#there is another ash set i plan on doing

[sparklingblu]

Eroverse

Pt.6 - Resistance

ft. Karina

Family reunions can be awkward.

But none can rival this one.

Eros looks like he's going to throw up any moment - his face white as a sheet of paper. His eyes dart from Karina's face to yours. Then to the scattered naked bodies of the hunters and back to Karina's face.

“Answer me. What is this madness?”

Karina asks, the anger evident in her voice - brewing and crackling like a storm right there in the room. Her normally perfect features are twisted to a scowl that could melt any mortal into a puddle. If looks could kill, Eros would’ve been a goner five times over.

But you are now experienced enough to realize that the idol before you is indeed not an idol at all. You are not a mythology nerd but you have a vague picture of what Karina actually is.

The tingly feeling on your skin: check.

Looking like an idol: check.

Anger issues: check.

Yes. Definitely a goddess (both literally and metaphorically in this case).

“Uh….”

Eros, the literal god of love, who can make an army swoon with a wink, looks like a kid caught stealing candy. His face is pale, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. For a second, you wonder if you should step in and help, but then you remember: this is Eros’s mess. You have just narrowly escaped being slaughtered by a goddess. You are not gonna try to relive the experience.

“Mom…I…” he finally croaks, his voice cracking like a teenage boy’s.

Karina’s expression darkens. “Don’t you ‘Mom’ me, Eros,” she snaps. “Do you have any idea what you have done?”

Eros glances at you and Kazuha for backup. You give him a look that says Oh, no way, buddy. You are on your own. Kazuha seems to share your opinion but her eyes betray no emotion. You doubt even Eors’ most loyal angel is enthusiastic about dealing with an angry goddess. Especially not after what she has just gone through. Eros’s shoulders slump, realizing there’s no easy way out of this. He shuffles his feet, suddenly very interested in the floor.

“Look, it’s not that bad-” he starts.

Karina’s laugh cuts him off, sharp and humourless. “Not that bad? NOT THAT BAD? You don’t know what you are doing, Eros. You are tampering with powers you don’t understand. Stealing the helm of darkness? Doing…,” she eyes the naked spent body of Artemis aka Chaewon with disgust. “this to a daughter of Zeus? You are lucky you are not already in Tartarus”

“Mom, you don’t understand. I-”

But once again, Karina doesn’t give him a chance to speak. “And that mortal,” her gaze falls on you and you are suddenly made aware that being butt naked isn’t the best attire for a meeting with an angry goddess. In her elegant white dress, Karina may be otherworldly beautiful but the fury in her eyes is absolutely terrifying, like she can burn you to ash right on the spot. And there’s no promise that wouldn’t be the case. “has the mark of Asmodeus. The mark, Eros. Do you understand how dangerous it is? Or do you think this is another of your funny little party tricks?”

“Hey!” you protest. “I’m literally right here”

Karina shot you a look so sharp you instantly regret speaking. “Quiet, mortal. We will deal with you later”

You swallow hard and try to disappear into a wall. No such luck.

Eros raises his hands in surrender, backing up like a guy caught sneaking past curfew. “Okay, okay, I messed up! I get it, alright? But I have a plan”

Karina looks like she’s going to blow up, any moment. Her eyes, full of fury before, now seem to hold flames within. If it’s Eros’s nonchalance that sets her off or something else, you can’t be sure.

Perhaps sensing that things are going to get out of hand, Kazuha finally breaks her silence. “Your grace, ma’am Aphrodite, if I may-”

“Hold your tongue too, angel!” Karina snaps back and Kazuha gaze falls to the floor, silenced.

Lucky for you, though, because you no longer need to ask Kazuha which goddess it is again (that is, if she’s even in the mood to answer). Aphrodite, of course. It’s an easy guess,really. Who else is there aside from the goddess of beauty to take on the form of one of the top visuals of 4th gen? Even you, whose knowledge on mythology is pitiful, know that much.

Karina - no, Aphrodite - continues. “A plan?” She takes a slow, measured step towards Eros. The whole room suddenly feels hotter and you swear you are not imagining the goosebumps on your skin. She’s mad mad. “You mean the kind of plan that could unravel the balance of the cosmos, Eros? That kind of plan?”

Eros holds her gaze for a moment, then shrugs, forcing his usual smirk back onto his face. “When you put it like that, it sounds really bad ”

Karina doesn’t blink. “Because it’s really bad”

You stand off to the side, feeling like an unwanted extra in a godly family drama. It’s not everyday you see a goddess scolding her son like he’d forgotten to take out the trash - except, in this case, the trash might be something on a cosmic scale.

“So, give me a good reason Eros,” Aphrodite stops, exhaling sharply through her nose. “Or I will hand you to Zeus with my own hands”

For the first time since this whole thing started, Ero’s jolly persona is nowhere to be found. He seems to be contemplating, brows furrowed and lips stretched tight. The god of love has never looked this serious.

Finally, Eros lifts his eyes back upon Karina’s face. “Because we deserve better’” he says, and his voice, though quiet, is steady. “You deserve better”

Aphrodite’s expression froze, like she has not been expecting that.

Eros takes a step closer, his tone shifting - softer now, almost coaxing. You wonder if the ability comes with being a love god. “You were the first, mom. The first Olympian. The oldest. You were there before any of those old nutjobs were born”

The sky crackles with thunder at that, as if Zeus himself has heard Eros. And you are suddenly aware that the scenery beyond the glass has shifted - now displaying ancient Greek in its full glory, with its marble temples and bronze sculptures. The place looks eerily beautiful, deprived of people.

But Eros doesn’t seem to give two fucks about what the king of gods think, because he continues. “And yet, look where you stand now - beneath him. Beneath all of them,” his voice drips with venom. “Is that fair?”

Aphrodite is silent for a moment, then she lets out a weak chuckle. “This is crazy. You are crazy”

Nonetheless, Eros presses on. “What I’m doing….what I’ve set in motion…it’s not just for me. It’s for you. For us”

So that’s it, you think. Everything you have done so far, every near death experience you have survived; it’s all just for Eros to gain his mom’s approval. A desperate attempt of a wayward son for recognition. And you have gladly gone along with it.

You feel really stupid. But it’s too late to back out now. Because the power…..it’s addicting.

Aphrodite doesn’t speak. But she’s no longer furious, now. She’s interested. She’s listening.

Eros tilts his head towards you. “And he is the key”

You have a sudden horrible feeling that you are standing on the edge of something massive, something you weren't supposed to understand.

If Eros plans to dethrone the gods with your abilities, you doubt the outcome would be pretty. Sure, you can make goddesses and angels become your cocksleeves with your magical dick, but even that isn’t without a fight. You will literally have no chance against all the Olympians. And the mere thought of using your powers on any male god makes you shudder. Even your perverted mind has its limits.

Karina studies you as if she has read your thoughts, before turning back to Eros. “You are not the first to try” she begins slowly. “And you won’t be the first to fail. Lust can be a powerful weapon if you wield it correctly, but this? This is madness”

Eros doesn’t respond. For once, he doesn’t have a clever remark or a lazy smirk.

Aphrodite lets out a sigh. “Clean up this mess,” she gestures to the naked, spent bodies of the hunters and Artemis. “If anyone asks, I’ve never been here, got it? I’ll be watching, Eros”

And with a swish of her dress, she heads to the doorway she has come from. In an instant, the room erupts in a blinding light once more. Unfortunately, you make the mistake of staring too long and the luminous rays scorch your eyes before you shut them tight.

It takes a while for you to blink out the white spots dancing across your vision. But when you finally regain perfect sight, Aphrodite is gone.

Everything is still for a moment, before it’s broken by Eros’s voice.

“Well,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “That could’ve gone worse”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Because now, the exhaustion is hitting you all at once. The battle in Artemis’s verse, the fatigue that follows the mark’s activation, the sheer weight of what you’ve been thrown into - it crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your body feels like lead, every muscle burning, every bone aching.

The world tilts.

You sway on your feet, gripping your side as your vision blurs. Someone - Kazuha? - says your name, but it’s distant, muffled, like a sound travelling through water. Your knees buckle, and the last thing you hear before the darkness takes you is Eros’s voice, sounding oddly far away.

“Guess we push him a little too hard”

And then – nothing.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

After seeing skeletons and three headed beasts in your dreams for weeks in a row, you already know what to expect when you are beyond your consciousness. Or maybe, something far worse.

But this time, it’s different.

The material beneath you is soft, a stark contrast to the cold, hard ground you remember collapsing on. Blinking against the golden light filtering from above, you push yourself up slowly, your muscles still aching from…everything.

The room around you is massive, circular, its marble walls pristine and smooth, interrupted only by tall pillars that stretch towards a domed ceiling. It reminds you of Persephone’s chamber in the underworld, the only difference being its cold, dreadful atmosphere replaced by a cheerful one.

The air smells of salt and roses, an odd combination that somehow makes sense. Sunlight streams in through openings between the pillars, casting shifting patterns across the polished floor.

You look at yourself. Your body is still bare, but it’s not misty and see through like back in your visit to the underworld. So, you are not dead yet. That’s a relief.

But you have learnt that if something looks remotely safe or welcoming in this world, it mostly isn’t. So you try to be cautious. As cautious as someone who’s butt naked and defenseless can be.

You are starting to contemplate whether you should just go back to sleep when you see her.

Karina, leaning against one of the pillars, dresses in a different outfit now - a white tank top, perfectly fitted jeans, and sneakers that look too clean to have ever touched mortal ground. It’s nothing godly but her beauty never fails to shine through, betraying her divinity.

“You’re awake,” she notes, her voice smooth, unimpressed.

You sit up stiffly, wincing at the stiffness in your limbs. “Am I dreaming?”

“Sorta” She tilts her head slightly, regarding you like an interesting specimen. “I borrow your soul for a while”

You don’t really understand what she means but decide not to raise questions. Not out of fear but rather, the curiosity of why she has brought her here in the first place.

“I have come to offer you a gift,” Karina says, answering your thoughts.

You blink, unsure you have heard her right. “A gift?”

She hums in confirmation, but doesn’t elaborate.

You hesitate, sensing a trap somewhere in her offer. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer straight away. Instead, she studies you, her gaze sharp and knowing. And then, with the faintest of smirks, she says, “Because I feel like it”

No way you are buying that.

Your mind races back to her confrontation with Eros, how she has despised his plan to dethrone the gods. “I thought you don’t agree with Eros’s plan” you say, watching her carefully.

Her smile doesn’t falter, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She shrugs. “I didn’t say that”

That throws you off. “So you agree?”

Another shrug. “I didn’t say that either”

You stare at her, frustration creeping in. “That’s not an answer”

Aphrodite sighs, folding her arms. “No, it’s not”

She steps closer, stopping just at the edge of the bed. From this distance, you can see the way the lights catch in her dark eyes, how they shimmer like a vortex of jewels. She looks casual, relaxed even, but you can sense it’s all a mask to hide something deeper.

“You think the power you have now is impressive?” she asks. “That little trick you pulled on Artemis? That’s nothing”

You frown. “Nothing?”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “A fraction. A sliver. The barest hint of what you are capable of” Her assessing gaze hovers over you, like she’s imagining what you have become. “Right now, you are a candle in the dark. But given time….you could be a wildfire”

More power. That’s exactly what you are afraid of. If you have already developed the thirst for the mark, you wonder what will become of you if its power grows. Will you even be human?

You swallow hard. “And, you’re just telling me this out of the kindness of your heart, aren’t you?”

She smirks. “Oh, sweetheart. I don’t do anything out of kindness”

You don’t doubt that.

She steps back slightly, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “This gift I have planned to give you. It’s a taste of what to come”

You tense. “What kind of gift?”

She smiles, slow and deliberate. “A new ability. One you will unlock eventually. But I’m feeling generous today”

You don’t know if ‘generous’ is the right word. Whatever she’s offering, it’s not just for you. There’s something in it for her, too. There always is.

“What ability?” you ask carefully.

Karina’s smile deepens. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

And before you can react, she reaches out, pressing two fingers against your forehead.

The world tilts-

And everything explodes.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

When everything stops spinning, the marble room is gone.

You blink. The soft glow of divine architecture is replaced by dim fluorescents of a….classroom. You find yourself seated in a chair of a location too familiar.

It’s the kind of room you have seen a thousand times before - rows of wooden desks, a blackboard at the front, a few motivational posters peeling off the walls. The faint scent of chalk and old textbook lingers in the air. Outside the window, the world is…nothing. Just an endless, swirling void.

You barely have time to process the shift before you hear the click of heels against the floor.

When you turn, your brain nearly short-circuits.

Karina is leaning against the teacher’s desk, arms folded, one leg crossed over the others. Only now, she’s not in her usual jeans and tank top. Instead, she’s dressed like every high school fantasy rolled into one - a tight white blouse, unbuttoned just enough to reveal her ample cleavage, a red plaid skirt that barely reaches mid-thigh, thigh-high stockings, and glossy black heels. She’s twirling a piece of hair around one finger, watching you with amusement.

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

She smirks. “Welcome to my verse”

Your brain is still buffering. “Your verse is a classroom?”

“For you,” she says, hopping up onto the desk and crossing her legs. “Unlike the others you have visited, mine is unique. Do you know why?” She leans forward slightly, her tits on the brink of spilling out from the fragile fabric. “It shifts and bends…according to the visitor’s deepest kink”

You stiffen. “That - that’s not true”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Then why do I look like this?”

You have no answer.

Karina chuckles, tapping a finger against her temple. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart. The Verse doesn’t lie”

You swallow hard. “You - this - you are messing with me”

“Am I?” Her lips curve into something wicked. “Or are you just embarrassed that this is what your subconscious really wants?”

You are hard. So hard that it hurts. Your cock is rigid and springing up to its full length. With the lack of clothes, you have no way to hide your arousal. But you shove it down, trying to focus. “Why bring me here? What’s the point?”

Karina hums, swinging her legs idly. “I told you - I’m giving you a gift. But power is best awakened when you are completely in sync with your own desires” She tilts her head, watching your reaction carefully. “And nothing lays a person bare quite like this”

You want to deny her, try to compose yourself. But the truth is - she’s absolutely right. She’s pushing all the right buttons, using every buried fantasy of yours to her advantage. You know what’s coming next is inevitable, even with your lust hazed brain.

Karina slides off the desk with the grace of a predator, each step deliberate, heels clicking across the floor. Her eyes lock onto yours, and you find yourself rooted in place, unable to move.

She circles around you, like she’s sizing you up. Her fingers trail across your shoulder, down your arm, sending a shiver through your body. Her touch is light, teasing, but it feels like she’s peeling off layers you didn’t even know you had.

“You’re tense.” she whispers into your ear, her breath tickling your ear. Her hands rest on your shoulders, massaging gently, but there’s a weight to her touch that makes you weak. “You shouldn’t be”

You try to keep your breathing steady but it’s a losing battle. Her presence is overwhelming, seeping into your brain, clouding your thoughts.

“What are you doing?” you manage to ask, though your voice comes out shaky.

She chuckles softly, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I’m just showing you what you are capable of.” Her hands slide down your chest, pressing lightly, and you can feel your resolve wavering, crumbling under her touch. “You have so much potential, so much power. But it’s locked away because you’re afraid”

“I’m not-” you start, but she cuts you off, spinning you around to face her. Your eyes instinctively fall on her plentiful tits, which are now on full display from this new angle.

“Eyes up here, honey,” she cups your face, forcing you to meet her eyes. “You’re afraid of the power inside you. Afraid of what you could become. Afraid of losing control” Her thumbs brush over your cheek, her touch light yet commanding. “But power is only dangerous if you don’t understand it”

Everything she’s telling you could be a lie. But you no longer care. Because all you crave now is more of this, more of her touch, her breath, her warmth. Her hand slides down , resting against your chest, and you feel your heart pounding beneath her fingertips.

“What do you want, really?” she asks, her voice a soft purr. “To be free of this? To understand it? Or maybe…” Her lips curve into a knowing smile. “To embrace it?”

Your mind is spinning, her words digging deep, unraveling desires you didn’t know were there. She rests a hand on your thigh, tracing idle patterns on your skin. Yet, her eyes never leave you, holding you captive.

“Stop fighting it,” she breathes, her voice a soft command. “Let go”

You feel the last shed of your resistance crumbles to dust. It’s intoxicating, the way she breaks down your walls, knocking them over like mere toys. And you finally relent, letting go of the fear, the doubt.

“Good boy” she praises.

And that’s when she crushes your lips with hers.

It’s not love. Far from it. It’s not affection either. But it’s equally addicting, something you want more the moment you have its taste, like an oasis in the desert. And Karina doesn’t keep you thirsty. She keeps on kissing you, letting you busk in the feeling of her silky lips, moist and soft each time they make contact with yours. Her tongue slips out to seek yours and you happily let yourself be found, intertwining it with yours, tasting her.

Her hand on your thigh isn't still either, slithering its way upwards until it finally reaches the hardness between your legs, gripping the base. You let out a moan against her lips, as her grip tightens. She can feel you throbbing. You are sure of it. She can feel how desperately you need her.

She gives you a single stroke, her fist around your length pumping a single time. And that’s enough to set you off.

Your veins flood with power. Your whole body is enveloped in gold. The upside down pentagon on your pelvis glows brighter than ever. And your cock, looks like it can destroy armies (literally).

Karina pulls back, though your lips still connect with a string of saliva. The scene turns you on so much that if it’s not been the mark, you feel like your cock would go numb from throbbing.

“And we are back,” she muses, studying your cock like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “Look at this beautiful thing”

“You are not affected by the mark?” you ask, surprised. Persephone and Artemis have become slaves to the mark’s power as soon as it activates. But Aphrodite doesn’t seem fazed. In fact, she looks mesmerized.

“The mark only punishes those who try to fight it” she says, now stroking your shaft in an agonizingly slow pace. “I embrace it”

She’s still admiring your cock with sparkling eyes. You are used to people cowering before the mark with fear or sometimes even disgust that someone worshipping it is such a strange sight. On the other hand, perhaps, you are content that someone finally acknowledges its power instead of treating it like a curse.

“Only a fool would reject something this…divine,” she mutters dreamily, her digits tightening around your shaft. “This hard. This….big”

She places a single kiss on your tip and you swear you can see stars. You can feel her breath on your skin, the phantom warmth that precedes what comes next.

“May I suck your cock, sir?” she asks, voice dripping with feigned innocence.

She’s fueling your fantasy. If the settings and the outfit aren’t enough, she has decided to roleplay too. A roleplay that’s too accurate to be a roleplay.

“You may,” you reply. You don’t know if you are in the position to give orders, but if she’s really getting into this slutty schoolgirl act, you decide you’d better too. Afterall, it takes two to tango.

“Thanks, sir” And with that, her lips part around your tip, swallowing you inch by inch until half of your shaft has disappeared into her wet warmth. Her tongue swipes at your slit and the moans spill from you before you can control yourself.

Karina pulls back, a glint of something like victory in her eyes. “You need me that bad, sir? Need that big cock in my pretty mouth?”

You can’t voice an answer. Your brain is too jumbled to string coherent words. So you give her a single nod.

“I thought so,” she says as if it isn’t obvious before she welcomes your shaft back into her mouth again.

You throw your head back in mind-numbing pleasure. Everything feels so….surreal. Her lips gliding along your veiny shaft, her tongue that darts out so often to taste your leaking slit, the loud slurping sounds she’s probably making intentionally to rile you up.

It's a mess. It’s filthy. It’s everything you want.

The goddess of love herself is blowing your shaft. Or rather, Karina, the dream woman of million fans, herself has your cock in her mouth. You doubt both are luxuries that just anyone gets to experience.

Maybe Karina is just doing this for her benefit. It would be downright idiotic to think that a goddess would blow your cock for free. But right now, your mind is blank, focused on the single blissful feeling of Karina’s mouth working your length.

A loud gurgle escapes her lips when she swallows your whole shaft, nose pressed against your pelvis. The sudden, constricting warmth of her throat is unexpected. But when a goddess deepthroats you, you don’t complain.

She locks her gaze with yours as she holds your cock captive in her throat. Seconds pass but she shows no sign of backing out, still as determined as ever to keep you trapped in her tight warmth.

As for you, each second passed is another step to utopia, wishing this euphoric feeling never ends. Let her keep your cock warm forever.

But your hope quickly crumbles when she finally releases your cock, leaving it drenched in her drool. A waterfall of saliva stains her blouse, rendering it transparent to the point you can see the slightest hint of her rosy nipples.

“Oh, look like I’ve made a mess,” she says casually, like getting drool on your clothes is a normal occurrence. “I’d better clean up, hmm?”

You don’t understand what she’s talking about until she starts unbuttoning her shirt. Each loose button reveals more of her milky, round globes, peaking around the white fabric. She gets the job done quickly but it’s not like there’s much button left to begin with. Soon, her blouse lays a crumple heap on the floor.

“Like what you see?” she asks, like that’s even a question.

You are mesmerized. You can die happily now, you think. She may not be the real Karina but she’s still….well, Karina. And a full view of her glorious tits, which have their own fandom, is a privilege.

“Yeah…..” your voice comes out a shallow whisper, unable to think of anything except tits, tits and tits.

“Thought so,” she says, standing up and for a moment, you have a horrible thought that she’s gonna leave you like this - wanton and desperate. It’s exactly the kind of thing Aphrodite would do.

Luckily, she’s not feeling cruel today because she gets right back into her schoolgirl persona. “Say, sir. What do you think about stretching me out with that big cock?”

“You don’t even need to ask”

At your reply, Karina settles on your lap, facing you as she slowly guides your throbbing shaft inside her short skirt, her hands coming to rest on the nape of your neck. You watch your cock disappear into her red clothing, until you feel a wetness connect with your tip.

“Fill me up” And just like that, she sinks herself onto your shaft. You both let out a moan in unison. Her, from being utterly stretched out and you, from the way her walls squeeze your length.

Neither of you move for a second, adapting to this new position of depravity. But it doesn’t last long as Karina starts to roll her hips slowly. Your hands instinctively rest on her waist, guiding her movements.

“Fuck, you are so big. Even bigger than Ares…” she groans. You have no idea who she’s talking about but hey, a compliment’s still a compliment.

“Come on. You want those tits, don’t you?” she urges, pushing those busty globes into your face. And you gladly oblige, latching your lips onto one of her stiff nipples.

“Mhmm fuck” she groans as you swipe your tongue at her rosy bud before moving on to the other and doing the same thing. You decide not to be too greedy for now, devoting yourself to tasting one of her milkers, sucking and licking.

She writhes and trembles at the attention you are giving her tits, but her hip action doesn’t waver. She’s still riding you steadily, letting you enjoy her goddess pussy each time your shaft splits it open.

“God, your cock feels so good. So fucking big. Nghh…” She starts to pick up the pace, literally bouncing on your cock now as you turn your attention towards her unattended nipple, enjoying it the same way you did to its predecessor.

This double pleasure, that comes from both her tits and her pussy, can’t be described with words. It’s something beyond human comprehension that you doubt any other mortal could have gone through this and survive.

Her walls squeeze you just right, as if it has memorized every vulnerable spot, tackling with a precision that leaves your mind swimming.

Each time her ass crashes down onto your cock, she lets out a guttural moan. Her huge tits are jiggling so much now that it’s now impossible to put your mouth anywhere near. So you stop trying and enjoy the view.

You feel your body tingling with power, like a nuclear reactor on the verge of exploding. The glow on your pelvis grows brighter until it bathes the classroom in gold. Nevertheless, Karina is relentless - fucking herself on your throbbing cock like a bitch in heat. Who knows goddesses can be so beautiful yet so filthy?

But even the chosen one has his limits as you feel yourself spiralling to the inevitable end of this insatiable lust. The faint tingly feeling on your cock grows stronger until it’s overwhelming and soon, you unravel.

For a moment, all you can see is white as you unload spurt after spurt of your vile seed into Karina. It just keeps coming, everything stored in your balls, spilling into Karina’s cunt as she shudders from her own release. A few grunts follow as Karina rides you until she’s sure she has squeezed out the last drop of your load.

It takes a while to gather your thoughts.

When your senses finally return, Karina has returned to her earlier position on the desk, with the same cross-legged posture. The only difference being her tits out on display and the steady droplets of your cum dripping from under her skirt.

“Well,” she begins, not a hint of exhaustion in her voice, though sweat beads her temple and her hair has become a crumpled mess. “There’s your gift”

You blink. Karina has promised you a new ability but you don’t feel any different.

Then you realize.

You don’t feel any different.

Usually, extreme exhaustion, like you have run a marathon, follows after the mark’s power subsides. But this time, you don’t feel any of the fatigue, the weariness. Then you look down and find the answer.

The mark is still there. It has not disappeared like before. It’s not alight with power but it still glows a faint gold. Does it mean you can control it now?

“The mark….” you mutter.

“Indeed, the mark,” Karina agrees, amused at your realization. “Pretty handy, isn’t it? You don’t need to keep passing out every time you use it”

She is, no doubt, correct. Not only that you haven’t passed out but a fresh surge of energy has started travelling through your body. Your breath catches in your throat as another wave of arousal overwhelms you, and your cock springs up instantly from its limp form.

Karina smirks at the sight. “Easy there, tiger. Or we might stay in this verse forever”

This power. It’s pure and absolute. There’s no more doubt. No more fear. You have embraced what you are.

You are not a god. No. You are something far better. Something a thousand times more perfect. In no time, those who call themselves the divines will cower at your feet. In fact, they already are.

You are snapped out of your triumphant thoughts by the rattling sound of the desk as Karina slides down. She approaches you in slow and measured steps, like you are a bomb which can go off anytime.

“I’m sure we will meet again, Michael,” Karina says, inches away from you now. “For now, farewell”

Once again, she presses two fingers to your forehead.

And you spiral into an endless void.

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

As abruptly as it has started, you find yourself back in your room at Eros’s place. The dim glow of city light filters through the rain-streaked windows, casting shifting patterns on the walls. Outside, New York sprawls endlessly, neon signs flickering, car horns blaring faintly in the distance. The scenery has shifted again.

The storm hasn’t let up either. Rain drums steadily against the glass, its rhythm oddly soothing. You half expect to feel the ache and exhaustion after you have landed face first on the floor but instead, your body hums with a quiet, unfamiliar energy.

You feel better than you have been in days. Better than you should.

Pushing yourself up from the bed, you flex your fingers, testing the sensation. No soreness, no aches. If anything, you feel sharper, like a blade freshly honed.

Suddenly, a chime pulls you from your thoughts.

You glance to the nightstand, where your phone screen glows softly in the dim room. A single notification sits at the top: a dark heart icon from the app you are too familiar with - the Ero app.

New ability acquired.

You snort, but the amusement fades the second you swipe open the screen and catch sight of the new wallpaper.

A bright, obnoxious Hello Kitty background stares back at you.

You sigh “Eros, you motherfuck-”

Shaking your head, you open the app - the same one that dragged you into this whole mess - and freeze.

It’s different.

Before, the Ero app was nothing more than a sleek, minimalistic portal. No menus, no settings - except for some occasional forewords about your quests. But now, the interface has shifted.

At the center of the screen is you. Or at least, a stylized version of you, shirtless, standing with an aura of gold swirling around you. Below it, your Profile is displayed, listing your Abilities in neat, glowing text.

Lust Epidemic. That must be the one which got the hunters acting like bitches in heat.

Domination. You are puzzled for a moment, then remember the mark you have imprinted upon Chaewon, turning her into your obedient slave.

And last but not least.

Endless Ardor. The one Aphrodite has granted.

And then, farther down-

You narrow your eyes.

A section labeled “Goddesses Conquered”.

The figures of Shuhua(Persephone), Chaewon(Artemis) and Karina(Aphrodite) are there, fitted in borders of golden hue. But the rest? Locked Silhouettes, dark and shadowed, their names blurred.

This looks like something out of an rpg game except that everything is real.

At the bottom, something else catches your eyes. A meter labeled Perfection.

It’s at 10%.

You stare at it, a strange unease creeping in. Perfection? What is that supposed to mean? And why does it feel like the app is tracking something you don’t fully understand yet?

Before you can think further, the door swings open.

Eros strides in, smelling like he has drowned in every perfume known to man, dressed in fresh clothes - ripped jeans and a loose button-down that hangs open just enough to be obnoxious. He grins like he owns the place. Which, considering this is his place, might not be far from the truth.

“Morning sunshine,” he drawls. “I come bearing a gift”

You raise an eyebrow. “A gift?”

Eros steps aside and the angel enters.

Kazuha walks in, looking clean and fresh. The wounds on her body are nowhere to be seen. She’s dressed like some kind of agent - fitted tank top, dark jeans and combat boots. Though you have to admit she looks insanely hot, that’s not what catches your attention. It’s what she’s holding.

A leash.

Connected to a collar.

Wrapped around Chaewon’s neck.

You are speechless. The once proud goddess of the hunt, stands on all fours, no different from a dog. There’s not a piece of clothing on her except for the collar around her neck. She stares at you with curiosity, but the fire in her eyes is gone, replaced by utter and complete obedience. Somehow, you get a feeling she’s awaiting an order.

Your order.

Eros chuckles, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “Congratulations, buddy. You have officially tamed a goddess”

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

This one takes quite a while because I have been procrastinating. Thankfully, I get into the mood for some mythological action again. Enjoy.

[rainydayathogwarts]

congrats on 3000!! may i please request a spring - “i can’t believe you’re all mine” with james potter? thank you <3

Words by the fireplace - James potter

ʀᴀɪɴʏᴅᴀʏᴀᴛʜᴏɢᴡᴀʀᴛꜱ' 3ᴋ ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ! summary: sleepy conversations with bf!james potter - also happy late valentines wc: 0.5k+

A press of soft lips on your forehead caused a smile to bloom on your face. You’d been convinced James had been asleep for the last half an hour, but you didn’t want to move, the tight hold his arms hand around your body giving you comfort and warmth. Instead of leaving James alone in the common room for him to find you’d abandoned him, you busied yourself with staring at the dancing flames of the fire at the base of the chimney.

James’s lips separated from your forehead to press another kiss to your cheek, and another down your jaw. “Thought you were taking a nap.” You muttered, hands trailing under James’s untucked shirt to set on the warm skin of his chest. “Woke up like ten minutes ago.” He replied tiredly, suppressing a yawn. You shuffled in James’s arms so you could twist your body just enough to look him in the eyes, a look of adoration on your face. James smiled, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned down to press his lips to yours in a loving kiss.

After a moment of silence, James spoke again. “You stayed.” You hummed, a hand reaching up between you and your boyfriend’s bodies to tug on the collar of James’s shirt. You pulled him closer to you by the article of clothing, digging your face in the crook of his neck and pressing a kiss on his skin. James’ arms loosened up from around your body, one hand snaking under your thigh to pull your leg over his lap. You shifted your weight over James so that you could straddle him, turning your head to rest your cheek on his chest, feeling the thump of the steady beat of his heart.

“Thought you ‘n Marlene had plans.” James whispered, one hand resting on your back as the other brushed hair away from your face. “Told her tomorrow.” You replied, sighing in satisfaction as you blinked slowly, eyelids getting heavier every time you opened them. “Could’ve slept.” He chuckled, causing a smile to tug at the corner of your lips. “I know. Don’t know why I didn’t.” “Like watching me sleep, that’s why.” It was your turn to laugh, and you finally lifted your head off James’s muscular chest. “Can’t deny that. But, I…” Your words drifted as you glanced at James, so carefully observing you, listening to each word you uttered. James hummed, cueing you to continue. “… I think we should go back to sleep. In a bed.”

A wide grin formed on James’s face, and he cupped your face, pulling you to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “I can’t believe you’re all mine.” You felt your face heat up, standing up when he tapped you twice on the leg, holding a hand out for him to hold. James took your hand, leading you to his dorm, and asking “Well if we sleep until past six and I miss practice, can I blame it one you?” You nodded before stopping in your tracks and furrowing your eyebrows. “James you’re captain. You can cancel practice.”

“Oh yeah, let me do that."

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @superlegend216, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @rory-cakes

[gilbertscurls]

bouquet — matt sturniolo

summary: matt gets flowers for the first time in his life

inspired by

Matt walked into the apartment after a long day of filming, his shoulders heavy with exhaustion. The apartment was dimly lit, a cozy contrast to the bustling city outside. He dropped his backpack by the door and was about to head to the kitchen for a snack when he noticed something unusual—a faint, sweet fragrance in the air.

Curious, Matt followed the scent to the living room, where a soft glow from a lamp illuminated a small table in the center of the room. There, in the middle of the table, was a beautiful bouquet of flowers. They were a mix of vibrant colors, with roses, lilies, and daisies creating a stunning display.

Matt’s eyes widened as he took in the sight. He had never received flowers before, and the gesture struck him as both surprising and deeply touching. He reached out and gently touched the petals, admiring the delicate arrangement.

Just then, you walked in from the bedroom, your face lighting up when you saw Matt’s reaction. You had been planning this surprise for days, hoping to do something special for him and show how much you appreciated him.

“Surprise!” you said with a warm smile, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

Matt turned to you, his expression a mixture of astonishment and delight. “Baby, these are… Wow. They’re beautiful. But I don’t understand—what’s the occasion?”

You walked over and stood beside him, your gaze soft and affectionate. “No special occasion, just a little something to brighten your day. I know how hard you’ve been working lately, and I wanted to do something to show you how much you mean to me.”

Matt’s heart melted at your words. He reached out and took your hand, squeezing it gently. “You didn’t have to do this. But I’m so glad you did. It means more to me than you know.”

You beamed and kissed him softly on the cheek. “I wanted to. You deserve to feel appreciated and loved, even on the tough days.”

Matt carefully picked up the bouquet, bringing it close to his face to inhale the sweet fragrance. “I’ve never gotten flowers before. I didn’t realize how special it would feel. Thank you.”

You smiled, your heart full of happiness. “I’m glad you like them. I thought they might add a bit of color and joy to your day.”

Matt set the bouquet down on the table and then pulled you into a warm embrace. “They definitely do. And this—” he said, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes “—this means more to me than any flowers ever could.”

Your eyes softened, and you leaned in for another kiss, your love for each other evident in the gentle connection.

You spent the evening together, enjoying each other’s company in the warmth of your home. The flowers, now a symbol of your love and thoughtfulness, stood proudly on the table, a vibrant reminder of the special bond you shared

As you both relaxed on the couch, Matt’s arm draped around you, he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude and contentment. The surprise of receiving flowers for the first time was more than just a gesture—it was a reflection of the love and care that defined your relationship.

And in that moment, surrounded by the gentle fragrance of the flowers and the comforting presence of you, Matt felt truly, profoundly happy.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @straw8berry

[briefinquiries]

Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 8

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 8

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: After learning about Campbell’s plan to orchestrate an attack against the Peaky Blinders, you rush to warn Tommy before it’s too late. As the night unfolds, the Garrison becomes a battleground, forcing you to confront a past you thought you had left behind.

Word count: 7.1k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language.

--

The dim light of Campbell’s office flickered against the polished wood of his desk, casting long shadows across the floor. The air was thick with cigar smoke, curling between the two of you, but you didn’t cough. You didn’t react. You sat still, hands folded neatly in your lap, keeping your pulse steady even as unease coiled in your stomach.

Campbell leaned back in his chair, watching you with that sharp, calculating gaze, the kind that made you feel like he was peeling you apart, layer by layer, looking for weakness. 

“What do you need me to do?” you asked. 

Campbell exhaled slowly, letting the silence stretch between you. The smoke from his cigar curled upward, dissipating into the dim light as he studied you with that familiar, unsettling amusement.

"I need you to make sure all the Shelby brothers are at the Garrison at nine o’clock tonight," he finally said, his voice smooth and deliberate.

Your fingers tensed slightly in your lap. "Why?"

Campbell smiled, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. He took another slow drag from his cigar before setting it down in the ashtray, tapping a gloved finger against the desk.

“Tell me, what would you do if you knew a storm was coming?”

You kept your expression steady, unwilling to let him see the way your stomach twisted at his words. After two weeks of spying for Tommy, you knew Campbell well enough by now. He never asked rhetorical questions. Every word he spoke was a piece of a larger game, designed to see how you would react.

You tilted your chin slightly. "I suppose that depends on the storm."

Campbell exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as if amused by your answer. "No, it doesn’t." He leaned forward, resting his forearms against the desk, his sharp blue eyes pinning you in place. "You move out of its way. You prepare. You ensure that, when it passes, you are still standing."

He let the words settle before continuing, his voice dropping to something quieter, more dangerous. "But you see, the Shelby brothers… they don’t seem to have the same sense of self-preservation." He flicked the ash from his cigar, watching it fall. "They don’t step aside. They don’t move out of the way."

Campbell gave you a slow, knowing smile. He took another measured drag before setting the cigar down, his fingers tapping once against the desk.

"And because Thomas Shelby has been testing his limits for far too long." His tone was conversational, almost lazy, but you knew better. "He believes himself untouchable, beyond consequence. And men like that…" He exhaled a stream of smoke, watching it rise. "They need to be reminded of their place."

A chill crawled down your spine, but you forced yourself to keep your voice even. "What’s going to happen?”

Campbell tilted his head, studying you. "Do you know how many men would pay for the chance to watch Thomas Shelby crawl? How many would seize the opportunity to strike, given the right push?" He leaned forward slightly. "All it takes is a whisper in the right ear, a reminder of debts unsettled, and men will do what they were always going to do. Tear each other apart."

Your stomach twisted. "Who?"

Campbell exhaled a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "The who is irrelevant. What matters is that they are coming tonight. And when they do, I imagine it will be quite the spectacle." He sat back in his chair, his expression eerily calm. "A full-scale assault on the Peaky Blinders. Every man they have, armed and ready. It will be quick, brutal, and final."

Your fingers curled against your skirt. “You’re letting that happen?”

"Letting?" Campbell echoed, raising a brow. "No, my dear. I am ensuring it happens. Because Thomas Shelby has outgrown his station, and every empire must fall."

You swallowed hard, your mind racing.

"Men like the Shelbys think they own this city. But power is borrowed, not stolen. And tonight, Thomas Shelby will learn that he is not untouchable."

You forced yourself to nod, slow and deliberate, as if you were considering his words. As if you weren’t already thinking ten steps ahead.

Campbell’s gaze lingered on you, searching for cracks. He didn’t trust easily, if at all, but he trusted that people feared him. That fear kept them in line.

And he wanted you to be afraid.

You stood carefully, smoothing your hands over your skirt, your movements slow and measured. "Nine o’clock. The Garrison." Your voice didn’t waver.

Campbell’s lips twitched, barely, as he lifted his cigar again. "That’s right. And if you’re smart, you’ll make sure you aren’t there with them."

He took a slow drag, exhaling smoke as he leaned back into his chair, dismissing you without another word.

You turned and walked out, resisting the urge to slam the door behind you.

…

The night air hit you as soon as you stepped onto the street, but it did nothing to steady the storm brewing inside you. You moved quickly, each step sharper than the last, your breath coming faster than you wanted it to.

You needed to get to Tommy.

The streets of Small Heath were quieter than usual, the tension thick in the air, the kind that settled before something violent. You pushed forward, ignoring the burn in your lungs as you crossed through the market and rounded the corner to the Garrison.

Inside, the warm scent of whiskey and smoke wrapped around you, but you barely noticed. You walked past the patrons, through the familiar hallways, straight to the back room where you knew Tommy would be.

He was there, as expected, standing over a map spread across the table. Arthur sat nearby, flipping a coin between his fingers, while John leaned back in his chair, boots kicked up on the edge of the table.

Tommy didn’t look up right away. "What’d you learn?" he asked, his tone sounding distracted.

You swallowed, pushing past the tightness in your chest. "Campbell set you up."

Tommy’s cigarette paused midway to his lips. Slowly, his sharp blue eyes lifted to meet yours, the flickering lamp light casting shadows across his face.

You took a steadying breath. "He’s orchestrated an attack against you tonight. He said it’s a gang, someone with numbers, someone who hates you, is coming full force. Armed. Ready to wipe you out."

Arthur swore under his breath, sitting up straighter. John’s smirk disappeared. Tommy didn’t move, but you could see it, the flicker of calculation behind his eyes, the shift in his posture.

"Who?" Tommy asked, his voice calm. Too calm.

"He wouldn’t say," you admitted. "But he said men like you think they own this city. That power is borrowed, not stolen. And tonight, you’re going to learn that you’re not untouchable."

Tommy’s expression didn’t change, but the tension in the room sharpened like a blade.

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. "That bastard’s always talkin’ in riddles."

"This wasn’t a riddle," you said quietly. "It was a promise."

The weight of your words settled over them. You watched as Tommy flicked the ash from his cigarette, tapping it against the rim of the tray. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, measured.

"And what did he ask you to do?"

You hesitated, but only for a second. "Make sure you were all here. At nine."

A muscle in Tommy’s jaw ticked. He exhaled slowly, letting the smoke curl around him before setting his cigarette down.

"So that’s the plan, then?" John leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "We sit here and let ‘em come knockin’?"

Arthur reached for the whiskey bottle on the table, pouring a drink. "Fucking hell. And here I was hopin’ for a quiet night."

Tommy didn’t move, his gaze still locked onto yours, reading everything you weren’t saying.

"What will you do?" you asked.

Tommy didn’t answer right away. He reached for his cigarette again, but instead of taking a drag, he rolled it between his fingers, slow and deliberate.

"We’ll be ready," he said.

John huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah? And what exactly does ready look like when we don’t know who’s coming?"

Tommy’s gaze flicked to him, the barest hint of impatience in his expression. "It means we prepare for anything." He leaned forward, tapping the cigarette once against the table. "If Campbell’s orchestrated this, he’s banking on us being outnumbered. So we make sure we’re not."

Arthur took a slow sip of his whiskey, then set the glass down with a heavy thunk. "You think we should call everyone in?"

"Everyone we can trust." Tommy’s voice was firm. "Not just the boys. I want eyes on the streets, I want the guns checked, and I want every single man walking into that pub tonight to know exactly what’s waiting for them if they try to cross us."

John smirked, but there was something sharper underneath it now– anticipation. "So we turn the trap back on them?"

Tommy didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

You exhaled slowly, trying to push down the weight pressing against your chest.

“How can I help?” you asked.  

Tommy's expression was unreadable. “If Campbell’s right about this, it’s going to get ugly. Men will get hurt. Maybe worse. I need someone I trust to be ready.”

Your chest tightened, but you nodded. “I can do that.”

Tommy studied you for a moment longer. "Then get what you need. When this is over, we patch up the ones who make it through."

Arthur let out a breath, shaking his head. “Jesus. Feels like France all over again.”

John cracked his knuckles, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I’ll round up the boys. Looks like we’ve got a long night ahead of us." He clapped you on the shoulder before following Arthur out, the door swinging shut behind them.

Tommy rested his hands on the table, fingers lightly tapping against the wood in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. His cigarette smoldered in the ashtray, forgotten.

You shifted your weight, glancing at him. “How bad do you think it’ll be?”

Tommy finally looked up, his sharp blue eyes meeting yours. He didn’t answer right away, and that in itself was answer enough.

His jaw tensed slightly, but when he spoke, his voice was quiet, even. “Bad.”

You nodded, swallowing against the lump in your throat.

"Men will die," he continued. "Maybe ours. Maybe theirs. It doesn’t matter to Campbell, long as I come out of this weaker than before." He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing. "He wants us bled dry, either by bullets or by what comes after.”

You let his words settle, the weight of them pressing down on your chest.

"And if he gets what he wants?" you asked quietly.

Tommy held your gaze, his fingers stilling against the table. Then he shrugged, just slightly. "Then we deal with it."

You nodded, though it didn’t make you feel any better.

“You’ll be alright, then?” he asked. 

You hesitated, then nodded again. "Yeah."

Tommy studied you for a second longer, then finally took a slow drag from his cigarette.

"Good."

Neither of you spoke after that. There wasn’t anything else to say.

…

By eight forty-five, the Garrison was packed, the air thick with smoke, sweat, and anticipation. 

Men stood shoulder to shoulder, hands resting near their weapons, eyes flickering toward Tommy as he moved to the center of the room. The low murmur of conversation faded as he pulled a cigarette from his case, lighting it with the kind of steady hand that made people trust him. Believe in him.

You stood near the back, pressed into the corner, heart hammering as you watched. You had done all you could to prepare– bandages, whiskey, clean water, but none of it would matter until the shooting stopped.

Until you knew who was left standing.

Tommy took a slow drag, exhaling as his gaze swept over the men in front of him. When he spoke, his voice was calm, certain.

"We’ve been here before." He rolled his shoulders back, the flickering light casting sharp shadows over his face. "We know how this goes. Men who think they’re bigger than us, stronger than us, smarter than us." He paused, eyes narrowing. "They never fucking are."

A few low chuckles rippled through the room, but the tension remained thick.

"Campbell’s counting on this fight to hurt us." Tommy flicked the ash from his cigarette, gaze settling on each man, one by one. "He’s banking on fear. On hesitation. On doubt." He took another drag, letting the silence stretch before his next words cut through the room like a knife.

"But we don’t hesitate."

A murmur of agreement. Arthur cracked his knuckles, restless energy rolling off him in waves. John stood with his arms crossed, grinning like he was already picturing the fight.

You swallowed hard, shifting on your feet. Tommy’s voice was steady, unshaken, but you knew what was coming.

"You don’t need me to tell you what to do," he continued. "You all know why you’re here. You all know what’s at stake." His cigarette burned low between his fingers. "So we do what we do best. We stand our ground, and we make sure they regret ever setting foot in Small Heath."

Another low murmur. A few nods.

The room shifted with Tommy’s words, tension hanging thick in the air. Men checked their weapons, straightened their shoulders, muttered quiet reassurances to one another.

Then, just as the silence stretched tight, the door burst open.

A boy, no older than fourteen, stumbled inside, breathless, his face flushed from the cold night air. His cap was askew, his coat too big for his frame, but his wide eyes were sharp with urgency.

"They’re coming!" he gasped, his voice cracking slightly. "Loads of ‘em– moving fast. Just turned off Watery Lane."

The room stilled.

Every man inside stiffened, the scrape of chairs and shifting boots the only sound for a long moment.

Tommy exhaled once, slow and measured. "How many?"

The boy swallowed hard, catching his breath. "At least twenty, maybe more. Got guns, clubs, all of it." He wiped his nose with his sleeve, glancing anxiously at the men surrounding him. 

Tommy nodded once, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray before turning to the boy. "Go back the way you came. Don’t stop for anything, don’t look back."

The boy hesitated, glancing at you before nodding and bolting out the door.

Everything moved at once.

Arthur downed the rest of his whiskey in a single gulp, tossing the glass aside. John was already loading his revolver, the other men shifting into position, grabbing weapons, bracing themselves.

Through it all, Tommy didn’t move. Not at first. He just stood there, watching the room settle into controlled chaos, his cigarette burning low between his fingers. Then, without a word, he crossed the room toward you.

Your breath caught as he stopped in front of you, closer than he needed to be. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, flicked over your face, searching for something.

"Stay inside," he said, voice low, clipped. "Hide in the back. Don’t come out until you hear my voice."

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped you. This wasn’t a request. It was an order.

You swallowed hard, nodding once. "Alright."

Tommy didn’t move. Didn’t step away. The tension between you felt heavier than the weight of what was coming.

"Be careful," you murmured.

Something flickered across his face, gone as quickly as it appeared. Then, with a sharp nod, he turned on his heel and walked away.

And all you could do was watch as he stepped into the storm.

…

You sat in the back room, exactly where Tommy told you to stay, but your body wouldn’t settle. Every muscle in you was tight, braced for something you couldn’t stop. Your fingers curled into fists in your lap, nails pressing into your palms.

Outside, the murmur of voices had faded. The last of the men had taken their positions. The only thing left now was the waiting.

You strained your ears, desperate for any sign of what was happening beyond the walls. But the night held its breath, stretching the silence until it felt unbearable.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. It wasn’t peaceful– it was the kind of silence that came before something terrible. The kind that pressed down on your chest, waiting to be broken.

You shifted, adjusting your position in the chair, but it didn’t help. Your body was wound too tight, your skin prickling with unease. The longer the quiet lasted, the worse it became. Every second without gunfire, without shouting, felt unnatural. Where were they?

You clenched your jaw, forcing your breathing to stay even. But the silence– God, the silence– was starting to feel like something worse than noise.

You squeezed your eyes shut, exhaling slowly. You had seen war before. You knew this feeling. The quiet before the first shot, the moment before hell broke loose. But this was different. This wasn’t a battlefield miles away. This was here.

And Tommy was out there.

The thought sent a fresh wave of unease through you. You pictured him, cigarette burning between his fingers, expression unreadable but shoulders braced like always.

Your stomach twisted.

What if Tommy was already bleeding out on the cobblestones?

What if Arthur was lying face down in the dirt?

You swallowed hard, forcing the thoughts away. No. They weren’t dead. Not yet. But the longer the silence stretched, the more your mind raced, the more you felt like you had to move, had to do something.

You turned your head sharply, staring at the door. Your fingers twitched at your sides. Tommy’s voice echoed in your head.

"Stay inside. Hide in the back. Don’t come out until you hear my voice."

But what if you never did?

Your breath hitched, and you curled your hands into fists again.

The silence returned, heavier than before.

Then, suddenly– a gunshot.

Loud. Sudden. Too close.

You flinched so hard it felt like your entire body had been shocked through the spine. Your breath caught, your limbs going rigid as your heart slammed against your ribs.

Then came another shot.

Then another.

Then chaos.

Gunfire erupted outside, sharp and unrelenting. The sound rattled the windows, slammed against the walls, filled every inch of the Garrison with deafening violence.

Your breath came in short, panicked bursts. Your hands shot up to cover your ears, but it didn’t matter– it was too loud, too close, too much.

Shouting followed. The roar of men fighting, of boots pounding against the cobblestones. The war had started just beyond the walls, but your body– your mind– was suddenly trapped somewhere else entirely.

You squeezed your eyes shut, but it didn’t help.

France. The trenches. The screaming. The smell of blood, sweat, dirt, gunpowder.

You gasped, but the air was thick, choking. Your chest ached with the effort to breathe.

More gunfire.

A scream.

Something heavy crashing to the ground.

Your knees buckled.

Your body moved without thought, sinking down into the corner of the room, curling in on itself, hands still clutching your ears, knuckles white. Your fingers dug into your scalp, pressing hard, desperate for something to ground you.

But it was too late. Your mind wasn’t here anymore. 

You were back there. 

Buried in the mud.

Drowning in the sound of bullets tearing through flesh, in the metallic scent of blood, in the thick smoke clinging to your throat, to your skin, to your lungs.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t move.

Another explosion of gunfire rattled through the walls, and something inside you snapped.

Your body shuddered violently, curling tighter into itself, your breath shallow and ragged.

The scent of damp earth, sweat, and blood filled your nostrils. The crack of gunfire tore through the air, so loud it rattled your bones. Somewhere, men were shouting orders, screams, names of the fallen.

You pressed your hands harder against your ears, but it didn’t stop.

Too loud. Too close.

Your breath came in short, panicked bursts, your chest squeezing tight like it was caving in on itself. You needed to move, needed to get up, to do something, but your body was frozen, locked in place as another explosion of gunfire tore through the air outside.

Move. Move, dammit. Get up.

Your fingers curled against the floorboards, nails digging into the wood.

The world tilted.

Your vision swam.

More shouting. More gunfire. Something crashing. Someone yelling– The voices blended together, distant and warped like you were underwater.

You sucked in a breath, too shallow, too fast.

Your chest burned.

Then, a flicker of movement.

Your head snapped up– eyes wide, searching, but you weren’t seeing the back room of the Garrison anymore. The walls had melted away, replaced with barbed wire and smoke. The floor was slick with mud, bodies strewn across it, limbs twisted at unnatural angles.

No. No, no, no, you’re not there. You’re not–

Something slammed against the outside wall of the Garrison.

You jolted so hard your back hit the wooden shelves behind you. Glass rattled.

Another shot.

Another scream.

Your vision blurred.

Your fingers dug into your scalp, pressing so hard it hurt, grounding yourself in the pain, trying to pull yourself out of it. But the harder you tried, the deeper you fell.

The war.

The blood.

The bodies.

You were trapped there, suffocating in it.

Somewhere, beyond the haze, there were voices. Muffled, distant. They slipped through the ringing in your ears, too low to make out.

Your body was locked in place, curled tight against the floor. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your pulse hammering like a drum in your skull.

The voices grew closer. Urgent. A door creaked. Heavy footsteps. 

Suddenly, warm hands cupped your face.

You jolted violently, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as your eyes snapped open.

For a split second, all you saw was the dim light flickering against a dirt-covered face, blood smeared along the temple, exhaustion clinging to sharp features. The same way you’d found him then, half-dead in the tunnels, skin clammy, breath shallow.

Tommy.

Your chest heaved as your vision sharpened, the war-torn memory melting away into something more real.

Tommy was crouched in front of you, his grip firm but careful, steadying your trembling face between his hands. His blue eyes, wide but dark under the weight of exhaustion, flickered over yours, reading everything you couldn’t say.

"You hear me?" he asked. 

Your breath hitched. The blood at his temple was fresh, smeared against his skin, but it wasn’t his. You didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

"You’re alright," he murmured.

Your breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, your body still rigid, locked in the panic that had swallowed you whole. But Tommy’s grip was steady, his thumbs brushing against your skin, his touch firm but not forceful. He wasn’t dragging you out of it– he was waiting for you to come back.

"Can you hear me?" he asked again, voice lower this time, softer.

You swallowed hard and nodded, though the movement felt weak, unconvincing. Your hands still trembled where they rested on the floor, your body too light, too unsteady.

Tommy exhaled, relief flickering over his face so briefly you might have missed it if you weren’t staring at him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the present.

"Good." His voice was rough, but not unkind. His hands lingered for a second longer before one of them slipped from your cheek and wrapped around your wrist, his grip firm, grounding. "You’re alright.”

You nodded again, slower this time. "Not France," you forced yourself to say. 

His eyes flickered over your face, searching. You wondered if he could see how deep you had gone, how close you had been to drowning. Maybe he could.

"No," he murmured. "Not France."

Your breath was still uneven, your skin clammy, but the words felt like an anchor, pulling you further out of the past. You blinked, forcing yourself to take in the dim light of the Garrison, the scattered bottles, the blood smeared across Tommy’s temple. Here. You were here.

Outside, the gunfire had thinned out. Distant shouts echoed from the streets, men running, boots slamming against cobblestone, but the worst of it had passed. The fight was ending.

Tommy studied you, his face still unreadable. Then, slowly, he pushed himself to his feet.

"Can you stand?"

You nodded, but when you braced your hands against the floor to push up, your arms trembled, too weak to lift your own weight. The exhaustion hit all at once, dragging you down, making the edges of your vision blur.

Tommy sighed through his nose, then reached down.

You hesitated, pride flickering weakly, but you took his hand. His grip was solid, steady, and he pulled you up with ease. His other hand briefly landed on your arm, grounding you as your knees wobbled beneath you.

The room tilted. You inhaled sharply.

"Breathe," he muttered.

You did. Shaky, uneven, but enough. The edges of the world started to settle, the present pushing away the past.

Tommy studied you for half a second longer, his jaw tightening. Then, abruptly, he said, “Good. Because we need you.”

Your stomach clenched.

"John’s been shot."

The words hit harder than the gunfire outside.

Your pulse lurched, panic surging up like a wave. "Where is he?"

"Out front," Tommy said, already turning toward the door. "Still breathing, but it’s bad."

You forced your limbs into motion, your body shaking but your hands already reaching for the supplies you had stashed earlier– bandages, whiskey, anything that could keep John here... alive.

You followed Tommy through the Garrison, your legs unsteady, your grip tight on the supplies as you weaved through the aftermath. The main room was in disarray– overturned chairs, broken glass, blood smeared across the floor. Bodies had been dragged out, but the scent of gunpowder and whiskey still lingered thick in the air.

Tommy led you past the chaos, down a dimly lit hallway, toward one of the back rooms.

"In here," he muttered, pushing open the door.

The sight of John nearly stopped you in your tracks.

He was slumped in a wooden chair, his shirt soaked through with blood, his head tilted back against the wall. His breaths were shallow, uneven, his skin pale in the flickering lamplight. A bottle of whiskey sat beside him, barely touched.

His eyes flickered open when he heard you enter.

"‘Bout time," he rasped, his voice raw. "Thought maybe you lot had decided to just let me bleed out over here."

Relief shot through you, he was talking, but as you moved closer, taking in the extent of the damage, the feeling faded.

"The bullet went through," you murmured, pressing your fingers lightly around the wound. "That’s the only good news."

John sucked in a sharp breath at your touch, his body tensing.

"That bad, huh?" His voice was tight.

"I need to stitch you up," you told him.

He exhaled shakily, his jaw clenched, but his gaze was sharp, steady. "Don’t sugarcoat it."

You nodded, reaching for the whiskey.

"This is going to hurt," you warned.

"No shit," John muttered. “Just do it.”

You poured the whiskey over the wound.

John let out a strangled groan, his body jerking violently from the burn.

Tommy was on him in an instant, pressing a hand against his shoulder to keep him still. "Stay down."

John gritted his teeth, his fingers curling into fists. "Fuck off, Tommy."

You clenched your jaw, threading the needle, but your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. You weren’t doing your best work– you knew that. The stitches were uneven, too slow.

John’s whole body tensed as you started, his breath coming in sharp gasps, his knuckles going white where they gripped the armrests of the chair.

Then he started screaming.

The sound tore through you like a blade.

Your fingers faltered, your vision blurring as you blinked hard, trying to push through the growing sting behind your eyes. You were hurting him. You should’ve been better than this. Steadier. Faster.

John’s ragged curses broke into a strangled groan, his body twisting as if he could escape the pain. Tommy gripped his shoulder tighter, but it wasn’t enough– John was fighting too hard.

Then, suddenly, "Where is he?"

Arthur’s voice cut through the air, rough and out of breath. You barely had time to register his presence before he was shoving Tommy aside, gripping John’s arms, forcing him down.

He was a mess– shirt torn, face bloodied, his eyes dark with exhaustion, but his grip was unyielding.

"Hold him," Tommy ordered, stepping back as Arthur replaced him.

John bucked against his grip. "I swear to– fuck, Arthur, let go–"

"Shut up," Arthur snapped. "Just let her do it."

John let out another strangled yell, and your hands shook even worse. You weren’t sure how much more of this you could take.

Then, Tommy’s hands were suddenly on your wrists.

Firm. Grounding.

Your eyes snapped to his, wide, wet, desperate.

"You know what to do," he said, quiet enough so that John and Arthur couldn’t hear. His grip tightened just slightly. "So do it."

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, but you nodded.

Then you forced your hands steady, forced yourself past the guilt, the exhaustion, the panic.

And you stitched John up.

…

The storm had passed, but its remnants lingered, blood-streaked floors, shattered glass, the acrid scent of gunpowder clinging to the walls.

You sat near the back of the pub, absently rolling a strip of bandage between your fingers, staring at the small pile of used gauze and whiskey-soaked rags beside you. The worst of it had been John, but there had been others– split knuckles, shallow cuts, bruises forming beneath torn shirts. Nothing lethal. Nothing you hadn’t seen before.

Your hands ached from the hours spent cleaning wounds, your body thrumming with exhaustion. But sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight.

You exhaled, trying to will the tension from your shoulders, but it wouldn’t go. Your fingers curled tighter around the bandage in your lap as your mind drifted back, not to tonight, but to what came before.

The trenches.

The mud.

The smell of rot and sweat and gunpowder clinging to your skin.

Your throat tightened.

Tonight hadn’t been the first time you’d seen men fall, the first time you’d stitched wounds with blood soaking through your hands. It wasn’t even the first time you’d listened to the groans of the injured, the quiet prayers, the sharp, ragged breaths of men too stubborn to die.

But it was the first time you’d heard gunfire since France.

You closed your eyes, your breath stuttering in your throat. It wasn’t just memory, it wasn’t just some distant recollection of the past. When the shots rang out tonight, when the screams followed, it hadn’t felt like Small Heath anymore. It hadn’t felt like the Garrison.

It felt like then.

Like the walls around you had crumbled into an open battlefield, the floor beneath your feet turning to thick, sucking mud. The scent of whiskey and cigarettes had vanished, replaced with the acrid burn of smoke and decay. 

You sucked in a breath and opened your eyes again.

The pub was still here.

The war was not.

Your fingers uncurled from the bandage, but the tremble in them hadn’t fully faded.

You had stitched up wounds tonight. You had cleaned blood and wiped sweat from men’s brows, just as you had done before. You had done your job. But the part of you that had frozen, that had shattered at the first sound of gunfire, that part still lingered in the trenches.

And it had ripped through you like a bullet to the chest.

The bandage in your lap felt weightless, slipping from your fingers as you exhaled slowly, forcing air into your lungs, forcing yourself to be here. Not there. Not then.

But your body wasn’t listening.

Your chest still felt too tight, your skin too cold despite the warmth of the room. The echoes of gunfire hadn’t fully faded, not in your head. They lingered, stretching between the space of memory and reality, leaving you stranded somewhere in between.

A chair scraped against the floor.

Your body tensed before your mind could catch up.

Tommy sat across from you, his movements slow, deliberate. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned back in the chair, cigarette rolling between his fingers. You could feel his eyes on you, the same sharp, calculating gaze he wore when he was trying to piece something together.

"You shouldn’t be home alone."

His voice was low, steady.

You blinked, the words taking a second longer to register. "I’ll be fine."

Tommy inhaled slowly, but he didn’t light his cigarette. "You don’t look fine."

Your fingers twitched against your thigh. You weren’t sure how to respond to that.

"Come to the house," he said. It wasn’t a question.

You hesitated, glancing toward the mess of the Garrison, toward the handful of men still lingering, speaking in low voices. "Tommy, I– "

"I need you to keep an eye on John."

You stilled. You knew he didn’t need you to watch John. He had no fever, he'd make it through the night. But he said it anyway, because he knew you wouldn’t argue with that– he knew that was the only way you’d stay.

So, for a moment, you let yourself believe it.

You inhaled, slow and unsteady, then nodded. "Alright."

Tommy gave a single nod in return, as if confirming something to himself.

Then, he stood, but instead of turning toward the door, he extended his hand toward you.

You blinked at it, surprised. His hands were rough, knuckles bruised, dried blood at the edges of his fingers. And yet, his palm was open, waiting.

You hesitated only a second before slipping your hand into his.

Warm. Steady. Solid.

Your own hand still trembled slightly, but Tommy’s grip anchored it. His thumb brushed over your skin once, just the faintest, fleeting touch, before he turned and started walking, leading you toward the door. You let him.

Outside, the cold night air hit you instantly, but Tommy’s hand remained firm around yours, grounding you as you walked through the quiet streets. Small Heath was eerily still, the remnants of the fight lingering only in the bloodstains on the cobblestones, the distant sound of men muttering behind closed doors.

You barely registered any of it.

Tommy didn’t let go.

Not until the Shelby house came into view, the glow of lamplight spilling onto the street.

Inside, the warmth of the house wrapped around you. The scent of whiskey and cigarettes mixed with the faint traces of Polly’s perfume, of burning firewood, of home.

Ada was standing near the stairs, her arms crossed tightly, her expression pinched with worry. Polly was beside her, brow furrowed, her gaze snapping to Tommy the second you stepped inside.

"About time," Polly muttered, but her eyes immediately scanned over him, checking for wounds. "John’s upstairs. Didn’t go easy, but he’s comfortable now."

Tommy gave a curt nod. 

Arthur was at the washbasin, scrubbing blood from his hands, his jaw set tight. He looked up briefly as you entered but didn’t say anything. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion.

Polly turned back to Tommy. "What happened?"

Tommy exhaled, running a hand down his face before speaking.

"Campbell set it up. Had a gang hit us while we were off guard. Thought he could wipe us out in one night." His voice was even, but there was something dark underneath it. "He was wrong."

Polly’s lips pressed into a thin line. "How many did we lose?"

"None of ours," Tommy said.

You sat down in the corner of the room as Tommy recounted the rest, how they had prepared, how the fight had broken out in the streets, how John had gone down but managed to drag himself behind cover before they could finish him off.

You barely heard any of it.

Your hands were still shaking.

You pressed them against your lap, willing them to be still. Not here. Not now.

But the gunfire still echoed in your ears. The blood, the screams, the trenches– it still clung to you.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Breathed in. Out. 

Tommy’s voice cut through the haze.

"Come on."

You barely registered him at first. The warmth of the house, the low voices in the other room—it all felt distant, blurred at the edges. But then Tommy’s hand was on your arm, his grip firm, steady. He guided you up the stairs, leading you through the dimly lit hallway, past closed doors, until he stopped in front of a room.

A guest room.

He pushed the door open, motioning for you to step inside. You hesitated for a second, but your body felt too heavy to argue. You stepped past him and sat on the edge of the bed.

Tommy lingered by the door for a moment before stepping further in.

"There’s a basin over there if you need to wash up," he said, nodding toward the far corner. "Blankets in the wardrobe. Polly probably left something you can change into."

His voice was steady, practical. Giving instructions. Making sure you had what you needed.

But you weren’t listening.

You were staring at the floor, your hands clasped together, your fingers still trembling no matter how hard you tried to make them stop.

Your breath was uneven. Your skin felt too tight. You knew you were safe, but your body hadn’t caught up yet.

Tommy’s voice faded into the background, drowned beneath the sound of your own heartbeat.

Then, a shift in movement.

The bed dipped slightly beside you.

And then warm hands were on your face again.

Your breath caught as Tommy’s fingers pressed gently against your skin, tilting your head toward him. His expression was unreadable, but his thumb brushed against your cheek, and it wasn’t until then that you realized… 

You were crying.

Silent, unchecked tears had begun slipping down your face, trailing along your skin, dripping from your chin onto your lap. You hadn’t even noticed.

Tommy exhaled, slow and steady, as he wiped a tear away with his thumb.

"It’s alright." His voice was quieter now.

You nodded, trying desperately to believe him. More tears fell. 

His thumb brushed over your cheek again, a silent encouragement to talk.

You swallowed hard, squeezing your eyes shut for a second before forcing the words out. "I wasn’t here anymore,” you tried to explain. “I was back there. I–" You broke off, your hands curling against your lap. "I couldn’t get out."

Tommy didn’t speak right away. He just held you there, his hands still cradling your face, grounding you, making sure you were here.

"I know," he murmured. “But you did.”

You blinked up at him, your breath still uneven.

"You came back," Tommy said, his thumb brushing against your cheek again. "And you did what needed to be done."

You let out a shaky breath, your vision blurring again. 

"It happens to all of us," Tommy said simply.

You looked at him then, really looked at him. The exhaustion in his face, the tension in his jaw, the bruises darkening his skin.

He knew.

He understood.

That realization cracked something deep inside you.

Your shoulders sagged, your body finally giving in to the exhaustion. Tommy caught the weight of it, his hands never leaving your skin.

"Just breathe," he murmured. “That’s the only thing that gets you through.”

So you did.

In. Out. In. Out. 

You let out slow breaths, trying to even them out while your eyes flickered over his face.

"This has happened to you?" you asked.

A shadow passed behind his eyes, gone too fast for you to catch.

"Yes."

You studied him, but he didn’t elaborate.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet between you was different now– thicker, heavier. His hands hadn’t left your skin, hadn’t pulled away like before. He was still holding you, like he was debating something, like there was something left to be said.

His thumb lingered against your cheekbone, softer now, slower.

Your breath stilled. The air between you changed.

You weren’t sure who moved first. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was you. But suddenly, the space between you was smaller. His forehead nearly touched yours, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb brushed along your jaw, tracing an invisible line before his fingers slipped lower, along the column of your throat.

A shiver rolled through you.

He felt it. His grip tightened– not forceful, not possessive, but firm. Intentional.

Your lips parted, but no words came. 

Tommy’s eyes flickered to your mouth, just briefly, before he inhaled sharply and let go.

The sudden absence of his touch left you colder than before. You watched as he stood, his movements slower this time, less certain.

"Get some rest," he said, voice rougher than before. "You’ll feel better in the morning."

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure you believed him.

Tommy turned, stepping toward the door, but before he reached it, you found yourself speaking.

"Tommy."

He stopped, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

You hesitated, swallowing thickly.

"Thank you."

Tommy held your gaze for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then, with the faintest nod, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

And for the first time that night, you were alone.

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[mintyys-blog]

ANYWHERE TO SEE YOU — sinister! mark grayson x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST

INSPIRED BY @halo-chao ‘s COMMENT

WARNINGS: implied sex, mention of abortion, pregnancy, miscarriage, alcoholism, blood, dark themes

PART ONE

You woke up before him.

For a few blissful seconds, you forgot where you were—forgot the weight of his arm draped over your waist, forgot the way your body ached from the night before. But then it all came crashing back.

You were still here. Still trapped in his world, his bed, tangled in sheets that smelled like him.

Carefully, you slid out from under his arm, barely breathing as you moved. Mark was a light sleeper, and the last thing you wanted was to wake him. You needed space, even if only for a moment.

Your feet hit the cold floor, and you grabbed the first piece of clothing you could find—one of his shirts, loose enough to cover you. You didn’t care that it smelled like him. You just needed to move. You stepped into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. And then you stared at yourself in the mirror.

Your reflection looked like a stranger’s. Your skin was flushed in places he had touched, lips swollen from his kisses, your eyes hollow, haunted.

This wasn’t you. This wasn’t the woman your husband—your real husband—had loved. The woman who had once laughed, once lived.

Mark had taken her, too. Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the sink, your breath coming too fast, too shallow. You wanted to scream. You wanted to tear your own skin off, scrub away every mark he had left on you. But it wouldn’t change anything. You were still here. And he wasn’t letting you go.

A soft knock came at the door, followed by his voice, still heavy with sleep. “You sneaking off in the middle of the night?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, taking a slow breath before forcing your voice to be steady. “I just needed a minute.” Silence. Then the sound of him shifting, leaning against the door.

“Hope you’re not regretting last night too much,” he mused. “That would be tragic.” You swallowed the bile rising in your throat. You couldn’t do this. Not now.

“…I’ll be out in a second,” you said quietly.

Another pause. Then, to your relief, the sound of him walking away. You looked back at your reflection, your fingers curling into fists. You could keep playing this game, letting him strip away what little was left of you.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed in the bathroom, staring at your reflection like the answer to everything might suddenly appear in the hollowness of your eyes. But eventually, you stepped away.

Mark was waiting in the bedroom, lounging lazily on the bed, shirtless, one arm behind his head as he watched you with that insufferable smirk. “Took your time,” he mused. “Thought you might’ve drowned yourself in there.”

You didn’t respond. You just walked past him, heading for the closet where he had let you keep some clothes—not because he cared, but because he wanted to maintain this illusion of domesticity. Like you were actually his wife.

Like you were actually his. You felt his eyes on you as you pulled out something to wear, your fingers shaking slightly as you got dressed. He enjoyed watching you squirm, enjoyed the little moments where he could remind you just how powerless you were here.

“Come eat,” he said suddenly. “You’re not skipping another meal.” You didn’t argue. There was no point.

The kitchen was too normal. That was the worst part. He had set the table, plates already filled. You hesitated for a second before sitting down across from him, picking at the food while he ate without a care in the world.

“So,” he said casually between bites, “what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” You kept your eyes on your plate. “Nothing.” Mark hummed, amused. “Liar.”

You forced yourself to take a bite, the food tasting like ash in your mouth. He was watching you too closely, like he always did, like he knew you were planning something. And maybe he did. But it didn’t matter.

The drinking started as an escape. A glass of wine here, a few sips of whiskey there—just enough to dull the sharp edges of reality. But as the days bled into weeks, it became something else.

A necessity. Mark never stopped you. If anything, he seemed amused by it, watching with a knowing smirk every time you reached for the bottle. He never told you to stop, never warned you that you were drinking too much.

Because he wanted this. He wanted you to rely on something—and if it wasn’t him, then this was the next best thing. You weren’t sure when you stopped drinking just to forget and started drinking just to function.

One night, you stumbled into the living room, the bottle of whiskey in your hand nearly empty, your vision blurred at the edges. Mark was sitting on the couch, legs spread comfortably, watching you with amusement as you swayed slightly.

“You’re pathetic,” he murmured. You scoffed, taking another sip. “I wonder why.” His smirk widened. “Oh, don’t blame me. This is all you, sweetheart.”

You clenched your jaw, your grip on the bottle tightening. He was right, in a way. You were the one drinking. You were the one spiraling.

But he had pushed you here. Mark leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What’s the end goal here, huh?” he asked. “You think if you drink enough, you’ll forget where you are? Forget who you’re with?” He tilted his head, eyes dark with amusement. “Or maybe you’re just hoping you won’t wake up at all.”

You didn’t answer. Because that thought had crossed your mind. His smirk faltered for just a second, like he saw something in your expression that he wasn’t expecting. Then he sighed, standing up and walking over to you. You flinched slightly when he took the bottle from your hand, but he didn’t scold you. Didn’t stop you.

Instead, he just pressed a lazy kiss to your forehead and murmured, “You should pace yourself. I’d hate for you to go and ruin all my fun.” And just like that, he walked away, leaving you standing there—empty, broken, and still craving something that would never be enough.

You tried to stop. Not for yourself, not because you wanted to be better, but because you refused to let him be right.

You hated the way he looked at you when you drank—the smug satisfaction, the amusement in his eyes, like he knew you would cave. Like he was waiting for it. So you slowed down. You avoided the bottles. You fought the cravings, the need to numb yourself. And for a while, it worked.

But then came the nights where the silence was too loud, where the memories of your real life, your real husband, clawed at your mind until you felt like you were suffocating. And Mark was always there.

He saw your struggle, saw the way your fingers twitched when you walked past the liquor cabinet. And he enjoyed it. Because he knew—just like before, just like always—you would break eventually. And you did.

The cycle repeated itself, like a cruel joke the universe refused to let you escape. You drank. He watched. He waited. And then you gave in. He never had to force you. That was the worst part.

Because by the time his hands were on you, by the time he whispered those filthy, possessive things against your skin, you weren’t fighting anymore. You let him have you. Again. And again. And again.

And when it was over—when you were lying beneath him, sore and spent, your body betraying you in ways your heart never could—you realized just how pathetic you had become. Because you had nothing left to hold onto. Not your dignity. Not your pride. Not even yourself.

The first time you threw up, you blamed the alcohol.

It made sense. You had been drinking more than usual—too much, if you were being honest with yourself. It wasn’t uncommon to wake up nauseous, your head pounding, your body sluggish. So when you barely made it to the toilet one morning, emptying the contents of your stomach into the bowl, you didn’t think twice about it.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, groaning as you slumped against the cool tile. I need to cut back.

You told yourself that. You even tried for a few days, forcing yourself to drink water instead of drowning your misery in liquor. But the sickness didn’t stop. Every morning, like clockwork, it returned.

Some days were worse than others—violent retching that left you trembling, your stomach twisting into knots. Other days, it was a mild wave of nausea that would pass after a few minutes. You figured it was stress, your body finally reacting to the hell you had been trapped in. It wasn’t just the nausea, though.

The exhaustion weighed on you constantly, a bone-deep fatigue that made it hard to get out of bed. You had always felt tired since coming here—being Mark’s prisoner had a way of draining you—but this was something different. It clung to you, heavier than before, leaving you sluggish and disoriented.

Then came the cravings. At first, you didn’t even notice.

Your appetite had been inconsistent since arriving in this twisted version of your life. Some days you barely ate at all. Other days, you stuffed yourself with anything you could find, desperate for comfort, for something that didn’t make you feel so hollow. But then you started craving things you never had before. Weird things.

One night, you stood by the open fridge, your fingers curled around a cold cup of chocolate pudding. You didn’t even remember grabbing it, but the moment you saw it, your stomach demanded it.

You dug in, shoveling spoonfuls into your mouth without thinking, sighing at the way the sweetness coated your tongue. It felt good.

For the first time in what felt like forever, something actually tasted right. You barely noticed Mark’s presence until he spoke. “What are you doing?”

You froze mid-bite, blinking up at him as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed, watching you with mild amusement. You rolled your eyes, licking the spoon before speaking. “Eating pudding.”

“At—” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Two AM?” You shrugged. “Yeah, I’ve been craving it.”

Then you paused. Something in the back of your mind itched, an old memory stirring, but you couldn’t quite place it. Then it hit you. Your fingers slackened around the cup, and it slipped from your grasp, landing on the floor with a soft thud.

“No… no, no, no…” You pulled your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself. Mark frowned. “What’s the problem now?”

You barely heard him. Your mind was spinning, racing back to a time when you had sat in your kitchen—your real kitchen—licking chocolate pudding from your fingers, laughing as Mark teased you about your late-night cravings. Back when you had been pregnant.

Your breath caught in your throat. “I’ve done this before…” Mark tilted his head. “Done what before?”

You swallowed hard. “The cravings. The sickness. The mood swings.” Your voice shook as realization set in, creeping through your body like ice. “I thought the nausea was from drinking. I thought my period was late because of stress but… it would explain everything.”

A terrible silence filled the room. Mark’s expression shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. His amusement was gone. His smirk, the teasing glint in his eye—gone. He stood still, unnaturally still, his dark eyes locked onto you like a predator sizing up its prey. Then, finally, he spoke. “What?”

Mark scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re not pregnant.”

You swallowed hard. “I think I am.”

“No.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. His body tensed, his jaw tightening as he took a step forward. “You’re not.”

His reaction shouldn’t have surprised you, but it still made your stomach drop.

You forced yourself to breathe, to stay calm, even as panic clawed its way up your throat. “Mark, think about it.” You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you upright. “We—we haven’t been careful.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “It makes sense.”

Mark stilled.

His brows furrowed, and for a brief moment, something flickered behind his eyes.

A realization.

A cold, harsh truth that neither of you had considered before.

For weeks—maybe even longer—you had been trapped in a cycle with him. The nights blurred together, filled with rough hands and heated breaths. He had taken you again and again, never once stopping to think about the consequences.

Neither had you. The thought had never even crossed your mind. But now, faced with the possibility, everything came crashing down. His expression darkened. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

“No.” The word came out quieter this time, almost as if he was trying to convince himself. You watched his face, your chest tightening. “Mark…” His hand shot out suddenly, grabbing your chin in a bruising grip, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“I won’t lose you again,” he growled, his voice trembling with something you almost mistook for desperation. “I won’t watch you wither away. I won’t let that thing kill you.” Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them back. “It’s not a thing,” you whispered.

His grip tightened for a fraction of a second before he abruptly let go, stepping back like he couldn’t stand to be near you. He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply through his nose. “You’re getting rid of it.” The finality in his tone sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t asking. Your breath hitched. “Mark—”

“I said you’re getting rid of it,” he snapped, his voice laced with something sharp and unforgiving. “I don’t give a damn what you think, what you want—this isn’t up for discussion.”

A bitter laugh bubbled up in your throat, but it came out strangled. “You killed our daughter before she had a chance to live. And now you want me to—” Mark’s eyes flashed with something dangerous, his lips pulling into a snarl. “I saved her.” Your chest heaved, your nails digging into your palms. “You don’t get to decide that,” you choked out.

His gaze locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw it—fear. Buried beneath the anger, beneath the cruelty, was fear. Not for the child. For you. He clenched his fists. “I do,” he said, his voice low and unyielding. And just like that, you knew—this wasn’t a fight you were going to win.

You shook your head, stepping back from him like he was something vile, something you couldn’t bear to be near.

“No!” Your voice broke, but you didn’t care. Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over as you clutched your stomach. “This is my chance—our chance! At having my family back! I won’t let you take that from me!”

Mark groaned, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. “Y/N.” He was trying to be patient—his version of it, at least—but you could hear the strain in his voice, the way he was barely holding himself together. “You know what happened to the other you. She died because she got pregnant. I won’t let that happen to you.” Your breath hitched. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

You could hear it in his voice, see it in the tension of his shoulders, the way his entire body coiled like he was preparing for battle. This wasn’t a man having a conversation. This was a man at war. And you were the enemy. “You’re not him,” you whispered, voice trembling. Mark’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“You’re not my Mark,” you repeated, your fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt. “My Mark—he would’ve been scared, but he still would’ve stood by me. He still would’ve fought for me, for our baby.” Mark’s jaw ticked. His lips pressed into a thin line. But you weren’t done.

“You don’t want to protect me,” you spat, anger bubbling up like a volcano. “You want to control me.”

That got a reaction. Mark moved—in the blink of an eye, he was in front of you, so close that you could feel his breath against your face. His hand shot out, gripping your wrist hard enough to make you wince. His face was unreadable, but his voice was deadly calm.

“You think I don’t know the difference between control and protection?” His grip tightened. “I buried you once.” His voice was low, guttural, dripping with something dark. “Do you think I want to do it again?” You inhaled sharply, your chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

His fingers loosened, just slightly. “I can’t—” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. His eyes met yours, and for the first time, there was no mockery, no cruelty. Just raw, unfiltered emotion.

“I can’t lose you again.” Something in your chest clenched. For a split second, you saw your husband in him. The one you had loved. The one you had lost. But then the moment passed, and he was himself again. Mark. But not yours. And that was far more terrifying.

You didn’t speak to him for days. You couldn’t.

Every time you looked at him, all you saw was the monster who had stolen everything from you—who had stolen her, the other you, the one who had died at his hands. The thought of him making that decision again, of him thinking he had the right to decide what happened to your baby, made you sick.

So you shut him out. You ignored him when he spoke. You turned away when he entered the room. You barely ate in his presence, forcing down just enough food to keep yourself going.

Mark was used to your defiance—he thrived on breaking you down—but this time, something was different. He didn’t lash out. He didn’t mock you or force you to bend to his will.

He just watched. Every time you passed him, his gaze was on you, unwavering and unreadable. Like he was waiting. You hated that it made you uneasy. You hated that you couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

You spent most of your time in the bedroom, curled up in bed with your hand resting over your stomach. The idea of something growing inside you, something small and fragile, something that was yours… it was overwhelming.

It was terrifying. But it was hope. Hope that maybe this was your second chance. Hope that maybe—just maybe—you could take back some control. You weren’t the other you. You were stronger. You knew your body, you knew you could do this. And Mark—this Mark—wasn’t going to take that away from you.

Even if he thought he could. Days passed in a blur of silence. And then, one night, you woke to find him sitting in the chair across from the bed. Watching you. Like he had been there for hours.

Your breath hitched, your body tensing under the sheets. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the city lights outside, casting shadows across Mark’s face. He sat perfectly still, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.

Watching.

Waiting.

Your throat felt dry. “How long have you been sitting there?”

Mark tilted his head slightly, the movement slow and calculated. “A while.”

A shiver ran down your spine. You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, as if it could somehow protect you from the weight of his gaze. “Why?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. His expression was unreadable, but there was something unsettling in the way his eyes traced over you, stopping at the place where your hand rested against your stomach.

“You think you can ignore me forever?” His voice was calm, but there was something beneath it—something simmering. You swallowed hard, but you didn’t back down. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Too bad.” He stood abruptly, and before you could react, he was in front of you. His hands gripped the blanket, ripping it away in one smooth motion, leaving you exposed to the cold air. You flinched, instinctively curling away from him. “Mark—”

“I don’t like being ignored,” he interrupted, his voice low, almost a growl. “Especially not by you.”

You glared at him, ignoring the way your pulse quickened. “What do you want me to say? That I forgive you?” Your fingers dug into the mattress. “That I understand? That I’ll just—just go along with what you want?” His eyes darkened. “I want you to listen.”

“To what?” you snapped. “To you telling me that my baby—our baby—doesn’t deserve a chance? That you get to decide whether it lives or dies?” Mark exhaled sharply, shaking his head like you were being difficult. “You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t understand!” You sat up, gripping the sheets beneath you. “I’m not her, Mark! I’m not the woman you killed, and I’m not going to let you kill this baby, either!” His jaw clenched. “I won’t let you die.”

“I won’t die!” you shot back. His hands balled into fists at his sides. He was losing patience. “You think you know that?” he said, voice eerily calm. “You think you’re different?”

“I am different.” Your voice wavered, but you held your ground. “And I’m keeping this baby whether you like it or not.”

Mark’s expression twisted, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes. For a moment, you thought he might lash out. That he might end it right then and there.

But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “You really think you have a choice?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it sent chills down your spine. You shuddered. “Yes.”

Mark inhaled deeply, then—just as quickly as he had approached—he pulled back. His lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. “We’ll see.”

And with that, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him. Leaving you alone. Leaving you breathless. Leaving you afraid.

The fights never stopped. Every interaction was a battle, every word laced with venom. The house, once eerily silent, now echoed with their arguments—shouted threats, desperate pleas, and the ever-growing tension that coiled around them like a vice.

Mark was growing impatient. And your stomach was growing right along with it.

Each time he saw it—each time his eyes lingered on the curve of your belly—his expression flickered. Just for a second. A hesitation, an ache he would never admit to. But then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. And the anger remained.

“You think this is cute?” he sneered one evening, his voice sharp enough to cut through steel. “Playing house? Pretending this is something good?”

You glared at him from across the room, one hand instinctively cradling your stomach. “It is good,” you shot back. “But you wouldn’t understand, would you? Because you’re incapable of seeing anything beyond yourself!”

Mark’s jaw clenched, his fists at his sides. “You’re going to die if you keep this up.”

“You don’t know that,” you hissed.

“I do,” he snapped, stepping closer, towering over you. “I watched it happen!”

You flinched but stood your ground. “Then watch me survive.”

He exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling with barely restrained frustration. He wanted to shake sense into you. He wanted to tear this idea—this delusion—out of your head. But he couldn’t. And worse, he couldn’t ignore the way his chest tightened every time he looked at you.

Every time he saw the growing swell of your stomach, proof of something real. Something his. Something he swore he would never have again. The next time he spoke, his voice was low, dangerous. “I should rip it out of you,” he murmured, almost to himself. Your blood ran cold. But instead of fear, something else took over—rage.

“Then do it,” you challenged, stepping even closer. “Do it, Mark. Kill me. Because that’s what you’d have to do, isn’t it?” Your eyes were wild with fury, with desperation. “I will not give up this baby.”

Mark didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His breathing was ragged, his hands trembling at his sides. You weren’t supposed to say that. You weren’t supposed to call his bluff. Because that’s what it was. A bluff. And you both knew it.

With a growl of frustration, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle the walls. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.

Your hands trembled as you pressed them against your belly, feeling the faintest of movements beneath your fingertips. A reminder that you weren’t just fighting for yourself. You were fighting for them. And you weren’t going to lose.

You sat curled up on the couch, knees hugged tightly to your chest, your body wracked with silent sobs. Another fight. Another screaming match that left you hollow and exhausted.

Mark had stormed off, slamming the door so hard the walls trembled, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence of the house.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, staring blankly ahead, your tears drying on your cheeks.

Then, your eyes landed on it. A bottle of wine, sitting on the counter. Mark never touched it. It was likely from his mother’s collection, forgotten and collecting dust. Your fingers twitched.

One glass won’t hurt.

You rose to your feet, moving on autopilot as you made your way over, uncorking the bottle with shaky hands. The first sip burned, but you welcomed it. It was warm, numbing. Comforting. Then another. And another. By the time Mark found you, the bottle was empty.

“Are you serious?” His voice was sharp, filled with exasperation.

You just giggled, leaning against the counter for support. “What’s the big deal?” You slurred, blinking up at him through hazy eyes. Mark sighed, running a hand down his face. “You’re drunk.”

“Very drunk,” you corrected, stumbling toward him. He caught you with ease, his grip firm but not rough. Your fingers trailed up his chest, your lips pressing against his jaw. “Mmm… missed you.”

For the first time in days, you were touching him willingly, clinging to him. The tension between you had been unbearable, each fight driving a deeper wedge between you. And now, you were finally his again.

A small smirk tugged at his lips—until he felt something warm drip down his leg. His brow furrowed. He looked down. And his stomach dropped. Blood. Your blood.

It stained the floor, pooling at your feet, soaking into your clothes. Mark’s grip on you tightened. “Y/N, stop—listen to me—”

But you weren’t listening. Your lips were still trailing along his jaw, your hands tangled in his hair. All you wanted was him. A distraction from the pain, from the helplessness.

He cursed under his breath. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t normal. Without hesitation, he scooped you up, carrying you into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, stepping in with you, his clothes quickly getting drenched.

You hummed against his skin, not noticing the way his jaw was clenched, the way his eyes were glued to the blood mixing with the water. He peeled your soaked clothes away, his own following soon after.

It wasn’t until you finally looked down, hoping to see the effect you had on him, that you saw it. The red spiraling down the drain. Your smile vanished.

“Wait… blood?” Your voice came out small, weak. Your dazed mind struggled to process it, but deep down, you already knew. Mark tensed, his hands tightening around your arms, holding you steady.

“I’m bleeding?” You choked out, your eyes widening in horror. Panic settled deep in your chest, your breathing quickening, the dizziness intensifying. Mark didn’t let you go. He wouldn’t let you go.

“Y/N,” he said, voice firm. “I need you to stay with me.” But you were already trembling, gripping his shoulders like a lifeline.

“No—no, no, this can’t be happening,” you whispered, panic rising. “It was just one glass, I—I didn’t—” Your hands shot to your stomach, desperate, pleading—but the pain was already there, sharp and unforgiving. Mark’s breathing was ragged. His heart pounded in his chest.

“You will be okay,” he swore. But as your legs gave out beneath you, the last thing you saw before everything went dark was his face— And the sheer, unfiltered panic in his eyes.

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled your nose when you finally came to. The dull beeping of a heart monitor echoed in the quiet room. The world was too bright, too sharp, and for a moment, you had no idea where you were. Then it hit you. The fight. The wine. The shower. The blood.

Your hand shot to your stomach, fingers pressing against the hospital gown covering your skin. Empty. No. Your breathing grew shallow. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

“Good. You’re awake.”

Your head snapped to the side. Mark was sitting in the chair beside you, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. He looked tired. More than that—he looked relieved.

You opened your mouth, but your throat was dry. When you finally spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper.

“The baby?” Mark met your gaze, expression unreadable. Gone. You shook your head. “No—no, I was fine. I—I only had one glass, I—”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know!” Your voice cracked, hysteria creeping in. “I didn’t—”

“Stop!”

His voice was sharp, cutting through your panic like a blade. Your breath hitched, eyes locked onto his. Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked exhausted.

“You almost died,” he said, his tone quieter now. “Again.” Tears welled in your eyes. This was your fault. You did this. If you hadn’t been so reckless, if you hadn’t let your emotions drive you to drink, maybe—maybe—A sob tore through your chest, your hands clutching at the blanket draped over you. “I—” You hiccuped, shaking your head. “I killed them.”

Your hands trembled, your entire body shaking. “I—I was so stupid, I should’ve been more careful, I—” Mark exhaled through his nose, standing up abruptly. “It’s done.”

You flinched at his tone. He wasn’t angry. Not like before.

But he wasn’t grieving either. You expected him to scream, to throw something, to punish you—because that’s what Mark did when he didn’t get his way.

But he didn’t. Instead, he was calm. Too calm. His eyes flickered to your stomach before meeting your gaze again.

“This is for the best,” he said simply. Your breath caught. “You—”

“I told you,” he cut you off. “I told you what happened to the other you. I warned you.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “And look where that got us.” Tears streamed down your face. “You’re relieved.”

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t even hesitate. And that hurt more than anything. You had lost your child. And Mark was relieved. Because in the end, it meant you were still his.

[lynnieverse]

Hey GORGG

I was wondering could we get a fic where bsf!rafe is an ass to his baf bc he’s going through shit and he’s just ghosting her and is mean and when she does the same he realizes he fucked up? Angst ans fluff?

tysm luv!

ooo I got you! thank you for this rec!! :)

ghostin' // rafe cameron

oneshot

asshole!bsf!rafe cameron x reader

You knock loudly on the large wooden door of your best friend’s house before stepping back, arms crossed tightly over your chest. Rafe had been going ghost for days––ignoring text messages, skipping out on plans––and while it had concerned you in the beginning, now you’re just pissed. You tap your foot impatiently as the minutes pass, and eventually you pull out your phone. You call him five times. Five times before he answers. 

“Yes?” his tone was sharp, clearly annoyed. 

“Open the fucking door, Rafe Cameron.” 

“Why are you here, Y/N?” 

“Why do you think I’m here?! You’ve been ignoring me for days, dude. What the fuck is your problem?” You start pacing around his porch, looking in windows trying to catch a glimpse of his stupid ass. 

“Maybe take a hint then.” The words are like a slap to the face, lips parting slightly. What the fuck? After a beat, you go cold. He’s messing with the wrong bitch. 

“Alright, sure. You go off and do your little broody, pouty, ‘woe is me’ routine because daddy doesn’t love you, and see where that gets you. Meanwhile, the people who do love you, that you couldn’t give a shit about, are worried and just want to talk. Not me. You’re not going to treat me like the dirt on the bottom of your shoe and think I’ll stick around. Have a nice life.” You end your rant with a satisfying jab and end the call. You shove your phone in your pocket and storm to your car, immediately driving away without a second glance. 

Within five minutes you hear a familiar ringtone and roll your eyes. This is what he always does. He pushes and pushes until people break, and then tries to make up for it with pretty words. Not today, not ever again. 

You send him to voicemail, immediately getting a second call. Then another, then another. Eventually you resolve to turn your phone off, cutting all contact at the source. Sighing, you pull into your driveway and rest your head on the steering wheel. You could do this. 

It was his turn to be ignored. 

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Rafe expects you to call back. You always do. 

But you don’t. 

He wakes up to silence. No missed calls, no texts…nothing. He can’t help but sigh at his own stubbornness. 

At first he tells himself it’s fine, that you’re just giving him space and you’ll come around. 

Then he sees you out with your friends. 

You’re laughing, head tipped back, smile wide. Instinctively he wants to approach, but knows he shouldn’t. Not after what he did. 

He really fucked up this time. 

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Three Days Later

Rafe shows up to your house shortly after the sun dipped below the horizon, draining all the light from your street. His hands are shoved deep inside his pocket, head hung low. 

He knocks. 

No answer. 

He knocks again.

Silence.

This continued for a few more minutes before your muffled voice could be heard through the door. 

“Go home, Rafe.” 

His stomach twists painfully. He doesn’t know how to deal with you shutting him out. It was always the other way around. 

“I was an asshole. Please, Y/N, just talk to me.” The words felt like ash on his tongue. He never apologized, not to anyone. “I took my bullshit out on you and I shouldn’t have. I messed up, but this can’t be how it ends with us.”

Silence surrounds him once more. He sighs in defeat before turning around, ready to lick his wounds back to his house. As he stepped off your porch, the lock clicked.

You open the door just enough to fit your frame, arms crossed over your chest. “Do you even know what you did?” 

Rafe swallows hard. He looks at you, really looks at you—the tired set of your shoulders, the frustration flickering behind your eyes.

“I pushed you away,” he says finally. “And then when you tried to pull me back, I hurt you.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment, searching for something. He looked sincere, shoulders sagging and eyebrows scrunched. 

“Yeah,” you say, voice quiet. “You did.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Okay.” 

It’s not forgiveness, not yet, but it’s enough for now. Enough to know you weren’t completely done with him yet. And Rafe will take whatever he can get. 

[writesvani]

say you remember | 02

idol!minyoongi x writer!reader

SUMMARY: You don’t expect much when your eyes meet his across the café-bar—just a fleeting glance, a moment that should mean nothing. But then there’s another look. And another. Before you know it, you’re tangled up in something that isn’t love, isn’t commitment—just an escape wrapped in late-night encounters and whispered goodbyes.

It’s fine. Until it isn’t.

When feelings start creeping in, you both decide to walk away before things get too complicated. It should have ended there. But fate has other plans. When your friend starts dating Jungkook—his best friend, his bandmate—you find yourself face to face with Yoongi once again.

The past lingers between you, heavy and unresolved. The question is—was it ever really over?

strangers-to-fwb-to-strangers-to-lovers

TRIGGER WARNINGS: jealousy, unresolved past relationships, awkward social interactions, emotional tension, flirtation, suppressed feelings, anxiety, unspoken love, betrayal, unrequited feelings, uncomfortable confrontation, smoking, drinking

comment here for to Say You Remember taglist;

SERIES M. LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 7k // date: 15th of April 2025

CHAPTER TWO — Drowning in the Silence Between Us; happy reading my gummies...

AN: hii guys. im so excited for this chapter, i LOVE it. it's so funny. like, i'm over here cackling like a mad person. it's honestly kinda self projecting but oh well, i'm embracing it. who needs boundaries when you're writing, right?

also, just to clear things up, y/n's book dear me is in no way connected with my jungkook fic dear me (imagine the drama if it was). it's just that i couldn’t think of a name for her book, so i just borrowed the name from one of my own fics. i promise i'm not secretly inserting my own universe into this. but yeah, dear me in this fic is y/n's book and it's all original with her own characters. okay, enjoy the chaos.

also, goal for this chapter is 250 notes. i am not lowering it this time. i fed you well with this one, 7k words after all, so if you want a new meal, y'all will have to work for it. get those notes in!

"Remind me again why we still don't know his name?" Chul asks, flatly, as he sets down three steaming mugs with the precision of a tired barista.

"Because it's still new," Aecha says, wrapping her hands around her cup. "And I want it to stay good before I jinx it by saying too much. You know how it goes—tell people, suddenly the whole thing collapses like a cheap tent."

You narrow your eyes, flicking ash off your cigarette with a pointed look. "People? Are we people to you now? Damn. And here I thought we made it past that stage."

Aecha just shrugs, a mischievous smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"It’s not just that, though," you go on, leaning forward. "It’s like you're actively enjoying this whole mystery-man act. Like you want us to suffer trying to figure out who he is."

"Maybe I do," she says, taking another sip. "You two make great detectives when you're desperate."

Chul groans, flopping onto the couch. "Great. So now we’re just part of your little game."

"You’ve always been part of my little game," she says with a wink.

"You see how little she thinks of us?" you say, shooting Chul a look of betrayal.

Chul nods with theatrical disappointment, letting out a long, dramatic sigh as he leans back in his chair. "Our own goddamn roommate. Best friend, even. And we’re apparently not worthy of a name."

"Ugh, it’s not like that," Aecha groans, setting her mug down with a soft clink. "It’s just… complicated, okay? You’ll understand when you meet him."

You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah? If we ever get to meet him. At this rate, you’ll be married with two kids before we even know his star sign."

"It would be nice to know who we’re meeting at least," Chul adds, more gently now. "Y’know, in case he’s a serial killer or a tax evader or something."

Aecha snorts. "He’s not a serial killer. Or a tax evader."

"That’s exactly what someone dating a serial killer would say," you deadpan, taking a slow drag of your cigarette.

"Oh, oh—wait. I have a theory," you say, tapping your fingers against the edge of the small wooden table. It’s sticky. "Ugh. Chul, seriously? Did you skip cleaning duty again?"

"Creative minds don't clean," Chul mumbles, unbothered.

You roll your eyes. "Anyway. Theory time. What if he's, like, a dealer? Or—wait—a vampire baby? Be honest, Aecha. Is your man an immortal bloodsucker with a side hustle in illegal substances? Because if so, I support you, I just need to emotionally prepare."

Aecha snorts into her coffee. "He is not a dealer. Or a vampire. God, what even is a vampire baby?"

"You know… baby-faced. Pale. Broody. Hangs out in corners. Likes antique furniture." You gesture vaguely, like you're describing a wine.

"Still no," Aecha says, but her smile slips just a little. "But I will say... he’s not exactly someone I can just go around telling people I’m dating."

You and Chul exchange glances.

"Jesus, who is he then?" Chul says, leaning forward with his chin on his hand. "C’mon, babe. All this secrecy is exhausting. You’re wearing us down like some kind of psychological warfare expert."

Aecha just shrugs again, lips curving into that maddening, knowing smile. "Good things come to those who wait.”

"Aaand, c’mon, guys," Aecha sighs, blowing on her coffee before taking a small sip. "It’s not like I’m keeping you waiting forever. For fuck’s sake, you’ll be meeting him—and his closest friends—tonight."

Chul’s eyes narrow, a slow, wicked grin forming. Then, in a low, ominous whisper, he leans in toward you. "Imagine they’re a group of human traffickers... and Aecha’s just their charming recruiter."

You snort. "Okay, that’s a little too specific, Chul."

"I’m just saying," he continues, eyes wide with mock horror, "if I end up stuffed in a trunk or smuggled across borders, I want it on record that she brought me to this dinner."

"No, but seriously?" you add, more dramatic than necessary. "I’m telling my mother where I’m going. If I disappear, she will avenge me."

"God, you’re both insane," Aecha mutters, laughing into her cup.

"Insane but prepared," Chul says. "That’s how survivors think.”

The fact that Aecha won’t even tell you her boyfriend’s name is… mildly weird. Actually, scratch that—it’s very weird. She’s never been the secretive type. If anything, she’s the kind of person who gives you the full name, zodiac sign, and three red flags of any guy she’s crushing on—whether it's someone she matched with for five minutes or actually dated for five weeks.

So the silence now? The mystery? It’s not just out of character—it’s loud.

Whoever this guy is, he must matter. Like, really matter. Either that, or something about him makes things complicated. And that? That makes you uneasy.

The idea of Aecha dating an idol has crossed your mind more than once. And honestly, that would be a solid reason to keep things secret. It makes sense. It fits.

But you try not to go there. Because you know. You know how messy it gets when people get tangled up in that world—the kind of dynamic that drains you, strips your privacy, and leaves you more alone than you were to begin with. The pressure, the lies, the heartbreak that's practically guaranteed.

So you don’t think about it. Or at least you try not to. It's easier to joke about vampire boyfriends or underground crime syndicates than to face a possibility that actually makes sense. A possibility that could genuinely hurt her.

Especially with her job—working in the digital marketing team at SM Entertainment—she’s in it. Right there, in the orbit of fame and its gravitational mess. And the odds of her meeting someone who lives in that spotlight? High. Too high.

And that’s what makes it worse.

"Aight, I gotta bounce. My shift starts in 45 minutes and I actually wanna keep this job," Chul groans, tossing back the last sip of lukewarm coffee like it’s tequila.

He gets up, drags himself to the sink, and starts washing his cup with the enthusiasm of a man being held at gunpoint.

"Wow," you say, raising an eyebrow. "Look who finally discovered the kitchen sink."

"I’m only doing this so you don’t go full FBI on me about it later," he mutters.

"That’s called growth, baby."

"Okay, don’t forget dinner!" Aecha calls out as he wrestles with his shoelaces like they personally offended him. "8PM sharp. LaRoy’s. If you're late, I’m telling them you died."

"Relax," he grunts, halfway into his hoodie. "I’ll be there. But just so we’re clear—if this turns out to be some cult initiation dinner, I’m eating first, then running."

"That’s fair," you nod. "Die with a full stomach. Iconic."

"Also, if I get kidnapped, I’m haunting you both. And I’m not gonna be a chill ghost. I’ll whisper embarrassing shit during your Zoom calls."

"Joke’s on you, I already embarrass myself daily," you shrug. "You’d be background noise."

"Love the support, really. Bye, losers."

And with that, he’s gone—probably already mentally composing his resignation letter.

When Chul leaves, it’s just you and Aecha again.

She’s immediately back on her phone, nails tapping out soft clicks against the screen—the kind of ASMR sound that weirdly soothes your brain. She’s smiling. Small, but there. The kind of smile reserved for someone. Mystery Man.

You don’t poke at her this time. Instead, you open your laptop, skimming through the last chapter you wrote, wincing at some of your word choices like they personally betrayed you.

"What are you doing today?" Aecha asks without looking up, but you can tell she’s peeled her eyes away from the screen just enough to look at you.

You sigh. "Writing. Or dying. Depends how dramatic I feel in an hour. I have to finish at least one chapter today or else both my editor and publisher are going to show up at my funeral just to make sure I’m really dead."

"Damn," she laughs, "at least you're being emotionally tortured by something you love."

"Yeah, yeah," you mutter. "I do love it. I just hate the part where I have to prove I'm not a lazy roach every three days. But don’t worry, I’ll be there for dinner. There’s no way I’m missing the grand reveal of Mr. No-Name."

"Good," Aecha says, biting back a grin. "I’ll be with him today. He’s got the day off—those are basically unicorn sightings. I’ll get ready at his place."

You gape. "Wait, so I’m stuck getting ready with Chul? Girl, you know he’s gonna stand in the doorway and trash all my outfit options like he’s a one-man 'Project Runway' judge panel."

"Oh absolutely," Aecha says, nodding. "You should prepare a backup outfit he picks. Just for the chaos."

"He’d probably put me in Crocs and a poncho just to see me suffer."

"And you’d still serve."

You glance up from your laptop. "I would, wouldn’t I?”

"Of course you would," Aecha grins, all smug and mysterious.

And then? Silence. The kind where you’re both in your little bubbles—her giggling at her phone like it’s whispering sweet nothings, and you glaring at your laptop like it just slapped your mom.

You’re trying to write. You really are. But this one scene is being stubborn. No matter how many times you rewrite it, it still reads like garbage written by a sleep-deprived raccoon with WiFi.

Your eye twitches.

Then—RING RING.

"Shit, he’s here?!" Aecha yelps, launching off the couch like she just sat on a ghost. She’s grabbing her purse, her wallet, a random sock, possibly someone’s toothbrush—you’re not even sure anymore.

"Wait, where is here?" you ask, blinking through the chaos.

"Here-here! Like, downstairs-here! Picking-me-up-here!" she hisses, as she smacks on lipstick with the grace of someone who's clearly done this in moving vehicles before.

"Damn, thank god you’re chill about it," you say, watching the storm unfold.

"Shut up," she breathes, checking herself in the mirror like she’s about to accept an Oscar.

She turns to you, one shoe on, purse hanging half open, still looking criminally good. "Okay, I’m leaving. See you tonight, babe!"

"Byeeeeee," you sing, and wait exactly 2.4 seconds after the door shuts before sprinting to the window like you’re in a Netflix thriller.

Full. Detective. Mode.

If she won’t tell you who this guy is, you’re gonna Nancy Drew your way into the answer.

You peek through the blinds—subtle, of course. Very stealth. But all you see is a car.

A very nice car.

A sexy, blacked-out, borderline Batman-looking Mercedes G 63 S.

You whistle under your breath. “Sir, what do you do for a living? And can I do it too?”

The windows are tinted darker than your search history. There’s no way to see inside. Just Aecha getting in, flipping her hair like this is her life now and the rest of you peasants can stay pressed.

The car glides away like it’s floating on money.

You stand there, blinking, brain already spiraling. Rich? Idol? CEO? Cult leader with good branding?

You sigh and flop back down on the couch.

“Good for her,” you mumble. “Eat the rich. Or at least… ride in their cars and moisturize with their money.”

You spend the rest of your day in the most unproductive, soul-crushing spiral imaginable. The kind of spiral where you stare at your laptop for so long, the blinking cursor starts to feel like it’s mocking you. Blink. Blink. You suck. Blink.

You write half a sentence. Delete it. Write a new one. Delete that too. Open Instagram. Hate everyone. Go back to the doc. Stare at the same three words for twenty minutes.

Your brain is soup. Not even good soup. Like watery instant ramen you forgot to flavor.

At one point, you dramatically flop face-down onto the couch and heavily consider committing one of two crimes:

One: Emailing your editor a resignation letter that just says "goodbye forever."

Two: Getting blackout drunk and letting the creative spirits possess you.

Option two is dangerously tempting. Tequila does make you poetic. But… you’re going to a dinner tonight. With Aecha’s mystery man and his friends. The man who drives a car that probably costs more than your organs combined.

You want to be sober. Observant. Ready to judge.

Because listen—if the man owns a Mercedes G 63 S, you know he’s dropping at least a couple hundred on wine tonight. You refuse to let his overpriced bottle taste like grape vinegar just because you had a solo pity party before dinner.

So you wait. Like a sad wife staring out the window for her husband at war. Except the war is Chul’s corporate shift and the husband is your emotional stability.

“Where the hell is he…” you mutter, tapping your pen against your notebook.

You have no idea what you’re wearing tonight. You have no mental energy to figure it out. You need Chul. You need his critiques, his sighs of disappointment, his dramatic gasp when you suggest wearing sneakers.

God help you if he comes home late. Or worse—if he says he’s too tired to help.

You might genuinely cry.

When the door finally creaks open, you let out a sigh of dramatic relief, like a damsel rescued from a burning building.

“I’m baaack!” Chul calls, dragging out the vowels. You hear the familiar thud of shoes being kicked off and keys clattering into the bowl by the door before he saunters into the living room like he owns the place—which, okay, partially, he does.

He takes one look at you, curled up on the couch like a cryptid, laptop half-slid down your lap, face twisted in literary despair.

“You writing?” he asks, already suspicious.

“Trying to,” you mumble, eyes still glued to the cursed blinking cursor.

He squints at you. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Not at all.”

He flops down beside you with a grunt, grabbing a throw pillow and hugging it like it personally owes him money.

“Is it like… ‘I can’t write because I’m empty inside’ trying? Or ‘I can’t write because I accidentally stalked Aecha’s mystery man via car model and now my brain is fried’ trying?”

You blink at him.

“Both.”

“Knew it. You’re a menace.”

You groan, sinking deeper into the couch. “He drives a G 63 S, Chul. What kind of man does that? What kind of bank account does that?”

Chul gasps. “A dangerous one. Probably moisturizes with La Mer and screams at assistants named Greg.”

You both sit in silence for a moment, processing the sheer luxury of the situation.

“…We have to look hot tonight.” you mutter.

Chul tosses the pillow aside like it’s a grenade. “I’ll get the steamer.”

The next two hours turn into a full-blown getting ready montage, complete with outfit changes, near-death experiences with the eyelash curler, and Chul nearly setting the apartment on fire trying to steam his shirt.

By the time you’re done, you look like a Pinterest board brought to life. Your makeup is peak clean girl aesthetic—dewy skin, fluffy brows, and just the right amount of highlighter to make it look like you're always basking in golden hour. Your hair is curled to soft, effortless perfection (even though it took 45 minutes and one minor burn), and your white, off-shoulder dress hugs your body like it was custom-made for night.

Chul, on the other hand, looks like he walked straight out of a K-drama. He’s wearing these dangerously good khaki dress pants that somehow make his legs look ten feet long, and a white button-up that he very intentionally left two buttons undone. It’s giving “CEO with a tragic past”, and honestly? If he wasn’t so aggressively gay, you'd have jumped him in the hallway by now.

“Do I look hot?” he asks, spinning slowly.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Tragic,” he sighs, spritzing himself with cologne like he’s about to go on a date with destiny.

The ride to the restaurant is weirdly silent. You and Chul keep exchanging glances like you’re in a horror movie where the monster is definitely hiding in plain sight. Both of you are too nervous to say anything out loud, like the car itself might snitch to Aecha.

When you finally step inside LaRoy’s, the first thing that hits you is how insanely gorgeous the place is. It’s giving Michelin star meets royalty on vacation. Golden chandeliers, velvet chairs, waiters with actual white gloves. You’re about to comment on it when—

“Wait... where is everyone?” Chul whispers.

And yeah. That’s when it hits you. The place is completely empty. Not a single other customer in sight. Just you, Chul, and an unsettling level of ambiance.

Chul and you exchange the we’re-definitely-about-to-die look.

Then, a pristine-looking hostess materializes out of nowhere like she was programmed to show up at maximum tension.

“Chul and Y/N?”

You both answer in unison, way too synchronized for comfort:

“Yes.”

“Right this way.”

You follow her through the overly quiet restaurant like you’re walking toward your own funeral. You glance at Chul, who is now casually patting down his hair and silently mouthing, ‘We’re so screwed’.

And then—you see her.

Aecha. Sitting at a massive round table like she owns the damn place. She’s already mid-laugh when she spots you two, and her smile somehow manages to get bigger. Like she's been waiting for this exact moment of dramatic entrance.

You don’t know if you should wave or run. Probably both.

And then you see the hand.

That hand—casually draped over Aecha’s shoulder, a silent claim.

You already know where this is going, but it doesn’t stop the twist in your stomach when you finally see who’s sitting next to her.

Jeon Jungkook.

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you freeze. You don’t even care about the fact that he’s ridiculously good-looking, or how the room feels like it’s just a bit too bright. No. What hits you like a freight train is that if he’s here...

Yoongi is, too.

Fuck.

You don’t even need to look around the table to know. The feeling crawls up your spine like a warning signal, one that you’ve tried to ignore for years, but here it is, loud and unavoidable. The tightness in your chest. The pulse of nausea that makes you want to choke on your own breath.

You can’t look at Jungkook. You can’t.

Because if you do, the truth slaps you right across the face, and it’s one you’ve been running from. Jungkook is just a mess of questions you don’t care to have answered. But Yoongi? Yoongi’s the reason your heart beats too fast, why you’re still tangled in memories you should have let go of.

And then you see him.

Jesus.

The way his eyes land on you is like it’s been years since you last saw each other—and honestly, that's the truth. Two years. Two years passed. The ache that pulls at your ribs, the rawness that floods you, is something you thought had faded into oblivion. You thought you were over it.

But it’s never that easy, is it?

Chul notices immediately, the shift in your expression, the way your posture changes, rigid as though you’ve been frozen by some invisible force. His hand rests on your arm gently, a silent question. But what can you say? What can you explain without laying it all bare in front of people who have no idea about your history with him?

And you know it’s not just the fact that Yoongi is here—it’s that feeling. That damn ache that never really goes away. The past flooding back to suffocate you in this room full of people who have no clue what’s going on in your head.

You can’t breathe.

You’re not ready for this. You weren’t ready to see him again. Not like this. Not with Chul looking at you like he’s wondering if you’re okay.

But Yoongi? Yoongi’s eyes stay locked on yours. No words. No movement. Just that look. The one that says everything, even though it says nothing at all.

It’s like he’s still inside you. Like nothing has changed. You’re right back there, a thousand moments too many.

And it hits you—the final realization that this dinner isn’t just awkward. It’s a damn reminder of all the unfinished business you wish you could bury.

You’ve never felt so out of control.

“Oh my God, hi guys,” Aecha stands up with that familiar sparkle in her eye, wrapping you in a hug that feels tighter than usual. You hug her back, but your hands are clammy, your heart heavy in your chest. The warmth in her smile is real—but you can’t match it right now. Not with everything pressing down on you.

You force a breath as your gaze flickers over the table. You skip him. You skip Yoongi. On purpose.

Your hand finds the hem of your dress, discreetly wiping off the sweat as you steel yourself to be polite. Presentable. Normal.

Jungkook stands to greet you, that signature sweetness etched into every corner of his face. “Hey, I’m Jungkook,” he says, extending his hand. He doesn’t know. You see it immediately. There’s no recognition of your history—only curiosity, maybe a spark of interest, but nothing more.

You shake his hand, offering a small smile. “Nice to meet you.” Chul introduces himself too, and Jungkook lights up, immediately vibing with him, which helps, a little. The rest of the guys are friendly, laid-back. They smile, say their names, nod politely. It should feel normal.

But then.

He stands.

And everything slows.

“Min Yoongi,” he says evenly, his tone smooth and familiar in the worst way. He extends his hand, and for a moment you freeze. You think about ignoring it. About pretending. But that would draw too much attention—especially with Aecha watching so closely.

So you take it.

Your name slips from your mouth like it doesn’t belong to you. Like it’s a line from a script you’ve forgotten how to feel.

His skin is warm. You wish it wasn’t.

It lasts no more than a second. But when you sit down, your whole body feels altered.

Chul’s next, his handshake with Yoongi stiffer, his eyes avoiding yours. You don’t need to ask to know—he’s silently panicking. He knows everything. And you’re both trying to act like nothing happened, like Yoongi and you didn’t ruin each other once and then vanish from each other's worlds.

Namjoon watches. Quietly. Sharp eyes missing nothing.

You wonder if Yoongi gave him the full truth. Or just enough to keep him quiet.

Either way—this dinner is going to suck.

You settle into your chairs, side by side like you're bracing for impact. On your right sits Kim Taehyung, draped in luxury like it's a second skin, sipping water like it's champagne. On Chul’s left, Yoongi is already sprawled in his chair, legs stretched out like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

Honestly? Mood.

You flick your eyes at Chul. He looks like he’s debating whether to throw up or chug the complimentary sparkling water. No in-between.

“Sooo,” Chul finally speaks, voice artificially light. “Give us the story of how you two met. Like okay, you’re dating him,” he points a thumb at Jungkook, “but you work for SM, not HYBE.”

Aecha beams, clearly ready for this part. “It was during a promotional event the guys were at. I was there handling digital strategy for EXO, and Jungkook was invited as a guest and—”

“She was holding an iPad like it was a weapon,” Jungkook cuts in with a laugh, eyes crinkling. “I was just trying to ask where the restrooms were, and she looked at me like I was trying to hack the mainframe.”

“I did,” Aecha says dramatically. “He walked up all shy like, ‘Excuse me—’ and I was like, ‘Do not distract me, I’m in the middle of an algorithmic miracle.’”

“Which turned out to be a TikTok schedule,” Jungkook deadpans.

“Hey. That TikTok trended for three days. I saved Baekhyun’s brand.”

They’re laughing. Everyone at the table joins in. Except you.

And Yoongi.

Taehyung leans a little closer, eyes twinkling. “So what about you two?” he asks innocently, gesturing between you and Chul.

“We’re not together,” you and Chul say in perfect sync, too quickly, like soldiers trained for battle.

“Oh,” Taehyung blinks. “I mean—okay.”

“Yeah,” Chul coughs, “I’m very gay and she’s very… emotionally unavailable.”

“Thanks for that,” you mutter, shooting him a glare.

“What? You are.”

“Okay but you once cried because the guy you liked didn’t like The 1975.”

“Because he had no taste,” Chul hisses back.

Namjoon snorts into his glass. Yoongi remains silent. You can feel him, though—his presence heavier than anything on the menu. He hasn’t looked at you once. Not since the handshake. But you know he’s listening. You know.

Aecha smiles brightly. “Isn’t this nice? Everyone vibing already!”

You glance at her, then at Yoongi’s shoulder half a meter away from yours. You're practically inhaling the same air and pretending he’s a stranger.

Yeah.

Nice.

Totally vibing.

“So,” Aecha starts, swirling her wine like she didn’t just drop a social grenade, “What’s everyone getting? The truffle risotto is apparently divine.”

You reach for the menu like it might shield you from the tension building beside you. Yoongi still hasn’t spoken. Still hasn’t looked at you. It’s like sitting next to a ghost you used to let touch you.

Chul nudges your knee under the table. You don’t look at him, but you know he’s silently asking if you’re okay. You’re not. But you nod anyway.

“I’ll probably get the steak,” Jungkook says. “Haven’t eaten properly all day.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Taehyung mutters. “You only drink iced americanos and chew gum like it’s a food group.”

“I’m a busy man.”

“You’re chronically late.”

“Still busy.”

Yoongi finally speaks. “Get the steak rare,” he mutters without looking up, “They overcook everything past medium.”

His voice. It slashes through the air like a knife dipped in nostalgia and regret. You freeze for half a second. Just half. But Chul notices.

“Ohhh, steak boy speaks,” Taehyung says dramatically.

Yoongi doesn’t respond. Just drinks his water.

“So, Yoongi,” Aecha smiles, “still working on that solo album?”

He nods once. “Yeah.”

“How’s it going?” she asks sweetly.

“Like a root canal. But with synths.”

The table laughs. You don’t. You remember what he sounds like at 3am talking about chord progressions and bridges like they’re living things. You remember that look in his eyes when he finished a song and asked you to listen first. You remember a version of him that smiled at you across a messy bed, not across a dinner table full of other people.

You sip your wine. You need something stronger.

Namjoon clears his throat. “So, Y/N,” he says, forcing a new topic, “Aecha said you’re a writer?”

You blink. “Uh, yeah. I write romance.”

“Like… smut?”

Taehyung leans in, curious. Too curious.

Chul coughs loudly. “Not just smut.”

“I mean… a little smut,” you admit, shrugging, because what else are you gonna do? Lie?

“That’s dope,” Jungkook grins, nodding. “That takes guts.”

Yoongi still doesn’t say anything.

“I read one of her books once,” Chul announces, like he’s proud. “Couldn’t look her in the eye for a week.”

“Because you read the scene,” you mutter.

“Oh, you know I read the scene.”

“Wait,” Taehyung interrupts, eyes wide. “Do you base your characters on real people?”

You open your mouth to answer, but before anything leaves your lips, Yoongi suddenly stands.

“I’m gonna smoke,” he mutters, already walking away before anyone can respond.

Silence follows in his wake. Chul clears his throat.

“I’d say he’s always like that but… he’s not.” Jimin sighs into his wine.

You stab at your salad like it insulted your lineage.

And Aecha, bless her clueless soul, just smiles and says, “Maybe I will get that risotto.”

When Yoongi comes back, the conversation is already flowing. The wine’s been poured (maybe a little too generously), the bread basket is on its second refill, and you’re three laughs deep into a story with Jin and Taehyung.

You didn’t dare follow him outside. Nope. Not a chance. You weren’t about to chase a ghost into the night like it’s some 2014 Tumblr breakup playlist.

So you stayed, committed to the bit, committed to pretending your past isn’t three chairs away and brooding in black. Well he was smoking outside. But you get the point.

And now? You’re vibing.

“Wait, you’re telling me you were the one who wrote Dear Me?” Taehyung says, eyes wide like you just told him you invented bread.

You nod, sipping your wine like it’s a mic drop.

“That would be me.”

“NO.” His jaw is dropped. “No no no. That book ruined my entire week. I didn't leave my room. I didn't eat.”

Jin leans forward dramatically. “I read that one. I didn’t come out of my room for three days after that. Why is it so fucking sad?”

You grin. “It’s called talent. Look it up.”

Jin places a hand over his heart like you stabbed him. “Do you thrive on making your readers cry?”

“I mean…” You shrug. “A little. It’s character development. For you, not the characters.”

“Twisted,” Taehyung mumbles. “You need therapy.”

“And yet here you are, emotionally wrecked and asking for more.”

“You’re dangerous,” Jin points at you. “You’re like one of those hot witches in fantasy novels who curse people with heartbreak and then look hot doing it.”

You raise your glass. “Cheers.”

That’s when you feel it—him.

Yoongi slides back into his chair, and even though you don’t look at him, you know. You know from the slight shift in the table. The way the energy dips by ten degrees. The way Chul subtly straightens up like he might have to go full bodyguard in two seconds.

“So,” Namjoon says, like he’s stepping between a lit fuse and a barrel of gunpowder, “Yoongi, did you smoke the entire pack or just half?”

“Depends,” Yoongi replies flatly. “Did the conversation get better while I was gone?”

“Oh,” Jin grins, “way better. She wrote Dear Me.”

Yoongi stills. You don’t look at him. But you hear it in the pause. The inhale. The weight of a book title that he knows isn’t fiction.

“That book,” Jin continues, oblivious, “is basically emotional waterboarding.”

Yoongi takes a slow sip of his drink. “Sounds familiar.”

Your hand tightens around your glass. So we’re doing this. We’re being subtle.

“It’s fiction,” you say brightly. “Totally made up. Not a single shred of truth in it.”

Yoongi finally glances at you, eyes sharp. “Right. Fiction.”

Taehyung, bless his heart, frowns. “Wait. Is this about that scene with the voicemail? ‘Cause that—”

Chul loudly coughs and drops his fork.

“Anyway,” he says, “Jungkook, how’s your dog?”

Jungkook blinks. “Uhh… he’s good?”

“Great. Cool. Let’s talk more about that.”

The table dissolves into messy conversation again, everyone just a little too loud, a little too animated. You finally risk a glance at Yoongi. He’s looking at you, of course.

And beneath the casual disinterest, his eyes say it loud and clear:

You really thought I wouldn’t recognize myself in your pages?

You take another sip of wine and look away.

You were the one who told me to write what I know.

“Sooo,” Taehyung sings, one eyebrow cocked and eyes glittering as they dart to you. His voice alone is dangerous—smooth and teasing, the kind that could talk you into trouble without breaking a sweat. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

You pause mid-sip, arching a brow. “Umm, I’m pretty sure Chul already mentioned my emotional unavailability.”

Across the table, Chul snorts. “That’s an understatement.”

“Maybe,” Taehyung leans in a little, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm, “we can work on that one.”

You blink. “What, my issues?”

“No,” he grins, wolfish and playful. “Your availability.”

Hoseok doesn’t look up from cutting his steak, but his fork slows. “Taehyung.”

“What?” Taehyung says innocently, eyes still trained on you. “We’re just talking. I’m curious. I like to connect with people.”

“Yeah, well maybe let her breathe before you start undressing her with your eyes,” Jimin mutters, sipping his wine.

“Oh please,” you roll your eyes, “let him. I put effort into this dress.”

“Exactly,” Taehyung points at you. “You wore it for a reason, don’t lie.”

You lean back, smirking. “I wore it for the free wine, actually.”

Yoongi mutters under his breath, “Still desperate for the buzz, huh?”

You don’t even look at him. “Still pretending like you’re too good for anything fun, huh?”

There’s a pause. A weird pause.

And then Jungkook narrows his eyes between the two of you. “Wait. Hold on. You two know each other?”

Namjoon’s knife slips and scrapes against his plate with a loud screech. Chul straight up drops his fork.

You blink slowly, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “Define know.”

“I knew it,” Taehyung leans forward, eyes wide with delight.

“No, no, no, it’s not like that,” Chul jumps in, hands raised like he’s waving off a scandal. “They… uh, they were in a workshop together.”

You shoot him a look. A “really?” kind of look.

Namjoon nods way too fast. “Yeah. Yeah! Like two years ago. They had a, uh… poetry workshop?”

“Poetry?” Jin asks, clearly unconvinced. “Yoongi?”

Yoongi just stares blankly at the table like he’s counting down the seconds till he can leave.

“Yep,” Namjoon barrels forward. “Modern poetry. Tuesdays and Thursdays, 8 a.m. Real intense syllabus.”

“Exactly,” Chul laughs awkwardly. “Like, Emily Dickinson, Rupi Kaur… very deep.”

“I dropped out after three weeks,” Yoongi says flatly.

“Oh,” Jungkook says, squinting at him, then at you. “And you stayed in?”

You nod, cheeks warm. “Loved every second of it.”

Taehyung’s trying not to laugh. “Okay, sure. What was your favorite poem?”

You deadpan, “The one about heartbreak and regret.”

Yoongi mutters under his breath, “Original.”

You snap back, “At least I read something.”

Chul loudly clears his throat. “So, um, wine! Should we order another bottle?”

Namjoon nearly slams his glass down. “Yes. Definitely. Someone flag a waiter.”

Taehyung hums, still eyeing you like he’s crafting a sonnet in his head. “Tell you what—if we survive this night, I’m taking you out. No emotional unavailability allowed.”

You raise a brow. “And what if I ghost you after?”

He smirks. “Then I’ll write a sad poem and hope it gets published. Sound familiar?”

Jimin jumps in, glancing at Chul. “So what is going on with you two, huh?”

“We’re roommates,” Chul replies, deadpan.

“Roommates who get ready together for dinner like it’s prom night?” Yoongi mutters, not even looking up from his glass.

“Dude. I already said—I’m into men. I like penises. Hope this helps.”

The entire table erupts.

Taehyung nearly falls out of his chair laughing. Jin bangs the table. Namjoon mutters, “I needed that level of honesty today.”

Jungkook wheezes, “I’m framing that quote.”

Meanwhile, you're crying from laughter and embarrassment, hiding your face in your hands. “God, Chul, you’re so dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic, I’m just tired of being confused for your boyfriend when I’m actively fantasizing about Park Seojoon,” Chul fires back.

Jimin, without even looking up from his plate, goes, “Honestly, mood.”

Jin wipes a tear from his eye. “Okay, fair. Penises. Got it.”

Taehyung raises his glass toward Chul. “To penises.”

Everyone clinks their glasses—except you, still dying inside.

“So,” Namjoon says, pointing his chopsticks at you like they’re a lie detector, “are you working on something new?”

You freeze mid-sip of your wine. “Uhh… kinda yeah.”

“Okay, so that’s a yes, but it’s going terribly,” Jin interprets, nodding sagely.

You sigh, dramatically collapsing back in your chair. “It’s like… my brain is a hamster wheel. Except the hamster died. And now the wheel is just creaking ominously in the wind.”

Taehyung gasps. “That’s so dark. I love it. Can I be the dead hamster?”

“Please,” you deadpan, “be my guest.”

Namjoon chuckles. “So it’s writer’s block?”

“Big time. Like, I’ve stared at a blank document for so long, I think it’s starting to stare back.”

Chul chimes in, “I found her today whispering ‘just one sentence’ to her laptop like it owed her money.”

“It does owe me money,” you say, poking at your food. “And dignity.”

Aecha grins. “Have you tried turning it off and crying?”

Yoongi mutters, “That’s my approach to life, honestly.”

“Oh my god, same,” you say, raising your glass toward him.

Taehyung, ever the opportunist, leans in with a flirty glint in his eye. “Maybe you just need some fresh inspiration.”

You raise a brow. “Are you volunteering?”

“I mean…” he shrugs, smirking. “I do look good in tragic love stories.”

“Tragic is right,” Yoongi mumbles under his breath.

Namjoon laughs. “Okay, okay—can we please get a live reading if she ever finishes it?”

You scoff. “Only if you promise not to cry.”

“I make no such promises,” Namjoon says, holding up his hands. “According to Tae and Jin, you write pain too well.”

Taehyung leans in again, this time resting his chin on his hand, eyes twinkling. “I’m serious. Write something hopeful. Like a tortured writer meets a charming stranger in a too-fancy restaurant. Sparks fly. Banter ensues. Maybe a little—” he pauses, eyes flickering to your lips, “—tension.”

You chuckle, but you feel the heat creep up your neck. “What are you trying to do, cast yourself as the love interest?”

Jin jumps in, laughing. “Please, the man’s been auditioning since the appetizers.”

“Can you blame me?” Taehyung says dramatically. “She’s hot, she’s funny, and she writes angst that emotionally ruins people. I’m practically in love already.”

Yoongi’s fork clinks a little too hard against his plate.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, sensing the shift. “You okay, hyung?”

Yoongi shrugs, not looking up. “Just didn’t realize we were casting for a romcom tonight.”

“You wanna audition too?” Jin grins. “Could be a love triangle.”

“I don’t do love triangles,” Yoongi mutters, swirling his drink. “Too messy.”

Chul snorts. “Says the guy who practically invented emotional mess but ‘make it music’.”

You glance at him, curious, but Yoongi doesn’t take the bait. Instead, his eyes flicker up and lock with yours for a split second—just long enough for your breath to catch.

Taehyung doesn’t miss it, and he grins wider, leaning closer to you. “Well, if it were a love triangle, I’d fight dirty.”

“Oh my god,” Chul groans. “This is officially a Wattpad fic now.”

“Shut up,” you say, biting your lip to hold back a smile.

Taehyung winks. “I’ll be waiting for my cameo in chapter five.”

Aecha leans forward, swirling her wine lazily. “Yoongi, didn’t you say you’ve been dealing with a block too?”

Yoongi gives a slow nod, jaw ticking slightly. “Yeah. It’s been rough. But, you know… it comes with the territory. It’s part of the process, unfortunately.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raising slightly as he continues.

“I’m not really in a rush, though. The next album isn’t coming out until next year anyway. D-Day’s still pretty fresh. Still got some breathing room.”

Aecha perks up instantly. “Oh my God, D-Day! We were obsessed. The three of us actually had a whole listening party when it dropped. Like, wine, snacks, full breakdowns of lyrics... tears.”

“Mostly Chul’s tears,” you chime in, smirking.

“I stand by them,” Chul says dramatically. “'Amygdala' had me pacing the hallway like a divorced man in a drama.”

Yoongi chuckles, soft and genuine. “Happy to hear D-Day landed.”

“And by ‘landed,’ he means it sucker-punched us in the gut and left us on the floor,” you mutter.

“Good,” Yoongi says, a tiny smirk playing at his lips. “That’s the goal.”

For a second, his eyes flick to yours. And something lingers there—quiet, unspoken, and just slightly bruised.

You don’t look away. Not yet.

“We actually went to the concert too,” Aecha says, casually lifting her wine glass.

Jungkook gasps, clutching his chest like she just betrayed him. “You didn’t tell me about this? You attended my hyung’s concert without me?”

“You didn’t even know me back then, Kook,” Aecha laughs, nudging his shoulder. “It was, like, peak fangirl era.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You were there?” he asks, looking at all three of you—but his gaze lands and lingers on you.

Your stomach flips. “Yeah, we were,” you say, carefully meeting his eyes. “It was… incredible.”

His expression softens, just a little. “Huh. Didn’t expect that.”

“We cried,” Chul announces dramatically, raising a hand. “Like, real tears. Especially her.” He jerks his thumb toward you.

You shoot him a look. “Chul, please.”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, grinning. “Some of us may or may not have said ‘he’s a genius’ in the middle of the second chorus.”

Yoongi’s lips twitch, that almost-smile threatening to show itself again. “Good to know I had such a poetic impact.”

You smile faintly, and something about the way he looks at you—like he's trying to read a secret you never meant to share—makes your throat tighten just a little.

Yoongi takes a slow sip of his drink, eyes still on you, like he’s trying to decide if he should say something or let the silence speak instead. He goes with the second option—until Taehyung interrupts.

“So, Y/N,” Taehyung leans in, smirking, “did you fall in love with him before or after People Pt.2?”

You snort. “Definitely after. Before that, he was still hiding behind metaphors.”

Yoongi’s mouth quirks. “You think I hide behind metaphors?”

You glance at him, heartbeat hitching just slightly. “You live behind metaphors.”

A beat of silence passes. His eyes don’t leave yours. “And yet you still showed up.”

You want to roll your eyes, but it’s too sincere to dismiss. “Yeah, well… good lyrics deserve to be heard. Doesn’t mean I know the man behind them.”

Yoongi leans back in his chair, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Maybe you did.”

taglist: @park-littlecrane @gyozajoon @knjs95s @jajabro @peacenpigeons @supertopsecretleebit @glossyfanfic @mar-lo-pap @kittyyyminnn @jennierubyjem @ot72025 @yohoosoju @diame93 @ryryvna @taekritimin123 @baechugff @enfppuff @amarawayne @134340-kr @mikrokookiex @futuristicenemychaos @shesscorpio7 @kam9404 @teaaaaaan @blubird592 @rpwprpwprpwprw @ktownshizzle @tea4sykes @jennierubyjem @butterfly-lover @jellihueni @xtracy-xd7 @annyeongbitch7 @rkivved-girl @mygtangerine @busanbby-jk @jennierubyjem @kiki-zb @marissariveraaaa

[catiuskaa]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬.

[ synopsis. ]: you have stayed behind. it’s a bitter truth you come to realize, as you stand surrounded by friends who feel distant, the feeling cracking inside you like a small spark that threatens to become a big flame when exposed to oxygen. everyone had partners, plans for the future, a life together, and you were hopelessly alone and melancholically lonely, with a myriad of comments that were meant to help, but only managed to suffocate you. changbin, always attentive, lost in an inferno of heat, had also stayed behind. he had heard on the radio that someone was missing, and as a fireman, he couldn't help but return to the burning building. he found you in your flat, distorted in smoke and tears, and found himself physically unable to separate from you, because, as a firefighter, even if changbin was aware that fire leaves scars, what he didn’t know was that though the scars you left in his skin tore him open just a little, they would end up teaching him a lot about love.

[ word count. ]: 60k!

[ status. ] FINISHED.

firefighter!changbin x fem!victim.

[ full warnings. ] content! language, alcohol, hyunin is mentioned. angst! language, alcohol, fire and rescue situations, hospitals, mild emotional damage, trauma recovery, mild violence (action-heavy stuff), miscommunication (not with changbin but she had to be here guys i’m sorry). fluff! teasing and banter, they’re in love your honour, slow-burn romance? (at least I hope I pulled it off). smut! kisses, kisses, kisses, markings, protected piv sex (yes), and i think that’s all, folks!

[ also! ] available on AO3!

[♦️☆🔥☆♦️]

EP1: smoke and sparks. (20.7k)

syn. trapped in a devastating fire, you’re rescued by firefighter Seo Changbin, and maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe it’s something more—either way, neither of you is walking away from this unshaken.

EP2: seven floors under ash. (17.4k)

syn. a drunk call brings a certain Seo Changbin back into your life, and an argument follows—sharp, charged, and laced with something neither of you is ready to name—, things is, the line between comfort and something more —desire?— has already begun to blur.

EP3: fire hazard. (10.6k)

syn. as much as he’d like to deny it —he wouldn’t, but still—, no one in the fire station will let him escape from the truth, but with you across the table, laughter on your lips, and something warm beneath the surface, it’s hard to refuse the truth.

EP4: tears, sweat, skin, flames (11.3k)

syn. a strained reunion with old friends helps set things clear—but a quiet visit to the fire station sparks inside both you and Changbin a flicker of something warmer. Wait until night, until he opens the door—then, that flicker catches fire.

[♦️☆🔥☆♦️]

[ a/n. ] ok first of all HIII i’m back from the dead with a REQUEST! by my baby @palindrome969 but I just have to say i’m sorry, I had started writing the first scenes and like mapping the fire and all in my head and then i texted @lyramundana and my wifey @knowbites (that btw y’all thank em’ bc they were a massive help beta reading, 10/10 moral support, and my wifey helped me with the synopsis) and I was like “girly pops help i’m at 5k and barely anything happened compared to my usual writing” but they loved it so much, specially marsy, so this is ALSO planned to (hopefully) be done (or i’ll publish the second episode at least) in her b-day!! everyone say yippie mars!! in the comments if you read this. but yeah! that’s why this is so long, because of my wifey’s support (hell yeah) but also probably because i’ve been reading too much from my darlin eff @seospicybin and the way i don’t even realize the amout of words i devour in each work of hers, just omg, total inspiration, as much as @leeknowsallyoursecrets who was another inspo for this post’s style and the sneak peaks and all bc i just reread one of her works and i’m so in love bc c’mon i’m just surrounded by awesome talented mooties like what can I do except show off 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️‼️ anyways this is a long author's note, but yeah, if you do plan to read this, i love you so much already 🎀 hope you like!!

[ permanent taglist! ] @svckrpvnch @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @/lyramundana @/cheeksung

[♦️☆🔥☆♦️]

~kats, who’s excited to publish all of it already, and even more excited to be back!! 🙂‍↕️‼️💗

catiuskaa, april 2025 ©

[smartkookiee]

Wounds We Never Show // Ch.1 — jjk.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. ❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/her, afab) ❥genre/rating: 18 +explicit content, enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, enemies with benefits, these two really do hate each other ❥chapter warnings: Fighting (verbal), swearing, drinking, Jungkook just being a little shit, small angst (squint) ❥word-count: 13.1k ❥Series Masterlist Previous Chapter ||❥|| Next chapter ❥Playlist fic is cross posted to ao3 send an ask or comment on post to be added to the tag list .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Hi, checking in.” You set your bag down next to you on the ground. The front desk person took your info and handed you a key to your room. You admittedly arrive later in the day than you had intended, as it was already evening.

You noticed the sign had been placed at the entrance ‘Welcome friends and family for the Kim and Abel wedding.’ 

You had finally made it to this weekend. Namjoon and Melanie were getting married. 

You as the maid of honor had spent many months planning out every step of this wedding with Melanie. The hotel she always dreamed of, the food she insisted on having, the music down to the minute. Every detail was planned from top to bottom. 

You finally could get some sleep after today. 

You headed up the elevator to the floor Melanie said they were staying in. Her and Namjoon had elected to stay in separate rooms for the weekend. She took the honeymoon suite and Namjoon is in another room on another floor. A quick ride up the elevator basically led right to the room. 

The door was creaked open so you pushed the door open to let yourself in.

“Hello?” You dragged the word looking into the room, You immediately spotted Melanie and Ash. Sitting on the couch immediately inside the door. 

“You made it my love!” Melanie jumped to her feet. A little bit of champagne spilling from the glass she had in her hand. 

You set your bag on the ground and rounded your way around the couch to hug her.

“Your knight in shining armor has arrived.” You do a dramatic bow.

“What am I then?” Ash laughs a little at your gesture. 

“The jester obviously.” She gets up and you hug her as well. 

You had immediately noticed that they were both in matching pajamas and you could only assume that a pair was waiting for you in this room somewhere as well. Melanies had bride on the back of the top, you could only assume Ash’s had bridesmaid on the back. Which meant-

“You need your pajamas!” Melanie ran into the other room where the bed was and emerged immediately with a pair of the same silk blue pajamas. Yup, yours had maid of honor written on the back of the top. 

Ash put a glass of champagne in your hand. 

“I love them.” A little cheesy but you were happy to make her happy. 

“Yay!” Melanie bounced, she was rather red in the face, so you could only imagine she has had a bit to drink.

You began to shed your clothes from your work day. Ash and Melanie cheered at your mini non sexual strip show. 

“Stop.” You laugh at them. Throwing the pajama top on. 

“I didn’t want strippers for my bachelorette party.” Melanie teased. 

“Should have paid for a better one.” Ash giggled.

You kick her ankle, and she winces but was still laughing. 

“200 bucks and I’ll give you a real show.” You fully dress yourself now.

“Oh, sounds like a really good deal.” Melanie laughed and winked at you. You rolled your eyes, you do a little spin to show off the pajamas.

“They looked great!”

You sit yourself down on the couch with both of them and take a sip of your champagne. Finally letting the weight of the day come over you, Ash rested her head on your shoulder. 

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” You ask, looking to Melanie. 

“I just wanted an easy night in with you guys. Nothing crazy because the next three days are going to be extremely busy.” 

She was correct. Although the day tomorrow would be easy, you were having the official Bachelorette party. Melanie had never done a bar crawl before so you and Ash set that up for you guys. Then Saturday was going to be mostly spending time with the guests and family outside of the wedding and the rehearsal dinner. 

You would barely have time to yourselves really. Let alone Namjoon and Melanie will be in entertainment mode the entire time.

Basically, the lay of the land tonight was, have fun but not too much.

“Good, I’m exhausted from the travel.” You dramatically huff out. 

“Didn’t it take you like half an hour to get here from the hospital?” Melanie raised an eyebrow at you. 

“Exactly, I’m exhausted.” Throwing an arm over your eyes. Although you were surprised you still had energy after your shift today.

A knock on the hotel room interrupts you guys. Melanie was about to get up to answer it but you shot up in protest against her.

“Uh the bride does not answer the door to anyone. Allow me my lady.” You push her back down, and give a little bow.

“Stop.” She whines but also laughs. 

You trot on over to the door, and an amusing smile on your face. You swiftly open the door, only to be met with the groom himself. 

“Who is it?” Ash calls to you. 

“It’s the actual stripper!” You open the door wider so Namjoon could enter the room. He gave you half hug when entering the room. 

“Oh I can get down with this strip show.” Melanie props her legs up on the couch, taking a sip of her champagne. 

“I’ll get the bills.” Ash runs to the next room to get her bag, causing a little laughter amongst you and Melanie. Namjoon was blushing and red from ear to ear. 

“Sorry to disappoint.” He holds his hands up in surrender, “I’m only here to say goodbye for the night.” Namjoon rounds his way over to Melanie and gives her a short kiss but then Melanie begs for another one so he complies. 

“Hey, I think that’s extra.” Ash comes back in the room, she has her wallet instead. She pulls out a couple one dollar bills. “Here Namjoon for your time.”

You and Melanie are giggling again as Namjoon shoves the money back to Ash. He was just smiling but you could tell he knew he needed to get out of here fast. 

“Any big plans tonight, Namjoon?” You ask and find your way back on the couch next to Melanie. Ash follows just next to you. 

“Not sure yet. Jungkook planned the evening so I’m at his mercy.” Namjoon didn’t seem to bother but just the mention of Jungkook left a terrible taste in your mouth. 

“Ugh, good luck with him.” You take a sip of your champagne, Melanie does bump your leg with her knee, signaling to be nice. 

“You promised.” She gave you a pointed look. 

“Technically I only promised I would be nice to him. Never said I wouldn’t be mean behind his back.” You try your very best, but he just always manages to just push your buttons. 

“Well I’m making it a rule starting now.” Melanie pats your shoulder. 

“Okay, I will be nice the whole time. Namjoon I hope tonight is very fun.” Your raise your glass to him. 

“Thank you.” He bows to you slightly. “I should get going before he comes looking for me.” 

Namjoon and Melanie kiss one more time and Namjoon excuses himself. 

“Bye, Namjoon,” you and Ash sang in unison, waving dramatically as he quickly exited.

You both giggled.

Eventually the three of you moved into the room with the king size bed and all settled in. Drink champagne and turned on some random rom com that was available through the hotel. 

Settling into this very long weekend. 

At some point the three of you dozed off. You woke up to the room dark, but you felt like your mouth was completely dried out. Very carefully you tried to worm your way out of the middle of the bed. You grabbed the ice bucket because there was no way you were going to drink room temperature water.

The ice machine wasn’t too far, scooping out some ice and heading back to the room, you were stopped once up the hall you heard the elevator ding. Watching two people stumble out of the elevator into the hall. The second person catching the first. 

“I just want to see her, it’ll be so quick,” Namjoon slurred, barely able to stand on his own.

“Dude you will have the rest of life to see her, let’s get you back to the room.” The second guy, who you can clearly see now is Taehyung. Also slurring his words. Holding onto Namjoon like his life depended upon it. 

“Guys.” You made your way over. Both of them immediately take notice of you. They both stood up straight, trying to act sober. “Go back to your rooms. We have such a long weekend ahead of us.” 

“You’re right,” Namjoon sighed, but then he perked up. “Not after I do this!” He suddenly made a dash for Melanie’s door, but before you could react, someone else stepped in, pulling Namjoon back.

“Okay, that’s enough for you Casanova.” Jungkook spoke, patting Namjoon on the back. 

Your entire body physically repulsed away at the site of him. Your face immediately falling into  a displeased look at him. Jungkook noticed, and scoffed under his breath. Thinking, what could I have possibly done now?

“Aw what’s with the grumpy face? ” Taehyung comes to you and tries to poke your cheeks to make you smile, it makes you laugh. You grab both of his hands before he gets a chance. 

“Nothing, you need to get some sleep my dear Tae, you too Namjoon.” You pat Taehyung on the cheek.

 Before you can react he gives you a hug before he then breaks away and grabs Namjoon and pulls him over to the elevator pressing the button a thousand times. Jungkook stays where he was, looking at the two of them. He didn;t have any intention to get Namjoon Drunk tonight, but one too many at the hotel bar got too him. He should have been making sure he had food as much as he had drank. He paused his mental scolding to look at you.

“Yes?” You say dryly to him. Waiting for whatever retort he’s to give you. 

Jungkook lingered, his eyes sweeping over you as if sizing you up. “Nice pajamas,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He very well knew these were Melanie’s pick and he really had no issue with them. He had an issue with one particular person in them.

“Thanks? Anything else?” You couldn’t be less amused. 

You walk to the door which he was standing somewhat close too. Just close enough for you to catch a cigar smell, not his usual stink of cigarettes you were used too. 

“God you reek.” You couldn’t help but get one punch in before the weekend started officially started. After this, according to Melanie's request several months ago, rainbows and kindness.

Jungkook had gotten a  similar lecture form her as well. Bring the whole unicorn or something like that. He also wanted to get one last punch in before this all started.

“Hmm tell that to your perfume, Eau de Desperate. Seems like you wear it by the gallon these days.”

“Desperate, huh? At least I smell nice, unlike you, who’s one cigarette away from the grave.” You unlock the hotel door. You stop before you step all the way in. Melanie’s words bounced around in your head, “Listen, I’m willing to be nice this weekend if you can. Melanie made me promise, so that will be my last dig of the weekend. Deal?”

You were being genuine but it did kill you inside to have to offer something like this. 

“I can’t make you any promises, since I’m aware how unreliable you are.” Jungkook pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, putting one between his teeth. “Deal. That was my last one.” 

You took in a long breath. Hit right in the nerve he was aiming for.

“Goodnight, Jungkook.” You closed the door on him. 

Letting the door slam in Jungkook’s face, you didn’t see the subtle twitch of his jaw as he sauntered back to the elevator, trying to shake off the lingering irritation. His encounter with you had already grated on him more than he wanted to admit. You always had a way of getting under his skin. This was pretty light compared to previous spats.

As the elevator doors slid open, he found Taehyung struggling to keep Namjoon upright, the two of them stumbling in. Jungkook sighed, stepping in after them, hitting the button for their floor.

"Hey!" Namjoon suddenly yelled, his voice echoing in the small space as he pointed a wobbly finger at Jungkook. "Don’t bug Y/N this weekend."

Jungkook’s eyes widened slightly in surprise at Namjoon’s sudden outburst. "I won’t," he replied, though the agreement felt more like a reluctant surrender than a promise.

“I’m serious! They worked really hard on this wedding, so you be nice.” Namjoon’s words were slurred, his head lolling as he leaned heavily against Jungkook, who had to push him back gently to keep him from collapsing entirely.

"I’ll try my very best," Jungkook muttered, more to himself than to Namjoon, as the elevator doors opened. He really was going to do his best, this was a really important weekend for him too even though he hasn't been around to help. He tightened his grip on Namjoon’s arm, pulling him out of the elevator and into the hallway.

Taehyung dragged his feet behind them, fumbling for his room key with clumsy fingers. “Hasn’t it been five years of this back and forth between you two now?” he asked, his voice curious but also tinged with the laziness of someone who’s had a bit too much to drink.

Jungkook’s expression dropped, and a bitter taste filled his mouth at the thought of everything that had happened between him and you. "Something like that.” He said curtly, not wanting to delve into the messy history between you both. Taehyung knew the important stuff already. No one knew all the details.

Jungkook snatched the room key from Taehyung's hand, his irritation simmering just beneath the surface. He opened the door to their hotel room and flicked on the lights. The harsh brightness made him wince slightly as he helped Namjoon over to one of the beds. Namjoon collapsed face-first onto the mattress, immediately out cold.

"Do not let him leave," Jungkook ordered, pointing sternly at Taehyung, who was in the process of kicking off his shoes.

"I won’t!" Taehyung responded, holding up his hands in surrender, though there was a playful glint in his eyes.

Jungkook lingered for a moment, watching as Taehyung struggled to pull the covers over Jungkook glanced at Namjoon, who was snoring into the pillow, the room heavy with the scent of alcohol and the weight of unspoken words. He knew he should stay, sober Namjoon up, joke around like they used to, but he was too worn out. Work had been relentless, his personal life a mess, and every time he tried to help with the wedding, something pulled him away.

Jungkook made his way to his own room, guilt twisting in his gut. Namjoon had always been like a brother, always there, and Jungkook hated feeling like he’d failed him. Which meant that knowing every detail of this weekend was so important to him. And now, as if things weren’t complicated enough, there was you—always clashing with him.

He sank onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to shut out the noise in his head. This weekend was going to test him in ways he wasn’t prepared for. He checked his phone one last time, then tossed it aside, determined not to let his thoughts run wild tonight.

But the next morning, the tension was thick, and the silence between you was impossible to ignore.

"Okay, everyone should be seated! Namjoon’s at the front. First bridesmaid and groomsman, you’re up!" the wedding coordinator called out, her voice echoing in the mostly empty hall. Melanie’s sister and one of Namjoon’s friends? Brother? You weren sure, exchanged a quick glance before stepping forward. They’d only arrived today, missing the previous festivities, so they were clearly trying to get their bearings as they moved down the aisle.

“Next pair, let’s go!” The coordinator’s shortcut through the mild chatter.

Ash looped her arm through Taehyung’s, her confidence obvious even in a casual practice. You were jealous of her walking partner. She wore a small, mischievous grin as she sauntered down the aisle, adding a bit of flair that drew a few chuckles from the small group.

You barely registered it, though, because you were preoccupied with the awkward tension between you and Jungkook. Your arm rested on his like a dead weight. The idea of touching him—even for a rehearsal—made you want to squirm. The distance you both kept was almost ridiculous, but neither of you was willing to close the gap.

A hand landed firmly on both your shoulders from behind, shoving you together. Bumping your shoulders together harshly. You stumbled forward in sync, groaning under your breath like rebellious teenagers.

“You two look ridiculous standing that far apart!” Melanie hissed, shooting you both a glare. “It’s just practice, guys. You can fake it for five minutes, right?”

Before either of you could snap back, the coordinator’s voice rang out. "Maid of Honor and Best Man—go!"

You both moved forward, managing to match each other’s pace despite the obvious discomfort. The silence between you had held all morning, which at least made things less unbearable—but having him this close was testing your patience. His mere presence gnawed at your mood, a constant irritant you couldn’t escape.   

As you reached the end of the aisle, you split directions, the tension in your shoulders finally easing. You shuddered in revulsion, rubbing your arm as if you could erase the feeling of his proximity. Jungkook caught the gesture and rolled his eyes, not even trying to hide his irritation.

"Alright," the coordinator said once everyone was back in place. "After this, the music changes, everyone stands, and then Melanie will walk down the aisle." Melanie does a quick run-through, smiling as she walked toward Namjoon at the front, playfully grabbing his arm when she reached him.

“Perfect. I just needed everyone to do this once before Sunday. Does everyone get it?” The coordinator scanned the group, getting nods in response. It was simple enough.

She moved on to speak to Melanie and Namjoon, while you stepped forward to join the rest of the wedding party in a small circle. 

Namjoon and Melanie had the whole weekend scheduled down to a T. It was Jungkook’s and your job to mostly help get them from point A to point B. Today was just the parties but tomorrow they had a family breakfast, extended family pictures, lunch with the parents, some other activities and then the rehearsal dinner.  With how busy tomorrow was going to be, the easier you were going to make today. 

“See easy peasy.” Ash bumped your shoulder, knowing your disgust for Jungkook.

“I feel like I need a shower.” You shiver, folding your arms over your chest.

“Well now we just get to have an easy day, and party hard tonight.” She placed both of her hands on your shoulders and rocked your forwards and backwards in excitement, you smiled. 

Which reminded you that you did have to talk to Jungkook about making sure he got Namjoon up and going in the morning. Namjoon and Melanie had both agreed they could get super drunk at their respective parties but that someone had to make sure they made it to breakfast in the morning. The breakfast started at 9.

Jungkook was across the room preoccupied with Taehyung telling him something about the last wedding he had gone too. Jungkook had a similar feeling, your perfume lingered and he felt like he needed to get clean because it was giving him a headache. Your presence doing just the same, almost like you had heard his thoughts. He felt a pat on his shoulder. 

Turning to see you, “Yes?”

“I need to talk to you about tomorrow morning. Now the breakfast starts at 9 so we need to make sure that these two get to bed as soon as we get home.  I can come down and help get Namjoon up in th morning if you need.” You were rambling really quickly and Jungkook felt like he could barely keep up. 

“You worry about your guy and I’ll worry about mine.” Jungkook nodded, wanting to get an excuse to get you to go away. 

“I’m just suggesting it, Jungkook. Offering help is not a crime.” You steady your breathing, fighting the urge to punch him. 

“I’ll get him there in plenty of time, promise.” Jungkook not wanting to cause a scene leaves you just with that, he figures keeping his responses short will keep either of you from getting too riled up. 

Although a part of his mind wanted to make some retort about you actually arriving on time in the morning. He kept it to himself. 

“Great. I’m trying to get Melanie there by 8:45. So you don’t have to worry about being too early.”

“Sounds fine.” 

You didn’t say anything and you just walked away. He could tell you were annoyed by his lack of enthusiasm and to be fair he didn’t care to grace you with better responses. 

“Wow I think that was the most normal conversation I have ever seen between the two of you.” Taehyung nodded, patted Jungkook on the back. 

“I would  have rather stepped on a nail but, this weekend is about Namjoon. I want everything to go well.” Jungkook huffed, looking at Namjoon and Melanie who were having a quiet conversation just the two of them. You took a moment before you ended up joining them. 

Taehyung's face was twisted in confusion. Your feud had always confused him, since he loved Jungkook and loved you. Made no sense to him why you two shouldn’t get along and yet here we were. 

“So tonight…” Jungkook started

They discussed the plans for tonight. They had a similar plan to do a bar crawl, unbeknownst to you having made a similar plan. After the little practice everyone split off. Spending the hours in whatever ways every person needed too.

After a while everyone started getting ready for the evening. Melanie really loved the idea of wearing cheesy bridal party outfits, so she had a classic little white dress and a crown that said bride across it. The rest of you had matching short black dresses, you got a sash saying made of honor and Ash and Serena had ones that said bridesmaids. It was cute, and would make for good memories later. You had taken a few polaroids in the room once everyone got ready. 

It felt like the night had arrived so quickly because before you had known it your crawl had begun. The first bar was just a little irish bar that ended up being super lame, the second bar you thought was a theme bar but ended up just being a sports bar so you guys ran out of there quick. The third stop on your location was more club than bar, but you all had a few drinks now.

You were ready for some dancing. 

“Oh dude they host an emo night!” Ash points at a little flier they had posted in the hallway into the club.

“Oh we are so going to that.” You cheer, catching a glimpse of the flier to make note of the date.

The club pulsed with blinding lights and a bassline that shook the floor beneath your feet. Bodies crowded every inch of the space, and the noise was almost overwhelming. Melanie led the charge, her excitement spilling over as she flashed her “Bride” crown to anyone who glanced her way. You, Ash, and Serena followed closely behind, weaving through the throng of people with linked hands to avoid getting separated.

Ash tugged you toward the bar, quickly ordering a round of drinks. “To Melanie!” she laughed, raising her glass.

“To Melanie!” you all echoed, clinking glasses before downing the drinks in unison. The alcohol burned pleasantly, warming you from the inside out and washing away the lingering annoyance from earlier.

Melanie pulled you onto the dance floor, her infectious energy pulling you in. The music thumped around you, loud enough to drown out your thoughts, and you let it take over, swaying and spinning beside your friends. Ash was laughing as she attempted a ridiculous dance move, nearly knocking into Serena, who shoved her back playfully.

“I love this!” Melanie shouted over the music, spinning in her white dress, her joy radiating like a beacon in the dark, crowded room. She grabbed your hand and twirled you around, almost causing you to stumble. You couldn’t help but laugh, getting swept up in the carefree moment.

“Only Melanie could turn a random club into her own private party,” you teased, still holding her hand as you both moved to the beat.

As the night wore on, you found yourself momentarily breaking away from the group to catch your breath. The room was a blur of colors and sound, and you felt lighter than you had in weeks. Your job had gotten more intense lately, that on top of the wedding had gotten you completely wound up. You leaned against the bar, looking to get something a little stronger.

“What can I get for you?” The bartender leaning over the bar to you. You took a glance at his nametag then back to him. He was seriously attractive.

“I don’t know Felix.” You flirt, “Something sweet and strong. Surprise me.”

He started on something immediately, you pulled out your card and watched him. He had long blonde hair and a cute face. You tried to hide your obvious stare but the alcohol already in your system was getting the better of you. To your surprise he put two down in front of you. 

“Two?.” 

“One for the bride. Miss Honor. One is on the house.” he grinned, you tilt your head. 

“Which one?” You tease. Tapping between the two drinks. 

Felix chuckled, leaning in a little closer, his voice barely audible over the thumping bass of the music. “The one for the cuter one, obviously.” He shot you a wink, and you couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a rush of confidence bubble up. It wasn’t often that you found yourself in these kinds of playful exchanges, especially with all the stress you’d been under lately. Tonight, though, it felt good.

You picked up one of the drinks, the fruity aroma already making your mouth water, and took a sip. It was sweet with just the right amount of bite, exactly what you needed. “Damn, you’re good at this. What’s it called?”

“Midnight Kiss,” he said, resting his elbows on the bar as he watched you taste it. “Perfect for someone who looks like they need a little midnight magic.”

You humm, “Cute. Can I get two more? For the other bridesmaids.” 

“You got it.”

Felix steps away to make those and you take the opportunity to look back out to the girls. Melanie and Ash were screaming and jumping up and down at the change of the song. You laughed and were eager to get back. Felix brought over two more of the same cocktail. You began trying to figure out a way to manage to get them over to the girls. In your deep thought, you weren’t really paying attention to your surroundings. You end up getting bumped in the shoulder by someone trying to pass by.

“Sorry.” The familiar voice buzzed in your ears, there it was again, the headache. 

Jungkook stepped up, Taehyung trailing behind, a faint smile on his face as if he already knew this was a bad idea. Namjoon’s other groomsmen who you didn’t know the name of was also present. “Well if it isn’t the wicked witch of the west?” Jungkook said, his voice dripping with annoyance.

You crossed your arms, and give him a snide smile. “Funny, all I see is a cowardly lion.”

“I knew those flying monkeys we past by earlier were yours.” He took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours. There was a challenge in his gaze, one that prickled under your skin.

You crossed your arms, squaring up to him. “What are you guys even doing here anyways?”

Taehyung tried to cut in, keeping things light. “We are on a bar crawl. Funny we all ended up in the same place”

“I planned the same thing. Melanie had never done one.” You trace the rim of the drink Felix had given you.

“Jungkook’s original plan ended up falling through, so we decided this at the last second.” Taehyung added, he was doing anything to diffuse the tension between the both of you.

You forced a smile, trying to keep things civil despite the tension buzzing between you. “Great minds think alike I guess.”

Taehyung nodded, eager to steer things in a lighter direction. “Exactly. Fun coincidence.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his drink. “Coincidence or bad luck? Still figuring that out.”

You shot him a smirk, refusing to back down. “Well, if it’s bad luck, at least you’re consistent. Haven’t seen you get anything right in a long time.”

Jungkook’s mouth twitched, his frustration momentarily overshadowed by amusement. “Yeah? Well, I’m just here to collect my prize for putting up with you. Maybe they’ll name a drink after it—‘Annoyance of Honor,’ bitter with a dash of drama.”

You snorted, raising your glass. “Better than ‘Pathetic Man’ watered down and pointless.”

Taehyung stifled a laugh, stepping between the two of you before things escalated. “Alright, alright, you two—enough with the drink menu! I’m pretty sure the bar doesn’t serve ‘Petty Martini,’ but I’ll check just in case.”

Jungkook bit back his retort, the moment of humor cooling the tension a bit. You glanced at Taehyung, feeling a grudging sense of relief that he’d managed to cut in before things got out of hand.

Taehyung clapped Jungkook on the shoulder, flashing an easygoing grin. “Come on, let’s get back to the table. I’ll buy the first round if it keeps you two from turning this into a bar brawl.”

You exchanged one last look with Jungkook, the challenge still lingering but softened by the brief, unexpected exchange. For tonight, the battle would wait. Instead, you huffed and turned away, joining Melanie and the girls again, your mind still racing from the exchange. You could have definitely come up with a better come back but your inebriated mind didn’t have the patience for it.

“What took you so long?” Ash asked, raising an eyebrow as she noticed the tension in your expression.

You forced a smile, passing out the drinks. “Just dealing with a little headache,” you said, brushing off the encounter with Jungkook like it was nothing. You filled them in on Felix, the flirty bartender, hoping the distraction would lighten the mood.

Ash let out a dramatic sigh, already halfway through her drink. “I swear, you’ve got a magnet for chaos.”

You laughed, but it was hollow, the tension from earlier still simmering beneath your skin. You took a long sip of your drink, letting the sweet burn linger in your throat. Tonight was supposed to be fun—a chance to unwind after everything. 

Across the bar, Jungkook tried to shake off the encounter as well. 

“Your betrothed is here.” Taehyung nudged Namjoon with a playful smile.

Namjoon glanced up, his expression brightening as he looked around for Melanie. His smile was enough to momentarily lift the mood. “Where?”

“She’s with the rest of them on the dance floor, We saw them when we were at the bar.” Jungkook, trying to dance around the scene you two caused.

Taehyung shot a sideways glance at Jungkook before answering. “Not without a little confrontation first.��

Namjoon’s smile faltered as he turned his attention to Jungkook. “What happened?”

Jungkook shrugged, taking another long sip of his drink. “Had a run-in with the maid of honor,” he said, his tone dismissive, but his eyes betrayed the frustration still bubbling beneath the surface.

Namjoon’s brow furrowed, a hint of disappointment creeping into his features. “Small spat, nothing to fret over,” Taehyung cut in, trying to diffuse the situation before it spiraled.

“Small spat?” Namjoon’s voice was laced with disbelief. He turned to Jungkook, his tone sharper than usual. “What did you do this time?”

Jungkook bristled, his annoyance flaring up as he met Namjoon’s gaze. “Why do you always assume it’s my fault?”

Namjoon’s expression was unyielding, a mixture of concern and frustration. “Because I know you, Jungkook. And I know how you two are. You don’t need to prove a point every time you’re in the same room.”

Jungkook bit back a retort, swallowing down the urge to argue further. He knew Namjoon was right, but admitting that would mean facing the uncomfortable truth about his own behavior—and the fact that fighting with you felt almost like second nature now. Comforting in a morbid way.

“It’s not like I go looking for it, nothing happened. We were very… civil… considering.” Jungkook took another sip of his drink.

Taehyung nodded, “He’s not wrong, they have been very normal. It’s strange.” 

“That is not something I’d ever think you two would be described as.”

“Enough about Y/N.” Jungkook would use any excuse to not have to talk about you anymore, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Namjoon leaned back, trying to relax as Namjoon's brother threw an arm around Taehyung and started chatting animatedly about some old story. The conversation drifted back to lighter topics. 

Namjoon, trying to reset the mood, raised his own glass. “To tonight. And to the people who keep us on our toes.”

Jungkook smirked, a bit of his usual bravado creeping back in as he clinked his glass against the others. “To Namjoon.”

The group erupted in cheers, but beneath it all, the unresolved animosity lingered. Jungkook leaned back in his seat, the laughter ringing in his ears as he tried to shake off the encounter. 

****************************************************

Not too long after your little group ended up moving to one more bar. That is where the night took a little bit of a nose dive. Serena and Melanie had drank one too many and the night devolved into tears. Melanie talking about how in love with Namjoon she is that she couldn’t hold herself together anymore. She was a lightweight so it didn’t take much to get to this point. 

You and Ash decided it was time to call it at this point, getting the four of you back to the hotel.

You actually ended up sleeping in your own room last night. Making the morning much easier because you had set several alarms to make sure you and Melanie could both make it down to breakfast in time. That included making sure Melanie didn’t look extremely hung over. Melanie threw curses at you every so often, most of which just made you laugh as you got her down to the lobby. 

“I’ll make you a plate.” You whisper to her as you both make it into the room. She gave you a thankful smile as you made your way over to the breakfast buffet that had been set up. 

You decided to keep everything light, Melanie didn’t throw up last night but she was not feeling great this morning. So you kept the plate to fruit, and some toast. Easy things. You continue down the line, when Jungkook comes up and starts filling a plate as well. 

“Look who finally decided to show up.” He spoke behind you, you didn’t dare turn around to look at him. Your face twitching up in annoyance. A familiar sentence coming from his mouth.

“It’s 8:45, right when I said I would be here.” You continue down the line, stepping further away from him. 

“And we were here at 8:30. Since I know how Namjoon’s family are all early risers. So sad they had to wait for the bride to arrive.”

It actually annoyed you, you looked around and sure enough Namjoon was sitting with his family.

“I’ll have you know we were up and moving at 7. Either way, Melanie is the bride. She can arrive whenever she feels like.” You turn to him now.

“Well I was certainly worried. Since you have a habit of sleeping through important things.”

“Let’s not do this. After all, this isn’t about us.” You give him a flat smile, biting back your disdain. 

He couldn’t help but agree. “Fine.” 

“I have today planned down to the minute, so if we just stay out of each others way maybe that would be best.” With that you leave him. Letting that be satisfying enough.

You made your way to Melanie, who was deep in conversation with her parents. As you handed Melanie the plate you’d prepared, her grateful smile said everything words couldn’t.

“Mr. and Mrs. Abel, it’s so good to see you again,” You said warmly, shaking her father’s hand before her mother pulled you into a tight hug.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s lovely to see you too!” Mrs. Abel gushed, squeezing you affectionately.

“I hope you’ve found everything alright, and your check-in went smoothly,” you smiled, glancing between them.

“It’s been wonderful,” her father replied. “Everything’s gone off without a hitch so far.”

“You and Melanie really outdid yourselves with the schedule. It’s so thoughtful—there’s something for everyone,” Mrs. Abel added, her enthusiasm contagious. You and Melanie had spent countless hours planning every detail of the weekend, and hearing it appreciated felt like a small victory.

“Oh, I barely did anything. This was all Melanie’s vision,” you said, squeezing Melanie’s shoulder with a smile. It was true; Melanie’s dream wedding came to life with the help of a meticulous coordinator.

“You’re being too humble,” Melanie chimed in, her voice playful. “I couldn’t have done it without Y/N. They planned this entire day, down to the smallest detail.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to the pickleball match this afternoon,” her father said, chuckling. “I’ve got a rematch with Melanie’s grandpa.”

You laughed, appreciating the lightheartedness. “That’ll be one for the books.”

Just then, Jungkook appeared behind you, his presence immediately setting your nerves on edge. “That sounds like a game that I cannot miss.” he said, his tone light but with a familiar, teasing edge. You faltered for a second, your smile stiffening as Jungkook stepped closer, and you could feel the victory in his eyes.

Jungkook saw you falter for a second and took it as a small victory, “Nice to meet you, you must be Melanie’s parents. I’m Jungkook, we hadn’t had a chance to meet.” 

Jungkook shakes both of their hands. Giving his brightest and warmest smiles between the both of them. You would think it’s fake but he is genuine in his greeting. 

“Oh you’re the best man!” Melanie’s mom beamed, “I’ve heard so many stories from Namjoon and Melanie about you. It’s nice to have a face to the name now.”

“Hopefully all good things.” Jungkook grimaced, looking to Melanie and completely avoiding the daggers you were staring at him. 

You laugh to yourself, probably only bad stories with his track record. Melanie catches you and gives you a pointed look. You mouth a sorry to her. Neither of Melanie’s parents caught what you said, as Jungkook was going on and impressing them and answering questions about himself. You just kept a tight smile on your lips.

“Anyways, I am just here to help everyone get from point A to point B today.” Jungkook bloated and put a hand over his heart. “Any questions you have you can ask me or Y/N.”

He looked at you, you almost couldn’t hide the surprise you had. If anyone had any answers to any questions about the day it was you. You planned this day down. He couldn’t answer any questions.

Mrs. Abel smiled, completely unaware of the tension between you. “It must be so easy to manage all of this with a great team like you two.”

 Melanie bit her lip, trying not to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the statement. “Oh, you have no idea,” Melanie said, patting your back. “Right? A dream team.” 

You paused a little too long, “Yes… uhh Jungkook and I will be available for anything anyone needs today.”

You really stumble through your words. It's painful for you, but funny for Jungkook. Watching you force the words out even though if he was asked the same thing, he would struggle as well. 

“I just remembered,” You clear your throat, finding the first excuse to speak to Jungkook, “Namjoon’s parents wanted to meet the two of you before your joint lunch today. They are just over there.” 

You point between them close to the window where Namjoon and his brother were in a small huddle together. 

“Oh that would be lovely.” Melanie’s mom pulls her husband along over to them. Melanie decides to follow close in tow. Turning back to the two of you and wiggling her fingers between the both of you like she had her eye on both you and Jungkook. You waited until they were out of earshot.

“What's wrong with you?” You ask, keeping a smile on your face and looking at Jungkook. He feigned innocence in his smile. 

“What?” Jungkook tilted his head, wondering what you could have a problem with now?

“Since when did you decide to be so helpful? And since when were we a team?” You kept the smile up but your voice dripped with your rage. 

“I wasn’t able to help with any of the wedding planning. Believe it or not I love weddings. Namjoon is my best friend so I made sure that I knew today and tomorrow's schedules in and out. So, I could help this all move along as smoothly as possible.” He sounded genuine, but you still weren’t buying it. Weren’t buying that he was blowing smoke out of his ass. 

“Oh really?” you challenged, crossing your arms. “What’s happening at 2?”

“Wine tasting for the family or a drawing class for the artsy types,” he recited effortlessly.

“4?”

“Pickleball and the extended family photoshoot with the bride and groom in the garden.”

“11:30?” you shot back, expecting him to slip.

Jungkook smirked. “Nice try. Nothing’s planned at 11:30 because that’s when Melanie, Namjoon, and their parents are at lunch. The rest of us are on our own until activities resume at 2. Just like you scheduled.”

He didn’t just know the schedule—he’d nailed every detail. Your irritation simmered beneath your carefully composed expression, but Jungkook’s smirk told you he knew exactly how much this was getting under your skin.

“Guess I underestimated you,” you finally muttered, the words bitter in your mouth.

Jungkook leaned in just a touch, his voice low and smug. “You usually do.”

You sigh for a moment, you felt awkward because you were fighting every instinct in you to say he looks like trash or something. 

“Rainbows and kindness,” you mutter under your breath, the words a futile mantra against the frustration simmering inside you.

“What was that?” Jungkook asks, raising an eyebrow, already catching onto your annoyance.

“It’s what Melanie told me to be. So, that what I’m trying to do.”

He chuckles, the sound smug. “Yeah, well, Namjoon said something similar.”

“Again, let’s just stay as far apart as we can.” 

“Easy.”

From that point on, you’re both doing your best to stay in your own lanes, but it’s impossible. As the maid of honor and best man, your roles keep intersecting, forcing you into the same space over and over again. Family members keep approaching, asking questions, and every interaction feels like another round in a never-ending battle. It’s not enough to just help; you and Jungkook are determined to outshine each other at every turn.

When a minor crisis breaks out over the seating arrangements, you step in, taking charge and fixing the issue with quick, efficient adjustments. You’re feeling proud—until you turn around and see Jungkook guiding the servers with a charm that has them hanging on his every word.

“Make sure the champagne is properly chilled before the toasts,” he instructs, his tone smooth and authoritative. The servers nod eagerly, clearly impressed.

You sidle up to him, maintaining a smile for the benefit of the guests nearby. “Didn’t know you were the expert on bubbly now.”

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat, flashing you a grin that’s equal parts irritating and infuriating. “Well, someone’s gotta make sure it’s perfect.”

“Oh, please,” you say, voice dripping with mock sweetness. “I’ve been coordinating this for weeks. I don’t need a last-minute savior swooping in.”

He raises an eyebrow, unfazed. “I’m not trying to save anything, just making sure Namjoon and Melanie get the day they deserve, remember? You should try it sometime—teamwork.”

You don’t dignify that with a response, choosing instead to head off to the room where the drawing class is happening.. But even as you’re leaving, you can feel Jungkook’s presence on the other side of the room, always just a step behind or ahead, always in your orbit.

Later, you’re guiding Melanie’s extended family through a lineup for the family photos when you catch sight of Jungkook doing the same with Namjoon’s side. He’s charming, attentive, and he even manages to make the grumpy uncle crack a smile. It’s infuriating how good he is at this, and the worst part is that you know he’s doing it on purpose—to get under your skin and, maybe, to prove that he belongs here just as much as you.

As the day winds down, you both end up at the drinks table, refilling your glasses with water. The quiet moment feels like a truce, but not a comfortable one.

“You’ve really been busting your ass today,” you admit, your tone begrudging as you sip your water.

Jungkook leans against the table, his smirk never fully leaving his face. “Told you. I take this seriously.”

“You’ve memorized the schedule almost as well as I wrote it.” you say, half impressed, half annoyed.

“What can I say? Namjoon’s my best friend. I wanted to be ready for anything.” He shrugs, but there’s pride in his voice. “Besides, I figured you’d be busy enough handling the details. Someone had to pick up the slack.”

You roll your eyes, unable to stop yourself from retorting. “Still doesn’t mean I find you any less shitty, you know that?”

Jungkook laughs softly, a rare moment of genuine amusement. “Right back at you.”

For a brief second, the tension between you eases, replaced by an understanding that you’re both here for the same reason: to make sure your best friends have the perfect wedding. It’s fleeting, though, gone as soon as it arrives when Jungkook straightens up, that competitive glint back in his eyes.

“See you later. Let’s see who cracks first,” he says, holding out his glass in a  toast.

You raise your glass to him in a challenge, your smile more determined than ever. “Don’t hold your breath.”

As you part ways, you can already feel the simmering rivalry gearing up for another round. But deep down, there’s a tiny, begrudging respect forming—though neither of you would ever admit it.

Finally you all had made it to the rehearsal dinner though. 

Which luckily was more casual and the bridal party and all the guests got to come and say hello to the happy couple. Melanie had coordinated  a lovely dinner for tonight, and they kept it light so that everyone could just take time to meet each other. This was the first time most of the family would be meeting. 

Jungkook disappeared at some point in the afternoon. Which made you feel a little lighter and you felt like it was easier to focus on talking with family members and help people find the rehearsal dinner. 

“Feel like you have been a ghost all day.” Ash came up to you and handed you a glass with some cocktail. 

“I could say the same for you.” You take a sip. “I feel like I just floated here. So, ghost is accurate.”

“I’ve been trying to pick out the wild card for the weekend.” Ash said this in a quieter tone and you laugh.

 “Oh yeah? Who’s giving you the vibe?” You glance around the room. 

“Right now my number one is Namjoon’s uncle.” She points over to the bar, “He has taken full advantage of the open bar. He gives me the ‘takes the mic and gives his own speech’ type, I kind of want to see it happen but I’m also ready to take him down.”

“Strong contender.” You nod your head in agreement. 

“What about you, anyone giving you a vibe?” Ash leaned against you a little bit, keeping your conversation close to yourselves.

“Hmm…” You look around the room, “Definitely Melanie’s divorced aunt and uncle. She’s basically a child to them since they had none of their own. They keep trying to one up each other all day.”

Sounds familiar.

“Oh that’s solid. Well if it’s neither of those, maybe it’s you and Jungkook.” 

“Over my dead body.” You roll your eyes, “He’s insufferable but we made a promise to be civil. Although trying, I think we did really good today at keeping it casual. I'll take the win.”

“Speaking of, where is he, and Tae, where are our groomsmen?”

“Smoke break?” Wouldn’t be the first time, as much as you scrolled Jungkook for smoking. You scolded Taehyung even harder.

“Actually I was talking to a cute little thing, but I don’t think she’s interested.” Jungkook appeared behind the both of you, then he points to Namjoon’s great grandmother. You had met her earlier, she was very sweet. 

“I think she can do better.”  You take a long sip of your drink. 

Jungkook gives that same annoyed look he’s given you a thousand times before. Something about the air around him now felt different than earlier. His cool and cooperative demeanor seemed to have dropped. You knew when Jungkook was starting to get things riled up. He probably had a couple of drinks and now he was going to come over and cause a stink. Get you to embarrass yourself somehow. 

“Don’t worry I looked for a date for you as well. I did see a snake outside earlier, asked him if he could be your date for the weekend.” Jungkook met your action in turn, also taking a long sip of whatever venom he had in his cup. 

“Okay.” You keep it short and don’t look at him. You were right, you’re not sure what happened but now he was looking for a fight. 

Ash could feel the tension rising, she wanted to escape before this bomb went off. 

“Hmm… so you were serious about being nice. Shocking.” Jungkook places himself right next to you. 

“I’m going to regret this. Might I ask why you think that’s shocking? I have been doing just fine at it all day.” You sigh, but continue looking around the room, anywhere but at Jungkook. 

“Just surprised is all. I had to do it too.” 

“Yeah, barely but I appreciate it.” 

“Looks like you can keep a promise after all.”

Keeping your voice level. “Any reason, you’re trying to make it difficult now? I don’t get you.”

Jungkook smirked, leaning in closer. “Because you make it so easy.”

You took a deep breath, don’t let him get to you. “I’m not doing this with you tonight. Not here.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not like anyone cares. They’re all too busy fawning over the happy couple.” he said, waving a hand dismissively towards Namjoon and Melanie.

“Still doesn’t mean we should pull attention to ourselves at all.” You tap your glass.

You both stay silent for a second. Ash was nervous standing so close to the both of you. It’s like you were two stars about to collide into each other. 

“Let’s just stay away from each other again, okay?”

“To be honest, I’d rather not be anywhere near you,” Jungkook replied, taking another sip of his drink.

“Great. We agree on something.” you said, turning away from him.

Ash grabbed the opportunity to interject. “So, uh, have you guys tried the appetizers? They’re really good.”

“Yeah, the appetizers are great,” you said, forcing a smile.

“Maybe you should eat some more,” Jungkook said, a wicked glint in his eye. “Might help with that attitude of yours.”

You clenched your jaw, fighting the urge to snap back. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re predictable,” he shot back.

“I’m done.” You turned on your heel and started to walk away, but Jungkook followed.

You had to get away, you were going to be nice but you weren’t going to take his abuse. The two of you had been doing really good, did you step on something of his and now he wants to fight again? Getting to another part of the room was the smart and sensible choice right now. To your surprise he stays in toe with you. 

“Oh running away? There’s the y/n I recognize.” He came close to your ear, and you push him away from you lightly. 

“I don’t need this right now Jungkook.” You were making your way to Melanie and Namjoon. Their presence would maybe force him to be on his best behavior. 

They were with Melanie’s parents though, you didn’t want to interrupt. You needed to retreat to another place of solitude. Saying polite hellos to people you recognized and family you had met earlier in the day. Jungkook doing the same as he continued to follow you. 

“Jungkook. You promised.” You turn to him suddenly and it makes him almost fall over, reminding him of something you can only imagine Namjoon made him promise. “Please go somewhere. Take your snake venom and use it on someone else.”

“I’d rather not.” He shrugged and placed his cup on a nearby table. Jungkook couldn’t help himself, he wanted to fight with you.

“Why?”

Jungkook thinks for a moment,“Because I’m waiting for the moment that your façade finally drops. Then everyone will see what you are truly like.” He words dripped with disdain, and he was serious. 

His goal was to see you fall. 

“My facade? Really? What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Must be taxing for you.”  You look directly into his eyes now. 

“What?” He tilted his head. 

“Being around a couple who is successful, must be taxing, knowing you will never have anyone like they have each other.” Because how could anyone ever want to be around someone like this. 

“At least I never let the same person make a fool of me over and over while I let everyone watch the wreckage.”

He spoke about David, your college ex. Again, David cheated on you and made everyone believe that you were the crazy one. You forgave David one too many times before the end.

This was enough though and ancient history. Your anger washed through you, this was not the time nor the place. You didn’t care. He was throwing this in your face again. After so much time. How childish could he be? He would stoop so low again? What was wrong with him? 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You scoff. 

“What? Can dish it but can’t take it?” He clicked his glass against yours.  

“Come here.” You basically bark at Jungkook and grab the sleeve of his jacket. You rush him out of the reception into the hall. Making it so you can keep whatever fight this could possibly turn into just between the both of you.

“Ow!” He rips his arm away, almost looking disgusted that you even touched him. 

“You know I have gone over this in my mind again and again…” you pace from left to right shaking your head, disbelief running through you.

“What are you talking about?”

“Because I thought maybe that just for one day you could put whatever problem you have with me aside. For one day we could be civil and pretend to be friendly. So Melanie and Namjoon could have a special day. I guess I was fucking wrong about you again. You simply can’t help but pick a fight.” You were spitting your words with pure disdain towards him, he had really set you off this evening. 

“Hold on, I’m perfectly capable of being on my best behavior.” His words were just as angry as yours, he had his arms crossed over his chest. Defenses up, he was ready to break you down.

“You’re fucking joking right? It’s just like you to shift blame away from yourself again. You said all of that intentionally to get some rise out of me. To get me to embarrass myself. What were you just too bored? Had to pull focus onto yourself because you couldn’t stand it being on someone else? ” You run both of your hands through your hair angrily, eyes darting all around to look at anything but him. 

He scoffed at you. 

“Trust me, I spare you zero thoughts enough to do that on purpose and I was not pulling focus to myself.”

“Please you and I both know this was damn well on purpose and now we are causing a scene.”

“Oh shut up” he dragged out his words in annoyance, “You really think I wanted this to happen? To be in a screaming match with you instead of having a good time?”

“Jungkook this is all we do! Are you fucking joking? That’s why we are never in the same room together because you’re a self-centered asshole! And I can’t stand you! No one can!” Your blood felt like it was on fire. What you were saying may not have been all true but you didn’t care. You wanted to stick him where it could hurt. Your face was completely red and your breath heavy in your chest. 

“Yeah I’m the asshole. Fucking grow up, get off your high horse, and realize you are just as bad as me!”

You were moments away from actually grabbing him and throwing him to the ground. Maybe this would be the time you actually hit Jungkook. 

Namjoon stepped between the two of you right at that second. Surprising the both of you and it was like you split like magnets. 

“Hey!” He looked between the two of you, he was fuming, “What the hell is wrong with you two? Everyone can hear the both of you. You seriously couldn’t hold it together for me or for a few fucking days?” Jungkook tries to say something in protest but Namjoon shuts him up, “Not another word. Yelling about this shit right outside the rehearsal? Get your fucking acts together and take this bullshit outside. If you can’t figure this out, you both won’t be welcome tomorrow.”

“Namjoon I’m—.” You start and he gives you an almost similar look he gave Jungkook and you stop. 

He never really spoke like that ever. He looked more worried than anything but he was serious about us not being able to come back. You heard him whisper ‘Jesus Christ’ under his breath after leaving the both of you in the hallway. How embarrassing though, getting kick out of your own friend’s celebration. Jungkook felt the same, but neither of you looked at each other or said anything for a moment. 

“Just awesome.” He said as he walked outside and you followed. Figured he made the choice for both of you to finish this outside. 

You fully expect a punch will be thrown by the end of this. Your rage had certainly been drained by Namjoon breaking you and Jungkook apart though. 

You both stood in silence outside in the cold. It was dark out now. It was still damp on the ground from a shower you hadn’t even known happened. The smell filled you with a sigh. Your skin was hugged by the cold and it made you shiver a little. Jungkook was shuffling through his pockets, looking for something. He suddenly pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

“Do you really have to do that right now?” You huff and rub your arms. 

“Do you really have to bug me right now?” His voice dripping with disdain, and he places a cigarette between his lips. Lights the end of it.

“We weren’t exactly done talking in there.” 

“With Namjoon’s entrance, seemed like it. Can you leave me alone now?” he shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers. 

“I don’t fucking know where I thought we would end up coming out here. Embarrassing enough getting kicked out basically .” You rub your hands together to try to warm them up a little bit.

“That makes two of us. I don’t know why the fuck you came out here either.”

You didn’t look at each other. Only acknowledging each other in your peripherals. You feel like looking at his idiotic face you might just get angry. You wanted to at least come to a truce to be able to get back inside and have a good rest of your night. You didn’t know how to fucking talk to this guy. Even after all this time, he still just bites back at you as much as you bite at him. 

He sighs heavily and a rather large puff of smoke makes its way into your vision as the wind moves it in your direction. Jungkookw was trying to blow it in another direction, he didn't like you but wouldn’t blow smoke at you. Guess nature had a different plan.

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

“Fuck off.”

“Fuck you, you know smoking is horrible for you.” 

“Oh suddenly you give a shit about what kills me and what won’t?”

“Jesus what is your problem with me? I just said you shouldn’t smoke and you told me to fuck off. You clearly have some big fucking problem with me that you need to fight all the time.” You stand square facing him now and he does the same. Matching up to your energy as best as he can. 

He holds his cigarette between his fingers and blows out another puff of smoke into the air above the both of you. 

“I think you should take a hard look at yourself first, what is your problem with me? Seems I piss you off more often then you piss me off.”

“My explanation would make no difference. Oh wait you refuse to listen anyone other than yourself, my bad.” You roll your eyes, it probably wouldn’t.

“No I seem to have done something else to you, but from where I stand. I didn’t do anything.”

“You're just a dick okay? Your personality sucks and you seem to have little care about the people around you and you don’t give second chances because one mistake is the end for you. Having zero regard about the things you can say or use against them.” You shifted your weight back and forth. 

“Last time I checked what I said or did had little meaning to you.” 

“Doesn’t mean that the things you say or do aren’t hurtful.” You march up to him and poke him in the chest and push back a little, he takes a small step back. “Doesn’t make getting called an asshole, a bitch, annoying, or anything else hurt less. Your words do mean nothing. Less than that even... It can still hurt though.”

You stare into his eyes, the fire behind your eyes must have been bright. His mood seemed to shift in front of you. Jungkook was puzzled but at this point it’s like he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t help just pushing that one last button to get you into a fight, you were no better. Neither of you were like this with anyone else you knew. 

By everyone’s else accounts, the both of you were very kind and considerate people. Almost always putting others above yourselves. Except when it came to each other, fighting was all you knew. It was easy, maybe almost comforting for Jungkooks heavy heart. A thousand pound weight on yours. It was slowly going to kill the both of you. 

You realized what you had said and retreated back, holding your arms around yourself.

For one second you looked almost sad. Which Jungkook chocked up to being in his mind quickly.  

“Just forget it.” You turn around and decide to drop the whole thing, go back inside. You were tired and you wanted nothing more than to go back inside and have a good night. Jungkook jogged around in front of you and brought you both to a stop.

Nothing had been solved, Jungkook thought. This would just happen again, god forbid it happen tomorrow.

“No. Namjoon told us to take this outside. We are outside, and you said something real to me for once. So spit it out. Say what you and I both know you actually want to say.” He backed you up with several singular steps. His cigarette hung from his lips. The smell of it filling your nostrils. You eventually felt the cold wall meet your back.

“You stink.” You basically spit at him. 

He gives you a not so amused smile.

“Really had to throw one more punch my way huh?”

“What can I say. You piss me off.” 

He was much closer in proximity to you than you had realized. This was probably the closest you had ever stood to him, willingly. It was incredibly uncomfortable. Your eyes are flickering in between the cigarette in his mouth and back to a blank stare into his eyes. 

“Yeah, well you get on my last nerves.” 

“Anyways none of it matters anyways, I won’t forgive you just like you won’t forgive me.”

The distance stayed the same between the both of you. It became more and more comfortable the longer he kept the proximity. He’s wanting a specific answer from you, but he probably figures with how annoying you are you will not be giving it up. 

“Fine.”  

He blows another puff of smoke away from you. 

It was silent as some water droplets that came off the building's roof hit the ground, echoing around the both of you. 

You were going to smell like cigarettes too after this exchange. Gross. 

You both sat in silence for a while, you glance over to him every so often. Mostly examining his arm, you remember a time when he had no tattoos but now his arm had a complete sleeve. He had several tattoos that spanned down his arm. Some of them were exposed with his sleeves being rolled up. They were rather beautiful, for being on someone so vile. 

“You’re too uptight you know that?” he interrupts your thoughts. 

“Better than a loose cannon.” 

“Fuck off.”

“Fuck you.”

“Sounds like you need to relax.”

“I was relaxed before your existence came into my life,” you shot back, rolling your eyes.

Jungkook chuckles, not missing a beat. “Oh, come on. If I’m the one ruining your peace, then maybe the problem isn’t me.”

“Yeah?” you retorted, crossing your arms. “What’s your brilliant diagnosis, then?”

He leaned in just a bit, his smirk sharp. “Seems to me someone who was being satisfied correctly wouldn’t be so goddamn annoying.”

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Then you must be a virgin.”

And just like that, you were right back where you always ended up with him. The insults, the jabs—it was a fight you’d both played out countless times before. You knew the script by heart: digs at each other’s sex lives, accusations flying, and the inevitable fallback of calling each other assholes. It was exhausting, predictable, and you were painfully aware that neither of you would gain any ground this way.

Same old, same old with Jungkook.

“Trust me, I’m well taken care of.” Jungkook took in a sharp hit from his cigarette.

“I’m sure you are. Easy to stick your dick in anything when you lack human emotions.” You could cut your sarcasm with a brick.

“All talk but it seems to me no one has taken a good dip into you in a while.”

“What am I? Ranch?”

“See I would laugh but I think you know I’m right.”

It hadn’t been that long but it was disappointing the last time you slept with someone. Just a one time thing, your usual routine. You hadn’t really had time to properly date these days but weren’t really look that hard. Just needed some easy flings, and men are disappointing in bed most of the time.

“This is some major fan behavior thinking about my sex life Jungkook.” You tease.

“I’ll become your fan when I’m dead.”

“Oh can’t wait.”

“For my fan favor?”

“For you to drop dead.”

He was quiet. Didn’t make a retort back. Just stood there, staring at you with a look you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t his usual glare; it was something else. Almost like he was lost in thought. The silence between you stretched out, the usual banter gone, replaced by an unfamiliar tension that made your skin prickle.

“What if…” he finally said, voice barely audible and laced with uncertainty.

You gave him a confused look, waiting for the punchline or some snide remark, but none came. He stayed quiet, just staring, his eyes drifting from your face to the ground and back up again. The silence was starting to make you itch.

“What if...what?” you asked, crossing your arms. “Spit it out, or are you trying to communicate telepathically now?”

He hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek. “Just—hypothetically, okay? Don’t make this weird.”

“Oh, sure,” you snorted. “Because you being weirdly introspective isn’t already weird.”

Jungkook shot you a look, somewhere between exasperation and nerves. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing up at the ceiling like it might give him the right words. “Just hear me out. You and I...we don’t get along. We clash. Constantly. And it’s...annoying.”

“Wow, Jungkook. Stunning revelation,” you deadpanned, giving him a slow clap. “What’s next? Gonna tell me water is wet?”

“Just shut up for two seconds?” he snapped, but his voice lacked its usual bite. “We’ve tried talking—well, shouting—and we’re still stuck in this...thing.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Nothing gets better, and it’s just the same shit on repeat.”

“So, what? You want to, like, go to therapy together?” you joked, raising an eyebrow. “Or are we about to hug it out? ‘Cause I’m warning you, I do bite.”

Jungkook let out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. “God, no. I’m not...I don’t know, looking for some emotional breakthrough. I’m just saying—talking isn’t cutting it, right?”

You squinted at him, still not catching on. “If this is your roundabout way of trying to be friends, I’ll save you the trouble. Hard pass.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly struggling to get the words out. “Not friends. Not...ugh, okay, screw it.” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “What if we try something different? You know, like...a different kind of release.”

Everything about him right now felt so out of place and it made you uncomfortable. He was boyish, reminded you of how he was in college a little bit.

Your brows furrowed as he avoided your gaze, looking almost embarrassed. “What? This guessing game is not working for me.”

He took a deep breath, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t know...what if we, like...”

You stared at him, expecting another insult or some nonsense, but he just kept hesitating. His hands fidgeted, and his eyes darted between your face and the ground. It was so out of character that it almost made you laugh. Jungkook felt so out of place, and almost wrong for even thinking of the idea. Reminded him of a stupid theory Taehyung had. 

“Jungkook, seriously, whatever ridiculous thing you’re trying to say—”

He finally looked up, meeting your eyes, and blurted it out, sounding almost relieved to get it off his chest. “What if we just...you know, slept together?”

There was a beat of silence between he two of you. you blinked at him. You weren’t even sure if you had heard him right but you before you could say anything you were laughing. A little too hysterically in his face. Until you actually looked at him, he was serious. He was serious?

“No way you want to—” you started, stifling a laugh, but his serious expression didn’t waver. “On no planet or universe are we having sex, Jungkook. That’s a horrible idea.”

He clicked his tongue, shifting his weight, trying hard to appear nonchalant even as he fidgeted. “Could help relieve some tension between the two of us. We keep fighting, but maybe we just need to, I don’t know...get it out of our systems.”

“You’re actually serious?” you asked, waiting for the punchline that never came.

“Yup.” He popped the ‘p’ with a confidence that didn’t quite reach his eyes, his bravado thinly masking the nerves underneath. “It’s a stupid theory Taehyung has. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? Besides, you know...you realizing I’m right.”

You squinted at him, trying to figure out if he was just screwing with you. “Back up. What theory?”

“Sex fixes everything,” he said, deadpan.

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, the sheer absurdity of it catching you off guard. “Wow, and you’re taking that guy’s advice here?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck, visibly regretting even bringing it up.

He sighed, remembering the countless times Taehyung had rambled on about his foolproof ‘solution’ back in his serial playboy days. It was the kind of theory only Taehyung could concoct. Fighting? Bang it out. Unrequited feelings? Bang it out. Stress? Bang it out. Stub your toe on the way to the bathroom? Well, bang it out. The list went on and on, a never-ending stream of inappropriate fixes for any and every problem.

And now here Jungkook was, standing in front of you, actually considering it.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you said, still laughing, your sides beginning to hurt. “You’re seriously standing here thinking Taehyung—Mr. ‘I slept with half the city before breakfast’—knows what he’s talking about?”

Jungkook let out an awkward chuckle, half embarrassed, half defensive. “I know, okay? It’s insane. But like...nothing else has worked, right? And it’s not like you’ve got any better ideas.”

You looked at him, eyebrows raised, fully enjoying watching him flounder. “So your grand solution to us hating each other is to do exactly what Taehyung would do. What’s next, you gonna get us matching bathrobes and a mini bar?”

“Hey, don’t knock the mini bar,” he retorted, unable to hold back a small smile. “But yeah, pretty much. Look, it’s stupid, but it’s Taehyung logic. He swears by it.”

You shook your head, still incredulous. “He also once swore he could cure a hangover by eating an entire pizza in one bite. The man’s not exactly a genius.”

“I’m not saying it’s perfect advice,” Jungkook mumbled, his ears turning slightly red. “I just thought...I don’t know. It’s different from whatever the hell this is.”

“Are you even attracted to me?”

He shrugged, “You don’t physically repulse me. It’s just your personality that’s the worst.”

“Says Satan’s spawn,” you shot back, but there was no real heat in your words, more shock than anything.

Jungkook let out a small, awkward laugh. “So, what do you say? For science?”

You shook your head, more bewildered than angry. “Jungkook, this is not a science experiment.”

He stepped forward, doing a small, ridiculous spin like he was modeling for you. “Come on, you gotta admit—I’m at least a solid seven. Maybe eight on a good day.”

“You’re not... ugly.” you mumbled, suddenly finding your shoes incredibly interesting.

Jungkook smirked, but it was softer, less confident than usual. “Well, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Look at us, making progress.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no denying the weird buzz of adrenaline mixed with tension in the air. This was unfamiliar territory, and you weren’t sure whether to laugh, scream, or maybe—just maybe—consider his ridiculous proposition.

“It’s’ like I said. Talking seems to get us nowhere and doesn’t make us any friendlier.”

He was actually considering this.

“You don’t actually think that could help?”

“It’s up to you. It doesn’t hurt to try. After all we have tried every other way imaginable to get along”

“You just want to get your dick wet.”

“Sue me. I’m human.” 

The ideas swirled around in your head for a while. That shit doesn’t actually work? Sex can be too weird and too emotional for people. It wouldn’t actually relieve tension between you two? He never really seemed like the hook up type, even though you were. He’s serious though, you can tell by his expression that he wants to. 

You stared at him for a second though, letting the thought sink in. What would it be like? To kiss him, to hold him. To feel– okay woah. Your skin was getting hot. The thought was exciting, you had never hate fucked someone. You hadn’t really looked at him in the eyes this whole time but he kept his sight on you to try to determine your answer on your face. Just letting you decide.

“I’m just offering the idea. You can say no.” He places a hand on the wall beside you, “I can see you seriously jumping hoops in your mind right now… I also wouldn’t tell anyone.” 

“I would kill you if you told anyone.” 

A beat of silence.

“So… is that a yes?”

“I-…” Your mouth was moving before your mind could, “Okay.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[doitforbangchan]

All Bark and No Bite

Chapter 1

It's here! This is the first chapter of my first real fic here on tumblr! I am not the best writer so please be kind :')

Series masterlist

Alternate Universe SKZ!

Chan x reader (y/n) x ot8

Previous - Next

Summary: There's no turning back now, not when you know what you left behind. A dangerous situation now replaced with another. After the omegas disappeared you have to extra careful, especially now that you have left your pack and family.  What happens when your car breaks down on another pack's land?

Series Warnings: Fem reader, Smut, verryyyy nsfw, chan x reader, OT8 x reader, A/B/O, m/m/f smut, possessive! SKZ, possessive! Reader, anxiety and depression, fluff, angst, virgin!reader, cursing, violence, pet names, dom/sub dynamics, Sub reader x mostly dom SKZ, misogyny and sexism, Ateez are depicted as terrible people (sorry Atiny!) 

Chapter warnings: Angst, anxiety, reader is VERY sad, minor violence, cursing, A/B/O (pls let me know if I missed any!)

MDNI 18+

Wc: 2400 ish

Disclaimer: The names and faces used here are just that, names and faces, and in no way reflect the real people the characters were designed after. The views and actions of these characters do not reflect the real Stray Kids in any way shape or form. This is all for fun let’s keep it that way please. 

You should have known better. All those hushed conversations your parents have been having, all the phone calls your father excused himself to take, even the trip to your packs doctor for a very extensive physical. None of it set off your mental alarm bells and that made you feel so stupid. But how could you have known that your own parents, the people who raised you and were supposed to have your best interest at heart, were planning on selling you off to the highest bidder once you became mature enough. 

That's life for omegas these days, though. After a worldwide virus a few decades ago, omegas just stopped being born. The virus wiped the gene out almost completely, leaving a very small percentage of omegas left. Unluckily for you, you happened to be the only omega born in your area in the last 40 years. That made you highly sought after by alphas, especially dangerous ones. 

Your hands were still shaking. It had been hours since you escaped your parents house in your car, yet you couldn't get your hands to stop shaking with the immense adrenaline you’re feeling. You had no plan, no money, nowhere to go and no one to help you. Your only friend, Ash, was a beta girl in your pack and as much as you liked her you knew she could do nothing to save you now. At least your car had a full tank of gas, the only good thing your father had done for you was allow you to drive to Ash's house on occasion.

All the adrenaline was starting to wear off as you drove, the realization of what this would mean for you and your life now starting to sink in. The constant looking over your shoulder, the uneasiness you will always feel, it was almost too much to handle. No. What would have been too much to handle is letting that filthy man get his hands on you. Kim Hongjoong.You had heard about the things that alpha had done to claim power over his pack. From sabotage to murder, none of it was good. From what you could gather he was on the search for an omega to complete his pack and somehow had heard whispers about you. The only known omega within a few hundred miles. He wanted an omega to raise his children and help him lead his pack and would do anything to get his hands on one; whatever necessary. 

You imagine the sum of money he offered your parents was just too good for them to pass up on. Your alpha father was too proud to accept anything less than a hefty amount. Your mother was an omega through and through. Obedient and submissive to her alpha. Just as she raised you to be. She herself was a rare omega. Though back in her day the omega population wasn't as low as it is now. Now the numbers have fallen to less than 0.2%. Your mother molded you into the perfect little doll. Almost. Never in your wildest dreams did she or your father imagine you, their doll, would be disobeying and running from all you had ever known, yet here you are. That's what real fear does to a person. Fight or flight. All your life you had been all bark and no bite. Now this is your way of biting back.

All you had to your name was this old car (technically your fathers), an old backpack with a few changes of clothes, and couple cans of spaghetti o’s. Luckily this car had an old map in the glovebox. Better than nothing especially since you had no gps and no phone. You knew better than to take the main roads. Your pack would undoubtedly be looking for you and the car. Back roads it was then.

You couldn't tell exactly how many hours you had been driving at this point, too caught up in your mind to really pay attention to the time but by now it had gotten very dark and you found yourself on this old road going through a small town in the woods. You vaguely remember passing through the small community about half an hour ago. Of course you hadn't stopped in the town in fear of being noticed or recognised somehow. But now you’re wishing you had stopped at that little gas station and at least tried to get an ounce of gas with the spare change left in the middle console. The car was officially running out of gas. In the middle of nowhere. Just your luck. 

 “Are you serious?” You asked no one with tears starting to fill your eyes.

Feeling the difference in the vehicle causes you to pull off to the side of the road with a groan. You know it won't be going any further with the way it just gives up there on the side. Turning off the car and leaning your head against the wheel you let out a light sob. This wasn't the life you had envisioned for yourself. Once upon a time you thought one day you would meet your true mate, a caring alpha who would love you for you and want to make you happy. Seems as though that was just a fairytale after all. Even your parents weren’t true mates. They just settled for each other. You knew you couldn’t let that be you. You wouldn’t settle, especially not for a vile man you didn't love. 

It was too late now to leave the car. This is where you will be staying for the night. Good thing it was late spring and not winter or you would freeze out here. Once your tears have slowed and the sobs have ceased you took a deep breath to calm yourself.

“You will be ok.” You repeat to yourself a few times. “You will be ok. You will be ok.” 

Will you though? It didn't matter. You had to be. With one last sigh you locked the doors and climbed into the backseat of the old car. Its seats were worn and uncomfortable but it somehow felt comforting. It felt like the last remaining bit you had from childhood. When things were simple for you. Were things ever that simple as you remembered it being though? Before presenting as an omega when you were 16 things were definitely simple. You had assumed along with everyone else that you would be a beta and go on to have a normal life. Sure sometimes you were a little agreeable and always had a gentle nature, but you had just thought you took after your mom in that aspect. Little did you know you would take after her in a different way. It wasn’t until you presented that it made sense to the pack why you were that way. It was then that the looks began from other pack members. The way their eyes would linger on you a little too hard. The way their nostrils would flare when you entered a room. It made your skin crawl thinking back.

From that point on there was no more public school for you. You were homeschooled the last few years of high school for your protection. “We're doing this to protect you not punish you, Y/N.” your father had said when he forbade you from going back to school. “You can't trust anyone these days. Not around an omega.” He was right. The thought never crossed your mind that you couldn't even trust your own parents. You wished you had been born a beta like your sister, or even an alpha like your brother. Being the youngest out of three you figured you would be like them. 

The worst part was you didn't have the suppressants you had been taking since you were a teen. They were almost impossible to come by normally, but your father had somehow gotten his hands on a steady supply and had been forcing you to take them. Another thing that was for your protection. To keep alphas from detecting you by scent. You hadn't taken any this morning before you left so you imagine your scent was going to start leaking out for any one nearby to smell. Great. Another problem for tomorrow.

Adjusting yourself on the seat to lay down as much as you could, you closed your eyes and focused on your breathing. It wouldn't be long before sleep overcame you. The exhaustion of the whole ordeal catching up with you. 

__________________________________________________________

The sun peaking through the trees awoke you from your surprisingly restful slumber. It seemed to be early morning if the dew on the windows was any indication. Peeking out the window you saw nothing around. Not even any animals. Perfect. You slowly unlocked the door and crept out quietly shutting the door behind you. Taking careful steps a few yards into the thickets ahead of you and relieving yourself helped you feel a little better. You made your way back to the car and took a second to breathe. In and out. In and out. The air was crisp and refreshing and helped you clear your head. 

Now feeling a little better you noticed how bad your stomach was growling at you. Reaching into the trunk of the car you pulled out a small can of spaghetti o’s. Not your first choice of a meal but when you panic you grab what you figure will be easiest to take with you. Plus you could use a can as a weapon if needed! 

Eating was the last thing on your mind yesterday, but now you knew you could no longer put it off. Popping a can open and taking a seat on the hood of the car with a spoon you dug into the food. It was….. food . Cold and disappointing but at the same time satisfying as you had an empty stomach. 

There you were, sitting there on the old car contemplating your next move from here with now a half full can of disappointment, when you catch a scent in the air getting stronger with each passing second. It was another person, no it was people. More than one. 

Fuck

You have been found. Whether by the packs that were after you or by a stranger it didn’t matter all you felt was terror. 

There was no time to flee. Before you could even move from the hood you could feel a pair of eyes on you to the right of you. You twist your head to face the eyes that are peaking out at you from the trees ahead. 

The stranger takes a tentative step towards you and comes out from hiding and you immediately go into fight or flight. 

     With an alarmed shout “NO”, you launched the half full can of spaghetti o’s at the intruder, hitting him square in the chest and sending the cold contents all across his shirt. 

“What the fuck?!” the possible assailant yelled. 

Spotting another figure approaching the first one you threw yourself back off the hood and onto the ground, then as quickly as possible you yanked the door open to the car and jammed yourself in locking it immediately. You made yourself as small as possible as to not be seen by them but you knew the damage had been done. There was no way out of this. No gas in the tank and even if there was you had no idea where your keys had gone.  

You could hear them talking but you were too frightened to pick up any of the words except girl, mess and Alpha. Now you really felt terror. Without realizing how close they had been to you, you let out a shriek when there was a sudden knock on the window next to you. 

Not daring to look at them for even a second you yelled through the glass “Please go away! Please please I don’t deserve this!” tears filled your eyes. 

__________________________________________________________

The smell of your distress was making Seungmins and Jeongins eyes water. They had never experienced such a powerful scent before. Not even the odor from the Spaghetti Os covering Seungmins shirt would distract from the one coming from within the vehicle. The beta wanted to be mad that she had pretty much assaulted him, but at the same time couldn’t find it within himself to care much given how much pure terror he smelled coming from the young woman. The omega.  

The young alpha Jeongin felt similarly now that he had eyes on her he felt this overwhelming urge to protect. He had never encountered one before and honestly thought he never would but now that he was laying eyes on her he felt his alpha side perk up. A part of him never wanted to stop looking at her.

Honestly the boys didn’t know what to expect when they came out here to investigate the scent that had appeared on their land late into the night. They truly didn’t expect the cause to be an omega girl that was holed up on the side of a path. 

Seungmin tried knocking again, a little more timid this time so as not to frighten her more. “Excuse me, we could smell your distress. Do you need any help?” He asked slowly. 

You spared him one quick glance then shrunk into yourself again. “No thank you, please go!” 

He sighed and stepped back a few feet to look at Jeongin in amazement at the situation.  Giving him one small nod he said “ We need to call Chan.” 

__________________________________________________________

What felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, passed and you stayed in your same position. The boys had remained there but not so close to the car anymore to which you were thankful. They were quietly mumbling amongst themselves, no doubt about an omega being caught out here alone. Every so often you would move your head just slightly to peer over at them. You hadn’t noticed before in your initial panic but they were pretty cute young men. A beta and an alpha from what you could tell. Even covered in your thrown breakfast (a shame about that really) they still managed to carry themselves proudly. Though your smell is causing their faces to scrunch up, you could tell it was taking it's toll on them.

Not even a moment later after taking another look at them you could feel the change in the air as another pair of people was approaching. Not just anybody was coming this way, it was an Alpha. A very strong one at that. The smell was starting to permeate all of your senses and was quickly becoming intoxicating. 

You could sense him before he even appeared. No matter how intrigued you may be though you can’t show weakness.

 ‘Keep your head down and wait it out’ you kept telling yourself like a mantra.  

You knew he was approaching your door. It took everything in you to remain still. Then as if struck by lightning you felt your body alight like it never has before. 

“Omega..” 

(A/N: Please do not steal my writing and content! Reblogs and comments are encouraged tho 😙once again i would LOVE to hear your thoughts and theories! This has not been beta read all mistakes are my own.)

©doitforbangchan 

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@ihrtlix @realrintaro @meowmeeps

[dreamdrbbles]

TRUTH OR...DARE?

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’re a cheater babe, sawry!

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: aaron pierre as himself & the black!fem reader as you.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: heavy smut, oral (female receiving), adultery, protected sex, dirty talk, and some more stuff. also, please do not try this at home, pretty babies. minors, do not interact.

It had been four years since you stepped foot in a club, and it showed. Marriage had introduced your social life to a bright red octagon, halting any late nights out or wild adventures with friends. But when your girls planned an impromptu trip to New Orleans to celebrate your big promotion at work, you couldn’t say no. You needed the break, no, you deserved it. You were especially grateful they chose a spot that fit your aesthetic. The club was classy, with dim lighting that set a sultry tone and a strict over-25 entry policy. The drinks were strong, the music was hitting just right, and the men? Fine as hell. You were married—somewhat happily, but there was no harm in looking. Right?

“Ooh! Let’s play truth or dare!” Ashlee’s voice cut through the bass-heavy beat of Glorilla rapping about her love for being outside.

Her mischievous grin told you everything you needed to know: trouble was coming. You and Layla exchanged a knowing look, silently agreeing that your friend was already on one. The three of you had been thick as thieves since college, and truth or dare had a history of bringing chaos into your lives. It was never really truth or dare—it was dare or dare, and Ashlee’s ideas always toed the line between bold and outrageous. “Ash, you need to put the Casamigos down. I see you already on some bullshit,” you said, side-eyeing her as she poured another round of tequila shots.

“I’m not!” she defended, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. “But since you got so much to say… truth or dare?” Your competitive spirit flared instantly. Ashlee knew how much you hated backing down from a challenge. She fixed you with a smirk, her eyes glinting with the kind of energy that let you know she’d already thought this through.

“Oh, what the fuck… dare,” you said, waving her on. You figured she’d keep it simple; a dance with a stranger, getting a man’s number, something light. But you should’ve remembered who you were dealing with. Ashlee’s grin widened, wicked and full of intent.

“I dare you to have a one-night stand.” You nearly choked on your lemon drop. “Excuse me?” Ashlee didn’t flinch. She just crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair with the confidence of someone who knew she’d just dropped the gauntlet. “This heffa is crazy.” you muttered under your breath, wiping your mouth as you set the glass down. You shot her a look that could’ve burned through steel. She knew you were married. She’d been standing right there when you said “I do,” the one who held your bouquet and straightened your veil before you walked down the aisle. Sure, Ashlee had never liked Derrick—she thought he was controlling and boring, but this? This was outrageous. “Daring me to commit adultery is insane. No,” you said firmly, shaking your head.

But Ashlee didn’t back down. She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, locking eyes with you. “It’s not like you’re happy with Derrick anyway.” she teased, her voice just loud enough for you and Layla to hear over the music.

You stiffened. Ashlee had struck a nerve, and she knew it.

You looked down at your drink, swirling it in the glass as the weight of her words settled over you. Your marriage wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either. Derrick had been distant lately, and the spark between you had faded into routine. You loved him… but sometimes you wondered if that was enough. Layla cut in, sensing the tension. “Ash, come on. That’s a little much, don’t you think?” The most logical of your friend trifecta added, bringing some levity to the situation. “Fine, fine.” Ashlee said with a shrug, raising her hands in mock surrender. “But if you don’t take this dare, then you have to at least… flirt with someone. You’ve been locked up in that marriage too long. Have a little fun.” You sighed, your sense of spontaneity battling with your sense of loyalty. It wasn’t like flirting was cheating… was it?

You tilted back your glass, letting the last of your drink slide down your throat, the burn of the vodka sharp and unforgiving. The cocktail glass hit the table with a decisive clink as you set it down, and the tension at your table crackled in the air. Your best friends were watching you closely, Ashlee with a look of smug challenge, and Layla with quiet pleading in her eyes, silently urging you to stay grounded. Tonight, you knew you were about to break one of their hearts. Would it be the devil on your shoulder or the angel? Taking a deep breath, you pushed back from the table, standing to your feet.

The movement was smooth, deliberate, almost as if you were psyching yourself up for the dare. You smoothed your hands down your dress, tugging it slightly to make sure it covered what needed covering—but there was no hiding the bold tattoo on your thigh: a coiled snake intertwined with roses. That tattoo was a relic of your younger, wilder days, when you were eighteen, impulsive, and drunk on a spring break trip you’d never forget.

Back then, you were reckless, bold, and free. For a brief moment, the memory of that version of yourself stirred something deep inside. “Flirt with a random man, got it.” you said, nodding as if to convince yourself. Your voice carried a mix of determination and resignation, a subtle reminder that you didn’t back down from dares. The beat of the club vibrated through your chest as you scanned the crowd, searching for your unsuspecting target. A few pairs of eyes lingered on you as you stepped away from the table, the confidence in your stride undeniable, even if you were faking it. Tonight, you weren’t just completing a dare, you were testing the edges of who you used to be. But where to start?

‘The bar’, you thought. Because you’d definitely need another round of liquid courage to go through with this. You sauntered to the crowded bar, sifting through bodies until you reached the counter. The bartender was a beautiful woman with bohemian locs that fell to her waist, beads adorned the feature. God, you loved New Orleans. The date was the flirt with someone, not a man in particular. Could making eyes at the gorgeous mixologist count? Probably not. Before you could pipe up to speak, you were bumped out of the way. Your eyebrows furrowed in frustration as you looked up at the towering figure. “Uh! Excuse me!” You called out, her voice only carrying a few inches away from you, but apparently it hit the intended target.

The male turned around and you were instantly stunned. Not only was he tall, but he was fine. Fine was an understatement. When God was done molding him even he had to give himself a pat on the back. From his chiseled jaw line to his ocean blue eyes that were covered by gold wire glasses, his features immediately enticed you. Fuck. The top two buttons on the shirt he wore were unbutton, revealing a gold chain with a simple cross pendant, shit had you ready to confess your sins. “Oh, my apologies love. I didn’t see you there.” He responded, a british accent stunned you, but the depth and rasp of his voice almost made you melt where you stood. “Let me buy you a drink, since I cut you in the queue.” His smile, FUCK. You giggled in response, as if you weren’t about to give him a piece of your mind just ten seconds before you got trapped in his eyes. Flirt. “Good idea, that’ll save you from my wrath.” You responded, your orbs holding his as you naturally tilted your head to the side. “A lemon drop, please.”

“Lemon drop.” he repeated, nodding toward the bartender. But his eyes never left yours, and the way they raked over you, slow and deliberate, made you feel like the most captivating thing in the room. “And an old fashion for me.”

As the bartender prepared your drink, he leaned in slightly, closing the already narrow space between you. His scent wrapped around you, warm, woodsy, and intoxicating. You could almost feel the heat radiating off him, and it took every ounce of composure not to let your knees give out.

“I’m Aaron, by the way.” he said, his voice lower now, meant just for you. You swallowed hard, your tongue darting out to wet your lips as you replied, “Nice to meet you, Aaron. I’m…” You trailed off, momentarily distracted as his gaze flicked to your mouth.

“Beautiful name.” he said before you could finish. Your cheeks warmed, but you held his gaze, determined not to let him see how flustered you were. “I didn’t tell you my name.” You replied, confused.

“No,” he said, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush against your ear, “but I’m sure it’s beautiful.”

Your drink arrived, breaking the moment, and you reached for it, your fingers brushing against his. The touch was brief, but it sent a jolt of electricity up your arm.

“Thank you,” you said, raising the glass slightly, your voice steady despite the way your pulse raced.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, his eyes darkening slightly as he leaned back, his smirk now a full-fledged grin.

Flirting had never felt so natural, or so dangerous.

Suddenly, Ashlee’s dare didn’t seem so far-fetched. The idea of a one-night encounter felt thrillingly close, the kind of reckless decision you hadn’t made in years. As Aaron turned to walk away, you acted without thinking, reaching out to lightly touch his arm. The firmness beneath your fingertips sent a jolt through you, and he stopped, glancing back at you with curiosity in his eyes.

Boldly, you slipped your arm around his, letting him guide you through the lively crowd. The club’s energy buzzed around you, but it all seemed to fade, the world narrowing to just the two of you. His confidence radiated with every step, and you found yourself mesmerized by the ease with which he moved.

Eventually, he stopped at a table in a quieter corner, turning to face you. He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke. “Beautiful,” he murmured, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. “If I’d known buying you that drink would bring you this close, I would’ve done it the moment I saw you walk in.”

Your cheeks burned, the compliment sending a rush of heat through your body. But then it hit you-he still didn't know your name. You opened your mouth to tell him, but he cut you off, pressing a finger gently against your lips.

"You're going to be whoever and whatever I want you to be tonight," he said, his tone commanding but laced with an edge of teasing. "Understood?"

Yes, fuckin’ sir.

You felt his words settle deep in your core, your heart hammering as you nodded, unable to find the words to respond. Then, remembering yourself, you let out a soft laugh. “I guess I should thank my friends for daring me to flirt with someone tonight,” you said, your tone light but tinged with nerves.

His brow arched, amusement flickering in his gaze. “Just flirting?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smirk. “That’s a pretty tame dare.”

“Well…” You hesitated, glancing down briefly. “They actually dared me to have a one-night stand, but ⸺.”

“Am I not worthy of that dare?” he interrupted smoothly, his voice playful but edged with curiosity. Your lips parted, unsure how to respond to his suggestive quip.

“Maybe,” you replied, feeling your heart race under his gaze. “But it’s complicated.” You lifted your left hand, the glint of your wedding band catching the light. His eyes followed the motion, lingering for just a moment before returning to yours. There was no judgment there, only intrigue. He leaned back slightly, sipping his drink, his calm demeanor unshaken.

“Is he here?” Aaron asked, his tone casual, though his words held a weight that made your breath catch. “Your husband? Is he here?” He continued when you didn’t respond quick enough.

You shook your head slowly, the honesty in your response surprising even you. “No.”

“Then it sounds like you have a choice to make, Love.” he said simply, setting his drink down on the table. His hand brushed yours lightly, a fleeting touch that felt electric. For the first time in years, you felt truly seen, the weight of routine and expectation momentarily lifted. The noise of the club melted away, leaving only the pounding of your heart and the magnetic pull of his presence. This wasn’t about making a decision yet; it was about the possibility ⸺ a spark of something wild and untamed.

Indeed, you did. Was one moment of indulgence worth betraying the vows you made? Was your competitive nature driving this, or something else entirely? Every rational thought warned you to step back, but then you caught sight of Aaron’s smirk; mischievous, yet inviting—and all logic slipped away. The heat in his gaze made your pussy throb, and the thrill of the unknown sent a shiver down your spine.

“Let’s go.” You said, the words spilling out before doubt could creep in. Your voice carried a conviction that surprised even you.

His lips curved into a slow, knowing grin, one that sent a wave of heat down your body. He finished his drink in one smooth motion, setting the glass down with a deliberate air. “No hesitation,” he murmured, almost to himself, before reaching for your hand.

His touch was warm, firm, and commanding as he led you through the crowded club. The air inside felt suffocating now, charged with tension, but as soon as you stepped outside, the cool New Orleans night greeted you like a cleansing balm. Yet even the breeze couldn’t temper the heat coursing through your veins.

While you waited for the valet, Aaron stood close, closer than he needed to. The faint scent of his cologne lingered between you, earthy and rich, making it harder to think straight. His hand remained on yours, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your skin in small, soothing circles.

A tinge of self-preservation kicked in, and you fished your phone from your purse, typing a quick message in the group chat.

“Leaving with him. Keep an eye on my location.”

You hit send and glanced up at him, finding him watching you with a curious tilt of his head. “Taking precautions?” He asked, his voice low, teasing, but with an undercurrent of respect. “Of course.” you replied, meeting his gaze with a faint smirk. “You’re still a stranger, no matter how fine you are.” He chuckled, the sound rich and inviting, as the valet pulled up with his car, a sleek, black luxury vehicle that seemed to match the polished disposition he exuded. He opened the passenger door for you, stepping aside with a small bow that was both playful and impossibly smooth.

“After you, beautiful.” he said, his tone soft yet dripping with intent. You hesitated for the briefest moment, one last flicker of restraint threatening to pull you back. But then you stepped forward, sliding into the plush leather seat, the door closing behind you like the start of a story you’d never expected to write. As he rounded the car and slid into the driver’s seat, you couldn’t help but glance at him, a mixture of anticipation and trepidation swirling inside you. He caught your gaze and smiled, a slow, devastating twitch of his lips that seemed to promise everything and demand nothing.

The car ride was steeped in a quiet tension that buzzed between you like static electricity. Neither of you said much, but the silence wasn’t awkward ⸺ it was charged. Every so often, your eyes would meet, and in that brief exchange, a mutual understanding passed between you. This is really happening. Aaron’s right hand rested on your thigh, warm and firm against your skin. The casual intimacy of the gesture gave you goosebumps, but it also grounded you. His thumb occasionally traced small, idle circles, igniting tiny sparks that made your breath hitch. Meanwhile, he drove with practiced ease, his left hand guiding the sleek car through the city streets like he’d done it a hundred times before.

As the neon lights of the club district gave way to quieter, tree-lined roads, your heartbeat quickened. His place wasn’t far, and the realization settled over you with the weight of inevitability. You had crossed a line tonight, and every passing second carried you further from the point of no return. When he finally pulled into the driveway of a modern, elegant townhouse, he killed the engine and turned to you. His gaze was steady, his aquamarine eyes searching yours as if to make absolutely sure. “You ready?”

The words were simple, but the way he said them ⸺ low, careful, and tinged with concern, made your chest tighten. You nodded, your voice momentarily caught in your throat. “Yeah.” You managed softly. It was way too late to back out now, and honestly, you didn’t want to. Aaron smiled, a subtle grin that made your stomach flutter. He stepped out first, walking around to open your door.

Always the gentleman, it seemed, an unexpected touch for the man who now held the reins of this impulsive, reckless night. As you stepped out of the car, the cool night air brushed against your skin, heightening your senses. Aaron’s hand found yours again, his grip firm yet reassuring as he led you up the short walkway. The sound of your heels clicking against the pavement felt louder than it should have, like a drumbeat marking the anxiousness building between you. At the door, he paused, his keys in hand, and turned to face you one more time. “If you’re not sure, we can stop here.” he said, his timbre gentle but resolute. “No pressure, no hard feelings.” Your heart raced at his sincerity, but there was no hesitation left in you now.

“I’m sure.” you reassured, your voice steady this time. You were so fucking sure. With a small nod, he unlocked the door, holding it open for you as you stepped into his world, leaving everything else behind.

You barely made it through the threshold before you were engaged in a steamy kiss, and you were ripping each other’s clothes off like it was the end of the world. Patience was no longer a virtue, the only thing that mattered was the dare you had to complete. You two left a trail of clothes to the bedroom, where he pushed you down on the bed and demanded that you get in your favorite position. He would take you anyway you wanted. Without a second thought you rolled over on your stomach, pushing your ass out with your top half pressed firmly against the bed. The arch in your back made him hiss. You spread your legs just wide enough so that he could see your plump sex. “That’s a pretty pussy. Almost as beautiful as you.” He commented as he walked up behind you, slamming both of his hands down on your ass before he kneeled down behind you and released a wad of spit onto your throbbing mound. His tongue followed, gliding up and down your leaking slit with precision, he moaned as he tasted you.

Your nectar satisfying the male’s natural sweet tooth as he continued to indulge himself in your waters. “Oh my god…Aaron.” You squealed as his tongue ventured inside of you, caressing your walls as he thumbed your clit in a slow, figure eight motion. “You’re gonna make me cum already!” You exclaim, causing him to pop his plump lips off of your southern lips.

“Not yet…this is a one night stand.” He mumbled as he stood up behind you, gripping your waist and positioning you just right. He gripped his manhood in his hand and he slowly worked his tip up and down your opening, watching as your glaze coats his thick tip. “That means I got you all night.” He uttered as he slid inside of you, your walls clenching tightly to envelope him inside like a glove. You whimpered with every inch, he had your husband by at least three inches, but you were a determined one. You relaxed your body fully as he buried himself inside. “Good girl, keep opening up for me.” He praised, and you listened, forcing your walls to take every bit of his manhood until his body was flushed with yours.

“You feel so good…” You bellowed, clawing at the comforter underneath you as he began to stroke. He patterned in and out of your slick cunt, your juices flooding his pole with every impel. It felt like his dick was made perfectly for you, like you settled with the wrong man way too soon. All the time, your soulmate was less 500 miles away.

“You dripping all over my dick, baby. Who got you this wet?” The question was a rhetorical, but got dammit, the man had a right to know that he was doing his big one.

“You! Only you…” You replied breathlessly as you began to counteract his grinding with your own. Throwing your ass back at him, the sweat and other natural fluids from your bodies causing your plump cheeks to glue to him each and every time you pushed back. He grunted, encouraging you to continue fucking him back, the more comfortable you got with his size, the more you took, until you were sliding down on his entire cock, ramming into his pelvis. You were fucking him like you would never get the chance to again, because that was your reality.

The phone rings, and for a second, everything stops.

“Uh oh, is that hubby calling?” The male asked in a gruff tone as he placed his hand in the center of your back, slamming his pelvis into your plump cheeks, plummeting his manhood deeper and deeper into your guts. Before you knew it, he was handing you your phone, without even thinking you took it in your trembling hand. You had two missed FaceTime calls, and now he was calling on the regular cell. He had somehow gotten through the do not disturb function, even though he wasn’t on the approved list. “Answer it.” He demanded, bringing his hand up into the air before he smacked it down on your ass, undoubtedly leaving a palm shaped bruise.

“N-no…” You stuttered as he continued to thrust deeper into your abyss, his curved tip thrashing against your g-spot.

“I’m not gonna tell you again, beautiful. Answer it.” He directed once more, his strokes slacking up some until he completely stopped, leaving you full of his girth; your bodies pressed together.

The phone rang again, and this time you accepted the call. “Hey…babe, hey…” You slurred, trying to make it seem like you were drunk, even though the only thing intoxicating you was the man leaning over you, now pressing kisses to your shoulder as he stroked you deeply. You bit down into your lip, masking a moan as the familiar tone came through the phone. You clumsily hit the speaker phone and laid the device next to you.

“Hey, I was just checking on you. I know y’all were going out tonight. Did you have fun?” Derrick asked casually. Aaron chuckled in your ear, only loud enough for you to hear it. “Sounds like you had fun, you slurring your words.”

“Y-yes….so much fun! C-Can I call you back? The service isn’t good out here.” You powered through, despite being long dicked through your conversation with your spouse. Before he could even answer, Aaron reached over and ended the call. Kicking his foot up onto the mattress, he abandoned his steady, pointed strokes for brutal, merciless thrusts, sending shockwaves through your body. “FUCK! Right there, right there!”

“Your husband doesn’t fuck you this good does he?” He asked as he slipped in and out of your fortress with clear intentions, he wanted you to think of him even when you went back home. Even when it was your husband behind you. You shook your head no, but that just wasn’t good enough for him. He slid his hand into your fresh silk press and wrapped your tresses around his hand, yanking your hair until your back was flushed with his torso. He turned his head, planting soft kisses on your earlobe before he spoke again. “Answer me. Use your words.” Both of his hands wrapped around your body, one landing on your neck, and the other against your throbbing sensitivity.

He squeezed the column of your neck, while slapping his hand down on your clit to provoke an answer from you. “No! He could never fuck me like you…” You declared boldly. One night with this man and you had already thrown your husband’s boring bedroom skills under the bus. Your silk-lined walls spazzed, your clit pulsated with anticipation as your stomach muscles tightened. The curl of your toes told a story, the contortion of your face was the foreword. You were about to unravel, harder than ever before. He needed no introduction to your orgasm, he could feel you tightening around him. “That’s it princess, gimme what I want.” He encouraged as he sent one more swift pop to your engorged bundle of nerves, sending your body into a frenzy as you came. Frothy, ivory cum coated the latex between the two of you as a shrill cry left your lips. “Shit…shit…” you cursed as he placed another kiss to your temple.

“Keep cumming like that and I might have to keep you.” He murmured, a promise he couldn’t keep. He slid out of you, only for a moment to replace the condom. Grabbing your leg, he used it to flip you over on your back. He positioned himself between your thick thighs, pushing them up to your chest as he tapped his throbbing tip against your sensitive clit. He didn’t waste time entering you once again, pressing both of his hands on each side of your head as he leaned down on top of you. His gold cross pendant dangled right over your line of sight. The symbol was so fitting, because he was nailing you to that motherfucka.

This had to be the most dangerous position. His gaze felt like something you weren’t sure you could pull back from. Those piercing blue eyes of his—deep and endless like the ocean—held you captive, silently daring you to dive in, to let go of everything else. The sexually charged as the air between you thickened, it became harder to grasp onto reason. All you could focus on was the way his skillful phallus edges you closer and closer to glory.

“You don’t love him…who do you love?”

“I love you!” You blurted out mindlessly. You didn’t love this man, you’d just met him. But you absolutely loved the way he felt inside of you, so, same thing?

“I love you too,” He retorted, pressing his lips to yours to steal a few kisses. “Keep giving me this pussy, make me nut.” He grunted as he closed any gaps between the two of you, his sticky, sweaty frame clinging to yours. The religious symbol carved from gold swayed above your mouth as he defiled you. You impulsively grabbed the pendant with your teeth and held onto it, causing the male to growl in response. “Sexy ass…” Your action clearly arousing him, you could feel his erection twitch insiders of your fortress.

You wrapped your hands around his waist, letting them fall further down to his muscular ass, sinking your french manicure into his skin and holding him in place. “You wanna nut so, bad. let me feel you, daddy…” you purr into his ear, and lock clockwork his entire body tenses, he gives you a few more choppy strokes, a throaty snarl covering a string of obscenities as he filled the latex between the two of you, another orgasm ripping through your own body simultaneously. The two of you laid there in silence for a few moments; enjoying the feeling of your bodies sticking together. Finally, he reached between you and pulled out. Placing a soft kiss against your duo before pulling away all together.

You watched as he swaggered to the bathroom, his beautiful round butt on display. You’d just cheated on your husband, and you honestly had no regrets. He would never know, you would get back to your life in a few days and forget this ever happened. Or would you?

You heard the sound of the toilet flush before he walked back out to you, in all his glory. “You okay?” He asked, your lips curved up into a smirk. “Let me get you some water…”

As promised, he made you touch every wall in the house. From the kitchen while he was “getting water” to the living room floor, back down to the hallway, until you circled back to the shower and ended in the bedroom again.

Normally, you loved the sunrise ⸺ it was your favorite time of day. You were an early riser, always savoring the quiet peace of dawn. But today, you hated it. The soft, golden light spilling through the curtains was an unwelcome reminder that your night with Aaron had come to an end, and reality was waiting just outside that door.

Carefully, you slid out of bed, moving as quietly as possible to avoid waking him. His steady breathing filled the room, and for a moment, you paused, watching the way the morning light kissed his face. He looked so peaceful, so perfect, and it only made it harder to leave.

You tiptoed around out of the room, gathering your clothes from where they’d been discarded the night before. Piece by piece, you dressed in silence, your movements deliberate, almost hesitant, as if you were trying to hold on to the last remnants of the night.

But as you reached the front door, a tug of longing made you stop. You couldn’t leave ⸺ not yet. You needed one last look at him.

Turning back, you crept down the hall and peeked into the bedroom. Your heart stuttered when you saw him staring back at you, his dreamy eyes half-lidded as he rubbed the sleep from them. His voice, low and raspy from sleep, broke the silence. “You were just gonna leave like that?” The corners of his lips displayed a faint smile, and the vulnerability in his tone hit you harder than you expected.

“Yeah, before you make it even harder to leave,” you admitted with a matching smile, your voice barely above a whisper. You lingered at the doorframe, taking in the sight of him one last time, trying to commit it all to memory. “Goodbye, Aaron. Thank you for last night.”

The sincerity in your words hung between you, unspoken truths layered beneath them.

He propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes searching yours. “Before you leave… what’s your name?”

You hesitated, your lips parting as if to tell him, but instead, you offered a soft, enigmatic smile. “Let’s just leave it as ‘Beautiful,’” you said, the words laced with finality and a hint of playfulness.

Aaron leaned back, his smile widening as he chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Beautiful it is.”

Without another word, you turned and slipped out of the room. Outside, your best friends were waiting for you, their faces alight with curiosity and mischief. They immediately bombarded you with questions, eager for every last detail. But as you settled into the car’s backseat, you held onto the memory of last night, knowing some moments were better left unspoken, cherished in quiet secrecy.

[scarletlizzard]

Her Favorite Drug

Pairings: wanda x female reader

Tags Minors DNI: drug use (marijuana), smoking, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, stap on use (R receiving), fluff because I tortued yall with my last story

Summary: Your girlfriend is a stoner. One night, you decide you finally want to try some.

Masterlist

A/N: This is just smut oops. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think. Also, the pics with the backward hats kills me every fucking time. Anyways, have fun 💚

Wandas delicate fingers expertly pack in the unfamiliar green into a brown wrapper. You watch closely, feeling her breath on the back of your neck and tickling your ear as she speaks.

"See detka? Then I'll just roll it up like this.." Her voice is soft as she speaks. You nod, eyes stuck on her fingers as they begin to roll the paper.

You were currently sitting in Wandas lap, her arms working in front of you to wrap another joint. In the year you had been dating, this was the first time you were going to join in on your girlfriends favorite recreational hobby. It was no secret that Wanda smoked weed, almost every night to be exact. You had never really been interested in smoking it, but you loved to watch her enjoy it.

Tonight was different. Tonight, you finally wanted to know how it felt. Wanda was surprised at first when you asked, but she was more than happy to pull you into her lap and show you how she does it.

"Lick along here for me," she says, drawing a line on the wrapper. You lean forward away from the warmth of Wandas chest to follow her instructions. "Perfect, baby!" Wanda praises, fiddling with the joint for only a moment before holding it out in her hand to show you the final product.

"Now it's ready?" You ask her, turning sideways on her lap. Your back rests against the arm of the couch, and your legs lay across her thighs.

Wanda nods, a grin on her face, "It's ready. I'll go first, you watch me, okay?"

You had planned on it. Wanda couldn't be more sexy when she smoked. You watch her bring the joint to rest between her lips, the other hand holding a lighter to the end of it. It catches easily, and Wanda inhales deeply before removing it from her lips and blowing out smoke. You press your thighs together tightly, Wanda always had that effect on you.

"You ready, baby?" She asks with a smirk, resting her hand to rub small circles on your leg. You nod slowly, reaching out your hand. "Just take a small one at first.." Wandas voice is husky from the smoke, only making you squeeze your legs tighter.

You begin to smell the familiar scent of the weed as smoke fills the air between the two of you. Here you go.. you take the drug between your lips as Wanda did, breathing it in. It's smoother than you thought as you inhale, but the burn in your lungs was unexpected. Wanda quickly takes the joint out of your hand as your eyes widen, and you let out the smoke with a set of coughs.

"Fuck.." You mumble out between coughs. Wanda chuckles and reaches for a water bottle, handing it to you. She watches with dark eyes as you sip the water, smoking the joint with no problem.

"Burns, huh?" She smiles and rubs your back soothingly as you nod at her, still drinking the water.

After a few moments and the burning resides, you take another hit. You feel your tensions disappear. Another one, and you feel an overwhelming rush to your head, not in a bad way. Then another, and so on until you and Wanda are finished with the joint. Your senses feel heightened.

You finish off the water as Wanda sets what remains of the joint in an ash tray. She smiles at you with red, squinting eyes, "Come here, baby." She chuckles and maneuvers you, so you're straddling her lap. "How do you feel?" She whispers, staring into your red and glossy eyes.

You giggle at her sentence, for some reason finding it funny. The lighting in the room was dark. Only a few string lights lit above the wall shone brightly against the side of Wandas face. There was a cloudy haze above the couch and in your mind. You felt...

"Like I'm floating," you giggle more, causing Wanda to chuckle. Her fingertips run along the hem of your shirt, sneaking under the back of it. They make their way slowly up and down your spine, the feeling practically euphoric in the state you were in.

"Feels good, huh detka?" Wanda mumbles as she plants soft kisses on your neck. So, so soft.. is all you could think. Your eyes close at the sensations. You nod, and you know it's too slow. Wanda lifts her head to look at you, and you take advantage by holding her face in your hands.

"So good, Wands.." Your thumbs rub over her cheeks as your eyes take in her features. You swallow hard, looking at her red lips and thinking of the way they kiss you softly. Your eyes travel down to her sharp jaw, your fingers tracing each feature you spot. "You're so pretty," you whisper with a giggle.

She laughs.

God, her laugh..

Your thoughts are slow as you look down to a freckle on her neck. Christ, you want to kiss it.

So you do. You lean forward and press your lips to her neck, feeling how warm her skin is under your kiss. Wanda lets out a low hum in response, so you kiss it again. Her nails scratch softly down your back, so you bite down on the skin and suck gently.

"Detka..." Her head lulls to the side, giving you more space. The thick accent in her voice only makes the ache for her stronger. "Baby," Wanda groans as your lips work their way down her neck. Her hands move down to your waist, "Move against me," she moans out, gripping your hips.

You rock back and forth in her lap, letting out a moan at the pleasure of the small amount of friction. As soon as your lips leave Wandas neck she's pulling off your shirt, along with her own. Among the haze you feel her breasts press against yours, and she leans forward to kiss you.

The kiss is unlike any you had before with her. It truly felt magical. You still felt like you were floating, and you could feel every inch of her skin on yours. "Need you.." You whimper in between kisses, still grinding yourself down against her lap. Wanda only moans in response. She continues to kiss you as she stands, still holding you. Your legs wrap around her waist.

The walk to her bedroom is short, and you don't even realize it until she's lying you down on the edge of the bed. The only thing you can think of is the way her lips fit perfectly against yours. You whine when she pulls away, frowning as you see her red and puffy lips that you still wanted to be touching your own.

"Now, now, detka.." She says, sliding down your pants. Bare for her to see, Wanda shakes her head as she gets down on her knees in front of the bed. "Fuck.. you're always so pretty for me." She mumbles in between wet kisses on your inner thighs. Your head was spinning between the lust and the weed, your body was begging for her touch.

Her hands move to hold your thighs open, gripping down tightly on the soft skin. "God, I can't wait to taste you," Wanda groans. You feel her lips attach to you clit, kissing it gently. Looking down you see green eyes peering up at you, a wicked grin on her face as she takes one long lick up your slit.

"Wanda, please.." You moan out, bucking your hips towards her. Your hands grip the sheets, and she can no longer hold back. Wandas mouth attaches to your wet pussy, her experienced tongue sending you into a frenzy.

"Mmm.." She moans against you, sending vibrations onto your clit. "You taste so good baby, just like always.." Wanda moans again, sucking softly on your clit. "Always so fucking good.."

"Ohh god, Wands.." You moan out, barely able to watch as she continues to move her tongue sinfully. Suddenly, you feel two slender fingers at your entrance, pushing in easily with how turned on you were. "Oh, fuck!" You whine out as she begins to pump her fingers inside of you, her lips sucking on your clit. Wanda can't help her own moans as you call out her name.

"That's it, babygirl.. just like that.." Her lips smack as she removes them from your clit, glistening in the dim lighting with your juices. You stare at her with red eyes as she kisses her way up your body.

"Baby I'm gonna cum, please," you moan.

"Cum for me then, detka." Wanda coaxes you, watching with dark eyes. She could get off right now at just the sight of your body beneath her, the way every one of her touches raised goosebumps on your skin. Wanda feels you tighten around her fingers, wet walls pulling them in. She smirks down at you. "That's it.. just like that, fuck.." She mutters.

You repeat her name as pleasure flows through your body, your climax crashing over you like waves. You knew being stoned would be different, but you hadn't expected to feel this euphoric. Your eyes open to see Wanda staring down at you with stars in her green eyes.

"Wanda, that.."

"I know, detka," Wanda chuckles.

You take her face in your hands and kiss her passionately. The way her tongue swipes across your lip and the fact that you can taste yourself has your body heating up all over again. You feel a familiar fire burning in your lower stomach as Wandas naked body rubs against yours.

So, so soft...

So, so warm...

You don't know how long it is, with no sense of time, that you had been kissing Wanda. But she parts with swollen lips to walk across the room. You feel yourself throbbing as you know what she's getting, what she's about to do. Wanda walks over to you, her strap now attached to her.

"Sit up, baby," Wanda says gently and helps you sit up. She moves to sit at the head of the bed, her back sitting against the headboard. "Come here." She smiles at you, helping you straddling her lap. "Such a pretty girl, for me, aren't you?" You nod in response. "Then ride my cock like the good girl you are." Her voice is stern, but soft.

Wanda practically lifts you up before you settle yourself down onto the faux cock. Your mouth parts and your eyes squeeze shut at the feeling of her deep inside you. Any pain quickly turns to pleasure as she guides you with hands on your hips to begin moving.

All you could grasp was the feeling of Wandas hips snapping up to meet yours, the way she moans your name, and how soft the skin under your hands was. Your hands traveled from her shoulders, to her neck, to her jaw. You couldn't pick one to settle on. You had to keep touching her.

Wanda could feel, with every thrust of her hips and every bounce of your body, the strap rubbing her in all the right places. She could feel her skin burning against yours.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," She moans along with you, sinful sounds filling the room. "You're doing so good detka, fucking bouncing on my cock like that." You only manage a whimper out, legs shaking as they were about to give out underneath you.

Wanda suddenly grabs ahold of you, lifting both of you up and lying you onto your back. She pounds relentlessly into you, and you know at this angle you're not going to last long.

"Oh god, Wanda! Feels so good!" You cry out, feeling her breasts press against yours. The muscles in her arms flexed as she held herself above you.

"I know, baby, I know.." Wanda praises. Your hands hold onto her back, leaving scratches down her back as she continues to thrust into you with no mercy. She grunts at the feeling, loving the way you held onto her.

Wanda is met with more resistance as she thrusts, your walls tightening once again around her. "Are you gonna cum again for me baby? Fuck, fuck.." She can't help the low moan that escapes from the back of her throat. This time you can only nod, mouth unable to form actual words. "Fuck Y/N I'm gonna cum!" Her hips waver, that steady rhythm she had finally faltering. "Cum with me, detka. Cum for me," Wanda pants out, hot breath hitting your sticky skin.

That's all it takes for you to repeat her name again, over and over like worship. Another orgasm crashes over just like before, waves hitting you over and over.

You don't know how long you'd been laying like this, but you were loving every moment of it. Wanda held you close under the covers, at the wrong side of the bed. You felt the soft fabric of your pillowcase tickle your toes. The two different highs you experienced tonight slowly fading away.

"I guess I could probably do that again," you say with a giggle, your finger tracing imaginary letters on Wandas chest. She hums in response, kissing your forehead. You could feel the smile plastered on her face.

"We're definitely getting you stoned again," Wanda laughs and moves herself on top of you again, settling herself between your legs. Her green eyes were just that, no sign of bloodshot anywhere.

Wandas' regular usage had her craving more already.

So she kisses you again, her favorite drug of choice.

[anthonyhurd]

On Thursday the 26th I got word my little brother, 47 years old had passed away in a hospital in Tulsa Oklahoma. Soon after I was on the road from New Mexico to Chanute KS where he would be laid to rest. His ashes wouldn’t be available for another week but a ceremony was planned regardless.

Chanute in my mind is a nightmare. As a queer kid it didn’t hold much comfort me but it had to be faced my dad met me there on the 27th, and with little plans we set out to lay this all to rest. The vast majority of our family on that said isn’t a fan of either is us, but that matters none.

This morning we set out in a dense fog and found my grandmothers old house. My bother, sister, and mother all had lived there with my grandparents at different points in time. Now the five of them are all laid to rest a separately in time but together in spirit.

We then drove to the nearby Santa Fe Lake where I, my father and step mother said our peace and goodbyes. A single white feather of a lone seagull drifted across the water as we spoke and soon after my father’s story of seagulls and my brother followed.

The city I so loathed seemed to have masked itself for the moment if only to allow me to disassociate from the location and be in the moment, and I obliged without hesitation. It was its own type of beauty and I am thankful.

Afterwards we drove out to my other grandparents old farm, also pictured. A red shed still stood from my childhood. That which used to be a cabin. Fresh chopped wood piled nearby so its current residents are still utilizing this old part time homestead.

The formal ceremony for my bother will be on Tuesday but I will not be in attendance. I need to get back home come Monday. I do feel at ease though. I got to say goodbye the way I’d like to, along side of my dad, lacking of other external distractions and sadness. This felt right for me.

I feel content and I hope my brother does too. He’ll still have all his other family and friends to watch over on Tuesday and that seems equally as fitting that I won’t be there, as we were not included in any plans being made.

This is likely the last time I’ll see this country side. It’s served its purpose and I’m grateful I made the trip and got to spend this time with my dad and say goodbye.

Rest in peace Daniel Ray Hurd (1977 - 2024)

[27spoons]

CRUSH | ACT ONE: DO I WANNA KNOW?

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: You're studying on a Friday. Natalie doesn't like that.

wc: 4200 (blaze it) (im not funny)

warnings: none. I think.

a/n: happy birthday 2 me. here is another chapter. lowkey i wasnt planning on have two chapters in a row with a ? in them but oh well yolo and all that fun stuff. anyways this chapter is basically just two losers yapping (next one will b longer promise)

ao3 / masterlist

PREVIOUS - ACT ONE: HOW CAN I MAKE IT OK?

NEXT - NATALIE'S INTERLUDE ONE

The thing about Natalie Scatorccio is that she always seems to find you when you least expect it. It’s like she has a sixth sense, some radar that tells her exactly when you’re trying not to think about her—and then she shows up, smirking like she knows all your secrets. 

Today is no different. You’re sitting on the steps outside the library, flipping halfheartedly through a history textbook, when her shadow falls over you.

"Studying on a Friday, Princess?" She lets out a low whistle, "Now, that's tragic."

You roll your eyes and let a scoff fall from your lips, "Listen, not everyone can afford to just… throw caution to the wind or whatever. Some of us actually need to study."

Nat snorts as she fishes a cigarette out of her pocket, bringing it to her lips and lighting it, "I do study, just not on Fridays, like a nerd." She gives you a pointed glare, but it lacks any actual heat.

Without giving you a chance to object, she throws her duffle bag down on the steps next to you and sits down with a grunt. "Seriously, though." She ashes her cigarette, "Why're you sittin' alone out here, head in your…" She glances at the cover of your textbook, "history book when you could be doin' anything else?"

You shrug and close your textbook with a sigh, "I dunno. I guess it's just… the way things are, or whatever. Never really been the type of person who goes out on Fridays." Nat nods in understanding as she takes a slow drag from her cigarette, "Yeah, I get that. Nothin' wrong with that. But it gets boring after a while, yeah? Doin' the same thing every week, set in some constant routine?"

"I guess," You sigh and move to put your textbook into your backpack, "But don't you have routines? I mean, soccer and all that?"

"Yeah, I got some routine. Some days, I get up earlier than others to make it to practice. Some days, I spend some time after school kicking around a ball in the field. But that's not my point." Another drag of her smoke, "My point is that you can have some routine, but life is so fucking boring if that's all your life is." She rolls the end of the cigarette between her thumb and pointer finger for a few seconds before looking at you, squinting against the harsh light of the sun that beats down from behind you. "You gotta have something to shake it up every now and then, yeah? You don't gotta go to a party every week, but what's stoppin' you from goin' to one now and then?"

"It's just never been my scene, I guess. My friends and I don't really… do parties, you know? Like, we have small get-togethers or whatever, but we don't party. Never really seen myself as a party person, either." You shrug, zipping up your bag and moving it to rest on the step in front of you, "I dunno. I guess the…" You wave your hands around as you think of the proper words to use, "loud music and annoying people isn't exactly what I consider fun." A fond shake of your head and a gentle laugh, "But, hey, all the power to you if that's what you do find fun."

"You ever been invited to a party?" Nat chimes in after considering your statement for a few seconds.

You have to think about that question for a few seconds. "Yes." You finally manage, which earns you a skeptical look from the woman sitting next to you.

"Then why'd you have to think about it?" 

"Oh my God." You roll your eyes, "Because it's been a while since I got invited to one, alright? Like I said, I don't hang out with the type of people that go to parties. So…"

Nat hums at that, seemingly accepting the answer you've given her. "Alright. So what do you do on Fridays? Or the weekend? Or whenever you aren't with your nose in some book." She gestures to your backpack and the textbook inside of it by extension. "Nothin' wrong with it, but you gotta do something else, yeah?"

A huff leaves your mouth before you can stop it, "Well, you've caught me sketching once or twice, yeah? I'm a pretty big fan of that. Uhhh…" You think for a few seconds, feeling like this is an awkward first date where the person is asking, "What do you do for fun?" and it takes everything in you not to give out the most generic answers possible. "I think I mentioned meteor showers to you before? I, uh, I like stargazing. And I guess I kinda play games sometimes? Although it's usually just… simulation games or whatever. The mindless stuff."

"Right." The girl smirks to herself as she muddles over your hobbies in her head. "Drawing, stargazing, and simulation games. Yeah, you, my friend, are a walking funfest, you know that?" One last drag from her cigarette before snuffing it out on the step, "That stuff is fun and all, but you need some more excitement in your life."

"What? Like… stealing BuzzBalls from corner stores?" A faint smirk tugs at your lips, "Or taking joyrides in stolen Maseratis?" 

"First of all," Nat cuts you off before you can continue, "It was a Mazda. There's a huge difference. Second of all…" She hums and leans back, resting her elbows on the next step up. 

She looks over you in a curious sort of way, appraising your form and being. "You could skate. Could convince Kev to teach you a thing or two at the skatepark, as long as you aren't gonna cry if you fall. If you play simulation games, you might not be half-bad at pool or darts. Hell, even thrifting or something. Refresh your wardrobe. I swear, every time I see you, you're basically wearing the same thing, just in different variants." Then, a sly grin. "But the fun stuff? Bet I could teach you to tag stuff without getting caught. You're already an artist; you should leave your mark on some places, yeah?" Her grin widens, "Maybe I could even convince you to bust into an old factory with me." A beat, "Unless… you're afraid of ghosts?" Then, she's laughing to herself.

You try to fight the grin on your face, but it's hard when you find her smile to be one of the most contagious things you've ever seen. "I'm not afraid of ghosts, thank you." A dramatic roll of your eyes earns another laugh from Nat, her smile wide and plastered on her face like she's having the time of her life. "But, also… I dunno. Maybe I could be convinced to try something new." "Maybe?" Nat parrots, still half-laughing. "Nah. I will convince you to "try something new"; you just haven't seen how convincing I can be yet." A self-satisfied grin replaces the smile she was wearing, and she leans in slightly, lowering her voice. "And I can be real convincing, Princess."

And… yep. You're blushing again. Nat, of course, notices this. Her grin gets ten times toothier, clearly satisfied with herself, and she leans back again. "But," She shrugs—as if she didn't just fluster the shit out of you with a single sentence. "That's for a later date."

Before you get a chance to respond to that, you catch sight of two girls wearing practice uniforms approaching—a simple grey shirt with the mascot's name on it and some shorts. You've seen them around before; it's a small town, after all. 

Jackie Taylor—homecoming queen and captain of the girl's soccer team. Beside her, Shauna Shipman—who you… honestly don't know much about. You're pretty sure the two of them are best friends despite the fact that they seem like polar opposites. 

Something something opposites attract, or whatever.

"Nat." Jackie stops in front of the two of you, regarding you with a half-assed smile for a fraction of a second before turning back to Nat, "You will be at practice today, right? You aren't gonna ditch again to do—"

"Yes, Jackie. I will fucking be at practice, alright?" Nat cuts her off with a scowl and a roll of her eyes. You swear she's gonna add something else but opts against it.

"Well… good." Jackie nods, then glances at you for much longer than she did initially, a curious expression on her face. 

You don't have to guess why the expression is there, either. You aren't that dumb. You don't really look like the type of person Natalie Scatorccio hangs out with—not with your textbooks, sketchbooks, and meekness. No, you've seen the people she hangs out with. Misfits, mostly. There's that one goth kid, that guy with curly hair, and the redhead chick—who also plays on the soccer team with Nat. Then there are the… less than savoury characters. The people who she isn't seen around as much, but everyone knows she is around. Not hardened criminals per se, but people who are very, very rough around the edges. People who have longer rap sheets and far more "experience" being criminals than Natalie does.

Either way, Jackie doesn't comment on the stark difference between Natalie's usual crowd and you.

You give the team captain a tense smile as she looks at you, which she quickly returns before looking back at the girl sitting next to you, "We start in thirty."

"Yeah, I know, Princess." Natalie rolls her eyes, "I'm well aware what time practice starts, thank you."

"I was just trying to—" Jackie huffs and crosses her arms, "Whatever. Be there." Then she walks off, seemingly pouting, and Shauna gives Nat a shrug in apology before following.

Once the pair are out of earshot, Nat groans and pushes a hand through her bleached hair, "See, that's someone I call a princess in a derogatory manner."

You snort, "But it's not derogatory with me?"

"Nah." She shakes her head, "With you? It just… feels right. Dunno. Like that one chick we called "Crystal the Pistol" a few times. It's an affectionate nickname, or whatever." She waves a hand dismissively, "Not my point. Point is, when I say it to you, it's…" A beat of hesitation as she tries to find the right words, "Ugh. I don't know. I'm not good with words. Just know it's a good nickname, not a bad one."

"Right." Your eyes narrow slightly at that, but you don't push the topic further.

Which Nat seems grateful for, anyway. "Anyways. What the hell were we talking about?"

"Uhhhhh… hobbies, and how mine are, apparently, drastically boring?"

"Oh. Right." She nods, thinking about the previous conversation for a minute, then she gives a fond roll of her eyes and turns to you with a soft grin, "I mean… you said it. Not me. I just said you need some excitement. I'm not the one that goes stargazing for fun."

"Right. And most of your suggestions were…" You hum in mock thought, "Illegal, no?"

"'s only illegal if you get caught, actually." Nat shoots back, "And where's your sense of adventure, huh?" She nudges you with her elbow, "Gotta live a little, Princess. I know that BuzzBall was probably the first time you've ever… partaken in something illegal."

You roll your eyes and lean your back against the railing as you turn at the waist to face her, "Sorry, I don't willingly rob stores for fun in my free time. My bad."

You think you see Nat's jaw twitch at the comment, making you think you said the wrong thing, but before you can dwell on it too long or too hard, she lets out a hollow laugh. "Yeah, well, certified adrenaline junkie and all that. What can I say? Robbing stores gives me a rush." But the words come out slightly strained—like she's not telling you the whole story.

She clears her throat, clearly eager to move on from that particular line of conversation. "Whatever. Still. Like I said, I can… get Kev to teach you how to skate. Or… hell, you ever kicked a soccer ball around before?"

"In PE, yeah. But that's about it."

"Hmm." The blonde considers this, "You any good at it?" You snort, "Hardly varsity material, but I'm not, like, terrible at it or anything."

"Yeah? Well, maybe I can show you how to be junior varsity material. Shouldn't be that hard to play better than a few freshies, yeah? Maybe I'll even teach you some soccer tricks." She grins to herself, "Teach you the basics of freestyling soccer balls."

"Mm, promising a lot here, Nat. First, you're saying that you'll teach me to play good enough to beat some "freshies" in soccer, then telling me you'll teach me tricks?" You click your tongue, "How do I know you aren't gonna completely bail on me?" "Oh, make no mistake, I don't go back on my word. If I say I'm gonna do something, then you can bet your sweet ass I'm gonna do it, yeah?" A toothy grin, "And that's the Scatorccio guarantee."

You snort, "Yeah, you say that like your last name holds a lot of value when it comes to trust—" 

The words are meant to be teasing, they come out in a teasing tone, but you still feel like a piece of shit the second they leave your mouth.

"I… I didn't mean it like that. Sorry. I wasn't thinking—"

"Nah, no," Nat shakes her head and waves her hands, "no. Don't worry about it. I'm not mad at you or anything." A grin, likely to ease your nerves, "You're not exactly wrong either. But I'm giving you my word anyway. Which… you should take." 

"Hm." You take some mock consideration to that, "I will take it for now. But I make no promises for whether I keep it or not."

"Won't regret it." Her grin becomes slightly more genuine, "Promise."

You spend the next… ten, fifteen minutes? talking to Nat on the steps of the library, actually getting to know each other, rather than those single-minded adventures that the two of you have been on the past little while.

You trade off on the typical "first date" questions: Favourite food (Hers is apparently pizza, which you said was boring, then she rolled her eyes and dropped "Ribollita" and refused to actually tell you what that means.), fast food (Said "Taco Bell" immediately.) music (Matches her. Veruca Salt, Blondie, Nirvana, The Pixies… you get the idea. You asked her if she played the music on tape decks. She said yes. You don't know if she's joking or not.), books (She called you a nerd. Then proceeded to say, "The Anarchist Cookbook".), least favourite teacher (Mr. Miller, who teaches Auto Shop and keeps telling her repair work is sloppy.), and most importantly: the meaning of life ("ask me after I've had a tab or two"??).

After spending the past three minutes trying to convince her you don't get straight A's in every class, you decide just to show her your most recent in Physics and you… realise you left your binder in your locker.

"Crap." You sigh as you peer into your backpack, "I think I left my Science binder in my locker."

Nat snorts, "Didn't you open your bag earlier to put away your textbook? How didn't you notice it then?" "Because I wasn't thinking about it then." You sigh and close your bag, "I need to grab it from my locker. I don't—" "I'll come with you. Need to head to the locker room and change into practice gear." She cuts you off, pushes herself off the stairs, and, much to your surprise, actually waits for you before she starts walking. You try not to act surprised by this as you grab your backpack and throw it over your shoulders. When she does catch you acting surprised, because of course she does, she grins and rolls her eyes. "I said I was coming with you. Which means I am following you, and you aren't following me. Therefore, I have to wait for you. I still don't wait for people to follow me, Princess."

You can't fight the way your eyes roll and lips purse at that comment, "Right." Once you're standing, the pair of you head off in the direction of your locker.

"Dude, your locker is all the way in the old science hall? Who the fuck goes here anymore? There are zero classes near this place anymore. It must take five minutes to walk from class-to-fucking-class." She mutters, more to herself than you, and shakes her head as you two reach your destination. "Yeah, if I could have chosen my locker, it would be in the English hall. Right in the center of all my classes. I'm also pretty sure I'm the only person who has their locker in this hall." You sigh as you start to fiddle with the lock, "I've basically only seen the janitor up here. I don't know what I did to piss off whoever assigned lockers, but here I am." A sigh leaves your lips as the lock clicks open, "Admin won't even let me move lockers." Nat snorts and leans on the locker adjacent yours, "Yeah, sounds about right. They don't actually give a shit about the students here. I mean, for all the money going into athletics, you'd think they'd give us uniforms that don't chafe." An exasperated roll of her eyes, "So stupid."

"Sounds about right. Didn't the money go to the boy's baseball team or something?" She seems slightly surprised you know that but gives a nod of her head. "Uh, yeah. That's right. Which makes no sense considering we won states last year, and this year we actually have a good chance of—"

Her eyes zero in on the binder you're grabbing. "Holy shit. Is that colour-coded?" Her jaw drops in awe (or shock?), and she takes it from your hands, flipping it open. "H-o-l-y s-h-i-t. It is."

"I like having things organized by unit, whether it's a worksheet or notes!" You defend yourself, grabbing the binder back from her with a huff, "Sue me, okay!"

"Shit, I should." She lets out a low whistle, "Damn. All this for a…" She peers at the test you were going to show her, "B? Damn, Princess. That's unfortunate."

"You're making fun of me." You murmur petulantly, slamming the binder shut and shoving it into your backpack, "What's your GPA then, huh?"

Nat hums as she considers that answer, "Three point three."

"Wait." You turn to look at her, "Seriously?"

She laughs, "Yeah, seriously. I can't play soccer if I'm failing all my classes. Just because I don't show up to class doesn't mean I don't do the work for them." A roll of her eyes, like it was an obvious answer. 

"Mm. And do you do the work for them, or do you pay some unsuspecting nerd—"

"What makes you think I have the money to pay anyone to do anything?" The girl cuts you off with a snort and crosses her arms, "Trust me, I do all my work myself."

"Hey, who said anything about money?" You grin at her, "You have… dubious tendencies. For all I know, you're paying them some other way." You offer a teasing shrug, "Like stolen BuzzBalls or…" A faux gasp, "Oh my God. Am I the unsuspecting nerd?" Nat scoffs once and looks away, "Yeah, right." Another scoff. Then another.

…wait. Is she blushing? Did you just fluster Natalie Scatorccio? On accident? 

Between the way she won't meet your eyes, fiddles with the hem of her shirt, her usually pale cheeks now with the faintest hint of colour in them, and she swallows nervously? Wow. You think you did. How the tables…

You don't get too long to reflect on that before she's seemingly recovered and trying to act unaffected. "What if I am, nerd?" She leans into your personal space, "Maybe I'm looking for an unsuspecting nerd to do more than just my homework."

Now you're the flustered one. Again. "Uh—"

"I mean, think about it." She licks her lips, "The unsuspecting nerd and the resident burnout. Talk about opposites attracting. I could show you so much shit." A feral grin crosses her features, and your entire body heats up without your consent, "I could make you feel real—"

You take a step back, putting up both a metaphorical and physical space between you two. "Natalie. I don't—"

"Don't what? Oh, come on, Princess. Don't act like you haven't been thinking about it. I'm not dumb. I've seen the way you've been looking at me. Don't act like—"

You look visibly uncomfortable. Flustered, yes, but also uncomfortable. You're wringing your hands together in a subconscious act of anxiety, and whether that's because of her proximity or the situation, you aren't quite sure. Either way, Nat notices this.

You swear you see something like guilt flash behind her eyes once she realises she made you uncomfortable, but no outward attempt at an apology is made.

Natalie clears her throat and takes a small step back, the bravado dropping in an instant. "Whatever." She crosses her arms again, "Whatever. Let's just…" Her jaw tenses, and she shakes her head. "Nevermind." 

There's some very tense air that passes between the both of you as you awkwardly close and lock your locker, neither of you bothering to glance at the other, letting the awkwardness fester.

It probably would have kept festering, too, had the sound of Natalie's phone vibrating not broken the silence.

"Goddammit, I swear to God if Jackie is—" Her mouth snaps shut as she looks down at her phone, and a slow grin finds its way onto her mouth. "Ooooh, fuck yes." She looks up at you, "Say, Princess, you doing anything tonight?"

"Uhhhh…" You shake your head, "No? I was just planning on staying at home and…" You shrug, "I dunno. Relaxing, or whatever."

"Mm. I have a better idea. You should come to a party tonight."

"Oh." 

"Oh? That's it?" Nat rolls her eyes, "Come on. What was it I said about needing to get out of your comfort zone? A party is the perfect time and place to do it!" She shakes her head (and hands), "Look, it's a bonfire. If things go poorly, you can just… sit and stare at the fire and ignore everyone."

An unsure breath leaves your lips as you consider all the possibilities in your head. Of course, your mind heads to the worst-case scenario first, like a completely normal person would.

"Dude, seriously." She says, softer this time. "No pressure. It's just… a bonfire party… no, get-together, with some friends. That's it, yeah? Not like the entire town is gonna be there." She reiterates, throwing some emphasis on the fact it's "just a bonfire get-together," as if that will soothe all your nerves.

More hesitation on your part, but you can't deny the curiosity that seeds its way into your mind at the idea of seeing Nat in her element for once. "I… I don't know, Nat. It really isn't my scene—"

"It doesn't have to be your scene. It's just gonna be the place you spend a single Friday night. That's it. Don't ever gotta come to one again if you decide you hate it. Won't even bring it up again. Promise."

Even more hesitation. Even more curiosity you can't shove down and hide, for better or worse.

You don’t belong in the scene she frequents. Not really. But the way she grinned—like you were some project she couldn’t wait to take on—made you want to, even if it was just for one night.

"Come on. Drinks are free. Maybe they'll have more coolers you can try. Really dip your toes into the world of alcoholic beverages." She snickers.

Man, peer pressure does work, doesn't it?

You’re not a party person. But then again, Natalie Scatorccio isn’t just a person—she’s the reason you’re even considering it.

"I can't believe I'm gonna say this…" You shake your head and sigh, "But… fine. Fine. I'll… I'll go to this stupid party."

A wide grin crosses her face. Wide and very pleased with herself. "Perfect. Good choice. Best choice, really. Won't regret it, promise." She pushes herself off the locker beside yours, "I gotta get to practice. But I will… see you tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah. Yes." You sigh reluctantly, "I will… see you tonight, Nat."

"Hell yeah, you will. Maybe I'll even convince you to crack a beer or two. Smoke a cigarette. Real delinquent shit." She laughs at that as she begins walking off toward the gym, "See you tonight, Princess!" Nat calls from over her shoulder, "I'll text you the address!"

You watch her leave, blinking a few times in shock that she was able to convince you to go to a high school party so quickly.

"Well." You mumble to yourself, "Guess senior year isn't the worst time to go to your first party." You rub your forehead, mildly frustrated with yourself and your ability to say no, "Goddammit."

Well. Guess you have a party to prepare for, huh?

a/n: can i be so real with yall for a sec

every time i type in "natalie scatorccio" on pinterest i start feeling weird after the first few minutes cus I'm like "damn I'm fr just staring at photos of sophie thatcher rn" but I suppose it could be worse. could be staring at photos of (insert ugly celebrity name here)

[cowboyod]

Another Man's Jeans

summary - You run into Spencer at Angela's birthday party for the first time since the breakup.

warnings - a little angsty

pairing - Spencer Agnew x reader

word count - 2665

note - Based loosely on Another Man's Jeans by Ashe. Let me know if you like it! I have a little more written so let me know if you want more!

“Listen, I know you really, really don’t want to see Spencer right now but it would mean a lot to me if you could come.” Angela pleads to you. Her birthday is coming up and Chanse and her have planned a party to celebrate. You know it’ll be a ton of fun and Angela has been talking about it for ages. The performances and the karaoke and all the details planned out sound incredible but the fact that Spencer is going is a huge deterrent. 

“I love you, I’ll think about it, okay? If I don’t show up I’ll make sure we do something special together, how does that sound?” You bargain with the birthday girl and she seems unsatisfied. 

“Pretty, pretty please. Think about it really, really hard.”

You met Spencer on the Smosh Pit set. You were just a one off guest, invited to be a part of an episode of Try Not To Laugh by one of the producers after they saw some of your own youtube videos. You were thrilled to be invited and meet some of the cast and crew. Spencer was in the crowd that day and every time you were doing your bits on the stage, he would catch your eye. You did your best to avoid eye contact while in the hot seat and failed miserably. Little did you know that this opportunity would turn into so much more than just one fun day.

After being invited to a couple Smosh shoots, you hit it off with a few of the cast members. You and Angela became close friends and invited you out with her, Chanse, and some of her other friends often. Angela had noticed Spencer and you giving each other eyes every time you were invited for videos and he  made sure he was either in the room watching the recording, or in the video when you were there. Eventually, Angela began to invite Spencer when you would agree to plans and vice versa. Then began what is arguably the best year of your life. 

After about a year of dating, Spencer and you began to hit a rough patch, both becoming incredibly busy and not being able to make time for each other. 

You are sitting at your desk deep in thought and frustration, looking at the near blank page in front of you. ‘Why are scripts so hard to start’ you think to yourself. You have about a thousand projects to finish and have started another one that was assigned to you by your script writing professor. You can never seem to get past that blank page without hours of frustration. The lingering editing projects and essays you also have unfinished cloud your mind and you are so visibly overwhelmed.

You feel arms wrap around you from behind your desk chair and you startle a tad. “Oh. Hey Spence, you scared me. Now's not a good time.” You say shortly, bringing him into your frustrated mind. “Why don’t you take a break? We could throw on a movie or something?” Spencer offers. “I really need to finish this, or start it I guess. I have a ton to do. I don't know if I have the time right now.” Tension grows in your voice and he squeezes your shoulder before leaving you alone.

Between school and passion projects, you never had time to do much anymore. And Spencer was drowning in his work schedule, trying to plan shoot weeks and games content and livestreams became taxing on him. The energy between the two of you began to dwindle and you would often break into exhaustion bridled arguments that always ended in one of you going back to your own apartment. The breakup made no sense to any of your friends, the two of you seemed perfect together. You were both always so supportive of each other and participated in each other’s hobbies and interests, you two were inseparable at one point. But the breakup made sense to you. You were sick of the fighting and so, so tired. It didn’t feel worth the fight anymore despite how much it hurt. Spencer hated the conversation. He loathed the fact that you gave up on fighting for him but he also felt the exhaustion of it all. 

Your finger lingers on his contact name. You fight your instincts and decide to call Angela instead. “Hey, honey! Happy Birthday! I love you!” You greet after she picks up. You both talk about the day ahead of her and her party later that night that Chanse and a few others are beginning to set up soon. “Yeah, hey! I think I’m gonna come out tonight. I want to celebrate with you and I have such a great gift.”

“Awwwe babe you don’t have to!” You can hear her smiling through the phone. “I’m so excited for you to come. It’s gonna be a relatively big party so hopefully you’ll barely even see Spencer.”

“It’s not even fair for me to be upset about seeing him. Like I’m the one who broke up with him. I feel like I don’t even have a right to be upset about it.”

“Your feelings are valid. Even if you’re the one who ended it, it’s still a tough thing to get through. You’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling.”

“I guess you’re right. I just don’t want him to hate me. I miss being around him. It's been months and It still hurts.”

While on the phone with Angela, she helps you pick out an outfit, landing on a casual green dress paired with your favorite doc martens. You felt pretty for the first time in months and you were excited to leave the house for once. You took your time getting ready, treating this like the event of the year. You weren’t going all out by any means but you felt good taking the time to get ready and feel good about yourself.

You take an uber to the venue just in case you have one too many drinks tonight. You’re early enough that you can help setting up the final bits of the party and Chanse puts you to work. You help set up tables and put out flowers and other finishing details and he runs off and makes sure everything else is going according to plan. People begin flooding in about half an hour later and Angela shows up not too long before the crowd.

“You look good, babe! Happy Birthday! Here’s your little gift, you can open it later if you want.” You smile at the birthday girl widely and give her hugs. 

“Oh my god! Stop! This is so cute!” Angela opens the bag to find a glass olive oil container with a pretty glass floral design. You remembered her talking about wanting some cuter kitchen stuff and you found the drizzle bottle at a local craft store and thought she’d love it. Angela put it away and after talking for a little bit, she excused herself to talk to some of her friends from Starkid. You wander to the snack table to see what kind of things they have and hopefully run into someone you know so you don’t look so alone. You grab yourself a little drink to keep your hands busy and scan the room for people to talk to. Unfortunately, you lock eyes with a particular curly haired boy. Of course you find him in a crowded room, you’ve always had a knack for finding him in crowds. I mean, who else would you possibly want to look at in a room full of people? You give him a tight smile, take a sip of your drink and try to look elsewhere. No matter where you looked, your mind kept wandering back to him. You wondered if he was still looking at you, if the eyes you felt burning into your skull were his, the eyes you had grown so used to. His eyes felt so familiar but so distant. You knew coming here was a bad idea, he corroded your thoughts without being anywhere near you, of course you were going to go crazy with him only some feet in front of you. You looked around again and found out that the eyes burning into your head were not his but a mere stranger’s. You couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.

The eyes boring into your skull draw closer to you. The man introduces himself and you can’t seem to get his name to stick. You let him stick by your side because why not have a little fun? A distraction with a name you don’t remember might be what you need. He offers you another drink and you sit around with him and talk for a long while about nothing in particular. You think he’s talking about cars, his mustang, maybe? Who cares? All you can think about is Spencer. How he’s here somewhere, maybe flirting with some other girl or maybe, hopefully, he’s thinking about you. The man snags a flower from one of the nearby decorations and offers it to you, charmingly. “For you.” 

“Keep your flowers, let’s go dancing!” You offer with a spark in your eyes. He follows you to the floor as music blares through the speakers. You dance with the stranger while thinking of another. After a couple songs, the music cuts and Chanse is on stage beginning a little speech about our special, little Angela. Chanse planned out a couple show bits and after the speech, a musical number begins and the crowd is thrilled. You lean against the man you were dancing with and smile at how fun this whole thing is and how wonderful Chanse is at this whole party planning thing. 

You look around and once again make eye contact with Spencer. You feel a little loopy and you can’t tell if it's the alcohol, the lights, the music, or Spencer. You give him a little head tilt and brow scrunch, confused by his almost blank expression. He looked bored almost? Maybe annoyed? He is so hard to read nowadays. Not like you see him often anymore. He looks at the guy beside you and then back at you, jaw clenched. 

You look at the guy you’ve stuck around so far and decide you’ve had enough of him for now. “Hey, would you grab me a water?” He nods and walks off and you make eye contact with Spencer again. You think about going over there and talking to him but he wanders off before you get the chance. Luckily, you see Amanda across the room talking to a couple other Smosh members and decide to join them. “Hi, guys! Great party Chanse has done an amazing job!” You enter the group.

“Hey! Yeah, he’s great isn’t he? Angela seems to be having the time of her life! I’m glad you came!” Amanda greets. Shayne and Tommy speak about the party and the show before falling back into conversation about recent movies that have come out. 

Time passes and karaoke is a show stopper. Everyone is adoring the silly performances their friends are putting on. Chanse and Angela do a duet and people jokingly throw things on stage. The party is lively as ever and you cheer on all your friends as they go on stage. You and Shayne stick together, avoiding actually participating at all costs but continue to clap and cheer in support. The song is about to end and you look around to see who is going on next. Spencer looks at you and nods his head towards the stage, asking if you were gonna go up. You eyes go wide and you shake your head violently, he knows you would never. He laughs at your dramatics. 

Shayne sees this interaction and just nods and gives Spencer a look without you noticing. Spencer bites the corner of his lip and makes his way over to the two of you. “You guys should go up and do a duet” He laughs and you two look horrified at the idea. His laugh rings through your head. The absence of his laugh for the past few months has stung. 

“Yeah not happening tonight!” Shayne responds.

“You know I’d have to be like, totally out of my mind to even consider it, Spence.” The nickname rolls off your tongue so easily it almost startles you. It’s like you’ve fallen right back into place with him in front of you. But it’s never that easy. You and Spencer stay quiet for a moment and Shayne leaves quietly to find Courtney. 

“Hey.” He breaks the silence. 

“Hi” you merely squeak out. You feel butterflies flutter in your stomach in anticipation for what he’s about to say.

“You look good. How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been better, I suppose. How are you?”

“About the same.” Another silence passes between the two  of you. “So who was that guy earlier?” his voice comes out a little bitter.

“I truly have no idea. I’m not even fully sure if he gave me his name.” You spill honestly. Spencer seems to let out a breath he was holding. “I like this shirt, is it new?” You move your hand close to his chest before moving it away, realizing your actions.

“Um, yeah, sort of.” He scratches his head awkwardly and you take the moment to stare at his tattoos. The ones you used to fall asleep tracing. 

“I’m sorry, Spencer.” He looks at you with sad eyes and nods slightly, his eyes locking on something.

“Hey, you. Thought you left.” The guy from earlier comes up behind you and puts his hands on your waist. You look a little startled at the touch but you let it be. 

“Hey. Um, This is Spencer.” Your tone screams uncomfortable and Spencer’s jaw tightens. 

“Hey, dude.” “Hey, man. I think you’re making her uncomfortable.” You bite your lip at his bluntness and you feel the man’s grip tighten slightly. You try to slip out of his hold but he doesn’t let go. “Dude, she obviously doesn’t want you. Give it up.” The man goes to fight back but you push away again and he gets the hint. 

“Sorry, man” he puts his hands up and walks away. Spencer scoffs and steps closer to you, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“You okay?” Your breath catches a little and you just nod in response. “I didn’t like how that guy had his hands on you all night. He seems so annoying.” you smirk a little, catching the jealousy in his voice.

“You know, not so long ago you were the annoying one who couldn’t keep your hands off me.” You smile at him and he laughs a little.

“Well at least you could remember my name!” a moment passes and you notice how close you are, your hand on his chest. He watches your gaze move from him to your hand and back to him. “He didn’t deserve to be so close to you when you look this damn good.” His voice dropped and it sent a shiver down your spine. 

“Are you just gonna tell me how good I look or are you gonna show me? Make your move.” You tempt him, trying to navigate where this will go next. His brows raise in shock and he recovers quickly, moving his hand to your face and leaning towards you. 

“What’s your angle here?” He’s so close to you and your brain takes a second to figure out what he actually said.

“Let’s have ourselves a little bit of fun?” You lean in further and finally meet his lips. You only allow it to be chaste and you spin around and start leading him out the door. He stays still, stunned for a moment before following you right out the door. “Hurry or I’ll be in another man’s jeans!” you tease.

[courtingchaos]

Feast

Pairing: Eddie x Reader x Steve, past Eddie x Steve (set in my Line Cook Eddie AU)

Word Count: 9.8K

Summary: It’s a Graveyard Lake House Smash 🎃

A/N: When I tell you Woof, I mean WOOF. I don’t want to tell you all how long I’ve had this sitting in the crockpot. It’s surprising it didn’t turn to ash. Instead I got this! Struck by what I can only describe as mania I was able to finish this and edit it all with the help of @jo-harrington . Now I have many many MANY people to thank for this even being an idea for me to play around with and I won’t fill this page up with a bunch of tags. Those of you that were there for its inception know and that’s what matters. Talk about a fucking labor of love. I pulled this out of my own viscera, I hope you like it ❤️ (Also, reference is made to the fic Strawberry if you guys want to go look at that smut too, but it is not needed.)

Warnings: Drug use (cocaine, weed), Drinking, DVP, Unprotected sex, Sex while under the influence

NSFW 18+ No Minors

“Oh this is cute.” The flyer invite is bright orange and full of Eddie’s little doodles.

“Yeah? You like it?” Eddie leans over your shoulder. “Made it all by myself.”

“You even signed it, look at you.” You grab his chin and give it a wiggle before he plants a kiss on your cheek.

“Obviously we’re invited. I’ve got my costume all planned out already.” He heads into the bedroom and misses you pulling a face.

“Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I won’t be there.”

His head sticks out around the doorframe, “What?”

“Yeah, too many requests off. I gotta close.”

“Okay? You’re off at what, 9:30?” Eddie waves you off before disappearing in the bedroom. “I’ll pick you up and we can be to Steve’s by 10, 10:30. Piece of cake, piece of crumb cake.” He does his best Father Guido from inside his closet and it makes you laugh.

“I’m gonna be tired, Ed.”

“And I’m gonna have weed.” He reappears with a different hoodie on.

You huff. “I don’t have a costume.”

“I’ll find you one.”

“I hate bagged stuff!” You aren’t really arguing with him, just pushing his buttons enough to see where his exasperation will take him. It sends his arms over his head while he goes headlong into all the costumes you could put together with the shit in your own closet.

“So no bagged stuff! You could pull off a Nancy Downs or a Sidney.”

“Will you go as Stu?”

Eddie stands like he’s upset with you, arms crossed and voice dropping low for a moment. “You know damn well I’d have to go as Billy. Plus,” he flits his hand beside his face, “like I said I already have my costume.”

“You won’t tell me?” You don’t even fake your pout. “I need help with an idea! Come on!”

“It’s a surprise!” He shakes your shoulder and when you don’t stand he hauls you up by your hand so you can finally run errands for the day. “Look, when we’re done at the store I’ll help you dig through your shit and piece something together.”

By store he really meant every shop in town with a Halloween section and only a quick run into a grocery store for mac and cheese. One of your last stops is at a Party City where you’re staring at the wall of masks feeling a little dejected. Halloweens haven’t felt fun in a while and this one was shaping up to be just as disappointing. You’re eying one of those big articulated scarecrow masks when Eddie comes bounding up to you with a clutch of cellophane in his hands.

“I figured it out.” Is all he says before practically skipping back the way he came, right into the latex and spirit gum section.

“Ed I don’t want to do a whole thing, especially if I can’t wear it at work.”

“No this is easy shit, it goes on like a temporary tattoo.” He holds one of the thin packs up against your face before shaking his head and tossing it back on a hook. Another one he’s been clutching skims your cheek and his eyes light up. “No this is perfect.”

“You gonna let me in on this little secret?” You crane your neck to see what he has. “Is that a pentagram?”

“Do you still have that cheer skirt?”

You think you might know what he’s getting at. “The black and red one?”

He nods his head and picks up a packet of ‘fresh’ colored blood.

“Yeah.” And with that he’s off down the aisle again, beelining for the color coded tailgating section.

“If they have them in stock—hell yeah.” He holds up a red and a black pompom. “Cookin’ with fire now.” His grin is infectious.

“You know I don’t have any costume contacts, right?”

Eddie’s ‘pshh’ is so self assured. “With this it won’t matter.” He points at the pentagram transfer. “See? I told you I’d figure it out.”

In the small bathroom at work you feel only slightly ridiculous.

It’d been a few Halloween’s ago that you’d worn this skirt and now it’s a little more snug, sits a little higher on your thigh and hugs your stomach a little tighter. The cropped tee doesn’t leave much to the imagination and the thigh highs feel a little like overkill.

It’s cute, objectively. You know it but you still spend a little too much time staring at the back of yourself as best you can, making sure your whole ass isn’t out on display. A soft knock on the door reminds you of your faithful coworker waiting on you to finish up so they can run off to their own plans.

“Sorry, one sec!” You shove your work clothes into your tote bag and give yourself one last hard stare. “You’re gonna be fine.” You say with some finality to your reflection, black press on nail tapping on the glass.

Outside Eddie sits in his truck, idling next to your car and you take your sweet time strolling over to him. His eyes glint in his side view while the rest of his face stays obscured and you wonder just what costume he’s put on, right until you catch the tilt of his head and you see what sits there. Your pace quickens and you have to hold the hem of your skirt down when you all but run across the parking lot, stopping at his open window to stare at him wildly.

“Oh no, you did not.”

He most certainly did.

The cigarette clenched between his fangs glows in the dark cab, shimmering lips pulling into a smile around the filter. “Do what?” He asks like he has no idea what’s on his body. The run of chains around his neck clink and catch the light of the street lamps. From under his curls the tips of pointed prosthetics peak out, gold rings pierced through the latex. The matte red body paint lays in a thin layer on his face and just barely down his neck, his chest on full display under his barely buttoned black shirt.

“Not the Bard.” His hands glint with more rings than normal, jeweled gold he’d picked up at last year’s Ren Faire. You catch the black claws stuck to his nails and he laughs at your shocked expression.

“What’s wrong with my Bard?”

You gesture wildly at his whole being and you haven’t even started to look up at the horns on his head. Long red ones that curl against his crown, gold chains dripping off the curves. Painted bands shimmer just like the gold on his lips and you almost open your mouth to cancel your plans.

Eddie clicks his tongue at you like he’s read your mind. “Hop in quick, it’s like a 45 minute drive.”

You huff, hands still anchored on the window while you gawk at him. His make up is perfect, his clothes thrown on too easily. There’s a smokey scent that lingers, something not from his cigarette, and you wonder if he got into your perfume oils; Incense and wood fire swirling around him. He taps your knuckles to get them off his door and when you go to walk around the bed of the truck he just whistles at you, nodding his head towards the hood.

“No no, give me a little preview.”

You almost don’t give in. The doubt is trying its hardest to claw up your back but you ignore it and let the headlights cast your shadow on the building. Eddie’s delighted laughter rolls from his open window and when you get into the truck his hand finds the exposed swath of thigh above the socks.

“Told you it’d come together.” A firm squeeze and a straying pinky when you twist around to set your bag in the backseat, the soft pads of his fingers grazing higher under the hem of your skirt.

“You like it?” You sound a little unsure, like he wasn’t the one to lay the outfit out for you to give your seal of approval. It isn’t like you need his constant validation but it feels nice to let him ogle you every once in a while.

“If I didn’t have promises to keep I’d be taking you straight home.” He leans in toward you, careful of all his pieces and face paint, lips close but just out of reach.

“The quicker we get out there, the quicker we can get home.” You try to bridge the distance but Eddie pulls back, another sharp grin aimed at you.

“You should finish your makeup before we get there.” He taps the glove box before leaning back into his seat. “I saved you something for the ride over.”

He keeps his hand in place the whole way to Steve’s. Even when you pull out the joint he rolled for you, in the fun striped papers you’d shown him weeks ago. You relax and try to get your eyeliner done first before you’re too high to care and when you’ve finally put your bag away Eddie becomes your sole focus.

His hand might stay firmly planted but yours don’t. It starts off easy enough, plucking at his necklaces and pendants, letting them fall back on each other and clink. A twist of a ring on his free hand and pulling at the bracelet warmed by his wrist. You run a light finger along his pointed ear and you don’t miss the slight shiver that runs down his neck.

His neck.

You drop that hand and trail the tip of your fake nail over his skin to pull up goosebumps, carefully avoiding smudging any paint. He lets you drop a peck or two but he’s serious about not messing up his makeup, “at least not yet.”

Since you’ve been denied a treat, you pull lightly at his collar so you can nibble on his shoulder. Fingers trailing down the wide open valley of buttons, your other hand dancing across his lap to scratch at the seam of his jeans.

“You’re terrible.” He admonishes you but it’s all for show, if he was serious about you taking your hands off him he wouldn’t have grinned at you like that.

Halfway out of your seat and draped over the center console is how you spend the last half of your drive, an earring between your teeth while you distract him just enough to swerve a few times.

The lake house emerges along the horizon suddenly, almost like you’d been distracted by the button on Eddie’s jeans. The gravel crunches under the tires down the long drive and orange, green and purple string lights help direct you to the actual house.

Steve’s family’s lake house is a mimic of a rustic cabin, one big peaked roof and a massive back deck that wraps around the side. It looks like someone pulled a giant A-frame directly up out of the ground, Halloween decor and all. You stare up at it surrounded by trees, the big windows flashing intermittently with light, music thumping dully out into the sleeping nature.

“Whoa.” Actually you loose all focus of what’s in Eddie’s pants as you finally grasp the size of the property and the crowd outside.

“See? Could have missed all this if we’d just gone home.” Eddie parks and unbuckles himself so he can twist around carefully for the bag in the back. “Now sit still, I gotta put your pentagram on.”

That pulls your attention back to him, especially when he sets a water bottle down first. He peels the transfer apart and you watch him silently, lulled by a full work day and the haze of weed. He’s right, it does go on like a temporary tattoo and when a drip of water falls between your breast you giggle.

“Making a mess already?” You hold the edges of your cut up collar away so you don’t get it stuck and Eddie just shakes his head.

“Are you gonna be like this all night?”

“Do you want me to be?”

Eddie’s hand is flat against your chest to hold the prosthetic in place so you know he feels the uptick of your heartbeat. It’s close and cozy in this cab, close enough that you can see the corner of his mouth twitch and the crinkle of his light crows feet. His eyes drop from your chest to your cleavage and you lean in a little more, push your arms in a little tighter.

“Can I have a kiss?” Whispered just between you two. “Since I’ve been so good tonight.”

He hums, lips pursed, and checks on your pentagram instead. The paper lifts and his hand moves away and you follow him, lips leading to the golden shimmer you’ve been eyeing. It’s quick but it’s what you wanted, just a little more of his attention on you.

He huffs when you pull away. “See this is why I wanted to wait.” His thumb rubs against your chin and he pulls it back to show you the smear of red. “Now you’re marked.”

You think if you can crawl into his lap right now he might abandon this deal tonight. He looks at you from under hooded eyes, eyes that linger on your bare skin. There’s a moment when he takes a deep breath you think you can maybe break him with a well placed purr of his name but—

“Eddie!” The rap of knuckles on the window makes you jump and with it the spell breaks. Robin is waving at the two of you, grinning wide and unknowing of what she’s done. “You guys look great!” Her voice is muffled by the glass so Eddie opens the door and starts his personality up for the show.

You figure out that Robin has gone as Weird Barbie and you love it, especially because she’s obviously a few Malibu and Pineapple’s deep and she keeps you slung close while she directs you and Eddie around.

“Jon and Nance are Beetlejuice and Lydia.” She points in a vague direction of the house where you see neither of them. “Lucas and Max couldn’t make it because they’re doing the ‘parent thing’ obviously.” Her air quotes almost make her spill her drink and Eddie takes it from her with a sigh.

“It’s not even midnight yet, Rob.”

“Hush! I don’t actually know what the hell Dustin is, I think it’s a chemical compound.” She says out of the side of her mouth, gesturing at Eddie to give her a sip from her solo cup. “Will is an amazing Orville Peck, he made his own mask! The fringe is so long!”

You laugh at her pointing at meaningless areas, no one being where she thinks they are.

“And where’s our host?” Eddie asks, scanning the heads outside.

“Oh he’s been so lame. You know, he slapped a name tag on an hour before the party and called it his costume?” Robin looks so disappointed. “I offered to make him a Ken three months ago and he acted like I’d insulted him.”

“Well what’s he wearing? I’d rather him not blow up my phone.”

“Black hat, backwards like an asshole. Red sweater.” Robin drops you off at the doorway into the cabin and snatches her drink back from Eddie. “Name tag says ‘God’.” She leaves you with a heavy eye roll before slipping into the masses.

A quick schmooze around the open downstairs and you’re finally left to your own devices, drink secured in your hand.

“Now don’t go running off without me, okay?” Eddie puts a stern finger in your face and you snap your jaws at it. He ignores you. “I’m serious, meet me up in the loft.” He points the same finger upwards and you nod wordlessly. “Hopefully this shouldn’t take too long and we can go hang out on the dock.”

You frown. “It’s kind of cold out.”

“Oh no.” Eddie waves his hands at you, feigning being distraught. “I guess we’ll have to cuddle, oh no!”

You flip him off as he walks away and he blows you a kiss and immediately you begin timing him to see how long it will actually take him.

You don’t recognize anyone here. Maybe a few people from Stacy’s, some of the line cooks and waitstaff, but no one you can start a conversation with that wouldn’t end up feeling awkward. There’s the obvious close friends of Eddie’s but even they aren’t as known to you and even so, you’ve spotted them chatting with other people already. You sip on your drink and you sigh and resign yourself to waiting it out.

Leaning on the bannister of the loft you look down and spot Eddie animatedly telling someone something, his jewelry sparkling in the flashing lights. His voice carries sometimes, even in a party like this and you watch him with amusement. It doesn’t take long to loose him though and you pull your phone out to distract you, just before a flash of maroon catches your eye and you turn to find Steve looking surprised with two cups in his hands.

“I was trying to sneak up on you, how did you know?”

“I bet you’re one of those guys who doesn’t say ‘behind’ at work, aren’t you?”

“Oh no, I learned my lesson there.” He sets the drinks on the bannister and pulls up his sleeve to show you a silvery scar near his elbow. “That’s where I took a parring knife around a corner, I don’t fuck around in there anymore.” He laughs.

“Was it Eddie?” You ask like you already know the answer but Steve shakes his head hard.

“No, some other dude but Ed did yell at him for walking around with a knife held out in front of him. ‘What are you trying to do, shiv him?’” He puts on a face that you correctly guess is an imitation of an angry Eddie.

“Aw, did he look out for you?” You reach out and pinch Steve’s cheek and he swats you away, his ears flushing a bright red.

“Speaking of, where is he? He has my weed.”

“I don’t know, I lost him in the masses.” You gesture at the crowd below just as the music and lights change, making it darker and harder to make out a detail.

“Shit.”

“Shit indeed. My high is wearing off and there are too many people I don’t know here.” You finish off your drink and Steve is holding up one of his cups to replace it. You raise an eyebrow in question and he just swings it at you so you’ll take it.

“I saw you up here, thought I’d bring you a drink. Didn’t know how long you’d been here.”

Something about his expensive smile always makes you want to giggle. You know that he’s aware of his charms but even then you can’t help how easy he makes it. The flattery is always there, especially if Eddie is around, and if you didn’t know any better you might have the sneaking suspicion he was flirting.

“All by my lonesome?” You shake your new drink at him and he rolls his eyes.

“Not like that, I brought two in case Ed was up here.”

He’s always flirting actually, you think it might just be an integral cog of his makeup at this point. You’ve seen the way it slips into the most innocuous conversations with Eddie, though he’s always trying to banter.

You drop the sly accusatory look and shrug. “Good luck. I was told to stay put till he came back.”

“Or, and hear me out, we could go find him together.” He says it like it’s the best idea he’s ever had and honestly? You look around at the sparsely populated loft and check the time on your phone, noticing you’ve already wasted half an hour doing nothing.

“I’m in.”

An hour of wandering and you haven’t run into Eddie again. He didn’t ditch you, far from it. You know your blood covered boobs and incredibly short skirt wouldn’t leave his mind but you do know he how he loves to talk. Someone must have gotten him on a kick and he’s been passed around through groups, his storytelling making bursts of laughter float up from different corners of the party.

“Did he really tell you stay upstairs?” Steve asks, shouldering through a group with a short wave.

“Yeah, but he looses track of time at parties. You know how he is.” You’re a few drinks deep now so any annoyance has burned off, especially since Steve has been nice enough to walk around with you. The view from behind while you followed wasn’t bad either. It makes you smirk and you hide that in your drink, your wandering gaze following his long legs.

One more inside lap before you both stop at the kitchen island covered in bottles to top up and Steve finally calls it.

“Wanna go sit outside?” He nods his head towards the back deck. “Quieter.” He heads for the wall of windows where people filter out to sit by the water. You weren’t kidding earlier when you said it was chilly and you really hadn’t thought to bring a sweater with you for some reason. Steve notices you hesitate though and seemingly understands. On his way to the door he lifts the seat of a bench up and pulls out a blanket.

Water laps at the deck softly and the chatter dies down finally, the music a distant thump and you feel a little sober taking in the fresh air. Steve holds up the corners of the blanket for you and when you don’t immediately move in he shakes it at you.

“I’m not gonna bite.”

“Aw, really?” It slips out before you can catch it. To Steve’s credit he takes it in stride, barely breaking a grin when you finally snatch the blanket from him. He digs around in his front pocket for a moment and pulls out a crumpled pack of Marlboros. There’s one already tucked behind his ear and you’re about to remind him when he holds up a slim joint.

“I know this is a sad offering, but you want?”

As if on cue there’s a peal of laughter followed by a big splash and you step closer to Steve on the dock to get away from the rippling water. “Jesus, please.”

He eyebrows twitch up and he points lazily at the name tag. “Actually it’s God, but same-same.”

He pulls two Adirondack chairs together and you slide back into one remembering to keep your knees together so you don’t accidentally flash Steve. He holds the joint out to you with his lighter and you gasp theatrically.

“And a gentleman at that!”

It takes a few strikes to get the beat up bic to light and you can feel Steve staring. At first you think he’s judging your lack of finesse but when you go to hand him his lighter his eyes snap up from your legs, a tight smile flashed at you before he holds his hand out to take the joint back. He keeps the conversation light, he tells you about what this lake house used to look like and how much his parents sunk into it to remodel it. He makes small talk seem fun when he frosts his words in charm and you remember the last night he’d been particularly plucky with you.

“I.D.?”

“Steve it’s me.”

“Can’t trust it, gotta see I.D.” He shrugs and holds out his hand and gestures at you when you don’t make a move for your wallet. There’s not even a hint of a smile on his face and you wonder if maybe he’d gotten in trouble for giving you so many free extra pours.

“Okay, okay fine here.” Behind you Eddie is deep in conversation with Jeff about switching a shift and hasn’t noticed the third degree yet. When you finally get the plastic slipped out of your wallet Steve snatches it and leans back with it held up close to his face. He studies it like he’s never seen you or an I.D. before and he keeps flicking his eyes back and forth between it and your face.

A nervous grin breaks out of you when the situation isn’t changing. “Steve? Did I do-“

“There it is.”

“What?” You laugh through your confusion.

“I just needed to see that smile.” Steve hands your card back and slides your drink across the counter with an easy grin.

The high is returning and with it the questions that slip easily from your brain and straight out of your mouth. “Can I ask you something?”

It takes Steve a moment to tear his eyes away from the surface of the lake where it reflects the string lights. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Remember a few weeks ago when you did the thing with my I.D.?”

His eyebrows scrunch together hard when he tries to piece together what you’re saying. “Your I.D.? Did I loose it?”

You flap your hand at him to try to get him to remember. “No no, the smile thing.”

“Oh!” It dawns on him, his glassy eyes widening. “You like that? That’s one of my better ones.” He seems proud of himself for a pick up line.

“Were you just trying to piss Eddie off or do you just flirt with everyone?”

“Honestly?” Steve scratches his chin lightly, staring back off into the lake’s glassy surface. “I really like messing with Ed. He trusts you so I like to push his buttons.” He shrugs. “Also I do flirt with a lot of people, it gets me good tips.” His laugh makes his eyes crinkle and it makes you think of Eddie.

You take a break to find the bathroom, and to scan for your boyfriend, and when you come up without him you grab two beers from the massive cooler and head back outside. Steve seems a little more alert than when you left him and he points to a space under the deck where two people are cloaked in shadow.

“See that?”

You lean your hip into Steve’s shoulder to balance yourself as you squint, two things becoming harder to do especially together. It isn’t until a wig gets tugged off and both of you gasp, finally realizing that Robin has found a different Barbie. She tugs at Robin, hauling her towards the boathouse and Steve starts laughing.

“Should we help her or…?”

“Nah, she’ll find me in the morning.” Steve sighs and runs his hand up the back of your thigh.

Hm?

You run that feeling through your cotton stuffed brain again. The back of your thigh, the part that is so very bare and just under the hem of your skirt is hot, skin sticky where a palm sits now. It’s wide and a little rough and his fingers give a quick squeeze to the fat there and then proceeds to sit still. You move slowly, your head dropping down to stare at Steve’s easy posture.

“Steven?” You ask slowly.

“Hmm?” He looks up at you with not even a twinkle in his eye. If he were to move his thumb just the slightest bit up he’d be grazing the cuff of your ass and you wonder if he can even feel the sudden heat rolling off you.

“What’s that you got there?” You don’t break eye contact with him.

“Something soft.”

The giggle escapes before you realize it and something in Steve’s features shifts into what looks like pride. You don’t forget where you are so much as you take the bait and turn towards him, leaning down so you’re close to his face and can see the light dusting of freckles on the bridge of his nose.

“I think,” you whisper and cast an exaggerated look around, “you’re tying to get a rise out of someone.”

“Oh?” His cheeks flush, just a tinge of pink that catches your eye.

Steve’s head goes back with a tug of his backwards cap.

“Harrington.” Eddie makes his grand reappearance, seemingly stepping from the shadows to stare down at Steve who stares up in dumbstruck awe.

You’d noticed horns approaching when you’d leaned down and maybe it was the combination of liquor and weed but something bold had taken over, especially when you knew you had Eddie coming to swoop in.

“Finally finished your rounds? I’ve been waiting.” Steve asks your boyfriend, who keeps the bill of the baseball hat between his knuckles.

“You finally finished feeling up my girl? I’m waiting.”

You don’t expect that, the warmth in his tone. The little chuckle, the joking grin. Something about Eddie taking this on the chin makes you pay attention.

“Oh what’s a thigh between friends, huh?”

You can hear the edge in Steve’s voice now, the push to Eddie’s pull. That palm stays firmly planted on you while the two men stare at each other. It’s like they’re speaking in silent code, cats flicking their ears to get their point across. Eddie seems to give in first with a small shrug, letting go of Steve’s hat though his head remains lolled back to stare at the red demon above him.

“Is this imposter bothering you?” Eddie gestures at the peeling name tag stuck to Steve’s sweater and you think about it, honestly.

Where you are right now, is it bothering you?

The hand cradling the back of your thigh, is that bothering you?

The way Eddie seems to be reading your mind, his eyes bouncing between your own and the smile you just realized is warming up your face, does that bother you?

“No.”

This feels like earlier in the night. A heavy hand anchoring you to the moment. A little buzz from your warm high. You’re listening to Eddie smooth talk Steve but all you want is something tactile. Eddie crouches down so he’s eye level with Steve and they lean into each other to conspire, you’d know that look on his face anywhere. It’s one he’s shot you over countless drinks and through crowds and at dinner with friends. He’s got his mind set on something.

He’s too far away though for you to absently run your fingers through his hair so you grab the next best thing. The fringe sticking out from under Steve’s hat is so soft when you rub it between your fingers. Little flips of sun bleached brunette that curl up under the brim and around your finger, twirling between your press ons.

“How is your hair so soft?”

Eddie tilts his head just as Steve slowly turns to look at you with a confused smile. “I spend a lot of money on conditioner.”

“What’s it made of, spun silk?” You drag your nails up the back of his head and he shivers.

Eddie looks downright gleeful. “I told you.”

“Told him what?” Distracted by Steve letting his head fall into your palm you miss Eddie shooting his friend a look.

“How are you feeling?” Eddie asks suddenly. “You still wanna head out?”

“No.” You scratch Steve’s scalp and watch him melt down into the lounge chair. “This is fun.” His hand finally sides down to wrap around your thigh, holding you against him.

“Well Steve has told me something very interesting.”

“What’s that?”

“He’s got a little surprise I think you might enjoy.”

“Oh?” You grab a handful of hair and give Steve a light tug. “Did you bring me a gift?”

“It’s for all of us, actually.”

2 am and the party continues outside the heavy door to Steve’s bedroom. No one blinks an eye when you pull Eddie through the doorway minutes after Steve disappears in there. Not even a knock when Eddie kicks it closed and spins you around to face him.

“You sure about this?” He asks quietly, walking you backwards into the room.

“Absolutely.” You grin, nodding at him.

“Positive?” He holds your gaze to make sure you know he’s serious. Your hands clamp around his face and you pull him in close.

“Yes Eddie.”

Steve’s solid chest bumps into your back, the sweetness of his cologne bursting around you.

“You got it?” Eddie looks past you to ask Steve.

Steve huffs. “Yeah I got it.” He moves around behind you, digging something out of his pocket and his knuckles drag over your ass before his hand appears around you with a little twisted bag between his fingers. “You wanna do the honors?”

“Oh please, it’s your party.” Eddie plays with the hem of your skirt but he watches Steve untwist the bag. Eddie gives you a peck when he catches you trying to turn your head, pulls at your hips to make you face Steve and that self assured grin is present when Eddie holds you still.

“You ever done this before?” Steve asks when he holds up the baggie, eyes dropping to your lips.

“Uh, once. Didn’t really like it.” You watch him work while Eddie stands behind you and runs his hands right up under your skirt. He laughs into your neck and his breath slides under the ripped up collar of your t-shirt. “I don’t think I was with the right people.” You stare at Steve while he dips his index finger into the powder.

“You’ve never done this together?”

“Nope.” Eddie answers for you, his face peeking into your periphery. “Strictly a weed and liquor household, like god intended.” His laugh sends a zap through you, slowed and tingly against your current high. “Isn’t that right baby?” His hand sneaks up under your jaw where his fingers press into your cheeks making your lips purse and part slightly. When Steve’s fingertip grazes your bottom lip you open wider and both men laugh.

“Eager.” Steve says before his finger pushes past your lips and rubs down the side of your gums. The taste is an immediate bitter tang followed by the salt of his skin and you grunt quietly, closing your lips around him. “You’re telling me she’s not a natural at this?” Steve looks past you to Eddie, ignoring you tonguing his finger.

“Not with coke, but she’s real good with things in her mouth, aren’t you?” Eddie’s hand runs down the front of your throat and you hum in agreement. Steve’s finger pops out of your mouth and dips back into the powder, swirling around while he watches from half lidded eyes Eddie kissing along the back of your neck.

“One more.” He promises with a smile and when his finger dips into your mouth again you start to feel the tingle along your gums, something that dances up along your cheeks and zips through your hairline. It fights against the sluggish feeling of the weed and lights up a part of your brain that was trying its best to stay focused through the liquor. Steve is eyeing Eddie while the latter pushes up your shirt, an exchange again made through glances. Steve barely gets his finger out before his mouth is on you, his tongue pushing past your lips to chase your new high.

He’s so warm everywhere. His lips against yours and his chest pressing in and his hands that go right for your jaw those long fingers in the strands at the nape of your neck that give you a shiver up your spine and Eddie must feel those goosebumps when they sprout, they appear so fast and right under his lips and—

“Hey,” Eddie says, turning your head to the side “take a breath.” He breaks your kiss and you whine at the missing warmth of Steve’s soft mouth. “Yeah I know.” He soothes, running a thumb down your cheek. “You still gotta breathe.”

You roll your eyes and take a deep, dramatic breath to show him you still can. Beside you Steve sniffs off the back of his hand before he attaches himself to the side of your neck. His tongue trails over your pulse and Eddie holds your gaze and your chin before he leans in to kiss you.

The coke makes you less hazy, takes the soft edge of the weed and brings it into focus. The feel of Steve’s lips moving up your neck and Eddie’s fingers around your chin. His tongue in your mouth and his other hand slowly tugging up your skirt and Steve’s big palms running up your sides. You can hear the thump of the music outside that feels like it’s trying to keep up with your heartbeat.

There’s a hand pulling at your shirt, pulling it over your head and a hand running up the side of your neck and you hold onto the front of their shirts. You have the distinct feeling of floating while you get pulled and pushed and somewhere in the flurry of caresses you whine into Eddie’s kiss.

A break of lips on your skin and Steve’s shirt hits the floor and then your skirt is getting pushed down to meet them. The strappy set you’d picked out last minute, with all its crisscrossing bands over your hips and across your chest, form a rude arrow between your tits to guide their eyes.

Eddie stares and runs a fingertip under one of the bands to snap it. “Special occasion?”

You don’t answer him, too busy trying to get at his buttons to get his shirt off too. Those tattoos sing at you to be seen and you want to see the starkness of Eddie against Steve’s sun kissed shoulders.

Behind you Steve slides a hand up over your bra and the other down your spine, his lips on the back of your neck. It takes you a second to realize he’s trying to get you to the bed but Eddie notices and changes his stance. He knows how to move you around when he wants and he grabs you around the ribs to give you a push. It’s like all your other games now especially when Eddie starts to follow you back as you shimmy towards the pillows.

The clink of a belt buckle reminds you that Steve is still here. He holds out the baggie to Eddie. “Before you loose track.”

You notice it then, the lack of inebriation in Eddie. Sure he’d been a little toasted from the drive but while he made his rounds it seems like you and Steve were the only ones drinking.

“Actually, come here.” Eddie takes the coke but stops crawling toward you, instead sitting up on his knees and motioning for Steve. “Let me try something.”

Steve can’t get out of his jeans fast enough. He almost trips in his eagerness and Eddie uses it to his advantage. Steve’s flipped on his back with a laugh and all you can do is watch, fascinated with whatever Eddie has planned.

“Do you remember that time we all came up to see you play in college? Like all of us, I think it was the game you tore your shoulder.” Eddie looks down at Steve getting comfortable and throwing his arms out to the side. “That party the night before? What was that girls name?”

“Becca.” Steve says, shifting his gaze to look at you. “Stupid college fling.”

You nod wordlessly and start trying to unhook your bra without moving much. Eddie laughs and holds the baggie open so he can dip his finger in.

“Ah, Becca. She broke up with you the night before a championship game dude. That was cold.” Eddie acts like he’s swirling candy through sugar the way he twirls his finger around but the way you and Steve watch him it might as well be. “Remember how like, no one could find you in the morning? They thought you had gone off and drank yourself stupid over a girl, but where were you again?”

Steve just laughs but you want to know, you want to be in on the joke. Like most times it feels like Eddie hears your thoughts and he turns those big eyes full of mirth to you.

“He was actually passed out in the back of my van, naked.” Eddie gestures at Steve wearing only his boxers and smiling up at him. “This kind of reminded me of that.”

Eddie hovers over Steve, finger ghosting over his lips. “Open.” Steve’s grin splits and Eddie’s claw disappears behind white teeth. Dark ringed eyes flick up to find you where you’ve gone still against the pillows. He looks unbelievably wicked in this room, the gold shimmer on his lips barely mused from kissing you. He must have tossed the small fangs earlier but his mouth still poises danger while Steve sucks on his finger.

You finally find the momentum to drive off the pillows and over to the two of them just as Eddie follows his finger in with his lips. Steve lets a soft moan escape before Eddie covers his mouth with his own, gold staining pink.

You drop your shoulders mid crawl to stretch your hand into Steve’s hair again. You run it through the roots while you stare at them kissing, Steve groaning in the back of his throat when you pull.

“Like that?” You whisper so you don’t break their spell and Steve nods as he looks for something to hang on to. His fingers catch on your bicep and in Eddie’s hair and he’s anchored, hips rolling up into nothing while you tug on the crown of his head.

There’s a little bit of time that seems to slip away from you. One moment you’re watching Eddie take Steve apart and the next he’s moved you again, his arm slung around your middle to pull you flush against his chest, your underwear clutched in his fist, your thoughts soft

Steve watches Eddie’s tattooed hand slide gently around the front of your neck and he knows he’s in trouble. It’s both of you really, not just Eddie, driving him insane. He tilts your head back onto his shoulder and smiles down at you with what Steve thinks is pure adoration. When Eddie shifts his attention to Steve there’s a swooping low in his abdomen at the thought of being let in on whatever this is.

“Wanna help me out?” Eddie tilts his head toward you and that’s when Steve realizes that both you and him are fully naked. Clothes shed in the fast moments between kisses and yet Eddie still has his jeans on. Steve could break out his machismo here, could challenge this and let it be over quick and fast and typical or he could let the reigns go for a night. He thinks about letting himself not be in charge as Eddie moves above him while nudging you forward, knees straddling his hips and before he knows it he’s almost fucking you.

“That feel good baby?” Eddie’s teeth glint in the low light when he bites lightly at your cheek and leaves another mark of red and gold. You laugh breathily and nod your head, pushing your hips down just a little and the head of Steve’s cock pushes in. Both of you gasp and Steve thinks he feels a tear escape. The immediate wet surrounding him and the little display Eddie is putting on above him goes right to his balls and for a moment he thinks he won’t last past this. Eddie’s other hand trails down your stomach, fingers seeking further and further until they reach your bush and the gold rings distract Steve for just a second before they sink into your folds.

You crumple and slide down his cock further and Steve is trying to be respectful, as respectful as he can be, but he’s testing his own limits. A swift buck of his hips and he’d be home.

“I think you should give Steve a break, he looks like he’s loosing brain cells.” Eddie keeps you pressed to him, head lolled back and mouth open and panting, hips searching out his teasing fingers on your clit. “C’mon, give it up for Stevie.” He fake pouts at you and then turns it on Steve.

“Fuck you Ed-“ He’s cut off by the fall of your hips now seated flush against him. Everything about you is warm and wet and soft and amplified. His hands fist into the sheets beside him in an attempt to keep them to himself for the first time tonight, an attempt that Eddie calls out.

“You can touch her Steve, she isn’t gonna break.” He demonstrates this by digging his fingers in a little around your neck and you squeeze around Steve in response. “You want him to touch you, right?”

“Please.”

“Oh, she’s asking so nicely.”

Steve tries to think back to the first time he ever made a passing comment about you and wishes he could kick himself. He’d gone into this night with one other threesome under his belt, some half met happenstance from ten years ago. It’d been sloppy and messy and he’d bent the two girls around to his will but this? He’s unprepared. Any and all of his personal history with Eddie should have given him some kind of clue, but the two of you really are nothing but a flashing red light of trouble.

Your knees dig into his sides while one hand ghosts over his abdomen, looking for purchase. Eddie still holds you close but keeps his eyes on Steve, a suggestion in his gaze.

“Go ahead.” Eddie purrs and Steve finds himself lost in more than just his high. If he didn’t know any better he’d be convinced of his friend’s true nature, a pest of a demon hellbent on driving Steve certifiably insane. However he finds his hands running hot over your thighs and up your sides, over your stomach and under the swell of your breast. Anywhere he can run his hands over the soft skin you’d kept barely hidden all night, skin that he’d been staring at.

Eddie chuckles when Steve finds a nipple, a fierce pinch to it making you gasp and roll your hips and Steve can’t help himself anymore. He grips and thrusts up to punch a sharp moan out of you. Eddie’s fingers stay buried in your cunt and splayed across your throat to keep you pinned to his chest. Steve’s immediate fast pace makes you bounce and he’s transfixed when Eddie sneaks a finger into your hanging mouth to hold your jaw open.

“You should hear her.” He drops a kiss to the corner of your mouth before letting go, lowering you to lay on Steve’s chest. A whine comes from you, a deep sound that pitches up when Steve shifts to hold you in place. He already sits so deep but when he winds his arm around your neck to hold you close you gasp. You can feel Eddie move on the bed, can feel his hand run over your ass, can feel the brush of his suddenly freed cock along your inner thigh. Steve adjust you so your cheek is flat against him and pulls at your hip to spread you open for Eddie.

“Fuck now isn’t that a pretty sight?” His thumb is rough against such sensitive skin when he glides it around your cunt. You try to move your hips as much as you can but the angle you’re at only affords you short rolls of your hips.

“Oh you can do better than that for Steve, can’t you?” Eddie teases and you whine into Steve’s chest.

“He’s being mean isn’t he?” Steve whispers to you. They both laugh at your groan but Steve shushes you, palm rubbing over the back of your neck where he holds you down. “I’ll be the nice one then, huh?”

Struck dumb by the feeling of Eddie pushing forward ever so slightly, all you can do is nod. He tilts your chin up to hold your gaze, his pupils blown out wide and dark and you wonder if yours look just as big.

“Can I—“ Cut off by the feeling of something cold dripping on your ass you almost sit up out of Steve’s grip before Eddie giggles a quiet apology and tosses a little bottle of lube over the side of the bed.

“What do you want?”

“Coke.” The zing is fading and you want to feel it again. The race of goosebumps across your bared flesh. The tingle over your scalp as Steve’s finger glides along your teeth.

Eddie laughs and reaches over to grab the bag and hand it to Steve, tasking him with your request. Still held in place, Steve brings his finger, wet now and dipped in white again, back to your mouth. His finger rubs your gums again and the head of his cock nudging deep and the feel of Eddie’s pressing where Steve already is and you don’t know how much more full you can get. It’s a stretch just with Steve but the insistent pressure from Eddie, the feel of his cockhead popping in makes your breath catch. He’s being careful, just so careful but that need to feel everything and move and moan takes over again and Eddie puts a heavy hand on your back.

“Breathe, baby.”

Instead you whine, held between two solid bodies that keep you still, that stroke your spine and run rough fingers into your hair to keep you from spinning out.

“That’s a pretty sound.” Steve says lowly and out of the corner of your eye you watch him hold his hand up to Eddie who sucks that same finger into his mouth.

The thought is brought to the forefront of your mind quickly, the image so clear and grounding, of Eddie sucking your purple strap. It stops the other spinning thoughts and that initial head rush fades. Against Steve’s chest you mumble about Eddie’s pretty sounds, dazedly watching Steve’s long finger pop out from between those gold lips.

“What was that?” Steve sounds a little breathless.

“Eddie makes pretty sounds too.” The images shuffle in your brain. “When I fuck him he whines and it’s like he’s about to cry or something it’s almost too much.” Behind you Eddie laughs and thrust his hips and you choke on your words, his cock pushing further in and stretching you more. Steve’s laugh turns into a hiss and the hand on your neck clamps down when Eddie’s cock rubs against his.

“Keep talking.” Eddie is breathless but still the only one not blissed out. “You gonna tell him how good I look sucking dick?” He rocks his hips forward gently and ghosts a palm over your lower back. “Steve already knows about that, don’t you big guy?” Eddie teases before leaning over you to catch Steve’s eye. The smear of gold on his bottom lip drives Eddie crazy and the laugh turned stuttered moan when he drives deeper into you makes him wish he had more than just two hands.

“Or maybe Steve can tell you about when I’d drive out for those big parties.”

You like it when Eddie’s gets mouthy. When he starts sparring to get the upper hand. You’re smiling into Steve’s chest with just the barest glimpses of Eddie above you. He rocks in and out of the corner of your vision and under your ear you can hear the rumble of Steve trying his best to keep it together.

“Remember almost getting caught in the frat your freshman year? What a bunch of dumbasses.” Eddie’s laugh has an edge to it now and your chest swells with some kind of pride that he’s finally starting to falter.

“Yeah…b-because you c-couldn’t shut up.” Steve finally speaks, his hips starting to falter the slow rhythm he’d been keeping up. “It’s why we had to mo-ve to the van.”

Eddie’s hand appears when he lays his whole body on you so he can reach for Steve’s hair to give it a tug. The change in angle and Steve’s moans cancel out any quip you were trying to cobble together, a calm instead seeping in as the coil low in your abdomen begins to tighten. Eddie runs his mouth but you can’t pay attention to him with the way him and Steve seem to work in tandem for a blissful moment.

It’s too much and it’s not enough and you pant and whine and scratch at Steve’s chest. There’s no more rhythm then, just the snapping of their hips against you while they race to their own ends. Steve grips you hard before he slams his hips up one last time and stills, a long groan from deep in his chest your only warning before he cums. It’s a chain reaction of Steve going boneless and Eddie cursing behind you, picking up pace and bullying that tender spot enough to make you seize up. It sneaks up on you so fast, makes you loose your breath for a moment. A leg shaking orgasm, your fingers wound tightly enough in Steve’s hair to make him hiss, all you can hear is the guttural groan coming from you and Eddie’s praise. It tumbles out of his mouth with little sense and you know he’s done in when his thumbs rub tight, fast circles on your hip before he stills.

Hearing and speech aren’t really a thing for you yet but you do grunt in appreciation when Steve seems to come to some of his senses and reaches up to pull the stupid horns off of Eddie’s head that’s resting between your shoulder blades.

“Thanks.” Eddie’s breath fans over your sweaty skin and he makes no attempt at moving yet. Someone has fingers in your hair, you can’t tell, and Eddie is rubbing his face against you and giving you little kisses along your shoulder. Steve’s breathing is finally calming down and in turn it makes you even out too, realizing how sticky you are everywhere.

“I hate to break this up,” Your voice is scratchy and small coming from between them, “but I need to go to the bathroom.”

You stumble back into the room, falling down into the bedding and Eddie slithers up from where he was sitting at the foot of the bed to leave a trail of kisses all the way up. He winds himself between your legs and drapes them over his hips and continues to leave kisses up your stomach and over the peeling prosthetic on your chest. He dots your neck and cheeks and all around your mouth before he finally gives you a real kiss. He makes you giggle with his doting and when he tries to put your underwear back on for you but the straps outwit him. Instead he tugs on the sheet beneath you and tucks in around you, leaving your clothes on the floor for later.

“Do you need anything?” He says it quietly, thinking Steve is dozing beside you. “Other than water I mean.”

You’re tired and achey and still high from various things and all you can think to ask for is: “Crackers.”

“In bed?” Eddie gives you an unbelieving look but when you just grin sleepily at him he shrugs. “I won’t kick you out.” He gets up slowly and kicks stuff around on the floor to find his own shirt when the shifting of bed springs grabs his attention. Steve is seemingly trying to sneak out of the bed without saying anything, keeping his back to the two of you while he toes his underwear over to himself.

Eddie waits for some kind for acknowledgement but when it doesn’t come he clears his throat lightly. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He says it like he’s surprised that you and Eddie are still there. “I’m gonna get out of your hair…I gotta make sure no one set anything on fire and like, find Rob…” He looks around for his pants and won’t meet Eddie’s eyes.

“I’m just going to get water, you don’t have to leave. It’s your room anyways.”

“Well I’m not kicking you guys out.”

“Steve.” You don’t mean to admonish him but that’s what happens. With the sheet tucked up around your chest you pull on the slack to show the other side of the bed. “Get back in here.”

He doesn’t move, just sighs deeply and reaches for his cigarettes.

“I’m serious.”

Eddie watches you point at the empty spot with some finality and he almost tells Steve it’s in his best interest to listen to you.

“I just—“

“It’s cold. I’m cold. Get back in the bed.” You slap the pillow. “Please.”

Steve does look at Eddie then with concern and all Eddie can do is chuckle. “I’d get back in there unless you like spit in your iced lattes for the next however long.” He leaves for the promised water and Steve sits on the edge of the bed and acts like you’re making him go to the dentist.

“Hey, if you want to leave you can, I was trying to be funny.”

“I didn’t want to intrude.” Steve sighs and throws himself back onto the pillow. “You guys were having a moment.”

You pull a confused face. “Do I need to remind you what we were just doing?”

“No.” Steve laughs.

“Because I can’t give you graphic detail but I can tell you that I got pretzeled up pretty good.” You reach over to rub a hand over his chest, running your fingers through the dark curls. Eddie sneaks back in and you notice the music isn’t at the level it was when you came in here.

Around the blinds is a light blue border bleeding in and you would really like to bury your head under the covers and keep petting Steve. Eddie makes you drink water though before anyone can get comfortable, even bullies Steve into finishing his. Eddie does his normal and climbs into bed to immediately lay half on your back, his arm flung over to mess with Steve until he relents and tilts his head over so Eddie can twirl a strand around.

Tucked between the two of them you’re almost asleep when you remember something from the heat of it all and you shake with silent laughter.

“What?” Eddie asks and Steve gives you a half awake eyebrow raise.

“You know he’s a tiefling right?”

That wakes Steve up a little. “What?”

“Yeah, his tiefling bard. You called him a demon earlier and it made me laugh.”

Steve sighs and ignores your sleep talk and you try to expound but the heavy, comforting weight of Eddie and Steve’s warm chest under your palm cut you off before you even realize you’ve fallen asleep.