#things heat up next ch

[splaede]

AFTER DARK. Armin Arlert (CH. 6) (18+)

☰ pairings: Armin x Reader, Slight Eren x Reader

┌─ ✮⭒｡ story summary: Armin was tired of being seen as an innocent, goody-two-shoes, little flower boy. Instead, he wanted to be seen in a more romantic and…sexual light. You just couldn’t turn down a sweet boy like him, so you agreed to hone his charms and teach him special…skills.

And he turned out to be much more powerful (and hotter) than you'd ever expected.

└─ ✩⭒｡ story #tags: fluff, angst, smut, friends to lovers, friends w benefits, drama, jealousy, hurt/comfort, manipulative armin, virgin armin, loss of virginity, childhood friends, lots of tension, nerd armin, and then he glows up, love triangles, unrequited love, gaslighting, lots of buildup

☰ CHAPTER SIX. armin's first

┌─ ✮⭒｡ chapter summary: Things get heated. Things get so, so heated.

└─ ✩⭒｡ chapter warnings: smut (p in v sex, fingering), fem bodied reader, loss of virginity, petting, literally most of this is foreplay

wc: 9.7k

☰ table of contents | previous chapter | next chapter

In the dim of your living room, your eyes could only see him. And right here, on the plush of your couch, your body only knew his. 

Armin held you, secured you, and grounded you, strong arms snaked around your waist as you became all too aware of your intermingling bodies. The squish of your thighs against his, the unashamed press of your tits against his chest, the weight of his breaths against your lips…

You could still feel the tingle on your lips where he’d last kissed you, a ghost of his touch. 

Above you, the clock ticked louder and louder in your ears, louder than the blood that rushed to muffle your hearing and the pounding of your pulse, a looming reminder that it was late. That you had work in the morning. That you were running out of time. 

That you shouldn’t be doing this.

Another sound intruded on you. A voice, his voice, running rampant in the back of your head.

Will your roommate be home soon?

The fact that he’d asked that question…just what did he want?

And on top of that, you had already confirmed that, no, your roommate wasn’t going to be home any time soon. In fact, she wasn’t going to be home at all, meaning you’d have the entire night with him alone, undisturbed. 

Sitting here, Armin quietly eyed you, curious and content yet half-lidded and torn by lust. He suddenly silenced your thoughts with a kiss, swooping in hard, teeth clashing, causing you to instinctively grab his face to ease him down. 

The kiss oozed of messiness, an exchange of saliva and wet, meshed-together lips that barely held any rhythm. The feeling consumed you fully—the warmth and fervent press of his lips—as you slowly guided him. 

Lost in the intensity, you instinctively swiped your tongue against his bottom lip. He jolted, pulling away. 

You thought that was so cute of him, seeing him like this. So ironically innocent.

“S—sorry,” he stuttered out, a bashful look on his face. 

Your brows furrowed, worried that you had done something wrong. “Did I go too far?”

“No, it’s just….” He tightened his grip on your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “God, I’m so nervous.”

Squeezing your hands on his shoulders, you reassured him, “It’s okay. We can go slow.” 

“Okay.”

Armin smiled up at you, so sweetly and boyishly—so contradictory to the thoughts you’d been having about him. But even so, he was still nothing like the little boy you’d known. Not when he was gazing at you with that blush, reddened and far-gone, and that glint of lust—that hunger—in his eyes. 

You still couldn’t believe he was here with you. If you’d known you’d be kissing your childhood friend ten years down the line, you’d probably flip out in disbelief. 

But he’d matured so much from then. That boy was nothing like the man under you, holding onto you. Nothing like how tempting and alluring and irresistible he looked right now. 

His palms flexed around your waist, once, then twice, then dragged up the sides of your torso, slowly, almost mindlessly, then back down. Pressed up like this, chest-to-chest, you could feel the racing of his heart so hard that you felt yourself rattling. And even though his hands had stopped shaking, the fast, repetitive thump inside his chest told you more than anything else ever would. 

Sitting in silence, hearts beating out of sync, you let him roam your body like that. Slowly and hesitantly, like he hadn’t quite fully grasped the situation. 

"You're a good friend,” he mumbled quietly, no longer meeting your eyes, fixated on where he was touching you instead. 

Cheeks heating up at the praise, you shuddered with a laugh that sounded a little too strained and nervous. 

You were a good friend? No, he was a good friend. He was the whole reason you wanted to do this in the first place. A good, caring, considerate friend that you would never turn down even if it meant putting your friendship on the line. 

“I trust you. I wouldn’t ask anyone else this,” he continued. 

Breathing in deep, you cupped his face affectionately. “No, please, you’re so good to me. How can I say no to you?” 

His hands stilled, and you could see how his eyes instantly softened. Armin’s right hand fiddled with the hem of your shirt, eyes meeting yours momentarily before darting away. 

“Thank you. So…can we keep going?” 

Your lips lifted into a small smile, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at his eagerness. “Yeah, um. Do you…want to try using tongue now?”

As soon as you’d finished that sentence, you fought down the nervous, embarrassed lump that rose to your throat. It couldn’t get any more straightforward than that. 

“Yeah,” he replied breathlessly and nodded.

“Slowly, okay? We’re just gonna ease into it. When I lick your lips, open your mouth a little. And then after that, it’s like…” You swallowed, tensing. “Um, I don’t really know how to explain it. Just try to match me.” 

He gazed at you with so much anticipation that you could almost taste it. Sliding your hands back onto his shoulders, you latched onto his lips again. 

This time, there wasn’t a rush. Just slow, methodical, and relaxed movement as you relished the softness of his lips. You loved this feeling. Soft and sweet, like him. 

His hands began roaming your body again, starting from the sides of your chest down to the tops of your thighs. His palms slightly brushed the outer parts of your breasts, but it was still nowhere close to where you really wanted him.

You took this as a cue to mimic him, hands gliding down to his biceps where you gave him a light squeeze. Even though you knew he worked out, you were still surprised to feel the dips and tautness of hard muscle. It wasn’t that you forgot, it was that you didn’t normally expect it from Armin, someone usually so nice and mellow. 

As you trailed down his stomach, you could feel the defined ridges of his abs under your splayed palms, and you swore you almost moaned. For someone with such a cute face, he had such a strong body. 

When your tongue finally soothed over his bottom lip, he parted his lips ever-so-slightly. And the moment you slipped your tongue in, he let out a small noise that was so, so quiet. Your tongues met, warm and wet. 

You could tell he was hesitant, but you continued at the same pace, slowly licking into him and swiping your tongue over his. He’d completely stilled, hands etching themselves harder into your waist. As you were letting yourself taste him, something tugged on your heart, weighing heavy. 

Because it dawned on you that you were making out with Armin. 

Something so intimate and passionate like this could only be reserved for lovers, not for friends.

Armin reluctantly slipped his hands under your shirt. Just right there, right at the threshold of your torso and not any further, like he was testing the waters. He held you there, only tasting. Your breath hitched, startled by the warmth of his fingers, but the flow of the kiss remained the same. 

The pressure of his tongue was soothing as it moved against yours, and he was getting the hang of it little by little. And the moment it seemed to click—where it felt like you’d reached the perfect rhythm and the perfect amount of energy—you moaned into his mouth to let him know he was doing good. Thank God he was a fast learner. 

Cradling his neck into your arms and threading your fingers into his hair, you rolled your hips into him experimentally, pelvises meeting. You heard him inhale sharply, but he didn’t break the kiss. He only tightened his hold on you, pushing you down slightly as he rolled his hips, matching you.

The friction felt so undeniably good. You knew he felt good, too, because you could feel the area of his crotch stiffen under you.

It was like that for a while, the two of you grinding on each other, so focused on outdoing the other that the kiss wasn’t even a kiss anymore. Just a mix of messy lips and hitched moans and saliva. So much so that you had to wipe away the drool at the corner of his mouth. 

You were the first to pull away for air. 

“How was it?” he instantly asked, licking his lips. They were swollen, and that gave you the urge to kiss him again. 

“Just a little messy. But good. You did good for your first time.” You laughed. 

He laughed with you, bringing a thumb to swipe over the corner of your mouth. “Sorry about that.” 

Just like that, the two of you shared a cute moment, and you began to think that nothing would change between you—that you two would still be friends and embrace these moments no matter what. 

As the atmosphere from your makeout session died down, you were left with one final thought. 

What now?

“Hey…” you started. You didn’t even know how to word this. Do you know where this is going? Do you even want to keep going? 

You stood up, all too abruptly like you were running on autopilot as your brain tried to catch up with your body, hands detaching from his neck and thighs from his lap. You looked at him warily, wedged between the coffee table and his parted legs.  

Armin frantically stood up, too, half hard in his pants as he reached for your forearm. “Something wrong?”

It was late, you remembered again. 

But now, in this lapse of judgment, you guessed it didn't matter if you should or shouldn't continue. Not when he was staring at you, pleading with his eyes—with his body. You could almost hear his heart thumping out of his chest.

You wondered if he could hear yours, too.

“Um,” you trailed off, wondering how to save yourself.

Before you had the chance to recollect your thoughts, Armin cut you off. “Sorry, um. I mean, I know it’s late…if that’s what you were going to say. I should probably go. You did say I should only stay for a little bit—”

“No—wait, no.” You pressed a palm to his chest. 

Armin subtly tilted his head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I thought you had work in the morning?”

“I know, but...” Your eyes trailed down to his crotch, suddenly guilty. “Do you want to stay?”

He regarded you with a look of uncertainty, hands hovering beside your arms like he was about to hold you. “Yeah…?”

“Then…what do you want to do?” It came out in a slight whisper, and you instantly wanted to slap yourself for that question because, one, it was definitely the wrong question. All you wanted was clarity as to whether he knew where this was going, and two, what did you mean by what he wanted to do? 

You could feel his eyes burning into your head, but yours were averted to where the neckline of his tee dipped down to reveal his collarbone.

He gulped. “What do I want to do?” he parroted, breathing in a steady breath. “Um…what do you mean?”

You pursed your lips, knowing you were going to sound desperate. “Was kissing…all you wanted to do?” 

He looked visibly taken aback now, lashes fluttering as his eyes flitted over your form in surprise. 

“No…” 

“Then what?” 

Maybe you really were desperate as you stood here so close to him, pushing your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache. 

“Well, I think—I think you know,” he mumbled shamefully. “Don’t make me say it.” 

“Say it. Please? I just want to be sure.”

He pursed his lips, too, while contemplating, flushed a deep pink on his cheeks. “I want us to…go the whole way. I want you.” He cleared his throat. “To teach me.”

For a long moment, you were convinced you stopped breathing. 

It was so loud now. Your heartbeat was so unbearably loud, reverberating and bursting through your ears. A breathless silence filled the room.

He didn't waver. Not once. He only gazed straight into your eyes—straight through you, irises deep and blue and overwhelming and darkened by lust. He'd lost that innocent, bright shine long ago.

The beat of your heart only quickened, even quicker than what it already was.

Was this it? Was this the next step? Was this it after all of those needy kisses and flimsy touches and longing, vulnerable stares? 

Nevertheless, a sense of relief washed over you. You wanted this, too, despite the fact that you were risking something precious to you. Something irreversible.

Not that'd you stop now. 

And then you were onto him, capturing his lips in a sloppy kiss. He returned it just as quickly, rough and intimate. His hands slid to your waist and held you tight against his body while you clung onto him like it was the end of the world. 

Licking his lips teasingly, you murmured in between the kiss, “My room.” 

He broke away a little, muttering a little “okay” before you cut him off by pressing your mouth back onto his. 

When you pulled away, he surprised you with his next words. 

“Can I carry you?” 

Without hesitation, you lightly jumped onto him, and he caught you, carrying you effortlessly in his strong arms. You loved the feeling of his hands on the back of your thighs, firm and warm. He was so surprisingly muscly that you wanted to squeal. 

The walk wasn’t far in your small apartment space, and you quickly found yourself being placed gingerly onto your bed and your limbs untangling from his body. He stood there like he didn’t quite know what to do. You scooted back onto your pillows, beckoning him to come closer. 

“Get on top of me.” You tugged on the front of his tee. “Like this.” 

He stumbled onto your bed, settling in between your legs as his hands braced him up. You tugged him even closer still, and he fell to his forearms. 

You looked up at him only to find him blushing, a dark, rosy color tinting the apples of his cheeks, watching you with eager eyes as his chest heaved with heavy breaths.

Heat bubbled in your stomach. “Are you sure you want to do this? Remember, this is…this is for you. This is about how you feel.” 

“I’m sure,” he answered quickly. 

Then, Armin kissed you for the millionth time tonight, but this time, it was short yet thorough, like he just missed your taste. 

“Kiss me on my neck,” you urged, craning your head. “Just don’t leave any marks.”

Armin dipped down instantly, but he stilled for the next second, hesitantly staring at your neck. The conviction finally hit him and his lips met your skin, ticklish and titillating and warm. He peppered slow kisses along the juncture of your neck, leaving one long, suckling kiss—one hard enough to make you feel good but soft enough not to leave a mark. You could tell he was unsure about his movements, so you softly grabbed him by the hair to bring him to a specific spot. 

“Right—ah—there. Yeah,” you assured him as he gave another suckling kiss. 

“Is this good?” he asked timidly into your skin, and you could feel the tickle of where his lips moved. 

You hummed in response. “It’s good. You’re doing good,” you replied, words tumbling out of your mouth in an awkward way. 

He pulled away, and his eyes raked over your form, suddenly stopping at your chest. While you should’ve been excited, something else happened. Something like dismay filled his eyes as his brows twitched downwards. 

“Is this Eren’s sweater?”

Oh. 

“Yeah?” you weakly breathed out, voice pitched a higher octave than you’d like.

His eyes flitted back to your face again, still strewn with an emotion you couldn’t quite place but knew wasn’t good. 

“Can I take it off?” he asked, pawing the hem of your sweater. He seemed confident almost, but you knew that the barely discernible, nervous strain in the thrum of his voice gave it all away.

You nodded wordlessly like the air had been punched out of your lungs.

Armin grabbed onto the hem of your sweater with both hands, peeling it off you so slowly that you couldn’t tell if he was teasing you or just simply nervous. Your stomach coiled in anticipation the farther he went, with each inch of skin he revealed. He was so agonizingly slow—or maybe you were so impatient that it felt like time had slowed down—yet the rush of cool air against your torso was instant. 

The moment he reached your bra, your heart seemed to beat out of your chest, and you needed to steady your breathing. 

He stopped and looked for only a minuscule second, as if he didn’t dare to stare any longer, and picked up the pace, pushing the last of your sweater above your raised arms. 

“Pants, too,” you whispered softly. 

With shaky hands, Armin obediently worked them off, past the fabric of your panties, all the way down your legs. 

He’d seen you in a bikini before, but it was different this time. You were laid out all nicely in front of him, clad in a bra and thin panties. On your bed, for him. 

The newfound cold nipped everywhere at your skin, goosebumps prodding up your arms and legs. 

“Take my bra off for me.” You said shakily, turning to your side to give him access. “You know how?” 

He laughed out what seemed to be a mix of a chuckle and a scoff. “I’m sure it isn’t hard.” His knuckles brushed the skin of your back as he took hold of the straps and unclasped your bra. You could feel his hands shaking against your back. “Easy.” 

As he slid it off of you, that heavy feeling in your heart resurfaced, and you began to feel self-conscious.

But it was just Armin, you reminded yourself. 

Your upper body was now completely bare to him. The cool of the air swept over your already-hardening nipples. 

Armin only stared at you. Didn’t say a word. Just outright ogled you with raw, unfiltered desire in his eyes as his hands twitched where they were resting near his thighs. 

You grabbed both of his hands, placing his palms directly on your chest. “C’mon. Touch me.”

Gulping hard, he leaned into you, broad, unpracticed hands cupping your tits, squeezing just once. Then his hands started moving, experimentally pushing and squeezing over the plush of your tits, palms grazing over the peaks of your pebbled nipples. 

You clamped your eyes shut, letting yourself go for the moment. It felt so pleasant, just steady friction against your sensitive breasts. 

Armin’s hands were soft—that much you already knew—just as everything else was about him. But while his hands were soft and gentle, his gaze was hard. He was so fixed and focused on you, blue eyes practically dripping with unbridled lust. 

He cupped your tits again, a soft nudge, then his hands slid down the curve of your waist. You could feel the trail of warmth that his fingers left on your skin. It clung to you even as his hands moved away to rest on your abdomen. His thumbs pressed into your skin so briefly that his touch might’ve been a spasm of a finger as the bottoms of his palms grazed against the hem of your panties. 

The warmth followed down the curve of your hips, down your thighs, and down to your knees. You shifted your legs closer to your body, and his hands quickly cupped the underside of your thighs, squeezing once. 

You knew this was his first time, so you let him explore your body as your hand came to his cheek to pull him down for another kiss. His tongue prodded at your lips, and you happily welcomed it. 

His hands were everywhere now—your thighs, your hips, your waist, your shoulders, your neck, your arms. You could tell he was losing rhythm between keeping up with the kiss and touching you, but you couldn’t care less. 

He pulled away first, leaving a string of saliva hanging between your lips. 

“Armin, play with my….” The embarrassment hit you again. You didn’t even want to finish your sentence, but luckily, he seemed to understand. 

“Oh.” His fingers found your tits again, thumbs swiping over your nipples before he lightly pinched them, tugging them upwards. “Like this?” 

You gasped and squirmed. “Yeah. Like that. Just very lightly. Try rolling them between your fingers.” 

His thumb and index finger met with your nipples, and he did what you told him, twisting and rolling your nipples between his fingers. 

That elicited a little whine from you. “Feels nice.” 

Armin continued his ministrations on you as he alternated between tweaking your nipples and groping your tits whole. It was sensual and quiet, save for the sound of your soft moans.

He suddenly sighed, eyes clouded. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered softly and fondly.  

You didn’t answer. Instead, you smiled at him and let your cheeks heat up from his compliment. It caught you off guard. Because somehow, in a suggestive moment like this, he managed to make it sweet. Judging from the tone of his voice, you knew it was genuine. 

Because he was a genuine guy.

You cupped the back of his head and pushed him toward your chest. “Put your mouth here.” 

He doubled back, eyes wide, but didn’t waste another second to envelop his lips onto your chest. He followed your orders so easily—like a dog to its owner—that you couldn’t help but chuckle at the charm of it. 

For a second, you wondered if he needed guidance, but when his tongue laved over your breast, you only held his head tighter as your back arched off the bed in pleasure. His eyelids fluttered shut, feathery, blonde lashes resting against his cheekbones. He kissed your nipple just as he kissed you, licking and sucking meticulously and thoroughly. 

One of the things that you liked about Armin was that he was such an adaptable learner. Took things he learned and applied them somewhere else. Not that any of this required any big skill, but he just did it so well and so quickly. 

You grabbed his hand and brought it to your other nipple, and he quickly understood, playing with you like he did before.

Suddenly, his teeth took hold of your nipple—just a light graze, and you gasped again. You felt the ache between your thighs throb, shamelessly getting wetter. Where did he learn to do that? 

“Okay, that’s—that’s good.” You tapped his cheek. “Over here now.” 

His mouth unlatched with a pop and he switched to the other breast, repeating the same routine. You felt the remnants of his saliva on your skin mix with the cool air, tingling. 

You were sure your panties were drenched now. Sure that the arousal made the fabric stick to you. 

Armin pulled away, licking the spit from his lips, and looked right into your eyes. “Was that okay?” he asked innocently. 

“Mhm,” you hummed, but you were convinced it came out more as a whine. You clutched a handful of the fabric of his tee. “Off.” 

He sat up straighter, surprised but willing. “Off? Okay, okay.” Armin reached behind him to grab the collar of his T-shirt, and in one swift yank, it came off. He threw his shirt on the floor like the rest of your clothes, and you were left to ogle at his body. 

Your eyes raked over the smooth planes of his chest, his slim waist, and the hard, toned stomach where your hands had previously felt. 

Even at pools and beaches, he opted for T-shirts with his swim trunks. And the last time you’d seen him shirtless, he wasn’t this jacked. 

“I never get to see you like this. You’re so—you’re so built.” The fluster was so evident in your voice as you trailed your fingers down his torso. 

He shyly laughed, pink on his cheeks. “Thank you.” 

“You’re so pretty, Armin.” Before the embarrassment and weight of your compliment caught up to you, you quickly grabbed the hem of his jeans. “Take—take this off, too.” 

You eyed the bulge beneath his pants, hard and begging to be freed. 

You gulped. Now you two were really getting into it—seeing and doing something so intimate. You had no problem undressing yourself, but when it came to him…

He nodded as his hands fumbled with the button and zipper, thumbs slotted in between his waistband as he shakily pulled them down. You helped him get them off, anticipation and nervousness coursing through your veins. 

Once his jeans were off, he seemed even bigger now. You could see the clear outline of his dick straining against his boxers, and it was messing with your head. This was your best friend, for crying out loud. Both of your most intimate places were each just a layer away, just inches away. 

“Fuck, I’m so—” His eyes scanned over you, from the eager expression on your face, to your bare tits, and to your legs that were spread to accommodate him. “You don’t know how hard I am right now.” 

You gulped again. “Yeah?” you teased, palming him through his boxers. 

He sharply inhaled and cursed low under his breath, but before you could go any further, he grabbed your wrist. There was a look of worry on his face—maybe it was desperation, you thought—and you wondered if you did something wrong.

“W—wait. I want to know how to make you feel good.” 

Your face morphed into one of surprise. Armin wanted to please you first. 

You felt the arousal creeping up on you. Felt it soaking your panties again. 

You breathed out slowly, and for a second, the words died on your tongue. He was going to see you fully naked. Only a flimsy piece of fabric away from erasing the line between your friendship and this…whatever this was. 

“Yeah, that’s good. Wanting to please your partner first, that is.” You regained your footing. “Help me take them off?” You eyed him innocently and pulled his hands towards your body until his knuckles touched your panties. 

He stared for a moment—definitely at the wet, darkened patch over your crotch. Armin finally took hold of the hem of your panties, fingers hot against the skin of your pelvis. Unblinking, he pulled them down gently, agonizingly slow. You could feel your slick sticking to your panties and the fabric grazing your almost quivering thighs. In an instant, cool air rushed to you. 

His eyes never left you as he pulled your panties past your knees and ankles, so fixated and eager that he made you nervous. The coil in your stomach returned, tense, like it was moments away from bursting. 

You felt like a virgin all over again. You were embarrassed—even though you knew you shouldn’t be because it was just Armin—and on the brink of clamping your legs together, but you couldn’t because his body was right in between you, even closer than you’d noticed before. 

“God, you’re so…” Armin gulped. He was quiet, muttering to himself, struggling to find his words, and nervously pushing his hair back. It fell back messily onto his forehead. “What do I…what do I do now?” 

Clutching his hand between both of your palms, you shaped his hand into a “thumbs up” sign and brought it to your slit, spreading yourself with one hand. “This is the clit. If you…if you didn’t already know.” 

His thumb grazed over your clit, and a twinge of pleasure shot up your lower body. 

“I know.” 

Armin thumbed your clit some more, swiping circles and pressing down lightly. You could feel yourself get wetter by the second.

“Is this good?” he asked. 

“Mhm. A little faster—oh! Yeah, that’s good.” Your hips bucked as he sped up. “You—you could also use your middle and ring finger.” 

You demonstrated with your hand, and he quickly followed, pressing his fingers onto you again. 

This time, he started off slow and worked his way to match the pace from before. 

“A little lower.” And suddenly you were arching off the bed. “Oh! Wait—”

“Am I doing it right?” he interjected, voice shaky. He was watching for your reaction, blue eyes boring into your face. 

You nodded as the pleasure spread through your lower body. He wasn’t the best, but he wasn’t bad in the slightest. He made you feel good, nonetheless. The pads of his fingers were warm and smooth, rubbing all the right ways against your clit. 

“You wanna move down now?” you asked. 

Wordlessly, his eyes flicked down to your entrance, and the urge to clamp your legs shut returned to you again. You were dripping—you had to be, slick with your wetness pooling around your center. He lingered for a second before his attention diverted back onto your face. 

“Show me how.” He said, adamant. 

“Just know that…” Your fingers ghosted over his knuckles. “You don’t have to necessarily make me cum. This is just to stretch me out. To prep for the real thing.”  

He regarded you with a tiny frown and peered at you hungrily through his long lashes. “What if I want to?” 

Your heart skipped a beat and your stomach simmered with warmth. 

“Well, you can.” You nodded and swallowed the lump in your throat, unsure of what to say. Taking his hand in yours, you isolated his middle and ring fingers and held them close to your entrance. As you did so, something tingled and churned inside your stomach. Nervousness, you thought, apprehension, maybe. Not in a bad way, but in the way that every next step with him left you remembering just how private and raw this was. 

“Just like that,” you whispered. 

With a gulp, his fingers slid into your soaked cunt. You were so wet and tight, and you knew he could feel it. Feel it envelop his finger, warm and so, so slick. You instinctively clamped down on him as he pushed further. 

“Oh, God…Y-Y/N,” he all but stuttered out. “Is—is this what it…”

The desperation showed clearly on his face: lips parted, brows knitted, and eyes drooping with lust.

You grabbed his wrist. “K—Keep going.” 

His fingers reached their hilt inside of you, and you had to resist squeezing down on him. He felt like no other guy you’d been with. Because he really wasn’t any other guy. 

He pulled them out swiftly, fingers and knuckles now tainted with the remnants of you. “What—what else?” he choked out. 

The absence of his fingers left you wanting more. With your grip still on his wrist, you tugged his hand closer to your center. “Curl your fingers like this. When you’re inside.” You choked, too, and cleared your throat. “Just keep moving.”

“Like this?” He entered you again, gently, and pressed against a spot inside you that drove your hips to lurch off the bed. 

You nodded weakly, whining. “More.” Your hand on his wrist urged him out, pulling backward. Confused, he slightly resisted. But when you pushed him back in, he seemed to understand the hint.  

Armin pressed into you, thrusting his fingers in and curling them right at that sweet spot that had you gasping out. He slid in and out so easily, guided by the slickness of your insides, and worked slowly, almost teasingly, but you squeezed his arm, encouraging him.

“Right there,” you gasped out. “You’re doing so good.” 

He groaned in response, a borderline moan. “H—Here?” And curled right into your G-spot. 

You let out an abrupt gasp, akin to a stuttered breath, hips bucking upwards as pleasure seeped into your insides. His pace was reckless, but the calculated way the pads of his fingers pushed and grazed against your G-spot had your stomach twisting and your heart racing. 

Beside you, you noticed his other hand fisting the bedsheets. Reaching out, you put a hand on top of his. “You okay?” you asked breathily.

Armin glanced up at you, eyes blown out, pupils dilated in such a starved, animalistic way that looked so out of character. He surprised you by lacing his fingers between yours. 

“Can I kiss you? Please?” 

It caught you off guard, but you didn’t get to register your shock before you were crying loud with a particularly hard thrust. “Please. Please.” You didn’t know why he was even asking. 

Armin’s lips crashed onto yours, capturing you in the most heated kiss of the night. Immediately, he dominated the kiss, all spit and tongue, lips hot and molding together with a firm press. His fingers kept fucking into you relentlessly, filling the room with lewd, wet sounds. 

His other hand held yours still, squeezing once before letting go and landing on your waist. 

“Just wanna feel you,” he mumbled. 

Nodding, you strung your hands through his hair as he caressed your waist and tits. His palms grazed over your nipples, making you shudder and bite back a moan. 

The coil inside your stomach winded tight and kept winding tighter and tighter when his fingers hit that spot again. The pleasure swirled through you, wave after wave, your hips lurching off the bed and your hands gripping his hair even tighter. 

You moaned into his mouth. “So close.” 

He groaned, drawn-out, lips wet with saliva, swallowing the noises that came out of your mouth. 

“You’re doing so good,” you praised. 

Armin whimpered at that—whimpered—and picked up the pace, faster, harder. It was sloppy, but it wasn’t imprecise. He flicked up into you so perfectly until you were stretched out and dripping, and until it finally snapped. 

The coil snapped. 

“Armin, I’m—I’m cumming! Don’t stop!”

“Hol—Holy shit, Y/N—”

The coil snapped, and sweet euphoria coursed through you, rushing through you like open floodgates. You gushed onto him in the same way, cunt fluttering against the thickness of his fingers. The feeling hit you like a truck and filled you whole. 

“Can’t believe this is happening,” he mumbled under his breath in a desperate whine. 

You pulled him into a desperate kiss—or was it that he pushed the kiss onto you?—and he dipped down to embrace you. The twitching weight of his clothed cock brushed against your thigh. It wasn’t intentional—at least you didn’t think, but it only reminded you of what was to come next. 

As he slowed down, you felt your cum leaking down his knuckles and onto the bedsheets. 

“Was that…good?” Armin timidly asked between heavy breaths. Above you, he panted like a dog, even more than you, pretty pink lips parted as if he was the one being fucked. So cute. 

You stayed quiet for a moment, relishing in your subsiding orgasm, fatigued and cozy. 

“Mhm. That was amazing. You did amazing for your first time.” 

He visibly relaxed, slumped back onto his heels, and sighed. “Really? Th—Thank you.” 

Even from above you, he looked submissive, face filled with a desperate need. You giggled at his shyness. The irony of it. “Yes, Armin, you…you just made me cum. That’s…”

Uncertainty weighed down on your tongue. Impressive? Was it really impressive, or should it have been expected from him? A part of you knew that he didn’t need any effort. Not because he was somehow a natural or that he was a fast learner, but that it was him, and that gives your body enough stimulation to push itself off the edge. 

Hazy and blinded by your orgasm and the strong presence between your legs, you stopped yourself from dwelling on it any further.

“Y/N, what do I do with this…?” He lifted his hand, still slicked with your fluids. His middle and ring fingers parted further, and your shiny, milky cum stretched between his fingers. The sight almost made you gape, such a contrast to the curiosity and genuine concern brimming in his eyes. 

“Taste it.”

He sent you a look so incredulous and so quick, those blue eyes widened to the depths as if your suggestion meant total absurdity. “Taste it?”

“Taste it. It’s hot when men do that. Or, you could also make the girl taste it,” you pushed, rising from your spot. You grabbed his wrist, leading it closer to his mouth. 

He hesitated and tensed, but when his eyes met yours, you only leaned in, urging him with a look in your eyes. He complied quietly and stuck out his tongue. 

The sight was lewd. His face reddened impossibly more, up to the tips of his ears, as his mouth engulfed his two fingers wholly. He crinkled his nose so subtly that you couldn’t tell what ran through his mind. He tasted your fluids on his tongue, sucked it for a second, then swallowed. 

Armin’s fingers slid out with a little pop, and you didn’t waste another moment to cup his face and pull him in for a kiss, tasting yourself when you pressed your tongue against his. He moaned at the sudden intrusion but melted into you easily. You could already feel his improvement as he reciprocated your energy and licked your mouth so nicely that the naturalness of it baffled you. 

A passing thought in your head told you that this might’ve been too much for his first time, but when he dragged his clothed dick against your clit, you knew he enjoyed this as much as you did. You both shivered a little from the contact, prompting him to pull away.

“So…” he started, voice tiny and breathless. “What’s next?” But the way his eyes darted to your bare, leaking pussy and then to the bulge in his boxers suggested he knew exactly what came next. 

You looked, too. Looked at the tight fit of his boxers on his bulging cock. Something about it—the unexpected size of him—made you giddy. Swelled your stomach with an indescribable weirdness. 

“Take your boxers off.” Though you asked him, you couldn’t stop yourself from sneaking your hands to his hips and taking hold of the waistband. “Can I?” 

He nodded hurriedly and gulped, tension and desperation etched on his face. 

You pulled his boxers down, and with a little lift from his hips, you got them down to his strong thighs. Immediately, his cock sprung up against his abdomen, leaking precum that beaded down his red, aching tip. You licked your lips and gulped involuntarily at the sight because he was just so…

“Big…” you whispered softly. 

“What?” He sounded out of it, like his question hadn’t carried any weight, rubbing a palm over his eyelids and pushing it into his hair. Like he couldn’t believe his eyes. An unspoken awkwardness filled the air as Armin removed his boxers completely. “Is—Is something wrong?” 

He sat in front of you, naked in his entirety. Broad, smooth chest, taut, defined abs, muscly arms, thick thighs, and the softest, sweetest face that did not match the rock-hard, needy cock between his legs. 

“Armin, I…I didn’t know you were so…big.” 

He sputtered out, “W—What? I’m—I’m really not.”

He looked so nervous, so unsure. So sweet and so submissive. Instead of answering him, you wrapped both hands around his dick, lightly squeezed, and swiped a thumb over the slit where his precum spilled. You spread it down his shaft, wetting him with his own fluids. 

“Agh…fuck…” he groaned, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. When you started jerking your hands up and down the length of his dick, his head moved forward and his hands came to cup your face. His hips bucked up with every jerk. You sensed his stare, but you were too occupied playing with his pretty dick.

“You’re so beautiful,” he complimented quietly. He gulped so hard you heard the small breath that followed after. “I wish you could see how you look right now.” 

“Yeah?” you teased, looking up at him between your long lashes. His eyes, lidded and drooping with lust, scanned your body, from your face to where your legs parted and revealed your slit. 

“I don’t think you understand how pretty you are to me.” He inhaled sharply and brought a hand to squeeze the area where his shaft met his head, right over where your hand rested. “I could just cum looking at you.” 

You didn’t expect that from him. He was just so obscenely honest, wasn’t he?

“Y/N.” He suddenly stopped you with a hand on your shoulder. “I think—I think that’s good…don’t wanna take the spotlight. I’m here to please you.” 

Your chest warmed at his words, and you fought down the urge to continue pleasing him to release your hands. 

“O—Okay,” you stuttered out, gulping and shivering all in one breath. Your body moved on its own and reached for your nightstand. Deep in the last drawer, stashed behind all of your cluttered knick-knacks, sat an unopened box of condoms. Three, actually.

Shakily, under his watchful gaze, you tore apart a box and unveiled a singular, foiled package. 

"Oh, you have a lot." He stared in mild disbelief, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth, eyes crinkling. If you knew any better, you'd think he was smirking under there.

“It's not what it looks like! Sasha gifted it to me as a gag gift. I haven't done anything in a while,” you quickly defended, trailing off quietly at the end. 

He didn’t respond, eyes fixed on the package between your fingers. The air held still, deathly silent beside the sounds of the crinkling wrapper. He had a hand wrapped around the base of his cock, very lightly squeezing. 

“You know how to put on a condom?” you finally spoke up. 

“I think so.” He nodded. 

“Want to do it?” 

He hesitated, and you caught the exact moment an idea clicked in his head. “No. Want you to do it.” 

Something about that riled you up. Something about him watching you. Something about your dainty hands near his aching, needy cock, too impure for the likes of him. 

He whimpered when you started sliding the condom down the length of his cock. The sweet sound of it rang through your ears. Made your heart lurch and your stomach heavy. When you finished, your head lifted to look him in the eyes. His cheeks were flushed so pink you wanted to kiss the color off of them. 

“Ready?” You ignored the way your voice shook, borderline a stutter, and circled your arms around his neck. 

“Yes. Please,” he whined. He was speaking with his eyes—begging with his eyes.

In one fell swoop, you both clambered down onto the sheets. And in this moment, when your eyes met his in a sweet remembrance, it felt like time had stopped, and all the anticipation you’d ever felt plummeted back into the pit of your stomach and built back up all over again. 

He loomed above you, flushed, domineering, and most importantly, nervous.

You only wanted one thing. 

"Please. Need you inside me."

He inhaled a deep, unsteady breath, holding back a whine. 

Then, you felt the tip of his dick brush against the slicked mess of your opening, and you clenched around the empty, ghostly graze. The hands on your thighs pressed into you with a little more pressure at the contact. He was shaking. His whole body was shaking.

“P—Put it in slowly, ‘kay? Don’t want to hurt the other person.” 

Armin listened, and in that final moment of anticipation, he slid in slowly, just the tip. You both gasped at the feeling. You were so, so wet and your heart beat so, so fast and his skin against your skin felt so, so right and so, so warm. The stretch had yet to creep up on you but you were already squirming under his touch. 

He pushed into you, the feeling of him inside warm and fulfilling. He let out a strained “shitttt” as his hands moved to dig into your waist even harder. Eyes squeezed shut, he seemed to lose himself in the pleasure. You could tell by his labored breaths and flushed cheeks that he already was so, so sensitive.

With a final push, he bottomed out, touching a spot deep in you, far deeper than your fingers or his fingers or any other man that had come before him. And God, were you wet. Instinctively, your pussy clenched around him. 

He hissed, pinning you down with his pelvis. “Don’t. Don’t do anything. Please, or I’m going to cum.” 

And then it hit you—that you’d finally done it. That you’d just taken Armin’s virginity. 

You had. 

Shit, you clamped down on him again, and this time, he groaned and abruptly pulled out. 

“Y/N,” he warned, voice drawn with honey. “I am not going to last,” he said, exasperated. 

“It’s okay. It’s your first time.” You placed a hand on his cheek. “Besides, you’re with me. You don’t have to worry about it.” 

He leaned into your touch, nuzzling into your hands, then gave you a small frown. 

“Then how am I supposed to make you feel good?”

“Trust me. You’ll always make me feel good.”

With a cute—yet sinful—smile and a hard swallow, he lined himself up again, hands on your thighs, and gave an experimental thrust.

You whined at the intrusion, reminded again of how he fit so perfectly. How the hardness of his cock dragged so pleasantly against the slickness of your pussy. 

And he did it again and again. Thrusted into you, albeit slowly, again and again. You’d let him intoxicate you again and again until all your body knew was the shape of his cock.

He moved deliberately, relishing every inch sheathed inside of you. He’d pull out with all the time in the world, dick coated in your wetness and eyes locked on where your bodies intertwined, and thrust back in with the most fervor and impatience.

The slowness of it, the intimacy of it—you couldn’t help but buck your hips in hopes of more. 

With soft moans, his thrusts sped up, and without a warning, you felt him fully, the whole weight of him spilling inside of you. His hands slid up to your waist as his head tipped forward. You arched your back into him in a silent plea, finding yourself yearning for his pretty lips, the knot inside of your stomach swelling with pleasure. As if he could read your mind, he drowned your lips in a feverish, hot, kiss, burning your mouth with his tongue. 

Every thrust met with the slap of skin-on-skin and the squelch of your fluids. It echoed through your bedroom walls alongside your muffled, whiny moans. You let yourself sink into the pleasure, letting him know that you felt good—that he made you feel good. 

Because truly, he did nothing wrong; it all felt so right with him. 

As he broke away from the kiss, leaving yet another string of saliva between you two, you took the chance to grab his hand. 

“Play with my body. Like here.” You placed his palm onto your breast, squeezing it with his hand underneath yours. “Or here.” You sensually dragged his hand down to your slicked-up, aching clit. 

Wordlessly, he complied, gulping down a constricted moan that bobbed his Adam’s apple. Armin rubbed your clit like you’d taught him, watching your hips wriggle under his touch.  

As a reward, you tightened around him. Oh, did you like seeing him lose composure. You liked picking him apart. You liked plucking the petals off of this innocent, little flower. And judging from his dazed, barely present expression and the hands gripping hard onto your hips, you knew he liked it too.

He whined again, and the sound rang in the air in a soft whisper. So vocal, wasn’t he?

“Don’t be afraid to make noise. I wanna know how good you feel,” you asserted through lidded eyes. 

Armin hummed a noise of confirmation, but it came out more of a moan as he juggled responding to you and recklessly pounding into you. You could tell he felt good—too good—as did you. 

The ebb and flow of pleasure swam inside you with each fill of his cock into your pussy, waiting to burst. You felt so close yet far away, but you let him experiment, toying with you, trying every angle in both erratic and deliberate ways. 

“Fuck!” you both cursed simultaneously with a perfect thrust into that spot inside of you. Your back arched off the bed unwillingly, arms clasping around his back and nails digging into his skin. 

Armin moaned oh-so-sweetly. “I’m so close!” he panted out, a borderline whine. 

“Cum for me. Please, Armin. Do it.” 

And his hips never stopped. Kept fucking hastily and sloppily into you in chase of his climax and in chase of the sweet yelps pouring out of your mouth. You spurred him on, almost able to taste his final moment. 

But the moment never came. You could hear the relentless, wet smack of your colliding bodies and the mix of low groans and hearty moans tumbling from his lips. His hips still never stopped, still chasing, still tasting. 

You couldn’t believe he lasted this long. He really did want to hold out for you, to make you feel good. 

Mewling again, you tightened your arms around his neck, the warmth scalding but the softness soothing under your fingertips. “Touch me. Please.” 

His fingers pinched your perk nipple before you could even finish your sentence. He rolled the bud around with his thumb and forefinger until he heard you moan, finally laying a palm down to squeeze your entire tit—and squeezed hard. You relished in the way his hand trailed down, slowly, to where he could swipe his fingers over your throbbing clit. 

Right now, all you knew was the shape of his cock. Heat radiated from his body and wrapped around you in a warm embrace. His breath tickled your earlobe, face hovering just above the crook of your neck. 

Oh, please, it felt so good, so intimate. Everything about this. Everything about him. 

"I love you. I love you so much,” he rasped through squeezed-shut eyes.

You looked at him wide-eyed, confused, and spellbound within the haze of lust, so out of that you believed your ears played a trick on you. It slipped out of his lips so wantonly you believed he uttered the words accidentally.

Your room suddenly felt too stuffy and a hundred more degrees hotter. A lone, oddly watchful bead of sweat rolled down your brow. 

It took him only a second of your silence before he started nervously blabbering in your ear. "Um, wait, sorry. Shit. I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. I got lost in the moment. I’m sorry.” 

He slowly inched away from you, but you paid no mind and pulled him back onto your lips. 

You didn’t care that, caught so deep in emotion and pleasure, he said “I love you” during sex—during his first time, no less. His first time with you. And now, after it happened, you didn’t care to warn him of that taboo. You wanted to selfishly indulge in the possibility that he’d always say it to you, regardless of who he shared his first time with. 

In your pleasurable bliss, you let yourself give in. “I love you too, Armin.”

He pulled away abruptly, your lips pulling apart with a wet click, disrupting the strange magnetism between the two of you. 

"I'm sorry,” he whispered, then kissed you full force. 

His love seeped into every pore of your body when he started thrusting into you again, full and hard and deep and starved. He didn’t spare you a chance to breathe with the way his mouth and cock engulfed you whole. 

A mixture of whines, moans, and smacks filled your bedroom once more. The pounding rhythm between your legs grew sloppier, though still unyielding and energetic. You wanted to cry out, louder than ever and let your neighbors know because everything felt so unexpectedly good. Armin. Your best friend. 

You ran your hands through his already-messed-up, blonde hair. You loved this look on him, a side of him that people never saw. Disheveled, falling apart, and...crazy.

He leaned back on his knees, still moving his hips, lust-filled eyes a dark, stormy blue that raked over your body. 

And he did something you didn't expect of him—like he let it slip, like he couldn't keep his composure anymore. 

He smirked down at you. 

But you were convinced it was a mere twitch in your delirium, disappearing when you blinked. 

His tip brushed your G-spot again, and you finally did cry out. “Right there! D—Don’t stop!” 

Armin groaned in response, choking on his words, and suddenly laved a tongue over the pulse point in your neck. “You feel—you feel so good! I can’t hold…!”

That coil in your stomach thrashed with the need to burst and taunted you with the promise of an orgasm. You felt tight all over, so constricted with pleasure and emotion and heat. 

“Y/N, you’re driving me crazy, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m—”

“M—Me, too! I’m close. Cum for me, please.”  

With one last thrust, he came, moaning loud, spilling hot cum into the condom. You felt him twitch inside you as a gradual warmth filled your insides. 

Fuck, that did it for you. You came right behind him, wrapping your legs around him tight like a vice, white-hot pleasure consuming every vein in your body. In that moment, you kissed him and clamped your eyes shut, focusing hard, your cunt squeezing down on him to wring out the last of his orgasm, fluttering and pulsing so uncontrollably hard. It was like your pussy never wanted to let him go, wanted to relish the last of that feeling of home when his cock rooted deep into your pussy. 

All the while, he spewed praises at you, some dirty, some sweet.

You couldn’t tell how long the two of you took to come down, to stop kissing, for your cunt to stop gushing, and for him to pull out—because it seemed like that moment lasted forever. Your cum coated your pelvis, his pelvis, your thighs, his thighs, and the already-soaked bedsheets.

With bated breaths and shaky hands, he pulled off the condom, tied the latex up, wrapped it in a tissue from your bedside, and threw it onto the floor where it landed among your sparsely scattered clothes. 

Armin slumped down on you, wrapping strong arms around your waist in a suffocating, hot embrace. You gladly welcomed his weight. 

It smelled of sex, sweat, and the dwindling remnants of his cologne.

You laid there, catching your breath. 

You did it. He did it. You finished taking his virginity, and he successfully made you cum during the process. 

And everything left you wondering…

Why was that…good? Sex with a virgin. Sex with your best friend. Did you even teach him enough? Because that was definitely a learning experience for you. The post-orgasm clarity hit you now like a slipper to the face, and you couldn’t wrap your head around what just happened. 

Sleepily, you broke the silence, “Good job, Armin. You did amazing. You’re attentive, a fast learner, and just already so good to me. You made me cum twice. For a virgin.” A hearty laugh parted from your throat as you strung your fingers through his mussed hair. “I guess you aren’t one anymore.”

Armin remained silent. Was he already asleep?

In the quiet darkness, your heart started beating fast, even after the sex. Laying here felt domestic, like somebody made this bed for the two of you to snuggle in tonight, like a real couple. 

Armin, face wedged between your sheets and your shoulder, hugged you impossibly tighter when he shifted to look at you. 

“Thank you. I love you, Y/N.”

He breathed those three words with so much adoration in his eyes, gazing at you longingly beneath his thick, long lashes. The blue of his eyes shone brightly even in the dim lighting and through the hair obscuring his face. 

“I really do love you,” he continued. “Not because of the sex. But because you’re a good friend. Thank you for letting me be vulnerable.”

Oh my gosh. You really didn’t deserve him. You’d exchanged your fair share of sentimental, platonic “I love you’s” to each other, but this one wrenched your heart like no other. Especially after sex. 

He left you at a loss for words. But sleep tugged at your eyelids and your mind screamed at you to clean up and your post-nut clarity still remained unresolved; you couldn’t think of a reply even if you wanted to. 

Even overwhelmed, your heart called out to him and you mustered up something. 

“I’m grateful to have you as a best friend. I love you,” you gritted out. 

Wrong. So, so wrong. Right now, this conversation was getting too emotional for a strictly physical agreement. But you didn’t lie nevertheless, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. 

Feeling grimy, you wriggle under his hold. “We should clean up. It’s good for women to pee after sex.”

As the final rip of the bandaid, he pecked you on your jaw. “I can’t.” 

Your face twisted in confusion, still clouded by tiredness and the daze of lingering thoughts. “You can’t?”

“I can’t help it,” he suddenly mumbled. 

“Armin, what are you—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence when you felt something poking your thigh, stiff and hard. 

Armin groaned deep in his chest, the sound rumbling against the shell of your ear as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. 

The hands that were once wrapped around your body slowly released their hold and grabbed onto your hips, hard and impatient. Armin started rutting into your thighs, dragging you along with him. 

Your heart stuttered for a moment, in disbelief that he could keep going and that you would have to keep going, but your pussy clenched around nothing at the promise of something more.

“Can’t help it. I’m—I’m hard again.” 

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[swordsandholly]

Treat Me Gently (Because No One Else Will)

Ch 2: Johnny, Johnny, Johnny

Next | Masterlist | Ao3

Ghoap x Reader | MDNI 18+ | cw: low self image, oral (male & female receiving), fingering

“Merry Christmas, happy birthday.” You sigh, flopping your routine test results on your kotatsu table. It’s nearly time to get out the heating blanket - your favorite time of year. The leaves have just begun or change. A chill wind batters at your windows right on queue.

Simon sits spread out on your couch, practically covering the damn thing. His own results lay neatly beside yours for you to check. At this point you trust him enough that it’s more a formality than anything, but if you even thought about not looking Simon would put you on sex probation for sure.

He looks more tired than usual, you realize as you take him in. The circles under his eyes are darker than what he normally comes home with - more still-healing scratches and bruises litter his arms than you’re used to seeing.

“Fuckin’ beat.” He mutters, bending to give your papers a cursory glance. He reaches out after, grabbing onto the pocket of your hoodie to pull you into his lap.

“Poor thing.” You coo sympathetically, leaning to nip at his clipped ear. “How about I help with that?”

“’ave somethin’ in mind?” He murmurs - there’s a gravel in his voice that he only ever gets when he is truly exhausted. You slip down off his thigh and pull out one of the sitting cushions from under the table, kneeling on it between Simon’s spread legs. He cocks a brow, pretending not to know exactly what you’re doing despite the fact that you can already see him hardening in his sweatpants.

You run your open hands from his knees to hips, then back down, repeating the motion a few times. The material is soft under your palms. Warm, too, from Simon’s seemingly always extra heated skin. It’s always so lovely during the cool months to have a personal heater - it even comes with a nice cock. You have to stifle your snickering at the thought.

“Y’want somethin’?” Simon tilts his head, resting it on his hand with his elbow braced on the back of your rickety old couch.

You grin, attempting at a coy expression and achieving with absolutely no subtlety. Flirting was never your strong suit - you’re much better at jumping right in. You let your hands wander higher, over his hips, under his shirt to his waist. Coming back down, you hook your fingers in his waistband only to pause, glancing up at him for permission.

Simon nods, eyes alight but still obviously worn out. That’s okay, you don’t mind doing the work today. You take your time, running a hand over him through his pants while nudging at the waistband. Simon huffs in the way that tells you to get on with it. You hook both hands in, timing it with the lift of his hips to pull them halfway down his thighs. Really, you’d rather take them off entirely, but you know Simon’s limits. It’s easier said than done to pretend not to notice the large, ugly bruise on his hip.

You take his hardening length in your hand, giving it a few leisurely pumps. You like it better when he’s like this - pretty, untrimmed curls of blonde framing his equally pretty cock. Not that you’d tell him that. It’s his decision to do as he pleases.

You lick a long stripe from root to tip, earning a shuttering sigh as Simon’s eyes slip closed. You can’t help but hum happily as you take him into your mouth - that familiar, pleasant weight on your tongue. It’s impossible for you to take all of him, your hand working what you can’t fit in your mouth. That familiar mix of his musk and fresh scented soap hits your nose and your own eyes flutter shut as you take him.

Simon’s hand comes to rest on the back of your head. He doesn’t apply pressure, there’s no forcefulness, just a gentle hold. A steadiness that he somehow always manages to embody. His pants and quiet groans fuel you to take him as deep as you can. A low moan passes his lips when you lightly cup his balls, giving them a gentle tug. His hips begin to rock forward to meet your rhythm. Those desperate little sounds he makes pool in your core - each one their own reward.

“G-gonna-fuck-” Simon grunts a broken warning.

You take him as deep as possible as he cums down your throat. The hand on your head holds you in place as he works through it, hips twitching and brows furrowed. You lap at the tip, cleaning off the last beads of cum until he sucks in a harsh breath - the signal that it’s crossed into too much. Simon lazily pulls his bottoms back up. His shoulders relax finally, melting fully into the couch with his head still propped on his hand. You have a feeling that’s the only reason it’s still upright.

“Come up ‘ere.” He sighs, lids heavy and words slurred. The hand on your head relaxes, mimicking a lazy, petting motion over your hair.

You shake your head. “I’m fine.”

He frowns slightly. “Don’t want me t’return the favor?”

“I just wanted to welcome you back with something nice.” You smile. “Plus, you’re tired.”

“Who says I’m tired?”

“You. Literally, like, a few minutes ago.” You scoff, leaning your cheek on his thigh. Really, you’re perfectly content here - tracing light circles on his thigh and basking in the physical touch you’d been missing. Warm and comfortable. Your eyes slip shut, the hand stroking your hair eventually goes limp and falls to the wayside. A smile splits your lips at Simon’s light snoring.

He’s so predictable.

You grab your laptop, busying yourself with quietly typing and checking off a few emails while Simon snores away. He might have a little crick in his neck based on the way his head leans forward but you figure it’s better than waking him. You won’t be able to convince him to sleep twice. He’s probably slept in worse positions anyway.

There’s something that feels oddly right about moments like these - you, working at your little table between Simon’s legs while he naps on the couch. It’s where you’re supposed to be. Not always, both of you can come and go, and not necessarily directly touching, but within each others orbit. There’s something about knowing he’s there, even if you can’t see or feel him that makes you warm. Like a nice cup of tea during a heavy storm.

It’s safe here. It’s safe with Simon.

***

The groceries in your arms teeter, the buy one get one bottles of wine clink against each other in your reusable shopping back as you fight with your old deadbolt lock. You really should get your landlord to replace it, but he never answers his damn phone. At least he keeps the rent cheap in exchange for the shitty building quirks.

You check your voice mail - the physical one that you keep on hand only for Official Business - pressing the button on the answering machine as you begin putting away and organizing your groceries for the next couple weeks. You grabbed Simon some of those weird, rarely in stock, off-brand bon bons he loves. He says they have a better texture than the name brand. They just make your teeth hurt they’re so sweet. The voicemails filter through, nothing. Your agent wants to check up on your progress. Your water bill is due. You get a reminder for your appointment at the nail salon.

Your heart sinks when that honey-sweet voice of your lawyer drips through the phone.

“Hey, hun, so… unfortunately I have bad news.” Your blood curdles, back stiffening as you freeze in place. “It looks like we’re not gonna get the easy way out. Matthias officially contested - we’re going to have to go to court-“

You don’t catch the rest of her voicemail. It blurs into the background. Your ears ring, louder, louder, louder, louder.

Your hands shake around the bag of food still in them. If it weren’t already propped on the counter it would have fallen to the floor. It feels far away, as if there are miles between the things in front of you and yourself.

Your breath catches. It stings - every inhale and exhale more labored and shallow than the last. You’re choking on nothing. You can’t get any air - your vision turning to pinpricks. One hand braces you on the counter, the other resting on your throat as you lean, knees weak. You can’t see him. You can’t. The image of his face, dressed in one of his name brand suits, and his family glaring at you from the other side of the courtroom behind him twists in your mind. Hell beg you. He’ll beg and plead and promise things that won’t fix it - won’t fix you.

You’re hot, you’re suffocating. Each breath wheezes in and out.

In.

They hate you.

Out.

They have every right to hate you.

In.

You can’t see him.

In.

Them. Anyone. You can’t-

Please just breathe in!

Your phone dings - Simon’s assigned two toned chime.

S >> Dinner?

S >> I’ve got steak

The ringing in your ears clears to a low thrum. You take a long, deep breath finally. The numb tingling in your hands slowly dissipates. The shaking doesn’t. It takes far too long for you to get the texts written out.

>> I'll bring wine

You run your fingers through your hair, attempting to fix what doesn’t need fixing. You look the same as always, if not a little more hollow. It only feels like it needs to be fixed. You feel frazzled - thread bare. Too exposed and raw, standing out in the hallway that seems far too long in both directions.

Simon will fix it.

If he notices you’re more quiet than usual, he doesn’t say. He’s probably happy for the silence, if anything. Your chattering voice can’t be that pleasant - going on and on about absolutely nothing. Teasing and picking for no reason other than your own entertainment. How the hell does he put up with you?

The food helps. It fills you, makes you whole. The weight of it makes this moment real as you help Simon clean up. As usual, he washes and you dry. He laughs at some offhand joke you make - splashes you with water from the sink and you can’t help but shriek and laugh along with him. The wine makes your muscles lax and your mind slow. It’s good. This is good. This is fixing it. For now, at least.

That’s all you need: for now.

“How was Mexico?” You ask, sinking into your side of the couch. “Didn’t get to ask earlier…”

Simon sighs heavily. “Absolute shite… mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“’ad a good battle buddy.” He hums, staring out the window for a few beats, as if he forgot you were there. Those dark eyes soften as a gentle smile graces his lips - warm and molten.

You break out in an impish grin. “What’s that face?”

“What face?” Simon turns to meet your eye, returning to his usual stony neutrality.

You squint, eyes flicking between his, grin only growing wider. “Oh, you totally fucked.”

Simon splutters, stuttering over denials and dismissals - because that’s preposterous and completely out of character - before he finally submits. It never takes long, just an unending stare until he gets around to it. It’s not like you have room to judge.

You push your socked feet into the side of his thigh. “Sooooo, what’s their name?”

He looks off to the side, pretending to eye his wine glass. “Soap.”

You bark out a laugh, slapping your hand over your lips to stifle the sound. “Don’t tell me that’s their real name.”

“It’s Joh- I call him Johnny.” Simon twiddles his thumbs, shifting slightly. He’s mentioned a Johnny before, you think, albeit briefly. Said he was annoying but competent. There’s a new gleam in his eye, now. You see it. You’re not even sure if he knows yet, but you do. You’ve seen it time and time again.

You hum and swing a leg over his lap, settling your weight on his thighs. His hair is soft as you run your fingers over it - freshly buzzed and fuzzy.

“Tell me about your Johnny.”

“He’s not my Johnny.” Simon huffs.

You smile. He will be. There’s no one on this planet that can resist those big brown eyes and their pretty blonde lashes - even if nothing comes of it long term.

“Still. I’m curious.”

“‘e’s Scottish.” Simon shrugs. “‘e draws.”

“That’s all?”

“‘e’s funny.”

“With your sense of humor, I find that questionable.”

Simon chuckles, broad shoulders shaking slightly. He pulls gently on a piece of your hair, toying with it. “‘e ‘as pretty eyes…”

You cock your head like a bird observing some newly discovered, shiny treasure. This stage always interests you. The yearning, the fluttering. The crush of it all, so to speak. Sometimes you wish you had a way to quantify it - like a heart monitor or blood work or something. It looks good on Simon; the light flush of his cheeks and the slight quirk of his lips.

Matthias used to look at you like that. Your gut churns, throat constricting, and you swallow roughly.

“Good for you, Si.” You murmur.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Shouldn’t be talkin’ about work so much. Makin’ me neglect the beautiful woman in my lap.”

“Beautiful?” You laugh, cheeks hot as you roll your eyes dramatically.

“Fit?”

“Meh.”

“Sexy?”

“Blah.”

“Stunnin’?”

You lightly smack his shoulder. “Shut up and fuck me, Riley.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grins. A strong arm wraps around your waist, kneading at your ass before drifting lower, pressing against your sex through your leggings and underwear.

The name Johnny rings in your mind as Simon’s arms envelop you. When did it happen? Where? Their living quarters? Out in some godforsaken tent in the middle of nowhere? That sounds more like Simon. All tense and wound up, heavy hands and low groans. It’s probably wrong to imagine a stranger like that. You wonder what he looks like. Could be anything, Simon isn’t exactly picky (he’s with you, after all). Does Johnny know how Simon feels? Does he feel the same? How would he know? You’ve never been sure how people figure that out. You’ve always just waited to be told and gone along with it - is that how it works for everyone? Surely not. That can’t be how it works for Simon. He’d never just go along - never let someone else just roll with it either. He demands enthusiasm, in his own way.

“Y’with me?” Simon rumbles in your ear. You hadn’t realized his hand stopped moving.

“O-oh, yeah. Just got a little lost in my head.” You murmur.

He hums. “Everythin’ okay?”

“Yeah, just… y’know how I get.”

“You’ve been spacey t’night.” So he did notice. Simon presses his cheek to yours. “Somethin’ goin’ on?”

You chew your lip. You’re a terrible liar - you can’t say no outright. You don’t need to dump on Simon, though. Your problems are minuscule compared to even his day to day ones. An inconvenience at most. Besides, that’s not what he has you here for. He’s not here to listen.

Instead you repeat, quieter but with a smile, “Just fuck me. Please.”

Simon moves slower now, as if you somehow became more fragile in a few mere seconds. He lays you back on the couch, kissing down your body while pushing your shirt up and out of the way. You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing your mind to stay in the moment. You’re in Simon’s apartment, on his couch, with his grounding weight above you. It’s the usual song and dance - gentle movements with breaks for permission. Sometimes you think the checks are more for him; for his own piece of mind in continuing. You still revel in the care behind them.

Simon eats pussy like he’s tasting some sort of delicacy - slow, deliberate, savoring. Long strokes of his tongue between your folds and light, sucking kisses on your clit. He wraps a strong arm around your thigh to hold you still as you begin to squirm, rolling your hips in search of more. Your body thrums with gentle warmth from the wine, letting you lay loose and easy for him to take as he pleases.

“Fuck, Si…” You gasp, back arching as his tongue pushes inside. You’re close already - emotions running high and pushing your desperation. If you can just cum - just reach that high and get it out of your system - it’ll all be okay.

Your hand grazes over Simon’s shorn hair as he circles your entrance with his fingers - coating them in your slick before slowly, slowly, slowly inching them inside. You whine in complaint, grinding down onto them and the tongue on your clit to get him moving - to get what you want.

“Please, Simon-“ You whine. He takes the hint, speeding up his movements to match your desperation.

“C’mon, pretty girl, cum on my tongue.” Simon groans against you, voice low. “Let me taste you.”

You let yourself fall into it. It’s easy to listen with that deep accent lilting in your ears - oozing honey down your spine. It’s easy to follow instructions blindly. Simon works you through it, murmuring little praises and sweet nothings between pressing sucking kisses to your clit. He only stops when you press your palm against his forehead, whining in protest as the stimulation moves onto just that side of too much.

Simon grabs a condom from one of his many little stashes as you come down and hands it to you, as per usual. You flip it in your hands with half lidded eyes while he strips, not bothering with making any sort of show and just letting it all fall into a pile on the rug beside the couch. Not that you’re complaining. You wince internally at the litany of bruises and marks covering him. New scars forming and deep marks of blue, black and yellow.

He slides the condom on with ease, practiced hands making the usually fumbling task quick. He reaches over you to grab one of the throw pillows propped on the couch armrest and taps your hips for you to lift them.

“Ready f’me?” Simon asks, leaning forward to nip at your soft jawline.

“Yeah.” You gasp, turning your head to meet his lips as he presses inside. They’re slightly chapped from his time away.

“Fuckin’ soaked.” He groans into your mouth. “Always take me so well, yeah?”

You nod, breath catching in your throat as Simon grinds his hips against yours. The angle with the pillow presses him against that sensitive spot inside you with every movement. He keeps it slow - intimate - allowing you to feel all of him with each thrust.

Those dark eyes meet yours, pupils blown wide. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close - careful not to irritate any of his wounds. Simon tucks you against him, one arm around your upper back and the other hand holding the back of your head as he curls you into him. Your legs lock around his waist as you breathe him in - your moans mixing and bodies melding. This is what you needed. To be consumed, to disappear into the purely physical. Your mind doesn’t need to be active, on edge, as you roll your hips to meet his, as you press your fingers into his strong back and gasp when you cum. You only need to feel Simon’s teeth sink into your shoulder, just enough to muffle his own climax.

It’s safe here.

You both sink into the couch, breaths slowing and lids heavy as you come back to reality. The music that had been formerly drowned out comes back into focus. You shiver at the sudden chill of the room when your bodies part, fumbling for one of the random blankets strewn across his various furniture. Simon doesn’t say anything when you drape it across the both of you and lean your head on his shoulder.

You glance out of the corner of your eye as Simon’s phone vibrates on the coffee table. He has messages locked, but you see three consecutive notifications from “Johnny.” You smile and let your eyes slip shut as Simon’s arm wraps around your shoulders to pull you close.

banner by @the-aesthetics-shop

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 4 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: the power outage is still power outing, curses, Jungkook being Jungkook, mentions of being really drunk and throwing up, explicit content: they talk about what happened in ch 3, teasing, some Mario Kart (yes, it has to be in the explicit content section lmao), hickeys, brat!reader, dom!Jungkook, big dick!Jungkook, degradation (he calls her a slut/pretty little slut), consent king Jeon Jungkook, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, jerking off, talks about having raw sex, protected sex, praise

☆word count: 9.5k

☆a/n: new chapterrrrrrr! Enjoy reading everyone <3 there's a tiny bit of angst if you squint your eyes really hard, but the real angst will hit much later on. Thank you to @moonleeai and @jessikahathaway for beta-ing, you guys are the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Friday, February 15th

You wake up slowly, with the rising sun. Your room is dark, cold, yet you’re snuggled close to Jungkook, whose body heat has been keeping you warm all night. He’s still asleep, mouth slightly parted, and you watch him for a few seconds before the events of last night come back to your mind, and you have to shut your eyes to try to forget.

It’s hard. His arm is still draped over you, and it twitches in his sleep. You try to push him away, but he wraps his arm around you tighter, nuzzling his face in your neck. It does something to you that you entirely can’t deal with, and you shut your eyes even harder, trying to ignore the way your heart is acting up in your chest.

You breathe in, the cold air taming the burning inside of you. You exhale slowly, and to your surprise, your heart finally decides to start calming down. You keep breathing deeply for a while, and you reckon it might have worked better than you expected because, next thing you know, you wake up with a start.

Jungkook is sitting next to you, and he offers you a lopsided grin as you meet his gaze, heart once again beating wildly.

“Morning, peach,” he greets you, voice gravelly with sleep.

You force yourself to sit up, and you stretch a yawn away. “Morning.”

“Slept well?”

There’s a teasing glint in his eyes, mischief laced with his words. You know you shouldn’t be surprised. Know Jungkook is probably going to turn you into a blushing mess even more now. Especially as he smirks, head cocking to the side while he awaits your answer.

“Yeah,” you answer, and you look towards the window as his eyes bore into your profile. You take a deep breath, another yawn moving through you before you’re able to look at him again. “Did you?”

“Better than I thought I would,” he admits, and he stretches before lying back down, pulling the covers to his face. It’s adorable, in a way Jeon Jungkook should never be, and you force yourself to not let it get to your mind as he continues, “I usually sleep like shit when I sleep with someone.”

You purse your lips, refusing to give meaning to his words as you say, “Maybe last night helped.”

The lopsided smile is back, and he nods once, sighing in content. “We should lose power more often.”

In the hopes that power would come back during the night, you plugged in your phone before going to sleep. You reach for it on the night table, and even though your room is still freezing, you’re still taken aback that the power is still out.

“Well, we still don’t have any,” you inform him.

He glances at you. “Then we should go back to sleep.”

At that, you snort, shaking your head. Even though your battery is low, you still go to your emails, trying to see if you received anything from your professor.

What you find is a college-wide email informing the students that all college activities are cancelled today and through the weekend, to start again on Monday. Your gaze widens before you glance at Jungkook.

“Power is still out in college, too,” you tell him. “So, no class.”

Jungkook’s smile only grows wider, and he opens his arms for you to come cuddle again. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Your heart is warm. A hearth, in which a small fire has started to burn. It’s soft, cozy, and you worry at your bottom lip as you survey Jungkook. As you try to figure out when you crossed the line, and if it’s too late to pull back.

You figure you can decide later when the power is back on and this bubble outside of time will have burst, and you lie back next to him. His arms, still wide open, look far too inviting, and it takes you about five seconds before you’re scooching into his embrace.

He sighs in content. “You know,” he lets out. “If Tae learns, I’m a dead man.”

Reality crashes harder than a tsunami on a beach, and you try to pull away. Jungkook holds onto you, even when you push on his chest.

“I was just going to say,” he adds so you’d stop pushing him, “that we should keep this between us.”

You nod against him as you finally stop trying to pull away. “Yes, I agree.”

“Good.”

And Tae doesn’t cross your mind for the rest of the morning. Eventually, you and Jungkook decide to move out of the safe comfort of the covers, needing to eat something before you die, as Jungkook jokes. It’s a quick trip to the kitchen before you figure your room is far warmer than the rest of the apartment. You retreat with fruits, while Jungkook grabs a bowl of the food he cooked yesterday.

Watching him eat it cold makes you gag, so you turn away from him to focus on eating your apple and blueberries.

“What?” he says, and he sounds like his mouth is full.

“How can you even be eating that?”

There are a few seconds of silence, while he clearly swallows his bite. “What’s wrong with it?”

You scrunch up your nose in disgust, glancing at him over your shoulder. His gaze is narrowed, eyebrows bunched together over his eyes as he fakes offence, or perhaps suspicion. It makes you snort, and you look away from him before you speak again.

“It’s cold.”

“Wow, is it?” he teases. “Never would have noticed.”

You roll your eyes, forcing your laugh down because Jeon Jungkook shouldn’t be making you laugh anyway. Silence replaces the conversation, and you finish eating in peace, watching the world outside the window.

It looks straight out of a fairy tale. The trees are covered in a thick coat of ice, and they glisten in the morning light as if they are made of glass. It’s beautiful, in an unforgiving way, and you find peace in their contemplation.

Peace in this comfortable silence with Jungkook.

By the time you’re done eating, Jungkook has wolfed down the bowl he made for himself, and you both return to the kitchen to put away the dishes you’d used. Jungkook leans against the counter while you rinse them, arms folded on his chest.

“What should we do today?” he asks.

You cock an eyebrow. “We?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Unless you want to be alone.”

Your eyes dart to him quickly, before returning to the safety of the spot where the jet of water hits the bowl you’re holding. “What do you want to do?”

“We could go for a car ride,” he suggests. “To charge up our phones.”

“Don’t you think the roads are a little too dangerous right now?”

He plays with his piercing as he frowns slightly, clearly not having thought about this. “Right.” You watch as the cogs work in his brain, and you can’t help the smile that slowly grows on your lips when his features light up. “We can just stay parked somewhere.”

“We’d still have to get there.”

He furrows his brows. “I’m sure they’ve put salt on the streets, we should be okay.”

What he doesn’t know is that you don’t need convincing. You’ve already decided you’d go, mostly because you do need to charge your phone. Not because you really need it right now, but just because the thought of not having it with you feels strange. 

“We’re going?” Jungkook presses as you remain silent.

He must be immune to the teasing glint you know for a fact has taken over your eyes. You sigh, before nodding once. “Sure.”

He beams. “Let’s go!”

His enthusiasm makes you laugh, and you turn the tap off before turning to watch him as he’s leaving the kitchen. 

“Shouldn’t we brush our teeth and freshen up first?”

He stops in his tracks. “Right.” He turns, flashing you a grin that reveals the same dimples you noticed yesterday. “Good luck with taking a shower, though.”

You snort. “Let’s just brush our teeth.”

Which is what you do, Jungkook pushing you with his hips as you stand next to him. You flip him off, and his eyes sparkle as he looks at you.

It stabs right through your heart, and you look away, searching for salvation on the tiles of the floor. It does nothing – reality is just a heartbeat away, and no matter how easy it is with Jungkook right now, you’re very aware that the moment the world returns to normalcy, your relationship with him will too.

And you still don’t understand where this is coming from. Where this easy complicity between you comes from, and why you’ve never really noticed before. Was it because of Taehyung?

It’s a question you ask yourself for the next hour, as you sit in Jungkook’s car listening to music and belting out tunes even though you’re not half the singer that he is. He doesn’t mention it, only laughs along with you before asking you stupid questions about your past, about Taehyung when you grew up and why you decided to move in with them.

He clearly doesn’t like you saying that it was just because it was convenient. It’s clear as spring water, and he pouts slightly as he says, “Not even for me?”

You punch him in the shoulder. “I didn’t know you when I moved in.”

“But now you do,” he teases, smirk moving on his lips. 

There’s more meaning to his words than it seems, and you feel blush creeping on your cheeks. “Do I?”

“I’d say watching me jerk off and come is a good way to get to know me, no?”

“Jungkook!”

He laughs like a child as you flush furiously purple, trying to ignore how, as a matter of fact, his words are actually turning you on. You don’t want to think about last night, just want to focus on the now, on this unexpected friendship.

Jungkook has other plans for you, because he says, “Don’t tell me you didn’t like it.”

You glare at him. “Shut up.”

“You’re blushing.”

If possible, your glare intensifies. “Shut the fuck up.”

He dissolves in a fit of giggles that makes your heart skip a beat, and you roll your eyes before glancing at your phone. 

“Mine’s full now,” you mutter. 

For a reason you don’t quite understand, Jungkook has two phone cords in his car, both of them working to charge. He glances at his phone, shaking his head.

“You’re going to be stuck with me for longer, peach,” he tells you mischievously. “Mine’s only on 75%.”

“Do you really need it full?”

He offers you an innocent smile. “Definitely.”

Your phone buzzes, and you both glance towards it. You’ve received a text from Ria, in the group chat you share with the whole friend group. She’s asking how everyone’s surviving, and if anyone needs to crash at the dorm, which for some reason, is the only place on campus that still has power.

You hesitate for half a heartbeat before turning your phone off.

*****

Today was fun, albeit cold. After charging your phones in Jungkook’s car, you took a long walk through campus, just talking about everything and nothing as if you’d always been close.

As if he didn’t finger you with his cum last night.

Whenever the thought resurfaces, it makes you startle, and Jungkook smirks. Because he knows – obviously he does.

He knows the effect he has on you. You think he sees how you tense whenever his hand touches yours, whenever he stands just a little too close. And maybe that’s why you avoided going home for a long time, because you’re afraid that being stuck between four walls with him again will make you go insane.

Alas, when you both grow hungry sometime in the afternoon, you can’t force him to stay out, so you follow him home, ignoring the weight of your turned-off phone in your pocket.

Fortunately enough, on all the journey walking around campus, you didn’t run into anyone from your friend group. Somehow, you were afraid that you would – what would they think if they saw you hanging out with Jungkook?

More importantly, what would Hoseok think? Maybe it makes you an asshole, but in the moment, you don’t really care. You are entirely focused on Jungkook, mostly because it’s easy to be entirely focused on him. As if he’s the full moon in a summer night sky – he makes all the stars hard to see, as he shines too bright for their glow to be noticeable. 

You sigh as you’re settled in the kitchen, door closed as Jungkook reheats something on the stove. It’s not extremely cold in the apartment, but keeping the door shut does help with keeping the kitchen warm enough to be bearable with only a thick sweater on.

You think Jungkook is crazy. He’s only wearing a beige and indigo athletic Nike vest, and he’s left it unzipped because he claimed he was getting too warm. Underneath, a white t-shirt rests loosely around his waist, and you’ve been doing your best to forget just how dainty his waist is, under all the clothes.

“See, we’re going to build up your heat tolerance,” he says over his shoulder, and he flashes you a grin before focusing on what he’s reheating again.

“Good luck with that,” you answer, chuckling. “I’ve tried before, and nothing works.”

“You and Tae really are the worst at that,” Jungkook teases, and you roll your eyes even if he can’t see. 

Indeed, he’s turned his head towards the window, and he watches the sun as it gets lower in the sky, nearing the horizon. You’re afraid of when it’ll be gone under; you’re afraid it’ll elicit sinful activities between you and Jungkook again.

Afraid, yet with a certain kind of apprehension to it. Perhaps because it’s not fear of him, but rather fear of yourself.

It’s hard to remember that he’s Taehyung’s best friend when you’re alone with him like this.

Especially when he sets a steaming bowl of food in front of you, a wicked smile on his lips as he forces you to eat. As you choke on it, the heat too much to handle for you. Jungkook laughs out loud before handing you a glass of ice-cold water.

It barely helps, and the heat remains for a while as you eat, and even more so as you’re done, watching Jungkook eating a second portion as if he hasn’t eaten the first one in record time. You’re playing music on your phone, your usual study playlist – lo-fi beats – and Jungkook seems to like it. He’s been nodding his head to the music as he devoured his bowl.

When he finishes eating, sitting back in his chair as he rests a hand on his stomach, he once again offers you the wide grin. The sun is setting now – the whole kitchen is turning to gold, and you hate that the glow makes him look ethereal, like he’s a piece of heaven fallen to Earth for you to enjoy.

“Do you want to wash yourself?” Jungkook asks out of the blue. You cock an eyebrow in question, but before you’ve had a chance to say anything, he adds, “We could warm some water on the stove and use that to wash ourselves.”

Your eyes widen. “That’s actually a good idea.”

“Come on, peach,” he lets out, and he chuckles as he shakes his head, a little condescendingly. “You really think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

Stupid wouldn’t be the word that you’d use. Arrogant, maybe. Too full of himself, for sure. But you don’t think that saying so would be a good idea, so you only shrug.

“Aren’t you?”

He bursts out laughing, that goofy smile that makes your heart skip beats in your chest as if you’re twelve and it’s the first time you’re speaking to a guy. “I’m not, thank you very much. I wouldn’t be in college if I was.”

“Lots of stupid people are in college,” you point out mischievously.

He tuts. “I’d thought by now you’d know I’m not a lot of people, peach.” He cocks his head to the side, and his eyes drop to your lips. “You get fingered by a lot of guys like that?”

You turn to fire. “Excuse me?”

And the goofy smile returns, as if he didn’t just say the crudest sentence in the world. “Just teasing you.”

You narrow your eyes but don’t find any retort to that. It makes Jungkook’s grin widen, and then he gets up to bring your bowl and his to the sink. As he’s rinsing them, he offers you a look.

“Should I reheat some water then?” he asks, the teasing tone gone. 

You try a look towards him, but standing there, the sun forms too much of an aura around him, so you can barely see him even if you squint your eyes. 

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“One pot for you and one for me, then!”

His statement makes you laugh, and you get up to actually help him get the pots on the stove. You turn the gas on, using the lighter so that the flames catch, and soon the water is heating up, and the prospect of freshening up brings a smile to your lips.

You notice Jungkook looking at it, features turning somber. And he’s quick to look away. Quick to focus on where the sun dipped under the horizon, watching the clouds turning to gold above.

“Have you spoken to Tae today?” he asks, and the reminder of your brother makes you clench your jaw, ever so slightly.

“No,” you admit. You think he’ll say more, but he remains silent. So you take it upon yourself to make conversation, and you ask, “Have you?”

He shrugs. “Just told him the power is still out.”

“Mmh.”

The silence is deafening then – you can barely hear it over the clamour in your thoughts. And you don’t know where it’s coming from, only that the more the silence stretches, the more you grow unsteady on your feet.

“How did you guys meet?” you ask, voice sounding a little strained.

Jungkook shoots you a look. “He didn’t tell you?”

You purse your lips and shake your head no, which earns you a chuckle from him. It makes you grow suspicious, and you narrow your gaze. “What?”

“Nothing.” He pauses, observes your features for a moment with those big doe eyes of his before he says, “We met Frosh week.”

You remain silent, waiting for him to continue.

“He was pissed out drunk in a bush,” Jungkook admits, and his eyes fog up with the memories as he looks away from you. “Jimin is the one that found him first. And mind you, I only knew Jimin for a few days then, since we were dorm roommates.”

But you know how easy friendship forms in that Frosh week. You and Nabi are a good example of it after all.

“We couldn’t find anyone who knew him, so we brought him back to the dorm. He threw up in Jimin’s bed, and the next day he suggested grabbing breakfast together, as a thank you for taking care of him.”

Jungkook smiles fondly, and his gaze connects with yours. “And the rest is history.”

It sure is. You’re not really sure where you come into this story – if you should come into it at all. Because Jungkook and Taehyung really are close – what would Taehyung say if he knew what Jungkook and you did?

It’s a scary thought, one that you’ve remedied with Jungkook already. You just have to not tell Taehyung, simple as that.

“I think the water is ready,” Jungkook admits, and he dips his fingers in one of the pots. He nods, before saying, “You can grab yours, and go to the bathroom. I’ll clean up in my room.”

“Don’t you need soap?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You know soap can be carried outside of a bathroom? Like, it’s not confined-“

His sentence dies as you punch him in the chest, and he starts laughing as you curse him under your breath, grabbing the pot. 

“Open the door for me,” you grumble as you walk towards it.

“Please?”

You look up to the water-stained ceiling. “Are you for real?”

“Yes.”

You debate silently, though you know that you’ll cave in.

You reckon you’ll always cave in where Jungkook is concerned. 

“Can you please open the door for me?” you ask, and you scold yourself internally for not being able to stand your ground.

“Of course, peach,” he says, grinning widely. “I can actually carry that to the bathroom for you, I need to grab soap and a towel anyway.”

He walks towards you, gently taking the pot out of your hands, so you end up opening the door for him, begrudgingly following him to the bathroom. You follow him in, watching him as he carefully puts the pot down in the sink. 

“Here you go,” he says as he shoots you a look over his shoulder. 

You can’t help but look away as your gazes connect, before mumbling, “Thank you.”

“You could at least sound happy about it,” he teases. You roll your eyes, though a smile teases the corners of your lips. Jungkook taps your cheek, and you bristle, stepping away from him. 

If he cares he doesn’t show it, instead moving to grab a washcloth and his shower gel. 

Are you disappointed to see him go? Maybe. But you don’t let it show, instead shutting the door behind him, making sure to lock it before you strip out of your clothes to wash up.

It’s freezing, and you hate every second of it, so you make it quick, washing the most strategic and important body parts. When you’re done, you move to grab your clean clothes from the…

You never grabbed clean clothes, did you? 

You curse under your breath, mostly cursing Jungkook for making you so stupid around him. You hate it - you feel like you lose most of your brain cells when he’s around. But you can’t help it, and you tightly wrap yourself in a towel as you pray to the God above, if there’s one, to not make you run into Jungkook as you walk back to your room.

Of course, Jungkook opens the door to his room the second you are in front of it. You startle, freezing like a deer in headlights, and Jungkook’s gaze dips to your legs.

You hate the smirk growing on his lips the second it appears.

“What’s got you walking around naked in this temperature?”

Though you reckon his gaze warms you up in an instant, you reply, “Fuck off, I just forgot to get clean clothes.”

He leans against his doorframe, slipping his hands in the pocket of his grey sweatpants. He looks the perfect picture of male insolence, and fuck, it does things to you that it shouldn’t.

Like, make you remember that he fingered you with his cum yesterday. Thinking about it, it was a really stupid thing to do, but you hadn’t been able to resist…

And from the way he’s eyeing you right now, you highly doubt you’ll be able to resist him again. You realize then that the apartment is darkening, that soon you’ll have to light up the candles… 

You’re sinking in quicksands, aren’t you?

“How unfortunate,” Jungkook comments, always so arrogant.

“I said it already, but do really fuck off, JK,” you reply.

He tilts his head to the side - the predator, and you, its next meal. “That’s not what you were saying yesterday.”

You blush, bright scarlet taking over your features, and you roll your eyes, choosing to ignore his comment as you finish walking to your room.

“That’s what I thought,” he says behind you, and you flip him off over your shoulder, which makes him laugh that boyish laugh that does things to you.

You lean against the bedroom door once you get in, heart beating out of your chest, cursing power for going out, and cursing your brother for choosing to do a semester abroad.

It’s useless - the cursing, that is. Because it won’t change anything, and a small, tiny, minuscule part of you doesn’t want it to… so you curse yourself too for good measure.

By the time you finally emerge from your bedroom, the sun has fully set, and you’ve been using your phone as a flashlight. Jungkook is sitting in the living room, playing on his Switch, which apparently still has battery, and he glances at you as you approach.

“Want to play a game?” he asks, offering you a small smile. 

His features are lit from the screen, and he looks soft, his big eyes slightly crinkling at the corners. You hold in your own smile, instead cocking an eyebrow.

“So that I can beat your ass?” you say.

You watch as fire catches in his gaze, and you think he’s about to burn you to the spot. “Oh, you wanna play this game?” he says, his voice suddenly an octave lower.

A thrilled shiver runs down your spine, and you finish crossing the distance between you and him, sitting next to him. The leather couch is freezing, but you hold your wince in as you motion to the Switch.

“You think you can beat my ass?” he asks. 

“I know I can.”

He smirks, leaning back on the couch. He rests his head against the backrest, turning his head towards you. “Oh, peach,” he breathes out. “You’re cute when you try to be sassy.”

You widen your gaze. “Try to be sassy! I’m serious, I’ll beat your ass.”

“In any game?” he asks, and his eyes dip to your lips.

“Mario Kart,” you say, folding your arms on your chest.

You’re wearing a thick sweater, yet it doesn’t stop Jungkook from looking down, and you know exactly what he’s seeing - you, with your legs spread wide open for him like they were yesterday.

“Winner gets head,” he says, and you really think you’re about to catch fire.

“What about Tae?”

You can’t help the question. Because you don’t want to do that to your brother, but you’ve been unable to resist. You know shame and guilt will catch up to you one day - hell, Ria will never let you live it down if she learns what’s already happened. 

Jungkook shrugs. “I don’t think it’d make any difference after yesterday.”

“So you want me to choke on your dick?”

Night and you and Jeon Jungkook really don’t mix well, do they? Because you want him. You want him so bad right now you think you’re about to go insane, yet you know you shouldn’t.

“Fuck, peach.” He chuckles. “I want to know if you taste as good as you look.”

You wet your lips, and his eyes fall to your mouth, staying there as you say, “Well then, winner gets head,” you murmur, and you think he’s about to say ‘fuck it’ and jump on you.

You really do think he won’t be able to resist, and frankly, you don’t want him to. You feel yourself leaning forward, a moth to the flame, but Jungkook clears his throat, and his eyes shoot to yours.

“Deal.”

Jungkook sets up the game, and since you can’t play multiplayer thanks to the power being out and the TV not functioning, you settle on whoever gets first place first. Which you reckon is stupid - getting first place when you’re playing against the AI isn’t really an impressive feat. 

You shiver before Jungkook starts his race, and he pauses the game to glance at you. “Do you want to go to your room?”

You cock an eyebrow. “Too excited to play here?”

He rolls his eyes, though a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “No, you’re freezing, and I figured, since your room is the smallest, if we do like yesterday, we can probably keep it warm. Or at least warmer than here.” His last words are accompanied by a vague motion of his hand encompassing the living room, and you reckon he does have a point. 

“Sure then,” you say, nodding once. 

You get up from the couch, and Jungkook quickly follows you. He’s so close, looming behind you like he’s the predator about to pounce on its prey, and you shudder with delight, warmth pooling in your lower stomach.

You think he knows. You’re convinced he does, because a few minutes later, when you’re in your room with the candles on, sitting on your bed, he leans against the wall, abandoning his Switch to the side.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s so easy to get into your bed, peach,” he teases, and you startle when one of his large hands lightly grazes your thigh.

You swat it away without an ounce of regret, even though the spot he touched feels like it’s been hit by lightning. “Are you saying I’m easy?”

His mouth falls open and he looks surprised, even maybe a little apologetic. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

The wicked smile you offer him makes him chuckle as he realizes you were teasing him, and he grabs his Switch, his brow creasing a little with the frown that adorns his features from concentrating. It’s cute. You reckon it’s adorable, and you reckon you shouldn’t feel that way about your brother’s best friend, so you push the thought as far away as you can.

It’s not like Jungkook is the kind of guy you should feel endearment for. Because you know he’d only break your heart - he’s not the most popular guy on campus for nothing, after all.

“Ready?” he tells you.

You nod. “Good luck.”

He doesn’t need it. He gets first place, and he puts his Switch down on the bed as you realize what it means.

But you’re not going to give in so easily to him, will you?

“If I get first place, too, then this doesn’t count.”

He fake-glares at you, but he shrugs. “Alright. Let’s see if you can get first place.”

The way he says it is ominous, and you gulp, cheeks flushing with pink as you grab the Switch. As per always, you choose Peach as your character, which obviously earns you a snicker from Jungkook, but you don’t mind.

Maybe because you’re starting to like when he calls you peach.

You easily start the race in the first position, Peach racing and drifting ahead of the AI-controlled characters. Jungkook shifts next to you, attracting your attention, and you almost run into a wall, thankfully recovering quickly.

It doesn’t last long. Because next time he shifts, Jungkook brushes your thigh, and you just know he has a wicked smirk on his lips without having to look at him.

“Stop,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Or what?” he purrs, and you nudge him with an elbow. He just laughs, his hand now resting flatly on your thigh. “Got trouble focusing?”

“You’re cheating,” you whine, and you’re hit by a blue shell which puts you back a few positions.

“Am I?” he breathes out.

You sigh as he leans closer to you, and his nose brushes your cheek. Instinctively, you tilt your head to the side, and he chuckles as he pushes your hair off your shoulder, before leaning even closer.

His lips ghost on your neck, and your eyes flutter close, the Switch entirely forgotten in your hands.

“Jungkook…”

His tongue darts out, tasting you, and then he sucks a hickey on your skin. “What?”

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice barely over a whisper.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about my fingers inside of you,” he says, huskily. “All fucking day.” He nibbles at your earlobe, and you let out a breathy sound that makes him chuckle again. “Just been thinking about how you’d feel on my dick too.”

“Fuck.”

“I know.” He kisses your jaw, and then pulls away, sitting back against the wall. “I think you lost.”

You open your eyes, realizing that you’re still holding the Switch. He’s right – the AIs have finished while Jungkook was teasing you, and you stare at the screen for a few seconds before meeting his gaze.

He looks victorious, happy with himself. You want to wipe the smirk off his lips, so you put down the Switch on the bed, kneeling next to him.

“So you want me to suck your dick now?” you say, voice low, and you drag a hand on his thigh.

His tongue toys with his piercings. “Well, wasn’t that the deal?”

Emboldened, you straddle his lap, and you wrap a hand around his throat for support. You feel him swallow, and you lean closer, watching as the smirk slowly disappears from his lips.

“Was it?”

He gulps. He fucking gulps, and you can’t help but bite your lower lip. Even though the room is cold, you feel warm, a tingly sensation slowly taking over your entire body. His eyes fall to your mouth, and it takes him a few seconds before he says, “Yes.”

You have him right where you want him to be. “Damn, who knew Jeon Jungkook wanted me so bad?”

You lean in, brushing your lips on his, tongue darting out to play with his piercings. He doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything, though you can tell that he wants to touch you.

Maybe because you’re perched on his erection.

“Maybe Tae should have left before, mmh?” you continue. “Maybe you wouldn’t be so desperate…”

Jungkook grabs your waist, spinning you around dizzyingly until you’re on the bed and he’s hovering over you. “Enough,” he says, voice rough.

You don’t lose the smirk. “Or what?”

He wets his lips and then leans in. “I’m going to have so much fun wiping that smirk from your lips, peach.”

“Oh, will you now?” you fire back. “Better get into action then.”

One of his hands grabs the side of your head, tightening around your hair, and he forces you to turn your head to the side. He leaves wet kisses down your neck and then moves back up to your jaw. 

“If only Tae knew how much of a slut you are,” Jungkook says. “A pretty little slut.” Your smirk wavers as he pushes your legs apart with a knee. “I wonder, are you already soaked for me, mmh?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

He chuckles darkly. “Fucking hell, you really are driving me crazy.”

And even though you shouldn’t, even though Jungkook is your older brother’s best friend, even though you know guilt will eventually catch up to you, you say, “Then act on it, JK. Show me just how crazy I’m making you feel.”

His mouth collides with yours with force, and you immediately reach up, running your hands through his hair. He sucks on your tongue, earning a moan from you, and he grunts as you pull on his hair, the soft strands feeling like silk on your fingers.

He grinds into you, and you feel the powerful length of him rub against you. You know he’ll stretch you wide open, and you want him so bad it almost hurts.

You think you’ve wanted him for months already. Yesterday, you could blame it on the alcohol, on your inhibition being altered, but today… Today you know it’s always been about the tattoos, the piercings, and the shameless flirting.

You’ve been in Jungkook’s orbit ever since September – you were bound to crash into him someday.

Jungkook pulls away to meet your gaze. The weight of his body on yours feels right – better than Hoseok’s ever felt. The thought douses you, and you think Jungkook notices.

You know he does, because he says, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Your eyes flit around his features for a time – his nose, his mouth, the mole underneath his lips, his left eye, the scar on his cheek. They eventually settle on his lip piercings. 

“Are you getting insecure?” you tease. Because it’s all that you know how to do, the only way you can think of pushing the vulnerability away.

His tongue pokes at his cheek, and he presses another searing kiss on your lips. You can’t help but moan softly as he grinds again, and you instinctively wrap your legs around him, your arms circling his neck as well.

When he pulls away next, it’s to rest his forehead against yours. You breathe the same air for a few seconds, until he says, “Consent is hot, peach. Tell me you want it, or I’m stopping now.”

“I want it, JK,” you answer. “I want you to fuck me dumb until my room isn’t cold anymore.”

Jungkook straightens, kneeling between your legs. The candles cast flickering lights on his honey skin, and you watch unblinkingly as he takes off his shirt. 

He’s beautiful. You realized that yesterday, though you didn’t see him without the shirt. But he’s truly beautiful, all muscle and delicate waist, and his skin glows golden under the light of the candles. His brown nipples are perked prettily on his chest, and you want to touch him, want to drag your hands over every powerful line of his body.

“Shit, it’s fucking cold,” he says, and he quickly bends down again. 

You grab the blankets, pulling them on top of him. Without any trace of hesitation, you rest your hands on his back, and you lightly scratch him with your nails.

“Then we better get you warmed up,” you purr.

You don’t need to say it twice. Jungkook finds your mouth again, and he grunts as you dig your nails in his skin, before releasing the pressure. He then goes down to your jaw, down your neck, and he disappears under the covers, spreading your legs wide open with his large hands.

“Can I take these off?” his muffled voice says from beneath the blankets.

You pull enough on the covers to see his face, big doe eyes awaiting your consent. ���Yes.”

He smirks wickedly. “Good.”

He’s quick to rid you of your pants. He leaves your panties on, his large hands caressing your thighs as he settles between your legs. You know he’s going to eat you out, and you think you’ll go insane. But nothing could have prepared you for how much of a tease he is.

Indeed, Jungkook presses light kisses on the insides of your thighs, mouth ghosting over where you need him the most, never once giving in to your desires. You’re soaking wet, painfully so by the time you groan, hand flying to his hair as you try to push his head where you want him.

He resists, chuckling darkly. “Growing a little impatient?”

“Eat me out,” you answer breathlessly. “Fuck.”

“Why should I?” He bites the inside of your thigh. “I love watching you squirm under me.”

You whine, yet this time, he licks the wet spot on your panties. Your thighs instinctively close, and he forces them wide open again.

“Don’t move,” he orders.

You try to obey. You really do, but when he pushes your panties to the side and sucks on your clit, your back arches off the bed. 

“Jungkook,” you breathe out. 

He doesn’t answer, too busy pushing his tongue inside you, parting your folds easily. You moan, and your grip on his hair tightens, though you keep him close. And he doesn’t seem like he wants to pull away. He starts making out with your pussy, squelching sounds coming from between your legs with every swipe of his tongue.

Soon, he gets bored of pushing his tongue in and out of you, and he moves back to your clit, circling it unforgivingly. He’s good, that much you’ll admit, and when he circles your entrance with one long finger, you moan again.

“You want it?” he asks, pulling away just long enough to voice the words.

He’s right back on your clit a fraction of a second later, and he sucks on it, flicking the sensitive bud with his tongue.

You feel the orgasm. It’s still far, but it’s on the horizon of your conscience, and you know it’ll hit good once it does. So you say, “Please, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t disappoint. He pushes his finger in, arches it to rub that sweet spot inside of you in time with the motions of his tongue on your clit. You grind in his face by reflex, and he grunts against you as you do so, resting his tongue flat on your clit so that you can pleasure yourself on his face.

He must know it’s not enough. Because after a few seconds of it, he starts moving his face from side to side, and the orgasm looms closer, aiming for you at the speed of light.

It hits when Jungkook pushes a second finger in, stretching you, and your walls clench hard against his digits, though he keeps on pushing them in and out of you in a steady rhythm. He sucks on your clit as you come, and you think you’ve moaned his name at least twice by the time he finally pulls away, drying his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Shit, peach,” he says, and you watch him through the ecstasy blurring your gaze. “You taste so fucking good.”

As if he wants to show you, he captures your mouth in a kiss. You taste yourself, but you’re too fucked out to be able to agree or disagree with him. All you can do is moan in his mouth, and he swallows it with a swipe of his tongue.

 And as he keeps kissing you, keeps branding himself in your mouth, you run your hand on his body, blood boiling from the sheer strength that you know he has. You reach for the band of his sweatpants, going lower to wrap your hand around his clothed length.

He’s big and heavy in your hand. 

Mostly, he’s not wearing any underwear. Or if he is, they are extremely loose, because you’re able to wrap your fingers around him even through the sweatpants. He bucks his hips, and you tighten your hold.

“Why don’t you put that pretty hand under the clothes, mmh?” he teases against your jaw, before he goes to nibbling on your ear. “I’ve been wanting to feel it wrapped around my cock.”

You don’t hesitate. You move back up to the band of his sweatpants, and you quickly push your hand in. You sigh in delight as you find he’s not wearing any underwear, fingers grazing over the velvety softness of his length. He hisses but doesn’t say anything as you test the waters, slowly grabbing his dick.

You lightly stroke him, and he bucks his hips, trying to fuck your hand. 

“Impatient, aren’t you?” you tease him, and he bites at your jaw.

“I’ve been wanting you for a really long time, peach.”

His words make your heart pause in your chest. Because you feel like there’s a deeper meaning, like it isn’t just shameless flirting in the heat of the action. It reminds you of the kiss yesterday, of the way he’d pulled you on his lap with no other intention than to kiss you.

And it makes you tighten your grip on his dick, and he grunts as you start jerking him off faster. But it’s awkward and clumsy with the sweatpants on, so you pull your hand out after a few seconds.

“Take these off,” you say, and he immediately kneels to obey, taking off his sweatpants quickly before resuming his position between your legs.

You’re not sure you were prepared for the sight of Jeon Jungkook fully naked in your bed. Though goosebumps prick at his skin from the cold, he still looks devilish, like he’s about to drag you to hell. His dick stands proud and tall, leaking precum, and the muscles of his thighs strain against his skin. 

He’s big. And not just his dick. Jungkook works out a lot, spends hours every week at the gym, and it truly shows in every angle of him. He looks sculpted in marble, a perfect body that accentuates the beauty of his features, that contradicts the innocence of his big eyes. 

Or maybe what truly contradicts it is the way he fists his cock, jerking off quickly as he eyes you. As he stares you down, and you feel ready to go all over again just from the sight of it.

“You have condoms?” he asks, and he grunts as he keeps jerking himself off.

You have half a thought to tell him to keep going, to come all over you, but you want it too much to resist. So you motion to your night table, saying, “Bottom drawer.”

He nods appreciatively, letting go of his cock so that he can bend and rummage through the drawer until he finds the condoms. He winces as he straightens, a tinfoil package in hand.

“Pretty sure that’s going to be too tight for me.”

You roll your eyes. “Condoms stretch, you know that?”

“Not enough,” he says, flicking your nose teasingly. “But I don’t think we should go raw, so that’ll do.”

Yet, the thought of going raw with him… You grab a hold of his wrist before he’s able to start unrolling the condom on his dick, and he cocks an eyebrow as he meets your gaze.

“Are you clean?”

You see him gulp. Indeed, his throat bobs, and he tilts his head to the side. “Got tested last week,” he admits. “But I really don’t think we should go raw.”

“I’m clean.”

“You’ve been fucking that other guy,” Jungkook says.

“We always wear protection.”

Jungkook purses his lips, taking a deep breath. “Honestly peach, I think I wouldn’t last a minute if I fucked you raw right now. Let me put the condom on.”

He says it in a stern way that makes you let go of his wrist. You feel bad, wondering if you were pushing a boundary, but Jungkook doesn’t seem like he notices. Indeed, he busies himself with putting the condom on, rolling it down his dick, and he winces in pain once it’s all the way down.

“That shit’s fucking tight,” he comments, and then he positions himself between your legs again. His large hands find your thighs, and he caresses up and down once before meeting your gaze. “Are you okay?” he asks, with no lust or desire or anything other than concern for you.

Because of course, he’d notice that you’re feeling bad.

“Sorry if I was insisting…” you say, vaguely motioning to his dick.

He looks down at himself. “About the condom?” He waits for you to nod your head before he says anything else. “Peach, don’t worry about it. I’m seriously close right now, which is really fucking weird, and I just want to be able to make you feel good, m’kay?” He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You melt, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him close. He chuckles, mumbling against your lips, “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, but you really turn me on.”

You think you know what it is. You don’t think it’s about you, or about him. It’s rather about the feeling of doing something you shouldn’t be doing. Of doing something forbidden, because he’s Taehyung’s friend, and you’re Taehyung’s younger sister. 

But you don’t say it. Instead, you whisper, “Then fuck me good, Jungkook.”

He lets out a breathy sound as he leans his forehead against yours. There’s something so intimate about the gesture that you feel your heart soaring in your chest, and then he pushes your ruined panties to the side again so that he can nudge your entrance with his dick. 

“I will,” he promises, and then he pushes in. Just his tip, yet your mouth falls open at how large he already feels, and you tighten your hold on his neck. “Let me know if it hurts.”

Unforgivingly, Jungkook slams all the way in. You let out a broken sound, and he quickly captures your lips in a kiss as he stays right there, deep inside of you, unmoving so that you can adjust around him. And you know you have a lot of adjusting to do – he’s so large it burns, yet the pain feels good. Far too good, and you easily understand how Jungkook got the reputation that he has.

When Jungkook pulls away from the kiss, he slowly pulls out, before pushing all the way in again. Your walls suck him in, and he grunts, leaning his forehead against yours once more.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You feel so fucking good.”

Before you can reply, Jungkook establishes a steady rhythm. Nothing too crazy, but the drag of his dick on your walls is making you see stars, and you softly moan as he keeps moving, never once faltering.

“Moan for me, peach,” he breathlessly says. “I want to hear you fucking screaming my name.”

And then everything changes. Jungkook kneels between your thighs, pulls your legs against his chest, and starts pounding into you, bending down just enough to hit the sweetest spot inside of you. The change of rhythm and position makes you cry out, and your walls clench around him.

He echoes your cry with a moan of his own, something breathless that makes you want to look at him, to stay with him like this forever. So you open your eyes, and the sight of him is nearly enough to make you climax right then and there. 

Yet you don’t. You don’t come as you just watch him, watch the way he’s frowning, teeth digging in his lower lip once in a while. Beads of sweat quickly appear on his temples, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t falter, not even once, as he fucks you, and you feel that familiar knot forming in your lower stomach. 

You still don’t come. You keep it in – you don’t know why. You just enjoy the moment, refusing to rush towards its ending. Instead, when Jungkook pushes your legs open so that he can bend down and kiss you again, you welcome him in. You wrap your legs tight around him, keeping him close, and you scratch at his back with one hand, the other getting lost in his hair.

He grunts in your mouth, and he finally switches the rhythm, aiming for harder yet slower. It makes him reach new depths, and you can’t help but moan loudly as he keeps going, keeps ramming into you.

For the first time ever since you moved here, your bed slams into the wall from the force of Jungkook’s thrusts. It’s hot, especially as he moves to your neck, sucking hard. 

“Best fucking pussy,” he says in your ear. “Fuck.”

And then he straightens again, forcing you to let go of him, before pulling out. You whine at the sudden loss of sensation, but he just looks down at your pussy, licking his lips at the sight.

“You’re so fucking creamy and wet,” he tells you. “Look at my cock.”

You obey, looking down to where your bodies almost meet. His dick is indeed covered with your juices, and Jungkook gently pushes it between your folds, collecting even more juice. It’s sinful, inherently so, and you moan lightly as he rubs his dick on your clit.

“Think you’ll be able to come for me again?” he asks.

You look up, meeting his gaze. His lips are slightly parted as he breathes in and out quickly, and he smirks wickedly as you nod, once.

“Make me come,” you say, finding some defiance in you again. “You think you’ll be able to do that for me?”

His gaze widens, and then he chuckles. “Fuck peach.” He chuckles again, slightly shaking his head. “I’m going to get addicted to this fucking pussy of yours.”

You whine as he moves from between your legs, lying down on his back. You shoot him a look, and he motions at his body as if in invitation. It makes you laugh, yet you still climb on top of him, grinding on his dick.

His eyes go to your chest, and he gently grabs the hem of your shirt. Even though it’s still cold in your room – though warmer than before – you quickly take off your shirt, wincing as the cold air hits you head on. 

“So pretty,” Jungkook praises, and his hands reach up to push your breasts together. “So fucking pretty.”

You blush slightly under the praise, and you’re about to sink on his dick when he stops you. Your eyes go wide, and he motions to your panties.

“Take these off too. I want to see all of you.”

He says it with so much reverence for you that you can’t say no. You can only obey, sitting next to him just long enough so that you can remove the panties. They are soaked, and you throw them towards the dirty clothes hamper before climbing back on top of Jungkook.

Your gazes meet, and there’s a moment of you watching each other. You wish you could read his gaze, wish you could know what it means when he grabs your wrists to pull you down. Your eyes never disconnect from his, not even as one of his hands goes between your bodies so that he can align his dick with your entrance.

And then he pushes up, pushes in. As if you forgot just how big he is, you moan, eyes fluttering shut on instinct. Jungkook grunts, wrapping his arms around your waist, before saying, “Look at me.”

You do. You meet his gaze again and try to hold it as he starts jackhammering into you, the new angle so good you feel like you’re slowly slipping out of your body, soaring towards the sky outside. It’s so good all you can think about is him, his body, the way that he holds you so gently yet fucks you so rough. You rest one hand on the side of his face as he keeps fucking you, and when you can’t resist anymore, you hide your face in his neck.

“You’re such a good girl,” Jungkook says. “You take me so fucking well.” He grunts loudly, slamming to the hilt. You think he’s coming, but then he pulls almost all the way out, before slamming in again. “I never want to stop fucking you.”

You moan, and then your lips ghost on the shell of his ear. Though you’ve been struggling to speak, you say, “You’re so fucking big.”

“I know,” he breathes out. “Let me know if I hurt you.”

You whine. “Never. You’d never hurt me.”

His grip on you tightens, like he’s trying to say he wouldn’t hurt you, wouldn’t be able to, and then he’s fucking you again. The knot in your stomach comes back in full force, especially as he starts whispering filthy praises in your ear, growing more breathless with every swipe of his hips.

Just when you think you’ll come, Jungkook grunts, “I’m going to c-“

He never finishes his sentence, but the feeling of his dick twitching inside of you as he stills deep inside makes you fly over the edge, and your walls start spasming around his cock, milking his orgasm. It feels far too good, like you’ve reached nirvana, and it takes you so long to come down from your high that you believe you never will.

But you do. You do, and the first thing you notice is the cold. Though it’s a lot warmer than it was when you started this whole ordeal, you still shiver. 

Jungkook gently pulls a blanket over you, before circling your waist again. He doesn’t let go, not even as his dick, now soft, slips out of you. He lets you lay on top of him, ear against his chest so that you listen to his heartbeat, refusing to move.

You don’t want anything to pop this bubble of peace. Never. You just want to stay here with him, content breathing in the same air as him, until eternity flashes in front of you. Until you grow old and grey, to go to sleep forever. It’s a powerful feeling, though you like to tell yourself that it’s mutual. That his heart, beating softly in his chest, beats for you, in time with the beats of your own heart. You hope that he, too, doesn’t want to let go, though you reckon that this probably was just a hook-up to him, something he’ll be proud of, yet keep to himself. Because wouldn’t Jungkook be the kind of guy to be proud he bagged the little sister? You think he would.

And the thought scares you more than you would ever dare to admit.

Prev | Chapter 4.5 | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

Is it me or is it hot in here? oof- Let me know what you thought of this chapter! I hope that smidge of angst at the end doesn't scare you too much...... bc trust me it scares me OOP

All rights reserved to@/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[hyuckiefluff]

𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 | na jaemin

pairing: roommate!na jaemin x fem reader

genre: smut

wc: 1.6k

summary: jaemin notices how innocent you are and he can’t help but take advantage of this.

content warning: loss of virginity, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, missionary, reader is very inexperienced, jaemin is pretty manipulative, usage of pet names (good girl, princess, angel)

a/n : this is not what i was planning to post next but oh well it’s here now! hope u enjoy it! feedback is greatly appreciated as always and happy new year! my new year’s resolution as a writer is to stop trying to write a million stories at once and then not posting any of them lol. also just realized this is my second time writing roommate jaemin hehe idk i’m kinda obsessed with him and this trope

pss: would you guys like me to post drabbles? i’ve been thinking about it but can’t decide, lemme know in the comments or my req/ask box :))

masterlist

Jaemin was so glad that you were clueless.

When he first moved in as your roommate, he immediately noticed you were too trusting… Letting a stranger like him move in with you without asking many questions. But the rent was good and the prospect of living with someone as pretty as yourself kept him from saying anything about it.

As he discovered the extent of your innocence, Jaemin found himself unable to resist taking advantage of it. He wanted to know just how much he could get away with.

So, on a particularly chilly winter night, Jaemin seized the opportunity and knocked on your door while you were cozily tucked into bed.

"Can I sleep here, princess? I think the heating broke down in my room," Jaemin asked, his head peeking through the door.

Even he knew that was a weak excuse. The apartment had centralized heating, so if it worked in your room, it definitely worked in his. But surprisingly, you fell for it.

"Oh, of course, Jaem," you replied with the softest tone, the nickname you’d given him already making him semi-hard.

He joined you in bed, keeping some initial distance. However, as soon as he noticed you in the skimpiest pajama dress, he felt himself growing harder in his sweatpants. You lay facing him, a sleepy smile on your face, your eyes glowing in the night light, completely oblivious to the thoughts racing through his mind and down to his dick.

"Are you okay, Jaem?" you asked softly, noticing him wince and shift a bit.

"Uhm... yeah, just... uncomfortable," he said absentmindedly.

"Are you uncomfortable with me?" you asked, your big eyes staring up at him.

"Oh no no, princess, it's not you. It's just..." he sighed, "Sometimes it hurts down there, and it will keep hurting until I do something about it."

It's amusing how he tried so hard to explain it, treating you like a kid despite you being his age, and ironically, the reason he was like this in the first place.

"Why does it hurt?" you asked, genuine worry in your eyes.

Contemplating whether to use your innocence to his advantage, he decided to take the risk. "Well, you see... whenever I'm with you, it kind of just hurts. It gets so hard, and I can’t handle it," he said, hoping you bought his act.

"Because of me?" you brought your hands to your cheeks, the action pushing your boobs together and making them practically spill out of your pjs "And c-can I make it better somehow? I feel so bad..."

Oh, clueless pretty thing.

"Of course, you can make it better, princess... you're the only one who can," he said, getting closer to your smaller frame. You didn't move away and simply let him grab your hand.

He placed it on top of his erection, "See how swollen it is? It hurts," you pouted, feeling terrible that this was your fault. "Will you help me fix it then?" You nodded at once, and Jaemin smiled. "Good girl."

He took off his shirt, and you were momentarily stunned by how toned his chest and abs were. You'd seen him shirtless before but never from this close.

"Princess, you're drooling," he teased, softly grabbing your chin so you would look at him.

"I'm not," you whined but still attempted to clean the imaginary drool off your face.

"So cute," he laughed, "will you take this off for me?" He pointed to his sweatpants.

"M-me? Uhm... okay," you said, and with shaky hands, you slid his pants down his legs. It was a bit hard pushing them past his bulge, and he noticed how this made you blush.

"Thank you, pretty girl," he pulled you back up, and now you were straddling him, only the thin fabric of your panties and his boxers separating your cores.

He experimentally rutted against you to gauge your reaction, and it was entirely worth it. Your face contorting, the way you gasped and made an "O" with your pretty plump lips. He never saw anything better.

"You trust me, right, princess?" he asked, his eyes heavy on you.

"Y-yes... I trust you."

He smiled and switched your positions, now hovering over your body. He caressed your cheeks, and then his hand went down until he reached the border of your PJ dress. He pulled it up until it was pooling right below your chest.

"So pretty," he said, his lips ghosting over your stomach.

"Jaem, that tickles!" you laughed, pushing his head.

"Princess, before you can help me, I gotta prepare you, okay?" He suddenly got serious again, his eyes with that dark glow you saw earlier. You nodded, your heart picking up pace when he suddenly hovered over your clothed core.

Then, locking eyes with you, he pulled your panties to the side. The abrupt shift from the cool air hitting you to his warm breath so close to your most private part gave you goosebumps all over.

Out of the blue, he licked a streak along your core. You gasped, nudging his head away. No one had ever touched you there, let alone licked you.

"You gotta relax, baby," he said, his voice so growly it almost had a purr to it.

Though he didn’t really give you a chance to relax. He latched his mouth directly to your cunt, sucking viciously, and the sensation was almost overwhelming.

"Oh my g-.. Jaemin," you moaned, the intensity taking you by surprise.

After a few minutes of relentlessly eating you out, he pulled away, his nose, mouth, and chin glossy with your juices. The knot in your stomach was so tight it could explode. But just when you thought he was finished, he inserted a finger. He explored your insides with vigor until he found that sweet spot, causing you to release a string of curses and curl your toes.

That was your first orgasm.

"You're ready for me now, beautiful," he said, planting one last kiss on your inner thigh before crawling until he was directly on top of you.

“… m’ so tired, Jaem..." you mewled.

"I know, I know... just hang on a bit more. You wanna help me, right?" he asked, gently moving some stray hairs away from your forehead.

You nodded, and he rewarded you with a chaste kiss on your lips. With a playful grin, he pulled down his boxers and even though you were spent, curiosity got the best of you so you peeked down. He was so big and thick; it startled you for a moment.

"Now, angel... tell me if you feel uncomfortable."

Jaemin was trying so hard to be gentle, but seeing you like that, all pliant and open for him, made him want nothing more than to fuck you hard into next week.

He pulled down your panties, amused by the way they stuck to you from how wet you were. Tossing them aside, he wasted no time positioning himself at your entrance. The tip was barely in, and you already felt overwhelmed. "I don't think it'll fit..." you said, but he seemed not to have heard, leaning in to kiss all over your neck and collarbone.

This distraction allowed him to go in more, and you held onto his shoulders for support.

"You're doing so good for me," Jaemin whispered against your skin.

When he bottomed out, he already felt like he would cum fast from how tightly you were squeezing him. He kept whispering for you to relax, and only when you did did he start moving at a somewhat slow pace.

"You feel so fucking good," he whimpered, his thrusts picking up pace and turning you into a moaning, writhing mess.

"J-j-Jaem..." you were unable to form a coherent sentence with how hard he was fucking you now.

"Fuck… I… should've… done… this… sooner," he grunted, his eyes locked on the mesmerizing bounce of your boobs.

"I'm… I feel so…" you whimpered, tears forming in your eyes as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

He could tell you were getting there from how your walls were pulsating around him. So, he grabbed your legs, hoisting them up on his shoulders for some deeper access. This new angle had him hitting just the right spot, and in no time, you turned into a moaning, sobbing mess. He eased into a slower rhythm, helping you ride out your second orgasm.

"That's it, good girl," he moaned looking at the scene between your bodies as your release dripped down from your pretty cunt.

After you came, he didn't pull out. He was the one wanting to get a little more out of this, after all.

So, once your breathing had calmed down a bit, he resumed thrusting into you, each one driving deeper than the last.

"Jae… I- I can't…" you whined, too sensitive down there.

"You said… you would help me, princess..."

And so he kept fucking you hard. It didn't take long for your third orgasm to creep up, your walls squeezing the life out of him again. Relentless, he kept going even after you'd cummed again, pushing until he felt his own orgasm approach. That’s when he pulled out right away, his release spilling generously over your lower stomach.

He collapsed next to you, both of you panting.

"Does it still hurt, Jaem?" you asked innocently, looking at him.

He smiled softly at you and gently caressed your cheek.

"No, princess. You made me all better."

Jaemin loved how clueless you were.

btw i’m not ignoring requests it’s just taking me forever to finish the other stories i’m writing so requests are on hold for a little bit, you can still send but it’ll take me a minute to get to them :(

[joelswritingmistress]

Neighbors With Benefits: Part 1 (Joel Miller x f!reader)

Part of the #hotdilfsummerchallenge (I will be adding more and tag the Masterlist) Thank you @hellishjoel for putting on this contest. It's a lot of fun!

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: Roughly 5000

Warning: Dilfy smut, age gap (23 & 42)

Mid-June, 2024. The first summer back home upon college graduation. You knew there would be an adjustment period and while you didn't necessarily feel unhappy, there was a strangeness that left you with feelings you couldn't quite pinpoint. This was your childhood home, your hometown, your room - but still, somehow it felt foreign.

You hung up the maroon cap and gown that showed off the primary color of Texas A+M, the college where you had spent the last four years studying your ass off to get a degree in criminal justice. At twenty-three years old after spending the last few years in a little off-campus apartment with some friends, you were feeling both aggravated and nostalgic upon returning to your parents' house in the suburbs. They were great and you got along just fine; but the freedoms that had gone along with renting your own place were now reeled in a bit tighter. At the very least you knew your mother would likely stay awake on the nights you were out late. Still, you appreciated how much they cared about you.

You moved to your bedroom window and flung it open to let in some air to get rid of the stuffiness that lingered in the house. Immediately, your eyes landed on a man next door standing behind a grill as smoke filtered up above him in a faint, little cloud. He flipped a burger with a pair of metal tongs and took a sip from what looked like a bottle of beer.

"Hey, honey."

You jumped at your mother's voice as if you'd been caught doing something wrong. "Hey." You pressed your eyebrows together and motioned out the window as she entered the room. "Who's that?"

"Oh, I guess it never came up in conversation," your mother said with a shrug, "That's our new neighbor. He moved in back in January."

You glanced back out the window.

"He’s a bit too old for you,” she teased with a laugh.

You whipped around and made a face. "I'm not... I'm not checking him out. I'm just asking why there's a stranger in the Wilsons' backyard." You smirked and raised your eyebrows, "Maybe if my mother told me things I wouldn't have to play detective."

"Isn't that what you got your degree in criminal justice for?"

You chuckled, knowing she would most certainly outwit you in a verbal battle. "And I'm 23 years old. No one's too old for me anymore."

"Well, in that case I hear they just built a nice, new nursing home down the road with plenty of widowed men. I can drive you there if you'd like."

You let out a hearty laugh. “I’ll pass."

The two of you giggled and your mother continued, "Will you be joining your father and I for dinner tonight? We were thinking of just going to Chili's and then heading to a play at the little theater downtown. The kids are putting on Grease."

You smiled as your phone vibrated with a text from your best friend. "It's Holly."

"So, I guess the answer is going to be no," your mother suspected. She smirked and got the hint. “Keep in touch.”

"Okay," you agreed and then cleared your throat when she turned to go. "Mom, what's his name?"

"Huh?"

"The neighbor," you went on, "I should probably introduce myself since I'm going to be a resident of 45 Harding Drive again."

"Joel," her mother replied, "Joel Miller."

Your parents left soon after and so you wandered out to the back steps, waiting for them to take off first before popping open a beer. The ice cold beverage tasted better than normal because of the incoming summer heat that was supposed to really strike the following morning. With a content sigh, you leaned your elbows back on the top step of the set of four that led from the back door into the oversized backyard.

"Jennifer?" a deep, scratchy voice made you jump for the second time that night. You put a hand on your chest and glanced off to the side when you realized a man had called out your mother's name.

The neighbor, you thought, feeling your stomach knot up.

You cleared your throat and rose to your feet, leaving the beer on the top step. "No… I’m (Y/N)." You took a few steps in his direction though he made his way almost all the way to the steps.

"(Y/N)?" His features became clear when he stepped into a small, back light beside the door. The man flashed a friendly, boyish grin from beneath a trim beard. "Tim and Jen’s daughter?"

You looked down sheepishly and smiled before lifting your eyes to meet his stare. "Yeah."

He’s hot, your inner monologue informed you, as if your cheeks hadn't suddenly grown hot.

His eyes shifted to the beer and his grin widened even more before he extended a hand. "I'm Joel... your neighbor."

"Nice to meet you." You gave a closed-mouth smile and took in his appearance, consciously telling herself not to stare. His plain white t-shirt showed off his broad chest and shoulders

Joel cleared his throat. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine," you assured him and then cleared your throat, "Do you want a beer or something?"

A smirk twisted onto his face., "No thanks. I was actually just coming over to see if I could borrow some butter."

"Oh..." You glanced over your shoulder at the back door and then back to Joel.

"You don't have to," he said reassuringly, unable to keep the grin from his face. "You don't even know me yet so-"

"No.” You cut him off, "No, it's fine."

"Are you sure?" Joel's voice cut through you like a knife and he kept his eyes firmly locked on yours.

You nodded, unable to look away for a moment and then waved him inside.

"Don't forget your brew here, honey." He reached down and scooped up the beer as you flung the back door open.

You smiled again, "Thanks."

Joel nodded and followed you in, before glancing around at the modest but modern kitchen. "You, uh... you even old enough to drink this shit?" He motioned to the beer.

You rolled your eyes, "I can show you my ID if that makes you feel any better." You flung open the refrigerator, "I know my parents are going to treat me like I'm in high school again."

"Well... they're just trying to protect you," Joel said. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-three." You glanced over her shoulder at him, somewhat pleased to catch him staring - or so you thought. It prompted him to look elsewhere.

"Here." You removed a stick of butter and crossed the room to hand it to him. When the butter landed in his hand you decided to be bold and didn't immediately let it go, "How old are you?"

He chuckled before holding a wicked smirk and again held her captive with his playfully intense eyes. "How old do you think I am?"

You stared back, somewhat used to gaining control over the guys you had dated or been interested in in the past. Already, this time you felt a bit outmatched and part of it was your instant attraction to him. When Joel took one step in her direction, you swallowed hard and gave a random answer.

"Thirty-two?"

Joel laughed a little louder, putting a hand on his stomach. He ran the other hand through his messy brown hair and pointed. "You're so full of shit."

You smiled at him, "I was thinking more of thirty-eight, thirty-nine."

He sucked his teeth and gave you a look up-and-down before smiling wide again. When he didn't say anything in response you flat out asked, "Am I right?"

"Forty-two," Joel finally informed you after a long pause.

"Over the hill then?"

He snickered and then motioned to the fridge, "Ya know... I will have that beer if you don't mind."

You smiled before reopening the fridge to fetch one for him. When you placed a bottle of Bud Lite in his hand he used the counter to pop the top rather than twist it. When the dented bottle cap fell to the floor and danced in circles for a moment you glanced back up to find him continuing to stare as he took a long swig from the bottle.

Joel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Your dad going to notice that a few of these are missing?"

"They're mine," you informed him, "And I'm not-"

"A kid, I know..." Joel rolled his eyes now and the two of you shared a laugh, "Believe me when you're my age you'll love that someone will accuse you of being younger."

"I'm sure I will."

He reached down and scooped up the cap from the ground and then held it out in his palm. When you went to reach for it he closed his hand and smiled playfully.

"I'll take it," Joel offered, "Don't want you to get caught drinking these things when your parents come home." He continued to tease you about your age.

"You know, I could've guessed you were fifty."

He laughed out loud. "Smart mouth on you," Joel flashed his index finger at her with the hand that held the bottle, "I like it."

You looked down and laughed again, feeling your cheeks grow hot again from his remark.

"Anyway, I should be getting back." Joel continued to smile, almost triumphantly and winked. "It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you too.”

He held your gaze for an extra second, forcing him to smirk a final time before heading out the back door.

"Thanks for the beer," he said casually, "I'll see ya around."

8:15 pm - the following evening

"Sorry I couldn't make it out last night," Holly said to you. The two of you sat side by side at barstools down at one of the local bars in town. "My boss can be a real pain in the ass sometimes."

"It's fine. I had the house to myself so I kind of just had some time to chill and binge watch some old shows."

"Sounds terrible."

You laughed and shrugged. "It was alright."

"Well, here's to... summer?" Holly raised her martini glass and you tapped her beer bottle gently against it.

"To potentially the weirdest summer of my life."

"Why's that?"

You shrugged, "I don't know. Being back home doesn't feel so 'at home' anymore."

"Give it time." Holly sipped her drink, "In a month it'll feel like you never left."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"Hey, it's not so bad. I'm here." She smiled and raised her eyebrows, "Jill and Molly should be home within the week too. We can get the old crew back together before we all get real jobs and have to do shitty adult stuff."

"I'll drink to that," you agreed, taking a longer swig of the beer. You sighed and began to peel at the blue Bud Lite label, letting your mind drift to the night before with Joel. You envisioned him snapping the cap off the top of the beer bottle, using the counter. A smile crossed lingered on your face.

"Ooohh... someone's checking us out," Holly commented, "Or maybe they know you..." Her eyebrows pressed together and she motioned using her head toward a table in the corner of the bar.

"Oh shit." You couldn't contain your response but realized it must've sounded out of place.

"What?" Her friend asked, "Do you know him?"

"That's my neighbor," you informed her, "New neighbor."

Joel smirked and gave a wave but quickly entertained a conversation he was having with two other men at the small, corner table.

"He's kind of a Dilf."

You snickered and shrugged, unable to take your eyes off of him. When Joel glanced back in your direction you looked away and quickly took a sip of your.

"You think he's hot," Holly suspected with a laugh.

"What?" You shook your head, "No... I mean he may have some Dilf qualities or something like you just said but…” The sentence drifted off.

"Mm-hmm..." She continued to stare at her friend with playfully accusing eyes.

"Stop," you joked, "I just met him last night."

"Last night?" Holly perked up, "And..."

"And what?"

"You tell me."

You laughed again, "He came over to the house because he needed some butter."

"More like some sugar," she winked and glanced up toward a television that had a baseball game on in front of them.

You let out a hearty laugh and shook your head.

"He keeps looking over here." Holly’s voice perked out, "Oh! He's getting up," Holly whispered, stalking him for a moment with her eyes.

You glanced over and felt your stomach twist in knots when he headed in their direction.

"So you are over twenty-one," Joel cracked a wide smile and tapped the back of her chair as he continued to walk by.

"Twenty-three," you called after him, smiling wide.

He glanced over his shoulder, winking once before continuing on around a corner toward the bathrooms.

You let out a sigh and Holly turned back around.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" her friend asked. Before you could attempt to plead your case Holly went on, "He's hot... and he's totally flirting with you."

"He's not flirting with me."

"That was a Frank Sinatra-worthy wink."

You shook your head, laughing again. "Where do you come up with these things?"

"You're glowin. You're crushing on this guy. Who cares if he's your neighbor. Get on that."

"He's forty-two," you lowered your voice.

Holly raised her eyebrows and glanced toward the doorway where Joel had just walked through before returning her attention to her friend.

"Forget it." You sipped your drink and tried to pretend like you were nterested in the game on the television.

"At least admit you're crushing."

She turned to her and shook her head, "Fine... he's hot. Okay?" You focused on the screen for as long as she could and tried to pretend not to notice when Joel rounded back into the bar. You let out a deep breath as he crossed behind you and felt a rush when he came up beside you to flag down the bartender.

"Another round?" the middle-aged bartender asked, already reaching for a beer.

"Please,” Joel said with a nod, "You can put it on the tab." He turned to you, "Any interest in playing darts over here?" He nodded toward a dart board in the corner.

"Sure."

"Don't feel obligated." He forced your eyes back to his and continued to stare into them.

"I don't." You felt that intense paralysis again and couldn't turn away. When the bartender came back with the round of beers for Joel, you felt relieved and let out a breath.

"Get these two what they want," Joel added to the bartender, "Next round's on me when you finish those."

"Oh, you don't have to-"

"It's fine. I owe you one from last night." He headed back to the small table with his friends and Holly finally snapped you out of your daze.

"I thought you just gave him butter," she whispered with a giggle, "What was last night?"

You swallowed hard and rose to your feet, prompting Holly to do the same. "I offered him a beer and he took it," she said, "It was nothing... believe me. If I had anything interesting to share I would tell you."

Your legs felt heavy as you crossed the dark bar that was scattered with only a handful of other people. While the two other men began collecting darts and erasing the chalkboard to the side, Joel stood staring with his elbow on the table. For a moment everything else was in the background and you could only focus on him.

Shit... Any wit she had going for her had betrayed her. The instant, intense attraction you had to him was completely clouding your judgment. You felt like you were about to enter a wolf den, though you didn't at all mind playing the part of Little Red Riding Hood.

The anxiety-ridden feeling you had had leading up to the game of darts diminished as the night went on. You played a few games, swapping teammates several times, beginning with a 'boys versus girls' theme and then pairing off randomly when one game ended.

"He's going to fuck it up, you watch," Joel taunted as his friend lined up, closing one eye as he released the dart, only sending it clunking off the board and to the ground. "You didn't even hit the fuckin' board." His words drew laughter from everyone and the man that missed stumbled to retrieve it, chuckling as he went.

"I'm fucked up," Skip, the older robust man, remarked as he struggled to pick the dark up from the floor.

"Ya think?" Joel joked, continuing to sip on his beer.

"It's about time I get this man home to his wife and let her deal with him," the other man, Charlie, chuckled from behind a pair of alcohol-induced crimson cheeks. "Can't hold his liquor."

Skip huffed a breath and closed his eyes with a hand on his head. "The old lady's going to be mad at me. Especially when I tell her we've been hanging out with these lovely ladies." He motioned to you and Holly, laughing at himself and making the others do the same.

"I'd leave that part out if you knew what was good for ya," Charlie informed him with another laugh. "Come on Skippy. It's past your bed time."

"Game over?" Holly asked you.

"I guess so." You raised her eyebrows and smiled.

"Charlie, you guys to get home?" Joel asked.

"It's just a quarter mile down the road," Charlie waved a hand. He smiled, "Good night ladies."

"Goodnight," you both said at the same time before Holly turned to you.

"I'm heading to the bathroom. Be right back." She raised her eyebrows, noting it would give you and Joel a moment alone and you tried to play it off coolly.

"Okay." She watched a moment as Holly made her way down the bar and around the corner.

"Hope I didn't kill your girls night," Joel said.

"No." You turned back to him and leaned an elbow on the table, "We were just bored. Had to get out of the house."

"Mmm..." He slid back down into a seat and you took upon herself to join him as you waited for Holly.

Joel leaned both elbows on the table to straddle his beer, "You're probably used to night clubs filled with young guys just dying to buy you a drink. This has to be fuckin' lame."

"I was over that scene by my junior year," you told him with a laugh as you shook your head. "They were all the same with their cheesy cologne and gelled up hair."

Joel huffed a laugh and took a sip of his drink. "Sick of that shit huh?"

"Very." You mirrored his position and continued to sip on the beer you had been milking for the better part of an hour, "I'm kind of over the party scene... and the being at home scene."

"You've been home for one fuckin' day." He raised his eyebrows, "Get over it. You're saving money."

You nodded, "Yeah... yeah you're right."

"I know I am." He smiled, a charming arrogance radiating out of him.

When your phone buzzed in your pocket you jumped and quickly removed it, finding a text message from Holly.

I'm getting in my car. Snuck out the back. Have fun. You'll thank me later.

When you looked back up Joel was grilling you with his eyes. You wondered if he had managed to read the message or not. You cleared her throat. "Holly," you said simply.

"You guys need to go?"

You opened her mouth to speak, still unsure if he had seen what your friend wrote but decided to chance it and lie. "She... got sick. She's on her way home."

"She okay?"

You nodded. “Just a little embarrassed I think and decided to go." You took a sip to buy yourself some time in case he asked any more questions. When he didn't you tried to change the subject. "This place is dead."

"What's so bad about the college scene?" Joel asked.

"Huh?"

"The young guys, the night clubs..."

"Oh... nothing, I guess." You cleared her throat feeling like he was trying to read your mind. Again, your face felt flush with heat and you continued, "They're just... all the same. There's no appeal anymore. When I was eighteen I thought it was cool sneaking into bars and all that." You smiled and shook her head before looking him in the eye. "This is more my speed."

Joel stared back and didn't immediately say anything.

You almost couldn't take the quiet stalemate. The sexual attraction for Joel burned in your chest and in that moment, in the quiet corner of the bar, it was hard to fight it. All the same, you felt like you had to be reading his body language correctly in assuming he was feeling something too. Still, the fact that he was your older neighbor, who you didn't know very well, lingered in the back of your mind.

Getting involved with Joel would satisfy your instant craving for him but beyond that you knew it could only lead to making both of your lives more complicated.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom," you told him, when you couldn't contain your feelings any longer. It was the only thing you could say without leaping across the table and initiating a make-out session that played out animalistically in your mind.

"You gunna disappear on me too?" he joked, though you could see there was a hint of seriousness in his piercing eyes behind the wicked smile that hadn't left his face all evening.

"Not a chance." You felt embarrassed by the bold nature of your words, but took a deep breath and made the long walk across the bar into the restroom area. When you pushed open the door you felt relieved that no one else was in there and quickly made your way to the sink to pat some water on her face. You let out a breath, leaning both of her hands on the counter and then took in your appearance to make sure you was satisfied with the way you looked.

I'm being ridiculous, you thought. I'm too old to feel this out of control over a guy... or a man.

Joel was a man. He wasn't at all like the college boys you had been surrounded by who loved to crush beer cans on their heads, brag about how many consecutive beer pong games they'd won and worst of all when they threw the cheesiest lines at you and your friends to try to get laid. Joel didn't have to say or do anything in particular. He could simply look at you the right way and you found yourself ready to obey any request or demand he threw your way.

I’m in over my head, you thought, but I don't care.

You took in another deep breath and felt like you had the quick break that you needed to hold a sensible conversation with him without the constant interference of your out-of-whack hormones.

"Okay," you whispered to yourself and fiddled with your hair before pulling the door open to head back into the short, dark hallway. When Joel rounded the corner at the same time from the bar both of you stopped abruptly.

His eyes stalked the length of your body before finally re-settling on your gaze.

"Checking to make sure I didn't bail?" you joked, nervously laughing just after. Your tongue danced along your bottom lip, and you couldn't help but look him up and down the way he had just done to you.

Joel swallowed hard, tipping his mouth up into a half-smirk before walking past the men's room door in your direction.

You didn't have time to process all of the questions in your mind because he marched up and planted his lips against yours, immediately penetrating them with his tongue as his hands successfully shoved you up against the door to the women's room. It opened a few inches beneath the force.

You felt an explosion of adrenaline filter through your body as you kissed him back even more savagely than in your daydreams.

Joel pushed the door all the way open with one hand, not separating himself from you as he gripped your ass with his free hand and pushed his hips firmly against yours.

You tangled a hand in his hair, kissing him back with a heated passion that you didn't bother to try masking now that he had initiated the fantasy that had been playing out in your mind since you had him.

He moaned into your mouth before taking a breath and crushing his lips back against yours. Your back collided with the tile wall at the back of the bathroom, and you arched your neck as he began to ravage you, sliding a hand down the front of your pants while gripping your face with the other to kiss you hard again.

It all was happening so fast. You struggled to keep up but couldn't process a conscious thought when his first two fingers slid inside of you.

You bit down on your lip in a break in the kiss and spread your legs wider to give him more access.

Joel left a single kiss on her lips and spoke against them in a husky whisper, "Let it out honey," he kissed you again, "Let it out."

You knew the bar was nearly empty and there wasn't another woman that had been there. Even if there had been you didn't know that you would have cared. When his fingers twitched, arcing perfectly in his technique to make your entire lower body shiver with pleasure, you groaned.

"Fuck Joel," your whined his name, desperate for his tongue to dominate your again as he continued to finger you relentlessly until you felt like you were going to explode.

Joel's arousal heightened when he traced your lips with his thumb of his free hand, prompting you to take the tip of it into your mouth.

"God," he closed his eyes relished in the feeling, pushing his fingers deeper into you.

You whimpered again, writhing beneath his touch and attempted to reach for the belt buckle on his pants. "I want you."

He removed his hand from beneath your slick panties and placed his hands against the wall on either side of you as you managed to undo his buckle and shove his pants down off his hips.

Instinctively, you dropped to your knees, taking in as much of him as you could. Joel moaned and bucked his hips once as he grasped the back of your head with one hand. You looked up, watching his head fall back as his closed eyes pressed shut tighter. Joel allowed you to have your way with him as you continued to go down on him like you might never get another opportunity to do so. "Fuuucckk." He drew the word out, encouraging you to continue as he grabbed a fist full of your hair. "Ohh shit..."

Had anybody walked by the door there would have been no way to mask what was going on. Joel didn't hold back and felt an additional jolt of pleasure when you stroked him with your hand before quietly demanding him to come.

He opened his eyes, letting his mouth hang open as he glanced down, making eye contact with you as you engulfed him again.

"Jesus..." Joel's eyes closed and he felt an unmistakable buildup brewing below his waist. He couldn't ask you to stop, not when he was on the verge of exploding. "I'm gunna come." He shouted the words so loud that you thought for sure that someone had to have heard your encounter from somewhere in the bar. Still, you didn't let up and allowed him to push deep into you, gripping the back of your head with such force that you couldn't have separated your mouth from him if you tried.

He groaned, not attempting to hold back what he was feeling, alternating different curse words in between uneven breaths that ultimately left him panting as you finished him off. With a final breath he released your hair, letting his hand drop toward your face as you wiped a hand across your mouth and slowly rose to your feet.

Joel stood there for several seconds, breathing heavy with his pants at his ankles and a hand still on your face. When he finally came down off the high enough to speak, a chuckle left his mouth and ran a hand through your now-messy hair. "Shit honey... you didn't get yours." He let out another breath and then retrieved his pants from the floor and straightened out his appearance.

"It's alright," you told him with a sly smile, noting the heat that was still brewing between your legs.

He huffed another breath and adjusted himself over his pants before regaining your gaze. Joel smiled and drew his thumb gently under your eye, "Mascara's running. Sorry honey."

You closed her eyes as he continued to wipe the stray makeup away from your face. When you reopened them, Joel sported a half grin and he raised his eyebrows.

"Guess I fuckin' owe ya one."

You snickered, pleased to know that he wasn't at all expecting this to be your only encounter. "Yeah... you do."

Joel took a final, deep breath. "Well... you know where to find me."

"Next door."

"If you see me outside come on over to... borrow some butter or something.”

"Butter..." You snickered and then swallowed hard when he took a step toward her and slid a hand back down the front of your pants.

Joel touched his lips to yours as he spoke and this time gently began to massage up and down your wet center. When your mouth twisted up in a smile and you closed your eyes again he grinned and removed his glistening fingers. "It's a shame this is going to go to waste. Too bad you're so damn good at giving a blowjob. I had all the intentions of fucking you but I could just not ask you to stop.”

"Damn," she said quietly, but smiled, praying he might have it in him to continue.

Joel smiled, reading the disappointment on her face. "I'll be in and out tomorrow," he claimed, "You see me and you feel like bringing me over some butter…”

"I think you’ll definitely need some."

He looked down and made his way to the sink to wash his hands before turning to her with a smile. He ended the night the same way he had the night before, "I'll see ya around."

CLICK HERE FOR PART 2

[dark-fics-4-you]

Number One Fan ch. II

StepBro!Rafe x f!Reader

Warnings: somno, noncon, smut, fingering, masturbation

Previous Chapter

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Rafe had been having trouble sleeping.

Ever since you tagged along to his football game and then the bar afterwards a few weeks ago, you had been the only thing on his mind.

At first, he had tried to push his feelings towards you aside. He tried so damn hard to not act on any of his urges. It took all of his energy to turn his focus from your sweet smile and beautiful eyes, so innocent and naive.

The first time he jacked off thinking about you was an accident, kind of.

He had actually been trying to think about a previous hookup he had a few months ago. Rafe lay back on his bed, stroking his cock and grunting under his breath, when your face flashed across his mind.

Before he knew it, he was staring at the creamy white substance coating his cock and fingers, realizing that he had just made himself cum faster than he ever had before, purely because he was thinking about you.

But the strangest thing?

He didn’t feel guilty at all.

After that first night, he had done it every day for a week in a row.

Unfortunately, this didn’t satisfy his desires.

It only made them grow.

Rafe knew that you were a virgin for two reasons. One, you had told him many times, which had always made him feel proud, for reasons he didn’t fully understand until now. And Two, he had chased away any guy who so much as looked at you funny.

The idea that he could be your first, that he could have that connection with you, made him so hard he physically ached.

He still wasn’t fully sure what compelled him to check on you that night.

“Y/N/N?” He whispered as he neared your bed, not even sure if he even wanted you to be awake. You had always been such a heavy sleeper.

He paused when he saw you, stretched out in bed, wearing just panties in an effort to cool yourself in the North Carolina heat. His dick throbbed, pushing against the thin material of his boxers.

His tongue flicked out to brush his upper lip at the sight of your breasts. He had never been able to fully appreciate you in this way, and now his breath caught in his throat at the sight of you stretched out, not a care in the world as you peacefully dozed.

You were so beautiful, so perfect. So special. Rafe had never felt this strong of a feeling towards anyone before.

You were always so sweet and good for Rafe, your big step-brother, who you trusted. Completely, blindly. Rafe felt like he needed to reward you for being such a good little sister.

He just couldn’t stop himself.

And what you didn’t know, couldn’t hurt you.

Right?

Carefully searching through the top drawer of your dresser, Rafe grabbed one of the pairs of panties that he would kill to see you in.

He pulled his throbbing cock from his pj pants, stroking it as he gazed at your sleeping form, bunching up the panties in his hand before he spread some of the material over the tip of his cock, enjoying the feel of the silky material of your panties as he stroked himself.

Nearing your bed, he was careful to climb into it silently, not disturbing you at all.

He stared at your soft thighs and the thin layer of cloth that covered what was beneath, mouth watering as he slowly pumped his hand up and down his shaft.

It’s wrong, he thought. It’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong.

Before he could think twice, his free hand was creeping forward, delving between your thighs with a feathery soft touch. He grew closer to your core, fingers dancing over the soft skin of your inner thighs.

Carefully, he slid your panties to the side with his middle finger, before gently spreading your legs.

Rafe’s cock throbbed in his hand as he looked at your tight pussy, on display just for him. He pumped harder, biting back the groans that he wanted to let out.

Slowly, he brought his middle finger to your slick folds, gently running a finger up your slit. How could you be so wet when you were just sleeping??

He took it as a sign.

When your older step brother gently pushed one finger into your tight warmth, he nearly came just from that.

He ventured slightly deeper, watching your face carefully for any signs that you were going to wake up.

After pushing his finger in to the hilt, he curved it inside you, and he was shocked to hear you sigh in your sleep, a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper.

You were enjoying it! The idea shocked and thrilled Rafe. Here he was, fingers inside you as you slept, and you were fucking whimpering and gasping at the feeling.

Curiously, he brought his thumb to your clit, hovering over the sensitive bundle of nerves before he slowly began to circle it.

At this, you let out a genuine, honest to god moan, and it was the sexiest thing Rafe had ever fucking heard.

He wanted nothing more right now than to force his cock into you and fuck you till you were nothing but a pathetic, quivering mess, coming over and over again around your big brother’s dick.

But for now, he could be satisfied with this.

He stroked himself faster, choking his cock with his hand as he imagined burying himself deep in you.

With another curve of his finger paired with the pressure on your clit, you came undone, tightening around his finger and whining in your sleep as he slowly fucked you through your orgasm.

It was all too much for Rafe. You were so wet, so fucking tight, the perfect lil sis, allowing him use you exactly how he needed.

He groaned softly under his breath as he came. Sticky, white cum pushed out of his cock and onto your panties as he slid them up and down.

The blond was still for a moment before he realized he needed to get the fuck out of there.

His head was spinning, he couldn’t believe what he had just done, the lines that he had just crossed.

He quickly pulled your underwear back into place, leaving no signs that anything unusual had happened.

Rafe stuffed the panties he had ruined into his pocket as he walked out, turning at the doorway to look at you one more time.

You didn’t need to know.

It could just be his little secret.

Chapter III

[afterglowkatie]

mini and co | k.c.c.

kyra cooney-cross x reader | 1.4k | a day off for the found family, the sun finally making an appearance leading to a mini and co family picnic

ˏˋ°•*⁀ this is part of the pair of pests universe. my favourite found family dynamic

‘Shh, you gotta be quiet. We don’t wanna wake Kyra,’ You whispered crouching down next to Harper, smiling at her little laughs. It was a sunny, warmish day which had you all outside at the park soaking in any bit of sun you could get. Mini and Clara talked about a potential picnic that morning, not fully sure of the idea, though they hadn’t counted on the little ears that had been listening in who definitely wouldn’t let go of the idea. Harper insisted she had to individually call you, Kyra and Charli to join them. 

An afternoon of running around playing games trying to wear out the toddler, Kyra had ended up being the one to fall asleep in the sun on the picnic rug. Mini, Clara and Charli in deep conversation paying no mind to you and Harper, you saw this as the perfect opportunity to rope your little shadow into some mischief. The three of you always liked fighting over who was Harper’s favourite, but there wasn’t any doubt that you were her favourite. No matter where you were, she was always next to you. 

‘Shh, be quiet,’ Harper loudly whispered, holding her finger up to her lips. You held back a laugh after seeing how serious she was looking at you and then at Charli who had spotted the two of you creeping up on Kyra, full unscrewed water bottle in your hands. She just smirked, rolling her eyes and continued to keep Mini and Clara distracted by the conversation so they couldn’t interrupt yours and Harper's plans. 

‘Ready Harps?’ You whispered, the little giggles coming from her were all the confirmation you needed. Helping Harper, you both lifted the water bottle above Kyra, giving a silent countdown before tipping the bottles entire contents onto her. Kyra groaned confused as she sat up looking at herself, her clothes wet before waking up enough to hear the laughter coming from you and Harper. The corners of Kyra’s lips started to form into a small smile hearing you laugh, no matter what she always loved the sound. Though she quickly wiped away any evidence of a smile instead shooting a glare towards the two of you who were laughing so hard you struggled to breathe.

‘Oi, you’ll regret that’ Kyra playfully grumbled while playing along. Quickly sitting up enough to reach out and grab you. Kyra’s arms wrapped around your waist pulling you into her.

‘Oh no! Harper, Kyra’s got me, run and save yourself,’ You dramatically yelled out to her, faux struggling against Kyra knowing you could definitely get yourself free if you wanted to, and pointing in a direction which Harper ran off in away from everyone.

‘No Kywa!’ Harper yelled while running off, Mini following closely behind her trying to hold back her own laughter while shaking her head.

‘Ugh Kyra, you’re all wet,’ Your hands went to hers that were locked around your waist, trying to pull them apart so you could at least sit next to her where you also weren’t getting wet. But she just tightened her hold on you, pulling you even closer, smirking while hearing you protest even more until you finally relaxed into her embrace accepting that Kyra wasn’t letting you go any time soon.

‘I wonder who’s fault that is,’ Kyra rasped out almost into your ear, her head leaning against your shoulder, ‘Don’t dish it if you can’t take it,’ Kyra annoyingly pressed an extra sloppy kiss against your cheek knowing that you’d hate it. Screwing up your face at Kyra you wiped it away onto her arm. She feigned offence at your actions, a faux gasp leaving her lips, you just rolled your eyes. 

Looking away from Kyra and back to where Mini was now chasing Harper around the park. You couldn’t deny the way you felt your cheeks heat up when Kyra’s lips found your cheek. It wasn’t an unusual thing to happen, you both often gave each other little kisses on the cheek and forehead. It was the way you showed your affection, despite your friendship being based on teasing, mocking and pranking each other. There were still those soft moments between the pair. The unusual part was how you felt towards it this time. Though Kyra is just your best friend and you wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s a part of you that realises that you don’t have this same internal reaction whenever any of your other close friends show affection towards you. The other part of you, the one that takes over, pushes those thoughts away. For now at least.

‘Who do you think’s gonna win?’ Kyra’s voice pulled you back into reality. You hummed out thinking while watching the scene play out in front of you. It had turned into a game for Harper trying to get away and stay away from her mum for as long as possible.

‘Obviously Harper. You’ve been the one to chase Harps enough that you know Mini is not winning this one,’ Kyra chuckled as did you. You both had been the one chasing after Harper countless times. Toddlers can be fast when they want to be and you both found that out the hard way.

‘You two look quite comfy,’ Charli had moved over to where the two of you were sitting, Clara going to help wrangle the 2 year old. Only then did you notice that Kyra’s grip on you had loosened, definitely enough that if you wanted to move away you could have done so ages ago.

‘Kyra makes a great pillow,’ You laughed out, joking around while leaning your head against Kyra’s shoulder.

‘Oh let me test this out,’ Without warning Charli had laid against Kyra’s side with her head on Kyra’s other shoulder, ‘You’re right. Room for both of us,’ She hummed in agreement. You both laughed while Kyra tried to push Charli off of her.

‘Nah, only for tiny Catley. You get off,’ You rolled your eyes, your unofficial nickname being tiny since you were younger and noticeably shorter than your older sister. That name followed you from even before you were called up for your first seniors camp, so it wasn’t a surprise when you did arrive to everyone calling you tiny or tiny Catley or some variation. 

Your heart always did race a little whenever Kyra chose you over anyone else, even if you thought it didn’t mean anything other than you just being her favourite friend, ‘Aw no fair Kywa, I’m your bestfriend too,’ You couldn’t help the laugh that left your lips and shook your body when you heard Charli’s mocking tone and then saw the pout she threw Kyra’s way.

Though before Kyra could successfully get Charli off of her, she found herself at the bottom of not just two bodies but now three, ‘Cuddle!’ Harper yelled while running full force and jumping on the top of all three of you. You opened your arms letting Harper get comfy, while Charli shot Kyra a look of triumph knowing there was no way Kyra would try anything not while Harper was also a part of the pile on top of her.

You stayed like that until Harper had fallen asleep and Mini decided it was probably time for them to head home. While helping pack everything away you noticed Kyra shiver a little, ‘Ky, come with me,’ You didn’t wait for her to respond before you pulled her away from the group towards your car. No other words said to her before you were shoving your arsenal training jumper over her head, ‘You never know when you need a jumper,’ Answering Kyra’s silent question.

‘In some ways you’re just like your Steph,’ Kyra fiddled with the bottom of your jumper that was now on her body, ‘But you’re obviously better,’

‘You should definitely tell her that I’m the better Catley. Gotta knock Steph down a little,’ You both laughed out before being interrupted and brought back to the world when Mini and co. came over to say goodbye and grab Kyra to take her home, ‘I’ll see you at training Ky,’

‘Yeah see you at training,’ Turning around to follow Mini, Kyra couldn’t help but smile to herself. Playing with the bottom of the jumper that was a little bit too small for her, but that didn’t matter, the fact it was yours and you had given it to her for now was all that mattered to Kyra. It was all she could think about on her way home. You were all she could think about on her way home. 

[noiriarti]

The Winner Takes it All: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Enemies-to-Lovers Modern AU) | Chapter 6

NSFW! Minors DNI!!! Summary: The moment the thesis competition was announced, you knew your biggest threat. Anakin Skywalker, golden boy of the engineering department. He's the only other person smart enough to beat you, and the only other person insane enough to stay in the lab until midnight every night. He's also an asshole, but you're starting to think maybe he's not as bad as you thought he was... Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader CW: a lot of jerking off WC: 8.4k AN: thank you all for your patience!! i started grad school so i got a bit busy, but now i will update about once a week! thank you all for the love :) also i am so sorry about all the angst

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7

Chapter 6: Tearing

The afternoon sun filtered through his window shade and cast his room in its warm glow, but Anakin was too busy with his notes on his desk to notice. He needed something to do with his hands, just to keep himself focused, to keep his thoughts from wandering to you. To answer a practice problem, he was trying to find a specific case of heat diffusion the class had discussed--somewhere in October, he thought, but he wasn't quite sure. His desk was already messy before he began studying, but he was making it even worse with a paper thrown here, a staple there.

His eyes scanned the paper this way and that, trying to absorb any iota of information, but the words were slippery, wily things that wriggled out of his grasp. In the end, it turned out he had flipped past the page several times without seeing what he needed, and he finally found it on his fifth pass. Subconsciously, he dug his nails into his palms in frustration. Why couldn't he work? Why were you doing this to him?

His phone chimed, a text from his mom. Hey, how are finals? Doing okay?

For a few days, he'd been ducking questions about whether he was sleeping or eating enough, because he knew she'd be disappointed with his answers. He was running out of ways to change the subject in phone calls, and he knew she was catching on. Anakin decided he should probably respond.

yeah, really stressed about one of them, rest are fine. thesis going ok.

A second later, his phone lit up again.

Good luck. I'm so proud of you, Anakin, no matter what. As soon as he read it, he dropped his head into his hands. His forehead was clammy under his fingers. Of course she was proud of him unconditionally. He knew that. But he knew that he would be even prouder if he won. If he got a 4.0 this semester. Once, after he said something like that to Ahsoka, she looked at him with that knowing expression only she could produce, and asked him if his mom had ever said anything like that. Technically, no, he conceded, but he couldn't let her down.

He just felt so stupid right now, looking at the pages blanketing his desk. He'd been sitting over them for too long, but he couldn't bring himself to get up and stretch or take a break. He couldn't bring himself to do anything, really, let alone focus. So he was trapped. All he could do was just sit there, drink his Red Bull, and kind of review until he could destroy this exam next week.

Anakin decided to try another practice problem. Maybe that would make it click.

The surface tension of liquid argon is given by--

His phone buzzed against the desk. Putting it on loud was a bad idea, and he knew it. Maybe he was just looking for an excuse. It was probably his mom, saying something else. Or, he hoped as his heart jumped, maybe you were coming from the lab early and wanted to meet and study. Or hook up. Or just talk. Whatever, as long as it didn't involve his textbook. His phone buzzed again. And again.

He gave in and opened it. It was you, he found, and he grinned like a lunatic, but caught himself. Then again, he was alone, so it didn't matter, really.

But then he read your texts.

Where are you We need to talk Now

He typed back immediately, his fingers flying faster than he thought they could.

in my room is everything ok?

He looked at the screen, saw the bubbles pop up that meant you were typing, then watched as they disappeared. Anakin was frozen, his phone in his hand. We need to talk could just have been a poor phrasing on your part, right? It didn't mean what he thought it did, right? He could deny it only for about five more seconds, when the little bubbles didn't return.

Fuck. Anakin let loose a string of curses and dropped his phone on his desk. He couldn't think of a single thing that would warrant ending… whatever the two of you had. But maybe you'd realized that he was doing a lot more than what fuckbuddies (fuckenemies?) should do, that he was an absolute wreck for you, and had been for a long time.

The caffeine was getting to him, and his leg was bouncing so quickly that he swore his downstairs neighbor would submit a noise complaint. His mind started racing with all the things he never would have told you, the things that would go unsaid if you ended what the two of you were doing. He'd never tell you that he had two dogs growing up, strays, or that his least favorite flavor of Skittles was orange. He'd never tell you that he was pretty sure that he hadn't felt this way about anyone, ever, and that he had laid awake for the past two nights thinking about how, if at all, he would tell you.

Ahsoka's voice echoed in his ears, wisps of sound urging him to just say something. His mind was racing, a million trains of thought all colliding at once. He should just tell you. He'd never learn your favorite kind of cereal. He hadn't responded to his mom, fuck. He regretted having that Red Bull. He'd never tell you that he called you baby during sex because he wanted to say it other times, too. The answer to that thermo question was probably 36 Joules. He'd never tell you that if you called him a pet name he'd melt and let you win any competition because nothing would matter anymore.

But that was precisely why he hadn't told you how he felt. Because if you felt the same way about him, that would be so much better than any amount of money or award. And that wasn't the kind of person he could be.

He'd spent so long training to control that wild hurricane of emotions that pulled him through everyday life. Anakin channeled it into perfectly neat parallelized circuits and technically exquisite poomsae, but around you it all let loose, angry and passionate and just so much.

It was terrifying. You were terrifying. And there was a selfish part of him that said that he deserved to let all those feelings loose for once. To feel as much as he wanted to feel because, goddammit, he was so tired of control.

But Anakin was a lot. A handful, his teachers always said. It was what ended his previous relationship, what drove Padme away. Would it drive you away, too?

If you walked up to him in two minutes and asked him what the two of you were, if it was just casual or something more, would he have the self-control not to blurt out exactly what he was thinking? His stomach flipped at the idea of you leaving the room, leaving his life, without knowing how he felt.

You walking away from him and disappearing into another part of the country after graduation would kill him. He was pretty sure that seeing you at a reunion in five years with someone on your arm, some beautiful person who you had never hated, would smite him on the spot.

He imagined himself six months from now, when the thesis was over. What would that Anakin want for himself? Would he let himself say something? Fuck it all, he would say. And he was right.

If you were going to end things, he was going to get this off his chest. He had to. He wasn't sure he could live with himself if he didn't.

The sound of knuckles on wood cut through the silent room like a dagger through his heart. One, two, three seconds passed as he sat in his desk chair, mind totally blank. He tried to produce a coherent feeling or, if he was lucky, an entire thought, but he came up empty.

Before, it was all something nebulous, something he could just worry about. Something he could stress about. Now, it was real. You were behind that door, and you needed to talk. And there was no escaping that. With heavy legs, he dragged himself to the door.

Anakin pretended not to notice that his hand was shaking when he wrapped it around the doorknob.

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The bus ride back to your dorm had been uneventful, other than the way you were staring daggers into the skull of some poor guy in front of you. He had the good sense to not turn around.

Anakin Skywalker is a thief. You clenched your fists, and you could barely feel the sting of your nails in your palms. Barriss wasn't one to lie, based on the past three years you'd spent with her. She told you the facts right after: she overheard one of the graduate students--probably Obi-Wan, but she didn't know who, just some vaguely hot older guy, she said--telling Anakin his idea for a thesis. And then Anakin ran with it.

If she was right, that changed everything. If Anakin really didn't come up with his own idea, that meant he had rigged the competition. He had a leg up this whole time. He really was exactly what you had thought for years. The golden boy of the department who had everything handed to him. And while you'd labored over choosing the perfect, most viable but impressive idea, he had just skipped right over that step. You'd cried over how hard it was to find a good idea, struggled for weeks on end last year, just trying to make something good, let alone great. And he was already weeks ahead of you in the competition.

All of his sweet gestures--staying with you in bed, holding hands in the library, getting you drinks--were suddenly less sweet. Last year, he was in the thesis lab with you, when he was working on his proposal, watching you go through ideas and get upset when they didn't work, and he knew that. And he never told you about where his idea came from, even when you were getting closer. He probably knew it would piss you off, and he still didn't tell you. He'd hidden it from you.

You didn't know if that hurt more or less than the unfairness of his advantage.

The bus slowed to a stop in front of your dorm, and you hopped off, then dashed to the elevator.

You just wanted him to tell you that Barriss was crazy, or misheard. Or anything. Anything to make it not true.

The elevator ride was agony as it whizzed up to his floor.

At his door, you hesitated. If you entered and fought, that made this real. So, so real. The second you walked through that door, everything between the two of you might change.

But you were too furious not to knock. Silence hung for a few seconds before you could hear the door unlock.

Anakin opened it to you, looking unfairly hot. Rage ripped through you as he looked at you with open affection, gesturing to enter his room, like nothing had changed. Like he wasn't lying to you all this time. You stormed in quickly.

"Anakin, I need you to be honest with me." Your voice came out tighter than you wanted as you searched his face for a reaction. He closed the door, then came to stand in front of you.

"I'm always honest with you," Anakin replied earnestly, keeping his gaze locked on yours as he forced a small smile.

You didn't smile back. "How did you come up with the idea for your project?"

"What?" Anakin blinked, caught off guard. He let out a breathy chuckle. "That--that's what you wanted to talk about?"

"Well?" You pressed, crossing your arms. The edge in your voice was obvious, cutting. You could see Anakin go through the stages of realizing what you might mean, and your stomach started to sink even deeper.

Anakin sighed, ruffling his hair in frustration. "I--Really? Okay, fine. There aren't currently any microsurgery tools that mimic human hands. They're all pincers. So I wanted to make one." Your gaze narrowed.

"And you're saying Obi-Wan had nothing to do with it?"

"What are you talking about?" It was probably supposed to sound confused, but it came out more scared. You knew him well enough to tell. God, he was infuriating.

"Did you or did you not get your idea from Obi-Wan?" The words came out like tiny daggers, sharpened steel that you spat at him. His face fell, and you could see the moment that he knew you knew.

"Look, it's not like that," Anakin said, his arms falling to his sides. His eyes were suddenly avoiding yours, like his desk suddenly contained some information he desperately needed, or, preferably an escape hatch.

"Then what is it like?" You shot back, your heart racing. You stepped closer, trying to find an answer in his furrowed eyebrows. "Why can't you just say no?"

Anakin's jaw clenched, and he was obviously searching for the right words. Words that wouldn't piss you off, probably. "Because Obi-Wan helped, I guess."

"You guess?!" Your voice cracked, incredulous.

"I mean--look." Anakin raised his hands defensively. "Sure, Obi-Wan put me on the path to it. But every second in the lab since then has been me. My design, my coding."

"What do you mean put you on the path? You mean he gave you the idea, don't you?" Your frustration with him was boiling over. Even now, he was defending himself, trying to evade this. Justifying. It drove you crazy.

Anakin hesitated, his words faltering. "I--It's not--"

"Are you seriously about to say that it's not that simple or something?" You interrupted, your voice shaking. You threw your hands up, your fury finally reaching its peak. "Because, from here, it looks simple. Like you stole your whole fucking thesis idea!"

"That's not true!" Anakin snapped, his voice louder now. It wasn't the same kind of anger you were used to seeing from him, it was defensive, almost panicked. "Obi-Wan, he just, he suggested I look at applying an old project of mine to microsurgery. And he was right. So, I guess, technically, if you're looking at it like that--sure. He gave me the idea."

You stared at him, his words sinking in. His admission hung between you like a guillotine, its rope finally snapped. The air felt tight, like you were ten thousand miles above sea level and there wasn't enough oxygen to keep you afloat.

Anakin shifted again, his anger gone, his voice softer, pleading. "It's like… I don't know. I guess I feel guilty about it. But I really needed to submit something that day, or I couldn't enter into the competition at all. It was the rules. If I don't do a thesis… I--I don't know. I just had to. And I figured I'd just use that temporarily, and pivot as soon as it was approved, It was in the end of junior spring, and I just couldn't find a topic that worked. That idea I had about hand prosthetics didn't pan out, and I was telling Obi-Wan about it in the lab, and he told me I should look at microsurgery, 'cause they have a lot of the same issues--calibrating movement to user input, holding up to wear and tear, dealing with friction and joint movement--and that I should do my thesis on it."

His eyes finally met yours again, so deep and blue that it almost made you reconsider. Almost. He was pleading, begging you to understand. "So, yeah, I submitted an early version of the idea Obi-Wan gave me. But every second of design, build, everything was me. It's my work."

You stood frozen, silent. After a few long beats, Anakin started to fidget, his hands wringing so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"If I could go back, I'd do something else. Anything else." Anakin's voice wavered, and his shoulders slumped under the weight of his guilt. "I just--I didn't know what else to do. I needed to submit something, anything. I need to win this," he finished, his voice trailing off.

The anguish over being proven right was something you didn't expect. You should have felt vindicated, that you were actually right all along about him. You should have hated him. But instead, you could feel your heart breaking, like a marionette with its strings cut, slumped over and lifeless. If he had just admitted it to you himself, maybe you could get over this. Maybe. But the fact that he hid it from you cut like a knife. Tears welled in your eyes, and your throat was drier than you'd ever felt it. The words fell from your lips softly, like you could barely get them out.

"How could you?" You felt like you'd never known him, like the person in front of you was a stranger. How could he be both this person, and the one who would keep you warm at night?

Anakin noticed the coldness of your gaze, and it gutted him. Anakin's breath caught, and you could see him shatter in real time. His cheek twitched, right under his scar, and you could swear you saw his eyes start to fill with tears. His hands were shaking where they were clasped together, and you were sure he was leaving indents with his nails. His shoulders shook under his panicked breaths.

He didn't speak for several long seconds, his mouth tugging this way and that as he tried to think of something, anything, to say.

"Do you think I'm a bad person?" He asked as he stepped toward you, trying to seek reassurance to keep him from falling apart. But you couldn't give it. You didn't even know him anymore.

"I--" you opened your mouth, hesitating, before you restarted, "I don't know." Your voice cracked, but you hardened it. "I didn't before, but now I'm not so sure."

Anakin took another step closer, reaching out with his shaking hands as if to touch you, but you backed away. His face flushed even more, hurt and frustration jumping across his features. It made you even more angry. "This is so fucking unfair, and you just--you just let it happen."

He said your name, trying to jump in, but your anger surged, and it drowned him out.

"I spent weeks getting my idea just right." Each words was more brutal than the last. "Weeks. And you got everything spoon-fed to you. Everything I worked for--and you just took it from someone."

Anakin flinched like you had struck him, but you were far from done.

"I thought I knew you, I thought I was wrong about you this whole time," you spat, your fists clenching at your sides, "But I was right all along. You're just a fucking cheater."

A tear slipped down the side of his cheek as you continued. Your voice shook as you admitted to him, and to yourself, what the worst part really was. "And you didn't even have the decency to tell me. And that makes you a fucking asshole."

He shook his head, his eyes stinging as he started to speak. "No, please, it's not--"

"Stop it!" You shouted, your voice cracking with emotion. Anakin stood frozen, his outstretched hand falling limply to his side. Your breath rushed through your nose and your pulse beat in your ears. You couldn't even see him anymore through the tears, but you refused to let them fall. To let him see you cry.

He said your name one more time, begging, pleading. For a moment, you were tempted, but the hurt was too big to ignore.

Your voice was cold, distant. "Get away from me," you ordered. Your back was rigid with anger and hurt. "And leave me the fuck alone."

Without waiting for him to respond, you stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind you.

You stalked down the hall as quickly as you could, ignoring the buzzing in your pocket as the tears you were holding back finally poured down your cheeks. You didn't even have the energy to wipe them away, you just let them fall while you punched the button for the elevator.

Only when the door closed, and you pulled out your phone to call Ahsoka, did you see his messages.

please come back we can talk this out please give me another chance

They were all sent minutes apart. You could hear his voice reading them, desperate and thick with tears. Even though you were angry, angrier than you had ever been at him, the idea of him crying still made your chest ache. And then it made you feel vindicated. But then it made you feel horrible again.

You arrived back to the lobby, then crossed the building to the other elevator bank, trying to avoid the awkward gazes the students passing by gave you. You sniffled wetly, wiping away your tears, as you ran up the two flights of steps that brought you to your room. You unlocked the door as quickly as you could, then hid inside.

Your phone buzzed again.

i understand that you don't want to talk, but the second you're ready, i'll be here. i'll always be here.

The words made you sob loudly, and you were thankful for a moment that Ahsoka wasn't home. Until you saw the text, it hadn't hit you that this was the last time you'd talk for a while. You couldn't even remember the last kiss you two had shared. The library? Was that the kiss you wanted this to end on? You'd never see his half-lidded eyes as he worshipped you, never hear him call you baby again.

Why did he have to go and fuck it all up? You asked yourself, sobs wracking your body as you slid down the door. You couldn't tell if you were more sad or angry, but you were definitely heartbroken. Lately, his casual touches, his affection, the way you slept together every night, it was starting to feel like more. But it was all gone now.

You had been numbed with caffeine and stress, but the past week, you felt like you were soaring every time he touched you. Every time he gave you that intense look he always did.

But the two of you were just hooking up. It wasn't supposed to be anything more, and you never thought you'd feel the pull to be with him when you weren't fucking, but it was like gravity. Even now, you wanted him to comfort you. Not someone, but him.

The realization that you had feelings for him hit you like a truck. All the breath was gone from your lungs, gone to some other dimension.

You liked Anakin Skywalker. Even though he was an asshole. Even though he'd hurt you. But those feelings didn't end just because whatever you were had ended, they didn't leave you alone.

You could have been his girlfriend if he hadn't hidden this from you. And that was the last nail in the coffin that made you break down fully.

You sat there, crying, sobbing, wailing, for at least another half hour before you dragged yourself to the shower. It made you feel the tiniest bit better to have your hair clean, your tears scrubbed off your face until the skin went sensitive and ruddy. When the water turned off, it was cold, and you relished the shock to your system.

And then, you started the process of getting over him. You knew you had to do it eventually, and you only had to get through finals before you could go home and forget all about him. Come January, when you next saw him in the lab, it'd be like seeing any other classmate.

That thought was enough to make you start crying again while you stood in the towel you stole from your house. Your tears mingled with the water from the shower, and it was enough to let you pretend that you weren't crying, that becoming strangers with Anakin didn't kill you inside.

You promised yourself that this would be the last time you cried this semester. That night, if you felt the threat of tears, you just threw yourself harder into whatever you were studying. There was nothing else you could do.

At the thermo exam two days later, you walked in later than you usually would for a final that was this important. When you slipped into the class, two minutes before they started passing out test papers, you spotted Anakin in the corner. Because of course you did. Your eyes hadn't stopped finding him in every photo, in every room. He had always been magnetic, and, just because you weren't together anymore didn't mean that stopped. And he was looking right at you.

His gaze ripped through you with some mix of desperation, affection, and sorrow. Anakin looked, in one word, horrible. His eyes were sunken in, red and swollen from crying. Most people would not have noticed, but you knew him too well. His dark circles had come back with a vengeance, like fresh bruises on his otherwise smooth and clear skin. His mouth twitched when he looked at you, like he was going to say something, but he stayed silent as his eyes followed your path.

Throughout the exam, you could feel his eyes on you a couple of times, but you didn't allow yourself to turn around and look. You let the calm of equations and math wash over you, and soon there was nothing but the test. The questions and the precise way you wrote Greek letters in the blue book lulled you into a state of calm you desperately needed.

When you handed in your exam, you allowed yourself another look at Anakin, and then you left the building. You didn't see him before you went on break two days later.

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Two days before break, he saw you again. He hadn't changed his habits, still studied in the dining hall and had meals there, sometimes went to the library, and he secretly hoped, thrummed with anticipation, that maybe, just maybe, you'd be there too. That maybe you'd see him and realize you wanted to talk it out. That, obviously, did not happen. He spent an embarrassing amount of time awake, because you haunted his dreams whenever they came. The disgusted look on your face and the words I was right all along, you're a fucking asshole echoed in the back of his eyelids and his mind's eye whenever he laid down. So, he stayed up. More time to study, right?

He spent most of those 48 hours trying not to cry and failing miserably. Even when he broke up with Padme, it wasn't like this. He was angry, indignant, and, of course, sad, but it was the kind of sadness that settled deep on his shoulders and dulled the world around him. It wasn't the kind of sadness that wrenched sobs from his chest whenever he wasn't careful. It wasn't the kind of sadness that made him regret ever going to this college, ever meeting you.

Ahsoka cast him a funny look at him one night, when he fell asleep in a common room. She gently shook him awake, and noticed the redness rimming his eyes, and the way his hands shook from too much caffeine. She gave him a hug and made him promise to sleep tonight.

He did, and that was the night before the test. Every muscle and joint screamed in protest as he dragged himself from his bed. He arrived fifteen minutes early, just to make sure he got a good seat, and then his head kept swiveling like an owl. Every time the click of the doors opening echoed through the nearly empty lecture hall, he locked onto the person entering. He was pretty sure he'd accidentally given glares to at least four poor souls before you finally entered.

He resigned himself to the fact that he'd probably failed the exam right then.

You were even prettier than he remembered, and the depth of your eyes when you stared at him was enough to make him shudder. Even now, he'd give anything to be with you again. When you sat down and didn't look at him again for the next three hours, he felt bits of his heart break off and get trampled under equations about heat diffusion and air pressure. You turned in your test, and then left, and he looked after you longingly. His eyes snapped back to his paper when he got a weird look from the TA.

He turned in his exam paper, rushed home, and promptly passed out on his bed. You came to him in his dreams, of course. Naked in his arms, lips pliant and wanting under him. The way your tongue peeked out when you were too hard at work, or the shimmer of your eyes when he made you laugh. The betrayal on your face. Get away from me.

He spent the rest of finals in a fugue state, doing tasks and exams because he was supposed to. Then, finally, the last one passed, and he was finally released to go home. He hadn't seen you since the exam, and that was probably better for him, he reasoned.

On day 1 of break, Anakin drove the whole day and listened to absolutely depressing music the whole time. He pulled over once and, in a fit of rage, smacked the steering wheel a few times. How could he be so stupid? How was he this much of an idiot? He sat at the rest stop for another fifteen minutes, his sweaty forehead on the steering wheel. Five hours later, when he arrived home late in the evening, he hugged his mom. Everything felt a little bit better after that. He had dinner with Shmi and Cliegg, even though all he wanted to do was lay in bed and sulk. He fell asleep quickly--he was too exhausted to stay up torturing himself with what could have been.

On day 2 of break, he lay in bed and just generally moped around. He could never be still for long, so that meant getting up to eat snacks, flicking through TV shows listlessly, and trying not to look at the texts you two had exchanged. He only cried twice, once at the thought that you'd never meet his mom, and the other at the memory of your body in his arms as he fell asleep. Both reduced him to hot, silent tears.

On day 3 of break, he did yard work and drove by his old dojang to say hi to his high school coach. He ended up agreeing to teach some lessons over break to avoid having to sit at home alone with his thoughts for three entire weeks. Plus, the money was good. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be getting that thesis prize at all, at this rate. He only cried once, at night, when he thought about having to watch you work in the thesis lab without speaking to you. He wouldn't cross that boundary. You already knew he wanted to talk, and you hadn't texted him back.

On days 4-9, he taught three hours of lessons a day. It was calming, familiar. He only had to splash cold water in his face to avoid getting too upset two or three times per day, but the undercurrent of wondering what you were doing never stopped torturing him. He hadn't touched himself in at least two weeks, and he regularly had to stop his thoughts from drifting away to the last time he was inside you. Every time it happened at home, in bed, he got up and took a cold shower. It served him right. At the end of the week, he went to the mall and bought his mom a Christmas present with the money he earned. Just because he knew his mom wanted to blend their family better, he picked out something small he could afford for Cliegg, Owen, and Beru, too.

On day 10, it was Christmas Eve, so everything was closed. There was nothing to do, so he answered a few emails from Professor Jinn, cleaned the oven, and helped his mom prepare for Christmas dinner. There were files on his device he had prepared specifically to work on his thesis over break, but his project made him nauseous. He'd give it all back for a chance to start over. He'd get a B on his thesis if it would make this pain stop. He didn't touch the files, and, that night, when he finally gave in to the temptation to see if you'd posted anything on social media, he didn't touch his cock, either, even though just an image of you was enough to drive him wild at that point.

On day 11, it was Christmas, and he woke up at 4am in his bed, as hard as a rock. Anakin spent an hour tossing and turning and begging his body to just let him sleep, but, eventually he gave in. It was Christmas, right? He deserved a present. When he closed his eyes, he didn't even try to think of someone else. It was you. It had been for a while. Your little noises as he kissed up your neck, the scrunch of your eyebrows right as you came, and the tight grip of your pussy around him when he buried himself to the hilt inside you were enough to make him cum all over his hand within a minute. He found it embarrassing, honestly, that you had this effect on him. Anakin fell asleep quickly and tried not to feel too gross about what he'd done.

On day 11, attempt 2, he woke up around 11, right before lunch, and came down to wish his mother and Cliegg a merry Christmas. Beru and Owen were supposed to come for dinner, but, this morning, it was just the three of them. Anakin had no particular yearning for Cliegg to be a father figure, he just wanted his mom to be happy. If Cliegg did that, then he'd watch endless movies with the two of them, or get Cliegg a present. But if she didn't want to be with him anymore, Anakin wasn't sure he'd miss him. Their second anniversary was in three weeks, and it was a shock that it had been that much time already. When dinner rolled around, and he greeted Owen and Beru awkwardly, not sure what a person is supposed to say to a newly-acquired sibling. He'd seen them a sum total of maybe ten times, almost all of which had to do with the wedding, so they were in how-was-school and how's-the-new-job and gosh-the-winter-has-been-brutal territory. When Anakin gave them their presents, they seemed overjoyed. He'd gotten them matching scarves, each with their first initial embroidered onto it. It was a miracle they had them in stock at the mall, he thought, but the present seemed to hit the right spot. Cliegg got the aforementioned fishing pole, something his mom had told him he was prattling on about, and he got his mom a beautiful new winter coat. She had been mending hers for years, and water and snow would soak right through it, but when he saw the beautiful down puffer coat in the store window, he knew she'd love it. He was right.

Cliegg got him a Laser Distance Measure, which must have cost a pretty penny, and Owen and Beru got him various engineering gadgets (a nice mechanical pencil for technical drawings and a cable carrying case, respectively). His mother's gift, though, was something he'd never be able to forgive. She had bought him a beautiful, fresh Raspberry Pi set, with 8 GB of RAM. It wasn't the most expensive thing in the world, but the $150 or $200 that it did cost her was enough to make him tear up. He'd mentioned months ago that he was thinking of getting one for some personal projects, something for his portfolio, and she bought it. He had the good sense not to say anything like You aren't supposed to get me presents for Christmas and crushed her in a hug, the kind that whispered I know how much this is worth, and I'm so lucky you're my mom. For a second, he was worried he would cry when he saw the crow's feet appear by her eyes, and he felt how thin the skin on her hands had gotten. When had she gotten so much older? For a terrifying moment, he realized he'd have to live without her one day, but then Cliegg made some comment about how he'd made hot cocoa, and they all gathered around the living room to chat. As the last tendrils of sunlight fell beneath the swath of trees in their backyard, he laughed at something Owen had said, and he felt the tiniest bit less alone. Like maybe it didn't matter if he got an A in thermo or had the best thesis in his year. The notion left him quickly.

On days 12-17, the warm feeling had subsided, and all he could think about was what you were doing. Whether you were moving on, or if you still felt the same way he did. If you wanted him again. The fantasy of you seeing him again and realizing that, oh, actually, you wanted to work it out, and also kiss him, inevitably ended with his hand on his cock and cum on his stomach, then regret and shame for about an hour afterward. Once the studio had reopened, he kept teaching there, but with more hours this time. Also, Anakin could finally open the folder on his computer named Thesis without cringing at it, but barely. His heart still skipped about four beats when he thought about how he'd have to see you practically every day. He pushed thoughts like that from his mind as much as he could. No point in torturing himself more than the actual semester would.

Day 18 was New Year's Eve. He went to a party hosted by some of his high school friends, some rager at a frat house. He just wanted to get drunk, honestly, and this seemed like a great excuse. It was sticky and hot even right outside the door, but the sweaty blast of steam that hit him when someone opened it turned his stomach. But the beer was free, so he wouldn't complain too much. A couple of times, he noticed a girl checking him out over the bone-shaking bass. He might have made a move, if he were a different person. If any one of them was you, or had your smile, or your eyes. As soon as he noticed something that was too different from you, he averted his gaze. They were all cute, he supposed, but that didn't matter. They weren't you. When the countdown started, Anakin retreated, not interested in being pulled into some kiss that stunk of beer. Instead, despite knowing he'd regret it, he sent you a text. happy new year, it read. He blamed the tequila, and went back into the fray of cheering people.

From days 19-24, Anakin kept on keeping. Dishes, teaching, occasional progress on his thesis. He submitted over 20 job applications. Sometime in the week, in his daily rehashing of all your messages, he noticed the read receipt had popped up on his text from New Year's Eve, and he cursed himself. He was cursing himself a lot lately. Especially when he promised he wouldn't jerk off over you, but it always ended up happening. The subtle rock of his hips against the mattress when he thought of you, grinding the hard flesh against the soft material, then the sticky warmth of release and the rush of regret that always came with it. The heat of the shower made him hard when he thought about how he'd always wanted to try fucking in the shower, more specifically, fucking you in the shower. He really shouldn't, he reasoned while his hand pumped his dick.

Day 25 was spent driving again, after he gave his mom a big hug and threw his suitcase in the car. Despite himself, he realized that he was no more over you than he had been on his drive to his house. The fact that he would see you tomorrow still made him perk up and wilt at the same time. In a short twenty-four hours, you'd be real, three-dimensional in front of him again. He wasn't sure what would happen--would you kiss him? Slap him? Combust? He could never tell with you. He wondered if you'd cut your hair over break, or if you'd talked to Ahsoka about him. Whatever fantasies he'd been nursing, they were all going to be proven or disproven tomorrow. So he had to use the hour before he arrived on campus to imagine, as hard as he could, that you were in the passenger seat. That you were his girlfriend. That you had just come from meeting his mom, who had shown you a bunch of truly humiliating baby pictures and had whispered to him that she liked you when you had gone to the bathroom. For the rest of the night, that was the reality he lived in.

You had compared schedules last semester, before things got weird, and you shared only two classes, both of which were on Mondays and Wednesdays. At 10:30, you'd both be in Unsupervised Learning, then at 2:30, you'd both take Dynamic Systems and Controls. When he woke up at 8:30, he showered, then tried to wipe the tiredness from his eyes. He put on a shirt he knew you loved (you'd remarked on how well it fit him, and he didn't see it, but you did, and that was all that mattered) and his most comfortable jeans and hoodie. He secretly hoped you were doing the same kind of preening at home, trying to look good for him, but he didn't let the thought take up too much room in his mind.

At 10:25, when he walked into the lecture hall, he saw you instantly. Time stopped as he felt like someone had just gotten a particularly good hit to his solar plexus, and his whole body was responding, out of breath and weak and dizzy all at the same time. You were in the third row, to the left-hand side of the seats, and you looked more gorgeous than he remembered. How didn't he spend the whole break fantasizing about the way your hair shone or the curve of your neck? Seconds started ticking by again when he realized he was blocking the path to the seats, much to the anger of the group of people behind him. He walked down the steps to the second row like everything was normal, then positioned himself on the other side of the lecture hall. He kept his eyes firmly not trained on you for as long as he could, and, when the professor started droning, he turned to look at you, really look at you.

You had put on just a touch of makeup, something he'd noticed years ago that you always did on the first day of class. It suited you, and you looked well-rested and happy. Like you didn't miss him at all. It gutted him like a fish on the chopping block. What was wrong with him? How could he let you get away?

He turned back to the professor, pretending to be interested in the syllabus. When class ended, by the time he packed up his things, you had gone.

The second class was a repeat of the first, only in a smaller lecture hall. He tried to keep his cool, he really did, but he snuck glances. He was only human.

He didn't go into the lab for the week, mainly because he was almost done with build and was spending most of his time on securing materials for testing. They had their first practice that Monday, so he got dressed and headed over to the Athletic Center, where he grounded himself in the ritual, the calming power of it all. It was amazing to see Rex and Ahsoka again. They always made him smile, something he'd been missing over the break.

Later that week, Ahsoka invited him to your room to talk about that semester's competitions. He hesitated the appropriate amount of time before he accepted. The hallway to your room was achingly familiar, just like he'd seen it in his dreams. Only Ahsoka was home, so she wasted no time before interrogating him about what happened with the two of you.

When he told her the general gist, she had the good decency to be honest and tell him that he was kind of being an asshole by not mentioning it, but that it was normal to get advice from professors and other students. It wasn't ideal for it to be as explicitly grabbed, sure, but the point still stood.

By the time the door opened and you came in (his mind raced--from a date? from class? from some other part of your life that he would never come to know?), Anakin and Ahsoka were discussing taekwondo logistics. You looked gorgeous in the cozy cable-knit sweater you had on, and he hoped against all hope that he wasn't staring the way he thought he was.

You looked shocked for a good second before smiling awkwardly with a little "hey." You retreated to your room almost instantly, and Anakin felt a pit open up, wondering if he'd made you uncomfortable. It wasn't his fault, honestly, but he still felt guilty. He left an hour afterward.

Was this his fate? To watch you from a middle distance as you lived your life? He was trapped, pinned down like a bug, reading into everything he saw. If you were in a four-block radius, his eyes would find you. They always would. In class, he had to stop himself from turning toward you, from studying your features and trying to read anything from them. He never could.

Anakin was still fucking haunted by you, especially now that he was on campus. Everything reminded him of you. The boba place, every inch of your dorm, the emptiness in his mattress. He knew he was hallucinating when he thought he spied you at practice one day, just a wisp of hair in the corner of the room, but, by the time he did a double take, there was only empty floor there.

On Thursday, he got a text from Ahsoka.

Party tomorrow at Cody's. You should come, she had written. He didn't really, actually feel like partying. But he went anyway. Maybe he could spend enough time with his friends to forget about you.

He threw on a nice shirt, some kind of button-up his mom had gotten him, cuffed the sleeves, and set off.

It was a standard-issue party. He'd been to plenty of them, so he figured was ready and prepared for what he'd see and feel. Bass in his eardrums so loud it shook the blood in his veins. Having to scream basic conversation over music. Cheap beer and a sticky floor. Enough heat that his hair would start curling more.

It felt like home. He entered, found Cody and Ahsoka quickly, promising to return after he grabbed a drink. Anakin made his way to the folding table crammed full of bottles, as well as some kind of vile jungle juice, and took two shots. Just enough to stop thinking about you, he hoped.

By the time he fought his way back to Cody and Ahsoka, he was feeling it. Rex had joined them in the meantime, and Anakin joined the little huddle. They were talking (read: yelling "what did you say?" over the music) about one of Cody's dates that week, and Anakin let himself slip into the familiar rhythm of his friends. It was nice, honestly. He only thought of you five or six times, which was a record low.

Then Ahsoka suggested they go get another drink, and, as the four of them pushed back toward the drinks station, he saw you.

You were fucking radiant, and the breath stalled in his chest. You had always been the only thing he ever wanted to look at in a room, even from sophomore year, when you began to piss him off more than anything, but right now, you were a supernova. And he was a moth. He felt his wings get burned off as he traced the curve of your jaw and acknowledged to himself that, yeah, he probably wasn't going to get over you until you were across state lines.

You were wearing some sinfully short, tight dress, which crept higher and higher up your thighs. He could tell you weren't wearing a bra, and something stirred inside of him.

But then he saw the guy standing next to you, leaning in to tell something to your ear. Anakin hated himself for the thought, but he instantly started comparing himself to the guy. What was Mr. Boat Shoes saying to you that made you tip your head back and laugh like that? He remembered when he used to do that, when he would make you throw your head back to do more than just laugh.

Anakin felt his jaw clench and his body start to shake with the same energy that he always had before competitions, coiled like a snake about to strike.

He knew it was a bad idea, he really did. But he was never one to resist bad ideas. He blamed the alcohol. It wasn't that you were his, or some misguided attempt at owning you, but he just couldn't watch this. He couldn't let this feeling tear him apart anymore. When you swatted the guy's chest playfully, Anakin felt his eye twitch, right under his scar. Oh hell no. But he shouldn't. It was your business.

Fuck it.

Anakin started pushing through the crowd, and then he saw the guy lean in, and he saw red.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Tag list (lmk if you'd like to be added!):

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[writeonwhiskey]

the skz house: ch 22

a/n: i am continuously blown away by your support. thank you for sticking with me through this. as always, thank you @bahablastplz for editing!

[ read chapter 21 here ]

Chapter 22: Of Seungmin and Karaoke

Your frustration with Chan hardly subsides over the next couple of days. Thankfully the rotation announcement was on a Thursday, so you don’t have to worry about sleeping in his room the rest of the week. You assume he’s keeping to himself in his room because you don’t see him around the house all day Friday. The next time you see him is at the dinner table on Saturday.

You’re seated at the opposite end of the table, conversing with Hyunjin, Felix and Charlotte. You can feel Chan’s eyes boring into you damn near the entire time, but you refuse to look in his direction. After that night in his room, you have to wonder if you constantly caving to him is what’s putting both of you in this position. If you resist and stand your ground, maybe it will make it easier for you both to pretend you feel nothing.

But you can’t understand why it’s so hard to do. You’re trying to be an active participant in the conversation, but you have to keep telling yourself not to look up at him. The fucked up thing is that neither of you are in the wrong here. And that just makes it all the more confusing.

He’s not wrong in suggesting that you should try to distance yourself from him in preparation for what’s to come. However, he could have gone about it in a completely different manner. He instead retreated back to asshole Chan mode with how he spoke to you. A defense mechanism, perhaps. It was a failed defense, though. Your Chan slipped through the cracks—the way he stopped you from leaving his room...the way he fucked you as if you’re the only thing he needs to survive. His body calls to yours and it always responds because you need him just as much.

After dinner, a handful of the boys offer to wash the dishes since the girls have to get ready to change rooms tomorrow. None of you give them a chance to change their mind as you all stand from your seats and file out of the kitchen towards the den. Chan, having left the table a few minutes before, stops you in the hallway by lightly grabbing your arm. The other girls glance back at you, and you motion for them to carry on without you.

“Y/n,” he says softly.

Your heartbeat quickens when he breathes your name, the skin on your arm where he’s holding it feels like it’s on fire. You don’t turn around to face him, but you don’t pull your arm away either. You allow yourself a moment to take in the heat and passion that’s radiating off him.  

“About the other night,” he continues, “I’m sor—”

“Don’t be,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “You’re right. We should want to do this. And I’m going to give it a try.”

You don’t believe the words you’re saying, even as they fall from your lips. But you have to be the stronger one. You must be the one to push him away. If you stop giving in to him, maybe it will be easier for you both to accept your separate futures.

He lets go of his hold on you and you take a tentative step forward. He doesn’t attempt to stop you; and it fucking hurts.

You start thinking back to your trip together—maybe you shouldn’t have asked him to go. You shouldn’t have asked him to pretend with you. But you’ve never seen him happier or more authentically himself. Would this all be easier if you never knew how he felt about you? Yes. Do you regret him telling you? Absolutely not.

You leave him behind in the hallway and join the girls in the den. You take a seat on the last empty papasan.

“Everything okay?” Charlotte asks.

“Yeah…just Chan being Chan…have fun with that, Allie.” You keep your tone light, wanting it to sound like a joke.

They carry on with their conversation about switching rooms tomorrow and how best to cope with the rotations. To your knowledge, no one else in the house knows how Chan truly feels about you. They have no clue that this entire rotation debacle is your fault, and you want to keep it that way.

The girls seem quite rational in their discussion. Rhiannon reasons that since none of you can be with them in the future anyways, what use is there harboring any jealousy? Someone else, in the real world, will have them after you.  

Allie agrees, saying you’re all just a blip on the radar of their life, which hurts to hear, but is a fact. She digs deeper by stating that they’ll go on and forget about all of you.

Charlotte chimes in that the SKZ house has presented a once in a lifetime opportunity. A house full of undeniably attractive men that you all get to experiment and discover yourselves with without any judgment.

Unfortunately, you cannot deny any of their logic.

Sunday afternoon, the house is abuzz as you and the girls shuffle your belongings around. You make a stop in Chan’s room to grab your linen. You make a beeline for your bed, pull the sheets off the mattress and bundle them up with the pillows and all. You hold them close to your face on your way out, obstructing your view of him. It’s less painful when you don’t look at him.

You throw your sheets in the washing machine then head back up to Hyunjin’s room to get your clothes. You take enough outfits and underwear to last throughout your time away. Before you depart, Hyunjin kisses you and tells you that you’ll always be his favorite, to which you roll your eyes.

The idea of Hyunjin being with Allie doesn’t bother you as much as you thought. He’s a lover, through and through. And Allie’s a sweetheart—all the girls are—and she should experience what it’s like to have a man spoil a woman the way Hyunjin can. You know he can do those things with her without any inhibitions, and it doesn’t mean he cares for you any less.

Chan on the other hand…

No. You don’t want to imagine him doing the things you’ve done together with anyone else. It has to happen, you know that, but you can push the thoughts out of your mind any time they surface. You will have to tell yourself it’s for the greater good or some bullshit like that.

You choose to stay with Seungmin tonight, since it’s Sunday. Although Changbin would be an entertaining distraction, you feel closer to Seungmin. You also feel that with the rapport between you two, he’ll be less likely to make a move on you. You don’t know if you’ll be ready for that in week one…or even week two.

When you first walk into his room on the second floor, it’s brighter and cleaner than you expected. Like, pristinely clean—everything properly in its place. Not a gym bag or dirty sock in sight. His bed is against the wall with two windows on either side, overlooking the front yard. Your twin bed is to the side of his.  

You can’t shake how weird it feels being in his room…to be bringing your belongings in here. As you finish putting your sheets on the bed next to his, you hear a knock at the door. You turn around to see Seungmin sauntering in with his new, short haircut and a smile on his face. 

“Welcome,” he greets. “You have enough room for everything?”

“Yeah…Rhi cleared out a drawer for me.”

“Good. Make yourself at home…get comfortable.”

“Comfortable with the idea of being passed around between you guys?” you scoff.

“I didn’t say it like that. Do you not want to be here with me?” he asks blatantly, walking towards you.

He comes to a stop in front of you and you instinctively take a small step back. You’ve never been this close to him before. In a bedroom. His bedroom. He wraps his arm around you, placing his palm against the small of your back. He pulls you closer to him and your breath catches in your throat at the sudden move.

“I don’t know,” you manage to get out.

You can see so much of his face now that he’s cut his hair. There’s no denying that he’s handsome, attractive even. Your body feels flushed all over, but you can’t tell if it’s from the proximity or something else. His dark brown eyes meet yours, reading you for a moment, gauging your reaction. Can he sense your apprehension?

“The separation is meant to be a lesson,” he tells you. 

“A lesson in detachment?”

“It teaches us that the work towards our futures outweigh any joy, pain or sadness we may feel or experience in the present.”

You don’t like the way he recites that as if it’s been drilled into his head from a young age.

“Does my hand here make you uncomfortable?” He draws your attention back to how close the two of you are standing. He presses his hand harder against the small of your back.

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. 

“You don’t know a lot apparently,” he teases as he drops his hand. He turns around to walk to his bed. “We have time to figure it out, though.”

“What if I’m simply not attracted to you in that way?”

He sits on his bed, facing you, and cocks his head to the side. A crooked smile plays out on his lips as if what you just said is ludicrous. 

“Sometimes attraction can grow,” he answers. “You just have to be open to it.”

“What if I don’t want to be?”

He’s silent for a while. When he responds, his tone is compassionate.

“Then you’re setting yourself up for a lot of pain at the end of this semester, y/n.”

He doesn’t mean to hurt you with what he says. You know that. None of them do when they’re simply stating the facts of the situation. However, they’ve had much longer to come to terms with this than you.

“I know…you’re right.”

“Don’t stress yourself out over it,” he shrugs. “This rotation isn’t only about physical attraction. We don’t want just sex from our assignees. It’s more than that. You can connect with multiple people in multiple ways and still find value in the differences.”

You remember how Hyunjin explained everything from his perspective at the start of all this. Seungmin seems to have his own take on it, too.

“So, you won’t hate me if we don’t fuck?”

He laughs.

“No. But I do sleep better at night when I’m holding someone.”

You chew on the inside of your bottom lip, mulling it over.

“I can maybe agree to that. Maybe.”

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. You grab the pillow from your bed and throw it at his face.

The first time you see Hyunjin and Allie together is a little jarring, but not upsetting. They’re sitting next to each other on the couch, his arm is draped around her shoulder. Allie seems comfortable with him, as you expected. He has a natural way of putting people at ease. He winks at you, and you feel yourself smiling in return.

You don’t see much of Chan, except in passing or if he decides to have dinner at the table with everyone. You haven’t spoken to each other since that day in the hallway. You wish you could say the heat you feel whenever he’s near is burning out, that it feels cold between the two of you, but it’s the exact opposite.

It's hardly working.

Your first two nights with Seungmin, you sleep in your own bed. You two stay up talking about the most random things. On your last night with him for the first week, you climb into his bed with him and bring your own blanket.

“Really?” He remarks as you crawl towards him.

“Take it or leave it,” you reply.

“I’ll take it,” he concedes.

He waits for you to get situated, then cuddles up behind you. There’s enough blanket material between you, though, so you can hardly feel where his body is pressed against yours. You let out a breath and try to relax. Laying like this, you’re not uncomfortable with him, which is a relief. It doesn’t feel wrong, necessarily, but it doesn’t feel quite right either.

“So,” he says quietly. “I’ve decided on my useless superpower.”

“Worse than being able to teleport only an inch at a time?”

You’re starting to enjoy your nightly nonsensical conversations. It’s a nice change of pace. You can unwind from the day with the unseriousness of it all.

“I can identify any poison—even if it’s tasteless or odorless. But I have to ingest it.”

“And are you immune to it?”

“No. I’d die.”

Your body shakes with laughter. He chuckles behind you and pulls you closer to him.

Thursday, February 8th is Jeongin’s birthday and your first night with Changbin. You take a few of your things to his room on the third floor, down the hall from Chan. His room is just as you expected. A little messy, but he calls it organized chaos. After you put your things away, you both go down to the basement to join the others.

As you reach the last few steps, you immediately catch sight of Chan sitting at the bar. His back is towards you and he has a drink in front of him. He looks over his shoulder and your eyes lock for a brief moment, but you quickly avert your gaze.

“What’re you drinking?” Changbin asks.

“Whatever you’re having,” you shrug.

“That’s my girl,” he grins, walking behind the bar to pour you both drinks.

Chan knocks back the brown liquid in his glass and refills his cup.

You slip past him, trying to ignore how erratic your pulse becomes, and make your way to the back area of the basement. The TV is on and karaoke mics have been connected to it. The lyrics to the song are displayed on screen, but Jeongin and Seungmin know the words by heart as they face the ‘audience’ and belt their adorable little hearts.

You take a seat on the couch and let your eyes roam around the room; everyone is in their mixed-up pairings. Charlotte is sat between Felix and Lee Know in deep conversation. Rhiannon, now with Jeongin and Han, is seated in Han’s lap, watching the performance. You don’t see Hyunjin and Allie though.

Changbin sits next to you and passes the drink he made. You take a sip and make a repulsed face.

“It’s my special concoction,” he beams.

“It tastes like death.”

“Only the strong can handle it,” he taps his cup against yours before taking a drink.

You take another sip and grimace.

Felix and Charlotte are next up on the mics. They do a hilariously horrible rendition of ‘Summer Lovin’’ from Grease, but you cheer them on anyway. Changbin wraps his arm around you as you both watch and sing along. The more time that passes and the emptier your cup gets, the easier it is to relax against him. And you can’t lie, for as buff as he is, he’s oddly soft and comfortable to lay on.

You nudge Changbin to go when the mic is free.

“I’ll show you how it’s done,” he says. “This is a crowd pleaser—this one is for you, y/n.”

He queues up his song and as soon as the beat starts playing, you can’t hold yourself together. He chose ‘Run the World (Girls)’, by Beyonce and his performance does not disappoint—accompanied by dance moves and all.

Hyunjin and Allie come into the basement then and Hyunjin falls to the floor in laughter. Changbin doesn’t miss a beat and keeps putting on the show of a lifetime. You glance behind you; Chan is still seated at the bar and even he has a small smile on his face.

“Who’s next?” Han asks when he and Lee Know finish singing ‘Take On Me’ by a-ha.

“Chan-hyung” Jeongin shouts and points at him.

You look behind you and Chan is adamantly shaking his head.

“For my birthday,” Jeongin adds to guilt trip him. “Stop being boring and old.”

Lee Know stalks over to Chan, grabs him by the arm and pulls him into the room with everyone else. Chan takes the mic from Lee Know and lets out a sigh. With him in front of you, you feel yourself inch away from Changbin the slightest bit.

“For your birthday,” he agrees, clearing his throat. “What do you wanna hear?”

“That new song you were finishing up last week,” Jeongin says.

“No, not that,” Chan scrunches up his face and shakes his head. You notice him wobble a bit with the motion and wonder how much he’s had to drink.

Jeongin stands from the couch and connects his phone to the karaoke speaker.

“Yes, that. It’s my birthday.”

The song starts to play, and Chan is facing the TV, though no lyrics appear on screen. The sound of his vocals surprises you. You heard the song from their chapter project, but this sounds so different. His voice comes out passionate and effortless all at once. And the lyrics. You can’t help but hang on to every word that comes out of his mouth.

“We’re pulling at each other like magnets, the rules are telling us to ignore them.”

He was working on this last week?

“All that I want is you, even if I’m a fool. Why do I fall for you? No turning back once we’re connected.”

He turns around to face everyone as he continues singing. His eyes land on you and you set your cup down. A weird feeling is growing in the pit of your stomach, making you feel uneasy and nauseous. Thankfully, he doesn’t stare at you long enough to draw attention.

When the song is over everyone claps and Jeongin thanks him with a hug. He accepts the embrace, hugging him back, before making his way back to his lonely seat at the bar.

Rhiannon drags you up next and you agree to do ‘All About That Bass’. If it weren’t for her at your side, you’d be absolutely mortified. But you’re having a good time, it takes your mind off the previous performance. Towards the end of the song, though, you spot Allie next to Chan at the bar. She’s standing between his legs, one arm on his shoulder and he has one on her waist. You wonder what they’re talking about. You can’t help it.

You turn away from them and stare at the lyrics on the screen, even though you don’t need to read them. It’s just easier to look at right now.

When the song is over, Hyunjin takes his turn—doing ‘Versace on the Floor’ by Bruno Mars. Changbin acts as though Hyunjin is singing specifically to him throughout the performance.

The next time you look behind you, Chan and Allie are gone.

It’s nearly one in the morning when everyone else starts to disperse. You and a stumbling Changbin return to his room. You notice Chan on the couch in the living room, but he doesn’t say anything to anyone as you all pass by.

“Only the strong can handle it, huh?” You say to Changbin when you enter his room.

You only had one cup—you lost count of how many he had. Too many, judging by the way he’s struggling to remain upright and take off his belt at the same time.

“Here, let me,” you say, going to help him. “Be still.”

He drops his hands and lets you unbuckle his belt. Once you have it off, he immediately begins to unbutton his pants. You shake your head and turn around, not wanting to see him accidentally expose himself. You hear his pants hit the ground, then the sound of him falling onto his mattress.

“The room is spinning,” his voice is muffled.

You retrieve his water bottle from his desk and take it to him on the bed. You help him get beneath his blankets before making him drink from the water bottle. When you move to stand, his arms lock around your waist.

“Can you play with my hair?”

Of all the men in the house to want to be babied—you would not have guessed it to be him.

“Drink some more first,” you tell him.

He does as he’s told, and you position yourself on the bed with your back up against the pillows. He nestles his head into your lap, and you stroke his soft, dark locks. It doesn’t take long for him to doze off.

You slip away from him and change into your pajamas before heading back downstairs to get water for yourself.

On the first floor, you see Chan in the living room. He’s still sitting on the couch; the TV is still on but now muted. He turns to look at you. You keep your eyes locked in front of you and continue into the kitchen. Of course, there aren’t any more water bottles in the fridge when you check there first. At least it means everyone was staying hydrated tonight.

You go to the pantry and retrieve as many water bottles as you can hold at once. When you turn to exit, Chan is standing in front of you. He reaches for your waist and pulls you against him.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he asks huskily, eyes dark and glazed over.

[ read chapter 23 here ]

a/n: i won't make you wait too long for chapter 23, it's already complete. it's chan's POV and will rehash some of the things we saw here, and then pick up where this ends! i'm sooooo excited for you all to read it.

[creepswrites]

TIRED OF RUNNING (CH 2) | Sinclairs x Reader

THIS IS THE COOLEST OMG thank you so much for 1000 followers!!! :D i know this may be silly but this is a big thing for me and i'm super happy about this!! to celebrate, i finally finished ch 2!! i hope you guys enjoy and that it was worth the wait!

SINCLAIR BROTHERS x GN!READER (they/them)

SUMMARY: Before Bo could answer, they were interrupted by a soft groan of pain as your ex lifted his head to try and take in his surroundings. Lester wondered what it looked like to him - the walls covered in wax, the unbearable heat, the churning of the big machine that'd soon encase him in his own wax prison. He hoped the man was terrified. He deserved to be, after all he put you and the boys through.

WARNING: graphic violence, child abuse, suicide

PREV || NEXT

Vincent slammed the door of the car as he stormed up to the front of the house, ignoring Bo's weak protests as he followed hot on his twin's heels. "Vince, it ain't my fault Mama's sick! What, you want her to jus' waste away and die?!"

The other man spun hard on his heel, managing to glare daggers even behind the wax mask. His hands moved harshly as he signed and ignored the way Bo sighed with annoyance. "You KNOW how important college is to me! Or, more accurately, was. Mama wanted me to be successful, I shouldn't have let you pull me back to this hellhole."

Bo scoffed. "I didn't want ya back either, believe me. But I'm the only one providin' for this fuckin' family and her medical bills're pilin' up, Vince! The money Pa gave ya for school could be used to help her! Y'know, the only woman who ever gave a damn about you-!"

He was cut off harshly as Vincent's fist smashed into his jaw with a hard cracking sound. He grunted as he took a knee to the stomach and collapsed to the pavement. Vincent climbed atop him and wailed on his face in anger, trying to ignore the tears that stung his eyes as he unleashed years and years of pent up anger onto his twin. Besides, even if Mama was cognisant enough to ask him about the bloody nose or black eye, she'd never believe it was Vincent who put them there. Her sweet angel Vinny hitting Bo? Surely not. 

Bo had always been the "evil" twin, after all.

By the time his anger ran dry, so had the blood caking Bo's face and Vincent's knuckles. They both panted heavily as Vincent stood on shaking legs, offering a hand to the other to pull him up. Angry or not, they were still brothers. And unlike Bo, he had some amount of compassion for others. Even if he'd just broken their nose.

He got a glare in response but Bo took the hand anyway. "You were always a fuckin' bitch," he grumbled as they both made their way back into the house. "You hit fuckin' hard too, the hell'd you learn to fight like that?"

Vincent made his way to the kitchen to wash off the blood. He pointedly kept his eyes off his twin as he scrubbed his hands, wincing slightly when they began to bleed again with newfound vigor. He searched the drawers for gauze and began to wrap his knuckles, fresh red staining the white wraps quickly. "I learnt from you." He signed once his hands were bandaged.

Bo just glared at him, pulling up a chair to sit in the center of the kitchen. "Gonna be hard to explain to Mama what happened, y'know."

Vincent let out a snort of laughter before setting up shop to bandage his brother's face. "She doesn't even talk anymore," he signed aggressively. "Doubt she'll waste her dying breath to ask who broke your face. Maybe she'll think you're handsome this way." He dropped his hands to grab peroxide and wet a cotton ball with it.

"Guess you'd be an expert in broken faces, huh?" Bo hissed out as Vincent dabbled at his face.

He just clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to smash all of Bo's teeth in as he cleaned up the cuts and blood from the other's face. They were silent after that, the only sounds in the kitchen coming from the leaky faucet and Bo's pained sounds. He didn't feel bad for breaking his face and relished in the fact cleaning him up hurt just as bad if not more.

They'd just finished bandaging his face when they heard their mother start screaming upstairs. Morphine must've run out, Vincent sighed internally. The twins locked in a heated staring match, a silent argument about who was going upstairs. With an exasperated sigh, Vincent finally relented and stomped upstairs to give Bo time to lick his wounds.

Pushing open the door to their mother's room was just as horrible as he remembered. Trudy Sinclair had once been a phenomenal artist, a great creator, and an average mother. Now here she was, reduced to a husk of a person hooked up to tubes and wires that kept her from immediately keeling over. The room smelt like a hospital all compressed down into one, tiny, suffocating room. Vincent was momentarily glad the mask hid his face so he could screw his face up in disgust without his mother seeing. She could only watch with wide eyes as her son's bloody bandaged hands changed her bags to get a fresh dose of morphine coursing through her veins as soon as possible.

He wondered if she'd ask him to put her out of her misery if she could still speak. Damn their father for dying before he could fix her vocal cords. Though maybe it's better she can't speak, he thought as he noticed how her eyes fixed on his hands. Who knows what she'd say if she could.

A large part of him didn't really care.

…

"Vince?" Bo's voice snapped Vincent from his stupor and he glanced over his shoulder, knives in hand. He gave a curt nod and Bo just sighed. The three met back up in the kitchen after arming themselves, listening to your ex wail on the door and heard his friends trying to sneak around to the back of the house. "Alright, I'll take the front, Vinny'll sneak 'round the side through the House of Wax. Lester, you got the back. We kill each and every one'a those fuckin' bastards but leave him alive. I got somethin' special in mind."

Lester cheered in excitement, checking the shotgun was loaded before tilting his hat. "See ya when the smoke clears."

"Don't have too much fun," Vincent signed with one hand as he retreated down into the basement to kill the lights. The dark would give Lester good cover and let Bo get the chance to surprise the ones at the door. He slid the knives into their holsters at his sides and fiddled with the breakers, shutting down everything in the town.

Time to go hunting. He hurried down the tunnel towards the House of Wax.

...

Their mothers funeral had been beautiful. Her open casket funeral had the whole town of Ambrose visiting, lamenting the loss of their talented artist. Vincent spent the day squeezing Lester's hand while he cried, fresh out of high school and still their baby brother. Bo greeted people and was a sociable host. Vincent had only been back in town for two months before their mother passed and a part of him was relieved to be here for Lester. Neither he or Bo were bad brothers to Lester but he knew Bo wouldn't be there for their little brother's emotional needs. Losing both their father and now mother over the span of three years hit them all pretty hard.

Bo played the role of the sociable host, greeting people and accepting sympathetic words with a hollow, tired smile. He'd occasionally shoot glances at his brothers who stood off to the side against the wall and silently admired Vincent's ability to pretend to grieve. He knew Lester's sorrows were real but he and Vince had long since made peace with their mother's death long before she even died.

He also knew Vincent still resented him for dragging him home.

When the guests began to clear out, the twins took a moment to stand over their mother's casket. Bo still looked nice in his fitted suit. So did Vincent, although he'd discarded the jacket ages ago. For a while, neither of them said anything. They didn't have to. Call it twin intuition or whatever, they were able to have a silent conversation in a language only they knew. Quietly, Vincent slouched over to bump their shoulders together in a gentle display of affection before quickly righting himself, like he was worried they'd get in trouble if they were caught getting along.

"Yknow, Mama said she wanted to make a whole damn museum outta this town," Bo broke the silence with a wistful sigh. "Said Ambrose was becomin' a dead town and she wanted to make a Town 'a Wax. Then she got sick, because of course she did."

"Your point?" Vincent signed.

Bo turned to look at him properly. "Let's give her what she wanted, yeah? Least we can do for her. She taught you all her tricks 'n you'll be able to do art again." He grinned at Vincent like he'd come up with something great. "Think about it, Vinny. The Town of Wax, just like Mama wanted! We could finally make her proud."

Vincent shook his head quickly, fidgeting nervously with the ends of his hair. It was beginning to grow out more. He liked it long, despite their Pa insisting he keep it short. "She never taught me how to make full statues like she could. I'd need a base of some sort to make people. Otherwise it'll just be too much wasted wax, since they'd have to be filled figures. I just can't do hollow structures." His hands moved slowly so Bo could keep up. While, yes, their mother did hope for Vincent to take over for her one day, their lessons had been cut short when she got sick. Besides, Vincent had always preferred painting over sculpting.

But Bo had a point. Fulfilling her wishes would be nice.

"Shit, yeah," Bo said as he crossed his arms in thought. And then an idea came to him. Dark, twisted, and certainly coming from years of resentment towards the woman who lay dead before them. "You jus' need somethin' human-like, yeah?"

Vincent nodded once.

"I bet we got ourselves a perfectly good base sittin' right here."

Lester slipped out the back, shushing Jonesy to be quiet. Her growls were loud in the dark, silent space as he listened to the sounds of footsteps. He prided himself on being a damn good hunter so he guessed, based on the amount of steps, there were about four people sneaking around either side in hopes of scaling the fence. Excellent.

The fences were old wood that were certainly in need of replacement at this point. The only reason Jonesy didn't get out every day was because she simply wasn't aware of their weakness. Lester was momentarily grateful for the bushes that surrounded the fences because it let him know that the two on the left were hopping over.

He stood up from behind the wrought iron backyard table and fired.

... 

The day their dad disappeared had been a lot of frantic energy and screaming. Lester had only been sixteen at the time and Bo and Vince had just turned twenty-one. Mama's condition was getting worse and worse every day, her pain so terrible she couldn't even move from bed anymore. Her vocal cords had been shredded from her screaming and their Pa kept dodging the boy's attempts to get him to fix it. Some doctor he was. 

But Lester didn't mind it so much anymore. Going upstairs to visit Mama in bed had just become part of the routine now. Bo had gotten a job at the autoshop while Vincent was off in college. It was summer break so he'd come back home to help with household stuff that their father insisted was a woman's job. He never bothered to help. All he did was drink and disappear into his office to do nothing.

He wasn't stupid. Vincent and Bo weren't exactly quiet when they argued with their father about medical bills when they thought Lester couldn't hear them. He'd gotten a part time job cleaning roadkill to help pitch in but he knew it wasn't enough.

Their dad was already missing when they'd all woken up. They got the whole town to search the nearby forests, Bo took his truck around the back roads, and Lester searched with Vincent on foot. About an hour in, Bo showed back up at the house, ordering his brothers to get in the car. They'd just pulled out of the driveway when Vincent began questioning him with a flurry of hand movements. "Where is he? What did you find?"

"Vince, I can't look at you and drive."

"He asked where is he an' what ya found." Lester chimed in from the backseat, leaning forward to hover anxiously over the center console. He wanted a better view than the backseat windows.

Bo didn't answer and Lester felt his stomach sink.

Only a few miles from Ambrose, Lester spotted their fathers truck parked in a ditch and let out a quiet gasp. "Is that-?"

"Stay in the car, Les." Bo grunted as he and Vince got out of the truck.

"Fuck that!" He shot back, clambering out before Bo could lock the doors. "He's my dad too!"

Bo shared a look with Vincent and gave a resigned sigh. "Fine, whatever, keep up," he motioned for his brothers to follow. He led the way into the treeline, not even wincing when the stray twigs and branches sliced at his arms and legs..

After what felt like an eternity, they finally broke into the large, open field just past all the brush, Lester nearly took off running. Luckily, Vincent sensed that and grabbed him around the middle before he could get far.

Their father stood in the center of the field, one of his ornate pistols clenched tight in his fist and his head tilted up to stare at the sky. No one had thought to check the little glass case back home.

Everything happened in a rapid blur of chaos and terror from that point. Lester remembered Bo and their Pa getting into yet another screaming match while Vincent did his best to keep Lester from getting near the two. He'd clutched him to his chest and kept his back to Bo and their Pa, forcing Lester's face into the front of his sweater with a stern hold. He remembered protesting, wanting to go see their Pa and ask if he was okay. Vincent shook his head and held his head tighter.

Vincent's voice cracked and wheezed from disuse. "Don't look." He choked out with a cough.

The words sent a chill up Lester's spine and he clutched onto his older brother with as he tried to argue.

A deafening gunshot rang out in the open field and Lester shrieked in horror, fighting harder against Vincent's hold to try and see what happened. The heavy thud of a body ripped a sob from him and his brother's gentle shushing was doing nothing to soothe him. His ears were ringing and Bo was screaming but he didn't sound like he was hurt.

When he finally tore away from Vincent, his heart dropped to his stomach.

Their father lay in the grass, the green stained with bright red blood and brain matter. Bo was running a hand through his hair, tears streaming down his cheeks and blood splattering his face. How close had he been? Lester ran to him, narrowly dodging Vincent's attempts to hold him back.

Bo caught him this time, dragging him off and screaming at Lester to get back. 

…

The intruder's screaming was quickly silenced as Jonesy began to tear at their necks. Lester whistled her to step back, not wanting to ruin Vincent's models too much. The other man always got so pissy whenever he had to play makeshift doctor to get them to a presentable state. A shot through the head was usually easy for him but all their running and screaming had him distracted. He cocked the gun with a heavy clunk and aimed at the other two on the right who were trying to run.

The gun fired again.

…

Lester stood in front of his father's grave clutching the antler of a deer. Blinking back tears, he let out a shaky breath. "Hey Pa," his voice a wet whisper when he finally managed to choke out words. "I, uh, talked with Bo 'n Vinny today. They, um, told me 'bout what life was like growin' up with you. How you used to stap Bo to a chair to get him to eat." He sniffed and wiped his eyes with his sleeves. "I used to look up to ya, y'know? Vincent always had Mama an' I know ya didn't like Bo much, so I," he swallowed back a whimper, "I tried to be your lil' guy, but…"

Tears began to fall as a sob wracked his body. "Damnit, why'd ya have to do Bo like that?! Thought he got the scars from fightin', not from you hurtin' him! Ain't no wonder he hated ya so much…"

Lester threw the antler at the gravestone, glaring through his tears as it cracked into pieces and fell to the dirt below. The sight only made Lester angrier, wishing he could've thrown something at his father before he became rot beneath wet soil. Maybe that would've taught him regret. Maybe. He didn't want to place bets on a losing horse.

"He wanted to save ya, y'know? Even in the end, he was beggin' ya not to do it." He grimaced at the memory, like the mere idea of saving their father now disgusted him. "Been a year now and I still… I still wish you loved us enough to stay. But we weren't good enough for ya, huh? Ain't never been, yeah?"

He fell to his knees in front of the grave, grabbing a piece of the antler and scratching at the stone, relishing in the way some pieces of the letters chipped off. Served him right. He didn't deserve to be remembered.

Pa said nothing in response and paid Lester no mind. Just like always.

…

Catching and killing the others had been painfully easy. In a matter of minutes, the three brothers had the bodies piled like wood in the basement, bullet holes in their heads steadily bleeding out. Whatever, Bo brushed it off, Vince'll clean it up later if it bothers him so much.

But one man stood apart from the rest. Very alive and tied to the chair with only a minor bump to the head. Just like he'd wanted.

"We got a lotta new faces for the museum," Lester called to Bo with a wide grin on his face. "'m still a damn good shot too."

"What will we do with him?" Vincent signed, ignoring Lester and gesturing to your ex.

Bo gave his brothers a dark smile. "Well, obviously, we can't keep 'im alive. But killin' 'im quickly is too kind."

Lester leant against the nearby work table like a child listening to something fascinating, his face resting on his hands that were propped up on his elbows. "Whaddya thinki' then?"

Before Bo could answer, they were interrupted by a soft groan of pain as your ex lifted his head to try and take in his surroundings. Lester wondered what it looked like to him - the walls covered in wax, the unbearable heat, the churning of the big machine that'd soon encase him in his own wax prison. He hoped the man was terrified. He deserved to be, after all he put you and the boys through.

"Where am I?" Your ex slurred out, trying to lift his head.

"Yer own personal hell." Bo said with an unkind smile. "Punishment for yer sins, I'd reckon."

"W-wha?" He mumbled, trying to think. The head injury was clearly making it difficult though.

Vincent grabbed his hair to tilt his head up for a better look. "Don't remember?" Bo spoke up again. "Pretty thing with two lil' tykes? Ain't ringin' a bell?"

His eyes widened and he swallowed. "You know 'em?" He stammered, glancing around the room. "They put you up to this? Listen, you don't know the whole story, they-"

"They're upstairs sleepin' without a care in the world. We're gonna make sure they get good dreams goin' forward, once you're dead." Lester loudly interrupted. "Vinny, feel like strappin' this guy up?"

Vincent pulled a knife out from his sheath and began to trace the underside of your ex's jaw with the point, like he was daydreaming about stabbing the knife through his tongue and up into his brain.

"Easy, Vinny," Bo said as though soothing an animal. "All in due time. Still got stuff to do, remember?"

"Stuff to- Stuff to do?" You ex stammered as fear finally made itself clear in his hazy mind.

Lester tilted his head with a sigh, sliding out of his seat to stand. "Y'know, he ain't very bright."

Bo shrugged. "Ain't our place to judge our guest's type. 'sides, ain't exactly like we're catches."

"Says you, 'm pretty as hell." Lester laughed, only increasing in volume when Bo smacked the hat off his head. 

Vincent watched them with an exasperated eye roll before turning back to his new victim.

"Now, under normal circumstances, we'd let Vinny here do his thing," Bo said slowly as he began to search Vincent's assortment of tools, "But this here's a special occasion. We ain't take kindly to child abusers 'round here. So we're gonna give ya what's coming for ya 'fore you burn in hell."

Their prisoner began to fight against his bonds, shaking his head. "No, no, you don't get it, they tried to baby trap me! I never wanted kids, they forced me to-!"

Vincent didn't hold back the backhand he gave him, hissing under his breath at the stinging left behind.

"I'm gonna pretend I ain't just hear you lying to me," Bo said. The calm evenness of his voice never failed to unsettle his personal victims and he could tell your ex was squirming as his cheek began to blossom into a bruise. "If you're goin' to hell, you better go an honest man, yeah?"

Bo turned around, brandishing a pair of pliers and a wild, terrifying smile.

"Let's begin."

You jolted awake with a sharp gasp, covered in a thin layer of sweat that left you feeling sticky. Nightmares have become commonplace to you at this point. Your ex haunted your dreams, stealing away your boys or, god forbid, hurting them again… It never fails to leave you shaking and gasping for breath every time. Tonight, though, you'd dreamt of your ex and his friends showing up and your hosts throwing you out to the wolves, believing the sly, honey-sweet words of your abuser over your pleas.

The mere idea of that left you feeling sick and scared.

Despite that, a yawn escaped you as you shook your head as though to shake off the lingering fear of the nightmare. You gave a glance at the window and frowned at how dark it still was outside. The digital clock on your bedside revealed it was barely past 3am. God, it felt so much later than that.

You turned to look over at your boys, fast asleep in the little blanket and pillow cocoon you'd made them to sleep in so they could be on the bed. The blue night light cast dark shadows on their face and you stared at them until your eyes burned from lack of blinking. They were so soft and fragile, your heart divided in two just for these two boys. You'd burn the world down to keep them safe.

You pressed soft kisses to both their foreheads and slid carefully out of bed. The room was exactly as you left it, dark and only illuminated by a little star night light that must've once been Lester's. It was cute, you smiled to yourself. The blue walls were covered in posters for bands you didn't recognize and a few well-known horror films. He also had a small, ornate frame of pinned butterflies over the door. It suited him, the longer you thought about it.

Quietly, you opened the door and crept out into the hallway. The twins' bedroom doors were closed and you sighed internally that they were asleep. That meant you likely hadn't cried out when you awoke.

The stairs creaked and groaned as you slunk downstairs, wincing at every noise you made. In such a quiet space, the sounds were deafening.

"Y'alright?" A tired, low voice spoke up.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard Lester talk. You'd forgotten he was set up downstairs and all the noise must've woken him up. You couldn't see him in the dark but you shot a smile in the direction of the couch anyways. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

"Nah," Lester sighed as though stretching, "Can't sleep, 'sall." And, with a soft click, he turned on the nearby lamp. Warm yellow light bathed the downstairs, dark shadows reminiscent of the ones on your boy's faces, you thought to yourself as you looked at Lester.

"I could make us tea." You hugged yourself to try and fight off that usual nighttime chill. "Might help us both sleep."

Lester gave you a nod and smiled shyly. "Yeah, yeah, sounds great Sweetpea."

When you disappeared into the kitchen, he let out the breath he'd been holding. Quietly, he grabbed his sheathed knife that he'd left on the table and hid it under the couch as he stood up to follow you. The kitchen was still dim, even with the light of the lamp stretching out into the quiet space.

"What's got you awake?" He whispered while creeping up behind you. "Kids causin' a fuss?"

You let out a sigh while rooting around for a couple of mugs. "No, no, just… Nightmares."

Lester frowned even though you couldn't see it. "What kind?"

"Bad ones," you said while pouring some water into the two mugs and glancing around for the microwave. "Ones where he comes and hurts me or the kids. Or ones where people throw me back to him despite my pleas not to."

"I'd kick his ass for ya, y'know that right?" Lester said, his voice much closer now.

You finally looked over your shoulder and you couldn't help the butterflies his words gave you. "Yeah," your voice was quiet and you loved the way he seemed to soften. "Yeah, I know you would."

"'m serious. My brothers would too. We ain't gonna let him getcha here, promise." He seemed insistent, which raised a concern for you. You got the feeling something had happened that you weren't aware of yet.

But anxiety suffocated you. "Did, um," you swallowed anxiously as you turned back around to drum your fingers anxiously on the edge of the kitchen sink, "Did he… come by?"

A beat of silence. It felt like it went on for hours when it was only a short minute, yet you felt suffocated all the same. "No." Lester said slowly, as though trying to choose his words carefully. "No, he ain't been here."

You didn't believe him.

Then you were presented with a choice. Play it cool or freak out. Neither of which were great options but you liked your odds better if you just played nice and pretended to believe him. All you had to do was play along until the fan belt Bo ordered for you arrived and then you could leave.

If your ex wasn't here in the house then that meant he was somewhere nearby. But, based on Lester's tone, he knew where he was and wasn't telling you. That didn't sit well in your stomach but you swallowed it down and nodded. "Okay. Good."

So the two of you sat against the counters drinking tea in the dark. He happily made small talk while you nodded and listened to the trials and tributes that came with being a roadkill cleaner.

He'd been in the middle of telling you a story about a fawn with a broken leg when the basement door swung open with a heavy thud. You nearly jumped out of your skin as you shrieked, staring at the shape moving in the beacon that was the yellow basement lights.

Vincent froze in place, staring at you through the eye holes of his mask. One of his hands was wrapped crudely in a bandage and the other held a pointed carving knife. On instinct, you ducked behind Lester while peering over his shoulder at the other man, watching Vince tilt his head almost comically.

"He says he's sorry for scarin' ya." Lester said with a chuckle. "Y'alright?"

"Sorry," you sighed, bumping your forehead in the space between his shoulder blades. "Just… high strung, I guess."

Lester hummed. "Can't imagine what you've been through. I promise, things'll be easier for ya from now on."

You couldn't help but feel that as an omen of some kind. Though you weren't sure if it was good or bad.

The next time you woke up, it was morning. Sunlight peered through the blinds and hit you in the eyes, making you wince as you yawned. It felt later than you usually slept in and it struck you that no one had woken you up wanting breakfast or attention.

Realizing the boys weren't with you, you shot up from the bed and took off downstairs. All you could focus on was your pounding heart and desperate need to find your boys.

You came to a halt when you heard laughter and voices. When you stepped off the stairs, you went straight for the kitchen and sighed with relief.

Peter and Mikey were playing at the table while Lester was making breakfast in the kitchen. Vincent had Peter in his lap who was coloring with crayons at the kitchen table while Bo sat with Mikey and helped him in lining up his dinosaur toys in front of the couch.

For the past few years since the boys came into your lives, your ex had outright refused on multiple occasions to bond with them. Peter and Mikey had learnt quickly that, when their father was around, they had to be silent and obedient.

So seeing them openly playing and laughing made you feel dizzy. While he was nowhere near, you still worried that your ex was going to round the corner and slap Mikey for getting his toys everywhere or yell at Peter for being too loud.

It felt like a weight had been lifted at the sight of them being happy.

Peter saw you and practically leapt off Vincent's lap and ran over to show you his drawings. "Dinosaurs!" He beamed up at you with pride and you could definitely tell where Vincent had done rough outlines to let him color in. The gesture was sweet and you couldn't help but smile.

"They're very nice!" You cooed as you gave Peter a kiss on the cheek.

"Breakfast'll be ready soon!" Lester called out over the sound of sizzling bacon. "Wash your hands, I ain't lettin' y'all get sick. Lord knows where Bo's been." He teased and grinned over his shoulder at his brothers. He softened when he saw you but quickly resumed cooking.

You let the twins pair off to wash up and joined Lester in the kitchen instead. "Didn't take ya for the cooking type."

Lester gave a little chuckle. "What, ya think 'cuz I clean streets, I can't cook? Mama taught me how, said it'd be good for me to learn so I ain't dependin' on her forever. Said I ain't allowed to get married to some girl 'n rely on her for everythin'."

"She sounds like a great mom." You said wistfully, approaching Lester slowly to watch him work. Eggs, bacon, pancakes beginning to stack up…

"Nah," Bo's voice from behind surprised you. Peter was in his arms, head slumped against Bo's shoulder as he stared ahead at nothing. "She wasn't all that great."

Lester didn't say anything to that.

You decided not to bring it up at breakfast.

"Store's jus' down the corner, can't miss it." Bo said, not even looking up from the television. He and Lester were watching a game when you'd offered to go get groceries as a thanks for them housing you and making you food.

They'd protested but, eventually, Vincent had suggested he go with. You hadn't liked the look they all shared but you didn't have time to dwell on it, too focused on trying to get Peter to stand still long enough to put his shoes on.

When you, Vincent, and the boys ventured outside, you were struck at how empty the town felt.

Even for a small town, you expected to see at least a few people walking around, right?

But everything felt deserted as you followed Vincent down the sidewalk towards the little general store. The boys stayed close, alternating between holding yours and each other's hands as you walked. Things got stranger and stranger the more you walked - street lights didn't work, there was no sound coming from any of the houses, and you swear that a woman across the street has peeked over at you twice in the past few seconds…

"Hey, Vincent?" You asked slowly, coming to a stop a good few feet away. Something was very, very wrong about this place and it was becoming more difficult to ignore. "What's… what's going on?"

He looked over his shoulder at you before tilting his head. You wished you had a way to communicate better but your sign language was rusty at best and his hands moved too quick for you to follow clearly.

You felt multiple pairs of eyes on you and you couldn't help but whip your head around before your eyes caught on the display case beside you. A few figures stood displaying different outfits outside what seemed to be a clothes store. You grimaced, never really being a fan of mannequins, and were about to turn away when you realized one of them looked distinctly like your ex, down to the terrible haircut and all.

Fear clogged your throat and you forced yourself to swallow yet again that day. It was a coincidence, surely, but it still deeply unsettled you. The boys were trying to hurry after Vincent but your grip was a vice around their little hands. "Vincent, I think I want to go ba-"

The figure's eyes darted down to meet yours.

You felt a scream in the back of your throat but all you could let out was a gasp. Stumbling backwards, you scooped up both kids in your arms as you tried to put distance between yourself and the figure. It didn't move - he didn't move - and that only made you feel sicker and sicker. "Vincent!" You shrieked, training your eyes on him where he stood unmoving. "What is this?!"

He stepped towards you, hands held up to placate you, and you felt all sense of fear begin to melt into relief as Vincent got closer. The tears of horror mixed with relief when he hugged you.

Your ex was dead. But you felt like this was just a new type of prison…

[swordsandholly]

Across The Way

Ch. 2: And So It Begins

Retired!Ghoap x fem!plus size!Reader

MDNI

Ao3 | Previous - Next

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

A/N: I got this out a lot faster than I thought I would. Hopefully my work doesn’t get too insane and I can get the next out in a timely manner - it’s going to be a bigger one!

“You were right.” Simon carefully cuts through the loaf with a serrated knife. He’s never lost his skill with them, despite their uses becoming increasingly more domestic over the years. It’s charming, in a way - the juxtaposition of where they started and where they are now.

“Right about whit?” Johnny asks.

“She is a pretty little thing.”

“Donnae tell me I need tae be worried about ye sneakin’ off at work.” He jokes. Simon would never, of course, but it’s fun to see the way his cheeks heat up at the implication. Without his mask he wears every expression with reckless abandon.

Simon settles his large frame into the seat across from Johnny at the dining table. It’s small, they don’t need much. The chairs always creak under Simon’s weight in an almost threatening fashion. He pushes a plate with two pieces of the bread and some eggs over to Johnny. There’s an odd tug in his chest when he picks up the slice - an urge to be gentle as he spreads butter over it. Gentility is not a compulsion he feels often.

“S’good.” Simon mutters around his bite.

Johnny nods along after taking one himself. There’s love in it - he can tell. A piece carefully crafted with only absolute perfection in mind. How strange that food can carry such a feeling.

“Was a wee bit worried we’d be stuck across from the nicest, worst baker in the world.” He mutters.

Simon huffs out a half laugh.

~~~

Your first week goes by in a blur. For a small town they sure do manage to keep you busy. It’s good, you remind yourself. Better than none. If you keep it up at this rate you’ll be able to hire help by the end of the summer quarter.

By Monday, the first day of your “weekend”, you’re overdone. Head dizzy and body exhausted, you spend the day in bed. It’s a gratifying exhaustion, one you hope to build more of a tolerance for. As of now, though, you elect to remain deeply buried under the covers.

When you wake for a second time the sun is already near setting again. The entirety of Monday slunk by with you in bed. You grumble to yourself angrily like an old man. You wanted to unpack today - to at least get your clothes and kitchen items put away.

“Stupid.” You grouse. At least you still have time to shower, you suppose.

As you stand the world blacks out for a moment, your body swaying in place. You allow yourself to fall back on the bed, sitting while your vision slowly comes back into focus. Blinking away black dots and off squiggles that dance across your eyes. On attempt number two you manage it, making your way to the bathroom.

The work is worth it. The pain is worth it.

This is what you always wanted, after all.

You are happy. You can feel it in your bones. They’re lighter than they used to be - your whole body thrums with excited energy even as you have to lower yourself with the upmost care into the shower seat. Even as you have to scrape one of the cheap fold out chairs you managed to get over to the stove while you cook a late night dinner. Thank god for low counters.

When you were arranging your schedule it took a while to get it perfected. To compensate for your body you have to have time to rest and be able to do a lot of baking preparation before the work week starts. Monday and Tuesday are for rest. Wednesdays are for prep. The shop is closed but you’re in the back working your ass off mixing and kneading and shaping doughs. As well as practicing new recipes you want to add to the store’s line up eventually. Your goal is to sell American biscuits, preferably in batches of six, but those take a lot of work and don’t keep as long. They’ll have to wait until you have hired help.

It’s all chance and whatever you can manage to make happen. You learned to be okay with that, though.

You’ve got plenty of spoons, you tell yourself. Just need to use them wisely.

When you finally close the fridge, now fully stocked with dough ready to proof and bake, you check the clock. It’s still the early afternoon. You finished sooner than you assumed you might. The thought makes you giddy - makes you feel accomplished.

It makes you feel normal.

As you exit into the warm spring sun you take a moment. Ever since you arrived you haven’t been able to just stop. To just take everything in - let the foreign air fill your lungs and the aura of the town sink into your bones.

It’s a lovely little main street that you’re located on. The building to your left is a large family owned pharmacy (very convenient for you) and to your right is an empty brick building. It looks like a former post office, but from what you know the current post office is a few blocks down beside the grocers. It’s quaint, the lot of it.

Your eyes settle on the shop across from yours housed in a simple brick building painted white. The upstairs is an apartment much like yours, you think, but from what you know it currently remains empty. The sign above the door reads A Cut Above the Rest. You wonder if that was Simon or Johnny’s doing.

Would it be weird to go in? You suppose not, after all they came to yours. It’s only fair you give them some patronage as well. Plus you need to ask how the bread was. Hopefully they liked it - you realized halfway through the night that you didn’t even ask if they like sourdough before shoving it into their hands.

That thought kept you up later than you’d like to admit.

You look both ways down the street. This particular spot doesn’t have a crosswalk but the road is so dead even when the downtown is busy you figure it’s worth risking. The lack of danger doesn’t stop you from fast-walking across, though.

The shop’s old-fashioned door bell chimes prettily as you push it open. For a butcher it smells extremely clean - almost clinical. It’s small, with an L shaped display counter and a register at the end nearest the door. Packages of sausage links and the like hang on displays across the back wall. Beside the wooden saloon doors that lead behind the counter is a little dog bed with a very well crafted name plate reading Riley hanging right above it.

So cute.

“Afternoon.” Simon appears from the back, wiping his hands on a rag. You jump a little, so lost in taking in your surroundings you forgot what you came here for.

“H-hi!” You smile. You forgot how intimidating Simon is. His gaze levels you - pins you underneath him like a fly under a swatter. Maybe that’s a bit dramatic. “I thought I’d come check your shop out and ask how the bread was?”

“It was good.” He replies bluntly. Totally monotone. The corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. You decide that’s it’s a smile - whether that’s the reality of his expression or not.

“It’s really nice in here.” You look around. There isn’t much for decoration. The walls are too covered in menus and diagrams of cuts to leave room for anything extra. There’s a shelf of odds and ends opposite the main counter full of high end mustards and condiments. Little things to go with whatever you could think to make out of the varieties of meat they offer.

“Thanks.” Simon nods. “One moment.”

You watch with curiosity and a slight frown as he makes his way into the back. He almost has to duck under the doorway. Old buildings with low ceilings and all that. The place definitely wasn’t made with a six foot plus behemoth in mind. You continue to look around, rocking back and forth on your heels. They have a perfect score on their inspectors plaque. You might not know Simon well, but he seems the type to be absolutely precise about everything. The score doesn’t surprise you.

Yours is almost perfect - some rules are different here than in the US. Next time, you swear you’ll get it top notch! You look across the street at your shop. You wonder if you made the wrong choice with The Honey Bun. It’s bit much now that you see it from afar but it still makes you smile. That’s what matters, you guess.

Simon comes back out with a small, nicely wrapped package. “You don’t ‘ave any dietary restrictions d’you?”

You shake your head and he pushes the package toward you. Your eyes widen - it’s a great cut of high end beef. Like, really good beef as far as you know. Something you’d never be able to afford even if your business wasn’t brand new. You stare between Simon and the little pack in your hands. “Th-this is so nice but I-“

“It’s only fair.” He cuts you off. “Neighbors, yeah?”

You can’t help the grin that splits your face, eyes misting up despite yourself. Kindness has not been a constant in your life - more of a rarity. Something you had to claw and fight to earn. Being given it so freely but such a taciturn man has you reeling just a bit.

“Thank you… I’ve got to head back but, uh, thank you. Really.” You press the small package to your chest. “Tell Johnny I said hi?”

“Course.” He nods.

“Thanks again!” You grin, giving a little two finger salute before practically skipping all the way back into your dingy little apartment. Happily, you pack away the meat to use later. It’s too nice to just make any dish out of - best to save it for a special occasion. Your first gift in your new life. Best to savor it.

~~~

“Afternoon, bonnie.” Johnny appears in your doorway while you sweep up from the Saturday rush, bell chiming upon his entrance. “Hope I’m not a bother.”

“Not at all.” You smile, resting the broom on the counter. “Hello to you as well, Miss Riley.”

She huffs out a quiet bark in reply, sitting dutifully at Johnny’s feet. You don’t have much experience with service dogs - other than the well known rule not to pet them while they’re working. They were always too expensive for you to get and your condition wasn’t labeled serious enough to warrant financial aid. (Despite the fact that you can, and have, passed out and hit your head on something hard.)

“Can I get you something?” You ask.

“Och, I’m a’right. Just wanted tae stop by an’ say hello before headin’ home.” He gives you that dashing, bright grin. “Simon always kicks me out of the shop at close.”

“He doesn’t need help?” You ask. Surely cleaning up a butchers shop is a huge task. You have your work cut out for you with all the flower - you can’t imagine cleaning that amount of blood and mess.

Johnny shrugs. “The cleaning chemicals trigger my migraines.”

You hum. “Well, you’re always welcome to stop by. Actually,” you turn on your heel, “I’ve got somethin’ I’d like you to try, if you want.”

“Never one to say no to food. Especially from a pretty girl.” Johnny says as he follows. He tells Riley to stay in front and she listens - the perfect little lady that she is. You nearly trip at his comment, keeping your back turned so that he hopefully doesn’t see the heat spreading from your face and down your neck.

“I-it’s, uh, you ever had American biscuits?” You ask, praying he doesn’t notice the shake in your voice. You have to get on your tip toes to reach the small basket you made the day prior - carefully lowering it and pulling back the gingham cloth you wrapped them in.

An image of home.

“Aye, had them once on a layover at some chain diner.” He nods. “Donnae think they were fresh, though.”

“Well these are proper biscuits.” You carefully cut one in half with ease. “Sometime I’ll have to make you some gravy to go with.”

“Yer gonnae make us fat, hen.” Johnny chuckles.

“There are worse things to be.” The words come out more defensive than you would have liked. An automatic mechanism - a harshness you've honed over the years.

You hate how easily you wield it, sometimes.

Johnny leans forward over the table, a furrow in his brow. “I dinnae mean-“

“Here.” You cut him off and hold out the biscuit on a napkin, smothered with butter in the middle.

Johnny lets your interruption go. Probably happy for an out. He takes the fluffy baked good slowly, cupping it in his large hand with care. You wonder if he always does that, touches things with such gentle love. Is it learned? Is it just natural to him? Does he touch Simon like that? Gentle caresses?

What’s that like?

Johnny takes a massive, enthusiastic bite. Somehow his blue eyes manage to sparkle even more, grinning as he chews. “Sh’gew!”

You laugh at his attempt to talk around the food. “Glad you like it.”

He swallows roughly. A full body gulp. “Why’d ye start bakin’ anyway?”

“My grandparents raised me.” You fold the biscuits back up in their little basket. “My grandma taught me how. She was the best in town - won the pie contest almost every year.”

“Tha’s lovely.” The smile he gives you is so genuine it makes your chest constrict.

“Mean old bat but she could beat anyone in the kitchen.” You laugh. “We swore she had some kinda magic. Like a green thumb but for cooking.”

“My mum’s like tha’. Can make anythin’ out of nothin’.” He nods along.

You fall into an easy back and forth - never breaching anything deeper than the most surface level of content as he eats. It’s manageable. Johnny doesn’t push and neither do you.

Riley barks from the front of the shop.

“Och, tha’s my queue.” Johnny brushes off his hands and checks the front of his shirt for crumbs. “Take care, aye?”

You smile. “You too.”

~~~

Johnny’s words keep ringing in your ears. You don’t know why. It’s nothing special. There’s no reason to attach to them. You raise a hand to wipe off the fog and stare in the small mirror hung above your bathroom sink.

Pretty girl.

You scoff. You’re not a pretty girl. You’ve never been a pretty girl. Fat girl. Stupid girl. Sick girl. Tired girl. Sad girl.

That last one you’ve heard more than anything else. Out of all the descriptors of you it stands out as the most used. By everyone from teachers to your own family. Always just a sad, sad girl.

You got it from your mom, they’d say. It’s not like you would ever know.

You rip your eyes away from the mirror and try to let the thoughts melt away as you sink into the comfort of your blankets. Those thoughts live back on the other side of the Atlantic. They don’t get to follow you here.

[exhaslo]

Puzzle Pieces Ch11

(Mafia!Miguel x Shy!Reader)

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9, Ch10

Warning: Smut so Minors DNI, mentions of abuse, blood, murder, language, fluff, bullying, mentions of sex, car sex, cockwarming, praise

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There was a slight chill in the air as the season's first snowflakes finally trickled down the cloudy sky. The moment Halloween passed, the atmosphere just smelled like Christmas. Every store, building and park was decorated for the holiday season.

Despite the cold winter air, the citizens of Nueva York kept their fall attire of simple t shirts and light sweaters. Those from out of town were easy to identify.

Such as Eddie Brock, who wore a thick coat and hat as he stood in front of your supermarket job. Frustrated by the fact that he could see his breathe, Eddie made his way inside. He breathed a sigh of relief towards the warmth and proceeded to the bakery section.

"Excuse me, is (Y/N) here?" Eddie said smoothly with a charming smile. One of the workers glanced at him,

"Not sure, she works at the Deli."

"Oh, Deli? Really?" Eddie whispered and thanked the worker.

That was a surprise. You were too chicken to handle something as fast pace as the deli back home. Here was worse. Hell, Eddie wouldn't be surprised if he saw you with gray hairs. Just the thought made him snort.

"Is (Y/N) around?" Eddie asked your supervisor.

Upon hearing your name, your supervisor glanced up at Eddie. Not recognizing the man, your supervisor hesitated. Everyone in the supermarket knew that you and Miguel were a thing. Miguel had already claimed you as his own and everyone was to make sure you did not have a hard time.

It wouldn't be pretty if you did.

"She called out." Your supervisor said simply and glanced at Eddie once more, "Mind if I ask who you are so I can inform her when she comes back."

"Her boyfriend. She left while I was away for work, do you think I could know when she works next? I'm sure she will be pleasantly surprised to see me,"

"Sorry, can't give out that information."

"Not even to her boyfriend?"

"No." Your supervisor said firmly. Eddie scoffed slightly,

"Fine. I'll be back tomorrow then."

Once Eddie was out of sight, your supervisor was quick to reach for the store phone. You picked a good day to call out, but Jessica was not here to see this interaction. Eddie was a dead man if Miguel ever found out that he claimed to be your boyfriend.

"Yes, I have some news for the boss."

----------

You were ecstatic as Miguel took you out for the day. It took little to no convincing when he had you call out and already had his driver waiting. You put on your best clothes for him and followed Miguel everywhere.

Everything you looked at for longer than 10 seconds, Miguel ended up buying. You were quick to get embarrassed and tried to tell him to stop spoiling you, but you secretly loved it. No one had spoiled you the way he was.

"The bed is going to have no room for us if you keep looking at stuffed animals," Miguel whispered in your ear before kissing your shoulder. You felt your cheeks heat up as you turned to him,

"S-Sorry, they're all just so c-cute." You replied and grabbed his hand as you pulled him past the store, "B-But I don't n-need anymore!"

"Amor (love), let me get you everything your heart desires." Miguel said with a loving smile.

You hugged Miguel in response. You really couldn't believe how good he was to you. That and you kept forgetting that he was rich. Miguel will literally buy you everything you want and that was dangerous.

"I-I like those plush...B-But all I really want t-to cuddle with is...is you," You squeaked, hiding your face in your sleeves.

Miguel nearly groaned at your cute little confession. He just wanted to grab you by the waist and cover you with kiss and marks, but, you were out in a public mall. Miguel had a reputation to keep. He was just going to have to wait until you two get in the car.

As the two of you passed a large opening, Miguel looked down at the street below. Furrowing his brows, Miguel watched as a small crowd formed around two drug addicts being cuffed by the police. This was nothing new, but the drug was.

Thanks to the new mafia gang in town, Venom, a new drug has spread like wildfire. Miguel did not like it when his city and people were being threaten. This new drug was making whoever took it hallucinate that they were part of a hive mind and worshiped their King.

"Miggy, I'm going to get a drink. D-Do you want anything?" You asked innocently, unaware of what was happening around you.

"No thank you, amor. Here," Miguel gave you his card and kissed your hand, "Get yourself a snack too. You look a little pale,"

"Mhm, t-thank...you,"

Miguel watched you smile shyly, hurrying back to the line. He had to protect your smile. You were robbed of it so much already. As Miguel watched you, he felt his burner ring. Quickly answering it, Miguel moved away from other people.

"Sir, we got a tip from the supermarket. A stranger appeared and requested for (Y/N), claiming to be her boyfriend." Jessica said over the line. Miguel inhaled sharply,

"Did they send footage?"

"Yes, Lyla is sending you an enhanced image of her ex. We'll finally have a face to go with the name."

"The audacity for him to call himself her boyfriend, ha...Hahaha, I'm going to-"

"Hehe, what's so funny?" You asked, your smile wide as you drank your sweet smoothie. Miguel stroked your cheek,

"Nothing, mi dulce conejito (my sweet little bunny)." Miguel patted your head, adoring your expression, "Jessica, I want everyone to keep an eye out, okay?" He whispered.

"One more thing, Miguel. Apparently, Eddie is going to keep going back to the supermarket until he sees (Y/N)."

"That won't happen,"

With a click, Miguel hung up on Jessica and returned his attention to you. That smile of yours was being threaten again. As much as Miguel wanted to leave and go find your ex now, he couldn't leave you alone.

"Miguel, is there anything you want?" You asked, holding his hand.

"We're shopping for you today,"

"I-I know, but Christmas...is around the c-corner...and...and I want to get you s-something...t-that you'll like...or...need." You whispered, pressing your head against his arm. Miguel felt his chest tighten, wondering how many horrible holidays you've gone through,

"Anything you give me I'll cherish with all my heart," Miguel kissed the top of your head, walking around the mall some more, "But, if it pleases you, I can have my assistant, Lyla, help you."

"R-Really?! T-Thank you!"

Miguel was eager to gobble you up again. He resisted and kept spoiling you by buying clothes, gifts and whatever you looked at. He had forgotten about Christmas, since it really wasn't something that Miguel focused on.

Miguel probably should start getting his mother and brother something for Christmas, and of course you. Noticing one of the pop up Christmas stores coming up ahead, Miguel felt you slightly pull against his sleeve.

"Go on, conejita (bunny). I'm right behind you."

You squealed softly as you hurried to the store. Miguel chuckled lowly since it was one of those calendar stores, but it wasn't the calendars that made you excited. Miguel casually stood behind you as you ravaged the puzzles.

Now this gave Miguel an idea.

--------

You hummed happily as you walked out of the mall with lots of new puzzles. Sure, Miguel bought you plenty of other things, but the puzzles was what you were more excited about. Having his driver take all of your bags, you smiled as Miguel followed you inside.

"Someone's happy," Miguel teased. You slowly crawled onto his lap, pecking his lips,

"Thank you...so...so much!" You chirped. Miguel's hands rested against your waist, gently biting your lip,

"We have some time until we reach the restaurant." He groaned, slowly undoing your pants. You huffed your cheeks softly,

"D-Don't be t-too rough."

"Never," Miguel said with a smirk as he hand stroked your cheek.

You whimpered softly, feeling your heart race as Miguel started to give you an array of kisses. Although you said for him not to be too rough, you honestly loved it when he was. Slowly grinding your hips against his, you melted against his touch.

---------

Eddie cursed slightly as he walked down the streets of Nueva York. His hands were stuffed in his pockets as he watched the normal citizens ignore him. That was all going to change soon. Soon, his new drug was going to get into everyone's hands.

Everyone will worship him.

But, he couldn't without his star player. You. Eddie needed you to help put his new drug into regular citizen's hands. But you just had to move without telling anyone. You just had to be useless and make his life harder.

"Gentle, Eddie. We have to be gentle at first," Eddie whispered to himself.

He wasn't going to take you back without force of course. Eddie knew that he could still manipulate you to do his bidding. All he had to do was say a few sweet words and you would come crawling back to him. It was easy.

Stopping at the edge of a sidewalk, Eddie couldn't help but notice the fancy limo car beside him. He cocked a brow since the back of the mini limo was shaking. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, knowing that someone was having the time of their life.

The windows weren't even tinted that much. When the light turned green, Eddie went to get a glance as the slutty couple. His eyes widen as he swore he saw you moaning as you bounced on some stranger's dick.

"Nah, we're just seeing things now." Eddie whispered, before reaching for his phone, "But...I better get (Y/N)'s address just to be sure."

----------

You moaned loudly as Miguel held your hips down. You were clenching against his dick as your body calmed down from another harsh orgasm. You swore you saw stars as your body finally relaxed. Miguel chuckled, kissing your neck as he slowly started to thrust back into you,

"See? I said I would be gentle," He teased, rubbing your clit in the process. You wrapped your arms around his neck, whimpering softly,

"I-I know~ mhm~ B-But...W-What if s-someone...ah~"

"I can always lower the window,"

"N-No~" You cried out as Miguel went faster, "M-Miggy~ I-I w-wanna be able t-to w-walk~"

"You will, baby," Miguel chuckled darkly.

Flinging your head back as you rode Miguel's dick, you moaned as you felt nothing but pleasure. Miguel grunted as he pulled you back in and groaned as he started to get rougher. You gasped and cried as Miguel brought you to another orgasm.

"Miguel~" You cried out.

"Good girl, (Y/N)," Miguel groaned as he unloaded inside of you, "See, still gentle,"

"Mhm," You rested against his chest, calming from your high, "S-Still super e-embarrassing. A-Are you sure...y-your driver d-didn't hear us?" Miguel carefully fixed you back up as the driver looked for parking,

"I'm sure." Miguel smirked, pecking your lips as he trailed your panty line, "Want him to hear us?"

"N-No!" You squeaked, covering your face.

Miguel laughed towards your behavior and helped you out of the car. He wrapped his arm around your waist and helped you into the restaurant since your legs were still shaking. He glanced down at your flustered cheeks and thought. He needed to casually tell you that it wasn't safe to go back to work.

"(Y/N), what would you think about not working at the supermarket anymore? I can take care of all your needs." He whispered as the waiter greeted them. You glanced up at Miguel,

"B-But...I don't want-" You stopped, knowing that Miguel didn't think of you as a burden, "I-I'll feel like I'm...just using y-you. I-I want to w-work too."

"Then, work for me?" Miguel suggested as they sat at their fancy table, "I could always use an extra hand." He offered. Your eyes sparkled at the suggestion,

"R-Really?" You gasped and thought, "A-As much...as I-I would like a c-change...but...I...I really can't."

"Why not, baby?"

"W-Well...I-I haven't had...a chance to t-tell you...But," You covered your mouth, looking shyly towards Miguel, "M-My parents...o-own the supermarket I work at...W-Which i-is why...s-someone like me can e-even work...t-there."

Miguel's eyes widen as he proceeded this new information. The supermarket that he took care of his mafia business at; the supermarket were he got his goods from; the supermarket that Miguel had great connection with....was owned by your family.

And those same owners told your ex where you went.

"Is that so?" Miguel said with a devilish smirk.

This just made things even easier for Miguel.

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next chapter

@migueloharacumslut @18lkpeters @deputy-videogamer @leahnicole1219 @synamonthy @thedevax @jolynesposts @thraetor @freehentai @2099hitmylineyline @vvampir3s @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @secretadmirerisnowonline @jadeloverxd @bunnibitez @oharasfilipinawife @randomgoosegame @lilbanas @daisy-artfield @axi-moore @mimiemie @darkfairy102190 @jazzyj1011 @mcmiracles @innercreationflower @spoderssimp @thel0velykey190 @moonvoidpng @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @scaleniusrm @love4saturn @nyxgoddessofchaos13 @slutty-chronicles @ghstypaint @migueloharastruelove @brainmatterdump @a060403 @trendyharold @yannauauau @kimivixen @angel-xx-1 @nxrdamp @miguelzslvtz @lynxslokley @wafflefries786 @pochapo @what-the-jams @flaps200 @ii-angelsrolltheireyes-ii @nakimushiohime @tojishugetiddies @aya-world @supercowgirl04 @mysteris-things @daisy-artfield @mcmiracles @alexa4040 @llama--drama @kpopscoups17130000 @havkjhdecs @ruexvn @tojishugetiddi @openup-yourmind @black-swan-blog27 @xstarsdiary @kiddisquacking @gachagator @yujyujj @emmyrxx @blackteamint @sockears @black-swan-blog27 @soraya-daydreams @byjessicalotufo @nanoinn @bunnibitez @aockskcw @l3laze @dimitri-needs-therapy

[countcvnt]

Experiment

Chapter Four: Stamina

[Poly!TF 141 x Fem!Reader]

[Ch. Three] [Ch. Five]

Summary: After a couple days of rest, you realize just how much stamina you have. You train with boys to get some energy out. Warnings: Descriptions of broken bones, mentions of blood, slight suggestive language Word Count: 3.3k A/N: This chapter isn't as sad. Next chapter will have light smut! I got the idea of the chapter link thing from @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries so thanks Ikea!! Hope it's alright tag you just for that lmao. Also I just learned how to do the side by side gifs yay!!

It’s been a couple days since your nap… Since your realization. Simon has only been more distant. You’re sitting in the training area, alone, when Soap and Gaz walk in.

"We got ye this!” Soap extends his hand. “It’s a radio!” You look up at him with confusion. “I ken it isnae a phone…”

“Hey,” You grab it, “it’s better than nothing. Now I can bother all of you all the time!”

“Actin’ more and more like yerself!” Soap hits you on the back. It catches you off guard how hard he hit you. You are fine, you aren’t going to bruise, but you can’t help but wonder if he’d always nudged or hit you so hard. “How come yer here by yerself?”

You shrug. “Simon was supposed to meet me here. Do some training. Guess he skipped out on me.”

Soap lights up. “I can help ye!” He seems excited.

“We both can, actually.” Gaz interjects.

You nod, lighting up. “Okay! I’d like that. I’ll be sure to go easy on the both of you.” You smile at them as you stand up. You already stretched earlier, ten minutes before Simon was supposed to come in. So, instead of doing that, you walk to the middle of the room and stand there, eagerly awaiting Soap and Gaz.

“Now,” Soap puts a hand up, “don’ think ye have to go easy on us.”

Gaz makes a face, “You haven’t seen her strength yet, have you?”

You laugh. “I’ll hold back a little bit…” You reassure him. “But, I don’t want either of you to hold back. I promise, I can take it. Trust me.”

You take a fighting stance, ready for them to come at you. Gaz and Soap look at each other. Gaz gives a gentle nod to Soap, one you assume you were not supposed to catch, and Soap takes off towards you. You plant your feet and prepare yourself for Soap hitting you. His rough hands grab you, and the both of you grapple for a moment. Your arms get free and instinctively wrap around Soap’s ribcage, and get behind him at a speed he was unsure was possible.

You easily bring him up and over you, suplexing him into the mat below you. You stand up straight and look down at Soap. He groans, the air has been knocked out of him. You smile at him and he motions for Gaz to move.

“Yer suppose’ to ger ‘er now.”

Gaz looks at you funny. “I don’t think I want to be thrown like that.”

“It’s kinda hot, actually,” Soap smiles at you once he seems to be breathing properly again. Your face heats up. You look at Soap with wide eyes. He sits up and rubs the back of his neck. “What did they give ye?”

You, still hung up on the ‘hot’ thing, shrug. “I dunno.” Your mind is racing. You need to do something other than rest or eat. You want to throw Soap around some more, but you can’t stop thinking about his comment.

“Look,” Gaz motions towards you, looking at Soap. “She’s in shock. Ya told her that was hot, and now she’s in shock.”

“Same old bonnie,” Soap stands up and smiles at you.

“Uh, that was very cathartic…” You shift your weight, “can we continue this… 'training’?”

“Cathartic? Throwing him around eased your mind?” Gaz looks at you with wide eyes.

You nod at him. “Yeah, I think it’d also be fun if you both ran at me!” You smile wide.

“Yer outnumbered,” Soap places a hand on your shoulder, “that isn’ fair.”

You cross your arms. “Johnny,” You narrow your eyes at him. “They wanted to test my reflexes before you got me out of there. They improved a lot more than my strength, I just wanna test something out…”

The both of them look at each other. “If ya say so.” Gaz responds.

You excitedly nod back and get in your fighting stance once more. “Remember,” You point at them, “do not go easy on me! Please.” You smile at them. You want to know what you’re capable of.

Gaz and Soap don’t say a word. Instead, Gaz runs at you. It's your turn to grapple with him. While you’re fighting with Gaz, you can feel Soap running at you. You tense and throw Gaz to the floor and immediately direct your attention onto Soap. His arms wrap around your waist and you're sent sailing over him. He effortlessly suplexes you into the mat and you groan.

Soap and Gaz are both standing over you, looking down at you and smiling. “Was that payback?” You ask, catching your breath.

“We’re even now.” Soap puts his hand out towards you.

You don’t hesitate to grab it. Soap easily pulls you up and Gaz steadies you as you stand. As you’re thanking them, the doors of the training room opens. The three of you turn towards the door and you perk up.

“You’re finally here!” Your eyes hit Simon’s.

“What do you mean? ‘Finally’?” He looks at the clock on the wall. “I said 12:30… it’s now 12:29.”

“Oh, I thought you said 1200…” You feel embarrassed now.

“You’ve been here since then, waiting?”

“She’s been throwin’ us around.” Gaz rubs the back of his neck.

Simon approaches you and looks down at you, “Good, you’ve been warming up.”

Your stomach flips at how he says that. His tone… He has not come to just mess around, you already know that much. He walks past you and towards the end of the mat. Soap, Gaz, and you stare at him. He motions for Soap and Gaz to move, and they do. You blink at him. You quickly take your ass to the other end of the mat and wait for Simon’s next move.

Simon does not say a word. Instead, he rushes you. He easily grabs you, turns you around, and is holding you close to him, his arms keeping you from moving. You let you an awkward laugh, “What the fuck?” Simon doesn’t say a word. Instead he shoves you forward. You do not miss a step. You turn back to him and rush towards him.

“Suplex him!” Gaz shouts from the sidelines. Him and Soap seem just as curious as you about your strength.

You can’t help but wonder if you could… You want to try it. Simon is a big boy, and you want to test your new found strength. The both of you circle each other and your fingers are wiggling, you’re looking for an opening. You end up moving faster than Simon can register. You wind up behind him and grab his waist.

Simon does not let you get further than that. His elbow rears back, and you realize you are at just the right angle to get hit just a tad too late. Simon’s elbow slams into your face, harder than he had expected it to, and a loud pop echoes through the training room. You let go of him immediately. You fall to the floor, warmth covering your face. You let out a low, primal growl ready to fucking obliterate Simon. You want to maul him. Something in you is about to snap. Until suddenly his words replay in your head. ‘I trust you.’

Simon would never intentionally hurt you. And when you look up at Simon, his eyes tell you he truly did not mean to hit you so hard. Your eyes cut towards Soap and Gaz, who are watching you with anticipation.

You inhale sharply through your mouth and snap your nose back into place, stopping the bleeding pretty quickly. You sit up and Ghost puts his hand towards you. “Come on,” He sounds like he’s trying to keep himself calm. “You need to go to the med bay.”

Your bloody hand reaches for him and you grab it. You, in the spur of the moment, decide now would be a good time to take advantage of the situation and as you pull yourself up, kick your leg out. It slams into Simon’s shin and he’s doubling over. You slam your body into his and slide across the mat. You straddle Simon and you're holding him down. You’re breathing heavily and watching him.

The look in his eyes tells you he had not expected that. “Don’t let your guard down.” You heave out, a dull pain pulsating through your nose.

Simon sits there a moment. You move to get up and look at Soap and Gaz, who are watching with wide eyes. As you stand, a hand grabs you and you’re flipped. Your back slams into the floor and the wind is knocked out of you. You gasp. Your eyes shoot open and Simon is crouching above you, his large, rough hand wrapped around your throat. You watch him, unblinking. Not breathing.

Simon lowers himself to your level. His eyes stay on yours. You swallow hard and inhale shakily as his lips hover over your ear. “Don’t let your guard down.” He whispers in your ear. He stands up and walks off from you. “Get her to the med bay.”

You lie on the floor. The door opens and closes as Simon leaves. You, still laying down, look over at Soap and Gaz. You try to process everything that just happened. They rush over to you and Gaz crouches beside you. You look at him, eyes still wide, brain still processing. Neither of them seem to have expected that.

“Gaz,” Soap looks off towards the door, “I’m gonna check on Ghost…”

“Okay, I’ll get her checked out.” Gaz nods at Soap. He places a hand on your shoulder and you sit up. Gaz helps you stand and you look at all the blood on the ground and your hands. You know it’s covering your face. “Come on, love, let’s go.”

You're sitting in an exam room, mostly cleaned up. You look at the monitor across the room from you, your eyes stuck on it. The IV pole is beside it. “Are they gonna hook me up?” You ask Gaz, your eyes not leaving the monitor.

“No, love,” Gaz grips your shoulder. “You just broke your nose. They have no need to hook you up to that.”

The doctor walks in as he finishes his sentence. She's a woman. You feel yourself relaxing a little bit. Her lab coat isn't doing you any favors though. All medical coats must be the same, all you can think about is the facility. You exhale slowly and grab Gaz’s hand. He gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“I'm Doctor Johnson, I'll be checking on you, okay?” You can't tell if she used to know you or not. You nod at her. “What happened?”

“Well, I assume it all started when I was taken–”

“No, not that far back,” Gaz smiles at you.

“Oh, my bad.” You look at the doctor. “I was training with Lt. Ghost and we got a little too rough. Thankfully, I don't get hurt like normal people.” You say, kicking your feet off of the side of the exam bed.

Her face contorts. “Okay–�� She drags out the word. “Is that from your…” She pauses. She knows. You nod. “Okay, Price should have brought you to me sooner.” She looks at Gaz and back at you. “Is it okay if he's in here?”

“Of course! I actually prefer it… him staying.”

Dr. Johnson nods. “That's fine, just wanna make sure.” She smiles at you softly. “Can I check your nose?” When you say yes, she approaches you. Her gloved hands gently touch the bridge of your nose. You don't flinch at her touches. She gently pushes it and it pops. Again, you don't flinch. “You can't feel that?”

“I mean, I know you're touching me. But it doesn't hurt, no.” You shake your head.

She hums. She checks inside and then looks at you. “Your nose, you broke it before.” She states it as fact. She knows you have.

“Well, actually, yes. At the facility, they broke it. They hit me with the butt of an assault rifle.”

Gaz’s drop on your hand tightens. You can see his whole body tense, his Adam's apple bobs. You say it so nonchalantly. He doesn't like it.

The doctor swallows hard. She seems stunned. She quickly gathers her thoughts and inhales through her nose. “May I ask what tests they ran on you?”

“Yes you may,” you reply sweetly. “But I can't tell you what they were. They never told me. I just know I'm quite literally built to take those types of blows and then some.”

“We could help you figure it out.” She suggests it. She isn't pushing you.

“No.” It's the first thing that comes from your mouth. “I'm already stressed enough sitting right here in front of you. I will not be hooked up to monitors, or poked with needles.” You stand your ground.

“It's okay,” Gaz calms you down. “We don't have to do that. Not right now.”

The doctor purses her lips, looking at Gaz. “It'd be good to know those things. It could help you.” She sounds so calming, genuinely trying to keep you from freaking out.

You do want to know what's up with you. But you don't want to put yourself in distress just to figure it out. You sigh. “Not right now.” You shake your head. “I need time to think about it.”

She nods at you. “That's fine. Your nose is completely fine. You're free to leave, if you'd like.”

You have never gotten up so fast in your life. You drag Gaz out of the room with you. He doesn't stumble once, but he does wince, causing you to realize how tightly you're holding onto him. You mumble an apology and let him go once you're out of the exam room. You stop in the hall and take everything in. The lights are bright and everything smells so… sterile. It's almost haunting.

“We can get out of here.”

“That sounds good.” The both of you begin to leave. “Do you wanna train again?” You ask him, cocking your head.

Gaz makes a gutteral noise, laughing. “After all that, you still wanna train?”

“Yes, it was nice. It was… relieving my stress. I still have a bunch of pent up energy.”

“We'll find you something to take that out on.” He leads you out of the med bay.

“After sleeping the last couple of nights, I've never felt better I don't think. I must have stamina for days. I feel like I could go at it forever.”

“Oh?” Gaz looks over his shoulder at you. “Forever? And what are you going at exactly?” His brow cocks.

Your face heats up. “Not like– That's not– In a sense–” You stumble on your words. “Fuck.” You want to bury your head in your hands.

“Oh, fuck?” Gaz smirks at you. “Really? I didn't know you were like that.” He nudges you with his elbow.

“Kyle, I'm going to die. I think I'm literally going to pass away.” You look at him with a pout.

“Sorry, love, you aren't getting out that easy. I think I have an idea on how to get your energy out though. We could always try the gym, or the track? There's a new recruit who beat the best time and I think– I know you can beat him.” He turns and grabs your shoulders. “I think it'd be really funny if you beat him.”

You smirk at him. “I'm an enhanced individual now. And you want me to beat some poor rookie’s best time on the track? You want me to destroy him?”

“Yes. Gotta keep the new guys in check. Plus, we can check that stamina of yours.”

You smile, “Okay!” You put a finger up, “But, I'm not doing it to pumble some guy's record. I'm doing it because I'm testing myself.”

“Hey, that's fine with me.” Gaz grabs your hand again. “Come on!”

You let out a laugh as Gaz drags you outside and towards the track. When you get outside there are several people stretching, getting ready to run. Most of them are men.

“Hey,” you look at Gaz, “do you think they'll be emotionally distraught if I outrun them?”

You sure hope so.

“Only one to find out.”

Gaz walks over to the track with you. You approach the group and they all look at you. Your grip tightens on Gaz’s hand and you smile awkwardly at them. Most of the people are new recruits. You are positive they don't know about your… predicament. You introduce yourself as Ace.

“Just came to run a little bit, burn some energy!” You release Gaz’s hand.

They don't seem to think much about it. You walk towards the track and ready yourself. The sergeant at the sidelines readies the group and you examine them. You're trying to pick out the fastest one. The one you want to beat. Or one Gaz wants you to beat.

“Three–”

Everyone is getting ready to run. You look at Gaz.

“Two–”

He motions towards a tall, slender man. You lock on.

“One!”

You take off. All of you take off. You know you're supposed to pace yourself when running. You watch everyone doing that, except one person. The one Gaz pointed out to you. You can feel Gaz watching you. You have an urge to show off for him. The urge to impress him is suddenly very strong. You don't fight it.

You take off. Your legs push you forward and quickly run by the man. You give him a smile as you run by him. He doesn't falter. He picks up his speed. So you do the same.

Before you know it you are speeding around the track. The man left in the dust. You reach the end of the mile and smile at Gaz. He's the only one you see. You don't notice everyone stopped and staring. The sergeant clicks his timer.

“Ace,” the sergeant waves you over. “You just beat the fastest time by three minutes���”

“What. The. Fuck!?” A scream echoes from behind you. “How did you do that?”

“Peter, calm down.”

“What the fuck,” He repeats himself, quieter this time. “That’s not possible… I did track for years! And you come up here out of nowhere–” His hands are in his hair. His eye on the ground.

Oh, he’s mad. You watch him closely. Gaz steps in between you and Peter. You feel butterflies in your stomach as he does that. Peter looks distraught.

“How did you do that?”

You aren't sure how much you can tell him. So you shrug.

“You don't know?” His eyes widened. “Did you do track at all? Have you ever even run in your life? You aren't even out of breath!”

“I don't know–”

“What does that mean?! You don't know? How does someone not know that?”

He's so fragile. He storms off. You look at Gaz and he turns his head towards you.

“Did I do okay?” You can't help but ask.

“Okay?” He asks you. “Love, that was amazing! You set a new record!”

“I wasn't even doing the best I could–” Your face is hot.

Gaz pulls you into a hug. He's proud of you. You don't immediately hug back, causing Gaz to pull away. You pull him back to you, keeping from crushing him. The last time you hugged one of them —intentionally— was when you hugged Simon two days ago. You hadn't realized how much you needed physical contact since then.

Gaz hugs back, his hand rubbing your back. It seems to be just as therapeutic for him.

“Okay,” the sergeant speaks up, “how did you do that?”

Gaz pulls away from you, and you look at the sergeant. You shrug. “I'm just that good, I guess.”

The sergeant narrows his eyes. He doesn't get a chance to say anything about it before your new radio goes off.

“Ace,” Price comes over the radio. “meet me at the barracks immediately, over.”

You groan. “Copy, over.”

He knows something. You grab Gaz's hand and begin back towards base. Gaz doesn't argue with you taking him with you. He does seem confused. But he holds your hand with no complaints, following you to the barracks.

Taglist:

@moonyinthestars @dory-98 @otto-s-alskling @aeilani @klutzy-kay24 @sher-ni @infpt-zylith @eustassh @kaoyamamegami @zoexme @reap3erslov3 @fruitymoonbeams-blog @cosmic-rich @bvxygriimes @waiting-so-long @mill7531

(tags are being weird again, i'm sorry if it didn't let me tag you... also think that's everyone? If i forgot you, just let me know I'll be sure to add you next chapter! I'm sorry im very forgetful and my list fills.. like it's missing someone)

[storiesofsvu]

Decadent Desires Ch 19

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, alcohol consumption, the usual denial of feelings. It's all coming together now! Only a couple of more chapters to go! I'm super curious to how y'all think things are gonna go down and exactly when the oh moment really will be/what's gonna make them both admit it to themselves.

3.8k

Emily was a little later than she thought she would be, barely making it before breakfast hours ended but the important thing was that she got the food and she made it to your place and wasn’t whisked away by any phone calls. Securing the bag and drink tray she made it through the halls of your building until she was outside your door, knocking on it the best she could with her elbow. It took a couple of minutes, she could hear some shuffling gong on inside, but you finally pulled the door open, your head titling at the sight of her.

“Hey.” She greeted with a warm smile.

“Hey…” you replied, a tiny laugh coming from your mouth, “what’re you doing here?”

“I promised I’d bring brunch.” She held up the bag, “well, lazy brunch.” She surveyed you for a minute, watching the gears turning behind your eyes and it was her turn to laugh. “Oh my god, you really are out of it. Jetlag gets you that bad? I thought you travelled for work?”

“Not often.” You admitted, feeling the heat creeping into your cheeks as you fully remembered the conversation in her office, “and it’s only ever like, a two hour time difference.” You stepped back, letting her into the house and raising your hands to take the tray and bag from her so she could get rid of her shoes and coat.

“You really forgot I was coming?” She asked, swiping the bag back from you and following you into the living room.

“Figured you were off on a case.” You shrugged, dropping back down onto the couch, fiddling with the remote to turn the volume down as you burrowed yourself under the blanket you’d been under before the bell rang. “I’m glad you weren’t though…. I’ve been doom scrolling through three different apps trying to decide what to get delivered for hours without a single thought in my head on what I could possibly want.”

“Well, enjoy some delicious grease then.” Emily suggested with a smile, pulling what she wanted from the bag before handing it over to you.

“Thank you. Seriously.” You eagerly searched through it, pulling out a McMuffin and a hashbrown, your stomach loudly growling. “Would’ve wasted away to nothing without it.”

Emily laughed softly, watching the intricate way you inspected the ingredients of the sandwich, adding both ketchup and hot sauce into it before slipping a hashbrown next to the egg and putting it all back together. You let out a very appreciative groan after your first bite and silently gave her a very thankful look that she didn’t need words to transcribe.  

“I’ve never tried that.”

“Oh my god it’s the best.” You mumbled over a bite of food, swallowing it down “especially when the hashbrown’s extra crispy like this.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I got extras.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a true angel?” You asked and she laughed.

“Not often.”

“Well you are.” You leant in, kissing her cheek gently, “thank you.”

“Of course.” She squeezed at your knee, “I bailed on an arranged date, I had to make it up to you.” She gestured toward the tv, “now, what’re we watching?”

“Real Housewives. LA I think?” You shifted over to your right, nestling into the corner of the couch, your legs extending onto the longer part of the sectional as you adjusted the blanket. “It’s my brain rot show, I can never keep the cities straight. Now c’mon.” You waved her over to you, “make yourself at home, get comfy and put your feet up.”

Emily laughed softly, easily sliding in beside you as you pulled down another blanket to make sure there was enough for both of you. The sectional was wide, the extended portion more than spacious enough for you to both use it without being right up against each other. Not that that mattered, once breakfast was eaten and you just had coffee to sip on (you didn’t miss that Emily skipped coffee at McDonald’s, opting for a local shop a couple of blocks from your place so she could get your preferred seasonal blend) you were nestled right into Emily’s side. Her arm instinctively looped over your shoulders, encouraging you to lean into her. If you squinted hard enough and it wasn’t for the blustery weather outside the windows, it was like you were back on vacation.

With the television playing on, it didn’t take very long before you were drifting off, Emily managing to snag your almost empty coffee cup before the remnants split all over your couch. She was more than happy to let you snooze against her, your heart beat calm, thudding against her own rib cage and eventually lulling her to sleep too. Either one or both of you would wake up occasionally throughout the afternoon, sometimes shifting because of a cramped shoulder or foot, others because your bladder was screaming or because you desperately needed some hydration. The channel got changed a couple of times, flicking between a few options so you weren’t totally sucked into one overdramatic mess of somewhat real reality tv. Otherwise the two of you returned to your little corner of the couch, burying deep into each other’s arms with happy sighs and content little smiles. There wasn’t much of a better way to spend a Sunday.

At one point you woke up with a small yawn, rolling in Emily’s lap toward the arm of the couch to go back to sleep when a piece of your hair suddenly yanked. You thought it must’ve just been caught under your shoulder or her arm, it had been lose earlier, but Emily made a small noise.

“Sorry…” She winced and when you rolled your head back to look up at her she had a sheepish grin on her face and the ends of half your hair in her hands. “I got fidgety, needed something to occupy my hands.”

You let out a small laugh, carefully shifting so you were sitting at a better angle for her to continue the braid, “I, uh.. kinda wanted to ask if you would do it anyways but I thought that might we weird or something.”

“Not weird at all.” She assured, “as long as you waking up to some weirdo braiding your hair wasn’t weird.”

“You’re not a weirdo. If I woke up to Tony doing it, I’d kick him out.” Your body relaxed into her legs, “and.. for the sake of you not doing it, undoing it and doing it over a million times, the pink basket under the table has fidget toys.”

“You have a collection?” She asked, genuinely curious.

“Heather started buying them for me because I kept fidgeting with and breaking her super fancy expensive pens.” You explained and she laughed, “and I’m not allowed to have clicky pens at important meetings anymore.”

“Such a strict boss.” She teased, her fingers softly tickling at the back of your neck, pulling a shiver from you before she dug around for an elastic to finish the first braid.

The afternoon continued much like the morning had, half watching shows, mild chit chat, cuddling and dozing as the skies turned grey and the rain started. The next time you woke up the sun was completely gone from the sky and the side Emily had been pressed into was cold. You were going to just wait a minute, let your brain realize what you were even watching when you heard the tell tale sounds of your pantry drawers being slid open and shut. With a yawn, you pushed up to sitting, looking into the kitchen over the back of the couch.

“Hungry?” You asked and Emily nearly jumped, letting out a small laugh as she stilled.

“Me? Your stomach was making volcano noises so loud I’m surprised you didn’t wake yourself up.”

“We can just order.” You offered and she waved you off.

“Nah. I think I’ve got everything I need I was just looking for your spices.”

“Small cupboard, top right by the stove.” You replied, watching for a minute as she pulled it open and plucked through them, picking out a couple.

Curiosity got the best of you and you stretched out your limbs, a few of them cracking, achy muscles finally feeling relief as you moved off the couch and padded into the kitchen. Your arm snagged around Emily’s waist and you pressed a soft kiss into her shoulder.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, and hey, we were both hungry and you were asleep. I figured the best thing I could do was snoop.”

“You want wine?” You asked.

“Please.”

Moving seamless through the room around each other you pulled down a couple of glasses, grabbing a handful of ice from the freezer for her glass before you popped a bottle of white, filling one up and sliding it over to her. You opted for red yourself, sliding the white into the fridge and the malbec back into the wine rack before you hoisted yourself up onto the corner of the counter. A happy hum left your lips when you took your first sip of wine, your body relaxing as you watched Emily move through the kitchen.

Every so often she had to ask you where a specific pan or utensil was but otherwise she had everything covered. She would never say that she was a particular whiz in the kitchen, but she could get a pretty good handle down on things, alter recipes to simplify them to what was on hand and go from there. The television was still going in the background, giving some background noise to the experience when the two of you weren’t talking.

You watched with a small smile as Emily popped two butterflied chicken breasts, coated with shake and bake into the oven. She turned back to the island, where she had pulled out all her supplies so she wouldn’t forget anything, glancing through them until she found the jar of pasta sauce.

“You have garlic?” She asked, raising a brow toward you, breaking herself out of her zone. She caught you half staring at her, hiding behind the rim of your glass and instantly felt the heat creeping up the back of her neck.

“Yeah.” You smiled, “powder’s in the spice cupboard, fresh is on top of the microwave.”

She chose the fresh garlic, swiftly crushing it and doing her best at mincing it up before tossing into a pan with some onion and oil.

“You want a hand?” You asked and with an almost shy smile she shook her head.

“Nah. I’m cooking for you; you just sit there and look pretty.”

“The hardest job of them all.” You mocked, a small laugh escaping your lips and Emily felt the blush creeping into her cheeks again.

Twenty minutes later and she was plating up a semi makeshift chicken parm for the two of you, spices added into the jarred sauce, and working with whatever cheese was in your fridge, but it smelt and looked delicious. You refilled both of your wine glasses, settling at the island to eat, groaning over how tasty it was. You teased Emily for never having cooked for you before, saying she was locked in and trapped now. She laughed, a glittering in her eye as she glanced over to you, a warmth blooming through her chest at the way you were looking at her.

Since Emily had cooked you ushered her away when she tried to help with the dishes, filling up her wine glass once more and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. With the kitchen clean, you flicked the overhead light off, scooping up your wine glass as you crossed back to the living room.

“Think you’ve got a movie in you?” You asked, noticing the way she was flicking through options on the screen.

“Yeah.” She looked up to you, shifting your preferred blanket out of your way so you could take your place beside her on the couch. “Figured I’ve got at least that much left before bed.”

“Did you want to stay?” You asked, tucking yourself under the blanket and nuzzling into her side.

Her scrolling through the app paused momentarily before it continued, “yeah. If that’s okay.”

“It’s perfect.”

**

Tony had been relentlessly bugging you for lunch, dinner, coffee, any kind of hangout since discovering you in Emily’s office. Knowing that he was likely going to press into things you didn’t really want to get into in public you’d finally said that as long as he brought takeout and a bottle of wine he could come over Thursday night. You’d picked through dinner at the kitchen island while you caught up, Tony surprisingly holding back while he listened about your vacation (that you held back plenty of details on) and he took some time to vent about the current NCIS/BAU case that was still open and struggling to move anywhere.

Eventually you dragged him and a fresh bottle of wine upstairs. All of the shopping trips over the past few months had your closets overflowing a bit too much for you liking and you wanted to get a head start on some spring cleaning. Your attention was mainly on pulling things out of your closet as Tony poked around your room as per usual.

“You know, if you know any FBI secrets, you should probably let me in on them.” He started, “I am an agent of the law after all.”

You nearly snorted, rolling your eyes and continued to ignore him.

“I mean, at the very least, should I think about switching departments? You think an SSA gets a better paycheque than us?  I could probably put in for a pretty smooth transfer after this case closes…”

“You’d never do that to Gibbs.” You interrupted, breaking off his train of rambling, “and Emily has family money, the job didn’t make her rich.”

Tony had been your friend for long enough that he didn’t need to be a profiler, hell he didn’t even need to be a special agent to pick up on the way your eyes lit up when you said Emily’s name. How you couldn’t seem to control your smile when you told him stories about the Maldives with a far off look in your eyes that you didn’t even register yourself. He wanted to know more, he wanted to know everything, but he knew you weren’t just going to share it all at the drop of a hat, when it came to things like this, and planting the seeds he wanted to, he had to tread carefully. Even if the seeds had already been growing for weeks already.

“So..” he leant back into an armchair, crossing his arms behind his head, “tell me more about Emily.”

You cast him a look over your shoulder as you tossed another dress into the donation pile, “I already told you; we enjoy our time together. I’ve expanded my repertoire of fancy restaurants in DC, could probably compile a list for you. You want it in order of cost, food quality or first date to proposal?”

“Please,” he teasingly scoffed, “the food is the last thing I’m interested to hear about from your dates.”

“You know I don’t kiss and tell Tony.” You threw a balled up shirt at his face, “especially considering she’s currently your co-commanding officer. I don’t need you looking at her and knowing what she’s into, gross.”

“As entertaining as that might be…” he straightened out the shirt, folding it before adding it to the donation pile, “I was more curious about the other side of things. I mean… this is the longest you’ve been with someone in a few years.”

He caught the way your hands faltered, the dress in your hands nearly slipping off the hanger before you caught yourself, straightening it to return into the closet.

“Trust me, it’s not like that.” Laughing, you turned back to him, hands crossed over your chest, “She paid nearly sixty thousand for that vacation and that’s if the all inclusive comment was true and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. Then she tried to pay me on top of that for my time. I’m basically an over qualified sex worker.”

“As a member of law enforcement, I can confirm that you aren’t.” He replied, his hand reaching out as he started to fiddle with the jewelry stand on your dresser, “and if you were, the woman running an entire unit of the FBI wouldn’t be so happily enjoying it. It would be all secrets, dark hotel rooms and NDA’s.”

“Tony, lay off it.” You replied with a huff, turning back to your closet, “I already told you; I don’t have time to date.”

“You spent Sunday night with her,” he offered, “you’re hanging out with me right now. You even had enough time to swing by her office, which is in an entirely different district, in the middle of a work day, with lunch and you were there for at least an hour. Seems like you have plenty of time.”

“It’s not about physical time and you know it. It’s about, the emotional labour, having to be on all the time, getting through the awkward stages, fucking small talk.” Your fingers slid down a plum dress, pulling it out from the row of clothes and you felt your heart leap when you realized it was the dress you wore on your first real date with Emily, the one that was so rudely interrupted by her phone before you could even get a chance to kiss her. You groaned, letting the dress fall back into your closet to be kept, “dating fucking sucks.”

“We’re not talking about casual dating or swiping through apps and having to deal with a million first dates, we’re talking about Emily.”

“What about her Tony?”

“You wouldn’t have brought her lunch if you didn’t like her.”

“I wouldn’t have said yes to being her sugar baby if I didn’t like her. I stopped by because Heather basically ordered me to.”

“So you’re telling me things between the two of you are strictly contractual? Financial and sexual benefit only?”

“Yes!”

The way your heart was suddenly beating in your chest, the worry that was beginning to eat away at your insides was telling you that Tony was onto something. You’d been so surrounded by work it had been incredibly easy to shove your feelings down, only leaning into them when you were out with Emily, as if it was part of the show, part of the sugar baby package. It kind of was after all, the flirtation, the compliments, the making her feel wanted and appreciated, taken care of, it was part of what she was paying you for. You’d said it yourself; companionship was far more than just sex. Even if you had started to slip deeper into the role than you’d originally intended, developing real feelings, it wasn’t like Emily was on the same page, she was playing her part too. Tony was grasping at straws, no matter how hard he wanted to push his fairytale narrative, or how fast your pulse happened to be.

He seemed to be able to read your mind, see the hesitancy in your eyes as his nagging sank in.

“Hey,” he nudged at you with his foot, breaking you from your daydreams, “you can claim whatever you want, but you cannot deny there were more than just two wine glasses in your drying rack.”

“So?” Your brow furrowed, it didn’t matter if Emily had been over at your house, that was nothing new.

“There were also two coffee mugs, two full sets of dinner plates and utensils, which likely means homemade, not takeout. I mean, most situations like this everything happens at hotels, you guys stopped that months ago. That on its own is one thing, but your bathroom tells a different story?”

“Do tell Very Special Agent DiNozzo.”

“Second toothbrush, different set of shampoo and conditioner, perfume that is far too floral for you to ever wear, glasses cleaner on your nightstand and your vision is twenty-twenty. There’s a Yale hoodie on the back of your couch which is interesting considering you went to Georgetown and Prentiss has a Yale degree in her office. You keep two spare sets of keys on a hook in your kitchen and surprisingly, one of them is missing. I would say that’s the most suspicious part of it all, but don’t even get me started on these.” His hand lifted up the cardboard backing containing your starfish earrings and you felt your cheeks heat.

“Guess she saw them in the gift shop at some point and thought they were cute.”

“Bullshit.” He grinned, “when you found out NCIS meant time on the water, you were practically infatuated and wanted to know everything about it. I could’ve married you right then and there.”

“Yeah right.” You scoffed with a laugh.

“We had a movie marathon, I brought Splash and Mermaids, you reluctantly, and rather intoxicated, brought out Aquamarine. You love that movie more than anything and you never tell anyone about it unless you really trust them or care..”

“it’s not like it’s a take to the grave secret.”

“You were down in the Maldives, right on the ocean and got all gooey and starfish eyed, that dreamy smile on your face, swimming every day pretending you were a mermaid, that you were free and you told it all to Emily, didn’t you?”

“It might’ve come up.” You shrugged.

“And instead of her laughing it off or thinking it was childish or stupid she went out and found starfish earrings to buy for you and now you have a permanent and physical reminder of the trip and time spent together.” He placed the jewelry back down on the dresser, “I think the two of you might actually have something here and it would be a shame to waste it away because you refuse to talk about it.”

You cast him a look, one only a best friend of twenty years could fully understand without you saying anything and he shook his head with a laugh.

“I’m just saying, things seem a lot more comfortable and intimate than I would expect from a sugar baby relationship. Did she pay you for lunch?”

“Not with money.” The corner of your lips curved up and a smirk flashed across his face as he made a growling meow noise.

“What about Sunday?”

“I told her not to.”

“My point exactly.” He stepped toward you, softly cupping your face, “you’re happy right now. Happier and less stressed than I’ve seen you in years and I want to see you keep being this happy, don’t deny yourself that, okay?” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, finally dropping his hands, “let the girl who buys you starfish earrings and thinks they’re adorable be your girl.”

“Just help me get these bags out to the car, okay?”

_______________________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovakxprentiss @Soverign @v3nusxsky @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @asolitaryrose3 @lisqueen @mrs-prentiss @whitewinewithice @d33pd3sire-blog @daffodil-heart @maximoffcarter @i-lovefandom @chimnlex @moonlightjxuregui @chestnutninny @gamma-rae-bursts @just-moondust @idkifimasub @gaydragonwitch @dowsedwithbleach @divergentalwaysandforever-blog @m1lfsh4ke

[revasserium]

burn

umemiya hajime; 3,307 words; mostly fluff, tiny bit of angst, young/freshman!umemiya, pre-canon events, lapslock, no "y/n", librarian!reader, childhood friends to lovers, vague ref to ch. 152, ume is a dumbdumb

summary: "it's a pleasure to burn" - ray bradbury, fahrenheit 451

a/n: am i writing umemiya now? who knows. this takes place 2 years before wbk manga events (the first year ume&co are in boufuurin) so pls excuse the slightly ooc ume...

001. the art of war

the library is entirely your idea.

“mah… you’d have to be the one to keep track of all the books though,” umemiya says, grinning as he watches you stock the shelves, your hair twisted up into a messy bun, your arm straining to reach the top-most shelf with a bundle of paperbacks with fraying covers and broken-in spines.

“of course i would! it’s not like there’s anyone else here i’d trust with that.” you turn to fix him with a stare that is already too “librarian-like” and he laughs, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh.

“okay then, consider me your first patron! gimme something to read,” umemiya says, smiling wide as you narrow your eyes. your lips twitch up at the ends — it’s a familiar movement, an unconscious gesture, but one that’s plagued his all sleepless nights and most of his endless days.

“well…” you say, drawing out the word as you slowly saunter towards him, propping your hands on your hips as you pull level with the table in front of him, “what do you want to read?”

“anything you’d wanna lend me,” he says easily.

“boo, that’s such a boring answer,” you shoot back, shifting to press your hip against the edge of the table, crossing your arms as you turn to look back at the half-erected shelves.

you don’t see the way umemiya’s eyes flicker down to the bend of your waist, or the way he licks his lips as he tracks the plush of your thigh as you move to hoist yourself onto the desk, balancing on the edge.

he swallows, clearing his throat, trying not to think about the strange, burgeoning signs of growing up pestering you both at this vital juncture (just last week, his voice had cracked so hard you’d laughed at him for a whole hour straight; and the week before that, he’d almost rammed into a telephone poll watching you jog down the flight of stairs that leads to your tiny apartment).

“then maybe reading a few books will make me not so boring, hm?”

you roll your eyes, hopping off the table to comb through the handful of books. umemiya lets out an internal sigh of relief, feeling the heat in his cheeks recede ever so slightly as you disappear behind one of the taller shelves.

“here. let’s start with this.”

you pop out from behind the shelf, lobbing a thin volume towards him; he catches it out of reflex and stares at the cover.

“the art of war…?”

you grin, all cheek and no shame, “yeah. i mean… fits, doesn’t it? aren’t you starting at boufuurin next week?” you blink before turning back to look around at the small, abandoned storage facility, tucked between a ramen shop and what used to be a dollar store. there’s half a dozen dusty shelves, a few cabinets along the walls, and even a small stepladder that touma had dug out of the back closet for you.

at fifteen, you’re probably the smartest person he knows (and the prettiest, but that’s neither here nor there); at fifteen, umemiya hajime is an iron-wrought confluence of teenage ambition with big ideas and even bigger dreams (who doesn’t have time for things like crushes or girls… really).

“yeah,” umemiya runs a finger along the cover of the little book and flips to a random page, his eyes catching on the line —

the greatest victory is that which requires no battle at all.

002. pedro reyes

three weeks later, he stumbles back with two black eyes and a matching pair of bleeding knuckles.

“that book you lent me?” he says, dropping into a chair with a groan, “kinda bullshit.”

you make a half-startled, half-annoyed noise as you hurry over, setting down an armful of magazines to lean over and look at his face.

“what the hell happened?”

umemiya winces as you reach out to wipe a trickle of blood from his cheek.

“couple of fights — tough ones, but… well, i’m still here, aren’t i?” he says, managing a lopsided grin even as you tut, hurrying away to grab a first aid kit, returning with a warm, wet cloth and a scowl on your face.

“i thought you had a plan,” you say, unable to keep the acid from your voice.

umemiya groans as you press the damp cloth to his bloodied fingers, watching as you wipe each one down, the shocking white of the towel slowly darkening until it’s stained and blotchy with red.

“yeah. i did — punch everyone out till i get to the top.”

you tsk, frown deepening even as he shifts forward to let you wipe at the wounds on his face.

“pretty sure that’s not what sun tzu suggests,” you say, dabbing some kind of cooling gel to a cut right below his eye.

“sun tzu’s never had to deal with the guys at boufuurin.”

you roll your eyes, sighing before pulling back, “there’s an article i read today —” you jerk your head back towards the stack of magazines, “about an artist in mexico.”

“yeah?”

umemiya closes his eyes and lets you do the slow, diligent work of bandaging up his knuckles, one by one.

“he took a bunch of illegal weapons the government had confiscated and melted them down — pistols, knives, shotguns — and made them into musical instruments instead.”

the quiet that follows is thick and steady as churned butter. you don’t look up, your eyes still trained on the careful task of bandaging umemiya’s fingers.

he shifts, pulling closer, his breath fanning out warm against your cheek.

“do you know how hot a fire has to be in order to melt metal?” you ask after another brief silence, finally lifting your eyes as you finish with his hands.

umemiya cocks an eyebrow, “how hot?”

“about 2,700 degrees, fahrenheit.”

umemiya whistles below his breath, “sounds hot.”

“it is. at that temperature, you can apparently force a weapon to forget that it’s a weapon, to remake it into something new — something that wasn’t made to take lives… but to give it instead.”

you wrap your fingers around his, your skin contrasted against the dark blossom of bruises.

umemiya feels his smile slash into something jagged, lopsided and sharp.

“then… i guess that’s how hot i’ll have to burn to turn this whole place around.”

003. grey’s anatomy

looking back, umemiya wonders if that’s the night he changed — the night that you’d held onto his hands as if they were something precious.

he looks up the melting point of metal and the story of the artist in mexico. he thinks about what it must feel like to turn a pistol into a flute, to be the one to teach it to hold a note instead of a bullet —

he stares down at his bandaged hands, feels the dull ache in his muscles and wonders.

once, he remembers when the pair of you were still kids, hollow and lonely and full of a childish rage at the indifferent world — how you’d laughed as he pushed you on a neighborhood swing, but cried when he knocked a guy’s front teeth our for asking where your parents were.

and a week later, he’d found you hidden under the jungle gym with a tomb of a book clutched in your hands. the air had been damp with thunder, the sky grey and electric.

you’d looked up at him with bright eyes, holding out a closed fist —

“ume! did you know that the human heart is the same size as a fist?”

he remembers crawling under the jungle gym to squeeze in beside you, elbow to elbow, hip to hip, peering at the opened book, at the page with a diagram of the human body an all it’s labeled parts.

“oh, cool.”

he’d held up his own fist then, and stared, feeling the beat of his heart reverberating through his chest. he wonders if you can hear it when you’re pressed this close; he wonders, if the sky weren’t breaking apart above you, if he’d be able to hear your heartbeats too.

“isn’t it strange?” you’d asked, leaning over to bump your fist against his.

“what’s strange?” he hadn’t pulled away; neither had you.

your hand relaxes then, fingers loosening till he can see the blood rush back into their tips, tinting them pink. you’d turned your hand and placed it over his still-closed one and squeezed.

“that… a heart and a fist are the same size but… they weren’t made to beat the same.”

004. romeo & juliet

“he loves you, y’know.”

you look up from the makeshift front desk.

tsubaki is sitting with their legs crossed on one of the tables, arms propped on either side of their hips.

“library’s not open for another few days,” you say by way of an answer.

“it’s nice,” tsubaki says, looking around, “you did a good job with it.”

“thanks.”

they hop off the table to peer down one of the aisles of books — all the shelves now labeled with your loopy handwriting, the books clustered by a loose combination of genre, authorship, and spine-coloration.

“it’ll be good for us,” tsubaki’s voice is slightly muted by the layers and layers of books, but the click of their heeled boots rings sharp against the smooth linoleum floors, “having a library — the pen being mightier than the sword, and all.”

they’re smiling when they finally come back around the last row, fingers linked behind their back.

“that’s the hope, anyway,” you say, lips pulling into a wane smile.

you glance up and your eyes catch on the bandage at the edge of tsubaki’s lips, the dark stain at the collar of their otherwise impeccable uniform.

sighing, you run a hand along a yet-unsorted stack of books, shaking your head.

“we’re too young to know anything about love,” you answer, finally.

tsubaki joins you, bending down to pick up the first book at the top of the pile, waving it in the air with a rueful grin.

“i think romeo & juliet would beg to differ.”

you bite your lips, “you know that’s a tragedy, right?”

tsubaki shrugs, “sure, but… wasn’t it beautiful while it lasted anyway?”

you don’t have an answer, and instead, tsubaki giggles, tapping the top of your head with the book.

“can i borrow this? i promise i’ll return it!”

you wave them away with a soft smile.

“that’s kind of how a library works.”

005. fight club

“how long have you been here?”

you jerk up, your entire body screaming with the movement after having been still for so long.

“ume —! you’re awake!” you nearly collapse by the hospital bedside, dropping your head into the pristine white sheets.

above you, umemiya makes a choked off sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh, his hand coming up to pat your head. you melt into the feel of him, the weight and warmth of his fingers as he treads them through your hair.

“where’s —”

“they left — all of them,” you say, lifting your head slowly, “takishii and endo and… all of them.”

umemiya frowns, his hand stilling for a second, “what do you mean?”

you shrug, pulling back till you’re curled up in the bedside seat once more, tugging your knees up into your chest.

“after the fight, they just… picked up and left.”

“so… i lost,” umemiya’s voice is soft.

you shake your head, “no.”

he frowns, “but that’s —”

“you knocked each other out at the same time — it was technically —” your voice snags in your throat as you remember the grizzly scene before you, the crimson sprays of blood, the dirt damp beneath them, their uniforms torn into dark ribbons, the rooftop howling with a savage, winter wind.

“a tie,” umemiya says in a flatlined voice, reaching up and covering his eyes with his arm.

“right.”

you clear your throat, reaching for the tall glass of water on the bedside table.

“here — drink,” you hold the water out to him. he takes it wordlessly and drains nearly the entire glass. you watch, silent, as a drop of liquid trails down his jaw and trickles into the bandages at this throat.

your eyes cut away as he grins, smacking his lips and setting the water glass down.

“ah — that feels much better!”

you’re quiet, sitting vulturine still, refusing to meet his gaze.

umemiya finally slumps back to stare at the ceiling.

“you’re mad at me.”

“i’m not.”

“we’e known each other our whole lives, i know when you’re mad —”

“i’m scared, okay?” there’s a thin, unsteady quiver to the tenor of your voice as your head snaps back up. it’s then that he notices your fingers curled into fists at your sides.

“s-scared? of what? takiishi and endo are gone — you said so your—”

“of you!”

umemiya blinks and feels the blood in his extremities going cold, and for a second, he’s not sure if he accidentally dislodged his iv drip.

the look on your face is inscrutable, anger and uncertainty, but most of all — fear. something about that look makes his stomach curdle inside him.

“i —” he tries to find something to say but nothing else comes out. there’s no excuse, no explanation. he searches you eyes for a tether, for a spark of that familiar warmth and finds none.

slowly, you soften back into the seat and turn to stare out the window.

“it’s not like i’ve never seen you fight… and i’ve never liked it but this…” you bite down on your bottom lip, “it was like… you turned into someone else. someone i didn’t recognize.”

“i’m… i’m sorry.”

you swallow, still not looking at him, your eyes flickering down to your own hands, now lying limply in your lap.

“and then i thought — what if i did this? i — i had to go and make that stupid metaphor about the metal and the melting and —”

at this, umemiya laughs, reaching out to tug you closer. the ease with which he does so startles a hiccup out of you.

“you don’t really think i went and fought like that because of an article about a dude in mexico, do you?”

you purse your lips, cheeks going blotchy with heat. umemiya reaches forward to squeeze your nose, making you jerk back.

“dummy,” he chides, grinning now from ear to ear, but his smile falters slightly as he takes your hands in his, “i’m sorry that i scared you. promise i won’t do it again.”

“hn.” you don’t make to pull away, and umemiya takes that as permission to tug you into his chest, wrapping both arms around you. he buries his face in your hair and breathes in, out, in —

“hm… you really think you have that much power over me?” umemiya asks, a wanton sort of amusement underlying his voice as he finally lets you go, if only to revel in the way your cheeks flood with color.

“shut up! i was — i was freaked out and you were unconscious and i —”

“cause you do.”

your words cut off as abruptly as a dropped call.

umemiya chuckles, scratching at the back of his head, ruffling up his already pillow-mussed hair.

“been meaning to tell you but… i figured you already knew — “ and for once, he sounds his age — young and halting and shy.

after a breath that feels like a century, you finally break into a helpless fit of laughter.

“i can’t believe it…” you say, burying your face in your hands.

“can’t… believe what?” umemiya blinks at you.

“that it took you nearly dying for you to admit that you liked me.”

“hey! in case you haven’t noticed, i’ve been kinda busy this year!”

you roll your eyes, “yeah, yeah — had to go save the world first. then you get to kiss the girl, right? end movie, roll credits.”

umemiya cocks his head, “well, i dunno about the world but definitely — wait, what did you say about kissing me?”

you crinkle your nose, “i didn’t.”

“yeah you did.”

“i did not — i was just making a general statement about cliches in superhero movies —”

“oh, so you think i’m a superhero?”

“ume! stop it — mph!”

later, umemiya would recall fondly to anyone who will listen that yeah, he does get to kiss the girl after all.

006. fahrenheit 451

“451,” you say, standing at the door of the newly minted makochi library.

it’s dark outside, and umemiya stands by your side, stretching his arms over his head with a wide yawn.

“huh?”

“451 degrees,” you say again, turning to press a small silver lighter into his hands. he stares owlishly at it before looking back at you, clearly at a loss.

“that’s how hot it has to be for paper to catch fire.”

umemiya stares.

“i was thinking,” you say, turning back to the dark, but pristine library.

“uh-oh — oof — ow!” umemiya makes a show of clutching his side as you jerk your elbow back for another blow. he dodges out of your way with a dopey grin.

you sigh, turning back to the library, “but i was thinking that… there’s gotta be a better way — an easier way, right?”

this time, he stays quiet to let you speak.

“because yeah, it’d be nice to melt all the weapons in the world and turn them all into nicer things but… there’s a better way to do things.”

“yeah? and what’s that?” umemiya turns the lighter around and around in his palm.

you turn and head for the door, locking it behind you. the moonlight washes your skin in a ghostly silver as you turn to face him.

“we rewrite the story,” you say.

umemiya flicks on the lighter and lets the fire dance between them. his breath catches on the liquid gold in your eyes.

“is… that even possible?” he asks.

you reach out a steady hand, letting the tips of your fingers barely skim over the shifting flame.

“sure it is. all of human history is just a story written by the victors. and… 451 degrees isn’t nearly as hot as 2,700.”

umemiya smiles then, letting the lid of the lighter click shut. the fire snuffs out, leaving only a thin trail of spiraling smoke behind.

“sounds a lot more reasonable, too. much less scary,” he says.

you laugh, turning towards the main street. he watches you go for a second before pocketing the lighter and making to catch up. when he levels himself with you, he reaches out to take your hand.

“fires don’t have to be scary,” you say, giving his hand a quick squeeze, “for most of human history… it’s brought people together — over a hot meal or a good story. a lot of the time… it’s the only reason we get to survive.”

umemiya pulls you in to loop his arm around your shoulder.

“hm. i like the sound of that way, way better.”

bonus:

“so… just makin’ sure — you don’t want me to burn down the new library you spent all this time setting up, right?”

“no you dumbass! it was just a metaphor.”

“oh. right — yeah, a metaphor, duh.”

[azrielsdove]

Love and Loss: Ch.7

Warnings: Mention of Injury, Some Smut, 18+

Ch.6 Here | Ch.8 Here

***

You were not happy about being dragged to the Illyrian war-camp with everyone else. Azriel had demanded it, refusing to go anywhere without you since that night after the Hewn City. He acted as if he let you out of his sight you would disappear from him forever. Nothing more had happened since then, besides his need to be more protective than normal. Even at night you would feel the cool brush of his shadows running over your arms, checking in to make sure all was well.

You didn’t mind any of that, but bringing you out here when you had no reason to come? You were annoyed with him and he could certainly tell. You hadn’t said a single word to him since he had dropped you in this cabin. Not that you particularly wanted to stay at the House of Wind when all the Illyrians were gone, but that was beside the point. You didn’t appreciate him making you come, especially when it meant more time around Rhysand.

Luckily for you, he and Feyre had been gone for a few days. You sat on the plush chair with your feet tucked up under you, a book in your hands as usual. You were pointedly ignoring the shadows twirling through your fingers as you read, even more so ignoring their master in the corner of the room. You could tell he was growing agitated with you, not quite understanding why you were so upset.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” He asked, voice low. You didn’t look up from your book or respond to his question. “I know you’re mad I brought you here, but I don’t like the idea of you being alone up there. What if you needed one of us?”

You turned the page in your book.

A shadow swirled up your neck and hooked around your chin, forcing your gaze up to the Shadowsinger. He had stalked closer to you, standing in front of you now. “I don’t like being ignored,” he murmured, gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips. You shoved down the heat that was creeping up through you, reminding yourself that you’re supposed to be angry.

“I don’t enjoy being forced to come wherever you go like i’m your little toy,” you shot back. He leaned down closer, hands coming to rest on the arms of the chair below you. His shadow remained on your chin while the others ran over your arms and legs.

“You’d rather I left you unprotected, stuck miles up in the sky?” His eyes were hard, his breath fanning over your cheeks. You glared right back at him.

“It would have been preferable to being stuck here.” Your disdain for the violent Illyrian camps was not something you hid. You remembered the stories Rhysand had told you of their youth, and how hard he had worked to try to change things. How slow that change was coming.

Azriel leaned down even more, lips close enough to brush yours as he spoke. “Mmm, but then you wouldn’t have me around.” His voice was teasing, a light in his eye. You hated how easily he could bring your brain to mush, turn a bad mood into a good one.

You were seconds away from closing the minuscule gap between the two of you and press your lips to his. A loud bang outside accompanied by yelling tore you from the moment, Azriel running to the door as you stood behind him.

You heard the faint voices of Mor and Feyre, and then Cassian was dragging in a near-dead Rhysand. You despised the way your heart stopped at how he looked, the decades of your love for him making his pain your pain. Azriel helped Cassian pull him onto the couch as you hurried to the kitchen, grabbing any healing supplies you could find.

You ran back to the injured male on the couch, kneeling down next to him as you assessed what had happened. Azriel and Cassian shifted behind you, upset at the state of their brother and unsure what to do. “Go,” you told them, “stand outside. Watch for anyone coming. I can handle him.” The pair nodded at your command, following each other out the door. You knew their anxieties would only make this harder, and sending them outside to pretend to do a task would make everyone’s lives easier.

You undid Rhysands shirt, pulling the blood-soaked fabric off of him. He groaned at your touch, eyes rolling back into his head. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, focusing on the injuries in front of you. You took out a warm washcloth and began dabbing the blood away, trying to find where each wound began and end. You had trained in some healing techniques long ago, a useful tool when you married an Illyrian.

You had been in similar situations, cleaning blood and stitching up your husbands wounds. This time was drastically different, and not just due to the fact you weren’t really together anymore. He was quiet. In the past even his worst injuries he had joked through, lightening the mood as you worked on him. Now, he had nothing to say. He wouldn’t even open his eyes or acknowledge what you were doing. It was like something had been sucked out of him, something had destroyed him.

You finished stitching what you could before moving to his wings. “Rhys,” you said, “I am going to have to touch your wings to help you. Is that okay?” You knew he didn’t deserve this kind of respect from you, not after what he had done. You didn’t need to ask his permission to touch the soft leather you knew all too well. Yet something told you that this moment was not the one to start acting on your hurt and anger.

“Yes.” His voice was hoarse, hollow. His eyes stayed closed as you washed his wings with the rag, tears pricking your eyes at the deep slashes through them. You knew how much an Illyrians wings meant to them, how devastating it would be for them to be taken away. You were gentle with them, heart heavy as moans of pain came from Rhysand. You took your time making the stitches as even as possible, spreading a healing balm over them when you were finished. The last thing you did was pull out a roll of bandages, going back over all the wounds you had stitched up. With his fae healing he should be fine in a matter of days, but until then he would be forced to rest.

You had just finished placing the last bandage when his hand shot out for your arm. You startled at his touch, looking up into his now-open eyes. He was staring down at where his hand rested on your elbow, pressing your forearms together. You looked down as well, taking in the sight of your matching marital tattoos. “What I have done is unforgivable,” he murmured, hand tightening on your arm. You were inclined to agree, and you probably would have torn your arm out of his grasp and left in any other situation. The male in front of you now bore no resemblance to the cruel Rhysand of the past few months.

“Perhaps not unforgivable,” you gave, trying to ease his pain in any way. Your gaze caught his, taken aback by the tears lingering in his eyes.

“Do not lie to me to try to preserve my feelings.” His voice was thick, on the verge of tears. “I have treated you in terrible ways. I have said and done truly awful things to you.” He looked down at his chest, at the bandages cleanly placed there. “And yet here you are, tending to me as wonderfully as ever. I never deserved you.”

You sighed. “No, you didn’t.” His head shot back up to you as you pulled your arm from him, cleaning the healing supplies up. “However, that does not change what was done. What we had, once upon a time. Can you truly tell me it was all a lie?” There it was. The question that had been haunting you for months.

He took his time to respond, the silence taking over the room. You carried the remaining bandages and healing balm into the kitchen, putting them away while your question hung heavy in the air. Minutes passed while you cleaned, broken only by the sound of Rhysand’s struggling breaths.

“She’s going to reject the bond,” he finally said, avoiding the question. Your movements stilled, not quite expecting that. “She did enough to keep me alive before dropping me here and disappearing.” Truth be told, you couldn’t blame her. You washed your hands, drying them slowly on a towel.

“So she knows?” You asked, understanding that he must have told her. You walked back to the couch, looking down at him. He nodded, avoiding your gaze.

“She trapped a Suriel, to try to find a way to heal me. It told her. She’s angry that I would hide it.” You gave a humorless laugh, kneeling back down next to him.

“For the most powerful High Lord of all time, you certainly are also the dumbest.” Your blunt words shocked him, making him look back at you.

“W-what?” He sputtered out, not used to you talking to him like that.

“Rhys, please. She is your mate, is she not? You have already devoted yourself completely to her, something she had to have noticed months ago.” You sighed, pulling his hand into yours. “She will come around. Give her time.”

He held on tight to you, the ends of your tattoo lining up perfectly when your hands were connected. That was how it was made to me, to show the unbroken love between the two of you. The love that was now shattered into a million minuscule pieces.

“Remove this bond, Rhysand. It does you no good being tied to me like this.” You knew he still may not agree, that you didn’t not know his true motives behind keeping you around. However, you weren’t sure if there would ever be another chance to ask. When he was vulnerable enough to be kind.

You were pleasantly surprised when he nodded, thumb stroking over your hand one last time before he let go. “Okay,” he agreed, voice weak. “I’ll summon a priestess.” You nodded, standing from your spot next to him.

“Rest now, Rhys.”

***

You found Azriel and Cassian outside, sparring to relieve the tension. They stopped when they saw you, rushing over to ask how Rhysand was. You raised your hands, silencing them before they could even speak. “He will be fine,” you assured. “Feyre found out about the mating bond.”

“Feyre did that?!” Cassian asked in disbelief, eyes wide. You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped at his shock, shaking your head.

“No, no, she found out while trying to heal him. Where is she?” You looked around the two males in front of you, catching no sight of her.

“She asked Mor to take her somewhere far away. Where Rhys wouldn’t bother her,” Azriel explained. You can’t help but wish you had thought of doing that.

“I see. He is resting now, but you may come back in.” You opened the door for the two, Mor winnowing back at the same moment. She pushed past you to get to Rhysand, demanding to know what happened. You don’t try to stop her. While you could feel bad for his current state, you couldn’t deny you enjoyed seeing him get a little taste of his own medicine.

You grabbed the book you had discarded and headed upstairs, mind heavy with the thoughts of your conversation with Rhysand. You were concerned he was only being nice due to the possibility of Feyre rejecting the bond, and where that would leave him. A beat of fear ran through you at the thought of Feyre rejecting him, and he decided to turn back to you. You shook your head as you pushed open the door to the room you were staying in, banishing that idea from your mind. You would never let that happen.

***

You had fallen asleep while reading, waking up with a sore neck and a rumbling stomach. You slept right through dinner, if it was even had. You stood from the bed, walking slowly to the door. You cracked it open and listen for any sounds of life before deciding to sneak downstairs to grab something to eat. You rubbed your neck as you made your way down, regretting falling asleep at such an awkward angle.

You enter the dimly lit kitchen, catching sight of Rhysand asleep on the couch in the living room. You say a silent prayer to the Mother that he stays that way. One interaction with him is enough for the day. You turn your back on the sleeping male and browse the cabinets for an easy meal. You begin to reach up for a pack of crackers when a cool shadow brushes against your waist. You smile down at the thing, wondering if Azriel knows one is out.

Your question is quickly answered when a hard body presses against your back, an arm reaching over your head to pull the crackers down for you. You turn your head to smile at your friend, a little surprised to find his face so close to yours. One of his hands comes to rest on your waist, the other landing on the countertop in front of you. “Couldn’t sleep?” He asks, voice low as to not disturb the High Lord only feet away.

You shake your head, a bit lost in his eyes and his proximity. You turn so you are facing him, hands coming up to rest comfortably on his chest. “Midnight snack?” You tease, gesturing to the crackers he had grabbed for you. His eyes darken and shadows swirl around you.

“Something like that,” he murmurs, leaning closer to you. Your heart is ready to rocket out of your chest, knowing Rhysand could wake up any second and catch you.

“Azriel,” you whisper, glancing at his lips. You should stop this, push him off and run back to your room. You shouldn’t allow his hand to move up to your neck, a long finger angling your head up to him while his thumb rests on your throat. You shouldn’t allow your arms to wrap around his neck, hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. You definitely shouldn’t lean up and kiss him.

You no longer cared as Azriel’s lips met yours.

The kiss was soft, hesitant. You could feel in the unnatural stiffness of his body that he was holding back, allowing you to decide what happens. You pull him even closer to you, increasing the speed and passion of the kiss. Your body melts into his, the hand on your waist wrapping around and splaying across your lower back. Your hand slid up his head, tangling itself into his soft hair. You opened your mouth for him, needing him in every way. You gasped as he lifted you up onto the counter, pushing your nightgown up to step between your legs. You wrapped your legs around his hips, tugging him closer, closer, closer.

He groaned into your mouth, nipping your bottom lip. The hand on your back dropped to your thigh, running up and down the exposed skin. His shadows were twirling around your ankles, your arms, your hair. Everything about him was intoxicating. He pulled away from your lips, traveling down to kiss and suck on your neck. You moaned lightly as the hand on your neck dropped, fingers sliding ever so slightly under the top of your gown. “Azriel,” you breathed, arching into his touch. He growled against your skin, placing a harsh bite in a spot anyone could see.

Not that you particularly cared.

Your hips pushed against his, desperate for him. Your mind was a blaze of lust, of need, and it could only be sated by him. His fingers dug into the top of your thigh at your movement, a warning to think before you did that again. His lips came back up to yours, kissing you so hard you were sure you would bruise. You felt something cold brush against your heat, an almost embarrassing whimper coming from you. “They want to touch,” Azriel said, his voice deep. You moaned when the shadow ran against you again, teasing the edge of your underwear. “Would you like them to touch, my love?”

He was going to be your undoing.

“Yes,” you gasped out, the shadow delving to where you needed it most. You bit hard onto Azriel’s shoulder to muffle your moan, pleasure radiating through your body. He resumed the kissing and sucking on your neck, hand fully sliding down under your top to cup one of your breasts. You dug your nails into his back, the sensations overwhelming. His thumb ran over your nipple as his shadow gave a delicious twist against you, cries falling from your lips. He pulled his hand out of your nightgown to bring your head to his again, lips silencing the noises coming from you.

The shadow began vibrating against you, your legs falling open to allow it more access. You felt the cool breeze of another one dip inside you, Azriel’s hand on your thigh keeping you available to them. You shook against him, moaning his name into his mouth as he kissed you. You felt the shadow push in farther, the sensation unlike any you had experienced. It stretched you open delightfully, it’s twin increasing the speed against you. You bit down on Azriel’s lip, the metallic taste of blood filling your mouth. His nails raked down your thigh at the pain and pleasure as you licked over the wound you had made.

You were close, too close. You didn’t want this moment to end, but the shadows seemed to sense the tightening in your body. They held their current speed and movements, bringing you to the edge. You arched against Azriel, head falling back against the cabinets as stars exploded behind your eyes. You shook against him, his shadows working you through the last bit of your release. He hummed in satisfaction as he watched your mouth drop in a silent scream, the sight one he had dreamed about for far too long.

He called the shadows back when he could tell your mind was blank with overstimulation, allowing you a moment to catch your breath. You brought your head back down, glassy eyes looking up at the Shadowsinger. Rhysand had never made you feel that good, and Azriel hadn’t even touched you yet. He smiled at you, brushing your tangled hair back. He took in your swollen lips, spit and a hint of blood glistening on them. You were the most magnificent thing he had ever seen in that moment.

“What are you doing with my wife, Brother?”

***

This is my favorite chapter so far 🫣 Please let me know what you guys think !!!!! I LOVE hearing your thoughts on this story <3

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