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paceprompting · 16 days ago

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a knot problem

written for ‘alpha/alpha’ | wc: 2,519 # | rated: e | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: alpha!steve, alpha!eddie, past stommy, knotting sex, alternate first meeting

@stmarchmm

It was a secret he needed to keep hidden.

That Steve Harrington liked hanging off a knot.

It had happened by accident the first time. Not the fucking part—he and Tommy got horny when they smoked and handjobs had escalated to blowjobs, and then escalated again to lazy fucking in Steve’s bed.

Steve didn’t mind bottoming for Tommy, even if they were both alphas—and honestly, probably should have been his first clue—since Tommy still wanted to maintain every public image that he was straight while he and Carol were currently off.

When it happened, Tommy had Steve pressed face down into the bed, thrusting into him from behind. Steve had his face shoved into a pillow to muffle his moan, since Tommy didn’t want to hear them, and had otherwise let himself fall deeper into the feeling of Tommy’s dick hitting his prostate. Par for the course.

He hadn’t been paying attention. And all Tommy cared about was getting off.

So, neither of them realized that the base of Tommy’s dick had started to swell, catching on the rim of Steve’s hole. All they knew was that it felt fucking good, and so Tommy thrust in hard…and locked them together as he came.

Swearing from the orgasm and the dawning realization of what he’d done, Tommy had nearly tried to pull out.

Steve managed to stop him before he caused any irreparable damage, and it nearly sent the two of them careening off the edge of the mattress. But, for thirty minutes, they rode out Tommy’s orgasm together. Every wave of cum spilling inside, filling Steve to the brim with a heavy load of alpha spend for being outside of a rut.

So distracted with his own release, Tommy didn’t notice Steve spill onto the comforter underneath with a surprised gasp.

And when Tommy finally eased his cock from Steve’s pliant body, and the sheer amount of cum spilled out after, Steve was fully hard again.

“Sorry about that, Harrington. Think I’m just pent up. But Carol and I should be getting back together soon, so…better not to mention this, huh?” Tommy had said immediately, dismissing the whole thing with a few sentences.

Steve only nodded, his voice gone, while keeping a blanket over the damning evidence of his erection. Which only twitched with interest as much of Tommy’s release gushed out of him.

Tommy fled to sleep off the rest of his high on the living room couch.

Steve had turned back over onto his front, stripping his cock with one hand while he shoved two fingers of the other into his messy, ruined hole—cumming again to the thought of Tommy Hagan’s knot stretching him out.

It was a secret that could ruin him.

And yet, he kept wanting other alphas.

He couldn’t go to Tommy again. Not only had Carol taken him back not long after that, but to Tommy, the whole knotting thing had been a result of too much weed and his dick not being able to tell the difference between a warm alpha body and an omega.

And he didn’t dare ask around school. One wrong word to the wrong person, and all of Hawkins would know that Steve Harrington wanted to get dicked down hard.

He subsisted on the memory of his one night with the real thing, up to four of his fingers at a time, and growing fantasies of nearly every other alpha in school.

Then, the summer he worked at Scoops, he met Robin.

An omega who only liked other omegas.

And she was a hell of a lot more in the know than he was. She knew of a couple bars in Indianapolis where he could ask around for what he wanted, without worrying about getting jumped.

Which was where he met Eddie.

Eddie Munson, Dustin’s new best friend and dungeons & dipwads game master. Eddie Munson, two-time super senior who stood on top of lunch tables and shouted about the state of the world.

Eddie Munson, alpha.

To his credit, Eddie immediately assumed Steve was messing with him and blew him off with a harsh scoff. Steve hadn’t even gotten to potentially hooking up—just the fact of Steve talking to him after four years of otherwise treating Eddie like he didn’t exist was enough.

Steve tried his luck with someone else, an average guy with blond hair and rough hands. Was more successful, getting as far as making out in the corner and the question on his lips to go back to his motel room and finally get what he’d been looking for.

And then the guy’s boyfriend had showed up.

And the guy threw Steve under the bus, shoving him toward a furious alpha with no time to throw his hands up and block the boyfriend’s fists slamming into the side of his face.

The bouncers caught on pretty quickly by then, and both the guy and his boyfriend were dragged off toward the door while Steve waved them off and headed for the back exit.

He stumbled out into the colder air, face throbbing and a thread of blood spilling down from a split near his temple. He wiped it off with the heel of his hand and swore into the relative silence of the empty alleyway.

Well, almost empty.

“Strike out in a bad way this time?” another voice called out, and Steve’s head snapped up toward it.

Behind an exhaled plume of smoke, Eddie Munson’s face came into view, smirking haughtily with a raised brow. Half a lit cigarette hung between two fingers, providing a barely-there glow of light for the darker side of the alley.

Steve, on the other hand, was directly underneath the light by the door, his disastrous appearance in clear view.

“What do you care?”

His head still fucking hurt where a bruise was definitely forming, and Steve knew he was leaving tonight without finding anyone to scratch his itch. So, sue him if he wasn’t in the mood to be polite to the other alpha that had rejected him.

Eddie let his eyes travel over the current state of Steve, the disconnect between his pressed red and blue-striped polo and jeans, and the half-twisted sneer on his face, along with the blood and bruising.

“Hard to see you as prom royalty with your face smashed half to hell. Lost some of your shine there, Harrington,” he said, pulling a drag off his cigarette.

“I never won prom king.” Steve stood up straight, but the light from above the door made his bruised eye sting and he shied away with a hand raised to block it. “And don’t call me that.”

Eddie cocked his head as Steve stumbled from the light, lowering his cigarette from his mouth. He stepped forward to get a closer look at the state of Steve’s face. Steve tried to turn away, but Eddie grimaced at what he saw.

“What happened?”

Steve rubbed at a spot in his jaw that ached. “Asshole clocked me.”

“Mackin’ on his boyfriend?” Eddie said, immediately back to being an annoying nuisance. Like maybe Steve had it coming in the first place.

“I didn’t know that. Dude basically set me up.” Steve sighed and searched for somewhere to sit on some empty crates beside him. Eddie stayed where he was, taking long drags and watching Steve with a curious, focused gaze.

“So, you’re really here. Looking for another alpha.”

Steve nodded, risking a glance toward Eddie. He stood with his weight resting back on one hip, arms crossed over his chest. The last bit of his cigarette rested in his hand, and Steve nearly grabbed it to finish it off himself.

“Run through the omega population in Hawkins already? Trying out the next best thing?”

“No, I—” Steve rubbed at his temple, forgetting that it was currently bruised and a little cut-up. He flinched and let his hand fall back down to rest on his knee. “I’m not looking…for that.”

“Then what are you—” Eddie narrowed his eyes, curls flying as he stood straight up, remnants of his cig falling to his feet. He didn’t seem to care, mouth hung open and brown eyes wide as deer. “Holy shit.”

Steve shot to his feet, even as the rush made his head throb. “Eddie, wait, it’s not what it looks like.”

Eddie was grinning now, his eyes alight in that way they did in the cafeteria when someone tried to tell him to shut it, when really then his tirade had a live victim. “You want an alpha. You want to be knotted.”

Okay, it was exactly what it looked like.

And Steve hadn’t really even said it to himself. Not so much more than saying he wanted to sleep with an alpha. Not that he didn’t want to be the one dominating, but to be…well…

“Please don’t tell anyone.”

Eddie let a sharp laugh, and Steve’s attention caught for a moment on the deep dimples that formed at the corners of his mouth. Eddie’s deep voice brought him back, laced with sharp sarcasm. “Oh my God, who the fuck would even believe me? Between the two of us, you are not the one who’s reputation precedes them as being unconventional.”

Steve frowned. “And you’re protecting that reputation? Don’t you belong to a satanic cult or something?”

“Hey, now. I thought we were starting to get along. Breaking down cultural barriers. Opening our hearts and souls on this fine evening, alpha to alpha.” Eddie spread out his arms, clearly not taking the situation that he’d just figured out the blackmail material to end all blackmail material seriously.

“Well, my face hurts. I’m going back to find my friend.” Steve sighed, turning back toward the door—only hoping that it wasn’t locked from the outside and he didn’t have to sidle past Eddie to get out of the alley.

He’d just have to deal with the ever-present knowledge that someday, Eddie might finally cash in on what he knew, and Steve would have to find a way to deal with that so he wouldn’t tell.

“Y’know, if you asked nicely, I might just invite you back to my motel room. Has a decent ice maker.”

Steve froze, having barely started his path to the door. He looked over his shoulder enough to see that Eddie had not moved, except to crush whatever was left of his cigarette under his boot. He asked, “And do what? Let you belittle me until morning?”

“I mean, if you’re into that.” Eddie shrugged.

“Jesus Christ, Munson.” Steve grabbed and yanked the door open, the heady warmth of a crowd of bodies and intense lights washing over him full force. His grimace had the bruise on his face throbbing, and the pause he made was enough for Eddie to call out to him again.

“Or I could knot you.”

Steve whipped around to face Eddie, the door slamming shut behind him. For his dark clothes and wild curls, Eddie had dropped all his teasing and his back and forth with Steve—leaving only his brown eyes staring wide and…goddamn it, maybe hopeful.

“That is what you want, isn’t it?” he asked, stepping closer. The light over the door shined on him, revealing a denim vest over his leather jacket, covered in pins and patches. His hands hung at his side, not reaching. His steps were slow as he approached.

“I…What?” Steve’s head swam with Eddie’s offer, the words echoing around in his head. Maybe that hit to the face was harder than he thought.

“Didn’t believe you, when you started hinting at it inside. I’m sorry about that. You and me, y’know, not exactly the usual. But if you’re serious…well, we could have some fun together.” Eddie bit at his bottom lip, one hand pulling at the hem of his jacket. Nervous.

Steve exhaled, and wasn’t sure if he’d done that for a while. “You’re really okay with this?”

“Like you said,” Eddie let out a soft laugh, a bit of his earlier bravado returning. “My reputation tends to precede me. I’m all in if you are, Harrington.”

Steve’s feet seemed to move on their own, pushing him forward now that he had the permission and the invitation to finally get what he had been chasing for years. He crossed the last foot between he and Eddie, grabbing onto the denim fabric of his vest.

“Don’t call me that,” he said, and then planted his mouth on Eddie’s.

For a second, Eddie’s surprised made him freeze against Steve. His eyes shut, but his hands were slow and hesitant to find a place on Steve’s hips or his shoulders. Steve let a rumbling moan echo in his chest and pushed against Eddie, forcing him back a step.

Whichever one worked, it knocked Eddie back into the present. His hands clamped hard on Steve’s hips, hooking in his belt loops and using the grip to roll their hips.

Eddie bit and licked at Steve’s mouth, trading playful growls between them that Steve had never done before. He’d always been in charge, with girls and omegas, and then as close to submissive as he could get with Tommy.

This was different. Trading the lead with wet togues and rough teeth, the back and forth swell of them clutching at each other’s clothes and hair. He wasn’t giving anything up that he didn’t want to wasn’t taking any more than Eddie was willing to give.

Eddie didn’t care to hide that he was an alpha, hands rough as one grabbed hard at the swell of his ass and the other slid into Steve’s hair. He tugged until Steve growled into his mouth again and then kissed it away.

And he didn’t seem to care about letting Steve be one, either. Got this dazed look in his eyes for a second when Steve pulled at his shirt so hard he tore it a few inches from the neckline. Seemed to like it when Steve dragged his teeth along the side of his neck.

He was doing that to the sharp tendons in Eddie’s throat, his head tilted back to give Steve room when Eddie spoke, breathless and half-laughing.

“I might just think I was dreaming, but even my subconscious knows better than to imagine something like this.”

Steve huffed against his skin, and pressed the hard line of his dick straining through his jeans against the sizable bulge of Eddie’s. He knew he shouldn’t get too excited just yet, but he also knew it was going inside him pretty damn soon and he was starving for it.

“Am I going to have to imagine your dick?” he said back, with a small bite at Eddie’s collarbone.

“No,” Eddie answered, his hand in Steve’s hair tugging again. Steve let out a warbling moan and Eddie preened at the noise. “You’ll get it all.”

“Have you…done this…before?” Steve asked, panting, through lazy kisses.

“Both ways.” Eddie winked, and Steve shuddered. His hands tightened so hard in Eddie’s jacket, the leather creaked, and he was already a goner before Eddie said, “Don’t you worry, big boy. I’ve got you.”

#stmmm25 #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #alternate first meeting #alpha steve harrington #alpha eddie munson

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winwintea · 1 month ago

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my funny valentine

PAIRING ↬ best friend!lee donghyuck x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ thriller, horror, suspense, romance, crack, tooth fairy haechan, <- trust me that'll make sense, they play detectives, stalker au, valentines au, flirty jaemin, songwriter and poet mark lee, painter renjun, they all kinda down bad for y/n a little though

WARNINGS ↬ teeth. and it's gross. also stalkers !!

SUMMARY ↬ for valentines day all you wanted to do was chill with your best friend. unfortunately for you, there's a little someone claiming to be your secret admirer bringing you cryptic valentine's day gifts. you brush it off until the gifts start getting more and more sinister. can you and haechan solve this mystery before it's too late? (and can he confess some of his own feelings to you while he's at it?)

WORD COUNT ↬ 4.8k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ while this may not be a FUNNY fic, it’s very heavily inspired by MISAMO’s “Funny Valentine” so please go check that song out and give it some love <33

PLAYLIST ↬ the wolf - siames; stalker’s tango - autoheart; bust your knee caps - pomplamoose; smoke and mirrors - jayn; tag, you’re it - melanie martinez; funny valentine - misamo

The air outside is crisp, a reminder that winter hasn’t fully let go, despite the pink and red decorations plastered across storefronts. Valentine’s Day is a week away, and yet, as you step out of your apartment, the holiday is the furthest thing from your mind.

Until you nearly trip over something at your doorstep.

A single red rose rests against the welcome mat, its petals velvety and deep, almost too perfect to be real. A small, cream-colored card, tied around with a black ribbon sits at the center.

You bend down, fingers brushing over the card as you flip it open.

“You don’t see me for who I am, but I see you.”

A strange shiver trails down your spine.

You glance around the hallway of your apartment complex. The usual dull lighting flickers slightly, and the air is still. No sounds of footsteps, no hushed whispers from neighbors. Just silence.

A prank? A weird marketing gimmick? Maybe even a mistaken delivery? You don’t have a secret admirer. Or at least, not one you know of.

Still, you tuck the note into your pocket and step back inside, leaving the rose on the counter as you grab your phone. Without thinking, you call the one person who would get a kick out of this.

The line barely rings before Haechan picks up.

"Yo, what’s up?" His voice is warm, laced with the lazy charm that makes it impossible to tell whether he's just woken up or has been up scheming since dawn.

“You’ll never guess what I just found at my door.”

“You finally got that Amazon package you forgot you ordered?”

“No, you idiot.” You roll your eyes, staring at the rose. “A gift. A creepy one.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Haechan’s intrigued hum. “Creepy, huh? You have my attention. Spill.”

You quickly relay the details—the rose, the note, the unsettling feeling gnawing at your gut. You half-expect him to laugh it off, but instead, his voice drops into something quieter, more serious.

"And you're sure it wasn't left at the wrong door?"

"I’m not sure about that. My name wasn’t on it, but my neighbors are men. Who would do this to a guy?”

Another pause. Then, a small chuckle. "Well, well. Looks like you’ve got yourself a secret admirer."

"Not funny."

"Are you kidding? It’s hilarious." You can practically hear his grin through the phone. "You're living in a real-life romance movie. Or a horror movie. Either way, I’m invested."

You sigh, rubbing your temple. "So what do I do? Just… ignore it?"

"Absolutely not. We investigate. Duh."

Your brows furrow. "Investigate? It's probably just some dumb joke."

"Or," he counters, voice dripping with amusement, "it's the beginning of something way more interesting. C'mon, don't you wanna know who’s behind this? What if it’s some insanely hot dude or chick who’s just so in love with you but socially inept?”

You scoff. "Yeah, because nothing says romance like borderline stalking."

"Hey, some people are just dedicated," he teases. "Look at those BookTok people. And tell you what—meet me at the café in an hour. Bring the note. I wanna see it."

"You’re actually taking this seriously?"

"Of course! A mystery has landed right at your doorstep. And as your best friend, it is my duty to help you solve it."

You sigh. Haechan has always been dramatic.

"Fine," you relent. "But if it turns out to be a stupid prank, you owe me coffee."

"You got it, Valentine."

The café is buzzing with the usual mid-morning crowd: college students hunched over laptops, couples sharing pastries, baristas calling out names over the hum of conversation. The scent of coffee and warm vanilla lingers in the air, comforting and familiar.

You spot Haechan immediately. He’s lounged in the corner booth, one arm draped over the back of the seat, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips as he watches you approach.

“Took you long enough,” he teases as you slide into the seat across from him. “I was starting to think your mystery lover got to you first.”

You roll your eyes, fishing the note out of your pocket and dropping it onto the table in front of him. “Here. Do your thing, Sherlock.”

Haechan picks up the note with exaggerated care, holding it between his fingers like it’s a sacred artifact. He squints, tilts his head, even sniffs it dramatically before nodding. “Yep. Just as I suspected.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“This is definitely paper.”

You snatch the note back, smacking his arm with it. “Wow, incredible deduction dipshit.”

He laughs, dodging your hand before leaning in, his expression shifting into something more thoughtful. “No, but seriously. This is weird. The handwriting is neat, almost too neat. Like someone either really took their time or… copied it.”

You frown. “Copied it?”

“Yeah. Like, I dunno, tracing someone else's writing. See how the pressure is kinda uneven in some spots? It’s like they were trying too hard to be precise.”

You blink, staring at him. “Since when are you an expert in handwriting analysis?”

Haechan grins, tapping his temple. “I watch a lot of crime documentaries. Also, Renjun had a forgery phase in middle school, so I picked up a few things.”

“Of course he did,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Okay, so say you’re right—what does that mean?”

“It means whoever wrote this was really careful about not being recognized.” He leans back, drumming his fingers on the table. “Which makes me think this isn’t just some dumb prank. They don’t want you to know who they are.”

That unsettling feeling from earlier creeps back up your spine.

“What if it’s someone we know?” you ask, voice quieter now.

Haechan tilts his head, considering. “Could be. Or it could be some rando with a crush. Either way, we have a mission. I’ll show you just how good a duo we’ll be.”

You exhale. “And that mission is…?”

“To find out who’s been leaving you love letters, obviously.” He grins, reaching for his coffee. “And if they turn out to be hot, I take full credit for setting you up.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

“Hey, I take my best friend duties very seriously.”

You roll your eyes, but still can’t help but feel a bit uneasy by it all.

The uneasy feeling from the café lingers as you make your way home.

"They don’t want you to know who they are."

"What if it’s someone we know?"

You shake the thoughts away as you unlock your door, stepping inside. The first thing you notice is the rose, still resting on the counter where you left it. Something about it feels different now—less like a mystery and more like a warning.

You inhale deeply, trying to push the paranoia aside. Maybe this is all just a prank. Maybe Haechan’s just hyping it up because he loves drama. Maybe—

Your phone buzzes.

[Unknown Number]: Did you like my first gift?

A sharp jolt of fear twists in your stomach. Your fingers tighten around your phone as you stare at the message.

Not a prank.

Your mouth runs dry as you hesitate before typing back.

[You]: Who is this?

Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again.

[Unknown Number]: You’ll see soon enough.

Your heart pounds.

And then… three quick knocks on your front door.

You jump, whipping around to stare at it. The knock surprisingly wasn’t loud nor aggressive. However it got the message across.

Slowly, you step forward, peeking through the peephole. The hallway is empty. With a shaky breath, you unlock the door and crack it open just enough to peek outside.

A small, velvet box sits on your welcome mat.

Another gift.

You glance both ways down the hall—still empty. Whoever left it is already gone.

Heart hammering, you crouch down and carefully pick up the box, stepping back inside before locking the door behind you. Your fingers tremble slightly as you open it.

Inside is a delicate silver locket, its chain coiled neatly in the box. You hold it up to the light, examining the intricate engravings along the edges. It’s beautiful—almost vintage.

But when you pry it open, your breath catches in your throat.

Inside is a tiny photograph. One you recognize immediately.

It’s you.

You, standing outside your apartment building, smiling at the camera. But what makes your stomach turn is the person beside you.

Because there was someone beside you. But their face has been completely scratched out. And you have no idea who it is.

Your pulse roars in your ears as your grip tightens around the locket.

This isn’t a joke.

You fumble for your phone and dial Haechan’s number. He picks up almost immediately.

"Yo, miss me already?"

"Haechan." Your voice comes out unsteady, breathless. "It happened again."

A pause. Then, his tone shifts. It’s calm, but sharper now. "I’m coming over."

Fifteen minutes. That’s all it takes for Haechan to show up at your door, slightly out of breath, a bag of convenience store snacks in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Okay,” he says, pushing past you into the apartment, “give me the rundown. And before you ask, yes, I brought emergency snacks because I know you stress-eat.”

You let the door swing shut behind him, arms crossed. “Haechan, this is serious.”

“I am taking it seriously.” He tosses a bag of chips onto the counter before turning to you. “Now, tell me everything before I assume you’ve been cursed by a Victorian ghost.”

You exhale, pulling the velvet box from your pocket and flipping it open. “I found this at my door. Look inside.”

Haechan steps closer, peering down at the locket. He picks it up, flipping it open with careful fingers. His expression shifts immediately—the usual mischief in his eyes dims, replaced by something darker.

“The hell…?” He traces a thumb over the scratched-out face in the photo. “Okay. This? This is officially creepy.”

“No kidding,” you mutter, rubbing your arms as if that will rid you of the lingering unease. “It’s my photo, Haechan. And someone ruined it.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stares at the image. When he finally looks up, his gaze is sharp. “Where did they even get this picture?”

“I don’t know. That’s what freaks me out.” You sit on the edge of your couch, fingers gripping the fabric of your sweater. “Someone had to have taken it themselves. But I don’t remember anyone standing next to me like this.”

Haechan clicks his tongue, flipping the locket shut. “Alright. That settles it. We need a suspect list.”

You blink. “You say that like this is some kind of crime show.”

“Well, yeah,” he deadpans. “Except way more fun because it’s happening to you.”

You throw a pillow at his head. He dodges it effortlessly, grinning.

“Okay, okay,” he says, plopping down next to you. “Real talk. Do you know anyone who might be obsessed with you? Secret admirer type, or maybe even an ex with attachment issues?”

You think for a moment. And then—

“…Jaemin.”

Haechan’s brows shoot up. “Jaemin?”

You nod, stomach twisting. “He flirts with me constantly, even when I brush him off. Plus, I know I’ve caught him taking pictures of me before, but he always plays it off like it’s just a joke.”

Haechan leans back, considering. “Okay. Solid lead. What’s our game plan?”

You chew on your lip before standing. “We ask him directly.”

Haechan grins, standing up beside you. “Ooooh, an interrogation? Spicy.”

You roll your eyes, shoving your phone into your pocket. “Let’s just get this over with.”

And with that, the two of you head out—ready to confront the first suspect.

Jaemin’s usual hangout is the campus library, though calling it “studying” is generous. More often than not, he’s lounging in one of the oversized chairs, scrolling through his phone, pretending to be busy.

That’s exactly where you find him now, stretched out with his feet propped up on another chair, earbuds in, humming to himself.

Haechan nudges you. “Your not-so-secret admirer is in his natural habitat.”

You sigh, straightening your shoulders before striding over. Jaemin looks up just as you plant your hands on the table in front of him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets smoothly, pulling out an earbud. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Haechan plops down beside him. “We have some questions.”

Jaemin raises an eyebrow. “We?”

“Yeah,” you say, crossing your arms. “And you’re going to answer them.”

His lips twitch, amused. “Sounds serious.”

“It is serious,” you snap, pulling out the locket and placing it in front of him. “Know anything about this?”

Jaemin’s gaze flickers to the locket, and for the first time, his smirk falters. His fingers twitch like he wants to pick it up, but he hesitates.

“What is this?” he asks, voice quieter now.

“You tell me,” you say. “It showed up at my door today. Someone left it for me, along with a creepy note. And considering how often you love taking pictures with me, I thought I’d start with you.”

Jaemin’s jaw tightens. “You think I gave you this?”

Haechan tilts his head. “Well, you do flirt with Y/N like it’s your full-time job.”

Jaemin exhales through his nose, leaning forward. “Okay, yeah, I flirt. But this?” He taps the locket. “This isn’t me. I’d never scratch out my own damn face.”

Your stomach clenches. “So you recognize the picture?”

Jaemin hesitates for half a second too long. Then, he shakes his head. “No.”

You and Haechan exchange a look.

“You’re lying,” Haechan accuses. “Dude, you hesitated.”

Jaemin runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know where this came from, but I’ve seen that photo before. Just… not like this.”

Your pulse quickens. “Where?”

Another pause. Then, reluctantly, Jaemin mutters, “Renjun’s phone.”

Both you and Haechan freeze.

“What?” Haechan blurts. “Why would Renjun have a picture of Y/N on his phone?”

Jaemin shrugs. “No clue. It was a while ago. I remember seeing it and asking why he had it, but he just brushed me off. Thought it was weird, but not, y’know—this weird.” He gestures to the locket.

You stare at him, heart pounding. Could it be Renjun?

Haechan crosses his arms. “Alright, Nana. We’ll put you on the ‘maybe’ list for now. But if we find out you’re lying…” He drags a finger across his throat dramatically.

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Can I go back to existing now?”

You nod slowly, mind already racing ahead.

If Renjun had that photo… What else did he have?

And what would the next gift be?

The walk back to your apartment is tense. Haechan is uncharacteristically quiet beside you, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets, his brows furrowed in thought.

"You okay?" you ask.

He exhales through his nose. "Just thinking. If Jaemin’s telling the truth, why would Renjun have that picture?"

"That’s what we’re going to find out," you murmur.

When you finally reach your apartment door, a chill runs down your spine. Sitting on your welcome mat is another small box, this time heart-shaped and a deep shade of crimson.

"Of course," Haechan mutters. "Right on schedule."

You swallow hard, exchanging a wary glance with him before bending down to pick it up. Unlike the velvet box from before, this one is heavier. With trembling fingers, you lift the lid—

A soft, eerie melody drifts into the air.

A music box.

But something is… off. The tune warbles and distorts, as if the mechanism inside is struggling to play correctly. It’s haunting, a melody that should be sweet but instead sends a shiver down your spine.

Inside, nestled among the delicate gears, is a small folded note.

A song just for you.

You stare at the words, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Haechan leans in. "Okay, I really don’t like this one."

You shut the lid abruptly, cutting off the melody. "Me neither."

"Who the hell writes you a personalized creepy lullaby?" he mutters. Then, his eyes widen slightly, realization dawning. "Wait. Music. Writing. Oh, come on—"

"Mark." You say his name at the same time Haechan does.

Mark has always been the sentimental type. From writing poetry to composing random melodies in his free time. If anyone had the skills to create something like this, it was him.

You grip the box tighter. "We need to talk to him."

Haechan nods. "Now."

You and Haechan find Mark exactly where you expect him, tucked away in a corner of the campus music room, hunched over a notebook, a pencil pressed against his lips. His fingers tap absentmindedly against the desk, keeping rhythm to whatever melody is playing in his head.

Haechan nudges you. "Caught him in the act. Very suspicious."

You shoot him a look before stepping forward. "Mark."

Mark glances up, blinking in surprise. "Oh, hey. What’s up?"

You waste no time, setting the music box down on the desk in front of him. His eyes flicker to it, then back to you.

"Did you make this?" you ask.

His eyebrows pull together. "Uh… no?"

Haechan crosses his arms. "You sure? Because we know you write songs. And poems. And you definitely know everything about Y/N—"

"Okay, dude, chill," Mark interrupts, looking bewildered. "What’s going on?"

You exhale, rubbing your temple. "Someone’s been leaving me gifts. Creepy ones. This music box was the latest, and since you’re literally the most musically gifted person I know, I thought—" You hesitate. "I thought maybe it was you."

Mark stares at the box for a moment before shaking his head. "It’s not me."

"Not even a little?" Haechan presses.

Mark sighs. "Look, yeah, I write songs. And sure, I might notice things. Like when you change your coffee order or cut your hair. Maybe I think you’re really cute. But that doesn’t mean I’m stalking you."

Haechan raises a skeptical brow. "Then what about your latest poetry post? The one about ‘loving from afar’?"

Mark’s expression shifts. His ears turn red.

Oh.

You narrow your eyes. "Mark?"

He groans, rubbing the back of his neck. "That wasn’t about you, okay?"

Haechan gasps, dramatic as ever. "Then who?"

Mark hesitates, then mutters, "My ex."

You and Haechan exchange a look.

"Oh," you say.

"Oh," Haechan echoes, slightly disappointed. "So you’re the heartbroken one, not the creepy one."

Mark shoots him a glare. "Obviously."

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. "Okay. Sorry for accusing you. This whole thing is just messing with my head."

Mark softens. "Yeah, I get it. But seriously, if someone’s messing with you, you should be careful."

You nod, but your mind is already racing ahead.

The moment you step into your apartment, you feel it.

Something is waiting for you again.

Your breath catches as your eyes land on the small, folded piece of paper slipped under your door. The edges are slightly frayed, as if it had been torn from a notebook in a rush.

Haechan picks it up before you can. His fingers brush over the paper before carefully unfolding it. His eyes scan the words, his expression darkening.

You take the page from him and read:

"I see you even when you don’t see me.I wonder if you know how much you mean to me.If I could just tell you—”

The words stop abruptly, the last sentence unfinished.

And at the bottom, only a single initial is signed:

“R.”

You stare at it, heart hammering. "R."

Haechan exhales. "Renjun."

It makes sense. Jaemin had mentioned Renjun having your picture. And now this, a love confession, hesitant and unfinished.

You swallow hard. "We need to talk to him."

Haechan nods. "Before another one of these shows up."

Renjun is easy to find.

The art studio on campus is practically his second home, and sure enough, when you and Haechan arrive, he’s hunched over a sketchbook, completely lost in his work. His pencil moves in steady strokes, the faintest furrow between his brows as he concentrates.

Haechan leans in. “Bet he’s sketching you right now.”

You elbow him before clearing your throat. “Renjun.”

Renjun jumps, startled, before snapping his sketchbook shut. “Oh—hey. What are you guys doing here?”

Haechan plucks the journal page from your grasp and drops it onto his desk. “Care to explain this?”

Renjun’s gaze flickers to the torn-out page. He lets out a sharp inhale, as his shoulders start tensing.

“So it is yours.”

Renjun stays silent for a beat too long before he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Where did you get this?”

“It was slipped under my door,” you say carefully. “You signed it with ‘R.’”

Haechan crosses his arms. “Looks real bad, dude.”

Renjun lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s more of a nervous laugh than a humorous one. “Yeah… I can see that.”

Your pulse quickens. “So you did write it?”

Another pause. Then, finally, he nods. “Yeah. But not for you.”

You blink. “What?”

Renjun sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I did write that confession. But it’s old…I wrote it last year, for someone else.” He taps the page, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I threw this out months ago. I have no idea how you ended up with it.”

Haechan whistles low. “Okay, that’s actually kinda messed up.”

Renjun shakes his head. “ If someone dug this up just to mess with you… That’s not romantic. That’s obsessive.”

You grip the edge of the desk. “Then what about those photos you took of me?

Renjun looks at you, his expression not wavering, “I take photos of everyone. It’s practice for more naturalistic portrayals of human figures.”

A chill runs down your spine.

If Renjun didn’t leave the page for you… then the real admirer wasn’t just watching you. If they had gotten their hands on Renjun’s photos then…

They were watching everyone.

That night, you barely sleep.

Renjun’s words keep replaying in your mind. ‘That’s not romantic. That’s obsessive.’

The pieces aren’t fitting together. The gifts, the messages, the calculated way they’re being delivered. This isn’t just someone with a crush. This is someone who has been planning this.

You’re still lost in thought when you hear it.

A soft thud outside your door.

Slowly, you sit up, heart pounding in your ears. Haechan, asleep on your couch, stirs slightly but doesn’t wake. You swallow hard and push yourself to your feet. Step by step, you inch toward the door, pulse hammering with every movement.

You already know what’s waiting for you.

Another gift.

With trembling hands, you open the door.

Sitting on the welcome mat is a small, heart-shaped box, identical in size to the one that held the music box. But this time, the deep red velvet is stained. Dark splotches sinking into the fabric, like something wet had been resting there before drying.

Your stomach turns.

Slowly, you pick it up. It’s heavier than you expect.

You hesitate. Then, you lift the lid.

Inside, cushioned in soft silk, isn’t chocolate.

It’s a tooth.

A human tooth.

Your throat felt dry as you wanted to retch in disgust, while the box nearly slips from your hands. Your vision blurs as you stare at it, uncomprehending, unwilling to believe what you’re seeing.

Beneath the tooth, there’s a note.

"Now you’re mine."

Your fingers shake as you unfold the small slip of paper.

And that’s when you see it.

The handwriting.

It’s Haechan’s.

Your body goes cold.

Behind you, the couch creaks as he shifts in his sleep.

And you realize—

You’re trapped inside your apartment.

With him.

Your fingers tighten around the note as your heartbeat thunders in your ears.

Every nerve in your body screams at you to move. But you’re frozen. The weight of the realization crashes over you in suffocating waves.

It was him.

It was always him.

A slow creak fills the silence. The sound of someone shifting.

“Hm… you’re up?”

Your breath stutters as you whip around. Haechan is sitting up on the couch, rubbing his eyes sleepily. His voice is laced with drowsiness, but his gaze—when it lands on you—is sharp.

Too sharp.

His eyes drop to the box in your hands. He sees the note. The tooth. And then… he smiles.

A lazy, knowing smile.

Your stomach twists. “Haechan…”

He tilts his head, still watching you. “You don’t look happy to see your gift. But don’t worry I’ve improved on it.”

Your grip tightens on the box. “Why?”

Haechan exhales through his nose, shaking his head like you’ve just asked something ridiculous. “Come on, Y/N. You’re smart. You’ve been smart this whole time. Figuring out clues, questioning the right people.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Except you never questioned me.”

You take a step back. “You helped me.”

“I guided you.” He corrects, his voice smooth. “I made sure you followed the right trail. I led you to suspects just to watch your reactions. Watch you look at them instead of me.” His smile widens, his dimples deep but unsettling. “And you fell for it. Every time.”

Your skin crawls. “The rose. The music box. The torn-out page?”

“All me,” he confirms easily. “Jaemin? Mark? Renjun? They were never real threats. Just distractions. I needed to make sure your eyes weren’t on me until the right moment.”

“And the tooth?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Haechan’s smile fades slightly, his expression unreadable. “That one’s special.” His fingers brush over his lower lip, and something dark flickers behind his gaze. “A part of me. It’s yours now.”

No way.

"Now we match."

A sick realization slithers through you.

Haechan… pulled out his own tooth.

For you.

A cold sweat prickles down your spine. “You’re insane.”

Haechan only grins. “I’m in love.”

You feel the blood drain from your face.

He sighs, standing up slowly. “I knew you wouldn’t understand right away. That’s why I took my time. I sent gifts and gave you a story to follow.” His voice softens, almost affectionate. “I wanted to watch you figure it out. I wanted to see the exact moment you realized it’s always been me.”

He takes a step forward.

And you take a step back.

His eyes flicker with amusement. “Still running from me?”

Your fingers curl into fists.

You need to get out.

Now.

Haechan watches you like a predator sizing up its prey. His smile is still there, but now, you can see it for what it truly is. A mask. A carefully crafted performance. And you were his favorite audience.

Then, he moves.

Slow, deliberate. Like he has all the time in the world. From his pocket, he pulls out a small velvet box. A jewelry box. He rolls it between his fingers, eyes never leaving yours, before sliding it across the coffee table toward you. “I saved the best for last,” he murmurs.

You don’t want to look.

But you do.

Your hands tremble as you reach for the box, flipping it open. Inside, nestled in dark velvet, are a pair of earrings.

The charms dangle from delicate gold hooks, polished smooth. But even in the dim light of your apartment, you can see them for what they are.

Teeth.

Human teeth.

Your stomach twists violently.

Haechan hums, tilting his head. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they? I worked so hard on these.” His voice drops into something softer, almost coaxing. “You’ll wear them, won’t you?”

Your breath comes in shallow gasps.

You need to get out.

Haechan sees it before you even move. His lips curl into a knowing smirk, and then—

The lights flicker.

A click.

Your front door.

Locked.

Your heart slams against your ribs. “Haechan—”

He only smiles, stepping closer.

“Shh,” he soothes. “It’s Valentine’s Day, baby.”

A flickering TV screen bathes the darkened room in cold, artificial light. The newsroom anchor, a solemn-looking woman, speaks in a measured, professional tone.

"Breaking news tonight—local authorities have launched an investigation into the disappearance of Y/N L/N, last seen on February 14th. Friends report that they were searching for a secret admirer who had been leaving a series of mysterious gifts. However, they never returned home. If you have any information regarding their whereabouts, please contact—"

The report continues, but the sound is drowned out by the hum of a familiar tune.

A figure strolls past the display window of an electronics store, hands tucked casually into his pockets. His hoodie shields most of his face, but the dim glow of the screens flickers against his features.

Haechan.

A soft, lilting hum escapes his lips.

"My funny valentine…"

He walks on, disappearing into the city’s shadows.

The TV screen flickers.

The missing person poster flashes across the screen.

“The case remains open.”

“For now.”

me when i basically lied in the summary but not really 🫶🤗 love u guys too !!

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams @mango-bear

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enemiestolovershoe · 5 months ago

Note

JJ & Reader going night surfing and falling asleep in a hammock together, only for John b to find them in the morning and tease tf out of them about it?

More than just friends

JJ Maybank x bsf!reader

Summary: After a night of surfing and stargazing, JJ and the reader share a quiet moment that doesn’t go unnoticed the next morning.

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: Not proofread, minor drug use (smoking a joint)

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the Pogues’ little setup by the bonfire outside the Chateau. The night was calm, almost hypnotic, and the waves lapped softly in the distance as the fire crackled. You, JJ, John B, Pope, and Kiara sat around, laughing and recounting stories, the kind of simple, perfect night that only really happened with this crew.

Kiara stretched, yawning, as the night wore on. “Alright, I’m calling it. I’ve got to get some sleep if we’re hitting the water tomorrow.”

Pope yawned as well, rubbing his eyes. “Same. I’m wiped out.”

John B gave you and JJ a lazy wave as he and the others trudged inside. “Don’t stay up too late, you two,” he called, smirking.

JJ just chuckled, kicking back against the log he was leaning on. “As if you can tell us what to do, JB.”

Soon, it was just you and JJ, sitting by the fire, watching as the embers glowed red-orange against the night sky. There was something peaceful about it—just the two of you, the soft crash of waves, and the dim glow of the fire.

After a few minutes, you got an idea. You nudged JJ, your eyes bright with mischief. “Hey. Wanna make this night even better?”

JJ raised an eyebrow, already grinning. “What, you got something up your sleeve?”

“Night surfing,” you said, practically bouncing with excitement. “The waves have been perfect all evening. Let’s hit them before they die down.”

He laughed, eyes lighting up at the idea. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” you replied, challenging him. “Unless you’re too tired, of course.”

JJ gave you an exaggerated scoff. “Me, too tired? Never.” He jumped up, pulling you with him. “Come on, let’s grab the boards.”

With a shared, excited look, you ran to get your surfboards, adrenaline already beginning to pulse through you both. The ocean looked almost mysterious in the dim moonlight, dark yet welcoming, as if it was inviting you two to take on one more adventure.

Once you waded into the water, JJ looked over at you, his grin barely visible in the dim light. “Ready to get smoked?”

“Please,” you said with a smirk, paddling out past him. “Let’s see if you can even keep up.”

The waves were just right—big enough to give you a challenge, but soft enough to make it fun. You rode wave after wave, the two of you laughing and occasionally shouting as you tried to one-up each other, the sound echoing over the water.

After a particularly good ride, JJ turned to you, still out of breath, his hair wet and clinging to his face. “I have to hand it to you, you didn’t wipe out as much as I thought you would,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. I was waiting for you to keep up.”

He shot you a lopsided grin. “Guess you’ll have to wait forever then, ‘cause I’m untouchable out here.”

As the waves finally began to die down, you both paddled back to shore, breathing heavily and grinning from ear to ear. Back on the sand, you stretched out, laughing as you both tried to catch your breath.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“That was…awesome,” JJ said, staring up at the stars.

“Right?” you replied, lying back on the cool sand beside him.

After a few moments of quiet, JJ sat up, brushing sand from his board shorts. “Come on, let’s head back.”

Back at the Chateau, you both paused on the porch, feeling the night wind down. You looked over at JJ, and he held up the joint he’d pulled from his pocket with a grin. “One last thing to top off the night?”

“Only if you’re sharing,” you teased.

“Always,” he said, and motioned to the hammock. “Best seat in the house.”

You climbed into the hammock beside him, finding your balance as it swung gently with both of your weights. You took the joint from him, inhaling deeply, and watched as JJ lit up, the flame flickering in his face.

“Sometimes I think this is what I’d do forever if I could,” JJ murmured, looking up at the stars through the trees.

You exhaled, passing the joint back to him. “What, get high in a hammock every night?”

“No,” he laughed, nudging your shoulder with his. “I mean… just this. Just chilling out here with you guys, like this is all that matters.”

You looked over at him, seeing a side of JJ you didn’t always get to see. “You know… you’re kind of a sap,” you teased, though your voice was soft.

“Don’t let it get around,” he muttered, looking at you, his eyes softened. “Can’t have everyone knowing I actually have feelings.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you said, smiling, a warmth in your chest that you couldn’t quite place.

He took another hit, handing the joint back to you. “You’re not too bad yourself, you know that?”

You gave him a look. “Wow, what a compliment.”

“Hey,” he said, laughing, his hand resting just beside yours, close enough that you could feel his warmth. “I don’t just give those out to anyone.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. It felt so easy, lying there with him, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The two of you drifted into quiet conversation, talking about anything and everything until the night started to blur around the edges. Before you knew it, the world was growing hazy, your eyes beginning to close as you felt the gentle sway of the hammock.

At some point, you felt JJ’s arm around you, his breathing deep and steady as he fell asleep beside you. You leaned into him, the warmth of his presence making you feel safe and content as you drifted off.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the trees, slowly waking up the Pogues inside the Chateau. John B was the first to stir, stretching and blinking as he got up, wandering outside to see what mischief you and JJ had gotten into.

What he found made him pause—and then grin.

You and JJ were still tangled up in the hammock, your head resting on his shoulder, his arm securely around you, both fast asleep and oblivious to the world. John B stifled a laugh, fishing his phone out of his pocket to snap a few quick pictures.

“Too good to pass up,” he muttered, trying not to laugh too loudly. With one last amused glance at you both, he slipped back inside, shaking his head with a smirk.

An hour later, you stirred awake, blinking against the bright sunlight. It took a moment for you to realize where you were—and that JJ was still beside you, his arm comfortably around your shoulders, your hand resting on his chest. Your heart skipped a beat, but before you could move, JJ’s eyes blinked open, a sleepy smile spreading across his face.

“Morning, surfer girl,” he murmured, his voice rough from sleep.

“Morning,” you whispered back, feeling your cheeks warm, though you made no move to pull away.

Eventually, the two of you untangled yourselves, reluctantly climbing out of the hammock and making your way back inside. As you entered, John B was leaning against the counter, watching you both with an obnoxiously smug grin.

“Well, well, look who’s up,” he greeted, his tone thick with amusement. “Good morning, lovebirds.”

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks flushed. “Shut up, John B.”

JJ just grinned, trying to brush it off. “Real funny, man. Keep it up.”

“Oh, I will,” John B said, laughing. He folded his arms, giving you both a knowing look. “So… how’d you two sleep?”

JJ narrowed his eyes, clearly suspicious. “What’s with the interrogation?”

Without a word, John B pulled out his phone and held up the pictures he’d taken. “I don’t need to interrogate you when the evidence speaks for itself.”

Your jaw dropped. “John B, what the hell?”

John B raised his hands innocently, grinning. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just saying, the proof is in the photos.”

JJ rubbed the back of his neck, laughing it off. “Dude, come on. We were just…you know, we were tired. It was a long night.”

“Right,” John B said, his tone laced with sarcasm. He gave you both a serious look, his voice dropping slightly. “I don’t know if you’re really that blind, but you two are clearly more than just friends.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

A/n: I hope you like it. :)

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satinchicz · 2 months ago

Text

BURNOUT

musician!Se-mi x fem!reader

TW: smoking

The ballpoint pen went flying against the wall, Se-mi groaned in annoyance before letting her back fall against the chair…she’d been trying to write music lyrics for practically the entire day, yet it seems the muses had started a riot against her because everytime her eyes glanced at the blank piece of paper her brain turned into red jelly.

Perhaps she wasn’t cut out for this

But if not this then what else? Music was her life- well you were her life too but that was different, the bin by her desk was practically overflowing with torn pages by now, god why wasn’t anything coming to her?!

Today- when she decided to dedicate the day to her lyricism, of course everything had to go to shit. Se-mi got up from the chair, her movements lazy, like her muscles were glued together creating a sticky uncomfortable feeling. Looking out the window in the kitchen she sighed once again, before reaching for a half empty box of Marlboro cigarettes, opting to relax a tiny bit with the tobacco instead of having another tantrum that included abusing her poor pen.

She watched the smoke moving as elegantly as a dancer, from her mouth to outside the window…mingling with the purple-y setting skyline.

Just then the sound of the front door being opened echoed through the flat, the very familiar harmony of your silly key chains ringing through her ears, Se-mi put out the cigarette before heading to seek you out, your bodies meeting right in the kitchen doorway, she smiled as she saw you- finally one good thing about her day.

“Hey, sweetheart” the brunette purred against your lips, you chuckled at the affection, your lips finally meeting in a sweet home-welcoming kiss.

“Hey, I missed you” you replied, before placing your bag down on the kitchen table. “Long day…god I’m so tired” to further showcase your fatigue you playfully fanned yourself with your hand…Se-mi chuckled, a very quite sound, before she sat down on the other chair. You could see something was bothering her, Se-mi your oh so energetic girlfriend that loved to joke around was suddenly like a snail hidden inside it’s shell.

“Se-mi?” You leaned in closer, your eyes going to her face, clear worry evident in your tone “Is everything alright?”

She glanced at you, before moving her gaze onto her hands, it was no use to lie, maybe a little confession about her feelings would help her feel more at ease.

“It’s just- these goddamn lyrics…” Se-mi started “I’ve been trying to write all day, but everytime I try and think of at least ONE line then it’s like I forgot how to write!”

And so she kept on going, by the time she finished sharing her failed attempts she felt more lighter, physically and emotionally. Maybe a minute of silence stretched out before the two of you, like some indicator getting rid of all the negative energy Se-mi had just thrown out of herself. “Se-mi…you know it’s fine to have days like this? I mean, I know how frustrating it is, but some burnout isn’t bad for you, you write amazing, beautiful, fucking soul haunting lyrics…I think you just have to let your mind rest a little” you assured your girlfriend, who was now looking you straight in the eyes, “I guess you’re right…thanks babe” Se-mi smiled lethargically.

“How about we cuddle? Let me just change out of these clothes, I must reek of office grime” you grinned, “Yeah…I’ll be waiting for ya” she agreed before moving into the living room.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” The brunette looked up at you as you began to speak, she was contentedly laying atop you, your arms wrapped around her waist, ah yes- you were talking about the sunset…it was beautiful, she loved all the gradient hues but as of now she wasn’t interested in looking out the window, her gaze stuck on you, “You’re more beautiful” the girl murmured against your neck, you giggled “That’s so cheesy…don’t stop”, a light kiss was pressed onto your skin, then another one, and another and another and another…the intensity growing with each one, “I won’t stop, I don’t even want to do don’t worry about that!” she smiled and you ruffled her hair

“I love you, you dummy.”

#se mi x reader #se-mi x reader #coquette #wlw fanfic #fanfic #squid game x reader #squid game season 2 #squid game #fluff #fem reader #player 380 x reader #player 380 #wlw post #wlw #se mi squid game

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romanarose · 4 months ago

Text

Imagine Somno/intox with Logan...

Logan Howlett x reader

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CW consensual somno (sex while you're passed out, in and out of consciousness), and consensual intox (reader consents to Logan using her while she's high and/or drunk). This is a pre-established, loving relationship with talked about boundaries and rules of engagement. Creampie <3 drinking and smoking.

Smut below the cut

*******

Imagine coming home from a holiday party and you're just soooo sleepy. You've had more than a few drinks, and you and Remy snuck outside for a quick hit or two off a weed pen. Needless to say, you were sloshed.

Logan was the picture of a perfect boyfriend. He's not exactly a party guy, but you are so of course he went with you and did the obligatory rounds socially. He even took extra care to try and relax and have fun so that you didn't feel like you had to go home early just because this isn't his scene. He's suffer 100 of Scott and Jeans parties to see you this happy.

By the time you get home, you're half asleep. You're stumbling trying to get out of the truck so Logan takes carries you up the house, giggling even as your head rests on his shoulder. Jesus, how much weed did you smoke?

After undressing you and even wiping your face down with make-up wipes, Logan cuddles up close to you in bed, chest to chest in the warmth sheets.

Still, you're not done.

Sloppy and lazy you kiss, kiss, kiss him, unable to even open your eyes but whining when he tries to pull away.

"Want you..." You mutter, looking like you're about asleep already.

Logan chuckles. "You can't even keep your eyes open."

"yeah I can, see?" But they stay shut, making Logan laugh again as he smiles fondly down at you.

"Oh yeah, there we good. Good job, baby." He had a patronizing, teasing smile.

"fuck meeeeee" You whine, squirming your naked legs together as if that's all your limp body is capable of.

Logan runs a hand over your bare skin, his thumb rubbing over a pert nipple, making them harden as shivers run over your body. "You want me to take care'ya, sweet girl?"

"Mhmm..." But your head was lulling to the side. Logan feels up your body, nails gently scrapping over tender skin up and down your torso, massaging your to sleep.

"Don't you worry about a thing. I'm gonna make you feel so good. You deserve it, don't you? Poor, sleepy baby... just drift off to sleep... I'm gonna take care of everything."

Just as he thinks you're asleep, Logan rubs at the little bundle of nerves between your legs and hears you gasp.

"Shhhh, shhhhh.... just go to sleep... that's it..."

He's careful not to disturb you as he moves between your legs, lining up his cock at your dripping cunt, rubbing the tip up to your clit and back down again. His cock lays aching as Logan thrusts his hips, but not penetrating you just yet. Instead, the length of him slides all over your slit, getting himself nice and wet, just like you were. He didn't wanna hurt you, or god forbid wake you.

"Don't gotta worry about a thing when I'm here. Just gotta lay there and take it." Logan whispers, voice husky with lust as he finally slides himself inside your sopping wet hole. He groans as he bottoms out, forever entranced in how well you take him, even as he splits you open like a fence post.

"Good girl..." Logan mumbles, sliding in and out of you as he plays with your clit, taking care to hit the spot that made your unconcious, slightly snoring body clench around him. "Always so fucking good... You just need this, huh? Needed me to take care of you? You do everything for everyone, but you? You're my responsibility, and I'm gonna make you feel so fuck'n good." He punctures his words with a slap of his thighs to your ass just a little too strong, and for a second he worries he woke his sweet girl when your eyesbrows pinch together and you whimper.

"Shhh, I'm sorry baby..."

"L-Lo?" You murmur, but only barely conscious. He begins to fuck you again, careful and more controlled.

"It's me, baby..." Logan caresses your cheek. "Don't worry, m'gonna take care of yuh... just go back to sleep..."

You moan as conciousness slips away once again.

"Good girl... such a fuck'n... ugghhh good girl..." He's becoming strained, the sight of you laid out and bare for him, the trust you put in his hands, it was becoming too much. He loved you so gooddamn much... but he needed to take care of you, this wasn't for him. Logan plays with your sensitive folds, working your up until he saw your stomach clenching and then worked on your clit, all the while fucking you full.

"That's it princess, come on my cock, come on- oh! there it ! Ohhhh g-good girl- fuck- fuuckkk" As you came around him, clenching down hard you stripped away the last of his control. Logan lifted your hips center to him, fucking your contracting channel as he spilled his warm seed into you.

"Perfect, my perfect girl, fuck, fuuuucckk, ughh, uh, uh, uhhhh!" Every last drop was milked from him, ball emptying inside you and for a moment, everything was pure bliss. This was all he needed to be happy. You were all he needed.

As Logan came down from his high, that blissful feeling never subsided. He looked at your pretty face, so cute and trusting, trusting him... This was what heaven was.

Slaying slotted deep inside you and plugging you up with his cum, Logan wrapped you up in his arms and rolled over. He laid on his back, keeping you sluffed with him as he pulled up the covers.

As you snored against his pecs, and Logan slowly drifted to sleep, Logan hoped he'd wake up to your cute body using him to get off.

*********

thanks for reading!!!

@dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @del-ightfulling @hornystan

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #fem reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you #james logan howlett #wolverine #worst wolverine #logan x reader #soft logan #praise #x men x reader #logan howlett/you #logan howlett smut

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demiesworld · 2 years ago

Text

thinking about being high off of marijuana with suguru…

you don't know how you ended up in this position in suguru's bedroom. you're laid out on your back with the man of your dreams in between your thighs. his deep brown eyes looking into your eyes as he slowly rocks his hips back and forth. his thick cock is trapped in your tight walls, feeding your juicy pussy short and deep strokes. if you could remember where this all started from it came from when suguru offered you to smoke weed with him. you always would smoke with suguru, your boyfriend, when he offered. so whatever that was in the strain that you two smoked not just one joint but two had brought you here. suguru geto, languidly thrusting his dick into you, with his silky black hair curtaining your faces from the outside world. just you staring up into suguru's pretty and handsome face like he was the sun. in your eyes he was. you embrace your man like a koala, legs and arms holding him tight as you pull him down for a lazy heated kiss. your body shudders and you moan shakily when suguru's pierced tongue snakes inside of your mouth. he places his left hand on your breast, squeezing the flesh gently as he keeps grinding his hips into yours. you clutch at the hairs on his nape with one hand and the other digs fingernails into his warm sandy shoulder blade. you two parted your lips for a moment, gasping into each other's mouths. you could feel yourself ascending to a higher plane from the effects of the weed and what you were feeling for suguru. you listen to your heart beat faster and the blood screaming through your ears.

you arch your back and whisper to him, "i love you suguru," "i love you too baby," he returns. you let out a squeak when he started snapping his hips into you. your voice bounces as you cry out, "i, i love you so much suguru!" then cradle his head to hide his face into your neck. suguru kisses at your sweaty skin wetly, and groans, "fuck, i love you baby," he increases his speed, his dick pistons into your dripping pussy and his heavy balls slap against your ass. you toss your head back and drag your fingernails down his shoulder. you mewl, "oh! oh, i love you so fuckING much!" "i love you, baby! hm!" you're both panting and moaning as the intensity of suguru's thrusts increases. your body is being pounded into the bed with suguru's deep and heavy strokes. "oh! …oh! UH! F-FUCK! GONNA! CUM!" you emphasize your words right before your cunt spasms around his thick and uncut cock. your walls clench around suguru so tight he's left with nothing to do but gently rock his hips again. he's helping you ride out your orgasm while trying to find his own. your slick leaves his cock glistening with it. he is patient when he waits for your cunt to stop clenching around him so he could return back to loving you right. "hmm, baby, fuuuck," he sighs onto your neck and goes to sucking on your earlobe. your body shivers from him sucking on your ear. his tongue licks around the shell of your ear, then his teeth gnaw at it. "hm~ suguru!" you squeal when he nips at your ear then the raven-haired man chuckles. before he pulls away, he affectionately kisses your ear. suguru sensually croons, "im sorry baby," you pouted up at him, "that really hurt daddy." you had to bite back the smile on your lips when you whined. suguru plays on with your act, his hands going to your hips as he kneels up on the bed. "oh baby, what can daddy do to make it better huh?" he asks while he's slowly moving his hips into you again.

you bite down on your bottom lip before you say, "fuck me like a slut, daddy." suguru's cock twitches in your warm walls from your response. he's beginning to speed up his tempo now. his slow and deep strokes transitioning to quick and hard hammering. his dick is fucking right into your sweet spot, never missing a beat. you're being bounced on his cock, and your back arches from the bed as you let out a high pitched moan. "fuck you like a slut? no, baby i think you- fuuck- meant fuck you like you're my slut." "mhm! mhm! yes daddy! oh fuck, yessss!" "that's right, you're daddy's slut." suguru wraps his arms around your body and hoists you up into his lap. you have your legs on either side of suguru's narrow waist and your hips connect with his own as you meet his thrusts. your faces are close together. with this position everything is so intimate, everything is so vulnerable. you look into suguru's deep brown eyes and you admire him for his ethereal beauty. everything about this man is so unreal to you. he's like a gift from heaven's above. you let out a breathless sigh as you're being pummeled into. "d-daddy i love you…" you choke on another moan when suguru rocks his hips slowly into yours. the lazy rhythm feels good against your clit. he rolls his hips into circles as he says, "i love you too baby." the slick noises your pussy makes when suguru pumps his hips upward is so obscene. you feel suguru's breathing get heavier and quicker as he was chasing after his orgasm. "oh, ssshit, fuck, im gonna cum baby. fuck, im gonna… c-CUM!" he snaps his hips up and shoots his heavy hot load into your womb. you let out a squeak when you feel the rush of warmth filling you up. suguru fucks his cum deep into your sensitive pussy, his mouth agape at the sight of sticky strings on his pubic hair.

your cunt is not any better. it's swollen from the persistent strokes and your slick is glistening his veiny cock. "oh fuck," he mutters breathlessly and looks back up to your glassy eyes, the whites of them still tinged with red from the weed. suguru lets out a hiss before he clashes his lips with yours and lay you down on your back on the bed. you lay with your sore limbs splayed out on the mattress. suguru slides his softening cock out, a lewd wet "pap" follows. he grabs the base of his heavy cock and taps his fat head on your puffy clit. you let out a sharp hiss then moan. he smears his cum on the tender nerve of your nub. after he glides his cock up and down in between your sticky folds. "listen to that baby," you hum questionably until suguru kindly shushes you and reminds you to listen. you do and your ears catch on to the raunchy slushing noise he was creating. you feel your clit throb at the sound and you internally scream to yourself, "we're never going to stop!" suguru has already made your worry a reality the second he inserted his tip into your gaping pussy and was fucking just the tip of it in and out. the sound of it reminded you of wet squishing. after he had thrusted it into you a few more times, suguru fully slid his thick cock back into you. you choke on a gasp and your pussy squeezes on his length. he sweetly coos, "hmm… im sorry baby…" his hand cups your chin lazily grinning at seeing your eyes roll back, his sultry voice husks, "but daddy needs you for a little while longer…"

☆ — note: i feel like i should make this a series since i only write this shit when i am high. i got the inspiration from literally this guy im talking to. we are both 420 friendly and i was smoking some, thought of him doing this to me, and i was like oh yeah need to write that down. plus this was written in one-go so there will be mistakes lmao

#geto x reader #geto x black reader #geto smut #geto suguru smut #suguru geto smut #suguru geto #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk geto #geto suguru #suguru x reader #suguru x black reader #fem black writer #🍃 demies thinking about...

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afsalovescats · 6 months ago

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Omg could I request a yandere gojo who’s also our next door neighbor? Maybe they met by the reader being conveniently helpful, not thinking much of it? But also assuming reader has a petty sense of humor, and doesn’t get half of his social cues suggesting his interest for other than him gluing to her whenever possible.

omg a reader whos dense? guys this is litteraly me, i love this concept smmm

Warning : yandere type shit, also reader is a smoker (vaugely and barely mentiond)

Omg yall i wanna make another part, lmk if yall want one too, lowkey wanna make a series building up to his obsession in ur pov....i might.

Btw if u havent noticed i am actually so big brain, i am storming ideas fast. Keep sending in reqs!!

You never thought that living next to someone like Satoru Gojo would be anything out of the ordinary. He was charming, a bit of a flirt, and definitely the life of anybody in the gloomy neighborhood. But you quickly learned that there was more to him than met the eye.

It all started one lazy afternoon when you noticed him struggling to carry in a mountain of grocery bags. He was balancing them awkwardly, he looked strong with muscles and everything, he just wasn't balacing them right at all. It was so obvious too. And it looked like he might drop everything at any moment if you didnt rush over. You couldn’t help but step outside from the lobby of your dingy apartment complex, your curiosity perked and wanting to converse in small talk due to boredom. “Need a hand, or are you trying out for a circus act?” you joked, a playful smirk on your face.

He looked up, his signature grin lighting up his features. “Circus? Nah, but I could use your help to make these bags disappear,” he replied, flashing that mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “What’s the point of having a neighbor if they won’t help you out?” he retorted playfully as his gaze on you never wavers.

You let out a sarcastic laugh, rolling your eyes, and before you knew it, you were taking a few bags from him, both of you heading to his front door, but not before going to the main lobby to go to the elevator. He was your neighbor too so obviously why wouldn't you help? Being a good neighbor was the least you could provide as service!

As you chatted, his conversation flowed easily, he seemed to be interested in anything you were saying, and occasionaly asked questions that may have come across as personal. But honestly you didnt seem to notice the questions. Neither did you notice the glances directed your way and his gaze lingering on you for far too long, the way his smile always slightly rised whenever you accidently brushed against him. Due to the elevator space and the amount of grocerries in hand.

Days turned into weeks, and you found yourself running into Gojo more often. He was always “conveniently” around when you were outside for a smoke since smoking wasn't permitted inside the complex or apartments. While you thought he was just friendly, there was a deeper undercurrent to his attention that you were blissfully unaware of. Very blissfully unaware of, thankfully.

One evening, you decided to play a small prank on him, no harm. He'd just been annoying lately. You slipped a sticky note on a small carton of milk planted right near his door, claiming that he’d won an award for “Most Annoying Neighbor.” The corners of your mouth slightly raised, a harmless joke, as you walked away to go to work, curious as to what his reaction will be later.

The next few hours later when you were lounging on your couch, watching a show mindlessly in the dark, you heard a few knocks on the door, confused, you hesitantly try to peek out the window, near the door but instead you see a figure wearing all black. You then sigh as you check the peephole and see him. Standing out there at night as he leans on one leg with a hand on his hip.

He's now appeared at your door, the note in hand and an amused yet intense look in his eyes. “You think this is funny?” he said, stepping just a bit too close. “Maybe I should write you a letter too. How about ‘Most Unappreciative Neighbor’?” he replies back as he continues staring at down at you, litteraly since he was tall.

Your laughter faltered slightly, but you brushed it off, thinking he was just joking. “Come on, it’s a joke. Besides, you’re too much of a show-off to be offended. You should appreciate you even got an award." unaware to you, the way your wordered it, as the corners of your mouth raised, actually set something off in him.

His smile faltered for just a moment, a flicker of something darker crossing his features. “Oh, I’m not offended. Just… disappointed.” He leaned closer, slightly crouching his shoulders to lean down as his shoulders slump as one hand is on the side of the outline of the door, half in half out so it prevents you from shutting it. His breath warm against your ear in the cold chilly night.

“You should know better than to mess with someone who cares about you.” He replies blanky, as his whole facade drops and he simply stares at you. No expression, no charming smile, no teasing, nothing, his pretty blue orbs just blank.

You blinked, caught off guard by his whole demeanor. “Care about me?” you reply raising an eyebrow then you burst out laughing as you slightly cover your mouth, not trying to be mean but this was actually amusing.

He tilted his head, and the glint in his eye made you shiver, but you brushed it aside with a smile, thinking you had misread his expression. “You’re more than that to me,” he said, the seriousness of his tone finally making you feel a bit uneasy. "So much more." He finishes but you simply continue smiling, trying to be friendly in this situation. Before you could respond, he added, “But don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”

Now his smile came back as he stops leaning down slightly and instead stand up straight as his eyes atleast aren't blank anymore.

You laughed nervously, backing up a step. “Yeah, sure, just don’t get too attached.” You say as yet once again you are so unaware of Satoru's genuine feelings.

But Satoru didn’t respond with laughter. Instead, he stepped forward, closing the distance. “Oh, I’m already attached. You don’t get to walk away from this.”

"...Of course you are! I'm just so great!"

You dont know if you said anything wrong because now he hasnt replied and your standing there awkwardly as his arm is still against the edge of the door frame.

"Goodnight Satoru." you begin to break down the awkward silence between you two.

After a few blinks he smiles, but it dosent meet his eyes. Instead he ruffles your head then he says "You should really get those locks checked out, or get more. Its dangerous." he replies as his smile is still there but its more chilling.

You hum as you dismiss him with a wave and shut the door. Something tells you to wait it out, just in case, and you trust your intution. You wait for a little waiting til he leaves as you stand on the other side of the door. He didnt leave right away as he stares at the spot where you just were, where now his eyes meet the door.

Then just like that he walks away. Weirdo.

Another time you invited him over to your house since you date decided to ditch you for no reason! So weird! Satoru luckily found you after you ended the call and offered to cheer you up. So currently you both are watching a movie at your place in silence, he was hesitant to invite you, you didnt know why but you didn't bother asking to not be rude.

"I just wish...you know we were talking for a while and like...I thought things were going well!" you sigh yet exclaim at the same time. Still upset since you thought for once you could pull someone. You can't.

"He sounds like an asshole." Satoru says without a second thought.

You let out a groan mixed with a whine, Satoru glances at you as you then shrink to the couch as whine again annoyed.

"I wish he was like, obsessed or something! I want a guy to be like that! So that he'll never leave me or cheat! is that too much to ask for?" You ask yourself as you put popcorn in your mouth.

Apparently not, since what you wanted was right next to you, without your knowledge.

"Clingy? You into that?" he asks tilting his head as he eyes you- has this man even looked away once? You actually notice and wonder.

You hum in response as for the next few minutes you eat popcorn and the movie's audio plays into the background.

“Clingy?” he repeated again, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that. I’ll be right here, always, for you.” He winks, but something tells you hes not joking.

The days passed, and while you continued your innocent banter and petty pranks and sarcastic yet teasing words, Satoru's intensity deepened. He started showing up unexpectedly, always ready to lend a hand or share a laugh. You thought it was endearing, never realizing that he was weaving himself deeper into your life—too deep for your own good. You didn't mind, you never knew why, it was slightly weird but you really couldn't care.

One evening, you found him standing outside your door, arms crossed, a look of mock irritation on his face. “You’re not just going to ignore my last prank, are you?”

You raised an eyebrow, teasing. “What prank? I thought you just liked leaving me little gifts?”

He stepped closer, invading your personal space. “I do like leaving you gifts… but only if you remember who they’re from.”

You felt a teeny shiver run down your spine, but your playful nature pushed you to respond. “Oh, you mean like a restraining order? Because I’m pretty sure I’m going to need one." You retort back.

His laughter was rich and dangerous, and he leaned closer, whispering, “You really have no idea how much I care, do you? You’re not going anywhere, and neither am I. So, how about we skip the jokes and just enjoy each other’s company?” He says with a lazy smirk gracing his soft lips.

You actually freze, suddenly aware of just how serious he was. But before you could respond, he flashed that charming smile, and all your doubts faded into the background. After all, he was just your neighbor, right? A very huge fucking flirt too.

As you watched him walk away, the hint of something dark lingered in the air. You chuckled to yourself, dismissing the warning signs. “What a weirdo,” you muttered, still blissfully unaware of how deeply tangled you were in his affections.

But little did you know, in Gojo’s eyes, you were already his—forever.

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midnight-bay-if · 6 months ago

Note

How would each ro act after the first morning after waking up next to mc?

(I'm so sorry if these aren't perfect, but I'm not sleeping so well at the moment. I'm really behind on asks, though, so I still wanted to power through and answer this anyway. I hope it's okay!)

S: S blinks the sleep from their eyes, the morning sun cutting through the gap in the blinds and clearing the haze in their eyes. For a moment, it's a morning like any other. They turn their head to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. 6:55am, precisely five minutes before their set alarm. Perfect, as usual. They lean over to switch it off.

Then, you shift beside them, the mattress dipping with the movement. S turns their head towards you, a soft smile tugging at their lips. You lay on your side, one hand tucked beneath the pillow that cradles your head. S watches for a moment, taking in how the light of the morning gently caresses your skin. Heat blooms in their chest, admiring how soft your expression is.

Careful not to wake you, S leans forward to press a soft kiss on your forehead, lingering there a moment before slowly climbing out of bed to prepare themselves for the day ahead. After a quick shower, they will go downstairs to prepare breakfast in bed for you. In the meantime, they will let you sleep. Your soft, peaceful look as you sleep is worth protecting.

Rain: Rain rubs their eyes, yawning as the midmorning sun burns threateningly through the dark curtains holding the light at bay. They stretch out their arms above their heads, ignoring the snap of their elbow as it straightens out. They hum, a smile already on their lips before their mind can catch up to why.

A soft sigh pulls their attention to the usually empty space in their bed. As Rain's eyes rest upon your face, their smile widens to a grin, butterflies fluttering in their stomach. Unable to resist temptation, they reach out, tenderly running their fingers across your cheek. They can't believe you are real—that this moment is real.

The excitement bubbles up inside them until it can no longer be contained. They nudge themselves over to your side of the bed until they are a hair's breadth from your space. Slowly, they slide their arm beneath your head before flinging a leg over you, craning it back towards them to enclose the space between you. Your eyes flicker open as Rain presses their forehead against yours.

"Good morning, dear," they greet cheekily. "Sleep well?"

Taj: Taj lies on their back, staring up at the ceiling as they have done much of the night. They have the scuff marks above them memorised at this point. Some chipped paint, a random stain leftover from a slipped tile where the rain soaked through, and some slight yellowing from the nicotine of their cigarettes when they are too lazy to smoke outside.

It's all they have been able to do to stop themselves from staring at your sleeping face all night. Taj never expected this. They never expected someone to want them intimately enough to have this. There's been the odd tumble beneath the sheets in their past, but they were alone again by morning. It's the smart thing to do. The easy thing.

Taj dares a glance to the side, your face much more visible with the rays of sunshine poking through the blinds. Nothing about what they have with you is easy, yet sleepless nights have never felt so welcoming. A hint of a smile sneaks at the corner of their lips as Taj finally turns their body to face you completely.

"I don't know what you're doing to me," Taj whispers, hoping your sleep swallows the words. "... but you better not take it back."

N: N stretches languidly, a heavy sigh on their lips. Their skin tingles with the spectre of your touch trailing the same paths from the previous night, creating an indecipherable warmth to build in their chest - a warmth so pleasant it makes them stop, their breath catching in their throat. Memories of the previous night flood their mind; their brows crease, their lips forming a displeased line.

N finally takes in the room around them, the bed they share with you. It's their first time waking in your bed as the sun rises - a level of intimacy they suddenly feel unprepared for. This isn't them. This isn't what they do.

Passion is an instrument they have tuned well. The strings play a sordid melody under their fingers, designed to entice and entwine. A momentary escape before the strings snap. By then, it's already too late. N has taken precisely what they desired, leaving nothing left.

It started that way with you, too: a new composition with a new instrumentalist, but the steps remained the same. So they believed. Before they knew it, they were dancing to your tune of soft words and intimacy with terrifying enthusiasm. And they do not understand it.

"You are frightening, my dear."

Umbra: Everything feels new. Umbra doesn't typically sleep; they have no need to and have never desired to, either. The dark is full of nightmares, danger and shadow. The night is who they are; it's where they belong. That is, until you. You helped them step out of the shadow, to become a person who touches, who feels, who basks in the light.

So, Umbra's eyes blink the sleep from their eyes, a single tear drop escaping through the blurriness. They turn to you, expecting to see you huddled tight under the blankets to ward off the cold. Instead, you lean close, one leg intertwined with theirs as if basking in their chill. Umbra inhales sharply, their throat choking the emotion from them. The sight of you so peaceful, so still in their presence, is overwhelming.

Umbra dares to run a hand through your hair, no longer afraid you will recoil from their touch. They smile to themselves, their lips cracking with a beautiful sting as they stretch.

If waking up feels like this, Umbra chooses it every time.

#ask answer #taj #umbra knight #nazu raumon #naera raumon #rain #simon selby #simone selby #interactive fiction

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darklcy · 2 years ago

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𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

‣ eddie's session runs longer than you thought. bored, with nothing to do, you find his shirt.

‣ eddie munson x reader | stranger things masterlist | 823 words | fluff, established relationship, idiots in love ig

‣ i havent posted him in a while and i just got to rewatching s4, so naturally-

He’d been gone far too long already.

You tried not to complain, not having the desire to suck the life out of his soul for simply engaging in his passion. Dungeons and dragons served as an enigma in your brain, its complexity never failing to swirl your thoughts in knots each time you tried learning to play. If him being late was the only self punishment for not comprehending the rules of the game, then perhaps it was justifiable.

..It was just late. And you were beyond bored.

Boredom was a lazy explanation for the feeling you were experiencing at the moment, but for lack of better word, boredom will do. Body sprawled across his mattress, Gremlins displayed in the living room television down the hall, fingernails touched skin in a pattern, as if counting sheep represented itself through your fingers. The night sky stretched further along the hours as you waited for his campaign to finish, but with the way your eyelids drooped and head bobbed, you may not be around for his return.

Laying back on your spine, ceiling coming into view, you fought the upcoming dreams with all your might to avoid slumber, wanting to greet Eddie properly the moment he stepped inside. Chin lolling to the right, a signature club shirt curiously grabbed your eye, the red faced demon poking through the gaps of his drawer.

Huh.

Somehow that pumped a vein full of awoken energy throughout your body. Sitting back up, you crawled over to the drawer and yanked the shirt from its clenches, freeing the fabric from its prison. The demon’s eyes met yours in a sneer, and sometimes you wonder if the corners of his mouth grew each time you stared at him. Discarding your own top, you replaced it with his, the remnants of smoke and faint cologne wafting in your nostrils.

Eddie smelled like home, a sanctuary, a safe place. A bit ironic, with fire comes reassurance, in your world, that is.

The garment was a bit loose on your figure, the ends reaching just below your hips. With the canvas of your legs exposed from lack of pajamas, his shirt became your blanket and lover all in one, a figment of the real thing. This will have to do until he returns.

Cheek pressed to the comforter, Gremlins had just barely faded out into the credits when sleep found you, tucked away and hidden in the cotton of Hellfire.

“Baabe, I’m home.”

Brass met knob when Eddie unlocked it open, enjoying the warm heat of the trailer compared to the brisk November air outside. Campaign was good, as usual. Dungeon Master certainly had its perks, even if repeating senior year didn’t. The journey to his bedroom was swift, eager to finally end his day with you by his side, how it always should be.

However he wasn’t at all, in the slightest bit, prepared to greet you adorning his beloved club shirt, soft skin of your thighs bare, asleep comfortably in his bed. His bed. Alone. With his shirt on. And boyshorts. Oh, wow. You were going to be the death of him.

It was as if he’d been transported to the Moma, viewing a delicate, historical self portrait of an acrylic artist from the 1700s. You were a sight to behold, and for him only. His feet almost sunk into the floorboards from the sheer weight his heart plummeted against his ribs. He’d just fallen in love all over again. How do you do it so easily?

A gentle groan emitted in your throat as you shifted. What a sweet sound. You’re so sweet.

Crouching down towards your face, his ringed knuckle gilded hair from your eyelashes, a smile on his face at the way you stirred from the action. When your eyes awoke to meet his, his lips only stretched wider.

“Mornin', sweetheart.”

Stretching out your arms, a yawn escaped you as a sleepy, “Oh, you’re home,” uttered out in a jumbled whisper. His full palm caressed your face now, occasionally smoothing down your hair while continuing to grin at your drowsiness. He couldn’t get enough.

“Yeah, Hellfire ran a lil late. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

You shook your head into his fingers. “No, you’re fine. I was just bored.”

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as he moved to sit beside you. His fingers transitioned from your cheek to the shirt on your skin, rings grazing the neckline and shoulder. Eddie had never seen anything like it, and he wore this exact thing every god damn week.

“You look beautiful like this.”

It was as if complimenting a model, the way he spoke so carefully and tender. You gave him a look.

“..It’s comfy. I might steal it from you.”

He’d give you anything he wanted if you gave him the word. His lips captured yours in a trance, ending too quick for your liking.

“You should. You wear it best.”

—

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x reader oneshot #eddie munson x you #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things fluff #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 x reader

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arabaka-archived · 7 months ago

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YEAH YEAH YEAH REIGEN SMOKING BAD YEAH YEAH YEAH but.

₊˚ʚ ☁️ ₊˚ ♡ ﾟ. content warnings ⤸ nsfw. reigen arataka x afab! reader. smoking (I don't smoke so don't make fun of me too bad if I got things wrong TT~TT). oral sex (reigen receiving). takes place before reigen meets mob.

Reigen walking up the steps to his apartment with a little more weight than usual.

Maybe this business thing won't pan out after all. Three clients the whole day. Man, my shoulder hurts. I need to smoke.

"I'm homeee." He calls out, though he's unsure if you're there right away because all the lights are off.

"Hereee." You reply with the same lackluster drawl, sprawled on the bed in your underwear and one of Reigen's old shirts. It was your day off and this is exactly how you spent it: lazing around.

It was a great day.

His... Was not. You hear it by the way the couch creaks under his weight as his body crumples to a seat.

"Hey..." You crawl off the bed, standing between his legs while he works on his suit jacket. Cupping his face in your hands, you bring his gaze to yours before asking, "Bad day?"

Nod.

"Want me to make it better?"

Nod.

He hates smoking inside.

Why doesn't he go outside, you ask?

Well...

The end of the cigarette crackles as Reigen draws in a breath and you hear the inevitable tap, tap, tap of the ashes shortly after. He's feeling better, the buzz of nicotine coaxing his brain to a relaxed state.

But what's really relieving his stress is the work you're putting in as you sit on the floor, in-between his legs.

His white shirt is crumpled above his belly button, exposing his happy trail. His belt unbuckled and pants unzipped, you have his cock in your fist and you're rolling your wrist at a lazy pace, but that's what he likes when he's had a long day.

The room is still and quiet; all that exists is you, him, and the smokey haze that drifts out of the room like his negative energy. His eyes, half-lidded, stop staring at the ceiling, instead focusing on you. How he can’t believe he gets to come home to you. How he’s lucky you’ve stuck around. How good you’re making him feel right now. His free hand rests on the top of your head, his hips softly bucking towards your mouth as a silent indicator: Faster.

You listen and listen well. The room is no longer surrounded by silence. You’ve started slurping around his cock, running your mouth up and down the slender shaft. Your head bobs, alternating just how much of his length you take. Sometimes you suck the tip and that really gets him groaning.

Another drag of the cigarette and the second-hand smoke assaults your senses. You close your eyes, starting to swirl your tongue around Reigen’s cock. It’s easy to lose yourself in sucking Reigen off. It feels just as good for you as it does for him.

“Just a little more… Just a little more…” He moans under his breath. You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or himself but it’s hot either way; you start to rub your clit, the bundle of nerves pulsing even harder when his cock throbs in your mouth.

You’re too good for him. He thinks to himself after another puff. “I love you.” Reigen murmurs, watching in adoration as you get him off, working hard because you know he’s had a bad day.

“G-God…” Reigen grunts, head falling back on the couch as his hand leaves you to cover his face. You have him thrusting into your mouth now and you know he’s chasing a high all the cigarettes in the world couldn’t give him.

The cigarette is long put out by the time his body is on top of yours, the residual smoke still lingering in the air as he slots his cock in front of your pussy. Reigen doesn’t last long but you don’t mind. You rub yourself on his leg after he’s finished, sucking on his neck as he glides his fingers along your back.

Reigen’s fingers twitch. He kind of wants to smoke again.

But he wants to make you cum more.

#reigen #reigen arataka #reigen x you #reigen x reader #reigen x y/n #reigen arataka x reader #reigen arataka x y/n #reigen arataka x you #reigen smut #reigen arataka smut #mob psycho #mp100 #mp reigen #mob psycho 100 #mob psycho reigen #mp100 reigen

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kneelingshadowsalome · 2 years ago

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I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience.

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream.

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel.

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside.

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement.

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either.

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day.

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price.

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear.

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks."

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke.

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes.

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things.

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to.

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you."

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not.

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed.

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap… You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young.

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant.

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick.

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car.

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh.

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for.

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old."

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had.

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan.

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his.

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away.

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in.

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good…

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point.

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest.

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects.

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…"

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple.

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want…

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying.

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already.

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…"

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull.

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth.

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago.

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway."

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed.

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap.

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too.

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?"

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say.

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes.

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart.

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?"

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco.

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not...

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong.

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in.

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream.

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?"

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise.

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel…

And Alaska.

#john price x you #john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain price x you #price x reader #captain price smut #captain price x reader #john price smut #john price #mw2 smut #captain john price #john price fanfic #cod fanfic

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rafescherie · 12 days ago

Text

after your encounter with pogue!rafe, he can't get you off his mind. deciding to settle things once and for all, he shows up to your house, unannounced, to try to resolve everything.

salt in the sugar bowl miniseries | part one - part two - you are currently on part three |

cherie's note — this series was so much fun to write (◜ᴗ◝). while this is the end to the miniseries, i will continue to write and accept requests for pogue!rafe. thank you for all the love!

you knew he was there before you saw him.

the air outside was too still, too thick. the kind of quiet that wasn't really quiet at all — like something waiting to be shattered.

and then, like clockwork, you spotted him.

parked across the street, beside your own vehicle, he leaned against the side of his truck, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. the shadows made a mess of him, carving out sharp edges and dark hollows, but you could recognize him from anywhere.

rafe cameron.

his face, illuminated now by the amber orange hue from the fire burning his stick, he was watching you. as if it wasn't bad enough you could feel it from where you stood, meters away, his eyes were dark as he watched you approach your vehicle.

you inhaled through your nose, exhaled slow.

you weren't going to stop. you weren't going to ask why he was here. that was the game, wasn't it? ignore him, pretend it doesn't make your heart stutter, pretend like something in you doesn't still recognize him even now, even despite unnerving presence inside of your usually quiet neighborhood.

you moved toward you car, he moved too.

just a step forward, nothing more. a shift in weight, an acknowledgement, the kind of silent understanding that made your pulse flicker.

your grip on your keys tightened. "waiting for someone?'

he exhaled slow, the smoke leaving his lips in a lazy stream. "yeah."

your stomach twisted, though you knew the answer before you even asked. "...who?"

his eyes flicked up to meet yours. steady. heavy.

"you."

his voice sent something cold curling down your spine, but you didn't let it show. instead, you gripped your keys a little tighter, tilting your head. "if you've got something to say, just say it."

"got nothing to say, sweetheart." he replies, his lips connecting with the cigarette once more, the inhale of smoke sharp in the air.

you huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head in disbelief as you pulled open your car door. "well, you're parked outside my house like a fucking stalker, so yeah, maybe you do."

there's a beat of silence between you now. the air is thick with the stench of cigarettes, a habit you had worked so hard to help him get over when you were still together, now down the drain it seemed. that wasn't your concern anymore — respectfully, none of your business.

"your boyfriend doesn't pick you up?" he questions, pressing the cigarette against his lips.

"he doesn't have a truck," you speak over a whisper, turning your attention away. "besides, wasn't a good match. i haven't spoken to him in days."

relief washes over his tense body, the first good news in weeks. despite the words shocking any other normal person, rafe feels a sense of encouragement take place within his brain, suddenly at ease.

he clears his throat, "look we... we need to talk about what... what happened."

you cross your arms over your chest, staring at the man with those same curious, doe-eyes he had fallen in love with so many weeks ago.

"i have somewhere i need to be, rafe." you sigh out. his timing always seemed to be impeccable, truly.

he studied you for a second too long, his gaze dragging over you like he was memorizing something. the forced laugh that he exerts at the bluntness makes your pulse quicken, the scuffing sounds of his boot louder in the mess of tension.

"nah," he starts, rubbing his jaw, "y'not going anywhere for a bit, 'least not till i'm done talking with you."

you swallow hard. instead, you stand there, hovering in the small space between your car and the door, like a deer caught in the headlights.

"if you came here to play games, rafe, i don’t have time for it." you retort.

the corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn't smile. a sharp exhale falls from his nose, fingers digging frustratingly into the palm of his own hands.

"y'think i came here to play?"

something in the way he said it made your breath catch.

your own fingers twitched around your keys, "what else would it be?"

his jaw ticked, and before you could take another breath, he took a step closer. not enough to touch, but enough that the space between you suddenly felt suffocating.

"you really think i'd waste my time if i didn't need to see you?"

his words knocked the wind out of you more than you wanted to admit.

you inhaled, gaze flickering away — anywhere but his eyes. "you don't need anything from me, rafe."

"that right?" his voice was lower now, quieter, like he was testing the waters.

you didn't answer. the silence lingered in the air for far too long, neither of you daring to utter another word into the late night wind.

because the way he was looking at you — like he was trying to memorize every inch of you, like he was still trying to find the parts of himself he'd left in you — made your throat tighten.

his tongue darted out to wet his lips before he spoke again, "could've gone anywhere tonight," he chuckles dryly, "but i'm here."

"i don't know what you want me to say, ray."

he shakes his head lightly in disbelief, "don't need to say anything, angel. just need you to listen." his eyes meet yours again, searching for something — anything, familiar within them. "can you do that for me? or are you still pretending you don't care?"

you didn't want to accept — he had broken your heart once before, shamelessly at that, you didn't want to give him the opportunity to do it again. the last thing you wanted was for this man you loved so deeply to get your hopes up once more, just to completely break it all down in the end.

he takes your silence as approval, resting his hand on the open car door. there's hardly space between you now, the only divider being the metal car door you teeter inside of — the same car that had started all of this in the first place.

you were too good to him. even he can't fathom how good you are to him — despite all the shit he had put you through the last few weeks, here you were, waiting patiently for him to speak. you knew better, but curiosity got the best of you, like it always had.

he takes a deep breath, the air around him growing heavy with tension. "i shouldn't... i shouldn't have ended things the way i did."

oh?

not what you had expected to hear, but nonetheless, your heart skips a beat, your stomach twisting once more.

"what... what do you mean?" you question, unsure of yourself — timid.

his heart was racing as he watched you process what he had said. he wanted to keep going, wanted to just keep speaking and let it all out, but his mind went blank, and he found himself hesitating, trying to find the words.

rafe had never grown up in an environment where talking about your feelings was encouraged — not in a healthy way, calm and collected, like this conversation. nights spent listening to his parents argue had trained his young brain to become explosive, like his father. but he wanted to do better, he needed to do better — for you.

"i uh..." his voice broke slightly, "i mean... i made a mistake."

"a mistake?" you echo back, tilting your head to look at him, a puzzled look on your face.

he let out a slow sigh, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before flickering away again as he tried to get the words out.

"breaking up with you." he finally managed to confess, his voice gruff. "ending things. it was a mistake."

for the first time tonight, you're speechless. truly, speechless.

rafe didn't do apologies, or even admit he was wrong. his stubbornness and hotheadedness was an inherent trait of his personality — so it was beyond confusing to see him standing here, admitting he had fucked up.

he knew he had to keep going, he had to keep talking. now that he had started, he couldn't stop himself — and you didn't want him to. this had been the most clarity you had gotten in weeks.

"i shouldn't have ended it without talking to you," he continued, his jaw clenching. "should've just... tried to explain... instead i just..." his voice trails off as the guilt washes over him. he hated himself for the way he handled it, hated that he had made you think he didn't want you.

that was far from the truth. for the first time since being cut off from his cushioned life, living with his father, he had seen a purpose. a reason to keep going, despite the trouble, and the constant stress.

he shakes his head, dragging a hand against his short buzzed hair before continuing. "i didn't... i didn't want to end things, alright? just... just didn't know what else to do..."

you let out a shaky sigh, the words sending your stomach snapping at the confession.

the words settle between you, heavy and raw. the weight of his locutions settle like an invisible force. he watches you swallow, watching you blink up at him as if deciding whether or not to let him back in — whether or not to believe him.

the moonlight casts a silvery glow over your features, making you look almost unreal, like something out of a dream. or, maybe a memory — one he's spent too many nights trying to forget, only to end up right back here, drawn to you like the tide to the shore.

rafe exhales, staring at the girl before him like she might disappear if he blinks. you stand there, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, like you were holding something together. maybe your resolve. maybe your heart. maybe it was both. he swears he tried. tried to stay gone. tried to convince himself that you were better off. but the second he saw you again, walking into his auto shop, bounding in like nothing had changed, all the pretending fell apart.

the silence stretches, the night air thick with something fragile. then, finally, you exhale, shoulders slumping. like a weight released from your shoulders, the confession breaks down something within yourself — something that had been stirring for weeks.

"rafe..." his name is barely a whisper, but it's enough to make his heart stutter.

it wasn't an invitation. not yet. but it's not rejection either.

"i mean it," he says, voice steadier this time. "i tried staying away. i thought it'd be better for you. but i can't-" he shakes his head, stepping closer, blue eyes never leaving yours. "i can't do this without you."

your hand lingers against his chest, right over his heart, and he knows you can feel it hammering beneath your palm. you could pull away. you could walk away. and maybe, you should have. but you don't. instead, you stand there, watching him like you're searching for something — proof, maybe, this time is different. that he's different.

"you hurt me," you whisper.

he lifts a hand, hesitating before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers barely brushing against your sensitive skin. "i know."

your gaze snaps back to his. there's hesitation in your eyes, a guarded look he's never seen before — not from you. and god, it guts him.

another pause, then, softer, "don't do it again."

his heart stutters. when he looks at you, you're already watching him the same way he's watching you — like you're terrified, but hope is seeping in around the edges.

he nods, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "i won't."

your breath hitches, and for a long moment, neither of you move. slowly, you close your eyes, pressing your forehead against his.

and he begins to wonders what he could have possibly done in his past life that would merit meeting a girl like you, someone so sweet and gentle with him, despite all the turmoil.

and for the first time in a long time, rafe feels like maybe — just maybe — he's found his way back.

taglist — @maybankslover , @fastlovela

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