#takes long drag off cigarette this has been on my chest for years.......

[lipglossanon]

What If We Could

Best friend!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

A little more savory tier commission from @porcelainseashore and dedicated to AliBelleRosetta ✨

Word Count: 2404 (I’m not surprised at this point lmao)

Warnings: MDNI, neighbor Leon, crushes, jealous reader, light flirting, smoking, light voyeurism, teasing, half naked reader

proofread ✍️

Stepping out the back door, your breath mists in front of your face. The warmth of late summer has segued easily into the coolness of fall. You tug the sleeves of your overly big sweatshirt—one you stole from Leon although you can’t recall when—to make sure they don’t fall too low past your wrists. Thinking of your best friend brings a warmth—a tiny ember burning in your chest—and a soft smile to your face.

Looking over at his house, you're thankful for the millionth time that you guys ended up being neighbors. Stepping out into your backyard, you pick your way through the leaf-strewn path that runs between your yard and Leon’s. Glancing over, you take in the old oak tree with its tired rope swing that sits in the middle of both properties. 

It’s been years since it’s been used; musing to yourself, you think you must’ve been about eight years old when you quit playing on it. And the last time the swing was even used had to have been when you and Leon dared each other to swing as high as possible, then jump off. Wood smoke pervades your senses, and you breathe deep. It drags you from your reminiscing, focus shifting back to Leon’s house and, more importantly, to the open garage. 

Your fingers nervously rub across the mixtape in the front pocket of your hooded sweatshirt. Leon’s never had a bad word to say about your mixes, even letting you demo a few live in front of your home setup, but it always sends a frisson of nerves through you when giving him one—especially one you’ve made specifically for him.

Poking your head around the corner, you take in your best friend while he doesn’t realize you’re there. He’s frowning down at the engine, a smear of grease already staining the apple of one cheek. His fringe hangs low over his face, head tilted forward as he works on his Jeep. That low burning ember in your chest sparks to life. 

His blue eyes dart from part to part, mentally assessing his next move. His toolbox lies at his feet, lid flipped open and tools organized. Pushing off the side of the garage makes enough noise to draw his attention. A smile lights up his face when he realizes it’s you. 

“Hey! Didn’t think you were gonna come over today,” he steps away from the hood, grabbing up an old oil rag to start cleaning his hands. 

You shrug, “Didn’t feel like beatmatching today.”

You fiddle with the mixtape in your sweater before pulling it out. “Made you a new one.”

His eyes are soft when he walks over to pluck it from your hands. “Thanks. I think my last one is about worn out.”

He chuckles, and you grin a little bashfully. Throwing his arm over your shoulders, he guides you into the garage and over onto the ratty couch that’s been here forever. While you flop down onto the faded green cushions, springs groaning at the motion, Leon slips the new mixtape into his stereo. A heavy beat fills the speakers as he walks back over to join you on the couch.

“This one's yours?”

You nod, “I’ve got a few new tracks I’ve been messing around with.”

“Cool,” he relaxes into the cushions, head resting on the back. “Man, I’m tired.”

“Long night?”

“Kinda. Had to finish that paper for biology.”

Humming, you slip your shoes off and kick your feet up onto the couch. “I hate that class.”

He snorts, “Tell me about it.”

“Hey, Leon, I hate that class.”

He shakes his head at your sly smile, “Smartass.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“What’re you? Five?” 

You laugh, and he huffs a breath that you know is covering his own amusement. He pulls out a nearly empty pack of cigarettes from his pocket, smacking the bottom with his palm before working the last one out and slipping it into his mouth.

“Hey,” you perk up, stretching your legs out to prod a sock-covered foot at Leon’s leg. “I thought you quit.”

“I did,” he mumbles, lips pinched around the cigarette filter, hands patting at his jean pockets as he feels for his lighter.

Making a little hum at the discovery, he tugs it out of his left pocket, flipping the hinge of the zippo to spark the flint until a little gold flame appears. Cupping his hand, he takes a pull off the butt, snapping the Zippo shut with a flick of his wrist before blowing smoke from his nose. 

“C’mon, share,” you poke him again, and he clamps a hand around your ankle bone. Butterflies take flight in your sternum, insides fizzing like carbonated soda. 

It’s not the first time Leon’s caused this feeling. It’s something you’ve been avoiding by looking at too closely. 

“Say please,” he smirks at you, cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth.

You pout, and he runs his fingers underneath the hem of the leg of your jeans, calloused fingers brushing the skin. The fizzy excitement is back, bubbling in your sternum. 

“Please, Leon,” you murmur.

His eyes shift, the blue now a shade darker, while he plucks the cigarette from his lips. “See? How hard was that?”

Leaning forward, you take the filtered end and pull a drag off the lit cig. You both fall into a charged silence—not only sharing smoke, but a secondhand kiss with each pass of the filter between you two. Every now and again, Leon ashes the cigarette onto an old glass tray sitting on the floor. 

He keeps his hand loosely wrapped around your ankle the entire time, fingers mindlessly tracing across your skin. Feeling a little bold, you slip your other foot into his lap, and he hums. Giddiness at the action makes you a little lightheaded. 

He offers the butt to you. “Last one?”

You shake your head, “All yours.”

He takes one last drag of what’s left of the cigarette, then stubs it out in the ashtray. He lounges back on the couch, running his free hand through his hair.

“Actually.. what time is it?” He rolls his head to look over at you.

Squinting up at the silly cat clock on the wall, you read out the time. “You got a plane to catch?”

He rolls his eyes with a smile and gently pushes your feet off his lap. “No, I got a date with Heidi, said I’d pick her up at about six or so.”

Jealousy rears its green-eyed gaze and lasers you in its sights. The bubbly feeling from earlier sours, leaving confusion in its wake. 

“Oh.” The word slips from your lips quietly, softly. You thought they had broken up? Squishing down that nagging voice in your head, you clear your throat. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair then.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He stands up and holds his hand out to help you off the couch. 

“Of course, we’ve got history together.” You clasp his hand and let him pull you alongside him. “Don’t stay out too late.”

He chuckles and nudges you with his elbow, “No promises.”

Pretending that doesn't slice into your heart as well as buoys the jealousy sitting like a stone in your chest, you nod and step around him. As you head for the opening of the garage, his fingers tangle with yours and tug you to a stop. 

“Hey,” his voice is low and honeywarm when you turn to look at him. “Thanks for the music.”

He squeezes your hand gently, blue eyes searching your face. You can’t help but smile at him, squeezing his hand back. 

“You’re welcome, Leon.”

He grins, boyish and happy, then drops your hand to grab up his lighter and empty pack of cigarettes to stash them back in his pocket.

“Later!” He calls out, and you watch him head into his house through the kitchen door.

Cradling your hand to your chest, you walk back to your house, deep in thought with your tangled feelings. 

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Leon pulls into his driveway before the clock even strikes ten. He sits behind the steering wheel, eyes unseeing as he looks out the windshield. The date went off without a hitch; Heidi and he got along perfectly. But he couldn’t stop thinking back to you this afternoon. How you looked with a haze of smoke in the air, eyes glittering at him from across the couch.

You brought him another of your mixtapes, so shy and sweet—it’s cute, but he’s too chicken to ever tell you that. His heart lurched in his chest at seeing your face fall when he admitted why he had to leave early; it was telling in that you didn’t even realize you had done it. 

Climbing out of his Jeep, he digs out his new pack of cigarettes and decides to light one up before going inside. With his thoughts still on you, his feet take him around the side of the garage to the oak tree straddling the invisible line between your yards. He leans against the trunk, eyes flicking up to your bedroom window and almost choking on the smoke he blows out from his mouth on a sudden exhalation. 

The soft glow of the lamp on your nightstand bathes your room in a golden hue, fitting for the warmth mounting in Leon’s body. His eyes can’t stop taking you in, clad only in a loose shirt and sweats. He steps closer out from under the shadow of the tree to take a better look. You’re moving around your room, headphones over your ears, lost in your own little world.

Coming to a stop, Leon takes a long drag from his cigarette, slowly blowing out the smoke while he watches you dance around your room. You slip your sweats down and off, now only in your shirt and plain cotton panties. His heart pumps harder, pulse jumping in his neck. Leon knows he shouldn’t be peeping on you like this—knows he should turn around and go back home so you won’t think he’s some kinda pervert, but the temptation of you is too tantalizing. 

You bend forward to drop something onto your nightstand and glance up, locking eyes with him. Leon doesn’t move except to pull the filter away from his mouth to breathe out a smoke ring. You slowly stand tall, body language cautious. He’s close enough he can see you bite your lip, seeming to make up your mind as you tug on the bottom of your shirt.

He can’t stop the low groan from slipping from his lips; thankfully no one is around, when you slowly bring your shirt over your head and drop it into the floor. You stand there, like a vision, in just panties and a bra. He brings the cigarette back up to his lips to take a long drag. You tease your fingers underneath your bra straps, slipping them down one at a time. Leon’s heart is in his throat, eyes never leaving yours as you reach behind your back and undo the clasps. 

Once you bring your arms forward to let your bra fall away from your body, his eyes drop to greedily take in your bare breasts. Arousal pools in his gut while he stares at your soft peaks, your nipples hardening under his gaze. Cupping your breasts in your hands, you rub your thumbs over the tight buds, making him groan and run a shaky hand through his hair.

He drops the cig and stubs it out under his boot. Running his other hand down his thigh, he cups himself through his jeans, groaning at the pressure on his chubbed cock. He watches you bite your lip again, eyes fluttering when you lightly run your fingers around your areola before grazing your nipples. His palm presses harder onto his bulge, hips jumping at the dull pleasure. 

You smile at him, secretive and coquettish, bending forward again to pick up the shirt you dropped earlier. Leon bites back the disappointed groan when you pull your shirt back on, blowing him a saucy kiss before closing the curtains on your window. 

Leon shakes his head, arousal making his thoughts feel thick and slow. In a daze, he makes his way back over to his house and up to his own room. Deciding to take a cold shower before falling into bed, Leon knows that a line may have been crossed, and he’s not sure that he really cares.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Apparently it’s something neither of you are going to bring up. You were already seated in your usual spot when Leon came rushing in, minutes from the lecture starting. He shoots you his usual smile and a quick hello before pulling out his laptop and textbook. You frown at him, a quizzical pull of your brows, and he just winks. 

Shrugging a little, you turn back to the front of the class just as the teacher walks in, closing the door behind them. It’s silent between you two while the history lecture takes place. Once the lesson drags to a close, you wait for Leon to finish packing away his things. 

“You wanna grab an early lunch? I slept through my alarm and missed breakfast,” he grouses, rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand.

“Sure. Anywhere specific?” You fall into step with him as you leave the classroom, skin feeling warm when your arms brush. 

“Where’s that place that you found last week?” He pushes the door open, letting you exit the building first. 

“Oh, it’s just around the corner. They’ve got a decent selection, sandwiches, wraps, and the like,” you purse your lips in thought, and Leon slips his arm over your shoulders. 

Butterflies swarm your stomach, and you give him a side eye. It’s not unusual for Leon to do it, but after last night, you’re unsure of where you stand with him. 

“Sounds good to me,” he yawns. “Damn, I gotta start heading to bed earlier.”

Neither of you say anything about why he was up late, and by the end of the day, it’s like some weird shared dream that you may have had—distant, yet the feeling remains. 

And except for the times when you catch him staring, it’s business as usual, so everything’s fine between you two… right?

[piduai]

but you know joui3 + sensei drama could have been good, the premise is lovely and the development halfway through wasn't bad either... he took in 3 children nobody else wanted and gave them a home, was both parent and mentor to them, he loved them, and they loved him back. that's the kind of devotion forged out of gratitude. the children grew together as brothers, with the highs and the lows that come with that, but obviously caring for each other deeply. and then one of them is forced to kill either his surrogate parent, or his brothers.

and he chose sensei, he chose to sacrifice his life for the lives of the other two. trolley dilemma much? anyway the three left behind had to learn how to live after that, with themselves and with the other two. learn how to stifle the guilt and the rage and the grief. live knowing that the cost of them being alive was sensei's head, or live with the consequences of their choice of killing the person who gave them a home, knowing that that's what he would have wanted. was the sacrifice worth it, is my life so precious that it had to be bought for his? and all of that. obviously the relationship between the three would have unrecognizably changed, they still have lingering love for each other but they also hate each other for what the other has done - or drove the other to do - but they also have these memories together, but at the bottom of their hearts they can't blame the others, and the self-hatred and guilt and grief are unbearable, and so on and so forth. and THEN it turns out that sensei is not even dead, not really, and he's always been on the enemy's side, so what was the point of all those years of bitterness?

like i think think that this particular plot line was good and had a lot of potential, it's just very emotionally complex... the execution though. lmfao. first off zura is so obscenely sidelined in all of this, it's like he always acted as a cheerleader/buffer for the takasugi vs mc rivalry and is given 0 depth or personal insight into this whole thing, no personal rapport to sensei even besides the faint freedom to assume that he's been keeping his hair long as a way to honor him. so the complexity automatically downgrades from 3 hurt grown children trying to deal with their pain to 2 butthurt guys and an afterthought. he's literally not even around when the flashbacks are revealed LMFAO it's so weird.

takasugi vs mc wasn't bad actually it was ok. takasugi delivered well, he had the grace to hallucinate sensei in his fight with the worstie that saved his life. i love takasugi. he was done dirty. his fixation on sensei and his anger at the world that took him away has gradually morphed into a fixation on mc and his sadness for some nebulous reason. if the rest of this thang was done in a convincing way i could have swallowed it, but seeing that it was fumbled, i can't, not really. yet another gruesome downgrade.

then there's the appearance of amnesiac sensei after squeezing all he could out of a gym membership and it's crickets. you spent years grieving him. you spent years resenting each other because you loved him and had to see him die. but upon meeting evil sensei they're like ummm well i see that he's an alien so it's not the same guy technically so why should i give a single fuck... well because it would have been entertaining if you did! it would have been good! it would have been compelling! but it fucking wasn't!!!!

[reidsfilm]

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 — SIMON RILEY

PARING: simon ''ghost'' riley x !fem reader

WARNINGS: SMUT!! (18+) pure filth, p in v, (wrap it up folks) unprotected sex, praise, petnames; bug, good girl, pretty girl etc, swearing, hair pulling, soft!dom ghost, oral (male receiving) aftercare. no use of y/n. simon being needy and desperate. slight dom! reader for a bit, creampie, cum eating, fluff.

SUMMARY: You and Simon were just casual until one day you weren't.

WORD COUNT : 6,3k

Notes: I wish fictional men were real. WHY AREN'T THEY!! not proofread.

Simon was never supposed to let anyone close, to let his whole stoic and brooding facade be weakened. He was a hard man, the years spent in the military have shaped him into something unbreakable.

Until you.

It was only supposed to be casual, shared cigarettes after a mission, and small chats, which led to numerous times spent in his barracks, his cock spearing you open each time. But you longed for it, to feel him against you, his praises and degrading words in your ear, his large scarred hands mapping out every inch of your body. His mouth caressing against your own. You'd never felt like this with anyone else, no other man has been able to bring you to this kind of ecstasy.

But this was only supposed to be casual. You weren't supposed to catch feelings, and neither was he. But you both knew you couldn't ignore them whenever you slept together. Or whenever you shared conversations about each other's past. Though you were more open about it than Simon, which was fair— you weren't going to force anything out of the man.

You knew how Simon worked, and vulnerability was a sight you did not often see whenever you were around the man. He was the most intriguing person you had ever met, and it only made you ever the more interested in him, and you knew you were in love with him.

But being just casual turned into something much more, though neither of you voiced your thoughts about it. Fleeting touches, eating together, and passing glances in the base hallway. It even went as far as her stopping using his callsign 'Ghost' and instead calling him Simon.

It was purely a slip-up once, and you had quickly apologized, though he was quick to say he didn't mind you using his real name. Because he didn't mind— at all. He liked the way his name sounded on your lips and was slowly itching to hear you say his name more, his name sounding sweet and like it was dipped in honey when it came out of your lips.

Your head lay on his chest, tracing shapes against his stomach as the two of you lay together in his bed, naked limbs tangled together. Smoke filled the room as Simon took another drag from his cigarette.

''You're quiet, what are you thinking about?'' You questioned, being met with silence from Simon. ''Simon?'' You moved your head so you could see his face, ''Us.'' Was all he said and your brows furrowed.

You sat up, the duvet slipping off down to your lap, exposing your naked upper body. Your chest was covered in love bites — something Simon had started doing more, like he was claiming you as his. Your breasts were full and supple and they moved when you turned to look at him.

''What are you thinking about that includes us?'' You questioned softly as you snatched the cigarette from his fingers, giving him a sly smile before taking a drag. ''You gonna cut me off?''

''Am I not good enough at giving head? Is that it? Or is it my lack of… experience?'' You questioned in a joking tone, though you were a little weary about what he had meant.

Simon takes the cigarette back from you. The filter is wet from your lips, something he quickly takes notice of. His eyes move up slowly, admiring your body before returning to your face. A small smile quirks up his lips at your cheeky question.

''You’ve never had complaints about either,'' he quips back with a smirk. ''And you’ll never hear one from me. Your mouth is good,'' he murmurs and brings the cigarette to his lips.

You hummed as you lifted the duvet off of your body before you straddled his hips. You once more took the cigarette from him, a teasing and taunting glint in your eyes as you giggled. ''Oh, is it good? Maybe I should practice on more men to get more opinions.'' You joked lightly as you stared down at him, though a dark look came across Simon's face at your words.

''I’m just joking. The only cock I want is yours.’’ You purred softly you traced your fingers over his stomach and up to his chest.

A sudden, irrational thought of your pretty, plump mouth wrapped around someone else's cock causes him to get angry in a flash.

He grabs your wrist, the cigarette nearly falling out of your hand as Simon suddenly sits up. His other hand grabs your jaw and his gaze locks with yours.

There’s a possessive, cold look in his eyes.

''You’re mine,'' he growls. ''Only mine.''

''I'm yours, baby,’’ You muttered softly as you looked at him, your eyes piercing through his dark ones. You used your free hand and placed it on his chest, over his heart. Before you reached over to the nightstand to put the cigarette out into the ashtray.

''The only man who can make me climax five times in a row is you.’’ You purred as you looked at him, caressing his chest. You felt his cock poking at your inner thigh, and you looked at Simon with a raised brow.

''Is the little man excited?’’ You questioned with a small giggle.

Your soft hand caressing over his chest helps to ease his possessive anger and Simon lets out a slow breath. He’s still simmering with jealousy but he can keep a handle on it now.

Simon looks down between their bodies and notes how his growing erection is pressing against you through the blanket. He leans forward and his breath tickles your ear as he replies with a low grumble.

''He gets excited just from you talking, love.''

You raised an eyebrow as you cocked her head to the side. ''Yeah? Is that so? Maybe I should give him some attention.'' You purred as your hand slipped down his chest, towards his stomach, and under the blanket, grabbing a firm hold of him and making Simon growl at your touch. ''Oh... he's hard as a rock. Poor baby.'' You cooed softly as you used your free hand to caress his jawline.

Simon's eyes close as you cup his throbbing cock in your hand. His hands grab your hips and he bites back a groan. Your touch sets his nerves on fire and your words fan the flames.

''Keep talking like that, love, and he’ll be coming very soon.''

''Yeah? Best get him inside me before that then.’’ You teased as you chucked the duvet off and to the side of the bed, exposing you both fully. You lifted your hips before situating yourself over his weeping cock, before slowly sinking down.

A soft moan slipped from your lips as you sunk down on him completely. ''Fuck… making me feel so full.'' You whimpered as you clutched onto his shoulders.

Simon moaned as your walls hugged him tightly and wrapped around his cock. ''So tight,'' he muttered huskily. ''And so perfect. This cunt was made for me.''

His hands grabbed your hips as you started riding him. The feeling was pure ecstasy. He’d never felt this way with anyone. You were unlike anyone before you. He was addicted. Addicted to you. Addicted to the way you felt.

''Bug...'' his voice was rough and his heart raced. He was falling in love with you without even meaning to.

Bug, the nickname used to carry mockery, now only served to make your stomach flutter. Simon had given you the nickname long before you became close because you irritated him— like a bug. A bug who always followed after him, ready to bite and latch onto him. You hated it at first, but now you couldn't help but find it endearing as it came from his mouth.

''Si…'' You whimpered as you clutched onto his shoulders, rocking your hips back and forth as you threw your head back in pure pleasure. Your breasts bounced at your movements, and your mouth opened and closed as your eyes shut. The feeling of having him inside you was heaven itself.

You had denied your feelings for him for way too long, but uncertain that Simon probably only wanted to continue your sex with no strings attached. But this moment brought your feelings up to the surface like an explosion.

The sounds of your flesh coming together filled the room. Simon was entranced by the sight of you riding him. He always was, it was like watching an angel.

His breathing was hitched and his grip on your hips was harder than it should have been. Most likely going to leave marks, but neither of you seemed to care.

He was falling for you. He wanted you. All of you. But he didn’t know how to say it without screwing everything up.

''You feel so good..'' he murmured between pants. ''So good for me.''

''You're the one that makes me feel good..'' You said between breaths as you continued to ride him, your hips rocking against him as you chased that high — that pure heavenly feeling you craved.

''Only one that makes me feel this good… just you... s'only you.'' You rambled on sweetly as you captured his lips in a searing kiss — an I am so fucking in love with you kiss.

One of your hands left his shoulder and instead gripped the back of his nape as your fingers threaded through his hair. ''I… I love you..''

You couldn't help the words from slipping from your lips as your mouth was against his. You had to let him know how you felt, how he made you feel. You weren't regretting it, not a bit.

Your declaration of love hits him like a truck. His heart raced and his blood pumped loudly in his ears. He had never been confessed to before. Never had anyone uttered those words to him. But he would only fool himself if he didn't admit it made him ecstatic.

He held your hips tightly as you rode him, his heart swelling at your soft words. His fingers dug into your skin as he kissed her back, filled with a sudden desperation to stay closer. To have all of you.

“I love you, bug...” he groaned as he panted against your lips.

He loved you— he actually loved you too. And your heart couldn't help but swell at the declaration. Only making your head feel all the more fuzzier.

''Mhm… I love you more.'' You muttered against his lips, your eyes locked as your hips ground against his, as his own hips pistons against your own. Your lips teasingly mingled close, your breaths hitting each other’s face. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers trailing softly against his back.

His cock twitched inside of you, making it known he was close.

Simon's heart pounded against his chest as you confessed your love for him again. He would never tire of hearing those words, never tire of looking into your eyes, and never tire of your sweet body against his.

He kissed you again, his fingers squeezing into your skin. He wanted to hold you to his chest and never let you go. Wanted to shield you from everything. He never wanted to leave your side. Simon wanted to be your man.

''Bug…'' he muttered. ''M'close, I'm close…'' Your walls clamped around him, squeezing his cock and making him groan.

''I know… I’m close too. Want you to fill me up. Make me yours, body and soul.'' You muttered as your breasts were squashed against his chest. Your pace quickened as one of Simon's hands held your hips while the other gripped the globe of your ass, groping and squeezing the flesh.

''You think I’d look good pregnant?'' You questioned as you rode him.

The thought just slipped into your mind, and the idea of being full and round with Simon's child did sound enticing.

Simon groaned as he heard those words. The idea of you bearing his child made a possessive thrill shoot through him and a feral growl tore itself from his lips. He held onto your hips tightly as his climax approached.

He’d never considered having children before, never cared for the thought. But the idea of you carrying his baby made him excited.

Happy.

You’d look gorgeous..'' he grunted as his thrusts grew more erratic. ''Would you let me give you my baby?'' He questioned as he panted.

''Yes… want to be filled with your cum and carry your child.'' You whined softly as you grew more tired of rocking your hips. Simon noticed and took charge, flipping you over so he hovered over you, before plunging back inside and making your back arch.

Simon settled between her spread thighs as he continued to plunge into her. Your words made his blood pound in his ears and his heart beat fiercely against his chest.

He would fill you up. Knock you up. Claim you as his.

Simon kissed you and whispered sweet nothings against your lips. ''Are you on birth control, bug?''

''Would you be mad if I said no? I have no intention of trapping you, unwillingly.'' You gasped as you scratched at his back, your breasts pressing up against his chest when you arched your back. Your pussy fluttered around his cock, feeling the familiar coil in your stomach hanging on by a thin thread.

Simon shook his head and peppered your neck with kisses. ''I want you to be mine,'' he growled. ''I'm yours. You're mine. I want to give you a baby.''

He pressed his forehead against yours, his thrusts slowing to languid but deep rolls of his hips. His breathing was labored as he panted, on edge but trying to draw out the pleasure.

''I won't pull out when I finish,'' he warned. ''I want you to get pregnant. Is that alright with you, love?''

''Yes… yes, I want that. Fill me up, paint my walls white.'' You moaned as he thrust into you, feeling your walls clamping around him as he twitched. You felt your climax nearing its peak, and you knew Simon was close too, by his movement increasing and the sound of your skin smacking against each other.

His balls slapping up against the underside of your ass.

Simon continued to slowly roll his hips, trying to hold out and not finish too soon. He wanted to make you finish first.

One of his hands grabbed your jaw and he turned your head so you would focus on him. His hazel eyes were heavy-lidded, his breath leaving him in heavy gasps, and his face flushed.

''You gonna cum for me, love?'' The pad of his finger rubs over your bottom lip. ''This cute little cunt takes me so well. ''Gonna cum on my cock, hm?

You nodded as you looked up at him, your eyes locked with his hazel eyes. The coil in your stomach was at a breaking point and before you knew it your orgasm came washing over you. ''Si...fuck... so good.''' You babbled as your juices coated around his cock, dripping out from your sopping pussy.

You arched your back more as you let out a wanton and loud moan, the sound bouncing off the walls as you buried your head in the pillows, your eyes rolling back in sheer delight.

Your orgasm triggered his own and he groaned out loud, his hips snapping forward as you came deep inside you. His cum spurts into you and as promised, coats your gummy walls white.

His orgasm tore through him powerfully and he could only manage to hold himself up by his elbow before he collapsed onto your body. He buried his head in the junction between your neck and shoulder and caught his breath against your skin.

You had never felt so blissed out and spent before. Sure, the other times you two had sex, it was good. But in those times you were only fucking for your own pleasures. But this was on a whole other level, this was to people who were deeply in love and connected to each other, making love.

''Fuck… mhm…'' You breathed out as you came down from your high. Your body twitched and writhed underneath him, as Simon was still buried inside you. He sat up and pulled out, making you whine as some of his cum spurted out onto your lower stomach.

You stared up at him and watched as he panted.

You watched the muscles in his body contract and his large cock growing soft against his stomach. His cum dribbled down out of your puffy hole, staining the sheets.

Simon looked down where his cum had leaked out of you and groaned at the display.

The sight of you covered in his cum did something to him. Made his possessive instincts flare up. You were marked by him and he liked it. He thoroughly enjoyed seeing you like this.

''Look at you. This pretty little cunt and stomach, covered in my cum.'' He muttered as he leaned down to kiss your cheek. ''Lay still. I want you… messy and reeking of me.''

You whined as he kissed your cheek then your forehead and lastly your lips. He chuckled softly at your whine before leaning over to open a drawer and taking out a Polaroid camera. ''You gonna take a picture of me like this?'' You questioned, your words so soft and almost a mere whisper as you stared up at him.

Your thighs were still quite shaky, a thin layer of sweat covered your naked skin. Your chest heaved as you breathed.

Simon looked down at you with a smirk, his eyes dark with desire just from the sight of you. God, you were perfect.

''How did you know?'' He murmurs, snapping a picture. He watched as it developed in his hand and another smirk tugged at his lips.

''God, you know how to make a man feral.'' He looked down at the picture, with your legs spread wide, your cheeks flushed and your half-lidded eyes looking up at the camera. His cum covering your stomach and leaking out of your pussy.

''Yeah?’'' You questioned as you sat up, taking a tissue and wiping your stomach clean. ''I want you to use me…'' You muttered as you crawled over to the edge of the bed. Simon growled as he watched you, giving your ass a soft smack.

You got down onto the floor, settling on your knees, as you looked over at him. You licked at your lips, your eyes gleaming. ''Please?''

''Bug, we gotta get you cleaned up first.'' He spoke as he neared the edge of the bed, settling down on it with his legs spread. His cock which was soft slowly stirring back to life again. You licked your lips again at the sight.

''Later, I want to make you feel good. Wanna be a good girl for you.'' You stared up at him, wide doe eyes piercing into his hazel eyes. Simon stared down at you, and god did you look good on your knees, all for him.

He leaned down on the edge of the bed and his hands reached out to cup her face. ''Are you sure?'' he asked softly, his thumb stroking the flesh of your cheek.

He wasn’t going to push you to do anything you didn’t want to. He never wanted to make you uncomfortable or push your boundaries. You were the one in control, and Simon would let you do anything you wanted, he just needed to hear you say it.

''I want to mouth on you.'' You purred as you nuzzled your cheek against his thumb, You shifted closer to his spread legs, your lips salivating at the sight before you.

His cock was thick, veins sticking out here and there. And his cockhead was the same color as his pretty lips.

Simon stared down at her, his pulse quickening as anticipation coursed through his veins.

''Baby...'' he whispered as he watched you press closer, his eyes dark with lust and need. The pet name came out of his mouth before he had even registered it, but you seemed to like it as you shuffled closer.

His hand threaded itself into your hair, his fingers clenching in your locks. ''You’re going to be the death of me, you know that, don't you? You're going to be my undoing.''

His other hand came to rest on your shoulder, his thumb tracing the skin tenderly.

His eyes watched your every movement, his gaze hot and heavy. It always amazed him how someone so innocent could look so sinful at the same time.

He gently tugged on your hair, his breath coming in soft pants. ''Go on, love. Stop staring at me like that, I might just cum from that look alone.''

You shifted a bit closer until you were between his spread knees. You were a sight to behold, sitting on your knees looking so pretty.

''Mmm... I’m just taking my time.'' you purred before leaning forward to run the tip of your tongue along the underside of his shaft.

''You like that, right?'' you whispered, your tongue still tracing his cock.

You could feel him straining, could see him twitch. Your gaze never left his. Your hand reached out and wrapped around him, pumping slowly. She watched as his eyes fluttered closed and he groaned, his fingers tightening in your hair. ''Bloody hell..'' he muttered huskily.

''Mmm.. seems like I’m doing a good job so far then,'' you said quietly, your thumb rubbing at the crown.

''I’m just getting started though.''

You began to pepper his cock with kisses, starting up at the underside all the way to the head before making your way back down.

You swirled your tongue around the flared head, He groaned again, louder this time. You gave the head small kitten licks.

''You’re being cruel, love.'' he bit out in a strained voice. ''Stop teasing me. Please.''

It wasn't often you found yourself hearing Simon beg. It was a rare occurrence. Usually, he'd just take what he wanted from you, forcing your mouth down on his cock and making you gag on it until you were crying. But now he was begging, pleading for you to give him more.

To have your lips wrap around him.

You smirked, your eyes filled with mischief. ''I’m not teasing you. I’m just giving you attention.''

You kept up with the kitten licks, purposely avoiding taking him into your mouth. ''You're fucking evil you know that, love?'' Simon groaned as he let his head loll back, eyes closed, his breath coming in short.

''Just give me that mouth of yours like a good girl, please.''

There it was again, that desperate tone of voice. It made you wanna hold back even more, have him completely and utterly under your control.

You chuckled at this. ''Impatient, Lieutenant?'' you questioned, knowing you were winding him up.

''Maybe I’ll just keep up this slow, torturous pace until you’re begging me to let you come.''

He growled angrily at her response. ''You've got a mouth on ya, don't you love?''

He pulled your hair, forcing your head back so he could look you in the eyes. ''You’re really going to make me beg, hm? Are you getting off on this, love? Is this making your pussy all creamy, hm?'' His tone was condescending, but it only seemed to further spur you on.

Having Simon who was a hard nut to crack, at her beck and call. Yeah, it felt damn fucking good.

''Maybe I am,'' you said confidently. ''Maybe I’m loving the thought of you at my mercy for once.''

His grip on your hair tightened, tugging again and making a small gasp slip from your lips. He hated being desperate. But he hated being at someone's mercy even more.

He let out a frustrated huff, his body shuddering involuntarily as your breath ghosted over his skin. ''You want me to beg? Then I’ll beg. I’ll do whatever you want, just give me those lips, love.''

He found himself almost wincing at how pathetic he sounded.

You hummed in response, your gaze shifting between his face and the straining cock poking you in the cheek. You let out a soft, fake sigh, a smirk still on your lips, and you looked up at him.

''Poor Lieutenant Riley. So desperate for my lips around his cock.''

''Yes.'' he bit out. ''Now be a good girl and give me your pretty mouth, please.''

Simon hated the way his voice wavered. How eager it sounded, how needy it sounded.

''Well, since you asked so nicely,” You said and finally, and finally, you took him into your mouth, a soft moan leaving you.

You began to bob your head as your tongue stroked the underside, your eyes still locked on his. ''That’s it, love. Just like that.''

Simon groaned as your tongue worked him. He watched you, his eyes darkened by lust.

''Christ. Your mouth feels so good. This mouth was made for my fuckin cock.''

You hummed, the noise sending pleasant vibrations through him, the sound only encouraging you more. One of your hands started to fondle his balls, your fingers applying a gentle but firm pressure.

Your free hand settled on his stomach, your fingers tracing patterns into his skin.

Simon groaned loudly, his head rolling back briefly. Your hand on his stomach was both soothing and arousing, your touch soft but firm.

He wanted so badly to push your head down and thrust into your warm, wet mouth but he held back, digging his fingers into your scalp.

''That’s it, love. You’re so good. So good for me. Just a little bit more. You can take it, I know you can.''

You kept up your pace, your mouth and tongue working diligently. You could feel the muscles in his cock tense under your touch, could hear his breathing start to become labored.

You could tell he was getting close, could feel his pulse fluttering against your tongue, and you were determined to get him over the edge.

Simon's breaths grew shallower, his body tense and quivering. The hand in your hair tightened his grip firm but not painful.

''Bloody fuckin hell. I’m close, love.'' he groaned. ''I'm gonna come. And you’re going to swallow every drop, understand?''

You looked up at him with hooded eyes and a full mouth, giving him a hum of acknowledgment. Your hand moved from his stomach to his thigh, digging your nails into the skin there, wanting to mark him in any way you could.

Your eyes started to water, feeling your jaw growing tense.

Simon's eyes darkened almost feral. ''You're taking me so well. Yeah, just like that, pretty thing.''

His free hand reached out and caught a tear that slipped free, his thumb tracing the trail it left. He couldn’t deny the way his heart twisted at the sight, how it both aroused him and made him feel guilty.

You whimpered around him as he so gently caught your tears, the look in his eyes and the feel of his hands on your skin making you lightheaded.

''You look beautiful like that.''

''You’re doing so well, love. Just a little bit more, okay?'' he muttered, feeling himself growing closer to the edge.

''So good for me, aren’t you?'' He continued to praise you, and they went straight to your pussy. His praises never failed to make your head feel fuzzy and mushed.

You hummed in response, your body shuddering as the sound vibrated through him. You could feel his cock swelling in your mouth, knowing he was close.

Your nails dug into his skin hard enough that he knew she would leave marks. He wanted you to, wanted something to show how much he was yours.

''So close, love. Just a little more.''

His hips began to jerk involuntarily, seeking that release he needed. His muscles were coiled tight with anticipation and his breaths were little more than pants now.

He was so close, teetering on the edge. His head was reeling, his eyes only half open and his heart rate spiked. And with one last swipe of your tongue, he came, your name leaving his lips like a choked whimper. He trembled with the force of it, his body twitching as waves of pleasure wracked through him.

His cum spurted into your mouth and you didn't waste a second on swallowing, lapping it all up like a starved person.

Simon's hand gripped your hair weakly at first, before gathering a fistful of it. He let his head loll back, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

''Christ,'' He muttered as he felt your tongue clean him gently. He was dazed and reeling, his mind fuzzy with pleasure and his body heavy.

He glanced down at you, his eyes raking over you, taking in her appearance. Your messy hair, your tear-streaked cheeks, your flushed and sweaty skin. You were a beautiful mess and it was a sight he would never forget.

His hand in your hair loosened, before gently scratching at your scalp as he slowly came down from his high. Once his breaths started to even out he gently tugged on your hair, signaling for you to come up.

''Come here, love,'' he said, his voice still gruff and raspy.

His hand in your hair encouraged you up to a standing position and he immediately tugged you into his lap, straddling his thighs.

He cupped the sides of your face with both hands, his thumbs gently wiping away your remaining tears.

He took you in, his eyes roving over your face, noting the tear tracks and his chest ached. You were gorgeous like this, but it also hurt seeing you like this, being the one to make you cry.

''You did so well for me, love,'' he said softly, his tone warm and tender. ''You have no idea how beautiful you are like this, do you?''

You buried your head against his shoulder, a whine leaving your lips at his words as you nuzzled against him. His hand went into her hair, caressing the back of her head. ''My pretty girl, did so good. Such a good girl.''

His hands moved down to your hips, holding them in a firm but gentle grip. ''Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,'' he murmured.

You gave a small nod, still feeling a bit dazed. You felt weak in the knees, your body shaky and sensitive.

''Okay,'' you whispered, your voice soft and a bit hoarse.

Simon gently lifted you up, shifting your weight so he could stand comfortably. He made a mental note to go get some water for your throat later.

He took you into the bathroom, setting you down on the edge of the sink and standing in front of you.

He started to gently clean you up, using a warm, damp cloth to wipe away the tear tracks on your cheeks and the sticky cum on your inner thighs and folds. You hissed at the feeling, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his chest. ''I know baby, shh, I know you're sensitive.'' You only whined once more in response.

He was gentle and meticulous, taking care of you as though you were a fragile doll. His touch was tender and affectionate, his usually cold eyes soft. And you were a fragile doll, to him.

Once he had cleaned her up to his satisfaction, Ghost picked her up and carried her back to the bedroom. ''Let's get ya back to bed.'' He took you over to the bed and gently laid you down, his actions and his eyes tender.

He got in beside you, pulling the covers over them and wrapping an arm around you. He pulled you against him so your back was flush with his chest, his large form surrounding her in a protective embrace.

"You alright, love?" he murmured, gently nuzzling his face into the back of your neck. Simon was feeling surprisingly tender now, the weight of his emotions bearing down on him.

You let out a small hum of contentment, feeling safe and warm in his embrace. Despite the slight soreness between your legs, you were feeling relaxed and at ease.

"Yeah, I'm good," you whispered, snuggling back against him.

''You sure?'' he asked, his voice still gruff but soft. His arm tightened around you, holding you closer. He always got a bit more protective and attentive after sex. It was a habit he couldn’t seem to break, and nor did he want to.

"Yeah, I’m sure," you replied, your eyes closing at the feeling of being so close to him. You reached up and put your hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I feel good. A bit sore, but good,” you admitted a small chuckle leaving you. There would never come a day where you complained about Simon leaving your pussy sore and bruised. Ever.

He hummed, placing a kiss on your shoulder. ''Good,'' he said, a hint of possessiveness in his voice.

You felt a pang of concern for him, knowing how closed off and reserved he could be about his emotions.

''Are you good?'' you asked softly, rolling over in his arms so you were facing him. Simon took a moment to answer, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at you. Finally, he gave a short nod. ''Yeah, love. I'm good,'' he said, his voice gruff and low.

You watched him closely, your eyes searching his. There was something in his expression that made you hesitate, afraid of what his answer might be.

''Did you mean it when you said you loved me?'' You asked, your voice quiet and soft. Your eyes roamed over his face, taking in the faint white scars and the faint freckles on his cheeks and nose.

His eyes darkened momentarily, and he was silent for a moment.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and gruff. ''Yeah. I meant it.''

The weight of his words hit you, and you felt your heart flutter. You knew he wasn’t one to voice his feelings often, so for him to say that he loved you…it was huge.

''Okay,'' you said, your voice cracking slightly. ''Okay.''

You burrowed into his chest, burying your face in his chest hair. Simon wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. He could feel you trembling slightly, but he didn’t comment on it. He knew you were probably trying to process his words.

He let his hands gently stroke your hair, his movements slow and soothing.

As you clung to him, Simon's mind started to wander. It bothered him, that nagging uncertainty. He needed to hear you say it too.

His chest felt tight with the words, and his heart was racing, but he needed to know if this was real, if you loved him too.

''Bug,'' he murmured, his voice thick. ''Did you mean it when you said you loved me, too?''

You let out a shaky breath, your heart skipping a beat at his question. You had said it in the heat of the moment, driven by passion and pleasure, but now…now it felt huge and overwhelming.

You took a moment to gather her thoughts, her fingers tracing small patterns on his chest.

''Yeah,'' you whispered. ''I meant it.''

Simon felt his chest tighten at your words, a mixture of relief and disbelief washing over him. He had hoped you felt the same, but he hadn’t dared to get his hopes up.

He pulled you closer if that was even possible, holding you almost desperately. ''Christ, bug,'' he muttered, his voice gruff but wavering slightly. ''Say it again. Tell me again.''

He needed to hear you say it to him again, afraid his ears might have betrayed him.

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a warm rush of affection for this gruff and reserved man.

You pulled back slightly so you could look at him, your gaze locked with his. ''I love you,'' you said again, clearly and firmly. ''I love you, Simon.''

And you did, and there was no way you would ever go back on your words. This cold and standoffish man had wormed his way into your heart. Hearing his name from your lips was a sucker punch to the gut. His whole body shivered and his heart stumbled in his chest.

''God,'' he grunted, his voice thick and raw with emotion. ''Bug, say it again, just once more.'' He sounded almost pleading, desperate to hear those three words again.

You could see the raw emotion in his eyes, the pleading and desperate look on his face. You felt your heart clench in her chest, his vulnerability and need for reassurance surprising you.

You reached up, gently cupping the side of his face, your thumb stroking against the faint stubble. You met his gaze firmly, your voice tender and earnest as you said, ''I love you, Simon.''

Simon's eyes fluttered shut as the words left your lips. It was like they were a soothing balm on his roughened soul, helping to ease the ache in his chest. He let out a shaky breath, his arms wrapping around you tightly, holding you against him as though you were his lifeline.

And you were, he knew that deep down.

''Love you, too, so damn much,'' He muttered, the words hoarse and low against your ear.

You let out a soft giggle, feeling giddy and lightheaded from the emotions swirling around you. You snuggled closer into him, enjoying the feeling of being held in his strong arms.

''Is this you…asking me to be your girlfriend?'' You asked, your voice playful and soft.

He pulled back slightly so he could look at you, his gaze intense and serious.

''I'm asking you to be my girlfriend. I'm asking you to be my future wife. And the mother of my children.'' his voice was rough with emotion.

You felt your heart slam against your chest, your breath catching in your throat. Simon had just asked you to be his girlfriend and to be his wife. And on top of that, the mother of children.

You felt overwhelmed and dizzy, your emotions and the words and the implications of what he was asking you crashing over you like a wave. You just stared at him for a moment, stunned into silence, until you finally managed to find your voice. “Yes,” you whispered. ''Yes, to all of it.''

As soon as the word left your lips Simon felt something inside his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope.

He let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, his face softening slightly. ''Yeah?'' he asked, his tone still gruff but filled with a hint of excitement.

It touched something sweet and painful inside you, that this big strong man was still so unsure about your feelings for him. You reached up, gently cupping the side of his face.

''Yes,'' you repeated. ''Yes. I want to be your girlfriend. And your wife. And the mother of your children. I want all of it.''

He needed you so close that there was no space between you, that you were one and the same.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, muttering the words against your skin. “That's all I've wanted.''

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated ♡

Divders credit: cafekitsune

[jolalibrary]

going to make you sweat

javier peña x f!reader | main masterlist

summary: it's the hottest day of the year; you and javi want to make it hotter.

rating: 18+/explicit warnings: explicit smut. somewhat established relationship. jo's spelling, jo putting to practice her spanish. wordcount: 1.9k

It begins with the sound of the fan.

Whirring. Whirring. Blowing nothing but warm, sticky heat around the over-boiled place.

For four days, the sun has been beating down relentlessly, acting as another unforgiving tyrant ruling over Colombia, forcing waves of heat to seep into homes, regardless of whether doors and windows are closed.

All but forcing everyone to seek refuge from the scorching onslaught.

It's why he's home.

It's why you didn't protest when his hand found your lower back, guiding you out to the passenger seat of his vehicle.

The unspoken understanding between you both fizzes in the air. All silence, discreet.

Just like the rest of the clandestine nature of your relationship.

Now, you’re lying as still as possible. Not even considering sliding your leg over to touch his—even if usually, you’d have done it a handful of times.

Cool showers offered no relief—your skin was already slick with dampness before you finished drying off. Every movement made the heat feel unbearable, trickling down your neck. Your limited attire, stuffed in a spare drawer at his, offers no relief; the white tee and panties cling to your skin, feeling like additional layers you long to peel away from your bones, not just your skin.

Your eyes flick towards him at the sound of his lighter—at the paper burning at the end, before the scent greets your nostrils.

Normally, it would barely irritate you, but now it twists your annoyance into a knot and uses it to fuel its fury. A glare not forcing him to stub it out, your mood souring, further making beads of perspiration collect along your collarbone and drip down the valley of your breasts, all but pooling where your body bends and creases as you remain on the sofa.

You can feel him watching.

Eyes likely following the path of sweat descending under your top—because even in unbelievable temperatures, you’re sure he’s mentally undressing you.

Because he looks wrecked, even with the cigarette burning between his fingers/.

Javier Peña's usually put-together look of swept-to-the-side hair is currently stuck damp to his forehead as sweat drips off the end of his sloped nose. The look is so reminiscent of what you’d imagine he'd look like if he had a full free day to fuck you; if it wasn’t rushed quickies or long, drawn-out nights before the two of you collapsed into sheets before doing it all over again on three hours of sleep.

At some point between coming home early and sitting beside you, his barely buttoned shirt has been discarded, leaving him in a pair of shorts he’d pulled on when he’d been grumbling about the fucking heat, paperwork and bureaucracy all in the space of a minute.

The fact he'd shed most of his layers allows you to trace your eyes down his body. Glance at the soft curve of his stomach, the firmness of his chest and those biceps you see flex when he’s leaning when he’s doing all he can not to flick his eyes from your face to your tits.

He's already caught you.

Taking a drag on his cigarette for a suspiciously long time before blowing the smoke out in one smooth movement. Eyes on you. Fixed. Never unfocused.

And fuck, if it doesn’t make you want him that much more.

“It’s too hot.”

“I said nothing.”

You snort. Loud. Full of intent.

Mind a scrambled mess of want, as your hips shift when your eyes flick south of his neck and land on his thighs.

“C’mon, Cariño,” he drawls, stubbing out his cigarette—punching the lit end out until it’s snuffed, “Come sit on my lap.”

A battle ensures in your skull. It’s weak, both the for and against, which is how you find yourself straddling him, palm flat to your thighs—finding the heat from his body no more intense than the sweltering environment around you.

“This what you want, me all sweaty on you?”

He chews his cheek, a glint in the dark of his eyes, a blip in the pool of desire—and your heart pounds in your chest. Breaths coming in short gasps, matching the rhythm of the fan in the corner.

"I'd have you on top of me however I can."

"Course you would," you retort.

His fingers flex, itch. Sneak in inches up your skin as he continues to breathe slowly, in and out, out and in.

You’re not sure who moves first, but your lips find his—passionate, fiery. Teeth almost grazing but your tongue slides in and licks past his teeth, swallowing his moan, his hiss, as you roll your clothed pussy over his hardening cock, tasting nothing but smoke, coffee and mint, a combination you know to be him.

“Mm—fuck,” he groans.

He sounds pained when he drags his mouth from yours, his fist full of the back of your sweat-soaked tee as he drags it off over your head—throwing it, it landing on the tiles with a wet slap, forcing your head to snap to the sound.

But he’s on you.

Mouth latching to your nipple, tongue swirling, before tracing a line up your breast and across your collarbone.

“Taste so fucking good, cariño.”

It’s stifled, the moan—forcing your best smirk to show, “Put your head between my thighs and say that, Peña.”

And he considers it.

Your words.

Head tilting marginally, the slightest of movements that he’ll pretend never occurred. But he moves, shifts. Practically bucks his hips into you as he repositions, and you land on your bare back on the sofa with an oomph.

A comment arrives on your tongue, almost fizzling before it’s swallowed at the way forces your knees together and yanks your panties down your thighs. Soaked, ruined—both from the mere existence of him and the heat. Discarding them, throws them into some dark space as he glances down at the place between your thighs.

“Even in this heat, she’s pretty.”

You try not to turn away, bury your face in the smoked-scented cushions of his sofa as his words meet you. A sudden desire to hide, to cover—

“You not like that, cariño, when I call her pretty?” His knuckles part your folds, teasing, dragging them up and down as you squirm, whine his name. “Tell me.”

Somehow, all fucking unknown to you, more heat floods your cheeks. It's embroiled in embarrassment, shyness—two things you’re sure he spends most of his time trying to fuck out of you, but has failed to do so thus far—

He says your name.

Not your nickname. Not agent.

Eyes snapping to him, throat dry as he continues to tease, as his thumb presses on your clit and makes you hiss.

“No—ffff-feel embarrassed, alright? Fuck.”

You hear his tongue click—it’s the last thing you hear before ringing. Before two fingers slide into you, slide with ease as they delve deep, his frame coming over your body as he moves them, as he curls them. Doing his best to undo as his eyes come into focus, the top of his tongue dragging over his parted lips.

And the ringing dies down.

Forced to as a pebble of sweat falls from his nose and drips to your breastbone.

“No need to be embarrassed with me.”

Your hips try to buck and seek.

“Impaciencia,” he groans—moisture glistening at the base of his throat, palm keeping you down, still, fingers curled inside of you as you gasp. “You’re… fuck. I need to taste you.”

The breath of his words sweeps over your inner thigh.

“Javi, don't tease—“

“I’ve got you, cariño—don’t worry. I’ll make you come again, and again, and…”

You’re not sure if he speaks the last again—or if it’s buried into your pussy. A high chance you blank it out with other noises as his tongue fucks into your hole. Finger on your clit, swirling, drawing shapes your brain can’t manifest or conjure as you become aware of your moans.

Out of instinct, your fingers find his hair—slick with sweat, trying to curl between your fingers as his tongue flattens. All precise, taunting. Forcing you to the edge and dangling you before pulling you back.

It almost makes you thrash, forcibly lift your hips against him when his face lifts—face slick with your want as he smirks.

“Lo sé, cariño.”

“Please.”

It leaves your lips undignified, dignity gone, transformed into more raw, desperate—a plea that cuts through heat. One answered as he lifts your knee over his hip, feeling bare skin, red hot body heat and the nudging of his cock at your entrance.

He steals your breath, it stammering as he sinks into you in one fluid movement. Your fingers grasp, finding the hair at the nape of his neck again as his mouth comes to your ear, hearing it, the hiss between clenched teeth.

When he moves, your lips find his. It’s different, softer and almost gentle. All measured movements gone, lost, thrown out when you breathe him in, when your mouths are open, moaning into each other's throats as your heels dig into his lower back.

And you want to hold on.

But he’s driven you mad. Teeth grating over his shoulder as you tug on his hair. Tasting it, sweat, sex and salt. Your neck further coated in the slick of the heat, the moment; perspiration trickling, sliding over your skin as his hand grasps your hip firmly. Tightly. Practically noticing the hints of intimacy the two of you pretend aren’t there, but rumble and thrum whenever the two of you are alone.

And the thought adds to the feeling of that impending wave rising inside of you again, more angry, needy than it had been before—

“So good for me, cariño. My good girl.”

“Yours.”

It snakes out, too late to retract. Not even caring that it’s there, staining the space between you both, polluting it. Because it’s the truth.

Some days the only thing you can full on believe—

“Yeah, that’s it. Mine, right? All fucking mine?“

His hips thrust into you harder, matching the tone that makes you even wetter than you were seconds before.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

“Yes. Yes. Ye—”

“Fuck, cariño.”

You‘re close. So close. It almost blinding in the way it tries to force your eyes to clench shut, but you can't look away. Not from him. Each flex of his muscles, the way his teeth grit as he fucks into you, makes your body both taut and boneless.

“Wanna feel you, cariño,” he groans, breath ragged, tortured out. “Let me feel you come, baby. Please.”

Tightening around him, fingers jerking on his hair, he meets your eyes.

Not able to fight it, not able to stop it from unravelling as it begins to crest—

"Let me feel you come, baby. Please." His tone all full of gravel, insistent, demanding. Practically unwilling to bend as it brushes itself into your ear. 

His name cracks out of your throat like thunder, slamming against the walls as it rips through you. Making your back arch into him, hearing him groan; hearing him hiss and fucking moan as you shake, thighs quaking around his sweat-tinged skin before he grunts as he spills into you.

It’s silence, except for heaving breaths.

The dull noise of the fan comes back to you, replacing the ringing from before as you slowly peel your legs from his body.

You’re not sure what you expect when he lifts his head, but it isn’t the look there. The one matched with a smile, sly but still a smile—chest rising and falling as he kneels, staring down at you.

Taking you in, flicking his eyes to the place the two of you had just been conjoined.

“Fucking hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

And even if you roll your eyes, you hide a smile behind the back of your hand, whispering a "Cállate, Peña."

[h5eavenly]

Fallen Star┃Jake Sim

Twenty-two - Make it easy. warnings: smut, dirty talk etc (not between reader and jake if that bothers you for whatever reason skip it), mentions of grooming and sexual abuse and lastly angst.

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Heeseung has been a constant in your life for as long as you remember. It wasn’t a specific moment that had stopped you in thought while looking at him but rather akin to a gentle breeze that passes by, almost seemingly unnoticed but the warmth it delivers stays. On the skin of your arm and in the curl of your smile.

You still remember the first time you met as if it was only yesterday, remnants of that night circles throughout your mind every now and then.

You were only a junior, dragged to a party that you surely did not belong to but when you’re that young wasn’t chasing a sense of fitting in is all what was yearned for? However, none of it really mattered. Not when you wobbled your way to the backyard of the house with anger burning fresh in your blood. Almost as sizzling as the alcohol

“Fuck!” you scream once you’re alone, your voice shakes with indignation too deep for you to make sense of “What a fucking cunt.” You mumble to yourself as you reach into the pockets of your ripped up jeans in search of a cigarette only for the pack to come up empty.

With a deep groan you throw it on the ground and step on it multiple times, in futile attempts to release some of the heat off your body, you weren’t sure if it is the hot weather or vexation that had you sweating hence why when your eyes fill with blistering tears you aren’t sure what to blame either.

“Damn girl. Are you okay?” you almost jump in terror, had not expected anyone to be here so when you turn around and come face to face with Heeseung, your cheeks color pink not at anything but the fact that he had witnessed you acting like a crazy person.

“No.” you answer as singular tear rolls down your cheek, a pathetic hiccup follows “My best friend just kissed my now ex.” You aren’t sure why you tell him that even though he didn’t ask perhaps you just needed to get things off your chest, perhaps the few last weeks have been rough at home and now your only joy has been stolen from the tips of your fingers by none other than your best friend.

“What a bitch.” Heeseung replies voice muffled by a cigarette lodged between his lips and your eyes flit down to it instantly.

“Can I have a cig?” you sniffle as your hand fiddles with your bracelet, s cheap gift that was given to you by your ex earlier that night, the metal could turn to rust with how awfully wrong it feels around your wrist.

“Sure,” Heeseung lips curled into a smirk, a puff of smoke tumbling out his lips as he extends his hand out to you “come get it.”

Ultimately you and Heeseung ended up having sex, it didn’t really mean anything. Not to you who has in need of a distraction from the magnitude of your hardships or to Heeseung who was into everything but relationships. So now years later when you’re sharing a cigarette on the balcony of your apartment as you spill the contents of burdens taking place upon your heart. It feels like recollections from that night.

“Sure, I might have worded things wrong, but did I really deserve that?” you ponder after you have just told him everything that went down last time you saw Jake at his place.

“No. he was being a dick.” Heeseung answers. Taking your cigarette from between your lips and you huff in something closer to annoyance.

You don’t find anything to say back so you fall silent, your eyes briefly shifting to the night sky, decorated with dozens of stars. You can’t help but wonder why they don’t sparkle as brightly as you remember, why it feels like a resemblance of the dull vacant corner of your heart.

“yn can I ask you something?” Heeseung asks, titling his head to look at you in time to see you nod “Do you like Jake?” your eyes widen at his question. Had not expected it and your first instinct is to deny.

No of course I don’t. are words that feel suitable to follow and yet they’re lodged in the middle of your throat and in counted seconds you decide that you don’t like that question. Because your eyes are darting everywhere as if stumbling upon an answer could lay in-between your hands or the metal rails.

You think it would have been much easier to deny if the question didn’t come from Heeseung. Perhaps it was his odd ability to look through every nook and cranny of your mind without you voicing it. To unveil your concerns one by one and then – much to your dismay- give echo to your hankering, your doubts. You were absolutely petrified to say it out loud, because saying things out loud gives them power, breathes life into every word and before you know it; it’s an inescapable reality.

“I- I don’t know.” You finally answer, an undeniable honesty fettering every word. Your insecurity nestles its way into you with a familiar route and then it’s all flashing before your shaking heart.

All the times you have asked yourself, “How many girls were here before me?’’ every time Jake’s hands sneaked around your waist with fervor, every time he laughed and then his eyes found yours as if he was checking if you felt the same, as if he wanted to make sure you were dripping with same joy coursing through his being.

And as you were fidgeting with your rattled heart, a part of you knew that you knew. A part of you knew you were running away in fear of rejection.

“Okay.” He says after a few silent beats.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“well-“ he lets out a sigh and your body grows slightly tense, as if he senses it Heeseung inches closer towards you, your shoulders brushing as he keeps his gaze ahead, the cigarette finished and you stare at the ashes “I think you did overstep. That of course doesn’t make anything he said is right or okay.” You listen curled with quiet “But we did talk about this before and this crosses the line of whatever ‘causality’ you guys agreed on. Just because you opened up to him doesn’t mean he should do the same yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out a sigh pulled from the depths of the feelings you refuse to voice “I- okay. Is it wrong for me to want to be closer to him? hoping to know more about him?” your being shakes with the vulnerability of your inclinations, Heeseung’s lips curl up in smile stitched with warmth the weather lacks, tinted with comfort you lean into.

“there’s nothing wrong with that but we don’t do things in hopes for them to be reciprocated do we baby? Especially not in these circumstances where everything is so gray.” His words filtrate through the uneasiness in you so effortlessly, despite the abiding ache you manage to find solace in them.

Silently you close the very small remaining spaces between your bodies and lean your head on his shoulder, his body makes room for you, your proximity welcomed as his arm circles your waist comfortably.

“You’re right.” You whisper and you almost feel the pride flowing through his body, at knowing that your lips twitch upwards. it's knowing when you feel like an outcast in the world Heeseung will always be your home.

“Did you guys talk after what happened?”

“No. he tried but I avoided him.” Heeseung only hums in response, resting his head atop yours.

“I do think you should talk to him. Maybe tell him about how his actions confuse you. because mr nation’s sweetheart have been crossing the line too and what he did was very wrong and assholey of him,”

Your body vibrates with chuckles as you attempt to look up at him as much as you can “Very assholey? Really?”

“I’m trying to be a good friend here.” He retorts with a roll of his eye.

“You have always been a good friend, Hee.” You say with a much lower tone, an unyielding tenderness coats your words, a warmth he silently allows himself to soak in for a couple of minutes.

“What is it that have been bothering you?” you ask after a while and Heeseung feels himself stiffen inwardly.

He contemplates for a bit if he should chase this conversation away, maybe he will convince you to a dawn a couple of drinks instead. A covered-up attempt to avoid looking into the mirror, he’d much prefer to stay curled up through the night than be awake to see the sunrise. But the ineluctable truth is that Heeseung is tired.

“A few weeks ago I slept with this girl and- you-“ his voice comes out croaked as if the silence of his concerns have manifested in the middle of his throat, he clears it “you know how I told you before about hating not feeling in power?”

“Yeah, I remember.” You reply tentatively, words woven with amiability as your gaze flickers over his face.

“that girl was very..persistent. and it reminded me of very awful things to say the least.” His hand moves aimlessly through the air and your brows furrow, a crease of a frown deepens.

“What- what do you mean by persistent Hee?”

“Don’t worry it’s not like she forced me or anything. The whole ordeal just made me uncomfortable and brought back awful things to my mind. so, I guess I haven’t been feeling like myself for a while.” He explains, an awkwardness tints his words as he puffs out a breath, a lackluster chuckle.

“I’m sorry about that stitch. you shouldn’t ever have to feel that way.”

“Yeah.” he replies looking down and stays quiet for a few minutes as your hand moves up and down his clothed arm in tries to provide comfort “no one should feel that way” he repeats.

“Is there anything I could do to help?” you ask, hand dripping to the end of his arm before slipping your fingers through the cracks of his and he grins “how about some ramen and drinks?” the same grin clambers over your face.

After a long and a very unnecessary debate over who should make it, you finally manage to force Heeseung to cook with the excuse “you’re the one who works in a restaurant!” despite the grunt he lets out, he obliges.

You sip on your glass of wine and watch him, teasing remarks thrown his way that have giggles erupting from between your lips with ease and an even funnier sight of a glare remains plastered upon Heeseung’s face. The night unravels with the same geniality spreading across your chest and needed quietude settling onto your mind.

It’s only when there’s a concerning amount of alcohol in your system that you both make the questionable decision of dying Heeseung ‘s hair, after his many complaints of being sick of the purple.

“i’m sure I have a hair dye here somewhere - aha I found it!” you’re standing on the tips of your toes in the middle of your bathroom while Heeseung leans back on your bathtub with a hazy mind, fogged by the number of drinks he dawned. With his arms crossed he watches you in your pajama shorts struggling to reach for the wanted box dye sitting on the top shelf but then you’re huffing with defeat.

He shouldn’t let his eyes wander, but they do anyways.

“I’ll get it for you.” he tells you.

“Thanks-“ he doesn’t give you enough room for his words to settle, for you to move before you feel him against his back. His chest presses you further against the sink and you almost wither away with a hushed gasp.

You aren’t sure if it’s the heat radiating off his body but when he arches his eyebrow at you, his familiar annoying smirk etched onto his face and the dye now between his hands while looking down at you, it ignites a familiar feeling all the way to your core.

“Red? You wanna dye my hair red?”

“And what’s wrong with red?” you counteract, praying the blush seeping into your face somehow isn’t noticeable when you walk past him.

“Now come on. Let’s get to work.” You grin and Heeseung follows with the shake of his head.

The process of dying Heeseung’s hair turns out to be a lot more fun than you expected. It helps take your mind from things you hope not to worry about right now. And despite Heeseung’s malicious attempts at getting dye your nose red (it’s almost deemed successful if not you dodging it in time for the color to splash onto your white couch) you manage to make it to the end of it with the both of you sane enough but not sober enough. It’s two minutes past twelve when you’re finally washing the dye out of his hair. With him sitting shirtless on the floor of your bathroom and leaning on the tub as you angle the shower head correctly.

You’re so focused on getting the color completely out that you’re not paying attention to how far you have leaned over him, with him ending up between your legs and absentmindedly his hands have taken claim on your waist. It only manages to steal your attention when you feel the tips of his fingers sneaking under the thin material of your shirt.

“Hee stop.” You complain with a breathy giggle, attempting to move a bit away from him without getting water everywhere. Your fingers brushing through his strands

“Stop what?” his hands tighten around you, and you squirm with another giggle when his fingers inches upwards, it feels cold against the warmth of your skin and goosebumps take over your body alongside a shiver.

“I’m serious! It tickles.” You berate through broken laughs and his rises alongside yours.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been on top of me like this.” He teases. His lips yearn to curve upwards at the sight of pink seeping into your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

It is more than enough for you to point the shower head at his face, drenching him in water.

“Okay okay! I’m sorry stop!” he tries to cover his face with his palms in hopes to block your makeshift gun.

“I can’t hear you.” you grin and only provide him mercy when it feels like he’s about to choke on said water.

The towel that’s on his head works as a barrier. Albeit a feeble one it is still a barrier. You tell yourself as you’re attempting to dry his hair. Yet there’s a slight tremble in your fingers, rattled breaths escaping you and suddenly you’re too focused on the way your chest falls up and down, you’re too aware of Heeseung’s eyes – stare lingering on your body. So, when he looks up, catches your gaze with a shift in them, a glint that isn’t a stranger to you and one that you are sure manifests in yours just as strong.

You couldn’t pretend to be surprised when he slowly inches upwards and towards you, his eyes darting between yours as if he’s garnering your reaction. He’s giving you time to back out but you’re only pausing in your movement, your breathing grows shaky as if you feel like you wait and wait and wait until his lips finally touch yours. It isn’t gentle- nor slow but rather two bodies clearly hungry for more.

For a split second. A mere blink of an eye, an image of Jake flashes in your head and you wonder if you should stop. It’s a ridiculous thought and you know it because no matter how many roads you’ve crossed, how scarred the tips of your fingers are, how they bleed of trying to knit together your strings of fate – it all comes down to nothing. You and Jake are simply nothing.

And you just wanted to feel something. You wanted for the first time in a while – the first time since Yeonjun and now Jake to feel good. Without stumbling upon hideous feelings like worry or jealousy or unambiguously fighting for the approval of what seems to be unattainable. You have grown weary of tolerating your own heart, bargaining back and forth in hopes of holding on for a little longer. It's the only reason you answer the way you do when Heeseung leans back just enough for him to whisper;

“Are we sure we wanna do this?” your breaths are mingling and you miss the heat of his mouth on yours already.

your body kneels into cravings; more, more, more.

“We both wanna feel good so why the fuck not?”

“Fuck yeah.” His smirk doesn’t last enough before you’re crashing your lips onto his.

It is the sole reason your gasp comes out as audible as his groan. His hands dig into your thighs as he pulls you onto his lap.

The towel falls to the ground silently as his hands roam your body, from your hips up to palming your breasts, there’s roughness dousing his movements, hurriedly traveling everywhere with purpose akin to forgetting and it is the same one that has your arms sneaking around his neck.

“You taste like soy sauce,” Heeseung murmurs, pulling back slightly with a lick to your lower lip.

“You’re the one who put so much fucking soy sauce in my ramen.” you snort, your fingers tugging lightly at the ends of his still damp hair.

“mhm. I’m not complaining. I fucking love soy sauce.”

You don’t get to register what he’s saying before he’s flipping you onto the bed and climbing atop you ardently and then he’s leaning down with intent to capture your lips yet again, his other hand sneaking down to undo the buttons of his jeans. He thinks his head is spinning, he thinks the room is bleeding crimson and he isn’t sure if it’s merely his desire.

“Wait!” you frantically stop him with a hand to his bare chest.

“What?” his brows furrow, eyes fliting down to your lips then back up.

“I don’t want you to stain my sheets.”

“Huh?”

“Your hair. It’s red. It’s gonna stain everything and I just washed my sheets.”

There’s a moment of silence that settles in, his expression falls as he studies you in what seems to be ventures to know if you’re serious – because there’s no way you are – not when he’s rock hard and he’s sure you can feel him, not when you’re sprawled under him with a flushed face and a heaving chest. But your gaze is determined, lips pursed.

“yn,” you blink at him “I don’t give a fuck if I stain your sheets. They’re gonna be ruined either way.”

You open your mouth to argue, you’re annoyed. Probably by his grin that’s doused in pomposity, and he can see it all, but he doesn’t give you a chance to let the words out before he’s crashing his lips onto yours eagerly, messily. You try to fight it, your hand curled onto a fist, and you think you’re pushing at his shoulder with all your power, but it’s all deemed worthless, especially when you’re melting against him. Your lips separating with a moan as his tongue caresses yours.

“You got so much better at kissing.” He comments with a quick wink as his hands pull your shorts and panties down. He licks his lips at the view of your glistening pussy, the room somehow grows hotter, the walls are caving in.

“Well, you’re still bad.” You roll your eyes, your hands pulling your top over your head.

“Do you have any condoms?” he asks pretending he didn’t hear your insult.

“Bottom drawer.”

“Are they Jake’s or Yeonjun’s?”

“Why does it matter?” you raise your brows at him.

“I’m just curious.” He grins, holding up his hands in surrender as he moves from atop of you “I just wanna make sure they fit because you know how massive I am.” You throw a pillow at him and with seemingly godly powers he manages to dodge it with a laugh so loud and deep from his chest that almost has him lying down on the floor.

When he’s on top of you once again it’s clear that both of you are no longer in the mood for stalling or teasing remarks. When your lips meet, desire coats your mouth as much as his. Your brain is turning into mush, not a single coherent thought exists as you feel his hand on your thigh spreading them wider, the other on the base of his cock as he guides it to your entrance.

“Ready?” he taps the tip of his cock against your clit.

“Uh-huh.” You breathe out fervently. Your palms cradling the sides of his face, and you think if you weren’t so horny you’d be making fun of the way he asked.

In spite of desperation clinging to your bodies, Heeseung sinks into you slowly. You’re not sure if he means to make you feel every inch of him or if he just simply likes moving like he has all the time in the world. Whatever it is, it has your head falling back with absolute bliss. A drawn-out moan – that is embarrassingly loud if you focus on it too much – escapes your mouth.

The stretch hurts so good.

Your body relaxes, almost melts onto the sheets as Heeseung starts moving inside of you, every thrust pulls a breathless melody out of you, and it’s met with a groan of his. A wet messy kiss atop your lips. With your eyes lolling back you almost forget who’s the person you’re with. That is until he speaks

“Oh- fucking shit. It feels like I’m diving into an ocean.”

“You’re so gross!” you complain with a whine, pushing at his shoulder.

“What?” he chuckles, resting his palm next to your head as he angles his hips better “You don’t like dirty talk?”

“I- shit” a moan interrupts you, forcing your words to fall apart “I’d prefer you shut your mouth.”

“You don’t like your boys whiny?” a smirk disperses across his lips as he quickens his movement. His forehead glistens with sweat.

“I like them dead and quiet,”

Fortunately for you, Heeseung doesn’t really say anything back to that. Only laughs as his thrusts grow deeper and faster seeming to be focusing on his need to cum and you follow.

“’m gonna cum.” He pants as he keeps pounding into you, grunts tumbles out his lips with every thrust.

Your moans are growing louder and whiner as little encouraging ‘yeah’s’ is all what he lets out till both of you are tipped over the edge of ecstasy. Your orgasm hits you so mind-blowingly hard that even when Heeseung rolls off you with a sigh, your body is still shaking.

“I gotta say,” he starts after a few short whiles of silence, and you hum “that was a pretty good therapy session.” His lips pull into a toothy grin as he gives you a thumbs up.

You roll onto your side with a heartwarming laugh, one that has him genuinely smiling as he watches you with softened eyes. with your messy hair and flushed face and yet you still gleam like the first time he saw you.

“Cured all my problems. 10 out of 10 would definitely recommend.” he adds, and your laugh grows louder in volume but softer in the way you it leaves you, like it flees your being without fight.

“Me too.” You smile at him.

It’s only twenty minutes later when both of you are cleaned up that silence fills the little spaces between you. It isn’t confining in any way, in fact it’s a much rather peace that you welcome as Heeseung rests his back against the headboard. Eyes glued to the screen of the tv as toy story 3 plays and you’re next him chewing on a birthday cake cookie.

“Hey stitch?” you call after finishing your cookie, dusting the crumbs off your fingers.

“Yeah?”

“Earlier when you said that girl reminded you of awful stuff,” you hesitate for a moment, yet it’s gone as fast as it comes “you meant when you were a kid, didn’t you?”

Heeseung does not avert his eyes away from the movie. His expression does not shift, and his few seconds of silence has you slightly faltering. It’s like he knew this question was gonna come up someday, maybe he’s a little more than glad it’s just you and no one else.

“Do you remember that time me and Ryujin were trying to kill a spider but then I got really angry at her?”

“Yeah, she said 'our baby boy is scared' and you snapped at her to never call you that again.” You reply as the memory comes back to you without needed proficiency. It’s solely because Heeseung was never the type to get angry. so moments where he isn’t as controlled are glued to the back of your mind.

On the screen Andy is packing his toys into a trash bag, despite your lack of love for those movies you have watched them so many times thanks to Heeseung that you think if you were to be quizzed, you’d able to recall every single scene easily.

“My teacher used to call me that.” His voice has dropped into a whisper, one that comes from shameful confessions and if you were to lean closer to him you think you’d be able to pick on the broken vulnerability that colors them.

It all clicks in your mind, like loose threads finally connecting into an actual string, pieces of a puzzle that had finally fallen into place. You recall all the times you have played truth and dare and Heeseung has spoken about losing his virginity while he was only twelve years old. The majority of you thought he was just a teenage boy playing games, exaggerating his experiences to appear cooler because when you’re that young what else do you have?

But the longer you’ve known him, the more signs you have noticed. The more you have become aware of the type person he is. The person who would never exaggerate in the favor of a lie. All the times he had warned Niki about teachers. They were all warning signs that he had to endure first.

“I’m sorry, Hee. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” You say, inching closer to him and resting your head on his shoulder just like earlier tonight. Yet your heart weighs heavy in your chest, sinking with the anguish you know remains in him.

“I had a feeling you already knew anyways,” he replies with a shrug yet his eyes sparkle like the kid you used to know or maybe it was just the light of the tv reflecting into his irises.

Was it slivers of agony or relief at letting loose?

“What makes you think that?”

“Because you’re you,” this time his eyes shift, turning to you and a slight smile tilts his lips upwards “you always notice the small things people do or say and then worry about them in this little head of yours.” He ends it with a harmless poke with his index fingers to your forehead and you push it away with a small giggle.

“Well should I be worrying about you or are you okay?” you softly ask, your words nearly drowned out by the arguing voice of Woody and Buzz.

“I will be.” He asserts.

“You know you can talk to me about anything right? I’m always here for you.” you stare at him incredulously. Despite your thoughts that you don’t voice, mostly directed at how strong you think he is. Heeseung has never seen a gaze as clear, as strengthened as yours.

“Yeah, unfortunately I’m stuck with you.” he teases with a smile and the loud gasp of offence you let out has him cackling.

"I love you, stitch."

"I don't think you should say that after we just fucked."

Your expression drops and you wish to dig your nails into his arms until bleed seeps out but you know even then that won't be enough so instead you march towards the tv and unplug it.

Heeseung's loud scream of pure pain sounds like music to your ears and you can't but laugh like a villain that has finally taken their revenge.

Heeseung has been a constant in your life for as long as you remember and you know he’s always gonna be.

There’s a weakness that coats your flesh, it remains even throughout hallow promises of collecting power during the weekend. You thought the idea of not seeing Jake for a few days would make it easier, yet it remains, remains, remains.

It wraps around your quivering heart that has been screaming for nothing but the tenderness that colors affection. It’s one that runs through the tips of your fingers as you brush your hair. It’s in the longing seeping into your gaze whenever you look into the mirror. in the sparkle stolen from the light as it reflects on the necklace around your neck. 

You don’t understand how it is all possible for this to unfold. How does longing manage to break through your anger, dwindle it into nothing as if it never existed, it shakes your bones from beneath and then you’re staring at your palms with a knot forming in the middle of your throat and the realization comes vigorously fast, akin to a beaten kid coming home from a battle she was too young to face, too naïve to discern the type of conditions she was surrounded with. Too far gone into dreamland and yanked back into reality with no time in your hands to deem yourself ready. Forced to dismantle through your delusions one by one only to finally make peace with the fact that they were nothing more than that.

Delusions.

You are no liar and yet how come you are so good at spilling endless fabrications to your reflection? Because the truth is, no you hadn’t found enough willpower in you to make peace with anything, surely not with the longing leaking across your pillow despite Heesung’s lingering scent.

The sunlight infiltrates through the spaces of your curtains announcing the beginning of a new day and sleep slowly escapes you. Your ceiling stares back at you as you ponder on the thoughts of missing Jake and wondering all the same if he feels like he lost someone important as well?

Your thoughts only seem to upsurge in volume as you go through your morning routine after you stumbled out of your empty bed, no traces of warmth are anywhere to be seen, only an ignominious ache.

It was an odd feeling. To mourn someone that wasn’t yours to begin with. You have had one-sided crushes throughout your life, gone through relationships that left you with scars that felt imprinted upon the surface of your heart enduringly yet despite all your experiences, despite all the tears you shed thinking that nothing is gonna hurt as much as this. It was nowhere near close to what you have felt these past couple of days. Switching from missing to hurt then anger and then nothing.

Distracting your mind from overthinking this is a trying task, forcing yourself not to be a coward because deep down you know every word of counsel that has tumbled out of Heeseung’s mouth is nothing but the truth. You knew you couldn’t keep running in the name of wounded pride covered up by your refusal to accept your feelings.

On your way to work you dwell on which part of you is more embarrassing, which layer of skin you wish you could peel off of you, was it your ceaseless ability to fall for the wrong people or was it the fact that you feel like you’ll forget your own name before your heart stops calling Jake’s name?

For perhaps the worst kind of luck or maybe the luckiest you could ever get (you aren’t very sure yet). You don’t get the chance to talk to Jake in the early hours of the morning. Nothing but the words “Good morning” with a nervous smile was thrown from your way to everyone else before he was pulled into his own cycle of seemingly endless work. Although it had you growing unnerved at first, somewhere along the way you fall into distractions from the fastening beats of your heart and intermingled anxious thoughts as well.

It's only during lunchtime that you stumble into him, for what feels like the first time in a while. You had wandered into one of the dressing rooms, looking for a missing piece of document you had to print out for Jay. And surprise had climbed up your face with speed you are not able to conceal at the sight of Jake slumped down onto one of the couches, his lunch half eaten on the table in front of him.

“Oh-“ you pause with a rattled breath when he looks up, his darkened gaze catches yours enriched with odd power you pretend not to know where it comes from “I was just looking for something Jay asked for-“ you hurriedly explain, as if you had managed to stagger into a space where you weren’t welcome.

But then as if every word lingering at the tip of your tongue withers away, it’s replaced with a tenacious softening in your stare, it darts between the weariness clinging onto his face, the lethargy dragging his eyes down, the weight of the earth drains the color of life from his skin and it is enough reason for tenderness to emanate from the depths of your heart.

“Holy shit.” your words escapes forcefully when your eyes land on his hands. They're badly scarred, with evidence that he had fallen into the habit of over washing them again "are you okay?" you can’t help but exclaim as sincere as you will ever know to be. Your concern only seems to deepen, pulling like tightened knots at the corners of your heart when Jake’s eyebrows drop in closer defeat than anything else.

you bite down on your lip wishing you hadn't lost control over your words.

You are oblivious to how torturous your kindness is. How the way you look at him makes his skin crawl in the worst way possible not because it’s doused in pity but rather genuine worry for his wellbeing. He is so frustrated. At you, for being so loving, so giving and so kind, so you. and then he is more than anything is infuriated with himself, with how he rolls out of bed feeling displaced in his own body, his own skin. He is extremally irritated with the cruelty of his words that echo in his mind like a broken record and then he finds irritation directed at you yet again, he wishes you would treat him just as cruel as everyone else. He wishes you weren’t as forgiving as he had hoped the world would be. He wishes you didn’t look at him as the human he always yearned to be.

He wishes

He wishes

He wishes

“I’m okay,” he clears his throat, his hand runs through the locks of black on his head when your distress only intensifies with unconvinced eyes cutting through him “yn.” he calls and you melt, a stranger overbearing urge to wail clambers over your being and him overtaken with an ache to crumble under your presence just the same, you for finding sentimentality in the cadences of his tone and him, for the way your name tastes foreign with seriousness on his tongue.

“Can we talk? Please.” He finishes, the last word pushed with a clouded whisper.

You hesitate, he thinks he senses it in the way your fingers tighten around the doorknob ever so slightly, yet only you are aware of the hastening beats of your heart, trashing around the walls of your chest and then you let out a breath, seemingly to travel from the depths of your being before you nod.

“Sure. I’ve been meaning to talk to you as well.” Your answer comes with a subtle smile titling your lips upwards.

You close the door behind you with an almost suffocating nerves tinting the air, steps twined with strained nervousness at the thought of being alone with him. Truthfully it hasn’t been that long and yet you somehow feel like it’s been decades since the last time you had his arms around you, since his lips touched yours.

“Should I start or you?” he asks when you’re sitting in front of him, your eyes dance around each other as if you had finally found time to drink each other in, as if this was the last time you’ll ever have the chance to.

“You, first.” you reply after a stretching silence.

And then it stretches a tad bit longer when Jake looks down at his intertwined fingers, seeming to collect his thoughts into words with enough meaning away from your clear gaze. He deems himself underserving of being looked at with anything other than disdain.

“I- I’m not sure how to begin but-“ he stammers, his words staggered as if lost in direction and your mind flees with the same lack of direction simply because you had never seen him this unsure – this unknowing “I know last time we talked I’ve said some really fucked up shit- that you definitely did not deserve to hear.” He looks up, his gaze unwavering compared to his trembling words “I just- I don’t know I guess I was deflecting or running away. But the point is I’m sorry.”

His sincerity renders you mute for a few counted seconds, it’s as fleeting as your hurt, your anger. As fleeting as the cracks that had formed on the surface where affection beats.

“You really hurt my feelings, Jake. It was especially hurtful because I had opened up to you and it felt like you used that against me.” you speak after a while, a bite to your lower lips as your gaze travels across his face and you watch, with devoted attention to the way his eyebrows furrow and an almost sunken expression takes over his face.

“Fuck. bunny I know.” He hisses as if the fact that pain found place in you because of him hurts him just the same “I’m really fucking sorry. I wish I could take it all back.” He continues and you chew on the insides of your cheek, seemingly unsure of what to say.

“If it means anything I want you to know none of the words I said were anything close to the truth. Niki is really lucky to have you. and I – holy fuck I think you’re such a good sister – you’re a good person and anyone to be lucky enough to have a drop of your generosity should be endlessly thankful.”

“Do you mean that?” you ask, cheeks coloring pink and your lips twitching skywards.

“I do.” He answers with a sigh.

“Okay.” your smile stretches against your will, your eyes tentatively catching his and there’s a shift in the air as his shoulders drop in something akin to relief, you’re not sure if it’s at the sight of your smile or the forgiveness that disperses across your being with no intentions to hide.

“You forgive me?” he asks, softly and weirdly vulnerable. It feels ill-fitted, yet it pulls at your heartstrings effortlessly, has your mind wandering into a hole of memories, trying and failing to pinpoint when did exactly Jake have this strong of an effect on you as your eyes loll anywhere else.

“I would be lying If I said I won’t feel a pang of hurt every time your words come back to me.” you start, your thumb and forefinger toy with your bunny necklace in what seems to be a growing habit of yours “but I know you’re being sincere right now and I appreciate that. It’s just gonna take me a while to forget.” you smile faintly, hoping to ease the bitterness that follows your words.

A deeper part of your essence knows that you have already made enough room for Jake to take pieces upon pieces of your soul, it knows that the only reason hurt would ever unfurl into your heart, it is solely out of self-doubted pity at yourself, saturated with questions upon questions that you cannot find an answer to. Simply because there’s no right for you to question him.

Did you also feel like you lost someone important?

“That’s fair.” He replies and unlike you his eyes stay glued to yours, reminders of how paradoxical you are to him, how your gaze abides with a gleam that lights up his insides, a darkened corner that shall never be illuminated by anything other than you, your existence almost helps him forget he came from poison.

It's too much for him to bear, perhaps it’s why his tendency to flee comes to life mostly around you, perhaps it’s why he would never show, perhaps because the bigger remnant of him would never allow it.

“You said you wanted to talk to me as well?” he questions when you finally catch his gaze, falling into a familiarly dangerous game that always starts with you praying not to lose.

“Oh yeah,” he had almost forgotten how easily your emotions betray you with displays you cannot hide, and now he can’t look away from the tint of pink settling upon your cheeks “I’m also sorry about pressuring you. I just thought we were growing...” your fingers sheepishly trail to your necklace once again, the dullness in his soul slowly dissipates the longer he watches you cradling what feels like a fragment of him.

For a scarce moment, a transient second where his self-control falters, he wonders if you feel the same way.

“Closer.” You finish with a smile tinged with nervousness, cutting through his moment vastly enough to compose himself.

“We were.” He exhales, a deep breath that feels stolen from the depths of your chest “I’m just an idiot so do not ever apologize to me.”

There’s a brief silence that settles upon the two of you, it’s woven with a mountain of unspoken words, it’s in the way your gaze softens so marginally and the way conflicting emotions seeps into his. Albeit not much time has passed at all, with the knowledge of your own feelings you feel more wavering than ever, easily swayed by every syllable.

Now that you’ve given a name to plaster onto the truth, you grow scared, a part of you cowers in fear. Were you foolishly drowning in your feelings that you’ll end up suffocating on this growing tension? Or were you just easily far gone, seized with an impotent lack of power? of being unable to feel solid again?

“There’s something else I need to tell you.” you breath out, as if your body is sinking with the heavy tension staining the air.

Jake nods with conformation for you to continue.

“I know we promised we would be honest with each other.” You clear your throat, the seriousness dousing your voice has him regaining focus “So...” you’re toying with your fingers, pads brushing upon your own knuckles and somehow, you’re unsure why you’re growing to be this nervous to spill the past events that has taken place.

“What is it? You can tell me.” he encourages, the softness inundating his voice feels unjust it almost has you curling onto yourself, hoping to shrink in size just so you won’t be witnessed by him.

Were his eyes always this sharp like he had the potency to peer into your inside?

“I had sex with Heeseung.” you bunglingly confess, and with curiosity filling your being, you gauge his reaction as your eyes dart everywhere upon his face.

You don’t know what exactly you were expecting to see but what ends up being reality isn’t very far from the image you dreamt of in your head on the way to work. Jake is stoic, compared to you, his eyes reveal nothing, the few parcels of softness emanating from him mere minutes ago are washed by what seems to be a silence tinged with confusion.

“Heeseung your friend that you always talk about?” you nod and something closer to surprise travels up his face vastly, in the raise of his brows you find yourself tilting your head slightly “The toy story guy?” he asks again with evident disbelief coating every word.

“Yeah, him.” You trail off slowly, your own brows furrowing when Jake opens and closes his mouth a couple of times as if he isn’t sure of what to say.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” you ask, a deeper frown of dubiety settling onto your forehead.

“I thought you guys were just friends.”

“We are.”

“I’m just a bit confused about your dynamic.”

“I thought you didn’t care who I fuck.” You don’t know why you’re growing frustrated; it trickles its way into you unexpectedly, maybe because this type of reaction was the only option you hadn’t thought about, or maybe it’s because your limbs feel heavier with what feels like judgment and it’s the sole reason why your words came out like a snap. Sharpened enough for Jake’s eyes to widen slightly.

“Of course you are free to do whatever you want.” His words come out easily, draped with certainty that pushes you further and further into frustration.

You tell yourself it’s not because it’s the opposite of how you feel.

“Then why do I need a reason?” you need to stop.

“Maybe I was just tired of feeling like shit after sex,” stop, stop, stop

“And Heeseung doesn’t make me feel that way. In fact I felt really good after.” It’s too late for you to stop anything, not when your words – like splashed blood- percolates through his gaze.

“Right.” He mumbles – barely audible and yet you catch it with your tightened chest.

You sink your top teeth into your bottom lip with something akin to regret for spilling the truth in a time when it wasn’t meant to be revealed. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go, and the ugliness of your hurt shouldn’t be this visible, not when you had finally been able to exchange a few words with him.

“Anyway.” You say with an attempt to get out of whatever this was “I know being clean is important to you. so, I did get tested, and I told Heeseung to do the same,” you speak when nothing more escapes his lips, you try not to let your disappointment manifest but the shake in your fingers as you rummage through your bag for the piece of evidence could ever be telling “He didn’t send me his results yet but- “

“It’s fine. You don’t have to do any of that” Jake’s voice cuts through the air.

“What?” you pause, looking up at him.

“I’ve been thinking about everything,” his eyes flit to the table momentarily before stumbling upon your stare once again and your ribcage tightens even more around your heart “I think it’s best if we stop this whole thing.”

“Oh.” This time it is you who sinks into silence, your eyes falling upon your lap with the same loss of hopefulness, another futile try to not be witnessed.

It is all a façade you put on, draped with concealed disenchantment at yourself for wanting him so badly and then at him for not wanting you the same way. However, your mind is plagued with thoughts threatening to increase in volume. Louder and louder maybe that wasn’t the full story, it never is. Did you perhaps ruin another thing yet again? Have you spoken too much? Have you crossed the line? Have you-

“This whole thing between us- feels like it has strayed away from what it was originally meant to be.”

You don’t realize you have been staring at your open palms as if you’re looking for what type of blame to throw upon yourself until he speaks, his tone is as soft as you remember it to be. Similar to the way he speaks on gray skied mornings or starry nights. You look up, unaware of what kind of expression you’re wearing yet the lack of emotions etched onto his brings you some kind of relief. At least you aren’t displaying the nails digging into your fragile heart.

“You’re right.” You say, more like a hushed revolution between the ache in your chest and the hollowness taking place in your stomach.

It shouldn’t come to you as a new discovery, yet it does, like a bucket of unanticipated cold water after soaking under the warmth of the sun for too long. There’s no way for you to be the reason behind anything because Jake never cared about you that way. It’s not like this relationship that isn’t even anything closer to an actual relationship were meant to last a long time either way. It was you who stumbled; it was you who was colored with ugly yearning, yearning, yearning… and it was you who got hurt over and over again. And it was you who was willing to go back despite it all.

What a fool.

The words you wanna say are scattered and endless, doused with vines of inexplicable unsightly emotions. your vocal cords itching to pour out your anger, bear your bruised heart out at him with screams to look at what pining for you have made of me!

“it’s not anything personal. I just feel like I keep hurt-“

“It’s fine,” you cut him off with a strained chuckle “you don’t need to give me excuses.”

“They’re not excuses, bunny. I truly-“

“Seriously Jake it’s okay.” You look up at him and his mouth falls shut with inexplicable emotions of his own, you could only hope your irises don’t shake under the weight of your unspoken truth “It’s not like this was meant to last anyways. We both had our fun and now it’s over. It’s not that deep.” Your smile comes up twirled with coldness he had never seen in you, it waters his self-hatred, embraces it with whispers of I told you so.

“Yeah.” he utters, weighted down and the room darkens with you two existing in the same space.

So much time has passed, so many tears have descended your cheeks with scalding realizations. Perhaps you are a liar, perhaps you have driven yourself into insanity and have surrounded yourself with imaginations that are nowhere near reality. Because there’s no way whatever has traverses between you is anything close to the truth, not when your chest keeps tightening and an awful ache to weep clambers over your being.

Perhaps it was all in your mind.

“Well! I better get back to work.” You speak with faux cheerfulness; with a slight clap of your palms, you stand up with attempts to pull pieces of yourself together, covets to remain strong enough to look at him in the eye, despite the awkwardness that rises in the room, despite the misplaced softness seeping into his gaze.

It’s all unfair and you wish he wouldn’t look at you like he had more to say, you wish he wouldn’t look at you the same way he had tattooed his counterfeit claim on your back before everything fell apart.

How violent it is for him not to look at you like you are as fleeting as you wish to be.

“Jay is probably looking for me.” you add, your eyes slowly travel down to Jake’s intertwined fingers. The aftermath of his own pain marks his pale skin with scars. It remains a tragic sight to behold.

“Yeah, I’m sorry if I have- you know” he clears his throat “kept you long.”

“Yeah.”

Your limbs quiver with demands for you to just leave and yet your heart fights back with pathetically human emotions. It’s the same bit of you that have always pushed you into too far in, constantly. The same bit that had you slipping into Jake in the first place.

How could this ever last when both of you were stringed together with loneliness and blood?

Silently you rummage through your bag for a healing ointment you had bought for him a while back. Your mind keeps screaming at you to just leave, leave, leave! and your heart cries – begs to risk this small gesture of care that will surely break you down, release this small wave of affection that will surely overwhelm you.

“Bunny I’m okay.” Jake speaks when you place the small tube of medicine onto the table, his eyes flickering between it and you.

“You have so many important shoots coming. Photoshop can only go so far.” You reply and he looks away, as if looking at you is unbearable and you wonder why his soul seems to shake the same away yours does.

Come on.

“You should take care of your hands till then.”

Make it easy,

You don’t wait for an answer from him and instead you’re turning away in mere seconds, the space between the door and the couch were sitting on feels incredibly long and you curse yourself at the way your eyes fill with tears before you make an escape. Before you’re far enough from him. But truthfully, no distance on this earth feels enough.

Jake has already stained you, tainted your insides. And now as you lean on the nearest wall as soon as you’re in the hallway, your hands clamped on your mouth to quieten your sobs, your tears fall one followed by another with refusal to cease, you realize you shouldn’t have let yourself waver, you shouldn’t have lied to yourself with lies like slipping is nowhere near as painful as falling, that you had it all together. You shouldn’t have allowed yourself to wander through this overgrown field of affection with whispered lies.

Inside the dressing room, Jake has his face buried in the same palms that had cradled your face countless times but you’re nowhere close enough, not for him to feel you anyway.

Jake abides with a semblance of unamended broken bones, wounds too deep to heal, the marks are everlasting evidence that stays. And you remain a semblance of overflowing forgiveness akin to running water that quenches the thirst of by passers. Yet he is unworthy, so unworthy in ways you would never understand.

Jake is tarnished, scabbed, evil and unforgiven.

You will remain unaware of the harshly stabbed knives into his heart each time he’s faced with the fact that he hurts you, you’re unaware of the abhor that runs alongside his blood for himself, for existing and for persistently bringing misfortune to everyone that breaths the same air as him.

And he remains unaware of the way your body, heart and every atom of your being aches for him.

The world, as big as it is, in this mere moment feels too small for the torment setting on you and him, it’s in the way he flinches when he catches his reflection in the scars on his hands they’re not deep enough, not ugly enough and they don’t hurt enough to punish him, it’s in the way you flinch when your body shakes with fallen tears as your yearning heart weeps, his, rattling with immense agony that feels impossible to fathom. It screams and screams;

Come on

Make it easy,

Say I never mattered.

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[taesanrot]

[van gogh] sungchan x f!reader | 2.7k words sneaky links/relationship, office romance ish, kind of just a slice of life if that makes sense, smut! (making out, oral f. receiving, tongue fucking .... they get freaky) syn. during the daytime, jung sungchan is nothing but another colleague at your job. to everyone's knowledge, the two of you are pretty much strangers. but in the late hours of the weekends, it's sungchan who meets you at the end of nights filled with parties and clubs. note. im back !!! after 30 million years 💗 uni has been rough sorry guys. anyways here’s another song fic hehe. this was supposed to be my first one actually but i forgot about it for like ever.

now playing: van gogh by aminé

"tell me where to go when the party 'gon close, after party shawty she don't wanna go home"

sungchan waved his drunken friends off as they clambered into the first cab they could hail. anton looked at sungchan once again, asking if he should stay with his eyes. sungchan smiled and shook his head at the younger male, checking the time on his silver plated watch.

it was almost 2 am, you were probably in the same position as him, sending your friends off back to their own apartments. sungchan had just enough luck to catch a glimpse of you in the club you were both at.

he was mesmerized by your shimmery dress, shivering as he remembered how he nearly fainted when he caught the outline of your collarbone under the flickering lights of the nightclub.

the tall male was lighting a cigarette when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

[1:59 a.m.] y/n: wya

[2:00 a.m.] sungchan: 9th and valentina

[2:00 a.m.] y/n: omw

sungchan leaned back against the brick wall behind him, taking a long drag from the cigarette. he knew you'd nag him when you saw the cig, complaining that the smell bothered you. sungchan smiled softly thinking of your protests. he knew you nagged him about it because you cared about him, whether or not you'd admit it.

the clicking of your silver heels caught sungchan's attention, and he whipped his head in your direction. tossing his dart on the ground, the boy gave you and half smile and walked in your direction.

now standing face to face with sungchan, you didn't miss the way he shamelessly eyed you up and down.

"pretty dress." compliments rolled off his tongue whenever he was around you; sometimes sungchan swore you cast a spell on him

he smiled down at you. you rolled your eyes, bringing your hand up to link your arm with his.

"it's new." you replied teasingly, waving an arm in the air the hail a cab. as quick as you linked your arm with his, sungchan retracted his arm from yours, sliding it around your waist so you were flush against his side. you felt his breath fan on your neck as he pressed a light kiss behind your ear.

"missed you." he whispered, smirking as he felt you shiver slightly.

a cab arrived before you could respond, and sungchan opened the car door for you, hand never leaving the small of your back until you were fully seated in the vehicle.

over your dress, sungchans fingers traced the lines of your tattoo, the one on your lower back that almost no one knew about. scooting into the car, he watched you lean forward to give the driver directions to your house. 

sungchan wondered if your roommate, giselle, would be home or if the two of you would be alone. he felt you press into his side and lay your head on his chest once you finished talking to the driver, his arm wrapping around your frame like it was second nature for him. no matter what, he always found his hand settling in the dip in your side, like it was being pulled by a magnet.

looking at your eyes that fluttered shut, sungchan chuckled slightly. you tilted your face up at him, feeling his chest rumble against you.

“tired?” he teased, smoothing down part of your hair. you pouted slightly and shook your head in protest.

“no i’m not” sungchan smiled at you again in the way that made your stomach explode with butterflies as he leaned down to leave a peck on your lips. 

“it’s okay baby, i’ll wake you up when we’re there.” he shrugged off his jacket to drop it around your almost bare shoulders. lacing a hand with yours, he let you adjust yourself slightly to rest against his shoulder.

sungchan thought you looked the prettiest in moments like this, when you weren’t thinking about anything. your lashes laid delicately on your cheeks as your chest rose up and down slowly. he reveled in the sight of his jacket wrapped around you.

even if no one in the office knew about your romance, sungchan knew you were his and he was yours. he secretly loved the sneaking around, feeling like it added a little but of excitement to your boring work days. 

the two of you would act sneaky for no reason, leaving at different times to talk to each other near bathroom or take your coffee breaks together. 

even when you went out, you’d go with your respective friend groups, meeting up after they were done migrating from club to club. 

sungchan looked down at your intertwined fingers. at the end of the night, it was him you’d come back to, it was him who’d take you home.

as the taxi came to a stop, sungchan pinched your cheek slightly. you whined at the contact but moved to get out of the car. sungchan paid the driver and the two of you stepped out together, sungchan’s hand falling back to the small of your back as you kept his jacket wrapped around your shoulders. 

the ride up to your floor was short, the two of you were at your front door within a minute of entering your complex. you shoved your keys into the lock and shoved the door open impatiently, wanting to get your dress and makeup off. 

“aeri?” your voice cut through the silence of the apartment. the lack of response and the empty hook where her keys usually hung told you she wasn’t home.

sungchan smiled and pulled you towards your bedroom, kicking off his shoes lazily. you grinned as he pushed open your bedroom door, throwing his jacket onto the bed.

pushing you against your now closed door, he lowered his face to the curve of your neck, placing open mouthed kisses down to your shoulders. his hand played with the thin straps of your dress, watching how the slid off your shoulders easily. before he could tug it off of you completely, you tapped his shoulder, prompting him to look up at you.

“let me wash my face baby, my makeup.” your boyfriend pouted dramatically but stepped away from you so you could walk over to the bathroom.

as you changed and washed off your makeup, sungchan changed in your room, retrieving clothes from the bottom drawer of your dresser -- the one that was reserved just for him.

as you were rinsing off the last of your makeup, sungchan opened the door of the bathroom, grabbing both his and your toothbrushes and squeezing paste onto them. you sat on the counter and sungchan stood between your legs as you brushed your teeth. 

you ran your fingers through his fluffy hair, stomach flipping at the way he lazily leaned into your touch. his free hand came up to rub circles on your upper thigh, making you almost choke on your spit. sungchan smirked at the way you tensed, moving his hand up to play with the hem of your shirt.

you rolled your eyes at his antics, sliding off the counter to rinse your mouth. pushing the bathroom door open, you slipped into bed, sitting up against the headboard and scrolling through your phone. you laughed at some drunk texts from your coworkers. you hadn't drank much, and the lingering buzz from earlier was slowly slipping away.

sungchan walked out of the bathroom soon after, closing the door gently and turning your room lights off. your eyes could barely make out his large frame in the dark room, the only light coming from the streetlights outside and your phone screen.

you were still scrolling through some messages and emails when your boyfriend plucked your phone out of your hands, switching it off and placing it on the nightstand next to you.

he pulled you onto his lap, not giving you a moment to react. you giggled, tilting your head at him as his hooded eyes ran up and down your skin, stopping at the curve of your neck.

"what's up baby?" you asked, grinning. you could read sungchan like a book. he hummed in response, in a daze as his hands toyed with the hem of your shirt once again. you looked down at his fingers as they slipped under the fabric, running over your sides. you involuntarily shivered at how cold they were, and you felt your stomach burn with anticipation.

sungchan's other hand held your face gently, tilting your chin so you were looking at him again. he thumbed your bottom lip slightly, watching as your mouth wrapped around the tip of it delicately.

you enjoyed watching him breathe in shakily, knowing the effect you had on him. moving your legs to straddle him, you felt something poke against your center. sungchan moaned at the sudden pressure, pulling your face so he could meet your lips with his.

you gasped into the kiss, relishing the way his tongue slid into your mouth fervently. your hands landed on his neck, fingers tugging at the hair on his nape. his mouth melted into yours as he tilted his face to deepen the kiss even more.

you whimpered, feeling his hands roam under your shirt lazily. one hand pressed against the bottom of your spine, making your back curve into him slightly. the other massaged the skin of your thigh, moving closer and closer to where your clothed bodies met.

you were already sensitive, the feeling of sungchan shifting slightly underneath you making your breathing shallow.

his fingers danced along the waistband of your shorts, while his other hand stroked up and down your thigh. his light touches and the way he bit your lip were already making your head spin.

painstakingly slow, his hand at your waistband slowly slipped into your shorts, brushing against your clothed clit before applying pressure to your center over your panties. you broke away from his lips in favor of pressing your face into his neck, moaning into his soft skin. he ran his fingertips up and down your covered slit a few times before moving past your panties to feel your slick. noting how wet you were already, he chuckled.

“all this for me, baby?” you couldn’t see the smile on his face but you could hear it in his voice as you weakly nodded against his shoulder. you were aching in anticipation, almost screaming when sungchan pulled his hand out of your shorts. you watched impatiently as he licked his fingers, before bringing a hand up to tuck a strand on your hair back.

“wanna taste more.” he groaned into your ear, making you shudder.

“lay down for me?” you happily obliged, lifting yourself off his lap and laying your head on your pillow.

sungchan moved so he was hovering over you, placing a heavy hand on your hip. the sight of you under him was something straight of out sungchan’s dreams, your hair fanning around your face and small marks decorating your neck and chest.

he lowered his face to your neck, pressing wet kisses down the side as you writhed underneath him. his other hand pushed your flimsy tank up so he could see your boobs, latching his mouth around the right one.

"you always look so pretty when we go out. boosting my ego baby."

you moaned as his hot tongue pressed against your harden bud, back arching up to meet his face. he massaged your other boob, tweaking your nipple with his finger and basking in all of the pretty sounds you were making.

"always the prettiest girl in the room. and you're all mine."

he slowly but surely moved lower, kissing and licking your stomach. his hands hooked around the waistband of your shorts, and he pulled them and your panties off of you gently.

sungchan throbbed in his pants at the sight of you, your cami pushed up and your heat all bare for him. your eyes were screwed shut in anticipation, and he had to bite his lip to keep a laugh from escaping at the sight of you all pent up for him.

you were a mess, head thrown back against the pillow. you lost the ability to think straight a while ago, barely being able to control the noises you were making.

“please.” you whined quietly. you didn’t even realize what you said, and you definitely didn’t hear sungchan chuckling at your frenzied state.

placing his hands on your hips, he leaned in to brush your inner thigh with his lips, nibbling at the soft skin lightly. usually, he’d take his time with you, starting at your knee and kissing up your legs. he’d press kisses on the outside of your folds and the edges of your heat, and watch as your grip tightened on the sheets or in his hair. however, sungchan decided that he was feeling a bit more generous tonight.

before you could even ask him to stop teasing you, he pressed a deep kiss to your clit. a moan ripped through you, thighs twitching slightly. your legs already began to close instinctively, and sungchan looked up at you briefly before hooking his arms around your thighs both to keep them apart and pull you closer to his face. he had a wicked glint in his eyes as he looked up at you, basking in all the sounds and twitches coming from your pretty self.

his lips gingerly wrapped around your clit and you grabbed the closest thing to your hand, crumpling the sheets in your fist. sungchan’s arm looped around your knee and his hand found your heat easily. he pulled the skin above your clit slightly so he could hit the sensitive spot underneath, the spot that made profanities spill from your lips.

you bit your lip and screwed your eyes shut as his mouth and kisses travelled lower, his warm tongue swiping through the wetness of your slit. you couldn’t stop your lower half from jerking upwards, and sungchan’s free hand pinned your hips down to the mattress beneath you.

as his tongue breached your wet hole and his thumb rubbed your clit mercilessly, you cried out, back arching upwards. your head was spinning and stars were dancing on the back of your eyelids, and sungchan glanced up at you, watching as your mouth opened and no sound came out. you wanted to tell him keep going, to tell him how good he was making you feel. but your mind was melting at the way his mouth felt against you, and you were lost in him.

sungchan’s tongue flexed in and out of you, just the way you liked. he flicked it upwards every time he thrusted it into you, brushing your walls with the wet muscle.

"fuck- sungchan i'm gonna-" you could barely choke out words, drowning in the overwhelming stimulation.

you felt the knot in your stomach building at a gradual pace as your legs began to tense. sungchan’s pressure on your clit increased, revolutions only speeding up until you cried out his name, vision going white. your orgasm hit you like a truck, your walls fluttering around sungchan’s tongue and thighs shaking uncontrollably. all you could see was white as sungchan fucked you through your high with his tongue.

as you came back to earth, you looked down to see your boyfriend licking his lips sinfully, eyes hungry as he moved up to hover over you. brushing a finger down your cheek, he traced your lips with his fingertips, breath stolen from his body as you slowly opened your eyes.

your hooded gaze drove him insane, his lips being pulled to yours like a magnet. you sighed into his mouth, hands unlatching from the sheets to card through his soft brown hair. sugnchan's large hand fell onto your side, fingers digging into your soft flesh when he felt you bite his lip.

whining softly, you tugged at the end of sungchan's pajama shirt, making him break away from you for a split second to pull over his head. you didn't see where he tossed it, hands immediately moving to run down the soft skin of his firm chest. sitting up slightly, you pushed him backwards so you were leaning over him, smiling as he made a noise in surprise. you softly palmed him through his pajama pants, watching his eyebrows furrow in satisfaction at the way your palm rolled against his bulge.

as your fingers deftly worked at untying the drawstrings, you smiled at your shaking boyfriend.

"my turn, baby"

[whats-her-quirk]

Lover, You Should’ve Come Over

The two of you aren’t exactly quiet when you sneak off to the bathroom together at all hours, but Zoro has always been quick to turn the corner and walk away. Seeing is very different. There’s nothing left to imagine anymore. He knows exactly what it looks like now—the cook picking you apart, piece by piece, until you shatter.

roronoa zoro x reader x black leg sanji

rating: explicit, 18+

warnings: jealous zoro (who doesn’t quite understand his emotions), exhibitionism turned threesome, oral (female receiving), vaginal sex, fingering, hand jobs, slight belly bulge, cum play, praise, size kink, multiple orgasms, the boys kiss too, not quite gay panic just cook panic, welcome to the zosanwich

word count: 2.7k

welcome to the fantasy that has been keeping me going while sitting in my drafts for over a year

♪ lover, you should’ve come over by jeff buckley

divider by @/cafekitsune

You’re sitting in the cook’s lap again. The dirty plates from dinner are stacked up, everyone except your bottomless pit of a captain finished eating. As you lounge around the table to rest and chatter over drinks, you slide into his lap, one arm draped over his shoulder while his hand wanders your hip and waist.

Zoro doesn’t believe it. He doesn’t buy that in the weeks since you joined the crew, the shitty cook managed to not only catch your attention but actually seal the deal. What could you possibly see in him? When you got here, he was still chasing after Nami and Robin. Now that idiot’s so busy touching and kissing you that he hardly glances at anyone else.

It just can’t be real, Zoro thinks, even as he watches the cook pluck the cigarette out of his mouth so he can plant a kiss on your neck. You’re focused on something Chopper’s saying, so it catches you by surprise, making you giggle and tug at the front of his shirt. He steals another kiss from the corner of your jaw before taking a long, satisfied drag from his cigarette. Zoro stares, unnoticed, and feels his face getting hot.

He truly doesn’t believe it, and when the kitchen clears out, he pins the cook against the wall and tells him so.

“Did I forget something? Your midnight snack?” Even with Zoro’s forearm across his chest, the cook is smirking.

Despite his annoyance, Zoro keeps his voice down. “Tell me what’s really going on between you and our new crewmate.”

The cook blows smoke out of the corner of his mouth. He pushes Zoro’s arm away, but only because Zoro lets him. Now that he’s asked the question, Zoro knows the other man can’t simply walk away from it.

The cook takes the cigarette from his mouth and rolls it coyly between his fingers. “What’s there to tell? We’re together now, I thought that was obvious.”

“Give me a break. What would she want you for?”

“So you’re asking about the dirty details then?” he clicks his tongue, turning his back to leave. “And they call me a pervert.”

Zoro scoffs. “Don't expect me to believe you can please her. You couldn’t please anyone.”

The cook turns on his heel. His brow creased, he looks Zoro up and down at point blank range. “Really? I’ll prove it.”

Zoro is watching you again, this time from one of the plush chairs in the women’s quarters, pointed at the corner of your bed. Though he can hardly believe he agreed to this, he can’t leave now. You’re a feast for his eye, stripped bare and legs spread on your mattress, even if he has to look past the cook to see you.

Robin and Nami have been persuaded to take lookout duty together, and the door is locked, ensuring your privacy. Regardless, Zoro feels more like an intruder than a fly on the wall. He’s supposed to be here to make a point, to scratch an itch and satisfy his curiosity so that maybe seeing the two of you together will stop bothering him so goddamn much. But no matter how good you look like this, no matter how much it makes his cock twitch every time you gasp and moan and writhe underneath that bastard cook, he can’t shake the feeling that he shouldn’t be here.

Yet he can’t tear himself away.

It’s something like torture to watch the cook bring you to your first orgasm with his hands and his mouth, every wet sound and throaty groan lewder than the last. He kneels on the floor at the end of the bed, your legs thrown over his shoulders, skillful fingers thrusting inside while he devours you like he’s starving. You fist the sheets and the cook’s hair like you’ll tear both to shreds. Zoro has to lean back in his chair, cross his legs, and put one hand over his mouth just to keep himself in check.

If there’s one thing he has, it’s willpower. He can get through this. If he has to take care of himself in the shower later on, so be it. The scene in front of him will be burned into his memory for eternity anyway.

After you finally break with his name on your lips, the cook rushes to kiss you, pushing you up the bed so he can crawl on top. He praises you between messy swirls of his tongue, dry humping before he’s even inside you like he can’t help it. You guide his head down to your chest so you can catch your breath, and he kisses the tops of your breasts instead. Zoro bites his lip.

It’s pathetic. Zoro should be disgusted. Instead, he’s out of breath and embarrassingly hard. He’s just grateful you’re not looking at him.

Once your hips are rolling just as desperately, you take his cock in your hand and lead the cook to you with a shuddering moan. Even from a few feet away, Zoro can hear how wet you are. It makes him shiver. Shallow thrusts become deeper, familiar bodies slotting together until your hips meet and begin to grind. When the cook starts to whine, Zoro starts to lose himself.

He’s heard it before, though he pretended not to. The two of you aren’t exactly quiet when you sneak off to the bathroom together at all hours, but Zoro has always been quick to turn the corner and walk away. Seeing is very different. There’s nothing left to imagine anymore. He knows exactly what it looks like now—the cook picking you apart, piece by piece, until you shatter.

He can’t help it anymore. Zoro’s knees are shaking, he’s so turned on. He stares at your fingers, at the way they’re digging into the cook’s lower back, and presses the heel of his own hand between his legs. The relief is instant, and so is the hiss that escapes his lips as he throws his head back. It’s shameful how badly he needs to be touched right now.

So is the way he finds you watching him when he looks up again.

His entire body pulses—is his heart pounding as loud as he thinks it is?—while you scramble for the cook’s shoulders, pawing for his attention. Is this it? Should he just leave? As ashamed as he is, he really doesn’t want to.

“Sanji, baby,” you ask, your eyes locked with Zoro’s. “Can he come over here?”

The cook slows to a stop. You cup his face while he pants for breath. Zoro swallows thickly, frozen, waiting. He’s never felt like this, like his head is barely above water, and that alone scares him.

The cook halfheartedly chuckles, wiping some sweat from your brow. It’s easy to forget he’s still inside you until his voice comes out soft but wrecked at the same time. “Didn’t know you wanted him too, my love.”

You nod, coy but enthusiastic. Zoro nearly chokes.

The cook kisses your cheek, then your neck. “As you wish.”

Over his shoulder, as if he knows Zoro can’t resist, the cook calls, “You heard the lady, moss head.”

Undressing is a blur. Boots are tossed aside. Swords clatter to the floor. Earrings clink together as Zoro pulls his threadbare shirt off his back. Before he realizes it, he’s standing there naked next to the bed, practically panting, not knowing what to do with himself.

You reach for his hand. He lets you take it and pull him in. “Come closer,” you beckon. “You can touch me. It’s ok.”

He sits down, leaning against the headboard, and lets you settle between his legs, only a little self conscious that his boner is touching the soft, slick skin of your back. You nestle yourself so sweetly in the notch of his shoulder, right over the edge of his battle scar. You place his hands around your middle, then drape yours around the back of his neck, securing yourself in place.

“Keep going, Sanji,” you purr.

From this angle, looking down over your shoulder, Zoro watches the cook slide back inside you. He feels filthy for groaning, but he can’t stop it from tumbling out.

His hands shake against your stomach as you find your rhythm again. The cook curls himself over you, watching too as he sinks his cock inside you again and again. His head is tilted down, hair covering both eyes, but he’s moaning so close to Zoro’s face with each forward thrust. Each sound burns in the pit of Zoro’s stomach.

You said he could touch you, right? Experimentally, he paws just below your navel, pressing his big hands into the soft flesh there. Your head rolls to the side, your lips grazing the side of his neck as you beg, “more, Zoro.”

He can barely breathe as he pushes just a little harder. Oh god, he can feel the cook inside you, the slight bulge pushing in and out. The weight and the sound of it, this melding of bodies, is all too much, and yet Zoro needs more.

Zoro slides one hand down and wraps it around the base of the other man’s cock where it disappears inside you.

“Fuck, oh fuck,” the cook swears. His head rolls on his neck, his chin craning back. His hair falls away from his face, giving Zoro the clearest view he’s ever had of both his eyes at once, his heavy lids fluttering and both curly brows knitting together in the center of his flushed forehead.

Zoro torques his hand over, putting his thumb on top, doing his best to swipe against your clit as you grind up. You press your face deeper into Zoro’s neck, your moans higher pitched and more broken than before. He thinks he hears your choke, “please.”

“I got you,” he promises, huffing against your temple. He cradles your face with his free hand, needing to hold you, desperate to give you anything you want. “You’re ok, I got you,” he groans as the underside of his own cock slides against your back.

He doesn’t know what the hell he’s saying, but he has to say it. He feels the heat of your face against his lips and stares right at the cook’s open, wet, whimpering mouth and says, “Both of you. I got you.”

The cook cries out, his hips jutting forward, and finishes, shaking. Zoro tightens his grip, tries to prolong the other man’s peak until he’s spent. Your back arches sharply against Zoro with your own release—he can feel a string of his precum pull and snap between you. It’s disgusting; it’s so hot he can’t stand it.

The room feels too quiet, suddenly. All Zoro can hear is huffing breath and the pounding of his own heart. Finally, the cook seals his mouth to yours with a needy, humming kiss. You mewl as the cook pulls out—a low, guttural noise that Zoro takes like an uppercut. He lets his head fall back against the headboard, his stomach in knots.

He thinks it’s over. He’s painfully hard and leaking while trying to get his head back down from wherever he floated off to. He holds you, preparing to walk away.

Tenderly, you stroke the cook’s hair as you relax against Zoro’s chest. When you speak, your voice is scratchy but unmistakable.

“Zoro. Do you want to fuck me?”

Zoro’s mouth turns dry. His cock jumps hard against his abs.

“Yeah,” he says.

The cook rolls over and hums again. “You want one more, baby?” He asks. He sounds almost delirious. “You want me to watch him fuck my cum deeper inside you?”

Your body shivers. “Yes.”

The cook looks up at him. “Is that what you want?”

“Fuck.” Never, even in hell, would Zoro have used those words. But something turns over in his brain, and that’s exactly what he wants. He craves it.

Clumsily, he slides out from behind you. The cook takes his place, and he crawls over top you, gaze roaming from your face to your breasts, down to your messy, beautiful pussy. He’s not sure he’s ever seen anything better.

Your knees bob a little in the air; you’re getting tired. That’s fine. He’s not sure how long he’ll be able to last anyway. He fists himself, spreading his pre down the shaft with his thumb.

Your eyes wander to his groin. “Big,” you mumble.

He knows. “If you want to stop, just say so.”

“No, s’ok.”

He looks down again, eyes lingering on the spend that leaks from you. With a hitched breath, Zoro lines himself up. Despite his size, he slides in so easily it makes him shudder. He bites the corner of his lip with one canine, consumed by your wet heat. With nowhere else to go, slick dribbles out around him as he pushes further in.

You twitch as he bottoms out, so sensitive and pliant under him. And soft, so much softer than he could have imagined as he pushes your thighs up to your chest by instinct.

“So big…” you moan.

Zoro can’t breathe. He can barely think—he just moves where his body tells him, gradually picking up speed until he’s full-on thrusting, sandwiching you tight between him and the other man.

The cook cups your breasts with both hands, tweaks your nipples now and again to make you jolt. Zoro stares at his kiss-bruised mouth as he babbles out praise. “You take him so well, princess. So good for us.”

Zoro’s face hovers so close to the cook, he can feel his breath with every word. He’s like an animal, fucking you with a one-track mind. He can’t think of anything but how this feels—hard, hot, wrong, delicious. With your next moan, he drops his mouth to yours to swallow it.

As soon as Zoro pulls back, the cook replaces him, pressing two fingers in your mouth for you to suck on.

“You like that?” he groans, his gravelly voice even huskier than usual. “Fuck, you’re so perfect.”

Barreling towards the edge in the grip of your cunt, Zoro loses himself. He surges forward, feels his earrings slap against the side of his face, and captures the cook’s stupid lips with his own. Zoro bullies his tongue inside as the cook moans, opens up, and lets him in. He can’t get deep enough, can’t taste enough of the smoke and wine and lust to sate himself.

When you scratch your nails down his chest, blunt nails catching on his old, worn scars, Zoro snaps. With a thick growl, he cums so much that it pushes his cock halfway out of you. You convulse, leg muscles going stiff as you find one final peak before he pulls out.

Everything is a blur. Zoro’s heart and lungs are screaming for rest, and he drops his head to your stomach to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” the cook swears softly, like he’s half asleep.

Your nails rake over Zoro’s shortly cropped hair as sweat drips down his temples. “You were amazing.”

As the rush fades and Zoro comes back to his senses, his entire body buzzes. There aren’t words for it, the mixture of shock and relief he feels cradled against you as the cook reaches over to the bedside table and lights a cigarette. The world has shifted a little on its axis. You couldn’t have planned this, and not in his wildest dreams could Zoro have imagined any of it.

What the hell just happened?

[almostfoxglove]

I'LL CARRY IT

written for my angst challenge

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Javier x f!Reader

Word Count: 5.9k

you can read on ao3 too, if you like!

SUMMARY: Your childhood best friend returns to Laredo a celebrated hero. When he shows up at your bar shackled by grief, you drag him home for the night. CW: Heavy alcohol consumption and brief reference to the death of a parent. A fair bit of yearning.

Takes place somewhere in S3E1 after the wedding but before Javier returns to Colombia.

part II | series masterlist | masterlist

12:00 A.M.

At first you mistake it for a good thing. Last shift before your weekend, two hours to go, and the long-gone local hero back in his hometown smoking a cigarette at your bar. Your break over, you slink from the backroom into the riotous din of The Last Man Standing—one of Laredo’s many dives—to reclaim your post behind the bar. Place is a hellhole as often as it is crowded and tonight’s no different, and yet you’re halfway to a smirk. Pleased to see an old friend.

He hasn’t looked up, hasn’t seen you yet, so you busy yourself with the guy who flags you down to order the second he spots you. Fine by you, the guy tips well the later it gets and it’s already after midnight, and regardless, you don’t mind having an excuse to observe The Javier Peña, DEA agent extraordinaire, at a distance. Top button undone, cigarette vanishing in his hand, eyes glued to the ring-stained bartop as smoke shivers out between his lips. Quite the celebrity now. Been home three weeks if the rumors are true but you’ve yet to see him. You figured he’d call, but he didn’t—not that you’re surprised. 

Eight years feels like nothing now. Maybe he’s a hero to everyone else, but to you Javier looks exactly the same as he has his whole life—all that’s changed is the depth of his misery. How he doesn’t look up for anything or anyone, except to shrug off the occasional shoulder clap from some drunk stranger. 

When you’ve served the guy his drink and collected your tip—30%, thank you sir—you shake the nerves loose from your shoulders and slide up, glass in hand. 

“Well shit,” you say when you’re in front of him, and Javier slowly lifts his eyes. You smile, all rogue. No shake to your voice at all as you pour a whiskey blind. “This the part when I ask for an autograph?”

Javier’s dark brow dips in the middle and you might as well be twenty-eight again. Twenty-one. Eighteen. Eleven. All the ages you’ve been with him in all the years you’ve known him. Because this, right here—that little furrow that looks like a frown if you’re not looking close enough—is exactly how he’s always been. How he’s always looked at you after time spent away. 

Sure, there’s never been this much away . This much radio silence. The kind of parting that comes with getting older, getting further—something you once would’ve sworn only happens to everyone else. You’ve made your peace with it. Wished him well from the wrong side of the hemisphere. You’ve had lives of your own. 

Seems he can still cut a tiny hole in your chest when he withholds a smile. 

Javier spears smoke from the corner of his mouth as you slip his empty glass behind the bar and replace it with the fresh pour, watching as he nods in a tired, humorless way. “Not signing shit for you,” he gruffs, and snubs his filter into the crystal ashtray beside his glass. 

One-two-three-four-five others sit beside it, ashed in their grave. 

So he feels about as bad as he looks.

“Awful snappy for a man hoggin’ a barstool,” you reply.

The corner of his mouth flinches but doesn’t pull. He picks up his glass, eyes sagging away from you. “Nice to see you too,” Javier concedes.

1:00 A.M.

Friday means it’s crazy, means the rest of your shift slingshots by, and most of the night someone else is working Javier’s side of the bar so you lose track of his drinks. The windows of the bar have fogged, giving the world beyond a kind of eerie glow. 

You do your best to watch him, holding in your stomach a knot of newborn worry, but there’s always someone shouting for another drink. Now and then you catch some guy in a cap lumbering up to him to boast loudly of his pride, and though it’s microscopic—invisible maybe to everyone else—you see the way Javier shrinks in on himself. Folds.

The smoking, too, goes on. You sweep past him on your way to a booth in the corner, tray of shots balanced in hand, and accidentally inhale a sour cloud as he blows it out. You try to stifle your cough as you reach the table, doling out the silver glasses slick with tequila. On your way back to the bar, Javier catches your eye and snuffs the spent cigarette with an apologetic look. Pendant lights sway in his eyes like fireflies. You shake your head like he’s being silly, squeeze his shoulder briefly as you pass, and the roar of his body beneath your palm blazes like a campfire. The kind of heat that blackens everything to char. 

You think he’s had four drinks, maybe five, but not for sure.

2:00 A.M.

Only the drunks remain to kick out into the bog of late-summer, all that humidity that ruins your hair. You like most of ‘em. Most swagger out with a slurred night, sweetheart as you usher them safely into their cabs. Then all that’s left is your childhood sweetheart slumped over at the bar. Dated for two weeks in sixth grade—broke up over god knows what, probably him stealing your favorite gel pens—and were inseparable ever after. The second that kid sloped into your classroom, all gangly limbs attached loose as rubber bands and dark curls drifting vagrantly into his eyes, you just knew. Didn’t know how, didn’t know why—but you knew that boy would be home, and he was for years. 

Look at him now. Passed out drunk, lips parted, cheek squished flat beside his empty glass. His cigarette flares from his limp hand beside his face. You shoo off your coworker with a friendly gnight before slipping the cigarette from Javier’s fingers to crush in the crystal tray with its brothers. 

You go about cleaning up around him. He doesn’t wake for anything—not even when you have to count all the coins in the till for the night—which also, is new. Javier’s always slept like shit, even when you were kids and there wasn’t much to sweat over. Woke up if someone in the other room dared to breathe too deeply. 

Guess a bathtub’s worth of whiskey will take anybody out. 

When it’s time to go, you slip your hand up his spine to rest between his shoulder blades. “Alright, cariño,” you say softly. “Time to go home.”

Javier stirs, but only barely. A grunt, a shallow breath, a flutter in his lashes. You pat his back firmly, not harshly, but enough that he sniffs and grunts again, awake. 

“Blue’s still up there,” he mumbles with his eyes closed. 

Grinning, you lift your face to the ceiling fan overhead—one of two dozen in this place, none of which run and all of which droop with a rainbow of bras tossed into the rafters. Above you now sways the strap of a pale blue bra mildewed with dust. Would’ve been your twenty-first when you shot that up there, and it’s never fallen. 

“I’m a decent shot,” you say. 

Now he grins, just half his lips, but a real one all the same. “I remember.”

“Course you do, I was better than you.”

At your teasing, the grin snaps clean off his face and his real frown replaces it. “No’anymorre,” he slurs.

Your heart plummets. You can see, now, the bruised darkness beneath his closed eyes as you rub a small circle in the middle of his back. If you were already home you’d pull him into your arms, but he can’t rot on this stool all night. In your silence, Javier cracks one eye at you. “Can’t drive,” he groans.

“No shit,” you say, forcing a soft grin, and he mumbles some gibberish that sounds like it’s supposed to be Spanish. “Come on, work with me here.”

His eye shuts again as he grimaces, face still smushed against the bartop. His hair’s a mess so you comb it back, but the fucker still won’t budge. Rolling your eyes, you lift his arm and drape it over your shoulders to help him off the stool, his body warm and pliant. More solid than you remember him being before. Layers of slender muscle built up like the rings of a tree.

When he rises, gravity lurches and you stagger under his weight, catching yourself against the bar. 

“Careful now,” you warn him playfully. 

Javier turns his face towards yours, close enough in this awkward position that his nose presses against your cheek. He reeks of smoke and shitty whiskey. A little of sweat. You’d mock him for it if he were anywhere within a hundred miles of sober, but he’s a lost cause for now. Your arm fits snug around his waist. To his credit, he makes an effort to stay on his feet. Turns his head down to watch his boots as you walk him outside like he’s focusing intently on putting one foot in front of the other. You pinch his side and he hmphs at you. 

“Could’a just called, you know,” you say as you walk him to your car. The street is all empty parking spots and shuddered windows and packs of thirsty mosquitos, cicada song chirping densely in the air. Your car sleeps down the block alone, black as the sky and in need of a wash, green-strung beads hanging in a loop from the rearview mirror inside.

“Wanted t’ seeyou,” Javier says. 

You nudge your head against his cheek gently. “I missed you too,” you say.

As you drive, streetlamps stripe past the windows. Brick buildings sit squat and lightless, bodegas shackled for the night, and a wilful trash bag balloons with a passing breeze, blowing across the road with a quiet, swimming grace. In the passenger seat, Javier slumps against the door, temple pressed to the half-open window. You think he’s asleep until he licks his bottom lip. 

“Saw Lorraine,” he mumbles, those dark eyes closed away, like he can hardly keep himself awake.

You turn back to watch the empty road. Stop at the stop signs just for show. No one’s out here but you at this hour—Laredo is a ghost town.

“Heard Danny was gettin’ married,” you reply.

Javier exhales profoundly: slow, labored, loud. He’s always been a pouty drunk, but this is something else. “You weren’t there,” he says.

“Had to work.”

“Liar.”

You roll your eyes even though he isn’t looking at you to see. He’ll feel it. Always does. Drumming your fingertips against the steering wheel, you fight back a smirk. “Fucked one of the groomsmen last year,” you admit. “Didn’t feel like havin’ a reunion.”

When you glance at him again, Javier has opened his eyes a sliver to smirk at you, the corner of his mouth pulled into his dimpled cheek. “Julien?”

You frown at the road. “Mateo.”

“Shit,” mumbles Javier, still smirking.

“Somethin’ like that,” you agree.

At the next red light his eyes are closed again and despite the fact that he’s, what, thirty six now? Javier looks like a child to you. Spine hunched, torso sunken. Shoulders broader than ever but curled in on themselves, like if he only had the room he’d be small as a seed. Fetal and miserable. A thousand years older on the inside than anyone should ever have to be. 

“Starin’ a’me,” he scolds, his words slumping into each other.

You huff quietly, caught. “Shut up,” you say. “Just remindin’ myself what you look like. Think you got uglier.”

He growls darkly, unamused.

As you turn at the next light, the green-beaded rosary sways from the rearview mirror. If he had his eyes open Javier would recognize it. His mother’s—passed to you before she died. You aren’t one for praying but you’ll die with it in your hands, you think. That’s the kind of person she was to you. Eternal.

Beside you, Javier mutters something unintelligible, his breath fogging the window. 

“Hm?”

“Seein’ anyone yet?” he repeats, and shifts to loll his head back against the seatrest. 

You gasp softly, feigning offense. “Yet? Ouch, baby,” you tease.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he grumbles.

“I know,” you say, as you turn into the suburbs. Quiet starter homes lurk in the dark, kids’ bicycles lying like skeletons in their yellowing lawns. “I’m being mean.” 

“I like y’mean,” Javier replies, and finally opens his eyes as if he can sense you’re getting close to home, even though he’s never seen this place. He stares through the windshield glazed and distant, and you try not to stare like you’re concerned. He looks destroyed, you think. Obliterated. Sure, you’ve kept up with the news. Devoured everything you could about the quest to tackle Escobar, terrified Javier’s name would appear in the black ink that stained your fingers, reporting he was dead. That he’d be another casualty, and you’d not have said goodbye.

You know you’ve got no clue what really happened down there. That you never will. But you can see it choking him, hanging from his neck like a noose that’s just biding its time before it pulls.

“Nah, it’s just me,” you say, dragging your eyes off him again. “Think the two weeks we dated was about the closest I ever came to love.”

You’re joking, all foxish grin, but Javier doesn’t laugh. He just stares into the middle distance looking like a ghost. “Sixteen,” he mumbles.

“What?” you say.

He sighs. “Was sixteen days,” he annunciates, and your heart sputters.

Then his face folds in on itself suddenly; he pales, then greens. “Gonna b’sick,” he says.

3:00 A.M.

“Christ, you got heavy,” you groan, hobbling slanted up your porch steps. Though more alert, Javier is no less useless in walking, and though he mumbles shame-riddled sorrys he can’t much help you here. You hold him tightly to you, fingers pinching into his hip as he leans, hot as a furnace against your side in the worst of summer. You don’t care.

It doesn’t matter that it’s been eight years. It could be forty, and if Javier showed up on your doorstep ready to fall, your response would only ever be give it to me. I’ll carry it.

He grunts as you prop him against the side of your house to fish out your keys. “All muscle,” he teases, voice deep and coarse.

“Glad you haven’t shed your ego,” you snark.

You give the door a shove as the lock turns. Javier tips his face up to look at the sliver of moon left out to wink from the sky as if he’s saying a prayer. He reeks of sick—his shirt stained in one spot on his chest where he failed to aim away from himself—and while he stares up at the dark rash of night you work open the buttons of his shirt to take it off. Despite puking in your car, he’s still too lost to the world to notice your hands until you’re halfway down. Maybe in another life you’d be staring at his chest as you uncover it. The broad slopes of muscle, his stomach, the dark path of hair trailing towards his jeans. But in this life, you aren’t that to each other. You don’t get to be. 

“Cariño,” Javier says, and one of his hands covers yours as you pinch the last button. Looking down at you now, concerned through hazy eyes. Summer hangs wetly in the air; his curls lay damp against his skin, licking his temples, the nape of his neck.

You shrug his hand off yours, offering a small grin. “Gotta get this in the wash, Javi,” you tell him. “Not allowed to get in my bed smelling like puke.”

Cicadas sing from their trees. Your house, small as it may be, is a welcoming place. All red bricks and white shutters. The swing on the porch sways behind Javier, giving the occasional squeak. You shuck his button-up off his shoulders and ball it in your hands before catching his eye. “Can I trust you to stay upright while I put this in the wash?” you ask, one eyebrow arched.

He scowls, all pouty bottom lip—trying to make you laugh, even now. You huff as if exhausted, sarcastic and a little pleased. He’s in there, the person you’ve loved. Somewhere buried.

When the laundry is running you find him on your porch swing, horizontal. One bare arm dangling off the seat, his eyes closed again. Skin that’s usually golden washed silver by moonlight. In this heat there’s no reason for you to cover him but still you feel the nagging urge. Even with you here with him, you hate the thought of anyone coming out onto their porches or lawns to see him like this—out of control. You rouse him just enough to lift his head so you can sit at the end of the swing, then lay his head in your lap. He hums. A low, gravelly sound of pleasure. Glad to feel you beneath him in this small way. 

“M’sorry, baby,” Javier murmurs groggily, nuzzling his cheek against your leg as you stroke the hair away from his face again. He’s flushed, damp and sweaty, and even with the shirt gone could use a shower but you’d never say so. At this point, you’ve seen him in every state—sunny and terrible and everything in between—and don’t fear any of them. Don’t hate any of them. Never could, because all of them are him, so how could you.

“Cleaned up your puke before,” you reply. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen.”

He sighs, and with no small effort rolls himself onto his back with a grunt—the swing sways with the movement, rocking you both. Then once more, this time to his other side to face you. You chuckle softly as he settles, one of his arms reaching behind you to wrap around your hips, and for a while you drift back and forth with the porch light off and the moon’s claw cutting through the dark.

It’d be something close to heaven if it weren’t for his pain.

“Wanted to call you,” Javier sighs, after a long while of cricketing quiet. “After—”

Nothing.

You wait.

The rest of whatever he was going to say dissolves, never follows. Never becomes something for you to hold, to know, to carry. He keeps all the weight.

“Could’ve,” you say, hand in his hair again, how he always used to like. Even when you were kids he always wanted to be touched. His head in your lap, your hand in his hair to scare off his bad dreams. You could never tell a soul without destroying him—and you never wanted to. The way you were for each other was just that: for each other. Everyone knew you were close, inseparable at school. But the depth of that bond was a secret no one had to know. How his body needed to be close to yours to settle, to breathe, sometimes to sleep.

Javier’s nose scrunches as he fights off some stabbing thought. You stroke your thumb across his temple, trying to get him to look at you, but he won’t. 

“Tell me,” you whisper. 

Two words you never say. A question you never ask. He’s so far past drunk he’s practically a child—maybe it’s wrong to ask him like this—but you’d do anything to relieve even one ounce of this suffering.

Eventually, he exhales deeply, breath warm against your hip. Behind you, you feel his hand stroke your back, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. “Thought you’d hate me,” he mumbles.

Your heart splinters. Every cell in your body wants to pull him against you, pull him into you, swallow the ache. “Should know better than that by now,” you say. 

The shoulder he isn’t laying on bobs with what must be a shrug. “Been a while.”

“Been a long time,” you agree. Not angry, not bitter, not blaming—it’s been a long time. It’s nothing to you now but a fact. Seeing him again has erased the nag of your neglected longing.

With a gruff, Javier’s arm tightens around your back and he pulls himself closer, his forehead nuzzling your hip bone. “Feels like a’undred years,” he says, his voice hoarse and broken.

There isn’t anything you can do but card your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp with featherlight nails. You let your head fall back against the brick of your house. Exhausted, but you won’t sleep. You’ll stay awake with him all night if he needs it, if he asks you. Even if he doesn’t. 

4:00 A.M.

“No more water,” he begs. “Please.”

In your kitchen, just the stove light on, he’s sobering. Not sober —but he can stand up on his own. Leaning back against your counter, both hands outstretched to rest upon the laminate. Cool light splits his face in half—one bright and weary, one lost to shadow. You roll your eyes and hold one hand out to accept his water glass which he passes you with a grateful sigh.

You listen to the harsh rush of water draining into the kitchen sink—a stark disruption to the eerie quiet of the middle of the night in which it feels like you and Javier are the only people left on earth. 

Behind you, Javier groans, watching the glass fill again.

“It’s for the nightstand, baby,” you assure him as you pass it back. 

He pouts at it, arms drooping at his sides. Trying again. Digging for your laugh. With expectant eyes you pick up his hand and cup it around the glass, and when you let go and he doesn’t drop it you let a smile creep slowly across your face. Satisfied, he straightens a little, swaying slightly, and nods. He looks down at the floor, his bare feet, and his face blues. Darkens like he’s remembering.

You lay the palm of your hand over the center of his chest and beneath it Javier’s heart throbs steadily. His lungs expand. His blood moves. Alive—whether he feels it or not—and a comfort to you. 

Though you’ve lived in this house only three years and Javier’s never once seen or stepped foot in it, he trails through the narrow halls to your bedroom like he knows it well. Sloppy footsteps, yes, and always with you behind him braced to catch any sudden fall, but he makes it in the end. Water sloshes over the lip of his glass as he sets it down. Then—still in his jeans, which hug his thighs so tightly you’re surprised he doesn’t try to peel them off—he crawls into your bed, on top of the duvet. In the doorway you pause to watch him and get a vision of another life in which he does this every night, at ease in your home because it’s his home too.

It is a terrible thought, weak and troubling. It’ll burrow if you let it, so you kick it away. While you strip free of your work clothes, you watch him in the small mirror above your dresser; his head flops into your pillows, cheek smushed, eyes sliding closed. Those dark lashes, those parted lips. Always exactly the same. He doesn’t even glance in your direction—he doesn’t need to peek at your body. He’s seen you before. You him.

“Was Mateo worse than me,” he asks from the bed, like he’s read your mind. No surprise. For years, you would’ve sworn he could.

You blush, though he’s not looking. “Javi,” you say softly.

“Sorry,” he sighs.

In a t-shirt, you pad around the other side of the bed to crawl over the covers and curl onto your side to face him, one hand beneath your cheek. “Sex in college is supposed to be bad,” you tell him, grinning.

His brows pinch together, bracketing his forehead. “Shouldn’t've been with you,” he mumbles.

Yes, he’s how you remember. Ever chasing some rabbit hole to plummet down to avoid the cavern to which he’ll give no name. He’s got one hand buried under his pillow—how easy it is to think of your things as his—and the other lies between you, limp. You take it in your own, pull it to your lips, and press them to his knuckles. “We were kids,” you say, sure to smile against the back of his hand so he’ll feel it.

He huffs. “Drunk.”

“That too.”

“Better now, I swear.”

You laugh. Can’t help it. Silver light from the moon puddles over you, illuminating half his face, the curve of his shoulder, the slope of his arm. Even miserable, probably in a blackout, one foot hanging sadly off the edge of the mattress, Javier is someone who draws laughter out of you with ease, same as when you were kids. You kiss the back of his hand again, still grinning, and watch the frown dissolve from his face. He’s always been beautiful in a way that never seemed fair, but you think it might be getting worse with age. No one should look so good in this state, but there he is.

“Sure hope so, baby,” you tease.

Now he cracks one dark eye to squint at you, the corner of his mouth loosening, curling into his cheek. Then there’s that dimple. Your heart patters. You’ve missed him. “Could show you,” Javier smirks.

You roll your eyes. “You aren’t showin’ me shit right now.”

His bottom pink pops again, pouting as he broods, yanking another chuckle from you while he murmurs something you miss. Something that ends with good though.

“Hm?” you say.

“You smell good though,” Javier murmurs, and though soft you hear it this time. That almost whine.

“Well, when you put it that way,” you tease, and like magic, he laughs. Smile lines crinkle beside his eyes, nose scrunching. Beautiful. It is, you think, the best of him—how he looks when he actually laughs. It takes over his face. 

As you both settle, he scooches closer on the bed, squeaking the mattress. You feel the warm plume of his breath whisper over your face as he sighs. He has, it seems, only a match of levity at a time. It sparkles, flares, and smokes out too quickly. 

It isn’t a frown that replaces it, but despair. “Gonna feel like shit tomorrow,” he mutters, no louder than a whisper. No need to speak any louder when you’re lying this close. Your lips press to his knuckles again and this time he squeezes your hand, the muscles in his forearm briefly tensing. Freckles dot his bicep like stars.

“You feel like shit right now,” you whisper in reply.

Javier nods, face folding like he wants to cry. But he almost never does, not even in front of you.

5:00 A.M. 

You drift into brief tides of sleep with the warmth of him around you, his face in the crook of your neck. For most of your life, you’ve chalked up the ease with which you touch each other to an echo of your childhoods—a time in which touch is given often and without judgment. There has never been hesitation between you, not in this way. Even now, eight years since the last time you saw him, Javier slots against you in a way that just feels right—new, broader shoulders and all. 

His slow, deep breaths warm your neck, your collarbone. You couldn’t wiggle out of his arms if you tried, and though it’s warm even with the window open, even with both of you on top of the covers, you don’t want to. Eight years is a long time to go without this.

When he stirs with a tortured groan, you nudge your lips against his forehead. “S’okay,” you mumble, and the whine that snakes out of him rattles your chest and slices clean through your heart. Wrapping a hand around the back of his head, fingers threading through curls, you pull him closer, and his arms tighten around your waist.

Maybe it should feel wrong when Javier nuzzles into your neck to kiss you softly beneath the jaw, but it doesn’t. 

“Baby—” he croaks, and you hush him, petting his hair.

You don’t want him to say it. You never say it. If he says it now, it’ll ruin you.

“I know, Javi,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes closed so tight you see a rain of stars. “I know.”

“Y’ never let me say it,” he mumbles against your throat, his breath fogging your skin.

“You don’t need to,” you say.

“Wanted to, you know,” he replies, his voice so gentle you feel it pass from his chest to yours in a shallow tremor.

You chuckle softly from the darkness behind your eyes, like opening them will break the spell. “Oh yeah? When?”

He shrugs, his body loose and boneless. The heat of him is making you sweat. 

“The whole time,” Javier mumbles, and you wish suddenly that he weren’t so close because he must hear the sudden racing of your heart. “Pensé que me casaría contigo.”

If he didn’t hear its racing, you think, there’s no way he misses when it stops. Your Spanish is mediocre at best but you catch fragments, piece it together. I thought I’d marry you.

Your forehead wrinkles as a sudden urge to cry slams into you, shattering your bones. At least you manage to pat his back teasingly, feigning coolness, steadiness. Pretending he hasn’t toppled you. 

“Think you’re confusing me and Lorraine, cariño,” you tease quietly, hopeful that the wetness in your eyes doesn’t taint your voice.

Silence stretches like an elastic threatening a snap, a sting, a burn. But Javier exhales in a way that feels like he’s asleep again, like all of this is just nonsense cooked up in some drunken dream. Soon sleep is dragging at you sweetly, loosening your limbs again. You grow heavy, face slack, your limbs indistinguishable from his. When he whispers again you hardly hear it and the words don’t stick. You’ll forget them when you next wake for real. But he says them all the same.

“Not confusin’ you with anybody.”

Then you’re gone, sucked away. Asleep.

6:00 A.M.

The yellow morning leaks through your bedroom. You wake to a glint in your eyes: sunlight reflecting off a picture frame on your dresser. You and Javier twenty years ago dressed for junior prom, hidden now by the blinding. Squinting, you groan a soft mph sound as you wake, desperate to bury yourself in sleep again. 

In your brief slumber the two of you have remained braided—two strands of clinging ivy. Against you, Javier groans, humming tiredly against your throat, and you feel his hand slip up the hem of your shirt again, his palm flat over your spine. 

Half asleep, you let him. 

Half asleep, you let yourself remember.

You’re twenty five again. Just a few years out of college, both of you home for the summer. Out in the long grass in Chucho’s yard, you stretch yourselves out to sunbathe in the Texas summer, watching bumblebees laze drowsily between blooming thistles. Beside you, Javier lies on his back with both hands cradled beneath his head while you read, those yellow aviators over his eyes.

“Could get a place together,” he says. So casual, so simply.

Looking up from your book, you see the pink collar of sunburn around his neck and grin to yourself. “We’d get sick of each other,” you lie.

Javier only shrugs, unaware, you think, that you spent all of college in love with him. In freshman year, you’d stumbled home together after a party and he’d kissed you against your front door, waking you from what you realized then had been a lifetime of slumber. You’d never considered kissing him before, but all of a sudden it was obvious. You thought this is what your lips should have been doing all this time.

But it never happened again. The sex was awkward, clumsy—you’d only done it once before—and you told yourself that’s why he never tried again. You never tried either. Now it’s a joke you tell each other, trying to make the other person blush. 

The thought of sharing an apartment with him sends a river of panic through your veins. It would kill you to watch him bring girls home. To watch him date someone else. It was bad enough watching Lorraine, and he left her.

“If you say so,” he says, looking not one bit disappointed.

Half asleep, you let yourself dream you said yes.

7:00 A.M.

You don’t know who leans in—if you tilt your head down or if Javier tilts his up, if it starts in your sleep—only that when you next stir the morning is darkening to gold and orange. Panels of windowed sunlight crawl slowly across your legs, and you are kissing.

Javier’s lips melt against yours. It’s nothing like when you were kids. Eighteen and nervous wrecks, your teeth always getting in the way.

It’s different now. You know how to kiss each other like you’ve had the practice, like it hasn’t been almost two decades since last you tried. Pliant and sleepy, his tongue licking gently into your mouth. His mustache scratches sweetly against your skin. When a breathy sound whimpers from you, he cups your jaw, his other arm locking snug around your waist. There’s no rush to it, no progression. You don’t strip down and fuck—both of you content with only this: the soft murmurs you breathe into each other. The lifetime of wanting in every kiss. 

Because you have wanted him, you realize. Not just in college, but before then and every day since. Maybe from the first day he walked into your sixth grade class and felt like home. Even these last eight years when you’d accepted that he was gone from your life for good, your friendship having reached the end of its life, you wanted him.

He grunts when you nibble gently at his bottom lip, and you smile. Then he moans. And it’s perfect, somehow, like he’s dug around in the cabinets of your mind to know exactly how you want to be kissed. Deeply, patiently. All tongue and breath and yielding lips, your hands in his hair, the fire of him enveloping you.

You say nothing; you talk with your touch.

He stripes his tongue along your bottom lip: I’m sorry.

You tug at his curls: I’m sorry.

He kisses the corners of your mouth: I’m sorry.

You lick the hinge of his jaw: I’m sorry.

His thumb strokes the apple of your cheek: I’m sorry. I’m falling asleep.

You tilt your head to better taste him: I don’t want to fall asleep.

But you do. The tide drags you out, your body molten, exhausted, hypnotized. Your lips still touching as you fall into a dream.

8:00 A.M.

When next you open your eyes, you’ve rolled towards the window and the weight and warmth of his arms is gone. You don’t bother turning over. Don’t bother reaching for him. 

You know the bed will be empty on his side, cold. 

[sundayiminlove]

sleep, pretty darling [ dallas winston x f!reader ]

synopsis : you're overworking yourself with studying in preparation for exams, and dally isn't havin' it. contains : academic overachiever reader, whipped dallas winston, mostly just tooth-rotting fluff, notes : first writing post on here, kinda (very) nervous!! think i'm gonna make a point to write for each greaser in effort to shoehorn my way into outsiders tumblr?? yeah??? okay, GREAT. 99% chance i post something different for dal tho. just a messy, silly little drabble. ironically wrote after not sleeping for 32 hours. i'm sorry if he's a lil ooc y'all, this is my first dal fic in give or take a year!!! he'll get there, i promise! mwah mwah hope u enjoy warnings : not proofread, we die like dally

i.

PALE BLUE EYES slant sideways, casting a brief look at you.

Your nose is scrunched in concentration over the comically large textbook laid open in your lap. You're hunched over, tracing under each printed word with your finger, thumbing down when you stop to take a note.

Dallas is preemptively annoyed. He's been leaning expectantly against the doorframe circa ten seconds ago, and you're yet to notice him. He takes one last dramatic drag from his cigarette before begrudgingly discarding it on the outsole of his shoe. The creases on on your nose tighten as you catch a whiff of the wafting smoke. Though a vehement anti-smoker yourself, you've spent enough time around the gang to guarantee your lungs at least a permanent char. Despite this, you always just have to make a big song and dance of your distaste for them, and Dally does nothing to curb the quirk of his lips into a slight grin.

You have him, hook line and sinker.

"(Y/N)," he speaks at last. His tone is firm yet without underlying aggression; one exclusively for your ears.

You perk up.

Dallas' fingers splay against his lips as if holding a phantom cigarette. "What're you doin' over here so late, huh? Was out lookin' for you."

He watches as your gaze darts to the window. Nightfall has long since kissed the apex of Tulsa, yet you hadn't a clue. You'd been there for hours, crunching equations and fruitlessly jotting down formulas. The encroaching weight of finals week had rendered both your circadian rhythm and measure of passing time nugatory.

"Borrowin' one of Darry's old textbooks," you explain, the corners of your mouth tugging into a frown. "Not exactly a monastery but it beats that old Soc-infested library, long as Two stays gone, that is."

He crosses the Curtis' living room in four smooth strides, plopping down next to you on the couch. The flimsy cushion sinks beneath him, forcing you closer to him, and for once, Dally's grateful for the pathetic old thing's lack of structural integrity.

He lifts the textbook, ignoring your whimper of protest and sets it on the coffee table. He spins the silver band on his knuckle, averting his gaze downwards. "You know, sweetheart," he pauses, choosing his words. Dally wears his worry uniquely, sparingly. "I'm not particularly likin' all of these.. these books, and.." he trails off, thumb tracing your newly-formed eyebag as if he could swipe it clean. "When's the last time you got any sleep?"

Things are different. You're his girl now. And not just his pretty skirt for the night and until 7am after; no, this is serious. You're his girlfriend. His lover. It's foreign. It's enthralling.

No one had told poor Dallas that falling for you would unwind a deep vortex in his brain that noticed the trivial things, like how suspiciously little you blinked or how the vibrant pink in your cheeks had drained.

You lean into his touch with an exasperated sigh. "Dally, c'mon, don't you start this. I know it's nothin' to you, but it's finals week!" you huff. "I'll catch up on the sleep, swear it! I just, I got so much left to do here, and,"

Your defense falls on deaf ears. This has been it for weeks now; and the you-sized hole burning in his chest is only getting deeper. Dally's arms encircle your waist as he taps gently on the small of your back. "Don't give me that," he sighs. "God, baby, you're worryin' me, alright? Don't like seeing my girl so..." he fans his hand outwards.

As you tense and start to fly into another excuse, he shakes his head, mind already made. He's sparing no more of your attention. "You're comin' back to Buck's with me, alright?" His timbre leaves no room for argument, but you squirm regardless. His grip on you tightens. "And I'm making sure you get some goddamn rest."

You pout, looking over at your textbook as if it would personify and save you. "But," you start, only to be hastily shushed.

"But nothin', doll. C'mon, up ya go,"

With that, he scoops you up, one arm hooking around your legs. Your series of half-hearted protests are nullified as he secures you into Buck's old truck, movements careful yet hasty. You inevitably surrender, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you lean back into the torn leather.

BUCK MERRIL'S HOUSE is as quiet as Buck Merril's house is capable of being. You've never been to Buck Merril's house, so you don't find it very quiet at all.

Running his hands over the blanket, Dallas spreads it out on the floor, smoothening out the crinkles and corners. They reform almost immediately and he sighs heavily, airing it out on the pummeled mattress in defeat. If he would have know he'd be conducting a full-scale kidnapping for the sake of your rest, he might have better prepared. Might have.

So, here's the thing, right?"

There have been girls in Dallas Winston's bed before.

There have been quite a few girls in Dallas Winston's bed before.

There have been zero girls in Dallas Winston's bed that he didn't bring into it with meaningless sex on the horizons.

You're no snob and he knows this, but now, it's the principle. Dallas Winston may sleep on a mattress deficient of ample springs and no top sheet, but Dallas Winston's girl should never. In spite his hazy, rose-colored, Y/N-centric world created under this roof, he knows he has to step it up.

As soon as he hears the faucet cut off, he's off his feet. He flings himself onto the mattress, hitching one leg up as he awaits the slow creek of the door.

And there you stand.

Dallas wonders what karmic debt is being paid off for him to deserve to see you like this. His lips part as he drinks in the sight of you like a man dying of thirst. You, in his lightly wrinkled grey tee that scarcely conceals your bare thighs. Your face glistens with renew, a few stray droplets racing down your forehead and cheeks. Even trammeled by exhaustion, you knock the wind right out of him.

You wear the moonlight beautifully. It traces each feature so delicately as you sit beside him on the bed. "I'm—," you start, but pause to let a little yawn. He practically melts beside you.

"I'm sorry I gave you such a tough time, darlin'," you continue, situating under the blanket. "You were right, I'm proper beat."

He smirks, propping his head up to look down on you. "As always," he notes, tucking a fly-away hair behind your ears. You roll your eyes and give him a playful jab, to which he winces in mock affliction. "Some nerve," he hums, thumb tracing your cheek.

You look at him, lips parting gently. This isn't Dallas Winston; that infamous, no-good hoodlum from the wrong side of the tracks. This is your Dally, someone you alone have the absolute pleasure of knowing.

"That's it," he whispers as you surrender to his side, nuzzling his neck. Your eyes are heavy, faltering by the second, yet your grip on him is unyielding. He's never felt a thing like this before, and he's quickly becoming putty in your careful arms. He's content to lay awake all night, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as slumber claims you.

His gangly fingers trace idly on your back, and he knows. He will never be the same.

[livingformintyoongi]

heeeeeeeeeyaaaaaaaaa

my idea: hate sex, enemies to lovers???

pairing: jungkook and yn

yn and jk have been in the same friend group since highschool, but they could never stand eachother (he always pranked her, would't say bully, but hasn't been exactly nice to her either)

she always stood silent, until one day she just gets fed up and starts arguing back, he might tell her 'oh shut up!' and she could say 'make me' and you know...the rest is history hahaha

The best way to shut someone up

a/n: This is my second order from Jungkook. This is the second time reader ends up being more dom than Jungkook lol. I'm not really sure if it counts as hate sex, I just got carried away for the moment 😣. warnings: Semi-public sex (they're in an alley in the middle of the night), reader is a bit dominant (sorry, I'm a natural dom!reader with Jk), Jungkook has a weakness for reader's brute attitude, unprotected sex, reader is 2 years older than Jk, hair pulling. wc: 2.4k

"Every day I'm more and more impressed by the horrible taste you have" whispered Jungkook, leaning against the same wall you were leaning against.

You had to take your drink in one shot just to keep from hitting his face. It worked a little, but you'd be lying if you said the urge was completely gone. You tried to remind yourself that you’re older than him, you should keep your composure and ignore the fact that he was being a son of a bitch to you, had you ever done anything to make him treat you this way? Before he came to the group you didn't even talk, god, you didn't even know he existed before Taehyung dragged him to your group after you met at an art workshop, then why was he so nasty?

"Seriously, how could you pick that dress? It's hideous" he shook his head, taking a sip of his drink. It was his turn to drive today, so he couldn't afford to drink alcohol.

"Well, it's not like I got dressed thinking about whether you'd like it or not either, my life doesn't revolve around you, you know?" you turned to look at him, grimacing as you felt the smoke from his cigarette hit your face. You forced your brain to count to ten.

"That doesn't take away from the fact that you look hideous, you should take it off," Jungkook turned to you, staring at you. He brought his cigarette to his lips and took a long puff, blowing the smoke in your face. 

"Okay, I've had enough," you stood in front of him, crossing your arms over your chest, "either start treating me with the minimum respect given to a person, or deal with the consequences."

"And what consequences could come to me if I don't obey you?" he stubbed out his cigarette on the wall behind him, letting the butt fall to the floor. He walked over to you, coming face to face with you, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

If he thought you would be intimidated by this he was very wrong. 

"I don't know, maybe a kick in the balls will finally make you shut the fuck up" you growled, mentally preparing yourself to leave him for at least five minutes on the floor trying to endure the pain he would have in his crotch. 

"Fuck, that sounds really exciting" he whispered as his hands formed fists at his sides.

You went blank for a few seconds, wondering for a moment if you had misheard. "What did you say?" you looked at Jungkook, slightly surprised.

Jungkook's eyes widened, his unpleasant countenance quivering slightly, "Did I say it out loud?"

"You were thinking it?" you frowned, beginning to question if you had actually just told him that you were going to kick him in the balls until he stopped saying shit about you and how you dressed. 

"No?" he turned back to that expression he'd been looking at you with since you'd met him. How you hated it. You seriously felt like deforming his face right now. "Why the fuck would I say that?"

"I never repeated what you said, I just asked what you said" you raised your eyebrows. If there was one thing you hated more than idiots, it was idiots who treated you like a liar.

"Shut your mouth" he frowned, moving closer to you. Your chests were now barely brushing against each other, and the heels you were wearing allowed you to be almost at Jungkook's height, so your noses were also millimeters away from meeting. You wanted to ignore the fact that his lips were also menacingly close to yours.

"Make me" you raised your head. This idiot would never intimidate you, ever.

"If that's what you want" he whispered as he shrugged his shoulders, grabbing your neck with his right hand and pulling you towards him until his lips met yours. 

You were totally unprepared for this. There were hundreds of scenarios in your head about what Jungkook could have done to silence you, like covering your mouth with his hand, or shoving some snack in it, things like that, but a kiss? That never crossed your mind.

The sound of glass shattering against the floor echoed in the middle of the alley just as Jungkook pressed his left hand against your waist, pulling you even closer to him. Your bodies were now completely glued together. Jungkook ran the tip of his tongue over your lips, moaning softly at the taste of your lip gloss against his tongue.

He was taken by surprise that you allowed him entrance to your mouth, just as he was surprised that you ran your hands around his neck, pulling him closer to you. He expected you to punch him in the face and tell him he was a sick fuck, to get away from you or you would call the police, anything but accept his kiss and allow him to kiss you. He was really grateful for this.

Once his tongue was inside your mouth, he took the time to explore your mouth properly, he had waited too long for this moment and needed to feel it was real. That excuse he made to himself as he lowered his hand to your ass and gave it a light squeeze. 

He moaned as he felt your hand tangle in his hair and pull him hard enough to separate his lips from yours. Somehow or other that turned him on even more. He really loved your attitude.

"What do you think you're doing?" you whispered into his neck. He was bound to look down at you in this position. He loved the look you were bringing at that moment, as well as the irregular movement of your chest due to the kiss you had just given each other. He could tell he wasn't the only one excited about what was happening.

"You asked me to shut you up" he took your wrist, pulling it away from his hair and closer to his lips. He left a trail of kisses up your arm until he stopped at your shoulder. He really didn't think what he had said earlier was true, the dress looked great on you, and he actually worried when you walked out into the alley outside the bar alone. If someone came up to you and did something to you... he didn't know if he would be able to control himself.

Although on second thought, he told himself, that was just what was happening right now. At least he could defend himself by saying that you hadn't rejected his kiss.

"I was just obeying, Noona" he whispered into your neck, letting out a teasing chuckle as he noticed your head being pushed aside to give him more space. 

"I don't understand how this would help me shut up," you replied, slipping your hand under Jungkook's jacket and stopping at his waist. He seriously had a beautiful waist.

"Well, let me show you" he buried his teeth in the space where your neck and shoulder met, leaving a mark on your skin that he would be tremendously proud of when others saw it. He slipped one of his hands under your dress, brushing your center over your underwear. His cock stirred inside his briefs as he heard you moan softly. He had never heard you make that sound before. Now it was his favorite.

One part of you refused to accept how good the touch of Jungkook's fingers felt on your core, the other was too focused on the knot that was starting to form in your stomach to pay attention to who it was that was provoking that feeling in you. You decided to go for the second one, then you would martyr yourself thinking about the stupid thing you were doing.

"I want to feel what your pussy is like so badly, can I stick my fingers in?" whispered Jungkook into your shoulder, too focused on leaving marks on your neck to notice anything else that was going on around you.

"Don't ask, just do it" you growled in your slightly deeper voice than usual. Jungkook shivered slightly at the sound of you. That tone of voice would be his undoing, and he was more than willing to accept it. 

He pushed your underwear aside, feeling his mouth go dry as he noticed how wet you already were. He was proud to have had this effect on you. You could hate him with all your soul, but you still desired him physically, just as he desired you.

He gently pushed his index and middle fingers inside you, using his thumb to slowly and torturously play with your clitoris. You both moaned at the same time, he, from how tight and wet your pussy was, you from feeling his fingers enter you as he teased your clit. His fingers were doing a wonderful job.

"Amazing, you're so much tighter than I thought" he whispered, pulling your dress up to your waist so he could watch as his fingers moved in and out of you at a steady pace. He swallowed saliva at the sight, using your free hand to rub your cock over your pants. 

"Let me do it" you removed his hand from his pants, quickly unbuttoning them and slipping your hand inside them to rub his cock wrapped around his boxers. Jungkook gasped at the sensation of your cool hand on his member. You weren't even touching him directly yet and he already felt in heaven.

Jungkook rested his forehead on your shoulder, letting his fingers begin to make faster lunges as he returned the favor you were doing him by, if nothing else, rubbing his cock over his clothes. You almost screamed when he curved his fingers inside you, bumping into your G-spot. 

"Is that it? Does it feel good to be touched in that place?" he pulled away from your shoulder a little, resting his forehead against yours. Once he noticed that you didn't plan to answer him, he rammed his fingers into that spot again, this time increasing the force of the onslaught. The shit-eating grin he had put on as he noticed how you trembled every time he touched that spot would not be taken off by anyone. 

"Take your hand away," you said with a slight frown, squeezing his cock by way of threat. Jungkook quickly obeyed, pulling his fingers out from inside you and watching as your hand traveled to the elastic that held his briefs in place. 

He gasped as he felt the cold air hit his sensitive member, or perhaps it was because he was turned on by the sight of you unabashedly pulling out his cock and groping it, squeezing his balls and rubbing his slit. You were exactly what he thought you would be like in sex.

"Who knew Jungkookie would have such a nice cock" you laughed softly, squeezing the base of his member, noticing how preseminal fluid was starting to ooze out of his slit. You ran your thumb over the tip, taking the liquid into your mouth and licking it off. 

Jungkook moaned at the sight. He never thought you would taste his cum like that. 

"Always acting so nasty every time we're together, was it because you were desperate to fuck me?" you commented teasingly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He just nodded quickly, resting his hands on your hips. You looked so beautiful that for a second he completely forgot that you were in a seedy alley, outside a bar where all his friends were enjoying.

"Okay" You moved towards the wall that faced your back, Jungkook followed you without even questioning you. His hands were clinging to your hips, and he refused to let go. "Then fuck me the fuck up and stop acting like a motherfucker."

It took him a while to process what you had just said, but as soon as he got the message he lifted you up by your thighs and leaned you against the wall, resting his hand behind your head to keep the brick from hurting you. 

"Fine" he nodded quickly, taking his cock in his free hand and rubbing it against your middle. 

You had to bite your tongue to keep from screaming as you felt Jungkook thrust in. It felt really good to have his member in your pussy. It's not like you were going to tell him out loud.

"Fuck, so tight" he growled against your lips, kissing you messily. Jungkook was sure this would happen again, so he would no longer take the time to enjoy the kiss.

The knot in your belly grew tighter and tighter as Jungkook rammed hard against your insides, causing your back to hit the brick of the wall. It was painful, but the pleasure was enough to make you forget the pain completely. 

"You feel so good" Jungkook nuzzled your neck, taking his time to kiss and lick your bottom lip. He grunted on this very one as he felt your pussy clench on his cock before his words. "Shit, if you keep doing that you'll make it hard to hold back, you know?".

"The night is long" you hummed, resting your head on Kook's hand, closing your eyes and letting barely audible moans escape, "we can always leave and pay for a hotel."

You felt Jungkook's cock contract inside you at the thought. There was nothing he wanted more in this world than to spend the whole night fucking you. "So it's okay if I cum?" he looked up, trying to meet your gaze.

You grabbed his hair, tugging lightly on it. "If you don't I'll be really mad at you, and believe me, you really don't want me to be upset for the rest of the night" you whispered, tightening your grip on his hair. 

Jungkook moaned at the action, beginning to quicken the pace of his thrusts, as well as the force he applied to them.

You bit your lower lip as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten tighter and tighter as his lunges grew deeper and deeper. Despite having done that with the intention of keeping quiet, you almost screamed as you felt his cock collide with your G-spot, squeezing Jungkook harder.

That was enough for him to come to his release, without ceasing to move his hips against yours. You came moments later, just as he leaned his head against yours, letting the last spurt of his cum spurt out inside you.

"So," he whispered between gasps, brushing the hair back from his forehead, "what hotel are we supposed to go on to?"

Masterlist.

[haveyouanytime]

obsessed with ur rust domestic blurb we need more of that vibe

another blurb for old dog rust :3 | cw: implied age gap (reader 18+), smoking cigarettes, literally all about cigarettes, very short :( and not proofread ... living life on the edge

Rust hated that you smoked. It was a social habit you formed back in high school from sneaking out during lunch, wanting to be cool with the other kids that dreamed of leaving Alaska right out of graduation. However, once you got into a relationship with Rust, smoking became almost a constant thing. 

It started off with sharing cigarettes. You’d go out with him for dinner, finding yourself outside and leaning against the brick wall with the Louisiana air murkily settling over you. You’d look up at Rust as he lit his cigarette, watching with a doe-eyed look as if he had put the moon in the sky. He took a deep puff, exhaling with a quiet groan and pushing the plume of smoke out into the muggy air. 

“Can I have some?” You softly ask, your smaller hand reaching out for it. With a chuckle and a small shrug, he hands you the cigarette. 

You take a drag like how your friends taught you in high school, but the accidental tolerance break made the tickle of the strong nicotine too much to handle. You coughed out, your eyes scrunching shut with the unfamiliar tickle in the back of your throat. 

You hear Rust chuckle, his hand moving to rub a circle onto your back. “Not too much now, baby.” You cough, still holding the cigarette as your other hand moves to push at his chest to wordlessly tell him not to laugh. 

Then, you started smoking by yourself. Rust had forgotten his cigarettes at home during one of his shifts at the bar, and your curiosity got the best of you. You coughed again but slowly worked past it, thinking of seventeen-year-old you who could smoke two without even coughing. As it finished, a strange sense of accomplishment came over you, and you didn’t mind it too bad. 

He noticed you’d started to smoke more often, and he felt like he had corrupted you in some way. That guilt had always been a small manifestation deep within him, starting just as your older boyfriend in Alaska. Now he had taken you all the way to Louisiana and got you fixed on cigarettes. 

“You should quit.” He grunts one night, watching as you roll over in bed. The covers hid your exposed body as you grabbed your pack from your nightstand. 

“You first.” You answer, lighting the cigarette with his own that dangled between his own lips. He could admit he hated that he got you to start smoking, but nothing sparked fire in his loins like when you’d lean in, kissing the tips of your cigarettes together to light them. 

After your own budding addiction, Rust became notorious for stealing your cigarettes. The pack in your purse would disappear, and you’d see Rust with a new pack despite never taking the time to stop by the store. Even if you tied your ribbons around them or hid them in your nightstand drawer, you’d find them in the pockets of Rust’s jeans. 

What frustrated you the most, however, was the one’s he’d steal straight from your lips. 

You’d be lounging at home, slowly and carefully applying a bold red to your fingernails. You were taking drags with the cigarette that sat between your lips, the TV playing an old sitcom as background noise. Suddenly, long fingers would appear in your eyesight, snatching the cigarette from between your lips.

“Hey!” You whine, turning to look at him as he stands behind the couch. With a smirk, he looks down at you, taking a long drag of the cigarette he thieved from your own mouth. 

“That has my lipstick on it.” You pout, pointing at the ring of red on the cigarette where Rust’s lips pursed. 

“Baby, I’ve had your lipstick on more parts of me than I can tell.” He drawled back with a raise of his brow. He took a drag of the cigarette, chuckling as he caught the pillow you threw at him.

[thefallennightmare]

Just Pretend-two

Parings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings/Tropes: language, angst, fluff, smut, star-crossed lovers, right person/wrong time, cheating, talks of mental abuse.

Summary: “I can wait for years, heaven knows I’m not getting over you.” A story about two star-crossed lovers, that always find their way back because their souls are entwined. The universe desperately attempts to bring them together, no matter what the cost.

Authors Note: y'all aint ready for this. Also, this story is going to jump a lot between Noah's and Readers(angel's) POV.

Collabing With: @thescarlettvvitch

Tags: @thescarlettvvitch @ozwriterchick @waake-meee-up @notingridslurkaccount @niicoleleigh @sammyjoeee @xxrainstorm @dominuslunae @notmaddihealy @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @iknownothingpeople @writethrough @thebadchic @blackveilomens Claudia on Tumblr

EDITED TO ADD ON 7/24/2024: Hi everyone. I’ve noticed a lot of new readers on this series(which I am so thankful for). I thought to add this little edit to let you new readers know that Sarah(thescarlettvvitch) is no longer a collaborator on this series due to her own choice on leaving. Her decision to leave comes just before chapter 26, so wanted to let you all know that. Anywho, enjoy reading! ☺️

READER

With a long sigh, I did my best to adjust my shirt and hair in a way to cover the mark on my neck, even two layers of foundation did nothing to hide it. Trey didn’t care that I was about to go on stage with a deep red hickey on the side of my neck or the fact that my chest was covered in bite marks. It was his way of claiming me in front of all the guys that showed up tonight which was insane when he was the only one that had my attention. 

Bullshit. 

“I told you to take it easy,” I grumbled to Trey as he appeared from the back of the bus. 

He shrugged while balancing a cigarette on his lips as he worked on buttoning his pants. His hair was a mess of waves thanks to my fingers running through it just a few moments ago but Trey didn’t bother to fix it. 

“Calm down, babe. It’s not like I haven’t marked you before,” he said while walking past me and smacking my ass. 

“That’s not the fucking point, Trey,” I seethed. “You didn’t have to leave that dark of a mark.” 

Trey lit the cigarette and blew the smoke out inside of the bus and I hastily waved it out of my face, the anger for him intensifying. 

“Have you lost your mind?! You know Malcolm has asthma, if he breathes in the smoke it’ll make him have an attack!” 

“Not my problem,” he shrugged then trotted down the stairs. 

What an ass. 

I stayed inside the bus for a few extra long moments trying to center myself by taking deep breaths and hopefully, letting Trey get a head start to wherever he was headed. 

The soundcheck went alright, it could have been worse, but thankfully Trey wasn’t completely wasted and could still perform. But that meant nothing for the next three hours until we went on stage. Who knows where he is headed right now?

During soundcheck, I noticed that while Bad Omens were bringing in their equipment, Noah’s gaze would linger on us every time he dropped something off. I thought I was the only one until Trey practically dragged me back to the bus to fuck his frustrations out. 

It wasn’t terrible. I’ve had worse but definitely could have been better. At least I was able to get off; sometimes Trey would be two pumps and done then move on to whatever else he had planned in his day.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and when I checked the message, I let out a loud snort at the text message from Chase.

Get your loner ass in the green room. Malcolm and I are hanging with Bad Omens.

I ducked into the bathroom to check myself in the mirror, smoothing down the few strands of hair that strayed out and tripled checked that the hickey on my neck wasn't that noticeable. On my way out of the bus and into the venue, I sent Trey a text letting him know to be back by six before doors opened; he of course left me on read.

As I neared the green room, loud voices carried down the hallway and when I walked through the doorway, many sets of eyes fell on me.

"Jeez, don't stop your conversations on my account. Makes me wonder what the hell you were talking about," I joked while falling onto the couch between Chase and Nick.

"Do I want to ask?" Chase ran a finger over the mark on my neck.

I smacked his hand away, hoping no one would notice. "You know how he is, Chase. It's nothing."

Chase was a really good friend of mine, had been for the last six years, and he was someone I could always confide in when things with Trey weren't that great; which was a lot. In the beginning, Chase would listen and offer advice that would strengthen my relationship with Trey. But now, I had a feeling Chase wanted to strangle Trey.

"He treats you like shit, Y/N," he ran a hand over his buzzed head. "You deserve better."

I ran my hands over my jeans and looked around the room when I felt a pair of eyes burning deep inside of me. My breath caught in my throat when I caught eyes with Noah, who was sitting on the couch across from me. Suddenly under his intense gaze I felt warm all over so I quickly shed off my sweatshirt and tossed it over the back of the couch behind me.

Nick peered down at my arm as he traced over the random tattoos on my skin, small smile pulling at his lips.

"Oh, please don't look at these. I got these stupid designs of a flower and stems when I was eighteen," I groaned. "I thought it would be so cool to get my entire arm covered in it."

He shook his head, still smiling. "No, the design looks sick. I just didn't know you had tattoos."

"Yeah, I tend to hid them only because-."

The words fell from my lips when I realized I did not want to finish that sentence in front of all the guys.

Malcolm snorted as he had no problem finishing my sentence. "Because Trey hates her tattoos. He thinks she should look pure and innocent for the band."

My eyes sliced into Malcolm. "That's not true."

"Right," it was Chase now who spoke. "Then why does he make you wear long sleeves for the shows and media pictures?"

I bounced my knee with newfound anger at my band mates for bringing up something personal in front of four strangers: to me anyway.

"Fuck this," I grumbled while rising to my feet. "I'm going to hang out on the bus until the show starts."

As I walked past the couch where Noah sat, his fingers brushed against the skin of my palm and electricity shot through my entire body. My nerve endings were buzzing with a sense of warmth that I'd never felt before. Every single cell in my body craved to feel this alive every second of the day and the way my heart pounded in my chest, I was afraid that Noah could hear how just his touch alone affected me.

I looked down at him, his long hair falling around his face in waves of chocolate locks, and his gaze traced over the tattoos on my left hand before jumping to my right arm. I was in such a trance that I didn't notice the way his eyes sparkled or when his deep voice echoed in my ears.

"Kaonashi."

My eyes blinked when the trance was broken. "Huh?"

Noah pointed to the tattoo on my arm. "From Spirited Away."

"You know Spirited Away?" I asked with so much excitement it was almost embarrassing.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "I'm actually a huge anime nerd. I have a Naruto tattoo on my knuckle."

I gasped while forcing Malcolm, who protested with a loud shout, to scoot off of the couch so I could sit next to Noah.

"No fucking way!"

Not even realizing I did it, I grabbed Noah's hand to trace over the small tattoo on the knuckle of his right hand.

"The leaf village!" I giggled. "That's so sick."

My attention was fully on drinking in the sight of the other arrays of tattoos on Noah's hand that I didn't even notice the way he was watching me, so much brightness and life in his eyes. The tattoos covered almost every inch of skin on his hands, arms, and fuck-even his neck was tattooed.

I'd love to run my tongue across the apple.

What the fuck? Why did I even think that?

Clearing my throat, I peered up at him through my lashes to give him a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry for freaking out like this. It's just no one else watches anime so I don't really have anyone to talk to about this kind of stuff."

Noah immediately waved me off. "No, it's alright. I'm always down to talk about anime anytime you want."

My heart did that little flutter it did earlier when I saw him for the first time and just like that time, I forced the feeling away. This feeling was new, unknown, and it scared me it felt so intense when I was around Noah.

I fell back into the couch with a small smile. "I haven't watched that movie in so long. It's my all-time favorite. I can't tell you how many times I watched it while growing up."

"Do you want to watch it?"

My brow raised. "Now?"

Noah shrugged. "The show doesn't start for a few hours and we've got some time to kill."

"Okay," I smiled, my knees bouncing in excitement. "Yeah, sure. Let me grab my laptop and we can watch it in here."

Not wanting to waste any more time, I practically jumped from the couch and left the room.

NOAH

With fire dancing behind my eyes, I watched Y/N leave the room, gaze lingering on the door for a few extra beats until Jolly's voice forced me to look at him.

"Did you say something?" I asked.

He smirked. "You two seem to be getting along quite well."

"We just have something in common," I rolled my eyes to show that I didn't care that much.

Even though my stomach was doing flips at the thought of spending more time with her. Finding out she was big into anime like me shouldn't have made a goofy smile spread to my lips but it did. From what I knew of her online, which wasn't much, I noticed that almost every media picture or concert video that was posted, Y/N had her tattoos covered up. I always thought it was the look she was going for but finding out that it was because Trey wanted her to keep up the image of looking innocent and pure made my throat burn.

Another thing I noticed? The giant red hickey on the side of her neck that was barley covered by makeup. Chase gave her shit for it when she first got here and that's when I heard her defend Trey for how nasty the hickey was.

"It's who he is." Her words replayed in my mind.

He sounds like a fucking prick.

We met Trey a few months back at a bar in Los Angeles where to no one's surprise; he was drunk and had some girl hanging off of his arm that wasn't Y/N. Though, we had no idea they were dating so to us, it could have been some random hook up. This was also before we knew we would tour with Hollow Souls. Trey knew who we were from word of mouth around the record label but from the moment we met that night, he had a sour taste in his mouth when it came to us.

Trey wouldn't admit it but Folio thinks it's because the record label was putting more of their attention on Bad Omens lately than Hollow Souls.

"All I'm saying is, be careful," Jolly spoke.

I sighed while brushing my hair away from my eyes. "We're watching a movie, Jolly. Not fucking on the couch in front of everyone."

Then the door opened behind me, halting whatever Jolly was going to say, and Y/N walked in with the largest smile on her face I'd think I'd ever seen someone have. My own matched when I noticed she threw on a Spirited Away sweater.

"What?" She shrugged when she noticed me staring. "I thought it was only fitting to wear it."

I patted the spot next to me where she previously sat and waited as she loaded up the movie. While the others had their own conversations, Jolly kept a curious eye on us.

"You know," I spoke as we waited.

"Hm?" She hummed in response but kept her attention on finding the movie.

Nerves ate away at me as I tried to find the correct way to say these words without coming across as weird or offensive. I've talked to plenty of girls throughout my life so why was I nervous to talk to her?

"I think you should show off your tattoo's more," I spoke slow at first, as if to test the waters.

That made her turn her head towards me, one brow raised to her hairline. "Oh, you do?"

I shifted in my spot on the couch, trying to look calm and collected. Not wanting her to realize that the way her eyes twinkled or how her bottom lip that was caught between her teeth was making me hard in places that shouldn't be hard right now; especially with her sitting right next to me.

"They're beautifully done. It's a fucking shame that you have to hide them because Trey wants you to look innocent for the band. I mean, has he even heard your lyrics or understood the deeper meaning to them?"

"Shit," she blushed and looked down at her lap. "Please don't analyze my lyrics. It's one thing when I sing them in front of a crowd but having a deep conversation about them in another thing entirely. I get so embarrassed."

"Seriously? Why?"

She shrugged. "I-uh, I think it's because people believe I don't write my own lyrics but I do. I spent hours some nights writing one song to make it perfect. Everyone thinks it's Trey, but all he does is scream the parts I tell him too. The rest is all me."

Taking her laptop from her, I placed it on the other side of the couch next to me then made her turn to face me. Meeting Y/N of Hollow Souls was on my bucket list but having deep conversations about her lyrics was at the top.

"In Your Touch Awakens, you talk about how the touch alone from someone ignites the fire within your soul. It makes your body shake with the aftershocks of a night full of hot passion."

The blush intensified to a deep shade of red but still refused to meet my gaze.

"The lyrics in One Night is a promise to spend the last night on earth with a man you only just met," I said.

Wouldn't that be fucking nice?

Ignoring the thought, I continued on. "Don't even get me started on Desperation for Our Sins. I could go into heavy detail about those lyrics."

"He has, multiple times," Folio nodded from his spot on the floor, halting his conversation with Malcolm.

I narrowed my eyes at him playfully. "That's because the lyrics are that fucking good. It's my favorite song."

"So screw Trey for thinking you should remain innocent for the band. Show everyone that this," I motioned to her. "Isn't something that should be covered up. And I mean that in the most respectful way possible, Y/N."

By now she was meeting my gaze and I could see that her eyes were wet but she did her best not to let the tears fall so instead, she blew out a shaky breath.

"Fuck, Noah. I might have to add Desperation for Our Sins on the set list just for you," she ended her words with a chuckle.

My fingers brushed over her knee, almost a subconscious action. She noticed with the way her body tensed but she didn't move away. In fact, she leaned into the touch.

"All I'm saying is, have fun when you're on stage. Come alive out there." I said.

It was the truth. Every video I've seen of a Hollow Souls concert, Y/N stayed on her side of the stage, while Trey moved around, jumping and spinning. I wanted to see that from her and made a promise to myself this tour that I would help her break out of this shell she had encased herself in.

"Tha-," her soft voice was cut off by the door to the room bursting open, almost slamming against the wall.

Trey stumbled inside, the air of the room shifting to an uncomfortable level. His eyes scanned around until it fell directly on Y/N and I, who were still sitting quite close and my hand still on her knee.

"What the fuck?" Trey spat. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Her face twitched into a scowl and slowly rose to her feet. "You could have answered my texts then."

I was on the edge of my seat, not knowing exactly what he would do, but marveled at the way she stood toe to toe with Trey.

"What's going on here?" He motioned to the group. "A little pow wow without me?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Stop being a dick."

Trey smirked. "If I recall, you were begging for my dick earlier."

I averted my gaze from her down to the ground and rested my arms on my knees. My heart stuttered in my chest as jealousy fill my veins, something I didn't want to feel.

"Screw you," she scolded while pushing past Trey to leave.

He quickly grabbed her hand to stop her which made my jump to my feet. Trey chuckled darkly towards me all while keeping a grip on Y/N's hand.

"Oh, that's cute. Let me guess, she told you the story about how much she loved that stupid fucking anime movie? Unlike you, that pussy story didn't work on me. Do yourself a favor, Noah, stay the fuck away from her."

"Trey, stop it," Y/N quietly begged.

Not daring to back down, I tucked my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans and shrugged a shoulder

"I'm not doing anything, Trey. We were just talking."

"Right," he snorted before throwing Y/N's hand away from him, stalking out of the room alone.

"Asshole," she grumbled under her breath then turn towards me. "I'm so sorry about that."

My knuckle brushed against the patch of skin where Trey grabbed her. "It's not your fault."

"But it is," she nodded. "I know how he gets."

"Do you want to watch?" I pointed to the laptop. "Help get your mind off of him?"

I could see the internal battle behind her eyes as she fought with what she wanted to do and what she thought she had to do.

"I should go make sure he's alright," she threw a thumb over her shoulder. "But give me a few minutes and I'll be back. We can watch then."

I ignored the way my heart fell into my stomach but agreed with a smile. "Sure."

Once gone, I fell back onto the couch, as my body vibrated with so much energy and anger, I had to force myself to stay in the room and not run after her.

"Is he always like this?" Folio asked.

Chase answered with a long breath. "Unfortunately. We've talked about Trey to the label on countless occasions but they won't do anything until after the tour. And that's a big IF."

Malcolm gave a weak smile. "We've tried to ignore it but it's starting to get out of hand; the drinking and the way he treats Y/N."

"Have you guys even tried to stop it?" I snapped.

"Believe us, Noah. We have," Chase narrowed his eyes at me. "Trey is so far gone there's no reasoning with him. Y/N is no different. She won't listen to us. She'll defend him until her last breath, its disgusting."

My fists clenched at my sides as I waited not so patiently for her to return by pacing the room. Five minutes past with no sight of her but before I could go find her, Nick's voice called after me.

"Noah, don't."

I ran a hand over my jaw. "I’m not gonna get involved, I just wanna make sure she’s okay. Fuckin prick smelled like Vodka.”

As I followed the angry voices, I came to a halt halfway down the hallway when I noticed Trey practically foaming at the mouth as he scolded Y/N.

"Why the fuck was he so close to you?"

She pinched her eyes shut. "We were just talking."

"Bullshit," Trey spat, literally, to the ground at her feet. "No man wants to just talk to you, Y/N. Wake the fuck up and realize he wants you!"

She choked on a laugh. "You're fucking delusional. You're seeing something thats not there."

Well..

"Don't be a dumbass. It's not a cute look for you, babe."

With a quick glance my way, Trey saw me standing a few feet behind Y/N, who didn't notice me. So with a smug smile, he threw an arm over her shoulders and led her through a door that led outside.

"I can think of a few ways you could make it up to me."

NOAH

A yawn escape from my lips as I shut the door to the trailer shut before bidding a goodbye to the crew as they were getting ready to head to the next city. The first show of the tour went great, Bad Omens putting on a killer show like we usually do. But most the fans were there to see Hollow Souls, who undoubtedly brought the energy. We watched them from the side stage but even with my words earlier, Y/N didn't break out of her shell or come alive on stage. She remained in place, wearing a long-sleeved dress and black thigh-high boots.

She looked absolutely Devine on stage. How her face was stone while she sang her parts, eyes closed in concentration. There were a few strands of hair that fell from her ponytail into her face but none of it bothered her as she was in the zone on stage.

Of course, she didn't watch our set, only coming back into the venue right before Hollow Souls went on. According to Malcolm, her and Trey stayed on their bus until the last possible second. I thought about going and finding her to wish her a great job tonight but knew that it would only make things worse for her with Trey.

"Noah, you ready?" Nick called out form the window of our bus.

With one final glance to the empty parking lot then to Hollow Souls bus, I let out a breath and nodded.

"Yeah."

But before I could ascend the stairs to our bus, my name was called from behind and noticed Trey walking towards me. Instantly my body tensed with the need to fight but did my best to keep cool.

"I know what you're doing!" He bellowed.

I raised a brow at him. "Standing in front of my bus?"

"No, smartass. I know you've been watching my girl all night," Trey got right up in my face, chest to chest.

"Back up, Trey," I ordered with my hands outstretched. "I'm not going to fight you."

The difference in our heights was almost laughable. Even in my flat tennis shoes, I towered over Trey by a few inches.

“Just know, I see it. And it's not going to happen. We’re gonna do this fucking tour cause the label said we can’t cut the fucking contract. But just know, this thing you want with Y/N isn't going to happen," Trey said angrily.

With one final glare, he rammed his shoulder into me as he brushed past towards his tour bus, where Y/N stuck her head out the door to give us a concerned eye.

"Everything alright?" She wondered.

Trey plastered a fake smile then brought her in for a heated kiss, one that at first she looked uncomfortable with but then she melted into his body, her fingers running through his hair.

"Lets get you to bed, baby. It's been a long day."

"Mother fucker," I gritted out through clenched teeth as the door to their bus shut.

[noxexistant]

ai-less whumptober; day three

@ailesswhumptober 3 — shared trauma, survivor’s guilt, “It’s not your fault.” ↳ october, 1899 word count; 1.5k

cw; sibling death, implied alcohol abuse

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Jack thinks about Michael every day of his life. Maybe that's a good thing. He can't imagine the guilt if he didn't. But he also, really, can't imagine being able to…not. The thinking is one thing, but the nightmares are another.

And then there's the reminders.

Jack is all too aware his brother's death had had witnesses, all those boys watching out of the Refuge windows as they'd hopped the carriage, as Michael had slipped — and witnesses talk. Newsies talk, every shoeshine and street rat in New York talks; there ain't much else to do when they're working dawn 'til midnight or locked up behind those barred windows under Snyder's heel. Everyone knows. But it's one of those things most folk don't dare talk about — not when he's Cowboy, not when he's got the mask of being a leader to hide behind. Folk don't mess with him, though it's not the same way they don't mess with Spot Conlon. It's not fear.

They just…like him. Too much to bring up his dead little brother every time the urge might strike, whether they're pissed off with him — Jack thinks about his photograph, silently torn to shreds after he took the money — or they're just curious.

The Delanceys have no such reservations.

"Hey, Kelly," Oscar calls out from a little way down the alleyway Jack had just turned down. "Happy anniversary."

It's not. It's in a couple weeks. But Oscar's never been good with numbers.

"Fuck off, Delancey," he responds.

It's fucking cold. Too cold for October, too cold to be outside all day, but Jack doesn't have a whole lot of choice. He'd sold like shit, the way he always does in that lull between the cold weather starting and Christmas coming in — it's late and he's only just sold his last pape, he just wants to be done. But there Oscar is, leaned against the wall of the alleyway Jack's trying to cut through to get back to the lodging house, cigarette in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. He smells like the stuff, but it isn't the sharp, acrid smell of the cheap booze that can usually be found amongst the newsies. It smells good. It looks good.

Oscar grins at him, lopsided. Jack can guess that what's been drained from the bottle has all been drank by him tonight, and his suspicions are confirmed when Oscar brings the bottle to his lips and takes a long, easy drink.

"How long's it been now, eh?" he asks as he draws the bottle away, voice still a little tight as he swallows, utterly casual. "Since Michael. Ten years?"

His tone is lazy, something smug and amused and utterly infuriating in his face. Jack rolls his jaw.

"C'mon, Oscar, get your fingers up. Try an' count it out."

Of all the possible reactions, he isn't expecting Oscar to laugh.

Violence would be expected, normal, but Oscar laughs, the way he usually only does when he's beating someone into the pavement or ruining their day.

It makes something in Jack's gut curl, burning hot and angry.

"Y'know, I really don't get it," he says. "Why you're like this. Why you act like all that time in there was nothin' to you, jus' somethin' to crack jokes about now. I saw you. Every day. Saw you go through Hell with me. An' your little brother."

Oscar takes a slow drag from his cigarette, still sort of smiling around it. One side of his mouth curled up to bare a canine that gets covered when he exhales the smoke into the cold night air.

"Been through worse," he says with a shrug. Takes a swig of his whiskey. "An' clearly I did better in there 'n you did. Got my wee brother out alive an' all."

The noise he makes when Jack throws him into the wall is satisfying, at least. A grunt from deep in his chest as the air is knocked out of him, a dull crack of his head hitting the brick last. His cigarette tumbles to the floor, and Jack takes no small amount of satisfaction in catching it beneath his boot and scraping it hard, mangling it into a spread corpse of tobacco, though Oscar keeps a firm hold on his whiskey.

And then he smiles again, lazier this time.

"You always been jealous."

Jack had seen Morris go through Hell in the Refuge. As much as if not more than Jack himself and Oscar had faced. He'd been tiny when Jack first saw him. A tiny, malnourished little kid who'd clearly been brutalised all his life. For the first few years, Jack had believed Morris to be a lot younger than he is — Michael's age, maybe. Never could've guessed that he's only a few months younger than Jack himself. But Morris was always well looked after by Oscar, regardless of the circumstances in there, or the circumstances of wherever they'd come from. Morris was forever under the protection of his older brother. Oscar, who would start fights with the other boys to wrench their rations from them to give to Morris. Who'd stay awake all night and curl himself around his brother, vicious and protective like a dog, or sit vigil at his bedside to ensure nobody dared come close. Who'd walked out of the Refuge, freshly eighteen, with his hand clasped around his little brother's bony wrist when their uncle had arrived, looking for boys to put to work.

Maybe Jack thinks about them near as much as he thinks about Michael. It's a fact he fucking hates.

He'd compared himself to Oscar at every possible turn as they grew up, confined together, the only other older brother he'd ever known to compare himself to.

He'd wondered, in the wake of Michael's death, if he could've kept him alive, protected him better, if he was only more like Oscar. More vicious, more controlling, more willing to bide his time and take it for as long as he had to until it was over, instead of always having to try and run. Maybe he could've been stronger.

"'M'glad," he says, without. Really thinking about it. Means it, at least. "That you got your brother out."

He's still got Oscar pinned to the wall, leaning his weight against him with hands balled into the worn fabric of his jacket, but finally he forces himself to let go. Staggers a step backwards, skin feeling heavy on his body. Grief feeling heavy on his aching shoulders.

There's a brief stretch of silence. And then Oscar wordlessly holds out the bottle of whiskey between them.

Jack takes it without hesitation, and tips it back to draw a long swig from the bottle. It's good. Rich and warm, burns down his throat right to his empty stomach. Oscar's looking at him.

"You expectin' me to lie to you?" he says, but his voice is softer now. "Tell you it's not your fault?"

Jack shakes his head, and takes another swig, maybe half because he can and half because he's cold. Mostly because he needs it.

"Know it is," he says forcefully. "'Course it's my fault."

It had been October then too, and he knew then how utterly miserable winters in the Refuge were. He'd just wanted to get out before the cold set in, wanted to get him and Michael somewhere they could stay warm. Boys always died during the winter in the refuge. And isn't there a sick irony to that.

"I—" Oscar says suddenly, then stops himself. Swallows, and drops his head back against the brick again, pale eyes looking up at the sky. "Dunno how you kept goin'," he says. "Dunno that I could. 'f Mo…"

Jack swallows too. He can't help but look at Oscar, closer than he usually ever gets to be, something. Sickeningly intimate about the vulnerability in this moment. The older boy looks tired. He looks sad. And then seems to experience his own wave of grief, as if realising in an instant that he's said more than he wanted to — revealed too much, like Jack hasn't already seen everything. Hasn't seen Oscar holding Morris' limp body and screaming. It was just the fact that Morris woke up.

"Fuckin'. Whatever," Oscar mutters. "I gotta get home."

Jack imagines Morris is waiting for him.

It's how it always is, when the two of them are apart. They're just waiting to be reunited, two broken halves of a whole. Oscar goes suddenly, without another word, and Jack watches him walk away with his hands shoved in his pockets, boots crunching. He's still got his own hand around the neck of the bottle that Oscar had left with him. There's still a warmth to it where Oscar had held it.

Jack takes another swig, and starts heading his own way home, trying not to think about Michael waiting for him somewhere.

[chelseeebe]

falling. | part 3. to maneater.

summary: steve harrington was the first boy you’d opened up to. so why can’t you stop fucking it up?

c/w: billy is in this and there’s mentions of sexual assault and non-consensual touching so read with caution!

it’s finally done!!!!! i don’t even think i like this but it’s here!!! tumblr deleted a whole chunk of writing so had to redo some parts n ik they aren’t as good as the original <\3 also falling - harry styles especially the first verse rlly got me going for this one.

read part one here. | read part two here.

there had been absolutely no contact with steve. he couldn’t even look at you.

now being shunned from sitting on the table your two groups had taken over, jessica very kindly tells you, ‘it’s probably better if you don’t come, y’know.. just until steve cools down.’

‘right.. guess i’ll see you later then,’ you slink out of the cafeteria, choosing to retreat to your car instead, away from everyone.

to be honest, you weren’t keen on sitting opposite steve anyway. the way his eyes looked at you, all sad and disappointed.

on the friday, you’re sat in your car, willing the next two hours of school to hurry up when your passenger door swings open and a large body collapses into the seat.

‘what the fuck are you doing?’

‘you looked lonely, thought i’d give you some company,’ billy states, throwing his legs on the dashboard.

you shoo his feet off, ‘i was fine on my own, actually.’

‘darling, i’ve seen you sat here every day this week, your boyfriend still mad at you?’ he smirks over at you.

‘he’s not my boyfriend, never has been, but yeah, no thanks to you,’ you hiss, though you can’t solely blame him.

‘you really were wasted, huh? don’t remember what happened after?’ he lights a cigarette, rolling down the window.

‘well no, but i’ve been told.. steve couldn’t wait to throw it in my face, trust me,’ you state, looking over at the curly haired boy.

‘why do you give a shit what he thinks? never had you down as someone that cared what little pretty boys like harrington think of you,’ he takes a drag.

billy was attractive, not in a steve harrington kinda way, more rugged and much less clean-cut.

you reach over and grab the cigarette from him, taking a long drag before handing it back.

‘i don’t,’ you lie, ‘could not care less.’

‘that’s why you’re hiding in your car is it, sweetheart?’ he chuckles, eyes narrowing at you.

‘just fuck off, billy,’ you roll your eyes, unprepared for his home-truths.

he laughs, ‘n leave you all alone? you sure you want that?'

even though it was billy, you had appreciated not being alone at lunch. your friend's hadn't exactly shunned you, but had decided that during lunch they'd rather preserve the peace with their new-found friendship with steve and his group.

'you can stay, as long as you shut up and don't mention steve again,' you fold your arms over your chest, twisting your body to look at him.

'i'm not making any promises,' he flicks the butt of the cigarrette out of the window, turning back to face you.

'there's a party tomorrow, i'll pick you up at eight,' he winks.

in all honesty a party was a welcome distraction to everything at the moment, though billy would not be your usual choice of friend but at this point you weren't left with much choice.

then there's a twinge of guilt in your stomach, thinking of steve and how a party and billy had actually been the sole reason steve now wasn’t speaking to you.

he was the first guy you’d let get that close since moving to hawkins a few years back. an inexplicable feeling bubbles in your stomach as you think back to your date. how you had felt so comfortable with him, telling him things not even your friends had gotten out of you.

and suddenly that awful impulsive urge rises from your stomach. the one that only showed itself when things were becoming too serious with someone.

so fuck it.

you spent the whole of the lunch break with billy, in your car. you hadn't ever pictured your friday to go this way, but you were just happy that someone was actually speaking to you.

you'd neglected to notice steve, who had finished basketball practice, standing just a few metres from your car, glaring at the pair of you sat talking in your car. a frown planted firmly on his face, utter disbelief at how you could even be sat with him after that damned party.

tommy notices steve staring, searching for the cause of his scowl, landing on your car. he swings his arm over his friends shoulder in sympathy.

'bro.. c'mon, let's just go,' he tugs steve away and back into the school.

-

billy is late, obviously.

he wasn’t like steve, ready and waiting for you before you’d even finished getting ready.

you turn your wrist to look at your watch.

8:11pm

you were about to head back inside when you hear the loud car engine pull onto your street, wheels screeching to a halt.

billy grins at you from the window, you roll your eyes and get into the car.

‘you’re late, lucky i was nice enough to wait,’ you pull your skirt down, as it had ridden up past your thighs. not unnoticed by billy.

‘sorry darlin’, looking good though,’ he eyes up your thighs.

‘just drive, i need a fucking drink,’ you stare, flipping him the middle finger.

he chuckles, speeding off down the street.

-

you’d told yourself that there was absolutely no way you were getting as wasted as last time. but here you were, head spinning as you stumble up to the stairs and into the bathroom.

billy follows closely behind, pushing his way into the bathroom, ‘not tapping out, are ya doll face?’

‘no, i’m fine.. just need a minute,’ you lean your hands on the counter, looking at your blurry reflection in the mirror.

billy presses himself against your back, hands finding your waist as you watch him grin in the mirror.

you spin your body round to face him, placing a hand on his chest to push him back, ‘i’m not fucking you billy,’ shaking your head.

‘oh c’mon, i’ve been waiting all night for this darlin’,’ his fingers begin to slide up your thigh, disappearing under your skirt.

‘no billy, i’m not doing that,’ you place your hand on his wrist, trying to move his hand.

his expression hardens as he leans his face closer to yours, his fingers now gripping your jaw, ‘you’re joking.. everyone knows what a little slut you are, what’s the problem? don’t tell me it’s harrington.’

his fingers tear a hole in your tights, latching onto the hem of your underwear and you freeze.

your eyes squeeze shut, ‘i just don’t want to have sex with you.. get off of me,’ your voice shakes.

he runs his thumb over your bottom lip before letting go, backing away from the counter, ‘whatever, you’re a little cock-tease,’ he walks out of the bathroom, slamming the door so hard the walls shake.

you sigh, wiping away the tears that had slipped out and rolled down your cheek.

you’d yet again made a gigantic mess of everything.

now left stranded at some random party, god knows where.

so, you do the sensible thing and walk down the stairs and out of the house, stumbling down the street as you pass the party goers.

you walk and walk, until you end up on the familiar street.

you don’t really know what you’re doing until you’re at the door, boots in hand as your knuckles wrap against the wood.

there were now holes in your tights, black mascara smudged down your cheeks and the red lipstick you’d chosen now anywhere but your lips.

you glance at the time on your watch

3:32am.

it had taken you an hour to even get here.

the door swings open and a shirtless steve stands in the doorway, hair sticking up every which way.

‘y/n? why are y- what happened?’ his tone becoming concerned as he notices your disheveled appearance and the leather boots in your hand.

you shrug, swallowing the lump in your throat, ‘i didn’t know where else to go..’ the lump rises as a cry escapes your mouth.

his arms are around your body, pulling you into his chest, before you can say another word.

you cry as he pulls you into the house, running his hand down your back. you can only cling onto him, only crying harder because you didn’t deserve this kindness from him.

‘hey.. what happened?’ he questions, pulling away to make you look up at him.

‘i was.. at a party and- and billy..’ you’re interrupted with a sob, unable to finish the sentence.

his eyes go from soft to filled with anger at the mention of his name.

‘what? what did he do?’ he spits, with the state of you it couldn’t have been good.

‘he just- he tried to touch me and.. and i said no and-,’ you’re interrupted by a sob, unable to even tell steve.

you can feel his body stiffen, ‘he didn’t… did he?’

shaking your head, you swallow attempting to conceal your cries, ‘no.. he just.. touched me.. it’s my fault, i shouldn’t have even gone..’

‘no, no it’s not at all.. c’mon let’s get you cleaned up,’ he pulls his body from yours, now taking your hand and walking you up his stairs.

the second time he’d come to your drunken rescue. you felt awful for relying on him so much.

but truthfully, steve would rather know that you’re safe with him than out there. no matter what had happened between you.

he gently wipes the remains of your makeup off with his moms face wipes, offering you the spare toothbrush and even turning around as you change into yet another one of his t-shirts, this time foregoing the sweatpants.

‘got my own collection going on,’ you laugh weakly, sitting on the edge of his bed.

he exhales, ‘s’pose you do.. they look better on you anyway,’ he stands in the doorway, ready to go to the guest bedroom.

‘can you.. stay in here.. only if you want to,’ you whisper, pulling back the duvet for him.

he walks over to the bed, ‘of course i want to.. whether i should is another story,’ he climbs into the bed, laying back.

‘you should,’ you lean your head back onto the pillow, staring at the cream coloured ceiling.

steve flicks the lamp off, turning on his side to go to sleep.

you’re sure he’s asleep before you let out the first silent cry, hand held over your mouth.

your shoulders shake as you sniffle, slightly louder than intended.

and then you feel steve’s arm snake around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

‘i’m sorry.. i thought you were asleep..’ you mumble.

‘no.. can’t sleep,’ he grumbles in response, still holding onto your waist.

you turn your body to face his, looking up at his shadowy face, admiring the way the moon cascaded over his features. you can just about make out his eyes staring back into yours.

‘me too..’

the eye contact is heavy, and you’re half tempted to reach up and kiss him.

steve clearly has the same thought, his lips colliding with yours with his free hand now cupping your face.

but this kiss is different, there’s no lust, no desire behind it. not like before. this kiss was soft, full of warmth and emotion.

he pulls back, searching for your eyes in the darkness, ‘c’mon you need to sleep.’

you nod slightly, resting your head on his chest and exhaling deeply.

his fingers trace patterns into your shoulder, chin resting on the top of your head.

eventually your breathing becomes heavy on his chest as you drift off to sleep.

his fingers slide through your hair with his other arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders, holding you close to his body.

he whispers into your hair, ‘you’re killing me here..’

eventually falling asleep, nuzzled into your hair.

-

it's noon before you wake up, steve's arm around your waist as he snores lightly.

he looked so peaceful when he was asleep, the usual furrow of his brow replaced with an undisturbed, stillness to his face.

you smile at the image, not wanting to wake him but desperately needing the bathroom.

you manoeuvre your body out of his grasp and tiptoe to the bathroom.

when you come back to the room steve is awake, sat up against his headboard.

‘i thought.. i thought you’d snuck off again,’ he exhales, running his hand through his hair.

you shake your head, ‘not this time,’ sitting at the end of the bed.

‘what happened last night?’ he asks, not wanting to press too much.

you sigh, looking down at your hands, ‘he.. he touched me.. i said no but he.. just-,’ you stop yourself.

steve reaches over, placing his hand over yours for reassurance.

‘he grabbed me.. called me a slut and a tease- i don’t wanna talk about it..’

‘you should go to the police, obviously if you want to.. but he shouldn’t get away with that,’ he squeezes you hand, his tone now full of disgust.

‘no, i’m not.. it’s fine- i’m fine,’ you look up at him, eyes glossy with tears.

‘you do-,’ he sighs, exasperated, ‘okay, it’s your choice.. but i’m just telling you now that i am going to kill him.’

you chuckle through the tears, ‘you couldn’t kill a fly.’

‘hey! i could and i have,’ he feigns offence.

you groan, using steve’s blanket to wipe away your tears.

‘are you okay?’ he questions quietly.

you nod, ‘i’m fine.. are you okay?’

‘why would i not be?’

‘because.. of me,’ you shrug, ‘what i did..’

he squeezes your hand, ‘it doesn’t matter.. you were right, you aren’t my girlfriend.. i can’t expect you to act like it,’ he sighs; slightly frowning.

his eyes are sad, gazing down at you.

‘it was still shitty.. i’m really sorry steve.. i’m trying to be a different person, better, but it’s hard..’

he exhales, ‘look.. we don’t need to speak about this now..’

you nod, appreciating his kindness. even if you were totally undeserving.

‘c’mon, i’ll take you home,’ he runs his thumb over your hand before standing from the bed.

you’re stood at his door when he picks up the skirt you’d worn last night. it had been a favourite but now you couldn’t even stand to look at it.

‘burn it,’ you say, disgusted at the sight of the skirt.

it goes unnoticed when steve grits his teeth, seething at how billy’s actions had made you feel so little. a shell of the you he knew.

-

you hesitate going into the cafeteria. there was still an air of uncertainty around you and steve despite you turning up on his doorstep sunday morning.

you notice the group of students now stood at the window, jeering and gasping at some commotion outside.

before you can decide whether to join them, jessica sprints up to you, 'you need to come, now,' pulling your arm towards the door to the forecourt.

'what? what's going on?' you query, stumbling as she drags you along.

'it's steve..,' she pants, breathless as she'd had to sprint to find you.

your eyes immediately land on the group of high-schoolers, crowded around the bustle you'd noticed from the window.

pushing through the crowd you spot steve squared up to billy, his hand shoving his backwards, billy tumbling back.

'fucking creep,' steve spits, stepping up once again.

'what's the problem? did i touch your little girlfriend? that little slut wanted it,' billy bites back, returning the shove to steve only a little harder.

you bite the inside of your cheek, guilty that you were the reason for the fight. his words sting, memories of the spiteful words he had spat at you in the bathroom flooding back.

steve lunges for the boy, landing a particularly hard punch to his cheek sending billy backwards towards the crowd.

billy clutches his cheek, a smile on his lips at the utter disbelief of steve's actions.

the denim clad boy tackles steve to the ground, pulling his arm back to sock him in the face, repeatedly, each hit harder than the last.

you gasp, elbowing the boys in front of you out of the way and stepping up towards billy, you grab onto his jacket in an attempt to stop him.

'fucking stop it!' you screech, pulling his arm back and away from steve.

billy pushes you backwards, falling to the floor as the crowd let out a collective 'ooh'.

fortunately for steve, ms. kelly gets into the middle of the circle as one of the gym teachers restrains billy.

you rush over to steve, his face now bruised and bloody. you cradle his head in your arms, trying to clean off some of the blood to assess how badly he was hurt.

he looks up at you, eyes squinting at the bright light, 'i'm sorry.. he deserved it though.'

you shake your head, though you can't hide the smile on your face, ‘we could've slashed his tyres or something, now look at you.'

eventually, you alongside one of his teammates take him inside, his arm resting on your shoulder.

you press the ice pack to his face, shuffling in the uncomfortable office chairs while you wait for the principle to finish speaking to billy.

'i think you're a fucking idiot for doing that.. but i wanted to thank you.. for defending me n' that..'

he turns to face you, 'oh that? wasn't for you.. i just really really wanted to get beat up,' he winces at his split lip as he smiles.

'it was kinda hot.. y'know the ten seconds before he beat the shit out of you,' you giggle. it was true, angry steve was hot, just not when he was angry at you.

your head jolts to the open door, as billy saunters out. steve had got a pretty good hit in, with billy's cheek now adorned with a new blue bruise.

he glares at the two of you, his lip snarling as if to say something but he restrains himself.

‘mr. harrington,’ mr. davis calls, gesturing towards his office.

you both stand at the same time, ‘you can stay here miss. (y/l/n),’ the principle nods.

‘no, i’m coming,’ you walk into the office and take a seat before steve.

mr. davis is shocked at your gumption, beginning his spiel about fighting and how it’s unacceptable in the school environment.

‘so unfortunately, i’ve got no choice but to suspend you-,’

‘no,’ you cut him off, ‘that’s not fair, it’s my fault he was even fighting, so you can either suspend both of us or neither of us,’ you cross your arms, staring at your principal.

‘well.. now we can’t do that.. school policy states that we need to punish anyone fighting,’ david states, leaning forward on his desk.

‘so suspend me too.’

steve gawps at you, mouth open at your brave actions, utterly speechless.

‘i don’t think that would be wise miss (y/l/n), it’s a one week suspension,’ he attempts to persuade you to concede.

you shrug, ‘i don’t care.’

‘okay.. well.. then you’re both suspended, i’ll be in contact with both of your parents.. i expect you back, not fighting, next monday,’ your principal sighs.

you stand up and exit the room, stone-faced as you barrel out of the school.

steve jogs to catch up with you, ‘wait.. wait, why the fuck did you do that?’ his fingers curl around your wrist.

‘because it’s my fault you were even fighting.. only fair that i take some of the blame,’ you turn to him only inches away from his swollen face.

a laugh erupts from his throat at the sheer absurdity of it all. it’s contagious as you burst out laughing with him.

‘we look crazy..’ you mutter, noticing the stares from nosy students out of the classroom windows.

‘you are crazy,’ he says, fingers still wrapped around your wrist.

‘i’m not the one throwing punches at someone twice my size,’ you state, grinning at him.

he scoffs, ‘twice? i don’t think so.’

you shake your head, ‘let’s get out of this shit hole, you’ve just bagged me a week off.. i’m not wasting that.’

you walk over to your car, looking back at steve stood gawping at you.

‘i.. i drove so i’ll uh- see ya,’ he begins to walk to his car, fumbling in his pockets for his keys.

‘are you sure you’re alright to drive? your eye’s pretty fucked..’ you were just desperate to not let him walk away once again.

‘yeah.. this is not my first time being beaten up, believe it or not,’ he half jokes, wobbling over to his car.

‘well.. uh, do you wanna do something later? i think i owe you for defending my honour,’ you call after him.

he turns to look at you, ‘okay, dinner is definitely on you though.’

‘i’ll even come and pick you up.. six, so you better be ready,’ you open the car door, sliding into the seat.

you both drive home grinning at your nondate-date.

-

you’d never been so nervous, stomach doing flips at the thought of seeing him.

you pull up on his drive, giving your outfit a once over before sounding the horn. you’d opted for more casual wear, a difference to the usual short skirts and revealing tops steve normally saw you in.

he appears at the door before limping over to your car. he groans as he attempts to sit in the car, his bruises now visible on his face.

‘are you sure you’re okay to go out?’ you question, wincing at his cut hands.

‘yeah.. i’m fine.. just a bit sore,’ he mumbles.

‘mm, you look it, c‘mon.. we can just order pizza and watch a movie, it’s okay,’ you hop out and walk around the passenger side, helping him out of your car.

he wraps his arm around your waist, supporting himself with your body, ‘you could’ve said this before i dragged myself all the way over here,’ he jokes.

‘steve, i’ll fucking drop you.’

you help him into the house, placing him down on the sofa before looking around at the large house.

you’d never really seen it through sober eyes, suddenly noticing the childhood photos dotted around.

‘are your parents not home?’ you question, the quiet echoed around the house.

‘nah.. they never are,’ he shrugs, there’s a certain sadness to his voice as he settles into the cushions.

‘oh.. at least they don’t know that you’re suspended i guess..’ you try to spin it positively but you can tell just how hurt he is.

‘yeah.. i guess..’

you sit down on the couch next to him, grabbing the phone from the table and passing it to him.

‘c’mon.. it’s my treat so get whatever you want,’ you cross your legs up onto the couch, watching him on the phone. completely enamoured with his every little move.

-

there’s some action film on the tv, not your first choice obviously.

your knees are tucked into your chest as steve leans against you, head on your shoulder. you honestly weren’t even sure he was still awake.

‘i’m really sorry, steve,’ it comes out in barely a whisper.

you hear him sigh, ‘i know.. it’s okay,’ he lifts his head off of your shoulder, now looking at you.

‘no, steve.. it’s not okay.. i hurt you and that’s not okay..’ you can’t bare to look at him, into his sad, doe eyes, instead playing with the hem on your jeans.

‘it is.. im telling you that it is.. you aren’t my girlfriend and..’ he exhales, ‘it’s okay that you don’t want to be.. i shouldn’t have just expected it from you..’

you’re still picking at the loose thread on your jeans, ‘but i do.. i do want that.. i just- there’s something wrong with me and i just can’t help it, i fuck everything up.. i hurt people..’ you shake your head, quickly wiping away the tear that had slipped out.

being so vulnerable with him made you sick to your stomach. the first person in a long time to tap into this part of you, the side you had buried deep down.

he swallows before putting his hand on your knee, ‘you haven’t.. fucked anything up, i’m still here aren’t i?

you’re brave enough to slowly look up at him through sodden eyelashes, blinking at his words.

‘you know.. i’ve been begging to hear you say that for so long..’ he breathes, inching closer to your face.

‘i don’t wanna hurt you..’ you murmur, his hand cupping your cheek as he wipes your damp cheek.

he leans forward, placing his lips on your yours. the kiss is similar to the one you’d shared in his bed on sunday morning, soft with no ulterior motives. affectionate and gentle, something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

he pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours as his thumb still tracing your cheek, ‘then don’t.’

you nod, placing your hand on top of his before kissing his lips again. carefully placing your other hand on his bruised cheek, sure to be gentle with him.

‘does this mean you’re my girlfriend?’ he mumbles into the kiss.

you laugh against his lips, ‘if you want me to be..’

he pulls back to look at you, ‘i want nothing more,’ the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile.

‘then i’m yours.’

[youshouldhavepaidattentiondad]

Blank Pages and Empty Hearts

Ao3

Blank pages scatter across the desk. There should be writing on them: reports and memos and things of that sort.

Instead, John finds himself staring at solid white sheets.

His first thought is Smythe trying to pull some sort of elaborate prank, but he quickly dismisses it. Aside from their penchant for trying to sneak in green apples, Smythe takes their work seriously.

Pulling out a cigarette, John places it carefully between his lips before lighting it. He takes a long drag before sighing, his breath carrying a cloud of smoke with it.

It's too goddamn early for this.

He stands abruptly, beginning to pace the floor, occasionally glancing back at his desk. He knows, without a doubt, those pages had words on them when he left last night.

No one else has access to his office. The only way someone could get in is if they could teleport-

Realization makes him stop in his tracks. Cursing, he heads back to his desk before dropping into his chair.

Flicking the ashes off the end of his cigarette, he fights back a groan. This is the last thing he wants to deal with.

Especially today of all days.

He finishes his cigarette, stubbing the butt out in the ashtray before standing again. He heads for the door.

As soon as his fingers brush the handle, he feels eyes on him.

Freezing, John closes his eyes, hoping he's just imagining it.

Luck has never been on his side though.

“Well, well, well,” an all too familiar voice croons, “Already stressed so early in the morning, Johnny?”

An annoyed huff escapes John as he turns to glare at the man sitting on the edge of his desk. “I wouldn't be stressed if somebody hadn't taken my paperwork.”

Wiley gives an infuriating smirk. “All work and no play makes Johnny a dull boy,” he mocks as he casually tosses a green apple in the air. He catches it easily before taking a bite.

“Besides,” Wiley continues after he swallows, “Today is a special day. Don't even know why you're here, if I'm being honest.”

Gritting his teeth, John pulls out another cigarette. He waits until he's taken a drag to respond, “What, did you expect me to take today off?”

Wiley's smirk widens. “You did the past fourteen years. I just want to know what makes this year any different.”

“Give me back my documents and perhaps I'll tell you,” John bargains.

An annoyed sigh leaves Wiley as he snaps his fingers.

Ink blooms on the papers laying on the desk. It spreads and swirls until the words return to their proper place.

Pushing off the desk to take to his feet, Wiley begins walking toward John. “So? What makes today any different?”

John frowns slightly. The door is right behind him. His office doesn't have windows. He has no escape route.

He draws one of his guns, aiming easily at Wiley. “None of your business.”

“You wanna repeat that, Johnny?”

In a blink, the gun is out of John's hand and into Wiley's. Wiley easily takes the clip out before tossing the gun and magazine aside.

Swearing under his breath, John considers pulling out another gun, but he knows it's futile. The same thing will happen.

So instead, he opts to counter, “It's been fifteen years. Why would I keep taking today off?”

“Because, you're a hopeless romantic. Always have been,” Wiley taunts as he comes to a stop in front of John. He reaches up to grab the tags hanging from around John's neck. “Same reason you still wear one of my tags.”

He glances down to examine the tags, stiffening when he reads John's name on both of them. “... John, where's my tag?”

For a moment, he sounds so much like Wilbur again that it makes John's chest ache. “Packed away with the rest of your things.”

“Why-” Wiley cuts off abruptly as he puts the pieces together. His gaze rises to meet John's, dark eyes burning with something John doesn't want to name. “Who is he?” Wiley demands, voice deadly quiet.

“Why does it matter?” John questions. “You left. What I do now is none of your business.”

Something akin to a growl sounds off low in Wiley's throat. “You're making a mistake, Johnny,” he warns, leaning in closer.

John feels something in his chest snap. “No, the mistake was waiting fifteen years for you to come back. You made your choice, Wilbur. Now I get to make mine.”

Wiley's grip tightens on the tags before he lets go. “You better pray I don't find out who he is, Johnny.” A sick smile stretches his mouth almost grotesquely. He shakes his head. “And to think I stopped by to tell you happy anniversary.”

Before John can respond, Wiley has disappeared.

Pushing off the door, John goes back to the desk, settling in his chair. He busies himself by sorting through the papers, making neat little stacks as he tries to ignore how his heart attempts to beat out of his chest.

[brattyprettysub2]

Skin Care Routine

All characters in this piece of fiction are role-playing adults.

*

"I swear they're getting bigger," she says. "Look. Look. You're not looking."

He sighs and finally looks up from his book, peering at her over the top of his reading glasses. "What's getting bigger?" he says.

He never listens. "My breasts," she says. There was a time that if she was topless in bed and rubbing moisturizer into her chest, he would have been all over her -- but now, she can see his gaze already drifting back to the page he has bookmarked with a finger. "Look," she says, twisting to face him. "They're bigger."

"No, they're not," he says, and he doesn't say it like he doesn't believe it. That would be bad enough, but he says it like he's bored. Like he's heard this all before and he's tired of reassuring her. She blinks at him, hurt, and his expression softens just the tiniest bit. "Honey," he says. "Come on. Is it -- I don't know, your period?"

Her breasts often do feel heavier when her period is due, but she shakes her head. "It's not like that," she says. "It's -- they're never like this. I've gone up a cup size, at least."

"No, you haven't." He looks annoyed now, his book fallen shut in his lap. "Do you want attention, is that it? Is this --" His brow creases and he looks almost disgusted. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

"No!" she says. She turns away from him, burning with embarrassment, and grabs her sleep T-shirt and pulls it over her head as quickly as she can. It's one of his old ones and it used to hang off her, a few sizes too big, but now it stretches over her chest -- but she's not going to make him look at that now. She curls up on her side, facing away from him. There's some moisturizer left on her hands and she wipes it on her thighs.

He sighs and shifts in the bed. "I love you," he says. "You look great."

That's not how he used to say it. He used to say it with his hands all over her. They were late to so many dinner reservations because she'd get all dressed up and he wouldn't be able to keep himself from pulling all her clothes off. He used to fuck her in their entrance hall, her back pinned against the wall, her legs wrapped around his hips, his teeth on her throat.

"Thanks," she says. "I'm sure it's nothing."

*

"You didn't tell me it would work so fast," he says on the phone later, standing on the balcony outside their bedroom. The spring air is chilly and he pulls his dressing gown tighter around himself. The embers of his cigarette glow in the dark and he inhales deeply. She doesn't know about these little smoke breaks, thinks that he gave up his midnight cigarette years ago. Sometimes, he thinks about putting it out on her breasts -- only lately, the fantasies have changed from stubbing it out on the tight buds of her small breasts to burning marks on udders that sag under their own weight, drooping down her chest.

His friend on the other end of the call laughs. "Neat, isn't it? I was seeing a girl who was fucking useless at remembering to moisturize. That was a pain, I had to keep reminding her. But Jeanie's pretty diligent, isn't she?"

"She is," he says. "Every night and every morning." He takes another drag. "She's freaking out. It took everything I had not to laugh." He pitches his voice in a falsetto, a mocking imitation of his wife. "They're bigger, aren't they? She was complaining this morning that none of her bras fit right."

"Wait 'til you see how sensitive she gets," his friend says. "In a day or two, give her nipples a tweak, I promise you she'll come on the spot."

He ashes his cigarette in the ashtray he keeps hidden behind their potted plants. "And they'll just keep getting bigger as long as she uses the moisturizer?" he says.

"Until she stops, yeah," his friend says. "Which she won't do on her own, not if she's using it so often. They get addicted to it so easily, it's crazy. The other day, I found Tessa using it as lube while she fingered her asshole, so now I give her an ass and pussy massage with it every night. She keeps asking me to take a look at her clit and tell her if it looks weird." He laughs fondly. "Stupid slut. It only seems to really work on their pussies and tits, though. Which is good, I don't want to worry about, like, huge elbows or something."

He hears a soft noise from inside and immediately stubs out his cigarette. "I've got to go," he says, and hangs up, flapping his dressing gown to try get the smell of smoke out of it. He gives up when he hears another noise from inside -- unmistakably a moan this time -- and he just leaves it hanging over one of the chairs on the balcony.

He slips inside. "You okay, hon?" he says. He can hear the blankets rustling, can see slight movements in the dim room.

"I -- yeah." Her voice is tight with pleasure, but there's an edge to it. Confusion, maybe, or fear. God, he'd love it if it were fear. "What were you doing outside?"

"Couldn't sleep," he says. He slips back into bed and reaches for her. He finds both hands on her breasts, squeezing and pinching at the flesh. "What are you doing?" He makes himself sound disappointed rather than aroused. "Honey, I told you, your tits are fine."

It's a test. She's never liked the word tits, has always snapped at him for using it in reference to her. But now, a little groan bubbles its way out of her mouth and she rolls towards him. She straddles his thigh and her pussy is slick and hot against his skin. "Can you -- can you touch me?" she says.

It takes everything he has not to shove her hands from her breasts and replace them with his mouth, to sink his teeth into her and twist her nipples and make her come solely from him hurting her tits. But instead, he sighs and twists his hips slightly so she can't feel him getting hard. "I'm exhausted, babe," he says. "Can you -- I mean, I can go down on you or something, if you really want, but..." He trails off, reluctance dripping from his every word. "Why are you being so weird tonight?"

She moves away from him like he slapped her. "Sorry," she says. "I know. I don't know. I woke up and just -- anyway. Sorry. I'm sorry, you go to sleep. I'll just -- go make myself some tea or something."

She gets out of bed slowly, like she's hoping he'll call her back. He stays completely silent, other than deepening his breath like he's already fallen asleep. He hears her footsteps shuffle on the carpet, hears the creak of the bedroom door as it swings open and shut.

The moment she's gone, he wraps his hand around his cock and starts tugging at it, hard and fast, dripping enough pre-come that there's no need to reach for lube. He wonders if she's actually making tea or if she couldn't resist fingering herself, if she's bent herself over the kitchen counter so she can rub her breasts on the cool marble while she buries her fingers in her cunt. He hopes that she feels disgusting after she comes, hopes that she's left trembling with shame, hopes that she can't help licking the taste of her leaking cunt from her fingers.

He falls into a deep, peaceful sleep seconds after coming. He doesn't remember his dreams when he wakes up in the morning, but she's back in bed beside him, her forehead creased with a concerned frown even in her sleep.

*

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