#spoiler alert: it wasn’t the good guys

[soulless-bex]

buying the books the US is banning even though i’m canadian because i’m not blind and i don’t trust Pierre Poilievre to not pull the same shit and ban them on this side of the frontier as well. fuck all the far-right politicians and every one that supports them. “cheaper groceries” are not worth losing human rights, and i guarantee you that you will lose them too even if you’re not apart of a group that’s being targeted right now if we get this ball rolling. if you can’t understand something as simple as that then maybe you need to read a goddamn history book before it becomes too late

[whump-it-like-its-hot]

Fuck you *gives your oc a healthy relationship to at least one parent*

[heejamas]

nicest guy: 28. the super bowl episode

word count: 10k words (sorryyyy....) + 10 screenshots

warnings: MDNI!!!!!! explicit sexual content. petnames, spanking, unprotected sex (dont do it!!!!) all the fucking lot. spoiler alert im so sorry...... thank you......

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Jake pulled up in front of your place at exactly 5:30, just like he said he would. You slid into the passenger seat, buckling yourself in as he shot you a smirk. “You’re looking way too cute for a football night,” he teased, eyes flickering over your outfit.

“Should I have worn a jersey?” you joked.

“I mean, if it were a Chiefs jersey, I’d be down bad.”

“Don’t start,” You warned, trying to suppress a smile.

“Start what? Being charming?” He pulled away from the curb, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the radio. “Can’t help it.”

You rolled her eyes, looking out the window. “I feel like this is just another one of your many talents. Football, flirting, and what else?”

Jake glanced at you, grinning. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

By the time you pulled up to Heeseung’s place, the party was already in full swing. The scent of pizza, wings, and beer lingered in the air, blending with the distant roar of pre-game analysis from the TV. The house was packed with excited chatter, the occasional burst of laughter echoing through the rooms.

Jake led the way inside, his palm pressing lightly against the small of your back—an unnecessary but deliberate touch that didn’t go unnoticed. Your eyes scanned the crowded living room until they landed on Sunghoon, lounging on the couch next to Jungwon and Jay, a beer lazily dangling from his fingers.

He saw you and Jake enter together. His gaze flickered between the two of you, pausing ever so slightly on where Jake’s hand rested against your back. Then, as if amused by the whole scene, he smirked and leaned back into the couch, exuding that effortless, unreadable coolness that always made your stomach twist.

Jake shook off the feeling and turned his attention to the rest of the room. “Hey, losers,” Jake greeted, grinning as you walked further in.

Beomgyu, perched on the arm of the couch, dramatically clutched his chest. “Finally, some respect in this household.”

Heeseung, from his spot in the kitchen, lifted his drink. “About time you got here. You’re lucky, kickoff’s in fifteen.”

“Wouldn’t want to miss it,” you replied, moving to greet everyone properly.

Then, just as you were pulling away from Jay’s quick side hug, Sunghoon was there. And unlike the others, he didn’t go for a casual half-hug—no, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. Too close. Long enough for you to feel the firm press of his chest against yours, the warmth radiating off him, the way his fingers pressed lightly against your waist.

Your breath caught, just for a second. And then, finally, he let go, his lips twitching upward as he murmured, “You good?”

Before you could even formulate a response, Jungwon’s voice cut in, dry and unimpressed. “Yeah, okay. Let me say hi to my sister,” your twin gave you a pointed look, barely concealing his exasperation.

Sunghoon cleared his throat, stepping back. “Right.”

Jake, who had been watching the whole thing with narrowed eyes, didn’t waste a second. The moment you were within reach again, he pulled you slightly closer to his side, fingers brushing against yours as if reminding you who invited you in the first place. Sunghoon, of course, noticed. He didn’t say anything, but the amused glint in his eyes was enough to make Jake’s jaw tighten.

“Beer?” Sunghoon offered, reaching for the cooler beside the couch. He pulled out two bottles, holding one toward you first.

Before you could take it, Jake spoke. “I’m good.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t asking you.”

Jake just shrugged, undeterred. “I’m practically part of the furniture here. I know where the drinks are.”

Just as the pre-game commentary wrapped up, everyone settled into their spots. Jake pulled you onto the couch next to him, his hand resting lightly on your knee—another not-so-subtle reminder of his presence.

As kickoff loomed, the tension between the two boys at your sides remained. It wasn’t outright hostile, but it was there, simmering beneath the surface. And you? You were more than happy to sit in the middle of it all, enjoying every second of their silent battle for your attention.

Heeseung leans forward, gesturing animatedly with his beer as the pre-game analysis plays on the screen. “Look, I don’t wanna hear anything from you guys,” he starts, his voice carrying over the chatter in the room. “Saquon had the best season of his career. You can’t argue that. And the Eagles? They deserve this.”

You take a sip of your drink, barely listening until you hear Sunghoon scoff from the couch.

“Yeah, Saquon had the best season of his career,” Sunghoon drawls, shifting to rest his elbow on his knee, “for a team that isn’t the Giants.” His tone is just short of bitter, but the unimpressed look on his face seals it. “They don’t deserve shit.”

“Maybe,” Jake finally speaks up, his voice low, but carrying the weight of a rivalry that’s been simmering for years. “But if you ask me, they’ve still got nothing on the Chiefs.” He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his focus entirely on Sunghoon now.

Sunghoon turns his head slowly, his gaze cold but measured. “Really? You think they can actually win it this year?” His lips curl into a slight smirk, the kind that’s just enough to test Jake's patience.

Jake doesn’t flinch, though. Instead, he grins, a sharp, knowing smile. “Better than the Eagles. Chiefs have the heart, man. You’ll see.”

The tension hangs between them, but it’s a different kind of tension now. Less hatred and more something familiar. Old rivalry with new ground to stand on. For a brief moment, you feel like they might just find their way back to being those old friends, the ones who used to laugh and trash-talk without the weight of everything that’s happened between them.

But then Sunghoon throws an arm over the back of the couch—right behind you, fingers brushing your shoulder, and whatever moment they just had evaporates instantly. Because Jake immediately notices. And he’s not about to let that slide.

Casually—almost too casually—he shifts, resting his palm on your knee. His thumb brushes the exposed skin there, barely enough to be anything, but enough to be something. You glance between them, feeling the shift in the air.

Sunghoon, unbothered as ever, just takes another sip of his beer, gaze fixed on the screen like he doesn’t feel Jake’s stare burning holes into him. Jake, on the other hand, keeps his focus straight ahead, jaw tight. And you? You just sit there, stuck between them, sipping your drink like you don’t feel their silent battle for dominance happening on your body.

The moment the Eagles score another touchdown, Heeseung shoots up from his seat like a rocket, nearly knocking over the bowl of chips on the table.

“LET’S GOOOOOOO!” he yells, arms stretched wide, face pure smugness. “JALEN HURTS IS HIM! MAHOMES WHO? I’VE NEVER HEARD OF THAT MAN IN MY LIFE!”

Beomgyu, slouched dramatically in his seat like he just received life-altering news, glares at Heeseung with unfiltered rage. “Bro, shut the fuck up. You’re acting like you even know ball.”

“I do know ball,” Heeseung shoots back, hands on his hips now, chest puffed like he personally threw the touchdown. “And you know what else I know? Jalen Hurts is CLEARLY better than Mahomes. Better QB, better team, better haircut—”

Beomgyu sits up so fast it’s like his soul re-entered his body. “Oh yeah? Well, Mahomes could—” He pauses, eyes darting around as his brain short-circuits. “—Mahomes could beat Jalen in a sword fight.”

Silence.

Even Heeseung looks momentarily thrown off. “A…sword fight?”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu says, doubling down like the absolute menace he is. “Mahomes has that wrist power, bro. Think about it. You ever see that man throw across his body? Now imagine him with a sword.”

The room collectively loses it. Jay actually wheezes. Sunghoon nearly chokes on his drink. Even Jungwon, who’s been silent for most of the game, shakes his head in pure disappointment.

Jake, however, is not laughing. At all. He’s sitting there, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight you’d think his teeth might shatter. “This is actually disgusting,” he mutters. “Zero points. Zero. We’re getting cooked.”

Sunghoon, for once, nods in agreement. “Embarrassing.”

Jake glances at him. Sunghoon glances back. And in that moment, their mutual disdain turns into something far more powerful—mutual suffering.

“This defense is non-existent,” Jake continues, shaking his head. “Like, where the fuck is Chris Jones?”

“Right?” Sunghoon huffs. “And why are they not running the damn ball?”

“Dude, I was thinking the same thing,” Jake mutters, leaning in slightly. “And Mahomes keeps trying to force deep shots that aren’t even there.”

Sunghoon nods again, mirroring Jake’s energy now. “If they don’t get points before halftime, I swear—”

“They HAVE to,” Jake interrupts, his frustration now indistinguishable from Sunghoon’s.

From where you’re sitting—smack between them—you can feel the tension between their bodies shift. It’s no longer hostile. No longer cold. They’re in sync. Complaining. Critiquing. Agreeing. Like they’re supposed to.

Like they used to.

And even though they’re completely ignoring your existence, you can’t bring yourself to mind. Because this? This is good.

You glance across the room to Jungwon, who’s watching the entire scene unfold, seated next to Jay. He meets your eyes, then tilts his head toward Jake and Sunghoon, eyebrows raised slightly. You shrug. He smiles.

And just like that, it almost feels like everything is falling into place.

For now.

The room buzzes with anticipation as the stadium lights dim. The opening beats of Alright hit like a shockwave, and suddenly, the energy shifts. Jake and Sunghoon, who had been stewing in their shared misery, straighten in their seats, eyes locked on the screen. Then, almost in sync, they spring to their feet.

“OH, SHIT—” Jake yells, immediately jumping to his feet.

Sunghoon is right behind him, eyes wide, a rare grin spreading across his face. “Nah, this is about to be crazy.”

They’re both locked in, eyes glued to the screen, rapping along with Kendrick like the past twenty minutes of suffering never even happened. And just like that, they’re completely absorbed—every frustration about the game momentarily forgotten as Kendrick Lamar commands the stage.

Jake mouths the words effortlessly, nodding to the beat, while Sunghoon raps along with so much confidence you’d think he was personally featured on the track. By the time DNA. starts, the entire room is moving. Even Jay, who usually keeps his reactions in check, is bobbing his head, rapping under his breath.

Then, out of nowhere, Sunghoon turns to Jake, squinting in suspicion. “Wait—weren’t you Team Drake?”

Jake freezes mid-head nod. Slowly, he turns to Sunghoon, face contorted like he just got personally insulted. “Are you dumb?”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. “I swear you were a hardcore Drake fan.”

Jake gestures wildly toward the TV, where Kendrick is absolutely going off. “Yeah, I used to bump old Drake. But obviously I’m Team Kendrick. I have taste.”

Before Sunghoon can respond, Taehyun, who had been relatively quiet most of the night, suddenly starts rapping word for word. Like—flawless execution. Perfect cadence. No hesitation. The entire room turns to stare at him, completely dumbfounded.

Even Jay looks impressed. “Damn. You really went off just now.”

Taehyun barely blinks. “It’s Kendrick. You think I’d come unprepared?”

Before anyone can react to that flex, the instrumental shifts. A slow, deep bass creeps in, and SZA’s unmistakable voice floats through the speakers. The moment Luther starts, the atmosphere changes. The wild energy from the rap performances fades into something smoother, something that settles into everyone’s skin. The kind of song that makes you feel something.

Jake doesn’t even hesitate. Without a word, his hands slide around your waist, pulling you back into him.

Your breath catches slightly, but you don’t resist. Instead, you let yourself sink into his chest, the heat of his body wrapping around you. His grip is firm but easy, his thumbs brushing soft circles over your sides. It’s intimate. Subtle. A moment meant just for the two of you.

From across the room, Sunghoon watches.

His beer lingers halfway to his lips, forgotten, as his gaze settles on the way Jake holds you. The way your head tilts just slightly against Jake’s shoulder, the way Jake’s fingers flex around your waist like he’s making sure you’re real.

It’s the same feeling he had at the party. The same quiet observation. The same pull.

Meanwhile, Jake leans down, lips brushing against your ear. His voice is low, barely above a whisper.

“Meet me in the kitchen when this is over.”

The words send a shiver down your spine. It’s not just what he says��it’s how he says it. Low. Intentional. The kind of tone that makes your skin prickle with anticipation. Your fingers tighten slightly around his arm in response. Just enough to let him know you heard him.

But before anything else can happen—

“OH MY FUCKING GOD.”

Beomgyu’s scream is so loud it nearly drowns out the music. The entire room whips toward the TV, and what they see does not make sense.

Because there, standing on the sidelines of the Super Bowl halftime show, is—

“NIKI?!” Heeseung practically yells.

The camera pans across the crowd, and sure enough, Niki is right there, just casually vibing with John Cena, Yeonjun, and—

“WAIT—IS THAT TAYLOR SWIFT?!” Soobin screeches.

The reaction is instant chaos.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Beomgyu shouts, grabbing his head like he’s in physical pain.

“WHY IS HE WITH TAYLOR SWIFT?” Heeseung demands.

Jake is just staring at the screen, mouth open. “What the fuck is going on?”

Beomgyu throws his arms in the air, voice cracking. “WHY IS THIS OUR FRIEND? WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?”

No one has an answer. And frankly, no one cares. Because at this point, reality doesn’t even matter. The only thing that does? The fact that Niki is somehow, someway, living a life no one will ever understand.

The chaos from the living room finally settles, leaving behind an electric buzz of excitement and lingering shock over whatever the hell Niki was doing at the Super Bowl. But Jake? Jake has other things on his mind.

Without a word, he stands, stretches like he’s just casually shaking off the loss, and heads toward the kitchen. No one really notices—except for Sunghoon.

Sunghoon, who has barely spoken since that moment behind the couch. Sunghoon, whose sharp gaze follows Jake’s every move as he disappears around the corner. And then, a moment later, follows you, watching in silence as you rise from your seat and slip out of the room.

When you step into the kitchen, the house feels different—quieter, softer. The sounds of the halftime show still echo faintly, but here, it’s just you. You and the weight of anticipation pressing against your ribs.

You push open the pantry door. The moment you step inside, Jake is there. Before you can say a word, before you can even breathe, his hands are on your waist, pulling you in, and his mouth crashes against yours.

You barely have time to register it, the sheer urgency of it all sending a shockwave through you. His grip is firm, fingers digging into your hips like he needs to feel you. Like he can’t stand a single inch of space between you.

You gasp against his lips, caught off guard but not unwilling. Not even close. Because as soon as the initial surprise fades, something inside you ignites. You kiss him back just as fiercely, your hands finding his shoulders, his jaw, anywhere you can touch. His lips move against yours with a desperation that makes your knees weak, makes heat coil low in your stomach.

When he presses you back against the pantry shelves, knocking into a box of cereal that almost topples over, you barely even notice. It’s hot. It’s needy. It’s so Jake.

You pull back just enough to catch your breath, chest rising and falling fast. His forehead rests against yours, his breath hot against your lips.

“What the hell was that?” you ask, a little breathless, a little dazed.

Jake exhales a laugh, his hands still gripping your waist, thumbs brushing slow, teasing circles over your skin. “Needed a little consolation for watching the Chiefs get absolutely embarrassed on national television.”

You raise a brow, still catching your breath. “And this was the best idea you came up with?”

He smirks. “Seemed like a solid plan.”

You hum, tilting your head like you’re considering it. “You know,” you murmur, voice dropping just slightly, “there are other ways I could console you.”

Jake stills. His grip on you tightens, just barely, but you feel it. The way his fingers flex against your skin. The way his breath hitches just slightly. His eyes flick down to your lips, then back up to meet yours. Dark. Heated.

“Oh yeah?” His voice is low, rough around the edges. “Like what?”

You don’t answer. You just kiss him. But this time, it’s different.

You take your time, letting your lips brush his, slow and teasing, just enough to leave him wanting. And it works, because Jake exhales sharply, like he’s losing his patience, like he needs more. So when he kisses you back, it’s almost punishing.

He presses you further against the shelves, his hands sliding up, fingers tracing the shape of your ribs, your waist, like he wants to memorize the way you feel. His lips part against yours, deepening the kiss, and when his tongue brushes against yours, you swear you feel it everywhere. It’s dizzying. It’s addictive.

The air in the pantry is thick. Heavy. Charged with something neither of you want to name.

Jake’s hands are still on you, his breath still warm against your lips, and the weight of his body pressing you against the shelves makes it impossible to think about anything else.

Until the door creaks open. Both of you freeze. A shadow fills the narrow doorway, and then—

“Oh, shit. My bad.”

Sunghoon.

Standing there, blinking at the two of you like he just realized what he walked in on. Jake doesn’t move an inch, body still pressed against yours, but his head snaps toward the door, eyes narrowing immediately. “You have to be kidding me.”

Sunghoon holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Relax. I was just looking for some salt.”

Jake lets out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “For what?”

“A tequila shot.” Sunghoon says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker over you—your swollen lips, the way Jake is still practically caging you in. His expression doesn’t change much, but you see it. The knowing glint in his gaze.

Jake scoffs. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

And then—without warning—Sunghoon steps inside. You barely have time to react before the door swings shut behind him.

Now, the pantry is even smaller, the three of you packed together in a space that suddenly feels suffocating. Your pulse spikes.

Because Sunghoon doesn’t just stand by the door. He moves closer. Not enough to touch you, not yet, but enough that you feel him there. His presence, his body heat.

The tension is a living, breathing thing between you all.

You swallow hard, trying to shake off the static running up your spine. “You guys need to stop fighting over me,” you say, breaking the silence. Your voice comes out steadier than you expected. “There’s no point.”

Sunghoon huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah? Try telling him that.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “You’re the one who just invited yourself, dude.”

Sunghoon shrugs, but his gaze stays locked onto yours. “Doesn’t change the fact that we both want you.” His voice is lower now, slower. “So, really, what’s there to stop?”

Your breath catches. Because the way he says it—like it’s inevitable, like there’s nothing either of them can do to change it—it does something to you.

Jake, on the other hand, just snorts, the corner of his mouth tugging up slightly. “At least we know you like to watch.”

You tense. Sunghoon doesn’t react at first, but you catch the subtle shift in his expression. The way his lips twitch, just slightly, like he’s considering something.

Then, he tilts his head. “You saying you don’t?”

Jake’s smirk falters—just for a second. But that second is enough. Sunghoon notices. You notice. Jake exhales sharply, jaw clenching for half a beat before he looks away, as if that alone will make the tension disappear.

It doesn’t.

Sunghoon shifts then, closing the distance just a little more. His voice is almost amused when he speaks again, but there’s an edge to it. “Does Jake know what happened last night?”

Your whole body tenses.

Jake stiffens slightly against you. “What are you talking about?”

You don’t say anything. Because you can’t. Because the way Sunghoon is watching you—like he already knows the answer, like he’s relishing in the fact that Jake doesn’t—has your brain short-circuiting.

Sunghoon hums, tilting his head, eyes flickering between you and Jake. “Maybe it would’ve been more fun if you were in the middle,” he muses, voice deceptively casual. “But I don’t mind sharing.”

The words send a sharp jolt of electricity straight through you. You don’t even get a chance to process them before Sunghoon moves again. This time, he’s right there, his chest nearly pressing into your side, while Jake is still solid behind you. Trapped. Between them.

Jake doesn’t move away. Doesn’t react. Just watches.

And then—Sunghoon leans in, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “You don’t mind either, do you?”

Your eyes flutter shut.

And then, as if your body isn’t already seconds away from betraying you, you feel it. Sunghoon’s lips pressing against the curve of your jaw. Slow. Deliberate. Your breath hitches. He doesn’t stop there.

The next kiss lands just beneath your ear, softer this time, barely there. Then, lower—trailing down, down, until his lips brush against the side of your neck. And just like before, Jake doesn’t stop him. He lets it happen.

And the realization nearly makes you dizzy. Because you’re not sure which is worse. The fact that Sunghoon is doing this. Or the fact that Jake is letting him.

Jake exhales through his nose, slow and measured, before his hands tighten around your waist. He pulls you back against him, fitting you flush to his chest, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck.

Then, his lips press against your pulse point—hot, deliberate. You shudder. And he feels it.

You know he does, because his grip on your hips tightens, and his voice drops when he murmurs, “Do you like this?” Another kiss. This time, his teeth graze your skin, making your breath catch. “Or do you just want me?”

The question barely registers, because Sunghoon doesn’t let you answer.

His lips are still on you, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your jaw. His tongue flicks against your skin, teasing, and then his teeth—just barely. You whimper. Jake exhales sharply behind you.

Sunghoon chuckles, low and smug, not pulling away. “C’mon,” he drawls, voice smooth as silk. “It’s a simple question, Y/N.” He presses another kiss to your neck, lingering there for a moment. “Who’s the nicest?”

Your fingers tighten around the fabric of Jake’s shirt. You tilt your head slightly, giving Sunghoon more access, and his lips curve against your skin. Jake notices.

“The nicest guy?” you murmur, your voice breathless. “Is there even a right answer?”

Sunghoon huffs out a quiet laugh, shifting even closer, if that’s even possible. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

Jake scoffs behind you, but doesn’t pull away. If anything, his hold on you firms. “This is insane,” he mutters, lips brushing against the back of your ear. “You do realize that, right?”

Sunghoon smirks. “And yet, you’re still here.”

Jake doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t move.

Instead, he just huffs, jaw tight. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Sunghoon hums. “You’re not?”

Jake doesn’t answer immediately. His hands move, sliding lower over your hips, his thumbs brushing your waistline. You feel his breath against your skin, heavy and warm. Sunghoon waits. Watching.

And then, quietly—like he doesn’t really want to admit it—Jake mutters, “I didn’t say that.”

Sunghoon grins. And you swear, you can feel the shift in the air.

Sunghoon doesn’t pull away. Not completely. His lips brush the corner of your mouth—just barely, just enough to make you chase him. But the second you lean in, he tilts his head back, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Did you ask Jake if you can kiss me?” he murmurs, eyes glinting with amusement.

Your lips part slightly, and then, slowly, you smirk. Jake shifts behind you. “Do you want to?” His voice is lower now, raspier.

You turn your head just enough to meet his gaze. “Can I?”

Jake exhales sharply through his nose, tongue swiping over his bottom lip before he tilts his head. Then, smoothly, he says, “Only if you want to, princess.”

Your stomach flips. You don’t even get a chance to process the way your pulse spikes, because the second you turn back to Sunghoon, leaning in—

Shouts erupt from the living room. Loud, excited. The unmistakable sound of a game back in full force.

Sunghoon takes a step back, running a hand through his hair, exhaling like he knew this would happen. “Guess that’s our cue.” He gives you a lingering look before glancing at Jake. Then, with an infuriating smirk, he mutters, “We’ll finish this after the game.”

And then he walks out. Leaving just you and Jake. Still standing there. Still reeling.

Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, neither of you say anything.

Then you both laugh.

Soft, breathless. Like you just did something insane.

Jake shakes his head, exhaling through his nose, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “And here I was thinking you were the quiet type.”

Your lips curl. “And here I was thinking you were good at reading people.”

Jake grins, stepping closer, just for a second, just enough to catch you off guard. Then, before you can react, he leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss against your lips. Not rushed. Not urgent. Just something.

And then, just as smoothly, he pulls away, shooting you one last smirk before disappearing out the door.

The game is over. And it’s a disaster. For Jake, at least.

The Eagles won. By a lot. And while Sunghoon is pissed because he hates the Eagles, he’s nowhere near as devastated as Jake, who’s staring blankly at the TV like his entire world just crumbled. Next to him, Beomgyu looks equally wrecked.

Which, of course, means Heeseung is having the time of his life.

“Damn,” Heeseung drawls, stretching lazily as he leans back against the couch. “You know, I tried to warn you guys. Jalen Hurts clears Mahomes. Every time.”

Beomgyu immediately turns his head, eyes wide with betrayal. “You’re really talking right now? He lost to the Chiefs like two years ago!”

Taehyun, sitting beside Heeseung, snickers. “I mean, Heeseung's got a point.”

“Oh, shut up, Taehyun!” Beomgyu whirls on him. “You’re only saying that because you were a Hurts fan before it was cool.”

Soobin, who has been quietly enjoying his drink on the other side of the room, finally breaks and bursts out laughing. “Dude,” he wheezes, watching as Beomgyu and Heeseung continue bickering, “you are so pressed right now.”

Meanwhile, you feel a tug at your wrist. You glance over to find Jungwon pulling you aside.

Your twin gives you a pointed look, nodding toward the door. “I’m staying at Jay and Sunghoon’s place tonight. We’re dropping Woonhak off first.”

You nod. “Alright.”

Jungwon narrows his eyes at you, lowering his voice just enough. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he warns. Then, before you can say anything, he grins. “Actually, never mind. Do something stupid. It’s funnier that way.”

You smack his arm.

Before he can retaliate, Jake appears beside you.

“I can take you home,” Jake offers, shoving his hands into his pockets. His voice is casual, but the way he glances at you from the corner of his eye gives away everything. Jake tenses beside you, shoulders going rigid, hands still shoved deep in his pockets. His jaw clenches so tight you swear you can hear his teeth grind.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, is the picture of ease—standing there with one hand gripping the back of the couch, the other lazily holding a half-empty beer bottle. He doesn’t even look at Jake. Just shifts his gaze toward you like he’s only mildly interested in the conversation.

“I can come too.”

He says it like it’s nothing. Like it’s just a casual suggestion, like he’s not doing this purely to get under Jake’s skin. And oh, it works.

Jake lets out a sharp exhale through his nose, tilting his head slightly before dragging his tongue over his teeth. He doesn’t even look at Sunghoon. Just keeps his eyes fixed ahead, like he’s counting to ten in his head, like he’s fighting the urge to say something that’ll start a whole new problem.

You glance between them, your stomach twisting—not with discomfort, but with anticipation. Because there it is again. That energy.

Jake finally speaks, voice clipped. “We’re good.”

Sunghoon hums. A soft, low sound that you can barely hear over the background noise of the party. But you hear it. Jake hears it.

The corner of Sunghoon’s mouth twitches, like he’s amused, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. And then he shrugs. “Alright.”

But he doesn’t sit back down. He doesn’t grab another drink. He doesn’t join the others, who are still laughing over Beomgyu and Heeseung’s never-ending argument.

No. He follows. You feel his presence behind you as you and Jake walk toward the door. Not saying a word. Just trailing behind. Like he has nowhere else to be.

The walk to the car is silent, but not in the comfortable way. It’s that kind of silence that feels thick with unsaid words, with tension in the air. You feel the weight of Sunghoon trailing behind you, just there, his presence like an electric current that you can’t escape.

Jake, though—Jake is close. Too close. His hand keeps brushing against your back, pulling you slightly closer to him every few steps. His fingers, warm and firm, rest on your waist for a fraction of a second, and you can’t tell if it’s accidental or deliberate. The way he moves with you, like he’s anchoring you to him, makes your head spin just a little.

When you reach Jake’s car, you lean against the door, your back pressing into the cool metal. You glance up at both of them, and in that moment, you can’t help but notice how much taller they are than you. Jake, with his broad shoulders and stance that screams confidence, and Sunghoon, with his calm, almost nonchalant presence. Both of them are standing there, looking down at you, and you’re not sure whether to feel small or intimidated.

It’s quiet again. You shift slightly, unsure of what to say, how to break the awkward silence. But Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate.

“Jake’s really bummed out about the loss,” he says, his voice casual, but his smirk is sharp, almost teasing. “You should comfort him.”

Before you can process what he means by that, Sunghoon leans in and places a quick, light kiss on the corner of your mouth. It’s so unexpected, so sudden, that it makes your breath catch.

And just like that, he straightens up, giving Jake a playful tap on the shoulder. “See you at practice tomorrow, man. Have fun,” Sunghoon adds, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he gives one last glance at you and Jake. Then, without waiting for any reaction, he turns on his heel and walks away, disappearing into the night as though the entire thing was just some casual exchange.

You stand there, blinking, a little stunned. You’re not sure how to process what just happened, how quickly it all unfolded.

Jake, on the other hand, doesn’t seem fazed at all. He smirks, his gaze flicking from Sunghoon’s retreating form to you, and without missing a beat, he opens the passenger door.

“Shall we?” he asks, his voice low, tinged with that playful confidence that always seems to make your heart race.

You hesitate for a moment, still processing everything—Sunghoon’s kiss, the tension, the way Jake has been acting around you—but then you nod. Because at this point, why not? The night is full of unexpected turns, and you’re not sure where this one will lead, but you can’t deny that you’re curious.

You slip into the passenger seat, the door shutting behind you with a soft thud, and Jake slides into the driver’s seat with a smirk that tells you, without words, that he’s very much looking forward to what comes next.

When you arrive at your house, you take a breath and unlock the door. The cool night air makes you shiver slightly, but there's a warmth inside you, a feeling of anticipation you can't shake off. You turn the handle and open the door, glancing back at Jake, who’s just a few steps behind you.

“Make yourself at home,” you say, trying to sound casual, but the words come out a little softer, a little more inviting than you intended.

Before you even have a chance to step inside, Jake is right behind you. His hands find your waist, pulling you toward him as he presses your back against the door.

Without warning, he kisses you, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that feels like it's been building all night. You’re caught off guard for a second, but the moment he deepens the kiss, you melt into him, your hands running up his chest, your fingers tangling in his shirt.

Jake pulls back just enough to look at you, his breath ragged, his gaze intense. “I couldn’t wait anymore,” he mutters, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Needed you alone.”

Your heart races, and you smirk back, teasing, “Guess it’s about time then.”

Before you can say anything else, Jake’s lips are back on yours, and this time, they trail down your jaw, pressing soft, burning kisses against your neck. You gasp softly at the sensation, arching into him as his hands grip your waist tighter, pulling you even closer.

His voice comes out hushed, almost as if he’s fighting to keep control. “I’ve been dying for this.” His lips move to the soft spot just below your ear, and you feel every inch of him pressed against you.

Without warning, he lifts you in one smooth motion, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. The surprise causes you to gasp, but you cling to him, your hands finding his shoulders for support.

You’re pinned between Jake and the door, his body all heat and strength, and you feel his hands sliding down your back, gripping you tighter. He holds you against him as his lips return to your neck, kissing and sucking along the sensitive skin there. Your breath catches in your throat, a shiver running down your spine.

“Jake,” you breathe out, your voice shaky from the intensity of the moment. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling him even closer.

Jake grins, the spark in his eyes never fading, before he presses his lips against yours again, this time even more urgently, as if he can’t get enough. The kiss is deep, intense, and you can feel every part of him. You’re breathless, lost in the moment, your heart pounding as he lifts you a little higher, pressing you against the door with a force that makes everything around you disappear.

When he pulls back just enough to speak, his voice is low and rough. “Where’s your room?” he asks, breathless.

You try to steady your heart, your chest rising and falling quickly. “Second door on the right,” you answer, barely able to form the words.

Jake doesn’t hesitate. He moves toward the hallway with you still in his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist. But as he reaches for the first door, the one you know is Jungwon’s, you quickly stop him, tugging on his shoulder.

“No, not that one!” you say urgently, making him pull back. “That’s Jungwon's.”

Jake stops, raising an eyebrow at you with a smirk. “I didn’t want to remember your brother lives here tonight,” he teases.

You laugh softly, the tension easing slightly. “Yeah, me neither,” you admit, rolling your eyes.

Jake chuckles, heading for the right door this time. He opens the door to your room easily with one hand, holding you in place with the other as he kicks it shut behind him. Without missing a beat, he walks you toward the bed, placing you gently onto it as he leans over you. The weight of him on top of you is both grounding and electric, and your heart pounds even harder.

You glance up at him, your legs still wrapped around his waist, and your chest tightens with anticipation. The silence between you is thick, but it's comfortable, and it's clear what you both want.

Jake's gaze softens for a moment, his voice low as he leans in closer. “You okay?” he asks, his hot breath brushing against your lips.

You nod, barely able to speak. "Yeah… I'm more than okay"

He smirks at you, and Jake’s lips crash against yours again, hungry, urgent. The intensity of his kiss takes your breath away, leaving you dizzy. Your hands instinctively tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. You can feel the heat between you both, a pressure building that makes your heart race even faster. Your hands roam over his chest, feeling the muscles under his shirt, the warmth of his skin. He lets out a low groan, pulling away just enough to catch his breath.

“You’re killing me,” he mutters, but there’s a smirk on his lips, before his lips are on yours again, his kiss deeper, more insistent.

His hand slips beneath your shirt, fingertips grazing the soft skin of your waist, and you shiver under his touch. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire. His other hand moves to your neck, gently tilting your head back, giving him better access. He kisses your jaw, then moves down to your neck, sucking lightly, making you gasp in pleasure.

You arch into him, your legs tightening around his waist. He responds with a growl, lifting his head slightly to meet your eyes, his breath coming in short bursts. And then, in a sudden move, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands still gripping your waist. "Tell me you want this," he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours, almost teasing.

“I want this,” you whisper back, your voice shaky with desire.

His smirk deepens, and without saying another word, Jake’s lips are on yours again, more demanding this time, as if he’s losing himself in the moment. His hands roam over your body, tracing the curve of your waist, pulling you even closer. You can feel the weight of his desire, and it only makes the kiss more intoxicating.

You slip your hand beneath his shirt, your fingers brushing the warm skin of his chest. His breath hitches, and he responds with a growl that sends a shiver down your spine. He pauses, his lips hovering over yours, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re making this hard to keep up with,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, his hands gripping your waist like he’s trying to hold onto some semblance of control.

You smile against his lips, teasing him just a little. “Maybe I like making you lose control.”

His eyes flash with something darker, something hungry. Without warning, he pulls away from the kiss, his hands at the hem of his shirt. “You'd like this?” he asks, his voice low, his gaze intense. He’s not asking for permission—he’s already making the decision for you.

You nod, breathless, watching him as he pulls his shirt off, revealing the muscles beneath, the definition of his chest and abs making your heart race. His eyes lock onto yours as you take him in, his gaze searching yours for something. A challenge, maybe. A question.

“You like what you see?” he asks, his voice full of teasing, his grin almost predatory.

You raise an eyebrow, an amused smirk pulling at your lips. “Maybe.”

His grin widens, clearly enjoying the teasing, his gaze burning with a mixture of challenge and desire. “What about Sunghoon?” he asks, his words coated in playful provocation. “You prefer him?”

You tilt your head, your smirk never fading. “I don’t know... I haven’t seen him like this,” you tease, your eyes flicking between his, enjoying the power shift.

Jake’s smirk falters just for a second, before he leans in close again, his lips brushing against your ear. “Well, I guess he’ll just have to get a taste of me then.”

His words send a wave of heat through you, but before you can say anything else, he moves to lift your shirt, his hands warm against your skin. “May I?” he asks, his voice lower now, a soft but commanding question. You hesitate for a moment, looking into his eyes. Then you nod, your heart beating faster as he pulls your shirt off. The moment feels like everything is falling into place, the tension building to its peak.

His eyes fall to the red lacy bra you're wearing, and a small chuckle escapes his lips. “Did you plan this?” he asks, his voice a mix of amusement and desire.

You smirk, your heart racing. “Maybe.”

And as he stares at you, the silence between you both is charged with anticipation. Jake leans in again, kissing you with the same intensity, as if the world outside doesn’t even exist. Every touch, every movement feels like it’s driving you both further into this shared moment.

But even then, his hands are gentle, patient, as if he’s savoring every second of this tension, of what’s building between you both. And in that moment, it feels like the entire universe has slowed down—just you, him, and the magnetic pull between you.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, his voice low, thick with something that makes warmth pool in your stomach.

You bite your lip, heat creeping up your neck as his gaze dips lower. Jake’s eyes darken at the sight of your body. He reaches out, slipping his fingers beneath the hem of your skirt, brushing against your thigh. It’s barely a touch, but it sets your skin on fire.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers, his breath warm against your shoulder as he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss just beneath your jaw. He trails lower, lips ghosting over your collarbone, then lower still. His hands work the fabric of your skirt higher until it pools around your hips, exposing even more of your skin to him.

His lips find the inside of your thigh, slow and deliberate. Each kiss is featherlight, but the heat of them leaves a mark you can’t see but feel everywhere. His hands steady your hips as he presses closer, mouthing at your skin, murmuring praise between each kiss.

“So beautiful.” A kiss. “So perfect.” Another. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

You can’t think straight, not when he’s looking at you like that, not when his lips are so warm and his hands are so gentle yet firm. Every touch, every word, every heated glance makes the air between you buzz with something electric.

He lifts his head slightly, meeting your gaze, searching for something—permission, reassurance, the silent confirmation that you want this as much as he does. And you do. More than anything.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, fingers still teasing at the edge of your skirt, eyes locked onto yours like they hold the universe. His fingers gently toying with the hem of your skirt. He looked at you, waiting for your response, unable to keep the teasing smile off his face.

“I want you, Jake…” you say in a ragged voice, and the moment the words leave your lips, you see the shift in him. His eyes darken, his breath catches, and a slow, wicked smile spreads across his face. Desire surges through him, his fingers tightening against your skin as he drinks in the sight of you.

His lips ghost over your sensitive skin, his breath warm and teasing. “Is that so?” he hums, voice laced with amusement and hunger. “Then I’ll gladly give you what you want.” His hands make quick work of your skirt, sliding it down your hips and tossing it aside. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, then another, each one slower, more deliberate, more intoxicating.

His kisses trail higher, slow and agonizing, leaving a path of heat in their wake. His hands grip your thighs, steadying you, keeping you exactly where he wants you. He’s in no rush, savoring every reaction, every little gasp that slips from your lips.

His gaze flickers down, lingering on your red lace underwear. A slow smirk tugs at his lips as his fingers trace along the delicate fabric. “Matching,” he muses, his voice thick with appreciation. He leans in, lips brushing just above the lace, his breath hot against your skin. “You look absolutely delicious.”

“Do you like it?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake’s grip on the fabric tightens slightly, his eyes dark with desire as he takes in the sight of you. The deep crimson lace against your skin, his favorite color—it’s almost too much. A soft groan escapes him as his fingers skim the delicate fabric, feeling its softness against his fingertips.

“Oh, I love it,” he breathes, his voice thick with arousal. His fingers toy with the edge of your underwear, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. The anticipation in your gaze makes his pulse quicken. But before he moves any further, he pauses, his expression softening slightly as he searches your face. “May I?” His voice is lower now, almost reverent.

Your nod is all he needs. Jake’s heart pounds, his excitement thrumming in his veins as he watches you give him permission. Holding your gaze, he slowly peels the fabric down, his hands trembling slightly as he slides the lace from your body.

His eyes roam over you, drinking in every inch, every curve, every perfect imperfection. Wonder flickers across his face, as if he’s seeing you for the first time. As if he can’t believe you’re his, even if just for tonight.

His lips return to your skin, trailing a path of slow, lingering kisses along your inner thighs. Each touch is deliberate, teasing, meant to drive you wild. He takes his time, savoring the way your body reacts to him, how you shift under his touch, how your breath catches in your throat.

His lips hover just above your core, his breath warm against your skin. He looks up at you, eyes dark with desire, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Do you want me to taste you, princess?” His voice is low, commanding, dripping with need.

“Jake… Fuck, yes,” you gasp, nearly trembling with anticipation.

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face. “That’s what I wanted to hear,” he murmurs. His grip tightens on your thighs as he settles between them, his breath ghosting over your skin.

And then, with excruciating patience, he finally gives you what you’ve been aching for. Jake's warm breath ghosts over your aching core, sending a shudder through your body. Your legs tremble as you shift, fingers gripping the sheets with desperate intensity.

His tongue glides along your slick folds, tracing every inch before dipping lower. A sharp gasp escapes you as he circles your most sensitive spot, teasing the tight ring of muscle before pushing the tip of his tongue inside. The sensation sends a spark of heat straight to your core, leaving you breathless.

Slowly, he drags his tongue back up, parting you with ease before latching onto your clit. He flicks it, slow and deliberate, just to hear the way your breath stutters. He knows exactly how to unravel you.

His tongue dips into your entrance, pushing inside before pulling back, leaving a glistening trail of saliva mixed with your arousal. You're already a mess beneath him, and he hasn't even started yet. Jake devours you, his hot tongue exploring every inch of your dripping cunt, savoring you like he can’t get enough. He sucks hard, his lips sealing around you as he tilts his head from side to side, his face buried between your thighs, never giving you a moment to breathe.

"Jake..." Your voice is barely a whisper, but he hears it—feels it in the way your body responds to him.

His tongue pushes inside you, again and again, relentless and desperate, sending sharp jolts of pleasure up your spine.

"I want you dripping for me," he rasps against your heat before diving back in, feasting on you with reckless hunger.

You're so wet that you can feel it dripping down the insides of your thighs, warm and slick against your skin. Jake pulls away from your entrance, shifting his focus back to your aching, desperate clit. He captures it between his lips and sucks hard, releasing you with a wet, obscene pop. The sound alone sends a fresh wave of heat through your body. He repeats the motion, but this time, before sucking again, he drags his tongue over the sensitive tip, teasing it with slow, deliberate strokes while keeping it trapped between his lips.

He buries his face deeper between your thighs, pulling you against his mouth like he never wants to let go. All you can do is moan—loud, needy—while he devours you, moving his head up and down, side to side, his tongue relentless, his mouth unforgiving.

You come undone against his tongue, body trembling, your pleasure spilling into his mouth. And he doesn’t stop. His movements slow, his tongue gliding over every inch of you, licking up every drop of your release as if he’s savoring it.

"You're addictive, you know that?" His voice is low, rough with hunger, as he presses soft kisses to the insides of your thighs, nipping at your skin before leaving one last, lingering suck against your swollen cunt. Then, he drags himself up your body, eyes dark and lips parted, still wet with you.

"You're so fucking sweet," he murmurs, voice thick with desire. You shudder as his fingers trail down your hip, finding your slick heat with ease. "And so wet..."

He brushes the tips of his fingers over your entrance, barely touching you, yet it’s enough to make you whimper. A smirk tugs at his lips as he catches your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down before pulling away with just enough force to leave you breathless.

"Jake, please..." He leans down, pressing soft, teasing kisses along your jawline, his voice a low, satisfied purr beneath your ear.

"Please what, princess?" he murmurs, making you whimper in anticipation. When you don’t answer right away, he lets out a quiet chuckle against your neck. "What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?"

Then, he rolls his hips against your soaked folds, the hard outline of his cock pressing right where you need him most. A breathy moan escapes you, your fingers gripping onto his waist.

"Take this off," you demand, tugging at the waistband of his pants. His lips curl into a cocky smirk as he slowly pulls away, rising to his knees in front of you. Without breaking eye contact, he unbuttons his pants at an agonizing pace, his gaze heavy, teasing. And when he finally pushes them down, your eyes drop to the thick outline straining against his boxers, your body instinctively moving closer.

But before you can reach for him, his fingers wrap around your chin, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. "And what do you think you're about to do, huh?" His voice is deep, dripping with amusement. You bite your lip, looking up at him, unable to find the words.

Jake tilts his head, watching you closely. "You’re gonna have to tell me, princess. Do you want to suck my dick?" His tone is dark, commanding, and when you nod, his smirk only deepens.

"Yeah, that’s not happening. Not tonight." His grip tightens just enough to make your breath hitch. "Because I need to be inside you right now."

A moan slips from your lips, the sheer authority in his voice sending a rush of heat straight through you.

Jake leans in, closing the distance, capturing your mouth in a feverish, desperate kiss as he gently but firmly pushes you back onto the bed. His hands waste no time sliding down his body, and with agonizing slowness, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his underwear, peeling them off inch by inch.

You’re left breathless as he kneels between your legs, his sculpted body bathed in the dim light, every muscle defined, every inch of him unbearably perfect. He catches the way your lips part, the way your eyes drink him in, and he lets out a low, knowing chuckle.

A wicked smirk tugs at his lips as he wraps a hand around his rigid length, guiding the swollen tip to your soaked entrance. He drags it slowly along your slick folds, teasing you, spreading your wetness over himself with deliberate precision.

"This what you want?" he murmurs, pressing just the tip inside, barely stretching you open before pulling back. A whimper escapes you, frustration mixing with pleasure. "Tell me, princess," he coaxes, teasing you again—just the tip, just enough to drive you insane.

"Fuck, yes!" you curse when he presses his cock against your throbbing clit, gliding it between your dripping folds before stopping at your entrance once more.

Jake exhales sharply, shaking his head to get rid of the strands of hair falling into his eyes. And then, finally, he pushes in, slowly sinking his entire length inside you. Inch by inch, he stretches you open, filling you completely, letting you feel every bit of him.

His movements are unhurried, savoring the way your body molds to him, the way you take him so perfectly. His abs tighten with every slow thrust, his muscles flexing under the dim light as he sets a steady, intoxicating rhythm that has you both moaning softly.

He doesn’t speed up, doesn’t change his pace. Instead, he leans in, capturing your lips in a deep, languid kiss. Your body melts against his, every inch of you consumed by the way he moves inside you—deep, deliberate, relentless.

"You have no idea how much I wanted to hear you moaning for me," he rasps, his voice thick with arousal. The moment his words sink in, your walls clench around him, and he groans, head dropping to your shoulder. "Fuck, don’t squeeze me like that," he growls.

Your hands find his face, pulling him into another messy, desperate kiss, your bodies moving together in perfect sync. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, licking up the thin layer of sweat that coats your skin before biting down on your shoulder—just enough to make you whimper.

He knows exactly what he's doing.

"Let me ride you," you plead, your voice unsteady, barely above a whisper.

Jake doesn’t hesitate. He pulls out of you with a low grunt, sitting back against the bed, legs spread, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Your eyes trail over him—the way his thick cock pulses against his abs, the sheen of sweat on his tanned skin. Your core clenches at the sight, and without another thought, you crawl toward him.

"Anything you want," he murmurs, tapping his thigh twice. "Come here." You obey, straddling his lap, gripping the base of his cock before aligning it with your entrance. "Sit on it nice and slow for me, baby," he urges, voice dark and filled with desire.

You sink down onto him, taking him inch by inch, swallowing his deep, guttural moan as his hands grip your ass, guiding you through every movement.

You ride his cock, rolling your hips until you find the perfect rhythm, bouncing on his thick length that stretches you so deliciously. Jake meets your movements, thrusting up in sync with you, making everything even more intense.

"Fuck, you're so hot," he growls, landing a sharp slap on your ass. A needy moan escapes your lips, and he chuckles darkly, delivering another one. "You like this, huh?" Another slap. "You like getting spanked… you like it when Sunghoon watches. You're not as innocent as I thought."

His words make you clench around him, and he groans under you, biting the corner of his lips as you quicken your pace. His head falls back, his jaw tightening as he sinks his teeth into his lower lip. Slowing your movements, you grind against him, teasing him.

"Fuck—" he curses, frustration lacing his voice.

His hands grip your waist as he notices the way your thighs begin to tremble from exhaustion. He takes control, thrusting up into you with deep, powerful strokes that leave you gasping and gripping his shoulders.

"A-ah… just like that!" you cry out, your body trembling from the force of his thrusts. He pounds into you, hitting all the right spots over and over again.

"You're so fucking tight," he groans. Your eyes rake over his body—his toned arms and sculpted abs, flexing with every movement. His dark, slightly damp hair clings to his forehead, and his parted lips spill out the most sinful moans. His eyes, darker than ever, squeeze shut as he tilts his head back, consumed by pleasure. Jake is pure perfection.

Your walls flutter around him, signaling the orgasm building deep inside you. Sensing it, Jake tightens his grip on your waist, holding you still as he thrusts up harder, deeper. "Ah—Jake! This feels so good…!"

"I know, princess. I know…" Your moans mix with his, and as the pressure within you finally explodes, you let out a sharp cry. "Cum for me, baby," he groans, voice rough and desperate. "You're squeezing me so tight, fuck—"

With his words, you unravel completely, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. Your body trembles uncontrollably, the overwhelming pleasure sending sparks through your veins. Your pussy clenches around him, milking his cock as he continues to guide your movements, his hands gripping your ass firmly.

"Baby…" you whimper.

Jake groans, his muscles tensing beneath you. His cock throbs inside you before warmth floods your core as he spills deep inside. His mouth parts in a silent moan, his eyes squeezing shut, his entire body shuddering as he rides out his release.

Breathing heavily, he lets his head fall forward, forehead pressing against yours.

"Angel," he whispers, still catching his breath. Your bodies remain connected, neither of you willing to move just yet. You take the opportunity to kiss him—slow, lingering—your fingers trailing along his sharp jawline, nails scratching his skin softly.

Completely spent, you collapse onto his chest. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer, letting you rest your head over his heart. His fingers brush gently over your cheek, his touch soothing. "How can you be this perfect?" he murmurs.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly, still recovering. “You’re driving me insane, Jake…” you manage between deep breaths. He chuckles, scrunching his nose.

"You’re the one driving me insane, love." His fingers move to your hair, stroking it softly. Your body relaxes against him, sinking into his warmth. "Feeling better now?" he asks.

You smile, tilting your head up to look at him. "If every time we watch an NFL game together ends like this, I might start watching more often."

He grins, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"I wouldn't mind that at all," he muses, eyes locked onto yours, deep and captivating. "But next time, you better bring luck to the Chiefs."

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author's note: SO...... THAT HAPPENED..... LMAOOOOO ok so this was the very first smut scene i've ever written so.... hope u guys like it and ALSO im sorry i took this long to post it, it's because i've been really busy these past few days and i was struggling very hard writing it so. anyway!!!! here it is. HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY EVERYONE

taglist: @jayparked @jungwonsstrawberriesnchocolate @kixri @soobnuuy @dreamiestay @somuchdard @nyyoryyu @atinyrosedoor @enhaverse713586 @miszes @wildtigerlili @hoonkishoe @wilonevys @m1dn1ghtv1olet @who-tf-soddhi @ilovewonyo @nickiminajleftasscheek @ikeulove @payformycoffeeandleave @jvngw0nlvr @qtke @nikirangs @rairaiblog @tinyteezer @catecita @aespaqq @cyberstephzz @jakesimfromstatefarm @maniluvzyou @stormy1408 @missychief1404 @heevrs @shuichi-sama @enhastars @immelissaaa @pjselee @hexnoia @strawberrieswithchocolateo3o @love-4-keum @doublebunv @minfolio @1-itsneverthatserious-1 @doveblackboat @psychotic-girl-666 @kukkurookkoo @allie-mcginn @jkslvsnella @wintereals @why4anne @jakesfurry 

[wonhes]

୭ೃ — ENTANGLED

DICTIONARY — (verb) (adjective) ¹cause to become twisted together with or caught in. ²involve (someone) in difficulties or complicated circumstances from which it’s difficult to escape.

PAIRING !! seunghan x f!reader

SUMMARY !! confessing to your best friend seemed like a good idea, right!? well, spoiler alert: it wasn’t. fast forward to 2 years later and now you two are attending the same college and wait … his girlfriend is your roommate?

GENRE !! fluff, humor, angst, suggestive, smau

WARNINGS !! swearing, suggestive jokes, kms jokes, reader is down bad

DISCLAIMER !! please keep in mind ALL entangled characters are FICTIONAL. i'm never claiming any of the riize members are in any way how i'm writing them out to be in this smau. if you don't like how i'm portraying a member please simply stop reading and scroll away.

START !! MARCH 18TH, 2025

END !! —

UPDATING SCHEDULE !! TUESDAYS AND THURSDAYS

୨ৎ PROFILES

୨ৎ CHAPTER 1 — POLYCULE* SORRY

୨ৎ CHAPTER 2 — VALID CRASH OUT

୨ৎ CHAPTER 3 — KNOCK KNOCK

୨ৎ CHAPTER 4 — OK HANICORE

୨ৎ CHAPTER 5 — FROZEN YOGURT

୨ৎ CHAPTER 6 — HANI. IT’S HANI. ✎

୨ৎ CHAPTER 7 — TAG TEAM!

୨ৎ CHAPTER 8 — HE’S A GOOD GUY!

[frudoo]

I am a plague tonight and I’m making it your problem 💀

John Price x tattoo artist reader… he finds them cos they specialise in neo trad stuff. The boys keep teasing him that his tattoos are aging worse than he is, colour fading and lines blurring, so John decides to treat himself, have a little self care time getting poked.

Doesn’t hurt at all, not with that pretty face poking him. Doesn’t she look so sweet when she concentrates?! Obvs he can’t help but imagine what else he could absorb her time with.

Spoiler alert it’s him

Emmy! Here's nearly 1,850 words worth of a prompt you sent me last year (oops)

Warnings: Alcohol consumption. Needles, obviously. Suggestive. Fem!Reader. MDNI.

Muppets, the lot of them, guffawing at their beloved captain over the rims of their condensed glasses. John is far from tipsy but not quite stone cold sober, a nice buzz brewing in his brain. It blissfully distracts from the idiocy of his drunken team and their jabs at him. 

     “Fookin’-” Johnny hiccups, then continues. “Ah reckon they’re fookin’ ancient! Wha’, Cap, did ye steal yer designs from a bleedin’ museum? The- the hero… herogilfibs… the heir-?”

     “Hieroglyphics, y’knobhead,” Simon snorts, smacking the back of the Scotsman’s neck as he finishes the last of his drink. 

     “Tav’s go’ a poin’, sir,” Kyle grins mischievously. “Ya tattoos really are lookin’ worse than ya face, ol’ man.”

     “Shove it up your arses,” John rolls his eyes, tossing back the rest of his beer before slamming the bottle down on the table. “You’re all coverin’ my tab.”

     Slurred protests and pleas fall from the other three men’s lips as John leaves the bar without so much as a look back. The cool rush of evening air hits him, and John breathes it in gratefully. The smell of booze was starting to give him a migraine. 

     As he heads in the direction of his flat, the streetlights illuminate what little of his tattoos show past the sleeves of his t-shirt. The guys are right—his tattoos that were once vibrant and full of color have dulled, much like… well, himself.

     God, when’s the last time he did something for himself that didn’t include going out to the pub or rotting in bed all day while on leave? He’s not even fucking forty yet, and still his knees creak, and his face is bone-dry, and there is nothing to celebrate in his life besides the fact that he’s been able to avoid death for this long. He’s in desperate need of something to look forward to other than piles of paperwork and the crippling knowledge that his next mission could very well be his last. That’s hardly any comfort.

     He checks his phone and grumbles when he sees that it’s only eight o’clock. Fucking hell, he’s displaying more old man tendencies than he thought. He weighs his options; there’s no way in hell he’s walking back into that pub and risking more lighthearted insults—or, worse, actually having to pay for his own drinks. He could head back home and climb into bed, staring at the ceiling until it hurts to shut his dried out eyes. Neither choice is more attractive to him. With a groan, he turns on his heel and heads in the opposite direction of his flat, determined to find something to occupy his time. 

     It’s either fate, luck, or some sick joke that he ends up standing face-to-face with a little tattoo shop. He scans the outside of the brick foundation, reading the poster that they have hanging in the window. There are three artists here that specialize in realistic black and grey, and another who specializes in color. Back when John first got his tattoos, he wasn’t interested in having a certain style, he simply just pointed at the wall and told his artist to put it on him. 

     John sighs and reluctantly walks into the shop, looking around at all the art on the walls. It’s beautiful, of course, with intricate details in both large and small works done by the talented artists. Hopefully they’re as good with tattoo machines as they are with pencils and markers. 

     “Can I help you?” 

     John turns toward the voice behind the counter, his eyes widening slightly as he sees, quite possibly, the most gorgeous woman to ever live. Captain John Price, the big, scary bear of a man, whose mere presence is enough to demand respect, stammers over his words.

     “I-I, uh… I’m looking to g-get, erm…”

     “Sir, if you don’t know what you want, you’re welcome to have a seat and figure it out, or stop wasting my time,” the deity raises an eyebrow and John feels all the blood in his body rush south.

     “Tattoos! I-I need to get my tattoos… replenished?” He hums, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. 

     “Can I see what we’re working with?” 

     John is quick to roll up his sleeves, revealing sad, sun-worn ink. When your fingertips gently brush over the work on his freckled skin, he has to will every goosebump threatening to rise to stay beneath the surface. 

     “Damn, when did you get these done? The Renaissance era?” You joke, huffing through your nose as you look up at him. 

     “Been told they look pretty rough,” John grunts. 

     “Nothing I can’t handle. How much were you expecting to get done tonight?” You cross your arms over your torso—the man is fighting demons trying not to stare at the delicious crease of your cleavage.

     “What time does the shop close?” 

     “How much money you got?”

     “Touché.”

     With a giggle that makes birdsong seem more akin to nails on a chalkboard, you lead him back to your station, plopping a clipboard of paperwork into his lap the moment he slides into the chair. Once he’s finished filling out all the forms, John takes a moment to admire the canvases decorating your area, humming with approval. It’s all clean, perfectly neat work. There’s no doubt in his mind that you’ll be able to turn the eyesore that is his old tattoos into something worthy of being displayed in a gallery. 

     You slump into your own chair, motioning for him to roll up his sleeve once again. He complies, of course.

     “Since it’s just your bicep, I’m thinking we can get this arm done tonight if everything goes smoothly, which I expect it will,” you explain. 

     “Sounds good to me,” John smiles.

     You grin in satisfaction, giving him a small nod as you snap on a pair of sterile gloves. While you shave and prep his skin, he leans back against the headrest, allowing his eyes to shut peacefully. It’s nice, knowing he’s doing this for his own benefit, not for the greater good of the world or the men in suits who order him around to do their dirty work for them. When he hears the first buzz of your machine, he opens one eye long enough to watch as you bring it to his skin. 

     “Ready?” You ask, and he hums his confirmation.

     As expected, it doesn’t hurt. Not really. Compared to the countless injuries he’s sustained on the field—bullet wounds, knives to the abdomen, things he’d rather not think about at the moment—the pain is nothing. If anything, it brings him comfort. If he’s not hurting somewhere at all times, he tends to forget he’s alive. 

     “Considering you got these done back when dinosaurs were roaming around, it’s pretty good work,” you tease, and that makes his head perk up. 

     “Got jokes, do ya?” He muses. 

     “Oh, plenty. The night’s still young,” you wink up at him and John thinks he sees stars.

     Truly, you are ethereal, tattoos of your own scattered across your supple skin. His crystal blue eyes trace over every inch of your face—the way your tongue catches between your teeth while you work on the smaller details, the scrunch in your brow as you trace over the thicker lines. You do the tiniest little dance between each stroke, and it makes him chuckle. He can’t help but admire you.

     “Got a staring problem?” You tease, taking a break from filling in the outlines to wipe away the blood. 

     John’s face flushes, and he pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand in embarrassment. He’s hardly a humorless man, but the way you joke with him so freely has him blushing like an idiot. 

     “It’s okay. I’m used to elderly men checking me out.”

     John groans as you cackle at your own words, but in reality it amuses him to no end. 

     “Do I really look that bloody old?” He grumbles.

     “Nah, I’m just messing with you. You’re kinda… I mean, you’re a dilf,” you shrug.

     “I’m a fuckin’ what?”

     “Let’s just say that there’s a niche and you fill it perfectly,” you grin widely, enjoying the confusion written on his features. 

     He’s silent for a long moment, only the music playing over the speakers and the soft hum of your machine audible. Every time you move even slightly, his gaze follows. Normally, if it were anyone else you’d be uncomfortable, but he’s so charming and handsome. You welcome it, really. 

     “Do you have a wife? Kids?” You break the silence, meeting his eye briefly while you dip the needle into some more ink.

     “Not hardly,” he answers, sucking his teeth. “Not for lack o’tryin’, though.”

     “Sorry to hear that,” you bite your bottom lip, feeling bad for bringing the subject up.

     “I’m not. It’s just reality that no woman goes after a grumpy ol’ man past his prime,” John chuckles humorlessly. 

     “Bullshit,” you roll your eyes. “You’re fucking hot. I bet there’s a whole group of women drooling over you that you’re not even aware of.”

     “You seem pretty certain,” John raises his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth curling just barely upward.

     “I told you, there’s a niche that you fill,” you double down on your statement, beginning to fill the linework of the final piece on his arm with color. “And, maybe, I just so happen to be an enjoyer of that niche.”

     John’s heart skips a beat. His fingers twitch with excitement, and he can no longer hold back a smile.

     “That right, love?”

     “Ah, don’t go getting a big head, now,” you laugh, sniffling softly. 

     “Well, you sure know how to inflate a man’s ego,” he jokes. 

     “Keep that shit up and I’m charging you extra!”

     “Do that and I won’t give you a tip.”

     “Which kind?” You ask, biting back a snort as you watch his face contort with a scandalized look.

     “Cheeky fuckin’ thing, you!” 

     Your shoulders bounce with your laughter as you finish the final touches of his last tattoo. You clean the entire area of his raw skin with alcohol wipes before carefully covering it with a few large pieces of saniderm. You smooth the wrap out gently, ensuring that there are no air bubbles. Satisfied, you lean back in your seat, disposing of your used needles and other supplies.

     “You’ll leave this first saniderm on for about 24 hours, then you can take it off and gently wash the tattoos with unscented soap and warm water,” you explain, spinning your chair to face him. “You can come back to me tomorrow night, and I’ll replace the saniderm for you.”

     “I’m all set, then?” He asks softly, pulling his wallet from his back pocket.

     “Yes, sir,” you beam, telling him the amount he owes you. “Wait, one thing, though—I never asked for your name.”

     “It’s John, love.”

     “Well then, John,” you hum, handing him one of your business cards that oh-so-conveniently has your personal number written on the back. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

     The man slips your card into his wallet, radiant, sparkling eyes meeting your own as he stands.

     “I guess you will.”

[wolvietxt]

𝗅𝗈𝗀𝖺𝗇’𝗌 𝗎𝗇𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉!

pairing : logan howlett x reader warnings : hurt / comfort, light angst, miscommunication, implied mutant reader, anxiety, happy ending, spoiler alert he’s not unsure i was struggling w a title 💔 wc : 1.4k

the mansion always felt like home, but lately, that warmth was amplified because of logan. you both had slipped into an easy rhythm, keeping your relationship hidden from the other x-men. it was comfortable - just the two of you stealing moments when no one was looking. it felt private, like something untouched by the chaos of the mansion. you cherished the secrecy, the way it allowed the connection between you and logan to grow without any external pressure.

you were in the kitchen, humming softly as you prepared some tea, when you heard bobby’s voice drifting in from the hallway. “hey, is it true? you and logan?” his question made you freeze.

you turned slowly, blinking at him. “what?”

“oh, man. didn’t think you’d keep something like that a secret. everyone knows by now,” bobby chuckled, leaning casually against the doorframe. “jean heard from someone, and now it’s all over the place.”

your stomach dropped. “everyone?” you asked, feeling the anxiety creeping in. the very thing you had hoped to avoid was unraveling right in front of you.

“yep. you guys were cute sneaking around, though,” he said, not even noticing your discomfort.

after bobby left, you stood there, gripping the edge of the counter. everyone knew. it didn’t take long for the feeling of dread to settle deep in your chest. would logan be angry? embarrassed? he had always valued his privacy so much, and you hated the thought of the others invading that. the relationship had been something sacred, just for the two of you. now, it was out in the open.

the door to the kitchen swung open, and logan strode in, his expression tight. just seeing him made your chest tighten with nerves.

“you heard?” you asked quietly, not able to look him in the eye.

he grunted, grabbing a bottle of beer from the fridge. “yeah, i heard.”

you tried to gauge his mood, but his face was unreadable. he popped the cap off the bottle and took a long drink, his jaw clenched.

“logan, i - ”

“why’d it have to get out?” he interrupted, voice gruff, his frustration clear. “we had somethin’ good. just us.”

the hurt hit you like a punch to the gut. so he was ashamed. your throat tightened, and you struggled to keep your emotions in check. “i didn’t say anything… bobby just told me jean heard, and now…”

logan paced the kitchen, the tension rolling off him in waves. he wasn’t even looking at you, which made it worse.

“everyone’s gonna be on my back now. won’t leave us alone.” his voice was low, but the anger was unmistakable.

you swallowed hard, your heart racing. “so… you didn’t want them to know about us? at all?” your voice came out shakier than you intended as you felt your vision blur, the lump in your throat growing.

logan finally looked at you, his brow furrowed. “it ain’t that, it’s - ” he stopped, running a hand through his hair. “dammit.”

but the damage was already done. your thoughts were spiraling, the weight of his words heavy on your chest. he’s ashamed of me, you thought, the anxiety creeping in fast. your fingers trembled slightly as you set down the mug you were holding. you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“right,” you muttered, turning away, not wanting him to see how hurt you were. “i get it.”

“wait - ”

but you were already out the door before he could finish. your vision blurred as you walked down the hall, feeling the eyes of a few passing students. you knew they’d probably already heard the rumors, whispering about how you’d somehow managed to get close to someone like logan.

your chest ached as the thought consumed you. maybe they’re right. you hadn’t even realised you’d made it to your room until you were pushing the door open, the quiet solitude of the space offering no comfort. you sat on the edge of your bed, trying to calm your breathing, but the feeling of being overwhelmed was closing in fast.

there was a knock on the door not long after, and you knew it was him. you stayed quiet, hoping he’d just go away, but instead, the door creaked open, and logan stepped inside.

“can we talk?” his voice was softer now, less angry.

you wiped at your eyes quickly, not wanting him to see that you’d been crying, but your voice betrayed you. “i don’t… i don’t really have anything to say.”

he sighed, walking over slowly. he sat down next to you on the bed, his weight sinking into the mattress. you kept your gaze focused on the floor, unwilling to look at him. the silence between you was heavy.

“why’d you run off like that?” he asked after a moment, his tone laced with confusion, but softer than before.

“why do you think?” you shot back, voice small. “you were pissed. because everyone found out about us.”

he frowned, glancing over at you. “i wasn’t pissed about that. not like you think, anyway.”

you didn’t respond, but the hurt was still etched into your expression.

logan ran a hand through his hair, looking like he was trying to find the right words. “look… ‘m not ashamed of us. not one damn bit. that’s not what this is about.”

the breath you were holding released slightly, but your mind still spun with doubt. “then why were you so angry?”

he sighed, leaning back on the bed, his shoulders tense. “because i finally had somethin’ that was just mine, ya know? just for me. and now it’s out there for everyone to poke at, to ask questions about.” he hesitated, his voice gruff but laced with vulnerability. “we had a good thing goin’. private. didn’t wanna lose that.”

the weight of his words settled in, but you still struggled to wrap your head around it. “so you’re… not upset that people know about us?”

he shook his head. “no, that’s not it. it’s just… i don’t like people buttin’ into my business. always been that way. but us? we’re good. i didn’t want this to make you think anythin’ different.”

you were quiet for a long moment, processing what he’d said. his frustration had nothing to do with being ashamed of you - it was about the loss of the privacy you both had come to value. the realization was slow, sinking in bit by bit, but when it finally hit, the tension you’d been carrying in your chest started to ease.

logan shifted next to you, glancing at you cautiously. “you still mad?”

you let out a breath, feeling some of the anxiety lifting. “i just thought… you didn’t want people to know about us because you were embarrassed. like… like i wasn’t good enough or something.”

his brow furrowed deeply. “what? that’s the last thing i’d ever think. you’re more than good enough, bub.” his voice softened even more. “you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”

the way he said it, so simple and direct, made your heart flutter. the worry that had been gnawing at you began to fade.

logan leaned closer, his hand reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “sorry if i made you feel like that. didn’t mean to.”

you felt yourself relax for the first time since everything had started unraveling earlier. “it’s okay,” you whispered, glancing up at him. “i just… i didn’t want you to be ashamed of me.”

“never,” he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. “not for a damn second.”

his hand lingered against your cheek, and slowly, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. the gentleness of the gesture made something in you melt, and you found yourself leaning into him. the warmth of his presence, the solid weight of him next to you, was grounding in a way that eased the rest of the lingering anxiety.

he kissed you again, this time softly on your temple, then on your cheek, and again at the corner of your mouth. the tenderness in each kiss was almost overwhelming, a silent apology in every touch.

“you’re mine,” he murmured, his voice rough but full of affection. “and i ain’t lettin’ anyone make you feel less than that.”

you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. the worry that had felt all-consuming not too long ago seemed to dissolve under his touch.

“you’re not getting rid of me that easy,” you said quietly, teasing just a bit.

logan chuckled softly, pulling you closer, wrapping his arm around you with a possessive kind of protectiveness. “damn right i’m not.” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

and for the first time since the whole mess started, you felt like everything was going to be okay.

general taglist : @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @k1t-k4ts, @icurushasfallen, @eddxemxnson, @nickiinator

@chamomile-tea420, @rooroen, @spitfy, @cannon-writes, @platinumblondeedition

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@bluevclvet, @angellreads, @babey-fruit-bat

[wvyik]

click, play, stay. d.w. °˖➴

dean winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: you walk in on dean watching porn, and the girl? looks just like you. one thing leads to another, and it gets way too real.

⤿ warnings: mdni!! explicit content, best friends to lovers?, oral sex, p in v, breeding kink, swearing, porn watching, dub-consent (you did walk in on him), spoiler alert: dean is NOT your average best friend, accidental discovery, intentional fucking, you wanted slowburn? lol, no. welcome to chaos.

⤿ notes: new format?? mhm! also, i’m pretty sure this is the exact moment i crossed all boundaries. but hey, it’s dean. enjoy… or don’t. but you will. you’ll definitely enjoy.

You were supposed to be asleep.

The bunker was dead quiet, the only sounds the soft hum of overhead lights and the occasional creak of ancient pipes. You tiptoed out of your room in nothing but your usual sleep fit— those stupid little pink shorts and that baggy tee with a faded band logo, barely awake, just craving something cold to drink.

What you didn’t expect to find was him.

Dean. Lying on his bed, legs sprawled out like he owned the place — which, to be fair, he kinda did; laptop propped open on his thighs, the soft slap of skin echoing off the walls, low moans slipping from his lips like sin.

Your brain didn’t catch up right away. You blinked, thinking maybe it was just some dumb movie. Something graphic on late-night cable. But then he shifted. Jaw tight, chest heaving, one hand moving under the thin gray waistband of his sweats, and the sound from his laptop speakers made your stomach drop straight to hell.

Wet. Rhythmic. Desperate.

You froze in the doorway.

It was porn.

Very, very intense porn.

You were about to turn and bolt when you actually looked at the screen— and saw her.

Saw you.

Or, okay, not you exactly. But enough like you that your breath caught in your throat. Same hair. Same curves. Same little whimpering gasp when the guy in the video; who had messy hair, broad shoulders, and a voice that sounded suspiciously like Dean’s, gripped her thighs and pushed in deeper.

Your eyes went wide.

And that’s when Dean looked up.

He didn’t panic. Didn’t scramble to close the laptop or hide what he was doing.

Instead, he smirked.

“Well, well,” he drawled, voice gravelly from arousal. “Didn’t think you were the sneaky type.”

Your whole body went numb. Your knees locked in place and your voice came out squeaky and stunned:

“I—I didn’t mean to— Dean, I didn’t know you were— what the fuck!”

“Mhm,” he said, not even flinching. So casual. One hand finally moving away from his waistband, resting on his stomach like he wasn’t still hard as hell beneath the fabric. “Didn’t know I had an audience tonight. You like what you saw?”

“That girl looked like me,” you whispered.

He arched a brow.

“Did she?”

“Dean.” Your voice trembled, shame twisting in your chest. “Why would you… why would you watch that?”

He clicked the laptop shut like it was nothing.

“Why d’you think?” he said, standing up slow, that cocky saunter in his step, towering over you before you could even think of moving. “I’ve had to sit around for months watchin’ you prance around here in those tiny fuckin’ shorts, crawlin’ into my bed when you get nightmares, sleepin’ next to me like you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.”

Your mouth opened. Closed. Your brain had shut down.

“You ever think about me like that?” he asked, voice dropping an octave. “You ever get curious what I sound like when I’m inside you?”

You choked on your own breath.

“Jesus, Dean—”

He stepped even closer. Barely a foot between your bodies now.

“Don’t get all shy now, sweetheart. You walked in. You stayed. You looked at that screen and kept watching.” His eyes dragged over your body, slow and hot and possessive. “So if you’re gonna act like a good girl, tell me the truth.”

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, heart racing.

“…Was it really about me?”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear, voice dark and full of sin,

“Every fuckin’ time.”

You swallow.

His breath brushes your skin.

You hate the part of you that wants more.

“So what happens now?” you whisper, voice barely there.

He grins, but it’s not playful anymore. It’s dark. Focused. Hungry.

“Now,” he murmurs, “you tell me if you want this. ‘Cause once we start, baby, I’m not gonna pretend I don’t wanna know how you sound when you moan anymore.”

Your whole body lights up like a goddamn fire alarm.

You nod— slow, shy, unsure, and Dean’s hands find your hips, big and hot and grounding you before you can float away from the sheer weight of this moment.

“Fuck,” he mutters, like it’s physically painful. “You’re actually sayin’ yes to this.”

You look up at him, wide-eyed. “You thought I wouldn’t?”

He lets out a sharp laugh— shocked. His grip tightens, and his mouth brushes your cheek before he growls into your ear,

“You’re my best fuckin’ friend, sweetheart. The girl I’ve been tryin’ not to fuck for years. But now? You’re standing here all pretty and wet for me after catching me jerk off to a video of someone who looks just like you.”

He steps back just long enough to grab the laptop. “So we’re gonna watch it again. Together.”

You blink.

“Dean—what?”

“No no,” he says, pulling you into his room, sitting down on the bed and tugging you into his lap like it’s the most normal thing in the world. His hard length presses up against your ass as you straddle him. “You’re gonna watch what I was watching. And you’re gonna feel exactly what I felt.”

The video starts again.

The moans fill the room.

Your cheeks burn.

His hands start roaming, slow at first. Just resting on your thighs. Then sliding up under your shirt, thumbs grazing over your hips. “See that?” he murmurs, mouth brushing your neck. “How he’s got her pinned down? How deep he’s fucking her?”

You nod, breath stuttering.

“That’s what I was thinkin’ about,” he says, pressing a kiss to your pulse. “Pushing you back on this bed, spreading those pretty legs, and just ruining you.”

You let out a shaky little gasp.

“You always get this wet just from watchin’?” he teases, fingers sliding under the waistband of your shorts. “Or is it me?”

You can’t speak. He doesn’t need you to.

One thick finger dips into your panties and he groans— low and deep, like he’s just tasted something addictive.

“Ohh, fuck, sweetheart…” He nips at your jaw. “This pussy was made for me.”

You whimper.

“You want me to fill you up like that?” he asks, gaze flicking from the screen to you. “You want me to make you so full of me, you’ll be feelin’ it for days?”

You nod helplessly.

And then he’s flipping you beneath him, pushing your shirt up, yanking your shorts down— his mouth hot and hungry as he kisses down your belly, his voice ragged,

“You better be fuckin’ sure, baby. ‘Cause once I start… I’m not stopping ‘til I’m all the way in and you’re begging me to put a baby in you.”

You don’t even get a chance to breathe before Dean’s dragging your panties down your thighs, slow but greedy, like he wants to savor it, wants to remember what you look like like this forever. Laying on his bed, flushed and wide-eyed, already soaked for him.

And he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.

The video’s still playing on the laptop beside you. Your own soft moans mixing with hers, the sound of skin against skin driving Dean insane.

“Fuck, baby, look at you,” he mutters, dragging his mouth across your inner thigh, leaving open-mouthed kisses. “Shakin’ like a virgin on prom night.”

You let out a breathy little whimper, thighs twitching.

“I’m not—”

“No, but this pussy’s mine,” he cuts you off, voice all grit and possession. “And I’m gonna treat her like she’s never been touched before.”

And then his tongue’s on you.

Oh. My. God.

No teasing. No slow warmup. Dean dives in like he’s starved— like he’s been dreaming about this for years and now that he has you, he’s gonna take his fucking time.

His tongue licks a long, slow stripe up your slit, then circles your clit until your hips buck against his mouth. “Dean—Dean, holy shit—”

He groans into you like he can’t help it. Like you taste like heaven and he wants to drown in it.

One thick finger slides into you, curling just right, his mouth never stopping. You’re shaking. Moaning. Whimpering his name like a prayer.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he growls, pulling back just enough to speak, his chin slick with you. “You’re squeezin’ me so good, baby. So fuckin’ tight for me.”

He slides a second finger in. Pumps slow. Deep. Crooks them just enough to hit that spot that makes your eyes roll back.

You gasp, fisting the sheets.

And then he leans up, hovering over you, eyes dark as sin.

“Wanna know somethin’ sick?” he rasps, rubbing slow circles on your clit. “When I came earlier? I imagined this pussy. You— on your back, beggin’ me to put a baby in you.”

You let out a choked moan.

“Dean—”

“You gonna let me, sweetheart?” He kisses your neck, your collarbone, your lips—hot, messy kisses between every filthy word. “Gonna let me fuck you raw? Fill you up so deep it sticks?”

You nod like you’re drunk on him.

“Please.”

He groans—feral now; like that one word snapped the leash clean off.

He yanks his sweats down, and his cock springs free. Thick, flushed, leaking. You’ve never seen anything so hot. He lines himself up with your entrance, and pauses, just for a breath.

“You sure?” he asks, voice tight.

You reach up, grab his face, and whisper, “Dean, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind.”

That’s all it takes.

He slams into you— slow but deep, dragging it out, like he wants you to feel every inch.

You cry out, nails digging into his back. He groans like he’s dying.

“Fuuuck,” he hisses, burying himself to the hilt. “So fuckin’ tight, baby. You were made for me.”

His hips start to move. Slow at first, grinding into you, heavy and rough and intentional. He kisses you like he owns you. He fucks you like he’s claiming you.

And the whole time?

He doesn’t stop talking.

“You feel that?” he pants. “That’s my cock stretchin’ you open, fillin’ you where no one else ever will again.”

“I’m gonna fuck you full, sweetheart. Breed you so good you’ll feel me for days.”

Your body’s writhing under him— shaking, trembling, your orgasm building like a tidal wave.

“You close?” he growls, thrusting harder, snapping his hips against yours. “C’mon, baby. Cream on my cock. Show me how bad you want it.”

And when you fall apart?

It’s a wreck.

You clench around him like a vice, crying out his name, and he loses it— slamming into you once, twice more before burying himself deep and groaning, “Fuck—take it—take all of it, baby—fuckin’ take my cum—”

He holds you tight, grinding into you as he empties himself inside, thick and hot and endless. You’re both panting, covered in sweat, trembling from the aftershocks.

He doesn’t pull out.

Just collapses on top of you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Told you we’d make a better video,” he mumbles against your skin.

You laugh, breathless. “Holy shit.”

He grins.

“Round two?”

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tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡

[itneverendshere]

If you ever heard the song “Insecure” by Jazmine Sullivan, I was wondering if you could read a fic with rafe about that

it’s Like toxic!rafe and reader

INSECURE

PAIRING: bsf!toxic!rafe x kook!reader warnings: emotional manipulation; self-hatred; toxic!rafe.

If someone asked you how it started, you couldn’t even tell them.

It was Rafe Cameron you were talking about.

The guy was a walking red flag, all swagger, all ego, and too much money for his own good. He had the type of face that made you forgive him even when you didn’t want to. And trust, you'd tried to not want to. But that never worked out, obviously.

It’s not like you thought you could change him or whatever. You were not one of those girls. You just...thought you’d be different. Special. Maybe you got a little caught up in that fairy tale bullshit sometimes. Like, maybe if you were the one who held his attention long enough, maybe he’d stop messing around and actually be serious.

Actually see you.

Spoiler alert: That’s not how it worked

You learned that real quick with Rafe.

It wasn’t even two months in before you found some girl's scrunchie in his Jeep.

You were leaving the club, both tipsy, and you slid into the passenger seat when you spotted it in the back. You know how girls leave stuff behind like it’s a game? Like it’s their way of marking territory? That scrunchie was practically a neon sign that read, "I was here."

You picked it up, twirled it around your finger, and waited for him to notice.

He didn’t.

“What's this?” You finally asked, not even looking at him, just staring at that stupid pink scrunchie like it had all the answers you needed.

Rafe glanced over at it for half a second before shrugging, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. “Dunno. Probably Sarah’s.”

Sarah Cameron, his sister, the golden girl of the family. His excuse every time something came up.

“It’s not Sarah’s.” You weren't buying it. You knew that girl’s style inside and out, and there’s no way in hell she’d be caught dead wearing something this basic. You tossed it into the backseat, feeling your blood boil.

Of course he’d still treat you like shit, why care about a lifelong friendship, right?

Rafe rolled his eyes. He didn’t even have the decency to act like he cared that you were pissed.

“You’re being dramatic,” he said, his voice dripping with that condescension that always made you feel stupid for caring. “It’s just a fucking scrunchie.”

But it wasn’t. Not to you.

See, the thing with Rafe is, he never said he was yours. You never had some grand conversation about exclusivity, about titles, none of that. But that’s how it was with him. He’d show up at your door, flash that killer smile, and you’d forget every reason why he wasn’t good for you.

And yet, there was this constant feeling in your chest.

Tight, twisted, like a knot you couldn’t untangle.

It wasn’t just the girls or the scrunchies or the way he’d disappear for days, leaving you with nothing but unanswered texts and half-assed explanations. It was you. How you felt around him. You were constantly second-guessing yourself, wondering if you were enough, if you were what he wanted. Things were so different before.

If you were even on his radar when you weren't right in front of him. And that feeling, that deep, gnawing insecurity? It was starting to mess with your head.

A week after the scrunchie incident, you found yourself at another one of those parties on Figure Eight. The kind where we Kooks pretend we're so much better than everyone else but still drink cheap beer out of red solo cups. It was the usual crowd—Topper, Kelce, a few other guys you barely knew, and, of course, Rafe.

You were wearing this black mini dress you knew he liked, the one that hugged your body in all the right places. You wanted to feel good tonight, like you could make him see you the way you needed him to. It was pathetic, but you thought if you played your cards right, maybe you'd get more than just half-hearted attention.

But then, halfway through the night, you saw her.

This girl—some random pogue you'd never seen before—leaning against the bar, laughing at something Rafe was saying. And it wasn’t just that he was talking to her. No, it was the way he was looking at her. That look he used to give you when you first started whatever this was between you two.

Like she was the most interesting thing in the room. Like she was the only thing. Even if she was wearing that cheap, threadbare tank top and worn-out jean shorts. The kind of clothes that screamed she probably worked at some surf shop or waited tables just to get by. And here Rafe was, cozying up to her like she was something special. Like she wasn’t just another girl he’d forget about tomorrow. Making yourself compare to someone like her.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, your palms sweaty as you watched them. You could feel your heart sinking, your gut screaming at you to just leave. But you didn’t. You just stood there, like an idiot, frozen in place, watching him slide his hand up the back of her arm, a move so smooth, so practiced, it made you feel sick.

You hated this. Hated yourself. Hated that you let him have this kind of power over you.

Your mind did that annoying thing where it flashed back to the first time you slept with him. Like it wanted to torture you with every little detail of how you got here. You’d both been drunk, of course. But not blackout drunk—just the kind of buzzed where everything feels a little too easy, a little too warm.

You’d known Rafe forever, been best friends since you were kids. He was practically a part of you, or at least, he used to be. You trusted him, which is why when he showed up at your place that night, laughing about something stupid, you didn’t think twice when he crashed on your couch.

Only he didn’t stay on the couch.

You remember how he looked at you from across the room, that cocky smile he always wore, but softer somehow. Like he wasn’t quite sure if he was going to make a move. He’d leaned in, brushed his hand against your leg—casual, but not really. Your heart had pounded in your chest, but you didn’t stop him.

You didn’t want to stop him.

And when he kissed you? You were done for. All those years of being “just friends” went right out the window. It was like all the tension between you, all the unspoken stuff, just exploded. You were in his lap before you even realized what was happening, tugging at his shirt, pulling him closer.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything—that it was just this one-time thing, a moment of weakness.

But Rafe… he knew how to get to you.

He made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered, even though you weren’t. You were just there, convenient. But at the time? You didn’t see it like that. You thought maybe this would change everything. That maybe the Rafe you’d grown up with was still in there somewhere, buried under all the coke, the girls, the chaos.

You were wrong.

It hurt. It hurt like hell. And the worst part was, you couldn’t even blame the girl. She probably had no idea who Rafe really was. She just saw the guy with the money, the smile, the charm.

Your throat tightened as he leaned in, saying something that made her laugh again. That same laugh he’d once pulled out of you. God, how could you be so stupid? You knew what he was. Hell, you’d known for years. But still, you’d let yourself get wrapped up in him, like maybe you’d be the exception. Like maybe you’d matter.

But you didn’t. You were just another girl he’d sweet-talk, mess with, and then forget about the second something new and shiny came along.

Topper came up beside you, nudging you with his shoulder. “You good?”

You blinked, tearing your eyes away from the scene in front of you and forcing a smile. “Yeah, totally. Just need another drink.” Your voice was light, casual, but inside, you were falling apart.

He gave you a weird look, but shrugged it off.

Guess everyone knew how you felt about Rafe. You weren't exactly subtle about it.

You downed another vodka soda, the burn doing nothing to numb the ache in your chest, and made a beeline for the back of the house.

You needed air. You needed to breathe.

You barely made it past the kitchen before you felt someone grab your wrist, pulling you into the hallway. You turned, expecting it to be some random guy, but no—it was Rafe. His grip was tight, a little too tight, and you could see the annoyance in his eyes.

“You’re leaving already?”

Rafe’s grip on your wrist was too tight, but it wasn’t like that surprised you anymore. It was always like this with him—one second, things were fine, and the next, you were stuck in this same stupid cycle of feeling small and stupid for caring.

“I just need some air,” you muttered, trying to pull away, but of course, he didn’t let go. His eyes flicked across your face like he was trying to figure out if you were actually upset or just being “dramatic,” which, spoiler alert, you weren’t.

“You’re not seriously mad about that girl, right?” His voice dripped with amusement, like your feelings were some kind of joke to him. He leaned in, lowering his voice like that was supposed to make you feel better. “It’s not that deep.”

It's hard to remember this used to be your best friend, before you two started whatever this game was and he decided you just weren't that girl to him anymore, just another body he could call up when he needed to get laid.

You stared at him, mouth dry, trying to figure out why you were even still standing here.

“Really?” You couldn’t help the sarcasm in your voice. “Because it kinda feels like it is.” You finally yanked your wrist free, stepping back just enough to get some space. “Do you even care? Like, do you even care that you’re making me feel like this?” You hated how your voice cracked, how vulnerable you sounded.

“We’ve just having fun,” Rafe just stared at you like you were overreacting. “I don’t get what the big deal is. Why are you always making this such a thing?”

Fun. God, that word made your stomach turn.

Fun for who? You knew what he meant, but hearing it out loud still stung. You’d been holding onto this hope, this ridiculous idea that maybe you were different, maybe he cared more. But it was so clear now. This wasn’t a relationship. This wasn’t even close.

“It’s a thing because it is a thing,” you said, voice shaky but steady enough. “I can’t just turn off my feelings like you do, Rafe. I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt when I see you flirting with other girls like I don’t exist.”

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “You’re making this complicated. I never said we were serious. You knew what this was from the start.”

And there it was.

The slap of reality you’d been avoiding for way too long. He never said you were his, never promised you anything more than what he gave—a few nights here and there, some attention when it was convenient for him, but nothing real.

And you knew that. But it didn’t stop you from wanting more.

“But you still keep me around, don’t you?” you said quietly, mostly talking to yourself at this point. “You keep me close when it’s easy, when it’s fun for you. And I let you.”

God, that hurt to admit out loud. You let him make you feel like this. Over and over.

Rafe just stood there, completely unfazed. Like this was no big deal. He shrugged, and it made you want to scream. “If you’re so unhappy, then just leave.”

You stared at him, feeling your heart twist in your chest. How did it always come back to this? Him pushing you away like you didn’t mean anything. Like you weren’t standing right here, hurting. You searched his face for something—anything—that showed he actually gave a damn.

But there was nothing.

“Yeah,” you whispered, throat tight. “Maybe I should.”

Rafe blinked, staring at you like you’d just told him the sky was green. The moment you said “maybe I should,” it was like the words didn’t even register with him. He let out this half-laugh, half-scoff, eyebrows raised. “Wait—what? You’re not actually serious right now.”

You just stood there, trying to hold onto the last shred of whatever self-respect you had left, but his reaction made you feel like you were the crazy one. Like you weren’t the one who’d been dragged through the emotional wringer for months.

“I’m serious,” you said, keeping your voice as steady as possible, but inside? You were shaking. “I’m done.”

He shook his head, like you were talking nonsense. “C’mon, stop. You always say shit like this when you’re mad. You’ll cool off in a couple hours. You’re just… overreacting. Again.”

That word—overreacting—was like gasoline on the fire burning inside you.

“I’m not overreacting. I’m tired.” You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the weight of all the times you’d let him off the hook. “I’m tired of feeling like an idiot every time I care about you. Every time I think we might actually be something.”

He took a step closer, and you could smell the beer and expensive cologne clinging to him. “We are something,” he said, his tone softening just enough to sound almost genuine, like he believed it. “We have fun. You’re acting like I’m out here trying to hurt you or somethin'.”

“You don’t think you’re hurting me because you never even think about me in the first place,” you snapped, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “You never even consider how any of this makes me feel, and that’s the problem. You don’t care.”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t fight back like you half-expected him to. Instead, he just stared at you, confusion all over his face, like this was the first time he’d ever heard any of this.

“So what, you’re just gonna leave?” He asked it like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Like the concept of you actually walking away from him didn’t make any sense. “You’re not serious. You won’t actually leave.”

Your heart twisted at that—at how confident he was that you’d stay. That no matter how many times he messed up, no matter how many girls there were, or how many times he ghosted you, you’d always be right there, waiting. Because you always were. All your life.

He was so sure of it.

You felt your hands shake, and you hated that he still had that power over you. That even now, standing here in this stupid hallway at some stupid party, your heart was still fighting your brain, still wanting to hold onto him just a little bit longer.

But you couldn’t. Not anymore.

“Yeah, Rafe. I’m leaving.” The words came out firm, stronger than you even thought you were capable of right now. “I’m not playing this game with you anymore.”

For a second, something flickered in his eyes. Panic, maybe. Or maybe it was just the realization that he didn’t have you as locked down as he thought. “You’re really gonna walk away from this?” He gestured between the two of you, as if whatever this was had been so good, so untouchable. “Don’t be stupid.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “You think I’m the one being stupid? You’ve taken me for granted this whole time, and I was dumb enough to let you."

He just stood there, silent, looking like he didn’t even know how to answer. Because he didn’t. He never actually thought you’d go. He never thought you’d call him on his shit and mean it.

But you did. And now he was realizing it.

Without waiting for him to say another word, you turned and walked away, feeling like you could finally breathe for the first time in a long time. 

You barely made it a few steps before you heard him call after you. “Wait, hold on!”

You kept walking, forcing yourself to put one foot in front of the other. You knew if you stopped, if you even looked back at him, you’d get sucked right back in. But of course, Rafe wasn’t going to let it go that easy.

“Wait!” His voice was closer now, and before you could pick up the pace, he grabbed your arm—not harshly this time, just enough to make you stop. “Come on, don’t just walk away.”

You sighed, shutting your eyes for a second before turning around. “What, Rafe? What do you want me to say?” You were so exhausted from this, from him, from the constant back and forth. “I’m not doing this anymore.”

He let go of your arm, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated but trying to rein it in. “Can we just… talk about this? You’re pissed right now, and I get it, but you can’t just leave like this.”

“I can leave,” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “That’s literally what I’m doing."

He exhaled sharply, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. “You’re really just gonna throw everything away? After all this time?”

You stared at him, heart pounding in your chest. “What exactly am I throwing away? Huh? What have we even been lately? ’Cause from where I’m standing, all I’ve been doing is waiting around for you to decide if I’m worth more than just a random hookup whenever you feel like it.”

He winced at that, and for a second, you thought maybe—maybe—he’d get it. Maybe this would be the moment where he actually realized how badly he’d been screwing up. But instead, he went for the same excuse he always did.

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly, like that would erase everything. “You know I care about you, okay? We’ve known each other forever. You’re… important to me.”

“Important to you?” You laughed, but it wasn’t even close to funny. “If this is how you treat people who are ‘important’ to you, then I don’t even wanna know how you treat people who aren’t. Oh wait, I do know."

Rafe sighed, shifting his weight from foot to foot, like he was trying to figure out the right thing to say. “Look, I know I’ve messed up. But…Can we just, like, think about it for a second? Talk about it?”

You shook your head, feeling the frustration build again. “What is there to talk about? You only wanna have this conversation now because I’m actually leaving. You never wanted to talk about it before.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you cut him off. “No, Rafe. You think I haven’t tried to bring this up? Every time I tell you how I feel, you brush me off. I’ve been bending over backwards, trying to make this work, and all I’ve gotten in return is you treating me like I’m an afterthought.”

Rafe frowned, his jaw tightening. “That’s not true. I’m here now, aren’t I? I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Because I’m walking away,” you shot back. “That’s the only reason you care right now—because you don’t wanna lose control. That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You never actually thought I’d leave.”

He didn’t say anything, which pretty much told you everything you needed to know.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “We used to be best friends. I knew you better than anyone, and you knew me. But I don’t even recognize you anymore. And honestly? I don’t recognize me when I’m around you either.” Your voice softened, "I deserve better than this. And you know it.”

For a second, he just stood there, looking at you like he was processing everything. His face wasn’t smug or arrogant anymore. He actually looked… lost. Maybe even scared. It was the first time you’d seen him drop the act in a long time, and for a split second, you felt that pull again—the one that always made you want to fix things, to make it better, to stay.

But you couldn’t do it this time. You couldn’t keep saving him at the expense of yourself.

“I don’t wanna lose you,” he finally said, his voice quieter, almost vulnerable. “You’re… you’re one of the only people who actually gets me. I don’t wanna lose that.”

That hit you right in the gut, because deep down, you didn’t wanna lose him either. He was right—you did know him better than anyone. But that didn’t change what he’d been putting you through. And just because he was scared of losing you didn’t mean he was ready to treat you the way you deserved to be treated.

“I don’t wanna lose you either,” you admitted, “But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep being the girl you turn to when it’s convenient for you.”

He swallowed hard, eyes flicking down to the ground like he didn’t know what to say. And maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was finally realizing how badly he’d screwed this up.

You sighed, stepping back. “Look, I hope you figure your shit out. I really do. But I’m not sticking around to wait for that.”

You’d barely taken two steps when you heard him again, this time his voice quieter, almost desperate. “Wait—please. Just… don’t go.”

You paused, but you didn’t turn around. You were trying so hard to keep it together, to not let him see how badly this was wrecking you. Then he dropped the bomb.

“You’re the only thing keeping me sober.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Slowly, you turned back around, eyes wide. “What?”

He looked at you like he was begging you to understand, to stay. “I’m serious. Since I stopped using…you’re the only thing that’s been helping me hold it together. You leaving—it’s gonna fuck me up. You know that.”

Your heart twisted, hard. Of course he’d pull this now. You stared at him, “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” 

“I’m not lying,” He insisted, taking a step closer. “I swear. I’m trying to do better. You’re the reason I haven’t gone back to that shit. You’ve always been the one to pull me out of it, and if you leave—”

“Stop,” you snapped, holding up a hand. “Do you even hear yourself right now? You’re really trying to put this on me?” Your voice was rising, and you didn’t even care if people inside the party heard you. “You’re trying to make me responsible for you staying clean? Do you realize how fucked up that is?”

Rafe flinched, his expression shifting from desperate to defensive. “I’m just saying it how it is. You’ve helped me more than anyone else. You know that.”

“No,” you shot back, shaking your head in disbelief. “I’m not doing this. I’m not carrying that weight for you. That’s not fair, and you know it.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you weren’t done. “You can’t just dump your problems on me and expect me to fix them. I’m not your therapist, and I’m definitely not your savior.” Your chest was heaving now, all the anger and hurt that had been building up for months finally spilling over. “You don’t get to use your sobriety as a leash to keep me here.”

His face fell at that, and for a split second, you saw a flash of guilt. But it wasn’t enough. “I’m not trying to manipulate you,” he said, though even he sounded unsure of his words now. “I just… I don’t know what else to do.”

“You don’t know what to do because you’ve never had to actually deal with the consequences of your actions,” you fired back. “You’ve always just said whatever you needed to say to keep people around. To keep me around.”

Rafe looked at you like he wanted to fight back, but the fight wasn’t there. Not this time. “That’s not what this is,” he muttered, but it sounded weak even to him.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside you. “I’m glad you’re sober. I really am. But that’s not my responsibility. It never should’ve been.” You paused, feeling every word you were about to say. “If staying clean depends on me staying in your life, then you haven’t actually changed. You’ve just found a new addiction.”

He stared at you, and for the first time, he didn’t have a response. No cocky smirk, no empty promises. Just silence.

“I’m not gonna be your crutch anymore,” you said softly, the anger fading, replaced with a deep, painful sadness. “You need to get better for you, not for me. And if you can’t do that… then this was never gonna work anyway.”

Rafe’s shoulders slumped, and you could see the defeat in his eyes, like he was finally realizing that no matter what he said, this time you weren’t coming back.

“Please don’t do this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

You blinked back the tears that were starting to sting your eyes. “You’ll figure it out."

He was on his knees before you realized. Literally.

Your eyes widened in complete disbelief. “Rafe, what the hell are you doing?”

He wasn’t even looking at you anymore, just staring at the floor, hands running through his hair like he was about to lose it. “Please don’t leave. I’m begging you. I—I can’t… I don’t know what to do without you.”

You froze, staring at him like he’d lost his damn mind. Because maybe he had. What was this? You felt like you were watching some movie, except it was your life, and it wasn’t dramatic or romantic or whatever he thought it was. It was just… sad. And kind of terrifying.

“Get up.” Your voice wasn’t even loud—it was flat, emotionless. You didn’t even know what to feel anymore. “Rafe, seriously. Get the fuck up.”

He didn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice shaky. “I’m so fucking sorry. You’re all I’ve ever had, okay? Since we were kids, you’ve been the only person who’s ever stuck with me. Everyone else leaves. Everyone. But not you. You’ve always been there, no matter how much I’ve messed up.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut because, deep down, they were true. You had always been there. Through everything. The good, the bad, and the absolute worst. And maybe that’s why it hurt so damn much now—because he’d taken that loyalty, that friendship, and twisted it into something ugly and unrecognizable.

“I can’t believe this,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. “I seriously can’t believe you right now.” You shook your head, staring at him in disbelief. “You think this is gonna fix everything? You think getting on your knees and saying some bullshit is gonna make me forget all the times you hurt me?"

He looked up at you, his eyes glassy, and it almost made your heart break. Almost. But you weren't going to fall for it anymore. “I didn’t mean to take you for granted. I just—I never thought you’d actually leave. You never left before.”

“And that’s exactly why we’re here,” you snapped, “You always thought I’d stay, no matter how bad you treated me. You counted on it."

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice cracking. “I know I fucked up. But I’ll do anything to fix it. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Please, just don’t go.”

You stared at him, the guy you’d known since forever, the one you’d stuck by when no one else did. The one you thought you could save, even though now you realized you couldn’t even save yourself when you were with him.

But this? Him on his knees? This wasn’t him fixing anything. This was him panicking, terrified that the one thing he’d taken for granted all these years was slipping away.

“I’m not the one who’s supposed to keep you alive. That’s on you. I’ve been there for you since we were six, and look where that’s gotten me. Look where that’s gotten us.”

His eyes were pleading, desperate, but you knew that if you stayed, this would keep happening. He would hurt you again, and you’d forgive him.

Because that’s what you did. That’s what you’d always done.

“I can’t keep being your safety net,” you whispered, feeling a lump rise in your throat. “You have to figure out who you are without me always picking up the pieces.”

He shook his head. “But I don’t know how.”

And that was the saddest part of all. He didn’t know how. He had no idea who he was without you constantly there to catch him when he fell. And you were tired of being the one holding him up while he pulled you down.

You took a deep breath, looking down at him—this broken, scared version of Rafe you never wanted to see.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, “but this? This isn’t love. This isn’t healthy. This is you being afraid of losing control. And I’m not gonna let you use me to keep your shit together anymore.”

His eyes filled with tears, and for a second, your heart ached. Because yeah, you loved him once. Maybe you still did in some messed-up way. But love wasn’t supposed to feel like drowning.

“I hope you get better,” you said, taking a step back. “I really do. But I can’t be a part of this anymore.”

And for the first time in your life, you were the one to walk away.

[sikayeto]

[0000] Friday the 28th

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[michael robinavitch x offspring/daughter reader]

[tw: descriptions of a violent assault]

[summary: robby hopes it's not too late]

[a/n: last part! i'm so excited for you guys to read it! thank you for all the support! if you want to talk about the series, please feel free to leave a message in my inbox or even a comment! enjoy <3]

[ source (CONTAINS SPOILERS) ]

MASTERLIST

[1] [2]

-------------------------------------------------------

He wasn’t a stranger to shame. In fact, he would say that they’re very close acquaintances. Every time shame, guilt, or fear shows up in his life, he tries to bury it six feet deep. Because if you don’t bury those negative feelings, they end up either burying you or, worse, your patients. Do you know who brings up those feelings? The ghosts of the fucking dead that you let die. 

Dr. Michael Robinavitch is no stranger to shame, guilt, or fear. Would love to be a stranger to the ghosts that haunt him. He tries his goddamn best every day to bury those feelings so that he doesn’t have to bury any more patients, people, or family. But the hole you dig can only bury so much grief.

When you live hand in hand, married to your grief, do you really live life? Are you experiencing moments in their full capacity? The conversations you have with the people close to you. The things that you do with or to them. There have to be moments where you’re so weighed down that you’re not present at all. That you don’t remember small things. Where you put your earbuds. Eating a meal. Promising to have dinner with your kid.

Fuck. He forgot that he was supposed to be home at 8 to have dinner with his kid. He said he would be there. How long has it been since he’s even seen or talked to them in person? Fuck, they live in the same fucking apartment. 

Shame, guilt, and fear of a different kind bubble and boil in his chest cavity and enter his throat. The taste of vomit threatening to overtake his taste buds He forgot; he completely fucking forgot. 

There are weights in the soles of his shoes, pulling him down with each step closer to home. Dread is ice cold in his veins, and he’s scared that his heart isn’t circulating enough in his system to poison him. Maybe that would be for the better. 

What’s worse than the ghosts of the dead hanging on your shoulders? The disappointment of your child. Who’s alive and here? Alert, awake, blood pumping, air in their lungs. He’s so focused on the people who are already gone that he forgot his fucking kid. 

They said they had news. What news? Good news? Bad news? Did they talk to him about it already? He can’t recall what their last conversation was even about. Was it about the cat? Fuck. FUCK. FUCK. 

He’s so fucked.

He rubs both hands against his face in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure building behind his eyes and the increasing migraine at his temples. 

Entering their apartment building, he jogs up a flight of stairs to get to his floor. The apartment at the end of the hallway is theirs. He tries to think of a justifiable reason for being 4 and a half hours late to dinner, with no text or call to warn them. Is there any reason he could give that he hasn’t already given before?

Unlocking the door, Reggie greets him with an escape attempt into the hallway. He quickly scoops up his frankly overweight cat before it could escape any further. Bringing Reggie up to his chest to rest on his shoulder. “Hey buddy,” he nervously greets. 

Reggie was normally a docile, affectionate creature. But at times he would freak out on Robby and attack him for no reason. There are a few light scratch lines on his ankles from previous assassination attempts. But he never attacked you. Robby was just the spare human to Reggie.

He closes the door behind him and sets Reggie back down. The apartment is mostly dark, only lit by a singular light fixture above the dining room table. Upon closer inspection, Robby sees dinner. It’s untouched, most likely cold. Or is that just him? 

Seeing the perfect dinner drops a boulder in his stomach. Acid more prominent on his tongue. He looks toward the door at the end of their hallway. Your bedroom door. He sees a soft light emanating from the open slit at the bottom of the door. He follows it to your door and knocks.

“Hey, honey,” there’s a tremble in his tone, “I’m so sorry I missed dinner. Time got away from me. And I know that’s not an excuse.”

There’s only silence from the other side of the door.

“You have every right to be mad at me; that’s totally understandable. But, can you please come out so that we can talk?”

Robby wonders if this is what they feel like. Being ignored. 

A soft texture suddenly touching his leg makes Robby jump a little. He quickly looks for the source and finds Reggie. 

Reggie, who jumps at the doorknob, turning it with his paws, and opening the door. It creaks open slightly, and he walks fluidly inside.

“What the fuck?” whispers a bewildered Robby. “Since when could you do that?”

He pushes the door wider ajar and scans your bedroom. Everything looks to be in its place. But you aren’t here.

Whatever fear of consequences Robby had earlier is replaced with absolute fucking horror. 

- - -

“Hey kiddo, can you stay awake for me?” Jack knows fear like the back of his hand. It’s been an old friend for a majority of his life. He thought that he stopped letting it affect him years ago because he learned that if he let his fear control him, people would die. He knew that in this exact moment, if he let his fear spread through his body, he would be letting Robby’s kid die. “Someone get me a face mask with 10 litres of O2!” 

After calling out his name, you became unresponsive. Jack’s never seen you so battered and bruised. “Let’s get them in a room STAT! And somebody get me a CT booked NOW!”

Getting your gurney into an open room, the team starts working on hooking you up to assess your vitals. Whitaker and Mel enter the room with a few nurses and one of the paramedics. Jack assesses you from head to toe and looks to Whitaker. “Alright, tell me what you see, Whitaker.”

Whitaker looks up at him surprised and nervously reports, “Uh, they have a laceration on their scalp with foreign material embedded inside; it looks like glass. Echymosis around the throat.” 

“It looks like they were choked” goes unsaid but hangs in the air.

He asks aloud to the paramedic, “What was her GCS?”

“13, responsive to speech but confused, able to follow commands,” the paramedic replies. 

Whitaker attempts to wake you up. “Hello? Can you wake up for us?” He tries to rub your sternum to get a reaction from you, but to no luck. “They’re unresponsive to pain.”

Jack grabs his penlight, opens your eyelids, and shines it into each of your eyes separately. “One pupil is bigger than the other. What does this tell us, Whitaker?”

“Cushing’s Triad. BP is 222/106, bradycardia, abnormal respirations, and blown pupils. They’re in late-stage ICP; there’s increasing pressure on the side with the bigger pupil.”

Jack nods at him, “Not bad. What could be causing the ICP, Dr. Whitaker? And what do we need to do to make sure it doesn’t continue to increase and kill our patient?”

“The head trauma could have caused blood to pool and clot, causing ischemic stroke, or they could just be having an intracranial hemorrhage. We won't know until they get a CT and the results come out. But we need to decrease ICP and try not to have it increase any more than it already is,” rambles off Whitaker.

“Mhm, solid call. I need IV mannitol and 50 mcg of fentanyl IM. Dr. King, bring the head of the bed up 30 degrees.”

“On it!” Mel says as she rushes over to readjust the head of the bed angle. 

“Dr. King, in cases of increased cranial pressure, do we treat the large differential BP?” Jack casually asks.

“No, not until we get a CT first. Treating a BP more than 220 if it’s an ischemic stroke is a bad idea because collateral blood flow is dependent on blood pressure. If we suddenly try to lower her BP without knowing if it's an ischemic stroke, we could be reducing circulation and oxygen flow to the brain.”

One of the nurses finishes hanging a bag and says, “Mannitol is up, and 50 mcg of Fentanyl IM has been administered.”

The vital sign numbers on the screen start stabilizing, and the tension in the room dissipates. Jack looks to Mel and Whitaker. “You two, clean and stitch up their head laceration. Monitor them until CT is ready.”

Jack moves to leave the room and doesn’t look back to answer Mel when she asks, “Dr. Abbot, where are you going?”

“To let the family know”

- - -

Hi, you’ve reached my phone! Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you!

“Sweetie, this is Dad. I’m really worried about you. Please call me back as soon as you can.”

Hi, you’ve reached my phone! Leave a message and I’ll

“Honey, I know that you’re mad at me. But I need to know that you’re safe. Come home. Please.”

Hi, you’ve reached my ph-

“Please. Just please call me back. Send a text. Anything. Please, be safe.”

His phone rings, and his hands scramble to grab and answer it. His shoulders fall in disappointment when he sees Jack on the caller ID. He swipes right to answer the call. 

“Jack?” he greets. “Now isn’t really a good time.”

“Robby, your kid is here.”

His whole world stops. The worst-case scenario has arrived. He feels his heart rate spike and his vessels constricting to raise his blood pressure. He whispers back, “I’ll be right there.”

- - - 

He thinks he must have broken a few traffic laws with how fast and loose he drove to get to the emergency room in record time. His vision is a bit blurry, and he’s got a headache behind his eyes again. Rushing through the emergency room entrance, he ignores the greetings of familiar employees. Dark brown eyes darting left and right, trying to spot one Dr. Jack Abbot. 

“Robby!” he hears his name being called out. A quick turn reveals the man of his focus, and he runs to his friend. 

Jack sees a dangerous kind of look in Robby’s eyes. The look of a man who’s on the verge of losing everything. When Robby reaches him, he puts his hands on the sides of Robby’s upper arms to steady him. “Brother, I need you to calm down.”

Robby looks at Jack like he’s fucking insane. “Calm down? My kid’s missing from home, and you call me telling me they’re here. I’m not fucking calming down.”

“Well, if you don’t calm down, I’m not going to be able to let you see them, and you’re not going to listen to me about their current state.” Jack replies with raised eyebrows, trying to get his point through.

Robby thinks he glares so hard at Jack that he should have a hole in him by now. He relents and takes a few deep breaths with his eyes closed. Opens them and raises his own eyebrows at Jack, silently asking him to continue.

“They came in with something in their system, a head laceration with signs of trauma, and rapidly developing ICP. We gave them IV Mannitol and 50 mcg of IM Fentanyl. Vitals stabilized, and they got sent up to CT. CT showed brain hemorrhage, and they’re in surgery now to fix it.”

“What happened to them?”

Jack looks conflicted. Doesn’t know whether or not to tell Robby that someone did this to his child. Someone hurt them. And that they were treating the bastard just a few rooms over for a collapsed lung caused by a stab wound. So instead of bearing that burden, he shifts it. “The police want to talk to you about that, actually. Two detectives arrived after the ambulance and wanted to ask them a couple of questions after they get out of surgery and stabilize.”

He points at two figures dressed in business casual near the nursing station, having a discussion with two coffee cups in hand. Dana is with them, writing down a few things and nodding along at them. 

Robby takes long strides over to them, desperate to get an answer. His incoming presence catches their attention, and they look toward him. 

“Robby! What are you doing here?” Dana exclaims in surprise.

“Dr. Robinavitch? You’re the father of the victim?” the male detective asks.

“I am. What happened to my kid?”

“Your child was the most recent victim in a string of rape and murder cases my partner and I are investigating. We think that the man that attacked the victim is our culprit. His MO is drugging potential victims with a roofie, isolating them, and using blunt force trauma to knock them out. After getting them to an isolated location, he chokes them until they die from asphyxiation,” the female detective answers, her tone and face equally serious.

Robby is in disbelief. His kid was almost raped and murdered. All because he didn’t come home for dinner on time.

“Wait, you said that he rapes them too. That wasn’t included in your description of his MO,” Jack mentions.

The detectives look at each other awkwardly. “He rapes them posthumously.”

The statement sends out a shockwave of disgust between all of them. Dana looks at Robby, his face deathly pale. Hearing news that horrible things could have happened.

The male detective coughs, “Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. Security camera footage of the club bathroom shows that the victim regained consciousness while being choked and managed to grab a shard of glass and use it to stab the suspect on the side of his chest. Someone found them, called 911, and paramedics arrived. Your child is a very strong person, Dr. Robinavitch.”

“Yeah, they are,” Robby barely manages to choke out.

“We have to take our leave; please call us when they regain consciousness and are ready to make a statement,” states the female detective.

“Wait,” Robby interrupts. “You said that he was stabbed. Where is he now? PTMC is the closest hospital.”

The detectives didn’t say anything, and neither did Dana. But they looked. Just a small glance. At the room behind Robby. The curtains were drawn closed behind the glass doors. Robby saw, and he walked with a purpose. 

“ROBBY, NO!” shouts Dana.

He opens the door with force, enters, and closes it behind him. 

Inside the room is the man who hurt his child, with Langdon, Santos, and Ellis standing beside him. They abruptly pause what they’re doing to look at Robby’s sudden interruption. Santos’ hands mid-insertion of a chest tube catheter into the man’s pleural cavity. 

Robby wonders if the man knew what it was like. To not be able to breathe. The oxygen he deprived his victims of, using his own hands. The hands that wrapped themselves around the delicate throat of his child and attempted to squeeze the life out of it. Wonders if the sensation of drowning in his own blood is a similar one. 

Langdon breaks the silence.

“Hey boss, a little early for your shift. Did someone call in?”

Robby doesn’t avert his gaze from the man. Like a predator watching his prey.

“Boss?” Langdon asks, concerned. “You okay?”

“He assaulted my kid.”

Santos’ eyes widen and stare at the man who currently has a tube halfway in. Nobody moves or says anything. They stare at Robby, the man, and at each other.

“Robby,” Langdon starts, “you can’t be here.”

“He roofied them. Bashed their head in. And then choked them. He only stopped because they woke up and stabbed him with a glass shard.”

Silence had never been so loud.

Robby stared at the man a bit longer. Burns the image of his face into his memory. And leaves the way he came in.

The room stays silent, even after he leaves.

- - -

Jack and Dana find Robby on the roof. Standing at the edge, where Jack has stood himself before. They approach him slowly.

Robby doesn’t turn to look at them when he speaks. “They said they had good news to tell me during dinner. I lost track of time and got home 2 hours late. There was a beautiful dinner on the dining table. Ham, mashed potatoes, all the works. It was cold. I thought they were angry at me for missing dinner and locked themselves into their room. But they weren’t there. They were missing. If I were home on time. If I just came home like I was supposed to. They would’ve never gone to the club and gotten attacked.”

Dana looks at him sadly and softly protests, “Robby, you don’t know that.”

He laughs, “Maybe not. But this was the last straw for them, you know. Too many missed meals. Plans I’ve cancelled because, apparently, I would rather be at work than spend time with my child. Who I now notice knows absolutely nothing about it. And you know why? Because I treat this place more like my kid than I ever did them. I put more of my time and effort into this place than my own goddamn child. Look where that’s got me. I’m going to lose them. I’m going to lose them before I even know them, and it’s my own fucking fault.”

“So you’re giving up?” Jack asks. “Just like that? Is this your attitude when they wake up after surgery? Feeling sorry for yourself?”

Robby doesn’t answer him.

“Get over yourself, Robinavitch!” Jack shouts. “They need you! They’ve always needed you! Don’t give up hope on them. That’s the worst thing you can do!”

Robby finally turned his head to shout back at Jack, “What am I supposed to do then?!”

“Be there for them, you fucking idiot!” 

Realization hits Robby like a semi-truck.

“That’s all they ever wanted.”

Tears flood Robby’s eyes and flood down his cheeks. He lets out a sob. Dana and Jack rush to get him off the ledge of the hospital roof, and they bring Robby into their arms. 

- - -

You look so fragile, lying there in the hospital bed. The only other time he’s seen you this fragile was when you were just born. Small baby, soft, delicate, new to the world, its horrors and beauties. And when your mom left, you stopped being so fragile. Stop asking him to patch up your scraped knees. Asking him to help with homework. Asking him for anything. He can’t say that a small part of him wasn’t grateful that you were an easy child to raise. Never had a rebellious phase as a teen. Top grades in every class. Robby never had to worry about you. He just got used to you not needing him anymore. At some point, he thought he needed you more. You took care of the house. Made sure he ate and took care of himself. Always there for him, but never for you. 

He walks up to your sleeping form. Pulls up the chair by the wall towards your bedside and sits down. He places a hand against your face and rubs your cheek. You look so fragile.

He grasps your hand in his. 

His vision is blurred, this time because of tears. The exhaustion from his shift and the day’s events catches up to him, and fatigue overtakes him. His eyelids feel heavy and slowly start to close. He lays his head down on the hospital bed, next to his child’s body. Dreaming of the future. Their future, together.

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so, so sorry for everything. I’m sorry for being such a shitty dad to you. For all the time together I missed. I’m sorry for never reaching out to you and checking in to see if you’re okay. You checked in on me. Thank you for that. For everything you did, I ever took for granted. I’m going to need you to do one last thing for me, okay? I need you to wake up. I need you to open your eyes, because I’m not ready to lose you yet. We still have so much time together, and I promise I’m going to be there for you from now on. For everything. I love you, sweetie. So please. Stay with me. Don’t leave me. I love you.”

He doesn’t know how much time passed while he slept. But he feels a soft, repetitive sensation on his hand. He forces his eyes to crack open, and he lifts his head from the mattress. 

He sees you, eyes drowsy but open. Elation overtakes him.

Your eyes connect. 

“Hi, Dad.”

‐---------------------------------------------------------------------------

comment, comment, comment, comment 🙏

[cumonstevie]

Home Sweet Home Part 3

Summary: "It's good to be home," you think as you arrive back in Hawkins, Indiana; not only three years older, but also as a mother.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: Just a shit ton of fluff

A/N: This took 8 consecutive hours to write so I hope you guys like it!! It's 3.8k words 😬 my back hurts from slouching over my laptop for so long so I'll edit this later.

A year and a half later

You and Steve have been doing so well at co-parenting for Penelope thus far. You had slowly eased Steve into her life, and she happily accepted him. It took her a while to comfortably call him ‘dad’ but once she started, that’s practically all she could say.

Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the day when she confidently called him ‘dad’ without him or you having to tell her.

It was late at night- well, it was late for Penelope to still be awake, and you were trying everything to put her to sleep but she wouldn’t stop crying.

“Shhh, Penny, it’s okay.” You try to comfort her in your arms.

Her cries echo off your newly purchased apartment and you groan, rocking the toddler to try and calm her down.

Spoiler alert: It didn’t work.

“Baby, please calm down-”

“I want daddy!” She cries louder and you halt your movements.

“What?”

“I want daddy!” Penelope sobs in your arms.

“I-” You’re stunned for a moment because this was the first-time hearing Penelope call Steve ‘daddy’ on her own without you or him coaxing her to say it. “Daddy will come over tomorrow, okay? But you need to go-”

“No!” She yelled, “I want daddy now!”

It didn’t seem like she was going to let up any time soon, so you walk over to the phone and hastily dial Steve’s number. It was only 8 o’clock so you knew he’d still be up- hopefully.

It rang twice before he picked up. “Hello?”

“Steve,” you breathed. “Thank god you’re still awake. Listen, I know it’s kinda last minute but Penelope won’t go to sleep and she keeps crying and asking for you so do you think you could maybe-”

“I’ll be there in a bit. Leave the door unlocked for me, yeah?” You could hear him moving around at his place, probably putting his shoes on.

“Okay, thank you so much.” You let out a sigh of relief.

Penelope’s cries get louder and you think Steve can hear her because he murmurs, “My poor baby…” You hear his car keys jingling soon after. “I’m on my way.”

A few minutes go by and Steve knocks two times before coming in. You know he probably sped all the way over and you make a mental note to scold him after Penelope goes to sleep.

“I’m here,” he huffed out, seemingly out of breath.

Upon hearing Steve’s voice, Penelope lifts her head from your shoulder and turns to her father all teary-eyed. “Daddy!” She cried, leaning out of your arms and toward him.

He visibly freezes at her words and his eyes pan over to you, wide. “Did she just-” he’s cut off by your daughter's cries of ‘daddy’ as she tries to grab him. “Come here, baby. Daddy’s here, don’t worry, sweetheart.”

He rubs her back soothingly and she slowly lays her head on his shoulder, doing the little hiccup-sob combination as she starts to calm down.

“Daddy…” She cried, “Stay.”

“It’s okay, sweet girl.” He hushes. “Daddy’s not going anywhere, alright?”

This seems to ease her mind because a few minutes later, she’s fully asleep in his arms. You silently guide him to her room where you watch as he puts her down and tucks her in. She stirs a bit but Steve gently pats her chest and she stills.

Once the both of you were sure she wasn’t going to wake up, you exit her room and walk back to the living room. The moment you enter the room, Steve pulls you into a hug.

“She called me daddy.” He beamed happily. “She fucking called me daddy, oh my god I feel like my heart is gonna burst open, I’m so happy right now.”

You hug him back, giggling a bit. “Yeah, it surprised me too.”

The both of you stay like that for a bit before he tears himself away from you and checks the time.

“It’s getting late, I should head home.” He says with a bit of a frown. “I can come by tomorrow if it’s alright with you?”

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head. “You promised your daughter that you’d stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

You tell him he can take your room and you’ll sleep on the couch, but he refuses and says he’ll sleep on the couch instead. You protest but he shuts it down and you let out a huff but say ‘okay’ before going to get him a spare pillow and blanket for the night. You had started easing Steve into Penelope’s life little by little, starting with him visiting her at your place whenever he could (which he made sure to visit every single day no matter what). After she was comfortable with him being around, you segued into him taking her out, whether it be to the park, or to get ice cream (you also tagged along so that she was more comfortable). From that, he started taking her out, just him and her and not too long after, she started staying the night at his house.

He had done up a spare bedroom at his place just for her and she loved it so much. He pulled out all the stops for his little girl. Telling his parents about Penelope was a bit rough. He told you that they were a bit skeptical about him being the father but when Steve whipped a picture of little Penelope out of his wallet and showed them, they went silent.

From there, they were disappointed that he was so careless that it resulted in a child. He told them that they could be mad at him all they want but that he has a daughter now and he’s stepping up and although he doesn’t have a great relationship with them, he would love it if Penelope did.

They were obviously a bit hesitant but after meeting Penelope, they let their guards down. It made Steve happy that they showered her with love and affection but it also made him a bit upset because he never really experienced that from them.

He felt like this was a turning point for them, though. A good turning point.

Today was Penelope’s 4th birthday party and Steve insisted that it should be at his house. You didn’t fight him on it. You figured his house would be better suited for a birthday party than your little apartment.

A knock on the door alerts your ears and you quickly glance into the backyard, seeing Steve run around with Penelope, before opening the front door.

“Sorry I’m late,” Eddie huffs out, “the band stayed and performed late and I didn’t get home till way later and then when I woke up I couldn’t remember where I put Pen’s gift so this whole morning I was tearing up my place looking for it.” He then shows you a poorly wrapped gift box with a smile. “But I found it.”

You giggle. “You didn’t miss much, Penny’s just been playing with the kids and Steve so far.”

“Thank god.” Eddie sighs. “Where do I put this?”

“We have a table outside for gifts. Come on.” You beckon him to follow you.

Eddie sets the gift on the table then makes his rounds saying hi to everyone. Steve is chasing Penelope around the yard and he lets out a playful roar as he picks her up and catches her. She screams and he laughs, giving her a kiss before setting her down carefully.

It was then that she spotted one of her favorite Uncle’s. “Uncle Eds!!”

The little girl runs over to Eddie as fast as she could, her pink tutu that she insisted on wearing even though it was cold outside, flowing about.

“Pen!” The curly-haired musician exclaimed as he knelt down and captured her in a hug. “How’s my favorite birthday girl?”

Penelope giggles. “Uncle Eds, I’m the only birthday girl!”

“You’re right.” He smiles before giving her a big kiss. “You’re getting so big, Pen. Don’t go growing up on me too fast.”

“Ima grow bigger and faster!”

“No! Don’t say that, I’ll cry!” Eddie pulls a dramatic frowny face which makes Penelope laugh.

Steve walks up beside you with his hands on his hips; a typical Steve Harrington pose. “Please tell her to stop saying that, she tells me all the time that she’s a big girl and it breaks my heart.”

Steve pouts at his daughter and she giggles in Eddie’s arms. “Daddy don’t be sad, when I get bigger ima take care of you!”

Steve’s eyebrow quirks up and he points a finger at her. “I’ll hold you to that, little lady.”

“She’s not getting bigger, not on my watch.” Eddie says as he squishes her in a hug. “I’m gonna squeeze you in a little box so you stay little forever!”

Penelope gasps. “No!”

“Yes!”

Penelope wiggles out of Eddie's grip and starts running away from him. “No! Never ever ever!”

Eddie runs after her, telling her that he’ll never let her grow up. You giggle, watching the two and Steve turns to you.

“Everyone here?” He asks.

“Yeah, Eds was the last one to show up.”

“Alright,” he nods. “I say we let her play for a little while longer then sing happy birthday?”

“I was thinking the same thing, Harrington.”

He points to his head, then to yours and says, “Great minds think alike, Y/L/N.”

It was fairly easy to slip back into your friendship with Steve. After the awkwardness of him finding out that Penelope was his, the two of you acted as if no time had passed. It was refreshing and you didn’t realize how much you missed being around him.

To say your feelings for Steve were gone, would be a lie. Your feelings for Steve never really went away. Even if you tried so very hard to leave them behind, they only grew more when Steve would play with Penelope or spend time with her in general. He adapted to his role as a father rather quickly and you weren’t going to lie, it was attractive.

You would never tell him, though. You didn’t want to ruin the dynamic that the two of you had. Everything, so far, was good.

You had tried going on a date a while back but it fell through once you told the guy that you had a child. Steve was very upset about it. The date had lasted less than an hour. You were having a good time, asking questions about each other when you mentioned you had a daughter. The guy’s demeanor changed quickly and he closed himself off. It was awkward after that. He confirmed that you had a daughter once more and when you said yes, he cleared his throat.

“Um, I’m sorry but I don’t think this is going to work out.” He says. “You’re a great girl but-”

“But me having a kid is a problem.” You finish his sentence in a mono-tone pitch.

“No!” The guys exclaimed. “It’s just- It’s kind of-”

He stumbles over his words, trying to save face but you shake your head and pull out money for your meal, placing it on the table.

“It’s fine. I know me having a child isn’t ideal but maybe you should try to at least be an adult about it.”

The guy scoffs. “I’m not about to play step-daddy to someone else’s kid.”

You roll your eyes and stand up. “Grow up.” You say before walking out.

You understand that dating someone who has a child could be a bit scary but he didn’t even give it a chance! He closed off the minute you mentioned Penelope.

You pull up to Steve’s house and slam your door shut in annoyance.

‘I’m not about to play step-daddy to someone else’s kid’

Get real.

You knock on the door and patiently wait for Steve to open it.

“Hey,” he says when he sees you on the other side. “Why are you here so early? I thought you had a date?”

“I did.” He can sense the annoyance in your voice and he moves aside to let you in. You put your purse down on his table and turn to face him. “He wasn’t too keen on the fact that I have a kid.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow and he’s about to ask what the dude said but it’s like you read his mind because you tell him.

“Said he’s not about to play step-daddy to a kid that’s somebody else’s.”

“What the hell?” He has a look of disgust flushed across his face.

“Yeah,” you nod. “He didn’t even wait a few minutes before he was telling me that it ‘wasn’t going to work out’ between us! The minute I mentioned Penny, he shut down.” You huff out, running your fingers through your now messy hair.

“What a dick!” Steve is visibly baffled. “Welcome to the real world! There’s a chance that you might date someone who has a kid!”

“Right?” You agree. “Like I get it, I’m young and I have a toddler and yeah that’s kind of scary but he didn’t even give it a chance!”

Steve’s hands are on his hips as he shakes his head. “God, what an asshole. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Eh,” you shrug. “Probably dodged a bullet anyway.”

“Definitely.”

“I’m never gonna date again. I’m gonna be lonely forever!” You groan.

“No you won’t,” Steve reassures as he pats your shoulder. “There’s someone out there who will want to be with you and doesn’t mind that you have a kid.”

“Suuuuuure,” you mumble. “When you find him, let me know, alright?”

Steve chuckled. “You got it, sweetheart.”

Penelope comes running into the room shortly after, practically leaping into your arms and you cradle her to you. She tells you that her and Steve are gonna watch movies all night long but both you and Steve know she’s most likely going to fall asleep in the middle of the first movie.

She asks if you’re going to stay and watch movies with them and Steve encourages you to do so.

“What, you’re gonna go home and sulk about what a crappy date this was? Nuh uh. Stay and watch movies with your family.” He tells you.

“Yeah!” Penelope adds. “Watch movies with family! Daddy got the movie with the kitties!”

Aristocats has been Penelope’s favorite movie recently.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stay.”

Penelope is happy and the three of you move to the couch. Steve puts the movie in and Penny sits in between the two of you, knocking out exactly midway into the film.

Steve puts her in her room then comes back out, coaxing you to stay for another movie. It works and he pops in ‘Just One Of The Guys’. You two enjoy each other's company and toward the end of the movie, you and Steve are fast asleep on the couch.

You gathered everyone around the table that held the cake as Penelope climbed on top of the chair. Steve puts a pink birthday hat on her little head and she insists that both you and him put one on as well.

You oblige with her wishes and put a pink hat on. Jonathan wastes no time with taking pictures of the three of you. He’d develop them as soon as he could and give them to you.

Penelope’s eyes scanned the yard as she beamed happily at everyone. Both yours and Steve’s parents were there, the Party, Eddie, Nancy, Robin, and Jonathan- all in attendance for your daughter's fourth birthday party. Your heart swelled knowing all the people that were present loved your daughter just as much as you and Steve did.

You all sang happy birthday to Penelope and she blew out the candles, causing everyone to cheer.

“Wait!” She shouts with her eyes squeezed shut. “I’m still wishing!”

“Oh! Sorry, sweet girl. Everyone shhh!” Steve says.

Everyone quiets down and Penelope is heard murmuring underneath her breath but no one can make out what she’s saying. After a bit, she opens her eyes and smiles.

“I’m done!”

Everyone cheers again and you cut the cake and plate it while Steve hands them out. When Penelope’s done eating her slice of cake, you start opening the gifts.

“Okay, this one is from Uncle Dusty.” You hand her the gift and she tears it open excitedly.

“A tea party!!” She yells out happily, turning to her father. “Daddy, we can play tea party! Thank you, Uncle Dusty! You’re my favorite!”

Dustin tells the four-year-old that she’s welcome as he beamed at her words. Eddie, however, wasn’t taking it too well.

“What?!” He exclaimed. “What about me? I was your favorite earlier!”

Penelope giggles. “Uncle dusty gave me a tea party so he’s my favorite now!”

Eddie sulks as she continues to open her gifts and Dustin sticks his tongue out at the musician in a mocking manner. Not too long after, however, Penelope opens Eddie’s gift.

“Oh. My. Gosh.” She enunciated every word. “It’s a guitar!! Uncle Eds, it looks like the one you have!! Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh!!”

Although it was a toy guitar, you and Steve knew you would never know what silence felt like after this moment.

Steve rubs his face with his hands when he sees the gift. “Oh no…”

Penelope had been obsessed with Eddie’s guitar from the moment she saw it. She always wanted Eddie to play it and she always wanted to touch it. Eddie would tell you she was a musical prodigy in the making.

You and Steve give each other the same look before you say, “Say goodbye to the peacefulness.”

Steve groans while Penelope jumps up and down happily. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re my favorite now, Uncle Eds! We can play guitar together!!”

“Any time you want, Pen.” Eddie smiles at his niece before locking eyes with Dustin who stared at him with a blank face. Eddie mouths, “In your face!”

You finish up the gifts and the kids play with Penny for a little bit before you can tell that she’s beginning to get tired. You and Steve end the birthday party, thanking everyone for coming as they left. Once they were gone, Steve put Penelope down for a very much needed nap while you started picking up.

Steve joins you not too long after and when you’ve finished cleaning up, the pair of you slump down on the couch, exhausted.

“Penelope’s fourth birthday party was a success. Nice work, Y/L/N.” He raises his hand for a high-five, and you meet him halfway.

“Can’t take all the credit. You did most of the work.” You tell him.

“Yeah, but you gave birth to her. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be here celebrating her turning four.” He smiles at you affectionately before his smile drops. “Oh my god, she’s four. My baby’s four.”

“Yep,” you nod. “And she’ll only get older from here.”

“Don’t remind me.” He pouts. “I want her to stay little forever.”

You laugh as he sulks for a bit. The two of you sit in silence and you close your eyes for a little before you feel Steve shift in his seat.

“Y/N?” He says and you open your eyes to find him facing you.

“Yeah?”

Steve bites his lip and his fingers tap against his jean-covered thigh. His habit every time he’s nervous.

“Um,” he starts. “We’ve been doing good, right? I mean, co-parenting and all.”

“Yeah…” You have no clue where this conversation is headed.

“And our relationship with each other is good. We don’t fight or argue or anything-”

“Steve,” you cut him off. “Spit it out already.”

You start to think he’s trying to ease into telling you that he was seeing someone, and you were preparing yourself to hear it, but his next words threw you off.

“I have feelings for you.” He says quickly and your eyebrows furrow as you sit up to look at him more clearly. “Well, I’ve always had feelings for you. They never went away. I just never said anything because you said you weren’t ready to revisit us romantically but, I don’t know, today just-” He sighs deeply, his fingers combing through his hair. “You look so beautiful today- well, you look beautiful every day and we work so well together that it got me thinking about what life would be like if we were, you know, together. As a couple.”

“Steve…”

“I know, okay? I know I fucked up back then and I know you’re hesitant but god, Y/N, you take up so much space in my head. You and Penny. That’s all I care about. That’s all I want and that’s all I’ll ever need. Ever since you walked out of my house almost five years ago, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I haven’t been on a date since- well, since I was with Nancy because I didn’t want to be with anyone else but you. I want to be with you, Y/N. I want us to be a family, officially. Me, you, and Penny in a big house. I wanna come home from work and know that I hit the jackpot because I get to see my two favorite girls every single day of my life. I want-” He takes a minute to breathe before he takes your hand softly. “I want you.”

He’s looking into your eyes and you just know that he means every word that he’s said just now.

You don’t know if it’s butterflies in your stomach or if you’re gonna throw up.

“Steve,” you breathe out.

“Please say you feel the same way.” He says softly. “If you don’t, that’s okay and we can just go back to how we were before I confessed all of this but if there’s even a slight chance that you feel the same way, please give me the chance to make you happy for the rest of your life.”

A smile makes its way to your lips and your eyebrow quirks up. “For the rest of my life, huh?”

“Mmm Hmm,” he hums. “For the rest of your life, for the rest of my life, for the rest of our lives… I’m in it for the long run.”

“Steve,” you say softly. You watch as the boy in front of you hangs on to your every word, anticipating what you’ll say next. He looks nervous and scared, but also hopeful. You lean in and kiss his cheek softly. His eyes close as he relishes in the feeling. “You’re in luck because I feel the same way.”

His eyes snap open and they sparkle in the light. “Really?”

“Really.” You giggle. “My feelings never went away either.”

“Oh my god.” He breathed out, pulling you into a hug.

You stay like that for a bit before pulling away. “I want to take this slow, though. I wanna do this right, I don’t want to rush things, Steve.”

He looks at you affectionately, rubbing the skin of your cheek with his thumb.

“I’ll do whatever you want, Y/N, as long as I get to be with you in the end.”

Tags:

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[thebirdsandthebats]

Okay @s-p-r-i-n-g-t-i-m-e I’m sure you know plenty BUT I’m going to use your wonderful and hilarious comment on this as an excuse to talk about Bernard, bc I realized recently that there are plenty of ppl who haven’t read most of the comics he’s been in. So get ready for my long overdue:

UNPACKING BERNARD DOWD + HIS TRAUMA (for those who cannot keep up with comics but want to get to know him)

So to start, Tim met Bernard years ago ofc, when they were in high school. It’s established pretty quick that Bernard is an extremely Unserious guy LMAO, the first thing he does is literally circle Tim and try to feel him out socially, see what kind of guy he is. He’s the kind of guy who gets himself in trouble with his big mouth, and seems to enjoy poking at Tim and testing his patience. By the time we meet Bernard again in the recent years, he’s grown a lot, but at his core he’s still the light-hearted, fun, goofy guy with very strong opinions. Just less stand-offish, maybe

Throughout the time Tim spends at this school though, Bernard does experience some wild shit. He lost Darla (somebody he really cared about), he experienced a shooting at his school, and then Darla came back from the dead, kind of scared the hell out of him, and used him to contact Tim again. It was kind of played for laughs, but like. That’s gotta fuck you up. (Robin #140)

Obviously this is the kind of thing that maybeee has a lasting effect on you. And BECAUSE Tim Drake: Robin got cut so short and the writer had to rush to wrap up the series, we’re left to fill in a lot of gaps and draw conclusions about the years we didn’t see Bernard ourselves. But we absolutely get some insight as to his life after Tim left that school and we stopped seeing him in the comics. Spoiler alert: it was hard.

In TDR, Bernard discusses the the cult that he’d been in that Tim saved him from in Urban Legends. He says that “he’d accepted himself”, but others hadn’t. Obviously there’s the natural reading that he means his queerness (which has me chewing through drywall), but I think that he’s speaking very broadly too. Bernard is a very odd example of a civilian, because he’s always getting dragged into things much bigger than him. And even before that, he had his big ideas, his conspiracies, his loud personality. He tended to rub people the wrong way in high school. Then in issue #7 of TDR (the Bernard pov issue my most beloved, weird pacing aside) Bernard refers to this “oozy, sticky feeling” that he ALWAYS feels when Tim isn’t around. He says when he’s alone it’s harder to put one foot in front of the other. To keep GOING. To wake up every day.

I think that Bernard has always felt like an outcast. (Robin #121, he doesn’t fit into any clique). He wasn’t as okay with it as he acted. And I think he wasn’t getting any attention from his parents. (Batman: Urban Legends #5, Bernard’s parents nonchalance to the days leading up to his kidnapping)

So just like Bernard explained to Tim, that feeling got bad. and he wanted to let go. The chaos monsters, the cult, all of it was a means to an end. But then Tim agreed to see him again, and I think that sparked something in him. Because he started learning to fight. When he was tied down to that alter and Tim was saving him, I think it fully sank in to Bernard that he didn’t want to die. Reconnecting with Tim gave him hope and made him really feel something good for the first time in ages.

So now that they’re dating after the cult fiasco, we get to know this current Bernard. A less goading, maybe calmer Bernard. But he’s still himself, of course, rambling about his ideas and making bad jokes and sticking to his guns (he has NEVER been a pushover, no idea where people get that idea?). I think a lot of people complained that Bernard mellowed out too much in terms of attitude, but I think if he seems “nicer” it’s because 1) he’s grown now. It’s been a while since we last saw him, and he’s clearly changed a lot. And 2) because he’s dating Tim now. He likes him a lot, and he’s an affectionate partner. He wants to lift Tim up.

But the fact that he was pulled into a cult still remains. And as lighthearted as Bernard tries to be, that traumatic experience still happened. It said in Urban Legends #5 while Tim was searching for him that Bernard had welts on his arms and legs and had been acting different, so it’s not like he was just snatched up on a whim. He’d spent significant time there. For those who haven’t read much abt the ways cult trauma specifically can fuck you up, I recommend doing a search if you’re in a good headspace for that and want to understand him more. because it’s pretty bad.

And then! yeah. you guessed it. Bernard gets kidnapped again. Chained up next to a BOMB that’s counting down. RIGHT WHEN HE’S WORKING ON HEALING FROM ALMOST BEING SACRIFICED BY A CULT.

And surely this can’t get crazier. He’s almost died twice in the past 6 months. except, remember his parents? In TD:R #7, we really see a little more of his relationship with his parents. He doesn’t live up to their standards, and his dad specifically seems to just want to argue with him. The restaurant they’re at is attacked, and everything goes to shit, and. you know, I think these panels really speak for themselves.

And for the record, when it’s revealed that everyone is seeing their worst fears, Bernard’s parents fears are not about him.

So now Bernard has to deal with that. And we start to see that Bernard is really not as okay as he’s tried to be. He keeps a baseball bat by his door because he’s been kidnapped twice now. And just when he’d likely thought things couldn’t get worse, he heard the Chaos Monsters were back. I can’t imagine he feels safe. He lashes out for the first time since all this has happened and yells at Kate and Tim, because while they’re doing what they feel is necessary to save more people (AND I DONT BLAME THEM AT ALL), Bernard can’t talk about it.

And I will forever be sad and insist that TD:R got cancelled too soon, just before we could get into the really juicy stuff, because things had to be wrapped up pretty quick and this was the only comic Bernard was consistently appearing in. But when Tim is giving himself up to the chaos monsters, Bernard goes out and rallies anyone he knows can help. Things were rushed because there was no more time to flesh out the story the way it could have been, but I’m including these panels just because I love Bernard Audacity Dowd using a fucking flashlight and shadow puppet to call Batman. geeking out for a minute. And then leading the battalion to save Tim with a SLEDGEHAMMER. gay people rule.

So yeah! While I see the vision of how a lot of Bernard’s trauma was meant to be semi-resolved and let him come to peace after saving Tim back, we just didn’t have the time for him to heal properly. I’d give anything to get inside his brain again. UHH IF YOU READ THIS I HOPE YOU LOVE BERNARD NOW and don’t come at me if I left something out, some of my comics aren’t with me rn. Bonus TimBer for the road:

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

High Infidelity

Regulus Black x f!reader, Sirius Black x f!reader (mentioned)

warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, slight mention of fingering, underage drinking, cheating sorry guys i couldn’t stop myself

summary: your boyfriend sirius and his friends have never felt welcoming. but his little brother is…

word count: 5.3k

a/n: once again i’m bad at summaries so basically you fuck regulus spoiler alert hahaha. inspired by taylor swift of course. she’s been inspiring too much smut from me tbh. anywaysss. hope you enjoy (my sneaky link “broke up” w me today and i’m devastated) so here’s this !!!

~~~

April 20, 1978

“That’s precisely what I was thinking Moony!”

“Are you sure Padfoot? I got the understanding that it was you and Prongs who shared thoughts.”

“I second that.”

“Honestly I believe if James didn’t have Lily, you blokes would be together.”

“Definitely.”

“Well, Sirius also has y/n as well.”

You felt the boy beside you brush your shoulder with his, and you gave him a smile. “Oh, yes.”

The conversation continued, but you zoned out once again. You played with the vegetables on your plate and tapped your foot. Anxiety was a common thing you felt during meals with your boyfriend and his friend group. They were wonderful, but you always felt they had something secretly against you.

You were a year younger than your boyfriend, you were in Slytherin, you were pureblood, and you were cordial with the other members of your house. You weren’t stupid enough to believe the Marauders didn’t suspect something bad of you, or the Gryffindor girls. Some of them were muggle born and while you didn’t care much for blood purity, you could tell they thought you did.

When you and Sirius had begun dating a few months earlier, you were far from oblivious to the initial disapproval of his friends. You could see the skeptical looks Lily would share with her friends; you could hear the small whispers in classes. It didn’t bother you at first, in fact, you understood their distrust. You thought it would go away with time. But by the end of your second month dating their friend, you realized it was never going to change.

Your relationship with Sirius in short was far from perfect. You liked him, of course, and he liked you. However, it was clear neither of you saw it lasting forever. Deep in the corners of your mind, you’d thought it that before, a life with the infamous Sirius Black. You imagined the two of you would get your own flat after you graduated, you’d be shunned of course by your family, but it wouldn’t matter because you’d have him. Realistically though, you knew that life would never be possible. If he didn’t care enough to tell you why he sneaks off on full moons, if he didn’t care enough to let you in on jokes, if he didn’t care enough to even assure his friends fully that you weren’t like the rest of your house, you’d never have a life with him.

Without thinking about it, your eyes drifted across the great hall to a certain person in your house. He sat straight with a smile on his face as he conversed with his mates. A piece of his hair was in his eye, you watched as he brushed it away. You always wondered why people said he wasn’t as good-looking as his brother. He was just as handsome in your opinion. He was tall, his eyes were starry, and his black curls were never frizzy. His accomplishments spoke for themself. Top of the year, star seeker for Slytherin, prefect, he was the ideal boy. His only flaw in your eyes was his obsession with Voldemort and blood purity. Though your family and his were close in that aspect, you never cared much for the topic. He did though.

Suddenly, his eyes met yours. You watched his smile falter for a few seconds and a different expression formed. You looked away quickly, your cheeks turned pink. That wasn’t the first time you’d been caught staring at Regulus Black during dinner. It was far from it.

~~~

That night you sat alone by the fire in your common room. You’d been invited up to Sirius’s dorm with a promise that the other Marauders wouldn’t be there, but you declined. Sirius was a great shag; it would be impossible for him not to be with how many girls he’d been with. Truthfully, you didn’t like the number of girls that came before you, but you never said anything. You simply weren’t in the mood that night for any more patronizing looks, so you opted to silently work on homework instead.

After some time of working, the door opened. You instinctively looked up and found your pulse quicken as you were met with the beautiful eyes of Regulus Black. He was with his friends, Barty Crouch Jr, and Evan Rosier, but his eyes were on you. You looked down at the sheets of paper in your lap and pretended to not notice the sound of Regulus telling his friends to go up to their dorm without him. When they left though, you were forced to drop the act.

“I thought you’d be up in the Gryffindor tower with all your blood traitor and mudblood friends,” he said after taking a few steps closer to you.

You swallowed and kept your eyes on your paper. “I wasn’t in the mood, and they aren’t really my friends.”

“Really? Y/n you’re shagging my brother I’m not daft.”

He was slowly getting closer; you could see his shoes in your peripheral vision. You subconsciously held your breath. You kept your composure as well as you could.

“Great observation Reg, not as if the whole school knows that. And besides, since when have you cared about that?”

“I always care when someone with blood as pure as yours taints it with someone like my blood traitor brother,” he replied as if it were obvious. “Plus, if you have forgotten I’ve caught you staring at me at least a dozen times within the past month.”

Your cheeks turned bright red. “About that-”

“Look at me.”

His sudden authority made a warm feeling spread in your stomach. Slowly, you lifted your head to look up at him. He was close, barely a foot away. There was an expression on his face you once again couldn’t fully understand. You watched him examine your blushing face in silence.

“Go on then, explain yourself,” he said after a few seconds.

“I didn’t mean to; it was just an... accident,” you mumbled, your eyes moving around the room as you spoke.

Regulus tisked and without warning bent down slightly and gently touched his fingers to your chin. You were speechless. “I prefer to be looked at when spoken to y/n it’s a sign of respect. Can you do that?” You nodded and he moved to his previous position of standing. “Continue.”

“Like I said it was an accident, I sort of space out a lot and I guess my eyes go back to our table,” you continued. You stared in his eyes the entire time as your heart began to beat in your ears.

“I would’ve believed that if it had happened only once or twice, but this has been quite a few times. What is Sirius not fulfilling you enough?”

“No, it’s nothing like that he’s great I just... I dunno. You’re just...” You found it hard to speak with his eyes on you. “I dunno all right? Let’s just forget it’s ever happened yeah?”

It was the truth. You really didn’t know what it was that made you stare at him. It was just something. He fascinated you with his complexity. Sirius was outgoing and popular, but Regulus was closed off and reserved. He’d only had one known girlfriend in Hogwarts, he only talked to his friends, and he was mysterious. He was the opposite of his brother. And you found it perplexing.

“If you say so,” he spoke after a moment. Then he turned and started to walk toward the staircase to the boy's dorm. But before he was too far, he looked back at you with a sliver of a smirk. “You can talk to me though, if you need to. You don’t have to simply stare because my brother is insecure.”

He disappeared up the stairs before you could reply. And you spent the rest of the evening with his words replaying in your head.

~~~

April 22, 1978

You sat at lunch; Sirius’s arm was draped over your shoulders, and he shook as he laughed hysterically at something James said. You tried to put on a fake smile, but you weren’t sure how convincing it was. There was something about the way Sirius held you that made you feel off. You felt almost trapped. You felt as though you were being tested or put on display.

As if it was a sixth sense, your eyes looked at the one table you’d been purposely avoiding. He was already looking at you, it caused your breath to catch in your throat. For a few seconds, the two of you stared at each other, what felt like a mutual feeling of understanding was communicated through your eyes. So, when he nodded to the doorway you understood completely what he wanted. And you agreed.

“I’ve got to run down to my dorm I just remembered I forgot my essay for McGonagal.” You made up an excuse. From across the hall, you noticed Regulus already walking toward the exit. “I should go get it before class.”

Sirius dropped his arm from your shoulders and smiled. “You’re too forgetful y/n/n, but be quick I was hoping to get a quick snog in before that dreadful class.”

“Right, I’ll be as quick as I can,” you said as you stood up. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek, ignoring the eyes that were on you. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”

“I could never!” He exclaimed as you began to walk away.

Truthfully, you weren’t too sure of where Regulus went. You relied on the gut feeling in your stomach to guide you. With anxiety and anticipation flowing through your body, you made your way down a few halls before you found an abandoned classroom. The door was open a sliver, and somehow you knew it was the one.

He was inside, leaning on one of the desks with his arms crossed over his chest. “Close the door.”

You didn’t hesitate to listen to his request. Once it was closed you turned back to face him. “I don’t... I don’t really know what to say.”

“You looked like you needed to escape, you don’t have to talk,” he replied. His face was almost soft. “Am I the only one who knows how you feel?”

“You don’t know how I feel,” you mumbled.

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Just because you haven’t told me doesn’t mean I can’t read your face. It’s almost unbearable how miserable you look while you sit there. Why do you do it?”

You only stared at him, almost starstruck. Has he always been so observant? Or was your pain noticeable? You didn’t know what came over you, but you only acted on it. Before you could stop yourself, you moved across the room until you were barely a foot away from him. Regulus has always been perceived as cold and rude, but in that moment, he looked at you with sincerity no one could deny. Regulus knew you. That was all it took.

Without another thought you grabbed his tie and crashed your lips on his. His lips were soft and warm. Unlike his brothers, Regulus’s lips didn’t feel as though they’d been kissed thousands of times. He felt far less welcoming but nevertheless inviting. But your senses came flooding back fast and you pushed yourself away from him.

You stepped back and covered your burning lips with your hand. “Oh my... I’m- I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have. Fuck I’m terrible.”

“Y/n-”

“No, I can’t do this. I have to go.” You cut him off as you began to move to the door, tears forming in your eyes.

The last thing you heard was Regulus calling your name before you ran down to your dorm.

~~~

April 23, 1978

He was watching you. You could feel his eyes burning into you through every class and meal. Is that how he felt all those times you’d stared at him? It was uncomfortable, to say the least. You tried to pretend he wasn’t, you really did. But it was nearly impossible. You made sure you were accompanied by Sirius or one of your other friends throughout the entire day until you weren’t.

You were just running to the bathroom. You thought it would be quick enough for him to even notice you slipped out of class. It was stupid of you to think that. Just as you were about to enter the girl's bathroom, you felt a hand grab one of your wrists to stop you.

“You can’t avoid this y/n,” he said softly.

You inhaled sharply, refusing to look at him. “Let me go Regulus.”

“I don’t care about what happened and I’m not going to tell on you if that’s what you’re worried about,” he replied quickly.

“Then what do you want? I just- it was a mistake all right?” You felt your heart pounding in your chest. His hand was still on your wrist, your skin practically burned from the contact.

“Look at me.” His voice was hard. You turned slowly to look at him. His expression was soft, he looked almost... worried. “I know we’ve never been that close, but I suppose I’m now involved in your issues. You can talk to me; I want you to talk to me. You can’t keep all of whatever you’re feeling built up inside. It’ll only make you act out impulsively like yesterday.”

You let out a shaky breath. “It was a mistake. It should have never happened I was just... overwhelmed.”

“I know. And I don’t blame you.”

You hated how he said just the right words to make you fold completely.

“They don’t trust me. Even your brother. They seem to think I have some deep plot or that I want to murder the muggle-borns. It’s just... it’s too much Reg. I hate being constantly watched, it’s like they’re waiting for me to make a wrong move that proves their theories.”

“So, why don’t you leave?”

His question caught you off guard. Why didn’t you leave? You hadn’t really thought about it. Sure, you knew that you and Sirius were going to end eventually. But you hadn’t given much thought to how it would occur. Perhaps a mutual agreement? You didn’t know. And you told Regulus exactly that.

“Well, then it’s your fault you feel this way,” he replied.

You scoffed and pulled your wrist from his grip. “Thanks, Reg, you really know how to cheer a girl up.”

“Do you want me to lie and say it’s not your fault? Sorry, I’ll give it another go. It’s not your fault at all y/n, you’re being forced to be around my blood-traitor brother and all his mud-blood friends.” His voice was cold, but for some reason, it didn’t make you feel small. “Was that better?”

“Listen I know I have the choice but it’s just... it’s hard when you care about someone,” you said, ignoring his question.

He sighed and shook his head. “If leaving isn’t what you plan on, then I suppose you’ll have to settle on talking to Sirius about how you feel. I assume you haven’t done that yet?” You shook your head, and he rolled his eyes. “Then talk to him and see if maybe that helps.”

“But what if-”

“If he reacts badly then you break up with him, it’s not that hard to comprehend y/n. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to return to our class, so no one gets any more suspicious.” He cut you off.

You were left outside the girl's bathroom with your mind racing, and your wrist still tingling where Regulus had held it.

~~~

April 25, 1978

It took you over a day to muster up the courage to follow through with Regulus’s suggestion. No wonder you weren’t in Gryffindor. The opportunity for you to speak with Sirius alone came after lunch when the two of you had a free period. As usual, you spent most of the time up in Sirius’s bed. So, as the two of you laid next to each other, spent from another good time, you decided it was a good time to bring up how you felt.

“Sirius,” you spoke softly. Your head was on his chest, your fingers drawing circles on his skin. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“’ Course love, anything,” he replied sweetly.

You inhaled deeply and kept your head down. “We’ve been seeing each other for a decent amount of time now and I’ve enjoyed it very much, but it’s just...” You swallowed. “Your friends... they don’t accept me.”

“How do you mean?”

“Come on, don’t you see how they treat me? They always give me these looks; they whisper about me. I’m sure they’ve all voiced their concern about me to you,” you answered.

“They don’t mean it to make you feel bad, they just you know... Lily is muggle-born, and so is Mary.”

“I’m aware of that. That has nothing to do with me, you should know I don’t care about blood status.”

“Well yes but your house, the people you are friends with, they care. You can’t blame my friends for being weary.”

You sat up and looked at Sirius, suddenly full of anger. “I am not like the other people in my house, and it’s hypocritical for them to judge me based on that. Have I ever proven myself to be anything like the other Slytherins?”

“No, but-”

“But nothing Sirius. I’m not like them, and it hurts that you don’t even bother to make your friends believe that.” You cut him off. You got off his bed and began to gather your clothes. “It’s clear I’m not welcome here.”

“Y/n-”

You began to button your shirt. “No Sirius it’s fine, I understand. I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be welcoming, I suppose that assumption was wrong too.”

Just as you were about to bend down to retrieve your tie, you felt Sirius’s warm hands on your hips. Instinctively, you turned to look at him. He stared up at you with a frown on his face. You hated how perfect he still looked with such a sour expression.

“You’re right, I should advocate for you more. I’ll do that from now on. You are nothing like the other Slytherins, you’re perfect y/n. I’m sorry for not catching on to this sooner.” His words were sincere, you could tell. It made your anger subside.

“Thank you,” you said, a small smile on your lips.

“Now, can you get back into bed for a little longer?” He asked.

You nodded with a chuckle and slid back beneath the sheets. Though you felt relieved and happy at the outcome of your conversation, you couldn’t help but think about what Regulus’s reaction to the news would be.

For some reason, you knew he wouldn’t be pleased.

~~~

April 26, 1978

His eyes searched your face; you tried your hardest to keep your expression neutral. The two of you were up in the astronomy tower, the glow of the moon and stars your only source of light. You didn’t know why you felt almost ashamed telling him about the conversation you had with Sirius. Something deep within you knew the outcome wasn’t what the younger Black brother wanted.

“I’m a bit confused,” he said after a moment of silence.

“What about?”

“If the conversation truly went as you say it did, why aren’t you happy?”

“What do you mean? I am happy. I think I even saw a bit of improvement today,” you answered honestly.

Regulus only shrugged and turned to look off the balcony. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I really am happy Reg this is what I wanted. Now they won’t be so judgmental and perhaps I’ll start to finally feel welcomed,” you replied.

You stared at him for a minute. The soft glow of the moonlight illuminated his features in a way you’d never seen before. He was handsome. With his sharp jawline, his dark curly hair, and his prominent cheekbones how could he not be handsome?

Eventually, he turned his eyes back to you, and for a split second, your breath caught in your throat. There was something intense in his light eyes that you couldn’t decode. It made heat rush straight to your face.

“All right, if that’s what you want,” he said. “See you around.”

With that, he left. And you almost followed him, almost.

~~~

April 27, 1978

Something was wrong with you. Very wrong.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the one boy in Hogwarts you really shouldn’t have been thinking about. It was wrong, especially in the way you were thinking about him. You tried to distract yourself in every way you could. With your friends, with Sirius, with schoolwork. But nothing worked.

Perhaps it was the intense dream you’d had the previous night that kept your mind wandering. After all, who could simply brush off an intense sexual dream about their boyfriend's brother? It made you blush and feel ashamed each time it crossed your mind throughout the day. And when you saw Regulus around the school, you almost fell apart.

It was as though a switch had been flipped inside you. Gone were the innocent friendly thoughts you had about the younger Black brother. They were replaced by awfully inappropriate ones.

But you were determined to make them vanish. Because to act on such thoughts would be terrible.

Right?

~~~

April 28, 1978

Avoiding Regulus was hard given he was in almost all your classes, and he shared the same common room as you. But you tried your hardest. You spent the day clung to Sirius as much as you could, despite the fact you were upset with him. Being around him meant being away from his brother. That was the important thing.

Things between you and Sirius’s friends had not changed much. You wondered if he had even said anything to them. If he did, it didn’t seem like it. It hurt you, but it didn’t occupy your thoughts as much as it previously had.

Actually, it made you realize something you were too afraid to admit.

Regulus seemed to care more about your feelings than your boyfriend.

That thought scared you. And it only made your improper thoughts about him grow.

~~~

April 29, 1978

You sat up in the Astronomy tower with your legs dangling off the balcony, a bottle of firewhiskey beside you. For the first time in months, you couldn’t deal with your thoughts without a substance. Luckily your boyfriend had a stash of alcohol and was able to spare you a small bottle. So, you took it with a big thank you and practically ran up to the tower. You needed to clear your head. You needed to escape.

There was a slight breeze, it made you clutch your robe tighter around your body. The alcohol helped too. You took another swig, a sigh escaping your lips at the feeling. You liked the way it made your chest warm, and how it made the thoughts of Regulus fade.

Suddenly, you heard footsteps. You gathered the bottle into your robe but remained seated. Whoever it was, they’d catch you anyway. There weren’t many hiding spaces in the tower. So, you prepared for an angry Filch to scold you.

“I figured you’d be up here, your roommates said they hadn’t seen you, neither did my brother.” The gentle voice of the boy you were trying to avoid spoke.

You whipped your head around fast, your mouth hung open slightly. He was only a few feet away from you, and still getting closer. “You talked to him about me?”

“Told him we have a project together and he still wasn’t very welcoming. I see why you feel out of place now,” he answered as he lowered himself to sit beside you. “Care to share any of that with me?”

“Since when do you drink Mr. Prefect?” You questioned skeptically.

He shrugged. “I’ve indulged before, is that surprising? I am almost of age you know.”

“You just don’t seem like the type that’s all,” you replied honestly. You removed the bottle from under your robe and handed it to him. “I’m a bit ahead of you though.”

Regulus didn’t reply. Instead, he popped the cap off the bottle and took a few swigs. You watched carefully, unable to hide your smile when his face scrunched up from the bitterness. Even then, he was still beautiful.

“Wine is much better than this,” he said after a minute as he handed the bottle back to you.

You nodded. “Taste wise, yes, but this gets you drunk much faster.”

“Is that what you want? To get drunk?”

You nodded again and took a swig from the bottle. He had a point, firewhiskey tasted awful. But you needed it, especially since Regulus had caught you alone and even more because he looked far too good in the moonlight.

“I thought things were going to get better with my brother,” he spoke.

“I thought so too but it seems he isn’t good at keeping his word,” you replied with a frown.

Regulus chuckled and took the bottle again. “Well look at him, he’s a filthy blood traitor, what do you see in him?”

“He’s kind, outgoing, very fun to party with, and of course one of the most handsome boys in the school,” you answered. You couldn’t help but smile when Regulus rolled his eyes. “None of that matters though. We’ll be splitting up soon.”

“Yeah?”

The hope in his voice was undeniable. It made your heart rate quicken.

“Yeah. He’ll be leaving school soon and we never really planned to last this long anyway so it only makes sense that we’ll be splitting.”

As he handed you the bottle back, your fingers brushed. You held in your breath, your mouth suddenly felt dry, and a tingle began in the small place where his skin met yours. Your eyes met again and from the way his starry eyes suddenly appeared darker you knew he felt what you did.

You should’ve looked away. You knew you should’ve. You’d like to blame the alcohol for the way you felt, but Regulus Black had proven himself to be more magnetic than any boy you’d ever met so there was no use excusing it. So, despite the fact it was wrong, you didn’t move when he started to lean closer.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, his voice quieter than before.

“I’m sure you are,” you replied. He was close, his lips only inches away from yours.

“Why’s that?” He asked.

His eyes were so beautiful, you could barely focus on the words that came out of his mouth. “Because you...”

Your eyes fluttered shut and you felt his soft lips brush against yours. He was so gentle; you could barely even feel him. And after only a few seconds he pulled back. Your eyes remained closed.

“Because I’m...?”

“Reg, don’t make me ask you.”

“Oh, but I want to hear it so bad.”

“Just shut up and kiss me already.”

He didn’t hesitate to fulfill your request and soon enough he was kissing you with an intensity you weren’t sure you ever felt before. One of his hands fell to your waist, his fingers quickly untucking your shirt from your skirt. You let your fingers run through his curls as you’d imagined doing so many times over the previous days.

When he pushed you back and urged you to lie down, you did it. When he pushed your knees apart and slid between your legs you didn’t protest. It was terrible, you were cheating on your boyfriend with his little brother. But at that moment no thoughts could even register in your head. All you could think about was how good Regulus’s body felt against yours and how good he was at kissing.

Perhaps things moved faster than they should’ve. Perhaps they should’ve never moved in that direction to begin with. Either way, within only a few minutes both of your robes were discarded and one of Regulus’s hands was between your thighs. His lips remained on yours as he toyed with you, his soft kiss engulfed each of your moans. You traced your fingertips up and down his back, your hand under his shirt. He was soft but rough, he was perfect.

“I want you,” he suddenly whispered against your lips.

Your eyes opened, he pulled back a bit, and your eyes met his. He didn’t stop his fingers; you could barely think of what to say. “I want you too Reg.”

“Right now?” He asked.

“Right now,” you assured him breathlessly.

You watched him fumble with his belt for a few seconds before he distracted you with another kiss. He was intoxicating, to say the least. Every one of your senses was flooded with Regulus Black. The scent of his cologne, the feeling of his hands under your skirt, the taste of the firewhiskey he’d previously drank, the sound of his shallow breath, the brief glimpses you stole of his pretty face, it was almost too much for you to handle.

Once his belt was finally undone you felt him shift and you knew what was to come. You didn’t think of stopping him for a second. Instead, you threaded your fingers back in his black curls and held him tighter. He pushed your panties to the side and without warning began to slowly push his cock inside you.

You bit down on his lip, your back arched off the floor, and your thighs squeezed around him. He didn’t stutter with his movements and began to thrust in and out at a pace that made your head spin and your insides warm.

After a few minutes, he began to trail his mouth down your neck, the sensation making it impossible for you to stay quiet. You gripped one of his biceps with your hand and your eyes squeezed shut as he fucked you. He was careful despite the heat of the moment, however. You were silently grateful. No marks would be left on your skin.

“Reg,” you moaned. “Fuck Reg.”

He staggered for a moment. “Are you okay?” The vibration of his voice on your skin made you almost moan again.

“Yes, yes. Please don’t stop,” you whimpered.

It would be impossible for you to know exactly how long it went on. But by the time it was over, you felt no effects from the alcohol you’d drank before. You came hard, arguably harder than you’d ever come in your life. Regulus did something to you that you couldn’t understand. So, when he asked if it was ok for him to finish inside you said yes.

The two of you laid next to each other in the aftermath, a few inches between your bodies. Sweat covered the inside of your shirt, and another substance leaked between your thighs. You only stared at the ceiling and the stars above as you steadied your breathing.

“I won’t tell,” Regulus said after some time.

“Thank you,” you replied quietly. You were still in a daze; your mind couldn’t process what had just occurred. You sat up, your back was already starting to ache. “I should go.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Regulus sit up too. “Yeah, you should.”

You slid your robe over your arms and straightened out your tie and shirt. Before you stood, you made sure to grab the bottle of firewhiskey and conceal it under your clothes. You looked down at Regulus briefly, he was already looking at you. It made your face heat up.

You gave him a weak smile. “I’ll um... I’ll see you tomorrow then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You escaped before anything else could be said and raced down to your dorm.

The whole night you tossed and turned in bed, your head full of thoughts that would not let you sleep. You cheated on Sirius. With his brother. It was almost unimaginable. You’d never thought of cheating before, it never crossed your mind. But there you were a cheater.

You just hoped Sirius wouldn’t ask where you were on April 29th.

Because he really wouldn’t want to know.

[belovedivies]

Heyyy I love the killer Peter writing that you do it’s amazing🤩

Could I request relationship head canons for Peter like you did for Raphael but this time reader is an assassin like him

peter relationship headcanons

a/n: i'll be taking requests again now that i'm done with midterms (spoiler alert i got my ass beaten :3). this came out a little too long and specific for a hc but i plan to flesh this out on another oneshot- anw, enjoy anon!!! cw: minor spoiler, pre-canon, brief canon-typical cruelty wc: 1.26k m.list

IDEA

You met on neutral ground, mainly because his friend just wouldn’t shut up about this cute girl a few rooms down the hallway. You were three years older than Simon then, with a stature shorter than Peter himself.

Glory Club’s foundation is three things: violence, money, and ego. Assassins were pitched against each other on a daily basis, risking their lives to climb to the top where the Apostles rightfully resided. Where jealousy burnt red hot and became a driving force for success, the flame in you had long died out. Peter stared sometimes, and in your eyes, an ocean of arctic iciness stared right back.

He didn’t think much of it. He couldn’t begrudge anyone for it either. The paycheck was nice, and so was the control, the chokehold over others. Peter had and would play the part of an obedient puppet on strings to this organization as long as he drew breath, and as long it benefited them. Wouldn’t you do the same too? Downed a pill, cracked a skull, tossed and turned in a dusty corner later on because the dried blood felt so uncomfortably sticky on your nape, the scream of agony fresh on your mind. It wasn’t the nicest job out there, but it was for survival. A better cause. And Peter had thought about it rationally; he just owed that much to Father Gabriel.

It did get a little more complicated when you got roped in with them. Peter’s apathy had been evident while you stayed painfully austere, and Simon… was just trying his best to get both of you to talk. Five minutes in and a few hours after that afternoon, he couldn’t fathom why his comrade had thought it was a good idea for them to spar with not just a B-rank killer, but one whom neither of them had ever talked to.

OUTLINE

You really hated your job. Anyone would, at some point in their life.

Solo missions were a norm for Peter—things always worked out smoother and faster for the guy when he was on his own. On the rare occasion, he did get paired up with another person. Sometimes his fellow Apostles, the others a far too prideful assassin who chewed more than they could bite. But today there was you. And there wasn’t anything to go about besides a few surface-level exchanges and the silence in between. He couldn’t begrudge you. It’s only for survival.

A hit to the jugular and the job was done. Once out cold on the ground, the body wasn’t his responsibility anymore. Still, the boy watched with some amount of interest when you picked up the knife and poked around their insides. He left to light up a cigarette, took three brief puffs, and went back to the bedsheets covered in blood with the corpse nailed against the wall.

Sadism wasn’t intentional, but it was a running theme among the ranked Glory Club killers. The only collar made of metal and swine that bound them together by the neck. That you were so deep into the pit of insanity, you either shut off your emotions completely or learned to love the carnage.

Death reeked in every corner of the room, yet it was in you that Peter could tell the scent the clearest. You were there, so strangely out of the place, knees pulled tight against your chest. The look on your face was downright miserable.

When Peter made his way closer to inspect the scene, you tilted your head up to meet his face. The knife slipped, the moon shone, the rain tapered. Then you blinked, which was already so rare in itself. And Peter had blinked too, eyes widened, lips parted open just a fraction in surprise as tears welled up in your eyes. You sobbed and wept your dying heart out all the way until the cleanup crew showed up at the motel. One old lady, grey hair and croaked voice, held you in her arms. Months later when Peter finally asked again, he learned that it had hardly been the first. 

FIRST DRAFT

Just down the road, past the cut of dense trees leading to a lonely seashore, there was an orphanage tucked away from the hustle and bustle of Seoul. The kids always waved whenever Peter passed by during his morning run, a gesture that he had returned with equal warmth. Twice a week, the courtyard was lit up with colorful string lights and music, the mouth-watering scent of food wafting through the night air.

He had seen you outside of the Cathedral before, but not like this. The gentle fluorescents accentuated your features with a certain softness, like marshmallow, like the sea breeze carding through his hair. And you had talked, had smiled, had laughed along with them, had stared at Peter with eyes wide as saucers when one of the caregivers invited him in. You were in an apron with the children clung to your waist, vying for an ounce of your attention. It was a week after the mission and you two had rarely crossed paths. 

Peter wondered if you resented him for it; serving him a rather generous portion of seafood barbecue while dodging teasing comments from the kids through grinding teeth and knife-point smiles. But when your shoulders bumped against him on the bench, the tip of your right ear was burning red.

Simon ended up joining the week that followed, bringing more laughter to the shared space with his horrible singing and playfully flexing his swordsmanship. The edge of your smile grew softer and your shoulders more relaxed as you stuffed everyone’s plates with more food. Peter watched you through the rim of his cup with a tightness in his throat; you had only wanted to be normal. 

EDIT

“The kids are my rock.” You confessed a few months later when the ice wall between you and him finally melted. This late into the night, there wasn’t a wisp of cloud in the sky. The waves hit the shore every second, washing away the footsteps as Peter took a stroll with you along the beach.

You asked him about his dream. He didn’t know how to answer it. Taking away the cruelty and violence that made him the way he is today, what was left of the Apostle Peter? A caring brother to Simon and a good son to Father Gabriel. He might as well have been a husk before and a pretty face after, but there rarely had been anything in between for Peter to define himself. A label. A purpose.

Before he could say it, you gave his shoulder a gentle pat and chuckle, eyes glinting with mirth. “You’ll probably be a bookstore typa guy when you grow older.” And against all odds, the statement drew a chuckle from him too.

Maybe he would. Maybe if there was ever a disbandment order from the Cathedral and Peter had lived long enough to have a hunched back and a head full of grey hair, he would run a small bookstore on his own. Maybe the future Simon would drop by sometimes and tease him for his old-man look despite being older than Peter was.

Maybe the future you, still alive and kicking then, would also visit him, and the future Peter, older and wiser than he is right now, might have had the courage to ask you to stay.

But tonight, there was just the two of you. The moon hung high above the sky, the sea glistened with stars and mysticality. Peter watched as the white moonlight lined up the bridge of your nose and the curves of your cupid bow. The artificial heart inside your chest might not have a pulse, but his own did.

And it was very much beating for you.

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Karma butterfly." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

(Not my gif)

The actions we take produce their corresponding results, good or bad. And that's what happens with Spencer when he decides to play the bad guy against you and Daryl after you two decide to move in together in a house like the married couple you were before the apocalypse.

A/N: This is like a new version of "In your eyes". Spoiler alert: Daryl being a softie for you, and a complete badass when someone dares to threaten you. You know, the usual hehe. Hope you like it!

The sunset light crosses the curtains of the white–walled room, bathing the place with orange tones while you continue lying on the bed with a book in your hands, head on the pillow. Lying on his left side, one arm under his head, the sound of your voice fills Daryl’s ears while his blue eyes follow the smooth movement of your lips with every word you say, filling the void in his world, as you have been doing since you came into his life. All the peace exists in your eyes, sharing a little bit of that with him. And even though he wasn’t interested in books, Daryl always enjoyed watching you read, all the time, all his life since the moment he met you.

“Guys?” Carol’s soft voice cuts you off as she knocks on the door softly, making you sit on the bed to greet her.

“Come in.”

Carol pushes the door open, smiling sweetly at you two.

“I will go back to work now.” She says, her smile so innocent but sincere. “You have the house just for you… but don’t get too playful.”

Carol closes the door before you can understand the joke, but when you finally do, you chuckle even though Daryl doesn’t find it so funny. You lay down again, turning your head to look at him, to his serious expression, so you leaned forward and towards him to kiss him softly before pulling away, your body turning slightly by instinct. As usual, his eyes travel from your eyes to your lips before he leans himself towards you, his rough hand caressing your waist, with him wanting you to share the sweetness of your lips. The world disappears every time he closes his eyes to kiss you, just like now, and the darkness behind his eyelids isn’t bad, but pleasant.

However, his beard stops tickling your skin when he pulls away.

“Keep readin’.” He whispers, moving his hand away from you.

“We have the house for ourselves and you want me to read? What a waste of our time.” You say with false annoyance before continue.

While you do it, Daryl looks at the necklace that disappears under your black t–shirt, the one that holds and hides the wedding ring he gave you before the apocalypse began, because your marriage is still the secret you two keep from the neighbors who don’t trust in you all yet. However, your marriage is the contrast of Maggie’s and Glenn’s, because they already live in the house next door. But Daryl thinks about those old days when you two lived alone, when you used to come back from work first to that old apartment you two shared. It wasn’t the best life he could offer you, but your love was honest as always, your eyes were full of life, as if that life was the best one you could have had. And the way you used to welcome him, a simple kiss that was so sweet just because he had nothing but you.

Daryl wishes he has that back with you.

“Ya miss it?” He asks suddenly, making you look at him. “Ya miss the life we had? When it was jus’ the two of us.”

The best moments are shown before your eyes, like the Sundays when neither of you had to work, free hours that you spent reading at him.

“Yeah. I think I do. Not the place but the memories we made there. We didn’t have much but I felt I had it all. However, you are still here with me; maybe that’s why that feeling has not changed.”

You both didn’t move out alone when Deanna gave you the opportunity to, just because you two were being cautious, always keeping your marriage as a secret because in that world, bad people used love to destroy their enemies. But although nothing would be like before, starting your own home like you did once sounds good again.

“Wanna try it?”

“Moving in together again?”

“Unless ya want to get a house for yerself.” He scoffs, making you roll your eyes.

“I wouldn’t be surprised at all if you came into my house in the middle of the night just to get in bed with me.”

“Hell, yeah. I know ya get cold at nights.” Daryl chuckles, the corners of his mouth curving upward.

“I do not. That’s your excuse to stick your body to mine all night.” You try to hide a smile. “Not to mention you like to be the little spoon sometimes.”

Daryl scoffs, again.

“Woman, ya wanna move in with me or not?”

You chuckle, moving in bed until you are lying on your side as well, your free hand caressing his face, yours so close to him that Daryl just has to lean in a little bit to kiss you again.

“But ask me nicely.” You tease him. “You know I love when you got soft on me.”

His arm holds you against him, hand disappearing under your t–shirt to caress your soft skin, his calloused fingers sending a tingle throughout your body as his ocean–colored eyes hold your gaze.

“Would ya move in with me, peach? Please?” He asks softly.

Suddenly, you feel a little bit overwhelmed with the idea of ​​starting a home of your own again, so you nod before kissing him. Eyes closed, Daryl keeps smiling softly against the kiss as he pulls out your necklace, until the golden ring appears.

“So… how’s your married life going?”

Spencer leaves the cake on the kitchen granite table, the same one his mom sent for you and Daryl. His charismatic smile is as bright as the day itself, and although you smile in an act of kindness towards him, it is strange to you that there were still personalities as open as Spencer’s. He seems confident all the time, as if he didn’t fear anything, but even if it seemed to be nothing to fear in Alexandria, the harsh life outside the gates made you step on the ground carefully, even under the apparent security inside those walls.

“Everything is going well. Thank you.”

But it was pretty innocent of you to let in that wolf just because he belonged to a family of sheep.

“I must say I was a little surprise when I heard the news.” He chuckles sadly, for a second making you believe in his words. “I thought there was something going on between us.”

From the other side of the table, you frown, totally shocked for his sad but direct confession.

“I’m sure I’ve never flirted with you, Spencer, but I apologize if you thought I did.”

You are sure you never did, but being polite seems better than to make a scandal of an apparently misunderstanding.

“It hurt my feelings.” He says, walking towards you. Your silence was what attracted his attention from the beginning, as well as the strength in your eyes. But now, his body hits yours against the kitchen countertop, trapping you just as your hand touches the empty spot on your waist where your gun used to be. Spencer chuckles towards your innocence because you all had to surrender your weapons, his body making contact with yours in places you don’t want to feel him. “I’m not happy about what you did to me, making me look like an idiot, that’s why you have to leave him. Please do it while I ask you nicely, okay, darling?”

Although your heart is a wild animal pounding in your chest, like a lion trying to look for his own freedom inside a cage, you hold his gaze as calm as you can be. But the danger that should be outside is inside of Alexandria, breathing against you, shining in the eyes of a pretty boy.

“I’m sorry, Spencer, but I won’t.” You say calmly. “And out of respect for your mother I will ask you to leave before my husband comes back, because if Daryl finds you here so close to me like this, threatening his wife, you will walk out of this house crying for help, or dragging yourself out, depending on his mood. And I think you've known Daryl well enough to know that he has a fiery and short temper.”

Spencer looks at you through his angry eyes, but his curiosity about the man whose presence made others intimidate affects him too, because he is afraid to face the real danger that Daryl can be. But, even after your warning, his hand snakes through your body, stopping in your hair as he takes it in a tight grip.

“I warn you, princess: leave him before something bad happens to him. Who knows what can happen during a run? I don’t want you to end up being a widow. You are too young and hot for that.”

The release of your hair doesn’t make you breathe calmly, but when Spencer finally walks out of the house, leaving a trail of sulfur from the hell from which he came out, that first breath of air you take releases the pressure in your chest. But disgusted by the feeling his body against yours left, you throw the cake in the trash before heading upstairs to take a shower.

It takes you a day to think deeply about what you are going do to, but you realize you can’t protect Daryl without telling someone about what happened.

It's like a crossroads, because you wanted to tell your husband, but you knew him too well to know that his response to the danger Spencer put you through, without even thinking for a second about the threat to his own life, would be to go straight to leave Spencer so badly injured that his mother wouldn't hesitate for a single second to throw you out of the community.

“I don’t like this, (Y/N).” Glenn whispers and looks at you with a worried expression, finally stopping after pacing back and forth on your front garden as you told the truth to only him. “I think you should tell Daryl. Spencer threatened to hurt him, and even though we don't know that pretty boy well, I don't want to think that he would be able to keep his word.”

Glenn had been your friend ever since you met him at the camp outside the city shortly after it was bombed. Plus, he was the only friend out there with Daryl during the search for supplies, the only one who could keep an eye on Spencer if he ever decided to hurt Daryl by making it look like an accident.

“He is a pretty boy, isn’t he?” You chuckle sarcastically, earning a smile from your best friend. “I know, Glenn, and I’m really sorry for asking you to keep this as a secret. But you know Daryl, and literally no one would stop him from killing Spencer if he finds out.”

“Yeah, I know Daryl well enough to know he would be angrier at Spencer for what he did to you than for threatening to hurt him.” Glenn chuckles too, rubbing a hand over his face to try to erase his worried expression. “Fine, I’ll keep an eye on Spencer. But, can I tell my wife about this? You know I am a terrible liar, and Maggie can read my face like you read your books.”

You sigh, not wanting to involve more people, but you don’t want Glenn to keep secrets to his wife either. Before you talk again, you look back at your house: Daryl is about to leave at any moment, and with each passing second, you feel your breathing becoming more irregular.

“Okay.” You look back at your friend. “But please, don’t tell anything about this to Daryl.”

Glenn can see clearly your sad expression.

“I won’t, don’t worry…” He comes closer, holding you in a hug before starting to walk towards the gate to wait for the new group. “I will see you in a while. Okay? Everything is going to be fine.”

You nod.

“Thank you. And please, take care of yourself.”

He smiles before turning around. And after a few minutes, Glenn is far away when the front door of your home opens. Daryl walks out, the strap of his backpack in one of his broad shoulders, his crossbow in one hand as he comes closer to where you are.

“Ya okay, peach?” He asks, his voice low and hoarse as always.

You lick your lip, trying to smile at him.

“Yeah. I’m okay. But if I'm honest, I worry every time you go away without me. Who's going to protect your ass if I'm not there?”

Daryl chuckles. sliding his free arm around your waist to pull you closer to him.

“Hell, yeah, nobody protects me better than ya.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“Are you making fun of me, Dixon?”

“Never. I know ya’ll kick ma ass if I do.” Daryl kisses your forehead before pulling away. “Don’ worry ‘bout me, sweetheart, not even the devil will stop me from comin’ back to ya.”

 You chuckle softly.

“I know. You're so stubborn that sometimes I think I married a mule.” But to your surprise, thinking that your words would offend him, Daryl smiles, his eyes closing slightly under the burning sun. “What? I thought you wouldn't like the comparison.”

He shrugs his shoulders.

“Guess I like it when ya say we’re married. S’ nice to know m’ the lucky bastard who sleeps next to ya at the end of the night.”

You gulp, your heart remembering Spencer's words, but you try to smile again.

“Don't think so little of yourself, Dixon, because according to Maggie, there are a couple of female neighbors who enjoy the view of you every time you leave the house wearing your sleeveless shirt. Those bitches…” You joke, cursing under your breath, earning a scoff from him.

“I don’ care ‘bout those women…” Daryl comes closer to you, so dangerously it makes you giggle. His forehead rests against you for a few seconds, and even though you know he likes his privacy, you're surprised when his free hand caresses your face as he leans in kiss you. “Love ya, Mrs. Dixon.”

His whisper is so soft, that for a second, it makes you forget about the danger.

“I love you too.” It’s your turn to pull apart. “Be careful, okay?”

“Always.” He says, finally walking away. “I'll bring some squirrels jus’ for ya.”

You chuckle making a face, because before you met him, you had never even thought about eating squirrels. However, the happy moment doesn’t last for long when Daryl finally reaches the truck near to the gate.

“The fuck ya jus’ said?”

On the other side of the open trunk, Glenn feels the heat of his body leaving him. He closes his open mouth, but now, he’s fully exposed to Daryl’s eyes, who stops at his side to confront him. As Glenn said the words: (Y/N), Spencer and threaten in the same sentence just to warn Maggie too, Daryl’s anger rises like boiling lava in a volcano.

“Please, calm down, Daryl.” Glenn says, but not believing for one second that he actually would. “I can explain it. Don’t make a fuss about this, please.”

“A fuss?” Daryl grunts under his breath, those words souring his mouth. “A moron threatened ma wife and ya don’ want me to make a damn fuss?”

But as the sweet karma that is about to punch Spencer right in the face just as Daryl’s fist would do, Spencer walks down the street toward the car, smiling at Rick like the good boy he pretended to be. However, Daryl’s anger covers his eyes and paints the world red as he walks towards him just to punch Spencer before Glenn or Rick can try to stop him, hitting him so hard that Daryl makes him fall. Daryl falls on him too, with all the weight of his body, punching the thick skin of the wolf. His strong arms push away who tries to pull him back, his ears covering with the word threat, his fists turning red as blood leaves Spencer’s face.

“Daryl, stop!” Finally, Rick pulls him hardly, giving Spencer some time to breathe again. “You’re gonna kill him!”

“That’s the fuckin’ plan!” Daryl shouts back, trying to avoid Rick’s body as he looks straight at Spencer. “M’ gonna kill ya, coward! Nobody messes with ma wife!”  

“Hey! Hey. Listen to me.” Rick blocks his way, looking at him, holding his gaze seriously. “Go home. I will fix this. Talk to (Y/N), Daryl. If something happened, stay with her. Okay?”

You lay down on the bed after walking around the house, not wanting to go to work today, so you hold a book in your hands just to try to silent the fears in your head, loud voices urging you to tell the truth before something bad happens. Again, it’s like being trapped in a dark maze, too scared to even think about taking a step. You don’t want to think about the consequences of being silent, but the only result you could think of was Deanna forcing you to leave.

And it is an overwhelming idea, and even though you weren't a very sentimental person anymore, it is difficult to keep the tears behind your eyes.

But the moment you hear Daryl’s boots on the stairs, you brush the tears away before sitting up the second he walks in.

“Hey. Is everything okay?”

Daryl sits on the edge of the bed, and his eyes look at you with concern through his calm expression, but his inside is a complete mess because of the fear of you being in danger.

“Ya tell me.” He says softly. He looks for something inside your shy eyes as you look down, watching his red knuckles as you realized what he did. “Come ‘ere, sweetheart. Lemme hold ya.”

He pulls you closer to hug you, your arms around his neck and shoulders, melting you against the heat of his well–defined body. His right hand travels to the back of your neck, making you hold your breath when he stops where Spencer touched, even if Daryl doesn’t know. But his hand caresses that place, his rough fingers touching you gently as always as his other hand holds your back.

“He ain’t gonna hurt ya, peach, not while m’ here.”

You gulp, the guilt forcing you to pull away while you drop your arms, just a little bit because he won’t let you go completely.

“Spencer threatened your life and you're worried about me?”

But to your surprise, Daryl smiles, his hand still massaging your neck and part of your hair.

“Ya are ma life, peach. Yer everythin’ to me. Thought I made it clear to ya.”

For some reason, his words are sweet but sad too, because a part of you knew well that he didn't appreciate his life as much as he did with everyone else's.

“Your life is important too, Daryl…” You whisper, one hand over his heart. “I don’t want to be left alone here is something happens to you. I know I couldn't handle it. You made me love you too much to live a life without you.”

Daryl smiles softly, bringing his hand to the front to touch your lower lip. He knows well now that Spencer is dangerous, but in that instant, he is sure he can protect you, himself, and his family.

“Jus’ kiss me, okay? I’ll help ya forget ‘bout the rest of the world.”

You chuckle but you get close to him, closing your eyes the moment his lips fall on yours. Daryl closes his eyes too, loving the idea that since he met you, he was never afraid of the dark again.

[steveseddie]

rain check

steddie | rating: t | cw: none | wc: 3k | tags: steve has a crush on eddie, but he thinks eddie hates him, (spoiler alert: he doesn’t), miscommunication, confessions, flirting

click here to read on ao3

The sky starts falling just as Steve leaves Family Video. 

He doesn’t mean it literally- although he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the next weird thing to happen in Hawkins. After the Spring Break from Hell they just had, anything feels possible. 

For now it only means that it starts raining. Hard. So hard, in fact, that running across the parking lot to get to his car is enough to soak Steve’s Nikes and the bottom of his jeans, as well as flatten his hair against his forehead- his umbrella doing very little against the wind pushing the water in all directions.

“It couldn’t start raining five fucking minutes later?” Steve mutters, tossing the umbrella in the back and settling in the driver’s seat. 

His jeans stick uncomfortably to his legs and his shoe makes a squelching noise when he presses it against the pedal. Steve grimaces. He can’t wait to get home and change into dry clothes. 

Unfortunately, he can’t rush home to do that, not under these conditions. He has to drive slowly, squinting his eyes at the windshield to try and make out the road through the pouring rain. 

Steve considers pulling over and waiting for the rain to go down, hating that he feels like he’s driving blind, but he knows there’s a chance he’ll be waiting for a long time. 

So he keeps driving- slowly, carefully. It seems he’s the only person in Hawkins who got caught in the rain so crashing into another car right now because he can’t see past his windshield seems unlikely, and there’s no way someone would choose to walk under these conditions.

Or at least that’s what he thinks. 

Steve doesn’t see him at first- the only other person who’s out in the storm. 

He’s walking on the side of the road, hunched shoulders, no umbrella- not that it would do any good with the wind blowing every which way. 

It takes a moment for Steve to recognize him, but as his car gets closer and he squints at the guy through the window, Steve notices the familiar clothes, from the drenched leather jacket to the muddy Reeboks, as well as the familiar wet curls plastered to his face from the rain.

Steve’s heart swoops in his chest the way it always does these days when he sees Eddie. Almost immediately his stomach churns- also the way it does lately when he sees him. 

Because for some reason that Steve can’t comprehend, Eddie Munson hates his guts. 

Before the Spring Break from Hell, Steve wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that Eddie hated him. In highschool, Steve was everything Eddie would stand on a table and loudly proclaim his hatred for- a rich popular jock. But after everything they went through, after fighting side by side to prevent the end of Hawkins, after Eddie jumped into Lover’s Lake to save Steve and Steve dragged an injured Eddie back from the Upside Down, Steve expected Eddie’s opinion on him to have changed. Hell, Eddie had even called Steve cool and badass and maybe even flirted with him a little.

Now, Steve is tempted to believe it was all a hallucination brought on by the demobat bites because as soon as it was over, and as soon as Eddie recovered from his own bites, it was like none of that happened. 

Eddie went back to hating Steve, shutting down his every attempt to get to know him and to become friends. 

It probably wouldn’t bother him so much if he wasn’t the only one Eddie seems to be avoiding, the only one he refuses to spend time with, but he is. In the last few months, Eddie has effectively wormed his way into their little group, becoming friends with everyone except him. He has study dates with Nancy, he hangs out with Robin, he has his nerdy campaigns with the kids and he has become Max’s go-to person for rides to the arcade and the skate park and the diner. All while shutting down every single one of Steve’s invitations to hang out and his attempts to start any conversations. 

It fucking sucks- especially because the constant rejection hasn’t done anything to squash Steve’s crush on the guy. 

Because even if Eddie ices him out and is sometimes a dick to Steve, he’s nothing like that with everyone Steve cares about. He’s good with the kids- constantly driving them to and from the arcade and Family Video, planning campaigns for them even during the summer. He’s nice to Robin- bringing her lunch to work, taking her thrift shopping in Indy. He’s sweet to Max- keeping her company when her mom is working, letting her paint his nails or braid his hair. 

And Steve can’t ignore any of that, or how cute Eddie is when he rambles about some nerdy book, or how hot he looks when he puts his hair up in a bun to fight off the heat or how talented he is when he plays his guitar.

Steve is helpless in the face of all of that, and within months, he finds himself falling for a guy who won’t give him the time of the day.

He knows it’s pathetic and yet, Steve keeps trying, hoping that Eddie will give him a chance, even if it’s just to be friends.

That might be why, instead of driving past him, Steve pulls the car over next to him, leaning across the console to roll down the passenger’s side window.

“Eddie! Hey!” He yells to be heard over the rain. 

Eddie whips his head around, brushing his wet bangs away from his eyes to peek through the window. When he recognizes Steve, his jaw clenches. Steve pretends it doesn’t hurt that the sight of him is enough to make Eddie tense up. 

“What do you want, Harrington?” He shoots back. He only ever calls him Harrington- not Steve or any outrageous nicknames. 

It shouldn’t bother him, but Eddie has nicknames for all of their friends- Birdie, Red, Wheels. So it’s just another reminder to Steve that he’s on the outside when it comes to Eddie. 

When Steve doesn’t reply, Eddie gives him a mean look. “Did you just stop to brag about having a fancy car to get you home while some of us have to walk in the rain?” 

Steve’s eyebrows knit in a frown, the corners of his mouth turning down. “Dude, no, of course not.” 

“Then what do you want?”

He does his best to ignore his hostility. “Where are you headed?” 

“Home,” Eddie says, his reply clipped. 

And because Steve is a pathetic man with a crush, he unlocks the passenger door and says: “Get in.”

“What?”

“I’m giving you a ride, man, get in,” Steve says, gesturing at the passenger seat. Eddie glares at it like it’s going to bite his ass. 

“I don’t need a ride,” he says with a huff.

“Dude, you still have like, five miles left in this downpour,” Steve says in a bitchy tone. Yes, he has a crush on the guy, but that doesn’t mean he can’t get on Steve’s nerves. 

Especially when he’s being a stubborn ass. “It looks like it’s stopping,” he says with a shrug. 

Steve groans, throwing his head back against the headrest in exasperation. “Jesus Christ, Munson! Get in the car!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was that an order, King Steve?” He quips, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s tempted to drive away and leave Eddie to walk five miles in the rain, but he can’t bring himself to do it. It’s not even about his crush anymore, it’s just that Steve is a decent guy- no matter what Eddie seems to think. 

“Look, man. Whatever reason you have to hate me can’t be worth drowning out here or- or catching like, pneumonia or something. Just because you can’t stand me doesn’t mean I don’t care if you die, okay? So suck it up and stop being a dick for five minutes and get in the fucking car!” Steve snaps. He didn’t mean to yell, but maybe he underestimated just how frustrated he feels about Eddie hating him for no reason. 

For a few seconds, Eddie just stands there, stunned, the rain still falling down on him. He blinks at Steve a few times, tiny droplets falling from his long lashes. 

He looks pretty, Steve thinks. Even if, realistically, he looks like a drowned rat- or at least that’s what Robin would say.

He knows she’s going to laugh when he tells her that Eddie picked a storm over getting in the car with Steve. Then she’ll hold Steve’s hand and listen to him whine about his unrequited crush. 

When a few more seconds pass and Eddie doesn’t move, Steve thinks he’s going to have to give up and drive away. But before he can, Eddie opens the door and slides into the passenger seat, quickly rolling up the window to keep water from getting in. 

Then he sits as far from Steve as he possibly can- his arms crossed over his chest, his knees angled towards the door, his head turned towards the window. Once again, Steve tries not to let it sting, focusing on cranking up the heat and switching the car into gear. 

The rain picks up as Steve starts driving them to Forest Hills. If he didn’t think Eddie would jump out of the moving car for doing it, Steve would give him a smug look because the rain isn’t stopping like he said it would, it’s actually getting worse. 

He’s been driving for a few minutes when Eddie breaks the silence, surprising him and making him jump. Steve thought Eddie would just stay silent and ignore him the whole time. 

“I don’t hate you,” Eddie mutters, wrapping his arms tighter around himself. Even with the heat on, his clothes are soaked through and he’s probably still cold after spending so long in the rain. Steve wishes he had a hoodie or a blanket in the back that he could let Eddie burrow. 

“You have a funny way of showing it, man,” he says, not even angry at him, just confused. 

Eddie groans. One of his hands tugs a strand of wet hair in front of his face. “I know, fuck. Sorry.” He sinks down on the seat. “I just don’t know how to act around you, not without an apocalypse happening, I guess.” 

Steve thinks back to the couple of days leading up to their fight with Vecna. Even if they had a rocky start when Eddie almost killed Steve with a broken bottle, he thought they were getting along well, considering the circumstances. Near the end, Eddie was even cracking jokes and calling Steve names! 

And maybe it was just because the world was ending, but then, why did he keep acting normal with everyone except Steve?

“You don’t seem to have that problem with anyone else,” he says, failing not to sound too bitter about it, but it really stings being the only one Eddie doesn’t want anything to do with. 

“I guess not but- I don’t know, man, they’re a lot like me. Under that badass exterior, Wheeler really is just a nerd. And Buckley and I are both, you know, queer and well, the kids- I have a lot in common with them. But you- I don’t-” He tugs on his hair with a frustrated groan. 

“Wait, you- you’re queer?” Steve can’t help but ask. He knows he shouldn’t fixate on that. It doesn’t help his unrequited crush to know that Eddie likes guys anyway since he obviously doesn’t like Steve.

He realizes that Eddie probably didn’t mean to admit that at all when he drops his head in his hands. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have said that. Now I made you hate me. How’s that for irony?”

“Woah, Eddie, hey,” Steve says, his eyes darting back and forth between Eddie and the road. It’s getting harder to see from the rain picking up which means Steve’s attention should be solely on getting them home without driving off the road, but Eddie is a ball of anxiety and nerves and fear next to him and Steve can’t ignore that. So he pulls the car over on the side of the road and turns sideways on his seat so he can look at Eddie. 

“I don’t hate you, okay? I’ve been trying to be your friend for months, for fuck’s sake. This doesn’t change that.”

Eddie lowers his hands, looking at Steve with his big doe eyes that still look a little scared. “No?”

Steve shakes his head. He hesitates a little before tacking on his own admission. “Actually, it gives us something in common. I’m, uh, I’m bisexual. I like girls and boys.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in his face. “Oh.” He visibly relaxes except for his fingers that keep playing with his rings in his lap. “Um, it’s only boys for me.” 

“Okay,” Steve says, giving him a little smile. “Cool.” 

Eddie’s lips twitch almost imperceptibly into a smile of his own. He looks like he wants to say something else, but he ends up opening and closing his mouth a few times before finally getting any words out. “Steve?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t hate you-”

Steve frowns. “You said that already.”

Eddie holds his hand up. The tips of his fingers are paper white and pruney- Steve should probably start the car again soon and get him home before he dies from hypothermia. Whatever he has to say he can say it while Steve drives-

“I actually kind of like you,” Eddie finishes and Steve is glad he hadn’t started driving again or he might’ve crashed the car into a tree because-

Eddie likes him? Holy shit!

He’s still trying to wrap his head around that when Eddie starts talking again, nervously toying with his rings as he explains. “It wasn’t just that we didn’t have anything in common or that I didn’t know how to act around you- I was worried that you’d hate me if I got too close or if I flirted too much. It- it was easier when I thought we were going to die and I knew I wouldn’t have to deal with you turning me down easily or- or telling me to fuck off, so when we weren’t fighting for our lives anymore I just-”

“Decided to be a dick?” Steve asks, eyebrows raised in amusement. 

“Yeah, pretty much.” Eddie bites his lip around a smile. It’s not even a full smile, but it’s still directed at Steve and so far he’s only gotten scowls and glares from Eddie, so this right here is enough to make his heart stutter in his chest. 

“Well,” Steve says sheepishly, hanging a hand from his neck. “You didn’t have anything to worry about. I, um, I actually liked it when you did that- getting close to me and flirting. I liked it a lot.” 

Eddie’s jaw drops, his round eyes blinking at Steve. “Really?” 

Steve hums. “After everything was over and you weren’t dying anymore, I couldn’t stop thinking about- about you doing it again,” he admits and hears the way Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. “So you can imagine my disappointment when you shut me out instead.”

“I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me.”

“I did. I do.” Steve says. Then he gets an idea. “Actually what do you say if I drive us to my house instead? We can hang out. And my place is closer so we can get you out of those wet clothes sooner.” 

Eddie’s lips tug up into a smirk. It reminds Steve of the one he gave him time in the Winnebago. This is Eddie’s face when he’s about to flirt and he knows he has nothing to lose. Steve braces himself. “Already trying to get me naked, big boy? At least buy me dinner first.”

Blood rushes to Steve’s cheeks, the pet name running through him and settling somewhere at the bottom of his stomach. 

But for all that he’s thought about Eddie flirting with him, he’s thought about flirting back just as much. So he leans closer to Eddie, reaching over the console to twirl one of his wet curls around his finger, giving him his most charming smile. “I can make you dinner. Does that count?”

Eddie’s smirk falters a little. “You want to cook me dinner today? Like- like a date?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Even after I was a dick to you?”

Steve bites his lip, hesitating. “If you don’t want to-” he backtracks, leaning away from Eddie, only for him to grab him by the lapel of his vest, keeping him in place. 

“Like fuck if I don’t. I just thought you’d want to know me better before asking me out, s’all.”

“That’s what dates are for, Eds,” Steve says, enjoying the way Eddie’s eyes widen a little when Steve calls him that. “Have you never been on one?”

Eddie snorts. “I’m a gay nerd in Hawkins Indiana, man. I’m lucky to get mediocre handjobs in dark alleys.”

Steve makes sure to move his eyes slowly and noticeably from Eddie’s face to his lap, giving him an easy grin. “I can give you more than just a mediocre handjob.”

A startled laugh tumbles from Eddie’s lips before his lips stretch into a shit-eating grin. “Oh, I’m sure you can, sweetheart.” 

The pet name sends a shiver down Steve’s spine and he finds himself licking his lips, wanting to kiss Eddie, but he doesn’t want to move too fast when he just accepted to go on a date with him- 

Except, he hasn’t accepted yet. Steve kinda made the decision for him.

“Hey, if you’d rather have our date some other day I can just take you back to the trailer-”

“Nah,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “Why waste any more time? Drive us home, Stevie, show me what I’ve been missing.”

So Steve does just that, pushing away thoughts of kissing Eddie and getting him out of his wet clothes to focus on the road.

At least until he gets them home- where that’s all both of them can think about for some time. 

[evermorx89]

thoughts about obx4

⚠️ obx4 spoiler alert!!!!!⚠️

hi guys! this is just my personal opinion, don’t hate me pls 😭, english is not my first language btw so if anything is wrong, i’m sorry

first of all, what the fuck they’re thinking??? killing jj? this is so unserious, i mean, he was probably everyone favorites character, he passed his WHOLE LIFE suffering and that was his end? i can’t believed that, it’s a terrible ended for the character that i’m preferred think that this is a joke for the next season.

and then, that ridiculous plot of jj not being luke’s son, he passed the last 20 years getting abused by a guy who even wasn’t he’s real father, this is so inhuman, so fucked up, and after we find out that he’s a genrett, he gets an worse father, who’s worse than luke, a father who abandoned him, and knew it that he was alive and didn’t even care about it, come on pate’s brothers you all are better than this, or maybe not.

now, sarah is pregnant and i really think is cute, BUT have you all seen the life that they all live??? how they will be able to raise a child in the middle of all this? i don’t understand why making her getting pregnant now? they really can’t wait the final season to do that?

thank god that sarah and rafe are finally making peace, that’s what i’m talking about guys! one of the only good thing that i can found in obx4 was them getting their brother and sister relationship again, i’m so happy about this, when they hug we realize that after all happened what rafe really need was his sister love, he almost crying and she forgive him OMG that kill me, i almost cry with him too, because all he need right now is a family love, after all ward did to him, he just needs their sisters, sarah and wheezie, love, and i will never get tired of saying this! he doesn’t need a relationship now, HE NEEDS FAMILY LOVE BECAUSE WARD WAS A TERRIBLE FATHER FIGURE FOR HIM, SARAH AND WHEEZIE!

and my last thought about season four is about rafe and sofia relationship… i’m really sorry guys, i think that they’re very cute, fiona and drew have an amazing chemistry between them and fiona is an AMAZING actress, but i just felt that this relationship wasn’t a real needed right now? come on, on season 2 rafe as an coke addicted, an abuse brother, and did so bad stuff with the pogues and his own sister, that the real thing that he needed was a therapist, help and a redemption arc with his sisters, sarah and wheezie, because i can’t see a better option of making rafe more human that do this and i just feel that his relationship with sofia is so undeveloped, she’s just appear from nowhere in obx3 and was put in the middle of this, just to make rafe more human? and don’t get me wrong, i love them, i don’t them to break up or something, i just don’t like what they’re doing with them, if they have a development relationship maybe i liked them more? but i just can’t had along with them, when we have a jiara development, and jarah development and a cleopope development, because i know that the pate’s brother can do it better with rafe and sofia, they just don’t know what to do with rafe’s character anymore and then they start making mess like this.