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straylightdream · 1 month ago

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desperate measures

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: choi seungcheol x afb.reader

He’s well aware that you’re so mad at him. You look like you want to kill him. There is this twisted thought in his head that keeps egging him on to piss you off more. The way you’re yelling at him is turning him on more than it honestly should.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): roommates to fucking, angst, pwp, smut

𝐚𝐮(𝐬): college au, nonidol

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.6k

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: asshole!seungcheol, he honestly sucks in this, fuckboy!seungcheol, insinuating that mc is passed around with her roommates, jealous seungcheol, mentions of protective/jealous jeonghan

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: protected sex, dry humping, size kink, heated make out session, hate sex, semi public sex, marking, big dick seungcheol, discomfort do to his size, pussy streching, car sex, rough sex, breast play, p in v intercourse, cock warming?, nicknames: princess, darling (hers)

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ nsfw

𝐚𝐧: I’m pretty sure I’m going to make part two where Jeonghan shows up. Let me know what you guys think. Thank you so much @shinysobi for beta reading and editing and listening to me ramble about this story.

🎧: haven’t had enough - marianas trench | tidal wave - chase atlantic | desperate messures - marianas trench

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

Life as a college student was the definition of average for you. Sometimes you just felt like you were skating by. You always thought that throughout college you would have some form of a relationship, but going into your junior year, it seemed no men were interested in you.

It probably didn’t help that you had three boys as roommates who are protective of you. Well, two of them were. Joshua and Jeonghan from the moment they met you decided they were going to be your protectors. You’re some of your best friends. You absolutely love living with them. Seungcheol, on the other hand, you could barely refer to as a friend. You were basically just roommates and that was fine by you.

Your oldest roommate Choi Seungcheol, was known around campus for his abilities in the bedroom. Too many girls have come and gone through your apartment. All of them nameless. You aren’t even sure Seungcheol knows their names. From what you have heard, Seungcheol is the best dick appointment a girl can get. Supposedly his dick was just as big as his ego. You’ve seen enough girls scurry out of your apartment looking a mess and covered in hickies. There is this part deep inside of you that wants to know that wants to know what it’s like to sleep with him.

What was supposed to be a normal day studying with your crush Mingyu, was sabotaged by Seungcheol. You and Mingyu had been talking for a while now. It’s been quite a slow burn you could say.

You liked Mingyu enough that you would even go to frat parties to hang out with him. That’s saying a lot because you despise fraternities. Mingyu was the first frat boy you’ve met that you actually like.

Your afternoon with Mingyu had been going great until Seungcheol showed up.

The moment he saw you sitting at the table in the far corner, away from everyone. There was almost this surge of what he can only describe as jealousy took over him. The whole time you have been living with Seungcheol, he’s never seen you flirt with anyone other than Jeonghan. And to be quite honest, whatever you have with Jeonghan is a whole different can of worms, he doesn’t want to think about. The idea of another man then one of his roommates flirting with you just doesn’t sit right with him.

His eyes narrowed on your giggling form and walked straight towards your table.

“There is my girl.” He’s being an asshole and he knows. To be quite honest, he doesn’t care if this makes him one.

You glare across the table at him. Mingyu knits his brows together as a look of confusion plays across his face.

“Your girl?” You question Seungcheol.

“I can’t be sharing you with another man. I thought sweet Hannie and I were enough for you. Maybe we could get Joshua involved if you need another man.”

“Seungcheol.”

“What princess, we weren't enough for you? You had to find yourself a frat boy?” His words practically have your blood boiling.

“(Y/N)?” Mingyu finally speaks and he looks so confused.

“He’s full of shit. Don’t listen to him.”

Seungcheol holds his hand out next to you. “Darling, it's time to go home.”

“Seungcheol, knock it off.”

“Come on, I bet Hannie is waiting for you.” He’s playing dirty by using Jeonghan as a pawn to get you to listen to him.

“Maybe you should go,” Mingyu says.

Pausing you look up at Seungcheol, it’s taking absolutely everything in you not to slap him. Slowly you stand up. Seungcheol reaches and grabs your bag that’s sitting on the table. Before you could even protest, Seungcheol laced his fingers with yours, pulling you away from a shocked looking Mingyu. Your blood runs cold as he takes you away. All your hard work with Mingyu has gone to waste. Seungcheol ruined it all with little to no effort.

He dragged you outside until you were standing in front of his car. “Get in the car darling.” You take a deep breath trying to stay calm. You hate that he referred to you by the nickname Jeonghan uses for you.

“No.”

He rolls his eyes and barks out a laugh. Opening the door for you. He puts your bag on the floorboard. “It’s time to go home, darling.”

“Stop calling me that!” You all but scream.

“Is only our precious Hannie allowed to call you that?”

You reach forward, poking his chest. “Why are you being an asshole?”

“I’m just protecting you like Hannie and Shua do.”

Narrowing your eyes at him. “They wouldn’t have done that. I liked Mingyu and now he’s going to want nothing to do with me.”

“I’m not saying it again. Get in the car.” He makes sure he says each word with a firm tone.

Looking off towards the entrance of the library you see Mingyu watching the scene in front of him unfold. If Seungcheol didn’t ruin everything inside, hee did now. Pulling away from him, you get into the car. Grabbing the handle, you slam the door basically in his face.

He gets in the car and without saying a word drives off campus. The car is filled with tension that could be cut with a knife and silence so loud, it’s almost deafening.

“You’re cute when you're mad.” He knows his words will piss you off, but he doesn’t care.

“Fuck you Seungcheol,” you scream. He’s pissed you off more than you thought was possible. The smug smile on his face, as he continues to try, is making your blood feel like it’s boiling. “Pull the damn car over. I want out.” You feel completely trapped being stuck in this car with him.

He glances over at you and shakes his head, “sorry princess, not happening.”

“Why are you such an asshole?” He’s never been this much of dick to you since you moved in. He’s acting like a different person right now and it’s making you madder by the second.

“Let me out,” you shout at him.

“Can you chill for five minutes? We’re not going back to the apartment until we talk this out.” He knows all too well that if Jeonghan, and Joshua find out about this fight they’re going to wring his neck. He never understood how, from the moment his two best friends met you, why they felt this undying need to protect you. You’re a strong-willed girl who didn’t need two protectors. He knew Joshua watched after you like a friend, but the whole Jeonghan situation felt like there was more to it. Even if Jeonghan would never admit it. He was the one hell bent on making you off limits to any of the roommates. Jeonghan is also the one who always glares at any guy who speaks to you when you go to parties together. Seungcheol knew that feeling in the back of his mind that there might be something more for Jeonghan, which meant he needed to stay away from you. The problem is he didn’t know if he had that kind of self control.

Pulling up to the abandoned park surrounded by trees, Seungcheol looked around to make sure nobody was around. He’s brought a few girls up here to hook up in his car. Not many people know about this place and Seungcheol is glad about that.

“Where are we?” You look around completely confused by your surroundings.

“An abandoned park,” he says, shutting the car off. He takes a deep breath and unbuckles his seat belt. “Now if you want to yell at me, get it over with now.”

You narrow your eyes at him. If looks could kill, Choi Seungcheol was a dead man. A heavy sigh passes his lips and your expression softens.

Seungcheol is trying to brace himself for the possible insults that could be thrown at him. Hell, he’s not sure if he should brace himself for you to slap him across his face. He knows he crossed a line pulling you away from Mingyu. He knows that he shouldn’t have interfered in a guy's attempts to get with you. That isn’t his place, that’s some bullshit Jeonghan would pull, but at least Jeonghan wouldn’t be an asshole about it.

“You know Mingyu probably won’t talk to me now? And that’s all because you’re an asshole,” you scream.

He turns so he’s fully facing you and says, “okay, I’m really sorry about that. I know I should have just asked you to leave. I shouldn't have made a stupid comment.”

You couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that he even stepped in. It wasn’t like he was your friend looking out for you like Jeonghan does. Seungcheol isn’t your friend, he’s literally just your roommate that you don’t even know a lot about.

“Why did you step in?”

He shrugs, not even exactly sure why he did. “I don’t know.”

“Were you jealous or something?”

He looks at you, attempting to process your question. Seungcheol was never the type of person to get jealous but for some reason seeing you with Mingyu made me a little jealous.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s a yes or no question.” The air in his car suddenly feels thick. The windows have already started to fog up like they do when you make out in a car. He doesn’t answer you and it’s irritating that he seems to be playing some type of game with you.

Shaking your head, you turn and reach for the door handle. If he’s not going to have the decency to have a real conversation with you, you’ll just walk home even if it’s cold outside. Freezing to death would be more enjoyable than whatever game Seungcheol is playing with you.

He reaches out, grabbing your wrist, stopping you from getting out of the car. You turn to face him, trying to think of a witty response but before you can say anything he crashes his lips into yours. You’re taken back by the feeling of his lips against yours. His fingers tangle in your hair, tugging you closer to him. The center console is the only thing separating you. Your fingers latch onto his sweater, pulling him close to you. Seungcheol’s lips against your lips makes your stomach feel like it’s doing flips. His finger tugs your head to the side and he starts kissing his way down your jaw. A low whimper passes your lips, catching you off guard.

“What is happening?” You pant as his nips at your neck.

“I’m kissing you, now shut up and kiss me,” he crashes his lips back into yours.

Your brain is screaming at you that this isn’t smart. That kissing Seungcheol like this meant your clothing was going to come off sooner than later. His hands reach up, taking your breast in his hands and squeeze, causing your eyes to snap open. Pulling away from him quickly, you watch as he licks his lips, staring at you with lust-filled eyes.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks knowing damn well you don’t want to stop.

“We should, but no I want this.”

A low laugh passes his lips as he leans forward, connecting his lips to yours again. His hands wander down to the edge of your sweater pushing it up so his warm hand rests on your bare skin. His touch leaves you feeling warm and fuzzy. It takes very little effort before he has your sweater off and you sitting there in your bra.

“Get in the back seat,” he says.

Without even thinking you crawl in the backseat. He gets out and pulls off his sweater, tossing it into the driver's seat before he gets in the back with you. He leans forward, connecting his lips to your collarbone. He sucks a mark into your skin as his hands reach behind you unclasping your bra. He pulls away to look at your topless form in front of him. His lips are all over your chest leaving marks as his large hands grope your chest. He was touching you in ways you’ve never been touched before.

Grabbing your hips, he moves you so you’re sitting in his lap. He’s grinding your body against his jean-covered erection. His lips are still all over your chest but his hands are gripping your sides.

Soon he moves you off him so he can remove your underwear. He kisses you again as he puts his hand between your legs. He plays with your sensitive bundle of nerves, commenting on how wet you are.

Pulling away from him, you looked at him, trying to figure out what was going on in his mind. You couldn’t believe what was unfolding between you.

“Seungcheol?” You ask, trying not to sound completely turned on and needy.

“Yeah?”

“What’s happening?”

“I thought we were about to have sex. If you want to. If you don’t want to do this, we can stop now.” He sounds like he wasn’t sure where your head's at. He doesn’t want you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with.

“I want this,” you say, sounding almost ashamed that you want this.

He smiles and leans forward pressing his lips to your forehead for a soft kiss the complete opposite of everything you just experienced. He moves to reach for the center console where he pulls out a condom. You roll your eyes at the fact that he has condoms in his car.

With the foil packet between his teeth he unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them and boxers down on his thighs just enough to free his very large erection. You had heard rumors about his size, but you always tried to ignore those. You always told yourself you didn’t need to know any intimate details about your roommate, but here you were naked in his car about to have sex with him.

You watch as he slides the rubber down his length before he reaches for you, pulling you onto his lap again. His lips are on yours as he runs the tip of his length through your folds.

“Ready?” He asks with his lips on yours.

“Yeah,” you moan.

He glides you down his length and you gasp at the pain of him filling you. He’s the biggest you’ve been with and you aren’t sure if you’ll ever get used to the feeling of him stretching you. You sit completely still on his lap, closing your eyes, trying to mask the fact you’re in pain.

His hand rests on your cheek catching your attention. Your eyes snap open and you look at him for a moment.

“Just relax, it will feel good soon,” he says softly.

He must be used to this. Most girls must have the same issues you’re having. He licks at your neck, leaving a trail of gentle kisses getting you to relax. It takes a solid five minutes before the burn goes away between your legs.

“You can move,” you say softly.

He holds your hips, moving you up and down his length. His pace is slow in the beginning as he gives you time to adjust. Once the first moan passes your lips, is when he starts to grow more rough with you. The rough pace is a welcomed one. High pitched moans pass your lips with each thrust.

Rough hands gripped your hips as he continued to slam you down on his length. Prior to this between you and Seungcheol, no one has ever been this rough with you. There was something about the way he held you and manhandled you that turned you on more than it should.

His teeth nipped at the skin along your collarbone. The echoing sounds of your pants and groans were enough to set you off. With each thrust he stretched you in ways you had never felt before. Your mind felt clouded in a complete haze of lust with each upward thrust.

Taking his face in your hands, you stare at him for a long moment, but his eyes quickly travel away from yours.

“Do you like how I feel stretching you?” He says with labored breath.

You learned very quickly three things about Hwang Seungcheol in the back of this car. The first thing you learned was he had by far the biggest dick that you had ever seen in person, and boy did he know how to use it. The second thing you learned was he liked it rough and he liked being in charge. The third and final thing you learned was he likes to talk dirty. He knows just the things to say to make you weak.

“You’re so tight, I barely fit.”

“Oh god Seungcheol,” you moan.

The car was filled with the sounds of slapping skin and your high-pitched whimpering. The sounds of Seungcheol’s heavy breath sounded like music to your ears.

“Does this good girl like it rough? He growls with his lips against your neck.

“Yes.”

One hand remains on your waist while the other travels up to your breast. His hand is rough against you as he sucks a hickey below your collarbone. He’s marking his territory in places he knows your prying roommates won’t be able to see.

“Don’t cum until I say you can,” he grips your hips with both hands again slamming you down.

Your hands sink into his shoulders, needing something to hold onto as he roughly guides your body. Your head is spinning as the coil in your stomach is tightening.

You whimper, begging him to kiss you. You need something to preoccupy your mind as you try your hardest to push off your orgasm. He crashes his lips into yours for a searing kiss. His tongue slides across yours. He’s kissing you like a man starved. You don’t think anyone will ever be able to kiss you like Seungcheol is.

He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs slowly pulling away.

“Do you want to cum?” He asks with his lips near yours.

“Yes… oh god… Seungcheol… please. I need… this,” your words a mangled mess of cries. Nobody has ever told you not to cum and your brain is starting to stop functioning.

“Tell me how good this feels,” he demands.

“Cheol… I can't- you’re so big…. I can’t take it,” you whine. “This feels… so good,” you’re panting and whining.

“Then cum like a good girl.”

With his simple command he pushes you over the edge. A warmth spreads through as you find your release. You whine his name over and over as he grips your hips, still roughly moving you up and down his length.

It takes everything in you not to go limp as you ride out your high. He won’t let you stop moving though, he holds your hips, moving you while he thrusts up spearing into you.

His rough thrusts grow to be sloppy as he chases his own release. His lips are sucking on your skin as he finds his own release slamming you down so you’re resting on his thighs.

His head leans back as his chest is rising and falling. You stay still for a long moment just staring at him as you come down from your own high.

Crawling off of him, you reach for your underwear that are in the seat next to you. He hasn’t even looked at you. His eyes are closed and his head is tilted back. A small smile plays on his lips. You know you shouldn’t be turned on by the sight of his blissed out state. He pulls off the condom, tying it in a knot and tosses it out of the car. Ever so slowly he lifts his hips and pulls up his boxers and jeans.

Pulling your underwear on, you pull your legs up into your chest and awkwardly look over at Seungcheol who is finally looking over at you.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly. Silently you nod. “Sorry if I was too rough. I should have asked before if you’re okay with that,” he’s worried that he actually hurt you.

“I’m fine. Nobody has ever been like that before with me, but I enjoyed it.”

Seungcheol knows damn well he shouldn’t have been that rough with you. He knows you’re not made of glass, but you also don’t seem like the type of girl who likes to be manhandled in the back of a car.

You look over at him with innocent eyes and he can’t help the guilty feeling bubbling in his stomach. He made a promise to Jeonghan when you moved in that he wouldn’t mess with you. Jeonghan preached over and over how awkward things would be if they had sex with their roommate. Seungcheol knew deep down that Jeonghan also made this rule due to his own crush.

There was something about the way you were looking at him that made him feel things he shouldn’t be feeling.

Looking down at your chest, he saw the mess of marks he left. A couple of them were a little too close to where they could be seen. He told himself in the heat of the moment he could mark you where people couldn’t see. Jeonghan and Joshua could not know about what happened in the back of his car.

“We should probably get dressed and head to the apartment,” he reaches on the floor and picks up your shirt.

The car ride back to the apartment was slightly awkward. It didn’t help that you could feel the ache between your legs. Your leg gently bounced a nervous habit you can’t seem to kick. Seungcheol reaches over and rests his hand on your knee gently squeezing it. His touch was the complete opposite of what it was not long ago in the back seat.

“Why are you freaking out?” He asks as he pulls into a parking spot outside your apartment building.

“We just had sex, and now we have to act like it didn’t happen. I’m just a little nervous. It also doesn’t help that my lips are swollen and I have hickies trying to peek out of this shirt.” You couldn’t stop your nervous rambling. Seungcheol looked at you trying his hardest not to smile at you.

“You’ll go in before me, and I’ll go in like twenty minutes later. The boys aren’t going to question you. They don’t have any reason to think something happened,” his thumb gently brushes your skin, calming you down. “Also I’m sorry about the marks. I got caught up in the moment.”

You reach for the door handle, but before you can open it you know you need to talk to him. You need to talk about a few things that can’t be talked about withJoshua and Jeonghan hearing.

“Seungcheol, what the hell just happened between us?”

His brows furrowed together, “we fucked?”

“I’m aware we had sex, I was there. I’m just curious about why we had sex. You’ve shown zero interest in me from the moment we met. What changed?”

He shrugs his shoulders casually like the fact that you just had sex isn’t a big deal. You weren’t against having causal sex. Hell, the last person you had sex with was Soonyoung in a bathroom at a house party, but what happened there was completely different from what you just experienced with Seungcheol. Soonyoung was sloppy, both of you lost in a drunken state, but he wasn’t rough with you, whispering dirty things to you.

“I don’t know. I’ve wanted to have sex with you for a while.”

“Okay. So this was all just about having sex with me?” His statement hurt for some reason but you knew all too well Seungcheol had no intention of dating you or being emotionally involved with you.

“Yeah. YN sorry if you thought this was something else.”

“No, it's cool. I’m just being dumb. I’ll see you inside,” you quickly rushed out of the car needing to escape Seungcheol. You couldn’t handle him staring at you. You don’t know why you thought that all this could possibly mean more.

Walking inside you find Joshua sitting on the couch with his guitar in his lap. He stops strumming and looks over at you and gives you a soft smile.

“Hi,” you awkwardly spit out before rushing off to your bedroom.

You waste no time stripping off your clothes. Standing in front of your full-length mirror you look at the bruises on your hips already forming and all the marks that scattered your chest. Biting your bottom lip, you shook your head, feeling like a stupid girl. Your mind wandered if this is how all the girls look leaving his room. You had heard the rumors across campus about Seungcheol and how he was in bed, but you never thought you would be foolish enough to find out.

Shaking your head, you step away from the mirror and change into some yoga pants and an oversized shirt. You brush your messy hair before walking out into the living room where Joshua is still sitting on the couch.

“What did you do today?” Joshua asked, sitting his guitar down.

“Nothing really. I just did a little bit of studying for that history test I have next week,” you were lying through your teeth. You had never lied to Joshua and you felt terrible about what had just happened with Seungcheol. Even after your bathroom hookup with Soonyoung, Joshua was the only person you told. You trusted him with every little detail about your life, but this was something you couldn’t share.

“Sounds exciting,” he says standing up and stretching.

The front door opens and Seungcheol struts in. He walks straight into the kitchen, not even saying a word to you.

“Seungcheol, what were you up to?” Joshua asks as Seungcheol walks back into the kitchen.

“I hooked up with a chick I’ve been wanting to get with,” he smirks. Your stomach drops as you stare at him with wide eyes. He made you promise not to tell the boys and here he is casually saying this.

“Who?” Joshua asks.

“Just some chick,” those words stung more than they should.

Standing up quickly, your eyes catch Seungcheol and you can see the guilt-ridden expression on his face. Shaking your head you leave the living room. You need to get away from him. You desperately need a moment to gather yourself. Dashing off to your room, you hear Joshua say your name but you ignore him. Shutting the door to your bedroom, you press your back against it and take a deep breath.

There's a knock on the door as you’re pressed against it, and the sudden noise startles you. You step away and stare at the door for a moment.

“YN are you okay?” Joshua says from the other side.

“Yeah I’m fine.”

You open the door knowing that if you keep Joshua out it’s just going to lead to him asking too many questions.

“Why did you rush out of the living room?” He leans against the door frame.

You desperately attempted to figure out an excuse on why you left. Joshua knew you well enough to know when you would lie to him. Especially being put on the spot like that.

“I didn’t mean to rush, but no offense to Seungcheol. I don’t feel like hearing about his latest conquest. I see enough of those girls coming to our apartment. I don’t need details.”

“Oh okay. I thought Seungcheol did something to piss you off,” he lets out a soft chuckle.

“Nope,” once again you lie.

“Well, did you want to hang out tonight and watch a movie? Jeonghan should be home soon.” You want to say no and just spend the evening in your bedroom, but you know you shouldn’t do that.

“Yeah, it sounds good.”

“Okay, I’m gonna run to the store to get some snacks. Did you want anything?”

“No. Thanks for offering though.”

He turns away and you shut the door behind him. Sitting on the edge of your bed you take a deep breath trying to calm yourself down. You barely get five minutes alone when there is another knock on the door. You assume it’s Jeonghan stopping by to bug you. You stand up and throw open the door to see Seungcheol standing on the other side. Your eyes go wide as you look at him caught off guard that he’s standing at your door.

“What do you want?” You huff before walking over and sitting on the edge of your bed.

“I came to apologize for the stupid comment to Joshua.” Seungcheol really does feel bad about it. He saw the way your face fell at his stupid remark and felt bad that he hurt you. “I know it was stupid. I should have just said I was out.”

“Thanks.” You could tell he was sorry. This wasn’t some empty apology.

“I’m also sorry about being so rough with you,” he steps into your room, shutting the door behind him.

“Normally girls know what they’re getting into with me. Most of the girls I hook up with, heavily pursue me based on rumors. I’m assuming that before today you didn’t have any clue what it was like.”

You shake your head. Even though you had heard a few rumors, you had no clue how true they were.

“Seungcheol, you didn’t hurt me,” you say looking up at him finally. You can tell by his voice and by the look on his face, he is genuinely worried he hurt you.

“Are you sure?”

He moves to sit on your bed next to you. There’s a new tension between you that you aren’t used to. Reaching over you, rest your hand on his thigh as you look over at him. You want to let him know you’re not mad at him. You may be confused and unsure of what you are feeling, but you aren’t mad at him.

“I quite enjoyed it actually,” you say with a small smile pulling on your lips. Your hand is still resting on his thigh.

“I take it no guy's ever been like that before with you,” he raises one eyebrow.

“Nope.” You put extra emphasis on the p.

“Well I’m glad you enjoyed it. Sorry if the marks got out of hand.”

“As long as they aren’t visible to Jeonghan and Joshua, it’s fine,” your thumb brushes against his jean-covered thigh.

Placing his hand on top of yours, he looks over at you with that same lustfilled look he gave you in the car. “I can’t lie, it turns me on knowing you’re covered in marks from me walking around our apartment.”

You were now playing with fire. You had two options here, pour gasoline on the fire and make a flirty comment or shut him down. You know deep down inside you should shut him down, but you don’t actually want to. What happened in the car should be a one-time thing. If you were smart you would make sure it didn’t happen again, but you weren’t thinking correctly. Your body suddenly craved Seungcheol's touch.

“Well it’s good to know I’ll be driving you crazy then.”

The room feels insanely small as you stare at each other. How were you supposed to live with Seungcheol after sleeping with him? You weren’t sure you could ever be in the same room alone with him ever again. Just looking at him gave you visions of his naked body.

He stands up and rubs his hands on his jeans and cocks his eyebrow at you. There’s a long pause before he speaks, “just so you know you always drove me crazy. The sex was great by the way.”

He walks out of your room leaving you completely floored. What exactly did his comment mean? In the whole two years you’ve lived with him and the boys, Seungcheol has done nothing to show any notion that he liked you. You quickly became close with Joshua and Jeonghan, but Seungcheol was nothing more than a roommate to you. You don’t even think you could call him your friend. Suddenly things feel different between you. Maybe you’re supposed to be more than friends, but maybe this was just both your way of releasing sexual tension. All you know is you can’t help but feel sad that things between you played out this way.

𝐚𝐧: how do you think things are going to play out when Jeonghan gets home? I’m already working on a follow up for this story. This one is gonna be Jeonghan focused.

If you have asked to be tagged I request that you please reblog. If you could leave comments and or tags that would be greatly appreciated.

#svthub #thediamondlifenetwork #keopihausnet #mansaenetwork #Seungcheol smut #seventeen smut #Seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fanfic #scoups x reader #scoups smut #dreamie writes #seungcheol #seventeen #seventeen angst #seventeen fanfiction

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marcusspace · 2 months ago

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Brotherly swap - part 1

In the quiet solitude of his dimly lit bedroom, Timothy McAllister sat cross-legged on his twin bed, surrounded by the silent guardians of his imagination—shelves crammed with comic books, action figures, and forgotten school textbooks. The digital clock on his nightstand blinked 3:42 AM, a silent sentinel to his nocturnal habits. Tim, a self-proclaimed nerd with glasses perched on the tip of his nose and a penchant for graphic t-shirts, was lost in the realm of his favorite anime series. His eyes darted across the screen of his laptop, his heart racing with every clash of swords and whisper of a forbidden romance.

A sudden noise jolted him out of his fantasy world—the unmistakable sound of flesh on flesh, muffled by a closed door. Curiosity piqued, he tiptoed out of his room, his socks making faint squeaks against the cold, hardwood floor. The noise grew louder as he approached the staircase, each step bringing him closer to the source of the mysterious sounds. The thirst that had plagued him earlier was forgotten, replaced by a burning curiosity that compelled him downstairs.

The kitchen light spilled out into the hallway, creating a stark contrast with the shadows. Tim peered sneakily, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. There, at the kitchen island, stood Brad—his stepbrother, the epitome of jock perfection with a body sculpted from football and a swagger that made heads turn. Brad must’ve just stumbled home after a night of partying and heavy drinking. Brad is standing naked in the kitchen, clearly thinking everyone is asleep, his hand was moving rhythmically, fisting his impressive uncut 9-inch cock. The sight of Brad's muscles flexing, his abs rippling with each stroke, sent a jolt of arousal through Tim. He felt a pang of envy for the power Brad's body held, the ease with which it drew attention and desire.

Tim's mouth went dry as he watched Brad's hand work over his shaft, the precum glistening under the soft glow of the pendant lights. He couldn't help but think about the fantasies he'd had—fantasies where he could experience Brad's body for himself, where he could feel the strength and virility that seemed so far out of reach. But this was real, and Tim knew he should look away. Yet, he remained frozen, his own hand inching down to his crotch, his cock hardening at the sight of Brad's unabashed pleasure.

With a jolt of reality, Tim realized he could be caught staring. He bolted back upstairs, his cheeks flaming with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. His tiny cock strained against his pajama bottoms, demanding attention. He rushed into his room and slammed the door, his thoughts racing. He felt so ashamed—how could he be turned on by his own stepbrother? It wasn't just the taboo; it was the stark contrast between Brad's jock body and his own lanky, unathletic frame.

Tim flopped onto his bed, his hand trembling as it found its way into his pants. He couldn't stop thinking about Brad's cock, the way it had filled his hand so completely. He began to stroke himself, imagining what it would be like to have that kind of power, that kind of presence. He thought of Brad, sweaty and spent after a grueling football practice, his muscles begging for relief. The fantasy grew more vivid—Brad, helpless and needy, turning to Tim for comfort.

Tim's hand moved faster, his breath hitching in his throat as he pictured Brad's face contorted in pleasure. In his mind's eye, Brad's handsome features were a mix of surprise and gratitude as Tim took him into his mouth, his tiny cock forgotten in the face of his stepbrother's overwhelming manhood. The fantasy was intoxicating, a heady blend of the forbidden and the desired. His hand was a blur, his strokes becoming more erratic as the image of Brad's cock grew larger and larger in his mind.

With a strangled moan, Tim came, the sensation of release flooding through him like a tidal wave. He didn't bother to clean up the mess, too lost in the aftermath of his climax to care about the sticky residue on his hand and stomach. He lay there, panting, the room spinning slightly from the rush of adrenaline and embarrassment. Eventually, his eyes grew heavy and he succumbed to sleep, his last thoughts a jumble of Brad's body and his own secret longings.

The next morning, Tim woke with a start, his body feeling... different. He sat up, and the world tilted alarmingly. He reached out to steady himself, and his hand encountered something unfamiliar—his own hand, but it was larger, more muscular. His eyes shot to his reflection in the mirror opposite his bed, and what he saw took his breath away. He was in Brad's body.

Tim couldn't believe it—his fantasy had come to life. He rolled out of bed, his new muscles protesting the movement with a delightful stretch. He stumbled over to the mirror, his legs unaccustomed to the bulk of Brad's muscular frame. His eyes widened with wonder as he took in the sight of Brad's reflection. The broad chest, the rock-hard abs, the powerful arms, and the proud erection that jerked in response to his touch. He tentatively reached down to grasp Brad's cock, his heart racing as he felt its heavy warmth in his hand.

Tim couldn't resist exploring further. He flexed the bicep, watching the muscle bulge and dance in the early morning light. He ran his hand over the flat expanse of Brad's stomach, feeling the ridges of his abs, the trail of hair that led to his groin. He stepped closer to the mirror, his gaze lingering on the reflection of Brad's face, now his own. He touched his cheek, the stubble rough against his fingertips. His hand trailed down to Brad's chest, feeling the thump of a heart that was now his, the thrill of power surging through veins that had never felt so strong.

With one hand, he began to stroke the cock that was now his own. It felt alien, yet incredibly arousing. The sensation was magnified, as if his own desires had been amplified by the sheer size of his new member. His other hand roamed over the landscape of Brad's body, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders, the firmness of his ass. He couldn't believe the sensation—his fantasy was playing out in real life. He was the jock now, the one with the power to turn heads and command attention.

Tim's eyes remained glued to the mirror as he jerked off Brad's cock, watching the way it moved in his hand, the way his new body responded to his touch. He felt a thrill of power as he manipulated it, watching the shadows play across the muscles he had once envied from afar. The hand that was once so inexperienced now moved with surprising confidence, guided by Brad's own body's instinctive knowledge. He felt the beginnings of another orgasm build, a warmth spreading through him that was more intense than anything he had ever felt before.

Suddenly, he heard a noise from downstairs—Brad's voice, but it was high-pitched and panicked. Tim froze, his hand still wrapped around Brad's cock. What was going on? He had to find out. He stumbled to the door, his legs unsteady in this new form. His heart thudded in his chest as he descended the stairs, trying to process what was happening.

As he approached the kitchen, he could make out Brad's frantic cries. "What the fuck?! What did you do to me?!" Tim peeked around the corner, his eyes widening in horror and fascination. There was Brad, his body now in Tim's place, flailing around the kitchen in a pair of Tim's oversized glasses, looking utterly lost. Tim had to stifle a laugh—his stepbrother was now the one out of his element.

"I... I don't know what's happening!" Brad's voice, coming from Tim's smaller body, was a high-pitched squeak that seemed to echo off the walls. He stumbled around the kitchen, bumping into chairs and knocking over a vase. Tim felt a twinge of pity, watching Brad struggle with his new reality.

But the pity quickly turned into a giddy excitement as he realized that he was no longer the nerd. He was the jock, the one who could bend the world to his will. The one who could get whatever he wanted. And what he wanted, more than anything, was to live out his wildest fantasies in Brad's body.

Tim took a deep breath and stepped into the kitchen, his new body moving with a grace that was both alien and thrilling. Brad's eyes went wide with shock as he took in Tim's new form. "What the fuck, Tim?" he squeaked.

"Well, well, well," Tim said, a smirk playing on Brad's full lips. "Looks like we've swapped places." He couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the sight of Brad in his own skin—so small and fragile. "I guess the universe has a sense of humor after all."

Brad looked up at him with a mix of fear and anger. "Make it stop," he demanded, his voice still not his own. "This isn't funny!"

Tim just chuckled, the sound deep and resonant in Brad's body. "Oh, but it is," he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. "It's more than funny, it's a dream come true." He strode over to Brad, towering over him. "Imagine all the things I can do with this body." He flexed his bicep, watching Brad's eyes follow the movement with a mix of awe and dread.

"You can call me Brad now," Tim said, his voice a commanding rumble. "And I'll call you Tim. It's only fair, right?"

Brad's eyes darted around the kitchen, his mind racing. He had to get out of this situation, had to get back into his own body. But how? He had seen enough sci-fi movies to know that the geeky protagonist usually had some kind of ace up their sleeve, but all he had was Tim's scrawny body and a head full of football stats.

Tim, now Brad, took a step closer, his new body exuding confidence with every movement. "Come on, little bro," he said, his voice a mockery of Brad's usual cocky drawl. "Let's not make a scene." He reached out to pat Brad's shoulder, his hand swallowing Tim's delicate frame. "You'll get used to it."

Brad shrank away, his eyes darting to the floor. "What do you want?" he whispered, his voice barely recognizable as Tim's.

Tim, reveling in his newfound power, leaned in closer, his breath hot against Brad's ear. "Oh, you know what I want," he murmured, his hand drifting down to Brad's crotch. "But first, let's go get you cleaned up. You can't face the day like this."

With surprising gentleness, Tim guided Brad to the bathroom, watching as his stepbrother's body moved clumsily in the unfamiliar confines of Tim's smaller frame. He couldn't resist the urge to run his hand along Brad's ass, feeling the firm muscles that he had so often envied. Brad flinched, his eyes flashing with a mix of fear and anger. "Cut it out!" he snapped.

Tim just smirked, his hand lingering. "Don't worry, I know you're straight," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I'm not, and now I've got your body. So let's make the most of it, shall we?"

Brad's cheeks flushed, his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn't believe what was happening. "This isn't right," he protested weakly. "We can't just... swap lives like this."

Tim, now in Brad's body, grinned. "Why not?" He leaned closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You've had your fun with the cheerleaders and the football games. It's my turn now." He stepped back, admiring his reflection in the mirror. "And don't worry, I'll take good care of your body." His hand drifted down to cup Brad's crotch, his eyes never leaving Brad's face. "In fact, I've got a whole new set of rules for it."

Brad felt a surge of anger, his fists clenching at his sides. "You can't just—"

Tim cut him off with a wave of Brad's hand. "Oh, but I can. And I will. Now, let's talk about your old life." He leaned against the sink, Brad's body looking eerily relaxed in Tim's usual slump. "What was her name? Your, um, my girlfriend, I mean."

"Her name is none of your business," Brad spat back, his voice unsteady.

Tim chuckled, the sound deep and resonant in Brad's body. "Well, now it is," he said, stroking Brad's cheek with the back of his hand. "I mean, I'm going to be living your life now. It's only fair that I know all your little secrets."

Brad's eyes narrowed, his hands balled into fists. "What are you saying?"

Tim, now Brad, leaned in closer, his grin wicked. "I'm saying," he began, his hand tracing the line of Brad's jaw, "that from now on, Brad here is going to be exploring his... let's call it his 'alternative' side." He watched Brad's face contort with disgust, his new body flushing with excitement at the thought. "You're going to be the one going to prom with the hottest guy instead of the prom queen."

Brad's eyes widened with horror. "You can't do this to me!"

Tim, now in Brad's body, chuckled darkly. "Why not? You've had your fun with the ladies. Now it's time for me to have some fun with the... boys." He winked, his hand sliding down to Brad's waist, the touch electric and unwelcome. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to give you plenty of stories to tell."

Brad's mind raced, trying to think of a way out of this nightmare. He had to find a way to reverse the swap, to get back into his own body before things went too far. "We need to find out how this happened," he said, his voice shaking with fear. "There has to be a way to fix it."

Tim, now in Brad's body, just shrugged. "Why bother?" he said, his tone laced with nonchalance. "This is the best thing that's ever happened to me." He flexed his new biceps, watching them bulge in the mirror. "I've got everything I've ever wanted."

#male body swap #male body switch #body swap #body switch #straight to gay #jock to nerd #nerd to jock #step brothers #ai generated

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levanterhaze · 2 months ago

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── GAMEBOY, BANGCHAN

♡ ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader dirty talk, masturbation, rough sex, slight choking, use of nicknames, overstimulation among other things I can't even name

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[10k words ]♡― once again, I must thank you all for your love and for continuing to enjoy gameboy! this chapter is a bit long, but for me it's interesting to write the development of the characters to get where we want to go! don't forget to listen to the playlist and those who just got here PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS!!!! that said, have a good read.

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one] ♡ [part two] ♡ [part three] ♡ [part four]

On the corner of my bed Oh, and maybe on the beach You could do it on your own While you're lookin' at me

After absolutely killing your performance of Out Here On My Own, the applause hit you like a tidal wave. A standing ovation. Even Mrs. Baek looked mildly impressed, which, considering her usual stone-cold demeanor, basically meant she was internally sobbing.

And just like that, all the nerves? Gone. Vanished into thin air like they were never even there.

Bangchan had been watching—because of course, he had—but before you could revel in that fact for too long, he got a call and had to bounce. Typical.

You should have been freaking out about the whole making out backstage situation. Should’ve been scanning every corner for witnesses, mentally preparing for a campus-wide scandal. But weirdly? You weren’t. That reckless, confident part of you—the one still floating on cloud nine—did not care. If anything, you could still feel him. His touch on your waist like a phantom burn, his lips still branded on yours.

But whatever. You had bigger things to stress about. The final list wasn’t coming out until Monday, which meant you had the entire weekend to sit in pure, unfiltered agony over it. Luckily, Saturday’s party was the perfect excuse to get out of your head for a while.

Fast forward through a day of pretending to be studious with Sohee—aka desperately trying to focus while your brain replayed that kiss—you finally took a well-earned shower and decided to go for a solo nighttime stroll.

Campus was still alive, students buzzing around in little clusters, laughing and talking like they didn’t have impending deadlines. You shoved your headphones in, following the athletics track, which was mostly empty by now.

The night air had that perfect, crisp breeze—the kind that made you grateful you threw on a cardigan. And just when you thought the moment couldn’t get any better, Wonderwall started playing. You smirked to yourself. Damn, you loved this song.

And yet, with every step, your brain kept poking at you like an annoying little sibling. Anxiety, sure. But let’s not forget the other mess currently occupying premium real estate in your mind—Hyunjin.

You hadn’t talked to him since you drunkenly spilled your guts, quite literally, about your whole Bangchan situation. And if you were being honest, which you weren’t, at least not with yourself, you were actively dodging that conversation. Because talking to Hyunjin meant facing your own feelings, and frankly, you were not clocked in for that emotional labor.

Your phone lit up mid-walk.

Mingyu: can I see you today?

You chewed on your lip, staring at the message. It was almost ridiculous how this boy—new, uncomplicated, and seemingly sincere—wanted something real with you. And yet, here you were, hesitating. Because no matter how nice Mingyu was, your brain wasn’t stuck on him.

It was stuck on someone else.

On a certain maddening, frustrating, insanely good kisser who had, at some point, tattooed himself onto your skin. If physical touch could be permanent, Bangchan’s hands would be everywhere on you. And, let’s be honest, you wouldn’t exactly be filing a complaint about it.

Before you even processed the decision, your feet had already made it for you. You were crossing campus, heading straight for his dorm.

Because you needed to talk. Like adults. No teasing, no sarcastic little jabs—just honesty.

And, okay, maybe you needed to see him, too. Feel him. More than ever.

Your determination was fuel to the fire already burning inside you. Your heart was pounding, your brain was screaming at you to calm down, but your body wasn’t taking any orders tonight. That feverish, all-consuming pull settled deep in your gut, an intoxicating mix of adrenaline, nerves, and something terrifyingly real.

You took the stairs two at a time, like the damn dorm might vanish before you got there.

By the time you reached his door, you were clutching your excitement close, biting back a smile even as your fingers trembled. Deep breath. You knocked, quick and sure.

It’s fine. He’ll listen. You’ll talk. You’ll finally—

The door swung open.

And instead of a tall, dark-haired boy, you were met with her.

She was pretty. Unfairly, effortlessly pretty—the kind of girl who belonged on magazine covers and in the daydreams of poets. Medium height, light hair, bright eyes. The kind of face men went to war over.

Your stomach dropped like a stone.

“Hi!” she greeted, all warmth and ease, completely oblivious to the way the air had just been sucked out of your lungs.

You swallowed, forcing a polite nod. “Uh, hey… is Bangchan here?”

She shook her head, smiling like this was just any other casual conversation. And that’s when you noticed it—his black t-shirt, draped over her frame.

“Oh, no. He went to grab some food.” she tilted her head, something curious in her gaze. “Are you a friend of his? Oh! Sorry—I’m Yeojin. His girlfriend. And you are…?”

Her words hit like a gut punch, sucking the warmth right out of your chest.

A bitter laugh bubbled up, but you swallowed it down, masking the sting with a tight-lipped smile. “A classmate,” you said smoothly. “I just had a question, but… I think it can wait till Monday.”

And just like that, the fire inside you? Extinguished.

The girl pursed her glossy lips, then nodded politely. “Okay. I’ll let him know you stopped by.”

“No need.” the words left your mouth before she could even finish. “Thanks, Yeojin.”

Her name felt like venom rolling off your tongue, thick and bitter, coating your mouth with something vile.

By the time you hit the stairs, you were moving so fast you were honestly surprised you didn’t wipe out. Your pulse was a hammer against your ribs, your breath uneven. Your brain hadn’t even caught up yet—stuck on a loop, trying to process the absolute train wreck that had just unfolded.

He had a girlfriend this whole time.

He lied to you.

He did exactly what everyone said he would.

The sharp sting of disappointment curdled into full-blown anger. Your steps turned heavier, each one smacking against the pavement like a silent war drum. You were so locked into getting to your dorm—so wound up with the need to disappear into your own space—you probably would’ve plowed through half a dozen people without a second thought.

But fate had a sick sense of humor. Because halfway across campus, you spotted him.

Bangchan, heading back toward the dorms, a paper bag dangling from his hand—food, obviously, because why wouldn’t he be casually picking up dinner while your world imploded?

His eyes lit up the second he saw you, but that moment of warmth flickered out fast when you didn’t even look at him. Didn’t slow down. Didn’t hesitate. Just walked right past him like he was nothing—like he was air—nearly clipping his arm in the process.

He stood there for two seconds, frozen, before spinning around. Your name tore from his lips, sharp and urgent.

“What happened?” when you didn’t answer, his voice shot up, strained. “Where are you going?”

You sucked in a deep breath, your whole body practically vibrating with anger. Then, before you could stop yourself, you spun around and marched right back toward him, each step digging into the grass like you were stomping out a fire.

“To my dorm,” you snapped. “Not that it’s any of your business. Oh, and fun fact—I just came back from yours.” sarcasm dripped from your voice like honey laced with poison.

Bangchan blinked, his brain buffering like a slow-loading webpage. The look on his face almost made you laugh—almost. Instead, you just smiled, sharp and humorless. Yeah, process that, asshole.

You turned to leave, but before you could, his hand caught yours. Not your wrist, like some desperate last-ditch grab—your hand. Like he meant it. And the second your skin met his, it was like touching an open flame.

“Let me explain.” his voice was tight, urgent.

“Don’t touch me.” you yanked your hand back like it burned. “I don’t give a shit about whatever excuse you’re about to pull out of your ass.”

His jaw clenched. “Can you stop being so damn stubborn and just listen to me for once?”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, you wanna explain?” you licked your lips, tasting nothing but bitterness. “Go ahead. Explain how you had a girlfriend this whole time while you were fucking around with me.”

The words landed like a punch to the gut—on both of you.

Because, deep down, being with you had never been defined. No labels. No promises. No safety net to fall back on. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Bangchan’s brows snapped together. “What? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t even try it.” you scoffed, shaking your head. “You’re really gonna stand there and lie to my face? I saw her.”

His frustration bubbled over, his arms flying up in exasperation. “I genuinely have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.” his voice cracked with frustration. He looked at you like he was praying for some divine intervention to make sense of this mess. “If you’re talking about—”

“Just go back to your girlfriend and leave me alone, Bangchan.” your voice was steady, but he wasn’t stupid—he saw the fire still burning in your eyes, catching in the moonlight.

And maybe if he had taken half a second to think, he wouldn’t have said it. Maybe he would’ve swallowed his pride and stopped himself from making it worse.

But he didn’t.

“Whatever, right?” he scoffed, voice laced with something bitter. “It’s not like we were anything.”

You pressed your lips together, jaw tight, throat burning like you’d swallowed glass. And for the first time in your life, really the first, you felt so humiliated—so stupid—that your eyes burned with unshed tears.

Bangchan saw it. Saw the way your waterline glistened, saw the way your breath hitched, but you wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him. Not for him.

“If you really think that’s the problem, then that says a whole lot more about you than it does about me.” your voice was sharp, but quiet, like a blade sliding back into its sheath.

And just like that, the conversation was over.

You turned on your heel and walked away, each step fueled by a firestorm of anger, hurt, and something else you weren’t ready to name. Bangchan watched you go, standing frozen in place, and by the time he even thought about stopping you—

It was too late.

Outside your dorm, you yanked your phone out of your pocket, fingers flying across the screen like a woman on a mission. Your pulse was still hammering, adrenaline buzzing under your skin as you pulled up Mingyu’s contact and typed without hesitation.

You: Feel like crashing a party on Saturday?

Barely a beat passed before your phone vibrated with his response.

Mingyu: You had me at “party.”

Bangchan pushed open the door to his dorm with more force than necessary, letting it slam shut behind him. His pulse was still racing, his jaw tight with frustration.

And there she was. Yeojin.

Lying on his bed, scrolling through her phone like she owned the place. His old sweatshirt was hanging off her shoulder, and she barely spared him a glance when he walked in.

“Oh, you’re back,” she said, swinging her legs idly. “Didn’t take you long.”

Bangchan set his bag of takeout on the desk and exhaled sharply through his nose. “What the hell did you say to her?”

Yeojin finally looked up, her expression the perfect blend of innocence and amusement. “Say what exactly?”

His fingers flexed at his sides. “You know what,” he ground out. “You told her we’re together. Why?”

She tilted her head, brows lifting. “I never said that.”

Bangchan let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeojin, don’t play games with me.”

“I didn’t, Chan.” she sighed dramatically, stretching her arms over her head. “She asked if you were here, I said no, and I introduced myself. It’s not my fault if she jumped to conclusions.”

He clenched his jaw, glaring at her. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

She just smiled. “So what if it is?” her voice dropped, teasing, as she sat up. “You used to like when I messed with people.”

Bangchan took a step back when she reached for him, his whole body recoiling instinctively.

“We’re not kids anymore, Yeojin,” he muttered. “And I don’t have time for this.” he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. “I got Thai food. Help yourself.”

Before she could say anything else, he was gone.

The cool night air did little to calm Bangchan’s nerves as he walked toward the basketball court, fists shoved in his hoodie pockets. His mind was a mess, replaying the way you had looked at him—like he was exactly what people warned you about.

Before he could spiral further, a familiar voice cut through his thoughts.

“Damn, what’s with the face?” Changbin asked, appearing from the other side of the path. “You look like you wanna punch a hole in a wall.”

Bangchan exhaled sharply. “Not a wall.”

Changbin frowned. “What the hell happened?”

Bangchan hesitated before tilting his head toward the court. “Basketball first. Talking later.”

Changbin smirked. “I like where this is going.”

Fifteen minutes later, Bangchan sat on the edge of the basketball court, legs stretched out, elbows resting on his knees, looking like life had personally drop-kicked him.

Across from him, Changbin dribbled the ball lazily, waiting. And waiting. Until his patience ran out.

“So?” Changbin finally asked, passing him the ball. “Spill.”

Bangchan caught it, staring at it for a second before shaking his head. “Yeojin’s here.”

Changbin nearly fumbled the rebound. “I’m sorry—what?” his face twisted in immediate disgust. “What the hell is she doing here?”

Bangchan sighed. “She came to visit. Said she was in town. It’s been years, and I figured—whatever, right? No harm in catching up.”

Changbin let out a dry laugh. “No harm? Bro, she’s a walking red flag. Why would you even entertain that?”

Bangchan pressed his tongue against his cheek. “I don’t know, man. Nostalgia? I mean, we didn’t exactly end badly, we just—” he sighed. “Didn’t work.”

Changbin scoffed. “Yeah, well, I never liked her. You know that.”

Bangchan dribbled once, then tossed the ball toward the hoop. It hit the rim, circled, then dropped through the net. “There’s more.”

Changbin folded his arms. “Yeah, no shit. You’re sitting here like you just found out Santa isn’t real. What else happened?”

Bangchan caught the rebound and exhaled. “She saw.”

Changbin frowned. “Saw what?”

Bangchan gave him a look.

“Oh.” Changbin winced. “Shit.” he let out a slow whistle. “That’s… bad.”

“No shit,” Bangchan muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “She showed up at my dorm, and instead of me opening the door, Yeojin did.”

Changbin groaned. “Dude. No.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” Bangchan went on, voice dripping with frustration. “Yeojin, being the manipulative little menace she is, basically introduced herself as my girlfriend.”

Changbin stared at him like he just admitted to murder. “And she believed that?”

Bangchan laughed bitterly. “Why wouldn’t she? The look she gave me, man… like I was exactly what she expected. Some asshole playing games.”

Changbin studied him for a second. “And that bothers you.”

Bangchan scoffed. “Of course it fucking bothers me.” he leaned forward, gripping the ball tight. “She drives me insane, Bin. Like—she acts like it’s nothing. Like whatever we had was just this casual, meaningless thing. But then she turns around and—” he exhaled sharply. “Her actions say otherwise. She looks at me like she feels something. She reacts like she cares. But every time I get close, she shuts it down.”

Changbin snorted, rolling the ball between his palms. “So basically, she’s bullshitting, you’re bullshitting, and now you’re both miserable?”

Bangchan shot him a glare.

Changbin smirked. “I mean, she won’t admit she likes you, and you’re sitting here trauma-dumping on me instead of doing something about it.”

Bangchan groaned, tilting his head back against the wall. “She’s pissed, Bin. Like, really pissed.”

“So fix it.”

Bangchan laughed humorlessly. “Yeah. Easier said than done.”

Changbin passed him the ball. “So what now?”

Bangchan caught it, staring down at the faded lettering on the rubber. That was the question, wasn’t it? Because right now, you wanted nothing to do with him.

And honestly? He deserved it.

Saturday morning. Group breakfast. Good vibes. At least, that’s what you were aiming for.

You were mid-story, telling Felix how the auditions had gone, when the universe decided to test your patience. Again.

Changbin strolled in with Jisung, Bangchan, and—you had to blink twice just to confirm—Yeojin.

Of course. Because it wasn’t enough that he lied. He had to parade it around like some kind of grand event.

“I need a fat slice of chocolate cake,” Changbin announced, dropping into his seat. “Something sweet to cleanse the absolute trash energy in the air.”

Your eyes flicked to Yeojin, who was standing a little too comfortably next to Bangchan.

“Yeojin, long time no see,” Hyunjin greeted, all polite and civil.

She beamed. “Hyunjin! Oh my God, it’s really you!” she gushed, voice dripping with enthusiasm. You wanted to be a girl’s girl, really—you did. But something about her tone made your eye twitch.

“Who’s that?” Sohee whispered, not even bothering to be discreet.

“Oh, nice to meet you,” Yeojin said, flashing a smile that felt way too rehearsed. “Yeojin. Chan’s friend.”

She said it like she was accepting a damn award. The table went dead silent. Everyone shared a look.

You, however, remained completely unbothered, taking a slow sip of your strawberry milk like you had all the time in the world.

Bangchan slid into the seat across from you, throwing not-so-subtle glances in your direction—just in case you maybe wanted to acknowledge his existence.

You didn’t. Instead, you busied yourself with literally anything else. The napkins. The straw in your drink. The slow, satisfying process of ignoring him.

If he wanted your attention, he’d have to earn it.

Yeojin was annoyingly easy to get along with. Effortless charm, perfectly timed laughs—like she’d studied the art of socializing and graduated top of her class. And maybe that wouldn’t have bothered you if you didn’t feel an immediate, inexplicable urge to dislike her.

Maybe it was the way she smiled just a little too much. Like she was in on some inside joke that no one else was laughing at. Or how she leaned into Bangchan like he had his own gravitational pull, always conveniently this close to falling into his lap.

For someone who had been so desperate to explain himself last night, he looked awfully comfortable letting her cling to him now.

“So, everyone’s going tonight, right?” Jisung asked, drumming his fingers on the table.

Yeojin jumped on the conversation like it was an open invitation. “What’s tonight?”

“Jisung’s DJing at a party,” Eunji answered, taking a sip of her drink.

Yeojin hummed, tilting her head in that thoughtful but not really way. “I was going to leave after lunch, but… I guess I can stay a little longer.”

She glanced at Bangchan like she was waiting for permission.

Too bad he wasn’t paying attention. His focus was glued to his phone, fingers tapping out a message.

Your own phone buzzed in your pocket.

Bangchan: can we talk?

Your eyes flicked up, purely on instinct. And there he was. Watching you.

You frowned, pulled out your phone, read the message, and stuffed it right back in your pocket. No response.

The table blurred into background noise. Laughter, conversation, the occasional clatter of silverware—it all melted into static. Because Bangchan was still looking. That steady, expectant stare that made your skin itch. That made your chest feel a little too tight.

Your phone buzzed again.

Bangchan: you can’t ignore me forever.

Bet.

You smirked to yourself. If Bangchan thought he could tell you what to do, he had another thing coming.

Grabbing the strap of your bag, you stood up, all casual confidence, and turned to Sohee and Eunji. “I’m heading out with Hyunjin.” no further explanation. Just a statement.

Hyunjin, caught in the crossfire of whatever this was, frowned. “Wait—what? Since when?”

You just kept walking, tossing a grin over your shoulder. “Since right now. Just smile and act natural.”

You made sure to take the long way around the table, passing directly in front of Bangchan—not looking at him. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. Just air.

Hyunjin, still struggling to keep up, shot a quick glance back before leaning in. “Okay, seriously, what was that? Bangchan looked like he was about to start breathing fire.”

You flicked your hair over your shoulder, your smirk widening.

“Revenge, Hyun. Just a little harmless revenge.”

The house was packed.

Neon lights flickered wildly, splashing the room in chaotic waves of electric blue and fiery red, pulsing in sync with the bass. The air was thick—heat, sweat, cheap cologne, and the sharp sting of alcohol weaving together into something intoxicating. The floor thrummed beneath your boots, bodies moving in effortless rhythm, a silent agreement to just let go.

Jisung was at the DJ booth, throwing in ad-libs between transitions, hyping up the crowd like he was born for this. A remix dropped, shaking the walls, and the entire party roared in approval. Off-campus ragers had a way of making reality blur, like stepping into a fever dream.

Perfect.

Eunji and Sohee spotted you first, their eyes going comically wide, like they’d just witnessed the second coming of Christ.

“Jesus, look at you,” Sohee gasped, gripping your arm for dear life.

Eunji gave a solemn nod. “This outfit should be illegal.”

You twirled, just enough to let your skirt flare out, a little reminder of why you picked it.

“Drinks first, right?” you pointed at Hyunjin, who gave you an approving nod.

You peeled away from the group, squeezing through the sweaty crowd toward a corner where a massive keg stood like a beacon of bad decisions. There were stronger drinks, but you decided to take it easy—for now.

Then, in half a second, you felt it. Like your body already knew, like a moth drawn to a flame.

Under the pulsing red lights, he looked dangerous. A predator in slow motion, moving through the crowd with that effortless, lazy confidence that made people either run toward him or clear a path. Flashes of white and blue caught the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint sheen of sweat at his collarbone. A contrast—razor-edged and infuriatingly soft all at once.

And yet. You couldn’t focus on any of that.

Because Yeojin was practically clinging to him.

Talking—laughing, leaning, performing—but Bangchan barely seemed to notice. If anything, he looked somewhere else entirely. Somewhere you were. Because the second your eyes met, his focus locked in.

And he started moving. One step. Then another.

But before he could take a third, an arm slid around your waist.

Mingyu.

His touch was warm, firm—a perfectly timed lifeline. His lips brushed against your ear, voice low and deliberate. “Have I mentioned you look insane tonight?”

A slow, satisfied smile curled on your lips. Perfect.

Through the neon haze, you caught Bangchan’s reaction over Mingyu’s shoulder. Electric blue light flickered across his face like something straight out of a movie scene.

Oh, he was pissed. Not just annoyed. Not just irritated. Seething.

Jaw clenched. Shoulders tight. Eyes locked onto you with an intensity that sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

Good.

Mingyu pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “Dance with me?”

You let the question hang, stretching the moment just because you could—fully aware of your audience. Then, with a casual flick of your fingers, you grabbed Mingyu’s wrist and turned back to your friends.

And that’s when the remix hit.

The song of the summer. A full-blown club anthem blasted through the house, lights flashing in sync with the bass, and suddenly Eunji and Sohee were dragging you onto the dance floor. You barely had time to toss Mingyu a look before pulling him into the crowd with you.

Sohee was already wrapped around her boyfriend’s neck, hair flying as she danced like she was possessed, while Minho just laughed at her antics. Jisung was losing his mind behind the DJ booth, hyping up the party like a man on a mission.

And Bangchan? He didn’t move. He just watched.

Watched as you danced. Watched as Mingyu’s hands found your waist. Watched as you threw your head back, laughing, moving with the beat like you had nothing to prove.

And under the pulsing red lights, with silver glitter catching on your cheekbones, you didn’t just look good. You looked untouchable.

And he looked like a man about to start a war.

You spun around, arms draped over Mingyu’s shoulders as his hands trailed down to your waist, pulling you into the rhythm. To anyone watching, you two looked dangerously close—every move synced, every touch easy, like this was something more than just a party moment. But in the back of your mind, a small, annoying voice reminded you that this wasn’t about Mingyu at all.

Still, too late now.

The strobe lights flashed in bursts, making everything feel like a glitch in time—jumping, dancing, bodies moving like there was no tomorrow. You lost sight of Bangchan for a while, which was probably for the best. So, you let go. Had fun. Actually enjoyed yourself with your friends.

Until someone slammed into you, knocking the air right out of your lungs.

One second, Mingyu was right there. The next, he was gone, practically launched across the floor. “What the—” you barely got the words out before you saw the damage.

Changbin stood there, wide-eyed, drenched in a suspiciously pink drink, looking like he just survived a battlefield. And Mingyu? Equally soaked, equally stunned, like he was still processing what the hell just happened.

“Dude, shit—sorry!” Changbin shouted, voice barely cutting through the music.

You blinked, taking in the absolute mess before turning back to him. “Are you good?”

Changbin nodded rapidly, looking between you and Mingyu like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or start running. “Yeah, yeah, my bad!”

Then he turned back to Mingyu, hands up like a man pleading for his life.

Mingyu just let out a sigh, lifting the hem of his now ruined white T-shirt like he was mourning a fallen soldier. “Alright. I’ll be right back,” he said, shaking his head before disappearing into the crowd.

Meanwhile, Changbin grabbed your arm, his expression serious—well, as serious as someone drenched in a neon-pink drink could look. He gestured for you to follow, weaving through the bodies until you reached the foot of the stairs.

“What?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Can you grab me a shirt? I left one in Jisung’s backpack.”

You took a second to assess the situation. Changbin, slightly tipsy, covered in pink, blinking at you like a lost puppy. He looked ridiculous.

With a dramatic sigh, you caved. “Fine.”

“You’re the best,” he said, clasping his hands like he was praising the heavens. “It’s in the room on the right, upstairs.”

You turned, climbing the stairs while dodging couples making out on the steps like it was some kind of kissing marathon. Once you reached the hallway, you scanned the doors—long corridor, a few rooms—until you spotted one slightly open on the right.

Alright. In and out. Quick mission.

Stepping inside, you started searching for Jisung’s bag—first the floor, then the bed. Nothing.

And then—

Movement.

From the corner of your eye, a figure emerged from behind the bed, rising like a shadow from the dark.

Your breath caught. Bangchan. Standing there. Watching you.

A black cable twirled between his fingers, slow and deliberate, his gaze unreadable under the dim glow of the hallway lights.

“What?” you were the first to break the silence, arms crossing instinctively. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Bangchan gave you a flat look, holding up the black cable like it was evidence in court. “I should be asking you that. I came to get Han’s charger.” he raised an eyebrow, gaze sharp, like he wasn’t entirely convinced.

You opened your mouth, fully prepared to deliver something scathing—but before you could get a word out, the door swung open again.

“Sorry, kids! Not opening this door until you sort yourselves out!”

You barely had time to process Changbin’s smug, drunken grin before the door slammed shut.

For half a second, you froze.

Then you launched at the door, fists pounding like you could open it through sheer rage. “Changbin, open this fucking door right now!”

No answer. Just the distant thrum of music, too muffled for anyone outside to hear you scream bloody murder.

You yanked at the handle—definitely locked.

With a sharp inhale, you turned, glaring daggers at Bangchan, who was just… standing there. Watching. Amused.

“Are you just gonna stand there? Do something!”

His lips twitched, like he was this close to laughing. “Pretty sure this is your problem, not mine.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, so now you don’t wanna get involved?”

Bangchan sighed—slow, exaggerated—before strolling up to the door, resting a lazy hand on the knob, and giving it a completely useless jiggle. Then he turned back to you with a straight face.

“Yeah. It’s locked.”

You stared at him. Blinked. Then scoffed so hard you nearly choked.

“No shit, Sherlock. Are you serious?”

Bangchan couldn’t help it—he laughed. Because you were spiraling, and honestly? It was funny as hell.

“I’ll call him,” he said, still smirking.

You rolled your eyes so hard they nearly left your skull and made your way over to the double bed in the corner. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered, collapsing onto the edge like this was some Shakespearean tragedy.

Then a thought clicked, and suddenly, everything made sense.

Your head snapped up. “Wait—” you shot to your feet, eyes narrowing. “He knows. You told him.”

Bangchan barely looked fazed. “He kinda figured it out on his own, if that makes you feel any better.”

Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Bangchan was so into you, stealing glances constantly, and Changbin wasn’t stupid. The man could read a room like it was his job.

You dragged a hand down your face, exhaling sharply. “This is a nightmare.”

Bangchan tilted his head, amused. “Jesus, is it really that bad being stuck in here with me? Last time, you weren’t exactly complaining.”

The second those words left his mouth, you hit him with a look so deadly he immediately shut up.

“Just get Changbin to open the damn door, Bangchan,” you said flatly, plopping back down onto the bed, dead center, legs crossed like you were settling in for a long, miserable wait.

You pulled out your phone, thumbs flying across the screen as you sent a message to Hyunjin—the only person who knew about the whole situation. You could have asked Sohee, Eunji, or even Mingyu, but that would just open a very annoying can of worms.

And you were not in the mood for questions.

This couldn’t be real. No way. The second you got out of here, Changbin was getting his ass handed to him. And Mingyu was probably already wondering where the hell you’d disappeared to. Just like Yeojin was probably searching for Bangchan.

Perfect.

“He’s not answering,” Bangchan announced, completely unfazed. “Which means he’s ignoring me on purpose. So, we wait.” he sat by the window like it was just another Tuesday, leaning back on his palms.

“This is your fault.”

That earned you a scoff. “How the hell is this my fault?”

You shot him a glare. “If you hadn’t spilled everything to him, none of this would be happening.”

Bangchan let out a dry laugh, tilting his head like you were so predictable. “Right. And if you hadn’t jumped to conclusions without actually listening to me—like you always do—none of this would be happening either.”

Oof. Direct hit. You hated when he had a point.

“I have nothing to hear from you,” you muttered, crossing your arms and staring at literally anything else in the room.

Silence.

Annoyingly, maddeningly, deafeningly loud silence.

Bangchan rested his arms on his knees, watching you like he had all the time in the world. And pretending he wasn’t there, yeah, that was a joke. His presence was like gravity—pulling, heavy, impossible to ignore.

Less than ten minutes passed before the anger started simmering down. Because that’s how it always went with him. Like a fire that burned too hot, too fast.

“You seriously thought she was my girlfriend?”

You turned, locking eyes with him. “What else was I supposed to think? She said it herself.”

Bangchan hummed, tapping his fingers against his knee. “She’s not. Yeojin’s an ex—from high school. Ancient history.” he exhaled sharply through his teeth. “She’s just… a little clueless.”

“A little?” you let out a sharp laugh. “She was wearing your clothes when I showed up at your dorm.” you rolled your eyes, but Bangchan only smiled. Because, yeah, that sounded a whole lot like jealousy.

Then something clicked. “Wait—what were you doing there that night?”

“Nothing.” you looked away, ignoring the sudden heat crawling up your neck.

His laugh was soft, almost teasing. But the way he was looking at you? Like you were the only thing worth seeing? That was dangerous.

“C’mon. Seriously.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes, because he was so annoyingly persistent. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Doesn’t it?” Bangchan tilted his head, lips curving in that cocky little smirk. “I doubt that.”

“Well, I don’t care,” you shot back, folding your arms in defiance.

Bangchan pushed himself off the floor, moving to sit on the edge of the bed—close, but not too close. Still, he was big. Broad. Built like a problem. And despite the space between you, he somehow took up all of it.

Worse? He smelled stupidly good.

“What do you want?” you asked, bracing yourself for the answer—because Bangchan was stupidly honest, and you weren’t sure you were ready for whatever was about to come out of his mouth.

But he didn’t say a word. Just kept looking at you, pupils blown wide, gaze slow as it dragged over your face like he was trying to memorize every detail.

Then, finally— “Why’d you come that night?”

You swallowed. “I went because… I wanted to talk. And… I wanted things to be okay between us.”

For a second, he just stared at you like you’d punched the air out of his lungs. Because you had gone after him. To fix things. To close the distance.

“You wanted to?” you barely nodded before he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Well, we’re two idiots, then.” his lips curled slightly, his whole energy shifting. “Because that’s all I want.”

Your eyes locked, and something about the way he was looking at you made your chest tighten. He had this insane ability to make you feel completely seen, like he could pick apart every thought in your head just by watching you.

“Why?”

Bangchan was never one to hold back, never afraid to be himself—especially when it came to being honest about what he wanted. And right now, he was this close to just laying it all out. Because the truth? He was ridiculously into you. More and more, every damn day.

“You’re stubborn, and I’m an idiot,” he muttered, lips pressing into a thin line before he let out a short laugh. The kind that made you laugh, too, before you even realized it. And honestly it pissed you off a little how easily he could do that—swing you from one extreme to another like it was nothing.

“Look,” he sighed. “I’m just gonna be straight with you, like I always am. I’m not playing games. I didn’t mean it when I said we were nothing.”

“But we are,” you mumbled, even though the words tasted like a lie. You weren’t anything. No labels, no relationship. Just a mess of late nights and tangled sheets—until things got way too complicated.

“I don’t want us to be nothing,” he said, shrugging, like he was just casually throwing his cards on the table. “Because ever since that first time, I haven’t wanted anyone else.”

Your breath caught, and suddenly, the bed felt too small, the room too warm. What the hell? You hadn’t expected this conversation to go there.

Bangchan? Not with anyone else? That was news. The guy was basically campus royalty when it came to hookups. Half the girls in your year had probably been in his dorm at some point.

And now he was sitting here, telling you this?

But now he was standing there, saying it out loud—no one else. Just you. And it sent your stomach into a tailspin.

“I shouldn’t have given you shit for it,” you muttered, nodding like that would somehow make the awkwardness go away. “I mean, since we’re not… you know.”

Bangchan lifted an eyebrow, clearly amused by how flustered you were.

“Oh, I know,” he said. “But you don’t get it. I don’t want anyone else.”

Your pulse spiked. Too fast. Too loud. What the hell was he trying to say?

“No, you’re just—” you let out a breathy, nervous laugh, stepping back like that would help. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bangchan didn’t let you go far. His hand caught yours, warm and steady, fingers wrapping around your wrist before he pulled you closer—right between his legs.

And then his hands were on your waist, fitting there like they belonged.

Your breath hitched.

His voice, suddenly lower, smoother, like silk wrapped in heat. “I know exactly what I want.”

Your eyes met his, and damn it, he was beautiful. That kind of beauty that wasn’t just about sharp jawlines and perfect features—it was something deeper, something that burned. The way his eyes locked onto you, glowing under the dim light. The way his expression was serious, but there was still softness lingering beneath it.

You knew what you wanted too. You just weren’t ready to admit it.

Your hands moved before your mind could catch up, tracing the curve of his brow, the sharp edge of his cheekbone—slow, like you were trying to memorize him by touch. Then, without thinking, you cupped his face, thumbs brushing over his skin.

Bangchan didn’t pull away. Didn’t even flinch. He just leaned into your touch, like this was normal, like you did this all the time. But you didn’t. Not like this.

Then he kissed the back of your hand, soft and slow, and damn it, you smiled.

“Say what you want,” he murmured.

“I…”

“I don’t care if I’m your dirty little secret,” he cut in, voice rough, low, burning at the edges. “I don’t care about any of it. As long as you’re mine, I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.”

Something shifted inside you—hot, sharp, irreversible. Like a match hitting gasoline.

Bangchan tilted his head, pushing a strand of hair from your face. “What are you so afraid of?” his lips curled into a half-smirk. “You hate me that much?”

You let out a breath, shaking your head. “I don’t hate you.” your fingers tightened against his jaw. “Not even close.”

Bangchan pulled you in, arms locking tight around your waist, pressing you so close you could feel every breath he took against your skin. A shiver shot down your spine, anticipation curling in your stomach. You were teetering on the edge, seconds away from giving in—giving him everything. And if he was willing to take whatever you had to offer… What was stopping you?

With one swift move, his hands traced up the back of your thighs, fingers pressing into the sensitive skin behind your knees, guiding you onto the bed and onto his lap. The air between you shifted, crackling, something unspoken but heavy settling in the space only you two could understand.

It was automatic—this need, this burn. Like gravity, like the sky being blue, like the way your chemistry was always one spark away from setting the whole place on fire.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, yanking back just enough to force his eyes on you. And God, he looked wrecked—vulnerable in a way that made your stomach flip, pupils blown wide like he’d already lost the battle.

That’s when you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was desperate—a clash of want, frustration, and every second of tension that had built between you. Like a wave crashing against the shore, wild and uncontrollable. You rocked against him, fingers tightening in his hair, barely biting back a moan when his hands gripped your ass, lifting you further into him.

Your skirt had already ridden up, but Bangchan wasn’t complaining.

He knew exactly what he was doing—kissing, nipping at your skin, hitting every spot that made you gasp. But it wasn’t enough. You needed more. More contact, more of him.

Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, tugging it up with shaky hands. Bangchan barely hesitated, lifting his arms, muscles flexing as he pulled the fabric over his head. The low, guttural sound that left his lips sent a shiver through you—deep, raw, almost primal. And God, he looked unreal.

“You want me to stop?” he murmured against your lips, voice thick with restraint.

You shook your head immediately, body betraying you with the way it trembled against him.

“I can stop,” he teased, but this time, the possibility made your stomach flip. Your eyes snapped to his, filled with something dangerously close to panic.

Stepping back, just for a second, you took him in. And no matter how many times you’d seen him like this, you never quite got used to it. All of him. Broad, sculpted shoulders, solid arms, every inch of him screaming strength. And all of that was yours.

Bangchan smirked, eyes narrowing with smug satisfaction. “You look like you want something.”

You huffed a laugh, shoving him back. “Shut up.”

But before you could move away, his hands gripped your waist, pulling you down with him. You landed against his chest with a startled yelp, his warmth pressing into you.

Then he kissed you—slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second, every breath, as if the night stretched endless before you, mapping every inch of your lips with his own. Your laughter faded, swallowed by him.

Pinned against him, you could feel the effect you had on him, the heat of him beneath dark denim. And if there was one thing you knew, it was how to push him over the edge.

So you kissed him harder, rolling your hips against his.

His hands flew to your ass, squeezing before delivering a sharp slap that had you moaning into his mouth. That was just how it was with you two—obscene, messy, utterly shameless. And nothing turned you on more.

Your fingers found the zipper of his jeans, finally breaking away from his lips to look down at him. Bangchan pushed up on his elbows, watching you through half-lidded eyes, his breath ragged as he fought to stay still. His fingers twitched, desperate to put an end to the torturous wait. He was so hard it was unbearable—just seeing you like this had him on the edge.

He didn’t hesitate to help, making quick work of what little fabric still separated you. And fuck, you were drenched. Just the sight of him like this—wrecked for you—had your whole body tightening in anticipation.

There were so many ways this could go, and you wanted them all. One night would never be enough.

Your hand wrapped around him, firm, deliberate. A shaky curse tumbled from his lips, his head tipping back as he melted into your touch. He was barely holding it together when you lifted your hips, and for a second, he thought you were going to sink down onto him. Instead, you slid against him, rolling your hips so he could feel everything—dragging over your entrance, teasing up to your clit before sliding back down.

“Holy shit,” Bangchan groaned, voice strangled.

His hands twitched, reaching for you, aching to do something. But before he could, you leaned in, pinning his wrists down against the mattress.

He was at your mercy now. Completely helpless. And he fucking loved it.

Meanwhile, your hips kept moving, sliding over him, teasing but never giving in. The sheer size of him, the way he dragged against your clit with every slick roll of your hips—it was maddening. You lost all sense of rhythm, chasing pleasure in short, frantic motions, needing more, always more.

Bangchan was wrecked beneath you. His breath came in ragged bursts, his chest rising and falling as he groaned through clenched teeth, letting you take what you wanted. And the sight of him like this completely undone because of you? It was enough to make your head spin.

Your wetness mixed with his pre-cum, making a mess between you, the heat of it dizzying. Another deep grunt tore from his throat, and fuck—his orgasm was creeping up way too fast. He wasn’t about to let that happen. Not yet.

Your grip on his wrists loosened, your body trembling above him, so damn close—

“Want me to fuck you?” the words were a rasp, low and filthy against your skin.

And God, hearing him say it like that, made you feel absolutely ruined.

You were right there, wavering on the edge, but then—Bangchan’s hands gripped your waist, flipping you with ease. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he pulled away, standing at the edge of the bed.

For a second, frustration flared hot in your chest—he’d just ripped away a mind-numbing orgasm—but the way he looked at you, eyes dark and full of promise, made it clear.

He wasn’t done. Not even close.

With impressive speed, Bangchan yanked your panties down, leaving you in nothing but that tiny skirt. You reached for your blouse, tearing it off without a second thought. Meanwhile, he fished a condom from his pocket, standing at the foot of the bed like he owned the place.

You bit your lip, taking in the sight of him—so big, so stupidly gorgeous.

Bangchan climbed onto the bed, his strong hands wrapping around your thighs, keeping them pressed together. His voice was low, commanding. "Spread your legs."

Your breath hitched, but you obeyed, parting them slowly. The skirt inched higher, higher, until it was bunched up around your waist.

He muttered something under his breath, gaze locked on how wet you were—for him. Almost dripping. You bit your lip, the weight of the moment thick in the air. "Please..."

Bangchan leaned in, kissing your stomach, then up to your chest. One arm braced against the bed, the other gripping himself as he brushed his cock against your cunt. The slow drag, the teasing, was cruel, and he knew it. He was watching you unravel—your body torn between frustration and aching need.

You were this close to grabbing him, to taking what you needed, but before you could, he caught your wrists in one hand, pinning them down.

"I'll let you..." his voice was a husky whisper, dark and full of promise. He kept that agonizing friction going, dragging against you, just enough to drive you insane. "But you have to tell me."

You were burning up, mind hazy, barely able to process his words. "Bangchan," you tried for something firm, but the second the tip of his cock rubbed against your clit—just the right mix of pleasure and frustration—a strangled moan slipped out instead.

"Tell me what you want, and it's yours," he murmured against your lips, smug as ever.

Your gaze met his, dark and needy. He picked up the pace, teasing you mercilessly—only to stop again. You let out a desperate whimper. This was torture.

"Just say it, love."

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, frustration bubbling over. "Your ego is too big."

Bangchan chuckled against your skin, stealing a quick kiss. "You know what else is big?"

You hooked a leg around his waist, pulling him in close. His breath caught, and for a second, he just looked at you—lips parted, eyes searching yours, ready to dive in.

"Guess you'll have to show me."

And Bangchan never turned down a challenge.

The moment he let you go, he was all action—rolling on the condom with practiced ease before yanking you flush against him. "Gonna fuck you so good you'll take it all back."

Then he slammed into you, deep, all at once, knocking the breath from your lungs. Stars burst behind your eyelids. Fuck, you’d never get used to the stretch. And neither would he, not with how tight you clenched around him, inch by inch.

Bangchan started slow, deliberate, watching every little reaction like he was committing it to memory.

"More," you gasped, nails dragging down his back.

And who was he to deny you?

A low, guttural curse slipped from his lips as he gripped the back of your leg, struggling to keep himself in check. But even he was failing. That dark, insatiable hunger inside him wanted to ruin you, break you apart piece by piece, and devour whatever was left.

"Yeah..." his hand found the back of your neck, and in one brutal motion, he buried himself to the hilt. Your eyes rolled back as a cry of pure pleasure ripped from your throat. "Fuck."

He did it again. And again. Testing you. Seeing just how much you could take. And then restraint snapped—his rhythm shifted from slow, deliberate thrusts to deep, relentless strokes that had you gasping, moaning, melting beneath him.

Your lungs fought for air, your body wrecked by the force of him. A tangled mess of curses and broken sounds spilled from your lips.

Bangchan leaned down, catching your mouth in a searing kiss, fucking you through every ragged breath. The filthy, desperate moans leaving his lips had you clinging to him, desperate to consume every last one.

"Bangchan—my God!" your fingers dug into his back like an anchor, but you were weightless, floating, dissolving into nothing.

You tried to pull him closer, but he straightened, still gripping your throat, keeping you right where he wanted.

"Say it." his thrusts were brutal, hitting so deep you thought you’d break apart. Faster. Harder. You cried out, a mess of pleasure and desperation, dizzy on the edge of something devastating."Tell me— you want me? Wanna cum on my cock?"

Your vision blurred, the sheer intensity forcing a tear to the corner of your eye. It was too much, but not enough, never enough.

"I want you," you choked out, voice ragged, shaking. "Fuck—" you barely finished the sentence before your body gave in, collapsing into pure, obliterating pleasure.

Bangchan caught your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking on it before murmuring against your mouth, “Good girl.”

Then his hand slipped between your bodies, finding your clit as he thrust into you, his fingers moving in tandem with his strokes. And that was it. The tipping point. Your back arched, but he pressed a firm hand to your stomach, pinning you down as pleasure overtook you. The last few thrusts sent you spiraling, your body clenching tight around him as you came hard, waves crashing over you.

Bangchan cursed under his breath, his grip tightening as his own release hit him like a freight train. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—" his whole body tensed, abs flexing as he emptied himself, barely managing to keep from collapsing on top of you.

Your chest rose and fell in sync with his, both of you wrecked, tangled, completely undone. He was so close, his forehead pressing against yours, damp hair sticking to his skin. And just like that, you kissed him—slow, deep, something unspoken passing between you. A shift.

Something had changed, and you both felt it.

"We need to stop doing this," you muttered against his lips.

Bangchan pulled back slightly, his brows knitting together. "What...?"

"Having sex in strangers’ rooms," you teased, the corner of your mouth quirking up. "Bad habit."

Relief flickered across his face before it was replaced by something far more dangerous. "Then let’s go to mine," he said smoothly, his voice thick with intent. "I’m not done with you."

You just laughed, shaking your head as you reached for your clothes. No argument, no teasing comeback—just that breathless, satisfied chuckle that told him you were just as wrecked as he was. And God, he admired you. The way you moved, the way you carried herself, as if what just happened was the most natural thing in the world. Like you hadn’t just left him completely undone.

He leaned back against the bed, watching as you slipped your blouse on, covering up inch by inch what he had just memorized with his hands, his lips, his tongue. A damn shame.

“I could go like this all night,” he murmured, voice thick with lust. His eyes dragged over you, slow and deliberate. “I’d never get tired of you.”

You paused for half a second, then, with a smirk, you glanced at him over your shoulder.

“Sweet talk won’t get you another round.”

He grinned, unbothered. “Who said I was asking?”

"Alright, lover boy," you sighed, straightening your skirt. "Call Changbin so we can get out of here before we end up adding ‘breaking and entering’ to our list of bad decisions."

But Bangchan just huffed out a laugh, reaching into his back pocket. You frowned, watching as he pulled out something small, something metallic—

And then he dangled a tiny key in front of your face.

Your breath caught. "You absolute—"

"Had the key the whole time?" he finished for you, grinning like the unapologetic menace he was.

You just stared at him, utterly gagged. "Are you telling me we could’ve left at any time—and you let me believe we were locked in here?!"

Bangchan had the audacity to laugh, and before you could get a single word of protest out, he grabbed your wrist, yanking you against him and crashing his lips onto yours. You let him. You melted into it, kissed him back like you weren’t even a little mad.

When he finally pulled away, his breath ghosted over your lips as he murmured, "I’m sorry, baby." But he was still laughing. Not sorry at all.

"No, you’re not," you shot back, trying—and failing—to sound pissed.

"You’re right," he admitted without shame, pressing another kiss to your mouth, slower this time, smug and indulgent. "But, in my defense… I knew you wanted me just as bad as I wanted you."

You narrowed your eyes, heat licking at your spine because—damn it—he wasn’t wrong.

Cocky bastard.

Still, you snatched the key from his fingers and shoved him toward the door. "Move before I leave your ass locked in here and tell everyone you cried for help."

Bangchan just smirked, twisting the doorknob with infuriating ease. "Joke’s on you—I’d make it sound sexy."

Bangchan slipped out first, leaving you alone in the dimly lit bedroom, the air still thick with everything that just happened. You took a breath, running a hand through your hair and letting out a low, incredulous laugh. Insane. That was the only word for it. Completely, absolutely, batshit insane.

You took your time freshening up before heading downstairs, blending back into the party like nothing happened—like your whole world hadn’t just been flipped on its head by a cocky bastard with unfairly good hands.

You found the drinks and poured yourself a beer, the cold liquid grounding you, when Hyunjin appeared at your side, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Mingyu was looking for you,” he said, tilting his head. “For a while. Then he gave up and left.”

You took a slow sip of your beer, carefully masking any reaction. “Huh. Tragic.”

Hyunjin squinted. “Okay, where the hell have you been?”

You shot him an easy smirk. “In the bathroom, Hyunjin. I have bodily functions like every other human being.”

His eyes narrowed further. “For that long?”

“Maybe I got lost,” you said with a shrug, taking another sip. “Or maybe I was reevaluating all my life choices.”

Hyunjin was still staring at you, unconvinced. “You were with someone.”

You huffed. “Stop being nosy and dance with me.”

Before he could pry any further, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him onto the dance floor. The bass thumped through your veins as you moved to the beat, thankful for the temporary distraction. But Hyunjin was sharp—too sharp. His gaze flickered to something over your shoulder, and then his lips parted in realization.

You didn’t have to turn around to know. You felt it.

Bangchan was across the room, talking to Changbin and Seungmin like he hadn’t just been inside you not too long ago. But the way he looked at you—steady, knowing, like he was still feeling every second of what just happened—Hyunjin caught it immediately.

“No way.” he gaped at you. “You didn’t.”

You met his stare, unfazed. “I did.”

Hyunjin groaned, rubbing his face like this was his personal crisis. “You two are so fucking messy.”

You just laughed, finishing the rest of your beer. “And yet, I’m having a great time.”

A while later, when you finally decided you’d had enough social interaction for one night, you nudged Hyunjin. “I’m heading out.”

He nodded. “Cool, I’ll get you an Uber. I’ll go with Lix.”

Before you could even reach for your phone, a familiar voice interrupted. “No need.”

Bangchan. Standing way too close, hands in his pockets, looking like the devil who got exactly what he wanted.

“I’m driving back,” he said smoothly. “I’ll take you.”

Your mouth opened, but Hyunjin’s eyebrow was already rising, looking between the two of you like he had front-row seats to a drama he needed to see play out.

“I can go alone,” you said, keeping your voice level.

Bangchan smirked. “I insist.”

You sighed, side-eyeing Hyunjin. His expression was nothing short of feral with interest.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But no funny business.”

Bangchan only chuckled, walking off first. You lingered behind for a few beats before following, slipping out quietly, only Hyunjin watching your exit with a smug, entertained look.

He was never letting you live this down.

The night air was sharp against your flushed skin, a cruel contrast to the heat still licking at your nerves. Bangchan stood by his car—a sleek, black beauty that suited him too well. Under the dim glow of the streetlights, he looked almost unreal, all sharp lines and confidence as he pulled the passenger door open, his gaze never leaving yours.

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to get in. But because you knew—the second you did, there’d be no turning back from whatever the hell this was becoming.

Bangchan saw right through you. He always did.

His voice dipped low, rough with amusement. “Get in, baby. Or I’ll put you in myself.”

Your stomach flipped. You rolled your eyes, masking the way his words sent a pulse of heat straight through you. “Such a gentleman,” you muttered, but your lips twitched, betraying you.

Still, you slid into the seat, the cool leather kissing your bare thighs. He followed, reaching over—closer, closer—until his fingers brushed the seatbelt, tugging it across you.

And suddenly, the air inside the car felt thick. Heavy.

His breath ghosted over your collarbone, close enough that his lips could’ve skimmed your skin if you so much as moved. You could feel the warmth of him, the way his fingers lingered just a second too long before clicking the buckle into place.

Your throat went dry.

You cleared it quickly, forcing out something—anything—to cut through the tension threatening to swallow you whole. “I’m exhausted.”

He pulled back just enough to smirk. “Sure you are.”

The car hummed to life, but your brain? It was shot to hell.

Because now you had to sit there and endure the sight of him driving one-handed, muscles flexing, veins peeking through his skin like temptation itself. It was obscene, the way he handled the car—like he did everything else. With control. With ease.

You swallowed, shifting in your seat, pressing your legs together.

Bangchan noticed. Of course, he did.

His smirk deepened, eyes flicking toward you before drifting back to the road. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lied, voice far too even to be convincing.

He made a sound, low in his throat, clearly unconvinced. Then, like he lived to ruin you, his hand dropped to your thigh—warm, steady, fingers pressing just enough to make you feel it.

Your breath hitched. “Bangchan.”

He leaned in slightly, just enough to let you catch the edge of his scent—clean, intoxicating, laced with something that made your pulse stutter. His thumb stroked slow, lazy circles against your skin.

“You’re always ready for me, aren’t you?” his voice was nothing but a taunt, silk-wrapped sin.

A shiver licked down your spine. The worst part? He was right. And he fucking knew it.

His fingers crept higher, brushing against the inside of your thigh, deliberate and slow. “I could fuck you right here,” he murmured, his breath feather-light against your ear. “No one would see. No one would know.”

Your body responded before your brain did, every nerve alight, screaming at you to let this happen.

But you had to be smart. For once.

With every ounce of restraint you had left, you grabbed his wrist, halting his movements before they ruined you completely. “I have to go.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, eyes dark, unreadable. Then, his lips curled—not in disappointment, but something far more dangerous.

“Fine.”

But before you could breathe, before you could move, he reached for you, tilting your chin up with maddening ease. His gaze locked onto yours, deep and knowing, before his tongue swept over your bottom lip, slow, deliberate, claiming.

Then he kissed you. Deep. Slow. Devastating.

By the time he pulled away, you were wrecked. Breathless.

“Goodnight, baby,” he murmured, unlocking the door like he hadn’t just unraveled you in a single move.

You barely remembered getting out, legs weaker than they had any right to be. As you walked back to your dorm, dazed and burning, one thought rattled through your skull like a warning you’d never heed:

He’s gonna be the death of me.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4@chrizrizz @meerabmalik @gnabnahcsworld @gncbnahc @jinniejjam @skzworldx @itsacatastrophe-xo @soonie1010 @4ng3l-ch1ld @justwonder113 @tsunderelino @eastjonowhere @lyracarvahall @akindaflora @victoriaaf @ebnabi @wickedbutlovely @bitchysunflower11 @grandpasb0ng

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qlossytbh · 10 months ago

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𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 the time where you had just a little too much to drink after a party at rossis and spencer takes care of you

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 alcohol intoxication, drinking, reader gets sick, emetophobia, a bit of suggestiveness (?), lots of pet names, spencer’s a sweetheart.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 2.2k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 suffering a bit of a writers block but i am on a roll lately. it’s like ive got all these unfinished drafts and i can’t seem to finish them ugh. im going through my request, slowly but surely!

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Come on,” Spencer urged, wrapping a tight arm around you as you clung to his shoulder as if your life depended on it. God, your head was pounding and your own body felt like dead weight as you continued carrying yourself around.

You stumbled on your feet, too intoxicated to walk straight. The sharp stiletto heel that accompanied your dress was not working in your favor either, and they were frankly becoming quite painful.

“I need to sit down,” You slurred in a hushed yet collected manner.

“One second angel,” He whispered, reminding himself not to disrupt his neighbors.

It wasn’t your fault that Rossi's parties always consisted in a very sweet, very endless supply of the most exquisite cocktails you’d ever tasted. It’s not everyday you got to taste such bougie liquor and given your big sweet tooth, and Garcia’s pesky persistence to get you to follow along her alcohol tasting spree, all those free drinks were dangerous at your disposal.

Penelope had passed over this tart but perfectly sweetened strawberry drink she had encountered and you made the grave mistake of trying it. Just when the flavors melted in your mouth, you immediately made your way to the bar in search of your own, downing that one and three more in less than fifteen minutes.

In hindsight, that was a horrible decision. Spencer knew that if he had been glued to your hip, just like he usually was at these or any social event for that matter, he’d never let you drink as much and as fast as you did. He had nagged about something with rapid absorption and rapid increase in BAC— you were too drunk to remember any of the information he was dumping your way if you were being honest.

You began slowing down once the nausea and severe dizziness settled in. Usually, you knew your limits with alcohol. You knew how much got you drunk enough to loosen up, and you knew how much was too much, thanks to a few situations where you had to learn the hard way. However, something about the sweetness and the inability to taste any alcohol whatsoever threw you off your radar.

And here you are, dragging yourself against Spencer’s body and back into his apartment, too drunk to even walk and feeling like you were about to literally throw up any and every thing in your system.

Spencer pushed the door open, managing to balance you in his other arm as he unlocked the door swiftly. He walked in with you by his side, throwing the keys into the small metal dish by the door and now using both hands to keep you steady.

You remained quiet, trying desperately to focus on keeping the nausea down and not throwing up. “Spence,”

“What's wrong?” He asked, looking down at you as you dug your forehead into his chest, grappling at his shirt with a rough tug.

“I feel really sick,” The world around you was spinning and that pit in your stomach was getting harder to push down. He matted down the top of your tousled hair, tucking a few stray strands behind your ears.

“Do you need to throw up?” He asked, voice soft and comforting.

“I think so,” The nausea seemed to hit like a tidal wave, and all you needed was to lie down. You needed to lie down. Just the mention of puking was enough to get you to gag. Immediately freaked out and panicked, you gave a persistent nod, already pushing yourself off of him and making a very crooked B-line for the bathroom, knowing you were going to throw up.

Once past the bathroom door, you fell to your knees opening the lid of the toilet and hurling the contents of your stomach into it. You gagged, retching loudly while tears pricked the corners of your eyes and everything around you hurt.

Spencer followed closely behind, crouching beside you and pulling up your hair into a messy makeshift ponytail while his other came to rub comforting circles on your back, sitting through your discomfort by your side.

It was ironic really. Spencer had always been extremely opposed to anything germ related and this seemed to be his worst nightmare. If anyone knew about this, they’d probably not be able to believe how Spencer didn’t run in the opposite direction and quite literally ran right towards you and your germ related issues. Since he started dating you, he let certain things slide. He shared more of his personal space and didn’t mind if that included sharing things he wouldn’t tend to share around others.

He never thought twice about it if it brought you comfort. It came to him naturally, putting you and your comfort and happiness first.

You spit out the remaining acidic taste of bile into the toilet and groaned heavily. Your nostrils burned and so did the back of your throat, but all of the nausea was immediately alleviated from your system.

“Mhm, sexy,” You said, reaching over for a piece of toilet paper and wiping down your mouth. Spencer huffed a laugh through his nose, pressing a kiss to the back of your head. “This is embarrassing.”

“This?” He said, voice jumping into one of fake shock. You threw a glare over your shoulder and his face immediately melted into a sweet smile, rubbing your back with just a bit more clarity. “I’ve seen you in worse predicaments,”

“How do you feel?” You turned, resting your back against the toilet after flushing the contents away and turning towards him.

“I feel better,” You mumbled, screwing your eyes shut and attempting to blink away the tears and the burning sensation of your nose.. “But I probably look very disgusting.”

He tilted his head with a shrug, wholeheartedly answering. “You don’t look disgusting,”

“Liar,” You said with narrowed eyes, smiling playfully.

He shook his head with one of his signature smiles, those that tugged slightly to the right and crinkled the corner of his eyes just perfectly. He reached up, grabbing the empty glass cup that sat on the side of his sink, and was now filled with water. He handed you the glass which you took without complaint. “Drink,”

You drank down the whole glass, wanting to get the disgusting aftertaste out of your mouth. “Better?”

“Much,” You nodded, smiling up at him, feeling instantly better but still dizzy. “I feel like, rejuvenated or something,”

You reached back to push yourself up off the ground, only for Spencer to set a firm hand on your shoulder keeping you still.

“Give yourself a minute,” He told you. “You feel better after vomiting following excessive alcohol consumption mainly due to the removal of alcohol and its irritating effects on the stomach, but you need a few seconds.”

You hummed, picking at a rhinestone on your dress. “Does that mean I should expel all my stomach's contents everytime I overdrink to feel better?”

“No,” He narrowed his eyes at you. “You shouldn’t even drink enough to get to the point of having to throw up in the first place, love,”

“But those strawberry drinks were so good Spence,” You threw your head back with a pout.

“Yeah, yeah,” He dismissed with a playful tone. He hooked his fingers around your elbows. “Up,”

You steadied yourself with a tight grip on his shoulders and winced at the bright white light of the bathroom. He pushed you back, knocking the back of your knees into the toilet and forcing you to sit down on it with a soft thud. He crouched down and reached over to knead at the straps of your heel and promptly remove them.

He set them to the side and wordlessly moved into his room, grabbing one of his spare t-shirts and making his way back into the bathroom, where you watched him with weary eyes and a very sleepy but adoring smile.

Everything felt fuzzy but just seeing him work his way around you with such ease made your heart beat insanely.

“It’s not fair that you’re so pretty,” You voiced. Spencer opened his mouth to answer but could only mustered a stammered chuckle, blushing profusely but trying to resist laughing at the slurring in your voice.

“I’m pretty?” He asked. You nodded.

“Very,” He reached his hands out, grabbing yours and pulling you up.

“Is it okay if I take your dress off?” He asked, turning you around so your back was facing him. His fingers skimmed across your already exposed shoulders and back and everything felt so heightened that you shuddered at the ghost of his touch.

“Thought you’d never ask,” You said, shooting him a suggestive smile over your shoulder. He said your name with a warning, not faltering in the slightest.

“I’m kidding!” For the most part at least.

“Well, given since you can’t sleep in this dress,” His calloused fingers traced your shoulders in a soothing rhythm. “I brought you one of my shirts but I need to take off your dress in order to put it on,”

Your body seemed to feel magnetized to the floor, pulling your every movement down with a huge weight. Which was probably the alcohol having its effect on you. You felt stupefied but all you could think of was just how tired you were.

“That’s fine Spence,” You murmured, allowing his fingers to skim down your shoulders and towards the dress's zipper. Your eyes fluttered shut, trying to rest them while his hands moved around your back.

He pulled it down, all so gently and smoothly that you were growing even dizzier than you were with more than three cocktails in you.

“I love this dress,” You stated, watching as the sleeves loosened from your shoulders and began sliding down. The cold air hit your bare skin and you merely shivered as it fell and rested on the plush flesh of your hips.

“So do I,” He smiled, slipping his own shirt over your head. You huffed as he pushed the dress down your hips, allowing his shirt to fall over your upper body and cover you as best as it could while picking up the pool of fabric from the floor and laying it out against the toilet. “You looked very beautiful.”

You really did. The way that specific black sequined dress hugged your figure in every single angle and crease possible, flaunting off your body shape perfectly, made Spencer weak at his knees. He didn’t know how he didn’t drop everything the second he saw you to pull you elsewhere private and kiss you until neither of you could breathe.

“Looked? As in past tense?” You turned, facing him with a fake betrayal plastered across your features. “That’s rude,”

“You are insufferable,” He reached back, grabbing your spare toothbrush and putting a nice amount of toothpaste on it. “Now let me brush your teeth so I can kiss you,”

You surrendered your never ending teasing with a sigh, grabbing the hem of his shirt as he held your chin tenderly, brushing your teeth. Throughout the whole three minutes, you couldn’t hold back from allowing yourself to re-learn every single scratch and line on Spencer’s face, engraving its every detail and beauty into a small space in your brain.

Once he was finished and you had rinsed your mouth out with water, you were eternally grateful that the acidic taste in your mouth and lips had been replaced with a fresh minty one. “There,”

You hummed, pulling Spencer in by the said hem of his t-shirt and tilting your chin up towards him, smiling at him like an idiot. “Hi,”

“Hey,” His hands reached up, cradling your face tenderly in his palms, pouring any and every ounce of love he had in him onto you with a firm kiss.

“My legs are killing me,” You said, nuzzling your nose into his cheek and hugging his torso. He rubbed your back with a kiss on the top of your forehead. “I want to lay down,”

“I know but I need to get your makeup off, angel,” He murmured.

You groaned, needing to just get to bed or else you’d literally collapse “You specifically know that if you leave it on overnight, the buildup of makeup, along with dirt, oil, and pollutants that you collect on your skin throughout the day accumulates on its surface and can cause skin issues and breakouts.”

You narrowed a glare. “Yeah, yeah, I guess you’re right,”

“I always am,” He smiled proudly.

“Okay now you’re just pushing it,” He reached back, grabbing a makeup removing wipe from its respective package and dragging it very smoothly across your cheeks, lips, eyes and forehead— any part of your face he could get at. You shivered at the chilliness it gave your flared up cheeks.

Spencer was so gentle with you it made your heart swell in size at just how much attention and care he put into everything he did for you. If you weren’t as tired—and as out of it— as you were right now, you really would pull him down and kiss him anywhere (and everywhere) until your heart stopped beating as much as it was. Although realistically speaking the kissing would probably cause your palpitations to worsen.

He managed to get as much mascara off as he could but the waterproof substance stuck to the bottom of your eyes with a fierce grip. He tossed the wipe into the trashcan and quickly swiped his thumbs across the bottom of your eyes with a very docile brush.

“How do I look?” You said, narrowing your eyes with humor, knowing you probably looked absolutely disheveled. Spencer cocked a brow at you, reaching back and undoing the tie that held your hair into the gorgeous updo thing you had going on.

“Absolutely breathtaking,” He still said, pressing a chaste kiss to the bridge of your nose. His hands continued working at your hair, to which you let your eyes flicker close, resisting the uncontrollable urge to moan out loud as the pads of his fingers rubbed your irritated scalp soothingly.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice came out way more breathier than intended.

“What for?” He asked, letting his hands rest on the side of your neck.

“This,” It wasn’t exactly flattering— the state he had seen you in. And for some reason you felt embarrassed at the thought of him seeing you so exposed and in some shape or form. “I don’t know I feel like I made a fool of myself,”

He furrowed his brows. “I don’t know— I feel guilty that you have to take care of me.”

“But I love taking care of you,” He murmured, instilling such a delicate tone with you that it was impossible to feel uncertain about anything. “Don’t say sorry,”

He kissed you, perfectly, just like he always did. “If you say so,”

It was true. Spencer loved, absolutely treasured, moments where he could take care of you in his own special way. Be gentle and remind you just how much he absolutely loved you.

“Am I done now?” You huffed, slumping forward as all the bones in your body begged to sleep.

“Mhm,” He pulled back, scanning you entirely. “Good to go.”

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motherofdogs1010 · 4 months ago

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Guys Not My Age I (Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: They say sometimes older men are better when it comes to relationships, but Y/N finds that isn't always the case when she wakes up in bed with a certain younger man after breaking up with a certain Winter Soldier

Warning: 18+ only, age gap relationship, older woman/younger man!, everyone is over 18!, fratboy!Peter Parker, cheater!Bucky, computergenius!reader, hacker!reader, toxicex!Bucky, consensual sex, semi public sex, heavy smut, drinking, swearing, unprotected sex, eventual pregnancy

A/N: Re-write of 'Need to Know'

Series Masterlist

Banner @vase-of-lilies Dividers @firefly-graphics

Her head throbbed and pulsated as she begun to wake up.

The overall shittyness of a hangover taking over her body as the loud, blarming phone alarm rung hard in her ears as she groaned. She buried her face into the pillow as she felt movement coming from next to her, immediate confusion filling her mind as she heard, "Shit, sorry. Forgot that I had the stupid alarm on."

She recognized that voice even with it being laced with grogginess and sleep as she snapped open her eyes, wincing from the daylight that peeked over the curtains.

She was met with an unfamiliar room that looked like the standard college dorm: books and notes in an slight mess on the desk with a laptop hanging by it, posters on the walls and the distinct sound of boys laughing and footsteps coming down the halls.

Turning her head, her eyes widened as the memories of the previous night filled her as she resisted to gulp as she was met with the shirtless image of Peter fiddling with his phone.

The memories of the night before felt like a tidal wave washing over her as she remembered having gone out to drinks with the Avengers team to celebrate their latest takedown of yet another Hydra compound (she handled hacking into the tightly encrypted computers) and she knew Tony had partly also wanted to take her out to get her back out onto the dating scene.

She watched as Peter scratched his head for a moment, seemingly beginning to wake back up as she came to the realization of her naked body under the blanket and the realization of her memories being confirmed as she saw a glimpse of the scratches on Peter's back.

Sitting up as she tugged up the blanket, she wondered how the hell she was suppose to do a walk of shame out of her as Peter said, "anyway, want to get breakfast?"

"What?"

Peter tilted his head a little, "want to get breakfast? I thought since we were getting along so well..."

The ache between her legs from last night a reminder of how well they got along.

It wasn't like she didn't enjoy it or anything, but it was the realization that she had slept with someone nearly ten years younger than her.

"Peter, I'm-"

"I know. You're 30 and I'm 21, I don't care." Peter shrugged and she couldn't help but get distracted by his strong physique. "I told you I don't want a girl my age, I've wanted you."

It made her heart clench at statement.

"All I'm asking for is you take a chance", Peter pleaded, bringing their lips into a soft kiss.

It made her melt.

"Fine. One chance."

Peter grinned.

"But I refuse to be seen by a bunch of frat boys so you better make sure they clear out of here. I'm too old to be dealing with that."

"You're barely 30, no even that old."

Y/N downed the shot of tequila that Tony had passed her, laughing as she felt the burn in her throat and hearing Tony cheering. Say what you want about Tony, but he knew how to party as he had taken them to some nightclub that he bought for shits and giggles.

"Enjoying the burn", Tony teased, Y/N laughed.

"It's the tequila sweats that I hate", she said back.

Standing up from the little VIP booth Tony had rented for them all, Y/N scoped out her surroundings. She saw Nat dragging a bashful Steve to the dance floor, Steve was awkwardly moving around before he finally got the hang of it and began dancing with Nat. Y/N laughed as she watched Steve get down on the dance floor, she spotted Vision (who had his human form on) with Wanda near the bar as Wanda was getting another drink.

"Are you having fun?"

Y/N looked in the direction to see Peter standing there with a grin, Y/N smiled back at him.

"I wondered where you were", Y/N responded, "I always forget your 21."

"My baby face makes it that way", Peter joked.

Y/N had to admit, Peter Parker was a very attractive man, especially right now with his hair gelled back, a white button down that had the sleeves rolled up and dark slacks. Tony said Peter had changed a lot since high school, having managed to join a fraternity in his first year of college; she had only met Peter in the last year so hearing that he was anything but confident before was a little shocking since he walked around like a little mini Tony sometimes.

Peter moved a little closer to her as Tony announced that he was going to join Wanda at the bar.

Sam and Clint were missing, both men having taken some time off to go visit their families, especially for Sam since he wanted to be there for one of his nephew's birthdays.

Although, the person that everyone seemed to ignore that wasn't there was a certain Winter Soldier, but it seemed everyone was on the rocks with the man at the moment. But cheating and immediately bringing around the girl you cheated with will do that, won't it?

Of course that was the second main reason behind Tony bringing nearly all of them out to the club was because of her confiding in Tony about being ready to get back out there. She felt no issue confiding in Tony considering how close of friends they were, she was coming out in his upcoming wedding to Pepper in just a few months time.

"It's a cute baby face", Y/N teased, Peter chuckled.

"I'm glad you're having fun", Peter said, "you deserve it."

Y/N smiled as she tugged up the neckline of her red mini dress, the fabric clinging to her large breasts and hips. It was an off the shoulder dress that she chose just for the occasion with long sleeves and paired with some red bottoms that Nat was letting her borrow.

Y/N watched as Peter looked a bit indecisive as if he was second guessing himself before he blurted out, "Would you like to dance?"

"Don't you think you should be dancing with someone your own age?" she teased before Peter snaked a toned arm around her waist.

"Age is just a number, right?" Peter answered with a wink. "When it comes to two consenting adults, of course."

She wouldn't be an idiot to say she hadn't noticed the younger man's eyes roaming her figure. But she never thought much of it considering she had been in a relationship with Bucky, but that bridge was burned a lot time ago.

She was here to have fun, dance a little, drink... there was no harm in just a dance, right?

"Alright, Spiderboy", Y/N said, "show me what you got."

Wanna know what it's like (like) Baby, show me what it's like (like) I don't really got no type (type) I just wanna fuck all night

The sound of Doja Cat singing could be heard even in the women's restroom, the door locked in a rush as Peter pressed her harder into said door. Their tongues dancing across one another as she could taste the alcohol on his tongue, Y/N moaned as Peter slotted his knee between her legs, pressing against her wet cunt and beginning to rock her hips against him.

But Peter pulled his knee away and she whimpered, breaking the kiss for a moment before she felt one of his hands trail under her dress, finding her thong.

"You're soaked", Peter teased, she shuddered as Peter ran a finger down her slit. "I bet I could slid right in."

As if that was his cue, Peter slid a finger into her, Y/N let her head fall into Peter's chest as he slowly began to pump his finger in her.

"Don't tease", she moaned as she brought his face down to hers.

What's your size? (Size) Add, subtract, divide ('vide) Daddy don't throw no curves (curves) Hold up, I'm goin' wide (wide) We could just start at ten (ten) Then we can go to five (five) I don't play with my pen (pen) I mean what I write

She connected their lips again as Peter slid another finger into, fingering her harder now as he began to rub her clit in tight circles. Y/N cried out at the sensations as she rocked her hips in time with Peter's movements.

Peter began to trail kisses down her neck as her eyes rolled back into her head, her mouth falling open as pants escaped her mouth.

"Fuck you're beautiful", Peter said as he quickened his fingers. "Come on, Y/N, cum on me."

Y/N felt like she was in the Twilight Zone right now, but fuck it, she was enjoying it with the way Peter was fingering her. She could feel that tight knot building in her as Peter's fingers reached an area in her that made her nearly tear up in pleasure, his fingers practically massaging it as she began to tug on his hair as her toes began to curl.

"P-Peter", she panted, "gonna...cum..."

She saw Peter grin in satisfaction as her orgasm hit her like a freight train. She felt breathless and fuzzy as Peter fingered her through it before she whimpered at the overstimulation, which Peter pulled his fingers out.

"Still think I should find someone my own age?" Peter teased, she narrowed her eyes as she panted.

Peter slid his fingers into his mouth and sucked on them.

"I always knew you'd taste sweet", Peter said as she reached for his belt buckle.

Peter brought a hand up, squishing her cheeks together and forcing her lips into a pout; he pressed a sloppy kiss to her lips as she successfully managed to get unzip Peter's slacks, slipping her hand inside to begin to tease the younger man in front of her.

"Now, you wanna be a tease?" Peter groaned as he began to move her to one of the many sinks in the bathroom.

I just can't help but be sexual (whoa) Tell me your schedule (yeah) I got a lotta new tricks for you, baby Just sayin' I'm flexible (I will) I do what I can to get you off (I will)

Peter had gotten her on the sink, legs spread and her thong stuffed in one of his pockets as he began to rock into her. Her eyes rolling into the back of her head as she felt Peter hike up her leg on him higher, sending him into deeper territory and brushing up against her G-spot as he began to rub her clit in time with his rocking.

"P-Peter", she slurred, eyes beginning to water from pleasure.

"Fuck, you're squeezing me so good", Peter whined as he gripped the sink below her.

His thrusts becoming rougher as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

Might just fuck him with my makeup on (I will) Eat it like I need an apron on (yeah, ay) Eat it 'til I need to change my thong (yeah, ay) We could do it to your favorite song (yeah, ay)

Her makeup was ruined, she was sure of it from the amount of kissing, sweat and tears. Y/N shivered as Peter bite down on a part of her neck, making her clench around her even tighter and causing him to let out more groans of pleasure, his hips slapping into her even rougher.

The sound of skin slapping skin rung in bathroom, echoing off the walls as she brought Peter's face back to her own, smashing their lips together as she squealed when her second orgasm hit her, her legs shaking and back arching.

You're exciting, boy, come find me Your eyes told me, "Girl, come ride me" Fuck that feeling both us fighting Could he try me? (Yeah) mmm, most likely

She had pushed Peter onto one of the toilets in the bathroom, his dick red and leaking when she had straddled him before sinking down onto him. Y/N shivered as she felt Peter stretching her out again and she knew she was going to be feeling him the next day as she moaned and threw her head back at the delicious stretch his cock gave her cunt again.

Peter gripped her hips before grabbing her ass and smacking it, she pulled her face towards his, connecting their lips as she begun to rock her hips.

Oh, wait, you a fan of the magic? Poof, pussy like an Alakazam (yeah) I heard from a friend of a friend That that dick was a ten out of ten

She could someone knocking on the door, but she could care less right with Peter buried so deep inside her as his hands that gripped her hips so tightly began to help rock her.

Baby, I need to know, mmm

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🕷️🕸️💻~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sometimes Y/N wondered what Peter had been like before he went to Empire State and joined his fraternity, and in this moment as they sat across from one another at one of the on-campus cafes, she figured maybe this might have been it with how he fidgeted a little.

"Nervous?" she mused, "this was your idea."

"I can't be nervous on a date with a pretty girl?" Peter remarked and she chuckled.

"Not after last night." Peter grinned and ran a hand through his fluffy, chocolate brown hair. "Besides, this isn't a date. This is you trying to convince me why I should go on a date with you."

"Sorry, it's just... I've liked you for awhile, but I didn't say anything because-"

"Because of Bucky?"

Peter looked down sheepishly and Y/N reached over to grasp his hand.

"And then when you two broke up, I didn't think it would be right to tell you because of how everything went down."

"You're doing a lot better than he did", Y/N said. "I appreciate that you waited, Peter. That's really sweet of you."

Peter grinned a boyish grin that Y/N couldn't help, but replicate back at him.

She had agreed to a date with Peter.

In the back of her mind, she couldn't help but think of the thoughts that others might have with her being seen with Peter. She examined her face in the mirror, trying to see if she had any wrinkles, age-related blemishes and sighed.

"You look stressed." Slightly startled, Y/N turned around to find Nat standing the doorway of her room with a curious look on her face.

"Just a little."

"Where are you off to? Hot date tonight?" Nat asked with a grin.

"About that", Y/N trailed off, looking at her outfit.

A white, blue-floral printed dress that cinched at the waist and was off the shoulder adorned her body with her keeping her makeup clean and simple, and her face loose and away from her face.

"Who's the lucky person?"

"Peter."

Nat was silent for a moment as Y/N felt the pit of anxiety in her stomach at the thought of her friend's judgement before Nat said, "well damn, didn't think the kid had the balls to make a move."

"What?" Y/N asked as she went to grab a pair of platform sandals.

"Anyone would working sense could tell the kid was eyeing your ass all the time", Nat nonchalantly said with a shrug. "Don't tell you didn't notice?"

"I noticed", Y/N defended, slipping her feet into the shoes. "I just thought it was because he was young."

"I also take it that you were with him when you disappeared from the club?"

Y/N's eyes widened as she looked away before Nat let out a laugh.

"Damn, you have to tell me all the details when you get back", Nat teased. "But I'm glad you're getting back out there again."

"You don't think it's weird? With me being older than Peter?"

"If men in their sixties can date women young enough to be their daughters, why can't you go on a date with a younger guy?" Nat shrugged.

Y/N gave Nat a smile and sucked in a breath.

"So, how do I look?" Y/N asked, posing for a moment.

"Like Parker will most likely fuck the shit out of you."

"Perfect."

Peter texted her not too long after that he had arrived and in an air of her favorite perfume, she met him out in the living room of the compound.

A sense of satisfaction fell over her as she noticed Peter's eyes raking over her body as she took in his appearance. His hair slightly gelled away from his face, a white button down shirt and black slacks framed his body.

They were alone in the living room, a rare event since the space always had at least one person present but apparently not today.

"You look amazing", Peter complimented, stretching out his hand and grasping hers.

He gently pulled her towards him as his eyes hungrily stared into hers.

"Thank you", she said with a small smirk. "I thought you'd enjoy this. Never worn it before."

Lost in their own world, they never noticed a certain figure hanging around the corner, seething as he watched Peter met her lips in a soft kiss.

His metal hand clenching into a fist as he turned away, fuming at the sight before him.

TAGLIST

@theoraekenslover

#reader insert #x reader #chubby reader #spiderman #mcu!peter parker x reader #peter parker series #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine

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aliyahwritings · 5 months ago

Text

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron (10)

MASTERLIST | Basketball Player & Supermodel!Female Reader

Summary: Rafe Cameron, a basketball star, needs a marriage to fix his image, while Model!Reader needs one for citizenship. They may be the perfect solution for each other.

Warnings: smut, descriptions of violence, jealousy, usage of drugs, talks about body image/ed, angst, and lots of bickering. Reader is confident, a people-pleaser, has a traumatic past, and is a sunshine with an attitude. Rafe is a whore, possessive, cocky, and secretive about his past.

Word Count: 8.7k

Aliyah's Notes: another long chapter!!!! had a bit of an issue with this chapter. didn't know where to go, and how to finish it but i'm pretty satisfied with the ending... hope y'all will feel that way too #scared

You were going to throw up.

It was 6 in the morning, and your apartment was filled with a pre-party energy—Aisha fluttering around checking final details, making sure everything was perfect for you. But for you, the weight of the day felt unbearable. The engagement party was only a few hours away, and you were supposed to feel excited, but instead, all you could feel was anxiety.

You stood in front of the full-length mirror, staring at your reflection as the fabric of your saree clung to your skin. It was a beautiful one—pale yellow with blue hues, simple, elegant. But as you looked at yourself, all you saw were flaws. Your stomach, the slight curve of your hips, your arms felt weird. Every inch of you felt exposed, like you were wearing your insecurities on display for the world to see. The saree that was supposed to make you feel confident now felt like a prison, the tightness around your chest suffocating you.

You tugged at the fabric, your fingers trembling as your heart raced in your chest. “I don’t know, Aish,” you said, your voice faltering. “I just… I don’t think I can do this.”

Aisha, who had been running around your place, stopped and turned to you with a frown, concern written all over her face. “Y/N, you look perfect. Rafe is going to love it, I swear. You look incredible, seriously.”

But her words didn’t reach you. They never did. They didn’t fix the sinking feeling in your stomach, the pit that had been growing since you woke up. You didn’t feel incredible. You felt like a mess. Like a lie. You felt like you didn’t belong in this world of glitz and glamour, not when the weight of your own past was pressing down on you.

You turned back to the mirror, avoiding her gaze, and exhaled shakily. “It’s not about Rafe,” you said, barely above a whisper, as if the words were too heavy to say aloud. “It’s… it’s everything. Everyone.”

She didn’t speak at first, but you could hear her footsteps approach slowly, her presence gentle and calm as she stood beside you. “What do you mean?”

“They’re not here,” you murmured, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “My family—they haven’t been here. They don’t care.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and so did the tears running down your face. You quickly wiped them away, trying to maintain some sort of control, but it was useless. The reality of it all hit you like a tidal wave.

Aisah’s expression softened, and she placed a hand on your shoulder. “Look, I know it’s tough, but you left for a reason. They treated you like an animal—you were nothing to them and look at you now. You have everything you want, you’re surrounded by people who love you, and you’re engaged to an amazing guy.”

“But you don’t get it,” your voice broke. “I haven’t spoken to them in years, Aisha. I haven’t heard from them since… you know… My Amma and Appa… they’ve never cared to fix what happened. And now they’re not here for this huge moment. They’re not here for me. And I just feel… I feel like none of this matters without them.”

You could feel the tightness in your chest grow, a heavy weight pressing down on your chest. Every time you thought about them—your parents, your siblings—it felt like the world was falling apart again. All the years of silence, the anger, the bitterness, the feeling of being abandoned… it was all still there, festering under the surface. You couldn’t help but wonder if you were always going to feel like the outsider, the one who wasn’t good enough for their love.

Aisha watched you quietly for a moment before speaking again, her voice softer. “Y/N, I know this isn’t easy. But this isn’t about your family. This is about you and the life you’re building. You’re so much more than your past, and tonight you get to shine. You’re not doing this for them. You’re doing it for you.”

You closed your eyes, letting her words sink in. You still feel the weight of it all, but as Aisha gave you one last reassuring look, you felt a small spark of resolve. Maybe you didn’t feel perfect. Maybe you never would. But tonight, you would step into this new chapter of your life, for you, and not for anyone else.

“You’re right,” you whispered, putting on a fake-ish smile. “Let me get over this. There’s too much to do today.��

The hours before the engagement party moved in a blur of preparations, but the nerves clung to you like an unwelcome guest. After Aisha helped you steady yourself, you dove into the checklist for the day, hoping to lose your anxieties in the bustle. Your hairdresser and makeup artist arrived promptly, transforming your apartment into a whirlwind of brushes, palettes, and fabric draping.

Despite the chaos, you couldn’t help but glance at your phone every few minutes, the screen lighting up teasingly with messages from Rafe. He’d been training all morning, but somehow still found the time to send you a steady stream of texts.

Rafe: Do you think this party will have snacks? Asking for a hungry basketball player.

You: There’s a buffet, Rafe. You’ll survive.

Rafe: Buffet doesn’t count. I want something good, like that thing you brought over the other day.

You: If you’re fishing for more biryani, the answer is no.

Rafe: Wow, first you take my penthouse, now you refuse me food? This marriage is starting off rocky.

You: This marriage hasn’t even started yet.

The exchange brought a smile to your lips despite yourself. He had this way of teasing that felt like a lifeline at the moment.

“Are you blushing?” Aisha teased from where she was meticulously laying out your jewelry.

“What? No,” you said, far too quickly. “Why would I even be blushing? You’re nuts… absolutely… absolutely nuts…”

“Oh my fucking God! You are!” she said with a grin, leaning in to glance at your phone. You pulled it away before she could peek at the screen, but the damage was done. “God, it’s so cute how he makes you smile like that.”

“You’re actually insane,” you mumbled, heat creeping up your neck.

She only laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “Denial is a river in Egypt, babe.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop your lips from twitching into a small grin. Rafe sent another message.

Rafe: So, what are you wearing?

You hesitated for a moment before replying.

You: Why? Thinking of copying my outfit?

Rafe: Maybe. But only if it’s good.

You: It’s a saree. Pale yellow with blue embroidery.

Rafe: Does it have one of those drapey things?

You: Yes, Cameron. That’s literally what makes it a saree!!!

Rafe: Got it. Drapey thing = saree. Send me a picture.

You didn’t respond, setting your phone down and pretending to focus on your makeup.

“Your husband?” Aisha asked, noticing your sudden quiet.

“Future husband,” you corrected with a finger up. “And obviously.”

“What’d he say?”

“He wants a picture.”

“Send him one. He’ll probably lose his mind. And let’s be real—you could use the ego boost.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. Aisha wasn’t wrong. The way Rafe looked at you sometimes—or even texted you—had a way of making you feel like you were the most important person in the room.

The hairdresser finished with your slicked half-up half-down hairstyle. Aisha brought over the jewelry: delicate gold bangles, matching earrings, and a necklace that felt heavy against your collarbones.

“Perfect,” Aisha said, stepping back to admire the finished look.

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror. The saree hugged you gracefully, the embroidery catching the light with every movement. The makeup brought a glow to your skin, and the hair framed your face perfectly. For the first time all day, you felt... good.

Before you could overthink it, you picked up your phone and snapped a quick selfie—just enough to show the saree and the soft smile playing on your lips.

You: Fine. Here.

The reply came almost instantly.

Rafe: ...You’re killing me here.

Your heart skipped a beat at the simplicity of the words.

Rafe: Thank you brown people for existing, and making you. Rafe: Truly humanity owes them. Rafe: Forget the engagement party. Let’s just elope.

You laughed out loud, shaking your head.

You: Not happening. See you tonight.

His response made your stomach flutter in the strangest way.

Rafe: Can’t wait to become your fiancé, sweetheart.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the venue, its soft hum fading into the gentle buzz of the world outside. Through the tinted windows, you could see flashes of light—camera shutters capturing every moment like hunters seeking prey. The glow spilling from the venue, golden and inviting, felt overwhelming, almost oppressive. It danced off the grand arches of the villa, the soft flicker of string lights crisscrossing the courtyard casting a magical glow on the scene.

For a moment, you sat frozen, your fingers clutching the delicate fabric of your saree. It was meant to represent happiness, a tie to your heritage that should have brought you pride. But tonight, it felt more like a shackle, reminding you of the pieces of yourself you’d lost along the way.

“You okay?” Aisha’s voice came softly from beside you, laced with the familiar tone of concern that only she could carry so effortlessly. She looked radiant in her pale pink dress.

“Yeah… I… I’m fine,” you replied, the lie clumsy on your tongue.

Aisha raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced but deciding to let it slide. The car door opened, and she stepped out first, her head held high as though she didn’t care about anything—and knowing Aisha, she probably really didn’t care. When she turned to offer you her hand, her expression softened—a silent gesture of reassurance. You took it hesitantly, forcing your legs to carry you out of the car.

The cool evening air brushed against your skin, but it wasn’t enough to soothe the heat in your chest. Cameras clicked relentlessly, their flashes a blinding assault as the whispers began to ripple through the crowd.

“She’s a bit late.”

“She looks beautiful.”

“Why didn’t Rafe escort her out?”

“What is she wearing?”

Each word clawed at you, threatening to unravel the carefully constructed image you wore like an armor. You kept your head down, focusing on the rhythmic click of your heels against the gravel path as you made your way toward the villa’s entrance. The towering structure loomed over you, its ivy-draped walls and ornate carvings reminiscent of a bygone era. The cascading floral arrangements, all in deep crimson and soft pink hues.

Everything added to the suffocating pressure weighing on your chest.

Inside, the air buzzed with laughter and conversation as guests began to fill the sprawling garden. Long tables stretched across the courtyard, their surfaces glimmering with candles and vases bursting with fresh blooms. Everything was picturesque, perfect. Yet, all you could feel was a rising sense of dread.

“I need a minute,” you whispered to Aisha, not waiting for her reply before walking rapidly inside the villa.

You navigated the winding hallways with purpose, your steps quick but unsteady. You needed to escape—to find a quiet corner where the world’s eyes couldn’t follow, where you could let the overwhelming storm inside you settle, even just for a moment. The getting-ready room—it was the perfect refuge, a place to breathe and gather yourself before you faced the crowd again.

But as you rounded the corner, your steps faltered.

Rafe was there.

He leaned against the doorframe with an ease that felt infuriatingly effortless, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his tailored white suit. The soft lighting played tricks with the lines of his face, his tousled hair looking as if it had been styled by the wind itself. The open collar of his shirt gave him an air of nonchalance that made him seem untouchable—except for the flicker of something warm in his eyes as he met your gaze.

“You planning to bolt already?” he teased, a crooked smile playing on his lips. His voice, low and smooth, carried the same blend of humor and arrogance that had always annoyed you.

You stopped, caught off guard. “What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

Rafe pushed off the doorframe, taking a slow step toward you. “Waiting for you,” he said, his gaze dragging deliberately over your saree. His smile deepened as his eyes met yours again. “You look beau—”

“Rafe, I can’t do this,” you blurted, your voice trembling as the words spilled out before you could stop them.

The smile faded from his face, replaced by an expression of concern. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” you said, your voice breaking. “The people, the cameras, the party—it’s all too much.”

Rafe’s brow furrowed as he stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “You’ve done this a hundred times before,” he said softly. “What’s different now?”

You hesitated. “It’s not important,” you muttered, hoping he’d let it go.

But Rafe wasn’t one to back down easily.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice steady but insistent. “Talk to me.”

You sighed, the lump in your throat growing heavier. “It’s stupid, okay? I’m just… I’m not used to this.”

“That’s not true.”

Your jaw tightened, and you looked away, your voice dropping to a whisper. “They’re not here.”

“Who?”

The question made you flinch, but you kept your response measured, your tone distant. “No one. It doesn’t matter.”

Rafe stepped closer, his presence grounding but not invasive. “It matters if it’s upsetting you.”

“It’s just… my family. We’re not close anymore, okay? And moments like this just remind me of that. But it’s fine. Whatever.”

His eyes softened, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say more. The details of your fractured relationship with your parents, the abuse, the years of silence—it wasn’t something you wanted to unpack here, not with him. You hated being this exposed, hated feeling so small under the weight of it all.

Rafe’s expression shifted, the concern in his eyes deepening. Slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against your arm. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady but kind. “Look at me.”

“I can’t,” you shook your head, refusing. “You won’t understand.”

“Then help me,” he urged, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. “Talk to me.”

The lump in your throat grew, the words threatening to choke you. “I left them,” you started. “But I had a reason. I couldn’t continue living there. We were poor, so poor, Rafe. Some days we were barely fed and barely had a roof over our heads,” your voice trembled, and you forced yourself to not close your eyes to not relieve that part of your life. “They forced me to se—” but you stopped yourself. Not ready to admit it to Rafe. “—whatever. I just don’t feel like I belong anywhere.”

His jaw tightened, his grip on your arm firming slightly. For a moment, he said nothing, his blue eyes scanning your face as if trying to piece together the fractures you’d worked so hard to hide. Then, quietly, he spoke.

“You belong here,” he said firmly, his voice steady. “With me. Tonight, this party, all of it—it’s for us. And I don’t care who’s not here, because I’m here, okay? You worked hard to get where you are, and you can’t let your past, or anyone, ruin it for you.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the fog of your doubt. Slowly, he reached for your hand, his fingers curling around yours with a warmth that steadied you.

You walked back toward the door, Rafe’s hand lightly resting against your back, guiding you through the villa. As you stepped into the bustling courtyard, the noise of the party hit you again—the sound of laughter, the clinking of glasses, the faint hum of music. It was impossible to escape the energy, the pressure of eyes watching.

You took a deep breath, trying to center yourself. Tonight wasn’t going to be easy, but you’d already survived the worst of it. With Rafe by your side, you could handle whatever came next.

The first person you spotted was Nina, her smile bright and easy as she chatted with a few guests by the drink station. She caught sight of you and waved, excusing herself from the conversation. Her dress—an elegant gold one—flattered her frame as she approached.

“You two disappeared for a while,” Nina said with a teasing glint in her eyes, though there was a hint of concern there, too. “Everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah, don’t worry. Everything’s perfect,” you waved your hands to not worry her. “By the way, Rafe, this is Nina Ramos—my agent and my second mother.”

He extended his hand with a charming grin. “Nice to meet you,” he said smoothly. “YN’s been telling me a lot about you.”

Liar.

Nina took his hand, her sharp eyes flicking between the two of you. “Has she now? All good I hope,” and you nodded instantly. “Well, this party is important and beautiful. Maybe all your overthinking served you well—you look absolutely perfect, honey. You too, Rafe.”

“Thanks,” you blushed at her compliment.

Rafe smirked. “She does look perfect, doesn’t she?”

You gave him a playful look, your lips curling into a reluctant smile at his compliment.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” she said, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “But it was great meeting you, Rafe Cameron.”

“Likewise,” he replied, and with one last smile, Nina disappeared back into the crowd.

As soon as she was out of earshot, you turned to Rafe with a small smile. “She’s a good friend of mine,” you said softly. “You’ll like her.”

Rafe gave you a raised eyebrow. “She seems cool. I can see why you’re friends.”

Before you could respond, the sound of laughter caught your attention, and you spotted Aisha, her arm linked with a tall, broad-shouldered man. Her husband, Ishan—someone you hadn’t seen in a while. You had to blink to fully register the change in him, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable.

Without thinking, you broke into a smile and made your way toward them, Rafe following behind.

As soon as Aisha spotted you, her face lit up with recognition. “Look who decided to surprise you,” she smiled, her voice higher because of how excited she was.

You immediately wrapped your arms around her husband, stepping into a hug. He chuckled, holding you tightly as he returned the embrace. “I’ve missed you,” you said, squeezing him as he laughed.

Ishan was like an older brother to you. He’d been there through some of the toughest times in your life, and his easy going nature always managed to bring you a sense of peace. His deep laugh and the familiarity of his embrace were exactly what you needed.

“I’ve missed you too, behen,” he said. “I come back to New York and I’m being told you’re getting married to Rafe Cameron. Imagine my surprise when Aisha told me.”

You pulled back from the embrace and laughed awkwardly. “Ah, yes, Rafe… Surprise, surprise, right?”

Ishan furrowed his brows but you moved your hands. “I can’t really believe it… It’s really happening…”

“No, no! It’s not like—uh, well, okay, it is, but it’s like…” you turned your head to find Rafe behind Aisha making a cross with his hands. “I love it. He’s so, so, so funny and charming—and very committed, you know…”

“Uh huh, I see,” Ishan nodded and laughed at how weird you were being. “Can’t believe he’s gonna marry a loser like y—”

“So, you’re actually here. It’s been too long—how’s Switzerland?” you interrupted, and he sent you a look because he hated when you did that. “Sorry… but how is it? Did you climb every mountain and, like, yodel on top of a glacier?”

He chuckled a little and shook his head. “No, no yodelling, but I did eat tons of chocolate. I bought some for you too.” You did not even have time to reply to him that he extended a hand toward Rafe, his tone both warm and challenging. “So, you’re the infamous Rafe Cameron. My wife gave me a run-down on you. Some good things… and some questionable ones.”

"Your wife? Wait, who’s your wife?" Rafe asked, his confusion evident.

Oh, crap. You totally forgot to explain the whole family tree situation. Rookie mistake.

Aisha sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes as she raised her hand. "I’m the wife, genius. Seriously, YN—did you not tell him?"

"I’m sorry!" You blurted, cringing. "It completely slipped my mind. It’s just so normal to me that I didn’t even think to—"

Rafe interrupted you, and took Ishan’s hand in his. His smirk disarming but his handshake firm. “Well, I hope the good outweighed the questionable.”

“Debatable,” Ishan replied with a shrug. “But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt… at least until you give me a reason not to.”

You felt a knot in your stomach as you glanced between the two. Ishan wasn’t being hostile, but his protectiveness had always been intense, like that of an older brother who wasn’t afraid to test the waters.

Rafe, to his credit, didn’t back down. His smirk deepened slightly, and he shrugged with an air of playful confidence. “Fair enough. I’ll do my best not to disappoint.”

“I’d hope so,” Ishan said lightly, though the undertone was clear. His gaze softened as it flicked toward you, his voice gentler now. “You’ve got a good one here. Don’t mess it up.”

“Trust me, I know how lucky I am,” Rafe replied, glancing at you with an expression so sincere it caught you off guard.

The words made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t prepared for, a warmth spreading through you despite the nervous energy still bubbling beneath the surface.

Aisha rolled her eyes, slapping her husband’s chest. “Alright, alright, that’s enough intimidation for one night. Let’s get some drinks, baby.”

Ishan laughed, ruffling Aisha’s hair affectionately before turning to you. “If he gives you any trouble, you know where to find me, behen.”

You grinned at the familiar term of endearment, feeling a wave of gratitude for his presence. “Yup!”

With a wink, they both disappeared into the crowd, leaving you and Rafe standing together.

The second they were out of earshot, Rafe let out a dramatic sigh, running a hand through his hair. “So, is everyone in your life this protective, or is it just me getting the special treatment?”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “What can I say? People care about me. Better get used to it.”

“Noted,” Rafe said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “I’ll add it to the ever-growing list of things to keep in mind when dealing with your very... passionate circle of people.”

An awkward silence stretched between us as you scanned the guests arriving. You recognized a few—Aisha’s mom, aunts, and cousins, mingling with Nina’s friends and siblings. You couldn't help but wonder if your wedding would be filled with people who didn’t really know you either.

Rafe stepped closer, standing next to you, and flashed a playful grin. "So, Ishan… he’s your… older brother, right?" He asked, clearly trying to figure out the family dynamic.

You turned to him with a soft laugh, shaking my head. "No, not my brother," you said, before pausing for a moment, trying to find the right words. "Okay, let me explain." You drew in a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. "Ishan’s more like the brother I never had—well, I do have brothers, but when I left home, I hadn’t really connected with them. But then I came to the U.S. and met Aisha, and Ishan just sort of stepped into that role. We’ve been through everything together—good, bad, you name it. He’s always had my back. No blood relation, but he might as well be."

Rafe’s expression softened as he absorbed that, nodding. “Sounds like he’s a pretty solid guy.”

“He really is,” you smiled, warmth creeping into your voice. “He and Aisha have always had my back, and they’ve been together for years now. They make a great team.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he said, grinning. “He’s got that same intimidating vibe as she does. You can practically feel it.”

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “Exactly! Aisha and I used to joke about it. She always said, if I needed someone to scare off a date, I’d just call Ishan. Aisha’s got that sharp edge, and Ishan? He’s got the muscles.”

“I can definitely see that…” he said with a thoughtful nod before asking, “So, what kind of dynamic do you think we have?”

You shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze for a moment as the question hung in the air. “Uh, well…” You cleared your throat. “I mean, we’re… we’re like, uh, a work in progress? Yeah, that sounds right. Like one of those ‘under construction’ signs, you know? A little chaotic…?” You laughed nervously, rubbing the back of your neck.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Chaotic? Really? You’re gonna call us chaotic?”

“Yeah, well, have you met you?” You shot back, crossing your arms. “You’re like a walking disaster zone.”

He laughed, leaning back. “Oh, I’m a disaster? You’re the one who keeps on throwing shade. For no reason at all.”

“That’s because you don’t know how to mind your own business,” you snapped, the words biting as you shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re the one getting all up in my space with your weird questions.”

“I’m not asking weird questions,” he shot back, his voice rising to match the sharpness of yours. “And do you seriously think we’re chaotic?”

You gave him a side-eye, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Chaotic is an understatement, Cameron. We’re a disaster—with a capital D.”

He laughed, the sound low and amused, as though he didn’t take you seriously. “Oh really? You’re one to talk. You practically live for the drama.”

“Me? I live for drama?” You scoffed, pivoting fully to face him now, hands planted firmly on your hips as you let your eyes travel up and down him in a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. “You’re the definition of drama. You can’t even breathe without making everything about you.”

His lips curled into a grin, the kind that made your stomach twist in a way you refused to acknowledge. “You’re so easy to rile up.”

“You’re a jackass,” you muttered, shaking your head, every fiber of your being wanting to push him away—but not sure if you meant physically or emotionally.

He leaned in slightly, as if to throw another jibe your way, but instead, his eyes gleamed with mischief. “I think you’re just mad because I’m better at this than you.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you closed the distance between you, but the move was more impulsive than you intended. You instantly regretted it, realizing just how close you were to him now, the heat from his body practically radiating against yours. You swallowed, trying to mask the effect it had on you. “Better at what? Being a complete asshole?” Your voice wavered with a sharpness that betrayed how much it bothered you. “Yeah, Rafe, you’re a pro at that.”

He leaned in even closer, and this time, his grin wasn’t just playful—it was dangerous. “You love it,” he murmured, voice dropping an octave, making your heart skip a beat.

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you rolled your eyes, trying to keep control of the situation. “Oh, fuck off. The only thing I like is when you finally shut up.” You crossed your arms tighter, trying to distance yourself emotionally, but it was hard to ignore the proximity between you two, the tension hanging thick in the air.

He was close now, too close, and it was suffocating in the most unsettling way. His breath was warm against your skin, the space between you closing so much that you could almost taste the words on his lips before they even came.

“Is that so?” His voice was low, teasing, his grin widening as his gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there just long enough to make you feel it.

You couldn’t help it—you gulped, the way he was looking at you making your pulse race, something deep inside you stirring against the cold front you were trying so hard to put up. “Yeah, that so,” you managed, but your voice had a tremor to it now, and you hated yourself for it.

He smiled, the kind of smile that could make you want to punch him and kiss him all at once. “Well, in that case,” he said, the words dragging as he leaned even closer, his breath ghosting over your ear, “I’m just gonna keep talking.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried enough weight to send a shiver down your spine.

You couldn’t tell if you wanted to scream at him or kiss him.

You could feel his presence pressing in on you, the heat between you two almost unbearable, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe. The world outside of him seemed to vanish, the hum of the city, the weight of your thoughts, everything melting away until there was only the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You knew you should pull away, should say something, anything, to break this tension, but the words wouldn’t come.

He watched you closely, his eyes locked onto yours, a hint of something unreadable flickering there—something playful, something dangerous, maybe both.

“You look like you’re about to say something,” he said, his voice thick with amusement.

You opened your mouth, trying to push past the lump in your throat, but it felt like the words were stuck. Instead, you just looked at him—really looked at him for the first time in what felt like forever. He was close, too close, but in that moment, it felt impossible to back away. He made you feel things you didn’t want to feel, things that you didn’t understand.

“I don’t wanna say anything,” you muttered, the words slipping out as a mix of frustration and something you refused to acknowledge.

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow, that devilish smirk curling on his lips.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, but you didn’t say a word. You simply nodded, lips pressed together in a thin line, trying to hold onto some semblance of control.

He closed the gap between you, leaning in with deliberate slowness. You could feel the heat of his body inching closer, the soft scent of his cologne filling your senses, until his lips barely brushed against your cheek. The kiss was featherlight, teasing—infuriatingly so. It was enough to make your stomach twist with desire, but you refused to let it show. You wanted to press your thighs together, to feel that familiar ache between your legs, but you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he was affecting you.

“Well, I have something to say,” his voice was low, rich with satisfaction as he lingered just inches from your skin. “I think… You’re not as immune to me as you like to pretend.”

The words sent a jolt through your chest, but you shook your head, pulling your hands up to his chest, your fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt, then gliding slowly to his neck, tracing the line of his jaw before resting at the back of it. You felt his pulse under your fingertips, and your breath hitched.

“I don’t… I don’t pretend,” you said, your voice quieter, but the frustration bubbling underneath was unmistakable. “You’re just an idiot,” you continued, pressing your palms harder into his skin. “And so fucking frustrating.”

He let out a dark chuckle, the sound dripping with arrogance. “Look at you.” His hand reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek. “You’re getting all worked up. You want this, don’t you? I can see it. You’re practically begging me to fuck you right now with those eyes. Is that what you want, baby?”

Every nerve in your body screamed yes. You could feel your pulse racing, your skin burning as his words settled deep inside you. The ache between your legs was undeniable now, but your mind fought back. Your heart was pounding in your ears, screaming no. You couldn't let yourself fall for this again. You remembered the last time—the cold distance after everything had gotten too real, the way he’d pulled away, leaving you shattered. You couldn’t be left like that again.

But then, the look on his face—those sharp eyes, glimmering with something dangerous. He looked so good, so fucking good, in that white suit that fit him like a second skin. The way it molded to his chest, the tightness around his biceps, made your breath catch in your throat. You couldn’t help it. You wanted to touch him, feel the strength of his muscles under your fingers, wanted to bite at his neck, press your lips to the smooth skin there and feel him shudder beneath you.

God, it was maddening. You hated how he made you feel so out of control, how every inch of him seemed to draw you in. Your body was betraying you, and you hated it.

But what about him? Did he feel the same pull? Did he burn for you the way you did for him, or was this just another game for him to play, another conquest to add to his long list? The uncertainty gnawed at you.

Rafe’s eyes never left you as you fought to suppress the desire stirring within you. But he knew it. He could see it in the way your breath hitched, in the way you couldn’t stop your hands from brushing against him, testing the limits, even as you pretended to resist.

But something shifted in him. He straightened, his posture changing, the smug grin slipping ever so slightly as his gaze flickered to the entrance of the party.

It wasn’t just any glance—it was sharp, instinctive. He’d caught sight of someone familiar, someone whose presence immediately shifted the air in the room.

You followed his line of sight, your chest tightening as you noticed who it was: The Cameron family. Sarah, Wheezie, Rose, and Ward. Their arrival had a different weight, one that Rafe clearly felt deep in his bones. You saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes darkened for just a moment, before he quickly masked it with a flash of that signature cocky smile.

Ward, tall and imposing in his crisp suit, moved with the sort of authority that always seemed to follow him. Rose, on his arm, was more subdued but equally elegant, her gaze sharp as she surveyed the crowd, clearly scanning for something or someone. Their eyes met Rafe’s across the room, and the tension in his body was palpable.

His hand, which had been resting lightly at your waist, now tightened, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress in a way that made you wonder if he even noticed. But you noticed him. You noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he suddenly seemed aware of every movement, every gesture, every word spoken around him.

He cleared his throat, stepping back slightly from you, though his body remained rigid, still keeping you close. “I think my parents just walked in,” he said quietly, as though speaking more to himself than to you, but the edge in his voice was unmistakable.

You looked at him, the reality of the situation settling in. His family—his father, especially—was here, and suddenly everything felt different. The air seemed heavier. The playful banter between you both had shifted into something more guarded, more calculated.

“Yeah, I noticed,” you whispered.

Rafe took a slow breath, his eyes never leaving his parents as they moved further into the room, exchanging greetings with guests. He didn’t speak immediately, as if preparing himself for whatever role he was about to play in front of them. His jaw clenched again, but he quickly forced a smile back onto his face, turning to you.

“Let’s go say hello, yeah?” His voice was smoother now, though you could still sense the unease beneath the surface. It was almost like he was pulling back, retreating into the version of himself he showed them—controlled, perfect, everything his father demanded of him. “Is that okay with you?”

No.

You nodded, feeling the weight of his tension on your shoulders, but you followed him. The closer you got to his family, the more you could feel the pressure build. Rafe's movements were more deliberate now, like he was preparing to play his part in the family drama. You couldn’t help but notice how differently he held himself around them—like a man who knew he would never measure up, no matter how much he tried.

Rafe paused just before reaching them, throwing you a look that was both apologetic and protective. It was as if, for just a moment, he needed you to understand how much this moment mattered. But you weren’t sure if it was about impressing them or surviving the encounter with his family’s expectations. Whatever it was, you could feel it thick in the air, something unspoken but undeniable.

Rafe’s steps slowed as you reached his father, Ward. He was a towering figure, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his presence seemingly taking over the entire space. Rose, his stepmother, stood slightly behind him, elegant and poised, her eyes a sharp contrast to Ward’s cool and calculating demeanor.

Rafe stopped just short of them, his hand still on your waist, but his stance had subtly shifted—he was guarded, unsure, like he was ready to retreat if the need arose.

“Dad,” Rafe greeted, his voice smooth but lacking its usual confidence. His posture was just a little too stiff, as if waiting for the inevitable judgment that would come with every interaction.

Ward's gaze lingered on Rafe for a beat longer than normal before he acknowledged him, his tone clipped. “Rafe,” he said, the smile on his face barely noticeable, more a polite curve of the lips than anything genuine. “You’re looking well.”

The words hung in the air, but they didn’t carry any warmth. It was a statement of fact rather than praise, and it made your skin prickle. You could feel Rafe tense beside you, his fingers tightening just a little, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he gave a small, practiced smile and nodded. “Thanks, Dad.”

You remained silent for a moment, unsure of where to fit in, but Sarah, ever the warm presence, was the first to step forward. She flashed you a grin, her eyes already lighting up with recognition. “Hey, YN!” she said enthusiastically, her voice a welcome contrast to the tension in the air. "So good to see you again!"

"Hi, Sarah," you responded, your smile easing a little, feeling comforted by her energy. "It’s good to see you too."

She pulled you into a friendly hug, and you found yourself relaxing into it. Sarah had this easygoing charm about her, a lightness that made you forget the weight of the room for a moment. She was everything Rafe wasn’t—effortlessly kind, bubbly, and generous with her affection.

“Wheezie and I were just talking about you,” Sarah added, and you turned to find a petite, younger girl standing a few feet away.

Wheezie’s face lit up when she caught your gaze. “Hi. I’m Wheezie. It’s cool to meet you.”

You smiled at her. “Hi, Wheezie. I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you too.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, clearly nervous. “You’re a model, right? That’s so cool. I’ve seen your pictures in Vogue!”

You blinked in surprise, warmth spreading in your chest. “You have?”

“Yeah!” Wheezie nodded enthusiastically. “You’re so pretty, and your outfits are amazing. How did you even start doing that?”

Her genuine curiosity was disarming, and for a moment, you forgot the tension hanging in the air. You leaned slightly closer, your smile becoming more natural. “It’s a long story, but I’ll tell you sometime if you want.”

Wheezie’s face lit up. “Really? That’d be awesome.”

Rafe, who had been watching the interaction silently, finally spoke up, his voice tinged with amusement. “Wheezie, you’re gonna scare her off.”

Wheezie flushed, but she grinned up at her brother. “I’m just being friendly.”

“She’s fine,” you said quickly, shooting Wheezie a reassuring smile. “It’s nice to meet someone who’s actually interested in what I do.”

Rose cleared her throat, interrupting the light moment. “Oh, we’re interested in you, dear,” she said, her tone honeyed but with an edge of condescension. “Rafe’s been so secretive about you, it’s about time we got to know you better.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you apologized with a polite smile. “I’m here now, though.”

“Yes, you are,” Ward interjected, his gaze narrowing slightly. “Rafe mentioned your career. It must be… demanding.”

You nodded carefully. “It can be, but I enjoy it. I’ve worked hard to get where I am.”

Ward tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “And maintaining that image must be just as hard. I imagine you have to watch every calorie to stay in shape for your work. Must be exhausting.”

The words hit you like a sharp slap, your chest tightening as old insecurities clawed their way to the surface. You forced a neutral smile, but your nails dug into the palm of your hand to keep steady. “It’s part of the job,” you replied carefully, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you.

Rose waved a dismissive hand, her eyes flitting over you in a way that felt equally invasive. “Don’t listen to him, honey. You look perfectly healthy to me. Honestly, I’d kill to have your body.”

Her words were meant as a compliment, but they were worse than his. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice quieter now.

Rafe stiffened beside you, his hand tightening slightly on your waist. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said, his tone firm, a warning laced beneath the words.

But Ward ignored him, his attention still on you. “We’re not saying anything wrong. She does look healthy… in a sickly way.” His smile was thin, and though the words were spoken lightly, there was an edge to them.

You forced another smile, but your composure was slipping. The weight of their attention, the veiled comments, the subtle dissection of your body—it was too much.

“I’m sorry,” you said abruptly, stepping back slightly. “Excuse me for a moment.”

The moment you stepped into the bathroom, the world outside seemed to dissolve. The faint hum of voices from the gathering became muffled as you locked the door and leaned against it, your chest heaving. You clutched your stomach, the ache inside more emotional than physical, as Ward’s and Rose’s comments echoed in your mind.

Your reflection in the mirror stared back, unkind and unforgiving. You pressed your trembling hands against the sink, breathing shallowly as the familiar sensation of panic crept up your throat.

No matter how far you thought you’d come, it was always there — lurking in the shadows, waiting for a moment of vulnerability. Your stomach churned violently, the pressure too much. You barely made it to the toilet before the wave overtook you.

Kneeling on the cold tile, you hated yourself for this relapse. Your body trembled as tears stung your eyes, the shame wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket. You knew better. Yet here you were, undone by a handful of careless words.

The door suddenly creaked open. Panic seized you as you tried to compose yourself, but it was too late.

“YN?” Rafe’s voice was low and tentative, laced with worry. He must’ve picked the lock.

You froze, your back to him, trying to will him away. “Go away, Rafe.”

He didn’t. Instead, he stepped inside, shutting the door softly behind him.

You heard the scuff of his shoes as he approached, but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around. “Please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Just leave me alone.”

But then he was kneeling beside you, his presence warm and steady despite the storm raging inside you. His hand gently touched your back, and you flinched, but he didn’t pull away.

“I’m here,” he said simply, his tone quiet but firm. He reached out, gathering your hair and pulling it away from your face with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “You don’t have to say anything. Just let me help.”

The knot in your throat tightened, and a sob escaped before you could stop it. You covered your face with your hands, shaking your head. “I’m so pathetic,” you choked out, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I promised myself I’d never do this again. I’ve tried so hard to move on, to be better. But it’s always there. It’s always waiting for me to fail.”

He paused, his hand stilling for a moment before he spoke. “You’re not failing,” he said, his voice softer now. “You’re human. You’ve been through a lot, and you’re still standing. That’s not failing, YN. That’s surviving.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and you finally turned to look at him. His blue eyes were fixed on you, full of a mix of anger and concern—not at you, but for you. He reached up, brushing a tear from your cheek with a gentleness that nearly broke you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked carefully.

You hesitated, your walls instinctively rising. But something about the way he looked at you—without judgment, without pity—made you feel safe enough to let them down.

“It’s… it’s complicated,” you began, your voice shaky. “I’ve struggled with this for a long time. Since I was a teenager. Modeling didn’t cause it, but it made it worse. Everyone always has something to say about my body—it’s too thin, it’s too big, it’s never enough.” you swallowed hard, your throat burning. “And tonight… your dad, Rose… they just hit a nerve.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, and you could see the anger flickering in his eyes. But he didn’t interrupt, letting you speak at your own pace.

“I thought I was past it,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “But it never really goes away. It just… quiets down. Until something like this happens.”

Rafe nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. “I get it,” he said, surprising you. “Not in the same way, but I get it. The pressure, the expectations. Feeling like no matter what you do, it’s never enough.”

You stared at him, the rawness in his voice catching you off guard.

“I’m sorry for that,” you whispered, fresh tears spilling over. “And for what you saw.”

“Don’t apologize,” Rafe said firmly, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently. “You don’t have to apologize. Not to me. Not to anyone.”

His words cracked something open inside you, and the sobs came harder now, wracking your body. Rafe didn’t hesitate. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you cried into his chest.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice steady and soothing. “I’ve got you. I promise.”

After what felt like an eternity, your tears began to subside. You pulled back slightly, embarrassed by the mess you’d made of his shirt. “Sorry,” you mumbled, wiping at your face.

Rafe chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Don’t be. This shirt was ugly anyway.”

The small attempt at humor made you smile, even if it was faint. He stood, helping you to your feet, his hand steadying you as you wavered.

“You okay?” he asked, his gaze searching for yours.

You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure. “I just… need a minute. Is that okay?”

Rafe hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave you alone. But after a moment, he nodded. “Alright… Take all the time you need. I’ll be right outside.”

As he stepped toward the door, you felt a pang of guilt. “Rafe?”

He turned back, his expression softening.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. “For… this.”

His lips curved into a small smile. “Don’t mention it.”

“Are you serious right now?” Rafe’s voice was sharp, cutting through the murmur of conversation like a knife. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Rafe—” Ward started, but his son didn’t let him finish.

“No, you listen to me,” he snapped, his anger palpable. “If you ever talk to her like that, we’re done. I mean it.”

Your heart stopped, and you moved closer, careful to stay out of sight.

“Rafe, calm down,” Rose’s voice said, her tone exasperated.

“No,” Rafe snapped. “I’m not calming down. Do you have any idea what you just did? What your comments did to her?”

There was a beat of silence before Ward spoke, his tone dismissive. “It was just a harmless observation. She’s a grown woman. She can handle it.”

“Harmless?” Rafe’s voice rose, trembling with fury. “You don’t know the first thing about her, and you sure as hell don’t get to say shit like that to her ever again.”

“Rafe—”

“No,” he cut Ward off, his voice firm and unyielding. “You don’t get to do this. Not to her. If you can’t show her some respect for once in your life, then don’t bother talking to her at all.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

Your chest tightened, a swell of emotions rising as you listened to him defend you with such ferocity. For all his cocky bravado and sarcastic quips, Rafe had just shown you a side of himself you hadn’t expected.

A side that cared.

A side that would fight for you.

You stepped back, went back to the bathroom, giving him space to finish the conversation. But as you stood there, a small, genuine smile broke across your face.

When Rafe returned to the bathroom, his shoulders were tense, but his eyes softened when they landed on you. “Hey,” he said quietly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

“Hey,” you echoed, your voice trembling slightly.

“I’m sorry if I took too long,” he said, sitting beside you on the floor. “I had to take care of some—.”

“I heard you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You heard me?” his brows furrowed. “Heard what?”

“What you said. To them. Ward and Rose.”

“Oh…” his eyes widened. “I’m sorry if you think I stepped a line. It just really pissed me off what they said about you and thought that if you were going to see them again, they should know their li—”

“You don’t need to apologize, Cameron,” you interrupted, a quiet laugh slipping past your lips, the sound easing the tension in his shoulders. “Thank you, though…”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside the room fell away. “Of course.”

He stood and extended a hand to you, palm open and steady. You hesitated for the briefest moment, not because you didn’t want to take it but because the gesture felt like more than it was. When your hand slipped into his, his fingers closed around yours.

You stood, brushing invisible creases from your saree and adjusting the edges with nervous precision. Rafe’s eyes lingered on you, watching the delicate way your fingers moved, the subtle rise and fall of your shoulders as you steadied yourself.

When you glanced up at him, offering a soft, grateful smile, something in his chest tightened, and he knew he was done for.

“Okay, let’s do this,” you said, your voice stronger now.

He nodded, but as you turned toward the door, he couldn’t stop himself from saying it, even if you wouldn’t hear it. “You’re worth it,” he whispered, the words low and raw, like they’d been pulled straight from his heart.

He stood there, hand still tingling from where yours had been, a storm of emotions churning inside him. His mind raced, his heart pounded, and every inch of him felt consumed by something he wasn’t ready to name.

chapter eleven.

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tealvenetianmask · 6 months ago

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I want to talk about a kind of troubling reaction I've been seeing to both Apology Tour and Ghostfuckers among parts of the fandom. The person is usually a reaction youtuber but sometimes someone writing on tumblr or twitter. They say something along the lines of "oh, I'm glad Blitz is being forced to confront his crimes/traumas/pain. This is the only way he will finally heal."

That's not how healing works.

I know that reaction youtubers don't always have the most developed takes because they're . . . you know . . . reacting in the moment. But I think it's still worth talking about.

I'm going set aside the people who seem to believe that Blitz needs to be punished for his crimes, and address those who genuinely think that getting a tidal wave of his own trauma in his face is what he needs to heal.

There's an attitude in contemporary culture that traumas are something people need to confront. As in, put on a brave face and dive in like a big boy. I blame capitalism, rugged individualism, and all the pieces of media that tie up a character's arc neatly by having them confront their darkest fears and insecurities. It can put a nice bow on things, but it isn't really how healing from trauma works.

Apology Tour:

Blitz gets confronted by a shit ton of people who hate him, at least some of whom are his exes, who he feels he's personally damaged. The decor and party games are all about killing and torturing him. Verosika confronts him about how much he hurt her. Oh, and then he sees the love of his life, who he's just recently pushed away, making out with another guy- proof, in his eyes, that Stolas is happier without him. And this all reflects the underlying fears he already has about who he is as a person (shown to us by Truth Seekers).

So what was the takeaway? Blitz came to the conclusion that he doesn't always want to be like this (good, but like . . . worth this much pain?). He flops on his steering wheel (relatable). He stops trying to reach out to Stolas (uh oh . . . ). He spends A MONTH spiraling in his own misery and making a mess of all aspects of his life until he's dragged out of it by a caring friend.

The party doesn't empower Blitz to change. It knocks him down and fucking traumatizes him (seriously, images of Stolas from the party show up later in his trauma reel) too much for him to be able to do actually work toward said change. I suspect that if left to his own devices, he would have kept spiraling for quite a while longer. It's one thing to want to change, and another to try to do so alone in the aftermath of a pile-on.

Ghostfuckers

After Blitz drags himself out of his hole of cheesy ice cream and despair to "play sex ghosts" (escapism, again, still knocked down by Apology Tour), infester demon Rolando picks him out as an easy target and assaults him, yes, assaults, with horrific images of his worst traumas and fears.

Not to state the obvious, but Rolando isn't interested in helping Blitz heal. He's trying to kill the guy. He wants to engulf Blitz in his trauma to the extent where he's consumed by it and loses the will to fight back. And as some excellent posts by others have pointed out already, he very likely would have succumbed if not for Millie's support.

Millie helps Blitz get through the onslaught by telling him about what makes him great and how he's improved her life and showing him love and care. And by literally beating the fucking infester out of him. Because there's someone in him who's hurting him, who's re-traumatizing him against his will. She takes him away from the reel of horrible memories.

So . . . do I think that confronting traumas can play a role in healing? Sure. But only if it's consensually (which neither of these situations are) and when the person trying to heal is ready. And most likely in small doses. No one's going and successfully confronting every horrible thing that's ever happened to them in one go.

And in my humble opinion, it's not going to work (for anyone, but especially not for Blitz) alone and without a healthy dose of kindness and compassion (both external and internal).

Blitz has a long road ahead of him toward healing, and it's going to be hard work on his part but also require love and support from the people in his life.

In a wonderful moment near the end of Ghosfuckers, Blitz and Millie work together to get Blitz's wrecked van unstuck and push it back through the portal into Hell. I love it because it's so simple and it kind of tells us everything we need to know. This sweet and salty gremlin has a lot of work ahead of him, but he doesn't have to do it alone.

#ghostfuckers #apology tour #blitz #blitzo #blitzo buckzo #millie #rolando #stolitz #verosika #my helluva meta #helluva boss

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deathofpeaceofmiiind · 4 months ago

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Kill my time // Quinn Hughes

In a city full of lonely people, I just want you all to myself

summary: birthday celebrations causing jealousy while struggling to turn a certain age

warnings: drinking, clubbing, smut (18+)

── ∘◦ ⛤ ◦∘ ──

“I can’t believe I’m going to a bar like I’m in my early twenties again.”

I smoothed my dress down, picking apart everything wrong with me as I looked in the mirror. Turning thirty felt like my world was about to collapse, and what made it worse was knowing my boyfriend was only turning twenty five just two days after me.

“Not to mention with a bunch of guys who are twenty one.” My roommate added as she fixed us a couple of drinks. I saw her bring out a bottle of tequila, knowing I was going to be in for a long night.

“Ugh, what did I get myself into?”

“Girl, it’s fine! Quinn doesn’t care about your age so why should you?” She asks, passing me whatever concoction she made. A took a small sip, realizing it was tequila and soda…more like tequila with a splash of soda.

Deep down I knew she was right, because when I told Quinn I was older than him it didn’t phase him at all, I completely expected him to run. He told me the idea of being with someone older was a big turn on for him, something he didn’t discover until he met me. As for me, it didn’t matter what age the men were I dated, they were all extremely immature. I knew it was a risk with Quinn but he definitely didn’t act like men his age. After all he was the captain of an NHL team, he had to have a strong head on his shoulders.

An hour later I was making my way through a busy drunken crowd, holding onto Quinn’s hand for dear life. For whatever reason, his teammates chose this club to celebrate his birthday tonight. Wouldn’t have been my first choice, and I don’t think Quinn was thrilled on it either but he was too quiet to say anything. We always made the best of a bad situation and I knew tonight wouldn’t be any different. House music and lights were bouncing off the walls, making it hard to focus on where we were going. We finally got into our booth and a heavy sigh left me, I definitely wasn’t drunk enough for this.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Quinn’s velvet voice echoed in my ear, calming my nerves. His eyes were bright green, almost enchanting as they peered into mine. My face grew hot, wondering how it was humanly possible for someone to be this gorgeous.

“Yeah it’s just been a while.” I wasn’t lying either. I spent most of my time in breweries with my friends since most of us were over going to clubs. Quinn likes to tell me he doesn’t like going out, but give him a few drinks and he makes a liar out of himself.

He pulled me closer to him, so close I could feel his stubble on my neck. “I won’t leave your side at all, I promise.”

“Okay.” I nodded before he gently brushed his lips over mine. I got lost in our own little world, the music melted away and I forgot we were in the middle of a busy club surrounded by strangers.

“Let’s celebrate, it’s your birthday after all.”

I rolled my eyes, “it’s also yours in two days.”

“Yeah, but …” his words trail off as he runs the pad of his thumb over my lip, “today brought me you.”

“How does it feel to be with a thirty year old?” The words falling past my lips causing my eyes to roll again. That number just didn’t sit right with me. “I’m officially an old lady.”

“Thirty has never looked better.” He mused, his hand running up my hip and bringing me closer to him. I pulled him into another kiss, his cologne hit me like a tidal wave causing butterflies in my stomach. His hand ran up my neck and gripped me tighter while his tongue begged to enter my mouth. We stayed like that, blissfully unaware of reality until his teammates came over with trays of various shots.

“Okay lover boy that’s enough. Let’s get you drunk.”

One thing about partying with hockey players is all of them have no limits when it comes to spending. I had to finally stop accepting every shot they brought around after the room began to spin. Best part of the night though was that the Devils were in town, so Jack and Luke, Quinn’s brothers were here to celebrate with everyone. This was only my second time meeting them but they were extremely welcoming and treated me like I was their sister. Jack at one point asked me to go dance with him and I couldn’t help but say yes.

“So how does it feel to be thirty?” Jack yelled into my ear as we danced to one of my favourite John Summit songs.

“Terrible. I’m almost a decade older than you!”

“You make thirty look so good though.” He smirks as Luke came behind me and picked me up, causing me to scream at him to put me down. As much as I fought he kept me over his shoulder.

“I just want you to know we fucking love you and you make my brother so happy.” Luke added as he finally put me down, the room was still spinning so I had to brace myself against him to make it stop.

“Thanks buddy.” I jumped a little, feeling Quinn’s hand on my back. His face was flushed, telling me he was up to no good without me.

“Can I have my girlfriend back now?”

“Sorry bro!” Luke kissed the top of my head before him and Jack ran off to grab more drinks.

“You okay?” I asked Quinn as I turned to him, he smelt like whiskey and honey as he brought his lips to my neck.

“I will be.” He mumbles, burrowing his face into my neck. “I’m glad my brothers like you, but you’re my girlfriend. Not theirs.”

“Do you think they’re gonna steal me?” I clasped my mouth, trying to hold in my laughter because I know he was being serious. It was downright adorable.

“Maybe.”

“But I’m yours” I assured him, stepping closer to his body. My hands reaching behind his neck, slipping stands of his hair between my fingers. “No one will ever steal me from you.”

“Prove it.” He replied with such confidence, not taking his eyes off my lips. His hands reached up to my hips, pressing me even closer to him. I gasped as I felt his erection brush up against my leg, “come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Trust me.” He mumbled, his eyes glazed with desire and whatever was in his system. I grabbed his hand, not knowing where he was taking me.

Quinn guided me into a private bathroom and locked the door. His hand brushed gently over my chest, hooking his finger under the strap of my dress. I watched him with intent, my heart pounding so fast I was surprised he didn’t feel it.

“You belong to me.” He whispered, slowly closing the gap between us. My hands braced onto his chest as he captured my mouth into a kiss that started off sweet but grew sloppy.

“I belong to you….no one else.”

He smirked so devilishly that I felt something more than butterflies in my stomach. Our kisses were met with biting of lower lips and Quinn grabbed my dress so tight I thought it was going to split. I wasted no time and began to unbutton his pants, dropping to my knees in the process. His dick sprung out of his boxers, dripping with pre-cum as my eyes widened.

“Stick your tongue out baby.”

My exposed tongue was met with his tip as he gently circled over my taste buds. I could taste him already, it was making my mouth salivate and run down my chin.

“Such a good girl.” He breathed as his free hand tugged on my hair. “Open your mouth for me.”

I did as I was told and Quinn slowly slid his erection into my mouth, inch by inch until his tip hit the back of my throat. He bit his lip as I began to slide my mouth up and down, his grip on my hair getting tighter.

“Fuck, baby this feels so good.” He deeply moaned, making me feel it in the back of my throat. “Such a good girl taking my whole dick in that pretty little mouth of yours.”

I could tell he was getting close with how laboured his breathing became. I removed my mouth from him and began to lick his tip that was glistening with my spit. He looked down at me with pleading eyes, as if me mouth fucking him was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Come in my mouth Quinn, I know what you want to.”

“Not yet.” His voice sounded so husky as he motioned for me to stand up. I wiped my mouth, taking a long look at him. “Your turn birthday girl.”

I couldn’t help but giggle as he picked me up and sat me on the bathroom counter. My back rested against the mirror as he spread my legs, situating himself between them. When our eyes met my heart felt like it was going to explode, I’ve never seen him like this before.

“How bad do you need me right now?” He asked, slowly taking my lip between his teeth again.

“I need you so fucking badly.”

He makes his home between my thighs and begins to tease me with his tip. I regretted wearing underwear tonight but feeling his pre cum soak the lace was the sweetest form of torture, and he knew it. 

“Tell me again…how bad do you need me?” I couldn’t get a word out. His laugh was dark as he fluttered his somber eyes at me, “use your words sweetheart, what do you want for your birthday?”  “I want you.”  “That’s a good start.” He muses, applying pressure on my thighs with his thumbs, “where do you want me?”

No words were leaving me as I gasped for air. Quinn began to run his mouth over my jaw, down to my collarbone, nipping slightly at the skin. I grabbed his hand and guided it between my thighs, his thumb instantly pressing onto my underwear.

“Right there?” He asks, slowly moving my underwear to the side. A small gasp in satisfaction left him as he felt how soaked I was for him. I just nodded, whimpering already from his touch. “Tell me how much you wish this was my dick instead?”

“Quinn, I need you please … I’m yours.”

“That’s my girl.” He replied so proudly, pushing his tip inside of me slowly. His head falls back once he’s fully inside me and it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. “Fuck you feel so good, so fucking good.”  Quinn started off slowly, teasing my clit simultaneously with each stroke. He leaned into my ear, continuously praising me as his strokes became faster and harder. Sweat rolled down me as the building started up in my stomach, that familiar flutter began to take over and I knew I was done for. My nails dug into his back as he sinks his teeth into my shoulder as my orgasm left my body.

“Fuck I’m gonna -“

It only took a few seconds before he spilled into me. His hands gently found my face, guiding me to look at him. My legs were still shaking as he kissed me so softly. I was in a complete haze as we broke apart, that one unruly strand of hair fell in front of his face as he studied me. He was so beautiful, there were no other words to describe him.

“Happy birthday, baby.” He mused, gently kissing all the tattoos on my arm. Funny thing,

I never thought he’d go for a girl with a full sleeve and dark hair like me. He struck me as someone who went for blonde Instagram models but, once again he proved me wrong.

“You definitely just gave me the best birthday present ever.” I lightly laughed.

He titled his head to the side, cupping my cheek, “I don’t think anything will be beat the gift you gave me.”

“What’s that?”

“You.”

#fanfic #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes x reader #hughes brothers #hockey fanfiction #hockey smut

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ones-g · 5 months ago

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Take it

Dom!Caitlyn Kiramman x F!Reader.

WARNING: smut!!! public sex, use of strap-on.

Summary: You both were invited to the founders party but Caitlyn really has a soft spot for you in that purple dress with a slit up the leg, she needs to fill you up right now.

Her hand comes up to your face and her middle index and ring fingers press against your bottom lip. Fuck the party can go on, nobody cares, let Caitlyn fuck you in the fucking closet.

"Open" she orders with a voice hoarse with desire, obviously you obey her and open your mouth to be greeted with her fingers inside your mouth cavity. You start sucking them, making it a matter of getting them wet enough.

Your desperate pleas fall on deaf ears as Caitlyn continues her relentless assault on your quivering pussy. Her fingers pump in and out at a breakneck pace, stretching your tight walls to their limit. Drool escapes the corner of your mouth, trailing down your chin as she claims your mouth in a bruising kiss.

"Mmmph...you taste so fucking good," Caitlyn growls against your lips. "Gonna...fuck...this needy cunt...until you scream." Her words are punctuated by the lewd squelch of her fingers plunging deep inside you.

She captures your wrists again, pinning them above your head as she presses her body flush against yours. The heat of her skin sears you even through the fabric of her dress. Her thigh nudges between your legs, providing delicious friction against your throbbing clit with each thrust of her fingers.

"That's it, take it...take my fingers like a good little slut," Caitlyn commands, her blue eyes blazing with lust. She curls her fingers just right, hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

Your legs tremble uncontrollably, barely able to support your weight as the pleasure builds to an unbearable crescendo. Caitlyn's grip on your wrists tightens, holding you in place as she drives you closer and closer to the edge.

"Fuck...I'm gonna...ahhh!" Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your pussy clenching vice-tight around Caitlyn's pumping fingers. She doesn't let up, fucking you through the aftershocks until you're reduced to a whimpering, boneless mess against the wall.

Caitlyn doesn't let up, continuing to pound into your spasming pussy as you come apart in her arms. She grinds her thigh harder against your sensitive clit, drawing out your orgasm until you're a mewling, incoherent mess.

"Look at you, falling apart so beautifully for me," Caitlyn purrs, her voice dripping with dark satisfaction. "Such a perfect little cumslut."

She finally withdraws her fingers, bringing them to her lips and licking them clean of your essence. The sight sends a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you.

"Mmm... delicious. But I'm not nearly done with you yet," Caitlyn promises with a wicked grin. She spins you around to face her, her hands gripping your ass possessively.

In one swift motion, she lifts you up, encouraging you to wrap your legs around her waist. The move presses your dripping pussy directly against the bulge of her strap-on, the thick latex rubbing deliciously against your sensitive folds.

"Brace yourself, baby. I'm going to fuck this needy cunt until you can't walk straight," Caitlyn warns, her voice low and husky with desire.

With that, she thrusts forward, spearing you open on her thick cock in one brutal stroke. A guttural moan tears from your throat at the sudden intrusion, your walls stretching deliciously around her girth.

Caitlyn sets a punishing pace, pounding into you with animalistic fervor. The lewd slap of skin on skin echoes obscenely in the small closet, mingling with your wanton cries of pleasure.

"Fuck, you take my cock so well," Caitlyn grunts, her hips snapping forward with each powerful thrust. "This cunt was made for me, wasn't it? Made to milk my dick dry."

She leans forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as she continues to ruthlessly fuck you into oblivion. Your nails rake down her back, leaving red welts in their wake as you cling to her for dear life.

Caitlyn's grip on your ass tightens as she continues to pound into you relentlessly, the thick strap-on splitting you open with each brutal thrust. She breaks the kiss, leaning her forehead against yours as she gazes into your eyes with pure, unfiltered lust.

"Look at you, taking my cock like a champ," she pants, her hips never faltering in their punishing rhythm. "Such a perfect little fucktoy for me to use."

She reaches between your bodies, her fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub. The added stimulation sends shockwaves of pleasure racing up your spine, your inner walls clenching greedily around her pistoning cock.

"That's it, cum for me again," Caitlyn commands, her voice a low, authoritative growl. "Cum on my dick like a good little slut."

Her words, combined with the relentless pounding of her hips and the expert ministrations of her fingers, prove to be your undoing. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, your pussy spasming wildly around Caitlyn's thick length as you throw your head back and cry out in ecstasy. Caitlyn doesn't let up, fucking you through the intense waves of pleasure until you're reduced to a twitching, mewling mess in her arms. She captures your lips in another bruising kiss, swallowing your wanton moans as she continues to drive into you with reckless abandon.

"Fuck, you're so tight," she groans against your mouth, her hips stuttering as she chases her own release. "Gonna fill this needy cunt up with my cum."

With a final, powerful thrust, Caitlyn buries herself to the hilt inside you, her strap-on pulsing as she finds her own peak. She grinds against you, her hips rolling in slow, deep circles as she rides out the waves of her orgasm.

Finally, she pulls out with a wet pop, a trickle of your mingled juices dripping down her thigh. Caitlyn sets you down gently, her hands steadying you as your shaky legs try to support your weight. She gives you a moment to catch your breath, her blue eyes roaming over your disheveled form with undisguised satisfaction.

"You did so well, baby," Caitlyn purrs, running a hand through your tousled hair. "Took my cock like a champ."

She leans in, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your swollen lips. It's a stark contrast to the rough, aggressive kisses from before, but no less electrifying. Her fingers trace the curve of your cheek, the pad of her thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

"Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?" Caitlyn suggests, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Wouldn't want anyone to see what a mess I've made of you."

This was an idea brought up by a C.Bot on Janitorai! Usser: @annaescura__

#caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn they could never make me hate you #gaysogay #arcane #arcane 2 #caitlyn arcane #lol #league of legends #vi x caitlyn

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gukcnt · 6 days ago

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۶ৎ EMBERS OF UNSEEN LOVE [2] —

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice a vow, thick with emotion, his eyes softening, though the anger still simmered beneath, a protective edge that made you feel cherished. “Every curve, every inch of you—it’s all perfect to me. Don’t let anyone—especially those fucking bitches—make you think otherwise. I’ll burn the world down before I let anyone hurt you again.”

pairing: dom!jungkook x sub!femreader

genre: brothers bestfriend au, college au, forbidden love, slowburn, unrequited love, pining, pool party setting, body positivity, friends to lovers, reserved!jungkook, tattoo artist!jungkook, shy insecure!reader, romance, smut, fluff, confessions, lots of angst

warnings: 18+, explicit smut, protective!jungkook, angry!jungkook, violent!jungkook, posessive love, bullying and body shaming, emotional distress and insecurities, near drowning experience, public humilation, emotional manipulation and gaslighting, crowd indiffderence, alcohol composition, implied threat of violence, cursing, claustrophobia, trauma response and panic, social exclusion, emotional aftermath, self blame, passionate intense love making, oral sex (f. receiving), eating out, tongue fucking, clit sucking, face sitting, face riding, cum swallowing, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, missionary, fingering, nipple play, breast play, breast worship, bdoy worship, praise kink, clothed vulnerability, mutual desperation, sensory overload, angry love confessions, crying, emotional intimacy, rough tenderness, climactic build up, oral sex (m. receiving), cock palming, hickies/marking, making out, aftercare

wc: 13.8k

series m. list | main masterlist

۶ৎ

The late April sun hung low in the sky, painting the suburban streets with a golden warmth that carried the promise of summer. Inside your childhood home, the air was thick with the familiar scent of lavender, a lingering trace of your mother’s beloved candles that still flickered on the dining table during family dinners. Your room, a sanctuary of pastel blues and creams, was a haven of quiet, its shelves sagging under the weight of well-loved novels, their spines creased from countless readings. The window framed the ancient oak tree in the backyard, its leaves rustling softly in the breeze, a gentle reminder of the world beyond your books and thoughts. You were twenty, a college student navigating the labyrinth of literature classes and late-night study sessions, your shyness a constant companion, your insecurities a heavy cloak you couldn’t quite shed.

It was a warm Saturday afternoon, the kind that begged for open windows and bare feet, when your older brother, Minho, burst into your room, his energy a tidal wave that disrupted the stillness. His dark hair was tousled, his grin wide and infectious, his basketball jersey clinging to his lean frame, still damp from a pickup game. “Y/N,” he said, leaning against your doorframe, his voice brimming with enthusiasm, “there’s a pool party tonight at Jake’s place. It’s gonna be epic—music, drinks, good vibes, the whole deal. You should come.”

You looked up from your laptop, where you’d been wrestling with an essay, the cursor blinking impatiently on a half-finished sentence. Your room was a cocoon of comfort, the soft hum of your playlist filling the space, the familiar weight of your oversized hoodie grounding you. The idea of a crowded party, with its noise and scrutiny, sent a knot of anxiety twisting in your stomach. “I don’t know, Minho,” you said, your voice soft, your fingers pausing on the keyboard. “Parties aren’t really my thing. Too many people, too much… everything.”

Minho’s grin didn’t waver, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he stepped into the room, his sneakers squeaking faintly on the hardwood floor. “Come on, Y/N,” he coaxed, plopping onto the edge of your bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “You’re always cooped up in here, nose buried in books or staring at that screen. Live a little! It’ll be fun, I promise. Jake’s got this huge backyard, a pool that’s practically begging to be splashed in, and there’s gonna be a DJ. Plus, I’ll be there, so you won’t be alone.”

You chewed your lip, your gaze drifting to the window, where the oak tree swayed gently, its leaves catching the fading sunlight. The thought of being surrounded by strangers, their eyes on you, their laughter loud and carefree, made your chest tighten. You weren’t like Minho, with his easy charm and magnetic energy. You were the quiet one, the one who blushed at compliments, who hid behind baggy clothes to avoid the mirror’s judgment. But there was something in his voice, a genuine warmth, that made you hesitate. You were bored, restless, the monotony of your routine weighing heavy. Another night alone, with only your thoughts and the glow of your laptop, felt unbearable.

“Fine,” you sighed, closing your laptop with a soft click, your shoulders slumping in mock defeat. “But if it’s awful, I’m blaming you, and I’m leaving early. Deal?”

“That’s the spirit!” Minho laughed, his voice booming as he ruffled your hair, his fingers tangling briefly in the loose waves. “You’re gonna have a blast, I swear. Wear something nice, yeah? None of those potato-sack hoodies.” He winked, dodging the pillow you tossed at him, and bounded out of the room, his laughter echoing down the hallway.

The decision settled over you like a storm cloud, both thrilling and terrifying. You sat there for a moment, your heart thudding, the essay forgotten. A pool party meant swimsuits, tight clothes, bodies on display—everything you avoided. But a small, rebellious part of you, buried deep beneath the layers of self-doubt, whispered that maybe, just maybe, you could be different tonight. Maybe you could step out of the shadows, even if just for a few hours.

That evening, you stood in front of your full-length mirror, the soft glow of your bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room. Your closet was a battlefield, clothes strewn across the bed—baggy sweaters, loose jeans, the armor you’d worn for years to hide the body you couldn’t love. But tonight, you wanted to try something new, something bold. You wanted to feel pretty, even if the mirror disagreed.

You pulled out a dress you’d bought on a whim months ago, a deep emerald green that had caught your eye in the store, its fabric soft and slightly shimmery, promising to hug your curves in a way that both excited and terrified you. It was sleeveless, with a scooped neckline that dipped just low enough to hint at cleavage, the hem falling to mid-thigh, designed to cling to every dip and swell of your body. You held it up, the fabric cool against your fingers, and hesitated, your reflection staring back with familiar accusations—your hips too wide, your stomach too soft, your arms too thick.

You almost put it back, your hand reaching for the safety of an oversized T-shirt, but that small voice in your head pushed back, louder now. Just try. Just once. You took a deep breath, the air catching in your throat, and slipped the dress on, the fabric sliding over your skin like a second skin, cool and smooth. It hugged your curves, accentuating the fullness of your breasts, the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips. You smoothed it down, your hands trembling, and turned to the mirror, your heart pounding.

The reflection was both you and not you. The dress transformed you, highlighting the body you’d always hidden, making you feel exposed yet powerful. Your curves were undeniable, soft and lush, the green fabric catching the light, shimmering like a jewel. But doubt crashed over you like a wave, your insecurities screaming that you didn’t belong in this dress, that you weren’t the kind of girl who could wear something so revealing, so confident. Your fingers tugged at the hem, your eyes lingering on the soft roll of your stomach, the thickness of your thighs, the way your arms looked bare and vulnerable without sleeves.

You sat on the edge of the bed, your breath shaky, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. You wanted to change, to retreat to the safety of baggy clothes, but you were tired—tired of hiding, tired of feeling less than, tired of letting your fears dictate your life. You stood, squaring your shoulders, and forced yourself to keep going. You weren’t doing this for anyone else, you told yourself. This was for you, a small act of defiance against the voice in your head that said you weren’t enough.

You moved to your vanity, the surface cluttered with books and half-empty coffee mugs, and began your makeup, keeping it simple but deliberate. You brushed mascara onto your lashes, the black lengthening them, making your eyes pop, their color deepened by the green of the dress. A touch of blush warmed your cheeks, softening the flush of nerves that lingered there. You hesitated over lipstick, your fingers hovering over a safe nude shade, but then reached for a glossy pink, its shimmer catching the light, bold and unapologetic. You applied it carefully, the gloss slick and cool against your lips, the color brightening your face, giving you a spark of confidence.

You let your hair down, the loose waves cascading over your shoulders, framing your face in soft, dark tendrils. You ran your fingers through it, fluffing it slightly, the strands catching the lamplight, their natural shine a quiet beauty you rarely noticed. You slipped on a pair of silver hoop earrings, a gift from your mother, their delicate weight a comforting reminder of her love. You stood back, taking in the full effect, and for a moment, you felt beautiful—not perfect, not like the girls you saw in magazines, but beautiful in your own way, soft and real and alive.

But the mirror was still an enemy, its judgment harsh, and doubt lingered, a cold weight in your chest. You smoothed the dress one last time, your hands lingering on your hips, and took a deep breath, the air filling your lungs, steadying you. You grabbed a small clutch, slipping your phone and keys inside, and headed downstairs, your heels clicking softly on the hardwood, each step a small victory over your fears.

Minho was waiting by the front door, his eyes widening as he saw you, a low whistle escaping his lips. “Damn, Y/N,” he said, his grin wide, his tone teasing but warm. “You clean up nice. Who are you, and what have you done with my hoodie-obsessed sister?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, your cheeks flushing, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Let’s just go before I change my mind.”

He laughed, slinging an arm around your shoulders, his warmth grounding you as you stepped out into the evening, the air warm and heavy with the scent of blooming jasmine. The drive to Jake’s house was short, Minho’s car filled with the low thrum of his favorite rap playlist, his chatter about the party a distraction from the nerves twisting in your stomach. You clutched your clutch, your fingers tracing the soft leather, your heart thudding with a mix of anticipation and dread.

Jake’s house was a sprawling modern marvel, its backyard transformed into a vibrant oasis of light and sound. The pool glowed turquoise under a canopy of string lights, their golden glow casting intricate patterns across the water, the surface rippling gently with the evening breeze. The air was alive with music, a pulsing beat that vibrated through the ground, mingling with the laughter and chatter of the crowd. The scent of chlorine mixed with the smoky aroma of grilled burgers and the sweet tang of fruity cocktails, creating a sensory tapestry that enveloped you.

People milled about, their bodies a kaleidoscope of color and movement—girls in bikinis and crop tops, their skin glistening with sunscreen and sweat, their laughter bright and carefree; guys in swim trunks and T-shirts, their voices loud and boisterous, beers in hand. The crowd was a mix of familiar faces from Minho’s circle and strangers, their energy intoxicating but overwhelming. You felt out of place immediately, your dress suddenly too tight, too revealing, the fabric clinging to your curves in a way that made you hyper-aware of every inch of your body. The girls around you were stunning, their bodies sculpted and confident, their movements fluid and assured, their beauty a stark contrast to the softness you carried. You tugged at the hem of your dress, your fingers trembling, wishing you could disappear into the shadows.

Minho was already mingling, his laughter carrying over the crowd as he clapped a friend on the back, his ease a reminder of how different you were. You stuck to the edges, finding a spot near a table laden with drinks, the ice in the pitchers glinting under the lights. You grabbed a fruity cocktail, the glass cool and slick with condensation, the liquid a vibrant pink that matched your lipstick. You sipped it, the sweet-tart flavor burning slightly on the way down, grounding you as you pulled out your phone, scrolling through notifications to avoid eye contact. The screen’s glow was a small comfort, a barrier between you and the chaos of the party.

But then you felt it—a prickle at the back of your neck, a heat that wasn’t from the warm night air. You glanced up, and there he was—Jeon Jungkook, stepping out of the house, his presence like a thunderclap in your chest, stealing the air from your lungs. He wore a fitted black T-shirt that clung to his muscled frame, the fabric stretching over his broad shoulders, his tattoos peeking out from under the short sleeves, intricate lines of ink that told stories you’d never heard. His dark jeans hugged his thighs, the denim worn and soft, his boots scuffed but polished, adding to his effortless edge. His hair was longer now, curling at the nape of his neck, a few damp strands falling into his eyes, likely from a quick dip in the pool or a splash from a friend. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those dark, piercing eyes—found you across the yard, and for a moment, he froze, his body tensing as if struck.

His gaze raked over you, slow and deliberate, a predator sizing up its prey. He took in the emerald dress, the way it hugged your curves, accentuating the fullness of your hips, the dip of your waist, the soft swell of your breasts. The dress was sheer enough in the flickering light of the string lights to reveal the faint outline of your hardened nipples, a detail you hadn’t considered until his eyes lingered there, his breath hitching, his knuckles whitening as his fist clenched at his side. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking, and you caught a glimpse of something raw in his expression—anger, desire, a storm of emotions that made your skin prickle, your heart race.

You didn’t understand his reaction, couldn’t fathom why he’d care what you wore, why the sight of you in something so unlike your usual baggy armor would elicit such a response. But the intensity of his stare was undeniable, a physical force that pinned you in place, your body humming with a mix of nerves and something deeper, something that had always simmered beneath the surface when it came to Jungkook. Your cheeks burned, your fingers tightening around your glass, the condensation dripping onto your hand, cool and grounding.

You turned away, your heart pounding, your breath shallow, the drink trembling in your grip. You focused on your phone, the screen blurring as you scrolled blindly, trying to quell the butterflies in your stomach, the heat spreading through you. But your back felt hot, sweaty, as if his gaze was still on you, a weight you couldn’t shake. The party swirled around you, a kaleidoscope of laughter and music, but you were caught in a bubble, your world narrowed to the memory of his eyes, the storm in his expression, the unspoken promise of something you didn’t dare name.

The pool party pulsed with life, a kaleidoscope of sound and color that swirled around you like a storm you couldn’t escape. The backyard of Jake’s sprawling house was a sensory overload, the air thick with the mingled scents of chlorine, charred burgers sizzling on the grill, and the faint, sweet perfume of blooming jasmine carried on the warm breeze. The pool glowed an ethereal turquoise under the delicate web of string lights, its surface rippling with reflections of fairy lights strung along the wooden fence, casting a dreamy shimmer across the scene. Laughter and voices blended into a chaotic symphony, punctuated by the thumping bass of a pop song blaring from hidden speakers, the rhythm vibrating through the ground and into your bones. People milled about, their bodies silhouetted against the glow, plastic cups filled with neon-colored drinks clutched in their hands, their movements loose and carefree under the influence of alcohol and the night’s reckless energy.

You stood at the edge of the gathering, your emerald green dress clinging to your curves in a way that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. The fabric was soft but unforgiving, hugging your hips, accentuating the soft swell of your waist, and outlining the full curve of your breasts, leaving little to the imagination. It was a stark departure from the baggy sweaters and loose jeans you’d worn for years, a bold attempt to step out of the shadows of your insecurities. But now, surrounded by the effortless beauty of the other girls—their lithe bodies draped in bikinis and crop tops, their confidence radiating like sunlight—you felt exposed, a raw nerve in a sea of perfection. Your fingers tugged nervously at the hem of the dress, the silky material slipping through your grasp, as if pulling it down could somehow shield you from the weight of their gazes. Your glossy pink lips, carefully painted to catch the light, trembled slightly as you pressed them together, your heart thudding against your ribcage, a caged bird desperate for escape.

You clutched a fruity cocktail, the condensation from the chilled plastic cup slick against your palm, the sweet-tart liquid burning faintly as it slid down your throat. The drink was a lifeline, something to focus on as you scrolled through your phone, the screen’s glow a small comfort against the chaos around you. You tapped aimlessly through notifications—missed texts from a group chat, a new email from a professor—anything to avoid eye contact, to blend into the periphery where you felt safest. Your hair, loose in soft waves, brushed against your bare shoulders, tickling your skin, and you shifted uncomfortably, the dress riding up slightly, exposing more of your thighs than you were used to. The night air was warm, but your skin prickled with unease, a nagging sense that you didn’t belong, that every laugh, every glance, was directed at you, judging, mocking.

You were so absorbed in your phone, your thumb hovering over a mindless social media post, that you didn’t notice the group of girls approaching until their shadows fell over you, their presence a sudden chill despite the heat. There were four of them, each one a vision of effortless beauty, their bodies sculpted and confident, their outfits designed to flaunt every curve and angle. The leader, a blonde with sun-kissed skin, wore a white bikini top that tied in delicate knots around her neck and back, paired with a sheer sarong that clung to her hips, revealing the taut lines of her abdomen. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, swinging with each step, and her smile was bright, almost too bright, like a spotlight meant to dazzle and disorient. Her name, you’d later learn, was Chloe.

“Hey, we haven’t seen you here before,” Chloe said, her voice warm and lilting, like honey poured over glass, her hand extended in a gesture that seemed friendly but carried an undercurrent of scrutiny. Her nails were manicured, painted a glossy coral that caught the light, and her wrist jingled with a stack of thin silver bangles. “I’m Chloe. And you are…?”

You looked up, startled, your phone nearly slipping from your fingers as you fumbled to set your drink on a nearby table, the liquid sloshing slightly. You forced a smile, your cheeks warming with a nervous flush, grateful for what seemed like kindness in a sea of strangers. “I’m Y/N,” you said, shaking her hand, her grip firm but fleeting, her skin cool against your clammy palm. “Minho’s sister.”

“Oh, Minho’s sister!” another girl chimed in, a brunette with a sharp, angular face and eyes that glinted like polished obsidian. Her name, you’d overhear later, was Samantha, and her smile was a little too wide, too calculated, like a predator sizing up its prey. She wore a black crop top that barely covered her ribs, paired with high-waisted denim shorts that showcased her long, tanned legs. A silver navel piercing winked in the light, and her dark hair was sleek, pulled back to emphasize the high cheekbones and the faint smirk playing on her lips. “That’s cool. So, what’s your deal? You don’t come to these things often, huh?”

“No, not really,” you admitted, your voice soft, almost lost in the hum of the party. You clutched your phone tighter, your fingers pressing into the case, the edges biting into your skin. “I’m usually studying or… you know, keeping to myself.” The confession felt like exposing a wound, but you hoped it would endear you to them, make you seem relatable, harmless.

The other two girls, a redhead with freckles dusting her shoulders and a petite girl with jet-black hair, hovered behind, their expressions a mix of curiosity and amusement. The redhead wore a floral bikini, the vibrant colors clashing with her pale skin, and her laugh was high-pitched, almost musical, as she sipped from a neon green drink. The petite girl, dressed in a tight red dress that mirrored your own in boldness, toyed with a strand of her hair, her eyes flicking over you with a scrutiny that made your skin crawl. They introduced themselves as Lila and Mia, their voices overlapping in a practiced cadence, their smiles not quite reaching their eyes.

The conversation began innocently enough, a delicate dance of small talk that lulled you into a false sense of security. Chloe asked about your major—literature, you told her, your voice gaining a touch of confidence as you spoke about your love for books. Lila chimed in with a question about your favorite authors, her tone light, and you answered eagerly, your words tumbling out as you warmed to the topic. Mia asked about your hobbies, and you admitted to enjoying quiet nights with music or sketching, though you downplayed your talent, your cheeks flushing. The alcohol in your system loosened your tongue, and for a moment, you felt included, like you might belong, like these girls saw you as one of them.

But then the air shifted, a subtle change like a cloud passing over the moon. Samantha’s eyes flicked over your dress, her gaze slow and deliberate, taking in the way the fabric clung to your hips, your waist, the soft curve of your stomach. Her smile turned sly, a razor’s edge hidden in the curve of her lips, and you felt a prickle of unease, your fingers tightening around your phone, the screen now dark.

“That dress is… bold,” Samantha said, her voice dripping with something unkind, her eyes narrowing as she leaned forward slightly, her posture predatory. The word bold landed like a stone, heavy with implication, and you felt your stomach twist, the warmth of the conversation turning cold. “Isn’t it a bit tight for you?” she added, her tone laced with a faux concern that didn’t reach her eyes, her lips twitching as if suppressing a laugh.

Your heart stuttered, the confidence you’d built crumbling like sand. You forced a laugh, the sound hollow, your fingers tugging at the hem of your dress again, the fabric suddenly feeling like a second skin you couldn’t shed. “Yeah, I guess it’s different for me,” you said, your voice wavering, your eyes dropping to the ground, where the grass was damp beneath your heels, the blades catching the light.

“Different’s one way to put it,” Chloe added, her laugh sharp, a blade slicing through the air. Her eyes glinted with malice, her ponytail swinging as she tilted her head, her bangles clinking softly. “You should be careful, you know? Not everyone can pull off something like that. It’s a bit… much.” Her words were a velvet glove over a fist, soft but bruising, and you felt yourself shrinking, your shoulders hunching, your arms crossing over your chest as if you could hide.

The other girls joined in, their laughter a cruel chorus that echoed in your ears, each giggle a needle pricking your skin. Lila’s high-pitched laugh was particularly grating, her freckled shoulders shaking as she sipped her drink, her eyes gleaming with amusement. Mia’s smile was tighter, more restrained, but her gaze was no less cutting, her fingers twirling her hair as she watched you squirm. You felt exposed, your dress a spotlight you couldn’t escape, your insecurities screaming that you’d been a fool to think you could be beautiful, to think you could belong here.

“I should probably—” you started, your voice barely a whisper, your throat tight as you tried to step back, your heels sinking into the soft earth. But they closed in, their bodies a wall you couldn’t breach, their scents—floral perfume, coconut sunscreen, and something sharper, like vodka—overwhelming you. Samantha stepped closer, her eyes locked on yours, her smirk widening, her navel piercing glinting like a warning.

“No, seriously,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension, her hand gesturing at your dress, her nails a glossy red that matched the venom in her tone. “You look like you’re about to burst out of it. Maybe stick to something looser next time, you know? For your sake.” Her words were a knife, twisting in your gut, and you felt tears sting your eyes, your vision blurring, your breath hitching as you tried to hold it together.

The laughter grew louder, more brazen, the girls feeding off each other’s cruelty, their voices overlapping in a symphony of malice. “Fat girls shouldn’t wear stuff like that,” Lila said, her voice low and vicious, her floral bikini suddenly garish against her pale skin. “It’s kind of embarrassing, you know?” Her words were a punch, knocking the air from your lungs, and you felt yourself shrinking, your body curling inward, your arms wrapping tighter around yourself.

“Yeah, like, you’re brave for trying,” Mia added, her tone mockingly sympathetic, her red dress clinging to her frame as she tilted her head, her eyes glinting with amusement. “But maybe think about what’s… flattering. You don’t want to look like a joke.” Her words were a venomous whisper, and the tears you’d been holding back spilled over, hot and humiliating, tracing paths down your cheeks, smudging the mascara you’d so carefully applied.

You tried to excuse yourself, your voice breaking, “I need to go,” but they didn’t move, their laughter swelling, their bodies a cage around you. The crowd around you seemed oblivious, their own conversations drowning out your distress, the music a relentless pulse that mocked your pain. You took a step back, your heart pounding, your breath shallow, but Samantha’s hand shot out, her fingers curling around your arm, her grip surprisingly strong for her delicate frame.

“Where you going?” she said, her voice taunting, her eyes gleaming with a sadistic delight. “We’re just trying to help you out.” Her touch was cold, her nails digging slightly into your skin, and you flinched, your tears falling faster, your body trembling with a mix of fear and shame.

And then it happened—Samantha shoved you, her hand firm against your shoulder, the force unexpected and jarring. It wasn’t a hard push, but it was enough to send you stumbling backward, your heels catching on the uneven edge of the pool, the grass slick beneath your feet. You flailed, your arms windmilling, your drink slipping from your hand, the cup tumbling into the water with a soft splash. The world tilted, the lights blurring into streaks of gold and white, and you fell, the cold shock of the pool water swallowing you whole.

The water was a brutal embrace, icy and suffocating, pulling you under with a force that stole your breath. Your dress, already heavy, became an anchor, the fabric clinging to your skin, dragging you down. Panic seized you, your limbs thrashing, your lungs burning as you realized you couldn’t swim, the skill never mastered in your childhood of books and quiet rooms. The girls’ laughter echoed above you, distorted by the water, a cruel, muffled chorus that followed you into the depths. Your vision blurred, the turquoise glow of the pool fading into darkness, your hands clawing at nothing, your heart screaming for air, for salvation, for someone to see you.

The water was a cold, suffocating embrace, its icy grip pulling you under, the weight of your sodden dress dragging you deeper into the turquoise abyss of the pool. Your lungs burned, your arms flailed in desperate, uncoordinated arcs, the muffled laughter of the girls above you a cruel, distorted symphony that echoed through the water. Panic clawed at your chest, your vision blurring as the world tilted, the string lights above the pool fracturing into a kaleidoscope of stars. You couldn’t swim, never had, and the realization that this might be the end seized you with a terror so raw it felt like your heart might burst.

But then there was a disturbance—a violent splash, a ripple of force cutting through the water, and suddenly, strong arms encircled you, their warmth a stark contrast to the frigid pool. They were unyielding, like bands of steel, pulling you upward with a determination that felt almost primal. Your hands grasped blindly, fingers digging into slick, muscled flesh as you were hauled toward the surface, your body pressed against a solid chest that radiated heat and safety. You broke through, gasping, coughing, the air searing your lungs as you clung to your rescuer, your sobs wracking your frame, your tears mingling with the chlorinated water streaming down your face.

It was Jungkook. His face was a mask of unbridled fury, his dark eyes blazing with an intensity that could have set the world aflame, their depths a storm of rage and protectiveness that made your heart stutter. His jaw was clenched so tightly the muscle ticked rhythmically, his lips pressed into a thin, hard line, his wet hair plastered to his forehead, dripping rivulets that traced the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the faint scar above his left eyebrow. His black T-shirt was soaked, clinging to his muscled chest like a second skin, the fabric stretched taut over the broad expanse of his shoulders, revealing the intricate tattoos that snaked across his arms—a wolf’s head on his bicep, a crescent moon on his forearm, their ink stark against his glistening skin. His breath came in sharp, controlled bursts, his chest heaving as he held you, his arms unwavering, their strength a lifeline in the chaos.

He carried you out of the pool in a bridal hold, your trembling body cradled against him as if you weighed nothing, his steps steady despite the water streaming from his clothes, pooling on the stone patio beneath his boots. Your dress, now a traitor, was plastered to your skin, the emerald green fabric turned nearly translucent, clinging to every curve you’d spent years hiding—your soft stomach, your full breasts, the rounded swell of your hips. The outline of your hardened nipples was painfully visible, a detail that made you want to curl into yourself, to disappear under the weight of the crowd’s stares. You sobbed, humiliated, your face buried in the crook of Jungkook’s neck, your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, your fingers clutching the damp fabric of his shirt. His scent enveloped you—sandalwood, musk, and the faint tang of chlorine—a grounding anchor that kept you from spiraling completely. Your tears soaked into his skin, your body shaking with cold, shame, and the raw ache of exposure, each sob a jagged edge that tore at your throat.

The crowd around the pool had fallen silent, their laughter and chatter replaced by a tense, buzzing murmur, their eyes like needles pricking your skin. You could feel their gazes, a mix of curiosity, pity, and judgment, each one a weight that pressed you deeper into Jungkook’s chest. The string lights cast a soft glow over the scene, their warm amber light clashing with the cold reality of your humiliation, the pool’s turquoise surface rippling gently behind you, a mocking reminder of your fall. The air was thick with the scents of summer—chlorine, grilled meat, the sweet undertone of blooming jasmine—and the faint thrum of music pulsed in the background, a cruel contrast to the chaos unfolding.

Jungkook’s eyes never left your face, his expression a storm of emotions—fury, worry, and something deeper, something that made your heart ache even in the midst of your distress. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and urgent, a gravelly rasp that cut through the noise of the crowd, his frown so deep it carved lines into his forehead. His dark eyes searched yours, their intensity piercing, as if he could see every wound, every insecurity laid bare. His wet hair dripped onto his face, the droplets catching the light, and his lips, usually so guarded, trembled slightly, betraying the depth of his concern. He held you like you were precious, a treasure he’d fight the world to protect, his arms steady, his body a shield against the onlookers, his presence a fortress that no one dared breach.

“I—I’m fine,” you hiccuped, your voice barely a whisper, your teeth chattering from the cold and the shock, your words swallowed by another sob. You weren’t fine, not even close. The humiliation was a living thing, coiling around your heart, squeezing until you could barely breathe. You felt exposed, your wet dress a spotlight on every flaw you’d ever hated—your thick thighs, your soft waist, the curves you’d hidden under baggy clothes for years. Your insecurities screamed that you didn’t belong here, that you were a fool for thinking you could step out of your shell, for daring to believe you could be beautiful.

Jungkook’s grip tightened, his fingers pressing into your hips, grounding you, his warmth seeping into your chilled skin. His eyes softened for a moment, a flicker of tenderness breaking through the rage, but his voice was firm, unwavering. “You’re not fine,” he said, his tone low, almost a growl, his breath warm against your cheek. “But you’re safe now, Y/N. I’ve got you. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

Minho appeared through the crowd, his face pale with worry, his eyes wide as he pushed past a group of onlookers, his sneakers squeaking on the wet stone. His hair was mussed, his T-shirt slightly askew, as if he’d been caught off guard by the commotion. “Y/N, what the hell happened?” he asked, his voice tight with panic, his hands hovering as if he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure how. “Are you okay? Who did this?”

Jungkook’s head snapped toward him, his eyes flashing, his expression a blade honed to a razor’s edge. “Give her space,” he snapped, his voice sharp enough to make Minho flinch, his tone carrying a weight that silenced the murmurs around them. Minho stepped back, his hands raised in surrender, his eyes flickering between you and Jungkook, confusion and concern warring on his face. The crowd parted, their whispers growing softer, their stares less brazen under Jungkook’s glare, his presence a storm that demanded respect.

Without another word, Jungkook tightened his hold on you, his arms flexing, the muscles in his shoulders bunching as he carried you toward the house, his strides long and purposeful, his boots leaving wet prints on the stone path. The glass doors to the house loomed ahead, their panes reflecting the fairy lights, the interior a dim haven of quiet compared to the chaos outside. He didn’t look at the crowd, didn’t acknowledge their stares, his focus solely on you, his jaw still clenched, his eyes still burning with a fury that seemed to radiate from his very core.

He kicked the door open with a force that made it swing wide, the wood creaking on its hinges, and carried you into the house, the cool air inside a shock against your wet skin. The hallway was narrow, lined with framed photos and a worn rug, the faint scent of lavender lingering from a candle burning somewhere deeper in the house. He navigated the space with ease, his steps sure, his breath steady now, though his heart pounded against your side, a reminder of the storm still raging within him.

He found a spare bedroom at the end of the hall, its door slightly ajar, and kicked it open, revealing a small, dimly lit room. The single lamp on the nightstand cast a soft, golden glow over the space, illuminating a queen-sized bed with a navy comforter, a wooden dresser cluttered with trinkets, and a chair piled with folded towels. The air was cool, tinged with the faint mustiness of a room rarely used, and the quiet was a stark contrast to the noise outside, the music now a distant hum.

Jungkook set you gently on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering on your arms, his touch warm and steady, his fingers brushing your skin as if to reassure himself you were real, that you were safe. You were shaking, your arms wrapped around yourself, your tears falling freely now, each one a release of the humiliation, the fear, the pain that had built up inside you. Your dress clung to you like a second skin, the wet fabric cold and heavy, accentuating every curve, every flaw, making you feel more exposed than ever. You hunched forward, trying to hide, your sobs quiet but wrenching, your body trembling with the weight of it all.

Jungkook knelt in front of you, his bare knees pressing into the hardwood floor, his eyes level with yours, their intensity softened by a tenderness that made your chest ache. He grabbed a towel from the chair, the fabric soft and slightly frayed, and began wiping your wet hair, his movements careful, almost reverent, as if you were something fragile, something sacred. The towel was warm from the room, its texture a gentle contrast to the cold clinging to your skin, and he worked in silence for a moment, his hands steady, his breath even, though his eyes betrayed the storm still simmering within him.

He pulled his soaked T-shirt over his head, the fabric peeling away from his skin with a wet sound, revealing the full expanse of his tattooed torso. The ink was a masterpiece, a story told in black and gray—a wolf snarling on his shoulder, its eyes fierce; a constellation of stars trailing across his ribs, their points sharp; a crescent moon above his heart, delicate yet powerful, its edges fading into his skin. His body was lean and muscled, the result of years of discipline, his skin glistening with water, the faint sheen catching the lamplight. He handed you the shirt, its warmth a reminder of his body, its scent—sandalwood, musk, and him—enveloping you like a hug.

“Put this on,” he said softly, his voice a low command, steady and sure, his eyes never leaving yours. You took the shirt, your hands trembling, the fabric heavy with water but warm from his skin, and he turned away to give you privacy, his broad back a canvas of more tattoos—a dragon curling down his spine, its scales intricate, its tail disappearing into his waistband. He grabbed the towel again, wiping his own face, his movements quick but controlled, the muscles in his arms flexing with each motion.

You changed into his shirt, the fabric swallowing your frame, the hem falling to your mid-thighs, the sleeves dangling past your hands. It was too big, but it felt like armor, its scent wrapping around you, grounding you, the warmth easing the chill in your bones. Your dress lay in a wet heap on the floor, a discarded reminder of your vulnerability, and you hugged yourself, your face swollen from crying, your eyes red and stinging, your breath still hitching with quiet sobs.

Jungkook turned back, his eyes softening as he took you in, his anger still simmering but tempered by a fierce protectiveness that made your heart ache. He knelt again, the towel in his hands, and began wiping your cheeks, his touch gentle, his thumb brushing away a stray tear, warm and calloused against your skin. “You’re okay,” he said, his voice steady, a vow that anchored you. “You’re safe now, Y/N. I’ve got you.”

His words were a balm, soothing the raw edges of your pain, but the fury in his eyes told you he wasn’t done, that the girls who’d hurt you would face his wrath. He stood, his movements fluid but tense, his fists clenching at his sides, the tattoos on his knuckles—a series of small skulls—standing out against his skin. “I need to handle something,” he said, his voice tight, his eyes flicking to the door, his body radiating a barely contained energy. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already moving, his strides long and purposeful, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that left you alone with your racing thoughts, your heart pounding, and the lingering warmth of his shirt, his scent, his promise to protect you.

The night air outside the house was thick with the scent of chlorine and blooming jasmine, the pool party’s chaotic energy pulsing under the glow of string lights that crisscrossed above the backyard. The music—a pulsing mix of hip-hop and electronic beats—thrummed through the ground, vibrating in Jungkook’s chest as he stormed out of the house, his boots leaving wet prints on the patio stones. His bare torso glistened with remnants of pool water, the tattoos snaking across his chest and arms catching the light—a fierce wolf on his shoulder, its eyes glinting with menace; a constellation of stars on his ribs, sharp and intricate; a crescent moon above his heart, a quiet vow etched in ink. His dark hair was slicked back, dripping, strands clinging to his neck, and his jaw was clenched so tightly the muscle ticked like a metronome. His fists were balled at his sides, knuckles white, the anger coursing through him a living, breathing thing, raw and unrelenting.

Inside, he’d left you in the spare bedroom, fragile and trembling, your tear-streaked face seared into his mind. The image of you—sobbing, curled in on yourself, his oversized shirt swallowing your frame—fueled his rage, each step he took toward the pool a declaration of war. The crowd parted instinctively, sensing the storm in his stride, the predator in his eyes. Conversations faltered, drinks paused midway to lips, eyes darting to the man who moved like a blade through the chaos. The girls who had hurt you were still by the pool, their laughter grating against his nerves, a discordant note in the symphony of the night. They stood in a tight cluster, their bodies draped in skimpy bikinis and sheer cover-ups, their hair gleaming under the lights, their confidence unshaken despite the cruelty they’d inflicted.

Chloe, the blonde with a bikini top that barely contained her, spotted him first. Her eyes lit up, a coy smile curving her lips as she sauntered forward, her hips swaying with practiced ease, her sarong fluttering against her thighs. She was used to attention, used to men bending to her charm, and she saw Jungkook as a prize she’d long coveted. “Jungkook, hey!” she purred, her voice syrupy sweet, dripping with false warmth. She reached out, her manicured nails grazing his arm, but he jerked away, his eyes cold, a wall of ice between them. “We were just—”

He didn’t let her finish. His hand shot up, a single finger pointing at Samantha, the brunette who had shoved you into the pool, her sharp gaze faltering under the weight of his stare. Samantha stood a step behind Chloe, her arms crossed, her lips pursed in a defiant smirk, but the confidence in her posture wavered as Jungkook’s eyes locked onto her, dark and unyielding, like twin voids that swallowed light. “You,” he said, his voice a low growl, each syllable laced with venom, sharp enough to cut through the music, the chatter Eritrean the night itself. “You think you can talk to her like that? Push her into a fucking pool? Humiliate her in front of everyone?”

The girls froze, their smiles evaporating, their eyes wide with sudden fear, like deer caught in a hunter’s sights. The crowd around them stilled, a ripple of silence spreading, the music fading into a distant hum as all eyes turned to the confrontation. Samantha’s hands dropped to her sides, her fingers twisting nervously, her bravado crumbling under Jungkook’s unrelenting gaze. “It was just a joke, Jungkook,” she stammered, her voice small, cracking at the edges, her eyes darting to her friends for support that didn’t come. “We didn’t mean—”

“A joke?” he spat, stepping closer, his presence towering over them, a mountain of rage and resolve. His voice was a blade, low and lethal, cutting through her excuses. “You call making her cry, making her feel like she’s nothing, a fucking joke? You think you can tear her down and laugh about it? You’re pathetic. All of you. Not one of you is worth a single piece of her.”

The air was thick with tension, the crowd a silent audience, their breaths held, their eyes flicking between Jungkook and the girls, who now looked small, exposed, their earlier arrogance stripped away. Chloe tried to interject, her voice shaking, her hands fluttering like trapped birds. “Jungkook, we didn’t know it would upset her that much,” she said, her tone pleading, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. “We were just messing around, you know? It wasn’t personal.”

“Wasn’t personal?” he roared, his voice rising, a thunderclap that silenced the last whispers of the crowd. His fists clenched tighter, the veins in his forearms standing out, his body vibrating with barely contained fury. “You surrounded her, mocked her, called her names, and pushed her into a pool she couldn’t swim in. You made her feel like she didn’t belong, like she wasn’t enough. And you have the fucking nerve to call that a joke? You’re disgusting. You’re empty, shallow, and fucking worthless compared to her.”

Samantha’s lip trembled, her eyes welling with tears, her earlier smirk replaced by a look of raw panic. She took a step back, her heels clicking against the stone, her hands clutching her arms as if to shield herself from his words. “We’re sorry, okay?” she whispered, her voice barely audible, her face pale, her confidence shattered. “We didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think,” Jungkook cut her off, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, each word deliberate, heavy with intent. “You didn’t think about her feelings, her pain, her fucking heart. You heard every word you said—I heard it too. Calling her fat, making fun of her body, laughing like you’re better than her. You’re not. You’ll never be. She’s kind, she’s smart, she’s beautiful—more than you’ll ever understand. She’s got a heart you could never touch, a strength you could never match.”

The crowd was a sea of faces now, some shocked, some nodding, others whispering, but Jungkook didn’t see them. His world was narrowed to the girls before him, to the memory of your tears, your trembling body, the way you’d clung to him, broken and humiliated. His chest heaved, his breath ragged, his tattoos seeming to pulse with his anger, the wolf on his shoulder snarling in silent agreement. “You think you can hurt her and walk away?” he continued, his voice a low snarl, his eyes never leaving Samantha’s. “Think again. If you were guys, you’d be on the ground right now, bleeding, or in that pool, choking on your own fucking cruelty. You’re lucky I don’t touch girls. But I have connections—people who owe me, people who listen. I’ll make sure you never step foot in a place like this again. You don’t get to hurt her—don’t even get to breathe near her—without consequences.”

The girls were silent, their faces pale, their tears falling freely now, their bodies shrinking under the weight of his words, his presence. Chloe’s shoulders shook, her hands covering her face, her sobs muffled but audible. Samantha was trembling, her eyes red, her defiance gone, replaced by a raw, humiliated fear. The other two girls—whose names Jungkook didn’t care to know—stood frozen, their eyes downcast, their hands clasped tightly, as if praying for the ground to swallow them.

Jungkook took a step back, his fists still clenched, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his eyes sweeping over them one last time, a final judgment. “Don’t ever come near her again,” he said, his voice low and final, a warning carved in stone. “You’re done here. All of you.”

He turned away, his boots heavy against the stone, his shoulders squared, his rage still simmering but tempered by the knowledge that he’d protected you, that he’d made them pay for their cruelty. The crowd parted for him, their whispers a low hum, their eyes following him, some with awe, some with fear, others with quiet respect. He didn’t look back, didn’t care about the girls’ humiliated sobs, the way they clung to each other, their social standing shattered in front of everyone. His only thought was you, waiting in that room, fragile and hurting, and the need to hold you, to make you see what he saw when he looked at you—beauty, strength, a heart worth fighting for.

The night air cooled his skin as he strode back toward the house, the music swelling again, the party resuming its chaotic rhythm, but Jungkook was untouched by it, his heart a steady drumbeat, his purpose clear. He’d defended you, claimed you in a way that went beyond words, and now he’d return to you, to the woman who’d owned him for years, to show you the love he’d kept locked away, now breaking free like a river through a shattered dam.

The door clicked shut behind Jungkook, the sound sharp and final in the quiet bedroom, a stark contrast to the chaotic hum of the pool party outside. The air was cool, tinged with the faint scent of lavender from a candle on the dresser, and the dim light of a single lamp cast soft shadows across the room, painting the walls in hues of gold and amber. You sat on the edge of the bed, your hands clutching the towel you’d been using to dry your hair, Jungkook’s oversized T-shirt enveloping your frame like a protective cocoon. The fabric was warm, imbued with his scent—sandalwood, musk, and a hint of cigarette smoke from earlier in the evening, a heady mix that wrapped around you like a second skin. The hem of the shirt rode up, exposing the soft curves of your thighs, your lack of underwear making you acutely aware of your vulnerability. Your hard nipples pressed against the cotton, their outline visible in the low light, and the curve of your ass was just discernible when you shifted, a fact that didn’t escape Jungkook’s notice as he stood there, his bare chest glistening with lingering pool water, his tattoos stark against his skin—a wolf snarling on his shoulder, a constellation of stars trailing across his ribs, a crescent moon etched above his heart.

His eyes were dark, almost black, a storm of emotions swirling within them—anger, desire, something primal and possessive that made your breath hitch. His jaw was clenched, the muscle ticking rhythmically, his fists balled at his sides, the veins in his forearms standing out in sharp relief. His anger was a living thing, a furnace that radiated heat, his chest heaving with each ragged breath, the air around him crackling with intensity. He looked like a predator, his body taut, his muscles coiled, ready to strike, but his gaze, when it landed on you, softened just enough to reveal the tenderness beneath the fury—a tenderness that made your heart stutter, your body humming with a mix of fear and longing.

You gasped when you saw him, your fingers tightening around the towel, instinctively pulling the shirt down to cover your bare thighs, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. The movement only drew his attention lower, his eyes flickering to the exposed skin, the outline of your nipples, the subtle curve of your ass, and his breath caught, a low, guttural sound escaping his throat. “Jungkook,” you said, your voice soft, trembling, a mix of nerves and something deeper—hope, perhaps, or the faint stirrings of desire. Your eyes darted to his chest, the tattoos that told stories you longed to unravel, then away, too shy to hold his gaze, too afraid of what you’d see.

He crossed the room in two long strides, his boots silent on the hardwood floor, his presence overwhelming, filling the space with the heat of his anger and the weight of his want. He knelt before you, his bare chest inches from your knees, the warmth of his skin radiating against you, the scent of him stronger now, intoxicating. His eyes were level with yours, dark and fierce, but his touch was gentle as he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin, warm and calloused, grounding you in the storm of your emotions. “You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, but still laced with the anger that simmered beneath the surface, a low growl that vibrated in your chest. His breath was warm, faintly minty from the gum he’d been chewing earlier, and it ghosted over your lips, making you shiver.

You nodded, your voice small, your eyes flickering to the crescent moon tattoo above his heart, then back to the floor, embarrassed by the intensity of his stare. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your throat tight, your tears threatening to spill again. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene. I just… I thought I could be different tonight. I thought I could be pretty.”

His heart broke at your words, a visible crack in his fierce exterior, his jaw tightening further, his eyes blazing with a fury that wasn’t directed at you but at the world that had made you feel this way. His anger was a wildfire, scorching everything in its path, his fists clenching so tightly his knuckles whitened, the veins in his arms pulsing with the effort to contain it. “Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice firm, a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine, his hand tilting your chin to force you to meet his gaze. His eyes were molten, fierce and raw, but his touch was tender, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone, wiping away a stray tear. “You didn’t cause anything. Those girls—they’re nothing. They’re fucking worthless compared to you. They don’t get to make you feel like you’re less than you are. And you are pretty, Y/N. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

You looked away, your insecurities surging like a tide, your tears spilling over, hot and silent, trailing down your cheeks. “But they’re right,” you said, your voice breaking, your hands twisting the towel, the rough texture grounding you even as your heart crumbled. “I’m not like them. I’m not thin, I’m not… I don’t belong in a dress like that. I’m just—”

“Stop,” he growled, his voice sharp, cutting through your words like a blade, his hands framing your face, his fingers firm but gentle, his eyes burning into yours with an intensity that stole your breath. His anger was palpable, a storm that threatened to consume everything, his chest heaving, his breath ragged, but his touch was a lifeline, anchoring you. “Don’t you dare say that. You’re beautiful, Y/N. You’ve always been beautiful. I’ve seen you, all these fucking years, hiding in those baggy clothes, thinking you’re not enough. But you are. You’re more than enough. You’re everything.”

You stared at him, stunned, your heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the world, his words sinking into the cracks of your self-doubt, filling them with a warmth you’d never known. “You… you don’t mean that,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your tears falling faster now, your lips quivering. “You’re just saying that because you feel sorry for me. Because you saw what happened out there.”

“Sorry?” he scoffed, his eyes darkening, his voice rough with emotion, a bitter laugh escaping him that was more pain than humor. His anger flared, his jaw clenching so tightly you could see the muscle jump, his hands trembling against your face, his body radiating heat. “Y/N, I don’t feel sorry for you. I’m fucking in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for years—every single day since I walked into this house and saw you on that couch, blushing, hiding behind your book. I’ve watched you, wanted you, every time you’d come out of your room, tripping over your words, thinking you weren’t worth seeing. And every fucking time, I had to bite my tongue, had to stop myself from grabbing you, kissing you, telling you how wrong you were. I stayed away because you’re Minho’s sister, because I thought I was too fucked up, too broken to deserve you. But I can’t anymore. Not after tonight. Not after seeing you in that dress, so fucking beautiful, and then watching those bitches try to tear you down. I can’t keep this inside anymore.”

You froze, your breath catching, your mind reeling, his confession a tidal wave that swept away your doubts, leaving you raw and exposed. His eyes were fierce, blazing with a love so intense it bordered on pain, his hands steady despite the tremor in his fingers, his breath hot and uneven. “You… you love me?” you asked, your voice barely audible, your eyes searching his, desperate for the truth, your heart a wild thing in your chest, beating so fast it hurt.

“Yes,” he said, his voice breaking, raw and unguarded, his hands tightening on your face, his thumbs wiping your tears with a tenderness that contrasted the fury in his eyes. “I love you, Y/N. I love your mind, your heart, your body—every fucking inch of you, every curve, every scar, every so-called flaw you hate. I’ve always seen you, always wanted you. I’ve been dying inside, keeping this locked up, watching you hide, thinking you weren’t enough when you’re everything to me. You’re my fucking world, and I can’t stand another second of you not knowing that.”

You sobbed, overwhelmed, your heart cracking open, love and fear and hope spilling out in a torrent. His words were a balm, a fire, a promise that unraveled you, your tears falling freely, your body trembling. Jungkook leaned closer, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath warm and uneven, his lips so close you could feel their heat, his hands steadying you, grounding you in the chaos of your emotions. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice a vow, thick with emotion, his eyes softening, though the anger still simmered beneath, a protective edge that made you feel cherished. “Every curve, every inch of you—it’s all perfect to me. Don’t let anyone—especially those fucking bitches—make you think otherwise. I’ll burn the world down before I let anyone hurt you again.”

The air between you was electric, charged with years of unspoken longing, a current that hummed with need and love and raw, unfiltered want. His eyes searched yours, fierce and pleading, and then he kissed you, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that stole your breath, a desperate, consuming force that felt like it could devour you whole. The kiss was fire, his mouth hot and demanding, his tongue sweeping against yours, tasting your tears, your need, your surrender. His hands slid to your neck, his fingers tangling in your damp hair, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss, a low groan rumbling in his chest as you kissed him back, tentative at first, then with a fire that matched his, your hands clutching his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, needing to anchor yourself against the storm of him.

The kiss was messy, raw, teeth clashing, breaths mingling, a dance of need and want that left you dizzy. His hands roamed, reverent, sliding down your arms, your sides, settling on your waist, pulling you onto his lap, the movement fluid, effortless, his strength a quiet promise. The T-shirt rode up, exposing your bare thighs, your lack of underwear making you gasp as you felt the rough denim of his jeans against your skin, the heat of his erection pressing against you, hard and insistent. “Fuck,” he groaned, pulling back, his lips swollen, his eyes dark with desire, his breath ragged. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N. I’ve dreamed of this, of you, for so fucking long.”

You blushed, your insecurities flaring, a whisper of doubt creeping in, but his hands held you firm, his eyes locking onto yours, fierce and adoring, his anger a shadow that lingered, protective and fierce. “Don’t hide from me,” he said, his voice low, a command wrapped in a plea, his fingers tightening on your hips, grounding you. “Let me see you. All of you. I need you, Y/N. I’ve always needed you.”

You nodded, your breath hitching, your heart pounding, and he tugged the T-shirt over your head, baring you to him, your body exposed—your full breasts, heavy and soft, your nipples hard and aching, your soft stomach, the curve of your hips, your thick thighs, the glistening heat between your legs. His eyes darkened, his breath catching, a low, primal growl escaping his throat as he took you in, his hands trembling as he reached for you, his touch worshipful, reverent, as if you were a sacred thing he was afraid to break. “Fuck,” he breathed, his voice thick with awe, his eyes raking over you, drinking you in, his anger giving way to a hunger so intense it made you shiver. “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”

His hands cupped your breasts, his palms warm and rough, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through you, your breath catching, your back arching instinctively. He groaned, his eyes fixed on your breasts, his touch deliberate, kneading the soft flesh, his fingers rolling your nipples, pinching lightly, drawing a gasp from your lips. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough, his lips brushing your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. He lowered his mouth, his tongue flicking over one nipple, warm and wet, circling slowly, teasing, before he sucked it into his mouth, the suction firm, making you moan, your hands tangling in his hair, the sensation sharp and electric. He lavished attention on your breasts, his mouth moving between them, kissing, licking, sucking, his hands kneading, his groans vibrating against your skin, the pleasure building, a fire that spread through you, pooling between your thighs.

“Jungkook,” you moaned, your voice needy, your head tipping back, your fingers digging into his scalp, the heat of his mouth overwhelming, the scent of him—sweat, cologne, desire—filling your senses. He pulled back, his lips glistening, his eyes dark and hungry, his hands sliding to your hips, guiding you to lie back on the bed, his body hovering over you, his bare chest brushing against your skin, the heat of him grounding you.

“I’ve wanted to taste you forever,” he murmured, his voice rough, his eyes meeting yours, dark and intense, a promise that made your heart race. He kissed his way down your body, his lips soft and deliberate, lingering on your stomach, kissing the soft flesh you’d always hated, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging in, possessive and adoring. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin, his lips brushing the curve of your hip, his tongue darting out to taste you, making you shiver. “Every inch of you, Y/N. I’m fucking obsessed.”

He spread your thighs, his hands strong and steady, his eyes fixed on your throbbing core, wet and aching, the sight making his breath hitch, a low groan escaping his throat. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he said, his voice thick with awe, his fingers brushing your folds, light and teasing, making you shudder, your hips lifting instinctively. “All for me, baby. All fucking mine.”

“Jungkook,” you whispered, embarrassed, your hands clutching the sheets, trying to close your legs, but he held them open, his eyes fierce, his lips curling into a predatory smile, his anger a quiet undercurrent, a protective edge that made you feel safe, cherished.

“Don’t hide,” he growled, his voice low and commanding, his hands firm on your thighs, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. “You’re mine, Y/N. Let me make you feel good. Let me fucking worship you.”

He lowered his mouth, his breath hot and teasing, his lips brushing your inner thigh, kissing softly, his tongue darting out to taste you, the sensation making you gasp, your body trembling. Then his tongue was on you, lapping at your folds, slow and deliberate, the warmth and wetness overwhelming, a contrast to the cool air of the room. He licked you like you were a delicacy, his tongue broad and flat, dragging through your slickness, savoring every inch, his groans vibrating against you, sending shivers through your core. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he groaned, his voice muffled, his lips closing around your clit, sucking gently, the suction making you cry out, your hips bucking against his face.

His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open, his fingers digging into your soft flesh, bruising but grounding, his tongue relentless, circling your clit, flicking it, teasing, then sucking again, the rhythm driving you wild. His nose brushed against you, the pressure adding to the sensation, his breath hot and ragged, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, dark and obsessed, watching you unravel. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing your clit, his tongue dipping into your entrance, tasting you deeper, the stretch of his tongue making you moan, your hands fisting the sheets, your body arching.

He added his fingers, sliding one inside you, then two, the stretch delicious, a burn that mingled with the pleasure, his fingers curling, finding that spot inside you that made you see stars, pumping in rhythm with his tongue, building a pressure that made your head spin. “Come for me, baby,” he growled, his voice rough, his lips sucking your clit, his fingers thrusting, the wet sounds filling the room, mingling with your moans, his groans, the creak of the bed. “Let me feel you. I need it, Y/N. I need you.”

You shattered, your orgasm crashing over you, a white-hot wave that left you trembling, your walls pulsing around his fingers, your clit throbbing against his tongue, your cries loud and desperate, echoing in the quiet room. He didn’t stop, his tongue and fingers working you through it, drawing every last shudder, every moan, his eyes never leaving your face, his obsession palpable, his love a fire that consumed you. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice soft now, his lips kissing your trembling thighs, his fingers slowing, gentle, coaxing you down.

He crawled back up, his lips glistening with your release, his eyes blazing, his breath ragged as he kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself, the flavor musky and intimate, mingling with his own taste, a heady mix that made you dizzy. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispered, his voice rough, his hands framing your face, his eyes soft and fierce, his anger a quiet ember now, overshadowed by love, by need. “I’m never letting you go, Y/N. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

The kiss reignited, desperate and hungry, your bodies pressed close, the heat of him grounding you, his erection hard against your thigh, straining through his jeans, hot and insistent. You reached for him, your hands trembling, tugging at his belt, your fingers fumbling, needing more, needing all of him. He groaned, helping you, shedding his jeans and boxers, his cock springing free—thick, hard, the tip glistening with precum, veins prominent, a sight that made your mouth water, your core clenching with anticipation. He was big, bigger than you’d imagined, and the thought of him inside you sent a thrill through you, tinged with a flicker of fear.

He saw your hesitation, his eyes softening, his hands cupping your face, his thumb brushing your swollen lips, tender and reassuring. “We don’t have to,” he said, his voice gentle, his eyes searching yours, his body trembling with restraint, his anger buried beneath his love, his need to protect you. “Not if you’re not ready, baby. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

“I want to,” you said, your voice firm, your hands wrapping around his cock, stroking lightly, feeling the heat, the hardness, the silky skin, drawing a low moan from his lips, his hips twitching. “I want you, Jungkook. I’ve always wanted you. I’m ready. I need you inside me.”

His eyes darkened, his control fraying, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he kissed you hard, his lips bruising, his tongue claiming, his hands guiding you onto your back, his body hovering over you, his tattoos stark in the dim light, his muscles flexing with every movement. He positioned himself between your thighs, his cock brushing your entrance, the heat of him making you shiver, your slickness coating him, easing the way. “You sure?” he asked, his voice tight, his eyes searching yours, his body trembling, his breath hot and uneven, his anger a distant memory, replaced by love, by need.

“Yes,” you breathed, your hands gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, leaving crescent marks, your body aching for him. “Please, Jungkook. I need you. I love you.”

His eyes softened, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features, and then he pushed inside you, slow and steady, the stretch intense, a delicious burn that made you gasp, your walls clenching around him, the sensation overwhelming. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh, his head dropping to your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, the scent of his sweat mingling with his cologne, filling your senses. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he rasped, his voice thick with need, his hips rocking gently, giving you time to adjust, his cock filling you, stretching you, the friction sparking pleasure with every inch.

The sensation was exquisite, his cock thick and hot, pulsing inside you, the stretch a perfect balance of pain and pleasure, your slickness easing the way, your body welcoming him, molding around him like you were made for each other. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your hands roaming his back, feeling the flex of his muscles, the heat of his skin, the faint scars from old fights, a map of his past you longed to explore. “More,” you whispered, your voice needy, your hips lifting to meet his, the pleasure building, a fire that spread through you, pooling in your core, making you ache for more.

He obliged, his thrusts deepening, harder, his control slipping, his groans low and primal, vibrating against your skin. Each thrust was deliberate, his cock dragging against your walls, hitting a spot inside you that made you moan, your body trembling, your nails raking down his back, leaving red lines, marking him as yours. The room filled with the sounds of your bodies—skin slapping, wet and slick, your moans mingling, his groans, the creak of the bed, the headboard thumping against the wall, a rhythm that echoed your need. His hand slipped between you, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight, firm circles, the sensation pushing you to the edge, your breath hitching, your body arching.

“Jungkook,” you moaned, your voice breaking, your head tipping back, your lips parted, your eyes fluttering shut, the pleasure overwhelming, a tidal wave that threatened to drown you. “I’m so close. Please, don’t stop.”

“Never,” he growled, his voice rough, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot and teasing, his thrusts relentless, his cock driving into you, deep and hard, the friction exquisite, the pressure building, sharp and electric. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you. I need to feel you come around me. You’re mine, Y/N. Always fucking mine.”

His words were a spark, igniting you, and you shattered, your orgasm crashing over you, a white-hot wave that left you trembling, your walls pulsing around his cock, squeezing him tight, your cries loud and desperate, echoing in the room, your body shaking, your vision blurring. The pleasure was intense, consuming, your clit throbbing under his fingers, your core clenching, milking him, drawing a low groan from his lips, his hips stuttering, his own release close. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice breaking, his thrusts erratic, his cock pulsing inside you, hot and thick, the sensation prolonging your orgasm, waves of pleasure rolling through you, leaving you breathless.

He followed moments later, his hips slamming into you, a final, deep thrust that made you gasp, his cock pulsing, spilling inside you, hot and thick, his body trembling, his breath ragged, his hands gripping your hips, holding you close, grounding himself in you. “I love you,” he gasped, his voice raw, his lips brushing your neck, your jaw, your lips, soft and reverent, his eyes soft, his anger gone, replaced by love, by adoration. “I love you so fucking much, Y/N. I’m never letting you go.”

You lay there, tangled together, your breaths heavy, your bodies slick with sweat, the air thick with the scent of sex, chlorine, and love. His cock softened inside you, but he didn’t pull out, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close, his lips brushing your forehead, your cheek, your lips, soft and tender, a contrast to the intensity of moments before. “You’re my everything,” he whispered, his voice soft, his hands stroking your hair, your back, your curves, his touch worshipful, his eyes locked on yours, soft and fierce. “I’ll spend my life proving it to you, Y/N. You’re perfect, and I’m yours.”

You melted into him, your heart full, your insecurities quieted, your body sated, your soul safe. His love was a fire, a shield, a promise that wrapped around you, warming the coldest parts of you, making you believe, for the first time, that you were enough. You kissed him, soft and slow, your hands cupping his face, your fingers brushing the faint stubble on his jaw, the warmth of him grounding you, the taste of him—salt, mint, and you—lingering on your lips. “I love you too,” you whispered, your voice breaking, your tears falling, your heart his, now and always.

The morning crept in like an uninvited guest, its soft golden light spilling through the gauzy curtains, casting delicate shadows across the spare bedroom. The air was cool, tinged with the lingering scent of chlorine and the musky warmth of your shared intimacy from the night before. You stirred, your body heavy with a delicious ache, every muscle tender from the fervor of Jungkook’s touch. His arm was draped across your waist, a possessive yet gentle weight, his bare skin warm against yours, his steady breaths a soft rhythm against the nape of your neck. The sheets, tangled and slightly damp, clung to your curves, a reminder of the passion that had consumed you both until exhaustion claimed you.

Jungkook slept soundly, his face serene, a stark contrast to the fierce intensity he’d shown hours ago. His dark hair was mussed, strands falling haphazardly over his forehead, curling slightly at the ends, catching the morning light in a way that made them shimmer like polished obsidian. His lips, full and slightly parted, were softened in repose, a faint flush coloring his cheeks, a remnant of the heat you’d shared. His tattoos stood out vividly against his tanned skin, the wolf on his shoulder seeming to watch you with quiet vigilance, its eyes fierce yet protective. The constellation of stars across his ribs gleamed faintly, each inked dot a testament to the stories he carried, stories you longed to unravel. The crescent moon above his heart, small and delicate, pulsed with a quiet significance, as if it held a piece of his soul.

You lay there for a moment, your gaze tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the faint stubble that shadowed it, the scar above his left eyebrow—a thin, silvery line you’d noticed years ago but never dared ask about. He was beautiful, a living sculpture of strength and vulnerability, and the sight of him, so peaceful, so close, made your heart swell with a love that felt too big for your chest. But as you watched him, doubt crept in, cold and insidious, a serpent slithering into the warmth of your afterglow. It whispered cruel truths, its voice sharp and unrelenting, picking at the fragile seams of your newfound confidence.

What if this was a mistake? What if the night before—his fierce confessions, his worshipful touch, his desperate kisses—was nothing more than a fleeting impulse, born of anger at those girls or pity for your tears? The memory of the pool party crashed over you like a wave, vivid and raw: the girls’ mocking laughter, their cruel words slicing through you, the cold shock of the water closing over your head, your dress clinging to your body, exposing every curve you’d spent years hiding. You saw yourself as they saw you—too heavy, too soft, too much—and the thought that Jungkook might have acted out of some noble obligation, rather than genuine desire, twisted your heart into knots.

You shifted, careful not to wake him, your movements slow and deliberate, as if any sudden motion might shatter the fragile illusion of the night. The sheets rustled softly, the sound barely audible in the quiet room, and you slipped out from under his arm, your skin prickling with the sudden absence of his warmth. Your bare feet touched the hardwood floor, cool and smooth, grounding you as you stood, your breath shallow, your chest tight with the weight of your fears. You glanced around the room, its details sharp in the morning light: the faded floral wallpaper, the small wooden dresser with a chipped corner, the single lamp on the nightstand casting a soft amber glow. It was a stranger’s room, impersonal and temporary, and yet it held the weight of a moment that had changed you forever—or so you’d thought.

Your dress, now dry, hung over the back of a chair, its emerald green fabric a stark reminder of your bold attempt to step out of your shadows. In the morning light, it looked garish, mocking, the color too vibrant, too demanding for someone like you. You moved toward it, your steps hesitant, your fingers trembling as you reached for it. The fabric was cool under your touch, slightly stiff from the pool water, and as you held it up, you saw it anew—not as a symbol of courage, but as a foolish mistake. It had hugged your curves too tightly, revealed too much, invited the cruelty you’d always feared. You imagined the girls’ voices again, their words echoing in your mind: Isn’t it a bit tight for you? Fat girls shouldn’t wear stuff like that. Your throat tightened, your eyes stinging with unshed tears, the dress slipping from your fingers to pool on the floor.

You turned back to Jungkook, your heart aching as you memorized his face one last time. The way his eyelashes fanned against his cheeks, long and dark, the slight furrow in his brow even in sleep, as if he carried some quiet burden. The faint freckle on his cheek, barely visible unless you were close, a secret you’d discovered in the heat of the night. You wanted to reach out, to trace the lines of his face, to hold onto the memory of his touch, his words—I’ve wanted you for years. You’re perfect. But the doubt was louder, its voice drowning out his, convincing you that you were a fleeting moment, a mistake he’d regret when the haze of anger and lust cleared.

You dressed quickly, your movements mechanical, the dress clinging to your skin like a second layer of shame. Every rustle of the fabric was a reminder of your vulnerability, the way it had exposed you to the world, to Jungkook, to yourself. You smoothed it down, your hands shaking, your reflection in the small mirror on the dresser catching your eye. Your face was still swollen from crying, your eyes red-rimmed, your hair a tangled mess of waves that had once felt beautiful but now looked wild, unkempt. You looked like a girl who’d tried too hard, who’d reached for something she could never have, and the sight made your chest ache, your tears threatening to spill.

You glanced at Jungkook one final time, your heart a tangled mess of love and fear, hope and despair. He stirred slightly, a soft murmur escaping his lips, and you froze, your breath catching, terrified he’d wake and see you—see the doubt in your eyes, the insecurity that clung to you like a shadow. But he settled, his arm reaching for the space you’d left, his fingers curling into the sheets, as if searching for you even in sleep. The sight was almost too much, a knife twisting in your chest, and you turned away, your tears falling silently, hot and heavy, as you slipped out of the room.

The door clicked shut behind you, a soft, final sound that echoed in the quiet hallway. The house was still, the party’s chaos long faded, the air heavy with the scent of stale beer and fading summer blooms. You moved through it like a ghost, your steps light, your heart heavy, the morning air cool against your tear-streaked cheeks as you stepped outside. The street was quiet, the neighborhood bathed in the soft pinks and golds of dawn, the world oblivious to the storm raging inside you.

You walked home, your heels clicking against the pavement, the sound a lonely rhythm in the stillness. The dress felt tighter with every step, a reminder of your failure, your humiliation, your foolish hope that you could be more than the shy, insecure girl you’d always been. Jungkook’s words echoed in your mind—I love you. You’re beautiful.—but they were drowned out by the louder, crueler voice of doubt, whispering that you were nothing, that he’d wake and realize his mistake, that you’d never be enough.

Your tears fell freely now, silent and steady, your heart breaking with every step, the weight of your insecurities a burden you carried alone. You didn’t look back, couldn’t bear the thought of the room, of Jungkook, of the night that had felt like a dream but now seemed like a cruel illusion. You walked on, the morning unfolding around you, unaware of the man who’d wake soon, his heart reaching for you, his love a fire that refused to be extinguished.

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luna-thecreator · 3 months ago

Text

Coated

Paring: Jimmy Uso x Fem!reader

Summary: After reuniting with childhood friends, you find yourself caught in a charged moment with Jimmy, filled with lust, tension, and unspoken desires.

Word Count: 4.8k

Tags: SMUT! Language, body fluids, p in v, oral (male receiving), 18+

Your fist slammed against the heavy door, and even from the hallway, you could feel the vibrations of the bass thumping through the walls. The muffled sound of hip-hop spilled into the corridor, mingling with the faint scent of cologne, alcohol, and something that definitely wasn’t Febreze. It was a WWE after-party, loud and unapologetic, exactly what you expected.

The door swung open with a sudden creak, revealing Jey Uso. He looked exactly the same—laid-back energy, signature chain glinting in the dim light, and a grin that could charm anyone. “What’s good, sis? Ain’t seen you in a long-ass time!” he exclaimed, pulling you into a warm, slightly tipsy hug before you could say anything.

“Yeah, I just moved back,” you replied with a soft laugh, trying to match his energy. “Heard about the party, so I figured I’d come check it out.”

Jey stepped aside, motioning you in with a casual sweep of his arm. “Man, you already know how we do it! C’mon in.”

You stepped over the threshold and into the chaos. The room was packed—music blasting, people dancing, bottles popping. The air was electric, full of energy and nostalgia that hit you like a tidal wave. But then reality smacked you a little harder.

Your feet slowed as your eyes locked onto him.

Jimmy Uso. Your other childhood best friend.

Two years. It had been two whole years since you’d seen the twins. Two years since you left WWE to chase down your business dreams. And yet, seeing him again now, it was like no time had passed at all—except he looked… different. Grown. Polished. Dangerous in a way that made your heart do this weird, traitorous flip.

He was across the room, standing with one hand in his pocket, the other clutching a half-full glass of Don Julio. Dressed in all black with crisp white Air Forces and his braids pulled back perfectly, he looked effortless. Effortlessly fine. His dark eyes scanned the room and landed on you, and you swore his smile could’ve lit up the whole damn place.

“Yo, is that—” Jimmy’s voice cut through the music as he started weaving his way through the crowd toward you.

You felt your pulse quicken, but you kept your face calm, playing it cool. Or at least, trying to.

“Yeah, it’s her,” Jey confirmed, smirking like he already knew this reunion was about to get interesting. “She’s back.”

Jimmy reached you in just a few steps, his presence bigger than life. He stopped right in front of you, his gaze sweeping over you like he was trying to memorize every detail.

“You really came back,” he said, his voice lower than you remembered, but still carrying that same familiar edge.

“Yeah, I did,” you replied, forcing a casual smile even though your insides were doing cartwheels. “Missed the city. Missed my people.”

His lips curled into a slow grin. “Missed us, huh?”

Jey barked out a laugh, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “Man, don’t let her fool you, Jimmy. She missed me more.”

“Boy, bye,” you said, shoving him off playfully, though your eyes couldn’t help but drift back to Jimmy. His gaze hadn’t left you, and the way he was looking at you—it was different.

“Two years is a long time,” Jimmy said, taking a sip of his drink and holding your gaze over the rim of the glass. “You gotta catch me up on everything. You still running that business you left us for?”

“Still running it. Still killing it,” you said with a small shrug, trying to sound nonchalant even though the tension between you two was practically suffocating.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Jimmy said, stepping just a little closer. “But you know, two years… that’s a long time to go without hitting your boys up.”

The guilt hit you for a second, but you quickly shook it off. “Y’all could’ve called me too, you know,” you teased, crossing your arms.

Jimmy tilted his head, his grin widening. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

“Don’t let him start his rizz-talking bullshit,” Jey cut in, grabbing a drink from a passing tray. “Come on, we gotta make up for lost time. Drinks on me, turn up!”

But as the three of you started heading deeper into the party, you couldn’t ignore the way Jimmy stayed just a little too close, his arm brushing yours every time you moved. And the way his eyes lingered, like he was trying to figure out everything you hadn’t said yet.

This party was about to be a lot more interesting than you’d planned.

The music pulsed around you, the bass reverberating through your chest as the night carried on. The crowd had thinned out some, but the party was still alive. While Jey had disappeared into the shadows with a girl he’d picked up for the night, you and Jimmy had posted up at a small corner of the bar, a bottle of Don Julio and a growing stack of lime wedges between you.

Shot after shot blurred the edges of reality, making everything sharper and fuzzier at the same time. The warmth of the tequila spread through your veins, loosening your inhibitions, making laughter flow freely between the two of you.

Jimmy poured another shot for you, his eyes glinting under the soft, flickering light. “Damn, you really tryna keep up with me tonight, huh?” he teased, sliding the glass toward you.

You smirked, picking it up without hesitation. “Keep up? Boy, I’m running laps around you,” you shot back before tossing it back like a pro. The burn hit you hard this time, and you winced, shaking your head as the alcohol made its way down.

Jimmy laughed, his grin wide and boyish, and for a second, you were struck by how much he still felt like the kid you grew up with—until his gaze lingered just a little too long, and you realized he wasn’t a kid anymore.

“So,” he started, leaning back against the bar, his body turned slightly toward you. His voice was lower now, more serious. “You still datin’ Melo?”

The question caught you off guard, and you froze mid-sip of your drink. Slowly, you set the glass down, the buzz of the alcohol making it harder to keep your emotions from spilling over.

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head. “Broke up last year.”

Jimmy’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and he tilted his head as if he hadn’t expected that answer. “For real?”

“For real,” you repeated, your voice tinged with a mix of frustration and bitterness you didn’t expect to surface. The tequila was definitely working. “He wasn’t what I thought he was. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Jimmy didn’t say anything for a moment, but his gaze softened as he leaned closer, elbows resting on the bar. “You good, though?”

The question made something in your chest tighten. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said it, like he actually cared, like he wasn’t just asking for the sake of conversation.

“I’m fine,” you replied, shrugging like it was nothing, but your voice betrayed you, a little quieter than before. “Breakups happen. It is what it is.”

Jimmy didn’t buy it. He gave you that look—the one he used to give you when you’d try to lie your way out of trouble as kids. “You don’t gotta act tough with me, you know,” he said, his tone softer now.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of your lips despite yourself. “I’m not acting tough,” you said, nudging his arm playfully. “I am tough. Always have been.”

“That you are,” he admitted, his grin returning. But then his expression shifted, more serious again. “Still, Melo’s a bitch for letting you go. Just sayin’.”

Your stomach flipped at his words, the tequila amplifying every little thing. You laughed it off, but your cheeks burned, and you knew it wasn’t just from the alcohol. “You don’t have to say that,” you muttered, looking down at your glass.

“I’m not saying it to make you feel better,” he said simply, his voice steady. “I’m saying it ‘cause it’s true.”

The air between you felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken. You looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and the way he was looking at you—it made your heart race.

“You’ve always deserved better,” he said after a moment, his voice low and sincere.

The tequila had officially destroyed whatever filter you had left. “Maybe,” you said, your voice quieter now, almost shy. “But what does ‘better’ even look like?”

Jimmy leaned in closer, his face just inches from yours now. You could feel the warmth of him, smell the faint mix of cologne and tequila. His eyes searched yours, and for a second, it felt like the rest of the room had disappeared.

“Better looks like someone who sees you for who you are,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Someone who doesn’t take you for granted. Someone who knows what they’ve got.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Maybe it is,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, lopsided smile. “Or maybe you’ve just been looking in all the wrong places.”

The tension was almost unbearable now, thick and heady like the tequila coursing through your veins. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the years of history between you, but suddenly, the space between you felt impossibly small, and closing it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

The room seemed to blur around you, the music fading into a distant hum as he stepped closer. His presence was overwhelming, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the lingering tequila on his breath. Your pulse quickened, and your palms felt clammy as his warm breath fanned your ear.

“You need a man that’s gon’ coat that pretty face of yours,” Jimmy murmured, his voice low and rough, dripping with intent. His words wrapped around you like a vice, making your knees threaten to give out beneath your shorts.

A sharp intake of breath escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you clenched your fists at your sides, trying to steady yourself. Your head tilted slightly, your ear almost grazing his lips as your heart raced.

“Jimmy…” you whispered, but it was barely audible, your voice trembling as much as your resolve.

His gaze drifted downwards, deliberate and unhurried, lingering on the curve of your chest where your crop-fitted shirt hugged you snugly. The top of your breasts peeked out just enough to make his jaw tighten slightly, and you could see it—the way his control faltered for a split second.

“Someone who gon’ have you shakin’,” he added, his voice a little deeper now, a little more dangerous. His words felt like a promise, one that left no room for misinterpretation.

Heat flushed through your body, your breathing uneven as you tried to find the right response—any response—but your mind was blank. The weight of his words, the intensity of his stare, and the proximity of his body were all too much.

You swallowed hard, shifting on your feet, but that only made his smirk grow wider. He noticed everything—the way your chest rose and fell just a bit quicker, the way your lips parted slightly as if searching for air, and the way you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him.

“You always talk like this?” you finally managed to say, your voice shaky but laced with a hint of defiance. “Or is it the tequila talking?”

Jimmy chuckled, low and deep, the sound rumbling through your body. “Nah, baby,” he said, tilting his head just enough to catch your gaze fully. “Tequila might make me bold, but this? This all me.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, though the effect was ruined by the blush creeping up your neck. “Cocky much?”

His grin only widened. “Confident,” he corrected, leaning in even closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body. “There’s a difference.”

You scoffed, trying to regain some semblance of control. “And what makes you so sure I need someone?”

Jimmy’s expression softened slightly, but there was still that playful glint in his eye. “’Cause I see it,” he said simply, his voice losing some of its teasing edge. “You’ve been carrying it all on your own for too long. You don’t let people in. You put on this tough front, but I know you, remember?”

His words hit deeper than you expected, and for a moment, you felt exposed in a way you hadn’t anticipated. You tried to laugh it off, to deflect. “Sounds like you’ve been thinking about me a lot, huh?”

“Maybe I have,” he admitted, his honesty catching you off guard. His gaze didn’t waver, and there was something in his eyes that made it impossible to look away. “And maybe I’m tired of pretending I haven’t.”

The air between you was electric now, charged with something neither of you dared to name. His fingers brushed against yours for just a moment, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt straight through you.

Your voice was barely a whisper when you spoke again. “Jimmy…”

But he just smiled, that infuriating, confident smile. “I know,” he said softly, his tone almost teasing but laced with something deeper. “You don’t have to say it. Not yet.”

And just like that, he pulled back slightly, his eyes still locked on yours. It was as if he was giving you space to breathe, to think—but the tension between you remained, thick and undeniable.

Your heart hammered in your chest, the tension in the air almost suffocating. Without thinking, you quickly turned away, avoiding the heat of his gaze. The rush of emotions—nerves, confusion, and something you weren’t ready to name—propelled you forward, weaving through the crowded room.

“Where you goin’?” Jimmy’s voice called after you, low and teasing, laced with that maddening confidence. You ignored him, refusing to turn back.

The bass of the music thudded against your ears, but it couldn’t drown out the sound of your own breathing as you made a beeline for the bathroom. The hallway felt longer than it should’ve, every step dragging as you tried to calm the storm inside you.

Once inside the bathroom, you locked the door behind you, leaning against it as you exhaled shakily. The quiet hum of the fluorescent light above was a stark contrast to the chaos you’d just escaped. You closed your eyes, willing your heart to slow down, but his words echoed in your mind like a broken record.

"You need a man that’s gon’ coat that pretty face of yours… someone who gon’ have you shakin’."

A shiver ran down your spine, and you shook your head as if to physically dispel the thought. “What the hell are you doing?” you muttered to yourself, gripping the edges of the sink for support.

You caught your reflection in the mirror, your cheeks flushed—not just from the alcohol but from the intensity of that moment. Your lips parted slightly as you tried to catch your breath, the weight of his stare still lingering on your skin.

The door creaked open, and your breath hitched as Jimmy stepped inside, his broad frame blocking the doorway. He closed the door behind him with a soft click, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

“Jimmy, I—” you began, but your words faltered as he closed the space between you in two strides, silencing you with a kiss.

“Shh,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and velvety, the command sending shivers down your spine. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs brushing softly against your flushed cheeks as the kiss deepened.

You gave in, melting into the warmth of him, your fingers instinctively clutching at his shirt. The taste of tequila lingered on his lips, intoxicating and familiar. Your mind raced with a thousand protests, but your body betrayed you, pressing closer, wanting more.

His hands drifted down, strong and deliberate, until they gripped your ass firmly through your shorts. The sudden pressure made you gasp, breaking the kiss as you struggled to catch your breath.

“Jim—” you started again, your voice shaky and uncertain.

“What?” he drawled, his lips curling into a teasing smirk as he stared down at you. His eyes were heavy-lidded, filled with a heat that made your knees feel like jelly. “Jimmy what?”

You couldn’t find the words. Every coherent thought dissolved under the weight of his touch, his presence.

“Please,” you finally whimpered, the plea escaping before you could stop it.

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling against your chest as his fingers worked their way to the waistband of your shorts. “Please what?” he taunted, his voice dripping with smug confidence as he began to unbuckle them slowly, deliberately.

Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “I… I don’t know,” you stammered, your breath hitching as his knuckles brushed against your bare skin.

“You don’t know?” he murmured, leaning in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You sure about that? ‘Cause your body’s tellin’ me somethin’ different.”

Your grip on his shirt tightened, your resolve crumbling with every second. “This is crazy,” you whispered, half to yourself, half to him.

“Yeah, it is,” he admitted, his voice low and husky. “But you feel it too, don’t you?”

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his for some kind of answer, but all you found was the same fire that burned in your chest. And before you could second-guess yourself, your hands moved to the back of his neck, pulling him down into another kiss, this one hungrier, more desperate.

His hand moved deliberately to the hem of your shorts, his fingers brushing against your skin, sending a jolt through your body. With a swift tug, he pulled them down, and you stepped out of them without hesitation, the vulnerability of the moment mixing with the electric pull between you two.

Jimmy’s eyes burned into yours, dark and filled with a hunger that made you shiver. “You so damn beautiful,” he muttered, his voice almost reverent as his gaze drifted down your body.

He crouched slightly, his fingers hooking into the sides of your panties, dragging them down at an agonizingly slow pace. The cool air hit your bare skin, and your breath caught, heat flooding your face.

“Jimmy…” you whispered, your voice trembling, half a protest and half a plea, but he silenced you with a look—one that left no room for doubt or hesitation.

His hands slid back up your thighs, warm and firm, before parting your pussy gently with his fingers. The sensation was immediate, overwhelming, and you instinctively gripped the edge of the counter for support.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his tone low and almost teasing, his thumb brushing against you with maddening precision.

“I—” Your words dissolved into a sharp inhale as his fingers explored with an unhurried confidence that left you breathless.

“Tell me what you want,” he urged softly, his lips hovering just over yours, his breath warm against your skin.

You bit your lip, your head spinning from the intoxicating mix of tequila and his touch. “I don’t know,” you admitted, though your body told a different story, leaning into his every movement.

His fingers pressed deeper, drawing a soft gasp from you. “You sure about that?” he asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Because I think you know exactly what you want.”

His middle finger slid into you slowly, deliberately, sending a wave of pleasure rippling through your body. Your head tipped back against the cool bathroom mirror, a soft gasp escaping your lips. The deliberate pace, the way his finger stroked you with expert precision, had your knees trembling where they rested against his hips.

“Fuck… Jimmy,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper as you clung to the counter for support.

His eyes locked onto your face, watching every flicker of your reaction. “Yeah, that’s it,” he murmured, his tone low and dripping with confidence. His free hand gripped your waist, steadying you as he pressed his thumb against your wet clit, moving in slow, deliberate circles.

Your breath hitched as you tried to hold back the moan bubbling in your throat, but Jimmy wasn’t having it. He leaned in, his lips grazing the corner of your jaw as he whispered, “Don’t hold back now, baby. Let me hear you.”

His words sent a fresh rush of heat through your body, and you couldn’t stop the soft cry that escaped your lips as his finger curved inside you, finding a spot that made your legs tighten around him instinctively.

“Shit,” you gasped, your hands reaching for his shoulders, needing something to hold onto as the intensity grew. “Jimmy, I—”

“You feel so good,” he interrupted, his voice rough with desire as he kissed the side of your neck, his beard lightly scratching your skin. “Trynna see how that pussy feel too.”

Your hands slid up to his braids, pulling lightly as the pressure inside you built. “Please,” you whimpered again, your voice breaking as his movements quickened, his thumb pressing harder against you, coaxing you closer to the edge.

“Please what?” he teased, his lips trailing down to your collarbone as his finger continued its torturously slow rhythm. “Say it, baby. Tell me what you need.”

“I—” Your breath hitched, and your grip on him tightened. “I need you,” you finally managed, your voice trembling as your body betrayed every thought you tried to suppress.

“That's all I needed to hear, baby,” he said with a wicked grin, his voice dripping with anticipation.

Jimmy straightened up, pulling you with him, before turning you to face the mirror. Your torso leaned over the counter, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your body. His hands roamed over your waist and hips, gripping you firmly as if he was savoring the moment.

He positioned himself behind you, and the moment he entered you, a deep, guttural moan escaped both your lips. His movements were slow, deliberate, and torturous, every stroke sending a shockwave of pleasure through you.

You gripped the edges of the counter, your knuckles turning white as you tried to steady yourself against the overwhelming sensation. “Fuck, Jimmy,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper.

His hand moved to the back of your neck, trailing up until his fingers tangled in your hair. Gently but firmly, he tilted your head upward, forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror. “Look at me while I take this pretty pussy,” he moaned, his tone both commanding and desperate, his breath hot against your ear.

Your eyes locked with his reflection, and the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. The way his lips parted, the sheen of sweat glistening on his brow, the pure hunger in his expression—it was almost too much to take.

“God, you’re so sexy,” he murmured, his voice softening for a moment before he picked up his pace, each thrust making the counter shake slightly beneath you. “You feel how perfect you are around me?”

Your legs trembled beneath you, and you could barely hold yourself up as he continued. His hand slid from your hair down to your throat, resting there lightly—not to restrain, but to anchor you to him. The added pressure sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body, and you couldn’t stop the string of soft moans that spilled from your lips.

“Say it,” he urged, his eyes boring into yours through the mirror. “Say you’re mine.”

“Jimmy, I—” Your words faltered as another deep thrust left you gasping, your fingers clawing at the counter.

“Say it,” he demanded, his grip tightening just enough to make you shudder.

“I’m yours,” you finally choked out, your voice cracking with the rawness of the confession.

His grin widened, satisfied, as he leaned down, his lips brushing against the back of your neck. “Damn right you are,” he growled, his pace quickening, driving you closer to the edge with every movement.

A sharp knock on the door echoed over the thumping bass of the music, snapping you out of your haze, though it didn’t stop Jimmy. If anything, the interruption seemed to fuel him, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he slowed his pace deliberately, driving deeper, making your breath hitch.

Your heart hammered in your chest, the tension of the moment amplified by both the fear of getting caught and the overwhelming pleasure threatening to consume you. “W-Who is it?” you stammered, trying to keep your voice steady, though your knees were trembling.

“It’s Jey,” came the familiar voice from the other side. “You good in there?!”

Jimmy’s lips curled into a wicked grin, his eyes locking with yours in the mirror as he kicked your legs apart even more, pulling you back against him. The intensity of his slow, deliberate movements left you breathless, your body quivering against the counter.

“I—yes, I’m okay!” you managed to call out, your voice a little too high-pitched to sound convincing.

“Aight!” Jey responded, his voice muffled through the door. “When you get out, imma need yo help finding Jimmy.”

Your eyes widened, panic flashing across your face, but Jimmy’s smirk deepened as he began to thrust faster, each movement making it harder for you to hold back the moan bubbling in your throat.

You bit your lip, desperate to stay quiet, but when his hand slipped around to press against your most sensitive spot, a soft, breathless “Yes… yes…” escaped your lips.

“Shhh,” Jimmy teased, his voice a low rumble as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “You don’t want him coming back, do you?”

But it was already too late. Jey’s voice came again, this time fading as he walked off. “Aight,” he called casually. “Don’t take too long shawty!”

The second the sound of his footsteps disappeared, the tension inside you snapped. Jimmy took full advantage, his pace unrelenting as you buried your face in your arm to muffle the cry of pleasure that tore from your lips.

“Look at me,” Jimmy ordered, his voice firm but thick with desire. His hand cupped your chin, tilting your head back up to meet his gaze in the mirror. “You’re not hiding from me, baby. I wanna see that face when you fall apart for me.”

Your eyes met his, and the intensity of his stare—dark, commanding, and completely unashamed—sent you spiraling. Your body arched against his as you finally gave in, every nerve alight, every muscle trembling under his control.

Your body shuddered violently as the waves of your release crashed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling against the counter. “Jimmy…” you whimpered, your voice barely audible over the muffled bass of the music outside.

But Jimmy wasn’t done. He pulled out, his grip firm as he turned you around to face him, guiding you down to your knees. His eyes burned with an intensity that made your stomach flip, his breaths coming fast and shallow as he stroked his dick in front of you.

“Open up, baby,” he commanded, his voice low and raspy, sending a shiver down your spine. Without hesitation, you obeyed, parting your lips as he slid into your warm mouth.

He started slow, his hand tangled in your hair as he guided your movements. The taste of him mixed with the salty tang of sweat, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft moan as he pushed deeper, his groans echoing above you.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, his hips starting to move faster, thrusting into your mouth with a desperate rhythm. Your eyes watered as you tried to take all of him, the sensation overwhelming yet intoxicating.

“Yeah, just like that,” he growled, his head tilting back as a low, guttural moan escaped his lips. His grip on your hair tightened, and you knew he was close.

A moment later, he pulled out, stroking himself quickly as he aimed for your face. “Keep those pretty eyes on me,” he ordered, and you looked up at him, your cheeks flushed, your lips slightly parted.

With a deep groan, he came hard, his release coating your face as you knelt before him. The heat of it, the raw intimacy of the moment, left you breathless and dazed.

Jimmy leaned down, his thumb swiping gently across your cheek as he smirked. “Damn, baby,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re somethin’ else.”

You couldn’t find the words to respond, your heart still racing, your body buzzing with adrenaline and desire. He helped you to your feet, his hands lingering on your waist as he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

“Better clean up,” he murmured, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he glanced toward the door. “Wouldn’t want anyone asking questions.”

#jimmy uso x reader #jimmy uso fanfiction #jimmy uso #jimmy uso smut #wwe #wwe jimmy uso #wwe smut

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dreaisgrayte · 9 months ago

Text

Camp Maple | Sanemi Shinazugawa x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, kissing, friends to grudge to friends to sassy to lovers? childhood trauma, masturbation (fem and male), tad bit of angst, unprotected sex, cream pie, more to come? Honestly the ending could do with a rewrite but I'm too lazy for that right now.

word count: 17.5k

a/n: writers block sucks so I'm sorry if the end is trash. I wanted to get this out before school started up again. Unedited.

It’s fucking summer again. That meant working for your mother’s sleepaway camp. Maple Woods was a fun enough place to work when your mother wasn’t visiting, but if you had to work with that asshole again you highly doubt this would be the best summer ever that your mother promised you. At least last year he wasn’t scheduled to be a leader with you.

The main office is where you would grab your schedule and overall camp theme for this summer. It’s also where you could check what group you were head of. Luckily, the office building was right off the parking lot. The mess hall was a few yards down a worn rock pathway from the old brick building you were heading into.

The yellow screen door swings open with a screech, and you’re met with the steady whir of box fans pointed at the one lady you enjoyed seeing every year. Her straight blonde hair flutters in the heavy breeze as she looks up from her monitor. Once her caramel brown eyes settle on you, a sugary sweet smile overtakes her features. “YN!” She exclaims, standing from behind the counter. “I’m so glad you decided to come back, sweetie.” She extends her arms, walking out toward you. This is your aunt, Yena. She practically helped raise you when your mother would drop you off. Your childhood home was a 10 minute drive away, and where you lived now was around 15 minutes, depending on how long you procrastinated in traffic in an attempt to prolong accidentally running into your mother. Yena made sure your group of friends had snacks and unlimited access to her office. She was there when you had your first period. In other words, Yena was like a mother to you, at least more than your actual biological one.

You embrace each other, and the overwhelming smell of cinnamon hits your nose like a tidal wave. It was like home in a hug. “Like I had a choice.” You mumble but laugh with her after a beat. This felt nice, but you needed to settle in before the rest of the counselors flooded in and started the pre-camp party. “Ah, do you happen to know which cabin group I’ll be in charge of?” You inquire, holding her back from you.

Her brows crease with thought, and then she looks excited, holding up a finger to tap your nose. “Ah my little honeysuckle, you are co-leading the caterpillars.” She hums in delight. You tilt your head. Co-leading?

“Co-leading? With whom?” Your chest feels heavy. Last year, your co-leader was a slacker, leaving you with all the work and little time for yourself. Your group of kids were absolute sweethearts, so you didn’t mind too much. Still, the experience had put a bad taste in your mouth. Yena’s back to concentrating on your question, but this time, she shakes her head with a slight frown.

“I’m sorry dear, I don’t remember. Though, I do remember thinking that you two are sure to make a good pair!” She clasps your hands excitedly at the latter part of her sentence. You force yourself to smile through the anxiety.

“Heh, yeah.” In translation, you were screaming internally. “I’ll go figure it out.” The only thing you could do was head to your cabin and hope to bump into your co-lead. Maple Woods usually had 2 young adults co-lead a group of kids to keep things safe. The co-leads shared the head cabin, no matter what. It was the first cabin in a ring of 4 other ones. The campers were divided by age – that’s where the different sections came from – then put into co-ed cabins. One cabin could fit about 8 comfortably, depending on how many kids signed up. The caterpillars are the 2nd and 3rd grader sections. The co-leader cabin was bigger, but that’s only because of the shared bathroom and small kitchen area.

The air smells fresh, and you get lost in memories for a moment. There was the main hall where the welcoming ceremony would be held, and a cement path through a small patch of trees off to the side led to the different sections of cabins. On the other side of the path, surrounded by a small patch of trees, was the mess hall where meals and activities would be held. The older kids had cabins further into the woods while your section of cabins was situated right by the lake. Down the middle, past the mess hall and cabins, was the maple woods lake. The sunlight is glittering off the ripples already. Peace. That’s what the lake reminded you of. Up a trail on the north side, there was even a secluded waterfall, but the kids didn’t get to know about that part.

You walk down the cracked cement walkway, puttering around with a rock as you go. The green doors are easy enough to spot against the orangey light wood of the cabins. You were lucky. You got the cabins right by the lakefront. You hike up the stairs, noting a suitcase outside the left door. Okay, so someone was here. That was a good sign. Walking through the right door it hits you that you didn’t grab any of your bags from the car. You stop in the middle of the room, groaning loudly. “Shit.” You curse, turning on your heel. It takes about 10 minutes for you to clamber back into the room this time with your bags haphazardly strapped across your body. They slip off your body with no regard for your hair or your skin.

The room is simple, a bed in the corner, a closet, a desk, and a nightstand with a cute lamp on it. To the left are two doors, one leads to the kitchenette area – the other leads to the Jack and Jill bathroom, in which you can hear rushing water. Your co-leader must be taking a preemptive shower. You give an approving nod, wishing you could take a shower yourself. Instead, you decide to wander through the far door and into the kitchenette area. There’s a round table with a chair on either side of it pushed under a window. A small amount of counter space – treated pine countertops – decked out with a stove, sink, and a few cabinets. A fridge acted as the counter stopper, which was right next to your room – hmm, useful. Across from the kitchen area was a single sofa with a TV mounted on the wall. You always loved the counselors’ cabins because they were full of useful amenities.

You pull out a chair, sitting down at the table to peer out the window at Lake Maple. You hear a door open and turn your attention toward the sound with a cheerful smile. You had the full intention of greeting your co-leader. Instead, you’re met with the bare chest of a silver-haired and lilac-eyed asshole. A simple cotton towel is wrapped around his waist, water droplets still lazily pathing their way down his sinewy chest and past the line of the before-mentioned towel. Your brows knit together, and he does the same. “Sanemi,” you grumble, forcing a smile upon your lips. “Please tell me you’re a figment of my imagination.” This cannot be happening. Sanemi Shinazugawa can not be your co-leader.

When you met him for the first time both of you had bonded over having a shit parent. His father was abusive, scarring his son emotionally and physically. Despite the jagged pink scar that travels over the bridge of his nose and three crossing over each other on his forehead, Sanemi was excessively attractive. He wore his scars as a badge of what he’d overcome, but you knew there was underlying disgust that was hidden away.

He rolls his eyes, frustratedly peering to the corner of the room. “Believe me darlin’ I’m just as annoyed by this as you are.” Heat floods your cheeks at his casual way of speaking. You cross your arms over your chest, standing up from your chair with dramatic grandeur.

His eyes follow your actions, concentrating on the way you nearly stumble to the side. He quirks a smile and this only fuels your annoyance, which was amusing in its own right. “There has to be a way we can switch out,” You throw your hands up, exasperated. Sanemi shakes his head, placing his hands on his hips.

He then jerks his head toward the general direction of the main office. “Already checked with Yena, they don’t trust anyone else but you’n me to run the caterpillar crew.” He explains, disdain practically dripping from his voice. You groan toward the ceiling.

Of course, your mother would pull some shit like this. Making you work with the one person that could make you falter at your job. Was this a test? It was sure as hell annoying especially with Sanemi standing half-naked in front of you. “For fuck’s sake can you please go put on a shirt or something?” You pinch the bridge of your nose squeezing your eyes shut.

Your words only earn a dark chuckle from the man across from you. “Why? I thought I could wear this to the bonfire.” He shoots back smugly.

A long sigh blows past your lips as you decide not to honor him with a response. Instead, you head back into your room and slam the door. You fuss around with your hair, unpacking while you search for an outfit. Sanemi was so aggravating. With that smug look on his face and- you throw your hands down in frustration, frowning into the handheld mirror you propped against the wall. Sun earrings dangle from your ears, a simple gold chain around your throat, and mascara lifts your lashes. You put on high-waisted jean shorts and a pink bleach-washed tye-dye tank. Tennis shoes and white socks wrap it together.

Your heart hammers an overwhelming rhythm as you blow out a breath. Sanemi Shinazugawa was sleeping in the same cabin as you, sharing food, time, and a bathroom. You had to get over this stupid grudge against him. It wasn’t healthy to latch onto something so silly for such a long time, but back then it hurt like hell. For the children, you had to put your past behind you. Maybe if you got drunk enough tonight you could talk to him about it, but those odds were very unlikely.

There were a few people you wanted to chat with at the bonfire, have a few drinks, and then you’d be nicely tucked into bed ready for campers to start arriving tomorrow. Simple as that. A grin makes its way onto your face as you slip out of your cabin, but it quickly drops when you notice Sanemi leaning against the deck railing. You try not to sigh too loud, but he must hear it because he quirks a brow in your direction. “Why are you creepily waiting outside my door?” You inquire, gesturing to him. He huffs out a breath, stepping out of his leaning position.

He’s wearing a black hoodie with shorts. You’re mildly upset by how good he looks in darker clothes. It contrasts his hair in such a way that captivates you. You shake those thoughts out of your head as he trots down the stairs, hands stuffed in his pockets. “I can’t very well leave you to walk to the spot by yourself.” He nods in the direction of the dark path that winds through the woods and up the rocky ledges.

You raise your brows, joining him on the ground. “You think I can’t handle a little spooky path on my own?” You scoff. Sanemi rolls his eyes and the action pricks your skin.

He starts walking toward the path’s entrance and when you don’t follow he gives you a pointed look. “Shall I remind you of when we were seven?”

“Sanemi hold my hand! I’m scared!” You whine, grasping his hands when he doesn’t make a move. “Promise me you won’t leave my side!”

You whinge, shuddering at the memory, but jog to catch up with him anyway. He turns his head to watch the path become progressively darker, a few lamps hung on trees here and there. A grin finds its way onto his lips at the way you walk closer to him every time you hear a noise. “For a girl who grew up out here, you sure are jumpy. If you get too scared you can always hold my hand again.” He blurts, not meaning to tease you, but when your reaction is flushed cheeks and a high-pitched squeak, he can’t help himself.

Eventually, the flickering light of a campfire and the sound of laughter distracts you from the man walking next to you. You rush ahead, excitedly finding your way to Shinobu and Mitsuri, two of your closest friends. The only people invited to this bonfire were the kids who grew up coming to this camp and eventually became counselors or otherwise affiliated.

Gyomei Himejima; the stern, yet emotional one that usually dealt with the older kids. He claims the young ones are too selfish and he’s unable to keep them in check. He’s the oldest one here but still has such a soft spirit despite not having any family to go home to. Gyomei honestly loves the summer gig, but always chats about his pet cat that he can’t wait to get back to. You guess that was his family to get back to.

Tengen Uzui; Mister Casanova with the other counselors, but he’s rumored to be otherwise attached. Which was fine by you, Tengen was all talk, no action. Besides you didn’t want any action from him – his fan club would hunt you down and no matter how many defense classes you took, you would not be able to stop them.

Giyu Tomioka; the quiet one. He was great at his job but not the best at talking with the other counselors. He usually sat and listened to all of you talk on, interjecting a few times with his opinion. He was a genuine and good guy, you enjoyed talking to him one-on-one.

Kyojuro Rengoku; no one else could handle the little rascals than him. He worked with the younger children since he was as kind-hearted as they come. It takes a special type of person to do his job and no one could do it better than him, except maybe Mitsuri.

Mitsuri Kanroji; also works with the nursery and younger kids. She was a nurturer at heart, caring for the young ones was her specialty. You kept in contact with her and Shinobu the most outside of camp.

Shinobu Kocho; was the head of the infirmary, in case a child got a pretty bad scrape or needed medication. She may appear stern, but she was actually a big softy when it came to caring for the injured.

Obanai Iguro; head of the kitchen and helps lead exploration hikes. Obanai didn’t talk much either, he had that mysterious bad-boy thing going for him – which unfortunately Mitsuri fawns over. He was also Sanemi’s best friend.

The bonfire was an annual party held the day before camp starts. There was a rocky clearing at the top of the waterfall that fed into the lake. This spot had a perfect view of Camp Maple, overlooking the soft glowing lights and some people rushing around for last-minute chores. Memories intertwined themselves with the breeze rushing through the trees surrounding the group. It was like a second home up here or maybe more of an escape. Either way, the light feeling growing in your chest was a welcomed change from knowing you’d have to work with Sanemi. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world to happen to you. It still felt like a firecracker ready to explode in your face at any moment. There was bound to be trouble with this arrangement.

You glance at him, his eyes reflecting the warm glow of the fire. He’s grinning as he chats with Obanai, bringing a can of beer to his lips. You watch as his throat bobs, a dribble of liquid pooling at the corner of his mouth and eventually trickling down his neck. Before you can look away his eyes catch yours, a smirk lifting his lips as he pulls the can away. He raises his brows and your back straightens, your gaze quickly darting away.

“Hey YN, have another drink.” Shinobu nudges you, passing you a bottle of liquor. You grin as you take it from her.

The cool glass feels great against your mouth as you take a swig. The liquor burns a little as it slides down your throat, but it has a nice fruity taste to it. “Thanks,” You raise your glass to clink against hers.

Mitsuri is on your other side, nervously wondering if she should talk to Obanai. “YN, would it be…weird for me to interject in their conversation?” She whispers in your ear, motioning discreetly to Obanai and Sanemi. You let out a soft sigh before chugging the rest of your drink. Your body fizzes with the warm gooey feeling of alochol. Mitsuri watches you with wide eyes, they sparkle in amazement. “Woah, that was really cool!” She exclaims. You huff out a laugh, extending your hand for Shinobu to hand you another. She does as you request and you pop open the cap with your teeth, letting the contents of the bottle slip into your mouth. Mitsuri claps excitedly, gaining the attention of the guys next to her.

Sanemi stares at you, his brows knitting together slowly as he watches you swig one more bottle. You stand, swaying slightly as you turn to Sanemi. His gaze is trained on you, standing up as you stumble toward him. You crash into his arms, a dumb grin lining your lips. The group now looks on at the spectacle. “Nemi~” You coo, swinging your arms over his neck. Sanemi’s throat bobs, wrapping his muscular arm around your back to stabilize you.

He laughs nervously, smiling with gritted teeth toward the rest of the group. “I’m going to take her back down,” He begins, pressing you tighter into his grip. You’re frustrated with how good his body feels against yours and when your shirt rides up a bit his skin feels like fire. Everyone seems in agreement, but you twist in his arms to shoot Mitsuri a thumbs up and a wink. Her face erupts in a red flurry and your goofy smile turns back to meet Sanemi’s gaze.

You giggle at his stern expression. “Boop!” You squeak, tapping the tip of his nose with your finger. His brows raise slowly as he takes in your slumping condition.

Sanemi turns around, squatting down on his haunches. “Get on.” He motions with his head for you to climb onto his back. You hum excitedly, slinging your arms over his neck. Your legs wobble as you try to position yourself over his back. He sighs, reaching behind him to swipe your calves out from under you. You squeal as he repositions you, sliding his warm big hands under your thighs. “Hold on tight darlin’.” He instructs and you listen well by pressing into his back, nuzzling your chin onto his shoulder. “Well, have a good night everyone.” He tries his best to wave, the group saying their goodbyes.

The view from his back is enjoyable as he hikes down the trail. “You’re so strong,” You mumble, spanning your hands down his chest absentmindedly. Sanemi pauses, his muscles constricting as you touch him.

He shoots a look over his shoulder as you grope him. “Yeah, I work out, now please stop harassing me.” He jumps you further up his back to keep you from slipping off. You giggle at the jostling motion.

Despite his earlier complaint, he lets your hands roam over what parts of his body you can reach. There's a comfortable silence that falls over you both but as you peer into the woods a memory you’d rather not think about seeps into your mind. “Sanemi,” You start, trying to swallow the way your heart is beating – hopefully, he couldn’t feel it against his back. “I’m sorry I was so angry at you.” The apology comes out of nowhere, but Sanemi knows what you’re talking about.

He stops in his tracks, shutting his eyes for a beat. “Don’t apologize for what you have every right to feel.” He takes in a deep breath, you can feel his body rise with the motion. “I didn’t think your mother would do that, I-” His voice cracks and he clears his throat before continuing. “I was just worried about you. I was too scared to find you so I went to your mother.”

Your brows scrunch and you feel your chest tighten at his words. You tap his back. “I want down.” He silently helps you slide down his back. He still holds onto you, making sure you can stand on your own. You glare into his soft expression, bottom lip trembling. “You should’ve found me,” Your nose stings with the pressure of tears welling in your eyes. He watches you with a solemn frown. “You should’ve come to me!” Your voice raises, a tear falling down your cheek. You hit his chest, letting out a choked sob. “You knew Sanemi, you knew she’d be angry.” Your fist drops from his chest, coming up to cover your soaked face. “I hoped beyond everything that you would appear over the hill, not her.” You throw your hands down, shaking your head. He just stands there, letting you drunkenly yell and cry like an idiot in front of him. Letting you hit him, throw your words at him, and relive a past you’d rather forget.

He takes a step forward, yearning to reach out for you. “YN…” His voice is soft and comforting – you hate the fact you want to fall into his arms again. Have him carry you to safety like he should’ve done all those years ago.

You step away from him, raising your hands in front of your face. “No, no, I need time.” Your voice trembles and as you leave Sanemi standing there in the dark you cry all the way back to your bed.

❦❦❦❦❦

“Welcome to Camp Maple Woods!” Your mother clasps her hands together excitedly. You groan from your position against the back wall with the rest of the counselors. She continues with the opening speech, her grating voice making your hangover that much worse. Mitsuri bumps shoulders with you, an all too happy smile on her face.

You wish for just a second that you could have her resilience, but being perfect sounds like too much work. “Hey!” She whispers loudly to you. You peer around you, acting like she was talking to someone else. Mitsuri isn’t pleased with your antics because she crosses her arms over her chest and gives you a pointed look. You immediately halt and motion for her to continue. “Obanai and I texted all night.” Her stern expression lifts into a grin as her cheeks light up with a rosy color.

You’re about to celebrate with her when Sanemi walks through the back doors. The happiness you share with Mitsuri washes away. You swallow hard, eyeing him as he leans against the wall next to Obanai. Unfortunately for you, Mitsuri is very observant. She glances between you and Sanemi, narrowing her eyes. “Now campers are you ready to go on your tours!?” Your attention is drawn to the front where your mother claps her hands together. For a brief moment, she meets your gaze and your blood boils. “May all our wonderful counselors head up to the stage!? We’ll be getting into our sections now!”

You put on your best smile, following Mitsuri to the stairs. Sanemi jogs up behind you and the resolve you’d built up this morning before heading to the main hall nearly crumbles to the ground. You had done your best to wake up early, hate your life as little as possible, shower, get ready, and escape the cabin before bumping into him. His presence behind you is an annoying warmth you want to swat away. Mitsuri joins Kyojuro and you awkwardly stand next to Sanemi with a strained smile.

His shoulder brushes against yours and your breath hitches quietly. Your mother appears in front of you both, a blank expression on her features as she holds out a caterpillar sign to you. Your throat tightens, but Sanemi swipes it from her before she can shove it in your hands. You glance at him, brows knit together. The last thing you hear from your mother is a click of her tongue as she moves down the line. “Thank you.” You whisper, heart thumping in your chest. Was he trying to make up for what you talked about last night?

He glances down at you, his smile shifting to something different. “Come find us caterpillars!” He yells and you gawk at him. He shoots you a wink and your lips part in awe. Did he just wink at you? That was so… weird. You shake your head and flail your hands in the air.

Children start surrounding you, awkwardly shuffling to make room for others. Sanemi hands you a slip of paper with a list of names on it. Attendance doesn’t take long since everyone seems to have gathered around you. “Alright crew, let’s head out on that tour!” You exclaim, pointing your hand toward the double doors in the back. “Squirm to it you little caterpillars!” You shoo them down the stage, giggles erupting from a few of them as you jump off the edge.

Sanemi follows the rest of them down the stairs, still holding the sign in the air. You giggle at how seriously he’s taking the task. “Mister Sanemi?” A small girl tugs on his shorts once everyone is outside. He peeks down at her with an award-winning smile. “Why is she not miss Sanemi?” She points to you and your eyes go wide as you tense. What kind of question is that!? Was there some code of conduct that camp leaders had to married to each other? Was two names that hard to remember?

Sanemi squats down and suddenly you get a flashback of him doing the same thing last night for you. You swallow, watching as he jerks his head in your direction. “Miss YN isn’t my wife, so she doesn’t share my name.” He explains. You drag a hand down your face. You didn’t expect this type of question to be asked so soon or at all.

The little girl frowns and another kid points at Sanemi. “B-but I saw you wink at her!” The boy yells accusingly. Shit.

Sanemi glances at you with a ‘I fucked up’ look. He turns back to the group of children swarming him. He laughs easily. “I had something in my eye…” He deadpans. All of them suspiciously glare at him.

You step into the circle, patting the top of Sanemi’s head. “It’s our secret leader code,” You begin, nudging him with your hip. “Whenever we have info on the big bad boss we wink at each other.” You wink at the children and their little faces light up. “Now you’re all in on our secret mission. Ready caterpillars!?” You stomp your feet and salute them with seriousness. They gasp and follow suit.

“Yes miss YN!” Sanemi shoots up from his squatted position, saluting you with a stupidly handsome grin. You stutter for a moment, before going back to at ease. “Now, what do you say we drop all these heavy bags off at the cabins and start exploring?” Sanemi suggests, pointing to the small path that led to the caterpillar cabins. As he excitedly starts leading them off into the distance you make sure to gather the stragglers. A smile of your own tugs on the corners of your mouth. Maybe you did make a pretty good team.

Sanemi takes a seat on the stairs of your cabin, observing the kids form cabins of their own. You plop down one stair down from him, an amused grin forming on his lips. “What are you grinning about?” You quiz, glancing at him.

He shrugs, shifting himself onto the same step as you and leaning back against the other steps. You can’t help the way your heart seems to pick up river dancing, beating fully. “Just figurin’ since we’re agents together we should be close.” You glare over your shoulder, met with his lazy smirk in your direction. A huff compresses out of your mouth as you roll your eyes. “What? I like the way you act when I get close to you.” He laughs, eyeing your reaction – which was exactly what he wanted.

From his vantage point, Sanemi can just about manage to see your cheeks flush before you turn away from him, hiding away in your arm. “Like I’m being infected?” You shoot back, quickly standing up and – definitely pretending – to stretch.

Sanemi’s eyes slowly rake up the exposed skin of your back, his tongue swirling around in his mouth as if trying to imagine how you would taste. “Mmm, somethin’ like that.” He hums, grinning widely when you narrow your eyes at him.

The group of children start lining up in the grass, playing with each other while waiting for the rest of them. Some of them you recognize from last year, it’s crazy how fast kids can grow and change. Once you recognize all of their faces you and Sanemi start the tour.

There are specific things that a sleepaway camp needs to have. Such as the obvious answer, cabins. The next obvious thing on the list is a beautiful lake. “Lake Maple was discovered way back when and this camp was built around it to preserve the landscape. There are canoes, swim gear, and a nice dock to carefully jump from. Make sure if you go to the lake that you have either Mister Sanemi or myself with you for safety.” Sanemi watches you recite the information you were supposed to give out, but you seem genuinely excited talking about the camp’s history. It was endearing… and the way your eyes gleam reminds him of when you were little, climbing trees and always reaching your hand out to him. You never left him behind. He sighs, turning away from your speech.

The next thing a camp needs is huge buildings where lots of kids can gather. “This is the mess hall, where we’ll have breakfast, lunch, and dinner! It’ll also be where some indoor activities are held. If we don’t gather here, we’ll meet up by the picnic benches back at Caterpillar Circle. Over there is the infirmary where Miss Shinobu will gladly help you out. The main office is the building you should’ve passed when you were dropped off, that’s where Mrs Yena will be with, sadly, the only phone that has any service.” You point out, then turn toward the woods on the other side of the main camp area. You gesture widely to the expanse, taking in a deep breath. “And this, my little squiggles,” the children giggle, “Is Maple Woods, where we will hike trails, explore the wonders of nature, and fight off the evil boss.” Without thinking you wink at Sanemi. You can tell by the way his eyes bulge that he wasn’t expecting it, but as the little heads slowly turn to watch his reaction he quickly winks back at you. You catch yourself sighing in relief that you wouldn’t have to lay in bed staring at the ceiling for too long tonight because of that.

A little girl you recognize from previous years – Himari you think – raises her hand. You nod to her in recognition. “Are we going to have the first-day campfire?” She jumps up and down, the girls around her getting excited as well. You glance down at your watch, then up to the sky, then do the girls.

It was already late in the afternoon, the kids would have dinner and then gather back at Caterpillar Circle for an evening get-to-know-each-other campfire session. You grin, kids always enjoy the fire for some concerning reason. “Way to steal my job Himari!” You laugh and she giggles along with you. “Okay everyone, you heard Himari, head back to your cabins and get ready for dinner. Then we’ll have some time to get closer before bedtime. We have a busy day of fun tomorrow.” When they stare at you blankly, obviously waiting for one of you to start leading the way, you start marching your way down the path with as much vigor as you can muster.

Soon enough, you and Sanemi are back in your positions on the stairs to your cabin. That comfortable silence blankets you again, like the setting sun’s warmth. “Ya’know you’re really good at this,” Sanemi begins before blowing out a breath and turning to face you. “M’glad we get to work together.” He finishes, a distant glimmer of emotion swirling around in his lilac gaze. You suck in a breath, a storm brewing in your stomach.

Sanemi was a good guy, that much was obvious, but all those years ago had driven a wedge between you two. He hadn’t said the words ‘I’m sorry’ yet, which was a small nuance in the grand scheme of things. Sanemi was never really the type to say an apology, instead, he showed you. You can’t expect that much to change within him and you’re kind of glad. He would make it up to you until you were sure the wounds had begun to heal. He was giving you time to make up your mind on whether or not you wanted to forgive him. “Me too,” You whisper against the breeze.

A whole column of picnic tables lined up edge-to-edge belong to your crew as you file into the mess hall. A couple of other groups are already sitting down with food, including the littles. Mitsuri and Kyojuro wave excitedly at you and Sanemi. You grin, waving back. “Alright squiggles, show me how nicely you can line up to receive dinner. Then come sit down and we’ll have a little camp saying before we start eating together.” They scramble toward the food and you kick your legs under the table part, deflating slightly.

Sanemi comes up behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder. It makes you straighten your back and whip around to look at him. His lips curl in a playful grin. “Want the usual?” You glance at the kitchen, your stomach growling softly. You look back to Sanemi, nodding eagerly.

As he walks away you think back to when he’d grab you dinner all the time, sitting in this exact mess hall. “Don’t disappoint me Shinazugawa!” You yell and he shoots you a smug grin as he scoots in line next to one of the boys in your group, Kenji.

Mitsuri peers at you from her table, glancing back at Sanemi. Something seems fishy, she just can’t put her finger on it. Before this month you were complaining about seeing him again and now you two appear to be chumming again. Did something happen that you weren’t telling her? She pouts, nuding Kyojuro. “Do those two seem friendlier?” She asks in a hushed tone. Kyojuro furrows his thick brows, humming as his gaze flips between his white-haired friend and you. He’s about to tell Mitsuri she’s off her rocker, but he catches Sanemi throwing a look back at you while you are otherwise occupied with kiddos sitting down next to you.

Kyojuro turns to Mitsuri, concern written all over his face. “Yes,” He hisses and now Mitsuri is concerned you may have ingested a little too much alcohol trying to help her out.

After a couple of minutes, Sanemi places a tray of vanilla pudding, tater tots, and chicken tenders with honey mustard sauce in front of you. “M’lady.” He grins, slipping onto the bench across from you with a tray of his own. Hana smacks Sanemi’s arm and he peers down at her with a surprised look. “What was that about Hana?” He questions, holding onto his arm where she hit him.

She puffs out her lips and points at you angrily. “Mister Sanemi, we just went over this. Miss YN is not your lady.” She crosses her arms glaring at him. His brows shoot up, giving you a look of amusement before patting Hana’s head.

She looks like she might bite him at first, but then she leans into his hand. “Only because Miss YN keeps rejecting me..” He smirks at you. Ha! As if!

You roll your eyes, but gather the attention of your tables. “Let’s sing my favorite camp song!” You lead them in the Camp Maple fighting song that ends with chanting the name of the camp. “Wake me up wake me up we’re going to camp! I can’t wait I can’t wait we’re going to camp! There it is there it is we’re going to camp! Which one which one!? C-A-M P…M-A-P L-E!” They seem to enjoy every second of it, mainly because they get to scream as loud as they can. Sanemi meets your gaze for a blissful second before you busy yourself with your food, biting into one of the chicken tenders. Delight rumbles from your chest as you swallow the meat.

Sanemi can’t help but watch you stuff your face. On one hand, he’s amused by how you still enjoy the simple things in life. On the other hand, he’s concerned when his heart races at you picking up the vanilla pudding. Being the heathen you were, as a child you’d just eat it with your finger. You claimed you could get more out of a cup if you used your finger. He grips onto the bench, gritting his teeth as you follow suit, sticking your pointer finger in. The creamy pudding sits there momentarily before you pop it into your mouth.

It’s a simple, innocent – completely fucking innocent – motion, but his thoughts shift to something more warm than the humidity. Fuck why was seeing you damp with light sweat making him hungry? When you let your tongue swirl around the tip of your finger it drives Sanemi mad. Is he panting? He feels like he’s panting.

A bit of pudding is on the corner of your mouth, waiting there. His heated gaze mimics how your tongue darts out to collect it. He sucks on his lips, regarding how your plump lips look so fucking delicious right now.

The only thing that snaps Sanemi out of his daze is Hana plopping a spoon in front of you with a disgusted look on her little features. “You know Miss YN, if you needed a spoon you could’ve just asked.” She grunts, shuddering. Your cheeks flush and for the briefest seconds, you gape, staring into his eyes. Your cheeks flush a vibrant pink and suddenly Sanemi is picking up the spoon and using it in his own pudding. Hana and you both gawk at him, but if he were allowed to feed into one desire this whole time, it would be watching you eat pudding with your finger. Especially if it meant you’d look at him like that again.

“This is the best pudding I’ve ever had.” Sanemi mumbles and Hana sighs frustratedly. “Something wrong Hana?” He asks. She whips her head toward him with a frown.

Sanemi has to roll his lips into his mouth to stop from laughing at how cute she’s glaring at him. “Yes, I’m going to have nightmares.” She huffs. Yeah me too, but they aren’t exactly going to be nightmares Sanemi thought.

Dinner finishes and children run around your feet as you walk out of the mess hall. The short walk back to Caterpillar Circle feels like an eternity with Sanemi walking silently beside you. “Can we wear our pajamas to the campfire!?” Aoi breezes past you yelling.

You quirk a brow. “How about we make it a race? Whoever is back at the picnic tables first… wins.” You eye the giddy looks on all of their faces. “Ready? Go!” You don’t expect Sanemi to bolt toward his side of the cabin. Oh, so he’s going to play it that way?

Kids scramble to their cabins, giggling and yelling. You’re also laughing as you quickly swing your door open. You spot the pajamas you’d laid out earlier this morning with a smirk on your lips. The one reason you suggested a race is because you had an advantage. Cheating? No, strategic gameplay.

You tug your clothes off, and toss them in the hamper beside your desk. A pair of shorts and an oversized shirt later you’re rushing out of the door in your slippers. You glance to your side, grinning mischievously when you don’t see Sanemi coming out of his door. You pump your hand in the air victoriously, spinning around in a mini victory dance. You proudly take your time prancing down the stairs, but when you turn to head toward the picnic tables Sanemi is leaning against the end of one with an amused smirk tugging his lips upward. Your mouth falls open, glancing back at his door. “How…? You…?” You slump in defeat as you reach him.

He chuckles softly, bumping arms with you. “Your victory dance was pretty cute.” He teases. You glare at him, shoving him back with your side.

Cute? In what way did he mean that? Sanemi must’ve talked too much with Tengen to pull one of those lines. You mutter a string of curses as you sit down in one of the green plastic lawn chairs. The arms dig into your hips and you grunt uncomfortably, pushing yourself into a less painful position.

Your thighs are pressed together as you squirm around in the chair and Sanemi finds himself ogling the space where your shorts disappear under your tummy. He wanted to run his tongue along that area while grazing his teeth along your thighs. A lascivious smirk pulls on his mouth as he clears his throat, turning his face to the sky.

The campfire starts with each kiddo introducing themselves, where they’re from, and three interesting facts about them. After the introductions, you bring out the s’more fixings with a twinkling grin as the kids scream enthusiastically. The night ends with you and Sanemi carrying some of them who fall asleep back to their beds. It was a euphoric space in time, something about today felt so right. Maybe the following weeks wouldn’t be so bad.

❦❦❦❦❦

You were wrong, so wrong. Sanemi stands to your side with his swim shorts on, assessing your outfit. “So… you’re not going to swim?” He cocks his head, quirking a brow. You lean back further into the armless beach chair, crossing your arms over your chest.

He closes his mouth, glancing at the group of kids playing with water toys in and out of the water. “Nope.” You reply. “Observing from a distance is more my thing.” You continue, sliding your sunglasses over your eyes so you don’t have to squint through the rays of the sun. Sanemi sighs, disappointment finding its way into his mind.

This morning when he saw you in a camp shirt with jean shorts he was sure you had a bikini on underneath. The only reason he got through a kid screaming about not getting any bacon this morning was the light at the end of his tunnel – you in a tight flattering bikini. “Y’know I knew you weren’t girly, but this is a whole new level.” Sanemi pokes at you, hoping that the fiery spirit within you will shoot out if he bugs you enough.

You glare at him, gesturing to your outfit. “This outfit is very girly I’ll have you know.” Sanemi shakes his head like he doesn’t believe you so you scoot as quickly as you can out of the chair. “Fine, watch the kids. I’ll be right back.” You snap. As you’re stomping back to your room you can’t help but think maybe you acted exactly how he wanted you to. If that was the case, then you’d give him what he wants, but he’ll pay the price. The malicious grin that forms on your lips as you pull out your lavender string bikini is grounds to have you locked away.

Sanemi throws a beach ball at a group of the boys in the face as they giggle. In the back of his head is a flurry of lewd images of you spread out on that damn beach chair with a revealing swimsuit on. The boys throw the ball back at him and it plinks against his chest. He shakes his head, reaching for the ball as the boys groan. Fantasies of you were a distraction so he couldn't even imagine what the real thing would do to him. “Woah…” He hears one of the boys whisper. He glances up, met with the heavenly picture of you walking down the bank in a light purple string bikini that laces across your front. The cups are simple triangles with a string wrapping around the back of your neck for support he would only suppose. The bottoms rise above the roundness of your hips, showing off the fullness of your body. Damn, his mouth felt dry as he can’t tear his eyes away from you.

His stomach was a trainwreck of emotions, the ball long forgotten by Sanemi. He blinks rapidly, trying to get you out of his eyes, but it was damn hard when you slowly lay back down on the chair, crossing your ankles over each other. He can see the side of your ass and for a beat, he feels like he might lose control. Then one of the boys throws the beach ball at him, it smacks against his face. This was torture. He expected you to look good, but the thin fabric allowed him to see the indent of your nipples – a vivid image he was never going to forget.

You smirk while lounging in the chair, studying the way Sanemi’s mouth falls open ever so slightly. It was a strange sense of gratification that he was so enraptured by how you appeared in the bikini. Almost like you were happy he was gaping at you, a fire lit behind his eyes that ignited something in your chest. If you weren’t careful you were bound to let it out at some point.

Since you were lost in your thoughts you hadn’t noticed Sanemi stalking up to your side. You squeak when he appears next to you, dropping a towel over your exposed skin. You glare up at him through your sunglasses. “Did you walk out of every boy’s fantasy?” He grumbles, running a hand through his damp hair.

Clicking your tongue, you toss the towel to the side and sit up in the chair. “Does that include yours Sanemi?” You inquire, pushing your sunglasses up through your hair. He stares at you for a while, mulling over what kind of response to give you.

Suddenly, he scoffs and turns his back to you. “Yeah. Yeah it does.” You swallow hard at his confession, the sun’s heat no longer feeling as hot. You scoff, leaning back into the chair. He gives you one last glance before running back to play with the boys in the water.

Was he being serious? He couldn’t have been…right? It wouldn’t make sense for Sanemi Shinazugawa, the guy whose seen you eat a bug, to have a fantasy – or whatever he meant about you. The confusion made the victory bikini less fun.

At dinner, the kids are enraptured in a conversation about tomorrow’s canoe outing in the afternoon. This might seem silly, with you being a sleepaway camp counselor that has a giant lake as its main attraction… but you never learned how to fully swim. You can keep your head above water if you’re able to touch the bottom. It's something you haven't mentioned to anyone due to the fact you would die of embarrassment. “How quickly can you go Miss YN?” Hana’s eyes are pleading with you to answer her inquiry.

So you smile, despite the obvious anxiety of where this answer might lead you. “Faster than Mister Sanemi.” You reply, jerking your thumb toward the white-haired male sitting a bit further down from you.

He perks up at the mention of his name, meeting your eyes. “Did you just say you’re faster than me?” He laughs, scooting down to sit across from you. Hana nods ecstatically before you can brush off the challenge dripping from his voice.

You sigh, shaking your hands in front of you. “Of course not. I wouldn’t dare reveal the truth about you being a slowpoke.” You tease. Sanemi quirks a brow, letting his eyes look you up and down. The simple motion makes your muscles tense with a buzzing sensation.

He hums to himself, leaning back with a shake of his head. “I bet you can’t win in the beginners' course against me.” Sanemi smirks, the boys around him snickering.

Your eye twitches at the smug look on his stupid face. You clasp your hands together, smiling with gritted teeth. “You’re on Shinazugawa.”

That was your second mistake of the week as you shakily got into a canoe the next morning dressed in a white shirt and comfortable black shorts. The kids were fine with pushing off the hike to another day to witness this extraordinary event. Sanemi is grinning victoriously already. It makes you want to slap him with the paddle you’re holding. “Ready?” He asks.

The grip you have on the paddle tightens as you nod curtly. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” You respond. Sanemi nods to one of the kids who starts a countdown before they all scream GO! Everything is going fine until you reach the turn. Sanemi is already far ahead of you and this becomes more of proving you can do it to yourself than winning against that smug bastard.

With the paddle dipping into the water you manage to turn around the flagged buoy, children cheering your name. Your heart nearly explodes with happiness at the accomplishment. You make it a few more feet before you get too overzealous and the canoe starts to flip. As you crash into the water you knew you’d just have to flip yourself back over to – well, not drown. But something goes wrong and you slip out of the canoe, into the deep end of the lake. Murky water crowds your vision and a few thoughts crowd your mind.

Will you get out of this alive? Is this some sort of divine intervention about how you’ve been previously living your life? Was this your canon event? You’d laugh at that one if you weren’t still sinking to what felt like the depths of the lake.

Would your mother even care? Okay, that one stings, but it’s something you think about a lot. When you’re driving and have one of those intrusive thoughts about wrecking. Would she care? Noticing a creepy person walking behind you at night. Would she come to your funeral? And now, as you lose the will to breathe. Would she remember what you smelt like, sounded like, looked like?

Sanemi crawls out of his canoe, raising his hands in victory. He turns around to gloat in your face, but he’s met with your canoe upside down. You are nowhere in sight and after a second of you not popping back up, Sanemi frantically dives into the water. Where are you? His hands glide through the water, searching for any sign of your body. Where are you? Water fills his ears, only making the pounding in his chest louder with each stroke of his arms. He breaches the surface, gasping for air and twirling around to see anything – anything that would lead him to you. “Mister Sanemi! There!” A child screeches, pointing to the front side of your canoe.

He plunges back in after taking a large gulp of air. He will find you this time. He’s not scared anymore. Not like all those years ago. He couldn’t lose you, not like this.

Amid some plant life is your floating body. If Sanemi were above water he thinks he’d cry with joy. He quickly moves toward you, scooping you up and pushing both of you toward the surface. Please please please don’t be too late. Sanemi’s mind is whirling with anxiety and his heart is pounding with the lack of oxygen. You both break through the surface, Sanemi pulling you along with him to shore. He deposits your limp body on the sand, panting and scanning for any sign of injury.

You’re not breathing. Damnit. Sanemi’s jaw ticks as the children rush toward him. “Mister Sanemi give her CPR!” Hana yells, stomping her foot and mimicking the pushing rhythm he should be performing on you. He wipes his mouth, nostrils flaring as he slides to your side. His insides were twisting in unbreakable knots, squeezing his lungs of all air.

He pinches your nose and lowers his mouth to yours. “You can yell at me later,” He breathes quietly before connecting his lips to yours. As he pushes air through your lungs his lecherous mind drifts to how very wonderful your lips feel against his. They’re wet and taste like lake water, but they’re so damn soft. After a few more blows he worriedly looks at your chest. He doesn’t want to break your ribs, but if he has to in order to save your life – he’s going to.

Luckily, you chose now as the moment to gasp in air and then start hacking up lake water. Your eyes wildly scan your surroundings, locking onto the man hovering inches from your face. You squirm away from him, coughing into your hand. Sanemi and the children watch you with concern-stricken faces. You touch your throat gingerly, meeting the swirling lilac gaze of the male in front of you. “You saved me,” You croak out as it all falls into place, furrowing your brows.

Hana pops into your view shaking her head. “Took him a long time to kiss you!” She yells, an annoyed pout on her lips. You glance back to Sanemi, his gaze still locked onto you.

He cocks a grin in your direction which makes your heart swell. “I gave you mouth-to-mouth.” He explains and the worry about you being unconscious for your first kiss with Sanemi – not that you’ll have a first kiss with him – drifts away. The thought of his mouth on yours stays wandering in your head regardless. “Kids, can you hang out in the mess hall while I take Miss YN to the infirmary?” Sanemi questions, the children eagerly following instructions. He peers down at you once they’ve all scurried toward the big building.

With a grunt, he slides his hands behind your neck and knees, hoisting you up bridal style. You yelp at how easily he holds you against his chest. “Hey, I can walk,” You grumble, glaring at his concentrated expression. He shakes his head, climbing up the bank.

As he climbs you nearly tumble out of his arms. He cracks a smile, shifting you in his grasp. “Might wanna hold on tighter than that darlin’. Don’t worry, I won’t mind.”

Begrudgingly you wrap your arms around his neck. The walk to the infirmary takes less than a couple of strides when he reaches the walkway. Shinobu worriedly meets your gaze when Sanemi kicks open the door with his foot. She stands from her desk, hurrying over to his side. “What happened!?” She assesses you with a scrutinizing look. “Put her down on that bed. I need to go get another bottle of aspirin from the main office. Sit tight.” Shinobu huffs, running a hand through her hair before slipping out of the door.

Sanemi gently lays you on the bed, giving you a scan of his own. You swallow hard, wondering why your body feels so warm despite the brisk ac making your wet clothes stick to you. The way his lilac eyes regard you made something inside of you switch. He’d shown you how deeply he cared for you by saving your life. Granted, any decent person would’ve jumped in to pull you out of the water – but Sanemi looks shaken up. Like he almost lost you. It makes your chest heave, a heavyweight tugging on it as you reach up to touch his cheek.

His worried look turns to you, a slight wobble in his irises as your thumb strokes the side of his face. “Hey… I’m here. I’m okay. You did such a good job.” You whisper, but yet your voice seems too loud. Sanemi leans into your touch, shutting his eyes as he takes in a shaky breath.

It was all fun and games until he had to think of a world without you in it. The bottom line is he wouldn’t have a world without you. The grass would shrivel, the color would drain, and sunlight would simply cease to exist. “You should’ve told me you couldn’t swim.” His brows furrow and he opens his eyes to stare into your very soul. “Why didn’t you tell me? I was so worried YN.” He rolls his lips into a thin line, his chin trembling.

It’s like you lose your breath all at once. This man, the one you thought didn’t have an ounce of compassion for you, was about to start crying because you failed to mention your lack of skill. You bump your forehead against his head, kissing his hairline. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” At your words he jerks away from your head, his eyes wildly scanning your face. Your breath holds tightly in your throat as time seemingly slows.

Then his eyes fall to your lips and everything in the universe pulls you two together into a soft brush of the lips. Given the state of it, hidden behind a white curtain on the infirmary bed, the kiss felt too precious. Too wonderful. Your hand falls from his face and before you have a moment to give in to whatever was happening, Sanemi pulls away. He shoots to a standing position, turning on his heel. Your body cools instantly. Oh. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have,” He begins, taking a couple of steps toward the curtain. Oh. He quickly glances over his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have done that.” He hisses, then rushes out of the building nearly bumping into Shinobu as she walks back with a pill bottle in hand. She jumps back, eyes widening as she watches Sanemi stalk toward the mess hall. If it hadn’t been for the heat she might’ve mistaken the red on the tip of his ears as something else.

❦❦❦❦❦

Weekends are set up for the kids to decide what they want to do. It’s a free period within reason. Most of them hang out in groups around the buildings, playing games or swimming. Weekends allow the leaders to get chores done around the campgrounds, like picking up trash, organizing things for the next week, arranging laundry, and supervising more involved things.

You happened to spend most of the first weekend with a group of girls who wanted to use the craft supplies for next week. Since Sanemi was your co-leader there were times you had to speak with him, which made avoiding him incredibly difficult.

The thing that upset you the most was even after he ran off, your heart still flutters at just the sight of him. Weren’t you supposed to be the master of your own emotions? It frustrated you to no end how you sought him out in crowds. At first, you tried to convince yourself it was a strategy to avoid him, but when he didn’t come to talk to you somehow your heart sank.

Before you know it, Monday morning arrives, casting a stormy forecast for the rest of the week. It’s pouring heavily outside the mess hall windows. Fortunately, your group of kids are behaving even though it couldn’t be easy stuck inside all day. Your eyes are drawn to the other group happily stringing beads onto yarn.

Sanemi sits amongst them with a warm smile on his face, actively trying not to glance at you. He can feel your gaze on him and it was making his heart feel weird, like he’d just run a mile or hiked up a trail. He presses his lips into a thin line, laughing absentmindedly at one of the boys spilling beads everywhere.

The kiss. That’s all he could think about and it was ruining his life. All night he tossed and turned thinking about knocking your door down so he could do it again. Regret ran through every fiber of his being when he walked away. He thought he’d gotten over his fears, but it turns out that realizing you might have feelings for your good friend is not the easiest situation to be in. He was in a panic, fucking terrified you would hate him for kissing you. He didn’t even ask you, it just happened. What kind of scumbag was he?

He groans, turning to face away from you. You huff, rolling your eyes. Fine, he could be that way if he wanted. He’s the one who kissed you anyway. This was all on Sanemi. Hana nudges her friends Keiko, Mai, and Akane. They all slowly turn to stare at you, then toward Sanemi. Keiko narrows her eyes while tying the knot on her bracelet. “Somethings wrong,” She mumbles, slipping the adorably crafted jewelry onto her arm.

Mai and Akane nod vigorously. “Why are they avoiding each other?” Akane hisses, glancing back at their other leader. Hana shakes her head, stroking her chin in thought.

Kenji appears behind the group, causing them all to jump. Mai slaps his shoulder and he giggles. “What’cha talkin’ ‘bout?” He pokes his head in between Akane and Mai’s shoulders. They collectively sigh, rolling their eyes at the annoying boy.

Hana gestures to both leaders, pinching her brow. “For some reason, Mister Sanemi and Miss YN are avoiding each other.” She explains snappily.

Kenji pops his head up, glancing at both of you. His mouth forms in the shape of an ‘o’. “Ah, this reminds me of when my mom and dad would fight and then ignore each other.” Hana perks up at his suggestion, slowly turning to look at her friends.

Mai raises a brow and then grabs a piece of yarn. “There’s only one way to fix this.” She valiantly collects a bunch of green beads to mix with lilac ones. She picks out two heart-shaped beads that sit on either side of a letter in the middle. When she’s done, two bracelets sit in front of her. One has an ‘S’ with two red hearts on either side, followed by a pattern of lilac and green. The other is the same, except in the middle is the first letter of your name. “Matching friendship bracelets,” She holds them up, smiling triumphantly.

Hana claps her hands together. “Wonderfully done Agent Mai, now let’s give it to them!” She grabs the ‘S’ one from Mai’s hands, running over to your side. “Miss YN!” She yells. “We made this for you!” Without much consideration for your wrist, she shoves it past your hand.

“Here you go Mister Sanemi!” You turn to see Kenji holding what seems to be the same bracelet in front of Sanemi’s face. A roll of thunder shakes the valley outside and his eyes meet yours momentarily. It sends a shock of emotions through you.

Later that night as the rain plips against your window you stare at your wrist in awe. A growl echoes around your room and it takes you a moment to realize it was your stomach. It almost makes you crack a smile. You would’ve if you weren’t in such a daze as you walk out into the living room area.

What you don’t expect to see is Sanemi leaning against the counter shirtless, with his sweats hanging loosely around his athletic hips. You swallow, taking your time to rake your eyes up his bare chest. When you end up meeting his gaze his lips tug into a smirk. “Enjoy the view?” He mutters, picking a peach up off the counter.

Your brows furrow and you cross your arms over your chest defensively. “As a matter of fact, no I’m not.” You snap, scoffing and lying through your teeth.

Sanemi shrugs, biting into the juicy peach tantalizingly slow. Juices leak from the broken skin, dribbling down his chin as he takes the flesh into his mouth. His tongue darts out to lick up a droplet escaping down the side of the fruit. You gulp as he continues to eat. The noises alone were enough to drive a woman mad, but the fact you were ovulating made everything so much worse. “Want one?” Sanemi asks, licking his lips of all the sticky juice.

If you were crazy your mouth would fall open, allowing him to put the one he was eating into your mouth. “No.” You grumble, yanking a can of Pringles out of the cabinet.

Sanemi watches how your ass curves as you stretch to reach into the upper cabinet. “Suit yourself,” He mutters, biting into the peach again. You roll your eyes and march right back into your room, tossing the pringles onto your bed. You ruffle your hair, silently screaming into the night. Fuck that guy for being shirtless. He waltzed around like a whore scrounging for some loose change obviously trying to get a rise out of you. Would the kiss go unmentioned forever? How were you supposed to be around Sanemi when all you could think about was how badly you wanted to jump his bones? You’re absolutely fucked. You grit your teeth together as you glare at the door. But damn did he have such a perfect body. The sweats, the lazy smile, the damn peach he bit into. It was all torture and he damn well knew it.

He wasn’t likely to figure out the full extent of your feelings– hell you didn’t even know exactly what you felt, but if he kept this up you might as well walk around with a neon sign on your forehead that reads I’d like to fuck Sanemi Shinazugawa. Maybe then your mother would pay attention to you. Not that you care.

You glance down at your wrist again, the letter ‘S’ spreading a grin across your face. This was stupid. So stupid. What if Sanemi was still in the other room? Or using the bathroom? What would you do then? You have a pit of desire and you wish Sanemi would clean it off with his teeth. Were you jealous of a peach? Groaning, you slip out of your bottom layer of clothing, discarding it on the floor. Things were getting dangerous. Your thoughts were supplying you with a fantasy world and you were about to become delusional. At least then you wouldn’t have to face the reality of this stupid – well, whatever it was.

Positioning yourself against the corner of your bed, you spread your legs apart. The cool breeze from the ac hits your damp pussy and the sensation makes you slump against the wall. If Sanemi were between your legs right now he’d probably lick his lips and spread them even wider so he could have full range to lavish his tongue against your sensitive clit. A tiny moan whines from your throat.

The image drives you to reach between your thighs, hissing when your fingers brush against your clit. His tongue would feel warm, wet, and slick as it laps at your folds. Your fingers plunge deeper, a strangled moan falling from your mouth.

Your breathing pattern stalls, hiccuping as you work yourself into a frenzy – the inside of your stomach feeling gooey and hot. His long thick fingers would slip into your pussy, teasing the entrance where you’d beg for him to fuck you later. He’d smirk, pleased with how you’re so desperate for his cock, for all of him. But he’d make you wait, good girls always wait for permission. You groan – a guttural pleasured groan. It rolls through your chest, cracking into a whimper at the end as you edge yourself closer to your crest.

It’s like you’re seeing stars with how your fingers feel, you only wish Sanemi were here, ready to please like he usually is. His words and touch always elicit a response from you. He had to know that. What kind of response would he get out of you as he lined the tip of his cock up at your entrance? Making you bed for him to fuck you unconscious. You’d be such a good little slut for him. Taking all of him inside your hungry cunt until he clung to your hips, spilling his seed inside of you.

A tense pinch of pleasure squeezes your core, crashing through your body with a string of perfectly pretty moans. Sanemi hadn’t meant to listen to you masturbating. It was an accident – he’d come to your door to apologize for allowing you to misunderstand his intentions. His knuckles had brushed against the wood of your door when he heard you gasp. Wondering if you were okay he pressed his ear to the door. Then, his muscles tensed as you purred out a moan.

Sanemi was a decent man – or so he thought until his hand slips down to his growing bulge. He hisses as you whimper, gasping for air – your bed squeaking with movement. He wants to swing the door open and take in the sight of you sprawled out. What kind of face were you making while moaning like that? More importantly, what were you thinking about?

You’re whimpering and the glint of the beads around Sanemi’s wrist sends his thoughts spiraling. The very same bracelet he wore on his arm was around yours. It was like he was between your legs, pressing his thumb against your clit to proudly watch you squirm in pleasure. His mouth waters, imagining how you’d taste after cumming. His cock aches to burrow into your wet warmth and stay there forever.

He presses his forehead to the wood, letting out a tight breath as he strokes his length through the cloth of his sweatpants. If he stayed here any longer it would surely result in him knocking down your door. Not the valiant way he had thought about confessing. Sanemi steps away from your door, cursing under his breath. He holds up his arm, staring at the matching bracelet until he notices the first letter of your name. His gaze slowly makes it way back to the door. Was there an ‘S’ on yours? For his name? His eyes flutter shut, a trickle of possessiveness racking through his body.

Tuesday is finger painting. The kids each get their own easel and insist you and Sanemi paint with them. The morning ends with Sanemi having paint smeared across his face and you with splotches on your arms. The afternoon is bubble painting, which results in bubbles being blown everywhere. Wednesday is crafting things with clay. You proudly present your monstrosity at the end of the day. Sanemi and the kids try their best to compliment whatever you had created, but you can tell they’re just being nice.

When Thursday rolls around the kids want to draw and color all day so Sanemi and you make sure they have lots of construction paper, colors, and other supplies. You’re sitting with Hana’s group of friends and Sanemi is across the room with a group of boys, drawing furiously.

Kenji peers down at what Mister Sanemi had drawn. “Hey, that kind of looks like Miss YN,” He points at the stick figure holding the hand of the other one. Sanemi covers the page and shakes his head.

Kenji somehow manages to push his arms off, grabbing the paper. “Oi! Brat, give that back!” He yells as Kenji runs over to your side. You smile down at him as he hands you the page.

You cover your heart and your smile grows. “Aww, Kenji did you draw this?” You ask, your voice softening.

He shakes his head vigorously. “Nope! Mister Sanemi drew you and him holding hands!” You glance up, meeting the flushed face of Sanemi standing over Kenji. His eyes look pleading as you drop your eyes to the drawing again. It did kind of look like you, but that would be impossible. Why would Sanemi draw something like this?

“YN, listen…” He starts, brushing up against you. Your body stiffens at his close proximity. “I hadn’t finished, I was going to draw the kids in next.” He explains. You wish he would step back from your side because his warmth is driving you insane.

Kenji giggles as he rushes back to his group of friends. “It wouldn’t matter anyway.” You state, handing the drawing back to Sanemi. “I could honestly care less what you draw.” You smile sarcastically and turn back to your group. Sanemi stands behind you for a moment, his heart yearning to reach out and touch you again – but he doesn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. He obviously already fucked up when he kissed you, after all you’d been avoiding him. It was best that he kept his distance to figure out how to talk to you and give you space so you’d listen to him.

The next morning you manage to chow down your breakfast before Sanemi enters the kitchen area. In all honesty, you were aware thinking about someone you were mad at while masturbating… wasn’t the best look. You didn’t want to think about the realities of what that meant for you since Sanemi was still being an asshole about the whole innocent kiss thing. The thoughts going through your head last night were far from innocent.

You’re sitting in a lawn chair, writing down some ideas for today’s craft. The kids had to make puppets and come up with a script to perform in the afternoon. With your group of kids, things were bound to go smoothly. You grin, shutting your notebook and checking the time on your phone. It was almost time for the kids to meet you and Sanemi near the picnic benches. You glare at your cabin, waiting for the white-haired male to step out of his door at any moment. The knob turns and you quickly act like you weren’t blatantly waiting for him. “Mornin’ YN,” Sanemi calls, jogging up to your side. You roll your eyes, glancing at the casually attractive outfit he has on. A pair of fitted black shorts that accentuate the size of his muscular thighs with a loose gray shirt tucked into one side.

He plops down next to you. “Why were you so late?” You interrogate. Sanemi quirks an easy smirk, eyeing you out of the corner of his eye.

Sanemi props one of his legs over the other, leaning further into the chair. “I had to take a shower,” He begins, raising his brows. “Could’ve used the company.” He cocks his head toward you, his lilac eyes filling with an expression you couldn’t pinpoint.

Your brows furrow despite the blush spreading across your cheeks. “Scared of showering by yourself just like you’re scared of kissing people?” You snap and his playfulness is immediately wiped off his face. Where were these words coming from? Were you going crazy? The inside voices are becoming the outside voices! It’s too late now to back peddle. You scoff, turning away from him. “Don’t, I know you regret and it’s fine. I just figured you would’ve cut back on the flirting.” You push out of the chair. “I’m not some girl you can flirt with for the summer and then fuck off to wherever, okay? If you’re going to accidentally kiss me then fucking own up to it and talk to me like an adult. You made me feel so uncomfortable because I somehow thought it was my fault. So this whole cool-guy act needs to stop. Until we have a real conversation about what happened I would rather go back to friendly hating each other.”

As you stomp away Sanemi feels the ‘oh shit’ factor roll through him. While he’d been trying to figure out his feelings toward you, he’d been allowing you to figure it out for him. You assumed he wanted some summer fun and thought better after kissing you, but that wasn’t it at all. Sanemi was falling, so fucking deeply in love with you. He had been ever since you were kids, but as a boy who grew up barely knowing what kindness was, it was hard to seek out those emotions. Now looking back to how he felt when you ran away into the woods that night… he realizes the panic of finding your mother was so you would be found as quickly as possible. No one saw you for a week after that and he’s still not sure what happened, but he knew it wasn’t good.

He was stronger now and he’d stand up to your demons, slaying them with you by his side. He would protect you no matter what, but right now he had to explain this misunderstanding before it was too late. Kissing you was the best thing to happen to him – accident or not. It made him forget how shitty his life was and how blissful it could be by just seeing you. He’d fucked up.

After cooling off you wandered back to the growing group of children that rush you when they spot you. It makes your heart warm that they’re so excited. Sanemi watches you from a distance and you’re glad he seems to finally be listening to you.

Leading the kids to the mess hall through the light morning rain is more peaceful than it should be. No one tries to jump in the mud, they stay in between you and Sanemi, walking politely. When you explain in detail what they’re supposed to do all of them get to work using craft paper and whatever was leftover from the week. The morning blows past and suddenly you’re sitting in a seat next to Sanemi as groups of kids put on puppet shows. Some of them make you snort with laughter and others are downright works of art. Then, Hana and her group of friends present their show. A spikey white-haired puppet and one that looks eerily like you pop up into the makeshift theater.

Your eyes widen realizing what’s going on. “Hi there darling! I sure do love your face!” Kenji yells, playing the white-haired puppet.

Slowly you and Sanemi make eye contact. “We should love each other’s faces forever. Then love our baby’s faces. Then love our-”

You shoot into a standing position, clapping your hands together. “Okay, that’ll wrap up the puppet shows everyone!” You demand, laughing nervously. What the actual fuck? You whisk around to glare at Hana and Kenji dramatically making the two puppets kiss. “Oi, William Shakespear and Agatha Cristi get over here, now.” You point to the spot next to you and Sanemi. Akane and Mai scurry away with the rest of the kids heading toward the snack table.

Kenji and Hana meander toward you; pouts puffing out their bottom lips. “Guys, you can’t keep doing this.” Sanemi gestures to the puppets on their hands. “Miss YN and I aren’t some story you can just use willy-nilly. We’re real people with real emotions.”

A scoffed laugh falls from your lips. “Mister Sanemi has a hard time with emotions anyway, that’s why this show wasn’t even true to life. He would never call someone darling.” You explain dully.

Hana shakes her head, pointing to Sanemi. “Nu-uh! He called you darling the other day!” She exclaims. You glance at Sanemi and then drag a hand down your face.

“Hana, this isn’t something you should be concerned with.”

“But we just want you and Mister Sanemi to make up.” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s no fun while you guys are fighting.” Your eyes bulge as she talks. Did the kids care that much? And they noticed? Gosh, that was kind of sweet.

Sanemi leans forward, ruffling Hana’s hair. “Don’t worry about it kiddo, we’ll work on it.” He glances at you with a slight smile. A sigh rushes through you as you nod in agreement. Kenji and Hana rush off to the snack table to join their friends. You can remember a time when you and Sanemi played pranks on the camp leaders. A growing ache suffocates your next breath. You peek at him, wondering where things went wrong. Part of you was mad that he walked away after the kiss and another part was angry because you enjoyed it so much. No matter what happened it felt like you couldn’t be friends with him. It was like the universe was keeping you away from each other for a reason unbeknownst to you.

When you both get back to the cabin nothing gets talked about. It’s an awful feeling, like abandonment all over again. Sanemi didn’t care enough about you to talk or explain why he kissed you. Everything was so nice until that stupid kiss that you couldn’t stop thinking about. The fact that it was that good, yet lasted about two seconds drives you mad.

It’s not until Saturday morning as the sky quakes with thunder and heavy rain, that you decide enough is enough. If he wasn’t going to talk to you, then you’d have to take it into your own hands. That was until there was a knock on your outside door. You get out of bed and open it to find Yena holding an umbrella. Her eyes are filled with some sort of sorrow as she blows out a heavy breath. “YN, deary, I need to speak with one of your kiddos. Can you bring Kenji to the main office? His mother is on the phone.” She explains, a sad smile creasing her lips. You nod your head, looking toward the cabin you knew Kenji was sleeping in.

You look back to Yena, wondering how serious it was for her to be so affected by it. “Yeah. Let me get dressed and I’ll bring him over before 8.” You reply, a cool wash of anxiety coating your insides. Yena nods.

“I’ll see you then.” She turns to leave, walking out into the downpour. You study her retreating form before shaking off the dreadful feeling that was wrapping around you. After slipping into a comfy pair of shorts and a hoodie you run over to cabin 3.

Knocking on the door a sleepy boy answers the door. You recognize him as Mikey, one of Kenji’s close friends. “Hey Mikey can you get Kenji for me, please? Tell him to get dressed and meet me out here.” You explain and the little boy shuts the door.

A couple of minutes later Kenji pops out of the door, eagerly running up to you. He hugs your legs and bounces up and down. “Are we going on a special mission Miss YN!?” He yells, grabbing onto your hand. For some reason your heart aches, sensing something is off.

You bend down to his level anyway, putting on your biggest grin. “We sure are! I needed my bravest soldier to help me on a secret quest.” Your face becomes stern and Kenji giggles, running around in a circle.

“Don’t worry Miss YN! I’ll protect you! Did’ya know I’m stronger than Mister Sanemi!?” He squeals, punching the air. You stand up, laughing off his comment about your co-leader. All those years carrying you around and taking care of his little brother were bound to build up excess strength. Plus those muscles of his were no joke…

Kenji latches onto your hand again as you walk the path to the main office. It’s not raining as hard as it was moments ago, but thunder still rolls through the sky. You walk him through the main office door, Yena waiting behind the counter with the phone pressed to her ear. She spots Kenji and waves him over. He sends a look at you over his shoulder before releasing your hand to walk to Yena’s side. She hands him the phone and his face instantly drops.

The hands of your past crawl back into your stomach, clawing out anything good and leaving behind gouges of trauma, boiling toward your throat. Kenji’s eyes start trembling as he clutches the phone to his ear. “No! No! You can’t!” He suddenly yells, pushing the phone away from him, sobs flooding from his mouth. You take a step toward him but he angrily glares at you before bursting through the front door. Yena slumps defeatedly against the wall.

You glance at the door still swinging shut. “Yena, what’s going on?” You inquire softly, terrified of the answer she’d give you.

She looks up, a pained expression taking the light away from her face. “Kenji’s parents are divorcing. His father isn’t going to be there when he gets back.”

Her words coast around in your brain before you turn on your heel and bolt after Kenji. No, no, please no. The similarities between your past and this moment is laughable as you cut through the trees. Your eyes wildly search for little Kenji, anywhere, somewhere. Thunder claps above your head but you ignore it, traveling further into the woods. “Kenji!” You scream, rain spitting into your eyes. “Kenji please come back!” You yell, cupping your hands around your mouth. You feel empty, yet full of terror. The same way you felt back then when your mother kicked your dad out of your life. The man that would take care of you when your mother got too angry or too drunk. He was gone forever, your protector. Left you to be fed to the monsters your mother harbored.

You split through a clearing, breathing heavily as the rain comes down with torrential intent. You feel like crying, screaming, throwing yourself off a cliff even, but you catch a glimpse of Kenji’s red shirt huddled up against the hallow of a tree. “Miss YN!” He cries, holding out his arms for you. “I’m scared.” You rush to his side, bringing him tightly to your chest.

The both of you cling to each other under the cover of the tree, sobbing with the sky. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here.” You breathe, stroking his head. Kenji curls up in your arms, trembling with tiny hiccups. You knew these woods like the back of your hand, but as the rain blurs your vision the realization crashes over you.

You had no idea where you were.

Sanemi watches the rain from his window, wondering what you were doing right now. He grunts as he slides off his bed, heading through the kitchen area to your door. He knocks lightly, aware that you might still be sleeping. “YN?” He calls out softly, but you don’t respond. He furrows his brows knocking harder. “YN?” His voice is firmer, but yet nothing comes from your room. He reached for the knob, twisting it open with ease. The door swings open revealing your empty room. He glances around, breathing in your scent and trying to push down the excitement of being in your personal space. He moves around your room, heading toward your outside door. He walks through it, feeling the cool breeze of the storm against his skin.

Where were you? He spots a group of boys sitting outside their cabin. He jogs over to them through the rain, stopping under the cover of their deck. “What’cha up to?” Sanemi inquires, planning on asking them if they’d seen where you went.

One of them looks at him. “Miss YN took Kenji and we’re waiting for him to come back because he wanted to play games with us.” He explains and Sanemi quirks a brow.

What was that about? “Do you know where?” Sanemi pushes. The same one that was talking to him shakes his head.

“They were headed toward the main office, but I’m not sure where exactly they were headed.” Sanemi thanks the group of boys before running toward the main office. When he swings open the door Yena is sitting at her desk with her head in her hands. She glances up when he walks further into the door.

Her features soften, a worried expression crossing her face. “Oh Sanemi, thank goodness. I’m so worried.” She rises from her seat, crossing over the carpet to his side.

A sense of dread hits the pit of his stomach like a weight of bricks. What was going on? Where were you? Why did Yena look so anxious? “What’s wrong?” Sanemi glances around the office, wishing that you’d pop out to surprise him.

Yena places a hand on his shoulder, turning his attention back to her. “Kenji ran into the woods and YN followed him.” She explains.

The feeling of concern amplifies as his blood cools. Not the woods again. “When?” He snaps, a strike of lightning illuminating the sky. Yena sighs, glancing at the clock on the wall.

“About an hour ago,” She trails off, furrowing her brows together. “Sanemi, please, find them.” Without a second thought, he runs into the woods. A flash of when he was younger causes him to halt at the tree line. His heart is beating erratically in his chest as he stares through the trunks of thick forest. He’d been too scared to continue on back then, but you were probably frightened too. Who was he to love you if he couldn’t face your terror? It’s then that he lifts up his wrist to view the matching bracelet. He shakes off his nerves and starts jogging through the foliage.

The rain soaks through his shirt, slicking his hair to the side of his face. He had to find you. Just a week ago you nearly drowned on his watch because of a stupid bet and now you were lost in the woods during a strong storm. Were you trying to test his patience? No… you most likely ran after Kenji because of your inner child. Something wanted to heal that part of you. Being a child was difficult, especially when you were taught that emotions were wrong.

Sanemi can remember the way your mother screamed as he pulled you angrily by your arm. Her grip left marks on you, red splotches of hatred spanning your tiny arm. She was cursing, screeching about how much of an embarrassment you were, if you loved your father so much then why didn’t you go find him? She was a pure blur of her past demons boiling up into one entity – against her own daughter.

Now, he would plunge a sword through her heart and save you from the wild beast. Take you away somewhere safe. If only he’d understood more back then. It was all his fault. He had no right to have these feelings toward you when all he caused you was turmoil. Yet, he can’t help but see your smiling face, blushing cheeks, and sparkling eyes. The way you stop to smell the breeze of the lake. How joyful you are with the kids, genuinely caring for them. Your sassy remarks when he got too flirtatious with you. The way your lips felt against his in that blissful moment. He… truly loved you. Every ounce, curve, and flaw. “YN!” He screams, the beating of his heart echoing in his ears.

Sanemi wants to tell you everything, instead of running to someone else. This was between you and him. He couldn’t last another second without telling you how much you meant to him. “YN! Where are you!?” He’s scanning the treeline, worry creasing his brows.

You and Kenji still, then look at each other. “Is that Mister Sanemi?” He asks, eyes welling with tears again. You brush your thumb over his plump cheeks, soothing him.

It’s not helpful that your heart picks up its beating rate at the thought. Sanemi had come to find you – well you and Kenji. Regardless, you’re a little too happy about it. “Over here!” You scream, covering Kenji’s ears.

Sanemi’s heart thumps against his ribcage as he hears you scream back for him. He glances around his surroundings, his eyes finally landing on a hint of red in the distance. “Hold on! I’m coming!” He charges toward the area your voice came from.

He sees your face, a sloppy mess of tears and wet hair, and he wants to drop to his knees. “Thank goodness…” You whisper, letting Kenji run to hug Sanemi’s legs. His eyes are locked on your every movement, studying if you are okay.

“We need to get you back, I don’t think you could’ve made it out of the forest.” Sanemi holds Kenji’s hand, waiting for you to start following him. Something holds you back though, a sinking feeling of guilt or shame – you weren’t sure which.

You had cried and hidden away just like when you were younger. Sanemi didn’t come to save you… he came to prove a point. You were still just that little girl, running away from her problems. You’re silent the whole way back, emotions dancing with thoughts. Yena hugs you and then yells at you for running out without a map. Kenji is sent to get a check-up from Shinobu. Everything feels like it’s underwater, floating past you. Only when you’re in front of your cabin do you snap out of the daze, peering up at Sanemi. “You didn’t think I could make it out on my own…” You mutter. He turns to you, knitting his brows together. “I thought you were there to save me, but you were just there to prove that you could do it. It had nothing to do with me.” Your body feels frozen, numb even.

Sanemi opens the door to his room. “That’s not it at all. Just give me a moment and we can talk about this later.” He replies, closing his door behind him. Later huh? You didn’t want later. Now was later.

You rush to his door, swinging it open angrily. “No, you don’t get to walk away. We’re talking about this now.” You snap, taking in Sanemi without a shirt. Why did he always have no shirt on? You halt, mouth gaping.

He sighs, tossing his wet shirt into his hamper. “Fine, you want to talk, let’s talk. It was careless of you to just run after Kenji like that.” He hisses, motioning to you. “Do you know how worried everyone was? I understand why you did it, but what if something had happened to the both of you? What then YN?”

You march up to him, poking at his chest. “You don’t understand shit Sanemi! Kenji ran into the forest. What was I supposed to do? Stand there and wait for some big muscley man to go in and find him? I did what felt right and you cannot blame me for that!” Your voice is quaking, on the verge of tears.

Sanemi scoffs, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’m not blaming you! For fuck’s sake can you stop thinking that everyone is out to get you!? I am not your mother. I care about you and blame myself every fucking day for what happened back then.” Wow. Did he really just bring up your mother? A tormenting ache twists your gut, sucking up any energy you had left.

His nostrils are flaring and your body buzzes with a newfound heat. It’s anger, it’s sexual frustration, and its adrenaline all wrapped up into one. “Yeah well, you have a real funny way of showing how sorry you are. It’s so funny how you can kiss me one day and then act like nothing happened the next.” You laugh tightly and watch as his brows shoot up.

A sarcastic laugh bubbles out of his throat. “Unlike you, I don’t face everything head-on. I was terrified after I kissed you, because yes I kissed you. Do you have any idea how confusing it is to realize after all these years that I’m in love with you? Then to realize that I’ve fucked up so massively that there’s zero chance of anything ever happening?” He hisses, rolling his lips into a tight line after his confession. This wasn’t how he pictured telling you, but at least it was out there now for you to hear.

Your body tenses, staring at Sanemi with wild eyes. Love? He was in love with you? It was like a slap in the face and a warm blanket at the same time. “Then fucking change my mind,” You order.

Sanemi’s eyes widen and his throat bobs with nerves. “Y’know I love it when you get bossy,” He whispers, grabbing your face with gentle vigor. The kiss starts off soft and genuine. Your hands travel into his soft hair, moaning lightly against his lips when his hands find their way to your ass. That’s when something animalistic awakens in the both of you. Sanemi spins you around and walks you back against the wall, pressing his knee between your legs. You groan through your mouth at the lovely pressure.

His lips work against yours, deepening the kiss into something feral and needy. “God, I want you.” You huff out between a break. You feel a cocky smirk on your neck where Sanemi nips at the junction of your shoulder. All those times you imagined the quick peck between you both was nothing compared to this. Kissing Sanemi was like pouring hot magma onto a frozen lake. Your body was alive with pinpricks of electricity.

You peer down, shakily watching him explore the planes of your body. This was all too much. He was someone you cherished, someone you hated… someone you – was it possible for you to even love someone? You care deeply for your friends, the kids, and this camp… but love? It's something so deep, so pure that it transcends everything. Did you love Sanemi Shinazugawa or were you crushing on him? The line was thin, but at the same time a cavern impossible to jump over. “Hey hey hey, where did you drift off to?” His voice breaks you out of the daze you were in. Your eyes blink up to meet his, soft and beautiful.

His warm hand reaches up to cup your cheek. “Do you need me to stop? I got caught up in my own selfish desires…” He trails off, looking away bashfully. Huh? Was this gruff man actually…adorable?

Leaning into his hand you shake your head. “I was just thinking about insecurities,” You laugh, meeting his gaze. Sanemi’s face softens and for once you wish your home life had been different. There were times you were grateful that what happened to you made you stronger, more resilient to people’s bullshit. Spinning it into a postive made you think less about the trauma. Now… you want to be something soft Sanemi can mold with his love. You yearn to fall into his blanketed warmth where somehow you’d be safe. “But I’m better now.” You finish, realizing all at once that it didn’t matter if you loved him, because you could love him. Love was something you were able to feel, eventually, that is. He could teach you. “Sanemi, I really like you… do you think – do you think we could continue kissing?”

An airy laugh blows through his nose as he guides you into a sitting positon on his bed. “M’course, just let me know if you want to stop.” His eyes light up micheviously, bending down to peck your lips teasingly. He sinks to his knees, sliding his hands down your outter thighs.

Sanemi was never someone you thought would stun you into silence, but as his gaze drops to the apex of your legs it suddenly becomes hard to speak. “What? Got no smart ass response?” He glances smugly up at you, rolling his tongue over his lips. Instead of replying you spread your legs apart for him. Your action brings his longing attention back to your clothed pussy, which clamps on nothing. “Mmm, I guess your body can do enough speaking,” He hooks a finger into your shorts, pulling them down your waist. “S’pretty.” He hisses, reveling in the way your panties cling to the dampness of your cunt. “All mine,” He’s muttering to himself like a mad man and maybe he was, but it brings a flush to your cheeks.

You squirm to fling your short to the side of his room, wiggling out of your underwear next. He watches like he’ll die if he looks away. “Sanemi I can’t hold back, please, I need you to do something.” You give him enough room to stay between your legs. His smirk worries you only slightly.

He stands, the girth of his cock outlined in his pants. “Just remember you asked for this. We’ll have plenty of time to take it slow later, but right now I can’t wait anymore either.” His eyes are a dark brooding purple as he slips the belt out of its loops smoothly. It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever witnessed. Your childhood friend was about to fuck your brains out and the fact that you’d been fighting only made the tension in the room that much thicker.

Sanemi’s cock is longer than anyone you’d been with before and you can’t seem to look away from it. How the head weeps and is blush pink with untouched desire. He’s barely holding on, but the weight of reality slaps you across the face. “Do you have a condom?” You quip and he freezes. His cheeks blush as he glances at his nightstand.

“Can’t think why I wouldn’t pack condoms coming to a job where I’ve never had sex before…fuck. I can stop if you want to, I wouldn’t dare-”

“Sanemi, I could care less. Right now all I want is you. We’ll figure it out together.” You grab the back of his neck to bring him in for a kiss. As his lips work against yours he lines himself up at your entrance, brushing the head of his cock against the slick of your arousal. He hisses into your mouth as the tip slips into your warmth. A shaky moan echoes through both of you as you push your foreheads together to watch his cock slide into your pretty pussy.

You blow out a breath, throwing your head back in utter bliss. Sanemi fills you out beautifully, stretching your walls just enough to send shivers up your spine. “You feel perfect…you’re perfect,” Sanemi kisses you, slowly starting to move his hips. The muscles in your stomach tense with a hot iron of pressure.

“Haa, Sanemi, please,” You begin but he snaps his hips into yours. A loud slap of skin rattles through his room. Your eyes go wide and a sharp gasp pushes through your body.

He grins over you, sliding back on his knees and bringing you with him. “Mmm, shh babygirl, m’gonna take care of you.” He strings your legs over his hips, rocking you on his cock.

Moans burst from your mouth as you cling to his neck. “F’ Sanemi,” You gasp, his cock plunging deeper into your pussy than the previous postion.

“That’s it, let go pretty girl,” Sanemi burrows into you, a fucked out grin coating his lips. You feel like you’re almost split in two, but the sting bleeds into a sharp pleasurable throb. It radiates through your core, spreading tingles across your skin. Your head lolls to the side a bolt of electricity twisting around your stomach, coating it in the crashing waves of your climax. You’re both panting as Sanemi fucks into you, gripping your hips onto him.

The overstimulation makes you squirm on top of him, but he chaces his own crest, finally finding it when you grip the back of his head, fisting his hair. Warm cum coats your insides, Sanemi gently laying you back down on the mattress. You feel gooey inside, but there’s a silent happiness that brings a smile to your face.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, I promise next time I’ll last longer- I, I…shit let me go get you a rag.” Sanemi pushes himself up on his elbows but you caress his cheek, calming the anxious glaze in his eyes.

“No, stay.” He’d finally found you… and you weren’t about to let him out of your sight for a long long time.

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