#what would’ve changed if he hadn’t gone back for it
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Day 29 - music box
#what would’ve changed if he hadn’t gone back for it#he’ll never know#tes#my art#digital art#eso#Skyrim#my ocs#oc: samael menant#inktober#drawtober#inktober 2024#drawtober 2024
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“-other than that, wasn’t so bad.” Simon says, readjusting the material of the balaclava across the bridge of his nose with his free hand. His other hand is busy, keeping yours warm as you lead him down sidewalk after sidewalk.
The two of you have just finished having Sunday morning brunch at a local cafe, something you insisted was becoming ‘tradition’ after the second time it happened. And according to you, after finishing eating, (Simon never wanting to hear a word about you paying for a thing) the next part of this lazy morning routine calls for strolling about at a pace that he would normally find pointless, if not downright frustrating. But for you, he slows down.
“Butcher’s an interesting first job.” You reply, nodding along in thought. You picture a younger Simon, fresh out of school, probably fresh faced as well. He was likely as tall, though not yet as muscular as the military would make him. A meat clever in hand, bloody apron around his waist, he was likely still inadvertently intimidating people back then the way he does now. “I was mostly just taking babysitting jobs until I graduated. Liked it well enough.”
“I actually had to babysit a neighbour one time, when I was younger. Actual baby at tha’ too.” He tells you with a chuckle, slightly shaking his head at the memory.
“What?” You laugh as well, the image in your mind now swapping out the meat clever in a teenaged Simon’s grip for a drooling infant. “How did that work out?”
“Neighbour comes bangin’ on our door, she’s carryin’ the thing, it’s screamin’ its bloody little head off,” You roll your eyes at the way Simon refers to the child, swatting his arm playfully but listening on. “She tells me her husband thinks he’s havin’ a fuckin’ heart attack. None o’ the other neighbours are home or answerin’ the door. ‘Fore I know it, she’s passin’ me the kid, askin’ if mum can watch her while she drives him to the hospital. Next thing I know she’s gone and I’m left with the thing.”
“Oh my gosh! Well where was your mum?” You ask, in disbelief that you’ve never heard this story from him before, half wondering if he’s pulling your leg.
“She wasn’t home, I can tell you that! Only me and the new lil’ orphan were.” He utters, strengthening his grip on your hand as you start to hunch over with laughter.
“Okay so wait, you were home alone? Oh no! How long did you have to ‘babysit’ for?” You giggle.
“Well technically Tommy was there but he would’ve only been a hindrance, told him to stay in his room.” Simon adds, pulling his hand out of yours, only to wrap it around your shoulder, now that you’ve come to a standstill at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. “Fuckin’ nearly 4 hours went by before mum came home and took over. Longest hours o’ my life. I think that might’ve been the day I enlisted actually.”
You elbow his side as you continue to laugh, seeing that he’s teasing you at the end now. You open your mouth to tease him right back, but your eye catches sight of the shop you’ve been standing in front of, jaw dropping wider.
“Simon!” You’re pulling him with a strength he would otherwise be impressed by if he wasn’t so suddenly caught off guard, senses kicking into high alert now as his head swivels in search of the cause of your distress. “How have we never seen this before??”
Oh.
He should’ve known better.
He actually had been avoiding taking you down this street for a little while now, but had been too caught up in his story telling to notice the direction you’d taken in him. His subtle effort of wrapping his arm around you to tilt you away from the storefront obviously hadn’t worked out. He opens his mouth to answer, but can only sigh when you’re already making your way towards the entrance of the pet store.
“We’re only lookin’, right?” He asks loud enough for you to hear as he follows you in.
Wrong.
#call of duty#call of duty fanfic#call of duty fic#simon ghost riley#simon riley#ghost cod#ghost fanfic#ghost x reader#ghost x y/n#simon riley fluff#simon ghost riley fluff#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x you#readwritealldayallnight#cod fic#cod fanfic
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fill the void || fred weasley
SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+
It felt odd in a way, being alone for the first time.
Usually you were surrounded by your fellow Slytherins, the smell of cigarettes and cologne something your nostrils had grown accustomed to. The sound of vicious insults or bitter rants making a nest in your ears. The sight of scowls with liquor in their hands, their knuckles typically bruised and bloody.
But right now, all of that was gone. The air in the courtyard was clean, the breeze blowing past you providing you with the smell of the earth. Your sights were centered on a giant oak tree, as well as the moon that dimly illuminated the area below. It was an odd change, your surroundings being so settled. You couldn’t help but wonder what you would’ve become if you hadn’t been placed in Slytherin. Maybe yellow would’ve suited you better.
It wasn’t that you despised your housemates, even if they were a group of misfit toys. Mattheo protected you, Theo tutored you, Draco was always glued to your side. It wasn’t them that troubled you. It was what wearing the sickening shade of green meant. Submission to the dark lord. Following the ideology of pureblood nonsense. Especially being one of the only prominent girls, there was always the lingering question who’d you marry and reproduce with.
Yuck.
“Am I interrupting?”
You didn’t need to turn around. You’d recognize a Weasley’s voice anywhere. “Unfortunately not,” You admitted. You hated to admit you knew which Weasley twin it was, a lanky Fred Weasley plopping down beside you on the concrete steps. He stretched out his long legs, mere inches separating both of you. “Is there a reason you’re perched out here instead of doing shots with your friends?” Fred asked. How could you explain why? Oh yes, I am having an existential crisis because of the fact my dress is emerald. Want to go inside and split a chocolate frog?
“Where’s your other half? Didnt think you two separated,” You quipped, brushing off his question. Fred took the hint, leaning back on his hands. “Currently snogging Angelina Johnson,” He answered. This caught your attention, your head snapping to look over at him. “The chaser that wiped the floor with Blaise last season?” You asked. Sometimes you forgot how small this dreaded University actually was. Fred nodded, shrugging. “Aggressive on and off the field, just the way George likes em,” He replied.
You snorted. “Ahh yes. Makes sense a Weasley would enjoy being slutted out,” You snickered. It was too easy of a jab. Fred began to man spread, his long legs in your personal bubble. “I wouldn’t be so hasty little serpent. A few of us know how to put a brat in their place,” He smirked. The cocky motherfucker winked, heat dashing across your cheeks. You must be in a different dimension. There’s no bloody way a Weasley made you blush. “You’re cute when you blush,” Fred praised. He couldn’t help but notice how good you looked in the moonlight, the beams highlighting your features.
“Are you complimenting me Weasley?” You questioned. You avoided his gaze, trying to ignore the fact your heart skipped a beat. “Obviously not, i’m flirting with you,” Fred replied, unable to control the smile creeping across his lips. You were just so easy to tease. “What makes you think you can flirt with me?” You asked, turning your head to look over at the ginger. He shrugged, meeting your firey gaze with ease. “Perhaps it’s because we’re in the same boat, sitting out here alone in a bloody courtyard while the yule ball is less than five hundred feet away,” Fred explained. You audibly scoffed. “Weasley’s can’t afford a boat,” You spat.
Fred chuckled at your insult, your venom harmless to him. “Considering you’re out here I think it’s safe to say your boat has sank. Guess we’re on the same island together then,” He replied. You couldn’t help but find his facial expression smug. “Great,” You grumbled. You rested your chin on your knees, contemplating your life decisions. Fred sighed. “Well, if my presence really isn’t that valued i’ll relocate,” He said. He began to rise to his feet, your body doing a one eighty. You didn’t realize your hand was gripping his wrist until it was, desperately holding him in place.
“Sit down Weasley. I-,” You paused, looking up at the ginger. “I’d prefer it if you stayed.”
Fred grinned down at you mischievously, resuming his place beside you. “Figured you’d say that. Just wanted to hear you say it,” He gloated. You slapped his arm. “You’re unbearable. You know that don’t you?” You grumbled. Fred couldn’t help but laugh. Your annoyance was adorable. “You seem to like it,” He replied. You frowned as he stood up in front of you. “Do not,” You argued.
“Do too.”
“Do not!”
Fred extended his hand in front of you. The faint sound of classical music could be heard over the stillness, the wind having faded out. “Care to dance?” He asked. The choice was standing right in front of you, demanding an answer. You could say no and continue moping on the stairs. You could say no and go back inside, all eyes on you once again. Or you could say yes, potentially having a good time with a boy you didn’t belong with. Dancing with a Weasley? Draco would have a field day with this one. But Fred’s hand never looked more appealing than it did in that moment.
Hesitantly you took his hand, allowing him to bring you to your feet. Even in heels he easily towered over you, the ginger not hesitating to bring you close to his chest. “You know you can drop the bad girl act with me, I won’t tell,” Fred said, guiding you back and forth. You were an awkward dancer, despite the endless ballroom dancing classes your parents put you through. “It’s not an act,” You argue. Fred looked down at you, his face painted like he knew you. Like he could see right through your hollow shell.
“Sure it isn’t. And i’m not the best prankster in Hogwarts,” He quipped. You slowly spun you around, giving you time to catch up as you almost tripped in your heels. “You’ve really got quite an ego, don’t you Weasley?” You asked. Fred grinned as he pulled you back close to him. “Thats a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” He asked. You glared up at him. “I think not,” You argued. Even though your words were laced with venom, you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed his touch.
So gentle but so assertive, guiding you. Your mind strayed away, imagining him guiding you a different way. Guiding you to take his cock, to ride him until the sun came up. “Hey? Are you listening little serpent?” Fred asked, his voice coming back into frame. You blinked a few times, trying to regain your composure. “Sorry, what?” You asked. Fred slowly guided the dance to a stop, the song ending. You couldn’t help but wish it’d last forever. “I was asking what you’re thinking about,” He said.
You could feel yourself turning red, your filthy thoughts flooding to the forefront of your mind. You felt tongue tied, unable to confess your dirty fantasies. “Ohh, I see,” Fred said. You couldn’t bear to look at him in the eye, embarrassed enough to be in this position. You felt his slender fingers slide under your chin, guiding you to look up at him. You allowed him to guide you, his eyes boring into yours. You liked that, allowing him to guide you. Even if he was supposed to be bad for you, his touch put you on cloud nine.
“Do you like that? When I guide you? Take control?” Fred asked, his voice dropping an octave lower than before. You could’ve dropped to your knees in an instant. “Maybe I do,” You replied, not wanting to cave, not just yet. Fred leaned down further, pressing his lips against yours. His lips were warmer than you thought they’d be, filling the void inside of you. The void that craved approval and validation. His lips provided all of that and more. He guided you towards the giant oak tree, pinning you against it.
The sharp bark scraped at your back, a groan escaping your lips as Fred’s refused to stray from yours. You raked your hands throw his hair, pulling at the roots roughly. Fred whined into your mouth, smirking as he pulled away. “Cute,” He murmured. His eyes flickered behind you, ensuring no one was around. “As much as i’d love to make you squirm, we can’t do much here,” He whispered. You pulled him back to your lips, sliding your tongue into his mouth. You couldn’t get enough, your body craving him.
“That eager, are we?” Fred asked, pulling you back in for another kiss. You gently bit his bottom lip, pulling it towards you. “Fuck me, at the very least Weasley,” You ordered weakly, your body betraying the attempt at dominance you were spewing. Fred grinned mischievously. “Turn around for me pretty girl,” He purred. You did as asked, his large hands pushing you against the tree. You could hear the clinking of his belt, your core throbbing in anticipation.
His large hands pushed up your dress, pulling your panties to the slide. “You’re lucky we’re in the courtyard, otherwise i’d make you beg and scream for me to fuck you,” Fred purred. You felt his tip brush up and down your folds, a moan escaping your lips. One of Fred’s hands flew to your mouth. “Gotta keep quiet little serpent. Dont want anyone to hear you being a whore for a Weasley, do you?” He taunted. He pushed himself inside of you slowly, your body feeling like it may split in two.
“You’re fuckin soaked for me,” Fred mused, placing a sloppy kiss against your shoulder. Your moans were muffled by his hand, your walls struggling to accommodate his size. “I’m bigger than Malfoy aren’t I?” He asked teasingly as he bottomed out inside of you. You grabbed onto his wrist, yanking it away from your mouth. “In your dreams Weasley,” You spat, whimpering as he bucked his hips ever so slightly. Fred began to suck at the side of your neck, harsh enough to leave a hickey. “Dont leave marks on me,” You argued, moaning as he began to thrust into you. Fred released your neck with a pop, satisfied as the skin began to turn purple.
“Whys that? Afraid your boy toys will find out you’ve let me in between your legs?” Fred asked, beginning to pick up the pace. His pace was brutal, his hand flying back over your mouth to muffle your sinful noises. “When they ask tell them. Tell them how I ruined you. How a Gryffindor made you cum in a courtyard like a dog in heat,” Fred huffed. He continued to viciously snap his hips into yours, his cock abusing your g spot with each thrust. You moaned his name into his hand, gripping one of his wrist and the tree for support.
“You’re so fucking tight, so perfect,” Fred groaned into your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He removed his hand from your mouth, his hands taking their rightful place on your hips. “I’m going to make you cum on my cock. You understand me? You’re going make a mess for me,” Fred ordered. His orders were hypnotizing, your legs beginning to shake as he held onto the fabric of your dress. You could feel the knot inside of you tighten, a familiar feeling coming.
“Please make me cum Freddie, fucking please,” You pleaded, your orgasm coming faster than you’d like to admit. Fred chuckled, fucking you mercilessly against the tree. “There she is, there’s my sweet whore. Go on, cum for me,” He panted. You squeezed his wrist tightly as you came, euphoria washing over you as you came on his shaft. Your legs trembled, threatening to give out on you at any moment. You felt Fred’s hips stutter, the ginger pulling out of you.
He guided you onto the ground, your bare knees hitting the dirt below. You stuck out your tongue, allowing Fred to cum inside of your mouth. “Holy shit,” Fred moaned, watching as you swallowed every last top. You both sat there for a moment, your highs subsiding as you soaked in what you had just done.
“Hey y/n?”
“Yeah?”
“You wanna grab a butterbeer sometime?”
“Shut up Weasley.”
#fred weasley x y/n#fred weasley x you#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley smut#fred weasley#george weasly x reader#george wealsey x reader#george wealsey imagine#george weasley#weasley twins smut#fred weasley x oc#weasley twins#harry potter#harry potter smut
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⸻ ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ᴛ ʏ ʀ ᴀ ɴ ᴛ ⸻
Pairing: Yandere HOTD x Targaryen Reader Part 2
Summary: After your mother's death, your life wasn't the same anymore. Everything was changing so fast and you were just watching.
Warning: Y/n herself is a warning.
Notes: English is not my first language. Gifs don't belong to me, credit to the owner. Hope you enjoy!
The air felt cool against her damp skin as she stood in front of the window, watching the distant glow of King's Landing beneath the night sky. Her body was still warm from the bath, the steam lingering in the room as it slowly dissipated, leaving behind the soft scent of lavender and rosewater.
She let her fingers trace the edges of the windowpane, feeling the cold, hard glass beneath her fingertips. It was quiet tonight—eerily so. The usual sounds of the city seemed muted, as if the world outside had gone still, holding its breath.
Her handmaid, Elira, stood behind her, gently brushing through her wet hair. The familiar rhythm of the bristles moving through her locks was soothing, almost meditative. Elira had always been there. Since the very beginning. They were the same age, but Elira had always known her place—quiet, loyal, obedient. Always there, always in the background, never faltering.
"It still hurts, you know... losing her." She spoke softly, her voice almost a whisper, more to herself than to Elira. She stared out into the dark horizon, her eyes distant. "Mother was... everything. The only person who truly knew me."
Elira didn't respond—she never did when it came to such things. She just kept brushing her hair, silent, attentive, like the shadow she had always been.
The ache in her chest intensified, a dull, ever-present throb that threatened to consume her. Who’s going to love me now? Her mother had been everything. The one person who had always been kind, always been gentle. And now, she was gone. The gods, if they even existed, had taken her away. Not just her mother, but her newborn brother as well.
Y/n blinked slowly, her eyes burning. Why did they take them? What kind of gods would do this? Why leave me behind with nothing? She couldn’t understand it, couldn’t process the emptiness that had swallowed her whole since that day. The pain was constant, gnawing at her insides like a beast that wouldn’t stop.
She hadn’t left this room since they told her. She hadn’t gone to the funeral. What would be the point? Rhaenyra had been the one to carry their mother’s body. She could have done that too. She could have honored her mother, but what was the point when she wasn’t even here? She was dead. Dead.
Y/n closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself sink into the sensation of the brush moving through her hair. "I loved her. I always did... I was kind to her, wasn't I?" The words felt heavy on her tongue, as if she were asking herself more than Elira. She knew the answer already. She had been kind. She had been gentle.
She sighed softly, her breath fogging the glass in front of her as her thoughts drifted. It was supposed to be a boy. A brother. I would’ve been kind to him too. She had already chosen the Dreamfyre egg for him, already imagined what he would look like with his silver hair and violet eyes.
But now... there was no brother. No mother. Just silence.
Suddenly, a sharp tug at her scalp broke through her thoughts, jolting her back to the present. She flinched slightly, her eyes narrowing as she turned her head just enough to glance at Elira.
"I'm so sorry, princess! Please forgive me!" Elira’s voice trembled, her hands shaking as she quickly let go of the brush, dropping it to the floor. She fell to her knees, her head bowed low, not daring to look up at Y/n. "Please, forgive me, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t... please, please, forgive me..."
Y/n stared down at her, unblinking, her mind oddly blank. Elira had always been loyal. She had always done what she was told. And now here she was, groveling on the floor, begging for forgiveness over a simple tug of hair. It was... pathetic.
But she didn’t feel angry. She didn’t feel anything.
"It's alright," she said calmly, her voice soft but devoid of emotion. "You can continue."
Elira hesitated for a moment, her hands still trembling as she slowly picked up the brush again, standing on shaky legs. She resumed her task, this time more careful, her movements slower, more deliberate.
Y/n turned back to the window, her gaze distant once more, her mind drifting in and out of the haze that had settled over her ever since her mother’s death. She could still hear Elira sniffling softly behind her, no doubt still terrified of making another mistake.
It’s fine, she told herself. She’s always been like this. Always afraid. Always apologizing. But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.
She closed her eyes again, her fingers tracing the cool glass once more, feeling the chill seep into her skin.
“I made a decision,” Viserys looked between his daughters. “I have chosen to name Rhaenyra as my heir.”
The words hit her like a wave of ice-cold water, freezing her smile in place. Wait… what? Her mind stumbled, struggling to make sense of the words. Rhaenyra? She blinked, willing herself to understand, to hear something else, but the reality pressed on her, unyielding.
“That’s… great, Father!” she managed, her voice tight and bright. Her lips twitched, and somehow, she forced them into a smile. She clasped her hands in front of her, feeling them shake, the tremors threatening to give her away. Hold it together, she thought desperately, teeth gritted behind her smile. Don’t let them see. Don’t let them see.
A cacophony of voices began to rise within her, whispering, hissing, each word cutting into her like a thousand small blades. Weak… pathetic… that’s what you are.
Her nails dug into her palms as she continued to hold her smile. No, I’m not weak… he just doesn’t see my worth yet. He doesn’t understand. But he will, he will…
That’s why Father chose her, isn’t it? Because you’re useless. Because you’re nothing.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry, and glanced sideways at Rhaenyra, who was watching her with a mixture of pride and hesitance. Rhaenyra, the golden girl. Rhaenyra, the heir. Rhaenyra… the one Father loves. Her stomach twisted painfully, but she forced herself to keep smiling, her jaw aching from the strain.
Of course he doesn’t love you, they continued. Why would he? You’re not what he wanted. You’re just a mistake, a failure, a useless little girl who couldn’t be more than a shadow.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat like a drum in her ears. She felt hollow, as if she were disappearing from within, crumbling like ash. I’m not useless, I’m not… But they laughed, drowning her, making it impossible to think.
Look at him. Look at how he looks at her. Do you see that warmth in his eyes? He has never looked at you like that. He never will.
Her hands were trembling openly now, and she clasped them tighter, willing herself to stop, to silence the whirlwind inside her. I am more than this, she thought, but the words felt empty, like something fragile that could shatter with a single breath. She lifted her gaze to her father, but his expression was unchanged, his eyes full of pride—for Rhaenyra.
That’s all you are, isn’t it? A disappointment. A shadow, unwanted and unloved.
Her head swam, and she could barely hear anything beyond the mocking laughter echoing in her mind. But she kept smiling, the mask she wore cracking at the edges, her heart sinking with each passing second. You're wrong. You're wrong about me. Father does love me… he has to…
“Are you all right?” Viserys asked, frowning slightly.
The words jolted her back to the room, and she forced herself to nod, ignoring the way her throat tightened. “Yes, Father,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She wanted to scream, to cry, to tear down everything around her, but instead, she turned to leave, her face carefully blank.
As she walked away, the voices clawed at her, unrelenting, ruthless.
Useless. Unwanted. Weak. That’s why he chose her. That’s why he’ll always choose her. Because you will never be enough.
It's finally over. It had been a long day, a day that had dragged on for what seemed like an eternity. Today Rhaenyra had been named heir to the Iron Throne and she had to bow before her.
As she walked, Elira, kept a respectful distance behind her, her soft footsteps barely audible. The quiet murmur of the castle, usually so comforting to Y/n, only seemed to intensify the ache in her chest. She quickened her pace, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor as the thoughts spiraled deeper. Why her? Why not me?
"Thanks the gods it's Princess Rhaenyra,"
Y/n froze, her entire body stiffening as she heard the words. Her mind raced, and her steps slowed, her breath catching. She looked around the corner, and saw a small group of servants standing near a doorway, talking among themselves. Her gaze narrowed as she caught the full statement.
"Ah, yes, I'm really thankful the King didn’t choose that mad cunt," one of them laughed, a harsh, ugly sound that made her skin crawl.
"What did you say?"
They immediately froze when they heard her, their faces draining of color. She could hear their frantic whispers, the way their voices faltered in fear. One of them, took a hesitant step backward.
The servants' eyes widened, and they all started stammering apologies, their words tangled together in a rush of panic.
"Please, my lady, we meant no harm, we were just—"
"We were just talking, milady. Please forgive us—"
"Please don’t—"
Her eyes locked onto the boy who had spoken the words. He looked terrified now, his face pale, his eyes wide with fear. She took a step forward, the rage bubbling over, her movements fluid and quick as she closed the distance between them. The boy shrank back, but it was too late.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Y/n half-yelled, her voice a venomous hiss. Everything that had been building inside her—the anger, the hurt, the rejection—came flooding out in a violent, unstoppable wave.
The servants froze, some of them taking instinctive steps back, but they couldn’t escape.
Before the boy could even react, Y/n was on him, her hands grabbing his hair. With a sickening crack, she slammed his skull against the stone wall. She didn’t even register the impact at first, her vision turning red as the anger clouded her thoughts. She did it again. And again. And again.
The sound of his skull crashing against the stone echoed in her ears, drowning out everything else. She didn’t hear the cries, the pleading, the desperate sobs. She didn’t hear Elira begging her to stop, her voice barely cutting through the haze of fury.
"Stop! Please! Stop!" Elira cried, her voice high with fear, but Y/n was beyond reason now. She could feel the boy’s head break beneath her hands, could feel the blood running down her fingers. The sound of his sobs, his frantic begging, only drove her further into madness.
And then, after what felt like an eternity, it was over. She stood there, panting, her breath ragged as she stared down at the boy’s lifeless body. His head was a mangled mess, blood seeping out from the cracks in his skull. Her hands were slick with it, the red staining her fingers, her palms.
She blinked, coming back to herself slowly. The haze began to clear. She looked down at the body, her heart still racing, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Her chest heaved, and for a moment, she could barely comprehend what had just happened. She didn’t even remember how she’d gotten here, or how many times she’d struck him.
He’s dead.
The thought hit her like a punch to the gut. Her heart sank, but the anger still simmered beneath the surface, still clawing at her insides. She turned to look around at the others—the servants were trembling, staring at her in horror, their faces pale and filled with fear.
Why... Why they are looking at me like this?
Y/n glanced down at her dress, now soaked in blood. It was one of her favorites. She frowned as she looked at the deep red stains, the fabric ruined. What a pity.
With a deep sigh, she straightened up, her anger beginning to ebb, leaving a hollow emptiness behind. Her voice was calm, too calm, as she turned to the servants. “Clean this mess up,” she ordered, her voice flat. “And make sure no one finds out about it.”
She didn’t care how they did it, just as long as it was done. She turned to Elira, her voice still controlled, though her emotions were a mess inside her. “Prepare the bath for me,” she said softly, almost pitiful. “I need to wash.”
As she walked away, Elira hesitated for a moment before following her. The others remained rooted to the spot, too afraid to move. Y/n walked through the hallways, the blood drying on her hands, her mind drifting in a haze of confusion and sadness.
I’m so tired. The thought came suddenly, washing over her like a wave. She let out a breath, shaking her head slightly.
But as she entered her chambers, she start thinking about the scene she left behind. The servants would clean it. They always did. But they would never forget. And neither would she.
With that, she closed the door behind her, her thoughts already shifting again, the sadness creeping back in.
"The realm will never accept a woman as their ruler," Rhaenys muttered, her voice laced with the bitterness that always seemed to cloud her words when the topic of succession arose.
Y/n tilted her head and nodded, the movement slow, almost sympathetic. Oh, how tragic, she thought, her lips curling into a faint smirk. All this whining and hand-wringing. Pathetic.
She softened her features, arranging her face into what she imagined looked like mild concern. "Tragic, isn’t it?" she said, her voice dripping with a smooth, honeyed sarcasm that neither of them seemed to catch.
"When I am queen I will create a new order," Rhaenyra said, her tone defiant, her chin lifted as though challenging the world to disagree.
Yes, yes, Rhaenyra, I’m sure you would be a shining example of wisdom and honor, Y/n thought, fighting back a laugh. Keep dreaming.
"Of course you would, dear sister," Y/n replied smoothly, giving a slight, dismissive nod. "The realm would be lucky to have you."
Rhaenys glanced at her, as if sizing her up, before letting out a low, sardonic chuckle. "Men would sooner burn the kingdom than let a woman sit on the throne," she said, a bitter truth in her words that, for some reason, still failed to resonate with Y/n. Power wasn’t something one was given—it was taken. And anyone too weak to seize it had no right to it in the first place.
She hid her thoughts behind a sip of wine, watching them both with a half-lidded gaze, letting their words drift over her like idle gossip. What a pair they are—one too proud to realize her limitations, the other too bitter to let go of her grievances.
"Oh, yes, a kingdom ablaze," Y/n murmured, feigning a wistful tone. "How poetic. Such a tragic tale, isn’t it?" She held out her glass, staring into the dark red liquid as if pondering something deeply moving, though in truth, she was only admiring the way the light caught the wine.
Rhaenyra sighed heavily. "They underestimate us. They see us as delicate things, fit only to be wives and mothers."
"Do they?" Y/n’s smile widened, an amused glint in her eyes. Oh, the endless suffering. Boo-hoo.
Rhaenys was watching her with an arched brow, clearly picking up on the subtle mockery in her tone. "You don’t seem very troubled by any of this, Y/n," she observed, almost as if accusing her.
Y/n shrugged, a slow, lazy movement that exuded indifference. "Oh, I am devastated, truly," she replied, the sarcasm practically dripping from her words. "What a tragic world we live in, where women like us must endure such indignities. Really, it’s heartbreaking."
Rhaenyra shot her a sharp look. "This isn’t a joke, Y/n."
"Of course not," Y/n replied, her voice smooth as silk, unfazed by her sister’s disapproval. "Nothing about any of this is funny." She took another sip, savoring the wine and the absurdity of it all. I should be the one that wear the crown, not you.
Then, as though the thought had only just occurred to her, she sighed and placed her empty goblet aside. "Ah, but I must take my leave, unfortunately." She glanced over at them, feigning a regretful expression. "I’ve a fitting to attend for my dress, you know, for Father’s wedding. It simply wouldn’t do to be unprepared for such an occasion."
The slight in her tone was subtle, but it was there, veiled in a pleasant smile. The wedding going to happen sooner or later. What a spectacle it would be. Their dear father, so desperate to secure his legacy that he’d wed a mere girl, and all to produce another heir—a boy, if the gods were willing, and if not… well, it hardly mattered to her.
"How dutiful of you," Rhaenys remarked, a hint of mockery in her voice. It was clear she saw through Y/n’s thin veneer of civility.
"Indeed." Y/n inclined her head, lips quirking in a smug smile. "After all, it’s so important to play our parts well, isn’t it?"
She glanced back at them one last time, giving them both a pointed look, her smile widening as she took in their earnest, troubled faces. "Farewell, then. Do enjoy your discussion. Such deep, meaningful words, truly," she said, voice dripping with false admiration as she turned on her heel, sauntering away without a second glance.
Y/n strode toward her father’s chambers, Ser Criston trailing like a shadow at her side. She had a perfectly charming smile painted on her lips until she came up short, blocked by two guards standing in front of the doors. Their hands gripped their spears, glancing at each other nervously before looking back at her.
“Step aside,” she said, voice a silky command.
The guards didn’t budge.
One of them, foolishly brave or utterly clueless, raised a hand. “I’m sorry, my lady, but the King has asked to not be disturbed.”
Her smile faltered, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “You’re saying I can’t see my father?” Her voice was calm, almost amused. She tilted her head, letting her gaze drift over their faces with cold scrutiny. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
The guard stiffened, clearly feeling her gaze like a blade. “We have orders.”
She chuckled, the sound smooth as honey but laced with venom. “And do you have any idea what I could do to you for disobeying me?” She leaned in, voice dropping low. “I could have your tongues ripped out, have you hanging from the city walls by your intestines, all while you beg for mercy.” She smiled, sickly sweet. “Or I could just tell my father you disrespected his daughter.”
The guards flinched, glancing at each other but standing firm.
She clicked her tongue, gaze sharpening. “Perhaps I should have Ser Criston here peel the skin from your faces, inch by inch? How does that sound?”
Criston’s hand drifted to his sword, his eyes darkening in anger at their defiance. Before he could make a move, Otto appeared around the corner, striding toward them with his usual calm authority.
“Ah, my lord Hand,” Y/n said, smile widening as she turned toward Otto. She cast the guards one last look before redirecting her attention.
Otto looked at her and then at the guards, clearly sensing the tension in the air. “Is there a problem here, princess?” His voice was calm, as if he hadn’t just walked into a potential bloodbath.
She tilted her head, letting out a soft, exasperated sigh. “Oh, nothing major, Lord Hand,” she purred. “Just a minor misunderstanding. These men seem to think they have the right to keep me from my father’s chambers. Quite peculiar, don’t you think?” She cast a smug glance at the guards, watching as they shifted uncomfortably.
The guards started to speak up, but Y/n shot them a warning glare, silencing them immediately. “In fact, I’d say it was downright insulting.”
Otto nodded thoughtfully, his expression neutral. “Well, princess, your father is about to attend the small council meeting. I’ve come to fetch him myself.”
She clenched her jaw, an annoyed sigh slipping from her lips as she finally gave a small nod. Fucking cock suckers. But she kept her expression calm, respectful even. Otto had always been fond of her—treated her like one of his own, in a way. No need to break that little bond just yet.
“Very well,” she murmured, stepping back as she allowed Otto to enter. She watched him disappear into the chamber, then turned her gaze back toward the guards, her expression a warning that needed no words. They quickly looked away, pretending to be more interested in the floor.
Moments later, Otto returned with her father. Viserys offered her a faint, apologetic smile, but his focus seemed elsewhere, a bit distracted. Odd. Otto, too, seemed unusually composed, almost as if there was something else on his mind.
As they walked away, Y/n glanced toward the chamber doors, half-distracted, until she caught a flash of red hair in the corner of her vision. A woman’s figure seated on the edge of the bed—her father’s bed.
Her heart skipped a beat, eyes widening. She had to suppress a sudden laugh, biting her nails as her excitement bubbled up. Oh, now that’s just… delicious.
There’s no way… Is that…? Did Otto really…? Oh, you sly, clever old fox. So that’s why Father’s been so preoccupied. And here I thought he was just mourning my poor Mother.
“Are you all right, my lady?” Criston’s voice brought her back to the present. He glanced at her with concern.
She smiled at him, a flash of brightness that was all teeth. “I’m perfectly fine, Ser Criston,” she murmured, her gaze still lingering on that red hair. Alicent. The Hand’s sweet little daughter, warming dear Father’s bed where Mother once lay. Oh, it was almost poetic.
Without another word, she wrapped her arm around Criston’s, a little too tight, leading him away, her smile widening as her mind danced with happiness. The thrill of it all simmered under her skin, making her eyes glint with a mad sort of glee.
Oh, Rhaenyra… if only you knew. Your dear friend is right here, warming our father’s bed. Such a pity you don’t see it yet. Poor, poor little sister.
Criston glanced at her, brow furrowed in confusion. “Is something the matter, my lady?”
“Nothing at all,” she purred, letting out a small laugh. “I’m just… happy, that’s all.”
As the small council convened, Viserys rose to his feet, his expression serious yet strained. She cast a brief glance at Rhaenyra beside her, who watched their father with rapt attention, completely unaware.
Don’t tell me Father’s actually going to—
“I have decided… I am to marry Lady Alicent Hightower.”
The silence that followed was exquisite. Y/n’s smirk widened as she glanced sideways at Rhaenyra, whose face had turned from shock to disbelief. Rhaenyra’s eyes met Y/n’s, wide and wounded, and in that brief exchange, Y/n’s smirk told her everything. Yes, dear sister, I knew. I knew before you did. And now… so do you.
Y/n’s gaze turned cold as she looked across the room at Corlys. He sat motionless for a moment, disbelief and anger barely concealed in his face as he processed what the King had just announced. She barely held back her sneer of disgust.
This pathetic man… offering up his child to this decrepit old fool just to worm his way closer to the throne. What a spineless little weasel. Tried to sell sweet Leana to Father… You’re nothing but a cock-sucking snake, Corlys.
Corlys’ face hardened. Offended, he shot Viserys a withering look before standing abruptly and leaving the room in silence. Y/n’s eyes followed him, the smirk still tugging at her lips. Good riddance, you worm.
Next to her, Rhaenyra had gone pale. She shot a look of absolute betrayal at Alicent, whose face was touched with guilt, as if she’d known this moment was coming yet hadn’t prepared for the sight of her friend’s hurt. Then turning on her heel and storming out.
Poor, naive Rhaenyra… How perfect, to have this all crumble around you while you stood unaware.
But Y/n stayed, savoring the stunned silence that filled the room, and then, without missing a beat, she plastered on her most sincere smile.
“Congratulations, Father!” she chimed, her voice warm as she moved toward Viserys.
Viserys let out a sigh, though a relieved one, as she embraced him, patting her arm gently. “Thank you, my dear,” he replied, clearly grateful for her support.
She released him, turning to Alicent, who was still wide-eyed, not quite sure what to make of the sudden affection Y/n was showing. She shifted uncomfortably as Y/n opened her arms to her.
“Alicent,” Y/n murmured, drawing her in with a tight embrace, voice sweet as honey. She leaned close to her ear, her words just barely audible to anyone but Alicent.
“Oh, Alicent,” she murmured into her ear, “I always knew you were a little whore.” She felt Alicent’s body stiffen, but she continued, undeterred. “You shouldn’t be so pleased with yourself—you’ve married my rotting father, after all.” She let out a mocking laugh, barely a whisper. “I can only imagine… his ‘crown jewels’ are as decrepit as the rest of him. But lucky you, you’re the perfect breeding mare, aren’t you? A nice, wet hole to keep his cock warm,” she added, voice dripping with contempt, “Every night you’ll lay with him, his decaying hands on you, his disgusting, rotting body. I’ll bet even his—” she sneered, “—cock is rotting.”
Alicent’s face flushed, her breath catching as she stood, stunned and trembling in Y/n’s arms. Y/n only smiled, tilting her head to kiss her on the cheek.
“I’m so happy for you, Mother,” she cooed, her voice dripping with sweetness.
Alicent, visibly shaken, managed a faltering smile, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Thank you… daughter.”
Part 1 Part 3 Part 4
@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ
#ㅤㅤ⠀ㅤ 𓇼ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏#aegon targaryen x reader#hotd x reader#aegon x reader#yandere hotd#yandere x you#yandere x reader#rhaenyra x reader#rhaenyra targaryen x reader#rhaenyra targaryen#aegon ii targaryen#aegon ii x reader#dark aegon targaryen#yandere aegon ii targaryen#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen#aemond x reader#yandere aemond targaryen#yandere daemon targaryen#dark daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon x reader#daemon x you#dark hotd#hotd#house of the dragon#otto hightower x reader#criston x reader#criston cole x reader
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drunk dazed !
drunk-roommate!sunghoon x roommate!reader
summary: you never would’ve expected sunghoon— resident ice prince— to be the clingy type of drunk
genre: fluff
warnings: mentions of drinking, sunghoon is drunk (duh), sunghoon and reader aren’t dating but they definitely have a crush/lil somethin goin on, you and sunghoon are roommates, you take sunghoons clothes off but it’s in a non sexual manner, he asks you to help him change, ooc sunghoon
a/n: i would consider myself an engene but i think they’re one of the groups i’m more of a casual fan about if that makes any sense? like i like their music and i consume their content and i have a bias and everything but they’re not one of my MAIN-main groups yknow? but i still love them and wanted to write something for them and i got this idea about how cute it would be if sunghoon was like clingy n stuff so here we are. tbh i don’t love this fic but i just wanted it done and i thought that even if i don’t like it maybe someone out there will. i have a jay fic idea in the works too so if you like enhypen that’ll be out eventually too ;)
if somebody bet you twenty bucks that sunghoon was the clingy type drunk, you would’ve paid them right then and there.
but here you were.
for the past few years you guys had been friends, you don’t think you could remember a time you ever saw him drunk. a little tipsy, sure, but never drunk. and then after you became roommates— which meant spending even more time around each other than before— you still hadn’t seen him get to that state. you had always just assumed he either had a scary high tolerance to alcohol or just didn’t like alcohol all that much.
sunghoon had gone out with the rest of the enhypen boys for a couple of drinks that night, which wasn’t anything unusual or new. what was unusual and new was the extent to which sunghoon drank himself. when he walked out the door three hours ago you weren’t expecting to get a phone call from jay telling you to come pick up your very drunk, very clingy best friend. having to carry a practically incapacitated grown man down the streets of seoul for fifteen minutes and then up a flight of stairs wasn’t a scenario you thought about very often but it was as hard as you would’ve originally imagined.
“y/nnie!” sunghoon whined out into your ear, his weight heavy against your back. a feeling that you would normally find comfort in was now a bit of an inconvenience. you huff out a bit of air and incoherently grumble a bit in what most would consider barely a response, but sunghoon didn’t seem to pay much mind as he pressed himself impossibly further into you. it felt like his whole goal was to make this as difficult as possible, as if gravity was dragging his body down to the ground and wanted to take you with him. you trip over your feet but manage to stay somewhat upright, which only makes sunghoon giggle.
you finally managed to stumble your way down the hall to your apartment door, stopping to catch your breath for a moment. as you stood still and panted with your eyes mindlessly locked onto the small apartment numbers on the door, sunghoon took the opportunity to nudge his nose into your cheek, his dark hair tickling the soft skin of your face. the sensation suddenly snapped you out of whatever trance you were in, making your body jolt slightly before you started the process of trying to open the door. you’re not sure why you were so eager to get sunghoon physically away from you while at the same time wanting him to stay attached to you forever. maybe your fast beating heart was from the physical exertion sunghoon put you through; maybe it was from the emotional. you didn’t have time to dwell on it now.
you grunted as you tried to shift sunghoon’s weight on your back so you could reach the keys sitting in your back pocket. he must’ve thought you were trying to get him off when you started to move because he let out a whine before gripping onto the front of your shirt in his large hands and tightening his arms around your neck to keep himself on you, which only threw your balance off and made you stumble back. you caught yourself before letting out an exasperated groan. “you’re making this really difficult, yknow.” sunghoon simply giggled in response and poked your cheek with his pointer finger, moving his head to press his face flat into the side of yours.
“you’re making this really difficult,” he slurs out his words. you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile and soft laugh that escaped your lips.
“that makes no sense,” you say more to yourself than to him as you finally manage to slide your hand into your back pocket to fish out the apartment keys before unlocking the door and stumbling into the entry way, the sound of your bodies knocking into the wall disturbing the serenity of yours and sunghoon’s (and probably your neighbors) apartment. you somehow managed to slip your shoes off without falling to the wood floor before hauling sunghoon off to his room.
you turn your back to the mattress and completely let go of his weight, letting him flop onto the bed unceremoniously. he let out a grunt as his back hit the sheets, his arm pathetically coming up to try and reach for you once more. you huffed and turned to watch over him for a moment with your hands on your hips while you caught your breath. you watched him paw at the air in search for you before you grasped onto his hand to gently sit him up. he went silent as he tiredly blinked up at you, his pretty, brown eyes practically staring you down.
his intense gaze started to make you nervous, reminding you of a cat watching its owner. his eyes never wavered as he watched you walk over to his closet and rummage around it for a moment before pulling out a plain white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants before dropping it onto the bed next to him. “get changed, i’ll leave the room.” as you start to walk away, sunghoon gently grasped your wrist in his hand, stopping you in your tracks. your eyes widen and lips part in surprise as you look between his half-lidded eyes, then to where his hand is making contact with your skin, then back again.
“help me,” he mumbles out. you open your mouth to deny his request, but upon seeing how he slightly sways side to side from intoxication and exhaustion you decide it would just be easier (and probably safer) to help him. “please.”
you study his face for any sign of hesitation before you slowly nod. “okay.” you step closer, standing between his legs as he stares up at you. your heart rate spikes at the sight of his flushed face and cute moles and messy hair and gorgeous eyes with their attention completely on you. you blink a few times to snap yourself out of the trance he’s put you in before your shaky hands hesitantly reach for the hem of the shirt he has on.
“lift your arms up.” you direct him once you’ve taken the fabric in your grasp to which he complies immediately, limply throwing his arms up into the air. you tug the shirt up— it gets stuck to which he thrashes around a bit to get it undone— and over his head before tossing it into the laundry basket sat in the corner of his room. you try not to stare too hard at the expanse of bare skin suddenly available to you, averting your eyes and swallowing harshly to calm yourself down. you choose not to say anything else before reaching for the black jeans he has on, hooking your fingers through the belt loops to tug him to a standing position. he stumbles slightly before balancing out and giggling, standing like a mannequin waiting to be dressed. which in a way, he kind of was.
you unhook his belt and tug his pants off gently before quickly grabbing the pair of sweats and crouching down to help him step into each leg of the pants. you’re glad you were too focused on getting him into them without him falling to focus on the fact that he had been practically naked in front of you for a few moments. you stand back up and tell him to lift up his arms once more, slipping the shirt on— without getting it stuck this time— and watching the moles that dotted his body disappear underneath the cloak of white fabric. throughout this whole process, his eyes hadn’t left your figure even once.
finally having him dressed in clean clothes, you usher him to get into bed, pulling back the covers and gently nudging him onto the mattress. he follows your direction with little resistance, little hums escaping his mouth here and there as he watched you pull up the soft covers and tuck him in gently. “comfortable?” he does a close eyed nod and smiles softly in response. you smile and nod in return. “good,” you whisper.
“i’m gonna go get you some water,” you brush his hair off of his forehead and make barely any moves to leave the room, but are stopped by him sitting upright so fast it was as if he was coming back from the dead and his hands shooting out to grab your arm.
“no!” sunghoon lets out a whine of protest, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes starting to gloss over with tears, his bottom lip jutted out in a pout as it starts to tremble. you’re completely caught off guard by his reaction, even more so when he starts to tug you back towards him until your knees are knocking against the bed. “don’t go, don’t leave me,”
you think you can hear your heart breaking at the sight, the feeling of it clenching uncomfortably in your chest overwhelming. you smile softly at him and reach out your free hand to pet his head in an attempt to soothe him, his lashes fluttering and head leaning into your palm at the sensation. “i’m just gonna go get you some water. you won’t even notice that i’m gone.”
“i always notice when you’re gone.” sunghoon’s voice rings out so clear and suddenly he looks the most sober he’s been the entire night. his vulnerability; it catches you off guard, but you can’t help but like the way it feels coming from him. it’s silent for a few moments more as you let the words he’s said sink into your brain. “just stay with me,” he whispers, as if afraid that if he speaks too loud, the fragile, glass-like state of whatever it is you two are in will shatter under his words.
you blink at him a few times before nodding softly. “okay,” you whisper back. sunghoon pulls back the covers before he guides you onto the open space he’s left you, laying down and tugging the blanket over your shoulders. after he deems you properly tucked in, he rests his cheek on his hands and stares. you both study each other in the moonlit room, your features somehow more ethereal in the soft glow. “you should go to sleep. you don’t want a hangover in the morning,” you whisper.
“i will in a minute,” he whispers back. you can see the cogs turning in his head, as if he was debating both for and against himself in his mind. you realize what that look was for though when the bed dips slightly under his weight as he shuffles closer to you, his arm coming up to rest heavy on your waist. “just let me do this,” he slides his other arm under your head before pulling you until you were pressed against his body. he lets out a sigh into the quiet night as his body finally seems to fully relax, the feeling of you against him helping his hyped up state from the clubbing and alcohol dissipate. he tucks your head underneath his chin, his hand mindlessly rubbing back and forth on your back, lulling you into a sleepy state as well.
you press yourself closer to him and bring your arms to wrap around his torso to hold him in return as you let your eyes flutter shut. “goodnight, sunghoon.”
“goodnight, y/n.” he replies, his breathing evening out as he drifts off to sleep. you smile to yourself before you drift off shortly after, meeting him once more in your dreams.
#fullmirror#miscmirror#enhypen#sunghoon#park sunghoon#enhypen x reader#sunghoon x reader#park sunghoon x reader#enhypen fluff#sunghoon fluff#park sunghoon fluff#enhypensmirror
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I Remember Everything - Rafe Cameron (Chapter 3)
Summary: You left the island two years ago, leaving the love of your life a shattered man in your wake. Now, when you return, you find the sweet boy you once loved has transformed into a monster of a man. How can you detangle the real Rafe from the terrible things he's done?
Timeline: begins toward the end of obx season 3 and is mostly canon.
Content: this story contains sexual content, alcohol and drug abuse, and brief mentions of violence. All chapters are 18+, minors do not interact!
⯎series masterlist⯎
“I like the lilac, but I just wonder if the lavender would’ve gone better with your complexion,” your mom said as she eyed you critically. You were standing on a pedestal in the middle of Sally’s Dress Shop, trying on the bridesmaids dress your mom had picked out for you to wear to her wedding. The dress was far too frilly and pastel for your taste, but if wearing it would please your mom and make this week move faster, it was worth it.
“I think this is fine, mom,” you were trying your hardest to keep your tone polite, determined to keep this outing from turning into a fight. After all, it was your mom’s wedding week, and despite all of the history between you, you really did want her to be happy.
By the time you had returned to the table last night, your mom had already paid the bill. The three of you drove home in silence, your mom giving you her patented silent treatment. This morning when you came downstairs dressed and ready for your fitting, she simply started talking about the flower arrangements for the reception, like the night before had never happened.
“I think you chose well,” you said before your mom could change her mind on the dress again. You’re lying through your teeth, you think this dress might be one of the worst choices she's ever made, but the satisfied smile on her face makes your discomfort worth it.
“Do a spin for me,” she asks for the tenth time today. When you roll your eyes she pouts and says, “please?”
You smile and twirl for her again, giggling when you nearly lose your footing and fall off the pedestal, grabbing your mom’s shoulder for support. Your mom laughed too, and you realized you couldn’t remember the last time the two of you laughed together. It was nice.
Rafe has been avoiding going downtown as much as possible these days, keeping his outings to the Island Club and having his friends come to him if they want to party. Even though his dad had officially taken the fall for everything, he knew people still whispered about him as he walked by. I heard he was there. I heard he did it. They say his fingerprints were on the bullets.
Today, however, he had a meeting with a potential buyer of some of the melted gold, a jeweler on main street. He slid on his sunglasses and locked his car, trying desperately to act like today was just business as usual, like he hadn’t just put a hit on his own father.
He walked quickly from his truck toward the jeweler’s store front, but stopped in his tracks as he passed Sally’s. There you were, behind the glass, spinning in a puffy purple dress, before nearly falling on your ass. He cursed himself for the way he flinched, as if he could reach out and catch you through the window. Why was it still his instinct to catch you?
Two Years Earlier…
“Rafe!” You squealed as he pulled you through the side door of the ballroom into the dimly lit alley. “They were playing my song!”
“That’s why I had to get you outta there,” he leans over you, backing you slowly up against the wall. “You looked way too fucking good dancing to that song.”
Rafe started rifling through the layers of your prom dress impatiently, trying to get his hands on you.
“What are you doing?” You playfully swatted his arm, thinking he must be teasing you.
“I need you,” he growled.
“Right here? In the middle of this gross alley?” You started to think he might not be kidding.
He finally gets his hands under the heavy fabric of your gown and begins kneading the flesh of your ass, making you gasp. His open mouth found yours, and you can immediately taste the alcohol on his tongue. You pull back from him and reach up to grab both sides of his face, hoping your touch would ground him a bit. He looked at you frenzied, his pupils shrinking to pinpoints.
“Baby, are you drunk already?” You said as gently as possible.
“Just on you, baby,” he slurred, attempting to dive back in for a kiss.
“Wait,” you turned your head, causing his mouth to miss yours and land sloppily on your ear.
“What the hell?” He backed away from you in frustration. His chest was rising and falling quickly, nostrils flaring, and you wondered if he was also high. He’d only done coke once before, as far as you knew, but you remembered how panicked he was after, his heart pounding violently as you tried to calm him down.
“It’s okay,” you assured him. “We just need to slow down a bit.”
You approached him with your hand outstretched, like he was a stray dog you were trying not to scare off. He didn’t look at you, but allowed you to slip your fingers into his, squeezing gently.
“I just wanna dance with you,” you whispered softly. Je just glared back at you, so you pouted your lips, knowing he found it irresistibly cute when you did that. He couldn’t hide the crooked smirk growing on his lips, and his breath steadied.
“We can party hard later,” you promised. “But I wanna remember this part, with you.”
He looked down at your hand in his and ran his thumb over the promise ring he had given you just a few weeks ago. You lifted his hand to your lips and kissed it softly.
As you swayed softly to the next slow song, he bent down and laid a kiss on your bare shoulder. For a moment, you thought you were successful in bringing him back down to Earth. You were full of pride, truly believing that you, and only you, would always be able to fix him when he was broken.
Now…
Rafe stood frozen at the dress shop window, just watching you. When you tucked your hair behind your ears, it was like he could still smell your pretty coconut shampoo. When you smoothed down your dress, it was like he could still feel your soft hands on his bare skin. When you said something to your mom, it was like he could still hear your voice whispering in his ear I will love you forever, Rafe Cameron.
But you hadn’t meant it, had you? You couldn’t have, or you would’ve stayed. And if you had stayed, maybe he wouldn’t be where he was now. Maybe he would’ve married you, taken you away from this island like the two of you used to dream about. Maybe he wouldn’t be a thief, a liar, a killer.
It was too late now, too late to undo it. Too late to get back to who he was before you left. But there was something about the sight of you, the presence of you, even through the tinted window glass, that made him want to try.
Decisively, he turned back toward his car, feverishly dialing Barry’s number. Praying to whatever God was good enough to create the girl in the window that it wasn’t too late.
Looking back at yourself in the mirror, you stopped short when you saw the reflection of a figure in the window. By the time you turned around, it was gone, and you were the one left wondering if you were imagining things.
Two Years Ago…
“Ma’am can you tell us what happened here tonight?” The cop questioned you.
Rafe looked up at you with pleading eyes. White button up stained with blood, eyes glassy and red. His suit jacket, the one you had picked out together to match your dress, had been ripped to shreds.
“I don’t know,” you said to the cop, not removing your disappointed eyes from Rafe, his bloodied face illuminated in the blue-red light of the sirens.
“We’re going to need you to give a statement, ma’am,” the officer clarified, “for the record.”
“For the record…” you shook your head at the boy on the curb, arms held behind him in handcuffs. Arms that used to hold you every night, arms you didn’t know if you could trust anymore, “...I don’t know him.”
With that, you walked away, the shattered glass from your car window crunching under your heels with each step. Rafe had no choice but to sit there and watch you go, aching with something completely unrelated to the accident.
“Y/N!” He yelled after you, unable to suppress the pain in his voice.
You just kept walking.
Now…
You woke up with a start, clutching your bedsheets. Sighing, you tapped your phone screen and it lit up in the darkness. 5:53am.
You weren’t surprised, you hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in two years. You knew how this would go, once your brain was awake there would be no turning it back off. You sighed and threw the covers off, your old childhood bed creaking loudly as you stood up. You winced at the noise, your mother was a light sleeper, a lesson you’d learned the hard way too many times.
You pulled on an old pair of leggings and a hoodie, and slowly crept down the stairs. Once out the door, you found your old bike in the shed in the backyard and rode off into the soft morning light. No clear destination in mind, you rode around the neighborhood, down to the beach. You watched the waves crash as you passed them. It had been two years since you’d seen the ocean, and you had nearly succeeded in convincing yourself you were okay with that. But now, the sun rising over the sea, salty air consuming your senses, all the hard work you did to delude yourself unraveled.
Without really meaning to, you ended up at the cemetery. You parked your bike and let your memory lead you right to your dad’s plot.
His grave clearly hadn’t seen visitors in a while. You made a weak effort to brush the dirt off of his headstone, before smiling and choosing to leave it as is. “God made dirt, dirt don’t hurt” your dad would’ve said.
For a while you just sat there, fingers combing through the grass as you listened to the birds chirp loudly in the trees above.
“That ever get annoying?” You asked your dad in jest. You smile to yourself, knowing your dad wouldn’t have minded. He was too easy going, the calm current that kept you and your mom afloat. Suddenly hit with a pang of longing to see your father again, you wished that you had something to leave here for him. You noticed a grave a few plots over, completely covered in fresh blooming flowers.
“Somebody was popular,” you say to your dad’s headstone. “I’m sure they won’t miss one flower right?”
You stand and approach the grave, wondering who it was that inspired such an outpouring of love.
“Sheriff Susan Peterkin” 1977-2020
You frowned. She must’ve died recently, then. Strange that your mom hadn’t said anything, surely Chip had known her, being on the force. You remembered Peterkin, she came to your school every year when you were growing up. Back then, she was just a beat cop who pulled the short straw and had to give the anti-bullying presentation, but you remember her being very nice.
You plucked a tulip from one of her many bouquets and felt like you should say something.
“Um, hi. I don’t know if you knew my dad, but I think you would’ve liked him. I’m sorry for whatever happened, but thanks for always being so cool.”
As you walked away from her grave, you noticed another newly dug plot a few yards away. The plot was small, if something was buried here, it wasn’t a body. Still, there was a small plaque over the fresh dirt. You approached, having to get pretty close before you could make out the name…
“Ward Cameron.”
Your knees buckled beneath you, the tulip you were holding slipping from your grasp. This grave couldn’t have been here for more than what, a few weeks? The grass had barely begun to grow. Maybe your mom could have just forgotten to tell you about Sheriff Peterkin, but surely the very recent death of Ward Cameron hadn’t just slipped her mind. Clearly, something bigger was going on.
And Rafe…Rafe.
You regained your footing and started running, past Sheriff Peterkin’s grave, past your father’s, blowing him a quick kiss.
You found your bike and started pedaling as fast as you could. Not even pausing to think through what you’d say when you got there, just knowing you needed to see him, to be with him. Suddenly, it made more sense. He was grieving. Their relationship was complicated, but even when he was pissed at him, Rafe still worshiped his father.
You pulled up to Tannyhill, but the gate was closed. You tried some of the gate codes you remembered the Camerons used to rotate through, but none of them worked. After your fifth attempt, the system locked you out. You rang the bell, not sure if he would even let you in when he realized it was you, but you had to try. No answer, he must not have been home.
You sat by the wall for a few hours, waiting for him to get home. Eventually, your stomach ached with hunger, and you really had to pee. You decided to go home, collect yourself, and come back later.
By the time you arrived home on your bike, it was almost noon. Chip was just walking in the front door, home from work. He had been pulling double overnight shifts to pay for the wedding and he looked exhausted. Luckily for both of you, the wedding was just a few days away now, and all of this would be behind you soon.
When you walked in the living room, he was mid-conversation with your mother, who quickly shushed him at the sight of you. He looked at her in confusion, clearly not reading the silent message she was trying to send with her eyes.
“What’s going on?” You asked, feeling just as lost as Chip.
“Just telling your mom how we brought in that Cameron boy again last night-” your mother cut him off with a harsh, “Chip!” and he threw his hands up in surrender.
You and your mother looked at each other for a long moment, saying nothing, and at the same time, everything.
“Don’t,” she pleaded quietly.
You turned fast and ran toward the door, grabbing her car keys and your purse off the dining room table as you passed.
“Y/N, do not do this,” your mom was up from the couch, running after you as you headed for the front door. “Tonight is my bachelorette party and tomorrow we have the rehearsal!”
“I’ll be back in time, I just have to-”
“No you don’t! You don’t have to!” She yelled, trying to grab the handle of the door before you could get to it, but you beat her to it and threw open the door.
“I’m sorry,” you called behind you as you ran to her car in the driveway. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Don’t bother,” she yelled from the front steps.
You stopped in your tracks, hands pausing on the handle of her car door as you whipped your head towards her in surprise.
“If you leave right now,” she said, eerily composed, “If you go to him, I don’t want you at my wedding. If you do this, y/n…I don’t ever want to see you again”
Your mother had said many harsh words to you in moments of frustration that she tried to take back later, but the way she was talking to you now, her tone so even and her words so carefully selected, you wondered if she’d practiced this speech. Then it dawned on you, she knew you would do this. She knew if you found out about Ward, that you’d run to Rafe’s side. And she was fully prepared to cut you out.
You opened the car door and got in, not looking back at your mom as you peeled out of the driveway.
Twelve Years Earlier…
“No, Rafe,” you scolded, hands on your hips. “You’re the cop, and I’m the robber!”
“Well too bad. I wanna be a robber, too,” he said, taking off the plastic sherriff's badge you had given him and throwing it in the playground dirt.
“We can’t both be robbers, that doesn’t make any sense,” you told him.
The rules of make-believe were very clear, and you’d always been a rule follower. That is, until you started spending your recesses playing with Rafe Cameron. He was always in trouble.
“Sure we can, we’ll be like Bonnie and Clyde!” He encouraged, handing you his plastic toy gun.
“Bonnie and Clyde,” you agreed with a smile, taking the gun.
Suddenly, you didn’t care so much about breaking the rules. Not if it meant you got to keep playing with him.
(chapter 4)
a/n: y'all are blowing me away with all your kindness about this story!! I hope you keep loving it!!! Lots more to come (including some smut if you're patient🤫) 🫶
If you asked to be on the taglist and I forgot you, I'm sorry and please let me know!!
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And they were roommates
(Captain John price x F!reader)
Summary: the captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.
Warnings: angsty (minimal), john being slightly troubled, alcohol, reader being slightly embarrassing.
part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5!! -part 6
—————-
You wake up to the sun softly beaming in your room. Limbs stretching beyond the covers. You look around a little confused as to when you got back in your bedroom. Then it all came together. John, John leaves today.
You get out of the covers leaving your bedroom hoping he’s still there but of course to your disappointment he’s gone. You head to the kitchen knowing at least there will be a note.
Good morning doll, I thought of waking you but decided against it, though I might regret it. The movie was good, you seemed to really be enjoying it also:) Here's the phone number of a friend in case any problems arise. Next time I’m back I hope to see another painting - John
(xxx-xxx-xxxx) - nick
You stare at it trying not to let your emotions get the best of you. So you fold it and put it in the kitchen drawer. Although John was an awfully quiet roommate you could feel the weight of his absence. The cold floor beneath your feet has grown warm for how long you’ve stood there. You make your way towards the front door deciding that an iced coffee and a long drive with music will rid you of this feeling you can’t decipher it feels like want but in a way it’s also need but what is it you want and need? Not even you could answer that question.
Long story short you think it made the feeling intensify.
————-
1 month in
You’ve booked your schedule full leaving not an ounce of time for yourself. From the morning till night you had clients which were good for money but really it was a distraction for your mind. That same feeling felt like it was running into new veins every day seemingly consuming you.
You tried to start a new painting but something was off about the color scheme and it was a waste not only of time but material and energy. You wonder how John is.
————-
2 months in
No problems have arisen since he’s been gone. It's like the house knows you’ll call the expensive plumber instead of John’s friend.
However you have started a painting you are beginning to like. It’s a mix of hues you’ve never used before blues and oranges, a flame. You don’t know where or why the idea came to you but it’s what you wanted so you started it. A single candle is the outline, and the surrounding of it is the orange yellowish aura of a flame. You tried making ratatouille the other day and although it was good you wished it was made out of pepperonis like your childhood mind had imagined. You forgot there was no longer anyone to finish left overs so you ate it for three days straight.
Also you bought a new rug.
————-
3 months in
You’ve begun putting the final laminate on the painting. It’s taken you far longer than it would’ve if you hadn’t accepted 15 new clients. Not that you mind anyways.
You’re also a little ambivalent to the idea of John paying for 6 months of rent when he doesn’t even live here during it.
Besides that life seems stagnant and you’ve begun to lock your bedroom door at night again.
————
4 months in
The painting now hangs a foot away from where the other one in front of John’s door does. It’s a beautiful contrast and really you were overjoyed at the outcome. You also randomly decided it’d be a good idea one night after too much wine to order new furniture for the outside deck. When it arrived you were one in disbelief of all the building pieces and and two excited to have something more to do.
You should've stayed up the night John left.
————
5 months in
Redecorating the deck wasn’t enough change. You needed a makeover physically but couldn’t decide how. Maybe a tattoo? No. New makeup? No. How about a haircut? Fuck it, yes.
So you did just that, you got a few almost unnoticeable highlights and chopped a good amount off. After the fact you were obsessed. Was it impulsive and could it have gone so horribly wrong, yes. But did it? No.
———
6 months in
John’s still not back and it’s all you could think about. What if something happened to him? What if he wasn’t coming back? You worried yourself sick so much so you physically became sick.
You waited week by week for anything, maybe he’s back on base but just hasn’t come back home yet. But something was telling you it was more than that.
———-
7 months in
At this point worrying wasn’t going to make him appear. Your hobbies have now turned into distractions. So tonight you sit in the living room with a glass of wine and watch another rom com. You’re as comfy as can be in this cold brutal weather. It stays below 30 degrees Fahrenheit during this time of year and the snow bites at any unclothed skin.
You fall asleep to the small hum of the heater while on the couch. Thick blanket thrown across you and tv playing as background chatter.
You don’t know when you wake but it’s still dark outside when you hear someone that sounds distressed. Your groggy mind isn’t processing that the sound is coming from inside the house. But when it does you're up in a second looking around as your eyes try to adjust to the darkness.
“Fuck!” You hear from down the hall. John’s room.
You walk quietly towards it as he continues to chant that word. Suddenly it falls silent and you just hear what sounds to be deep breaths. You don’t know what wills you to knock, but you do.
“John, are you okay?” You ask softly from behind the closed door. He doesn’t respond but you know he’s in there from the quiet but quick breathing.
“No.” He says with that familiar deep drawl.
You open the door slowly to see him sitting on the floor near the corner of his bed clearly distressed. You take notice of the mess wondering how you slept through the making of it. There’s glass from somewhere on the floor and clothes strewn but when you look at him your heart breaks. He’s in full uniform, vest on, belt with equipment on, as if he didn’t stop anywhere. Just came straight here. His hair has grown out to an odd length and his beard has grown longer.
“I can’t get this fucking vest off.” He interrupts your thoughts looking at you with a sense of sorrow. You kneel to where he is careful to avoid glass. His eyes don’t glance up to meet yours; they stay fixated on his hands that are covered in dirt.
“May I?” You gesture towards the plastic buckles on the vest. He nods and you start with the two at his shoulders. Then you reach down his chest to undo the two near his belt buckle. You realize it must be connected somewhere in the back when it doesn’t come off. He leans forwards as you look trying to avoid the bloodstains that taint the once green vest and sure enough the tiniest but mightiest buckle is on the center of his lower back. He shrugs it off with a sigh.
“Better?” You ask softly.
“Yeah, Thankyou.” He slowly tilts his head back to lean on the comforter and you don’t move an inch.
“What can I do?” Truthfully you’ve never been in a situation so unbearably awkward but so unwilling to just leave.
“Just sit here with me.” So you do. You scoot right next to him and lean your head on his shoulder. He couldn’t admit it but the nights he slept in cold frost biting weather the thought of returning to your warm presence got him through.
“He almost died.” His voice gives out at the end of that sentence.
“Who?”
“Johnny, it would’ve been my fault. One second later and they would’ve put a bullet through his skull.”
“But he’s okay?” You know John loves his team even though he doesn’t outwardly say it.
“He’s perfectly fine.”
“Worrying about what could’ve been will kill you.”
“Sometimes I feel like that’s what I deserve for some of the things I’ve done.”
“If not you it would be someone else making the world a better place.”
“I know.”
You sit there with him for a while in silence. He can barely believe he made it back alive but right now the battle feels worth it. He hears soft snores not too long later and realizes you’ve fallen back to sleep. His head leans to rest above yours as he closes his eyes. He knows sleep won’t come to him but he’s never had you this close and for now he’ll cherish it.
————-
When you woke up again the sun had risen and a golden glow lit John’s room.
“John.” You whisper trying not to move your head in case he’s sleeping.
“Yeah doll.” He lifts his head to look at you.
“I’m so sorry.” You feel slightly embarrassed and bad that you just fell asleep on him.
“Nothing to be sorry for.” He sighs before standing on his feet with a groan then offering you hand to help you up.
“I’m going to shower.” He says as you dust yourself off.
“After can I give you a haircut?” He laughs a little at your not so subtle realization of his long hair..
“If you’d like.”
“I’d love.” You say before leaving, assuring him you’d be back when he's done.
You pick up your mess from the previous night. Folding your blanket and putting it back in the basket near the couch. Taking your wine glass to the sink and rinsing it out. You go to your room and change into an outfit for the day and do your morning routine. After you grab your shears, clippers and cape. By the time you're done doing all of this you no longer hear the water running meaning John’s done with his shower. You knock on his door lightly.
“Come in.” You walk in to see him sweeping up his mess with the small house broom and can’t help but smile at the sight.
“Come on, let's cut your hair in the bathroom, better lighting and you can see what I’m doing.” You say heading straight there. You sit him on the little bathroom bar stool that’s been in there since your ex moved out. Once he’s sitting the only cape you have is pink so you throw it on him begging yourself to not laugh which you fail causing him to smirk.
“Okay so I’m just gonna clean it up, fade the sides a very little, cut the top with shears and what not.” You let him know.
“You cut your hair?” He replies, staring at you through the mirror.
“Yeah so?” You smile.
“I like it, it looks good.” You feel that feeling only johns been able to provoke.
“Thankyou.” You begin the cut, slowly combing out sections making sure to be precise. He seems far more relaxed than you’d imagined as you just freely cut at the top. After the matter once you're satisfied you shave the sides a little just enough to where it looks cleaner.
“Can I do your beard and mustache?”
“You're the hairstylist, not me?” Is all he says.
So you do, very carefully, mere inches away from his face your hands hold one side of his jaw softly to trim the other side. He watches your expression intently. The way when you’re focused there’s a crease that forms between your eyebrows and your pupils blow a little wide.
“All done.” You say pulling him from his trance. You move his face with your hands really checking to make sure all is well.
“Very handsome.” You compliment before turning around to rinse your shears and put them away.
“Thank You doll.” He says examining it himself in the mirror thoroughly pleased with how well you did even though he knows you don’t cut men’s hair. He doesn’t notice you grab his beard oil from the cabinet till you're smoothing it between your hands and asking him to face you so you can rub it through the coarse brown hair. Ever the nurturer.
It feels like time apart only made you two feel closer somehow. Or maybe it’s because you wanted to be close and those feelings were equally reciprocated.
The rest of that day John had loads of paperwork to file, sign and report. So he did that, he sat in his office for long hours going through the process. The only thing that slightly lightened this burden was your voice humming in the kitchen as you cooked something. You’d stopped by and offered him some which he gladly accepted from your giving hands. Hours later you bid him a goodnight and went to bed and even then he had so much more left.
—————
The next day you catch John in the kitchen and tell him there’s something you must show him.
“So you built it all yourself?” He says as you show him your little project you did outside. There’s a thick coat wrapped around you as you don’t fully step outside to avoid slipping on the icy ground. Him though, he stands on it with no problem in what looks like military issued boots.
“Yes I did.” You say proudly despite his clear disdain.
“I missed you, even your stubbornness.” After the months John’s been through there was no point in hiding the way he was feeling.
“I missed you too.” You smile while clearly avoiding his gaze.
How had he missed this all along?
“Would you like to go out for drinks?”
“What?” You turn around to meet his eyes.
“Can I take you out for drinks?” What being mere inches away from death does to a man.
“Yeah.”
-
You both silently walk away trying to break the bounds of the tense pull that makes you want to gravitate towards each other. You put on something cute but also warm and slip on some brown doc martens as your choice of shoe. You do light makeup as you give yourself a pep talk.
“Only two drinks, only two drinks.” You have to tell yourself cause after two your too you.
You hear John putting his shoes on by the hallway and take in the sight of him, brown leather jacket and beanie. You’re not sure how he’s going to stay warm in that but something tells you he will.
“Ready?” He asks and you nod nervously.
-
“Okay, hold on, I have to do this really slow or I’ll fall.” You say stepping slowly out onto the ground below the porch stairs.
“Well come here I’ll help you.” He offers his hand. You grab it softly, swooning at the way it encompasses your own. There’s something inside of him that doesn’t even want you to risk walking on this floor but of course he also doesn’t want to push.
“Okay nice and slow.” You’re not even taking full steps, just small slides. You clutch his hand for dear life and he loves it.
“Good girl.” He says once you reach the door of his truck which he opens for you. He doesn’t let go till you sit inside then only does he slip his hand from your warm one and closes the door.
“Which pub?” You ask as he turns on the heater only for your sake.
“The one downtown near the little Italian grocer.” You know exactly which one he’s talking about. Its dim light atmosphere is cozy but fun but usually full of mainly couples.
“Mkay.” You say looking out the window at the gloomy sky realizing it just might rain.
He glances your way during the small drive, your scent of your floral perfume mixed with his of cardamom and musk is quite perfect.
“You alright?” He asks.
“Yeah, just comfy, you?” He grins at your response.
“Never been better.”
He pulls into one of the street parking spots and despite the weather the streets are full, he gets out to put coins inside the slot for time before heading to your side of the car.
“Wait, I'm scared.” You say realizing that the distance to the bar doesn’t seem to be a survivable one.
“Come on, I'll hold your hand.”
“I’ll fall regardless.”
“Want me to carry you?” He genuinely offers.
“What?” You laugh.
“Doll I’m very serious I will carry you, just get on my back.”
“What if we both fall?”
“I’m not falling, trust me.” He says turning around motions for you to get on his back.
“Okay then.” You hook your legs around his upper waist and his arms reach to tuck themselves firmly beneath your knees.
“Comfortable?” He asks. He’s sure you can hear his heart racing from the proximity you’re in.
“Very.” All your dreams of climbing this man have come true.
You shut the door as he steps onto the sidewalk. You tuck your chin in by his neck for warmth. He smells woodsy with a hint of musk, it makes your head spin.
“How are you not slipping?” You say very suspicious.
“Doll I could run on this floor with these boots on.” He answers looking slightly over his shoulder at you.
“Well don’t.” You say seriously and he laughs as he approaches the bar, opening the door and setting you softly on the floor.
He finds you both a booth in the corner and sits on the side where he can see the entire bar, very John of John.
“What do you drink?” He asks, trying to make conversation. Suddenly the air feels very intimate, almost too intimate for what he considers his old man heart.
“When I’m out, martinis.”
“Espresso?”
“Mhmm.” You’re trying your hardest to hold the eye contact he’s giving you but something about the blue in his eyes and creases on the side of them has you breaking it quicker than it started.
“I’ll be back then.” He says sliding out of the booth feeling slightly accomplished.
You sit there looking at the lively pub, how many romances are at their peak here, how many friends are having the best night of their lives, how you amongst them are finally feeling like you again.
“Here we are.” He says returning with two glasses, his is a classic bourbon with a square ice cube in the glass.
“Thankyou.” You say as he slides it over to you.
“So what’d you do while I was gone, other than be reckless and build furniture.” He asks as you sip from your glass.
“I did lots of hair, painted a bit, found new color schemes for decor and that’s kinda it, I’d ask you the same question but I fear you can’t answer.”
“Your fears are true.”
“That Kate woman, she's very pretty.” Are you a little jealous?
“Yeah she’s also very married.” He says it like he doesn’t know what you're on about.
“And also not into men.” You nearly choke on your drink and swallow hard to get it down.
“Well I was just saying.” Sure you were.
You two have small chatter as you go through drinks. You tried to offer the second round but John said no for you to just stay in your seat. He came back with thirds and you definitely were starting to feel the effects of the previous two, him though not at all.
“So you’re telling me John you as very um good looking as you are haven’t had a girlfriend in how long?”
“Eight years.” He says while being very amused with your light hearted, open attitude.
“That’s just not right.”
“No?”
“No, personally, well never mind.” You’re not drunk enough to say what you were about too.
“What about you, why no boyfriends?”
“I’m very, I would say needy I guess clingy even, I’m a double texter, someone who worries and loves too much and I think that can be overwhelming for a lot of people.” You admit.
“Don’t believe that.” He says, sounding a little annoyed.
“For the right person you could never be overwhelming.” He says looking at you intensely and this time you can’t seem to look away.
Once your third drink is finished it’s raining outside and you’re words away from trouble.
“John?”
“Yeah doll.”
“You make me feel alive again.” You admit, the alcohol has casted a pretty shade of pink on your cheeks as you lean your head on your hand and John doesn’t think he’s ever been more entranced.
“You and me both, here drink some water.” He slides it to you. You’re sweet, too sweet. He feels like if he touches you physically or emotionally he’d be tainting art.
“Has anyone told you you're very climbable?”
“It’s time for us to get going, you're quite the light weight.” He laughs offering you a hand as you slide off the booth.
He leaves a tip on the table before walking with you to the door. He has to bend far more than he normally would for you to secure yourself on his back before he’s walking outside. This time he’s walking faster because of the rain droplets that are falling hard. He seats you in the car and reaches across you to buckle you in before heading to his side.
The drive home is pretty quiet, he drives extra slowly because of the precious cargo he carries. Once he pulls back into the gravelly drive way you unbuckle and open the door as he puts the car in park.
“You don’t want to wait for me.” He asks, a little concerned.
“I got this.” You hop out of the elevated truck immediately slipping and having to grab onto the door. He walks quickly to your side laughing at the expression on your face.
“You sure do.” He says as he grabs your arm
“Oh stop it.” You say accepting the help, sliding your feet on the ice again till you get to the door. Once you get inside you groan into the toasty air.
“Thankyou for tonight John.” You say facing him once you kick your boots off. You hadn’t realized how close you were till you turned around and could feel the heat radiating off of him and smell the bourbon on his breath.
“No, thank you.” He says feeling awfully captivated, hanging onto your every move. You cup his face and stand on your tippy toes, boldly yet slowly placing a kiss on the corner of his lips.
He’s starstruck. Absolutely dazed at the look of mischief in your eyes, something that tells him you know exactly what you’re doing to him.
“Goodnight John.” You say patting his chest and walking down towards your room.
—————
I couldn't wait till tommorrow i'm sorry.
comments and reposts are greatly appreciated:)
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#angst#captain price x female reader#john price#barry sloane#captain john price#john price x reader#task force 141#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley
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CAN FRIENDS KISS? | Rafe Cameron x fem!reader |
Summary: A long-time friendship between you and Rafe blurs into something more when he returns to the Outer Banks after months away. As buried feelings and fantasies surface, a party reveals jealousy and desire, leading to a night where boundaries are crossed, and the truth is finally spoken. In a moment of raw passion, both of you realize that being just friends was never enough.
Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, jealousy.
•°•°•°•°•
I'ma call you, I'ma hit your number
I'ma slow whine and make you wonder
Fantasies about you in my head, yeah
I know that we shouldn't, but
Can friends kiss?
Touch each other like this?
Under cover like this?
Little too close, play a Popcaan song
And my mind is gone like this
Teasin' on you like this
Put it on you like this
Little too close, play a Konshens song
And my mind is gone like this
•°•°•°•°•
It had been months since you last saw Rafe, and no matter how much you tried to deny it, the truth was suffocating—you missed him more than just a friend. You’d kept yourself busy, convincing yourself that it was nothing, but when you found out he was back in the Outer Banks, that facade crumbled. Before you could stop yourself, your shaky hands dialed his number, the ringing amplifying the tension in your chest.
“Hey,” his voice came through the phone, a comforting warmth that wrapped around you like a familiar embrace. It sent a ripple of longing through you, more intense than you expected.
Your voice wavered as you breathed his name, "Rafe." A beat of silence followed, and then, without intending it, the words tumbled out: "I missed you." It wasn’t just a friendly confession—it was heavy, laced with the feelings you had kept hidden. The kind that kept you up at night, replaying moments in your mind like an old film reel.
There was a pause on his end. You could practically hear the confusion in his silence. You had never said it like that before, never let the words carry the weight they did now.
“You missed me?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I was only gone for a few weeks.”
"A few weeks too long," you murmured, your voice quieter, almost lost in your thoughts, picturing his expression, the slight furrow of his brow as if he was trying to figure out what had changed. What he didn’t know, what you hadn’t told him, was how much you had been thinking about him while he was gone. Fantasizing, really. You knew you shouldn’t have been, but you couldn’t stop the thoughts once they started.
Your heart raced as you imagined telling him as if the words were stuck in your throat. Could friends kiss? Could they touch each other the way you wanted to touch him?
“You’re acting different,” Rafe’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “Something on your mind?”
You bit your lip. If only he knew.
One memory haunted you, especially now that he was back. You couldn’t get it out of your mind. Your mind drifted back to the last time you saw him. You’d been at a party, music pumping through the air, bodies swaying in rhythm to the beats of Popcaan. That night, you and Rafe danced, teasing each other like always, but something had changed. The way your bodies moved together, the heat that built between you—it had lit a spark inside you that refused to fade. You often wondered what would’ve happened if you hadn’t stopped.
Fantasies of his touch, the way his hands felt when they lingered a little too long, how his eyes followed you when he thought you weren't looking. It shouldn’t be this way, not when you both knew the unspoken rule of your friendship. But your heart raced at the thought of pushing those boundaries. If you had just leaned in a little more, let him feel how much you wanted him. But you didn’t—at least not then.
•°•°•°•°•
I don't like your new girl, she don't move me
When you talk about her, I get moody
VVS1 icin' out my neck, yeah
I want it to drip, drip on your lips
•°•°•°•°•
A few days later, Rafe invited you to a party at his house. You told yourself you’d go just to see him, just to catch up like old times. But the moment you walked in and saw his hands wrapped around Sofia, something inside you twisted painfully. She was new. A stranger in your world, someone who didn't belong.
He noticed you almost immediately, a smile spreading across his face as he waved you over.
You took a deep breath, forcing a smile as you walked over to him. “Hey Y/N, this is Sofia.” He introduced her casually as if it didn’t mean anything. But it meant everything. Your mood plummeted, jealousy clawing at your chest as you watched them stand together.
Sofia smiled sweetly, but you barely heard what she said, your attention fixated on Rafe. You reached up, touching the VVS1 diamond necklace that adored your neck. The diamonds sparkled under the dim lights of the party, catching his attention. You wanted him to notice. You wanted him to see you, not her.
You imagine the cool metal dripping onto his lips, erasing any trace of her. A bold fantasy, maybe, but it was all you could think about.
“I’ll catch you later,” You muttered, making an excuse to walk away before the bitterness in your voice betrayed you.
Deep down, you knew you shouldn’t have to compete with her. But seeing them together hurt more than you could bear. And you weren't the type to sit back and watch something slip through your fingers.
•°•°•°•°•
Come party, come touch my body
I'm a busybody, tick, tick, tick, tick
Come find me, come get behind me
•°•°•°•°•
You made your way to the dance floor in an attempt to distract yourself.
Your body moved instinctively, swaying to the pulsing rhythm, trying to drown out the image of Rafe and Sofia together. The alcohol was doing its job, dulling the sharp ache in your chest, blurring the edges of your jealousy. You let yourself sink into the music, pressing against faceless strangers, their presence offering a temporary distraction. Yet no matter how hard you tried to lose yourself in the crowd, you could feel it—his eyes on you, burning through the haze.
You didn’t need to look. The weight of Rafe’s gaze from across the room was undeniable, igniting a fire beneath your skin that no one else in that room could extinguish. When you finally glanced over, your eyes locked with his, and in that instant, everything else faded away. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like watching you with someone else, knowing that you were slipping through his fingers, teasing someone else with the same fire you had once reserved for him.
For a heartbeat, the world stopped. The thrum of the music, the blur of people moving around you—none of it mattered. It was just you and him, staring across the distance, the unspoken tension that had always simmered between you now bubbling to the surface. A slow, deliberate smile played on your lips. If he wanted to play this game, then so be it. You raised a single finger, curling it toward you in a silent dare. Come get me.
The guy you had been dancing with protested as you slipped away, but his words didn’t even register. Your mind was already fixated on one thing—Rafe. You needed him. His presence pulled you in like a magnetic force, and no one else in that room could compete. You crossed the space between you in a few steps, your heart pounding, and when you reached him, you leaned in close, your lips just barely brushing his ear as you whispered, “Come touch my body.”
It wasn’t a request; it was a challenge.
For a second, he hesitated, the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes almost making you question everything. But then, his hands found your waist, strong and possessive, pulling your back flush against his front. The second his skin touched yours, it was as though the air crackled with electricity, every nerve ending in your body sparking to life. He was close, too close, and yet not close enough. His breath was warm against your neck, sending shivers down your spine and you felt your pulse quicken as he spun you around to face him, the air between you thick with tension.
The crowd disappeared. The world was reduced to the heat between the two of you, the rhythm of the music aligning with the rhythm of your hearts. This wasn’t how friends looked at each other. This wasn’t how friends touched. The space between you was thick with unsaid words, with unspoken desire, and you were done pretending. When the music slowed, so did you, your body brushing deliberately against his, your movements slow, teasing.
The feel of him so close, the heat of his body pressed against yours, was intoxicating. Every inch of you burned with a desire you could no longer suppress. Your hips swayed in time with the music, deliberately pressing against him, and you felt his hands tighten on your waist. The intensity of his gaze made you feel like the only person in the room. It was maddening, this pull you had toward him, the way you craved his touch like it was the only thing that could sate the need that had been building inside you for far too long.
“Wanna get out of here?” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, your voice breathless. It wasn’t just a question—it was an invitation. One you knew he wouldn’t refuse.
•°•°•°•°•
Go lock the door
Fall in love with me, I'm bored
We both know I'm yours
I can't do it anymore
•°•°•°•°•
His response was immediate, his hand sliding into yours as he led you through the crowd, away from the noise, away from Sofia. He pushed open a door to a quieter space, a room tucked away from the chaos of the party. The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly, it was just the two of you, along with the tension that had been building for months.
Your heart raced, each breath coming quicker as you stood there, staring at him, the weight of everything unsaid between you heavy in the air. You knew this was the moment that would change everything.
“Lock the door,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the rush of adrenaline coursing through you.
The anticipation was electric, a current of excitement buzzing beneath your skin as he crossed the room, locking the door with a final click that sent a shiver down your spine.
The silence between you stretched for a moment, both of you knowing what was about to happen. There was no turning back now, no going back to how things were before. The friendship you had clung to was a façade, one that had already started to crumble.
“I can’t do this anymore, Rafe,” you confessed, stepping closer. “I can’t pretend we’re just friends.”
The words hung heavy in the air, the final admission that shattered whatever boundaries had remained between you. His eyes darkened, his breath catching as the reality of what you said hit him. You were both teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something that once crossed, couldn’t be undone.
“I didn’t like seeing you out there,” he finally said, his voice low, rough around the edges with an emotion he couldn’t hide. “With those guys.”
A teasing smile tugged at your lips, but your voice was soft, full of a truth that neither of you could deny. “We both know I’m yours.”
You could see the conflict in his eyes, the hesitation that flickered there for just a moment. But then, it was gone, replaced by the same burning need that mirrored your own.
•°•°•°•°•
This blue chiffon
Off, off, off, need it gone
More Radikon
And it goes on and on
•°•°•°•°•
Your fingers trembled as they toyed with the soft chiffon of your dress, the delicate blue fabric slipping from your shoulders with ease. The silky material cascaded down your body, pooling at your feet like water, leaving you standing exposed and vulnerable in nothing but lace underwear. The cool air of the room kissed your bare skin, a stark contrast to the fevered heat pulsing between you two. But at that moment, none of it mattered. You didn’t care about the chill, didn’t care about anything except the urgent need building inside you—craving him, needing him.
Rafe’s gaze was locked on you, his eyes darkened with desire, his breath shallow and uneven as he took in the sight of you. For a heartbeat, he seemed to freeze, as if the intensity of the moment was too much to fully comprehend. But then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he closed the distance between you. His hands found your skin, gliding across it like they’d been aching for this moment forever, tracing paths of fire and wanting that made your whole body shiver.
Time seemed to blur as his hands wandered through your hair, along the curve of your spine, as though memorizing every inch of you. The air between you thickened, heavy with the weight of months of unresolved tension, as though the very room could feel the gravity of what was happening. His lips hovered near yours, his breath warm against your skin.
“You’re sure?” His voice was rough, hesitant, though his need was palpable.
You answered him with a kiss, your lips pressing against his, soft at first, but quickly deepening as the tension that had been building for months finally exploded.
He kissed you back, harder, his hands tightened in your hair as you pulled at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours, to erase the space between you.
In a blur of hurried, feverish movements, clothes were discarded carelessly, forgotten. The world outside ceased to exist. The only sound in the room was your mingled breaths, ragged and uneven, as you both succumbed to the intensity of what you had been holding back. He was on top of you, his lips trailing fire down your neck, leaving you gasping beneath him.
Your hand slid between your bodies, fingers curling around his hard length, and the sharp intake of his breath told you everything you needed to know. He had imagined this too, had craved it as desperately as you had. The need between you was raw, primal. You stroked him slowly, teasingly, until his grip on your arm tightened, a silent plea. He needed to be inside of you.
He teased your entrance, the head of him brushing against your warmth, making your body arch in anticipation. Then, with agonizing slowness, he pushed inside, and you both moaned as he filled you completely, his body melting into yours in a way that felt so natural, so right. It was everything you had imagined, only more—more intense, more overwhelming, more perfect.
He began to move, his hips thrusting in and out, setting a rhythm that matched the pulse of your own heartbeat. The room filled with the sounds of your bodies coming together, the slap of skin against skin, your moans, and his groans blending in a symphony of desire.
“Does it feel good?” Rafe whispered, his voice rough, his lips brushing your ear as his pace quickened.
You couldn’t form words, only moan in response, your mind too lost in the sensation to do anything but feel. He slowed his movements, pulling almost all the way out, demanding, “Answer me.”
“Yes, Rafe,” you managed to gasp, the words tumbling out in a rush. “It feels so good.”
His hand gripped your hip harder as he thrust back into you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Is this how you imagined it?”
You moaned again, louder this time, as he pushed deeper, his every motion drawing you closer to the edge. “It’s… it’s better,” you whispered. “So much better.”
A low growl escaped his throat as he sped up his movements, clearly pleased by your answer. He pulled back before slamming into you again, hard and fast, causing you to bite down on your lip until you tasted the faint copper of blood. He was relentless, each thrust more powerful than the last.
“Your pussy is even tighter than I imagined,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust. His words only fueled the fire between you as you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, needing him to fill you as completely as possible. With each thrust, his pubic bone brushed against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure racing through your body.
You felt the familiar knot in your lower abdomen tightening, the heat in your core building with every movement. Your nails dug into his back as the tension inside you reached its breaking point. “I’m close,” you moaned, the words barely audible.
“Cum for me,” Rafe growled into your ear, his voice dark and commanding. “I want to feel you.”
And that was all it took. The world around you exploded in white-hot pleasure, your body convulsing beneath him as your orgasm tore through you. The intensity was like nothing you had ever experienced, your entire being shaking as waves of pleasure washed over you, again and again.
You tightened around him, your muscles gripping him with every pulse, and Rafe let out a deep groan as he reached his own climax. You felt him release inside of you, filling you completely as you both came undone together, your bodies moving in perfect sync as you rode out the last moments of bliss.
For a long time, neither of you moved, both caught in the aftershocks of what had just happened. The world outside still didn’t matter. All that mattered was the warmth of his body against yours, the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing as you both came down from the high, lost in each other’s arms.
There was no going back, but maybe, neither of you wanted to. You had always been each other's, even before either of you realized it. And now, as you lay tangled together, hearts racing, you knew this was only the beginning.
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron x kook!reader#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe smut#rafe outer banks#rafe obx#rafe x reader#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron obx#rafe x you#rafe x y/n#sofia outer banks#drew starkey#rafe one shot
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dextrocardia | 14
Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.
"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."
"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.
Spouses.
pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader
genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)
word count: 9.7k
warnings: a LOT of bodyshaming and fathobia and sexism
rating: NC-17 – Adults Only
masterlist
part 14/?
<previous | next>
© dextrocardia is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.
“I hope you know that I appreciate all the things you’ve been telling me. I know it can’t be easy, all the things you’ve gone through. So I appreciate it, even if I unfortunately…”
“Don’t have much to say?” you smile at him as you turn to close his bedroom door behind you.
“Yeah. It’s a lot different than when I’m talking to someone who maybe just got out of a… situation because, while that’s always hard, you just have to listen and assure them they did the right thing, going to the cops and that we’ll guide them through the rest and hopefully help them get justice. That it wasn’t their fault, you know? But you know all that already, and I’m not much help; in fact, I was a big part of your problem and going to the police probably made it worse in your case because we let you down instead of helping you.”
It’s sad, the way he says it, reaching for the collar of his t-shirt at the back of his neck. He pulls it over his head before he suddenly stops, the shirt stuck across his lowered arms. You meet his deer-in-the-headlights eyes and see how it dawns on him that despite explaining earlier that he wants to keep his shirt on–at least with you in the house?–he hasn’t actually been committing to that promise. You wonder if it had anything to do with his scars, if he wanted to spare you from seeing them or just not risk you being uncomfortable.
“It’s fine, take it off,” you comment casually, “but do know that I might warm my cold feet against your skin.”
He grins, finally removing the shirt entirely and throwing it onto the chair in the corner. “Feel free.”
Flicking the lights off, Jeongguk joins you in the dark, getting under the duvet and getting comfortable.
It’s silent for a while, and you’re halfway between sleep and consciousness when Jeongguk says something you definitely weren’t expecting.
“Are you still scared of me?”
You roll over to face him, even though the room is almost pitch black.
“Do you want me to be honest?”
“Of course.”
“I think that I will always be aware… of what you can do. Even right now, if you in this moment decided to hurt me, there would be nothing I could do about it. I can spend my days in the gym but odds are a vast majority of men could overpower me anyway. If I were to trust my gut, it would say that you’re a… good guy, but I know that most women murdered by a man they knew or even their male partners didn’t fall for someone openly abusive. They’re sweet at the start, and then they change. Hoseong was like that too; kind until he wasn’t. I know you know that because he fooled you too.
“When it comes to you, I think the only reason I’m here with you is because of what you did that night. I would’ve found any reason to believe that you were still playing a game of making me trust you, just waiting for the right moment to strike, if I hadn’t seen you fight them. No matter how talented of an actor you are, they were prepared to kill you, and you… were prepared to die.
“And this…” you move your hand under the sheets, tentatively finding his chest and the scar. “I don’t like looking at it, and it feels like it’s my fault your mom almost lost her son, but it’s also… almost a relief. I don’t have to second-guess if you really want to help me or if it’s just a long con to… finish something. But like I said… just because you haven’t tried to kill me yet doesn’t statistically mean you won’t. I don’t think you will, but then again, there are a lot of dead women who probably wouldn’t have imagined their murderer being someone they knew.”
Jeongguk places his hand over yours on his chest. “For what it’s worth, I could never hurt you. I know I did; that I hurt you emotionally and scared you, but not even when I thought you were the most selfish person on the planet would I have physically hurt you.”
“I will let the fact that I came to live with you speak for how I feel about you, or at least want to feel about you. Also the fact that I’m sleeping in your bed with you.”
“That you find me entirely irresistible, dying to be close to me at all times?”
You roll your eyes, however, blood rushes to your cheeks. “Yeah. Absolutely.”
“Good that we’re on the same page then, cause I’m kinda stuck on the fact that you kissed me.”
Inevitably, your cheeks warm up further, but it’s okay since it’s dark anyway.
“I did. It was a good kiss.”
“Yeah. I totally wouldn’t hate it if you did it again. In fact, I am open to kisses anytime, just as I am hand-holding.”
“You’re sure? Even from me?”
You hate that you have to ask, but… you do.
“Absolutely.”
You consider it for a moment, but eventually decide to trust his words, at least tonight. Empowered by the dark, you move your hand from his chest. It travels over his warm neck before it reaches his jaw. Your heart beats so hard you’re almost convinced he can hear it, but you ignore it and move closer. Despite the dark, you see his face and how he’s smiling, patiently waiting. It’s both a blessing and a hellish curse how handsome he is; he truly takes your breath away.
Using your hand, you move your hair away, and you lean down to connect your lips. His are so soft, and he kisses you back so sweetly, letting you set the pace. You move your mouth against his, pulling back an inch just to do it again. Jeongguk lets his hand hold your waist, and even though kissing him is… a dream, you’re reminded that there’s a limit you’re not comfortable crossing.
So you pull back, but you still let him hold your waist.
“There.”
You fall asleep quicker than the nights before. A few hours later–and a few hours before morning–you blink your eyes open, finding yourself entangled with him. You’ve got your arm thrown over his middle, your cheek resting on his naked chest, right below his chin, and one of your legs lies between his.
For a while, you listen to his breaths, thinking about what it is that you’re doing. He’s so warm, and he feels so… safe, but there’s still a certain thought in your head.
When you wake up the next time, you’re once again alone in Jeongguk’s bed, and the first thought crossing your mind is how unnecessary boarding up your window really was when you’re practically almost always sleeping in his bed these days. Also, does he count on being able to hear a potential intruder trying to break in through his window? Because there is one, and it’s definitely not boarded up.
Your curiosity grows when you hear Jeongguk move throughout the house, and the sound of a…. what is that?
Rolling out of his bed, you yawn as you open the bedroom door to almost run head first into a stressed-looking Jeongguk. The sound you heard you identify as the now turned off blow dryer, something you’ve borrowed yourself but never seen him use. Looking up, you realize that, yeah, his hair is still wet from a shower and blow drying it means that he either doesn’t want to wait for it to air dry or he can’t.
“You’re going to the station?” you ask, noticing that he is actually indeed wearing his dark blue, almost black uniform.
“Yeah, uh, multiple trafficking victims on their way. Want to be there before they arrive.”
A very specific feeling moves through your chest; an uncomfortable sadness that someone has most likely been through hell, but there’s a warmth there too, for Jeongguk.
“What are you looking for?”
He looks around, patting his pockets, “Uhm, I have my phone, wallet, house keys. I need the… bike key and the helmet. The helmet is probably in the garage, but I’m not sure where the key is.”
You blink, trying to remember what jacket he was wearing the last time you recall him using the bike. The leather one, right? You step up to the coat rack, looking through the jackets until you find it. Swiftly, you search the pockets until…
“Found it. Do I put it in your uniform jacket?”
“Oh, thank you. Yes, please,” he says over the sound of the blow dryer that he grabs once more.
You watch him dry his hair, incessantly running his fingers through it to speed up the process. A few minutes later, he turns the machine off and runs his fingers through the black hair one last time, “It’ll have to do.”
Then, he’s gathering his stuff, taking the jacket from your hands and heading toward the door leading to the garage as he throws it on. “Not sure when I’ll be back, it might take a while cause I don’t know how many they are or what they’ve been through, but I can update you?”
“Jeongguk?”
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Come here for a second.”
Confused, he takes the four steps until he’s in front of you looking down curiously but a little stressed at you.
You smile at him, at how pretty and caring he is. “Be careful.”
He grins, a little surprised. “I always am. But it’s mostly just letting them talk and writing it all down, and–”
“I meant on the road. With the bike. I know you can handle the case.”
“Oh. Will do.”
For a millisecond, he looks at you, his bottom lip bitten. Then he’s pulling you closer by your waist, pecking your lips sweetly.
“I’ll see you later.”
With warm cheeks, you watch him enter the garage, thinking of his kind, brown eyes. You don’t know what to feel.
When Jeongguk returns, he’s angry. He doesn’t say much except frustratingly relaying that apparently, one of the women had called the police about a creepy neighbor appearing to watch her house six months ago. The two officers sent did absolutely nothing at all. Couldn’t offer any protection, didn’t talk to the neighbor, couldn’t even give the woman any advice, just left. Two weeks later, the neighbor takes her. You understand Jeongguk’s frustration toward the system, but when he’s spent two hours in the gym without any kind of break, you decide to check up on him.
You hear the brutal beating of the punching bag long before you spot him.
“How are you doing? You’ve been in here a while…”
Jeongguk stops and looks at you from behind the sand-filled bag, breathing heavily. He’s shirtless, and there’s sweat covering his skin and wetting his hair.
“I’m alright.”
But you can tell that he’s frustrated by the turmoil in his eyes. Although it’s hot to see him work out, you don’t like seeing him like this. It has an uncomfortable feeling growing in your stomach.
“You’re doing what you can.”
“Yet there’s always more to do. It never ends, and it’s never enough.”
He’s definitely right about that, but does it help to be so worked up about it? Or are you the weird one, more likely to go apathetic when reminded of the injustices of the world these days?
“But you did your part today, and I know you made an impact in their lives.”
He looks disappointedly at the sandbag, as if your words didn’t affect him at all.
“Hey,” you call softly. He looks at you.
“If it weren’t for you, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.”
‘Right now’ as in alive.
“But I–”
“If you never transferred, they would’ve gotten me at this point.”
“Bare minimum,” is all he mumbles.
“It meant a lot to me. Everything, actually. And I’m really grateful.”
At that, he finally smiles a little, and you find yourself dangerously lost in his eyes again.
Thirty minutes later, at nine p.m., the power goes out. You stop what you’re doing, your hand, holding the kettle frozen in mid air over the mug. Even the very, very low humming of the fridge and freezer stops. You put the kettle down, glad that you probably managed to fill your mug with enough tea water.
Where is your roommate? Last you heard, he was about to take a shower.
“Jeongguk?” you call, but the moment you peek out into the hallway, you run straight into him, still wet from the shower and with a towel around his hips, you think.
“What happened?” he asks, his hands steadying your elbows.
“Uh? I don’t know? I was pouring tea and the lights and everything went out.”
“Oh? So that means it wasn’t our doing. I’ll check if there’s a blown fuse; you never know.”
“Okay,” you pat the pockets of your sweatpants, “Here’s my phone if you want a flashlight.”
“Thanks,” he nods, grabbing it from your hand.
He taps the screen to turn the flashlight function on, the light pointed down immediately illuminating every little crevice in his abs and the glints of water still on his skin. The white towel hangs low, exposing a bit of a happy trail.
You look away, and Jeongguk, seemingly none the wiser, turns around to find the fuse box somewhere other than in the kitchen, guided by your phone.
Sighing to yourself the moment you’re alone again, you go back to your tea, removing the bag from the mug. Opening the fridge, you’re once again reminded of how dependent on electricity you are when the open door doesn’t trigger the built in light. Still, you find the milk, and you manage to pour a little bit into the mug and put the container back in the still chilly fridge.
By the time you finish stirring the tea spoon around, you hear Jeongguk’s steps approaching you, and you see the ray of light illuminate the floor in front of him.
“No blown fuses. I’m gonna see if there’s anything on the provider’s site or else I’ll give them a call.”
“Are you gonna get dressed as well, or?” you joke, watching him smile cheekily.
“Yeah. I was just barely done washing my hair when the light went out.”
“I can see that; you’re dripping all over the floor.”
“Sorry,” he says and shakes his head like a dog, launching drops of water at your clothes and face.
“Jeongguk!”
Laughing, he leaves the kitchen and steps out into the dark.
“What if I slip and fall?” you call after him, wiping the drops from your face before returning to your mug to take a test sip. It tastes good, but you’ll definitely try to remember to buy honey next time you go grocery shopping because you’re a sucker for a little sweetness.
Half a minute later, you hear footsteps approaching, and when you turn around from the sink, Jeongguk is drying the floor with the towel he was just using, now wearing what looks like a pair of sweatpants of his own. He doesn’t say anything, just makes sure the floor is dry and then he leaves again, much to your amusement. Like you said; you’re a sucker for sweetness.
While he’s gone, you use your phone’s flashlight to pour the rest of the water into another mug in case Jeongguk wants some tea too. Then you venture carefully into the living room, trying not to spill the hot contents. It goes without accidents, and so you set the mug down onto the coffee table before reaching for the remote. Which doesn’t work.
“Fuck, no TV,” you mutter to yourself. And you’ve used your laptop without the charger all day. Even more fuck.
“Jeongguk, is your laptop charged?” you call out, praying to the gods.
“Uh, yeah,” he appears behind you, having matched a black hoodie to his gray sweatpants.
He’s holding something in his arms, a lot of smaller things. Candles, you realize when he leans down to gently dump them onto the table. From his pocket he then produces a lighter.
“You wanna watch something?” he asks, lighting the candles one by one, the coziness factor doubling with every flame added.
“I was gonna watch this documentary, but my laptop isn’t charged,” you pout. “Oh, and also, the Wifi won’t work.”
Jeongguk chuckles. “Mine should be fully charged. And we can use my mobile data.”
Wow, way to flex.
“Great. I made tea, do you want some?”
“Sure. Thank you.”
While he goes to grab his laptop, you return to the kitchen to fix his mug of tea as well, returning as he’s setting everything up, the screen illuminating his face where he sits on the couch. The flickering candles are doing their best too, casting a more yellowy glow across the room.
“Thanks,” he says once more when you place the mug in front of him. “Here.”
You accept the laptop, navigating to the specific streaming site and the documentary released just last week about the development of the space shuttles. Due to the size difference between Jeongguk’s TV and that of his laptop, you take your seat closer to him than usual.
Jeongguk sips his tea, but the moment he’s put the mug back safely on the table and is leaning back against the couch and watching the screen, he slowly lets his hand find yours.
In turn, you find yourself moving closer, leaning your head against his shoulder. He smells nice, and he feels nice. And it’s suddenly like someone started some kind of wordless game. You don’t say anything, but there’s also a kind of tension that builds, no less in your body.
Perhaps also feeling the… electricity building, Jeongguk makes his next move, this time slowly lifting his arm to put around you, making you lean against his chest instead. The action has his hoodie riding up just a little, exposing a sliver of his stomach.
When it’s your turn again–and you feel your shared anticipation grow–you try to psych yourself up. He likes you, he likes you.
So, you place your hand on the exposed section of skin, caressing it carefully with your thumb.
Besides the documentary, it’s quiet, although you’re almost positive Jeongguk can hear your heart beat erratically; it’s definitely beating loudly in your ears. For his next turn, Jeongguk somehow both swiftly and slowly pulls you onto his lap, and before you know it, you’re straddling him, staring down at his smiling face.
The narrator speaks in the background, but you can only focus on Jeongguk and how your heart might soon beat its way out of your chest.
You could kiss him. You could.
He looks at you like he’s hoping for it but not expecting it, and you pray to God he actually does want you to. Because you want to kiss him so badly.
He’s got his gentle hands on your thighs, and you place yours softly on his face, holding his jaw and rubbing your thumbs slowly over his cheeks. Until you move one thumb and press it even softer against his lips.
This man is too good to be true, he has to be. As you let your eyes admire him, you think about the fact that, even if you disregard how he literally took a sword to the heart for you, he’s done more for you in the short period of time you’ve known him than any other man in your life.
So you move your finger from his mouth, nervously switching it out for your lips. You can’t even describe how much you like kissing him. When it’s sweet and innocent and just lips and a wordless confession of ‘I like you,’ or when you use a little tongue, and he chooses to follow your lead, kissing you back with the same growing heat. But there’s still something bothering you that you can’t ignore.
In the midst, you pull back an inch, eyes glued to his lips to avoid his eyes. “I like kissing you, but… “
“But what?” he wonders, his hands drawing innocent shapes on your thighs. Your heart pumps even harder as you choose your next words.
“I’m not really your type.”
He smiles, looking carefree, “You are. I think you’re a sweet girl.”
Jeongguk kisses you again, and you try not to think about it, but even with his lips against yours, it’s hard. A sweet girl. Letting one of your hands fall from his face, you grab the collar of his hoodie, clumsily placing your hand inside it to touch his chest, feeling for the scar.
Taking it as you wanting it off, he pulls away to yank the hoodie over his head, and it ends up somewhere toward the end of the couch. Even without it, his bare skin is just as warm under your hands, but before you know it, you’re on your back on the couch, and he’s above you. He’s very sweet, and in this moment–with your hands splayed across his back and the scar there–you know he won’t hurt you.
A sweet girl.
Right?
A sweet girl. You hear the voices and feel the anxiety and fear return to fill you. You go with the flow, unsure of what to think or do. Jeongguk helps you out of your shirt and then your bra, and you watch him sit back to throw them onto the floor somewhere.
But the moment he returns his attention to you underneath him, he stops. Because you’re covering your naked chest with your hands like your life depends on it, eyes teary and absolutely and helplessly begging him to look anywhere but at you.
He still does, and you can tell he’s surprised, his wide eyes taking in the situation from above you.
So you plead quietly, “Please don’t look at me.”
It takes half a second, and he’s immediately closing his eyes, turning to feel around for something behind him. Your shirt probably lies somewhere farther away on the floor, and so his black hoodie is what he ends up grabbing, handing it to you still with his eyes closed.
And he of course moves off of you, the only sounds in the room being the documentary, the slight rustling as you’re putting the hoodie on, and your quiet breaths.
When he assumes you’re dressed, he opens his eyes, heart visibly breaking when he sees how absolutely shaken to the core you look, hugging your body and sitting up. You turn your eyes to the documentary on the screen even though both of you know you haven’t been watching it.
“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he starts to explain, sounding genuinely apologetic.
“It’s fine,” you say quietly, wanting desperately not to make a big deal out of it. If you could just will your hands to stop shaking.
“No, I–”
“Jeongguk, please. I’m fine, okay. I’m not… I’m not ready, but… Can we not talk about it, please?”
Reluctantly, you meet his eyes and see the somber worry in them as he watches you from where he’s sitting, still shirtless.
“Okay. If there’s anything I can do…”
You smile tentatively at him, desperate to move on from the subject, “Watch the rest of the documentary with me?”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” you repeat, “I’ll, uh, go and change so you can get your hoodie back.”
“No, no, it’s alright. Keep it,” he’s quick to rise to his feet, already on his way somewhere–presumably his bedroom.
The forty seconds he’s gone you use to calm your breathing and stabilize your voice. It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t going too fast or not listening to you. He listened to what you gave him; you, yourself only figured out where exactly the line was drawn when it was basically already crossed.
He’s wearing a black t-shirt when he returns, taking a seat next to you and focusing his eyes on the screen, probably more so for your sake than his. “I hope you know that you can tell me anything. And I have no certain expectations you have to fulfill or so.”
You already know that he’s not asking sex for rent, if that’s what he’s wondering. But regarding his first statement… there are definitely things you don’t want to talk to him about.
“Yeah,” you answer regardless.
When the credits roll only a few minutes later, you know that you have two options. If you sleep in your own bed like you ideally want to, you risk there being an awkwardness tomorrow and that you definitely don’t want. Or you sleep in his bed with him like you have the last few days, and sure, it might be a little awkward, but he probably realizes you’re not up for cuddling, and it’ll be easier tomorrow.
“Oh. Finally,” Jeongguk exclaims when the ceiling light flickers on, signaling the return of the electricity. “I was starting to worry about all the food in the freezer.”
Subsequently, he leans over the coffee table, blowing out the small candles one after the other. It’s late anyway.
“So, uh…” he rises from the couch, “I’ll keep my door open, but I’m not offended if you choose to sleep in your bedroom.”
“Okay,” you nod at him, watching as he leaves to brush his teeth and get ready for bed.
You stand up too, but no matter how much you want to crawl into bed next to him and have him hold you the entire night, you get ready for bed, and you lie down in your own room. You’re still wearing his hoodie because it smells like him, and it ironically brings you comfort. Still, you lie there in the dark, and you think about his face, and his eyes, and his body. His voice, even, and how he might actually be a good guy. Maybe even everything you want, even if it doesn't matter. And you curl up, a few tears running silently down your cheeks. Because Jeon Jeongguk is so very far out of your league, it’s not even funny.
After waking up, you trudge toward the kitchen, still feeling half asleep. After everything that happened yesterday, you still managed to sleep pretty well, most likely because you were exhausted and sleeping alone.
“Morning.”
You stop, hands mid eye-rub.
“I… thought you’d be at the station?” you say, redirecting your focus to taming your hair. Jeongguk is sitting at the kitchen table, donning a white t-shirt and black, what looks to be cotton, shorts.
“No, I’ll use today to go over some of the potential leads you helped find. Can do that from here.”
He takes a bite of a cupcake, and you catch his eyes linger a second on your body and how a small smile pulls on his lips before he looks into his phone in front of him. Glancing down, you realize that since you didn’t expect him to be home, you didn’t change out of his hoodie so what he saw waddle into the room was you, swallowed by his hoodie, sweater paws rubbing your eyes.
“It, uh, smells good,” you mumble quietly, realizing way too late that it’s not that great of a defense. “But I’ll wash it and you can have it back.”
It smells good because he smells good.
He waves his hand, still looking almost… fond. “It’s okay, keep it as long as you’d like. I have a ton of them.”
“Okay, uh, thank you.”
“No problem.”
At least the awkwardness was for another reason.
You decide to do a bit of laundry, although skipping the black hoodie and hiding it away under your duvet for a little while longer. Doing the laundry, vacuuming most of the house, and emptying the dishwasher takes you almost an hour, and then you find yourself outside Jeongguk’s office, knocking on the open door and peeking inside.
“Making any progress?”
He lifts his head from the laptop screen and swivels around in his chair to face you, a pen in his hand.
“No,” he sighs, “I’m looking into the girlfriend angle and so far, we’ve put detectives on a recent ex of Seunghwa’s and on two of Ryung’s flings, but it hasn’t resulted in anything. Regarding Hoseong… I’m not sure I ever actually heard him mention anyone by name, at least not any name that I can seem to match to anyone.”
“What about… I remember him talking about this Jimin?”
“Who’s that? I think we’ve covered most of his friends?”
You search your memory, but it’s hard to remember details. It’s been years since the conversations you try to recall, and as far as you remember, he only mentioned her in passing. “It was a woman, and I think they were more than friends. Or at least she wanted to be.”
“I didn’t even think of that; I only know male Jimins. Tell me more,” he urges, and you can tell he’s trying to recall if there was ever a mention of a Jimin.
“Well, I heard him complain about her a few times; said she was clingy and honestly a little obsessed with him. He made it sound like he didn’t care for her that much. In retrospect–besides being a very red flag–it sounds like something he could’ve said about me when I liked him.”
“Someone who maybe is mostly just a regular woman and would still maybe help them if they’re desperate enough to ask. Or him, at least.”
“Yeah.”
For a few hours, you and Jeongguk work together in his office, and you nearly forget about yesterday’s mishap, trying to find more info on this ‘Jimin.’ Until you find yourself nearly chest to chest with him after turning around too quickly and not expecting him so close. Instead of meeting your eyes sweetly and slowly lowering his head to kiss you like he probably would’ve even yesterday, he smiles and… backs up a few steps.
“Hey, should we take a break? Have a late lunch?” Jeongguk stretches his arms out in front of him.
You continue noting down some last names from your phone onto a paper, using the chair Jeongguk wheeled into his office specifically for you as a table while sitting on the floor. “Uh, you go ahead. I had a late breakfast.”
He stands up. “Oh. I didn’t notice.”
“Mhm, you were already in here.”
“I can wait then, and we can eat together.”
“It’s alright; go ahead.”
He mumbles something you don’t quite catch, but he does leave you to your notes and disappears from the office.
For the rest of the day, it’s just as if you’ve taken two or even three steps back. You don’t… touch a lot, and you definitely don’t kiss. A part of you misses it, but another part is relieved that he’s giving you space. He’s still very, very sweet, of course. You didn’t expect anything else.
Like when you open a cupboard, gaze set on a specific mug of his you’ve taken a liking to thanks to the very big ear that prevents the hot tea from burning your hand even through the ceramic. Compared to your male roommate, you’re lacking a little more in the vertical department and for some reason, whoever emptied the dishwasher placed the mug on the top shelf.
You look at it for three seconds, debating on whether you should grab a kitchen chair and climb or simply admit defeat and choose the next best mug. You’re about to go for the latter option when your hero swoops in, wordlessly and casually picking it down for you, a mug of his own raised to his mouth.
“Thank you,” you take the offering from his hand, a smile growing on your lips.
“You’re welcome.”
Or how he’ll still open whatever door you run into for you, to the point that it wouldn’t surprise you if he tried to open the automatic doors and hold them open with his hands when he takes you grocery shopping.
And sometimes, you do touch. Whenever he’s quick enough to exit the driver’s seat and open the passenger door for you, he holds his hand out for you, and when you take it, he helps you out as if you can’t step out of the car on your own.
When you watch a movie, you don’t sit glued to each other, but he’s not scared to gently pull your feet–which you’ve complained all day of being tired–onto his lap to briefly massage them for you. He smiles at you, all crinkle-cornered sparkly-eyed and dimpled. On two short occasions, he holds your hand carefully, something you don’t object to because it feels nice, it really does.
But despite all these things, you still sleep in your bedroom. You don’t lock the door, but you do sleep alone.
Three days after the incident during the power outage, you’ve worked a long day in Jeongguk’s office. Alone, because he had to leave for the station at nine a.m.. You’ve had a lot of time to think, not only today but ever since what happened–and before that honestly–and it’s become very clear that you need to make a decision. Maybe you should simply gather your courage, give it a shot, and tell him how you feel about him, no matter what happens after?
Despite feeling somewhat determined and having some kind of honestly not very thought out plan, you’re anxious, wandering around the house as you wait for him to return.
An hour before he comes home, you find yourself in front of the washing machine, throwing the black hoodie into it finally. With the machine on, you head into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of wine. It helps a little, and the remaining nerves that still reside in your chest, you decide to just try to ignore.
The sound of his bike is what notifies you of his return, and you leave the kitchen to meet him in the garage, watching as he swings his leg over the bike and takes the black helmet off, holding it under his arm.
“Hey,” he greets when he sees you waiting, a genuine smile on his face. “How was your day?”
“Uh… good. Narrowed down the Jimins a bit, I think.”
“That’s great,” he grins, his elatedness infecting you too, causing you to smile a little hesitantly despite the nerves devouring you. “Have you eaten yet? I know it’s kinda late but if not; I could cook something?”
He puts the helmet on one of the shelves that line one of the walls, and then he comes to stand before you.
You keep your eyes on the jacket with the police emblem on it before you peer up at him. A little hesitantly, you reach for the zipper of his jacket, fiddling a little with it.
“I, uh… actually have something else I want to do. Something I’d like to try… If you’re up for it…”
Tentatively, you reach your hand out, fingers pulling down the zipper of his jacket. He watches you curiously, doing nothing to stop you.
“What is it? That you want to do?” he asks, his warm voice definitely sounding curious but not overly so.
You swallow, deciding to just go for it and slowly placing your arms around his neck, “Well… Do you have any… handcuffs?”
He tilts his head, holding your waist while looking at you, searching. “For me? I do, but we don’t have to do anything; you know that, right?”
“Yeah, but if I really want to? Or maybe you…” you realize that he might just not want to. Like, at all. Oh, how embarrassing.
Seemingly noticing the way you take a step back, lowering your arms from around his neck, he stops you, his hands keeping them there.
“No, no. I’m always willing to let you do whatever you’re comfortable with. I don’t mind.”
His encouragement has a more genuine smile pulling on your mouth.
“Meet me in your bedroom then?” you ask, “And bring the cuffs.”
Not waiting for a confirmation, you drop your hands from his neck, and you turn around to head inside the house. Your heart is pounding, going absolutely haywire while you wait for him on the edge of his bed. Maybe you should’ve worn something else? Something other than just a pair of mom jeans and a blue sweater, but it’s too late now, you guess.
He shows up only a minute later, eyes curiously observing the heavy chair you’ve moved from the corner and into the middle of his room. The first thing he does is unbutton the dark blue shirt of his uniform, sliding it down his arms and throwing it onto the bed. You look at his chest and his arms and his stomach, and you see how he notices. This… humble confidence looks so good on him, and it’s so insanely different from how he acted during the mission. You’ve never seen anyone so attractive.
The next thing he does is approach you where you’re sitting, offering you his hand all while smiling sweetly… but still a little cheekily.
Placing your hand in his, you’re pulled up to your feet, basically chest to chest with him. There’s heat in his gaze, but it’s not scalding; it’s just warm.
You give in.
“Kiss me?”
He searches your eyes for hidden answers, but you really do want him to kiss you, and so he does. He places one hand on your lower back, moving your body with him as he steps back and sits down on the chair. Ending up sitting across one of his thighs, you open your eyes when he pulls away just enough to speak.
“I don’t mind you doing… whatever you want to do, if that’s just sitting on my lap or… exploring me. I’m all for it. Do what you want to do. But,” he says, emphasis on that last word. “Only do what you actually want to.”
You nod, and he reaches down to pull something out of his pocket. The handcuffs. You take them from him, pocketing the small key.
“By the way, how did you get out of the cuffs at the house?” you ask, weighing the metal in your hand.
“I went and got another key before. So I threw you one key and kept the other.”
You feel your forehead crease as you think about what that means. You were only able to relax when you thought he couldn’t hurt you, but he… could? At any point, he could’ve simply unlocked the cuffs himself?
“I didn’t keep a key because I had ulterior motives or anything. I was just worried you might hurt yourself or pass out for real, like, stop breathing and everything, so I needed a way to get to you if that were to happen.”
“I didn’t even think about that,” you admit quietly. It’s true; the fact that you had multiple pairs of handcuffs with you to the house, and they all use the same universal key entirely slipped your mind. “But of course. How stupid of me.”
“It wasn’t stupid. You were under a lot of stress, and I used that to my advantage, hoping you wouldn’t think about it.”
Standing up, you round the chair to kneel behind it. Without having to be asked, Jeongguk puts his hands back and waits for you to cuff them together.
“So I’m tightening these extra hard and making sure I have all keys,” you joke, still fastening them tight enough for him not to be able to slip them off.
“If that’s what you need to feel comfortable. But I hope you know that I’ll always listen to you.”
You nod, maybe more so to yourself when you stand in front of him again. He looks up at you where he sits, shirtless and looking gorgeous and absolutely mouthwatering.
You bite your lip briefly. “Can I… kiss you?”
“Whatever you want,” he grins, a smile that widens when you sit down on one of his thighs again.
“Okay. Close your eyes?”
Without a word, he obeys your request, and you feel yourself get almost hypnotized, looking at him. You’ve truly never seen anyone so stunning, even to the point that you could sit and gaze at him for hours. The best of mankind but still very much a man. You remember how you used to hate him, thinking God wasted this incredible beauty on someone so ugly, but although you’re not entirely sure how you feel about him, you know you don’t hate him.
Carefully, you trace your fingers along his sharp jaw, and despite his eyelashes fluttering, he doesn’t open his eyes. Unable to help yourself and because you truly don’t think he minds, you allow your gaze to drop. His neck is relatively thick, and the veins are only slightly visible compared to when he’s physically active. Your eyes then land on his collarbones. Then his wide, muscular shoulders and pecs. Then the scar, before traveling across his abs.
“You’re so pretty,” you state quietly, looking up at his face just in time to watch him smirk.
“Pretty is for girls; I’m a man.”
You can’t quite explain the emotional wave that hits you as you come to terms with what you have to do–the decision he’s made for you–but you know that you have to hide it, can’t make a sound of hurt in the silent room. Pressing your lips together, you look around the bedroom before you rise from his thigh.
“What are you doing?” Jeongguk asks, still smiling and oblivious, his eyes closed.
Already at the window, you untie the white curtain’s tieback and hold it up. “What about this?”
He opens his eyes and looks at the white piece of fabric in your hand, but doesn’t appear too skeptical. “For what purpose?”
“Blindfold.”
Trying to keep a positive and somewhat fear free mindset, it still hurts when you see how he immediately connects the blindfold to how you shielded your chest from his eyes. There’s pain and there’s guilt swimming in his dark eyes.
“You can, but please don’t do anything you don’t want to.”
“I won’t,” you promise.
“Okay then.”
With his permission, you place the folded sash over his eyes and tie it in the back, careful not to trap any hairs. When you’re done, you take another second to look at him. There is something so irresistible about him, something that has your heart yearning and your body pulled in. He’s so warm, both body and presence. You bite your lip, using your hand to trace his cheek softly while thinking about how he’s so conflicting. What if you want to stay here forever? Curl up like this where he can’t touch you, and lean your head against his neck where he can’t see you?
Like the time when you kissed three days ago, you touch your thumb to his soft lips, and you let the smile and the mask you’ve been wearing fall. Quietly, you stand up, and you take a step back.
“I thought you were going to kiss me?” Jeongguk jokes lightly.
You don’t know what to say, stuck in your footing to the floor and how he can’t see you. It’s like a weight has dropped from your shoulders, but your heart still feels heavy.
“I’m sorry.”
Not picking up the real meaning behind your words, Jeongguk tilts his head. “Okay. It’s alright. Why don’t you uncuff me and we can maybe order dinner instead?”
“I’m leaving tonight.”
“Wait… what?” he straightens up, struggling to process your words, “Why?”
But you go silent again, unsure of exactly how you’ll ever be able to tell him everything. He calls your name, sounding stressed, and you hear how he tugs on the cuffs.
“You scare me.”
He stops, and you can tell by the way he seems to almost be holding his breath that it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear.
“I… I understand that you’ve been through a lot, but I’m never going to hurt you.”
You keep your eyes on him, feeling like he, himself most likely believes what he’s saying. But it’s not that easy.
“I know… that all in all, you’re a good man. You want to help me and others, and I know you said that not even when you thought I was the most selfish person in the world would you be able to hurt me physically. But you had no problem hurting me in other ways.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry for what I did. I’ve apologized for that, and I’ll keep doing it.”
“I don’t know how to read you,” you add, disregarding what he said because he has apologized, but not in the way that you needed. Not in a way that really matters to you. If this man hasn’t had you broken in a thousand pieces and still insisted on stepping on the remains.
So you keep going. “You look sweet–you’ve been sweet, but you look just like him. Hoseong was sweet too, until he wasn’t. And you… you have this desire to hurt, you want to inflict pain on those who wrong you or who you think have done you wrong. What happens if you think I’ve done something you don’t agree with?”
“I’m not jumping to conclusions without talking to you, I’m not making the same mistake again–”
“What if I actually do something you don’t like?”
For a few seconds, he goes quiet. “I’m not going to hurt you ever again, I promise.”
You fiddle with your hands, glancing down at them. “Are you sure? It was so easy for you, using all my weaknesses against me and breaking me down without ever asking me for my side of the story. And it scares me how you, during the mission, showed just how easy it was for you to one moment act like you could stand me–looking just as sweet as you do now–then angrily tear me down the next.”
It hurts in your whole body but the worst pain originates from your chest. You feel small, insignificant, but also like you take up too much room.
“I know that you probably don’t want to hurt me physically, and that you’re a better man than most, and at first when we came back, it wasn’t too difficult to ignore what you…. think of me, but now…? I kissed you, and you kissed me back, and it just… everything is coming back. I’ve been trying to tell myself that you wouldn’t hurt me at all anymore and that maybe you even like me like I like you, but I know that you don’t. Which in turn makes it hard to know why you’re doing all of this. I think maybe you feel guilty or want to be nice? Give me a chance even though I’m not your… type. But I… I like you. I really, really like you.”
It’s easier to admit than you originally thought, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. “I want to look at you every second of the day and my hands absolutely yearn to touch you all over. But I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t want you to look at me. I don’t want to be perceived at all. I know that if I stay here and show myself to you, you will not like what you see. You will be disappointed.”
Jeongguk shakes his head, not straining against the cuffs anymore but taking on a calmer approach. “It’s not true. I really do like you, and I think you’re really pretty. Please, I apologized for the things I said, and I’ll do it again. I’m really sorry; I just said those things because I wanted to hurt you. “
“You did. You hurt me, and I’m hurt. You apologized for wanting to hurt me, but you’ve never impli–actually, It doesn’t matter. I know what I look like, it’s kinda hard to forget when you’re constantly reminded. You and your friends came for every single flaw of mine, Jeongguk. “
“I only continued because you never seemed fazed by it.”
“‘I never seemed–’”, you stop to chuckle in disbelief. Your eyes are tearing up as you recall the moments you’re about to remind him of.
“Are you saying that you never noticed that I stopped eating lunch at the cafeteria after what you did? Hoseong said that maybe someone would actually like me if I ‘ate less,’ and you laughed like it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. That was the day after you walked past me in the cafeteria, saying ‘leave some for the rest of us, why don’t you?’ Jihyo brought cookies for her birthday two weeks later, and you suggested–in front of everyone–that maybe I should do something else with my mouth besides eat. I criticized the fact that no male officer wanted to work on ‘low-rewarding’ cases like my trafficking case, and you… Do you remember what you said?”
Your eyes are already blurry with silent tears, and you feel the humiliation drown you. There’s no way to go, nowhere to hide. People like Jeongguk are watching, inspecting and observing every little part of you. Your bottom lip trembles.
Jeongguk is silent. If he could see, he’d be looking at your feet. You were right to blindfold him because you would’ve never been able to speak so earnestly had you not. Although you like him, and he’s been so kind and sweet to you, you’re back to feeling like nothing in his eyes.
“‘It’s not about the case; it’s about you. You couldn’t pay me to even look at you. In fact, I bet not even the traffickers would take you, otherwise we would’ve definitely traded you.’”
The pain radiates from your chest, leaving no cell of your body unaffected at the implications. You are so ugly and disgusting to him that if he had the chance, he would’ve sacrificed you to a fate no one should ever have to face.
He doesn’t give you a reaction now either; he just sits there with his head lowered. But this is your one chance to tell him how you really feel. You take a big, shaky breath.
“I was doing okay before all of this. Sure, I’ve always known that I have a lot of flaws, but I was doing okay. But you’ve said over and over again that I disgust you, my body makes you want to hurl, you wouldn’t fuck me if your life depended on it, etcetera. It takes its toll. Eating around men gives me anxiety, even if I try to hide it. I cover up my… shoulders as much as I can because I can hear you describe them as ‘manly,’ and how every man within earshot chuckles.
“I wear thick bras and tops, especially around you, because you made it a habit to comment on my breasts and how unfortunately shaped and sized they are. I remember how you asked me how on earth I ever expected Hoseong to like me when I had the ‘saggiest tits in the district.’ And I remember the field day you had when you found out they’re a bit uneven, finding a way to lower your rating of me from a 0.5 out of 10 to a 0.1. Then you asked the other men for their opinion and rating. Or how you’ve so kindly informed me that I didn’t have the tits for that pretty, blue dress and that it looked awful on me. Are you saying that you didn’t notice that whatever you’ve commented on, I’ve never worn again? Not even anything similar?
“I don’t wear tighter pants without a longer shirt to cover my ‘misshapen,’ ‘unfeminine’ hips and the ‘weird dips’ you’ve laughed at, and whenever work dress codes require me to, I’ve avoided you and other men the best I could.
“I wore a skirt to work once, and when I ran into you before changing into my uniform, you said that skirts are for pretty girls and that no one wanted to see my… cellulite. You took every chance to remind me that I have myself to blame for being undesirable, and that men weren’t the problem, I am, and ‘how wasn’t I ashamed for thinking someone like Hoseong could ever like me?’
"Believe me, I was ashamed. I am ashamed. Do you think I never considered just… drinking the poisoned coffee? Or just starting the car even though I knew the brakes wouldn’t work? If there was a way to get rid of one’s body, believe me, I would’ve. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t know what he did to me at the time because how I looked never changed. But looking like you do, I get that you don’t understand how it is to walk around, filled with shame for existing in such an unfortunate body, but I can tell that you want to be better. Maybe you feel bad and want to give me a free trial of how it is to be with a Good Man. Or you want to do the ‘right thing’ so that your dad would be proud? I don’t know, but I can’t ignore the fact that I know how you really perceive me and how you are so far out of my league, it’s embarrassing to even stand here and say it.
"So while I appreciate everything you’ve done for me cause I’d be dead and gone without you, I can’t stay here. You want someone to hold hands with and to buy flowers for, but that’s not for people like me.”
Finally done, you wipe the tears that fall, and you shakily swallow the lump that’s formed in your throat.
“Take the blindfold off and uncuff me,” he begs, once again straining against the handcuffs. You know he isn’t getting out of them, and while he could stand up, the chair is too heavy for him to just pull along with him when he’s got the blindfold on and no sight. He knows, just as well as you, that there’s no use.
“No.”
“Then listen to me; none of that was true. You are so pretty, so breathtaking. I like you so much.”
“Forgive me for not believing you. If you really thought I was even remotely pretty, there have been countless opportunities for you to say so. Or even just a ‘hey, you know you’re not actually as revolting as I told you.’”
“I… I didn’t want to overwhelm you or have you doubt my intentions, but I’m telling you now that I’ve always thought you to be beautiful.”
You scoff sadly. “Yeah, now when the consequences of your actions have arrived,” you glance down at your feet, feeling so insignificant.
“Please don’t leave.”
“I’ve already packed my stuff.”
“Where are you going? You can’t go home; it isn’t safe there.”
Truly, at this moment, your safety doesn’t seem like your top priority. “I’ll be careful.”
“Can’t you stay with someone, at least?” he bargains, “Jihyo or Sana?”
Another tear falls, and your voice goes quiet. “I want to go home.”
You really do. You haven't been home in months, and you feel like a child sleeping over at a friend's, missing your mom so much it hurts and just wishing she'd come and pick you up.
“I know, but you just gotta hold out a little bit longer. Call Jihyo, please. Do you want me to watch your house twenty-four seven, cause I will.”
You consider his words, and if there’s anything you don’t want, it’s to have him so close again. “Fine. I’ll call her tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“Yeah…”
With nothing really left to say, you pull your phone out of your pocket, opening the Uber app.
“I’ll uncuff you in a few minutes, I’m just ordering an Uber.”
Luckily, a car is only three minutes away, and so with quick fingers you confirm it. You packed your stuff three hours ago in case this would be the outcome, something you’re very grateful for now. Maybe, maybe, if he had said something, you would’ve kissed him and decided to stay, hoping that he was being honest. But you know that you might be a sweet girl to him, but you're not a pretty girl.
A minute passes, and you sigh sadly. “Okay, I’m gonna open the handcuffs, but I’m begging you, Jeongguk, stay there until I’m gone, okay? Don’t remove the blindfold, please?”
It’s his turn to seemingly consider what you’re saying. What you did, agreeing to call Jihyo, was for him and respecting his wishes. So he has to respect yours. He can’t rip off the blindfold the moment you twist the key in the cuffs and try to persuade you to stay, no matter if he wants to.
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
You decide to trust him, and with the key belonging to the cuffs, you round the chair where he’s sitting. Kneeling like before, you manage to unlock one of the cuffs in two seconds, and the metal clinks as it falls off his wrist. Instead of freeing his other wrist as well, you grasp his free hand and put the key into his palm, closing his fist around it.
Though you shouldn’t have expected him to be entirely quiet and still, because while he doesn’t make any move to rise from the chair or remove the blindfold, he does swiftly grab your hand, holding it firmly. Despite being blindfolded, it definitely feels like he’s staring straight at you behind him.
“Don’t believe anything any of us said, please. You really are so gorgeous, and not only that but you’re incredibly smart and hard-working. You’re amazing, and I will regret what I did to you for the rest of my life.”
But you hurt so much on the inside that you don’t say anything to that, you just pull your hand out of his grasp.
<previous | next>
author's note: so.... anyway, uh... like, comment, and subscribe <333
#jungkook#jeongguk#bts#bangtan#jungkook angst#jungkook fluff#jungkook smut#jungkook au#jungkook imagine#jungkook scenario#jungkook fic#jungkook ff#bts fanfic#bts angst#bts fluff#bts smut#bts imagine#bts x you#bts x reader#bts x y/n#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook x y/n#police jungkook#officer jungkook#cop jungkook#spy jungkook#undercover jungkook#fake marriage#enemies to lovers jungkook
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My pussy, isn’t yours to play with baby ! — Ino Takuma !
Warnings: spanking, rough sex, nudes, being horny during missions, mild jealousy, slight creampie !
Ino teaching his poor baby a lesson:( /🌽link
Ino Takuma
You recently learned that your boyfriend Ino, was pretty popular with the girls, so being jealous at times was one of your daily moods.
You were waiting for your boyfriend to arrive home from his two day mission, and today was the day he comes back .
You couldn’t wait until he got home, so you did something he never lets you do. You play with yourself, moving your panties to the side, and using two fingers on yourself.
You pulled them in and out of you as you moved them into a slow motion, humming as you thought of your fingers as Ino’s dick inside you.
You loved Ino, and his sweet dick, his cum always tasted like candy or just really sweet in general, and you sometimes forget how hard you make him by just the slightest things. You really wished he was here right now inside of you.
Only maybe is that the reason you don’t hear him calling your name or the fact that he came inside your shared apartment. You don’t even hear him walking up the stairs because you’re too busy playing with your pretty pussy, no?
You’re still pushing your fingers inside of you, not even noticing Ino standing at the door, waiting for you to stop and notice him so he can finally pounce on you for playing with his pretty pussy. Poor Ino, just standing there rock hard, waiting so he can pounce on you.
You stop, and hear the creak open, you tilt your head as you prepared to attack with whatever that was nearby. You see Ino just standing there, relieved it wasn’t a robber.
“Ino — you scared me, what are you doing here? Don’t you have a mission to be on?” He didn’t say anything except walk towards you. He sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed your legs, pulling them closer to him.
“My pussy, which means don’t touch her until I get home, what do you not understand ‘bout that?” He questioned you, pulling your lacy panties down, and humming at the sight.
“All wet, and just for me right?” He says, looking up at you as he used his thumb to rub your sensitive, puffy clit. He used his other fingers to trace your wetness.
Meanwhile, you’re just letting out babbles about who knows what, knowing damn well that Ino wasn’t listening, because you decided to play with his pussy, this was probably the first and last time you’d be able to do that.
Poor Ino, doesn’t even know where you got the thought to play with yourself while he was gone, couldn’t you have waited till he got home?
Sometimes Ino wonders how he got such a pretty girl, with a stupid brain, though it’s not like he’d actually admit that. He hummed as he took his thumb off your clit, and pushed his fingers inside of you.
“Need to prep you.. just for my dick, it changed you know baby?” He hummed, his fingers moving at a quick motion in and out of you. He got slightly faster, now you really wish you hadn’t touched yourself.
Maybe you would’ve gotten a reward, but no, you decided to touch Ino’s sweet cunt, and think you could get away with that? Nope! Especially if you sent him some nudes, he’ll live up to his word when he says he’ll be home early.
That’s simply on you for not believing him! Now what? You got caught playing with his cunt, and now you’re being punished for it.
“Told ya, I was gonna come home early, and you didn’t even wait to see if I was telling the truth. Whose fault is that? Say it.” He says, his fingers continuing to move at an inhuman speed.
All that came out of your mouth were stupid babbles. “Hngh ~! M-Mine !” You managed to get out, gripping the sheets as you feel your climax coming, hopefully he lets you cum, even after touching his cunt.:((
He used his other hand to unbuckle his belt, using it to shove down his pants and his undergarments. He hummed, as he lazily stroked his dick.
He took his fingers from your soaking cunt, and positioned his throbbing dick at your soaked entrance. Just pushing the tip inside of you. “Ino — please, don’t tease me !” You whined, you were desperate for him, but didn’t think you were that desperate.
He rolled his eyes, as he laid down on his back. He hummed, as he looked at you. “What are you waiting for? You wanted this dick, so you have to work for it, it’s only fair, no?”
He questioned you, you whined in response, straddling him in the process as you positioned your poor, sensitive cunt over his hard dick.
You placed your hands on his chest, lowering yourself on him slowly. You winced at his size, he wasn’t lying when he said he had changed. You were going too slow for him so he gripped your hips, and slammed you down onto his dick.
You let out a muffled scream as you covered your mouth using his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around your waist, and began ramming into you at an incapable speed.
He left kisses on your shoulder and collarbone, his poor baby, way too sensitive to handle his big dick, you would have been prepped more if you weren’t such an impatient brat.
“I told you, I developed, and changed. But you still wanted me, and I even tried prepping you, you didn’t want that, so this is the consequence of your actions baby.” He whispered into your ear.
You were being fucked dumb, you could barely understand what he was saying. You were surprised he could speak properly with how fast he was fucking you.
He even sped up, if that was possible, groaning into your ear as he gripped the fat of your hips, one hand going to your ass.
“Told your ass — fuck — I developed, baby. Did you listen?” He questioned you, expecting an answer but you clearly couldn’t give him one by how fucked out you were.
“Answer me baby.” He hummed, his thrusting slowing down. He lightly spanked that sweet ass of yours, and you knew he definitely wasn’t going to speed back up, and give you that climax you craved until you answered him.
“N-no ! I didn’t — just please don’t slow down Ino !” You whined, wrapping your arms around his neck as he smiled, thrusting back into you, to give you that sweet release you craved.
“C-Cumming !” Your poor cunt probably was bruised, letting out the most loudest moan you probably have since you and Ino have been together.
You finally came, holding onto Ino, as he chased his high, it finally reaching. He pulled out, and came onto your back and the bedsheets.
“Are you hurt baby?” He questioned, laying you down next to him as he sat up. You shook your head, looking at him. “Good, I’ll go set you a bath okay? I’ll even go buy some of your favorite treats while you bathe.” He says, getting up.
He went into the bathroom, and began running the water, he put a bath bomb of your favorite color into the water, and walked back out to you. He picked you up and carried you to the bathroom, setting you down in the water.
“I love you baby.” He murmured, kissing your forehead. “I love you more Ino.” You said, smiling as you got comfortable while Ino went to go get your favorite snacks.
I really tried on this one for the smut !! Let me know how you liked it, and feel free to request ! I do any animes, and even if I don’t know it, I’ll try just for you !!
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can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 11
Or: a secret Admirer AU
PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10
Steve waits until everyone’s gone home to open the letter. Chrissy had ribbed him over not sharing but, no matter how supportive she is, she just doesn’t get it—she can’t. No matter what she’s shared, her and Jeff are clearly dating. And even if they hadn’t been, Jeff likes girls. The worst thing that would’ve happened is him turning her down.
With Eddie? The worst thing that could happen is total annihilation.
And Steve’s never been good at holding himself back. He cares fast, and he cares hard, and he can never quite stop, no matter what changes, or how much distance he puts between himself and the other person. Look at Nancy, and Tommy, and Carol, and his parents, and every single relationship he’s had where he’s all in, and the other person never meets him. He doesn’t even need halfway, hell, he’d take a quarter.
But even that’s never how it works out. If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that Steve Harrington is too much, always.
So, if his fingers shake as he opens the letter, who can blame him?
But, inside is everything he could have ever asked for—Because you’re it, baby. He caresses the words, fingers trembling, heart shuddering in his chest to a beat that sounds a lot like, “maybe, maybe, maybe.”
He knows it’s stupid. This letter isn’t for Steve, not really. It’s Chrissy’s face Eddie pictured when he wrote it, Chrissy’s lips he imagined kissing, Chrissy’s hand he imagined holding. But, it’s hard to remember, when there’s such longing on the page in front of him.
He doesn’t know what to say, thoughts running too fast to pick them out and write them down. He tries, pen stuttering over the page in half-formed sentences, until he’s left with:
Eddie —
You don’t want to know what I
Someone has loved you. I love
I’ll take anything you
Fuck
Hee crumples the letter up into a ball, and tosses it across the room toward the trash bin. He shoots, he misses, he lays down with all the lights still on.
Steve stares down at Eddie’s letter, helpless in the face of the bubbling hope, unwilling to squash it. He folds the letter back up and puts it under his pillow, hoping for dreams, just like Eddie had said.
He doesn’t.
Steve’s tired the next morning, zoning out during class, and shuffling through the halls like a zombie. Chrissy keeps sending him worried looks, and even Robin asks if he’s okay in Mrs. Click’s class, which she was right, they do share.
Steve tells her he’s just tired, and she drops it, but there’s a sad, knowing smile on her face.
It happens at lunch. Eddie jumps up on his lunch table, boots thudding loudly against its metal surface, drawing all eyes in the room toward him. Everyone looks away, familiar with his tabletop rants by now, but Steve can’t look away.
Eddie’s magnetic when he’s like this, a black hole swirling everything up in its path. Steve doesn’t want to miss a thing, barely blinks as Eddie begins the familiar walk across the Hellfire table.
“Forced conformity, folks—it’s what’s killing the kids!” he cries, clapping fast to punctuate the sentence. Across Steve’s own table, Tommy boos, gaining momentum when the people around him laugh and join in. “Oh, don’t act so high and mighty, Hagan, you’re the worst of all.”
He’s grinning, but it’s not the dimpled one. He’s just baring his teeth, a predator scenting blood. “You’re all so focused on shooting balls in laundry baskets, like that’s all there is, but guess what? You’re going to be a washed-up has-been before you’re even out of this school.”
He takes a few steps forward, eyes straying from Tommy farther up the table, making it clear he’s talking to all of them. “You don’t realize that daddy’s money’s gonna dry up, and you’ll be left with a wife and three kids you don’t even like, reliving the old glory days like they were even worth remembering.”
“Come say that to my face, Munson!” Tommy cries, standing up from the table as the rest of them egg him on.
Eddie makes a little rock and roll symbol and smirks, like that’s exactly what he wanted Tommy to say. “And you know what? That’s all you’ll deserve for the shit you’ve pulled. A sad lonely life with your sad flaccid dick.”
And suddenly, he’s looking right at Steve, gaze piercing straight through Steve and into his soft, squishy underbelly. There’s blood in the water, and by Eddie’s laugh, he can taste it. “You’ve earned it,” he says, not even blinking, his eyes so intense Steve can’t breath with it. “After all, once a jock, always a jock.”
Chrissy links their fingers and squeezes his hand beneath the table. Steve blinks, spell broken as he squeezes her back in thanks. He looks down at his remaining chicken nuggets, appetite gone.
“You okay?” Chrissy asks, barely audible with all the continued heckling.
Steve glances up just in time to watch Eddie jump down from the table and plop his ass down like none of it happened at all. He’s laughing as Jeff and Gareth pat his back, but he looks deflated, like the whole spectacle took everything out of him.
“I will be,” Steve replies, pushing his lunch tray away.
If nothing else, he has something to write now.
***
Eddie can’t get the look on Harrington’s face out of his mind. He’d been at the top of his game, riling the jocks up enough that Hagan had jumped up like a jack-in-the-box. But, then he’d looked at Harrington, and it’d all gone wrong.
The guy was drooping into himself, mouth down-turned, eyes like a kicked puppy. Eddie stuttered, got caught up in him, something unnameable stuck in his throat. Eddies doesn’t even know what he’d said after that, couldn’t hear himself think much less speak, until Harrington finally looked down at the tabletop and their eye contact broke.
Now he’s stumbling over his words, trying not to even look Harrington’s way as he finishes off his speech. It lacks the usual oomph, but Eddie doesn’t care; he just wants the whole thing to end.
Eddie stumbles down into his chair, shuddering through his smile as Gareth and Doug elbow him in the side, ribbing him good-naturedly. He chokes out a laugh, and doesn’t look at the jock’s table for the rest of lunch.
The next time he sees Harrington, there’s another complication to contend with in the form of Robin Buckley, best known for her proficiency on the trumpet and quirky outfits. And now? She’s best known for attaching herself like a barnacle to Harrington’s side.
Except, if she was a barnacle, Harrington might at least try to shake her off. But, no. He just smiles at her, and whispers with her, as she inserts herself between Chrissy and Harrington like she belongs there.
Chrissy, for her part, seems to like the girl as well.
Eddie doesn’t get it, can’t comprehend what the hell’s happening, and it makes something squirmy and viscous sink into his stomach every time Buckley inserts herself between the pair, every time they smile at her.
But, they still stop to talk to him in between classes, so Eddie tries to drop it.
“It just doesn’t make sense!” Eddie cries, phone clutched to his ear, not even letting Gareth get a word out before he’s continuing the conversation Jeff had rudely interrupted by showing up to lunch. “What the hell is Harrington’s deal?”
“Dude, you’re like, obsessed,” Gareth replies, clearly talking around a mouthful of whatever after-school snack he’d chosen this time.
“Is he trying to date every girl in school at the same time?” he whines, yanking on his hair hard enough that his scalp tingles.
“You’re just jealous,” he replies, and that same squirmy feeling makes Eddie wriggle his whole body, like there’s a chill in the air.
Is the heater on the fritz again?
“Of who?” Eddie screeches before quieting down, peeking into the living room to make sure Uncle Wayne hasn’t stirred. He hasn’t, but Eddie still keeps his voice lowered as he continues hissing into the receiver. “Of Harrington? Don’t be absurd.”
Gareth laughs, “I don’t know, man, but this whole thing is just getting weird.”
“I know, right? What are they up to?” Eddie asks, ignoring Gareth’s muttered “not what I meant,” like he hadn’t said anything at all.
He never figures it out because Buckley never comes around—not to band practice, or Hellfire, or any of the other times Chrissy and Eddie (and Harrington) are in the same place. Eddie should be relieved. He’s not.
Everything is spiraling out of his control.
But, the letters keep coming, and Eddie keeps devouring them
Eddie —
I really liked your tabletop speech this week, even though you made fun of the jocks. Some of them definitely deserve it. Do you hate all of them, or just the bullies?
You laughed, but it wasn’t your real laugh like when Mr. Danver accidentally said ‘orgasm’ instead of ‘organism’. I love your laugh, I thought about it all day. Kind of like when your favorite song gets stuck in your head.
I know I’ve said it before, but I do really like you. But, if you knew me, I don’t think you’d like me. It’s okay, though. I’m stupid like that—always putting my whole heart into people who don’t feel the same.
I’m sorry, this is probably not the letter you hoped to get. I’ll be better next time, promise.
Yours,
Your Secret Admirer
P.S. Put your response in the World Atlas, the long one that they have to put sideways on the bookshelf (because no matter where you are, I’ll always think of you).
They all make something flutter within him like his lungs are growing wings and flapping themselves out of his body entirely. Even as it leaves him breathless and aching, he wants more of it, longs for it.
It’s just—she sounds so sad, lately, like she’s losing hope in this at all.
All Eddie wants to do is reassure her. So, he keeps writing back, pulling his heart off his sleeve and flinging it down on the page for Chrissy to read, hoping he’ll somehow see those same feelings reflected in her eyes.
He never does.
So, he pokes; he wheedles; he pines for a girl on a page that never quite stands before him. And he pours it all onto the page.
Secret Admirer,
I don’t think it’s all jocks—you’re too nice for that. But even you have to admit that a lot of the jocks are only doing it to be at the top of the food chain. Guys like Carver and Harrington Hagaon? They don’t even care about sports, they just want peons to fawn over them. But, there’s people like you, too, so maybe more of them are better than I expect.
I can’t imagine knowing who you are and not liking you. You’re the nicest girl I know. You don’t have to tell me who you are, but if you do? I promise, it’ll all be okay.
Yours, always,
Eddie
P.S. You don’t have to “be better,” baby. I just want you to be you. That will always be enough for a guy like me.
It’s not enough—something is breaking open in him that words on the page can’t quite mend.
“I’m going to ask her out,” Eddie says once Harrington and Chrissy have left the latest Hellfire session, still inexplicably coming despite never playing.
Jeff chokes on his sip of soda, coughing harshly enough that some of it comes out of his mouth and splatters onto the table.
“Gross, dude,” Doug says, but still pats his back like he’s burping a baby.
“Are you serious?” Gareth asks, tone disbelieving.
Eddie makes crazy eyes at him, trying to psychically beam all his thoughts into Gareth’s head like, yes I’m serious, and, you know about the notes, why are you looking at me like that, and, what the hell else am I supposed to do to crack this mystery wide open?
“That is such a bad idea,” Jeff cuts in once he’s got his coughing under wraps.
Eddie whips towards him, scowling at his best friend as he replies, “you’re just jealous.”
Jeff sighs, heaves himself out of his chair, says a quick, “whatever, dude,” and walks out of the room without a backward glance.
“Aren’t you his ride?” Doug asks.
Eddie flaps his hand in dismissal and replies, “forget about him,” despite his gut sinking down into his boots at Jeff’s words.
“Well, how are you going to do it?” Gareth asks, the only one of his friends to seem even remotely excited.
Eddie keeps flapping his hand and replies, “never you mind.”
That even gets Gareth to scoff, knowing Eddie well enough to know that means he’s got nothing.
But there’s a thought niggling away at his brain: why not finish this thing the same way it had begun?
On his way out the door, he drops his latest letter to Chrissy into the trash bin and doesn’t look back. He’s got a new letter to write.
***
“You know this is juvenile, right?” Jeff asks.
Chrissy pulls the world atlas off the shelf with a roll of her eyes.
Her and Steve had fought about him picking up the letters alone, and Chrissy had won the way she always does when it comes to matters of his safety. He’s sulking in the parking lot now, waiting for her to retrieve it for him.
But, there’s no letter behind the cover. She flips through the whole book, then shakes it, pages flapping wildly, to see if anything falls out. Nothing does. No note, at least not yet.
Steve will be disappointed.
“They’re boys, of course it’s juvenile,” Chrissy says, turning away from the shelf to make pointed eye contact.
If boys are stupid, Jeff is the stupidest of them all. She thinks she can see a tinge of red to his dark cheeks that makes her smile. Chrissy turns away to pick up her book bag where she’d left it on the closet table.
“There’s no letter?” Jeff asks, sounding surprised.
Chrissy sighs, responding, “not yet. I’ll have to check back tomorrow.”
Steve will be crushed. He’s been weird about the letters since he’d begun writing the first drafts alone. Even with the minor polishing Chrissy puts on them after, they’re Steve’s words and feelings, no matter what Eddie thinks. And it shows in the way he takes them home and pours over them for days before slinking back to her with the original letter and his response, cheeks rosy as she fixes his spelling errors.
“Eddie’s planning on asking you out, you know,” Jeff says.
There’s a clatter behind one of the shelves, but Chrissy barely notices. “He said that?” she asks, turning sharply toward him, hand still clutching her book bag.
Jeff nods, lips pursed. God, what are they going to do? This whole thing has spiraled so far out of either of their control. Chrissy had known when she offered that there was a chance Eddie would catch on—that he’d see her leaving a note, or catch her picking one up.
Better her than Steve, she’d thought then. No matter the awkward situation she’s found herself in, she still thinks that, even more so now. Better her than Steve. Steve, who’s proven himself kinder than she ever imagined, who would be run out of town, her ex-boyfriend at the head of the mob.
Chrissy can hear someone shuffling out of sight, feet shuffling on carpet far too close for comfort, so she steps closer to Jeff and lowers her voice.
“Do you know when?” Chrissy asks, anxiety leaching into her. She needs to talk to Steve. Flirting with Eddie is one thing, but going on a date with him? Going out with him? That’s a whole other monster.
And then, of course, there’s Jeff.
“No, he hasn’t told me anything,” he replies, something small and hurt in his voice.
Chrissy’s never had a best friend, but Steve’s given her a little taste of it, and she’d be hurt if he didn’t tell her something like this.
“He’s probably embarrassed,” Chrissy says, aching to reach out and touch, but they’re in public, and Jason could be lurking behind any corner; the last thing she wants is to put a target on another person she cares about’s back. “You’re still his best friend.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he sighs, but when she bumps their shoulders together gently, his lips quirk up.
He smiles over at her, bumping their shoulders together himself as he asks, “drive me home?” as if it isn’t a foregone conclusion. “And stay for dinner?”
That gives her pause. She can feel her cheeks flushing. Despite taking the next step in their relationship, Jeff’s never invited her in, not where his parents and brother are. They haven’t even really discussed what they are, not with this whole secret admirer thing hanging over their heads like the Sword of Damocles.
But she wants to. She wants to hold his hand in the halls, go to his house for study dates and dinner, kiss him somewhere where they don’t have to be furtive.
It’s all stolen moments with Jeff, kisses and conversations made in haste when all she wants to do is linger. So, she says, “yes, please,” and bounces out into the parking lot.
Steve isn’t there, and neither is his car.
“Maybe he went home?” Jeff asks, but he looks just as unsure as she feels.
“We’ll call him when we get to your house,” she asserts. She’s relieved when all he does is nod and follow her to her car.
She’s got a best friend to find.
***
Robin knows something’s gone wrong as soon as she sees that dangerous gleam in Carver’s eyes. She knows whatever it is, it’s about to go catastrophically wrong when she follows his line of sight to where Eddie stands chatting away with one of his friends.
Still, she stands frozen, watching in breathless horror as Eddie waves goodbye to his friend, that familiar happy grin on his face as he slides into the driver’s seat of his van. Heavy music blares from the rolled-down window as his van sputters to noisy life.
When she turns back to get her eyes on Carver, he’s gone. She spots him only as Eddie peels out of the parking lot, Carver’s douchey car hot on his heels.
Robin turns and runs back into the school. She’d spotted another douchey car still loitering in the parking lot; Steve’s in here somewhere.
She checks the library first, knows from previous confessions that it’s where he and Chrissy work on most of the secret admirer notes. It’s deserted aside from a scattering of freshmen in one corner, and Nancy Wheeler arguing with the librarian about a text the library doesn’t seem to have.
She finds herself in the gym next, unsure if any sports are currently in season, but nice guy or not, Steve’s got jock sensibilities. He likes the gym. There’s a singular kid shooting baskets, but based on the rack of balls off to the side, there might have been more.
She goes to the boy’s locker room without thinking, pushing the swinging door open with sweaty palms and shaking arms.
Inside, she finds boys, all blessedly dressed.
“Ohhh!” they call juvenilely as she stands there, shocked as four pairs of eyes lock on her.
“Girl in the locker room!” someone calls; she’s pretty sure that’s Tommy Hagan’s smug voice, but she barely notices, too caught up in trying to find her boy in the mess of bodies.
“Steve,” Robin strangles out.
Her skin feels tacky with panic sweat, and in the past five minutes of searching, she’s run her fingers through her own hair enough times to leave it sticking on end. She’s sure she looks more like a troll doll than an enticing member of the opposite sex.
“He already left,” a guy she doesn’t recognize responds, eying her up and down. “But I’d be more than happy to help you out.”
As if his meaning wasn’t already clear, he bites his lip and swipes his lip like he’s wiping up drool as all the other boys start “ooooh”ing in unison again. Is that something they’re taught in elementary, or something?
She doesn’t wait for them to continue, just turns and runs out of the locker room, panic nipping at her heels.
She runs back out to the parking lot, out of places to check and desperate to not miss Steve leaving.
That’s where she finds him, leaning casually against his car like Eddie’s life isn’t at stake.
She runs so fast, limbs uncoordinated and breaths coming rapid, that she doesn’t stop in time and hit’s Steve straight in the chest.
She bounces off, almost falling to the pavement until he grabs her shoulders and steadies her. Steve’s hands feel big on her shoulders, the pressure of his palms pushing her soul back into her body as she takes big, deep gulps.
“What’s wrong, Bobby?” he asks, already looking at her like she’s a wet puppy he’s ready to scoop into his arms and dry off with the shirt on his own back.
There’s too many witnesses, and too many damning words to be said, so all she whispers is, “you need to go, Steve.”
He wrinkles his nose, but something of the gravity of her words must sink in because he leans in without hesitation and meets her pitch as he asks, “where?”
Robin steps even closer, damn-near standing on Steve’s toes as she begins her stilted explanation.
“Jason Carver followed Eddie’s van in his car,” Robin starts, words blurring into each other in her haste to get them out. “I don’t know what he’s planning, but—“
She doesn’t get to finish; Steve bolts to the driver's side door and flings himself into his car without sparing her a second thought. She can’t blame him.
Robin only hopes he makes it in time.
PART 12
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favourite crime 3
summary: harry disappears and leaves y/n in the dark. when he finally resurfaces, they struggle to heal hurt and broken hearts.
warnings: angst, brief mentions of cheating, fluff, age gap relationship, teacher/student relationship
wordcount: 5.2k
a/n: strap in its angsty!!!!! but we’re almost at the end of the back and forth now, i want my babies to be happy 😭
thank you so much for reading & supporting 🤍 masterlist | favourite crime masterlist
“You really haven’t seen him?”
You nibbled on your lower lip as you waited for Courtney to reply, rubbing two fingers over your temple.
“No, and Josh still hasn’t heard from him either. Last I knew, he was coming to find you,” Courtney murmured, smoothing a hand over your hair.
“There’s rumours everywhere,” you told her. “He quit, he got fired. You don’t think someone found out and he had to leave?”
Courtney shook her head, leaning back in her seat. “He would’ve told you. Even if it was the last time you ever spoke, I think he would’ve told you.”
You pulled your knees to your chest, staring up at the ceiling. It had been over a week since you’d seen or heard from Harry. You’d checked with Courtney every day, hoping by some miracle that he’d gone home or spoken to Josh, but he hadn’t. He’d pushed you away in his office and then fallen off the face of the Earth.
You’d typed out and deleted texts almost every hour, rushing to check your messages and missed calls as soon as you woke up every morning. Your finger had hovered over Harry’s phone number, never hitting call.
You made sure to walk by his office everyday, hoping for some sign of life, but nothing ever came. Your mind was running wild. You couldn’t help but imagine him lying in a ditch somewhere, hurt and alone. Or on the run, dramatically changing his appearance to escape law enforcement after his relationship with you had been revealed. Or worse, he simply felt he had to disappear to save himself from you.
It wasn’t until you saw a flash of brunette curls disappearing into his door that your worry turned into white-hot rage.
Your heart rate quickened with your feet, your shaking hand fumbling with the doorknob as you barged in behind him.
The blood was pounding in your ears, every muscle in your body tense as he turned around and looked at you.
“What the fuck, Harry?”
Your voice was a whisper with all the anger of a shout, the words catching in your dry throat. Your hands balled into fists inside your sleeves as Harry looked over you, barely a speck of emotion on his face.
He was no different to the last time you saw him, his outfit one you’d seen before, each line and crease on his face no different than before. But the way he was looking at you was new. He was indifferent, arms resting at his sides as he waited for words that you couldn’t form. His eyes held nothing. You felt like a stranger to him, and you willed your feet to carry you away, back to the comfort of not knowing where he was but knowing who you were to him.
But as you turned away, he finally spoke. “How long does it take you to get home?”
“Thirty minutes,” you answered, tears resting on your eyelashes as you stared at your feet.
“Then I’ll see you in thirty minutes,” Harry replied, watching you leave his office as quickly as you burst in.
—
Harry sat in his car outside your house, his hands gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. His eyes were locked on the mirror, watching the corner of your street with a clenched jaw.
His anger simmered just beneath the surface, a volatile mix of frustration and betrayal. The minutes felt like hours as he replayed the last time he was here, stoking the fire of his anger. He was determined to hear the truth, even if it meant he would never see you again.
The second you turned the corner, his heart near stopped. You didn’t seem to notice him or his car as you approached, your eyes weary and heavy-lidded as you stared straight ahead.
Harry hadn’t paid much attention to you in his office, trying to ignore the pained furrow of your brows, the red tint of sleepless nights beneath your eyelashes, the way you looked almost exactly the same and yet so different to him. But as he looked at you then, dulled and burnt out even as the afternoon sun illuminated everything around you, his anger fell away and shame rolled through his body in a nauseating wave.
He was a grown man. With a job, a home, a life that shouldn’t involve someone in their early twenties, someone who’s education he was responsible for. You may have approached him first, but he barely thought twice before pursuing you, fisting his cock that night with only thoughts of you in his mind.
And worse than that, he’d run away. He’d backed you into a corner, fucking you, making you his, while making it clear to you that you’d never be more than a fun weekend. He’d kissed you, set up boundaries so weak that you had no choice but to push through them, making you believe that you were setting the pace and dictating what relationship you would or wouldn’t have. Then he’d backed off.
He deserved every inch of the hell he’d found himself in. Harry ran a hand through his hair, suddenly wanting to be anywhere else. He still wanted answers, but he found himself totally unfazed towards whatever the truth was. You had every right to want him to hurt.
At the sound of keys jangling in a door, he turned his head, watching you let yourself in. With a deep sigh, he followed, his legs wooden as he trudged towards the door you’d left ajar.
“Hi,” Harry murmured, slipping into your apartment behind you. He hadn’t seen it before, and it was absolutely no different than he’d expected. You had fresh flowers and house plants on almost every surface, lilies and roses in soft pinks and whites, posters and pictures dotted around the walls.
You turned to face him, dropping your bag on the kitchen counter. “Where have you been?” you asked him, your voice sharper than you intended.
You heard his breath hitch in the silence, the sound of his shoes banging as he pushed them off, his socks soft against the floor as he edged towards you. The air between you was thick, charged with everything unsaid, everything he’d been avoiding.
“I saw him,” Harry said quietly, an edge to his voice, a tightness that betrayed his restraint. “I came here.”
He’d paused a few paces away, his expression unreadable in the sunlight seeping through the window. But you could read the tension in the way his jaw was clenched, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.
“Saw who?” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to keep the hurt at bay. “You kissed me, Harry. And then you disappeared. You didn’t say a word, didn’t even let anyone know if you were okay.”
He exhaled harshly, running a hand through curls that looked like they’d been toyed with all day long. “I didn’t know what to say! What do you want me to say? I came here to apologise, but you were clearly already busy.”
“You came here after I left your office?” you questioned, your voice rising. “I was tutoring, Harry. I told you I was fucking tutoring.”
He leaned the wall, steadying himself as you knocked the wind out of him. In the entire week he’d been gone, racking his brains every day for some kind of innocent explanation, he hadn’t even remembered that.
He knew he was jealous, overly possessive, even over people he couldn’t claim, but this was a new low.
“I was tutoring Tommy, who’s in your fucking class and has a girlfriend. I needed to get my notes from my room. Which is where I’m assuming you saw us?” you paused for him to confirm, feeling rage wash over you like a tidal wave.
“He followed me into my room, and then we studied, Harry. At the dining table. On opposite sides.”
You ran a hand over your face, eyes screwed shut as you tried to make sense of it all.
“You don’t know how it looked,” Harry whispered, the colour drained from his face, his jaw clenched.
“You disappeared for a week. No communication, no word to even Josh. I was going out of my mind, Harry! There were rumours everywhere. You were hurt, you got fired, you got caught with a student - how do you think that felt? How that looked?”
His silence said more than his words ever could, and it made your blood boil. You took a step toward him, closing the distance between you, your heart pounding against your ribs.
“Why do you keep doing this?” you asked, your voice starting to tremble. “You took me to the lake, you suggested the weekend away. You thought sleeping with me and then dropping me was the best plan. You kissed me, you pushed me away. And now you seriously think that I’d do this?”
When he still kept quiet, eyes flitting across your face, your anger reached boiling point. You were being mean, you knew that. You’d had just as much of a hand in anything that happened, but blaming Harry felt easier.
“Do you think I wanted any of this? You pull me close, like you want me, like you feel something, and then the second it gets too much, you push me away. Do you even know what that does to me?”
That struck a nerve. You could see it in the way his face twisted, his body recoiling slightly as if your words struck him deeper than you intended. He looked at you, and for a moment, there was something raw in his gaze.
Harry stepped closer, his body tense as if he was barely holding himself upright. He pushed his head back, inhaling a deep, deep breath before looking back at you. “You didn’t want any of that?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“That’s not what I meant, Harry, and you know that. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than I want this. But I wanted more,” you explained, turning your back on him as you tried to keep a hold of yourself.
“It wasn’t meant to be like this,” Harry confessed, pinching the top of his nose. “I don’t know how it all got so complicated.”
“You pulled the strings, Harry. You made it this way,” you replied, letting your chin fall to your chest. Nothing made sense to you. It had been two weeks with Harry, and you’d barely even spent any time with him during those weeks. Yet you were practically falling apart, sagging under the weight of the heartbreak.
You turned back to face Harry, needing him to see the hurt he’d caused written over your face.
His eyes dropped to the floor, and for a moment, he looked as though he would say something - finally actually admit what he’d been feeling. But instead, he just shook his head, his voice barely a whisper when he spoke.
“I didn’t want it to be this way.”
You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to believe that this had all just been some misunderstanding, that he wasn’t as scared of his own feelings as you thought. But you were exhausted. Tired of the back and forth, of the emotional whiplash that had been defining whatever it was the two of you had.
“So what now?” you asked, your voice quiet but steady. “What do we do now, Harry?”
He looked up at you then, and the way he was staring, it almost felt like a plea. Like he was hoping you’d have the answer, that you’d know how to fix the mess you’d both found yourself in.
But you didn’t. And if your heart hadn’t already shattered, it would have broken at the realisation that neither did he.
The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken things. You stared at each other, neither of you knowing what to say, both of you too scared to admit how badly you needed each other.
It felt like you were standing on opposite sides of a chasm, each too wounded and too stubborn to reach across.
“I just want there to be a reality in which we can be happy.”
You turned back to face him, willing your heart not to shatter as Harry’s whisper cut through you. It was a thought you’d rejected countless times since seeing Harry in the bar that night. Happiness in a relationship, especially at the start, shouldn’t have been so hard to find and hold on to. But for some reason, there had been trouble at every turn.
You could feel the sting of tears in your eyes, the image of Harry in front of you blurring. Your hands trembled as you reached up to wipe your eye, the dam finally breaking.
Tears streamed down your face, unbidden and unstoppable. You had fought so hard to keep it together, convincing yourself that things would get better, that they could still fix what was clearly broken. But standing there in the silence in the wake of Harry’s words, you felt completely destroyed.
Harry looked away, his gaze falling to the floor as if he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes anymore. His shoulders slumped, and for a moment, he looked as if the fight had drained all the energy out of him. “I don’t want to fight with you, y/n,” he said quietly, his voice filled with exhaustion. “I hate this.”
You let his words hang in the air, unsure of anything you can say or do to make the situation better. “I need to change,” you told him eventually, padding past him towards your bedroom.
Harry watched you leave, your arms hanging limply by your sides, your steps light despite the darkness weighing on you.
He followed after a minute, holding up his fist to knock on the door, before it falls to his side. He picked it up again, reaching out for the doorknob with tentative fingers, before completely abandoning any attempt to get you to let him in. His heart broke with how badly he wanted to be there, to ease you out of the day’s clothes and help you into new ones, to wipe your tears with the soft knit of his jumper and to make it all better. But he didn’t know how to be in your space, how to comfort you when he was the very source of your tears.
When you eventually opened the door, you tried to walk straight past him, but he reached out to gently catch your arm. For a brief moment, your eyes met, and in that instant, he couldn’t hold back anymore. Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close as your body trembled. He cradled you, his hand smoothing over your hair, the other placed firmly your back, and you stood there, enveloped in him, his scent and his touch filling the space around you, until your breathing slowed.
Once you were steady, no longer wrapped tightly around him as though he was the only thing keeping you up straight, he lead you to the sofa, his hand never leaving your lower back. You lay your head in his lap, staring straight out of the window at the setting sun.
Harry softly ran his fingers through your hair, his fingertips scratching at the roots in just the way he knew you loved. A soft smile tugged at his mouth, remembering how you’d fallen asleep in seconds after his hands found your hair. His eyes never left your face, trained on every detail as though he was worried this was the last time he’d ever see them. He watched the way your eyelashes fluttered as you blinked, noticing the faint furrow of your brows starting to smooth out after a while. The pink tint at the tip of your nose, the soft freckles dotted over your cheeks, the shine on your lower lip. You were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
After some time, you shifted onto your back, turning to face him. Reaching up with a gentle hand, you l pushed a stray curl from his forehead. "I’m so sorry, Harry. I never thought things would get like this,” you whispered, a single stray tear slipping down your cheek, coming to rest on the fabric of his slacks in a tiny damp spot.
"You don’t have anything to apologise for," he replied, his voice tender, laced with emotion.
He hesitated for a moment before asking, "Are you hungry? Do you want to shower?"
You nodded at that, feeling the weight of the past week clinging to you, suddenly desperate to wash it all away.
You sat up, your head pounding after so many tears and such twisting emotions, and dragged yourself to the bathroom.
You sat on the edge of the bath, staring at yourself in the mirror. You looked exhausted, both emotionally and physically drained in the wake of a week that had nearly broken you.
Harry followed you after a few minutes, watching from the doorway as you gathered your strength. He couldn’t bear the thought of a life without you, without the colours you’d brought into his world. He kneeled in front of you, gently taking your hand in his. His touch was soft, tentative, as if he was afraid he might break you further.
“Let me take care of you,” he whispered, his voice soft. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, his gaze pleading for forgiveness, for the chance to make things right.
You nodded, too tired to protest, and that was all Harry needed. He tugged on your hands to make you stand, his hands soft and steady as he undressed you. There was a tenderness in the way he moved, a quiet determination to show you that he was still there, and that he wasn’t going to let go. Not then, not ever.
He turned on the water, making sure it was the right temperature, then adjusting the radiator so it would warm your towel as you showered. As he was about to walk away, you pulled on his arm, directing his attention back to you.
“Stay with me,” you whispered, thumbing the hem of his jumper, waiting for permission to strip him of his clothes. When he didn’t protest, you undressed him in the same way he’d done for you, then finally stepped under the water.
His fingers gently brushed your hair back, away from your face, and you closed your eyes, letting the warmth of the water and Harry’s presence soothe you. He reached behind you, running your soap between his hands before gently massaging them over your skin.
His touch was featherlight, as if he was trying to wash away not just the exhaustion, but the hurt that had built up between you. He was careful, attentive, his actions filled with unspoken words of love and regret. As he moved, his lips brushed against your shoulder, a silent apology, a promise that he would do better. The intimacy of it made you weak, your body turning to jelly as he cared for you in a way you knew no other man was capable of.
“I don’t want you to ever think I was using you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of the running water. “You’re so much more than what you can give me.”
You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze, as he stepped a little closer to you. The warm water cascaded over both of you, its steady rhythm filling the quiet space between you and Harry. His eyes searching yours as the droplets slid down his face, his breath slightly ragged.
Your hand lifted slowly, fingers coming up to caress his cheek as you stared at each other through the steam, your fingertips lingering as if you were scared to let go.
“You’re so beautiful. I don’t think I’ve told you that enough,” Harry murmured, running his thumb over your bottom lip.
You swallowed hard, your throat closing around any words you could come up with. “Harry,” you whispered eventually, your voice raw from all the emotions of the day. “At times like this, I can really picture a life with you,” you finished, shy as the words finally came out.
You weren’t even sure what the fate of your relationship was, whether you even had another shot at happiness with him. But you knew, as much as it pained you to realise it, that things had only gotten so fucked up because both you and Harry had felt so much more intensely for one another than you’d ever expected. It wasn’t just sex, or a weird fling. There was something real between the two of you, you were certain of that.
His fingers traced along your jawline, his eyes glistening as he took in what you’d said. And then, without hesitation, Harry leaned in, closing the space between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was soft, yet full of urgency. It wasn’t at all like the other times, it was deeper, filled with apology, with longing, with the need to prove that neither of you were willing to let go.
The water poured over your entwined bodies, but all you could feel was him. His kiss was tender at first, but as the seconds passed, it grew more passionate, more desperate, as if he was trying to pour everything he felt into that one moment. His hands moved to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks as his lips moved against yours, seeking not just forgiveness, but something solid to hold onto as you both tried to find your way back.
Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. You kissed him back, matching his intensity, your fingers curling into his damp skin as if afraid that if you let go, you’d lose him all over again. The warmth of the water mixed with the heat of his body against yours, and finally anything outside of that moment faded away.
When you finally pulled back, gasping for air, your foreheads pressed together, Harry’s chest was heaving, his eyes still closed as if he was trying to hold onto the feeling of your lips on his. His hands didn’t leave your face, and you could feel the slight tremble in them as he pulled you into his chest, pressing a kiss on the top of your head.
“You’re everything. Everything,” Harry muttered, his voice muffled by your hair, one arm wrapping around your back, holding you tight to him.
He shut the water off after a while, letting you melt into him for as long as you needed to. The air in the bathroom was thick, warm steam curling in the corners of the room.
“Come here,” Harry murmured, holding your towel out for you, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
You hesitated for a moment, but then you moved closer, letting him gently wrap the towel around your body. His touch was careful, tender as he pulled the fabric tight around you, tucking it securely. His fingers lingered for a second longer, grazing your bare skin as they brushed over your arms. His eyes met yours, filled with that familiar warmth, but there was something else, something quieter. Maybe regret, maybe something unsaid.
“Go on, princess,” he whispered, his voice soothing, like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be taking care of you. “I’ll bring you a cuppa.”
You nodded, offering an exhausted but grateful smile before heading toward the bedroom. The weight of the day had left your body heavy, but Harry’s presence, his care, made everything seem softer, lighter somehow.
Harry stood in front of the kettle, his hands gripping the edge of the counter as he waited for the water to boil. The kitchen was quiet, except for the low hum of the kettle, but his mind was anything but.
He tried to focus on the task at hand - two cups of tea, something simple. Something he could control. But his thoughts kept drifting back, slipping through the cracks he was trying to seal up. The mistakes he'd made, the moments when he’d let you down, they all crowded his mind, a slow, sinking weight in his chest.
He thought about the hurt, the missed chances to say the right thing, the times he’d let his guard down only to retreat again out of fear. He’d always been good at getting in his own way, letting his own doubts cloud the way forward. It was no different now that he had been risking his career for you. He’d wanted so badly to protect you, to keep you close without smothering you, but somewhere along the way, he’d gotten lost in his own head. And now, standing in the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil, those moments felt like stones in his chest.
You deserved better. He knew that. And he wasn’t always sure he could be that person for you. You needed someone who didn’t hurt you, who didn’t let their own insecurities and mistakes get in the way.
He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to push the thoughts down, but they kept rising, unbidden. What if he wasn’t enough? What if he made another mistake, and it was one you couldn’t forgive?
The kettle clicked off, its billowing steam piercing through his thoughts, grounding him again. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus. He was there, caring for you, showing you how badly he wanted to fix what he’d broken. He poured the water over the tea bags, watching the liquid swirl, darkening as it steeped.
As he waited, he thought about the look in your eyes when he wrapped the towel around you. The way you trusted him, the way you let him take care of you without question even after such a shit show of a day - a week - because of his immature insecurities.
Teas in hand, he took a deep breath, steadying himself before heading back to the bedroom. You were perched on the edge of the bed, the beginnings of a cloud of sleep hovering over you.
“Here you go,” he whispered, placing the mugs down before brushing a strand of hair from your face.
As soon as he straightened up, the towel wrapped precariously around his toned hips threatened to come loose. His hands flew to it, protecting his modesty with a sheepish grin.
A laugh bubbled out of you for the first time that day, shaking your shoulders softly as the giggles exploded out of you.
“I should have considered this scenario before getting into the shower with you,” Harry smirked, covering the soft blush of his cheeks with his free hand.
“I still have your t-shirt,” you offered, nudging your head towards your top drawer. “But I can’t help with pants.”
“Somehow a t-shirt with a loose cock feels worse than this,” Harry murmured, frowning as he glanced down at the tiny towel barely covering any of him.
You let your eyes linger on his body for a second, knowing that absolutely none of your clothes would fit his big frame. Your gaze dropped to your own t-shirt, thinking for a beat before pulling it back over your head and dropping it by your feet. “Solidarity,” you told him, not failing to notice how his breath caught at the sight of you, as if he hadn’t just run his hands over every part of your naked body.
Harry reached over you to grab your towel, turning away before pulling his own from his body, heading towards the bathroom with a little sway in his hips, as if he knew you’d be watching.
And you were. You leaned around the door frame, eyes locked on his tight ass until he was out of sight.
The weight in your chest lightened as you smiled, the domesticity healing a part of you that you didn’t know was broken.
-
You lay back against your pillows, cradling your mug in your hands. The room was dimly lit by the faint glow of the moon outside, casting soft shadows across the walls. It was quiet, save for the sound of gentle breathing, yet the silence between you and Harry felt heavy.
You shifted slightly, resting your head against Harry’s shoulder, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. You had been here before, so close, so intimate, but it felt different. There was a weight in the air, a lingering sense of uncertainty. You were clearly over the worst, both hearts mending slowly and carefully, but it still felt too raw and too heavy to be fixed so fast.
"Do you think we still have a chance?" your voice was faint, your words timid as if you didn’t actually want an answer, but the question pierced through the stillness with raw vulnerability. You screwed your eyes shut, afraid of what Harry’s answer might be, but you knew that it needed to be heard. The uncertainty was what had been hanging over your heads, both of your minds drifting to that very question in every quiet moment.
Harry’s arms slipped around your waist, pulling you closer ever so slightly, but he didn’t respond immediately. His gaze fixed on the ceiling, his jaw tightening as he thought. He had been hurt, and so had you. But the risks were far greater for him, and anything between you both, whether it was love of heartbreak, needed to be worthy of that danger.
"I don’t know," he admitted finally, his voice hoarse. "I want to believe we do. I don’t think we would be here now if there wasn’t a chance." He sighed, the sound heavy with frustration. "I don’t want to lose you. I never wanted to hurt you."
You swallowed hard, turning to face him with leftover tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.
"I don’t want to lose you either," you said, your fingers tracing small patterns over his bare chest. "But I don’t know if things can go right back to how they were.”
Harry’s breath hitched, and he gently tipped your chin up so that your eyes met. There was something soft yet intense in his gaze, a quiet determination lurking beneath. "I don’t think either of us want them back to the way they were,” he muttered, his lips curling into a smirk.
You bit your lip, trying to contain the laugh that wanted to slip out. “Maybe better than before. But I don’t know if that can happen straight away,” you confessed.
Harry took your mug from your hand, reaching behind you to place it on your nightstand, before pulling you closer to his chest. Snuggled up to his side, with his arms right around you, you suddenly felt more secure in yourself and Harry’s future than you ever had.
“All we can do is try,” he whispered against your skin, his nose nudging at your cheek.
Slowly, you turned to meet his gaze, finding a softness in his face that you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before. His brows were slightly furrowed, as if even he was uncertain about his every move, but the tenderness in his expression made your breath catch. You leaned further into him, your lips ghosting across his.
Then his lips brushed yours, a sweetness in the gesture that made your heart stutter. Your eyes were locked on each others, seeking permission and acceptance, neither of you sure about how the other would react. But when neither of you made the effort to move away, or to protest, the space between you disappeared in the smallest of breaths.
Harry’s mouth moved with hesitance, as if he wasn’t sure he really had the right to be there with you, wrapping himself around you. But you kissed him back, of course you kissed him back, praying that any movements you made showed him just how much you wanted him there.
Your hand found his, your fingers lacing together as if to make your connection deeper. Neither of you pulled away, savoring the tentative closeness, letting the quiet stretch between kisses, as if testing the waters of something new and unknown.
When you finally broke apart, your foreheads rested against each others, breaths mingling in the soft light. Harry’s thumb brushed across the back of your hand, his touch grounding and real.
“We’ll figure it out,” he whispered, his voice low and reassuring.
You nodded, feeling your eyelids grow heavy as your eyes trailed over his face. “Tomorrow is a new day,” you murmured, nudging your head into the space between his shoulder and his neck, breathing him in with a content smile brewing your lips.
“Tomorrow is a new day,” Harry repeated, breathing out a deep sigh of relief.
oop thank you so much for reading!!!!
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up close & personal
hyunsu ? x gn!reader
genre: what. mutual pining?
warnings: sweet home 2 spoilers, mentions of blood, injuries. hyunsu himself is a warning lowkey if u watched the last ep u probably get it… that’s all!
synopsis: You know Hyunsu so well. One year apart couldn’t possibly change that. Except if Hyunsu isn’t alone anymore.
authors note: realized at the end of this fic that i cld compare hyunsu’s current situation to venom like a little bit and that just makes everything so much easier somehow. anyways i don’t really like this but i needed to post smt for him after s2 so!
One year ago, you and Cha Hyunsu would’ve been sitting near the entrance of Green Home apartments, and he would be listening to you talk. One year ago, you would’ve firmly believed that by now, the world would’ve been restored to some kind of peace. It had, in a way, but certainly not in the one your past self would have hoped for. And certainly not the one Hyunsu would’ve wanted for the two of you.
Nevertheless, you remained grateful through everything— As much as you could manage. The shelter was as organized as possible and conflict was a surprisingly rare occurence. Things were alright. As long as you didn’t give time for the grief and terror to catch up to you.
But things couldn’t be calm forever. Especially not in the current state of your world.
When Eunyu disappeared with that man from the military, it only took a day before you grew restless enough to depart from the stadium. After all, Eunyu was the closest thing to a friend you had here, at this point. It only felt right to try and find her. And you did, surprisingly, along with a few familiar faces and an unknown one.
You didn’t expect for the evening you found your friend again to be the very same you would see the person you had considered closest to you at Green Home for the first time in… Over a year.
“Finally asleep.” you sighed quietly, watching Eunyu get the rest her body had probably been begging for. It was difficult to convince her you would stand watch and wait for your friend to wake up in her stead, but her exhaustion made her stop arguing eventually.
You turned towards the room he was in.
Cha Hyunsu.
You crossed your arms and sighed. One year without a single trace of him anywhere. And now he… Just reappears? You wanted to be surprised, but part of you really wasn’t. You were angry, just a little— Spending all this time telling yourself he was gone, only for him to come back as if nothing happened felt like a slap to the face. Still, you couldn’t blame him. Yet. You had no idea what happened to him during that time span.
You felt relieved, if anything.
After some hesitation, you walked over to the glass door. Your hand settled on the handle, pushing it open, before your eyes widened. Hyunsu was sitting on the hospital bed, stretching his neck quietly, not at all perturbed by anything. Hell, he even seemed peaceful.
More peaceful than you’d ever seen him.
You stepped inside quietly and let the door close behind you. Hyunsu continued to move his head, slowly, as if trying to relax, and didn’t acknowledge your presence. His shoulder was bloodstained, still, and his hoodie had cuts here and there. Messy as he appeared, this was your friend from Green Home, there was no denying it. You hadn’t even dared hope he could still be alive, after all this time. You couldn’t give your heart such a high possibility of suffering if he turned out to be gone.
And now he was here. So calm.
He opened his eyes with a soft sigh, before turning his gaze to you. “Finally decided to talk to me?” he asked. His tone was different. Too different. This did not feel like the kind of change that happened in a year. He smiled a little at your silence, tilting his head curiously. “No? Do you need more time? That would be too bad.”
He hopped off the bed with a huff and slowly walked over to you. The closer he got, the clearer it became that his eye color was different. Long gone was the blank, dark brown gaze that looked back at you when you two would talk— Replaced by a vibrant sky blue. A stark contrast from what you were used to, as was everything else about him, apparently. Be it his tone or his mannerisms, it all felt deeply wrong, like it wasn’t him at all. You furrowed your eyebrows but stood still, letting him walk to the very edge of your personal space.
“I’ve been waiting to see you for such a long while.”
“Huh?”
Hyunsu’s eyes widened a little before he grinned. This wasn’t … Him. Not exactly, at least. Not the one you talked to so much. But special-cases, or MH, essentially coexisted in one body. The monster forms around a person’s strongest desire, or whatever it was that scientist at the shelter said.
So perhaps, all the times you and Hyunsu had talked in the past had also been conversations that this side of him had been listening to.
A bit scary. You couldn’t really focus on that, though. You took a deep breath and looked at him.
“Is he well?”
He clicked his tongue, expression growing sour. “He’s fine. Let him get some rest. He’s tired.”
You nodded softly, gaze averting. That sounded fine enough to you. He was right, too, earlier— You had been avoiding talking to him since you met again. With the excuse of focusing on Yikyung and scavenging through the hospital, you had plenty of reasons to act as if you weren’t seeing the person you cared the most for after a whole entire year of thinking he was dead.
But you did feel his gaze on you the whole time. It was heavy, and remorseful. You’d planned to talk to him— In fact, that’s why you decided to come over to the room he was in. You hadn’t expected things to turn out this way, however. Seems like you couldn’t talk to your friend, yet.
“It’s nice to know you care, though.” he hummed, gaze never leaving your face. “He thinks about you so much, too.”
You looked back up at him. If this was the so-called monster part of Hyunsu, then what was his deal? A lot of questions about this situation flooded your head. “What are you playing at?”
He chuckled softly, before backing up just enough to hold up his hands in an innocent gesture. “Nothing as evil as you probably think.” he said, voice steady. “I just wanted us to talk. Just us.”
“Huh.”
“You see, your Hyunsu has an interest in you.” he said, tilting his head slowly. It felt as if he was analyzing you. It was a bit unsettling, but you didn’t bother breaking eye contact this time. “But I do, too. I’d say maybe… Even more than him?” his grin widened at his own words.
“I find it hard to believe you care about people.”
“And yet.” he scoffed, expression dropping to a blank one, seemingly annoyed. He dropped his arms to his sides and sighed. “We decided to work together. Couldn’t have him die on me, it wouldn’t be nice for anyone involved.”
You decided this Hyunsu seemed to mean it when he said they made a deal, just about as much as when he said he had an interest in you. So placing your trust in his bloodied hands for the time being, you tried to be less on guard. He wouldn’t kill you, or most importantly, Hyunsu. That was enough for now.
“Okay.” you sighed, crossing your arms. “So you want to talk?”
He smiled a little. “Yes.” he stated, before taking a step towards you. Only this time, he didn’t bother keeping a safe distance. His face was a touch too close to yours. “I’ve wanted to for a while.”
“You…” you paused for a moment, thinking. “Do you usually go around talking to people while getting so close to them?”
“I don’t go around talking to people.” he mocked your tone before scoffing, a grin pulling at his lips. He brought a hand up to your face, holding your cheek firmly. His focus turned to his hand, eyes narrowing in its direction. You felt his fingers loosen a little, as if he was trying to control how tightly he was holding you.
Which he was. Now it felt gentle. Almost unfitting. Not only that but the Hyunsu you knew was never this comfortable with anything close to physical affection. It felt so out of place.
“Does it bother you?” he whispered, eyes flitting over to meet yours again. He moved in closer, just enough for your noses to touch. He seemed to be having fun switching between looking at your eyes and at your lips. “Am I too close?”
Before you could think of a way to answer, you froze. The unfamiliar color in Hyunsu’s eyes dissipated, the cocky expression you were almost beginning to get used to replaced by a soft, almost startled one. His voice, much quieter now, whispered your name. Your eyes widened and you sighed in something akin to relief.
“Hyunsu.” you breathed out. The latter looked at you with a stunned look, struggling to find anything to say for a while. He looked into your eyes like he was making sure you were okay— Making sure you were really alive. His thumb moved back and forth softly over the skin of your cheek, his gaze scanning you in an almost panicked manner. He sighed shakily, before he brought your face into his shoulder. He seemed to be almost trembling.
“I’m sorry.” he exhaled, wrapping his other arm around your shoulders hesitantly. Still terrible at hugging. You’d missed those awkward displays of affection so much. “I… I’m sorry, it’s been… A very long time.”
“God, you’re so cruel, Cha Hyunsu.”
He tilted his head down into your neck. Now you felt his tears on your skin. He really hasn’t changed, you thought. It was obvious when he came running for help when Yikyung was badly injured, when he did everything to help her and went all the way to look for that kid— Cha Hyunsu hadn’t changed.
“I’m—”
“Quit apologizing.” you huffed, holding him tightly. “I missed you, too.”
Hyunsu sighed quietly, tightening his hold on you a little. He was relieved to finally have you with him again, but he couldn’t shake off his worries.
“You talked to… Him? Right?”
“I did.” you said, pulling away enough to look at him. The concern on his features was undeniable. “And it went fine. It’s okay.”
Hyunsu’s frown deepened. “I don’t know if it’s alright. Me staying… So close to you.”
“Don’t even think about disappearing on me again.” you warned, eyes widening. “I don’t care about any reason you give me— Don’t leave again.”
The boy sighed, averting his gaze for a moment, before slowly bringing it back to you.
“I won’t.” he assured, “I won’t leave you again.”
He closed his eyes and pulled you into another hug. He had to believe his existence on its own wouldn’t cause more problems for you to deal with. He had to trust that even if it did, you meant it when you said you didn’t mind. He knew you did. You always meant it.
He opened his eyes and looked at his reflection in the glass door just a bit further away. Seeing you in his arms should have been reassuring. But the blue hue of one of his eyes and the nagging voice in his head seemed to be laughing at his naivety. He pressed his eyes shut again and buried his face in your shoulder.
This is our priority, now. (I know.) No one else comes first. (I know.) Don’t let them get hurt.
I won’t.
#hyunsu x reader#cha hyun su x reader#cha hyunsu x reader#hyunsoo x reader#cha hyun soo x reader#cha hyunsoo x reader#sweet home x reader#x reader
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Good Luck Charm: Chapter 1
college football player!buck x plus size!eader
summary: you're having a bad day and you run into an attractive guy in the hallway on your way to class. your frustration gets the better of you and you snap at him, but he’s intrigued by your attitude, and goes out of his way to keep talking to you.
word count: 2.6k
series masterlist
A/N: i'm so excited to release the first chapter of my new multi part fic! i definitely started in the middle of this fic and then worked my way back, so this isn't my fav chapter, but if you wanna see them freak nasty in future chapters keep reading!1! i also tried to make the reader race inclusive, but please let me know if there's anything i did wrong so i can correct it!
warnings: both characters are a little mean to each other (oops), slight enemies to lovers??, a touch of slowburn??, no use of y/n, fem!reader, race inclusive!reader
You huff as you walk into the arts building on campus, tripping as your foot hits the doorframe. It’s not enough for you to fall, but it’s enough to piss you off ever more than you already are.
You’re running late, and it seems like everything is going wrong today. First, your alarm hadn’t gone off, meaning you basically had to run to campus for your 9am lecture. You walked in late, which wasn’t really a big deal, the professor paid you no mind as you walked in. It did matter, however, that you had to trip over bags and feet to the middle of an aisle, squeezing yourself into the last seat available in the lecture hall. Then, when you went to get yourself a little treat between classes at the Starbucks on campus, some guy bumped into you and made you spill half your drink on your shirt, meaning you had to race home to shower and change before going back to campus for your later class, which is where you’re heading now.
It’s your last year of college, so while you know your way around campus, it’s the first day of classes, and you’ve never had a class in the lecture hall your next class is in.
Your head is down as you look at your phone, pace slowing slightly as you triple check what room number you’re looking for when you feel a large body hit your shoulder.
“Watch it.” you hear a deep voice say as you look up from your phone, blinking slowly for a moment before something in you snaps.
You whirl around, jaw clenched as you make eye contact with perhaps the most attractive guy you’ve ever seen, not that you notice that through your rage. On any other day, you would’ve apologized and been on your way, but today, you have had enough, your patience gone.
“You ran into me.” you bark back, barely having time to think about what you’re saying. You feel a little bad as you see his eyes widen, but your thoughts are so clouded by frustration at how the day was playing out that you didn’t care. Deep down, you know he’s probably right, you weren’t watching where you were going. But he didn’t have to be a dick about it, right?
“I’m sorry, excuse me, princess.” he says sarcastically after a moment, as his surprised expression is replaced with a smirk. He hadn’t expected you to respond the way that you had, and this intrigues him. He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes trailing down your figure, taking you in.
“Thank you! Was that so hard?” you reply in the same tone, matching his stance and crossing your arms over your chest, not even noticing the way “princess” rolled off his tongue so smoothly. You also don’t notice the way his eyes roam over your body, taking in your soft curves, the way your chest moves to keep up with the quick beating in your chest.
“Someone’s feisty, huh?” you roll your eyes at this, wanting nothing more than to be done with the incredibly handsome man and go to class. You’re already late enough, you really don’t need this.
“Only when someone deserves it.” you reply sharply, jutting your hip out as you tilt your head to the side, glaring at him.
You’re met with a scoff, and he fights back a laugh at the way you’re looking at him. You’ve got an attitude, but he’s got to admit, you’re gorgeous. The way you’re glaring at him kind of makes him want to push you against the wall and kiss your attitude away, but he also kind of likes the way you’re not backing down. He wants to keep you here. Willing to do anything to keep you standing here, he steps closer to you, licking his lips as he looks down at you, that smirk still on his face.
“You should lose the attitude, princess.” he teases, a playful glint in his eye as he sees the way you react when his words hit you. His words have the desired effect. You aren’t going anywhere.
“Or what?” you hiss, your jaw clenching at his words. You’re really not in the mood to be told off by a man who thought the world revolved around him. On any other day, you’d already be on your way, but now, you just want to slap the stupid smirk right off his stupid attractive face. And what the hell was up with the nickname?
“Or I’ll make you.” he challenges, gauging your reaction, hoping he hadn’t crossed a line. With the way you hadn’t walked away yet, he has a feeling that you weren’t going to tell him to go to hell.
You pause for a moment, suddenly taking in the look in his eyes. He was arguing with you, sure, but you had only just realized how he was looking down at you, almost flirting with you. For a moment, you’re overcome with nerves, realizing that your temper has gotten you into a situation you never thought you’d be in.
“I’d rather die.” you get out. You bite the inside of your cheek as you hold eye contact, trying to keep up with the attitude that had been blinding you earlier.
You watch as his tongue slowly traces the inside of his cheek, his lips parting as he chuckles softly. He notices the way your breath stills for a moment and you blink slowly, how his words had momentarily snapped you out of your angry haze.
He’s so close to you that you can almost feel the heat radiating off of him, but you refuse to back down, already this far into the argument.
“You might say that now, princess, but you haven’t seen me when I’m nice. I’m sure you’d like me if you dropped the attitude.” he states, eyes trailing down your figure again, taking in your cleavage peeking out from your shirt slightly, the way your clothes fall on your soft belly and thick thighs.
“That’s never gonna happen.” you say, letting out a shaky breath as you try not to look away. The class you’re currently missing comes to mind as your glare falters for a moment, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing to a stranger in the middle of the hallway.
“Don’t be so sure, princess.” he teases, licking his lips again as his eyes study your face.
What the hell are you doing? You shouldn’t be talking to this man. You have class, and you took your frustration out on him when he mostly didn’t deserve it. You swallow, biting the inside of your cheek as your face grows hot. You have to get out of here before this goes any worse than it already has. If you don’t walk away now, you’d realize how cute he is.
“I have to go to class.” you tell him softly, a hint of coldness still in your voice as you turn on your heel, walking down the hallway and out of sight.
He watches as you walk away, his eyes shamelessly trailing down to your ass as you go. He chuckles at your hasty departure as he bites a lip. If he met you at a party, he’s sure he would’ve already made you a flustered mess for him, but you didn’t seem like the type of girl who’d be at one of his team’s parties. The way you rushed off to class like that? While part of your exit was to end the conversation, there was a hint of nervousness in your eyes that tells him you truly were late to class, and not very happy about it. He wants to see you again, wants to try to get you to lower your guard so he can get to know you at a time where your temper isn’t getting the better of you.
You let out a long sigh as soon as you get far enough away from him, and you can feel that your hands are shaking ever so slightly. Why did you do that? You should’ve just apologized and kept walking because now you were really late for class, and you had basically yelled at a guy when you were pretty sure you had run into him. He was attractive, and built. You think he’s on the football team. Your roommate has a type, and you think you remember seeing his face when she showed you the entire team roster while she forced you to play drunken smash or pass during the summer.
Now that you think of it, what the fuck? Why did he immediately tell you to watch it? And then, why did he just come onto you like that? Did he just immediately assume that you would fold and apologize if he laid on the charm? You shake your head at the thought, scoffing as you pull out your phone again, realizing you had gone the complete wrong way as you stormed away from him. You turn again, hoping he was gone when you walk back to where you ran into each other, and to your delight, he was.
You finally find your lecture hall and quickly slip in, silently celebrating when you realize that the doors were at the back of the room rather than the front, meaning you wouldn’t disturb the class. You scan the lecture hall, seeing an empty seat on an aisle a few rows from the back, and you silently make your way over. You sit down and pull your laptop out of your bag, quickly opening the class homepage to follow along as the professor goes over the syllabus.
You’re so focused on not drawing attention to yourself that you don’t notice him in the back row, eyes immediately on you as you sneak past him.
He smirks to himself, noticing the difference in your demeanor as you walk past him, head ducked, as if not to disturb anyone further by your lateness. With the way you snapped at him before, he half expects you to walk in with your head up, daring anyone to act annoyed with you as you make your way to your seat.
He keeps finding his eyes darting to the back of your head as class goes on, trying to think of a way to talk to you again, hoping you wouldn’t roll your eyes and keep walking if he tried.
You try to catch up on what the professor is saying about the syllabus, trying to add assignment and test dates to your calendar as she speaks. As the professor wraps up the class, you continue working away, trying to finish adding the dates, knowing you would forget to do it once you got home.
He stays in his seat when class ends, eyes glued to you as you keep typing on your laptop for a minute or two while the people around you start filing out. He puts his laptop away haphazardly, his eyes still trained on you as you do the same. He stands up at the same time you do and walks over to the door, standing in front of it.
You see him as he reaches the door, rolling your eyes as he blocks the way. All you want is to get home and crawl into bed, you really don’t want to deal with him right now.
“Where are you going, princess?” he teases, that stupid smirk returning to his face as he hears your sigh. He keeps far enough in front of the door that you could slip out if you really wanted to. He doesn’t want to scare you, he just wants more time with you.
“Home.” you reply shortly, crossing your arms over your chest. The way he looks down at you has you on edge again. He’s too smug for your liking, and now that your brain had time to process, you couldn’t not notice his blue eyes, his large arms. Your action doesn’t go unnoticed by him, as his eyes are immediately drawn to the way your arms push your chest up slightly.
“No more classes to run off to? No more rushing around and running into strangers?” he teases, giving you a once over.
“I didn’t run into you.” you tell him matter of factly, but your voice is not as loud as it once was. You know he’s right, but it’s far too late to change your mind. Why wouldn’t he let this go? You’re already embarrassed about the way you acted, you really don’t need him to keep reminding you.
“Ah, but you did. You were looking at your phone, trying to find your class, probably. You stormed off in the wrong direction and had to double back, didn’t you?” he says in an amused tone, chuckling softly as you raise your brows. You’re slightly surprised he’s smart enough to put two and two together.
“I might’ve apologized if you weren’t being a dick. Do you think the world revolves around you?” you fight back, waves of embarrassment hitting you as you realize that he had noticed you went the wrong way.
He doesn’t answer as his lips part slightly, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. He takes a step ever so slightly closer to you, looking down at you with a glint in his eyes.
“You got a boyfriend?” he asks after a moment. He’s both amused and confused at your reaction to this. It’s as if you’re unsure if you should continue arguing with him, or give in and walk away, but that’s what has him so intrigued. He wants to know what you would be like behind closed doors, how you would react to his touch as his hands make their way down your body.
You scoff, shaking your head as you maneuver around him and out the door. The nerve of this guy. Why did he have to be so infuriating? And hot?
He raises his hands in mock surrender as you step around him, his gaze following you as you walk down the hall.
As you make your way out of the building, you feel yourself let out a shaky breath, biting your lip as your brain is overcome with thoughts of him. You try to get your mind off of him, taking your phone out of your pocket to text your roommate and ask her if she wants to do a movie night tonight. She immediately responds with a yes, asking what movie you had in mind, but your brain feels so foggy that you can’t even think of the endless list of movies you’ve been wanting to watch.
Instead, you think of the way he looked down at you, how his eyes trailed down your body, drinking you in. You think about the way you could see his biceps flexing under his shirt as he crossed his arms. You think about what he called you. Princess. It was weird at first, but as you keep thinking about it, you can’t help the way it makes your stomach flip. Why did he ask you if you had a boyfriend? He couldn’t have been interested in anything more than pissing you off. You shake your head to yourself as you try to clear your head, finally making it back to your apartment complex.
And him? He walks the whole way home thinking about you as well. He can’t wait to see you next week in class, hoping that you’ll have more classes together. He’s hooked, and he’s desperate to break down your walls and learn more about you.
next chapter
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TOXIC
LEVI X READER
A/N: a combination of the horny angst that’s been swirling in my head for a few days.
Listen. Do I condone what’s about to happen in this? No. Was it fun to write? Absolutely.
CW: MDNI • explicit sexual content below • toxic fucking • unprotected/raw sex • creampie • breeding kink • fucking does not solve problems • neither do babies • toxic Levi and toxic Reader tbh
This was a bad idea. Terrible; one of your worst to date.
And yet, as Levi spread you out across his kitchen counter — the counter that, until two weeks ago, had also been yours — you couldn’t for the life of you remember why every alarm bell in your head was sounding off, begging your body stiffen, to reject the man lowering himself between your thighs, his gray eyes glowing nearly silver with desire.
“Just can’t stay away, can you?” His lips are hot and silky as they slope messily across your thighs, and his fingers push aside the hem of your sundress to make way for him. “Because try as you might, you know no one will ever be able to fuck you like I can.”
Ah. That was why.
Because you and Levi had broken up. You were no more; a past concept, a memory.
In the end, your three-year relationship died not in a fiery blaze of glory, but in cold resignation. He’d sat stoically at the kitchen table as you’d confessed that you could no longer stomach being second or third or whatever place behind his true passion — work — and that it was time for you to put yourself first, for once, since he wouldn’t.
The only sign of his emotion has been his fists — clenched so tight that the skin of his knuckles had gone white.
I’m done. I have nothing left to give you, Levi. Not when you only ever take and offer nothing in return.
He’d tried to argue once you announced your intention to move out that night. He’d fought to convince you to wait until morning, to put away the small suitcase you’d packed with your most essential belongings, to sleep on it — on the decision overall. But you’d known that if you’d stayed, you would have changed your mind — would’ve let him change your mind, and he’d known that, too. So you’d held firm, turned your back on him and forced yourself to walk out of the door to your apartment, suitcase in hand.
You hadn’t intended to return, and it seemed like he’d accepted it. He’d even gone so far as to mail whatever of your belongings you hadn’t managed to pack to your parents’ address. So though you spent your nights staining your pillow with bitter tears, your heart feeling like little more than a misshapen lump of meat barely beating in your chest, you’d at least gotten what you thought you’d wanted: a clean break.
Until he’d texted you that all of your mail was still being sent to your — his — address. He’d offered to pay to have it forwarded to you, but when you saw how much that would have put you in his debt, you’d begrudgingly told him you’d stop by on your way home from work and pick it up.
Really, you knew better; should have known better, at least.
And perhaps your logic would have won over your desire, but then Levi’s fingers tug your underwear to the side and his mouth latches to your core, and all the chatter that constitutes your higher reasoning fades to an indiscernible buzz in the back of your skull. The moment you feel something hot and wet prodding your entrance, your mind whites out without the hope of coherency returning any time soon, as Levi begins to fuck you with his tongue.
With a keening cry, your legs seize around his head, trapping him between your thighs. Your hands shoot to grip his hair, desperate to find purchase; to find anything to help keep you tethered here, to reality, rather than risk floating away in clouded bliss.
But Levi is too committed to tearing down the wall you’d carefully spent the last two weeks building, brick by brick. So as his tongue pumps steadily into your core, he shifts, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as he presses you harder against his face. His jaw works furiously and when his teeth graze against your clit, you lose whatever last vestige of control you’d clung onto.
You’re sobbing through clenched teeth but utterly helpless to stop your hips as they begin churning and grinding against his mouth. Levi hums in approval, and throw your eyelashes, you spot the way his pupils dilate, chasing away the cool silver of his irises and replacing them with something black and hungry.
“Atta girl,” he praises between his thrusts, and the vibrations of his mouth against your heated, sensitive flesh nearly makes you drool. “For once in your life, stop fuckin’ thinking.”
He swirls his tongue around you entrance one more time before he replaces it with his fingers, plunging two into your cunt and curling them. He finds that rough patch on your innermost wall with a near frustrating ease.
It’s infuriating to know that the person you know can’t give you what you really need is somehow the only person who knows exactly how to give you what you want. And, judging by the faint smirk pulling at Levi’s lips they latch around that bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs, you know he can see your resolve crumbling under his feverish mouth.
“You don’t even remember why we were arguing, do you?” He jeers between harsh sucks at your clit as you continue to writhe and cry out for more. “You just wanted to cause a scene; make me sweat a little.”
You want to fight back; you want to tell him that he’s wrong, that you’d meant it when you’d said your relationship had run its course, but he won’t give you the space to do so. Not when he presses his face firm against your center and rocks his head side to side, reducing any protestations you might have had to pitiful whimpers.
“You’ve got my attention, sweetheart. Let’s see if you know what to do with it.”
Levi slips a third finger into your core and you come undone. With his teeth grazing your clit in time with each measured thrust of his fingers into your heat, you shatter against the kitchen counter, hard enough that stars dance in the corners of your eyes.
“That’s my girl,” Levi groans as he continues to lap at your sensitive and overstimulated flesh. “You’re always so fuckin’ pretty when you cum.”
His praise, coupled with the way his mouth continues to work at your cunt prolongs the waves of your release, until your legs are trembling against the smooth granite of the countertop, and tears are gathered in your eyes. Your walls spasm weakly one final time and then it’s over, your limbs limp and your brain little more than a puddle of liquid between your ears.
Levi steps back and the heat in his eyes is unmistakable; you know, by the way his eyes turn from steel to molten ore that he wants more; wants to take and take and make you bend to him.
You shouldn’t do it; you know you shouldn’t. You know that what’s happening between you is a manifestation of everything that was toxic about your relationship. Levi, always needing to be in control, who only listened when you were at your breaking point, but could never fully give you what you needed. You, who made far too many excuses, who let him dictate the norms of your relationship because it was easy; being with him was easy, until it wasn’t.
So no, you shouldn’t give in; you should stand firm.
You reach for him anyways. “Levi,”
That’s all it takes; a pleading whimper of his name, your hands outstretched toward him, and Levi pounces. His mouth crashes against yours, and his kiss makes you feel whole even though you know he’s tearing your resolve apart.
And you let him; you let him, because you’d sworn you were going to spend your life with him. You believed, without a moment’s hesitation, that Levi was the one for you — the one you’d share the remainder of your days with, the one with whom you’d create and share a family. It was all you’d wanted, and Levi, to his credit, had assured you it was what he’d wanted, too. At least, he did; once.
And, as Levi’s hands slide under you to peel you off the counter, your legs locking around his waist with practiced ease, you know it’s what you still want; he’s what you want.
For all your desperation to have him, Levi is just as eager for you. He pivots you away from the counter, lips still moving heatedly against yours, only to drop you both to the cold tile floor, spreading you out beneath him as his lips begin trailing down your jaw, your neck. He’s too impatient to carry you to the bedroom, his hands fumbling with the buckle on his belt so he can have you then, now, on the kitchen floor.
“‘S been too long,” he pushes the straps of your sundress from your shoulders, yanking the bodice down to expose your. He groans at the sight of your bare breasts, and idly you wonder whether you made the subconscious decision to forgo your bra when you dressed that morning, in the event you’d end up here, under him.
His mouth closes around one pert nipple and you think it was the best decision you could have made; for nothing could possibly feel as right as the sensation of his hot mouth and silken tongue swirling around your soft flesh, nipping and sucking his devotion into your skin.
Your chest is heaving as his hands stroke down your body, pushing and pulling the skirt of your dress up, exposing the lower half of your body. Your legs are still little more than jelly thanks to the intensity of your previous climax, but you manage to wrap them around his hips all the same, clenching in an effort to bring him closer.
“Fuck,” he growls, and he imparts one final nip at your breast before he pulls back, his hands hurriedly shoving the waistband of his trousers and briefs down his hips, just far enough that he can pull his cock free. Your stomach flutters at the sight of him, ramrod hard, his tip already leaking with his desire.
He’s just as desperate for you as you are hopelessly in need of him.
Your eyes trace back up from where his length stands hard against his belly back to his face. A pretty pink blush has flushed his cheeks, spreading down his neck and chest, and his eyes are glassy with want.
“Levi,” you plead with a soft moan. “Baby, please —“
Baby. You hadn’t called him that often while you were together, but when you had, it was because you’d been so filled with affection — with love — that his name hadn’t been enough.
It was a slip, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by your ex. In an instant his body is covering yours, and he’s moaning into your mouth as one hand ensnares itself in your hair. Between quick kisses, you swear you hear him whisper your name against your lips, before his tongue swipes back in and steals your breath away.
He breaks your kiss to shove a hand between your bodies, gripping himself at his base and giving his length one, solid pump. You shift, spreading your thighs wider, ready to take him and feel whole once more.
He lines the tip of his cock up with your entrance and pauses. Impatiently, you buck your hips forward, trying to take him in, but he twists back just far enough that your wetness can only brush against him, a mockery of how you truly need him.
Levi ignores your howl of frustration. “If you want it, then tell me you’ll come home.”
Your teeth clench hard enough to crack, but you won’t give in; not yet, at least.
He’d been right; you wanted him to sweat a little, and damn if you weren’t going to try and bring him to his knees, if only for a bit. At least until he had you back in the palm of his hand, begging for a crumb of his attention.
So with a gritty determination that borders spite, you lock your ankles against his backside and haul him into you with all your might.
“Jesus — fuck!” His yell echoes off the gleaming stainless steel appliances as you force him fully inside you, unwilling to let him win this battle so soon. He falls forward, an arm flinging out beside your head to catch himself.
Your boldness pays off, for Levi is forced remain still, panting hard and his eyes screwed shut as he adjusts to the sensation of being fully buried in your warmth after so long. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the way the muscles in the arm needed by your head ripples under the force of his restraint. Slowly, his eyes open and the darkness in them makes you pulse and contract around his length, your stomach fluttering in anticipation.
Your mouth falls into a perfect “o” as he begins to move once more. He sits back on his knees, back straight, and his hands come to rest on your hips. He tugs you up just enough that your backside rests against the tops of his thighs, your back forced into an arch away from the floor. His gaze drops to where you’re connected, your base pressed flush against his, and the sight of himself embedded so deeply inside you makes the fingers on your hips tighten.
Slowly, and with careful precision, he withdraws his cock from your heat until only his tip remains lodged in your entrance. His eyes flick to yours and then he slams back into you, forcing your breath from your lungs. He repeats the movement again and again, until your lower lip is wobbling and your fingers are sinking into the corded muscles of his forearms, unable to do anything but cling on as he hammers into you.
The stillness of the kitchen is soon disrupted by the telltale sounds of skin slapping against skin, punctuated by your breathy moans and Levi’s pants. Between the sharpness of his hips and the cold tile of the kitchen floor, you know you’re likely to walk away from this with bruises, but you can’t find it within yourself to care. Especially not when Levi is moving like this, each of his thrusts as punishing as they are calculated.
“What’d I say, huh? No one can fuck you like I can.”
Levi more often than not was a soft lover. Kind; generous; prone to taking his time with you, so much so that it was nearly painful, usually leaving you in a tearful puddle on your mattress, begging him for more.
But now, he’s trying to remind you of what you’re leaving behind by leaving him; he’s punishing you as much as he’s begging you to stay.
The thought makes you moan out, wanton and desperate, and the walls of your cunt clench harder around him.
His hips snap harshly against yours, choking off the sound in your throat. “So come back home,” and though you know he means for it to sound like an order, his eyes betray his urgency, his desperation to confirm that you hadn’t really meant it; that you’d given up on him in a moment of stress and exhaustion. “Quit being a brat and come home.”
You want to tell him you can’t — that the door had closed on your relationship the moment you’d pulled it shut behind you that day, but try as you might, the words will not form. All that spills from your mouth are broken utterances of his name, and even those flatten out into pathetic whines as Levi’s callused thumb finds your clit and begins to work, determined to haul you to the edge of your sanity and shove you over.
Your legs spasm around his waist as you begin your ascent to that sacred precipice. Your eyes are rolled back, your head thrashing from side to side as the pleasure, white hot and searing, mounts within you, that coil in your belly winding tight with every impassioned movement of his body against yours.
Distantly, you feel his hold on your hips tighten, and you can feel his thrusts growing sloppy. You know it’s only a matter of time before one of you succumbs to your release.
He growls your name, the last syllable tapering off in a small whine. “T-tell me — fuck — tell me where.”
Your eyes fly open and meet his, sobering awareness washing over you like a tidal wave.
Only once in the entire course of your relationship, did Levi ask where he was allowed to cum: the beginning. He’d asked the very first time you’d slept with him, legs in the air and over his shoulders, and once you’d made it clear you were on birth control, that had been the end of the discussion. You’d known that if you’d changed your mind, all you’d needed to do was tell him, and he’d adjust. Truthfully, however, you’d not minded the possibility of your birth control failing; you’d been content to let whatever happen, happen.
You’d told him as much, and he’d told you he shared the sentiment.
But that was then; this time, he’s giving you an out. A way to make sure this remains a one-time thing, a moment of weakness between two people too lost and broken to want anything different.
Levi’s eyes widen as the silence stretches between you, and his hips slow until he stops moving all together. The friction mounting where you’re connected is nearly unbearable, and you know the only way to relieve it is to give him an answer — whatever it may be.
This was it; the decision that will make or break you both. For once, he’s out the ball entirely in your court, and whatever comes after this moment of bliss — or frality — ends depends entirely upon you.
“Inside,” you barely manage to squeak, eyes wide and locked unwaveringly with his.
Even Levi hesitates. “Y/N —“
“Inside,” you repeat with slightly more conviction. “Cum inside me, Levi.”
“Your pill?” His hips have already resumed their pace, and you can feel how he’s grown harder at your insistence. But though his body is already moving in accord with your demand, his eyes look ready to bulge out of his skull when you manage the smallest shake your head.
“Inside.” You beg again, and you dig your heel harder into the steely muscle of his backside, limiting how far he’s able to pull his hips back; to pull out at all.
Because damn if he isn’t the only person in the world with whom you could fathom facing the consequences of fucking raw without even the safety net of the tiny blue pills still sitting at your pharmacy, waiting.
“Fuck,” he growls through clenched teeth, a tendon in his neck throbbing. “Fuck, you want me to give you a baby? So fuckin’ be it. As long as you’ll stay.”
He shifts over you, planting one foot on the ground so he can use his thigh to pin one of your legs back and to the side. His hand shoves under your other thigh, mimicking the position of your other leg as he mounts you, his full weight pressing you harder into the floor and keeping you spread wide for him.
Gone was the calculated precision of his earlier thrusts; now, Levi only presses his groin firmly against yours as he begins to rut, each rock of his hips pushing his length impossibly deeper into your slick warmth.
A cracked moan of his name signals that the blunt tip of his cock has brushed up against that spot within you that Levi knows will have you coming apart in minutes. And so, with a feral gleam sparking to life in his eyes, he shifts himself to press the head of his cock firmly against it, his hips rolling hard enough into you that you begin moving in time with him, your hips lifting up from the floor only to be pushed back by him as he works.
His balls are heavy against the underside of your ass as he continues to rut into you. You know he’s close when you feel him begin to twitch inside you, and the anticipation of being filled by him — so hot and sweet — makes the walls of your cunt clench harder around him.
If you thought you were a mess before, the way Levi mounts you on the floor has you nearly screaming with pleasure, so electric and blinding that all sights of the kitchen fade to white, and your eyes flutter shut.
But Levi won’t allow you to check out; not now, not ever.
“Look at me.” His free hand grabs your jaw in an attempt to force you to meet his eyes. You want to give him what he wants, but it’s far too difficult, what with the way yours are glued to the back of your skull, a thin line of drool leaking from the corner of your mouth.
“L-Levi,” you try and plead, to explain. But he has always demanded more of you than you knew how to give.
“Look at me.” His fingers squeeze your cheeks, insistent. “If you want my baby, then you’re gonna look at me while you cum.”
He’s doing it to prove a point — to prove that he still has control over you, over whatever it is that remains between you. And you, helpless against the whims of your heart, let him have it, because you love him.
Fuck. You love him.
You force your eyelids open to meet his punishing stare, and then his lips are crashing down against yours in a fiery clash of lips and teeth as both of you fight to consume the other. But you lose first, breaking your kiss to cry out as your climax slams into you with the force of a freight train, knocking your breath clean from your lungs.
It’s powerful; the most powerful orgasm you’ve had in memory, one that sends your back arching sharply up from the cool kitchen tile below, and pulls a howl of Levi’s name from your mouth.
You’re still straddled among the clouds of your pleasure when Levi succumbs to his own. His body tenses for a moment and then he’s coming undone, his hips giving one last, mighty push before he explodes.
He cums with a strangled groan that he silences by searing his mouth against your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin as he pulses within you.
You don’t try to stop the pleasured grin that forms on your mouth, nor the contented hums which vibrate in your chest as you hold him close to you, savoring the feeling of being warm and full of him.
You know you might regret the decision later; but there, spread out across his — your — kitchen floor, Levi’s full weight bearing down upon you as he continues to flood you with his release, you can’t help but feel that maybe this wasn’t the toxic choice at all. Perhaps this is simply a manifestation of everything that is good in your life.
Good. That’s what you decide to tell yourself as you feel Levi’s lips press sleepily against your neck. This is good; this is right.
Because this — he — is your home.
#attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#levi ackerman#aot#aot x reader#aot fanfiction#aot smut#levi x reader#levi aot#snk levi#captain levi#levi x you#attack on titan fanfiction
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𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓.
summary: the possibility of a relationship with you was enough to give rafe cameron the hope of something better.
lyrics: “ to live for the hope of it all. cancel plans just in case you call. ” & “ back when we were still changing for the better. wanting was enough. for me it was enough. ”
folklore masterlist. . .
Rafe knew what it was going to be from the start. He knew it was wrong , not that he ever cared about the difference between right and wrong and where his choice fell between that line. Somewhere deep inside of him— he knew he wasn’t the chosen one. He knew that it was a fling , that you were still growing up and figuring life out as you went along. Rafe knew he was a pit stop through your journey , but he didn’t regret it.
It all happened by coincidence. Right place at the right time.
After another shit day dealing with his dad , Rafe had ran off to the beach. Usually he would’ve sniffed some coke and gone to a strip club , but he just didn’t have the energy.
He liked the beach at night , anyway. It was quiet. There usually wasn’t anyone else there and the sound of the waves crashing against one another soothed him. Helped him forget. Helped him focus.
The moon was currently at its crescent stage. The stars twinkled a little bit brighter , and it reflected against the water. His shoulders weren’t tensed. His chest wasn’t heavy. He could breathe.
When he stumbled across you , sitting in the sand with your head in your knees , crying loudly to yourself— he stared. He just stared. His brain was telling him— no , yelling , at him to walk away. Mind his business. Although he couldn’t see your face , he knew exactly who it was sitting there.
You had the same denim shorts that you always wore over your pink bikini. Your hair was wild around you , blowing softly in the wind. It pushed your vanilla scented perfume his way and he froze— gulping.
“Hey. . .”
His voice had startled you. It made you gasp and retreat within yourself. Instinctively bringing an arm up to cover your face. Rafe stood there with his hands in his pocket , a stoic expression on his face.
“Rafe?”
You said his name so softly , so shyly. Rafe couldn’t deny that the sound made the hairs on his arm stand. Goosebumps.
“You , uh , you okay?” He asked awkwardly. He cursed himself inwardly for the stupid question and tried his best to keep himself emotionless. Regardless , you were a pogue. JJ’s pogue girlfriend nonetheless. He shouldn’t have even tried talking to you. He should’ve walked away , let you cry.
But he didn’t.
And to this day , despite everything , he didn’t regret it.
That night he had sat with you. And it was the first night in his entire life that he had felt comfortable. There was this aura around you that was safe. You looked at him with softness , like he was fragile and he hadn’t ever experienced something like that in his life.
He hung on to your every word , listening , learning. It was just you and him underneath a big open sky and Rafe could feel it melting off of him. That baggage. That. . . that hurt.
He didn’t know how you did it , but you had managed to make a tiny , minuscule crack in the huge cement walls he had built around himself.
After that , it just seemed to fall into place. You’d meet him there almost every night. At first it was innocent. You’d bring a blanket , grinning as he approached. The two of you talked about nothing serious. The light stuff. Getting to know eachother , friendly.
And then. . . and then it happened. Rafe still doesn’t know he allowed it. It happened quick , but the memory was anything but blurry. He remembered it vividly , forever replaying that moment over and over again in the back of his mind.
This night was different. Something tense hung over in the air. Something Rafe couldn’t quite understand. Not at the time.
Your head was leaning on his shoulder. Both of you stared forward , watching as the waves raced against eachother. Racing against time , against this one moment that was so fleeting— so temporary. Something Rafe knew , you knew , but both refused to acknowledge.
“Isn’t it crazy? That we understand eachother so well?” You murmured to him.
Rafe hummed. “So much for that whole Kook versus Pogue thing.”
You pushed yourself off of him , and looked at him. “You’re not who I thought you were.” There wasn’t anything mean hidden behind your sentence. You said it softly , quietly. A hidden message that he understood.
Finally , he had tore his eyes away from the water and looked at you. Really looked at you. His breath was caught in his throat and his chest was aching. The air was warm , it smelled like pine and wood mixed with the saltiness of the sea. The night air clung to you gracefully , suiting you. The aura around you was clear to see. You were glowing underneath the stars and Rafe swore to himself he’d never forget what you looked like. Nothing in his life , had ever come close to being that beautiful.
“What if I am?” He wondered. Second guessing her , and himself. “What if I am this terrible person everyone thinks I am?”
Your face relaxed. It softened as you stared in his eyes. Rafe noticed how the crinkles by your eyes disappeared and your lips pursed as if wondering what you should say next.
“You aren’t.” You said it with such certainty , it took him back. “You’re broken. We all are. It doesn’t make you a terrible person.”
In an instant , Rafe’s entire perspective of himself had changed. The little boy inside of him cried. He felt understood , and truly seen. Seen by an angel. Without thinking , without knowing , Rafe leaned forward to kiss you. It was soft , hesitant , like he was asking for permission to continue.
Then as if the stars aligned for just the two of you , you melted into him. You kissed him back. Everything around you had faded , everything before him— before this moment had disappeared because nothing else mattered. At least right now.
The feel of your lips were soft and gentle. Tender. He was afraid to rush it and it’d disappear. Deep down he knew that the outcome would be nothing short of painful but he didn’t care. Not now. Right now , all he could focus on was you. How it felt to be loved by you.
Rafe’s lips felt like a puzzle against yours. His hand reached up to hold the side of your face gently , deepening the kiss to secure the connection floating between the two of you.
He could taste the sweetness of summer on your mouth. His tongue slipping past the barrier of your lips to consume all parts of you. To enjoy , to feel , to taste everything he could.
As the two of you pulled , Rafe leaned his forehead against yours breathlessly. Both pair of lips swollen , both cheeks flushed and both chest heaving.
It was a mess.
A beautiful mess.
But still , a mess.
“We should come back here tomorrow night.” You breathed , letting your eyes stay closed.
And Rafe nodded.
He knew this wasn’t going to last forever. That this was temporary.
But for now , it was enough. The summer , August , you— this , it was enough.
And he would keep coming back as long as you wanted him to , over and over again.
Which he did. Nights turned into days. Days turned into weeks. As he promised , he kept coming back. But as time went on , the more pulled back you were. The stolen kisses were now sparse. And you were more reserved during sex.
You were pulling away from and he knew why.
You had mentioned it in June , when he first met you on the beach. The reason you were crying: because JJ had left for the summer. JJ didn’t tell you why. Just kissed you goodbye , promising he’d come back.
He just guessed that with summer ending , you were expecting JJ back. JJ. Not him.
Never him.
Rafe wasn’t stupid. He knew was mourning you before you even left him. Not that you could leave him. You weren’t ever really his , were you?
“I don’t want you to forget about me.” Rafe said in the middle of August. He couldn’t help but feel sad. “Forget about what we have. Forget about summer.”
The look in your eyes he’d never forget.
“I could never forget this.”
And then , Rafe decided , that everything was worth it. The loving and the losing.
tag list: @redhead1180 @eddsthemunson @valuunit @a-lovers-card
#jj maybank x reader#jj maybank imagine#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron#outer banks#outer banks imagines#rafe cameron blurb#jj maybank fanfiction#jj maybank#jj maybank fluff#rafe#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron x you#rafe x reader#rafe fic#rafe obx#rafe cameron imagines#rafe cameron fluff#rafe cameron imagine#folklore#august
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