#the writing thing just wasn’t happening | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luvergirl-866 · 3 days ago

Text

dreams, fairytales, fantasies

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 7.9k

c/w - language, drinking, fluff, and ofc smut (sub p, sub a, strap, eating, fingering…it’s a lot) (also heavy usage of pet names bc i am a sucker for them)

a/n - this is just a real depiction of what happens when lesbians go two weeks without sex 😔. no but fr, i hope yall enjoy!!! (feedback much appreciated, esp bc this is not edited) (also, im majorly crediting the smut queen @basketball-lesbians bc ease and stiff changed the way i write smut forever).

The much anticipated make-up sex doesn’t happen until a week later, which is about six days after they’ve actually made up—which they manage without the involvement of sex. And that’s a great thing for them, considering they have a history of resolving arguments via orgasm, but they also can’t give themselves the credit because the no-sex thing wasn’t really their decision. (If it had been up to them, Azzi would have jumped Paige’s bones that very night they made up).

That day, though, was spent talking, reliving their breakup and the horrible year afterward for the sole purpose of truly processing it. They had continued talking during that time, of course, claiming to be ‘best friends’, but they meticulously danced around the topic of their high school relationship and the fact they were both miserable once it ended, grieving it in their own ways. They talked for hours, and both of them quickly came to realize that there was so much they hadn’t told each other. Azzi was shocked to hear that Paige spent her entire freshman year moping around, never getting out and having fun like Azzi wanted her to do. (“Seriously? I thought you hoed around?” she said when Paige gave her this information. Paige shrugged and said, “I told you I did, so I didn’t seem lame. But yeah, no. I smoked a lot and looked at our pictures and that’s—well, yeah, that’s pretty much it.”)

Paige was just as shocked when Azzi told her she tried going on a date with someone else, just to get the breakup off her mind, and they kissed at the end of the night and she went inside and cried for a long time. (“I didn’t know you went out with anyone,” Paige said, not particularly jealous, just a little hurt because even though they were exes that year, they were still best friends, and they usually told each other everything. Azzi picked her thumbnail, eyebrows drawn at the memory. “It hurt too much. I didn’t even tell my mom.” That, if possible, made Paige feel even worse).

Anyway, by the time they talked everything through (with some crying involved, and maybe a little kissing, too), it was late at night and they were both emotionally exhausted from the day. They’d gotten ready to sleep and laid in Azzi’s bed and murmured about how much they’d missed each other for about two minutes before they promptly assed out.

And then it was the week, their time consumed with classes, homework, practice, and even grownup things like grocery shopping. They spent as much time together as they could, practically magnetized to each other, attached at that hip when they were in the same vicinity. But they were both swamped with homework and while they tried to do it together that Monday, they quickly realized that it was impossible to focus around each other. Or at least, Azzi did. (“C’mon, we’re doing okay,” Paige said, at approximately 1 A.M., when they had been at it for four hours and had gotten absolutely nothing done. “I wouldn’t say that, P,” Azzi mumbled, slinging her bag over her shoulder and pecking a sulking Paige on the lips. “No more school around each other, ‘kay?” She couldn’t help but be amused at Paige’s exaggerated pouting. “I think we’ll be okay. See you tomorrow, baby.”

That night, her phone had blown up with messages from Paige, most of them silly selfies of her pouting at the camera as she sat at her desk with schoolwork laid out in front of her. Even that was enough to distract Azzi from her work).

So, no, it’s not until Saturday—the night of their second-first date—that the make-up sex (that can’t really be considered make-up sex anymore) happens. But, as the saying goes, good things come to those who wait. And that must be true because that night turns out to be very good indeed.

It all starts before the two of them are even together, with Azzi picking her outfit for their date. She’s never been good with decisions, and this is a big one in her book. She needs to wear the perfect outfit—something sexy and cute and romantic and alluring all at once. An hour into choosing the outfit, Caroline is beginning to regret offering to help.

“Okay, you’re just overthinking it now,” she says, exasperated, watching as Azzi frowns at herself in the mirror.

“If I don’t overthink it I’ll end up looking ugly,” Azzi says, turning this way and that in the mirror, making sure the outfit looks good from every angle. But when she takes a step back, leans her head to the side just so, and turns to the left, the shirt suddenly makes her look atrocious. With a frustrated sigh, Azzi takes it off, tossing it onto the ground.

Caroline groans, flopping onto Azzi’s bed. “What was wrong with that one?”

“Everything,” Azzi replies, going back to her closet to try again. “Has my wardrobe always been this bad?” she mutters to herself.

“You look good in everything, Az,” Caroline says. “And your clothes are cute. Paige is going to love you in whatever you decide to wear.”

Which is true—Azzi could be wearing jorts and a flannel and Paige would still swear up and down she’s the prettiest girl in the world. But love and want are two different things. After two weeks of no sex Azzi needs to be wanted.

“You know what your problem is?” Caroline asks as Azzi rummages through her clothes.

“What?” Azzi asks, sort of desperately.

“Your bra,” Caroline says simply.

Azzi looks down at her bra, then turns to Caroline, a little confused. “It’s a cute bra, though?”

“Yeah, it’s cute,” Caroline concedes, leaning back on her hands and giving Azzi an up-and-down look. “But I thought you were trying to get laid tonight?”

Azzi nods, because duh she’s trying to get laid tonight. It’s all she’s been talking about all week.

Caroline wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Then, this isn’t really about your outfit. It’s about what’s underneath.”

As she stares at her genius best friend, Azzi nods slowly, starting to get it. “I need lingerie.”

“Yup.” Caroline smiles, satisfied. “As soon as you put some sexy panties on, I promise you, girl, you’re gonna feel better about yourself.”

Azzi is already reaching back into her closet, opening her special drawer and rifling through it. “Should I wear one she hasn’t seen before?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Caroline agrees, standing up and walking over to Azzi, peering over her shoulder at her array of underwear. “And don’t tell her you’re wearing it, either. It has to be a surprise.”

Azzi pulls a few sets out, but none of them particularly catch her eye, and it isn’t until they’ve been searching for a few minutes that Caroline reaches into the closet and grabs a still-sealed box, the logo of a designer lingerie brand on the lid. “What about this?” she asks.

It takes a moment for her to remember what the box contains. She’d bought it just a month ago, on a whim, and while it had cost her a fortune she also couldn’t not buy it. She’d, of course, had Paige in mind when she’d bought it, but they haven’t exactly had lingerie sex in awhile—with their busy schedules, they’ve only had time for spur-of-the-moment quickies and lazy mouths and fingers in the mornings before practice.

But this—this is going to be post-date, make-up sex. The absolute perfect occasion to wear insanely expensive lingerie catered specifically for Paige.

With an excited smile, Azzi (with the help of Caroline) gets all laced into the set. And once it’s on, it becomes surprisingly easy to choose the perfect outfit. Because Azzi knows, by the end of the night, Paige will forget all about what she’s wearing, the memory replaced by what she’s not.

———————————————

Paige, of course, tries to fuck her multiple times before they even get to the restaurant. It starts immediately, when she comes to pick her up and they share a chaste hug and kiss, and Azzi takes the flowers from her hands and turns to find a vase to put them in—Paige’s eyes trail down to her ass and stay there for longer than she’d like to admit. And then Azzi is carefully arranging the flowers, talking about how excited she is for their date, when Paige comes up behind her and holds her tight. It’s a gesture that Azzi thinks is innocent until Paige kisses her neck and murmurs, “You look good, Az. Makes me wanna make us late for our reservation.”

Azzi’s entire body heats at that, but she playfully shoves Paige away, not about to let their hormones get in the way of this date.

But then, it happens again, in the car on the way over. Paige’s hand rests on Azzi’s thigh while she drives, which isn’t unusual, and Azzi doesn’t question it—that is, until her fingers trace a slow but sure path between her legs. Azzi lets it go farther than she probably should, only pulling Paige’s hand away once she’s fully touching her clothed center. Laughing, Azzi returns Paige’s hand onto her side of the car. “Your thigh-touching privileges are revoked for that.”

Paige groans. “I didn’t even do nothing, don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just keep your hands to yourself, weirdo.”

And when they get to the restaurant, Paige opens her door for her, guides her in by the small of her back, pulls out her chair. It reminds Azzi of a more mature, experienced version of the Paige she dated in high school, and it reminds her exactly why their relationship was so perfect back then. It also reminds her of the aching need between her legs, the one that’s been there for two long weeks and that now practically burns in anticipation. But, she forces herself to ignore it, to just focus on the romance of it all. Paige decides to make that difficult by running a foot up and down her calf, and when she hisses at her to stop, Paige laughs and says, “You’re imagining things.”

It’s not five minutes later that Paige picks up her phone and begins typing. A flash of annoyance comes from the side of Azzi that thrives off attention, more particularly Paige’s attention, and that’s so used to constantly having it it’s a little off-putting when she doesn’t. But then, a moment later, her own phone buzzes, and Paige sets her’s down with a satisfied little smirk.

Azzi rolls her eyes. “You’re stupid.”

“Look at your phone.”

“That’s rude,” Azzi teases. “We’re on our first date.”

“We’ve been on a million dates before,” Paige says, which is technically true. “Look at it.”

Amidst the usual lighthearted, joking tone of Paige’s words, Azzi also catches a hint of something demanding, something that leaves no room for argument—at least, not without repercussion—and it makes it impossible to focus on the setting they’re in without also thinking of the events that will occur when they get home.

She picks up her phone, and there’s a text from one ‘P Boogs 💗’. When she opens it, she finds a stupid, horny text, nothing short of what she expected: can we go fuck in the bathroom or??

Rolling her eyes, and a little relieved that Paige didn’t actually write anything sexy (because if she had, Azzi’s not sure she would’ve been able to resist), she kicks her under the table and sets her phone down. “No, Paige. What’d I say about no more public restrooms?”

Reminiscent of a small child, Paige crosses her arms and slumps back in her seat. “I rebuke that.”

“You don’t know what that word means,” Azzi waves her off, before motioning to their plates. “Now eat before your food gets cold.”

Azzi has only two glasses of wine, so by the time they’re driving home she’s the perfect amount of tipsy. Wine also tends to make her horny, which doesn’t hurt the situation.

“You’re really okay?” Paige asks for what seems like the millionth time. “Because if you’re even, like, a little drunk, we don’t have to—“

“Paige,” Azzi says before she can finish that god-awful sentence. “I’m mostly sober. We’re all good.”

Paige glances over at her, and when she sees the firm look in her eyes she nods, relaxing into a sly smile. As she focuses back on the road, she says, “Good. Because I have an empty apartment tonight.”

The thought of it—the thought that Paige asked her roommates to clear out for the night, knowing what was to come—makes Azzi shift in her seat. The ache between her legs is crossing into painful territory at this point.

By the time they get inside Paige’s apartment, every instinct in Azzi’s body tells her to jump Paige’s bones as soon as the door is locked behind them. But Paige doesn’t really give her a chance—first kicking off her shoes and then immediately heading towards the kitchen. Azzi trails behind her as she opens the fridge.

“Hungry?” Azzi asks, a little confused considering they just had a fairly large meal at dinner. But Paige shakes her head, reaching into the side drawer of the fridge and pulling out a seltzer.

She waves it at Azzi with a smile, though it’s a little unusual—almost wavering? Not the familiar one Azzi’s used to. “Wanted a little drink.”

“Okay,” Azzi says slowly, leaning against the counter, watching as Paige cracks the can open. She shouldn’t be surprised—she herself is tipsy and it’s only fair that Paige would want to catch up after she had to drive. But Azzi has been a little blinded by the filthy thoughts that have been playing through her head all night, and was under the impression they’d fuck against the front door the minute they got home.

She’s already waited two weeks, she reminds herself. Paige only needs a drink or two—they don’t want to be drunk, not tonight—so what’s a couple more minutes?

“It’s kinda hot in here,” Paige says abruptly, and when Azzi looks at her, her cheeks flush. “Isn’t it?”

Azzi’s a little warm, but it’s mostly a mix of the alcohol and pure horniness, so she shakes her head. “Feels okay to me.”

“Oh,” Paige says, and then takes a long swig of her seltzer. She offers up that strange, wavering smile again.

Azzi studies her. This is her best friend, the girl she knows better than she knows herself. Paige is practically an extension of her at this point, it’s that easy for them to read each other. But right now, Paige is acting strange in a way Azzi can’t quite place. She’s been flirting like normal all night, but now that they’re alone she’s putting space between them. And that’s not to mention the blushing, the weird smiling, and the need for a drink.

As Paige takes an extra-long gulp of seltzer, it finally clicks where Azzi has seen this behavior from her: Back in high school, not long into their relationship, the first time they had sex.

She’s nervous.

But, no, that can’t be it, can it? They’ve slept together countless times in the four years since then. Paige knows Azzi’s body like the back of her hand. There’s no reason to be nervous.

Sure that she’s got it all wrong, Azzi crosses over to Paige, watching the way Paige’s gaze falters as she sidles up to her. “Hey,” she says, wrapping her arms around Paige’s neck, “you good?”

Paige blinks, then swallows thickly. “Me? Yeah, I’m all good.” She takes a sip from her drink. “Why you asking?”

Azzi hums, bringing a hand down to guide Paige’s free one to her waist—something she usually never has to do, as Paige tends to be pretty handsy. “You’re acting…weird, all of a sudden.”

Paige gives her a long, hard look, and Azzi thinks she’s about to deny it again but then Paige is sighing and setting her drink on the counter behind her, wrapping both arms around Azzi’s waist. “I guess I feel a little…nervous, for some reason?” she shakes her head, locks her hands behind Azzi’s back as if to steady them. “I’on know, bro. It’s stupid.”

Azzi shakes her head, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of Paige’s neck. “It’s not stupid.”

“Kinda is,” Paige says, chuckling at herself but it’s a shaky, breathy sound.

“Hey,” Azzi says gently, bringing a hand up to brush a stray strand of hair from Paige’s face, “if you’re not up to it, we don’t have to.” (Even though she spent the entire night suffering through a thong up her ass. The things we do for love.)

But Paige firmly shakes her head, gripping Azzi’s waist more tightly just to show how much she means it. “No, I don’t—you have no idea how much—“

“Yes, I do,” Azzi says incredulously. “I really fucking do.”

Paige’s breath hitches, and her gaze flicks down to Azzi’s lips. Azzi does the same, allured by the shiny gloss there, knowing it’s vanilla flavored from their previous chaste kisses tonight. She wants to taste more of it. Wonders if Paige’s lotion is vanilla, too.

“P,” she murmurs. Paige’s eyes don’t waver away when she hums, “Yeah?”

“Don’t be nervous,” she says quietly, bringing a hand down to cup her cheek, which gets Paige to look at her. “You know me,” she almost whispers.

Slowly, Paige nods, and when she leans down to connect their lips, Azzi nearly groans at the slight contact. It’s chaste to the point of innocent but it’s something, and they’re alone, and god does Paige look so good in this outfit. Paige readjusts, shifting so their legs are slotted together as she deepens the kiss just slightly, and Azzi reminisces on how she’s been waiting for this all night. Since that fateful night at Ted’s, really.

With Paige’s leg between her thighs, Azzi takes the opportunity to bare down, just slightly, only enough to increase the tension between her legs more than relieve it. But Paige groans into her mouth at the feeling and it lights her senses on fire.

They found a good dynamic years ago, and it’s one in which Paige often leads, allowing Azzi to follow without giving her the responsibility of being the first to move, to make decisions—something she’s always been more hesitant with. The past six months they’ve experimented some, stepping out of the comfort zone they had in high school and trying new things. But they still found that, for the most part, Paige prefers to lead, and Azzi prefers to be led—it just works.

But, even now, as Azzi dips her tongue into Paige’s mouth and brushes it against her’s, Paige still seems a little withheld. It’s obvious that she’s overthinking this, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why—this is big for them. They’ve talked about their feelings and gone on their first date and this feels a little like the last step in a routine that will throw them back into that all-consuming, intense relationship they had in high school. Which is exciting, and it feels natural, like it’s only the right thing to do—but it’s a little scary, too. And, knowing she’s being expected to lead, Paige is worried about getting it wrong. Messing up, somehow.

So when Azzi pushes against the fabric of Paige’s blazer, letting it slip off her shoulders, it’s not really a conscious thought that she’s taking over this time. It’s just—something she needs to do. And, if the absolute fire in her belly says anything, it’s something she wants to do, too.

Opening her mouth a little wider, Azzi sucks Paige’s tongue gently between her lips, drawing it out slightly, and when she pulls off it she opens her eyes to find Paige with her mouth wide open, tongue out, barely five minutes into kissing and already looking so desperate for her.

The sight makes Azzi groan a little, her eyes trailing from Paige’s lips, to the curve of her jaw, to her slender neck, and without thinking about it she slides her hands around Paige’s throat, squeezing experimentally. It elicits the right reaction, Paige’s eyes widening, hands sliding down to Azzi’s ass.

Pulling her close again, Azzi ducks down, moving a hand to the side to kiss sloppily at the skin revealed there. Paige sighs, always having liked being kissed on the neck, and Azzi mutters, “Marks?”

There’s a slight pause, Azzi’s lips hovering just shy of kissing the skin of Paige’s neck, and as soon as Paige hums out a noise of affirmation, she’s basically attacking her, tongue soothing over skin as she sucks hungrily. Her hips grind instinctively down on Paige’s knee as her hands slide lower, down her chest to squeeze her tits through her thin tank. Paige gasps, using her leverage on Azzi’s ass to pull her down harder on her leg. At this point, she’s sure she’s soaking through her fancy lingerie just listening to the little noises Paige is making, and suddenly, Azzi feels hungry. The kind of hungry that tends to be insatiable.

As soon as the thought comes to her, her hands fly to the button of Paige’s jeans, staring down to watch her hands work it open. Paige watches, too, then brings a hand up to Azzi’s cheek. Azzi halts her movements, looking up at her, searching her face for any sign to stop and finding a little hesitancy there. “Hey,” she says, “you good?”

Paige nods, then glances furtively down at Azzi’s hands. “I don’t think I’m ready for—your fingers.”

Soothing her hands across Paige’s hips, Azzi nods, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek. “I know, baby,” she says—Paige has always needed a good amount of buildup before any actual intrusion. “Wasn’t gonna use my fingers.”

Paige blinks, thoughts obviously a little sluggish as it takes a moment for the words to register, but once she does, she nods eagerly. “Shit. Okay.”

With one last peck on the lips, Azzi’s fingers get back to work, and as she slides the jeans down her legs she goes down with them, dropping slowly to her knees. She helps Paige step out of the pants and then tosses them to the side, looping her arms around her thighs and urging her to widen her stance. She presses a few comforting kisses to Paige’s pelvic bone and across her hips, breathing in the familiar scent of her as her kisses stray lower. As she licks up the inside of a thigh, her eyes open, glancing at the girl’s boxers and the wet patch growing on them. Feeling quite proud of herself, she smirks, biting at her thigh and relishing in the way Paige hisses.

“Stop messin’ with me,” Paige breathes, bringing a hand to Azzi’s head and trying to move her closer to her cunt.

“Uh-uh,” Azzi says, using a hand of her own to move Paige’s firmly away. When she looks up at her, Paige looks wrecked, which does amazing things to Azzi’s ego considering she hasn’t even touched her yet. Loving the expression on Paige’s face—lips slightly parted, eyes fluttering, the picture of submission—she decides to try and coax more out of her. “No touching,” she adds, something Paige likes to do whenever she’s being particularly needy. When Paige starts to protest, she moves her hand to her clothed clit and rubs harshly, cutting her off. “You heard me, baby.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrow, either from pleasure or annoyance or, more likely, both. “Azzi, please—“

“Shh,” Azzi soothes, removing her thumb and licking a stripe up her boxers—the faintest taste of her already addictive. “Be patient.”

She expects more resistance—the few times they’ve switched roles like this, it takes at least an orgasm for Paige to take her commands. But today must be different—is different—and Paige dutifully shuts up, using her hands to brace herself against the counter as she tilts her head down to watch.

Pleased, Azzi removes her boxers, salivating at the pretty pink peeking out from between her legs, and it’s all she can do when she uses her thumbs to spread her open, groaning when she gets a good look at the familiar, dripping folds. “So pretty,” she can’t help but mumble, leaning forward to press a kiss against her, licking her lips to taste the arousal left there. Paige’s hips buck, and Azzi gives her a sharp slap to the thigh. Paige nearly whines, which is kinda new—they’ll have to experiment with it later. “What’d I say, hm?” she asks, unable to keep herself from pressing her tongue between her cunt lips and licking upward, eyes nearly rolling into the back of her head at the taste. “Be patient.”

“Fuck,” Paige gasps above her.

It takes every ounce of self-restraint in Azzi’s body to not just dive in and devour her like a woman starved. It’s been far too long since she went down on Paige, even before their two weeks of celibacy, and she wants nothing more than to push her tongue inside and draw out as much slick as she can. But she also knows all too well that Paige likes to be ate slow. So, slow it is, as she licks up around her folds, tongue dragging delicately over her clit.

Her eyes fall shut, focusing on how wet Paige is against her tongue, dipping just slightly into her hole where the taste is the strongest and reveling at how good it is.

When Paige makes a high-pitched noise in the back of her throat, Azzi looks up at her, watching her reaction as she gently sucks her clit into her mouth. Paige is leaning back against the counter, cunt pressed into Azzi’s face desperately, and it’s obvious she’s trying to keep still. But when Azzi’s tongue flicks against her clit as she sucks, Paige can’t help but gasp, hips bucking just slightly.

With painted nails, Azzi squeezes her thigh just enough to get her attention. When Paige looks down at her, she pulls off her clit with a wet noise and says, “Hold your shirt up, babe.”

It’s amazing how quickly Paige obeys, rucking her tank up to reveal her bare chest, nipples pink and hard. Azzi doesn’t even try to stop herself from reaching up to play with one of them as she dives back into her pussy.

Her clit is already puffy, sensitive to her every touch based off the way Paige moans when she flicks her tongue against it. She licks little shapes, taking note of which ones draw the most sound out of the older girl. It’s mostly for her own benefit when she traces the letters of her own name on her pussy, but Paige whines high-pitched and needy like she knows.

Azzi pulls away just enough to see that her clit is an angrier pink now, twitching almost imperceptibly, and she gives it a break, moving lower to suck around her hole, drinking the copious juices she’s teased out. When she presses her tongue inside, she finds much less resistance than last time, and her fingers itch to be inside her.

This time, when she pulls away, Paige whines again—the sound a mix of frustration and desperation—and Azzi soothes a hand up the inside of her thigh. Paige’s eyes are hooded now as they lock with Azzi’s, and Azzi smiles up at her. “Hey,” she mutters.

“Uh-huh,” Paige breathes, nearly panting at this point.

“Think you’re ready?” Azzi asks. Paige gives her a quizzical look and she holds up her right hand in explanation. “Wanna finger you.”

As if on their own accord, Paige’s hips jerk forward. When she says, “Yes,” it’s nothing more than a breathy little sigh, but it’s enough.

Nodding, her eyes go back to Paige’s cunt, gaze immediately going to her hole, clenching around nothing. She brings two fingers up and dips inside, then drags them through her pretty folds, making sure they’re plenty wet. And then, without another warning, she plunges into her pussy, moaning as she’s immediately swallowed by wet heat.

Paige’s reaction is visceral, hips pressing down to meet her halfway, hands falling to her head, previous no-touching rules forgotten. Azzi decides to let it go, though, as she watches Paige’s features contort beautifully, pleasure etched into every sound she makes.

Azzi pulls out, presses deeper. Does it again, and then stays inside long enough to push up against her walls.

It’s then that Paige starts talking.

“Oh, fuck, Azzi,” she breathes, still generally pretty quiet, something Azzi plans to have changed once she’s done with her. “You feel so—good, Az, fingers feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Azzi coos. She loves it when Paige gets to the babbling stage of fucking, and is quick to egg her on. “You like that, huh?”

“Mm-hmm, missed it—needed it—I don’t—“ she chokes on her sentence when Azzi plunges particularly deep. “Oh, baby, right there. So fucking good at that.”

“I know,” she murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to Paige’s clit. “You missed me, right? Missed this?”

“Of course I—“ she gasps, arches forward, “did.”

Suddenly, Azzi speeds up, filthy squelching sounds filling the room as her fingers move relentlessly inside Paige, palm coming to meet her clit again and again. Paige mewls, shifting a little, and Azzi uses her free hand to hoist her leg over her shoulder, allowing for a better angle.

“Oh!” Paige cries out, hands gripping Azzi’s head for leverage. “Oh, oh fuck. Baby, baby—mm, so deep—Azzi, more.”

“More?” Azzi asks, pulling her eyes away from where she’s wrecking Paige’s cunt to double-check. Paige usually can’t take more than two.

“Uh-huh,” Paige nods fervently.

Azzi doesn’t slow down, concern about hurting the other girl cutting through her own haze of pleasure. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Paige says, exasperation filling her voice.

“I just don’t want to hurt y—“

“Azzi, if you don’t give me another finger right now I swear to God—“

That’s all it takes for Azzi to pause her movements, pulling out enough to add another finger, and finding it surprisingly easy when she slides back in again. It’s not long before she builds up to her earlier rhythm, Paige’s hips moving against her hand, and then wet sounds are filling the room again, slick trailing down Azzi’s wrist.

Somewhere between Paige’s high-pitched moans and desperate little whines, she calls Azzi’s name. Azzi presses a kiss to her belly and says, “Yeah?”

“Can you—?” there’s hesitance in her tone that gives Azzi pause, movements slowing once again to look up at her.

“What’s up?” she prompts, gently as possibly through the arousal scraping rough against her vocal chords.

“Just, come here,” Paige finally says, hands moving from Azzi’s head to her shoulders, urging her up.

Azzi softens, mind becoming a little less cloudy at the request. Carefully, she eases Paige’s leg off her shoulder, then works up to her feet, keeping her fingers firmly inside Paige all the while. As soon as she’s up, Paige’s arms go around her shoulders, pulling her in, and Azzi smiles softly at the absolutely fucked-out, but undeniably lovesick, look on the other girl’s face.

Pressing a kiss to Paige’s cheek, she starts moving again, staying close so that Paige’s lips are right by her ear, hearing every sound she makes.

“I love you,” Paige mutters, forehead dropping onto Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi presses a smile into Paige’s hairline, the gesture so innocent compared to the hand between her legs. “Love you, too, P.”

At that, Paige chokes on a moan, only just managing a feeble, “I’m close.”

Azzi nods, doubling her efforts. “Take your time, baby.”

“Mm-hmm,” Paige hums, but then she’s reiterating, “oh, fuck, Azzi, I’m really fuckin’ close.”

To be honest, Azzi is, too. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s come untouched, deriving pleasure from the simple act of giving it to Paige. But she holds back, forces herself to focus on the girl in her arms, running her free hand up and down Paige’s waist. “Yeah? About to come?”

Paige grasps her tighter, too fucked out to respond, but her following whines are answer enough.

“Give it to me, P,” she urges, knowing words are always the last thing Paige needs to tip her over the edge. “Wanna feel you coming all over my fingers, okay? Need you to show me how good I make you feel.”

Paige nods, and Azzi coos a, “Good, girl,” into her ear, and that’s all it takes for Paige’s hips to stutter, abs tightening as she spasms around Azzi’s fingers, crying out her name like it’s the only word she remembers. And at this point, it might be.

It takes awhile for her to come down, letting Azzi continue to thrust slowly for another minute or so before finally pushing her away. “Too much,” she breathes.

“Okay, baby,” Azzi says, pulling out slowly, bringing her hand up to Paige’s lips once she’s done. Paige doesn’t hesitate to take them into her mouth and suck, and it’s as she runs her tongue between her fingers that Azzi is reminded of just how magical her mouth is. Trying to sound casual, Azzi takes her hand back and says, “Hey, you all done?”

Paige is panting, hands going down to hold Azzi by the waist, looking as if she can barely hold herself up—but still, she shakes her head. “Nah, I can go for more.”

“Good,” Azzi says, stepping out of Paige’s grasp with a sly smile. Paige opens her mouth to protest but then Azzi swiftly pulls her shirt over her head, revealing her lavender lacy bra which leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Whatever Paige was about to say dies in her throat. “I may have planned for this when I was getting ready.”

Her pants are still on—Paige hasn’t even had the pleasure of seeing the garter yet—but already her jaw is practically on the floor. “Oh, shit.”

“Uh-huh.” Reaching out, she takes Paige’s hand in her own, leading her down the familiar path to Paige’s room. “You can thank Caroline, by the way. Was her idea.”

“For real?” Paige asks as they enter the bedroom. She plops down on the edge of the bed, watching as Azzi locks the door behind them. Her eyes rake not-so-subtly over her frame as she watches her. “I’ll send her a card and flowers for this shit.”

Azzi laughs breathily, leaning against the doorframe.

Paige raises her eyebrows and then reaches behind her head, pulling her own shirt off and discarding it on the floor. “Aight, I think I can feel my legs again. Lay down, mama.” She smiles deviously. “I’m bouta get you right.”

—————————————

Paige has never been a good liar—which is clear, considering twenty minutes later she has her head between Azzi’s thighs, making her legs shake as she eats her relentlessly.

She’s already put on the strap, and this is her way of getting Azzi ready—alternating between eating her slow and then absolutely devouring her, pulling away every time she gets close to the edge, overstimulating her without even making her come.

“Paige, please,” she basically cries out for the nth time since they started. “I need you.”

Paige only smirks from between her legs, quite cocky considering she just got fucked into oblivion less than an hour ago. “What was it you said to me earlier? About being patient?”

Azzi rolls her eyes (though it may be more from the way Paige sucks on her folds than how annoying she is). “Mm—shut up, you liked it.”

Paige sure as hell isn’t about to admit that. Of course, though, she had enjoyed it, had reveled in the pleasure she took from giving up control, letting herself be told what to do. But now it’s Azzi’s turn, and she needs to regain control of the situation-hence, the edging. “Do you want me to fuck you?” she asks, muffled in Azzi’s pussy. “Or not?”

Azzi can’t say no to that, obviously, but still sounds a little ashamed when she lets out a meek little, “Yes.”

Paige quirks an eyebrow up at her. “Yeah? You done bossing me around?”

Azzi doesn’t respond to that, lips forming into a cute little pout that’s also reminiscent of the face she makes when she gets bratty. Chuckling, Paige shakes her head, pressing a lingering kiss to her clit. “I’on think so, baby. You had your fun.” Slowly, she crawls her way back up the bed, Azzi scooching up with her. “Now you’re gonna tell me watchu want. And you’re gonna be polite about it.”

The demanding tone in Paige’s voice is usually enough to set Azzi right, but she must’ve gotten too big a head after her little stunt earlier because now she doesn’t say anything, just looks at Paige a little defiantly.

Admittedly, she looks adorable, and Paige wants to kiss that look off her face. But she can’t let Azzi think that this is how it’s gonna be now. “Alright, pretty girl. If that’s how you’re gonna be, I’ma get right back down there and make you come on my tongue. You won’t get no strap tonight.”

At that threat (which is baseless, considering Paige is absolutely going to strap Azzi down one way or another tonight) Azzi’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “Okay, okay, no, I’m sorry, I don’t—I need you inside, Paige. Please?”

Grinning, Paige leans down and kisses her forehead. “That’s what I thought.”

Taking the silicon in her hand, Paige balances on one elbow as she drags it slowly through Azzi’s folds, taking extra care to bump the head against her swollen clit. When Azzi gasps, her eyes flit to her face, checking that she’s okay. “You ready, baby girl?”

Azzi hesitates, looking down at the toy between them. “It’s bigger than the last one.”

It’s true—this is a new strap, one Azzi herself actually suggested, claiming she wanted to try something bigger. They still have their last one, just in case this doesn’t work out, and Paige is about to remind her of that when Azzi shakes her head to herself and says, “It’s okay, I’m good.”

“You sure?” Paige asks suspiciously. “Because if it’s too big…”

“Nope. I’m sure.”

“Babe, we don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna.”

Azzi’s eyes move down to follow the cock, watching as Paige moves it methodically through her soaking folds, and her eyes grow a little wider. “Yeah, okay, I’m definitely sure.”

Amused, Paige watches as the younger girl stares, incredibly hungrily, at the toy. “Okay, princess. You gotta tell me if it hurts, though, okay?”

“I will,” Azzi promises. With that, Paige guides the tip down to her entrance, pushing her hips forward and against the resistance she finds there, studying Azzi’s face carefully.

After a moment, the head slides in, and Azzi gasps, wincing a little. “You good?” Paige asks, taking her hand off the cock to stroke Azzi’s cheek.

“Good,” Azzi confirms, swallowing thickly as her eyes meet Paige’s. “Just—go slow.”

“‘Course,” Paige says, leaning forward to press their foreheads together as she pushes in further. “Sweet girl,” she murmurs, mostly to distract her, “y’look so pretty like this, mama.”

She’s about halfway in at this point and Azzi gasps again, breathing out a word that sounds enough like a stop for Paige to halt. “Too much?”

Azzi’s knees are bent, feet flat against the mattress as Paige lays between them, but now she readjusts, wrapping them around Paige’s back for better leverage. “Okay,” she says once she’s done, giving Paige a little nod. “I’m good, keep going.”

Not loving the bossy tone of her voice, Paige makes a face at her. “Manners, princess.”

Azzi frowns but still lets out a little, “Please,” anyway.

With that, Paige jerks her hips, burying the dildo inside to the hilt. Azzi cries out, surprised and left breathless from the sheer stretch of it. “Shit,” she breathes, “so much for going slow.”

“Mm,” Paige hums, ducking down to kiss into Azzi’s neck. “‘S what you get for being bratty.”

“Yeah, okay,” Azzi sighs—Paige can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or actually conceding—and her head falls to the side, allowing more access to her neck, which Paige already marked up earlier.

“I good to move?” Paige asks.

“I think so,” Azzi replies, breath still caught from the sudden fullness.

Paige rocks her hips back, eyes flitting from Azzi’s face to her pussy, unable to keep from watching as she slides back in, eyes widening as she watches her cunt swallow it whole, basically sucking her in.

When she does it again, a little more smoothly this time, Azzi fists the bedsheets so hard her knuckles turn white. “Mmph—so deep, P.”

“Yeah? Feel good?” she asks lowly, rutting her hips flush into her when Azzi nods, building a steady rhythm. Her eyes land on Azzi’s face, contorted with pleasure, then rove down over her body—her neck, her tits, her stomach—until she lands back on the strap. The sight has her leaning down on her elbows, heart racing as she breathes deep to steady herself.

Picking up the pace just a little, Paige lifts herself up, watching as Azzi’s eyebrows furrow, her fists tight in the sheets. The bed is starting to squeak now, which just turns her on even more if that’s possible, and she nuzzles her nose into the crook of Azzi’s neck, muttering, “Hold on to me, baby, it’s okay.”

Azzi’s arms come up to loop around her neck before she’s even done with the sentence, and Paige smirks, pressing a few kisses into her cheek. “How’s it feel, hm? How deep am I?”

“So fucking deep,” Azzi breathes, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise how close she sounds considering Paige has been working her towards the edge for awhile now.

Paige brings a hand down between their bodies, using it to rub a few tight circles against Azzi’s clit, stopping when she starts whining. And Azzi makes a sound of protest but it’s quickly cut off by a moan when Paige’s hand moves instead to press against her lower abdomen, pushing down hard enough to feel the strap moving inside her.

“Baby, baby, please,” Azzi slurs, crying out in time with Paige’s thrusts, “right there—keep doing that, fuck.”

Who would Paige be to tell her no? There’s that whiny edge to her tone, all desperate and needy, a telltale sign she’s getting close. Pressing down a little harder on her stomach, Paige speeds up significantly, angling her hips up in an attempt to hit that spot deep inside.

Based off the high-pitched moan Azzi let’s put, it works.

“Shit, look at that,” Paige says when she looks between them again. The strap is soaking now, and so are the bedsheets, a mix of Paige and Azzi’s arousal leaking down onto them. Angling her hand down, Paige uses her fingers to spread her lips open, groaning as she gets a better view of Azzi’s cunt swallowing the entire dick. “Taking it so good, mama. Fuck, that pussy crying for my dick, huh?”

“Paige, fuck, yes,” Azzi gasps, clawing almost desperately at Paige’s shoulders.

“Close?” Paige asks, trying to gauge where she’s at based off the way her legs are beginning to shake, noises becoming less breathy, more insistent.

Azzi nods, maybe all she can manage at this point, and Paige rocks forward deep, pleased with the way Azzi’s mouth falls open, tits bouncing with each thrust.

They’re silent for a few moments, nothing but the sound of the bedframe fighting for its life and Azzi’s pussy squelching around her cock filling the room. “Hear that?” she asks, using her fingers to rub harshly against her clit, only adding to the filthy sounds in the room. “Best pussy in the world, baby. And it’s mine, huh?”

Azzi only manages a pathetic “uh-huh”, and that’s just not good enough for Paige. “Nah, you gotta tell me, princess. Tell me whose pussy this is and I’ll let you come, okay?”

It takes Azzi a moment, probably trying to gather her scattered thoughts, before she whines out a needy little, “Yours, fuck, my pussy’s all fucking yours.”

Nodding, Paige presses a kiss to Azzi’s parted lips. “That’s right, mama. You wanna come?”

Tears are gathering at the corners of Azzi’s eyes when she nods, and it only spurs Paige on further. “Go ahead, pretty girl. Come all fuckin’ over my dick. Lemme feel it, baby.”

And that’s all Azzi needs, her back arching off the bed, moaning all high-pitched as she comes, pussy clenching around the dildo, nails scratching down Paige’s back, leaving her shuddering. She doesn’t stop, though, rolling her hips deep into Azzi’s through every tremor, only stilling when Azzi shakes her head, tapping against Paige’s hip.

She gives her a moment to catch her breath before saying, “Can I pull out?”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi sighs, throwing an arm across her face as Paige slowly eases out of her. She manages to get the strap off and tosses it onto the floor, a problem for future them to deal with, before laying next to Azzi, pulling her into her chest. She chuckles at Azzi’s blissed-out expression, and Azzi’s eyes open at the sound, peering at her a little sleepily.

“You laughing?” she asks, no real accusation in her tone.

“At you? Never,” Paige jokes. Azzi slaps her chest, collapsing back onto it, sighing as she wraps a leg around Paige’s waist. She’s not the touchiest person in general, and Paige finds it endearing how snuggly she gets after sex.

Her hands begin to run up and down Azzi’s bare back, and when she hears Azzi sigh, she’s quick to speak, trying to catch the younger girl before she inevitably falls asleep. “Hey,” she says, “you okay?”

“Mm,” Azzi hums.

“Was it good?” Paige asks, even though she already knows the answer.

“Very,” Azzi replies, cuddling closer into Paige’s neck. “Missed you.”

“Two weeks is too long,” Paige agrees. Azzi chuckles softly, and Paige angles her head to look at her, only to find that her eyes are closed and her lips are slightly parted.

“Why are you tryna sleep,” Paige very nearly whines.

Azzi lifts her head lazily, resting her chin on Paige’s chest to raise an eyebrow at her. “Because you just fucked the shit outta me. I’m tired.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Paige sighs dreamily.

Rolling her eyes, Azzi lays her head back down, settling back into her. “Lemme sleep, okay? I need some energy for the morning sex tomorrow.”

“F’real?” Paige can’t keep the excitement out of her tone at this.

Azzi shrugs coyly, yawns. “If you’re good.”

Internally, Paige vows to be the absolute best. Even if it means no yapping.

Her silence only lasts a few moments but, surprisingly, it’s Azzi who speaks. “And, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“You’d better ask me to be your girlfriend tomorrow.”

(Paige does, in fact, ask Azzi to be her girlfriend ‘again’, as she puts it. Azzi, of course, says yes.)

(Oh, also, Caroline does receive a thank you letter and a bouquet of flowers in the mail a few days later. Confused, she opens the letter, to find it reads, “Thx for helping azzi pick that fit for our date. you’re a g mama carol. p.s. the sex was ridiculously good.” Caroline sends a photo of it to Azzi, wondering why she needed to know about the sex. Azzi replies with a shrugging emoji and a, “She’s not lying though”.)

#pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi fics #uconn wbb #wcbb #wbb #paige bueckers smut #azzi fudd smut #pazzi smut #lilah’s works #that’s so true pt 2

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little-jana · 2 days ago

Text

"The Baby Glimmer"

Pairing: husband!Aaron Hotchner x wife!reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, wanting a baby, heated/romantic fade-to-black intimacy, kissing

Summary: Where Aaron gets baby fever.

a/n: Well, since most of you voted for 2nd person writing, I'll try that from now on.

The first time you noticed it, you didn’t think much of it.

Aaron and you were walking through the mall one rainy Saturday afternoon, grabbing a few things for Jack’s school project. He’d been in need of some craft supplies and, as usual, Aaron wanted everything to be perfect.

You were strolling past a baby boutique on the way to the bookstore when Aaron slowed to a stop. He glanced at the window display—a collection of tiny onesies and soft teddy bears arranged artfully—and a soft, almost wistful smile crept across his face.

You stopped beside him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

He gestured to a fluffy teddy bear in the center of the display, its bowtie slightly askew. “That’s cute,” he said simply. “Babies would love it.”

You blinked. Aaron Hotchner, notorious for his stoic demeanor, commenting on teddy bears?

“Yeah,” you replied, eyeing him suspiciously. “It’s… adorable.”

Aaron nodded, his hand briefly brushing against yours before he turned back toward the bookstore. “Come on,” he said over his shoulder, his voice calm and measured as always.

You stared after him for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips. Maybe he was just in a good mood.

---

Then there was JJ’s baby shower.

Aaron had insisted on going. “She’s family,” he’d said when you asked him about it. “It’s important to support her.”

And support her he did.

He spent the entire afternoon helping set up decorations, arranging tiny cupcakes on trays, and offering to hold the baby while JJ unwrapped gifts. It was… unexpected, to say the least.

At one point, you caught him holding JJ’s newborn, his expression so soft it made your chest ache. He was cooing gently, his deep voice low and soothing as he rocked the baby in his arms.

You tried not to stare. You really did. But the sight of Aaron Hotchner—gruff, protective, usually all-business—cradling a baby like it was the most natural thing in the world was enough to make anyone’s heart skip a beat.

“Wow,” Emily whispered, nudging you with her elbow. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Hotch has baby fever.”

You laughed, brushing off the comment. “Please. He’s just being nice.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t ignore the way your stomach fluttered when Aaron caught your eye across the room and smiled.

---

It wasn’t just JJ’s baby. It was everywhere.

You were at the grocery store one evening when it happened again. You had split up to cover more ground, and found him standing in the baby aisle when you came to find him.

“Aaron?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you approached.

He looked up, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he held up a tiny pair of baby shoes. “Look at these,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “They’re so small.”

You stared at him, your heart doing that annoying fluttering thing again. “Uh… yeah,” you said slowly. “Babies tend to have small feet.”

Aaron chuckled, setting the shoes back on the shelf. “Right. Of course.”

You watched him for a moment, suspicion creeping in. Something was definitely up.

---

The team noticed it, too.

“He’s acting weird,” Derek said one afternoon, leaning back in his chair as he sipped his coffee.

“Weirder than usual?” Emily quipped, smirking.

“No, like… softer,” Derek replied, gesturing toward Aaron’s office. “Have you seen the way he’s been with JJ’s baby? Or how he’s been staring off into space lately? It’s like he’s distracted by something.”

Emily glanced at you, her eyebrows raised. “Any idea what’s going on with him?”

You shrugged, playing dumb. “No clue. Maybe he’s just tired.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t ignore the way Aaron had been looking at you lately—the way his eyes lingered just a little longer than usual, the way he reached for your hand more often, the way his touch was softer, more deliberate.

---

It all came to a head one quiet evening at home.

Jack was asleep, and Aaron and you were curled up on the couch, a movie playing in the background. You’d been watching him out of the corner of your eye all night, trying to piece together what was going on in that brilliant, complicated mind of his.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Aaron,” you said, turning to face him.

He looked down at you, his dark eyes warm and attentive. “Yes?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “You’ve been… different lately. Distracted. Is everything okay?”

Aaron’s brow furrowed slightly, and for a moment, you thought he was going to brush it off. But then he sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he reached for your hand.

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” he admitted, his voice low and steady.

You nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“It’s just… seeing JJ with her baby, and watching Jack grow up… It’s made me think about us. About our future.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a blush creeping up your neck. “What about our future?”

Aaron’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, his touch warm and comforting. “I’ve been thinking about having another baby. With you.”

His words hung in the air between us, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak.

“A baby?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He nodded, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. “I know it’s a big decision, and I don’t want to pressure you. But I can’t stop thinking about it. About what it would be like to build a family with you.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you felt a lump forming in your throat.

“Aaron,” you began, your voice trembling. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

He cupped my face in his hands, his gaze filled with love and hope. “You don’t have to say anything right now. Just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch as tears spilled down your cheeks. You loved this man so much.

---

Over the next few days, you couldn’t stop thinking about Aaron’s words.

You watched him more closely than ever, noticing the way he doted on Jack, the way he smiled whenever you passed by a baby in the park, the way he held you just a little tighter at night.

And the more you thought about it, the more the idea began to take root in your heart.

It was a week later, during a quiet evening at home, that you finally found the courage to bring it up again.

You were sitting at the dining table, finishing the last of your dinner, when you set your fork down and looked at him.

“Aaron,” you said softly.

He glanced up, his expression instantly attentive. “Yes?”

You took a deep breath, your fingers nervously twisting the hem of your shirt. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About having a baby.”

His eyes softened, and you saw the faintest glimmer of hope in his gaze. “And?”

You smiled, your heart pounding as you reached for his hand. “And… I think I want that, too. With you.”

Aaron’s face lit up, a smile spreading across his lips as he squeezed your hand.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he murmured, his deep voice warm and full of unspoken emotion.

You laughed through the tears welling in your eyes, unable to look away from the sheer adoration in his gaze. “I think I do,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over his knuckles.

Aaron’s other hand reached up, his fingertips tenderly brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “You’re really ready for this?” he asked, his tone quiet and reverent, like he didn’t want to break the fragile bubble of this moment.

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. “With you? Yes. A thousand times yes.”

His dark eyes softened even further, the kind of look that always made you feel like you were the only person in the world to him. He kissed you then—slow and deliberate, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude into the motion.

When he finally pulled back, you noticed the faintest mischievous glint in his eye, something you rarely saw but secretly adored. His lips quirked into a small, almost playful smile.

“Well,” he said, his voice dropping just slightly, “if we’re going to have a baby… shouldn’t we start practicing?”

You blinked at him, stunned for half a second before a breathless laugh escaped your lips. “Oh, really?” you teased, tilting your head as you looked at him. “You don’t waste any time, do you?"

His grin widened just a fraction as he leaned closer, his thumb tracing slow circles over the back of your hand. “Why would I, when we could make this moment count?” His voice was a low rumble now, filled with a heated edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

The air between you shifted—charged and electric, crackling with the kind of tension that made your pulse race.

“Aaron…” You whispered, your voice catching in your throat as he cupped your cheek, his touch so gentle yet so deliberate.

“Yes?” he murmured, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth, teasing you with just the faintest ghost of a kiss.

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips, your hands sliding up to rest against his chest. “You’re not playing fair.”

He hummed low in his throat, his other hand settling on your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “I don’t plan to.”

The next kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was full of unspoken promises and barely contained need, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak.

You gasped as he shifted, lifting you effortlessly into his arms as though you weighed nothing. Your hands tangled in his shirt as he carried you toward the bedroom, his lips never straying far from yours.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds one shot #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #aaron hotchner imagines #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner smut

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batfsm · 6 hours ago

Text

I wrote a fanfic for this but I now need a title…and a summary.

Warnings: I don’t say outright in the story, in my opinion, but i imply a lot of child abuse and sexual assault to children. So be careful please.

I do speak of death and drugs but only in passing.

The story is under the cut. It got away from me. I just wanted to write about Jason and Tim running from Bruce and next thing I know Dick and Alfred are in it, Leslie is mentioned as is Jim, Roy, Lian, Oliver, Damian, and Talia. (Cass and Duke are implied.)

I hope you enjoy @ky-landfill. I’m putting it up tomorrow on my AO3 so I’ll edit in the link then. (Hopefully a name and summary also. Especially a title.)

A sound had Jason dropping the tire he just took off and reaching for Tim who came willingly.

Tim climbed onto Jason’s back as they ran, a move they had practiced for hours until they got it smoothly, and Jason gripped his tire iron harder as he moved faster.

A body suddenly dropping in front of him had Jason sliding to a stop and crunching a bit.

Tim peeked over Jason’s shoulder and felt his eyes widen. Other than that the only other reaction was his tightening grip on his elder brother’s shoulders.

Jason glared as he shifted a bit more to hide Tim and lifted his tire iron. “Leave us alone!”

Batman glared. “Why did you take my tires?”

“None of ya business. We aren’t anymore, so let us go.”

“You’re coming with me.” Batman I growled.

“Fuck off, you big boob!” Jason shouted before rushing Batman.

The man was so surprised that he couldn’t stop the hit to his abdomen. As Batman doubled over, Jason ran past as fast as he could.

[They wouldn’t be found for a week and it wasn’t by Batman. Robin, who came back to visit Agent A and was reluctantly patrolling with Batman, though he was internally glad to be home, ran into Tim by accident.

Tim, when faced with one of his heroes, just stared as he had at Batman before grinning and asking Robin if he wanted to come meet his big brother.

Robin, who was told about the story by a mulish Batman, grinned brightly and agreed.

The young boy led the way to their hideout only to find Jason struggling against a man. Robin didn’t even blink as he took the man down and then fussed over the two boys.

Tim clung to Jason who clung back as Robin looked around and then called Agent A who came to pick the boys up and take them to dinner and then Doctor Thompson’s clinic to be looked over.

As Leslie looked the two civilians over, Agent A snuck out and back to the hideout where the downed man was just coming around.

(Commissioner Gordon ended up with a man beaten up and files full of evidence against the man and others hurting children. Jim Gordon took pleasure in slapping charge after charge on the man and the others, including more police officers who he had thought were not corrupt.)

When Agent A joined the trio, Batman was with him. (Bruce had gotten his own hits in when he saw files on Dick and Roy. Oliver had been alerted and was hunting down the men and women in Star City that were a bit to interested in children, especially his son.) Batman, who had found the files and most of the evidence, dropped to his knees and hugged the three boys. He silently vowed to do better in his relationship with Dick and to keep a close eye on the two younger boys and where they would be placed.

Batman redid the vow months later to include all his children when he finally admitted to Alfred and himself that Jason and Tim were best left with the family.

Jason and Tim, like Dick, was the best thing that happened to him.

All his children, present and future were.]

[Roy and Oliver’s arguments in the future would never get as bad as they should have been because Oliver followed Bruce’s example opened up to his son. Roy would be able to fall back on his dad when he started to get addicted and would have the support he desperately needed from the start. Lian would grow and never die since she was with her dad and grandpa all the time and not just Roy.

The whole family would be happier.]

[Jason, by way, never became estranged from the family. He does die but Talia puts him straight into the Pit and then takes him home with Damian.]

Fuck off, you big boob!

#batman #jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #my fanfiction #fanart

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unconventional-lawnchair · 3 days ago

Note

dark!barty has been on my mind so much lately!! need jealous, possessive, obsessive, barty!

AN: HECK YEAH THIRD POST OF THE NIGHT BABIEEE- Almost all my drafts are done

Trust and Obedience

Dark!Obsessive!Barty Crouch Jr. x Reader

Summary: Small snippets of moments between you and Barty, where you really should have picked up on his spiral.

WC: 11.2k... someone teach me how to write normally-

CW: Chocking, reader is referred to as 'belonging' to Barty, Barty is controlling and (at times) read as condescending, sniffing, reader trusts him way too much, slightly oblivious and innocent reader, the ends gets very ~spicy~ but cuts before anything actually happens- skip the last scene if you aren't interested in that.

It was late- far later than any of self respecting 5th year should have been awake- but no one seemed eager to call it a night. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls of the dormitory. The room was cozy, its deep green and silver tones softened by the golden glow of the flames.

Pandora was sprawled on Regulus’s bed, flipping idly through a magazine, her long hair hanging over the edge as she hummed softly to herself. Regulus sat by the window, seemingly uninterested in the conversation, gazing out into the dark grounds below. Meanwhile, Evan sat cross-legged on the floor, his wand in hand as he absentmindedly practiced non-verbal spells on the edge of a quill, making it levitate an inch off the ground before it wobbled and fell.

And you- you were seated on the floor, leaning back against Evan’s bed where Barty lounged behind you, your knees drawn up as you flipped through a book. You were engrossed in whatever you were reading, your brow furrowed slightly in concentration. Every now and then, you’d let out a soft sigh of frustration, your lips pursing as you tried to make sense of the passage in front of you.

Barty wasn’t paying attention to his own book. He hadn’t been for a while. Instead, his eyes lingered on you, taking in the way the firelight danced across your features, the way you absentmindedly chewed on your lower lip when you were deep in thought. He liked watching you like this, when you were unaware of the intensity of his gaze.

Evan, clearly annoyed by the quiet tension in the room, flicked his wand and muttered something under his breath. Your book snapped shut on its own, making you jump slightly.

“Evan!” You gasped, glaring at him.

“What?” Evan drawled, smirking. “You’ve been staring at that thing for ages. Thought I’d do you a favor.”

“You’re such a git,” You muttered, reopening the book.

Pandora giggled from her spot on the bed. “Oh, leave her alone, Evan. You’re just grumpy because you lost to Regulus in Gobstones earlier.”

Regulus didn’t react, still gazing out the window as though he hadn’t heard a word.

Barty leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he watched you with quiet amusement. You sighed again, leaning your head back against his legs, frustrated with how the numbers and letters on the page kept dancing between each other. Without thinking, his hand moved on its own, brushing through your hair in a slow, deliberate motion.

You didn’t pull away. You never did.

His fingers trailed down, grazing the nape of your neck, where they lingered just a second too long. He felt you shiver slightly under his touch, a small reaction you probably didn’t even notice yourself, but it made something twist deep in his chest.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low, almost soothing. “You’re too tense.”

You smiled, tilting your head slightly to look up at him, completely oblivious to the way his eyes darkened, to the way his fingers curled slightly as if resisting the urge to hold you there, to press against the pulse point beneath his touch. He imagined wrapping his hand around your throat- not to hurt you, never that- but to feel the proof of your life beneath his fingers. To remind you that you were his, even if you didn’t realize it yet.

“You’re always like this,” Evan muttered, clearly irritated. “Touching each other.”

Pandora propped herself up on her elbows, grinning. “I think it’s sweet,” she said, her tone dreamy. “They’re comfortable with each other. You wouldn’t understand, Evan.”

Barty didn’t respond, his hand still resting lightly on your neck. He liked the way it felt, the way you trusted him so blindly. It unraveled something in him, made the ever-present hunger beneath his skin burn hotter.

You laughed softly, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air. “We are just friends,” you said lightly, not noticing the way Barty’s fingers twitched slightly at your words. “Right, Barty?”

His grip tightened ever so slightly- just for a moment, just enough for him to feel your pulse quicken beneath his touch- before he forced himself to relax. He didn’t like hearing you say it, didn’t like the way it sounded coming from your lips. Just friends. But it was enough for him, for now.

He played along, as he always did.

“Sure,” He chuckled, his voice steady, though there was a hint of something darker beneath it. “Just friends.”

Evan scoffed, clearly unimpressed, while Pandora gave a soft, knowing hum, her gaze flicking between the two of you with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Friends don’t touch each other like that,” Evan muttered under his breath, flicking his wand again to make the quill hover once more.

Pandora ignored him, turning her attention back to her magazine, and Regulus remained silent, as always, seemingly uninterested in the whole exchange.

“We do.” Barty challenged listlessly- only for a small smirk to over take Evans face.

Evan’s smirk widened, the mischievous glint in his eyes sharpening as he caught sight of Barty’s fingers resting lightly on your neck. The tension radiating from Barty was palpable, his normally chaotic demeanor stretched thin, but Evan didn’t seem to care.

“Well, if you’re just friends,” Evan said, dragging out the words in a tone that bordered on taunting, “then she won’t mind if I-”

He took a step forward, reaching toward your shoulder, but he didn’t get far.

Barty’s hand moved faster than anyone expected, tightening on your neck- not enough to hurt, but enough for you to notice. His other hand shot out, palm flat against Evan’s chest, stopping him mid-step with a force that was anything but playful. His eyes locked on Evan’s, cold and unyielding.

“Don’t. Touch.” Barty practically growled, his voice dangerously low. There was no trace of humor left, only a thinly veiled threat simmering beneath the surface. His entire posture was tense, like a guard dog poised to attack at the first sign of danger.

Pandora sat up fully, wide-eyed but clearly entertained than alarmed. “Oh dear,” She mused softly, a smile playing on her lips. “You’ve done it now, Evan.”

You, oblivious to the darker undercurrents in Barty’s reaction, reached up to touch his wrist lightly, as if to reassure him. “It’s fine, Barty. He’s just being annoying.”

But Barty didn’t relax. His gaze didn’t waver from Evan, who raised his hands in mock surrender, though the smirk never left his face.

“Merlin, calm down,” Evan muttered, backing up a step. “It was just a joke.”

Barty didn’t move, didn’t speak. He watched Evan retreat like a hawk, as though daring him to try again. Only when Evan dropped back onto the floor, still smirking but clearly deciding not to push further, did Barty loosen his grip on your neck. His fingers lingered for a moment longer before falling away entirely, though the tension in his shoulders remained.

Pandora giggled softly. “You’re so protective, Barty. It’s sweet, really.”

You gave Barty a puzzled look, still unaware of the possessive storm swirling behind his eyes. “You didn’t have to react like that,” you said lightly. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Barty didn’t answer immediately, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to remain calm. It was a big deal- to him. The idea of anyone else laying a hand on you, even in jest, made something dark and primal rise to the surface. But he couldn’t say that to you- you'd think he'd gone mad. Or worse- you'd worry about him.

“He shouldn’t touch you,” he muttered instead, his voice quiet but firm, as though that explained everything. “You don't know where he's hands have been.”

Evan scoffed from his spot on the floor, leaning back on his elbows. “You’re ridiculous,” He bemoaned, clearly amused by Barty’s reaction. “It’s not like she’s-”

“Careful, Rosier.” Regulus said suddenly, his voice calm and detached as he continued to gaze out the window. He slowly turned to look ag you guys, smirking as his eyes locked with Barty’s. “That's Barty’s girl. Everyone knows that.”

Evan fell silent, his smirk fading slightly as he glancegavs a dramatic groan and leaned back against the couch, smirking at you as Barty chuckled.

“Exactly right, Reg.” Barty smirked and flattened his palm against your neck, but again, you gave no reaction.

Evan gave another dramatic groan, leaning back further against the couch. He shot you a playful glare, though his smirk betrayed any real annoyance. “Unbelievable. You just let him do that?” He gestured toward Barty’s hand, still resting possessively on your neck. “Merlin, you’re both hopeless.”

Pandora grinned from her spot on the bed, clearly enjoying the scene. “Hopelessly sweet,” she teased, propping herself up on her elbows. “Honestly, it’s like watching a couple who refuse to admit they’re together.”

You let out a soft laugh, rolling your eyes as you stretched your legs out, nudging Evan’s ankle with your foot. “Oh, stop it. You’re all making it a bigger deal than it is.”

Barty didn’t say anything, but his smirk grew, fingers flexing ever so slightly against the curve of your neck. You didn’t even notice, too busy teasing Evan by nudging his foot again in a childish game of footsie.

“You’re asking for it now,” Evan warned, leaning forward slightly, clearly ready to retaliate. He grinned wickedly, flicking his wand toward your leg to tickle your ankle with a harmless jinx.

You squealed, jerking your leg away as you laughed. “Evan, you prat!”

The sound of your laughter filled the room, light and carefree, and Barty’s gaze softened, though the possessiveness never fully left his expression. He liked seeing you like this- happy, playful, surrounded by people you trusted.

But still… his hand remained on your neck, a silent claim no one else seemed to question anymore.

Regulus returned his attention to the window, his smirk fading into the same detached calm he always carried. Pandora giggled quietly to herself, watching Evan and you bicker as if it were her favorite form of entertainment.

Meanwhile, Barty leaned back against the bed once more, his fingers trailing down your neck in a slow, deliberate motion before falling away entirely. He didn’t need to say anything. He didn’t need to react further.

Everyone here knew it. You were his. Even if you didn’t realize it yet.

He could wait. He always had.

~~~

It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon, and most of the house is either outside enjoying the crisp autumn air or scattered around the common room. You’ve just come back from Hogsmeade, a small bag in hand filled with little trinkets and things you’d picked up during your trip. Among them is a new perfume you’d been curious about, a light floral scent with hints of vanilla and something warmer, richer.

You dab a little on your wrists and neck, the scent quickly enveloping you in its delicate sweetness. You smile, pleased with your purchase, and- after thanking a fellow sixth year who held the door for you- stand behind the couch, tossing Evan a sweet he had begged you to grab for him.

Barty, seated across the room with Pandora and Regulus, had barely been paying attention to the conversation- until now. The moment the scent reaches him, something shifts. His gaze sharpens, zeroing in on you as if drawn by an invisible thread. He gets up, crossing the room with a casualness that doesn’t quite hide the intent behind his movements.

“You smell different,” He murmurs as he comes to stand behind you, his voice low, almost reverent. Before you can respond, he leans down slightly, his hands settling lightly on your shoulders as he inhales the scent lingering around your neck. “What is that?”

You laugh softly, turning your head slightly to glance at him over your shoulder. “It’s just a new perfume I bought today. Do you like it?”

“Like it?” He repeats, his hands sliding down your arms, his grip warm and grounding. “It’s you.” His voice is softer now, almost dazed, as if the scent alone has enchanted him. He leans closer again, this time pressing his face against your hair, taking in more of the scent. “You smell… amazing.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but the blush rising to your cheeks betrays your flustered reaction. “Alright, alright, you’re acting like I invented the stuff.”

Barty chuckles, wrapping his arms loosely around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Can’t help it,” he says, his voice lower, more intimate. “You smell too good.” His hands tighten slightly, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as he murmurs, “You should wear this more often.”

The whole scene feels strangely domestic- like something a lovesick boyfriend would do. But to you, it’s just Barty being overly affectionate, as always.

But Evan? Evan isn’t having it.

He throws up his hands dramatically, gesturing wildly at the two of you. “Oh, come on! You two have to be taking the piss at this point!” He points an accusatory finger between you and Barty. “You two must to be shagging!”

Pandora giggles from her spot by the fire, clearly delighted by the chaos. Regulus, as always, remains stoic, but there’s a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“We’re not,” You say quickly, laughing as you try to wriggle out of Barty’s grip. But he doesn’t let go, holding you firmly in place, his smirk growing as he glances at Evan.

“Jealous, Rosier?” Barty drawls, his tone lazy but his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I can’t help it if I appreciate good company.”

“Good company?” Evan repeats incredulously. “You’re practically glued to her! Friends don’t do that! Friends don’t-” He gestures wildly again, flustered. “-sniff each other!”

Pandora bursts out laughing, nearly doubling over as she watches Evan struggle to find the right words. “Oh, Evan, leave them alone..”

Barty doesn’t move, still holding you loosely in his arms, his fingers idly tracing patterns against your wrist. You’re flustered but laughing, brushing it off as nothing more than playful teasing.

But to Barty, this is something else entirely. The scent, your warmth, the way you relax so easily in his hold- it’s driving him mad in the best way possible. He knows Evan’s teasing is harmless, but part of him bristles at the idea of anyone thinking they could have what he already considers his.

“We’re just friends,” You say again, more for Evan’s benefit than anything else. “Barty’s always like this.”

Evan stares at you, utterly exasperated. “Always like this? You’re telling me he always holds you like you’re the love of his life and sniffs you like you’re bloody Amortentia?”

Your cheeks flushed a passionate rosey shade. “I- well- the sniffing is new!”

Pandora chokes on another laugh, clutching her stomach as Regulus finally speaks, his voice calm but dry. “You might as well give up, Evan. They’ve been saying the same thing for years.”

Barty doesn’t respond to any of them. He doesn’t care what Evan thinks, or even what Pandora finds amusing. All that matters is you- your scent, your warmth, the way you let him hold you without question.

He presses his lips briefly to your hair, a gesture so soft and quick that it goes unnoticed by everyone but you. “You smell perfect,” he murmurs again, just for you.

And though you laugh it off, brushing away the warmth spreading across your cheeks, something about the way he holds you lingers in your mind far longer than it should.

To you, it’s just Barty being affectionate.

To Barty? It’s you unknowingly giving him another reason to be completely, utterly obsessed.

~~~

Your head girl dorm was warm and inviting, filled with the blue haze from the lake just a few yards below. Pandora, Evan, and Regulus were already there, lounging comfortably- Pandora on your bed, Regulus perched in one of the armchairs, and Evan sprawled on the floor, fiddling with his wand as he always did.

Their conversation had been light and easy until the door swung open, revealing you storming in, frustration written all over your face. Barty followed closely behind, his expression unreadable, calm in a way that only made your irritation grow.

Pandora’s brows raised as she exchanged a glance with Evan, who straightened slightly, clearly intrigued by the tension crackling between you and Barty. Regulus didn’t react outwardly, but his gaze flicked toward the two of you, quietly observing.

“I can’t believe you did that!” you snapped, spinning on your heel to face Barty as you threw your bag onto the bed. In all the years they’d known you, none of them- not Pandora, Evan, or even Regulus- had ever heard you truly raise your voice at him. Sure, you’d been upset with Barty before; you’d sighed, pouted, and even shot him the occasional glare. But shouting? Walking away from him? That was unheard of.

“You had no right,” you continued, your voice sharp, crackling with a frustration that felt foreign even to you.

The door clicked softly shut behind him as Barty stepped inside. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his posture maddeningly relaxed, yet there was a tension about him, an unspoken electricity in the way his eyes locked onto yours. His calm wasn’t comforting- it was unnerving, especially when paired with the fiery crackle of your anger.

It was impossible to tell what unsettled the others more: the rare sight of your hostility or the uncharacteristic stillness in Barty’s demeanor. For once, the boy who thrived on chaos and disruption seemed like the eye of the storm- calm, deliberate, and entirely unbothered.

Pandora exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Evan, who raised his brows in silent surprise. Even Regulus, who rarely looked interested in anything, shifted slightly in his chair, his gaze sharpening as he observed the brewing tension between you and Barty.

Barty didn’t respond immediately. He stood there, leaning casually against the closed door, as if he were giving you a moment to let your words hang in the air. His eyes, however, remained fixed on you, dark and unwavering, his calm exterior betraying the intensity simmering just beneath the surface.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Barty muttered evenly, his voice low and composed. “I told him what he needed to hear.”

“What he needed to hear?” You repeated incredulously, your voice rising, practically echoing off the stone walls of your dorm. “He asked me on a date, Barty. Me. Not you.”

Pandora leaned forward slightly, clearly invested in the unfolding argument, while Evan smirked, obviously enjoying the drama. Regulus remained quiet, his gaze steady, but his lips twitched ever so slightly in amusement.

The tension crackled in the room like a live wire, yet Barty remained infuriatingly calm, his hands still tucked into his pockets, his head tilted ever so slightly as he watched you pace back and forth. Your frustration was evident, radiating from you in waves, and yet he didn’t seem the least bit concerned. If anything, he looked amused.

“You didn’t have to do that, Barty,” you huffed, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “You always do this- stepping in, making decisions like I can’t handle myself.”

Barty leaned back against the closed door, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he spoke, his voice low and even. “You say that like I did something wrong.”

“Because you did!” You spun on your heel to glare at him, your cheeks flushed from a mix of anger and embarrassment. “He was just asking me on a date. That’s all. I could’ve handled it.”

“He didn’t deserve to ask you anything,” Barty replied smoothly, his tone infuriatingly casual as his dark eyes stayed locked on yours. “I did him a favor, really. Saved him from wasting both our time.”

You groaned, your fists clenching at your sides as you stopped in front of him, your head tilted back to meet his gaze. “It’s not your job to decide that.”

Barty finally moved, leaning forward slightly, the space between you shrinking as his smirk softened into something more dangerous. “It is when it involves you,” he said simply, his voice softer now, almost tender. “You’re my best friend.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, your resolve wavered. You hated how easily he could disarm you, how the sharp edge of your anger dulled the moment his tone softened, the way he tilted his head like he was waiting for you to see things his way.

Pandora, perched on your bed with her legs crossed, was watching the scene unfold with wide, curious eyes. Evan, sprawled on the floor, had long since given up pretending to be interested in his wandwork, his smirk growing wider with every passing second. Even Regulus, who rarely seemed to care about anything, was watching now, his sharp gaze flicking between you and Barty with quiet interest.

You took a step back, shaking your head as if to clear it. “I’m not a child, Barty. I can make my own decisions.”

His expression didn’t change, but his hand moved, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture so soft, so intimate, that it made your breath hitch. “I know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t look out for you.”

You hated how easily he got under your skin, how his touch unraveled you no matter how much you tried to hold yourself together. “You don’t always have to protect me, Barty,” you muttered, though your voice lacked the bite it had earlier. “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can,” he said again, his hand lingering at the side of your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheekbone. “But I’m still going to.”

You huffed, crossing your arms as you tried to look anywhere but at him, though his gaze was like a tether pulling you back. His hand didn’t move from where it lingered near your face, warm and steady, and you hated how your resolve was crumbling under the weight of it.

“You’re pouting,” Barty said, his tone calm but laced with amusement, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“I am not,” you shot back quickly, though the heat rushing to your cheeks betrayed you.

“You are,” he said simply, leaning in just a fraction closer. His smirk softened into something almost affectionate as he added, “It’s cute, though. You can keep doing it.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, and you stumbled over your words, caught completely off guard by the casual compliment. “I- I’m not pouting,” You insisted, though your voice wavered, and the corners of your lips twitched as if you were fighting the urge to smile.

Barty chuckled, his thumb brushing ever so lightly against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. “Sure, you’re not,” he teased, his voice dropping lower, softer. “But I don’t mind if you do.”

Pandora let out a small squeal of delight from her perch on your bed, clearly enjoying the interaction far too much. “Oh, this is precious,” she giggled, kicking her legs in the air. “You’re so hopelessly sweet, the both of you.”

Evan groaned dramatically from his spot on the floor, throwing his head back against the carpet. “Merlin, you’re both insufferable. Just snog and put us all out of our misery.”

Your eyes widened, and you whipped around to glare at him. “We are not-” but your voice trailed off when Barty’s hand slid to your shoulder, grounding you.

“Calm down, Evan,” Barty drawled, his smirk growing wider as he glanced over at the other boy. “You’re just jealous she likes me better.”

Evan scoffed, rolling his eyes. “As if. I just want to live in peace without the two of you staring at each other like a pair of lovesick Puffskeins.”

You felt your cheeks flush even hotter, but before you could protest again, Barty gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, drawing your attention back to him. His expression had softened now, his eyes searching yours.

“You can keep pretending to be mad at me if you want,” he murmured, his voice quiet enough that only you could hear. “But I know you’re not.”

You let out a loud, dramatic huff, throwing your hands in the air as you turned away from him. Without another word, you stomped over to your bed and flopped onto it with a groan of pure frustration, your legs dangling over the edge. The sound was almost comically displeased, and you kicked your feet against the mattress in a childish show of annoyance.

Behind you, Pandora stifled a giggle, and even Regulus quirked an amused brow, though he said nothing. Evan, on the other hand, looked entirely too pleased with the chaos unfolding before him.

Barty, unbothered by your theatrics, followed you over with that maddeningly calm expression still plastered on his face. He knelt at the foot of the bed without a word, slipping your shoes off one by one with deliberate care. You made a point to keep your arms crossed and your lips pressed into a pout, but the edges of your resolve wavered ever so slightly as his fingers brushed your ankles.

When he was done, he rested one elbow on the bedframe and leaned in close, his other hand resting against the mattress near your hip. His gaze was heavy, and it pinned you in place despite your best efforts to avoid looking at him.

Finally, you peeked up at him through your lashes, still pouting as you muttered, “You’re terrible at this friend thing, Barty.”

He let out a low sound- half groan, half sigh- as his head tilted slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours with a mix of exasperation and amusement. “I know,” he said softly, his voice carrying that same infuriating calm that made your chest tighten. “I’m bloody awful at it.”

You huffed again, though it came out weaker this time, and you buried your face in your hands for a moment before peeking out at him once more. “You’re not even trying to be better.”

“I’m not,” he agreed shamelessly, leaning in closer, his face only inches from yours now. His smirk softened, and for a moment, his expression bordered on something more vulnerable. “But I’m not sure I want to be better.”

That caught you off guard, and for a second, you forgot to be annoyed as you stared at him, your heart skipping a beat. You weren’t sure what he meant, not entirely, but the way his gaze lingered on yours made your chest feel uncomfortably warm.

“Hopeless,” Evan muttered from across the room, breaking the moment as he rolled onto his side with a dramatic groan. “The both of you.”

Pandora just grinned, resting her chin in her hands as she watched the scene unfold with unabashed delight. “Don’t mind him,” she said, her voice sing-song. “I think it’s sweet.”

You let out another huff, though this time it was more embarrassed than angry, and you shoved at Barty’s chest lightly. “I can't stand you,” you muttered, your cheeks flushing as you turned your face away.

Barty chuckled softly at your reaction, his smirk growing as he caught your chin with his fingers, gently tilting your face back toward him. “You say that,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with something that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t want to admit, “but you don’t really mean it.”

You swatted at his hand half-heartedly, but he didn’t let go, his thumb brushing along your jaw in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “I do mean it,” you insisted, though your voice wavered, and you hated how easily he could unravel you.

Pandora giggled from her spot on the bed, clearly delighted by the dynamic. “Oh, come on,” she teased, propping herself up on her elbows. “Just admit he’s your favorite, and we can all move on.”

Evan groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. “If she says it, I’m leaving. I can’t bear to hear her feed his ego.”

Barty’s smirk turned almost predatory, and he leaned in just a fraction closer, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “Go on,” he urged, his voice soft and teasing. “Tell them I’m your favorite.”

You glared at him, though it was half-hearted at best. “You’re impossible,” you muttered again, but there was no real heat behind your words.

Barty’s grin widened, and he finally let go of your chin, leaning back slightly as he rested his forearms on the edge of the bed. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said smugly, clearly pleased with himself.

Pandora clapped her hands together, her grin as wide as his. “I knew it!” she exclaimed. “You’re both hopelessly sweet. It’s adorable, really.”

Regulus, who had been silent the entire time, finally spoke, his voice calm and dry. “Can we move on now? Or are we just going to sit here while they flirt all night?”

Your face flushed even hotter, and you buried it in your hands, groaning. “We’re not flirting!” You insisted, though even you didn’t believe it.

Barty laughed, the sound warm and rich as he reached out to ruffle your hair. “Sure we’re not,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “Whatever you say.”

You swatted at his hand again, but this time, you couldn’t help the small, reluctant smile that tugged at your lips. No matter how frustrating he could be, he always had a way of making you forget why you were mad in the first place.

~~~

The common room was alive with celebration, the emerald and silver banners draped across the walls shimmering in the floating candlelight. Music pulsed softly in the background, mingling with the chatter and laughter of students sprawled across couches and cushions. The Ravenclaw-Slytherin match had been brutal, but the RavenClaw team had emerged victorious, and Barty- of course- had made himself the star of the night.

You were perched on the arm of a chair across the room, a cup of butterbeer in your hand, but your attention was focused on Barty, who was lounging on one of the larger couches near the hearth. A girl- a sixth-year Ravenclaw whose name you didn’t remember- was leaning far too close to him, her laugh too loud, her hand brushing his arm as she spoke.

Your stomach twisted, and you took a sip of your drink, trying to ignore the uncomfortable knot of jealousy that had taken root. But the sight of her leaning closer, her hand lingering on Barty’s shoulder, made your blood simmer.

Pandora was the first to notice your pout. She had been sitting cross-legged on the floor near the couch, her chin resting on her hand as she observed the lively room. Her sharp eyes caught the way your gaze kept darting toward Barty and the Ravenclaw girl, and the faint downturn of your lips sent her curiosity spiraling.

“Did you just… pout?” Pandora asked, her tone laced with amusement. She sat up straighter, nudging Regulus with her elbow to get his attention. “Reg, are you seeing this?”

Regulus, ever the picture of detached elegance, arched a brow and looked up from the book he was pretending to read. He followed Pandora’s gaze, his eyes landing on your furrowed brows and the way your fingers gripped your cup a bit too tightly. A smirk slowly curled at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, this is new,” he drawled, closing his book with deliberate care. “She looks… upset. Over a person, no less. That can’t be right.”

Pandora giggled, shifting closer to you with an eager grin. “What’s the matter, love?” she teased, her voice sing-song. “You’ve got that look like someone just stole your favorite quill. What did she do?”

Your head whipped toward them, cheeks flushing under their amused scrutiny. “I don’t like her,” you blurted out, the words leaving your lips before you could stop them.

Pandora’s jaw dropped, and she gasped dramatically, clutching at her chest like you’d just delivered the most scandalous confession of the century. “You don’t like her?” she repeated, her grin widening. “You? The girl who likes everyone?”

Regulus leaned back in his chair, resting his chin in his hand as he observed you with quiet amusement. “I didn’t think it was possible,” he said lightly, his smirk deepening. “The golden girl of our odd bunch doesn’t like someone. Are you feeling alright?”

You groaned, turning away from them in a futile attempt to hide the heat spreading across your cheeks. “It’s not a big deal,” You muttered, your fingers tightening around your cup. “She’s just… annoying.”

Pandora’s laughter bubbled out again, and she leaned forward, practically vibrating with excitement. “Annoying? How so? You’ve never called anyone annoying before.”

You bit your lip, casting a quick glance at Barty and the Ravenclaw girl. She was still leaning far too close, her laugh grating in your ears as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “She’s loud,” you mumbled, your voice tinged with irritation. “And she keeps laughing at everything he says like he’s Merlin reincarnated.”

“Oh, she’s loud, at a party” Pandora turned to look at Regulus in exaggerated aspiration, her tone dripping with mock seriousness. “How dare she.”

“And laughing?” Regulus added with a feigned gasp. “What an outrage.”

“She’s touching him.” You snapped, your voice a little louder than you intended. Both Pandora and Regulus froze for a moment, staring at you in stunned silence before breaking into twin peals of laughter.

“Touching him?” Pandora echoed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Oh, darling, Barty would be thrilled to hear you now.”

“Tragic,” Regulus murmured, shaking his head with mock pity. “Jealousy really doesn’t suit you.”

“I am not jealous,” you said sharply, your voice a touch too defensive. The way they both exchanged knowing looks made your stomach twist even more.

“Oh, sure,” Pandora said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “You’re not jealous. You just don’t like the girl because she’s breathing the same air as Barty.”

Regulus leaned forward, propping his elbow on his knee as he smirked knowingly. “Breathe a little louder, and she might vanish,” he teased, his tone smooth and laced with amusement. “You’re practically glaring a hole into the back of her head.”

You whipped your head toward him, cheeks burning hotter than the fireplace behind you. “I’m not glaring,” you snapped, though the defensive edge in your tone betrayed you.

Pandora was practically bouncing now, her grin threatening to split her face in two. “Oh, this is delicious,” she cooed. “You’re jealous. Admit it. Come on, it’s alright to say it.”

“I’m not jealous,” you insisted, though your voice cracked slightly on the last word. You took another sip of your butterbeer in a vain attempt to calm yourself, but the sight of the Ravenclaw girl leaning closer to Barty made your grip tighten on the glass.

Pandora leaned toward Regulus, cupping her hand around her mouth as if whispering a grand secret. “Do you think she realizes she’s been holding that butterbeer like she wants to hex it?”

Regulus tilted his head thoughtfully, his lips twitching. “I doubt it,” he murmured back, loud enough for you to hear. “She’s too busy deciding whether to hex the butterbeer or the girl.”

You let out a frustrated groan, setting your cup down with a louder-than-intended thud. “You’re both impossible.”

“And you’re completely transparent,” Regulus shot back smoothly. His silver eyes gleamed as he leaned closer, his voice dropping into a teasing lilt. “If you’re so bothered, go do something about it. Merlin knows Barty would fall over himself if you so much as batted your eyelashes.”

Pandora nodded fervently, her curls bouncing as she clapped her hands together. “Oh, yes! Just go over there and ruin her night. It’s what she deserves, really.”

You shook your head, determined to ignore them, but the Ravenclaw girl’s hand brushing Barty’s arm again made something snap inside you. Before you could stop yourself, you stood abruptly, drawing the attention of Pandora and Regulus.

“Finally,” Regulus muttered under his breath, a smug grin curling his lips.

“Go get him, love!” Pandora called after you, her voice sing-song and filled with glee.

Your stride across the common room was purposeful, your heart pounding as you ignored the heat of Regulus and Pandora's amused stares boring into your back. You weren’t even thinking; your legs seemed to be moving on their own, fueled by a mix of irritation and something deeper, something you weren’t ready to name.

Barty noticed you before you even reached him. His sharp eyes flicked up, his smirk softening into something unreadable as he leaned back against the couch, one arm slung lazily over the backrest. The Ravenclaw girl, oblivious to the shift in his expression, was still chattering on about something inconsequential, her fingers grazing his arm again.

You didn’t stop to acknowledge her. Without so much as a glance in her direction, you stepped into Barty’s space and, in one fluid motion, sat yourself down on his lap.

The Ravenclaw girl froze mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open as her wide eyes darted between you and Barty. Pandora let out a loud, delighted gasp from across the room, and Regulus snorted, barely able to hide his amusement. Even Evan, who had been engrossed in a conversation with another group, glanced over with raised brows.

Barty, on the other hand, didn’t seem the least bit fazed. If anything, his smirk widened, and his hands came up instinctively, one settling on your waist while the other rested casually on your thigh, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

You didn’t say a word as you settled into Barty’s lap, your arms crossing loosely over your chest as you stared up at him. Your expression wasn’t sassy or confrontational- it was soft, expectant, and patient, the kind of look only you could manage, one that could coax a response out of anyone without so much as a word.

Barty’s smirk twitched, his sharp eyes softening as they met yours. The quiet patience in your gaze was like a silent challenge, and it drew him in immediately. The Ravenclaw girl’s voice faltered into awkward silence as his attention shifted entirely to you.

“Something I can help you with, love?” he asked lightly, his tone teasing but his hands steady as they rested on your waist. His fingers flexed slightly, grounding you both in the moment.

Still, you didn’t speak. You only tilted your head a fraction, looking up at him with those wide, trusting eyes that had always been his undoing. Your lips pressed into the faintest pout, and though it was subtle, Barty recognized it instantly. He couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound warm and rich as it rumbled in his chest.

Pandora, from her spot across the room, clutched at her heart dramatically. “Merlin, she’s too sweet! Look at her!” she whispered loudly, nudging Regulus, who arched a brow but remained otherwise composed.

Regulus’s silver eyes flicked to you and Barty, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “She’s not saying anything because she doesn’t have to,” he muttered, his voice dry but amused. “That look alone does all the work.”

Meanwhile, Barty was focused entirely on you, his smirk softening into something more tender as he leaned closer, his hand sliding up your back in a lazy, possessive motion. “Alright, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a quieter, more intimate tone. “What is it? You’ve got my attention.”

You tilted your head slightly, your pout deepening just enough to tug at his chest. “You were busy,” you said softly, your voice carrying no hint of accusation, only quiet disappointment.

Barty’s expression flickered, the teasing edge of his smirk replaced with something almost apologetic. He shifted slightly, pulling you closer until your knees bumped against his. “I wasn’t too busy for you,” he said, his tone softer now, his eyes searching yours. “You know that.”

Pandora let out a delighted squeal, practically bouncing in her seat. “Oh, I love this,” she crowed. “She’s not even mad- just quietly disappointed. It’s perfect.”

Evan groaned from his place by the fireplace, throwing his hands up. “It’s maddening, is what it is. She doesn’t even have to try, and he’s practically falling over himself.”

You were trying to be nice. You really were.

But she was still right there.

You tilted your head slightly, your pout giving way to a small, mischievous smile. Slowly, you leaned closer to Barty, your fingers lightly brushing against his shoulder as you looked up at him, your voice soft and teasing. “You know,” you began, your tone low enough that only he could hear, “I might have something for you.”

Barty’s smirk widened as he leaned in, his hand sliding up your back to rest between your shoulder blades. His eyes searched yours, flickering with intrigue. “Oh? And what might that be?”

You let him lean in closer, his face just inches from yours now, the scent of your perfume enveloping him. He closed his eyes for the briefest moment, inhaling deeply as if trying to commit it to memory. When he opened them again, his gaze was darker, more focused, his lips quirking in an almost predatory grin.

“A reward,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear as you tilted your head slightly, letting him catch another wave of your perfume. His grip on your waist tightened instinctively, and you felt the faintest tremor run through him.

“For the win?” he asked, his voice dropping to match yours, the words laced with anticipation. His free hand slid down to rest lightly on your thigh, his fingers flexing against the fabric of your skirt.

“For the win,” you confirmed, your smile growing as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by something softer, something more vulnerable.

“And where,” he asked, his tone still teasing but with an edge of genuine curiosity, “might I find this reward?”

You leaned in again, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “In your dorm room.”

The words hung between you like a challenge, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to hold its breath. Barty’s eyes widened just slightly, the faintest flush creeping up his neck before his smirk returned, sharper than ever.

Pandora let out a gasp from across the room, clutching at Regulus’s arm as she whispered, “Did she just say what I think she said?”

Regulus didn’t answer immediately, his silver eyes fixed on the two of you with quiet amusement. “She did,” he murmured, his lips twitching in the faintest hint of a smirk. “And I think she means it.”

Evan groaned dramatically, covering his face with his hands. “Merlin, this is unbearable. Just go already and put the rest of us out of our misery.”

You ignored them all, your attention locked on Barty as his smirk softened into something almost affectionate. “Well then,” he murmured, his voice low and warm as he tightened his grip on your waist. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

You slid off his lap with a graceful motion, your fingers trailing down his arm as you stood. Barty followed without hesitation, his movements fluid and deliberate as he kept his hand on the small of your back, guiding you toward the staircase.

Behind you, Pandora’s laughter rang out, bright and full of delight. “Oh, this is brilliant,” she exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat. “I’ve never seen anything so perfectly dramatic in my life.”

Regulus chuckled softly, shaking his head as he returned to his book. “Let them have their moment,” he said simply, his tone tinged with amusement. “It’s been a long time coming.”

As the two of you disappeared up the staircase, the sound of your friends’ laughter faded into the background, leaving only the steady rhythm of your footsteps and the quiet hum of anticipation crackling between you and Barty.

You glanced over your shoulder, your smile softening as you caught his gaze. “You really weren’t too busy for me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, more vulnerable.

“Never,” Barty replied without hesitation, his voice steady and sincere. “Not for you.”

And in that moment, as the door to your dorm room swung shut behind you, you realized that you didn’t need to say anything else. Because she was still down there on that couch.

~~~

The night of your graduation had felt surreal, every moment tinged with a bittersweet haze. The castle, your friends, the life you had known for so many years- it was all slipping away into the past. But there was Barty, steady and constant, as if anchoring you to the present. His presence, sharp and magnetic, was the only thing keeping the melancholy at bay.

After the celebrations, the laughter, and the endless teasing from Pandora and Evan, Barty had pulled you aside. His hand, warm and firm, clasped yours as he whispered in your ear, “Come with me.”

The suggestion, laced with something that felt more like a command than a request, sent a thrill down your spine.

The night air was crisp as Barty guided you along the dimly lit path, his grip firm but gentle. You had no idea where he was taking you, but his silence spoke volumes. There was a nervous energy to him, the kind of tension he couldn’t quite hide. It wasn’t often that Barty Crouch Jr. seemed unsure of himself, but tonight, there was a vulnerability in his every step.

When you arrived, you couldn’t help but blink in surprise. The small estate before you was a far cry from the grand manors both of you had grown up in. The house was simple, modest, with ivy creeping up the stone walls and a soft glow emanating from the windows. It looked warm, inviting, but entirely unlike the opulence you had expected.

“Barty…” you began, but he shook his head, pulling you toward the door.

“Just… let me show you,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. There was an edge of uncertainty to it, as though he wasn’t sure how you’d react.

He pushed open the door, revealing a small living room. The space was cozy, with a low ceiling and a worn but comfortable-looking sofa. A fireplace crackled softly in the corner, casting flickering shadows across the room. The furniture was simple, not at all like the ornate pieces that filled your childhood home, but it felt… lived-in. Real.

Barty glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, watching your reaction carefully. “It’s not much,” he admitted, his voice tinged with hesitation. “But I wanted it to feel like… like a home.”

You didn’t say anything at first, letting him guide you through the space. The kitchen was small, the kind of place where two people might bump elbows while cooking. The floors creaked softly under your feet, and the scent of wood smoke lingered in the air.

“It’s cozy,” you said finally, your voice soft. And you meant it. There was something about the simplicity of it all that felt refreshing, grounding. It wasn’t about grand gestures or flaunted wealth- it was real.

Barty seemed to relax slightly at your words, his shoulders dropping as he led you down a narrow hallway. “It’s nothing like what we’re used to,” he said, glancing at you again. “But I didn’t want this to be about… them.” He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I bought this place with my own money. Not my father’s.”

That caught you off guard, and you turned to look at him fully. His expression was unreadable, but his hands fidgeted slightly at his sides- a rare sign of nerves. “Barty…” you started, but he cut you off.

“I wanted to give you something that was ours,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Something that wasn’t tied to the Crouch name or anything else. Just… us.”

Before you could respond, he opened the final door at the end of the hall, revealing a bedroom that stood in stark contrast to the rest of the house. The room was larger than you expected, with high ceilings and a grand four-poster bed draped in rich white and cream fabrics. The walls were lined with shelves, some filled with books, others empty, waiting to be filled. A plush rug covered the wooden floor, and the faint scent of fresh paint lingered in the air.

“This is the only room that’s finished,” Barty admitted, his voice softer now. “I spent most of my time on it because… well, I wanted you to have a space that felt special. Somewhere you could feel like you belonged.”

You stepped inside, running your fingers over the edge of the bedframe. The room was beautiful, but it was the thought behind it that left you speechless. Barty had always been brash, confident to the point of arrogance, but this… this was different. This was him laying his heart bare.

“Why?” you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why do all of this for me?”

He stepped closer, his hands finding yours as he looked down at you. “Because you’re everything to me,” he said simply, his voice steady and sincere. “And I wanted you to have a place where you could feel that. Where you could see how much you mean to me.”

Your chest tightened at his words, a warmth spreading through you that you couldn’t quite describe. You glanced around the room again, taking in the details- the care he had put into every corner, every choice. It was all for you.

“It’s perfect,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. “Barty… it’s perfect.”

Barty stood there, watching your expression with a vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to see. His hands, normally so assured, fidgeted slightly at his sides before he clenched them into fists, as if trying to ground himself. The sight of you standing in the room he’d poured his heart into was almost too much to bear. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest, a steady, insistent rhythm that only grew louder as the silence stretched between you.

You turned back to him, your eyes soft, full of emotions you hadn’t yet put into words. “Barty,” you murmured, stepping closer. “Why are you so nervous? This is… it’s beautiful.”

He let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair in a rare display of uncertainty. “It’s not just the house,” he said, his voice low. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in. Barty had always been intense, magnetic, impossible to ignore, but this… this was different. There was a raw honesty in his gaze, a kind of vulnerability you weren’t used to seeing from him.

He took a step closer, his hands finding yours as he held them between you, his grip firm yet careful. “I’ve been trying to say this for years,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly despite his best efforts to stay calm. “But every time, I stopped myself. I thought- maybe you’d laugh, or maybe you wouldn’t take me seriously.”

“Barty,” you began softly, but he shook his head, his grip tightening ever so slightly as if afraid you’d slip away.

“No, let me finish,” he said, his voice firmer now, though still tinged with that same vulnerability. “From the moment I met you, you’ve been it for me. The only person who’s ever made me feel like there’s something worth fighting for, something worth… building a life for.”

Your chest tightened at his words, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you stared up at him, your heart pounding in your ears. He stepped closer still, his hands releasing yours only to cup your face, his thumbs brushing softly over your cheeks.

“This house,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s not just for me. It’s for us. Because I want you to have a place that’s ours. A place where you can feel safe, loved, cherished. A place where you know, without a doubt, that you mean everything to me.”

Tears spilled over now, and you couldn’t stop them, even if you wanted to. His words, his actions, the sheer intensity of his gaze- it was all too much, too overwhelming in the best possible way.

“Barty,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I-”

“Marry me,” he said suddenly, the words escaping him in a rush before he could stop them. He froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as if realizing what he’d just said. But then he doubled down, his grip on your face firm but gentle as he continued, his voice steady despite the emotion threatening to break through. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I don’t want to waste another second pretending I can be without you.”

Your breath hitched, your heart racing as you searched his eyes, desperate to find some hint of hesitation, some sign that this wasn’t real. But there was nothing- only pure, unyielding devotion staring back at you.

“Marry me,” he repeated, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Be mine. Always.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. The air between you crackled with unspoken emotion, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the space you shared. And then, finally, you nodded, a watery laugh escaping you as you threw your arms around him.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice breaking as tears streamed down your face. “Yes, Barty. Always.”

His arms wrapped around you instantly, pulling you close as he buried his face in your hair. You could feel the tension leaving his body, replaced by a warmth that seemed to envelop you both, grounding you in a moment you knew you’d remember forever.

Barty's arms tightened around you, pulling you so close you could feel every beat of his racing heart. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply as though committing every part of you to memory. For a moment, the world around you seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you standing in the center of a life he'd carefully crafted for this exact moment.

When he pulled back, his hands didn’t leave you. They slid down, trailing over your arms and settling firmly on your waist. His touch lingered, warm and deliberate, and his thumbs brushed over the fabric of your dress in slow, deliberate circles. His gaze locked onto yours, intense and unwavering, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, like he was trying to ground himself in your words.

You blinked, still caught in the whirlwind of his confession, your lips trembling as you whispered, “Yes, Barty. Always.”

A quiet, almost desperate sound escaped him- a mixture of relief and something deeper, something darker. His hands moved again, sliding up your sides and coming to rest just below your ribs. His touch was firm but not forceful, grounding you as his head dipped closer to yours.

The first kiss was tentative, almost shy, his lips brushing against yours with a softness that belied the intensity simmering beneath the surface. It was slow, unhurried, as though he was savoring every second. But then he sighed against your mouth, a deep, shaky sound that seemed to break the fragile barrier between you.

Barty’s hands tightened on your waist as the kiss deepened, becoming more consuming, more insistent. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak, and his fingers gripped you like he was afraid to let go. He muttered something against your lips- soft, almost inaudible- but you caught the words anyway.

“Mine.”

The word sent a spark through you, igniting something you hadn’t realized was waiting just below the surface. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips firmly as he pulled you closer, eliminating any remaining space between you. His lips left yours, trailing a heated path along your jaw and down your neck, and he whispered again, his voice rough and breathless.

“My girl.”

You gasped, your hands finding their way to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as he continued his assault on your senses. His lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped you.

“Say it,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. His hands roamed over your sides, one sliding up to cup the back of your neck while the other pressed firmly against the small of your back, keeping you anchored to him. “Say you’re mine.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his lips returned to yours, claiming them with a renewed intensity. The hand on your neck tilted your head back slightly, giving him better access as he kissed you with a fervor that bordered on desperate. Every touch, every kiss, was a silent declaration, a promise etched into your skin.

“Barty,” you breathed against his lips, your voice trembling but certain. “I’m yours.”

A growl rumbled in his chest, and his hands tightened their hold on you, pulling you even closer. “My fiancée,” he muttered, the words almost a growl as they left his lips. “You’re my fiancée now.”

You could barely think, barely breathe as his words washed over you, each one sinking into your skin and branding itself into your very being. His kisses turned more fervent, more insistent, and his hands roamed your body with a possessiveness that left no doubt in your mind: you were his, completely and utterly.

The atmosphere in the bedroom shifted, the air thick with tension as Barty backed you toward the bed. You stumbled slightly, caught off guard by the suddenness of his movements, but his hands were there to steady you- firm, commanding, and undeniably possessive. Before you could say a word, he pressed his body to yours, his touch leaving a trail of heat wherever his hands grazed.

“Barty-” but the words barely left your lips before he lowered his head, capturing your mouth with a kiss that stole the air from your lungs. It was rougher this time, more insistent, as if he was claiming you with every movement. His hands slid down your sides, warm and steady, guiding you as he nudged you back onto the bed.

You let out a soft gasp as your back hit the mattress, but there was no time to process it before Barty climbed on top of you, settling himself firmly between your thighs. The weight of him against you was grounding, his presence overwhelming in the best way. His hand splayed across your side, his thumb brushing the curve of your hip in slow, deliberate circles that sent shivers coursing through your body.

He kissed you again, harder this time, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that left you breathless. His free hand slid up your body, his fingers trailing along the line of your ribs before settling just beneath your jaw. He tilted your head slightly, deepening the kiss as his thumb brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck.

Your heart was racing now, thundering in your chest as his hand pressed more firmly against your throat. It wasn’t enough to hurt- never that- but just enough to make you hyper-aware of every beat of your pulse, every shallow breath that passed your lips. The sensation sent a dizzying rush through your veins, leaving you lightheaded and craving more.

“Look at me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough. When you hesitated, your gaze flickering away, he pressed his nose to your cheek, letting out a sound that was nothing short of devastated. It was a quiet, broken noise, like it physically hurt him that you weren’t looking at him.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice softer now, tinged with something vulnerable. “Don’t look away.”

Your breath hitched as his thumb brushed over your pulse point, his touch firm but careful. The weight of his gaze was almost too much, too intense, but you forced yourself to meet his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, the dark orbs filled with an unspoken need that made your chest ache.

“There you are,” he said softly, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss. His hand tightened slightly on your neck, just enough to make your head swim, and you felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a smirk. “That’s my girl.”

Your cheeks flushed, the words sinking into your skin like a brand. His hand on your side slid lower, his fingers grazing the edge of your skirt as he pressed his body more firmly against yours. The heat of him was intoxicating, his presence all-consuming, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped you as his lips found your neck.

“Barty,” you gasped, your voice trembling as he nipped at the sensitive skin just below your ear. His teeth grazed your pulse point, and you felt his smirk against your skin as his tongue soothed the sting.

“I can feel your heart racing,” he murmured, his voice low and full of satisfaction. His hand on your neck flexed slightly, the pressure just enough to send a wave of dizziness through you. “It’s like it’s beating just for me.”

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, desperate for something to ground yourself as his kisses trailed down your throat. Every touch, every movement, was deliberate, calculated to drive you to the brink. And yet, despite the overwhelming intensity of it all, there was a tenderness to him- a care that shone through even in his most possessive moments.

He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his gaze heavy with unspoken emotion. His hand slid up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he searched your face. “Tell me who you belong to,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Say it clearly.”

You swallowed hard, your lips parting as you tried to steady your breath. “B-Barty,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure. “You.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest, and his grip on you tightened, his lips crashing against yours once more. This kiss was different- hungrier, more desperate, like he was trying to pour every ounce of his devotion into it. Merlin, it almost hurt. His hands roamed your body, one sliding down to grip your thigh as he pressed himself closer.

Barty’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper as his fingers pressed into your thigh, his grip firm and unyielding. “No one else,” he murmured, his tone low and reverent, like a vow. “No one else will ever leave a mark on you. Only me. Only my hands.”

Your breath hitched as his words settled over you, each syllable searing into your skin. His eyes burned with something primal, his usual mischievous smirk replaced by a solemn intensity that made your pulse race. He wasn’t teasing anymore- this was raw, unfiltered, and entirely Barty.

His hand slid higher, pushing the hem of your skirt up with deliberate slowness. The cool air brushed against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his touch. His thumb pressed lightly into your thigh, and you couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped your lips. The sound made his smirk return, sharp and predatory.

“You feel that?” He murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as his hand traced a path upward. “That’s me. Just me. No one else gets to touch you like this.”

Your grip on his shoulders tightened, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as he shifted closer, his body pressing against yours. His other hand cradled your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone as his gaze locked onto yours. There was no escaping it, no looking away from the sheer possessiveness in his expression.

“You're so cute.” He chuckled, but his voice was firmer now, the words carrying a weight that left no room for argument. “So bloody trusting.”

“Not scared,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute. The admission felt like both a surrender and a victory, and the way his eyes darkened made your chest tighten. “It's you.”

Barty let out a soft, almost triumphant laugh, his hand tightening on your thigh just enough to make you gasp. “Good girl,” he murmured, this time, it was his teeth that trailed down your neck. Before giving you a rather punishing bite. Your skin burned, tinted, but he still didn't let up.

You gasped when he only bit down harder. Your legs flinching against him, only one able to raise as the other was kept down by his harsh grip. You were sure the spot was bruised.

It drove him mad.

You never voice protest against his abuse.

He cooed at you, like a dog for good behavior, before he finally let up. He kissed your soft skin as a feeble apology. His kisses turned rougher, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. You felt the faint sting of his touch, a possessive claim that made your heart race. “No one else,” he muttered against your skin, his voice almost a growl. “No one else will ever get this close to you. Not while I’m breathing.”

The intensity of his words, his touch, his presence- it was overwhelming, consuming, and yet you didn’t want it to stop. Barty had always been a force of nature, wild and untamed, but in this moment, he was entirely focused on you.

“Barty,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper as his hand slipped higher, his touch igniting every nerve in your body. “Please…”

He paused for a moment, his lips hovering over yours as he searched your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch softer now, almost hesitant. “Please what?” he asked, his voice low and filled with unspoken promise. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

You swallowed hard, your cheeks flushed as you met his gaze. The weight of his attention, the sheer intensity in his eyes, made it impossible to think straight. “I want…” Your words faltered, and he tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he waited.

“Say it,” he urged, his voice like a caress. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he leaned closer. “I need to hear you say it.”

You took a shaky breath, your fingers curling into his shirt as you whispered, “I want you.”

Barty’s smirk softened, his expression melting into something almost tender. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he murmured, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that left you breathless.

You could hardly register what happened next. How his hand slid down your throat, slow and careful. The soft sound of his buckle latch clicking against the floor.

When he broke the kiss you were too far gone to say another word to him. A small trail of saliva connecting you two- leaving Barty awestruck at the proof of your mindless obedience.

His girl.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #barty crouch x reader #barty x reader #barty crouch fanfic #barty crouch jr fanfic #barty #barty jr #barty crouch jr #barty crouch jr x reader #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr x you #bartemius crouch junior #bartemius crouch jr #bartemius crouch jr x reader #Bartemius crouch junior x you #pandora rosier #evan rosier #regulus black

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meadowfics · 1 day ago

Text

cryptic

kang dae-ho x f!reader

one of the scariest things happens to you after leaving the games

warnings: cryptic pregnancy, near death, at the time I am writing this season 3 is not out yet, angst, comfort at the end

when you entered the squid games, the last person you expected to see was dae-ho.

your heart nearly stopped when you spotted him in the crowd for the six-legged pentathlon.

you had to take a double take before starting the race with your group..

yup, there he was...broad shoulders, haunted eyes, and that same furrow in his brow you used to know so well.

he froze when he saw you up there ready to play with your own group, his lips parting in disbelief, but the guards didn’t give either of you time to process it.

the game began, and survival instincts took over.

you had the fastest group, luckily.

you completed the jegi game and ran to the finish line as everyone cheered for your group.

however, your ears tuned out everyone except for dae-ho, who made sure that you witnessed his support.

waiting for his group to come back to the dorms was torture for you.

its been nearly six-months since the last time you saw your ex-boyfriend.. however, you still loved him.

he broke up with you, and you had an idea as to why.

he felt like you deserved better, in terms of finding someone who had a bit more masculinity.

you never wanted that, or anyone else.. you always wanted your dae-ho.

a glimpse of relief was caught in your eyes when his group, the last group, entered the dorms.

he spotted you and gave you a light smile, before he turned away, retreating back to his group.

you wanted to talk to him, but what could you possibly say?

throughout the night, the exhaustion that settled over you wasn’t just from the constant fear of death but from the hunger you couldn’t shake away.

those pitiful trays of food barely sustained you, and your body craved more.

you kept with your group you had in the six-legged pentathlon..

when someone in your group couldn’t stomach their meal, you always took it, masking your desperation with a lighthearted

“don’t want it to go to waste.”

deep down, you hated that you were lying, but survival had its price.

dae-ho was always watching you, even when you weren’t aware of it.

he kept his distance, knowing how complicated things were between you two, but his protective instincts never faltered.

when you almost stumbled into danger during one of the nightly fights that broke out.. he was the one who grabbed your arm.

he pulled you to safety underneath his bunk before you could get hurt.

dae-ho didn’t say much, just a light, “stay alert, don't play any heroics,” before disappearing again.

the rebellion with the guards was a turning point.

the chaos had triggered dae-ho’s ptsd, and he was trembling, muttering under his breath about orders and mistakes.

when you witnessed him dropping the jacket full of gun magazines, you jumped up from your bunk bed to jog over to him.

007 nearly did too, but you stopped him.

"I got it.. ju- just stay with your mother."

approaching dae-ho, it broke your heart to see him like that because it reminded you why he left you in the first place.

the reason for the breakup is because he thought his brokenness from the marines would be too much for you to handle.

he pushed you away before you even knew how to help.

this time, you refused to let him spiral alone.

“dae-ho, look at me,” you said softly.

you tapped on his knee while rubbing his elbow softly, some physical reassurance while his ears were blocked by his strong hands.

“you’re not in the marines right now. you’re here, on this bed.. with me..."

you mumbled...

the man flinched hearing you, which caused you to nearly flinch as well.

did he think that you were going to hit him??

"we’re going to get through this, but you need to come back to me, okay?”

it took a long moment, even after hyun-ju came back, but your voice reached him.

after a while, his breathing steadied.

the next games were brutal. human chess left you rattled, knowing how easily a single wrong move would’ve ended you.

during the monkey bars game, you thought you were done for. every muscle in your body screamed, and it felt like your arms were going to give out at any second.

as a teenager, you had superior upper body strength.. whats so different now?

your arms were shaking for those last few bars, but at least you are alive.

when you collapsed on the other side, you were still shaking.

dae-ho was there in an instant, crouching beside you and muttering something you barely caught.

“its okay, you're okay, you made it. I'm here,"

it was a miracle that both you and dae-ho made it to the end.

his group—jun-hee, myung-gi, hyun-ju, and gi-hun—were all battered but alive.

you were the sole survivor from your group, most of them dying during dongdaemun.. and the weight of that loss lingered heavy in your chest.

when the games finally ended, and the guards began preparing to release you, dae-ho pulled you aside. his hands were rough but gentle as they grasped yours, his voice low and urgent.

“i didn’t think i’d survive this, let alone see you again. but we did, and i… i want to fix things. if you’ll let me.”

his words hit you like a wave, and you knew there was no denying the truth anymore. despite everything, you still loved him. you missed him. you wanted him back in your life.

“okay, we can fix this--”

you said softly, your voice cracking.

"but dae-ho.... why did you leave?"

you nearly cried, thinking about the last time you saw dae-ho before now.

the way he left your apartment, the way you could not eat for days, you wanted to make sure that something like that did not occur again with him.

"it was not you, like I said-- I thought you deserved better than me.. someone who was stronger than me."

the man frowned.

you placed your hand on his strong bicep, just on top of his marine tattoo.. your other hand went to his face.

"dae-ho, you're the strongest man I know. even if that wasn't the case, I do not want anyone else.. ever! I just want you."

you say.

at this point, the guards start taking everyone away to go back home.

“meet me at our cafe spot in seoul on november 16th!!!"

the last thing you remembered was the sound of his voice before the guards released the gas that knocked you out.

the impact of hitting the pavement still lingered in your body as you woke up, tied up, and blindfolded.

the cold concrete under you only added to the disorientation, and your heart pounded as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

all you could see is black.

then, a voice...soft and filled with concern...called out.

“oh my god, are you okay? hold on, let me help you.”

the blindfold was pulled away, and you blinked against the sudden light.

the woman in front of you had a kind face, her brows furrowed in worry as she quickly untied the ropes around your wrists.

“who did this to you?”

“i…” you paused, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“thank you. i don’t even know.”

"do you want me to call the police for you?"

"oh no, its okay do not worry about that!"

she helped you sit up, her hands hovering as if afraid you might collapse again.

“what’s your name?”

your mind raced, but you dodged the question.

“what’s today’s date?”

her expression shifted to confusion.

“it’s november 7th.”

november 7th. you exhaled deeply, relief and anxiety warring within you. nine days until november 16th.

nine days until you’d see dae-ho again. far too long, but at least you knew where to be.

time in the games had been meaningless, stretched and warped in the absence of phones and clocks.

as you stood up, you glanced down at yourself.

your old clothes were back...a black windbreaker jacket, green cargo pants, a black shirt, and your worn out adidas sambas.

it was strange to be out of the green tracksuit you had grown accustomed to, the one that labeled you as player 399.

instinctively, you reached into your pockets and felt something solid.

pulling it out, you saw a golden debit card. you stared at it, baffled, knowing it hadn’t been yours before the games. with shaking hands, you excused yourself.

“okay.. well i’m fine, really. thank you for helping me. i just… i need a moment.”

the woman hesitated, clearly unsure about leaving you alone.

“are you sure? you don’t look fine.”

“i’ll be okay,” you insisted, forcing a smile.

“thank you again.”

only six steps away, an atm caught your eye. you slid the card into the machine, your hands trembling.

the screen loaded, and when the balance appeared, your breath hitched. 11,398,890,025.33 won.

its the money you won in the games, split between the survivors..

before you could process the shock, a sharp pain shot through your stomach.

it felt like a punch, but there was no one there.

the pain grew worse, twisting and radiating until you doubled over.

“ahhh!” you yelped, clutching your stomach as the cramps intensified.

your knees buckled, and you collapsed, gasping for air while clenching your teeth.

the woman hadn’t gone far and came running back at the sound of your cries.

“hey! what’s wrong? oh my god, are you okay?!”

she knelt beside you, her panic rising as she saw the state you were in.

“i don’t know,” you choked out, tears welling up as the pain overwhelmed you.

“it hurts—my stomach—”

“okay, okay, stay with me. breathe! i’m calling an ambulance.” she pulled out her phone, her voice trembling as she gave the dispatcher your location.

“hang in there, okay? help is on the way.”

the pain was unbearable, and your vision blurred, the edges going dark as you struggled to stay conscious.

the faint sound of the woman’s voice and the distant wail of approaching sirens were the last things you heard before everything went black.

waking up, you felt a strange tightness around your stomach and a dull ache in your body.

the beeping of machines surrounded you, and cords were attached to your belly. you blinked, your heart racing as you noticed an iv in your arm.

panic set in when you realized your clothes were gone.

sitting up too fast, you scanned the room. relief washed over you when you spotted your jacket draped over a chair.

the golden debit card was still tucked in its pocket. you exhaled shakily, clutching the fabric for reassurance.

the door creaked open, and a doctor entered..a woman with a kind face and a soft smile.

“hello! I love to see that you’re awake. that’s good,” she said gently.

“please, lay back down. you need to rest.”

reluctantly, you complied, your mind still racing.

“what happened? why am i here?”

the doctor grabbed a clipboard, jotting something down before meeting your eyes.

“i need to ask you a few questions first by obligation... how have you been feeling lately? any nausea, fatigue, or changes in appetite?”

you frowned, her questions making no sense.

“i don’t know… i thought it was just stress. why are you asking me this?”

her expression softened, and she set the clipboard aside.

“miss. l/n… you’re in labor.”

the words hit you like a freight train.

“what?!” you gasped, sitting up again, ignoring the ache in your body.

your hands instinctively flew to your stomach.

“that’s not possible. i didn’t even know i was… i mean… i can’t be pregnant!”

the doctor gave you a reassuring look.

“your bloodwork confirms it, and you’re already in active labor. you didn’t notice the signs?”

you stared at her, your mind spiraling. sure, you had a small bump, but you chalked it up to overeating during the games.

you never connected it to something like this.

“you’re 36 weeks along,” she continued gently.

“it’s a bit early, but your baby seems strong. we’ll monitor you both closely since you haven’t had prenatal care. it’s a girl, by the way.”

the revelation stole the air from your lungs. a girl. you were carrying a child...a child you hadn’t even known existed.

your heart pounded as reality crashed down on you.

“oh my god,” you whispered, tears welling up.

the doctor reached out, her tone soothing.

“is the baby’s father here? do you want us to call him?”

you shook your head, panic rising.

“i don’t know how to contact him. i don’t even have a phone.”

“that’s okay,” she said softly.

“we’ll make sure you have support. we can arrange for a doula to be with you during delivery.”

the next few hours blurred together. the contractions came faster and harder, and you clung to the voices of the doula and two doctors, their encouragement keeping you grounded.

after two hours of pushing..

“here she is,” the doctor said, placing the tiny, squirming bundle on your chest.

you stared down at your daughter, your breath catching. she was beautiful, with the softest features... dae-ho’s nose, his eyes, his face in miniature. but her lashes and lips were yours.

“hi, baby,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks.

she was quiet and calm, looking up at you with wide eyes. after the chaos of the past week, her presence felt like the first peaceful thing in your life.

the doctor explained that your stress likely triggered your early labor, but at 36 weeks, your daughter was healthy enough.

as the hours passed, you couldn’t take your eyes off her. she was perfect, even though the circumstances were far from it.

the looming question hung heavy in your mind...how were you going to tell dae-ho?

he was the only man you’d ever been with, the only person who could be her father.

without a phone or any way to contact him, the thought of reuniting with him felt impossible.

clutching your daughter close, you whispered a silent promise.

no matter how hard it would be, you’d find a way to tell him. he deserved to know, and your daughter deserved her father.

november 16th felt surreal as you approached the cozy cafe where you and dae-ho had agreed to meet.

your daughter was bundled up snugly in soft layers, her tiny face peeking out from the ivory blanket that kept her warm against the autumn chill.

the weight of her in your arms felt grounding, a reminder of how much had changed in such a short amount of time.

stepping inside, the familiar aroma of coffee and pastries filled the air, pulling you back to the times you had spent here with dae-ho before everything fell apart.

your eyes scanned the room until they landed on him.

he sat at a table in the corner, wearing one of the casual outfits you remembered so well...a simple black jacket over a gray hoodie and dark joggers.

it was such a stark contrast to the green tracksuit you had last seen him in during the games.

when his eyes lifted and met yours, they softened, lighting up with a mix of surprise, relief, and joy.

then, his gaze dropped to the baby in your arms, and his expression froze, his eyes widening in shock.

he stood as you approached, his movements hesitant but filled with emotion.

“hey,” he greeted, his voice quiet but trembling slightly.

“hey,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you stopped in front of him. you glanced down at your daughter, then back at him.

“she’s yours.”

dae-ho’s breath hitched as his eyes locked onto the tiny bundle in your arms.

“mine?” he asked, his voice cracking.

he reached out cautiously, his large hands trembling as they hovered near her, afraid to touch but desperate to hold.

you nodded, gently placing your daughter in his arms.

“yeah. she’s our daughter, dae-ho. eight days old.”

the moment he held her, his composure shattered. his hands cradled her so delicately, as though she were made of the most fragile glass.

a tear escaped the corner of his eye as he looked down at her, his lips parting in awe.

“you were pregnant?” he finally managed to ask, his voice thick with emotion.

you nodded again, swallowing hard.

“i didn’t know. not at any point throughout the nine months.. not until after the games, when they dropped me off. i thought the cramps were just stress, but then… i went into labor. the doctors said I had a cryptic pregnancy, their first ever in their careers actually.”

dae-ho looked at her tiny face, taking in every feature—the little nose, the faint dimple in her cheek.

“she looks just like…” he trailed off, blinking rapidly.

“she looks like my second oldest sister.”

“she does,” you agreed softly, watching the way your daughter gazed up at him with pure love in her sleepy eyes.

his voice cracked as he whispered,

“i should’ve been there. i should’ve…” he paused, guilt flickering across his face.

“i wish i had known. i’m sorry i wasn’t there for you.”

you shook your head, reaching out to touch his arm.

“dae-ho, none of this is your fault. the circumstances… none of it was in our control. you’re here now, you have us.. and that’s what matters.”

he looked up at you, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“i promise you,” he said, his voice firm but filled with emotion, “i’m going to be here for both of you. no more running, no more excuses. we’ll be a family, and we’ll put everything from the games behind us.”

you nodded, tears streaming down your face as you watched him hold your daughter like she was the most precious thing in the world.

her tiny fingers curled around his thumb, and his heart seemed to melt at the sight.

the three of you will make it this work. you’d leave the trauma of the past behind and move forward

together.

masterlist

#kang ha neul #kang dae ho x reader #kang dae ho #squid game #squid game s2 #squid game season 2 #multifandom account #gi hun #lgbtqia #squid game fanfic #squid game x y/n #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game spoilers

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itsnesss · 2 days ago

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𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 | minho (xo,kitty) × fem!reader

summary | during a nighttime walk, playful banter with minho turns into heartfelt confessions and a romantic kiss under the stars

warnings | fluff, romance, kissing

word count | 2.0 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The KISS campus is quiet tonight. The lights of the main building flicker softly, and a cool breeze rustles through the trees. After weeks of studying and school activities, Min-ho—the most arrogant yet intriguing guy on campus—had suggested taking a nighttime walk. You’re still not sure if it was because of your blatant insistence that he wasn’t as perfect as he thought he was or if he just wanted to prove you wrong.

"So, what makes you think I’m not perfect?" he asks, a mischievous grin on his face.

Min-ho walks beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black leather jacket. He’s so comfortable in his own skin it’s almost intimidating. You can’t help but notice how the streetlights accentuate the perfection of his features, but you’re not about to tell him that. That would only inflate his ego even more.

"For starters, your ego already takes up all the space on this sidewalk," you reply, turning to look at him with a defiant smile.

"Oh, come on. Is that the best you’ve got?" he teases, pretending to be offended as he stops in front of you. His gaze is intense, but the playful glint in his eyes softens the moment.

You cross your arms, feigning disinterest.

"Besides, you always act like the world revolves around you."

"Doesn’t it?" he quips quickly, raising an eyebrow.

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. Min-ho has this infuriating ability to annoy you and make you laugh at the same time. It’s frustrating yet addictive.

As you continue walking, he shifts the conversation. He starts talking about his family, about how he misses certain things from home despite his seemingly perfect life in Seoul. It’s a side of him you rarely see, and you’re surprised at how honest he’s being.

"I didn’t know you had a vulnerable side," you say softly, more to yourself than to him.

"I don’t show it to just anyone," he admits, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

Your heart skips a small beat. You know that behind all that popular-guy bravado, there’s so much more to him than he lets on.

"Why me?" you ask without thinking, stopping under a tree where the lights barely reach.

Min-ho also stops, turning to face you. His expression shifts, becoming more serious.

"I don’t know. Maybe because you don’t try to impress me. You’re just yourself, and that’s… refreshing."

For a moment, you’re speechless. You feel warmth rising to your cheeks but manage to keep your composure.

"That sounds pretty cliché, don’t you think?" you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

"Maybe, but it’s true," he says with a soft smile.

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s as if both of you are processing what just happened, though neither of you says it out loud.

"Do you want to go to the lookout point?" Min-ho suggests suddenly, nodding toward a path that disappears into the trees.

You nod, following him without a second thought.

The lookout point is empty when you arrive. From there, you can see the lights of Seoul sparkling in the distance. It’s a peaceful place, perfect for thinking and talking without interruptions.

"It’s beautiful," you murmur, leaning on the railing as you take in the view.

"It is," Min-ho replies, but when you turn your head, you realize he’s not looking at the lights; he’s looking at you.

Your heart races, but you don’t look away.

"You should stop doing that," you say, trying to sound confident.

"Doing what?" he asks, leaning in slightly closer.

"Looking at me like…" you trail off, unable to find the right words.

"Like what?" he presses, his voice lower, softer.

You feel the distance between you shrinking. It’s as if the world around you has paused.

"Like you want to kiss me," you confess in a whisper.

Min-ho smiles—that smile that always annoyed you but now feels different, more genuine.

"And what if I do?" he asks, his face only inches from yours.

Your breath catches for a moment. You know you could step back, break the moment, but you don’t.

"Then stop talking and do it," you reply before you can stop yourself.

Min-ho doesn’t need to be told twice. He closes the space between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s soft at first, almost as if he’s testing the waters. But when he realizes you’re not pulling away, that you’re kissing him back, the kiss deepens, filled with emotion.

It’s as if all the walls that had existed between you disappear in that instant. The arrogant guy and the girl who always challenged him finally find themselves on the same page.

When you pull apart, both of you are breathless. Min-ho looks at you, his smile wider than ever.

"Does that answer your question?" he asks, clearly enjoying the moment.

"Maybe," you say, trying to sound nonchalant, though the blush on your cheeks gives you away.

"You’re impossible," he says, laughing as he leans in to kiss you again.

And for the first time in a long time, everything feels exactly as it should.

#minho #minho x kitty #minho x reader #minho x you #xo kitty #xo kitty x reader

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inthelibrarybtw · 1 day ago

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get to know college!basketball!captain!rafe

college!basketball!captain!rafe who has loved sports since he was a kid, fell in love with basketball when he was around 10 and took it seriously from that moment on. he wants to go professional after college if he can but is also working on his finance and administration degree. He has always been very smart and doesn’t worry a lot about grades but understands the importance of them, reason why he got a full ride in college and got recruited for the basketball team. who is very disciplined with everything that he does, once he commits to doing something he will do it and will do his best. he loves going out with his friends but also likes to stay in, secretly he loves cooking all thanks to his mom and his sister.

college!basketball!captain!rafe who is very cocky and a flirt, knows he is good-looking and that’s the reason why everyone thinks he’s a player, he has never had a girlfriend in college. Everyone seems to know him and or fall for him, he doesn’t really care about it but it boosts his ego. He has been around a bit yes, but not as much as people think, he is picky even if he doesn’t like to admit it. He thrives on teasing people, especially his friends but he’s also very kind and intentional, not everyone gets to see this side of him. His family is very important to him, he has a good relationship with his parents and sister.

college!basketball!captain!rafe who is very easy to please, just some good food, music, and his friends and he can be the happiest man alive. who loves watching movies and of course, never misses one basketball game, usually watches them with his dad or his friends, it’s his favorite thing to do. Has never missed one basketball practice since he was 10, just the very counted times he has been sick. His love language is physical touch, gifts, and acts of service the last two he prefers giving them than receiving them. Quality time could be added to but in very specific scenarios. His favorite artists are J. Cole, The Weekend, and Kanye. who is also a dog guy, every time he sees a dog he asks if he can pet them.

college!basketball!captain!rafe who loves being an older brother but sometimes he wishes the age gap wasn’t that big, fortunately, he has a cousin his age who might as well be his sister. they grew up together and are kinda inseparable thanks to that. He usually goes to her to talk about his feelings, since he knows he won’t get judged by her. he’s not the best at showing his feelings, or so he thinks, usually his eyes speak volumes, and anyone can see it but him. no, but really, talking about how he feels sometimes can be the hardest thing he can do. he tends to put everyone first and even if he’s this confident guy when it comes to his feelings he’s anything but.

college!basketball!captain!rafe who is incredibly perceptive about how other people feel as long as the feelings are not directed at him because then he’s blind. who likes to take time to get to know someone and help as much as he can. who also can easily get angry when things don’t go his way and when this happens he prefers not to talk to people in case he says something he doesn’t really mean. If he’s really frustrated he tends to isolate himself to calm down but if he needs to talk to people he will be very cold towards them, and he immediately regrets it.

authors note: i always have trouble writing intros because i don't know what you should know before reading and what you should discover while reading but i finally finished it. i'm very obsessed with him, and i hope you guys too :)

taglist: @zyafics @maybankslover @niaunoffical @marleymarleymarleymarley @rafesbabygirlx @akobx @papercranesandinkstains @masonmountme69 @winterivory if you want to be added send an ask or comment! :)

REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.*

#inthelibrarywrites #YWMTP?#introduction #college!basketball!captain!rafe #rafe cameron x reader #college au #college athlete #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe fluff #rafe cameron fluff #rafe fic

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kaira-diaries · 22 hours ago

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Nocturne: The Collapse

Warning: (SMUT - mildly descriptive)(Violence)(non-con touching)(mentions of death) (non-cannon violence & lore)

Pairing: Frontman x fem!reader

Word Count: +15k

Summary: none, cause I didn’t feel like writing one out

A/N: Okay so here's part 2 of nocturne and I'm gonna be so honest this turned into a WHOLE ass thing with lore and heavy heavy plot. To avoid an extremely long read, a third part will be written. idek what happened that led up to this point of needing a third part but here we are (sorrows, prayers). happy reading !

Masterlist <-

Part One <-

_______________________________________________

2 Years Later:

Staring into the gilded mirror, you couldn’t help but admire the way the gown sculpted your frame. The rich maroon fabric clung to every curve, the shimmer of its silk catching the soft light and giving you an air of effortless elegance. It reminded you of the dress you’d worn the night you first met In-ho—a memory that sent a ripple of warmth through your chest. The neckline plunged just enough to command attention without screaming for it, while the delicate slit along the side offered a glimpse of your leg, teasing but tasteful.

Your hair had been styled to perfection, pinned loosely back with a cascade of soft curls framing your face. Each strand looked as if it had been meticulously placed, yet still carried an air of natural allure. You applied a few swipes of deep crimson lipstick, the bold color tying your look together and accentuating the soft glow of your complexion. The faint scent of your perfume—a seductive blend of jasmine and amber—lingered in the air, leaving a trace of you wherever you passed.

This wasn’t your first time at a lavish party, but tonight felt different. The room buzzed with energy, a blend of laughter and whispered conversations mixing with the clink of crystal glasses. The event marked the 20th anniversary of the Squid Games—a macabre milestone commemorated by only the most elite and influential. The space was grand, with towering ceilings adorned in gold leaf and intricate chandeliers spilling warm light across the opulent ballroom. Legends of the games—former creators, VIPs, and those who had helped shape its legacy—moved through the crowd like phantoms of the past, their age barely dimming their commanding presence.

You’d been glued to In-ho’s side most of the night, your arm lightly draped through his as you navigated the throngs of the powerful and the wealthy. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you at times, the quiet pride he seemed to take in having you at his side. But the endless small talk, the veiled barbs of rival VIPs, and the oppressive grandeur of it all began to wear on you. The need for air—or at least a moment alone—became too much to ignore.

Slipping through the sea of extravagantly dressed guests, you had made your way to the bathroom to where you stood now, finally breaking away from the suffocating intensity of the crowd. The heavy oak door was closed behind you, muffling the noise and leaving you in a blissful pocket of silence. The cool, polished marble of the sink greeted your fingertips as you had set your clutch down, exhaling softly.

You glanced at your reflection again, this time allowing a small, private smile to cross your lips. The faint hum of the music beyond the door barely reached you as you pulled your lipstick from the clutch. Holding the tube, you applied one last swipe of the rich shade with careful precision, ensuring every line was flawless.

And then your thoughts drifted—inevitably—to him. In-ho. You couldn’t help it. Even in the quiet sanctuary of the bathroom, his presence lingered in your mind. The way he moved through the crowd with calm authority, his sharp suit a perfect complement to his commanding demeanor. The way guests bowed and crumbled under his authority. He was magnetic, and you found yourself drawn to him like gravity itself. He wasn’t just the Front Man tonight; he was yours.

You capped the lipstick and tucked it back into your clutch, your fingers brushing the smooth leather as you let out a breathy laugh at yourself. Admiration? Maybe that was putting it lightly. He consumed your thoughts, even when he wasn’t near. Even your dreams hadn’t been safe from him lately, his face haunting the edges of your mind like a phantom you welcomed with open arms.

You took one last glance at your reflection, the faint glint of determination in your eyes, and smoothed the fabric of your gown. For all the chaos outside this room, you would meet it head-on, poised and unshaken. After all, tonight wasn’t just any party.

It was your world now, and you intended to own it.

Clicking the bathroom door shut behind you, you let out a soft sigh, the hum of the party no longer muffled by the thick walls. But before you could fully collect yourself, a deep, velvet voice cut through the racket, rich and teasing.

"If it isn’t the queen herself."

You turned sharply, your gaze falling on a tall, striking man leaning casually against the wall just a few feet away. His presence was impossible to ignore. The soft glow of the chandelier overhead caught his fawn-colored hair, perfectly styled to look effortless, and his piercing blue eyes sparkled with mischief as they locked onto yours. He was dressed in a crisp white suit that seemed tailored to perfection, the snowy fabric contrasting beautifully with the warm undertones of his skin.

Your brows knitted together in confusion, your expression guarded as he pushed off the wall with an easy, confident stride. His lips curled into a dashing smile, the kind that hinted he was used to getting his way, and his voice carried the faintest hint of amusement as he spoke again.

“Apologies,” he said, his tone low and smooth, like a slow pour of fine whiskey. “I’m just a fan of your work.”

You straightened your posture instinctively, your shoulders rolling back as you appraised him. “Is that so?”

He nodded, his smile widening just enough to reveal a flash of perfect teeth. There was something about him—his demeanor, the way he carried himself—that made you feel both intrigued and wary.

“Very much so,” he replied, holding out a hand with the kind of charm that felt practiced but still disarmingly genuine. “Hiram.”

You hesitated, your eyes scanning his outstretched palm before finally offering your hand to him. His touch was warm, his grip firm but not overbearing, and when he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your knuckles, it sent a faint shiver up your spine. His lips lingered just a second too long, and when he straightened, his eyes held yours as if daring you to look away.

“Y/N,” you said, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. You withdrew your hand slowly, letting your fingers slip from his grasp, and tilted your head slightly. “Don’t think me rude, but I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”

He shrugged, the movement graceful, almost feline, as he tucked one hand into his pocket. “That’s not surprising,” he said with a soft chuckle, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m new blood, as they say. My family never jumped at the opportunity to let me out of my room.”

A surprised laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it, the unexpected humor catching you off guard. “Where’s the fun in that?” you asked, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Exactly,” he said, his own laugh following yours, low and rich. There was something magnetic about him, the way his presence seemed to fill the space, drawing you in like gravity itself.

His gaze flickered over you briefly, taking in the deep maroon gown and the confident way you carried yourself. “I must admit,” he said, his tone dropping slightly, softer now, as if the words were meant just for you. “Seeing you in person is... quite the experience. Pictures don’t do you justice.”

The compliment hung in the air between you, and though it was bold, there was no arrogance in his delivery—just pure, unfiltered charm. You couldn’t help but feel the faint heat of a blush creeping up your neck, though you masked it quickly with a small, polite smile.

“Well,” you said, lifting your chin slightly, “it’s good to know I can make such an impression.”

His grin widened, and he leaned in ever so slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Oh, you do more than that, Y/N.”

For a moment, the air between you felt thick, the weight of his words lingering as he straightened again, his expression still lighthearted but with an edge of something deeper. “I won’t keep you,” he said smoothly, taking a step back, though his eyes lingered on yours a beat longer than necessary. “But I do hope we’ll cross paths again before the night is through.”

He gave you a small nod, the corners of his mouth quirking upward in that same dashing smile, before turning to leave. As he disappeared into the crowd, you found yourself momentarily frozen, the faint scent of his cologne—woodsy and warm—still lingering in the air around you.

You slipped back into the crowd, weaving through clusters of opulent guests whose laughter and conversation rose like smoke, thick and suffocating. The golden chandeliers cast warm, glittering light over the ballroom, illuminating every polished surface and shimmering gown. But your attention wasn’t on the decadence surrounding you—it was locked on the figure at the far end of the room, near the bar.

There he was, standing tall and composed, his presence commanding despite the sea of wealth and power surrounding him. In-ho’s hair was slicked back with precision, each strand gleaming under the light. His face was unreadable, that familiar stoic expression giving away nothing, though you could sense the weight he carried in his posture.

Breathtakingly handsome and untouchable, he seemed carved from stone—a monument to control and authority.

Your gaze flicked to the man standing across from him, and your chest tightened. Even in a room filled with the most powerful and dangerous individuals alive, this man stood out. The original Game Maker. His presence was understated, yet it radiated an aura that set him apart—a blend of quiet confidence and palpable danger.

His hair was streaked with silver, but his sharp features and piercing eyes betrayed a mind still razor-sharp. He looked remarkably young for someone whose legacy was steeped in brutality, and that realization unsettled you. It meant that when he had first orchestrated the games, he must have been terrifyingly young—just a man, barely more than a boy, with the intelligence and ruthlessness to reshape human desperation into a blood-soaked spectacle.

The sight of him brought back the stories In-ho had told you late at night, his voice low and careful, as though uttering the words aloud might summon ghosts. But one story had always stuck with you—the two-day games.

You swallowed hard at the memory, your footsteps faltering for just a moment as the weight of it crept over you. In those games, 456 players had been wiped out in just two rounds. No victor. No home for the prize money. You could hardly fathom it: the sheer scale of the slaughter, the precision required to make it happen, the lack of regard for even the illusion of fairness.

The remaining four games had been rendered pointless—there weren't any survivors to justify continuing. That level of efficiency, of calculated cruelty, had never been replicated. It was as if the man standing before In-ho had reached the zenith of brutality and left an unshakable legacy in his wake.

A chill crawled up your spine as you moved closer, your eyes darting between In-ho’s impassive face and the Game Maker’s calm, almost casual demeanor. In-ho once told you that those games had left an indelible mark on the system's history. They’d been both a triumph and a warning, a standard so high in its carnage that no one dared attempt to replicate it. The Game Maker had been both feared and revered, his name spoken in hushed tones even now, decades later. In simpler terms, he' done his job a little too well.

You couldn’t help but wonder what the man was saying to In-ho. From the subtle tension in In-ho’s shoulders and the way his jaw tightened, it was clear this wasn’t a casual conversation. The Game Maker’s lips moved with measured precision, and though you couldn’t hear his words over the din of the ballroom, you could feel the weight of them in the air.

What would a man like that say to In-ho? Was it praise, criticism, or something darker? Did he see In-ho as a worthy successor or a pale imitation of the ruthlessness that had made him legendary?

Your heartbeat quickened as you approached the bar, the stories swirling in your mind like smoke. The memory of those games—the brilliance, the carnage, the terror—felt alive in this moment, standing there between them like an unspoken shadow.

The Game Maker turned slightly, his sharp eyes flicking toward you for a brief moment, and a faint, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. The kind of smile made your blood run cold, like he’d already sized you up, dissected you, and found your weaknesses.

You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze for that fleeting moment before he turned his attention back to In-ho. The stories had given you chills before, but now, standing in the presence of the man who had written them, the weight of history—and the danger it carried—felt all too real.

And as In-ho glanced your way, his stoic mask momentarily cracking to reveal a flicker of something—was it reassurance? Warning?—you realized just how high the stakes were tonight. Whatever this conversation was, it wasn’t just small talk. And if you weren’t careful, you might find yourself caught in the crossfire of two men who had shaped the games with blood, brilliance, and cruelty.

"This must be your partner, if I'm not mistaken," the man said, his voice smooth and measured, each word laced with subtle curiosity. His piercing green eyes studied you with unnerving precision, as though he was already peeling back your layers, exposing every secret.

You nodded politely, but before you could speak, In-ho's hand slid firmly to the small of your back. The weight of his touch was both grounding and possessive, and his voice, calm and authoritative, carried over the din of the ballroom. "Yes," he replied, his answer as much a confirmation as it was a claim.

In-ho nudged you forward slightly, his gentle but insistent push urging you to engage. You bowed your head respectfully, your voice soft but steady as you spoke. "It’s an honor, sir."

The Game Maker’s lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Those sharp green eyes gleamed like polished glass, reflecting the flickering lights of the chandelier above. The man radiated power—not the loud, boisterous kind, but the quiet, suffocating weight of someone who didn’t need to prove himself.

As the frenetic pace of the music slowed, the brassy tones melting into a smooth, languid melody, he placed his drink down with deliberate precision, his attention turning fully to In-ho.

“May I?” he asked, his meaning clear as his eyes flicked toward you, a sly glint in their depths.

For a moment, silence hung between the three of you. In-ho’s hand on your back stiffened, his fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your gown. You could feel the tension radiating off him, subtle but unmistakable, as though the request had struck a nerve.

Then, with a faint nod, In-ho’s hand fell away. “Please,” he said evenly, his tone betraying none of the hesitation you knew he must feel. The word was polite, but the weight behind it made it feel more like permission than encouragement.

The Game Maker extended his hand toward you, his smile widening just enough to reveal a flash of teeth. His presence was magnetic, his movements fluid as though every step he took was choreographed. You hesitated, glancing back at In-ho, whose expression remained stoic, his dark eyes meeting yours with an unreadable intensity.

Taking a steadying breath, you placed your hand in the Game Maker’s. His grip was firm, his skin cool against yours as he led you onto the dance floor. The soft melody filled the air, and the crowd seemed to blur around you as he guided you into a slow, measured waltz.

“I must admit,” he began, his voice low and velvety as he steered you effortlessly, his steps smooth and deliberate, “I’ve been curious about the woman who caught In-ho’s eye.”

You arched a brow, keeping your tone neutral. “Curious, sir?”

He chuckled, a rich, quiet sound that sent a shiver up your spine. “It’s not every day my Front Man shows such… attachment.” His eyes bore into yours, sharp and probing. “It’s intriguing.”

You resisted the urge to stiffen under his scrutiny, forcing a polite smile. “I would hope to be more than just intriguing.”

His smile widened, and the grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly. “Oh, you are,” he said, his words carrying a weight that felt almost dangerous. “You’re a fascinating piece on this chessboard. But tell me…” His voice dropped, barely audible over the music. “How much do you truly know about the man you’re dancing around this world with?”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, your carefully constructed composure faltered. His words weren’t idle curiosity—they were a calculated strike, designed to unsettle you.

“I know enough,” you replied evenly, regaining your footing, though the slight edge in your voice betrayed you.

“Hmm,” he mused, his expression unreadable as he twirled you effortlessly, the lights of the chandelier spinning above. “Enough to trust him?”

You hesitated, just long enough for his smile to sharpen. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Trust is a fragile thing, my dear. I would tread carefully if I were you.”

The music swelled, the melody stretching out like a thread about to snap, and as he pulled you closer, "you seem... unfazed by this world," he moved on, his voice soft but layered with meaning. There was a gleam of something more in his eyes. "Many would be rattled by the games, by what they demand from people. But you... you seem like you understand."

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the direction of his conversation. His words weren’t just casual chatter—there was something deeper, something he was about to reveal. Something he wanted you to hear.

"I’ve seen things that would break most," he continued, his tone lowering, the dance now a distant memory between you both as you only swayed. "I’ve lived through things that have reshaped me in ways that can’t be undone."

Your pulse quickened, curiosity gnawing at you. The night had already been full of tension, but now the Game Maker was pulling you into his past—a place few, if any, had access to.

He took a step back abandoning the dance, glancing over his shoulder at the shadows of the ballroom as if weighing whether to speak. Finally, he sighed, a sound that seemed to carry decades of experience with it.

"The two-day games..." he started, and the words seemed to hang in the air between you like a curse. "There’s nothing quite like them in the history of the games. Nothing that compares to what happened during those two days."

You felt a chill run down your spine as he spoke. The stories you had heard—whispers of what had occurred during that brutal event—were always fragmented, vague. But now, you had the chance to hear it from the mouth of the man who had made it happen. The man who had orchestrated it all.

His gaze locked with yours, intense and unyielding. "I was younger then, perhaps too young, but the potential for control… the power to shape chaos—it called to me." His voice lowered, growing colder with each word. "The games were never meant to be easy. They were meant to expose the worst of people. Push them to the edge and watch them either rise or fall."

You shifted slightly, instinctively pulling away, but he seemed to read the motion as curiosity, not discomfort. He continued, almost as though speaking to himself.

"I gave them two days. Just two. 456 players entered the arena. 456 lives—each one filled with desperation, greed, fear. By the end of the second day, 456 of them were dead." His voice was smooth, but beneath the calm was a trace of something darker.

"The thing is," he added, almost as an afterthought, his expression hardening, "it didn’t take much to break them. It wasn’t about weapons or traps. It was about fear. The fear of what they were becoming. And when the first 50 fell, the rest of them—every last one—knew their time was numbered. That fear, that panic—it spread like wildfire."

You couldn’t tear your gaze away, your heart pounding in your chest as you listened to his words. The Game Maker’s voice was chilling, detached, as if recounting a story of someone else’s nightmare. But the deeper you listened, the more you realized how deeply he was tied to that moment. How much it had shaped him into the man he was today.

"In the end," he said, his eyes darkening, "the other four games were pointless. The players had already given up. There were barely enough survivors left to keep going. The horror of it, the inevitability of their deaths—it was already in the air. The remaining games were just a formality."

You shuddered, the horror of his words sinking in like a weight in your chest. The sheer scale of the violence—the cruelty of the decision to make it last three days—left you speechless for a moment. You hadn’t imagined the extent of what had transpired.

"But..." You started, voice barely above a whisper, "Why did it stop after that? Why didn’t you keep going? Why not make it a standard?"

"Because there’s only so much humanity can take," he said softly, the words carrying a weight you could almost taste. "After that, I realized something. You can break people, destroy them—but if you push them too far, you lose control. And then the game becomes something else. A rebellion perhaps."

His eyes flicked to In-ho, who had watched the conversation from the sidelines, his gaze unreadable.

"You lose the control. And control, my dear," the Game Maker whispered, his voice a thread of a warning, "is most precious in our line of work."

For a long moment, the air between you both was thick with tension. The soft music continued to play in the background, but in your mind, it was drowned out by the image of what the Game Maker had described—the bloodshed, the terror, the total breakdown of human decency in a span of just two days.

Finally, the silence was broken by the soft clink of glass. The Game Maker picked up a drink from a server, as if snapping back to reality, the weight of his story fading from his expression. "But that’s all behind me now," he added with a thin smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "The games have evolved. And I, too, have evolved with them."

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond, the sheer gravity of what he had just shared leaving you momentarily speechless.

And as he turned to leave, his hand brushing against yours once more, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of his past pressing down on you, like a shadow that would never truly lift.

"You’ll understand," he said softly, looking back over his shoulder with that same glint in his eyes, "one day, when you’re forced to see the games from the inside. It’s the only way to truly know."

And with that, he was gone, leaving you standing amidst the glittering crowd, the echo of his words lingering in the air like a dark omen.

________

The ride back to the island stretched on, the distant hum of the yacht's engines muffled by the heavy silence between you and In-ho. The sea stretched endlessly outside the cabin windows, dark and vast, mirroring the weight pressing down on the both of you. In-ho sat beside you, his posture relaxed but his mind clearly elsewhere, swirling with thoughts he would never voice. His third glass of whiskey sat half-empty in his hand, the liquid catching the dim light.

Your eyes softened as you turned to him, noting the faint lines of tension at the corners of his mouth and the way his shoulders carried the invisible burden of leadership. Reaching out, you placed a hand on his thigh, your touch gentle but grounding.

“You don’t have to do this alone, In-ho,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the oppressive quiet like a breeze.

He looked at you then, his dark eyes meeting yours. For a fleeting moment, his guarded expression melted, replaced by something warmer, softer. A faint smile tugged at his lips, though it didn’t erase the shadows in his gaze.

“I know,” he murmured, though the way he said it felt more like an attempt to reassure you than himself.

The thought of tomorrow hung between you both. The games would begin at dawn, and everything was ready, every gruesome detail in place. The guards had their orders, the players were already in their quarters, and all that remained were the final preparations for the VIPs.

You leaned back against the leather seat, your mind wandering as you stared out at the endless black horizon. News had reached you earlier in the evening—there would be a new VIP attending this round of games. The announcement hadn’t surprised you, but it had stirred something in you.

For a brief moment, your mind slipped back to when that title belonged to you. The memory of your first arrival as a VIP, dressed in extravagant finery and wrapped in the naivety of someone who thought they understood the games, drifted through your thoughts. How wrong you had been then.

But those thoughts were quickly overtaken by a new unease, one that gnawed at you from the edges of your mind.

"How much do you truly know about the man you’re dancing around this world with?"

The Game Maker’s words echoed in your head, their weight heavier now than when he’d first spoken them. The way his sharp green eyes had lingered on you, the knowing smile that had curled at his lips—it was as though he had planted a seed of doubt that was only now beginning to take root.

You glanced at In-ho again, studying the sharp line of his jaw, the faint glint of his mask resting on the table beside him, and the way his fingers idly swirled the whiskey in his glass. He seemed calm, composed, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was keeping something from you.

The silence stretched between you, thick with the unspoken, until In-ho’s voice broke through it.

“What’s bothering you?” he asked, his tone gentle but firm, his gaze sharp as it flicked to your face.

You hesitated, your brows knitting together as you forced a small smile and shook your head. “Nothing,” you lied, though your voice lacked conviction.

He didn’t press further, but his eyes searched yours, as if trying to read the thoughts you were so carefully keeping hidden. The weight of his scrutiny made your chest tighten, and you acted on instinct, leaning in and pressing your lips to his.

The kiss was slow, deliberate, and it carried with it the unspoken words you couldn’t bring yourself to say. His fingers, warm and strong, wrapped around yours, holding you steady as the world seemed to fall away for just a moment.

When you finally pulled back, his expression softened further, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”

Your heart sank at the question, guilt prickling at the edges of your mind. “Of course,” you said, forcing another smile, though the Game Maker’s words lingered like a shadow in the back of your thoughts.

In-ho smiled faintly and raised his glass to his lips, taking a slow sip, but his hand never left yours. The silence returned, though this time it felt heavier, as though the weight of your thoughts was tangible in the air between you.

You turned your gaze back to the window, the dark sea stretching endlessly ahead. Somewhere out there, on the island you were quickly approaching, the games waited to begin. But it wasn’t just the games that loomed—it was the feeling of a growing divide between you and the man sitting beside you.

And as the Game Maker’s haunting words replayed in your mind, you couldn’t help but wonder: how much did you really know about In-ho? And when the truth finally surfaced, would you still be able to call him yours?

_______

The quarters you shared with In-ho were cold when you returned, the chill of the air pressing against your skin as the soft hum of the elevator faded behind you. Your heels clicked sharply against the polished floors of the hallway, each step echoing faintly in the silence. In-ho followed close behind, his presence a steady weight at your back. Yet, while your body moved forward, your mind still remained trapped in the lingering echoes of the Game Maker’s words.

His question gnawed at you, digging deeper than you cared to admit. It looped in your thoughts like a broken record, each repetition leaving you more unsettled than the last. You didn’t want to believe there was truth to it, but the doubt had rooted itself, and no amount of rationalizing could make it go away.

Your steps faltered, the weight of your thoughts pulling you down like lead. It must have shown, because before you could recover, In-ho’s hand shot out, gripping your arm firmly and pulling you to him.

“Tell me. Now,” he demanded, his tone low but sharp as his dark eyes bore into yours. His face was mere inches from yours, the weight of his presence nearly suffocating as his chest brushed against yours.

For a moment, you stared up at him, startled by the intensity in his voice, the way his grip anchored you. Then, despite the knot tightening in your chest, a faint smile tugged at your lips.

“Well, this is familiar,” you said lightly, your voice carrying a teasing edge as you referred back to the night you met—when his grip on your wrist had been accompanied by a gun to your head instead of concern.

His expression didn’t soften. If anything, the lines of tension in his jaw deepened, and his hand fell away from your arm, letting it drop back to your side. There was no hint of amusement in his face, no trace of the man who often found quiet joy in your quips.

You sighed, the playfulness draining from your tone as you tilted your head back slightly, meeting his unrelenting gaze. “It’s the Game Maker,” you admitted finally. “He said something...”

“What did he say?” In-ho cut in, his voice sharper now, the words almost snapping out of him.

You hesitated, your teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek as you debated how much to reveal. But there was no use in hiding it; In-ho would press until you gave him the truth.

“He asked how much I truly knew about you,” you said carefully, the words coming slower now, each one measured. “He questioned my trust in you.”

The air between you shifted instantly. In-ho straightened, his posture rigid, and his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the flicker of movement beneath his skin. His dark eyes darkened further, and for a moment, he was utterly still—too still.

You threw your arms up in frustration, breaking the silence before it could grow heavier. “It’s stupid, I know,” you said quickly, your voice tinged with exasperation. “I shouldn’t let it get to me, but... it did.”

In-ho’s gaze never left yours, his silence unnerving as the seconds stretched on. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” you admitted, your voice softening. “I thought... I don’t know, I thought it was just a game.”

“And now?” he pressed, his tone still firm but laced with something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

You hesitated, unsure how to put your swirling thoughts into words. “And now, I don’t know,” you admitted, your shoulders slumping slightly. “He got into my head.”

In-ho took a step back, his hand raking through his slicked-back hair as he exhaled sharply. The tension radiating off him was palpable, the weight of it filling the space between you.

“He’s trying to divide us,” In-ho said finally, his voice steady but cold.

“That’s what he does. He finds cracks and widens them. He knows exactly where to push. Its entertainment for him.”

You nodded slowly, understanding the truth in his words but unable to completely shake the lingering doubt. “I know,” you said softly. “But that question...”

“Forget it,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through your thoughts. “You know everything you need to know about me.”

“Do I?” you asked before you could stop yourself, the words slipping out like a whisper.

He froze, his eyes narrowing slightly as they locked onto yours. The silence stretched between you again, and you immediately regretted asking.

“You do,” he said finally, his voice quieter now but no less firm.

You searched his face, looking for cracks in the mask he always wore, but there were none. Whatever secrets In-ho carried, he had buried them deep, and he wasn’t about to let you dig them up.

With a sigh, you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. His lips were warm against yours, his hands finding your waist instinctively as he kissed you back. The tension between you eased, if only slightly, and for a moment, the world outside the quarters faded away.

When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, your voice barely above a whisper. “I trust you, In-ho. Don’t let him make me doubt that.”

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, his gaze steady as he nodded. “I won’t,” he promised.

____

The VIP room you knew all too well was cloaked in dim, golden light, the shadows pooling in the corners like secrets waiting to be uncovered. The faint scent of polished wood and aged leather hung in the air, mingling with the warmth of the velvet couches arranged strategically around the room. It was quiet, the stillness almost oppressive, but it wouldn’t be for long. In less than ten minutes, the masked men—the VIPs—would arrive, and the space would come alive with laughter, conversation, and veiled threats disguised as casual remarks.

You and In-ho had worked yourselves to the bone ensuring every detail was flawless. The perfection demanded by the VIPs wasn’t just expected—it was required. Smoothing a gloved hand over the rich burgundy velvet of one of the couches, you allowed yourself a small, private smile. A memory flickered to life, unbidden—the image of your father reclining comfortably in that very spot, a drink in hand, his mask gleaming under the chandelier light. The memory warmed you, though only for a moment. You made a mental note to check on him later, to ensure he was still enjoying himself in his travels.

The sound of the door opening snapped you back to the present, and you turned to see the masked servants filing in. Their uniforms were pristine, their movements perfectly coordinated, and their masks—a blend of gold and black—reflected the room’s soft light. They waited silently for your direction, and you moved into action, gesturing toward the tables and stations.

“Ensure every glass is filled to the brim, not a drop less,” you instructed, your voice calm but firm. “And check your uniforms again—there’s no room for error tonight.”

The servants moved with precision, adjusting glasses, smoothing tablecloths, and arranging decanters of fine liquor in neat, symmetrical rows. You moved among them, inspecting every detail, every corner, ensuring nothing was out of place. Each glass glinted like crystal fire under the soft glow of the chandelier, and every surface gleamed as though it had been polished a thousand times over.

You were so engrossed in the process, so focused on achieving perfection, that you didn’t hear the faint creak of footsteps descending the grand staircase just outside the room. Nor did you register the growing presence behind you until a voice—a voice you recognized all too well—cut through the quiet like a blade.

“If it isn’t the queen herself,” the voice drawled, smooth and laced with a dangerous edge.

Your heart jolted, the sound sending a shiver down your spine and freezing you in place for half a beat. The blood in your veins turned cold, yet heat rushed to your face at the same time. Slowly, you turned, your gaze landing on the source of the voice.

Hiram.

He stood at the base of the staircase, dressed in an immaculate suit that seemed to glow under the dim light. The white fabric hugged his tall, built frame perfectly, and his familiar, disarming smile stretched across his face. His fawn-colored hair gleamed, every strand meticulously styled, but it was his piercing blue eyes that held your attention from beneath the mask. They sparkled with a dangerous kind of amusement, as though he already knew every thought running through your mind.

Behind him, the remaining VIPs entered the room, their masks gleaming in the light as they took in the space with quiet approval. Each of them exuded an aura of power and wealth, their silence more imposing than any words they might speak. And there, at the edge of the group, stood In-ho, his familiar mask hiding any hint of emotion. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture rigid, but you knew him well enough to sense the tension in the way he held himself.

“Ah, there you are,” Hiram said, stepping closer, his polished shoes barely making a sound against the floor. “You’ve outdone yourself, truly. This room is a masterpiece.” His voice was honeyed, charming, but there was a sharpness beneath it that made you uneasy.

“Thank you,” you replied evenly, forcing your voice to remain steady. You kept your expression composed, your hands clasped in front of you as he approached. “We aim to please.”

Hiram’s smile widened, his gaze flicking briefly to In-ho before returning to you. “And please, you certainly do.”

You resisted the urge to bristle under his stare, the weight of it lingering on you longer than it should have. Behind Hiram, one of the other VIPs chuckled quietly, their masked face tilted slightly toward you as though sharing in some unspoken joke.

In-ho stepped forward then, his imposing presence cutting through the tension like a knife. “Gentlemen,” he said, his voice cold and commanding. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. The evening will begin shortly.”

The VIPs nodded, moving toward the velvet couches, their conversation low and indistinct as they settled into their seats. Hiram, however, lingered, his sharp blue eyes studying you as if he were trying to unravel a mystery.

“Relax,” he said softly, his voice dropping just enough so only you could hear. “You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on those lovely shoulders.”

You met his gaze, your own eyes narrowing slightly as you replied, “Someone has to ensure things run smoothly.”

Hiram chuckled, the sound rich and deep, as he took a deliberate step back. “Of course. But don’t forget to enjoy the fruits of your labor."

The words dripped with something you couldn’t quite place—mockery, admiration, or perhaps a mix of both. Before you could respond, he turned on his heel, joining the others on the couches.

In-ho was beside you in an instant, his hand brushing yours briefly before falling to his side. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly, his voice low enough that the others wouldn’t hear.

You nodded, though the tightness in your chest hadn’t eased. “I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a small smile.

In-ho’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he straightened, his attention shifting back to the VIPs. The room was filling with quiet chatter and the faint clink of glasses, but your mind was elsewhere, stuck on the unnerving familiarity of Hiram’s words.

"You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world."

Perhaps, in some ways, he wasn’t wrong.

_________________

The first two games had gone off without a hitch, leaving the VIPs exceptionally entertained. Their laughter, applause, and murmurs of satisfaction still echoed faintly in your mind as you lay in bed. It had been a long, grueling day of keeping up appearances—avoiding Hiram’s pointed stares, catering to the demands of the VIPs, and maintaining your composure as the deadly spectacle unfolded before their masked faces.

Now, in the quiet sanctuary of your quarters, the exhaustion weighed heavily on you. Your freshly showered skin was cool against the soft sheets, and the faint scent of In-ho’s cologne lingered in the oversized shirt of his you’d slipped into. The fabric draped loosely over your body, the hem brushing against your thighs as you lay on your side, your back to the door.

The faint click of the door opening startled you, making your heart leap. You sat up quickly, the sheets pooling at your waist, only to relax when your eyes met In-ho’s. His dark eyes held a tired warmth, his posture slightly slouched as he closed the door behind him.

“How’d today go?” you asked softly, watching as he moved toward the bed. His black mask was gone now, leaving his sharp, handsome features fully exposed. He didn’t answer right away, instead sitting at the edge of the bed beside you.

His fingers reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear before his palm rested gently against your cheek. The touch was grounding, comforting, and his thumb brushed your skin in a slow, deliberate motion.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” he said, his voice low, tinged with concern.

You angled your head, your brows knitting slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he murmured, his tone dropping further as his gaze fixed on you, “is Hiram going to be a problem?”

The question caught you off guard, though it shouldn’t have. You knew In-ho had noticed Hiram’s lingering glances and overly familiar tone earlier in the day. His attention to detail rarely missed anything.

You shook your head quickly, offering a small, reassuring smile. “He’s just a flirt, nothing more,” you said lightly, though the faint tension in your voice didn’t go unnoticed.

In-ho didn’t look convinced. He sighed deeply, leaning into your shoulder and pressing his forehead against it. The weight of him was grounding, though you could feel the tension radiating from his body.

“Flirt or not,” he said, his voice muffled against your shoulder, “If he says anything to you, anything at all, you tell me," he said, his voice low but filled with unmistakable authority. “I don’t care if it seems harmless. I need to know.”

You snorted softly, your lips curving into a small smile as you reached up to run your fingers through his hair. “You worry too much,” you teased, though your heart fluttered at the protective edge in his voice.

He lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours as a faint grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Take a shower with me,” he said suddenly, his tone lighter now but still carrying that low, intimate warmth that always seemed to pull you in.

You laughed softly, leaning back slightly and giving him a playful look. “You’re about 15 minutes too late, baby,” you said, that name rarely used by either of you, gesturing to your damp hair as proof.

His grin widened, the weariness in his expression giving way to something more mischievous. “Take another one,” he countered, his tone smooth, laced with that teasing charm he rarely let others see.

You rolled your eyes, a soft laugh escaping your lips as he leaned closer, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. His fingers curled gently against your skin as his forehead brushed yours, the warmth of him filling the small space between you.

“You’re insatiable,” you murmured, your voice soft but tinged with affection as your lips hovered just shy of his.

“For you?” he replied, his voice dropping to a near whisper, his breath warm against your skin. “Always.”

Before you could respond, he pressed his lips to yours in a slow kiss. It deepened quickly, his hand tightening against the nape of your neck as he pulled you closer. The stress of the day melted away in his touch, replaced by the warmth and safety you always felt in his presence.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “So? Another shower?”

You let out a breathy laugh, playfully nudging him. “Fine, but only if you carry me there,” you teased, though the sparkle in your eyes betrayed how much you loved the idea of spending just a little more time wrapped up in him.

He grinned fully now, the rare sight lighting up his face as he stood, scooping you effortlessly into his arms. You gasped, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you toward the bathroom, the sound of your laughter filling the once-quiet room.

“Anything for you,” he murmured, his tone softer now, as though the words were meant only for you.

Making it through the door, In-ho carries you in the shower, slamming you against the marble wall of the shower. You moan from the pain radiating in your back and fumble for the nozzle, turning on the water. As it pours down, In-ho holds you to him.

Pulling his soaked black shirt off, you blindly throw it. "God I've missed these," In-ho says with need, cupping your breasts and squeezing. You arch into the sensation as he kisses every square inch of you.

Your breaths are cut short, "this..is this our stress relief?" You moan the question. It was pathetic, but you didn't care as the warm water dripped down your bare body. His tongue slips into your mouth, dominating with control. You break from him, "God, fuck me," you pleaded, as you removed his belt, pushing his jeans to the wet floor.

Lost in the embrace, in the all-consuming passion that bound you together, the world outside ceased to exist. Every kiss was a firebrand against your skin, every touch igniting nerves you didn’t know could spark. Time seemed to slow, the rhythm of your movements the only measure of its passing, as if the universe itself had paused to witness your union.

The warmth of his breath fanned against your neck, mingling with the heat between your bodies. His hands gripped you with a reverence that bordered on desperation, fingers pressing into your skin as though he were afraid to let go, afraid you might slip away. The steady, powerful rhythm of each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, your senses heightening until every sound, every sensation, became sharper, more vivid.

The soft gasps and murmurs escaping your lips seemed to echo in the room, blending with the faint trickle of water from the showerhead above. Droplets clung to your skin, sliding slowly over the curve of your back, over the ridges of his muscles, before pooling in the space between your entwined bodies. Each droplet caught the faint golden light of the room, glistening like tiny stars before being lost in the heat of your connection.

Your fingers tangled in his damp hair, pulling him closer, and he obliged, his lips trailing along your jaw before capturing yours again in a kiss that was both fierce and tender. The taste of him, the heat of his body against yours, was intoxicating. You couldn’t get enough.

But beyond the veil of your bliss, the door to your quarters eased open, silent and deliberate, the faintest shift of air the only sign of intrusion. Footsteps, so soft they barely disturbed the stillness, crept closer, slow and calculated, each one measured to avoid detection.

In the shadows, just beyond the faint pool of golden light spilling from the bedside lamp, he stood.

Hiram’s figure was a ghost against the darkness, his white suit blending almost unnaturally into the muted glow. His sharp blue eyes gleamed, watching you with a cold, predatory focus that made the air seem heavier. His expression wasn’t one of embarrassment or even intrigue—it was something far more sinister. His lips curled into a faint smirk, his head tilting slightly as he took in the scene before him with unnerving calm, as if committing every detail to memory.

Your laughter, your whispered name on In-ho’s lips, the vulnerable intimacy you thought was private—it all played out before Hiram like a stage performance crafted solely for his amusement.

But this wasn’t idle curiosity.

As his piercing gaze flicked between you and In-ho, something darker flickered in his eyes—disorder, malice, and the unmistakable spark of opportunity. He stood motionless, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, as though savoring the power of his invisible presence, feeding off the unknowing vulnerability of the two of you.

He leaned slightly against the doorframe, his smirk widening as his thoughts grew darker. Plans began to unfurl in his mind—delicate threads of manipulation, sabotage, and ruin. He could already see the cracks he could exploit, the fault lines he could widen until everything you’d built together came crashing down.

This wasn’t just about jealousy or lust. It was about power. Hiram wasn’t simply watching—he was plotting. He would take this moment, this private, unguarded act, and twist it into a weapon. A scandal. A weakness. A game.

The soft rustle of fabric, the faint creak of a floorboard—it all went unnoticed by you as you clung to In-ho, lost in the safety and warmth of each other.

Hiram’s gaze lingered for a moment longer, his smirk hardening into something far more chilling. His blue eyes burned with quiet intent as he silently turned and slipped back into the darkness of the hallway, the door closing behind him with the faintest click.

You didn’t notice.

And that was the most unsettling part. You didn’t feel the weight of his presence, the cold void left in his wake. You didn’t hear the quiet whisper of a plan already forming.

But you would. Soon enough.

__________

The third game was well underway, the tension in the air palpable as you stood near the edge of the VIP room, surveying the space with sharp eyes. Each masked guest lounged on the velvet couches, their low murmurs punctuated by bursts of laughter or clinks of crystal glasses. On the wide screen across the room, the game unfolded with brutal precision, but your focus wasn’t on the chaos playing out there—it was on the subtle undercurrents within this room.

In-ho had left an hour ago, his presence a void you felt acutely. Before he went, he’d reminded you, in no uncertain terms, to tell him if Hiram stepped out of line. You’d nodded, trying to ignore the growing knot in your chest. Now, as you scanned the room, your eyes occasionally drifted to where he had been, wishing you could reach out and touch his mask for reassurance, to feel connected to him, even from afar.

But Hiram’s gaze was a far more suffocating presence. You could feel it, sharp and invasive, like a cold knife against your skin. It followed you relentlessly, even when you weren’t looking. His attention wasn’t subtle or casual—it was deliberate, calculated, and infuriating.

You swallowed the anger threatening to bubble over. By now, the thought of him made your blood boil, and if you were being honest with yourself, the idea of sinking a blade into his throat was becoming alarmingly tempting.

The need to escape the room became overwhelming. Grabbing an empty decanter from a nearby table, you excused yourself, slipping through the side door toward the supply closet.

The closet was dimly lit, shelves lined with bottles of every expensive liquor imaginable. The faint scent of aged whiskey and cleaning supplies hung in the air, and for a fleeting moment, you wished you weren’t working. A shot—or two—might have eased the tension twisting in your chest.

You reached for a bottle of vodka, the smooth glass cool against your gloved fingers, when a voice broke the silence.

“Thinking of taking a break?”

The words came from behind you, startling you so badly you slammed into the shelf behind you, bottles rattling ominously at the impact.

You spun around to find Hiram standing in the doorway, his white suit glowing faintly under the dim light. He let out a deep, belly laugh, his voice rich with amusement at your discomfort.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, though the gleam in his sharp blue eyes suggested otherwise.

Your pulse quickened, and you fought to keep your composure as you smoothed out your uniform. “You should get back to the game,” you said curtly, your voice steady despite the tension curling in your stomach.

Hiram shrugged nonchalantly, stepping further into the cramped space. “I’ve grown bored,” he said, his tone casual but laced with something darker. “I’d much rather spend my time with you.”

He moved closer, and instinctively, you straightened your spine, forcing yourself to stand tall. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

“I have a proposition for you,” he said, his voice lowering as he loomed over you.

You stiffened as your back pressed against the cold metal of the shelf. The tight quarters made it impossible to step away. “Whatever it is, I can’t accept,” you said quickly, turning to grab the bottle of vodka and making to leave.

Before you could take a step, his hand clamped down on your shoulder, his grip rough and unyielding as he spun you back around to face him.

Pain shot through your shoulder, and your heart jumped to your throat as you fought to keep the yelp threatening to escape locked behind your lips. “Please let go of me,” you said, your voice measured but trembling slightly at the edges.

Instead of releasing you, his other hand shot out, gripping your jaw tightly. His fingers dug into your skin, and in one swift motion, he ripped your mask off, letting it fall to the floor with a sharp clatter.

Your breath hitched, your wide, eyes now fully exposed to him. The faint sheen of fear in them must have pleased him because he scoffed, his lips curling into a twisted smirk.

“Don’t be so afraid,” he said mockingly, his voice dripping with condescension. His thumb brushed along your cheek, a touch that was slow and deliberate, as if savoring your discomfort.

You flinched, your body stiffening under his touch, but he didn’t pull back. If anything, he leaned closer, his warm breath ghosting over your face as his sharp blue eyes bore into yours.

“You’re even more beautiful up close,” he murmured, his tone soft but laced with something predatory. His finger traced the line of your jaw, trailing down to your chin as though he were studying a prize. “A shame someone like you is wasted on someone like him.”

The implication in his words made your stomach churn, and you clenched your fists at your sides, fighting the urge to lash out.

“Hiram,” you said sharply, your voice stronger now despite the fear gripping your chest. “Let. Me. Go.”

You clenched your jaw, your hand curling into a fist at your side, trying to retain any shred of composure. “This isn’t professional,” you barked, the words coming out sharper than you intended, the slight tremor in your voice betraying your rising unease.

Hiram’s grin widened, his expression darkening as he leaned in closer. His breath was warm against your face, almost too close. “You know what isn’t professional, Y/N?” His voice dropped lower, laced with venom.

“Fucking your boss in front of a VIP. You don’t think I saw that little show? How wet you were, how you couldn’t keep your hands off each other.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your blood running cold as the reality of what he was saying sank in. The realization hit you like a slap across the face, and you swallowed, the bile in your throat rising. “What are you implying?” you asked, though you already knew.

His grin flashed wider, sharper now, like a predator toying with its prey. “Oh, I think you already know, sweetheart.” He leaned back, taking in your reaction with the kind of satisfaction that made your stomach turn. “So, here’s my proposition.”

You blinked, frozen in place as he reached for a bottle of whiskey on the shelf beside him, his movements slow and deliberate as he took a long swig. The harsh liquid seemed to ignite something in his eyes, the edges of his grin curling with malice.

“The Original Game Maker isn’t happy,” Hiram continued, his voice dripping with sweet, poisonous calm. “He thinks the games have gotten too soft. Too... predictable. He thinks loyalties are getting a little too murky. And we can’t have that, can we?” He stepped closer again, his eyes locked onto yours with a predatory intensity. “No, no, no. We need to shake things up.”

Your breath caught in your chest, the weight of his words settling heavily between you. You could feel the air thickening, suffocating you as his words began to sink deeper into your mind, wrapping around your thoughts like a vice.

He took another swig from the bottle, wiping his mouth casually with the back of his hand before setting it down on the shelf with a soft clink. “In my opinion, In-ho’s loyalties have drifted,” he said, his voice carrying an unsettling edge. “To you, Y/N. And while that’s... charming, I think it’s time he’s reminded of the consequences of that kind of weakness.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, the realization of what he was suggesting sending a chill through your entire body. “What are you talking about?” you whispered, but even as the words left your mouth, you already knew the answer.

Hiram’s eyes gleamed as he straightened, the playful malice in his expression growing more serious, more calculating. “So here’s whats going to happen. On behalf of the original game maker's wish,” he said, the weight of his words pressing against you like a physical force. “You will enter the games as a player. And In-ho will finally show his true colors. If he interferes with the game for you? His life will come to a tragic end. But if you allow fate to decide…” His voice trailed off, but the dark promise hung in the air, suffocating, undeniable.

The words were poison, each syllable crawling under your skin like an infection, burning through your chest. Your mind raced, trying to piece together what he was saying, what he was offering—and you hated yourself for feeling a flicker of hesitation, as if the very idea of it wasn’t completely out of reach.

Hiram’s grin deepened, his eyes glinting with amusement as he read the shock and fear in your face. “You both come out alive, or... you know the rest. Think of it as a test for In-ho. Will he be loyal to the games, or loyal to you?” His voice was thick with implication, like a contract being signed in blood.

The room felt smaller now. The air, once thick with the hum of tension, now felt suffocating, as if the walls were closing in around you. You could feel the weight of Hiram’s gaze on you, each word landing like a hammer to your chest, each suggestion a chain tightening around your throat.

Hiram took a final sip from the bottle, his eyes never leaving yours as he tilted his head. “Think hard in your remaining time with him” he said softly, his voice almost a purr. “Let’s see how far you’re willing to go for him and him...for you.”

Your mind reeled. The idea of willingly stepping into the game—becoming a part of it, in it—was a nightmare, but the alternative... The alternative was more terrifying than you could bear. The question was no longer just about survival, it was about loyalty, power, betrayal. And worst of all, the deadly twist of fate that Hiram was dangling in front of you.

______

The conference room was cloaked in an overbearing darkness, the only sound the relentless ticking of the clock mounted on the wall behind you. The air was thick, weighted by a silence that felt intentional, like a predator stalking its prey. You sat at the head of the long, polished table, your gloved fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm against the arm of the chair. The day was crawling toward its end, but every second felt like an eternity. All you could think about was her—y/n—waiting for you. The ache to return to her side burned like a brand, her presence the only thing that kept you grounded amidst the chaos.

But you couldn’t leave. Not yet. The Original Game Maker had summoned you here without warning, his message sparse and cryptic. No explanation. No agenda. Just an order—a command you couldn’t refuse. Not from him. The mere fact that he had decided to step out of his self-imposed obscurity and into the shadows of the games again was unsettling enough. He’d spent years distancing himself from this bloodstained spectacle, content to let others pull the strings. But now, his sudden interest in this season felt like a storm gathering on the horizon—quiet but ominous.

You shifted in your chair, stifling the urge to scoff aloud. The memory of his past actions clawed at the edges of your mind: the slaughter of 456 lives. Brutal. Senseless. A massacre that spat in the face of the games’ twisted purpose. You could still sense the blood-soaked floors, feel the echoes of screams that lingered long after the last body fell. No one had dared to replicate his methods since—how could they? It was chaos for the sake of chaos, devoid of strategy or control.

You’d told y/n that story once, not to frighten her but to warn her. To keep her as far from him as possible. The man was a powder keg, volatile and devoid of humanity. He lacked empathy. He lacked reason. And yet, here he was, demanding your presence like some dark god who had finally grown bored of his own indifference.

Your jaw tightened beneath the mask as you glanced at the door. He was late—of course, he was late—but the weight of his impending arrival pressed down on you like an iron shroud. You couldn’t ignore the unease simmering beneath your skin, a faint prickle of suspicion that refused to be silenced. Still, you reminded yourself: I am in control. I am in charge.

But it wasn’t just about you. It never was. Y/n was your equal, your partner in your blood-drenched kingdom. You trusted her implicitly, would bow to her without hesitation if she asked. She gave you purpose, kept you tethered. The thought of her—her strength, her clarity—gave you the resolve to face whatever bombardment was about to walk through that door.

And yet, as the ticking clock marked each passing second, the unease lingered.

The Original Game Maker had returned, and whatever he wanted, you knew it wasn’t good.

The door clicked shut behind his towering figure, the sound reverberating through the room like a judge’s gavel. He stood there for a moment, letting the oppressive silence weigh heavier, his presence filling the darkened space. A slow, chilling grin crept across his face, a predatory curve that set your nerves on edge. In his hands, he clutched a thick binder, pressed against his chest like a weapon he was ready to unsheathe. Without a word, he flung it onto the table with a loud thud, the pages splaying slightly from the force.

He moved toward the chair beside you, the leather groaning as he sank into it, every motion deliberate and oozing authority. “Lose the mask, In-ho,” he said, his voice a low, rasping command that carried an edge of disdain. “We’re far beyond formalities.”

You hesitated for only a moment before obeying, reaching up to remove the mask that had become a part of you, placing it carefully on the table’s cold surface. The air felt sharper against your face, the weight of his gaze cutting deeper now that your shield was gone.

“I’m not happy, In-ho.” His words were clipped, each syllable sharp enough to draw blood. He jabbed a finger toward the binder, his meaning clear.

You flipped open the cover, the faint warmth of freshly printed pages brushing against your fingertips. One by one, you turned the sheets, each page a detailed report of the previous games you had overseen. Numbers, outcomes, summaries of lives lost in your carefully constructed arenas. The data stared back at you like an accusation, but you refused to flinch.

Finally, you looked up at him, unshaken but curious. “Sir?”

He sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as if you had already failed some unspoken test. “Your games are too feeble,” he spat, his lips curling into a sneer. “Too slow. The players… they aren’t drowning in fear. They aren’t desperate enough, In-ho. They aren’t pushed to the brink, clawing at each other like animals, fighting for their very existence.”

You folded your gloved hands atop the table, your voice calm but laced with steel. “I oversee and operate games with order, games that have purpose. Every death is calculated. Every sacrifice has meaning.”

He scoffed, the sound cutting through the room like a blade. “And that, In-ho, is precisely the problem.” He leaned forward now, his elbows resting on the table as his dark, piercing eyes bore into yours. “I created these games to strip humanity down to its raw, ugly core. To show the world what we truly are when the veneer of civility is ripped away. People will kill, not because they need to, but because they want to. For the thrill. For dominance. For the sake of blood itself.”

His words hung in the air, a festering poison that seeped into the room. You felt the tension coil tighter in your chest, but your expression remained unreadable.

“These aren’t just games to you,” you said slowly, the weight of realization settling like a stone in your stomach. “They’re a mirror. A reflection of your own madness.”

His grin widened, a twisted caricature of delight. “Perhaps, In-ho. But madness, after all, is the truest form of humanity.”

The room felt smaller now, the walls pressing in as his words lingered, daring you to challenge him further. But this was a game of its own, and you couldn’t afford to lose.

"Anyway," he said, his voice dripping with mock casualness, "that’s not my only problem. Flip to page 457."

Your fingers moved instinctively, even as dread clawed at the edges of your mind. The crisp sound of pages turning echoed in the silent room, the numbers blurring until you stopped at the specified page. Your breath caught, the blood in your veins turning cold as you stared at the glossy photographs staring back at you.

It was you. With her. Y/n. Captured in the most vulnerable, intimate moments of your life, taken just nights ago. Her smile, your hand tangled in her hair, the undeniable tenderness etched into both your faces—it was all there, exposed. Your pulse thundered in your ears, but outwardly, you forced your body to remain still, to not give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

The Game Maker leaned back, a predator savoring his prey. “Your loyalties are slipping,” he said, his tone eerily calm. “Although, deep down, in different circumstances, I wouldn’t blame you. She truly is lovely.” His gaze flicked to the photographs as if admiring a piece of art. “I had no issue with her presence here. Not at first. But then I saw it—this... softness. That flickering humanity in your eyes. The same brutality I once admired in you, the kind that reminded me of myself when I was younger—it’s fading.”

You leaned back in your chair, fingers curling into fists beneath the table. “Get to the point,” you said, your voice even but cold.

The Game Maker chuckled, a low, sinister sound that filled the room like smoke. “Ah, yes, the point.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his grin widening. “She’s your purpose, isn’t she? The reason you’re clawing your way back to humanity. The key to unlocking the man you used to be before your wife passed.”

Your jaw clenched at the mention of her, a sharp, invisible blade twisting deep in your chest. But you didn’t speak. You wouldn’t give him the joy of seeing how deeply his words cut.

“And you can see how that is... problematic for me, can’t you?” he continued, his voice softening, almost feigning sympathy. “Because while y/n may be important to you, these games are important to me. More so, I’d argue.” He tilted his head, studying you like a specimen under glass. “I need you to prove where your loyalty truly lies. With her? Or with the games I built you to lead.”

Your voice was steady, though each word felt like pushing against a rising tide. “How?”

The grin that spread across his face was sharp and wicked, a hunter reveling in its kill. “You’ll craft your own two day games,” he said, his tone deceptively light. “Similar to mine. You will design them yourself, and you will not interfere. No leniency. No hesitation. No mercy. Only barbarity. If you succeed—if you prove to me that the In-ho I molded hasn’t been lost—I’ll bite my tongue. I’ll let you and her continue this... whatever this is.”

He paused, his grin darkening. “But if you fail?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Then you can kiss everything you know and love goodbye. Including her.”

Your silence was the only response, though your teeth clenched so hard you thought they might crack.

The Game Maker stood, his movements languid, confident. He adjusted his coat as he moved toward the door, his boots thudding against the floor with an almost mocking rhythm. With one hand on the door, he turned back, his shadow stretching across the room.

“And, In-ho?” His voice carried a sharp edge of finality. “If you think this doesn’t hurt me, you’re wrong. I made you what you are, molded you into something extraordinary. Watching you falter now is like watching a masterpiece crack and crumble.” His eyes narrowed. “So I suggest you take my words with caution and do exactly what you’re told.”

The door closed behind him with a deafening noise, leaving you alone with the photos, the order hanging over your head like a guillotine, and the faint echo of his parting words sinking into your chest like a weight you could hardly bear.

_____________

You’d intended to march straight to In-ho’s office, fury blazing in your chest like an inferno. Hiram had crossed the line, and you were done letting his smarmy arrogance slide. You were going to tell In-ho everything, let him deal with the fool, and watch Hiram’s smirk turn to panic when he realized he wouldn’t see sunrise.

But the third game had ended, leaving the viewing room steeped in gloaming and silence, the air thick with the weight of death. The tension followed you as you ascended the winding staircase, each step bringing you closer to your quarters—and to In-ho.

Then, hands gripped your waist from behind, yanking you backward into a broad chest. The move was quick, practiced. Adrenaline surged, and before you could even think, your hand shot to your blade. With a fluid motion, you drove the weapon into your attacker’s hip, twisting it for good measure.

A sharp grunt of pain followed as the hands released you, and you spun on your heel, ready to strike again. The dim hallway lights revealed Hiram staggering back, clutching his side where blood was already staining his suit. Behind him, three of his VIP cronies loomed, their expensive outfits hiding bulky frames and concealed weapons.

You gripped the blade tighter, your other hand slipping behind your back to retrieve your second knife. “Really, Hiram?” you spat, your voice low and venomous. “You need your little gang to take down one woman? That’s just pathetic.”

Hiram straightened, his breath coming in short, pained bursts as he yanked the knife from his hip with a hiss. He tossed it to the floor with a metallic clang, his lip curling into a humorless smile. “Does In-ho not trust you enough to give you a gun? Or does he like to keep his little pet on a leash?”

The insult barely registered. You were already stepping into a defensive stance, rolling your shoulders to loosen the tension building in your muscles. The blade in your hand glinted as you twirled it with ease, keeping your focus sharp. “Whatever it is you think you’re trying to do,” you said, your tone laced with poison, “why don’t you stop wasting my time and get on with it?”

Hiram’s grin twisted into something darker as he took a step forward. The other VIPs followed his lead, spreading out to form a circle around you, their movements slow and deliberate. They were armed, you could see the outlines of holsters under their tailored suits, but none of them drew yet. No, they wanted to play with their prey first.

You pivoted slowly, keeping your head on a swivel, your eyes darting between each man as they tightened the circle. Your heart hammered in your chest, but your grip remained steady. If they thought cornering you would make you crumble, they were in for a rude awakening.

“You’re feisty,” Hiram said, his tone dripping with condescension as he gestured to his men. “But that’s going to be a problem, y/n. You see, In-ho might tolerate your little antics, but I don’t. And after tonight, you’ll wish you had kept that knife to yourself.”

“You talk too much,” you shot back, your lips curling into a defiant smirk. Your pulse roared in your ears, but outwardly, you stayed calm, shifting your weight subtly to prepare for the first strike. “All this bluster, and yet here you are, bleeding like a stuck pig. So, which one of you is going to make the first move? Or do you need to huddle and decide?”

The taunt worked. One of the VIPs lunged, his hand reaching for your arm. You ducked low, sidestepping with practiced ease and slicing at his side as you went. Blood splattered on your face, in your hair and on your suit. He let out a guttural cry, stumbling to the floor, dead, and the circle tightened as the others moved in.

The fight had begun, and you knew this wasn’t going to be clean. But you weren’t about to go down without a fight.

One down, you thought as another stepped forward to grab you. A small doubt in your mind clanged through you. It made you wonder why they hadn't used their guns to subdue you at this point, until you remembered Hiram's proposition. They weren't trying to kill you. They were trying to capture you and you'd be damned if they were to succeed.

A rough hand shot out, tangling in your hair and yanking you backward with brutal force. Pain radiated from your scalp as your body arched against the pull, and another set of hands clamped down on your arms like iron shackles, trying to restrain you.

You weren’t about to fail.

Not here.

Not now.

With a feral growl, you twisted against the grip, sinking your teeth into the thick forearm of the larger man restraining you. His flesh tore under the pressure, and the sharp, metallic tang of blood flooded your mouth. He roared in pain, his grip faltering as he stumbled back, clutching his arm. You spit the torn skin and blood back in his face, your eyes blazing as you drove a powerful kick to the side of his head. The blow landed with a sickening crack, sending him sprawling to the floor in a heap.

But there was no time to celebrate. The second man still had your arms, his grip relentless. You twisted violently, your muscles screaming with the effort, but he held firm. Desperation flared, and you did the only thing you could—threw your head back with everything you had.

Your skull connected with his nose in a sickening crunch, and his grip loosened just enough. A guttural curse escaped him as he staggered, blood pouring from his shattered nose. You turned sharply, your fist already swinging toward him, but you didn’t get the chance to finish.

A sudden, blinding pain exploded across your cheek, cutting through your focus like a blade. The force of the impact sent you crumpling to your knees, the world tilting as you gasped for breath. A searing, numbing ache spread from your face to your jaw, and you tasted blood pooling in your mouth. Spitting it onto the cold floor, you tried to steady yourself, blinking to clear the haze of pain.

When your vision sharpened, your gaze locked onto Hiram standing over you, his chest heaving with exertion, a pair of brass knuckles glinting in the dim light. Blood from his earlier wound had soaked through his suit, but it didn’t seem to slow him. He tilted his head, a breathless, wicked laugh spilling from his lips as he took in your state.

"Look at you," he sneered, flexing his fingers in the brass knuckles. "All that fire... and yet here you are. On your knees. Just where you belong."

Your jaw clenched, the copper tang of your own blood still thick in your mouth. Pain radiated from your cheek, but you refused to look defeated. Instead, you raised your head, locking eyes with him, your fury burning brighter than ever.

With that, you took a hit to the head from the bottom of his shoe, no doubt filled with steel and slipped into darkness. The final thing you heard...

Shes under.

Bringing her to you now.

______

The pain hit like a lightning strike the moment you tried to rub your eyes, a sharp, blinding agony that tore a raw scream from your throat. Your eyelids snapped open, and the world around you blurred in streaks of dim light and shadow.

"Try not to move," a worn, weathered voice suggested, calm but firm.

Your gaze darted to the side, your breath hitching as you took in the figure beside you. An elderly woman sat hunched over, her face lined with the etchings of time and hardship. In her gnarled hands, she held a water bottle and strips of frayed fabric, soaked in blood and grime. Her touch was careful but insistent as she dabbed at the stinging wound above your brow, the metallic scent of blood mixing with the sour tang of sweat.

You pushed her hand away abruptly, the surge of adrenaline drowning out the pain. Ignoring the dull, throbbing ache in your muscles, you forced yourself upright, the threadbare blanket sliding from your shoulders to the cold, unforgiving floor.

Fragments of memory surged forward, crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Hiram.

The proposition.

In-ho.

Your chest tightened as reality snapped into focus. The events blurred, but one thing was certain—you were in danger, and so was he.

Your eyes darted around, taking in the unfamiliar room. The space was cavernous, yet suffocating, the air damp and heavy with despair. Rows of narrow, metal bunk beds stretched into the shadows, their frames rusted and creaking. The dim lighting overhead cast flickering pools of orange light that barely pierced the darkness. This wasn't the player's quarters you knew—this was something else. Something worse.

The uniforms confirmed it. You looked down at yourself, the tight black fabric clinging to your legs, a stark contrast to the garish jumpsuits the players usually wore. A sleek, fitted black jacket covered your upper body, the material sturdy yet restrictive. It felt like a shroud, as if someone had stripped you of your identity and replaced it with this ominous second skin.

The cold metal of the platform under your feet sent a shiver up your spine, but rage burned hotter. Without hesitation, you leapt from the upper level, landing with a thud on the grated floor below. Your knees buckled slightly at the impact, but you straightened, the fury in your veins propelling you forward.

Your target was clear: the iron door at the far end of the dormitory. It loomed like a fortress wall, a cold, unyielding barrier between you and freedom. You surged toward it, your fists slamming against the surface with all the force you could muster.

"Hiram!" you bellowed, your voice raw and echoing through the empty dormitory. "You motherfucker, let me out!"

Your knuckles burned as you pounded the door, the metal refusing to give even the faintest hint of weakness. Desperation clawed at your throat as you turned your gaze upward, scanning the shadows until your eyes locked onto the cold, unfeeling lens of a surveillance camera.

"You hear me, Hiram? Let me out!" you roared, your voice cracking under the weight of your panic. The silence that followed was deafening, a void that only heightened your racing thoughts.

Where was In-ho? Was he all right? Did he even know what had happened? Or was he—

No. You couldn't finish the thought. Your fists fell to your sides, trembling as rage and fear churned in your chest.

The camera blinked once, its small red light a cruel reminder that someone, somewhere, was watching—and enjoying—your descent into chaos.

If Hiram and the Game Maker wanted you to play, then fine. Game on.

Your fists dropped from the iron door, bloodied and raw, but you didn't care. The sting in your knuckles, the ache in your muscles—none of it mattered now. The fear that had momentarily threatened to consume you hardened into something sharper, deadlier. It wasn't panic anymore. It was resolve.

Your chest rose and fell with measured breaths as you locked eyes with the blinking red light of the surveillance camera. You knew they were watching. You wanted them to watch. Let them see what they'd done.

The corners of your lips curled into a dangerous smirk, blood staining your teeth. "You want a player?" you growled, your voice low and venomous, dripping with challenge. "You've got one."

__________

You cursed her name under your breath, the syllables bitter as they scraped against your tongue. On the screen, she pounded on the iron door, relentless, her voice cutting through the static with raw determination. She wouldn't back down. You knew her better than that. The sound of his name spilling from her lips was a dagger in your chest. It was enough.

With a flick of your wrist, the glass of liquor left your hand, shattering against the sink with a piercing crash. You barely registered the shards as they scattered across the counter, your focus already shifting. Your movements were sharp, deliberate, as you descended the staircase, each step a promise of retribution.

He didn't hear you coming. Hiram was sprawled across his lavish couch, a smug picture of decadence. You didn't bother with pleasantries. Your gloved hand clenched his fawn-colored hair, yanking him off the cushions with a violent pull. The startled yelp he let out was satisfying, but it wasn't enough. You flung him to the floor like garbage, the thud of his body echoing through the room.

Hiram laughed—low, guttural, unhinged. The sound coiled around your nerves, igniting your fury. You drew your pistol, the weight of it steady in your grasp, and aimed it directly at his smirking face.

"Ah, ah," he rasped, blood already pooling at his split lip. "You pull that trigger, and the game maker will have her head on a silver platter." His smile widened, grotesque and mocking, and it churned your stomach.

Your boot connected with his nose before he could say another word. The sickening crunch was music to your ears. Hiram's howl was guttural, primal, as he clutched his face, blood streaming between his fingers. You crouched down beside him, your shadow engulfing his trembling frame.

The pistol pressed hard beneath his chin, the cold metal biting into his skin. His ragged breaths came in sharp, shallow bursts as his gaze darted between your eyes and the barrel.

"You fucking touch her?" Your voice was low, venomous, a deadly promise wrapped in steel.

Hiram gasped, his chest heaving. Despite the blood and pain contorting his features, he managed to smirk. "Oh, come on, In-ho. You think so little of me?"

The pistol dug deeper, forcing his head back against the floor.

"Maybe," Hiram hissed, his teeth bared. "Maybe I had my way with her before I put her under."

White-hot rage exploded in your veins. Your fist crashed into his face again, another brutal blow to his already mangled nose. His scream ripped through the room as his head snapped back, blood splattering the floor like a grotesque painting.

"Enough."

The voice thundered from above, cutting through the room like a blade. Your head snapped up, the adrenaline in your veins freezing for a moment as you caught sight of the Game Maker. He stood at the top of the staircase, his silhouette sharp against the dim light behind him, one hand lazily resting on the railing. His expression was unreadable, but his commanding presence demanded obedience.

"Get off him, In-ho," he ordered, his tone icy, yet calm. "He only obeyed orders."

Your jaw clenched, teeth grinding as you glanced down at Hiram's bloodied, quivering form. His chest rose and fell in erratic gasps, his face a grotesque mess of swelling and crimson streaks. You tightened your grip on the pistol for a fraction of a second before exhaling sharply through your nose. Slowly, you pulled the barrel away from his clammy forehead, the imprint of the muzzle leaving a faint, circular mark on his skin.

Straightening, you forced the anger to settle, though your voice betrayed the simmering fury within. "This wasn't part of the deal."

The Game Maker shrugged nonchalantly, his expression impassive as he began descending the staircase. Each step was deliberate, the sound of his polished shoes echoing through the room. "No," he admitted, tilting his head slightly. "But doesn't it make for a far more... interesting show?"

Your stomach twisted at his words, the casual sadism in his tone igniting a spark of panic deep within you. You shoved it down, burying it beneath a veneer of cold resolve. Now wasn't the time to crack.

Behind you, Hiram struggled to his knees, his blood-slick hands slipping against the floor. He barely managed to stagger upright before his legs gave out, sending him stumbling back down. A low, wicked chuckle escaped your lips as you watched him flounder, your satisfaction bubbling just beneath the surface. Serves him right.

The Game Maker reached the bottom of the staircase, his gaze sharp and assessing as he approached. His eyes flicked to Hiram briefly before landing on you, calculating and piercing.

"The question now," he said, his voice low and cutting, "is whether you did what you were told."

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as the weight of the moment pressed down on you. Without a word, you reached into your jacket, fingers brushing against the edges of the file you had kept close since last night. Pulling it free, you held it out.

The Game Maker didn't hesitate. He snatched it from your hand with a brisk motion, his eyes already scanning the contents as he flipped through the pages. The sharp rustle of paper filled the silence.

A nasty grin curled at the edges of his mouth, predatory and pleased. "Ah," he murmured, the amusement thick in his voice. "You've certainly outdone yourself, haven't you?"

His voice was fuzzy as you only thought about one thing.

You wondered how she'd survive, praying your training was enough to protect her from the gruesome scenes to come. You looked at the large men that stood in the room with her, watched her size them up as she stalked back to her bunk.

She's smart, quick, agile.

She will fight her way out.

You repeated it like an omen, unable to even consider the other probability. You couldn't interfere, couldn't help her or reach out to comfort her. She was on her own and your hands squeezed into fists as the group of you watched the guards lead parties of players into the game hall, into the first match you had created.

His voice was a distant murmur, muffled and indistinct, drowned out by the storm raging in your mind. You couldn’t focus on his words, not when your thoughts were consumed by a singular, agonizing concern.

Her.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the screen, from the way she moved through the room with a deliberate grace, sizing up the towering men who surrounded her. The tension was palpable, her sharp, assessing gaze flicking from one to the next as if she were cataloging their weaknesses. She didn’t falter, didn’t shrink away. Instead, she stalked back to her bunk with a quiet confidence, her chin high, her steps measured.

She was smart. Quick. Agile.

She would fight her way out.

You repeated it to yourself like a prayer, clinging to the words as if they could ward off the darker possibilities clawing at the edges of your mind. She had to survive. She had to endure. Anything else was unthinkable, unbearable.

But the truth gnawed at you, an unrelenting beast. You couldn’t interfere. You couldn’t reach out, couldn’t warn her, couldn’t offer even the smallest comfort. She was alone now, completely at the mercy of the game—and of the monsters you had helped create.

Your hands curled into fists, the leather of your gloves creaking under the strain. Frustration and helplessness coiled tightly in your chest, threatening to choke you.

Around you, the others watched in grim silence as the guards began herding players into lines. The sound of heavy boots echoed through the game hall as they were marched toward their fates, toward the first deadly match. Your match.

Your gaze darted back to the screen, locking on her once more. She stood at the edge of the group now, her jaw tight, her body taut like a coiled spring. You could see it in her posture—the readiness, the determination.

Still, doubt whispered in the back of your mind, cruel and persistent. The first match was murderous, designed to break spirits and shatter bodies. It had been crafted with precision, every gruesome detail meant to test their limits. You had crafted it.

And now, as you stood there watching, you prayed—silently, desperately—that your training would be enough to see her through.

to be continued...

#hwang in ho #hwang in ho x reader #front man x reader #front man #in ho squid game #fanfic #squid game season 2 #the frontman #squid game fanfic #fan fiction #the front man x reader

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winchestersisterimaginessss · 2 days ago

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Request: hellooo! could you please write one where dean and sam are having their usual arguments but the sister is so sick of their shit, tried to tell them to get a grip and they come to their senses. but then flash forward the boys are ACTUALLY fighting, like throwing punches, and she gets caught by one of them? thanks, love your work!! <3

A/N: Hiiiiii!!! Thank you so much. I love this request and I hope I wrote it in a way you were imagining. If not, send me another request! As always requests are open. You can request anything you want, even if it’s something I’ve already written. Thanks everyone!!

Sam and Dean Winchester X Sister!Reader

I stood at the edge of the living room, eyes fixed on the familiar scene unfolding in front of me. Dean’s voice was as sharp as ever, cutting through the thick air of tension. The words were bitter, like venom spilling out of his mouth, each sentence more loaded than the last.

“Sam, you don’t get it. We don’t have the luxury of time. People are dying out there!”

I watched Sam, his jaw clenched, his posture rigid with barely contained fury. He leaned forward, hands planted firmly on the table between them. “You’re acting like we’re invincible, Dean! Like we don’t need a plan—like we can’t think through this!”

The frustration in Sam’s voice echoed in my chest like a drumbeat. But the thing that had finally snapped my restraint wasn’t their words—it was the way their anger was bleeding into everything. Every argument. Every conversation. It was relentless, a storm that never seemed to stop. I had been trying to hold onto whatever semblance of peace I could, but today… today I couldn’t take it anymore.

I could feel my heartbeat in my ears, that familiar surge of adrenaline clawing up my spine as I paced around the room, eyes darting from one brother to the other. My hands trembled by my sides, but it wasn’t just from the anger. It was the heartbreak—the exhaustion.

It had been happening for weeks. Every day, every single fight felt like it was tearing us apart. The same stupid arguments. The same stubbornness. And it wasn’t even about the monsters anymore. It was about us. The Winchesters. Our family.

And I was sick of it.

“Enough.” My voice cut through their bickering like a knife. The room froze in an instant.

Dean’s eyes snapped to me, that familiar scowl on his face as he straightened up from where he was leaning against the kitchen counter. “Y/N, don’t—”

“No,” I interrupted, my voice shaking, but this time with raw emotion. “No more. I can’t do this anymore. You two are tearing me apart.” I stepped forward, my chest tight with the weight of what I was about to say. “Every time you fight, it’s hurting everyone around you. Do you even see that? Do you realize what it’s doing to me?”

Dean’s expression faltered for a split second, but it was gone just as quickly, his jaw setting again, like a wall coming down. Sam, too, was silent, his eyes fixed on me, but I could see the flicker of guilt in his gaze.

I felt the tears pricking behind my eyes, threatening to spill over. “I’m your sister, goddamn it. And every time you fight, it feels like I’m invisible. Like I’m just the collateral damage. It’s not just your war anymore, okay? It’s all of ours. But I’m the one stuck in the middle, cleaning up the mess. And I can’t… I can’t do it anymore.”

My voice cracked with the last words, the weight of the admission crashing over me. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been holding in until it all came pouring out. The years of trying to keep things together. The endless struggles. But this—this constant fighting, the endless cycle of hate and misunderstanding—was the last straw.

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, I turned and stormed out of the room, unable to look at either of them. I couldn’t. I needed to get away. The walls were closing in. I ran to my room and I slammed the door behind me, the sound echoing through the hallway. The cool, dim light of my room offered no comfort. I collapsed onto my bed, burying my face in my hands. The tears I had been fighting for so long finally broke free, each one a painful reminder of how far we’d fallen.

I wasn’t sure how long I had been lying there, the muffled voices of my brothers drifting from the living room, distant and eventually fading into silence. For a moment, I allowed myself to hope they’d finally come to their senses. The tension in the air lifted, and I let out a shaky sigh of relief. I rolled over, searching for something to occupy my mind, anything to fill the quiet space between the cracks of everything left unsaid.

It felt peaceful—finally.

And then it didn’t.

A thud. A grunt. A crash. The unmistakable sounds of a fight.

My heart dropped. I knew what it was. It wasn’t the first time.

I shot out of bed, adrenaline surging through me. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms as I sprinted down the hallway. Every step felt like it was dragging me deeper into the chaos that had consumed our family. I didn’t care if I was still raw from the argument. I didn’t care if my own heart was shattered.

I pushed through the door, eyes wide, breath ragged. Dean and Sam were on the floor, fists flying, faces twisted in rage.

"Stop!" I screamed, my voice hoarse and desperate.

But they didn’t stop. They didn’t even look up. Sam’s fist connect with Dean’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. And then Dean retaliated, throwing his own punch, and for a split second, I watched in horror as they both swung at each other, neither one holding back.

“No! Stop! Please, stop!” My voice cracked as I rushed forward, desperate to break it up, but I wasn’t fast enough.

They continued to swing, and this time one of their fists caught me by accident. The world around me seemed to slow down in that moment. The knuckles collided with the side of my face, and everything went black for an instant. I felt my body hit the floor with a sickening thud, the sharp pain in my head drowning out everything else.

Blood filled my mouth, and I could taste the metallic tang of it. I gasped for air, but it felt like the room was spinning. I tried to get up, but my legs wouldn’t hold me. My body was too heavy, too overwhelmed with pain.

Tears stung my eyes as I lay on the floor, blood dripping from my lips. I couldn’t believe it—couldn’t understand how we’d gotten to this point. How we—we—had let things get so bad.

“Y/N!” Dean’s voice shattered through the haze. He dropped down next to me, panic overtaking his features. “Shit… kid, don’t move. Don’t move, okay? You’re gonna need stitches.”

But I couldn’t hear him. My mind was clouded, my vision fading. I choked back another sob, my hands instinctively reaching up to touch the fresh wound on my face. The pain was blinding. I felt myself shaking violently, my body not able to handle the weight of it all—the physical pain, the emotional pain, the betrayal of it all.

“Why?” I whispered, my voice barely a breath. I turned my head to look at them, but my vision was swimming with tears. “Why do you keep doing this? You’re brothers. You’re supposed to protect each other. Look at me! Look at what you’ve done to me!”

Dean looked as if he had been slapped, his face pale and guilt-ridden, his lips trembling with words he couldn’t form. Sam, who had been hovering in the background, now moved forward slowly, his hands trembling as he knelt beside me.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Sam said quietly, his voice cracked with emotion. He reached for my hand, but I yanked it away.

“I don’t want your apology!” I screamed through the blood in my mouth, the words raw and painful. “I don’t want anything from you right now. I just… I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Sam looked like he was about to say something, but I was already staggering to my feet, my vision still blurry, my head spinning.

“No, you’re not helping!” I shouted, my voice breaking. “I’ll fix it. I’ll fix myself.” And with that, I rushed toward the bathroom, my legs unsteady beneath me, my heart pounding with each step.

I slammed the door behind me, locking it before either of them could follow. I couldn’t let them fix it. Not yet. Not when they were still at war with each other. I had to do it myself.

I grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink, my hands trembling as I fumbled with the supplies. I wasn’t sure what I was doing. I wasn’t sure I could even see straight through the tears and dizziness that clouded my vision, but I couldn’t stop. I had to fix it. I had to fix myself.

I dug the needle from the kit, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold onto it. not even registering the pain as I pressed it into my skin. I was too dizzy to see straight, too lost in my pain to think clearly. The needle jabbed into my skin, but the agony of it was nothing compared to the emotional ache. My hands were shaking uncontrollably now, the stitches coming out uneven and jagged. But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t. I couldn’t see the wound, couldn’t tell where I was supposed to stitch, but I pushed through the agony anyway, my body wracked with sobs. Every breath felt like it was going to tear me apart.

“Y/N, open the door,” I heard Dean’s voice from the other side, pleading. “Please. Please, we’re so sorry.”

“I don’t care!” I screamed through the door, the words strangled by tears. “You should’ve cared before! You should’ve seen what this was doing to me! To all of us!” You whimpered before slammed your hand down on the bathroom sink. “Our fucking family!”

The sobs wracked my body, my chest tightening with every breath. The blood dripped steadily from my lip, staining my shirt and the bathroom counter. I felt myself getting weaker by the second.

“We’re so sorry. Please let us help,” Sam’s voice came through the door, soft, desperate. “Let us help you, bug.” His voice was quiet, gentle, and broken.

“I don’t want your help!” I sobbed, my voice breaking. “I wanted you to stop fighting! I wanted you to care about me. About us.”

But the pain was too much. The dizziness too overwhelming. I could barely keep my eyes open, but I still fought, pressing the needle into my skin.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Both of them rushed in, their faces stricken with horror at the sight of me, hunched over the sink, blood staining the bathroom floor. Dean moved toward me, but I pulled away, backing into the corner.

“I told you,” I whispered hoarsely, my voice ragged with exhaustion, “I don’t want your help.” The words felt like sandpaper scraping against my throat. Maybe I was scared. Scared of how much this had gotten out of control. Scared of how much I’d let it tear me apart.

Dean’s expression twisted in anguish, and for a moment, I saw it. The guilt. The understanding that this was bigger than a typical fight. That I wasn’t just angry—I was devastated.

He dropped to his knees in front of me, the movement quick, but careful. His eyes locked on mine, full of regret, the weight of it pressing down on us both. He reached for me slowly, his hand hovering near my face. "We didn’t mean for it to get this bad, Y/N. We just…" He trailed off, swallowing hard as if the words were too difficult to say. "We didn’t know how to stop."

I felt the tears coming again, but this time, it was different. They weren’t angry, not fiery and sharp like before. This was something quieter, deeper. The rage had burned itself out, leaving only aching sorrow in its wake.

“I know,” I whispered, my voice barely more than a broken breath, “But… you can’t fix it with more pain.” My chest tightened with each word, the weight of everything pressing down on me like a storm I couldn’t outrun.

Sam’s face crumpled at my words, and I saw his jaw tighten as he stepped forward, his eyes darting from my blood-streaked face to the needle still clenched tightly in my hand. His hands shook as he reached for it, and when his fingers brushed against mine, I flinched, my body wracked with a fresh wave of pain.

“Y/N, please.” His voice broke through my haze of pain, gentle but firm. "Let me do it.”

I felt the sting of the needle being pried from my hand. For a moment, I wanted to pull it back, to insist I could finish it myself, but then I saw Sam’s face. The look of terror in his eyes. He knew me. He knew I didn’t do this. I didn’t stitch myself up—they always did that for me. Always. The realization hit him hard, the understanding that I had reached a point where I couldn’t rely on them, not even when things got this bad. And it was that look of pain in his eyes, that unspoken hurt, that made everything feel even worse.

Sam grimaced when he saw the uneven, jagged stitches I’d attempted—some parts too tight, others barely holding together. The pain from them was unbearable, but it wasn’t the physical pain that tore at me. It was the fact that I had been forced to do this alone. That I couldn’t trust them to see the full extent of what I was feeling.

He exhaled sharply and immediately set to work, pulling the needle through my skin with slow, meticulous care. My body tensed in response, and I couldn’t help but whimper as the needle pierced me again. The pain was excruciating, a deep, fiery throb that seemed to echo in every bone, every muscle.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Sam murmured, his voice so soothing it felt like the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ve got you.” But the words didn’t make the pain go away.

I felt every movement of the needle, every tug of the thread, and the sheer agony of it made my whole body quake. It was like he was stitching up my heart with every pull, each stitch a reminder of everything that had gone wrong. The tears kept coming, hot and bitter, spilling down my cheeks without my permission.

Dean moved in closer, his hand brushing my hair out of my face, and I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. His fingers were gentle as they touched me—like he was scared I might shatter under his touch. I was shattering though, all around the edges.

“I’m so sorry,” Dean murmured, his voice low and raw, barely audible above the pounding in my head. “We never should’ve let it get this far. I didn’t see what we were doing to you, Y/N. We didn’t see how bad it was.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to hold onto the last shred of control I had left. The pain from the stitches was bad—so bad—but what hurt more was hearing the pain in his voice. Dean wasn’t supposed to sound like this. He was supposed to be the strong one, the one who fixed things. But now? Now, he was just as broken as I was.

“It’s not just the fights,” I whispered between sobs, my voice tight with the effort of speaking through the agony. “It’s everything. It’s how we’ve been falling apart for so long, and you didn’t even see it.”

Sam’s hands were steady, but his expression was pained, and I could see the way his jaw clenched as he worked, each stitch a slow promise that he was here, that he wasn’t going anywhere. But it didn’t stop the pain. The physical pain, the emotional pain. It didn’t stop me from feeling like I was drowning in it.

Dean leaned closer, his breath soft against my ear. “We’re here now, Y/N. We’re gonna fix it. We’re gonna fix us.”

I could feel his words, but I wasn’t sure if I could believe them. I wasn’t sure if any of us could ever fix what was broken. Not completely.

But Sam’s careful hands were still stitching, and Dean was still here, his hand resting on my shoulder now, providing the smallest bit of comfort as I cried. The pain from the stitches was blinding, but somehow, through it, I could hear them. They were here. They were trying.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Sam said again, his voice breaking. He was almost finished now, his hands trembling slightly as he worked the last stitch into place. “We didn’t see how much we were hurting you. But we will fix this. I swear. You’re not alone in this.”

The last stitch pulled tight, and the pain that followed was sharp, but brief. I let out a sob, my body trembling from the aftermath of it. Sam gently pressed a bandage to the wound, his hands now much more careful, but still steady.

Dean’s voice came again, quieter now, more vulnerable. “We see it now, kid. Everything is better when we’re in this together. We’re a team and we have to stay that way.”

And that—just that—felt like it was enough, for now.

Later, I sat on the couch, the bandage tight across my side. Sam was beside me, and Dean was sitting on the other side, his hand resting on the back of the couch as if to remind me he was there. We weren’t talking much. There was nothing really to say. Not yet. But somehow, the silence didn’t feel as suffocating as it used to. It was a quiet that was filled with understanding—the beginning of healing.

I leaned back into the couch, my head resting on the cushion. I wasn’t fixed. We weren’t fixed. But we were trying. And that was enough for tonight.

We were family. Even if we had to rebuild, piece by piece. We would make it through this. Together.

46 notes · View notes

kpopsexstories · 3 days ago

Note

Hi, can you write a story of taeyong fucking with fan during the nct world tour?

One-shot #18: Backstage Sex with NCT Taeyong

This story is a response to the above request, but also to the following: "We need more Taeyong here, so I want to throw in a few ideas: Taeyong backstage sex (straight, wild)"

Celebrity: NCT Taeyong x Female Reader

Sex Content: Hard sex backstage, Taeyong with female fan, Rough & forceful, Fast sex, Dirty talk, From behind, Missionary, Pregnancy.

Type of Sex: WILD

Word Count: 5.1k

28 shows. 17 cities. 11 countries. Taeyong was weary and the days seemed to flow together, but damn did he have fun.

Towards the end of it he hardly knew what country he was in or what day of the week it was. His brain was fuzzy, his body was tired, but his heart was happy and full. He was pumped up despite his aching muscles – and how sore his dick had become.

Taeyong had gotten into the terrible habit of hooking up with fans after shows. Strangers, some of whom turned into good friendships, but the majority of whom did not.

Maybe it was a way to relieve stress, maybe he just missed home. It wasn’t that he went looking for them, at least not consciously so. It was more that his numb mind agreed when they made inappropriate advances, where he would normally just thank them and quickly dismiss the idea. It was about his need for release – a quick break while rushing between airports, arenas and hotel rooms – and the willingness of some fans to give him what he needed.

He certainly used his fame to his advantage. That’s how he gained their attention in the first place, even without trying. But he always made sure fame wasn’t the only reason the girls went to bed with him. He kept an eye out for those who were as horny and eager as he was, who were as crazy and wild as himself, but he was never the first to make a move and didn't coerce anyone.

When he found someone like that, however, he didn’t hesitate to tell them and ask for what he wanted too. Once he knew they were on the same page – once he found that match, of which there were always dosens at every show – things inevitably escalated. He had a real knack for singling those fans out.

And once they got to that stage Taeyong could become rather reckless. In a reality that didn't feel real and with consequences that so far had never reached him, he gave his partner for the night quite the experience. Perhaps the sense of surrealism was why he felt like he could continue to do what he did, even though he knew deep down that fame did play a significant role, and that what he was doing was wrong. This wasn’t fan service.

Regardless, the sexual encounters – though by mutual agreement – did sometimes have severe consequences. Even though he didn't know and would never find out about it, two of his exploits on this particular tour had already led to pregnancies.

Yes, that's right, Taeyong had two babies on the way, and their mothers were fans he'd only met once and would never meet again.

And then he met you. Today, after his last show on the tour, he would impregnate a third. And for better or for worse, you totally changed each other’s lives forever.

Being live on stage with his friends in front of a roaring crowd was one of the best things Taeyong knew, second only to the flow he sometimes experienced when he got really into a creative songwriting session. Both were a state of mind that felt incredible and brought him immense joy.

But life on the road took a toll. Despite plenty of rest in between sectioned parts of the year-long tour, Taeyong's body and mind needed short but frequent breaks. He found them in his fans who gave him pleasure and release. You were both a blessing and a curse.

You first met Taeyong near the stage, when he jumped down, shirtless and sweaty, to touch the hands of a few lucky fans. One of those fans happened to be you. You saw him rush toward you, and when his hand touched yours you took a chance: you squeezed it, held on to it, and for a split second pulled the man back.

It probably scared him, but it made him chuckle. Your eyes met and he grinned. Your face etched itself onto his brain.

You're not quite sure how it happen, but when the show was over you suddenly found yourself backstage. Taeyong was showing you around, encouraged by a subtle connection and reassured by your flirty approach. You were easy to talk to but it wasn’t just that. You had said a few inappropriate things already, and he felt there was more to your unapologetic personality. Maybe he also felt that now that the tour was ending, he should go for it one last time before reality came crashing back.

Though he was cautious about it he quickly made it clear what he wanted to happen between you. He stopped in a deserted corridor and glanced around. He approached you, and you leaned against a wall when he came in close. There was definitely something there, a connection which you both felt. But he let you be the one to decide, by not saying a word and just wait to see how you’d react.

You put a hand on his shoulder and smiled. He didn’t pull back. You leaned in closer, suddenly filled with ideas of your own. He didn’t flinch. Then you took another chance and kissed him, just as you had when you grabbed his hand and yanked his arm.

“Not here,” Taeyong said and took a step away from you, just in time when a member of staff walked by.

“Not here what?” you asked, confused because his words didn’t condemn the kiss. All he did was smirk at you, then he started walking.

You smirked back, suddenly thinking naughty things, but Taeyong just continued to show you around, casually giving you a VIP tour as you walked around backstage. This only confused you further.

You didn’t know what the expectation was at all when he first snatched you from the audience, but it didn’t feel like it was just fan service. With the kiss out of the way and the flirty and borderline sexual conversation between you so far, you looked forward to spending some time alone with the man.

Instead he kept showing you places, introducing you to people, pointing things out and telling little anecdotes and trivia about the tour. What's that all about? Maybe you had totally misunderstood his intentions.

In reality you had misunderstood nothing. You were on the exact same wavelength, having the exact same forbidden thoughts. Only neither of you had spoken them out loud yet. Like I said, Taeyong had a knack for knowing these things.

The backstage tour was just a facade. Taeyong had a reason for taking you on a long walk. Other than the fact that he needed to be sure, by continuing the conversation and see if you’d say or do something else that might confirm that you did, indeed, want to have sex with him, he had a destination.

Eventually you did find yourselves alone again, away from the stage hands and people carrying props and talking in walkie talkies. Some of the audience still hadn't even left the arena yet when Taeyong led you into a room and closed the door behind you.

It was a dressing room, or some sort of storage room, fairly large for just one person. You quickly recognized some of the stage clothes in it, which had been worn by Johnny, Yuta, Taeyong and the others. You quickly came to the conclusion that the boys probably all got changed in the same place, or perhaps this was just where the clothes went after they had been used.

None of the other members were around though. You figured they must still be somewhere in the vicinity. It didn't matter, because once you got to this point Taeyong didn't waste any time and neither did you.

You came there for sex and deep down you both knew it. The moment he closed the door behind you he took your mind off everyone else and gave you what you came there for.

It started with a make-out session, brutal and sloppy. Taeyong pushed you against a wall and your mouths smacked together with an audible passion. That first kiss was just an appetizer. His tongue played around inside you and his hands were all over your front and sides.

You felt his hot embrace and soft skin for the first time. He abruptly took off his shirt and pushed his full body against yours. You’d seen it before, when you grabbed his hand. Now you briefly got to study his tattoos up close, when he leaned away from you to lock the door. You heard it click before he abruptly returned to you, still sweaty, travel weary and horny as hell.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Still nothing had been said about the purpose of your time together. But you both knew.

“Yeah,” you said softly, suddenly eager to feel more of the man. Within a minute you were both down to your underwear, passionately making out and getting ready to fuck.

Taeyong's bulge pressed against your hip. You were wet, so wet, and the fact that you were in a place where you could get caught turned you on.

For a moment you actually forgot that Taeyong was famous. The fact that he was who he was thrilled you, and there's no denying that it was part of the reason you had come on to him so strongly, and so readily agreed to what you had quickly understood would be a quickie backstage. It was sort of a dream come true, and the moment felt as unreal to you as the muddled touring with days that flowed together felt surreal to Taeyong.

But now, as he got naked in front of you and you in front of him, you were completely in the moment.

Your bra and panties were on the floor by your feet. Taeyong's lips violently played on yours. He had one hand on your boob and pulled down his underwear with the other.

You stopped kissing when he bent over and kicked them off his feet, but you never saw his dick in this moment as he quickly pushed and rubbed against your body again.

“Mm, babe, you're so hot,” he said. Now that he had you naked there was no reason to hold back.

The words turned you on and he could tell. You spread your legs for him when the kissing resumed and wrapped a foot around his thighs. You felt his ass before the palm of your hand slid up his back and grabbed on to his shoulder. He briefly froze and pulled back, when he reached in and the shaft found your vagina.

You closed your eyes and held your breath. Taeyong's mouth breathing on your face felt nice and hot. And when the head got in position and stretched your folds, you let out a soft moan.

He felt amazing. He was rock hard and you were dripping. His cock slid in with ease, expanded you and filled you up.

“Mm, Taeyong,” you blurted out. He kissed your face and grinned.

Is this really happening? you thought. This isn’t real, I’m dreaming.

Taeyong was triggered, in the best possible way, by the way you moaned his name. Once there was no doubt left in his mind that you were onboard – and there really wasn't as his dick was already inside you – he felt comfortable and confident to the point that he could reveal his true self.

“Mm, fuck, you're so slutty,” he said when he penetrated you.

There was a risk that his words would shock you. They did not.

He pushed all the way in and you exhaled deeply. His words were meant as a compliment and that's exactly how you took them. Taeyong had definitely found a match.

“Mm, fuck yeah, you're so wet baby,” he continued while he started rocking his hips back and forth. “You wanna have sex with me, don't you?”

“Yeah,” you moaned and held on tighter around the man.

“Go on, tell me how badly you want it,” Taeyong requested. His lips moved down the side of your face and onto your neck. “Say my name,” he whispered near your ear.

Oh, that’s how we’re gonna play this? Okay.

“I wanna have sex with you Taeyong,” you said. “Mm, I want you to fuck me so hard.”

The wall was starting to hurt you as your shoulder blades scratched against it, and your raised thigh felt painful the way Taeyong stretched your body to expose your hole and push deeper inside.

He dug his fingers into your skin. You jumped into his arms while he pushed you harder against the wall. He was freaky and so were you, a perfect match indeed. You understood the assignment, and he was happy and a little proud that you were as loose as he had hoped.

From this point on his dirty words just kept coming. He repeatedly told you how badly he wanted to be inside you, how good you felt, the crazy things he wanted to do to you, and how slutty and hot he thought you were.

“You want me to fuck you hard, don't you?” he asked while nibbling on your ear, squeezing your boob, and thrusting his dick in and out of your body.

“Yeah,” you moaned with your legs fully wrapped around his hips. His tattooed chest and stomach were nice and soft, and his ass cheeks flexed and became firm as he thrust into you at an ever faster pace.

It surprised you how strong he was for his tiny figure and slim arms. He pinned you to the wall and while his motions were small at first, his hips soon jolted while his body weight pressed against you.

You opened your eyes and looked at him, with your arms around his neck. “Do you always fuck fans backstage?” you asked and smirked.

Taeyong kept jolting and thrusting. “No,” he grinned.

“I- ahh, fuck! - I don’t believe it.”

Taeyong grinned and massaged your breast. “We usually go to my hotel room.”

You chuckled at the response. Then Taeyong temporarily shut you up, as he slammed you harder against the wall and you grimaced.

“Mm. Yeah. Fuck!” he said with each violent thrust. The way you rode his cock felt incredible to you both.

“Mm, fuck Taeyong!”

Taeyong asked pulled his head back slightly. “Yeah, you like that?” he asked. He kissed you on the lips and your noses clashed together, but then he stared straight into your eyes with a grin on his face. “Does my dick feel good? Is this freaky enough for you baby or do you want more?”

“Yeah, yeah, so good!”

He slammed you against the wall again and again, in wild and rough jolts. “I have a name, baby. Use it.”

“Yes, yes, your cock feels so good Taeyong.”

“Keep going,” he ordered and rested his forehead against your shoulder while pulling your hips onto his shaft.

“Mm, you're so strong Taeyong. So wild and freaky. Your cock feels amazing. Yes, yes, I'm so wet baby. Yes, fuck me Taeyong, ahh, Ahh, harder Taeyong!”

Taeyong was going hard. With each sentence your voice got higher and his thrusts more abrupt. He was really going at it, pounding you like a wild animal, fucking you so hard your skin turned red where his fingers dug in and his pelvis clasped against yours. The sounds you produced got louder and louder, as he pulled you harder and your lower body was brought further away from the wall, until he yanked your hips so far that he lost his grip and your thighs and ass fell down.

You instinctively, to save yourself, let go of the man's body with your legs. Your feet slid down his sides and onto the floor before you collapsed on it. The wall scratched your upper back so hard it left a mark, a long reddish bruise.

Taeyong's dick immediately slipped out of your pussy. But neither of you let any of this bother you. The second you regained your footing your mouth was on the man's face again.

You made out with passion. Your lust was wild and erotic. Taeyong put his hands on your waist and spun you around, then pushed you toward the center of the room.

There was a couch and a table. He held your hip and pushed your shoulder forward, forcing your upper body onto the armrest. You leaned on it with your ass sticking out behind you, and spread your legs when Taeyong's crotch hit your cheeks.

“Mm, take me Taeyong!” you ordered. He was quick to comply.

He hunched down slightly and guided the dick. When he stood up straight it slid deep into your wet hole. He took a firm grip around your hips and pulled, instantly thrusting so hard it made you groan.

The pained noise quickly turned into moans of pleasure. Taeyong hit his crotch against your ass repeatedly. He pushed and pulled on your body, his dick going fast in and out of you, as he roughed you up and fucked you senseless against the couch.

“Mm, Mmm, yeah, Taeyong,” you whimpered.

“Say my name baby.”

“Yes, yes, yes, Taeyong!”

The clapping of your bodies got so loud there was no way it couldn’t be heard in the corridor outside, but your words and Taeyong’s grunts behind you drowned it out.

“Huuh, huuh, huuh,” he panted from deep down his throat. The sweat he had on stage returned. “Huuh, Huuh, Huuh!”

He leaned in over you. His hand went along your side and to your front. He found your boob again and played with it, stopping it from shaking violently while the other kept jumping out of control below your chest.

You felt his lips touch your shoulder blade. His stomach was moist and slippery. He pulled you closer with his forearm covering both your breasts, and held you tighter when the arm was fully wrapped around you.

You straightened your spine, raised your upper body, and twisted your neck. Taeyong's wet lips and tongue touched the side of your face. You reached behind your head with your arm and ran your fingers through his hair, opened your mouth wide but kept your eyes closed.

This is incredible, you thought and you genuinely meant it. The sensation of his dick rubbing your insides was amazing, and the way he fucked you so hard and in such a thrilling place was fun.

Taeyong suddenly pulled on your leg. You raised it and he stretched it long by his side. He opened your hole wide, one of your feet still firmly planted on the floor, and looked down at his cock as he pushed and pulled.

The man needed a shower after the sweaty show on stage but you didn't care. The way he bent you and fucked you, the way his hard cock stretched and rubbed you, his lustful and horny embrace, his hand still on your boob, and his loud and lustful grunts – it all felt so good you wanted to scream his name from the top of your lungs.

“Ahh, ahh, fuck yeah!” Taeyong suddenly exclaimed and let the leg go. He hunched forward and pushed you down on the armrest while slamming hard and fast against your ass. ”Yeah, fuck, I love that you're so slutty.”

You tilted your head back and pressed his face against yours with your arm around his neck. “Yes, yes, yes! Fuck me all night Taeyong, pleease!”

“Mmm, it’s so hot when you say my name,” he said through clutched teeth.

Sweat was dripping down his front between your bodies. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. It felt absolutely incredible.

You suddenly twisted your body to turn around. “Take me on the couch,” you said. “I wanna see you.”

Taeyong grinned and suddenly pulled out. Your hips fell down as his firm grip loosened around you. He pushed on your shoulder motioning for you to spin, and you did a little leap to sit up on the armrest.

He put a hand on your shoulder and pushed again. You giggled when you fell backwards onto the couch. And for the first time, as you crawled back to lie down and stretch out for him and he put his knees on the armrest to come after you, you saw his tattooed and naked body on full display.

His knees fell onto the couch between your legs. The dick pointed straight out, ready to attack you again. You spread your sore thighs wide and he crawled closer, and you briefly reached out to touch the pulsing shaft before he came to lie on top of you.

You quickly retracted the hand, while his slid up your leg and side. He found your chest again, but this time freaky wasn’t the word you’d use to describe him. He kissed your lips with a soft passion and gently massaged your boob, while moving his ass and hips in slow, wide motions.

His dick slid back and forth against your folds and lower stomach. You dared to reach in again to feel it. You held his shaft loosely and it jolted between your fingers. You pointed it down and felt the head push your lips apart, and he let out a horny groan when they gradually opened up and the dick slipped back inside.

The shaft stretching your hole was so arousing. It felt hot and good. And when it rubbed you in just the right place, and the full length of the man's body was on you and in your arms, you felt a new kind of pleasure shoot through your body.

“AHH, TAEYONG!” you screamed while your pussy clung hard to the shaft. For the first time Taeyong chuckled and moved his hand from your breast to your mouth.

“Shhh,” he said and grinned wide. He briefly slowed the rolling of his hips, almost to a complete stop.

“Sorry,” you giggled. His hand eased up on your face and you looked into each other's eyes.

You maintained eye contact while Taeyong kept the slow pace. He pushed into you only to pull half way out again, while you smiled lovingly at each other.

“Are you this wild with all the others?” you asked, referring to his admittance that you weren’t the first fan Taeyong had sex with.

“No,” Taeyong said. His breath was heavy as a relaxed to regain his strength. “Only with freaks like you.”

Your smiles soon faded as your racing hearts settled, and lust and desire took over again. You closed your eyes and made out. Taeyong's lips eventually went down the side of your face and he buried his head in your hair and shoulder.

The deep and heavy heaving from before returned, slower this time but still lustful and coarse. “Huuh, Huuh, Huuh,” he groaned by your ear. Faster and faster as he rolled his hips and used his arms to push and pull.

You stroke his back and felt his warm spine and ass, which moved up and down in rapid motions. His cheeks were soft this time, and his lower back was still wet and slippery which felt hot. You raised your knees and spread your legs as wide as the couch would allow it, and the dick slipped deeper and deeper inside you with each erotic push.

Taeyong stopped rolling his hips and soon just rocked his ass. It jumped up and down as he held his arms tighter and tighter around you. You tilted your head back for fresh air, and panted repeatedly as the man filled you up and fucked you good.

“You're so hot,” he moaned, but he no longer had the energy to call you slutty. His mind became fully focused on the tight and slippery sensation of your vagina licking his erect dick, of the pleasure it produced, and on the orgasm which was suddenly imminent.

That it was imminent became clear to you when Taeyong pushed himself up on his elbows. You saw his grimacing face and strained expression before you too closed your eyes hard and squirmed.

Your legs and feet were pointing straight in the air by now. Your boobs were shaking and jolting back and forth on your chest. The couch started moving across the floor, that's how brutal Taeyong was when he reached his peak.

You moaned and nearly screamed again but managed to restrain yourself. You suddenly became fixated on making your idol come, and the last thing you wanted was to get caught and end the act prematurely.

You were certain the man would pull out at any moment. He would sit on his knees between your thighs, furiously jerk his boner with his hand, and deliver his load onto your stomach. You started imagining his cum and tried hard to remember exactly what his amazing dick looked like.

Except he didn't do what you expected. He only pushed his upper body higher, and pressed his lower body harder between your legs, until he was hovering above you on long arms.

He kept thrusting violently into you, burying your body in the cushions and forcing the couch to inch closer to the wall with each wild thrust.

The finale came when you lowered your legs and wrapped them around Taeyong's waist and hips. You used your feet to push and pull, aiding him in his sensational movements. His twisted face curled up so hard it couldn't get any tighter.

“Uggh, fuck, I'm coming, ahh, I'm coming!”

“Yes, YES, come for me baby, fuck me harder Taeyong, oh yeah, yeah, TAEYONG!”

“AHHH, BABY, fuck you're such a hot slut. AHHHH, AHHHHH, HHHUUUMMN!”

Taeyong's whole body jolted. He jerked forward and slid backwards only to do it again. A couple of hard, abrupt thrusts, several times while his pace slowed with each one.

His eyes and mouth opened wide. His face loosened up and became droopy. His skin quickly became flushed and his pale skin red. His lower back was more moist than ever, and perspiration spread to every surface of his body.

“Mmm, fuck Taeyong,” you moaned and suddenly felt exhausted. Only then did your mind catch up and you realized that the man never did what you thought he would do.

He didn't come on your stomach. He never sprayed your front with his sperm. He never smeared his cum-covered dick around your folds to edge you on.

Instead he had come inside you. He had released his load deep into your pussy. He had planted his seeds in your womb, and the realization made you smile and giggle.

And – though of course neither of you knew it at the time – the seeds took root. Taeyong's third child was on the way.

At the time the thought did cross your mind. Seconds after he came in you the risk actually worried you, and your initial giggle was short-lived. But you quickly forgot about it. As Taeyong collapsed in your arms and started heaving by your ear, you lowered your legs, smiled at the ceiling and caressed him like he was your long-term lover.

You just had sex with an idol. Only half an hour ago he hadn't said a word to you, and the odds that he ever would were unimaginably slim. The man you watched on stage, cheered and screamed for from the audience, was currently laying naked on top of you with his still hard dick throbbing inside you as he emptied itself. You would have laughed if someone said this would happen.

Yet it certainly didn’t feel like you’d only just met. In this moment you felt as though you'd known the man forever. It would be days after the fact that it fully sank in that all of this did happen, but that you didn’t actually know him at all. And if it wasn't for two things the memory would have faded into a surreal dream.

The first thing that assured you that it wasn’t just a dream was the fact that Taeyong gave you his number. No fewer than 48 girls before you had been in similar situations on this tour, and not once had he given them any way to contact him after. Sex with them had been good but not this great.

With you, however, Taeyong felt as though he'd taken ecstasy. He could be rough and you took it. The way he felt you clicked with each other in bed – no, on the couch – was exceptional. Maybe he was also sad that the world tour was ending.

The others never heard from him again. But when you texted him, several days after the backstage sex, he replied in less than a minute.

The second thing that kept things real was not by intention or design. When you eventually found out that you were pregnant there were only so many guys who could be the father. You did the math and came to an inevitable conclusion.

It felt like a nightmare, like your world came crashing down. But compared to the two other mothers-to-be whom Taeyong had unknowingly and recklessly impregnated, you were the lucky one.

Taeyong was indeed reckless and thoughtless. He should have pulled out, or never done what he got into the habit of doing on this tour in the first place.

But he also wasn't one to leave a young mother and his child to fend for themselves. He would be a fixed figure in your son's life, and consequently in yours.

Of course, as you lay there on the couch and his body felt heavier by the minute, you didn't know any of this. You were oblivious to the baby soon growing inside you. And when Taeyong slowly pulled out and stood up, and you watched as he nurtured his slack but beaten dick, you smiled at him and felt an enormous joy.

“That was great,” you said.

Taeyong smiled back before he turned around and went to pick up his clothes. He looked at you while he pulled his underwear back up, then found your panties and bra and tossed them to you.

“Great? You were fucking incredible!” he said.

It made you chuckle.

“You don't mind the things I called you, right?” he asked.

“Not at all,” you confirmed. “I love how freaky you are.”

“Good. Because babe, I wanna see you again. You have a phone?”

“Sure,” you said and sat up straight.

Was it the last time you had sex, and was this as "freaky" as you ever got? Well no, certainly not. It was only just the beginning of your relationship as parents as well as sexual partners.

39 notes · View notes

narrycherries · 10 hours ago

Text

ivy: and now I’m covered in you..

she can’t seem to keep herself out of trouble and it irritates him more than it should

(part 4)

masterlist / ivy series

word count: 14.3k

warnings/tags: harry x fem oc, alcohol use, angst, enemies to lovers

The small weekend getaway came quicker than Ivy anticipated it would. She had three weeks to mentally prepare for literally anything that was possible. Would she have a perfect weekend with no rude comments or harsh death glares, or would she feel the wrath of someone in particular’s attitude? She wasn’t sure, but she hoped she would be able to enjoy her time away. For the rather short car ride, she made sure to pack her current diary so she could jot down her thoughts if things become too chaotic in her mind.

Ivy mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’ to Niall as he grabbed her bag from her and tossed it in the trunk of his car.

“Got everything?” Emma asked just as Ivy grabbed the car door to get in.

“Yeah, I triple checked.”

Unfortunately for her, all the preparation she did to ensure herself that she’d be able to handle any situation that occured within the group was pretty much wasted. Emma told her that Niall insisted they carpool, and that they ride with him. That part wasn’t the issue, of course, it was the fact that someone else would be joining them. When Ivy opened the back door and quietly got in the car, she felt a pair of cold eyes looking her way.

Harry offered up the front seat to Emma, which led him to the back with her. He wasn’t necessarily thrilled with the arrangement either, but he could easily get over it, unlike Ivy. She was already feeling the nervousness building in her gut, threatening to spill out of her mouth and empty her stomach contents. No amount of preparation could have prepared her for this. She hadn’t been this close to him before, the table at the restaurant was much wider than the space between them in the car. Thankfully, Niall placed Emma’s rolled up throw blanket in the middle, securing the separation between them.

“Alright. Let’s hit the road.” Niall said with a sigh as he shut his door and quickly adjusted his rear view mirror.

Ivy had her small tote bag resting on her lap, it was filled with a few essential things along with some random things to keep her occupied in the car and during downtime at the hotel. She wanted to grab her diary already, they hadn’t even left the neighbor yet, and spill her guts out onto the pages. The radio was quietly buzzing in the car as Niall and Emma chatted amongst themselves about the directions. She was glad it wasn’t completely silent, and she was even more appreciative of the fact nobody was trying to make conversation with her.

She opted to let her eyes stare mindlessly out of the window as Niall navigated through the city. So far, she was content with his driving and she wasn’t feeling any sort of motion sickness from riding. Maybe this would be better than she first thought. As long as she was able to stay calm and focused on everything but the person next to her, then she’d be perfectly fine.

Thirty minutes into the drive, Ivy decided that she needed to busy herself with a task before she got the chance to get lost in her thoughts. She reached into her bag and pulled out the small book she had been using as a diary the past few weeks. She wrote an awful lot, so she filled books quickly. Her newest choice was a travel sized spiral bound notebook with a thick front cover decorated with a few random stickers she had. She clicked the pen, flipping to the page where she left off last. She wasn’t concerned with writing neatly, so she just held it in her opposite hand as she started to write.

Words were coming naturally to her, her thoughts filling the page so easily. This book just so happened to be slap full of inserts that pertained to Harry. They weren’t her thoughts of infatuation and obsession, but instead it was the worry and anxious ideas that lined the pages. After a few lines, she paused on the writing and decided to doodle a small flower in the lower corner of the page.

“Harry?” Niall said loud enough to catch Ivy’s attention.

She lifted her head and saw that Niall was looking in the mirror at him, but he was obviously not successful in getting him to answer. She looked over and saw that he had his arms over his chest, earbuds in his ears, and his eyes were staring out of the window. His music was loud enough for her to tell that he had it on, but she couldn’t make out anything specific.

“He’s listening to music.” She said after Niall called his name again.

He huffed. “Can you hit him? I need him to text Zayn.”

Ivy felt her throat start to swell. She had been so relaxed and calm during the drive, but it was all circling down the drain now. Niall had asked her a simple question, wanted her to do a small favor - she couldn’t act like he said something insane. She swallowed gently and pulled all of her courage together. Her heart stammered over a beat, missing it entirely, as she reached over to him. Ivy tapped her fingertip against his arm, just above his elbow. He didn’t jump or flinch, he simply turned his head to look at her. His brows were lowered, a bit of confusion on his expression. She expected him to react differently, assumed he would scream at her or ask her why she thought she could touch him.

When she pointed towards Niall, Harry dropped his eyes to his phone and picked it up from his leg, pausing his music and looking at Niall’s reflection in the mirror.

“What?” He mumbled out, not entirely pleased with being disturbed but it wasn’t that big of a deal.

“Can you text Zayn and ask them how far out they are? Cory’s driving them.”

Harry nodded, unlocking his phone so he could type. “Yeah.”

Ivy had already turned her attention back to her diary, but she was still working on the small bouquet of flowers she was drawing in the corner. It was definitely nothing artistic or perfect, just a little doodle to fill the space. She was aware of Harry’s presence again, and she didn’t want him to see her writing. After a couple of silent moments, she flipped the book shut and laid her hand over it, her curious eyes moving to the window.

“He said they’ve got like half an hour.” Harry said, his deep voice rattling through the car and cutting straight through the wall Ivy built up to avoid him.

She shifted her head enough so that she could look at him from the corner of her eye. An obvious stare would be entirely too awkward while in the car, so she stuck to her sneaky glances.

After assuming Niall didn’t want to say anything else to him, Harry turned his music back on and reverted to his previous position. Ivy found it intriguing how he was slowly moving his fingers that were tucked beneath his arm. The simple gesture was making her bite the inside of her cheek. He wasn’t even aware of it himself, yet she was focused on it like it was the most spectacular thing.

She couldn’t resist looking at the tattoos she could see living on his skin. The dark ink settled in his flesh was eye catching, she wondered if he had more she couldn’t see. While observing him from this point of view, she noticed a piercing hole in his lobe. She made a mental note to try to catch a glimpse of his other one to see if there’s a matching hole. She hadn’t noticed any earrings before, so maybe he didn’t wear them often. Her tongue poked out to coat her lips as she looked at his long eyelashes, they were resting gently on his cheek. Was he asleep? No, she didn’t think so. He just was relaxing and closing his eyes for a while. Her question was answered within a second as his eyes slowly peeled open, his gaze fixed on the window.

She moved her eyes down his frame. He was wearing a faded t-shirt with a design on the front that his arms hid from her view. He ditched his dark jeans for sweatpants, she supposed to be more comfortable during the drive. She was surprised he could appear so relaxed and normal, instead of uptight and cocky.

Ivy finally picked her eyes back up, choosing to stare at his face for a bit longer. Her eyes widened and flames burst on her cheeks as she met his eyes. She stayed like that, just staring at him, for a long moment. She wondered what he was thinking. Surely something along the lines of ‘this girl is crazy’. She felt the eruption of butterflies in her stomach, causing her to rip her gaze from his. She opted to stare at the back of the seat in front of her, embarrassed to have been caught by him. It wasn’t the first time she had been caught staring at him, and she feared it wouldn’t be the last.

He didn’t say anything to her, though. He wasn’t annoyed or irritated, he only looked her way because her stare was so intense. He could feel it on him, burning holes through him. Maybe she was just looking around the car while thinking about something and her eyes just so happened to land on him, or maybe it was purposeful - he wasn’t certain. He didn’t look away from her just yet. It was so easy to tell she was nervous. Was it because he caught her or was it because they were so close? It was most likely both. Harry ran his eyes over her, taking in her appearance and body language. She was like a statue, not daring to move one little bit. He just knew that if she looked back his way and saw he was still eyeing her down, she’d combust.

For the remainder of the drive, Ivy kept her eyes down on her notebook and Harry fixated his on the back of his eyelids. She was grateful that he had fallen asleep and couldn’t give her glances that took her breath away and made her heart race. The ride itself was calming, though. Niall and Emma didn’t talk much, just listened to the radio. Once they got to the hotel, Ivy sent Michelle a text to let her know they were there. They would be sharing a room for the weekend. The others arrived way before them and already had their room keys.

Niall popped the trunk and gestured for everyone to take their bags. Ivy reached in for hers, tugging it out of the pile and shoving the strap on her shoulder. She stepped back and accidentally brushed her bag against Harry. She didn’t notice, but he did. A light sigh came from his lips as she walked off to the door. Emma was following close behind her.

“We all should be on the same floor.” Emma said as they entered the lobby.

Ivy glanced over her shoulder. “I think so. Michelle said ours is on three.”

“Ugh. I have to wait for Niall to check in.” She groaned as Ivy headed to the elevator.

She stopped and decided to wait with Emma instead, just so she wouldn’t be by herself. Niall and Harry strolled through the door together, talking about something neither of the girls could hear. Niall went to the counter, leaving Harry to head to the elevator.

“Guess I’ll go over there.” Emma mumbled, grabbing her bag from the floor, then started the short trip to Niall.

Ivy took a deep breath as she prepared herself for what was about to come. She beat Harry to the elevator, but when she pushed the button it decided to be extremely slow. Cory was his roommate for the weekend, and he was waiting upstairs like everyone else. Harry came up behind her, his eyes fixed on the elevator door as he waited. Ivy wanted to throw up right there, just wanted to lose her mind and all control of her body. She didn’t want to be alone with him.

When the door opened, someone stepped out and gave them both a polite smile. Ivy returned it, she was sure Harry didn’t. She chose the spot closest to the control panel, hoping that Harry would wait for the next one. He didn’t do that, of course, he got on with her. He stood in the back corner, the furthest he could get from her in the small space. She pressed in the three button and glanced back at Harry, but when he didn’t say anything about a different floor, she turned her eyes back to the display of buttons.

The elevator was moving at snail speed. It felt like absolute torture. He was right behind her and there was nothing she could do to change it right now. She had to deal with it, and to be frank, she was failing at doing so. Her stomach was flipping and twisting inside of her body, her heart racing and skipping beats like she was falling from an airplane. Her feet felt like they weighed a ton as she stood still, not wanting to move any closer to him by accident.

Finally, after what felt like a torturous eternity, the elevator stopped and the door opened. Harry let her walk out first, and she did her best to get a good distance ahead of him. She didn’t know where his room was, and she didn’t necessarily care, she just had to find hers first. His strides were much longer than hers, and he was practically walking beside her down the hall. He kept space between them. It was obvious to him that she didn’t feel comfortable being so close to him, so he tried to keep the distance.

Her eyes hastily scanned over the room numbers, wishing that hers would magically appear. It seemed as though she was walking down an endless hall. Her worrying had taken over her body. In reality, her room was just a short walk from the elevator. She stopped as she found the room number, a sigh of relief escaping past her lips. She knocked on the door and waited patiently for Michelle to open it. Curiously, she turned her head to see where Harry ended up, and to her dismay.. his room just happened to be right next to hers.

A cool whiff of air made her skin crawl as Michelle opened the door, a smile on her face as she greeted Ivy with a quick hug. She grabbed her hand and pulled her inside the room.

“I haven’t picked a bed yet. I didn’t know your preference.. whether you wanted by the window or what.” Michelle said with a laugh as Ivy dropped her bag in front of the empty dresser.

“It doesn’t matter to me. I’ll take this one, I guess.” She gestured to the one closest to the window.

“Perfect!” Michelle picked her own bag off the floor and tossed it on the bed that was now hers for the weekend. “How was the drive?”

Ivy copied her, moving her bag onto the bed so she could unpack a few essential things. “It was nice. It was quiet and peaceful.”

Michelle scoffed. “Peaceful? With Niall and Harry?”

Ivy shrugged lightly as she crossed her legs on the bed. “We didn’t really.. talk or anything. I think everyone was tired.”

When she looked towards Michelle, she didn’t expect to be met with a narrow gaze and pursed lips. She didn’t look like she believed what had been said to her. Ivy tried to ignore it, maybe she was just in shock that Niall’s energetic demeanor wasn’t present during the drive.

“So.. nothing else happened with Harry?” Michelle asked curiously as she took out the ensemble she would be wearing later.

“No.. He didn’t say anything to me. It was very calm.”

“Well that’s good. Maybe he’s warming up to you.”

Michelle’s words were comical. If anything, they were more cold to each other than when they first met. Ivy didn’t want to be in the same room with him, and he didn’t seem to give a damn about her existence. She decided to let it go and not focus on the worrying thoughts right now.

“How was the drive for you?” Ivy asked, wanting to change the topic away from herself.

Michelle shook her head. “It was interesting. Cory and Zayn had some weird conversations.”

“I can only imagine. I’ve only heard a few of their stories.. but I already know they’re crazy together.”

As Michelle got up to grab one of the hotel hangers, she continued talking. “Yeah, they’re a good time, though. Hey, you missed our last show. Are you gonna come to the next one?”

Ivy swallowed as she contemplated what to say back. She purposely chose to skip the show two weeks ago. Emma begged her for days to change her mind, but she ultimately decided it would be better if she didn’t. She didn’t want to be around Harry at the time. The dinner situation had soured her feelings again, made her very confused with herself. Niall wasn’t offended by her decision, though, he assured her they would have another show soon that she could attend. She used the excuse of being overworked and wanting to relax, and it worked for the most part.

“Um, probably. I told Emma I would.” She said almost hesitantly. She didn’t want to promise something then change her mind and break it. “When is it?”

“Three weeks.” Michelle said as she fixed her outfit on the hanger and put it in the small closet. She didn’t want it to have wrinkles once it was time to get dressed.

“I’ll try to. I won’t make any other plans or anything.”

“Good! We can have a redo. Hopefully everything will go perfectly.”

Ivy let out an unamused laugh. “Yeah.. hopefully.”

“Zayn and Alyssa are across the hall, by the way. And Cory and Harry are next to us.” Michelle said as she glanced down at her phone, a text coming through. “And looks like Niall and Emma are a few rooms down.”

Ivy didn’t say, just gave her a nod when Michelle looked over at her. She felt a sting in her stomach as she realized Harry was on the other side of the wall she was staring at. What was he doing in there? Was he catching up with Cory, was he unpacking his clothes, was he laying down to finish the nap he took in the car? She found herself really lost in wondering what he could be up to. If she knew anything for sure, it was that this was going to be a long weekend.

—•—

Michelle was humming quietly to herself as she stared at her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall, checking to see if her makeup looked good. Ivy looked at her from the bathroom doorway, she had just finished applying her makeup and putting her jewelry on.

“You look great.”

Michelle smiled and turned to face her. “Thanks. So do you, hot stuff!” She waved her hand in front of her face, pretending to faint.

Ivy rolled her eyes and walked out of the bathroom, a shy smile on her lips as she grabbed the small purse she brought along to carry. It was on a gold colored chain that she could put over her body, keeping the bag close to her. She caught a glimpse of her reflection and decided to admire it for a moment. Michelle watched with a proud grin as Ivy rotated in the mirror, looking at her self in great detail. She had to make sure everything was perfect.

“This dress doesn’t make my stomach poke out too much, does it?” She asked as she started to chew on her cheek.

Michelle moved to be next to her, her eyes landing on their reflections. “You look great.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I don’t think it draws attention to your stomach at all. It’s not too tight, not too loose. It’s very flattering on you.” Michelle explained further, hoping she would help the anxiety disappear.

“And the color? Dark green isn’t.. ugly on me, is it?”

Michelle examined the dark green fabric of the dress, noting how nice it looked against her skin and with her hair. “It’s hot. Makes your eyes pop. You look good.”

Ivy took a deep breath and very slowly pushed it out. “Thanks.”

“You worry too much.” Michelle playfully pinched her elbow. “You’re gorgeous.”

“I.. I don’t know about that.” Ivy mumbled back as she gently pushed her hair over her shoulder, exposing the thick strap of her dress. She thought the dress was nice, so hearing that Michelle believed the same was reassuring. “I just get.. nervous.”

“No need to be nervous, trust me. You’re glowing, darling.” Michelle gave her a laugh and a quick hug, wanting her to feel better about her appearance.

Michelle left her side to put her shoes on, leaving Ivy to stare at herself alone. She felt her throat go dry as she twisted her body from side to side, kicking her leg out gently and posing for herself. She wasn’t as confident as she wanted to be right now. Michelle eyed her the whole time, and it was obvious that Ivy wasn’t pleased.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Michelle said as she stayed perched on the foot of the hotel bed.

“Yeah.”

“Why do you think you’re not hot? Like.. I can tell you want to love the way you look right now.. but something’s stopping you.”

Although Emma was a very close friend, she had never asked anything like that before. Emma was always so supportive and did her best to hype Ivy up. Michelle seemed more interested in solving the problem. Ivy let out a quiet laugh and turned away from the mirror, opting to stare at her own feet instead.

“Well.. there’s gotta be something wrong with me.” She shrugged, a nonchalant expression taking over her face.

Michelle frowned and stood up, immediately going to grab her elbows to get her attention. When Ivy lifted her head up to look at her, she could tell something was wrong. It went farther than the fit of a dress. There wasn’t much Ivy could do to escape this, so she just stayed silent and waited for Michelle to say something.

“What do you mean?”

Ivy licked her lips, her eyes trailing off to stare at the wall behind Michelle. “I don’t know.. I must be.. not attractive.”

“Why are you saying that? Has someone told you that before?” Michelle was quick with her responses, not wanting to give the impression that she didn’t care to listen.

“No, but.. do you see a man here?” Ivy looked around, lifting her brows as the weighted thoughts began to come out of her mouth. “I’m obviously not.. attractive enough to be someone’s girlfriend.”

Michelle felt her own heart sink at the words that left her mouth. “Ivy, don’t say that. You’re literally so beautiful. Any decent guy would see that. You’re a prize. You’re sweet and funny and kind.. on top of being gorgeous.”

She shook her head and tried her best to compose herself, she didn’t want to cry and ruin her makeup. She spent too long getting ready to have it all smudged. Michelle released her arms, but didn’t move back. Ivy wondered why it was so important to Michelle, why did she care so much?

“I don’t really want to talk about it anymore.” She mumbled under her breath, turning away from Michelle entirely. She was aware of the time and knew they had to meet the others in the lobby soon. “We should go.”

Michelle wanted to keep the conversation going, but she didn’t want to cross any lines or press any wrong buttons. Ivy clearly didn’t want to discuss any more, so she was going to respect that. She thought maybe she could carry it on when they got back, or even tomorrow while they were alone in the room. Right now wasn’t the time.

When they got to the lobby, almost everyone was waiting in a small huddle. Zayn and Alyssa were the only ones not downstairs. As soon as Emma laid her eyes on Ivy, she squealed and ran over to her, excitedly hugging her like they’d been apart for months. She complimented her outfit and raved about how perfect she looked, which warranted a shy shake of the head from Ivy. Michelle added a few comments to further empower her, making sure to give her a bright smile. She was grateful for the kind words and she hoped they would remain in her head for the rest of the night. She wasn’t going out to purposely hunt for a man, she just wanted to have fun with everyone.

Once Zayn and Alyssa finally joined them, they headed out of the door. The place they were going was just a few short blocks away, and everyone agreed on walking there. Taking a cab back to the hotel later that night would most likely be everyone’s decision, but for now they were fine with walking together. Niall made a comment about Emma and Ivy wearing heels, but they both assured him they were perfectly fine. Other than that, everyone either kept to themselves or made small talk as they walked down sidewalks and crossed roads, zigzagging through the area.

Ivy was well aware that she was walking in front of Harry, and that nobody was walking behind him. Their group had to form a line when they got to the busier sections of the area, not wanting to be in anyone’s way as they passed through. She wasn’t sure how she ended up behind Michelle, but she was somewhat glad that she wasn’t at the very end. Although she was comfortable and confident in her heels, they did make her walk just a tad bit slower than normal. Just as they were about to reach a corner where they needed to turn, her phone buzzed in her small purse. She furrowed her brows and pulled it out, unsure of who was texting her. It was a message from her dad asking if she was still planning on going to see him next weekend. She was typing up a reply, a smile on her face as she stared at the screen. She hadn’t seen her dad in a few weeks, he had been so busy with work, so she was excited for the plans they had made. The moment she pressed the send button, she felt her weight shift and a shriek flew from her mouth.

Before she could fall and hurt her ankle or scrape up her exposed skin, something grabbed onto her and tugged her the opposite way, steadily her body on the sidewalk. She looked down and saw the curb, she was extremely close to stepping off it and falling into the road. When she turned her head to look next to her, her heart started to pump faster than it ever had before.

Ivy was met with a stern glare from a set of familiar green eyes. He had his lips in a straight line, his brows tight on his forehead. She quickly licked her lips and tried to speak, but he interrupted her before she could even take a breath.

“Watch where you’re walking.” Harry said through a huff as he finally released the pressure his hand created on her arm.

She swallowed the lump that was trying to stop up her throat. “Sorry, thanks.”

He gave her a weird look. “Why are you apologizing? Just pay attention.”

Ivy couldn’t verbally respond, something inside of her was preventing that from happening. She could only nod and give him a soft smile, which he didn’t return in any way. He gestured for her to start walking again to catch up with the others, they had already turned the corner. She got the gist and began walking again, this time with her phone tucked away in her purse and her eyes fixed on what was ahead of her. Harry’s presence stayed behind her, close enough for her to sense him, but far enough to keep a distance. He didn’t want to run into her if she decided to distract herself again.

—•—

Ivy was slightly overwhelmed by the thick crowd of people they ended up being stuck in the middle of. She made sure to stay close to everyone else to prevent getting lost or swept away by a sea of people. The event space was much larger than the bar they had her in weeks ago, but that definitely didn’t mean there was any free standing room anywhere. She felt a little bit of suffocation, but she hoped the drink in her hand would ease her nerves.

Niall was yelling over the music at Michelle and Alyssa, trying to explain something to them but Ivy really couldn’t hear him. She kept her eyes to herself, not wanting to accidentally find herself staring at anyone. Emma was already swaying her hips side to side to the music, bumping into Ivy every now and then. She wanted to get comfortable and enjoy the music, too, but she was still too nervous. So, she just sipped her drink and waited patiently for it to kick in.

The band wasn’t supposed to come for another fifteen minutes, they had been there for half an hour already. Niall’s hand was clutching a beer, Cory and Zayn started off with two shots each. Ivy noticed while they were at the bar earlier that Alyssa didn’t get anything. Maybe she wasn’t big on drinking. The rest of them got something to start the night with.

“I love this song!” Emma yelled happily, grabbing Ivy’s hand as she jumped up and down. She just laughed and gave her a nod, not as enthused by the music as Emma was. “Dance with me!”

“Maybe later!” She yelled back, lifting her drink to indicate she’d need another, or possibly three before she could let loose.

Emma groaned, but decided to not let it drag her mood down. She turned to Niall, pulling him from his conversation and forcing him to somewhat dance with her. He was mostly just nodding his head and grinning at her. Michelle was starting to vibe with the music, facing towards Alyssa in an attempt to get her to join. She soon did, leaving Zayn to talk with Cory and Harry.

Harry.. Of course she hadn’t forgotten about him. She made a few quick glances at him since they arrived, but she tried her best to mind her business. She was afraid something would be said, that same old feeling she gets when she’s around him. It was almost too natural of a feeling. But she couldn’t really resist the temptation, especially since he was so close to her. He was leaning in to Cory and Zayn when he spoke so they could hear him over the loud music. He put a smirk on his lips and laughed a few times, making Ivy’s heart skip a beat.

She thought he looked rather well put together tonight. His hair was a bit messy from the gentle breeze during the walk over, but it still looked so perfect. He was wearing his usual dark jeans, paired with a pair of black boots with a short heel, and a blue shirt. The sleeves were purposely rolled and pushed up to his elbows, his tattoos on display for anyone’s lingering eyes. She even caught a whiff of his cologne while they were walking, when he caught her, and she thought it was nice. Her teeth bit down on her cheek as she looked at his chest, some of his skin exposed from the undone buttons. She thought it was an interesting look, but it fit his style well. He was as eye catching as ever.

It was so easy for her to get lost in him. She tore her eyes away, looking towards Emma but she was fully caught up with Niall and not worried about anything else. That feeling of being the odd one out was building in her gut. Everyone was accompanied by someone except her.

Ivy’s attention fell to her drink. She shook the cup, watching the ice swirl in the liquid. She should’ve gotten something stronger. She huffed to herself before taking a drink. Maybe if she drank it faster it would work better. The thought of Harry had quickly faded from her mind, the new worry of being alone was taking over entirely. It was hard to not feel like she didn’t belong. Even though this isn’t the first time she’s been around everyone, she still didn’t know them as well as they knew each other. Sure, she could spark up a conversation would Zayn if she wanted to, but what if he was responding just to be polite? The idea of them pretending to like her was difficult to ignore. She didn’t want to be so anxious about it and let those crazy thoughts run wild, but it was almost impossible to stop it once it begins.

Time slipped by while Ivy stayed to herself. There was an announcement that the band was about to come on the stage on the other side of the room. It was much larger than the theater-turned-club stage she watched them perform on. This was definitely a much bigger venue with a more serious act taking stage. Niall yelled something about trying to get closer, which prompted Emma to take Ivy’s hand. As a group, they navigated through the crowd. Not everyone was turned towards the band, so it was easier to slide through.

They didn’t get right up on the stage, but they weren’t far. Emma let go of her hand once they were settled in a space. She was excited about the show and hoped that it would make her forget all the things filling her head. Before long, the band filed onto the stage and started their set. Emma made sure to stay next to her, which she appreciated immensely. She was sort of worried about being knocked over or pulled from the group by people shoving their way through. Nobody seemed to be pushing around just yet, though.

For the most part, the experience was very fun and positive for Ivy. The worry she had suffered through was far gone now. She was enjoying the music and knew most of the songs they were doing. She danced and cheered through their original songs, as well, not carrying that she hadn’t heard them before. It was exhilarating to just jump around and throw her hands up in the air. She had successfully pushed down all those anxious thoughts and emotions that were bothering her. She felt happy and free, like nothing could stop this high.

Niall and Cory offered to make a run to the bar for everyone, so she gladly threw in her drink order. She was definitely feeling the buzz of the alcohol creeping through her veins, and she was craving more of it. As soon as they returned, she started drinking from the new plastic cup. Her hips never stopped moving to the music, Emma grabbing her every now and then to dance together.

Everything was going well, it almost seemed too good to be true. Ivy kept her focus on the band, not caring what was going on around her aside from Emma. Niall had her attention now though, so Ivy was dancing along to the music on her own. She was so into the moment that she didn’t realize she was moving around so much, until she backed into something that stopped her.

She turned slightly to apologize to the random person she hit, but she audibly gasped and her eyes went wide. Harry was standing there, a gentle lift of his brow served as his response.

“Sorry!” She yelled over the music, her stomach dropping as she realized he had been behind her while she was dancing.

He rolled his eyes and gave her a nod, instantly shifting his stare back to the stage. She was unsure of how long he had been behind her, the last time she checked he was over by Zayn and Alyssa, the complete opposite side of the space their lot was taking up. There was no need to worry over it, she shook it from her mind and continued where she left off.

Emma squealed and immediately dropped Niall’s hands to turn to Ivy. The band was doing another cover, and this time it was one of their favorite songs to karaoke together. Ivy let out a laugh as Emma grabbed onto her waist and pulled her close. Niall shook his head and just chuckled at them, letting them have their moment together.

The girls were extremely expressive as the Joan Jett song blasted through the room. They were both impressed by the band’s performance of the song, and they showed their support by singing and dancing along. With every whip of Ivy’s head from side to side, her hair swung in the air. Emma was practically screaming the lyrics out, feeling like she was on another planet. If they did anything right together, it was have the time of their lives.

Once the song ended, Ivy had to catch her breath. She shook her head when Emma tried to make her keep on, the next song was just as good. She couldn’t handle it right now, she was out of breath and her throat hurt from all the screaming. Emma chose to focus on Niall again, forcing him to dance now, leaving her to collect herself.

Even though she craved water, she didn’t dismiss the drink in her hand. Somehow, most of the liquid managed to stay in the cup. She took a big guzzle, aiming to coat her mouth with the cold feeling to soothe it. The effects of the alcohol were the least of her worries. As much as she loved to dance and sing with Emma, she was worn out already. A good ten or so minutes of staying idle would do her some good.

A grunt pushed past her lips as she felt her stomach twirl around. Maybe she shouldn’t be jumping around so much while there’s alcohol roaming in her body. She pressed her hand to her stomach, taking a few slow breaths to try and calm herself. The last thing she wanted to do was throw up. Thankfully, after a few more minutes of staying still and focusing on settling herself down, her stomach stopped aching and she felt much better.

The feeling didn’t stick around very long, though. She was nodding her head to the music, enjoying the current song the band was playing, when someone started pushing their way through the crowd. Ivy’s eyes were locked on the band as she peeked between all the heads in front of her to get a good look at them. She didn’t notice that someone was trying to get by.

She jumped the second she felt a hand on her waist. Her body was pushed to the side, the person trying to get by then easily walked past her. Her instincts kicked in and she realized someone was actually touching her. She grabbed the wrist of the hand and pushed it down, her nails scratching into skin. When she turned to scream at the stranger she assumed she’d see, her mouth went dry and her lips fell part, no words coming out. Harry gave her an irritated look, glancing down at his now scratched hand.

“You were in the way.” He told her loudly, forcing his voice over the music.

She swallowed gently. “I.. I didn’t know.”

Harry gave her a sarcastic gasp. “Obviously.”

Ivy wanted to be more confident in herself than she had managed to be all day, so she quickly gave it back to him. “You’re so rude.”

“Says the one who was in the damn way.” He lifted the corner of his mouth, amused by her comeback.

She rolled her eyes at him and turned back around, hoping to forget that he was there. There was an angry feeling sparking up in her gut. How could someone show such arrogance over a simple situation? She could have thanked him for moving her aside so she wouldn’t get shoved, but she figured he didn’t care about her gratitude. And more than that, he didn’t deserve it.

After another hour, the band had finished their set and everyone agreed that they’d stay a bit longer and enjoy the night. Some of the crowd had disappeared, leaving the place easier to navigate through, but it was still a good number of people around. Ivy went with Emma and Michelle to the bathroom, separating themselves from the others. They joined the short line that was waiting inside. Ivy let a deep breath push through her nose as her body leaned against the wall. She didn’t care about the sanitary conditions of the bathroom, she had other things on her mind.

Michelle took notice and gently nudged her. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head and licked her lips quickly. “Nothing.. just got a little sick to my stomach earlier.”

“Do you feel sick?” Emma frowned back.

Ivy shrugged, even though she knew the feeling was more because of anxiety than sickness, she didn’t want to tell them what had happened. She was sure nobody noticed, they were all so distracted by everything going on around them. The less she talked about Harry, the easier it was to imagine it was all fake. She didn’t want him to be there, she didn’t want him to exist in her life, she didn’t want to keep those small moments alive in her mind. Why did he have to be walking behind her on the sidewalk, why was he so close to her while the band was playing, why did he care if someone pushed her over or not? Why was he so worried about her, and why did she let it bother her so much?

“No, I think I was just doing too much earlier.. with the dancing. I’m okay now.” She assured them with a quick smile.

“Okay, if you say so.” Emma didn’t seem to believe it, but she wasn’t going to stress her out by prying. “If you feel like you wanna leave.. let me know and we can head back.”

“Yeah, I’ll go with you, too, if you want.” Michelle reached up and casually pushed Ivy’s hair over her shoulder. “Especially if you feel sick.”

“Thanks.. but I’m pretty sure I’m okay right now.”

They didn’t have to wait very long to get into a stall. Once they were all done, they left the bathroom together. Ivy thought about stopping by the bar for some water, but she didn’t want to cause an inconvenience. Maybe one of the guys would offer to go to the bar for everyone and she could take advantage of that.

The girls made their way back to where they left Niall and Cory. Zayn and Alyssa had gone off to be on their own and Harry was nowhere around. Emma kept an eye on Ivy to make sure she wasn’t getting sick. She made sure to tell Niall that they might possibly have to leave earlier than planned if something happened. Ivy overheard them talking and she assured Niall she was fine.

It didn’t take long for Emma and Michelle to start moving to the music again. Emma grabbed Ivy’s hand and playfully shook her arm around, trying to get her to participate. She gave them a laugh and joined them, but she kept her feet grounded. The jumping was too intense earlier, she needed to stay more relaxed. The music playing through the speakers was good, they all seemed to enjoy it.

The chaotic scene of the club was enough to keep her mind off of things for a while. She swayed side to side to the music, occasionally grabbing onto Emma to belt out lyrics with her. After a while, the need for something to drink was weighing on her, making her throat dry and her head start to spin. Ivy tapped Emma’s shoulder to get her attention, she was talking to Niall about something as a slower song was playing.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going? Are you feeling bad?” Emma’s brows dropped and she frowned, instantly worried for her friend.

Ivy smiled and shook her head. “No, just thirsty.”

“Oh.. okay!”

Niall leaned closer so he could talk over all the noise. “Be careful.”

“I will. I’ll be right back!”

With a sigh, she walked off from them, heading towards the bar. As she made her way there, she let herself reflect on the night’s events. All the dancing and singing was so joyful and exciting, she was grateful for the fun experience. Everyone was getting along, nothing too crazy had occurred. Sure, she had a few incidents with Harry, but nobody else was a witness to them that she was aware of. Knowing that made it sort of easier to deal with. She didn’t have to worry about whether or not they would get irritated with her, too. She was glad the moments she had to share with him weren’t full of hateful comments or rude looks like the previous ones had been. He wasn’t necessarily the sweetest person tonight, but at least he was better than normal.

For once in her life, she actually felt like she belonged within a group. Those unsure worries about whether they liked her or not had faded. Most of them had proved they did enjoy her company, and she definitely enjoyed theirs. The dynamics of the group were so different, everyone had their own personality and somehow they all merged together well. Harry was sort of an outlier, but only when it came to Ivy. He was perfectly fine with everyone else.

When she finally got to the bar, she let out a sigh of relief. There was an open stool at the end and she gladly took it. The bartender noticed her and gave her a lift of his finger, indicating he’d be over to her in a minute. She just smiled back and waited patiently. She folded her hands on the bar, looking down at her painted nails. The red polish shifted colors beneath the colored lights.

Ivy covered her mouth as she yawned, a tired feeling creeping into her body. She knew she didn’t want to be the one to make everyone go back to the hotel early, so she’d just have to push through it and wake herself up. The bartender came over to her, smiling as he asked how he could help her. She asked for a cup of ice, an awkward confession of how she wasn’t feeling the best followed her request. He gave her a laugh and said he understood the feeling.

“It’s on me! Take care of yourself.” He said as he passed her the plastic cup full of ice cubes.

“Oh, thank you!”

Ivy twisted the stool around so that she could prop her elbow on the bar and look out at the dancing crowd. Some people were just standing around talking or laughing, but most of them were doing some form of dancing. She tipped the cup back, a piece of ice falling into her mouth. She let it sit on her tongue for a few moments, slowly melting as the warmth of her mouth engulfed it. The feeling was calming, she felt like she was recovering already. The plan was to sit for a few minutes and eat a couple pieces of ice, then she’d go back to where she left from.

When she finished her second piece, she reached into her purse to grab her lip gloss. She could feel the dryness of her lips and had to take care of that. Her phone acted as a mirror while she applied the gloss over her lips, fully coating each of them. She rubbed them together, then smiled at herself to make sure nothing spread past the line of her lips.

“You didn’t miss a spot.”

Ivy quickly pulled her phone down and turned her head, her eyes meeting those of a stranger. It was a man with dark hair, he was tall with broad shoulders. A smile shaped his mouth, a set of shiny white teeth popping out behind his lips.

She gulped gently and let out a slightly nervous laugh. “Yeah, I guess not.”

He let his eyes quickly roam over her body. She kept her stare on his face, watching every move he made closely. That anxious feeling she fought off so often was returning, but even she knew that it was for a real reason this time.

“Are you not drinking tonight?” He asked, nodding his head to the cup of ice. The question was posed in a way that made it seem like he knew her so well.. like he was surprised she wasn’t drinking.

She went along with it, just to prevent anything drastic from happening. “Um, taking a break for right now.”

“If you want to end that break, I could get a drink.” The cocky smirk he put on for her was not pleasing to her eyes.

Ivy sucked on the inside of her cheek for a moment as she glanced at her ice cubes. “I think my break will last the rest of the night.”

He gave her a very slow nod, his eyes moving away from her for the first time since he approached. He shifted his weight, looking past her at the person next to her on the stool. Maybe he thought she didn’t know that person, since it didn’t seem like she was making a point to give them any attention. A thousand thoughts started to fill her mind as she started to consider all the different ways this could play out. She took a mental note of what he was wearing, just in case. It was a burgundy collared shirt with a pair of dark wash, loose fitting jeans. He dressed like any other guy, which made him blend in too easily.

“So, are you here with someone?” He finally asked, lifting his brows as he moved his eyes back to her face.

She was quick to contemplate lying or not. If she said she was here with a man, and this person had been watching her, then he’d know that wasn’t true. If he just saw her at the bar and not any other time tonight, then maybe she could get away with it. The thing was, she didn’t know what he knew about her. She was nervous that he had been watching her and was waiting for an opportunity.

Ivy pushed down the lump in her throat and remained confident, not wanting him to see that she was becoming afraid. “With a group of friends, yeah.”

“Oh, friends?” He said, looking around at the people who clearly didn’t know her. Nobody had interacted with her since she got to the bar, aside from him.

“Yeah.” She kept her reply short and simple, hoping he’d get the point.

Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case. He leaned closer to her, his hand reaching out to touch her waist. She stiffened on the stool, her back straight as she tried to keep her distance. His hand wasn’t gripping her tight, but it was definitely pressed against her.

“Let me get you a drink.” He said with a chuckle, trying to play like he was flirting but she knew it was something more dangerous.

She gently shook her head and lifted her hand between them. “No, thanks. I’m not.. drinking anymore.”

He gave her a look that made her skin crawl. “Don’t want to have some fun with me?”

“Um, I should.. get back to my friends.” She said with a fake smile, pushing against his chest to move him.

At first he didn’t budge, but after a moment he leaned back, his hand falling from her side. “C’mon, don’t be so uptight. Let me show you a good time.”

The very second he took a step back, she saw the opportunity to escape. Ivy slid off the stool, abandoning her cup of ice on the bar, and started hastily walking away. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw that he pushed himself off the bar and started walking in the same direction. Her stomach dropped as she quickly came to terms with what was happening. There was nothing she could do other than run through this crowd and make it to Emma.

Ivy darted her eyes around, trying to find familiar things she made sure to take notice of when she walked off. She had to find her way back somehow, but it seemed her tricks weren’t working. The anxiety flooding through her body was shielding her memory - she couldn’t think of anything else. Her lungs felt heavy as she pushed through the crowd, trying her best to find Emma or Niall or somebody she knew. Maybe she’d run across Zayn, she hadn’t seen him in a while. She was getting sick to her stomach, its contents threatening to come up.

She took another look behind her, and even through the people she moved past, she saw him. His eyes were scanning around, searching for her as she weaved through the dancing bodies.

The mix of colorful lights flashing all around the space was making it difficult for her to make out anything. She thought she was losing her mind, she couldn’t focus on anything. Strangers’ faces littered the room, she couldn’t find anyone she recognized. How long could she out run him? How big was this building? Would she be able to seek refuge in the women’s restroom or would he disregard any barriers and search for her there? Could she make it back to the front where the security guard was? Her feet were starting to feel weak as the worry spiraled in her mind. She was going to get hurt, she just knew it. The night had been going so well, something just had to ruin it like always.

Ivy suddenly broke through the edge of the crowd, making her stumble over her own feet. Her body shook with each desperate pant, her lungs trying so hard to stay strong. She twisted her head around, trying to find something to shelter herself. She saw no kind of doors to slip into, the restrooms were on the opposite side as was the entrance. She didn’t even know where she was.

Tears swelled in her eyes as she decided to keep walking, trying to throw him off her tracks. Maybe if she cut back into the crowd and went a different direction, she could lose him entirely. She nervously walked on the edge of the crowd, mumbling quiet excuse me’s that nobody heard. She kept her eyes on alert, trying to find one of the people she knew. It was like everyone had disappeared.

Ivy let out a delicate whimper as she felt tears slide down her cheeks. She was terrified to stop walking, to turn around. She feared he would be there to grab her again, and this time he’d force his way to what he wanted. She reached into her purse, digging out her phone to try and make a call to someone. She had one bar of service, and she wasn’t sure if the others had any at all. She tried to call Emma, but it went to voicemail as if her phone was dead. Her hand was shaking so hard she almost dropped her phone. She was so afraid that she completely thought over the idea of calling Niall. The phone ended up back in her purse, and her eyes moved over her shoulder.

Her stomach churned as she saw him further back. He had lost sight of her for a minute, and it caused their distance to grow. He was determined to find her, and she was absolutely horrified. She had never been in a situation like this. She almost always stayed with Emma when they went out. She never strayed away like that, especially in a place she’d never been to before.

Just as she was about to slip back into the sea of people, she spotted someone she recognized. Of course, it wasn’t the best option out of everyone she knew, but it was better than nothing. She quickened her pace and aimed straight for him. It was Harry, pulled away from the crowd with his hand on a woman’s hip. He was clearly occupied and enjoying the company he had. Ivy wasn’t necessarily focusing on what he was doing, but she saw how a smirk was stuck to his lips as he listened to whatever the woman was saying to him.

Ivy practically threw herself on him, her hands grabbing onto his arm instantly. The woman he was holding smacked her lips and said something to him, but Ivy didn’t care to listen. Harry tried to shake her off, and after a few seconds she let him go, but she didn't move away.

“Ha-Harry.” She choked on his name, quickly shooting her eyes over her shoulder to see if he was near.

“Go away.” Harry grunted, giving her an annoyed expression. He was still holding onto the woman, so he guided her a few feet away, trying to get away from Ivy.

“Harry.” She said his name again, this time louder.

The woman didn’t appear to like that he was attracting attention that wasn’t from her. She told him to forget it and rolled her eyes as she turned away from him.

“What the fuck do you want?” He threw his hands in the air as he moved to face Ivy, who he was very irritated by.

“Please just act like you know me for five minutes!” She whined out, her eyes pleading with him.

That’s when he noticed she was crying, but he was confused. “Huh?”

“Please!” She yelled back, her hand reaching up to grab onto his shirt. She didn’t even realize she was doing it.

Harry just stared at her a moment, then looked down to where she was fisting his shirt. “What’s wrong with you?”

“There’s.. there’s a guy following me and.. I’m scared.” She looked past her shoulder again, then quickly back to him. “Harry, please.”

He moved his eyes behind her, trying to see if he could figure out what she was looking at. “Following you? What happened?”

For the first time since they’ve met, she could tell he was sincere with his concern. He leaned his head down so he could hear her over the music. Her wet eyes looked over his features as she tried to gather her thoughts. Everything was happening so fast. His green eyes were softened as he fixed them on her, and his brows were furrowed as he waited for an answer. This is when she realized she was clutching his shirt. She nervously looked down at her hand, then released her grip on him. He didn’t say anything about it, just watched her closely.

“I.. I was at the bar.. by myself.. and this guy kept bothering me.” She explained in a broken voice, her eyes searching his face for something she wasn't even sure of. She was just trying to distract herself from what was going on. “I.. I walked off and he started following me.”

“Why the fuck were you by yourself?”

She huffed. “I don’t know! I.. I couldn’t find Emma or Niall or anyone.. I-I just saw you.”

Harry let out a sigh and let his eyes linger behind her again. “What’s he wearing?”

“He’s behind me, I know he is. I saw him.”

He glanced at her, wishing she would just tell him but he understood she was afraid. “Show me.”

Ivy nodded slowly and turned her head back, once again searching for his presence behind her. And immediately she saw him, he was looking around, walking slower with his hands stuck in his pockets. He had a snarl on his face, like he was pissed off that he lost sight of her again. When she returned her eyes to Harry, he furrowed his brows tighter. It was so easy to see how terrified the girl was. As much as he acted like he usually didn’t care about anything at all, he was taking this very seriously.

“Who is it?”

“The guy right there.. by the girl with the blue dress on.”

Harry easily saw who she was referring to. He had never been in the situation where he had to do this for one of his friends, but he was smart enough to figure out the obvious solution.

“Stay close to me, alright?” The way his hand curved to fit against her waist felt more natural than it was supposed to.

She kept her eyes on his chest, staring at the cross dangling from his neck. She wanted to melt into a puddle or shoot up through the ceiling, she wanted to disappear from this place. Not only was she terrified, but she was embarrassed by the way she reacted when she found Harry. She had interrupted whatever he was up to and fell against him like he was supposed to be a hero. Of course, that was now taking over her mind and the whole bar situation was gone from her focus. Harry easily took center stage in her mind..

He kept his eyes locked on the guy, he had gotten closer already. The natural instinct to protect was present, which led to his hand sliding to the small of her back as the guy locked eyes with him. He recognized the girl he had been chasing, he was familiar with her backside. Harry didn’t dare blink as the guy stared him down.

“Is.. is he.. gone?” Ivy’s head fell back to look at Harry. She was unaware of just how close they were. Their bodies were touching, her hands were lifted between them and gently brushing his abdomen as she waited for him to answer her. “Harry..”

The quiet chirp of his name made him dart his eyes down for just a second. She had stopped crying, but her eyes were puffy and her makeup was smudged on her skin. He felt bad for the girl, she hadn’t asked for any of this to happen. She was sure he hated her guts and didn’t want to be around her, but she was grateful he was keeping her close right now. Maybe he was good at pretending to care.

“Just be quiet right now.”

His choice of words wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but she didn’t have a choice. She let her eyes fall back to his chest, maybe she could distract herself with the ink that was peeking out from beneath his shirt. She wondered what else his body hid. Was he covered from shoulders to thighs, was his back inked, what about his legs?

Ivy let out a shriek all of a sudden. “Ow!”

Harry groaned as he realized his fingers were tangled in her hair. The rings stuck on his fingers were catching pieces of her hair. He pulled his hand back, taking a few pieces with him. She felt each strand that was being plucked from her scalp.

“Why the fuck is your hair so long?” He was frustrated now.

“Ow! Stop, that hurts!” She scooped her hair over her shoulder, trying to get it away from his fingers.

“Not my fault.” He huffed out, shaking his head in disbelief at their situation.

She went quiet again, not even moving as he returned his hand to her back. He was gentle with his touches, not wanting to scare her or make her uncomfortable especially since she’s been harassed already tonight. The guy had moved to the wall, his arms crossed as he pretended to not notice her. He gave them a glance every couple of seconds, trying to catch Harry off guard but it wouldn’t work. He wasn’t going to let Ivy slip away and get harmed, no matter how much he wanted her to leave him alone.

“He’s still staring at you.” Harry felt a sting in his chest as the guy licked his lips, his eyes attached to her body. “Did you say you were here alone?”

She hesitated at first to answer. “No.. I said I was with friends.”

“Did he touch you?” Harry asked the question the very moment she pushed her curled hands into his body, she was leaning against him.

For some reason, he was feeling extremely conflicted by all of this. Was he reacting so intensely because he knew the girl? If it were a stranger, would he be this focused on handling the issue and solving her problems, soothing her worries? He didn’t know how to feel about it, all he knew was that he was pissed off someone thought they could get away with this. He didn’t have much time to ponder it, the anticipation of her answer was driving him crazy. If she said yes, he feared he would have to slam the guy’s head into the wall.

“Like.. did he grope me?” Her voice finally broke out.

Harry licked his lips and carefully nudged her chin with the side of his index finger, pushing her head back so he could see her. “Did he touch you in any way, Ivy?”

He didn’t care if he just shook her hand, if her answer was yes he was going to lose his composure. Ivy couldn’t talk back, her heart was too busy pounding in her chest. Her eyes widened as she stared at him, the sound of her name being spoken in his voice was foreign to her. She was absolutely sure that he had never said her name before, never mumbled it or even said it in front of her to someone else. Harry softened his hard stare and withdrew his touch from her chin.

“Answer me, please.” He gave her a stern lift of his brows, silently instructing that she do what he said.

She quickly nodded. “Yes.. he touched my waist.”

Harry clenched his jaw and shot his gaze to the guy who was in the same spot, as if he was waiting for her to be set free so he could take her for himself. He moved his hand to her waist and slightly squeezed her, and of course she noticed it. Her stomach filled with butterflies as he leaned even closer down to her level, even her heels didn’t make her tall enough for him.

“Stay right here. Do not move, do you understand me?” He spoke calmly, hoping that she would just listen to him.

“Yes.. I understand.” Ivy’s voice was as light as a feather.

He wasn’t too surprised that her bright, outgoing personality had fallen to such a fragile demeanor. He witnessed it at the restaurant when she grew so shy in front of him, how hesitant and timid she could get..

“Don’t move.” He repeated.

Harry dropped his arm from her body and took a step forward, but she quickly grabbed his wrist and jumped in front of him. He looked down at her with knitted brows.

“Wait! What if.. someone else..” Her voice trailed off as the endless possibilities began to fill her mind.

Harry didn’t let her stop him, though. He shewed her hand back and gave her some reassurance. “Nobody will touch you. Stay right here.”

Ivy rotated just so she could keep her eyes on Harry. The last thing she wanted was to get separated again. She bit down on her cheek as she watched Harry walk up to the guy. She saw his mouth moving, but had no clue what he was saying. Nobody cared to look at them, everyone was just dancing and minding their own business. Harry took a step closer, his height was even to the man who had chased her through the crowd.

She felt her hands shaking by her sides as Harry obviously became heated. He was yelling now, pointing his finger at the man like he was scolding a child. Ivy was curious to know what he was saying. Was he throwing threats out and telling him how shitty it was to be that way towards someone? Was he telling him he’d beat the hell out of him if he looked her way again? A thousand thoughts flew to her mind, but none were strong enough to distract her from Harry. She gasped, throwing her hand over her chest as she watched Harry shove the guy into the wall, but he withdrew hands clearly not wanting to fight.

What she didn’t know was that Harry was telling him that if he saw him look her way one more time, he’d beat the absolute hell out of him. He made sure to mention specific ways he could bury his fist into the guy’s body and face, how he could break his nose or knock a few teeth out. His ultimate goal was to terrify the guy just as much as Ivy was. Harry gave him one last push into the wall before walking away.

Her pulse increased rapidly as he quickly rejoined her, his hand reaching for her waist as a way to guide her. His skin was flushed from the yelling, his body tense and his chest tight. He was angry, more angry than Ivy had ever seen him. The look on his face beat out any irritated expression or rude glance he’d ever given her.

“C’mon.” He grumbled out, reaching down to grab her hand.

The butterflies in her stomach grew to the size of dragons as she felt his warm skin against hers. Now wasn’t the time to swoon over him, though. This was a more serious situation that she had a dire need to escape from. Harry didn’t give her any other choice, he started walking and yanked her behind him.

They navigated their way to the entrance, Harry leading her like a lost puppy through the crowd. He wasn’t being polite in any way, of course. He was ramming his shoulder into people as he walked past them and pushing past stubborn ones who wouldn’t move at all. Ivy stayed close behind him, her hand clutching his for dear life. He didn’t return her strong grip, he just allowed her to hold on to him so she wouldn’t get lost again. He had never had anyone hold his hand as tight as this girl was. It sort of amazed him, her strength was probably from the fear, but it impressed him. He’d never tell her that.

When they finally reached the entrance and made it outside, Ivy felt a weight lift off her shoulders. The breeze began to blow her hair around, the cool wind covered her skin in bumps. She felt like she had freedom for the first time. There were no more crowds, no suffocating people with sweaty skin and loud screams. There was no intense shaking of the ceiling and floor from the loud music, no more chaos..

Harry walked her away from the entrance. When he stopped and turned to face her, he felt an odd feeling in his chest. She still had a pout on her thick lips, tear stained cheeks, and wide eyes. He exhaled, licking over his lips as he stared at her for a moment longer. Finally, he released her hand and pulled his phone from his pocket.

Ivy felt a wave of nausea. It was more intense than what she experienced earlier in the night. Now that she was out in the open, able to fully comprehend everything that happened, she was feeling her body’s reaction to the anxiety. She pressed her hand over her stomach, groaning as she felt something come up her throat.

She turned away from Harry, not wanting him to witness her empty her stomach. It was coming, she could literally feel it.

“Hey, look we have a problem.” She heard his voice as he spoke to Niall on the phone, but this time it wasn’t enough to distract her..

Ivy swatted her hair over her shoulder just in time. She leaned over and started throwing up. She didn’t have time to be embarrassed. It came quickly, everything she had consumed throughout the day was out of her system. She let out a quiet grunt and wiped her hand over her mouth. The only good thing was that now she felt much better.

Harry had told Niall a brief summary of what happened, and said that it would be best if someone takes her back to the hotel. Niall said he would round everyone up and they would all leave. Ivy didn’t care what was being said on the phone, she was just staring off at nothing. Her stomach was starting to relax now, recovering from what it just went through.

“Are you alright?” Harry came up behind her, but he didn’t reach for her like he had easily done earlier. He didn’t want to overstep any boundaries she had.

“Yeah.” She mumbled while twisting around to face him. “I think so.”

“First you almost break your ankle.. then you try to get drugged at the bar. How do you make it on your own?” He questioned, unable to believe that she was capable of surviving.

“I’m sorry.” She uttered out, her voice as soft as a feather. She nervously folded her arms on her chest and looked down at her feet. She felt ashamed.

“Stop apologizing.”

Ivy furrowed her brows, but kept her eyes locked on the ground. “What do you want me to say then?”

“I don’t know.”

For a second, she was just going to ignore him and go mute until Emma made it to her, but something changed. She felt that usual sense of confidence and sass enter her body. The memory of what happened at the bar that night replayed in her mind. She defended herself, but soon after the worrying began. Ivy didn’t want to worry about him anymore. He had this power over her she wanted to destroy.

“Almost tripping is one thing, but I didn’t ask to get harassed.” Her voice was at a normal level now, her tone mimicking the rude one he usually gave her. “Don’t you dare say it’s my fault.”

Harry huffed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sounded like it.”

He pushed his hand through his hair, tugging back the long locks. “I didn’t say it was your fucking fault.”

“That’s your favorite word, isn’t it? Fuck this, fuck that, fuck everything!” She yelled back, her hands balled into fists by her side now.

He scoffed at her. “Are you trying to offend me? I couldn’t care less.”

“I’m trying to treat you like you treat me!”

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Ivy could explode from the anger she was feeling. “You’re a terrible person!”

Harry let out an unamused laugh and threw his arms up. He walked off, shaking his head in disbelief, but he didn’t go far. He turned to face her again, a dumbfounded look on his face.

“If it weren’t for me, you’d be drugged in the back of someone’s fucking car right now. I think that’s me treating you fucking nicely.”

She could hardly believe she was actually arguing with him and holding her own. He used to be so intimidating and unapproachable, but not anymore. There was no more shyness or fear filling her veins. She was angry and she wanted to get it all out.

“Don’t act like you’re an angel. You treat me like you hate me! You don’t even know me.” She fired back, steam rolling out of her ears.

Harry looked towards the front entrance in time to see Niall and the others walking out, their eyes searching for them. He wanted to say more to her, but he didn’t have the time. He didn’t want anyone to overhear this conversation.

“If I hated you, I would’ve let you get hurt tonight.”

Ivy parted her lips to speak, but Emma’s voice calling out her name stopped her. Harry backed up when everyone came running up to her. He didn’t want to overplay his part. It was all quickly pushed aside.

“Ivy! Oh my god, are you okay?” Emma embraced her in a tight hug, squeezing her tight.

“I’m okay, yeah.” She breathed out, squeezing her eyes shut.

“I shouldn’t have let you go alone, I’m so sorry.”

“Emma, no.” Ivy pulled back and took hold of both of her hands. “Don’t say that.”

It was obvious that Emma wanted to cry, but she was trying to hold back the tears. The second Niall told her what happened, she felt her heart shatter. Something happening to her friend was never a good thing to think about.

Niall reached over and touched her elbow. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.. I.. threw up over there, but I’m okay.”

Emma moved to let Michelle hug her, and she quickly walked to where Harry stood. He gave her a smile when she thanked him for being there for Ivy. He didn’t say much back, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. He felt as though he didn’t do that much, really. He was just in the right place at the right time. He got her away from the guy before anything could happen. As much as he tried to convince himself it wasn’t a big deal, he was glad he was there when she needed it most.

—•—

During the night, Ivy experienced a few unsettling dreams that woke her up from her sleep. One of them was so intense that she had to get up and stand by the air conditioner, cooling her flushed face and trying to relax her body. She slept horribly. She would bet she didn’t even get three full hours. Despite it being a bad night, she didn’t wake up Michelle or call Emma to bother her. She thought about it, but she had already done so much that she believed put a damper in the trip, she didn’t want to ruin anything else.

The morning in the hotel was a lot better. She felt less stressed once she was able to get some socialization. Emma and Alyssa had came into the room to have some girl time before they all had to get ready. They didn’t have any big plans for Saturday, but there were some things everyone wanted to do. Zayn, Alyssa, and Michelle decided to go on a historic tour of a house they all found interesting while the others chose to stroll through the downtown area. Ivy had mentioned something about an art gallery she found while searching up things to do in the area. Emma was intrigued with it, so she forced Niall to go along with her. Cory and Harry tagged along, too.

As they walked down the sidewalk, Ivy let her eyes wonder in the shop windows. There was an antique store that she found interesting, perhaps she’d suggest they swing by it before they leave the area. There was a small cafe that pumped the smell of fresh baked sweets out onto the street. It was a quaint area, she found it very lovely.

When they got to the gallery, they sort of went their separate ways. Niall and Emma walked hand in hand as they observed the displayed work. Ivy decided to walk on her own. There were a variety of artists who were being showcased at the gallery. The information pamphlet they were each given when they first came in listed details about the artists. Ivy read over the paragraphs of each artist. She was very much in her element while being here. This was one of her favorite things to do. She turned the corner into the next room and quietly swallowed as she saw that Harry was the only one occupying the room.

She tried to keep her footsteps light so she wouldn’t be a disturbance. He appeared to be very focused by the painting he was standing in front of. His arms were behind his back, his hand holding onto his other wrist. He leaned forward to get a better look at the piece, but he maintained a respectful distance.

As she got closer, she could hear him mumbling to himself. She tried to ignore it as she looked at the adjacent wall’s pieces. The artist displayed in this room was more of a contemporary abstract artist. This wasn’t necessarily her favorite category of art, but she was appreciative of the person’s creativity and craft. She strolled by the collection, admiring the striking colors and shapes, but not focusing as much on a singular piece as someone was.

She hadn’t realized how close she was to Harry until she heard him more clearly. A smile toyed on her lips at his comment.

“That’s an interesting color choice. I wouldn’t do that.”

Ivy didn’t want to scare him, though she was sure he knew someone was in here even if he didn’t know it was specifically her. She took a breath and decided to be polite to him, instead of doing everything in her power to ignore his existence.

“Do you critique often?”

Harry turned his head towards her, not realizing she was speaking to him at first. He didn’t respond, just gave her a momentary stare. There was a desire inside of him that craved to burst out - he wanted to talk to her. It was difficult because he knew she didn’t like being around him. Their first impressions of each other didn’t go well, and nothing since seemed to work out either. So, he shifted his stare back to the painting.

Ivy wasn’t surprised at all by him, yet she didn’t want to give in to his game. Based on how intensely focused he was, she believed he wouldn’t behave in an aggressive way in the gallery. Now if they were elsewhere, he might would tell her to fuck off, that’s his favorite word after all..

“What’s the interesting choice you don’t like?” Her voice distributed the silence again, making him set his jaw. He wanted to be alone.

Harry studied the side of her face as intensely as he did the painting. He wondered what was on her mind. The blue of her eyes sparkled under the bright lights above them. Her lips were set in a very subtle smile as she read over the paragraph about the artist. He shifted his eyes back to the piece.

“The bright orange. It wouldn’t have been my pick.” He finally stated.

“Do you paint?”

Her quick reply made him softly sigh. He didn’t really want to conversate with her, but he purposely chose no other option.

“No, not at all. Just an observer.”

Ivy nodded slowly, opting to not say anything. She admired the painting for a few minutes, curious to know what his thoughts were. How did he interpret the piece? There were no purposeful shapes or patterns, it was completely random and abstract. Did he find anxiety in that like she did, or was he the kind of person who could understand and feel abstractness? She assumed he would walk away if she asked anything like that, so she didn’t. Instead, she reverted to the thought she’s had all day. As much as she wanted to forget last night, it was impossible.

“Thanks for last night.” She spoke a bit louder this time.

Harry smirked to himself, she didn’t catch it. “Did we do something I don’t remember?”

His cocky attitude was nothing new, and she just rolled her eyes at him. Maybe that was his way of being friendly, by sort of being a jackass with his comments. She didn’t know him well enough to decide if that was true. She was leaning more towards ‘he’s just a dick’.

“I’m serious, Harry. Thanks for helping me.” She said through a deep breath, her eyes falling from the painting. “I really appreciate it.”

He shrugged lightly. “Don’t mention it.”

“And I’m sorry for being mean to you about it. I was just overwhelmed.”

She didn’t expect him to turn towards her. She copied his movements, not sure what was next. Was he going to be nice to her for once? It was more likely that he’d snap at her. Her heart started to beat faster than normal.

“I don’t want to talk about it. It’s over now. Don’t thank me and don’t apologize. You like apologizing when you don’t need to.”

Although his words were harsh, she was sort of grateful that his tone was normal. He spoke to her like he knew she was human. All she gave him in return was an understanding nod. When he rotated himself to face the painting again, she made the decision to leave him alone. She left the room and moved onto the next one. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk to her about anything, so there was no need to keep trying.

[a/n: I have been waiting forever to post this part of the series. Things are moving along now, we’re building that drama and suspense (I hope). thanks for being patient with the slow burn, it’ll be worth it I promise! More to come soon! part 5 will be like 3 where it’s necessary for the plot line. 6 and on will be juicy!! Reblog, like, tell me how you feel in the comments! <3]

taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @victoriasigaard @ariiscringe @harlowsgirl @lomllover @haniaaa04 4 @sideboobrry11 @tenaciousperfectionunknown n @fangirl509east @fruity-harry @sassamanda77 7 @lizsogolden @prettygurl-2009 @sincerely-yours-marsbar r @boopookie @mypolicemanharryyy @angelbunny222 @mads3502 @harrysredroom @inlikea-coolway @matildasatellite @imaginexxharry

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the-way-astray · 2 days ago

Text

lyrical breakdown . . .

(Verse 1)

There once was a boy from a series for kids

Fan favorite, created as comic relief

exactly!!!! he was created as comic relief!!!! actually he wasn’t even supposed to exist, but. anyway why did shannon give him the legacy plotline . . . please . . . go back to when he was just a side character . . .

But there was a girl who didn’t find him comedic

Her name was Stria, his name was Keefe

accurate.

(Verse 2)

So let’s just say for this song they’re the same age

And either she’s fictional too or he’s real

he should be real so i can put him in the very real dirt

And Stria for some reason is her given name

lmfaoooo i have definitely explained this one. it comes from astray, like my username. astray -> astrya -> strya -> stria . . . we ignore that it means stretch marks. i did not know that

Just wait for what their story will make you feel

hopefully unadulterated rage. that's what it's making me feel

(Chorus)

An unlikely couple

Hatred to love

LOVE IS CRAZY . . . and yes we are unlikely. in fact we are extinct

She was nothing to him

Now she’s more than enough

keefe would not give two shits about me . . . i would be nothing to him. actually

She thought he was toxic

i still think that. actually

Now she understands

One must always follow

What their heart commands

MY HEART IS COMMANDING ME TO HATE KEEFE IRWIN SENCEN

(Verse 3)

She wrote a whole rant about everything wrong

With how he would talk and the way that he’d act

this is correct. almost the only part of this song that isn't slanderous lies

The day they met she said she was right all along

Told him off and rolled her eyes when he said he felt “attacked”

how did we meet in the song's lore . . . and okay keefe. feel attacked. see if i care. in fact this should encourage you to consider staying away . . .

(Verse 4)

But Keefe had this thing where he hated himself

He was going through it, that much was for sure

pro keefe propaganda in a strieefe song? fork found in kitchen . . . *stops myself from ranting about how i don't care if keefe is going through it, he still faces no consequ-*

He thought long and hard about Stria’s words well

Decided she was right and he should thank her

are we talking about the same keefe. i think you may be singing about a different keefe than i am

(Chorus)

An unlikely couple

Hatred to friends

i love how the first chorus goes "hatred to love" and then decides to dial it down a notch with "hatred to friends" in the second one

He was nothing to her

CORRECT!!!! RAHHHH!!!!

We’ll see how it ends

this song's ending is slander and lies. don't listen to it

She thought he was toxic

But she’s soon to understand

One must always follow

What their heart commands

KILLING KEEFE MAIMING KEEFE BITING KEEFE EXPLODING KEEFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Verse 5)

Stria couldn’t believe he would own his mistakes

yeah there's no way i'm believing that because it didn't happen

But he swore he got it and promised to change

. . . did he though. did he really . . .

She didn’t believe it and thought it was fake

it probably is. waiting for the other shoe to drop (it will, trust) (don't listen to katie's propaganda, this song is leaving some stuff out)

He took in stride, which Stria thought was strange

he would never . . .

(Verse 6)

Alayda watched from the sidelines and was grinning

yeah, sounds like her

And Katie (that’s me, I’m Katie) took notes furiously

and then warped and skewed the notes beyond repair and put them into rhyming verses and sang it in a song. but i guess that's too long of a line to include

Alayda said, “Katie it looks like we’re winning”

alayda is also a traitor to the sokeefe nation. in case anyone cares

But I ship him with Sophie, so I said “who’s we??”

YOU LITERALLY ADMITTED TO WRITING A STRIEEFE FIC AND YOU WROTE THIS STRIEEFE SONG DON'T PRETEND YOU AREN'T A TRAITOR TO THE SOKEEFE NATION

(Chorus)

An unlikely couple

Hatred to something

"something" is still hatred. hope this helps

He was nothing to her

Now he’s surely more than nothing

actually, he's less than nothing

She thought he was toxic

But soon she’ll understand

One must always follow

What their heart commands

my heart is commanding me to beat katie up with a shoe. and i still think he's toxic

(Verse 7)

Keefe day by day proved he meant what he said

. . . what version of keefe is this song about????

And Stria rethought the whole rant that she’d made

rethinking some parts, but definitely not the entire thing

She said “fine okay, I guess we can be friends”

i hate his sense of humor i would never be able to get along with him

He wanted more than that and asked for a date

can i please leave now

(Verse 8)

She said before they could be something more

She had a condition, he must be okay

i would never consider this. this is stria slander

With sharing her eternally with four times four

Just like the amount of letters in his name

THIS SEEMS LIKE A WELL-INTENTIONED SIXTEEN MENTION BUT IT'S JUST AN EXCUSE TO BRING UP THE FACT THAT SHANNON HATES ME AND WANTS ME DEAD AND MADE KEEFE'S MIDDLE NAME HAVE FIVE LETTERS SO THAT HIS FULL NAME HAS SIXTEEN LETTERS THIS IS KATIE MANIPULATION I'M NOT CRAZY

(Chorus)

And he said yes!

he could never live up the the very high bar that my true love, the number sixteen, has set

An unlikely couple

Hatred to love

THIS VERSION IS BACK

Just him and sixteen

Now that’s more than enough

just sixteen is more than enough. sixteen and keefe is less than enough

She thought he was toxic

Now she understands

One must always follow

What their heart commands

my heart is commanding me to elope with sixteen and leave keefe in the dirt

*ridiculous electric guitar solo by Katie’s brother*

the best part of the song. also you forgot some key lyrics. here, i'll fix it for you

*katie laughing*

okay, that's enough of that

i agree. that's enough of strieefe for a lifetime

As promised, 8-verse song about strieefe!

featuring my brother at the end 😭😭

For those who don’t know the joke, Stria @the-way-astray HAAAATES Keefe Sencen. So naturally it’s a ship! And after this memories post happened, well, I had no choice!

LYRICS UNDER THE CUT

(Verse 1)

There once was a boy from a series for kids

Fan favorite, created as comic relief

But there was a girl who didn’t find him comedic

Her name was Stria, his name was Keefe

(Verse 2)

So let’s just say for this song they’re the same age

And either she’s fictional too or he’s real

And Stria for some reason is her given name

Just wait for what their story will make you feel

(Chorus)

An unlikely couple

Hatred to love

She was nothing to him

Now she’s more than enough

She thought he was toxic

Now she understands

One must always follow

What their heart commands

(Verse 3)

She wrote a whole rant about everything wrong

With how he would talk and the way that he’d act

The day they met she said she was right all along

Told him off and rolled her eyes when he said he felt “attacked”

(Verse 4)

But Keefe had this thing where he hated himself

He was going through it, that much was for sure

He thought long and hard about Stria’s words well

Decided she was right and he should thank her

(Chorus)

An unlikely couple

Hatred to friends

He was nothing to her

We’ll see how it ends

She thought he was toxic

But she’s soon to understand

One must always follow

What their heart commands

(Verse 5)

Stria couldn’t believe he would own his mistakes

But he swore he got it and promised to change

She didn’t believe it and thought it was fake

He took in stride, which Stria thought was strange

(Verse 6)

Alayda watched from the sidelines and was grinning

And Katie (that’s me, I’m Katie) took notes furiously

Alayda said, “Katie it looks like we’re winning”

But I ship him with Sophie, so I said “who’s we??”

(Chorus)

An unlikely couple

Hatred to something

He was nothing to her

Now he’s surely more than nothing

She thought he was toxic

But soon she’ll understand

One must always follow

What their heart commands

(Verse 7)

Keefe day by day proved he meant what he said

And Stria rethought the whole rant that she’d made

She said “fine okay, I guess we can be friends”

He wanted more than that and asked for a date

(Verse 8)

She said before they could be something more

She had a condition, he must be okay

With sharing her eternally with four times four

Just like the amount of letters in his name

(Chorus)

And he said yes!

An unlikely couple

Hatred to love

Just him and sixteen

Now that’s more than enough

She thought he was toxic

Now she understands

One must always follow

What their heart commands

An unlikely couple

Hatred to love

She was nothing to him

Now she’s more than enough

She thought he was toxic

Now she understands

One must always follow

What their heart commands

One must always follow

What their heart commands

*ridiculous electric guitar solo by Katie’s brother*

If you made it this far, congrats! Check out my serious kotlc songs by looking up #kotlc songs or #original music on my blog!! Or not. You could always just judge my musical abilities forever and ever by this recording of me making Stria angry, which, okay, valid.

@the-way-astray @alaydabug2 @thishumanformislimiting @worldsunlikemyown @permanently-stressed @lisalovesapplesauce @jeannefostergoriot

#IN CONCLUSION THIS SONG IS SLANDER THANK YOU FOR LISTENING #keefe would not like me and i don't like him #kotlc keefe #keefe sencen #myfairkatiecat shenanigans

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jmflowers · 2 days ago

Note

I wish you would write a fic where... Carla and Lisa get more than five minutes to themselves in the hospital, uninterrupted! (Bonus points if their conversation brings up Kate.) ✨

She cracks an eye at the sound of the door, expecting a nurse to be popping in for yet another vitals check. It’s that time of the evening: when supper has already come and gone and the hallway is slowly growing quiet as the last of the days’ visitors head on home.

The whole thing is frustrating in its predictability. Makes Carla want to scratch at her skin, a bit; claw her way out of this mundane routine and back to something more resembling normalcy.

Like a glass of wine in the pub, Lisa sat opposite her. Their hands brushing with intention across the tabletop. The twinkle of bright eyes gazing into her own. The flutter of want surging and swirling inside, waiting. Anticipating.

But it’s a swish of familiar blonde hair that comes through the door, followed closely by a soft smile that causes Carla’s stomach to flip with delight. She greets it with a tentative one of her own, pulled from the reverie by the more realistic alternative.

No, there’s not many heated glances in hospital.

“I wasn’t expecting you back today,” Carla breathes, opening the other eye to watch as Lisa shifts ever closer. She settles a hip gently against the edge of the bed, her fingers brushing delicately at the blanket as she leans in.

“I know,” Lisa answers, just as soft. Just as whispered. She shrugs, seemingly unbothered that she’s already been by for their typical morning catch up, and again just after tea. She’s set her hair loose for this visit, though, shed the armour of DS Swain in favour of the Lisa that Carla’s grown to know.

Carla feels that cocoon start to wrap around them – the one that blocks out the rest of the world when it’s just them, just the two of them and the intoxicating this.

“But the kids are all at home, so I figured we could have a minute to ourselves.”

“Ooh,” Carla teases, “How romantic.” She tries to hold the smile, tries not to let her gaze drop to the tubes dangling off her hand. Tries not to feel the bubble of irritation in her gut at the sight of them.

But it settles so heavy – like a sharp tack waiting to pop this and all.

“Could be,” Lisa chuckles, reaching forward as though the touch of her fingers on Carla’s arm might keep her from pulling away. “Could see what happens to that heart rate monitor when I kiss you.” She grins, eyebrows wiggling, all the effort so apparent that Carla kind of wants to scream.

“Give over,” she says instead.

Lisa shakes her head, winding a hand around one of Carla’s and pulling it into her lap. “Can’t hide the way it spikes when I walk in the room, babe.”

Despite herself, Carla laughs, turning to see the tell-tale rise on the monitor screen as Lisa’s thumb swipes across her hand. She can feel the affects in her body: the tumble low in her belly, the tingling of her skin, the squeeze between her legs.

Even while she’s holed up in a hospital bed…

“No bloomin’ privacy in this place,” Carla grumbles half-heartedly, watching as Lisa preens where she sits. Watching as Lisa does that cocky little lift of her chin that always seems to undo any semblance of her own self control. “Don’t,” she scolds.

“Don’t what?” Lisa lets her eyes go wide when she says it, all feigned innocence.

As if she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing.

“Is that what you came here for?” Carla murmurs, tugging their joined hands towards her chest.

The unexpected motion pulls Lisa slightly off her seat and she giggles, startled as she tumbles closer against Carla’s side. She catches herself with a hand on the mattress, careful not to put her weight anywhere that might hurt.

“Just to get me all hot and bothered when I haven’t got the energy?”

Lisa at least has the gall to look embarrassed. Her cheeks flush as she tips forward, pressing a featherlight kiss to the corner of Carla’s mouth. “Of course not,” she promises, “I just missed you, is all.”

Carla lets out a hum that makes it clear she only half believes her. That she isn’t wholly pleased herself to have Lisa in her room without Ryan or Bobby or Betsy hovering in a chair nearby. “I missed you, too,” she whispers.

“Not gonna tell me you’ve not brushed your teeth this time, are you?” Lisa asks, still near enough that her breath ghosts across Carla’s cheek. The sensation leaves shivers in its wake, gooseflesh standing at attention beneath her hospital gown.

And even though she feels unattractive, in this moment – utterly undesirable, with her hair unwashed and all the baggy clothes she’s been hiding in hanging off her skin – she lets Lisa close the gap. Lets her kiss her proper, with all the gentle conviction she’s been swearing with her words and her actions for days now.

I love you. I’m going nowhere. We’re okay.

It feels like coming home.

She’s breathless for a different reason when Lisa finally pulls away. Exhausted, as she has been ever since the start of the year. She growls, letting her eyelids flutter shut as she collapses against the pillows.

“This is supposed to be the fun part,” Carla mumbles, leaning into the caress of Lisa’s fingers on her cheek. It’s soothing, that – makes it harder to open her eyes again. Sleep claws at the edges of her consciousness, coaxing. “One kiss and I’m done for.”

“Yeah, well, you’re meant to be resting,” Lisa cajoles, “Not kissing me.”

The tell-tale press of Lisa’s forehead against her own a moment later lifts the corners of Carla’s mouth. And she knows, even without looking, that the monitor must be giving her away again. That, despite her very real attempts to push Lisa away, this is what she’s been craving.

This comfort. This connection.

This safety and support and love.

“We can have fun when you’re feeling better,” Lisa promises, “I’m going nowhere.”

#writing prompt #fic by me #minefic #swarla fic #janelle's asks #carla x lisa fic #I finally did it!!!!#wasn't gonna let myself off the hook until I hit 1000 words and this did it #sorry they didn't talk... they just kissed about it hahah #thanks friend for the push!!!#tevos #i haven't written in sooooo long and my narrator voice has changed again #hey oh back to drinking tea like my life depends on it so I can write about british soap characters wwooooooo #cups of tea required for this piece: just one (my teeth say thanks)#in the words of my nephew... I DID IT I DID IT I DID IT I DID IT #carla x lisa

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something-tofightfor · 1 day ago

Text

A Wonderful, Awful Idea / 5

Pairing: Pero Tovar x Female Reader (Modern AU)

Word Count: 9,438

Summary: You and Pero have talked things through - and it's time to figure out what comes next for you.

For both of you, though, that means being open, honest ... and asking for exactly what you want.

Rating: M/E : This is a smutty one, friends. It's finally happening.

Author's Note:

The end is here, and I cannot thank you enough for the support and interest you've shown in this story. It definitely grew from what I first envisioned it to be, and I'm really happy with the outcome - I hope you are, too. It's always so intimidating to write for a new character, but to know that one of my favorite Pero writers - I'm looking at you, @oonajaeadira - has enjoyed this take on him means a TON.

The title comes from Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

Thank you for reading!

*dividers by @/strangergraphics

You both sat on the couch while you ate, and Pero filled you in on exactly what had happened with the power at the party.

“Something in the kitchen overloaded the wiring.” He waved his hand in the air, fingers clutching the remnants of a sandwich. “And when they tried to reset that breaker, they tripped the whole building.” He laughed, shaking his head and swearing under his breath. “That’s how it all came back so quickly.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t anything serious.” He nodded as he chewed. “Did they get pissed at you since you weren’t right there to protect Christina?”

“No.” He took another bite. “The assignment was never to be right beside her at all times. William and I were further away than her team, and I just happened to be near you.” You didn’t quite think that was the truth; Pero had to have searched for you in order to be that close, since you’d purposely moved almost all the way across the party space. “And I got to where they were as soon as I could to assess the situation. I did my job.”

“You protected me.” You took a bite of the food he’d gotten you, giving yourself a few seconds to think. “You were there to protect someone else, and you still … You were mad at me, Pero. I didn’t expect …”

“I did. And I would do it again. I told you that.” He sipped from his cup, lips wrapping around the straw. “Even upset, I was still worried about you.” Pero balled up the wrapper from his meal and then leaned back against the couch cushions. “I was actually going to pull you to the side at the party and apologize because I acted like an asshole. But you didn’t give me the chance.” He looked past you and his eyes widened. “It’s almost midnight.”

You looked, too, and with a smile you realized that as soon as the clock struck 12, you could be the first person to wish Pero a Merry Christmas. I wonder if he’s ever had anyone with him for a holiday like this before. “I’m sad we don’t have our hats from the meet and greet.” You looked back at him, grinning. “Santa Pero tucking me into bed on Christmas Eve would be -”

He groaned, covering his face with both hands as you laughed, reaching over to settle your hand between his shoulders. “You would like that, wouldn’t you.”

“I would.” Leaning in, you let your mouth hover just above his ear. “I would like that very much, Pero Tovar.” You weren’t used to having to take such a lead with men, but until Pero truly believed that your interest was genuine - and not short term - you had no issue with being a little more forward than usual to get results. Because I don’t think it’ll be this way forever. He just needs to get comfortable.

“I kept your toothbrush.” He looked over at you, a half smile on his lips. “I hoped you’d get to use it again.” Really? You both sat up and Pero pointed at the hallway. “I’m going to clean up out here, if you need to do anything to get ready for bed.” He stood, reaching out with one hand. “I have one request though.” Arching a brow, you waited for him to continue. “Wait… and let me help you out of those clothes.”

It took a little while for the two of you to do what you needed to do, but the whole time, your heart was racing.

You figured he was nervous, too, but you hoped that it was in a good way, Pero’s desire for you outweighing any lingering apprehension he felt about the situation. By the time you made your way into his bedroom, flipping the light switch on and taking a look around the space, you were determined to do whatever it took to put him at ease. It keeps me from getting into my own head, too.

There were a few photos on the walls - mostly of Pero, Lin and William, but there were a few more, too, that looked like they’d been taken on his phone and printed out. Some of them were scenery, some of them were cityscapes, and you made a mental note to ask him about them - and where they’d been taken. Later. Not tonight.

His room was cozy, and out of the other places in his home that you’d spent time in, it felt the most like him. It wasn’t just because it smelled like Pero - it also seemed to be the most lived in. “I like seeing you in here.” He appeared in the doorway, and then leaned against it. “It’s unexpected, but I like it.”

“Do you?” He nodded, eyeing you up and down. I like being in here. “Your bed looks comfortable.” You pointed, leaning back and against the dresser. “Is it?”

“You’ll find out soon.” Pero stepped forward, his motion smooth and slow, almost graceful. “Before anything happens, I …” He stopped in front of you, lifting one hand to tilt your chin up. “After what I told you earlier, I figured you might have some … concerns.” Oh. The paying for sex. I didn’t … “It’s been months since I’ve done that. I’m careful, and always use protection. And afterward…” He wet his lips. “I get tested regularly, since all of my relationships are short-lived. I haven’t been with anyone since the last time I got results, so …” He reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out, holding it up. “I can show you, but -”

“I trust you.” You put a hand at the center of his chest. “And I know you’re going to say that it’s stupid to trust someone with something like that, but I do.” Because trust is important. He looked confused and then the expression turned to acceptance, Pero’s gaze moving over your face. “Anything else?”

“No.” He paused, and then frowned. “Well, yes.” You smiled at that, giving him a chance to continue. “I might need …” He closed his eyes and groaned. “Just be patient with me, please?”

“Patient?” He nodded slowly. “Of course, Pero.” But what does that even mean? “Do you need anything else, or are we in here for the night?” He thought for a few seconds and then moved his head from side to side, eyes locked with yours.

“I only need you.” Inhaling sharply through your nose at the confession, you didn’t even think about it before you leaned in and kissed him, the tips of your fingers curling inward and against the material of his shirt. His hands settled in at your waist to hold you close, and when Pero returned the kiss, he did it with purpose, his full lips moving with yours like it wasn’t a new thing.

You felt his tongue probing along your lower one and parted them for him, hoping that Pero wouldn’t tease you the same way he had earlier. Seconds later, you got your wish when it slipped past your lips to meet yours, Pero’s fingers digging in and making you sigh. He stopped immediately, breaking the kiss and backing off enough that you saw the wide eyed expression on his face. This must be the patience thing.

“That was a good noise. Please don’t stop.” You moved your hand as you spoke, sliding it over so that you could begin to undo his buttons. “This shirt is a great color for you.” Breaking eye contact, you watched the motion of your fingers and listened to each of Pero’s sharp inhales as you moved downward. “I can’t wait to see it on the floor.”

He snorted at that and you were thankful for it, the sound confirming that he wasn’t getting too lost in his own head about what was happening. “I was thinking the same thing earlier tonight about what you are wearing.” He spoke quietly, pulling the bottom hem of your shirt free from where it was tucked in. “But I was also wondering what you have on beneath it.”

You reached the last button before his waist and then looked back up, biting your lip. “You’re about to find out.” His smile spread slowly, the expression one you weren’t used to seeing him wear. Pero tipped his head to the right and dropped a kiss at the corner of your mouth, hands sliding up and beneath your shirt so that his palms were flush with your skin.

It was your turn to gasp then, the warmth of his hands comforting. He continued to kiss his way across the lower half of your face, lips skating over your cheek and then toward your ear before dropping down to follow the line of your jaw. Your hands stayed busy, moving lower to the button on his pants and popping it free, which gave you a chance to pull his shirt loose, too, and finish undoing it.

He groaned when you touched his abdomen, pushing the sides of the shirt apart, and when Pero backed away, there was a wild look in his eyes.”I like this. The … slowness? You are taking your time, and… it is new.” Glancing over his shoulder so that you could see the clock on his nightstand, your eyebrows shot up. Perfect.

“I’m just enjoying opening my first present.” You wrinkled your nose. “Merry Christmas, by the way. According to your clock, it’s after midnight.” He turned to look, too, and then said your name when he faced you again.

“Sorry that I am not wearing a bow.” He wet his lips, the flash of his tongue distracting you. “To make this more festive.”

“You don’t need one.” Using one finger, you prodded at the chain around his neck. “This is shiny enough.” And. “And I think you should leave it on.” That took him by surprise, but Pero quickly agreed, the arch of one eyebrow telling you that he was intrigued by your request. “Help me out here.” You moved your hands to his shirt again, easing it back and over his shoulders. “Let go of me for a second.”

He did. It only took you moments to remove the silvery fabric, revealing that beneath it, he had on a black v-neck t shirt that was stretched over his chest and shoulders. Holy shit look at him. “What is that look for?”

“I… you…” Gesturing with one hand, you laughed nervously. “You’re still almost fully dressed, and …” You trailed off as he reached down and pulled the shirt up and over his head, giving you your first real glimpse of skin.

“There. Now I have solved your problems.” He grinned, scratching at the back of his neck with one hand.

“No, you’ve given me about a million more.” That made him laugh, and when Pero reached for your hand and squeezed it, leading you the few steps toward his bed, you followed. You eyed him as you walked, mapping the way his muscles looked as they moved beneath his skin and the way his unbuttoned pants sat at his waist, hugging his hips.

“I think,” he started, turning back to look at you and reaching for your shirt, his fingers working the buttons. “That I enjoy you looking at me this way almost as much as I enjoyed the way you spoke to Christina that first night.” He paused, palming the swell of your breast with one hand and then returned to his task. “Would you say the same thing to anyone else that talked about me like she did?”

“Would you want me to?” You were breathless as you spoke, the feeling of his touch and the heat of his gaze making it hard for you to concentrate. “Is that something that I can… oh God, Pero, please just…” You broke off mid-sentence as he finished and began to push your shirt over your shoulders, his hands sliding slowly up your body. “Keep touching me.”

The smile remained on his face as he removed your shirt, the material sliding down your arms and then onto the floor. Instead of putting his hands back on your torso he used them to cradle your face, tilting it so that when he leaned in, your mouth was perfectly lined up with his. “Yes.” He mumbled the words between kisses, one hand siding back to the nape of your neck and the other dropping to your shoulder. “I would want you to.”

You whimpered at that, wrapping your arms around Pero and stepping forward to press yourself against him. The feeling of his bare chest pressed to your body made you almost dizzy, and when your fingers dug into his back for balance, He grunted, pulling on the strap of your bra and dragging it over your shoulder.

As much as you wanted to slow things down and savor the first time you went to bed with Pero, you knew that as soon as he removed your bra, there’d be no going back. And that’s fine. It surprised you when he broke the kiss and spun you around, winding his arms around you from behind and then ducking his head to kiss your shoulder. Wait, what is he…

Pero rocked his hips forward, the hand on your stomach urging you backward while the other one slipped downward, the tips of his fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your pants. Tipping your head back so that you could lean it against his shoulder, you sighed, closing your eyes. He was hard beneath his own pants, the length of him pressed against you, and when you reached for the hand on your belly, guiding it upward, he let you.

He got the hint - Pero using that hand to paw at your chest, the contrast between his skin and your bra moving against your skin almost distracting you from the fact that his other hand kept moving lower and lower, pushing your pants with it. “Pero, I -” That was all you got out before he kissed you again, the angle not the most comfortable but still welcome, as was the way he bit down on your lower lip before sucking it between his. Fuck, I am lucky.

He pushed the lace of your bra - one of the ones you saved for special occasions - to the side and then swirled a thumb over that nipple, the motion making your back arch and pushing you into him again. Pero’s mouth moved from yours back down to your shoulder and stayed there, the scrape of his stubbled chin sharp in contrast to the way he touched you elsewhere. But I don’t want him behind me. “What is wrong?” He spoke quietly, turning his head inward and nuzzling against your jaw. “You are stiff.”

“I want…” You hummed, reaching down to stop the movement of the hand at your waist. “I want to look at you, Pero. I want to see you, not just feel you.” Turning to face him, you nodded at the sight of the confused expression he wore. “We only get this once.”

You hoped he understood what you meant - that after that night, you’d never get the chance to be together for the very first time again. And I want it to feel personal, not like … not like it’s just something that’s happening. “Whatever you want.” He smiled again, hands gliding down to squeeze your hips. “I cannot wait to see all of you.”

Taking that as a sign, you reached up and behind you, unhooking your bra and then shrugging out of it before letting it drop to the ground. He watched that, lips parted, and then looked back at you, his palms following the contours of your body as they rose. Yes. Finally. You arched your back again, encouraging him to keep going, and when Pero’s hands finally made it to your chest and he touched you, you moaned, closing your eyes.

As soon as he heard that, his touch went from light and exploratory to certain, pushing your breasts together as he leaned down and mouthed at your collarbone again. And when he moved lower, you urged him to continue with one hand in his hair, fingers tangled in his locks.

He took one nipple between his lips and sucked on it before releasing it only to follow that with a few quick flicks of his tongue before switching to the other side. You would have been content to stand there for hours, but Pero straightened up, his eyes blazing as he met your gaze again. “I think it’s time we get into that bed.” He cleared his throat, both hands still stroking over your skin. “Do you want me to turn the lights off?”

“No.” You answered immediately, flattening one hand against his chest. “Unless that makes you more comfortable.”

Your answer took him by surprise, but Pero wasted no time walking you backwards the few steps it took you to reach the bed. And when your shins made contact with the frame, he stopped you, both hands moving to the button - and zipper - of your pants, undoing them swiftly. He pushed them down so that you could step out of them, but left your underwear in place.

You were stunned that you didn’t feel self conscious standing in front of him in so little, because it hadn’t been that way with your previous partners. You sat down on the edge of the bed, looking up at Pero and watching as he put a hand on his hip and stared at you. A few seconds later, his smile widened and Pero reached for his waist, finishing with the zipper and easing his pants down.

He was wearing trunks, the waistband low on his hips, and the legs stretched tight around his upper thighs. “Wow, Pero.” You licked your lips, head shaking back and forth as you eyed him, lingering on his torso - and waist. “I had no idea you were hiding that under all those clothes.”

“I could say the same about you.” He reached down, adjusting the elastic over one hip without looking away from you. “Beautiful.” Heat rushed to your cheeks then, and you ducked your head but still heard Pero’s quiet chuckle. “You do not like compliments either, hmm?”

“I’m not used to them coming from you.” Cautiously, you looked back up and put your hands out, waiting for him to take them. “Want to get in here with me?” He nodded, taking a half step forward and standing between your legs. “C’mere, Pero.”

He leaned down, mouth finding yours again, and the series of events that followed happened almost before you could process it.

As you kissed, Pero put one knee on top of the mattress and balanced his weight on it, using the forward motion of his body to urge you onto your back. He let go of your hands, sliding one of his beneath your head while he flattened the other palm on the bed, allowing him to hover over you. You moved your hands over his back, exploring the expanse of muscle as it flexed beneath your touch. I can’t believe this is happening.

When you moved them down to his waist - and then lower, palms curved to follow his contours, Pero growled into your kiss, his hips snapping forward to push his length against the front of your hip. Your fingers curled inward, holding him in place - and Pero took the hint.

He lowered his body more, grinding against you and letting you feel the weight of him. “Pero we need to move up. I…” Sighing as he paused long enough to breathe - and kiss the column of your throat - you shivered the words out. “I want us to be comfortable, and…” He backed off, giving you an opportunity to resituate yourself - and then he was on you again.

He straddled you, legs spread wide so that when he leaned forward, he could continue the same motion as earlier. Your hands returned to the same place they’d been before, too, but instead of just touching him, you pushed your fingers beneath the material and held onto him, guiding his hips with skin-to-skin contact for the first time.

But Pero didn’t kiss your mouth again; instead he worked his way down your throat to your chest, lips trailing along the length of your collarbone before he bit down gently, accompanied by a thrust of his hips. You could feel the cool metal of the chain as it dragged against your skin, your mind trying to focus on that and the feeling of his mouth at the same time - and failing. You were overwhelmed by him, and he’d barely touched you. I haven’t really touched him, either.

He dragged his tongue over your skin and kissed his way down, drawing one nipple back between his lips before releasing it with a pop. “I could do this all night.” He spoke without moving away from you, the breath from each exhale warm as it hit your damp skin. “But I am impatient, and I’m sure you are, too.”

He moved off of you and then laid down beside you, stretching out along the length of your body. When you turned your head to look at him, you weren’t expecting him to kiss you right away, his hand laying lightly against your cheek.

Wiggling your hips, you settled in, heartbeat rapid, even after he backed away. “So I have to be patient, but you get to be impatient? That doesn’t seem fair.” He rolled his eyes, mouth opening to reply - but you didn’t give him the chance to. “Lay back.” He did as you asked, and then you propped yourself up on one elbow, taking him in.

You were impatient too, but the desire to remind him that you were thinking beyond that night was more important. I need to show him that I want him. Sliding your hand over his stomach, you focused on the skin beneath his navel and above his waistband, fingertips circling over the dark trail of hair there before you moved back up, dragging the edges of your nails along his skin. Pero grunted, gritting his teeth - but didn’t look away.

You leaned forward and kissed his chest, closing your eyes as you pressed your lips to his skin. You kept your hand moving, too, covering as much of his body as you could without wavering in your attention. There were parts of him that were more sensitive than others - his body jerked when you reached a spot on his side that was about halfway up his ribcage, and he groaned at the feeling of your tongue dragging slowly over the base of his throat, the breath leaving him in a whoosh when you took the chain between your teeth and tugged.

But when your hand moved back down at the same time you redirected your kisses to the underside of his jaw, Pero stopped you, his fingers closing around yours. “No. Stop.” You raised your head in concern, but he didn’t look angry - just overstimulated. “If you touch me now, I will not make it inside of you.” He swallowed as your eyes widened in surprise. “Next time. I promise you, but … not yet.”

“Ok, Pero.” You took a deep breath. “I understand.” He squeezed your hand and then released it, and you used it to balance yourself as you lowered your head again, mouth returning to its previous path. Pero’s hand moved almost lazily up your side as you left a trail of kisses across his face, though you avoided his mouth. You lingered at the patch in his beard before turning your head inward and nuzzling against his nose before taking another breath and deciding that if you were in - you were all in.

When you pressed your lips to the bottom edge of his scar for the first time, Pero’s hold on you tightened, but you didn’t let that deter you. You followed the length of it with your lips, mindful of the fact that he could tell you to stop at any time, but it wasn’t until you softly kissed his closed eyelid - and felt dampness beneath your lips - that you pulled away. “Pero? Is everything… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have -”

“No.” He moved faster than you thought was possible from his position, rolling the two of you over so that you were on your back and he was above you again. “You are … no one has ever…” He couldn’t get the words out, but you understood what he was trying to say. “You are too good for me.” His voice was unsteady, but he kissed you in the pause before he spoke again, mouth gentle. “I do not deserve someone like you after what I -” He needs to stop this.

“You do, Pero.” Reaching up, you took his face between his hands, forcing him to look at you. “You deserve good things. You deserve to be happy. And all of those people that treated you like shit don’t matter, because the way they were to you says more about them than it does about you. And I know this is entirely too fucking much for the first time with someone, but you need to hear it. If I have to keep reminding you that that’s the truth, I’ll do it every single time we’re together, if that’s what it takes.”

He was stunned - you saw the surprise in his eyes … but to your relief, he didn’t contradict you. “If you say so.” He gave you a small smile. “Did I ruin it?”

“No.” Biting the inside of your lip, you cocked your head to the side. “You can go ahead and find out just how much you didn’t ruin it if you want.” He looked confused, but after a few moments seemed to understand, shifting back into position next to you and then dragging his hand down the length of your body. “You can touch me, Pero. I -”

That was as far as you got before he did as you asked. Pero’s eyes went wide as he felt the dampness of the only piece of clothing you still wore, your back arching as you reacted to his touch. “You are … this is…” He looked down, chest heaving as he watched the movement. “Shit.”

He touched you through the thin material first, two fingers gliding along the outline of you, and when you widened the spread of your legs to give him more room, he took the opportunity to add a third finger and some pressure, his attention still on his hand. But that’s fine, you rationalized as he swirled his fingers in a slow circle. I want him to watch.

You reached down then, lifting your hips again to push the waistband down and over your thighs. Pero helped you out, tugging them further and exposing you to him for he first time. He slid his hand back up the inside of your thigh, and when he finally touched you, you moaned at the feeling, closing your eyes and pressing your head into the pillow. “Pero.”

You didn’t recognize the sound of your own voice, but it did something to Pero, who dropped his head, lips latching onto your shoulder while his fingers kept moving. He parted you with two of them, using a third to circle slowly over and over in the space between. It felt incredible, Pero’s touch not at all what you’d expected, and when he widened the circle and extended his fingers down, you curled your toes and opened your eyes - one hand fisting the blankets beside you and the other clamping down against his bare back.

He slid one finger into you and you rocked your hips forward, Pero replacing lips with teeth as you tilted your chin down, burying your nose in his hair. One finger became two, Pero thrusting them in and out of you slowly. He was slow and methodical, entirely focused on what he was doing - and you couldn’t get enough.

Widening the spread of your legs even more, you rolled your hips to meet each thrust, mouth open as you took and released quick, shallow breaths. You didn’t even register that he’d released your skin from between his teeth until Pero’s head rose and he spoke your name. “I think you’re ready for me. I hope you’re ready for me, because -”

“Yes. I - ohhh.” He kept his eyes on you as his hand continued to move, and even though it was difficult, you didn’t close yours. You caught the smile he gave you as he watched your reaction, Pero’s lips quirking upward and his eyes darkening. “Need you, Pero.” Reaching down, you touched his wrist, pushing on it gently. “Please.”

He removed his fingers slowly, and you hummed as they slipped free. “Give me a second.” He brought his hand up, eyeing how slick they were - and then before you had a chance to say anything, he popped them into his mouth, eyes closing at the taste of you. You gasped, but it didn’t cover up the sound of his deep, satisfied groan. Holy fuck, I wasn’t expecting that, I didn’t…

He rolled away from you, fingers still in his mouth, and then you heard the bedside table drawer open. It’s happening. But Pero stood up suddenly, climbing out of the bed and then tossing a condom toward you. “What are -”

“What do you want?” He glanced down as he spoke, hands at his hips and beginning to push his underwear down. “No, that is the wrong question.” He looked back up, the smile back on his face, though that time, it was more of a smirk. “How do you want this?”

“I…” You were torn between looking him in the eye and wanting to watch the final bits of his skin come into view. “Pero, I…” He laughed, the sound low, and then stepped out of his underwear, briefly bending over before he straightened up, giving you an unobstructed view at his entire body. Wow. Ok. You wanted to touch him - wanted to know what he felt like in your hand and sliding between your fingers. You wanted to taste him, too, the thought of weight of him against your tongue and the heat of him as he came consuming you. But that’s not happening tonight.

Pero reached down with the same hand he’d touched you with to wrap his fingers around his length, which distracted you again. Damn him. “Well?” He stroked himself lazily, and you filed the motion away for later, paying attention to the way he held himself and where he squeezed just a little extra. His hands are so goddamn big. “I need to know how -”

“Whatever you’re used to?” You rested one hand on your abdomen, turning your cheek toward the pillow without breaking eye contact. “I want the opposite.” It was yet another risk to ask Pero to consciously choose a different position and approach to sex than he usually did, but you hoped that he understood why you were asking for it - and what you hoped it would signal. “Is that alright?”

He was surprised by your request, but it didn’t keep him immobile for long, Pero putting one knee on the mattress and climbing back into bed. He reached for the foil square with his free hand and only let go of himself when he moved to open it. “It’s more than alright.” He looked down, and then resituated his hand at his base as he rolled the condom on, nodding his head. “It is a good reminder.”

He crawled toward you then and leaned over, using the knuckles on one hand to stroke your cheek. “A reminder?”

“Yes.” Pero stretched out beside you, rolling onto his side and facing you. “That this is not that.” He understands. Pero closed the distance between you, his hand on your side. When he kissed you, it wasn’t quite timid but there was a slight hesitation before he fully committed to it, his full lips slotted with yours before he parted them, urging you to do the same. It’s going to be OK, Pero.

As the kiss deepened, he used the hand on your side to guide your leg into place, positioning it so that your thigh rested atop his hip. You could feel him that way - pressing against you, each shallow flex of his hips increasing the contact.

“Are you sure?” He spoke between kisses, his damp forehead pressed to yours. “That you want this? With me?”

“I am.” You nodded, moving your hand from the back of his head to his shoulder. “Are you?” He didn’t speak, but Pero reached between your bodies, his fingers brushing against your center again as he lined himself up. You kept eye contact with him as he inched forward, and were unable to look away, even as he used a slow thrust to push inside of you. Finally.

You nodded after a few seconds and then Pero rocked forward again, moving his hand to the back of your thigh to pull you closer. “I need a minute.” His voice was strained, and you could see that he was gritting his teeth. “If I move, I -” You kissed him then, interrupting his words and trying to keep your own hips from moving. It’s alright.

He didn’t need to explain to you, because you understood. You were already tightly wound from the way he’d touched you, and thanks to the way he was holding you open, you knew that once he found a rhythm, you’d be able to come from the friction of your body against his alone. And if I finish quick, he will, too.

Pero licked into your mouth, tongue dragging over the edges of your teeth, and when he moved his hips, you did, too, meeting his motion. As he picked up speed, the kiss turned sloppier and his grip on your thigh tightened. You threaded your fingers through his hair, gripping it and tugging, mouth hanging open as you lost yourself in him.

You stopped trying to kiss him back and instead turned your head so that you could pant into his ear, Pero’s cheek pressed against the pillow and each of his exhales hitting your throat. He kept hold of your thigh and lengthened his strokes, slowing down. What is he…

When he rolled forward, pushing you onto your back, you went willingly, Pero angling his hips so that he could keep moving. But when he pulled all the way out of you you cried out, fingers tightening in his hair and against his shoulder. “Why did you stop?” You gasped the words out, eyes wide open as you stared up at him. “Pero, why did -”

“I did not stop.” He murmured the words, leaning down to kiss you again as he ran the hand on your thigh along your skin. “I paused so I could make us more comfortable.” After sitting up, he reached down with both hands and widened the spread of your legs so that he could kneel between them. You didn’t miss it when his gaze moved over the length of your body, or the way his jaw twitched at the sight of you, Pero’s fingers curling against your thighs.

“You’re a fucking tease, Pero Tovar.” You covered your face with both hands. “And you know it.” He laughed, the sound low, and then you felt the mattress dip as he shifted, one of his hands releasing your leg. I want to see this.

Propping yourself up on both elbows, you looked down and watched as he concentrated, eyes moving between himself and you as he re-aligned. Pero’s shoulders rose and fell as he took and released a deep breath… and then he was sliding into you again, the sight of his length disappearing into your body making your eyes close as you collapsed back onto the bed.

He started with deep, slow thrusts as he leaned forward, hands moving to the blankets on either side of your body. By the time he’d stretched out enough that he could bend his elbows and rest his weight on them, those movements had quickened. He went deeper from that angle, each forward flex of his hips accompanied by a quiet grunt and met with a reflex thrust of your own.

You flattened one foot on the bed and bent your knee, angling that leg outward while wrapping the other one around his hip again, your heel digging into the back of his calf and urging him even closer - which was next to impossible. As you closed your eyes, you raised both hands and dug your nails into his shoulders, not even trying to conceal the noises you made - and to your delight, Pero didn’t, either.

You’d remember them forever - the way he grunted and groaned, a quiet snarl escaping his lips when you lifted your hips and met a particularly sudden thrust of his, which was followed by an equally devastating one, his head dropping so that the tip of his nose met the front of your shoulder. He kept it there for the next few minutes, his bedroom filled with the sounds both of you made, but when he spoke your name, pulling it from deep within himself, you forced your eyes open, watching as he raised his head and looked down at you.

Pero didn’t falter in his movement, and you bit your lip at the way he gritted his teeth, nose wrinkling before he was able to speak again. “You feel incredible.” He swallowed, nodding as he continued. “Fucking perfect.” It was enough to make you shiver, and you knew he caught the motion when he actually smiled, Pero leaning down to kiss you on the mouth. “Will you come this way? Is -”

“Mmhmm.” You closed your eyes and gasped, back arching off of the bed when he swiveled his hips, the length of him buried inside you. “Oh, fuck, Pero.” He switched to shallow thrusts, giving you a chance to collect yourself. “Can you?”

“Of course.” He licked his lips, nodding. “I am holding back, I -”

“Don’t.” Don’t you dare. “I don’t want you to.” Moving one hand from his back to between your bodies, you nodded again, flexing your calf muscles. “Come, Pero. Let me feel you.” You dragged your hand over your skin and moved your fingers into place, making sure to graze his skin with the edges of your nails. He looked confused for a second, but when you went lower, spreading your fingers wide enough so that you could feel where he entered you, the look in his eyes changed to one of understanding. “Fuck me like you’ve waited three years to do it, Pero.”

He sped up again, maintaining eye contact for a few seconds before he slammed them shut and tilted his head back. You closed yours, too, sighing. It felt good, the length of him sliding between your fingers before you moved your hand into place, two fingers pressed against your skin and gliding in a slow circle. But before you could find your own rhythm, Pero slowed down again, a growl tearing from his throat.

“No. Not like this. Not with you.” You opened your eyes, the motion of your hand stuttering - and it stopped when you saw the way he was looking at you. He’s never looked at … oh, shit. Pero’s brow was furrowed, his lips parted, and he was staring at you like you were the only thing he ever wanted to look at again. “Let me watch you.”

He sunk into you all the way and then paused, rotating his hips in a slow circle. It trapped your hand between the two of you, and Pero’s eyes were molten when he spoke again, voice low and full of need.

“Let me feel you.”

He drew his hips back, giving your hand the space it needed to begin moving again. You were hesitant. But when he nodded, arching a brow, you let out a long breath and did just that.

Starting slow, you circled your fingers, dragging them through your slick and spreading it over your skin. You hummed at your own touch, letting your mind wander to Pero’s fingers earlier, and when he started to move again, gradually increasing his pace to match the motion of your hand, you squeezed your eyes shut and let out a shaky breath. “Pero, it won’t…” You hummed, adding pressure and a little speed. “It’s going to be quick, and -”

“Good.” He leaned down, mouth finding yours briefly. “We have waited too long.”

You agreed, and that was all you needed to speed up more, touching yourself the way you usually did. Eyes opening again, you found that Pero was still watching you, though his were heavy lidded - evidence of his body’s response to yours.

As the moments passed, you felt your own body’s response - a heat in your belly, the quickening of your heartbeat, muscles tensing as you got closer and closer to a moment that hours earlier, you hadn’t imagined was possible. “Pero, I -”

He smiled at you, nodding, and when you let go of him to drop your hand to the mattress, he grabbed for it without missing a beat, linking your fingers together and bringing both of them up next to your head. His grip tightened with your gasp, Pero’s hips flexing forward at the same time you thrust yours upward, increasing the friction.

It was enough.

You came with a gasp, fingers stuttering as your muscles clenched around him, Pero’s motion continuing as your toes curled and you squeezed his hand. He mumbled two words - that’s it - and you watched as his smile grew, your own mouth hanging open as you pressed your head into the pillow. Oh my god.

You cried out as a wave of pleasure coursed through you, the feel of him moving within you prolonging the moment - and then Pero was coming, too, one last sharp thrust burying him as deep as possible as he finished. You felt him as he filled the condom, Pero’s release coming in spurts as your body pulled him in deeper and sent a second wave through you, making you shudder beneath him. Oh, fuck. Oh fuck, I…

Your hand fell away from your body and Pero’s head dropped again, his breath ragged as he rested his forehead against your shoulder and more of his weight on you.

Neither of you said anything for almost a minute, and to your surprise, it was Pero who opened his mouth first, head turning inward so that when he spoke, it was against the side of your neck. “I do not want to move.” He sighed and then kissed your skin, lips pressed to your pulse point. “Are you alright? You -”

“Pero.” Unlinking your fingers, you reached up and dragged them through his hair, pulling the sweat-damp strands away from his face. “I’m more than alright.” He lifted his head to look at you, eyes wide. “And I don’t want to move either, but if we don’t, I’ll fall asleep right here, and that would be messy.”

His lips twitched into a half smile and before you could say anything, he was kissing you, tongue dipping past your lips and into your mouth. I’ll never say no to this. He kissed you deeply, only breaking it when he needed to breathe… but the smile was still there and his eyes were bright - Pero obviously sated but still alert. “You’re right.” Without saying anything else, he reached down between you and then pulled out, rolling away and laying on his back beside you.

You missed him immediately, and weren’t able to conceal your gasp at the way it felt to realize that, head turning to the side so that you could look at him. “Pero, I -”

“No.” Turning his head, he winked at you. “Not yet. We will talk when we are done.”

Ten minutes later, you stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in one of his robes only to find the bedroom empty.

Your pulse had settled and you felt calmer, though you were still reeling from what had happened between you. You hadn’t stopped smiling while you were in the bathroom - even as you washed your face and brushed your teeth again, the expression had stayed put. And it’ll be there for a long time, too. Because … that was everything I wanted.

“Are you going to sleep in that?” He spoke from behind you, and when you turned toward the sound, you saw that he was holding two bottles of water, his shoulder pressed against the doorframe. “Because if you are, you are overdressed.”

He’d only put on his underwear, and you didn’t even try to keep from staring at him greedily, taking in the sight of his almost naked body. “I didn’t plan on it.” You untied the belt and let it drop to the floor, the sides of the robe splitting apart to expose a strip of skin at the center of your body. “If that’s alright.”

“It is preferred.” He moved closer, holding one of the bottles out to you. “I usually wear nothing to bed.” That was a piece of information you filed away, too, and after draining almost half of the bottle, you shrugged the robe down and over your shoulders before tossing it to the side and getting back into bed - though you climbed under the covers that time.

He flipped the light switch off and then drank deeply from the bottle before setting it down and taking off his underwear. Even in the low light coming in through the slats in the window blinds, you could see him clearly, watching his outline before he climbed into bed and moved as close to you as he could get. “What were you going to say earlier?” He flattened his hand atop the pillow as he spoke, though he didn’t touch you.

“I was going to say,” you started as you stroked the length of his bare arm, knuckles dragging along his skin. “That when you just … rolled away? It was … I missed …” Just say it. “It’s so stupid, Pero, but you were there and then you weren’t, and I realized that -”

“It is not stupid.” He moved his hand enough so that he could touch your face, his thumb sliding over your cheek. “I was … abrupt. I will work on that.” He inched closer, his cheek scraping across the pillow. “With you, hopefully.” He blinked slowly, and you felt as he held his breath, waiting for your response. Oh, Pero.

“We might need a lot of practice.” Biting your lip, you also moved your head closer, though you didn’t break eye contact. “But I’m up for it.” A smile spread slowly across his face, Pero’s eyes widening slightly before he closed them, mouth finding yours in a brief - but tender - kiss.

“Practice is the only way to improve.” Moving his hand from your face to your side, Pero curled his fingers over your hip. “I hope that tonight was what you wanted it to be.” Is he seriously questioning this?

“It started out kind of rocky, but yeah, Pero. It was.” You paused, thinking. “It is.” It made your head spin to think about everything that had happened throughout the previous evening - and the weeks leading up to it. But it’s worth it. He’s worth it. “How do you feel about this?”

“About this or about you?” He narrowed his eyes, but then grinned. “Because the answer is the same for both: I feel good. This is what I want.” He kissed you again, nodding. “You are what I want.”

His direct response caught you off guard. But as the kiss continued, his arm winding around you and pulling your body flush against his as you flattened your hand against his back, you understood that it shouldn’t have. If there was anything that you knew to be true about Pero, it was that when he spoke, the words had meaning. It takes him a lot to get there, though.

The kiss ended and as Pero settled back in against the pillow, he yawned, you not far behind. “It is late.” He sighed, moving his leg so that he could hook it over your calf. “We should sleep.” You agreed - you were exhausted, and the warmth and comfort of being in bed next to him was making you drowsy.

Instead of replying, you tucked your chin and rested your forehead against his collarbone, closing your eyes. I could get used to this. He kissed the top of your head and you felt when he relaxed, the weight of his arm heavy where it laid against your body. I might already be used to this.

You began to doze off, but were interrupted by the quiet utterance of your name, Pero’s fingers dancing over your lower back. “Thank you. Thank you for not giving up on me tonight and making me listen to you.”

“It wasn’t just me.” You didn’t move your head, speaking the words with your lips just above his skin. “Christina was -”

“She put us in there, but it was all you. You said what I needed to hear, and I know you would not have made so much of an effort if you did not mean it.” He kissed you again, that one lingering. “Please don’t stop doing that.”

You assured him that you wouldn’t, but the steady beat of his heart was lulling you to sleep, and you didn’t even try to open your eyes. We’ll talk more later.

The following afternoon, you pulled up in front of William and Lin’s, Pero’s fingers tightly laced with yours on the center console.

He’d woken up before you - and woken you up with his hands and mouth, Pero trailing touches and kisses over every part of your body that he could reach without disturbing you. From there, you’d had each other again - once in the bed and then again after breakfast, Pero pulling pleasure from you with his fingers in the kitchen before leading you into back into his bedroom.

You’d showered at his place and changed back into your clothes, which made the stop at your house short, leaving you plenty of time to get to your destination. You hadn’t talked much about what came next, or how you’d present yourselves to your friends. But the fact that they know I left with Pero and didn’t come to get my car was probably telling.

“Pero, we need to talk about something before we go in.” Shifting in your seat, you squeezed his hand. “What will we tell them? They’re not stupid, but -”

“They are not.” He cocked his head to the side, gesturing at the house with his free hand. “But is it their business? We don’t… we don’t even know what this is, do we?”

“I know what I’d like it to be.” Pressing your lips together, you took a deep breath. “And what I think it could be, but … it’s only been one night, so maybe you’re right. Maybe we should just say that it’s not something we’re ready to talk about.”

“Then we are on the same page.” He leaned closer, lips curving upward as he smiled. “Maybe we should just wait and see if they ask, and then we decide how to respond.” The same page? Really? It shouldn’t have surprised you, especially with the way Pero had responded to your touch that morning and the previous night. It was obvious there was more to things than just physical attraction, that it hadn’t waned between you after the first time you’d been together.

You wanted to kiss him in reply, but instead just nodded, giving him a return smile before pulling your hand free. “Want help carrying stuff in? I know you only have a couple presents, but I might as well make myself useful.” He laughed, nodding, and moments later, you were walking side by side up the driveway and toward the door. As the two of you paused on the front step, Pero reached for the doorbell while you froze, eyes on the space just above his head. Shit. Damn you, Lin.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He frowned, and then tilted his head back, looking up, too. “Oh. Is that … what I think it is?”

“Yes.” You chuckled, looking down and closing your eyes. “That definitely wasn’t there yesterday. I can’t believe she’d put mistletoe up after the diner. It -”

“She is clever.” Pero took a step forward, reaching out to touch your chin. “I should have known.” His gaze dropped to your lips, Pero’s expression thoughtful. “It is tradition.” Heart pounding, you parted your lips and closed the distance between you, your fingers tight around the handle of the gift bag you carried. It is. “And I did say it was not the mistletoe I was saying no to, just the timing.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Pero.” He laughed quietly but did as you asked, his lips warm against yours. You leaned into him, one hand flat against his chest, and your own heart beating wildly behind your ribcage. You meant to pull away quickly, but he didn’t let you - instead moving the hand at your jaw to the back of your neck, holding you in place while he continued to kiss you. He nipped at your lower lip, the bite of his teeth making you gasp.

But Pero only laughed quietly and did it again before he deepened the kiss, his tongue pressing forward to meet yours and giving you a taste of the mouthwash he’d used at your place.

“Well that worked out better than I thought it would.” With a jolt, you broke the kiss and whipped your head to the side, finding Lin and William standing in the open doorway, her phone held in her hands. Oh no. “Now I don’t have to ask how last night went.”

She lowered the device and your attention moved to William, the man’s attempt to hold a laugh back not at all successful. “No, you don’t.” Pero cleared his throat and stepped closer to you, his arm winding around your waist. “And now we don’t have to figure out a way to tell you, either.”

William laughed and Lin’s eyes widened as they stepped to the side to let you in. Say something. This isn’t what we just talked about. “Pero, I -”

He stopped you with a kiss to the temple as you crossed the threshold, his arm tightening. “This makes things much easier, I think.”

He wasn’t wrong. William and Lin had seen - firsthand - what they needed to see in order to answer questions about what had happened between you the night before, and about whether or not things were resolved in regard to the contract. They’d still probably ask questions, which was fine. But maybe now they’ll do it in private. You knew you’d say much more just to Lin, and figured that Pero would be the same with William.

After taking your coats and boots off, the four of you headed into the living room. You and Pero put your gifts beneath the tree with the others and then moved to sit on the couch while William and Lin chose an oversized chair, the woman curling up on his lap.

Pero lowered himself onto the cushions first, and then, to your surprise, reached up to take your hand, fingers closing around yours before he pulled down on it. Oh. Is he… “Come here.” You sat next to him, leaving very little space between you. He released your hand as you got comfortable, draping his arm across your shoulders and urging you to lean against him. He is. He really…

You couldn’t help yourself, closing your eyes as you leaned in further to kiss Pero’s stubbled cheek before whispering the words “I like this” into his ear. He hummed, fingers tightening on your shoulder. There was no containing your smile as you straightened up, moving your hand over to rest it on his thigh. I really like this.

“So.” Lin cleared her throat and then spoke, her eyes bright as she looked between you. “Are we opening presents now, or after we eat?”

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