you swallow quickly. Luckily, he doesn’t notice in his sob of agony. The tear that rolls down his cheek breaks your heart. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s almost done. You’re almost done, baby, shhh.”

The term of endearment slipped free without a thought, pure instinct and an urge to soothe your Johnny guiding your words. He doesn’t seem to notice, going quiet. Too quiet.

A glance up reveals his lashes fluttering, on the verge of passing out. Fuck no.

“John MacTavish, if you close your fucking eyes, I’m going to beat your ass,” you snap at him, the image of a pale and silent Johnny being enough to terrify you. That’s too close to losing him for your liking. “Open those pretty blue eyes. Think about fucking me if you have to, just don’t go to sleep on me.”

That earns you a weak smile, his eyes open a moment later. “What a good thought that is. Nice an’ warm under me, wrapped around me-”

“I said think about it, not paint me a picture,” you chastise as playfully as you can manage. “Perv.”

A few moments later, Johnny tenses and arches with a cry of pain that’s almost childlike. A glance up shows tears rolling down his cheeks despite his best attempts to power through and it’s emotionally devastating to see him like this. “Sh, sh, sh.”

One more tug that makes him scream, something raw and agonized, and you get to snip the thread, relief coursing through your entire body. “It’s done. It’s done, baby, you’re done. Shhh, it’s done. Breathe. Breathe, Johnny.”

That last suture seemed to be his pain tolerance’s last straw. Johnny goes silent, his eyes closed and his grip loosening.

No.

There’s a brief scramble, recklessly discarding the suture kit to get to his pulse with violently trembling hands. No. No.

It takes several terrifying seconds before you can find that sweet sweet sign of life, thready and slow, but there nonetheless. The relief that courses through your body makes you sag forward, forehead resting against his shoulder.

The tears come fast and without warning, silent sobs of pure and unadulterated fear with how close it feels you came to losing him. A deeper cut, a little longer before treatment, and he surely would’ve bled to death.

As much as you don’t want to admit it to yourself, you care about him as much more than a teammate. All the nights you’ve spent together, horny or lonely or trembling with too-vivid nightmares and not-distant-enough memories in one another’s arms… you’ve developed something a lot more than just affection for the witty, flirtatious Scotsman.

You don’t know how long you sit like that, Johnny unconscious and slowly recovering and you crying quietly into his shoulder before there’s a sound behind you.

The speed with which you whip around and aim with your sidearm is truly remarkable, if not for the fact you were snuck up on in the first place. Your bloodstained hand shakes subtly as you aim at the threat, only to be easily and nonchalantly disarmed by your Lieutenant.

“Stupid bastard got himself injured again?” Ghost’s gruff voice is softer than expected, oddly comforting in the way he doesn’t try to coddle or baby your emotions as he takes the bullet from the chamber and offers your gun back like he signed the bill at a restaurant. The difference in voice comes only in volume.

You give Ghost a tiny nod, accepting the weapon and reholstering without a thought. “Had to give him 17 stitches. He screamed…”

The next breath comes out shaky and you sniffle, wiping your hands on your thighs as you haul yourself from the ground. “He’s gonna feel better when he wakes up in medbay. Had to do it without pain meds.”

Ghost’s eyes are a physical weight on your body, shoving your walls aside like they’re nothing and reading the love and care for Johnny imprinted on your soul like it’s a neon sign. There’s no point trying to hide anything from him, only the ridiculous attempt to maintain some dignity as he picks apart each and every micro expression.

Johnny joked one time that Ghost could tell what someone was feeling even before they could feel it, like he could pluck the emotions out the second the neurons fire. It’s eerie.

“Exfil’s here. Cap and Gaz are waiting, I’ve got Johnny.”

Everything’s eerie except Ghost’s ability to keep everyone in line, following routine when they need it to hold them together.  

[heartsforjh]

is this a post for trev’s birthday? yes. am i 2 whole days late? yes. are we gonna ignore that? yes!

Your boyfriend, Trevor, has never been known as a calm guy. Ask any of his friends and they’ll tell you that talking is his absolute favorite activity. So, you would think that with so much energy to burn and him constantly going on and on about everything in existence, you’d know exactly what to do to celebrate him hitting the big twenty-four. 

However, that’s not the case at all. You’re struggling to find something perfect for him that you haven’t already done. For now, you’ve decided that today is going to be a whole lot of winging important decisions until something clicks. 

You declutter some areas in the apartment that you’ve been meaning to get to, and then set out a couple of gifts on the kitchen island for him to open way later. You finish up your chores in the main living space by making a quick breakfast for Trevor to enjoy, then head back to your shared bedroom. 

You set the food on his nightstand before climbing up on the bed and maneuvering yourself to lay on his chest. He’s laid there, mouth wide open and snoring. It truly amazes you that even when the two of you are sleeping, he finds a way to constantly be in your ear. 

You smile, and tap his chest. “Trevor, wake up.” 

“Baaabe!” you sing quietly, but he’s still not waking up yet. 

You frown a little, running your hand through his hair and even try caressing his cheek a little bit. “Hey, birthday boy. Time to get up.” 

When he still shows no sign of getting up, you give up on the gentle approach. As much as you’d love to have a sweet moment with him, he’s always been a heavy sleeper and there’s no use in wasting time. 

“Trev!” you say, raising your voice slightly as you shake him—nothing too crazy, just enough to startle him awake. 

He jumps slightly, eyes shooting open and he looks up at you. “Babe?” 

“Hi, honey! It’s your birthday!” you say, smiling a big, bright smile at him. 

Your smile causes one of his own to break out. He gently wraps his arms around you and tugs you down into him. 

“Thank you, pretty,” he says, pressing a kiss to the very top of your head. 

You look up, meeting his eyes and decide now is the time to discuss the plans for today. “Hey… by the way… what do you wanna do this time? I’ve been thinking and I have no ideas. We’ve practically done everything around here together already.”

“We’ve never cuddled for my birthday,” he says with no hesitation. 

That causes your brows to furrow. “What?” 

“We can just stay here and cuddle. I wanna do that,” he says, squeezing you impossibly tighter to him. 

You look at him in disbelief. “Surely, you’re messing with me. You don’t wanna go do anything? Just wanna lay here all day?” 

“Yeah. It’ll be fun. We can watch movies and talk… and nap. Good times, yaknow?” he explains, rubbing your back. 

You smile at the simplicity, it truly does sound like a cute date idea. “Sure, if that’s what you want. We can do that. We’ll stay in today.” 

“Great. What movie we starting with?” he asks, brushing his fingers through your hair now. 

You playfully roll your eyes. “Babe, it's your day! You get to pick all of them!” 

“Oh, right, right. Let’s go Blades of Glory,” Trevor says smugly, knowing how much you happen to despise that movie. 

You sigh, annoyed. Although, it’s just for dramatics. You couldn’t possibly be mad at him for choosing his favorite movie on his special day. You’re honestly glad everything turned out okay after stressing for days, trying to figure out how to celebrate him. 

You turn, facing the tv and cuddle further into his side. “Fine. But I take what I said back! I definitely get next pick.”

tags: @mainly-miracle @nic0-hischier @puckmedude @joesnumerouno @macklin-celebrini-71 @alwaysclassyeagle @ruinix

[quibbs126]

Yeah so I don’t know why I’ve spent all of today designing this guy. I had an assignment due tonight that I was supposed to do once I got back from work, but I still haven’t done it because of this

Anyways, we are now on to version 3 I think of this character

Tragically he still does not have a name, because I still haven’t thought of that, I just moved to making a new design

I’m still unsure if this is the color scheme I want to go for him, but yet again, this is what he’s sticking with for now. And it’ll be longer than like, 4 hours this time because I’ll be going to sleep

I tried to make his design more Earthspark-ish, and I think I semi succeeded, and I do fairly like his new design. It’s mostly the arms and again the colors to work on

He’s also predominantly based on this now, as I stated before

Though I did think up some things around this guy and his background by this point

So I’m thinking that he was an oops baby Optimus and Elita accidentally made around the tail end of the war, like around the first decade or so that the Autobots were on Earth. Maybe the AllSpark being on Earth had something to do with it. And also his late creation has him credited by the Autobots on Earth as one of the last Cybertronians ever created, even if he was made on Earth (he strictly is Cybertronian, not a Terran). And potentially his small size compared to his parents could be a result of the AllSpark making life so far away from Cybertron?

But also another idea I had is from when Megatron surrender to the Autobots during the war, and this kid, who knows of Megatron from his creators and the other Autobots, but has basically never met him in person. And so he actually tries to sneak around and see him, to know what the big bad Decepticon leader is really like, meanwhile Megatron is shocked and confused by the presence of a child here, particularly when he learns Optimus and Elita had a kid at some point while they’ve been on Earth, and he’s only now learning of this (though when he thinks on it, actually yeah it makes sense why they didn’t say anything). And because he never really met Megatron before, he sort of becomes another one of Megatron’s friends shortly after surrendering, after Dot. And the fact that the two could get along and Megatron wasn’t a threat to him once the Autobots discovered the two have been meeting might have gotten the Autobots to trust him somewhat more

In current day, he and Megatron are probably still chill, and I want to say Megatron is sort of like his stepdad now, which I mean he accepts, he’s fine with

I still don’t really know his personality outside of that though

Current day story wise, I’m not really sure what he’s doing, but he’s not living with the main Autobots at the moment. I’d imagine any inclusion of him in a story would just be him driving into the area to check in on the Autobots, since it’s been a while. Maybe he’d have some sort of connection with Thrash, since they’re both motorbikes and all

And I think that wraps up any new updates on the guy for tonight. Now I should probably go do my assignment, I’m missing way too many assignments in that class as is

[autism-disco]

it’s for real this time i’m gonna sort things out and i am going to end this (talking about work)

[pixelatedraindrops]

RAINCODE 4KOMA COMIC PROJECT

Next page

This is another project that I'm currently working on with @kazinsblog! We adore makoyuma and they're our number one faves.

So we decided to make a little 4koma style side special of Kazin's mini series "The Kanai Ward Case Files"

This intro is the only normal comic in this story.

Prologue: Flu season hits worldwide, and Makoto calls Yuma one day and gives him the warning. Yuma notices his congested voice so he wants to head to to Kanai Ward to check on him. But meanwhile, Yuma is trying his best to hold his cough as he talks on the line. Only to suffer the fit after Makoto hangs up. He isn't well either.

When Yuma arrives in Kanai Tower finding Makoto completely disheveled and passed out at his work desk, he ushers the stuffy CEO to bed. The two were shown pushing themselves while being sick alone. But now that they're together, these stubborn workaholics will finally rest and break from their duties in order to take care of each other. (for the most part anyway)

further information below

Of course since I'm involved in this project, they're obviously not going to be doing well... XD But this story is going to be a lot more fun and lighthearted than others I have written. (It's essentially written in a silly sick filler episode of a cartoon kind of vibe) meaning less whump, and more sick comfort and hilarity. There may be a few somewhat whumpy ones here and there (I can't resist) but it won't be as common.

Full Story Summary:

This RainCode fan side story revolves around slice of life comedy 4koma style strips with scenes of Yuma and Makoto being sick together and spending time with each other in Kanai Tower for about a week or two. They both have different halves of cold symptoms, Yuma with throat based, and Makoto with nasal based. (hence the title) Various cute and wacky stuff happen between the two and their bond grows stronger spending this time off together away from their duties as detective and CEO. They may be sick and miserable, but at least they're in it together! What could possibly go wrong?

The comic strips will be drawn by Kazin, but there will be some bonus art that the two of us will work on together (similar to the title which was a collab by us both)

Also, both of us agreed that these strips should be posted on my blog rather than Kazin's. Reason being is that this story is based on illness and my blog is half an illness blog so it makes more sense to share it to mine. You all likely expect this sort of thing from me at this point anyway… XD (I’m also the director so I write the descriptions of them.)

And this series will continue to be ongoing so long as Kazin and I have ideas. (we currently have almost 100 strips planned)

I will update this in separate posts whenever more strips get fully digitally drawn by Kazin whenever she can work on them. With the tag #kanaiwardcasefiles h&h. Some strips will be random, some will be two parters, and some will have a timeline or are connected to others.

We both hope you look forward to this project! There will be a lot of funny and cute moments between these two, so we hope you makoyuma enjoyers are excited!

Also bit of a fun fact: This was inspired by when my mother and I had covid late April 2024. Something similar happened to us, and we each had one cold-like symptom more than the other. (her with coughing and me with congestion) So I thought of this idea for these two!

[why-the-heck-not]

hate hate hate the feeling of turning in a part of an assignment and being hella embarrased abt how it is :3 like, feeling someone’s just gonna email me like ”hey?? what the fuck ??? what are u doing here this is garbage” like yeah dude i dont know what to tell you, things did not go well this week

[penitenteyeball]

Dum de dum dum

Gonna add max tags and max characters to each cause who cares

[blindmagdalena]

You Let Me Complicate You

18+ 4k homelander x f!reader. bickering, post-breakup sex, dubcon/coercion, angst, jealousy, emotional manipulation, implied murder, stalking, boundary smashing, breaking and entering, cunnilingus, penetrative sex. read on AO3. written as a follow-up to the breakup, but can be read as a standalone. gif credit.

Breaking up with Homelander is... complicated. After all, it is a god that loves you.

"What do I taste like?" You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over. "Love," he said at last. "Like you love me." You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you. If that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier.

Homelander is an aberration.

Stronger than a hundred men, faster than a bullet and sharp as a tack all paired with a teaspoon’s depth of emotional maturity. He’s volatile, twisted, broken in ways no amount of therapy could ever hope to duct tape back together. He’s no better off than a dog that bites to kill. No matter how he got to this point, the best thing for him–for the world–would be to put him down by any means necessary.

Too bad you can’t seem to stop fucking him.

It’s late when you hear the front door open with a distinct crack. You’re sprawled out on the couch in the living room, one leg draped lazily over the armrest. What comes next is no surprise to you–a shock of primary colors filling the narrow doorway, a handsome face made ghoulish by the haunting light of the television in an otherwise dark room.

“You nailed the door shut,” Homelander says, the inflection of his voice somewhere between a question and a statement.

“Because you broke it,” you throw back, a stale Twizzler balanced between your lips. It had tasted good enough when you started eating it, but now–in his presence–the sweetness of it has turned sour.

“You changed the locks,” he says with a light shrug, cape swaying as he meanders towards you. “My key didn’t work.”

“Your key? Stealing a key to my house does not make it your key,” you say tersely, lifting your foot to press it firmly to his thigh, stopping him in his tracks. 

He glances down, a mirthless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he catches your ankle in his gloved hand, yanking you down the couch so suddenly you lose your Twizzler to the floor with a gasp. It’s one thing to know that Homelander has strength enough to throw cars like frisbees. It’s another to feel it. It sends a rush of adrenaline through you like a jolt, followed swiftly by something hotter low in your naval.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking,” he begins, dropping your ankle. He lifts his knee and slots it between your legs, his opposite boot on the floor, his hand braced on the back of the couch, pinning you in place.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you cut in dryly, moving to shift up the couch, away from him. He snatches your shoulder, halting you with ease. His thumb strokes your skin idly, goosebumps erupting beneath his touch.

“And I’ve realized that this whole… thing between you and I, this ‘will they, won’t they,’ ” he says, bobbing his head side to side. “It’s getting stale. Don’t you think it’s about time we progressed the plot?” He asks, leaning in close.

You brace your hand against his chest, holding him in place as ineffectually as you did earlier. You both know it’s all a game. It’s all pretense. There had been fondness between you once–love, even–but you’re done with that now. You have to be done with it, or Homelander will swallow you whole. He’s a black pit, a murderer, and his need knows no end. He’ll destroy you and everything you know and love if he thinks it’ll satiate that need.

You’ve lost enough. You can’t afford to lose any more of yourself to him.

“Jesus Christ, you even think in TV script,” you say, pushing on his chest. He leans back, but not by much. It sends a terrible little chill down your spine. “I’m starting to think the only thing that might actually kill you is an original thought.”

His eyes narrow and his bright white teeth flash predatorily in the darkness. “You’re lucky I haven’t broken your neck,” he says, hand slipping from your shoulder to your throat. The sharp press of his thumb into your windpipe steals your breath, makes your thighs tighten on either side of his leg snug between yours. His lips split into an unkind grin. “Or maybe not. You’d probably like that.”

“You’re disgusting,” you spit, gripping his wrist with your other hand. Your pulse is starting to throb against the leather of his glove. He moves his thumb from your windpipe to your jaw and turns your head away, leaning in with a deep, pointed inhale along your neck.

“Is that why your hormones are going haywire? Because I disgust you?” He asks, grinding his thigh between your legs in a way that makes you gasp. “Y’know, given how full of it you are, I was sure I’d smell the bullshit on you. But all I smell… is how fucking wet you are.”

He grabs your hip and the memories come to you like muscle memory. How good it feels to be gripped and fucked and loved by someone beyond your comprehension. To feel as if you’ve stopped the world turning and called the sun itself to shine on you alone.

You twist your chin out of his grip and level him with a heated stare. “I hate you,” you hiss, grasping for the knife you know will twist the deepest. 

It works for a second, his smug expression faltering, but only for an instant. His jaw sets, and his lips curl into that same unkind smile. “C’mon, babe,” he coos, the intimate familiarity woven into that pet name making your skin crawl. “We both know that I can always tell when you’re lying.”

He kisses you like he always has. Like you belong to him. In a way, you suppose you always will. There’s nothing you can do to pry your throat from Homelander’s jaws. Nowhere you can run that he won’t eventually find you. Like quicksand, the more you fight, the tighter he clamps down. Truth be told, though, that isn’t the worst of it. The worst of it is that the tighter he grips you, the less you want to fight him.

His tongue slithers into your mouth like a serpent into the garden and you bite down hard. While pliant between your teeth, the flesh doesn’t yield. It never will. He never will. Instead he moans a little chuckle that fades into a rumble against your lips.

“That how it’s gonna be?” He asks, the words rasped into your mouth. “Y’wanna bite and claw? Play hard to get?” He laughs, the sound of it reedy and light, like it’s all a silly little game of make-believe. “I can do that.”

He reeks of his own desperation for what he says to be true. More than anything, he wants to dress up his desires as yours. He wants to believe he’s giving you what you want. That way, he can trick himself into believing you need him.

He bites the middle tip of his glove and tugs it off with his teeth, tossing it aside. His bare thumb brushes your lip, smearing his spit and yours. “I saw you with that fucking loser,” he says, the airiness suddenly gone from his voice.

Your stomach drops. Two days ago you’d been with a man. You’d been so desperate to forget him that night that anyone would have done the job. You stumbled out with some nobody from the bar who’d been good enough for a sloppy makeout session in the back of his truck, but not good enough to bring home. It hadn’t ended well.

How close of an eye is Homelander keeping on you?

“I’d be angry if it hadn’t been so fuckin’ pathetic,” he says through his teeth.

“Liar,” you say tightly. You feel his fury in the tension of his body. He’s pissed that you’d seek this out anywhere else. As if he still has a claim over your body. Your pleasure.

His eyes flash up to yours. He sneers, pushing his thumb between your lips. “I watched you bite his lip until he bled. I watched him slap you,” he says, dragging the pad of his thumb along the ridges of your bottom teeth. The memories come to you as he speaks them, every moment of it made bleary by alcohol. “You wanted it rough, but he couldn’t handle you, could he? Because you’re used to something better. You’re used to a god.”

You sneer right back at him, yanking your head to the side, his thumb slipping from between your lips. “Could you be any more in love with yourself? Go fuck yours-”

“I still had to kill him, of course,” he continues nonchalantly, grinding your thoughts to a screeching halt. He laughs humorlessly. “For kissing you. And, well–for everything else, obviously. Slapping you,” he says, brushing his knuckles down your cheek. The same one the man had struck. “Humping your leg like a fucking dog.”

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, throat tight. Bile burns at the back of it. All you wanted was to get away from this. The blood, the horror of it. Yet no matter what you do to dissuade him, he brings death to your doorstep. “You have everything. You could have anyone. Why are you–”

“Because I want you,” he hisses, words so sharp his sharp teeth snap together. “Because I love you, and that’s what you do when you love someone,” he says. You can feel the accusation building in his words. “You don’t give up on them. And if that means cleaning up every dirty little mistake you make,” he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So be it.” 

A cold shiver rolls down your spine. You stare woundedly at him, lips parted, brows pinched together, the misery of it all etched into every line of your face. He stares at you in turn, and after a beat, his own hard expression softens.

“Hey, hey,” he says, the heat of his breath a ghostly kiss on your lips. “It’s okay,” he says, brushing the tip of your nose with his. “I forgive you.”

He kisses you again, more tender now. Your eyes prickle with tears. His gentleness hurts so much more than his violence. It disarms you, carries you to a time when things were simpler between you. Sweeter and warmer. 

Homelander makes the world feel wonderful and dangerous, like standing in the middle of an electric storm. Being loved by him is the feeling of having your ribs cracked open, your heart cradled in his bare hands, possessive and bloody. What had been thrilling grew stifling, a feeling you realize now never truly went away.

He’s inescapable, literally and figuratively. Even when he isn’t inviting himself into your home or lurking in the periphery of your vision, Vought’s hero is plastered on every billboard and screen in the city. You haven't been able to breathe without inhaling the thick miasma of him.

Tears roll down to your temples as you kiss him back, both hands fisted in his soft hair, tugging. He makes a pleased little sound against your lips, teeth grazing your bottom lip. He’s always kissed like a man possessed–like every brush of your lips is a drop of salvation–but the hunger he’s developed since you tried to leave him is unparalleled. He kisses you like he means to devour you whole.

You bite back a sob, but the hiccuped noise of it catches his attention nonetheless. He breaks from you, looking down at you with a feverish mix of yearning, impatience and something that almost resembles pity, which might be the closest thing he knows to sympathy.

“Hey,” he coos, dusting your jaw with feather light kisses. “Don’t cry.”

“It’s awful,” you choke out.

“What is?”

“Your love.”

“I know,” he says after a prolonged pause. “It’s all I know.”

You look at him, the image of him bleary through your tears. There’s a morose resignation in his ocean-storm eyes, a distance that makes him seem far, far away from you, even as you taste the heat of his breath on your lips.

Focus returns to his gaze, and suddenly he’s present again. “It’s all I know,” he says again, his tone made of wood, stiff and splintering.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you lift your palm to his cheek, hovering just shy of touching. He’s pulled to it like a magnet, nuzzling into your palm, eyes closing. His hand slides down the familiar slopes of your body, settling at your hip, where his fingertips sink in like claws, the pressure of them shy. For as vicious as things have gotten between you, he’s never hurt you. A fact he lords over you as if he should be applauded for it.

I love you more than anything. You know that, right? That I would never do anything to hurt you? He’d asked you during that first fight. When everything went wrong. 

You’d only been able to nod then, trapped with a man you didn’t recognize wearing the face of the man you loved.

That’s right. Of course you do. Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. It would have been easy, huh?

Despite how desperately you’ve tried to fortify yourself against him, it’s still so easy.

Homelander is an aberration, but so too is he a man, and there was a time when the man was all that you saw. When the monster at the core of him reared its head, bloody and unrepentant, that became all you could see in him. Now, the two are so irrevocably tangled in the sinew of the other, you’re never sure which you’re looking at.

“I miss you,” you confess to the man in him, voice so soft only his ears possibly could have discerned the words. As if you can hide the words from the monster lurking behind if you speak them quietly enough. 

He looks as confused as your own aching heart. “I’m here,” he says, everything in his tone willing you to believe it. He doesn’t understand that you miss who he was before you knew what he was.

A mournful noise swells in your chest, but he kisses you before it can escape. “I’m here,” he says again, the hand at your hip turning into a fist in the fabric of your clothes, tearing them at the seams. “I’ll make you feel better,” he says between presses of his lips, hungry and rushing, like he can outspeed your miserable grief. “Let me make you feel good.”

Sex has always been an avenue of redemption for Homelander. Whether he’s frustrated, anxious, wounded or a combination of them all, he’s sought to remedy it through a good orgasm. He treats you as though the notion should hold true for you: the fight doesn’t count so long as he makes you come.

Yet again, you’re left stricken by him. As you have a dozen times before, all you can do is nod. Deep in your core, you know he’s right. He can make you forget this horrible ache in yourself, the grief and the fear. He can take you away to the dream you’d lived before you met the beast in his shadow. 

Coherent thought turns to water slipping between the cracks of your mind as Homelander’s bare fingers brush your inner thigh. You suck in a sharp breath that leaves you as a shudder and you clutch at his collar, twisting the fabric, unsure if you mean to push him away or pull him closer.

Homelander makes the choice for you, closing the distance and kissing you too gently, too sweetly. You spur him with your teeth, needing it faster, harder. Needing it to hurt just enough to not feel entirely right. He ignores your prompt, focused wholly on tasting you, on sliding his fingers up into the waiting warmth between your thighs. He presses the pad of his middle finger to your clit, deft and familiar.

You sigh, closing your eyes, ready to lose yourself to the feel of something good. He slides serpentine down your body, kissing you through your shirt, nipping at your skin through the fabric for the way it makes you jump. His lips trail down until they pass the hem of your shirt, finding where he’s stripped you. His mouth is unbearably warm, breath hot huffs on your bare skin, goosebumps erupting everywhere.

He mouths at your hip, sucks the skin dark before trailing further down, leaving a constellation with his lips. The scorching wet heat of his tongue feels like a brand on your clit, replacing his hand with his mouth. 

You thread your fingers into his hair, widening the spread of your legs to allow for the way he shoulders under and between them, lifting your lower half. He nuzzles into the nectary sweetness of you, moaning unabashedly for your familiar taste.

What do I taste like? You asked him once, drunk on pleasure and those early honeymoon days of loving him. Everything about him fascinated you; did his super smell lend itself to super taste? Could he pick out each note of you, dissect your profile into sections?

He’d been slow to answer, thinking it over.

Love, he said at last. Like you love me.

You wonder if that holds true. If he can still taste love in you, if that’s why he’s so eager to devour you, or if the absence of it has made him even hungrier. If he plunges his tongue to the core of you in the hopes he might discover lingering shreds of what the two of you once had.

A moan escapes you. His fingers bite into your thighs, tongue coaxing more. Restraint dissipating, you tighten your grip on his hair and tug, grinding hard against his mouth. He knows the stepping stones of your pleasure as well as you know yourself, knowing just when to suck, when to lick. He’s more relentless than any other man could hope to be, never needing to stop for breath, never succumbing to aching muscles. He maintains a pace that sends you careening so viciously towards release, you give a choking gasp when it hits you, your head thrown back against the couch as euphoric relief rolls through you in waves.

Homelander shrugs out from under your trembling thighs, his mouth slick and shining, eyes predator wide. You’re both panting, silently gauging the other. You’re first to break the standoff, his hunger infectious. You climb onto your knees and grab his shoulders, pushing his back to the couch, straddling him. He keens when you kiss him, an addictive sound that gives you a deceptive sense of power.

He murmurs your name in fervent repetition, dragging his mouth along your skin, inhaling you like a drug. You unbuckle his belt with the ease of experience, unzip his pants and slip your hand inside. Curling your fingers around his cock, you find it already hard and dripping in anticipation.

“Anything you want,” he breathes, the words coming between the prayer-like recitation of your name. “Money, diamonds, anything, I’ll make you a queen,” he says, eyelids fluttering at your touch. He pledges these things like an act of devotion, but you recognize this Faustian bargain for what it is. It will cost you your heart and soul.

“I’ll make you a god,” he moans at a particularly deft twist of your wrist.

Making you come will have to be enough for now.

“Fuck me,” you tell him breathlessly. “The way I like it.”

Like flipping a switch, the dazed pleasure in his eyes sharpens. The corners of his mouth tug, his upper lip twitches, eager tension slipping into his touch as his hands slide up your thighs, grasping your hips. His fingers sink in tight enough to bruise, despite the gentleness of his touch. The immeasurable power lurking within his unassuming frame is a novelty that never wears off, a thrill that shocks you to your core no matter how many times you experience it.

Like a vicious storm, he’s beautiful and terrible in equal measure. Caught in the eye of his maelstrom, the only thing left for you to do is weather him.

He guides you down onto his cock in one slow, agonizing pull. Even with his spit and your orgasm easing the way, it’s too much all at once. Relishing the aching burn of being split apart by him, you make a noise that gives him pause. You don’t let him stop. You brace your hands on his shoulders and lift off of him almost entirely before sinking back down deeper than you had before, wringing a moan from him in turn.

Homelander’s fingers dig securely into your back as your bodies slot together and find an old, familiar rhythm. By now he knows exactly the angle to take to best pleasure you. You let out a shaky sigh at the warmth that spreads through you, the pressure of your climax building, his heat sinking into you like the light of the sun itself.

You’re used to a god.

You cup his face and kiss him. You bite his lip until you should taste blood. You dig your nails into his skin so hard your knuckles ache. If he notices it, he’s only pleased by it.

“I’d move heaven and hell for you,” he swears between kisses, ripping the shirt from your body. The cool air hits your damp, hot skin like a shock. 

“I don’t want them,” you say, voice catching on one of his sharp and sudden thrusts. He’s close. You can feel it in the tightness of his muscles, in the erratic, merciless way he drives into you.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, voice reedy, tight. He kisses down your chest, scrapes his teeth over the swell of your breasts. “They’re yours. It’s all yours. I’m yours.”

Those words should hit you like a prison sentence, but they don’t.

They make you come.

Homelander holds you tightly as he, too, breaks into pieces, filling you with light and heat. He chokes more promises against your skin, kisses the salt from your skin and licks it greedily from his lips. You spin in place in his arms, dizzy on your own orgasm, riding out the aftershocks with his cock throbbing against the quiver of your cunt.

For a long while there’s nothing but the sound of your breaths and the distant din of the television. The tremors wracking your body gradually fade, and the chill of the open air begins to set in.

Homelander holds you tight as the sweat on your skin cools. He kisses a trail from your neck to your shoulder, nuzzling there before he rests his head down, face tucked into the crook of your neck. You feel wrung dry, eyelids heavy. You card your fingers absently through his hair, body boneless against his. Your eyes ache from crying, but you don’t mind it. Strung out like this, the aches left in the wake of pain and pleasure both feel equally good.

“It’s late,” he says warmly, a smile in his tone. He sounds lovesick, the way you both did once upon a time. Back then, you thought you knew every dark corner of his insatiable heart. “We should sleep.”

“Okay,” you agree, voice frayed. He lifts you gingerly from his lap, adjusting to cradle your naked body to his chest. Despite how Homelander unspools himself before you, you’re always the one left reduced. Bare and vulnerable both physically and emotionally. You slip your arms around his neck as he stands, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I could take you to the tower,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine. “My bed’s bigger.”

“No,” you say, remembering a door you cannot reach, no matter how many times you grasp for it, and the god’s hands that sent you spinning. He’s already so capable of turning your home into a prison. You’re not sure you’d ever escape his penthouse. “I want mine.”

Perhaps the most terrible fact of all is that Homelander is neither a god nor a monster. 

He is simply a man without limitation.

“Sure,” he says, kissing your cheek. The touch lingers, dripping with his adoration. “Anything you want.”

So long as it includes him.

[darnell-la]

What about if Logan made his partner squirt but they have never done that before and are pretty innocent and inexperienced so they are embarrassed initially thinking they peed or something?

summary: Logan comforts the reader in this story, making it known that if anything “nasty” happens, he won’t judge her.

———

How do you guys feel about a x men story with reader? Logan being rude Logan at first, then slowly shows small affection towards the reader. Jealousy and things of that sort. They soon hit it off, and after Logan starts acting rude again, because he’s scared of the love he grew for her. It’ll be a long story, but something to read at night. ALL ON WATTPAD! Comment below, please!

———

“Ssh, baby, just relax,” Logan whispered in his girlfriend’s ear after he slipped his tip through her entrance. “L-Lo,” y/n cried low at the instant stretch he gave her. Pleasure and pain shocked her whole body.

“It’s okay, baby, I know I’m a bit different than the others,” Logan spoke about his size as he continued pushing into the girl, looking into her glossy eyes as she tried her best to keep in her whine.

“That’s it, bub,” y/n finally took him all. “S-Slow please,” y/n begged, making the man nod. “Of course, baby,” Logan said as he slowly pulled back before pushing back in.

Y/n threw her head back with a cry, trying to take his size, but it was a new deal for her. This was her first time taking Logan, and he was so much bigger than the rest.

“Doin’ good, baby,” Logan assured the girl as her hands wrapped around his neck, trying to keep herself together. He smiled down at y/n, loving her reaction to him making love to her for the first time.

“Oh god,” Y/n said in an alarming tone. “What’s wrong, baby?” Logan asked, still thirsting as he rubbed her cheek. “I-I don’t know,” y/n whined as she clenched around the man, trying to hold in what was trying to come out.

“F-Fuck, baby, don’t do that. Gonna make cum faster than I want to,” Logan said, but she wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to stop this wonderful moment, but she swore she was about to pee.

“G-Got go to the bathroom, Logan. G-Get up,” y/n stuttered as she pushed at the man’s shoulders, but he wouldn’t get up. “Hey, hey, that's normal. You’re gonna cum, baby,” Logan said, trying to teach her about her own body as her heartbeat rose.

“P-Please, Logan,” y/n cried low, feeling her legs shake. “Just let it go, baby. Let it go,” Logan leaned over the girl's face as he placed his hands on both of her cheeks, rubbing at her tears.

“Logan,” y/n cried again as her nails dug into his shoulders and her cunt squeezed around him tightly. “That’s it, y/n, that’s it,” Logan repeatedly said as she came, soaking his lower body and bed.

“S-Stop,” y/n cried, not knowing what was coming, but it was too late. Y/n released around Logan with a loud cry as he sped up his thrust, snapping his waist to feel her body jolt.

“Oh, god, baby — So fuckin’ good,” Logan leaned into the girl's neck, feeling his own orgasm around the corner. Y/n has never come this fast. She’s never even squirted before.

Logan usually lasts a long time, but this was the first time he’s had sex with y/n. This was a different lust he was feeling, and he couldn’t hold back how much he wanted to fill her up.

“L-Lo,” y/n’s mouth parted as she continuously squeezed his cock and still leaking around him. “I just know you taste good, baby. I fuckin’ know it,” the man growled, cock pumping into her smoother, now that she’s all soaked and dripping.

“S-Sorry,” y/n said low, embarrassed, and not processing that Logan felt amazing. “Don’t apologize, baby. I know it hurts, just relax and take it. Almost there,” Logan groaned in the girl's chest.

“I’m s-sorry,” y/n cried out again as she moved around the man for the second time. “Augh, that's it. That’s it, baby,” Logan’s hips stuttered as his cock twitched in the young lady.

Y/n talked with Logan before they did this, telling him they should use a condom, but he told her he’d pull out.

Now that he sees how fucked out she is, he could take his chances to fill her up without her fully knowing.

“F-Fuck, baby,” Logan moaned as he bit down on her neck. Logan spilled into his girlfriend, filling her up as she whined beneath him.

In her head, she was scared that the man’s seed ran through her wall, but she was too fucked out to speak and tell him. She slightly didn’t care anymore. The pleasure through her body felt too good.

Logan continued his slow thrusts for a few more seconds before pulling out of her, groaning at the feeling of the last seconds in her walls, and the sight of her leaking all that he gave.

“You did good, baby, don’t cry,” Logan said as he finally looked into y/n’s eyes. “Hey, hey, c’mon, baby. I get you couldn’t take it, but it’s okay,” Logan felt scared that he probably took it too far.

“B-But I peed!” Y/n covered her face and curled in their bed, feeling dirty and nasty. “Baby, you didn’t pee — You came?” Logan said, confused.

“Baby, are you okay? Is something bothering you or on your mind?” He asked as he lay next to yo/n and pulled her into him.

“No, I just- That was embarrassing,” y/n sniffed. “Y/n, have you never quirted before?” Logan asked as he softly lifted her head so she could look at him.

“No,” y/n said low, making the man chuckle. “Baby, that was it,” Logan rubbed her cheek, wiping away her tears. “What? Oh, I- Oh,” y/n said, feeling instant release.

“And even if you did pee on me, I wouldn’t judge. Only means I fuck you good,” y/n whispered in her ear before pecking her cheek.

[headkiss]

something more

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: you and aaron are friends with feelings more obvious than you think. or: 5 times the team suspects you and hotch are dating +1 time they know it.

word count: 6.6k

warnings: friends to lovers, the team being a little nosy, pining idiots!!!, probably inaccurate descriptions of bau jobs (for the plot!), a very small injury, a birthday, a first kiss, and fluff!

a/n: hiii this one has been a long time coming so thank you guys for being so patient with me!!! and special thanks to the anon who requested this one! i hope u guys enjoy it and please please let me know what you think <3 ily

༄

Aaron Hotchner was never someone you thought you could be this close to.

Coming to the BAU, you’d been intimidated more than anything. As Unit Chief, he’s got a reputation that’s hard to ignore. Professional, brave, cold when he has to be. His success and talent were undeniable, and all you wanted to do was prove that you belonged there, too.

Then, you really met him, and he surprised you in a way you hadn’t expected. Hotch was kind right off the bat, welcoming you to the team with a smile that felt like some sort of prize.

He was an excellent boss. Understanding and protective, quick to defend anyone on the team like they were his own family. Except, he was so much more than just your boss.

Now, you’d call him your closest friend, someone who’s number you’d call if you were in trouble. He’s your closest friend and yet you feel so much more for him.

It started slow, a friendship blooming the way a plant does with just enough sunlight. It was a shared smile here, a nudge of the shoulder there. It grew to be a seat next to him reserved for you on every plane ride.

Today, it’s eating lunch with him in his office.

Aaron usually works through lunch, more eager to get things done than he is to worry about skipping a meal. Somehow, with two tupperware containers in your hand and a sweet smile, you’d managed to get him to take a break.

“Whatcha doing?” You’d asked.

Hotch looked up from his paperwork then, dropping his pen because you were in his doorway. “You know, Unit Chief business. Reports.”

“Sounds like you have time for lunch, then.” You set the containers down on his desk, making sure to avoid the papers he’d just been working on.

“I should really get this done-”

“Hotch,” you stopped him, “you and I both know that you’re always ahead on this stuff because you stay here so late. Lunch won’t set you back.”

With a shake of his head and the biting back of a smile, a simple twitch at the corners of his mouth, Aaron agreed and stacked his paperwork off to the side.

That’s how you’ve ended up in the chair that’s usually on the opposite side of his desk, only now it’s tugged to be next to his. Your knees touch every so often when one of you shifts, and the warmth stays with you even when the contact is gone.

“Sorry it’s nothing fancy,” you say as he opens the container you brought for him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s great.” Hotch has a way of saying things that make them sound true, no matter how few words he uses, so you accept it.

“Okay, good!” There’s a small silence, a lull as you both take your first bites. “Can I help with anything?”

Aaron looks from the paperwork to your face, your eyes already on his. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” you reassure him. “I think sometimes you forget that you aren’t the only one who can do this stuff.”

He knocks his knee against yours. Purposeful this time. A silent ‘thank you.’

“Like you said, I’m ahead anyways. I’ve got it.”

“Come on, Hotch. I’m already done with my report from our last case. I’ve got time. Let me help.”

He’s always been reluctant to accept help, to ask for it, but when you’re asking so sweetly, when it’ll give him an excuse to spend more time with you, it’s hard for Aaron to say no.

“Alright. You help for an hour, that’s it.”

You grin at him, like his acceptance of your offer was some kind of gift he’d given you. Your nose crinkles a little with it, and his hand flexes in his lap, like he’s fighting not to reach out to you.

“Okay, put me to work, boss.”

“We just started lunch,” he says, a little chuckle puffing out.

“Have you ever heard of multitasking, Agent Hotchner?”

Aaron laughs, shaking his head as he reaches for one of the files in the stack he’d made and hands it to you. He’d call everyone at the BAU a friend, but there’s something different, something more about how he’d describe you.

He’s grown closer to you than he usually lets himself get to people, like you’re the only one with the right tools to break through walls he’s put up. You see each other outside of work (on the rare days you aren’t working), and still, he feels like it’s never long enough.

Hotch briefly wonders if he could just move your desk into his office. He shakes off the thought and what it might mean.

Head bent, you’re now focused on the work he gave you, and Aaron takes the chance to admire you. His eyes flick over your profile, the light hitting your cheeks, the flutter of your eyelashes every time you blink.

As if you could feel his gaze on you, you turn towards him and smile—a small, closed-mouth smile, but a smile all the same—before turning your attention back to the page.

When you take a pause and take another bite of your lunch, a small drop of sauce lands on your thigh. “Oh, shit.”

Aaron grabs a tissue from the box on his desk, wrapping it over his fingertip before wiping the small spot from your leg, his finger a spark against you even through your pants.

“Good thing you wore black,” he says, tossing the tissue in the garbage. His hand, however, stays on your leg, and though the touch is light the weight of it feels the opposite. Heavy, huge.

“Good thing you’re here to clean up after me, more like.”

Your eyes meet, and you share a smile with Hotch the way you often do. Mid-conversation, across a room, it’s a smile you sort of reserve for each other.

In the main office below, Derek, Spencer, and JJ stand together, watching the interaction through the window into Hotch’s office. You and Aaron seem to be in your own bubble, completely unaware of your small audience.

“They’ve gotta be together,” Derek is the first to speak, waving a hand towards the office where you and Hotch are talking. “I mean, come on.”

“I don’t know,” JJ shrugs, “they both seem kinda clueless.”

“We probably shouldn’t speculate about them,” Spencer, always the sweetheart, says. “But, statistically, Hotch never eats lunch. Just saying.”

JJ pats Reid on the shoulder, huffing out a laugh before she heads back to her desk.

You stay in Aaron’s office much longer than an hour that day.

-

Punctuality is important in the BAU. Really, if you’re not early, you’re late. You’ve always got to be ready, wheels up in ten, or five.

You suppose that doesn’t really apply to outside-of-the-office parties at Garcia’s.

It’s rare that you’re all available at the same time, from late nights at the bureau to families, it’s tough to make your schedules line up when you aren’t working, which is why whenever she can, Penelope likes to host drinks for the team.

You’re on your way there now, or, you should be. Instead, you’re getting ready in your bedroom while Aaron waits in your living room.

Hotch has offered to drive you to these things every time, and with every offer, comes your easy answer of ‘yes.’ He’d been outside in his car for five minutes before he decided to call, because you’re usually in his passenger seat within seconds of him pulling over by your building.

The ringing of your phone had your eyes blinking open, squinted against the sudden brightness of your TV. You’d accidentally fallen asleep, and, still disoriented, picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, everything okay?” It’s Aaron’s voice on the other line, and you pull your phone away for a second to check the time before sitting up quickly.

“Shit, Hotch, I must’ve fallen asleep. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, I can wait for you.” He’d wait as long as you need, he thinks. The thought passes through like a leaf blown in the wind, freely, randomly.

“Have you been waiting long?” You ask, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your pants.

“No, don’t worry. Barely five minutes.”

And he still wanted to check on you.

“Why don’t you come in? My couch is probably more comfortable than your car, right?”

“You sure?” He checks, like he hasn’t been to your place before, like you’d ever not want him there.

“Get in here, Hotchner.”

You hung up before he could reply, and he laughed to himself in his car before shutting it off and doing exactly what you’d told him.

So, now, you’re rushing to find an outfit while Aaron sits on your couch by himself.

Even though he’s in the next room, you can feel his presence around you, the steady security he gives you, the warmth that seeps out of him even when he tries to hide it.

You settle on a knitted sweater, a skirt, and some tights, which you realize as you tug them on aren't the speediest of options, but it’s too late to change your mind now. With your hair figured out and the mascara that had smudged during your nap fixed, you step back out into the living room.

Aaron made himself at home while you were gone (he often feels that way with you, at home), sitting on your couch with his arms spread across the back. He looks better than he should there, suit stretched across his shoulders, and you have to clear your throat to snap yourself out of it.

“Okay, sorry again for the delay. I’m ready to go.”

He looks up as soon as you walk in, eyes skimming over your legs and the tights wrapped around them, your waist, up your neck. His gaze lands on your eyes the way it often does, like magnets.

He shakes his head, “don’t be sorry. We’ll be what they call ‘fashionably late.’”

You laugh, because who would’ve thought that the words ‘fashionably late’ would ever come out of Aaron Hotchner’s mouth.

“Who taught you that one, huh?”

“I like to keep my sources anonymous.”

“Well okay, then. Let’s go be fashionably late, Hotch.”

He lets you lead the way to the car, only jogging up ahead to open your door before you can reach it yourself.

During the drive to Penelope’s, you take control of the music with little objection from Aaron, and when it gets to a song you know he likes, you sing along, encouraging him to do the same.

“Let’s hear it, Agent Hotchner.” You hold your fist out like there’s a microphone in it, looking at him with a grin on your face.

“I can't sing.” Aaron’s fighting off a smile, because you’re sitting beside him, not too shy to sing along, being all cute and, briefly, he thinks about reaching out and grabbing your hand and holding on.

“Sure you can! Everyone can sing, come on.” You unfurl your faux microphone-holding fist and tug on the knot of his tie, “loosen up a little.”

And, because you have some way of convincing him of things—first lunch, now this—he humors you by joining in for one chorus of the song. When your eyes light up a little, and your grin only widens, he can’t bring himself to be too concerned of how bad he probably sounds.

By the time you’re at Garcia’s door you’re a solid hour late, yet you and Aaron walk up to the door with matching smiles all the same.

“I’m getting you to do that every time I hear that song now, I hope you know.”

“That was a one time special,” he says. He reaches over your shoulder to knock on the door. His hand brushes against you, featherlight and quick, a crackle over your skin.

On the other side, Morgan says, “must be the lovebirds” when he hears the sound.

You and Aaron don’t hear him, only broken out of your little shared bubble when Penelope opens the door. “There you guys are! I made your drinks but the ice might be melted by now. You know, ‘cause you’re late.”

You know this is directed towards you more than it is Hotch, because Garcia’s a little intimidated by him still. You also know she’s only joking, and greet her with a hug before stepping in.

Aaron isn’t far behind you, though at these things, he never is.

You’re met with warm greetings from the team when you walk in, and you chat for a bit, but it isn’t long before things split off into smaller conversations. They all know that Aaron drives you to these things, and, as profilers, they’re also all able to see the way you look at each other, the way the knot of his tie sits lower than usual.

In the corner, Emily leans over to Derek, saying, “usually it takes at least two drinks for Hotch’s tie to look like that.”

“I told you, they’re together,” Derek shrugs.

“I don’t think they know that,” Emily replies.

This time, Aaron hears them, and he can’t help but look towards you in the room the rest of the night, thinking and thinking and thinking.

He ends up deciding that they might have a point. That maybe, that shift in his heartbeat when you’re around isn’t nothing, isn’t just friends.

-

The flight home from a case always feels the longest.

On the way there, you’re packing every hour with information about what’s going on, talking to Garcia, reading police reports. You’re all on edge, eager to get out there and help and do your jobs,

Then, on the way home, with another case solved, all you’re thinking about is going home, sleeping in your own bed, and time seems to go slower.

If your name happens to be Aaron Hotchner, you’d spend the plane ride home doing paperwork that actually can wait.

You and Aaron sit next to each other on pretty much every flight, though the seats have never been assigned. It’s an unspoken thing, like your names are written on the fabric of the same two seats on the jet and that’s just the way it is.

The first time was early on in your time on the team. It was a tough case for you, and Hotch seemed to know it without you having to say anything, so, when you got on the jet to come home, he smiled that small, twitch of his lips smile at you and nodded at the seat next to him. You’ve been sitting there ever since.

Today, your flight is on the shorter side, but feels long the way it always does. Trying to keep yourself occupied, you pull out your earbuds and shuffle your playlist, hoping that the songs will speed things up.

“Sick of me already?” Hotch speaks up when he notices your headphones.

You tilt your head to look at him. He looks tired, the way you’re sure you do, too, but never any less handsome. His eyes are soft where they meet yours, paired with a hint of a smile that you’re always able to catch.

“Sick of you, Hotch? Never.” You nod at the file he has open on the small table, “just didn’t want to distract you.”

“I thought you enjoyed distracting me. Always telling me I work too much.”

“‘Cause it’s true,” you say. “That doesn’t mean you listen.”

“I listen to you more than I listen to most people.” Aaron’s voice is gentle when he says it, the words sinking in and melting you just a little, sugary sweet. It could mean absolutely nothing, but with the way he keeps his eyes steady on yours, you don’t think it does.

“Listen to this, then,” you hand him one of your earbuds, and his fingers brush yours when he takes it from you. “But you can’t make fun of me if a musical soundtrack comes on, okay?”

“Okay,” he huffs a small laugh, and you feel a little brighter. “I promise.”

You’re aware of the team having their own conversations in the rows in front of you and Hotch, but you can’t bring yourself to join in, because you and Aaron are sharing your earbuds and his head is bent just a little closer to yours. It’s delicate, and you’ll do your best not to break it.

You talk a little longer, until it naturally fizzles out and Hotch is back to working on his files and you’re bobbing your head along to your songs. Only now, Aaron sits closer to you, his arm against yours.

He’s not sure what to do with his newfound realization that his feelings for you run far deeper than friendship. All Aaron knows is that he likes the feeling of you beside him, and that he’s planning on keeping you there as long as you’ll let him.

It’s quiet between the two of you aside from your occasional ‘this is a good one,’ and his hum of acknowledgement.

Eventually, you’re relaxed enough that your eyes grow heavy, the sleep you’ve been lacking suddenly catching up to you, and when you hit a patch of slower songs you’re fighting to stay awake.

When your head lulls onto Hotch’s shoulder, you jerk your head up, “sorry, Aaron.”

His chest does something funny. A jump. It’s not often you call him Aaron, and he’d listen to the sound of his name on your lips on a loop if he could. Because he can’t help himself, he scooches himself even closer to you.

He decides to call you something different, too, saying, “it’s alright, honey.”

You’re too sleepy to really read into that one, all you feel is the flutter in your stomach and Aaron’s hand on your head, gently guiding it to his shoulder.

When he’s sure you’re asleep, Hotch looks away from his files and over to you. Your cheek is squished against his shoulder, your lashes fanned shut. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

Aaron doesn’t even feel the smile that spreads over his face as he reaches up and pushes your hair away from your face. He’s completely unaware of the eyes that catch him, far too focused on you.

Emily turned around when she realized she hadn’t heard your voice in a bit, and she did it just in time to catch Hotch’s movement. Instead of saying something, she turns back around and shakes her head to herself.

Hopeless, she thinks.

Sleep doesn’t come so easily with this job, with the things you see, so Aaron can’t help but try and stay steady for you, and if that leads to him letting his eyes close and resting his head on yours, then so be it.

It’s not until the end of the flight that the team checks on the two of you. As everyone stands and grabs their go bags, they notice the two of you, asleep next to each other, earbud wires hanging between you.

“Should we wake them up?” JJ asks.

“Hotch doesn’t get enough sleep as it is,” Spencer chimes in. “Neither does she, actually.”

Of course, Derek finishes with, “let’s leave the lovebirds to it,” before the team gets off the plane.

It’s only about twenty minutes later that Aaron does wake up, but he feels more well-rested than he has in a while, even with the kink in his neck.

Blinking his eyes open, he’s met with an empty jet and the comforting weight of your head on his shoulder. “Shit,” he sighs.

He debates waking you, ultimately deciding that you’d probably rather sleep in your bed rather than the seat of the BAU’s jet. Reaching up, he pulls your earbuds away, setting them on the table. With a brush of his fingertips to your cheek, he coaxed you awake.

“Hey, honey,” Aaron’s nearly whispering, like he’s afraid to scare you. Or, maybe, he’s convinced that if he moves too quickly, too loudly, this whole thing will fade away as if he’d been dreaming. “Wake up, we’re home.”

“Hm?” You grumble, scrunching your nose when he brushes your cheek again.

“We fell asleep, but we landed.”

“Oh, god.” You sit up properly, lifting your head. “I’m sorry, Aaron. Hotch.”

“Aaron is good,” he eases you. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

Sleep-hazed, or maybe just happy that he can be Aaron to you, you agree easily and take his hand when he offers it, letting him lead you to his car.

-

You’ve been spending more time at Aaron’s ever since that flight. In the car, he’d convinced you to stay over at his place in the guest room, since it was closer. With your go bag already in his car and heavy, sleepy eyes, it was hard for you to do anything but agree.

It’s another slice of his life that he’s let you see, and you can’t help but feel like it means something, like you’re stepping further and further away from being coworkers who are friends and towards something different. Something more.

That flight feels like the catalyst, the thing that caused things to shift into what they are now.

Aaron’s couch is much more comfortable than yours, and though you’ve yet to spend the night again, you’re sitting there with him at almost every chance. The time off you get is rare, and Aaron wanting to spend it with you sends flutters to your stomach whenever you think about it.

You feel like you know him better, getting to see his space, how he chose to decorate, what colors he likes, which ones he doesn’t. You also know what temperature he likes to set his thermostat.

“Do you enjoy living in a refrigerator?” You ask, hands tucked into your sleeves. “Just wondering.”

Aaron laughs, a small huff, “I think you just run cold, honey.”

He’s been calling you that a lot, too. Honey.

“No way, Hotchner. Your house is what runs cold. Or maybe you’re cold-blooded.”

Not with you, he thinks. Years and years of doing what he does, Hotch might even call himself cold when he’s thinking a little too hard. But never cold with you. He thinks that might be impossible for him.

“Shhh, don’t tell anyone my secret,” he says, his arm brushing against yours from where he sits next to you on his couch. “Where are you cold?”

“Can’t feel my toes, Aaron. I might be out of commission for the next case.”

“Well we can’t lose our best girl, can we?” Best girl, he says. Like he means it, like it’s simple. “I’ve got some thick socks you can grab. Bottom drawer.”

Just like that, he’s cracked another wall of his down even further, giving you permission to go into his bedroom as if you’ve been in there a thousand times.

“Really?”

“Unless you’d rather not feel your toes-“

“Okay, okay,” you stop him, unable to fight your smile. “Thanks, Aaron.”

When you stand and head towards his room, Aaron can’t stop himself from thinking that you belong there, in his home, his room, his life. You fit in so seamlessly he wishes you’d never leave.

He stands up too, because the couch suddenly feels sort of empty without you beside him, without your warmth. He walks over to his thermostat on the wall and turns it up for you.

You’ve always thought that you can tell a lot about a person from where they live, and seeing Aaron’s bedroom now solidifies it. His place does too, but there’s something about his bedroom that feels much more personal.

Here, there’s more of him, little bits of his life scattered around. A picture of him as a kid with his parents on the dresser, the newspaper’s crossword sitting completely finished on his nightstand, his bed neatly made.

You smile at the framed photo before slipping the top drawer open and finding the pair of socks he’d been talking about. As much as you’d love to snoop, you don’t want to invade his privacy in any way. Besides, from Aaron, even a glimpse of his space feels special.

You slip on the socks before you leave his room, letting them bunch at your ankles.

As soon as you walk back into the living room, Aaron’s phone rings. Glancing at you softly, almost apologetically though he’s got nothing to be sorry about—you work with him, you know how important a call can be—he picks it up.

“Hotchner,” he says, holding it to his ear. His voice is different this way, more professional, controlled. Never any less pleasing to hear.

He’d wanted to say something about how good you look in his clothes when his phone rang, Garcia’s name flashing on the screen. Aaron wishes it was someone else, only to spend more time with you this way.

“Sorry to call late, sir,” Penelope says. “We’ve got a case. Missing kid; it’s urgent.”

“Don’t be sorry, Garcia. We’re on our way.”

“Wait, we?” She asks, curious as always.

“What’s going on?” You ask Aaron.

“Got a case. I’ll drive, honey.” He lets the pet name slip, like it’s a habit.

On the other line, Garcia’s grinning to herself in her office. She’d had a suspicion of who on the team Hotch would be with outside of work, and hearing your voice, and his use of the word ‘honey’ all sticky sweet, she knows she’s onto something.

“Oh, that’s ‘we,’” Penelope’s voice teases. “Tell her I’ll see you guys soon!”

Aaron shakes his head, fighting his smile. “Bye, Garcia.”

He hangs up and looks from his phone to you, your eyes already on him, corners of your mouth tugged up just a little like you’d heard what Garcia said, heard the lilt in her voice. Like you liked the idea of you and Aaron being a unit. We.

He likes that idea, too.

Back at the BAU, Garcia calls Derek next, who picks up with his classic, “hey, babygirl.”

First, she tells him that he needs to come into the office, that they’ve got a case, then, “you’re never going to believe this.”

Penelope loves to talk, and Derek’s happy to listen, so she tells him about how you’d been with Aaron when she called, and that you were on your way together.

“I give them another week, max, before they’re holding hands when they come in.” Derek laughs, because he can see yours and Hotch’s feelings so easily, plain as day, and he loves to be right about things.

“How mad will Hotch be when he finds out that we talk about his relationship?” Penelope’s mostly joking, only a fraction concerned.

“If the boss didn’t want us talking about it, he shouldn’t be so obvious, sweetheart.”

Once you arrive at the office, you don’t catch Penelope and Derek’s shared looks behind yours and Aaron’s—who happens to be carrying both his and your go bag—backs.

And if anyone notices the loose socks around your ankles, they don’t say anything about it.

-

You’re not supposed to go off on your own unless it’s absolutely necessary. You know that, the team knows that. Aaron, who is always trying to keep you as safe as possible, enforces it.

You guess that this time might be up for debate.

When it comes to what you do, you have to trust your instincts most of the time. And today, your gut told you to make a decision that might not have been safe, but to you, it felt like what you had to do.

Aaron had been on the phone with you, trying to figure out a way to make the car drive any faster to get to you. He’d heard it in your voice, in the tone of it, that he couldn’t convince you to wait for someone else to show up.

“I have to do this, Aaron,” you’d said. While the team would normally probably tease him about you calling him Aaron, as if it isn’t his name, they’d known not to interrupt this time. “You know I do.”

“You don’t have to.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he spoke. “We’ll be there soon, alright? Just-”

“I’m sorry.” And then, you hung up.

In the end, going in when you did had been the right move. A life had been saved, and you’d slowed the guy down enough that the police were able to arrest him when they arrived. All it cost you was a cut and a bruise on your cheek.

So, your instincts weren’t so bad.

Aaron, however, disagrees. Logically, he knows that he would’ve done the exact same thing you did, knows the rest of the team would’ve, too. But when it comes to you, he has a hard time thinking logically.

After you hung up on him, all he could do was breathe and breathe and breathe over the heavy thumping of his heartbeat and the worry spinning in his head. He drove the quickest he could manage, the car silent inside. A static.

It’s not that he doubts your abilities—he’s always thought you were incredible, even before the friendship, even before now—only that the idea of you being alone with such a bad man makes him feel sick.

He’d take your place in a heartbeat, if he could, just to make sure you’d be safe.

By the time he and the rest of the team get to the scene, you’re walking out of the building with a hand pressed to your cheek and a paramedic leading you to a nearby ambulance.

Aaron spots you right away, his eyes scanning the small crowd through red and blue lights and conversations surrounding him. When he spots you, everything goes quiet.

His first thought is, thank god she’s alive, then, it’s fuck, she’s hurt.

Without a word to anyone, he heads over in your direction right away. He meets you at the ambulance, where you sit on the small bench inside while the paramedic presses your cheek with gauze.

“Honey.” It comes out in a breath. Relief and pain all at once.

You look over to him, his hair a little messy, his eyes wide and roaming all over you like he’s checking for any other injuries. He cares about you, and it’s written all over him.

“Aaron. I’m okay.” You hold a hand out, and he grabs it, sitting beside you on the bench in the ambulance. “Promise.”

For now, he nods, letting the paramedic do their job bandaging up your cheek. When they’re finished, they hand you a spare bandage saying, “it’s gonna bruise, and it might feel sore for a bit, but you’re all patched up.”

The paramedic leaves after that, probably going to check on other people. The lights inside the ambulance seem to cocoon you, a bright difference to the darkness outside.

The first thing Aaron says is, “let me see.”

His hands reach for your face, rough fingertips gently holding your jaw, tilting you so that he can look at your cheek. It’s a little swollen, discolored where you must’ve been hit. There’s a furrow in his brow, something that looks like a pout on none other than Aaron Hotchner.

“Hey,” you grab his wrists, but his hands stay on your face. “I’m fine.”

Aaron’s always worried, he’s always cared about you and about everyone on the team, but this is different. He was usually able to hide things much better than this. Much better than with you.

Now, all he sees is the tiny bloodstain on your shirt and the bandage on your cheek. All he feels is your hands squeezing his wrists and your eyes locked on his.

“You should have waited,” he says. “I could have been there.”

“Hotchner,” your deadpan tone is intact, which he’ll take as a win, even if it’s directed towards him. “You and I both know you would have done the same. I had to.”

One of his hands shifts to cup your non-injured cheek. Normally, he’d be much more composed while working, but he can’t bring himself to care about how he must look right now.

“I know you did,” he tells you, because he does. “I just wish that you didn’t. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Your stomach is tumbling, rolling, your heart doing silly things in your chest. You can hardly feel the pain of your cheek anymore when his hand is on the other, his palm warm against your skin, his gaze even warmer.

“I’m hardly hurt, Aaron. Just a scratch.”

“Right. One that required medical attention. That’s more than just a scratch, honey.”

“If you say so, Hotchner.”

He shifts his hands so that they fall into your lap, palms up and fingers instantly finding yours, tangling together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces.

“Good job, by the way.” Hotch rubs his thumb over your skin once, back and forth. “You did the right thing.”

“Learned from the best,” you say.

You’re both oblivious to the fact that the team is watching from a distance, and that the two of you look so lovesick it’s ridiculous that you haven’t spilled your feelings yet. You’re both absolutely fucked.

Where she stands with the team, Emily shakes her head, “I haven’t seen Hotch like this since… ever.”

Beside her, JJ merely shrugs, like it’s obvious, “yeah, they’re in love.”

Spencer looks at you and Aaron in that ambulance with a smile. “The odds of you guys being right are very, very high.”

-

+1

Aaron Hotchner was never the biggest fan of birthdays. Was never big into the cakes and making wishes, the song and the presents and the fuss of it all.

When he started at the bureau, it stayed that way. Days off were rare enough as it was, so he’d always work on his birthday. And while he kept the signed cards from the team, he treated it as any other day. Nothing special.

This year, you’re on a mission to change that.

While it isn’t the first of Aaron’s birthdays you’ve spent with him, it’s the first one since the two of you have grown as close as you have, since you’ve felt the way you do. You’re just hoping to make it a good birthday for him.

You’ve roped the whole team into it. Decorating the conference room with streamers and balloons and a sign that hangs crooked on the wall, bringing in a cake that reads ‘Happy Birthday Hotch’ in frosting, and keeping it all a secret.

Of course, you’ve all already said happy birthday to him, and you’ve got a present stashed under your desk for later, but you’ve been doing your best to act natural even when the anticipation of your surprise for him eats at your stomach a little.

Surprises are a tricky thing, and there’s no way of knowing whether he’ll like it or not. You’ll just have to wait and see.

While in his office, the team had made it seem like they’d all left for the day, saying their goodbyes to Hotch. Instead of leaving, though, they’ve been hidden in the conference room waiting for you to bring him in.

“Aaron,” you say, knocking on his office door. “I think I lost an earring. Do you think you could help me look for it?”

Because you’re the one asking, Aaron says, “‘course, honey. Where do you think it is?”

You smile, because he’s fallen into your trap easily, because you know that he probably would search for an earring with you if you’d actually lost one.

“I remember having it on in the conference room, so maybe there.”

He stands from his desk, gesturing for you to lead the way with his hand held out. You grab onto it before he can drop it, tangling your fingers and leading him behind you.

Aaron lets you guide him, and when you open the door to the conference room and flick on the lights, he’s met with the team’s grinning faces and a chorus of, “surprise!”

For a moment, he’s speechless, frozen in his spot in the doorway with your hand in his.

No, Aaron’s never been the biggest fan of birthdays, but maybe that’s because nobody’s ever done something like this for him. You came into his life all sweet smiles and now you’re throwing him a surprise party? He’s never ever liked someone the way he likes you.

So much that like is spilling into a four letter word and he’s happy to let it.

You know him well enough to know that he doesn’t like being the center of attention too much, so the only people in the room are those of the BAU. His closest friends. And you, his favorite person.

Before he can say anything he’s being spoken to by the team, getting a ‘happy birthday, boss,’ from Derek, a spill about how hard it was to keep this a secret from Penelope, a grin from Spencer, a tip about how you’d organized all of this from Emily, a squeeze to the shoulder from JJ.

When he finally gets the chance, the others split into their own conversations, Aaron tugs you aside to the corner of the room.

“You did all of this for me?” He asks, head bent to catch your eye.

Although you’d caught the signature Hotchner smile—closed-mouthed and quick—when he saw the surprise, you’re nervous about what he might say. You worry that you’ve done too much, that he’d been pretending to like it for your sake.

“I’m sorry if it’s a bit much,” you start, anxiously tugging at your sleeves. “I wasn’t sure if you liked surprises, I know not everyone does, but I wanted to do something for you because I care about you. A lot. And birthdays are meant to be celebrated, you know?”

Aaron can’t help but let a smile spread over his face as you speak; a real smile. His heart is light, his feelings for you melting through him like the soft pink of cotton candy. He doesn’t think you could ever do anything that he wouldn’t like.

“I’ll clean it all up, too, I prom-”

Your rambling is cut off with his lips on yours. He’s kissing you.

It’s soft, the press of his mouth against yours, and it takes you a second to push back. It stays delicate, a dance between the two of you like you’d practiced a million times before.

His hands skate down your arms to hold your hands, weaving his fingers with yours, squeezing like he’s making sure you know this is real.

You feel it all over, your stomach tumbling, your heart beating in a rhythm that thumps his name. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, over and over.

It’s a kiss worth a thousand words that you haven’t said yet, a kiss full of feelings and meaning and you know it, just by the way he does it, because you know him and he knows you. It’s you and Aaron, and it feels like the beginning of something huge. Of the rest of your life, maybe.

When he pulls back, Hotch rests his forehead against yours, giving your head a gentle nudge, locking his brown eyes on yours.

“It’s perfect,” he says.

The next thing you hear is Derek Morgan cheering, “I knew it!”

Similar words come from the rest of the team.

“Finally,” from Emily.

“About time,” from JJ.

“This isn’t surprising,” from Spencer, who smiles while saying it.

A sweet, “yay,” from Penelope.

Distracted by Aaron kissing you, you’d sort of forgotten they were there. Bashful, you tuck your head beneath Aaron’s chin, forehead against his collar. He simply tightens his hands around yours.

And when it’s time for cake, this year, Aaron Hotchner makes a wish on his birthday candles. He wishes to spend every other birthday just like this. With you.

༄

thank you so so much for reading!!! if you liked it, please please please consider reblogging/commenting and letting me know what you thought! love you <3

[fireinmoonshot]

the hard way | tyler owens x fem!reader

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader Summary: You and Tyler Owens have a bad habit of butting heads, but all it takes is one hint of jealousy and things change in the blink of an eye. Warnings: Tyler is lowkey an asshole, but reader can be too, there is a creepy guy that tries to come onto reader and puts his hands on her. Word Count: 4.2k A/N: I rewatched the original Twister movie today and got this idea while watching it and then it all just came out of my head onto the page and here we have it! I had so much fun writing this, it's honestly one of my favourite Tyler fics I've done so far. I hope you all enjoy it. Thanks for all the love on my Twisters fics so far!

“Oh, here we go again,” Boone says, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you walking towards Tyler, your laptop in your hands. Judging by the look on your face, you have something fairly important to show Tyler – and Boone knows Tyler won’t be happy about it.

Dani sighs beside him, her legs kicked up on their cooler from their spot at the motel. It’s late at night and none of the storms had turned into anything today, leading to a very long day for all of you. You’d driven hundreds of miles only to end up with no new footage.

“How long do you think it’ll take him to get mad?” Dani asks.

“He’s just spotted her and he already looks annoyed, so I’d guess straight away.”

They watch on from a distance as you finally reach Tyler. You move to stand beside him so he can see the screen of your laptop. “I was right after all,” you glance up at him. “See this? That storm was never going to amount to anything and even the radar showed it dying out. We could have saved ourselves half a tank of gas and a few hours if you’d listened to me.”

Tyler rolls his eyes and looks away from your laptop, trying to focus on not burning the dinner he’s been cooking the team on the barbecue that the motel has. “Okay, I get it. But I can’t go back in time and listen to you, so will you just drop it? I’ve had to listen to this all day. You’re drivin’ me insane, sunshine’.”

“Well, if you had listened to me, I wouldn’t have kept bugging you about it, T.”

It’s never been smooth sailing between you and Tyler. You get along most of the time, sure – you have to when you’re working together. But you also tend to butt heads more often than not. With both of you having studied meteorology, you’re the only two members of the team with formal training, which means you often have differing opinions on your interpretations of the weather and the forecasts. 

You disagree with Tyler, he disagrees with you and the rest of the Wranglers watch on, both amused and irritated at the fact that the two of you just can’t seem to work together sometimes. There are, of course, times when you can deal with it. But today… well, Boone had been glad to get out of the car at the end of the day and distance himself from the two of you.

He swears he’s not riding with you both tomorrow.

“If I listen to you now, will you stop bugging me still?” Tyler looks at you.

With a scowl, you slam your laptop shut and hold it under your arm. “If you listen to me tomorrow, then I might stop bugging you. I am not having another failed day chasing because of your inability to choose which storms to follow.”

Tyler sighs. “Why do you always have to do things the hard way?”

You huff and walk away, heading back over to the rest of the team. You grab a drink out of the cooler and sit down on the tailgate of Tyler’s truck, sitting your laptop beside you. The other members of the team watch you cautiously, like you’re a brewing storm that could become a tornado at any moment.

“Anyone wanna take my spot in the truck tomorrow? I’ll ride elsewhere,” you offer.

Boone stares at you for a moment. “You promise?”

You make a face at Boone and take a sip of your drink. “Yes, I promise,” you say. “I’m sorry you had to listen to all that today. God, he just drives me up the wall sometimes. I don’t know how he expects us to continue running this damn Youtube channel or get the research we need if we don’t get the right storms to chase.”

“Hey, no Tyler talk while you’re over here,” Dani pipes up. “This is a safe zone.”

“Sorry, sorry,” you mutter, lapsing into silence just as Dexter, Lily and Kate re-join the group, having headed upstairs to their rooms to refresh themselves before coming back down for dinner. You watch as Kate heads over to help Tyler out.

By the time the two of them bring dinner over to you, you’ve managed to cool off a fair amount and are now discussing the forecast for tomorrow with Dexter, who is leant up against the truck, looking at your laptop over your shoulder. 

“Burgers are ready,” Kate announces as they place the tray of them on the small camp table that someone had set up earlier in the evening. “We worked real hard on them.”

You’re surprised when Tyler picks up two paper plates, puts a burger on each of them and then walks over to you, handing one of them to you before taking the seat beside you on the tailgate. 

“Truce?” He says, looking across at you. “I’m sorry ‘bout today, I mean it.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile. “You promise you didn’t poison my burger?”

Tyler chuckles. “No, not unless Kate put something in there that I didn’t see.”

“Okay, then. Truce,” you nod. “But I’m not riding with you tomorrow.”

He raises his eyebrows just as he takes a bite of his burger. It takes him a few moments to reply, refusing to speak with a mouth full of food – something his mother had instilled in him from a very young age. “What? Why? You’re not still that mad at me, are you?”

“No, I just need a change of scenery or I’m worried I’ll run you off the road. I saw the way you got today when you got distracted cause I was arguing with you. It’ll be good for us to cool off and get a break from each other.”

From across the group, Boone adds “I think you just want to argue over the radio, actually. That’s what you mean by a change of scenery, isn’t it?” His voice is teasing.

“Funny,” you narrow your eyes at him.

“You can ride with me and Lily tomorrow,” Kate changes the subject ever so slightly. “Boone can ride with Tyler. Just like old times, right?”

You look at Tyler, expecting him to be happy with the idea of you riding with the others tomorrow so you don’t bother him all day, but instead he looks concerned. His eyebrows are knotted together and the look on his face shows he’s displeased. 

“Ty?”

He blinks and the look disappears off of his face. “Yeah, go for it. Boone and I’ll be right, hey buddy?” He raises his beer in a cheers to Boone, who does the same thing. “Don’t miss me too much from the other car though.”

“Me, missing you? I think you should try not to miss me, T.”

Tyler grins. “Easier said than done, sunshine.”

The following morning it feels strange to be getting into a car that’s not Tyler’s red truck. It’s your usual mode of transport. Your seat is the passenger seat and it has been for most of the chases in the past, except for ones where footage was the primary purpose of the chase and not research. 

You’re just lifting your bag up into the trunk of Lily’s car when Tyler swoops in behind you and helps you lift it – as if it weighed more than it actually did, as if you were actually having trouble with it. You turn around, eyebrows raised. 

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Tyler grins. “Haven’t had a sudden change of heart, I see?”

“Not happening,” you smile in return. “You’ll be fine without me. You and Boone will be able to catch up like old times. And don’t worry, if we disagree on something, I’ll be sure to let you know about it over the radio anyway. I have Kate on my side today.”

Tyler laughs. “Oh, double whammy. I’m in danger today, aren’t I?”

Kate appears from the other side of the car, putting her own bag in beside yours. She wraps an arm around your shoulders and shoots a smile at Tyler. “You’re gonna regret letting her ride in a car other than yours today, Tyler. A day driving with Lily and I… she’s gonna be a changed woman by the time she gets back in your truck tomorrow.”

“That’s if I even want to get back in his truck, Kate.”

He stares at the two of you and then shakes his head and laughs to himself. “Okay, I’m getting Boone and getting out of here before Lily shows up and you guys gang up on me even more,” he turns and heads for his truck. “Drive safe, all right?”

You and Kate both laugh, watching him as he walks towards his truck, Boone joining him on the way there. Dani and Dexter aren’t far behind him, hopping into the van, and Lily comes bounding down the steps after them, her bag over her own shoulder. 

“We ready for today, ladies!?” She calls loudly from across the lot. 

“Let’s do this!” Kate matches her energy.

You take the back seat, feeling incredibly out of place in the car as Lily starts the engine and follows the other two cars out of the parking lot, leaving the motel behind. It’s smaller in this car compared to Tyler’s, and as you pull your laptop out of your bag and get the radar up on it to get another look at the storm you’d all chosen earlier in the morning, you wonder if you made the right choice.

You’ve been on the road for two hours, heading for a storm north of you when you look down at the radar again and see that it’s gotten smaller – not becoming the larger storm you were all hoping for and certainly not likely to produce a tornado. It’s your job to reach up and grab the radio from between Lily and Kate in the front seats to inform the others. 

“The storm’s shrinking, I think we should pull into a gas station and regroup,” you tell the others through the radio, already preparing yourself for the response.

It comes through almost instantly. Tyler, laughing, then his voice: “What was that you were saying to me last night about listening to you? Guess you’re off your game, darlin’.”

Kate grabs the radio off of you before you can say anything else. “Okay, we all chose this storm together, Tyler. Let’s not throw accusations around and not over the radio.” 

You’re unaware that in the truck, Boone is telling Tyler off for the exact same thing. 

“Thanks, Kate,” you reach forward and squeeze her shoulder as she hands the radio back to you. “Next gas station, let’s pull in and we can all look at the radar together. I don’t think we’re gonna get anything massive in the time it takes us to regroup.” 

“You sure about that, sunshine?” Tyler’s voice comes through the radio again. “I don’t know if we can trust your ability to forecast the weather anym–” His voice cuts off abruptly.

“Sorry ‘bout him,” You hear Boone say shortly after. “We’ll see you at the gas station.”

You give the radio back to Kate and lean back in your seat, sighing as you look out the window at the blue sky and the clouds scattered around it. How could he have been perfectly tolerable last night during dinner, help you with your bag this morning and yet be so irritating? You hadn’t even said anything to spur him on. 

It’s about an hour later by the time you reach the next gas station and you’re grateful when you can get out and stretch your legs. Lily and Kate both head for the bathroom while you head inside to order some drinks and food for the three of you. You don’t bother to wait for Tyler when you see him hop out of his truck. 

He makes his way up to you once you’re inside, waiting for your drinks to be made.

“How’s the other car goin’?” Tyler asks, nudging your shoulder gently.

You look at him, arms crossed over your chest, and look away, choosing to say nothing.

“Come on, sunshine. You’re seriously ignoring me? Where’s that fiery attitude of yours? Just cause you’re in another car doesn’t mean you can’t give me shit right back when I give it to you,” he tries. 

But you’re not interested in the slightest. His words had been uncalled for – especially when you’d moved to another car in an attempt to diffuse the tension between the two of you, and he’d just brought it right back up.

The waitress slides the drinks over the counter and calls your name just as Lily and Kate exit the bathroom, heading straight for you. 

“Can you guys watch my drink? I need to go grab my phone from the car,” you tell them.

Lily and Kate happily take your drink, moving to stand beside Tyler and make conversation with him as you head back outside to grab your phone. You don’t really need it that badly, it’d be perfectly fine to leave in the car till you headed back outside anyway, but it was your way of getting out of a conversation with Tyler. Not that it really was much of a conversation anyway.

When your phone is in hand, you make no hurry to walk back inside the gas station. You make note of several other storm chasers in the parking lot and filling up their cars with gas. It’s a popular stretch of road for chasers and you assume several of them had been chasing the same storm as you and had realised it was going to be a bust.

You almost bump into one of them as you’re heading back inside. You recognise him instantly. He’s in one of the more well known teams, one of the Wranglers rivals and one of the many other groups of chasers that think you guys are just in it for the money you get from the Youtube videos rather than a genuine love of weather and chasing.

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite Tornado Wrangler,” Xavier flashes a smile at you and holds the door open for you to enter, following in after you. “Bit of tension in the group, I hear.”

You frown, unsure about his words meaning, when he continues.

“One of my guys was switching frequencies in the van and got yours on accident. We, uh, we heard your little… disagreement with Owens,” he admits. “I promise we weren’t listening in on purpose. That’s the last thing I’d wanna do. But y’know… open channels and all.”

You can’t help but cringe at his words and let out an awkward laugh. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, Xavier. It’s nothing a little time and a successful storm won’t fix, anyway. I think everyone in the chasing community knows Tyler and I butt heads nearly every day.” 

“Butt heads? Honey, that sounded a lot more like an intentional insult to me.”

“No,” you shake your head. “No, Tyler wouldn’t do that.”

Hearing that Xavier thought Tyler’s words were an insult is the kick you need to make you realise that they weren’t. Tyler was the type to get on your nerves, that was true. But the type to intentionally insult you in an attempt to hurt your feelings? He would never do that.

Xavier gives you an unimpressed look. “Listen, honey – we have a spot available in our team and it’s yours if you want it,” He reaches out and places a hand on your waist, almost making you flinch at the action. You resist the urge to hit his hand off. “You have the degree to prove you know what you’re doing and I think we both know you’re wasting your time with the Wranglers. Especially proven that their leader seems to treat you like something on the bottom of his shoe… me, on the other hand, well… I’d treat you better.”

You try your hardest to control your expression, not wanting to come across the wrong way or to make a scene in front of everyone in the gas station – your team, his team and the several other teams and general patrons all milling about and eating their mid-day feed. Even though you feel uncomfortable as all hell and would love nothing more than to deliver a swift punch to his nose and book it straight back out the door. 

“Listen, Xavier,” you take a step closer to him and almost cringe at the way his lips move up into a smile at your closer proximity. “I wouldn’t join your team if it was the last storm chasing team on earth. If you think I’m wasting my time with my team, I hate to think how much time I’d waste on yours. I’ve seen how much time you spend looking in your car mirrors. If you didn’t know, the tornadoes don’t actually care how your hair looks.” You reach up and pat his chest condescendingly. “And if I hear you say one more bad word about Tyler Owens, I’ll make sure the whole chasing community knows about what happened here today, how you tried to come onto me just to get me to join your team. Trust me, it won’t end well for you.”

You don’t waste anymore time in removing his hand from your waist and leaving him standing alone as you head back over to your group. Kate and Lily are watching you from right where you left them, though Tyler isn’t with them anymore. 

Kate hands you your drink. “You all right? What the hell was that?”

“Just Xavier being an asshole,” you mutter, risking a look over your shoulder to see that he’s gone to join the rest of his group. You hope he’s seething and embarrassed by your words. “I dealt with him though.” 

You can’t shake the uncomfortable feeling still running through your body, though. You try and take a sip of your coffee to calm yourself down. It doesn’t work, really only making you feel more jittery and strange. 

“I’m gonna go wait out at the car, when you guys are all done we can check the radar together and decide where to go from here, all right? You guys can tell the others?” You ask.

Kate nods. “Yeah, course. You sure you’re okay, though?”

You look between her and Lily, noticing the worried looks on their faces, and try and put a smile on your own face to stop them from worrying so much. “Yeah, I promise. It’s just packed to the brim in here and I wanna get some fresh air after all the driving.”

You can feel Kate and Lily’s eyes on you as you leave, coming out the door you’d only just come inside through. You make a beeline straight to the car, taking a deep breath, grateful for the cool breeze on your skin and the warmth of the sun above you. The uncomfortable feeling starts to fade as you open the door to the car and climb up, putting your coffee in the cup holder and leaving your feet hanging out the door as you start to scroll on your phone to distract yourself. 

It’s only a few minutes later when someone stands in the way of the sun and casts a shadow over you. You blink up to meet Tyler’s eyes. He stands in the doorway of the truck, a hand on his hip.

“Already scouting a new group to join cause of me, are you?” He starts, and it takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. “I go to the bathroom for two minutes and come out to see you and freakin’ Xavier all close? When the hell did that happen?”

You let out a huff and squeeze your eyes shut. “Seriously, T, can you not do this right now?”

Tyler shakes his head. “I wasn’t trying to insult you over the radio, sunshine. Usually, you give it right back to me, so that’s what I was expecting, and I know I took it too far – Boone said as much after we put the radio down. I really am sorry about it.”

You open your mouth to tell him it’s all right, that you accept his apology, but he continues speaking, cutting you off and making you glad you never got a chance to actually speak.

“But out of everyone, I see you flirting with Xavier? I mean, come on.”

“I wasn’t flirting–”

“Sure as hell looked that way to me,” he huffs. “You two were all touchy. I saw it.”

You take a deep breath and move to stand up, forcing him to move out of your way. You close the car door behind you and turn to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. You are not going to have this argument like this. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous, Tyler.”

Tyler doesn’t hesitate before he replies. “Well, that’s cause I am.”

For the first time since you’ve known Tyler Owens, you’re lost for words. You open your mouth once, twice, unable to come up with anything to say to him. It seems Tyler is the same, just staring at you, his eyes ever so slightly wide. 

“Then… then you’re jealous for all the wrong reasons,” you manage.

You should be saying something else – teasing him, getting on his nerves, but your short response is all you can get out and it’s nothing like your usual tone when you talk to Tyler.

He frowns. “Why is that?”

You clear your throat. “Cause he was the one coming onto me, telling me to join his team and talking shit about you, and I was the one telling him not to talk shit about you and not to put his hands on me, like he thought he could clearly do without consent.”

As soon as you finish speaking, you regret your words only because of the look that crosses over Tyler’s face. He glances over your shoulder towards the gas station where you assume Xavier and his team still are. 

“That piece of shit,” Tyler mutters, and then he’s moving.

You’re quick to react, hurrying after him and reaching out to grab his arm and attempt to tug him to a stop. It doesn’t work the first time, but the second time it does. “Tyler, stop. You going in there is not going to help anything, it’s just going to make things worse.”

Tyler turns to look at you and you’ve never seen him look so mad before. 

“You’re telling me that guy put his hands on you and tried to come onto you and you don’t want me to go and give him a piece of my mind? Sunshine, he deserves worse than what I can do to him, but I’ll do my best,” he says.

You don’t miss the fact that Tyler manoeuvres your grip on his arm to take your hand in his instead, weaving his fingers in-between yours and giving your hand a squeeze.   

“I’m saying that I already gave him a piece of my mind, T, and I threatened that I’d tell everyone about what he did if he said anything bad about you again,” you explain. 

“I don’t care if he says anything about me, but the fact that he did that to you… everyone already deserves to know what a piece of shit he is,” Tyler seethes. 

You squeeze his hand, then. “I’m sure they’ll find out one of these days, but not today, T, please. I just wanted to come out here and get some fresh air and try and forget what happened.”

Tyler takes a breath and then takes a step towards you, away from the gas station. “Do you want company or do you want me to go back inside and tell the others to hang back inside a while?”

“You’d do that?”

He laughs softly. “Have the last few minutes not shown you that I’d do pretty much anything for you, sunshine? And last night? The last thing I wanted was for you to ride with someone else other than me, but I could tell it’s what you wanted, so I didn’t fight you on it.”

“And what you said over the radio this morning?”

“I missed you and the way you always disagree with me. I just acted on it the wrong way.”

“Yeah,” you nod your head. “You were a real asshole.”

Tyler’s face breaks out into a grin. “Not gonna disagree with you on that one.”

You stare up at him for a moment, honestly surprised at how quickly things had changed between you. Only minutes ago, Tyler was mad at you, then he was mad at Xavier and now he was standing here, smiling at you like you were as bright as the sun. His nickname was fitting for you, you suppose.

“Will you just come and stay with me for a bit? Till whenever the others come out?” You ask, nodding your head back towards the car where you’d been sitting before.

Tyler nods. “I have one condition, though.”

“Name it.”

“You sit in my truck instead, and you come back and ride with me in it again.”

You can’t keep the smile off your face. “That’s two conditions, actually, T.”

“And you didn’t say no to either of them,” Tyler smiles. “Come on, sunshine.”

[haerinari]

I don’t care about Sooha

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader. Decelis Academy AU.

synopsis: y/n has always been best friends with the seven boys Heeseung, Jake, Jay, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Jungwon and Ni-ki. But ever since the new girl, Sooha, came to Decelis Academy, everything has been only about her. Heeseung, who wasn’t only y/n’s bestfriend but also the boy she liked, was the first of all of them to give all his attention to Sooha, making y/n feel a bit (a lot) jealous.

warnings: not proofread!, jealousy, cursing, fluff, smut, smut with plot, y/n being a bit hater on Sooha, kissing, boob play, nipple play, pet names (baby, love, princess, good girl), dirty talking, praises, clit play, pussy eating, fingering, cum eating, unprotected sex (don’t do this), use of the word cum-slut.

want to keep reading? click here ⬇️

“Sooha, come sit here! Right next to me!” Sunoo exclaimed with excitement pointing at my seat.

“But it’s taken” she said.

“Yeah, that’s my sea—” i tried to say but Sunoo interrupted me. “Oh, that’s fine!” he answered.

“Sunghoon can sit with Y/N.”

“Fine…” i groaned and took my bag and notebooks next to Sunghoon’s table. “I can’t believe this.” i murmured to myself.

“Don’t worry, i feel the same way about her.” Sunghoon whispered into my ear with a serious face. “There is something that isn’t right about her, she’s very…”

“Nosey? Annoying?”

“Yeah, its a weird thing y/n. But don’t worry, i’m always on your side.” he smiled.

The chemistry class went pretty smoothly, Sunghoon and I didn’t payed that much attention to it, instead we were laughing and making jokes about random things. When the bell rang, all of us were packing peacefully our things until Sunoo talked to Sooha again.

“Sooha, what are you up to now that clases are over?” the blond boy asked.

“Huh? Oh, i’m gonna clean my room today.” Sooha answered. “I got some of it done last night… but there’s still a long way to go. There’s a bunch of things to throw out too.”

“Then i’ll help!” Sunoo smiled.

When i got out of the class I saw at the end of the hall Heeseung and Sooha talking. I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous about her, she has been so close to Hee lately. Before Sooha came to Decelis, he was the closest to me comparing to the others, we did everything together; lunch, siting together in class, and having deep long conversations at midnight, but it’s seems that all those things are over for now.

“Oh yeah! I sit next to Sunoo too, Y/N gave me her seat.” i hear Sooha saying to Heeseung while i was getting closer with all the other boys.

“She did?” Heeseung replied with surprise in his voice.

“Y/N didn’t give it to her, she stole it.” Sunghoon defended crossing his arms.

“Of course Y/N have it to her, she’s a good friend. You should do it too, Sunghoon. Mind your manners.” Jay talked.

“Sooha’s new in here.” Jungwon spoked. “We should be nice to her.”

“Yeah! Or you can just sit at the back with Y/N, you seemed pretty closed to her today, huh.” the blond boy said with a playful smirk.

“What?” Heeseung asked raising an eyebrow, getting in the conversation. “Yeah, the laughed and joked all~ the class”

“You-!!”

“Well, I also told them i was cleaning my room today… and the all offered to help.” Sooha said trying to relive the tension between all of us.

“Did we?” I said, Sunghoon laughed.

“What?” the girls said when Heeseung got closer to her. “Yeah… of course…”

Did Heeseung just talk to Sooha through his telepathy? No way, we agreed not to show our powers to her.

“Let’s go then!”

We all walked into Sooha’s room, there was a lot of boxes and stuff spread on the ground. Sunoo was wearing a pink apron while mopping the floor and Jay and Jungwon were taking the boxes from the floor. This room used to be were all of us hanged out sometimes, so there was boxes with weights, books, and other of our stuff on the ground.

“Uhm, guys… I can do it myself.” Sooha said.

“No Sooha, just stand there and watch.” Jay replied.

“Yeah, it’ll only take us a second.” Jungwon said.

“Cleaning is my favorite thing in the world!”

“You liar…”

“S-still, it’ll help too.” the girl said trying to take one of the weight boxes.

“Sooha…” i started. “I don’t think you can— Wow.”

“There’s 1000kg of dumbbells in it!” they exclaimed.

“How is that even possible?” i asked.

“Oh, no…”

“Here, let me take that for you.” Heeseung offered.

“Huh?” Heeseung was doing it again. “What? No! Of course not, i would never…”

“Heeseung did you just talked to her through telepathy?” Sunghoon asked shooked. “Yeah, since earlier today.”

“Heeseung!”

“Heeseung, we’re…”

“Sooha, you’ll keep my ability as a secret, right?” Heeseung said leaning closer to her.

Why did he always had to be so close to her?

“Yeah, of course! I won’t tell anyone.”

“Then let’s keep our secret between us.”

“Okay.” she nodded.

“I think your powers are really cool.”

“Yours too Hee.” Sooha answered with a little smile.

“Hell no, i can’t stand this.” i said in a low tone taking my bag from Sooha’s bed.

“What? Where are you going?” Sunghoon asked, Heeseung looked at me.

“I’m gonna be with Jake and Ni-ki on the field, they must be playing football. I’ll be there if you guys need me.” i murmured and left.

“What’s with her lately?” i heard Heeseung asked.

“I don’t know.” was the last thing i heard from Jungwon say before closing completely the door.

“What should i do guys?” i said hiding my head between my knees.

After successfully finding Ni-ki and Jake on the field, i told them everything that was happening with Heeseung and how i felt about Sooha.

“Well, it’s not a surprise you like Heeseung Hyung.” Ni-ki said.

“Yeah, all of us know that you both always had a thing for each other.” Jake added. “Both of us?”

“Of course that both you!” Ni-ki exclaimed. “You’re always like, eating him with your eyes.”

“Don’t say that! It’s embarrassing…”

“I remember one time he told us that he read your mind in class, it was an accident, he said. Heeseung hyung was going to tell you something via telepathy, but he accidentally ended hearing your thoughts about how handsome he looked that day.” Jake told.

“Shut. up.” i gasped.

“But be chill about it, Y/N…” the youngest of the boys said palming my back. “He likes you too, a lot more than you think.”

“Then why he is always so fucking close to her, talking to her, being with her, laughing with her!?” i said angrily.

“There is something weird about that girl, we can all feel it, he’s just trying to find out what is it.” jake explained.

“Huh? But she’s so w—”

“What are you guys talking about?” Heeseung said appearing behind our backs, interrupting my sentence.

“Nothing of your business…” i replied.

“Hyung! Good you’re here, Jake hyung and I are were just about to go, but we didn’t want to leave y/n alone.” Ni-ki said getting on his feet and doing a gesture for Jake to follow him.

“What–”

“Yeah, now that you’re here, you can stay with her. Bye hyung, see ya tomorrow y/n.” Jake said.

“Bye y/n!”

“See you around Riki…”

An awkward silence took all the place, I was still sat hugging my knees while Heeseung was standing behind me.

“Do you, maybe, want to go to my room? We can talk or do something if you like.” he spoke after a few seconds.

“Aren’t you going to be with your new friend Sooha?” i replied sarcastically.

“I think she’s on her room, i left her there. It’s been a long time since we talked, you know… you and me.”

“That’s because you are always with that girl, everywhere she goes, you have to go too.”

“That’s why I want to be with you now. C’mon, let’s go. I’m not asking if you want to or not.” Heeseung said showing me his hand.

“Fine.” i sighed and took his hand.

We walked through the Academy until we reached to the door of his dorm, when he opened it, his roommate, Sunoo, wasn’t there.

“Where’s Sunoo?” i asked walking in the bed’s direction.

“I think he went out with Jungwon and Jay, they said there were hungry.” Heeseung replied.

“Oh, how I missed your bed!” i exclaimed while jumping on his comfortable bed, it was so soft and cozy.

Every single time after we hanged out at night we used to come to his dorm and lay on the bed to watch movies, i remember how fast my heart beats were when i felt the proximity of our bodies and his scent all over the bed.

“I missed you.” Heeseung said lying by my side.

“Oh don’t say that.” i pinched him softly on the arm.

“Why not?” he smiled. “Because you know how i feel about you, and those things make my heart go crazy…”

“I don’t know what are you talking about.” he shakes his head.

“Don’t play dumb on me, Heeseung. Jake and Ni-ki told me about that time you read my kind in class, about how you heard how handsome i thought you looked that day.”

“Those assholes, i told them to keep their mouths shut!” i laughed. “I don’t care about Sooha, Y/N. Not in the way you think i do.”

“Your actions says other words Heeseung.” i looked at the ceiling. “It’s all right tho, i don’t want to loose our friendship…”

“Okay, now you stop playing dumb on me.” he laughed. “I like you, Y/N. I don’t like Sooha, i’m not interested in her. I like you and only you.” Heeseung confessed.

“Are you sure? I mean, like… like like?”

“Yes, Y/N. Like like.”

“Why didn’t you told me earlier?”

“I think i was a little scared… i knew you liked me but, i wasn’t completely sure and also didn’t want to lose our friendship. I couldn’t lose you, how could i live without you?”

“Oh stop saying those clingy things!” i said hiding my red face on his pillows. “I’m flustered.”

“Y/N” he called. “Hmm?” i said with my head still between the pillows.

“Look at me, please.” i turned at him, looking directly at his precious eyes. “You’re the only girl I have eyes for, you’re the only girl i can look at. Why would i be looking at some other woman when i have the girl of my dreams right in front of me?”

And with that, I instantly crashed my lips against his. As our lips finally met, it was as if time stood still; the kiss was tender yet electric, igniting a spark that both of us had expected for a really long time. The kiss was soft and tentative at first, a gentle exploration that spoke of shared secrets and unvoiced emotions. Heeseung’s lips brushed against mines, warm and inviting, as if testing the waters of a new adventure. A rush of warmth flooded through the kiss, igniting a spark that quickly ignited into something deeper. He got on top of me, the kiss growing more passionate. His hands cradled into my face, his thumb lightly tracing my cheek, grounding them in the moment.

“Do you want to… keep going?” Heeseung asked, trying to catch his breath.

“If you stop now, i’ll kill you.” he giggled. “That’s want i wanted to hear.”

The kiss was deeper this time, one of his hands went from my cheek to the buttons of my shirt, untangle them. He took all of my shirt off, revealing my black lace bra that was covering the upper part of my body.

“Fuck…” he sighted.

He kissed me again, now trailing his open mouth kisses from my mouth, then my neck, until reaching to my chest. His hand moved to my back, unbuttoning my bra and throwing it to somewhere at the room.

“Such pretty tits, baby.”

I let out a loud moan when i felt his mouth in one of my nipples, sucking it hardly while his other hand was pinching my other boob. His mouth felt like heaven, the wetness between my legs starting to grow wider by the sensation of his cock hardening on my core. My hips started to moved back and forth, searching for some kind of relief.

“Hee —fuck— please…” i begged.

“Aww, is my pretty princess needy, huh? You want to feel me all inside you, don’t you? Want me to break you apart…” he spoke with a smirk, his lips red and swollen from sucking my tits.

“Fuck yes.”

“Hold it a little longer baby, let me take care of you…”

He went down on my stomach, kissing every single part visible of my body. He took off my uniform skirt and kissed my iner-thighs, placing his hands over my knees to keep them open. My hips started bucking into him, trying to feel some kind of friction. He kissed my core through my panties, an embarrassing wet patch showing off. Heeseung moved the to the side, reveling my wet core begging for attention.

“Such a pretty pussy, such a pretty girl… I’m going to eat you out, and going to lick all of your pussy until you’re dripping into my face, baby.”

He started sucking my clit, his tongue lapping at it while he sucked here and there my pussy lips, making slurping noises as he devoured my cunt. My hand went directly to his hair, pushing him deeper to chase that feeling i’ve been searching for. He groaned, causing a vibration in my pussy and sending shivers down my spine.

“Fuck i love your pussy, i could fucking eat it all day, such a sensitive clit and wet pussy. You’re such a good girl.”

“Shit!” i gasped. “Heeseung ple —ah— please fuck me alredy.”

His index finger entered my tight hole, causing me to scream his name. His finger felt so long and deep inside me, i could imagine how good his dick was going to feel.

He added another finger, moving them in and out in hard pace while sucking my clit meanwhile.

“You’re so good, Hee. Shit, shit. You’re fingers feel so good.” i cried.

“If my fingers feel like this, imagine how good my dick is going to stretch you out. If you can’t take my finger, how are you going to take my cock? Huh, Y/N? Tell me…”

“I…I—” i sweared i could see stars in that moment. “I’m gonna cum.”

“You cuming baby? C’mon, cum all over my fingers. Let me taste all of you, baby.”

His fingers went faster, hitting that sweet spot deep inside me, his tongue sucking my clit. The knot in my stomach felt tighter and tighter until it finally explored.

“Fuck!” i gasped grabbing the sheets under me. “Oh my good, Hee.”

“That’s it baby… That’s it, so sweet. You’re such a good, good girl.” Heeseung said sucking clean all my pussy.

He came up to my face, kissing me with hunger and allowing me to taste myself.

“You think you’re ready for my cock now?” i nodded. “Yeah?”

“Please Hee…”

“Shit, anything for you baby.”

He took his pants and boxers down, revealing his long, thick cock leaking with pre-cum.

“There—There’s no war that’s gonna fit inside me.” i lowered my voice.

“That’s why stretch you out before, love.”

He thrusted his cock in his hand a few times until he aligned into my entrance. With a deep groan, Heeseung thrust himself into my tight hole, making me moan. His cock sliding deep into my wet, tight pussy.

“So, so tight baby.” he moaned. “This pussy was made just for me.”

“Yes, Hee. It’s feels so good.” i gasped.

His hand reached to rub my clit, making me moan even louder as he fucked my pussy senseless. He groans softly as he feels the tightness of my pussy around his cock. He begins to move faster, his hips slapping against my ass as he pounds into my cunt relentlessly.

“Hee, baby, i’m gonna cum again…”

“—Fuck— that’s it baby, cum with me okay? Let’s —shit— let’s cum together.

You couldn’t last any longer, not with the way he was rubbing your clit and not with the way he was burying his dick inside you. And with a loud moan, he buried his cock deep inside, his hot cum flooding my pussy. His hands on my hips holding me in place, making sure every last drop is deposited inside, marking me as his own cum-slut. His orgasm seems to go on forever, leaving me with a dripping, cum-filled mess.

“That was… wow.” Heeseung said collapsing next to me on the bed, i smiled.

“Yeah… wow.”

“Just for the record, i don’t want this to be just some one-time-hookup. I really have deep feelings for you, Y/N.” he said, wrapping his arms around my body in a tight hug.

“I want to be with you, Hee. I really like you too and i want to to this with you forever, you’re the only one.”

“My pretty girl.” he said giving me a kiss on the head. “You’re the best, y/n.”

“I know.” he laughed. “Love you, Hee.”

“Love you too, princess.”

[lemonsdietcoke]

Parting Gift - Player 230

Dark!Thanos/Choi Su-bong x Fem!Reader

This is part 2 of my mini series love ridden (you don’t have to read part 1 but it helps you get a deeper understanding of their relationship)

Warnings: Toxic relationship,Emotional manipulation and gaslighting, DUBCON/implied sexual misconduct, power imbalances and coercion,mentions of substance abuse,threats of self-harm, mentions of bruising, vomiting, unreliable memory

Summary: “It ended bad, but I love what we started.” A night out, was supposed to be a distraction, a step to moving on. Instead it leaves you questioning everything. Loosely inspired by Parting gift-Fiona apple

MINORS DNI!

A/n: ahhhh here it is! This is very much a wild ride so be prepared and get comfortable lol. Lmk if yall fw. I love feedback. Lmk what you think!!

……………………..

“Two years.”

It echoes in your head as you stare at your phone. The screen blinks, illuminating the dark, quiet apartment, and your reflection stares back at you. Hollow eyes. Lifeless skin.

You don’t even recognize yourself anymore.

Two years of late nights.

Two years of broken promises.

Two years of fights that always ended the same way — with you apologizing for things you hadn’t even done.

Two years of Su-bong.

The notifications keep coming.

Messages. Missed calls. Voicemails.

You blocked him a week ago. You had to.

Before that, you let the calls go unanswered. You left his texts on read. But after that voicemail, you couldn’t take it anymore.

It wasn’t just the things he said.

It was the way he sounded.

Drunk. High out of his mind. Slurring his words like he could barely get them out.

You’d heard him like that before, of course. Countless times. But this was different.

The shaking breath at the beginning of the message.

The muffled sound of a bottle cap hitting the floor.

The distinct rattle of a pill bottle.

And then his voice —

Low. Rough. Desperate.

“You know, if you don’t fucking answer me…”

There was a pause. You could hear him breathing.

“Maybe I should just end it all.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

The sound of pills being shaken in his hand.

“It’s in your hands now.”

You remember sitting on the floor of your new apartment, the phone clutched in your hands, shaking so hard you thought you might drop it.

That was the breaking point.

You blocked him.

It was hard. Very hard.

What if he was serious?!

What if he did it and it was your fault?!

But it didn’t stop the nightmares.

It’s been a month since the breakup, and you haven’t left your apartment in days.

The dishes are piled up in the sink. Your laundry is overflowing.

You haven’t brushed your hair in three days.

The weight of it all feels suffocating.

You thought leaving him would make you feel free.

Instead, you feel empty.

When your phone buzzes again, you ignore it.

It’s probably Ji-hye.

She’s been trying to get you to go out for weeks.

“You need to live a little,” she said last time you saw her.

But you don’t feel like living.

Still, when your phone buzzes again, you pick it up.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:17 PM): Come out with us tonight. Please?

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:18 PM): There’s a new club opening in Itaewon. It’ll be fun.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:19 PM): I’m not taking no for an answer.

You stare at the messages for a long time.

The thought of going to a club makes your stomach turn.

You haven’t been out in two years.

You haven’t been you in two years.

But the apartment feels too small.

Too quiet.

Too empty.

Fuck it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The shower burns your skin.

You scrub until you feel raw, as if you can wash away the last two years.

But no amount of scrubbing erases the bruises —

The ones he left on your heart.

When you step out, you wipe the fogged mirror and stare at your reflection.

Your hair is a tangled mess.

Your eyes are rimmed with dark circles.

You look like someone who’s been barely holding it together.

This isn’t who I am, you tell yourself.

You plug in your hair straightener. You do your makeup.

By the time you’re done, you almost feel like yourself again.

You rifle through your closet, pulling out a black dress you haven’t worn in years. It still fits — snug and short, hugging your body in a way that feels foreign after months of oversized hoodies and leggings.

When you step into your heels, you wobble for a second.

It’s been so long since you’ve worn anything but sneakers.

But when you look in the mirror again —

You see her.

The girl you used to be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ji-hye and her friends are already tipsy when you meet them outside the club.

She squeals when she sees you.

“Look at you! You look amazing!”

You try to smile, but it feels forced.

The club is packed.

Neon lights pulse to the beat of the music.

Bodies move together on the dance floor.

Ji-hye hands you a shot as soon as you walk in.

“Drink up!”

You down it quickly, the burn making you wince.

“Another?”

Why not?

By the time you lose count, you’ve had at least six shots.

Maybe more.

You stopped counting after the first round of tequila.

The room spins slightly, but you feel good.

Better than you’ve felt in weeks.

You laugh with Ji-hye.

You dance with strangers.

For the first time in a long time, you feel free.

And then you see him.

At first, you think your eyes are playing tricks on you.

But when you blink, he’s still there.

Su-bong.

He’s standing near the bar, his eyes locked on you.

His hair is messy, his shirt unbuttoned at the top.

He looks the same as he always does —

Rough around the edges, disheveled in that careless way that made you fall for him in the first place.

But there’s something in his eyes —

Something dark.

Your stomach twists.

The room feels too hot.

You grab Ji-hye’s arm.

“Ji-hye. Is he…?”

Her eyes widen.

“Oh shit.”

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

She bites her lip, looking guilty.

“I didn’t know. I swear. But he’s friends with Seung-ho.”

She nods toward one of the guys in their group — a guy you don’t know well.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a wild, frantic beat.

You down another shot, your hands shaking slightly.

Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll go away.

But he doesn’t.

When you look up again, he’s moving toward you.

You see him before he speaks.

The way he weaves through the crowd, his gaze locked on you like he’s on a mission.

You look away.

You try to pretend you didn’t see him.

But it’s too late.

He’s right there.

“Hey.”

His voice cuts through the noise, low and rough.

You don’t turn around.

You keep your eyes on your drink, your knuckles white as you grip the glass.

“I didn’t know you came here.”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

Your whole body goes stiff.

“Fuck off, Su-bong.”

Your voice is steady, but your heart is pounding.

He doesn’t move.

Instead, he slides into the seat next to you.

Like he belongs there.

Like nothing happened.

“Come on,” he says, his tone light, almost teasing. “You’re really not even going to say hi?”

You turn to him, your eyes flashing.

“Why would I?”

He shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Because you missed me.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“Missed you?”

You set your drink down, leaning closer.

“You left me voicemails threatening to fucking kill yourself. Do you know how fucked up that is?”

His expression doesn’t change.

He doesn’t flinch.

Instead, he tilts his head, studying you.

“Did it scare you?”

Your blood runs cold.

“What?”

“Did it scare you?” he repeats, his voice soft.

“Did you think I was going to do it?”

You stare at him, horrified.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

His lips twitch into something that might be a smile — but there’s no warmth in it.

“I just wanted to talk to you,” he says, his tone almost casual.

“And you wouldn’t answer. You wouldn’t talk to me.”

“So you thought threatening to kill yourself was the way to get my attention?”

Your voice is shaking now, anger and fear mixing in your chest.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he reaches for your hand.

And you’re too stunned to pull away.

“I missed you,” he says softly.

“I don’t know what to do without you.”

You rip your hand away, standing up so fast your chair scrapes against the floor.

“Don’t fucking do that.”

Your voice is loud now, cutting through the music.

“Don’t pretend you’re some fucking victim.”

His expression hardens.

“I’m not pretending.”

“You are.”

You step closer, your chest heaving.

“You always do this. You always make it about you. Like your fucking pain is the only thing that matters.”

He stands up slowly, towering over you.

“I’m in pain because of you.”

You scoff, shaking your head.

“That’s bullshit.”

“Don’t lie to yourself.”

His voice is low now. Dangerous.

“You love me.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

He steps closer.

“I know you do. You wouldn’t be this angry if you didn’t.”

You hate how he gets in your head.

How he twists your words.

“I don’t love you,” you say again, but it sounds weaker this time.

He leans in, his breath brushing against your cheek.

“Then why haven’t you moved on?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut.

And you don’t have an answer.

“Let’s go outside,” he says.

His voice is softer now, coaxing.

“It’s too loud in here.”

You hesitate.

“Please.”

He reaches for your hand again, and this time, you don’t pull away.

“Just talk to me.”

Your heart is pounding.

Your mind is spinning.

And against your better judgment —

You follow him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The alleyway outside the club smells like cigarette smoke and spilled beer.

You cross your arms over your chest, shivering slightly. The night air feels too cold against your skin, cutting through the warmth of the alcohol.

Su-bong lights a cigarette, his hands shaking slightly as he brings it to his lips.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then —

“What do you want from me?”

Your voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and strained.

He exhales a cloud of smoke, his gaze steady on you.

“I just want you.”

You laugh, bitter and harsh.

“Do you even hear yourself? You had me, Su-bong. You had me for two fucking years, and you—”

Your voice cracks.

“You fucking broke me.”

His jaw tightens.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did.���

Your chest heaves, your breath fogging in the cold air.

“Over and over again.”

“I know.”

He takes a step closer.

“And I’m sorry.”

It’s the softness in his voice that undoes you.

That fucking softness.

Because for a split second —

You almost believe him.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

His words hang in the air between you, soft and deliberate, like he’s trying to carve them into your skin. And you hate how much they make your chest ache.

You hate that it’s him standing here, saying these things. Again.

“You say that like it fucking matters.” Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. “Like it changes anything.”

He exhales smoke, eyes never leaving yours. “It does matter.”

“No, it doesn’t.” You shake your head, your arms tightening around yourself like it’s the only thing holding you together. “You’ve hurt me too many times for it to matter.”

A pause.

A flicker of something in his eyes.

And then, softly —

“I couldn’t stop.”

The words hit you harder than you want them to.

Your chest tightens, your mind flashing back to the nights he stumbled through the door, high and out of it, mumbling half-assed apologies through the haze.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he continues, his voice quiet. “Not without you.”

You close your eyes, willing the tears to stay put.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you whisper. “You can’t keep blaming me for your fucking choices.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what the fuck is this?” You gesture between the two of you, your voice rising. “What do you think you’re doing right now?”

“I’m trying to fix it.”

Your laugh is sharp, bitter. “Fix it? You can’t fix this, Su-bong. You can’t.”

He flinches at the way your voice cracks.

But he doesn’t back down.

“I can try.”

You shake your head, the weight of it all pressing down on you. The months of pain, the sleepless nights, the voicemail that still echoes in your mind.

“You’re fucking selfish.”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t deny it.

“You don’t love me,” you say, and it feels like you’re ripping your own heart out. “You love what I do for you. You love having someone to pick up the pieces when you fall apart. Someone to save you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Your chest heaves. “You only ever show up when you’re desperate. When you need something. And I’m fucking done being that person for you.”

He takes a step closer, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers, burning down to the filter.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

You hate the way your heart twists.

“I want you.”

You shake your head again, but it’s weaker this time.

“I love you.”

And there it is.

Those three fucking words.

The words that used to make your heart explode. The words that used to make you believe in him, in a future that never existed.

“I can’t do this without you,” he says, and his voice breaks, just a little. “I’ve tried, Y/N. I’ve tried to be better, but I’m fucking lost without you.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“You’re only lost because you never tried to find yourself,” you whisper. “You’ve always expected me to do it for you.”

His eyes soften, that familiar vulnerability creeping in.

“I’m trying now.”

“No, you’re not.” You take a step back. “You’re trying to pull me back in. That’s all you ever do.”

A beat of silence.

Then —

“I miss you.”

The words cut through the night, soft and raw.

And you feel yourself wavering.

Fuck.

You press your palms to your face, trying to breathe, trying to steady yourself.

“You don’t get it,” you whisper. “You don’t get what you did to me.”

He takes another step closer, so close now that you can feel the heat of his body.

“I never stopped loving you.”

Your chest heaves, your heart pounding.

“I don’t want to hear that.”

“You need to.”

“No, I fucking don’t.” Your voice cracks, tears burning at the edges of your eyes. “What I need is to move on.”

His hand reaches out, tentative, trembling.

But when his fingers brush against your arm-

You flinch.

It’s instinctive.

A reaction you couldn’t stop if you tried.

And the look on his face?

It’s devastating.

He pulls his hand back slowly, like he’s been burned.

“I’m not him anymore.”

The words are quiet, almost desperate.

“I’m not the guy who fucked up. I’m not the guy who hurt you.”

“You are.” Your voice is soft, but firm. “You’ll always be that guy, Su-bong.”

His gaze drops to the ground, and for a moment, you think he’s going to give up.

But then he looks up again.

“I just want to talk,” he says. “Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You hesitate.

The rational part of you — the part that’s spent the last month piecing yourself back together — is screaming at you to walk away.

But your heart?

Your heart is still caught in the web he’s spun around you.

“ we’re already talking…” you slightly slur your words, the alcohol taking full effect.

“Five minutes,” he says again, softer this time. “At my place. Please.”

And against your better judgment —

You nod.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake to the sensation of weight.

Heavy. Suffocating.

An arm draped over your waist. A body pressed too close, warm breath against the back of your neck.

And for one blissful second, you’re still half asleep. Still caught in that hazy space between dreams and reality, your mind fogged over with sleep, soft and pliant.

But then your eyes open.

And everything sharpens.

The bedroom is dark — curtains drawn, faint slivers of morning light sneaking through the cracks. The air is stale, tinged with cigarette smoke and something faintly metallic. It smells familiar.

And the weight around your waist?

It’s Su-bong.

Your stomach lurches.

No. No, no, no.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your heart pounding in your chest, the dull ache between your temples throbbing harder with each beat. Your mind scrambles to piece together how the fuck you ended up here. The last thing you remember clearly is the club — Ji-hye pulling you onto the dance floor, shots of tequila burning your throat, the neon lights swirling around you.

And then —

His voice.

His hands.

And now you’re here. In his bed.

You hold your breath, every muscle in your body going rigid. His arm is still heavy across your waist, his hand curled loosely against your hip, fingers twitching like he’s dreaming.

Carefully — so carefully — you think maybe you can slip out from under him.

Carefully, you reach for his wrist, your fingers trembling as you try to lift his arm off you. The sheet rustles softly, the sound too loud in the suffocating silence. You freeze, your breath hitching.

He stirs.

A small, unconscious noise slips from his throat, his fingers curling slightly against your hip.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

Please don’t wake up.

You stay frozen, your body stiff, your breath shallow. His arm feels impossibly heavy against your waist, like it’s anchoring you to the mattress. Slowly — so slowly — you ease it off you, inch by inch, until it finally falls to the bed.

He murmurs something in his sleep, low and unintelligible.

You freeze again, your pulse roaring in your ears.

He doesn’t wake.

You let out a shaky breath, the sound barely audible, and sit up as quietly as you can. The room tilts slightly as you do, your head pounding with a dull, persistent ache. You press a hand to your temple, blinking against the dizziness.

The sheets are tangled around your legs, the fabric twisted and damp with sweat. You untangle yourself carefully, your fingers trembling, your movements slow and deliberate.

His body shifts slightly behind you, his breathing deepening for a moment before settling back into a steady rhythm.

Move.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the floor cold against your bare feet. The hem of your dress rides up as you stand, the fabric wrinkled and twisted, clinging to your skin.

You glance back at him, your chest tight.

He’s still asleep.

But his face is turned toward you now, his hair falling into his eyes, his lips parted slightly. He looks softer like this, his usual sharp edges dulled by sleep.

It makes your stomach turn.

Focus.

You force your gaze away, scanning the room for your things.

Your phone.

Your purse.

Where the fuck are they?

The panic sets in slowly, creeping up your spine like cold water, inch by inch. You scan the room, searching for your things, but the room looks almost exactly the same as when you left a month ago.

Cluttered. Messy. The ashtray on the nightstand is overflowing. Empty bottles litter the floor. The same crumpled blankets. The same cigarette burns in the carpet.

Like time stood still.

Like he hasn’t moved on.

Your stomach twists painfully, nausea creeping in at the edges. You stand, your legs unsteady, your head pounding. The ache in your body — between your thighs, in the muscles of your legs — is impossible to ignore.

You take a step toward the bathroom, your hands trembling as you reach for the door handle. You need a moment to breathe. To think.

To figure out what the fuck happened.

The bathroom is as grim as you remember. The light flickers when you turn it on, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. The mirror is streaked with water stains, the sink cluttered with half-used toiletries.

You close the door behind you, locking it with a shaky hand.

And then you catch your reflection.

Your lipstick is barely there anymore, smudged at the edges. Your mascara streaked under your eyes. Your hair is a tangled mess, the carefully straightened strands now knotted and frizzy.

But it’s the rest of you that makes your breath catch.

The dress you wore last night is twisted around your waist, the hem wrinkled and pulled too high. Your thighs are bare. You pull at the fabric, tugging it down, but your hands freeze when you see the faint bruises.

Finger-shaped bruises.

They’re light, barely there, but you know what they are.

Your stomach drops.

You lift the hem of your dress higher, revealing more bruises along your inner thighs. Some small, faint smudges of blue and purple. Some darker.

You press your fingers to them, your skin flinching under your own touch.

Did I fall?

Did I—

Your mind races, scrambling for an explanation, for anything that makes sense.

And then your eyes flicker lower.

Your underwear is backward.

You stare for a long moment, your brain struggling to catch up with what you’re seeing. The waistband digs awkwardly into your hips, the tag twisted around to the front.

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

Your stomach churns violently.

You lift the toilet lid, falling to your knees as you retch. There’s nothing in your stomach but bile, burning its way up your throat.

When you’re done, you sit back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. The bathroom spins around you, your head pounding, your chest heaving with shallow breaths.

You reach for the sink, pulling yourself up slowly, your hands gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles turn white.

Your eyes flicker back to your reflection.

The bruises.

The backward underwear.

The ache between your legs.

Did we—

No.

No, no, no.

You grip the sink harder, your nails digging into the porcelain.

‘I don’t remember.’

That’s the worst part.

You don’t remember anything.

You remember seeing him at the club. You remember yelling at him, calling him out for the voicemail. You remember him pulling you outside, the alley reeking of cigarette smoke and beer.

And then it’s all a blur.

Flashes of his voice. His hand on your arm. The way he looked at you — dark, desperate.

But nothing else.

Your chest tightens painfully.

You want to leave.

You need to leave.

You unlock the bathroom door with shaking hands, your heart pounding in your chest as you step back into the bedroom.

But when you step inside —

He’s awake.

Su-bong is sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers tangled in his hair. He looks up when he hears you, his gaze locking on yours.

And the first thing you notice?

He’s sober.

There’s no haze in his eyes. No slurred speech. No unsteady hands.

He’s completely sober.

Your stomach twists painfully.

“Morning.”

His voice is soft, tentative.

Like he’s testing the waters.

You don’t say anything.

You take a step toward the nightstand, searching for your phone. Your purse. Anything.

But he stands up slowly, blocking your path.

“Hey.”

His voice is softer now, coaxing.

“You don’t have to run.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“I don’t remember anything,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I don’t—”

“I know.” His eyes soften, his brows pulling together in that familiar expression of concern. “You were really drunk.”

Your heart sinks.

“What happened?”

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “You saw me at the club. You… you wanted to come back here.”

You shake your head, your stomach churning.

“I don’t remember that.”

You must’ve been really drunk because from what you remember you weren’t exactly happy too see him. How did you go from fighting with him to begging to be back at his apartment?

“You were drunk,” he says again, like it’s the answer to everything. “It’s okay. I took care of you.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

The bruises.

The backward underwear.

The ache.

“What do you mean, you took care of me?”

His gaze flickers away for a moment, his jaw tightening.

“You wanted to come back,” he says softly. “You told me you missed me. That you wanted to… you know. Talk. Figure things out.”

Your mind spins, scrambling to fill in the blanks.

“I don’t remember,” you whisper again, your voice shaking.

“I know.” He steps closer, his voice low, soothing. “It’s okay. I missed you too.”

He reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours.

You flinch.

But he doesn’t pull back.

“I missed you,” he says again, his voice softening. “I love you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. They only hurt so bad because he was saying them now. After everything.

And for a moment —

You don’t know what to believe.

“You were wasted, Y/N.”

His words come soft, careful, like he’s tiptoeing around something fragile. His body language matches it — slouched shoulders, a furrowed brow, the faintest slump in his posture like he’s weighed down by concern.

Your stomach churns.

“I… I wasn’t that drunk.” The words feel hollow as they leave your mouth. A lie to yourself, as much as to him. You’d lost count at six shots. At least six. Maybe more.

His lips press into a thin line, a faint shake of his head following. “You could barely stand.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, knuckles trembling.

“I don’t remember…” You force the words out, hating how small they sound, how they let the power tip toward him.

He exhales slowly, running a hand down his face.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. You were crying. Saying you missed me. That you needed me.” He pauses, eyes meeting yours, steady and unwavering. “What was I supposed to do, huh? Just leave you there?”

The breath punches out of you. Crying? Saying you missed him? Needed him?

That couldn’t be true. That can’t be true.

But your mind betrays you. A flash of his hands steadying you on the dance floor. His voice coaxing you into the alley. The warmth of his hand brushing yours.

Pieces fall together, but the picture is fractured, missing the crucial moments. And that’s what he’s counting on.

“I don’t…” Your voice cracks, a fresh wave of panic rolling through you. “I wouldn’t—”

“You did,” he says firmly. Not loud, but firm enough that it cuts through your protest. “You were falling apart, Y/N. I couldn’t just—” He stops, dragging his hand through his hair like he’s trying to collect himself. “I had to help you.”

Help you.

The bruises on your thighs burn like a brand.

“By bringing me here?” you snap, your voice rising. “By—by—” You stop yourself before the question comes tumbling out: Did you touch me?

His face hardens just slightly, enough to send a shiver skittering down your spine. “I wasn’t going to let you go home alone. Not like that. You don’t even know what could’ve happened.”

“What do you mean what could’ve happened?” Your voice cracks, pitching higher, panic seeping in. “What did happen?”

He holds your gaze, and for a moment, his expression softens again. “Nothing happened.”

The words should feel like a relief. They don’t.

“Nothing?” Your voice is small, but there’s a sharp edge to it.

“Nothing,” he repeats, stepping closer. Too close. “You needed me, Y/N. And I was there for you. Like I always have been.”

Always.

Your mind spirals, reaching for anything concrete, any moment from last night that you can grab onto. But it’s all a haze, smothered by the tequila and the smoke and him.

“I don’t…” You press a hand to your temple, the ache blooming there sharp and relentless. “I don’t remember asking to come back here.”

His hand reaches out, brushing against your arm, and you flinch without meaning to.

His eyes darken at that. “You’re scared of me now?”

You want to say yes. But the word lodges itself in your throat, too big to swallow, too dangerous to spit out.

“I’m not scared of you,” you lie.

“Then why are you acting like this?” His voice is soft, low, almost tender. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Y/N. I just—” He stops, his jaw clenching. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And now you’re looking at me like I’m a fucking monster.”

He steps closer. You step back. The space between you feels like it’s shrinking, suffocating.

“Why am I here, Su-bong?” Your voice is stronger now, the edge of panic sharpening it. “Why the fuck was I in your bed?”

He tilts his head slightly, his brows knitting together like you’ve just said something unreasonable. “You wanted to be here.”

“No.” You shake your head, your chest tightening. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t—” Your voice cracks, the words tangling in your throat. “I don’t even remember coming back with you.”

His expression doesn’t shift. “You were drunk,” he says simply. “You don’t have to make this a big deal.”

You laugh — bitter, sharp. “Not a big deal?” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “Not a big fucking deal? I don’t even know what happened, Su-bong. I don’t—” Your breath hitches, your stomach twisting violently. The next words catch in your throat, almost too heavy to force out. “Did we—”

You can’t say it. You can barely think it.

“Did we have sex?”

He doesn’t react right away. Not outwardly. But you catch it — the faint flicker of tension in his jaw, the way his gaze shifts to the side before finding yours again.

“Why would you ask me that?” His voice is steady, but there’s something too measured about it, like he’s rehearsed this answer in his head a thousand times.

“Because I don’t fucking know,” you snap, your hands trembling. They curl into fists at your sides, shaking with every ragged breath. “My underwear’s on backwards, Su-bong. I have bruises. And you’re acting—” You stop yourself, your throat tightening painfully. “You’re acting like you did something.”

His jaw tightens again, and this time his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. He exhales slowly, dragging his hand through his hair.

“I didn’t do anything you didn’t want,” he says finally, his tone low but clipped.

It’s not an answer.

It’s not a fucking answer.

“What does that mean?” Your voice rises, panic flaring again. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means you wanted to come back with me,” he says, sharper now, a flash of frustration cutting through the veneer of calm. “You were all over me at the club, Y/N. I told you we shouldn’t—” He cuts himself off abruptly, his fingers raking through his hair again, the strands spiking in every direction. “But you wouldn’t let it go.”

Your stomach twists painfully, the nausea creeping back in full force.

“I wouldn’t let it go?” Your voice cracks, disbelief bleeding into every syllable. “You’re blaming me? You’re saying I—”

“I’m not blaming you.” He exhales sharply, his voice softening just slightly, like he’s trying to rein himself back in. “I’m saying you wanted this. You made that clear.”

“I don’t even remember!” Your voice breaks now, raw and jagged, splintering through the room. “How can I want something I can’t fucking remember?”

He steps closer, and this time you’re too stunned, too frozen, to move.

“Y/N.” His voice drops lower, almost pleading, his hand twitching at his side like he wants to reach for you. “You were drunk, yeah. But you weren’t—” He hesitates, his gaze flickering over your face. “You weren’t out of it. You knew what you were doing.”

The words settle over you like a lead weight, pressing down on your chest until it feels impossible to breathe. Your mind scrambles to piece together the night before, to fill in the blanks, but it’s all fog. Hazy flashes of neon lights and pounding music and his hand on your arm.

“I don’t—” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight in your chest. “I don’t know what to believe.”

His expression softens slightly, his shoulders lowering as he steps closer again, closing the gap between you.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he says, his voice coaxing, soothing. He reaches for your hand, brushing his fingers against yours.

You flinch.

The motion is small, instinctive. But he catches it, his gaze darkening for a fraction of a second before he carefully, deliberately pulls his hand back.

“I don’t know what else to say to you,” he murmurs, his tone taking on a faint edge of frustration again. “I tried to do the right thing, Y/N. I could’ve left you at the club. I could’ve let you go home alone. But I didn’t.”

He looks at you, his eyes steady and unwavering, and you hate how much they make your stomach twist.

“I stayed.” He takes another step forward, close enough now that you can smell the faint trace of his cologne, mingling with the smoke and stale alcohol lingering in the room. “Because you needed me.”

You press your back against the wall, your hands gripping the hem of your dress so tightly it crumples in your fists.

“I don’t remember needing you,” you say, your voice small but sharp, each word cutting through the thick tension in the room.

His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. When he looks up again, there’s something different in his eyes. Something dark.

“Then maybe you should ask yourself why you’re here.”

The question hits like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

And in the silence that follows, he steps back, his expression shifting to something softer, more familiar.

“I missed you,” he says, his voice low, almost tender. “And I know you missed me too.”

“Just… stay.”

The word hangs in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.

Stay.

You want to run. You want to grab your things and get out of this apartment, out of this nightmare, and never look back. But your legs won’t move. Your feet feel glued to the floor, weighed down by doubt and fear and something else—something softer, something that aches when he looks at you like this.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” you whisper.

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. But when he speaks, his voice is soft. Vulnerable.

“I know.” His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, then back to you. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way. But I’m not the guy I was before, Y/N. I’m trying. I’m trying to be better.”

You hate how much those words hurt. How much you want to believe them.

“You shouldn’t have brought me here,” you say, your voice trembling. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“You did,” he says firmly. “Maybe you don’t remember, but you did.”

The words cut through you like a blade, sharp and cold. You don’t believe him. You don’t want to believe him.

But the tequila haze clouds everything, blurring the edges of the truth.

“Just give me a chance,” he says, stepping closer again. “Let me prove it to you. Let me—” He stops himself, his voice catching. “Let me fix this.”

Your throat tightens, the weight of his words pressing down on you, crushing.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper.

He reaches for your hand again, and this time, you don’t pull away. His fingers are warm, steady, wrapping around yours like they belong there. Like they always have.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he says again. His voice is so soft, so careful. “Just stay. Please.”

Your chest heaves, your breath shallow and uneven.

And then—

Your phone buzzes.

The sound cuts through the tension like a knife, sharp and jarring. You jerk your hand away from his, your heart leaping into your throat as you spin toward the nightstand.

Your phone is lying there, screen glowing faintly in the dim light. Ji-hye’s name flashes across the screen.

Your stomach twists violently.

Su-bong doesn’t move. He stands frozen in place, his gaze fixed on you. You don’t look at him. You don’t want to see whatever’s written on his face.

You grab the phone, your fingers trembling as you swipe to open the message.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗(9:04 AM): You good? Please tell me you didn’t go home with him.

Your breath catches, your chest tightening painfully.

“Who is it?” Su-bong’s voice cuts through the silence, low and steady, but there’s an edge to it now.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Instead, you take a shaky step back, clutching the phone like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

“Y/N.” His voice is softer now, coaxing, but there’s a sharpness beneath it, something dark and unyielding. “Who was it?”

“Ji-hye.” The name barely makes it out of your mouth, your voice cracking on the second syllable.

He hums, low and quiet. “What did she say?”

You glance down at the screen again, the words burning into your retinas. You good? Please tell me you didn’t go home with him.

You don’t know what to say.

What can you say?

“Y/N,” he says again, stepping closer. His voice drops lower, quieter, like he’s trying to keep you from bolting. “Talk to me.”

Your chest heaves, your breath coming faster now. “I need to go.”

The words feel weak, hollow, and you hate how they tremble as they leave your lips.

“Go where?” His question is quiet, but there’s a weight to it that makes your stomach turn.

“Away from here.”

The second the words are out, his expression shifts. The softness in his gaze hardens, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“If you walk out that door…” He trails off, his voice cutting off like he’s biting down on the rest of the sentence.

Your heart races, panic rising in your chest. “What?”

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck tightening. “If you walk out that door, you’ll never see me again.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs.

There’s a finality to them, an edge that cuts too deep. You don’t know what he means — if he’s talking about leaving your life or leaving altogether — but it doesn’t matter.

It scares you.

And he knows it.

His gaze stays locked on yours, unflinching, unwavering. “I’m serious, Y/N.”

Your phone buzzes again in your hand, the sound startling you. You glance down at the screen.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗(9:06 AM): If you’re with him, just leave. I’ll come get you.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you.

Su-bong takes another step closer. “You don’t have to leave.” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “We can talk. We can figure this out. But if you walk away now…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. The threat lingers in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, Ji-hye’s message flashing like a lifeline in your palm.

“Y/N.” His voice is softer now, pleading. “Stay.”

You look up at him, your chest heaving, your mind spinning.

And in that moment, you don’t know what scares you more; the thought of staying, or the thought of leaving.

[supernovafics]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 11.7k words

summary: in which you and steve have the brilliant (and slightly insane) idea to try to get your bosses to date because maybe it’ll make your jobs and lives easier 

warnings: modern!au, explicit language, one too many clueless references, drinking/alcohol mentions (drunk!reader and drunk!steve moment toward the end)

note: i didn’t expect this to become as long as it did but here we are now<3 set it up nation please rise! this is very much inspired by that movie (that is in fact one of my favorites) and i was rewatching it a few months ago and it made me want to do something similar-ish. enjoy<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: i bet you ten bucks my night is going worse than yours 

YOU: that’s definitely impossible so i will happily take that bet and your money 

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: remember how i’ve been doing todd’s son’s science project for the past week?

YOU: yeah because the kid sucks at science

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: i finally finished it and gave it to todd today. he hated it and ripped it to shreds right in front of my face (i kinda blame this dumbass juice diet he’s on for him being much more of an asshole than usual). anyway, now i’m gonna have to spend all night doing a new project 

YOU: holy fuck

YOU: you win

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: i would like cash please 

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: what bullshit are you being subjected to right now? 

YOU: at 8 kristen said she didn’t want dinner because she wasn’t going to be “staying late tonight.” and then twenty minutes ago she asked me where her dinner was and gave me the most annoyed look when i said i didn’t have it….

YOU: now i’m waiting in the lobby for a delivery guy to get here with pasta :)

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: ouch

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: want some company down there?

YOU: are you just asking that because you want your money?

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: maybe….

YOU: evil man!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

“The joke’s on you because I don’t have ten bucks right now, so you’ll have to wait until tomorrow for your money,” You told Steve when he walked into the lobby. 

“I was lying. I don’t care about the money. I really came down here to keep you company,” He said as he joined you by the front door. 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him. “Oh, whatever.”

He only smiled at you. “So, how much longer until the delivery guy gets here?”

You took another look at your phone and then showed it to Steve. “Less than a minute. His car’s down the street.”

“How annoyed is Kristen?”

“She got pulled into a Zoom call with the team in LA right after scolding me, so I’m ninety-five percent sure she hasn’t noticed I’m gone yet.”

“That’s good.”

“Is Todd gone for the night?” 

You kind of had a feeling that you already knew the answer to your question because Steve looked more relaxed than normal; his white button-up shirt was untucked from his nice black dress pants and the tie that was around his neck and tucked under the collar of his shirt was loosened too. 

“Yeah, he left right after destroying the science project.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “I still can’t believe that happened.”

Steve let out a tired sigh that you were certain wouldn’t be his last of the night. “What’s another suitable project for a fifth grader?”

“Sorry, but I’m not brushed up on the current fifth-grade education system,” You joked, giving him a teasing smile. When he didn’t match it, you held up your hands in mock surrender. “Okay, sorry, I’ll save all my jokes for when this is no longer a problem for you.”

His lips twitched upward in the smallest amused smile. “How many do you have?”

“Oh, a full stand-up set pretty much, but I’ll save it for tomorrow,” You said, trying to make your voice sound as serious as possible. 

He smiled wider then and seeing him look at least a little less stressed felt like a success in your book. You knew that he would’ve done the same for you if the roles were reversed in this moment, and there were many times when he had done the same. Made a joke when you didn’t even know you needed to hear one, but it still made your day better, or told you a random story about nothing when you needed a breather from thinking about work. 

This friendship you two had made your job feel a thousand times more bearable, and you were so glad that you met him eight months ago. That abrupt introduction had been another middle-of-the-night lobby situation like this one; when it seemed like everyone in the building was done and gone for the day, except for you two and your workaholic bosses. Both of you were waiting for meals from the same diner, which you didn’t even realize until your separate delivery drivers almost mixed up the orders. It was a mix-up that was luckily fixed before it descended into a bigger issue with your respective bosses. 

You two ended up talking a lot on the elevator ride up to your floors and found out just how much you two had in common— both of you being assistants to insane bosses— and the rest was history. 

“Thank you. That’s very considerate,” Steve said to you now, placing a dramatic hand over his heart, which made you laugh.

Before you could say something to keep this playful banter going, you noticed the car pulling up in front of the building. You met the delivery guy halfway and let out a quick “Thanks” when he handed over the food to you. You did a quick look through of what was in the bag and smiled in relief when you saw that everything was there. 

“How long do you think you’re gonna have to stay tonight?” Steve asked you on the elevator ride back up. 

“No idea,” You took a look down at your phone. “She’ll probably eat this once her Zoom call ends in thirty minutes, and then hopefully want to leave for the night.”

“Nice, then you’ll actually be able to get more than four hours of sleep.”

“Fingers crossed.”

The elevator came to its stop on the fifteenth floor and the doors opened, which marked your cue to leave. 

You took a few steps and then turned around to face Steve again, giving him a quick wave. “Good luck tonight, Harrington.”

“Thank you. I’m gonna need it,” He responded, waving back as the doors finished closing. 

You avoided looking at all of the empty cubicles that took over the space in the office— desks that had been left hours ago— and simply went to your desk that sat right outside Kristen’s office. You could faintly hear her talking through the shut glass door. 

You used the downtime to busy yourself with random work rather than doing anything remotely interesting or simply taking a break and doing nothing. You double-checked what Kristen’s calendar schedule looked like for the next few weeks and made sure that everything was in order, and then you went to your work email although nothing new had come in in the last thirty minutes. 

When the time hit 10:03pm and you heard the door open and then saw Kristen walk out, you stood up from your chair and grabbed the bag with the food off your desk. 

“Hi, I have your dinner here.”

She gave you a confused look and it was then that you noticed that her coat was on and her purse was hanging on her shoulder. “I don’t want that. It was supposed to be an early night, remember? I’ll see you in the morning.”

You nodded immediately at her words instead of doing anything else. You, of course, did not tell her that she had asked you to get her food, and you of course definitely did not ask her if ten o’clock could really be considered an “early night” given that the night was pretty much already halfway done and it was basically Friday. 

Nope, you didn’t say any of that, because even though Kristen was nothing but contradictory at times, which made your job absolutely suck, you still liked having one at the end of the day. 

“Okay, got it. See you tomorrow,” You told her, forcing a smile. 

She nodded at you and then her eyes fell to her phone as she walked off. 

You let out a tired sigh once you were certain she was out of earshot and then sat down once again. You could’ve grabbed your own jacket and bag and followed suit, leaving for the night and getting more than four hours of sleep just as Steve had mentioned and you had crossed your fingers in the elevator hoping it would happen. 

However, you didn’t slip on your coat or reach under your desk to grab your bag. Instead, you pulled out your phone.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

YOU: kristen’s gone for the night

YOU: do you want help with the science project?

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: please yes. definitely. thank you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

You and Steve stared at the blank tri-fold poster board as you two ate the Alfredo pasta that had been meant for Kristen. 

The idea for the project had already been decided; it was some sort of chemical reaction thing, seeing how food coloring and dish soap react to being put in different types of milk. Steve showed you a video about it and it actually seemed really cool. 

After finishing the pasta, doing the experiment itself took less than thirty minutes because everything you needed for it was luckily spread about both of your break rooms and then it was just a matter of typing everything up and making the poster board look nice. 

“So, where does this situation lie on the worst things Todd has ever made you do? Is it breaking the top three?” You asked as you stood next to the printer on Steve’s desk and he typed away on his laptop. 

“Definitely,” He didn't hesitate to answer. “I think this takes the third spot that was previously held by him making me drive to the airport two hours away to pick up his mom.”

“Fuck, I always forget about that,” You told him. “If we knew each other when that happened a year ago, I would’ve happily gone with you. I love a long car ride.” 

“And I would’ve definitely taken you up on that offer because that was the worst drive ever.”

“God, how did you survive before we knew each other existed eight months ago?” You asked jokingly and hearing his initial laugh in response made you smile. 

“It was really hard, I honestly don’t know how I managed,” He responded playfully, making you smile wider. “Has your top three with Kristen changed recently?” 

“Nope, the third is the cheese incident, the second is the dog thing, and the first is still all of the shit I had to do the day she interviewed her favorite director for the website.”

You still considered that the worst day you ever had being Kristen’s assistant. She had wanted to make sure that everything was perfect for that interview she had been working for months to get with the infamous Matt Scott, so you had gotten stuck with doing a bunch of tedious tasks. It was still hard for you to look at Skittles and not feel immediate disdain because you had to sort through so many packs of them that day since he weirdly only liked the red and yellow ones. 

The only good thing that came out of that day was that the interview went really well and it was what skyrocketed the website into how big it currently was, and it was still growing. 

You remembered when you randomly stumbled upon the website three years ago. It was a mix of reviews, essays, and articles discussing movies and television shows, all of which interested you a lot, and you liked the website so much that you continuously kept up with it. And the day that you found out that the woman behind the entire thing needed an assistant, you jumped at the opportunity. It didn’t take you too long to realize that you hated being an assistant, but you were really good at it and you also really loved being a part of that environment; surrounded by other people who loved movies and TV and were actually making a living out of writing about it. 

“I just learned that Todd loves one of the horror movies that that director did. ‘The Damned’ something I can’t remember the full title of it,” Steve said, not looking up from his laptop and continuing to type as he talked. He was a weirdly good multitasker; you’d learned that early on in your friendship, but it still always really impressed you. 

“The Damned Rabbit,” You told him as you started cutting out the pictures on the pages you just printed. “That’s Kristen’s favorite too. I can usually stomach most horror movies, but that one was way too gory for me.” 

“Do you think I would like it?”

“Didn’t you say that you got scared watching the Goosebumps show when you were a kid?” 

Steve looked away from his laptop and at you then. “I honestly don’t remember telling you that, but yeah that’s true.” 

You shrugged. “I remember all conversations we have regarding any TV shows or movies.” 

His head tilted a bit and he gave you a look that you didn’t take notice of because you were focused on properly cutting out the pictures. “And I’m assuming you’re using that information to judge me and my taste.” 

“No, of course not,” You told him, making your voice sound completely serious, and then you smiled. “I already know you have shit taste in movies, so there’s no need for me to collect any more data about that.”  

He placed an overdramatic hand over his heart. “Ouch, that hurts. Truly. Badly.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you finally looked at him. “Sorry, that was mean.”

“Very much so,” Steve agreed with a nod. “Please take that back and admit that I have the best taste ever.”   

You shook your head as you smiled. “I’d rather not lie to you right now.”  

He playfully rolled his eyes at you and then went back to focusing on his laptop. He finished typing out everything and then printed it all and you helped him cut everything out once you were done with the pictures. You two then set everything up in what felt like good places on the tri-fold and glued it down. The project definitely looked rushed, but it also looked like a fifth grader did it, so in your eyes it was perfect. And by the time one in the morning rolled around, both your and Steve’s tired eyes and lack of sleep thought it was the best thing either of you had ever done. 

“I can’t wait until Christmas comes and he goes to New Jersey to visit his family,” Steve said as you two began the cleanup process. “I think I’m gonna go into hibernation for that entire week.”

You nodded in agreement, balling up scraps of paper and tossing them into the garbage and deciding against reminding him that Christmas was over two months away, and then you remembered something. “Kristen’s also from New Jersey.”

“Small world,” Steve said. “Y’know our bosses are actually really alike. Even aside from them being assholes a lot of the time, they kinda have a lot in common. From the same state, same favorite movie, same favorite food place.”

You nodded along to his words again, thinking about the fact that them both loving that small mom-and-pop diner twenty minutes away was the reason why you and Steve had met in the first place. “Yeah, you’re right.”  

“Honestly, they’d probably be perfect for each other,” Steve joked with a laugh. 

And even though you knew he was joking, you immediately didn’t see it that way. 

“Oh my god,” You stopped what you were doing and looked at Steve, who was now looking at you very confused. “You’re right.” 

His eyebrows furrowed as he shook his head. “I was kidding.” 

“Yes, I know you were, but you’re actually so right. They would be perfect for each other,” You told him. “We should set them up.” 

Steve only shook his head again. “Alright, I think the sleep deprivation is getting to you because you’re saying insane things right now. We’re not gonna get our bosses to date.”

You ignored his words. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of this idea before. It’s just like Clueless.”

“Okay, I have no idea what we’re talking about anymore.” 

“You haven’t seen Clueless?”

“No.”

“Wow, and you wonder why I say your taste in movies is bad,” You said and then shook your head. “So, there’s this one part where the main girl decides to set up two of her teachers because one of them is a hard grader. And once he’s happy and in love, he starts giving all of the students good grades and whatever, whatever. Anyway, all of that to say, if we set up our bosses and they’re happy and in love with each other then they probably won’t be assholes to us anymore.” 

After a few moments of considering your words, Steve nodded. “Honestly, that’s kind of a good idea.”

“Exactly,” You said and smiled. You were still very tired, but you were now also hit with a random burst of energy at the thought of your job maybe becoming a lot less annoying.

“So, how do we do this?” Steve asked.

You considered his question for a second. “Okay, so as far as we both know they’ve never met each other, which means that we need to get them to meet and we need to give them a good meet cute.” 

“Okay…” Steve started, thinking of something as he sat back down in his desk chair and you leaned back against the desk. He looked up at you. “What about the elevator? Maybe we can figure out a way to get them stuck in it together? That’s a classic ‘meet cute,’ right?”

“That’s good, but it doesn’t feel like enough,” You said, looking away from him and trying to think of romcoms you liked, and then it hit you. “Oh, what if we got them on the kiss cam at like a basketball game or something?” 

The amused look that Steve gave you in response was immediate. “Okay, now I definitely know that the sleep deprivation is getting to you because doing that would be impossible.” 

“Yeah, but maybe not if we…” You trailed off, hoping that the rest of the idea would come to you, but it didn’t. “Shit, you’re right. It would be impossible. Elevator it is.” 

Steve nodded. “I actually know the maintenance guy that works here, so it’ll probably be easy to get Todd and Kristen stuck together.” 

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “How do you know the maintenance guy?”

“Long story,” He answered and you decided against questioning him further on it right then. 

“If it wasn’t one in the morning, I’d love to hear that,” You said, and then you almost asked him when you two should put this plan into motion, but you realized something. “Wait, shit, we can’t just get Kristen and Todd into an elevator and hope for the best. We need to, like, ‘plant some seeds’ first. Make them aware of each other and these few things that we know they have in common.” 

“Oh, okay, yeah, that makes sense.”

“So we just need to subtly mention to both of them that they’re from the same state and that they have the same favorite movie and food place,” You continued. 

Steve’s confused look returned. “And how do we do that?”

“Great question,” You said and for a second you considered trying to think of an answer right then, but your brain was too tired to come up with any ideas. “I’m not sure yet, but we’ll figure it out.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: todd liked the science project this time

YOU: thank god 

YOU: i hope that means he’ll be extra nice to you today<3

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: solid joke

YOU: thanks. i try

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: do you think you’re gonna have to stay late again tonight? 

YOU: i am almost certain of it (sadly)

YOU: kristen’s been extra stressed today which means extra scary which means i live here now

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: ouch 

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: have you thought more about how we should do this set up thing?

YOU: no. i’ve had like a thousand things thrown at me since getting here at eight and i haven’t had time to think about anything else

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: same here 

YOU: wow we’re really good at this

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: haha i agree

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

The printer was on its last few days of life. You were certain of it, but you just needed it to survive a few more minutes before it completely croaked out on you. 

“Please just ten more pages and then I promise you can go into retirement.” 

“Are you talking to the printer again?” Steve asked from where he was currently sitting at your desk. 

After Todd left for the night at ten, Steve showed up at your floor, knowing that Kristen had been gone for the last hour, but you were still stuck in the building and working on preparing everything for a meeting on Monday.

You looked over at him. “Sometimes Jerry needs some words of encouragement.” 

“Got it. That makes sense,” He responded teasingly with a nod. 

“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm tonight, Steven,” You said as you turned your focus back on the printer, and Jerry was printing out the final few pages. 

“Doesn’t me helping you right now cancel out the sarcasm?”

You promptly shook your head. “Not after the science project last night.”

“Alright, that’s fair,” He responded and once you sat down next to him after everything was finally printed out, he looked at the stack of papers in your hand. “How many packets do you have to make?”

“Twenty,” You answered. “And then I need to do the name cards and set everything up in the conference room.”

“Okay. Let me get half of the stack,” He said and you handed over half of the papers in your hand. 

You two easily fell into a routine for the next thirty minutes, a comfortable silence lingering as you focused on the mundane task at hand and let your mind wander a bit. The initial excitement you had toward the “set up” idea had worn off by the morning and instead your non-sleep deprived brain was now thinking about it all from a much more logical standpoint.

“Do you think it would actually work?” You asked once you two were in the conference room, you placing name cards down and Steve setting out the packets. “Us trying to set them up?”

He gave you an amused smile. “You’re second-guessing things already? I thought I would be the one to do that.”

“I don’t know,” You shrugged. “I’ve just started thinking that maybe it will be a waste of time.”

You decided against adding that your reasoning for thinking that way was because your and Steve’s life wasn’t a movie and maybe this idea did sound a bit too good to actually end up working as well as it did when it was a plot point in any film. And the thought of Kristen somehow figuring out what you and him were doing and firing you because of it kind of scared you too. 

“Okay, yeah, maybe it won’t work,” Steve said. “But, why not try, right?” 

You considered his words for a moment before ultimately nodding. It felt a little unexpected, but also completely reassuring, that he was entirely on board with the idea and didn’t seem to have any second thoughts about it. “You’re right. Maybe we’ll at least get a week or two of them being decent to us.”

Steve nodded in agreement. “Yeah, exactly, and that would be great.”

You shook your head and let out a quiet laugh as you thought of something. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe the bar is so low that the thought of our bosses being nice to us for a week or two sounds amazing.”

Steve laughed too, a quick one that matched your own. “Shit, yeah, that’s actually a little sad.”

It would be a thousand percent sadder if you didn’t have each other through this shitty nonsense, but you didn’t tell him that right then. Instead, you gave him a small smile and placed down the last name card you had in your lap.

“I have some ideas about how we should ‘plant these seeds’ and get them to learn about each other without them knowing that we’re doing that,” Steve said after he set down the last packet. 

You were technically officially done for the night, but neither of you made any move to leave the conference room just yet. You sat down in one of the rolling chairs and Steve took a seat in the one across from you. 

“I kinda love that the tables have turned and you’re the one that’s super into this whole thing and I’m being slightly hesitant,” You told him, the smallest amused smile on your face. 

“Yeah, you corrupted me and now you’re backing out.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how playfully serious his voice sounded. “I promise I’m not backing out. Tell me all of your ideas, Harrington.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

MONDAY 

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: i “accidentally” emailed todd the video of the interview kristen did with the horror movie director guy and he ended up watching the entire thing

YOU: solid work

YOU: and on my side of things, i mentioned the new jersey thing to kristen when she brought up thinking about going home for the holidays and she actually found it a little interesting

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: also solid work

TUESDAY

YOU: okay kristen said she wants to get food from the diner for lunch. what about todd? 

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: he wants it too. it surprisingly took very little convincing to get him to quit the juice diet

YOU: great. i’ll see you in the lobby in 30 minutes

YOU: wait i’m just now realizing how horrible this can go for us if we switch their lunches just for them to learn that they have the same favorite restaurant. maybe we should just say that the lunches “almost” got switched and still make the comment about how the person that it almost got switched with really loves the place too? that’ll let them know that they have the same fave restaurant without them getting mad at us for fucking up their lunches

YOU: or maybe i'm just overthinking this

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: no you're right. that’s a better idea 

WEDNESDAY

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: slight change of plans. we have to push the elevator thing to tomorrow 

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: the maintenance guy’s not here today

YOU: okay

YOU: i was gonna ask if we should take this as a sign to not do it at all but i’m not gonna say that actually…

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: it’s not a sign 

YOU: good thing i didn’t say it was then :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

You made it to the maintenance room before Steve. Mainly because you were a little nervous to see how all of this would end up playing out, and being two minutes early somehow helped ease your worries a bit. 

When you walked in, you immediately saw a guy with long curly hair wearing a black t-shirt and dark jeans and sitting at a desk with two computer screens; you assumed he was the maintenance guy Steve talked about. 

You gave him a quick wave and then held out a hand. “Hey, nice to meet you.”

His hand shook your outstretched one and quick introductions were said where you learned his name was Eddie and he and Steve went to high school together and were now friends; which wasn’t as long of a story as Steve had initially made it out to be. 

“So, you’re the infamous ‘girl from work.’”

You let out a laugh at Eddie’s words. “Steve’s mentioned me before?” 

Eddie nodded. “Oh, he talks about you a lot.”

Before you could say anything in response to that, Steve walked into the small room.  

“Sorry, I’m late,” He said, even though he was actually right on time. He looked at Eddie and a confused look crossed his face. “Where’s Wayne?”

“He still has the flu, so he wanted me to cover for him today,” Eddie answered. “But, he told me what you guys wanna do, so I got it.”

“Okay,” Steve nodded and then he gestured between you and Eddie. “You two met?” 

“Yes, and I just learned that you allegedly talk about me a lot,” You said and gave him a teasing smile. 

You immediately noticed his face flush at your words, which actually kind of surprised you and for the briefest second you wondered what that reaction meant, but then he was playfully rolling his eyes at you. “It’s only so my friends know that I don’t completely hate my job.”  

“Glad to know that I’m the only one who makes your job somewhat tolerable,” You said, smiling wider at him. “The feeling’s very mutual.”

You looked away from him then and focused on the computer screens. Eddie had now pulled up the video feed of the security camera in the lobby on one side and the hallway where the main elevators were on the other screen. 

“So, Kristen should be getting back from the coffee shop down the street any second now,” You told Steve. “She always likes going right before they close for some reason.”

He nodded at your words. “Okay, and Todd is still in the lobby talking to Martha about getting a new building ID, and they should be done any second too.”

“I still don’t get how you managed to get her to call him down for that.” 

He gave you a smile. “The ladies at the front desk love me.”

“Honestly, that makes a lot of sense,” You responded. “You are the type of person that old ladies would love.”

“I’ll happily take that as a compliment.” 

“Remember how all the moms in town were completely obsessed with you during your lifeguard days?” Eddie chimed in, a grin on his face. 

Steve rolled his eyes in response, and you laughed while saying, “Of course, you were a lifeguard. That makes so much sense too.”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “How?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know how to explain it, but just know that it does. And I mean it in a nice way.”

Steve tilted his head and squinted at you. “I don’t know if I believe you.”

“Trust me, I’m your best work friend. I’d never lie to you,” You said, holding a solemn hand to your heart, and he couldn’t help but let out a laugh. 

You looked at the screen again and saw that Todd was still talking to Martha, and Kristen was still nowhere to be seen. 

You tapped Eddie on the shoulder to grab his attention. “If one of them gets to the elevator before the other is there, is there any way that you can not let the elevator come?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Luckily, and surprisingly enough though, it didn’t have to come to that. Because finally Kristen was walking back into the building and heading toward the elevators, and seconds later Todd’s conversation with Martha was coming to an end and he was heading in the direction of the elevators too. 

Kristen pressed the up button and then her eyes went down to her phone in her hand, and Todd joined her in waiting after a few moments. Absolutely nothing was said between the two of them, not even when the elevator arrived and they got on together. Which, honestly, made sense to you because you rarely ever talked to the strangers you ended up in an elevator with. 

“How do you stop it?” You asked Eddie after he switched the camera to the one in the elevator. 

“There’s something to press that stops them for emergencies,” He explained as he got up from his chair and went over to a panel on the wall. “And there’s also an intercom here to talk to them so they don’t freak out or start panicking.”

He then pressed the stop button for the elevator Todd and Kristen were on. “Did it work?” 

You and Steve both responded with a quick “Yeah” at the same time. You noticed the confused looks cross your bosses faces and you saw Todd reach out to press the emergency button, but Eddie was speaking through the intercom before he could. 

“Hey, sorry about that, guys. It’s just an electrical issue and it should be fixed in about fifteen to thirty minutes.” He looked at you and Steve again. “Alright, let’s see if your matchmaking thing works.”

It was quiet at first. So quiet that you couldn’t help but wonder if this was actually the worst idea ever. You and Steve were “playing cupid” for two people who only had a few things in common, and it was all for entirely selfish reasons. 

“I’m just now realizing how insane this whole thing is,” You told Steve, looking away from the screen that showed Todd and Kristen still not talking to each other.  

“You’re just now realizing that? That was pretty much the first thing I told you when you suggested this,” Steve reminded you. 

“I know, I know,” You started. “But now seeing it actually happen is making me understand that.” 

Eddie turned around in his chair and looked up at you two. “Do you guys want me to start the elevator back?”

Both you and Steve had the same immediate answer of, “No.” 

You kept going after a second. “This will either be the best thing ever or the complete opposite, but I think we should just see it through, at this point, right?”

In this moment, it seemed like things were leaning more toward the “absolute worst” side of the spectrum, but it didn’t make you entirely change your mind about doing it, and it didn’t make Steve disagree with you either. “Right.”

“Okay,” Eddie shrugged as he turned back around. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think this is that fucked up of an idea.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Okay, cool, so we’re not completely terrible and manipulative people for doing this.”

“Well, I didn’t say that,” Eddie responded and Steve whacked his arm. 

You didn’t say anything and instead looked at the computer screen again. 

“Come on. Talk,” You mumbled. “Talk to each other.”

“They can’t hear you,” Steve jokingly whispered to you. 

Before you had the chance to make a sarcastic comment back to him, there was finally something coming from the computer’s speaker.  

“Hey, you did that interview with Matt Scott, right?” Todd asked Kristen.

She nodded. “Yeah, I did.” 

“I just watched it a couple of days ago. It was really good,” He said, and at that, Kristen smiled. 

From there, it felt like the equivalent to watching a movie; and you could inwardly recognize how weird that sounded. They introduced themselves to each other and then continued to talk about that horror movie director they both loved, and they eventually bonded over the few things that you and Steve had told them about one another too. 

Thirty minutes passed quicker than expected and you and Steve ended up sitting in two folding chairs that were in the small room and sat next to Eddie as you watched your bosses have what seemed like a really good conversation. It didn’t seem as if it was coming to any sort of an end just yet, but you and Steve still had Eddie start the elevator back up again. And before Kristen got off on her floor first, they exchanged phone numbers— which shouldn’t have at all been surprising, but it still kind of was. 

You looked at Steve once the doors closed and it was just Todd left in the elevator. “Woah.”

He nodded, agreeing with your one word that said a lot more than just that. “Wow.” 

Eddie laughed a little. “Nice work playing cupid for these two.”

You felt relieved, but not entirely so. “We’ll see if it actually works.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Incoming call from UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Steve rarely ever called you. 

It just never made sense with how crazy your jobs were, so you two always settled for texting. Apparently, this moment was different, though. 

However, before you could make any move to answer your phone, you were getting called into Kristen’s office, and your heart was abruptly falling into your stomach because suddenly the timing of Steve's phone call felt like it had something to do with whatever conversation you were about to have with Kristen. 

“Hey,” You said, trying to make your voice sound as normal, and not worried, as possible. “Is everything okay?”

She looked up from her phone and then smiled at you. “Everything’s really good, actually. I’m going to be leaving early today, so you can head out too.”

That wasn’t at all what you were expecting her to say, but you attempted to hide your complete shock. 

“Oh, okay,” You ultimately responded. “Are you sure?”

You regretted asking the question the second you said it, but this entire moment felt like some sort of trick or test, so you felt the immediate need to question it.  

“Yeah, it’s Friday,” She said as if that explained everything, which it did not. “You can have a half day for once.”

You were convinced that this had something to do with Todd, but you still wanted some sort of confirmation. “Special occasion?”

“Remember yesterday when I told you about getting stuck in the elevator for half an hour?” She asked, and when you nodded she continued. “Well, I exchanged numbers with the guy I was stuck with because we had a really nice conversation when we were in there, and five minutes ago, he called asking to go to lunch and then to see this movie that we talked about in the elevator. It’s the last day it’s playing at that small theater on the other side of town.”

You nodded along to her words. “That sounds great.”

“Oh, and funnily enough, it’s the guy that you mentioned a few days ago who works upstairs and is from Jersey, and our food almost got swapped from the diner,” She laughed a little— happily, dreamily— like a woman with a crush. “Isn’t that crazy?”

There was absolutely nothing about how Kristen said those words that should’ve made you think she knew what you and Steve had done, but still, you couldn’t help but think it. 

Which made you force a nervous smile as you once again nodded. “Yeah, so crazy. Small world. Or, well, in this case, I guess small building.” You laughed awkwardly at your non-joke and then immediately kept going. “Anyway, I hope you have a fun time with him today. See you Monday.”

Kristen’s eyes were back on her phone, smiling again as she waved at you in goodbye and you proceeded to quickly leave her office. 

You called Steve back the moment you were at your desk again. He picked up on the second ring and the first thing he said was, “It actually fucking worked. He asked her to go to lunch.”

“I know,” You whispered, even though all you really wanted to do in that moment was let out the happiest sound ever. “Where are you right now?”

“Todd’s letting me leave since he’s leaving, so I’m about to head down to the lobby.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you there. I’m gonna grab my stuff and immediately run away from my desk before Kristen can call me back into her office and tell me that this was all some sort of elaborate prank,” You said and then hung up, stuffing your phone in your pocket and grabbing your bag from underneath your desk. 

You waved happily at Steve when you exited the elevator in the lobby and barely a second later he was pulling you into a hug. Even though that was something that had never happened before, you didn’t hesitate to return the action, wrapping your arms around him too and smiling into his shoulder. 

“You’re a genius for this idea,” He told you, words hitting right at your ear. 

“Technically, you came up with it,” You reminded him when you two pulled out of the celebratory embrace. 

“Okay, in that case, I’ll happily take the credit for all of this then,” Steve said and smiled at you. 

You playfully poked his arm. “What I meant is that we both should get credit for this plan working. You kinda came up with the initial idea and I came up with all the nitty gritty stuff.”

He shook his head. “That’s not entirely true, actually. Who came up with the elevator meet cute?”

You knew that he wanted you to say him, but you refused to give him the satisfaction so you simply shrugged instead. “A shitty Hallmark movie, probably.”

“Ha ha, good one,” He said as he rolled his eyes at you. 

“Thank you, I’ll be here all week. Actually, that’s not true because we finally just got a day off,” You smiled as you and Steve headed into the lobby. “This is the first time I’ve had a Friday off in the past two years of working here, I honestly have no idea what to do now.”

The thought of spending the rest of the day, and then night, catching up on sleep sounded very tempting to you, and it only felt a little sad that you’d be completely sleeping away a Friday when you finally had the opportunity to do something even the tiniest bit fun. 

“Do you want to come to a birthday party for my best friend/roommate tonight?” Steve asked. “We’re having it at our place and I thought I’d have to miss it because I was gonna be stuck here all night, but now I won’t be, and you should come.”

Initially, you smiled at his offer and you felt the urge to accept it on the spot. But then your brain couldn’t help but consider what saying yes would mean. You and Steve had never hung out outside of this building, and the few food spots that were on the same street as this building, before. Although you two were friends, you couldn’t lie and say that it didn’t pretty much start and end at work; mainly because that was what consumed most of your time. 

“Wouldn't that be kinda weird?” You ultimately asked, deciding against verbalizing exactly what you were thinking about. “I don’t think I’d want a random girl from my best friend’s workplace to be at my birthday party.”

“You’re not a random girl. I talk about you all the time, remember?” Steve said, reminding you of Eddie’s words from yesterday, and the playfulness in his tone made you smile.

Instead of asking more questions— like what it would mean to take your work friendship into normal friendship territory, and whether it would even easily happen— you were simply agreeing and saying, “Okay.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

YOU: what should i bring tonight?

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: just yourself 

YOU: that feels wrong. it’s literally a birthday party 

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: for someone you don’t know 

YOU: that doesn’t matter

YOU: so what do you need? cups? some sort of side dish? more cake?

UPSTAIRS WORK NEIGHBOR: don’t bring anything

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

“I brought alcohol,” You said when Steve opened his door and then you held up the two bottles of tequila you bought on your drive over to his apartment. 

He shook his head at you but still smiled as he pushed the door open further to let you in. Seeing him out of his typical professional work clothes and in a simple white t-shirt and jeans was a nice surprise that honestly shouldn’t have been all that surprising. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s physically impossible for me to show up to places empty-handed,” You looked around the decently sized space as Steve closed the door behind you. There weren’t that many people in the apartment yet, you only noticed two girls leaning back against the small kitchen island and talking. You turned to look at Steve. “Shit, am I too early?”

Your hands were full so you couldn’t pull your phone out of your denim jacket pocket to check the time, but you had a feeling what it would say. After working for Kristen for the past two years, it was pretty much ingrained in you to never be late anywhere, and most times you inadvertently ended up being early. 

“A little bit, yeah. But, that’s fine,” Steve told you with a shrug. “I’m glad you’re here early. It’ll probably make it easier for you to meet everyone.”

He then introduced you to the girls talking in the kitchen; his roommate and best friend Robin and her girlfriend Vickie. 

“Hi, you’re my new favorite person,” Robin told you when she noticed the alcohol in your hands.  

“Thank you,” You laughed a little as you set it down on the counter, joining the other bottles that littered it. “Happy Birthday.” 

“Thanks,” She smiled at you. “How are your karaoke skills?”

The randomness of the question slightly surprised you. “Absolutely terrible, but when I’m drunk I love doing it.”

“Perfect,” She said. “You and Steve have to do a duet when we go to this karaoke bar later. The last time we went, he got so drunk he sang Footloose three times in a row.”

“I will admit, each time was very great,” Vickie chimed in. 

“Yeah,” Robin agreed. “He surprisingly has a really good voice.”

You smiled and tried your hardest not to laugh at the thought of the Steve you’d grown to know over the past eight months getting drunk and singing karaoke. “Please tell me there’s video proof of that.”

“Oh, of course,” She nodded and went to pull her phone out of the pocket of the high-waisted pants she was wearing. 

“Okay, and before things get even more embarrassing for me right now,” Steve reached out to grab your hand and pull you out of the conversation. “Let me give you a quick tour of the apartment.”

You were laughing as you let him drag you away from his friends. “You’re suddenly such an attentive host.”

He pointed out the bathroom and Robin’s room down the hall and then led you to his room. 

“It’s clean,” You said, pointing out the obvious. His bed was made and there weren’t any clothes or other random things littering the floor.

Steve let out an amused laugh at your words. “I’m scared to know what you expected it to look like.”

“I don’t know, honestly,” You shrugged as you leaned back against his dark wood desk that was tucked in a corner. “You definitely wouldn’t want to see my room right now. It’s a complete mess from me trying to decide what to wear tonight.”

You had ended up settling for the first things you had pulled from your closet— a long sleeve black shirt and a brown plaid skirt that was shorter than you had remembered but still really nice— so the clothes that had ended up making your bed a mess and floor a tripping hazard felt like a sad waste of time. And now knowing how early you had shown up to the party, you probably could’ve prioritized cleaning up before you left your home in a rush.  

“You look nice,” Steve told you, and you didn’t expect to feel so affected by his words— which you knew were just a simple compliment by a friend— but you did. “Do you want me to take your jacket?”

“Yeah, sure,” You pulled off the dark denim jacket you were wearing and handed it over to him, and he went to place it on the hook behind his open door. 

“So, what did you do after we were set free?” He asked as he sat at the foot of his bed. You got the sudden urge to join him, but you didn’t, deciding to stay right where you were at his desk. 

“I had the best four-hour nap of my life and then I played really dumb games on my phone while still in bed,” You answered. It had been the most perfectly boring evening. “What have you been up to with your past free hours?”

“I also took a nap, and then I watched Clueless.”

A smile immediately started to tug at your lips. “No, you didn’t.”

“I did,” He nodded. “It felt like good timing.”

“I think good timing would’ve been if you watched it before we did the plan, but better late than never,” You said and then asked the important question. “Did you like it?”

He gave you another nod. “Yeah. A lot more than I expected to, actually.”

“Nice, I knew there was a part of you that had, at least, a kind of good taste in movies.”

“I’m still very offended that you think it’s mainly bad.”

“You told me that one of your favorites is the first Fast and Furious movie, and that was all I needed to know,” You said and then gave him a smile. “It’s honestly funny because an article about the entire series was actually the first thing I read on Kristen’s website.”

“And did it speak highly of the franchise?”

You nodded, holding back a laugh. “For the most part, yes. Surprisingly. I’ll find the link later and send it to you.”

“Thank you,” He said and then a beat of silence lingered before he asked, “Hey, is that why you work for Kristen? Because you eventually wanna write for the website?”

“Yeah, kinda, yeah,” You started with a quick nod. “It didn’t initially start that way. I just loved the website and wanted to be a part of it in any way I could. But, the thought of actually writing has only become more and more interesting to me, and yeah I think I wanna do that sooner than later.”

“You should let me read something you’ve written.”

Your head shake was immediate. “No way.”

“Why not?”

“One, because that’s embarrassing. And two, because I haven’t even finished anything yet because of how busy I always am.”

“Well, we’re gonna start having a lot of free time on our hands, so it’s the perfect time for you to actually finish something,” Steve told you. “And also the perfect time to let me read it once it’s done.”

“I’ll think about it,” You ultimately conceded and then proceeded to shift the subject away from yourself. “What about you, though? Why do you work for Todd?”

“Honestly, I don’t really know. My dad helped me get the job, actually, which is a long story in itself. I initially hated it a lot more than I do now, but I knew that my dad would give me shit if I quit. And he probably still would,” Steve explained. Just from the brief way he talked about his dad, you could sense how tense that relationship was, and you really wanted to know more about it, but you didn’t push further in that moment. “I don’t even like this finance stuff, but I still don’t really know what I really want to do, so I’m kinda okay with dealing with Todd and all of his bullshit.”

You nodded understandingly. “That makes sense. You never once gave me ‘finance bro’ vibes.”

Steve tilted his head at you amusingly. “What does that mean?”

“You’re not an asshole mixed with a huge hint of douchebag.”

He let out a laugh which made you smile. “Thank you. That really means a lot.”

“You’re very welcome,” You told him, still smiling and matching his playful tone. “Okay, okay, enough work talk. We need to use our freedom to its maximum potential.” An idea was hitting you as you stood up from his desk. “Let’s get drunk.”

Another brief amused laugh fell from Steve’s lips, but he still nodded at your words. “Solid idea.”

It had been a long time since you drank so your tolerance was terrible. You felt effectively drunk after just two shots— one with Steve to celebrate being free from work and then a birthday shot with Robin that she made everyone do once more people showed up— and you forced Steve to keep up with you, which he happily did. He was five shots in to your three and both of you were on the same level; a level that also exceeded everyone else at the party. 

You learned that the initial plan was to “pregame” here at the apartment for an hour or two and then head to the karaoke bar that Robin had mentioned earlier and spend the rest of the night there. However, you and Steve took pregaming to an entirely different level. 

You two ended up staying in your own little bubble for most of the night— holed up on a spot on the couch as you talked only about non-work related things for the first time probably ever. You wondered if this bubble was because Steve wanted to make you feel comfortable in this space where you didn’t really know anyone aside from him, and Eddie kinda, but you didn’t question it. 

A friendship that had initially felt as if it had started and ended at work easily shifted into something else as you two learned random things about each other and exchanged silly stories that could be deemed as unimportant nonsense, but it didn’t feel that way coming from a person that you really cared about. And it was when you were laughing and telling Steve about the time you crashed into your childhood neighbor's mailbox just one day after you got your license when you were sixteen— a story that you couldn’t remember the last time you told anyone because of how embarrassing it was— you realized that there was something entirely different about Steve. 

What you and he had wasn’t just a work friendship, and even now in this space outside of work, it also didn’t feel like a normal friendship either. Maybe it was never supposed to be limited to something as simple as that. 

There was an unfamiliar feeling that settled in your stomach as you watched him happily stand next to his best friend and hold the cake that she blew the candles out of moments after everyone loudly sang “Happy Birthday” in the kitchen. You quickly pushed the sudden feeling away because it felt easier to not think about it for the time being.

You and Steve ended up back on the couch again after the cake was cut and you two shared a piece, a corner slice that you both thought was the most perfect thing you had ever seen. 

At some point, you couldn’t tell exactly how much time had passed, Robin came over to the two of you. You noticed the amused smile take over her features as she looked at the close proximity between you and Steve; there wasn't an inch of space between you two because you both wanted the plate to balance equally on your laps. “I think you guys have had more than enough to drink tonight, so you should just stay here.” 

“You sure?” Steve asked, looking up at her. 

She nodded. “Yes, I’m positive. If you puke in the karaoke bar and we get banned I’ll never forgive you, dingus.”

“That’s fair.”

You looked up at Robin and smiled. In a way, it felt wrong that your conversation with her had been so limited earlier, she seemed really nice. “Happy birthday again.”

She smiled back at you. “Thanks again.”

The apartment became empty minutes later and the quietness reminded you of when you had first showed up. There was still music coming from the speaker set up in the living room, but Steve got up from the couch to lower it and then it became a soft hum in the background.

“I’m sorry I suggested the getting drunk idea,” You told Steve as you grabbed the now empty plate in your hand and stood up to toss it in the trash in the kitchen; with your drunkenness, it was a task that felt as if it took forever. “I messed up your night with your friends.”

You saw Steve shake his head when you turned to look at him again. He joined you where you were in the kitchen and grabbed a couple cups off the counter to throw them in the trash can. “I’m happy here with you.”

“Is that because you really didn’t wanna do our duet and because I can help you clean up the mess in here right now?”

“Sure.”

You wanted to ask him what he meant by that, because it felt as if there was much more to that one-worded response, and even in your current inebriated state you could see that. Instead, though, you were asking, “Why are we friends?”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the randomness of your question. “Because we met that night in the lobby eight months ago?”

You shook your head. “No, I mean, why are we just friends?”

You weren’t sure why you were suddenly asking this— or even where your abrupt courage was coming from to ask it— but in this moment, with you two standing in his barely lit kitchen, it somehow felt right.

Your question was met with silence, though, and that lack of a response from Steve made you suddenly feel as if you actually shouldn’t have asked that question; because maybe it said way too much. 

“Oh, actually, never mind,” You abruptly said and pulled your eyes away from his, and went to grab the half-full red solo cup off the kitchen counter to toss it in the garbage. 

However, in what should’ve been a short and simple journey to the trash can, you roughly bumped into the side of the counter and spilled the entirety of what was leftover in the cup on yourself. 

“Shit.”

“Shit,” Steve immediately echoed, looking at the mess on the lower part of your shirt and the front of your skirt. “Um, let’s grab you something to change into.”

Wordlessly, you nodded and followed him to his bedroom. You weren’t entirely sure what you were more embarrassed about— you spilling a drink on yourself and now smelling so disgustingly like alcohol or the stupid question you asked him that led to this happening.

“You can grab whatever you want from in there,” Steve told you and pointed toward what you assumed was his closet. “I’m gonna get a towel for you.”  

“Thanks, I’m sorry about all of this. I swear I’m not usually this annoying of a drunk person,” You joked because it felt like the only right thing to do in that moment. 

“You’re not annoying,” You heard Steve say from somewhere behind you. 

You wanted to follow up with another sort of playful and witty response, but you couldn’t think of what to say. So instead, you silently pulled a long-sleeved white button-up off a hanger and turned back to Steve, who handed over a towel for you. 

You headed to the bathroom that wasn’t too far down the hall and as you closed the door behind you and were left alone, you refused to think about what happened in the past few minutes. You focused solely on the mundane task of pulling your shirt off and drying your damp skin with the towel and then moving to take off your skirt. 

You weren’t sure where you thought Steve was, but you didn’t think he was standing right outside the bathroom door, so abruptly hearing his soft voice on the other side of the door made you jump as you slipped on the white shirt. 

“I think we’re just friends because…” He trailed off. “I don’t know, honestly.”

You wished that your question could’ve simply been forgotten about, and you wanted to tell him just that; to forget it. However, there was a small part of you that wanted to push the conversation forward and actually talk about it, and somehow that small part managed to take precedence over logical thinking.  

“Maybe we shouldn’t be friends,” You responded, not outwardly saying what you really meant because you knew that you wouldn’t be able to take it back once the words were out in the open and that was a slightly scary thought, even your drunk brain knew that.  

“I think you’re right,” Steve said, and somehow you could practically hear him nodding. “So, what should we be instead?”

It was obvious what he wanted you to say, and even though the words were on the tip of your tongue, you still couldn’t seem to actually say them. You finished buttoning the shirt and then let out a quiet sigh.

“I don’t know…” You ultimately answered. Selfishly, you wanted him to be the one to say it out loud first. “What do you think we should be instead?”

Hearing his soft laugh made you immediately smile. Somehow, this back-and-forth conversation between two half-drunk people who were beating around the bush about their feelings for one another was becoming more and more teasing, and you honestly didn’t mind it because it just felt so typical of you and Steve. 

“I don’t know, either,” He answered, and for a second, you thought that the conversation was going to come to its end there— without either of you mustering up the courage to actually say the words— but then he continued. “But I’ll admit that whenever I see you, it makes me really, really happy.”

You could only smile wider at his words. “Okay, and I’ll admit that sometimes I like when we’re both forced to stay late at work because it means that I get to spend more time with you.”

You didn’t realize just how true those words were until you were saying them. You had long accepted that Steve being in your life made your job a thousand times more bearable, but you were now finally seeing that it was so much more than that. You were suddenly so certain of the fact that you would’ve quit your job long ago if going to work and dealing with Kristen didn’t mean eventually seeing Steve at some point throughout the day, even if it was just for five quick minutes. 

“Honestly, those late nights are kind of my favorite,” Steve responded to your previous confession and you felt yourself nodding in agreement even though he couldn’t see you.

“I like you,” You told him. Your voice was soft but you knew that he could hear you. “And I don’t mean that in a work friend or regular friend kind of way. And I’m just now fully realizing it tonight, but I think deep down I’ve felt this way for a long time.”

“I like you too,” He responded, voice matching your softness and you could hear the smile in his tone. “And I don’t mean it in a work friend or regular friend way either.” 

Things got quiet for a second and then you were opening the bathroom door and meeting Steve’s eyes. Neither of you said anything at first; mainly because it felt as if the contented smiles on both of your faces managed to say it all. 

“I forgot to grab pants,” Were the first words you said after a minute of comfortable silence. Steve’s shirt on you was long enough and its length matched where your skirt had ended, so nothing new was really revealed. 

Steve laughed a little at your random statement because it made it seem as if a huge thing hadn’t just been admitted by both of you only moments ago. 

“We should probably get you those,” He looked down at your new outfit, or lack thereof, for a brief second and then met your eyes again. 

You gave him a quick nod. “Yeah, I guess that would make sense.”

Neither of you made any move to head toward his bedroom again, though. Instead, another handful of moments passed and then you were silently reaching out and letting your hand find his. You pulled him into the bathroom with you and softly shut the door behind him.

With two people now in it, you were realizing just how small the bathroom was, but this closeness felt perfect to you. And you could tell that the feeling was mutual because Steve’s hands were finding your hips, and then you were being shifted around so that you were pressed back against the sink. Your arms reached up to circle his neck and your hands settled in the hair at the nape of his neck; it all felt so instinctive— as if this was something that had happened a bunch of times before. As if this entire moment was something that had happened a million times before.

Your eyes drifted down to Steve’s lips for a quick second because they were only inches away from yours and you wondered who would be the one to close the final bit of distance between you two, or if you’d simply just meet in the middle and the rest would be history. 

Before anything could happen, though, the annoying logical part of you was taking over and you got the urge to ask something. “We’re not just doing this and saying all of this because we’re kinda drunk, right?”

Your words were whispered and your eyes were closed because you knew that your question had the opportunity to be a mood killer and ruin this moment entirely, and for those exact reasons, you immediately wanted to take it back. But, Steve was answering before you could. 

“No,” He whispered back. It was such a short and simple answer, but it somehow managed to say enough. 

Your eyes opened and you could tell that he was about to say more, but you leaned in to kiss him before anything could be said. It was soft at first, soft and tentative, like you both were testing the waters and trying to correctly navigate this uncharted territory. 

But then it was as if the same switch was flipping for you two at the exact same time because, after the briefest second, you both were simultaneously pushing any and all thinking to the side and simply leaning into what felt right. Steve deepened the kiss and you reciprocated immediately, pushing yourself as close as you could to him and closing any and all space between you two. 

Your hands went from softly tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck, to fisting themselves in his white t-shirt. And then, with Steve’s help too, you pushed yourself up so that you were sitting on the sink counter. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but you didn’t entirely mind it right then. Steve settled between your now parted legs and one hand was still on your hip, while the other was playing with the hem of your, his, shirt that was now riding further and further up your thighs due to your new position.  

“I can’t believe out of everything, you grabbed this shirt,” Steve said in between kisses. 

You let out a contented sound when his lips moved to your neck. “Why?” 

“Because you look very, very hot right now,” He didn’t hesitate to answer. “And your outfit earlier was really great too, and honestly you always look hot so maybe this shouldn’t even be surprising to me right now.” 

You let out a soft laugh at his rambling. “I’m hot even when we’re at work and I’m wearing a boring cardigan and jeans?”

Steve nodded and pressed a quick kiss against your lips. “Especially then.” 

It was hard not to feel so affected by the two simple words; your heart quite literally stuttered at how certain he sounded, and you leaned in to kiss him again instead of saying anything in response. Your fingers carded themselves in his hair, eliciting a soft groan from him that made you smile into the kiss. And then both of his hands moved to your hips, pulling you to the edge of the counter so that you were flush against him. 

In a way, it felt a little silly that you two were making out in his bathroom when there was a perfectly good bed right down the hall. But, it was a kind of silliness that made sense for you and Steve and everything you two built over the last eight months of knowing each other. 

There was the friendship side of things that happened so effortlessly following that night you two met in the lobby, and now there was this new side that, weirdly enough, so quickly felt the same way. Kissing him for the first time right here, right now made you wish that you two had been doing this a lot sooner because of how irrevocably happy it made you. 

“We’re stupid for taking so long to do this,” You eventually told him when you two were in his bed. You were moments away from falling asleep, but you felt the need to finally say those words. 

The two of you were under his grey covers and you had traded the button up for one of Steve’s t-shirts and a pair of his basketball shorts that were really comfortable. His warmth enveloped you completely beneath the blanket as he pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and finding your hand to intertwine it with his. 

“Like we were stupid for not getting Todd and Kristen together sooner?”

You nodded, a small smile gracing your lips that he couldn’t see because you were facing away from him. “Yes, exactly like that.”

Steve pressed a kiss against the side of your head and then his lips tickled at your ear. “I agree.”

You hummed in response and finally fell asleep moments later because you were in way too comfortable of a position not to. It was your first time in Steve’s bed, but how at ease you’d felt since you pulled the blanket over you minutes ago didn’t feel new or foreign. It simply felt right. 

And before your eyes slipped shut and you drifted off, you came to the final realization of the night that everything felt right with Steve, it always did, and that was the most comforting thought to fall asleep to.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

let me know your thoughts<333

[wandering-gambler]

I can see Wanderer and Reader being friends for multiple years, but everyone else just thought you were a couple, but you guys didn't see it

you walk close, you sit together everywhere. Wherever you see one, the other follows close behind

You’ve gone to a hot springs together and sat questionably close together that it would be basically considered his lap, yet claimed you were still friends

Hell, when Wanderer comes over to your place to study for his Akademiya classes (even though he probably doesn't need to research shit, but he helps you anyway), he’ll occasionally (most of the time) let you rest on his chest or lap as you read or write

Oh, it's raining? Well, we can't have you getting sick under his watch! Get under his hat quickly, and no, you cannot talk your way out. You must be covered (if you did ever get sick under his watch, he’d internally panic and take care of yourself the entire time but scold you for not being more careful)

Are your hands cold? Let him hold one, or hell, even both! Oh, they aren't cold? Well, they feel freezing to him, so of course they are…

Did You get him a gift? You’ll see it in his room weeks later, or if it's a wearable gift, then you’ll see it on his person somewhere, and anyone who asks about it gets the pleasure of seeing him tense up and glare at him while trying to explain its from the person he is 100% down bad for but is too scared to admit it his friend

Wanna spar? Well, he’s more than willing to fight with you, but he in no way, shape, or form will use anything close to his full strength, and if he did harm you? Well, then get ready for him acting like half the world exploded but scolding you and himself for what happened

Have a drink together while you Yap to him about random stuff? Sure! But keep in mind that he's listening to everything, so you won't want to slip up anywhere.

On the getting-a-drink note, if you bring him tea on the occasions you wanna meet with him, it’ll eventually become a habit… and he has some great memory, so if you're early or late or even worse if you don't show up, you will be questioned to no end

It's your birthday? You may not have told him at any point in your time together, but he knows for some reason (Nahida), and he’s already planned to take you somewhere!

(Now, this one is purely self-indulgent because it's my birthday today and the day before Valentine's Day.) If you have a birthday near any holiday, he might complain that it's a waste and a money grab for humans. Well, it's hard to take that seriously when he’s out actively shopping with you for both your birthday and the holiday and taking you on an outing in twenty minutes that he swears to anyone who asks that it is not a date…

Are you tired while you are watching the stars with him? Oh, no worries, rest on his chest, and he’ll ramble about the constellations until you sleep

On the very slim chance he opens up to you, which would likely be late at night, maybe even when you guys were watching the stars or done studying, he’ll, for once in his life, let you hold him. Still, you’d have to be highly close to that. I feel like he would start small at first, like with his past names, then maybe some places he's been, then more about who he was, and then eventually the betrayals now if you choose to listen to him opening up (please do it's a big step into a more significant relationship and makes him feel like he can trust you more) then when he gets more into the personal things like the betrayals or what dottore did to him he’ll more than likely just be held by you for the next few hours— you won't be able to see his face. Still, your shirt feels wet, and when it's finally time to leave, his eyes are pretty red…don’t question it, though, unless you wanna be avoided for the rest of the night until tomorrow at lunch

And yet, you’ll still be ‘friends’ after all that. Eventually, Nahida tries to nudge him in the right direction to set you both up. When do you both get together? Well, not much changes besides the fact you now have the privilege to smother him in affection and a few… other things