#sorry this got long. they are in my brain

[hyukascampfire]

𝑯EART 𝑊ORM ⸺ hueningkai ℘˒´ˎ˗

  ⨾𓍢ִ໋ ˒˒ 𝚑𝔢art𝚠𝔬rm

[𝑛]. a relationship or friendship that you can't get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

⸺ listen to the playlist .ᐟ ‧˚

〝﹙ 📼 ﹚“I was just... wondering,” you say, blood roaring. "Well, Yeonjun wants me to come over to his place this weekend, and... I’ve never...” Sucking in a quick breath, you just spit it out to get it over with, “Would you be my first kiss, Kai?”  ˛ ､､

wc ➛ 17.9k

𝔭airings childhood bsf!kai x reader (lowkey soulmates?) ⤷ ft. asshole!yeonjun x reader

𝒢 ‎; smut ˒ angst ˒ some fantasy

𝔴arnings angst, family issues, fingering, jealousy (i’m sorry i just love ts), yeonjun really is an asshole, orgasm denial, thigh fucking, unprotected sex (they're stupid!), strength kink a lil bit, breeding kink, possessiveness, creampie, choking... i think that's all, lmk if i missed any

✎୭ ashlynn's note omg. this was such a fun palate cleanser to write. this wasn't supposed to be as big as it is, but it just kept getting bigger and bigger, and i got super into the story. this kai is SOOOO!! yeah. i’m so nervous posting this because i’ve only ever posted TSFAWC, but…. here you areee (^^;; this is not proofread, so if you see a mistake... give me a sec. i'll get to it. hehe

Though you fan your hand furiously over your face, the little breezes washing over your clammy skin are not enough. The air is thick and heavy with summer’s heat. So thick that you almost feel it each time you swallow. It’s better than just letting yourself melt away, though. The cushion at your back doesn’t help much. It holds your warmth and returns it to you the longer you sit slumped back into it. You suffer it though—you’ve gone too sluggish to move.  

You let a leg dangle over the arm of a chair, watching a hopeful moth dance in the light of the buzzing porch light overhead. It flutters frantically in it, making a grand fight to reach that false moonlight, only to drop away when it realizes that it’s being burnt. You watch it rinse and repeat, relentless and sure, for who knows how long. It’s no special moth—no luna moth or the ones with the pretty pink wings—but the light falls down on it and colors it a pleasant stardust silver.  

You delight in letting your conscious brain turn off to watch it. It lets you forget the sweltering under your skin, and also that Kai had drug you out here. His dad gives him shit when he plays inside, but it’s way too hot to be out here. Isn’t it supposed to cool off after the sun goes down? It doesn’t feel like it. The deep acoustics are drowned out each time a car whirrs by. Playing outside should be the best option, but you and Kai live right on a busy road.  

When the roar of some car going ten miles over the speed limit doesn’t obscure his playing, though, you admire the intricacy of it. His fingers work up and down the neck, jumping frets that you imagine would be impossible to anybody without those long fingers of his. You had always been a loud supporter of his playing, even way back when the most he could play were simple chords, but you became especially so when a few years back he put a guitar in your hands and tried teaching you. Even with his fingers guiding yours, it was quick to learn that the effortlessness with which Kai handles the instrument is hard earned.  

He practices on the acoustic guitar, but that’s not his domain. With houses just a dash across the street from each other, Kai had grown up at your home more than he had at his own. So vividly, you remember the stars in his eyes when he’d listen to your dad’s music. Metallica, The Smashing Pumpkins, Linkin Park, any of it. He had fallen in love with it a long time ago. Your whole life you knew that it was only a matter of time before he was in his own band, chasing his dreams with a boundless mind and an indelible vision of himself on stage. How had that time come so soon, though? You don’t know if the notebooks full of inky lyrics that live wherever he deems inspiration might hit him make you proud or nervous. He’s making good on his dazzling aspirations, and you? 

You speak finally into the air, cutting through heat waves and his music and the night. “Isn’t it weird that we’re not going back to school after this summer?” 

He doesn’t have to even stop playing to answer you. Playing comes to him as a second nature. “Kinda,” he answers, brown eyes flitting up to you. “But it’s not like you won’t be back to it in September. College is the same shit.” 

The leg you’d been dangling and bouncing pauses. That’s right; you’re supposed to be going to that college you’d chosen because it was only a three-hour drive away from here. You pluck at the seat’s threadbare fabric, and the moth, still there, becomes oh-so-interesting once again. When his playing stops, you drop your head back with a cushioned thud and a groan that you wrangle in your throat. 

“Why are you acting like that?” he says, voice gone sharp like accusation. He doesn’t even know the truth, but he’s known you too long.

Can’t you just keep secrets for yourself, sometimes?

Kai, arms clad in a well-loved hoodie even in this dreadful weather, lays the guitar down. You maintain your silence. “Seriously, what?” 

Some secrets have timers, though. This one could only last you until about September, or even August when he realizes that you’re not preparing to return to school. A controlled sigh from your chest isn’t enough to soothe the nerves that sparks. “Nothing.” 

“Secrets, huh?” Kai says. When you do finally look to him, black spikes of hair frame his eyes and the accusation in them. 

It’s a simple poke, but it gets under your skin as sharp as any thorn might. It’s not like you don’t keep secrets from him, and you’re sure he keeps some from you too. But those are the little kinds, the inconsequential ones—like I ate already when asked why you’re not eating or like Yeah, I’m fine when it’s been a bad day. You don’t hide this kind of stuff from each other. Usually, you’d run over to his place to tell him whatever’s bothering you. Why not, when he’s known even the worst details of your life for almost the entirety of it? You’ve been holding this one close to your chest since somewhere around the end of senior year, though. The longer you let it fester, the worse your nervousness snowballs. “C’mon, Kai. Let’s not do this. Can you keep playing?” 

He doesn’t like that, of course. But you watch recognition dawn over his chocolate brown eyes, helpless to stop it. “You’re not going,” he says. It’s not a question nor a suspicion, it’s a bone-dry fact.  

Well. There that goes. You want to tear every hair on your head right out. Why had you even thought you’d keep him in the dark about it? When he’s not out in some garage making music, you two are together. The conversation was going to stroll by at some point; this was only inevitable. His disappointment radiates off him in waves and blisters you. He hasn’t even said anything yet, but you know exactly what he thinks of it. It’s why you kept it from him in the first place.  

Your silence is enough confirmation for him. “Why?” he says. “I thought you were excited to move out.” 

Wincing, you nod slowly. You were. Even went through the whole application process, along with most other kids your age. Ultimately, you never went through with declaring a college. You don’t exactly know why, but somewhere weaseled down in the shadowy recesses of your soul, you know. Taking those steps, the massive and terrifying ones from adolescence into adulthood, meant agreeing that this form of your life was over. It meant that at some point, you’d be moving away from here to where living your days away in Kai’s room would not be a choice. Everybody has to do it eventually, you know that. Kai’s music gig could take off any day, too. He’s going to make it happen. And then what? All this stalling and wishing on just a bit more time would mean nothing, he’d be off and chasing that dream. As excited as you are for it to finally become reality for him, there’s a nasty bitterness that’s budded in your chest, infecting your person.  

Can’t things just stay like this? 

“I was,” you say. It comes out of your mouth heavy.  

“Then why aren’t you going?” he says. Crickets, never seen but always heard, sing their song into the night’s darkness. “You didn’t get rejected. You’re too smart for that.” 

An ache sits heavily somewhere near the center of your chest, maybe over your heart. All those good grades, nights spent bent over a desk and AP paperwork—you’re wasting it. You shake your head. “No... just...” It’s an effort to dress your thoughts in a way that might appease him. A quiet moment stretches with your thinking before you continue, “I don’t know what I want to do.” 

He doesn’t like that, the yellow wash of the overhead light dancing over his taut lips and hard eyes. “Don’t know what you want to do?” he says, bringing his legs up onto the seat to crisscross them. He wears his favorite jeans. They’re heel-bitten and baggy enough over his legs that he can wear them around the house without any bother. “You’ve wanted to be an artist your whole life. You know exactly what you want to do.” 

Your chest only seems to ache harder. When the both of you were only young and hopeful, you both had big dreams. Kai was going to be the face of a metal band, and you were going to be an artist. A painter, potter, sculptor, even doing animation for those big companies like Dreamworks and Disney. You wanted any of it, just as long as you were doing art. You’d even promised him that you’d do the cover art for his albums with interlocked pinkies and flushed, hopeful cheeks. That passion and love wasn’t gone from you, it blazed strong in your veins. This blaze wasn’t the kind that kept you warm and excited to push forward into life, though. It had morphed into something that scalded you when you got too close or started imagining yourself pursuing its call. It’s a taunting silvery glow, no longer a guiding north star. Taunting words of family members stamped down on that hope hard. When you were little, it was said lighthearted and in passing. The older you got, though, the more serious their faces became. They wouldn’t say it outright perhaps, but you hear what they think well enough. Art is a dead-end career.  

Shifting in your seat, you tell him, “I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean?” Kai says. “There are good colleges for that.” 

“I just... don’t know.” 

Shaking his head, he tells you, “But you love it.” 

You do. In its every form, you love creating. But loving it doesn’t mean that it’s right for you, or that you should trust your future in its hands. “I think I can do it in my own time,” you say, finally pushing yourself upright from the cushion. “Don’t wanna kill the passion by doing it for a living, you know?” 

He thinks on that for a moment. “If you love it, you should do it,” he says. 

An awful frustration bubbles in your chest. Kai has always had a clear life path, the steps ahead of him set in stone and waiting for him to follow in them. It’s hard for him to see why you might not want to do the same. There’s nothing that makes you as happy as the fact that he has it all figured out, that he knows just where he’s going and that he’s so incredible at it that he doesn’t have to worry about meeting the requirements, but your path seems obscured and untrodden. Punctuating a deep, resonant sigh, you say, “It’s not that easy, Kai.” 

“If you’re not doing that, then what are you going to do? Are you just going to settle for a nine-to-five?” he says full of accusation, the tapping on his knees gone still.  

A dry laugh, you say, “Maybe I’ll marry a super rich guy and just do my art for a living. No nine-to-five.” 

His face flashes. He’d always been a bit reserved, especially around others, but he bared his emotions freely around you. You hold them dearly to your chest and made sure to do your best to make good on that trust. He says, “You’re more than some guy’s housewife.” 

Cheeks radiating in the heat, you snort. “I know, dork. I’m a rockstar’s best friend. It’s my personal favorite achievement.”  

His face sours when you reach out and pinch hard at his cheek, but he doesn’t pull away or brush you off. The skin there is warmed and clammy. Really, the two of you should go meet the cool AC inside before you suffer heat stroke. But this moment feels so nice—your shoulders feel tons lighter without something to hide. If you had it your way, things would stay like this forever. Just the two of you, sat here like you have so many times before, just taking for granted the time you’ve got together.  

His mouth opens to banter, probably something about how he’s not a rockstar yet or to get you back for calling him a dork. Wingbeat and sterling dashes about your face send the image into a blur, though. You’re a quick mess of limbs and a whipping head, as if it’ll chase the thing away from you. 

“Seriously?” Kai says. You’d climbed halfway over him, elbows digging into him and knee doing a number on his thigh. “It’s a moth. You’re not scared of moths.” 

Lingering for a few moments later to ensure the flying thing was nowhere on you or around you, you hold back a laugh before you climb off him and fix your hair with undignified tucks behind your ears. “He was in my face,” you say around a laugh, because you know it was a bit too much. Nobody likes wings in their ears and spindly legs in their face, though, and you’re in no control of what you do when anything with six legs tries and get too friendly. Even moths.  

“You just wanted me to protect you,” he says. A sarcastic, shit-eating smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.  

“Oh,” you scoff, batting your eyelashes and clasping your hands together all saccharine-sweet. “Yes, Romeo, won’t you kill that bug for me? This girl’s heart just can’t take it!” 

Kai’s nose crinkles, and the playful light twists into a glare. “Nasty.” 

“That’s how you sounded,” you say. “I only reacted accordingly.” Laughing, you kick your legs out over his lap and sprawl back out. He takes the guitar back into his hands. 

As much as you want to escape the mugginess, you’ll survive it for just a little while longer—if only with the force of an indulgent heart. The eternal moments are those you allow to linger.  

⚝⭒ 

Some things, you forget when you’re older. Maybe it’s time’s hand, eroding memories down and stuffing more in the longer you live to experience them. But also maybe because they’re the sort of things you can’t say in the adult world without a laugh in the face and a look from down their noses.  

This memory is one of those forgotten things. It’s moth-bitten and dusty, something you one day folded up in a moving box and decided to never revisit. 

You’d been down at the creek. Kai and you had spent so many summer days there. It wasn’t too far from home, just past the filbert trees and into the shallow neck of the backwoods, but there you were out of sight and free to get up to nothing good. It was a wonder your mom ever let you do it. Kai’s dad didn’t care too much where he went or what he did, but your mom dug her claws in deep. You like to think that she imagined you two would have each other, if anything ever happened. 

Usually, you’d be there holding your jeans up from the stream and Kai would be letting his jeans go dark with it. The bite of water was nice as it washed over warm skin. Fun was a simple thing to find, then. You dug your fingers into the mudbanks and tossed stones way too big to be throwing at each other, just because you two remembered how much the adults hated it when you did. Then, you’d drag tired limbs home avoiding sweetgum tree spikes that had fallen to the ground and dug splinters out from your feet.  

This day, you had been in the blackberry bushes. It was maybe late July or early August, and they’d gotten heavy on their branches. You’d waited until the smell of them, summer-warmed, was sweet and cloying in the air to pick them. With buckets in your hands, you plucked only the fattest berries from their bunches. Your fingers were stained a delightful purple and perhaps a bit thorn raw, but you didn’t mind much then. You plucked for hours, and it was dusk before you could catch it. Dinner was no doubt waiting for you back home. 

“There’s a bunch over here,” Kai had said. He reached a long boyish arm, still awkward and lanky with puberty, up high for ripe bush. You finished off picking before climbing around thick branches sticking out to take a peek. A bunch, there was. 

When you went to drop a handful of them into your bucket, Kai hissed. He’d been snagged by a vicious looking branch, those ones as thick as a finger with thorns to match and you’d warn each other tongue-in-cheek to watch out for that one. He’d worn those ridiculous shorts that day, the ones that looked half pants half shorts with how long and baggy they were, and the claws of the bush had jumped at the opportunity. At first the scrapes were white, but then red blood crawled out and down his leg.  

“Kai,” you said, some parts chiding and some parts just wondering how he’d managed that. You surveyed his leg for a bit, and then determined that he should wash his leg off in the stream. He walked there strong, but of course you noticed the hobble beneath his acting. When you squatted down into the dry grass and cupped water to wash off his leg, you laughed. 

“What?” he had said, holding the shorts up. You covered your laugh with a hand, but it erupted past your palm. You remember the glare on his face very well.  

You still laughed. “You’re stupid,” you had told him. 

“I didn’t see it,” he said. “I tripped over it because it was sticking out.” 

That time when you brought your hands to catch some water, there was a twinkle in its surface. You didn’t notice it for a second. The creek moved fast and you could see a lot of things in its reflection. When it lingered, that’s when your brows furrowed. It seemed to twirl, dancing around like alive over the stones. 

The sound of Kai’s voice remains with you. “Hey,” he had said, strong to call your attention but also wavered with uncertainty. 

When you looked up, there was silver dust dancing around you. 

It was fluffy and whorling, fine silver stardust. It’d moved weightless in the air, as though it barely existed. In the center of it were a few moths. They seemed to be made of sterling powder just as the dust was, and they glowed against dusk’s backdrop. If your memory serves you right, there had been a sweet hymn of coos from them. They beckoned you. Summer’s heat felt lighter, and so did your chest. You wondered where they had wanted you to go. 

Almost afraid that if you spoke they might have fluttered away, you whispered soft and low to Kai. “What is that?” He was stood frozen there, pant leg still scrunched up in his fist. Stardust glowed soft in his brown eyes while he took it all in, you remember. It wasn’t a scared frozen. You weren’t scared, either—rather, it was as if that lightness had found its way into the core of your being and brushed over it with mending hands. 

He whispered back, “I don’t know.” How could he have known? It was absurd. 

Those whisps had beckoned you, flowing toward the deeper woods. The soft moths, their murmuring brushing up against your ears, seemed to wait for you to follow. You remember a pull, soft tendrils wrapping themselves around your heart and the yearning it planted there.  

But there was also this reluctance, a bone-deep answering that had told you: No. You’re not ready. 

“Kai, I wanna go,” you told him. 

You didn’t even need to tell him twice. Berry buckets forgotten; the journey home was a stranger one. When your dad asked why you returned from berry picking emptier handed than you had left the house, Kai and you only shared a look. You pair kept that evening at the creek hidden so well that it became more forgotten than shared secret.  

⚝⭒ 

Once, you had been the type of girl that loved being around family. Some of your favorite days of your life were spent in this living room, T.V. roaring over bouncing conversation. Some of those nights ended in rosy cheeks and laughs, and some ended with words thrown angry like fireworks. You never knew which you’d be getting, but you endured the fear of not knowing because it was a simple love—the basic kind built with biology into you the moment your infant skin touched your mother’s. You endured it because eventually, sleep washed away the bad taste left in your mouth and you forgave them quick, sometimes quicker than you ought to, and things would go on as if it hadn’t even happened. You endured it because you could handle its burden, if only to feel the warmth you feel when it’s a good day.  

Kai was always there—his dad was hardly home, so he found family in yours. When you were younger, you’d been embarrassed he was there for caustic, spitted words and intimate fights. Now, you’re just grateful for his shoulder.  

So, yes. Once, you had loved being around your family. But things feel tenser now, nights spent all together less frequent and when they do happen, they’re tainted by a strange air. You think that this strangeness is new, but an awful worry also makes you think that it’d always been there, that you only feel it now because you’ve grown into your adult mind. A hollow ache stakes its claim in your chest, declaring that it won’t leave until you find that youthful ignorance and joy once more. You think that it might stay there forever. 

Bare feet bounding down the stairs, you make a rare appearance downstairs. The cupboard is only half open to make way for a snack raid before your mom’s voice cuts through the air. You know quickly just by the look on her face that you should’ve stayed upstairs. 

“Hey,” she says, gathering laundry into a basket. “You’ve been applying to jobs?” 

With an anxious belly, you tell her, “Yeah. A few. They’re not really, like, ideal, but I sent applications.” You don’t remember when it got hard to look into your mother’s eyes, but you can’t bring yourself to do so now.  

“Not ideal?” she says. “It’s not like you can be picky. Mcdonalds or wherever, I don’t care, you’re going to need to get a job if you’re staying here.” 

“I know. I applied,” you reiterate around a mumble. You close the cabinets, not so interested in a snack anymore. “I just... I don’t know, ma. I don’t want to do that for a living, going between those sorts of jobs.” 

Face hard and abrasive against the truth you bare, she does that awful taunting smile that makes you feel small. Stupid. “You’re not going to college, so that’s what it’s gonna be. You can’t sit up there and draw for a living. You’ve gotta get into the real world, get some real experience.”  

There’s a burst of hurt in your chest, dazzling and gnawing. She’s getting closer to saying how she really feels about your dreams out loud every day. Your face burns and so do your eyes, knot thick in your throat. “Yeah, okay. Got it,” you say, nodding. You’re at the front door before you even know it, slipping on shoes and fighting the greatest internal battle to will back tears. She’d use those against you, no doubt about it. “I’m going to Kai’s,” you throw over your shoulder.  

Whatever she barks back at you, you’re glad you don’t hear. Bells on some old Christmas decoration hung on the door that had yet to be taken down, even into summer, jingle and wash it away for you. 

Kai’s brows shoot up when he opens the door to your face crumpling. You’d done so well at damming it up, but the wall cracks and the water crashes through once you see him. If it were anybody else, you’d feel icky and attention seeking, but you’d held Kai to your chest through gut-wrenching sobs as much as he’s done it for you. Without question, he takes you into his arms, warm hand running up and down your back. The warm soothing is so familiar. You melt right into it.  

He keeps you there for a long moment. Then, his chest rumbles as he tells you, “Come on.” The walk through the AC to his bedroom is nice. Having a house like Kai’s to come to where it can just be you is nice, too. You step around the mess of clothes and scattered belongings on his floor like you have a muscle-memory roadmap of his room. Boxsprings creak and hard mattress welcome you back home. His room is dark as always, a night-dweller you call him. The array of peeling band posters plastered over walls you two had painted blue some years ago, when it’d been his favorite color, don’t help to lighten it up. He keeps a low lamplight on.  

“She never listens to me,” you say, crying gone to occasional sniffles from your chest. You rest your cheek on your bent knee. 

“I know,” he says. “But at least she cares about you. Pays attention to you.” His voice is soft and deep and right next to you. Always right next to you, there for you even when you might not appreciate it as you should.  

His dad cares too little what he does, and yours care too much. The grass is always greener on the other side, you know it. Still, you hold a fantasy where you’re able to do teenager stuff. Where you’d allow yourself to do bad things, because you weren’t so intent on painting yourself with their will. You two hold eyes for a long moment, your twinkling ones caught in that steady brown. “I just want to get away. Be my own person.” Your words are muffled in the softness of your skin. 

“You had the chance to do it,” Kai says, hand playing with your fingers. “But you didn’t.” 

Holding your legs closer, you lick your lips. What do you say to that? Would it ever be the time to tell him that you did it because you think that your soul is pathetically intertwined with his, and that it might snuff your lifeforce out to even try pursuing life without him? Without this? How do you tell him that you’re so frozen and unwilling to pursue any sort of future because it means accepting that this chapter is over? You clutch childhood to your chest like a wild animal guarding scarce food; you refuse. You refuse to acknowledge its end.  

“Kai,” is all you say, trembled and thick. It’s not just your mother’s words that dig at you and tear to shreds the last bits of what dreaming you had left in you, but so many other reality checks too. This isn’t the first time you’ve heard those sorts of words, urging you forward. You can only dig your heel into the ground for so long before you’re swept away in time’s ruthless, endless moving.  

He understands. Lifting your face with warm fingers against your cheeks, he says, “Hey. How about we go get ice cream, or something?” 

Ice cream does sound nice. “Dairy Queen?” 

Smirk tugged over his mouth, he says, “Yes, Dairy Queen. A blizzard. C’mon, let’s go.” Sliding off the bed, he offers you an urging hand up. 

But you falter. “I don’t know if we can. She’s mad at me. I don’t think she’ll let me go.” 

“Let you go?” he says, eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t have to let you go. You’re an adult now, you go if you want to.” He offers his hand to you again. 

It’s so him, freely going wherever he ordain it. The bullheadedness is very him, as well. Always the devil on your shoulder, he was the root of any rebellious thing you’ve ever done. He could never understand your apprehension, or why getting in trouble was such an awful thing to you. “I have to ask to get money.” 

Brows pinching, he says, “You think I’m not gonna pay for you? You don’t need them to give you money, I’ll pay. I’ll take care of it.” He drags you up from the bed this time. “Live a little. Do you want to go?” 

It was never the punishments or the getting in trouble that you were scared of, though. Disappointment was a scarier word than grounded. Sneaking out and those sorts of things, it’s not like you had angel wings at your back and never considered them. It’s that you are deeply, utterly terrified of changing how they look at you. You begin to tell him, “I do, but—” 

He cuts you off, adamant. “Then do it. Let’s go. If you want to go, then go,” he says. “At some point, your life needs to become your own. It’s not sneaking out when you’re graduated and eighteen years old, it’s going wherever the hell you want. You’ve... You’re gonna end up stuck here, in this town, forever. You don’t deserve that.” 

That sounds like both the best and the worst thing you’ve ever heard. You take his hand.  

⚝⭒ 

Your frozen fingers nurse your ice cream. The cup itself is cold, but the Dairy Queen on your side of town is always thirty degrees below what it should be. It’d always been that way. Even way back when you two couldn’t drive, you’d get dropped off here to escape the melting weather and get a frozen treat with a handful of dollars. Each time, you’d start off sagging with the relief of summer’s weight off your shoulders and left the place shivering and sugar-mouthed.  

It’s really only you two in here. You crinkle your nose when he takes a spoonful. “Out of all the flavors...” 

Unbothered and no doubt expecting you to say it, he offers you a flat, “You get your flavor, I get mine.” He makes a point of taking an extra-long bite. His lips linger around the red plastic of the spoon and his brows rest high in silent challenge.  

The corners of your lips twitch up. “Hmm. Well. I just have a hard time believing that Oreo... or, like, brownie fudge, is right there, and you actually want M&M. I don’t get how M&M your favorite.” A familiar banter falls over your tongues. Your heart buzzes and your cheeks radiate. This is the first you’ve done this all summer, and it’ll be weaning off into fall soon. Any other summer, you would’ve been here on all the hottest days. You hate that Kai’s been so busy with his music; you hate that you can hear the resounding ticks of the clock counting down your time. You also hate that the stubborn depths of you still believe that if you freeze yourself here in stasis that the world will relent and stop along with you. 

You look over the sharp lines of Kai’s jawline as it feathers with his chewing, and the broadness of his shoulders where his jacket stretches around it, and the starkness of his collarbones against his chest and the bobbing of his adam’s apple when he swallows. No, time doesn’t stop. Some of him remains the same, though. In it, you see the boy that had love creeping up on you so long ago, with all its aching and all its hope. That freckle on the column of his neck, the bump in his nose leading down to the button tip that beckons your lips to steal a quick kiss.  

And, those lips. They’re as soft as ever around the discontented grimace he pulls. “M&M isn’t my favorite.” 

With a pursed mouth and patronizing brows arched over your eyes, you say, “Oh, huh. That’s funny, because if my memory serves me right, it’s the only flavor you’ve ordered for the past... six years.”  

Kai husks a laugh at that. “That’s because they haven’t had my favorite for years,” he tells you, scooping up the final bit and then pushing it off to the side. “It was a blizzard of the month that they discontinued. The blackberry cheesecake one. I made peace with it, though. It lives on in my heart.” He grins, arms crossed over his chest and his back settled into the booth seat to let you finish your cup.  

“Blackberry cheesecake,” you say, voice made taunting. Your nod is slow and taunting, too. “Well, forget M&Ms.Why would blackberry cheesecake be your favorite? Ever?” 

His face falters, a moment where something flows over his eyes as if reliving a memory in a few short seconds. Then, he shrugs. “It just is.” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever,” you laugh. “Maybe my palate is unrefined.” Imagining the tarte fruit in purple swirls of ice cream, you’re taken back to a humid July day and the scent of churned mud.  

The strange memory unfolds itself quick. As if it were waiting for you to find wherever it’d hidden itself away. With a sharp gasp, you say, “Oh my god, Kai. Do you remember that one day? That weird stuff we saw down at the creek?” 

He nods. “Yeah. I was just thinking of that the other day, actually...” 

Less interested in finishing your cup now, you let the spoon rest. “What?” you say, the word peaking in the middle. That day hadn’t crossed your mind once since it’d happened. “How weird is that?” 

Scoffing a laugh, he says, “Weird, yeah. Just as strange as two kids high on fermented berries.” 

That draws a breathy laugh from you. “Is that what you think it was?” you ask him with knitted brows. The berries had been fresh, and you two had popped plenty into your mouth. But no doubt, you’d have spat them right back out if they were that ripe. “I mean, we saw the same thing.” 

“It happens to animals all the time. Squirrells, and stuff.” He lends you a gallic shrug. “We just freaked ourselves out. Like that one time you said you saw the shape of something in the dark and we freaked out. And it was clothes.”  

Well, hallucinating, in tandem, a glowing mist because you two by chance ate fermented berries is a very long shot. However nonchalant he acts about it, he seems to have thought long and hard about it. Enough to reason it away with some far cry explanation. Would you have even been able to get drunk off a handful of fermented berries? And, god, you’re really sure that you’d have noticed. That taste isn’t really one you just don’t notice.  

Whatever. Maybe you were just drunk idiots. That’s a lot easier to swallow, anyway. 

“Okay, but you saw that. Did it not look sinister?” you say. With your spoon back in your hand, you punctuate the sentence pointing it at him. “You freaked out with me, too.”  

An unsatisfied scowl on his lips, he steals a spoonful of your dessert. You don’t even swat him away—your phone buzzes in your pocket. 

Catching sight of who’s calling, you share a long look with Kai. It’s funny, how fast those three white letters scramble you up. When you hesitate to answer, Kai tells you, “Answer.” 

You hope she can’t tell you’re not at Kai’s by the refrigerators’ dull buzzing. It’s an effort to tussle that invasive worry back. You’re at Dairy Queen. Getting ice cream with the boy she’s known since childhood. She should clutch her hands and thank the sky that you’re here, not out in some nasty frat house like you could be. You thumb the green button. 

Her voice comes through the speaker crackled and asking you to run over to do a quick dish load. For a heartbeat you consider telling her that you will and then start rushing home. Instead, you fork out the truth through resistant lips. 

The hangup tone sits heavy on the air between you and Kai. Having listened to the whole thing on speaker, he says, “What was so hard about that? The world didn’t end, did it?” 

The plush of your lip takes a hard gnawing. No, it hadn’t. “I know she’s not going to get mad at me for just going here,” you say as you rest your elbows onto the table. “It’s that they’re supporting me right now. I still live under their roof. The more I go around and insist I can do whatever I want, they’ll start reminding me of it.” 

His face drawn, he lets his mouth twitch to one side. “Yeah,” he muses. “I never thought yours would be the type to kick you out.” 

Kai’s dad had started threating him with getting kicked out years ago, when he first started telling him that he wanted to do music. How many times had he let reluctant tears flow into your shoulder over it? Because music wasn’t a real job? Back then, you’d whispered in his ears that he’d become everything he’d dreamed of and more as your fingers carded through shaggy locks of hair.  

“I don’t know,” you say, humming it out noncommittally. “Is your dad still... y’know?” 

Nodding slowly, his eyes tell. “Yeah. Always.” 

“Because you’re taking the band seriously, now?” you ask.  

“Probably. I don’t give a shit what he thinks about it. If I’m just his goddamn problem, I’ll give him what he wants soon enough.” His eyes blaze with promise of it.  

It takes a bit out of you to not wince. Kai living anywhere but in the house across from yours is wrong. “I don’t think he necessarily wants that, Kai...” You take his hand in your icy ones, the urge to reach out to him thinly veiled under the guise of searching out warmth. He’d always run warmer than you—your personal heater. “It’s probably because he can see that you’re doing it for real. Not just saying it anymore.” 

“Yeah, well,” he spits, “I can’t fucking wait to see what he’ll say to me when I make it. That piece of shit, though, he wouldn’t even care. It’s not like he ever gave a shit about me enough for it to matter.” 

But, it matters to you, you want to tell him. You understand his need to throw it all in his face. Though. “Is that one label going to sign you? The one you were talking about?” 

His tongue darts out to wet dry lips. “They haven’t yet. I don’t know. But I don’t need that money to get out of here, I’ve been working on it.” 

“They will,” you say. “But, where would you go? Not too far?” You try and keep it light and playful, even as your heart aches. 

“Come with me,” he says. It’s painfully blunt, as if it were that simple. “Let’s go get and apartment; you and me.” 

“Kai...” you say. “You don’t have to drag me along because you feel bad.” 

The idea doesn’t sound half bad, though.  

“What?” His face tightens, as if somewhere under the surface your words had scraped somewhere tender. “You don’t have to stay here forever. Please. I want... I want you to come with me. You wouldn’t have to even tell them; just bring all your stuff and go together. We could do it together. Like we said we would.”  

“We were like, five. Everybody tries to pretend running away at five,” you deadpan. It’s a washy attempt at lightening things back up. 

Living with him, moving out together, should feel like everything you’ve ever wanted. And, maybe it is. But, he’s not asking you to live with him the way you want him to. Not in the way that your aching heart wishes he would.  

Kai doesn’t share the laugh you give him. “Yeah, okay,” he says, leaning into the table.  

Perhaps you should consider the potent disappointment he’s terribly masking with a face of indifference, though. 

⚝⭒ 

Slowly, the knots in your belly have worked themselves out. When Kai had dropped you off, they’d been so awful that you felt borderline sick. You sat the whole ride there in his old beat-up truck picking at your nails and rambling to him. He listened to you the whole time. And then when it was time to walk in, it had least felt a little easier to do so with his eyes on you, watching to make sure you made it in safely. 

You’d gotten a job. It’s not too bad, folding clothes out on display. It would be nice if they kept the lights a bit brighter, but you’ll get used it eventually, you hope. 

Most of your coworkers are around your age, but the one showing you the ropes... your heart had fluttered. 

“You’ll get it,” Yeonjun says. The smile you find on his lips once he straightens up from placing product on a display is smooth and smug. Sleek strands of black hair fall over his eyes. You fluster under his gaze.  

With arms crossed over your chest you say, “Yeah, probably.” You reach into the cardboard box for stock to practice on. 

“Where’d you work before this?” he asks, leaning back into a wall to watch you. Suddenly, you make sloppier work of your folding. “Your first retail job?” 

Some obnoxious pop song falls down from the speakers over the store. Nobody’s in here yet, thankfully; you’ve got some time to try and get a handle on everything. “No, this is my first job. I was so nervous walking in.” 

Interest catches in his eyes. It encourages that smooth smile on his lips further. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll show you the reins.” 

Your mind stalls. The suggestive, sly flicker to it—are you looking too much into it? Maybe that’s just how guys like Yeonjun act. It’s hard to pretend that you don’t see how he’s looking at you, though. It has your belly twisted up in fluttery knots. It’s not like you hadn’t had your share of his type. But, for some reason you’d rather not address, he’s got your heart thumping in your chest. 

He laughs at your fifth attempt to fold up the shirt. When he takes it from you to help, he smells of musk and vetiver. “You going to college near here?” he continues.  

“Nah, just doing this, I guess,” you answer, watching him fold it up to try and soak it up.  

“Really? Why not?” he hums, crossing his arms about his chest. “You seem like a smart girl.” 

Buffering, your blood buzzes in your veins and your cheeks burn. “Dunno. Not really sure what to do. Are you in college?” 

“Nah. I’m trying to figure things out, too.” 

The both of you pop your heads up when the bell rings to announce the arrival of a customer.  

“Yeah,” you say, eyeing him. He’s a few years older than you, no doubt, and yet his life hasn’t fallen apart because he’s not done anything grand yet.  

Time’s hand around your neck loosens. Just a little bit.  

⚝⭒ 

You sit crisscrossed on top of Kai’s bedsheets. He’d thrown the windows open because the AC died, but it’s no help. The hot air wafting about the room sits heavy on your skin. You’d dressed in as little material as possible to let it breathe, bare thighs clad in a pair of loose shorts and a thin tank top, but it’s still miserable. 

Perhaps you two should be going over to yours, but you haven’t had time alone with him for a few weeks now. You hate this busier life, where you struggle to make room for this. 

Your new job isn’t so awful, though. Especially with Yeonjun there. A bout of nerves flows up through your stomach. That reminds you. 

Sitting up a bit straighter, you consider not doing it. In fact, you really shouldn’t. But your mouth moves before you can put a stopper on it. 

“Hey, Kai,” you say. The thickness in your throat makes you believe that your heart’s jumped up into it, caught. God, what are you doing? The unsure waver in your words has you regretting. 

His eyes flicker up to yours. He hums out a, “Huh?” 

No, this is wrong. You mess with the thin cotton strap of your tank top where it’d slipped down. “Never mind,” you tell him, trying to shrug it off.  

That piques his interest. “No, what?” His brow pinches.  

You lick your lips and shake your head. “Nothing, never mind. Really.” 

His eyes search you from where he sits up against the wall. “Tell me,” he demands. 

Really, you shouldn’t have said it in the first place. It was a ridiculous idea. But now you know he’s not going to let it go. And, ridiculously, you say it. “I was just... wondering,” you say, blood roaring. "Well, Yeonjun wants me to come over to his place this weekend, and... I’ve never...” Sucking in a quick breath, you just spit it out to get it over with, “Would you be my first kiss, Kai?” 

Insects buzz outside as he looks at you, frozen in spot. You reject the urge to dart away or throw up. You’re honestly just as shaken as him. But really, who else could you trust with something like that? You don’t want Yeonjun to be disappointed if he kisses you, or to seem inexperienced to him. 

And, perhaps, the hopelessly in love part of you hopes to at least feel his lips on yours at least once. If you’re going to be alone forever in your longing, you just wish that you can have this. 

“What?” Kai says. He looks rattled.  

Of course, he’s shocked. You shift. “Forget I said that,” you tell him, unable to meet his gaze.  

String-roughened fingers wrap around your upper arm. “I didn’t say anything,” he says, voice strained and face less shock-fallen and more darkened. “But... I mean, you want me to teach you to kiss for some other guy.” He spits out the last bit as if bitter in his mouth.  

“You don’t have to do it,” you say. “I just... thought that I might ask you to do it. I don’t know, I’m sorry I said it. I’ll just wing it or something.” His room’s grown ten degrees hotter, if that was possible. Especially where you feel his eyes on your face.  

Almost imperceptibly, his hand tightens around you. He swallows hard. “You want to learn how to kiss?” he says. “Fine. I’ll teach you.” 

In a heart-stopping moment, your eyes snap to his. Brown and familiar, they hold you with an intensity that turns your limbs into jelly. The air is stifling. “What... do I do?” you ask when the silence becomes too heavy.  

A muscle feathers in his jaw, reflected in the low light of his room. It’s quick and so easy to miss, but it tells you everything you need to know about how this is making him feel. How much disbelief he’s in. “Come here,” he says, stilted around the absolute absurdity of it. He pats on his lap. 

You make a hesitant crawl across the bed toward him. It seems as though your elbows might buckle beneath your weight, but you make it despite the odds. A fog settles over your brain when you rest your hands on his shoulders and bring your legs to straddle his lap. 

But you shove it back; you want to live and breathe every last second of this. No matter how unbelievable or blistering it is.  

Breaths fan out over your face. It’s seizing your mind like undiluted liquor. “Where do I put my hands?” you ask him. It’s breathless, the air stolen right from your lungs though your mouths haven’t even touched.  

“There is fine,” he says. His words sound breathless, too. The weight of his touch on you as he runs his own up to support your back is unsure. “And then...” he says. It falls out on your mouth slowly, and then he’s taking your lips onto his. 

The walls melt away, sound does too. All that is real is the taste of his lips and how they move against you. Your lips start tentative, but you try his mouth movements yourself. It feels like a timid dance—it feels like deep, deep down, finally everything is right. That mist, thick and blinding, falls back over you. 

Something changes. Something in it, where you two meet, changes. He becomes hungry. Softly locked lips turn biting and nipping, shaky breaths exhaled slow through your nose. His hands on your back become surer, and one even ventures off to grab your chin. The other holds you to his chest, melded together despite the intense smoke and flame rolling off your bodies. You wonder if he can feel your heart beating a mess there. 

Reluctance paints you both when you pull back. You’re panting deep drinks of air. It’s hard to think; your mind’s run off and sits just out of reach. Licking your messy lips, stained with illicitness, you can only manage to brush your fingers against it to form words. “How... was that?” you say, searching his eyes. You find his pupils blown so wide that they consume the warm brown. You’re ready to jump out of your skin with that look pointed at you.  

Kai doesn’t answer, though. He slams your mouths back together as if starved by just the brief moment you’d parted for air. Nips on your bottom lip and emboldened hands—he moves like roaring water through a dam. A dam that he’d worked hard to fortify, and yet, at a crack it’s all falling down. Fingertips digging through the fabric of your shorts down to your soft hips, his chest rumbles. You feel it reflected in your core, electricity charging there and shooting up your spine and down your thighs. 

You kiss him for all the times you wish you would’ve, but didn’t. The slight rolls of your hips down onto him come easy. You love how it has him making a sound into your mouth and taking the fat beneath his fingers harder into his hands. He helps you. 

He drops his head into your neck. Your head swims for air and he has you shuddering with just the brushing of his nose against the column of your neck. The walls of his room spin around you. “Kai,” you whine, every bit of friction his jeans provide, even clothed as you are, just enough to rile you but not to give you what you need. 

“God,” he growls, thumbs hooking under your waistband. “You always fucking run around dressed in nothing,” he says, letting his fingers linger like a suggestion of undressing you. “Did you do it on purpose? Expect to make me crazy, knowing I couldn’t touch you?” 

And, in those words, it seems that he steals every last bit of breath from you. How often had you gone braless or worn something like this around him? Laid here, in his bed, like that? 

Grown tired of your fruitless grinding, he brings a hand down to support your lower back and says, “Turn around.” 

Though you explode with the prospect of what he might be intending to do or what’s next, if you’re really going to do this, you do so in a flash of eager limbs. His chest is solid against your back, you melt against the feeling of it. He’d become such a man lately, filled out, and you watched it happen. It was hard for your eyes not to catch on muscle-corded forearms while he picked at strings or to not appreciate the timbred rumble of his voice when you’d feel it come from his chest. How could it not do things to you? Now, he’s dragging your shorts down your legs and you’re in disbelief.  

“Fuck,” he breaths out. His fingers find your panties soaked through. “So, you’re the type to get dripping wet.” 

An embarrassed blush decorates your cheeks. Kai drags his index finger in circles around your clit through the fabric as if enamored with how much of a mess you’d made of it. Your hips twitch every time he rolls right over it. It’s strange how he’s got your body acting on its own volition with his touches. Even stranger that it’s your best friend doing it. “Sorry,” you tell him, wavering.  

He continues those terribly slow circles. “Sorry?” he says, chin on your shoulder. He’s got you wrapped up in him, with nowhere to go but to melt back into him and let his fingers work. Free hand on one of your inner thighs digging divots into the plushness there to hold it still, he tells you, “It’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s hot as fuck. You’re so excited for me to touch you, huh?” 

The words wreak havoc on you, feeding the flame that has your belly twisted up tight and the ignition point between your thighs pounding. To hear them coming from him, reserved Kai, has you digging your fingers into his forearm to prove that it’s real. You’d never have imagined him being so... filthy. You imagine him behind falsely nonchalant eyes, devouring you with a perverted mind all the times you’d spent innocently sitting together in this room.  

Your cheeks squish beneath his fingers as he takes your face and turns it to him. He wants to make sure you’re look at him as he asks you, “Do you want me to finger you?” 

Like a record, your brain skips. Between the blunt, lewd question and his hand on you, it’s in overload. How could ask something like that so simply? Stunned as you are, of course you want him to. You want him to do anything to you. You nod.  

Every last nerve and neuron in your system, just below the skin, cry out when his fingers slow down to nothing. “Hmm?” he says, ignoring the chasing of your hips and the opening of your thighs to invite him into paying your poor pussy the attention he’d ripped from it. He wants to hear you say it.  

About ten minutes ago, you lost your mind. It does not return to you now. “I want you to,” you say, chest beating in tandem with your cunt. 

“You want me to, right? Not some dumbass you met a week ago, huh?” he says. “Because you know that this is what it’s meant to be. Me, doing these things to you. Not some twenty-five-year-old piece of shit. He doesn’t deserve you, baby. Understand?” 

His fingers slider under your panties. Dumb brained and cognition gone muddled, you nod. All you can really think about is the moment his fingers slide over you. Fire licks up your lower belly and your insides as he brushes calloused finger tips finally right against your clit. 

Puffed breaths of a scoff raise goosebumps over your skin. “Teach you to kiss so that you can go over there and get his hands on you,” he says, middle two fingertips prodding at your entrance. “As if you were ever anybody’s but mine. You’d come crawling back to me, baby, because it was always meant to be us. He could never satisfy you.” 

His words might alarm you or have you asking questions if he hadn’t pushed his fingers into you and begun curling them with strong, pointed presses, pulling soft mewls and hums from you until he finds a spot that twists up your insides. Even through the palm you press over your mouth, your moans come out more like wavering grunts and croaks. Your thighs quiver and twitch, threatening to snap closed against your own will with each. Only your feet stay planted to the mattress. Like a cone of soft serve under the sun’s blistering attention, you melt down him. Just his frame keeps you upright. 

“Right there, huh?” he says. The smirk on his mouth filters his words into something taunting. “That’s where you like it.” It’s like he’s learning your body step by step, fulfilling all the questions he’d been forced to only guess at before this.  

“Uh-huh.” It comes out whiny and cracks in the middle, but you can’t find even an ounce of you to care right now. If this moment had been a long spiral, a fall from grace, down into a dark pit of forgotten inhibitions, you’ve just hit the bottom. Cheeks blazing cherry blossom pink and with your fingers curling into his pant leg, you don’t doubt that you are a picturesque mess. The kind of mess that’s beautiful because it’s dirty. Your teeth are not gentle on your plush bottom lip. It stings, tugged back and bitten and still a bit swollen with kisses. Perhaps you taste the tang of metal on it, but you pay it no mind. 

Kai redoubles his efforts. Now that he knows exactly how to play you, he’s fucking you on his fingers without mercy. The sounds coming from your cunt were wet, but now they’re different— nasty squelching. The only noises coupling with your pathetic keening. Forget anchoring yourself on his thigh, forget muffling your sounds. Instead, your hands fly to encircle his flexing forearm. Under your nails, angry red crescents dig into the muscle there. What had been a languid, building pleasure suddenly becomes everything. Your breaths run away from you, and you chase them frantically. Deep down in your core, the muscles spasm and rage against his fingers. “H—oh god,” you groan. Even the muscles in your thighs and tummy tighten up. 

“So whiny...” Kai mumbles, voice taut with the effort of eroding you down into pure, blinding-white pleasure. 

And then, in a swoop of mercy, your belly tightens. You hover here, on the precipice of something so consuming and voracious that your muscles and bones reject it, and yet your heart sings. Your eyes and cheeks and lungs and belly burn, the flame charring the edges of you in a beckon. You answer its call. Kai doesn’t mind the snapping of your legs shut around his arm, nor does your bucking or shaking deter him. He just holds you through it, arm like a metal bar around your waist. He’s everywhere, in this moment—the smell of him, leather and utterly familiar, his mouth dusting hot kisses over your skin, his fingers guiding you through orgasm. Where you’d gone silent in the initial crash of it, you devolve into mewls and grunts as you come down.  

He holds you even as you slump against him boneless. Afterglow simmers in your veins and has your brain all lethargic and lazy. Neither of you speak for a while, your pulse thumping a rhythm. His breaths rise and fall against you; it grounds you in this moment where you feel all spacey and gone. You become aware again of how disgustingly sweltering it is in his room, your skin sheened. 

That brainless bliss only lasts you for so long, though. When rational mind returns to you, no matter how you wish it wouldn’t, you’re hit in the chest with regret so hard it knocks the wind out of you. 

How will anything ever be the same after what you’d just done? Stricken still by the thought, you barely register him pulling his fingers out of you. After all your worrying about making sure no wedge comes between you two, look what you’ve gone and done. No; nothing ever will be the same again.  

⚝⭒ 

A couple of weeks ago, you ruined the one friendship you were supposed to have forever. It presses down heavy one you while you sit sprawled out on Yeonjun’s couch, his arm around your shoulder. His phone casts a glow over his features with all the lights out. 

It doesn’t smell like home. He, pressed against your side, doesn’t smell like home.  

Some stupid movie that he’d picked out, yet somehow you’ve ended up the only one still watching it, weaves a hum into the quiet of his apartment. Tangy hurt wells up in your throat. Even the moments when you and Kai would sit in mutual silence on your phones never felt like this. This is different.  

You haven’t seen Kai since that night. He’s been busy getting ready to move out, and you’ve been here most days. How fast all of it had changed. You wish you’d feel whiplashed, left empty, by the drifting that you’d been so terrified of. But you don’t. It’s just been you, locked on land, watching him being taken away by the ocean’s tide with no way to change its course. You tried and screamed to call him back, but now your voice has gone hoarse.  

And instead of watching him go, you choose to look elsewhere. It’s all you can do to protect yourself from the hurt. 

“Hey,” Yeonjun says, finally addressing you rather than whoever’s he’s got in his phone. “Did you bring anything to change into?”  

“I brought stuff to sleep in,” you say, eyeing him. You know that’s not why he’s asking. If it came down to it, you could just steal something from him and pull it on. He means going out clothes. Your jaw tightens. “But nothing nice. Why?” 

He stretches his arms behind his head in a flaunt of long arms and tanned muscle. Hours spent at the gym lent him those; you appreciate the look of it with a watering mouth. Kai had earned his build by hours spent outside with your dad, because his own could care less, helping him fix up cars and vehicles of all ridiculous sorts. You remember when Kai had first gotten his truck—junk on wheels, honestly—he’d spent so much of summer out there getting it running. And, well... the sun-kissed bronze of his skin and frame that came with it, you had no qualms with. 

But those memories only sit heavy in your chest as you’re sat here beside Yeonjun. You banish them elsewhere; you need to let him drift off. If you can’t have each other, and your feelings won’t permit just being friends, then you have to. You want him to do amazing things, and you fear that it’s your presence in his life that will interrupt that. As much as your feelings are real, they are selfish. You, your unsure direction and all your dead weight, should let him go. Because you love him. 

“The guys want to come over,” he tells you, pushing off from the couch. “You should probably into change into something less showy.” 

Less showy. Your mouth drops into a scoff of disbelief, looking down. A pair of shorts and a shirt, showy? You have to laugh, or else you’ll succumb to the strange embarrassment crawling at the back of your skull. What’s he trying to say? Is that what he thinks of you? “What���s that supposed to mean?” you say, face tilted up to him in a twist of distaste. “I’m wearing something comfy.” 

He shrugs, hands shoved into the pockets of his black sweats. “Don’t want to give them the wrong idea about you, that’s all, baby. They’re guys; I just want to protect you.” 

“No,” you say, the word falling out in a barked laugh. “Why would you even be bringing over dudes that you think will look at me like that? Why are you even friends with people that you think are gonna make moves on your girlfriend?” He holds a hand out to you, but your hands stay right where they are: crossed solidly over your chest. 

Throwing that hand up in audacious exasperation, he gives you a look that makes you feel small and petulant—like you’re throwing an overblown fit. And, maybe you are. You should probably just do it; him seeing you as some overbearing or high maintenance girl has that embarrassment flaring like wildfire that’s found dry brush. “C’mon, baby,” he says, a lazy smile on his mouth that gets under your skin. “Let’s just have an easy night. Don’t make it a big deal.” 

Let’s just have an easy night. As if you’re the one ruining the night. Something snarky tries to seize your tongue, but you hold it down. “I thought it would be just us. We wanted to watch the movie together, Yeonjun. Can’t you wait to hang out with your friends? Let’s enjoy our time together; you’ve got your shift tomorrow.” 

“My fucking god,” he groans, running a hand through his hair furiously. “You’re needy, you know that? The neediest I’ve ever had to put up with. I don’t put up with needy, baby. Can’t you just chill out a little? My last didn’t mind when I’d have friends over.” 

Your eyes burn. Your cheeks burn. He’d been with plenty of other girls before you; that, you’re well aware of. It’s been a corrosive source of self-doubt for you. You don’t want that title: the neediest he’s ever had. Don’t want him to think of you as some prude that won’t let him have fun. Just... hearing him bring up the other girls he’d been with before you stings and leaves welts no different from a slap in the face. Feelings of inadequacy shackle you and have you saying, “Fine. I’m gonna borrow some of your clothes.” 

Heavy resentment blooms on your skin where he bends down and presses kisses to your cheek, and then mouth, and then down your neck. “Thank you, baby.” 

And, where those ugly, wilted flowers of it bloom, you hear echoes of something. Something that tells you that Kai wouldn’t treat you like this. But you’ve made your bed, decided to do it yourself, and now you’ve got to lay on it. 

⚝⭒ 

The frat parties are the worst kind of social outing that Yeonjun insists upon. The smaller kinds, more intimate gathering with just his closer friends, you tolerate much easier. You’re not fond of the circles he chooses. Breathing in thick, smoked-out air surrounded by alcohol-coated breaths is not your type of fun night. Somehow, you end up doing that more than date nights. But that’s better than being here. The base rumbles up through your feet and makes your stomach sick, and it reeks of grinding bodies and body odor, and condensation coats your fingers from the red solo cup as full as when you’d first gotten it. 

But, still, you come along. Not every time, but when you don’t, you lay in his bed sickening yourself with images of what he might be doing here. How pathetic is it to attend parties with your boyfriend because you fear that otherwise, he might stick his tongue down the throats of other girls? 

You’re looking for him right now, awkward and left alone. He’d promised to stick around; you had begged him to. That was pathetic, too. You know that you put up with too much. If he loved you, or honestly even liked you, you two would be in the thick of the throngs dancing or off somewhere talking with others. Together. The frantic skimming and weeding of your eyes through the blur of faces is not right. That’s not how he should make you feel. It’s not how Kai would make you feel. 

Well, Kai would never have you here in the first place. 

Venturing out from your little corner, you sift between the bodies of people have a hell of a lot better time than you. Drunken, some you bounce off of like bumper carts. You press your palm over the round face of your cup to spare the floor from spillage threatening to pour over the lip. It’s not like a splash from yours would matter much, though. The linoleum has already been made a fetor mess of dirt off shoes and the sticky sugar of liquor. Your shoes peel from it as you walk. God, what would your parents think of you being here? 

You peek around corners and eye big groups. He’s not in the kitchen when you look there, either. Your stomach feels sick in a knowing way—a gut feeling that doesn’t justify anger or tears just yet, but you know. Right in the center of your chest, you know. 

It’s in some room that you find him. Sat on the floor along with a few faces you don’t know, he pulls from his bottle. And on his shoulder, he lets a girl with shining curls and pink cheeks rest her head. At your busting in on the intimate gathering, Yeonjun’s eyes slide to you. Recognition flashes over them and wars with bleary drunkenness. 

“Hey, baby,” he says. Their gazes all fall on you, but you can hardly see them through blurry eyes. 

The girl lifts her head from his shoulder. She’d caught the memo. 

“I think I’m gonna go.” You make it sound resigned, try to not let them see your shame, but your voice betrays you and crackles. Maybe it’s better to pretend it doesn’t feel like you’ve just been kicked in the stomach and left to reel against the force, but you can’t. You’re nowhere near shocked, nowhere near blindsided, but still you hurt. 

He follows you down the hall. “What’s your problem?” he says, the few, plain words mending and waving into a slurring. 

You’ve got one goal: get to the front door, away from the shitty music and him. His words, sharpened, fall off your skin despite his efforts. What good would fighting do you, anyway? It was always going to end up this way. This is just who he is, and he doesn’t give two shits enough about you to want to change that. 

“Baby, seriously? That made you this mad? I didn’t even fucking do anything. Stop being insecure,” he says. At the gritting of your teeth, he sees an opportunity and pounces on it. “You don’t need to be jealous. I don’t do jealous shit. We can dance, or something. Shit, I don’t know what you want! Just stop throwing a fit.” 

Didn’t do anything? You have to laugh. Maybe you didn’t walk in on him fucking someone else, but that’s not what this is about. Not even a little bit. You’ve checked out, and the fact that he thinks he can make you believe that it’s your fault this time only drives the killing stake in harder. 

Maybe you’re bitter. It claws at your insides—turns your face hot and screams in your face that you’ve been used. But beside it sits a sadness. Not the slow kind, but the quick sadness of hurt. Why hadn’t you been good enough for him to love you? To like you? You’d left behind Kai and rested your new life on Yeonjun’s shoulders. You’d wanted so badly for his approval, or for him to want you. You did your best to try and make this work out because you needed it to. You needed so desperately proof that you could fall in love with somebody else. But your best was not what Yeonjun was interested in.  

Pins and needles prick your skin as you step outside, like jumping into an ice bath. It shocks you out of dizziness. Words surge up and out in a flash flood like hard reality. You spin on him. “Jealous?” you say, choking out a scathing laugh. “The last thing I’d ever let myself suffer over you is jealousy. Get over yourself. I’m going, stay here if you want. I don’t care.” 

“How are you gonna do that, huh?” he says. The flickering yellow of the porchlight paints his features. The shadow of something fluttering around it cuts dark spots in the light, and then a small little moth comes down and jumps around in his face. He waves it off. “Gonna have bitch boy come pick you up? You can’t leech off him forever; he’s gonna get sick of picking up another man’s girlfriend.” It seems like you walking in on that had sobered him up, but his breath still curls out onto your face with the reek of alcohol. “It’s not a big deal. You’re making this a bigger deal than it has to be. Do you not trust me?”  

“You are such a piece of shit,” you grit out. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Ever. I don’t know how I let this go on for so long.” You don’t like him having Kai in his mouth, don’t like him trying to act like you’re conflating things, and especially don’t like that face he’s making. As if you’re acting crazy and overblown. “No, I don’t trust you. You didn’t fuck her, but come on, Yeonjun. Seriously? You think I’m stupid, and I’m sick of it. You thought this would be easy because I didn’t have the experience you have, but I’m sorry. I don’t like being walked over.” 

“If you’re gonna be so goddamn jealous, then maybe we aren’t gonna work,” he says. 

That moth, floating light in the air, is right back in his face. Yeonjun takes two hands and smashes it between a clap of his hands. He shakes its flattened, broken body off his hand. Looking down at it laying there on top of dirt-caked concrete, you get this... feeling. A tickling around your person.  

“See if I care,” you snap, throat aching against the onslaught of emotion and held back tears.  

⚝⭒ 

Rivulets of raindrops dilute the tears on your cheeks. Your hair plasters to your face and your clothes to your body.  

For a week, you’d went about it all as if it hadn’t happened. And then you came here.  

It’d not been this rainy when you first got down to the creek—just a gentle trickle, really. You hadn’t been crying then, either. But, watching the water work at babbling over stone, you let yourself feel it. Here, where you’d had so many good memories. You’ve gone and tainted it, now. But for whatever reason, you’d just wanted to be here. Arms curled around yourself and fingers digging into drenched sleeves, you don’t wipe away the tears or cover the sounds of your crying. You let the stream hear it; it’ll sweep it right up and down the way. Somewhere far off, where you don’t have to feel it anymore. 

You realize that, usually, you’d be over at Kai’s right now. The fact that his room was not the first place you thought you could go to anymore is a punch to the gut. You drop your face into your hands and cry harder. Really, you’ve got to stop doing that to yourself. Thinking of sad things—putting your hurt under the microscope to see it closer. It’d be easier to just fold it up and tell yourself that it’ll pass, and that relationships end all the time. 

It’s not him that you cry over. Well, maybe some of it is. Rather, it’s that you have absolutely no idea where you’re going. Where you are. Finally, you’d built yourself a raft to get off the shore and go out to sea, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, and it’s breaking apart right beneath you. And, stranded and alone in the water, you’ve got no way to get back to shore to build yourself another raft. You’re stranded, and the scariest bit is that you’re doing it all alone. You weren’t supposed to do this alone. You two made promises back then. 

You suppose that a promise is one of those things you were supposed to leave faith in back on shore. 

The raindrops are heavy over you. The fall of it roars against the ground, a torrent downpour. It’s not coupled with whipping wind or flashes of lightning—just straight, still falling. It’s a somber feeling no different from the gnawing in your chest. 

Like chimes, there’s a distant, gentle sound. Maybe water falling over creek rock, but it’s more like suggestion. A sweet sound that you shouldn’t even be able to hear over the rest of it, it’s as if it’s right in your ear. A whisper.  

You fix your blurry eyes with a wet sleeve. Rain falls right back into its place, but you see it: a silvery, whimsy haze. And the moths. They jump and call you, this time. Their glow bounces off the rainy mist against the grey of night’s arrival. Then, all you can hear is the whispering. Where you stand frozen, your feet beg to move. To follow them. 

So you do. 

Their entourage of moondust trails them where they go, wrapping you up and weaving between raindrop and space. You don’t worry where they’ll take you, or even try to wrap your head around this happening again. You just follow, mind glossed over and entranced with how beautiful it is. When you’d seen them before, it’d made you uneasy. Mostly because it looked so unearthly and unbelievable. But this time you just follow. 

A far-off voice, one oh-so-familiar, peaks through the haze. It’s not enough to stop you, but then you hear it again, louder and closer. 

You blink a few times. Once to break away the fog, and then twice to focus your eyes on Kai stood in front of you. His hair lays in wet spikes over his eyes and beads of rain trace the planes of his face. He’s as soaked as you. 

“Kai?” you say. Looking around you, you’ve ended up somewhere in the field between your houses and the creek. But you’ve got no recollection of walking here. Whatever that mist is, sentient or not, had swept you here.  

His voice is strained, but you appreciate hearing it. “Break up with him,” he tells you. 

In his eyes, as you search them, there’s stardust glowing like reflection. Your face twists up. “What?” you say, breath a puff of smoke ahead of you. Summer had come and gotten away from you so fast, and now it’s gone all cold again. 

“Break up with him,” he echos, face solemn. He looks ruffled. 

“Why?” you ask, “And why are you out here?” 

“Because I’m moving out today, and I think I deserve to at least see you before I go.” His eyes look over you. “And... your dad said you went down to the creek.” 

He’s moving out today, and you had no idea. And really, it’s your fault. You’d driven that wedge between the two of you. “I did break up with him.” 

Downpour fills his quiet for a few moments, his face swirling with emotion like the clouds above you. He nods. “Good.” 

There are a few more long minutes between you; just you two searching each other's faces, antsy to say so much that it bunches up in your chests and stalls. It’s what a summer of longing does to you. Even with Yeonjun, even trying to slowly chip away the stitching that had connected the two of you at the hip, you were helpless to stop the gnawing of the love you bear for him. Even just seeing him now, you feel those threads mending back up. God, why does it have to be so hard? 

He just looks at you. For a few beats, he just looks at you. There are so many questions in his eyes. They flit across and turn over, but all he settles on is, “Why?” 

There’s so much you want to tell him. Words pile up to the top, some threatening to spill over. But you know that if you tell him some of it, just to make up for all the time you’d missed out on together, it’ll all come crashing out. And you don’t think you want him to know just how much you accepted, the way you let yourself get treated. So, you shake your head and say, “It doesn’t matter.” 

Kai looks like he wants to push that issue, but whatever look he finds on your face deters him. “Come with me,” he pleads. “I want you to come with me.” 

Your throat tightens. Curling your arms around yourself harder, the rain only coming down on you harder, you say, “Kai, I want to. I want to. I just... I don’t want to freeload off you, because you’re doing great things, and I’m just...” Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, but they’re already as soaked as the rest of you. “I’m just going nowhere. And I don’t want to be a burden, or ever be the reason that you can’t do what you dream of. If staying here means that you become everything that you’re destined to do, then I’m happy with that, Kai. I am.” 

He shakes his head, stumbling toward you. “No, no you don’t get it,” he says, frantically taking your shoulders into big hands. Under his touch, every taut muscle goes slack. You melt. “You don’t get it. You are the music. Every single song is about you. Every single fucking song is about you. I want you to come with me, please. I love you, I have always loved you, and I will always love you, and I thought you’d loved me too, and I don’t want to do this alone. I can’t do it alone.” 

He loves you. Kai loves you. The enormity of it rumbles the ground where you stand on legs you fear might just give in. You flex your fingers to combat the tears pricking your eyes. It doesn’t work; they brim and well up, spilling down over your cheeks. “What?” you say, voice softly breaking. “Kai, I didn’t...” 

“And just when I thought I finally had you, you left me,” he says, throwing a hand up beside him in a big gesture. “You left me! I woke up thinking you’d be there, and that maybe you loved me too, and you had left me. And then you threw me away for some piece of shit, and you stopped coming around.” His chest heaves for breaths. 

Your face contorts. That night, the one where you two had slipped up, you’d fallen asleep curled up against his chest on undiluted contentment. When you woke up, you had panicked. You thought he’d wake up and pretend it hadn’t happened, or he’d be uncomfortable, or even be disgusted and regretting. You couldn’t handle that, so you slipped out before he woke up. It’d been an attempt to protect your tender heart, but looking at the twitching of his lip now, you begin to think it’s the most selfish thing you’ve ever done. He thinks you used him and left him. Your stomach twists. Voice thick, you say, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you, Kai. I thought you didn’t... I thought you didn’t see me that way. I was scared. I’m sorry I hurt you.” 

Brows knitted together, he says, “Thought I didn’t love you?” His hand cups your cheek, warm against the soft frozen skin he finds there. “I’ve... I’ve dreamed of you almost every night of my life. In my sleep, I see you, and you’re happy and glowing, and that damn... mist is all around you. I couldn’t get away from you even in my sleep.” 

Darting between his eyes, soft and reflecting your face back to you, it’s hard to breathe. Kai’s dreamt of you; he’s as sickly in love with you as you are him. Thunder claps, and the ground shakes, and the heavens open up above you, the trumpets belt, and you two are in love. Somewhere deep in your center, you feel it—your soul nodding yes. 

The mist. You know exactly what he’s talking about. “I saw it. That stuff, those moths. The stuff we saw back then.” 

“I did too,” he says, wet spikes of hair bouncing with a nod. “Not that long ago. It was the first time I saw it out of a dream since that day.” 

Back then, you two had only budding, innocent love for each other. Things hadn’t become mangled and lost to confused hearts or expectations. When they’d appeared to you, you hadn’t needed it. This time, you’d followed it. And it had led you here—somehow had led you right to the very spot you needed to so that every last piece might fall into place. For this moment to happen. You know why it did. 

“I’ll go with you, Kai. I’ll go wherever you go; I love you. I’ve loved you since forever,” you say, each and every word massive and lovely on your tongue. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier.” 

So unlike the last times your mouth had met, he brings his mouth to yours with a dazzling clarity. No longer is it confused kisses; he locks his lips against yours with the urgency of so many years being unable to. Kai’s hands cradle your wet cheeks, hold you so tenderly into his kiss. His touch grounds you, makes the moment real. You melt into him—your fingers curled into his shirt as if holding him there so that he won’t disappear like something of an incorporeal dream. He sighs through his nose, kissing you harder. Even if it all were fake and this was nothing more than a feverish figment of your imagination, you think you could die happy just knowing this once. 

But it is utterly real, and utterly yours. You kiss him harder, too. 

When your lungs start to burn and plead for breath, you two pull away from each other. Your eyes flutter open to capture his. Warm and brown and the same ones you’ve stared into so many times before, but not like this, you sink into them. He runs his thumb over your cheek as he sinks into yours. His tongue darts out to lick lips painted with you. In the inches between you, space no longer feels heavy or charged with grievances. Every last unsaid thing had been answered. 

“I have my stuff up in the truck,” he says, breaths soft. Brown eyes dart around your face. “I’ll help you add your stuff to it.” 

You shudder out a breath. Add your stuff to it. A nervous energy settles down over you, but it doesn’t seem so bad if you’re doing it with him. Together.  

“Okay,” you whisper, a balmy secret just like the ones you used to share in small, giggly voices so many years ago. “Okay.” 

⚝⭒ 

Shivers seize you like jittering bones, all wrapped up in a blanket. The velour cushion seats beneath you have soaked up water and become damp, but Kai’s got the heater blasting. You wind around back roads, headlights illuminating the way ahead of you. Stray droplets whip in them, but nothing much. Isn’t it funny how the rain had just stopped like that? That’s just how the weather is, out here. You wonder how the weather might act wherever you’re headed. 

Your teeth chatter as if your jaw had its own will. The two of you had the windows down thinking that the wind might dry you off, but all it’s done is lap at your bitten cheeks. You reach down for the handle to crank it up. You’ve got a long drive ahead of you—either you’ll eventually dry off, or you can pull off at a rest area to change in a bathroom. The wet clothes are really not helping. 

With an arm up on the steering wheel, Kai turns his attention on you. You know that smile. “Cold?” he asks, eyes darting between your face and the road. With the hand he’s not got working the steering wheel, he runs fingers over your thigh. Soft, gentle massages, yes. The number it does on your core is absurd. Each mindless digging into your thighs and brush of his thumb, sparks sputter there. You’ve sat here, right in his passenger seat, so many times before. Day trips up to the lake, the one he’d joined your family camping at for so many summers, all the times he’d driven you to school in this truck, and even just a quick run down to a convenience store for a late-night snack. You’d deemed it your seat. But never once had you sat in it like this. Your heart does a flip. All those times you’d wish he’d reach over and do just this—a small gesture that would’ve been so big then. And it’s your reality, now.  

“Freezing,” you say. A brush of his fingers nearer the apex of your thighs sends you pressing them together and shifting in your seat. “But not everybody runs as hot as you, though, so.” 

His eyes catch the movement in just the split second he looked over to you. “Huh,” he says. He turns to look at you, his gaze flickering with something anew. Something that you’d only ever seen once before. “Is that it?” 

It’s hard to swallow. His fingers brush higher, and higher, feather-dustings of calloused fingertips that sends tingles shooting up your spine at the slightest suggestion of where he’s headed. “Yes,” you say, feigning indignance to cover the shiver that threatens to overtake you. When his fingertips dance at the waistband of your bottoms, it does so anyway. “Kai,” you say, blood hot in your veins. “You’re...driving.” 

His eyebrows pinch into a taunting furrow. “I am,” he says, nodding. “Don’t worry about it, baby. I’ve got us.” 

And he does; fingers slipping under the band of both your bottoms and your panties, he doesn’t even tear his eyes off the road. He’d driven these roads so much, you think he might be able to do it asleep. Even drawing a mewl from you with a brush over your clit, he doesn’t look away more than a quick glimpse at your pinkened cheeks. 

Two fingers dragging up your folds, right over the source of the mess. “You get excited so easily, huh?” he hums. “You like it when I play with you.” 

When he presses those fingers at your entrance, you can’t help but be taken back to that night. It echoes and reverberates through you. Long fingers, strong and punctual brushes against the sweet spot—he was criminally good with his fingers. Playing guitar did more for him than just music. He seemed to know exactly how to utilize those roughened fingers and trained flicks. Your muscles flicker as he abandons your hole for more brushes at your bud.  

Those teasing, sly touches turn to something more serious. His fingers roll over your clit, slow but enough to have you sighing and rolling your hips against the seat belt. But last time had gone just like this, him touching you and receiving nothing. He should feel good, too. “Shouldn’t you pull over?” you sigh, muscles taut. Your breaths come out shuddering and half-controlled, interrupted by the tightness that each delicious swirl provokes. The door takes the brunt of your grip, white-knuckling the interior. 

He laughs, a husky sound that is tinder to fire. He knows what you mean. “Maybe,” he says. “But I think I’m enjoying this plenty. I think I want to see you cum on my fingers again.” 

Fingers pinching and flicking faster, you grow breathy and whiny, hips rolling against the seatbelt and back into the seat. Your muscles, all the way down your thighs and deep in your belly, jump and twitch each time his fingers run over your clit in just the right spot—that tender spot that’s so good that it teeters on overwhelming. The kind that makes you hiss and then want more. “Shit, Kai,” you whine. “Right—there, keep going."  

He doesn’t answer with any teasing words. No, he just doubles down right at that angle and pressure, leaned back into his seat and driving as if he wasn’t fingers-deep in your panties right now. His sculpted profile at total ease—it does something for you. A delicious tightness curls its fingers over your center, promising a sugary ecstasy that you can’t help but chase. Bucking into his hands as best you can, you go quiet. Right there—right there, you feel it. The cusp. Your fingers brush over it, clenching around nothing and squeezing your thighs tight around him. Every last drop of blood in your body reaches for it, singing and dancing through your veins and making you dizzy. 

And then he stops. Your mouth drops open, whiplashed and helpless to its slipping away from you. You whittle your gaze into something sharp and turn to him. “What—why?” you complain. The tide slips further and further and further back, but you still taste sea salt on your tongue. Frustration sets in its place as you feel it go. Seriously, you’d been right there. “You’re so mean.” 

He slows and then with the clicking of the turn signal, he’s off the road and pulling the truck into park on a little secluded side road. Where the headlights pierce the pitch black, nothing but gravel and field surrounds you. He doesn’t kill the engine, instead pulling his hand free from you. 

Your heart, still stuttering with your lost orgasm, kicks back to life as he smears your slick over your mouth, dragging it over your lips and then taking his thumb to run it right over the plush of your mouth. “Am I?” he says, fingers taking your chin to meet your eyes with his. Endless hunger, pupils so blown that his eyes look black, pins you. “I don’t think you’ve seen mean yet, baby.” 

Darting your tongue out to clean your lips, you look at him through your eyelashes. “Show it to me, then.” 

Something dark passes over his face. It has your skeleton jumping out of your body. Then, he says, “Is that what you want? You want mean?” 

Brain gone to mush that can only really think about him touching you, a slow nod is all you can manage. 

The engine’s hum prevails for some long, thick seconds. And then, he tilts his head in a gesture. “Get in the back.” 

Holy shit. You want to sit there frozen in an overwhelming sort of excitement, but his seatbelt clicks undone and you’re set into motion. In a flurry of giggles and clumsy limbs, you climb up over the center console and into the backseat. He slips out of the front seat, not bothering to even kill the engine. 

The door beside you opens in a swirl of cold wind. In nothing more than a blink, a strong hand has both your wrists pinned to the cushions and your back flush against it. Nose-to-nose, his breath hot over your face. “I’ve got plenty of ideas as to how I can warm you up.” 

You appreciate each other’s faces for a beat more, you looking up at him big-eyed and waiting. Kai breaks the moment to attack your neck in a procession of bites and kisses. Your mouth falls into a silent sound. 

“You know,” he says, free hand working your pants off. His eyes are trained on you, though. “I thought about doing this to you all summer. Touching you again.” He moves on to your top, pushing the fabric up until your chest is freed, clad in soft cotton. He eats the sight up. You want to reach down and cup the back of his head or feel his hair between your fingers as he presses his mouth against the soft beginning of your cleavage, but he’s got your wrists firmly planted. So much so, that you wonder exactly how he’s got you so secure with just one hand. Kai is strong, but maybe you hadn’t seen just how strong. Your skin aches under the purple bites he decorates you in. The sight of him—face in your chest and marking you up so lazily—has your teeth abusing your bottom lip. Whatever sounds you might make otherwise would be embarrassing. Kai lifts his eyes to you. “And I think you thought of me, too. Didn’t you?” 

“Oh, god, yes,” you say, writhing beneath him. He’s going so slow. You want him all over you. “So much.” 

He likes that. He takes your pebbled nipple into his mouth through the fabric. Soft grazes of teeth and sucks, you’re burning all over. When he pulls back, he’s left you dark wet patches when the bra had only just dried against your body heat. “Good,” he rasps, taking his big hands demanding and hungry over your torso. They swallow your frame up, soothing skin but lighting it aflame all the same. “Good girl.” 

You never thought just words could unravel you, but those did the job. Not a gasp, nor a sucking in of breath—no, you go silent and brainless, fumbling for rational thought. 

The dropping of your jaw has Kai delighted. “You’re so pretty,” he says. In a swift and powerful hoist, he’s tugging you down the cushions toward him with greedy fingers. He’s got your thighs pressed up to your chest. You’re bent right in half. 

Out of breath, you huff out, “You too.” 

A quick laugh falls from his mouth, lips pulled into a smug tilt. He nips at your calf up by his face. “So sweet, it almost makes me feel bad for what I’m about to do to you.” Reaching down for your panties, he pulls back on the suffocating press for only enough time to drag them up your legs. Those get discarded somewhere on the floor. Who cares about that right now, though? All you can register is the metallic clinking of his belt being undone. It’s got your nervous system twisting up. 

And, those words. Electricity shoots bolts of pure, sizzling revery into your core. What I’m about to do to you. You imagine a great deal of things that he might mean, but still, you think that none could hold a candle against the promise his voice held in saying it. 

Kai presses his body to your thighs and hooks your calves over his shoulders, and it all becomes real. The press of his heavy cock to your folds, the digging of his fingers into your outer thighs, his pretty eyes sparkling with something feral. As real as it gets—more real than anything you’ve ever felt in the entirety of your life. Your hands find perch flattened to his broad chest. 

The position leaving you two no option but to look right into each other, he holds your gaze and begins slow drags of his hot length up and down your slit. Tantalizing, awful, awful drags. When his tip nudges your eager clit, you jolt. And then he does it again. And again. 

“Kai,” you mewl. A press against your hole has you hopeful, and he lingers there for a moment, but doesn’t give it to you. Can’t he just fuck you? You’ve never been more pitifully in need of something in your life. 

“Shh.” His ruts get more daring, smearing your slick up onto your belly. “Take it.” 

You wiggle your toes in the air and make passes at arching yourself into him in search of better friction. He’s got you pressed so suffocatingly into the seat that it does absolutely nothing for you. In fact, he holds your harder and changes tack so that your thighs press together. At the very apex of them, his weeping cock slips through the seam. 

Pressing his cheek into your calf, he watches you. Every gasp and shaky inhale, he watches. It spurs his rutting on, sticky sounds and pants eating up the air. Your nails claw at his hands as, finally, a knot tightens in your core. 

“Yes, please,” you breathe. He fucks your thighs harder. Faster. Every nudge at your clit and hole becomes euphoric. “Kai, baby—I’m gonna—” 

Just as furiously easy as last time, he rips it all away from you. The rushing away of the buzzing and promise of shaking thighs—he takes it from you again. It brings prickling tears to your eyes. “Kai?” you hiss. “Again?” 

His eyes aren’t playful. He pulls your calves back over his shoulders, handling your hips into a better position to press his cock right at your entrance as if you weigh nothing. Face utterly straight, he says, “I don’t think you deserve it, do you? Not after what you did with Yeonjun.” 

A swallow goes down your throat hard. He presses himself just a bit harder into you. Not in yet, but right there. 

When he does begin sliding in, the stretch of it... You cling to him and squirm between him and the warm cushions behind you. Each inch is a heady feeling, all the way up to the hilt of him. He shudders a controlled breath. “You’re so fucking tight, though,” he grits out. “Did he not fuck you right?” 

Slaps of skin bounce off the car interior and between your bodies. He starts off at a brutal pace; you know it’s meant to make your brain go foggy. Squeezing your eyes closed, you manage, “I... didn’t fuck him.” It comes out strangled, voice bouncing as he fucks you into the car seat. 

Thumb tugging your bottom lip down and then dipping into your mouth, he watches the show of your ecstasy down to every last detail. “Yeah?” he says, voice shaking and almost desperate. “Always thinking of me, huh? Such a good little princess. You know exactly where your heart belongs.”  

You want to answer him, even just with a whine or moan. You try to. But with his thumb pressing down on your tongue, enough to pin it to the floor of your mouth, it’s not gonna happen. He tastes salty in your mouth. 

His truck consists of his grunts and whines, and your taut groans for some moments that seem to stretch forever. The planes of his groin grind against your clit when he delivers occasional pointed rolls, but mostly it’s just an animalistic, feverish dancing of your two sweaty bodies, holds growing more frantic the closer you get.  

Thumb wet with saliva; he frees your mouth. The hand trails slowly down your face and your chin, brushing feather touches, until he finds your neck. 

Your eyes fly open, wide. He pressed his fingers into your neck—no real pressure yet, he looks at you through damp strands of dangling hair and says, “Want my fingers around your neck?” His thumb brushes over the buzzing pulse point there. 

“Yes,” you grit out, body bouncing and back raw with friction against the coarse cushion’s surface. Your breath stutters, your mind stutters. Even your blinks stutter, eyelids too lazy to keep up. “Please.” 

The pressure of his fingers there—it frightens you and has you tightening around him at the same time. But you would trust nobody more with your life than Kai. 

He presses his cheek to your calf to indulge in the sight of you like this: underneath him, folded in two, nowhere to go but to take his pistoning hips, cheeks blazing, and his fingers pressed into your windpipe. If the way he becomes sloppier and more desperate in his tempo has anything to say for it, it does something for him. 

“Gonna be my pretty little girlfriend, huh?” he says. His voice is tight—so is your belly. You’re both so close. Hopefully, this time he’ll let you cum. “Take you to every show; show you off to everybody. Fuck.” 

Brain like static and swimming with a pinched flow of oxygen, you slur your words. “You’re—hah—gonna have other girls all over you.” 

The taunting, split-second raise of his brows flips your belly. You tighten him again. If he keeps hitting that spot, tip ramming into the soft spot deep inside you that he’d taken such delicate care of finding last time, you’re going to burst into sparkling flame and firework. He growls, “Well, I’ll just have to knock you up so that they know I’m yours, huh?” 

Holy shit. You like the sound of that. Your nails dig into his wrist around your neck, but you cry out a pitchy, “Yes!” 

“Oh, you like that?” Kai releases your throat to take both your hips. You gulp for air, finding nothing but the thick air of sex and humid breaths, at the opportunity. He’s ramming into you like he’s found a purpose. “Isn’t this the perfect position to do it? Get you pregnant?” 

With every last bit of brain power you’ve got, teetering on the edge excruciatingly close to salvation, you groan a long, hoarse sound. “Fuck, yes! Please, Kai, inside—” A hot trail of tears roll down your temples. 

It’s all he’s got to hear to still inside you. His growl rumbles deep in his chest, holding you in place and filling you with his hot cum deep in your cunt. That feeling, coupled with his short grinds against your clit as he fucks his seed deeper, takes your soul by sinful claws and crumbles it down into nothing. You burst into a shaking, whimpering peak, sucking your lips into your mouth to bare through the sheer twisting of your insides and the flame that consumes up your thighs and cunt. 

He falls on you heavy, face in your neck. Warm kisses against your clammy skin meld with your slow floating down, the two of you a beautiful, nasty picture of fucked out. He stays right inside you—the absolute stillness of him, you think he has no plans of pulling out any time soon. His long fingers card through your sweaty locks of hair. 

Finally, he presses himself off you. You get a glimpse of the window behind him—fogged up and filthy with your affairs. Anybody to see the truck from the outside would know exactly what went on inside, but right now, you don’t care. Not one bit. Your panted breaths drag in nothing but musk and thick, hot air. The drumbeat in your chest tells you that, despite how you feel ripped straight from your body, you are very much still alive. More alive than ever. 

“Warm?” he says, pushing sticky hair off his forehead. He’s a mess, too. His hair is ruffled with your touch, his clothes rumpled the same, beads of sweat rolling down the planes of his cheeks and neck, and his eyes a lazy smolder. As much as he looks like sex personified, a soft smile twitches at his lips. 

You snort. You can’t help but feel giddy, here with him. You’re with him. Nothing has ever felt more right. Unplugged when he pulls out of you, your mess trickles down onto the seat below you. “Yeah,” you say. “Very.” 

Warm is not enough to begin to describe how you feel. In your ears, you hear whisperings. Soft and gentle. Perhaps it was divine intervention, or the fates lending you their word, or maybe just rational thought. It says: 

Home. You are home. 

✎୭ ashlynn's note how do we feel about this pair? i really didn't mean for this to get so long, but i ended up RLLY liking their chemistry. i had to do their story justice. also, i finished this with kai as a guitarist and then his drummer performance came out... hmm.

﹙🏷️ ﹚@lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[seasprincess]

JJ fic. I'm thinking sweet smut. Like almost goofy because that's just who he is, rarely super serious. And he and reader just know each other so well that things can be goofy, even during sex and neither of them care. Unprotected (if you're good with that). Then maybe reader finds out she's pregnant. Worried to tell JJ. But he's so thrilled.

bf!jj

a/n: I loveeed this ask

warnings: smut, pregnancy, unprotected s3x (wrap it pookies), brain rot.

“Have you got a condom?” As soon as the words leave your mouth the blonde, that’s on top of you, head pops up. He looks at you slightly confused. His hands stoping the rubbing against your lacy panties.

“I thought you were bringing them?” JJ says, his blue eyes looking into yours as he suddenly remembers.

He was supposed to bring them.

“Fuck sake.” He sighs as he runs his head, this isn’t the first time he’s had to run out and buy them during this intimate moments. He just a forgetful guy.

“Fuck it.” You say, not even thinking about it twice. You need this. He’s been touching you for too long. “You’ve been edging me f-“

“Edging.” He cuts off with a little snort and a smile. He’s so unserious it’s insane.

“Stop.”

“Sorry.”

You look up at him and lean up, pressing your soft lips against his. Slowly his slips his tongue into your mouth as his hands continue to touch, rub and caress you. He’s being soft today.

But the way he’s fiddling with the zipper of his jeans is not soft nor slow. Of course it gets stuck, and he’s just there trying to rip it open. Trying to unjam it with some huffs and puffs.

While he’s doing that you’re pulling down your panties, the fold air against your core making you flinch a bit. Before you lay back down and he lays back on top of you.

“Are you sure?” He asks as he looks at you. This isn’t the first time you’ve done it without protection but every time he checks. Make sure you’re certain.

“Yes.” You say with a nod of your head. You just can’t wait any longer.

Slowly JJ enters your cunt, your tight walls sucking him in as you let at a moan. JJ jokes about his size to everyone. Saying how big he is. But they weren’t jokes.

“Fuck mama. So tight.” He says before placing a kiss on your neck. His thrusts picking up. His hand coming to your neck, not to choke you. But to make it easier to pick up his speed. “Such a good girl.”

Your walls clench around him as your eyes screw shut. Whimpers filling the space of your bedroom.

“Please don’t stop.” You breathe out as you instinctively grab onto the duvet, knuckles turning white as you look at him. His stupid face smirking down at you before reattaching to your neck.

His face practically lives there now. Hes always kissing and sucking on your neck.

JJ’s free hand slips between your legs and starts rubbing. Rubbing that sensitive bud of yours. His cock twitching inside your pussy.

It doesn’t take long for both you and JJ to cum. His thrust slowing down as he looks at you.

Both of you panting before the blonde just has to open his stupid mouth.

“That was so skibidi.”

“Oh my god.”

You can’t believe it.

‘This can’t be real.’ You think to yourself as you look at those two lines. The two lines that can either be a blessing or a curse.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sat on the bath mat of your bathroom. I mean you can’t have a baby. Can you? You’re only eighteen living at your parents house dating a guy who only recently learnt the difference between there, their and they’re.

You can’t be parents.

You just can’t.

“Baby I’m here to hang.” The sound interrupts your thoughts. the very guy you were just thinking about. Knocking a tune on your bathroom door.

You sniff and dry your eyes, trying to get rid of any sign that you were crying.

But JJ heard everything.

“Hey, yn? You okay?” His concern is evident in his tone. He cares about you more than you’d ever know.

The bathroom door slowly opens and your eyes meet the blondes. Slowly making his way to you, crouching down and placing his hands on your knees. You’re silent. You can’t speak. Don’t know what to say if you were to open your mouth.

So you just hold the test.

JJ’s eyes follow your gaze to the test. His breath catching in the back of his throat.

You want to know how he feels, is he angry? Upset? Disappointed?

Actually he’s none of them.

“I’m going to be a dad?” He says excitedly. Immediately you look at him. Shocked by this response. He’s happy?

“Yeah.” You say quietly.

“I’m going to be a dad!” He says louder and takes off his hat before standing up. Pacing the bathroom and smiling. Yapping about all the things he’s going to do. How excited he is to have a child.

You should’ve never been worried. You’re going to be parents.

[sugdenlovesdingle]

I see you're looking for prompts, so if you're still writing then how about:

Tommy comes over and accidentally interrupts Uncle Buck time.

Sorry it took so long! I hope you like it!

---

"Ok Jee, these need to cool off while the other batch is in the oven." Buck told his niece, putting their freshly baked cookies onto a wire cooling rack. He grabbed her hand and moved it away when she tried to grab one. "No, no, these are hot. You'll burn yourself. It'll hurt. Ouchie."

The girl tucked her hands against her chest and warily eyed the rack.

"They'll be cool enough to eat in a little while." he promised her. "And we can make the chocolate chip ones while we wait for the snickerdoodles to cool off."

"With extra chips!" Jee announced happily.

"Sure. Why not. We can even make some more so you can take them home with you when mommy and daddy come pick you up." Buck suggested. "And maybe some banana bread too..." he mumbled more to himself than to Jee.

He flicked through the cookbook he'd bought so he wouldn't have to look up recipes on his phone (and he'd be less tempted to check his text thread with Tommy) to find the right page, while Jee pointed out all of the other things she wanted to make.

"And this!" Jee pointed at a picture of a cake that looked like something out of a professional bakery and way above his skill level.

It was perfect. A complicated recipe meant his brain had no time go over that last conversation with Tommy again to try and figure out how and where he'd screwed up so spectacularly.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Buck glanced at the clock on the oven, but it wasn't anywhere near the time he expected Maddie and Chim to be back.

He quickly wiped his hands on his apron, deposited Jee on the sofa with the cookbook and rushed to open the door.

He expected to maybe find one of his neighbours on the other side, or someone trying to convince him to donate to some charity.

"Tommy?"

The other man looked about as well as he felt. Dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, and the same three day stubble that was currently on his own face.

"Hey... Uhm... I did text... And call... But you didn't reply."

"Oh uh... Yeah my uh phone is on silent..."

Tommy nodded, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket.

"C-can we talk?" Tommy stammered and Buck realised he was nervous. Cool and collected Tommy Kinard was nervous about talking to him.

Before Buck got the chance to answer, a loud beeping came from the kitchen and Jee excitedly ran up to the island.

"Uncle Buck! It's done!"

"Oh... Is this a bad time?"

"Uhm..." Buck desperately wanted to talk to Tommy, but at the same time he had to keep an eye on Jee and their baking adventures. "Just... Come on in. Close the door behind you." he rushed over to the kitchen to shut off the timer and check the cookies.

"I can just go... If I'm interrupting your time with your family..."

"No, it's fine. Stay. Please. We're baking. You can help." Buck said, almost pleading. "And when the sugar rush wears off and she's down for the count, we can talk."

"Ok." Tommy nodded and took off his jacket, hanging it on the hook by the door that had practically been his the past six months. Only this time there was no Air Ops uniform jacket next to it or a duffle on the floor.

"Jee, this is my friend Tommy, he's coming to help us." Buck announced as he took another batch of cookies out of the oven.

"Is that ok?" Tommy asked Jee, looking like he was afraid of her answer.

"We're making chocolate chip cookies." the girl told him like she was explaining the mysteries of the world. "With extra chips."

"Oh. Ok. Can I help with that?"

"Tommy is very good at baking." Buck told Jee. "Maybe he'll help us make that cake we found too."

"Sure. Just tell me what to do." Tommy said and Buck saw the exact moment the mask went on again. There was a smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes and a fake cheery tone in his voice. "I'm happy to help where I can."

The three of them went to work and soon almost every available surface of the loft was covered in cooling cookies or ones ready to go into the oven.

Tommy had started to relax a little but there was still a tension to his shoulders Buck didn't like.

When he took the last batch of cookies out of the oven some time later, Jee was already out cold in the armchair and Tommy was sitting at the island with an almost perfect posture, like he was back in the army.

In the exact same place he'd sat when he'd broken both their hearts.

"So... That's the last of it." Buck wiped his hands on his apron before taking it off. "Maddie and Chim won't be back until 10... so we've got two hours."

Tommy nodded.

"Don't you want to clean up first? I can help." he offered but Buck shook his head and sat down too.

Somewhere in the back of his mind the irony of them being in the exact same place as when Tommy ended things between them did register, but he quickly pushed that thought away.

"No. Clean up can wait. I want answers." he looked Tommy in the eye. "I want to know why my boyfriend dumped me instead of telling me I was moving too fast and I freaked him out."

"I... I... I'm sorry." Tommy said eventually. "I did what I thought was best."

"For who? For me? For you? Because I haven't been doing so great these past few weeks."

"Neither have I..." Tommy admitted quietly.

"Then why did you do it? Why did you dump me?"

"I just... I'm not the last person kind of guy. People don't stay with me. I'm ok for a while... Until they get a better offer. I'm never anyone's mister right, only mister right now."

Buck frowned.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"That you're going to find someone you're going to want to settle down with and that someone is not me. And that... that hurts... but it's better to rip the band aid off now than 6 months or a year or maybe even longer if I'm lucky down the line. "

"What makes you so sure I'm going to meet someone else?"

Tommy gave him a sad smile.

"Because that's the way it always goes. It's fun for a while and then you meet the person you're meant to be with."

"What makes you think I haven't already met him?"

"Evan..."

"Don't Evan me." he took a deep breath and tried to gather his thoughts. He wanted to get this right. Make Tommy see he was serious. "I miss you." he started "You said you couldn't be my first and my last but I think you can. I want you to be. Ever since that first time you kissed me, I've felt more free and alive and... complete... than I ever have."

"Evan..." Tommy started again but Buck held up a hand to stop him.

"Just... let me get this out." he paused for a second "I'm a grown man, Tommy. I'm not some teenager with a crush who doesn't know what he wants. I've slept around plenty over the years... But I stopped doing that because it didn't make me happy. I wanted someone to come home to. Someone I could introduce to my friends and family. Someone who would listen to me talk about my day and tell me about theirs. Someone I could just be myself with. Who wouldn't get annoyed about my internet deep dives or if I had to cancel date night because I was too tired after a shift. "

"And you deserve that... And... And I hope you find that person."

"I already have." he grabbed Tommy's hands. "It's you. You know most of my friends and family, you've even already met my parents." he grinned, thinking back to Maddie and Chim's wedding day in the hospital. "You know the job, you even used to work at the same firehouse."

"That doesn't mean I'm good for you. Or good enough."

"Can I be the one to decide that?"

"I... I... what? I... of course... but..."

"Everyone keeps making decisions for me. Including you."

"I'm sorry..."

"No." Buck shook his head "I should stand up for myself more. Go after what I want."

"And what is it you want?" Tommy asked, trying not to get his hopes up.

"You." Buck said simply and leaned forward to kiss him, happy when Tommy didn't pull away or try to stop him. "I want you. All of you."

"I want that too but..."

"No buts. Whatever problem you think there is... we can work it out. I think what we have is worth fighting for, don't you?"

"I... Yes... Yeah it is..."

"But?"

"I'm kind of terrified." Tommy admitted. "I've never felt this way about anyone before. I've never been in a relationship where I fell so hard so fast... And that scared the hell out of me."

"That's ok. I can be brave for the both of us for now." Buck told him and kissed him again, just because he could. "But promise me one thing."

"Anything."

"Next time I move too fast or say something dumb that makes you freak out... talk to me instead of running away?"

Tommy took a deep breath and looked him in the eye.

"Ok. I promise."

---

Send me a prompt and I'll write you a ficlet!

(if you've sent me one recently - I have seen it and it's most likely saved in my drafts, partially written, because I keep getting distracted - but I will finish it sooner or later!)

[daisymbin]

Hi!!

Can you please write a drabble for jeonghan using the fluff prompts #23 and #39?

hi love!! I'm sorry again, my mistake 😓 if I had checked my ask earlier that I could ask which prompt so you don't have to wait so long 😢 hopefully this slightly longer fic makes up for it!!!! thank you for waiting 😽🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // hannie's m.list

fluff prompt #23: "you stayed up all night taking care of me?" +

fluff prompt #39: "you talk about me in your sleep, you know?"

jeonghan woke up to the soft hum of sunlight filtering through his blinds and the faint rustle of movement nearby. his head throbbed, his mouth felt like cotton, and the events of the previous night were a blur. blinking against the bright light, he groaned and shifted slightly, immediately regretting the motion as nausea crept in.

“you’re awake,” a familiar voice said, cutting through the fog in his brain.

he turned his head toward you, sitting in his desk chair with your arms crossed, looking both relieved and annoyed. your hair was slightly disheveled, and your tired eyes met his.

“morning,” he croaked, his voice hoarse. “what happened?”

you raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “you got drunk. like, really drunk. i had to bring you home because you kept whining that you felt sick.”

he winced, his memory offering little more than flashes of the night. “oh.”

you stood up, walking over to his bedside with a glass of water and some painkillers. “and then you wouldn’t stop complaining, so i stayed up to make sure you didn’t choke on your own stupidity.”

“you stayed up all night taking care of me?” he asked, his voice quieter now, laced with something he wasn’t sure he wanted to unpack.

“someone had to,” you replied, handing him the glass. your tone was matter-of-fact, but the way your eyes lingered on him, soft and full of concern, made his chest feel strange.

he sipped the water, trying to ignore the way his stomach flipped. “did i… do anything embarrassing?”

you leaned back against the wall, crossing your arms with a smirk. “oh, plenty. but my favorite part was when you started talking in your sleep.”

jeonghan froze, his hand hovering mid-air. “what?”

you raised an eyebrow. “yeah, you talk about me in your sleep, you know?”

his heart skipped a beat. “what did i say?”

your smirk widened. “you don’t remember?”

“obviously not!” he shot back, feeling his face heat up.

you tilted your head, pretending to think. “hmm… let’s see. you said my name a lot, for one. i lost count after the fifth time.”

his stomach flipped. “just your name?”

you leaned forward, your grin turning teasing. “oh, no. you said other things, too.”

jeonghan groaned, covering his face with his hands. “what kind of things?"

last night

you had just managed to guide jeonghan into his bed, his arm slung heavily over your shoulders as he half-stumbled, half-leaned on you. “come on, jeonghan. you’re almost there,” you huffed, trying to keep him upright.

“you’re so strong,” he mumbled, his words slurring. “like… really strong. you could probably carry me, huh?”

“i’m already carrying most of your weight,” you muttered under your breath, ignoring the way his words made your cheeks warm.

as soon as his head hit the pillow, jeonghan let out a long sigh. you thought he’d drift off immediately, but instead, he mumbled, “you’re so nice to me. always so nice.”

you froze, hovering by the edge of his bed.

“you smell nice, too,” he added, his voice muffled by the pillow. “like… flowers or something. but not too strong. it’s just… perfect.”

your heart skipped a beat, and you slowly lowered yourself into the desk chair, unsure if he was fully asleep or just delirious.

“wish i could tell you,” he mumbled, his voice so soft you almost missed it. “wish i could say how much i…” he trailed off, his breathing evening out as he falls asleep.

you thought he was done for the night, but then, an hour later, he added, “want to take you out sometime. somewhere nice. you deserve that. wanna take angel out on date.”

angel? but that's his nickname for you...

your heart raced and ached at the vulnerability in his voice. you sat there in silence, watching his peaceful face, the weight of his words settling over you.

“you’re too good for me,” he whispered, the words barely audible. “but i’m selfish. i want you to be mine.”

[-]

“so,” jeonghan said now, dragging you back to the present, “what exactly did i say?”

you shrugged, playing it cool despite the way your heart raced. “oh, just that you think i’m nice and smell like flowers.”

he blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process your words. “i said that?”

“mmhm,” you hummed, biting back a grin.

“and…?” he prompted, clearly fishing for more.

“and you said you want to take me out sometime,” you added, your voice casual but your cheeks warm. "on a date." you added softly.

jeonghan stared at you, his expression unreadable. then, slowly, a smirk tugged at his lips. “sounds like me.”

you rolled your eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but your heart betrayed you, hammering in your chest.

he shifted closer, resting his chin on his palm, his grin playful but his voice quieter. “so, how about it? i’m free this weekend. dinner, your pick. i owe you for, you know, saving my life or whatever.”

“is this how you ask someone out?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“well, it’s not every day i find out i confessed in my sleep,” he countered, a nervous laugh slipping through. “but… you’d say yes, right?”

you faltered, his unusually earnest tone catching you off guard. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

jeonghan’s laugh was immediate, light and relieved. “i’ll take that as a yes.”

“don’t make me regret it,” you warned, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your words.

“trust me, you won’t,” he said, his confidence returning. “and for the record, i’d totally carry you to bed if the roles were reversed. just saying.”

he grinned, leaning back against the pillows with a smug expression. if his heart was racing, well, that was for him to deal with later.

“jeonghan!”

his signature smirk firmly in place. "what’s wrong? cat got your tongue, or are you just mesmerized by me again?" he teased, his voice low and honeyed as he moved closer. the confidence he exuded was disarming, but you caught the flicker of something softer in his eyes — a nervousness he couldn’t quite hide.

you rolled your eyes, though your pulse quickened as he closed the distance. "you wish," you muttered, but your breath hitched when his hand brushed against your cheek, his fingers ghosting over your skin.

“oh, i know,” jeonghan said, his grin widening. yet, as he cupped your face more firmly, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, his playful facade cracked. his throat bobbed in a swallow, and you noticed the way his eyes darted between your lips and your gaze, like he was trying to decide if he was allowed to take this leap.

“you’re awfully quiet now,” he murmured, though his voice lacked its usual bravado. “nervous?”

“are you?” you shot back, emboldened by the faint tremor in his hand.

“terrified,” he admitted, almost inaudibly, before he leaned in.

the first press of his lips against yours was tentative, a soft, testing thing that quickly gave way to something hungrier when you didn’t pull back. his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as his confidence returned in the way he kissed you—playful, teasing, with the occasional nip at your bottom lip that left you breathless.

you fisted the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself as the heat between you grew. his smirk returned when he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours. “i told you, you can’t resist me.” but his pink cheeks betrayed him, revealing just how badly he’d wanted this.

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

Second Chance - Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve tried to get you back, but it's not always easy to gain back the trust one loses.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Warning: Angsts, like kind of a lot of it, injured character, but nobody dies. A bit of fluff with a happy ending.

Words: 9 224

AN: So, sweet anon asked about part two of Enough is Enough, and well, why the hell no :) I feel like shit (being sick isn't fun), so apologies x4 for any mistakes. My brain isn't braining...

Steve didn’t give up.

Steve’s first apology came in the form of flowers.

They arrived at the coffee shop just as you were opening. A delivery driver handed you the bouquet—a lush arrangement of white roses and baby’s breath, wrapped in soft tissue paper. For a moment, you just stared at them, the scent of fresh blossoms mingling with the familiar aroma of coffee beans. The card nestled within the bouquet bore only three words: I’m so sorry.

Your chest tightened. You didn’t have to wonder who sent them.

“Who’s the secret admirer?” your coworker teased, grinning as she wiped down the counter.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you set the bouquet aside, trying to push down the lump rising in your throat. It was a beautiful gesture—one you might have cherished once—but now it felt hollow.

The flowers kept coming. Every morning, a new arrangement would appear. Daisies, tulips, sunflowers. Each accompanied by a note in Steve’s handwriting: I miss you. I love you. Let me fix this.

You didn’t know how to feel. Part of you wanted to believe him, to give him the chance to make things right. But another part of you—the part still raw and aching—refused.

Then he started showing up.

The first time, you nearly dropped the coffee pot in your hand. He stood outside the shop, leaning against the lamppost with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. He looked different—tired, almost haunted, as though the weight of your absence was something physical he carried with him.

You ignored him, focusing on your customers, but you could feel his presence like a shadow just beyond the glass. When you finally closed the shop, he was still there.

He said your name softly as you stepped outside, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t stop walking.

“Please,” he called after you, his tone desperate. “Just give me a chance to talk.”

You turned back, your jaw clenched. “Why now, Steve? Why couldn’t you talk to me when it mattered?”

His face crumpled, and for a brief moment, you felt a pang of guilt. But you shook it off and kept walking.

It didn’t deter him. Steve came back the next day, and the day after that, always waiting silently as you worked. It wasn’t until a week later that you finally confronted him.

“What do you want from me, Steve?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended.

His blue eyes searched yours, filled with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen in months. “I want to make this right,” he said, his voice breaking. “I love you. I never stopped. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening with conflicting emotions. He looked so sincere, so heartbroken, that for a moment, you almost believed him. Almost.

“It’s too late,” you said finally, your voice barely audible. “You can’t fix this. I don’t trust you anymore.”

The pain in his eyes was like a physical blow, but you didn’t let it show. You turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, defeated.

But the truth was, you weren’t as strong as you seemed. Every step away from him felt like ripping a piece of yourself apart. By the time you got home, you were shaking, tears streaming down your face as you collapsed onto the couch.

You loved him. God, you still loved him. But love wasn’t enough anymore.

***

The days blurred together after that.

You went through the motions of your life—opening the coffee shop each morning, smiling at customers, making small talk with your coworkers—but it all felt mechanical, like a script you had memorized long ago. The warmth and joy that once fueled you were gone, replaced by an empty numbness you couldn’t seem to shake.

Nights were the worst.

Sleep eluded you, no matter how many hours you spent staring at the ceiling or tossing and turning under your blankets. The bed felt too big, too cold without him there. You hated yourself for missing him, for craving the comfort of his arms even after everything he’d done. But the longing wasn’t something you could control.

It wasn’t just the nights, though. Little things kept sneaking up on you, tearing at the fragile stitches holding you together.

The sight of his favorite mug on your kitchen counter. The book he’d borrowed but never finished, still sitting on your nightstand. The faint scent of his cologne that lingered on your favorite sweater, no matter how many times you washed it.

You tried to distract yourself, but nothing worked. Books, once your solace, couldn’t hold your attention. The words blurred together, and you’d find yourself reading the same sentence over and over without absorbing a single word.

Your friends noticed.

“You need to eat more,” one of them said during a group dinner you’d been forced to attend. She pushed a plate of pasta toward you, her brow furrowed with concern. “You look like you’ve lost weight.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, picking at the food with a fork.

Kat wasn’t buying it. She leaned across the table, her sharp blue eyes cutting through your defenses. “You’re not fine. And we’re not going to pretend otherwise.”

Her words hit harder than you expected, and you had to blink back the sting of tears.

Steve’s friends noticed too. Sam popped into the coffee shop one morning, leaning casually against the counter as you took his order.

“You’re not sleeping,” he said matter-of-factly, his tone laced with concern.

You forced a smile, trying to keep your voice light. “Busy days, you know how it is.”

He didn’t press you further, but the look he gave you lingered long after he left.

***

The worst was when Steve came back.

It was late in the evening, just before closing, when he walked into the shop. You froze behind the counter, your heart leaping into your throat at the sight of him.

He looked just as broken as you felt. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was mussed like he’d been running his hands through it in frustration. He lingered near the entrance, as if unsure whether he was welcome.

“Hi,” he said softly, his voice hesitant.

You gripped the edge of the counter, steadying yourself. “We’re about to close.”

“I know,” he said, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides. “I just… I wanted to see you.”

You turned away, pretending to busy yourself with cleaning up. “You shouldn’t be here, Steve.”

“Please,” he said, stepping closer. “Just give me five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You shook your head, your chest tightening painfully. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you,” he said, his voice breaking. “And because I can’t stand knowing I hurt you like this.”

His words cracked something inside you, but you couldn’t let him see it. “You need to leave,” you said firmly, refusing to meet his eyes.

For a moment, he hesitated, as if hoping you might change your mind. But when you didn’t, he nodded, his shoulders sagging with defeat.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible. “I’m sorry.”

You watched him go, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the empty shop. And then you broke.

You sank to the floor, tears streaming down your face as the weight of your grief crushed you.

You loved him. God, you still loved him.

But you didn’t know how to let yourself forgive him.

***

You didn’t expect to find Bucky Barnes on your doorstep.

It was a gray Saturday morning, and the porch floor creaked under your weight as you aimlessly swept away fallen leaves. When you opened the door and saw him standing there, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets and his blue-gray eyes watching you carefully, you froze.

“Bucky?”

“Hey,” he said, his tone casual, though his expression betrayed a flicker of hesitation. “Mind if I come in?”

You hesitated. This was Steve’s best friend. Seeing him felt like reopening wounds that you’d been trying desperately to let heal. But there was no judgment in his gaze, no pressure—just concern. So, with a heavy sigh, you stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.

He stepped into the living room, glancing around like he was cataloging the space. You folded your arms, standing stiffly near the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, doll,” he teased, his lips quirking into a faint smirk.

“Bucky,” you said, your voice sharper now. “Why are you here?”

He sighed, the smirk fading. “I wanted to check on you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you said quickly. “I’m not with Steve anymore. There’s no obligation.”

He raised an eyebrow, his head tilting slightly as he leaned against the back of your couch. “Obligation? That’s not why I’m here, sweetheart. You’re my friend too. And whether or not you’re with Steve doesn’t change that.”

The softness in his tone made something crack inside you. You wanted to argue, to brush him off, but instead, you felt your defenses falter.

“Besides,” he continued with a wry grin, “someone’s gotta make sure you know not all men are idiots. Steve might be an amazing guy, but even amazing guys screw up sometimes.”

That last sentence hit you like a slap. You felt the tears coming before you could stop them, your vision blurring as all the emotions you’d been bottling up threatened to spill over. You turned away, trying to pull yourself together, but Bucky wasn’t having it.

“Hey,” he said gently, stepping closer. “Talk to me.”

That was all it took for the dam to break.

“I don’t know how to stop loving him,” you blurted, your voice trembling as the words spilled out in a rush.

Bucky froze, his expression softening as he watched the tears stream down your face. You sank onto the couch, your shoulders shaking, and he followed, sitting beside you without a word.

“I hate him for what he did,” you continued, your voice cracking. “I hate that he made me feel like I didn’t matter, like I was just… there. And now? Now he’s trying to fix it, like I’m supposed to just forget everything and let him back in.”

Bucky listened silently, his hands clasped together as you poured your heart out.

“It feels like a slap in the face,” you said, your chest heaving with each breath. “Like he thinks flowers and apologies will erase months of feeling invisible. I hate him for that. But more than anything, I hate that I still love him.”

You buried your face in your hands, your voice muffled as you added, “I don’t want to love him anymore. I want it to stop, Bucky. I want it all to stop.”

The room was quiet for a long moment. Then, Bucky sighed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

“Doll,” he said softly, “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but loving him isn’t something to hate yourself for. Steve… he’s a complicated guy. He doesn’t always get things right, but I promise you, he loves you. More than you know.”

You shook your head, your voice shaking. “If he loved me so much, why did he treat me like that? Why did he make me feel like I didn’t matter?”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening. “You’re right. He screwed up. Big time. But… he’s been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for years. It doesn’t excuse how he hurt you, but I’ve seen him lately, and he’s a wreck without you.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, your tears blurring the intensity in his gaze.

“He’s not good at showing it,” Bucky continued, “but he’s an amazing guy. I’ve known him my whole life, and I’ve seen him at his best and his worst. And I know he’ll never stop trying to make this right. The question is… would you ever let him? What would it take for you to let him back in?”

The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and unrelenting. You didn’t answer right away, your fingers gripping the hem of your shirt as you stared down at the floor.

“I don’t know,” you whispered finally. “I don’t know if I can. It’s like… every time I see him, I remember how much it hurt. And even if I wanted to try again, I don’t know if I’d ever trust him not to hurt me like that again.”

Bucky reached out, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he said gently. “But whatever you choose, just know this: you deserve to be happy, sweetheart. Whether that’s with Steve or without him.”

You looked at him, searching his face for any trace of pity or judgment, but there was none. Just quiet understanding and unwavering support.

When he finally stood to leave, he gave you a small smile. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said, his voice steady. “And no matter what happens, I’m here. Steve or no Steve.”

You watched him go, his words echoing in your mind long after the door closed.

And for the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to wonder if maybe—just maybe—you could find a way forward.

***

The compound gym was almost empty, save for the quiet hum of machinery and the dull thud of fists meeting a punching bag. Steve Rogers stood at the far end of the room, his knuckles raw and his breathing ragged. He’d been at it for hours, his frustration and grief pouring into every swing, every strike. The bag swayed violently under the force of his hits, the chain creaking with each impact.

“You keep that up, and you’ll be patching the damn thing again,” Bucky’s voice rang out, casual and dry as ever, though the concern in it was unmistakable.

Steve paused mid-swing, the tension in his shoulders easing only slightly as he turned to see his best friend leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. Bucky’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes betrayed a softness Steve wasn’t sure he deserved.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked, his voice hoarse from hours of exertion.

“Figured I’d find you here,” Bucky replied, stepping into the gym. “Thought maybe you’d stop using that bag like it owes you money and actually talk to me.”

Steve sighed, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Not in the mood, Buck.”

“Well, tough,” Bucky shot back, grabbing a folding chair and dragging it noisily across the floor. He plopped it down unceremoniously a few feet away from Steve, crossing one ankle over his knee. “Because I just came from seeing her.”

The color drained from Steve’s face. He froze, his fists still clenched at his sides. “You… you saw her?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said evenly, watching his friend’s reaction carefully. “She didn’t slam the door in my face, so I’d say I’m doing better than you.”

Steve flinched, the weight of Bucky’s words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He turned away, his hands gripping the edges of the punching bag as he tried to steady himself. “How… how is she?”

Bucky hesitated. He’d seen the raw pain in your eyes, the tears you tried to hide, and he knew Steve wasn’t ready for the truth. But lying wouldn’t help either.

“She’s a mess, Steve,” Bucky said softly. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Steve let out a shaky breath, his head hanging low. “I did this to her,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I pushed her away, made her feel like she wasn’t enough. And now… now I don’t know how to fix it.”

Bucky stood, closing the distance between them. “Steve, look at me.”

Reluctantly, Steve turned, his eyes red and tired.

“She still loves you,” Bucky said firmly, his voice steady. “But she’s hurt, and she’s angry. And you can’t expect her to just forget all that because you’re showing up with flowers and apologies.”

“I know that,” Steve snapped, his voice breaking. “God, Buck, I know. But what else can I do? Every time I see her, it’s like she’s slipping further away, and I don’t know how to reach her anymore.”

Bucky’s gaze softened, and he placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You start by understanding that this isn’t about fixing things overnight. It’s about showing her that you’re willing to put in the work, no matter how long it takes. That you’re not just sorry—you’re ready to be better.”

Steve nodded, though the despair in his eyes didn’t fade. “She said she doesn’t trust me anymore.”

“Then earn it back,” Bucky said simply. “Show her that you’re not the same guy who hurt her. And for God’s sake, stop treating this like a battle you can win with brute force. You’re not fighting Hydra here, Steve. You’re fighting for her.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged, his head dropping into his hands. “I don’t even know if she wants me to try.”

Bucky crouched slightly, meeting Steve’s gaze head-on. “I asked her,” he said quietly.

Steve’s head shot up, his blue eyes wide. “What? What did she say?”

“She doesn’t know,” Bucky admitted. “She’s scared, Steve. Scared that if she lets you back in, you’ll hurt her again. And honestly? I don’t blame her.”

The words hit Steve like a blow, but he didn’t argue. He knew Bucky was right.

“She told me something else too,” Bucky continued, his voice softer now. “She said she doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And it’s killing her.”

Steve’s breath caught, his chest tightening painfully. “She… she said that?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. She loves you, Steve. But love isn’t enough—not after what you put her through. You have to show her that you’re not just saying the right things. You have to be the right man for her. The man she fell in love with.”

Steve closed his eyes, his mind racing with memories of you—the way you used to laugh, the way you’d look at him like he was your whole world. He’d taken that for granted, and now he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get it back.

“What if I can’t?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “What if I’ve already lost her?”

Bucky’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “You don’t get to give up, punk. Not on her, and not on yourself. You want her back? Then fight for her. And don’t stop until you’ve shown her that she’s worth everything.”

Steve swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. “How? How do I even start?”

Bucky gave him a small, knowing smile. “Start by listening. By showing up—not just for her, but for the life she wants. Show her that she’s not a convenience, Steve. She’s the center of it all.”

Steve nodded slowly, the weight of Bucky’s words sinking in. He didn’t know if it would be enough, but he knew one thing for certain: he couldn’t give up on you. Not now. Not ever.

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said quietly, his voice rough but sincere.

Bucky grinned, clapping him on the back. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got a hell of a road ahead of you.”

Steve nodded, determination flickering in his tired eyes. He didn’t know how long it would take or if he’d even succeed, but for you, he’d move mountains.

Because losing you wasn’t an option. And he’d spend the rest of his life proving it if that’s what it took.

***

Steve left the gym after his conversation with Bucky feeling drained but determined. His best friend’s words weighed on him, both a reminder of the man he wanted to be and the man he hadn’t been for you. He knew Bucky was right—this wasn’t a fight he could win with brute force or a quick apology. It would take time, patience, and a quiet kind of devotion that he’d never had to show before.

He didn’t expect you to forgive him overnight. He didn’t even expect you to notice what he was doing right away. But he had to start somewhere.

***

It was early morning when Steve pushed open the door to your coffee shop.

The familiar bell jingled above him, the sound stirring memories of quieter, happier times. You were behind the counter, moving with practiced ease as you worked the espresso machine. You didn’t see him at first, but when you turned, your eyes locked, and Steve felt the air shift.

“Morning,” he said, his voice soft, careful not to disrupt the fragile peace of the moment.

You blinked, your expression guarded. “Morning.”

“I’m here for coffee,” he said, stepping forward. “For the team.”

Your brow furrowed, skeptical. “The team sent you?”

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Not exactly. Thought I’d take my turn.”

You didn’t reply, but you turned back to the espresso machine, the hum of it filling the silence. Steve watched you work, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, and for a moment, he was struck by how natural this scene felt, even with the tension between you.

When you handed him the tray of drinks, your fingers brushed his briefly, and he saw the faintest flicker of something in your eyes—surprise, maybe, or something softer.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice warm but careful.

You didn’t answer, but you nodded, and he left without lingering, the bell jingling softly as the door swung shut behind him.

*

The next time he came, it was quieter. Midmorning, after the breakfast rush had died down, Steve appeared with a small brown paper bag in hand.

You were cleaning the counter, lost in thought, when his voice broke through the silence.

“You forget to eat when you’re busy,” he said simply, placing the bag on the counter.

You looked up, startled. “Steve…”

“It’s just breakfast,” he said, holding up a hand to forestall your protests. “Nothing more. Just thought you might need it.”

You hesitated, the words you wanted to say caught somewhere in your throat. Slowly, you opened the bag, the warm scent of eggs and bacon wafting up to meet you.

“From that diner you like,” he added, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Figured it was better than you skipping meals.”

You stared at the bag for a long moment before meeting his eyes. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know,” he said simply. “But I wanted to.”

He didn’t stay long, didn’t push for conversation. He just gave you a small nod and left, leaving you with breakfast and a strange, lingering warmth in your chest.

*

Natasha was relentless when it came to her movie nights, and somehow, you found yourself at the Tower despite your protests. The room was cozy, filled with the low murmur of conversation and the scent of popcorn. You settled into one corner of the couch, trying to ignore the way Steve’s presence tugged at the edges of your awareness.

When the opening credits began to roll, Steve appeared beside you, holding something in his hands.

“Here,” he said quietly, offering you a pair of thick woolen socks.

You frowned, confused. “What’s this?”

“Your feet get cold,” he said simply, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

You stared at him, your chest tightening, before reluctantly taking the socks. “Thanks,” you muttered, slipping them on.

He didn’t linger, didn’t push for more. But later, when the movie reached its tense climax, he handed you a steaming mug of hot chocolate—rich, creamy, with just the right amount of cinnamon.

“You don’t have to—” you started, but he cut you off with a small, knowing smile.

“You love hot chocolate after horror movies,” he said, his tone soft. “Figured you might want some.”

You took the mug, the warmth seeping into your hands, and for the first time that night, you let yourself relax.

*

The envelope was waiting for you in your mailbox, unassuming but carefully placed. Inside was a single ticket to the sold-out Broadway show you’d mentioned to Sam weeks ago.

The note tucked inside was brief, written in Steve’s familiar handwriting: Thought you’d like this. Hope it’s as good as you imagined.

You stared at the ticket for a long time, your heart aching with a mixture of gratitude and frustration. He remembered. Of course, he remembered.

You told yourself it didn’t matter, that it was just a kind gesture, but deep down, it chipped away at the walls you’d built around your heart.

*

The night your car broke down was cold and quiet, the kind of night that made the world feel vast and lonely. You sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the lifeless dashboard, your breath fogging up the glass as you fought the urge to cry.

You tried calling a few friends, but no one answered. Finally, with trembling fingers, you dialed the one number you swore you wouldn’t.

“Sweetheart?” Steve’s voice came through the line, steady and concerned.

“My car won’t start,” you said softly, ignoring the pet name, hating how small your voice sounded.

“Where are you?”

You told him, and he didn’t hesitate. “Stay there. I’m on my way.”

When his truck pulled up beside you, he climbed out without a word, his breath misting in the cold air as he checked under your hood. His movements were sure and efficient, his presence steadying.

“Alternator’s shot,” he said finally, closing the hood. “I’ll take you home.”

You hesitated, your pride warring with your gratitude, but the freezing air made the decision for you.

The drive was quiet, the heater humming softly as Steve navigated the empty streets. He didn’t pry, didn’t try to fill the silence with unnecessary words. He just… drove.

When you woke up the next morning, your car was back in its usual spot. The engine purred like new when you started it, and a small note was taped to the dashboard: Shouldn’t give you trouble anymore. Call me if it does.

*

Each gesture was small, unassuming. Steve never pushed, never demanded more than you were willing to give. He just… showed up, quietly and consistently, letting his actions speak louder than words ever could.

And slowly, despite yourself, you began to notice.

***

Three months had passed since the breakup.

You wouldn’t say things had gone back to normal—far from it—but something had undeniably shifted between you and Steve. His quiet persistence, the way he showed up without pushing or demanding anything from you, had started to chip away at the walls you’d built around your heart.

At first, your conversations were stiff and polite, nothing more than a few sentences exchanged when he stopped by the coffee shop or brought you breakfast. But as the weeks went by, those moments grew longer, softer. He’d ask about your day, about the books you were reading, or the things you enjoyed, and you found yourself answering more openly. It wasn’t quite like before, but it was closer to the first moments of your relationship, back when everything had been new and uncomplicated.

Still, there was a voice in the back of your mind that wouldn’t let you forget. A quiet, insistent whisper that reminded you of how he’d hurt you, how he’d pushed you aside and made you feel invisible.

That voice grew louder the day he asked you to talk.

***

It was late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun filtering through the windows of the coffee shop as you wiped down the counter. The shop was quiet, the usual morning and lunch rushes long gone, leaving you with only the hum of the espresso machine and the soft clatter of dishes.

The sound of the bell above the door caught your attention, and when you looked up, Steve was there.

He’d been coming in more often lately, not just to pick up coffee for the team but to see you, to talk to you. This time, though, something about the way he stood—his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched—told you this wasn’t just a casual visit.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice careful as he approached the counter.

“Hey,” you replied, setting the towel aside.

“Do you have a minute?” he asked, glancing around at the empty shop. “I mean… can we talk?”

You hesitated, your stomach twisting. The vulnerability in his expression was disarming, but that voice in the back of your mind warned you to tread carefully. Still, you nodded, gesturing toward one of the empty tables.

Steve followed you, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from you. For a moment, he said nothing, his hands clasped tightly on the table as he stared down at them. You waited, your heart thudding quietly in your chest as the silence stretched between you.

Finally, he took a deep breath and looked up, his blue eyes meeting yours.

“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” he began, his voice low but steady. “About what I should say. How I should say it. And the truth is… there’s no easy way to do this. So I’m just going to be honest.”

You nodded, your throat tightening as you braced yourself for whatever was coming.

“I screwed up,” he said, the words heavy with regret. “I let you down in a way I never should have. And I’ve been trying to figure out why—why I acted the way I did, why I pushed you away when you were the best thing in my life.”

His hands tightened into fists, his knuckles whitening as he struggled to find the right words. “I think… I think I was scared. Scared of not being enough for you, scared of dragging you into everything that comes with being me. The missions, the stress, the weight of it all—I didn’t want to burden you with that.”

Your brow furrowed, confusion and frustration bubbling to the surface. “So you decided to ignore me instead? To shut me out?”

“I know,” he said quickly, his voice breaking slightly. “I know it doesn’t make sense. It was selfish and stupid, and I wasn’t thinking about how it would make you feel. I just… I thought if I kept it to myself, if I didn’t tell you about everything that was going on, I could protect you from it. But all I did was hurt you.”

His eyes glistened, and he looked away, swallowing hard. “I’ll never forgive myself for that. For making you feel like you weren’t enough when you were everything to me.”

The raw emotion in his voice made your chest ache, but the wounds he’d left were still fresh, still tender.

“Steve…” you began, your voice trembling, “you hurt me more than anyone ever has. Do you know that?”

He flinched, his jaw tightening, but he nodded.

“I spent weeks wondering what I did wrong,” you continued, your words spilling out in a rush. “I kept asking myself why I wasn’t good enough for you, why I wasn’t worth your time or your attention. And then, when you finally started trying again, it felt like a slap in the face. Like you thought a few kind gestures could erase everything you put me through.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you fought to keep your voice steady. “I wanted so badly to be enough for you, Steve. That’s all I ever wanted. Just to be enough.”

“You were,” he said quickly, his voice cracking. “You are. God, you’re more than enough. I was the one who wasn’t. I didn’t know how to handle it—how to be the man you deserved—and I let that fear control me. But I swear to you, I see it now. I see what I lost because of it.”

He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “I know I don’t deserve another chance. I know I might have ruined the best thing that ever happened to me. But if there’s anything—anything—I can do to change your mind, tell me. I’ll do it. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that I can be better, that I can be the man you need me to be.”

His voice dropped, barely more than a whisper. “I just need to know if there’s any part of you that still believes in us.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding as the weight of his words settled over you. The pain, the anger, the love—all of it swirled together in a storm of emotion that left you speechless.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath, your voice trembling as you said, “I don’t know, Steve. I don’t know if I can trust you again. I don’t know if I can forget how much it hurt.”

His face crumpled, but he nodded, accepting your words without argument.

“But…” you continued, your voice softer now, “I can’t pretend I don’t still feel something for you. I can’t pretend I don’t still love you.”

His eyes widened, hope flickering in their depths.

“That doesn’t mean we can go back to how things were,” you said quickly, your tone firm. “If we’re going to try… if we’re going to even think about trying, it has to be different. You have to be honest with me, Steve. About everything.”

“I will,” he said immediately, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear, I will.”

You nodded, your throat tight with the weight of what you’d just said. It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet—but it was something. A small step toward rebuilding what had been broken.

And as Steve reached out, his hand brushing against yours, you let yourself hope—for the first time in months—that maybe, just maybe, it was a step worth taking.

***

It had been a week since the conversation with Steve, and your emotions were in turmoil. You felt caught between the raw pain of the past and the cautious hope of what could be. His words haunted you—his apologies, his promises, the way his voice had cracked when he told you how much he still cared.

You needed clarity, and there was only one person who could give you the no-nonsense advice you desperately needed: Natasha.

She arrived at your place that evening, a takeout bag in hand, and didn’t waste a second settling herself at your kitchen table. Her sharp green eyes studied you as you sat down across from her, picking at the noodles she’d brought for you.

“All right,” she said, breaking the silence. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Steve,” you admitted, your voice soft.

Natasha leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. “What about him?”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the table. “We talked. Really talked. He told me everything—why he shut me out, how he felt, all of it. He apologized for everything and… I believe him, Nat. I really do.”

“But?” she prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“But I don’t know if I can trust him again,” you confessed, your throat tightening. “I don’t know if I can let myself go through that again. He hurt me so much, Nat. How do I just move past that?”

Natasha studied you for a moment, her gaze piercing. “Let me ask you something,” she said finally. “If you didn’t still love him, if you didn’t still want something with him deep down, would we even be having this conversation right now?”

You frowned, her words hitting you hard. “What do you mean?”

“It’s been three months,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “If you were done with him, if you really didn’t care anymore, you’d have moved on by now. You wouldn’t still be here, agonizing over whether to give him another chance.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came. She wasn’t wrong, and deep down, you knew it.

“I’m not saying you have to forgive him tomorrow or even next week,” Natasha continued, leaning forward. “But if there’s still a part of you that wants to believe in him, don’t ignore that. You owe it to yourself to figure out what you really want. Not what you’re afraid of, not what you think you should do. What you want.”

Her words lingered long after she left, a quiet truth that refused to be ignored.

***

At the same time, Steve was grappling with his own uncertainty.

He sat in the Tower’s lounge, his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee as he stared out the window. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about your conversation, about the raw pain in your voice when you told him how much he’d hurt you.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice broke through his thoughts, and Steve turned to see both Sam and Bucky entering the room. They exchanged a look before sitting down on either side of him.

“You’ve been brooding,” Sam said bluntly. “What’s going on?”

Steve sighed, setting his mug down on the coffee table. “It’s her,” he admitted.

“Figured,” Bucky said, leaning back in his chair. “What happened?”

“I talked to her,” Steve said. “Told her everything—how I felt, why I shut her out. I apologized for all of it.”

“And?” Sam prompted.

“She said she doesn’t know if she can trust me again,” Steve said quietly, his voice heavy with regret. “But she also said she still loves me. I don’t know what to do with that, Sam. I don’t know how to make it right.”

Sam leaned forward, his expression serious. “Look, man, love isn’t always enough. Not when there’s hurt involved. If she doesn’t trust you right now, that’s on you to fix. You can’t just expect her to forgive and forget because you feel bad about it.”

“I know that,” Steve said quickly, his jaw tightening. “That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to mess this up again. I need to figure out how to show her that I’m serious without overwhelming her.”

Bucky gave him a long, measured look. “You’ve been trying,” he said finally. “We’ve all seen it—the little things you’ve been doing. But if you’re asking me, you’re not going to fix this by tiptoeing around her. You’ve got to be honest, Rogers. If you want her back, you need to let her see all of you. The good, the bad, and the stuff you think she won’t want to deal with.”

Steve frowned, his gaze dropping to the floor. “What if she doesn’t want to deal with it?”

“Then she doesn’t,” Bucky said simply. “But if you hold back, you’re not giving her the chance to decide for herself. And that’s not fair to either of you.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “You’ve got to let her see that you’re not just saying the right things, Steve. You’ve got to show her. But don’t make it about fixing things fast. Healing takes time, for both of you.”

Steve exhaled slowly, the weight of their words settling over him. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank us yet,” Sam said with a grin. “You’ve got a long road ahead of you, Cap.”

***

Steve spent the next few days thinking about their advice. He’d been so focused on not pushing you, on giving you space, that he hadn’t realized he might be holding back too much.

When he saw you next, it was at the coffee shop, just as you were closing up for the day. He hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, his heart pounding.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice breaking the quiet.

You looked up, surprise flickering across your face. “Hey.”

“Do you have a minute?” he asked.

You nodded slowly, setting down the rag you’d been using to clean the counter. “Sure.”

He gestured toward one of the empty tables, and you followed him, sitting down across from him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between you like a fragile thread.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Steve began, his voice steady but low. “About how much I hurt you, how I made you feel like you weren’t enough. And you were right. I let you down in ways I’ll never forgive myself for.”

Your throat tightened, but you stayed silent, letting him continue.

“I’ve spent so much time trying to fix things in small ways, trying to show you that I’m serious,” he said. “But I don’t think I’ve been honest enough with you. I don’t think I’ve let you see how much this has been tearing me apart.”

His hands tightened into fists on the table, his knuckles white. “I don’t want to overwhelm you or push you, but I can’t hold this back anymore. I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I can be the man you deserve.”

His voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw tears in his eyes. “If there’s anything—anything—I can do to earn your trust again, tell me. Because losing you would be the biggest mistake of my life.”

Your own eyes burned with tears, the raw honesty in his words cutting through the walls you’d built around your heart. For the first time, you saw not just the man who’d hurt you but the man who was willing to fight for you, flaws and all.

You didn’t have an answer for him—not yet. But as you reached across the table and took his hand, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you were ready to start finding one.

***

You were closing up the coffee shop when your phone buzzed. The message was from Natasha. That alone was unusual—Nat rarely texted without reason. You pulled your phone out, unlocking it with a swipe of your thumb.

The words on the screen made your blood run cold: We’ve lost contact with Steve and Bucky.

Your breath caught, and the phone nearly slipped from your trembling hands. For a moment, everything around you blurred—the soft hum of the espresso machine, the faint chatter of pedestrians outside, the smell of coffee beans—all of it faded into the background.

You didn’t think, didn’t even register dropping the rag you’d been using to clean the counter. Your hands shook as you locked the doors, fumbling with the keys before rushing to your car.

The drive to the Tower was a haze, your chest tight with panic as Natasha’s words repeated in your mind. You knew Steve went on dangerous missions. It was part of who he was. But something about those words—lost contact—made this time feel different.

***

By the time you arrived at the Tower, your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might break through your ribcage. The elevator ride felt like an eternity, each floor passing with agonizing slowness. When the doors finally slid open, you practically ran into the common room, where Natasha and Sam were already waiting.

“What happened?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended.

Natasha turned toward you, her expression calm but her eyes betraying her concern. “They were on a mission. Everything was going according to plan, but then we lost contact about three hours ago. We’ve been trying to re-establish communication, but there’s been no response.”

Three hours. That might as well have been three days.

“What do you mean ‘lost contact’?” you pressed, your voice rising. “How does that even happen?”

“It could be anything,” Sam said, his tone soothing but cautious. “Jammed signals, a misstep in the mission. We don’t know yet.”

You stared at them, your breathing shallow, your mind racing with every worst-case scenario imaginable. “So they could be…”

“They’re not,” Natasha said firmly, cutting you off. Her voice was sharp, but there was a softness in her gaze. “Steve and Bucky have been in worse situations than this. They’ll find a way to get back to us.”

Sam nodded in agreement, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. “They’re two of the toughest guys I know,” he said. “If anyone can make it out of this, it’s them.”

You wanted to believe them, but the fear in your chest refused to let go. You sank into one of the chairs, your hands gripping the armrests so tightly that your knuckles turned white.

The minutes dragged by like hours, the silence in the room heavy and oppressive. Natasha and Sam tried to make conversation, to keep you distracted, but you barely registered their words. Your mind was too consumed by the thought of what could happen—of what might have already happened.

***

When Natasha’s phone finally buzzed, the sound cut through the quiet like a gunshot. She snatched it up, her sharp gaze scanning the screen. Relief flickered across her face as she read aloud:

“It’s from Steve. They’re on their way back, but a medic is necessary.”

Your heart seized, a mixture of relief and panic coursing through you. “Who’s hurt?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“He didn’t say,” Natasha replied, her lips pressing into a thin line.

You tried to steady your breathing, but the knot in your chest refused to loosen. You told yourself it didn’t matter who was hurt—they were alive, and they were coming back. But the not knowing gnawed at you, the fear for Steve settling deep in your bones.

No one told Steve you were here, and maybe that was for the best. But as you sat there, waiting for the jet to arrive, you realized just how fragile everything felt. The past few months flashed through your mind—all the moments of doubt, the anger, the hesitation—and for the first time, they seemed so small. In the grand scheme of things, you could have lost Steve today. That thought terrified you more than anything else.

***

The sound of the jet’s engines rumbling low overhead pulled you out of your thoughts. You stood with Natasha and Sam, your heart pounding as the aircraft touched down on the Tower’s private landing pad.

The ramp lowered slowly, and the first thing you saw was Steve, his arm slung around Bucky to help him walk. Bucky looked pale, his arm hanging limp at his side, his face tight with pain. Medics rushed forward to meet him, but your eyes were locked on Steve.

He didn’t look much better than Bucky. His shirt was torn, streaked with dirt and blood, and his face bore a fresh collection of cuts and bruises. His shoulders sagged under the weight of exhaustion, his steps slow and measured.

But when his eyes found yours, he smiled.

Even battered and bloodied, he’d never looked more handsome. His beard, grown in over the time he’d been away, gave him a rugged edge, and his blue eyes still held that quiet strength you’d always admired.

The moment your gaze met his, something in you broke. You ran to him, barely aware of your surroundings, and threw your arms around him.

“Steve,” you sobbed, burying your face in his chest. His shirt was rough against your skin, damp with sweat and blood, but you didn’t care. “I was so scared. I thought… I thought I might lose you.”

His arms wrapped around you tightly, his grip strong despite his obvious exhaustion. “I’m okay,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “I’m here.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, tears streaming down your face. “You have to be more careful,” you said, your voice trembling. “You can’t… you can’t do this to me, Steve.”

His expression softened, and he reached up to brush a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What happened?” you asked, your voice cracking. “What went wrong?”

To your surprise, Steve didn’t hesitate. He guided you to a quieter corner, his hand resting lightly on your back, and began to explain.

“The mission was supposed to be straightforward,” he said, his voice low but steady. “But things went sideways fast. There were more hostiles than we anticipated, and Bucky got hit—bad. I couldn’t leave him behind, so I…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

“You carried him out,” you finished, your throat tightening.

Steve nodded, his eyes meeting yours. “I wasn’t going to leave him, no matter what.”

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t just from fear. They were from the overwhelming realization of who Steve truly was—the man who would sacrifice everything for the people he cared about.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice softer now. “I won’t make that mistake again. And if you’re willing to listen, I’ll tell you everything—about the missions, about what’s going on with me. No more shutting you out.”

You stared at him, your chest tight with a mixture of love and fear and hope. Slowly, you nodded. “I’m listening,” you said.

And as he began to speak, you felt the cracks in your heart begin to mend, one word at a time.

***

Steve stayed with you after the medics whisked Bucky away to the infirmary. He’d insisted Bucky was in good hands, though you could see the guilt still lingering in his eyes. You sat together in one of the quieter rooms in the Tower, the tension from the mission still clinging to him like a second skin.

Despite his exhaustion, he refused to let go of your hand.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as you sat beside him. “I know it’s late.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

He gave you a small, tired smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re too good to me.”

You shook your head, squeezing his hand. “No, Steve. I’m just—” You paused, searching for the right words. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging as the adrenaline that had sustained him through the mission began to fade. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“For what?”

“For everything,” he replied, meeting your gaze with a vulnerability that left you breathless. “For scaring you, for shutting you out before… for making you feel like you weren’t enough. I know I’ve said it before, but I need you to know I mean it.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity. For a long moment, you didn’t respond, your chest tight as you tried to process the enormity of what he was saying.

“I was so scared today,” you admitted finally, your voice trembling. “When Nat texted me, when we didn’t know if you were okay… it was like the ground had been ripped out from under me.” You swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “I realized then how stupid these past few months have been. I was so caught up in my own hurt, my own doubts, that I didn’t see what we were losing.”

Steve’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, his blue eyes locked on yours. “You weren’t wrong to feel that way,” he said softly. “You had every right to be hurt, to doubt me. I earned that. But I don’t want to lose you, baby. Not now. Not ever.”

His words broke something inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his.

“Don’t you dare scare me like that again,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice steady and resolute.

***

The days following the mission passed in a haze of quiet moments and tentative steps forward. Steve stayed at the Tower to help Bucky recover, but he checked in with you constantly. Sometimes it was a quick text—How are you? Did you eat today?—and sometimes it was a phone call that lasted longer than either of you expected.

You visited the Tower often, bringing Bucky some of his favorite snacks and sitting with him while Steve caught up on reports. Bucky teased you relentlessly, of course, his dry humor cutting through the tension in ways only he could manage.

“So,” he said one afternoon, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “When are you two going to stop tiptoeing around and just admit you’re back together?”

You nearly choked on your coffee. “We’re not—”

“Sure,” Bucky interrupted, smirking. “And I’m the King of Wakanda.”

Steve, who had just entered the room, raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, glaring at Bucky.

“Just pointing out the obvious,” Bucky said with a shrug, earning himself an eye-roll from both you and Steve.

Despite his teasing, Bucky’s words stayed with you. He wasn’t entirely wrong. The way you and Steve interacted had changed since the mission. There was a closeness now, a sense of trust that hadn’t been there before.

***

One evening, Steve invited you to dinner at the Tower. He didn’t call it a date, and you didn’t press him on it, but there was something deliberate about the way he’d set the table, the candles he’d lit, the care he’d taken with every detail.

The two of you sat across from each other, the soft glow of the candles casting warm light over his face. For a while, you just talked—about work, about Bucky’s recovery, about the books you’d been reading. The conversation flowed easily, the tension that had once lingered between you finally gone.

At one point, Steve leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” he began, his voice steady but quiet. “About how scared you were. How I need to be more careful.”

You frowned slightly. “Steve, I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. I know your work is dangerous. I’ve always known that.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “But you were right. I can’t keep doing this—not without being honest with you about what’s going on. If I’m asking you to be part of my life, I need to make sure you feel like you’re part of it.”

His words sent a warmth through your chest, a feeling of being truly seen and valued. “I appreciate that,” you said softly.

Steve smiled, and for the first time in weeks, it felt like everything between you was falling into place.

***

As the night wore on, the conversation grew quieter, more intimate. Steve reached across the table, his hand brushing yours.

“I know we can’t go back to how things were before,” he said, his voice low but firm. “But I think we can build something better. Something stronger. If you’ll let me.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. There was no hesitation in his gaze, no doubt. Just quiet determination and a love that felt as steady and unshakable as the man himself.

“I want that too,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

His smile widened, and for the first time in months, you felt the weight in your chest begin to lift.

It wasn’t a perfect ending. There were still things to work through, still scars to heal. But as Steve reached for your hand, his grip warm and sure, you knew you were ready to take the next step—together.

[burningcheese-merchant]

I know that it is highly unlikely that it is the case, but come and give it a thougjt with me (Yandere Spice with a twist).

What if: Burning Spice, despite being completely obsessive and being the sadomasochist he is, routinely cuts off the heads of animals and cookies and brings them to her the first time with a love letter (he used to be the Herald of Change, so I'd imagine he's got- and retained- some brains, enough to at least write a psychotic obsessive love letter).

Now, Golden Cheese is obviously gonna freak the f out and gape as he shoves the head into her arms (probably throw it into the air and back up in panic) while Burning Spice- though displeased at first, just grins manically at her reaction soon enough (maybe even laughing), before he grabs it and shoves the letter and head onto her hands again and leaving.

Golden Cheese, having noticed his reaction to her throwing it, becomes concerned with what he might do if she doesn't accept the 'gifts', decides to keep it (She flies hella fast and enters through her window and hides it in a secret compartment in her room, before creating a hidden room the other gifts in the future).

Now, here's the twist:

Despite the shock and horror she displayed to Burning Spice's gift, she knew that deep down... She fucking loved it. She silently revels in it, even. At having so much of the Beast- A cookiebeing you could practically almost consider primordial and all-powerful-'s attention and taking up so much of their headspace. To be obsessed over adored by someone like that, so much so that they would go out of their way to behead someone and something and write a love letter daily, just to give it to her as a gift-

In short, she absolutely loves the attention she will never say it and will keep that to her grave and Burning Spice and everyone else is none the wiser of it. Of how she'd kept every letter and laminated every single one with the care and cautiousness and love one would use when holding thin glass, of how she intentionally goes out alone every day for a few minutes just so Burning Spice would 'see an opening' and give his gift, where Golden Cheese would then act terribly disgusted and horrified, and then keep the gifts. Ignorant of how she has a room full of the 'gifts' he's given her- which she'd taken the time to personally taxiderm each and every one, before hanging it on the wall like a reward or trophy. Of how she'd come to the room every night to just adore it just the sight makes her want to coo and purr in delight for a few minutes to an hour, before going to bed and resting.

Sorry for the rambling and the long paragraphs 😅😅

This is such a horrifying (in a good way) concept that I MUST acknowledge it and give my take!!! Gonna put it under a cut because this is particularly dark

Yandere Spice basically acting like a cat is so fucking funny to me lol I love it

I'm so glad you think Spice is a smart guy due to having been the Herald of Change/History, because I think that too! He simply HAS to be intelligent, even wise to a degree. It would be ridiculous if he wasn't; being buff doesn't automatically mean you're dumb. And I LOVE the letter thing, I've always headcanoned Spice (the "normal" one, not the yandere one) as writing Golden romantic poetry (and her liking it lol. It helps win her over).

Now, with the murder gifts: of course Golden is horrified. Not only has Spice ended innocent lives, but he did it for her. In a way, it's her fault, and she feels horrible. Animal, person/cookie, doesn't matter, Spice has killed again and he gives the fruits of his sinful labor to her as a declaration of "love". It's sick. No matter how deranged she finds him, he finds a way to sink lower. (But... one thing: he never hurts birds. He has never once brought her a dead bird, because even he knows that's a step too far and she REALLY won't like it. It's the one little drop of care and tact that he possesses.)

But that twist: somewhere beneath all those layers of shock, disgust and righteous anger is... flattery. Sick, twisted flattery. There's nothing Golden loves more than being praised, than being worshiped, than being showered with attention and gifts... and Spice is doing that. He's feeding her ego, albeit in the worst way possible. And so great and terrible is her ego, no matter what she does to temper or suppress it, that somewhere deep down inside, she enjoys what he's doing. That he'll gladly kill for her. That he'll show off his hard work in search of her praise and admiration. She is a goddess and he knows it. He is giving her the adulation she rightfully deserves.

Now, of course, this contradicts her normally altruistic nature, and she has a massive crisis of conscience. She keeps everything Spice gives her, she keeps the heads and the letters and stores them all properly, because... Well, she tells herself that it's better this way. If she refused them, he would retaliate, if not against her then against another innocent. If she preserves the heads, she can later discover who they belonged to and hopefully return them to the person's family (and it was the least she could do; clean them up, give them back even a fraction of their grace and dignity...). If she reads the letters, she'll have better insight into his mind and how he thinks, and thus be able to formulate a better response to him and his behaviors. These excuses are what she mutters under her breath over and over as she sneaks the heads into her room, through the window so no one sees her. As she tidies and laminates the letters, and stores them in a secure folder that she tucks into a box under the bed (which eventually becomes boxes, the more and more letters she gets). As she expertly taxidermies the heads and places them on nice shelves in a hidden closet in her room. It's better this way. She has to do this.

...and these are all true, they really are. But at the same time... Existing alongside this pain and terror and crushing guilt, is the sick joy in knowing that she has someone wrapped around her finger this completely. And a Beast, too. The Beast of Destruction, no less. Burning Spice himself, heads over heels in love with her, willing to do anything to have her. It shouldn't please her to have a monster practically at her beck and call, but... it does. It really, truly does. And no matter how much she hates herself for it... It's never enough to make it stop.

Sometimes, she'll hint at a specific person she doesn't like - usually a known enemy of her kingdom - just to see if he'll do what she thinks he will. Sure enough, the next time they meet, he has that person's head ready for her, all but puffing his chest out in pride and grinning that hideous, face-splitting, cruel grin of his. She acts upset, but she's actually pleased to know that she was right: he WILL do what she tells him to, just to please her.

Sometimes she'll stand there admiring her ever-expanding taxidermy collection, congratulating herself on her hard work; she does a better and better job every time. (And when the guilt comes bubbling to the surface, asking her why they're still here and not with their loved ones so they can have a proper funeral, she tells it that Spice will lose it if he catches her giving them away. Or she'll be made out to be the one responsible, since she's the one who has them. Or they're dead, their souls have departed to the afterlife, what happens to their mortal vessels matters not anymore...)

Sometimes, when she's in bed at night, she'll pull out the letters and read them. Sometimes she'll read one, sometimes a few, sometimes all of them. Some are surprisingly sweet and romantic, full of oddly gentle and doting words; she can feel the warmth and affection soaked into the page. Others are downright vulgar; she feels her own face catch fire as she reads through what are obviously his fantasies, the list of ways in which he wants to pleasure her so long and graphic that she suspects he wrote them one-handed, if you know what I mean. The rest are just flat-out deranged: feverish rants about his ownership of her, how he hated and wanted to get rid of those around her, how she took everything from him (his power, his sanity, his heart, his soul) and he was willing to pardon it if she gave him everything of hers in turn. How he will never stop hunting her. How he will slaughter thousands to get to her. How he will bring the world to ruins just to have her to himself. Madness. All-consuming delusion that she fears is incurable.

But the worst part is... she doesn't know if she wants it to be anymore.

All she can do now is... hope he never finds out. Hope he never knows she feels this way. That she relishes his kills, his gifts. That she has a godforsaken trophy room now. That now she's as starved for his attention as he is for hers. (And he will. The idea is simply too tantalizing. He WILL find out eventually, someway, somehow - and when he does... Oh boy.)

TL;DR: Golden is so greedy that her greed has warped her into being as bad as Spice, at least in her own way. They probably deserve each other at this point. Pure, incorrigible arrogance and psychopathy all the way down. God/Witches have mercy on us all

[shy-writer-999]

Hihi it’s ur girl! Could I please request a Crocodile x AFAB reader fic where he uses his devil fruit to control the moisture in the reader’s body (aka he makes her wet without even looking at or talking to or being near her). Tysm queen 💜✨🥺

my fair lady!! i’m so happy to write this for u <3 sorry it took so long, i know you sent this request ages ago. what i wrote is short and turns REALLY filthy at the end... hopefully that's okay! ~850 words and not edited much.

cw: afab reader w/gender neutral language. arousal, masturbation, penetrative sex, croc is mean/kind of a dom. minors do not interact -- nsfw content!

When you started seeing Crocodile in an intimate capacity, you noticed... changes. First, he was on your mind 24/7—the sex was just too good, he was too stern and suave, knew what he was doing and knew how to play with your body like you’d never experienced before.

And second, when he wasn’t around, you felt more feral than ever before, uncharacteristically rabid, so much so that you inexplicably got soaking wet and would have to squeeze your thighs together just thinking about him (multiple times a day).

The sudden and intense bouts of random horniness weren’t troubling, per say, but more so intriguing. You’d be minding your business and then out of nowhere you’d start feeling heat bloom between your thighs, sparks of arousal tingling as you quickly turned your panties and upper thighs into a saturated, sticky mess.

It took you far too long to put the pieces together and realize that Crocodile was responsible.

He got a sense of satisfaction out of controlling the moisture in your body with his devil fruit powers, and he had it down to a science. It was easy to make you wet and he happened to know that when he made you aroused, your body followed suit. He could tell that when he made you wet it felt good. Your body was giving into the sensation of wetness and, in turn, stimulating your brain, making you immediately and instinctively aroused. A positive feedback loop of sorts.

What amused him the most (and coincidentally got him the hardest) was using his powers to make you wet in public, when he was far, far away. But if he was up close, he'd study your face, the flush that dusted your cheeks, your shallow breaths, and distracted eyes. When you got to a certain point, he knew you would come to him.

Sometimes Crocodile teased you—he could tell that you needed him, could sense how much of a mess you were making out of yourself (and that he was making out of you), and he’d deliberately take away some of the moisture, effectively drawing out the time it would take before you lost self-control and came to him, begging him to do something about it.

Even more amusing to him was turning you away when he knew you were desperate for him. He’d shake his head, scoff (if he felt like it), roll his eyes or shoo you away to the bathroom. Imagining you taking care of yourself got him off beyond reason.

But when he decided to humor you, when he felt like indulging, he would do whatever he wanted. He’d throw you across his lap and make you beg for more, or make you straddle him on a chair and move you however he liked.

All the while, he made you ridiculously wet, so wet that you’d literally gush down your legs. Your juices were dragged down in rivulets by the cruel force of gravity, producing simultaneously embarrassing and pitiful puddles at your feet. He was entranced by those puddles. He even thought of bending down to lick them up or telling you to do the same.

Crocodile was just so mean about all of it. He had absolutely no reason to be this mean, this teasing, this scornful, but he just loved seeing you pout and beg, seeing your level of desperation rise until you decided you couldn’t take it anymore. He loved pushing you to the edge.

On occasion, Crocodile would make you take care of yourself in front of him. You’d blush crimson and be shy at first, never getting used to him just sitting there, astute, proud, and glowering. But he’d make you wetter and you’d give in, mouth hanging open in focus and brows bent at the middle.

He stayed still and watched with a sneer sometimes, not even shy about the fact that his erection grew by the second.

Another one of his favorite things about using his devil fruit powers on you was the sounds. The squelching noises sounded like music to him.

Crocodile could only hold out for so long before he had his way with you. And you weren’t going to turn him down. The thing about him was that he’d have his way with you for hours if he felt like it. He was almost incapable of doing quickies. Once he was inside of you he as determined to be there as long as he possibly could. Obviously, you had no problem with that and it was no trouble because even if he wasn’t using his devil fruit powers, he made you wet beyond what you thought was possible.

I didn't initially set out with the idea that this would be as filthy as it turned out, but what can I say!! The heart wants what it wants. I hope you liked it, queen! 🩷🩷

[ahintofchaos]

Solace with You

Summary:

After a frustrating day at work, you come home to Agatha's endless love for you. Domestic fluff and some silliness. And an appearance from Senor Scratchy, because he's of course in my post-canon personal canon.

I'm pretty sure this is just 2700 words of weapons-grade fluff.

“Aggie?”

“Upstairs, darling!” 

She must be in your bedroom. You don’t even bother to hang up your coat, just tossing it over the back of the couch on your way to the stairs. You hustle up the stairs, your shoes clomping on the wooden treads. You forgot to take them off at the door. Usually it’s Agatha who’s always bringing her shoes upstairs. Then of course getting mad when she can’t find them again. You kick off your shoes as you walk down the hall, leaving them strewn around. You’ll collect them later. Right now, you couldn’t care less. You stopped in the doorway of your shared bedroom, bracing a hand on the doorframe.

Agatha was laying on top of the freshly made bed, book in hand. She looked up when she heard you arrive. “Hi, hon. How was work?” 

You heaved a dramatic sigh in response. 

“Aw, bad day?”

You shrugged. “Long. Frustrating.” 

Agatha tsked. “I’m sorry baby, that’s the worst. C’mere.” She patted your side of the bed, and you needed no further invitation, hopping onto the plush mattress and leaning back against the pillows. Agatha looped one arm around you, the other still holding her now forgotten book. You leaned your head on her shoulder, breathing in the familiar comforting scent of her. Lavender and a tiny bit of smoke. 

“You did some magic today,” you said. It was more of a statement than a question. Her magic always left her smelling slightly fiery. 

Agatha hummed an affirmative. “Practiced some spells. Figured out how to enchant the stove to always ignite.”

“Ooh, thank you.” You nuzzled your face against the side of her neck, feeling her smile at the brush of your nose against her sensitive spots. Even with the comfort Agatha always provided you, you couldn’t shake the feelings of unfulfillment and dissatisfaction that had followed you all day. You breathed in deep, trying to collect all the tension in your body and let it out in one big sigh. It helped, but not completely. 

Agatha turned to kiss the side of your head. “What’s got you frustrated, baby?” 

“I don’t know,” you huffed. “Everything? I feel so restless and blocked. Like I’m trying to do something but I can’t figure out what it is or how to do it. The ideas won’t come, even though I want them to. I feel very ineffective. I want to write and do things, but I can’t right now and I don’t know why!” You were almost at a whine, thoroughly overwhelmed by your brain’s refusal to cooperate today. 

Agatha smoothed her hand over your hair. “My poor baby. Tell you what. You go ahead and turn your pretty little brain off for the rest of today, and I will take care of everything.” 

“Mm, that sounds good.” 

“You’re working too hard, hon. You’ve got to give your mind a rest sometimes."

You swallowed. “I feel stupid right now, Aggie.” 

“Hush. Don’t talk like that. You’re brilliant. You’re an incredibly talented, wildly capable, absolutely brilliant person. You are a treasure. My treasure.”

You pressed a kiss to the side of her throat. “Thank you.”

“Come here, my love.” Agatha put her finger under your chin, lifting your head so you could meet her eyes. She leaned her forehead to yours for a moment before meeting your lips in a sweet kiss. 

Kissing Agatha was almost always the cure for what ailed you. You could kiss her every minute of the day and still want more. Luckily for you, she felt the same. 

Her lips on yours helped lift a weight off your shoulders that you hadn’t realized you were carrying. After a long moment, you separated with a soft smile on your face. 

“There, that’s what I like to see,” Agatha said softly. She slid off the bed, keeping her arms out to tell you to stay. You pouted. 

“I wanna stay with you.” 

Agatha smiled at this, and reached across the bed to scoop you closer to her. “Well then, come on, my love. We’re making some tea and dinner.” 

You clasped Agatha’s hand as she led you downstairs to the kitchen. Senor Scratchy was lounging in the window seat, and perked his ears up when he saw you come in. You separated from Agatha long enough to kiss him on his fuzzy head, then rejoined her in the kitchen. She waved her hand at the stove, lighting it instantly with bright purple flames. No sooner had she filled the kettle and set it on the burner did it start to whistle. “Showoff,” you murmured. Agatha smirked. She poured some loose tea into a strainer, then placed it in your favorite mug. 

You received your tea with grateful hands. The warmth of the cup pressed against your palms helped to smooth some of your agitation. Slowly but surely Agatha was working her magic on you. Not real magic, no incantations or spells, but her incredible knack for calming you no matter what. You could weather anything by her side, you were sure of it. For all of her fire and passion, she was hopelessly devoted to you, and her presence was a steadiness you could always rely on. 

Agatha prepared dinner for each of you, then shuttled you over to the couch. You flopped onto it as dramatically as you could without spilling your tea, and Agatha set the food down on the coffee table before draping a midnight blue blanket over the two of you, making sure to tuck it around your legs securely. She wrapped her arm around you, coaxing you to lean into her, which you did without much effort on her part. 

She kissed the top of your head. “There we go, darling. All cozy?” 

You nodded, your eyes closed in contentment. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too, sweetheart. More than you’ll ever know.” 

You hummed in contentment, then stopped. “Your book,” you said, “it’s still upstairs.” 

Agatha turned to look at you. “So?” 

“I interrupted your reading. Do you want me to go get it?” 

“Absolutely not, honey. You’re relaxing. We’re both relaxing. No pesky spellbooks right now.” She waved her hand, bringing your plates closer to you with magic. You giggled at her. Agatha took her fork and raised it to your lips, allowing you to taste. You liked cooking, but you adored everything Agatha made. You always told her that her food was better because it was made with love. She called you a sap. You absolutely were, there was no denying it. Agatha Harkness was your moon and stars. 

Eventually, the warm tea and dinner lulled you into a sleepy post-meal state, and you curled up further against Agatha, who welcomed the press of your body against hers. You closed your eyes, feeling her soft sweater against your cheek and the thrum of her heart underneath. “I love you,” you said, barely above a whisper. Agatha brought her hand up to hold your face against her chest, leaning down to give you a kiss. 

“I love you too, sweetheart. So much.” 

Finally, all the stress of your day began to pour out, and tears began to fall. They slid down your face and soaked into Agatha’s sweater. You shook with tiny, tired sobs, and Agatha smoothed her thumb over your cheek, catching your tears as they fell. 

“Aw, my love. It’s alright. I’ve got you.” Agatha Harkness, the most powerful witch of recent history, was holding you as you cried out your frustrations about a stupid day at work. You, a regular-by-comparison eclectic witch with a regular job, had captured the heart of a veritable force of nature. You were so endlessly lucky to have her. You told her so. 

“No, my love. I’m the lucky one. I’ve got the most gentle, talented, compassionate witch by my side. I would do anything for you. You’re my whole heart.” 

You pressed your face harder against her chest, moving so your legs were across her lap. Agatha welcomed the feeling, looping her other arm over your legs and tracing circles and what you faintly recognized as protective runes on the fabric of your pants. 

Eventually, your tears subsided. Agatha never let up on her hold, the gentle pressure of her body against yours and her arms around you keeping you safe and sound. She put a finger under your chin to tilt your head up. “Better?”

You nodded. You felt lighter than you had all day. “Can we go upstairs now? I’m tired.” As if to prove your point, you yawned heartily. 

“Of course, my love,” Agatha said. As you moved to slide off her lap, she instead tightened her hold on your body. You barely had time to open your mouth to ask her why when she scooped you up, one hand around your back and the other under your legs. You shrieked, wrapping your arms around her neck and laughing at her antics. Agatha squeezed you close, bending her face down to yours, before carrying you back upstairs to your bedroom. 

She tossed you onto the bed with enough force that you bounced, causing you to laugh again. The sound delighted her. 

Agatha was completely in love with you. This wasn’t the early impulsive love of teenagers or new lovers; no, this was a bone-deep understanding that she was entirely yours, and you were entirely hers. She had never been one for vulnerability or emotions, and she still wasn’t when it came to other people, but you she kept nestled close to her heart, on the inside of all the walls she kept around herself. She lived for you, lived for holding you and loving you and tending to your every need. Soaking up your love just the same. Agatha had done a lot of things in her life, both good and very bad, and this, getting to be with you, being forever committed to you and having you forever committed to her in turn, was the greatest cosmic reward she could fathom. 

Lost in thought, Agatha stared at you, flopped back on the bed, still in your work clothes. You propped yourself up on your elbows, giving her an inquisitive look. “Earth to Agatha,” you singsonged. 

Agatha promptly pounced on you on the bed. “I’m admiring my love. Admiring every single thing about you. Listing them takes a while, honey. There are lots of things to love.” 

You swatted her arm. “Please.” 

Agatha kissed your nose, then clambered back off the bed, turning to your wardrobe and picking out two pairs of pajamas, tossing them at your head. You were surprised by the first pair, which hit you squarely in the face, but managed to catch the second pair. Who would’ve thought that the big, bad Agatha Harkness would pick out matching pajamas? 

Before you could return the favor and pelt her with the clothing, Agatha seized your wrists and pulled you off the bed and into your bathroom, where she snapped her fingers and a luxurious bubble bath was waiting for you. You almost moaned at the sight, and Agatha smirked at you. 

“Pervert,” you said. She grinned and winked. Before you knew it, you were both naked, your clothes nicely folded on the edge of the bathroom counter. You stopped to look at Agatha, to just drink her in. You couldn’t imagine a more beautiful thing if you tried for the rest of your life. Agatha caught you staring. 

“Now who’s a pervert?” 

“Still you,” you said, brushing past her to get into the tub. She rewarded you with a smack to your bare ass, causing you to jump. You whirled around to admonish her and were met with her perfectly mischievous cackle. “You’re naughty,” you said, eyes fixed on her as you lowered yourself into the water. 

“Mm, you know me,” Agatha teased, “insatiable.” 

The mood was gone as quickly as it had come, the both of you succumbing to the deep relaxation of the warm water of the bath and the press of each other’s bodies, Agatha’s behind yours. 

“I miss you when you’re at work,” she told you, resting her chin on your shoulder. You could’ve melted. 

“I know my love, but it gives me something to do. I like it. Plus, you have time for your activities too.”

“Well, I’m glad my sweetheart has hobbies. That’s very important. I don’t like when they stress you out, though.” 

You heaved a sigh. “Everything has its challenges.” 

“That’s true. And I’m always here to make them better.” 

“And you’re so good at it,” you tell her, leaning backward to kiss her sweet soft lips. She allows it for a moment before returning to her task. She takes the soap you love so much and lathers it in her hands, spreading it across your back and using it to massage your tired muscles. She works her way from your neck and shoulders down, then down both arms. Your head lolls back on her shoulder as she brings your hand above the water, fingers softly kneading your palms, working over every tendon. 

“You’re so good to me,” you tell her, barely at a whisper. 

Agatha doesn’t say anything, and you know she’s taken the compliment to heart. You’ve made it your mission to make her absolutely convinced of her own worth. It’s an uphill battle; before you, no one in her life had loved her for her, only for what she could do. But you’ll gladly spend every single day telling her. Over and over again.

Agatha hums, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder above the water. “Come on, my love. We’re going to be prunes.” She stands up behind you and helps you to your feet, wrapping you in a soft towel. You turn to kiss her, and she obliges happily. 

You shuffle out to your bedroom and change into your pajamas, a purple set that matches Agatha’s. She’s not far behind you, and once you’re both dressed she motions for you to sit in front of her. 

“Braid?” 

“Sure,” you say, settling on the bed with your legs crossed. Agatha’s centuries of life have made her uncommonly good at doing hair; she’s often had to make do with plain clothes, but her hair has always been a thing she can use to express herself. Now, it translates into her caring for both of your hair, and taking great pride in doing this for you as often as she can. Her nimble fingers dance through your hair, gently smoothing any tangles she comes across, and before you know it she’s tying it off at the end. She pulls you back into her, pressing her mouth to the top of your head like she’s going to kiss you. Instead she just stays, inhaling the smell of your hair. Her arms loosen eventually, and she lets you move over so you’re not laying directly on top of her anymore. 

You slide over so you’re laying on your side of the bed, keeping your legs tangled with hers. Agatha stays sitting up against the headboard, looking down at you with unrestrained fondness. You can’t believe your luck, being loved by the most powerful being in history. Having just as much of a claim to her as she has to you. You’re sure you have stars in your eyes right now, and you can see that she does too. 

As if she can read your thoughts, Agatha says, “I love you so much.” 

“Even when I’m being a baby about stupid work things?” 

“It’s not stupid,” she says. “If it’s upsetting you, it’s not stupid.”

“You’re my favorite,” you tell her, draping an arm over her hips and tracing the soft skin between her shirt and her shorts. 

Agatha smiles. “Good, because you’re my favorite too. My little precious baby, to love forever.” She gets under the covers with you, laying her head on her pillow so she’s on your level. She pulls you in so that your head is resting on her chest, feeling the gentle thump of her heart and the movement of her breathing. 

“My Aggie.” Agatha hums at that. It’s one of her favorite things to hear. 

“My heart,” she murmurs. You feel the rumble of her voice as she speaks. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart.” 

You try to reply, but you’re too far into sleep to form the words. Curled up against the love of your life, you sleep safe and sound.

____________________________________________

I hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you have any requests.

Taglist: @polaris-likethestar

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[pickyourpoisonandevolve]

Hello, have you also been struck with an inane desire to kiss the CoD boys? Did the brainrot demon whisper in your ear “go fuck the masked man, the mustache man, and the Scottish man?” Well you’re in luck. My sleep deprivation vomited this out last night, I did not check for errors and I have NOT played MW. Sorry to all the Gaz fans out there, I genuinely forgot to include him. Sometimes you just gotta purge the fic poltergeists in your brain. I’m sorry. John up next when the demon returns.

All for One, One for All

Part 2 here

TW: NSFW, MDNI, fem reader. I’m bad at tags, sorry.

Down time with the 141 was always a grab bag. If a mission went well it was celebratory, others were solemn. Either way, the group was comfortable enough to have a … physical connection with each other. Hugs and words of comfort common after missions. Hands through hair as you all shared stresses together. But while everyone had a baseline comfortability, as the newbie, you lost out on some of the camaraderie, some of the closeness. It drove you fucking insane.

That’s why you were barely holding it together as Soap and you were close on the couch in the break room, legs tangled as you talked about everything and nothing. The recent mission, what they were doing on leave, cute new recruits. He was always the easiest to talk to, decompress with. Quick to anxieties with, as well as who you both had … predilections to. A master of weaseling his way into talking about your respective secret desires. Like how he had been spending spare time with Ghost on off days. How you couldn’t keep eye contact with your Captain.

Missions were different, there were tasks at hand and jobs to do. But with Price, his hands comforting, ready to protect seemed to linger between you and him, longer than others. Yet you couldn’t keep conversations longer than a few minutes when you debriefed in meetings. Too much perception, you felt like dissolving when his attention was on you too long. You kept the intensity of how much you wanted your Captain to yourself though. You wonder how Soap did it with your Lieutenant. You picked at your hangnails, seemed like you could even smell them nearby, cigarette and cigar smoke lingering in your olfactory memory.

A longing, you told Soap, with your head in your hands, avoiding the embarrassment of eye contact. Stuttering through it, you described the longing, the need for belonging. “You all made it look so easy, it WAS so easy,” You lament. You got here too late, missed the boat on inclusion in the 141. No more room at the inn. They meant everything to you, they were your whole world. And the sneaking ache that you could die tomorrow and they’d move on clawed at your ribcage endlessly. You just… wanted to feel like you meant something to to them, to someone. Wanted someone to steal all the silence in your mind and fill it with warmth. With touch. With lov—

“To someone? Or to him?” You heard, through the static in your ears. The tears you’ve been fighting finally make an appearance.

“Bonnie, hey, darl’,” Soap whispered to you, bringing his lips to your forehead, fingers through your temples. Shh, shh, shh, everything was okay and that the team was here for you. He was here for you. Quieting your mind, his hands ran through your hair and lingered to your neck. You closed your eyes, trying not to feel overwhelmed. “I should have kept my mouth shut you don’t have to pity me.” You said, gently trying to push Soap back.

“Who the fuck said anything about pity.” A different, deeper voice in your ear this time. Panic floods your body as you feel a second pair of hands slide around your shoulders. “No, no, no Ghost, please don’t I’m sorry I shouldn’t—,” you stammer out, fight and flight winning simultaneously as you push immovable bodies and try to pull yourself away. Why you thought that was possible with these two men was beyond you.

Vice grips pull you back down, holding you close to both men’s chests. “Breathe, sergeant.” Delivered as a command. That part of your brain still seemed to function as you took deep breaths, not noticing how Ghost positioned himself on the couch. Leaning back at an angle, he pulled you in his lap, back against his chest and arms around your waist. Feeling his breath against the nape of your neck, steadying, matching his breathing. The smell of cigarettes, pine and sweat fill your senses. Soap slotted himself between both of your legs, into your lap, eyes keeping your focus. Knowing looking at Ghost would throw you completely askew. Ever the team, those two, you thought briefly.

Minutes went by in silence as your breathing slowed, heartbeat returned to normal. Ghost gave you one of his hands to fuss with as you calmed, testing the waters, getting used to him. His other hand carded through Soaps hair, lying in your lap. His nose nuzzled your neck as he broke the silence. “I’m, we’re, sorry for making you feel like the odd man out, sweetheart. Should have done a better job as your lieutenant to make you feel a part of the team.” He took the hand lying in yours and brought it to your stomach, bringing you closer into his chest, rubbing lazy circles. “This is… a lot to some. Who we are as a team. As much as we wanted to bring you in, we didn’t want to scare you away neither.”

“But for what it’s worth, ever since you got here,” Ghost growls, pinky grabbing the edge of your shirt, pulling upwards. “You’ve been ours.”

Everything seemed to move at once. Ghosts hands now on your body properly, exploring your curves and pulling you into him deeper. Soap chuckled lightly, his hands now caressing your hips and breathing into your waistline, peering up at you with big beautiful eyes. “Ours in the royal sense, LT. She’s been called f—“ his words cut off as a rough hand at the back of his head pressed him into your pussy. “Hmm, he’s a lot cuter when he’s down there, huh?” Ghost chuckles into your shoulder. Your heart feels like it’s in your throat, your hands come up and try to meet his, unsure of if you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer. His arms come around and lock yours in place as Soap is released and fingers start to play with the button on your pants. “Let us make up for some lost time, sweetheart,” he growls into your shoulder.

Sheer panic, or disassociation, you’re not sure what gets you through the next moment. But either way it feels like an eternity, watching Soap pull down your pants and panties, feeling Ghost caress the valley between your tits, ambiently trying to steady your heart. Mumbling both to you and himself, he repositions you ever so slightly in his lap, bringing your ass tighter into his hips and spreading your thighs across his, giving Soap better access. “Have no fucking idea how bad we’ve needed you, bird. Been dreaming about your fucking body, how you smell, what you taste like.” You feel his hardness start, pushing up against your ass. Your deep breaths start turning into soft moans, and both men groan into you. Soap kisses you gently on your thighs, leading a trail to your core, nipping you along the way. You feel like glass, any sudden movement and you’ll shatter into Ghosts arms, heart too raw, wants too real. Ghost feels your tension and wraps one arm around your waist as the other brings your shirt above your tits, exposing them to the cold room. His free hand teasing a nipple as he whispered “Stay with me, baby.”

A strangled sound left your throat as you felt Soap’s tongue separate your lips and meet your clit. “Johnny, please, oh God.” Feeling his tongue work you open, you can only focus on your breathing so you don’t float away. Ghost adjusts something behind you as you feel two fingers slide in gently. Broken moans and pleas leave your mouth as you feel lips against your neck, kissing, biting. “Tell me how he feels bird.” Ghost murmurs. Fingers moving faster, faster as Soap attacks your clit. You chance a look down as you meet his eyes, his mouth breaking out into the biggest smile as he lifts his face briefly. A man this pretty should be illegal, you think. “Tell me, bonnie. Tell me what you want.” A sound you’d be downright ashamed of leaves your mouth, clenching around his fingers. “Fuck Soap, I want you, I want—“ His fingers start working your g-spot faster as he teases, “Use your words, bon. I wanna hear you say it.”

“I wanna, I wanna cum Johnny, please” you say in barely a whisper as he coaxes it out of you. All you feel is the cord in your stomach break as every muscle in your body tenses. Soap laughing into your clit, Ghost licking and moaning in your ear, that you belong to us, all of us. A distant part of you wonders why things sound so wet as you look down to Soaps eyes, crinkled as he makes you watch yourself squirt into his mouth.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you chant as Soap sucks your clit, bringing you down. Everything feels wet, you can feel it at your knees. This couch is gonna have to be burned. Soap gives one last suck to your clit, coming off with a pop. Ghosts breath comes out in short bursts as you feel him grind hard into your ass, grunting in your ear. Soap comes up and grabs you tenderly by your face, kissing you gently, deeply, making you taste. Bringing his forehead to yours, he looks at you, so tender it makes your heart stop. “Told ya we’re here. Cannae do it without ya, sweet.”

Hands gently lay you down on the couch as you remember what your limbs are supposed to feel like. A kiss from each on your forehead as Ghost says “You did so good, sweetheart. I’m gonna take care of our boy here, you stay put, yeah?” Your breathing starts to return to normal, letting feelings flood back slowly. “Oh, okay.” You whisper out, taking a deep breath and sitting up slightly. The big feelings start to creep back in, but a little less heavy. Tears start to flow, not from sadness but something else. You sniff away some of the emotions. “Are we, are we okay, is, oh my god what is Price, what—“ Soap is quick to take a knee next to you, kissing your tears away and cooing shhhh’s in your ear. You’ve been so distracted by this attention that you finally notice the smell in the room, stronger than earlier. Cloves, a sweetness, cigar smoke.

Your head snaps back to the chair across from you all, and your breath dies in your throat. Blue eyes locked into yours, like he’s never looked at anything else. He crushes the last of his cigar into the ashtray beside him and leans forward, hands gripping his knees tightly. “You broken, sweetheart?”

[satangcrush]

mammon is the type to make a whole big plan and wait and wait and wait for the perfect moment, he's got a dinner reservation set and rose petals and a speech

but then just blurts it out because he CAN'T contain himself - and it's over something as simple as you idk, buying his favorite drink or doing something for him (like making breakfast)

just the thought of being remembered and the idea of "i want to spend the rest of my life with you" being cemented in that moment that he can't form any other words than "marry me"

imagine cooking pancakes and you go to flip them and he comes stumbling in all sleepy (because he's not a morning person), and you say "good morning! I know you got home late so i made pancakes, and i even went and bought bloody syrup. That's your favorite, right?"

"...Marry me"

"....What?"

and he's coming to his senses and oh fuck did he just ruin all his plans? no, he has to go along with it. but at the same time, it feels so perfect. he wants more mornings like this- forever.

"Ya heard me. I said marry me. And there's only one correct answer here."

HAHAHA OKAY I'LL STOP SORRY I'M AJSJWJ

you are right. carry on???

-

Mammon has been preparing to propose to you for weeks. It was obvious enough. He thinks he’s being subtle but he wasn’t, in the slightest.

“Babe, can you let me see your fingers?”

That was what he had asked you a couple of days ago. Even a fool would know he was planning a huge surprise for you. Seriously, he was scrutinising your fingers so hard that you almost drew blood from biting back your tongue.

But, of course, you didn’t call him out.

.

It was a random morning after you had spent the night in his room to watch movies together. You had gotten up early to make breakfast while he was still dozing off in his room.

“Mammon.” You call out, shaking him on the shoulder.

He didn’t answer.

“Love? I made breakfast.” You continue to whisper by his side, squatting down by the bed. 

This time, he grunted and flipped over as he screwed up one eye to look at you. You stand there with a pout, pointing at the tray you are holding.

“Wha-” He murmured, still rubbing his eyes.

“Get up, sleepyhead.” You stifled a laugh, noticing his bed hair sticking up in all directions. “I made pancakes for you.”

He grunted again, finally moving to position himself in a sitting arrangement. He notices the dark red liquid on the top of the pancake and arches an eyebrow. 

“I snatched the last bottle of bloody syrup from Beel.” You say with a teasing smile. “It was a hard-won battle, you know.”

He coughs. The emotion that swelled up within him was almost embarrassing except for the fact that both of you had been in a established relationship for a long while.

“Really?” That was all he could croak out.

The innocent expression that you purposefully kept on your face infuriates him to no end. “You were murmuring about it in your dreams.”

His eyes travel to your hands, smudged with the flour you hadn’t managed to wipe away, and up to your face.

You’re so damn pretty, he thinks, but he doesn’t need to say it. You already know it with how often he says it.

“Feed me?” He says instead.

You nod, sitting beside him on the bed. You lift the fork, pancake dripping with the bloody syrup giving off an almost sickly nauseating smell. Mammon just stares at you, heart palpitating for some reason.

He eats the piece, slowly swallowing it.

It’s sweet like you.

“By the way, I finished the paperwork.” Mammon stares at you for a second, brain sifting through his memories to decipher what you meant.

Fuck.

“That was today?!” He almost jumped out of bed barely remembering his state of undress.

“Love, I finished it.” You say with a chuckle, watching him with an amused smile as you continue to chew on your piece of pancake. 

“Not flattering myself but I think I did great with this panc–”

“Marry me.”

“Wha–” You’re slackjawed and wide-eyed.

And he's coming to his senses, hands flexing as he clears his throat. Oh fuck, did he just ruin all his plans? No, he has to go along with it. But at the same time, it feels so perfect. he wants more mornings like this.

Maybe, forever. 

"Ya’ heard me. I said marry me. And there's only one correct answer here."

You stare at him and mutter something faintly like dumbass underneath your breath. But Mammon doesn’t care. He’ll be your dumbass as long as you’ll let him be.

“Confident, aren’t you?” You ask, but your smile is bright and if he looks at you closely, he can see your hands shaking.

“I swear I prepared everything but–”

“I know.” You cut him off, placing the plate down gently on the bedside table. “You weren’t exactly hiding much, love.”

“Ya’ knew?” He gathers himself after a second, eyebrows furrowed in the way that makes his eyes squint just a little. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why would I?” You retorted back in kind. "I wanted to see how you pulled it off."

"Anyways husband, can you hurry and eat this? You have a shoot at ten, remember?" You continue, picking up the plate to shove it into his chest.

"Cancel it."

"Wha-"

"I said cancel it." He repeats again.

"We're staying in today."

[joonlover1207]

stubble ~ knj // drabble.

pairing : husband!knj × wife!reader

genre : established relationship, fluff, kisses, short case enthusiast, teeth sickening fluff and stubble duh....

summary : reader is obsessed with her husband aka kim namjoon. everything about him makes her swoon over him, especially his new look that includes his fit, bulky body and oh his delicious yummy stubble!

a/n : hiee lovies! ana this side 🥰 I am so sorry if I have made any mistakes, as some of you might know or not this is my first time writing! I am actually so nervous and so excited at the same time hehe. anyways stubble with namjoon is soooo addictive I can't stop thinking about him ughhhh. I hope whatever little imaginary drabble I wrote does justice and gives his stubble a lot of love lol. Spare me for any mistakes and reblog ?!

admiring my husband from afar, absorbing his new look, long hair, buffed body, thunder thighs, cute dimples and yes that fcking stubble... not a full beard but something...

just....

enough.

he's always so handsome, I feel really lucky that I've got him wrapped around my little finger and I get to call him my man.

imagining all of these things got me smiling like a fool making him notice and come my way, giving me that million dollar smile with those adorable dimples.

wrapping his arms around my waist, he pulled me closer to his body, lifting my chin with his fingers and asking me

"what's going inside your cute little brain?"

looking in his eyes I said "nothing, just this new look suits you. you look quite handsome."

him giggling at that sentence makes him even more cuter which makes my heart do a flip.

placing my hands on his cheeks but wincing and pulling away "oh owwww"

he takes my hand in his for inspection and asks "what's wrong my baby?"

pouting my lips I said " it's your stubble, it's prickly" making a sad face.

"oh really? thought you liked my new look?!" his smirk fully evident

"hey! don't twist my words, I love your look it's just.... how am I supposed to kiss you without it hurting?" I asked in a low voice

"guess it will have to go then, can't live without your kisses" touching his stubble and smiling softly down at me

"or you could give me a demo?" looking up in his eyes, batting my eyelashes at him

"but you said it's gonna hurt?" he says confused.

yeah for a person with 148 iq, he sure was dumb. but he was my dumb baby.

grabbing his chin between my fingers and sealing my lips to his " oh come here you big idiot"

as we kissed in a promise of forever.

[holylulusworld]

Wrong message

Summary: A case of the wrong number…

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x fem!reader

Warnings: drunk reader, possible alcohol abuse, wrong number trope, implied breaking and entering, implied dark Lloyd (nothing happens)

“Just do it, just do it!” Your friends cheer you on. They are a bad influence, and you shouldn’t spend time with them. Today, they got you drunk. Margaritas are the devil’s work without a doubt. “Message, Mr. sexy ass!”

“Ughh… we had half a date, Kelly,” you slur, failing to unlock your phone. Your eyes are blurry, and you can’t focus on your passcode. “I don’t think he’ll answer.”

“Hey, I called my ex and asked him to send me a dick pic! You won’t chicken out now! It’s always the same with you. You’re no fun.” Kelly accuses you of being lame.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” you curse yourself, but being called lame angers you. “Let me just unlock my phone.”

“I don’t think she can talk,” Cheryl giggles before taking a large sip from her third margarita.

“She can message him,” Kelly replies quickly. “If he doesn’t answer, she can still call him.

“Damn it, bitch!” You curse your phone. “6969.” You giggle as you finally remember your passcode. “Here we go! Be prepared for—”

“The hottest pick-up line ever,” Cheryl cheers you on, while Kelly smirks at your wrecked state. Sam and Adriana already passed out and snored loudly. Not very graceful or hot.

“Hmm…” you scrunch up your face, thinking hard. Your foggy brain makes it difficult to think straight, so you write the first thing that comes to your mind. “Alright.”

Hey, sexy…🍆🍆

You harrumph and stare at your phone as he doesn’t answer.

Are you there, sexy…

… Three dots are all you get. You wait for him to answer, but the dots disappear.

“I don’t think he’s online,” you lie and try to close the chat. “Maybe another time.”

“No, now,” Kelly insists. All of you saw her ex's dick and made fun of her for settling for a tiny and crooked wiener for so long.

You scoff but type the next message. You may be more forward this time.

I wanna suck your dick so bad. I want to feel you shoot your cum down my throat and make your toes curl, and after, you can eat my pussy until I squirt in your face.

… The dots blink for a second, and then, he replies…

Who’s this? Is this a joke? I swear you’ll regret messing with me, sunshine!

“Fuck! Fuck!” You look at the number, realizing it’s not Scott’s number. You cry reading a stranger's reply. “I texted the wrong number!” You glare at Kelly. “That’s all your fault. Now some random creep has my number!”

“Fuck…shit!” Cheryl panics. “Okay. Just text him back and tell him it was a case of a mistaken number. He’ll understand. You can block his number if he’s a creep!”

“Okay! Good idea!” You try to stop your hands from shaking before you reply.

Oops…sorry dude. Wrong number. I hope you have a good night!

He immediately replies to your message this time.

Hell no, this is the right number, cupcake. Tell me where you are, and you can suck my nuts too. I’ll pay you back and let you ride my stache.

“Ride his stache?” Kelly cackles, much to your dismay. She can be a little too much sometimes. You still feel bad for texting the wrong guy, and she has to laugh about your mishap. “Who wears a mustache? Only losers.”

“You don’t even know the guy,” you huff. “This is your fault.”

Suddenly sober, you close the app and decide to forget about your mistake. He will get that you’re not interested in sucking a stranger’s dick.

Some hours later, your friends left, and you’re drifting in and out of your drunken haze. You groan, feeling something tickle your foot.

“Fuck off,” you grumble and kick the invisible hand touching you. “I’m tired.”

“Now, now,” you hear someone purr in your ear, “is that the way to treat a man flying down here to eat that cunt?”

A cold shiver runs down your spine, and you sit up, screaming, as the stranger is standing in your bedroom.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“I came to collect.” He smirks and slowly slides the zipper of his pants down. “I hope your mouth is as good as you promised…”

Tags in reblog.

[stinkrat-aleks]

Only if you want to! but would love to hear your thoughts about telepaths/psionics bias within the in-universe mutant community. I've always liked seeing Erik's particular dilemma explored in fanworks since in the movies we got to see his relationship with different telepaths, but I always like seeing it explored more generally too. so I guess I was wondering if you'd explored/thought about these bits of canon too, and of course, no worries if not!

Hello!! Sorry it took me so long to reply to this, I was thinking my answer over and all the stuff I wanted to say (/overthinker).

I think a LOT about psionphobia (or whatever the term would be called) in-universe. Especially because to me, mutations are symbolic for disabilities and different neurotypes. The term “neurodivergent” describes people whose brain differences affect how their brain works…and to me, that means all telepaths are inherently neurodivergent.

Now I see Charles as autistic, but even if he WASN'T autistic, that means his psychic powers affect the way he perceives social situations, information, etc.

And so, when I see in-universe characters (like XMFC Raven) tell Charles to stay out of their minds—while I understand the desire for privacy—it feels ableist to me. I'd understand if Raven asked Charles to keep out of her more private thoughts, but to keep out of her mind in general feels almost like asking an autistic person to stop stimming when they're around you.

Like, that's just the way Charles is. He probably overhears people's thoughts and feelings at a surface level at all times, without the intention of delving deeper.

This artist does a REALLY pretty comic depicting this and it's 1000% how I headcanon Charles' telepathy now, please go read and reblog the full thing if you haven't already:

Artist: yancant on tumblr

I also think just because Charles CAN intrude on people's innermost secrets, doesn't mean he necessarily WILL. Like, lots of people drive a car. Anyone could technically plow that car into a crowd of people. But most other people assume they won't. So we don't freak out when we see cars. Ya know.

With that logic it feels unfair to assume Charles is going to do bad things with his telepathy simply because he can. ALL humans are capable of bad things! Why is he being singled out for the way he thinks.

Re:Erik, he is the only one who seems to understand this. Him inviting Charles to be in his head (in fanworks but also XMFC) shows that he is not only tolerating Charles' mutation but EMBRACING it. (We all know he has a telepathy kink but that's something different okay.) To use the neurodivergent metaphor, he's telling Charles it's okay to unmask around him.

Like obviously this scene is very emotional for Erik, and Charles is definitely too caught up in his savior complex to take notice of his own emotions, but imagine!! Feeling that welcomed in someone else's mind for the first time!! And them not pushing you out or getting angry for touching a sensitive memory!

I have no idea any of that makes sense or if I'm grasping for straws but that's my overall take on it.

ANYWAYS…so that's my overall take on it. In terms of the soccer AU I'm currently working on..I have other thoughts and some of it will be addressed in futuer chapters (I'm gonna try to upload today). So we'll see. Sorry if this completely didn't answer your question LMFAO.

[scramblescrew]

Hey can I request uh....ancients with a y/n who finally gives up but ends up depressed? Like they usually lay there and do nothing and be basically a sad doll that needs lots of comfort?

((Sure thing, Anon! Here ya go! Sorry it took me so long! Writer’s block has been killing me

(TRIGGER WARNING FOR THEMES OF DEPRESSIVE TOPICS! IF IT IS TOO MUCH FOR YOU, PLEASE MOVE ON PAST)

.

.

.

.

Dark Cacao Cookie would start having a bit of an easier time realizing what you’re feeling. He had felt the same depressed, empty feeling when his son, Dark Choco Cookie, forced his hand and he was cast out of the kingdom.

But when he found out you were just laying in bed, usually motionless, he was concerned. He understood that you weren’t in an ideal mental state but you still needed to care for yourself.

Instead of having one of the citadel staff bringing you your rations, Dark Cacao did instead. When he unlocked the door to your chambers and entered. His heart ached even more watching you lay motionless on your bed, your chest slowly rising and falling with each breath.

“Y/N…”

DCC walked over with the food, set it down on the bedside table and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Please understand why I had to keep you here in the citadel…the world outside of these walls would corrupt you…take what it would from you then leave you for dead. I couldn’t have that for you…I can’t lose you…!”

After a few minutes of silence, DCC sighed and laid down beside you, pulling you in close, and wrapped his arms around Y/N.

“Please know that I love you…even if in your eyes it doesn’t seem so…”

—————————————————————————

Scared. Pure Vanilla Cookie is scared when he finds to mindlessly and silently pacing the grounds of his kingdom for who knows how many hours and even more fearful when he catches up to you and you stare blankly and wordlessly at him.

His heart breaks at this as he pulls you close and hugs you.

“Let’s get you back to bed, you must be exhausted…wondering for so long isn’t good for you…”

PV helped you to your shared bedroom and let you have privacy to get changed into more comfortable clothing before helping you into bed and healing any injuries you may have gotten from your wonder.

After everything was settled down and you were physically well again, PV got into bed with you, pull you close, and started kissing your forehead and gently rubbing your back as you lay there.

“Please don’t scare me like that…I never want to see you hurt…”

_____________________________________

Hollyberry was excited when you had taken your stay in her castle, your new home, better than she had anticipated, you occupied her to events without complaint (maybe a bit of reluctance and though not very much), you started to give her small bits of affection like holding her hand and reciprocating her hugs even if you were still very reserved, but somethings were still worrying…

What she worried about was went you started having sudden outbursts of rage and berating her for getting to close. It was like flipping a switch in your brain at random and it was…SCARING your captor.

After leaving you be for a while and do research on what she could do to help you and came up with a solution.

That night she sat you down and gently hugged you, explaining that she understands that you’re going through a rough time and that she wanted to help you. She was going to set up meetings with a therapist and will let you roam the kingdom with less strict supervision. All she wanted was you to get better and to love her.

“All I want in return is your love…please give me your love, my dear…”

—————————————————————————————————————

White Lily Cookie understood… being forced to stay in a barely familiar place with someone who claims to be your lover but is actually your captor can take a toll on a cookie. So it was understandable that you would fall into a depression. One where you couldn’t sleep(understandable as White Lily Cookie made you sleep in the same bed as her), you refused food or drink much to her worry, and your memory was getting worse by the day due to the aforementioned symptoms and more.

It all came to a head one day when you…just stopped moving at all, you didn’t get outta bed, you stopped what little resistance you gave to White Lily Cookie’s attempts to give you affection. You accepted all the hugs, kisses and the cheek and forehead, accepted her cuddling you at night, everything. You just stopped responding.

After a thorough examination from a doctor that was called in (No, Pure Vanilla Cookie was not asked for help. He had his own darling to deal with), it was found out that your depression had gotten worse, to the point of you had fallen into a Catatonic state.

After this revelation, White Lily would try every day to get you to get up or even just open your eyes and look at her. But White Lily soon conceded and focused on being there for you, gently holding you close and letting you be her sad little doll…

“My sweetest doll…it’ll all be ok. Please just open your eyes..for me..?”

—————————————————————————————————————

Golden Cheese Cookie held you in her arms with her wings wrapped around your body. With what has happened to her in the past, Golden Cheese Cookie understands what it’s like to feel so empty and hopeless.

But you staying in your bed all day….something in her….BEGS…for you to get up again…

The next thing you know, you are subjected to bi-daily tests and a sarcophagus is built to hold you and keep you inside of it. It was built so only Golden Cheese Cookie could get you out if she ever wanted to.

And that was the hardest part, the easiest part was locking you inside. You didn’t really fight back like you used to, like you did when she first brought you to her kingdom. But that just meant you would be hers sooner…

Once you were in GCC’s digital kingdom, you felt the urge to get up, to walk around, to be free, much to Golden Cheese cookie’s satisfaction and joy. She once again hugged and held you close with her wings wrapped around you.

“It’ll be ok now…I’ve got you…and you’ll never want for anything, my gem…”

————————————————————————————————————

Im here this is here, it’s raw, it took forever- I need a nap (I pulled an all nighter for this request so I could get it out for you all😊) *Dies*

[saddled-on-stars]

Hey! So for some reason your ask was deleted somehow?? It disappeared from my drafts?! But anyways, here you go lovely <3 @habitabel asked: please write Keatlejuice gifting reader stuffed animals please 🙏 and then listening to reader ramble on about the names, backstories, and how they got the stuffed animals they already have ty 🫶 I’m sorry that this one took me so long!! I hope you enjoy it!!

Happy reading! - Star ★

-★-★-★-★-★-★-★- Trigger Warnings: Explicit Language, Suggestive Themes -★-★-★-★-★-★-★- Key: ★ (Y/N) = Your Name ★ (L/N) = Last Name -★-★-★-★-★-★-★- Requested by: @habitabel (THANK YOU FOR BEING SO PATIENT WITH ME, I'm sorry that this took so long 😭🙏) -★-★-★-★-★-★-★-

- ★ - Stuffing Stories - ★ -

It’s 3AM, and the only sounds in the room are of your own groaning, and the pillows shuffling along your bed. You can’t sleep due to the constant negative thoughts running through your brain, at a million miles a minute.

The day was going great—work was it’s typical busy, but you don’t mind, and you even had a lighthearted chat with your coworker about your shared love for old sitcoms. But then came the side-eyed comment about your ‘Unwilling Service’ from someone who didn’t even know you, and how much it got into your head. You were just trying to answer their question, which was unbelievably bizarre. They asked something about how to get to the park that was thirty minutes away. Hell, you didn’t even know the place existed, and you didn’t work for a directory station.

You are already practically on edge as you walk through your apartment door. Dinner is an afterthought, the thought of eating even something small, sounding like too much of a task. And though you try distracting yourself with a movie, The Exorcist, obviously, the restless energy refuses to fade.

It isn't just today, though. Sleep had been a problem for weeks, a relentless cycle of tossing and turning that left you staring at the ceiling, wondering why you just couldn’t sleep. Tonight is no different. The clock ticked past midnight, then 1AM, now 2AM, each passing minute a reminder that tomorrow would be another day of exhaustion.

Your chest grows tight, your breathing shallower than you’ve experienced, in a LONG time for that matter. The usual distraction techniques aren’t working. Counting sheep, breathing exercises, even scrolling through your phone—all useless.

You pull the covers over your head, but the heaviness of the day’s events looms large. That offhand comment from earlier—’unwilling service…’ Did they mean lazy? Disinterested? Were they secretly annoyed with you? Did everyone at work feel that way? Was it the same with your friends?

The spiraling thoughts claw their way deeper. You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms. You hadn’t meant to start tossing and turning, the pillows shuffling deeper.

"Fuck, what is wrong with me?" you mutter under your breath.

With a shaky breath, you sat up, rubbing your eyes. The weight in your chest hadn’t gone away, but you knew someone who’d make it bearable.

"Beetlejuice," you whispered, voice cracking. "Beetlejuice... Beetlejuice."

The flash of green and black in the corner of the room becomes bright with flair, causing his entrance to be as grand as ever. "It's showtime-”, he begins, but the second he takes one look at you, his demeanor shifts.

“Whoa, whoa. Babes? Fuckin’ hell, you okay?” he says, eyebrows furrowing as he notices your trembling hands and red-puffed eyes, shaking his head as he curses himself for not being there sooner. He’s by your side in an instant, sittiing on the bed with a mix of concern and determination.

“C’mere,” he mutters, pulling you close. His arms wrapped tightly around you, his striped blazer soft against your cheek. “Talk to me, Babes. What’s going on?”

You want to answer, but the lump in your throat won’t let you. Instead, you bury your face into his shoulder, your breaths uneven.

Beej doesn’t press. He doesn’t ask questions. He just shifts back against the headboard, tucking you against his chest, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it by yourself, okay? I’m here.”

The familiar rasp in his voice, usually cocky and teasing, was softer now, filled with a warmth you didn’t know you needed.

As you start to calm down, the sound of his voice keeps you grounded. “You know what you need, Babes?” he said, pulling back slightly to look at you with a small grin. “Some quality cuddle therapy... and maybe a new friend. One sec.”

Before you could protest, he vanishes with a poof, leaving you in a sense of longing, wondering where he’s gone. Only for him to reappear quickly, holding something behind his back.

“Ta-da!” He reveals a small stuffed bat with button eyes and a goofy grin. It’s actually quite cute, and it’s got a lot of character, it seems. He chuckles, and holds up the little creature, “Meet, uh... Flappy. Thought you might like him.”

The absurdity, yet adoration, of the name makes you laugh, a weak but genuine sound that seems to lift the tension in the room.

“Flappy, huh?” you say, gently taking the plushie in your hands. “What’s he doing here?”

“Oh, you know. He’s a night owl. Bit of a chatterbox. Thinks you’re the coolest guy around.”, Beej says with a large grin.

You smile, turning the toy over in your hands. “Guess he can join the others.”

Beej’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Wait, you’ve got others? Babes, you’ve been holding out on me.”

And just like that, the weight in your chest eases, feeling the utter excitement of getting to share your wholesome obsessions over your stuffed animals, each one having a characterized personality of its own. You find yourself rambling about your collection—each stuffed animal, its backstory, how you’d gotten it.

Beej listens intently, actually seeming interested in what you have to say, throwing in the occasional quip, but mostly just letting you talk.

“And this one’s name is Gemini! My friend named her, since it’s her zodiac sign, but she’s a little fruit bat, who was an orphan from the time she was a baby! She got adopted by a bunch of normal bats, who accepted her into her family, and when she grew up, she went to explore the world!”, you exclaim happily to Beej.

Beej nods with excitement, “Woah, Babes! I had no idea how much you knew about these little guys.”, he says with a joking tone and a wink.

You feel the heat rising to your cheeks, as you blush. “Sorry, I don’t mean to bore you with these little guy-”, but you’re quickly cut off.

Beej’s lips are softly pressed against yours, his eyes closed, as your eyes flutter to do the same. You wonder what made him want to do this, but you’re too shocked to care.

He pulls back slightly to look in your eyes, chuckling softly. “Do not EVER apologize for that, Babes. I think hearing about them is very sweet to hear from you. And besides, what kind of demon would love you if they didn’t hear about your little stories?”, he asks with a smile.

Your face is surely entirely red now. What did he say?

“W-What did you just say?”, you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

His black-circled eyes soften as he gazes at yours, “I love you.”, he says in a whispered tone, his gaze flickering to your lips.

Your gaze follows to his own lips, as you softly whisper back, “I love you too.”. You lean closer slowly, closing the space once again.

Out of all the backstories that you’ve shared tonight, this one will always be your favorite.

- ★ - Written By Saddled_On_Stars - ★ -

[loquarocoeur]

alex I am so sorry to send another fucking ask but like. I needed to okay, (also doing my first ask on a laptop was a mistake bc I can type at the speed of light here and this got way too long oops?)

something I've thought and wondered about before was the idea of what would happen should max & charles ever be interrupted while max is in subspace. you've covered a funnier side like a regular walk in during sex and both of them just being like Would U Fuck Off, but subspace is different. like perhaps its something just like someone at the apartment door that actually does really need answering, an urgent work call one of them forgot about, someone in an area they are unexpectedly that maybe doesn't see them but their presence is enough to panic max.

if its more the physical presence of someone, even just in another room etc, obviously max would lose 20 years of his life at the idea of anyone but charles seeing him in subspace, its a painfully private vulnerable part of him for charles and charles alone. it'd rock him, obviously.

or if it was more along the line of a phone call or situation where one of them needs to be physically present, how would max feel but also how would charles deal with juggling the Important Thing He Forgot To Do while also soothing a very down very subby max. obviously a first idea is just making the problem Go Away, etc, but a. I like to work scenarios through and b. it'd be enough of a bubble intrusion to cause a shift in the atmosphere anyway.

its not even meant to be like especially angsty if you don't want because heavy shit aint always the vibe. you don't need to know like a definite answer here, or have even thought about it before. I just particularly enjoy the dynamic of subspace itself and wanted to chat (and accidentally send u half an essay about) it. hell you don't need to have a fuckin clue I just wanted to float you my brain thinky stuff bc why not <3

apologies again that I've sent u an ask the length of war and peace

~ swanon 🦢

Yeah I think considering their careers this is definitely a thing that happens at some point.

I think the first time it's probably just the door or something and Max thinks he's going to be fine if Charles just leaves to answer it quickly, but turns out it is not fine and Charles can't just leave him because he will absolutely panic

Also it's probably also more subtle that Max's, but I think Charles also kind of gets into a kind of domspace during sex as much as Max gets into a subspace and even though he finds it much easier to snap himself out of it or multitask with it, it's still a thing and he'd probably need a second too

So I think it obviously does happen like several times to the point that sometimes they either just put it off for a few minutes until they're out of that headspace enough to do the 'important thing' or Charles just ends up taking Max with and letting him just cling onto him behind the door while Charles peeks his head out to sign for a package or smth lol and also let's be real, Charles is not above answering phone calls while he is actively inside of Max

So basically I think it's either Make The Thing Go Away or if that's not an option just Multitask

But yeah I don't think it would end up too great if anyone walked in on them while Max is like actually properly in subspace because yeah that's not something Max wants anybody to see except Charles and it's also not something Charles wants to share with anyone else because it's just like private and personal and it means something to them yknow. And Charles also kind of has the responsibility of taking care of things when Max is like that so he would feel like absolute shit about it even if it wasn't his fault like at all.

Yeah I don't even know what would happen but I don't think they would blame each other at all, if it was bad enough they'd probably end up having a joint breakdown about it crying at the same time like no no I'm sorry it's my fault, no it's mine etc until they finally agree it was nobody's fault and finally calm the fuck down and feel slightly bad for whoever they accidentally traumatised just now