#the pale joke lives on for a reason...

[cressidagrey]

The Kiss

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri Series.

Summary:  One Kiss in an attic room in Haileybury changes everything. 

Warnings and Notes:

Underage characters kissing, School Rule Breaking, one mention of an eating disorder.

Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

Oscar had never liked heights, but he never minded the attic.

At Haileybury, it was tucked right under the roof beams, all slanted ceilings and worn floorboards and windows that fogged over at night. Most people thought it was too cold, too cramped, too far from the bathrooms.

But it was where Felicity’s dorm room was. 

He didn’t mean to start sneaking into her room every night. 

At first, it had just been one night. 

She’d looked pale and exhausted during breakfast, the kind of grey-edged tired that made him stare at her in the dining hall all morning, biting the inside of his cheek. She hadn’t spoken much in physics either, which was even more concerning. And then, during prep, he’d found her outside, sitting by the wall near the old library, knees drawn to her chest.

“I didn’t sleep,” she said without preamble, when he sat down beside her.

“Why not?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then, finally, she murmured, “Nightmares.”

That night, he sent her a text.

You okay?

Not really.

Want company?

There was a pause. Then:

Door’s unlocked.

That was all it took.

He crept up the staircase like a ghost, past curfew, past reason. The old attic floor creaked under his weight, and when he ducked through the low door, she was already curled on her side, blanket pulled to her chin.

“I can’t always stop them,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said. “But I can stay.”

And he did.

He’d sneak in, she’d lift the blanket, and he’d slide in beside her, warm and quiet and steady.

It was the only way she slept through the night.

And maybe it helped him too.

Because Haileybury was strange sometimes. Cold. Distant. The kind of place that looked perfect on a brochure but made your stomach twist with homesickness when the lights went out. And Melbourne felt like another lifetime.

Haileybury was fine, but not home. Not Melbourne. He missed the way the air felt when the sun went down. Missed the toast at his mum’s and the click of his dad’s tools in the garage. Missed his sisters being loud and the clatter of race broadcasts on the TV.

Haileybury was polished wood and cold stairwells and too many people who thought ambition was something you wore like a uniform. Sometimes, it felt like he was performing himself—quiet enough to blend in, sharp enough to get noticed, just steady enough that no one asked if he was okay.

But then there was Felicity.

Felicity, with her firecracker brain and her sardonic smile and her eyes that saw straight through him. Felicity, who argued with teachers for sport and read math journals like they were novels. Felicity, who lived in the attic room like some stubborn myth, barefoot and furious and brilliant and real.

She became the best part of being here.

The part that made the cold English winter feel a little less sharp.

And Oscar—fifteen-year-old, awkward, still-growing-into-his-face Oscar—was completely and utterly gone for her.

He didn’t know it yet.

Not really.

He just knew she was the first person he wanted to tell when something good happened. And the first one he worried about when she looked tired. And the one he stayed up with until 2 a.m. talking about hypotheticals and space and their ridiculous chemistry teacher.

And the one who let him stay when his own thoughts felt too loud.

Somewhere between shared physics notes and whispered jokes and her head on his shoulder as they drifted off to sleep, it happened.

He fell in love with her. Softly. Accidentally. Irrevocably.

But it wasn’t until that night—months later, curled up in the attic room again, laughing together under the glow of fairy lights—that it clicked.

She was laughing at something he said, soft and breathless and lovely, and her knees were pressed against his and she looked at him like she already knew what was about to happen.

And he realized.

Oh.

It’s you.

It’s always been you.

It will always be you. 

“Fliss,” he said, and it came out like a breath, like a prayer he hadn’t meant to say out loud.

She tilted her head. “Yeah?”

He swallowed.

She blinked slowly, that calm, steady look she always gave him when she already knew the answer.

“I think I—” He broke off. Tried again. “I feel—”

Felicity smiled, all warmth and certainty.

“I was wondering when you’d figure that out.”

That made him laugh, a small exhale of disbelief and something deeper. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “You sneak up here every night like the stars are going to vanish if you don’t.”

“I like it up here.”

“You like me up here.”

That shut him up.

A beat passed.

Then she leaned forward just enough for her nose to brush his. “It’s okay, you know,” she said gently. “You can.”

He didn’t ask what she meant.

He just did.

He kissed her.

Not in a rush. Not with fireworks. Just… softly. Completely. Like he’d been waiting to his whole life. Maybe he had.

Their knees bumped again. Her fingers curled into the hem of his sleeve. The curtain stirred. The room stayed still.

When they finally pulled apart, Felicity’s eyes were still half-lidded, her smile lazily stunned, like a cat stretching in a sunbeam.

Oscar, meanwhile, looked like he’d forgotten how to function. Pink-cheeked. Rumpled. Staring at her like she’d cracked the whole sky open just to let him see the stars.

“You okay?” she teased, nose wrinkling.

He nodded, dazed. “I think that just rewrote my entire brain.”

Felicity laughed again—bright, delighted—and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Took you long enough.”

And he just sat there, heart hammering and chest warm, realizing that this—her, this room, this life—was already his favorite thing in the world.

***

Felicity had always lived in her mind first and the world second.

It wasn’t arrogance. It wasn’t even something she chose. 

Her brain had always been too fast, too sharp, too hungry. She’d learned to read before she could tie her shoes, argued with her teachers before she learned to braid her own hair. People admired it—at first. Her parents certainly had. They paraded her brilliance like a medal. Until it started to make them uncomfortable.

Until it made her uncontrollable.

By the time she was fourteen, Felicity had learned exactly how alone intelligence could make you. 

She had sat through too many conversations where adults discussed her in clinical tones, like a problem to be optimized. Too many classmates had tried to cheat off her, only to recoil when she opened her mouth and revealed just how far ahead she was. Too many teachers looked at her like she was both impressive and exhausting.

No one ever really understood her.

Not the way she needed.

Not until Oscar.

She hadn’t meant to let him in.

Not really.

She liked him, of course. How could she not? He was easy in the way other people weren’t. Soft-spoken but stubborn. Funny without trying. Steady in a way that made her feel like she could rest her head for five minutes and the sky wouldn’t fall. He never tried to compete with her. Never treated her like a threat, or a tool, or a trophy. He just… listened. Asked things. Remembered.

And when he started sneaking into her room at night—she didn’t stop him.

Because she slept better when he was there.

The attic room had always felt like hers. A pocket of quiet just under the roof, where she could breathe without being observed. But with Oscar in it—messy-haired, sleep-warm Oscar, who slid under the blanket without a word and always made room for her cold feet—it became something else entirely.

It became hers in a way that didn’t hurt.

He’d sneak up, careful and quiet, and she’d lift the edge of the blanket without saying a word. He never asked questions. Never demanded explanations. Just climbed in beside her and let her be.

It was the only way she slept through the night.

And the only time her brain slowed down long enough to feel safe.

Felicity didn’t know how to name what was happening. Not at first. She just knew that Haileybury was cold and sharp-edged and full of people who measured success in bloodless grades and rehearsed futures—and then there was Oscar.

Oscar didn’t make the world go quiet—but he made it gentler. More manageable. Like she could breathe again without bracing for impact.

Oscar, who asked if she was okay and actually meant it. Oscar, who brought her biscuits from the dining hall when she hadn’t eaten all days. Oscar, who fell asleep beside her with his arm barely brushing hers, who never once made her feel like too much or not enough.

It wasn’t about being clever with him. He never treated her like a problem to be solved or a trophy to be polished. 

He didn’t get everything she said—how could he?—but he listened. He tried. And he stayed.

He wasn’t like her. 

But then, nobody was.

And yet, somehow, Oscar understood her more than anyone ever had.

He was the only person who looked at her and didn’t see a checklist of accomplishments. He just saw her.

He didn’t try to compete or shrink her. Didn’t treat her brain like a party trick. He listened. He cared. He saw her.

And for a girl who’d grown up being dissected like a fascinating problem, being seen felt like a miracle.

Felicity didn’t fall in love the way most girls did. She didn’t squeal about crushes or blush over compliments. But she felt things, and she felt him. Felt the way he brought her biscuits from the dining hall and sat with her when that was the only thing she could manage to stomach that day.

Somewhere between physics study sessions and late-night confessions, somewhere between his laugh and the way he fell asleep with his mouth slightly open, she fell for him.

Quietly. Completely.

She didn’t tell him, of course. She didn’t need to. He’d figure it out eventually.

He always did.

And when he finally looked at her, really looked, like he’d just solved a riddle that had been haunting him for months, she almost laughed.

He looked at her like she hung the moon.

And that’s when she knew.

He hadn’t said it yet. But she could see it.

In his eyes. In the way his hand hovered like he didn’t know if he was allowed to reach for her. In the tremble in his voice when he breathed, “Fliss.”

She tilted her head, heart thudding.

“Yeah?”

He looked like he was trying to solve a puzzle with no instructions. Like he already knew the answer, but was too stunned to say it.

“I think I—” he started. “I feel—”

And that was enough.

She smiled, soft and sure. “I was wondering when you’d figure that out.”

His laugh was barely more than a breath, but it hit her like a thunderclap—because that was the thing about Oscar. Even when he didn’t have the words, he had the heart. He always did.

“You knew?” he asked, half-disbelieving.

“Of course I knew,” she whispered. “You sneak up here every night like the stars are going to vanish if you don’t.”

He flushed. “I like it up here.”

“You like me up here.”

That silenced him.

She couldn’t help it—she leaned forward just enough to brush her nose against his. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You can.”

He didn’t ask what she meant.

He kissed her.

Gentle. Wonderstruck. Like he was touching something sacred.

And maybe he was.

And it wasn’t like the stories said it would be. It wasn’t fire and thunder. It was soft. Certain. Like slipping into a familiar rhythm. Like exhaling after holding her breath for years.

Felicity had spent her whole life knowing how frightening her mind was to others. How easily it overwhelmed. How quickly admiration curdled into distance. But Oscar? Oscar had walked straight in, no map, no compass, and stayed.

Even when he couldn’t keep up with her thoughts, he never tried to slow them down. Never asked her to be smaller, simpler, easier.

He just held on and let her be exactly what she was.

And when they pulled apart, and he looked stunned and pink-cheeked and like the whole world had just shifted sideways, she knew:

He’d never make her choose between being brilliant and being loved.

She curled her fingers into the hem of his sleeve. Let herself be kissed like she was something precious.

When they pulled apart, he looked completely undone—rumpled and dazed, cheeks pink, eyes wide with awe.

“You okay?” she teased.

“I think that just rewrote my entire brain,” he said, absolutely serious.

Felicity laughed—really laughed—and rested her head on his shoulder, the world still humming around them.

And for the first time in her life, she didn’t feel too much.

She felt enough.

Oscar wasn’t the smartest person she’d ever met.

But he was the first who understood her in the ways that mattered.

[orphicsun]

oh chey… oh for ur ask game… 88 with sevika… im onto something i swear

LOVE POTIONS

pairing: guitarist!sevika + stripper!reader

warnings: 18+ content, semi-public sex, fingering (r!receiving), strap-on sex (r!receiving), community strap sevika and clingy reader.

You're nothing special to Sevika.

That is what she says, at least. It's what the tells herself constantly, reassuring herself that she feels nothing for you. It's only been spoken once in verbal form, yet the physicality of it hangs above your head, threatening to nail you more than she'd like to.

The late night spent underneath her in more ways than one, tongue deep inside of you in a spoiled-rotten action of intimacy, or the tips of her considerably short fingernails pressing into the back of your spongy walls she has grown strangely familiar with.

Sevika feels like a cave diver when she is deep inside of a beautiful woman, her body moving through each curve and tight passage inside of her, only cave diving may be the safer option. Women stick to Sevika annoyingly so, expecting dinner and kisses and commitment after what was supposed to be a hook-up. And you?

The most annoying of all.

She had promised herself not to get involved with any of the dancing ladies who make a living at the club she plays at, but you looked promising in what she hoped to be deceivingly pale pink, a woman who'd be okay with a good, casual fuck. She was quite desperate after the last had grown tired of her, sloppily getting dressed after Sevika rejected another relationship suggestion.

She didn't need a girlfriend. Money, a less shitty microphone stand for her band mate, and a couple cuban cigars? Those are things she needed.

She courted you, and she admits that she was dumb for not realizing it; you were ironically a soft, sweet woman with no experience in the world of Sevika. Ironic, because you gave lap dances for money. Besides that, no real experience in fucking and carefully untangling yourself from the bed at six in the morning, hangover raging, no experience in the 'left-on-delivered' method, and surely no experience on completely ghosting when the feelings start to threaten their way into your brittle heart.

Sevika shouldn't be proud to know of those experiences, but she didn't have the time to care.

By the time she had fucked you, it was too late. You were all over her like a high school sweetheart, laughing at her low-effort jokes, kissing her on the cheek when she was on top of you with a few fingers inside of your pussy instead of the typical sloppy tongue kiss the women she slept with usually gave her, and as Sevika can imagine, printing out photos of her to hang up on your 'for the future' corkboard.

But worst of all, and to her horror, you'd watch her strum at her guitar during shows with hearts in your eyes. You were smitten. She had to ditch you fast, as much as she hated it.

The ghosting was inevitable to her and devastating to you, the cliff cut-off one you could not see. You really did believe she could ever need more from you than sex. You didn't feel soft or sweet like you had wanted to be perceived when she first laid eyes on you. You felt livid.

And so, you finally offered a dance to the friend Sevika had told you not to offer one, one of her closest friend. She'd warned you just subtly, but the reason was obvious—she didn't want you fucking her friends.

So imagine her surprise when she's deep in a Bon Jovi song and catches sight of your thighs straddling Vi's body in the back of the club. Imagine her fury when you whisper something in her ear, tracing your tongue up the soft cartilage only for your lips to be partially hidden behind tufts of red hair.

But then, imagine her arousal when the realization hits her. When you look behind you just to make sure she has acknowledged your petty revenge show. Right there on stage, wetness pools in her boxers, bringing fire to her cheeks. Nobody knows, but she feels as exposed as if she were naked. It's not helping that she came strapped, conveniently hoping to find some easy girl in the crowd after the show and sloppily fuck her against her apartment wall.

Now, her mind is set to something else.

Vi isn't the worst. She doesn't hold you tight to her like Sevika did, but smiles at you like she isn't afraid to be close to you. Like she could say that she loves you if she really wants to. Her cheeks are adorably red, almost as red as her hair. You don't truly want her, but it's still nice.

Just nice.

It's abruptly not nice, however, when you're hauled off of her lap in a matter of seconds, spun around to face a livid Sevika. She doesn't say anything for a moment, looking over your body with a gaze that could slice through any thoughts you previously had in your brain. She makes you light-headed just with the way she looks you over, and you already know what she is about to say.

She lets go of her hold on you. "Dressing room, now."

The interior is hushed and dim in its own reserves, the only light the bulb-arched mirror with annoyingly warm light seeping from the glass. You can already feel the moans queue up in your throat, waiting for the physical encouragement to leave.

"You thought you could fuck on my friend, huh?" Sevika grits out, pulling your body back against hers. She feels like love, and it scares you. This is supposed to be punishment, the punishment you begged her for from across the room.

"Vi doesn't want you, though," she says. "Vi doesn't wanna fuck you like I do, put up with your clinginess, tuck you in bed before I leave and have you drooling all over my fingers the next day."

You just moan at that, your words in the distance with no sign of rest. Your moans, they wish to pour out from you as she fucks your feelings for her back into your head. There is no room for words.

Sevika reluctantly knows you. She guides your body down onto the couch, laying you out all pretty and perfect, eyes avoiding the edges of the white lace on your outfit that ride up your body naturally. She craves something different.

Looming over the couch, she makes a point to look directly into your eyes. "Tell me you want it, or I'll leave right here and now." You're silent, but you feel your mind clearing up. "I'll go find some other girl, and you can rest in here."

"Please."

"None of that," she chides. "Say it completely."

"I want it," you foolishly reach for her, your legs parting to make room for the large woman. A snort leaves her throat, but she quickly settles onto you, groping and squeezing as she knows you like.

One set of fingers lace nicely with yours, the other venturing down your frilly waistband, impatient as ever. This time however, her kisses are like hushed coos of comfort rather than sloppy and stinging with her teeth, like tiny 'miss-you's in her own love language. You can tell she misses you.

You really start to whine for it when a lone finger circles your entrance, another pressing upon your clit.

"Is this what you needed, baby?" She coos at you, her raw voice contradictory to her sincere words. "Just needed your pussy full. Always do."

She slips deep into you, the pain of taking her after time apart noticeable, making you wince slightly. She adjusts well to your reactions, stopping just to stretch you and allow you to accommodate when you clearly need it, pressing her lips into your neck to further your dripping ache.

When she finds herself knuckle-deep in your pussy, another finger stretches you out, flexing and bending within your walls to stretch you further.

You whimper, the feeling of being opened up like this almost overwhelming after so long. "What are you doing..?"

"Getting you ready for something bigger, since you wanted to grind all over someone else tonight," the tells you, but there is no malice in her tone. She knows that you're hers now, and she has you wrapped around her fingers, tightening and milking her desperately.

But you're eager for it, perking up at the mention of more. "Please, 'Vika. I can take it. Where is it?"

A laugh tears from her throat, and she slowly, reluctantly pulls her fingers from you to unzip her pants. You begin wiggling out of your bottoms when you see the dark purple silicone, the girth thicker than you've ever taken. You're already gagging for it, much to Sevika' s fortunate surprise.

You spread wide, your moan a blissful, feminine sound that will become imprinted into Sevika for years to come. You're wanton as she notches the hefty, flared tip against your entrance, squeezing her sides in encouragement.

Without much introduction to the new toy, she pushes past your lips and into your hole, immediately giving you the chance to adjust when you cry out at the sudden burning feeling.

"Come here." She pulls you into a deep kiss, opening your lips up for her with her tongue and intimately caressing yours. It feels strange to kiss her like this, to have her kiss you as if it's a honeymoon or love-making, not in the short, filthy usual way she has you still moaning to.

You don't even realize when she is completely bottomed out, too distracted with the kiss and used to the ache as it fades into something dull and bearable, and then into pleasure when she sets a steady pace of dragging the suffocated tip along the most sensitive spots inside of you.

You softly moan into the kiss when her hands bring your legs to her hips, and you instinctively wrap them around her, earning a pleasured, muffled grunt from her.

"Feels good?" She asks against your lips after a temporary pause from the kiss, both lips shiny with a sheen of saliva, voice strained.

You quickly nod. "Feels so good, I need more. Please, more.."

And so she picks up the pace, her hips pulling back despite your attempt to prevent them from going too far, only to slam the silicone back into your pussy harsh enough to make you cry out in pleasure. You don't realize how punishing her pace is until you're writhing underneath her, only able to lay down and take every minute of unbearably intense pleasure.

"Vi can't fuck you like this, baby. Only me. Say this pussy is mine. Say you're mine."

"I'm yours, my pussy's yours, I love you—"

And it all comes crashing down, the pleasure wiped clean off of her face and her hips faltering in their movements.

This is it. This is the moment she really cuts you off, the moment she'll rise from you, hastily clothe herself, and never look at you again. You can already imagine it, the mental picture of avoiding each other in the same room for who knows how long, until she finds another club to play at and you'll never see her again making you sick, replacing the sensation of being so full with nausea. You can hardly brace yourself for the words.

They don't come, though.

Sevika's weight presses you further into the couch, her face against your neck. She kisses the sensitive skin there, but you don't moan. You love it, but you're silent.

You only gasp when she whispers it back into your ear, hardly audible, but enough. She whispers it twice, low and sincere, and she begins to thrust deep inside you, only more careful and in pursuit of your pleasure rather than out of jealousy.

You wrap your arms around her, hands on her sweat-damp back as she moves. It's strangely quiet, but you don't need her to speak. She says it all with the way she looks down at you.

I'm going to take care of you.

When you're shaking and crying underneath her, she helps you ride it out, squeezing your tits and giving you slow, deep grinds until you're safe in her arms, all tuckered out and unaware of the amount of people who had heard you from outside the dressing room. The walls are mostly soundproof, or Sevika hopes they are, at least.

But Sevika only holds you now, keeping you protected underneath her until morning, not leaving for the first time in forever.

short taglist: @maple-anon, @abbysbutch, @rhian88, @myfabulousnesshasarrived, @mysexy-anxiety, @femme-tobe, @sulliefimmie, @klallx, @elliescoochieeater, @moodient, @leguitarsxxr, @eradicatedbythenightmare, @mytaping, @pryncess123, @saturnhas82moons, @vixxxen, @prettyinpink69, @aceywaycy, @hellokittyfeenie, @starberr1, @ruelezz, @ladybugb0ng, @deluxism, @prwttiestbunny, @eriiwaiii2, @starrycherie, @lonelysapphic, @x0x0xkimara, @mars4hellokitty, @jhyoos, @moonfloweredprincess, @morticeras, @abbysmeatrider, @ferxanda, @frillynpinkprincess, @plasticl0v3r, @g4ys0n, @waitaminuteashh, @bewareofmyglock, @witzs, @rareanduselessbird

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[rafey-baby]

sweet treat 2

construction worker!rafe who spends his days ‘lifting heavy stuff and building shit’ and driving shy!reader home, shows up on her doorstep in the middle of the night...

c/w: fluff, smut: slight somnophilia, dry humping, p-in-v, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.7k

so this story was supposed to be just a small drabble consisting of a few silly sentences but then i got a bit carried away..

series masterlist

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

It’s past midnight when her doorbell rings, making her brows furrow. She throws the fluffy covers away, immediately yearning for the warmth of them as she pads her bare feet along the chilly hardwood floors of her apartment.  

No one has ever been at her door this late, which makes her hesitate. Maybe it’s just her neighbor asking for sugar, she tries to reason, as if the retired elderly lady living next door would even be up this late. For all she knows, it could be a criminal who’s escaped prison, holding a bloody knife at her. 

Curiosity ends up getting the best of her (as always) when she gingerly opens the door, mentally preparing to face a serial killer.

However, all her worries wash away like pollen under rain when she realizes it’s Rafe standing tall before her. 

“Oh, hi. What are you— what are you doing here?” a surprised look paints over her countenance.  

“You forgot this in my car, thought you might want it back,” he smiles, holding out a phone to her, the pale yellow case making her realize it’s her phone. She almost doesn’t recognize it, since it appears so tiny in his massive paw, almost like a miniature version of the device she’s grown accustomed to.  

“Oh my god, I was looking everywhere for it, thought I was gonna have to buy a new one,” she takes it from him, a grateful smile etching her features.  

“Yeah, couldn’t exactly call,” he shakes his head at his terrible attempt at a joke. 

A delighted giggle escapes her throat, nonetheless, eyes crinkling and teeth poking out; forcing the corners of his mouth to lift up as well as he finally takes in her appearance; a worn-out t-shirt a few sizes too big and…well, that’s it.

She’s not wearing anything else and he’s trying his hardest not to stare at her plush thighs, or the way the hem of the shirt slightly climbs up, revealing even more skin as she rakes a hand through a messy head of hair.

She swallows nervously under his attention.  

Unfortunately for the both of them, he never ended up doing anything when she came over to his place last week and had him cook for her. He just felt so bad about initiating something like that when she kept yawning through forkfuls of pasta, eyes barely staying open as she complained about her limbs aching and how she was so exhausted she could sleep for an entire week after the particularly long shift she’d had.  

Which is why he simply drove her home after their late-night dinner and wished her a good night with a heavy hand on her shoulder before letting her get some much needed rest, telling himself he could be patient.

However, she’s not making it very easy for him when there’s only one piece of clothing covering her at the moment— she looks so sleepy and pretty he has half the mind to pick her up in his arms right now and slump down on her bed, crawl under crisp sheets and feel her lungs expand against his chest.  

“Uh, sorry, did I wake you?” he asks, suddenly worried he’s disturbed her serene slumber.  

“No, no. I mean, I was in bed but couldn’t really sleep so…” she trails off, desperately trying to come up with something to make him stay a bit longer; finding immense comfort in his assured presence.  

“Um, do you— do you want to come in? I could make you some tea or something?” she clumsily offers, not wanting him to go just yet.

His brows raise in surprise because she’s being uncharacteristically bold, making his mouth twist in amusement. 

“Actually, forget I said anything, you’re probably really tired and jus’ wanna go home, sorry, don’t know why I even—” she scrambles to correct herself, and now that sounds more like the girl Rafe’s grown accustomed to.  

“Nah, of course I’ll come in,” he cuts her off, stepping past the threshold before taking a look around her cozy home; picturesque paintings fixed on the cream-colored walls and leafy plants adding greenery to the small space. It’s cute, he thinks.  

She sets a steaming mug in front of him when he takes a seat around the kitchen table. And when she sits down on a chair next to him, he can’t help but stare at the way the bottom of her shirt rides up, revealing the tops of her thighs and allowing for the flimsy material of her panties to peek out.

He clears his throat.  

“You, uh, you have trouble sleeping a lot?” he tries to focus on something else, anything else while taking a quick sip of the searing liquid; nearly burning his tongue in the process.  

“Yeah…sometimes it’s jus’ kinda hard to shut my brain off after spending all day at the cafe. Like I try to close my eyes, but then the loud voices of customers and the clinking of plates keep replaying in my head and suddenly m’wide awake, you know?”

“Is there anything that helps?” he prods.  

“Um, I don’t know, I guess jus’ trying to think of something else or talking with someone else,” she mumbles out. 

“Oh yeah? So, what you’re sayin’ is that you’re just usin’ me right now in order to fall asleep?” he teases, grinning when he manages to drag out another giggle from her.  

“Guess I am,” her eyes glimmer like little stars when she blinks up at him.  

“Should I feel offended right now?” he jokingly huffs.  

“No, you should feel flattered, I don’t invite just anyone into my home at almost 1 am, just so you know.” 

He thinks he likes this side of her, all playful and sleepy; a lot less reserved than her usual fully rested and overly conscious self, more carefree. Maybe that’s the reason he lets the next words escape his tongue.

“You, uh, you into cuddling?” he asks, noticing how her eyes round out in surprise.

“Uh— I mean, probably if I had someone to cuddle with, but I don’t so…” she drifts off, not sure how to respond. 

“Wanna cuddle with me?” he says it so nonchalantly, and she doesn’t understand how he’s so indifferent about this whole situation when she feels almost dizzy; dazed mind reeling and her vivid heart tingling in her ribcage. 

“You, um…you want to? But wouldn’t it be weird?”

“Why the fuck would it be weird? I mean, we’re friends, right?” his brows crease. 

“Yes, of course we are, I just—” 

“Look, all m’sayin’ is that it might help you sleep, yeah? Having somethin’ else to focus on ‘n shit,” he reasons, making her realize she’s totally overthinking this when he’s simply trying to help.  

“You’re right, yeah, we should do that then,” she agrees before swiftly getting up on wobbly feet—nearly falling face first on the ground, if not for his strong grip on her waist steadying her, drawing a faint gasp from the back of her throat at the sudden proximity.  

“Easy there, sweetheart,” he chuckles, finding her eagerness to get into bed with him rather amusing.  

“Sorry,” she mumbles, a raspberry hue dusting over her cheeks.  

And that’s how they end up tangled in each other under her soft sheets, his beefy arms wrapped tightly around her middle— caging her in with mindless fingers toying with the hem of her shirt. His sturdy chest rises and falls against her back in tandem with his steady breaths, pacifying her; coaxing her heavy lids to flutter shut.  

“You good?” he murmurs into her hair.

“Mhm,” she blissfully hums, letting out a content exhale because he’s so warm and big— making her feel so secure and safe she thinks she wouldn’t mind doing this again.  

Soon, her mind begins to topple over the edge of reality, plummeting into oblivion; a far away dreamland where everything is upside down and the ether is evermore the shade of fluffy cotton candy.  

‘Sweet dreams’ is the last thing her misty awareness grasps onto before she’s in the tender embrace of a place where the sand consists of stardust and ecstasy.

- - - - - - - - - - -

She’s lethargic in her movements when she stirs from the abstruse blankness she seems to have lost herself in with Rafe’s heavy arm is draped over her waist, trapping her body into his.

The lines of her cerebrum are blurred and she’s not sure what woke her up because it’s still murky in her unlit bedroom— the pale moonlight gleaming through the slots of her curtains the only beacon illuminating the space.

Then, she feels it; something poking her from behind, pressing against her ass.

There’s a crinkle in her brow until her eyes widen in realization. He’s hard.

Rafe is hard and she can practically feel the culprit of his excitement since he’s only wearing a pair of boxers, having complained about getting all too hot during the night to wear anything more. 

She swallows.  

What is she supposed to do? 

She shifts against him, trying to untangle her limbs from his. However, her attempt is proved fruitless when instead of unchaining her, he lets out a low rumble— his grip only tightening around her smaller form.  

“Rafe?” she calls out. 

No response.  

“Rafe? Wake up.”  

Still nothing. 

She can feel his heavy breathing against her neck—bigger hands pawing at her hips every now and then and trying to pull her closer, as if they’re not already effectively glued together, leaving her no space to move.  

She’s already beginning to grow sticky between her thighs when he drags her against his cock again; seemingly stuck in some sort of a stupor.  

She can’t help but let out a faint mewl when her clit throbs, pestering for more friction since the soft fabric of her underwear is not even close to enough, more or less torturing her with the its cottony graze.

And that’s when Rafe finally stirs, the weight of his arm loosening like a tight knot unfurling, finally allowing for her lungs to greedily suck in the air of the quiet room.

“Shit— sorry, my bad,” his tone is gravelly, and she could swear some sort of birds begin flapping their wings in her tummy, jabbing at her insides in response.

However, he doesn’t pull away like she half expects. 

“It’s…uh— it’s okay. I mean…no worries, it happens,” she rambles with heated cheeks because what the fuck is she supposed to say to that? 

“Nah, s’fully my fault, jus’ had this, uh, nice dream,” he admits, voice coarse. 

“Oh. What was it about?” she inquires with a yawn, perhaps slightly too curious for her own good.  

“You wanna know?” his brows raise. 

She manages a hum.

“Well, there was this, uh, real pretty girl…‘n she had me in her mouth ‘n was lettin’ me do whatever I wanted,” he murmurs, a heady tone overlaying his response.  

“Oh.” She tries to appear indifferent, even if there’s a pitiful sprout of jealousy threatening to blossom in the pit of her stomach.

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “You’re silly sometimes, you know?”

He was practically dry-humping her just now, was he not? Why would he be dreaming about another girl when he’s got her right here? 

“So, what else happened?”  

“What else? Okay, then she, uh, let me do this,” he confesses at the same time as he grabs at her hips again before pushing against her, earning a whimper when she can feel how big he is through the thin material of her underwear. 

“Rafe…what’re you doing?” she asks through a whine— his blunt nails denting the exposed skin of her thighs.

“Got no idea what you’re doin’ to me, do you?”

“I— what are you…what’re you talking about?” her brain is foggy, unable to think straight when he’s so close. However, he doesn’t respond, merely continues the retelling of his dream.

“Then I grabbed her like this,” he lifts her on top of him in one smooth motion, as if she weighs nothing more than a piece of paper— shuffling her around until she’s straddling him, properly sitting on top of his cock.

Somewhere along the way, her inhale gets stuck in her throat, mindlessly moving her achy cunt over him and causing him to let out a heartfelt grunt.

“Needy little thing likes this, huh?” he helps her find some relief by grappling at her hips and dragging her over his cock— filthy groans escaping his mouth when he feels her wetness saturating the two layers of cotton between them.  

“Rafe, can you…”  

“Can I what, hm? Play with you a little?” he says while already slipping a hand in her panties; petting at her puffy clit, earning a surprised moan from her before she lifts up the hem of her shirt for a better view.  

“Didn’t know you were such a dirty girl. Gettin’ real fuckin’ wet from me just bein’ close to you, huh?” his thumb rubs lazy circles over her sensitive button, making her cry out as she presses down harder against his cock. 

“Shit, gonna come in my fuckin’ pants if you keep doin’ that…you wanna know what else was in m’dream?” 

She nods, frantic.  

“Pushed this little piece of fabric here to the side,” he says as he plucks at her underwear, doing just that. “And then, did this,” he mumbles out as he takes himself out, causing her eyes to round out when she looks down at it in his palm, mesmerized. He thuds the head on her clit— one, two, three times, and then he’s smearing it over her sticky folds, painting it up and down her soaked cunt.

“Rafe…” she whines, desperate to feel him inside her. Unfortunately for her, he’s feeling a little mean; pressing just the tip inside her tight hole, slowly pushing in and out and turning her into a whimpering mess.

The hydrangea blue of his eyes is locked to where they connect, fascinated. “Fuck, sweetheart, does that feel nice?” he asks, thumbing over her swollen bud, tucking his cock in a little deeper and forcing a loud noise to leave her throat.

“Feels so good, Rafe, think m’gonna…” she trails off, lids heavy as she stretches around him.  

“You gonna come already?” he chuckles, amusement coating his features while he keeps nudging his dick about halfway in and then out, never fully plunging it inside.  

“You feel so…can’t— can’t hold it,” watery droplets gather in the corners of her eyes, catching to her lashes as her teary eyes look into larimar and she keeps rolling her hips against him, chasing after a release. 

“Go on then, let me feel you soak my cock, yeah?” he encourages, and she doesn’t need to be told twice before she’s crying out and throbbing around him, hips stuttering as her cunt pulses and she’s unspooling on top of him. 

“There you go, fuckin’ give it to me,” he grunts, and all of a sudden, he feels his own orgasm approaching—rolling down a hill like a landslide. She’s squeezing around him so tight, he can’t help but thrust his hips into her, a guttural moan leaving him when he finally stuffs his cock inside her, to the hilt.

Then, he’s stilling inside her and groaning out when his cum gushes out from his drippy tip, coating her gummy walls in white, filling her to the brim— making her feel so full.

There’s so much of it, to the point where the sticky substance begins to seep out from where they’re connected as they both pant, trying to even out their breathing.  

She turns into something mellow in his arms, slumping down against him and burying her face in his neck as he draws sluggish circles on her back, calming her down with tender words spoken in gentle murmurs.  

She thinks she could die happy right now.  

“Did so good for me, shit, should do this more often, yeah?” he says with a sleepy tinge.   

And she’s completely out of it; head as empty as ever and merely managing a hum of agreement before she’s tumbling down a slippery slide right back into a nebulous slumber.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

"are you trembling for god, or for me?"

part I

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Angel!Reader

Summary: Ben never thought he'd like innocence this much... he wants to see how far he can twist it.

Warnings: 18+!, Soldier Boy is a warning, language, corruption, religious reference, violence, innocence, smut (dirty talk, dry humping, corruption kink, praise kink), I may have missed some.

Word Count: 5,853

Ben hated waiting. Especially for those assholes.

The safehouse was hot, dusty, and stank of something sweet and rotten—probably whatever the last squatters left in the fridge. Or maybe MM's shitty protein shakes. He paced the living room like a caged dog, boots creaking on warped floorboards, jaw grinding as he chewed the inside of his cheek.

They were late.

Again.

And Butcher's last text—got somethin extra, stay fucking put!—wasn't helping.

He scoffed under his breath. "Better be a goddamn nuke."

Outside, gravel crunched under tires. Ben rolled his eyes and dropped onto the arm of the busted couch, leaning back with a sigh just as the door swung open.

Butcher came in first, blood on his sleeve and that usual sour look twisting his face. "Christ, that was a fuckin' mess," he grunted, tossing his gun onto the table. MM followed behind him, eyes sweeping the room with military precision. Hughie was limping. Kimiko had blood spattered across her cheek.

And then—

You.

Barefoot. Wrapped in someone else's coat—Hughie's, maybe. Your face was drawn, pale. You looked... wrong. Not in a monstrous way. Not like a supe. Just—

Fragile. Quiet. Too quiet.

Ben froze. The air changed. He sat up straighter as you crossed the threshold, your steps hesitant, like each one needed permission. You kept your arms close to your body, your fingers twitching like they weren't sure what to do without chains.

You didn't look at the others. You looked at him. And he stared back. Hard. But you didn't flinch. Didn't look away. You studied him. Wide eyes. Calm face. Like he was a puzzle to solve, not a weapon. Not a threat.

It unsettled him.

"What the fuck is that?" He muttered, voice low.

Butcher dropped into the nearest chair with a groan and unceremoniously cracked open a beer. "That," he said, nodding toward you, "is the reason this whole thing went sideways."

Ben didn't break eye contact. "Looks like a deer caught in a goddamn bear trap."

"Yeah, well, she's Vought's little secret. Kept her underground for—what'd Frenchie say—six years? Seven?" Butcher waved a hand. "Some angelic-class prototype. Supposed to be a healer. Maybe a nuke. Who the fuck knows."

"A what now?"

"Angelic. You know. Wings. Light. God complex. That kinda bollocks."

Ben scoffed. "You're kiddin'."

"Do I look like I'm in a joking fuckin' mood, cunt?"

He didn't respond. You were still staring at him.

And it wasn't scared. It wasn't reverent. It wasn't even curious. It was detached. Like you'd been dropped into a world that didn't make sense, and you were trying to find a shape in the noise. You looked at him like he was a radio station that kept cutting in and out.

Ben stood up slowly, letting the weight of his presence fill the room like smoke. He walked toward the kitchen, keeping you in his peripheral vision, and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He popped the cap with his thumb and took a long, slow pull. Still, you watched him.

It wasn't until you spoke—soft, almost unsure—that something in him twitched.

"Are you the loud one?" You asked.

The room fell quiet.

Ben raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You're the one I heard. From the van. The heartbeat." Your voice was calm. Tired. "It was very loud."

Butcher chuckled darkly from the couch. "Told you. Fuckin' weird."

Ben didn't laugh. He took another swig of his beer, then turned his full attention to you. You didn't back down. Just tilted your head again. Like a bird listening for rain.

She's not scared of me, he thought. That's gonna change.

He meant to forget you. Really, he did.

Meant to write you off like the rest of the weird shit The Boys dragged back from the edge of hell. Meant to file you away as some broken Vought pet project—another fucked-up science experiment with glass bones and too much light behind the eyes.

But the thing was...

You didn't do anything. You just were.

You wandered the safehouse like a ghost in someone else's body. Always barefoot. Always quiet. You'd trail your fingers along the walls like you were feeling the pulse of the place. You watched the toaster with reverence. You flinched when someone raised their voice but never spoke up. You didn't eat much. Didn't sleep, either.

And Ben—who wasn't subtle, wasn't patient, wasn't nice—found himself watching.

At first, he told himself it was because you were a liability. A Vought ticking time bomb wrapped in soft skin and borrowed clothes. He was just being careful. Keeping an eye on you.

But then you tilted your head at him one morning—like you were listening to a song only you could hear—and smiled. And he knew he was fucked.

It was late afternoon now. Too hot. Too quiet.

He sat on the windowsill, one leg propped up, watching the hallway like it owed him something. The rest of the team were out getting supplies. He'd stayed behind to "rest." Translation: he didn't feel like playing nice.

And there you were.

Walking slowly down the hallway, your hand brushing the wall, bare feet whispering over the scuffed floor like you weren't sure gravity applied to you yet. You stopped in front of a painting—ugly, generic motel art in a fake gold frame—and stared at it for a long time.

Then you said, softly, "Why is that tree on fire?"

Ben blinked. "It's fall."

You turned, startled. Then you smiled like he'd said something kind.

"Oh. I thought it was a warning."

He stared at you.

Who the fuck talks like that?

You walked toward him slowly, like someone approaching a wounded animal. You weren't scared. You were just... careful. He didn't move. You stopped a few feet away, folding your hands in front of you.

"Do you like it here?" You asked. No context. No explanation.

Ben raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like someone who likes anything?"

You tilted your head again. That damn bird look. Thoughtful. Soft.

"You don't have to, you know."

He scoffed. "Don't have to what?"

"Pretend to be angry all the time. It makes your heart beat too hard."

What the fuck.

He stared at you like you'd grown a second head.

You smiled, barely. "I can feel it when it's too loud."

That made his jaw clench.

"You feelin' me right now, sweetheart?" He asked, voice low.

You paused. Then nodded. Softly. Innocently. "Always."

Ben looked away. He didn't trust what his body was doing. Not his breath. Not his pulse. Not the coil tightening low in his gut.

You weren't flirting. You weren't trying to get a rise out of him. That was the worst part. You didn't know. And that made him want to bite something in half.

Later, the sun dipped low, painting the walls of the safehouse in bruised orange and peeling gold. The shitty air conditioning buzzed overhead, doing a whole lot of nothing. Somewhere down the hall, Butcher was yelling about someone eating his last protein bar.

Ben ignored him.

You were in the living room, cross-legged on the carpet, watching the tiny TV like it held the secrets of the universe. Some rom-com flicker of mid-2000s sap, all fake city backdrops and orchestral swells when the guy finally realised the girl was his entire goddamn reason for breathing.

Ben stood in the doorway. Arms crossed. Shoulder leaned against the frame. Watching you watch the movie. He wasn't even trying to hide it anymore.

You tilted your head the same way you looked at everything—curious. Quiet. Like you didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so you settled somewhere in between. There was a half-eaten orange in your lap. Your fingers were sticky with juice.

Ben didn't think he'd ever seen someone look more out of place and more made for a moment all at once.

"You ever seen a movie before?" He asked gruffly.

You didn't look away from the screen. Just nodded.

"Do you like it?"

Another pause. Then: "I think it's nice." You said it like it meant something.

He huffed. "Romantic shit always look that dumb to you?"

You blinked. Then turned your head, slow and deliberate, to face him. Your eyes held no edge, no sarcasm—just a soft kind of interest.

"I don't think it's dumb," you said. "It seems kind."

Ben didn't answer. He didn't move. Something sharp twisted in his ribs. You held his gaze like it was easy. Like you didn't know what it meant to make a man like him look away first.

He clenched his jaw. Then, before he could stop himself:

"You ever been kissed, angel?"

You blinked again, slower this time. Like you had to process the question. Your mouth parted, just a little, and Ben's hands twitched at his sides.

"No," you said.

He swallowed.

"Why?" That word. Soft. Curious. Not defensive. Not shy. Just you.

Ben stared at you. He didn't answer. Didn't trust himself to.

You turned back to the screen, unfazed. Like the question hadn't meant anything. Like it didn't split something open inside him. As if he hadn't just hurled a brick through the stained-glass window of your innocence and expected you to thank him for it.

Ben stood there for another beat, staring at the slope of your neck, the curve of your cheek, the way your lips parted in thought like you were tasting the word kiss without knowing what it meant.

And just like that—no warning, no control—

He got hard.

No buildup. No fantasy. Just you. Sitting there barefoot and honest, asking why. He shifted where he stood, jaw tight, swallowing back a groan like it might choke him.

Jesus Christ.

He hadn't been that hard in years. Not even during the real thing. This wasn't lust. It wasn't even want. It was hunger.

He turned and left before he embarrassed himself. In the hallway, he braced a hand against the wall, breathing hard.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

But he already knew. You were untouched. And now, he was fucked.

Ben didn't talk to you the next day.

Didn't look at you, either—not directly. Not when you drifted into the kitchen with that quiet grace like your feet barely touched the floor. Not when you tilted your head at Frenchie's joke and laughed like you didn't understand it but wanted to, anyway. Not when you gently pressed your fingers to Kimiko's temple after a headache and the girl visibly relaxed in your hands.

He didn't look.

But he felt you.

Every time you were near, the air changed. Like something holy was crackling just under the skin of the world, threatening to tear it open.

Ben kept to himself. Grunted when spoken to. Smoked more than usual. Tried to convince himself it was nothing. Just another freak in a long line of freaks.

But then the call came in.

A low-level Vought squad spotted across the city—unregistered supes doing damage, maybe a trap, maybe just cleanup. The team loaded up. He didn't ask why you were coming along this time. No one did. You just went where they went.

That was your thing. You followed. Quiet. Soft.

Ben sat in the back of the van, bouncing his knee, jaw tight as you stared out the window beside him. You didn't ask where they were going. You didn't ask why. You just watched the city blur past like it was a painting you weren't allowed to touch.

He told himself he wasn't going to protect you. That if things went sideways, you'd be fine. You had power. You could handle yourself. And if you couldn't? Not his problem.

Not his fucking problem.

You reached the target building around dusk. Grey light bleeding into alleyways. Frenchie and MM took the left flank, Butcher and Kimiko circled right. Ben moved dead centre—no orders, no backup. Just fists and fury.

You stayed with Hughie near the van, hands folded in front of you, waiting like someone told you to stay put and you still believed in rules.

The first hit came fast.

One of the supe bastards barrelled out from behind a stack of crates and slammed into Ben like a goddamn freight train. He didn't go down. Just grunted, spit blood, and swung back. Another one tried to jump him from behind—missed. Kimiko caught that one midair and threw him straight through a van windshield.

Chaos. Sharp and sudden. Concrete echoing with grunts, gunfire, the static of suped-up comms.

Ben was in it—fully, brutally in it—until he heard it. You. Screaming. Not a human scream. Not fear. Not pain. Something higher.

He turned before he could stop himself.

You were surrounded. Three of them. Closing in fast. MM was too far, Butcher pinned behind debris, Hughie unarmed. And you—barefoot, bleeding, breath hitched in your throat—you looked so damn small.

But you didn't run.

You stepped between one of the attackers and Hughie like you were made of steel.

Ben's blood roared in his ears.

"HEY!" He bellowed, already moving, too late to get there in time.

And then it happened. You raised your hands—trembling, bloodied—and screamed again. The air warped around you. Not like an explosion. Like a miracle.

For a split second, the sky went white.

Your wings burst into view—not solid, not whole. Like smoke and sunlight caught in motion, burning at the edges. Feathered shadow outlined in divine fire. They didn't flap. They didn't stretch. They just existed—blooming behind you like vengeance and purity all at once.

And above your head, a flicker. A ring of gold. Not bright. Not clean. Holy.

Ben stopped moving. His heart slammed into his ribs like it was trying to break out.

You moved faster than he thought you could—one hand out, a pulse of something unseen knocking one of the supes back twenty feet. Another charged and you touched him, palm to chest, and he dropped like a stone, eyes rolling back.

You turned to the last attacker, and for the first time, Ben saw your face twisted with something real. Rage. Sorrow. A divine kind of devastation.

Your halo pulsed brighter. Your wings burned.

And Ben didn't duck in time.

One of the remaining bastards clipped him hard from the side—a pipe or maybe a bat, he didn't see. Pain exploded across his ribs. He hit the ground with a curse, teeth clenched, vision blurring.

The fight blurred around him. Distant shouting. A body hitting the pavement. Concrete under his palms.

And then—

You. Kneeling beside him like you'd always been there.

Your hands hovered, unsure. "Ben," you whispered. "Ben, you're hurt." Your voice shook. You were crying.

He blinked up at you, his vision stuttering over the faint gleam above your head, the scorched shimmer of light curling behind your shoulders. Your wings were fading, flickering, like the moment was too much for the world to hold.

"Don't fuckin' touch me," he growled—weak, hoarse.

You didn't listen. You pressed your hands to his ribs. Light flared. Warmth poured through him—sweet and golden and goddamn unbearable. Not just healing. Not just power.

Pleasure.

His breath caught. His back arched. His hips twitched. He groaned. Loud. Rough. From the pit of his stomach, and your eyes fluttered open—wide, startled.

"Did I hurt you?"

Jesus.

He grabbed your wrist, holding you there.

"The fuck was that?"

You looked at him, confused. Tears still drying on your cheeks. "I made you better." Like it was that simple. Like you didn't just make him feel reborn. When you tried to pull your hand back, he didn't let you. You didn't fight it. You just tilted your head and waited.

She made me feel clean. I'm gonna ruin her.

He didn't sleep that night. Couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes, it was your face. Your hands. The way your breath hitched when you healed him. The way your wings shivered before they flickered out. The way your halo burned like a gold ring above your head for a single, impossible heartbeat.

He swore he could still feel it. Your light. Inside him. Like warmth crawling under his skin, coating his bones, cleansing him. He hated it. He needed it again.

So when morning came and the others went out—supply run, recon, something he didn't give a shit about—he stayed behind.

Alone. With you.

It started in the hallway. Ben leaned hard against the wall, one hand pressed to his chest, brow furrowed. His breath came in slow, heavy drags. You found him like that. Quiet footsteps. The faint sound of your inhale as you saw him slouched against the wood paneling like something was wrong.

"Ben?"

Your voice was so gentle it made his fists clench.

He looked up slowly, gritting his teeth like he was in pain. "Heart," he rasped. "It's—fuck—beatin' too hard again."

You stepped forward instantly. No hesitation. Just soft urgency.

"I can help you," you whispered. "Let me—"

He caught your wrist, gently this time. Played the part. Scared. Shaky. Broken.

"Need you," he muttered. "You're the only thing that helps."

And God help him, he meant it.

You laid your hand over his chest, and his body lit up like a fucking altar. That golden calm sank into him again—cool and thick, like honey sliding down his throat, like blood being replaced with grace.

He groaned. Low. Unfiltered.

You froze.

"Is that better?" You asked, confused.

He didn't answer.

He watched your lips. The way your mouth moved when you said his name. He stared at your lashes, how they fluttered when you concentrated. He watched your throat work when you swallowed.

And then he said it. He had to.

"You ever think about how that feels?" He asked.

Your brows knit in confusion. "How what feels?"

"Touchin' me like that. Helpin' me." He leaned in. "You ever wonder if it feels good because you want it to?"

You blinked. "I don't—" You looked down at your hand still pressed to his chest. "I just... I want you to feel safe."

He chuckled, dark and low.

"Sweetheart," he said, "I haven't felt safe a day in my life." He leaned in, brushing his lips near your ear, not quite touching. Close enough to taste your breath. "But you made me feel somethin'," he whispered.

You made me feel clean. So I'm gonna make you dirty.

"I think you like it," he said next, voice gravel and sin. "I think part of you likes makin' me feel good."

You pulled back a little, eyes wide. "That's not what I meant."

He smirked. "You keep touchin' me like that, and I'm not gonna be the only one makin' noise next time."

You blinked, visibly thrown. "Noise?"

His smirk widened.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "You really don't know what I'm sayin', do you?"

"I..." You trailed off. "I'm just trying to help."

Ben's tongue slid over his teeth. He took your wrist again, slower this time. Measured. Possessive.

"I know," he said. And then—just to twist the knife—"Come on, angel. Be good and calm me down again."

It was unbearable. Watching you. Every goddamn day. Still barefoot. Still soft-spoken. Still moving through the safehouse like a half-remembered dream.

You didn't flinch when you passed him in the hall. You didn't look away when he stared too long. You didn't snap, or scold, or blush—not even when his words started getting sharp around the edges.

He'd corner you in the kitchen just to see if you'd squirm. You didn't. He'd make jokes that would turn anyone else red. You'd just blink. Smile. Ask if he needed help. And every time, it got harder to breathe.

He wanted to snap his fingers and watch you shatter.

This time, you were leaning over the counter, slicing an apple with one of Frenchie's knives. Your fingers worked slow, careful. Your wings hadn't shown since the skirmish, but Ben kept watching for them anyway. Like maybe they'd twitch when he said the right thing. Like maybe they'd flare when you finally cracked.

He stepped into the kitchen, heavy boots echoing against the tile. You looked up. That same serene expression. That maddening stillness.

"Whatcha makin', sweetheart?"

You held up the apple. "It's fruit."

"No shit," he muttered.

You tilted your head. "Would you like some?"

"No," he said. "I don't want anythin' sweet."

You blinked. Confused again. He stepped closer. Slow. Deliberate. Stopped just a few inches from where you stood, close enough that your elbow brushed his chest when you moved. You didn't even react.

He leaned down, voice low, thick, like honey slathered over gunmetal.

"You gonna keep pretending you don't know what I'm sayin'?"

You turned toward him. Wide-eyed. "What do you mean?"

He grinned, sharp and dangerous. "I mean, you keep actin' like you don't feel it."

"Feel... what?"

He laughed. "Jesus. You're serious."

You frowned, and for the first time, he saw a crack—tiny, delicate, like hairline glass in your expression.

He took it and twisted.

"You know what happens to good little angels like you?" He asked, voice dropping. "The world eats 'em alive. Chews 'em up. Spits 'em out in pieces."

You stared. Said nothing. He leaned in, mouth near your ear.

"But not me," he whispered. "I'd worship you while I ruined you."

Your breath hitched. Tiny. Barely there. But he heard it. He pulled back just enough to see your eyes. Still soft. Still confused. Still unbroken.

"Don't play innocent, angel," he said. "You touch me like you've already chosen."

You shook your head. "I was only trying to help. You said your heart—"

He grabbed your wrist again, same one he always reached for. Fit like a fucking habit now.

"You keep givin' yourself away like that," he said, "and someone's gonna take it the wrong way."

He waited. Waited for fear. For a flinch.

Instead, you just blinked. "Would that be wrong?"

Ben's grip tightened. He turned away before he did something stupid.

You don't get it. And I don't know if I want to teach you or just watch you fall.

He started doing it on purpose after that. The episodes. The short breath. The clutching his chest. The tension under his skin, real or faked—it didn't matter. Because you always came running. Like the good little angel you were.

This time, it was past midnight. The safehouse was quiet. Everyone else out or asleep. Ben was sitting on the edge of the kitchen table, shirt undone, head tilted back, breathing shallow as the phantom ache in his chest throbbed like it knew your name.

He didn't have to wait long.

Your footsteps were light. Barely there. You stepped into the kitchen with that same wide-eyed calm, your hands already glowing before you even spoke.

"Is it happening again?" You whispered, already close.

Ben didn't speak. Didn't nod. Just looked at you through half-lidded eyes and said, "Help me."

You stepped between his knees, one hand on his chest, the other hovering just below his ribs. And when your power touched him—when that divine warmth bloomed inside him—his eyes rolled back.

He exhaled like it hurt. Like it ruined him.

"F-fuck..."

Your eyes snapped up. "Did I—?"

"Keep goin'," he growled.

You swallowed. Nodded. Let more of yourself pour into him. And it hit him again—hot this time. Like liquid sunlight. Like his nerves were singing hymns and bleeding at the same time. He groaned—and not quiet.

Your hand twitched. You didn't pull away. Ben opened his eyes. You looked flushed. Maybe it was the light. Maybe it was him. He smiled. Slow. Predatory.

"You like that," he said.

Your head jerked. "What?"

"You like touchin' me. You pretend it's just healing, but you keep comin' back." He leaned in closer. "You keep givin' me this." His hand covered yours. Pressed it harder against his chest. "You could stop anytime you wanted. But you don't."

"I... I just don't want you to be in pain."

He chuckled. "I'm always in pain, angel. You're just the first thing that ever made it feel good."

You blinked. Tried to look away. He didn't let you. He caught your chin, tilted your face back to his.

"I make noise every time you touch me. You notice that?"

"I..." Your voice shook.

"Bet you never heard a man moan like that before."

Silence.

Ben leaned in. "I could make you sound like that."

You blinked—horrified or curious, he couldn't tell. He hoped for both.

"I could make you scream so loud your halo'd crack in half," he whispered.

Your mouth parted, and finally, finally your breath stuttered. He felt it. That little flicker of your pulse under his fingers. He grinned.

Bingo.

Slow. Shaky. "I... I think that's enough for now," you said. You started pulling your hand back. He didn't let you.

"Uh-uh. Not yet," he said, voice low, rough around the edges. "Feels too fuckin' good to quit now."

Your eyes flicked up, a little unsure. But you stayed. Of course you stayed.

"You ever felt this before?" He asked, his fingers curling tighter around your wrist. "The way it heats up when you touch me? Like your whole goddamn body's tryin' to tell you somethin'?"

"I... I'm just trying to calm you—"

"Yeah?" He leaned in. "Well, newsflash, sweetheart—this ain't calm. This is fuckin' divine."

You blinked up at him, confused. And then you made the sound. A whimper. Soft. Involuntary. Like it slipped out before your brain caught it.

Ben went still.

You looked down. Right at yourself. And fuck—his dick twitched hard enough to hurt. Your brows pulled in. Your hand drifted lower. Palm over your stomach. Down. Your thighs pressed together.

And Ben watched, breath shallow. You looked back up at him like you were scared of your own skin.

Holy fuck. She doesn't even know what the hell that is. And I'm the one who woke it up.

"You feel that?" He asked, voice rasped and wrecked. "That little throb between your legs?"

You nodded. Small. Scared. Curious. "I think something's... wrong."

Ben let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. "Wrong?" He muttered. "Oh, angel. That's the best goddamn part."

He stepped closer, towering over you.

"That?" He pointed lazily at your hips. "That's your body sayin' thank you."

You swallowed, wide-eyed.

"It's me," he added. "I did that."

Another whimper. Fucking perfect. He wanted to throw you on the counter and make you scream until the light burned out of your eyes—but he didn't. Not yet.

"Don't worry," he said, voice soft now. Dangerous. "We'll figure it out."

Your lashes fluttered. You nodded. Like you trusted him. And that? That was the most fucked-up thing of all.

Ben heard the knock and already knew it was you. Soft. Three little taps. Barely there. He didn't answer right away. Just let it sit. Let the silence stretch. Let you wonder if he was asleep or ignoring you or worse—until finally, he grunted:

"Yeah."

The door creaked open. You stepped inside like you were crossing holy ground. Ben was sprawled across his bed, shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips, one hand behind his head, the other resting across his abs. He didn't bother sitting up. You just stood there. Barefoot. In one of Hughie's oversized hoodies again. Looking down. Looking unsure.

He kept his voice low.

"What's up, angel?"

You hesitated. Then closed the door behind you.

"I... I didn't know where else to go."

He sat up at that. His eyes dragged down your legs. Back up. You looked wrecked—not in the usual way. Not scared. Not hurt. Just... overwhelmed. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"Talk to me."

You shifted on your feet. Clasped your hands together like you were about to pray. "It happened again," you whispered.

His head tilted. "What did?"

You glanced up at him, almost afraid to say it. Then: "The... the ache. That throb."

Ben's mouth went dry.

You kept going. "I thought maybe it was just when I touch people, but I wasn't healing anyone. I wasn't even near anyone." You paused. Swallowed. "I was just... thinking about you."

His heart slammed against his ribs.

You looked down at yourself again, thighs squeezing together like you were ashamed. "And now it's worse," you whispered. "Now I'm looking at you and it's worse."

Ben exhaled through his nose. Tried to keep his voice steady.

"C'mere."

You blinked.

He patted the bed beside him. "Sit."

You obeyed without question. Slipped onto the mattress, still not looking at him. Ben watched you closely. You were flushed. Your breath came shallow. Your hands curled into fists in your lap.

"You don't know what to do with it," he said, voice low, almost kind.

You shook your head. "I don't even know what it is. Just that it... it hurts. But not like pain."

"It's not pain," he murmured. "It's want."

Your breath caught. He leaned in, slow, voice dropping to a gravel whisper.

"You ever touched yourself?"

You blinked. "I—what?"

He smirked. "Guess that's a no."

You looked away, embarrassed.

Ben's voice softened—not out of mercy. Out of calculation.

"It's okay, angel. Ain't your fault. You're new to all this. Whole world's been keepin' you wrapped in glass." He reached over. His fingers ghosted over your thigh, just enough to make you twitch. "But you came to the right fuckin' place."

You turned back to him. Eyes wide. Lips parted.

He grinned.

"You think I don't love that it was me?" He asked, voice rough with need. "That it's me you think about when it starts? That it's my voice in your head when your thighs start squeezin' together and you don't know why?"

You whimpered. Just a little. And Ben's whole body tensed.

Fuck me. She's gonna come apart and I ain't even touchin' her.

He brought his mouth closer to your ear.

"You wanna feel better?"

You nodded.

"You wanna learn?"

Your breath shook. "Yes."

He smiled against your cheek.

"Good girl."

You were squirming now. Sitting on his bed, knees drawn up under that borrowed hoodie, hands clasped so tight your knuckles had gone pale. Every few seconds your thighs twitched together like you were trying to hold something in.

Ben watched. Every breath. Every shift. Every desperate little tremble. His cock throbbed, heavy in his sweats, but he didn't move. Didn't touch you. He was too busy watching you unravel.

Come on, sweetheart. Fall.

You looked at him, eyes glassy. "I don't know what to do," you whispered.

He tilted his head. "Yeah, you do."

Your mouth parted. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and mean.

"You came here."

You nodded, almost guilty.

"You're sittin' there all hot and achey, thinkin' about me, and you came here."

"I just thought maybe—"

"—I could make it go away?" He finished for you, grinning. "That it'd stop if you let me touch you?"

Your breath hitched. Ben's grin faded. His voice dropped.

"No, baby. It doesn't stop. It starts."

You whimpered. Just a little. But your thighs pressed tight and you rocked forward slightly—so innocent you didn't even realise you were grinding down against the tension.

Ben exhaled through his nose like it hurt.

"You want me to help you?"

You nodded.

"Say it."

Your brows drew together. "What?"

"Say you want it."

You shook your head—nervous. "I don't know what I'm asking for."

He reached out. Ran his knuckles over your knee. "You want me to teach you?" He asked, voice low. "Wanna learn how to touch yourself right?"

Your lips parted again. Slow. Breath shaky. "Yes."

Ben's cock twitched hard.

Fuck. That's it. That's the sound. She's never said that word like that before. Never meant it like that.

He patted his thigh. "C'mere."

You crawled into his lap like it was instinct.

He adjusted you with firm hands—one on your hip, one around your waist—settling you over his thighs. Your hoodie bunched up as you straddled him, and he nearly groaned at the heat bleeding off you.

He didn't touch you where you wanted. Just leaned in.

"Okay," he whispered against your cheek. "Let's start small."

He took your wrist. Brought your own hand to your belly.

"Lower."

You slid it down.

"Little more."

You swallowed. Obeyed.

Ben's voice dropped to a gravelly murmur. "Feel that pulse right there? That little throb you keep cryin' about?"

Your fingers twitched. You nodded.

"Press. Gentle. Just hold it."

You did. Your breath shook.

Ben's mouth nearly touched your ear now.

"Good girl."

You whimpered. Louder. And then, your wings flickered into view behind you. Not full. Not glowing. Just flickering. Like the light inside you was trying to escape.

Ben nearly lost it.

Holy fuck. She's lighting up just from her own hand. Just from my voice. She's mine.

"Now rub," he whispered. "Slow. In circles. Just like that."

You bit your lip. "Feels weird," you breathed.

"That's good, sweetheart. That's your body learnin'."

You kept going. Small motions. Breathless. And Ben? Ben was smiling. Watching purity fracture in real time. Watching you come to life. One little touch at a time.

You were trembling in his lap like your body wasn't sure it belonged to you anymore. One hand buried beneath the hem of that borrowed hoodie. The other fisted into the collar of his shirt like you needed something to hold onto or else you'd drift away.

Ben sat back against the headboard, legs spread, letting you straddle his thigh with all the slow grace of a sinner crawling toward salvation. You didn't even know what you were doing—and that? That was what made it perfect.

You weren't trying to grind down on him. Wasn't deliberate. Wasn't dirty.

It was instinct. Need. Your hips rolled in these shallow, searching little movements that made his pulse hammer behind his teeth. And you kept murmuring tiny things—"I'm sorry," and "I don't know why," and "It's so hot"—like you thought you were confessing.

Like he'd ever fucking forgive you.

He could feel the heat through his sweats. Radiating off you. Soaking into him. Your thighs trembled every time his voice dipped low, every time he told you "just like that, sweetheart" or "keep rubbin', you're doin' so fuckin' good."

It was working.

God, it was working.

He could feel you—glowing faint under your skin. Light like static trapped in flesh, flickering in bursts. Your breath coming in high, desperate little gasps like you didn't know if you were allowed to make noise.

She's gonna fucking break. She's gonna fall apart with her hand on her cunt and my name in her mouth and she won't even know what hit her.

And then it happened.

That sound.

A moan—real, full, unfiltered. It cracked right out of you like something ancient finally getting free. Soft and wet and so fucking pure it nearly brought him to his knees.

Ben gritted his teeth. His hand moved—instinctual—down to cover yours, guiding your fingers harder, tighter, lower.

"Yeah, baby," he rasped, voice thick with reverence. "You're right there. You feel that?"

You nodded, whimpering. And then—you froze. All at once. Like you'd been caught in a spotlight. Your hand jerked back from under the hoodie like it was burning you. Your thighs snapped shut so fast they slapped against his.

Your eyes were wide. Panicked.

"I—I can't—" You shook your head, voice ragged. "I can't do this. I'm sorry."

Ben blinked. Not angry. Not shocked. Just still. You pulled back, trying to climb out of his lap like you were filthy, like you'd broken something sacred, but he didn't let you go. Not rough. Not forceful. Just firm. Grounded.

"Hey." His voice dropped into something soft. Something careful. But never kind. "You're okay."

You didn't look at him. Your halo flickered behind your shoulder like a candle caught in wind. "I felt something," you whispered. "It was building and it felt—wrong. Too big."

Ben stared.

You were still glowing. Still lit up in that faint, holy shimmer. You were divine like this—flushed and shaking in his lap, eyes wet with something like shame.

She was so fuckin' close. So fuckin' perfect. She doesn't even know what that would've felt like. And I would've been the first.

You breathed like you were trying not to cry. "I couldn't stop it," you said. "I didn't want to but I did—"

He reached up. Brushed your jaw with the backs of his fingers.

"Angel," he murmured. "That? That's what your body's built for."

Your eyes found his. Blown wide. Searching. Terrified.

"Don't you dare apologise for that."

You swallowed.

"But I don't understand it."

"I know. And that's what makes it so fuckin' beautiful." He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. Breathing you in. "You want me to stop, I'll stop," he whispered. "But don't lie to me. Don't lie to yourself."

You nodded, breath stuttering. Ben pulled you in. Wrapped his arms around you, cradled you against his chest like you were something holy he'd just dragged out of heaven and didn't want to drop. Your halo pulsed once. Dim. And then disappeared. You stayed there. Still glowing under the skin. Still his. Still trembling.

And all he could think—over and over, as his hand curved around the back of your neck and you finally sighed against him—was:

Next time, you're not stopping. Next time, you're gonna see God. And it's gonna be me.

a/n: AHHHHH. Okay, I couldn't help myself, I had to post the first part. I've got the next two parts written up and ready to go, I just don't wanna post them until I've finished up the last two instalments. I'm so excited for you guys to find out what happens. Let me know what you think please!! And if you like it, then you can all thank @tinas111 because this was her idea, I'm just doing the writing, hehehe. All the love.

Soldier Boy/Ben taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah. @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @bittersweetfig @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @ohgodimgoungtodie @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @kaz-2y5-spn @bitchykittenconnoisseur <3

[ivysangel]

surprise post bc my blogs fixed woo hoo!! i initially sent this as an ask to @hanasnx as my contribution to his baby daddy!jason au, but i also wanted to share it here for u guys as a little treat :p

Baby Daddy!Jason, who you co-parent with, in a very civilized way. No joke, the picture of camaraderie between exes. He takes your daughter on the days he's supposed to (which isn't that often, given his occupation) and brings her back on time, always with a little gift for you as well. Flowers, chocolates, a little knick-knack reminiscent of when you were together. It's not because he's in love with you or anything; it's just the principle of the matter. "Happy wife, happy life," not that you were married or even dating, but he figures the mother of his child should get love sometimes.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who, the next time he sees you, it's to drop off something your daughter forgot with him, and as he's handing you the bag, he casually asks why you haven't been asking him to take her more often. You had been for a while when you were going on dates weekly, but for some reason, the relationships never went anywhere, so you just gave up. "Oh, you know, it just wasn't working out." you say off-handedly, "Kept getting ghosted." you sound only marginally disappointed, moreso annoyed. "What a shame, they're really missing out," he says, getting real close to you and taking up your entire field of vision.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who's got your entire calendar memorized and knows that his daughter's not home tonight and that you've got no plans other than watching movies in solitude. He knows you're too stubborn to call him over for company even though you've been giving him fuck me eyes in passing for the past few months, so he figures he just has to take matters into his own hands and corner you until you give in like he knows you want to.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who fucks you on damn near every surface in the house, telling you he's just christening the place like he would've already done if you lived together. Whispers apologies in your ears about scaring off all of your dates while he's splitting you open, bullying his cock into you while your eyes roll to the back of your head because you haven't been fucked this good in years, not since the last time you'd been with him. You're face is deep in some pillows when you realize the memories you had of his dick pale in comparison to the real thing, and you aren't sure you could go back to using your imagination to get off after tonight.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who keeps you up all night until your pussy's red and puffy from how many times it'd come in contact with his hips while he was fucking you. Fat tip kissing your cervix until you were clawing at his biceps, begging him to give you some reprieve, tears in your eyes while you babbled incoherently, too lost in the feeling of him to make any sense. He admits in the midst of sex that he tried to get over you; he really did, but he just couldn't; he just couldn't picture you with another man in any capacity. The thought of someone else touching you, fucking you, loving you, made his stomach turn, filling him with rage and an overwhelming need to claim you as his.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who's a level-headed, non-fragile ego'd man until it comes to his family, which, contrary to what some would say, did not only consist of his daughter but you too, and any guy who tried to get with you was a threat. he didn't know the intentions of other men, but he knew his own, which was to keep his little family happy as long as he was alive. If that meant putting a gun to the head of anyone who made a move on you and consoling you by stretching you out the way he knew you liked until you just said "fuck it" and let him put another baby in you, then so be it.

[sillymommy6969]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ YES, SUNSHINE ᝰ! M.S.

trying to be subtle and secret with megan!

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ ❪ 𝑦𝑡 𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑜. ❫ ｡ megan skiendiel x f!r 𖥔 fluff ── disclaimers: katseye 7th member au, megan being an idiot in love, pining, mad crushing (read in dark mode!) / pt. one , three / ℭatalogue

MEGAN IS A SIMP FOR Y/N AND THE CROWD IS... THEIR LOVE CHILDREN? (ANOTHER MEGN/N VIDEO <3)

17.2k likes | 288k views | 19th Feb, 2025

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ Clip one: [ YT VIDEO ] Katseye Sleepover (08:43)

“No, I want to bunk with Lara, ‘cuz Manon’s gonna kick me if we sleep together!” Daniela protested, circling her arms around Lara’s as she used the younger’s body to shield any playful hits from the Ghanaian woman. “You wake up like a hurricane hit you every morning, I bruise like a peach!”

“Baby, no, I shared a bed with Manon over Christmas, it wasn’t even that bad!” you defended the eldest, who immediately wrapped an arm around your shoulder as she hummed.

“See? Even y/n disagrees with you, you’re just being a hater.”

“I’m not being a hater! I share a room with you at home, it’s actually scary how much you move around at night.” Daniela argued, “If y/n doesn’t mind, maybe you guys should bunk.”

You shook your head, “Oh, absolutely not. Manon snores!”

“What! You were just defending me, why are you turning into my biggest opp for no reason!” Manon pried herself from your side, pouting. To the side, Yoonchae just watched with a hesitant expression as Sophia pinched the bridge of her nose. Lara just laughed at the scene unfolding, Daniela still hanging off her arm as Megan stared at you bickering with Manon from behind you. Her eyes never tore away from your frame.

[ that is one look of love right there if i’ve ever seen one ]

“I’m coupled up with my fine shyt here,” you reached for Megan, who immediately walked into your open arms as you wrapped them around her neck. The redhead flashed Manon a cheeky smile, “Sorry, Manz, that’s my huzz.”

“The brainrot level spiked when you two touched,” Lara commented, “I feel myself getting dumber when you two get together and join forces.”

“Hey!” you snapped, shushing her, “I don’t want to hear it.”

You grinned at Megan, who gave you a shy smile. The two of you were the most chronically online duo amongst the seven of you. Megan was loud when you weren’t there, spewing out nonsense and internet references which confused some of the members, but got oddly quiet when you weren’t around. The eyekons loved to tease her on Weverse about her (not so) obvious crush on you, but you made sure you were updated on what was the most recent brainrot just so Megan would be comfortable and more eased up around you.

“Hey, Megan snores too, but whatever.” Lara held her hands up in defence, “You lay in the bed you make, y/n.”

“Whatever for my Meggerz,” you said, wrapping both your arms around Megan’s neck. She let out a nervous giggle, her pale cheeks flushing with colour.

[ y/n baby it hurts, take it out--please…! ]

“Look, Megan’s matching Lara’s hair!” Daniela teased.

Megan’s hands shot up to cup her cheeks, hiding her increasingly red face behind her fingers as you chuckled at the others’ teasing. You past her head as they laughed, “Aww, Meggerz, you look like a little kid--Guys ain’t she adorable?”

“Stop, you’re gonna make her head explode!” Manon cackled, “Look, Megan’s getting even redder. Aww!”

Even Yoonchae seemed to enjoy teasing the poor Chinese woman, and under your arm, she could never seem to shake the colour from her pale cheeks.

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ Clip two: [ LIVE ] Katseye’s First Birthday (38:07)

Though the foci of the video darted back and forth between the burning Katseye trivia and inside jokes cracked amongst you and the chat, a lot of fans watching the live after seemed to notice the lingering tension between you and Megan.

Something about the way she seemed to be wordlessly admiring you as you bantered with Daniela about some fact about Lara. Her eyes lax and fixed on you, a sheepish smile ghosted her lips, despite her usual “laugh and lock in” habit.

user01 can we talk about the heart eyes from megan rn

user02 she’s so bad at being nonchalant i can’t

user03 aww poor baby’s just tryna admire her girl in peace

user04 genuinely haven’t seen this since stairwell larry

When it was turn for the members to answer questions about you, you leant back into your seat on the couch between Megan and Lara. You waited for Yoonchae to read aloud the rules for the nth time, your arm behind Megan, who sat up in preparation for the trivia about you.

“This was the site of y/n’s first kiss--!”

“Outside english in 7th grade!” Megan yelled, her hand held high and her finger up. Manon groaned, flailing her body back in defeat as Lara held a palm up to Megan’s face. Daniela scoffed, and Sophia raised an eyebrow at the way the Chinese member seemed to be disrespecting the point of the game for the who knows how many time in a row.

“Let the poor girl finish!” Daniela knocked into her knee.

“She didn’t even yell her name, Megan should be disqualified for that.” Manon argued, crossing her arms. Behind the redhead, you rubbed the eldest’s shoulder in comfort as she pouted. “This game isn’t fair, I haven’t gotten to answer yet.”

[ manz was PRESSED that day bro let my girl breathe ]

“How do you even know that? You were across the world when y/n was in 7th grade.” Lara questioned, only earning a quick shrug from her roommate.

“I remember it was some dumb boy called Carson too.”

user05 THAT FACE MEGAN IS JEALOUS LMAO

user06 the ick megan just got from saying “boy”

user07 they know everything about eo atp i swear to god

user08 omg just kiss alr im getting edged bro

“You guys gotta give it to Megz,” you nodded, “She’s not playing them game right, but she’s not wrong.”

“I want it on the record this game is rigged,” Daniela whined.

“Overruled,” Yoonchae replied simply, earning some disapproving grunts and groans from the older members. She nodded towards you, returning the smile you were flashing her. “If y/n says Megan’s right, she gets the point. But, for the sake of the game, please say your name first please next time.”

The ginger nodded, saluting. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay, but I need to hear about this first kiss story, why is this the first time I’m hearing about a Carson from english class?”

Sophia’s statement seemed to stir some other related questions from the girls, which lead to you trying to calm their suspicions through a brief storytime. “It’s nothing crazy, I was in 7th grade with my 7th grade boyfriend and outside of english class, he kissed me. It was really bad, I mean, it was my very first one, so I didn’t know what to do, I just kinda let him slobber all over me and called it a day.”

The girls grimaced and groaned. “Sounds about right.”

“Okay, but how does Megan know all ‘at?” Lara asked.

The ginger shrugged, a prideful smile on her face. “I just know my y/n lore. She’s my roman empire, I think about her a lot.”

[ what…? like why is nobody reacting to her saying this rn?? ]

user09 oh. my. gays.

user10 my favourite parents thinking about each other <3

user11 EVERYBODY STAY CALM THIS IS NOT A DRILL

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ Clip three: [ iHEART RADIO ] Katseye’s feat. (9:11)

“y/n and sophia have been seen together a lot lately,” the lady at the head of the table stated, earning some polite chuckles from the two of you. You glanced over at the Filipina, sharing a knowing look as you braced yourself for the fan service.

“The fans have noted your undeniable chemistry in your new music video, and are wondering how the both of you stay in ‘touch’ to maintain such a good relationship,” she chuckled.

You hummed, “Yeah, Sophia is one of my best friends.”

Sophia agreed, “y/n and I spend a lot of time together on our days off, and we share a lot of the same interests, so it’s easy for us to do a lot of things together.”

“Yes, but what’s the secret behind n/nfiz? You’re so close!”

[ she was tryna reach so hard… i feel bad for the girls ]

As the two of you drove that question in whatever direction you thought your PR team would appreciate, fans noted the clips of Megan glaring daggers at Sophia as she ranted on about your shared love for musical movies.

[ goddamn if looks could kill sophia would be dead asf ]

“Have you seen the tiktok edits made of you two?”

Manon and Daniela began bursting in hysteria, knocking back and forth into each other as you and Sophia chuckled.

“The edits! Oh my God, the edits are the only things we send in our group chat,” Daniela explained, “There’s so many insanely good ones out there, but my favourite had to be the one the fans clipped of Sophia and y/n biting into the same piece of cake together for our first anniversary and Sophia was looking up at y/n, wiping her chin with her thumb after.”

You knew the exact clip Daniela was talking about.

It was during a quick Weverse live the seven of you had to do, management had gotten you a cake, and as co-parents and leaders of the group, the two of you were invited to take the first bite. Holding it together, the two of you bit into opposite ends of the cake, and as your eyes squeezed shut to brace for the frosting smearing across your scrunched nose, Sophia’s big, concentrated ones were on you. Her jaw moved as she followed you, taking in a mouthful of cake. When the two of you pulled back, she immediately raised a hand to brush the white frosting from your features, caring for you before herself.

It was an acid trip on eyekonville that night.

[ the amount of ungodly edits i’ve saved to that intro clip… ]

“Oh, yeah, I had my own friends from home in the Philippines send me those tiktok’s and ask me if I had a girlfriend. I had to explain so many times that week that y/n are just really good friends.” Sophia chuckled, leaning over to loop an arm over your shoulder. “We do love the edits though.”

You nodded along, “Mhm, Sophia and I love teasing each other about it. There’s some really talented eyekons out there.”

Yoonchae nudged Megan in the back of the camera capture you and Sophia’s friendly encounters. The redhead realized the expression etched across her face, immediately resolving into her poker face. It was obvious she was displeased with the topic, Manon--being the instigator she was--pointed it out.

“Remember when Megan wouldn’t speak to y/n for a week.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘cuz y/n ‘got cake on her shirt’,” Lara added in air quotes, “But we all tease her ‘cause she was just grumpy about her best friend not paying her any attention.”

[ i just know lara has seen some megan jealous episodes ]

“Yeah, somebody was hella jealous,” Daniela sighed. “Hella.”

“I was not ‘hella jealous’!” Megan whined, “I let y/n wear my hoodie that day and she got cake all over it ‘cause she was more focused on Sophia than keeping it clean.”

“See? Hella jealous.” Manon reinforced. “Just admit it, Megan.”

“Yeah, Meggerz, I’m sorry I got your hoodie all dirty,” you pouted, glancing at her with big glossy eyes. You leant over, fixing the strap of her top. “I made sure it’s clean for you.”

[ UNTIL HER STRAP BREAKS UNDER ME ]

You watched her face flush with a smirk. It was so easy, flustering Megan, especially when it came to you. You knew she was never beating the simp allegations.

“Oh, she’s getting red!” the host teased, “Need a minute?”

Megan shook her head, running a hand through her hair as she avoided your eyes. The girls all cooed and teased, per usual, at the redhead’s reaction to your flirtation.

“Eyekons, for Megan’s sake, maybe start editing more megn/n instead of me and y/n.” Sophia said into the mic, which just flustered the redhead more at the thought.

[ yes, ma’am--the way megn/n edits started flooding tiktok ]

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ Clip four: [ MV BTS ] Making of Touch (07:14)

Filming your dual part with Lara for the pre-chorus, you sat on the windowsill of the bedroom set. In a flimsy top and some sheer boy shorts, you were leaving little to the imagination, not aided by the position the director instructed you to be in. You and Lara sat, ready, as the crew prepared for the shooting.

In another room, Megan stood before a wall of screens. Her arms crossed and her hair clipped, she watched the two of you adjust yourselves and stay professional.

The video editor for Katseye added a little twinkle beside Megan’s eye as the camera trained on her look of adoration, before it panned up to the screen she was focused on; the angle fixed on you, sitting by the window, your hair done and your features sharp, contrary to the usually, softer edge you carried in your expressions. You and Lara complimented each other very well when it came to the ‘hunter gaze’.

[ bro is so enchanted she forgot she needs to talk to us ]

“Doesn’t y/n look good in that fit?” she asked, and the camera panned back to her, still not looking away from you onscreen. “Her pjs at home are much nicer than this though.”

[ yeah cuz ya’ll share a pj shirt eyekonville caught you in 4k ]

“She usually wears this Aaliyah graphic shirt she cut to bed. You’ll never see her out of that shirt at home,” Megan grinned, “Not that I’m complaining, I got her the shirt.”

[ yeah we know you down bad asf like we get it… ]

As the music sounded, the two of you moved on camera. You mouthed the lyrics into the camera after Lara’s line, before turning to look up and out of the window. The camera in the room still focused on Megan catches the girl smiling to herself when your voice singing your part of the song could be heard muffled in the background.

[ she only smiled when y/n’s part came on i can’t ]

“Oh my God, this is fire as hell. I’m not tryna glaze them or anything, but that was such a good shot.” Megan giggled.

The Katseye video editor wrote the subtitles with a little bit of teasing at the redhead’s beyond obvious admiration for her leader. “MEGAN: (LOVINGLY) Doesn’t y/n look good--?”

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ Clip five: [ WEVERSE LIVE ] Lara’s Karaoke

Lara sat in a chair in the front as some of the other girls did things for their schedules off camera. She was engaging with fans and singing songs the chat recommended. Eventually, you joined her, along with Manon, livening up the mood.

“Nah, nah, nah, the rizziest member is me, don’t play.”

Manon rolled her eyes, “Why’re you lying right now, obviously I got that lightskin rizz, bro, you can’t even compete.” She rubbed her hands together, giving the camera a lip bite and a sly wink, before you shoved her in the shoulder with a grimace.

“That was disgusting--Look, Lara is speechless right now at how disgusting that was,” you pointed at the Indian singer.

“She’s not speechless, she’s gagged. I was too rizzy with it.”

user01 n/non gives sibling energy and i’m here for it

user02 i wanna be their friend so bad i just know they’re so fun

user03 yall should have a rizz off and see who’s the rizzler

“Someone said to have a rizz off to see who’s the ultimate rizzler,” Lara spoke into her mic. The two of you shared a look, jokingly squaring up to each other. Lara chuckled, clicking Confident by Justin Bieber in her playlist before Manon and you both started doing stupid white boy shit into the camera.

user04 omg idk where to look i’m gonna pass out

user05 gay ass group

user06 our favorite wlw katz fighting for me rn??

user07 EVERYONE SHUT UP IM HAVING MY Y/N MOMENT

With impeccable timing, Megan strolled over, coming onscreen with a grimace at the two of your antics. Upon catching the expression, a mix of disgust and confusion, on Megan’s face, Lara began laughing hysterically.

Unexpectedly, you grabbed Megan’s hand, yanking her closer to you. You mouthed the lyrics to Confident, before pouring over her shoulder. Instinctively, she turned her head to glance at it, before your fingers gently grabbed her chin, turning her face back to you. You smirked, your lip tugging in between your teeth as the instrumental broke. When you started singing again, Megan’s shoulders were tense and there was an unreadable scrunch in her face. Her cheeks were pink and she couldn’t keep her eyes off you.

At that point, even Manon had stopped her own attempts at winning this rizz fest, but instead joined Lara in teasing Megan with the fans with knowing stares and joking gestures.

When the song was over, you had an arm around Megan’s waist, the other hand running through your hair as you grinned. “Sorry, Meggerz, you just fell victim to me absolutely making Manz eat my dust at a little competition.”

Megan shrugged, trying to play off the colour in her cheeks.

[ oh come on now megan you’re not nonchalant like that ]

user08 the hand placement???? i’m creaming

user09 y/n baby please it’s all over the screen

user10 typing this with one hand it’s a tough life out here

user11 had to put my phone in rice

You chuckled at the comments Lara were reading out, leaning forward to rest your chin on Megan’s shoulder, moving to stand behind the redhead as you wrapped your arms around her casually. You sat beside Lara, pulling her onto your lap.

Megan’s mood seemed to lift, not the monotonous vibe she walked in frame with, but her lips curved into an uncontrollable smile. She turned her head the slightest to just gaze and stare at your features as you spoke out the comments.

user12 straddling y/n’s lap would fix me too megan

user13 MEGAN MEIYOK SKIENDIEL MOVE ITS MY TURN

user14 if not girlfriend why girlfriend shaped

“I think we know who won the ultimate rizzler title.” Lara started clapping, and even Manon nodded in defeat as she cackled. “Let’s give it up for our crowned queen, y/n l/n.”

You moved your hand as a gratuitous bow, Megan still on you.

[ who could blame megan for being down bad? y/n’s the rizz queen right? ]

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ ❪ 𝖈alliope 𝖘peaks! ❫ 。 megan’s so cutie i need my daily dose of ginger to feel happy but now she has black hair again… anyway currently going crazy over my tlou!au katseye idea so expect that to come next. happy reading! xx

@sillymommy6969 © ──────────── Feb 2025

[daisymbin]

for lovers who hesitate - choi seungcheol

warnings: cheating ex, mentions of pregnancy (not reader), shotgun marriage (not reader), some curse words, mentions of blood (seungcheol in a fight), some angst (mostly on seungcheol's part, some of reader's towards the end) + this is a long fic so I'm sure I missed out stuff, my apologies. please let me know what I missed out so I can add them in!

pairings: choi seungcheol x reader

genre: fake dating, resurface of old feelings (reader) & a down bad choi seungcheol

wc: 13k (not sure what happened i was aiming 3500-5000 but oh well.)

a/n: 13k words...my longest fic on here yet..... this took quite awhile, even proofreading was a challenge, so I hope you guys enjoyed this one! but fr, I early respect and admire authors who always belt out 30k word fics, it's really not easy i don't even wanna think about it. it's one thing to get a long fic done and another to proofreading it all oof. ... and no writer really only proofreads it once

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

“you've got mail~” seokmin sings down the hallway of your shared apartment, “it looks like a wedding invite…” his voice trails off, “are any of our friends getting married? why didn't I receive one?”

seokmin's question was reasonable, you did both have the same friend group, you grew up together, having tons and tons of mutual friends, you went almost everywhere together. he's like the brother you never had. but now he's got your interest piqued as well. who could it be?

on your hand sits a wedding invitation, beautifully adorned with gold accents, pink flowers litter the edges of the invite, a bright pop of colour in contrast to the plain white.

seokmin snatches the invite out of your hand, opening the invite as he reads, “you are cordially invited to celebrate the joy of han- what the fuck? is this a joke?” seokmin shuts the invite close and crumples it, “what the hell does that guy want?”

“han minjun?” you asked as curiosity plagues your mind. seokmin’s reaction only amplifies your own confusion, and you reach out to grab the crumpled invitation from his hands, smoothing it out with trembling fingers. his name stares back at you, a name you had once thought you’d never have to see or hear again. but here it is, boldly printed, like a ghost from the past come to haunt you.

“han minjun…” you murmur, your voice quieter now, filled with a mixture of disbelief and absurdity. the memories come rushing back like a tidal wave, each one hitting you harder than the last. you remember the good days first, the laughter, the late-night talks, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world. but those sweet memories are soon overshadowed by the darker ones, the ones you had worked so hard to forget.

you remember the way he’d become distant, how the warmth in his eyes had faded, and the excuses he’d given whenever you asked what was wrong. you remember the pit in your stomach when he’d cancel plans at the last minute, claiming he was swamped with work, even though you could hear the laughter of friends in the background whenever he called.

then there was that one night, the night everything shattered. you had gone to his apartment, unannounced, carrying takeout and hoping to surprise him. the sight that greeted you instead was something you’d never forget. minjun had been in his living room, his hand tugging on another girl’s hair, the other on her waist as they makeout heavily. their light giggles echoing through the walls you thought you knew so well. you’d dropped the food in shock, the containers spilling onto the floor, and the way minjun’s face had paled when he saw you… it was a moment forever etched into your heart.

“its not what it looks like,” he’d said, scrambling for an explanation, but all you felt was betrayal, the heartache, the realization that the person you’d trusted had broken you in a way you never thought possible.

you come back to the present as seokmin's voice pulls you back, “oh i dropped a post it, ‘hope to see you there - kim hanna’ who the hell is kim hanna?” seokmin reaches for the invite again, his eyes scanning the words imprinted on the paper, “kim hanna…isnt she the girl he cheated on you with? that little bi- how dare she send this invi- SHE'S MARRYING HIM?” seokmin's mouth ran faster than body allowed, never finishing his sentence, but you heard and understood every word.

you snatch the invite back. the wedding is in 2 weeks.

are you hurt? no. heartbroken? no. sad? no. upset? just a little bit. angry? oh yes, yes you were. all the anger still simmering beneath the surface as you grip the wedding invite tightly. seokmin watches you with concern, his earlier frustration shifting into worry as he notices the way anger starts to consume you.

“you okay?” he asks gently, placing a hand on your shoulder.

you softened, “yeah i just… i can’t believe he’s getting married after everything he did.”

seokmin’s grip tightens, his protective brother instincts kicking in. “you don’t have to go,” he says firmly. “and if you decide to, you won’t go alone. i’ll be right there with you, you know the boys will be too. whatever you need.”

his words bring a small sense of comfort, but the invitation still feels like a dagger, reopening wounds you thought had finally healed. “oh I'm definitely going,”

“why?”

“just because. & I need a date-”

“I can be your date.”

“no you can't.”

“why not?”

“because i need my date to be my fake boyfriend. i cant show up all single to an ex's wedding & everyone knows we grow up together. we're practically siblings we would never ever date each other! that's disgusting."

seokmin's fake dramatic gasp only leaves your laughing, the anger that once resided is now long forgotten. “how can you say that?” he continues, “don't you watch movies? don't you read books? or even better, fanfiction? that's like a really popular trope and it's popular for a reason! why? because it's real, it happens. what if I'm in love with you and you just don't know it? then what? you could have seriously hurt my feelings!”

“yeah could have, that means I didn't. and don't think I forgot about the time we all played truth or dare and chan dared you to kiss me and you literally threw up from how repulsed you were by me. how could you possibly be in love with me? unless...you puked because you were nervous.." you said as you wiggled your eyebrows disturbingly. “also what hell fanfiction do you read? why didnt i know about that?”

“EW!!!" he screams as he steps away from you, "AS IF YOU COULD EVER MAKE ME NERVOUS!"

“& the fanfiction? what do you read? come on, spill!”

“that's none of your business.”

“seok-”

“beyonce x reader.” it was almost as if he was dying to tell you.

the laugh you burst out only brings relief to seokmin, now he knows you're really okay. you've moved on, just angry at the audacity of them. “please beyonce would never pick you.” you joked as you got up from the sofa. “come on, be serious, this is serious stuff. I need a fake boyfriend.”

“ask seungcheol.” seokmin answers easily without missing a beat, as if the answer was obvious.

“why seungcheol?” you heart raced at the mere idea of seungcheol being your date for the night, let alone boyfriend.

“because…he never says no to you. like ever,” he gives a brief, small smile before he turns to walk away. “oh and also, don't you think he'd fit the role perfectly?”

[—]

but that's what happens when seokmin plants the idea in your head, because you now find yourself in seungcheol's apartment.

you sit in seungcheol’s living room, heart pounding as you try to muster the courage to speak. he’s standing in front of you, arms crossed loosely over his broad chest, looking at you with his usual gentle, patient expression. but somehow, today, that patience makes your nerves worse. you’re not sure why you’re suddenly so embarrassed; maybe it’s the way his dark eyes seem to search your face for any hint of what’s coming.

“so… what did you want to ask me?” he prompts, his voice warm and inviting, though there’s a hint of curiosity lurking beneath it.

you swallow, your palms damp. “you can totally say no if you want to, there’s no pressure at all but um-”

seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow at your hesitation, “you’re making me nervous,” he jokes, though there’s a genuine note of concern in his eyes. “what’s going on?”

you inhale deeply, avoiding his gaze as you force the words out. “so, i got this wedding invite. from…my ex.” you don’t have to elaborate for seungcheol to know which ex you mean. his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, a flash of something dark passing over his expression before he smooths it out.

“han minjun,” he says, and the way he says the name makes it sound like a curse. his hands uncross, one clenching the back of a chair as he leans into it. “are you… are you okay?”

“yeah,” you say quickly, “i’m okay, really. just…it's in two weeks, and he’s marrying the girl he—” you stop yourself before the floodgate of bad memories start flowing. you look up at seungcheol, feeling your face grow warm. “anyway, that’s not the point. the point is…i need a date.”

seungcheol’s eyes soften, his tension melting away just a bit. “oh,” he says, and a smile tugs at his lips in realization, “you want me to be your date?”

“yes. i mean-” you fidget with the hem of your shirt. “only if you’re okay with it. you don’t have to-”

“of course,” he interrupts, his answer immediate, his voice firm. “if it’s for that, there’s no way i’d say no.” his protective instincts flare up at the mere thought of you facing your ex alone, and he wants to be there for you, to shield you from any pain that might resurface.

you feel relief wash over you, but then the real request lodges itself in your throat. you take a deep breath. “but… not just as a date,” you say quietly. “i need… i need a fake boyfriend. i can’t just show up to his wedding…single.”

seungcheol blinks, and for a moment, he thinks you’re joking. you watch as his expression shifts, surprise giving way to something more complicated. his smile falters, and his eyes search yours for any hint of hesitation, or a joke even. any indication that you might realize what this could mean for him.

a fake boyfriend. the words echo in his mind, and his heart aches, even as he tries to keep his face neutral. he’s spent the past 3 years hiding his feelings, protecting your friendship, waiting for a moment that never seemed to come. and now, here you are, asking him to pretend.

“a fake boyfriend,” he repeats, and his voice is steady, but there’s a hint of something broken underneath. he can’t help but imagine what it’ll be like to hold your hand, to smile at you, to pretend to be the one who gets to loves you openly…only to have it all stripped away when the charade is over. he knows he’s setting himself up for heartbreak, but how can he say no to you? how could he ever refuse you when you look at him like that?

“cheol?” you ask hesitantly, noticing his pause. “is that… is that too much to ask? i’m sorry, it’s just-”

he shakes his head quickly, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “no, it’s not too much,” he says softly. “if that’s what you need, then… i’ll do it.”

“really?” your eyes light up with hope, and he wishes he could bottle up the way you look at him, keep it forever.

“really,” he confirms, even though his heart is already starting to fracture. he pushes down the longing, the desperate yearning to be more than just a fake. because he knows this is all he’ll get—a bittersweet taste of something he can’t truly have. but for now, he’ll take what he can get. even if it means breaking his own heart for the chance to be close to you.

[—]

“rules. we need rules. oh and boundaries. just to be safe, you know? not make it weird.” you informed as you pick up a piece of blank paper & pen from your desk before jumping onto bed.

seungcheol lies on his stomach on your bed as he waits for you, “what kind of rules and boundaries do you have in mind?” he asks.

“well for one, no falling in love. like, we both have to promise that this stays strictly pretend. we can’t let it mess with our friendship.”

for a moment, silence fills the room. when you glance at seungcheol, his expression is unreadable. “no falling in love,” he repeats quietly, his voice almost too steady. you don’t notice the way his jaw tightens, the way he clenches his fist against the sheets.

you give him a nervous smile. “exactly. we both need to agree to that.”

“right,” he says, his voice softer now. “no falling in love.” he repeats louder this time, his heart aches at the irony, because if only you knew how deeply he’s already fallen. but he forces himself to nod, to play along, to act like he isn’t breaking the very first rule you laid out just by being here. “any other rules?”

“um, yeah,” you continue, scribbling your next point onto the paper. “okay,” you say, oblivious to the turmoil in his chest. “it has to be believable. like, no half-assing it. if we’re going to do this, we have to commit. but, uh, within reason, of course.”

seungcheol chuckles at that, the sound breaking through the tension. “within reason?” he echoes, his smile genuine this time.

“yeah, nothing too….much,”

“& what exactly is too much?”

“kisses,” you answer without missing a beat.

seungcheol smiles, "so, i can’t kiss you, even if it’s just for an act?"

you pause, thinking over his question. the way he says it, so casual yet so heavy, sends a shiver down your spine. “i mean… kisses are too intimate. that crosses the line.” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t betray how nervous the thought of kissing him makes you.

seungcheol watches you closely, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “too intimate?” he repeats, almost teasingly, but there’s something more in his eyes, something you can’t quite place. “but aren’t we supposed to look like we’re really together? won’t people think it’s suspicious if we… don’t at least pretend that we’re comfortable with that?”

“no one’s expecting a porno of us making out,” you argue, your cheeks warming at the implication. what a poor choice of words. “hand-holding, hugs, maybe a forehead or a cheek kiss if we’re feeling bold. but anything beyond that…” you trail off, your mind spinning and butterflies threatening to invade your tummy at the thought of seungcheol’s lips anywhere near yours.

he hums thoughtfully, propping his chin on his hand. “so, kisses are off the table. got it,” he says, though there’s a hint of disappointment in his voice that you dont pick up. “any other rules?”

“that's all i can think of for now, what about you? anything you dont want me to do? anything to add?” you ask.

“no, I'll do whatever you want me to.” he says, a mixture of fondness and longing swirling in his chest.

“okay, i guess we're really doing this huh?” you ask as you feel some tension leave your body.

“yeah,” he murmurs, even as his heart screams at the unfairness of it all. if only you knew just how real it already was for him.

[—]

“did you actually really ask seungcheol to be your fake boyfriend?” seungkwan questions, taking another sip from his iced americano, his eyes narrowing at you suspiciously.

you sigh, pressing your palms to your face. “how did you even find out about that?”

“seokmin told me. now answer me! did you actually?” seungkwan presses, his tone both exasperated and concerned. he’s your best friend. he knows every secret, every late-night confession, and every tear you’ve ever shed over seungcheol.

you glance away, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “yeah... i did,” you admit softly.

seungkwan lets out a small groan, leaning back in his seat. he’s silent for a moment, and you can feel the weight of his judgment hanging between you. but there’s something else there, too. something heavier, deeper. regret, maybe.

four years ago, you were a helpless mess, pinning after seungcheol like a lovesick fool. seungkwan remembered the way you’d light up whenever seungcheol was around, the way your laughter sounded a little brighter, your smile a little wider. and he remembered the way seungcheol seemed oblivious, never showing a sign of returning your feelings.

seungkwan had wanted to help you. he’d been desperate to see you happy, to save you from the heartache that came from unrequited love. so he’d done the only thing he could think of at the time: he’d set you up with someone else.

“do you remember when i introduced you to minjun?” seungkwan asks, his voice suddenly quieter, more somber.

you blink, caught off guard by the question. “of course i do,” you reply. how could you forget? you’d been resistant at first, clinging to the faint hope that seungcheol would notice you one day. but seungkwan had been insistent. he’d told you that minjun was a good guy, someone who could make you happy, someone who could help you move on.

“you were so against it,” seungkwan recalls, his lips curving into a wistful smile. “but you finally agreed, and... well, you actually hit it off.”

a small laugh escapes your lips, though it lacks any real humor. “yeah. we did.”

for a while, dating han minjun had felt like a breath of fresh air. he was charming, thoughtful, and everything you thought you needed. for a moment, you’d even believed you’d moved on from seungcheol. but now, years later, here you were again, tangled up in your feelings for him, pretending to date him, no less.

seungkwan’s expression softens as he looks at you. “you know, i really did think minjun was a good guy back then. i just... i didn’t want to see you hurt anymore.” his voice wavers, and you can tell he feels guilty, even if it wasn’t his fault that things turned out this way.

“i know,” you murmur. “you were just trying to help.”

seungkwan sighs, setting his juice box down. “but now you’re back to seungcheol, except this time it’s... fake. and that worries me.”

your throat tightens, and you don’t know how to explain that being with seungcheol, even if it’s just for show, feels better than being with anyone else. even if it hurts a little. or maybe a lot.

“it’s complicated,” you whisper, but seungkwan isn’t satisfied. his eyes bore into yours, filled with worry and protectiveness, like he’s already bracing for the heartbreak he’s sure is coming.

[—]

“do you think we should pick something that matches or just, you know, kind of goes together?” you ask, sifting through rows of dresses, your fingers brushing over various shades of fabric.

seungcheol tries to focus on the suits in front of him, but he’s barely listening, too distracted by the way your voice lilts at the end of your question. “hm?” he clears his throat, hoping you don’t notice how he’s completely lost his train of thought. “yeah, matching is… good.”

you raise an eyebrow at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “that didn’t answer my question, cheol.”

he laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “sorry. what was it again?”

“do you want our outfits to match?” you repeat, holding up a dress. it’s a deep, elegant navy blue, and seungcheol’s heart does a weird little flip. “like this one? it’s the same color as that suit you’re holding.”

seungcheol swallows hard, imagining the two of you side by side, perfectly coordinated, like a couple in a fairytale. he tries to shake the thought away. “yeah, that’s… perfect,” he says, his voice coming out softer than he intended.

you seem satisfied with his answer, disappearing into the dressing room to try it on. seungcheol stands there, shifting his weight from foot to foot, heart pounding for no reason he can justify. he’s known you for years, been by your side for countless moments, but something about this—the idea of the two of you dressed up together, the way you trusted his opinion—feels different, it makes his heart race.

“cheol?” your voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and he looks up, his breath catching in his throat as you step out of the dressing room.

he’s not prepared for the sight. you look… breathtaking, the dress fitting you in a way that leaves him momentarily stunned. his eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. it’s like he’s forgotten how to speak.

you tilt your head, concern flickering in your eyes. “is it bad?”

“no!” he blurts out, voice cracking embarrassingly. he clears his throat again; surprised at his own voice, his cheeks burning. “no, you look—” he stammers, searching for the right words, his mind a complete mess. but then, he smiles his boyish smile, his dimples dipping more than they usually do & says “god, you look… beautiful. really beautiful.”

you blink, taken aback, and seungcheol swears he sees your cheeks flush a little. he’s painfully aware of how warm his own face feels, how his hands are suddenly clammy.

“thank you,” you say, your voice softer now. you look at him, eyes wide and earnest, and seungcheol can’t handle it. he has to look away, but not before he sees the small smile spreading across your face.

he fiddles with the cuff of his suit jacket, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “you… you really think this is the one?” he asks, his voice cracking again. he winces.

you nod, your smile growing. “i think it’s perfect. but… what about your suit?”

he’s still trying to recover from seeing you in that dress, but he manages to nod. “right, my suit,” he says, forcing himself to focus. “i’ll go try it on.”

you sit down on a bench, and seungcheol practically sprints to the fitting room, his heart pounding. he stares at his reflection as he pulls on the navy suit jacket, trying to breathe. he looks like a mess, his hair sticking up from how many times he’s run his hands through it, his face still red.

“come on, cheol,” he mutters to himself. “get it together.”

when he finally steps out, he catches the way your eyes light up, the way you look him over and nod approvingly. “that’s perfect,” you say, and his heart does that stupid flip again. “we’ll look great together.”

he laughs, but it’s a weak attempt to hide how fast his heart is racing. “yeah. we will.” the words come out before he can stop them; even he knows he sounds completely & irrevocably smitten but he can’t help it, not when you’re looking at him like that.

[—]

“so, did you say yes to being her date?” seokmin asked casually, thumbs tapping furiously at the controller in his hands as he and seungcheol tried to hold their ground in the game. “you know, her fake boyfriend and all that?”

seungcheol’s fingers faltered on the buttons for a split second, and he shot seokmin a glare. “yah, focus on the game, we can't lose,” he grumbled, feeling his face heat up. but, of course, seokmin had to bring it up now.

“wait, what?” wonwoo’s attention snapped away from the screen, his character on the verge of getting attacked. he gawked at seungcheol. “when did this happen? and why didn’t you tell us?”

soonyoung’s eyes widened, and his character in the game momentarily stood still. “hold on, hold on,” he said, nearly dropping his controller in shock. “hyung, you’re telling us you agreed to be her date and fake boyfriend, and we’re only hearing about this now?”

“can we not talk about this?” seungcheol muttered, trying to refocus on the game, but his heart was racing. the way his stomach twisted at the mention of you and the fake dating arrangement wasn’t something he wanted to discuss—especially not with his friends teasing him about it.

“absolutely not,” soonyoung protested, his competitive spirit momentarily forgotten. “this is big news, hyung! you have to spill.”

“yeah, seungcheol,” wonwoo added, a sly grin spreading across his face. “why didn’t you tell us? don’t act like it’s not a huge deal.”

seungcheol sighed, his shoulders tensing as he kept his eyes on the screen. “because it’s not a big deal, its only for a day anyway,” he insisted, but even he could hear the strain in his voice.

“you’re so full of it,” wonwoo said, barely holding back a laugh. “you've been in love with her for god knows how long, now you agreed to be her date and pretend to be her boyfriend. how is that not a big deal?”

unfortunately, soonyoung & wonwoo, have possession over seungcheol's not so secret, secret. but really, everyone knows, it's only a secret to you, seungkwan & seokmin although seokmin has been starting to catch on for the past few months. everyone else has miraculously managed to somehow keep their mouth shut around seokmin and seungkwan for 3 years; knowing how close you are with the two of them. I guess in a way you could say the boys are loyal to him? anyways.

seungcheol’s grip on his controller tightened. “can we just focus on winning?” he pleaded, desperate to change the subject, but his friends’ curiosity was palpable.

“fine,” soonyoung said with an exaggerated sigh. “but we’re coming back to this later.”

just as seungcheol was about to let out a breath of relief, the sound of the front door opening made his heart stutter, and he turned his head, unable to help himself. you stepped into the apartment, bags in hand, looking slightly windswept but effortlessly beautiful.

“hey, i’m home!” you greeted, smiling at everyone.

seungcheol’s mind blanked, his focus slipping away entirely as he took you in. he barely registered seokmin’s frantic warning—“hyung, watch out!”—before his character was obliterated in the game.

“yes!” soonyoung cheered, throwing his hands in the air. “we won, wonwoo!”

wonwoo leaned back with a smug smile, “thank you,” he said, looking over at you.

you blinked, confused. “me? what did i do?”

wonwoo’s eyes glinted with mischief. “it’s nothing you need to know… yet,” he replied, his voice teasing, and he shot you a knowing smile. “but thank you anyway.”

you tilted your head, clearly still confused, but you shrugged it off. “okay, if you say so,” you said, heading down the hall. “i’m gonna go take a quick shower.”

seungcheol watched you disappear, his shoulders slumping as he realized just how badly he’d let himself get distracted. he could feel the heat rising to his face, embarrassment and longing twisting in his chest.

seungcheol couldn't let it show. or at least, he thought he didn’t. he tried to play it cool, act normal around you, and pretend that his heart didn’t stutter every time you called his name. but apparently, seokmin noticed.

“you’ve got that look again,” seokmin pointed out, a teasing lilt in his voice.

seungcheol turned to find seokmin leaning against the backrest of the sofa, a grin spreading across his face. he blinked, feigning ignorance. “what look?”

“you know,” seokmin drawled, pushing himself off the backrest to lean closer to seungcheol “that look you get when she’s around.”

seungcheol felt his pulse skip, an uncomfortable warmth creeping up his neck. he avoided seokmin’s eyes, choosing instead to stare at the floor. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, hoping his voice sounded steady.

“sure you don’t.” seokmin plopped down beside him, elbow nudging his ribs. “c’mon, hyung. you’re not exactly subtle.”

seungcheol rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he couldn’t seem to shake. “it’s not like that,” he insisted, though even he knew how unconvincing he sounded.

seokmin raised an eyebrow. “really?” he asked, voice softening. “because the way you look at her…you look at her like you'd burn down the whole world for her.”

seungcheol’s throat tightened, and he pressed his lips together, finally meeting seokmin’s gaze. there was no judgment there, only curiosity and a quiet sort of understanding.

“i didn’t mean to,” seungcheol admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “it just… happened.”

seokmin’s smile was gentle now, the teasing gone. “and what are you gonna do about it?”

seungcheol’s hands fisted the fabric of his shirt, a sense of helplessness washing over him. “nothing,” he said, bitterness seeping into the word. “she’s too important. if i mess this up… i can’t lose her.”

seokmin studied him for a moment, the silence stretching between them. “but what if you don’t lose her?” he said quietly. “what if she feels the same way?”

seungcheol’s heart twisted painfully. the thought had crossed his mind more times than he could count, but he always pushed it away, too afraid to hope. “and what if she doesn’t?” he countered, his voice breaking. “i’d rather be close to her like this than lose everything.”

seokmin sighed, leaning back on his hands. “i get it,” he murmured. “but you can’t live your whole life being afraid. sometimes, you’ve got to take the risk.”

seungcheol let out a humorless laugh. “easy for you to say,” he mumbled, but his chest felt a little lighter, the weight of his secret shared, even if just for a moment.

seokmin’s smile returned, playful once more. “hey, i’m rooting for you,” he said, clapping a hand on seungcheol’s shoulder. “but seriously, the way you look at her… it’s gonna give you away one day.”

seungcheol swallowed, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “maybe,” he whispered. “but not today.”

seokmin grinned, standing up and offering a hand to pull seungcheol to his feet. “well, just know i’ll be there to say ‘i told you so’ when it happens.”

seungcheol took his hand, rising to his feet. “yeah, yeah,” he said, but his heart felt a little less heavy & a lot more hopeful.

[—]

seungcheol stood outside your bedroom door with seokmin, heart pounding as he took a steadying breath. it wasn’t the first time he was picking you up, but today felt different. maybe it was the gravity of the wedding you were attending, or maybe it was the fact that this arrangement had slowly become more real for him than he ever dared admit.

“hyung, you okay?” seokmin asked, glancing at him curiously.

seungcheol blinked, snapping out of his reverie. “yeah,” he lied, his voice sounding far more confident than he felt. “let’s just…get this over with.” he lied, it hasn't even started yet but he doesnt want it to end.

seokmin gave him a sorry look but said nothing, and before seungcheol could dwell on it, you opened the door to your room. his breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he forgot how to speak. you stood there, radiant in a simple yet elegant dress, hair styled perfectly, eyes sparkling with nervous anticipation.

he was so down bad for you, it was almost pathetic.

he couldn't help the boyish smile that adorned his face, “you look… beautiful.” he didn’t trust himself to say more, afraid that if he did, the truth would come spilling out.

a faint blush dusted your cheeks, and you smiled, the kind of smile that made his heart feel like it was doing somersaults. “thanks, cheol,” you said shyly, adjusting your dress. “you clean up pretty well yourself.

he let out a laugh, hoping it masked the way his pulse was racing. “you ready?” he asked, extending his hand to you. “our grand entrance awaits.”

you hesitated for the briefest moment, but then you slipped your hand into his, and he had to fight the urge to hold on tighter, to pull you closer and never let go. he couldn’t, of course. this was all an act. just a performance to keep up appearances, to help you save face in front of your ex and everyone else.

but god, how he wished it were real.

[—]

the car ride was quiet at first, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the soft music playing from the radio. seungcheol couldn’t help but glance at you every few seconds, noting the way your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your dress. he knew you well enough to recognize the signs of your anxiety, and his chest tightened.

“hey,” he said gently, reaching over to take your hand in his. your eyes widened in surprise, but you dont pull away. instead, you stared at your intertwined fingers, and he wondered if you could feel his heart pounding.

“are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, more careful. “if you’re not, we can turn around. we don’t have to go.”

you shook your head, a small, determined smile forming on your lips. “i’m fine,” you whispered. “it’s just… weird, you know? seeing him get married.”

seungcheol swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. he hated that minjun hurt you and how he couldn’t do anything but hold your hand and hope it was enough.

“if you want to leave at any point,” he said, squeezing your hand gently, “just say the word. i’ll get you out of there, no questions asked.”

you looked at him then, really looked at him, and he felt like he was being laid bare under your gaze, your eyes boring into his. “thank you, cheol,” you murmured, and your voice cracked just a little. “i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

his chest ached, a mix of longing and fear swirling inside him. he wanted to tell you that he’d always be there, that he’d never leave, but he didn’t. instead, he settled for rubbing soft circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, hoping you couldn’t feel how badly he was trembling.

the silence in the car was comfortable, but electric, charged with something unspoken. the way your shoulders relaxed under his touch, the way your breathing evened out as he held your hand—it was almost enough to make him believe that you felt the same way.

but that was dangerous territory, and seungcheol knew better than to get his hopes up.

“you know,” he said lightly, trying to steer his thoughts away from the ache in his chest, “you’re kind of incredible. not everyone could handle a situation like this with so much grace.”

you laughed, the sound soft and a little self-deprecating. “i don’t know about that or this grace you speak of,” you said. “i’m still trying to convince myself not to run away.”

“if you run,” he said, a teasing grin tugging at his lips, “i’ll run with you. we can both escape and go somewhere far away. just the two of us.”

the joke made you laugh, but there was a wistful note to it, and seungcheol had to look away to keep himself from saying something stupid. his heart was a mess, pounding wildly with every word, every touch, every second he spent in your presence.

“thanks, cheol,” you said again, your voice quieter now. “really. i’m so lucky to have you.”

seungcheol drove on, your hand still in his, hoping that this moment would last a little longer.

[—]

the wedding had gone off without a hitch, at least on the surface. the vows had been exchanged, laughter and applause filling the air, and now the reception was in full swing. seungcheol had been trying his best to stay close to you, to keep you from feeling the weight of the memories this day might bring. but as he returned with your drinks, he froze.

there you were, standing stiffly, looking more tense than he’d seen you all night. and, of course, minjun was in front of you, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he leaned in, saying something seungcheol couldn’t quite hear. your polite smile was brittle, your shoulders tense, and anger flared in his chest.

he forced himself to take a calming breath before approaching, setting your drinks down on a nearby table and stepping in between you & minjun, “hey,” he said smoothly, his voice calm but firm. “everything okay here?”

your eyes darted to him, a flicker of relief crossing your face. you tried to smile, but it wavered. “yeah,” you said, your voice a little too tight. “we were just… talking.”

minjun glanced at seungcheol, an eyebrow arching. “seungcheol?” he asked, a smug smile playing on his lips. “fancy seeing you here, i dont remember including you in the invite?” he quirked an eyebrow.

you opened your mouth, your voice coming out steadier this time. “actually, he's my plus one, since we're dating.”

“dating? as in, he's your boyfriend?” minjun asked as he sneaked a glance at seungcheol.

“yes, actually.” your words sent your stomach doing flips.

the disbelief on minjun’s face was palpable. he snorted, his gaze flicking between the two of you as if you’d just told a joke. “boyfriend? really?” he smirked, clearly unconvinced. “come on. that’s a little desperate, don’t you think?” minjun tries to reach for your hand.

before you could react, seungcheol stepped forward, his hand moving to reach for yours protectively; staking his claim. “i don’t think your wife,” he said, emphasizing the word with a hint of sarcasm, “would appreciate you making my girlfriend uncomfortable.”

minjun’s smile faltered, but he didn’t back down. “prove it,” he challenged, crossing his arms. “you really expect me to believe this… whatever this is?”

seungcheol’s jaw clenched. “we don’t need to prove anything to you,” he said, his voice low and controlled. “& you certainly don't have the right to ask for anything, much less a proof, not after all the shit you’ve done.”

minjun’s expression soured, but before he could respond, seungcheol turned to you, his eyes softening. “come on, pretty,” he murmured, his voice gentle and eyes earnest,. “dance with me?”

you stomach did somersaults, seungcheol watches you intently, he watches the way your expression melts into a grateful smile. you leaned in close and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “thank you,” you whispered, so quietly he barely heard it.

his heart stuttered in his chest, warmth flooding through him. but he forced himself to push the feeling away, to remind himself that this was all for show. you were only doing this because minjun was watching, because you needed to keep up the pretense. there was no way you actually meant that kiss, no way you felt the same fluttering in your chest that he did.

but he couldn’t help the way his heart betrayed him, the way his entire body seemed to light up at the simple touch of your lips on his skin. he swallowed, hoping you didn’t notice the way his cheeks flushed, and offered you his hand.

“let’s go,” you said, taking his hand, your smile genuine and warm.

the music had shifted to a slow song, and seungcheol led you onto the dance floor, his fingers still intertwined with yours. his heart was pounding, his mind racing, but he tried to focus on you, on the way you were looking at him now, your eyes so full of trust and something he couldn’t quite place.

“thank you,” you said again, your voice a little steadier this time.

he gave you a small smile, trying to keep his emotions in check. “i’ll always be here for you,” he said, his voice soft. “you know that, right?”

you nodded, your gaze flickering down to where his hand rested on your waist. “i do,” you whispered, and for a moment, he thought he saw something more in your eyes. something he desperately wanted to believe in.

seungcheol tried to ignore the way your body fit so perfectly against his, the way your smile sent his heart racing. he couldn’t let himself read too much into the way you were looking at him.

but it was so, so hard.

“cheol,” you said suddenly, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “can i ask you something?”

he swallowed, his throat dry. “of course.”

“why did you say yes?” you asked, your voice hesitant. “to being my date and… pretending to be my boyfriend?”

his breath caught in his throat. he hadn’t expected that question, and he wasn’t sure how to answer without giving himself away. “because you needed me to,” he said finally, and it was the truth, even if it wasn’t the whole truth. “and i’d do anything for you.”

your eyes softened, and he wondered if you could see right through him, if you knew just how badly he was hurting, just how desperately he wanted this to be real.

“you’re too good to me,” you whispered.

he shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “no,” he said. “i’m just… selfish.”

you tilted your head, confused. “selfish?”

he opened his mouth, then closed it, the words dying on his tongue. he couldn’t tell you. he couldn’t ruin this. “never mind,” he said, forcing a laugh. “just… ignore me.”

but you didn’t. your gaze lingered on him, searching, and he had to look away before he did something stupid, like confess right then and there.

“cheol,” you said, your voice so soft it made his heart ache. “what are you hiding?”

“nothing,” he lied, pulling you a little closer, trying to focus on the music instead of the way your eyes were looking right into his soul. “i’m not hiding anything.”

but he was. he was hiding everything. the way he loved you, the way he wanted you, the way he’d give anything to be more than…this.

“okay,” you said finally, but he could hear the doubt in your voice. “if you say so.”

“you know,” he said as he let out a small sigh, his voice barely above a whisper, “you didn’t have to kiss my cheek just now. not for minjun’s sake, anyway.”

you tilted your head, looking up at him with wide eyes. “i didn’t do it for him,” you said quietly as seungcheol watches your eyes sparkle and dilate, for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

“then… why?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

your gaze searching his face. “just because.. i wanted to.”

seungcheol’s mind went blank, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it. he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process the sudden, overwhelming rush of hope that filled his chest. 

“should we call it a night?” you asked, your voice gentle as you turned to seungcheol, who still seemed lost in thought. you weren’t sure if it was because of the way you had kissed his cheek earlier or if he was still worried about you, but his expression had been hard to read.

seungcheol blinked, snapping out of whatever daze he had been in. “yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. “let’s head home. but, uh, let me hit the bathroom real quick first?”

you nodded, offering him a small smile. “i’ll wait by the entrance.”

he nodded back, his eyes lingering on you a moment longer before he turned and made his way to the restroom. as he walked, he felt his heart racing, the memory of your soft kiss on his cheek replaying in his mind. you’d said it was just because you wanted to, but that couldn’t mean anything... right?

 seungcheol washed his hands, letting the cool water calm him down. he took a deep breath, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. he doesn't really want this night to end, he's not ready for that yet.

but that’s when he heard it: voices coming from one of the stalls, low but loud enough to catch his attention.

“man, i still can’t believe you're actually married,” one voice said, a hint of mockery in his tone. “and only because you got her pregnant. how the hell did you screw up that bad?”

what the hell? seungcheol’s jaw clenched, but he forced himself to stay quiet, listening.

“don’t remind me,” minjun’s familiar voice replied. “i know, okay? it’s not like i love her or anything. but i couldn’t just bail, you know? had to do the right thing, i guess.”

the right thing? seungcheol thinks to himself, yet cheating on you is okay?

the friend laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “still, hanna’s nothing compared to your ex. that girl is so much hotter than your wife. you should’ve stayed with her.”

seungcheol’s grip on the sink tightened, his knuckles going white.

“hey, i made a mistake,” minjun grumbled, clearly defensive. “she really is hot. i was just thinking with my other head back then, okay?”

“yeah, well,” his friend drawled, “i would’ve made a move on her tonight if she hadn’t walked in with that new boyfriend of hers. what’s his name again? seungcheol or something?”

“yeah, well, i tried to,” minjun admitted, and seungcheol could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “but he showed up before i could.”

“did you see the dress she was wearing?” minjun laughed as he added, “she's got such a killer body…bet I could make her cheat on that boyfriend of hers, what do you say? 50 bucks? bet on it?”

that was it. the final straw. anger flared hot and fierce in seungcheol’s chest, and before he knew it, he was storming over to the stall. he yanked the door open, and the look of shock on both men’s faces did nothing to quell his rage.

“what the fuck did you say? you think you can talk about her like that?” seungcheol growled, his voice low and dangerous. “after everything you’ve done?”

minjun barely had time to react before seungcheol’s fist connected with his jaw. the fight was quick, brutal, and messy, with fists flying and the sound of grunts echoing off the bathroom walls. seungcheol didn’t care about the pain in his knuckles or the way his cheek throbbed from a poorly blocked punch. all he cared about was defending your honor, protecting you from these men who had no right to even think about you, let alone look in your direction.

when seungcheol finally left the bathroom, his heart was still racing, adrenaline coursing through his veins. his cheeks were slightly bloodied and his knuckles were bruised.

but before he could reach the entrance to get to you, someone grabbed his arm. he turned, only to see hanna, minjun’s wife, looking at him with wide, concerned eyes. “oh my god,” she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “what happened to you?”

at first, she seemed genuinely worried, but then her eyes raked over him, and her concern twisted into something more flirtatious. she reached out, her hands brushing against his arms. “you look so hot like this with all the bruises,” she whispered, her fingers trailing down his biceps.

seungcheol stiffened, every nerve in his body screaming for him to pull away. “don't,” he held a hand up, “i have a girlfriend,” he said firmly, stepping back. he glanced around, hoping you hadn’t seen any of this.

but you had. your eyes had caught sight of the scene, the way hanna's hands lingered on seungcheol’s arms, and your stomach twisted painfully. you didn’t understand why it hurt so much to see it, why your heart felt heavy and your chest ached. this was seungcheol, your good friend. you’d moved on from this heartbreak years ago... right?

you tore your gaze away, your mind spinning. you couldn’t deny the pang of jealousy, the way your pulse quickened at the sight of him with someone else, but it made no sense. seungcheol was just your friend. nothing more.

when seungcheol finally made his way over to you, unaware that you saw him & hanna, was careful not to mention it or the fight that happened. instead, he focused on the gossip he’d overheard in the bathroom. “hey,” he said, his voice gentle, “did you know?”

you barely registered his words, your mind still replaying the image of hanna's hands on his arms. your chest felt tight, and you couldn’t explain why.

“apparently,” seungcheol continued, “this whole wedding is a shotgun marriage. she’s pregnant, and that’s why they’re doing all this.” he paused, searching your face for any reaction, but you weren’t really hearing him.

“huh?” you finally said, blinking as you came back to the present. your eyes widened when you took in his bruised knuckles and the cut on his cheek. “oh my god, seungcheol. what happened to you?”

“did you hear anything of what i just said?” he asked, a mixture of frustration and worry in his voice.

you glared at him, your concern overshadowing everything else. “no, but i’m sure it’s nowhere near as important as this,” you snapped, gesturing to his bruised face and bloodied hands.

seungcheol sighed, his shoulders slumping. “it’s nothing,” he insisted, but he knew you wouldn’t let it go. not when you looked at him with so much worry, so much care, and it made his heart ache.

“nothing?” the depth of your furrowed brows going deeper, “you're bleeding, cheol.” your tone angry.  “come on,” you said, your voice softening. “i’m taking you back to my place. i need to take care of those wounds.”

he tried to protest, but you wouldn’t hear it. “please, cheol,” you whispered, and the way you said his name made his heart stutter. he wanted so badly to believe that you cared, that this wasn’t just about him being your friend.

“fine,” he relented, his voice barely above a whisper. “but only because you’re so stubborn.”

you gave him a small, relieved smile, and he felt his resolve weaken even more.

back at your apartment, you lead seungcheol to the bathroom, rummaging through the first aid kit with a determined focus. he sits on the edge of the bathtub, watching you with a mixture of awe and longing. it’s overwhelming how gentle you are with him, the way your fingers tremble slightly as you gather supplies to tend to his wounds. he wants to believe this moment means something more than simple concern for a friend, that the tenderness in your gaze holds feelings he’s been longing to hear you speak out loud.

“does it hurt?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as you dab a damp cloth against the cut on his cheek, your touch feather-light.

“no,” he says, his gaze never wavering from your face. the sting is nothing compared to the ache of wanting you. his heart pounds relentlessly, each beat echoing the longing he’s kept hidden for so long.

you move to bandage his knuckles, your fingers lingering on his for just a moment longer than necessary. “you’re so reckless,” you murmur, but your tone is soft, carrying nothing but worry.

he swallows, throat tight. “i couldn’t stand hearing them talk about you like that,” he admits, the words escaping before he can second-guess them.

your hands freeze. you look up at him, brows furrowing in confusion. “what do you mean?”

he hesitates, regret mingling with vulnerability, wanting to tell you everything but afraid of what might come next. “just... they were saying things they shouldn’t,” he settles on, the explanation falling flat compared to the storm raging inside him. “i couldn’t let it go.”

the bathroom feels smaller, the air thicker. you lean in closer, a wrinkle of worry creasing your forehead. “seungcheol…”

his hand lifts before he can stop it, and his fingers brush your cheek, gentle and unsure. “i just want to keep you safe,” he whispers, voice cracking, heart lodged in his throat. “even if it means getting a little bruised up.”

you’re so close now that your breath mingles with his, warm and intoxicating. your chest tightens, and something inside you shifts. you can’t tell if it’s the tenderness in his voice or the way his eyes seem to hold a secret you’ve always yearned to know. you feel your pulse spike, your mind racing. all the feelings you’ve tried so hard to bury come rushing back with an intensity that scares you.

you kneel in front of him, biting back the realization that you never really moved on, that you never truly stopped loving him. your feelings have been buried, but they resurface now, raw and undeniable, and you can’t pretend anymore.

“tonight was...a lot,” seungcheol says quietly, breaking the heavy silence. his eyes search yours, trying to make sense of the tension thick in the room.

you nod, hands trembling slightly as you pull back, though not far enough to break the spell. “yeah,” you manage, voice unsteady. “it was.”

seungcheol watches you with a gaze so full of longing that it makes your heart ache. he’s proud of you, he’s always been proud of you, but the way he’s looking at you now is different. “you were amazing,” he says, the sincerity in his voice making your breath catch. “the way you handled everything… i’m so proud of you.”

his words break something inside of you, and before you know it, you’re leaning in, closing the distance. it’s an impulse, a mistake, but you just couldn't help yourself. your lips brush against his, and for a heartbeat, time stands still.

seungcheol freezes in shock, but then he responds. his hands fly to your waist, pulling you closer, and he kisses you back with a fervor that leaves you breathless. the tension snaps like a taut wire, replaced by a burst of passion, and everything you’ve both kept buried pours out.

his fingers tighten around your waist, your hands finding their way into his hair, and you lose yourself in him. the way he tastes, the way he holds you, feels like a dream you don’t want to wake from. your heart races as the kiss deepens, desperate and all-consuming.

but then reality crashes over you like a tidal wave. you pull back abruptly, breaking away, your eyes wide with shock and horror. seungcheol looks dazed, lips parted, hair slightly mussed from your hands, and the sight of him so undone because of you only makes the guilt worse.

“i-” you stammer, voice cracking as you scramble to your feet. “oh my god. i’m so sorry.”

“wait-” he begins, but you’re already moving, stumbling backward, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “i shouldn’t have… we promised we wouldn’t-”

“it’s okay,” he tries to reassure you, his voice gentle yet laced with desperation. he stands, reaching for you, but you take another step back, your emotions spiraling.

“no,” you whisper, shaking your head, overwhelmed and terrified by the feelings that won’t stop crashing over you. “i ruined everything.”

you feel tears prick your eyes, your chest aching with regret and confusion. the kiss shattered the fragile balance between you, and you don’t know how to piece it back together. “you should go,” you manage, voice cracking. “its getting late,” your head starts feeling dizzy, “I'll call you tomorrow.” 

before seungcheol can argue, before he can make sense of the whirlwind between you, you’re gone. you rush out of the bathroom, heart hammering, not sure where to go but needing to escape. the apartment feels suffocating, your feelings too much to handle, and you slam your bedroom door behind you.

you lean against it, sliding down until you’re curled up on the floor, tears spilling down your cheeks. what have you done? you kissed seungcheol, and now everything is a mess. the love you never let yourself acknowledge burns bright, and it terrifies you.

in the bathroom, seungcheol stands frozen, the ghost of your kiss still lingering on his lips. he’s never felt more hopeless, more in love, and more afraid that he’s lost you forever. the echo of your apology rings in his ears, and he clenches his fists, wishing he could take away the hurt and confusion you’re feeling.

he tells himself he’ll wait for you to call, but he’s terrified that this time, waiting might not be enough.

but still, seungcheol waits. 

the days stretched on, each one feeling heavier than the last. it had been a week since the wedding, a week since that kiss had turned his world upside down, and still, there was no call from you. you had promised, but the days passed in silence. he wanted so bad to be the one reaching out, but he knows you well enough to know that it wouldnt end well, and that you needed your own time to process things. but he couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened between you. each morning he woke up with a sliver of hope, a quiet, desperate wish that today would be the day you would reach out. but by every nightfall, the silence was all he had. the silence, and the ache that gnawed at him constantly.

he kept replaying that moment over and over in his mind, the feel of your lips on his, the way your eyes had searched his face afterward. the hope, the confusion, the raw vulnerability—it haunted him, leaving him restless and on edge. there was something about the way you pulled away from him, your apology spilling out in a rush, that made his heart ache. his own feelings were a mess, tangled up in things he hadn’t fully understood until that kiss, much less you, right?

he tried to keep busy, to drown the thoughts that plagued him. the gym became his sanctuary, his second home, a place to work out the frustration, the ache in his chest. he lifted weights until his body screamed for rest, hoping that physical exhaustion would bring some peace. but no matter how much he tried to tire himself out, the ache remained, lurking at the edges of his mind, waiting for the quiet moments when it all came rushing back.

work was just a blur, the hours blending together as he went through the motions. he found himself distracted, staring at his phone more often than usual, his thumb hovering over your contact, only to put it down before he could hit send. what would he even say? what if you weren't ready yet & him reaching out only made things worse? what if you didn’t even want to hear from him? what if his feelings were just a one-sided mess that he’d have to live with forever?

the days bled into one another, each one more unbearable than the last. he couldn’t tell anyone how much he missed you—how much he longed to hear your voice, to see you again, to figure out what all of this meant. so he kept it all inside, bottled up, carrying the weight of his emotions on his own. there were moments when he could feel it, the weight of his longing pressing on his chest, making it hard to breathe. he had tried to be patient, to give you space, but with each passing day, that patience was wearing thin.

he wondered if he’d done something wrong. had he misread the situation? had he pushed too far when he kissed you back? maybe you only kissed him because of the atmosphere or adrenaline or whatever? every time he thought about it, he felt sick. maybe you didn’t feel the same way. maybe he had crossed a line, and now he was paying the price for it. the thought of you slipping further away from him was unbearable.

his phone sat on the coffee table, screen blank, mocking him with its silence. he had told himself he’d wait, that you’d reach out when you were ready, but the longer the silence stretched on, the harder it became to believe that. he wanted to hear your voice, to know that you weren’t angry with him, to know that the kiss hadn’t ruined everything between you. but instead, he sat in his apartment, surrounded by the deafening quiet.

& seungkwan? seungkwan had been on you about it for days.

"seriously, you’re just going to leave things like this?" seungkwan had said one morning, his eyes narrowing at you over his cup of coffee. "you kissed him. you kissed seungcheol hyung. and now you’re acting like it didn’t happen. you think he’s not waiting for you to come around?"

you hadn’t responded at first, unsure of how to even begin to process it. all you could think about was the kiss, and how everything felt so wrong and so right in that moment, and how now, in the aftermath, everything was a mess.

"you’ve been so quiet about this. and it’s obvious to everyone. you’re both miserable. don’t you get it?" seungkwan continued, his voice growing more insistent. "you can’t just let it go, not after that. you owe it to yourself & especially to him to figure out what this is. what he is to you."

you had shaken your head, turning away, not wanting to face the truth. "i don’t even know what it is. i don’t know if i—"

"you’re making it worse by not doing anything," he cut you off, his eyes narrowing. "stop running from it. just talk to him, okay? if you don’t, you’re going to regret it."

you sighed heavily, sinking back into the couch. you had never been good at this kind of thing, especially when it came to feelings. but something in seungkwan’s words made you pause. the last thing you wanted was to regret anything.

"i don’t know if i can," you murmured. "i don’t know if he’ll even want to talk to me after everything."

seungkwan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "stop thinking like that. he doesn’t know what to do either, so you’re both stuck, waiting for the other to make a move. just go to him. get your act together."

before you could respond, the door to your apartment unlocks, interrupting your conversation, and there stood seokmin, looking far too cheerful for the somber mood that had settled over you.

"hey, what’s going on in here?" he asked, stepping inside with his usual bright smile.

you shrugged, feeling the weight of seungkwan’s words pressing on your chest. "nothing much. just… thinking."

seungkwan immediately jumped in, as if he couldn’t help himself. "you need to go talk to seungcheol. i’m so done waiting for this mess to sort itself out."

seokmin raised an eyebrow, a knowing look on his face. "ah," he crossed his arms, settling into the couch. "you’re still haven't called huh?"

"no," you admitted, your voice small. "i don’t know what to say to him."

"yeah, well, you’re not the only one," seokmin said with a sigh, his tone softening. "but running away from it won’t solve anything. look, and you know what cheol's like. if you tell him you need space & time & that you'll call him, he's gonna listen & wait for you. he’s not going to make the first move until you do so go talk to him, okay? figure it out. or at least to put that guy out of his misery."

you nodded slowly, trying to take in his words. it wasn’t that simple. it never was. but seokmin had a way of speaking to you that made you feel like maybe, you could take that first step.

seungkwan was still persistent, though. "seriously, i’m not letting you off the hook. you still love him after all these years, don’t you?"

"i don’t know," you said, your voice cracking. "i think i do, but i don’t even know how to deal with even coming to terms that i like him. everything’s so messed up. i kissed him, and now i… i don’t know what to do with all of it."

seokmin looked at you with an almost knowing smile. "sometimes, things don’t have to be figured out all at once. it’s okay to just… see what happens. go to him and talk. take it one step at a time."

seungkwan nodded eagerly, as if the suggestion had finally gotten through to you. "exactly. just go. trust me, you’re both miserable. just fix it."

the decision was made. somehow, someway, you had to go to him. you didn’t know what you were going to say, or how you were going to fix everything that had gone wrong, but you knew you had to try. the thought of never knowing how he felt, or whether you had a chance, was unbearable.

it had been days since you last saw him. days since everything had spiraled. and now here you were, on the verge of either fixing things or making them worse. you stood frozen, unsure of what to do. your hands trembled slightly, and for the first time in a long while, you felt completely out of control.

you knocked softly, but the sound felt too loud in the quiet hallway. a few moments later, you heard the shuffle of footsteps from the other side, and your heart skipped a beat.

the door swung open, and seungcheol stood there, looking absolutely stunned to see you standing there. his eyes widened in confusion, and for a brief second, you both just stared at each other in silence.

he seemed to take a deep breath, as if bracing himself. "you… you’re here," he said quietly, almost as if he couldn’t believe it. "are you… okay?"

you didn’t know how to respond. you wanted to say so many things, but words felt like too much. you stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to form a coherent sentence. the silence stretched, and then he spoke again, his voice breaking the tension.

"come in," he said softly, stepping aside to let you in, but you didn’t move. "did i… did i do something wrong? if i upset you, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to. i really didn’t." his voice was strained, as if he was holding back something. "i know we agreed on the whole fake dating thing for just 1 night, and maybe i crossed a line. but i didn’t mean to. i didn’t mean to make things complicated. I.. I didnt mean to make you uncomfortable.”

he sounded so genuinely sorry, and that was the moment it hit you—seungcheol was just as lost as you were.

you swallowed, forcing yourself to step over the threshold. you walked inside, every part of you feeling as though you were making a decision you couldn’t take back. the door clicked shut behind you, and you stood in the middle of the living room, unsure of what to do or say next.

he gestured toward the couch, but neither of you sat. there was a tension hanging between you two, something unsaid but felt in the air. you stayed there, frozen, trying to process your thoughts while he watched you, waiting for something.

he cleared his throat, his voice quieter now. "come sit, please," he said. "talk to me, please. is it something i did? i… i can't fix it if i dont know what i did wrong."

you shook your head slowly, still unable to find your words. you felt like a mess, and you could tell by his expression that he felt the same. the weight of everything that had happened—the kiss, the awkward distance between you two after—was hanging over you both.

finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "it’s not your fault."

"what do you mean?" he asked, his brows furrowing in confusion, a mix of hope and worry in his gaze. "what’s not my fault?"

"i kissed you," you muttered, the words coming out rushed, almost in a panic. "it was me. i shouldn’t have done it. and i’m sorry."

he seemed taken aback, a flash of guilt crossing his face. "but… why? why did you kiss me?” 

you bit your lip, looking down at the floor, avoiding his eyes for a moment. "i don’t know why," you admitted, the confession escaping before you could stop it. "i wasn't thinking…i just… i was jealous. i saw hanna with you, and i couldn’t stand it. i… i kissed you because of that, but now, i’m not sure if it was jealousy or because i like you."

seungcheol’s face softened, his eyes searching yours as if trying to make sense of it. "you were jealous?" his voice was barely audible, as if the question itself was too much to bear. his eyes were glossy, and his hands trembled slightly at his sides. he took a step closer, his voice breaking as he spoke. "you… you like me?"

you took in a deep breath, feeling the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "i think so, i don’t know..I'm not sure but i don’t want to lose you over a stupid kiss."

seungcheol exhaled shakily as his heart falters to the pit of his stomach. he felt a mixture of anger, bitterness and heartbreak flare in his chest, his fingers threading through his hair as he took a moment to gather himself. "a stupid kiss," he repeated, “you dont know if you like me?” and there was a bitterness to his voice that made your chest tighten. he looked at you, his eyes shining with something raw, something that made your heart splinter.

"it's not just a stupid kiss to me," he whispered, and your breath caught. "do you know how long i’ve been in love with you? do you have any idea how many times i’ve tried to hold back these feelings because i was terrified you wouldn’t feel the same?"

your eyes widened, your knees nearly giving out at his words. "you… you're in love with me?" you whispered, barely able to believe it.

he let out a bitter laugh, the sound cracking in the air between you. "yeah," he said, his voice breaking on the word. "i’m in love with you. it’s been hell, watching you, waiting for the right moment, praying that maybe, one day, you'd feel the same. and then you kissed me, and god, for a second, i thought it was real. i thought maybe you felt it too."

your hands shook as you tried to process his confession, the weight of his words pressing down on you, leaving you breathless. "cheol…" you started, but he held up a hand, his gaze turning away from you.

"don't," he whispered, pain etched in every line of his face. "if you're not sure, if you don't know what you want, please… don't say anything. because this? this hurts too much."

your chest ached, your heart breaking at the sight of him, of the way he was barely holding himself together. "i’m sorry," you choked out, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. "i didn’t know. i never realized—"

"that’s the thing," he interrupted, his voice strained. "i've always been here, and you never realized." he swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he tried to hold back his own tears. "i can’t… i can’t keep doing this if you don't feel the same,”

seungcheol softens as he took in a deep breath, “I can accept, no–I can understand if you don’t love me back,” he says, his voice breaking, “but i need you to at least be sure you like me. if you can’t even be sure you like me, then i don’t think i can do this.” his hands curl into fists on his knees, the weight of his words pressing into the air between you.

the tears come without warning, spilling down your cheeks as everything you’ve been holding back crashes over you. “cheol,” you begin to confess, voice trembling, “i was in love with you four years ago. back then, before everything. before my ex.” your confession hangs heavy, and you can see the shock and pain in his eyes.

“four years ago?” he chokes out. he’s crying too, his tears slipping silently down his face. “why didn’t you tell me?”

you wipe at your face, trying to catch your breath. “because i thought it was over. i thought my feelings had become platonic, that they’d evolved into this safe, distant affection. but seeing you... seeing hanna flirt with you... it hurt. it hurt because i realized i never really let you go. i still love you, cheol. and it’s not just this soft, easy love. it’s the kind that makes me want you even when it hurts.”

his sob catches in his throat, and he reaches for you, his hands trembling. “i’ve loved you for so long,” he confesses, his voice cracking under the weight of it all. “i tried to hide it. i tried to hold it back, but i couldn’t. you’ve always been the one, even when i knew i shouldn’t feel that way.”

the two of you sit there, crying together, the years of longing, misunderstandings, and suppressed emotions finally crashing down. he cups your face, thumb brushing away your tears. “so now what?” you ask, voice small and broken.

seungcheol pulls back slightly, looking at you with a playful glint in his eyes, but there's something vulnerable there too. he smiles as he rubs soothing circles on your cheek with his thumb. "now... now i ask you out on a date," he says, his voice softer, but his tone filled with so much emotion. “but—” he pauses, his smile fading slowly as his gaze turns serious now, “i’ll give you…five dates.”

“what? what do you mean?” your eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

seungcheol's smile returns as he takes in your pouty face before clearing his throat, “i'll let you decide if you still want me after that. no pressure. in case you change your mind.” his hand goes to reach for a stray hair near your cheek and tucks it behind your ear as he gives you a soft smile, still holding a certain sadness and uncertainty to it.

you smile softly, shaking your head. “i don’t need five dates to know my answer, cheol. i'm not changing my mind.” bold adrenaline suddenly pumps through your blood, and you hastily pull seungcheol closer to you in a quick motion, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, and then you place a quick kiss on his lips. it's nothing romantic by any means, neither was it movie-scene-worthy. it's nothing like that, but it is more than enough to soothe your soaring heart, and it's definitely more than enough to send your message across to seungcheol.

seungcheol’s eyes widen in surprise as you pull away. "you’re…sure.” this time, it wasn't a question.

"i'm sure," you repeat anyway for him, stepping into his arms as your heart flutters at the feeling of him finally pulling you in, his embrace as warm as you'd imagined.

his arms wrapping around you with a warmth and desperation that sends a shiver down your spine. It feels like everything you've both been holding back for so long is coming unraveled, like this embrace is the start of something fragile but real. His face buries into the crook of your neck, and you feel his breath, heavy and uneven, as he holds on like he's afraid to let go.

"i've waited so long to hear you say that," he murmurs, voice muffled against your skin. His words are shaky, the tremble betraying the vulnerability he’s still trying to hide. "i’ve wanted this for so long, but i never imagined it would feel this terrifying."

your hand finds his back, holding him just as tightly. "it’s terrifying for me too," you admit softly, your voice trembling. "but... i’m tired of being afraid.”

he pulls back slightly, his forehead pressing against yours as his eyes search your face. “let’s give this a real chance, even if it scares us. even if it’s hard." he whispers, a hint of a smile breaking through the sorrow that had clouded his expression. 

you nod, your eyes locked with his. "i want to," you say, feeling a fragile hope bloom in your chest. "i want us."

a soft, relieved laugh escapes his lips, and he pulls you into a real kiss this time—gentle, slow, and full of everything unspoken. It’s not perfect, but it feels like a promise, like a beginning you both desperately needed. you lose yourself in the moment, your heart pounding as the weight of everything finally starts to lift.

when you both pull away, breathless but smiling, seungcheol rests his forehead against yours. "so, about those five dates, even though you say you dont need them," he teases, his voice a little lighter now, a spark of his usual playful demeanor coming back. "should we count this one, or start fresh?"

you laugh, the sound bringing color back into the space between you. "maybe we should count this one," you say, your heart feeling impossibly full. "but only if it means you have to try extra hard to make the next four unforgettable."

his smile widens, the warmth in his eyes chasing away the lingering shadows of doubt. "deal," he says, his hands still resting on your waist. "i’ll make every single one worth remembering, just you wait."

[you-know-honey]

Hanging in Your Hands

Viktor x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4k

←←←1/2

Viktor finds in you a love that subtly transforms him: without realizing it, he begins to take better care of himself, rest better and relieve his pain, all thanks to the peace you bring him. Finding a way to show you what he could never do with words.

N/A: English is not my native language, feel free to correct me in the comments and I will update it. Remember to share and comment if you liked it. Endnotes.

“Home sweet home…” you hum as Viktor opens the door, letting you in first like a true gentleman. You’re the first to leave your coat on the coat rack and throw your shoes somewhere in the room, walking now much more comfortably towards the kitchen.

Viktor’s home isn’t very big, but it had changed a lot since the first time you went there. Before, everything looked like a scene from the most godforsaken place, with almost no furniture and white morgue lighting. It was hard to convince him that to improve his health he also need to improve his environment. The living room was the largest room, with a functional fireplace, a second-hand coffee table and a sofa so soft it could be a piece stolen from heaven. The kitchen was the smallest, there was no table or chairs, instead there was a breakfast bar and some swivel chairs that you had taken from the academy and that Viktor had fixed. The bathroom started the hallway, followed by his office and finally his room. You had made sure that every room reflected something positive, watering plants or doing crafts like a comfort fairy. Viktor appreciated it, he had told you so many times, he didn't mind that you filled his house with your not so practical decorations, they were your personal brand and he liked it, besides spending all that time decorating, painting and remodeling gave him more reasons to love you, to get to know you perfectly and be fascinated by what he found in your being. Without you he wouldn't have managed to make his house feel and look like a real home in which to rest.

Viktor removes his jacket with precise movements. His long, deft fingers slide the dark fabric over his shoulders, revealing the impeccable shirt that sits tight against his slim figure. He folds the jacket carefully, as if he's in no hurry, and lays it over the back of the sofa. His hands move up to the knot of his tie. His fingers, always so precise, pull at the knot with ease, undoing the pressure around his neck. The gesture, so mundane to him, has a strange effect on you, an electric current running through your body. As if that weren't enough, the top button of his shirt unbuttons under his touch, revealing just a flash of skin on his pale neck. His breathing seems to relax instantly, as if the small adjustment brings him some comfort.

Viktor exhales softly, running a hand through his messy hair, unaware that this distracted gesture, combined with the shadow of exhaustion on his face, makes him look almost unattainable, like a work of art that doesn’t realize its own beauty. You feel trapped in a magnetic web that he doesn’t even know he possesses.

“That was sexy,” you mutter to yourself as you rummage through some food in the fridge.

“Excuse me?” His low voice echoes behind you, you have no idea how he moved so fast, his tone is incredulous, and his eyebrows arch slightly.

You shrug, trying to look casual as you turn to look at him, even though you know your face is probably burning. “What I said. You’re sexy. Especially when you do that without realizing it.”

His brain shuts down for a moment, processing the bold comment. “Don’t joke with me…” he finally says, leaning his cane against the fridge and trapping you in a bear hug, your hands quickly returning his, feeling the medical corset under his shirt.

“I’m not joking,” you insist, your words crashing against his bare torso, causing him to shiver slightly, which only makes his arms draw you closer to his body. “Is it so hard to believe?” you can hear his heartbeat quicken.

“Stop it…” he replies with his lips on your head.

“Too shy to receive compliments?” in his defense you are being a little more daring than usual.

His arms pull you closer to his body as if that were possible, it is clear that he wants you to stop talking, he laughs when he feels you squirm in his arms as if you are complaining.

“Y/N…” he tells you with that tone that you know is a warning, although it is not serious, you know he is having fun.

You sigh and he loosens his hug a little, enough so that you can rest your chin on his chest.

“Shall we make dinner together?” you ask, Viktor leaned in slightly, his eyes half-lidded in a warm gesture, and brushed the tip of his nose against Y/N’s in a gentle movement, barely a whisper of contact. It was an intimate exchange, full of affection and closeness, that spoke louder than any words. It was as if they shared a secret, a moment just for them, full of warmth and sweetness.

“Sure.”

Making dinner together is a very big word for what really happens in that kitchen, you prepare everything and force him to sit behind the breakfast bar to prove that everything is on point once you start the dinner. Viktor is not afraid to admit that he does not know how to cook anything other than toast and sandwiches. The kitchen is his war zone and the oven is the enemy he has yet to overcome, luckily he has you and by the time the timer in the shape of a pigeon reaches zero his stomach growls with eagerness.

“Taran!” you proudly take the lasagna out of the oven, the warm aroma fills the whole house and both of your stomachs growl desperate for food. “How is it?” you look at him expectantly.

Viktor runs his face over the steaming mold, it looks good and smells good “It’s perfect…” although he could perfectly refer to you instead of the lasagna.

“Go to the sofa, I’ll bring the dishes in a second.” still with your gloves on you push yourself over the breakfast bar to give him a chaste kiss on the lips. Cooking always puts you in a good mood, but seeing that he likes what you cook is a reward on another level.

As you serve the plates and accompany it with something to drink, you watch Viktor’s silhouette walk towards the sofa, he limps a little but that gives him a certain charm because he no longer does it in pain, the way he sits, the way he sighs as he leans his back against the back of the sofa, the way he tilts his head to look at the fire. Everything about him seems like a work of art to you, from the veins that run through his pale, thin hands, his moles that you’re sure must be a constellation in the sky, his eyes that remind you of fresh honey in a virgin forest, his laugh, secret but beautiful like the whistling of rivers in the distance. You love him like you have no idea. Thinking about him revives your spirit, releases unbridled currents of adrenaline that die for him, to reach him, to be in his arms and stay there forever.

“Enjoy” he says when he leaves the dinner on the coffee table, letting you fall on the sofa. Using a blanket to cover you both from the cold.

“Enjoy” he answers, using his arm to pull your figure closer to him and rests his head on yours.

You both eat in silence, not because you have nothing to talk about, just that your stomachs really need that lasagna, you are focused on Viktor’s plate, but this time it doesn’t seem like your tactics are needed to get him to finish eating, he really razes the plate with emotion, something that makes you feel proud. With a full stomach it’s easier to think of something to talk about.

“How about a plant?” You ask, resting your head on his chest, there’s something about his heartbeat that works better to relax you than the ocean sound records on the record players next to the window.

“A plant? Where?” he asks with a playful tone “There are already many at home.” he mentioned, pointing with his gaze to the shelf above the fireplace, full of cacti of different sizes.

“For the lab…something small with green leaves maybe with flowers...” He can hear the small tone of excitement in your voice.

Viktor looked at you curiously. “What do you want it for?”

“For you. The doctors say plants help reduce stress.”

He smiled, a wonderful expression on his face. “Do you think a plant can handle that place?”

“I have faith in it. Just like in you.”

He takes a few seconds to look at you, there is tenderness in his gaze. He is not good with plants, in fact he agreed to have cacti only because they were easy to take care of since basically nothing happened if he forgot about it for a few days, a plant like the one you wanted requires more care but… he is not willing to say no to you, if you want it that way that will be and he will take care of that plant better than anyone else.

“A plant it is then.” He sighs. His figure moves beside you, before you know it he’s picking up the plates.

“Leave the plates, I’ll wash them,” you say, quickly getting up from the couch as Viktor begins to stack the cups and plates on the coffee table.

“No need. I’ll do it,” he replies calmly, already focused on the task. His hands move with the same precision he uses in the lab, carefully stacking each plate to keep them from falling.

“Viktor, I’m your guest. You can’t wash the dishes,” you insist, stepping forward to take the plates from his hands.

He raises an eyebrow, his expression reflecting a mix of amusement and stubbornness. “Guest? You’ve been here so many times that I could claim my bedroom. There’s no point in arguing this.” You reach for the last plate, but Viktor pushes it away with a swift movement. “It’s just a small task. It’s nothing complicated.”

“But—”

“There are no ‘buts’.” He gives you a look, serious but not harsh. It’s more like a silent declaration of victory. “I’ll take care of it.”

Resigned, you sigh and cross your arms, watching him from the couch as he stacks the plates like a jenga and heads toward the kitchen. However, as he stands up with the stack of plates in his hands, he suddenly stops halfway.

For a moment, you don’t understand what’s going on. His back is slightly bent, his posture rigid. Then, he turns his face slightly toward you, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, moving closer with concern.

“A small… inconvenience,” he says in a tone that tries to sound calm, although you notice the stiffness in his voice.

You move closer and see the reason: one of the glasses is dangerously tilted, about to fall. His hands are too busy holding the others and holding onto the cane; moving just a millimeter could lead to disaster.

“Let me help you,” you offer with a smile you can’t help.

“No. It’s under control,” Viktor insists, although his tone lacks the firmness it had before.

“Sure? Because you look like you’re a second away from creating an experiment on the fragility of ceramics.”

His lips curve into a slight smile, but his attention remains fixed on the plates. With a quick but gentle movement, you slide your hands over to catch the wayward glass before it falls.

Viktor shoots you a look, his eyes shining with a mix of gratitude and resignation. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now, can you admit that you need help from time to time?”

He sighs, shaking his head as he continues on his way to the kitchen. “No. But I’ll let you believe it, this time.”

You roll your eyes in response.

“How about I wash them and you dry them?” he offers.

“Fine.”

You watch him sitting at the breakfast bar watching him thoroughly wash each plate, glass, and cutlery, drying his hands on a kitchen towel.

“All yours,” he says as he leaves the kitchen, which is too small for the two of them. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

“Do you want some company?” His figure tenses up like a cat, stopping only to turn around slightly to find a mischievous smile on your face.

“Nice try.” A stifled laugh escapes his lips before he disappears down the hall and it’s not long before you hear the sound of running water.

The dim light of the bathroom bathed the tense lines of Viktor's figure, reflecting his thinness and the sharp features that marked his skin. Viktor took off his shirt with slow, almost mechanical movements. He had always avoided looking at his nakedness in the mirror, the reflection of a weak man made him sick, but this time the mirror gave him a different image. When he took off his shirt he discovered that on his torso his ribs were barely noticeable, his abdomen was no longer sunken and even a tiny roll of fat had formed in the lower part. He was still thin, but when he touched him he felt muscles and not just his bones, his pale skin had taken on more softness and color. The wounds left by his corset had stopped being reddened furrows and were now barely noticeable.

He caressed his neck, slightly hunched, free of tension. The scars on his side, reminders of medical procedures, were no longer like cracks, but just soft marks.

As he unbuttoned his pants, he braced himself with one hand on the wall for balance. His outer brace trembled slightly. With a methodical movement, he removed the metal piece, carefully setting it aside, as if it were an extension of himself that he could not despise.

He felt like a different person, naked in front of the mirror, admiring a more vivid reflection of himself, his hands running over his muscles that were once tired and sore, now looking strong and energetic. He smiled a little, hesitantly. For the first time, he liked what he saw in the mirror and he knew who he had to thank for that.

Steam began to fill the room as he adjusted the water to hot for the comfort of his leg. Once naked, Viktor stood still for a moment, letting the moisture envelop his skin. His body, although marked by a certain fragility, radiated an unbreakable strength, feeling each scar with something other than disgust for the first time in a long time. His eyes closed, enjoying that shower like no other.

After finishing putting away the dishes, you peeked into the hallway. You found him sitting on the bed, wearing baggy pajama pants and his shirt covering his naked torso, his head in his hands and his eyes fixed on his leg. His posture was rigid, filled with a tension that you could almost feel in the air.

You didn't say anything at first, because you knew that what he needed wasn't words, but company. You approached silently, crossing the hallway and sat down next to him, placing a hand on his good knee.

"Does it hurt?" you finally asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Viktor nodded, not raising his head. "A little. There are times when... it feels like it's never going to go away." He internally cursed himself, the whole day had passed without problems, with barely any discomfort, he didn't understand why the pain decided to attack him right now, it was as if it was mocking him.

Your chest tightened at his vulnerability. You knew how much he hated showing weakness, even with you.

"Let me help…"

He stared at you for a moment, as if considering your words. He finally nodded with a sigh. You knelt in front of him, placing his leg over your lap, pushing his pajama bottoms up to his thigh, your cold fingers giving him goosebumps where you touched them. The internal mechanism of the device on his leg was simpler but no less aggressive, as you removed the straps you could hear small gasps coming from Viktor’s mouth, his hand crumpling the sheets beside him, his skin reddening as the pressure of the device disappeared. Once the device was off you followed the usual nightly ritual, sliding your hands up his leg, applying pressure to the right spot and massaging the tense muscles in his leg and foot, you were precise, almost surgical, as you moved your hands up his leg with extreme gentleness. At first his muscles were tense but slowly you felt them relax under your touch. Finally, the tense grimace changed to a placid, lazy expression of relief as the pain faded.

"Better…" he murmured after a while. His voice sounded calmer.

“See? I’m good at this.” you said as you stood up to sit beside him on his bed.

He laughed softly, his low, warm laugh filling the space. “Maybe I should hire you as my personal physical therapist.”

“You couldn’t pay me enough.” you teased, giving him a soft poke on his nose. “But lucky for you, I do this because I care about you.” Your hands slid down his back, taking the shirt with you, exposing his medical corset. It took you a little more technique to remove it, a couple of twists here and the movement of the levers on his shoulder blades were enough to make the heavy structure give way, pulling it over his head and leaving it on the floor under the nightstand. Your hands caressed his bare back, his skin pale as sweet milk and warm as the first rays of the sun in the day.

He took your hand then, bringing it to his lips to place a soft kiss on your fingers and murmur against them, “How lucky I am…”

“You have no idea…” you said, sliding your hand up his arm to his cheek. He looked totally sleepy but willing to simply adjust his posture and have your lips meet his in a slow, delicate brush, more sensation than intention. His messy hair falling over his forehead, tickling the bridge of your nose.

Without saying anything, his fingers slowly slide up your cheek, warm and a little clumsy, as if even in his sleepy state he wanted to make sure he touched you carefully. His thumb traces a small circle against your skin, and his lips, barely curved in a lazy smile, murmur your name, so low it almost seems like a sigh.

You lean into him, unable to resist the closeness he himself seeks. Viktor, so practical and rational during the day, now seems completely given over to the moment. The whole world had been reduced to that single point of contact.

There is no rush in the kiss, only a sweetness heavy with tiredness, as if sleep were pulling at him but he couldn’t help but stay with you a little longer. His lips are warm, soft, and his breathing, calm but irregular, mixes with yours.

When the kiss breaks you don’t know how, but you’ve ended up lying on the bed, his lips barely separating from yours, staying so close that you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin. His eyes half-closed, they look at you with a softness that melts any thought.

“I have a gift for you…” his voice is barely a whisper against your lips “Can you bring my bag please?” he asked, dragging one of your locks of hair behind your ear. You close your eyes, you're so comfortable that you don't want to separate from him. "Honey... please..." his words completely disarm you, the air leaves your lungs and you have to drag him back inside, it's the first time he calls you that...

You didn't expect it, you don't know what to do or say next. "I... amhmm... I... will go get your bag..." you murmur unsurely as you basically flee the room with your heart racing. You may have heard Viktor's giggle behind you but maybe it was just your nerves playing a bad joke on you.

When you returned with the bag to the room Viktor has lifted his torso from the bed and holds a small package wrapped excellently in ornate paper in his hands. You crawl to his side on the bed, cautiously dragging his bag, was sending you for it, a trick?

The air in the room is charged with a quiet expectation as Viktor leans forward slightly, holding a box wrapped in dark, elegant paper. His fingers, always careful, seem a little tenser than usual, as if the act of handing you the gift is more intimidating than he imagined.

“This is for you,” he says, his voice low but firm, though you notice the slight tremor in his words. He hands it to you, but doesn’t look directly at you; his eyes fixate on some indefinite spot, as if he’s not entirely sure how you’ll react.

You take the box, feeling the unexpected weight in your hands. You watch him, searching for some clue in his expression, but Viktor just crosses his arms, adopting a posture that could be interpreted as casual, though his slightly stiff shoulders give it away.

“Open it,” he murmurs, and his eyes finally meet yours, shining with a mix of nervousness and something deeper, something you can only describe as affection.

As you open the paper, you discover a retro-designed camera, impeccable, with a simple elegance that suits him perfectly. You blink, surprised, as he leans over to turn it on. Before you can ask, his hand rummages through his bag, showing you the small Hextech gem and to your utter astonishment he places it inside the camera mechanism. The room lights up for a moment before Viktor presses a button and the magic begins.

At first, music is the first thing you can hear, then like real magic you see a series of hologram images all around the room: you and him together at different moments, some captured in secret, others you remember clearly. Laughter, glances, small everyday gestures. Then, the photos change to your favorite things: books, landscapes, objects you love, letters you’ve never read written in his own handwriting, every detail carefully collected.

And then, his voice.

“My name is Viktor and…” he begins, his tone deep but soft, with that meticulous cadence that characterizes him. “This is for my dear Y/N. A record of shared moments, of laughter, of everything you represent to me, of everything she is and everything she have allowed me to be.”

Your eyes glaze over as the images continue: your first photo together, a romantic poem, even the portrait of you both that an artist had made on your first date after leaving the hospital, your favorite flowers, things only someone in love would choose.

“It’s an archive of memories,” his voice continues, “but also a reminder to me. That no matter how chaotic the world is, there’s always beauty in the small moments. And in all of these moments, there’s her.”

When the voice ends, the silence that remains is overwhelming, laden with emotions you can’t put into words. You look up at Viktor, who now seems unable to meet your gaze, his cheeks totally red.

“I wasn’t sure if it would be too much.." he admits, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “But I thought… maybe you’d like it. You’ve done so much for me…”

You lean into him, setting the camera aside, and wrap your hands around his neck. “Too much?” Viktor, this is perfect...”

His lips curve into a small but genuine smile, and even though he tries to hide it, you can see the relief and joy in his eyes. This gesture, so meticulous and full of love, is irrefutable proof of how much you mean to him.

The weight of what you just saw is still present in your chest, warm and overwhelming. The camera is off to the side, forgotten for the moment, because now all your attention is on him. Viktor is still in front of you, clearly nervous but trying to keep his composure, as if you don’t know how to handle your emotions at this moment.

“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, with that analytical look that never seems to completely fade. But there’s something else in his eyes now: a mix of vulnerability and hope, as if he’s not sure if his gift had had the impact he expected.

You don’t need words to answer him.

You move toward him in one motion, your hands gripping the sides of his face before he can react. His skin is warm beneath your fingers, and for an instant, you can feel his breathing hitch, caught between wonder and anticipation.

“You’re amazing,” you murmur against his lips, and before he can process it, you kiss him.

The kiss is urgent, charged with everything you feel and everything you can’t put into words. It’s like you want to tear down any remaining doubts he might have about how much you love him. Your lips move with a desperate hunger, as if you’re seeking to etch into him every emotion he’s provoked in you.

It takes Viktor a second to react, but when he does, he kisses you back with equal intensity. His hands, ever careful, grip your waist, pulling you closer to him as if he needs to have you closer. There’s no longer any shyness in his movements, only the restrained passion of someone who’s been waiting for this moment without realizing it.

His breathing is fast, ragged, and you can feel his lips tremble slightly against yours, not out of insecurity, but from the torrent of emotions that overwhelms him. One of his arms wraps around you, while his other hand moves up to tangle in your hair, holding you with a firmness you’ve never felt from him before.

When you finally part, you’re both breathless. His eyes, normally calm and focused, now shine with a mix of wonder and devotion. His lips are red, and a smile, small but sincere, forms on his face.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” he says, his voice huskier than usual.

“Did it bother you?” you ask, still panting, your hands still on his face.

“Disturb me?..” Viktor lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head, his forehead touching yours. “I couldn’t. But… I might need another demonstration to be completely sure.”

His playful tone, combined with the way he looks at you, makes your heart race again. “Cheeky…” Without saying a word, your eyes drift to the camera still resting to the side. You take the camara with firm but hurried hands, turning it on as he looks at you with a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“What are you doing?” he asks softly, tilting his head.

“I want this saved too,” you reply with a mischievous smile, holding the camera in the air, above the both of you.

Before Viktor can react or say anything else, you lean towards him again on the bed, capturing his lips in a kiss filled with all the love you feel. This time, the kiss is more confident, more determined, as if you both know exactly what you mean to each other.

With the camera in one hand, you press the button, the click barely perceptible between the racing beat of your heart and the soft whisper of his breath against your lips.

When the kiss ends, you both stand there, foreheads together, sharing a soft laugh, as if the simple act of capturing that moment makes it even more special.

The photo joins the rest floating around the room, and you see the image: the two of you locked in a kiss, your hand holding the camera, his hair a little messy, and his face slightly tilted toward you, as if his entire world is contained in that instant.

“Perfect,” you say quietly, stroking your thumb along the edge of the camera before turning back to him.

Viktor looks at the photo, and though he doesn’t say anything, the soft smile on his face says it all. You grab the camera and add the image to the video, where that photo now sits as part of the collection. One more memory that encapsulates not only who you are, but what you mean to each other.

He looks at you once more, his golden eyes shining with something you could swear is pride. “I think this is my favorite memory so far,” he murmurs, taking your hand delicately, as if afraid the moment might fade away.

And in that instant, you know that no matter how much time passes, that photo—and this kiss—will always be unforgettable.

N/A: I'm sorry for the delay, my dog died and I didn't have the strength to do anything other than be in bed. I really hope you like it and it was what you expected.

[thursfys]

Ok ok so I have some personal headcanons bout Eddie and Volt along with their interactions with the homeowner/you I have to share otherwise I will explode-

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Volt

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I'm probably reaching here but along with the obvious Frankensteins monster and Jekyll and Hyde theming, I've noticed Volt has a bit of vampire coding? That pale and almost unnatural, otherworldly beauty he possess and that cheeky, effervescent charm kinda tipped me into the vampire camp for him. Also, it makes the funny energy vampire joke so yeah.

His ears are pointed at the tip and he has a killer set of fangs to boot; his left (forward perspective right) one is slightly longer than it should be and peaks out a tad when smirking, even without a full toothy smile.

Playing more off of that, I think Volt can absorb or even pass on some extra electricity to Eddie if the need arises. Ed having some nervous jitters from an excess amount of power? Walk over and bite him to siphon it off! Ed feeling worn out and drained? Walk over and bite him to give him some energy! Volt doesn't do it that often as Eddie is exceptionally stubborn (+ embarrassed) and will tuck his head into his neck and flare the collar of his shirt to prevent the loving nibbles. He knows he can't pass any power to you without, ahem, dire consequences, but he still gives occasional nibbles as a show of affection.

On a different note, you know how he turns blue when pissed off in the their hate ending? I don't think it stops just there, nonono, I think Volt can go full on supernova glow stick if you fully managed to unleash his wrath. The only reason he probably didn't go full concentrated power of the sun mode was out of grief and self control. If something were to happen to both Eddie and you, well, I don't think it'd end well for whoever or whatever hurt you both. (This was inspired by that one meme of the glowing dude sitting in a diner-)

Now that you're part of the couples lives, that overprotectiveness that Volt feels for Eddie has been doubled and passed over to you too. Any shenanigans around the house that the other inhabitants might involve you with are under supervision of Volt and Eddie, but mostly Volt. He follows from room to room through the wires, carefully observing interactions with those he knows are trouble incarnate like the Hanks or Scandalabra. If he sees any form on discomfort etch itself across your face, the lights in the room flicker violently and dangerously; the bulbs rattle like the tail of a viper and the conductive wiring glow red hot as a warning to the offending object.

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Eddie

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Again reaching really far for this, but I think he used to look more like Volt before he made him. Still himself but maybe longer hair, with more streaks of white hair that resembled Volts. I guess a better way to describe it would be that the ends of Eddies hair as it is now used to have Volts hair at the end. V has always been there but I think it's not just in a metaphorical sense but physical as well.

Even though the wire is fixed now, he still has a habit of rubbing the part of his chest where it is. He can't say if it's because he was so used to it's ache that he still traces the spot or from a deep, unfounded anxiety that it could come back. He'll paw at the spot if he's starting to feel overwhelmed and overworked, it'll be one of his only tells that he's fraying himself.

Eddie gifted Volt his copper bracelets as a way to ask him out and gifted a small set of rings to the homeowner as a symbol of his love for them too. I think he enjoys metal working even with the pain he feels in his hands and wrists from his arthritis, bending and twisting the copper into beautiful shapes. Some of the other objects noticed the rings on your fingers and now Eddie has a side hustle much to his chagrin (he enjoys it but some of the requests made are so ridiculous it makes him want to toss a bar of metal at em)

Again on the overprotectiveness, Eddie can be just as bad as Volt but instead of watching and waiting, Ed will book it from the Breaker Box to snatch you up and escort you back to your room. The vicious side eye he gives the offending dateable as he walks away with you tucked away in his arms is enough to drop the temperature in the room by 10 degrees (he and Hector have an agreement-)

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Both <3

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This is a more bit of a self serving hc, but I think Eddie has the better singing voice between the two while Volt is the dancer. Eddie's singing voice is a touch deeper than his speaking voice, that chest deep rumble translating to a gorgeous serenade that is reserved for you and Volt alone, despite begging him to perform for the club. Volt on the other hand is as graceful as a professional ballerina and just as flexible too, moving as swiftly as a bolt of lightning.

Volt, unfortunately, is just as tone deaf as Johnny Splash, causing him to feel a kindred connection to the poor shower which is why he's still allowed into the Breaker Box. Though Eddie has put his foot down slightly and limited Johnny's "performances" to 3-4 times a week.

Eddie has two left feet and can't dance even when putting in a proper effort; last time he tried he managed to trip himself up and smashed his head against one of the tables. The bar was closed for 2 days for him to recover physically and emotionally.

They've also taken to sponsoring Beverly's bar to help her get some more traffic from the upstairs inhabitants, and in turn she has taken to supplying drinks part time or even taking over the bar temporarily whenever Eddie is out of commission (ie strapped to their shared bed and forced to relax for the night)

Volt has taken up a bit of Eddie's workaholic nature now that he's being forced to relax, nearly pushing himself to exhaustion some nights and having to be forcefully dragged to bed like a grumpy toddler by you. The best way to keep either of them from trying to get up to open the bar is to lay on em, whether it be you or one another, the warmth and pressure keeps the complaints to a minimum and prevents them for working themselves to the wire.

Lastly I think they have decent friendships with all the objects that rely on their shared power, except Freddy (drains a lot of their power but he tries to make it up to them with snacks) and Lux (keeps turning himself and his lamps on at night to "enhance" his live streams, Eddie is contemplating unplugging all of them and locking em up in the Breaker Box storage closet). They tried to have a conversation with Lux about it but had to cut it short before either of them blew a fuse from anger, Eddie moreso than Volt.

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That's my brain rot for the night, I hope y'all enjoy it!

//DO NOT USE MY WORK FOR GENERATIVE AI I WILL THROW HANDS//

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 21

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, sexual content (smut), cheating Wordcount: 6.9K A/C: happy paige hoops day :) happy dallas assketball day... :( anyway enjoy this and please send me reactions again!! they are VERY welcome (btw i will not be working on the next chapter until late next week because i’ll be busy with birthday stuff so don’t ask pls) (DISCLAIMER: I AM NOT CLAIMING IN THIS CHAPTER THAT AMERICA DOESN’T HAVE SQUIRRELS 😭 PLS BE FR the reason paige is like wtf is because the squirrels in hyde park are crazy ok bye)

-

London

My lips still taste like strawberries when my tongue darts out to wet them, nuzzling my nose into the soft cotton of the pale blue pillow underneath my head. Flashes of last night, tongues clashing, starving whimpers and desperate hands spin in my mind - and I can’t help the smile that forms in response. God must be on my side, in fact I know he is. Because last night I got to kiss the lips of the woman I had spent the last nine months hopelessly in love with.

“Mhm, morning beautiful,” I mumble, voice still gravelly with sleep. But there’s no response. Opening my eyes, I find I’m still in Izara’s bed. Good, it wasn’t a dream. The girl, however, is nowhere to be seen.

A panic sets in. A fear. I scared her away. It was too much. I misread the signs.

I stand up faster than my mind can follow when I see it. A note placed on the vanity, with handwriting that curls and loops the way Izara’s does. Pushing my glasses onto my face, I grab it.

Paige,

I didn’t dare to wake you, you looked so beautiful. I’m sure you’re exhausted and I want you to get some more rest. I left you a towel in the bathroom if you want to shower. I’ll be downstairs when you get up x

Izzie

The panic washes away as soon as it arrived, my fingers tracing the cursive letters. I looked beautiful? She seemed to think so. Fuck. I bite my lower lip to kill the grin on my face, sliding the note into my pocket. Checking the time I realise it is indeed almost midday, but I appreciate her concern. I did feel a lot less jetlagged than yesterday.

After a quick shower I get dressed into a matching light lavender Nike set of sweats and sweater - the only clothes I had the sense to pack to bring over. I glance at my reflection, the Tommy Hilfiger boxers peeking out of the sweatpants. I better pull these up, now is not the time to sag.

Finally, with wet hair and glasses, I make my way down the carpeted steps almost giddy to see her again. 

Izara’s laughter echoes all the way to the bottom of the stairs, and my heart nearly bursts. I stop by the last step, holding onto the railing covered with a garland. The corners of my mouth lift at the sound of her giggles. 

“Good morning,” Rohan’s deep voice surprises me, snapping me out of my Izara-induced trance. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there, stirring what I assumed was tea.

“Good morning sir,” I answer. The man smiles, lifting his steaming cup. 

“Tea?” He asks,

“Oh, Ion drink tea really,” I admit, itching the back of my neck. He chuckles, nodding more to himself.

“I figured. I had a friend in my university days from America. Would drink a can of Coke instead every morning.”

I chuckle, following him into the living room, Izzie’s voice growing closer and closer. 

“Well, Ion do that either,” I joke. 

We reach the archway to find Kiran and Izara sitting on the floor surrounded by wrapping paper, the pile beside the girl neatly folded. Her green eyes twinkle as her manicured hands feel up the striped cashmere sweater on her lap. She’s still in her pajamas - a rare sight in the early afternoon.

“Ah, good morning Paige,” Mrs. Chopra who’s sitting on the couch already fully ready for the day in a knitted dress smiles politely. “I trust you slept well?”

That second, Izzie’s green eyes flicker up to me and a smile grows on her face.

“Hey,” she hums, biting down on her lower lip. Her voice is soft and smooth, laced with the secret of last night.

“Good morning,” I answer, breaking eye contact to look at Mrs. Chopra instead. “For sure, thanks for lettin’ me sleep.”

“Paige look!” Kiran says, waving a Timberwolves jersey around. I snatch it from his hands.

“You a fan of Ant? I ask, handing it back. He nods. “Let’s go to a game next time you come over.”

“Forreal?” Kiran asks, eyes sparkling with excitement. 

“Yeah, for sure,” I chuckle, glancing at the presents piled next to Izzie. Espresso machine, a black leather wallet, a silver Cartier necklace.

“Woah,” I say surprised, grabbing the jewelry box. I had never seen Izzie wear anything but gold. “Someone dropped some serious cash on this.”

“Jasper always wants to spoil her,” Mrs. Chopra gushes, standing up from her seat. Just hearing his name angered me - until I remembered I made out with his girlfriend last night and suddenly I felt better.

“What a gentleman.”

Rohan inches closer to me, covering his mouth with his hand. “He’s a pompous twat if you ask me,” he murmurs almost silently, loud enough just for me to hear. I try not to laugh, handing the box back.

“It’s pretty,” I smile. Izzie smiles back, but her eyes remain distant and distracted.

“Let me make you some breakfast Paige,” Mrs. Chopra says.

“Oh, that’s fine, I can just grab something myself,” I quickly say. The woman had been working tirelessly since yesterday to cater to everyone’s needs. It wasn’t hard to guess where Izzie got this quality from.

“Nonsense,” she waves me off, already headed to the kitchen. I almost go after her, but Izzie grabs my wrist, pulling me down to sit beside her.

“Just give up, there’s no use in arguing. Trust me,” she chuckles, her touch lingering against my skin. On top of the cashmere sweater, there’s a blue Tiffany box with a silver baby rattle inside.

“What’s this?” I whisper, fingers lifting it. The toy makes a soft clinking noise, singing with a delicate chime like rain tapping against a window.

Izara rolls her eyes and grabs it from me, hiding it underneath every other present. “Don’t ask,” she huffs, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“I won’t ask if you tell me,” I answer, confused.

Her green eyes meet mine as she lets out a frustrated sigh. “My mum,” she starts. “She got it for me. She said it would give me some ‘motivation’.”

I furrow my brows, letting out a chuckle when I realise what she means. “Motivation to get knocked up?”

“I suppose so,” she shakes her head, laughing too. But I can tell it bothers her. And I’m not sure if it’s because she’s reminded of Jasper and what she’ll have to do. Does she even want to do it still? I don’t know.

My worries melt away, however. Because Izzie grabs my hand and squeezes it underneath the cashmere sweater. 

“Here you go, it’s my Christmas morning specialty,” Mrs. Chopra emerges, handing me a plate of leftovers from last night. “And this once I’ll let someone eat in the living room since you are our guest.”

-

I’m staring into my wardrobe, clothes split into neutrals and colours hung up neatly on wooden hangers. Deep in thought, I tighten the silk robe around my body when there’s a gentle knock.

“I’m changing,” I say, but the door slides open anyway, Paige walks in, hand covering her glasses. I laugh, watching her close it behind her. She bumps into the corner of my vanity, hissing in pain.

“Open your eyes stupid,” I tell her with a giggle.

“Well Ion know if you’re naked or sumn,” she mumbles, but drops the hand.

“Like you would mind that,” I roll my eyes, grabbing a pair of flared yoga pants and a white turtleneck. 

Paige doesn’t answer, her eyes glued to me and my body. The white satin clings to my skin, sheer enough to reveal the lingerie underneath.

“Do you think this is a good fit for our walk?” I ask, laying the clothes out on the bed. But it’s dead silent. “Paige?”

Lifting my gaze, I see her watching me up and down, with a stupid blank look on her face. It sends a jolt through me, her flushed cheek and flustered expression.

“Hellooo?” I ask in a singy-songy voice, snapping her back to reality.

“Huh? - Oh what?” She asks dumbfounded. The trembling of her voice makes me want to straddle her and get her how I liked her. Begging.

I chuckle, glancing at the clothes. “Is this good?” I ask.

Mouth dry, Paige wets her lips and walks over to the bed. “Yeah, that’s good,” she murmurs absentmindedly. Oh I missed this.

“Okay,” I answer simply, and with a single tuck pull the robe open right before her eyes. The blonde gulps, covering the lower half of her face as she unashamedly lets her blue eyes travel downwards my body, taking in the thin satin fabric of my underwear and bra.

“Jesus,” she whispers, as I let the robe fall onto the floor.

“I’m just getting dressed,” I tease, turning to grab the clothes. But before I can her lips are already attacking me, hands wasting no time to squeeze and knead my ass. I whimper into her mouth and the girl takes advantage of that, her tongue clashing with mine. Demanding like she already owns me.

Suddenly I’m a puddle, holding onto her to stay upright. Paige runs her hand up and down my body, like she’s been starved of me. Just the mere touch of her hands is enough to have me wanting her.

”You’re so fucking sexy,” she moans into my mouth. God I know we shouldn’t. I should pull back. But I’m so weak and I haven’t felt pleasure like this since I left.

It doesn’t seem to be my choice, however. Footsteps approach the room, causing me to jump back and grab the robe from the floor, tying it in a rush as the doors to my room open.

”Are you girls ready? We’re about to le-” My dad stops mid-sentence, catching Paige hastily wiping her mouth and me still breathless and flushed. His eyes flicker from the blonde to me, back to the blonde again.

”Sorry, I didn’t interrupt someth-”

”No!” I yelp, my voice shrill. ”Not at all, I’m just getting dressed.”

My father clears his throat, lowering his gaze to the ground.

”Well, I’ll expect you downstairs in 20 minutes,” he smiles awkwardly, closing the door.

”I just need five!” I yell after him, but he’s already gone.

-

Hyde Park is covered in a white frost, left noticeably quieter than usual on Christmas Day. The bare trees are growing old, stood witness to generations of people among them - tourists and Londoners alike. Each exhale leaves silver fog behind it, the air crisp and cool. Yet I feel completely warm and nearly giddy. The Christmas spirit was getting to me I guess.

”Uh, Iz,” Paige murmurs and points to a squirrel, standing on a fence beside her and staring. ”Should I be scared?”

I let out a bright laugh that echoes around the desolate park, wrapping my arm around hers. 

”I’ll protect you,” I joke as we walk away from the squirrel that seems to follow after us, expecting a treat.

”Alright, remember that spider when we were in Chicago?” 

I do remember. I came out running from my hotel room, pounding on Paige’s door, screaming so hard an elderly couple came to check on me. Thankfully the blonde took care of that for me.

“Okay but a spider and a squirrel are entirely different,” I huff, watching my parents and Kiran walking 10 feet ahead of us as we trail back.

“Yeah, a squirrel could actually kill me,” she complains, eyeing the one walking behind us. 

“Wait, say squirrel again,” I demand, the word turning to mush in her mouth as she pronounces it. Very wrong, might I add.

“Yo, stop,” she groans. “It’s hard for me to say.”

I laugh. “Like jewelry?” 

Her mouth falls open as she takes offense to my words, nudging my side with her elbow. I let out a giggle and dodge her attack.

“Stop takin’ the piss,” Paige huffs.

“Oh my God, you used it right!” I squeal loud enough for my parents to glance back at the two of us. Bashfully I look down, laughing to myself.

“Yup, I’m a pro English speaker.”

“You weren’t before?” I ask. Paige laughs and pushes me off her side.

“Man, shut up.”

“Are you girls coming or just plan on giggling back there?” My mother’s voice cuts through the crisp winter air, bringing both our attention to how far back we had trailed. Like two misbehaving teenagers we scurry to them, leaving behind our own little bubble. 

As the gravel path crunches and scrapes against our shoes dragging on it, we’re met with a serene body of water - The Serpentine. Swans, geese and ducks alike are plentiful, following the few visitors besides us for a chance of a piece of bread or pastry. To me and every Londoner it was a normal sight, the swans shockingly tall and intimidating spreading their wings and getting a little too close. But not to the group of girls in front of us who squeal and run away. And apparently, not to Paige either.

“So the birds just run… Free?” She asks unsurely, carefully walking on the right side of me and creating a barrier between herself and the winged creatures.

“Yes, they’re quite fascinating. Don’t fear humans one bit,” my dad mutters as he walks on. Kiran squats down to eye-level with the birds, talking to them to catch their attention. But two geese are already keen on scaring the shit out of the blonde beside me, following after her.

“Iz, they gon’ eat me,” she whispers, taking hurried steps with her long legs to get away. It’s no use, the birds are already too fond of her and follow after. “Help me.”

I laugh easily, finding amusement in her fear. I could tell when it was lighthearted and when it was too serious to find funny. That’s how well I knew her.

“Paige, don’t be dramatic,” I complain but at that very moment one of the pair spreads its wings wide and flaps them at the blonde’s direction - and she lets out a squeal that’s loud enough to make my mother give her a dirty look I hope she misses.

“Help!” She yelps, jogging away. It’s no use. The birds follow. She was just as magnetic to them as she was to me.

“Stop running,” I groan and jog after her, shooing the geese away. She hides behind me, peeking over my shoulder until they’re far away for her to act nonchalant again.

“Yeah they obsessed with me,” she grins, dusting off her shoulders jokingly. “Can’t blame ‘em.”

I roll my eyes in response but in reality I want to laugh. “C’mon,” I tell the girl, pushing her forward on our walk. My mind is filling with ideas on the places I might show her here in London once we’re over these family responsibilities.

We walk past the old maple trees and it takes everything in me not to grab her hand. There’s a couple walking with a dog and a stroller and for a fleeting moment I imagine it’s us. I swear I can see it in my head like it’s real.

“You see those benches?” I ask Paige, pointing at the ones underneath a particularly large and tall tree with its bare branches twisting over the seat. She nods, her eyes following my hand. “I love sitting there just to read.”

Paige gives me this look that I can’t quite understand, but her eyes soften with it. 

“Remember when you used to read at our practice?” She asks gently. Somehow we’ve trailed into our own bubble again.

“I tried but you got me distracted. I barely finished a book when I was in Dallas.”

Paige chuckles and I can tell it pains her just as much not to wrap her arm around me and to kiss my forehead. I wish we could. Something about the cold weather and Hyde Park and the smell of the lake and the trees had me wanting her near.

The faint Christmas songs play on the radio as we drive home and I have to bite my lip not to lean on the blonde’s shoulder. We sit in the backseat like children, Paige, Kiran and me in the middle as I was the smallest, all red cheeks and cold hands.

“Hey,” Paige whispers into my ear, and I let her hot breath tickle my cheek. “I have like no boxers left I gotta go get sum clothes from my hotel.”

I nod in response, my stomach flipping at the idea of her spending another night. Leaving her hair, her scent, her weight on my mattress. 

“You wanna come with me?” She asks, and her knee presses into mine. I almost groan.

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. 

Her and I call a cab the moment we get to the house, standing by the front steps and waiting for it to arrive. Something about having Paige here made me feel adolescent again, to see the girl leaning on the front gate like me and my friends used to after school to spend just a moment longer together. Though, I was such an anxious child and an even more anxious teenager. I don’t think adulthood has made me any more calm, but with her around everything felt better. My father's gloves on her hands dusting the frost off the hedges, still covered in white when we sit in the cab.

“I had to get the suite,” Paige murmurs as she taps the keycard against the door to unlock the hotel room with a quiet beep. “It was the only thing that wasn’t taken.”

She opens the door for me, letting me enter first. I could tell it was a suite from the fact that the space was split into multiple different rooms, the bedroom behind double doors and white balmoral panelling decorating the tall walls. It must have cost a fortune and still she had spent the night in my bed under my parents’ roof.

“Why aren’t we spending Christmas here?” I joke, opening the doors to find a large bed covered in white sheets, perfectly made. “Matter of fact, why would we even go back to mine.”

Paige chuckles and walks up behind me, her hand wrapping around my waist and palm pressing into my stomach. It reminds me of something that sends a jolt up my thighs.

“I got a feeling your parents wouldn’t like me stealing their daughter away on Christmas,” she teases into my ear, lips nearly grazing my skin. My breath hitches.

“Who cares, they’d understand if they saw these sheets,” I shake free from her touch, walking to the end of the bed. It was too overwhelming and I don’t know how long I could bear her touch if I had to talk to Jasper first.

The blonde walks to her suitcase, digging something out. “Sit down,” she orders and I do as she says. “Close your eyes.”

I close them, stomach flipping at the thoughts of what might happen. I hated surprises. I hear the blonde digging for something and then the approaching steps and her weight creating a dip in the mattress. She places something in my hands, something flat.

“Open.”

And I do. On my lap there’s a Cadbury chocolate bar, with a little ribbon wrapped around it. My eyes widen as I see it. My heart leaps. It means more than all the expensive rubbish Jasper got me.

“It’s not much I know,” Paige explains anxiously. “But I had to get you something. And I know you can get those everywhere here so it’s probably so dumb that I got that fo-”

Her sentence is interrupted with my lips attacking hers, my hands tucking on her low pony. She’s kissing me back feverishly. Her hands already pull on my jacket, pushing it off me. I let it drop to the ground, sitting up to straddle her. She invites me on her lap and it feels like home when her familiar hands rub up and down my back. At this moment there’s no Jasper, no Dallas or London or Christmas or family waiting. Only us.

The kiss is all tongue and teeth but neither of us seem to mind, too hungry for each other to care. When I pull back Paige’s lips are swollen and bruised, eyes watering behind the glasses. I reach to take them off but she stops me.

“Don’t,” she pants, her voice hoarse and deep. “I wanna see you.”

So I let her. I pull the white turtleneck off as she watches, licking her pink lips. Her hands grab the back of my head and pull me into a kiss. The chocolate bar is somewhere on the floor, only an afterthought. We kiss and kiss and kiss for what feels like hours, my body trembling and underwear dampening as our lips slick with spit glide against each other. I’m getting desperate, grinding my hips down on her. I haven’t wanted anyone this much ever before.

Paige’s hands dip underneath my leggings to knead the skin of my ass as she tries to push them off. I climb off of her, and staring into her hungry eyes I pull them down. We’re far too gone to stop now. I stand before her in a white satin lingerie set, but she is still fully clothed. That’s not right.

“Take your clothes off,” I command, watching the way her cheeks redden in response. It sends chills up and down my spine. She merely nods and scrambles on the bed to get the pale lavender Nike set off, leaving her sitting there in a pair of grey boxers and a sports bra and a stupid look on her face.

“I said take them off,” I murmur, though I’m already salivating at the sight of her like this. Those broad shoulders and a defined but soft stomach, those fucking arms, her thighs. God might never forgive me for the sinful things I have thought about in the last 5 months. Or what I’m about to do now.

“All of them.”

“Yeah, okay,” she mumbles, mouth ajar and eyes growing heavier in those glasses. When she obeys without hesitation, I feel a gush of wetness spilling out of me. I swallow hard. Paige undresses, first the sports bra. Her nipples harden against the chill air of the hotel room, goosebumps rising on her skin. Then, finally, her boxers are kicked off and she’s bare and naked and only herself in front of me. I can’t help but gasp.

I follow suit, not even considering the bright daylight or the open curtains. I don’t care. All I care about is her. I unbuckle my bra, letting it fall off. Paige’s eyes follow, dropping from my face to my breasts. Her mouth falls slack and she takes her hand between her legs. She’s already wet, the sounds coming from the way her fingers rub her pussy telling me so. I know she’s thought those sinful thoughts too.

My green eyes follow the movement of her fingers, suddenly starving. I kick off my damp underwear, leaving them somewhere on the floor. Paige watches, breath hitching in her throat as she rubs sloppy circles on her clit. I gush between my legs.

“C’mere,” she tells me hoarsely and I do as she says. I straddle her again, and Paige grabs my hand and drags it down between my own legs for me. I feel frustrated, hadn’t I done this enough while we were apart? Rubbed myself swollen and soaked just at the thought of her? But it’s a game and she wants to play it. And I want to do whatever she wants me to.

“Oh,” I sigh when my fingers make contact with my clit, and I throw my head back. But with her free hand Paige grabs my hair and forces my gaze back to her. Her brows are arching in pleasure.

“Paige,” I plead.

“Whatchu want mama?” She asks. She already knows, but she wants me to say it.

“You,” I moan, my slick covering my fingers. “Want to ride you.”

With a groan she shuffles back on the bed, and suddenly her glistening fingers are rubbing against my lips. I let my tongue flick over my lower lip. It tastes like her. Just as I remembered. My hand grabs her left leg and pulls it over my shoulder, chest heaving with need. I felt lightheaded, my body working before my mind could catch up.

I spread her pussy apart and slot myself against her, drool nearly dripping out of my mouth as I watch. The blonde watches too, bucking her hips closer. My cunt presses against hers, our clits brushing, and it’s over.

”Oh shit,” she groans, shutting her eyes. I moan too. God I had missed this. The way she shutters underneath me, the sound of her whimpers, how wet she gets - it’s all for me.

”Paige,” I gasp, leaning back for a better angle and holding onto her knee as I grind myself into her. We’re both wet and slick against each other. I’m dripping all over her almost embarrassingly. I forgot how good sex can feel.

”You look so sexy,” she hisses, grabbing onto my hips and pulling my core into her harder. Paige is desperate, already moaning and falling apart. She’s so beautiful, breathless and red in the face.

My tits bounce along with my movements, my clit dragging against hers deliciously. The coil in my abdomen tightens. I had been dreaming of this moment for months and it was so much better than I could ever imagine. I’m drowning in her.

”Fuck keep doing that,” Paige moans. My nails dig into the skin of her legs. ”Keep doing that, ma and I’ma nut.”

”Feel so good my love,” I whimper, eyes rolling back. My legs feel tired, the muscles burning but I don’t care.

”You like ridin’ me?”

I nod desperately. ”I love riding you.” My movements turn rapid and desperate as my high builds bigger and bigger.

”Yeah, ride that shit,” she hisses, other hand dragging from my hip upwards past my breast to my lips. My mouth parts for her and I wrap my lips around her fingers, a faint taste of her still on them.

I moan against her fingers, my tongue circling her digits as I keep grinding harder and faster, our wetness causing loud squelching sounds to emerge. Paige’s eyes roll back and her moans turn high pitched - she’s right there. Which is enough to get me there too.

With gasps and moans we both fall apart, my legs trembling with exhaustion but I keep going and going, riding out our highs. Paige is whimpering and grabbing me everywhere, back aching against the mattress. I can’t look away even when my orgasm hits. I waited far too long for this

”Goddamn,” Paige mutters as I slow down, chest heaving. I push my hair back as the girl pulls her fingers out of my mouth. I let her leg fall off my shoulder back to the mattress, ready to crash on top of her with exhaustion. But the blonde has other plans.

She wraps her hands around both my thighs, pulling me to her mouth. I’ve barely come down from my last climax when I realise what she’s doing.

”Paige, my legs,” I whine but her grip only tightens as I hover over her mouth. In every other setting I would feel embarrassed being this close and exposed to someone. But not her.

”Don’t worry mama,” she moans at the sight of me. Dripping and swollen, still throbbing. ”Just sit down.”

-

It’s heaven to taste her like this, to see her this close. I want to devour her, my tongue circling her clit. But she’s still hovering. Her legs shake around my face. At this point I don’t care if I can’t breathe.

”Baby I’ma need you to sit,” I mumble against her core. She shutters.

”Paige I-”

”I said sit the fuck down,” my voice is full of authority as I pull her down and suddenly her weight is on my face. I could drown in her and I just might. I’m sucking on her clit, hands kneading her perfect ass.

”Baby,” she gasps, her moans suddenly louder as she grabs hold of my hair. It hurts as she yanks it which only makes me buck my hips in the air. She tastes better than I remembered. I wanted to eat this pussy forever.

”Ride my face mama,” I murmur into her, laying my tongue flat. She’s too gone to resist, blindly following every order I give her. Grabbing my hair tighter she begins to grind her pussy against me, her clit nudging against my nose as my tongue dips inside her. She’s gushing all over. I was wrong, this is heaven.

”It’s my pussy,” I moan against her, my core throbbing just at the taste of her. ”Tell me.”

”It’s your pussy baby,” she whimpers, grinding harder and faster. I can barely breathe. ”It’s all yours.” To hear such sinful things coming out of her sweet mouth causes that familiar knot to build within me. And when I open my eyes the sight only makes me get closer - Izzie, leaning back and hair flowing in the air, breasts perked up and round as she grinds herself onto me. I want her like this forever.

”Fucking love this pussy, gonna be eatin’ this all day you feel me?” I murmur against her, my tongue slipping in her slick folds.

”Mmm baby whatever you want,” Iz cries out. ”Can have whatever you want.”

”That’s my girl,” I groan. My girl.

”It’s your pussy Paige.”

”I own you?” I pant out. I needed to hear it. The confirmation I had been dying for. She might date whoever, but her body and her mind are mine. They’ve always been mine.

She mewls and her body trembles. She wants it so bad. But she’s just so tired. 

”You own me,” she whimpers, her moans impossibly loud. I just hope the walls are soundproof enough - but then again, let everyone hear. Let the whole city know who Izara Chopra belongs to.

I grab hold of her legs to stop the movements that were turning frantic and sloppy. She lets out a moan of relief, holding onto my hair as I do the work for her. My jaw aches and my tongue is tired but I lap her up, her taste and the sounds of her mouth enough to get me moaning.

”Paige, I’m gonna cum,” she cries out, legs trembling around me. Those high pitched whimpers, fuck I forgot how good they sounded. My hand drags down to my clit. I’m soaked again.

”Cum on my face baby,” I murmur against her, having to rub my clit lightly only a few times to get my own climax to build. I never wanted to cum so bad - with her pussy on my face and her taste in my mouth.

”Oh shit, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she moans, tugging harder and harder. I can’t breathe. I don’t care. I feel the knot in my stomach build and build and build.

”Oh fuck,” Izzie cries out, grabbing the wall in front of her as she climaxes, gushing down my face. I drink her up, the taste of her overwhelming me as I cum too, forcing my eyes to stay open so I can watch her.

”Paige,” she sighs and I keep holding her down, lapping her wetness up. Iz squeals and pushes my hands off her with a laugh. ”Paige stop!”

”I dunno if I can,” I admit, not sure if it’s sweat or her that’s dripping down my neck.

She crashes beside me, trying to catch her breath. Her makeup is running down her cheeks and her black hair is knotted at her neck but she’s never looked so beautiful. How I missed seeing her this way.

We both know it’s not right. She’s not all mine really. There’s still Jasper, and a lot for us to figure out. But right now I don’t care. I pull her into me and smell her hair unashamedly.

”You got no idea how much I missed you,” I whisper into her. She meets my words with a kiss and I know she feels the same.

”Wanna lie here forever,” she murmurs into my skin. I almost melt, my heart jolts almost uncomfortably. The things I would give up for her, I hope she knows. I love her. Endlessly. Irrevocably. Forever.

The cruel sound of her phone buzzing on the ground cuts through the air. She scrambles to her feet like a baby deer, still shaking and naked.

”It’s my mom,” she groans. ”She’s asking why we’re taking so long and that Christmas dinner will be done soon.”

”Shit, what time is it?” I ask, getting up to get dressed. Iz watches, amused.

”Oh no, I’m not taking you back till you’ve showered gorgeous,” she tells me, snapping her fingers towards the bathroom. ”Chop chop.”

-

My legs still shake at Christmas dinner, a reminder of the sin shared by me and Paige. It doesn’t help when my father makes her sit right next to me, and her knee presses into me, the heat of her skin against mine only separated by the worn softness of her loose jeans.

A weird silence looms over the table as we eat, until my dad clears her throat.

”How nice to be just with family,” he says, taking a sip of his wine. Kiran laughs.

”Dad, Paige is here,” he points out. Paige and I chuckle too.

”Oh, right,” he says, eyes widening as they turn to her. ”I suppose I meant how nice for Jasper to be elsewhere.”

”Rohan!” My mother gasps, and for a fleeting second I think she might chuck a pig in a blanket at him. I’m surprised too. I knew he wasn’t fond of Jasper but I never realised how much he actually disapproved. Still, his name hits like a wave against the rocks on a shore.

”He’s a nice lad! Just a bit much sometimes,” my father defends. My mom is fuming.

”Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you,” she hisses, putting her cutlery down. ”You’re confusing poor Izzie.”

I put my cutlery down too, suddenly losing my appetite. I hated when they infantilized me, like I was a child so easy to manipulate.

”Could we not talk about this right now?” I ask, keeping a cool tone with effort.

”See,” my dad grins and leans back on his chair. ”She doesn’t want to talk about Jasper either.” He looks smugly at my mother.

It both frustrates and embarrasses me. Why did he have to do this now with Paige sitting beside me. I didn’t want her to see this. I didn’t know anything.

”Stop!” I yelp, making even Kiran put his food down. The silence that falls over is heavy, everyone’s eyes are on me.

I get up clearing my throat. ”Excuse me,” I murmur, my cheeks feeling hot. Ignoring my mother’s refusals, I walk out and straight to the living room, to the grand piano.

Swallowing my frustration, my fingers drag over the white keys, pressing down on each of them. Lazily I play the notes of Clair De Lune still found somewhere deep in my cortex from the piano lessons I took as a kid. I sit there for a while, in the twinkling light of the Christmas tree.

”I didn’t know you play,” Paige’s voice interrupts me, making me stop.

”I used to,” I admit, making space for her on the stool. There barely is any. I remember when Kiran and I were small enough to easily fit both of us.

”Keep playin’,” the blonde murmurs. She knows I’m not in a mood to talk about it. And I’m too upset to feel shy over my rusty skills. My fingers play the notes of Your Song, gently humming the melody. It’s almost impossible to stay focused under the burning gaze of the blonde beside me.

She merely watches as I play, the tension in the dining room a distant memory now. I consider kissing her. Until my father knocks on the archway, making me stop and Paige to drop her gaze.

”She’s some player huh,” he says as he walks closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. ”I always thought she could play professionally.”

”She’s the best,” Paige hums and her tone is so loving and gentle it makes my cheeks flush.

”Would you mind if I talk to my daughter just for a moment,” he asks. ”I’ll have her back to you in no time.”

”’Course,” Paige scrambles onto her feet but checks with me before leaving. I nod, letting her go. I move to the couch with him.

”Great kid,” he points towards the archway where Paige had disappeared just moments ago.

”Yeah,” I hum. ”The best.”

He stares at me with a strange look. Funny, you’d think that you know your parents through and through, every look and sound and their hidden meanings. But I have no idea what this particular gaze means.

”I wanted to apologize for my behaviour,” weird, he wasn’t one to apologize normally.

”It’s okay,” I smile dryly, playing with the hem of my knitted dress.

He scooches a little closer to me, like he’s about to tell me something important. I perk up, watching into his face. 

“You won’t understand until you’re a parent yourself,” he starts. “But all I want for you is happiness. Your mother too, though she has a strange way of showing it.”

I chuckle at his words.

“And if Jasper makes you happy, then I’m happy for you both.”

There’s a but coming.

“But,” there it is. “And maybe I’m wrong, but it doesn’t seem like he does.”

I clear my throat, dropping my gaze to my lap. I feel unsure of what to say. I know he’s right, but it’s different to say it outloud. To finally admit something I’ve known all along.

“That’s all,” he says, realising how flustered I got. “Just think about it,” he waves it off like he didn’t just have me nearly spiraling, grabbing a book from the coffee table and skimming through it. Until he puts it down again, avoiding my gaze.

“I’ve never seen you laugh so much or so loud since Paige came over,” he says with a lighthearted tone. But I have an inkling he means something else, something that makes my stomach churn. “You seem happy.”

Before I can answer, Kiran and mum barge into the room shifting the mood entirely. Of course, my mother ignored what happened in the dining room, like she ignored every problem.

“Love Actually time?” Kiran asks, taking a seat on the chair my father usually sits in.

“What’s Love Actually?” Paige asks as she enters the room too. Suddenly everything feels lighter.

“The best Christmas movie ever,” Kiran says. “We watch it every Christmas.”

“It is a British staple,” my mum chimes in. I make space for Paige in the corner of the couch as the movie starts playing. But my mind is elsewhere, somewhere between Jasper and my father’s words and the way my life might turn out. It’s enough to cause a headache, or maybe it’s the wine.

-

“Why are all these songs bangers?” I whisper to Izzie as we watch the movie. I’m fully invested, and happy to be included in something that felt like such an intimate family activity. A bowl of chocolate is being passed around, Rohan trying to hand it to his daughter mindlessly. But she won’t grab it.

Izzie’s dad leans forward and lets out a gentle laugh. “I think she’s asleep,” he whispers. And in that moment, to confirm his suspicions, her head lulls until it finds its home in the crook of my arm. I pray to God no one notices the way my cheeks turn bright pink.

“Yeah, I think so too,” I laugh, careful not to wake the girl up. Instead, almost instinctively, I wrap my arm around her and pull her in. It’s platonic enough to not seem suspicious. I think. Her scent lingers in the air, mixing with the Christmas tree sitting pretty in a corner. I want to have every Christmas like this.

The couch shifts slightly as Rohan gets up, his usually heavy steps light and careful. Grabbing a blanket from the edge of the chair, he walks over and tugs me and Izara under it. Mrs. Chopra turns, watchful from the opposite corner of the couch. Kiran looks too. But Rohan offers me a warm smile when my eyes meet his, and brushes a strand of Izzie’s hair off her face. She stirs, nuzzling her nose into me. But Rohan only smiles. And in that moment I know that he knows - and it feels like permission.

-

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[otsalezu]

Dr. Pinington One Shot 2: Lobotomy Boogaloo

Credit to the amazing @babyblankyerror for the AU and the amazing @coniferouspines for the AU of the AU! I took some liberties with it but I hope you guys enjoy! Writing below the cut, as usual.

The living room was completely silent, save for the constant tapping of Stan’s finger on any nearby surface. The man’s fidgeting didn’t seem nervous, being almost subconscious if anything. In contrast, Ford sat uncomfortably still. He cursed himself for letting Fiddleford go out for groceries on his own. He’d simply been too awkward to join the man, and his research partner took no extra time escaping the strange faux doctor in the room. 

The awkward silence gave Ford some extra time to examine just how much his brother had changed. The clothes, for one, were definitely out of place. Slightly tattered and stained, draped in a long lab coat. The silliness of the name tag and various cartoony designs stitched across the lab coat reminded him more of something his brother would have done when they were little. His hair was long and matted, as if it hadn’t been brushed in a long time. The signature curls it had once sported were completely gone. Even more worrying were the long stitches that seemed to cover his hands. They seemed expertly done, but Ford had no doubt he had done them himself. Various smaller scars littered his visible skin, barely standing out unless he squinted. 

Most concerning was the eye. Pale blue, the pupil much too small. It stared ahead, as if looking past him. He tried not to say anything, but the gaze seemed to draw the question out of him. Before he could even think about what he was saying, he had blurted it out.

“What happened to your eye?” He quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, but the man didn’t seem offended. If anything, his grin widened.

“Oh, that’s right! You wouldn’t know! Hmm…where do I start? Oh! Okay, let’s start with my old boss!”

“Your old boss removed your…?”

“No, nothing as crude as that! Let me finish, okay? So! I was a good worker, very good if I say so myself! But! I had a problem. You know me, Six. Always rebellious! Stubborn as a mule, that’s what ma always said! So my boss did a little research.”

Stan laughed, a disjointed and wheezy sound. Then, after a few coughs, his face twisted into a thoughtful expression.

“Say, brainiac, you know what a topectomy is?”

“Ah, I can’t say I do.”

“Hmm, that’s what I thought. Okay, do you know what a transorbital lobotomy is?”

The world seemed to screech to a halt. Nothing about his brother’s demeanor had changed, still the same eerie cheeriness as before. To Ford, however, he felt like throwing up. As if not noticing his brother’s change in demeanor, the doctor continued.

“Well, they needed to do it through the eye.”

He tapped the blue iris, grinning as if he;d just told a great joke.

“Isn’t it wonderful? It was all very experimental, of course. I wish they’d filmed it! Of course, I made it a bit difficult. For some stupid reason, I went down kicking and screaming. Weird, isn’t it? Well! They tried their best, but sadly I woke up in the middle. The doctor they hired wasn't a professional, not like me! So he startled easily, and…squish!”

Ford jumped at the onomatopoeia, cringing. His vision blurred slightly, as he processed what had just been told to him.

“Stan…”

“Of course, I thanked them all after. They all got free procedures!”

“Stan, you…”

“I got to take over that old doctor’s office. Very unprofessional, he barely even sterilized his station! But I was so much better than him, really. It was no big loss! But I’m not ungrateful. As thanks for him fixing me with his procedure, I modeled my new eye after his! Pretty, isn’t it? Wanna see it closer?”

“Stanley!”

The doctor startled, confusion flashing on his usually jovial face. Ford took in a ragged breath, swallowing the bile in his throat.

“Are you telling me someone tried to lobotomize you?”

“Well, yes! That’s what I just told you about. Always so silly, Sixer. But don’t look so sad! My hands have been so much steadier ever since! I’m twice the surgeon I was before!”

“Before?”

Stan opened up his lab coat, fishing out a photograph from one of the many mismatched pockets inside.

“Here! Take a look!”

The photo of Stan had two brown eyes, and significantly less stitches. He was standing near a few unfamiliar men, in what seemed to be a dingey excuse for a doctor’s office. He had the same wobbly smile on his face, though every part of his face seemed laced with fear. His hands were slightly blurry, as if they had been shaking when the photo was taken. Stan quickly stuffed the picture back in the pocket.

“What a wreck, right? I was horrible at my job! Just horrible! But now, I don’t get all anxious and shaky. You can trust me to perform any operation!”

“I’m so sorry. Stanley, I’m so—”

“Don’t apologize! It’s a bad picture, I understand!”

“That’s not—”

“Hey, why are we talking about my dumb old past! I’m much better now, that’s all that matters!”

Ford stared at his twin’s expression. It seemed just as happy as ever, but something about it was different. It was as if looking at the old photograph made him uneasy, uncomfortable. Ford didn’t understand it, but he didn’t want Stanley to be upset. Not after all he’d talked about. A pang of guilt rang out through him as he thought about how terrified he’d been just moments ago.

“Alright, Lee. We can talk about something else.”

The old childhood nickname made Stan’s face split into that unsettling grin, though it didn’t disturb Ford half as much anymore. He smiled a faint smile in return, sitting back down.

“Well, let me tell you about my first day in Gravity Falls…”

[pupkashi]

a/n: happy belated solo saturday !! meant to post this yesterday but got busy w other things </3 i hope u guys like it !!!

thinking about jinwoo who has a tendency of making mountains out of mole hills when it comes to you, the love of his life.

you have a slight cough? should he give you a potion? take you to the doctor? where’s the thermometer? he wants to make sure you aren’t running a fever. you have a small cut on you? he’s healing you up the moment it happens or the moment he’s aware of it.

“jin you know im not gonna die from a paper cut right?” you tease, watching your raven haired lovers eyes flicker a pale blue color for a second. “right?” you repeat, giggling when you see a small pout on his face.

“don’t want you hurt, not when i can heal you” his voice is a bit heavy for the lighthearted joke you were making, causing your eyes to soften as you let out a small sigh.

your fingers find themselves in his hair, pushing it back and exposing his forehead. you press a light kiss to his forehead, holding him a bit close for a second before pulling away. “and i love you for it, but i don’t need you worrying about me and putting pressure on yourself when im not even in danger” you reason, a small smile on your face as your eyes catch his.

jinwoo blushes a bit, mind wandering to all the times he’d panicked more over your minor injuries than you did. “I’ll try not to” he sighs, smiling softly when you give him a kiss on his nose, “promise me you’ll come to me when you are hurt.” the serious look on his face is enough to send chills down your spine, making you giggle and nod.

“you know I’ll always call you first.”

your words are enough to ease your lovers worries, his fingers ghosting over your skin before pulling you into his chest and letting himself melt into you.

two days later you’re calling for your lover from across the house, he’s at your side in an instant. “yes?” he asks, his chin resting your shoulder as he looks at the papers on your desk.

“i got a paper cut” you pout, holding your finger up for him to see. the beat of silence makes you turn your head to the side, a confused look on your face when jinwoo doesn’t heal it.

“what?” he asks, a teasing smirk on his face that makes you let out a huff. “oh did you want me to heal it? but you aren’t gonna die from it, and it’s not even bleeding” he states, gently grabbing your finger and pulling it closer to inspect it. “I think you’ll live, my love.”

you smack his shoulder, a playful scoff leaving your lips as you tear your hand from his grasp. “whatever i didn’t want you help anyway” you mumble, going back to what you were doing.

jinwoo grabs your hand again, healing your small paper cut before pressing a sloppy wet kiss to your cheek. you feign disgust, a smile on your face as you grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him in for a kiss on his lips. jinwoo can’t help but smile as your lips meet, letting out a satisfied hum.

“does this mean i can keep fussing over you?” he asks when you pull away, you can’t help but roll your eyes at him.

“as long as you don’t stress yourself out over it” you reply, jinwoo opens his mouth to reply but you cut him off, “and i get to do the same over you.” the latter makes him huff, his bottom lip sticking out as he looks to the side before looking back at you.

“I’ll tone it down” he replies, “now cmon.” jinwoo wastes no time in picking you up and carrying you to the couch, there’s no point in arguing, instead you let yourself nuzzle into your boyfriends side. jinwoo pulls you in closer, kissing the top of your head and smiling down at you fondly.

maybe he does fuss over you too much, but he didn’t plan on stopping anytime soon.

[coffee-blvck]

Soap pops an unexpected question 💍

Originally posted on my AO3 - coffeeblvck

“Marry me.” Nearly drowned out by gunfire, it takes a few moments for the words to settle in your ears. Half pleading, half a grunt, as Soap throws his back against the concrete barrier. Bullets rain above your heads.

When your thoughts finally catch up with one another, you're left staring at your partner. You must look like a deer in headlights, blinking as if trying to convince yourself you had actually heard him. “What??”

“Marry me. Right here, right now.” He breathes, twisting up and firing twice. You continue to stare dumbly. This had to be a joke. You're in the middle of battle right now, fighting for your lives. But his tongue is dripping with fierce honesty and you can't come up with any other reason. “Serious, Major. Marry me.”

Your body reacts before you can form a response, gripping fiercely at his collar and pulling him to you. Gunfire still peppers the air around you as you kiss him. It's hasty and you both jerk a little, pulsing with adrenaline and flinching against the onslaught of gunfire.

It's your turn to twist about, firing down a few loose ends breaking from their lines of defense, and as you turn back Soap is mirroring your elated grin. Checking your magazine, you shrug. “Okay.”

Neither of you bring it up again. When you're the last to make it back to the safe house, Ghost is the first to grill you and Soap on your recklessness, and for not responding to the comms after the fact. Price was at the ready, with Gaz at his side to lead a squadron to track you down. When Soap merely ducks his head and takes the scolding without argument, the team starts to question what really happened out on the field. Your sheepish grin doesn't help the matter as you depart to clean yourself up.

That night, draped together and still high with adrenaline, it comes up. “I was serious ya know,” He whispers against your neck, peppering the soft skin with his lips and hoping, praying, you were as serious as he was. He takes your fingers curling through his as a good sign.

You're so pretty, Soap thinks, bathed in the moonlight and wrapped against him. He wants to die this way. He could die a happy man even if this was his last memory.

“I was too.”

A beat of silence. Soap hoists himself onto an elbow, gazing down at you to be able to see your full face. To memorize the way your eyes glittered in the pale light, the smile that forced the dimples and lines into your cheeks. It was a little crooked, your smile, but he could swear he’d never seen any art as perfect.

“Say it again.”

“I'm serious, Johnny. I’ll marry you.” You kiss him, soft and quick and he can't help but pout as you pull away, falling back into the mattress.

“I love you.” He breathes. This was heaven, and he was the luckiest man on earth at this moment.

“You're dumb.” You laugh, pulling gently at his neck for another kiss. “I love you too, pretty boy.”

Price is the first to notice the pretty little gem on your finger and how his usually level headed medic can’t stop staring at it during that morning's debriefings. It had been a few weeks since the operation and the question, a long overdue moment of quiet for the entire Task Force. No one had really paid any mind to the way Soap kept his chest puffed when you were in the same room together.

“Is that what happened, Major?”

“Is what what happened?” You ask dumbly, attention pulled away from the little gem.

“That,” Price gestures with his cigar. “It's new.”

“I'm married.” You blurt out, a shy grin creeping across your features. You couldn't hide your excitement anymore. It hadn't been a secret, but neither you nor Soap had gone out of your way to spill the news either. Now with the ring around your finger, Soap had given it to you one early morning over coffee before training, you found your new reality hammering inside your chest, begging to be flaunted to someone, anyone who would listen.

“Come again?” Price was sure he had heard you correctly, but couldn't help but ask for you to repeat yourself. The task force was his family, and his heart swelled with pride that a piece of his family had found their happiness.

The grin on you only grows. “I'm married, Captain.”

“When…?”

“Johnny asked while we were clearing loose ends, before we made it back to the safe house. It was so fucking stupid. How could I say no?”

[supercap2319]

Clark Kent and his childhood best friend, a wizard, Clark has a bisexual awakening and gives up Lana for the reader, something cute, I'm kind of needy

Best Friends

Y/N watched with an amused grin as his best friend fell down at the dainty feet of Lana Lang? Again? He couldn't help enjoying the entertainment value of Clark Kent making a fool of himself for a girl who was too needy and popular. Clark could have his pick of dozens older, and more importantly, legal girls. They all fell for that farm boy sweetness and Boy Scout charm.

Clark had been crushing on Lana since the third grade and while it had been cute in elementary school, now, it was just sad. Like a bad Netflix rom-com, where the nerdy guy gets the very pretty, and very unattainable popular girl. It just wasn't fair in Y/N's opinion. Lana wouldn't give Clark the time of day, no matter how hard the farm boy tried. He just wasn't what Lana was looking for. Probably a gay best friend or even a friend, but not a lover.

It didn't matter anyways. Clark always got sick and pale around Lana, and they both knew the reason for it. It was that damn meteorite necklace that she always wore around her neck. It was a green diamond, tied by a silver cord. Lana started wearing it after the meteor shower hit Smallville. It was around the same time that Clark came into their lives.

Clark was an alien from another planet, who arrived in Kansas in a spaceship. Mr. and Mrs. Kent adopted him as their son, and the rest was history. At least until Y/N found out Clark's secret. It was third grade, and Clark had accidentally hovered in front of Y/N. It had shocked him, but he understood what it was like to keep a secret. 

Y/N was from a long line of wizards with wands, spells, and magic. The whole nine yards, if you will. That's where their friend became stronger than anyone else in their friend group. Stronger than Pete's. Stronger than Chloe's. Y/N and Clark were an unstoppable duo, until it came to Lana.

“Hey, Clark. Hi, Lana.” Y/N said. He picked up a few of the books Clark had dropped when he was trying to act cool in front of Lana. He didn't hate but, man, he really wished he could portal her into another dimension. Clark would not be happy with him if he did that, but it was a comforting thought.

“Sorry, I didn't pick you up, man. I was up late last night finishing an article for the Torch, and Chloe will kill me if I don't have it in her snarky, dainty hands by the time the bell rings.”

“That's okay. I managed.” Clark gave Y/N a secret smile. An inside joke between them. They both knew Clark was referring to his super-speed. He must have used it to catch—beat the school bus to school.

Lana, was momentarily forgotten about. At least she was, until she cleared her throat, gaining both boy's attention. “Glad you weren't hurt, Clark. That was a pretty nasty fall.” Lana said, tugging a strand of hair behind her ear. Made her look so innocent and pretty, that Y/N wanted to gag.

Apparently, it worked on innocent farm boys, because Clark was grinning ear to ear, a slight blush on his handsome face. “Thanks, Lana. I'm fine.” Of course he was. He was Indestructible, until he got near that green meteor rock, and suddenly all Clark's powers and abilities were replaced by pain and nausea.

“I'm glad. See you guys around.” She turned on her heel and left, joining her friends in the social patriarchy that was high school. 

……

That night, at the Kent farmhouse, Y/N and Clark were up in the loft (Fortress of Solitude as Clark likes to call it) working on an assignment for school. After this morning's disaster of America's Funny Home Videos, Clark had begged Y/N to sign up with him and Pete for the football team. Football was Y/N's style, but he did it for Clark. True, Mr. Kent was gonna be upset when he found out what Clark had done, but hey, it was worth it, right?

Clark had been wanting to join the football team since 6th grade peewee league, but Mr. and Mrs. Kent was afraid he might accidentally hurt someone with his powers, so they forbade him from competing in any sports. It was kind of sad, really. Clark never get to experience the highs and lows of being on a team of meathead jockstraps, as Chloe affectionately references to them.

“This is boring. Let’s take a break and order a pizza. I'm starving.” Y/N tossed his math book on Clark's desk. The taller boy shot him a pointed look. “And who says you're in charge? It's my fortress, I decide what we do.” Clark grinned.

“I've been making the decisions since we were in diapers, Kent. You can't be insubordinate now.” Y/N grins back. It was nothing serious between them. Just two super-powered teenagers looking to unwind after boring algebra. 

“Oh, yeah? And who's gonna stop me? I have the phone right here.” Clark held up Y/N's phone with a grin on his face. Y/N waved a hand, and the phone came flying into his hands. “Checkmate, Clark. The guy with the wizard powers always wins. Just ask Harry Potter.”

In a blur, Clark had Y/N’s phone in his hands once again, waving it around in a teasing way. “I got the phone. Gonna order pineapple and anchovies.” He turns to walk down the steps of the loft, towards the ground floor barn. Y/N lifts Clark into the air using his powers and grunts. He's heavier than he looks. He turns Clark to face him. "You do realize there are about 6 different ways I can break free of this."

Y/N smiled interested. "Take your best shot, Kent.”

Clark smiles as he just starts spinning around in mid air thanks to Y/N keeping him up. At a human speed at first,  but eventually it picks up momentum until he becomes a red and blue tornado. Y/n stumbles and loses his grip on him, and Clark lands feet first on the floor.

“You cheat!” Y/N accuses.

“Nah, I didn't cheat. You just suck at magic, dude. Or just plain suck, if you know what I mean.” Clark's eyes wiggled in a teasing way. Y/N growls and charges before feeling his back on the plush couch. Clark was on top of him, pinning him down. He grins and leans downward. “You're all mine, tough guy.”

“And just what do you plan on doing?” Y/N asked.

“This.”

Clark leans downward and kisses Y/N. It was soft and sweet, like taffy. Clark tasted like the powerade and peanut butter sandwich he had for lunch today. It was a strangely appealing taste. The kiss was something and everything that Y/N imagined with Clark. He had a crush on his best friend! He was so screwed.

A few moments later, Clark pulled back with a blush on his cheeks, replacing the cocky guy, who was just pinning him down a second ago. “Y/N? I think I'm bisexual, and I have a crush on you. Please don't hate me.”

“Hate you? Clark, you're my best friend. I could never hate you, but I will admit that I've been crushing on you too.” Y/N blushed.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really, but what about Lana?” Y/N asked. This was definitely not the way to win her affections. Not by kissing boys, who are your best friend in a barn loft.

“Who cares about her? I got someone even better.” Clark leans down once again, placing a chaste kiss on Y/N's lips.

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x half-blood fem!reader

Summary: You comfort your darling boyfriend after an overwhelming sight at your muggle grandparents' house.

Genre: hurt and comfort, fluffy, blurb

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of hunting, taxidermy animal head, crying, Jamie is sensitive <3

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

You were beyond pissed at your parents.

You had told your mom, hoping she'd understand considering she was also raised in a sheltered pure-blood family, that James was sensitive and that he didn't have many experiences with muggles or muggle culture.

It hadn't crossed your mind to mention that your boyfriend was an animagus, or that he could turn into a stag, because why would you? You hadn't seen your muggle grandparents in a while, and you would have never imagined the new decor in their living room to be a taxidermy stag head in their living room!

Your grandparents don't even hunt!

"What's up his ass?" your oldest cousin asks smugly. He's standing next to you as he blows smoke from the corner of his mouth and he holds up his cigarette to his lips.

Your family had watched with pure confusion as your poor boyfriend sprinted outside, his complexion pale and his eyes watery. 

You cover your mouth, coughing from the smoke as you swat the air and your cheeks burn from embarrassment and anger. 

Without answering your cousin, you run to the entrance and shrug on your coat, grabbing James's as well. It's early October and it's chilly outside, you don't want James to catch a cold.

You slip on your boots and leap into the backyard, calling out for your boyfriend. "James!? Where are you?" you sound distraught as you look around for him frantically. 

You sprint into the woods behind the house, wondering if perhaps he'd disappeared there. When you see a shadow sitting in the grass not far into the trees, your heart breaks. 

"Oh, Jamie," you whisper and walk up to him. 

You kneel and drape his coat over his shoulders. Carefully, you sit next to him, holding him. "I'm so sorry. If I had known then I would have never—" you start, soothing a hand up and down his arms but your sentence quickly dies when James leans his head into your lap and you see tears roll down his reddened cheeks. 

"His eyes were so lifeless," he mutters, his voice broken. 

"I know, baby. I'm so sorry," you try and soothe, chewing on your lip. James moves his arms around you and sniffs a little. He sounds so weirdly vulnerable in your arms and it's so different from the James you usually see. 

Always so sure of himself. Always so brave. 

This reminds you of the few times you'd seen your boyfriend cry, but somehow this was still different. This time his tears made your chest hurt because you are partially to blame.

"I knew muggles have those in their houses sometimes. I mean, wizards and witches do too I think—I just didn't think I would see one," James continues and squeezes his eyes shut, "It just looked so dead." 

You smooth a hand in James's curls and press a kiss to his forehead. "I'm so sorry," you say, "I told them not to ruin this for me. I told them and they didn't listen. They don't even hunt, James. I don't know why they had that—"

James sniffs, sitting up, and wipes his hand under his nose. "It's okay, I'm being a baby. It isn't your fault and I don't think any less of your family."

You shake your head and cup his cheeks. "No, no, you're not a baby. You're a sweet, sensitive boy, and that's one of the reasons I love you so so much."

James chuckles and pushes some hair behind your ear, "So, you don't only love me for all my manly rugged charm?" he jokes, leaning his forehead on yours. 

You laugh. "Not only, no," you tease and look into his eyes. 

"Can I kiss you?" you ask. 

James's smile finally widens and he nods, letting you kiss his lips. It's sweet and calming and the only sounds around you are your lips on his and the birds in the trees. 

He pulls away and licks his lips, tasting the remnants of your cherry lip gloss. "Can we stay here for a moment longer before I do the inevitable walk of shame back to your house?" 

You caress his cheek. "We can stay here as long as you'd like. I don't wanna go back in there and face them all either."

And so, you and James stay outside until the sky turns pink and dim and you hear your parents concerned shouts of your name in the distance.

[ballerinagirl]

Manipulated

Warnings‼️: Abuse, mentions of sex, manipulation, tampering with birth control/medication, arranged marriage ahhh story 💀, I do not condone this!

Based on a tumblr mood board i saw :3 Farmer’s daughter reader! x Henry Bowers

The barn was your home—your soul.

You had always been your father’s daughter, helping your mother around the house and doing your chores on the farm to help your dad. They loved you dearly, so it wasn’t a shocker when they suggested about boys and whatnot.

‘Ain’t Travis a good man, ain’t he?’

Or,

‘I talked to Carter’s mother and she seems to really like you.’

But none of their suggestions seemed to work on you, so your parents had another plan to protect you.

They set you up with the sheriff’s son.

Normally this wouldn’t have been an issue, but Officer Bowers’ son was a huge dick. Especially before he graduated. The kid was known for being a heartless, cold asshole. The only reason the older man was doing this was to get Henry off his lazy ass and marry a girl instead of just sleeping around and not doing anything. Plus think of all the extra money he could spend on beer!

Butch wanted his son out of the house. stat.

So when you turned sixteen, your parents invited Butch and Henry to come over. Farmer to farmer, I guess. And that’s when they revealed the news.

You both were getting married.

At first you thought it was a joke, but as you saw the scowl on Henry’s face, you knew it wasn’t.

When you were seventeen, the wedding day came and you couldn’t have been more upset in your life. You’ve never acted so fake, but you put on a little smile while Henry got drunk.

The whole time Butch and your parents joked and laughed about you and Henry, how you both looked so cute together and how you ‘fixed’ the dirty blond.

’..You both better start on the children right now..I want a little grandson to spoil..’

You could still hear Butch’s words, snickering at the thought of having a little grandson to run around his house. The thought made you cringe, making your stomach turn.

Henry didn’t seem all too pleased either—not from the thought of having a child with you, it was from the thought of his father spoiling some little brat instead of him when he was growing up.

The night was a blur, all you remembered was driving Henry home into the house he now owned. The Bowers house.

The living room reeked of the smell of beer and cigarettes, matching the aesthetic of the pale, eerie yellow walls that were covered in Officer Bowers’ trophies—his taxidermy animals that he hunted and stuffed himself.

It reminded of when you and your dad went hunting together when you were a kid, but something told you that Henry’s dad went by himself.

The dirty blond’s words were slurred and all messed up, obviously drunk off his mind. The sweat dripped off of his forehead like little raindrops landing on bare, clean windows—the start of a rainy, cold day.

‘Mmn..Get off..’

The dirty blond whined and groaned as you helped him get onto the couch. It was hard and rough, way too uncomfortable for any normal person wanting to sit there. The old fabric had gone through a lot—considering the countless beer stains and spillage onto the poor, now ruined couch.

You still remember what you said to him, your head reeling at the past memories that seemed like forever ago but had only been a few weeks.

‘..I’m just trying to help…If you weren’t such a stubborn ass, maybe you wouldn’t have taken all those shots..’

You learned your place very quickly in the Bowers home. Your job was to not be such a horrible wife, which meant cooking, cleaning, and sometimes going out to get groceries and help on the farm. That was it.

Henry had always been keen on roles—he was the provider after all. The man of the house now. His mother was a housewife before she left him and his father, so his daddy’s rules were all he’s ever known. After his mother left, he was left to do the chores, picking up and doing her dirty work.

Maybe that’s why he was such a piece of shit, his daddy beating on him for doing the slightest thing wrong or how he was raised without a female figure in his life. No, that wasn’t the reason.

You’ve met some of the sweetest people who have gone through that stuff. People who weren’t such pieces of shit. It had to be something else, right?

Bowers had looked the same since highschool. He dressed the same, acted the same, and still had those cold, careless blue eyes that made his victims shiver every time they made eye contact with him.

His hair was even the same—his fingers would run into his dirty blond locks, still the same chin length mullet from the late eighties. You say that, but it was only four years ago. Henry still had his physique too, the abs you had seen countless times in you and his bedroom, without a care in the world or a want in your eyes. How bland. How selfish.

Some days, while Henry trained to be a police officer—you would stare at the pictures on the bookshelves of your husband as a young boy. He seemed happier, more..pure. He didn’t have that coldness in his eyes or the usual grump to his face, he had a smile. A genuine smile.

What went wrong?

You didn’t seem to know.

*

One day, Henry came home to dinner on the table, per usual and a stack of bills from the mailbox. He groaned as he opened them up, pulling his tie in the process. Just great.

”..We’re gon’ have to stop using the hot water so much..”

You heard him say, giving you a glare that still sent a shiver down your spine—even now after living with each other for two weeks.

”..Take too damn long in the shower, I might as well just barge in there and turn the water off..” Henry said, groaning at all the money he was going to have to spend because of you.

You hesitated to even argue with him, you didn’t want to get another bruise or a slap across the face. Or even just a scream, that still would’ve hurt too.

“What’re we gonna do then..?”

You muttered to him, staring at the white, flowery table cloth that covered the old wooden table. God, this had to be as old as Butch.

“..I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do. You’re going to wait to shower til’ I get home and I’ll take it with you..”

The words that came out of Henry’s mouth didn’t shock you, always so cold and rough, his tone hinting with carelessness. You and your husband had seen each other naked before, sleeping together in the same bed but never showing any affection or sensuality.

You didn’t care, you never wanted to be with this man. Not like you had a choice anyway.You just shared the same bed and lived together. Nothing more, nothing less.

*

‘..Henry, I miss you baby..-‘

Your voice replayed in Henry’s head, the one that he hated with a passion had somehow now..aroused him. He watched as you crawled on top of him, having your hair in a high messy bun and your body just covered in see through fabric that Henry could practically tear off. Keep calm, Henry. You’re fine, you’re fine.

Then why are you acting like such a fool?

The dirty blond let out a loud sigh, his legs slightly trembling while he stared into those pretty little eyes of yours. His hands were rough compared to the skin of your waist, so calloused and dirty on your soft skin. It almost felt wrong to touch you like this. So impure, so unhealthy.

Henry leaned his head back as soon as he felt your legs wrapped around his waist, the back of his head hitting against the soft, mushy pillows that he could only wish were your thighs. The dirty blond watched as your gentle touch unbuckled his belt, slowly but surely coming undone like a hard knot in one’s shoelaces.

His blue hues caught you looking back at him, a stupid little grin across your pretty face—one that he didn’t seem to recognize. This was so unlike you. This was so unlike Henry. He had never, ever, wanted you like this before. He had no desire to. You both were just forced into marrying each other.

But now, Henry felt something different—something similar to the feeling of when he had his first kiss or the very few memories of his mother when he was a young boy.

Your touch affected him, sending shivers down his spine as he waited for you to pull down his jeans and boxers. Such a needy little thing, ain’t he? And when you finally got to it, making Henry wait like a damn cat before he felt the fabric slide down his legs..

He woke up.

The young man awoke in his bed, gasping for air like someone had just taken his breath away—or something. Henry’s bare chest and legs were covered in a cold sweat, woken up from his deep slumber.

It was just a normal night. There was nothing wrong with you, Henry. He looked over at you, sound asleep and facing the direction of him, unlike usual. Your face buried in your pillow, all scrunched and gentle like. You almost looked..cute or pretty, whatever words guys used to compliment girls or something.

The image replayed in his mind like vinyl on a record player, repeating in an endless loop over and over in the back of his head. He was sure he memorized it by now. Henry couldn’t even go back to sleep or lie down without thinking about his dream.

*

The young male couldn’t handle all the complaints and begging, and whatnot—especially from his in-laws. Always waiting for you to just one day announce your pregnancy. Such bullshit. Henry was finally done with it.

He was going to give them their wishes. After all, you did want kids, right? Plus, Henry couldn’t really get the thought of you in his dream from the night before out of his head like that. So intimate, so alluring. The pure image kept him up at night, he had desires of course.

He did the only logical thing he could do—get rid of your birth control. Now he knew that sounded stupid, but it was all apart of his plan. Henry wasn’t going to force himself on you, that would make him feel like his father all too much.

He was going to make you want him—to need him, yearn for him. He started with your medication, simply by just not reminding you to take it every day. And when you were almost out, he threw the rest away. Just like that.

You shrugged it off, thinking you were just out or just lost some—maybe you took some of your birth control on the wrong days or something?

Now obviously, doing just this wasn’t going to cut it.

Henry knew you had the same desires, acting like you didn’t find him attractive when he knew you did. You had to, who wouldn’t? So he started being a tad more nicer, day by day. He did what his father did best—manipulate.

“..You look nice today..” He said to you with the same cold, rough tone as usual—hinting with no emotion. His blue hues glistened in the kitchen lighting, focused on your figure in your pink cooking apron. Wait, why was he looking there?

“Oh..Thanks..” Henry watched as your cheeks turned a light shade of pink, just like he had planned. Perfect. He knew no matter how much you didn’t seem to like him, you would soon learn to him.

And if you didn’t, he would make you.

He knew women had needs—after all, he had seen it with his own mother. That’s why she left, or because she was almost beaten to death. The point was that Henry knew that you would come begging for affection if he gave it to you, women like you were vulnerable.

*

“I’m so cold..” You mumbled to Henry while you both sat on the couch late at night, watching the whatever was on the television. Normally, he would’ve just told you to be quiet or that it was too damn bad. He actually wanted to say that, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

His blue, cold hues met yours. His expression lacked emotion—value. “You could always just get closer, y’know..?” Henry said, going back to watch the TV while your lips parted in slight surprise. He couldn’t be too nice because that’d be too easy. It’d fuck up the plan!

You stared at him a little bit, just a little longer. You seemed confused but again, you shrugged it off, just like with the birth control. You went back to watching the old television before scooting a tad bit closer to Henry, almost like you were taking little steps. Cute.

Soon you were cuddling up next to him for warmth, acting like the dirty blond didn’t even notice, despite you trying to do it so nonchalantly. Everything was going perfect.

*

And there you were, sitting on the edge of the bed with that outfit he had seen in his dreams. The silk fabric that went down to just above your knees, the blue color that contrasted with the aesthetic of you and Henry’s bed sheets. It was all too familiar.

“Sorry, I..um..just wanted to surprise you..” You muttered to him, staring at the ground as your cheeks began to flush again, just like it had the other night. Henry knew the plan would work but he didn’t expect you to be so eager when he got home from work today.

Henry didn’t even say anything. That honestly worried you for a moment before he suddenly rushed towards you and started to smash your lips against his.

Oh boy, you were in for it.

Note : Debating on posting this on ao3 cus meh, but i hope you enjoyed!! first post!!