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misaerabl · 1 day ago

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She Won't Go Away...

CONTENT: wc… 8.2k ✦ sub!ellie,dom!reader, ellie is readers ex, reader get’s off on ellie’s misery, u make her beg, dry humping, fingering e!receiving, oral sex e!receiving, overstimulation, cheating, lowkey pathetic ellie, no use of y/n, PLOT W SMUT/SMUT W PLOT (totally not proofread!) SUMMARY: Months after your messy breakup, Ellie pretends she’s moved on—but the cracks are showing. She’s got a new girlfriend, a doe-eyed freshman trailing after her like a puppy, but one rainy night, she shows up at your door, desperate and drenched. She’s begging for just one night—to feel what she’s been missing since you. Will you give in, or is this your chance to turn the tables?

It’s been six months since she kicked you out—six months since your relationship with Ellie imploded. She had always been a storm waiting to happen, volatile and unpredictable, and that night was no different. You should’ve seen it coming, the way she turned everything upside down and left you stranded in the wreckage of your own life.

You blocked her on everything. Deleted her number, unfollowed her accounts, erased every trace of her from your digital world. But the real world wasn’t as simple. Your drama-loving friends, always hungry for the latest gossip, couldn’t help themselves from slipping in updates about her spiral.

And honestly? You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel a little satisfying. Hearing about Ellie’s downfall—how she’d moved back in with her parents, how her rebound was barely old enough to vote, how she was making a spectacle of herself downtown—was a strange kind of vindication. She’d kicked you out of your own apartment, thrown your life into chaos, and now the universe seemed to be paying her back.

You tried not to dwell on it, but the memories lingered, sharp and bitter. That night had been the culmination of weeks of fighting over something Ellie refused to own up to. She was in the wrong—clearly, unmistakably in the wrong—but you’d let her steamroll you anyway. Maybe it was pity, or maybe you’d just been too exhausted to keep fighting her battles for her.

Your phone buzzes relentlessly, teetering on the edge of the table as notifications pile up from your group chat. You need to see this, one of them says, accompanied by a link to Ellie’s latest post. You hesitate, thumb hovering over the screen, before giving in to curiosity—or maybe morbid fascination.

The image loads, and there she is: Ellie, arm slung around some girl who looks like she’s trying way too hard to keep up. Your chest tightens involuntarily, but it’s not jealousy. It’s something darker, sharper. Disbelief.

The girl—doe-eyed, awkward, and dressed in that painfully calculated way that screams I swear I’m cool—looks like she stumbled out of a thrift store with no clue what she was doing. You almost laugh, but it’s not funny. If Ellie thought this would get to you, it hasn’t. The only thing you feel is pity.

The longer you stare, the clearer it becomes: she’s a downgrade. Massive. The kind that makes you wonder if Ellie’s doing this to punish herself or to prove some kind of misguided point. The girl’s charm feels forced, like she’s trying to mold herself into something Ellie’s already lost.

And then it hits you. The girl isn’t just a downgrade—she’s a replica. Or at least, an attempt at one. The shaggy hair, the oversized flannel, the too-big grin—it’s like looking at a ghost of Ellie herself, back when you first met. Back when she still had that spark, that reckless, magnetic energy that pulled you in before it burned you alive.

Figures. Ellie’s always been in love with herself, even if she never admitted it. Or maybe this isn’t love at all. Maybe she’s chasing a memory, a version of herself that felt invincible—before the mess, before the break, before she lost you.

It’s almost poetic, in a way. Ellie, so desperate to reclaim what she had, clinging to something that’s already gone. And you? You’re here, watching it all unfold, the bitterness in your chest laced with the faintest trace of satisfaction.

It would be cruel to admit it out loud, but deep down, you knew the truth—you got off on Ellie’s misery. It wasn’t healthy, it wasn’t kind, but there it was, simmering under your skin like a guilty thrill.

Exhibit A: A month after your breakup, she moved back in with her parents. Jesse and Dina told you, of course, slipping it into conversation with cautious glances, like they were testing if you’d even want to hear it. They were your closest friends once—back when Ellie still held her shit together, back when you thought the two of you were untouchable.

Exhibit B: Just a week later, she was spotted at some party, bruised and beaten. She’d gotten into a fight, according to Sydney, a mutual friend who loved to keep tabs on everyone’s business. You could almost picture it: Ellie, fists flying, fueled by some combination of alcohol and self-destruction, still trying to prove she was untouchable.

Exhibit C: Her social media was practically a highlight reel of “I’m fine.” Carefully curated posts of nights out, new hobbies, and a string of new faces, all plastered with that same cocky grin. But you knew her too well. The cracks in her facade were glaringly obvious. The oversharing, the desperate attempts to prove she was thriving—it screamed the opposite.

And the list went on. Every new piece of information was like another point scored in some unspoken game. By some sick, twisted reason, you loved it. Watching her stumble and fall, knowing that she was unraveling—it gave you a satisfaction that felt both intoxicating and shameful.

Ellie thought she was the one who broke you. Maybe she did, for a while. But the real truth? She was the one breaking, piece by piece, and you couldn’t help but savor the view.

You were mid-sip of your coffee, half-listening to Dina ramble about her latest project, when she suddenly gasped, her eyes widening as she stared out the cafe window. “Oh my god,” she whispered, leaning closer like she’d just spotted a celebrity or a crime scene.

“What?” you asked, setting your cup down, already bracing for whatever drama she was about to unload.

Dina didn’t say anything, just tilted her head toward the window. You followed her gaze, and there she was—her. The fucking freshman Ellie was supposedly dating.

Your chest tightened, but not in the way it used to. This wasn’t jealousy. It was something colder, sharper, tinged with disbelief and a twisted sense of amusement. The girl was standing across the street, balancing an oversized tote bag and looking all of eighteen years old, fresh-faced and clueless.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms as you watched. “That’s her?” you asked, tone flat.

Dina nodded, her expression unreadable, but you could see the gears turning in her head. “Yep. That’s the one.”

The girl was painfully… average. Awkward, even. She had this overly eager energy, the kind that screamed pick me, with her oversized hoodie and the way she kept glancing around like she was lost. If Ellie thought this was an upgrade—or even a distraction—she was delusional.

“She’s…” Dina trailed off, struggling for the right word.

“A kid,” you finished for her, your voice laced with disdain.

Dina winced. “I mean, yeah, kind of.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to your coffee, trying to pretend you didn’t care, but the sight of the girl lingered in your mind. It wasn’t jealousy—Ellie’s life was her own mess now—but seeing the girl in real life made it all the more ridiculous.

“She’s trying too hard,” Dina muttered, almost to herself. “Like she’s auditioning for something.”

You smirked, swirling your coffee absently. “Figures. Ellie always did like a good project.”

And as much as you hated to admit it, there was a small, dark part of you that couldn’t wait to see how this one would end.

A few minutes later, the door to the café swung open, and in came Jesse, his laughter ringing out before he’d even reached your table. His grin was wide, his energy electric, and you knew before he even said a word that he was about to deliver something chaotic.

“Did you see her?” he asked, barely getting the words out between fits of cackling. He plopped into the chair next to Dina, grabbing one of her fries without so much as a greeting.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference even as your stomach tightened. “See who?”

“The kid,” Jesse said, smirking. “Ellie’s little… whatever she is.”

Dina groaned, rubbing her temples. “Jesse, come on.”

“What? I’m just saying,” Jesse said, leaning back in his chair. “She looks like she wandered out of a high school open house. Please tell me you saw her.”

You kept your expression neutral, though the corners of your lips threatened to curl into a smirk. “Yeah, we saw her,” you said, taking a casual sip of your coffee.

Jesse snorted, shaking his head. “Man, I don’t know what Ellie’s thinking. It’s like she’s doing everything in her power to scream, ‘I’m totally fine, guys!’”

“She’s not,” Dina said, her voice soft but firm.

You glanced at her, but she didn’t elaborate. Jesse, however, didn’t seem to care. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he looked at you.

“Tell me you’re at least enjoying the show,” he said, his grin sly.

You shrugged, playing it cool. “I’m just minding my business.”

“Bullshit,” Jesse said, laughing. “You love it.”

You didn’t respond, just leaned back in your chair and let the conversation flow around you. But deep down, you couldn’t deny the flicker of satisfaction Jesse’s words brought. Ellie’s mess was her own to deal with now, and you? You were just here for the coffee.

Finals week brought a brief, blissful silence. Everyone was too busy cramming and stressing over grades to care about the aftermath of your breakup or the whispers of Ellie’s spiraling life. For once, the campus drama machine took a breather, and you got to relish the peace.

But finals ended, and the parties began.

Celebrations cropped up everywhere, and your friends were relentless about dragging you out. At first, you resisted. Maybe you were still riding the exhaustion from finals, or maybe you just didn’t feel like pretending to enjoy yourself. But eventually, you caved. Blame it on the free drinks or the fact that Dina and Jesse had bailed to spend time together like the nauseating lovebirds they were.

The house buzzed with energy, bodies packed into every corner, and music so loud it felt like the floorboards might give out. Conversations competed with the bassline, creating a chaotic hum that filled the air. Laughter and shouts spilled out onto the front lawn, where clusters of people stood smoking or catching their breath. You hung near your group, drink in hand, soaking in the chaos without engaging too much. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either.

And then you saw her.

She was in the kitchen, beer in hand, laughing at something the guy next to her said. From a distance, she almost looked like her old self—confident, collected. But you knew better. The forced laugh, the way her eyes flickered around the room when she thought no one was watching, the tension in her shoulders—it all screamed try-hard.

And clinging to her arm, like some desperate groupie, was the freshman. You had to give her credit for persistence; not many people would still fawn over someone this obviously falling apart. Ellie threw her a smile, but it was hollow, like everything else about her these days.

You turned back to your drink, feigning disinterest, but one of your friends nudged you. “Isn’t that Ellie?”

“Yep,” you said flatly, not even glancing back.

You weren’t going to let her ruin your night. No, that privilege was yours alone now.

Still, Ellie had a way of making herself impossible to ignore. Everywhere you turned, there she was, laughing too loud or gesturing wildly like she was the life of the party. She wasn’t. She was flailing, and it was almost embarrassing to watch. Almost.

At one point, your group migrated to a quieter corner, gossiping over drinks. The conversation was mindless, but it passed the time. You were just starting to relax when one of your friends leaned in, smirking. “Yo, isn’t that your ex?”

You didn’t need to look to know who they meant.

“She looks like shit,” someone muttered, and you couldn’t help but agree.

Ellie was leaning against the wall now, beer bottle nearly empty, her grey hoodie rumpled like she’d pulled it from the bottom of a laundry basket. The jeans she wore hung loose, the way clothes did on someone who’d lost weight they couldn’t afford to lose. Her glasses sat perched on her nose, slightly askew, the way they used to always be—an effortless part of her polished appearance. Her hair, once perfectly messy, now just looked like she hadn’t bothered. She was a shadow of the person she used to be, and you loved it.

“She’s trying so hard,” another friend snickered, and you smiled into your drink.

It was true. Ellie was a disaster, and she didn’t even know it. Every movement, every laugh, was a performance meant to convince everyone—including herself—that she was okay. But the cracks were there, and you had a front-row seat to watch her crumble.

You caught her looking at you once, just for a second, before she quickly looked away. That single moment of eye contact was enough to tell you everything. She was spiraling, and she knew you knew.

You raised your glass in a mock toast, a smug grin tugging at your lips as her expression darkened.

God, it felt good to see her like this.

Every stumble, every fake smile, every awkward interaction was proof that she hadn’t moved on, and that knowledge was sweeter than any drink you could have had tonight. Ellie might’ve been the one to end things, but you were the one thriving now.

And as you watched her shrink further into herself, you couldn’t help but savor the irony. She’d thought she was better off without you, but now? She was the punchline to a joke only you truly understood.

Karma had never looked so good.

Eventually, you grew tired of your so-called friends and their endless gossip, their voices blending into a monotonous hum that felt more high school than college. Rolling your eyes, you muttered a half-hearted excuse and slipped away, heading outside for a smoke.

The night air hit you like a reset button, cool and sharp against your skin. Away from the suffocating noise of the party, you finally let yourself breathe.

You were halfway through your cigarette when the back door creaked open, the familiar sound of footsteps following immediately after. You didn't have to look to know who it was—Ellie’s presence was unmistakable, like a ripple in the air that made everything feel off-kilter.

She came into view, cigarette dangling between her fingers, the glow from the ember briefly lighting up her face in the dim backyard. She stood there, awkwardly shifting on her feet, her posture too stiff to be casual. The smoke from her cigarette curled into the air, but she didn’t take a drag immediately—she was eyeing you, as if deciding whether to approach.

You didn’t make any move, just took another slow drag from your own cigarette, watching her from the corner of your eye.

“Can I join?” Ellie’s voice was rough, a little too slow, but she made her way over, unceremoniously leaning against the brick wall beside you.

You exhaled, the smoke curling into the cold night. “It’s a free world,” you said flatly, not bothering to acknowledge her much beyond that.

She nodded, as if to herself, and then lit her cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating her face in a flickering moment of vulnerability. She dragged deeply, her eyes closing for a brief second as she exhaled, the cloud of smoke mixing with the night air.

You couldn’t help but glance at her—she was wearing the same loose grey hoodie, her glasses perched just so, like they had always been a part of her signature style. The jeans she wore hung too loosely on her frame, the sign of someone who had lost more than just weight. The way her hands shook slightly as she took another drag was a stark contrast to her usual confident facade.

The quiet stretched between you both as she smoked, and you weren’t sure if it was the booze or just the weight of everything, but Ellie spoke up again, her voice softer now, too soft.

“Sometimes I think I fucked up more than I thought,” she said, her gaze fixed on the ground.

You didn’t reply right away. Instead, you took another drag, letting the silence hang, thick and heavy. She had this way of saying things she didn’t really want to say—things she thought she could bury under the weight of her act, but here she was, practically inviting you to take the shot.

Ellie looked back at you, meeting your eyes briefly before quickly looking away, uncomfortable again. "I didn't mean for it to go this way," she muttered.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smirking. “No one ever means it,” you said coldly, flicking the ash from your cigarette into the grass.

Ellie’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond. She just took another drag, trying to keep it together, though it was clear her mind was somewhere else entirely.

You couldn’t help the satisfaction that crept through you as you watched her like this—so far from the confident, untouchable girl who used to walk around like she owned every room. Watching her crumble, piece by piece, had always been more satisfying than you'd ever care to admit.

“Well,” you said, voice almost light, “at least you’re consistent in how much of a mess you are.”

She flinched at that, but didn’t retaliate. Instead, she just stared at her cigarette, the smoke curling upward, her shoulders slumping a little more with each breath. You didn’t care to pretend you cared about her sadness. It was better this way. She’d made her choice.

You finished your cigarette first, tapping it out and flicking it into the yard. "Have fun with that," you said with a sneer, before turning on your heel and walking back toward the house, the sound of the door closing behind you louder than any of the bullshit you’d just walked away from.

You didn’t see her again at the party, at least not until later when you were waiting for a cab, conveniently she was too. You were standing near the curb, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, ready to call it a night. The air had cooled further, and the sounds of the party were slowly becoming a distant hum. That’s when you spotted her—Ellie, standing just a few feet away, looking like she was trying to make herself small despite being too tall and noticeable.

She didn’t see you at first, and you almost considered pretending you hadn’t noticed her. But then, as if the universe had other plans, she glanced in your direction. Her eyes flickered for a moment, just a brief flash of recognition before she looked away.

You started to turn your attention back to your phone when the cab you’d called pulled up, but then Ellie surprised you. She was already walking toward it, the same cab, as if fate had decided to throw one last curveball.

Her eyes met yours again as she reached the door, and she hesitated for just a moment before saying, “You waiting for a ride too?” Her voice had a touch of awkwardness, like she wasn’t quite sure if she should even ask.

You paused for a second, then shrugged, stepping closer to the cab. “Guess so,” you replied, your tone flat but not unkind. You didn’t really feel like arguing, and she clearly wasn’t going to back down.

It was too late to back out now, so you both climbed into the backseat, the door shutting behind you with a soft thud. The car started moving, and for a moment, the silence was just as thick as it had been when you were standing outside.

The ride was quiet, the kind of silence that felt thick with unspoken words. Ellie sat beside you, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her face illuminated only by the dim glow of the streetlights passing by. You could feel her tension, the way she fidgeted with the hem of her hoodie sleeve, clearly trying to fight off whatever thoughts were eating at her. You didn’t bother to break the silence, letting the hum of the car’s engine fill the space between you both.

When the cab finally pulled up in front of your new apartment building, you were already reaching for the door handle, ready to escape the awkwardness. But before you could step out, Ellie surprised you again. She unbuckled her seatbelt and pushed the door open too, stepping out of the cab at the same time you did.

You blinked in confusion as she closed the door behind her and walked toward you, her pace slow but determined. “I’ll walk you to your apartment,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind. It almost sounded like a statement rather than a suggestion, like it was something she had already decided in her head.

You stared at her for a moment, trying to process what she was saying. It wasn’t like Ellie to make such an offer, not after everything that had happened. You were about to ask her what she was doing when she tilted her head slightly, looking at you with a mix of resolve and something else—vulnerability, maybe.

She didn’t wait for your response, already starting to walk toward your building. You found yourself following her without thinking. There was something about the way she was acting tonight, something different than the reckless, unbothered Ellie you were used to. You couldn’t quite place it, but for some reason, you didn’t protest.

It felt almost like a routine, walking beside her in the quiet of the night. The distance between you wasn’t much, but it was enough for you to feel the strange tension in the air, the unspoken words hanging between the two of you.

The elevator ride up to your floor felt like an eternity, the space between you both growing with each passing second. Ellie was unusually quiet, her hands shoved deep in her hoodie pockets as she stared ahead, her lips pressed together in a line. You couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or something else, but she seemed more... guarded, like she was holding herself together by a thread.

You were about to say something when she spoke, her voice low but pointed. “You know, you’re not as over this as you act.”

The words hit you like a slap in the face. You snapped your head toward her, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, but the edge in her voice was unmistakable. “Just saying. You act like you don’t care, but I’ve seen you watching me tonight. You don’t fool anyone.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, but neither of you moved immediately. You could feel your heart beating faster, your temper flaring. “I don’t care? You think you know me? You’re the one who left, Ellie. You don’t get to make assumptions about me now.”

She rolled her eyes, her usual sarcastic smirk creeping onto her face. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you didn’t move on. I saw you at that party, having the time of your life with your little friends.”

That did it. You stepped toward her, your voice rising. “You don’t get to act like I’m the one who moved on too quickly. You don’t know what it’s been like for me, and frankly, I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Ellie’s expression shifted, and for the first time that night, you saw something softer in her eyes. But before you could process it, her tone sharpened again. “I never said you owed me anything, but I didn’t expect you to throw it all away like I meant nothing.”

“Stop acting like this is all my fault,” you shot back, your voice barely controlled now. “You pushed me away. I had no choice but to move on, Ellie. You made sure of that.”

The argument hung in the air, thick and tense. But before you could say another word, Ellie closed the distance between you, her breath warm against your skin. In one swift motion, she cupped your face, pulling you in. You didn’t fight it. The anger, the hurt, all of it seemed to melt away in the heat of the kiss.

It was raw—desperate even. Her lips were hungry against yours, and you kissed her back, your hands coming up to tangle in her messy hair. It felt like everything you’d been holding back, every word you hadn’t said, was pouring into that kiss.

But as quickly as it started, reality crashed back in. You broke away, gasping for air, your heart pounding in your chest. Ellie stood there, her face flushed, eyes wide with the same shock as yours.

You stepped back, shaking your head. “This... this doesn’t change anything, Ellie. Just go home.”

Her gaze softened, and you could see the disappointment in her eyes. But she didn’t argue. She simply nodded, turned, and walked away.

You stood in the cold, the echo of her footsteps fading down the hallway as you finally unlocked your door. The kiss lingered on your lips, but it wasn’t enough to make you forget why you had to push her away. Not now. Not like this.

A few days had passed since that night, but it felt like everything from then had been a twisted joke you were still trying to figure out. You weren't sad about the breakup; no, that ship had sailed. You were pissed that you’d ended up making out with her—Ellie, of all people—after everything.

It wasn’t supposed to be like that. You weren’t supposed to let her back in. And yet, there you were, rolling around with her in the elevator like some lovesick idiot. You had to keep telling yourself it was a mistake—a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment. But you couldn’t deny the satisfaction that came with seeing Ellie in such a mess. The messy flannel, the loose jeans, the awkward way she was trying so hard to pretend she didn’t care. It was delicious.

You were in your room now, screaming into your pillow because, honestly, what the hell had you just done? Dina was on the bed, far too entertained by your complete frustration.

“So, you and Ellie kissed,” Dina said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Or should I say, ‘ate each other's face’?” She leaned forward, practically glowing with excitement. “How was it? Did she kiss like she still had a chance?”

You groaned into the pillow, the sound muffled. “I didn’t eat her face, Dina. It wasn’t anything like that.” You lifted your head just enough to glare at her. “She’s a disaster. She came on strong, and I was—ugh—I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

Dina was laughing so hard she almost fell off the bed. “Oh, come on. You’re so into her. I can tell. And you’re acting all annoyed, but I saw the way you kissed her. Don’t lie. It was intense.”

You sat up, scowling at her. “I’m not into her, Dina. I just... I don’t know, she pissed me off so much, and then bam—we're making out like idiots. But it’s not like it meant anything.”

Dina’s smirk didn’t fade. “Right, sure. Whatever you say, but I bet Ellie’s loving it right now, huh? She’s probably regretting her whole life choices while you’re sitting here getting off on her misery.”

That hit a little too close to home. You were enjoying the way she was falling apart. Seeing her so wrecked, so desperate to hold on to something that had already slipped through her fingers—it was delicious. Karma had never tasted so sweet.

You flopped back onto your bed, rolling onto your back with an exaggerated sigh. “She looked pathetic, Dina. But it’s like—ugh, I don’t know. Seeing her like that... It was so perfect, you know? She’s this whole mess, and I’m over here just... thriving.”

Dina raised an eyebrow at you, clearly enjoying the way you were reacting. “I get it. You love watching her self-destruct. It’s like everything she put you through is finally coming back around. But you’ve got to admit, kissing her like that—it’s got to mean something.”

You shot her a glare. “No. It doesn’t mean anything. I’m just enjoying the fact that she’s miserable now. She thought she could walk away, but now she’s the one suffering, and I’m just... here for it.”

Dina grinned, clearly not buying your act. “You can try to act all tough, but I see you, dude. You’re not as over her as you think.”

You groaned and buried your face back into the pillow. “Just drop it, okay? I don’t need to hear your analysis right now.”

Dina’s laugh rang through the room, making you just a little more annoyed. “Fine, fine. But you’re so into her. Don’t even try to deny it.”

The rain pounded relentlessly against the window as you stepped out of the shower, steam curling in the air around you. Dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and a matching top, you walked into your room, ready to collapse into bed and lose yourself in mindless scrolling or random videos.

But before you could settle in, a soft knock at your door froze you in place.

You sighed, already dreading who it could be. Opening the door, you found Ellie standing there, drenched from the rain. Her auburn hair stuck to her face, and her usual cocky confidence was replaced by an almost hesitant shuffle.

“Can I come in?” she asked, her voice low and thick with something unspoken.

You crossed your arms, glaring. “What do you want, Ellie?”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the floor before meeting yours. She looked out of place, like she didn’t belong here but couldn’t stay away. “Just... please.”

You stared her down, letting the silence linger until it became unbearable, then stepped aside reluctantly. Ellie walked in slowly, dripping water onto the floor as she fidgeted with her hands. She always did that when she was nervous.

Closing the door, you leaned against it and crossed your arms again. “Well? Spit it out.”

Ellie’s shoulders tensed. She avoided your gaze for a moment, exhaling sharply before finally looking at you. “I miss you,” she said, her voice quiet, almost trembling.

A laugh escaped you, sharp and cold. “Bullshit. You have a girlfriend, Ellie. Why the hell are you here?”

“I know,” she replied quickly, holding her hands up as if to defend herself. “I know, but… she’s not you. No one has ever made me feel like you do. I miss you. Please.”

Your heart clenched, but you buried it under your growing frustration. “You’re unbelievable,” you said, your voice cutting. “You’re with her now. What’s her name again? Oh, right, the freshman who follows you around like a puppy on a leash. Does she know you’re here, begging me for crumbs?”

Ellie winced, her cheeks flushing. “It’s not like that,” she said, her voice barely audible.

“Isn’t it?” you shot back. “You’ve got her wrapped around your finger, Ellie, and now you want to come crawling back to me because you’re bored or because she can’t give you whatever it is you’re looking for. Do you even hear yourself?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore!” Ellie snapped, her voice breaking. “She’s not you. She’ll never be you. I need—”

“You need to leave,” you interrupted, cutting her off. “Go back to your little puppy. Play house. Whatever it is you do with her.”

Ellie stepped closer, her hands trembling at her sides. “I don’t want her,” she said, her voice softening again. “I want you. Just… just one night. Please.”

You raised an eyebrow, a cruel smirk tugging at your lips. “You think one night is going to fix this? After everything? You’ve got some nerve, Ellie.”

“I don’t care,” she said, desperation lacing her words. “I don’t care how much you hate me right now. I just—please, I miss how we used to be. I miss you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, stepping closer to her. “If you want me that badly, prove it,” you said, your voice sharp and unrelenting. “Beg for it, Ellie. Get on your knees and show me how much you miss me.”

Ellie’s eyes widened, her lips parting in shock, but she didn’t hesitate for long. Slowly, she sank to her knees, her trembling hands resting on your thighs. “Please,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’ll do anything. Just… let me stay. Just for tonight.”

You tilted your head, looking down at her with mock pity. “Is this what you do when things don’t go your way? Crawl back to me while your girlfriend waits at home, none the wiser? Pathetic.”

Ellie flinched but didn’t move, her grip on your thighs tightening. “Say whatever you want. I don’t care,” she said, her voice shaking. “Just… please, let me stay.”

For a moment, you let the silence hang heavy between you, the sound of rain pounding against the window filling the room. You could feel her desperation, her raw need, and—god help you—it made you feel powerful.

Finally, you leaned down, tilting her chin up with your fingers so she had no choice but to meet your gaze. “You don’t deserve it,” you said, your voice low and cruel. “But I’ll give you what you want. Just this once.”

Ellie’s breath hitched as you leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was rough, desperate, and laced with all the frustration, hurt, and longing that had been simmering between you for months.

Her hands slid up your legs, pulling you closer as she kissed you back with equal fervor. It was a mess of emotions—anger, desire, and something neither of you dared to name—but for now, it was enough.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathing hard, you stared down at her, a smirk playing on your lips. “Get up,” you said, your tone sharp but teasing.

Ellie stood, her eyes never leaving yours. The night was far from over, and you both knew it.

A sly grin tugs at Ellie’s lips as she watches you sink into the couch, legs splayed wide. Her hesitation lasts only a heartbeat before she steps forward, closing the space between you. Without breaking eye contact, she lowers herself onto your thigh, her breath hitching as she settles in, the tension crackling between you like a live wire.

Her body sinks into yours as if she’s trying to melt away the distance between you. Her arms coil around your neck, fingers threading through the hair at your nape. She starts to move, a slow, deliberate grind, her breaths hot against your skin. Her voice, soft and raw, spills into the hollow of your neck like a confession wrapped in velvet. “God… I missed you so much,” she murmurs, the words trembling with a teasing ache, her desperation weaving itself into every shift of her hips, every flicker of heat that blooms.

She tries to press her knee against you, sliding between your legs with a boldness that only fuels your frustration. But you’re quicker, pushing her back with a firm hand. “No,” you bite out, your voice cold and unyielding. She doesn’t get to have this her way—not after everything. She doesn’t deserve to touch you, not until you decide she’s earned it.

When you shove her knee away, a soft whimper escapes her lips—fragile, pleading, yet laced with determination. She leans closer, her breath warm against your skin as she murmurs, “Let me touch you, baby.” Her voice trembles, a delicate mix of desperation and longing, as if she’s begging for permission to worship what she knows she doesn’t deserve.

You tilt your head, locking eyes with her, your expression cold and unyielding. Her desperation clings to the air between you like a suffocating fog. “You don’t deserve to touch me,” you say, your voice low but cutting, each word sharp enough to pierce through her resolve.

Her breath hitches, her hands faltering where they’ve dared to rest on your thighs. “Please,” she whispers, her voice breaking just slightly, the word hanging in the silence like an offering.

You lean forward, closing the distance just enough for her to feel the weight of your presence without granting her the satisfaction she craves. “You don’t get to beg for what you threw away,” you add, your tone cruel, though the flicker of heat in her gaze tells you she doesn’t hate it. If anything, she leans into it, her fingers curling tighter against your legs.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she says, almost breathless, her voice trembling with urgency. “I’ll do anything. Just—”

“Anything?” you interrupt, your lips curling into a slow, taunting smile. “You really think anything will erase the mess you made? You want to earn this? Then prove it. Show me how pathetic you can be.”

Her cheeks flush, her eyes dropping to the space between you as though she’s already considering how far she’ll go. And when she looks up again, there’s a spark of something reckless in her gaze—something that says she’s willing to sink lower if it means she can have even a fraction of you.

She knelt on the ground, her hands bound behind her like a captured bird, the belt tight against her wrists. You moved around her slowly, like a predator circling its prey, the tension in the air thick enough to taste. Her eyes flickered to you, but her body remained still, the soft rustling of fabric the only sound as you drew near.

Every bone in your body screamed at you to walk away, to resist the urge, but seeing her—especially earlier, drenched in rain, her eyes pleading for your touch—was a temptation you couldn't ignore.

You’d moved past her. Moved past everything. She was a lousy girlfriend then, and nothing had changed. Now, she had a new girlfriend—if you could even call that wide-eyed freshman a girlfriend. More like a puppy, really. But seeing her, broken and desperate, begging for what you used to give her? You couldn’t help yourself. You were going to make her feel everything she did before—and then some.

It was a striking thing, seeing her so completely at your mercy. She used to be the one in control, always dominant, always pushing you around—and you, you let her. But not anymore. Not now. Now, the tables have turned. She needed you, not the other way around, and you made sure she understood that. With a sharp tug on her hair, you forced her gaze to meet yours.

With a slow, deliberate motion, you used your foot to spread her legs wide on the cold ground, ensuring her gaze stayed locked on you.

Ellie's breath catches as you spread her legs, the motion bold, deliberate—sending a shudder through her that you can almost feel in your own chest. She glares up at you, but now there's something else in her eyes—something uncertain, a crack in the defiance. Ellie licks her lips nervously, her usual bravado slipping away like a mask, leaving her raw and exposed in a way that stirs something in you. This isn't the Ellie you once knew, and that makes everything so much more... thrilling.

Her heart races as she feels your foot firmly press against her center through her jeans. Her eyes widen in shock and humiliation, but she can't help the way her body responds. Her breath catches in her throat as you maintain eye contact, dominating her completely.

Her face burns with embarrassment and arousal, but even she can't deny the heat building between her legs. "Fuck-" she whispers harshly, trying to maintain some dignity despite her vulnerable position. Her legs want to close, but your foot presses harder, keeping them firmly apart.

"Please, let me touch you, baby... That’s all I need..." Her voice trembles, low and pleading.

You chuckle darkly, the sound low and dangerous, before replying, "I told you, Ellie... you don’t get to touch me."

Ellie's lips part in disbelief, a frustrated whimper escaping as she realizes the cruel game you're playing. Her body aches to touch you, but your cold words remind her of the power she's lost. She glare up at you, her eyes flashing with mingled fury and desperate need.

Ellie's teeth grind together as she fights back a groan, your cruel denial stoking the flames of her arousal higher.

“Stand up.” You commanded

Her legs tremble slightly as your foot leaves its intimate position, leaving her feeling empty and aching. She struggles to stand on shaky legs, her pride demanding she maintain some semblance of dignity, despite the obvious effect you're having on her.

She stumbles forward, her hands reaching out to steady herself on the couch. You push her down roughly, making her sit on the edge of the cushion. Before she can react, you grab the hem of her pants and yank them down her legs, leaving her in nothing but her boxers.

She gasps in surprise as you quickly remove her boxers, leaving her completely exposed. Before she can process what's happening, your face is between her legs, your tongue delving into her soaked pussy. Ellie's back arches off the couch, a loud moan escaping her lips as you devour her.

Her hands fist in your hair, pulling desperately as she tries to pull you closer. Her hips buck against your face, seeking more contact, more friction. "Dammit, dammit," she pants, her body tensing as she tries to hold back the release you're pushing her towards.

As you continue to eat her out, you suddenly push two fingers inside her, stretching her open further. The sensation is too much, and Ellie's back arches off the couch as she screams in ecstasy. Her pussy clenches around your fingers, gushing with juice as you finger fuck her alongside your tongue.

Your fingers push inside her, stretching her tight pussy as you continue to lick and suck her clit. Ellie's legs shake violently, her whole body trembling as the dual sensations overwhelm her. She screams in ecstasy, her pussy clenching around your fingers as she cums hard, her juices flooding your mouth.

As she rides out her orgasm, you don't let up, continuing to eat her out and fuck her with your fingers. When she finally starts to come down, you add a third finger, scissoring them inside her to stretch her pussy even further.

The combination of your fingers and tongue becomes too much, overstimulating her. Ellie's vision starts to blur, her mind going blank as she's hit with an intense wave of pleasure. She screams again, her body convulsing as she experiences what feels like an endless orgasm.

“Mmm... you asked for this,” you murmur, a smirk tugging at your lips as you slowly withdraw your fingers, taking a deliberate step back. “You said you wanted me to make you feel good.”

You knew, deep down, that this wasn’t what she had in mind when she came to you, desperate for a ‘blast from the fucking past’. But that’s exactly what you intended to give her—whether she was ready for it or not.

The next day, the news came—she and her little freshman had broken up. You didn’t need the details; you already knew how it went down. It was always going to end like this. She’d come crawling back to you, driven by some half-baked nostalgia, thinking she could reclaim something that was long gone.

But she was foolish if she thought you’d take her back. That door had closed, and she had no one to blame but herself.

After class, you glance at your phone. A single message from Ellie: "Can we talk?"

You pause, the weight of her words settling in. She thought this was some simple conversation—someway to undo what had been done.

You don't rush to reply. Instead, you let the silence stretch. When you do finally respond, it's deliberate, cold: "What’s there to talk about?"

Her reply comes quick, desperate: "I need to explain..."

You smile to yourself, a small, satisfied thing. She needed to explain? There was nothing left to explain, but you knew what she wanted. She always did, didn’t she?

You meet her at the old usual spot, a dimly lit corner outside the café where you used to sit and talk—before everything went to shit. The air feels thick, charged with the weight of what happened, and Ellie stands there, fidgeting, her eyes on the ground.

You take your time walking toward her, letting the silence hang between you before you speak.

“I’m listening,” you say, your voice steady, almost too calm for the storm brewing beneath it.

Ellie looks up, her face flushed, eyes wide with that familiar desperation. She takes a step forward, her voice shaky but insistent. “There has to be something, right? After what happened… after that night… You made me feel something again. You made me feel so good. That has to mean something.”

Her words hang in the air, and you almost feel sorry for her, but the truth is, you don’t. Not anymore.

Ellie swallows, her gaze softening as if she’s trying to pull you back into the past. “You still love me. You have to. I know you do.”

You stare at her for a moment, allowing the silence to stretch uncomfortably before your lips curl into a cold, empty smile. “Love you?” you say, your voice low, almost mocking. “No, Ellie. I don’t love you.”

She flinches at the words, her eyes searching yours for something—anything—that would contradict what you just said. But there’s nothing there.

“You think I did this because I love you?” You shake your head, the laughter that follows bitter. “No. I did it because it felt good. Seeing you beneath me, broken, desperate—it gave me something I didn’t know I was missing.”

Her breath catches, and for a second, you almost feel the weight of her confusion, her shock, but you push it aside.

“You want to get back together?” you ask, the words dripping with disdain. “You’re pathetic, Ellie. You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

She tries to reach for your hand, but you step back, coldly rejecting her touch.

“No. You’ve had your chance. You don’t get to come back and rewrite what’s already been done.”

Low and behold, like the asshat she was, you'd heard from Dina how Ellie had been talking shit about you—spinning stories about how cruel you were, how you had used her, how you made her feel worthless. Typical Ellie, always turning herself into the martyr. Always blaming someone else for her own mess.

You hadn’t been surprised when Dina had spilled the details. You knew Ellie. She was the type who would do anything to make herself feel like she hadn’t been the one left behind, the one who hadn’t been able to make things work. The truth was, Ellie wasn’t strong enough to face what she had done, to admit that she had come crawling back to you, begging for something that she could never have again.

She couldn’t stand the thought of losing control over you. It was always about that. But now, that power was gone. She didn’t get to walk away from this with her head held high. No, she had made her bed. And you weren’t going to lie in it with her anymore.

You’d already heard her excuses, the things she’d said to Dina, how she made herself out to be the victim. And as much as it pissed you off, you weren’t surprised. This was Ellie’s game. It was always her way or no way. But you knew better than to get dragged back into her toxic cycle.

You remembered that night—the way she had begged, the way she had been so desperate for something, anything. But what had she really wanted? To feel wanted again? To feel like she still had some hold on you? To make herself feel better about all the times she’d walked away from you, played you like a fool?

Well, now, she was just another piece of your past. She wouldn’t go away. But you were done.

Even after everything, she kept finding ways to crawl back into your life—whether it was through casual texts, uninvited visits, or her half-hearted attempts to rekindle what was lost. She couldn’t just accept it. Couldn’t just walk away like she had all the power in the world. But you were done.

She kept telling herself that you’d come back. That you’d always come back. She couldn’t fathom that there was no room for her in your life anymore, no place for her desperate pleas to fit in. It didn’t matter how many times she tried to make herself the center of your world.

And yet, she wouldn’t go away. Not entirely.

Even now, you could feel her presence lingering, like some shadow that just wouldn’t dissipate. You weren’t sure what she expected from you, or why she kept thinking this twisted version of “us” could work, but there was no denying it. Ellie wouldn’t just let you move on. She had to cling to the past because, for her, it was all she knew.

But you? You were done. You weren’t going to chase after her anymore. You wouldn’t keep playing her game.

You couldn’t make her disappear, but you could walk away.

#ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie tlou #lesbian #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou2 #tlou2 #the last of us #tlou #ellie fanfic #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams fluff #tlou ellie #the last of us part 2 #ellie x fem reader

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vibelladonna · 9 hours ago

Text

✑ 𝒷𝓊𝓃𝓃𝓎 𝓈𝓊𝒾𝓉 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒, 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔𝑒𝑜

· ─────── ⋆⋅♤⋅⋆ ─────── ·

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Who doesn’t love a good bunny suit fanfic? This little piece was inspired by the incredible artwork of @alienfreak124. I’m always in awe of her creations—her OC is so cool! Honestly, every time I see her work, I wish I had the talent to draw. T-T Always wanted to see what my OC would look like in the Tkatb fandom.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

Also, I’ve been thinking about branching out into other fandoms—Creepypasta is definitely at the top of the list since it was such a huge part of my childhood. Ticci Toby has always been my favorite, and I’m super excited to dive into that world. I’m also considering Death Note and Black Butler, but who knows?

For now, I’m pretty set on exploring the creepy side first, especially with all the dark, twisted fandoms.

Anyway, I’ve got about three fics in the works for these lovely men—Crowe, Sol, and Geo. But it’s gonna be one day at a time because, let’s be real, I need to stop posting these things so damn late. College life is getting hectic, but I’m making it work, even if it means less sleep. Priorities, right?

· ─────── ⋆⋅♤⋅⋆ ─────── ·

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

You’re in your room, standing in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem of a plain black dress.

It’s simple, safe, and exactly the kind of outfit you’d usually wear to a small party. You tilt your head, trying to decide if “simple” is too boring. The party isn’t exactly a big deal—just a casual gathering—but there’s a nagging thought in the back of your mind:

Crowe’s going to be there.

Before you can overthink it, there’s a sudden knock at your door. “Hey! Open up!” Brittney’s voice is unmistakable—high-energy and impossible to ignore. You sigh, already knowing she’s about to upend whatever plans you’ve made for the evening.

When you open the door, Brittney bursts in like a hurricane, her arms overflowing with what looks like… fur? No, it’s worse. It’s a bunny costume—a black bodysuit with matching ears, fishnet tights, and heels so high they look like a twisted form of punishment.

“Oh no,” you say immediately, holding up your hands in protest. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on!” Brittney waves the outfit in front of you like it’s the Holy Grail. “It’s perfect! It’s fun, it’s flirty, and you’ll steal the spotlight! Imagine the look on everyone’s faces when you walk in wearing this. Especially Crowe.”

Your stomach flips at the mention of his name, but you shake your head. “There’s no way I’m wearing that. I’ll look ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous?” Brittney scoffs, planting her hands on her hips. “Please. You’ll look hot. Besides, when was the last time you did something bold? Live a little!” She leans in, grinning mischievously. “And, you know, Crowe might notice.”

You roll your eyes, but you can feel your resolve cracking. “Brittney, I’m not trying to ‘steal the spotlight.’ I just want to blend in.”

“Blend in?” She gasps like you’ve just insulted her personally. “Blending in is for cowards. And you’re not a coward, are you?”

“...You’re guilt-tripping me.”

“Is it working?”

Unfortunately, yes. You stare at the bunny suit like it’s a wild animal that might bite you, but part of you can’t help wondering: What if Brittney’s right? What if Crowe actually notices?

“Fine,” you say, at last, snatching the costume from her hands. “But if I look stupid, I’m blaming you.”

Brittney claps her hands in triumph. “You’ll look amazing, trust me! Now, hurry up and get dressed—I need to see the final look.”

You sigh and shut the door, holding up the bunny suit with a mix of dread and curiosity.

This is either the best idea or the worst mistake.

The moment you step into the party, a hush falls over the room—or at least it feels like it. The warm glow of string lights strung across the ceiling doesn’t do much to soothe the nerves twisting in your stomach. You keep your head down, gripping a drink you barely remember picking up, and try to focus on anything other than the fact that you’re dressed like a bunny in a room full of people dressed... normally.

Brittney, of course, is loving every second of it. She’s practically glowing as she flits around the room, dropping comments like, “Isn’t she adorable?” and “Doesn’t she look amazing?” to anyone within earshot. You glare at her from across the room, but she just winks and mouths, “You’re welcome.”

You hover near the edge of the crowd, trying to blend into the background. It’s ironic, considering the ridiculous outfit, but you figure if you keep still enough, maybe no one will notice. That plan works for about five minutes—until you catch a familiar figure out of the corner of your eye.

Crowe.

He’s leaning against the wall near the bookshelf, casually sipping from a glass, his posture as effortlessly relaxed as ever. Even in the soft glow of the party lights, he’s sharp, dressed in his usual clean, put-together style that somehow manages to look both formal and casual at the same time. He always looks like he belongs on a magazine cover—button-up sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he listens to someone talk.

You freeze, torn between retreating to the nearest shadowy corner and pretending you haven’t seen him, or... well, doing something else. But then, as if sensing your eyes on him, Crowe looks up—and the moment his gaze lands on you, it’s like the rest of the party fades into the background.

You brace yourself, half-expecting him to laugh or make some snide remark. Instead, his eyebrows lift slightly, and the corner of his mouth quirks up into what might just be the faintest hint of a smirk. He takes another sip of his drink, sets the glass down, and begins making his way toward you.

Oh no.

Before you can figure out an escape route, he’s standing in front of you, tall and composed, with that cool, unreadable expression that makes your heart do ridiculous things.

His expression is calm and unreadable, but there’s a sharp glint in his eyes that immediately sets you on edge. The drink in your hand suddenly feels useless as you clutch it tightly, wishing you had anything to focus on besides the way Crowe’s gaze is very obviously trailing over your bunny suit. Slowly.

“Nice to see you decided to... dress up,” he says, his tone dripping with amusement as he comes to a stop in front of you. His eyes flicker from your bunny ears to the tights and back to your face, where your mortified expression only seems to fuel his teasing.

“This wasn’t my idea,” you say quickly, feeling the need to defend yourself. “Brittney made me wear it. She said it’ll steal the spotlight or whatever…”

Crowe raises a brow, his smirk deepening as he leans just slightly closer. “Oh, I believe you. But she didn’t make you come to me wearing it, did she?”

You sputter, your face heating up. “I didn’t come to you! You walked over here!”

“Did I?” he asks innocently, his smirk widening into something outright devilish. “Must’ve been the bunny ears. Hard to miss.”

You glare at him, your mind racing for some kind of witty comeback, but it’s hard to think when his gaze keeps darting to your legs, the curve of your waist, and then back to your face, like he’s deliberately making a show of it.

“Well,” he says after a beat, his tone maddeningly casual. “She wasn’t wrong.”

Your brain short-circuits. He did not just say that.

“Excuse me?”

“About the spotlight,” he clarifies, his smirk softening into something almost... fond. “You’ve certainly got everyone’s attention.”

You rolled your eyes, “You’re ridiculous,” crossing your arms over your chest.

“And you’re very bold,” he counters smoothly. His voice drops a little lower, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Not that I’m complaining, of course. But I’m curious—how many people have tried their luck with you tonight?”

Your eyes widen. “W-what?”

You can’t decide whether to tell the truth to him or strangle him.

“Come on,” he says, his smirk turning positively wicked. “In that outfit? You must have half the room staring. Though...” He leans in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I doubt anyone else is appreciating it quite as much as I am.”

Your breath hitches, and you’re sure your face is about to burst into flames. “Crowe, you can’t just—”

“Say the truth?” he interrupts smoothly, stepping just close enough that you can catch the faint scent of his blueberry cologne. “Oh, I can. And I will.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, Crowe’s gaze shifts, scanning the room. The teasing glint in his deep blue eyes is replaced with something sharper, almost protective, as he takes in the prying eyes of the other partygoers.

“Too many people here,” Crowe mutters, his voice low enough that it feels like the words are meant only for him. Then he glances back at you, his eyes softening in a way that makes your breath hitch. “Let’s leave.”

“What?”

“I said, let’s leave.” His hand brushes lightly against your elbow, the fleeting touch sending a spark up your arm. His gaze lingers on you, unreadable but heavy with something unspoken. “Unless you’d prefer to stay here and let everyone keep gawking at you like you’re... on display.”

Your eyes dart around the room, catching glimpses of the subtle but unmistakable stares in your direction. The air feels suffocating now, and the idea of staying in this crowded space seems unbearable. Still, you hesitate, caught off guard by the sheer intensity of his presence.

“Fine,” you say at last, forcing an air of nonchalance even as your pulse quickens. “But if you’re planning to tease me, I’m leaving the second you start.”

Crowe chuckles—a deep, smooth sound that does nothing to steady your nerves. “Don’t worry,” he says, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smirk as he places a hand lightly on the small of your back to guide you toward the door. “I’ll behave.”

You’re not entirely convinced, but before you can second-guess your decision, the two of you are stepping into the cool night air. The sharp contrast to the party’s stuffy warmth sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not just the chill that has you trembling.

Crowe’s steps are deliberate, his presence magnetic as he walks you to his car. He unlocks the passenger door with a smooth motion, holding it open for you before rounding the car to slide into the driver’s seat. The quiet thud of the door closing feels heavier in the silence, the hum of the engine breaking the tension only slightly.

“Brittney’s going to wonder where I went,” you say softly, partly to yourself, as Crowe pulls out of the driveway.

“I’ll text her later,” he replies, his tone calm but firm. “She’ll survive.”

The car is dimly lit, the glow of passing streetlights casting fleeting shadows across his sharp features. You can feel his gaze flicking toward you every so often, lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle.

He doesn’t speak for a while, but the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It’s charged—like the air before a storm. You’re hyper-aware of every detail: the way his hands grip the steering wheel, the faint scent of his cologne filling the small space, the way his jaw tightens whenever you catch him sneaking glances.

“You shouldn’t let her talk you into things like that,” he says suddenly, his voice lower now, almost rough.

“Like what?” you ask, even though you know exactly what he means.

He glances at you briefly, his lips pressing into a thin line before his expression softens. “Like wearing something that makes every guy in the room look at you like they’ve forgotten how to think.”

The words are sharper than you expect, tinged with an edge of possessiveness that makes your breath catch.

“I thought you didn’t mind people staring,” you counter, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I don’t,” he says, his fingers tightening on the wheel. “Unless it’s you.”

The confession hangs in the air, heavy and electrifying. You look over at him, your heart pounding in your chest. There’s no teasing smirk now, no easy charm—just raw, unguarded honesty in his gaze as he pulls the car to a stop at the side of the road.

He turns to face you fully, his expression unreadable but his eyes dark with something unmistakable.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, the words rough with restraint.

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. The heat in his gaze is overwhelming, and you feel pinned in place by the sheer intensity of it.

“I’ve been trying to keep my distance,” he continues, his tone rough and uneven now, “but seeing you tonight, dressed like that, letting everyone else see you like that…” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It drove me crazy.”

The air in the car feels thick, charged with an unspoken tension that’s almost suffocating. Your pulse pounds in your ears, your breaths shallow as you sit still, unsure of what to say—or if there’s even anything you should say. The silence stretches out, heavy and electric, until Crowe shifts closer to you, his movements deliberate yet almost hesitant.

His hand rises, and for a moment, you think he might stop midway. But then his fingers gently brush against your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is light, almost feather-soft, yet it lingers—his fingertips trailing against your skin just long enough to leave a burning imprint.

“Please tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice deep and velvety, the faintest edge of uncertainty in his tone.

A shiver races up your spine at the feel of his touch, and the heat of his proximity makes it impossible to think straight. Your breath hitches, and you swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry. You manage to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and searching, as though he’s looking for any sign of hesitation.

“And if I don’t want you to stop?” you whisper, your voice trembling but carrying a weight of undeniable desire.

His breath catches, his chest rising sharply as though you’ve just knocked the air out of him. His eyes widen, a flicker of disbelief flashing across his usually composed face. His lips parted slightly as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to convince himself he heard you correctly.

You don’t reply right away—words feel clumsy in the intensity of this moment. Crowe’s gaze lingers on you, steady and deliberate, traveling down the length of your figure and then back up again. His eyes seem darker in the dim light, their usual cool detachment replaced by something unreadable, something that makes your pulse race. His smirk is still there, faint but unshakable, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Your breath catches, and for a second, all you can think is how badly you don’t want this moment to end. Then, before your mind has time to catch up, your body moves on instinct. Slowly, deliberately, you take a step forward, closing the distance between you.

His head tilts slightly as he watches you, his smirk faltering for just a heartbeat as you climb onto his lap. Your knees press into the seat on either side of him, the soft material of your tights brushing against his thighs.

For a brief moment, neither of you speaks. The air feels heavy, charged with something neither of you can name. His reaction is immediate—sharp and visceral. He inhales quickly, his chest rising under yours, and his hands lift instinctively to your hips. His grip is firm yet hesitant, his fingers flexing slightly as though he’s testing the reality of the situation.

You’re glad you caught him like this—off-guard, unguarded. It’s rare to see him anything but composed, but now? Now, his usual confidence feels shaken, his calm veneer cracking just enough to let you peek underneath.

“No,” you whisper, your voice low and thick with emotion. “Please don’t stop.”

The tension in his shoulders eases, but only slightly. His body remains taut beneath yours, every muscle coiled like a spring. His hands tighten against your hips as if anchoring himself—or maybe anchoring you. He leans forward, and the closeness is dizzying. His breath fans against your neck, warm and teasing, and goosebumps rise across your skin in response.

His lips hover near your ear, his voice low and husky, dripping with intent as he murmurs, “Then I won’t.”

The promise in his tone sends a shiver down your spine. His hands shift from your hips, sliding upward in slow, deliberate movements that leave you breathless. His thumbs trace over your waist, the faintest pressure sparking heat in their wake. His fingers move higher, brushing against your sides, and you can’t stop the way your body responds, arching slightly into his touch.

Crowe’s lips ghost against the edge of your jaw, and you swear the world narrows to just the two of you. There’s nothing but his touch, his breath, and the sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

May got a little carried away here…

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

You don’t know how it happened.

So okay, you do know how it happened—you were dumb enough to bet against Hyugo. The guy might be obnoxious, loud, and silly as hell, but unfortunately, he’s also good at literally everything. Somehow, that fact slipped your mind when you let him talk you into betting on the last round of a stupid game.

It was one of those chaotic, anything-goes types of games, the kind where people are shouting over each other, rules barely make sense, and luck has just as much sway as skill. You don’t even remember what it was called—something involving a blindfold, ping pong balls, and a lot of yelling. I’m kidding here…

All you know is that Hyugo had that stupid grin on his face, the one he always wears when he knows he’s about to win.

“Come on,” he’d said, his voice dripping with smugness as he leaned against the table. “You scared or something? What’s the worst that could happen?”

And like an idiot, you fell for it. “I’m not scared,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “You’re on.”

Big mistake.

Because five minutes later, you were standing there in stunned silence, staring at Hyugo’s triumphant face as he held up his winning ping pong ball like it was an Olympic gold medal.

“Wow, that was almost too easy!” he said, laughing as he clapped you on the shoulder. “You really thought you could beat me?.”

You scowled, already regretting your life choices. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. What do you want?”

His grin widened, and you instantly knew you were doomed. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said, his voice practically oozing with fake innocence. “It’s nothing crazy. Just a little outfit change for, let’s say... an hour?”

Your stomach dropped. “What kind of outfit change? I have a movie night at Sol’s place later,”

And now here you are, standing in Sol’s dimly lit studio apartment, wearing a bunny suit that makes you feel about three sizes too exposed and questioning every decision you’ve ever made.

The small space smells like popcorn and energy drinks, and there’s a paused horror movie on the screen, but all of that pales in comparison to the look on Sol’s face.

He hasn’t stopped staring since you walked in.

The guy is sitting on his beat-up couch, one leg tucked under him, the TV remote hanging limp in his hand. His mouth is slightly open, and his face?

Bright red.

Like, glowing tomato-red, borderline matching the devil on the movie poster behind him.

“…What are you doing?” he finally chokes out, his voice cracking just enough to make you raise an eyebrow. He clears his throat and tries again, this time deeper: “I mean, what’s this?” He gestures vaguely at you, but his hand is shaking a little, so it’s not exactly smooth.

You cross your arms, trying to tug the hem of the skirt down, but there’s no saving it—it’s just too short. “Lost a bet to Hyugo,” you mumble, your voice flat, as if that explains everything.

Sol squints at you, the disbelief radiating off him in waves. “Hyugo made you do this?” His tone flips between outraged and incredulous. His eyes dart down to the whole getup—bunny ears, fishnets, the thigh-high socks—and then snap back up so fast you think he might’ve given himself a neck cramp. “Ugh… He’s the worst sometimes.”

“Yeah, thanks for the groundbreaking insight,” you deadpan, shooting him a withering glare. “I figured that out the moment Hyugo handed me this thing.”

Sol drags a hand through his perpetually messy hair, clearly grappling with some kind of inner turmoil. “You didn’t have to wear it, though,” he mutters, his usual grumbly tone edged with something oddly defensive. “You could’ve just… I dunno, said no.”

You blink at him, unimpressed. “Oh, sure. And let Hyugo post that video of me tripping like an idiot in front of the entire campus? An excellent alternative, Sol. Really genius stuff.”

He makes a weird noise in his throat, half a groan, half something else, and he mutters, “Still better than this…” But his eyes betray him.

Because despite the whole “ugh, this is dumb” act, Sol keeps looking. Like, really looking. His gaze lingers on your bunny ears, the curve of the bodysuit, and the thigh-high socks that are making you wish the couch would swallow you whole. Every time his eyes travel down, they snap back up so fast you’d think he got whiplash.

“What’s your problem?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest, mostly for your sanity. “You’re staring.”

“I’m not—” He cuts himself off, dragging his hand down his face with a groan. “Whatever. I’m not the one dressed like…” His words trail off as he waves vaguely in your direction, his ears reddening again as if even describing the outfit is too much for him.

You sigh and plop down on his old couch because there’s literally nowhere else to go in this shoebox of an apartment. As soon as you do, Sol freezes like you’ve just stepped on a landmine. His whole body stiffens, his hands gripping his knees, and you swear he stops breathing.

“Relax,” you say, kicking off your heels with a sigh. “It’s not like I want to be here in this dumb outfit either.”

“You don’t look unhappy,” he mutters, barely audible, but you catch it.

Your head snaps toward him, catching the faintest flicker of his eyes darting to your outfit before immediately locking onto the popcorn bowl on the coffee table like it’s his last lifeline. His face is ‘burning’, and it only gets worse when he realizes you caught him looking.

“Excuse me?” you ask, leaning in slightly because you can’t let him off the hook that easily.

“I didn’t—” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat so violently it’s almost painful. “I just meant—uh, never mind.” But his ears are practically glowing, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

“Sure, okay,” you say, smirking as you settle deeper into the couch, fully intending to mess with him now. “It’s not like you’ve been staring at me like a creep since I walked in or anything.”

“I wasn’t staring!” he blurts, far too defensively for someone who was. He drags a hand through his hair, the strands sticking up even more as he groans like he’s on the verge of losing it.

“Oh, you weren’t?” you tease, tilting your head. “Are you calling me a liar?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his eyes flicking to your legs for half a second before darting away. His hands curl into fists on his lap, and his breathing sounds... uneven.

Fast.

One second, you’re sitting on the couch, awkwardly avoiding his gaze, and the next, you’re swept up off the cushions. His arms slide under you, one wrapping around your back and the other hooking beneath your knees, lifting you effortlessly into a bridal carry.

“Sol!” you shriek, your hands instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders. “What are you—put me down!”

But he doesn’t. Instead, he lowers himself back onto the couch, keeping you securely in his hold. Your legs dangle awkwardly over his arm, your heels threatening to slip off, and you’re acutely aware of how close your faces are now—his warm breath brushing against your skin, his sharp eyes fixed on yours.

“Relax,” he mutters, his tone gruff but oddly soft. “You were fidgeting too much. Thought you were about to hurt yourself or something.”

“Hurt what now?!” you snap, glaring at him even as your cheeks flush. “I wasn’t—Sol, that doesn’t even make sense. Let me go.”

“Not yet,” he says simply, his grip tightening slightly as if daring you to try and wriggle free.

You glare at him, but the heat of his gaze makes it hard to keep your composure. His eyes flicker down for a moment—trailing from your flushed face to the curve of your legs draped over his arm. He’s trying to play it cool, but the way his jaw clenches and his ears turn a faint shade of pink gives him away.

“Your legs are cold,” he murmurs after a beat, his voice quieter now.

“I wonder why,” you deadpan, trying to ignore the way your heart skips at the hint of concern in his tone.

His lips twitch a shadow of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I told you this stupid outfit wasn’t practical.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly pick it,” you grumble, squirming slightly in his hold.

“Stop moving,” he mutters, his voice dropping an octave. His hands shift slightly, one sliding along your back and the other brushing against your thigh as he adjusts his grip. The casual intimacy of it makes your face burn hotter.

“Sol...” you warn, your voice shaky.

But instead of answering, he leans back slightly, settling you more comfortably in his lap. The movement makes your head spin—partly from the sudden shift, but mostly because of how close he is now. You’re practically curled up against his chest, his arm still supporting your legs while his other hand rests firmly against your back.

And then he looks at you again. Really looks at you. His orange-red eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, the teasing, grumbly version of Sol you’re used to is nowhere to be found. There’s something different in his expression now—something serious, almost vulnerable, and it steals the breath from your lungs.

“You should be more careful,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing lightly against your knee. His hands slide from your hips to your legs. “These heels could’ve hurt me,” His thumbs trace slow, deliberate circles along the tops of your thighs, sending shivers up your spine.

Your mouth opens to respond—maybe to defend yourself, maybe to yell at him, you’re not sure—but then his hands shift lower, skimming over the curve of your calves. He grabs one of your feet, his fingers curling around your ankle as he starts tugging off your shoe.

“Sol, I can do that myself—”

“No,” he snaps, but there’s no malice in his tone. His cheeks are pink, his expression strained like he’s trying to keep it together. “Please, just let me.”

You’re too stunned to argue. He’s slow about it, almost hesitant, his calloused fingers brushing against your skin as he removes one shoe, then the other. When he’s done, he lets his hands linger for a moment, his thumbs brushing over your bare ankles.

His eyes flicker back up to yours, and there’s something desperate in his expression now like he’s holding himself back from doing something stupid. “Why do you always have to make this so hard?” he mutters, half to himself.

“I’m making 'it' hard?” you blurt, your voice shaky.

“You showed up like this,” he counters, his gaze sweeping over you again. “Looking like... this.”

He leans closer, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him. His hand slides up, tracing a line from your ankle to your knee, then up your thigh, stopping just shy of where the hem of the bunny suit begins. His knee presses a little closer, and you suck in a sharp breath.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me right now?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your brain short-circuits. You don’t even know how to respond to that, especially not when his eyes are locked on yours like he’s waiting for an answer.

“Sol,” you finally manage, your voice barely audible. “You’re being weird.”

“I know,” he mutters, his lips twitching into a crooked, almost self-deprecating smile. “I’m always weird. But you make it worse.”

And with that, he dips his head lower, his breath ghosting over your lips like he’s daring you to stop him.

Please don’t make him stop…

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Geo hadn’t thought much about your text at first.

You were running late—what else was new? He was used to it by now. You’d told him to let himself in with the key under the mat since you were still getting ready, and, well, that’s what he did.

Your apartment was as familiar to him as ever: the faint smell of your scented candles. Geo plopped onto the couch, scrolling through his phone to kill time. After about ten minutes of waiting, he sighed loudly, tossing his phone onto the coffee table.

“Why do I let you do this to me?” he muttered, dragging himself to his feet. He made his way down the hall, the hardwood floor creaking faintly under his boots.

The door to your bedroom was cracked open, soft light spilling out into the hallway. He tapped lightly on the frame with his knuckles. “Hey, we’re gonna be late, y’know. What’s taking you so—”

He pushed the door open mid-sentence, stepping inside. And then he stopped.

His brain short-circuited.

There you were, standing in front of your full-length mirror, fiddling with a pair of floppy bunny ears.

A very, very skimpy bunny suit clung to you like a second skin, all shiny black fabric and sheer tights that showed just enough to drive someone insane. The plunging neckline, the dangerously high cut of the bodysuit, the tiny bowtie collar around your neck—it was absurd. Ridiculous. And yet somehow…

You looked stunning.

Geo froze in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His trademark sarcasm, his quick wit, his effortless aloof expression? Gone.

His brain? Absolutely empty.

His mouth opened like he wanted to say something—anything—but no words came out.

You noticed him then, spinning around so fast that your bunny ears flopped dramatically to one side. “Geo!” you shrieked, your voice an octave higher than usual. “What the hell are you doing? I thought you were on the couch.”

“What am I doing?” he echoed, his voice cracking slightly as his eyes flicked over you, up and down, up and down, like he couldn’t stop himself. He quickly snapped his gaze upward, focusing on the very uninteresting ceiling. “What the hell are you wearing?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “It’s for a charity event,” you muttered defensively. “Crowe asked me to help raise donations.”

Geo’s jaw clenched, his fingers twitching at his sides as he tried to keep his gaze anywhere but directly on you. His eyes betrayed him, though, darting back to your legs, your waist, your— “What kind of charity involves… that?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at your outfit like it was some kind of alien artifact.

You groaned, turning back to the mirror to adjust the bunny ears again. “It’s a themed event, okay? College students are more likely to donate if there’s… I don’t know, incentive?”

“Incentive…?” Geo repeated, “And Crowe ask you wear that? Crowe?” His tone was somewhere between disbelief and outrage. “What is wrong with him? Is he insane?”

“It’s not that bad,” you said defensively, though your voice wavered because, yeah, it was kind of bad. “It’s for a good cause!”

Geo crossed his arms, his lips pulling into a tight line. “No. Nope. Not happening. You’re not walking out of here dressed like that. I don’t care if it’s for world peace.”

You threw your hands up. “What are you, my dad? Relax, Geo. It’s fine.”

“Fine?” He frowns, irritated, his eyes accidentally drifting downward before snapping back up to your face. He looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. “You look like—you—ugh, never mind.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I look like what?”

“Forget it.” he sighed, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. “Just… just go change or something."

“I can’t!” you said, exasperated. “This is the whole point of the event!”

Geo groaned, dragging a hand down his face in pure exasperation. His usual sharp wit was dulled by whatever internal battle he was clearly losing. “Why do I have to be the one to see this? Literally anyone else would’ve been better. Anyone.”

You crossed your arms, giving him an incredulous look. “You’re the only one with a car who wasn’t busy,” you shot back, matter-of-fact as ever.

Geo huffed, throwing his hands up dramatically. “You should’ve just taken the bus, then!”

“And have creepy men ogling me the whole ride? Absolutely not,” you retorted, your tone sharp. “You’re a much better option. Like it or not.”

“Well,” he muttered, clearly flustered as his hand shot to the back of his neck, his eyes darting anywhere but at you, “I’m regretting it now.��

You sighed, turning back to the mirror and fiddling with the bunny ears again, your patience wearing thin. “Look, if it’s that big of a deal, just wait outside. I’ll be done in a sec—I just need to put on my shoes.”

For a moment, you thought he might actually listen. But then Geo took a step closer, his posture shifting. The embarrassment still lingered in his tense shoulders and flushed face, but there was something else now—something almost… resolute.

Before you could ask what he was doing, he reached out and grabbed your wrist, turning you around so fast you nearly stumbled.

“Geo?” you asked, startled by the sudden intensity in his gaze.

He didn’t answer. Instead, without missing a beat, he pushed you backward with a firm but careful hand, and your back hit the edge of your bed. You let out a startled gasp, barely managing to catch yourself as you propped up on your elbows.

“Hey! What the hell—”

You froze as Geo knelt in front of you, his hand gripping your ankle firmly but gently. His other hand reached out for your heels, which had been discarded nearby, and he snatched them up with a quick, fluid motion.

“You need to hurry up,” he grumbled, his voice low and laced with irritation as he slid the first heel onto your foot. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingers brushing against your sheer tights as he adjusted the strap. His face, however, was a different story—flushed red and rigid, like he was barely holding himself together. “So just—shut up and let me handle it.”

You blinked, your mouth opening to protest but no words coming out. Geo hadn’t spared you a glance, too focused on fastening the strap with a level of concentration that was almost comical.

“You’re—” you finally managed, but your voice wavered as his hands moved to your other foot.

“And you’re taking forever,” he shot back, not missing a beat. His grip on your ankle tightened slightly as he secured the second heel, his eyes resolutely fixed downward.

Is he blushing?

Your eyes narrowed, “You seem red there,” you teased, leaning back on your hands and watching him with a growing smirk. “What happened to all your sarcastic remarks, Mr. Smartass?”

“Shut up,” he muttered through clenched teeth, still not looking at you as he finished adjusting the second strap.

His fingers brushed against your ankle again, lingering just a second too long, and you swore you saw his ears turn even redder. Deciding to test your luck, you slowly crossed one leg over the other, making the movement deliberately graceful.

Geo’s aquamarine eyes flicked up instinctively at the shift in movement, and when he realized what he’d done, he snapped his gaze away so fast it was almost whiplash-inducing.

“Stop doing that,” he muttered, his voice lower now.

“Doing what?” you asked, feigning innocence as you tilted your head and batted your lashes at him.

“You know what,” Geo shot back, his jaw tightening as he focused way too hard on the buckle of your heel, his fingers fumbling slightly.

“Aw, is Geo embarrassed?” you teased, leaning forward just enough to invade his space, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “I didn’t think you’d get so flustered over a little outfit.”

His hands froze mid-motion, and for a moment, you thought you’d broken him. Slowly, his gaze lifted, locking with yours. Big mistake. His aquamarine eyes, usually narrowed, were now clouded with something unreadable. He didn’t look away, though—he couldn’t seem to. Whatever sarcastic retort he had locked and loaded vanished the second your teasing grin softened into something more curious.

“You don’t get it,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm, his tone a complete shift from his usual snark.

The intensity in his voice caught you off guard, and your smirk faltered. “Don’t get what?” you asked, your playful tone slipping into something more hesitant.

Geo’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as if he were trying to hold something back. He stood abruptly, the sudden motion making you flinch slightly. His eyes immediately flickered with regret at your reaction, and he took a deep breath, trying to collect himself.

“Shit,” Geo muttered under his breath, running a hand through his already messy hair. His back was turned to you, but the stiffness in his posture betrayed his frustration. He exhaled sharply, shoulders rising and falling as though wrestling with something he couldn’t quite say.

“Geo…” you started softly, the sharp edge in your tone from earlier now replaced with concern.

“Don’t,” he cut you off, his voice strained and hoarse, like the words were being dragged out of him. “We’re not going to the charity event. You’re staying here. End of discussion.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “What?” you exclaimed, still perched on the edge of the bed. “You can’t just decide that for me!”

He turned to face you, amber eyes blazing with a mix of irritation and something you couldn’t quite place. “Watch me.”

Before you could react, Geo stalked toward your desk, snatched a hoodie draped over the chair, and swung it around your shoulders with surprising precision. His hands lingered just long enough to tug it snugly over your frame, the fabric swallowing the delicate silhouette of your bunny suit.

“You’re not going anywhere in that,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. He stepped back slightly, his gaze flicking over you as though ensuring his makeshift cover-up was secure. “If Crowe wants donations that badly, he can wear the damn bunny suit.”

Your jaw dropped, words caught somewhere between outrage and disbelief. “Geo, you’re being absolutely insane!”

“Yeah, probably,” he admitted, flashing a grin that was more sharp edges than warmth. “But at least I’m not letting you walk into a room full of idiots who won’t be able to keep their eyes—or their thoughts—off you.”

Heat crept up your cheeks at his bluntness, and you folded your arms tightly across your chest. His words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, and the tension between you grew like a palpable thing.

“You’re seriously overreacting,” you muttered, but your voice lacked its usual bite.

“Am I?” Geo shot back, stepping closer. His towering frame cast a shadow over you as his gaze locked onto yours, burning with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. His voice dropped, low and deliberate. “Do you even realize how—” He stopped abruptly, his jaw clenching as if swallowing the words was the only way to keep them from spilling out.

“Realize what?” you pressed, your own voice barely above a whisper now, caught somewhere between defiance and curiosity.

Geo’s hand shot up to rake through his hair again, the other curling into a fist at his side. His eyes darted to the floor, then back to you, before he let out a low, frustrated growl. In one swift movement, he stepped forward, his hands gripping your shoulders as he pushed you gently but firmly down onto the bed.

“Geo, what the hell—”

Your protest was cut short as he followed, his weight settling over you in a way that was far from aggressive but left no room for escape. His arms slipped around you, pulling you into a tight embrace as his head dropped to your chest.

The world seemed to stop as you felt the warmth of his breath against your collarbone. He didn’t say a word, his face buried against you, his grip almost desperate.

You froze, your hands hovering uncertainly in the air. “Geo?” you murmured, your voice soft and unsure.

“Just… shut up for a second,” he muttered, his voice muffled against you. His tone was softer now, tinged with vulnerability that made your chest ache. “Let me have this.”

Your hands hesitated before they slowly lowered, one settling against his back, the other threading cautiously through his hair. His body tensed at first but then melted into yours, his hold tightening as if he were afraid you’d disappear.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he mumbled, his voice raw and unguarded. “And not in the way I’m used to handling.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the weight of his words—and his closeness—stealing the air from the room. Whatever you were going to say died on your tongue as you let the moment stretch, the sound of his breathing steadying against you.

“Geo,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, “You’re not making any sense. We’re going to be late for the event,” you murmured, trying to keep your tone soft but firm.

“Good,” he muttered into your chest without lifting his head.

“Good?” you echoed, your brows furrowing. “Crowe’s going to kill us if we don’t show up. And you promised to drive me, remember?”

“I don’t care about Crowe or the stupid event right now,” he grumbled, his voice low and slightly muffled. “It’s not important.”

“Not important?” You leaned your head back against the bed in disbelief. “You’re acting like the world’s ending because of a bunny suit, Geo. What’s really going on?”

He finally lifted his head slightly, just enough to look at you. His amber eyes burned with an intensity that made your breath catch. “You don’t get it, do you?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, a mix of irritation and something deeper. “I don’t want anyone else looking at you the way I am right now.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his words sinking in and leaving you momentarily speechless. “Geo…” you started, but he didn’t give you a chance to finish.

Instead, his arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer as his lips brushed the curve of your neck. You tensed under his touch, your breath hitching as his teeth gently grazed your skin.

“Just give me five minutes,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His lips pressed softly against the spot he’d just bitten, lingering for a moment before pulling back slightly. “Five minutes, and then I’ll get up, and we can go. Deal?”

You blinked, trying to process what just happened, your body feeling like it was on fire where his lips had been. “Geo, that’s not—”

“Five minutes,” he repeated, cutting you off. His tone was quieter this time, almost pleading as his eyes locked onto yours, filled with a vulnerability he rarely let you see. “Please.”

Wow. Five minutes it is then.

· ─────── ⋆⋅♤⋅⋆ ─────── ·

#the kid at the back x reader #the kid at the back vn #tkatb #solivan brugmansia #the kid at the back crowe #the kid at the back sol #tkatb crowe #tkatb sol #crowe ichabod #crowe x reader #sol x reader #sol brugmansia #jericho crowe ichabod #tkatb geo #geo oogami #tkatb vn

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comatosebunny09 · 1 day ago

Text

— cw: shitty ex, fighting, equal rights, equal fights, sylus being your savior, language, clit stim, praise, friends to lovers

Your boyfriend’s been sneaking around, entertaining other women via social media and texts. He always gaslights you when you confront him about it. This time, you’re about to catch him in the act.

You tail him to a bar. Sidle up to where he’s seated, arm slung around a pretty little thing’s shoulders. She’s shocked when you plop down. She’s seen your face before. Knows you were with him. He lied, saying you broke up months ago. Mentally, you did.

You’re cool about everything at first. Laughing, ordering drinks like your soon-to-be ex and his tenderoni aren’t watching you with their jaws on the floor. He’s a piece of shit, anyway. Always stealing your money, flaunting like he has it all, living in your house, driving your car. You’ve been in survival mode since you started messing with his fuck ass. Don’t even know why you gave him the time of day. Maybe you were punishing yourself. Felt like you deserved a guy like him.

He says something to set you off. Mentions you living off your parents’ money like you haven’t worked your ass off to distinguish yourself from their name.

So, you fight him.

You’re a tough bitch. Know how to take a punch and how to land one. Equal opportunity, baby. You don’t give a fuck that he’s a man. You cave his shit in, and you beat him so bad, the cops are called. You’re subsequently kicked out of the bar.

You’re waiting on the curb, everything settling in. The adrenaline’s fading and your knuckles are pulsing. He got you good on the jaw. Tears scorch your face. Don’t even notice you’re crying until you’re laughing hysterically and tugging your phone out of your pocket. All bleary-eyed and slowly losing your shit, you call the one person you know will have your back and won’t snitch to your older brother.

You’ve been avoiding him long enough. Don’t want him to see you like this, but you know his influence will help you dodge a pair of cuffs and that he’ll take care of you. Your brother’s rich bestie—practically your brother, Sylus.

He’s surprised you’re calling him so late. Or at all. But he senses the distress in your voice even though you’re doing your best to stifle it. He simply asks for a pin and tells you to hang tight. Clothes rustle through the static. Keys jingle. An engine roars to life. Your knight in shining fucking armor.

He pulls up in his glossy muscle car as red and blue stain your sight. He talks the police down when they near you, tight-lipped with hands perched on their weapons. He ushers you into the passenger seat of his car after he’s thrown around his influence—the son of a deceased billionaire, a respectable man of the community, owning 90% of the city.

His coat’s big around your shoulders. Swallows you whole. But it’s so very warm and smells so good, like petrichor and the freshly broken skin of clementine.

You’re crying again when he eases the car onto the street. He doesn’t say a word, stone-faced in your peripheral, grip white-knuckled on the polished leather of his steering wheel. You tell him it isn’t heartbreak. You’re just frustrated that murder is illegal. He tells you it’s illegal for you. You laugh, voice all sticky, eyes puffy. He’s smirking in the rearview.

He’s not gonna kill your ex, is he?

He brings you to his penthouse—one of many, you’re sure. Lets you shower in his massive walk-in shower, lends you some of his clothes. He smooths his hand over the ripples of your spine as you swing in and out of misery, staining his shoulder with your tears, snot, and spit.

You’ll buy him another shirt—you promise. He smiles, and his eyes crease with it. He tells you it’s no biggie. But you feel like you owe him more than a shirt.

At some point in the night, your hysterics abate. Now, you’re just laughing, fueled by embarrassing anecdotes about when you were a teen, all knobby-kneed with a mouth full of metal. You tell him you’re proud of what he’s become. That he’s made a name for himself without his father's influence. You’re envious.

He’s grown so strong and tall. Still has the face of a supermodel. He tells you you’ve grown more beautiful. Aged like vintage wine. And you’re still a little spitfire, just the way he likes you.

You don’t know what pushes you. What compels you to place a hand on his thigh, angle your face a little this way, and kiss him. But you do. And he doesn’t deter you, cupping your cheek, pouring the most relieved sound into your body.

Hell freezes over thereafter.

You had a little thing for him when you were younger—your brother’s seemingly stoic and untouchable bestie. He had a soft spot for you back then, too. Softened even more when you reunited at a friend’s funeral. He couldn’t get you out of his head ever since. You didn’t want to get him out of yours despite being with that shit stain you called a boyfriend.

He’s got you on his lap, spread nice and open for him. One massive hand’s busy tweaking your nipple through the cotton of your—his—shirt. The other’s between your thighs, rubbing your clit in slow, methodical circles. He’s swallowing the cute little keening sounds you make. Kissing you, hot and breathless, tongue licking into your mouth.

He’s red-faced and painfully hard against the cleft of your ass. You’re grinding against the bulk of his cock in time to the rhythm of his fingers.

He’s talking you through it. So dirty. So pretty. Sticky. Wet. Good girl. Feels so good. So hot. Take it. Take it. He grazes your ear with his teeth and sweltering breath. A hand clasps around your throat. Not cutting off airflow but serving as a reminder of his unfair advantage over you. You feel safe nonetheless. Wanted. Exalted where your ex only fucked you for his own gain.

His mouth hangs open over yours. It’s overwhelming, how he feels, his body heat, his voice. If he keeps talking to you like that—cum for me. Please. Want you to. Need it so bad. I know, baby. I know, but you’re doing so good. Almost there? Yeah? Like that?—you won’t last.

You’re seeing stars before you know it. Phosphenes dancing behind your shuttered eyelids. Legs shaking, mouth hinged open with his name on your lips. Clawing at his kneecaps, up his thighs, humping against his fingers as the rush overcomes you.

He’s whispering a litany of praise between blistering your throat with kisses. Still stroking your sticky, swollen clit. Did so good. So proud of you. Pretty baby. You grab his wrist when the pleasure borders pain to still him. Laugh, all tenuous and tired. He kisses you, honey-slow and loving. He’s enamored. You are, too.

You remember that he’s hard. Pushing against the seam of his slacks, spurred by your pleasure. You’re eager to reciprocate. Turn around in his lap, tugging at his belt. He halts you with gentle hands scorching the backs of yours. Not now, he rasps, kissing you again. You’ll have plenty of time to pay him back later. For now, he wants you to rest. The night’s been your enemy up until this point. He’s fucked you within an inch of your life on his fingers, sapped the rest of your energy.

He carries you, bridal style and pliant, to his bedroom. Tucks you beneath his silken sheets, smoothing some hair from your sleepy face. Scarlet eyes shine with youthful tenderness. He kisses you as if he intends to siphon all the heat from your body. Peels away, watching your lashes flutter until you surrender to the wispy croon of sleep.

His mouth is rigid when he slowly shuts his bedroom door behind him. He snatches up his coat, his car keys. There’s someone he wants to visit before his night’s complete. And it won’t be hard to find said person because Sylus is sure you’ve done a number on his face.

When you get a story idea in the middle of writing a story.

#sylus x you #sylus x female reader #sylus x reader #sylus smut #mdni banner by thecutestgrotto #okay promise i'll go back to writing what i was originally writing now

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