#technically it's their hands but hey close enough right

[osohchoso]

Shattered Ice

Chapter Nine- Nosedive

Hockey player!Choso x F!reader, ex bf!Toji x F!reader

Previous | Chapter Index | Class list | Chapter 10 Coming soon!

Content: college au, hockey au, first dates, choso and yuki lore, blood, praise, oral sex (f receiving) MDNI

A chill runs up your spine, forcing you to leave the comfort of your bed. You let out a hiss the second your bare feet meet the icy wooden floor of your bedroom. It has been so cold lately, to the point where you had to swap your usual blankets out for the thicker, warmer ones you keep stashed away. Trying to be as quick as possible so you can return to the warmth of your bed, you run out to the hallway and tap the buttons on the thermostat to crank up the heat. 

You still couldn’t believe how drastic the weather changed the second it had turned December. Goodbye to the crunchy leaves and chilly breeze, hello freezing temps and falling snow.

And today was the worst day yet. Technically, it started last night. Snow started to fall around 8pm and showed no signs of stopping. Then the temperatures dropped drastically overnight. The roads were nothing but a sheet of ice by the time the sun started to shine. You were surprised to wake up to the text that the college decided to cancel all classes for today, giving you a three-day weekend. 

So today you would be lazy.

Walking back into your room, you spot the hoodie Choso left behind during his last visit. You slip that over your pjs and jump back in bed, not caring that it was already noon, pulling all the blankets over your head in a cocoon. The scent of his cologne just barely remained on the fabric.

After his birthday, you haven't seen him much outside of games and the class you both share. He has been so busy, and the days he wasn’t, you were. You were thankful the two of you were so ahead on your project since there hadn’t been a chance for you both to work on it together. Even though you still attended the games, the end of semester papers captured most of your free time, meaning you had to sacrifice going to the after parties with him and your friends.

Sober Choso wasn’t much for PDA.  Offering you nothing more than a peck to your cheek before departing from class or a warm hug when you see him after the games. Sometimes, he would reach out for your hand during class and hold it under the desk. The nightly phone calls were not enough. You wanted his lips on your again, his hands on your skin.

You were really starting to miss him.

Your eyelids flutter closed, drifting back to sleep. He even haunted you in your dreams. Pushing you down to the bed, looking at you with lust-filled eyes as he tears off his clothes. His hands travel up your bare thigh as he spreads your legs wide, your body trembling under his warm touch. His cock was huge, the tip nudging against your entrance. Teasing you, he wanted you to beg for it. 

He thrusts forward, but before you can feel the sensation of his cock stretching you, you are rudely awoken by the constant vibrations of your phone. 

You sit straight up in a panic, the blankets falling around you. Your whole body felt hot as you panted, struggling to come back to reality after that. 

You grab your phone to see who so rudely decided to wake you up from the best dream of your life, but the caller ID only made your heart stutter.

[ incoming call from Cho]

You swipe across the screen to answer immediately. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Your voice was slightly hoarse with sleep.

“Oh sorry, were you napping sleepyhead?” The sound of his laugh warmed you, body and soul.

“Yeah…I was. But I’m up now. What are you up to?”

“Well…classes were canceled, as you know. And so was the team’s practice and tonight's game. Sooo…I’m on my way to pick you up.”

“Right now?!” You jump out of the bed, frantically looking around the bedroom.

“Yeah, figured it’s finally time for us to go on that date. Can you be ready in twenty?”

“Where are we going?” You're already rushing around the room and rummaging through your closet.

“It’s a surprise. You'll find out when we get there.”

“Okay…but what do I wear Cho? Like, there is a drastic difference between a movie date outfit and a restaurant date.” There is a pause on the other side as he thinks, not wanting to spoil the surprise just yet.

“You look good in everything…but something comfortable, and warm too. See you soon.” He hangs up before you can ask any more follow-up questions.

You scan through your clothing, trying to find something appropriate for this mystery date. You still have no clue where you were going, what you could be doing, but he clearly had the whole thing planned. 

You did your hair and makeup as quickly as you could. Pulling on a sweater and layering a fuzzy coat over top. Luckily, you were ready by the time you heard his fists knocking against the door. Before leaving the room, you spritzed some of that honey perfume you know he loves so much.

“Hey,” you pull the door open to see him smiling on the other side. His hair pulled up in two spiky pigtails, a white jacket overtop his black long sleeve shirt, dark jeans and a purple scarf draped around his neck.

“Hey gorgeous,” he leans down to press a light peck to your check before offering his hand. “Ready to go?” 

“Yes,” you lace your fingers with his as he leads you out to the parking lot of your dorm. Opening the door for his car and ushering you inside. You settle into the passenger seat and strap the seat belt over your chest.

“Soo…when are you going to tell me where you're taking me?” You don't hold back, blurting the question out the second he slips into his seat. Not knowing is eating you alive.

“You'll have to wait until we get there.” He chuckles as he turns the key in the ignition. Before he backs out of the space, he turns to look at you, his pigtails flopping as he cocks his head. “Do you trust me?” 

“Of course I do.”

“Good, then be a good girl for me and keep your eyes shut 'til we get there.”

“Um…what?” You're not sure what surprised you more, the request to close your eyes for the entire drive or the way he called you good girl.

“You heard me,” he raises an eyebrow. He was 100% serious. “It's not a far drive.” 

“Fine…it better be worth it,” the last sight you see was a flash of his cocky smile.

“It will be, I promise.”

He wasn't lying about the drive; it felt less than 5 minutes in total. Which only made more questions bounce around in your head. You don't even think you left campus. What could be so close yet also date worthy?

The second the car is parked, he's cutting off the engine and scrambling around to the other side to open your door. A blast of freezing air hits your face, and you fight the urge to open your eyes.

“Keep them closed, but take my hand,” he explains as he unbuckles you then laces his fingers with yours to gently pull you up. The parking lot is icy, and you lose your balance slightly. Before you can fall and hurt yourself, Choso wraps his arm around your waist, tugging you into him tightly. “Easy there, can't have you getting hurt before the fun even begins.”

“Well, maybe if I could see–” he cuts you off with a deep kiss. You've missed the taste of him, the way his lips fit perfectly against yours. He pushes you slightly against the side of his car, continuing to kiss you.

“Keep. Them. Closed.” He punctuates each whispered word with a tender peck before pulling away, letting you lean against the car while you catch your breath. You do as he says, listening to him as he grabs something out of the back seat before taking your hand once again.

“Follow me,” he leads you away from the car, holding onto you tightly and leading you toward the mysterious location. “Almost there,” he pulls open a door and then walks you inside the building. 

“Open your eyes!” He says the second the door closes behind you, excitement dripping in his tone.

Blinking a few times to adjust to the bright overhead lights, you recognize this place immediately. Hockey awards and team photographs line the walls around the closed concession stands. Two double doors pulled wide open that led into the stands of the ice rink. You have been to Kaisen University’s arena countless times but seeing it during the day and while no one is here felt odd. 

“Ta-da!” Choso is beaming at you, utterly happy with his surprise. Yet you only feel more confused than anything. Why here? You weren’t sure what you had expected, but this certainly wasn't any of the options you thought up.

“Um…what are we doing here? Did you forget something?” You note the small gym bag over his shoulder, likely the item he picked up from his back seat before heading in. Neither of you had talked about what kind of dates you like, so maybe he brought you here to give you a history lesson on the sport? To show off all the awards his team has earned? You chew the inside of your lip, ready to indulge the cute boy in whatever date he has planned. Even if it wasn’t your idea of how to spend this day off. Noticing the confusion on your face, he places a hand to your back and leads you through the double doors and down the stairs that cut through the stands.

“No, this is the date, silly.” He walks you to the spot where the players normally sit while not on the ice, then motions for you to take a seat on the bench. “With no classes, no games and no practice…the school decided to open up the ice rink for students to come skate today!” He sets the bag on the bench next to you. Looking out, there are a handful of students skating around, no one who you recognize. Clearly, the school didn't advertise this much as it appears dead in here. At least there won’t be many witnesses when you inevitably fall.

Shit. When is it a good time to tell him you suck at skating?

“Choso…I don’t own any ice skates,” you were trying not to panic, trying not to make a huge deal out of this. The last time you even attempted to skate was well over 10 years ago now. Your family lost track of how many times you fell, and the next morning, you were sore and covered in bruises. There was no way you would survive this date. 

“No worries, I’m pretty sure you and Yuki wear the same size…so I just borrowed one of hers for today.” He unzips the bag and pulls out a pair of hockey skates, then he kneels on the ground in front of you. His fingers quickly unlace your boots, and he slides on the skates. Of course they were a perfect fit, damn him for being so prepared. “How does that feel?” He asks after tying them tightly.

“It feels fine. But Choso,” his head looks up at the sound of his name, still kneeling on the ground in front of you. “I don’t know how to skate.”

“I can teach you,” He smiles, happy to help. When he notices how you remain tense, he places a hand on each of your knees and speaks softer. “Don’t worry, I won't let you fall. Just stick with me, hold onto me. You'll be a pro in no time.”

“Okay, I trust you.”

With your acceptance, he rises off the ground and sits beside you to lace on his own pair of skates.

“So…how do I even start to skate? What should I do?” 

“Well, you're gonna push off with one foot and fwoosh–” Choso pauses in tying his skates to give you a description using mostly wild hand gestures and exaggerated sound effects. You can’t help but feel even more lost than you did 2 minutes ago.

“Cho…you're making no sense.” You can't help but break out in a laugh.

“I’m sorry! It’s just hard to explain. It’s muscle memory for me, but I can teach you better by showing you. You have to feel it for yourself.” He laughs back. He taps his heel on the ground twice before standing up and offering you a hand. He pulls you up and leads you toward the opening to the ice. Not once does he let go of you. He steps out backward and holds his other hand out for you to take.

“Be careful, there is a small step down. Don’t trip,” He warns you.

With both your hands in his, you step out onto the slippery ice rink. Your legs wobble and your knees threaten to give in, making you look like a newborn baby deer. Before you can crumble to the ground in an ungraceful mess, he pulls you closer to him to steady you.

“Easy, I've got you.” He whispers calmly. “Just focus on standing, work on your balance.” After a few deep breaths, you manage to stand up straight. You probably could hold your balance on your own, but Choso keeps his grip on you. You look up into his eyes, yours shining with happiness and his with pride. “There you go!” 

“I can’t believe it! I’m actually standing on the ice!”

“Step one done, we still have a lot to go though! Now it’s time to actually skate.” He grips both of your hands as he skates backwards, towing you around as he smiles. He was such a skilled skater, with a mental map of the rink, that he didn’t even need to look where he was going. As he moves, you start to feel yourself fall backward but he pulls your arms to keep you upright.

“Just get used to the feelin’ of the ice under you, keep working on your balance.”

“You're such a good skater Cho, who taught you?”

“Yuki’s family actually,” he laughs bashfully. “When we first became friends in high school, we were looking for some club or sport we could do together after school. Her parents were both figure skaters, and after they retired from competing, they taught youth classes. My family couldn’t afford to send me, but they did it all for free.”

“Wow, that's really generous.”

“They are very kind. They let my brothers and I come over a lot when our grandfather was working. Before his health declined, he would work two or three jobs to support all of us. But Yuki’s family would treat us as their own. Let us stay the night, helped with our homework, and even feed us dinner when money was tight.”

You notice a slight glimmer of unshed tears along his lower lash line as he thinks back on the past.

“But her family taught me everything I knew about skating. Yuki was already a pro, she had been trained her whole life, but I definitely sucked at first. She was already this graceful figure skater, and I was just some awkward guy who kept falling on his ass.” He lets out a deep laugh. “But I got better over time.”

“I can’t even imagine you falling!” You laugh along with him. “You seem like the best skater there is.”

“You should have seen us at our first figure skating competition.” He smiles.

“Wait what!? You…figure skating!?”

“Yeah…that’s why they were teaching me. Yuki wanted a partner. I was strong enough to lift her, and I was fast and able to keep up with her. But I was also a bit clumsy, so we didn’t place.”

“I just can’t imagine it…you in the outfits they wear?” You burst out laughing at the mental picture of Choso wearing tight pants and some sort of colorful and sparkly top.

“Shut up!” He laughs. “I bet there is a video of it somewhere, maybe if you are nice to me, I’ll show you some day.”

“Please, I would love to see it.” You try to control your laughter, biting down on your lip to silence yourself. It’s hard to think of him on the ice in any other way than the muscular wall of a goalie. “I feel like you're gaslighting me, there is no way you and Yuki were figure skaters.”

He stops pulling you and gives you a challenging look.

“Hold onto the wall and watch.” Your hand grips the sidewall of the ice rink when he releases you.

You watch as he skates off toward the center of the mostly empty rink. Small little twirls and jumps to the beat of an imaginary song inside his head. For his finishing move, he began to spin in a tight circle with one foot held straight out in the air, squatting lower and lower while still maintaining his balance.

He never ceases to steal the breath from your lungs.

Finished showing off, he skates back to you at full speed. Looking again like the hockey player you are used to seeing. Before he reaches you, he turns the blades of his skates at a sharp angle to shave the ice and spray snow onto your pants.

“Choso!!” You scold him, watching him laugh as he crouches to brush the white from your clothing.

“Sorry…couldn’t resist.” He lets out a hearty laugh. When he stands back up at your side, he takes one of your hands in his, keeping your free hand by the wall in case you felt like you were losing your balance. With a few hesitant glides from your feet, you were skating beside him. 

“You're such a show off…you know that?”

“I know.” He doesn’t even attempt to deny it. 

“So, how did you and Yuki go from figure skating to hockey?”

“Well, after all my lessons, I learned how much I loved the ice. So, I tried out for the high school hockey team and got picked instantly. I was better suited for that anyway. Yuki attempted to join too, but our high school team wouldn’t allow girls to play. In the end, we didn’t end up being able to play a sport together.”

“That really sucks.”

“Mhm, but we would still skate together on the weekends. She also ended up joining a roller derby team. It was funny at first, I was so used to seeing her as some dainty dancer out on the ice, you can imagine my surprise the first time I saw her slam into someone during roller derby.”

“How did you both end up at Kaisen University then?” You loved to hear him talk, listening to him share parts of his past that you didn’t know about yet.

“Well, Yuki graduated before me. A ton of schools wanted her actually, she is really smart. But she still had that dream of playing hockey. So, she asked them all who would allow a female player, and only KU agreed. Then I made it my goal to be accepted too. Several schools scouted me during my senior year, but I was only ever going to accept an offer from KU.”

“And now you two finally get to play together.” You smile over at him. You can’t help but think how cute and special their friendship is, even if it makes you just a tiny bit jealous.

“Yup, after all this time, we finally get to be on the same team.” He returns your smile, then drops your hand. You don’t even notice, continuing to skate alongside him. “Hey! Look at you! Skating all on your own!” 

You look down at your feet and then your hand to notice the absence of his. He was right! Here you were, skating beside him all by yourself.

“I’m really doing it!” You exclaim. You never could have imagined this, you had always thrown away the idea of skating after the many bad experiences you had growing up.

“You're doing amazing,” he looks at you warmly. “I knew you could do it.”

The two of you continue to skate beside each other. Each passing minute, you gain more confidence, more balance, more speed. Choso continues to glance over at you, partially checking if your form needed to be corrected and partially admiring your beauty. 

“You look a little cold.” He stops himself, and you fall in line beside him. He rests the back of his hand on your cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me!” He pouts.

“I guess I didn’t notice. I’ve just been having so much fun.”

Your answer doesn’t soothe the worry in his stomach, with a frown, he unwraps the scarf from his neck, then drapes it around you. He makes sure to cover your chilly nose and cheeks, leaving a small kiss on your forehead as the finishing touch. Your face heats up at his kind gesture, making your body forget it was ever even cold.

“Soo…what is the plan after this?” You ask as you push off with your skates, your voice slightly muffled under the new cloth layer.

“Hmm…I was thinking we could grab a bite to eat? I’m sure you'll be hungry after all this skating.”

“Food sounds good.” You agree. “Where at?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.” He admits with a laugh. “But there is also a party tonight if you want to go? Even with the game canceled, Sukuna still wants to throw a rager.”

“Sounds like a plan. Dinner and the party.” 

An idea pops in your head. 

“Are you up for a bet?” You turn on your heel, bracing yourself on the side wall for support.

“Always,” he stops to face you, an eyebrow raised at your proposal. 

“Let's have a small race, the winner decides where to get food at? And the loser pays.” 

“You know you’ll lose right?”

You did, and you wanted to. Choso is always so thoughtful; he deserves to experience the same care and affection that he gives. You wanted to spoil him, let him feel the same way you do during this date. 

“Deal, one lap around the rink. Ready?” He lines himself up next to you once you nod. “Go!”

You both take off, you are putting your full effort into it, but you can tell he is holding back. Keeping pace beside you, letting you almost get the lead. If he really tried, he would be halfway across the rink by now. He was trying to lose.

“Choso! You're cheating!” You scowl at him. “Play fair or the deal is off.”

 “Fine,” he rolls his eyes. Taking off across the rink at the speed you're used to seeing him use.

You push yourself a little harder, muscles straining in your legs as you attempt to gain more speed. You knew there was no winning, but it was fun to try. You watch as Choso rounds the corner ahead of you, throwing a cocky smirk your way. It wouldn’t be long until he ended up passing you.

You begin to feel your balance give out; your body not used to the speed you're now skating at. You attempt to reach for the wall to steady yourself, but you had strayed too far from its safety, just barely out of grasp. In a moment of panic, you stumble over your own feet. You crash into the hard ice below, falling flat on your face.

For a moment, you lay there, face down. Accepting your defeat. Everything was starting to hurt.

“Shit!” You hear Choso cuss, the sharp skirting of his skates as he races over, dropping to his knees in front of you. “Hey! What happened?”

“Tripped.” You grunt out, your shaky arms pushing yourself off the cold ice. His strong hands grasp you by your shoulders and help you to your knees. You kept your eyes closed tightly, feeling the throbbing pain radiate through you, paired with a warmth on your face.

“That was such a bad idea, I should never have agreed to that.” He scolds himself, his hands brushing the hair from your face as he inspects you for injuries. When you open your eyes, you’re met with his concerned and remorseful stare.

“Don’t blame yourself, I should have known better…guess I got too cocky.” You try to laugh, but the sharp pain in your nose stops you. Choso watches as you flinch, his fingers gently moving the purple scarf away from your face. His golden brown eyes widened in fear.

“Fuck! Your nose!” He gasps. You reach a finger up, gently testing the skin. The small touch caused you to hiss and recoil in pain. Looking down, you notice the steady drip of crimson blood falling to the bright white ice below. “I think it’s broken.”

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You hardly remember what happened after. Everything felt like a blur, just bits and pieces sticking out in your memory. 

Choso was frantic, fussing over you like you were his own child as he continued to blame himself. It didn't matter how many times you claimed it was your own stupidity that caused this; nothing would calm him down. With a wad of napkins pressed to the bloody faucet of your nose, he somehow had managed to get you back to the bench, your normal shoes back on and to his car.

Instead of taking you home, he drove you both straight to the nearest urgent care. It was like you blinked, and there you were, sitting in an uncomfortable chair beside him in an overly crowded waiting room. A migraine pierced your brain with tiny blades, the skin surrounding your nose felt tight, hot and pulsating. 

Choso's leg was bouncing up and down, shaking the small end table that displayed magazines and other health related literature beside him. A clipboard was in his hands, helping you fill out the personal information and family history required before you could be seen. 

You lean your head on his shoulder, feeling utterly exhausted after the events of today. There was nothing that you wanted more than to just close your eyes and forget, hopefully when you opened them again, the nightmare would be over.

Just a few minutes of shut eye couldn't hurt. You surrender to the battle you were already losing, letting your eyes drift closed.

“Hey…no falling asleep on me.” Choso wiggles his shoulder, nudging you gently to get your attention. You grumble, eyes flashing open but refuse to move away from your hockey player shaped pillow. 

“Wasn't sleeping, just closing my eyes,” you protest.

“I know you're tired, I know you're in pain. And I am so sorry.” He sucks in a shaky breath. “But you hit your head pretty hard, and I'm a bit worried you may have a concussion. Just stay awake for me.” 

While you would love nothing more than to sleep right now, the genuine worry in his voice shakes you to the core. All he ever wanted was to have a fun and romantic date with you, and here you are, injured as an aftereffect. Part of you can tell he regrets bringing you at all, upset with himself for how this ended up. 

Straightening up in the chair, you place a hand on his bouncing knee until he stills.

“I will be ok Choso…please don't worry.” 

“Don't worry!? All I can do is worry!” He hisses under his breath as he turns to face you better. “This is seriously all my fault. If I had just taken you out to dinner, like a normal date, we would never be sitting here!” His intense gaze burns into you.

“But I'll be okay!” You attempt to assure him. It was just an injury, not a terminal illness after all. You will survive. You rub your palm back and forth over his knee. “I still had fun, and the broken nose just makes our first date all the more memorable. Trust me, we will both be laughing about this in the future.” Fighting through the pain, you force a smile across your lips.

He lets out a big sigh, placing his hand over yours and giving it a small squeeze.

“That's for sure, I will never forget this day as long as I live.” His tense body language relaxed slightly.

The door that separates the waiting area from the examination room swings open, a tired woman in purple scrubs stands in the doorway as she looks down at the thin blue file and calls out your name.

“See you soon,” you promise Choso as you stand up from the seat, giving his hand one last squeeze before you walk up to greet the nurse.

You were lucky. There wasn't a break, and you were concussion free. Just a whole lot of pain and swelling of your nose and the area surrounding it. The doctor sent you home with strict orders to rest, ice and take pain relievers. And to come straight back if anything got worse.

The ride back to the dorm was unusually quiet, even the radio was off, filling the car with a suffocating silence. Neither of you attempted to break it. There was so much you wanted to say to him, but exhaustion was creeping in. At least he was a little less stressed with the doctor's confirmation that you were not severely injured.

Choso helped you up the stairs and inside your dorm. Both your roommates were gone when you entered. Utahime took today's cancellations as the perfect opportunity to show up at Satoru’s place unannounced and force him to work on their end of semester project together. Shoko wouldn't be back until later, even with the campus closed, she still had to attend her clinicals at the hospital.

With one hand wrapped around your waist, he led you over to the couch. You plopped down on the center cushion, your head sinking against the back as you stare up at the ceiling. Choso grabs a nearby pillow and beckons you forward with a curl of his finger. You lift your head up and he positions it behind you. When you lie back, you let out a content sigh.

“Comfy?” He asks, speaking again for the first time since leaving the clinic. 

“Mhm, thank you,” you pop one eye open and notice him slipping off his white jacket. Dried red blood sticks out on the shoulder you had rested your head on earlier. You frown. “Cho, your jacket.”

He holds it up and inspects the stain.

“Don't worry about it, it's just clothing.” He walks into the kitchen and drapes it over the back of a chair. You make a mental note to buy him a new one. When he returns, he hands you an ice pack from your freezer, a few pills and a glass of water.

You eagerly swallow the pills, hoping they kick in fast and chase the pain away. Then you press the ice pack to your throbbing flesh, cold against hot skin, making you flinch on contact. Choso kneels in front of you, his fingers unlacing your boots and slipping them off your tired feet.

“Sorry, I guess I ruined our date.” You frown down at him. “And now you'll have to go to Sukuna's party all alone.”

“Not happening. I'm gonna stay right here by your side all night and take care of you.” He rests his cheek on your inner thigh, his other hand rubbing up and down the length of your opposite leg.

“You don't have to,” you assure him as your fingernails sweep his messy bangs out of his face.

“But I want to. I want to be here with you.” he looks up at you with pleading eyes.

“I want you here too,” you adjust the ice pack on your face. With both Shoko and Utahime gone, you really didn't want to be alone right now. Part of you was hoping he would insist on staying. “Stay as long as you want.”

“Then I'll stay the night,” he proclaims. His nose nuzzling along the fabric at your thigh. “I wish I could kiss your pain away,” he whispers onto your leg.

“Then come kiss me,” you challenge, leaning up from the couch. He clicks his tongue and places a firm palm to your stomach, pushing you to lie back once again.

“We can't risk hurting that pretty nose of yours anymore, but I think I have another idea to help you feel better.” he slides his palm down to the waistband of your pants, his fingertips sliding underneath to tease your bare skin.

His eyes, such hungry eyes, look up at you with the intent to devour. Waiting for your permission to continue. 

“Yes, please.” You barely choke out as your heart feels like it might stop. He grins, his strong hands tugging at your pants, you lift your hips to help, and he tosses them aside.

His pupils dilate when he finally sees you, sees the bright red thong that covers your cunt.

“Oh fuck,” he moans at the sight. His lips kiss along your inner thigh, working in a path to where you ache for him. Yet he takes his sweet time, drawing it out as he savors the sweetness of your skin. Shivers of anticipation run down your spine the closer he gets and the longer he takes.

His hands slip underneath the thin band of your thong, his palms gripping both hips and pulling you closer toward him. He is so close to you now, his lips mere centimeters from your needy pussy, separated only by the warm fabric of your panties. His breath caresses you even through the barrier of cloth.

He can't hold back any longer, needing the first taste now. His mouth latches onto your clothed cunt, his tongue flat as he laps over the wet spot in the center with broad strokes. A deep hum vibrates from his chest, his own eyes closing in bliss. You shudder as the tip of his nose brushes ever so lightly against your clit and you can't help but attempt to press your hips further into his face.

“Need more,” Choso looks up with a near feral look in his eyes, his hands quickly removing the thong. Without warning, he's back on you, his tongue pushing way inside your velvety walls, swirling around to taste every bit. The sudden attack has you crying out, your eyes rolling back in your head.

“Choso…” you gasp, trying (and failing) to keep your tone even, but it's a struggle with how great he makes you feel.

“Mmm…that's right.” He pauses momentarily, lifting your legs up to rest on his shoulder. “Don't hold back, I want to know how good I make you feel.” He turns his head to nip a sensitive part of your inner thigh, causing you to shriek. 

His lips turn their attention to your clit now. Leaving the tiniest, lightest little kisses. He was teasing you, smirking to no one but himself as he watched you tremble and try to grind yourself against his face, desperately seeking attention.

“Please.” You whine, your knuckles turning white as you grip the couch cushions.

At your command, he sucked on your clit, hard. There was no more holding back your moans, shamelessly crying out as you rocked against him. It felt electric, your head swimming in a sea of blinding ecstasy. Choso moans against you, sending deep vibrations to your swollen clit.

“That's my perfect girl,” he hums, his tongue delving back inside your warmth as his calloused thumb presses circles on your sensitive bud.

Each lick, each touch, each of his delicious moans brought you closer and closer to the edge. Your hands flew to his pigtails, holding them like two handlebars, as you attempted to gain some control. Guiding his face as you continued to roll your hips along his tongue. 

“Use me all you want, angel. I’m yours.” He groans out when he pauses to catch his breath. Your fists tighten around his hair, pulling him back as he lets out a small, needy whine of his own. His thumb worked harder, his tongue a flurry of sloppy strokes as your body jerked in response.

Your orgasm hit you like a fucking train. There was no way to control the loud screams as he forced you over the edge. He worked you through it, a little gentler now, but his mouth didn't leave contact. Even as your thighs tightened around his head, he didn't back away. He didn't want to pull away. When your cries stopped, he continued to lap up every drop of your essence. 

“Cho–s'too much!” You tug him back but his hair roughly, forcing his lips to release your cunt. 

“Sorry, you taste too good…I want more.” His eyes were pleading, desperate for a second course. His whole lower face glistened with the aftermath of your release, yet he made no effort to wipe it away. The tip of his pink tongue darted out to lick the taste of you that still lingered on his lips.

“Told you you were a messy eater,” you let out a small laugh at the sight. You settle back into the couch, spreading your legs back open and prepare for round two.

Taglist: @v1x3n @lavenderdaydream97 @simplyraeblue @huang-the-geek @sodapop182 @angel04-01 @liiiacke @ravester @ladytano420 @raedollsstuff @superstar-t20 @cryingoverpixelsetc @spicy-woodland-queen @deathrye @rie-star

A/N: this may have been my favorite chapter to write so far

[stitchy-face]

Werewolf Gimmick

[thebibliosphere]

Do you think Bruce Wayne would flirt with Benoit Blanc?

I think if Bruce ever found himself in a situation to meet Benoit Blanc, to his great chagrin, it’d be as Brucie Wayne. He’d be on some rich fuck’s island under cover when a murder happens and it’d be killing him that he can’t break cover to get a closer look at the body. And then along comes Benoit Blanc and Bruce decides, well he’s Brucie right now, it’d be weird if he didn’t flirt a little.

And hey, who knows, if Blanc likes him maybe he’ll let Bruce tag along and get into places Brucie wouldn’t normally be if he wasn’t trying to seduce this weirdly accented, tall glass of deductive skills. (And maybe he’s enjoying it a little more than he should, but technically he’s on vacation so…)

Blanc, of course, catches on and thinks Bruce has something to hide and is keeping him close because he thinks he’s either the killer or in on it.

Except that’s not what the evidence or instincts are actually telling him. Not really.

But he also can’t ignore the fact that Bruce managed to trip and fall directly into the filing cabinet in the office, causing the drawer to fly open and reveal the evidence Blanc’s looking for. Or that the billionaire has a slightly delayed reaction to seeing blood. Not much, but enough for Blanc to notice.

There’s also the way he keeps making suggestions that on the surface seem benign, but are nevertheless intended to lead Blanc toward where his own instincts are telling him to look. So either Brucie is one of those killers who likes to be involved in the investigation because they want to make sure you’re noticing their ‘genius’ or because they think they can control the narrative by being helpful, or…

“Y’know something, Mister Wayne…”

“Benoit, please,” Bruce says with a slow, seductive smile that unfurls like silk over rich velvet. “How many times do I have to ask? Call me Bruce.”

“… Bruce. You’ve been so remarkably helpful.”

“Oh, you know me. I always aim to please.”

Bruce’s smile takes on an electric edge that makes Benoit’s thumb slide to the gold wedding band on his ring finger. He’s a married man, he’s a married man…

“I can’t help but wonder, though,” Benoit says, matching Bruce’s smile for a knowing one of his own. “Don’t you get tired?”

His tone is off, he knows it is because Bruce’s expression doesn’t flicker, not even a jot. It’s just unnatural enough to be telling.

“Tired of what?” the younger man asks, just the right amount of cheerful confusion in his voice and an adorable title of his head like a puppy to make you miss the sharpness behind his eyes. The way his body is coiling tight. Ready for a fight.

“Of pretending,” Benoit says, lifting a cigar to his mouth, making a show of patting down his pockets for the lighter. “I know I surely do. It grates on a man, always being underestimated. Everyone thinking you’re not as sharp as you are. Not as clever, not as quick. It must be a relief, I think, to finally be seen…”

The hand that had been rummaging in his pocket shoots out, aiming for Bruce’s perfect face. Bruce deflects it, twisting Benoit’s hand in a viper-like move Benoit hasn’t seen since…

“Ra’s doesn’t train just anyone,” he says, acutely aware of how much Bruce’s expression has changed without so much of a flicker of muscle. How sharp and hard the angles of his face have become. How deadly. “I confess, I didn’t see it at first. You’re very good, Bruce. I never would have put two and two together if you hadn’t twisted Haggart’s elbow the way you did when he tried to grab Maxine.” He smiles self-deprecatingly. “Take that as a compliment from one detective to another… Batman.”

[luveline]

hey babe can I request Hotch with a reader girlfriend who’s desperately shy? early seasons hotch please when he’s still smiley (maybe still has Jack tho), i would love to see how he treats a long term girlfriend in your eyes one who he’s just completely gone for 

fem, 0.9k

You should know better than to come to work without venturing up to Aaron’s private office, but you’re late coming in and there’s a ton of stuff to do and he’s supposed to pretend that he cares when you turn in your work late. You log in and start going through things slowly. There are a few emails to respond to, some queries, a consult request Aaron himself has forwarded with a note —your expertise is required. 

You wiggle your mouse to wake the screen. You hadn’t realised you’d gotten stuck until it was dark. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” someone murmurs, tipping your head back to kiss your cheek, “where have you been?” 

He speaks quietly, no one else can hear him, but he enthuses his tone with so much love that you can’t decide between laughter or tears. You turn breathless instead, a thumb against your throat as Aaron’s loving questioning continues, “I thought we talked about this, hmm? You coming up to see me? How else am I supposed to know that you’re here?” 

There’s no Emily sitting at the desk opposite yours. No Spencer adjacent, no Derek to the right. It explains why he’s butter soft, but not his worry. 

“I was nearly late. I’m sorry.” 

He starts to kiss you gently, quietly, his lips tracking over the side of your cheek and pressing in as he goes until his nose is against your temple. “Don’t be sorry, I just wanted to see you.” He holds you to him. “I missed you.”

“Are you okay?” you ask, wishing you were brave enough to tack handsome, or love on the end. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I thought maybe you were still stressed about Emily.” 

Aaron pulls away, giving you your first proper look at him that morning. He’s as handsome as ever. It makes your chest spike with anxiety. You worry all the time that you’ll lose him; the thought that he might realise all the things you’re missing and break things off is a constant at the back of your mind. It only ever goes quiet when he’s kissing you. “Prentiss has done well so far,” he says. “I’m not happy to have things rearranged above my head, but I have no problem with Emily. Now, how was your morning?” 

“It was fine.” 

“I want to know. Breakfast?” 

“Yeah, oatmeal.” 

He grins. “Me too.” 

Nobody would ever believe that this is your boyfriend when he’s commanding a room during a profile, or apprehending an UnSub with his impassive, furrowed brow. You assumed it was the honeymoon phase at first. It’s not like his affection makes much sense, but if he’s not stressed, it just means he loves you, which is nice. You hold the back of your hand to his cheek, laughing in a shock when he turns his face and traps it between his cheek and his shoulder. 

“No more late mornings,” he says decisively. 

“I wasn’t technically late. I wasn’t early enough to come up to see you, is all. Are you upset I didn’t bring you your coffee?” 

“Is that what you think?” he asks, smiling as he kisses your wrist, before straightening. You let your hand fall and he catches it on the way down. 

“I don’t know. You’re much too touchy. I’m trying to deduce why, but…” 

“Profile me,” Aaron says. He gives your hand a squeeze. “You know how to do it, honey. Figure out my motive from my past behaviours.” 

Aaron’s only ever this sweet on you when you’re in his bed. Well, ‘only ever’ is harsh, but he’s never not sweet on you in the afterglow. And that’s because intimacy is a constant reminder of how close you really are to one another, why he loves you, and why you love him. So perhaps he’s being sweet on you because you’ve reminded him how loved he is? But it doesn’t make much sense. You forgot his coffee.

Your stomach goes warm. “Oh. Oh,” you say, “I called you last night.” 

“You did.” 

“I was tired.” 

“But you were beautiful,” he says, and what does that mean? It’s not as though he could see your face. “I can’t remember the last time you were like that. Not since we were in Helena.”

You can’t remember it clearly. Threads of what you’d said come back to you slowly. Love you, my sweetheart, my Aaron. Can you come over? I know it’s late, I need to see you. You were too tired to function, let alone call someone, and yet. 

Your face is on fire. 

“Sorry I couldn’t come over, honey,” he says, chucking you under the chin with a curled finger. “I would’ve, I promise, but I had Jack until we swapped this morning.”

You go hot all over. “No, I know. It’s fine, I shouldn’t have called you–”

“Who says you can’t call me?” 

“Nobody, but I shouldn’t have.”

“You can call me anytime you want.” He tips your chin up. “Quick, Spencer’ll have finished what I asked him to do soon. Can I kiss you?” 

“I forgot it was your day for Jack–”

He takes your face into his hand. “Doesn’t matter, honey. Kiss?” 

You close your eyes and lift your chin. Ever your prince, Aaron squeezes your cheek gently and leans in to kiss you, far warmer than you’re expecting, his thumb rubbing over your cheek with a reverence he couldn't fake if he wanted to. 

[fatherbrat]

LET'S SNEAK, AOT MULTI

sum. various aot boys and how they fuck you while trying to keep your relationship a secret. inspired by lyrics from sneak by leon thomas :p

feat. eren jaeger. jean kirstein. connie springer. armin arlert.

cw. cheating/infidelity, missionary & doggy, face-sitting, a nasty blowjob, praise, riding/cowgirl, creampie, office sex, risky sex, hold the moan, reader has multiple orgasms, some angst if you squint, not proofread...

wc. 2.7k

EREN JAEGER “can i fuck you in the daytime, daytime? even though that pussy isn’t mine.”

Eren’s moral compass is a bit skewed.

But you wouldn’t dare tell him that. He’d only throw it right back in your face, claiming you're worse. You’re the one with a boyfriend after all. He’s single. Technically.

“Where’s the boyfriend?” Eren asks as soon as he crosses the threshold into your home. He doesn’t bother waiting for a response before pulling his shirt off.

You close the front door behind you and sigh. “He’s out of town. Look…” You hesitate, not really wanting to finish your sentence, even though you know it’s long overdue.

Eren turns to look at you, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown a conscience.” He doesn’t sound annoyed, or even surprised. More like…intrigued. Regardless, the words make you wince.

“He wants to take me to meet his parents,” you tell him, avoiding eye contact.

Eren lets out a whistle. There’s a moment of silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts, before you hear the sound of Eren unzipping his pants.

You stare at him. “What are you doing?”

He smirks. “I’m already here. Might as well go out with a bang.”

You don’t bother wasting any time pretending you weren’t hoping he’d say that. You strip, and almost immediately you’re pressed against a wall. Eren kisses you in a way that can only be described as needy, like he’s taking extra and stowing it away for later.

His hands are everywhere, squeezing and caressing and memorizing.

When he lays you down on the sofa, you aren’t expecting him to plant his tongue between your thighs.

“Eren–”

“Shhh,” he whispers, lifting his head to meet your eyes. “This is the last time, right?” He waits for you to nod before continuing. “Let me savor it.”

He makes surprisingly quick work of making you come and kisses you right after so you can taste yourself on his lips. When he fucks you he does it slowly, agonizingly, eyes glued to your face as he watches your lips part when he bottoms out.

Your nails dig into his back. “Eren, don’t tease,” you huff. “Faster.”

He smiles down at you, shaking his head slightly. “You’re so impatient,” he says, clicking his tongue. “What happened to letting me savor it?”

You squirm beneath him. “Fuck savoring. Fuck me.”

Eren doesn’t need to hear you say it twice. He picks up the pace, dropping his forehead against your shoulder as he grabs your waist.

“Gonna miss this pussy,” he breathes against your skin. The way he says it is tender, a stark contrast to the rough way he pounds you. You wonder, just for a second, if he really means that he’s going to miss you.

But Eren can see your mind wandering. He taps your cheek.

“Hey. Pay attention. You haven’t come enough times to start losing your mind already.”

His eyes narrow as he takes in the sourness of your expression, unimpressed by his statement.

He huffs and pulls out. “Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around and get on all fours.”

You frown but comply. He rests one hand flat against your back, pushing you down into the perfect arch before he prods your slit with the tip of his cock.

“Gonna make you see stars,” he mutters, before burying himself inside you.

And he does. His rhythm is dizzying, and it has you biting into the couch cushions, groaning with every stroke.

His arm wraps around your hips so he can lay his hand flat on your lower belly. When he travels lower and starts to circle your clit, all the muscles in your core tighten. He doesn’t slow down when you reach your climax. In fact, you think he goes faster.

“Fuck, Erennn,” you whine, dragging out the last consonant of his name as you dig your fingernails into your palm.

“I know, I know. Takin’ me so well. One more.”

You try to remember what he’d always say, something about good girls coming in threes, or maybe third time’s the charm. Something that meant he’d always make you come three times before leaving. It’s hard to think of what it was when you can hear him slamming against your ass.

He draws out the third one in no time, calling you his good girl as you moan into the sofa.

It’s bittersweet when he pulls out, and you wish he would make you come in fives or something. Eren gives you a look that tells you he can tell what you’re thinking.

He presses his lips to your forehead as he pulls his pants on and you can sense the goodbye in it.

“Take care of yourself, mkay? I’ll see you around.”

You watch him leave, wondering if you’ll see him for real.

JEAN KIRSTEIN “know you wanna keep this thing discreet. hear you calling through the streets.”

You’ve molded Jean into the perfect fuck buddy.

He’ll drop everything to come over the minute you text, doesn’t spread your business around, and always makes you come first.

“Right there, right there, fuck.” You grind against his face, throwing your head back as your grip around the headboard tightens. 

Jean hums into your pussy as you orgasm, grazing his teeth against your clit as you ride it out. 

Your body goes limp and he swiftly comes out from underneath you, laying you down on the bed gently as he peppers kisses across your skin.

“I’m gonna grab you some water,” he says, not waiting for a response before leaving your room. 

You watch him go, a small smile sitting on your face. He’s become so attuned to you, always at your beck and call, willing to cater to you in any way you ask. 

It’s the kind of behavior that makes you want to suck his dick. 

So, when he returns from the kitchen holding a glass of ice water, you ask him. 

“Do you wanna throat fuck me?”

Jean freezes, staring at you like you’ve grown a second head. You suppose you have—it’s been nine months since the two of you started fucking and you have yet to go down on him (not that he’s ever complained). Still, you’d be offended at the look he’s giving you if it weren’t for the obvious erection growing in his pants.

You tilt your head to the side, eyeing his crotch before meeting his gaze. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” he answers quickly, suddenly unfrozen and eager. He places the glass on your dresser, slipping out of his sweatpants and moving towards you. 

Jean watches you roll off the bed and onto the floor, sitting up on your knees and looking at him with an expression that almost makes him dizzy.

Something feverish blazes in his eyes when he stands in front of you, and you have to work to keep the excitement off your face when he tugs down his boxers. 

He strokes his cock idly, watching you look up at him. “You sure?”

This time you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. “I’m sure.”

He taps his dick on your lips, tentatively, and you open up. He shudders when you run your tongue along the underside of his tip. 

Jean cradles your head in his hands as he pushes himself all the way into your mouth. There’s a shaky inhale from him when he hits the back of your throat. 

“Oh shit,” he breathes. 

You close your lips around him, hollowing out your cheeks, and something in him snaps.

The speed at which he thrusts into your mouth is almost violent, and he moans when you gag, the pads of his fingertips pressing harder into your scalp. He’s already sensitive from being rock hard the whole time you sat on his face, and his sloppy in-and-out, in-and-out motion drags your spit everywhere–your face, his pelvis, even your chest. 

The feeling of him hitting your throat makes your eyes water, and you feel him growing impossibly harder against your tongue when you look up at him with glassy eyes.

He doesn’t last long, not with you looking at him like that. He’s mumbling an apology as he fills your mouth, saying if you weren’t so perfect he would’ve lasted longer. You’re grinning as you swallow down his cum, watching how his eyebrows furrow as he looks at your neck, and he kneels down to kiss you immediately. 

When he pulls away, he’s looking at you with a soft sort of wonder. Admiration almost. A bashful smile pulls at his lips. 

“Can we do that again?”

CONNIE SPRINGER “she like rich niggas, i’m her type. bored at the crib, she tryna pipe.”

conniiieee come over, im bored ;)

Connie smiles to himself when he reads your texts, his dick nearly stirring to life at the implication of your messages.

Despite your agreement to keep your… situation lowkey, he always pulls up to your apartment complex on his motorcycle, practically alerting the masses that he’s about to come upstairs and rock your shit. 

You meet him at your front door, scowling. “Why do you always show up on that loud ass bike? I know you have a car now.”

Connie just smiles, scooting around you to come inside. “You keeping tabs on me, baby?”

You roll your eyes and kick the door shut. “Sasha won’t stop raving about how cool it is.” You do air quotes around the word ‘cool,’ trying to imitate the lilt in Sasha’s voice when she talks about it.

Connie drops his motorcycle helmet on the shoe rack by the door. “It is cool. If you’d stop being so stubborn and take me back I could take you for a ride.”

But there’s really only one kind of ride you’re interested in right now! Which is how you end up straddling him on the couch, pressing kisses into the side of his neck.

Connie’s hands rest loosely on your hips, letting you grind against him as slowly as you want. Your breathing is shaky, sweat coating your skin, a byproduct of the last four orgasms. You lift yourself off him on trembling legs, higher and higher until just the head of Connie’s cock remains inside you. You catch his eyes briefly, and the mirth swimming in them is the only warning you have for what he does next.

His fingers tighten their grip on your hips, tugging you back down on his cock harshly. A strangled sound escapes you, air catching in your throat with the sudden movement.

“Con-”

He kisses you, cutting you off as he bounces you up and down. 

“Last one, mama,” he says against your lips. 

You can feel an ache in your legs from them being bent underneath you for so long, your head is fogged up with leftover pleasure, and there’s a pressure building up deep in your stomach. This is why you keep letting him come over all these months after your breakup. He knows just how to wear you out.

Connie pulls you against him, chest to chest, and wraps his arms around you. He lets you rest your forehead against his as his cock brushes up against your g-spot, forcing moans out of you that can only be described as wanton.

“That’s it, baby. Nobody fucks you like this, huh?”

You shake your head, your nose nudging his. “Just you.”

Connie practically purrs in satisfaction, right before he comes inside you. You melt against him, the pressure in your abdomen releasing as you cry out. Connie’s lips sweep across your jaw, patient and gentle while he waits for you to come down.

When you do, he leans back, eyelids heavy with contentment. You can feel him softening inside you. You already know what he’s about to say just based on the expression he’s wearing, but you wait for him to ask before giving the same response you always do.

“Y’know we could do that all the time if you’d take me back.” He doesn’t sound as heartbroken as he used to, like he’s grown used to this back-and-forth the two of you have going on.

You give him a wry smile, wiping beads from the back of your neck. “We didn’t break up because the sex was bad, Connie.”

He kisses you then, soft and lingering. “Worth a shot.”

He cleans you up and you let him take a shower and rummage through your drawers for the few pieces of clothing you never returned to him. When he’s leaving, he throws a wink your way, picking up his motorcycle helmet with one hand and unlocking the door with the other.

"Text again soon, alright? Love you."

ARMIN ARLERT “always down for an afternoon delight, but i can never crash and spend the night.”

“We have to stop,” you whisper halfheartedly, tangling your fingers in Armin’s hair as he kisses you.

Armin smiles against your lips. “Why?” he asks, his hands traveling down the length of your pencil skirt. He starts kissing down your neck, mouth going lower and lower until his fingers reach the hem of your skirt.

He pulls your skirt up over your ass, letting it bunch up around your waist. You giggle when he turns you around and gently presses your cheek against the door.

“I’ll get fired if HR finds out,” you say, arching your back as he pulls down your underwear. Your wet cunt feels a rush of cool air when he does, and you gasp when Armin plunges his fingers in. You feel the weight of his chin on your shoulder as he presses his chest against your back.

“But she’s so wet,” he whispers in your ear. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you like that HR could find out.”

You neither confirm nor deny, just humming and wiggling your bare ass in response.

He chuckles, the sound traveling straight down to your core. Armin doesn’t give any warning before he slips himself inside you. He pulls you away from the door after the fact, covering your mouth with one hand and wrapping the other arm around your waist.

The hardest thing (other than Armin) about keeping your lunch “meetings” secret is the fact that neither of you are particularly quiet. Armin muffles your moans with his hand and muffles his own by biting into the junction of your neck and your shoulder. There’s nothing to be done about the sound of his hips slapping against your ass or his cock sliding in and out of your pussy. All the two of you can do is hope nobody comes back from lunch early and walks past the copy room on the fourth floor. 

(But anyways, where’s the fun in it without a little risk.)

You moan into Armin’s hand when he hits a particular spot and he slows. He uses the hand on your face to tug your head back. “So noisy,” he says, lips brushing against your neck as he speaks. “I know you want the whole office to hear, but don’t be so obvious.”

Your walls clench around him and he hisses, picking up the pace once more.

“You like thinking about our coworkers hearing you?” You shake your head, but the way your pussy squeezes him proves you to be a bold-faced liar. 

Armin’s teeth graze your shoulder, his breath hitching as his hips lose their rhythm. 

“Go ahead then,” he whispers against your skin. “Let them hear.” He moves his hand from your mouth and loosely wraps his fingers around your neck instead. 

Another moan threatens to escape you, but you refuse, rolling your lips between your teeth in an attempt to keep quiet. 

Armin bites you then, and you gasp loudly. His thrusts become careless as he frantically chases his own orgasm. He brings his hand back up to your face, this time slipping two fingers between your lips and pressing down on your teeth so you can’t close your mouth. 

You can hear the faint sound of footsteps that signal the end of your lunch break. A door opens, and voices become audible as your coworkers get closer.

Armin smacks your ass, hard, and it’s enough to pull you over the edge. The two of you come together, him sinking his teeth into your skin to suppress his own moans. You bite down on his fingers, but it does little to help. You’re positive the entire office can hear you screaming his name.

(づ๑•ᴗ•๑)づ♡

[rhaenyraeri]

Co-Star Tensions - Jack O’Connell

based off this behind the scenes picture hehe

minors dni!! 18+ only!!

Part 1, Part 2, Interlude, Part 3

Summary: You and your costars were called back for some reshoots, and one night after a long day of filming, something unexpected happens.

Pairing: Jack O’Connell x fem!Reader (and technically Remmick x fem!Reader?)

Warnings: it is filth y’all, oral (m receiving), thigh riding, there be’est role play involved, some swearing, i’m not great at writing smut unfortunately

Note: this is an rpf (real person fic) so i encourage that if you don’t like that, please keep scrolling. i’ve never wrote one of these before but i felt compelled to lol. also if there are any mistakes pls let me know 🫶

The tension could, almost literally, be cut with a knife on the set. Everyone could tell, but no one would say it. They wouldn’t speak about how you and Jack had scenes just barely near each other, but you both gravitated closer. No one would dare mention how hard you locked in on him when filming the scene with vampire Bert, how he sat in the rocking chair covered in fake blood.. there was something about it. Something, dare you say, carnal, was awakening in you.

The nights you yearned to touch him, yearned to just have your hands on him, sexually or not. The nights just hoping he felt the same way. Just watching him in his element, such a talented actor and great man, having the honor to work alongside him. He just had that charm about him, and that charm resonated into Remmick. You wanted him, and you wanted Remmick. Two birds, one stone.

There were just a few nights of filming left, and the two of you had spoken earlier in the day about how sad it was to say goodbye to a wonderful cast and to people you’d grown to call friends. Some scenes needed some touch ups, and others need reshoots due to new ideas flourishing from the director.

—————

Walking past the set to your makeup artist’s camper, you noticed a figure in the dark. Leaned back in the rocking chair, in the corner of the darkened room used for a reshoot earlier that day. The light in the corner cast a slight shadow onto the figure and you stopped to get a better look. It was Jack, still dressed in the bloody Remmick costume from the scene filmed earlier with Joan and Bert. The way he looked at you after ran chills up your spine. He caught you staring from the sidelines of the crew. Tensions were already high due to your character and Jack’s being romantic partners, and having to say filthy shit to each other had you reeling, yearning for it to have meaning behind it.

“Hey baby,” he spoke, that thick southern drawl that Remmick had came out. Your mouth dropped slightly, your hands holding your belongings slowly lowering. He was staring right at you, that was meant for you. He slowly began rocking, eyes never leaving you. “You gonna come on over here, darlin’? I’ve been waitin’ for you.”

Oh, what the southern drawl did to you. You didn’t think it’d corral you into him like this but it did. That thick accent made you swoon, in and out of character. Seeing him calling out to you, and you alone, warmed you up.

“Come on now, lass. You just gonna leave ol’ Rem hangin’?”

Ah. So this is how he’s gonna be. Jack wants you, and he’s going to do it in true vampiric Remmick nature. He’s luring you in.

Realizing you’d better play the part, you close your eyes and get into character. You dropped your items and starting making your way to him.

“There she is… there’s my girl. I’ve missed you,” shaking his head slightly, still rocking in the chair. Your feet clicked against the concrete floor almost antagonizingly slow, your eyes never left his, and you felt your body heat up. Crossing onto the wood, the change of energy set the mood. There he was, still covered in that fake blood from earlier, dripping right over his face and down his neck. The lights of the set were all either off or dim, save for this one hanging overhead. Just enough to hit him like a spotlight.

“I’m sorry, Remmy. I didn’t mean to make you wait on me. Are you upset at me, baby?,” you spoke to him. You could watch as those words made every hair on him stand up, the gulp traveled down his throat, and his hand gripped the armrest. His foot started to shake a little. You put on those big puppy dog eyes your character has when she looks at her lover. Slowly, you stepped closer and closer to him, walking behind the chair and putting your hands on his shoulders. You leaned down to his neck, right beside his ear and said, “I’m here now, baby. Did you need somethin’?”

“I just missed you, darlin’. Missed your touch, your voice… your face. Lord, that face of yours,” he admired as a hand reach beside him and held your cheek. The tension you two had all lead up to this moment. You took your hand and ran it up his arm and over his that was placed on your face, locking your fingers into his. Taking your other hand off of his shoulder, you walked in front of him, and used your free hand to touch his face in return.

“You’ve made a mess, Rem. But you look just as handsome as always.”

“Nah, darlin’, this ain’t no mess. A mess is what you’ve made me into, and I think you know just how to clean it up.”

Did you? Did he want you to touch him? Fuck him? Be with him? This is all new to you, this role playing thing. Not to mention it being with a man you’ve admired for so long, and just hoped that one day you’d be able to have him this way. This was your chance to finally have what you wished for.

Your eyes left his, scanning down his body in that outfit that made you an unstable wreck, and stopped at his pants. Smirking, you nodded, and stood between his now open legs. He took his free hand and grabbed your waist, bringing you closer to him. His body was practically calling out to you, you could feel how badly he wanted you, and he could feel you the same way. You bit your lip, and got on your knees.

“Oh, Rem. You got this worked up over me? I can’t just let you suffer, can I, my love?”

He gulped hard, biting his lip and hardening his lock on you.

“Nah, I don’t think that’d be very kind of you.”

“I didn’t think it would.”

Your hand left his face, running down his neck, chest, then stomach, and finally ending at his suspenders and pants. Your fingers got to work fast on his buckles and buttons, as you wanted him more than you could imagine. You wanted to taste him. You were going to. That was certain between the two of you.

Pulling off his pants and underwear in one movement, they fell to his ankles. He was hard for you. Thinking about how you walked on the set each day, head held so high and you were so passionate about your work. So passionate about the project.. about your characters. About him, he wished.

You kissed his tip, making sure to keep that eye contact. A guttural moan left him and you felt your heart flutter with pride, excitement, and admiration for the man in front of you. Your right hand came down to wrap around him, moving it up slowly, taking in what you’re about to do to him. Stroking him for a few more moments, you grew impatient. You wanted the taste of him, and you wanted the feeling of having the man you’ve pined over for months in you finally. Leaning back down, you opened your mouth and ran your tongue down the length of his dick. Stopping at the top after a few times of going up and down, you sucked, letting your tongue roam around him. You hummed against him, the sensation making him let another low, sexy moan out. Your head began to bob up and down, and your cheeks hollowed out as you went as far as you could. Your eyes closed, humming as you sucked on him. You felt his hand trace your jaw and entangle itself into your hair, grabbing a loose fist full of it and guiding you.

Deciding it was enough, he used his grip on your hair to pull you off him, and got a good look at your face. Your eyes filled with lust met his eyes, matching the same level of desire that you had.

“Stand up, I want you to try somethin’ out for me,” he said, breath shaky, as he ran his hands up your costume dress, and pulled your underwear down, “good, now we’re even.”

He put a hand on your waist, guiding you down to his thigh, using his grip to rock you back and forth over it. You grabbed his shoulder with one hand, and the top of the chair with other, now guiding yourself across with his assistance still being used.

“Oh, yeah. You like that, huh? Grindin’ on my thigh all desperate like. ‘Cause that’s what you are, desperate, right?” That drawl invoked a loud and, like he said, desperate moan from you, right into his ear. The hand on his shoulder now gripped his hair, holding him closer to you.

“I saw you watching me from the sidelines. You wanted me so bad, now you’ve got me. This is what you wanted, right? You’ve made me a damn mess, girl.”

His façade as Remmick was now gone, and it was his pure intentions coming out of him. That accent change damn near made you release then and there, but you were too lost in the feeling of his warm thigh against your pussy as you took out your sexual yearning on it. His other hand ran between your body and his, rubbing your clit, and he took his fingers to his mouth. He made sure to get your eyes to look into his as he savored your arousal. The fake blood mixed into his mouth a little as he finally got a taste of the beauty before him.

“You couldn’t be the only one that got a little taste, huh, darling?”

That was enough to get you off, and you came hard onto him. His moans from seeing you getting yourself off to a part of him that wasn’t even sexual filled your ears as you moaned into his ear, wrapping your arms around his neck as you came down from your high. You stayed like this for a few minutes until you both calmed down. You raised up, running a hand over his chest before placing it around his heart.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted you. Not even just like this, you know? You’re special, you’re beautiful. Absolutely perfect. D’you want to go out sometime? Properly get to hang out?”

You smiled, nodding along with the idea.

“I’d love to. I hoped for so damn long that you felt that way, too, you handsome devil.”

“Handsome vampire, get it right.”

You giggled, leaning in to give him a kiss.

“Oh, and for future reference, just know that was hot as fuck.”

“Duly noted, love.”

[ridingreeves]

𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗈

𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀－𝖤𝗅𝗂𝗃𝖺𝗁*𝖲𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾*𝖬𝗈𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗑 𝖡𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒－dropping off your son at your ex’s place, and Stack taking the opportunity to taunt you about your boyfriend

𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌－Harsh language, N-word usage, toxic ex dynamics. Stack & Smoke are being arrogant, petty assholes.

A/N: I watched Sinners for the first time and loved it. I’m pretty sure I’m a Smoke girlie, so here’s a little story.

It was a hot afternoon when you pulled up to Smoke’s house—well, your old house, if we’re being technical. Your son was in the back seat babbling about Roblox and fries, kicking the passenger seat every few seconds like he knew your nerves were already hanging on by a thread.

You adjusted your sunglasses, took a deep breath, and walked your baby to the front door like you hadn’t just been arguing with your new man ten minutes ago about “boundaries” with your ex.

But the second the door opened?

Trouble.

And that’s exactly what stood on the other side of the front door when it opened

Elijah “Smoke” Moore.

Your ex-husband.

Your baby’s father.

The man who ruined you for everybody else.

Smoke was leaned against the doorway shirtless, tattoos gleaming, chain swinging just enough to catch the light. His usual low-eyed expression flipped to a grin the moment he saw you—and then his eyes dropped to your outfit.

“Mmh,” he hummed, already staring too long. “You showin’ up in them tight-ass leggings like that for me or for him?” he nodded down at your son. “’Cause either way, I appreciate it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start.”

“Ain’t startin’ nothin’ but missin’ what used to be mine,” he muttered, stepping aside to let y’all in.

Your son took off toward the living room while you stayed back to hand over his backpack. That’s when you heard it

“Damn, she came by lookin’ like that you sure she don’t want you back?” came Stack’s voice—from the kitchen.

You froze. “Oh lord, not both of y’all here today.”

You gave him a tight smile. “Hey, Stack.”

Smoke smirked as Stack walked in with a paper plate of wings, wearing a gold chain and a devilish smirk. “What’s up, baby mama?” Stack grinned, licking his fingers. “Or should I say baby mama who downgraded to a nigga who work at T-Mobile?”

You squinted. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

“Nah,” Smoke said, closing the front door behind you. “He ridiculous. Walkin’ ‘round thinkin’ he competition. Heard he wear them little loafers with no socks.”

“He don’t,” you muttered, lying.

“Bet he say ‘grand rising’ too,” Stack added with a snort. “That’s not a man. That’s a therapist with a fade.”

“I’m not doin’ this today,” you said, putting the backpack down hard. “He treats me right.”

“‘Treats you right’ but don’t know how to fight?” Smoke stepped in, arms folded across his broad chest. “You lettin’ a soft nigga be around my son? C’mon, mama. He ain’t even built for this life. If somethin’ popped off, he’d hide behind you.”

“Nigga probably cry when he get pulled over,” Stack added, cracking open a Sprite. “Talkin’ about, ‘I pay my taxes!’”

You wanted to be mad. You did. But their tag-team was relentless—and funny.

You groaned.

“He look like he cry after sex. Probably moans with his eyes closed and say, ‘Am I pleasuring you?’”

“Y’all done?” you asked flatly.

Smoke shook his head. “Nah, not until you answer one question.”

You tilted your chin. “What?”

He looked you dead in the face.

“When shit hit the fan, and you need somebody who’s gon’ slide, gon’ ride—you really think that cornball you got now gon’ stand ten toes behind you and our kid? Or you gon’ end up callin’ me?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The silence in the room got loud.

Stack laughed from the kitchen. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Smoke stepped up close, all low voice and heavy heat. “Keep playin’ house with that nigga. But when you tired of fake peace and yoga-ass sex, you know where I’m at.”

You scoffed and turned to leave—but not before Stack called out, “Tell him next time he come pick you up, to park on the other side of the street. My neighbors allergic to bitch-ass energy.”

You stood frozen in the doorway for a long second before your son called from the back, “Mama? You leavin’?”

“Yeah, baby,” you said, voice thick. “Mama’s leavin’.”

But even as you walked away, the way Smoke watched you—hungry, smug, dangerous—you knew you’d be back.

And that’s what scared you the most.

Smoke leaned against the doorway again, smiling like a man who knew he still had it. “Later, mama.”

You didn’t look back. But your heart? Yeah—it stayed right there in that damn house.

And worse?

Smoke knew it.

You made it halfway down the steps before you heard the door open again behind you.

“Wait.”

You stopped, hand on your car door, not turning around. Just… waiting. Breathing.

“What?” you asked, already tired, already knowing whatever he had to say was gonna make things worse.

Smoke’s voice dropped. “You leavin’ like that, and we not gon’ talk for another week? You cool with that?”

You slowly turned, face blank, lips tight.

“We don’t need to talk,” you said. “You got him for the weekend. I’ll pick him up Sunday.”

“That ain’t what I asked.”

Your fingers tightened on the car door.

Stack was still inside, but quiet now—too quiet. You could feel the weight of both their eyes on you.

Smoke walked toward you slow, steady. Like he had nowhere to be but here. Like he didn’t give a damn about the new man, or the way your jaw clenched when he got too close.

“Y’know what I think?” he said, voice low and gritty. “I think you tryna prove somethin’—to yourself. Not to me. Not to him. You tired of this life, tired of the mess, so you went and found the safest man you could. Somethin’ neat. Predictable.”

He stepped in close enough that you could see the gold in his grill glinting when he spoke.

“But safe don’t mean happy.”

You blinked at him, your throat tightening before you could stop it. “I am happy.”

Smoke raised an eyebrow. “That why your hands shakin’ right now?”

You glanced down—and cursed under your breath when you saw he was right. Fingers trembling around your car keys.

“I’m fine.”

“Fine ain’t love. Fine ain’t joy. Fine is what people say when they tryna convince themselves they ain’t settlin’.”

Your breath hitched.

“You got me twisted if you think I want to come back here and be played with,” you snapped. “I left for a reason.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “But you came back for one too.”

“You forget who the fuck you built all this with?” he asked, voice low and ragged. “Who kept you safe?Who put money in your mama pocket and never said a word?”

You opened your mouth to argue—but the words didn’t come. Because he wasn’t wrong. And you hated that he wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t just about your son. It wasn’t just about co-parenting.

It was about the way this house felt like it knew you. Like you’d left parts of yourself here that your new man never even touched. It was about the way Smoke looked at you like you were still his, even after all this time. And the worst part? You didn’t even fight it anymore. You just buried it. Swallowed it.

“I gotta go,” you whispered, finally unlocking your door.

“Yeah,” he said, stepping back. “Go ahead. But you know where the real is.”

“Next time you come over here wit’ his scent on your skin, I’m fuckin’ it off you”

You slid behind the wheel, started the engine.

And just as you reached to shift gears, Stack leaned out the front door with his usual smug grin. “Hey!”

You looked up.

“If little man’s stepdaddy ever wanna learn how to change a tire, tell him we do classes now. Free for lames.”

You flipped him off through the windshield. He just laughed.

Smoke leaned in, one last time, one hand on your car door. “He can’t protect what he can’t handle. And you?” His voice dropped. “You too much woman for half a man.”

You didn’t say anything. You just drove off, pretending you didn’t see the way your hands still trembled on the wheel.

But later that night?

When your son was already asleep in his Spider-Man sheets, and your man was still out at some networking dinner that didn’t include a plus-one, your phone lit up.

Smoke:

“He ever fix that weak-ass handshake? Felt like I was dappin’ a wet napkin.”

You stared.

Cutting your phone off you turned over when you got a call from smoke.

Groaning you answered

@enchanthings

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝜗𝜚 𝓉𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒷 𝓂𝑒𝓃

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: The TKATB men find themselves stuck in ridiculously tight spaces with you—too close for comfort. Tension is high, tempers flare, and maybe, just maybe, something else lingers in the air. 

What happens when there's nowhere to run?

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

As a writer who absolutely adores her dearest readers—and remembers almost everything—I suppose it’s finally time to give the people what they want.  

Yeah… it’s really come to this.

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

The kitchen smelled like sugar, vanilla, and the faintest hint of burning from the last batch of muffins Crowe pulled out. He hadn’t said anything, but you knew he was silently judging himself for not taking them out sooner. 

Not that it mattered—you were still determined to get one before they cooled completely.

You leaned on the broom in your hand, watching him move around like he owned the place. Well, he kinda did. As much as he loved you, he didn’t trust you near an oven anymore after the incident (which, in your defense, was totally not your fault. Mostly). 

That’s why he’d handed you the broom and kept you at a safe distance, probably so he could supervise while you did something harmless.

“Hey, grab the flour,” he said, focused on lining up the muffin tin for the next batch.

You sighed, abandoning your post as Official Kitchen Sweeper and heading to the pantry. Reaching for the sugar on the highest shelf was another story. You stretched up, fingertips barely brushing the bottom of the bag. Seriously, who put it this high? Oh, right—Crowe, who probably didn’t consider your not-tall-enough height when he stored it away.

“Crowe,” you called, still reaching. “Can you—”

Before you could finish, he was already there. And way too close.

You hadn’t even heard him move, but suddenly, his chest was inches from your back, arm reaching effortlessly over your head. He grabbed the sugar with zero struggle, like he hadn’t just waited for you to fail first.

“…Did you just let me struggle on purpose?” you asked, turning your head slightly.

Crowe didn’t answer immediately, but you knew he was smirking. “Maybe.”

You were this close to elbowing him when the broom in your hand, which you’d forgotten about in your mild irritation, slipped from your grip. There was an ominous clatter, then a soft thump—and then, the unmistakable sound of wood against wood.

You blinked. Turned your head.

The pantry door was shut.

And when you tried to push it open, it didn’t budge.

Crowe exhaled through his nose, sounding way too amused.

“Great job,” he said.

“Oh, shut up, this is your fault,” you shot back, jiggling the doorknob. Nothing. The broom must have fallen just right to wedge itself against the door.

Crowe knocked once on the wooden panel like he was testing its durability. “You locked us in a pantry.”

“Technically, you locked us in the pantry.”

“Technically, you dropped the broom.”

You turned, glaring up at him. “You let me struggle for the flour.”

Crowe lifted the bag slightly, gaze unreadable but definitely smug. “And I’d do it again.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Okay, genius. How do we get out?”

He considered the question like he wasn’t already aware that brute force was an option. Eventually, he sighed, shifting to lean against the nearest shelf.

“I’m not fully sure. Could call Geo, he has the spare key,”

You gave him a deadpan look. “You wanna be stuck here for hours?”

“Geo would get us out in five minutes.”

You groaned, debating your options. You could call someone. Or, more realistically, you could let Crowe deal with it while you sat back and did nothing.

…But then again.

You eyed the bag of flour in his hand.

Crowe caught the look immediately. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”

Too late.

You lunged, swiping for the bag, but he yanked it away with zero effort, holding it out of reach like you were some kind of misbehaving child. Which, to be fair, wasn’t entirely inaccurate. But still.

“Give me that,” you said, reaching again.

Crowe tilted his head, considering. Then, with the smuggest expression you’d ever seen, he lifted it higher.

You knew what had to be done.

With zero hesitation, you smacked the bottom of the flour bag.

A cloud of white exploded between you.

Crowe inhaled sharply, taking a full breath of flour straight to the face. You clamped a hand over your mouth, trying so hard not to laugh as he coughed, shaking the powder from his braided brown hair.

“…You little—”

He didn’t finish. Instead, he lunged.

You yelped, dodging to the side, but he was faster. In a single movement, he snatched the flour bag back and retaliated, dumping half of it over your head.

You gasped. “You ass!”

Crowe only smirked, but you could see the challenge in his eyes—like he was daring you to try something else.

Oh, it was on.

You grabbed a handful of flour straight from the bag and flung it at him, coating his shirt. He retaliated by smearing it across your cheek with his thumb, and before you knew it, you were both full-on brawling in the tiny pantry, shoving, dodging, laughing—until, in one swift motion, Crowe grabbed your wrists, spun you, and pinned you against the wall.

The breath left your lungs.

You barely had time to register the shift before he lifted you, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. Instinct, mostly. His grip was strong, hands firm against your thighs as he leaned in, his breath warm despite the ridiculous amount of flour covering you both.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Crowe tilted his head, looking up at you with a lazy smirk. “You good?”

You huffed. “You’re so annoying.”

He grinned. “And yet, here we are.”

You rolled your eyes, still catching your breath. “Y’know, if we ever get out of here, you’re cleaning this up.”

Crowe hummed like he was actually considering it. “Mmm. Nah.”

You squinted at him. “Nah?”

Flour clung to both of you like snowfall, dusting your clothes, your skin, even the strands of Crowe’s hair—but neither of you cared.  

Because before you could get another word out, he leaned in and stole a kiss.  

It was quick—at first. Just enough to catch you off guard, just enough to make your fingers tighten in his hair out of pure instinct. But when he felt you kiss him back, he grinned against your lips, wasting no time in deepening it.  

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as the pantry shelves dug into your back. The scent of sugar and flour mixed with something distinctly him, something warm and addictive. He kissed like he did everything else—with confidence, with a teasing edge that made you want to smack him and pull him closer all at once.  

“You—” You barely managed to exhale when he finally pulled back, your face burning hotter than the oven outside.  

Crowe only smirked, looking way too pleased with himself. “Figured if I was gonna be stuck in here, I might as well get something out of it.”  

You smacked his arm, sending a puff of flour into the air. He just laughed, shaking some from his hair before grabbing your wrist and tugging you right back into another kiss.

Yeah. You were never gonna live this down.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol was pissed.

You could feel it in the way he stomped beside you, in the sharp inhale through his nose, in the way his hands clenched and unclenched like he was aching to throw a punch.

And honestly? You wouldn’t blame him. The guy totally deserved it—hitting on you like that, all cocky smirk and stupid one-liners, right in front of Sol. If it were anyone else, maybe he would’ve let it slide. But you? Sol wasn’t the type to stand by and let someone act like you were up for grabs.

Which is why you were currently dragging him down the hallway, ignoring his half-hearted protests, his muttered curses, and the death glare he was sending over his shoulder toward the guy still standing near the lockers.

“Let me go,” he growled, low and tense.

“Nope.”

“I’m not gonna let him get away with that—”

You rounded a corner, yanking him into the nearest door. Sol barely had a second to register what was happening before you shoved him inside and locked the stall door behind you.

A pause.

Then—

“…Did you just pull me into a bathroom stall?”

You leaned against the wall, exhaling. “Yes.”

Sol stared at you. Then at the stall walls. Then back at you.

“…Why?”

“Because,” you said, voice slow and pointed, “I’m not letting you fight a guy just because he shot his shot. It’s not worth it.”

Sol scoffed, crossing his arms. “Not worth it? He was—”

“Flirting.” You raised a brow. “That’s all.”

Sol’s jaw tightened. “Yeah, and that’s enough.”

You sighed. There was no reasoning with him when he was like this—fists clenching, shoulders tense, barely restraining himself from storming right back out.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, rubbing your temples.

“And you’re insane for thinking I’m gonna let that slide.”

“Well, guess what? You don’t have a choice.”

Sol huffed out a frustrated breath, raking a hand through his hair. He looked like a caged animal, shifting his weight, practically vibrating with pent-up aggression. It would’ve been funny—his broad frame stuffed into the cramped stall, visibly suffering—if not for the fact that he genuinely looked like he was debating whether or not to climb over the door and bolt.

“…You really think I’d lose?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“You pulled me in here like I’d lose,” he muttered, eyes narrowed. “Like I couldn’t take him.”

“Oh my god.” You let your head fall back against the wall. “Sol, I know you could take him. That’s the problem.”

His scowl deepened. “Then why—”

“Because it’s stupid!” you groaned, throwing your hands up. “It’s a waste of time, you’d get in trouble, and for what? My honor? Please.” You rolled your eyes. “Like I can’t handle a guy flirting with me.”

Sol was quiet for a second. He looked away, flexing his fingers before stuffing them into his pockets.

“…Still,” he muttered.

You glanced at him. “Still what?”

His jaw clenched. “Still don’t like it.”

Something in his voice was different—lower, rougher. He wasn’t just pissed anymore. There was something else beneath it, something raw and unreadable.

For once, you softened.

You exhaled, somewhat over his shit, “I know.” before turning around to look though the gaps of the stall.

Sol didn’t move for a moment. But then, finally, he sighed, letting his head fall back against the stall like he was exhausted—more like he was embarrassed.

You see—you pressed yourself against the stall door, carefully peeking through the small gap to see if the guy had followed.

Sol, still leaning against the back wall, let out a slow, controlled breath, finally starting to relax—until you shifted back against him.

He stiffened.

You didn’t notice. Too focused on scanning the hallway, you pressed in closer, unknowingly making the situation worse. Sol’s hands twitched at his sides, jaw locking as he tried so hard to think about literally anything else besides the fact that—

“Oh, good, I think he’s gone,” you muttered.

Sol said nothing.

You frowned, turning your head slightly. “You good?”

Still, nothing.

…Weird.

Shrugging, you went back to peeking out, oblivious as you unknowingly rocked back against him again.

Sol flinched. His hands immediately shot out, grabbing your hips to stop you before this got any worse.

You finally noticed that. “Hey, what are you—”

“I need you to move.” His voice was strained, almost a growl.

You blinked, glancing over your shoulder. “Move where? There’s no—”

Then you felt it.

Oh.

Oh.

Realization slammed into you like a brick. You went completely still, processing. Sol looked like he wanted to die.

For a second, neither of you spoke. Then, finally—

“…You’re kidding.”

Sol exhaled sharply. “Help me.”

You choked on a laugh, smacking a hand over your mouth. “Oh my God.”

“This isn’t funny!” he hissed, keeping his grip on your hips firmly so you wouldn’t make things worse.

“It’s hilarious!”

“I’m suffering!”

You were fully cackling at this point, bracing yourself against the stall door as Sol groaned behind you, deeply regretting every decision that led to this moment.

“…So, uh,” you teased, grinning. “Still mad about that guy flirting with me?”

“Shut up.”

He glanced at you, then shook his head, a reluctant smirk tugging at his lips. “We’re literally hiding in a bathroom stall.”

“Yeah, and?” You questioned.

Sol rolled his eyes, but his posture relaxed, tension slowly easing out of his shoulders.

Sol exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before dragging it down his face. His other hand curled into a fist at his side, like he was trying to keep himself in check.  

“…Can we—” He stopped, rolling his shoulders back as if that would somehow fix his problem.  

You smirked, arms crossed, enjoying this way too much. “Can we what, Sol?”  

His jaw tensed. He looked at you, then away, then back again—like he was debating whether he actually had the guts to say it. His fingers flexed at his sides before he finally gave up, resting his head back against the stall wall with a quiet groan.  

“…Help me out here?” His voice was strained, low enough that it barely carried over the hum of the bathroom fan.  

You blinked. “Oh?”  

Sol shot you a glare, but there was a hint of desperation beneath it, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.  

“Don’t make me say it,” he muttered.

You grinned, absolutely reveling in this. “Help you out?” you repeated, feigning innocence. “Sol, I’m not sure what you mean.”  

His glare sharpened, but the way his fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides betrayed him. He shifted, exhaling through his nose like he was trying to force some kind of patience into himself.  

“You know exactly what I mean,” he ground out, his voice thick with frustration.  

You tilted your head, tapping a finger against your chin. “Hmmm… I dunno. You’re gonna have to be more specific.”  

Sol let out a low, irritated growl, leaning in just enough to close the already small space between you. His eyes were dark, his jaw tight, and you could feel the heat radiating off him.  

“…You’re really gonna make me say it?” His voice had dipped lower, a quiet challenge woven into it.  

Your pulse skipped, but you kept up the act, arching a brow. “I mean, if you’re asking for my help, you should at least use your words, Sol.”  

He dragged a hand down his face again before gripping the edge of the stall, his knuckles white. “I hate you.”  

“You love me.”  

He scoffed but didn’t argue, which only made your grin widen.  

You had another teasing remark locked and loaded, ready to fire—but then your breath hitched. Just for a second.  

Because he stepped closer.  

Too close.  

The air in the stall shifted, heat radiating from him as he loomed over you, his expression unreadable. Your back pressed against the stall door instinctively, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to escape the weight of his stare.  

Your throat went dry as you swallowed.  

Fuck.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

The hotel was busy with the usual chaos that came with a trip involving your friend group—Crowe’s over-the-top plans, Sol’s constant complaints, and Brittany’s never-ending search for the perfect selfie lighting. You and Geo had just been about to head downstairs to meet up with the others when you suddenly groaned, realization hitting you like a brick.

“My sunglasses,” you muttered, already turning back toward the shared room. Geo sighed beside you, hands tucked into his pockets. “Seriously? You couldn’t have remembered before we left?”

You shot him a look as you grabbed the door handle. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Perfect Memory. I’ll be sure to consult you next time before I breathe.”

He half smirked, unimpressed, as you pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

Rolling your eyes, you made your way to the nightstand where you were pretty sure you’d left them. 

Geo trailed in behind you, muttering something about how he should’ve just left you behind. But before he could make good on that threat, he paused, watching as you tossed your phone onto the bed.  

“You forgot sunscreen,” he pointed out.  

You groaned again, already annoyed. “It’s cloudy outside, I’ll be fine.”  

Geo folded his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Uh-huh. And when Crowe roasts you for looking ‘crispy’ in the group photos, I don’t want to hear it.”  

Sighing, you grabbed your sunglasses off the dresser. “I know, I know.” You huffed and reached for the sunscreen bottle on the counter. “But it’s fine. I’ll just do it real quick.”  

Begrudgingly, you squeezed some into your palm and started rubbing it onto your face. Geo made a noise of approval—until he actually saw what you were doing. His expression immediately shifted to disapproval, and he shook his head.  

“You’re doing it wrong,” he muttered, his usual calm demeanor just a little off. “You missed a spot.”  

You frowned. “Excuse me?”  

Before you could protest, Geo walked over and plucked the bottle from your hands. “Here. Let me—”  

Rolling your eyes, you lifted your chin to make sure you didn’t get a weird streak across your neck. “You’re supposed to just let me do it. I’ve got it.”  

Geo raised an eyebrow. “Let me help. You’ll burn otherwise.”  

You gave him a look. “Oh, please, I’ll be fine.”  

“You’re doing it wrong.”  

“Yeah, yeah, you said that.”

Geo sighed dramatically, stepping closer—the kind of sigh that meant he had no intention of letting it go. You barely managed to suppress a grin before he was right next to you, his hands gently but firmly adjusting your arms so he could rub the sunscreen in properly.  

“You’re gonna burn,” he muttered, his voice a little more intense than usual. You could hear the concern creeping through it, and despite yourself, you softened at the way he touched your shoulders with care, making sure every spot was covered.  

You stared up at him, unsure whether to laugh or groan at how overly concerned he was. “It’s just sunscreen, Geo. I can do it myself.”  

“No, you can’t,” he replied matter-of-factly, unscrewing the cap. “You always miss spots.”  

You shot him a playfully offended look. “I do not.”  

He glanced at you with an unimpressed eyebrow raise. “Really?”  

“…Fine, whatever.” You sighed, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing over sunscreen of all things. Besides, if there was anyone who knew skincare, it was Geo.  

He stepped closer, rubbing the sunscreen onto your shoulders. The cool lotion made you shiver slightly, but his touch was strangely gentle, careful not to be too rough. His hands moved with ease—practiced, almost—as if he’d done this before, and you let out a slow breath, focusing on the task at hand while he worked on your neck, your face, everywhere you’d missed.  

“Better?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper as he adjusted the way you were standing.  

You nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”  

“About time.” He smirked, stepping back to assess his work.  

Then, you heard it.  

The door handle clicked.  

Both of you froze, the room instantly turning too quiet.  

“…No.” You whispered, dread creeping in.  

It was Brittany.

“Why is she back so early?” you hissed, panic rising in your chest. 

Geo glanced at the door, then at the closet. Then at you. “You need to hide.”  

“What?”  

Before you could blink, he grabbed your arm, yanking you toward the closet. You barely had time to react before he practically shoved you inside, following right after and pulling the door shut just as Brittany entered the room.  

“Geo—”  

“I’m not dealing with this right now,” he whispered sharply.  

You barely managed to swallow back a retort before you heard Brittany moving around, shuffling through her things. You froze, pressing yourself against the closet wall, trying not to make a sound.  

Unfortunately, Geo had the same idea—only there wasn’t much space to work with.  

You were practically nose-to-nose, his chest lightly pressed against yours, every breath shared in the cramped darkness. It was suffocating, but not just because of the lack of space.  

You weren’t supposed to be here.  

You weren’t supposed to be with him like this.  

And yet, here you were, pressed close in a way that made every nerve in your body hyperaware.  

Geo shifted slightly, but the movement only made things worse, his hand brushing your waist as he adjusted his stance. His breath was warm against your cheek as he leaned in—so close that if Brittany weren’t in the room, you might’ve accused him of doing it on purpose.  

You swallowed. “Geo—”  

“Shhh.” His voice was barely more than a breath, the word a soft command that vibrated against the air between you. But there was something dangerously amused in the way he spoke, like he knew exactly what kind of mess he’d dragged you both into.  

“I told you, you need to be more careful.” Geo’s words were a low murmur as he leaned back against the closet wall, crossing his arms. His proximity was almost suffocating. You could feel the warmth of his body pressing into the space you barely had, his breath quickening just enough for you to catch it.  

“Oh, shut up.” You whispered back, unable to hold in a nervous laugh. The tension was palpable, a strange cocktail of adrenaline and something else that made your heart skip a beat. “You’re the one who shoved me in here.”  

“Yeah, well, I’m not trying to deal with Brittany walking in on us,” Geo’s voice dropped an octave, the irritation thick in his words. “Remember? No one knows we’re together yet.”  

You froze at his words, heart thudding a little faster. That was true—no one in the group knew. No one had ever seen you and Geo alone, and with him being the usually aloof and distant guy, everyone would be suspicious if they saw him helping you with sunscreen.  

The realization made your skin flush, and your stomach twisted with a mix of excitement and nervousness. How would Brittany react if she saw you two like this?  

You could hear Brittany moving around the room, rummaging through your things, her steps growing closer to the closet.  

And then, Geo was even closer, if that was even possible. You could practically feel the heat radiating from him, his body a mere inch away from yours. His presence filled the space, making everything feel suffocatingly intimate.  

“Geo…”  

His eyes flicked over to you, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch. He muttered under his breath, his lips brushing your ear just barely. “Shut up,” he snapped, the irritation in his voice mixed with something more—something that made your heart race even faster. “We need to stay quiet.”  

You bit your lip to hold back the laugh that threatened to spill out, but the way he was so close, the way you could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath, had your stomach doing somersaults. You shifted slightly, trying not to make a sound, but the cramped space left you with no room to escape the warmth of his body pressing into yours.

Brittany’s voice drifted through the room. “Where is my damn bag…”  

Your stomach twisted as Brittany’s footsteps drew closer—too close for comfort. You could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you, the air growing thick with tension. Every movement felt like it might give you away, but Geo was quick to react.  

Without a moment's hesitation, Geo’s hand shot out, pressing firmly against the closet door. His fingers gripped the edge, holding it in place, the door threatening to creak from the pressure. His body tensed, muscles coiling under his shirt like a predator ready to spring into action at any moment.  

The space between you, already nonexistent, seemed to shrink even more, his arm hovering above your head, blocking the door. The way he positioned himself so close to you, his chest almost touching your back, only made the situation more intense. The faintest brush of his breath against your skin sent a shiver down your spine.  

Brittany’s hand gripped the door handle, turning it with a soft click. Geo’s body shifted subtly, every inch of his being still, but you could feel the power in his frame—he wasn’t going to let her open it.  

Your heart pounded in your chest, the silence so thick you could almost hear it. If she pushed harder, you would both be caught, and everything would fall apart. You could feel Geo's pulse quicken as he held the door steady, his arm a firm barrier above you, ensuring that nothing moved.  

The heat from his body, the tension in the air—it all felt like a warning. But you could only stand there, frozen, hoping that Brittany would just leave.

Brittany's hand tightened on the door handle, twisting it again, but Geo didn’t budge. His arm remained above your head, a solid barrier, his body blocking any possible movement. You could feel the gentle pressure of his chest against your back, steady and unyielding, as he silently willed the door to stay shut.  

Her hand tugged harder at the handle, and you could almost feel her frustration radiating through the wood. You held your breath, praying she wouldn’t push too hard, or worse, get suspicious. The seconds felt like hours.  

"Ugh, this door's stuck," Brittany muttered under her breath, sounding more annoyed than worried. “Guess I’ll have to ask one of the guys to open it for me later."  

Your heart skipped a beat. You could practically hear her disappointment, and you were certain she was none the wiser to the fact that she was so close to catching you both.  

Geo’s body slowly relaxed, his grip loosening just a fraction as she finally stepped away from the door, the soft thud of her footsteps retreating making the air feel a little less suffocating.  

You let out a quiet breath you didn't realize you were holding, the tension melting away for just a moment. Geo, however, didn’t move immediately. He stayed close, his hand still braced against the door, and his voice dropped to a low murmur, almost too soft to hear.  

"That was too close," he whispered, his words laced with the same urgency that had gripped you both moments before. 

"Yeah," you agreed softly, your voice barely audible. "Too close."  

Then, he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. His voice was barely above a whisper, low and edged with something unreadable. “We’re not supposed to be like this right now, you know?”  

You swallowed. “I know.”  

“And yet,” he murmured, almost amused.  

You barely resisted the urge to shove him. “We don’t have a choice.”  

Brittany’s footsteps halted just outside the closet, and your breath caught in your throat.  

“Is this my bag?” she muttered, rummaging through the room.  

Then, a sound that made your stomach drop—your ringtone.  

Geo tensed beside you, fingers pressing harder against the door to keep it shut. His body was practically caging you in, his heat radiating off him in the already suffocating space.  

Your pulse hammered in your ears. “You didn’t have to do this,” you whispered, barely moving your lips. “We could’ve just told her.”  

Geo let out a sharp breath, jaw tight. “Not now.”  

His tone was firm—final. No room for argument.  

You glanced up at him, catching the flicker of tension in his expression, but his gaze remained locked on Brittany, who now held up your phone with a triumphant look.  

“Found it! And I guess they left their phone under my bag,” she said, her voice growing fainter as she hurried toward the door.  

She turned, heading for the door.  

Only when you heard it click shut did Geo finally exhale, the tension in his body loosening—but his expression didn’t ease. Instead, his brows furrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line.  

You frowned. “What’s wrong?”  

Geo pulled his phone from his pocket, tilting the screen toward you.  

A single missed call. From him.  

Realization crashed into you like a wave. Your heart skipped a beat.  

“…Geo.”  

He’d called your phone. On purpose. To make sure it rang loud enough for Brittany to find her bag before she even thought about checking the closet.  

Geo exhaled heavily, glancing back at his phone. “I’m really not in the mood to tell them about us right now.”  

You shook your head, but before you could respond, the door creaked open just a fraction. Geo had already managed to free himself, and you didn’t even have time to protest. He wasn’t about to let this moment drag on any longer.  

Smart. Calculated. Unbelievably risky.  

And, worst of all, it worked.

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜 [ 𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝒹𝒹𝑒𝒹 ]

It had started with something innocent enough—Sol was sick. Too stubborn to admit it, of course, but sick nonetheless. He’d skipped class for the first time in forever, and when neither you nor Hyugo received your usual sarcastic texts from him throughout the day, it was clear something was wrong.  

Hyugo, ever the opportunist, had immediately latched onto the idea of sneaking into Sol’s place. “We can’t just let him rot in there alone,” he’d said, dramatically clutching his chest like this was some grand mission. “And besides, if he’s too weak to fight back, this might be our only shot at pulling off the perfect prank.”  

You had agreed—not for the prank, but because, despite Sol’s grumpy exterior, you actually cared. Hyugo did too, even if he’d never admit it outright.  

So, naturally, sneaking in was the next step.  

Getting inside was ridiculously easy. Sol had forgotten to lock his window, a mistake that would haunt him soon enough. Hyugo had hoisted himself up first, barely containing his laughter as he reached down to pull you through. You had landed in a crouch, both of you moving like trained professionals—except for the part where Hyugo knocked over a stack of books.  

You both froze.  

Silence.  

No yelling. No threats of immediate violence. Just the distant sound of Sol’s snoring from his living room. 

Hyugo had grinned, looking way too pleased with himself. “He’s dead asleep. Perfect.”  

And that’s how you ended up crouched beside him, hidden in Sol’s bedroom like two criminals, your mission shifting from simple food delivery to pure chaos.

You nudged Hyugo with your elbow, whispering, “Alright, we dropped off the food. Let’s go before he wakes up.”  

But Hyugo wasn’t even listening. His eyes were locked onto the narrow space beneath Sol’s bed, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head.  

“You know what would make this even better?” he muttered, barely able to contain his grin.  

You sighed, already regretting whatever he was about to say. “I swear, if you—”  

“Hiding under his bed.”  

You stared at him. “You’re insane.”  

“And you love it,” he shot back, already lowering himself onto the floor. “C’mon, this is once-in-a-lifetime stuff. Imagine his face when we grab his ankles.”  

You wanted to argue. You really did. But the thought of Sol’s reaction, that brief moment of pure, unfiltered terror before rage inevitably set in? It was too good to pass up.  

“Fine,” you grumbled, sliding down next to him.  

Hyugo barely stifled his laughter as you both squeezed under the bed, pressed close in the cramped space. The scent of detergent mixed with Sol’s cologne, clinging to the air, but all you could really focus on was the warmth of Hyugo’s body against yours.  

He shifted slightly, his thigh brushing against yours, his breath hot against your skin.  

“Stop moving,” you whispered, trying to ignore the way your bodies were practically molded together.  

“I have to move,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement. “I’m not built for these conditions. Tell me, do all peasants live like this?”  

You scoffed, nudging him with your elbow—except the space was so tight, it ended up feeling more like a lingering touch.  

Hyugo let out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly so his lips were close to your ear. “Careful,” he murmured, voice dripping with amusement. “If you keep touching me like that, I might start thinking you like being pressed up against me.”  

Your breath caught for just a second, and that was all he needed to smirk.  

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, but the way your body tensed against his didn’t go unnoticed.  

Hyugo only grinned, voice a playful whisper. “And yet, here you are, trapped with me. So close.”

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way his voice sent a shiver down your spine. The space under the bed was suffocatingly small, but it wasn’t the lack of air that was making your heart pound—it was him.

Hyugo shifted again, deliberately this time, his body pressing just a little firmer against yours. His hand found your hip, fingers barely brushing over the fabric of your shirt. “You know,” he mused, voice slow and teasing, “I think I could get used to this.”  

You narrowed your eyes at him in the dim lighting. “Hyugo.”  

“Yes, sweetie?” He grinned, using that damn pet name that always made your stomach do flips.  

You exhaled sharply, trying to keep your composure. “Focus. We’re supposed to be scaring Sol, not—”  

“Not what?” he interrupted, leaning in slightly. “Not making things… interesting?” His voice dipped, low and smooth as if he was daring you to react.  

Your fingers twitched against the cold floor. “You’re unbelievable.”  

“And yet, you still let yourself get stuck here with me,” he murmured, thumb grazing over your hip before he pulled away just enough to let the tension settle in.  

You were about to retort when footsteps sounded from the hallway—Sol’s, unmistakable and approaching fast.  

Hyugo smirked, eyes gleaming in the dark. “Showtime.”  

The sound of the door opening made both of you freeze. Footsteps—heavy, familiar. Sol’s voice grumbled something under his breath as he stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him.

Hyugo inhaled sharply beside you. You could feel his excitement radiating off him.

Sol let out a long sigh before muttering, “Finally.” There was a shuffle, a soft thud as he tossed something onto his bed. More footsteps, pacing. You could barely make out his silhouette through the slats of the bed frame.

Hyugo gave you a silent count with his fingers. Three… two…

One.

Without hesitation, both of you reached out and grabbed his ankles.

Sol let out a noise that was not human.

It was somewhere between a grunt and a strangled shout, followed by a blur of motion as he leaped onto his bed like it was a lifeboat and the floor was shark-infested waters.

“The fuck—?!”

Hyugo was already wheezing beside you, gripping his stomach as he tried to contain his laughter. You were barely holding it together yourself.

Sol, meanwhile, was not amused.

His head poked over the side of the bed, eyes dark with fury. “Are you two out of your damn minds?!”

Hyugo finally lost it, bursting into a fit of laughter as he rolled out from under the bed. “That scream!” he gasped between laughs. “Oh my god, I think I ascended.”

You crawled out after him, grinning as you dusted yourself off. “Totally worth it.”

Sol narrowed his eyes. “You put him up to this, didn’t you?”

Hyugo draped an arm around your shoulder, still grinning. “Actually, it was my idea. But they were an excellent accomplice.”

Sol exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Both of you are insufferable.”

“Aw, don’t be mad, Sol,” Hyugo teased, poking him in the arm. “We only traumatized you a little.”

“You’re lucky I don’t throw both of you out that window,” Sol muttered, flopping back on his bed with an exhausted sigh.

Hyugo leaned in a little closer, his usual mischievous grin softening just a touch, as if the playful moment had shifted to something more genuine. With a sudden, almost teasing move, he placed a quick, unexpected kiss on your cheek. The touch was brief but warm, and as he pulled back, his eyes gleamed with satisfaction, clearly enjoying the chaos he had caused. “Mission: success,” he whispered, the tone laced with a quiet, victorious amusement.

You blinked, momentarily stunned by the surprise, your heart doing a little flip before a smirk tugged at your lips. “What was that for?” you asked, trying to mask the flutter in your chest with feigned indifference.

Hyugo simply shrugged, the playful spark never leaving his eyes. “For being an accomplice, of course,” he said, his voice light, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And despite the teasing, despite everything, you couldn't help but smile. 

God, you loved his silly ass.

[wintrbears]

All is Fair | JJK

Summary: The Dragons, led by your brother, occupy the East side of the city while the Wolves occupy the West. There is only one rule, and technically, you didn't mean to break it. Stay away from the Wolves.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, Namjoon x Seokjin (only by reference)

Genre: Biker Gang AU, Fuck Buddies to Lovers, Romeo and Juliet, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Smut, Fluff (if you close one eye and tilt your phone)

Word Count: 20.4k+

Warnings: minor character death, major character death (not jk or oc), murder, graphic suicidal ideation, dead bodies, depression, reference to drunk driving, orphans/orphaning, running away from home, stealing, beatings, punching, kicking, screaming, crying, nightmares, night terrors, stitches, punctured lungs, major physical injuries, facial scars, hospitals, piercings, tattoos, graduate school, libraries, studying, blood, guns/gunshot, knives, gang violence, motorcycles, gay men(?), rivalries, drinking, pet names (baby, pretty, bug (non-romantic)). SMUT: kissing, fingering, oral sex (both receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (she's on bc), cream pie, coming on skin, cum eating/feeding, choking, spanking, spitting, dick riding, missionary, doggy, big dick!jk bc I always strive for accuracy, masturbation (m), grief sex, semi-public sex, ok that's all folks lmk if I missed any.

Author’s Note: I actually cannot believe I didn't write for two years and then pumped out almost 40k words in a single week. My fiancé misses me, you guys. But anyway this fic... oh this fic. It's very heavy but my entire heart is buried in this so I really hope you take the time to read it. Every single character (member?) means so much to me and I hope you come to love it as much as I do. P.S. for plot reasons JK doesn't have any hand tattoos you'll see what I mean. OK pls lmk what you think it makes my heart so happy bye love you :)

When you inevitably fail your exam, no one will be to blame except your brother and his delinquent friends. The noise-canceling headphones he gifted you last Christmas are doing fuck all against the pounding bass of their music downstairs. They’re the expensive kind, too. You know because they still had the security tag on them Christmas morning. He broke it off with pliers before handing them back to you with a dimpled smile. 

Finally having enough, you stomp down the stairs to confront your irritability at the source. Not many of them are home tonight. Just Namjoon and his three closest underlings: Seokjin, Yoongi, and Hoseok. He’s the youngest among them and somehow still wound up the leader.

The Dragons, your brother’s notorious motorcycle gang, are far greater in number than the four downstairs. Ten bikers live here at the house with you, but when the gang rides in total there’s about twenty five men. There are some drifters, but no matter the number they are a force to be reckoned with on the road. 

“Hey,” you yell over the music. 

Namjoon gestures for Hoseok to turn it down and ushers you forward with a wave of his hand.

“What’s up, bug?” 

“Can you please keep it down? I’m trying to study,” you answer. 

“Oh, we’re sorry,” Seokjin responds. “You were so quiet we forgot you were up there. You’re usually down here annoying us.”

You roll your eyes. The four of them have been friends for the better part of a decade. They’re the only gang members allowed to tease you. If someone else tries it, Namjoon takes their head. 

Your brother is extremely protective of you without being controlling. You appreciate his ability to recognize your adulthood while still wanting to keep you from harm. You can attest without a shadow of a doubt that Namjoon will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. His determination to protect you is how you wound up with the Dragons in the first place.

“Why don’t you go over to your study buddy’s house?” Hoseok suggests. 

Right… your study buddy they still believe is a woman. The study buddy they assume helps you study instead of fucking you dumb. 

“We don’t study at her house. We study at the library.”

This is a partial lie. You “study” at the library, in his car, in the school janitorial closet, and anywhere else he can get his hands on you. Ironically, your grades have never been better. Call it a lack of stress.

“We’ll keep it down, bug,” Namjoon assures you. “Sorry.”

Once you communicate your appreciation, you travel upstairs again to continue studying. You hear the music turn back on, but this time at a much lower volume. 

Phone lighting up on your desk, you lean over to see a familiar name. Jungkook’s ears must’ve been ringing because there’s a photo of his finished study guide on your screen. You reply to his text complaining that you’re not even halfway done yet before turning your phone over so you can actually focus. 

You didn’t predict meeting someone like Jungkook this year, or ever, really. When this semester of your Master’s program began you weren’t looking for anything, especially not a fuck buddy. You only ask Jungkook to be your study buddy in the first place because he’s the smartest person in your class by a long shot. Coincidentally, you only spend the early months of the semester as study buddies before advancing to fuck buddies. Sometimes you still actually study together, but it’s few and far between. 

Despite Jungkook thoroughly wrecking your body every time he touches it, he’s probably the nicest guy you’ve ever met. No matter the hour he’ll answer questions about assignments or explain complex topics you can’t wrap your head around. He lends pencils to strangers and one time you swear you saw him saving a cat from a tree.

You still remember the first time you laid eyes on him. 

It’s brutally hot for the first day of class. The city is scorching with record-breaking temperatures even in September. The vents are located at the back of the large classroom so you find an empty desk in the back corner to occupy. 

You’re preparing for the first lecture by placing your essentials on the desk and plugging in the charger for your laptop. Distracting yourself with color-coordinating your highlighters, you miss most people entering the room. 

Someone upstairs is looking out for you, though, because when you glance at the entrance it’s at the exact moment an absolute Adonis is walking in. He has wavy black hair that just kisses his cheekbones but is longer in the back, huge starry brown eyes, a button nose, and pretty pink lips accompanied by a tiny mole just under the bottom one. He’s wearing a long-sleeve white shirt, baggy jeans, and big black combat boots. To make matters worse he’s sporting black half-rim glasses. 

You quickly realize your mistake in gawking at him because he makes eye contact with you, thus giving him permission to take the seat next to you. Precisely as the unspoken rules of classroom etiquette dictate.  

He greets you with an amicable bow before plopping in the chair that shares your desk space. Using your peripheral vision you watch him lay out his supplies and open his laptop. 

You’re wearing a crop top and are still too warm, so you’re downright shocked at his outfit choice. He doesn’t even roll his sleeves up.

“Are you hot?”

The words are leaving your mouth before you can stop them. 

Your companion looks at you, eyes wide, questioning whether you’re talking to him or not. When he realizes you are, he glances down at his attire. Then he chuckles.

“That’s a bit forward, don’t ya think?” 

If you could crawl into a hole and die, you would. 

“I didn’t mean it like —” 

He’s cutting you off with a wave of his hand as he laughs off the miscommunication. There’s an awkward silence before he continues the conversation. 

“To answer your question, yes I am,” he says. “Not like that, though.” He winks at you and it takes everything in you not to audibly moan. 

Despite him admitting to being warm he does nothing to remedy it. You’re not his mother nor his girlfriend so you don’t question him.

That’s the last time you speak that day, but over the course of a few weeks you partake in small talk and learn each other’s names. 

You initially ask him to study together the week prior to your first exam. He enthusiastically agrees and you settle on a time before exchanging numbers. The study sessions continue on a weekly basis even once you take the exam. 

The night your relationship shifts into uncharted territory is one you’ll never forget. 

Jungkook is sitting beside you as he copies notes from a PowerPoint lecture into his notebook. The sound of his pencil scribbling on the paper is familiar now. You're absentmindedly scrolling through last week’s readings to find your previous highlights. The professor surprised you today by announcing there would be a quiz on the article and now you need to re-familiarize yourself with it. 

Leaning back in the chair with a huff, you cross your arms over your chest. Jungkook peeks at you from behind his hair. He chuckles before setting his pencil down.

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t wanna do this anymore,” you pout. Jungkook coos at you sarcastically and you hit his arm with your shirt sleeve in protest. “Shut up, nerd.”

“What do you wanna do instead, huh?” 

You eye him from your position until you find an answer. Rather than verbally replying you lean forward and gently steal the glasses from his face. You slip them on and glance around the library to see if you can tell the difference. 

“Damn you are — oh.”

Any semblance of thought dies within you the second you look at him again. Like an actual comic book character, removing his glasses magically gives him a Clark Kent to Superman-esque makeover. He’s sitting taller with his shoulders back, his doe eyes are sharp and dark, and instead of his normal dorky smile he’s smirking at you. You actually look around again to see if he stood up and someone took his place.

To be frank, you aren’t entirely sure what happens next. One moment you’re at the table together and the next you’re in the Historical Fiction section and Jungkook is on his knees pushing your skirt up and pulling your panties down so he can make out with your cunt. 

The worst part is that amongst the chaos, you’re still wearing his fucking glasses. In fact they rest on your nose through the whole ordeal, all the way until you’re coming on his tongue with a cry of his name. He doesn’t take them back until he’s rising to face you and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Thus begins your first ever situationship, although that doesn’t seem entirely correct. You and Jungkook aren’t in that weird headspace where neither of you know what the other wants. You mutually agree it’s just sex until someone decides to either move on or move up to boyfriend and girlfriend status. 

The latter option is definitely tempting. Jungkook treats you well and fucks you even better. Which are pretty much the only two prerequisites you have for a relationship. But your current dependence on the Dragons prevents you from choosing that route. 

There’s a knock on your door which pulls you from your reverie. Namjoon’s face peaks around the corner.

“We’re heading out to deal with some Wolves. Be back soon,” he informs you. 

“Be safe,” you reply. 

He assures you that he will before shutting your door. Anxiety flickers awake in your stomach and travels through your nervous system. Of all the gang activity that surrounds you, this is the shit you hate the most. Stupid boys doing stupid boy things. 

The Dragons occupy all the territory East of the large river which slices your city in half. The territory on the West side of the river is owned by the Wolves. There are straggler factions and out-of-towners who sometimes come into the fold, but they’re nowhere near the size of the two gangs. Naturally, the Dragons and the Wolves despise one another and their history dates back long before Namjoon became the leader. He inherited the rivalry amongst many other responsibilities and now he perpetuates it without knowing why it exists in the first place.

You already know when you see Namjoon tomorrow he’ll have split knuckles and bruises on his skin. It makes you sick to your stomach. This life is far beneath what your brother deserves and what he’s capable of. You want so much more for him and for yourself as well. Getting your Master’s degree is the first step in liberating you both from all the violence and decay which surrounds you. Namjoon risked everything to save you as children, and you vow to return the favor one day, even if it kills you. 

Contrary to popular belief, you don’t fail your exam the next day. In fact, you leave the classroom with a spring in your step now that your stressor is behind you. 

Jungkook watches you ahead of him with a twinkle of admiration in his eyes as you skip towards the parking lot. 

“You know, we’ve been doing this for a while now and I’ve never even been to your place,” you say.

“My place…” Jungkook clicks his tongue. “I don’t think you’ll like it very much.”

“Why not?” You stop short and cause Jungkook to barrel into you. “Hold on, you don’t have a girlfriend, do you? Or wait, do you still live with your mom or something?”

“No, mom’s gone,” he answers. 

You turn around to face him when you hear his response. He’s saying it nonchalantly but his eyes are swimming with sadness and maybe even guilt. 

“Jungkook, I’m so sorry,” you reply. He shakes his head, waving your condolences away before reaching out to pick a fallen leaf from your hair. 

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago,” he adds. “And no, no girlfriend. Only you, pretty.”

“So then…” You rock back on your heels. “Can I see your place? I promise I’m not judgmental like that. I mean, there’s a reason you’ve never been to my place, either.”

Jungkook thinks it over for a moment as he drags you by the hand towards his car. 

“Not yet,” he finally answers. “Soon, hopefully.” 

You accept his response albeit a little disappointedly. It’s not even about you getting into his business like that, you’re just sick of the tight spaces the two of you are forced to hook up in. You’ve never even seen the guy fully naked before because you’re always pulling your clothes aside just enough to get the job done. 

He denies it but you know he’s got abs under there and you’re dying to finally get your mouth on them. 

Sure, you complain, but when he opens his car door for you to climb into his backseat you’re doing so without another word. 

You don’t fuck right away because the parking lot is still packed and you’re not trying to catch a charge. Namjoon would kill you before you even get the chance to stand before a judge. 

Instead, Jungkook shows you his newest Pokémon game on his Switch and hands it over to you so you can play. You giggle as your adorable water type does its victory dance after demolishing your opponent. Jungkook watches over your shoulder and directs you when to block and which attacks to use. Somehow, it all feels more intimate than when his cock is in your mouth. 

Which is precisely where you two end up about an hour later when the surrounding cars have all left. 

Jungkook’s backseat isn’t big enough for you to kneel on the floorboards so he’s lounging across the seats with you kneeling between his legs. You honestly prefer this position because the leather is far more forgiving to your knees than the carpet. His pants and boxers are around his thighs as you bob your head up and down his beautifully large and veiny cock. 

Your man is a head pusher through and through and so you welcome the familiar feeling of his fingers against your scalp as he guides you deeper until your nose is brushing his pelvis. He doesn’t force you down around him or fuck his hips into you. The grasp on your hair is moreso for control and because he loves to feel you while you pleasure him. 

You gag when his tip touches the back of your throat and you stay there for a moment, letting him feel you swallow around him before returning to his tip and swirling your tongue around it. Keeping your tongue out so it caresses the underside while you move up and down, you continue your movements at a steady pace.

Jungkook groans, his head hitting the window with a dull thud. 

“Oh, pretty, you have no idea the things you do to me,” he praises. He uses his grip on you to make you look at him. You moan around his cock when your eyes meet and he yanks on your hair in appreciation. “S’fucking good.”

This man loves a good blowjob and you love to please him. Every time you’re on your knees for him he praises and worships you and your sweet mouth for the euphoria they bring him. He tastes delicious on your tongue and if not for your human need to inhale, you would go all night. 

It only takes a couple more messy slides of your tongue down his shaft and your hand playing with his balls before he’s coming down your throat in thick, hot spurts of white. You swallow every last drop, continuing to move your mouth from his head to the base, before finally coming up for some much needed air. 

Sitting back on your heels, you place your hands in the space between your knees and bat your eyelashes at him. You know he likes it when you look all innocent despite the nasty things you do together. If things were different, if you were able to be with him in the confines of a bedroom and savor your time together, you’d put on a pretty white set with bows all over just to drive him crazy. 

Jungkook clocks your behavior with a tilt of his head, his tongue pushing against his cheek before he yanks you back and flips you over so your ass is facing him. His hand slowly traverses your back before stopping between your shoulder blades to push your face into the leather. You arch your back for him and wiggle your ass to really get him going. You can’t see him anymore but you hear the fond, deep chuckle. He pulls down your tights and panties in one go before flipping your skirt up so he can see you properly. 

He grabs your ass in his big hands and pulls your cheeks apart to spit on your hole. Your eyes roll back at the feeling of it dripping down your folds. Hips pushing back against his hands, Jungkook just laughs at your neediness before slapping your ass.

“Oh fuck,” you curse. 

He tsks at you disapprovingly. 

“You that cock drunk, pretty? I haven’t even touched you yet,” he says. 

“I know,” you say through gritted teeth.

He bends down to lay across your back and bites on your earlobe before soothing it with his tongue. 

“C’mon, baby. You know I always take care of you.”

He doesn’t allow you to reply before he’s thrusting his cock in and nudging his head against your cervix. Your hands clutch desperately at his seats, fingernails making indentations in the leather, as he rears back before doing it all over again. This man makes you fucking delirious and you wonder if you’ll ever get enough. Lord knows no other man will ever successfully replicate the pleasure he provides you.

Jungkook’s pace is relentless and steadfast and it isn’t long before the friction of his cock sinking in and out of your walls brings you to a climax. He’s an overachiever, though, and he doesn’t let up even as he feels your pussy pulsating around him as you come. He soldiers on, tilting your hips to make you arch even further and send his cock deeper inside you. You feel him in your stomach and it has you drooling where your face is crushed against the seat. 

You pathetically moan out a sound that closely resembles his name as he abuses your hole.

Your next orgasm hits you much faster, riding the wave of your first to bring stars to your eyes yet again. Your cunt squeezes Jungkook impossibly tight when you come and it causes him to shoot his load inside you and stuff you full of him. This man’s cock is too good to ever be obstructed by a plastic barrier. You’re on birth control and neither of you sleep with anyone but each other, so raw it is. 

When you exit the car to move to the front seat, the stars have appeared in the sky. Jungkook drives you home, or what he believes is your home, and bids you goodnight. Once his car is out of sight, you pivot and walk the familiar route to your actual house. 

It’s normal for you to arrive home this late, even before you met Jungkook. Namjoon never questions where you’ve been or you were with, which you appreciate. He understands you need independence and will contact him if you’re ever in trouble. He doesn’t need to study your every move when he only has one rule for you, anyway: stay away from the Wolves.

The next day you're lounging in the living room with your ankles crossed where they rest over the arm of a chair. You’re reading for a different class than the one you share with Jungkook, trying to get the assignment done now so you can enjoy your night. 

Your peace and quiet is disturbed when Namjoon walks in looking supremely pissed off. His jaw is clenched and since his hair is pushed back you can see the veins popping out in his forehead.

“Joonie?” You call for him as you sit up. “What’s going on?”

“Fucking Wolves,” he growls. He paces back and forth a couple times before stopping in front of you. “We’re meeting at the river tonight. You need to come.”

“Why?”

“Because word on the street is they’re going to use the meet-up as a distraction to raid the house,” he answers. “I need you with me so I know you’re safe.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to call off the meet-up?” You argue.

“No. I want them to come. So I can rip them to fucking shreds and send those assholes a message,” he explains. 

You have no reason or room to question him, so you head upstairs to change. Whenever you’re going to be in the presence of gang members, whether Dragons or Wolves, Namjoon prefers you dress a bit tougher than your normal girly outfits. He knows these men and the way they think, so anything, no matter how small, to show them you mean business is a good thing.

Throwing on cargo pants, combat boots, and a leather jacket over your t-shirt, you use the darker half of your eyeshadow palette and put your hair up. All for show. 

You’re exiting the house as the sun sinks behind the clouds. Namjoon hands you the extra helmet before swinging his leg over his bike. He watches you put it on and adjust the strap before he slaps your eye shield down with a laugh. You shove his arm before swinging your leg over and joining him on the motorcycle. 

The familiar thunderous sound of the Dragon’s motorcycles coming to life is deafening even through the helmet. It’s about fifteen bikes in total and the remaining gang members will guard the house and catch any Wolves trying to break in. 

Seokjin, Yoongi, and Hoseok are directly behind you and Namjoon. One by one they signal to your brother they’re ready to go. You adjust your placement by scooting closer to your brother’s warmth and wrapping your arms around his middle. Your fingers twist around the zipper of his open leather jacket to hold onto him. The engine roars to life and you feel the bike kick beneath you as it rears to go. 

“Good?” He asks.

“Ready as ever,” you confirm. 

Kicking up the stand with his heel, he signals with his hand before leading the bikers away from the house and onto the dark pavement of the road. The wind sweeps over your bodies in waves as Namjoon speeds down the backstreets leading into the city. 

You don’t ride much anymore, but whenever you do it’s always exhilarating. The heat of the bike beneath your legs, your brother’s comforting presence in front of you, and the air wiping around you as it nips at your clothes. Tipping to the right along with Namjoon as he takes a tight corner, you watch as the city grows closer. The monumental buildings and yellow lights along the river make it look beautiful and more peaceful than you know it is. 

When you reach the river, the Wolves are already there waiting. The rival gang members lounge on their parked motorcycles as they speak to one another. It can’t be all of them, since you know their numbers closely rival your own, and there aren't more than twelve here. It pisses you off when you realize they really are planning to raid the house tonight. If you find out a Wolf was in your room there will be hell to pay. 

Namjoon kills the engine and removes his helmet, shaking his dark hair from his eyes. You follow suit and step off the bike as he pushes the stand back down. Your brother shoots you a look you already know means “stay close to me.” 

The agreed upon location is just outside an abandoned warehouse where everything in sight is slowly deteriorating. The road has gigantic potholes and cracks and if you go close enough to the water some of the gravel has already caved in and is eroding. The two gangs congregate near the water’s edge where it laps against the shore and sprays water onto the road. 

When the dust settles, Namjoon stands ahead of his gang where he is toe-to-toe with the Wolves’ leader, Bangchan. You move quietly through the rows of Dragons until you’re off to the left, farthest from the water. The position hides you enough to avoid unwanted attention but is still close enough to Namjoon in case of an emergency. Seokjin, Yoongi, and Hoseok stand at the back and sides, respectively, creating an invisible wall of your brother’s closest allies. 

Your eyes maneuver over the crowd of Wolves one at a time. Without their leather biker jackets which bear the insignia of each group, it would be impossible to tell them apart. They’re just a bunch of boys pretending to be men. 

None of them particularly stand out to you except — 

Head whipping back for a double take, the movement is so quick your ponytail snaps harshly against your skin. Your eyes slowly open wide, your mouth dropping open just enough for a sharp intake of air. Because amongst the crowd of Wolves, off to the left next to a shorter blonde guy is…

There’s no way. 

He certainly looks like Jungkook. His hair is falling down in soft waves just like Jungkook’s does and his unmistakable doe eyes are front and center without his glasses on. But this guy has a lip piercing and eyebrow piercing. His ears are decorated with pretty silver hoops and a dangling chain. The doppelganger is wearing a navy blue cut off, which reveals to your eyes that his entire arm, from wrist to shoulder, is covered in tattoos. Dark, colorful, intricate tattoos that look like they took years to build into the sleeve it is now. This can’t be the reason Jungkook only ever wears long sleeves and weirdly refuses to ever roll them up… can it?

You squint to make sure you’re seeing him correctly in the dim light. Jungkook must have a twin he never told you about, right? 

But no, that isn’t the answer, because his eyes land on you and widen dramatically. His mouth drops open before it snaps shut and his jaw clenches. From across the concrete where you stand you can see how his entire body is taut with tension.

What. The. Fuck. 

The blonde guy next to him notices the change in the air, nudging him with his elbow. Jungkook shoots him a hard glance before returning his gaze to you.

Part of you wants to cry, and part of you wants to scream. All of you wants to run to him and demand an answer. This guy is a straight A graduate student. What the hell is he doing running around with a bunch of delinquent motorcycle gang members?

The sound of your brother’s voice steals your attention away.

“That’s not what we do here,” he says to Chan. You’re unsure what it’s in response to.

“Hmm,” the man opposite him muses. “No I guess not, but you bring your girl around? That’s a little dangerous, don’t you think?”

Namjoon’s jaw ticks and his teeth grind together at the mention of you, but he hides it well. You only notice the movement because you know what every tick and twitch of his means.  

“Not my girl,” he corrects.

“Oh that’s right, I heard you have a baby sister,” he replies. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” Your eyebrows lift when he calls out to you, but you know better. 

“Don’t speak to her,” Namjoon responds in your stead.

When you glance at Jungkook again he looks irrevocably angry, a deep frown messing with his pretty features. His fellow Wolf seems concerned at his mysterious attitude. 

Right now, you’re telepathically begging Jungkook to make eye contact again. To offer some explanation even with just his eyes. Sure, you don’t know much about each other’s lives outside of school but the feeling of betrayal slinks under your skin nonetheless. Mostly because of the fucking tattoo sleeve he’s been hiding from you.

His eyes do eventually meet yours, but his expression is cold. Is he upset at you for keeping this part of your life from him, too? 

The low grumble of taunts and heckles from both gangs indicates their playtime is over. When you look across the street, Jungkook is already climbing on his bike and putting on his helmet. You know without uncertainty now that it is in fact Jungkook, since a large purple “JK” emblem is painted onto his helmet.

Namjoon is quick to gesture you over to him. Your eyes meet Bangchan’s as you walk to the bike, and it disgusts you how he drinks you up and undresses you with his eyes when you pass by.

You scoff before getting back into position behind your brother and securing your helmet in place.

Jungkook is fucking reeling. He barely waits for the rest of his gang to peel away on their bikes before he’s taking off down the street. Jimin follows close behind him, the older biker probably still wondering what the fuck is going on. 

Rides are normally Jungkook’s way of clearing his head, but tonight all he can think and feel is his blood pumping with adrenaline. You are the last person he ever expected to be involved with a gang. It’s almost enough to make him laugh; all you wear are sexy little skirts and shirts with cartoon characters on them. You’re girly and adorable and should be spending your time at the mall, not in the underbelly of this messed up city. Although, if your involvement begins and ends with your brother, he imagines you don’t have much choice.

Jungkook makes it back to the house in record time, leaving everyone else in the dust. He is quick to cut the engine of his bike and toss his helmet aside so he can get inside. His hands run through his hair over and over as he trudges into the house, pulling at the ends as he grits his teeth.

The door slams shut behind him and he yells into the air with his head thrown back. Taehyung is rounding the corner from the kitchen when he hears it. He should be at the Dragon’s Lair right now ransacking the place, but Chan called it off when he found out the Dragons knew what they were planning. 

“Uh, you good?”

“No,” Jungkook sneers. “No, I’m not fucking good, Tae.”

Taehyung is about to probe him with more questions when Jimin flies through the door.

“What the fuck was that, kid?” Jimin sets his helmet down on the table and walks over.

“You guys remember the girl I was telling you about?” He asks. They both nod. “Yeah, well. She’s the leader of the Dragons fucking little sister.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Holy shit.”

“Jungkook, what the fuck are you doing sticking your dick in someone involved with the Dragons?” Taehyung accuses.

“I didn’t know, Tae! I didn’t know until I saw her at the meet-up tonight,” Jungkook explains. 

“And she saw you?” Jimin asks.

“Oh yeah,” Jungkook laughs incredulously. “She looked shocked as hell and like she was about to cry.”

Taehyung and Jimin share a look while Jungkook practically rips his hair out from how much he’s combing his fingers through it. 

“You know you… can’t see her anymore, right?” Jimin poses the question cautiously. “If Kim Namjoon ever found out you’ve laid a finger on her he will fucking end you.”

“I know,” Jungkook grunts out. “I fucking know, Jimin.” Jungkook paces the room a couple times. “Fuck!” He slaps his hands against his face before groaning into them. 

“I mean, I know the pussy was good but it will be fine, right? It’s not like you were dating her,” Taehyung adds. 

Jungkook just glares at him from between his fingers. He doesn’t think he can talk about this anymore without losing his goddamn mind. He tells them goodnight without any further explanation before trudging down the stairs. 

He slams his door and chucks his leather jacket on a chair once he’s in the confines of his bedroom. He wants to scream again, but he doesn’t, tries to take deep breaths instead. The air feels thick and his shirt is suddenly too tight. 

His head is pounding with a headache that just sounds like you, you, you. 

The same you who is always on his mind, day or night. The girl he never rushes when you study together because he likes to watch the gears turn in your pretty little head. The girl he admires from his periphery as you doodle in your notebook. You, who he wants to kiss more than anything but he doesn’t because he’s terrified of scaring you away. 

Jungkook falls to his bed and covers his face with his hands. He’s in pure, unadulterated agony. His knuckles press into his eyelids as he groans. Lately, he’s been picturing so much for you and him. He daydreams about holding your hand and taking you out on dates and making love to you in his bed. It feels like there’s so much potential now shot in the face and gone in an instant. 

He knows he can’t continue on with you. It would be dangerous and reckless. Yet he wants to, he wants to so badly he can feel the need in his bones. 

He punches his pillow once, twice, and then sits up. He shakes his head as if that could dispel his thoughts of you. No, nothing will ever bring him to forget your brilliant smile, your sparkling eyes, your soft skin. Or the way you moan, whimper, and cry when he’s making you come and fucking you nice and deep. Jungkook doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to fuck someone who isn’t you again. No, you’ve completely and utterly ruined his body and mind. 

“God fucking dammit, Y/N,” he groans into his hands. 

He rips his shirt off over his head before falling back again. His chest is hot with anxiety and his nerves crackle with fear of the unknown. His heartbeat is thumping like a beast in a cage. 

Jungkook decides to let his frustration out in the best way he knows how. He kicks his pants off and pulls his boxers down, spitting into his hand to lube himself. A sigh of relief breaks from his chest as soon as he feels his hand around his cock. 

He’s not hard yet, not even close. But it’s stupidly easy how fast he gets his blood rushing down to his cock by merely thinking of you. The memory of your voice alone is enough to make him throb. 

You looked so gorgeous tonight he thought he was going to totally lose it when he first saw you. The smokey makeup and ponytail were a first for him. He loves the way you look normally, but your sultry eyes and grungy outfit made him want to do nasty fucking things to you. If he could've, he would've bent you over his bike and took you right there in front of everyone. Your goddamn brother included. 

His hand falls into a familiar rhythm as he strokes himself. He grunts when his thumb presses down on his head and swipes his precum across it. The rough skin of his hand is nothing compared to your mouth or pussy, but it’s enough to satiate him for now.

“Oh, pretty,” he moans into the air. 

His mind conjures images of you for his pleasure. Just yesterday when you were on your knees for him and the other week when he fucked you against the rattling bookshelves of the library. Finally, the first time he ate you out and you cried his name into your hand to keep yourself quiet. You were wearing his glasses that night and he remembers thinking even then that you’d be the end of him.

“My baby.”

Jungkook is coming all over himself before he knows it. He grunts and pants as he fucks himself through his orgasm. Your name leaves his lips in a desperate huff as he finally lets go of his cock and wipes his hand on a nearby towel. 

There’s two days before he’ll see you again in class. Jungkook has two days to decide whether or not he’s willing to go up against Dragon fire for you.

Your leg bounces anxiously beneath the desk as you wait for Jungkook to enter the classroom. It’s been two days since you found out he’s a Wolf and your mind has done nothing but spiral. You’re unsure how to feel or even what you have the right to feel. 

Is it technically a betrayal when neither of you knew about one another? It’s not like you asked him if he happens to be affiliated with any gangs. You should’ve. You freaking should’ve because now it’s biting you in the ass.

When he does finally enter, he looks like the normal Jungkook again. No piercings. Tattoos covered. Sexy nerd glasses on. It pisses you off more than it should. 

He doesn’t say anything to you as he takes his seat and you don’t dare to steal a glance at him. The two of you move in tension-thick silence before the professor starts the class. 

It’s a grueling hour and a half as you refrain from looking over or touching him. Normally, he forces his leg up against yours until you finally give in and play footsie with him. If not that, you gently graze his arm up and down, absentmindedly, as the professor drones on about whatever topic he’s covering that day. 

Class ends as your professor erases the chalkboard behind him. You stand abruptly and speed walk out of the room. If he doesn’t want to talk to you, then you won’t talk to him. It’s simple, and you pretend your heart isn’t shattering in your chest. 

The call of your name stops you in your tracks. When you look back, Jungkook is jogging after you. When he reaches you, he stands at an awkwardly long distance away. Your eyebrows lift and you gesture with your hand for him to get on with it.

“Can we talk?”

You don’t reply, just turn on your heel and walk in the opposite direction. That is, the direction of the parking lot. He follows behind but leaves an obnoxious amount of space. It’s infuriating how his obvious respect for your boundaries gives you butterflies. He unlocks his car with a click and you aggressively plop down in the front seat. Making a show of crossing your arms over your chest and flipping your hair from your eyes.

Jungkook slides into the driver’s side with ease and turns on the heat before turning towards you. You look at him expectantly but he gestures for you to start.

“You’re in a gang,” you state matter-of-factly. “You have tattoos, an entire sleeve, I might add. You have piercings. You’re a fucking Wolf.”

Jungkook nods, licking his lip before he responds. 

“That’s all true, yeah,” he says. 

“What the fuck, Jungkook?” You finally face him. “You’re a graduate student with your entire life ahead of you. What are you doing running around with those losers?” You groan in frustration. “I mean, you’re like a delinquent Hannah Montana or some shit.”

Jungkook smiles at that. He does a once over of your face before inhaling. 

“When my parents died I didn’t have anywhere to go. I was already 18. I grew up with Jimin and he offered me a place to stay at the Wolf’s Den. Rest is history,” he explains. You watch his eyes as he tells his story. “I didn’t plan on going to college. I barely passed high school, anyway. But my parents left me money and put instructions in their will that it was to go to my schooling. I couldn’t let it go to waste. Couldn’t let them down.”

Your hand is grabbing his before you register yourself doing it. Rolling up his shirtsleeve to his elbow, you finally reveal his tattoos before your own eyes. Your fingers trace the intricate details of the artwork. He grabs your wrist in return and you feel his hand shaking. 

“How did they die?” 

“Drunk driver,” he answers. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. You pull his shirt back down and lace your fingers with his. “But I’m sure they’re very proud of you.” 

“I’m not so sure about that,” he admits.

You take his face in your hand and force him to look at you.

“Jungkook, you're the top of our class. You can be anything you want to be or do anything you want to do.” you say. “If that’s not something to be proud of, I’m not sure what is.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not leading anywhere after this,” he replies. 

“Why not? Do you seriously want to be involved in this stuff forever? The violence and the rivalries and all the bullshit,” you ask as your voice raises. 

“I’ve never known a life other than this, Y/N! The Wolves are my family. I don’t have anyone else,” he matches your volume. 

You pull away from him with a huff. You’re not sure why you’re so determined to convince him to do something more with his life. But if you have to guess, you imagine it’s because you’re trying and failing to do so yourself. 

“You have me,” you admit quietly into the air between you. It’s a weighted confession. A piece of your true feelings on display for him to see.

Jungkook’s hand cradles your jaw and he looks at you so adoringly that you want to shy away. His thumb is brushing back and forth across your cheekbone. It’s the most gentle affection he’s ever shown you. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I have you.”

He’s kissing you before you even register it. You moan happily against his lips as they move delicately across your own. Jungkook usually handles you like wants to break you, but the way he kisses is the exact opposite. His mouth and his warmth are mending things he wasn’t the one to break. Your hands snake around his neck to pull him closer and he moans when your fingers thread through his hair. 

It’s only your first kiss even after all the time you’ve spent together. It’s magical and romantic and you never want it to end. 

Jungkook grabs you by the waist to pull you into his lap. Your back hits the steering wheel and the horn honks. You giggle into each other’s mouths but never once stop kissing. You’re both smiling and it causes your teeth to clash, but not even that stops you. 

Jungkook deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing your bottom lip before slipping it into your mouth. It tangles with your own as he pulls on the hair trapped between his fingers. 

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he admits against your lips. “Your brother… he’ll kill me.”

“Then why are you?” You murmur before trailing kisses across his sharp jaw. 

“Because I want you too bad to stay away,” he answers. “I want you all the time, baby.”

Your lips meet his again and the kiss grows desperate. Shifting in his lap to move closer, you run your hands up and down the planes of his chest. 

“You have me, Jungkook. I’m yours,” you reveal. 

He pulls back with a shake of his head.

“Not just like this. Not just sex. I want movie dates and sleepless nights. I want to hold your hand and take you out to dinner. I want all of you, Y/N.” He pushes your hair from your face. His eyes are brimming with adoration and melancholy. “But I don’t know how to do that when you are who you are.” 

Your hands grip his shirt as your head falls against his chest. You release a shaky exhale as your mind shuffles through the millions of emotions in your head. It settles on sorrow. Jungkook holds you close to him, cradling you in his arms.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you confess. “I care about you so much.”

You feel Jungkook pressing a kiss to your hair and it makes you squeeze your eyes shut in pain. He’s everything you could ever want and yet nothing you can ever have. 

“I care about you, too, pretty,” he whispers. “So, so much.”

“If this is the last time…” your voice trails off, but Jungkook understands.

He maneuvers you over him and works to move both your clothes out of the way. All while kissing you again and again anywhere he can reach. Your lips, cheeks, nose, jaw, chin. He’s trying to savor this and commit it to memory before it’s gone forever. Before you’re gone. 

His fingers move along your slit, gathering your wetness before bringing it up to your clit. You moan into his mouth and buck your hips against his hand. He expertly massages your pussy in a way only he knows how until you’re wet enough to take him. 

Jungkook stops kissing you momentarily so he can see what he’s doing when he lines himself up. His cock enters you slowly, but you can feel every ridge and curve of him as you sink down deeper into his lap. He kisses your neck as you begin to bounce on him. Your nails bite into his skin as you use his shoulders for leverage.

It doesn’t take long for you both to come, Jungkook’s seed warming you from the inside and bringing forth your own orgasm. The entire time you never once stop kissing, because you’re making up for lost time and saying goodbye all at once. 

Except the goodbye never comes. There’s an attempt, and you go one time seeing each other without hooking up, but that’s the only time. The next time you’re in class together, almost the very second it ends, Jungkook is pushing you into an empty classroom. He kisses you until you can’t see straight, then eats you out and fucks you on the professor’s desk. After that, you both realize you’re too weak for each other to ever stay away. 

Things go on like that for a while, a few months at most. You don’t talk about the massive elephant in the room when you’re together. Just touch and kiss each other to your heart's content like it isn’t the most dangerous game you’ll ever play. 

The realization that Namjoon is aware of your entanglements comes after he suggests a ride together down to the bay, a familiar place you used to go as teenagers. You don’t question it because it’s been a while since you’ve spent some real time together and your brother is a bigger softie than anyone is allowed to know. 

You ride along the shoreline together before he stops the bike in the middle of some abandoned buildings a few yards from the bay. Ships are docking for the night and some children play around the rocky shore with their parents close by. 

“Aren’t we going over there?” You ask, pointing to the usual spot.

Namjoon shakes his head.

“Gotta show you something first,” he tells you. 

Taking your hand, he leads you towards one of the buildings. You watch him quizzically as he pries open one of the rusted doors and holds it open for you. He stands back to allow you to take in the scene.

You don’t realize it’s him at first because his head is down. All you notice is two Dragon lackeys holding someone taut between them as they wait for instruction at the center of the room. But then he pushes against their restraints, grunting and tugging on their arms as hard as he can and you gasp in horror.

You’re running to him before you can think twice. Your hands instinctively reach out for his face, lifting it so you can see him properly. He already has a swollen black eye and a busted lip.

Your pupils shake as tears form in your eyes. 

“Let him go,” you command.

Namjoon walks in slowly and takes his time examining the scene before him. Maybe this is a test to see if the rumor he heard was true. Clearly, you failed.

“Can’t do that, bug,” Namjoon says from behind you. “Wolves who touch what doesn’t belong to them pay the price.”

“It’s not like that, Joonie,” you snap. You push some of Jungkook’s hair away from his face. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing giving him air to breathe. You shake your head, hoping he can read your mind that is screaming I’m sorry. 

“What’s it like then?” Namjoon crosses his arms across his chest. 

“He’s in my graduate class. I didn’t even know he was a Wolf at first,” you say. 

Namjoon steps forward so he’s next to you and tugs on your arms so you let go of Jungkook. You take a tentative step away, not recognizing the look in your brother’s eyes. 

“Hmm, and when you found out… what did you do?” 

“I…”

“When you found out the man you’d been sleeping with was a goddamn fucking Wolf, what did you do, Y/N?” He shouts. 

He’s never spoken to you like this. Has never even raised his voice at you. You don’t have an answer for him. You can’t look him in the eye and admit you willingly betrayed him. 

Namjoon sneers at your silence. He motions for the men to drop Jungkook and he falls to his knees with a grunt. Your body involuntarily steps towards him until Namjoon shoots you a murderous glare. 

Jungkook looks up at the leader of the Dragons from where he kneels before him. You can’t see his expression, but you can tell from his body language he’s resigned to his fate. 

Your brother throws a punch to Jungkook’s face and it connects with a crack. You can’t stop yourself from looking away and snapping your eyes shut. Jungkook spits out blood before Namjoon is forcing him by the jaw to look up at him again.

“You really thought you could get away with it, didn’t you?” Namjoon punches him in the same spot again and you bury your face in your hands. 

Your brother is relentless in his assault. He just punches and punches until his knuckles split and Jungkook’s face is covered in blood and open wounds. You don’t look up. Your head is too heavy with the guilt to even attempt it. 

You’re sobbing into your hands as you listen to the bone-crushing noise. It repeats and repeats like Satan’s broken record. You’re completely helpless to do anything but stand by in terror. 

Namjoon lets go of where he’s holding him by his shirt and Jungkook immediately falls over, catching himself with his hands as he pants and tries to inhale through his busted nose and mouth. 

Instantly, you’re on your knees in front of him, cradling his head to your chest as you try to wipe the blood with your shirt. 

Jungkook groans into you, his hands weakly coming around your waist to hold onto you. You’re crying so hard you can barely see straight, but you force yourself to do anything you can to help him. 

“Y/N,” Jungkook moans against your shirt and you bend your head to kiss his hair. “S’okay.” His words only bring forth more tears.

“No, it’s not,” you sob. 

Namjoon pulls you away from him by your arm before nodding at the two men. The Dragons begin to kick and punch Jungkook in his ribs, chest, and stomach. It only takes a few hits before Jungkook’s weight gives out and he crashes to the floor. They continue relentlessly.

“No! No, please!” You turn towards your brother while still on your knees. The sound of Jungkook being beaten is piercing your eardrums and throwing off your equilibrium. “Please, Joonie, make them stop.” You grab onto your brother’s legs and sob against him. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just stop hurting him.”

Namjoon forces your head up. He looks so disgusted at your pathetic display of affection for someone he’s raised you to hate. 

“Why should I?” His voice is pure venom.

“Because… because I love him, Namjoon,” you admit for the first time out loud.

Your brother’s eyes turn razor sharp. He gazes towards where his men are still having their fill with Jungkook’s battered body.

“Stop,” he orders them. The room goes eerily quiet. Your heart only continues beating because you can hear Jungkook wheezing out breath. He’s still alive. That’s all that matters. “I’ll stop if you swear to me you’ll never see or speak to him ever again.”

“I swear, Namjoon,” you reply without missing a beat. 

“If you disobey me,” he threatens. “I won’t have a choice, do you understand?” You nod. “Say you understand, Y/N.”

“I understand,” you shout back. 

He steps away from you and you collapse onto your hands. Grabbing you by the shoulder he yanks you up and orders his men to leave first. You don’t look back as he drags you from the warehouse and shuts the door behind him.

When you return home, you run upstairs to the safety of your bedroom. Cradling your phone in your shaky hands, you find the number Jungkook input for emergencies only. Namjoon deleted Jungkook’s contact from your phone as soon as you left the warehouse, but he doesn't know you have a different Wolf’s number, too.

The phone rings three times before someone answers. 

“Hello?” You’ve never heard the voice on the other end before.

“Is this Jimin?”

“Who’s asking?” He sounds rightfully suspicious.

“Listen, I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from right now, but you have to go to the warehouse district by the bay. Jungkook he’s… he’s hurt really bad, okay? He needs your help,” you explain through fresh tears. “Please, you have to help him.”

“Is this who I think it is?”

“Please, Jimin. He’s in the building with the blue door and green-tinted windows,” you tell him. “Hurry.”

You cut the line before he can ask you anything further. The only thing you can do is fall into your bed and wail as you pray his friends make it in time. 

Jungkook can’t move from his spot on the cold concrete floor. He tries; tries using his hands to pull himself up but he just falls back with a thump. His breath is coming out of him in thin wheezes and every time he inhales he feels a sharp tug as his lungs. He knows he’ll die here if someone doesn’t find him, which is highly unlikely. 

Despite his injuries causing every nerve ending in his body to sizzle and burn, all he can think about is you. Your sobs and pleas and how quiet your voice was when you admitted you love him. It’s pathetic how undeniably happy he was in that moment even as his lungs were caving in and his ribs were splintering. 

You love him enough to let him go. Jungkook doesn’t know if he himself is that strong. If in your place he would be able to swear the same way you did. He hopes so, that somehow a piece of your virtue has rubbed off on him through your time together. 

He hears the door creak open and his first thought is that Namjoon sent his goons back to finish the job. But then he’s being lifted from the floor and familiar voices filter in through his waning consciousness. 

“Fuck, kid,” Taehyung curses as he rolls Jungkook over to examine his injuries. “What did you get yourself into?”

Jungkook grasps at his side as the pain splinters across his back and chest. The pain is scalding and it radiates across his entire body in waves that threaten to pull him under. 

“Is he breathing?” Jimin’s voice rings out. 

“Yeah. His eyes aren’t open, though. Don’t know if he even can with how bad his face is,” Taehyung explains to his companion. 

Jimin curses when he sees his younger friend’s condition. He has to look away for a moment, unable to tolerate seeing his little brother like this. 

“I’ll fucking kill those bastards,” he grits his teeth, sneering.

“No, you won’t,” Taehyung sighs. “This is penance. Jungkook is lucky he’s alive right now.”

The two men end their conversation to help Jungkook up from the floor. It isn’t easy. There’s blood everywhere and Jungkook screams in agony as they jostle his broken body around to carry him. He’s heavier than both of them combined and if it weren’t for Taehyung’s recent time spent at the gym, it would be physically impossible. 

Taehyung ends up carrying him back to back, with Jungkook lying as flat as possible while Taehyung takes slow, heavy steps towards the door. Jimin carries his feet gently behind them since their similar heights leave the bottom half of Jungkook’s legs dragging on the floor. 

Somehow, they make it out and get him into the backseat of the car where they’ve laid towels and sheets down to soak up the blood. Jungkook groans endlessly as the car flies through the city streets towards the hospital. 

His friends know he has an emergency fund set up by his parents they can use to pay for his admission. If he didn’t, his fate would be up to whatever member of their gang has the most medical experience. 

Jungkook spends the next two weeks in the hospital. By the time he’s discharged he still can’t open his left eye, has more than 100 stitches, and is wrapped up like a mummy to help his bones and muscles heal. His ribs punctured his lungs so he’s on medication to insure he can breathe properly. He’ll be sequestered to his bed per doctor’s orders for at least two months. Luckily, the semester just ended, so he won’t miss any classes while he’s recovering. 

His gang members take care of him and help him in any way they can, but they can only assist with his physical injuries. There’s nothing anyone can do about his broken heart. 

He lies in bed day and night, just staring at his ceiling as he daydreams about you being here to care for him. Your warm hands brushing his hair out of his face and your lips pressing a peck to his cheek. Jungkook swears he can hear you giggling as you tell him he “still looks handsome, even like this.” 

Jungkook knows in his bones that you were a mistake. He should’ve cut things off when he had the chance after he found out who you are. And yet, he can’t bring himself to think of you as such. It’s impossible for him to regret even a single moment of the time he spent with you. 

Every minute he’s awake he wonders what you’re doing and if you’re alright. Are you enjoying your time off from school? What activities and hobbies do you enjoy when you’re alone? Are you missing him the way he’s missing you?

It’s ironic, but he also hopes you aren’t still angry with your brother. Being a leader means doing what you have to do and Jungkook hopes you can forgive him. He knows how much Namjoon means to you and he can’t live with himself knowing he’s the thing that’s driving a wedge between you.

When he’s asleep, he dreams of you, and there are varying types of them. There are beautiful, soft, soothing dreams where he just gets to hold you and listen to your voice talk about nothing at all. Ones where he gets to confess that he loves you, too, and that he wants to be with you more than anything in the world. Then there’s the sexy, unbridled, wet dreams that have him gasping and sweating when he wakes up. He dreams of you on top of him as you whisper how much you need him into his ear. There’s another where he’s pounding you into his mattress as he kisses your neck, shoulders, and tits. He doesn’t even know what your actual breasts look like; he never got the chance to see you like that. One night his mind combines both the hard and soft and he dreams up an entire day spent with you. Where he takes you out for dinner and a movie, then brings you back to his place to worship your body, falls asleep with you on his chest, and then wakes up to do it all over again. Jungkook wonders if he should just sleep all the time so he can be with you.

His reality without you is bleak, grave, and dark. There’s no light in his world anymore and he doesn’t know how long he can go without seeing you or hearing your voice. 

Jungkook makes a full recovery before the next semester starts. Luckily, he doesn’t have too many scars on his face anymore from the incident. When he looks in the mirror, it finally looks like him staring back again.

On the first day of classes Jungkook prays you’re in the same one again, but he doesn’t see you anywhere. His eyes constantly scan the hallways and classrooms for any sign of you, but to no avail. It’s killing him not knowing where you are. 

He spends his days anxiously bouncing his knee below the desk as he attempts to listen to his professors. Sometimes, he’ll see a glimmer of someone who could be you, only to find out it’s not, and fall back into his usual disappointment. 

By the time he does see you again, six months have passed. He wishes the reunion had been happy, or that it was even a reunion at all. Instead it’s just him, standing at the entrance of the building as he watches you race in the opposite direction before hopping into a car with a Dragon. 

When he gets home he enters with his head down. After getting his first glimpse of you in six months, he isn’t ready to converse with anyone from his gang. 

But he doesn’t get the chance to head downstairs right away. 

His gang is congregated in the living room. There’s an intense tension in the air Jungkook doesn’t know how to name. He steps into the room and it feels like the air gets sucked out of it. As if everyone is suddenly statues in a graveyard. Jimin and Taehyung eye him carefully as he walks forwards towards their leader.

Bangchan is conversing intensely with some of his right hand men, but he turns towards Jungkook when he notices him approaching. Chan clears his throat and grabs the younger man’s shoulder, then he speaks a truth that has Jungkook’s heart sinking in his chest. 

“Kim Namjoon is dead.”

You’re a zombie among the living and you have been for some time now. Ever since Jungkook was forcefully ripped from your life, you’re a shell of the woman you once were. The time off from school moves like honey dripping from a spoon as you spend every waking moment wondering how he’s doing. You don’t even know if he’s alive or not. 

There’s a tsunami of relief that moves through you when you find out he’s alive and fully recovered. You only know because you hear some girls in the library talking about him once classes start back up. The jealousy from their whispers about him doesn’t have anywhere within you to take root. The soil of your heart is salted and rotting. 

Every single day you fight the urge to go to him, but you refuse to risk his life again. The pain of missing him is incomprehensible. You feel it in your heart and lungs as they work overtime to soothe the ache of being apart. But none of it even comes close to the nightmares and memories of hearing his bones break and his breathing wane. Night terrors overtake you for months following the incident. Images of him bleeding and broken in a heap on the floor while you stand helpless to stop it. 

You haven’t spoken a single word to Namjoon since that night. He tries, but you shut yourself in your room or leave the house entirely. You haven’t heard your brother’s deep and melodious voice in six months now. You’re uncertain if you have the strength within you to forgive him. Maybe one day, once the Dragons and the Wolves are just a distant nightmare you never have to experience again. 

The day starts like any other. Yoongi drops you off at the university and you thank him before heading to class. The topics and lectures are boring, per usual, as you doodle in your notebook alongside the actual notes you take. You’re out of focus these days but you manage to keep your grades up. It’s hard without your study buddy. 

The call comes a little before your last lecture is supposed to start. It’s Seokjin, and you know something is wrong as soon as you answer. 

“You need to come home. Something’s happened,” he says. 

“Seokjin, I don’t —”

“It’s Joonie,” his voice breaks.

Your heart sinks into an abyss so deep you’re certain it will never rise again. 

You’re running before the call even drops. The last thing Seokjin tells you is that Yoongi is waiting for you at the entrance. Propelling your feet forward even though you want to collapse, you bolt out of the building and make it to Yoongi’s car in an instant. 

Yoongi is speeding off before the door has had time to shut. He doesn’t say anything. Just stares straight ahead with tears rolling down his face like rain. 

When you reach the house, the silence seems to stretch infinitely. There are no birds chirping or trees billowing in the wind. It’s absolutely stone cold silent. You wonder if the apocalypse came while you were in the car. The door to the house creaks open and the sound of people breathing and the AC blasting is somehow deafening in comparison. 

Your feet move on their own because your mind is too busy hiding from what it knows is about to come. 

Namjoon is lying on the couch with one arm falling limp over the edge of the cushion. He looks like he’s taking one of his infamous naps. The ones that always happen after he’s been reading for too long. The only thing missing from the scene is an open book lying across his chest. You stop a few feet away and stare at his chest, the one you spent your entire childhood lying on and slapping whenever he made you angry. You will it to move with your mind, imagine it rising and falling and attempt a manifestation of the sight into reality. After counting to ten without seeing it rise, you collapse. 

A scream rips out of your throat as you bring your forehead to the hardwood floor beneath you. Your entire body is shaking so violently that the zippers on your clothes rattle. Someone who smells like Hoseok comes behind you, holding you up against him as you sob hard enough to make yourself sick.

“No,” you wail helplessly into his shoulder. 

Hoseok releases you when you begin to push against his hold. You crawl towards your brother on your hands and knees. When you reach him you caress his face and push his hair out of his eyes. He hates it when it gets in his eyes. 

“Joonie,” you whisper to only him. “Joonie, you gotta wake up.” You gasp for air. “I need my big brother. Please, please, for me, you have to wake up.”

He doesn’t respond. You already know he can’t. It doesn’t matter. You’ll speak nonsense to him until his body begins to decay. 

Throwing yourself on top of him, you cry into his bloodstained clothes. He’s still warm even though he’s hard to the touch. You aren’t sure if there’s a scientific explanation or if your brother’s soul is just so warm that it left behind a signature. 

No one moves. Every member of the Dragons just watches in agony as you mourn your brother. Their beloved leader. 

You want to die. You want to take one of the switchblades amongst the men in the room and slit your throat. Let your blood congeal with your brother’s and have them bury you together. 

Namjoon probably wants to force his way out the afterlife, barreling through anyone in his path, even God himself, just to yell at you for even thinking about it. He raised you to be strong, but you don’t know what strength is without him. 

His three best friends help you up once your cries subside into dry whimpers. They help you walk, one with his arm around your waist, the other two with their arms around your shoulders and arm, up the stairs to your room. 

As gently as three gang members can, they lay you in your bed. Yoongi takes your shoes off for you and Hoseok pulls the blankets over you. 

You grab Seokjin’s hand before they have a chance to leave.

“Please don’t… don’t move him yet,” you croak through your sore vocal chords. “I need to be there. It should be up to me how we… how we bury him.”

Seokjin assures you they won’t as tears fall from his eyes. The two of you share a meaningful glance. A secret only the three of you shared and will be buried along with your brother.

Your tears put you to sleep. It’s completely dreamless. Just black, empty darkness that feels infinite. You wonder if this endless void is your new reality. 

The sound of knocking is what wakes you up. You’re still in delirium as you sit up and attempt to find the source of the sound. When you do, you gasp, pulling the covers away and springing from the bed.

You push your window up, reaching your hand out for the guest hanging onto your ledge with his fingertips. 

Jungkook steps into your room one leg at a time, ducking down so he fits through the opening. When he stands to his full height, you think you’re still dreaming. It isn’t until he speaks that you realize you aren’t.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I had to see you, I couldn’t —”

Your mouth clips his sentence in half. Hands tugging at his shirt, you pull him into you as you kiss him. He’s still as a statue at first, confusion evident in the way his brow creases. But then you feel his hands on your waist and he pulls you closer, matching the rhythm of your mouth against his. 

Your foreheads touch as you exhale into the air between you. Eyes still closed, you let the feeling of him and his warmth take you under and into his current. 

“I missed you,” you say. Jungkook’s hands squeeze your hips. “I missed you so much, Jungkook.” 

Your head drops to his shoulder as you cry. He pulls you into him and holds you there with his hand against your head. He combs his fingers through your hair and kisses down the side of your face. Anything he can think to do to bring you some sort of comfort. 

“I’m here, pretty,” he tells you. “Not going anywhere.”

He guides you over to your bed as your breathing levels out again. You sit next to one another and Jungkook caresses your hand. Every once in a while bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles one by one. 

With your free hand you grab his chin, turning his face back and forth before you breathe out a laugh.

“You’re still so handsome,” you say after analyzing his features. The scars embedded in his honey skin are faint. “I almost forgot how handsome you are.” 

Jungkook shakes his head.

“I knew you’d say something like that,” he responds. He pulls you closer so your knees touch. The silent moments between you are comfortable. You don’t need to speak, just be near. After a while Jungkook licks his lips and says, “I’m so, so sorry about your brother, Y/N.”

Your hand grips his fingers harder as reality slowly creeps back in. 

“I…” you have to inhale before you can continue. “The last time I ever spoke to him was that night.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen and then soften into something that looks like guilt. As if him being brutally beaten was his own doing. 

“Baby,” Jungkook calls to you. 

You shake your head. There is no going back now and you aren’t sure you would if given the chance. Maybe just to tell Namjoon you love him one more time, but nothing further. His death doesn’t take away from him hurting you. 

“I didn’t know if you were dead or alive until classes started again,” you tell him. “I had nightmares every night about what they did to you. The way your bones sounded when they —”

“Hey, don’t do that. I’m right here. I’m fine,” Jungkook reassures you. 

“You weren’t fine, though,” you snap. “I wasn’t fine. He took you from me, Jungkook.” You wipe the tears from your cheeks. “I told him my feelings for you and he still made me stay away.”

Jungkook doesn’t have a response because he knows everything you’re feeling isn’t black and white. The grief is mixing with the anger and the sadness into a devastating combination of emotions. So he holds you instead, pulls you across his lap so your thighs are resting on either side of him. Brushes his fingers up your back in a soothing pattern while you rest your head on his shoulder. 

After a while of comforting silence, your lips find the mole on his neck. It’s just a tentative kiss at first, but then you’re kissing him harder and sucking on the sensitive skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. His hands caress your hips tentatively, fingers reaching up and brushing against the skin beneath your top. 

“Pretty,” Jungkook sighs. “We don’t have to —”

“I need you, Jungkook,” you say as you face him. You don’t mean it sexually, even though sex is exactly what you’re asking for. The need to feel him close is just so great, that his touch is the only thing that can quell it. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, heard him, or touched him, and you’re desperate to feel his heartbeat beneath your fingers just so you know he’s here and he’s alive. “Please, baby.”

Jungkook nods and kisses you slowly, tasting you on his tongue as your hips begin to grind against him. His hands guide you across his lap in slow circles. You feel him growing hard, causing you to moan into his mouth. He deepens the kiss with his tongue, cradling your neck to keep your head still as he chases your lips. 

Your hands find his shoulders and use the leverage to grind down harder against the evident bulge in his pants. You groan at the feeling of it rubbing against your clit through your clothes. Jungkook growls deep in his throat when you pick up the pace. His lips are all over you. He kisses down your face and across your jaw. Sucks on your neck and drags his tongue along your hot skin before biting into your jugular. Your gasp slowly morphs into a moan. 

Jungkook moves away for a split second so he can tug your top over your head. His eyes drop down to your covered chest to see what he’s been dying to all this time. He cups your breasts in his hands, massaging and pushing them together before bending down to kiss the tops of them. 

You reach back to unclip your bra and Jungkook moans as it falls away. He’s never gotten to see you like this before; feel your soft skin under his hands like this. Now unimpeached, Jungkook takes one of your nipples in his mouth while twisting the other between his fingers. You throw your head back as you pant in ecstasy. 

“Jungkook,” you whine as he gives your other breast the same attention. “Feels so good.”

When he’s done, he kisses his way back up to your lips. Your hand tangles into his long hair and your nails scratch at his scalp. Your free hand tugs at the hem of his top. Jungkook chuckles at your silent signal before removing his shirt with one hand. 

Seeing him unobstructed for the first time is pure heaven. Hands tracing over his shoulders and down his chest, scratching your nails across the abs you knew he had. When he pulls you close, the skin to skin contact you’ve been aching for is like jumping into a pool on a hot summer day.

Jungkook’s warm hands are sprawled across your back as your pussy moves expertly against him. Part of you wants to just keep going like this until you both come in your pants, but most of you wants him naked and beneath you in your bed.

Jungkook obliges without needing to be told. He lifts you enough to lie you back and crawls over you, pushing your thighs apart with his knee. You reach for him and he kisses your fingers before meeting you again at your lips. His hands are working your jeans off you while he ravishes your lips and jaw. 

When they’re off, he sits back on his heels to look at you. This is the sight he’s been waiting for and he doesn’t want to miss a second of it. His hands grip your thighs and he squeezes to watch your flesh move between his fingers. 

“So beautiful, baby,” he praises you. He starts kissing you again at your collarbones before inching down slowly. After his mouth leaves your breasts he kisses down your stomach. “I love you,” he whispers directly into your skin. You aren’t sure you heard him right, but then he repeats himself as he kisses across your hips. “I love you… I love you… I love you.” 

It comes out of his mouth like a prayer and you’re his only deity. Bittersweet tears roll down your cheeks at his confession. Your fingers thread into his hair as he finally reaches your pussy. He kisses you once on your mound before pulling your underwear down your legs so he can taste you. 

He kisses you slowly, reverently. At first it’s so soft and light you barely feel him, but then his tongue swipes across your folds and you moan desperately. His hands grip the back of your thighs to pull you closer, burying his face into your cunt. He groans in pleasure, his mouth and tongue alternating between licking and kissing you while his nose teases your clit. 

“Fuck, I missed you,” he grunts as he dives back in for more. 

You’re a complete mess above him. Hair strewn haphazardly across the pillow, nipples swollen and erect, panting out breaths with dried tears all down your face.

Jungkook moves to suck on your clit and then kitten licks at it, using a finger to push your hood back and drive you into oversensitivity. You cover your mouth with your hand to scream into it. Your hips chase his mouth and he lets you. He just moans into your cunt as you ride his face. 

Jungkook grips you tighter to still you, not letting you grind anymore so he can go into overdrive against your hole. He fucks you with his tongue and then licks all the way up to your clit before staying there. He flattens his tongue against the nub and moves his face back and forth. Pulls back and spits directly on it before rubbing it in with the tip of his tongue. 

Your orgasm pulls you beneath the waves of ecstasy and you welcomely drown in it. It happens without warning, but Jungkook already knows. He knows your body like it’s his own and he growls as you come on his face and he drinks every last drop. 

Gasping for any air you can find, Jungkook kisses across your thighs and bites at your flesh. You grab him by the shoulder to bring him back to you. You taste yourself on his lips, your cum smearing across the bottom half of your face. 

Your hands are quick to undo Jungkook’s belt and pull down the zipper of his jeans. You start palming him through his boxers before his pants are fully off. He groans into your mouth before kissing your neck and biting at your earlobe, letting his tongue trace the perimeter of it. 

You want to see him fully and appreciate him in all his glory, so you use your legs to wrap around his own and flip him onto his back. He looks a little shocked at you doing anything even remotely dominant, but the fire in his eyes tells you exactly how much he loves it. 

His neck is your first target as you lick the sweaty skin and press wet kisses all over his throat and shoulder. As your lips move down his torso, your hands follow closely behind, digging your nails into his skin and creating red marks in their wake. He grunts and bucks his hips as you finish your assault on his delicious abdominal muscles. Your eyes roll back when you count eight of them. 

You pull his boxers down and off, all without ever breaking eye contact. Crawling back over him, you take in his entire body laid before you for the first time. He’s so beautiful you could cry. 

Pumping his cock with your warm hand, you move to taste him when he stops you with a hand to your shoulder.

“No, pretty,” he starts. “It’s not about me tonight. Just wanna make you feel good.” You pout and he soothes you by sitting up and pushing your hair away from your face. “Will you let me?” He kisses you softly, but with all his devotion. “Let me make love to you?”

You close your eyes and nod. He kisses the skin of your eyelids adoringly before lying you beneath him again. Jungkook doesn’t waste any time. His cock is teasing your clit while he swipes through your folds to lube himself with your cum. He thrusts into you slowly, letting you adjust to the feel of him again after so long apart.

Your nails rake down his back and across his shoulders as he splits you apart on his cock. You can feel him throbbing deep inside your walls and it’s as though your entire body was created for this very moment. 

When you don’t show any signs of discomfort, Jungkook begins thrusting in and out of you at a steady pace. He lays on top of you with his forearms carrying his weight. His body is so familiar and yet everything feels brand new. 

Your legs wrap around his stupidly tiny waist and an actual laugh escapes you. His questioning eyes find yours.

“What do you have such a small waist for, huh? It’s unfair. It’s smaller than mine,” you explain. 

Jungkook tsks at you before kissing your cheek. 

“Your waist is perfect,” he says. “You’re fucking perfect.”

His thrusts are slower than normal, but just as deep. The motion pushes you up the bed each time he enters your pussy and Jungkook has to use his hands to protect your head from hitting the headboard. He grinds his hips down in conjunction with his strokes and it forces his cock right into your g-spot.

Your moans are just one endless stream of sound because it feels too heavenly to do anything else. His name filters between them to create a melody meant only for his ears. 

His body is bringing you forms of pleasure you’ve never experienced with anyone else and yet you care more about the feeling of his warm body against yours. It’s his skin and sweat, the goosebumps on his arms, his hair tickling your face, that truly means the most to you. He’s here in your arms, heart beating up against your own and it almost brings tears to your eyes again. You almost lost him.

You aren’t able to focus on your sentiments for much longer because he pulls back and lifts your ankles to his shoulders and then bends you in half, the back of your thighs touching his chest. 

“Oh fuck, baby,” you gasp. The push and pull of Jungkook’s dick at this angle has your nails nearly puncturing the skin of his shoulder. 

“I got you, pretty,” he states. 

He kisses your calf next to his face and you feel warm all over. Through your legs you can see the way his thick cock comes out coated in your essence before it disappears into you again. Jungkook is watching the same way you are, his mouth open in awe of how well your pussy sucks him in over and over.

The position is too good for your mind to fully comprehend, but you need him closer. You want your skin pressed together as one in every possible place it can. You grab at him and he gets the message, letting your legs fall back to his hips. His elbows are next to your ears as he stretches your hole open for him repeatedly. 

His cock fills you so perfectly that you feel every ridge and vein against your velvet walls. The friction is debilitating and sends your mind into a frenzy. You’re crying tears of pleasure that Jungkook kisses away before devouring your mouth. Gripping his ass, you thrust up against him in an attempt to sink him deeper inside you even though you swear you feel him in your stomach already. 

It’s not enough. Nothing with Jungkook will ever feel like enough when your body wants him so insatiably. But right now, you need more. 

“Jungkook,” you pant. He makes a sound of affirmation as he mouths at your jaw. “Stop playing nice.”

Jungkook lifts his head to look at you. He raises an eyebrow and tilts his head to give you a chance to take back your instruction. You stare him down with a matching intensity instead.

The sound of his deep chuckle is right next to your ear and your heart races in anticipation. 

In an instant, your hands are forced above your head by one of his own, crossing your wrists over each other and lacing his fingers between the ones he can reach. He pushes at them once, as if telling you not to try anything. When you open your mouth to moan, Jungkook crashes into your lips and spits into your mouth. You’re gasping as you swallow his saliva. His free hand teasingly traces your skin from your hip to your knee, creating fiery goosebumps along your flesh, before he grabs you by the knee and forces your leg up higher on his hip, creating an even closer angle.

He rears back slowly, leaving just his tip in for a lingering moment. Jungkook waits until you whine pathetically at the emptiness, your hips bucking up in desperation. Your pussy clenches around nothing as it begs for him to come back home. Once there are tears pricking at your eyes and he thinks you’ve waited long enough, he slams into you so hard your vision goes out. 

He clasps his hand over your mouth before you can scream. His pace is downright fucking demonic as he pistons his cock into you. You’re screaming and drooling against his hand as tears wet your cheeks. You cannot comprehend how this is the same man who kissed his love into your stomach and hips. You worry you’ll look up and his eyes will be glowing red with the fires of hell. 

This is months of being separated coming to a head. All the fear, rage, depression, and guilt pooling in your stomachs and physically manifesting into a miasma of pleasure. Every thought and worry you felt for one another is pouring over your bodies like acid, burning you in a scorching heat that only the other can quench. 

You’re close and Jungkook can tell by the way your cunt flutters around him. His mouth replaces his hand as he kisses you, letting go of your hands above your head so he can grasp your hips. Your arms snake around his back and into his hair, tugging on the strands to pull him away so you can kiss the veins popping out in his neck. 

“Need to feel you come, pretty,” he grunts. 

A breathy moan is your only response because words are failing you. Jungkook angles your hips up so his tip is kissing you in just the right spot. His thrusts have slowed again but are deeper than ever, so passionate in his pursuit to pleasure you that your orgasm pulls you into a different plane of existence entirely. 

Your hand grips Jungkook’s hair impossibly tight as your pussy spasms around him. Jungkook groans loudly, his head tipping back as you come around him. 

Jungkook usually loves to fill you up and watch it drip out, but for some reason the need to paint you in his seed overwhelms him. He pulls out and fists his cock as hot spurts of cum fall across your stomach, tits, and thighs. 

You moan appreciatively at the feeling and watch in awe at the way it drips from his tip and onto your skin. Instinctively, your mouth opens as you stare into Jungkook’s fucked-out eyes. He hears your message loud and clear, using his fingers to scoop some of his cum from your belly before feeding it to you. You suck it off his fingers without breaking eye contact until you roll your eyes and moan at the taste of him.

Jungkook is panting, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths as he stares at the mess he made of you. 

“Fuck, pretty,” he exhales. 

You sit up on your elbows and smile at his artwork across your body. 

“You could always lick it off of me, ya know,” you suggest. 

Jungkook laughs.

“Don’t get me going again, my love,” he responds. “I’ll fucking ruin you.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” 

Jungkook’s eyes darken and he runs his hands through his hair. After taking a moment to stare you down, he steals your hands and pins them above your head. His lips are touching yours by just a hair when he responds. 

“It’s a promise… for another day,” he states. 

You pout and he kisses it away before finally leaving you to find something to clean you with. You nod your head towards your en-suite bathroom and he comes back with a warm towel. 

You run your fingers through the front of his hair as he delicately wipes his own cum from your soft skin. When he’s done he bends down to kiss your stomach before returning the towel to the bathroom. 

When he returns you’re sitting up and pulling a baggy shirt over your head. Jungkook slips on his boxers and sits next to you, pulling your feet into his lap and caressing your ankles.

Fingers fiddling in your lap, you chew on your lip as you think about the path that lies ahead. There is still so much left unanswered and it terrifies you. 

You have to bury your brother and the Dragons need a new leader. Your only tie to the gang is now gone. The gang would never kick you out of the house, but without Namjoon you have no reason to be involved in this world. But you also have nowhere else to go. 

Then there’s Jungkook, who is a longstanding member of the very gang who is probably responsible for Namjoon’s death. It’s not like they would welcome you into their fray even with him gone. Everyone knows you’re his sister. You love Jungkook and you want to be with him more than anything, but you don’t know a way around all the obstacles still in your path. 

Jungkook gently tucks a stray hair behind your ear, his eyes silently questioning if you’re alright. You affirm him with a nod.

He leaves soon after because you still have so much to sort out. Although, not before putting his number back into your phone and kissing you goodbye. He tells you he’ll see you at the university and you can talk more then. 

When you return downstairs, Namjoon is covered by a white cloth. You, Seokjin, Yoongi, and Hoseok sit in the kitchen and discuss burial plans. Yoongi has a family friend who runs a funeral home. You finish deciding on the details and a quiet tension fills the room as you all realize what you need to discuss next. 

“So, how do we go about finding out who did this?” Hoseok starts the daunting conversation.

“It was obviously the fucking Wolves,” Yoongi snarls.

“Yeah, but not all of them,” you say. “The gang as a whole would never do something so stupid and reckless.” 

“You think it was some rogue member?” Seokjin asks.

“That or a small faction who is itching to start a war,” you respond. 

“Well they got what they wanted,” Yoongi says as he crosses his arms. “I’m going to Bangchan tomorrow to challenge them to a brawl. On the condition that if they give up the coward who did this, no one else gets hurt.” 

“You think it will work?” Hoseok questions.

“Wait, you want more people, our people, to possibly get hurt?” You don’t see the logic in it. The Dragons are already down and out without your brother. A massive brawl between the two gangs will only make things worse. 

“Someone has to be punished, Y/N,” Yoongi answers. “I’ll let them decide if it’s one or all of them.” 

You know that Yoongi’s decision is final. He was Namjoon’s right hand man and is most likely to take over as leader. But that doesn’t mean you won’t do whatever it takes to stop it from happening. 

Jungkook finds you after your classes end for the day. You run straight into his arms when you see him, wrapping yourself around his neck and inhaling his familiar scent. His hands sneak below your shirt and rub soothing circles on your waist and back. He kisses you before you go somewhere private to talk.

Sitting down outside the large double doors of the university, you reach across the wooden table to take his hands. It feels odd, but soothing being here together again after months of not crossing paths. When you glance around, you see the same path you took as you were skipping ahead of him after taking an exam. In the opposite direction, there’s a small cove where Jungkook fingered you and kissed you like he needed it more than oxygen. That was shortly before the incident with your brother. The prettier memories of your relationship are all around you.

Inhaling deeply, you squeeze his hands before telling him everything you know.

“There’s going to be a fight in three days unless the Wolves give up the person or people responsible for Namjoon’s death. If they do, the brawl is off,” you explain.

Jungkook is playing with your fingers as he listens to you.

“That won’t work,” Jungkook states. “We would never give up one of our own even if he did do something as cowardly as murdering someone in cold blood.”

“I know,” you agree. “That’s why we have to figure out who did this before then and give them up ourselves.”

“It won’t be easy, pretty,” Jungkook admits. He lets go and leans back before sighing and running his fingers through his hair. “Everyone knows about you and I. They won’t let anything slip around me or my friends.” You chew on your bottom lip as you contemplate your options. Jungkook watches you before taking a deep breath. “If the brawl goes down… you know I’ll have to be there, right, pretty?”

You nod with a far away look in your eyes. 

“I know. That’s why it has to work. I can’t lose you, too,” you whisper without looking at him.

Jungkook kisses the back of your hands, tilting his head to bring your attention to him. His pretty doe eyes are hesitant, not wanting to leave you like this, but you assure him you’re fine before standing. 

He still drops you off at the same spot to avoid any unnecessary tension if he’s spotted near the house. You kiss him goodbye through the driver’s side window before venturing home.

Upon returning home, you notice the classical music playing from the stereo before anything else. You recognize the song and already know who’ll be there before entering the room. Seokjin sits with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a glass of ice in the other. Everyone else must either be out or in their rooms. You sit next to him and gesture for the bottle. He passes it unceremoniously over to you.

“We swore Yoongi in tonight,” Seokjin tells you. 

“He’ll do good,” you reply. You look at the bottle and swirl the liquid around inside. “He’s always been prudent.”

“Yeah,” Seokjin sighs. 

You put the bottle down and reach for Seokjin’s arm instead. Squeezing it, he looks at you with glassy eyes.

“I miss him already, too,” you breathe.

Seokjin flashes you a hollow smile.

“There was still so much we wanted to do together,” he muses. Seokjin looks down at his hand, stretching his fingers out and flexing it. “He just bought us matching rings. We were gonna wear them on different fingers so no one caught on.”

“Bought? My brother?” 

Seokjin genuinely smiles at that.

“Can you believe it? He said he didn’t want something like that to be stolen. That I deserve to be paid for,” Seokjin explains.

You relax against the chair.

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” you say. 

“I know you two weren’t on good terms at the time, but it doesn’t change how deeply he loved you,” Seokjin continues. 

“I know,” you reply.

“He didn’t…” Seokjin sighs, mulling over his next words carefully. “He was pissed about you sleeping with a Wolf, don’t get me wrong, but he didn’t do what he did out of cruelty. He was our leader. If he looked the other way and people found out, they would've started to doubt his ability to do whatever necessary for the gang.” Seokjin sits forward to meet your eyes. “I know that doesn’t make it any better, but I wanted you to know. He only ever wanted two things for you, Y/N. To be happy and to be safe.”

“Jungkook does both of those things for me,” you say. 

“Good,” Seokjin smiles. 

You squeeze his arm one last time before leaving him alone with the whiskey bottle. 

Time soldiers on with each tick of the clock, every second bringing you closer to the inevitable truth that this brawl is going to happen. Jungkook tells you he’s doing his best, but the truth is harder to scrounge for than originally anticipated. 

The truth comes too late. 

The night of the brawl, you do what you swore you never would and drive Namjoon’s motorcycle down the unfamiliar streets to the Wolf’s Den. You’re wearing his biker jacket, too. The Dragons had it cleaned and the patches re-embroidered before gifting it to you.

Jungkook meets you at the back of the house and sneaks you into his room in the basement. Despite your terror about tonight, finally seeing his room brings a smile to your face.

“I like it,” you say as you run your fingers down the leather jacket on his chair.

Jungkook takes a seat on the bed while your eyes comb over the pieces of him scattered around the room. A picture of him and his parents, a drawing of an adorable white dog who looks like a cloud, his boxing gloves. It’s comforting being so entirely surrounded by him.

Pulling you by the waist, Jungkook brings you to stand between his legs. His hands caress you from your thighs to your stomach before he leans in and kisses your navel, then rests his forehead against you. You comb your fingers through his hair, admiring the pretty black strands. He hums peacefully at the feeling. Being with him like this makes it easy to forget reality looming on the other side of the door, lying in wait for you to return to it. 

“You’ll stay back as much as possible, right? Avoid the big guys?” You ask him.

Jungkook sighs, leaning back on his hands and tracing over your features with his eyes. 

“Pretty, you know I can’t do that,” he responds. 

Nodding with your lip between your teeth, you avoid his eyes. Anger and fear mix together in your stomach and make you want to be sick. Your brother is dead and now the man you love is on the precipice of the same fate. You already lost him once and you refuse to do it again.

“So, you just…” your sentence dies in your throat. There aren’t enough words to explain the heaviness you feel.

Jungkook stands and brings you to his chest. You hit him to make him let you go, but your body is already betraying you and melting into his embrace. You bury your face into his shirt, inhaling his scent and letting it envelope you in familiarity. 

“Please, don’t go,” you beg him. “I love you, Jungkook. I can’t –,” you cut yourself off before your emotions can drown you. “Just… please.”

Jungkook’s fingers use your chin to bring your lips to his. It’s a quick kiss, barely a peck before he moves to kiss the corner of your mouth and then your cheek. 

“I love you, too, Y/N. I love you more than I can even comprehend, but this is my family we’re talking about. I have a responsibility to them, too,” he tells you. 

You don’t fight him on it anymore. There’s no strength left within you to do so. Your mental fortitude is cracking and crumbling into ash all around you. Most of all, you don’t want what could possibly be your last moments together to happen in anger. 

Harsh banging forces you apart as someone tells Jungkook it’s time to go. He cradles your face in his hands and kisses you ardently. It feels like goodbye and tastes like grief. You use his lips as an altar and pray to the angels and the saints and maybe even the demons to keep him safe and bring him home to you unscathed. You promise them you’ll be joining them soon if they don’t.

Jungkook sneaks you back out as the Wolves gather in the road on their idling motorcycles. He leaves you with a final kiss to your lips and forehead, where he whispers how much he loves you one more time.

You watch helplessly as your eyes trace his figure moving further and further away from you. He throws an arm around who you can only assume is Taehyung as Jimin follows closely behind. You don’t look away until you’re unable to follow him any longer. His bike carrying him away from you along with the rest of his gang.

A twig snaps, or maybe fate pulls at your shoulder, and you look up just as a few stragglers are heading to leave. You recognize the familiar face as though you last saw him yesterday, and not over a decade ago. The blood in your veins courses through you at sub-zero temperatures and freezes around your organs. 

Realization slams into you with the force of a brick wall. You need to tell the others that you know who took Namjoon from you.

Running across the yard as fast as your legs can carry you, your hands shake as you work to secure your helmet. Your leg swings over the leather seat and you throttle the engine. The bike roars to life and you don’t waste a second before taking off down the street.

One motorcycle can get somewhere a lot faster than twenty five can, but they already have a decent head start. 

Your heart is pounding so loud you can hear it in your ears as the buildings fly by in streaks of blurry light. It rained earlier and the water from the road is whipping up at your legs. All of your senses feel overloaded by the anxiety taking root within you.

You have no clue what you’re going to do when reach the gangs, and if the fight has already started, it will be too dangerous to intervene. 

Jungkook flashes across your mind, and you can already picture the expression of worry and concern he’ll have when you arrive. He’s going to be so angry with you for putting yourself in harm’s way, and Yoongi, Seokjin, and Hoseok will be the same. You can’t concern yourself with their potential anger right now. All that matters is getting to them.

The brawl is taking place at the old salt mill which still stands on the edge of the city. It’s a massive open air factory built on acres of farmland. The last time you saw it, the steel walls were beginning to tear and the foundation cracking.

Despite its dilapidation, it’s the perfect location for fifty or so men to beat and kill each other without anyone noticing.

The monumental building comes into view in the distance and as you approach you see all the motorcycles lined up along the road. 

Parking next to the familiar motorcycles belonging to the Dragons, you grant yourself the reprieve of a single deep breath before diving headfirst into the danger ahead.

The engine has barely begun to cool when you throw your helmet off. Your feet propel you forward across the wet pavement towards the factory. Your shoes meet puddles as you run and the water splashes against your bare legs.

Looking down at your attire, you almost scoff. Namjoon would be so mad at you for not looking the part. You’re about to run into a room of fifty armed men wearing a pleated skirt and frilly pink blouse. At least Namjoon’s jacket still resting on your shoulders makes you look a little bit tougher.

You can just make out the figures amongst the processing equipment and huge piles of salt left behind by the manufacturers. The mountains of salt surround the two gangs and make it look as though they’re in the center of an arena. As you move forward, you see Yoongi and Bangchan standing in the space between the two gangs. 

They’re probably discussing the “rules” and deciding which weapons will be allowed. It’s a pointless conversation to make themselves feel better. You’re certain that every man in there brought a gun to this knife fight. 

“Wait!” You shout when you’re in earshot, traversing over rusted machinery and scattered salt. You speak again once you’re inside. “Stop!”

Yoongi is looking at you incredulously, his eyes burning with a protective fury. Seokjin and Hoseok mirror his expression from where they stand on the far right and left of the Dragons. Your eyes catch motion in your peripheral vision, and you see Jungkook already moving through the crowd to get to you. 

Yoongi grabs your arm and tugs you back into the crowd of Dragons, standing so that his body is shielding you from the Wolves across the room. He opens his mouth to no doubt scold you and demand an explanation, but he doesn’t get the chance. A cacophony of noises and voices stops him.

“Hey –”

“Get off me.”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Dude, what the hell.”

“Heesung –”

Your eyes widen in horror as you take in the scene over Yoongi’s shoulder. He sees your expression and turns to follow your gaze.

The Wolves have all moved back into a U shape which highlights two figures standing to the left, next to a massive pile of salt. The flood lights on the ceiling bounce off the bright white and bathe the two of them in an unnatural light.

Jungkook jerks his right arm back to get the man holding him across the shoulders to let go. He grunts and tries to elbow him in the stomach, but stops short when he feels something cool and sharp press against his jugular.

There’s a silver glint from where the light catches on the blade pushing against Jungkook’s throat. Your eyes snap shut involuntarily as a paralyzing fear overtakes your nervous system.

“Y/N…” The man sing-songs in a tone so eerie it creeps up your spine like weeds. 

You didn’t think this through. Didn’t account for what Heesung would do when he’s backed into a corner.

“Heesung, please let him go,” you beg cautiously, not wanting to make a single miscalculation. “He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

A wave of confusion crosses over Jungkook’s face at your familiarity with his fellow Wolf.

Heesung laughs at your plea and the knife presses harder against Jungkook’s skin. A single bead of blood trails down his throat.

Jungkook knows he’s stronger than Heesung, that he can overpower him with ease, but he can’t bring himself to fight when he sees you across the room. You’re shaking, your eyes so sorrowful it breaks his heart, and your lip trembles where it’s clenched between your teeth. He has something to live for now, someone to come home to, and he can’t risk Heesung’s knife going anywhere it shouldn’t.

“Doesn’t he?” Heesung retorts. “He is your lover, yes? So I should kill him, too, just like I killed Namjoon and leave you with no one so you’ll be just like me.”

His confession permeates through the air, stunning both gangs into a weighted silence. You feel Yoongi go stiff by your side. 

“No,” you whimper. “You can just take me instead. That would be enough, right? Enough revenge? Enough penance for what we did to you?”

“Y/N,” Jungkook snaps at you, but Heesung shushes him.

Heesung studies you for a moment before shaking his head, the knife pressing down again and making Jungkook gasp for air.

“No, Y/N. Nothing will ever be enough,” Heesung snarls.

Time seems to slow once the words leave him, because before anyone in the room can even take their next breath, a gunshot rings out. 

“No!”

Your scream is nearly simultaneous with the gunshot itself, following it by only a millisecond.

Your view of Jungkook and Heesung gets forcefully taken from you in an instant. The only thing you see is blood splattering and dispersing into the air where their heads were a moment ago. The ricochet and a body falling to the floor sends salt up into the air and covers the entire scene in a white cloud. 

There are no words for the emotions that overtake you in the moment before the blood and salt settle. It feels like fear at first, but the word is too small in comparison. Panic, terror, dread, none of them are heavy enough. Grief moves in like fog across the morning air. You wait with bated breath to see if it will break and the sun will peak through the clouds.

Someone coughs, and then they stumble out from the cloud of salt with ragged breaths and wide eyes. He’s covered in blood splatter, the thick liquid matting down his hair and soiling his shirt, but it’s clear none of it is his own.

“Jungkook!”

Your feet can’t bring you to him fast enough. When they do, you throw your arms around his neck as your entire body shakes. Jungkook is still delirious, the gunshot throwing off his equilibrium. But then he feels your warmth against him, grounding him, and his arms latch around your waist.

“It’s okay. I’m alright,” he assures you. His hand sinks into your hair as he pulls you closer, causing your back to arch into him and your heels to lift from the floor. He kisses across your temple, cheek, and hairline.

Your very soul releases a sigh of relief as you sink deeper into his embrace.

The sound of a pistol chamber clicking back into place catches your attention. As the salt slowly falls to the ground like snow, you turn your head to see Seokjin standing behind it. He’s cleaning the gun with a rag as he looks at the body before him in disgust.

“Seokjin,” you say to grab his attention.

He looks up at you with the tiniest of smiles on his lips. If you didn’t know the features of his face you wouldn’t be able to notice it. It’s solemn and peaceful, like he’s finally laying something to rest.

“Didn’t mean to ruin the fun, but that asshole was really pissing me off,” he states. “Can we call this an eye for an eye and be done, Bangchan? I’m not sure you want someone willing to kill one of his own in your ranks anyway.”

Bangchan looks so utterly confused at the whole display that he has to shake his head before gathering his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he finally answers. “We’re done here.”

His words give way for the Wolves to mosey out of the factory, their whispers of confusion following them out to the road. Yoongi tells the Dragons to get home, too, before making his way over to where you’re still clinging to Jungkook.

“You want to tell me what the hell just happened?”

Jungkook squeezes your waist, nods and tells you it’s alright, before letting you go and joining Taehyung and Jimin near the exit. You watch Jimin grasp his shoulder and pull him in for a hug. Taehyung messes with his hair affectionately. 

You ride home on Namjoon’s motorcycle while his friends lead the way. No one speaks until you’re sitting in Yoongi’s room together, passing a bottle of whiskey around. You only begin to talk after taking a slow, poignant sip of the liquor.

“You guys already know Namjoon and I ran away from home because our parents were physically and verbally abusive. But we swore never to tell anyone about what happened the day we left. Namjoon couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud even if he wanted to,” you begin before taking another burning sip of alcohol. “We left just after midnight and snuck out of the house down the fire escape. Our neighbor, Mrs. Lee, spotted us as we were climbing down. She realized what we were doing right away, so she grabbed me so we couldn’t run. I fought against her so hard, but she just wouldn’t let go.” You place your hands between your knees to stop them from shaking. “Namjoon shot her so we could get away. He didn’t have a choice. Our parents would’ve killed us that very night if he hadn’t.” You exhale somberly. “We only realized as we were running down the street that her son was outside and saw the whole thing. We grew up with Heesung. He was our friend. It… it was never meant to happen that way.”

“Oh, Y/N,” Hoseok grabs your hand and it makes you smile just a hair. 

With Heesung’s death comes relief, and your hunger for vengeance is satiated, but the cruelty of fate still nips at your subconscious.

Heesung and Namjoon are two sides of a tragic coin. Neither one deserving of the cards they were dealt, and bound by the lingering strings of a tragedy which became their demise. The domino effect of a lifetime worth of decisions now ends with you, the last one standing.

“You and Namjoon both endured far more than you deserve,” Yoongi says. “But that’s all behind you now, and that Wolf of yours seems to make you pretty happy.”

You laugh and it feels real for the first time in a while. 

“I think we can make an exception to the rules, don’t you?” Seokjin asks his new leader.

“Yes, I believe so,” Yoongi agrees. 

Yoongi tells you Jungkook can visit as long as you’re with him the entire time, and he doesn’t leave your room. He allows it because you’re his best friends’ little sister and he loves you like his own. You’ve been through so much in your life already, and he isn’t going to keep a source of happiness from you. You’re so thankful that you force him into a tight embrace, which he pretends to begrudgingly accept, when he’s actually more than happy to return the affection. 

Jungkook comes over, with permission this time, the very next day. You lie between his legs on your bed while he shows you how to drift in Mario Kart. You’re downright terrible at it, and he has to place his fingers over yours to prevent a loss on his account. When you inevitably do lose, and his overall ranking drops, his tongue presses to his cheek as he stares you down. 

The next thing you know, he’s taking the Switch from you and gently setting it down on the nightstand before turning his attention back to you. He moves his hands down your body from your hips until he reaches your inner thighs and tugs your legs apart. His fingers are quick to find their way to your folds, touching you over your underwear. Your head falls to his shoulder as you moan softly.

“I should piss you off more often,” you muse. 

His fingers are just running up and down your slit over the lace of your panties and it’s both not enough and too much simultaneously. He pushes down, causing the fabric to rub against your clit and you gasp, your hand gripping his arm to keep yourself steady.

“I wouldn’t try it,” he warns. His lips are right against your ear and the deepness of his voice sends shivers down your spine. Then he’s kissing your neck and your mind becomes too hazy to reply.

Jungkook moves your underwear to the side as he’s sucking on your neck and pushes into your cunt without warning. Your other hand curls around his head and grabs onto his hair. It’s pathetic how wet you already are, but the squelching sound your pussy makes as his fingers pump in and out is worth the embarrassment. 

You’re restless, needing more of him than he’s currently providing you. 

“Wanna ride you,” you tell him between your moans and sharp intakes of air. Jungkook is more than willing to oblige your request. 

Which is how you end up on top of him, his cock meeting your cervix repeatedly as you alternate between bouncing up and down and grinding against his hips. His hands are everywhere at first, tracing your outline and massaging over any skin within his reach. But then his right arm, which is so beautifully decorated in tattoos, traverses the familiar path of your chest, stopping to pinch your nipple, before wrapping around your throat.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan as your head tips back. The position gives you such a beautiful view of him and his tattoos. You remind yourself to ask him about them soon. A pretty tiger lily is staring you in the face, but then Jungkook squeezes your throat and it becomes a blur of orange and black.

“Always so good for me,” he whispers while sitting up. His lips find yours, his arm securing you to him so you can bounce on him easier. His hand is still on your throat, softly squeezing the sides of it to pleasure you without harm. “My pretty baby,” he says once he moves to sucking on your earlobe and down your neck, just above his own fingers. "Always take my cock so fucking well."

He makes you come twice, because he just loves you that much, before fucking his cum into you as he thrusts his swollen cock into your cunt. 

Once your pussy is battered and filled to the brim with his cum, you fall over onto his chest. You can feel him softening inside you, but don’t want to lose the feeling of him just yet.

Jungkook kisses you slowly, licking across your bottom lip and pulling at it with his teeth. You lazily make out as your hands traverse his naked chest. His fingertips create goosebumps where they skim along your spine. You could stay like this forever without a single complaint.

“I love you,” he whispers on your lips. He says it so quietly, as if he’s trying to hide the proclamation from the rest of the world and keep it just for you.

You’re smiling when you kiss him again.

“I love you,” you parrot. 

After he finally does pull out, you lie naked together under the covers as Jungkook plays with your hair, twirling it and attempting a makeshift braid while you draw shapes on his skin with your fingers. It’s quiet and peaceful inside your mind for the first time in a long time. Jungkook kisses your forehead and you look over at him with a smile. 

Jungkook licks his lips and pulls you up with him until your backs are against the headboard. He finally asks you to enlighten him about why he had a blade to his neck the night prior. You relay the story to him as you did with your brother’s friends. 

Jungkook looks rightfully shocked, but he processes his own emotions quickly to offer you comfort instead.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that, pretty,” he says. “If you ever wanna talk about it some more, you know I’m always here, right?”

“I know,” you affirm. “I’m here for you, too.”

“God, we’re both fucked up,” Jungkook chuckles. 

You nod in agreement. 

“It doesn’t have to stay that way, you know,” you propose. “We graduate next year and with Joonie gone there isn’t anything left for me here. I’ll stay until I can afford a place of my own, but then I’m putting this life behind me.” You readjust so you’re looking at Jungkook directly. “And I want you to join me. You’re so fucking smart, Jungkook, and anywhere would be lucky to have you.”

Jungkook hums, tilting his head as he thinks over your words.

“I don’t know what I want right now, pretty, but I do know that I wanna be wherever you are,” he confesses. You’re smiling at him as though he hung the stars in the sky himself. “Is that enough for now?”

Your eyes flit over all the details of him. His wavy black hair, big chocolate brown eyes, and the piercings decorating his pretty lips and eyebrow. He looks so different from the boy you met at school and yet everything is so irrevocably him. You smile, bending down so your noses touch. 

“It’s more than enough,” you tell him.

[pathologicalreid]

safe space | s.r.

in which Jack Hotchner comes to your classroom after spotting Mr. Scratch on school grounds

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: flangst content warnings: takes place during early season 12, mr scratch/peter lewis, kindergarten teacher!reader, mom!reader, wife!reader, the spencer reid dilf agenda, nondescript illness, lying to your spouse word count: 1.9k a/n: this just popped into my head while i was watching season 12 AND @lilacsandlavenderhaze has a request in for kindergarten teacher!reader angst AND i wanted to give lia reading material for her train ride so we are killing three birds with one stone

You’d just turned your monitor off when you heard a knock at your door. Initially, you assumed it was Janet, a member of the custodial staff, coming to see if you had left for the day, but as you approached the door, you didn’t see anyone through the small window.

Your footsteps faltered, hesitating to open the door because you weren’t sure what you’d find on the other side, you were certainly surprised to find Jack Hotchner standing outside of your door. Frowning, you stepped to the side as he shoved into your classroom, “Jack? What’s wrong?”

Sometimes, Jack would sit in your classroom while you finished work, and you’d take him home to help out his dad and aunt, but as far as you knew, the BAU was in town, and Hotch didn’t need any extra help today. “He’s here,” Jack said ominously, his tone enough of a warning to prompt you to close your classroom door.

“Who’s here?” You asked, clicking the door shut and turning back to him. He was nervous, clutching the straps of his backpack like it was a lifeline.

Wide-eyed, Jack peeked out the windows next to your door, “Peter Lewis.”

Instinctively, you locked your classroom door, before standing in front of Jack, “Honey, how do you know who that is?”

He gulped, probably wondering if he’d get in trouble for knowing something he shouldn’t have, but in this case, his knowledge might have protected him. “I saw my dad’s files out on the kitchen table, I recognize his face.”

Technically, Peter Lewis wasn’t a name you were supposed to recognize, and yet, you’d heard the name from Spencer’s lips countless times in the last year. Even more so since he managed to escape from prison, “Where did you see him?”

“Outside by the busses,” he told you, following you through your classroom until you made it back to your desk, searching for your cell phone. “Are you gonna call Uncle Spencer?”

You shook your head, scrolling through your contacts until you came across one Aaron Hotchner, “I’m calling your dad.” Blood drained from your face as realization dawned on you, “Jack, do you know where Henry is?”

He tapped on your desk anxiously; the fidgeting was the only movement that clued you into his nervousness. Jack’s facial expression was completely stoic, and you wondered, not for the first time, if it was genetic. “He went home early,” He told you, “His dad picked him up.”

Nodding to yourself as you clicked the call button on your phone and held it up to your ear, grateful that you didn’t need to be a haven for multiple BAU kids. You’d had both boys as students in kindergarten, but Henry was in second grade and Jack was in fifth now.

“Hello?” A familiar voice came in through the phone, instinctively, you reached out a hand and smoothed Jack’s hair back.

You smiled sadly at Jack, you didn’t call Hotch often, and when you did, it was seldom good news. “Hey, Hotch,” you greeted him, “I’ve got Jack here in my classroom, and I think we have a bit of a situation.”

Explaining the events of the afternoon to Hotch, you heard him packing up to leave work on the other line—the click of his briefcase, the placement of pens in a mug. “Can you put me on speakerphone?” He asked. Of course, you obliged, letting Jack take the phone in his hands, “Hey buddy, you did the right thing by going to Mrs. Reid’s classroom.”

“I saw him in your folders,” Jack said, trying to explain himself.

There was a fine line that needed to be walked when it came to what you all decided to tell your children. In this case, Jack’s snooping might have been what kept him safe. It made your chest ache, and it made you anxious to get home to your own kids. “I know, it’s okay. I’m gonna leave work and come pick you up…” His voice trailed off for a moment, “Can you give the phone back to Mrs. Reid?”

Jack handed the phone to you, and you smiled softly at him, “Hey, why don’t you take a seat in one of the bean bag chairs?” You gestured to your classroom’s comfy corner and brought the phone back up to your ear, “Hey.”

“Would you mind staying at the school with him? Just until I can get there, I just have to make sure I let Dave know that I’m leaving,” he informed you.

You swallowed thickly, it was a wonder that you were more nervous than Jack was right now, but maybe that was a blessing in disguise. “Yeah, that’s fine, Hotch. I’ll be here for as long as you guys need,” you assured him, watching as Jack dutifully opened his backpack and pulled out a binder.

Hotch released a sigh of relief, “Thank you, Y/N.”

After hanging up the phone, you went over to your snack cabinet and pulled out a package of goldfish crackers, bringing them over to Jack and holding them out for him to take. They were his favorite when he was in your class, and you hoped they still were. Maybe he was just humoring you when he took them gratefully, “Do you want something to drink?”

“Just water is fine,” he answered, focused on the pages on his lap.

You hesitated, “Are you sure?” You wandered over to your desk and opened the small fridge that you stashed beneath it, “I have some yogurt drinks… I have apple juice. Does your dad usually let you have juice?”

Holding out the juice box like an offering, you let him see it before he answered, “Sometimes.”

“Well, I think he’ll forgive me today,” you admitted, acknowledging the extenuating circumstances. You kept the juice boxes in your classroom in case of a low blood sugar, but you worried about giving him too much sugar without his dad’s permission. Then again, Jack could probably handle more sugar than your toddlers could.

He thanks you again, this time for the juice box, and sets it on the small side table with his opened bag of goldfish.

You noticed his drawings in the binder, he was in the process of coloring in a bunch of spaceships, but it wasn’t his precise coloring that you took note of, it was the fact that he was coloring in lines that he had drawn himself. Quickly, you texted your nanny to let her know that you’d be a little late getting home before sitting down in the bean bag next to him. “Those are really well done, Jack.”

“Thanks,” he murmured, focused on getting the straw into his juice box.

Deciding to try again, you wiped your clammy palms on your skirt, “Is that what you want to do when you grow up?” You asked him, peeking over at the papers again, “Design spaceships.”

Jack shrugged in response as he took a sip from his juice, “I’m not sure.”

Nodding in understanding, you let him sit and continue his drawing, smiling when he periodically snacked on a goldfish. You wondered if Hotch had the same fear as you. That one day, one of your kids would come up to you and proclaim that they wanted to be an FBI agent just like their dad. You wanted the best for your kids, and you wanted them to follow their own dreams, but not at the cost that the FBI took.

You both startled when a knock came at your door, you gently touched the side of Jack’s chair, “It’s probably just your dad,” you reassured him, “I’ll go look.”

Setting down your snack, you warily approached your classroom door, releasing a sigh of relief when you saw Hotch on the other side. “Hey,” you said, opening the door for him, “Jack, he’s here.”

He started shoving his things in his backpack, minding his juice and snack on the table as he tossed the bag over his shoulders. “Hi, dad,” he greeted.

“Hey, bud,” Hotch greeted with a small wave before he turned to you, “I didn’t say anything to anyone before I left, and I was wondering if you could refrain from mentioning anything to Reid.”

You shifted uncomfortably on your feet, “I don’t keep secrets from my husband, Hotch,” you told him, shrugging slightly as you did.

Hotch nodded, “Could you just… delay it by a day, then? Just until I’m able to sort some things out.”

Meeting his gaze, you recognized the fear in them; it was the same fear you saw in Spencer’s eyes every time an UnSub got a little too close to the team. The look you saw when you and the kids were put into protective custody. With that in mind, your head bobbed, “Sure thing, Hotch.”

A day, you could do a day, you assured yourself as the three of you said your goodbyes, leaving you to relock your door and return to your desk. You took a seat, resting your chin in your hands as you eyed a photo on your desk. It was from last Christmas when you and Spencer took the kids to meet Santa. They were all grinning at the camera, even your youngest, who usually bore a scowl.

Closing your eyes, you tried to convince yourself to get up and head home when your phone started ringing. You sighed at the sight of the Caller ID: Spencer.

Swiping the screen, you brought it up to your ear, “Hi, honey.”

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked you immediately, “You sound upset.”

You sniffled, “No, it’s fine. I just…” you searched your mind for a fib, “There’s something going around the school. A stomach bug or something.”

In the background of the call, you heard the dinging of elevators, familiar BAU sounds, “Yeah, it sounds like Henry’s picked something up, so JJ’s headed home early. I’m worried Jack might’ve gotten it too, Hotch left in kind of a hurry not too long ago.”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you nodded to yourself, “Uh, yeah. I’m just about to head home myself.”

“Well, with the team down two, Rossi decided we should just call it a day, so I’m actually on my way out too,” he told you. “I was wondering if you wanted to try to take the kids to that new playground out by Falls Church, but if you’re not feeling well, I can just take them and let you rest.”

You laughed weakly, more at the situation than anything, “I’d love to, and the kids will like it too.” At the very least, they’d sleep well tonight after playing their energy away.

He hummed over the phone, “Perfect, I’ll see you when I get home?” He asked, acknowledging that you had a shorter commute than him and would likely beat him home.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, standing up and gathering your things with your phone wedged between your shoulder and cheek. “Hey, Spence?”

“Yes, lovely?” He chirped in response, clearly in a much better mood than you.

You sighed, “I love you.”

He was silent for a moment, “Are you sure you’re alright? Is something wrong?”

Shaking his head even though he couldn’t see, you answered, “I just really, really love you.”

“Well,” he responded, his grin apparent in his tone, “I really, really love you too.”

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

To love me better

Tags: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna x fem!Reader, american!Reader, forced/arranged marriage, dark romance trope, dead dove, age gap romance (reader is around 21-22, Sukuna is 37), cursing, suggestive language, use of nicknames like “doll” and “angel”, use of y/n, NSFW, MDNI, Sukuna is his own warning, description of violence including murder.

Synopsis: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna owns all of entertainment district. You’re trying to work to put yourself through law school. He has a proposition for you, and you have one for him. Chaos ensues.

An: Toji has entered the chat. I wonder who else will make an appearance. Hey, so this part is pretty short. I’m sorry. I just need to find my groove again.

Part one. | Part two. | Part three. | Part four. | Part five.

*art creds for sukuna image goes to @.maru6 here on tumblr

The sound of the gunshot rung in your ears.

The restaurant was painfully quiet. Before the gunshot, you hadn’t even realized that it was nearing closing time. Almost all of the patrons had left besides the man who your future husband just murdered.

“Get over here,” Sukuna ordered lowly over the phone. He pulled the cellular device away from his ear, and he tapped the end call button.

His eyes slid over towards your trembling form, and he raised an eyebrow as if to challenge you to say something.

Your throat was painfully dry as you looked up at him. Why did you actually believe he’d keep you out of his business?

With another snap from his fingers, the waiter reappeared at his side. His face paled as his took in the grizzly scene at the booth right behind you.

Sukuna handed over the gun to the waiter. “Get rid of it.”

“Yes boss,” the waiter responded mechanically with a small bow. He then scurried off to god only knows where.

This had to be a nightmare. Surely, he didn’t just kill someone right in front of you.

Your body was still shaking, but the adrenaline was slowly tapering down, being replaced with anger. “How could you? We just made a deal, signed a contract, everything!”

Sukuna looked over at you, and he scoffed a small laugh. “I believe I remember telling you that I would keep you out of my life as much as possible. This was non-negotiable.”

“You killed a man right in front of me! I’m an accessory to murder, dammit.” Tears brimmed in your waterline.

“Technically, I killed a man behind your back, kitten. You never actually saw me pull the trigger, now did you? Who’s to say I was even the one who killed him?”

Your eyes widened in horror as he was playing semantics with you. He just put this permanent necklace collar around your throat and immediately went back on his promise.

You looked away from him, unable to truly deal with him right now.

Footsteps emerged from the open part of the restaurant, and you glanced over nervously. What if it was a cop? Surely, the authorities have been alerted? All of the kitchen staff can’t be in on this.

Instead of an officer, a tall beefy man with muscles bigger than your head, black hair, and green eyes walked up. He had a scar on the corner of his lip and a lazy smirk on his face.

“Took you long enough, Zenin,” Sukuna quipped as he pulled out his phone.

“Calling me a Zenin is about as accurate as calling you an Itadori.” The man had a raspy voice and a nonchalant attitude as he casually strolled into the restaurant. Your eyebrows furrowed, contemplating the name he had mentioned. Itadori. Where have you heard that name before? “What do we have here?”

“He’s a grunt of the Gojo Clan. I’m honestly disgusted that he sent someone as incompetent as him to tail me.”

“I was talking about the pretty one who’s still alive,” the man said, slowly eyeing you up and down. “What’s a cute little thing like you doing here?”

Your jaw slightly dropped as he casually flirted with you as if there wasn’t a dead man behind you. Before you could even think of a response, your future husband decided to speak up.

“You’re gonna end up like the bastard with a bullet hole in his head if you keep flirting with my wife, Zenin.” His jaw hardened, staring down at the other man.

“Oh? So it’s like that, huh?” he asked, not losing the smirk. “My mistake then, Misses Sukuna.”

You thought better than to respond based off the look Sukuna gave you.

The Zenin man strolled closer towards the lifeless body with an air of aloofness about him. He looked down at the bloody scene before shrugging. “What do you want?”

Your future husband fixed one of his cuff links on his shirt before sparring the grunt a passing glance. “Mail his head directly to that imbecile’s doorstep with the exception of the eyes. Send one to the Geto man he seems enthralled with, and send the other eye to Hiromi Higuruma.”

“You can’t—!” you blurted without thought. You couldn’t believe he was actually planning on mailing your professor an eyeball.

Both Sukuna and the Zenin man looked at you with amused looks.

The yakuza lord took three calculated steps towards you. He watched you shrink back away from him with reserved pain. He had been building your trust slowly, but it had all withered away with a simple action.

Still, he reached out to you, a curl of your hair around his finger. Your teeth were practically chattering in fear while he was so close. Was he going to punish you for your outburst?

“You’re very naive. It’s rather alluring, but let me educate you anyway.” He slid his palm over your cheek, gently coaxing you to tilt your head up at him. “The man that’s dead on the floor? He had been tailing us for most of the evening. While he could’ve been just gathering intel, he also could’ve been waiting for an opportunity to strike.”

You swallowed thickly. “That’s not enough for a death sentence,” you whispered quietly, carefully. You didn’t want to piss him off, but you also wanted to make it very clear that you were against this. You wouldn’t just acclimate to this type of life, and you weren’t just going to sit quietly while he did whatever he wanted.

His red eyes met yours, and for a moment, you thought you fucked up. “When I’m with my wife, it is. Make no mistake, kitten. I’m very serious about your protection. No one is going to get the jump on me while you’re on my arm.”

He continued, “As for mailing an eyeball to your professor, that’s just a warning. He’s the only person I suspect that would tip Gojo off about our location.”

Immediate disbelief filled you. “You’re simply paranoid if you think a lawyer like Hiromi Higuruma is in the Yakuza’s pocket.”

Sukuna gave you a feline grin. His fingers pinched your cheek in a teasing manner. “Your naivety is showing again, kitten. I have you in my pocket, don’t I?”

Your face warmed with embarrassment, and you mentally scolded yourself for feeling butterflies dance around your stomach. This man is a cold blooded killer. He just showed you what he’s capable of. How could you feel this way from some meaningless words?

“Send me receipts once it’s done, Toji.” Sukuna ordered before he nodded his head towards the door, signaling for you to follow him. His slid his hand down to your arm. He didn’t grab you, but it was enough to show that he wasn’t leaving without you.

What other choice did you have? You were stranded in the middle of the entertainment district without him. Hesitantly, you followed him out of the restaurant, keeping your head tilted down as you mulled over your life choices.

Meanwhile, Sukuna’s body felt… heavy. He didn’t expect disappointing you to have this much of an effect on him. He had played by the rules, hadn’t he? Was he supposed to just allow lowlife thugs to disrespect him in his own territory? Was he suppose to risk your safety and just hope that the Gojo clan wouldn’t strike?

Unfathomable, he thought. You didn’t understand the dangers of being with him just yet. He wasn’t going to risk your safety simply because you were naive to believe you’re untouchable.

Sukuna knew the moment the Gojo clan found out that he had a weakness now they would stop at nothing to use it against him. He would do the same to him, which is why he mailed his “presents” to Suguru Geto. As far as Sukuna could tell, the young man with long dark hair wasn’t in on the Gojo empire, but it sent a message to Gojo that Sukuna knew how to strike where it hurt.

If he took his wife from him, Sukuna would take his beloved too. Both of them would forever be alone, playing this cat and mouse game.

He glanced down at you again and tightened his jaw. You looked like some sort of kicked puppy, believing he had truly betrayed you and found some loophole in the contract to exploit.

His chest burned with barely contained anger. If he planned on dragging you into his lifestyle, he would’ve just said it. He had been very clear and upfront about his intentions, and yet you still believed him to be some sort of conniving snake.

Once you two were at the car, he opened up the door for you and let you get. You flinched as he shut the door a little too hard before climbing in on the driver’s side.

The ride was silent and tense. You felt every single second of it, and it was excruciatingly painful.

The sky had fallen dark, showing off the bright colorful lights of the entertainment district. You stared out the window at the hordes of people club hopping and visiting street vendors.

“How much of this do you own?” Your question surprised Sukuna. He had expected the silent treatment to last much longer.

“My name is on majority of the deeds. If my name isn’t on the deed, I own a good portion of equity in the business,” he answered carefully.

You kept your gaze out the window. The thought of looking at Sukuna made your chest feel tight. “Even the small street vendors?”

Sukuna tapped his finger against the steering wheel. He wasn’t a fan of dancing around the conversation like you weren’t upset with him. “They own most of their business. I merely make a small margin of profit off sales and such. I have no interest in micromanaging properties.”

You hummed thoughtfully, finally sitting back in your seat. You folded your hands in your lap. “How did you know that guy was from the Gojo clan?”

There it was. “I could tell. He was sloppy while trying to take pictures of us for confirmation. The waiter had also confirmed it.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Thinking back, you tried to pinpoint when the waiter had said anything about the gentleman behind you.

“Don’t stress yourself thinking too hard kitten. It was a signal you wouldn’t have noticed anyway.”

You took a deep breath, filling your lungs up with oxygen as you tried to settle the waging war inside of you. On one hand, he had done it to protect you. On another hand, he took a life right in front of you.

“It was jarring,” you muttered, allowing for a moment of vulnerability seep through. “I didn’t like being in that position.”

Sukuna quickly looked over at you. He could mark this down as yet another time you managed to catch him off guard. As much as Sukuna didn’t want to admit it, he hadn’t thought about how you must’ve been scared. Your body had been trapped in a fight of flight mode.

He had been raised around death his entire life. His family had been in this business for generations. It was ingrained in him. Everyone he worked with was used to it, or he didn’t give a damn about them to notice if it bothered them.

You were different — not a co-conspirator, not a business partner. You weren’t raised in this life, and while it was Sukuna’s duty as your husband to protect you from it, it was also his duty to make you feel safe.

You didn’t feel safe when he shot and killed that man. It was too sudden. He hadn’t properly explained or given you any sort of warning. He had gotten tunnel vision.

“That’s a fault on my end. I will not put you in that position again, angel.” It wasn’t an apology, but it was all he knew how to do: be better moving forward.

You stared at him in slight disbelief. Admitting he was wrong was something you hadn’t expected from a yakuza lord.

Feeling your stare, he grunted in response, causing you to shift your gaze elsewhere. He took accountability. He gave you his word he wouldn’t do it again, yet you found difficulty believing his word after such an incident.

You shifted your gaze out the window, deciding that you’d just need time to think. You needed to gather yourself, but it appeared as though Sukuna wasn’t going to afford you the opportunity.

“Where are we going..?” you questioned, shooting a look of confusion and slight fear towards him. He hadn’t taken the turn to head back to the student housing. Is this when he offs you?

Any look of guilt or concern had vacated Sukuna’s sharp features. He turned his head to give you a one-over, and a predatory grin curled on his face. “Home.”

“My student housing is…” your voice trailed as you pointed a finger back towards the exit he should’ve taken.

“Oh doll, are you still in shock?” he asked with a twinge of mockery in his tone. “Do you not remember agreeing to stay in the guest room until we are officially married?”

Fuck. You had completely forgotten about the clause. “I didn’t think that was effective immediately. I don’t have any of my things. I need clothes and hygiene products—“

“I can assure you, angel.” His fingers gently cascaded over your thigh until he cupped your flesh with such care that all your senses melted into him. “Despite your incessant worrying and forgetfulness, I have things under control. All you need to do is sit there and indulge me, yes?”

Your body felt warm, and you couldn’t decipher whether it was from his caressing touch or from how he took charge of the situation. Slowly, you eased back into your seat. What else were you to do? Jump out of his moving car on the freeway?

“Good girl,” he praised, giving your thigh a delicate squeeze. Your breath lightly hitched in your throat from the sensation, and your core involuntarily clenched around nothing. His touch felt like flames licking at your thighs.

You tried to will your heart to stop racing, but you subconsciously knew you were willingly going into the lion’s den.

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[yukkiji]

i js wanted to drop in and say ur writing is some of the best here on haikyuublr right now and u have such a talent <3 loved ur iwa and atsumu fic and greatly loking forward to reading more of ur stuff after writing this. thank u for sharing ur stuff and excited for whatever else u decide to write!!! ALSO i would love to request something longer with suna if thatd be possible,, maybe something where reader's feeling insecure bc its been a while since theyve done anything? when in reality suna's js exhausted from work and accidentally neglected her T-T if u dont wanna do this i dont mind at all anything with sunarin is fine <3 love ur writing againnn

still here, still yours

after weeks of exhaustion and unintended neglect, pro volleyball player suna gently reassures his insecure partner through tender, praise-filled intimacy—reminding her she's always wanted, never forgotten, and deeply loved.

starring. suna rintaro x fem!reader

genre: fluff, romance, light angst, smut

warning: 18+ mdni., smut, nsfw, praise kink, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, squirting, dom!suna, emotional neglect, reassurance, light spanking, shower scene, soft aftercare, verbal praise, body worship, unprotected sex

wc: 11.8k

author's note: long overdue but here it is! i hope you enjoy reading this hehe

it’s subtle at first.

the distance.

not a storm, not a blowout, not even a sharp word. just… a creeping quiet. the kind you don’t notice until you’re already sitting in the dark, wondering when the lights went out.

you chalk it up to exhaustion—the kind that’s expected from a professional athlete grinding through mid-season. rintarou comes home past midnight most nights now, his footsteps dragging, his voice low. the door opens, then closes with a tired sigh. his bag hits the floor, and he exhales like the weight on his shoulders is just too much.

he always greets you. always. a soft, automatic “hey,” murmured against your hair as he walks by. sometimes a kiss on the top of your head if he remembers. sometimes, if he isn’t too far gone, he pulls you against his chest for a minute, just holding you in that quiet, liminal hour between exhaustion and sleep.

but more often lately, he heads straight to the shower. a ten-minute rinse, the door left cracked open so the steam doesn’t fog the glass. when he returns, towel slung low on his hips, he drops into bed beside you with a grunt, kisses your shoulder if he’s awake enough, and passes out before you can even finish whispering, “welcome home.”

you tell yourself it’s nothing.

because technically, nothing’s wrong.

you still laugh at the memes he sends you at 1 a.m. from his side of the bed. you still hear him humming under his breath when he makes you tea in the morning. he still saves your leftovers when he eats out with the team. he still picks up your favorite snacks at the corner store without you asking.

but something’s missing.

something deep.

and you don’t even realize what it is until the third night he doesn’t come home at all.

no warning. no messages until after midnight, just a tired update: [rintaro]: staying at the facility tonight. too tired to drive back. love you.

you believe him. of course you do. you never doubt him. suna may be many things—dry, aloof, chronically low-energy—but he has never lied to you. never once gave you a reason to question his loyalty, his commitment. he’s yours. fully.

and still—you ache.

you lie in bed in one of his old shirts, the fabric stretched soft from years of wear, and your hands wander. you trail your fingers down your ribs, over your hips, part your thighs and slip under your panties.

you try.

you really try.

but your hand doesn’t feel like his.

your fingers don’t curl with the same hunger, don’t slide with the same deliberate slowness that he always used when he wanted to wreck you slowly. they don’t press firm and steady on your clit the way he does, the way that always made your legs shake. they don’t fill you the way he does—long fingers that crook just right, mouth murmuring praise between licks as you unravel under him.

you moan, trying to conjure him. you imagine his voice, low and thick with sleep, telling you what a good girl you are. how sweet you taste. how soft you feel. you remember the way he used to breathe harder when he got close to making you come, like your pleasure turned him inside out.

but it’s not the same.

your own touch feels foreign. lonely. hollow.

and when the heat finally builds and fizzles out, you lie there unsatisfied, eyes burning, chest aching more than your thighs.

not because you’re angry. not because you don’t trust him.

but because you miss him in a way that makes your body ache.

you miss the way he used to need you.

now it feels like he needs rest more than he needs you.

you know he’s tired. you know he’s overworked. you’ve seen the stiffness in his shoulders, the way he winces when he peels off his tape, the dark circles deepening under his eyes. you know that every match, every practice, every press event chips away at the energy he has left.

but still—you miss him.

and more than that, you miss feeling wanted.

not just loved. not just adored in the passive, every-day kind of way. but craved. desired. claimed.

you can’t even remember the last time he touched you like that. not out of obligation. not for routine.

but because he couldn’t not.

because his body had to be on yours, had to taste you, had to feel you wrapped around him.

you pull your hand back and curl into yourself, frustrated tears pricking the corners of your eyes. you’re not mad. you’re not suspicious. just…

lonely.

quietly, devastatingly lonely.

and you don’t know how to bring it up without sounding like you’re asking for too much.

without sounding like one more thing he doesn’t have the energy for.

but this quiet?

it’s starting to feel like a slow kind of heartbreak.

like watching the tide pull away, further and further, and wondering if it’s ever going to come back to shore.

it’s starting to feel like a slow kind of heartbreak.

like watching the tide pull away, further and further, and wondering if it’s ever going to come back to shore.

you wipe your hand on the hem of your shirt and breathe in deep—once, then again—trying to convince your body that the tears pooling in your eyes are just from frustration. not sadness. not rejection. just a fleeting ache. something that sleep will solve.

except, sleep doesn’t come easily anymore.

not when the bed feels too cold on one side. not when the sheets still smell like him, and your fingers ache from trying to replace a warmth that only he can give.

so you sit up.

pad into the kitchen. open the fridge. close it. not hungry.

you scroll your phone, rereading old messages from months ago—selfies he used to send from the gym, photos of his legs iced up and flexed after a match, paired with a lazy “you like this, don’t lie” and a smirking emoji. voice memos of him mumbling how much he missed you after a long away game. a grainy video of him shirtless in the locker room, whispering a low “wish you were here” against a backdrop of noisy teammates.

that version of him feels so far away now.

not gone. but buried. like a season passed, and no one told you it wouldn’t come back the same.

you curl into the couch with a blanket over your lap, eyes on the clock.

12:46 a.m.

then 1:22.

then 1:37.

no update.

he’s not home.

again.

you check your phone just to be sure, even though there’s no buzz, no badge.

nothing.

you think about calling. about asking if he’s okay. about whether he ate dinner, or if he remembered to put on the muscle rub that helps with his back. but then you imagine him in the locker room, tired eyes barely open, chin tucked to his chest as he tries to survive the day, and guilt gnaws at your resolve.

you don’t want to be a burden.

but when the door finally creaks open at 2:04 a.m., your body jolts upright before you even realize you’ve moved.

he looks… drained.

dark circles. damp hair. eyes dull like a storm cloud that never opens up. he kicks off his shoes without looking up, his bag thudding against the door.

“hey,” he mumbles, like always.

suna walks toward the couch, still shrugging off the weight of the day, and bends just enough to press a soft kiss to your temple. the press of his lips is warm—familiar—but distant, like a habit rather than a want.

"why are you still awake, baby?" he murmurs, voice low and raspy, like gravel smoothed by exhaustion.

you stare at the muted tv for a beat too long before answering.

“i couldn’t sleep.”

he hums absently, his hand brushing the top of your head in that same distracted way he always does lately. like he means to be comforting but doesn’t linger long enough to make it count. then he turns, already peeling off his hoodie as he makes his way down the hall.

"don’t wait up for me,” he says, voice fading as he walks, “i’ll head to our bedroom after i shower, okay?”

you don’t answer.

because if you do, you’re scared it’ll come out as a sob.

so you just nod, even though he can’t see it, curling in tighter on the couch as you listen to the bathroom door click shut. the sound of running water soon follows—soft at first, then rushing.

you stay where you are.

wrapped in silence. in soft cotton and worn-out longing. your body curled like muscle memory, trying to make yourself small. the blanket's gone cold now, and the cushions beneath you are sunken with the weight of waiting.

you think about getting up. think about brushing your teeth and sliding under the sheets like nothing hurts. think about pretending you didn’t cry earlier, about slipping into bed beside him and offering your back like a silent invitation he probably won’t take.

but you can’t move.

not yet.

because even now—after he’s home, after he kissed your temple, after he said he’d meet you in bed—there’s still a hollow ache in your chest that hasn’t quieted.

you hear the water shut off.

moments later, the door opens. his familiar steps thump softly against the hallway floor.

you expect him to go straight to the bedroom like always.

but instead—

“…babe?”

his voice comes from behind you, confused. not panicked. but uncertain.

you blink slowly, still curled up on the couch, and turn your head just enough to see him standing there, fresh from the shower.

hair damp, sticking in dark strands across his forehead. a towel slung loosely around his hips, clinging low on his hips. water still glistening down his chest—broad, lean, the kind of frame built from quiet discipline and relentless training. his hand clutches a shirt he probably meant to put on in the bedroom.

but he never made it that far.

because you’re still not there.

and he notices.

“…why’re you still out here?” he asks quietly, his brows drawing together.

you don’t answer at first.

you just look up at him.

and that’s when he really sees you.

the tired set of your shoulders. the way your lips are pressed together like they’re holding back a flood. the way your eyes glint—not from the tv light, but from the tears you refuse to shed a second time tonight.

his expression falters.

he drops the shirt in his hand, chest still rising and falling slowly from the heat of the shower—and maybe now, from something else.

he crosses to you without a word, crouches beside the couch, and touches your knee with gentle fingers.

“talk to me,” he says, softly. genuinely. “please.”

and that’s when your voice cracks.

“did i do something wrong?”

you don’t mean for it to come out like that.

small. fragile. broken around the edges.

but there it is—bare and trembling in the air between you.

“did i do something wrong?”

suna’s breath stutters, his hand tightening just slightly on your knee. not out of anger. out of heartbreak. it’s written all over his face now—the pieces finally clicking into place, sharp and clear and cutting.

“no,” he breathes. “no, baby, you didn’t.”

you look away, ashamed, eyes blinking hard as your throat constricts. but he doesn’t let you pull away—not even in silence. he gently climbs onto the couch beside you, still shirtless, still warm from the shower, and wraps an arm around your shoulders like he’s trying to shield you from the weight you’ve been carrying alone.

“i just…” your voice trembles. “you haven’t touched me in weeks. you don’t look at me the way you used to. you barely come home anymore. i thought maybe—maybe i wasn’t enough for you anymore.”

“hey—hey.” he pulls back just enough to cup your cheeks, to make you look at him. “don’t say that. don’t even think that.”

you try to hold it together, but your bottom lip quivers.

“i trust you, rin. i do. i never thought you were cheating, or that there was someone else, i just… i miss how it used to be. i miss how you used to be with me. i miss you.”

he lets out a quiet sound, like it physically hurts to hear.

and then his forehead is pressed against yours, his hands cradling your face with aching care.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers. “you didn’t do anything wrong. you’re still everything i want. everything i need. you always have been.”

“then why…?” your eyes flicker shut, voice barely a breath. “why did it start to feel like i wasn’t?”

“i got caught up,” he admits, voice hoarse. “with the team, and travel, and press—and i kept telling myself i’d make it up to you after the season, or the week after, or the next time i had energy. but all that time, i didn’t notice i was slowly… fading out of us. and i didn’t realize how far i’d drifted until i looked up tonight and you weren’t in bed. you were still out here, waiting.”

“i wasn’t waiting,” you say, barely.

he nods. “i know. i mean—i know you were done waiting. i should’ve come home to you weeks ago. i should’ve noticed that i was holding you at arm’s length when i should’ve been holding you close.”

he pauses, then says quietly:

“you never stopped being enough. i just stopped showing you that i saw it. that i saw you. and that’s on me.”

you blink again, this time letting the tears fall.

“rin…”

he wipes them with his thumbs, leaning in to kiss your cheeks—once, twice—then your nose, then your forehead.

“i love you,” he murmurs. “i love you so fucking much. and i’m sorry for making you feel anything less than wanted. i hate that you thought you had to question how much i still want you.”

your voice comes out cracked. “it’s been hard.”

“i know.” he kisses the corner of your mouth, soft and slow. “let me make it easier again.”

you hesitate. “i don’t want you to do it just because you feel bad.”

“i’m doing it because i miss you,” he says, firmer now. “because i’ve been starving for you and too fucking tired to reach out. but i’m reaching now. if you’ll let me.”

you nod slowly, and he presses his lips to yours fully this time—gentle at first, then deeper, like he’s pouring every apology and longing into the kiss. like he’s been aching too. like he finally remembered how to hold you.

he kisses you like he’s starved for it—like he’s been standing in the doorway of himself for weeks, unable to find the key, and tonight you finally let him in.

his hand slides up your thigh, warm and steady, until his fingers dip just beneath the edge of your shorts. his knuckles brush your inner thigh, and you shiver, gasping softly into his mouth. the heat that floods your body is instant—dizzying—and he groans as you squirm in response, like your reaction only feeds him.

“come here,” he murmurs, already tugging your hips toward him until you're lying flat on the couch cushions, head tilted back against the armrest.

he drops to his knees between your legs, and the moment he looks up at you—wet hair falling over his eyes, mouth already parted like he’s hungry—your breath catches in your throat.

“you okay?” he asks, softer now.

you nod, eyes half-lidded.

“i just… i missed you,” you whisper. “so much.”

his jaw clenches.

“i know,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “i’m gonna make it up to you, baby. just lay back. let me take care of you.”

you lift your hips obediently when he starts to tug your shorts down—slow, reverent, like he’s unwrapping something fragile. he kisses your inner thigh first, just barely grazing his lips over the sensitive skin, then drags his mouth higher.

when he sees how wet you are—already slick, glistening under the dim light—he pauses.

his eyes flick up to yours, and you don’t even try to hide it.

“i touched myself earlier,” you admit, cheeks burning. “it didn’t feel the same. i—i needed you.”

his jaw tightens, eyes darkening.

still kneeling between your thighs, his gaze drags down slowly—over your flushed cheeks, your heaving chest, the soaked curve of your panties stretched tight against your pussy. and he just stares.

his voice drops, low and edged with heat. “you know i hate it when you touch yourself, baby.”

you shiver.

“but…” he leans in, nuzzles your inner thigh, his lips brushing hot against your skin, “…i wasn’t there for you, huh?”

you nod faintly, biting your lip. “i tried. it just… didn’t work.”

he hums against your skin, one hand trailing up your thigh, splaying wide over your hip. “because this pussy doesn’t open for anyone but me.”

your breath catches in your throat.

then—he hooks his fingers into your panties and drags them down excruciatingly slow, eyes locked on your glistening cunt. you swear you feel his breath hitch when he sees how wet you are.

“fuck,” he breathes, like it punches the air out of him. “you’re soaked.”

he leans in without hesitation, licking a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit—and moans.

loudly.

like the taste of you alone nearly makes him lose it.

“missed this,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “missed you.”

then he dives in.

his mouth seals over your clit like he’s starved—tongue warm and wet, flicking in tight, steady circles that make your thighs twitch. you gasp, back arching, and he groans again, like your reaction turns him on more than anything.

his tongue flattens and licks broad and slow, then tightens again to flick quick patterns over your clit. when you whimper, he slides his hands up, pressing your hips down with his forearms to keep you in place, to stop you from squirming away.

“you don’t get to run,” he says against you, voice muffled. “you wanted this—missed this. let me give it to you.”

and god, he gives.

he moves like he’s memorized every sound you make, every tremble, every part of you that begs to be touched. his tongue works your clit in perfect rhythm—slow, steady, precise. he moans every time you gasp his name. and when your fingers slide into his hair, tugging, gripping, he growls into your cunt like he wants to drown in it.

“rinnie—” you gasp.

that name. that soft little plea.

it makes something snap in him.

he pulls back for a second, lips slick, panting, and stares at your ruined expression.

“say it again.”

“rinnie,” you whisper, voice shaking.

his mouth crashes back to your clit and he slides two fingers into you with practiced ease. they stretch you open—deep, slow, curling perfectly against your sweet spot.

you cry out, body arching. “oh my—rin—!”

he starts fucking you with his fingers—deep and unrelenting. his pace is slow, but brutal, curling on every thrust. paired with his tongue flicking your clit again, your whole body starts to tremble.

you’re drenched. you hear it. every wet drag of his fingers, every slick suck of his lips over your clit.

“so fucking tight,” he rasps against you. “this pussy’s been waiting for me, huh?”

“y-yes—!”

“this is mine,” he growls. “say it.”

“yours! it’s yours—rinnie, please—!”

his fingers speed up.

his mouth stays locked on your clit, sucking harder now—his tongue flicking faster, relentless. the combination builds fast—pressure curling, tightening, cresting under your skin like a wave you can’t stop.

“i wanna feel you cum, baby,” he pants against your pussy. “you gonna let me taste it?”

you’re too far gone to speak.

so you moan, and moan, hips bucking, thighs trembling.

and then—

you fall apart.

your orgasm rips through you—sharp and hot and overwhelming—your walls fluttering around his fingers, your cries echoing in the room.

suna moans into your release, drinks it down like it’s holy. he doesn’t stop. not until your body jerks from oversensitivity, and your hand pulls weakly at his hair.

then, slowly, he eases his fingers out and kisses your inner thigh like he’s thanking you.

you’re a mess—panting, legs trembling, chest heaving with every shaky breath. your skin is flushed with heat, overstimulated and glowing, and slick glistens between your thighs, dripping onto the couch cushions beneath you.

and him—suna—he’s still kneeling there, shirtless, broad shoulders rising and falling slowly, his chest kissed with droplets from his earlier shower. the towel around his waist has loosened just slightly, dangerously low on his hips, and his cock strains against the fabric, hard and heavy.

his chin glistens with your release, his lips swollen and pink. his eyes—dark, glassy, starving—drink you in like he’s imprinting every ruined inch of you into his memory.

and then—

he raises his hand.

two fingers glistening with your cum. slick and shining in the low light.

and without breaking eye contact—

suna brings those fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.

slow. leisurely. obscene.

his lips wrap around them and he moans low in his throat, tongue dragging up to savor every last drop of you.

your breath catches hard in your throat.

you feel it.

another gush of heat between your legs—like your body’s responding all over again, already throbbing with fresh want.

he notices.

the corner of his mouth lifts, slow and lazy, but his eyes are still hazy with need. still dark.

“you’re wet again,” he says quietly, fingers slipping from his mouth with a soft pop. his voice is low—dangerous—but wrapped in velvet. “that turn you on, baby?”

you can’t even deny it. not when your thighs press together involuntarily, chasing the friction. not when your skin burns under his gaze like he’s touching you with his eyes alone.

your voice comes out breathy. “rinnie…”

and that name—that sweet, submissive lilt—makes his towel tent even more.

he growls, climbing up onto the couch, crowding over your body.

“you taste so fucking good,” he murmurs against your mouth, kissing you again. “and you’re gonna let me fuck you now, yeah?”

your breath hitches.

he presses his forehead to yours, thumb caressing your cheek.

“let me make love to you slow, baby,” he whispers, voice wrecked with reverence. “let me remind you what it means to be mine.”

you barely nod before his arms are sliding beneath your back and thighs, lifting you effortlessly from the couch. the shift makes you gasp, but he holds you close, your bare chest pressed to his while your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. the towel is bunched between you now, loose and useless, your slick center brushing against the rigid outline of his cock.

you can feel him—hot, thick, already throbbing.

suna walks with slow, steady steps toward the bedroom, eyes fixed on you. he nudges the door open with his foot, never once faltering in his hold. the hallway light hits just enough to cast the sharp lines of his jaw and the soft gleam in his eyes.

you’re both half-undressed, your body flushed and still twitching from your orgasm, but your need spikes again just from feeling him so close—so hard. you grind against him instinctively, rolling your hips forward to chase the friction.

he hisses under his breath, arms tightening around you.

then—smack.

his hand lands firm and hot against your thigh, just enough to make you jolt.

“behave,” he mutters, voice dark now. his lips graze your ear, and you can feel the warning in his breath. “you wanna cum again tonight, don’t you?”

you bite your lip, nodding wordlessly.

“then wait,” he says, his palm smoothing over the sting he just left. “be good for me. i’ll give you everything. just let me get you to bed.”

you whimper, the heat between your legs pulsing at the way he speaks to you—firm but reverent, like you’re something precious and his.

on the way to the bedroom, his hoodie and your bra are discarded along the hall—rushed, messy, fevered. the moment you reach the bed, he lays you down gently, almost worshipfully, like you’re breakable and holy all at once.

he looks down at you.

bare. breathless. glowing.

and he lets the towel drop.

it pools at his feet, but your gaze doesn’t follow it. your eyes are locked on the heavy line of his cock—hard, flushed, thick, the tip glistening with arousal. he’s already leaking, already twitching as if your soaked body alone is enough to ruin him.

your thighs instinctively fall open, legs parting like muscle memory, inviting him in. suna watches the motion with a soft inhale, his eyes hungry, dark with something primal.

“look at you,” he murmurs, climbing over you slowly, like he’s savoring the view of your bare body spread out just for him. “dripping for me already.”

he leans down, kissing your collarbone first—slow, open-mouthed—then drags his lips across your skin until he reaches your mouth. and when he kisses you again, it’s warm and deep and wet, the kind of kiss that swallows everything.

he kisses you like he’s been dying of thirst and you’re the only thing that could ever quench it.

his hips dip lower, cock sliding through your folds, coating himself in your slick. he moans softly into your mouth when he feels how ready you are—how wet and swollen and clenching at nothing.

“feel that?” he murmurs, voice rough, hips rocking gently to tease your clit with the thick, aching head of his cock. “your pussy’s begging, baby.”

you whimper into his kiss, hips rising to meet his.

then—finally—he pushes in.

the tip eases past your entrance, stretching you open so slowly it makes your eyes roll back. he doesn’t rush it. he keeps kissing you, swallowing your shaky moans as he fills you inch by inch. his tongue slips into your mouth with the same lazy intensity, syncing perfectly with the slow, deliberate slide of his cock.

“fuck,” he hisses against your lips. “so tight. so warm. still the best thing i’ve ever felt.”

you break the kiss with a gasp, head tilting back into the pillow. he follows, mouthing down your throat, your jaw, the edge of your lips. you’re trying to breathe, trying to think, but he’s barely halfway in and your body already feels like it’s burning alive.

your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in when his hips roll forward again, pushing deeper.

“r-rinnie,” you moan, voice breaking into a whisper. “it’s so much…”

he kisses you again—slower this time, deeper.

“i know, baby. you’re taking me so well,” he murmurs against your mouth. “just like that. let me in. let me fill you up.”

his hand cups your thigh, spreading you wider. his pace never quickens—never—he sinks in slow, thick inch by thick inch, kissing you through the stretch, through the way your body tightens around him like you’ve been waiting to be whole again.

you whine against his lips, body arching, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming stretch and sweetness of it all.

when his hips finally press flush against yours, he doesn’t move.

he just holds himself there—buried to the hilt, twitching inside you—his lips brushing yours with a reverent sigh.

“there,” he whispers. “finally.”

you nod, dazed, barely able to speak.

“you feel me, baby?” he murmurs. “deep inside you, where i belong?”

“yes—rinnie, i feel you, i feel everything—”

he kisses you again, swallowing the way your voice trembles, and he doesn’t pull out yet. instead, he rocks his hips gently, barely moving—just enough for you to feel the weight of him, the thickness, the stretch.

“gonna take my time,” he promises, voice thick with emotion. “gonna love you so good you’ll forget all the nights i wasn’t here.”

your hands cup his face now, lips brushing his as your eyes flutter closed.

“just don’t stop,” you whisper. “don’t leave me empty anymore.”

his expression softens like he’s about to break.

“i won’t,” he says. “never again.”

and then—he pulls out just an inch, then slides back in, kissing you harder now.

and finally, finally, suna starts to move.

his hips roll into you with a lazy, deliberate rhythm—each thrust slow, smooth, like he’s memorizing the way your walls flutter around him. there’s no urgency, no rush. just the deep, steady grind of his cock inside you and the weight of his body pressed so perfectly into yours.

his lips never stray far from your skin. he peppers soft, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck, then down to your shoulder, lingering at the dip of your collarbone like he’s anchoring himself there. every kiss is slow, reverent—matched to the way he moves inside you, the way he fills you with every deep, perfect stroke.

“feels so good,” he whispers against your skin. “so warm. so tight. you always take me so well.”

you gasp softly, fingers threading through his hair as you tilt your head, giving him more of your throat. he takes it, mouthing gently at your pulse point, his breath hot and ragged.

“missed this. missed you.”

he thrusts again—deep, slow, the kind of pace that makes your toes curl and your breath catch.

“i never got tired of you,” he murmurs, voice rough but steady. “not once. never stopped wanting you, baby.”

you whimper his name—“rinnie”—and his hips stutter, just slightly.

his hand slides down to grip your thigh, spreading you wider as he rocks into you again, a little deeper this time. your body stretches around him perfectly, molding to every slow, grinding thrust like he was made for you.

“not your body,” he continues, kissing below your ear, “not your voice, not the way you look at me when you’re falling apart.”

his words settle deep, like warm honey sinking into cracked skin.

“fuck, i missed this sweet little pussy,” he groans into your shoulder, voice husky. “i’ve been so out of it i forgot how fucking good it feels to be home.”

you choke on a moan, clinging to him tighter as your hips roll up to meet his—chasing his rhythm, desperate to be even closer.

“rinnie—please, don’t stop.”

“not going anywhere,” he breathes, kissing your jaw, your temple, your mouth again. “you hear me? i’m not gonna stop. not until you believe how much i still love you.”

his thrusts stay deep, measured—his cock dragging perfectly along your walls, kissing that sweet spot inside you with every roll of his hips. you feel so full, so cherished, your body buzzing under the slow build of heat.

and all the while, he never stops touching you, kissing you, talking to you.

“you’re everything to me.”

“you’re the best thing i’ve ever come home to.”

“i’m sorry it took me so long to show it.”

your heart squeezes painfully, eyes brimming with tears as you breathe out his name again.

and he kisses the corner of your mouth, whispering against your lips:

“let me stay here. let me love you right this time.”

the words linger in the air, wrapped in the heat of your skin and the tremble of your breath. your legs are still wrapped loosely around his waist, your arms clinging around his shoulders like you’re afraid he’ll disappear again if you let go. but he doesn’t. suna stays right there—inside you, above you, around you—thrusting slow and deep, like he’s in no hurry to reach the end.

his palm smooths along the side of your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. his forehead rests against yours, breath mingling as he presses another kiss to your lips—soft, warm, home.

it’s quiet for a beat.

just your bodies moving together.

your soft moans swallowed between kisses.

the slick sound of him sliding in and out of you.

the weight of weeks of longing melting between the sheets.

but the ache is growing—coiling low in your belly. the slow rhythm is beautiful, addicting—but it’s not enough anymore. not with how full you feel. not with how much you need him.

your voice is barely more than a whimper.

“rin… faster, please.”

he freezes, eyes flicking down to meet yours.

and just like that—his expression shifts.

from tender to something darker. more possessive.

his lips curl into a quiet, knowing smirk. “could’ve just asked, baby.”

then his hands slide down—gripping the backs of your thighs as he pushes your knees toward your chest, folding you beneath him in one smooth, practiced motion.

the mating press.

his favorite.

because this is the position where he feels the most connected to you—where he can press every inch of himself into you, watch the way your face contorts with every thrust, feel your pussy tighten around him with nowhere to run.

where he can fuck you deep enough to hit your soul.

“you know i love you like this,” he grits out, adjusting his hips until the angle is perfect, until he’s buried even deeper.

you cry out at the stretch, the sudden change, your hands clutching at the sheets.

and then he starts to move.

harder. deeper.

his hips snap into yours, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room. every stroke punches a moan out of you, your legs trembling where they’re pinned against his chest. he doesn’t let up—he won’t.

then—he leans down, shifting his weight so your thighs are still pressed high but his chest meets yours again. his mouth finds your breast, warm and wet as he wraps his lips around your nipple and sucks.

your head falls back with a moan. “rinnie—!”

he groans around your skin, tongue swirling slowly, then fast, then pulling off with a soft pop before switching to the other.

“can’t get enough of you,” he pants, voice muffled against your chest. “wanna be close. wanna be inside you when you cum.”

your nails dig into his back as he fucks you deeper, faster, rougher—his mouth latching onto your nipple again like he’s drinking from you, like it grounds him.

“rin, i’m—! i’m gonna—!”

“i know, baby,” he groans, voice cracked with the effort of restraint, his hips stuttering just slightly from the way your walls are already fluttering around him. “cum for me. milk my cock. show me how good i make you feel.”

and then he shifts—just barely—but enough to slip one hand down from your thigh and press it between your bodies. the way he moves, the way he always knows exactly what you need, even now with his cock buried deep inside you, makes your heart swell.

his fingers find your clit instantly, already slick and swollen from how thoroughly he’s worked you up.

and then—he touches you.

a single, perfect swipe.

your back arches, a cry tearing from your throat before you can even bite it back.

“rinnie—!”

“i’ve got you,” he whispers, low and reverent, eyes flickering from your trembling body to your face as his thumb begins to rub slow, tight circles over your clit. “i always do.”

his thrusts stay deep and unrelenting, grinding into your cervix with each push as your thighs shake around his waist, pinned wide in his favorite position. the mating press makes you feel so full, so claimed, so his. and with his fingers teasing your clit—just right, just perfect—it’s too much.

you sob beneath him, pleasure threatening to snap loose like a wire pulled too tight.

every thrust hits your sweet spot dead-on, his cock dragging against every oversensitive nerve, while his thumb massages slow circles that have your vision going blurry, breath leaving your lungs in shuddering gasps.

“you gonna cum, pretty girl?” he pants, lips grazing your jaw. “gonna cum all over my cock while i’m this deep inside you?”

you nod frantically, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes from how overwhelming it feels.

“yes—yes, rinnie, i—oh my god, i’m gonna—”

“then fuckin’ let go.”

he leans in close, pressing his mouth to yours, and the second you moan into the kiss—your entire body breaks.

your orgasm hits like lightning—hard and hot, making your thighs twitch violently and your core clamp down around him in pulsing waves. your back lifts off the bed, body arching against his as you cry out his name over and over again, voice raw and ruined.

“fuck, yes—cum on my cock, just like that,” he growls, watching your face, eyes nearly wild as he feels you squeeze and throb around him. “god, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this. so perfect. this pussy was made for me.”

you can’t even speak—only sob, gasping as his cock continues to grind deep, his thumb slowing its circles now as your orgasm washes through you in long, drawn-out tremors.

your body collapses against the bed, boneless and overwhelmed, every nerve ending still buzzing.

but he’s still hard. still inside you.

and still fighting his own edge.

suna groans above you, his pace beginning to falter, a different kind of urgency taking over his movements now. his hand leaves your clit to grip your thigh again, pushing your legs even higher, even tighter to your chest.

“so fuckin’ tight when you cum,” he growls, hips snapping harder now, chasing his own release. “can’t hold it anymore—gonna fill you up, baby—gonna cum so deep inside this pretty pussy—”

his breathing shudders as your walls continue fluttering around him, your body still wrung out and gripping him like you never want to let go.

you manage to lift your arms, wrap them around his back, anchoring him to you.

“please,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “cum inside me, rinnie. want it so bad.”

that’s all it takes.

he plunges deep one last time—so deep it punches the air out of your lungs—and cums.

he moans your name as he spills into you, thick ropes of heat flooding your cunt, his cock twitching inside you with every wave of pleasure. his face buries into your neck, one hand gripping the back of your thigh, the other curled into the sheets beside your head as he rides out his orgasm in long, slow pulses.

you feel it. every drop. every throb.

and it only makes you hold him tighter.

he stays like that for a moment—breathing hard against your skin, chest rising and falling with yours, cock still buried deep, not ready to let go just yet.

“i needed that,” he breathes finally. “i needed you.”

you nod, lips brushing his temple, still trembling beneath him from the high. your heart pounds against your ribs, the slow stretch of afterglow sweeping over your limbs, but beneath it all—you're still pulsing. still needy. still not ready to let go.

and neither is he.

suna’s still inside you, his cock softening slightly from his orgasm, but the way your body stays wrapped around him—warm and wet and clenching gently with each little aftershock—has him breathing unevenly against your shoulder again.

his voice is rough, thick with the hint of a groan. “you’re gonna get me hard again if you keep squeezing me like that.”

you smile softly, tilting his chin up until your eyes meet.

“then let me take care of you now.”

he blinks, eyes fluttering, a little caught off-guard by the shift in your tone—no longer pleading or aching, but devoted. steady.

still straddling his waist in the mating press, you slowly slide off of him—every inch leaving you makes you both moan softly, the sensation almost too much, too bare. your thighs tremble as his cock slips free with a wet sound, followed immediately by the warm, slick spill of both your releases—his cum and yours—dripping from your swollen folds down onto his lower abdomen.

it’s messy. sticky. intimate in the way only lovers who’ve been through everything can be.

you try to move, try to shift off him gently, but suna catches the motion. his eyes drop immediately between your legs and he groans—deep and low in his throat, like he’s trying to keep it in but fails.

your mixed slick is coating your thighs, still trickling slowly down onto his stomach, and the sight wrecks him.

“fuck,” he breathes, eyes darkening again. “look at the mess we made…”

you don’t even get the chance to respond—not when you feel it.

him.

hardening again beneath you.

you glance down, eyes wide, as his cock, flushed and glistening, twitches back to life against his stomach. he’s already half-hard again, his breathing uneven just from the sight of you still soaked, your folds glistening and dripping with his cum.

“rinnie…” you murmur, somewhere between breathless and shy, “again?”

“i can’t help it,” he groans, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding up your back. “you’re still dripping, baby. fuck, i didn’t even get to watch it all spill out properly…”

you tremble, heat spiraling through your core again despite the exhaustion in your limbs.

“you do something to me,” he murmurs, sitting up so you’re straddling his lap again, chests flush. his cock presses right against your slit now, nudging between your folds, still slick with everything. “you make me insatiable.”

he leans in, kissing you—slow and greedy—his fingers sliding down to spread you open again, groaning into your mouth when he feels how soft and wet you still are.

“and you’re still ready for me,” he adds, voice rough. “still warm. still fucking perfect.”

you whimper into the kiss, rocking your hips against him again, helpless to the way your body responds.

your pussy’s still sore, stretched, and yet—his need for you, the heat of his voice, the mess between your thighs—has you wanting him again already.

“you think you can ride me now, sweetheart?” he murmurs, thumb grazing your clit with a featherlight touch. “wanna see you take me like you missed me.”

and you nod, breathless, already sinking back down—ready to remind him that no matter how many times he fills you, no matter how much he takes, you’ll always want more.

always want him.

your body aches, your thighs tremble, and your pussy’s still throbbing from everything he’s already given you—but none of that matters. not when he’s looking up at you like this. not when his touch is soft on your hips, like he’s trying to ground himself in your warmth.

suna leans back slightly against the pillows, legs spread, his toned chest rising and falling with each breath as he watches you from beneath heavy lids. his cock stands hard again, already flushed and leaking, the head slick from your shared release earlier.

“come here, baby,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with need. one of his hands slides down between you, wrapping around the base of his cock as he guides you toward it. “i’ll hold it. just take your time.”

you shift your hips, positioning yourself over him, your hands braced against his chest. slowly, carefully, you lower yourself down—letting the thick, aching head stretch you open once more.

both of you groan.

the feeling of him sinking into you again—after already being fucked so thoroughly—makes your head spin. he’s hot, thick, deep, and every inch feels like too much and still not enough.

“that’s it,” he pants, watching your face, his grip tightening around the base as you inch down farther. “take all of me. let me stretch you out again.”

you moan, breath hitching as your body accepts him—slowly, completely—until your hips finally meet his. you’re seated fully now, and you can feel everything. the stretch. the twitch. the fullness that has your pussy fluttering helplessly around him.

“fuck, you feel unreal,” he groans, both hands now gripping your waist. “look at you—already squeezing me like that.”

you begin to move—shallow bounces at first, your thighs trembling slightly with each rise and fall. his hands guide you, steady you, and soon your movements grow bolder—more confident—grinding down against his pelvis with every bounce.

the sound of slick skin meeting skin fills the room again, the wet heat of your cunt wrapping him so tightly that suna’s jaw clenches, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he opens them again—locked on you.

“come here,” he growls, sitting up suddenly, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer until your chest is pressed to his.

and then—his mouth finds your breast.

he sucks in your nipple hungrily, moaning around the soft skin as he tongues it, teeth grazing lightly before he switches to the other with a wet pop. his hands never stop guiding your hips, helping you ride him in rhythm, pushing you down harder each time he thrusts up into you.

“rinnie—!” you cry, your hands tangled in his hair as you arch into his mouth, pleasure building again too fast. “that feels so good…”

“yeah?” he breathes between kisses and licks, lips shining. “these pretty tits missed me too, huh?”

he lavishes each nipple with attention—sucking, licking, pulling with just enough force to make your back arch and your pussy clamp down around him.

your rhythm grows messy, your moans louder, the coil in your belly winding tighter again as he thrusts up to meet every bounce of your hips, his cock dragging along all the right places inside you.

“don’t stop, baby,” he pants, fucking up into you now with more urgency. “wanna feel you cum again—ride me just like that—show me how much you missed this cock.”

and you do.

you ride him like your body was made to fit his. like his cock was crafted just for you—thick and deep and angled so perfectly that every bounce forces the air from your lungs and sends shocks of pleasure through your spine.

every time you drop your hips, he thrusts up to meet you, and the head of his cock kisses your cervix with an aching precision that leaves you trembling. it’s deep. devastating. the kind of depth that makes your vision blur and your breath come in stuttered moans.

“rinnie—fuck—it’s so deep,” you gasp, head falling to his shoulder. “i-i feel lightheaded…”

“i know, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and full of praise, his hands gripping your hips tighter, helping guide your rhythm. “you’re taking it so well. so fuckin’ good for me.”

his mouth finds your neck again, pressing kisses beneath your jaw, tongue flicking against the heat of your pulse point. one of his hands slides up, fingers splayed across your lower back, holding you steady as he bucks up harder, faster, the sound of your bodies meeting growing louder, wetter, messier.

your thighs burn. your clit rubs against the ridge of his pelvis with every movement. and your pussy—slick, swollen, fluttering—clings to him so desperately you swear you can feel the outline of every vein.

weeks. it’s been weeks.

weeks of aching. of waiting. of touching yourself in the quiet of night and hating how empty it felt.

but this?

this is everything.

his heat. his hands. the way he fills you up and stays there, panting against your skin like he needs you just as badly.

“missed this pussy,” he groans, voice cracking as your walls squeeze around him again. “so tight. so warm. no one gets to have you like this—just me.”

your thighs quake where they straddle him, your nails leaving crescent-shaped dents in his chest as your movements begin to falter. the rhythm you kept moments ago—desperate, steady, purposeful—is now stuttering into something sloppy and slow, hips barely rolling, your muscles too spent to keep up.

your head dips forward, forehead pressing into his shoulder as your mouth falls open in a soft, breathless moan.

that’s when he notices.

the way your moans turn into soft, broken whimpers.

the way your body trembles like it’s overwhelmed, overstimulated, ruined.

and suna grins.

a slow, knowing smirk curls against his lips as he looks up at you, the flush on your cheeks, the faraway haze in your eyes. his hands slide down, gripping your hips tighter, keeping you perched on his cock like a doll about to fall apart.

“ohhh,” he murmurs, voice deep, lazy, almost playful. “is my baby going cock dumb?”

you whimper, too dazed to even respond properly, only nodding against his neck as your pussy flutters around him again—wet, sensitive, clinging to every inch of him like your body can’t bear the thought of him pulling out.

“yeah?” he coos, a note of pride in his tone. “that’s what i thought.”

he doesn’t wait. he shifts beneath you, adjusting his position just slightly, and then—he starts to fuck up into you from below.

you sob, your fingers flying to clutch his shoulders as his cock punches into you over and over again, so deep, the tip brushing your cervix with every sharp thrust. the slick mess between your thighs makes the glide obscene—wet, hot, perfect.

“you were riding me so good, baby,” he pants, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “now look at you. barely holding on. just sittin’ on my cock like a dumb little bunny, letting me do all the work.”

his hands move to your ass, gripping tight, guiding your hips to grind down in rhythm with his thrusts. your clit rubs against his pubic bone just right—enough to make your entire body twitch.

“feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, mouth dragging along your jaw. “so deep. so full. this what you missed while i was gone, huh?”

“y-yes, rin—please, it’s so much—”

“you can take it,” he groans, pressing his forehead against yours. “you always do.”

then his mouth finds your nipple again—wet, hungry, greedy—sucking hard as he fucks you harder. his tongue flicks over the sensitive peak while one hand slips between your bodies again to rub tight, deliberate circles over your clit.

the stimulation is blinding.

his cock fucking up into you like he’s trying to brand the shape of himself into your body.

his mouth at your chest.

his voice whispering filth and devotion in the same breath.

his fingers never stopping.

“cum for me again, baby,” he grits, his thrusts turning rougher, deeper. “wanna feel that pretty pussy gush all over me again. i need to feel it.”

your back arches. your thighs start to shake again. and your orgasm builds fast—white-hot and overwhelming, swelling inside you like pressure about to burst.

“rinnie—!” you cry, your entire body going taut. “i—i’m cumming—!”

and then it hits.

your walls clench hard—tightening around him like a vice, squeezing his cock so perfectly it draws a strangled moan from deep in his chest. your climax rips through you like a tidal wave, crashing fast and furious, leaving you breathless as your moans dissolve into shattered whimpers. your entire body trembles in his lap, thighs quaking, nails digging into his shoulders as your release gushes from you uncontrollably. it hits hard—sharp, hot, overwhelming—and then your body reacts.

you squirt.

the pressure releases all at once, sudden and messy, and your slick spills out of you in wet pulses. it covers both your thighs and his abs, drenching his lower stomach, soaking his cock, the bed beneath you already ruined. you gasp, head thrown back, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as the pleasure peaks and doesn’t let go.

“fuck,” suna groans, watching it happen with parted lips, jaw slack. “you squirted, baby—fuck, look at that. look what i do to you.”

you can’t even answer. you’re still shaking, barely able to hold yourself upright, your thighs limp where they straddle his lap. you feel like you’ve melted, like you’ve unraveled entirely. and still—still—he’s hard inside you. still thick, still pulsing, twitching against your oversensitive walls. he doesn’t stop. he doesn’t even think about stopping.

instead, he grips your hips tight, lifts you slightly, and drives up into you again.

your cry is sharp and wrecked, fingernails dragging down his back as your overstimulated cunt clamps around him again, your whole body jerking from the intensity.

“s–suna—rinnie—please, i—” you gasp, but the words fall apart when he thrusts again, deep, slow, and deliberate.

“oh, you’re not done,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and feral. “you think you can cum like that and not get fucked through it?”

you try to speak again, try to find something to cling to, but then he rolls his hips up—his cock dragging against every too-sensitive nerve ending inside you—and your hands fly to his shoulders, digging in hard. your nails scratch down his back in helpless, shaky arcs, and he groans, head falling to your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“mark me, baby,” he pants, fucking up into you harder now. “go ahead. scratch me. bite me. let me feel how good it is.”

you do. without even thinking, you sink your teeth into the skin of his shoulder, muffling your moan as another wave of pleasure slams into you. he hisses through his teeth, hips jerking up in response, his cock pressing even deeper—filling you in a way that has your body arching, your head spinning.

“you’re so fuckin’ wet,” he growls, the sound of your soaked pussy squelching around him with every thrust. “this pussy’s so messy for me. so fuckin’ perfect. you like it when i fuck you after you cum, huh? when you’re too sensitive and still can’t stop squeezing me?”

you nod against his shoulder, still biting down, your moans breaking through your clenched jaw as he picks up the pace. he’s relentless now, hands holding your hips in place as he uses you—drives up into you with hard, deep thrusts that have your breath catching, your entire body lit up from the overstimulation.

each drag of his cock makes you twitch. each grind of his hips against yours sends another electric shock through your system.

you’re sobbing now—too much, too full, too fucked out—and he’s still praising you through it.

“take it, baby,” he breathes. “take all of it. you’re doing so good. let me fuck you dumb. let me make you forget your own name.”

your pussy flutters again, clenching down on him like a vice, and he groans so loud it vibrates through your chest. his rhythm stutters, hips bucking more erratically now, breath catching.

“gonna fill you up again,” he growls, voice wrecked. “wanna cum so deep, make you feel me for days.”

you nod again, eyes rolling back, body giving in completely.

“please,” you whisper. “please, rinnie, cum inside me. want all of it.”

that’s what does it.

he lets out a low, broken moan, burying his face in your neck as he thrusts deep, deeper, then stills—his cock twitching violently as he spills inside you. thick warmth fills you again, flooding your sore, stretched walls as he holds you tight, arms trembling around your waist, chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven breaths.

he stays there, buried to the hilt, pulsing, groaning softly as you twitch around him—still trembling, still so full, your walls fluttering weakly with every aftershock. his cum leaks out in slow, warm trails, dripping down between your thighs and smearing across both your bodies in the tangled mess you’ve made together.

but even after everything—after you squirted all over his abs, after he came deep inside you for the second time, after your entire body is limp and trembling in his arms—you feel it.

him.

still hard.

still inside you.

and when you whimper, shifting just a little on his lap, the slight movement makes his cock twitch again, still thick and rigid despite how thoroughly he just came. your head lolls against his shoulder, dazed and barely able to think straight.

“rin… you’re still… hard?”

he chuckles low in your ear, the sound deep and smug, his hands stroking slowly down your back.

“told you i missed you,” he murmurs, voice rasping with the weight of his lust. “i’m not done.”

you don’t even have the strength to respond—not with words. but your pussy clenches weakly around him, your thighs twitching, and that’s answer enough.

he shifts you gently, guiding your hips again, and groans when the motion makes your swollen, used cunt squeeze down on him with resistance. you’re sore, so sore, but the sensation of still being stretched open around him, of still feeling his cock twitching inside you, has heat building in your gut again.

“i’ve been away too long,” he mutters, lifting you slightly before thrusting back in—slow and deep, making you moan softly against his skin. “weeks without you. you think i’m gonna stop at two rounds?”

you cry out softly as he starts to move again, dragging his cock in and out of you with slow, grinding thrusts, letting you feel every inch. it’s not rushed this time—it’s deliberate. heavy. sensual. his hands cradle your hips, guiding your body to meet his rhythm.

“you deserve more than that,” he whispers, brushing his lips along your cheek. “deserve to be fucked so good you can’t walk tomorrow.”

you bury your face in his neck, moaning weakly, body already starting to melt again as overstimulation gives way to something new—slower, deeper, a third round wrapped in pleasure that borders on worship.

suna leans back against the pillows, shifting you slightly so your knees are spread wider, your chest pressed close to his, his cock sliding even deeper from the angle. he kisses you then—soft and possessive—while his hips roll up into you again and again, stretching you slowly as your slick mixes with his release and drips down his shaft.

“you gonna let me make up for all that lost time, baby?” he whispers against your lips, voice husky. “gonna let me fuck you again? take it like the good girl you are?”

you nod helplessly, barely coherent now. every inch of your skin feels fevered. your heart pounds. your body burns for him again.

and he gives you everything.

he proves himself over and over again.

with every deep thrust that leaves you gasping.

with every kiss that lingers on your skin like a promise.

with every time he brings you to the edge and pulls you back in.

and long into the night—until you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve cum, how many times he’s filled you—he holds you close, bodies still joined, proving that you were never too much to want.

he just needed time to remember how much he missed everything about you.

now here he was, kneeling at the edge of the bed with a towel in hand, wiping your thighs with slow, deliberate care.

the room is warm with the scent of sex and sweat, heavy with the afterglow of everything that’s just unraveled between you. the sheets are a soaked mess beneath you, tangled and clinging to your body, while your limbs lie slack, trembling, utterly spent. your skin is flushed, glistening in the low light. your chest rises and falls in unsteady breaths, and your thighs twitch involuntarily every time he touches you—still reeling from that final climax.

suna is quiet now, all of that teasing energy faded into something softer, something intimate. his hands move gently over your legs, wiping up the slick trails of cum and arousal that have dripped down to the backs of your knees. his thumb strokes just beneath the crease of your thigh, and even that has you flinching.

“easy,” he murmurs, glancing up at you with tired but affectionate eyes. “i’ve got you.”

you nod weakly, your voice hoarse from moaning his name all night. “i know… i’m just still—sensitive.”

he smiles at that. “yeah, i know.”

you watch as he folds the towel, his brows furrowed in concentration as he leans back in, wiping again, slower now.

and then, because he’s always been a little selfish when it comes to you, suna leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of your trembling thigh.

“rin—” you start, a soft warning in your voice, but it’s too late.

his tongue is already dragging up your overstimulated slit, collecting the last remnants of his cum and your release, and you gasp, your hips jerking upward as your hand flies to his hair.

“i’m just cleaning you up,” he murmurs with a devilish smirk, but the way his mouth moves against you is anything but innocent. it’s slow, tender, savoring.

and somehow, even after everything—your body responds.

your legs twitch again, a sharp tremor crawling up your spine, and you shake your head, breath catching.

“rinnie—please—i can’t—” you whisper, but you’re already grinding against his mouth without realizing it.

his arms snake around your thighs, holding you open as his tongue dips into your entrance again, licking you through it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

one long stroke, then another.

and your body gives up.

you squirt again.

it’s sudden and messy, a wet gasp tearing from your throat as you soak his face with a hot rush of release. it pours down your thighs and splashes across his chest, some of it dripping to the floor beside the bed, and you collapse fully into the sheets, eyes fluttering back as your body convulses one last time.

he groans into you like it’s the best gift he’s ever received, letting the warmth of your release soak him as he finally pulls back—face dripping, lips parted, his abs slick and glistening.

“shit, baby…” he pants, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he looks at you with pure disbelief. “you really missed me.”

you can’t even answer. you just groan, turning your head into the pillow, utterly ruined.

he laughs, breathless and fond, and reaches for a clean towel, dabbing your thighs again, this time with a reverence that makes your heart ache. he doesn’t rush. he wipes gently between your legs, pressing soft kisses to your knees, your hips, the swell of your stomach.

“okay,” he murmurs, voice low now, soothing. “let’s get you in the shower. you need to be warm and clean. i’ll help you.”

you don’t protest. you can’t. your body’s heavy and sore, but when suna lifts you into his arms bridal-style, everything in you goes quiet. safe. anchored. he carries you down the hall, bare skin against bare skin, your arms looped around his neck as your head rests on his shoulder.

the bathroom light is soft. the water’s already running—warm, with the faintest scent of lavender from the body wash you both share.

suna sets you down carefully on the shower bench and steps inside with you, guiding your body beneath the spray. he stands behind you, shielding you from the pressure of the water, and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his cheek against the back of your head.

you sigh. the water rolls down your skin like peace itself, soothing the soreness blooming in your thighs, the ache between your legs, the raw tremble in your muscles from being thoroughly and lovingly ruined. you lean back against suna’s chest, his arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder as the steam rises around you both.

but the silence—the warmth—the intimacy—it's not enough.

not when he’s right there.

not when your body still remembers the stretch of him inside you. not when your skin is still buzzing with the echo of every touch, every kiss, every praise-soaked thrust.

"rin…" your voice is quiet, a bit raspier than usual, fragile and needy, "i want more."

he doesn’t move right away. you can feel his lips curve into the faintest smile against your wet shoulder.

then his arms tighten around you.

“baby…” he hums, low and indulgent. “you’ve cum how many times tonight?”

you pout, head tipping back to rest against his shoulder, eyes fluttering open lazily. “i don’t know. a lot?”

he chuckles, nuzzling into the curve of your neck, his breath warm and teasing against your damp skin.

“exactly. you squirted so many times i lost count. you’re spent,” he murmurs. “and i’m not about to let you pass out in the shower just because your pussy’s greedy.”

you flush, both from the warmth of the water and his words, and you squirm a little in his hold, grinding back against where you can already feel him half-hard, heat pressed up against the curve of your ass. you’re too sensitive to do anything serious, but even the faint contact has both of you groaning quietly.

still, he tightens his grip immediately, stilling your hips with a firm hand across your stomach.

“hey,” he warns, voice suddenly stern against your ear. “what did i just say?”

“but—”

“no buts,” he mutters, mouth brushing along your jaw as he presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss there. “don’t make me bend you over this bench and hold your thighs open while you cry from overstimulation.”

you shiver—not entirely from fear.

he smirks again, knowing exactly what he’s doing, before softening as he kisses your temple.

“i mean it,” he murmurs. “you’ve been so good for me tonight. let me take care of you properly. you’ll get more tomorrow—hell, you’ll get everything tomorrow.”

you lean back into him, huffing softly, your bottom lip jutting out as you whisper, “promise?”

suna kisses the pout away, slow and deliberate.

“i promise,” he breathes. “wanna see you on your knees. then ride you again. want to fuck you in front of the mirror. all of it.”

you moan into the kiss, but when your hips twitch again—another teasing grind—he growls softly and slaps your thigh gently under the water.

“behave,” he murmurs against your lips.

so instead, you melt into him, letting him tilt your chin toward his, his mouth finding yours again with no rush, no heat—just long, tender kisses beneath the stream of water. the kind that say i’m not done with you—not even close—but right now, i love you too much to fuck you again when your legs are already trembling.

your arms loop around his neck, fingers carding into his wet hair as he kisses you deeper. you moan softly when his tongue slides into your mouth, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you all over again.

his hands roam your back, slow and reassuring, massaging out the tension in your shoulders. he kisses you again and again, coaxing you down from the edge you didn’t even know you were still standing on.

and even though he doesn’t take you again in the shower, that kiss—the way he holds you against him, strong and steady, murmuring soft little praises between each press of his lips—it feels like more. more than sex. more than lust. it’s him saying: i love you. i missed you. i see you.

when the water is turned off and the steam begins to settle, he wraps you gently in a towel and dries you off like you’re something fragile—like he’s afraid to lose you again to the space that had grown quietly between you these past few weeks.

suna hums under his breath while helping you into your favorite sleep shirt, one that’s oversized and soft, one that used to be his. he slides on his boxers, still damp around the edges, then gently combs his fingers through your damp hair, tucking it behind your ears like it’s second nature. there’s no rush in any of it—just tenderness, care, and quiet devotion.

back in bed, the sheets have been changed—he did that too, while you rested your head against the bathroom counter, legs too weak to stand fully. now the duvet is clean and warm, the lights dimmed low, and when you climb into bed beside him, his arms are already waiting to pull you into the curve of his body.

you curl into him like muscle memory, your leg tangled over his, cheek pressed against his chest. his hand strokes your back lazily, up and down, grounding you.

“you’re so good to me,” you murmur, voice soft and sleepy.

“not as good as you are to me,” he replies without missing a beat, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

there’s a pause, a silence filled with his fingertips tracing shapes into your spine.

“rinnie,” you whisper, “you’re not… tired of me, right?”

his hand stills.

he shifts slightly, tilting your chin up so you’ll look at him, even in the low light.

“never,” he says firmly, his voice low and hoarse from everything—sex, emotion, everything. “i’d never get tired of you.”

you blink slowly, lip quivering just slightly. “even if we don’t do stuff like tonight all the time?”

“baby,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your temple, your cheek, then your lips. “i didn’t fall in love with you because of what we do in bed. i fell in love with you because you’re you. the way you always know when to check on me. the way you always leave the hallway light on because you know i hate coming home to a dark apartment. the way you still get nervous when i kiss your neck like i didn’t already make you mine years ago.”

his voice gets softer, more serious.

“i got exhausted. i let the world outside this apartment wear me down, and i forgot how much you were waiting for me. that’s on me. but being with you? coming home to you? touching you, holding you, just lying here like this? i crave it. i crave you. always.”

you bury your face into his neck, pressing a slow kiss to his skin, holding him tighter.

“i wanna sleep with you still inside me,” you whisper.

he tenses just slightly, then sighs into your hair with a low chuckle.

“you’re insatiable,” he murmurs, voice fond. “you really want me to stay inside you while you sleep?”

you nod against his neck. “you said you missed me…”

“i did,” he groans. “i still do. i always do.”

another sigh, this time heavier, but laced with nothing but surrender. he shifts onto his side, nudging your thighs apart as he settles behind you, one hand guiding himself back to your entrance—still slick, still warm.

he slides in slow, careful, groaning low in his throat as he buries himself inside your sensitive cunt one last time.

you gasp, body relaxing immediately at the feeling of being full again—of him, deep and slow and safe.

he wraps his arms around you from behind, one hand cupping your breast, the other holding your waist as he presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“happy now?” he mumbles sleepily.

“mhm,” you breathe, already drifting. “perfect.”

and that’s how you fall asleep—his cock still nestled inside you, his arms wrapped tight around your body, your heart steady again in the rhythm of his presence.

for the first time in weeks, the bed doesn’t feel cold.

it feels like home.

[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: Chase Your Fears

Prompt: You and your younger brother are roadtripping across the US when you encounter a tornado. Luckily, the tornado wrangler himself shows up to help.

Word count: 11k

Warnings: tornado mention

A/N: Had this cute little idea and suddenly it turned into an 11k monster fic... anyway, i will be obsessed with tyler owens & twisters for the foreseeable future, so please send recs if you want!

“What is that?” 

You leaned forward in your seat and peered out the rearview mirror warily. But even with a better view, you still had no idea what you were looking at. 

“Seriously,” your little brother gawked from the front seat, body twisted so that he could turn around and see. “What is that?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, knuckles turning white as you tightened your grip on the steering wheel. You kept your eyes trained on the dark clouds swirling behind you. Thankfully, all the roads out here in Oklahoma were so long and straight– otherwise, you probably would have crashed your car. 

“Is that a tornado?” 

“No–” you began. But even as the words left your mouth, you realized that you actually had no clue. “Well, maybe–”

As soon as you spoke, both of your phones went off– an alert warning you of severe weather in the area. 

“It’s a tornado,” your brother exhaled, as he read the alert off his lockscreen. “No wonder the roads were so quiet today–  we’re the only idiots dumb enough to be driving through a tornado!”

“We’re not driving through a tornado, technically we’re driving in front of one… Besides, aren’t tornadoes thinner? Like a funnel?” you said, trying desperately to lighten the mood. You thought if you stayed calm, maybe it would keep your brother calm.  

“Don’t fat shame the tornado! What do we do?!”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, mouth growing increasingly dry. 

“We should call Mom–” 

“No, we definitely should not.”

“Why not?” you could hear the panic creeping up in his voice. 

“Because,” you said calmly. “Mom’s in New Hampshire– probably crocheting a blanket as we speak. What is she going to do to help us?”

Your brother opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again like he was realizing you were right. 

“Calling her is only going to make her panic halfway across the country.”

“We should call Dad then–”

“And what’s dad going to do from Texas?” you challenged. 

“Maybe he’ll know what to do– he said they have tornadoes where he lives.”

You frowned. “It’s behind us– we just need to keep driving and keep it behind us.”

“Okay,” your brother said uneasily. When you glanced his way, you saw his hands positioned in his lap, trembling. Instantly, you felt your chest ache. Your parents had the two of you nearly fifteen years apart. And as his big sister, in charge of escorting him across the country so that you could both stay with your dad for the summer, you felt like it was your responsibility to keep him safe. 

“I should’ve just flown,” he whimpered. “What was I thinking, doing a road trip through the midwest during tornado season?”

“Hey,” you said, reaching over to grab one of his hands. You had been the one to suggest the two of you drive to Texas together. A few weeks earlier, you had finally quit the job that had made you miserable for the last two years. It had been a long time coming, but with nothing else lined up, you’d been terrified to officially make the jump. 

You hated being afraid. Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was stupidity– but something inside of you was driven to face your fears. If you’re afraid, do it, you always told yourself.  

So that was how you found yourself jobless at nearly twenty-eight. Currently, you were going through a transitional period that your mom liked to call your quarter-life crisis. You’d wanted a distraction– something fun to make you feel adventurous and brave and alive again. Initially, he’d been skeptical of the idea. While the two of you were close, he was cautious about spending the two weeks you’d planned out in a car together. But once you told him about your plans– stopping in New York and detouring to Nashville, he was sold. 

Hearing the fact that he regretted his decision made a pool of guilt spread through your insides. 

“You were thinking about how awesome it was going to be to spend two whole weeks with your sister on a road trip. I promise I’m not going to let anything happen to you– We’re okay.”

He nodded slowly, although the look of terror on his face told you he didn’t entirely believe you. 

“Did you know they call this area Tornado Alley?” he asked, speech rapid. “Cold air from the Rockies meets damp air from the Gulf of Mexico. It’s like… the perfect recipe for tornadoes.”

You sighed. In the past, you probably would have questioned why your New England-raised brother knew anything about tornadoes. But you’d since learned that his brain quite literally never forgot any shred of knowledge. The kid remembered everything. 

“Did you know that thirty percent of the country’s total number of tornadoes is in Tornado Alley? Or at least they have been since the fifties–”

While your fight or flight response was generally more geared towards running, his was fact-spewing. 

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, trying not to give away the fact that the tornado in your rearview mirror was seemingly getting closer with every glance you took. 

As you pressed your foot harder against the gas, you smiled towards him. “Tell me more. How do tornadoes form?”

“Well…” he began, and then he started talking rapidly about air pressure and moisture and wind speeds and other things you really didn’t understand. Truthfully, you tuned it out– your only focus on getting the two of you somewhere safe. 

Your method for calming him down worked– at least until the winds increased. Then a giant chunk of debris came flying at your car, forcing you to swerve quickly. 

“What was that?” he yelled, all panic that had previously faded from his voice returned in an instant. 

“I don’t know–”

“Oh my God, it’s closer– it’s right behind us!” 

“I know,” you said, your own voice raising. Your foot was practically touching the floor, but your car wouldn’t go any faster. 

Another piece of debris– this time you recognized it as a piece of a fence, slammed into the side of your car. 

“Shit!” your brother screamed. “Shit!”

“We’re okay–” you tried to assure him. “Listen to me, we’re okay– But I think I need to pull the car over.”

“What?!” he practically screamed. 

“I know– I know it’s scary, but I don’t think you’re supposed to be in a car if a tornado gets too close.”

“How do you know that?!”

You furrowed your brow. “I think I heard it on the Discovery channel or something–”

“Discovery channel?!” 

By now he was frantic, and you knew that you had to stay calm– no matter how panicked you were. But your brother also required plans and he required explanations– so you tried to give them to him. 

“Listen to me, I am going to stop the car, and we are going to get out, leave our stuff and run, okay?” 

“Run where?” 

“Uh,” you stammered. Truthfully, you hadn’t gotten that far yet. You looked around, realizing that your options were incredibly limited. There was an old barn to your left– and while the shelter enticed you, it didn’t look entirely sturdy. Further down there was an actual farm house�� maybe they had a storm shelter or a basement. But you had no idea if you’d make it that far. 

Suddenly, an entire goddamn tree flew by your car, taking the side mirror with it. 

“The farmhouse–” you said. The barn would never stand.  

“Can we make it?” your brother asked. 

You nodded. “We’ll make it.” 

With that, you slammed on your breaks, causing your car to come to a sudden stop. 

To your relief, your brother followed your instructions. He launched himself out of the car and hurried around the hood to you. You quickly grabbed his hand before turning to start towards the barn. 

But before you could even move more than a few steps, a pair of headlights seemingly came out of nowhere to your right. A red truck screeched to a halt just as a man, clouded by the fog, stuck his head out and shouted, “Get in!” 

“What?” you screamed over the wind. 

He motioned with his thumb towards his truck. “Get. In!” he emphasized. “Now!”

Before you could hesitate or question anything, instincts kicked in. You shoved your little brother towards the man and his truck. The man had already hopped out and was opening the back door. Once you reached him, he grabbed your brother first. With ease, he lifted him into the truck. 

“Buckle up–” he instructed. “See that harness strap? Put that on–” Next he turned to you, “I got gear in the seat back here, it’ll take too long to move– you’ll have to go up front.”

You nodded before hurrying to the passenger side of his truck. Without hesitating, you hoisted open the door– a task that proved to be increasingly challenging based on the wind speeds. It was like the door was suctioned to the body. You gave it a few good pulls, using all your strength, but it wouldn’t open. 

You glanced at your brother through the back window and saw his eyes grow wide. He screamed your name before banging on the window– reaching for you. 

“It’s okay!” you cried. “I’m okay!” Although you weren’t sure how true that would be a few moments from now. 

“Shit,” you said to yourself, jostling the handle. “Shit, shit, shit–”

“It’s okay,” you heard a voice call. The man had turned the corner of the truck bed and was reaching for the door. With one strong pull, he hoisted it open. “There we go, let’s get ya inside–” 

You reached up, grabbing the handle on the door while stepping up. You felt a hand on your back give you a gentle nudge as you hoisted yourself the rest of the way inside. Once you were positioned in the seat with the door closed, you watched through the windshield as the man jogged lightly around his car with ease and climbed into the driver’s seat. 

“Harness–” the man said, pointing towards the straps behind you before slamming his door shut. 

Quickly, you shrugged them over your shoulders and fastened the buckle. 

“I can’t–” you heard your brother say from behind you. When you turned in your seat, you saw that he still wasn’t buckled– his straps were tangled. 

You moved your hands to your own straps to undo them, but were stopped by the man. “I got him, you stay buckled,” he said before turning to extend his torso into the backseat. “Here we go, buddy,” he said gently. You marveled how, even with a tornado barreling towards you all, the man could remain so gentle and calm. The way he talked to your brother was… well, you couldn't quite find the words for what it was, but you appreciated it. You made a mental note to thank the man for it if you made it out of this alive. 

“I can’t do it–” you could hear the panic in your brother’s voice. 

“It’s okay,” the man said. “I got you. I’m gonna help. Everything’s okay.” 

“The tornado is right there!” he screamed, fear and anguish building in your brother’s throat. 

“Try to stay calm,” you said. “We’re okay–”

“We’re NOT okay!” 

“It looks closer than it is,” the man soothed. “Look at my face– do I look scared? So there’s no need for you to be scared– I got you, see? Harness is done. You’re all strapped in. Nothin’s gonna get ya.”

Swiftly, the man spun back in his seat, did up his own harness in a few seconds, and then pressed a giant, red button on a stick shift near the center console of his truck. You heard a loud sound– like gears shifting, above the whipping winds outside. And then he leaned back in his seat, checking on the storm in the rearview mirror. 

“Are you going to drive?” you asked him, turning to get a look at him for the first time. He had a baseball cap resting backwards on his head and a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was handsome, you realized. 

The muscles of his forearms flexed as he reached for the wheel. But instead of driving anywhere, he shook his head.  

“What?” you gasped. “It’s coming right for us–”

“I know– we can’t outrun it,” he explained. “So we just have to let it pass. Hang on, we’ll be okay.”

“I thought a vehicle was one of the worst places to be in a tornado–” 

“It is,” he replied simply, only making your panic increase. “But we’ll be alright. Trust me.” 

You were about to argue, but before you knew it, he shouted, “Hang on!” – Just as the cloud funnel consumed you. 

The next seconds or minutes or hours passed in a terrifying blur. With your eyes squeezed shut and hands held over your ears, you still heard everything. You heard winds whipping against the truck, causing it to rock back and forth. You heard your brother scream from the backseat, feeling helpless because there was nothing you could do to help comfort him. You heard the slamming sound of debris– trees, fences, and whatever the hell else as it crashed into you and everything around you. You heard the ringing in your ear– like it was all too much to bear… All the while wondering which blow would be the one to kill you. 

And then suddenly, you heard nothing at all. You remained frozen in place for a moment longer, in case this silence was a fluke. But then slowly, things came back into focus. You lowered your arms and opened your eyes to see the man leaned over in his seat, harness already unbuckled, while he gazed at you. 

Although laced with concern, his eyes were the prettiest shade of green you’d ever seen. He really was handsome– almost shockingly so. And now, he was mouthing something– like he was trying to talk to you. 

Suddenly, his voice came through the fog– soft and gentle. “Are you okay?”  

You nodded slowly without actually knowing if that was the case. You’d know if you weren’t, right? 

“How–” you said suddenly, turning to look outside. There was debris everywhere– tree limbs and branches, leaves and chunks of housing. 

“Nothing hurts? You’re okay?”

You turned back towards him and did a quick body scan– checking in on your body before shaking your head a little more confidently. Then you remembered your brother in the backseat. You turned the best that you could with your harness still on, to glance at him. 

“Are you okay?” you asked him. 

“Yeah,” you heard his shaky voice ring out. You exhaled a breath of relief. 

Careful not to kick you with his boots, the man maneuvered to the backseat with ease. 

“Hey buddy,” you heard him say. “You alright back here?” 

“I’m okay.”

“Good– you did great. Must’ve held on real tight. Can I help ya with the harness now?” 

You started grasping at your own harness. Except, when you moved to adjust the buckles, you realized that your hands were shaking too hard to be of any use. No matter how hard you willed them to steady, they wouldn’t. 

You continued to try until the man hopped out of the truck and came around to your side. He hoisted open the door and placed his hands on top of yours– the sudden warmth sending shock waves through your body, causing your head to shoot up.  

You were met by his intense gaze for a second time, a sea of sage green took your breath away. You swallowed– realizing how dry your mouth suddenly had become. Although the pair of you were complete strangers, the man’s strong jawline flexed as he gazed at you with what looked like worry. 

“We’re okay,” he assured you. “You’re alright. Can I help with the harness?” 

You gave him a quick nod before dropping your shaky hand from it. When he was finished, you stripped off your harness straps and turned to hop out of the truck. As soon as you did, you saw his outstretched hand– offering to help. You swallowed the lump in your throat and took it, not trusting yourself or your unsteady legs. As soon as your feet were back on the ground, you released his hand and turned towards your brother. 

“Are you okay?” you asked for a second time, a sob prickling the back of your throat. As soon as he nodded yes, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, tugging him against you. Even at twelve years old, he was almost taller than you. 

“God, I’m so sorry–” you said. 

“What were you guys doing out here?” the man suddenly asked. He stood with his hip popped slightly, his hands resting on the waistband of his jeans. “They’ve been announcing this storm since this mornin’.” His voice wasn’t accusatory, just generally curious. 

Keeping your arm around your brother’s shoulders, you turned to face him. “We’re not from here,” you explained. “We were just driving through– we didn’t know it was coming.”

He nodded. “They can sneak up on ya sometimes. Where are y’all from?”

“New Hampshire,” you said. 

The man let out a low whistle. “You’re a long way from home.” 

“We were driving my dad’s,” your brother piped in. “He lives in Texas.”

“I should’ve paid more attention to the weather,” you admitted, shaking your head. “It was stupid. But thank you…” your voice trailed off, realizing you didn’t know the man’s name. 

“Tyler,” he replied, extending his hand for a second time, this time for you to shake. 

“Tyler,” you repeated. “Thank you Tyler, for saving us.” You quickly introduced yourself before turning and introducing your brother. 

“Hang on. What were you doing out here if they’d been talking about the storm all morning?” your brother asked bluntly. 

Just as you were about to give him a look that said don’t question strangers who save our lives, Tyler smiled, flashing his white teeth. “I was chasin’ her,” he said, nodding towards the tornado still spinning in the distance. 

“You chase tornadoes?” your brother exclaimed. 

Tyler’s grin got wider. “Sure do. That’s why my truck didn’t blow away. I got extra precautions.” Then, like he could see the eagerness in your brother’s face, he smirked. “Wanna see?” 

Your brother nodded before breaking away from your embrace and racing back towards the truck– like he’d already forgotten about the tornado that almost killed you both. 

“That alright with you?” Tyler asked. 

You nodded, head still foggy and body still trembling. “Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, eyeing your shaky hands. 

“Oh– yeah,” you said. “Just nerves… We don’t get many tornadoes up in New Hampshire, and we sure as hell don’t chase them.”

“You did good,” Tyler told you. “You stayed calm– kept him calm.”

“Thanks,” you said shyly, feeling stupid that this stranger’s compliment actually meant something to you. Then, you motioned with your thumb over your shoulder. “I’m gonna go check out my car– see how bad it is.”

With that, you left your brother with Tyler, and turned the corner of the hood of his truck, tracing your steps back to where you’d initially abandoned your car. As soon as you entered the clearing, you wished you hadn’t. There, amongst the piles of debris and chaos, was your SUV laying on its side– the front windshield completely smashed, both airbags deployed, and the doors caved in. 

“Shit,” you muttered, unable to help the tears forming in your eyes. You were grateful for your brother’s safety, but you knew you couldn’t drive your car like this– 

You took a few steadying breaths, reminding yourself that completely falling apart wasn’t going to be helpful. And, despite the part of you trying to avoid this, you knew that you’d have to call your parents.

You turned back towards Tyler’s truck and saw him and your brother laying on the ground– looking at something underneath the bed. That’s when you noticed two, gigantic-looking screws secured into the ground. That must have been the button Tyler pushed right before the tornado had engulfed you. 

Your brother looked content for the time being, so you pulled out your phone and dialed your mom first. 

She answered after only a couple of rings. 

“Hi honey, how are things going?”

“Hi Mom,” you said, voice already shaking. “Don’t panic okay? We’re both alright–”

“What happened?” she said urgently, clearly doing the opposite of what you’d requested. 

You sighed– might as well just come right out and say it. “We’re in Oklahoma, and a tornado just hit– like literally hit us.”

“What?” she gasped. You could already imagine her sitting up from her recliner, tossing her ball of yarn or whatever she was using to the side. 

“Yeah– Some guy came and helped us. We were able to wait it out…” you paused, like you still couldn’t entirely believe what had just happened to you. “But I can’t drive my car.”

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “Are you sure you’re alright? Where’s your brother?”

“We’re fine, Mom. The guy who helped us is still here– he’s showing him stuff in his truck to keep him busy.”

“Who is this guy?”

“Just some local– we got lucky, he knew exactly what to do.”

You heard her exhale a sharp breath. 

“Mom, I don’t know what to do– We’re stranded here.”

“Oh, honey,” she sighed. “I should have never let you take him in a car. You should have just flown. Gosh, you both could’ve been killed.”

The pool of guilt grew larger inside your chest. 

“I know–” you said, feeling defeated. Because she was right– what the hell were you thinking?

After a moment of silence, she sighed. “I’m so glad you’re alright. Why don’t you call your father– see how far he is? Maybe he can come and pick you up. If he can’t, call me back and we’ll figure something out..”

“Okay,” you said, voice thick with the tears you were trying not to shed. 

“I love you,” she assured you. 

“Love you, too. I’ll talk to you later.”

With that, you hung up the phone, just as a few tears splashed down your cheeks. 

After wiping them away, you glanced back towards Tyler and your brother. Tyler was helping your brother into the truck bed, where he had a bunch of gear strapped down. Your brother had a look of pure excitement plastered on his face as he looked around. You were far enough away so that you couldn’t make out what they were saying, but you could see your brother’s lips moving rapidly, totally skipping the shy-stage he normally went through when he met new people. 

Like he could tell you were staring, Tyler looked up and caught your eye. Even from this distance, you saw the way his lips curled into a smile that made something in your stomach flutter. He gave you a quick wave before turning his attention back towards your brother. 

Realizing your brother was in seemingly good hands, you knew you couldn’t stall calling your dad any longer. So, you pulled up his contact and dialed, preparing to give the same explanation to him as you did your mom. 

“Hey kiddo!” He answered. “How’s the road trip going?”

You were nearly twenty-eight years old, but your dad still answered the phone the same way he did when you were ten. 

“Hey dad,” you said. To your dismay, no matter how hard you fought it, your voice still cracked. 

“Everything okay?” he asked, instantly picking up on the fact that something was wrong. 

You bit your lip, fighting back tears. When you felt composed enough, you spoke. “No,” you admitted. “We’re in Oklahoma, and we got hit by a tornado while we were driving– We’re both safe, but my car is totaled– I can’t drive it.” 

“Oh my God, what?” he gasped. 

“I don’t know what happened– it was all so fast. I couldn’t outrun it– I tried. But there wasn’t anything we could do– it was moving so quickly and–”

“Okay, breathe,” your dad interrupted, his voice calm. 

You were breathing, weren’t you? Except, when you went to inhale, you realized that no, you were not. You sucked in a breath before letting out a choppy exhale. 

“Good– everything’s going to be okay. It’s just a car. They can be replaced. You’re safe, your brother is safe– that’s what’s important.” 

“We’re stranded– in the middle of nowhere.” 

“Well that’s all of Oklahoma, honey. Do you know what town you’re in?” 

“No, but I can find out,” you said shakily. After wiping your wet cheeks the best you could, you made your way back towards the truck. 

“Tyler,” you said, catching his attention. “What town are we in? My dad wants to know.”

“You’re talking to Dad?” your brother piped in. “Tell him I said hi.”

“We’re near Stillwater,” Tyler replied. 

You repeated it back to your dad. 

“Okay, who’s there helping you?”

“Uh this guy–” you said, turning away before Tyler could overhear. “He saved us.” 

“Well I’m glad to hear that. Sounds like he was in the right place at the right time. Stillwater is about six hours north of me. How about I put you guys up in a hotel for a night then I come and get you tomorrow and we can figure everything else out?” 

“Hotels are a lot… you don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but it’s going to get dark before too long, and I don’t want to be driving late. I just want you both safe until then. Why don’t you see if that guy who helped you knows a place?”

“Yeah, okay,” you said, pulling the phone back again. “Hey Tyler?” you turned to see him in the same spot– still showing your brother various gadgets and gear. “Do you know of any hotels or anything nearby? I can’t drive my car– and our dad can’t get us until tomorrow.”

Tyler sucked in a breath of air. “Yikes, there ain’t much around here. Unless you want to bunk at the motel off Broadway street. I think it’s up to a 1.8 star review on Yelp, but last I knew they had a cockroach problem.”

You grimaced. “What about buses or anything that we could take to Austin?”

“You know,” Tyler began, eyes flickering into the distance before looking back at you. “I got a big ole’ farm house not too far from here with a couple of extra bedrooms. Why don’t you both just stay the night and your dad can get you from there in the mornin’?”

You immediately began shaking your head. “No–”

But your dad’s voice on the phone caught you off guard. “Let me talk to him.”

“Dad–” you protested. 

But he insisted. 

So, begrudgingly, that was how you found yourself passing your cell phone to Tyler. 

Tyler’s eyebrow raised gently at the gesture. 

“He wants to talk to you,” you explained. 

Tyler pointed to himself, as if he was questioning if you meant your brother instead. “Me?”

You nodded. 

Tyler reached his arm out skeptically, taking your phone, then pressed it to his ear. “Uh, hello?” 

You couldn’t hear your father’s voice on the other end– just mumbling. 

“Yes sir– No, that’s not necessary, I was happy to do it–” There was a brief pause. “Yes sir. Cockroaches yeah, you heard that right. I do. Right in town actually. It’s not a problem, I have the space–” Another pause. “Of course, I can send my contact info, and the address.”

You shut your eyes– as if your father was coordinating a sleepover at Tyler’s right now. It’s not like you weren’t grateful for his offer, but you felt like he’d already helped too much. First he saved your lives, now he offers shelter?

“Alright. Alright, you too. Take care.”

With that, Tyler passed you your phone back. 

“Go with him,” your dad said, as soon as you held it back against your ear.  

“Dad–” 

“It’s one night,” he insisted. “It’s either him or the cockroaches.”

…

Less than thirty minutes later, Tyler was pulling his truck down a long, dirt driveway. Positioned at the end of it, set back with the setting sun as a backdrop, was an old, white farmhouse with a wrap around porch and blue shutters. 

“You live here?” you asked in awe. 

Tyler smiled. “Been in my family for a long time.”

“It’s beautiful,” you said, eyes now scanning the amount of land he had. There was a wheat field to the right, and to the left was a sturdy-looking barn with an exterior that matched the house. 

“Technically it belongs to my aunt. But she’s living it up in Tulsa right now, so I stay here– maintain the place for her. It’ll be mine one day.”

“Do you have horses?” your brother asked from the backseat. 

Tyler’s grin stretched the length of his face. “Sure do. Let’s get you guys cleaned up and fed, then we can see them later.”

Tyler unloaded the suitcases you’d recovered from your SUV and carried them inside for you, despite your protests. You were quickly learning that Tyler was a gentleman– always holding doors and offering his hand to help. Each time he went out of his way to help you, it caused strange feelings to stir up inside of you– ones that you had no business feeling about a man you’d just met. 

The interior of the farmhouse was just as beautiful as the outside. Tyler showed you around the first floor, pointing out the kitchen, bathroom, and living room before walking your luggage up the stairs to where the bedrooms and second bathroom were. 

“Both rooms have double beds– there’s only a shower, it’s in the bathroom up here. But feel free to use it. Towels and washcloths are in that closet there– extra blankets are in the chests at the end of the beds.”

“Thank you,” you said again, finally taking your luggage from him. “This is…” you shook your head. “You’ve been really kind, thank you.”

“My pleasure– only the best for my first New Hampshire guests,” he said cheekily. Then, Tyler clasped his hands together. “Alright, well I’ll leave you guys to it. Come on down whenever you’re ready, I’ll whip up something to eat. Y’all like burgers?”

Your brother’s face lit up. “Love them!” 

“Sounds great,” you replied. 

“Coupla’ burgers comin’ right up then,” Tyler smirked.

“He’s so cool,” your brother muttered before grabbing his bag and heading off to claim a bedroom. 

Cool was one word for him, you thought. 

…

You took longer in the shower than expected. Probably because every time you closed your eyes to rinse the shampoo out of your hair, all you could see was that goddamn tornado barreling towards you. Each and every time, it made your entire body lurch– causing you to snap open your eyes with a sense of urgency. 

Even though you were just showering– it felt like you were outside running… your breath was choppy and your heart was racing just standing there. 

You forced yourself to unclench your jaw, worried that your molars were going to crack with how tense you were. Eventually, you gave up and decided to just keep your eyes open while you rinsed your hair out. 

When you were finished, you threw on a pair of sweats and an old T-shirt from your suitcase before heading downstairs to join your brother and Tyler. You could smell the burgers before you even got to the kitchen, making your mouth water. 

“There’s New Hampshire,” Tyler grinned, seemingly proud of the nickname he’d given you. He was behind the island, setting a steaming pot down on a cooling plate next to a few empty plates stacked on top of each other.  

Your brother sat on a stool at the island– his hair still damp from his own shower, nibbling on a piece of plain white bread while he watched Tyler maneuver around the kitchen. 

“Do you need any help?” you asked. As soon as you spoke, you could hear the shakiness in your tone. You’d been trying to ignore how tight your chest still felt, but you’d have to do better at hiding it if you wanted to evade detection. 

You didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on you for a moment before Tyler shook his head. “Nah, I’m almost done. I got burgers on the grill, some corn, and leftover pasta salad from my mom– you gotta try it.” 

He handed you and your brother each an empty plate before taking the lid off the corn pot. 

“I’ll go grab the burgers, but help yourself.”

With that, he was disappearing out the back door. 

“How’re you doing?” you asked your brother once you were alone. 

“Hungry,” he said as he piled a mound of pasta salad on his plate. 

You reached over and ran your hands through his hair before shaking his head lightly. “I don’t mean that– I mean how’re you doing after everything today? That was a lot.” 

Or at least it had been for you… 

Your brother shrugged. “It was scary, but I’m okay now. Statistically speaking tornadoes never strike the same place twice. So that one’s gone for good. And Tyler said the likelihood of another one hitting the area is extremely low.”

“That’s right,” Tyler said, as he reentered the kitchen with a plate stacked full of burgers. 

You watched him move through the kitchen with ease, pleasantly surprised by the fact that he’d obviously helped to reassure your brother. 

“You want one or two burgers?” Tyler asked him. 

Your brother held up two fingers with one hand and his plate with the other. 

“What do you say?” you mumbled, nudging him in the side. 

“Please,” he said, flashing his teeth.

“You got it,” Tyler chuckled. 

With a full plate, your brother headed for the dining room, leaving you and Tyler alone in the kitchen. 

“How are you doing?” Tyler asked as he passed you the plate of burgers. 

“Me?” you said, trying your best to sound casual. Apparently you were the only one even remotely freaked out by the fact that a tornado had almost killed all of you today. “Oh, I’m alright. Much better after showering– thank you again.”

“You gotta stop thanking me, really it’s not a problem. I wouldn’t have offered if it was,”  How are you really doing though?”

You glanced up, surprised to see Tyler’s concerned gaze fixated on you. He’d ditched the baseball hat, allowing you to see his sandy brown hair for the first time. It was slightly disheveled, but so soft. The way it was pushed back from his face made it look like Tyler had been running his fingers through it– a sight you wouldn’t mind seeing. 

Quickly, you averted your gaze back to your plate. “I’m fine.”

“Really?” he challenged you. “Because it’s okay not to be okay after getting hit by a tornado– especially for the first time.”

It was like he could sense how anxious you really were– like one of those emotional support animals. Or maybe you just didn’t have the poker face you thought you did.

“I was just worried for my brother,” you said, taking a spoonful of pasta salad. “But it seems like you managed to calm his nerves.”

“Yeah, well, kids are all the same. They just need reassurance. They wanna feel safe.”

Now was your chance to poke a little deeper– to shift the conversation off from you, but also to learn something about Tyler. “Do you have kids?” you asked, trying to make the question sound casual. 

“No,” he answered quickly. “Got a niece and a nephew though. They live in Texas, so I don’t get to see them as much as I’d like. Do you?” Tyler asked, glancing over. When he caught your confused expression, he added, “Have kids?”

“Oh, no,” you said, shaking your head. “God, no. You saw what happened today– I have my brother for less than two weeks and I almost got him killed. Imagine if I had an actual child?”

“You didn’t almost get him killed,” Tyler refuted. “You had no way of knowing that thing was comin’.”

“You knew it was coming,” you challenged. 

Tyler shrugged. “Well that’s ‘cause I’m a professional.”

“I didn’t know you could be a professional tornado-chaser,” you said teasingly, finally picking up your plate to head to the table. 

Tyler followed close behind, choosing a seat across from you and your brother. “I prefer the name tornado wrangler, myself.”

“Tornado wrangler?” you repeated skeptically. 

“That’s right,” he smirked, a hint of playfulness in his tone. 

“You’re such a badass,” your brother said between bites. He was already halfway done his food. You felt another pang of guilt– he really was hungry.  

“So what does a tornado wrangler do exactly?” you asked. 

Tyler chewed his food for a moment before answering. “Well, we have a YouTube channel. And we livestream videos of us headin’ into storms. We offer our viewers a close look at the tornadoes– a view most of them will never see in real life.”

“We? You mean there’s more than just one of you crazy enough to chase those things?”

Tyler’s face was full-on beaming now, and you could tell just how passionate he really was about all of this. Even if it scared the absolute shit out of you– you loved to hear him talk about it. 

“I got a whole team– there’s Boone, he’s my buddy behind the camera, he takes care of the livestream and the editing when we need it. Then I got Lilly, she operates our drone. That helps give us alternative coverage and vantage points when we need it. Dexter and Dani both help with storm tracking– but Dani also helps fix the gear and stuff when we need it.”

“What’s the scariest tornado you’ve ever seen?” your brother asked, pieces of burger flying out of his mouth while he spoke. 

“Chew your food before talking,” you said under your breath. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Tyler let out a soft chuckle, his eyes flickering to yours before turning back to your brother. “I think the scariest tornado I’ve ever seen was when I was about your age– My mom and I got caught up in an EF 4 while we were drivin’. It picked us right up– dropped us in a field about half a mile away.”

“EF 4?” you asked cluelessly. 

“It’s the Enhanced Fujita Scale,” your brother replied. “It measures the tornado's speed and estimated damage.”

“That’s right,” Tyler smiled, like he was proud of your brother for knowing. “They measure on a scale of 0-5.”

“What was the one that hit us today?” you asked warily. 

“Today was an EF1,” Tyler answered. 

All the blood drained from your face. “A one?” you gaped. 

In the midst of taking a bite of corn, he nodded. 

“You’re telling me that thing could have been worse?”

The corner of Tyler’s lip twitched upwards. “A lot worse,” he said grimly. “That’s why it was safe to stay in my truck. We drive her into zero’s and one’s all the time, she handles a two pretty good. Even managed a three once.”

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath. 

The rest of the evening consisted of your brother bombarding Tyler with questions about his job– how many tornadoes had he seen? What was an EF5 like? Had he ever seen a cow fly through the air like in the movies? 

But you had a hard time listening after a while– each additional fact you learned about tornadoes made your skin crawl. Your heart rate had picked up again– similar to how it was in the shower. It was taking all of your energy to just appear normal while you picked at the remaining food on your plate. 

Why would anyone willing chase one of those things? What you witnessed today was one of the smallest possible tornadoes– and it was still terrifying. You couldn’t imagine if you’d been out there faced by something worse. 

Their conversation eventually became muffled background noise, something that nestled in the back of your mind while you tried to focus on your breath and willed yourself not to shake.

That is, until you feel something boney jab in your side, making everything come back into focus again. 

“What?” you asked, turning cluelessly towards your brother. 

“Tyler asked if you were done,” he said, nodding towards your plate. 

“Oh–” you said, embarrassed. That’s when you noticed Tyler was now standing, arm extended like he was reaching for your dish. “Yeah– yeah, I’m done.” 

He moved to collect your plate for you but you stopped him. “No, I’ll get these– you guys talk.” 

“You sure?” he asked warily. 

“Yeah, I’m sure– You cook and house us, I can do some dishes.”

With a brief, unconvincing smile, you quickly gathered as much as you could in your arms and fled into the kitchen for some space. 

What the hell was wrong with you? It was like you couldn’t catch your breath, no matter how hard you tried. 

As you scrubbed at the dishes, arms extended under warm water, you tried desperately to get it together. No one had died– no one had even gotten hurt. Plus, like Tyler had told your brother– the probability of this happening again was incredibly slim. So why couldn’t you stop feeling like that EF1 was consuming you? 

By the time you were finished with the dishes, your hands were shaking so bad, you could barely set them on the drying rack. So, you snapped off the water and leaned against the counter, gripping the lip of it tightly and taking some deep breaths. Vaguely, you heard your little brother’s laughter from the other room. You latched onto the sound and tried to let it soothe you. 

Everyone was okay. 

He’s laughing– he’s having fun. You’re all okay. 

After his laughter stills, you hear the sound of chair legs sliding across the floor. “I’m gonna go grab some water, you want any dessert, big guy? I got ice cream.” 

“No thanks, I’m full from the burgers.”

Tyler chuckled. “Alright, be right back.”

Quickly, you swallowed the lump in your throat and started putting the condiments away, trying to look as normal as possible before Tyler approached. 

“Thanks for doing all of those,” Tyler said once he got to the kitchen. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh, it’s the least I could do,” you said, turning to face him. 

“My mom would kill me if she knew I let my guest do the dishes.”

“My mom would kill me if she knew I let someone save, cook, and house me without me doing the dishes.”

Tyler grinned. “Fair enough, New Hampshire.” 

“You keep calling me that,” you said. “But I don’t actually live in New Hampshire, you know?” 

Tyler’s eyebrow curled up in an expression that said tell me more. 

“My mom and brother live there. I used to live there. But now I have an apartment in Boston, been there since college.”

“Boston?” Tyler repeated. “Ah, so you’re like a nine-to-five city girl.”

You frowned. “Not anymore,” you admitted. “It was killing me. Especially in the winter– you go to work before the sun’s up, and you’re out after it sets. I couldn’t do it anymore, so I recently quit.”

“What’re you gonna do now?” he inquired. 

You shrugged. “I’m trying to figure that out. Probably move somewhere with less concrete, and hopefully find a job that lets me out before the sun sets.”

Tyler set his glass of water on the kitchen island. “So what you’re saying is I can’t call you New Hampshire or Boston?” 

“You got a problem with just using people’s names?” 

Tyler shrugged. “I like nicknames. Shows that someone’s special to ya.”

You felt like your feet had been knocked out from underneath you. You cleared your throat before looking away, heat rushing to your cheeks. 

“You know, I don’t mean to pry,” Tyler said, changing the subject. “But are you sure you’re alright?” 

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. 

“I just– at dinner you seemed a little zoned out.”

“I’m just tired,” you lied. 

Tyler paused, eyes scanning you sincerely. His gaze felt like it could set you on fire– like every inch of your skin was set ablaze. Ultimately, he decided to back off. “Okay then,” he said. “I’ll finish up here, why don’t you guys get settled for bed? It’s been a long day.” 

“Okay– yeah, that’s a good idea.”

Pushing off the counter, you brushed past him, pausing only when you got to the doorframe. 

“Tyler?” 

He spun around quickly. 

“I know you said to stop thanking you but seriously… Thank you. For everything.” 

His lips curled upwards in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes the way you’d already learned you liked. He gave a curt nod. “I’m happy to do it, New Hampshire,” he said, sticking with his original nickname. 

You made your way upstairs to bed with your little brother and a stupid smile plastered on your face. 

…

“We have to move!” you shouted, hoping your brother could hear you above the wind. 

But instead of reacting or doing anything at all, he just stood there– his back towards you while he stared at the swirling clouds in the distance. 

“Hey!” you screamed. “We gotta go!” 

You took a step forward– but weren’t any closer to him. 

Frowning, you took another step– then another. But the distance remained the same. Screaming his name, you pleaded with him to turn around. If he didn’t move, you were both going to die– the tornado had touched down. It was barrelling right for you. It was sucking roofs off houses, and breaking fences into tiny pieces. Debris flew all around at what seemed like a hundred miles per hour– shards of glass, pieces of plywood. Something was going to hit you– or worse, your brother. 

You were running now, trying desperately to reach him. If you could just get there in time, maybe you could grab his arm and pull him away in time. 

But it was no use– you were too slow. And the tornado was so fast. Right before your eyes– you saw your brother get sucked into the funnel– his entire frame flying up in the air. 

You screamed– 

He screamed back– you heard your name echo through the storm. 

He was calling for you– begging for you to save him. 

You screamed louder– 

Then you heard a voice yell. Except, this voice didn’t match your brothers—it was too deep and less familiar. Your body tensed as you were jostled. 

With force, your eyes finally snapped open, revealing the vaguely familiar room around you. The moonlight poured through the curtain that you forgot to close and revealed Tyler’s worried-looking face peering over her. His green eyes were blown open and wide, his lips slightly parted as his gaze raked over the length of you. 

“Tyler–” you croaked. 

“There you are,” he exhaled. “You’re okay, you’re at my house– you’re safe.”

You opened your mouth, instantly trying to think of a way to brush this whole thing off– maybe make a joke or something to ease the tension. But instead of finding words, a choppy, uneven huff of air poured out of you. You tried again, but this time all you could do was desperately gasp– like you couldn’t get enough air in your lungs. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tyler said. You felt the bed dip as he sat down beside you. Without even thinking, you reached out for him– fingers clasping onto the fabric of his white t-shirt. He placed his hands on top of yours and gave them a gentle, reassuring squeeze. 

“Baby, you’re okay,” he said. If you could breathe, you might have melted at the pet name he gave you. Instead, your wild eyes searched his desperately.  “I got you. Breathe with me– look.” Tyler took a couple of deep breaths, exaggerating the act so that you’d copy him. You tried, but ended up just choking harder. 

“Just do it with me.” 

With an intense amount of concentration, you were finally able to latch onto the sound of Tyler breathing. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. 

“There you go,” he soothed. “You got it.”

You’re not sure how long the two of you stayed like that– but eventually, your breathing returned to normal. 

That’s when the embarrassment kicked in. Because how utterly mortifying to be a guest at someone’s home and to wake them up screaming because of some stupid nightmare. 

“I’m so–”

“Don’t even think about apologizing,” Tyler said gently. “You got nothing to be sorry for.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but then realized there was no point. Tyler would just refute whatever you said. So instead, you asked the question that had been burning in your brain since you got to the farm house. 

“Why am I so affected by this and no one else is? What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Tyler assured you instantly. “In fact, you’re probably the only normal one in this house– most people get freaked out after bein’ near a tornado, much less in the middle of one. I have this weird thing goin’ on where I just feel more alive if my life’s in danger, and no offense but I think your brother’s brain might be wired a little differently than most.”

You let out a genuine laugh– the first of the night. “He’s on the spectrum,” you explained. “You’re really good with him, you know? Most people just think he’s odd and ignore him. But not you– you actually talk to him.” 

Tyler smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he did. “He’s a good kid.” 

You nodded in agreement. “You know he didn’t even want to come on this road trip with me? He wanted to fly to my dad’s– but I talked him into it. I’ve felt so lost since quitting my job and I needed a distraction. I used my little brother as a distraction.”

“Wanting to spend time with someone doesn’t mean you’re using them. It seems like he’s having a good time,” Tyler said. “He told me all about the Titanic museum you took him to in Nashville.” 

You chuckled. “He loves disasters. It’s kind of his thing. That’s why he knows so much about tornadoes–”

“And today he got to see one– up close. I bet he’ll tell that story for the rest of his life.”

“The story about how his older sister almost got him killed,” you said, head hanging with shame. 

“The story of how his big sister stayed so incredibly calm, even though she was terrified– just so that she could make sure he was okay. The big sister who kept him safe even though they got caught in a tornado.” 

You glanced up towards Tyler to see him looking at you with what looked like yearning in his expression. You wanted to just lean forward and wrap your arms around his neck– let him hold you and comfort you and tell you that everything was going to be alright. You couldn’t know for sure but he just looked like he gave the best hugs. Instead though, you tried to come to your senses. You blinked harshly, and glanced down at the blankets pooled in your lap. 

“I hate being afraid,” you admitted. “I know it’s normal– and it keeps us safe. But it makes me feel weak.”

“I get it,” Tyler replied. “That’s why I started the channel. I was sick of being afraid of ‘em, so I decided to chase ‘em instead.”

“Yeah, well maybe I’ll have to tag along with your team on the next one,” you joked. 

Tyler’s face lit up. “You could, you know. We go all the time– and it’s tornado season in Oklahoma so we probably wouldn't have to wait that long to find one.”

He couldn’t possibly be serious– but the look on his face told you that he was. 

“My dad’s getting us tomorrow,” you reminded him. 

All the excitement on Tyler’s face fell– making something inside of you fall with it. “Right,” he said, shaking his head. “Of course, yeah.” 

“But maybe I’ll tune into your channel,” you offered, hoping to get even a hint of that excitement back. You hated seeing him disappointed. 

Tyler smiled, “You better,” he teased, nudging your leg through the blanket. “Hey, I don’t know about you, but I’m probably not going to get much sleep tonight. You want some tea or somethin’?”

You couldn’t help but nod– it was hard to say no to him. 

…

You and Tyler ended up talking through most of the night. The more you talked, the more you realized he was someone you could really see yourself falling for. He made you laugh– and not the fake kind you did to avoid hurting someone’s feelings, either. On several occasions, he had you curled over, shaking with laughter because of something he said. And he was a good listener– always asking follow-up questions or inquiring more. 

Before you knew it, six entire hours had passed and the sun was rising on the east side of the barn, shining golden light through the gaps in the curtains.  

You had found yourself curled up in the living room, back pressed against the arm of the couch and facing Tyler. He shifted in his seat, and, without thinking, you tucked your feet underneath his thigh, causing him to hiss. 

“Your feet are freezing,” he gasped playfully, but he didn't pull away.  

You laughed in response, digging them further underneath his legs.  

“I can feel them through my pants,” he said, laughing with you.  

“It’s morning,” you observed, unable to believe that you spent an entire night talking to him. 

He bit his lip and nodded. “Time flies.” He chuckled lightly before standing up from the couch, leaving your feet feeling cold again, and walking into the adjoined kitchen. You followed him awkwardly, just a step or two behind. You watch as he retrieved two mugs from a tall cabinet and placed them on the countertop.    

“Coffee?” he asked, nonchalantly, holding the cup up as an offering.  

You sighed a breath of relief at the thought of coffee– especially after only an hour or two of sleep. “Yes. Please.” 

Tyler rummaged around the kitchen for a few minutes, putting the coffee on before peering into the fridge. He pulled some items out, placing them gently on the counter behind him. His back was turned towards you for the most part, and you couldn’t help but watch him as he moved. It was a nice view, you thought.  

 “Do you like eggs?” Tyler’s words interrupted your staring. “I have some bacon, too.”

“You’re making breakfast?” You asked, your tone sounding sharper than intended through your disbelief. First saving your life, then dinner, then a place to sleep, then comforting you during a nightmare, now breakfast… 

Tyler nodded, “I’m a breakfast guy. Unless you’re not hungry,” he said, backtracking quickly. “I just thought–” 

You could sense the panic in his voice, almost as if he was just as nervous as you. You quickly spoke up to reassure him. “No- I love breakfast. I just wasn’t expecting any, is all.”

Tyler subtly exhaled a breath of relief. “Yeah well, be sure to give me a five star review. I’m competing with the cockroach motel for business. Scrambled okay?” he asked, motioning towards the eggs. 

You nodded before taking a seat at the island. 

Tyler continued to work with his back to you, arms moving a bit as he scrambled the eggs that were cooking in the pan. When he was finished, he pulled out three plates and portioned some into each. Then he moved to throw the toast and sausage he’d also made on top. 

Because your brother wasn’t up yet, Tyler set a paper towel over his plate, preserving it for now before traveling to your side of the island and taking a seat right beside you. 

The two of you ate breakfast, your conversation never faltering. You talked about school– what you studied, who your roommates were. You talked about jobs and family– one conversation just naturally progressing to the next. 

After about half an hour, your brother staggered downstairs– his hair poking out in all directions informing you that he slept “like a baby.” Tyler listened to him talk about his dream– something about robots chasing tornadoes. Tyler asked him follow up questions, too– like what kind of robots they were and what kind of truck they used to chase the tornadoes. 

Tyler was kind of beautiful, you found yourself quickly realizing. Not that you hadn’t noticed how attractive he was before– of course you had… Practically the first moment you laid your eyes on him after your life was in danger. But Tyler smiled this giant smile as he let your brother talk his ear off about stuff you knew he couldn’t possibly care about. But he pretended to– and his eyes got crinkly and his laugh came straight from his belly. 

You supposed you could blame your fluttering stomach on the adrenaline still coursing through your system after being attacked by a tornado and then having a panic attack last night. Your skin felt electrified. But you knew that the trauma you’d endured had nothing to do with it. You knew it could only be Tyler that was making you feel this way. And you’d only known the man for about sixteen hours by now, but you couldn’t deny what you already felt for him.  

It felt easy with Tyler. And although you spent the night before pretending you were fine– you realized that you didn’t have to. He was someone you could just be authentic with. 

Your dad reached out to you shortly after seven, informing you he was on the road and would be in Stillwater just around noon. 

You found yourself dreading having to say goodbye to Tyler before the moment even came. 

In the meantime, he took the time to show your brother the horses, letting him spend as much time with them as he wanted. Then he gave him a full tour of the barn– chickens and cows alike. 

You were outside, watching your brother be brave enough to approach one of the horses that Tyler had ensured was friendly when his phone went off beside you.  

Tyler pulled it from his pocket and checked the caller ID before sliding his thumb across the screen. 

“Hey Boone,” he answered. “No, I haven’t looked yet. Why? Oh is it? Where?” 

You tried not to eavesdrop, but you really couldn’t help it. 

“What time are they thinking? Yeah, no. I’m busy until noon. Three’s perfect. Alright– see you then, bye.”

He slid his phone back in his pocket with ease, his attention falling to you. 

“Another tornado?” you asked, eyebrows raised skeptically. 

He smirked. “Can’t stop weather, New Hampshire. Invite’s still there if you wanna tag along.” 

…

Despite how badly you wanted time to stretch on forever, your father’s truck rode into the driveway just before after noon. 

Tyler took all your luggage downstairs and loaded it into the truck while the three of you reunited. You met your dad halfway between his car and the porch, letting him pull you in for a tight hug. 

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” he murmured into your hair before reaching for your brother. When he was done embracing you both, he held his hand out towards Tyler. 

“Thank you, son,” he said genuinely. “For being there for them.”

“My pleasure, sir,” Tyler replied, shaking his hand firmly. 

To your surprise, after everything was loaded in the car, your brother ran right up to Tyler and wrapped his arms around his waist– offering him a hug. Your brother rarely showed affection to those within his family– let alone people outside of it. In your eyes, that was further evidence of how special Tyler really was. 

Tyler hugged him back before ruffling his hair affectionately. “Take care, bud. Thanks for helpin’ me with the horses today. You gonna come back and visit soon?”

He nodded eagerly– to your delight, the pair had exchanged numbers. 

“Alright c’mon,” your dad said, ushering your brother to the car and leaving you and Tyler alone. 

“What about you?” Tyler asked, taking a step closer to you. “Are you gonna come back and visit soon?” 

Your entire insides erupted– like molten lava was encasing everything inside of you. You could smell the aftershave he’d splashed on his neck and wanted nothing more than for it to just engulf you entirely. “That depends,” you said, standing your ground as he took another step forward. 

“On what?” he asked gently, reaching across the small space between you to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. It was a simple, yet incredibly intimate action that made your knees feel wobbly. 

“Are you going to drive me into the middle of a tornado?”

“I might.”

You smirked. “Well then, I guess I might come back.”

“Lord help me if you do, New Hampshire.”

You knew your dad was right behind you– but you couldn’t help but wish Tyler would kiss you right then and there– prove to you that he felt the same things you were feeling. Then maybe you could leave behind your dad and brother and stay a little longer with Tyler. But that was too big of a risk without the confirmation. You looked at him eagerly, willing him to say something. 

“So I guess I’ll see ya around,” he said, making your shoulders fall. 

It felt so final. 

“See ya around,” you replied, hating to admit how disappointed you actually felt. You offered him one final smile before turning around and jogging back towards your dad’s truck. 

…

“You’re an idiot,” your brother said from the backseat, catching you off guard. 

“Excuse me?” you said, turning to face him. 

“Why didn’t you stay? I heard Tyler invite you like three times.”

You frowned. “He didn’t mean it. He was just being nice.”

“I don’t think Tyler says things he doesn’t mean,” he said simply. 

You heard your dad let out a choked laugh from beside you. 

“I can’t just stay at Tyler’s house–” you said. “That’s crazy. We’re going back to Texas.”

“Actually, I already drove six hours today,” your dad said. “I really don’t want to drive another six, so I was planning on grabbing a hotel. We could just pick you up later,” he suggested. 

“Or not,” your brother piped in. 

You bit your lip– and really considered the possibility of taking Tyler up on his offer. But that was crazy– you barely knew him. What if he didn’t really mean it– what if he was just trying to be nice?

“I think you’re just afraid,” your brother said.

“Afraid?” you said with disbelief. “Of what?”

“Tornadoes, rejection, love… you name it.”

God, you hated being afraid. 

…

Tyler watched as your dad’s truck got smaller as it drove further away. He kicked himself for not trying harder, for not doing more to convince you to stay. He knew he couldn’t force you, and the last thing he wanted to be was too pushy, but damn he wished you’d taken the bait. 

He could’ve kissed you– God, he wanted to. But your dad’s gaze was lingering warily and he just couldn’t take the chance. What if you pulled away? What if you were insulted? What if he’d read all these signs totally wrong?

He’d never felt anything like how he felt around you. And he just knew that the sound of your laugh would hold a spot in his heart forever. 

But maybe this was how your story was supposed to end– like a tornado. No matter how badly he wanted it to last forever, eventually they all fizzled out to blue skies. 

Full of self-pity, Tyler was just about to turn and head back into the house when he saw the brake lights of your dad’s truck turn on. In the distance, he watched as you climbed carefully out of the front seat, hoist open the back door, and haul your luggage out. 

His heart fluttered at the sight. But when he saw you grab your bag and start jogging back towards him like you had a purpose, he felt like his chest might explode. 

You wanted to stay– 

With a newfound confidence, Tyler began running towards you, kicking up dirt and rocks as he went. 

When he reached you– just past the mailbox in the road, you offered him a small smile. 

“You came back,” he observed. 

You shrugged your shoulders, slightly out of breath. “I did.”

“Why?” he dared to ask. 

You paused, like you were really thinking about his question. After a moment, you said, “I think the one thing that scares me more than tornadoes right now is you,” you admitted to him. “And I really hate being afraid.”

Tyler was pleasantly surprised when you started stepping forward. He matched your efforts and soon– you were almost chest to chest. He glanced down at you with awe. 

“Some cocky YouTube star once told me that you should chase your fears,” you said breathlessly. 

Tyler couldn't contain the smile that was spreading across his entire face. “He sounds like a really smart guy, you should introduce me–”

“Will you shut up and please just kiss–” 

Before you could even get the words out, Tyler reacted the way his body wanted him to. Firmly but gently, he cupped your jaw with one hand, the other arm curling around your back. 

And then, right there on the lone dirt road that always had a way of feeling like home, he kissed you with everything he had. 

[purplereina11]

Part 3

You spent your childhood drifting through foster homes, with nothing but a worn photo of two little girls and a note on the back: Your sisters, Alexia and Alba. You never imagined that at 25, after starting a new job, you'd meet them, through your boss who was your sister's girlfriend.

Word count: 9k

⚠️ This comes with a warning 🔞

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The phone rings only once before Patri picks up like she was already holding it, like maybe she still keeps you the only person set to ignore the do not disturb she always has on, even now.

Her voice is cautious but soft, immediately alert. “Y/N?”

You don’t speak at first. You try, but your throat is too tight, your voice caught somewhere between panic and exhaustion. All that comes out is a shaky breath.

That’s enough Patri’s voice lowers, gentle but steady like the ground beneath you just got a little more solid. “Hey. It’s okay. I’ve got you. What do you need?”

You still can’t explain it. Can’t bring yourself to shape it into words you don’t even know what you need, but your voice finally cracks through the pressure. “…Can you come over?”

There’s no hesitation, not even a beat. “Yeah. I’m already grabbing my keys.” You hear the clink in the background keys, door, a muttered “Vicky, I’ll be back later” then her voice returns, quieter now, but somehow more certain. “I’m on my way. Don’t worry, okay?”

You manage a whisper. “I’m scared.”

That silence holds for half a breath not because she doesn’t know what to say, but because she wants to say it right. “I know, but I’m coming. I’ve got you, cariño. Just hang on a little longer.”

She doesn’t ask for details, she doesn’t push, she doesn’t need to. She heard it in your voice something broke loose inside you and started flooding out, and all she cares about now is getting to you.

You hang up without saying goodbye, knowing she’ll be there.

And she will be, because no matter how messy or distant things have gotten, she’s always shown up when it counted and tonight, you didn’t need her to fix anything. You just needed her.

The knock comes quicker than expected sharp and urgent. You barely got the chance to sit down again after your panic call.

You call out, voice low but steady now, “It’s open.”

The door swings open with more force than necessary, and Patri storms in like she was ready to fight off an intruder keys still clenched in her hand like a makeshift weapon, eyes wild and scanning.

“Y/N?” she says quickly, stepping fully inside, breath just a little uneven. “What happened? Are you okay? Where are you?”

You step out from around the corner, a little sheepish, and point toward the ceiling near the window. “There’s a spider.”

Patri stares at you for a long, stunned second jaw slack, chest still heaving slightly from sprinting up the stairs like her life depended on it. She blinks. “A… spider.”

You nod slowly. “A big one.”

There’s a pause where you swear you can actually see the tension in her body trying to process whether to be furious, relieved, or amused. Patri exhales through her nose, visibly trying to remain composed but the twitch at the corner of her mouth gives her away, “You sounded like someone had broken in.”

“Well technically, the spider did,” you say weakly. “It certainly wasn’t invited.”

She closes her eyes for a moment, shaking her head, and when she opens them again, the panic is gone, replaced with dry amusement. “I left Vicky mid-sentence and ran four red lights.”

You bite your lip to stop the laugh bubbling up. “Sorry?”

She gives you a long look, then slowly, dramatically pulls off her jacket and tosses it on the back of a chair. “Where is it?” she asks, squinting toward where you pointed.

“Ceiling. Top right corner. It moved once.”

“I’m risking my life for this, you know.”

“You’re very brave.”

Patri grabs a magazine off your table with unnecessary determination and marches toward the window.

You stand behind her at a safe distance like the coward you are.

“You owe me so hard for this,” she mutters but she’s smiling now, and despite everything, it’s the softest she’s looked at you in days.

Even though you’ve clearly ruined her night and interrupted whatever plans she had, she handles the spider without complaint, because she always shows up even when it’s just for a spider and a scared voice on the phone.

Patri lifts the magazine gently, the spider inching along its edge like it has no idea it’s just narrowly avoided a death sentence.

You flinch instinctively, keeping a solid few feet of distance between you and her. “Kill it.”

She glances back at you, eyebrows raised. “No. I’m not killing it.” She starts toward the balcony.

“It’s just going to come back in,” you protest.

“It won’t.” Her voice is firm, like she’s the spokesperson for all spider-kind. “It’s more scared of you than you are of it.”

You scoff. “I doubt it.”

She shoots you a look over her shoulder, opening the sliding glass door. “Oh it is,” she says. “It’s seen how crazy you are.”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

She carefully taps the magazine so the spider drops down onto the balcony floor and scurries away. She straightens and turns to you with a smug smile. “Honestly, if I was that spider, I’d need therapy after this stunt.”

You narrow your eyes, arms crossing. “You didn’t have to come, you know.”

She shrugs, stepping back inside, letting the door slide closed. “But I did.” Then, softer, “You sounded scared.”

You pause, caught off guard again by how easily she shifts from teasing to gentle.

She sets the magazine down and walks past you toward the kitchen. “You got anything to drink that isn’t poison, I can take for the road that was such thirsty work” she reappears with one of your cold diet cokes from the fridge.

You watch her for a second, then finally exhale, the tension in your shoulders loosening as her presence settles the apartment back into something that feels like safety, even if she just called you crazy.

You follow Patri to the door, your hands fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve, nerves still humming slightly not from the spider anymore, but from her.

She moves slowly, like she’s waiting for you to say something. At the door, she turns halfway, her body angled toward you. “Thanks… for coming,” you say, voice quieter than you mean it to be. “I know it’s stupid.”

Patri shakes her head gently, her expression soft. “It wasn’t stupid. You called, I came. That’s it.”

You offer a small, lopsided smile. “Still. Thank you.”

For a second, neither of you move. The distance between you is small, but the silence makes it feel bigger. Then she meets your eyes fully, really looks at you, and something shifts.

Patri leans in slowly, giving you time to move, to stop her, but you don’t. You stay right where you are as her lips press against yours soft, steady, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache. It’s not long. Just enough.

When she pulls back, you see the flicker of panic in her eyes regret, maybe, or restraint. Her brows knit slightly, and she whispers, “I’m sorry.”

You swallow, your heart beating in your throat. “It’s okay.”

She nods slowly, holding your gaze one last second before turning and stepping out the door. You watch it close behind her, the quiet settling in her absence but the feel of her kiss lingers, like a warmth on your skin you’re not ready to brush away.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The sky is bright blue and clear when you pull up, the engine humming low as you double-check the playlist and the coffee in your cup holder. The streets are mostly empty, the city not quite awake yet a perfect quiet before three hours of Alba. You were driving Alba and yourself to Huesca for the Copa del Reina final

She appears in the doorway dragging a small suitcase and a very large iced coffee, dressed like she’s about to be snapped by paparazzi, sunglasses too big, hoodie too low, leggings and a tiny, perfectly curated frown.

You roll down the window. “Wow,” you call, grinning. “You really went full celebrity on me.”

She gives a mock bow, then gestures to the back of the car. “Pop it. I’m not lifting with one hand. This coffee is more important than life right now.”

You laugh and hit the release. She throws her suitcase in, then climbs in the passenger seat without a word.

For a minute, there’s only the sound of your playlist starting up soft, low, safe. Then, after taking a long sip of her drink, she speaks, “So… this is weird, huh?”

You smile without turning to her. “Extremely.”

“Good,” she nods. “As long as we agree.”

20 minutes in.

The tension eases the further you get from the city. Alba has her feet on your dashboard, despite your protests, and she's already made three comments about your music taste being 'worryingly moody.'

You countered by switching to a girl group ballad from 2008 that made her grimace, but she didn’t skip it.

Somewhere past Terrassa, she glances at you and says, “You nervous?”

You blink. “About what?”

“Spending this long alone with me. Talking. Potentially sharing snacks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh no, I’ve emotionally prepared myself. I even packed backup snacks in case you start gatekeeping the good ones.”

She snorts, nodding slowly. “Smart. Very little sister of you.” There’s a beat. Then she adds, a little quieter, “Feels weird, doesn't it? Like… we missed the whole part where we were supposed to fight over clothes and annoy each other during puberty.”

You glance at her, then back at the road. “You say that like you’re not incredibly annoying.”

She grins but there’s something else in her voice when she adds, “I just… I’m glad we’re doing this.”

You let the silence sit for a moment before replying. “Yeah. Me too.”

An hour in.

The mood shifts again. She’s leaned her seat back, one leg tucked up beneath her, scrolling through your music and making quiet commentary.

“Patri text you yet?” she asks, eyes still on your phone screen.

You glance at her, caught off guard. “You have my phone you tell me.”

Alba nods slowly, like she knew the answer already. “Have you spoken to her at all?.”

“Little bit,” you reply, carefully, eyes on the road, "Nothings changed"

“You sure?,” she murmurs.

You shoot her a look. “Why do I get the feeling everyone’s been having secret conversations about my love life?”

She gives you a slow, too-innocent smile. “Because they have.” You groan. “But don’t worry,” she says, patting your arm. “On this trip, we talk about us. Not your tragic dating life.”

You snort. “Fine, but I’m gonna need another coffee if I’m gonna survive your version of sibling bonding.”

“Done,” she says, already pointing ahead. “Next town, we'll stop for food. You get coffee, but if you come back with fruit, I will abandon you on the side of the road.”

You grin, despite yourself and as the kilometres slip by, so does the awkwardness.

2 hours in

The sunlight’s turning gold, casting long shadows across the dashboard as you pull into a parking space just off the main road. You both have greasy paper bags of Burger King in your laps, the car filled with the comforting smell of fries and warm bread. Alba already has mayo on her hoodie and no shame about it.

You unwrap your burger slowly, watching a few birds circle lazily overhead through the windshield.

Alba takes a big bite, chews, swallows, then looks at you. “You miss her?”

You pause your fingers still holding half the bun mid-air.

She doesn’t push, just watches you with that too-serious look she gets sometimes, the one that reminds you she’s seen more than she says.

You sigh, set the burger back on the wrapper in your lap, and lean your head against the headrest. “Yeah,” you say, finally. “I do.”

Alba doesn’t say anything for a moment, just crunches on a fry and nods like she expected the answer but wanted to hear it from you.

“Is it the sex thing?” she asks casually, and you turn to glare at her. “Because Ale said—”

“Oh my God,” you groan. “Do you all have like a group chat or something? Y/Ns sex watch party 2025?”

Alba laughs, nearly choking on her drink. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s more like Drama Monitoring Services.”

You shake your head but you’re smiling now, even as your stomach tugs at the topic. After a moment, you say, quietly, “I think she wanted me, but she didn’t know how to want me in the way I needed.”

Alba leans back, sipping her drink. “And did you ever tell her how you needed to be wanted?” You’re quiet. “Yeah,” she says, shrugging. “That’s what I thought.”

You look over at her, frowning. “What, are you a relationship expert now?”

“Nope,” she grins. “I just don’t want you to keep pretending she broke your heart when you handed it to her with the manual missing. I reckon the first chance you get, just fuck her, solves all the issues then”

You stare at her, floored by the honesty, then laugh not because it’s funny, but because it hurts in that true kind of way. You nod. “I actually miss her.”

“Then do something about it,” Alba says, brushing salt from her fingers. “Or don’t, but don’t sit in this car acting like you didn’t feel loved just because it didn’t end with fireworks and lingerie.”

You stare at the horizon for a moment. “Wow,” you murmur. “You’re kind of wise.”

“I contain layers,” she says, deadpan, then immediately drops a fry in her lap and yells “Shit!”

You both burst out laughing, "Alba the Ogre"

"huh?" she turns her head to you and the expression on her face is like you've sprouted a second head

You glance over. “Shrek.”

She frowns. “I’ve never seen that.”

You slam the brakes, figuratively, but the gasp you let out is nothing short of betrayal. “You’ve never seen Shrek?!”

Alba looks confused, even a little defensive. “No? I don’t know, it just never looked that good.”

You turn to fully face her in your seat. “Take that back. Right now.”

She raises an eyebrow. “It’s an ogre movie. With a donkey.”

“That ogre movie is a cinematic masterpiece. It has layers, like onions and parfaits, and you won't even get that reference because you haven't seen it.”

Alba laughs. “You’re actually upset.”

“I’m furious,” you say. “I don’t even know how we’re related right now. What were you doing in 2001 when the world changed forever?”

"l was four,” she says flatly.

“And failing at life, apparently.” You shake your head. “There’s romance, there’s action, there’s Eddie Murphy singing about waffles. Alba, I can’t explain Shrek to you. You have to feel it.”

She looks at you, amused. “You want to put it on in the hotel later?”

“I want to put it on right now,” you say. “This road trip is cancelled. We’re going home, you can’t be trusted.”

Alba grins, finally a little sheepish. “Fine. You can show me, but only if there’s no singing along.”

“No deal,” you say immediately. “I will be singing, loudly and you will be emotionally moved by Hallelujah when it plays, or I’m leaving you at a petrol station on the way home.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles. “You’re insane.”

“And you,” you say with great drama, “are culturally bankrupt. I was one when that movie came out and even I've seen it, you have no excuse”

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You and Alba make your way through the crowds at Huesca stadium the Barcelona fans loud already, your matching sunglasses doing little to hide the fact you both look slightly road-weary but buzzing. Alba walks ahead of you with the practiced confidence of someone used to navigating stadiums, but you can tell even she’s excited there’s a bounce in her step that wasn’t there earlier.

You finally reach the family section, flashing your passes at security and he waves you through, you spot Eli first, seated near the front, scanning the pitch like she’s mentally coaching from the stands. She’s dressed casually, but her whole posture is alert, focused, maternal. Probably nervous.

Then she looks up and freezes, her eyes land on you and Alba together, side by side, and for a second, her mouth actually falls open in a silent, stunned kind of happiness. She stands immediately, hands over her chest like she needs to make sure she’s not imagining things. Alba grins and waves, you offer a small, awkward one of your own.

“Mi niña,” Eli breathes, moving to greet you both at the aisle. “What—what are you doing here?”

“We thought we’d surprise you and Ale,” Alba says casually, like it’s no big deal, but you can hear the warmth behind it, the meaning. She throws an arm around your shoulders and squeezes.

Eli’s eyes flicker to you, wide and glassy. “I didn’t think—”

You shrug a little, trying not to make it a big emotional moment, but your voice still comes out quieter than you expect. “Alba said she wanted company and, I wanted to see Alexia play.”

“She’s going to be so happy,” Eli murmurs, then steps in and hugs you both tightly, one arm around each daughter. “Thank you for coming.”

You sit between them once you're settled Eli to your left, fussing with her sunglasses, and Alba to your right, bouncing her knee with silent energy. The pitch below is alive, the players warming up under the late afternoon sky, and you spot Alexia easily in the distance, her ankle still taped up but dressed in full kit, talking with teammates near the bench.

“She doesn’t know either of us are here?” you ask quietly.

Eli shakes her head. “She thought it would just be me. I’m sure she’ll spot you both soon.”

You nod, feeling a little strange nervous, even, not in a bad way. Just unfamiliar, like being part of something you’ve spent your whole life picturing.

Then Alexia jogs toward the touchline, glancing up at the crowd probably looking for Eli. She finds her first, then her gaze lands on Alba and then you.

She stumbles mid-step and breaks into the widest, stupidest, most gleeful smile you’ve ever seen her wear. It’s not cool or composed at all. It’s just joy.

She waves frantically, mouthing something that’s probably ‘What the hell?’ at Alba, then pointing at you with mock offence. You smile right back.

Alba leans in and says quietly, “Worth the drive?”

You glance back at Alexia beaming like an idiot on the sideline, then over at Eli, who’s wiping her eye subtly like she isn’t. “Yeah,” you admit, voice low. “It really is.”

After warm-ups, as the players begin drifting toward the tunnel, Alexia peels off from the group and jogs over toward the family section her eyes locked on you like she's half afraid you'll disappear if she looks away.

She slows just before the barrier, cheeks still flushed from movement, her ponytail bouncing slightly as she beams up at you. She glances at Alba first, offering her a quick high five and a mouthed “hello,” before her gaze shifts back to you.

"You came," she says, almost in disbelief, eyes scanning your face like she still can’t believe it’s real. Then, softer, "You okay? You look… tired."

You swallow the lump in your throat, not from her concern but from how seen it makes you feel. Even with the chaos of the final, even with her ankle not at a hundred percent she still noticed. You force a small smile and shake your head, brushing it off. “I’m fine. It’s just the drive.”

Alexia studies you a second longer, not totally convinced, but she doesn’t press. Instead, she leans a little closer across the barrier, grinning.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she says again, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Don’t leave at halftime, yeah? I need to show off in front of you.”

You scoff gently, crossing your arms. “Focus on the final, not showing off.”

She gives you a wink, backing up. “Same thing.” Then she turns, jogs backward a few steps, and just before disappearing down the tunnel, shouts, “Save me a drink at the after party!”

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The stadium is electric drums pounding, cheers echoing from the stands, a wave of blue and red cascading over the crowd like a tide of pride. You watch from the family section as the final whistle blows, and Barça players collapse into one another, elated, exhausted, victorious.

Alba nudges you hard in the side. “They did it,” she says, grinning wide, almost like a kid.

You nod, eyes already on Alexia she’s somewhere in the middle of the huddle, half-laughing, half-crying as her teammates drape themselves over her, shouting, singing, celebrating. Her hair is stuck to her forehead with sweat, her ankle still lightly taped under her sock, but she doesn’t care.

You feel your breath catch as she steps forward. She takes the Copa de la Reina trophy in both hands, shares a moment with her teammates getting them fired up, and lifts it high into the air.

The lights hit it just right gold gleaming, confetti beginning to fall and she throws her head back and roars, primal and full of joy. You feel it deep in your chest, that pride, that strange, soft ache that says you’re part of this somehow, even from the sidelines.

Eli claps loudly beside you, tears in her eyes, and Alba is on her feet cheering, but your eyes never leave Alexia and hers even through all the noise, the lights, the photographers manage to find you.

Just for a moment it’s brief, but you see it that soft flicker of recognition, a smile not just for the crowd or the cameras, but for you.

You smile back, eyes stinging a little, your voice too full to shout but your heart is louder than any noise in that stadium.

You step down onto the field beside Eli and Alba, your pass still hanging around your neck, the noise somehow both deafening and muted as your eyes scan the sea of jubilant players and there she is, Patri.

Laughing, arms flung around a teammate’s shoulders, bouncing on the balls of her feet like the win has filled her up with helium. Her hair is wild from the match, cheeks flushed, and she looks alive. Radiant, in that unfiltered way joy makes people beautiful, she doesn’t even know she’s glowing she never does.

You freeze for a second, because your heart traitorous, familiar, honest flutters the moment you see her. She’s still in her kit, socks rolled low, mud spattered on her thighs, and she hasn’t seen you yet, but Eli nudges you forward gently.

You step forward slowly, the sounds around you going a little soft again as Patri turns, she sees you, stops mid-spin and for a second the world seems to slow. Her eyes widen just a little, like maybe she wasn’t expecting you, or maybe she didn’t let herself hope to. Her grin falters not because she’s not happy, but because she’s surprised in a way that hits deep.

Then it returns full force, bright and unguarded. You don’t even realise you’re walking toward her until your feet are already carrying you forward and she’s doing the same steps hesitant at first, then more certain with each stride until you're meeting halfway, just like muscle memory, like it’s always been this simple.

Neither of you says anything, you just fall into each other, arms wrapping tight like this is the only place either of you has exhaled in weeks. Your face tucks into the crook of her neck, and her cheek presses against yours, both of you clinging a little too hard but neither pulling away.

You feel her breathing and for a second, the noise of the stadium falls away completely. She smells like grass and sweat and whatever bubblegum she’s been chewing during the match. Her fingers grip at your back like she’s afraid if she lets go, she’ll wake up and it’ll all have been imagined.

“Watch those hands, Guijarro!” Alexia’s voice cuts through the moment, teasing, smug and loud from behind you.

Patri groans without lifting her head. “For once, Ale, can you not?”

You turn your face enough to glance back over your shoulder, where Alexia is grinning from ear to ear, leaning against the barrier with her arms crossed, ankle clearly wrapped up still, smug as hell. Eli is beside her, pretending to scold her but very obviously holding back a laugh.

“I will not be silenced,” Alexia declares, mock-offended. “My little sister is out here getting felt up by one of my oldest friends. I’m just protecting the families honour!”

You bury your face in Patri’s shoulder, muffling a laugh as she mutters, “She’s the worst.”

“She really is,” you whisper back.

Patri eases back just enough to look at you, her hands still resting on your waist, thumbs rubbing small circles through your jacket. “you doing okay?” she says, eyes searching your face,

You nod and because she’s Patri, you manage a real smile. “Yeah. Better than when you found me cowering because of a spider.”

She laughs, rolling her eyes. “I will never forget the sound you made.”

“It was a very aggressive spider,” you insist.

“So aggressive it needed a panic call and a professional footballer on emergency duty?” she teases.

“Exactly,” you say, and you both dissolve into quiet laughter.

The movement makes the medal on her chest clink softly. You reach out and straighten the ribbon, letting your fingers brush the cool metal.

“It looks good on you,” you murmur.

She raises a brow. “The medal or the sweat and grass stains?”

“Both,” you admit, cheeks warming. “But mostly the medal.”

Patri’s grin softens. “Stay proud of me for at least twenty‑four hours, okay? I’m going to be milking this.”

You tap the gold circle once, then glance toward the family section where Alexia is still lobbing snarky comments your way. “I should go over before she tries to moon‑walk on that ankle just to get attention.”

Patri nods, but catches your hand before you step away. “One condition,” she says, tone mock‑stern. “You promise we have a drink together at the after‑party.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Water counts?���

“Nope.”

You roll your eyes with exaggerated exasperation, but your fingers squeeze hers. “Fine. One drink. Maybe two if no spiders are involved.”

“Deal.” She lifts your joined hands briefly, sealing it with a gentle squeeze before letting go.

You start toward your little family, feeling her eyes follow you, and for the first time in what feels like forever the buzz in your chest isn’t panic it’s something bright, brand‑new, and almost dizzyingly hopeful.

Alba watches you approach from where she’s leaning against the barrier, her arms crossed and her eyebrows practically reaching her hairline. As soon as you’re close enough, she nudges you with her elbow, her grin slowly spreading. “Well?” she asks, eyes wide and unmistakably smug.

You glance back toward Patri, who’s still being tackled with hugs and cheers from teammates, medal swinging around her neck, then back at your sister. You raise a brow. “Well, what?”

Alba practically bounces on the balls of her feet. “Don’t do that. You just hugged her like the final scene in a romance movie. What did she say? Did you say something?”

You scoff and shove her gently with your shoulder. “Shut up.”

Alba bursts into laughter, hands raised in mock surrender. “I’m just asking! You have that weird happy face you only get when something good happens.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warm despite yourself. “You’re worse than her.” you jerk your thumb to Alexia oblivious talking to Eli.

“Yeah, but I’m the one you’re stuck with for the drive home,” she says, winking. “And I want every detail.” You groan.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The music thumps low and warm through the venue, the kind of bass that vibrates gently through your chest without demanding too much attention. You’re leaned casually against a high-top table, half-laughing as Cata Coll animatedly mimics her reaction to a goal-line clearance, and Claudia Pina is mid-eye roll, clearly not buying the dramatics.

You’ve found yourself oddly comfortable here, chatting with them they’d made it easy. You’d spent time with them before, back when things with Patri were simpler, lighter. They hadn’t treated you like an outsider then, and they weren’t now either, despite everything.

Cata’s halfway through a joke when your eyes lift and you see Patri weaving through the crowd toward you, a drink in each hand. She's changed out of her kit now, dressed down but still radiant with that post-win energy that clings to her like sunlight. Her eyes are already on you, there’s something unmistakable in the way she looks at you warm, focused, a touch nervous, like you’re the only person in the room that matters.

Cata notices, so does Pina, you see it happen the flash of recognition between them. Pina glances at Cata, one brow raised. Cata, with the subtle awareness that only close friends have, clears her throat softly and shifts her weight. “Well,” Cata says lightly, brushing her fingers against your arm with a grin, “We’ll go harass the DJ or something.”

“Yeah,” Pina smirks, already stepping back. “Don’t let her spill that drink on you. She’s got a history of that.”

Before you can respond, they’re already slipping into the crowd, leaving you with a quiet exhale and Patri, now standing just in front of you, holding out one of the drinks.

You take it, your fingers brushing hers. She smiles, a little crooked and uncertain around the edges. “You didn’t say what you wanted, so I guessed.”

You raise the glass. “Good guess.”

There’s a beat, the space between you hums with something unspoken but thick and alive like static before a storm. “Hey,” she says softly.

“Hey.”

Patri studies you, her expression tightening with quiet concern as her eyes trace over your features. “You okay?” she asks, voice low, nearly drowned out by the music. “You look kind of pale.”

You let out a breath, deflecting with a soft scoff as you tilt your drink. “It’s the lighting,” you murmur, glancing up at the ceiling like it’s personally responsible. “They’re trying to set a mood, I guess, dramatic shadows and poor complexions.”

Patri doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it go, smiling softly instead. “You look good, but I already knew that.”

You raise a brow, your lips twitching into a smirk despite yourself. “You flirting with me now, Guijarro?”

She shrugs, stepping just a little closer. “Maybe. Is it working?”

You pretend to consider, gaze lingering on her lips for just a second too long. “Might be.”

The smile she gives you is real, warmer now, more confident. The noise of the party fades to a dull throb around you both, like the rest of the world has respectfully stepped back.

You don’t realise how close you’ve gotten until your forehead is pressing gently against hers, your eyes slipping shut as your breath slows. The contact is soft, familiar, intimate. “I miss you,” you whisper, the words tumbling out without warning, fragile and honest. “I miss you so much.”

Patri’s breath hitches and then before you can say anything else, before your doubts can crawl back in she leans in and kisses you.

It’s not rushed or desperate. It’s steady, sure, her hand finding the side of your face like she’s afraid you might drift away again. The kiss deepens just slightly enough to taste the longing behind it, the weeks of silence, the ache of missing something that once felt like home.

When she pulls away, barely, her forehead rests against yours again. You swallow, nerves catching in your throat as you glance at her lips, then you hear Alba's voice, the first chance you get, just fuck her. You shift, your voice low and hesitant.

“Do you, uh…” You clear your throat, flicking your eyes up to meet hers. “Do you have a room of your own or…?”

Patri blinks, startled, her breath catches audibly not in a way that’s uncomfortable, but like someone hearing something they’ve been hoping for but didn’t expect to come. “I—” she starts, her voice a little higher than usual. She stops, bites her lip, recalibrates. “Yeah. I do.”

She watches you carefully now, her confidence from earlier dimmed by the sudden gravity of what you’re asking. There’s a flicker of nervousness in her eyes, but it’s softened by warmth, by care. She steps closer, almost hesitantly, like she doesn’t want to spook you.

“Are you sure?” she asks, quietly. “You don’t have to, just because of tonight, or the moment. I want you to want it… not feel like you have to give anything to restart us.”

You nod slowly, gaze steady on hers despite the pounding of your heart. “I know. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to. I’m… nervous, yeah, but it's you, you're all I want.”

Patri exhales slowly, visibly moved. She brushes a hand along your arm, fingers barely grazing your skin. “Okay,” she says, her voice almost a whisper. “Then let’s go, but only if you hold my hand the whole way, I'm nervous to.”

You offer a small, nervous laugh, and she smiles wide, taking your hand in hers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Neither of you says anything more as you walk out hearts racing, hands locked, the moment finally, tenderly, unfolding.

The hallway to the lift feels longer than it probably is. You and Patri walk side by side, hands clasped tight but swinging gently between you, as if neither of you wants to draw attention but neither of you can let go. Your footsteps echo softly against the sleek floors of the hotel corridor.

Neither of you speaks, it’s not awkward just weighted. Like the space between words when something big is about to happen.

When you reach the elevator, Patri presses the button with her free hand. The chrome doors reflect a version of you both that somehow looks braver than you feel.

The silence in the lift is thick you feel the warmth of her hand pulsing in yours and dare a glance her way. She’s looking straight ahead, but there’s a tiny smile on her lips like she knows what you're thinking, like she’s thinking it too.

The numbers above the doors light up one by one too slow, then too fast.

She leads you gently down another corridor, her room’s near the end, a quiet corner. Her hand finally slips from yours just so she can get her key card out. The little green light flashes, and the lock clicks open.

She glances at you, just once, checking in, you nod it’s subtle, but it’s everything. Patri pushes the door open and you both step inside.

The room is warm, soft lighting. A faint trace of perfume in the air hers. It’s not overly fancy, but it’s quiet, calm. She places her key card on the dresser and turns back to you.

Patri doesn’t move quickly. She just looks at you for a long moment, her eyes flickering between yours, like she’s trying to memorise the shape of your face, the emotion behind your eyes. Then she steps closer, close enough for her hands to find your waist gently.

She hugs you first, slow, firm, grounding, her arms around you aren’t possessive, they’re comforting. Her cheek rests against your temple for a second, and you feel her exhale softly. She smells like her shampoo, something faintly citrus and clean, and you close your eyes without meaning to.

Her hands start to move, not rushed, just exploring the curve of your back, the dip of your waist. She traces careful lines like she’s learning you with her fingertips. She pulls back a little not away, just enough to see your face.

“You’re sure?” she murmurs, eyes asking more than her words ever could.

You nod once, her lips brush yours feather-light, a question.

When you don’t pull away, she kisses you again, a little deeper now, but still gentle, still measured. Her hands pause every few moments, as if to say 'This is your moment. You can stop it anytime.' She gives you all the space in the world to step back, but you don’t.

You move with her, into her and in every quiet pause she leaves, you choose to stay.

Your hands find her shoulders and you guide her gently, steadily, until she sits at the edge of the bed. Patri looks up at you with a mix of awe and curiosity, her breath catching slightly. You don’t give her much time you step between her knees, hands sliding along her jaw as you lean down and kiss her slow, purposeful, with more pressure now, more intent.

Her hands rest at your waist, hesitant at first, then holding you tighter as the kiss deepens. You move your hips, just slightly, not rushed a slow, instinctive motion that draws a soft sound from her throat.

The heat builds in the spaces between kisses, in the way her fingers spread across your back as you move to straddle her. In the way your body presses closer, seeking more of her, more of this.

You pause for a second, foreheads resting together, both breathing a little harder now. Her thumbs brush under your shirt, tracing the bare skin at your sides, a silent ask for permission, and you don't stop her.

You kiss her again this time, with no hesitation.

Patri’s arm wraps around your waist with purpose, steady and sure, and in one smooth motion, she stands, effortlessly lifting and turning you. You barely have time to react before you’re laid back on the bed, your head hitting the soft pillow as she settles gently between your legs, her body fitting perfectly against yours.

She pauses, her weight balanced carefully so as not to press too hard, her eyes searching yours in the quiet dimness. Her hand brushes your cheek, her voice soft but steady as she asks, “Lights on or off?”

There’s a flicker of hesitation in your chest not because you don’t want her, but because it’s vulnerable still, you manage a quiet, “Off.”

She nods instantly, no questions asked, no judgment in her gaze just understanding. She reaches over and turns off the lamp. The room is bathed in darkness, except for the faint light spilling in through the hotel door from the corridor.

Then she leans back down, her lips brushing yours again, softer now, slower patient. Like she knows this moment matters. Like she’s ready to show you, without a word, just how much she cares.

In the hush of the darkened room, your breaths start to sync, slow and uneven, charged with anticipation. Patri doesn’t rush, her hands move with respect, fingertips ghosting over the hem of your shirt before she gently pulls it up, pausing only when it’s lifted over your head. Her eyes adjust to the low light, and even in shadow, you feel her taking in every inch of you like you’re something sacred.

You reach for her next, fingers fumbling slightly as you tug at the edge of her top. She smiles faintly at the nerves in your touch and lifts her arms to help you, letting the fabric slip away. She looks so calm, but you catch the subtle shift in her breathing the flutter in her throat that matches your own heartbeat.

Her hands are back on you, slower now, trailing over your sides, memorising the lines of your body with soft, steady pressure. Her thumbs brush just under your ribs, pausing for the slightest moment when they pass over the faint ridges of a scar the first she found of many, but she doesn’t stop. If anything, her hands linger, almost like she’s grounding herself to you. Proving she's not repulsed by your history etched on your skin with your scars.

When she unclasps your bra, it’s with a softness that tells you she’s waited for this not just the intimacy, but the trust. You shiver as it falls away and she presses a kiss to your shoulder, then to the center of your chest, right where your heart beats, like she knows how hard it’s worked to bring you here.

You help her with the rest of her clothes, your hands firmer now, more certain, guided by want and the need to feel her fully overtaking your nerves to a distant memory. Every layer removed between you is like shedding hesitation until there's nothing left but warmth, skin, and closeness.

She leans in, her forehead resting against yours again, your bare bodies brushing in quiet tension. “Still okay?” she whispers.

You nod, breath catching. “Yeah,” you manage, voice thin but sure. “I want you.” And with that, the space between you disappears Patri’s hand moves with care, exploring your body. There’s no rush only a quiet, deep patience in the way she touches you, like she’s listening to every breath you take, every shift in your body’s rhythm.

Her fingers trail slowly down your torso following your biggest scar like a road map down to your centre, a soft path of heat following her motion. When she reaches the curve of your hip, your breath hitches, a tremble running through you that you can’t hide. She pauses, her eyes lifting to meet yours in the dim light.

“Still okay?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, lips parting on a shaky breath. “Yeah. Don’t stop.”

When her hand finds the most sensitive part of you and runs through your folds, the feeling is overwhelming not just the sensation, but the intimacy of it, the way she touches you with both confidence and care. It’s like every nerve in your body lights up at once. You curl closer, your hand gripping her wrist lightly, not to stop her, but to feel anchored.

You kiss her in another silent 'I'm ok', Patri watches not just your body, but your face, the way your lashes flutter and your jaw tightens as you react to her. Her expression is full of focus, awe, and something deeper, affection, even love.

She kisses your neck gently, letting her lips trail up to your ear. “You’re beautiful like this,” she murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

Patri’s touch is slow, reverent more about connection than urgency. She watches your face, learning every reaction like it’s a language only she wants to speak fluently. Her fingers move with gentle precision, exploring with a tenderness that sends waves of sensation through you.

You tense slightly at first not from discomfort, but from the vulnerability of it, but she’s patient, her other hand stroking your side in calming circles, her mouth close enough to whisper affirmations only meant for you.

“You’re incredible,” she murmurs. “I'm so hot for you right now”

When her fingers ease inside, your breath catches, and her gaze never leaves you. She moves with intention, every movement measured, listening to the subtle cues of your body. There’s nothing hurried, nothing careless only the deep, growing rhythm.

You cling to her, your body finding its own rhythm against her hand. The way she touches you firm, slow, knowing makes you feel understood in a way words could never capture. You can feel the pressure building, pleasure winding tighter inside you with every stroke and the whole time, she’s there present, grounded, entirely focused on you. You cup her face forcing her lips to yours, you kiss her with the passion you could never voice, your tongues brushing, you pull your lips back as your forced to gasp her name with the sensation she was creating deep in your stomach,

You breathe in through your mouth "Patri" you say on the exhale and Patri’s hand moves with more purpose, fingers pressing deeper, tracing firmer paths that ignite sparks along your skin. Her grip tightens just enough to make you shiver, sending heat pulsing through every nerve ending.

She’s no longer gentle as she learns you can take it, but still deliberate, her touch demanding and fierce, matching the fire building inside you. You arch off the bed slightly, each movement sending a new wave of pleasure crashing through you. As your breathing grows heavier, she shifts, lowering herself until her lips graze across your chest.

Her mouth closes around your nipple gently at first, her tongue teasing, her lips warm. Then she deepens it, the suction on your nipple sending a jolt straight through your core as her fingers don't let up. The combination of her touch and the heat of her mouth pulls a your first moan from your lips.

You're wrapped up in her the way she moves, the way she focuses on every part of you like you're something to be treasured and devoured at the same time. It's overwhelming in the best way, and you feel your body start to tremble as everything she gives builds toward the edge.

Her other hand grips your waist firmly, holding you steady as her fingers explore with raw, urgent rhythm. The tension coils tighter, pleasure and desire crashing through you like waves, relentless and fierce.

She leans in, her breath hot against your ear, voice low and rough. “You like this, don’t you?”

You can’t hold back the answer, your body craving every stronger, rougher stroke she offers, your trust in her fuelling the wildness between you. "Harder, please" you beg, "Harder, faster, 'm gonna cum"

Her fingers move with a steady, commanding rhythm, each stroke driving deeper into you, making your pulse race and your breath hitch. Patri’s eyes lock onto yours, dark and intense, as she watches every reaction, every shiver she pulls from your body.

Her touch is fierce but careful, a balance of strength and tenderness that sends you spiraling higher. The heat between you is electric, raw desire mixing with a deep trust that wraps around you both.

You reach out, tangling your fingers in her hair, pulling her closer, craving every moment, every sensation. Patri responds with a kiss, her movements gaining urgency, never letting you forget just how much she wants you how much she needs you to feel this too.

The world narrows to just the two of you, the quiet hum of the room fading away beneath the storm of sensation you’re both creating, into the late hours of the evening.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The early morning light spills gently through the thin curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. It’s quiet, still except for the sound of Patri’s soft, steady breathing beside you, but your body feels wrong.

You blink slowly, your head heavy, skin hot and clammy. Sweat clings to your chest, dampening the sheets. Something tightens in your gut as a wave of panic rolls through you.

Carefully, you peel the covers back, not wanting to wake her. You spot one of Patri’s t-shirts tossed over a nearby chair and pull it over your head, the familiar scent of her comforting for just a second. Your legs feel unsteady, but you manage to stand, one hand gripping the edge of the bed for balance.

You take a step then another but the world tilts sideways, you stumble, bumping hard into the wall with a dull thud.

The noise jolts Patri awake. “Y/N?” she calls out, voice hoarse with sleep but laced with worry. She sits up quickly, blinking in confusion as she sees you slumped against the wall, pale and drenched in sweat, your chest rising in quick, shallow breaths.

She’s out of bed and in an instant beside you, her hands on your arms. “Hey, hey what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You shake your head weakly, throat tight. “I don’t… I don't feel ok. Patri I'm scared.”

Patri's eyes scan you, alarm settling on her face. Your body sags against her, drained, Patri’s grip on you tightens just as your knees buckle and then you go completely limp in her arms.

“No, no, no Y/N!” she cries out, trying to hold you up, but your body slips from her grasp and crumples to the floor.

The sound of your body hitting the ground sends Patri into full panic.

“¡Ayuda! ¡Por favor! Help! Someone!” she yells, her voice cracking as she drops to her knees beside you, cradling your face. “Wake up please wake up,” she whispers, checking your breathing with shaking fingers.

Your skin is hot to the touch, your breaths shallow, moments later, the door bursts open Cata and Pina are the first to arrive, both in sweats and half-awake but alert the second they see your body on the floor and the fear on Patri’s face.

“What happened?” Cata rushes forward, already pulling out her phone. “I’m calling emergency services.”

“She just collapsed,” Patri breathes, barely holding it together. “She was hot clammy and then just… she fainted. I don't think she's breathing!"

“I'm calling for help,” Cata says firmly, stepping back into the hallway to make the call.

Pina looks between Patri and your unconscious form, then bolts. “I’ll get Alexia.”

She sprints down the corridor, "Pina?" Mapi asks coming out her hotel room door, "What's going on?"

"Get the doctor, Patris girl has stopped breathing!" Pina gets in front of Alexia's door and bangs on it, not waiting before pushing it open. Alba is inside, sitting up already, hair a mess, clearly startled. Alexia’s rubbing sleep from her eyes, confused by the sudden intrusion.

“What’s going on?” Alexia asks, half-standing.

Pina’s tone is urgent, short of breath. “You need to come. Now. It’s Y/N.”

The look on Alexia’s face changes instantly sleep disappears. “What happened?”

“She collapsed, she's not breathing.”

Alba is already throwing on a hoodie. Alexia doesn’t even pause to grab her shoes. “Where is she?”

“Patri’s room,” Pina says, already leading them out. Alba and Alexia follow without a word, hearts hammering, fear overtaking everything.

Patri barely hears the footsteps pounding down the hall she doesn’t lift her head from where she’s knelt beside you, one hand gripping yours tightly, the other stroking damp strands of hair off your burning forehead.

Then Alexia drops to the floor beside her. “Come on you, wake up for me, Y/N,” Alexia murmurs, her voice cracking, her hand gently touching your cheek. “Hey COME ON, please.” There’s real fear in her eyes now, seeing you like this, so still, takes the air from her lungs.

Alba stands just behind them, wide-eyed, her arms crossed over her chest like she’s physically trying to hold herself together. She sees the way Patri’s face is streaked with panic and guilt, and the tension she’s been carrying all trip suddenly breaks, sharp and loud.

“What did you do?” Alba snaps, stepping closer. “What did you do to her? I trusted you with her!”

Patri’s head lifts sharply, her eyes glassy. “I didn’t, Alba, I didn’t do anything! I swear—”

“She was fine when I left her yesterday,” Alba shoots back, voice rising. “She was fine! And now I’m being woken up because she’s on the floor not breathing?”

“I didn’t know she wasn’t feeling well,” Patri pleads, barely keeping it together. “She didn’t say anything, not really. She just got up and then-”

“Don’t yell,” Alexia says firmly, turning to Alba without looking away from you. Her voice is strained but steady. “Not now. Not while she’s like this.”

Alba’s mouth opens again but then closes when she sees Alexia’s face, her jaw clenched, her hand still resting on your cheek, fingers trembling.

The room falls silent, only the distant voice of Cata on the phone in the hall filling the space.

Alexia leans closer. “Come on, hermanita,” she whispers to you, voice cracking. “Don’t scare us like this. Wake up. Mami just got you back you can't go now, not like this"

The hallway erupts in noise as the Barcelona medical team rushes in, led by the team doctor. The moment they see you on the floor pale, motionless they drop their bags and spring into action.

“Move back.. now!” one of them orders, already kneeling beside your body. Alexia and Patri are both frozen until someone physically pulls them back. Alba stumbles a few steps away, hand clamped over her mouth.

“She’s not breathing,” one doctor says quickly, pressing two fingers against your neck. “No pulse.”

“Starting compressions!”

The room explodes into urgency. "Has someone called an ambulance?"

Pina answered the only semi composed in the room, "Cata is onto them"

Patri gasps audibly, a sharp sound of shock as tears fill her eyes. Her hands tremble uncontrollably at her sides. Alexia grips the edge of the table beside her so tightly her knuckles turn white, her chest heaving with the weight of watching.

One medic is performing chest compressions, counting under his breath, while the other breathes for you.

Alba can’t look away, her knees buckle, and she grips the doorframe for balance. “Please,” she whispers. “Please no…”

They pause only briefly, two fingers coming to your neck “Still no pulse. Resume compressions!”

Patri turns away, burying her face in her hands. “No, no, no…” she whispers like a prayer.

Alexia watches, her eyes rimmed red, face pale, and her voice finally breaks through the rising panic in the room. “Y/N, please…” she chokes. “Don’t do this. Don’t go.”

[powderpinkprincess]

The Body Autonomy [Lando Norris x reader]

 description: You're on a holiday in Greece, grocery shopping with Max F., when you impulsively decide to get a navel piercing on the way back home. But without telling Lando.

It started off so innocently.

You were on a short holiday with Lando and some of his closest friends in Greece. A few hours earlier, all of you decided that you needed to fill up the fridge for the next morning. Still, none of you felt like walking to the grocery store after a long day spent swimming and sightseeing, so it was eventually procrastinated until now, when the sun was starting to set. You were playing card games: Max (Fewtrell) won, and you lost, so the two of you were sent to do the dreaded breakfast run.

Max glanced over at you, sunglasses perched on his head. “You sure we got everything?”

You peeked into one of the bags. “Bread, eggs, juice, fruit… Oh, shit. The milk.”

 “Right,” Max frowned. “Stay here, I’m going to run back. They’re closing soon.”

Your eyes wandered to the opening hours, and that was when you saw it. Right there, on the corner of the street, a small, blinking neon sign: BODY PIERCING - WALK INS WELCOME.

You paused. “Huh.”

Max immediately caught your expression and narrowed his eyes. “What are you looking at like that?”

 “I always kind of wanted a belly button piercing,” you hummed. “You go back to the store, I'll just hop in there."

 “No,” Max shook his head immediately.

 “But why? Body autonomy, Max. And I’m over eighteen.”

He sighed. “Y/N, we’re on a breakfast run. I was trusted with this mission by Lando. Why are you like this?”

 “Because I’m fun?” you grinned, already veering toward the shop like a moth to a flame. Whatever he said, there was no way he could stop you now. You had already made up your mind.

Twenty minutes later, you both walked back toward the villa, you grinning like a kid with a secret, Max carrying the groceries and shaking his head.

 “Let me see it again,” Max said, still half in disbelief.

You lifted your shirt slightly, revealing the brand-new accessory. You were in awe. “Cute, right?”

He winced. “You’re insane. Jesus, Lando’s going to kill me. I leave you alone for two minutes, and you end up letting strangers poke holes in you. He is going to fucking murder me.”

You laughed, taking a bag from him. “Relax. It’s not that serious. I’ll tell him. He won’t even be mad.”

Max gave you a side-eye. “You live in a very different version of reality than I do.”

By the time you reached the villa, the others were already gathered on the patio, enjoying whatever was left of the sun. Lando looked up from his phone when he saw the two of you approaching, sending you a bright smile. “Hey, finally. Took you long enough.”

You exchanged a glance with Max, who looked like he was preparing for his own funeral.

 “Babe,” you started, walking over and placing the grocery bags down. “I may have gotten a little… Impulsive.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “Impulsive?”

 “Yeah. Like, holiday souvenir impulsive.” You lifted your shirt just enough to reveal the fresh piercing, the silver stud catching the sunlight. “It looks so good, doesn’t it?” you beamed.

There was a pause. A very long pause.

Lando blinked once. Twice. “MAX.”

Max held up his hands like a man surrendering to police. “I tried to stop her, mate! I swear to God, she saw the sign, and she was gone. What was I supposed to do? Tackle her in the street? She’s your problem!”

Lando’s gaze snapped back to you, mouth opening and closing like his brain was still buffering. “You two went to buy breakfast. How did that turn into this?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, biting your lip. “Well… Technically, we did buy breakfast. Max just had to rush back for the milk before the store closed.”

Lando groaned, running a hand through his curls. “Y/N… Honestly… You let some random piercer stab your stomach in the middle of nowhere?”

 “It’s clean, I swear! The place looked super professional,” you reassured, giving him your best innocent face.

He shook his head, coming closer, eyes scanning the piercing with a mix of shock, mild exasperation, and something that looked suspiciously like fondness. “Does it hurt?”

You shrugged. “A little. But it’s fine.”

 “Jesus.” He reached out, not touching, but hovering his hand over your stomach like he was inspecting it. “Please, please don’t let it get infected. You’re gonna follow every single aftercare instruction to the letter. Deal?”

You grinned, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Deal.”

Max, in the background, let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Well, at least I won’t die today.”

Lando shot him a look. “You’re on thin ice, mate.”

 “But you love me,” Max replied with a smirk.

Lando rolled his eyes before looking back at you, still shaking his head. “You’re both a nightmare.”

You laughed, linking your arm through his. “Yeah, but you love me too.”

And even with the tiny silver sparkle now in your belly button, Lando couldn’t exactly argue with that.

[emchante]

wet dream

masterlist | requesting rules

summary: after a long day, oscar suggests you both take a nap together. however, oscar didn't get to sleep himself. how could he when you're rutting against him due to the wet dream that decided to play in your mind?

WARNINGS: 18+ content, dry humping/ thigh grinding, slight masturbation, vague somnophilia

w.c: 1.4k

a/n: 2 posts in 2 days? look at me go. anyways, first oscar post!! i'm so happy to finally have written for him, and i hope you guys enjoy. ell me your thoughts via comment, reblog or ask, i'd love to hear your feedback. and if this gets enough love then part 2 will be on the way. and, remember that requests are open.

it started out innocent enough. 

your bedroom was dimly lit, the faint glow from the bedside lamp was cast upon the walls. you and oscar were laying on the bed together, exhausted after a long day. 

it was oscar who had suggested it. 

“you look done in,” he murmured, laying on his side as he lifted his hand to cup your face. “maybe you should go for a little nap.”

you whined in return, a “nooo,” leaving your lips before you buried your head into his chest. “i need to spend as much time with you as possible, before you’re gone again.”

oscar smiled sympathetically— not that you seen it— before moving his hand to your hair, stroking it softly. “hey, a nap won’t do any harm. i’ll nap with you too, how does that sound?” he offered, making you lift your head from his chest as you looked at him. “that way.. we’re still technically spending time together,” he winked at you, making you smile.

that’s what got you where you were now. your body was pressed close to oscar’s, your head resting against the nape of his neck, one of your legs draped over his own. the steady rise and fall of your breath was proof you were knocked out cold, that oscar’s suggestion was worth it. 

oscar couldn’t sleep though. he was tired too, of course, but your soft breathing against his neck kept him wide awake, as well as as the constant shifting in your sleep, trying to get yourself comfortable. 

at first, it truly was innocent. 

the little nuzzle into his neck, was simply you trying to move impossibly closer to him. the shift of your leg against his own seemed innocent too, albeit the fact it rubbed against his crotch. but it was all accidental, of course. you were a restless sleeper, and that’s what he put it down to.

it was all innocent. until it wasn’t. 

your movements started to feel more deliberate, as your leg was now sliding higher up his thigh, staying there. it was impossible to miss the full body tense that consumed you, before a soft, almost inaudible moan escaped your lips. 

oscar’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes widened in realisation; you’re grinding against his thigh, clearly caught up in whatever fantasy was playing in your mind. 

he tries to stay still, tried to not focus on the slow yet insistent press of your hips against his thigh that sends a jolt of pleasure right to his core. he can feel the heat of you, even through the thin fabric that was separating you both from one another, the way you’re seeking something, even in your dream.

oscar’s cock twitches in his boxers, and he bites down hard on his bottom lip— trying to hold back any noises that threatened to escape him— as his hands fisted the sheets, trying to refrain from grabbing onto you. 

the movements of your body against him began to grow more insistent, each shift of your hips becoming more rhythmic. your leg tights around his thigh, trying to pull oscar closer as you let out another moan, this time more needy. 

oscar didn’t need to see your face to know you were having the time of your life, he could feel your features scrunching up against his skin, and your lips forming ‘o’ shapes every time a whine or moan escaped you. 

he can feel the dampness of your panties against his leg, soaking part of his leg and his shorts, and the feeling only sends a fiery heat throughout him. 

you mumble something incoherent in your sleep, but the tone in your voice is unmistakable— desperation. you’re rutting against his thigh like you can’t help it, out of control. like your body needs him, even in your dreams. 

oscar doesn’t know when it happened but when he came back to his senses, he realised his hand was now barely hovering above your waist. he was fighting a battle against himself, between restraint and the overwhelming urge to guide your body against his soaked thigh. 

his fingers twitch as he imagined pulling you down against him, helping you achieve what you were oh-so desperately chasing. the soft, breathy gasps were quickening against his neck, and oscar’s cock was painfully hard now, straining against his boxers. 

he lets out a shaky breath as your hand slips under his shirt, brushing against his abs. the touch is light and almost hesitant, as if you’re still finding your way about him in your dream. but every featherlight touch of the soft pads of your fingertips sends shivers through him, and he has to stifle any noises threatening to leave him. 

your breathing quickening isn’t something oscar misses, and he knows you’re getting closer. the friction of his thigh against your clothed pussy has you letting out a series of small, desperate whimpers, and oscar’s close to losing the battle against restraint. 

it doesn’t take long for it to come crashing down, though.

the whiny pant of “osc” that left your lips was what broke him. oscar couldn’t stop his hand from moving onto your waist, gripping your plush hip as he helped you move against him. he knew you didn’t mind, in fact; he knew you loved it, the groans that started to leave your mouth more often after his large fingers dug into your skin was confirmation of such. 

his eyes were dark with lust as he watched your body move against him, so needy and so desperate for release. his eyes drifted down to watch your clearly soaked panties move against his thigh, and oscar couldn’t stop himself. his free hand moved itself to your sensitive core, swiping two fingers along your clothed clit which caused your to involuntary buck against him in shock, a strangled moan leaving you. 

“shit,” oscar panted, licking his lips at your reaction. he moved his hand from your core, leaving it to rest atop his clothed, straining cock. oscar gave himself a small squeeze, as he squeezed his eyes shut in pleasure. he needed his own release so badly, but he would hold off; he’d wait until later. 

your movements were once again changing, now becoming more urgent as you subconsciously buried your face further into his neck. a choked gasp slips from your lips, hips jerking forward and trying to press down harder. he can feel your slickness through his shorts, and it’s driving him absolutely insane. 

your thighs clench around his left one, pulling him closer. you're whimpering now, every breath was a little cry of desperation, and oscar can feel how your body is trembling against him. 

oscar’s hand moves from your hip to your ass, squeezing it softly as he pushes you further into him. “come on, baby,” he whispers, watching your body continue to rut against him like a rabid dog; all in your sleep. 

then, suddenly, your body goes taut, a high-pitched whine escaping your lips. your hips press hard against his thigh, and your grinds are now moving in small, desperate circles. oscar can feel your pussy clenching against him as you finally reach the tip of your climax. 

you let out a breathless cry, your body shuddering as the orgasm washes over you. oscar’s breath catches in his throat as he watches, mesmerized by the way how lost you are in your pleasure, even though you were sound asleep. 

you ride out every last wave of your climax, and he can feel your wetness pooling against the skin of his thigh, soaking it and some of the fabric of his shorts. his rabbit-like teeth bite down on his bottom lip, a low groan escaping him as his dick throbs almost painfully at how aroused he is himself. 

slowly, your body allows itself to relax, the tension in your muscles easing as breath resumes in it’s normal, steady rhythm. you’re still trembling a little, hand clenched as it moved to rest on his chest under his shirt. you move to rest your cheek on oscar’s shoulder now, soft snores escaping your lips. 

oscar moves his head back to see you, and your eyes are fluttered shut, your face relaxed with your mouth slightly open. you’re asleep now, the wet dream that has consumed you was now over as you started to resume the peaceful sleep you went for originally.  

his eyes moved down to his shorts, looking at the dark patch of wetness that had stained them. they then moved to his crotch, where his erection was still visible, and he could still feel it throb. oscar licked his lips before gulping, closing his eyes and smiling to himself. 

this wasn’t over, he just had to wait until you woke up.