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hexonthepeach · 3 months

Text

perfume - k.dy

pairing: f4!nct doyoung x fem!reader (past johnny x reader mentions)

genre: hana yori dango/boys over flowers/meteor garden/f4 thailand reverse harem au (mild allusions and characterization only)

warnings:

bully-to-friends-to-lovers, established relationship, polyamory, dom!doyoung, glucose father adjacent, scent kink, control over food consumption/bathing (for scent kink purposes only), gratuitous use of the l-word by anti-romantics, angst/feelings, flashbacks and history

🔞 edging, cockwarming, orgasm denial, oral (m/f receiving), passionate sex, rough sex, spanking, creampie, bukkake, consensual negotiated kink (degradation, somnophilia), anal play (f receiving)

wordcount: 20k

author's note: this is a doyoung-centered continuation of my ongoing F4 au. it can stand on it's own but i recommend reading Dive for more context. Doyoung's role in the F4 is Sojirou Nishikado/So Yijung/Ximen/Kavin (playboy control freak) so this fic incorporates elements of his secondary romance within the original/adaptations, now with y/n.

read on AO3

fic headers / dividers credit to @ saradika + please do not repost

Freshman year, Kocher International.

Head down in your books at lunch, trying so hard to escape scrutiny from above, you pretend to be no one.

It shouldn't be hard to be nobody, otherwise ignored and immune to whatever social contract deliberates your life. In a better world you'd be invisible. It's a superpower you'd wish for much more over the usual playground answers of super speed or control of the weather.

Let me be unobserved, you'd thought. Let me open a door and not worry about a bucket full of dirty mop water falling on my head or the inevitable posting of a grainy video of it, posted in a Telegram channel to fulfill some checklist made up by bored, rich monsters.

Your four-generation-behind phone with its cracked screen proved useful in some regards; you never heard about these public pillories until some kind stranger sent you a screenshot of them, usually in the context of whatever plans they'd made to torture you again.

Every notification is already a pain, driving splintered glass into the pads of your fingers. Just now you're reading a text message from your father asking you to pick up more cheap instant noodles from the convenience store on your walk home to round out whatever scraps he's picked up from the local restaurant your mother bussed tables and cleaned dishes at when she needed extra money.

"Why is Saint Kim watching you?" your friend asks across the table. She's been looking up at the room this entire time, unable to give you even a moment of her attention or assistance to finish the English homework you'd been working on. You'd been rushing all day to finish it before afternoon class, after a late morning of delivery driving for your family's drycleaning business.

"Are you sure it's not the Devil?" you ask, parsing through the lines of a book you'd bought secondhand, trying to match verse for verse.

"No," she says, shaking her head when you finally look up. "Don't react. He's coming this way."

"Shit," you say under your breath, eyes flicking to your untouched lunch. "I need you to leave now. Take these trays and dump them and I'll meet you outside of 4th. If I make it."

You don't look up from your book as you mutter, but you follow her path and her hesitancy as she internally debates whether to heed your warning or watch from a safe distance.

Your handwriting becomes a scrawl of nonsense you have to cross out in sharp lines. You begin the verse again, holding your breath as you will your entire body and mind back to a manufactured calm.

If you can't be invisible, you can at least play your role. You're copacetic by the time you see the tips of polished black wingtips beside you, before you hear the Saint clear his throat.

“Y/N.”

He drops a familiar, school-mandated clear cosmetics bag next to your ratty backpack. The already embarrassing stash of tampons and old chapstick has a new bounty including a "used" pregnancy test stick with a second line drawn in with pink gel pen jumbled into its contents.

"You left this . . ." he says, not finishing the sentence to indicate where he'd found it. You immediately hear a titter. Your flock of spectators is growing by the second and the useful idiot at its center seems wholly unconcerned.

"Thanks," you say, not bothering to look up or to even hide the bag. You keep writing, blindly, the English words just rounded shapes flowing from your shaking hand.

Their kind fed off attention, your only defense is to starve them of it.

The Saint clears his throat, again. Apparently he’s not just unconcerned, he’s also unwilling to leave.

"Aren't you grateful Doie found it before someone else did?" You don’t have to look up to know it's Miranda who’s asked, glimpsing her manicure as she picks up your bag, green gems shining on perfectly-tipped nails.

"Oh this must not be hers. I didn't think she could afford this."

You think she might be diving into the stash for one of the Lilies' pointed additions but no–you watch in horror as she plucks out the bottle of perfume you'd been carrying with you since your parents had gifted you a single, tiny box last Christmas.

"Chanel?" she says, laughing. "No wonder you smell like my grandma."

"Probably a knock-off," another of the Lilies says. Ginger, by the sound of her grating voice. Her handwriting on the board in homeroom listing out your abortions is as familiar as the pink gel pen script on the extra large foil condom with xoxo slut written on it staring at you through the plastic.

"Definitely a knock-off. You have a nose, don't you, Doie?"

You look up, finally, at Saint Kim. He's alone for once–the other one, the Devil Kim that shadows him is still up on the second level, leaning on the railing over his shoulder. You watch the Saint’s small mouth turn into a moue of distaste, nose wrinkling at the proffered bottle.

"Authentic," he says, capping it before offering it back to you. Your field of vision is obstructed by that veined, pale hand–fingernails as perfectly groomed as the rich girls who surround him.

You reach up to take your most prized possession back only to find he doesn't let go, holding tight when you try to pluck it from his fingers.

"You should know . . . " he says, sniffing slightly.

You look up at him with alarm blazing in your eyes. Every word Kim Doyoung says to you writes your next damnation. You should ignore him, run, anything–but you can't look away once you've met his assessing gaze, his tall frame limned in the fluorescent cafeteria lights like he's carrying his own personal halo.

Even seeing him at a distance every day can't depreciate how ethereally handsome he is. You know better than to swoon at that elegant face, night-black hair pushed away from his forehead. Beneath his family’s charities and his PR-scripted concern you know he’s just another ungodly creation birthed of nepotism and curated genes.

He leans in, carefully, musical voice a whisper.

"You should know it doesn't suit you."

The laughter that follows is deafening.

No, you think. He's just as soulless as the rest of them.

“What do you mean actually sleep?" you ask, coyly, unbuttoning your romper. "Like after we . . . ?"

"I've managed 6 hours of sleep in 36 hours, y/n–” Doyoung seems to hesitate, dark eyebrows raising, hand pushing his hair back from his pale forehead. He snaps his laptop closed, at last, shoving it to the farthest edge of the bedside table.

No–you think–not hesitation.

Frustration.

You've seen this man before.

All work and no play made Saint Kim into a Prince of Hell. He'd spent the first 8 hours of your date day half-present–the other in the 4 hours of sleep he's gotten since some crisis at his family’s headquarters in London that usurped your vacation.

A whole 2 days in which he hasn't held you at all. His rules, his chance, but you can't help but wonder what has him so clenched that he's barely even touched you since your date began at 6 am Bangkok time.

You'd taken two extra strength melatonin and slept like the dead, anticipating his early-riser schedule. Only you and God had to know you'd fallen asleep next to your day tour fit ready to be fucked in it.

You’d made yourself so pretty only to find him in the kitchen hunched over his phone, laptop softly pinging with notifications. Doyoung had still been dressed in the clothes you'd seen him in the night before, ending his conference call to laser in on you hovering in the kitchen.

"Are you upset?" Doyoung asked.

"No," you'd lied, pushing the piece of paper he'd left the staff on the counter, his English handwriting crisp and formal. "What’s this?"

"We have a few dietary restrictions today," he’d said.

"Are you saying I am what I eat?" You’d asked, taking a bite of a plump strawberry. "Is this some kind of prep?"

"It's for the date," he'd said, resigned. "Just be patient with me."

Then he'd smiled, disarming you with a casualness you hadn’t seen on him in a long time, rubbing his eyes blearily under his thick glasses.

"Can we go back to sleep?"

And so you'd settled into his grasp on your made bed, scrolling Insta and waiting for the inevitable alarm–which turned out just to be Jungwoo delivering two iced Americanos in some gambit of checking your progress.

"Missed the floating market opening?" Jungwoo asked, eyebrows raised at the sight of Doyoung face first in a pillow.

You'd silently mouthed your thanks, leaving the drinks to sweat on the bedside table as you changed into your second outfit of the day, occasionally drifting in to check on your sleeping beauty.

It was a rare delight to have him so vulnerable beside you, blanket rucked up beneath his chin and his white teeth visible past the sweet curves of his mouth. Without consciousness your partner for the day is just Kim Doyoung, the gentler side of the same creature who you knew would often choose a couch to watch serial television with you over a day trip if you wanted it.

But this was different.

Now instead of using his precious time to fulfill what you'd felt promised in his casual brushes against your back when you'd finally traveled out, or the way he'd stroked your leg at brunch under the table (every bite chosen by him, of course), you're being railroaded into lying still while he sleeps.

Again.

You continue undressing, letting him drink in the sight of the lingerie set he’d left in your room. You knew it was custom made by the way it lifted each curve he’d already had access to, tailored for you as if every millimeter of your body was to account for.

Doyoung's cheeks are hollowed, lip chewed. He pulls his glasses down and regards you even more as you continue to undress yourself.

"You do know what the word 'nap' means, don't you?"

"I'm not the one who hasn't slept," you say. "At least let me get comfortable."

His stare pierces into you as you turn around, stripping for utility rather than give him a show he clearly hasn’t earned. You check yourself in the floor-length mirror beside the bathroom, viewing yourself through his eyes as you pluck the lace over your curves to sit just right.

“Do you like it?” you ask.

You may as well be speaking to the floor when you turn around, finding him buried in the pillows only by the dark fall of his hair.

“You can’t be that tired,” you say.

You're used to taking a late afternoon siesta in peak summer but you're far too excited to even consider sleep right now. For one, it's sweltering–windows open to allow the noises of hawkers and traffic not far off to drift in.

Second, you've never been more turned on in your life.

You can still feel the tingling in your toes from when he’d slipped his hand up under the hem of your shorts, teasing at the velvety smooth skin on your inner thigh as you tried not to choke on your mimosa.

You make your way to the bed languidly, crawling up the thick white duvet with a teasing smile.

"Just stay on your side of the bed, please," Doyoung says.

"Oh," you say, collapsing on top of the covers beside him. "Well you're no fun."

"And you're impatient and uncouth," he retorts in a way that makes you wonder if he really means it.

"Will you at least hold onto me?"

"Too hot." He rolls on his back, flapping his half-buttoned shirt in the breeze from the fans. You sigh dramatically, collapsing into the pillows in the middle of the bed.

"You should get naked, then.” You say. “Don't be modest on my account."

He opens one eye to glare at you, finding you relaxed and inviting beside him. His throat bobs, gaze flicking to the ceiling.

"That year of celibacy really took a toll on you, didn't it? Two hours. Indulge me."

"Please, sir," you whisper. "I've been such a good girl."

It had been a stipulation of the F4’s latest deal–24 hours for you to recover from your first night before the gauntlet began. Doyoung had been more than strict about the terms, leaving you your own set of instructions including–not surprisingly–not touching yourself.

Under normal circumstances you wouldn’t think about masturbation constantly, at all hours of the day. He may as well have told you to try not to think about a white bear for how powerful the intrusive thought had taken over since then.

"You'll get your reward. Later," he says. He's an impassable wall, stretched out beside you, so you content yourself with staring at his profile. Even under these oppressive circumstances you appreciate the light dusting of freckles on his cheek brought out by the sun, the dark lashes dusting his cheeks over the slight bluish marks of sleep deprivation.

"Yes, sir."

It only takes a few minutes for him to snap at you again.

"Stop that,"

"Stop what?"

"Getting so handsy."

You hadn’t even realized your hand had drifted over the plane of his belly under his white shirt, too absorbed with watching the muscles in his cheek spasm as you inched nearer.

"Can I help it when you're right there?" you ask. "I thought this was your–"

Doyoung rolls you before you can slither any closer, pressing your back into the sheets with his hands on your wrists, knees digging into your thighs.

If the intention was to get you to stop being uncomfortably turned on it has the opposite effect: you let out a moan of pleasure, legs twisting together for friction. He slams them shut between his own, groin pressed into yours.

He's as hard as you hoped, and you lift up into him to let him know you know it.

"If you don't behave I'll have to cancel this," he warns directly in your ear, sounding as choked as you feel. "I thought you were already trained."

"Trained to fight back," you correct, pressing against him with your own strength.

"That's not trained," he says, lifting up. "I'll blame your lack of experience and experienced partners. Nothing we can't work on. Until then you'll follow my rules or I pull you from the game. Understood?"

You let a few beats pass, accepting there's no way out and you don't have anything to throw back at him.

"Yes, sir," you pout.

"Now that's a good girl," he says.

Just as quickly as you were taken down you're let go, inhaling deeply now that you're not being pressed into the soft bed.

"You really don't want to play with me before you sleep?" you ask, brushing your lips against his chin as he crouches over you. You’d be a liar if you didn’t say you enjoyed the way his nostrils flare a bit, working his pink bottom lip between his teeth. Whatever arbitrary rules he’d set for your time together you can tell he’s at least regretting it right now, stiff length brushing against your bare leg as you lift your knee to test it.

“Are you trying to make me punish you?” he asks, voice husky.

"I thought you liked it when I was a brat," you say, cocking your head.

Doyoung sighs, eyes half-lidded. "I do. But not when you're using it to avoid intimacy."

Your throat clenches, a hard knot forming in it you can't seem to swallow as your face gets even hotter.

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

“I think you know what I mean,” he continues. “It’s not like we both don’t have a habit of using sex as a distraction from anything emotionally challenging.”

You gape up at him in disbelief.

Of course you’d never been able to hide that aspect of your last relationship with him when he’d often been right outside the door. All of the F4 knew how many times your arguments with he-who-should-not-be-named-especially-not-while-in-bed-with-his-best-friend had ended in you shutting him up by any means necessary. Not that you didn’t enjoy it at the time–but rather you understood it wasn’t the most healthy template for a relationship.

"I thought this wasn't going to be about feelings," you blurt out.

“Proving my point.”

Doyoung tsks, tapping your cheek with his fingers–nowhere near a slap but just as effective, soothing the spot with his thumb. Soon he’s brushing your tears away when they inevitably spring up and you have to turn to hide their seep into the mass of pillows.

"If I wanted therapy I wouldn't be here, Kim Doyoung," you say, trying to bury your face in the piles of soft down.

“Shh, silly girl,” He gently pulls you out from hiding, soothing you with a warm kiss against your forehead when you stop struggling and let him hold you, releasing that surge of emotion and writing it off to hormones and the sting of rejection.

“You know I’m speaking to myself here, too,” he states softly. “Bear with me, I’m learning.”

"Do you even really like me?" you ask, face pressed into his chest.

It’s horrible to admit this specific insecurity but you can’t help it. Being abandoned multiple times in your life when you’d finally, finally let your walls down would damage anyone’s trust. You’d hoped this day with him would be easy and carefree and light, not dimmed by the shadows of your anti-romantic histories.

"I adore you, actually." He settles partially on top of you, leg wrapped over yours as he props himself up on his elbow. "Which is why I want to start this right. You wanted the F4 boyfriend experience. This is mine."

"Last I checked you’ve never seriously dated anyone," you groan, sniffling.

"Last I checked, neither have you."

Well, that connects. You swallow your fears, relaxing into the cage of his embrace, retreating a little from the vulnerability of being exposed.

"What kind of girlfriend experience were you expecting, then?"

A lazy smile gusts across his features. You can't help but find it a bit sinister after being handled so indelicately.

“I don’t always know what’s going on in that empty little head of yours." He accompanies his statement with a brush of his thumb across your flushed cheek, tracing your semi-parted lips in a way that sends sparks down to your core.

"I’d like to stop guessing and actually get you to let me treat you the way you want to be treated. Have you ever asked yourself what you want?"

You panic a little, considering his words. Living with disappointment had made this question a hard one to even consider.

"I just want a good time. Isn't that what you want, too?"

Doyoung seems to ignore your ask, drifting into a relaxed state against the pillows. His hand traces the hairline at your temple. "You know I worry about you. All the time, actually.”

His voice is lower, a little wistful, and it’s doing just as much as the slight brushes of his fingertips to make you throb all over again. A lack of sleep must have made him delusional, you think. This is not the Kim Doyoung you know.

“You’re always thinking of how to take care of the people around you, I think you’ve forgotten how to relax and let other people take care of you.”

"Is that why you're always involving yourself in my business?" you ask, matching his tone in how breathless you are. You expect a quip, not the sincerity written on his face when he swoops in to press a gentle kiss against your lips, too fleeting to be anything but sweet and sincere.

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do all this time? It certainly wasn’t just to get into your pants. I want you. All of you.”

You're taken aback by his honesty. You'd always suspected his constant meddling in your affairs came from a place of interest but you'd never wanted to give him too much of a response–maybe a little afraid his fickle nature and fear of commitment would mean he’d give up on your friendship, too.

Another thing you knew about Saint Kim: he had a tendency to run like a frightened rabbit at the first sign of emotional neediness in his partners. You'd never given him reason to believe you expected anything from him, but you'd also stopped fighting him on giving you what he desired to give.

It wasn’t just presents or expensive experiences, of course. He’d found out quickly those weren’t welcome without some cajoling. No–his art was in knowing what you needed even before you realized it, nudging it across your path.

You’d figured out his deviousness after the umpteenth time someone was charitable at your little florist shop part time job, offering to fix your scooter in exchange for a nice arrangement for a proposal. As soon as you’d seen the fully restored bike outside and the customer didn’t return your texts you’d called Doyoung, completely unsurprised to find he was at the coffee shop next door, waiting to pick up his flowers.

“Stop being so nice to me,” you’d said. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

“What makes you think I’m giving you charity,” he’d responded, dropping a department store bag and your own custom coffee order on the counter. “You’ll wear this when I come to pick you up tonight at closing, including the jewelry and perfume. I need you to play your part again. The flowers are a consolation for the heart we’re breaking.”

He’d enlisted you as his defacto “new girlfriend” for the more difficult separations, and though you’d gotten your share of a glass of expensive wine thrown in your face more often than he ever experienced it (his type always went after the easier target) it wasn’t like he didn’t have a replacement dress ready and a nice dinner waiting after you’d cleaned off the Chateau Lafitte Rothschild.

You have to face the fact that no matter how many times he’d treated you like his girlfriend, you’d never actually expected him to want you to be one.

“I’ve waited a very long time for this, Y/N. Which is why I want our first time together–alone," he adds quickly. "–To be special."

It's difficult to believe him but you're spellbound all the same, watching pink dust his cheeks and his ears turn a shade darker as he most likely realizes how ridiculous it is considering him fucking you senseless the other night with the help of two other men.

But you can empathize with his anxiety. Yesterday's Thai massage he'd arranged had helped you work out the flight or fight of anticipating being alone with him. It’s back now, but different. The way he's looking at you makes you feel infinitely naked, infinitely unlocked.

"What do you mean special?" you ask, wary, hoping to see some glimmer of uncertainty or falsehood in his gaze. You want to believe it's a lie or just some artful prank, trying to ignore your heart flip-flopping in your chest.

It’s a mistake to let him see you squirm considering it’s Doyoung’s drug of choice–his lips twist into another menacing grin as he plays with the charm on your necklace. Another of his little gifts.

"Do you think you can handle it?" Doyoung asks, dripping self-satisfaction. “Or are you going to chicken out on me?”

You turn over so he can't see your expression, realizing he’s throwing your own words from the night before right back at you.

"I haven’t decided if I want to date you, yet,” you say.

"Maybe not," he says. "But you'll have to pardon me for wanting to show you this good time you supposedly want while also treating you decently. Unless we're no longer friends?"

"We are," you say, biting your lip, "even if you enjoy torturing me."

"Torture?" He laughs, breathy.

"Metaphorically speaking."

"You have no idea, do you?" You can feel the edge of his glasses as he bites the place where your clavicle connects to your shoulder, his hand snaking around your bare middle.

"You could show me," you invite, mid-gasp, as your body responds to his long-awaited touch. His fingers are almost cool in contrast to the heat in the room, tracing circles in your skin that have you squirming.

"Is that a challenge?" he asks.

Why not?

"We don't have to have sex," you offer. "Maybe you could just–"

"Shh," he says, fingers skimming lower. "My terms. Are you going to stay quiet for me?"

You nod into the comforter, breath hitching as he touches you through the thin layer of your underwear, veined hand flexing as he molds the damp fabric to your body. It's such a delicate pressure but he's already memorized your shape, index finger sinking into your folds, gently rubbing a ring around your throbbing clit.

You're sticky and swelling with each pass, entranced by how good he is at teasing you, cherishing the way he sucks in his breath when he pushes into the indent of your hole.

“Doie,” you whine, leaning back into him, trying to get him to kiss you as he laughs into your hair.

“Quiet,” he reminds you, kissing your cheek and teasing the seat of your underwear where they're soaked the most. "You want to take these off?"

You shake your head, sensing it would be too easy of you to give in.

"That wasn't a question," he says, tugging down the band, leaving them trapped tight around your thighs. "I don't want you to wear them until I tell you that you can."

You feel your core clench at the way his voice cracks, his fingers sliding back up to slowly and delicately draw a thread of moisture from your bared slit. You whine a little when he stops touching you, bringing his fingertip to your lips.

"Taste it."

You let your mouth fall open, let him run it over your tongue, beginning from the middle and swirling over it.

"Describe it," he murmurs. "If I like your answer, maybe I'll indulge you more."

"Salt," you say, immediately.

He tugs your hair, making you meet his eyes.

"Have I taught you anything? I want specific notes. Flavors."

You're transported back to the time he'd taken you to your first (and last) wine tasting. Spitting into a bucket and being lectured about body and tannins and soil conditions was the last thing you'd wanted to do after an hours-long trip to a vineyard but you'd indulged him, allowed one glass of what he considered the only drinkable wine on the premises.

An unrefined palette, he'd called you.

"Fruity and floral," you make up. "A nice lingering finish. Want a taste?"

He looks down at you behind his glasses, equal parts amused and unimpressed. "Did you use the soap I asked you to?"

Your brain glitches at that. Had you? You'd been in such a rush to go out–

You gasp when he palms your breast, squeezing the meat of it through the breathable fabric of your matching bra.

"I'll take that as a no," he says. "I guess you're not ready."

He rolls off of you, leaving you in a lurch as you realize your legs are locked together by your underwear. You move to remove them, taking off your bra as well to avoid the awkwardness of being partially dressed.

By the time you're done you realize he's on his back, the hand that had been stroking you buried in his loose khakis.

"What are you doing?" you ask, more than a little pissed off at the sight of him masturbating as if you aren't ready and willing to assist beside him.

"Getting ready for our date. You can watch. No touching." He cracks an eye to look at you before closing it again. "Either of us."

"Are you edging me, Kim Doyoung?" Your menacing tone is entirely natural.

He hums a bit, working himself at a more punishing pace, knuckles peeking out from under his boxer briefs with each full pass over his length.

"Can't even look at me? Afraid you'll lose control?" You sidle down on the bed, beside his tensed thigh. You can smell a bit of the ozone on him from a morning in the sun, your knees knocking into his calves when you move over him.

"I don't trust you," he says, voice deeper than you've ever heard it.

"Is it touching if you finish on my face?" you ask when he finally blinks up at your presence, hovering over him with your breasts dangerously close to his clothed thighs.

"Absolutely not."

"Not touching–"

"Just. Watch," he orders.

He pulls himself free from his pants, surprising you with how dark and weeping his tip is as his thumb encircles it. Pools of white precum spatter on his lean, pale belly, your head dipping dangerously close–

"I said watch." He grabs at your hair, denied when you bend up again, showing him your dirty tongue.

He groans, fingers clenching air. "You were put on this earth to test me, weren't you?"

Still, he doesn't break his attention on the way you roll the drops you'd licked from his clean skin in your mouth, swallowing once you've fully enjoyed the taste.

"A little sweet you say," teasing him. "Drinking pineapple juice?"

"Brat," Doyoung says, but he's almost gone–eyes dark with desire, gently gripping your skull as you continue to ease in.

You're a master at following his lead, blowing a breath over the spot you'd licked, and then his length until his movements slow, cherishing the way you hold your mouth over his cock.

"If you can't give me what I want, then at least give me a taste," you say, sticking out your tongue in offering. You love the way he responds to the sight, needy and losing it when you hold eye contact, drilling into him.

"No," he echoes, weakly. He's too smart to push into your open mouth, instead driving his hips up to fuck his fist as you watch his glasses slide down his nose, eyes clenching shut.

"You're no fun," you say. "Just a little swallow can't hurt?"

"No. Don't want to ruin it," he says cryptically, making a choked noise as you brush his fingers with your nose and he has to pull you away.

"I promise you it . . . It will be worth it," he manages. His jaw clenches as his movements relax, finally in control of you both.

"It better be," you say.

You lower your lashes as your eyes flick between his cock and his face, stretching out your tongue to the point that drool begins to drip down your chin, splashing on his whitened knuckles and the tight stretch of his balls peeking out from his underwear. He bites his lip, breath holding as he starts to spiral.

The first thick rope of white rockets up his half-bared chest. Soon he's spurting even more, cum reaching his rucked up shirt, a little getting on his glasses.

He's so out of it he doesn't fight as you wrest out of his limp hold. You clean up the sticky mess on his skin with your tongue, his abdominal muscles twitching under the light flicks and drags.

"Want to give me some notes?" you ask, straddling him without resting any weight down, taking off his glasses. This time when you move to kiss him he rises weakly to meet you, lips parting to accept what you haven't swallowed.

In truth, he tastes wonderful. Coffee, a little menthol from toothpaste and a hint of the watermelon you'd shared earlier mix beneath the coat of his spend.

He licks into your mouth until you moan, your body throbbing with unfulfilled pleasure. You follow him as he sinks back into the pillows, enjoying having him at your disposal, your core leaving wet trails on his thigh when you brush against the fabric.

"I'm going to wait until you're asleep and use you if you don't help me get off," you threaten, pressing soft kisses to his slack face. It’s no use. Doyoung has passed out again, lower teeth visible as he snores softly, forehead sheened with drying sweat.

Fuck it, you think.

You ooze off of him to take your second cold shower of the day, and maybe get acquainted with one of the fancy showerheads in his massive walk-in while you use his special soap.

It's not–technically–touching yourself.

Your mystery destination isn't an unknown–it's in every tourist booklet and blog you'd skimmed before your trip, thinking you'd be on your own to find a good spot to traverse to. But it still takes your breath away the moment the car door opens in the sprawl of motorbikes and delivery trucks and Doyoung takes your hand to pull you into Paradise.

Pak Khlong Talat is a bustle of energy well after dark, the time you know its treasures are delivered fresh and unbloomed, wrapped in newspaper and steeped in crushed ice. For as far as you can see the market sprawls along Chak Phet road, but even more overwhelming than the sights and sounds is the scent.

Jasmine, roses, lavender. Thousands upon thousands of blooms strung up and tended to by night owl vendors, delicate arrangements hand-sewed by artisans streetside into garlands so well-crafted Doyoung has to tug you to keep you moving, onwards to some other unspoken destination.

"I was worried you might hate flowers after working with them for so long. I take it you like it?" he asks, indulging you when you ask if you can take his picture at a particularly lovely hang of garlands, the purple-blue light perfect for the film you'd loaded into your father's old camera. Photography had never been your craft, but after your dad had passed you'd made an effort to capture more of your memories, cherishing what you'd taken for granted before.

“It’s perfect,” you say, admiring him through the viewfinder. "But can you look like you're having fun?"

Your model is stiff, mouth a moue as he checks the street for other observers or a possible collision with a laden handcart.

"Fun?" Doyoung asks, and you snap his picture on the offbeat, enjoying his look of surprise.

“Like you've taken your date to one of the most romantic places on earth, after buttering her up with a night cruise of Chao Praya and finally letting her eat real food."

He sniffs at a fall of marigolds, a smug look on his face that you commit to film, right before he sneezes.

"For the record, we're eating after this. Som tam hardly counts as a meal, I just didn’t want that drink going to your head."

You're shepherded through the vast warehouse of the main market, to an adjacent street, and into a non-descript building painted in a funereal white.

"Are we even allowed to be here?" you ask, once the key code is entered and you enter the strange business.

"I called in a favor," he says, taking your hand, leading you up a metal staircase past a simple storefront of dried blooms and shelves laden with boxes and bottles alike.

An apothecary? An alchemist's shop? The purpose of the space eludes you.

"An atelier," Doyoung explains. "One of the most sought out in the world."

There's the distant hum of the city outside and a central air you're unused to in this climate but the upstairs is quiet–by all accounts either an office or a laboratory, or a mixture of both. The central working area is a chaotic but organized space filled with tables of glassware and dried floral arrangements contrasting potted orchids, small beakers of coffee beans littered amidst rows of labeled brown bottles.

"So this is how they make perfume," you say, inspecting a stoppered bottle labeled "Gerianol 10%".

"Not just any perfume. The best. Here." Doyoung leads you to a much less cluttered workstation, the desk arranged with the lights still on, a note detailing some instruction you can barely read before he slips it into the pocket of his slim-tailored pants. Beneath it is a notebook, scrawled with a perfect cursive English you recognize from the cards he’d included in boxes or bags whenever he’d bothered to claim their contents.

"Sit," he instructs. You think he means the comfortable chair but before you can sit down he presses you to the desk, caging you in.

"Sit," he repeats, hands on your hips through your slinky skirt, lifting you to the bench. You scoot back, carefully, the white blooms of some exotic flower brushing against your cheek until he can move the vase a careful distance.

"Do you understand what we’re doing here?"

You can't possibly know what he means, eye level with the graceful column of his neck and his exposed collarbone beneath his translucent button-down, drowning in the melange of scents but most especially his clean, neutral cologne.

"No," you say, honestly, heart beating fast.

He picks up a corked flask from some kind of metal scale, dipping a thin thread of paper into it to waft it a fair distance from your nose.

"Before we came here--before you even agreed to this trip–I sent instructions to my friend for a specialty blend of their creation. It took quite a bit of back-and-forth–I even visited here last month to take a private class and make sure we prepared the base and middle to your standards."

"For me?"

You feel dizzy, reaching out to take the sample and smell it again, his hand capturing your own before you can bring it too close to your nose. He wafts it for you, expectant as you absorb the details.

Indeed, it smells divine–exactly the kind of warm, bright notes that make your heart feel at ease. There’s something floral and citrus worked in, not too heavy, the finish leaving you with an impression of a lazy summer afternoon.

“It’s beautiful,” you say. “Did you make this to match what you knew I liked?”

"Yes.” Doyoung exhales, looking almost sheepish. "I had some references. That cheap shampoo you never stop buying, the Lush exfoliator with the orange blossom, even–" he shudders a bit– "that awful Chanel you doused yourself in, in high-school."

"Coco Mademoiselle," you say. "It's been years since I–"

"It didn't suit you," he says, standing up to sample another bottle from the neat row.

Something dawns on you, a distant memory locking into place.

"It was you," you gasp in realization. "You're the one who got rid of it. I should have known when you tried to give me that bottle of Jo Malone–"

“It had already turned. You need to store your scents away from direct light.”

“It was a keepsake!” There were very few possessions from your youth that you’d been able to hold onto–not only because your parents had been barely able to afford your school uniforms, much less gifts. What little you’d had was lost when your house was destroyed by the men your father owed money to, this small thing neglected in the destruction.

“It didn't suit you because it wasn't made for you," he continues. "You wore it because you thought it would make you fit in, when you should have made what you wore wear you–"

"Please, stop."

You have to bite your lip to the point of pain, remembering how excited you'd been to unwrap that tiny bit of luxury your parents had saved up to buy you, your mother sure the brand name would save you from another day of humiliation. You didn’t have the heart to tell them that the cutout ad from the magazine on your wall was for the model, not the actual perfume, but you felt loved by the gesture all the same.

Hundreds of thousands of won an ounce for it to only turn on your skin, well before afternoons spent on the basketball court under the thankless sun. That memento had aged from pink to a sickly rose unused on your cosmetic shelf, a totem from a time when you imagined yourself belonging. Before it had disappeared, like so many other things.

You can't remember the last time you'd worn anything, had never even gone near that section of a department store after the humiliation of being made fun of for smelling cheap.

“My dad skipped lunches and my mom worked double shifts to get that for Christmas my first year in Kocher,” you say. “Mira was the brand ambassador for that campaign, you know.”

Mira had been your idol even before you won the scholarship she’d established to attend Kocher. Perfect, beautiful, but most of all the first girl in their sphere to show you genuine kindness.

"It must be so easy for you," you say, wiping your face. You rarely cried these days but that memory was particularly painful, a reminder of how often you’d assumed Doyoung found you just as offensive. Not just your scent, you thought, but you.

Something to be tolerated. Below his regard.

"Whatever you want, you can have. Whatever you don't like, you can get rid of. I'm sorry, I don't live in your world. I can’t just throw something away when it’s not useful."

"No," he says, quietly, abandoning his explanation. "That was thoughtless of me. I can replace it–"

“Can you?” You glare up at him. “Is this what you really want? To dress me up like your perfect doll and feed me from your hand so I’m more able to suit you?

Doyoung looks like he's going to be ill, every design in his head unraveling before your eyes. You’d feel sorry for him if you didn't know this was a lesson worth imparting.

"Don't ever offer to replace what you don’t know the true value of," you say, voice trembling.

There's a weighted silence as he considers his next words. You still haven't slipped away from him, choosing to hold your ground. How many times had you been forced to be the antagonist in some fruitless class warfare, unresolved? But then you also had a habit of finding battles in peacetime.

You pluck the newest scent strip from his frozen hand and waft it between you, at the designated distance.

“Thank god this smells nothing like it,” you murmur. You offer him a wry smile, anger fading. “I couldn’t stand it.”

You feel Doyoung’s relief as he collapses against you, forehead against your hair as his arms wrap tight around your middle. You relax after a bit, cheek pressed to his collarbone as you breathe in his unique scent–a little like fresh laundry left out in the sun.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “All these promises and plans and stupid details and at the end of the day I really . . . Don't know what I'm doing."

"I really don’t know what you’re doing, either," you say. "But I like that you try.”

"You do?" The hope in his voice makes your iciness melt a bit. You let your hands twine around his neck, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease with the gesture.

“I know it’s not easy for me to admit but I do appreciate everything you do for me, Doie,” you say.

He doesn’t respond in words but you savor the shift in his demeanor, like a weight has been lifted from him. You think even he didn’t know it was there. You ignore the glassiness in his eyes when he pulls back, choosing to look at his notes instead.

“Are these all the ingredients?” you ask, working out a few of the more familiar words. “What’s op–?”

“First things first,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. "Did you touch yourself?"

"No," you say, surprised by the shift. "I followed your instructions. No products with scents. No underwear."

You spread your thighs to make your point. His hands hike your skirt up, over the breadth of skin to your hips and then to the curl of your belly, his breath hitching as he finds you already glossy.

It had been a bit of a gambit considering your riverside excursion but he'd allowed you a lemongrass-based repellent–the scent of which is still clinging to your bare skin as he kneels down to press a kiss to where his fingers had traced earlier.

You jerk a bit, conscientious of the workspace as he spreads you, just that light touch making your nipples harden beneath your thin shirt and bra.

“Are we allowed to–”

“Shh. Relax and try not to spill anything,” he interrupts, breath cooling your wetness. “I just need some inspiration.”

“What?”

"You’re so good already," he says into your sex, spreading you so he can lightly tongue at your skin. “Perfect little flower just for me.”

After waiting so long, you're torn between begging and shoving his teasing licks away, hand threading through his raven hair as the notebook slips from your hand.

"Kim Doyoung–” you gasp as he spears his tongue through your upper folds, nose nudging the sensitive bud. “–if this is another round of teasing I will murd–”

You yelp as he hunches down to wrap your legs around his shoulders, hands re-occupied by exposing you as you try to stay upright.

“Don’t worry. You can come like this. I want to know if you taste different after.”

You don't know what he means until his mouth closes over your clit, sucking just right. You jolt, pinched on the meat of your thigh until you can relax again, making little mewls as he rolls his thumbs alongside the point of contact.

“I want you inside of me,” you beg, feeling that fluttering sensation that heralds a build-up. “I wanted to come with you inside me.”

“Soon. Just need to be good while I sample you.”

“Sample?” Your hand sinks into his hair in panic, tugging, but Doyoung is too lost alternating between suckling at your sex and palpating you with a circling thumb, his beautiful hands gripping your thighs to keep you spread.

“Drip for me, first.”

“I don't think I can–”

“You giving up already?” Doyoung scoffs, smirking up at you with reddened lips, tongue-tip darting against your clit. Every brush of soft muscle makes you spasm a bit, belly tightening unfulfilled.

You shake your head, panting. “I just . . . Doie I want you inside me.”

“You can relax and take it,” he says, tongue wrapping around your labia, sucking slightly. Your head is buzzing, every stray thought removed by his exploration of you.

“Relax. If you don't I'll just have to try until you're begging for me to stop.”

“No, please, Doie. I'll be good,” you plead. “Just . . . need something inside. Hurts so bad being empty.”

“Hand me a pipette.”

“What?”

“The one that looks like an eyedropper,” he says, hand open to accept like he’s performing surgery. You fight to find the right glassware with his mouth still on you, efforts more focused and intense as your legs tense with each hit. You find the rubber-stoppered glass cylinder, stomach dropping.

“Is this safe?” You ask, gripping his mussed hair tighter when he pulls away for a moment.

“If you hold still, yes,” he taunts. You seize when you first feel the tip slip inside you. The glass is cool but warms to your body heat quickly, too slim to feel anything.

“Good girl,” he says. “You’re even pushing this out, you must be so tight.”

“I am. Too tight,” you groan. “Please don’t tease me anymore.”

He ignores you, focusing on his work, pulling the instrument free when he’s satisfied.

“Not bad,” he says, dropping it on the desk beside you before he’s back on his knees with his nose buried in your cunt. “Bet you can do better than that.”

“No, please, I need you–”

“Then drip for me,” he laughs into your leg, tracing the wetness down the crease in your thigh. You tense your hold on the desk’s edge when you feel his tongue prod at your entrance, muscle breaching your hole to lick into you. He makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat that has you plummeting just as he resumes stroking your clit through the slippery coat of your arousal.

Finally, you think, feeling the advent of tears for how wound tight you are, how desperate you are to feel him give you just one more point of contact with the ache inside.

“Oh god, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you repeat, the noises obscene as he drinks you in, other hand on your hip to hold you against his face. It’s not even the stimulation that makes you begin to come but the audible groan he releases as he feels you quake against his mouth, heels snagging on his shirt when the first wave breaks and those little tics inside you turn into powerful contractions around his tongue-tip taking everything you can give him.

He keeps licking you even when you’re begging for him to stop, nose tracing down to catch a stray drop from the back of your knee with a playful dart of his tongue.

“Was it worth it?” you ask, folding over him as he wipes his mouth clean in your drenched skirt. You know it’s just the start but you already feel wrung out and feather-light, wicking away the sweat that’s beaded on your own face despite the cool, dry air of the room.

“Hmm?” he hums a bit, disentangling to stand up and hold your face in his hands. His pupils are blown, sweat beading on his temples, but he looks as satisfied as you hoped he would be, your arousal drying on his slender features.

“All the prep,” you say. “Isn’t that why–do I taste as good as you expected after all that?”

Doyoung looks down on you, amused. Already you feel like you’re heating up again, with how his dark eyes flit to your mouth and back up again.

“You think I prefer you prepped?” he asks, angling his head down besides yours to whisper in your ear. “The next time I eat that perfect little pussy of yours I want it to be filthy.”

He traces the lobe with his teeth for good measure, pulling another moan out of you. “I’ll even make sure to wait until the other two have a go at you, first.”

You feel your heartbeat stutter as he presses his lips to your pulse point, tongue darting past his lips to dab at the sweat there.

“No, precious, I wanted to make sure the perfume we make tonight matches all of you.” Doyoung’s nose brushes your ear as he breathes in your scent. “Every time I wear it I’m going to remember the way you sounded when you first came for me and me only.”

The promise of it has you feeling a different kind of heat, dizzying for how much you want it to last past this night.

“Fuck,” you whisper explosively, eyes clenched shut to stay fixed upright, fisting the thin material of his collar as he pulls you from the countertop and against the hard planes of his body. “I need you. Now. Please.”

“I like hearing you say that,” he chuckles a bit. “But I’m going to make you earn it. You can wait a little longer. You made me wait years, after all.”

You let him guide you into his lap, in the chair, pushed into the desk as he opens the notebook to another page. And another, until you take over and explore it for yourself. In the dim golden light from the street outside you catch glimpses of colors and drawings, notes written of impressions and memories you’d all but forgotten in your haze of grief these past few years.

There’s even photographs taped to some of the pages–ones you know well by the fact that they’d been taken on your camera. Doyoung didn’t have Jaehyun’s artistic training but he did have an eye for capturing candid moments.

November, your first year of college. You’re standing in the first snow of the season, catching flakes on your tongue. You can still feel the burn of them, hear the murmur of the city dulled in a fresh blanket of white and taste the roasted yam you’d eaten, tossing it in your mittened hands until it was cool enough to peel.

Doyoung’s shoulder is off-kilter beside yours, unable to capture himself in the frame for all his long reach. The peek of the striped scarf you’d knitted for him in gray and blue is all that’s visible of him under his peacoat, the mismatched weave of it captured even in this poor exposure.

“Base note: cedarwood,” you read, carefully, eyes hazing a bit with emotion. Evergreen.

“I still have it, you know,” he murmurs against your temple. “I only stopped wearing it because it started unraveling.”

“I’d make you another but I quit knitting after making three scarves,” you say, wryly. “Well two and a half, actually, I ran out of yarn on Jungwoo’s and made him a hat instead.”

“I thought you were just trying to get him to hide that ridiculous military haircut,” Doyoung muses. “Keep going or we’ll be here all night.”

“Now you’re impatient?” you ask, cementing your flirtation by shifting in his lap. You can’t ignore the feeling of his erection folded against the curve of your ass, or the way he grunts when you find a better seat with it nestled between your thighs.

“Sometimes I forget you were put on this planet to vex me,” he says. You’re lifted up by the waist, a hand on your lower back the moment you’ve found the desk for support, face above the book.

“Why don’t you try reading until I’m satisfied you know exactly what you’re getting?”

You don’t fight him, elbows bent as he rucks up your skirt. You feel your face grow warm with blood as you find yourself exposed to him again, locked in by his legs and his groping touch reaching up beneath your shirt.

"Base notes: amber and–" you have to fight to keep your voice steady as he swats your exposed curves, hard enough to sting.

"Ambergris,” he corrects, voice fried with delight.

“Ambergris,” you repeat. “And white musk."

"Good. And?"

"Bisabol–" you begin, corrected with another slap on your ass that hits, hard, glass jingling on the table.

"Did you jump ahead?" He asks, knowing full well your eyes are swimming with tears.

"No sir," you say. “I didn’t think that was a real word.”

"Opoponax." He says, reaching over you to grab a bottle, dropping a thick oil on you and rubbing it into your bruising skin. "Also known as sweet myrrh. Go ahead. Keep reading."

"Source: distilled from resin from ancient groves in Somalia, bought in Mogadishu from a local orchard, all profits to fund schools and clinics for women displaced by civil war."

"Do you believe this to be a charitable effort?" He asks, hand spreading over your buttocks. You think he might be referring more to your arrangement than whatever is written on the page.

"No," you say. Your history and political know-how might be lacking but you've seen the wrong side of kindness. "It sounds like what people write to make themselves feel better about exploitation."

"Clever girl," he answers. You feel his nose brush against your skin, testing the mingling of scent with it. "Keep going."

You turn the page, swallowing back your protests. This spread is rich with text and color, a veritable garden bursting from the page. You fix on the first entry in the upper corner, bracing yourself for another faux pas.

"Heart notes: Turkish rose," you say. "What is this, poetry?"

"Aren’t you familiar with it?"

You shake your head, lips pursed in delight at the scrawl of English. “No.”

You let out a gasp as he bites the flesh nearer your back, the sting of it surely leaving a mark by the way the pain lingers.

"Read it," he says, dipping over you for another bottle. “You’ll remember.”

"I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, where oxlips and the nodding violet grows," you dictate, stumbling over every word and yet never punished for it. Instead Doyoung lets a steady drip of the bottle fall down the back of your leg to your knee, his fingers bringing up the rest to mix what he's already poured on you.

"Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, with sweet musk-roses and with eglantine."

You end your recitation in a whisper, leather binding and paper gripped in your fingers as he massages the oil gently into your tingling skin, careful to avoid where your legs are locked together in arousal. You're heady with scent and sensation, awaiting some reminder that this isn't just a strange dream you’ve wandered into.

"There sleeps Titania sometime of the night, lulled in these flowers with dances and delight," he finishes for you as he paints the rest up your spine beneath your shirt. You let him ministrate on your body as the words settle, as time recedes and you face a version of your youth you’re not sure isn’t just fiction.

That book beside you, the first time he’d spoken to, long forgotten.

“Midsummer’s Night Dream,” you say, turning to face him again, settling between his thighs as he fails to meet your gaze. You lift his face with your fingers, cheeks indented by your gentle hold. “You remembered that, too?”

“It was the first time you ever looked at me,” he says. “And it felt like you saw right through me.”

No, you’re not dreaming. You’re the architect of this moment just as much as he’ll claim to be a cursory observer if confronted on it.

You take in his mismatched eyes–one folding a little more than the other when he smiles at you ruefully. Those freckles you’d never really spent time examining, a happy accident of the time he’d spent with you in the sun. His fingers catching yours for a moment when you weren’t paying attention.

But most of all, the haunted cast where he’d lost sleep managing someone else’s problems. When he’d still been worrying about yours.

“You’re always thinking of how to take care of the people around you, I think you’ve forgotten how to relax and let other people take care of you.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I don’t think I ever really saw you until now.”

“What didn’t you see?” he asks, expectantly.

Six years of his careful distance from you, that coldness and disinterest just another mask for someone who was as raw and vulnerable and real as you if you managed to pry open their shell. His tendency towards control, towards the knife’s slice of cutting you so cleanly from his life no one would know your name unless he spoke it aloud.

There wasn’t another human being in their right mind who’d last that test, your only grace being that he’d thought you were untouchable. His best friend’s girlfriend, of course. But beyond that, one of his best friends.

No, one of his only friends.

“What didn’t you see?”

It wouldn’t require money or taste or a family name to bring Saint Kim down to earth. Just time and small acts of resistance, like the beautiful shell remnants you’d spilled into his hands on that last trip to Maui together, when it had still been the five of you. Each ground down to a small disc with a perfect spiral at its center, a reminder of the beauty remaining in broken things.

You place the notebook in his hands, curling your fingers around his. The pages it’s opened to are sparsely constructed, besides the photographs nestled between. Only you two know what’s there, buried in black sands and blue waters. You can see his handwriting falter where he’s written the notes for this moment in your shared history, sketches of those shells, and flowers.

A single photograph of you watching the others playing in the surf, his shadow cutting across the stretch of your legs.

Top notes: Jasmine for sensuality.

Orange Blossom for innocence.

Plumeria, for admiration. a new beginning . . .

You recognize the creamy yellow-white flower he’d tucked behind your left ear when you’d fallen asleep beside him. A non-native plant to the island, you’d learned, worn to indicate one was taken. A weed, like you, now prized as a treasure.

“What didn’t you see?”

You pull back to look at him, giving him yourself without reservation.

“That I think you love me . . .” you say. “. . . Like I think I love you, too.”

He looks up at you, astounded, the chair beneath him creaking as he collapses.

For once you regret being beside him when you’d heard the same words spoken to him by other people, pulled into their lives without you ever remembering their names. The difference between you, you once believed, was that they didn’t mean it.

Now, you understand, they just never knew the true cost of losing him.

You watch him collect himself, running a hand back through his hair and curling into his seat, memories forgotten in his lap, bedamned. You’re sure the engines of Hell are running hot for the way he can’t even look at you right now.

He needs a way out, you think. You’d rather be drowned in other women’s wine poured over your head than be on the receiving end of his disregard again, the script already constructed in your mind before you’d found you had the nerve to sleep with him.

"You can be honest with me,” you say. “Tell me it's been fun but you're not interested in a relationship.”

“What?” Doyoung is just as confused as when you’d told him you loved him, as honest as you’ve been in both sentiments.

“Your family will never approve of me. I’m just another fling you happened to take a more lasting interest in. It’s better this way. Cut me off, forget about me and move on.”

It's his turn to balk. You expect his pre-programmed response. Saint Kim's gospel for turning down the interested but uninteresting party: deflect, dissuade, detach.

“No,” he says, face draining of color.

“It’s okay,” you say. “I can handle it. Really. We can still be friends.”

“No,” he repeats, more forcefully.

“What do you mean, no?” you ask. “Isn’t that how this always ends?”

“You stupid girl,” he says, grabbing your face in his hands so you can’t escape, making you look into his warm gaze.

"Don’t you get it? This was always about feelings.”

When his lips crush against yours you don't have to speak to respond, catching his head so you’re not suffocated by the raw emotion you can feel in every movement. You return each kiss until the breath is out of your lungs, until you're drowning in his scent as he forces you back onto the desk.

You’re impatient to feel him, everywhere, aware you’re ripping buttons as you open his shirt to gain access to his smooth chest, trailing kisses as far down as you can go, still unable to escape his tongue sliding over yours.

“I wasn’t going to do this here, like this, but fuck it,” he says once he’s free, fumbling with his belt as he holds you to pepper your face and neck in a steady reminder of his affection. “I need you.”

“I need you, too,” you echo wholeheartedly, helping free him out of his clothing, pulling his length to where you’re still slick with oils and cum and ready for him. God, you think you’ve never been more ready to break around him, to show him what he’s brought out of you with this game.

“Please don’t make me wait anymore,” you whisper.

You watch his face, breath held and heart stuttering as he sinks into you slowly, both of you gasping at the way your heat resists each measure of his continuous thrust. It feels like he’s barely in you when he stops, making you moan in dismay.

“Doie, please,” you say, trying and failing to wrap your legs around his slender hips to capture him deeper. You’re half out of your mind with that burning weight inside you remaining still.

“Say it,” he says, taking off your shirt to have access to your skin. He pulls down your bra, nipples tugged between his fingers as he assaults your neck with his tongue and teeth.

“It’s special,” you choke out. “Thank you, please–”

“Say it,” he corrects, twitching inside you but not moving an inch more. He curls down to nip at your breast above the lace, sucking a mark into the softest part. “Without the ‘I think’.”

“No,” you resist, realizing what he’s asking too late. Your nails sink into his half-bared shoulder, head rolling against his. “You don’t get to torture me for that.”

“Don’t chicken out on me now.” Doyoung laughs against your cheek, hand splaying around your hip to still your squirming. “I can do this as long as it takes.”

He thrusts, just a little more, making you cry out in desperation as the contents of the desk tinkle behind you.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “You think I love you?”

“So, so close.” He pulls out, rocking into you again to feel the seize of your entire body when you anticipate just how far he’ll go before denying you. A little more, at least, and you can feel how much it’s taking for him, see the strain in his body as he holds back.

“You love me,” you tease, this time not a question, no you think. “Saint Kim loves me.”

He sheathes himself in you fully, gripping your nape to kiss you as you clench involuntarily around him, protests in the back of your throat muffled by his tongue sliding across yours. He tugs at your bottom lip when he breaks free, fully smiling now like he isn’t buried completely in your cunt just warming himself instead of chasing his own bliss.

“What did you call me?” he asks, leaning over you to retrieve something.

You take advantage of his distraction to snake a hand between you, slipping beneath your skirt before it’s grabbed, tight, and brought up to his lips.

“Don’t cheat,” he says, wrapping your fingers around the cap of a bottle.

“You never heard anyone call you that?” you murmur, opening it.

You smell spring flowers and delicate citrus before it’s taken away, set aside when you nibble and suck at his sensitive ear to make him twitch, hands drifting across his ticklish belly down to his hipbones. He reads your intent again, stopping whatever silly task he’s doing beside you to lift your wrists to his shoulders.

“The name is a little ironic, isn’t it?” you say, squeezing him experimentally with your thighs as you stroke his nape with your nails. You flex other muscles too–earning the grunt he makes as he feels you squeeze around his girth.

He angles your head, pressing something wet and soft to where your pulse flutters in your neck. You’re immediately permeated with a light, airy, sweetness, the different scents revealed like a melody that ends in that richer, warmer scent from earlier.

“Is that my perfume?” you ask.

“An anointment,” he says, blowing across your skin to dry it and sending a shiver down your spine to where your bodies are locked together, that fullness and muted pleasure of him radiating down to your toes.

“I do seem to have a demon inside of me,” you sigh into his neck as you rest your head against his shoulder. “Do they do that in exorcisms?”

“Blessings,” he corrects, adjusting with another grunt. “We’ll find out if it worked in about an hour.”

“An hour?” you grumble. “You think you can keep torturing me that long?”

“I think I gave you the key to your own cage,” he says, checking his watch. “About five minutes ago. Does it feel like longer?”

You mumble something into his rumpled collar, making him laugh beneath you. Even just that tiny movement has you involuntarily gripping him, abdomen clenched.

“What’s that?”

“I’llsayitifyoumakemecome,” you repeat, embarrassed enough to hide your face in the crook of his neck again.

“You think this is a negotiation, Y/N?” Doyoung’s hands are back on your breasts, thumbing the areola in slow circles that are very much a reminder of his touch earlier on your throbbing clit. You whimper, trying to stay still so he doesn’t figure out that if he continues to do that you might have a chance–

“You trying to make me come squeezing me like that?” he asks, breath ragged. “That seems like a quick way to end this.”

“You . . . you could just fuck me,” you wheeze, feeling the way he teases your pebbled, hard nipple with lighter brushes, his mouth quirked where it’s pressed to your forehead.

“What if I want to make love to you, instead?” he asks. He inhales sharply at your body’s response.

“Fuck, you liked me saying that, didn’t you?”

You nod, unable to speak, holding onto him in desperation as the combination of his words and soft strokes make you melt into the pleasure of every small motion of him inside you. You realize he’s unconsciously pushing into you, too, unable to keep his hips from pressing into yours.

Overstimulation is making you hyperaware of the scratch of his unzipped jeans against your burning thighs, the random brush of his open belt against your belly. Time seems to disappear as he holds you quietly, letting you soak up the fragrant, radiating warm reality of him.

“I can wait all night for it,” he threatens, even just his lower register making you quiver a little around him. “Count every time you twitch and moan on me until you break.”

You’d felt him flag a little while he worked but now he’s fuller inside you, stretching you wide as he twitches to life. It’s even hotter than all of this build-up, you think, knowing he can act a menace but that the idea of you surrendering to him is what’s really getting him off.

Of course, you think, mentally steeling yourself like you’re preparing for war. In a way this is something like it, up against as formidable a foe as he is.

“Doie,” you whisper, threading your hands in his hair as you nuzzle for his lips, kissing him softly and intimately, like it’s your first time. “When did you know?”

“What?” He goes a little rigid against you, unable to hide his rapid heartbeat with how close you’re pressed to him. You blink up at him, expectantly.

“When did you first know you loved me? Really?”

He smiles, shyly, but you see the hint of anxiety on his features beneath his arousal. There it is, you think, having to hide your own satisfaction.

“Is this a trick question?” he asks, warily, eyelashes half-lowered.

“Not if I know the answer,” you say, smoothing his kiss-swollen lips with a touch. “I don’t think it’s in that book, either.”

“Really?” He’s intrigued, a tentative rock of his hips against you making you dizzy. “Tell me.”

You shake your head, just as playful.

“I’ll tell you later,” you say. “After.”

He sighs explosively, nose wrinkling. “You don’t know.”

“Want to bet?” you ask. It’s always a little thrilling seeing Doyoung presented with an opportunity he can’t resist. He fumbles for the notebook beside you, almost slipping out of you when he has to reach even farther for a pen.

“Write it down,” he says, smug as a cat who’s caught something small and easily toyed with.

“Only if you do, too,” you say.

His answer is a pained sound of agreement, adjusting himself against the desk.

“No peeking,” you say, flipping to a page in the back.

“Wait,” he says, grabbing the book before the nib of the nice pen touches the creamy paper. “What are the terms?”

You ponder for a moment, feeling a grin slide onto your lips. “Doesn’t our perfume need a name? Whoever is right, gets to name it.”

You can practically taste his delight as he leans in to kiss you, forcing you to pull your page closer to you. You make him wait, filling the blank space as best you can with detail as he fidgets between your legs, sending small shocks of pleasure through you both.

“Thank you,” he says in earnest once you’ve handed him it open to a new leaf, his hand and the notebook shaking a little as he tries to write mid-air, finally resting it awkwardly atop your head in order to scrawl out his own answer.

“My eyes are closed, Kim Doyoung.”

“You’re a cheat,” he says, shushing you with an added thrust of his hips.

You settle back on your elbows, already enjoying your victory as you feel the tiny pressure of his handwriting, hear the scratches of his sketch. You're more emboldened than ever when the leather binding snaps shut.

“Now tell me,” you say, looking up at him coyly.

“Can’t I just show you–”

You snatch the book from him, turning to your entry. Then, to his horror, you rip your page free and fold it shut, tucking it into the pocket of his open shirt.

“Tomorrow morning,” you say. “You had 24 hours, right? I’ll give you my answer tomorrow morning.”

Doyoung looks as if he’s tasted something sour. “You won’t tell me.”

“I’ll tell you that you won,” you say, looking down at his page. You trace the fresh ink with care, admiring his tight script and explanation. “February to April? How could I have guessed an entire season?”

“Did you at least guess the year?” he asks, looking a little better for your affirmation of his win.

You nod, finally feeling the discomfort of your position and resting your head against his warm chest. There’s nothing awkward about being wrapped around him like this, the late hour and strange, still space making it easier to forget the world outside.

“Hard to forget,” you say. “I thought for sure I’d never see you again after that winter holiday.”

Another break with Johnny, of course–but this one had been your choice. You’d finally felt the crushing weight of two years of contempt from the people around him, the Suh family matriarch at the center of it all, doing everything in her power to crush not only you but the people you loved.

And then, when you’d needed him the most, Kim Doyoung had walked away from you, too.

“I didn’t think I’d see you, either,” he sighs. “It was the first time in a long time you weren’t with us. With me. And it was my fault for pushing you away when you were just trying to–”

“It’s in the past now,” you cut him short with a finger pressed to his lips.

The memory is painful, still–and you don’t want to sully this moment with it. You appreciate that even in his roundabout admission there’s a clear understanding for all you’d been through. You’d hoped he remembered that time from the past, when you’d first peered between the cracks in his carefully-manufactured facade.

Now you could be sure of what it meant to him. You feel like your own walls are crumbling, the light shining through.

“So you chose the period of time when we didn’t speak to one another, at all?” you muse. “Not just one day?”

“You know what they say. Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” he says. “You were on my mind every minute and every hour of those three and a half months.”

He pauses, sigh warm against your brow. “I couldn’t tell you when I knew, for sure. I certainly couldn’t admit it, then, even to myself. But sometime then, I realized I cared more about you than a friend.”

You’d never doubted he was capable of it, never doubted it might be true. But hearing him admit it, now you know why he wants to hear it from you, too.

“Say it,” you say.

He finally looks at you again, tired but alight with amusement.

“You first,” he says.

“Who knew three simple words would be so difficult for Saint Kim?” you tease him.

“Alright. Come here,” he motions, slipping out of you with a shared groan. He pulls you to a couch under the shuttered window, settling down and forcing you to straddle him. In this position he can’t stop you from immediately taking all of him, his eyelids fluttering when you bottom out.

“You feel like heaven,” he murmurs.

“You’re not going to last,” you laugh, delighted by the way his nose scrunches when you clench around him.

“Says the girl who’s sucking me in like you never want me to leave.” He grabs on to your hips to roll them against his own, fingers tightening when you wriggle against him. “You’re gonna say it first even if I have to fuck it out of you.”

“Whoever comes first, then?” you offer.

“I can live with that,” he sighs, head resting back on the couch.

You rock on your knees slowly, satisfaction warming you throughout as you force him all the way inside you. You let him hear how he makes you feel, pleading sounds and whispers every time he hits that place in your upper walls, curved inside of you perfectly. It doesn’t matter if you're in control you can’t help but hunt down that lovely rush of pleasure in your belly, twining your arms around his shoulders to steady yourself.

“Good girl,” Doyoung praises, watching you in awe through half-lidded eyes. “You’re so beautiful. I always wanted to know what it would look like when you lost yourself with me.”

His words make you shiver, brushing his lips until he holds you against his mouth to show you how he likes it, less exploratory and more confident. It’s maddening how good he is at this, making you feel every single sweep of his tongue across yours, hand on your neck keeping you from escaping.

“Don’t you want to–” you protest as he helps you to lay flat on your back across the length of the wide loveseat, settling between your thighs.

“Oh god, Doie,” you whimper when he takes over, finally, finally, beginning to fuck you. It’s just as slow but at least he penetrates you fully before pulling out almost all the way, shoulders quaking as he holds himself up.

“Promise me you'll let me dote on you for the rest of your life,” he says, not waiting for your response before driving into you again. His movements are barely controlled, grunts escaping the back of his throat when his hips snap into yours again.

“I promise,” you hold onto him, back arching off the cushion to meet him, blissed out in the relief of each, careful stroke against your fluttering walls. That crescendo is happening whether you want it to or not, every overworked knot of muscle threatening to snap loose.

“Promise me that no matter who you fuck you’ll always let me treat you right,” he says, voice breaking. “You’ll let me show you how I feel even when I can’t say it.”

“Yes, Doie. Yes.” You pull down on his shoulders, trying to move for you both, kissing his jaw and throat.

“Stop fighting me and take it,” he says, moving more easily with the thick coat of your cum, establishing a gentle rhythm.

His voice has always made it hard for you to pay attention to anything else but he abuses that power now, murmuring guidance into your neck that has you tightening around him as he fucks you deep and slow.

“That’s my girl,” he praises. “You’re taking me so well. Take all of me.”

You feel shivers up and down your body, nipples hardening tight as they brush against his chest, his hair tickling your forehead as he blindly kisses and licks at your mouth and chin.

You’d thought he’d be concentrating on something else in his head to keep from losing himself but instead it’s you who's floating, breath captured in your lungs when he adjusts on top of you to pin your hips down, pressing your leg wide to bury himself to the hilt.

“You feel so perfect. I could really do this all night, you know,” he smirks down at you from where he’s supported on his elbow. “Is that what you want?”

“No, fuck, please,” you whine. There’s no thoughts in your head besides just how much you want that ache inside of your cunt to melt into real pleasure.

“You want me to stop?” he asks, feeling how you begin to pulse around him as he swirls his hips up into that most sensitive part of you, his flat belly grinding into your clit. You gasp, leg locking around his, helping him work you apart.

“No no no,” you beg, face hot. “Just . . . just kiss me through it, please.”

Doyoung’s smile grows wider. “Say what you already told me.”

You twist your head against the cushion, earning his hand on your jaw as he makes you look at him while you break, kissing you between panting breaths. His confidence is written in the cocksure grin remaining on his mouth, more cruel when he bites at your bottom lip, hard, before licking the pain away.

“Say it,” he breathes, slowing down on purpose.

“I . . . ah,” you cry out, “I love . . . please don’t stop.”

“What’s that?” he asks, pace punishingly slow. Your legs lose feeling, vibrations starting in the back of your thighs and tremoring down to your feet.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” you repeat, nearly tipping off the edge, “I’m coming, I’m finally–”

He slows down right as you hit that crest, making you cry out in frustration.

“Doie, I’ll kill you–”

“Say it,” he says into your lips, pulling out–too far–

“Iloveyou,” you exhale, seizing around him in time to your wildly beating heart.

“Louder.” He slams into you again, merciless.

“I love you, you stupid bastard,” you say, hanging on to his shoulders. “I love you!”

“Good enough,” he says, drilling into you until he can feel you break, orgasm sustained through the painful pressure of him losing himself in your throbbing heat, finding your mouth again, finally, to silence the repeated mantra on your tongue.

You kiss him fiercely, unloading everything words aren’t enough for, legs tied around his waist to keep him locked inside you until he’s fighting back, fucking you so hard the sound of it fills the quiet room.

“I love you,” you repeat a final time for him, just to watch the way it makes him break, jaw slackening when he loses control, finally.

He stutters into his own orgasm, teeth scraping against your locked lips, forehead pressed into yours as he empties inside you for what feels like forever, finally collapsing on top of you with a whimper when his arms give out and he’s as limp as his cock inside you.

You scrape your nails across his scalp, soothing him. You don’t mind his weight, or the way you’re still pressed together with sweat and your combined spend.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” he rasps, eyes dazed as he looks up at you.

“No,” you say, shaking your head tightly. “Not for me, at least.”

“You’re not mad?”

You know he means his inability to say the magic words but you crack a smile, just as pleased with yourself.

“About the bet?” you ask. “No.”

Oh, it’s delicious seeing realization dawn on his face, little glimmers of surprise and horror bubbling up from his afterglow.

“Fuck,” he says. You’re grateful he doesn’t deny it, rolling to the side in defeat.

“Who told you? ‘Woo?”

You laugh softly, rolling over to pin him down with your leg, trapping him against the back of the couch.

“You did, right now,” you say, relishing having him where you want him. “I had a hunch. And I know you, you’d never beg for someone to say something during sex–”

“I didn’t beg,” he corrects, grimacing.

“What was it? The first one to get me to say it? Bonus points if it’s on your cock?”

“Ah, well,” he says, perking up despite the fist pressed to his forehead in embarrassment. “Then you don’t know.”

“I’ll find out soon enough, Jaehyun wouldn’t–”

“You’re really not mad?” he asks, painfully reticent as you pull his hand away from his face and twine your fingers together.

“Not if it means I can use it as leverage,” you say, kissing his knuckles.

That doesn’t seem to surprise him, at all.

“Good girl,” he says. “What do you want?”

A few years ago, give or take

You’re a little too happy, an awful fact considering how much he'd missed seeing you this way.

Lately you’ve been sleepwalking through your life, all those tiny fractures and bruises finally having the time to mend–but healing is a painful process in itself. Doyoung had returned from his family’s formal Chuseok gathering in Singapore, eager to check in on you after receiving sparing responses from you via text.

You didn’t have a friend he could check in with instead any longer–not after that one girl had fled the country, the other ghosting you after their father was mysteriously laid off from a company he well knew did business with Suh International.

He’s worried about you long before that, terrified that one last straw would break you even if by all indications you were strong enough to take it. After you’d had Johnny arrested and solicited a no-contact order you’d cut your ex off completely, moving to a tiny apartment far from where you’d grown up, changing your number.

Only Jungwoo knew about it, and it was he who’d reluctantly offered your whereabouts to him after a few glasses of whiskey in their usual club.

“She asked me to keep her info on lockdown. Got that hacker kid, what’s his name–Haechan? Wiped her socials off the map, so he can’t find her. He did good but you know Suh.”

Doyoung nods. They hadn’t seen him in a few weeks, probably because the idiot was combing through every civic office and apartment building in the city. Hell, he’d probably driven around until he found her by sight alone, knowing that animal wouldn’t rest until he knew her whereabouts, as stubborn about chasing her down as he was about refusing the F4’s help.

“His mother called me to ask if the place he bought in cash was for her,” Doyoung says, knocking back his drink as he receives a text, heart sinking that it's not you. “Did you help him buy it for her?”

Jungwoo sighs. “No. I just got her rent halved with some coercion, you know? But then he goes and buys a unit in the same building with whatever stash he thought the Old Tiger didn’t know about.”

The Devil Kim leans back, long legs akimbo as he gestures towards the server for a refill. “He’s waiting for her to go back to Chicago before he moves in. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“I did not,” Doyoung affirms, turning away from the group of women at the bar sending looks towards their private table. “Let’s plan for when Madam Suh leaves. I can have her pull him into the London offices, considering he’s failing his courses.”

“Stone cold,” Jungwoo says, smirking. “Glad I’m not on your shit list.”

“Just don’t fuck with her,” Doyoung says. “Or fuck her.”

Jungwoo laughs into his glass. “Even I’m not that stupid.”

He’d thought he wasn’t, either.

Not until you’d called a few days later, your speech a little slurred. He couldn’t have told you if what he was doing was important even if he was in a meeting, showing up to find you picking at a bowl of bar snacks in what he thought might be one of the nicer bars in your shitty part of town. Not as shitty as your old neighborhood, but it wasn’t a competition.

“Saint Kim,” you’d heralded him, raising an empty glass still smelling of watermelon and hibiscus.

“You shouldn’t be drinking alone, here,” he’d said.

You were dressed in one of your few nice outfits, a little on the revealing side for his tastes, but those had been Johnny’s you’d conformed to–animal print and thin straps, tastefully tasteless.

“I wasn’t,” you say, hiccuping. “Alone.”

For the first time in a long time fear spikes his blood pressure into overgear. Were you drugged? Was he going to have to fend off another predator who'd found you vulnerable?

You deserved the chance to move on but there was a real threat in what would happen to anyone who approached you without their permission. Johnny’s, yes, always, but the F4 had also agreed to look out for you well before your last incident at a club.

“Who?”

“She left,” you say. He feels instant relief, reaching out to adjust the thin coverup slipping off your bare shoulder.

“You make a new friend?”

You shake your head. “She’s nice. Met her in one of the ikebana classes work is paying for. Thought we were hitting it off but I must have said something dumb because she ran out of here, fast.”

You look up at him cautiously, too inebriated to realize he can recognize a set-up before it begins.

“You didn’t just talk about your ex, did you?” he asks, settling beside you at the bar. He orders something less ridiculous than whatever you'd been drinking, while you scroll through an Instagram feed, finger trembling over the screen.

You look up at him, color-stained lips curving in an easy smile. “You want to see what we’re working on?”

Doyoung finds himself looking through a grid that is immediately obvious is not yours. His mouth goes dry, seeing rows of beautifully-staged floral centerpieces, the backgrounds as familiar as the back of his hand. You don’t seem to notice, going to the user’s story and tapping in vain to find the picture she’d posted.

“She deleted it already. Huh. Well, she texted me the picture–”

“Stop.” Doyoung places his hand over yours, his palm damp from the immediate flood of adrenaline.

“So you do know Mona,” you say. You look up at him, expectantly, eyes glassy with the brand of hopefulness and naked curiosity he’s seen you charm everyone else around you with before.

“She’s the one, isn’t she?”

Doyoung pulls cash from his pocket, not caring how much he puts down except that he’s sure it’s enough to cover the amount he’d like to drown himself in right now. Enough to go blind and burn out the phantom of that face he’d put behind him years ago.

“Put your coat on,” he says. “I’m driving you home.”

“But I’m not–”

“Now,” Doyoung says, grabbing your wrist. He’s barely ever touched you in the years that you’ve been friends, and it sickens him when he feels you freeze in fear and confusion, that trauma response buried so deeply it's in your bones.

He wants to be kind, he wants to be patient with you. He just doesn’t have it in him to be anything to you right now.

“What’s wrong, Do–?”

“We’re leaving,” he says, dragging you out into the bitter cold evening, the streets slick with sleet, your heels catching on the pavement as you stumble in his wake.

“Stop,” you yell at his back, trying to yank your arm free from where he’s bruising your skin with whitened knuckles. “You’re hurting me–”

“You’ll live,” he says, pulling you to where he’s parked his car, the engine roaring to life the moment you manage to close your door. He can barely look at you, realizing too late that your crestfallen expression is making him more upset than the lightning strike of seeing her name again.

“You didn’t ask my address,” you say, quietly, met with his silence as he drives much more dangerously than the weather permits. He's forced to speak with you once he's slammed the brakes at an intersection, red light shading you through the windshield.

“Tell me one thing,” he says. “Did you try to set us up by having me come there?”

You’re petulantly silent now, an answer in itself.

“Answer me,” he orders, hands gripping the wheel.

“I thought you’d want to–”

“Do you think we have the kind of relationship where you can just do whatever you want and get away with it?” Doyoung’s voice is calm but he sees you flinch at his words and tone, your shoulders moving under your jacket as you begin to quietly cry.

It drives him deeper into anger, hitting the gas with a roar of the engine the instant the light turns green.

“You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself for this one, Y/N,” he says, already regretting every word tumbling out of his mouth. “You fucked up.”

“I just thought you could both have some closure after that–”

The car jerks as he brakes in the side lane of the service road, cars roaring past them honking their horns. Your sobs are barely audible over the idling engine and the blink of the hazards he turns on while he tries to find calm, your face turned away from him.

“You thought that interfering in other people’s personal lives would make you feel better,” he says. “No wonder you don’t have any real friends.”

Out of the corner of his eye he can see your full body shakes still, can feel as that armor encasement you’d put together piece-by-piece over years of dealing with loveless reality falls back into place. And, years later–no, even hours later–he’ll remember how at the time he was stupid enough to think it was the right thing to say.

You needed a reality check, he’d thought. A reminder that all the wishes and hopes in the world wouldn’t change the bleak architecture of it, uncaring by design and much easier to navigate without them. That moving on was the only path to this idiot’s dream of closure, something you knew nothing about for how often you’d let them pull you back into their world, blinded by sunk-cost and loneliness.

All the things he wished he believed for himself, but without the benefit of your optimism.

“Fuck you, Kim Doyoung,” you say, opening the car door and slamming it shut without so much as a glance behind you. He’d waited to make sure you reached the nearest bus stop before driving off, calling Jungwoo to let him know you were here–crying in the cold.

He'd seen you in passing.

His best friend knew a lie when he’d heard it, most especially from him.

He wouldn't hear from you again until spring.

Kim Doyoung can’t sleep.

He’s not allowed to.

He can’t move either, arm going numb beneath your curled body, your breathing finally easing for the dozenth time since his trial began. You have horrible sleep habits–kicking off the covers, stealing the pillows–but tonight you’ve passed out with that same bone-deep tiredness he’d felt earlier, face beatific in the slivers of light piercing through the slatted shades.

It’s close to dawn, he thinks, the cacophony of insects and birds outside transitioning from a quiet chorus to a full orchestral suite. Soon it will be too loud to sleep deeply.

“Y/N?” he whispers, tentatively, not daring to move.

You don’t respond, relief rushing through him. It’s not that he’s desperate to join you in slumber but that he’s waited for you to finally surrender to REM. He needed you down.

And you needed it, too.

He’d negotiated with Jaehyun when you’d been in the shower, earlier, sacrificing precious moments of shared time exploring your skin and the new taste of you under the water to supplicate himself to his best friend and worst enemy in this moment.

“It’s a charter,” Jaehyun said, blinking sleep from his eyes but awake enough to be angry. “You’re not finding another one short term.”

“I emailed you the tickets. Cattle car but first class, at least,” he says. “Jungwoo agreed to give you his day, he doesn’t want to take her out until after dark, anyway. You can sleep in tomorrow.”

“Fine.” Jaehyun had slammed the door shut in his face, but he hadn’t missed the budding smile on his friend’s face. At least one person was rooting for him.

That’s how he’d earned another morning with you. As always, making up for lost time.

You’re half out of the covers, one leg sprawled over the duvet as you sleep. You’d put on one of his softer button-downs, inhaling the smell of it after he tried to steal it back.

“Please let me wear you,” you said. “I want to dream about you.”

Being around you like this is more comfortable than he imagined, as if you’re being slotted into a position he didn’t even know there was an existing space for. He’s woken up to women in his bed but you’re the first who’s ever asked him for this, particular experience.

“I used to have this fantasy, you know, whenever we crashed at your apartment.” He’d watched you go sheepish recalling, dates omitted for a reason. “Sometimes I’d lie there and touch myself thinking about you crawling into that guest bed–maybe a little drunk or you’d forget which room. Or maybe, you just wanted me to think that. I’d be awake but I’d pretend to be asleep while you . . . used me.”

He experiments by tracing his fingertips up your bare leg, the peek of your lace underwear beneath the hem of his shirt maddening for how it curves into the crest of your ass, presented for him. A treat dangled before him, the command to partake only that you wanted him to make it slow–you wanted to wake to it.

He sucks a breath in, erection in his sweatpants hard against the band already from just watching his sleeping beauty. He finds every mark on your leg, every fine hair, thanking Heaven above you aren’t overly sensitive or ticklish like he is when his hand slips beneath his shirt to your belly.

He slots himself against you, carefully, as if adjusting in his sleep. He has to wait for your breathing to even out again, slipping his free hand up to your breasts.

“Used you? Did you not get off in this scenario?”

“I mean, yes. But it’s mostly about you. You wouldn’t say anything at all, you’d just fuck me full of your cum and then you’d leave me leaking it on your sheets and go back to your room. Or sometimes I’d crawl in your bed, if you were alone, and you’d cover my mouth so the others couldn’t hear it. And the next day it would be like nothing happened, you wouldn’t even bother to ask how I’d slept.”

He loved how much of a slut you were, when you felt comfortable enough to share that side with someone. Johnny had certainly never appreciated the subtleties of your nature–too blinded by adoration to even consider degrading you on purpose.

No, Doyoung had known for awhile you pushed the boundaries with him to see if he’d break.

Your nipples harden even though he’s barely handling them, discovering what shape your breasts make in repose as he tries desperately not to rut into the swell of your ass. Warming himself in you earlier had been one of the hardest challenges he’d faced but it had been worth it to learn you inside and out, to know how to make you grip his cock with that delicious little cunt of yours with just a kiss or a word that pleased you.

You don’t wake but he knows he’s gotten through to that little lizard brain of yours when your legs rub together unconsciously, pushing back into him so his cock is settled between your buttocks. The friction from the lace is like the proverbial pea under a mattress–rubbing against his cock through the layers, catching on the veins and scraping the underside of his cockhead.

It’s already a nice ache, one he ignores as he adjusts to better continue plucking and teasing at your body beneath your shirt, until you’re used to his touch enough to truly fall back under, once more.

You're so vulnerable, completely at his mercy as he brings his hand down to test the patch of moisture growing in the fabric, that lace sticky with your dreams of him.

Use you, he thinks. You have no idea what he wants.

Doyoung can play with the fantasy of you crawling into your boyfriend’s best friend’s bed while he’s passed out in the other room, determined to be punished for waking a sleeping monster . . . but it’s not what he's fantasizing about now.

He takes time in stroking you, a single finger digging in between your lips through the fabric, listening intently for your breathing to change. You sigh, one of those full exhales one does in their deep sleep, but you arc back a little, into his touch, leg falling forward crooked so you’re a little more spread.

Doyoung wishes he could move down there and use his nose to push you apart instead of his hand but that’s not your fantasy–not this time. You didn’t want him to spoil you anymore, completely underestimating his love for it. True, he didn’t often eat other girls out, too personal or just too much of a chore to figure out what they liked, but you weren’t ever going to be with him and not come from that first.

Just the thought of tying you up so he can spend hours fucking you on his tongue is making his cock pulse, too hard to be ignored. He quietly pulls down the drawstring of his sleepwear, freeing himself so he can replace his finger with the much wider tip of his cock, biting back a groan as he rubs into that damp, soft lace he’d known would suit you the moment he’d touched it in the display box brought to his private buying room.

You'd never know he’d already fucked himself with it before ever giving it to you, that errant fantasy of touching you finally realized as you whimper a little in your sleep at the soft push of him between your legs. He finds where your clit is getting just as swollen as the rest of you, bouncing against warmth and the promise of unspooling that need with his help, again.

Just his precious little cocksleeve, spoiled and worshiped, showing your gratitude by begging for it even when you’re unconscious. He tests the waters of the scenario by slowly pulling the seat of your underwear to the side, easing in between the fabric and your folds.

You twitch against him, sheets rustling. He holds still, cock jumping and balls tightening with a little anxiety.

He only has this one chance.

Outside in the dark and quiet of the house sleeps the man everyone knows you’re really with, the one who doesn’t have to fight for an I love you to pass your lips. You’d never understood what it felt like watching you climb into Jaehyun’s lap whenever the whim took you, pretending you didn’t know what it did to him or the other two of them watching you.

Your breathing is shallow and your hand flexes a bit, against the pillow, but that’s it. Within a minute he’s grown more confident that you’re still asleep.

He reaches over you, pressing the pads of two fingers against the front of your underwear while he slips a little deeper between your legs, eyes almost rolling back in his head at the contrast between the satiny slide of you and the rougher cling of your panties. It’s a relief as he loses himself to it, rutting from the back while he applies constant pressure to your bud.

“Mmm.” You make a soft noise, but he doesn’t pull free, choosing instead to keep a hypnotizingly steady pace fucking against you. Your hips twitch against him, seeking out more contact, but he doesn’t rush–pressing his head against the back of yours and melding with you in the softness of the pillows and sheets.

You’re so wet you’re soaking his pants, everything he collects tickling down to his balls pressed into your ass. He’s going to stuff your mouth with his fingers, when you finally open it, make you gag on them while he fills you full from behind.

You moan now, voice syrupy with sleep. He doesn’t care if you’re still down, not with you gently pushing back, trying to get release.

Not yet, you little harlot, he thinks, hips going still again. He’s burning at the wait, your cunt continuing to glide against him as you act out whatever is going on in your dreams, the movement making him insane for how closely it adheres to his desire to have taken you back when you were innocent, his little virgin weed learning what her body wanted, seeking it out in his bed.

“Treat me like one of the girls you don’t really like. Use me.”

Such an unending fantasy of yours that he never wanted you, almost sweet for how dumb you are–or just willfully ignorant. He’s always liked the second one better–your little game played out that you were one of them. Dressed in that school uniform, kicking your skinned knees, sucking on a piece of candy while four college-age idiots hid their bathing-suited boners under their robes, fighting or fucking around in front of you so you could keep up that precious little illusion of immunity.

“Johnny,” you murmur in your sleep.

It should make his blood run cold but as with all twisted-up and tangled desires it only makes him feel ignited, pulse pounding in his head. You’re still asleep and thinking of someone else, someone not even in this house, the guilt of it passing over him faster than a cloud on a breezy day.

He rocks back into you, this time pulling out enough that he can find your soft hole, already tight again–the only part of your body not relaxed as he forces his way past the flutter of your opening, cockhead sensitive enough to sense the more textured g-spot where he knows you’ll come fast and easy if he fucks into it.

“Shh,” he says, finally trailing his mouth against your jaw, pushing into you softly. “Go back to sleep, baby.”

“Mmhmm,” you reply, nuzzling into the pillow, curling into him. He pushes a knee between your legs, folding you into the bed beneath him as he begins to fuck you, finally taking you for himself and himself alone.

You’re so warm inside, body adjusting to take him easily for how boneless you are, kitten-like mewls muffled by the pillow. It turns him on hearing the edge of pain there, the way you struggle when he pulls your underwear up so tight it sticks between your folds, clit rubbing against it the way he’d stroked himself to completion with it tied tight around his cock.

“Stay quiet or I’ll stuff your mouth full instead,” he whispers against your shoulder, feeling as always a little stupid but losing that internal cringe when you choke on a moan.

“Is that what my little slut was dreaming about? Gagging to tears on another man’s cock?”

He feels you tense at a bit at the suggestion, letting him use you in spite of the rougher handling.

“That’s right. You said another man’s name in your sleep. Do you think that's acceptable?”

You shake your head, whimpering.

“Such a whore you can't keep track of who's dick is inside of you. Tell me, who's fucking you right now?”

“Doie,” you say, music to his ears. He'd always hated the nickname until you started using it. You were the only one–you were always the only one who made his chest burn with unsated desire when you said his name.

“Who owns this tight little pussy?”

“You do,” you gasp out.

“Are you going to forget me? Maybe I need to fuck you so hard you only think of me when you spread your legs for another man.”

Doyoung feels electric at how easily you begin to crumble with just a few words, squeezing his dick so tight when he says something you like, even more when he makes it hurt.

“Sleepy baby going to let me stuff every one of your holes until I’ve had enough? Use you like my own little doll?”

You nod, no longer capable of speaking except in a plaintive moan when he leaves you to shuck off his pants and pull down your ruined panties, pillow pulled beneath your belly to force your ass up. In this position he can drill into you deeper, burying you into the mattress with each thrust.

“That’s what you get for crawling in here,” he says, fingers digging bruises into your hips to hold you down. “Keep your mouth shut and take it.”

The pleading, almost scared noises you're making have him hard and pulsing, two steps away from coming himself but in no hurry to. He pulls your hair to bring your head back, shoving his fingers in your mouth.

“You like that?” Your cunt can't hide it, sucking him in. “Get them wet for me.”

You drool over his knuckles, gagging as he fucks your mouth with them in an awkward rhythm to his merciless rutting. He spits into his hand when he's satisfied, fingers swirling around the tight rim of your ass so quickly it makes you buck.

“Don't scream,” he murmurs, giving you two fingers at once. You make a noise through the pillow you're biting, gripping him tight. He's gentler with this, slowing, letting you adjust to take him.

“This is my favorite, right here,” he groans. “Feeling my cock inside you with my fingers. I'd fuck this tight little ass again but I want to feel you come like this.”

He begins to stroke you harder, deeper, wet and sticky when his balls slap against your abused cunt. He keeps his fingers buried in you, scissoring you open as you take it.

“Come for me, Y/N, grip me good so I can fill that pretty mouth of yours.”

It's a beautiful feeling when you begin to throb, contractions in your ring of muscle letting him know when you hit your peak. He fights the tingling in his balls, the urge to come with you painful for how long he's been holding it back.

He talks you through it, instead.

“Such a good little hole,” he says. “You're coming so hard, baby, can feel it so well.”

You moan, loud, as you break, loosening almost immediately, flooding him with sweet, hot warmth. He makes sure the last of those tics is gone before pulling out.

“Roll over,” he says, straddling you with a hand on the headboard, delighted by the sight of your flushed face and starry eyes. You already know what to do, tongue lolling and uvula exposed as he guides himself into your mouth, soft tongue swirling around his tip.

God help him he's been thinking about this since yesterday, pushing deep enough to gag but not choke, fucking your mouth and the hot tightness of your throat when he hits it. It’s the sight more than anything that drives him to spill hot white ropes of cum into your mouth, pulling out to milk the last few splashes on your parted lips and delighting at the sight of you licking them with your spend-covered tongue.

“You’re so perfect,” he says, dropping down and kissing you, finally, tongues stroking each other until you finally pull free to breathe, blinking up sleepily at him.

“You do taste different,” you tease.

“I taste like you,” he says, pressing soft kisses all over your face. “My sweet, sweet girl.”

“Did you like that?” you murmur.

“I loved–” he pauses, watching the smile spread on your wet lips.

“I love you, you know,” he finishes. You reach around his neck, comforting him out of instinct, but he doesn’t need it.

“I love you,” he repeats, testing the words on his tongue now that they've flown out so easily, the tightness in his chest easing as you rise up to kiss him.

“It's beautiful to hear you say it,” you say. “But you're right, I know.”

“I think I even know the exact time and date,” you say, reaching between you into the pocket of your shirt to pull out that torn and folded art paper scrawled with your words and an amateurish sketch.

Tomorrow morning . . .

[Unknown number] [Tomorrow morning April 13th dawn is at 6:17] [I have something to show you. Meet me on the roof of the East Wind Hotel]

Doyoung looks at the text message again, hand hanging over the railing of a dance floor, conversation with the woman by his side forgotten. With the blur of a late night and a trip to a different hotel room, with a different woman, he'd almost missed it.

Probably one of the innumerable flings he's had, Jungwoo recruiting him to get every last lick of enjoyment out of Seoul before he enlisted. His friend snatches the phone from his hand.

“No business,” Jungwoo slurs, eyes bloodshot as he focuses on the text. “I thought you weren't working hospitality anymore.”

“It's not . . .” There's something nagging at him, like a bird pecking at his skull in time to the drone of the EM, the buzz of conversation. A sense of deja vu so strong he's forced to cycle on it.

“Pfft. I know you don't bring girls back to your kingdom,” Jungwoo says. “Stop working and party.”

Doyoung doesn't know why he feels compelled to see the cryptic message through, doesn't know why he races across town at 5 am, reeking of whiskey and another woman’s perfume, doing his best to sober up as the designated driver talks about the change in weather, the cherry blossoms in full bloom outside the window.

The morning commute is already surging and the destination central to the city so by the time he makes it he's out of breath from running two blocks away from a jam, head pounding.

“ . . . restricted for non-guests,” someone is saying, voice recognizable as an intern he knows from his leadership program, still stuck on night front desk duty.

“I just need a few minutes, please. I need to take a picture–” He'd recognize that voice in a hundred years if he hadn't heard it, not just a hundred days.

“What's going on here?”

You freeze, shoulders stiffening as you turn to face him. Not much has changed–a new haircut, same ratty old sneakers–but you look different. No longer a ghost, but just as untouchable for the skittish way you hold when he approaches, only the barest relief on your beautiful features.

You don't smile, don't even say hello.

You're scared of him, again, just that thought making him spiral.

“You came,” you say, exhaling. “We need to hurry. We need to get to the roof.”

Doyoung turns to the staff. “Is the roof access still shut down?”

“Stair access only, sir.”

Your eyes go wide at the interchange, something like embarrassment passing over your features as you begin to laugh.

“Of course this is your hotel,” you state, smacking yourself on the forehead. “Of course, why didn't I think to check that. God, I'm an idiot.”

“We didn’t change the name when we acquired the chain so it would be unlikely for you to have guessed that,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“There's no time and it's easier just to show you. We need to get to the roof, now,” you say, grabbing his wrist and tugging on it towards the stairs.

“Y/N,” he says, holding you fixed and pointing at the elevator. “We can take it up as far as we need to.”

You're still laughing maniacally twenty floors up. “I was going to cry if I had to go up another flight of stairs.”

“Are you really taking pictures?” He asks, gesturing at your camera.

“No, but I started carrying it the first time someone called the police on me thinking I was going to jump,” you giggle, wiping away tears. He feels delirious from lack of sleep, so maybe you are, too, but it doesn't seem to be the case as you spring out the doors, forcing him to guide you when you're lost in the executive suite hallways.

“I managed to sneak in last time, otherwise I wouldn't have gotten this far. I'm glad you came just in time, I think they were going to kick me out.”

He's surprised at how easily things have snapped back into place between you, no mention of anything that's happened as you race up the stairwell to the roof access.

“Will you tell me–”

“Oh thank god,” you say once your through the heavy doors and collapsed on the green helipad, growing impatient when he props the door open out of habit. He's been up here many times, nothing remarkable about the space besides the legacy sign on top, view crowded by other buildings at varying levels.

“Stand here,” you say, pushing him into place, turning him by the arms. “Do you see it?”

“I don't even know what I'm looking for,” he says, beginning to grow annoyed.

“Look over there, at the People's Bank. Relax your eyes, it will only take a minute.”

He feels increasingly foolish but he does what you ask, cool morning breeze clearing his muddled head. The sky is washed in a pink and blue haze, the sun cresting the more mountainous region of the city behind you to bathe the city in solid gold.

“There,” you breathe, letting out a little sigh.

“What?” All he can see is a few birds passing over the vista of crowded advertisements and neon.

“Do you see the light?” you ask.

“There's tons of lights–” he begins, cut short by the blinding catch of the sun's reflection on one of the characters, then another. He spells it out slowly, guided by your hand holding his to each one.

The bank: Sa.

The next building over, also burning brighter with the touch of the sun: Rang.

Then an advertisement that has been up long enough most of the original message is lost. Hae.

“How did you find this?” he asks, knowing it would be impossible for him to have ever seen this without knowing the trick of the light.

“I didn't find it. Well I did–I had to search some buildings for it.”

Later he'll find out you climbed close to fifty flights of stairs in the last two months, had spent every waking moment not working or in school breaking into buildings before sunrise to find that exact spot, forever amused at the thought you hadn’t checked his family's flagship hotel first.

“You don't remember getting the same message from someone else?” you ask. “I was worried you wouldn't come, again.”

Again. Something tugs the memory up from the oubliette he'd locked it into, Mona teasing him about sleeping in and missing their appointment.

Mona.

His stomach falls, checking back behind him at the door as if that particular ghost will return to haunt him.

“She's not here. I wasn't trying to set you up,” you say, recognizing the dismay he can't hide. “Honestly. And I know whatever closure you find is yours and yours alone. You were right about that, too, I'm sorry.”

You twist your hands in front of you, suddenly overwhelmed with anxiety. “I did this for me. Because I wanted to know what she tried to tell you, even if she couldn't say it aloud.”

You don't look at him, can't in order to continue. Doyoung feels like a live wire, exposed, two months of painful loneliness and a lifetime's worth of avoidance of this fact all surging through him in this moment.

As much as he would prefer to leave he's not going to run like he did back then, when he'd ignored the hard parts to pretend like a friendship wasn't something more. Not with the stakes of losing this one.

“You once told me you were just friends, even if you couldn't be one anymore for her after you realized you loved her. How it broke you to be with someone you couldn't be with, who wanted something different.”

“Now you know. She didn't want to stay one, either,” you say. You look up at him nervously, regaining your confidence.

“I just wanted you to know that you were loved, Kim Doyoung. You still are.”

You turn away towards the door, pretending not to have seen the tears dripping down his face under his glasses. He ignores them, too, not knowing what to say or do to make sure you never leave him again.

The spot never mattered to him, the word and it's confession forgotten in time. What changed that day was having you in front of him after so long, the way you were a reflection of him so many years ago, fighting to be by the side of someone who didn't know how to love you back, the right way.

He'd promised himself than that even if he couldn't say it, he'd show you.

“Thank you for coming. I'm sorry for interfering with your life, but that’s what friends do.”

You'd almost made it to the stairs when he'd wrapped around you from behind, the first ever time he'd held you in an embrace, unsurprised to find you shaking like a leaf as he rested a wet cheek against your hair.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “Thank you.”

You relax a little, squeezing his hand. In that small gesture everything is reset, everything is okay again. They won't talk about this for the next few years, even when Jungwoo asks how you'd come back into their lives so suddenly and without any indication that things had changed.

But they had. Deeply.

“You can make it up to me by buying me breakfast,” you say, smiling up at him, wiping his cheek with your sleeve. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

“Did I win?” you ask.

Doyoung can only laugh, giddy, as you burrow into his side to smother him in kisses and teasing. You were put on this earth to challenge him, after all–always right there to match him in stubbornness and competition.

He presses his nose to your neck, inhaling the remnants of the scent you'd made together, one bottle for each, though you didn't have to know his formula was just a bit different.

“‘Tomorrow Morning’ has a nice ring to it, I suppose. It lingers well.”

“It was my answer, actually. I needed to see if I could break Saint Kim's vow of romantic abstinence before I made up my mind,” you say, smug as you move to get up. “Glad you were able to find out before your time was–”

You shriek as he pulls you down again, pinning you to the bed.

“I still have a few hours,” he says, voice dangerous. “I'd like to hear you say it again.”

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geoffrard · 2 years

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My Chemical Romance, Hardcore Sexual Repression, and the Lemon Stealing Whore

[Content warning for non-graphic references to pornography, sex, sexual violence, and negative attitudes towards sex work. There is no explicit nudity but you might not want to read this in front of your boss. All images have descriptions in alt text. See sources here. Read this essay on my Dreamwidth here.]

It’s the setup of a joke: Gerard Way, Mikey Way, Frank Iero, Matt Pelissier, and a porn actress huddle around a leather couch in a dingy room as a camera rolls. The actress, a young and bright-eyed Joanna Angel, asks each member of My Chemical Romance in the room, “Do you guys watch porn?”

Most of us have seen the interview. If not, stop and watch it now, because nothing else I say will make sense otherwise. (And here, just for you, I’ve reuploaded the video with at least 10% more pixels. Watch below, or read a transcript here.)

youtube

The fact that My Chemical Romance, whose faces have decorated shirts at Hot Topic for over fifteen years, whose songs have saved lives and inspired memes, who all have wives and children, would end up associated with an alt porn website like Burning Angel often baffles fans watching the interview for the first time.

For example, see these comments left on the original video uploaded to YouTube:

These comments, though more than a few years old, generally represent how a lot fans understand the interview. Other people think it’s funny and perhaps a little out of left field, but don’t question how four members wound up on a porn site like Burning Angel. Both attitudes are a pretty typical example of the MCR fandom’s ignorance about the New Jersey hardcore scene, as well reflecting general weirdness about sex work.

Since I cannot turn my historian brain off, I wanted to provide some of the extremely interesting historical context behind the video. The post I had originally planned to make very, very briefly outlined how MCR ended up being interviewed by Joanna Angel, founder and longtime CEO of Burning Angel. But the more I looked into it, the more I fell down a rabbit hole. This eventually turned into something of a mammoth manifesto about women and sexuality in the late 90s hardcore scene that gave My Chemical Romance and Joanna Angel careers. I will warn you: this is long. But it’s also important historical background information that rarely gets discussed at all—especially by MCR fans.

(So, with all that said, please feel free to ask any questions about anything I say here! Sources for will be posted on a different post which I will link at the end, and I have been quite thorough, though not as thorough as I could have been.)

Tl;dr: Joanna Angel came up in the exact same scene as My Chemical Romance, Thursday, and Midtown, a scene which stigmatized open sexual expression, at the expense of women and queer people—especially those involved in sex work. When she started her porn site, Burning Angel, she applied the same DIY values that her peers did to their own bands, but faced violence and ostracization from a subculture much too repressed to embrace such blatant expression of female sexuality. In this context, the My Chemical Romance interview with Burning Angel in 2004 was not only a group of guys doing a favor for someone they had probably known for years at that point; it can also be read as a somewhat controversial act that pushed back against this aversion to sexuality, and that helped legitimize and popularize both the site and Joanna Angel’s career.

Burning Angel: the Movie (2005)

Say you’re a diehard My Chemical Romance fan in 2005—if you really want to watch your favorite band discuss their porn-viewing habits, you’ll have to travel to either your local adult entertainment store or go to the hardcore porn site BurningAngel.com and order their first DVD, appropriately titled Burning Angel: The Movie. Once you have the disc, you’ll have to fast forward through several sex scenes and interviews with other bands before you arrive at what you wanted: the actress who you’ve just seen in hardcore sex scenes asking Gerard, Frank, Mikey and Otter questions about their preferences in adult entertainment.

The DVD was Burning Angel’s first attempt at more professional pornography, and Joanna’s first foray into full participation in filmed, live-action sex. Joanna Angel would later go on to be one of the most well-known porn stars of our time—in Virgin Territory (2006), for example, she played a lemon stealing whore; you might have seen the video—and Burning Angel would be credited with the popularization of the “alt” porn genre, which broke from the exploitative mainstream porn model and typically featured models representative of subcultures.

But in 2005 her alt porn empire was still in its infancy, and Joanna was still struggling to rectify her recent full expulsion from the local New Jersey hardcore social scene with her enduring devotion to DIY values—and the fact that members of the sexually repressed subculture that had ostracized Joanna were her site’s target audience.

Joanna Angel on the Scene

Any thoughts of a future career in adult entertainment and the last name Angel were far from her mind when Joanna Mostov enrolled in Rutgers University in 1998.

Though she often pushed back against the wishes of her religious orthodox Jewish family, the extent of her adolescent rebellion had ended at sneaking out to punk shows and getting piercings her mother wouldn’t approve of. At Rutgers, Joanna quickly became enmeshed in the New Brunswick hardcore scene, putting her in the same circles as a host of people whose names you might recognize: Geoff Rickly of Thursday (who ran hundreds of shows out of his basement), Gabe Saporta of Midtown and Cobra Starship, and Alex Saavedra of Eyeball Records.

Geoff Rickly: Well, you know, the funny thing is that, at the time, Joanna, who would later go on to form Burning Angel and become a famous porn star in her own right, was playing in her goth bands with chelsea haircuts and the basement shows. Like, her local goth band would play. And they’d bring out people and stuff, and I’d put touring bands on that show, and so it’s funny to me how, weirdly, DIY punk hardcore scenes and porn had weird associations then. [source: Going Off Track: Geoff Rickly, 2012]

The NJ hardcore scene was close-knit enough that while she only has documented friendships with some of these people, she had to have crossed paths with most of them multiple times (for example, Joanna was at the show on December 31, 1998 where Thursday and Midtown played their first real sets). She went to every show she could and hosted some in her own basement.

While we don’t necessarily have a written record of her friendship with Frank Iero and Mikey Way of My Chemical Romance, the fact that Joanna attended plenty of shows in the North Jersey area and also spent a lot of time at the Eyeball House (Alex was a close friend; and Pencey Prep was on his label) suggests that, at the the very least, Joanna, Frank, and Mikey were aware of each other’s presence in these early years. They were peers in the same scene, just as they were with everyone else who frequented the same venues or played in the same basements.

For years, the hardcore scene mattered to her more than anything else; it was her social life and what she based her values upon.

Those hardcore values and a growing curiosity about her own sexuality lead Joanna to sex-positive feminist activism and a writing internship with Nerve.com, an online magazine which explored topics related to sex and romantic relationships. From there, her interest in expressing her own sexuality continued to develop.

[Suicidegirls in 2001]

So, in 2002, when her roommate and friend asked her if she wanted to start a porn site that offered more explicit content than sites like SuicideGirls, which featured punk aesthetics and band interviews but stayed away from anything more than simple nudity, Joanna agreed.

BurningAngel.com went live in April 2002. It wanted to do things differently than other porn sites. While not necessarily pushing the boundaries of beauty standards, the site used models who were beautiful but in a more approachable, average sense. Joanna has said that since she had little experience even watching porn prior to starting the site, she wanted the site to mimic the kind of sex she was having with actors who looked like the people she was having sex with.

Joanna: When we started the website, it was a reflection of ourselves. It still is to this day. There's band interviews on the website, the style of girl that we use is not your average typical porn star and the personality on the website is a little bit different. All the members interact with each other, all of the girls have blogs and profiles, and people become friends with each other. It's more of a community and a reflection of a subculture rather than just being a website with content to jerk-off to and never think about again. [source: Complex: Interview: Joanna Angel Talks Alt Porn, Piracy, And Her Blow-Up Doll, 2011]

[Burning Angel’s homepage in June 2002]

Hardcore Punk Reacts to Hardcore Porn

Her longtime involvement in the scene and her application of DIY ethics to her porn business did not mean that the hardcore culture actively nurtured Joanna Angel’s career in porn. In reality, many parts of the scene were actively hostile towards Joanna and the site once Burning Angel went live.

This backlash isn’t incredibly surprising within the context of late 90s hardcore, a subculture that by and large refused to acknowledge sexuality of any kind.

The sexual repression in hardcore reflected several different aspects of its culture: a negative perception of women active in the scene; a reaction against the violence of tristate hardcore in the early 90s; and, more than anything else, the general privilege of those involved in the underground.

Like Joanna, Geoff Rickly, and Frank Iero, most people involved in New Brunswick hardcore were enrolled at Rutgers, and white, middle-class male college students dominated the scene. For many of them, applying DIY values to their own lives meant distancing themselves from their socioeconomic upper-hand. Consequently, the scene as a whole developed an attitude of asceticism, rejecting anything that served no purpose beyond pleasure or personal enjoyment. (Of course, it was easy for them to reject their social privileges, especially when they could just as easily cast off their aesthetic of poverty and self-denial for an adulthood of relative comfort.)

To do anything just because you enjoyed it, or because it brought you happiness in the moment, was seen to be a betrayal of hardcore’s higher intellectual goals—and that included sex. You can see this trend, for example, in lyrics from NJ hardcore bands, which focused on things like political issues or childhood traumas instead of the common themes of sexual and romantic desire found in mainstream music.

Joanna spoke about finding comfort in the general sexual repression of the scene because of her own adolescent insecurities:

Joanna: Me being very sexually not advanced and insecure, [90s hardcore] was the perfect place for me, because I could ignore [sexuality]. I was getting older, I don’t know, I wanted to explore myself more. So I began to write these graphic sex stories. My roommate, Mitch, knew about it, and I remember him getting a kick out of it. [source: Turned Out A Punk #127: Joanna Angel (Burning Angel)]

For another salient example, Geoff Rickly of Thursday has spoken about his own struggles with the hardcore scene’s repression, especially in regards to the shame he felt about writing sexually explicit stories for pay:

Geoff Rickly: You have to think, this is the 90s punk scene. It's not now. Nobody would openly talk about sex in DIY punk. It was such a repressed PC time, where — I mean, a lot of that stuff is my heart, like the political activism that was still such a part of punk, and actually just giving a shit about things that matter, and modes of how you're doing what you're doing. Those things seemed to matter back then, and I appreciated that side, but it was also so uptight. So repressed. [source: Going Off Track: Geoff Rickly, 2012]

While its general aversion to sexuality might have been born out of an initial desire to reform the violent misogyny of other hardcore cultures, it created the conditions for certain social problems to go completely unaddressed. After all, how can you address the rampant misogyny, homophobia, and sexual violence in your community if any acknowledgement of sexuality is taboo?

(For a brief but interesting perspective on the impact of hardcore sexual repression upon queer people in the scene, check out Episode #4 of Geoff Rickly’s podcast Dark Blue, in which Steve Pedulla and Norman Brannon discuss their experiences as gay musicians in the scene.)

Of course, these issues aren’t confined to the New Jersey hardcore, nor were they unique to the late 1990s. This particular brand of sex-averse misogyny reflects important threads within the feminism of the time which villainized open female sexuality—especially when it concerned sex work. Left-leaning spaces like music undergrounds adopted this sex-negative, misogynistic attitude as a part of their feminism—not in opposition to it.

In particular, the Riot Grrrl movement of the late 80s/early 90s pushed back against a culture (and a subculture) that shamed women for publicly expressing their sexuality. Following that, early fanzines and performance practices addressed the mistreatment of sex workers in hardcore as one way that female bodily autonomy was limited and women’s bodies were policed. Bikini Kill frontwoman and Riot Grrrl pioneer Kathleen Hanna has spoken about her past in sex work, the hostility she endured for openly discussing it, and the importance of that experience in shaping the form of Riot Grrrl’s protest.

Kathleen Hanna: “Whenever we were written about in the press, I wanted my sex-work history to be part of the description, because I wanted other women whom I danced at clubs with (and who never knew my real name) to see themselves reflected in some way. A lot of women who are doing music now have been sex-trade workers, prostitutes, dancers; I thought it was really important that I didn’t hide that. But I also didn’t want to glamorize that experience in being a super-cool thing in itself. I just wanted other women who work in the sex industry to remember that we can be sex-trade workers and be philosophers, writers, musicians, artists, or whatever. [Andrea Juno, Angry Women in Rock (1996)]

Riot Grrrl gained significant traction and nation-wide attention. In the decade or so after Kathleen Hanna and her peers catalyzed the movement, bands like Bikini Kill and Bratmobile remained incredibly popular, and likely contributed a lot to shifting attitudes towards sexuality in music subcultures.

Still, these sex-negative attitudes prevailed among enough people involved in local underground scenes that, when Burning Angel launched in 2002 and Joanna started marketing it in local hardcore spaces, the site received a lot of attention—both good and bad. The positive attention fueled the site and allowed it to expand beyond just photographs, text interviews, and low-budget personal sex tapes that characterized its early content.

However, the negative attention Joanna and her site received was vocal, targeted, and occasionally involved literal physical violence. As Kathleen Hanna had faced moral condemnation for her time in sex work, Joanna Angel faced criticism from fellow members of her subculture who thought sex work to be completely antithetical to their social justice goals. She has spoken about how difficult it was to see a community she had cared about for years turn her back on her completely for engaging in a type of work that she found enjoyable, and that she thought could be done with moral integrity.

Joanna Angel: People were calling me ugly, calling me all sorts of mean shit, how [Burning Angel was] making a profit, [we were] exploiting women, blah blah blah. And I was so bummed. I was like, you know, this isn’t fair! I always support every fucking band in the punk scene. Even if I don’t like the band, I support them—I go to their shows, I would hand out fliers for their shows. I thought it was like a code, in the punk scene, that it doesn’t matter whether you like it or not. If this is part of the scene, you accept it, and you help it, and you love it—and I thought that’s what you were supposed to do. I remember being very hurt, you know? I was like, dude, I didn’t violate any punk laws by starting this. My friend from my computer class is the one who put it online. All the other girls on the site—all three of them— were punk chicks and part of the scene. And I felt really bad; people were insulting the other girls, and I really thought I was starting this cool thing where girls could just explore their sexuality. And mind you, at the time, the beginning of Burning Angel was just photos, not even videos. People were getting all up in this upheaval because of a handful of naked photos on the internet. It’s crazy to think about now. [source: Turned Out A Punk #127: Joanna Angel (Burning Angel)]

Amidst the mounting antagonism and after an incident at Hellfest 2004, Joanna officially decided to leave the hardcore scene that she’d been involved with for over five years.

Joanna Angel: I remember going to Hellfest one year. Maybe it was like 2004?…these girls were throwing water balloons at us because we had a booth there. Because we used to get booths at some of these shows and sell tshirts. We didn’t even have any DVDs—we’d literally get in a booth and sell tshirts and hand out fliers and stickers. And these other girls were throwing water balloons at us and calling us sluts. I was like, “Hey, that sucks, can you stop doing that?” And one of my friends—he owned a record label. He owned Eyeball Records, Alex…he saw the girls picking on us, and he went over to the girls, and said, “Hey, can you cool it? They have a booth here—let them do their thing. They’re not gonna get in your way.” And then those girls and their boyfriends beat him up, and he wound up in the hospital. He almost died. It was terrible. And I was like, we have to get out here. Let’s just stay away. If we’re a porn site, let’s just be a porn site. Let’s promote ourselves with other porn companies; let’s step away for a little while. Everyone in the punk scene knows who we are. They’ve made their decision about if they like us or not. I’m still gonna interview bands, still gonna do that thing—but I’m done. [source: Turned Out A Punk #127: Joanna Angel (Burning Angel)]

Joanna and Burning Angel’s separation from the NJ hardcore scene in 2004 finally brings me to Burning Angel: The Movie, My Chemical Romance, and that interview.

So, 2004: after over two years spent largely behind the camera and slowly expanding her porn site, Joanna finally decided to get in front of the camera and produce a more intentionally crafted alt porn video that retained the feel of the website. Thus Burning Angel: the Movie was born.

As Joanna explains in the interview, the general idea of the DVD was that different self-contained pornographic scenes would be interspersed with band interviews. One of the key features of Burning Angel, like Suicide Girls before it, was the band interviews subscribers could access alongside the porn, so it made sense to preserve this aspect of the site on the DVD experience. Joanna interviewed five bands in early 2005: Killswitch Engage, Eighteen Visions, Shadows Fall, The Dillinger Escape Plan, and, of course, My Chemical Romance—all bands that Joanna admired, and who had been involved in the same scene that she had recently left because of very real threats to her emotional and physical well-being.

Within this context, My Chemical Romance’s decision to participate in the Burning Angel interview was a statement, as they put their support behind an enterprise that was highly controversial within the social circle most immediately relevant to them.

Fresh off the 2004 Warped Tour and promoted Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, My Chemical Romance might have appeared to be largely divorced from their scene of origin, but they still acted in response to those politics—politics that impacted American culture at large more than you’d think—in both intentional and incidental ways.

That is not to say that MCR was being overtly political; they’ve made a clear effort to distance themselves from the clear-cut political imagery and goals of some of their peers in hardcore. Still, the band (Gerard especially) very obviously cared a lot about using their music and stage presence to express shades of sexuality that they perceived to be lacking from some forms of music.

Gerard: I also wanted, at the same time, [for] the record to be a testament to self-expression, and putting stuff in there like that, while not being a homosexual myself, but expressing myself in a homosexual way, is either going to push your buttons in a negative way or you’re going to identify with it. [AP: Well, this whole scene wants you to be sensitive, but not too sensitive.] It is extremely homoerotic, especially the whole emo-sensitive thing. Everyone’s wearing women’s pants; everyone’s got women’s haircuts; everyone’s wearing youth-medium shirts. I don’t want to come out and say it. It’s blatantly obvious. Wearing a leather jacket is an extremely masculine thing to do in this scene. Even the hardcore bands, the really hard ones, you see them in makeup and stuff. I like that. I think it keeps it dangerous. It keeps it exciting. In a way, sex has really been missing from rock, especially because of all the sensitivity. That’s what I really wanted to convey on the record, too. I wanted the record to be very dangerous and sexy at the same time. There’s such a lack of sex in music. It’s been more about getting in touch with your feelings and being there for each other, which is great, but it’s definitely lacking this sexual duality. [Source: Alternative Press #193, Aug 2004; emphasis mine]

Additionally, many of their moments of explicit sexuality on stage were designed to be somewhat incendiary and polarizing.

But it’s important to remember that, just as late 90s New Jersey hardcore was not the first subculture with issues of sexual repression, My Chemical Romance does not represent the first attempt to push back at this asexual culture and definitely weren’t leading that particular conversation. Gerard took inspiration from artists already pushing those boundaries and incorporating sexual expression into their art. He has spoken, for example, about the impact of Riot Grrrl acts upon his music and stage presence (Joanna Angel has similarly pointed to bands like Bikini Kill as significant influences). These bands had already incorporated resistance against harmful sexual repression, values which Gerard and his band mates took on when they adopted their styles into My Chemical Romance.

(I also want to mention briefly that other significant people in the hardcore world have spoken out against pornography, such as Ian MacKaye of the formative post-hardcore band Fugazi. MacKaye owned Dischord Records, the definitive underground music label, to which a young Frank Iero unsuccessfully attempted to get his band Sector 12 signed. The matter of pornography and its role within the hardcore world was not one upon which you could maintain a neutral stance after, say, appearing on a porn DVD.)

As shitty as it was that they needed approval from the men in the scene, My Chemical Romance, along with other bands, supported Burning Angel, a new kind of porn, and helped legitimize Joanna Angel’s claim that what she was doing was not backwards or exploitative but had integrity.

Have you had an issue with people you grew up with when they find out you're in the adult industry? Joanna: At first people had problem[s], but not anymore. Once the cool kids in bands said, "I think what she's doing is cool" all the others turned around. Everyone I ever respected didn't have an issue with it and all the stupid, annoying hardcore kids had a problem. For as much shit as I got, I also got a lot of support. [Source: Hustlerworld Interview: Joanna Angel]

I don’t mean to glamorize the porn industry or to depict Joanna Angel as some savior of female sexuality in the early 2000s. But, as Kathleen Hanna points out, sex work is legitimate work, and sex workers deserve to have workplaces that treat them with dignity and communities that recognize their humanity. The reality was that NJ hardcore as a community did not support sex workers. Fundamentally, these were the barriers that caused Joanna and Burning Angel to make an exodus from the local hardcore scene—and they are the attitudes we risk reproducing when we express discomfort that a band we admire has interacted with a sex worker.

My intentions with this post (which turned out longer than I had ever anticipated, so Jesus, thank you for reading) were to shed light on the historical context of one moment in My Chemical Romance’s history. I’ve found that the average MCR fan, even those with a specific fondness for their early years, doesn’t actually know much at all about it—so I hope this has given some clarity.

I’ll end on this note: Without bands supporting Burning Angel, who knows—we might have never seen the lemon stealing whore. At the very least, the culture surrounding porn would look a lot different. That might not mean it would look better or worse—though you can’t deny the role that Joanna Angel played, nor the role that bands from the New Jersey Hardcore scene like My Chemical Romance played in shaping the American culture of pornography.

Find sources for this post here.

[acknowledgements: thank you so much for reading! my forever thanks, as always, to nic @raytorosaurus, sophia @sendmyresignation, vyn @bringmoreknives, and maddy @8thnotes for their continued cheerleading as i spent over a month writing this long, long post. additional thanks to wes @killrockstar for very kindly offering some incredibly helpful guidance about riot grrrl and sending me resources about kathleen hanna. and much gratitude to merlin @void-flesh and @transmascfrankiero for their feedback on the final draft of this essay.]

#mcr #my chemical romance #joanna angel #mcr meta #my post

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wtfsteveharrington · 2 years

Text

coffee and mint chapstick / bf!steve harrington x fem!reader x robin

content: listen... the family video era of robin and steve? it’s iconic. that’s why you hang around at night and not because you hate being away from them. things are normal until you wind up in a particular section you shouldn’t be.

- same energy as part one. threesome but exclusively robin x reader and steve x reader sexual interactions. just the reader getting passed between the two. have y’all heard that the eiffel tower is beautiful???

steve x reader - kissing, unprotected sex, spanking, choking, rough sex, marking, spitting, hand job, swallowing

robin x reader - oral (both receiving), nipple sucking, 69, praising, degrading. just general robin cheekiness.

also i feel like steve gives more dom energy, robin has semi - nervous switch energy, and reader is vocal sub but that’s up for reader to decide :)

authors note: idk if all readers have actually been in a family video but i went a lot as a kid. they pretty much all have two rooms off the main floor - one had video games and one had adult videos. needed to add that in for context,,, also lets pretend family video doesn’t have cameras okay thank u.

ps i think i like part two more than part one hopefully this lives up

word count: almost 4.5k

part one | part three | part four

You didn’t work at Family Video but you may as well start clocking in with how much time you spent there. It was already a little out of hand before the party, but after?

Time was just better spent with Steve and Robin.

You’re sitting up on the side of their front counter, kicking your feet through the air while Robin works on rewinding the returned newly VHS and Steve works on replacing the ripped up stickers on a few cases.

Periodically you’d catch Robin’s eye and exchange this giddy little smile. You were wearing a skirt today on purpose and Robin’s mind would drift back to the other night every so often.

Steve’s pouting across the small desk space, slouching his shoulders over and walking towards you with heavy feet. “I just don’t understand how people mess up the stickers. Like who looks at a ‘new release’ sticker and thinks hmm wouldn’t that be fun to rip in half.” The store is empty so he knows he doesn’t have to worry about offending any customers. It was later on Wednesday night and there had been a storm threatening to rain on Hawkins any minute now all day. Needless to say people weren’t exactly rushing in.

He’s making you laugh, your boyfriend leaning back into you and wrapping your arms around his chest. “Awh, you poor thing. Having to put stickers on a box? How do you handle suffering like this?” Steve’s grabbing your knees, giving them a firm squeeze at the teasing. “You’re literally not even working. It doesn’t get much easier than just sitting here and looking pretty.” You lean in, pressing a kiss to the skin where his neck meets his shoulder. Then another one further up his neck. Robin feels her ears heating up as she catches the intimate act out of the corner of her eye.

“You’re getting paid, Steve. This poor girl’s only reason to be here is us.” You’re laughing now, nuzzling your face into Steve’s neck before glancing up at Robin. “You should take it as a compliment. I’m literally the best customer this store has ever seen.” All three of you are laughing now, your hands resting flat against Steve’s chest as you feel it rumbling. You move to touch the edges of his vest, giving it a firm tug. “I do wish I had one of these though. Feeling a little left out of the club.”

Steve’s stepping out of your grasp, giving you a dramatic twirl before grabbing the vest and tugging it together in the center of his chest. “Oh, this ole thing? Sorry, Babe. Only Family Video’s finest employees get one of these.” Robin’s nodding her head, ejecting the VHS now that it’s fully rewound. “It’s true. Wearing this token shade of green is one of the highest honors in the land.” Steve’s dramatically motioning over to Robin, giving you a very pointed look. “See? We just couldn’t expect you to understand.”

You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, giving them a dramatic eye roll. There wasn’t much you knew about the layout of this store, it all honesty you typically just went right to your spot on the desk. You did know that down the hallway on your left lead to a bathroom and a room with a curtain for the door. Surely that’s where the uniforms were hiding? You’d show them.

One thing about your boyfriend, he’s gotten good at predicting what you’re going to do next. His grip on his vest is loosening and he’s already reaching out to try and keep you in place. “Don’t even think about it. There’s no uniforms back there.” Steve’s stepping closer to you and it’s now or never. You jump down from the desk, ducking his arms before darting towards the back of the store. Robin’s clearly entertained, letting out this gasp that gets cut off with bright laughter. Your boyfriend however? Screaming and cursing your name.

He’s ripping the curtain open seconds after you got into the room and finds you stopped dead in your tracks. Your eyes scanning the room filled with cheesy porno titles and women posed just right to tease the potential viewer into buying that particular film. “I told you there’s literally not a singular vest in here. Now get out and maybe I’ll let you try mine on.” And maybe Steve could have convinced you to get out, had Robin not been ducking under his arm that’s holding the curtain open to meet you in the room. She wasn’t a minute late because she locked up the front door early. No, she didn’t lock you guys in here alone at all.

“Kind fuckin’ crazy, right?” Robin’s looking around the room, letting her fingers drag across one cover she sneaks a peek at every shift. “There’s not a huge section of lesbian movies yet but at least I get the covers to enjoy.” Steve? In full protective dad mode. He can’t explain it... Sure, he’s seen you do a lot but there’s something about watching you stare at the movie covers that makes his ears hot and his cock twitch. “Okay, okay. You’ve had your fun. Let’s get back to the floor before Mrs. Dorris comes in to rent Casablanca again.”

You giggle, grabbing one of the tapes off the shelf and facing it towards the other two. “Or maybe we should recommend Star Whores: Battle of the Boner to her. Seems like a good one.” Robin’s laughing, this bright sound that you’re slowly but surely getting addicted to. “You’re joking, I haven’t even seen this one. Do you think they braided Princess Leia’s pubes? That would be like, totally iconic.”

Steve’s huffing at the two of you, watching as you guys flip over the box to examine the cover. Robin’s hand is coming to the small of your back as she peeks over your shoulder at the movie. That’s the only reason she’s touching you. No other reason at all.

Then, once again without fully thinking it through, you just drop a - “I wonder if we should have filmed the other night. We could be making money hand over fist, right? Getting paid to be between two pretty people, not a bad way to make a living.” Steve and Robin are both torn between blushing and getting their ego’s puffed by being called pretty. They both love being pretty to you.

You know Robin’s nervous rambling? It’s back in full force. “There’s nothing like that in here. Not that I’ve uh-... I didn’t look for myself. There was-” She’s taking a deep inhale but not nearly as deep as the hole she was digging herself “- You know, there was a customer who was oddly after a scene like that. And I’m like so close to becoming Employee of the Month so I just try to go above and beyond for our customers.”

Steve? He was giving her a pointed look, willing her to stop talking until, “What do you mean you’re Employee of the Month? I helped get Keith a date the other night. There’s no way that isn’t going to top getting people a good porno recommendation.”

Their bickering is about to pick up full force until they hear you gasp as you accidentally drop the VHS in your hand. And maybe you’re playing a risky game, thinking only with the dull throbbing between your legs that’s threatening to pick up any minute. The box just happened to land slightly under one of the displays. Which means you have to get down on your knees, leaning forward until your chest is pressed to the ground and your ass is in the air.

The two stop their argument, instantly distracted by the sight of you fully displaying the fact that under your skirt is just this sheer mesh lilac panty leaving nothing to the imagination. Robin’s watching you with her jaw tight and doesn’t miss the way Steve has to shift his hips at the view either. “Did you guys know it’s like really dusty down here?”

No response.

Steve knows that the two of you follow his lead and he has a choice to make in that moment.

Steve’s glancing between you and Robin. A Robin who won’t meet her eye but he notices the way her chest is moving faster, the tips of her ears are a bright red, and her bottom lip is being bitten on so hard he’s wondering if she can’t taste blood.

Jesus Christ, she really does love girls.

And then there’s you. Who’s taking entirely too much time to pick up the box, rolling your ass forward as you go to reach for a bouncy ball that had rolled under the display as well. You’re seconds away from asking how they thought the ball ended up in here when Steve’s voice breaks the tension in the room.

“You know, if you wanted us to fuck you all you have to do is ask.”

Robin’s jaw drops and she’s looking over at Steve with wide eyes. He’s giving her yet another pointed look, aggressively holding out his hand towards you and mouthing “You want her too”.

This whole silent exchange happens in the time it takes for you to get back up to your kneeling position, facing the two. Your skirt is still hiked up on your thighs. Your soft thighs that now all Robin wants to do is kiss and Steve wants to bite. Your hair is fluffed up from being thrown over your shoulder and your eyes are already getting heavy from know what’s coming next. Just ready to be closed from pleasure.

“Fine. I want you two to fuck me.”

Steve’s the one who moves towards you first, dropping to his knees as well before grabbing your chin to pull you into a rough kiss. You’re moaning into his mouth, reaching out to run your hands up his thighs before your hands quickly find his the button of his pants. You’re so wrapped up in your boyfriend that you don’t realize Robin’s behind you now until you feel her hands slide up under your shirt and toying with the cup of your bra. You’re crying out into Steve’s mouth at the feeling of your nipple’s being tweaked by Robin’s cold fingers.

You’re pulling Steve’s cock out of his jeans, and he’s got a firm grip on your wrist before you can touch him. “You know better than that, Princess. Needs to be wet.”

Robin’s lips are on your neck now, teeth grazing your heated skin as Steve’s bringing your hand between your own thighs. They both watch as your hand disappears under your skirt and you moan as your fingers come in contact with your clit. You’re driving them both crazy.

They hear how slick you are as you slide your hand into your panties, your head falling back on robin’s shoulder as Steve digs his fingers into your thighs. It’s Robin’s voice that encourages you to keep touching yourself. “Have you thought about us like this? Touched yourself thinking about me and Steve taking turns with you?” You nod pathetically, so needy. Your hips are rocking on your own hand, Steve’s hand delivering a sharp smack to your thigh. His voice is firm, “Use your words when we talk to you.”

“Yes. Steve didn’t come over last night and I spent the whole night thinking of you two.” Part of Robin wonders if she shouldn’t feel dirty being a side piece in a way. Or maybe she did feel dirty and she liked that feeling.

Maybe this would feel way different if it wasn’t you and Steve.

He’s looking over at Robin, jerking his head in a motion for her to lay back before he tugs off his shirt. “Lay back and let our girl take care of you.” Our girl. The three of you will never get past how that makes you feel.

Robin? A mess. She’s scooting back and making quick work of taking off her pants and underwear while you slide your hand out of your panties to wrap around Steve. Lazily pumping his length through your fist. You lean forward, lifting your hips to help him take off your panties and catching his lips in a tender kiss.

“Love you, Steve. Love you a lot.” He’s giving you a breathless chuckle before pressing a kiss to your bottom lip, your chin, then to the corner of your mouth. You know it takes a lot of trust for him to be okay with this. “I love you too, Beautiful.”

He’s rocking his hips up into your fist, gently pushing you until you’re facing Robin and your ass is pointed towards him. Robin’s got a hand covering between her legs and the other one semi nervously holding her bra tight against her chest. “Listen. You can’t look at my tits, Harrington.” Robin doesn’t have the comfort of being crossed this time around. The three of you only drunk on each other. She’s a nervous girl sometimes. Threesomes with her best friend and her best friend’s girlfriend who she’s kinda got a crush on? It’s a nervous situation.

Steve’s scoffing now, twisting up his face in confusion. “Can’t see your - Robin! My literal whole cock is out! My nipples are out!” She’s using the hand that’s still holding her bra to flip Steve off, making you giggle as you rock your ass back towards Steve. “Yeah your nipples are different.” You’ll never get over the switch that happens from being so comfortable with one another to those brief moment’s where Robin’s nerves get the best of her.

Leaning up, you effectively cut Robin off by distracting her with a kiss. “Can I see your pretty boobies, Robin? Just wanna kiss them.”

You’ve got her nodding now, caught up under your spell. You take a moment to kiss down her chin, her jaw, her neck, fluttering kisses across her collarbone. Robin’s letting go of the death grip on her bra and you give such an appreciative hum of approval as her nipples come into view. “See? So pretty.”

Robin’s convinced she’s going to combust as you wrap your lips around her rosy bud. Tongue swiping over the sensitive skin. She’s dragging her nails up your back, letting you take a moment to worship her left nipple before moving to her right. You feel Steve’s hand between your thighs now, pressing a finger into you while using his thumb to swirl around your clit.

He’s watching as you instantly start fucking yourself back against his finger and gives you another finger to wrap around. “M’gonna fuck you soon, get comfortable for me.”

You moan against Robin’s skin at his promise, your lips popping off of her nipple and you lean back up to get another kiss. “Can I eat you out again, Robin? Wanna keep practicing with you.” She’s nodding enthusiastically, practically shoving your head down towards her exposed pussy.

Steve waits until your arms are wrapped around Robin’s thighs and you’re pulling her core towards your mouth before taking his hand away from your pussy. Robin’s hands are rubbing your arms, savoring as you kiss her thighs. “You tasted different tonight. Minty? Kinda tasted like mint.” Nodding against her thigh, you move your kisses to either side of her mound. “Got something new the other nig-“

“Jesus Christ you two talk too much.” There’s a firm hand on the back of your neck that’s pushing your face into Robin’s pussy. You hear her gasping above you and feel Steve’s hips giving you a sharp stroke. Both of them effected by the action. “Holy shit, Harrington. Did you just-…. Did you just shut up your girlfriend with my pussy?” He’s gripping your hips, holding onto the tender flesh best he can before pounding his length into you. Steve can’t even dignify Robin with a response, afraid if he really acknowledges what happened that he’d be finishing way too soon.

Robin’s throwing her head back once the shock wears off, your name coming off of her lips in a way that’s so deliciously broken. She’s wet for you. You drag your tongue up her slit, getting right to work.

Funny thing about Family Video? It’s carpeting fucking sucks. You’re almost getting a little over stimulated between Robin’s wet pussy on your tongue, the carpet burn forming on your knees, and Steve relentlessly jackhammering his hips into you. So rough and possessive and maybe trying to show off.

Robin’s hand is coming down to put a finger on either side of her clit since your arms are still wrapped around her thighs. Holding her against your face and holding on for dear life as Steve fucks his cock into you. “Let me take care of my clit. Dip your head down for me, Honey. Good. Keep lickin’ me like that.” You’re obedient. Tongue lapping through Robin’s folds, dipping into her hole. She shows her affection towards you by bringing her free hand to rub your back, your shoulders, stroking your head, just gently checking in on you while you take care of both of them.

She’s cooing at you when she feels your tongue stop against her pussy after one particular thrust, your both just resting open against her, “I know, Honey. Steve’s doing such a good job fucking you, isn’t he?” Let’s all be honest, Steve eats up praise. His hips are getting tired but he’d be damned if he’s giving up now. “Don’t you want to come for him? Show us how good you feel, Baby. You love being this filthy, don’t you? Eating me out while your doting boyfriend fucking you?”

You can feel yourself dripping down your inner thighs. There’s a stray thought somewhere in your brain praying you don’t leave a stain on the carpet.

Steve’s delivery a sharp smack against your ass, his handprint already taking the form of a red wilt on your ass. “Such a good girl for us, aren’t you? Letting us use your body like this. C’mon, Sweetie. Come on my cock.”

You’re resting your sweaty forehead on Robin’s inner thigh, pressing haphazard open mouth kisses to her heated skin when you’re able to think about anything else besides Steve stretching you out. He’s bringing up a knee, slightly adjusting his position and now he’s hitting so deep inside of you just right.

You know, Steve being able to watch you and Robin and was little more of an erotic experience. He likes girls, so it makes sense it would be. Yet, Robin can’t help but to get herself entranced by the view. Remember how we talked about Steve stealing videos from the back of Family Video? Yeah, he wasn’t slick. Robin caught on the first night but instead of calling it out, she just followed his lead.

She stuck to lady on lady scenes only, but sometimes she had to wait through watching a poor girl obviously fake her way through being fucked. She always felt bad for how obviously the guys didn’t actually care, more concerned with angles and getting themselves off. None of those scenes even slightly compare to what’s happening in front of her.

It’s the way Steve knows your body. He’s grabbing a fist full of your hip, pulling up towards his cock which leads you to rest your head just right on Robin’s thigh so you can look back at him. He is taking notice as you wince when your knees come back in contact with the carpet. “Rug burn,” you’re explaining with a breathless and broken sounds. He’s frowning for a split second, pulling your body up towards him since it wasn’t doing my good for Robin at the time. He’s cupping your chin which you take as a sign to part your lips and then Steve’s fingers are in your mouth.

“Lemmie know if it’s too much, Baby.” His two fingers are dragging along your tongue causing you to gag around them. Steve’s hips buck at the sight, the sound, everything.

Robin’s convinced it’s the way you so clearly trust him and he so clearly loves you that has her so entranced. She has to find that connection and soon. Maybe a little part of her is worried that she sees a future where you look up at her like that too and you know she loves you too and her and steve become blubbering fools over you but that’s a problem for a different day.

Steve’s still fucking up into you when you give out this sharp cry of his name as he gets you just right. Robin’s eyes are focused on you, the way your boobs are bouncing, how much pleasure is on your face. “Wanna watch you come.”

And you do. Oh God you do. Steve’s not slowing down and you reach down to desperately grab his thighs, just needing something to hold onto as you feel the tension burst in your body. There’s nail marks being left on his skin, neither of you complaining.

The feeling of your pussy gushing and clenching around his cock? It’s snapping Steve out of doting boyfriend and into a man who just needs to finish.

You know Steve’s favorite place to put his load? Deep inside of you. It’s risky but you both figure there’s so many more risky endeavors happening at Hawkin’s. Tonight though? He’s settling for your throat, not sure if Robin’s done with your pussy but assuming she 100% would be if he came in it. Understandably. The three of tour were completely overboard but navigating the waters the best you could.

Sometimes you can read his mind just how he can read yours.

You crawl forward once your brain catches up, trying to ignore the way you’re throbbing around nothing and so sensitive after your first orgasm.

He’s cupping your head once you drop to all fours in front of him, making you stay in place so he can effectively fuck your throat. The closer Steve gets, the less gentle he is. Each time you gag around his cock, his hips sputter and you’re rewarded with a “pretty girl” from your boyfriend. Your only warning is your name getting choked out of his throat before you feel him releasing into your mouth. So warm and just for you.

Steve takes a moment to recover, grunting his appreciation as swirl your tongue around his shaft as you pull him out. “Lemmie see.” And you know what he’s after.

You hold your tongue out as Steve’s hand comes back to cupping your chin. “Swallow.” A firm command. You notice his hand sliding down your throat and if his cock wasn’t done, the feeling of you swallowing his cum would sprung him back into action.

You give yourself a couple of minutes after Steve comes, letting yourself get back to Earth. Once you can process the situation again? All you can think about is Robin. You’re grabbing Steve’s shirt, wadding it up in a ball before laying back flat on the floor. Robin takes the hint, scrambling to her knees, crawling over until she’s overing your face. “Squeeze my knee twice if you need air, okay?” In all honestly, she can suffocate you all night.

She’s lowering herself onto your mouth, this pretty little grunt coming from deep in her chest as your tongue quickly starts flicking over her clit. You’re making these wet smacking sounds as you suck and lick every drop she gives you.

Robin’s rocking herself down against your tongue, leaning over to look at your wrecked pussy. She’s got a hand on either side of your mound, pulling you apart gently to get a better look. You feel her gently blowing against you and you’re rewarding the action with a flat lick to her clit. “Look at your poor little hole… Needs someone to kiss it better, huh?”

You know, Steve didn’t think we could miss much while he zoned out for a few minutes to recover from his orgasm. But when he looks back and sees the two of you eating each other out? He thought nothing would top last time, but now he knows there’s no way you’ll ever top this moment.

The three of you were in deep.

You feel Robin’s hips start moving desperately as she humps your face so you pick up the speed of your tongue, getting greedy at the idea of feeling Robin coming into your mouth like this.

The feeling? It must be mutual because her lips are wrapped around your sensitive clit. Giving it her rough, undivided attention. Without saying it, you just know she wants you to come with her.

Neither of you speak a word, just diligently working on eating the other out. Robin’s orgasm hits her first, her hips just twitching against your face. Hearing her crying out against you has you following her lead shortly after. The both of you just staying frozen in place as your body is overwhelmed with the sensation.

——

The three of you lay together after that. Your back against Steve’s chest and Robin’s head in your lap. Your fingers dragging through her hair while Steve investigates your knees and makes a mental plan to stop on the way home to get everyone bandaids and ointment. Not that anyone would complain but he couldn’t have his girls hurting on his watch. One thing about Family Video is that it has a time sensitive security system. They have until 30 minutes after close before it automatically sets itself to make sure people are just hanging around for extra hours.

So imagine Steve’s concern when he looks and - “Holy fuck. Get dressed! We have 9 minutes!”

The three of you are a fucked out, giggling mess as you scramble to get dressed and your clit is way too sensitive for this situation. You’re laughing as you run for the door, Steve and Robin trying to panic their way through their closing duties.

You watch them look around, frantic to figure out what they’re missing. “Don’t forget to clock out!”

——

Just know that Steve did stop at the store to get you guys recovery items. Drinks, snacks, extra large bandaids for your knees that make you look so crazy but you love watching him take care of you so you don’t complain.

That night? His parents are away on his dad’s business trip so you not Robin make a bug fuss about leaving.

Which is how you fall asleep in Steve Harrington’s bed, your warm boyfriend rubbing your back while you doze off and Robin on the other side of you. The two of you face each other, secretly stealing a kiss or two or five until you all drift off.

Like I said, the three of you were in deep.

#robin buckley #robin buckley smut #robin buckley x fem #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #robin buckley x y/n #robin buckley x you #steve harrington x robin buckley x you #stranger things smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #robin buckley x reader

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𝐍𝐎. 𝟕 ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜ | AUGUST 1991

❧ 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 / 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 / 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 / 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

Trish Fitzpatrick wore many hats, but her favorite was “freelance journalist.” Her area of expertise grew directly out of myriad side gigs: what she called portrait pieces of interesting people. Outlets clamored for them—or, they had since she’d buttered up famous, neurotic opera singer-turned-starlet Prudence Boone into revealing she had a glass eye, a secret runaway daughter, and a hair-eating habit. Of course, Prudence was basically a stranger. They had once had a fifteen minute conversation on the deck of a yacht, bonding over the fact that neither actually knew to whom the vessel belonged. Prudence thought Trish’s outlandish suggestions were funny enough to remember her when she called to pitch the piece. It had gone the same way with Renzo. Of course, they had met while fighting over a scarf in a vintage clothing store. Trish considered letting him win to be a debt, one for which she would demand recompense at the ideal time. Opportunities passed, and then August 1991 proved to be the time.

❧ i got the irresistible urge to do renzo backstory, which was meant to be an outtake, but then i was like, "uh, no, this totally works as story proper if i put leonor in it," so here we are ! context and such. given the amount of work, this might be my magnum opus until further notice ... it was also just fun to do :^) checked off the sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll boxes ?? where's my prize. in conclusion, i love my white boy of the week or whatever

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

I grew up in a tiny town—Petunia. Petunia? You say it differently. It’s the country coming out, I guess. Not “pee-tyoon-ee-ah,” it’s “puh-toon-yuh.” Petunia. That’s it. So, how was it? Fond memories? In retrospect, maybe. I wanted to get the hell out of there from day one. What I remember is being very unhappy—dispositionally sullen, not just a pouty kid, but fully down and out. Born that way, probably. And your parents? My parents … Life had the upper hand, man. They were good at losing. I didn’t want that life.

My dad professed to be a traveling salesman—What, he wasn’t? I mean, he didn’t know jack shit about vacuums or whatever the fuck. I don’t know. But, he wasn’t around a lot, it sounds like? Gone for weeks at a time. Just me and my mom. How was she? Not really there either. When I got home from school, she’d pop her pills and be gone until morning. She wasn’t avoiding me; she was avoiding life. She did what she had to do in the mornings—you know, I had what I needed, the bare essentials—but she was checked out. You had a lot of unsupervised time, then. Oh, did I. Too much. I mean, I had books to read, and I got into music early—From her? No. My dad’d blow into town and bring pity gifts. Not kid-appropriate shit, now that I think about it. Heavy, gritty stories. A guitar I was too little to use. Flip lighter. But, you know, I was a kid. I wanted to run and play with everyone else, too. Of course.

Here’s the thing: it was hard to be a scrawny kid named Lorencio in Petunia. Shit, I can imagine. What was that like? … Hard, like I said. Well—Details? I got the shit kicked out of me. Regularly. What do they call it—um—“school of hard knocks”? Yeah. I remember, one time, I limped home on a Saturday. Mom was out of it, but she leapt up when she saw all the blood. Cleaned me up. It’s like I’m there now—in that bathroom with the dirty tile, her burning me with peroxide … She didn’t really talk, you know, not in a serious way? But she did then? She said, in Uspanian, “‘Don’t roll over for anyone.’” Interesting. So, that’s the lesson? Part of it. I realized that summer it didn’t matter if you were scrawny, if you talked funny, if you were poor. What mattered was not being a pussy. [Laughs] Oh, yeah? If you want credibility, if you want respect, sometimes you gotta be able to take a beating. Don’t roll over. That’s right.

I think it also helped when the growth spurt hit. You must’ve still been scrawny. [Laughs] String bean. So it goes. Adolescence . Now, you grew up fast, is what I’ve heard. You could say that. My life changed when Marty got out of lock-up—Sorry, what?—for “teen offenders”; he set his grandparents’ car on fire—oh, I see, regular kid shit—Uh huh. We hit it off. He introduced me to other guys, including Jesse. They’d huff gas together. Oh my God. Not whippits? Sure, but less convenient. That’s—No good, yeah. Fun though. Have you—? I’ve tried everything, Patricia.

Jesus! So, Marty and Jesse…? We got on like a house fire. [Groans] They were into petty crime for the thrill of it—Now, Renzo, is arson petty? He did it one fucking time. Everyone overreacted. They got into trouble for fun, and for you it was—? Money. Not a lot. I was too dumb to consider the risks. But, you did other things for money, too? Don’t say it like that. I wasn’t hooking. [Snorts] I worked a lot. I was cutting school to work, getting paid under the table, all of that. Maybe—hear me out—some of it was thrilling for you, too? I won’t tell anyone. [Chuckles] What can I say? Credibility.

I feel like I’m mischaracterizing … I love Marty and Jesse, to this day. Jesse’s daughter is your godchild, right? Yeah. Marty went back to Petunia in … ‘88? Jesse and I had better luck, or maybe we were just more desperate. Either way, my point is that delinquents get a bad rap—With good reason! Sure, okay. Both of them were deeper and more complicated than that. You’re not an outlier. No. We’re a dime a dozen. No one gives them the chances you got. Uh huh. So, we bonded over that—feeling down and out, like I said, but also the fact that we loved music. Marty’s family had money, so they’d bought him a nice bass guitar. But, Jesse’s mind … He’s so fucking creative. He wasn’t a reader, but I could tell him about something I’d been chewing on, and he’d have a song inspired by it within the hour. He has an incredible voice, too. He does.

I guess it’s not surprising that you guys did what you did. There was nothing for us at home, you know? Packing up and heading out west didn’t feel like a risk. And your mom understood that? Better than anyone. I know people judged her—shit, I judge her, too—but I always knew she was trying. That’s sweet. Is it? I mean, I think so … She met my dad at a bus stop three weeks after she arrived in the country and made the mistake of getting off at his stop. That’s it. That was her crime. Well, I’m sure she’s doing better now, huh? She lives in a nicer house in a nicer city, but that doesn’t cure depression, now does it? I suppose not. There was this woman whose lawn I’d cut all the time … A real bitch, but she was extra nice because she felt bad for me. Hated my mother. I think she was just jealous because my dad was her high school sweetheart. Isn’t that just how it goes? Damn foreigner stealing a real catch from her. [Scoffs] Sticky fingers when she invited me inside for lemonade—cigs and quarters from her purse, Valium from the cabinet, that kind of thing. [Laughs] Casual. It was pretty brazen, honestly. Fucking dumb kid.

Alright, so, you come out here with Marty and Jesse to make music, and now you’re a serious actor with a name and a big career ahead of you. How’d that happen? It was completely accidental. While we waited for a record deal, I did odd jobs, like auto work—you know, in a body shop. It was decent. Had you worked on cars before that? So, I got familiar, uh … [Chuckles] We’ve established I was a rascal. We could get under the hood of a parked car and make a few dollars off parts. I can get you in so much trouble, Renzo! [Laughs]

Don’t tell anyone, come on! I was a kid. Have a heart. I guess it paid off. But, alright, body work? What’s the connection? It’s kind of convoluted. When business was slow, the guy I worked for loaned his employees out to another mechanic. This guy, long story short, brought me along to assist him on a movie set. I guess he was a known quantity? Everyone knows the right guy! That’s everyone’s explanation for where they end up. Me, too. Uh huh. I don’t know why they let me do it, but—Somehow it worked out. Yeah, it did. Right place, right time.

You’re in the spot. How did you get into it, though? This is embarrassing as hell but, fuck it, I’ll be honest. Please. Don’t stop now. [Chuckles] I got a shot because I’d been chatting up this girl who, as it turns out, was the director’s kid—or, in fact, she approached me. I had no idea who she was or why she was there. Of course she did! That’s not surprising, is it? I think I was the most disinterested person there. I don’t know. Anyway, we talked a couple times, then—out of the blue—someone asked me if I wanted to hop into a scene, say a line, ten seconds flat. She did that for you? I don’t know what she did. No one mentioned her. Maybe she thought you looked like a movie star. [Snorts] Fuck. I hope not. Did you want to do it? I wanted to make music. I wanted to finish reading my book. I wanted … I mean, I said yeah. Can’t decline that. Makes a good story, right? What happened with her—? Oh, hell. Sorry! Moving on, for now. [Groans]

I got a call several weeks later about an audition. How did that feel? Bizarre. We’d done a demo for a producer once, but this was different. Were you excited? I was terrified. But, I went. Didn’t get that part, although everyone was perfectly nice to me. How disappointing. You always remember your first … But, hey, you have to look at it this way: I didn’t want to be an actor. I thought it was cool, but it felt like … ? Go ahead, give me a good metaphor. Like when you’ve been craving your favorite food, but then someone offers you a helping of something different, new, appetizing. How’s that? Passable. C-plus. [Laughs] Fuck you, Pat.

Okay, so the road didn’t end there. No, it didn’t. I got another call, and that one went well. This was for … Sugar Sweet? That’s the one. Cornball, but I love that movie. Never seen it. What! How is that possible? You were in it. You went to the premiere screening. There are pictures. Saw my first scene, excused myself to go piss, didn’t come back until the applause had started. Wow. Everyone has opinions about that movie these days—very contentious, whether or not Alicia was in the wrong when she left me and stole my lifelong dream. What do you think? Me, Renzo? Good for her. I thought it was kind of bitchy. It’s peculiar how many women say that. I wonder why … ! Billy’s so dreamy. Please, ask me about something else, Pat. So, this romantic comedy is your launching pad. It leads to the television show. The television show blows up immediately. Walk me through what that felt like?

Also terrifying. I really cannot emphasize enough that I didn’t want attention. I wanted money and time to support my music, and acting seemed like a good way to do that. Just didn’t account for the side effects. Like fame? Uh huh. I was a nobody in Sugar Sweet, and the pay was shit, but it felt like a miraculously good deal at the time. What it did is put me in the running for more serious work. I think, even then, sometimes the casting folks were hesitant to take a risk on someone with no experience whatsoever, even if they had—A spark? Talent? Sure. It was unsettling, the idea that I was some kind of “natural,” and I compensated by working really hard. Well, you’ve established yourself as a hard worker. Sure. I guess they saw that—the improvement, in addition to the fact that I had a resume to speak of by then. Or, eh, they saw that you were pretty. Right, of course, you don’t need talent if you have Teen Mag’s favorite cheekbones. [Snickers] I joined a cast with other people who had very little experience, and we bonded over that. I just didn’t expect to be … What, the center of attention? That, yeah.

You know what’s fucking weird? Huh? Signing your name on a picture of your own face that belongs to someone else. That they’re going to take it home and pin it to their fucking wall or frame it on their bedside table. Someone’s kid treating you like their school crush, blushing and shit while they’re asking for you to do it. That does seem like a strange experience. Over and over again. Teenyboppers, goddamn. You were in the magazines for them. I read a couple interviews. No the fuck I was not. I did not do those. No? What they do is take quotes from actual, consented conversations and stitch them together for their own use. It’s legal. That’s fascinating. Maybe I should try that. Less work. [Laughs] Yeah, alright, flush your “exclusive access” privilege right down the toilet.

But, look, I’m not disparaging the fans wholesale. That’d be unfair. And, ouch, ungrateful? Yeah. The initial couple years were fucking insane, but I was with people I liked, and a lot of the fans we actually met were … Normal? Uh huh. Not a hysterical, handsy, screaming blob. You got grabbed? Groped, Pat. Oh boy. We don’t like grabass, I guess. Well, hold on now, just not like that—You keep sidetracking me. What kind of interviewer are you? I’m having fun with my buddy! Sue me. [Chuckles] You got it, baby. What was I saying? The fans? Yeah. The ones we met one-on-one were cool, usually. They had deep thoughts about the show, you know? Ideas about the characters, the plots—filled in holes in the shitty writing. No offense to Jack and Reuben, I hope! Don’t print that, Pat.

If I’m being honest, having to answer their questions made me think deeply about the role. That’s stayed with me. I don’t like being walked up on in public, but sometimes it’d go fine. The first time someone came up to me in the wild, her mother looked so fucking apologetic that I decided, “Cool it, don’t be a jackass.” She wanted to talk about the book I was buying. Same thing would happen to Frank, Perry, Vicky. How about the show itself? That was a three year commitment.

It was alright. In retrospect, I understand that television isn’t for respectable actors, which made the transition hard. Harder to have been on a show for teenagers. But, you made that switch in Uspana. So, did that play into the calculus at all? I lucked out, in the sense that the show was co-produced, and I got to do the dubbing for the Uspanian version. I wasn’t a total unknown, even if they thought my Uspanian was shitty. Is it? Losing an accent is hard, in my defense.

When my contract ended, I hit the road. You didn’t think about staying on? I thought about it with horror, yes. [Laughs] You’d keep shit-talking the whole production if I let you. Maybe. So, in Uspana? It was like exhaling for the first time in a while. I did nothing for a couple months. All that hard work, being a beloved TV star … Throw me a bone, Pat. But, anyway, I didn’t even see my mom’s family again for a few weeks—You knew them, though? Yeah, we’d met, during the press trips. Beach life by yourself. Luxury.

You know, I needed to reconnect with myself. That’s how I felt. I felt like I had been an imposter, then I felt like I had to be someone I wasn’t, and now … You could go a different way. A fork in the road, for your career. Your life, really. Right, yeah. I went to Canarís like any good tourist. I had more money than I’d ever had in my life. I had no plans. Sounds like a dream. It was.

Crucially, I was out of my mind most of the time. Kite high. So fucking high. I swear I almost drowned twice, at which point it was politely suggested that I stop using the pool. Did you politely agree? Fuck no. [Laughs] Troublemaking aside, I ended up taking phone calls, making plans with people—Industry people? Yeah. There were people I knew already, but meeting the ones I really wanted to work with happened kind of organically—parties, premieres for other films, cafes. At the Morningstar Cafe in Canarís? Right, exactly. Same way I ended up finding The Den. Someone at the cafe had worked with Karolina Teague, and she took me there one evening after we all got tossed out of some poor son of a bitch’s house. Sounds rowdy. Can’t blame him. It was after midnight. And? Well, it was a lunch that’d started at eleven in the morning, so. [Chuckles]

So, I have a question. You’re pretty consistent—in terms of behavior. “Behavior?” [Snorts] Yeah, okay, I understand. What was that like, with cameras on you? The photographers in Uspana definitely aren’t less aggressive. That’s part of it. I don’t know if I’d call it an epiphany, but I left Canarís for Nakawe with the understanding that I was going to just do what I wanted to do. Oh boy. Within reason, fuck. Reason. Sure, yes. You didn’t feel like a dumb kid anymore. I mean, I guess I have more fun with the camera guys here. They can get away with more, ergo, so can we.

I distinctly recall you got arrested for—I barely touched that guy or his fucking camera. Did him a favor, if I did. Dogshit quality device. [Chuckles] Not sure he saw it that way, but the charges were dropped. I mean, don’t get me wrong, shouldn’t have reacted that way. I kept thinking about my mom seeing those pictures … The one time I got picked up, she backhanded me in the middle of the station, right in front of the cops. Jesus. In the car, she goes, “If you get caught again, I’m going to rip your ears off.” Empty threat, I guess.

The Den—I want to talk about that. Please, let’s. Your first time there? It was with Karolina, like I said, and there was a local band playing that night. They’d wrapped up their set by the time we arrived and were just … jamming on the stage, taking feedback and requests from the people who were still there. Some kind of funky jazz mash-up. I liked it. How did it come to you? It opened in ‘57 as a bar and, at some point, it turned into more of a music venue open to a certain segment of Nakawe. The guy who owned it gave exposure to a lot of people who went on to really do something with their art, and that’s why it ended up being a somewhat exclusive spot. Celebrities already knew it and brought their friends. Uh huh. I could stroll up, and the cameras weren’t with me because they were already there. He got tired of that, I think—He was an older fella, right? Yeah. But, really, he managed other properties, and The Den wasn’t his passion project the way it’s become for me. So, you had the money and took it off his hands.

What goes on in there? [Laughs] Pat, you’ve been inside. Well, not for me! If I’m going to describe it to people who’ll never go inside, what would I say? I mean, it’s a hangout spot. It’s a performance venue. We had, uh, mimes last month. Truly gifted, those people. [Laughs] Really? I don’t come up with all of the ideas myself, but I only agree to the shit I’m interested in. It’s kind of selfish, but I guess I’m lucky to know a lot of people who’ll toss in five dollars to enjoy it. It’s something. Compelling. I mean it. Thanks. That’s not all, though. I mean, you describe it as a “haven.” It’s very private. Some of your regulars are troubled individuals. Damn, Patricia, just say it. I feel like a cop! “Do you condone drug use in your establishment?” nonsense. But, well … I’m not explaining it. Either you—they, whoever the hell—get it or don’t. Come for the music, come to unwind however you like, doesn’t fucking matter to me as long as you’re coming with an invitation. I like to go in the back room, close the door, let the music and noise seep through. Muffled. You don’t really strike me as a partier, frankly. You never have. I wouldn’t argue with that. I like parties, but I don’t need to be at the center. Some do. That’s fine. This place is for us all.

Maybe it works out because of that, that you’re curating this space but not necessarily always in it? What do you mean? Well, you reopened it and then, if memory serves, immediately went off to do a film. The party kept going. You just like to know it’s happening. Alright, sure. That’s true. Knowing it’s there … Yeah. I like it. I was in that back room, thinking about the script, when I decided to do it, actually. Life felt like it was falling into place. It was a good time to take a leap. “’You are going to be a cowboy?’” “’No, I’m going to be a farmer.’” I had that conversation a thousand times. Reporters, man. Hey! Everyone was so surprised. I think they thought the premise was … I don’t know, that it just wasn’t something I would want to do? Or, worse, that the filmmakers wouldn’t want to work with someone like me? Unflattering assumptions, sounds like. Can’t blame them. I had a lot to prove. Still do.

How was six weeks in Texict? Fucking heaven. I loved it. My mother’s from the northwest so, even when I visited family, it wasn’t anywhere close. No reason to visit until we dropped in to do the film. Every day, I woke up happy to be alive. Happy to be doing this job. Gorgeous. I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess it wasn’t just the location, was it?

No, you’re right. I felt like I was really acting—for the first time, seriously. Maybe the cast helped? I’d worked with established actors before. The leads in Sugar Sweet were—well, you know who they were. I learned a ton from them. But, yeah, I guess Sasha was the first person I’d worked alongside who had me sweating. Oh? I wanted to impress her so fucking badly. I wanted to keep up, you know? So talented. So raw. She rips every line out of her chest with her bare hands. Bloodbath of emotion. The premise was new, too. Not a lighthearted romance this time. No. We were young parents of a ill child—stressed as fuck, trying to make life work, struggling separately to be together. Can’t lie, I ate that shit up. So did the critics. Hell yeah.

Every nomination felt surreal. The recognition was incredible. Validating. Sasha and some of the others swept up. I was just honored to be up there with them, honestly. Okay, well, let’s talk about Sasha. Do we have to? Yes. Indulge me! [Grumbling] I mean, all I can really say at this point is that I was obsessed, and it wasn’t until it was over that I had the clarity of mind to really wonder, hm, “Was I in love with Sasha, my coworker, or was I in love with Sasha playing Lucy, my wife?” That seems like an occupational hazard. I wouldn’t describe it that way. You take sensitive, delusional, beautiful people, pay them to get vulnerable and intimate with each other … It’s special, even if it’s … Not genuine? No, it is that. It’s not real, but it is genuine. How else can you say, “Well, our schedules don’t line up anymore, but I’ll have this scar of our initials forever?” You do not! No, I don’t. The letter S is really hard to cut without fucking up. Not a sober man’s idea. No.

Since I have you on the topic—hey, no, absolutely not—I’m obligated to ask if there’s anyone in your life right now. How’s that? Women’s magazines can snap this up and stitch it together for themselves. This is a public service. Patricia … Yes, Lorencio?

Look, I know you do your research. I do. I’m very good at it, too. What’s that like, princess pus—Pat. Pat, I’m begging you—Are you obsessed? The letter L is easier, I bet. It is. Would you go with another L or an R?

I’m not talking about this—not for you to print, anyway. Well, talk to me as a friend, then? I’m not just professionally nosy. We’re friends? Who else calls me Pat and gets away with it? You haven’t been Trish in a long time, it’s true … [Sighs] Fuck. Someone can be precious, right? Lovable. You can hold them in your hands and think, “This person matters to me. They’re special. I like to be around them; I like to listen to them; I want their affection.” You can really, genuinely cherish someone.

But? Maybe you find their life to be completely fucking repellent. Unbearable. … Damn.

There’s parallels, though, right? I mean, fame is fame, there’s got to be value in relatability, and—There’s an open mic going on downstairs in the hotel bar right this minute. Let’s take a break, Pat, what do you say? Let’s just go watch some of it. I’ll let you print dick measurements and my deepest, darkest secrets if you say yes. [Laughs] Well, if that’s on the table—

#just gonna toss in a cw #cw drugs #long post #ts4 story #sims story #sims 4 story #royal sims #simblr #ts4 legacy #1992.story.post #1992.a1 #1992.e04

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reidbae · 7 months

Text

DAY 31: Scream, Part 2

KINKTOBER 2023: masterlist

PART 1

summary: When you, Aaron, and Spencer get home from a Halloween party, your two boyfriends have more things in store for you than you could have ever imagined: And lots of ways to make you scream.

pairing: dom!spencer reid and dom!aaron hotchner x sub!fem!reader

warnings/mentions: use of pet names for reader (princess, honey, angel, baby), reader is fairly shy, spencer and hotch are both more rough/hard!dom but spencer is still kinda soft, obv use of masks and veryyy heavily implied mask kink, knife play, pain play (ish), use of handcuffs, spanking (kinda) and ass grabbing, loads of degradation and a bit of praise, hair pulling, blowjobs, crying from stimulation, vaginal sex, unprotected piv sex (pls do not do this), choking, teasing, anddd lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: part one of this was posted day before yesterday but i think you could read this as a stand alone, no context is really needed to enjoy it! hope y'all enjoy and had an amazing halloween <3

wc: 4.2k

tags: @nalycandy @prettyboydrspencerreid @mega-kittyglitter-1 @mrs-ssa-hotch @boimlers-gonna-boim

You, Aaron, and Spencer were all at Aaron's home now, having just gotten there after the party had come to a close.

You closed the door behind you, giving a slow, heavy sigh as you locked it. "Well, that was fun," you said with a huff, setting your work bag and keys down as you spoke. While you did love your coworkers, your social battery had been drained, and you were glad to be in only the presence of the two people you loved most.

"Oh, it was," Aaron smiled at you, a tone of implication behind his voice. You rolled your eyes at him as he pressed a loving kiss to your forehead. "Very fun."

"I agree," voiced Spencer, who was removing his vest in the living room. "Although I'm not too big on social gatherings. It's really you two that made it tolerable," Spencer remarked as he took his vest off of his body. "And the candy. That was nice, too."

You and Aaron looked over at Spencer, laughing at his words. "That's a good way of looking at it," you giggled at him, Aaron laughing along with you. "So, what's on the agenda for the rest of the evening?" you then asked.

Aaron then looked at Spencer with a smirk across his face, before looking back at you. "I don't know, baby. What do you want to do?" he asked playfully, pulling you in closer by your hips.

You nervously smiled up at him in response, giving him a shrug. "I- Well," you trailed off, biting down on your lip as you considered the words that were about to leave your mouth. "Maybe—We can pick up where we left off?" you asked hopefully.

"I like the sound of that," Aaron smiled at you, before turning his head to look at Spencer, who had since gotten up. "Huh, Reid? That sound like a plan?" he asked.

Spencer gave a smile of his own, nodding his head as he approached the two of you. He then ran a hand through your hair, looking down at you with caring eyes. "I think that sounds good to me," Spencer smiled.

Knowingly, he then gazed at Aaron, just before saying, "Why don't you wait in the bedroom, sweetheart?" a sly smile across his face as he did, like the two of them knew something you didn't.

Which was likely the case.

"Why?" you couldn't help but ask in a curious manner, wondering what the two of them were planning. Your eyes flickered from Aaron to Spencer as you did your best to gauge what was going on.

Needless to say, your profiling skills were failing you.

"Nothing, angel, nothing, just—Do what I told you to, okay? Can you do that for me?" Spencer asked in that honeyed tone of voice he always used on you, knowing that it'd always work.

You nodded a little too eagerly, ready to see what it was that these two had planned for you already. "Yeah. Yeah, I can," you responded to him.

Spencer smirked at Aaron, before pressing a loving kiss to your temple. "There's our good girl. Now, go ahead, angel," Spencer cooed to you.

You obliged his ask, smiling at the two of them before going up to Aaron's bedroom, taking a seat on the bed that you'd laid in so many times.

It was only five or so minutes before the two of them walked into the room. Now, both of them were more or less in the same attire, with the both of them wearing a white collared shirt, black slacks, and a belt: Only Spencer was wearing a tie, that was undone around his neck.

And, the catch: They were both wearing their Ghostface masks.

Your response was quick as you felt your cheeks go warm, your head going dizzy with arousal. You looked back and forth from Aaron to Spencer, looking them up and down as they approached you.

You were as equally nervous as you were turned on.

"What? We told you we'd finish this later, didn't we?" Aaron reminded you in response to the face you had made, his voice teasing as the two of them were now in front of you.

"Y- Yeah, you did," you stuttered out, your cheeks growing even hotter at the remark. You couldn't manage to look at them now that they were so close and looked down, doing what you could to balance your breathing.

"Nervous, princess?" Spencer asked you in a chuckle, his hands in his pockets as he looked down at you.

"No," you tried to say, playing with your fingers as you looked down at your feet. You were lying through your teeth, obviously. You just wished you were better at hiding it.

"So, why—" you began, taking a slow breath. You then looked up at them, willing yourself the courage to keep your eyes on Aaron and Spencer. "Why did you guys take so long to get up here?"

"Oh, well—We were just talking about what it is we want to do to you," Aaron explained, like it was a fact that you should have already known. "And we got something."

"Mmhm," hummed Spencer in response. The taller man leaned down in front of you, then removed his mask from his face so that you could see him. "And we want to play a little game with you, princess. As long as it's okay with you."

You gaze at him with a shy look in your eyes, moving your eyes to peer over at Aaron before responding. "Y- Yeah, okay. So, um, what's the game?" you asked, tilting your head.

"Well—We want you. And we want to have fun with you just like normal. Only, there are some—Kinkier things we want to try this time," Spencer explained to you.

You nodded, wondering just what those things were. The three of you were always trying to expand on the things that you did in the bedroom, and had tried a number of kinky things in the past, so you weren't opposed to this idea.

"That sounds fine with me. But what's the catch?" you asked, because if there's one thing you knew about Aaron and Spencer, it was that there was always a catch.

"The catch is—One word, and we stop. That's your only rule, honey. No talking, cussing, any of that stuff. Not one word," Aaron explained further to you. When he took note of the bewildered expression across your face, he then said, "We just like to see you squirm."

Of course.

"Oh," was the only word that you really had in response to that.

"Mmhm. After we tell you what we want to do to you, and after you tell us what you feel okay with doing, you can't talk at all. And if you do, well—We'll see from there," said Spencer.

"So, princess? What do you think?" Spencer asked you, looking into your eyes as he did. You giggled nervously, crossing your legs and fixing your dress as you considered doing this.

There was really only one valid answer.

"I want to. I really want to. Just—Tell me what you want to do to me," you said eagerly, smiling up at them.

Spencer smiled back at you, putting a hand on your thigh and rubbing you slowly as he spoke to you. "Attagirl. I knew you'd want to. And I'm glad you do."

"Me, too. Now," said Aaron in a firm tone of voice, causing both you and Spencer to look up at him. "We'll explain what it is we want to do with you, and then we can start, honey. Okay?"

You nodded once more, more than ready to hear what they had planned for you already.

Aaron and Spencer explained what those "kinky" things were that they wanted to try with you. The first one, pain play, was something that you had experienced in the bedroom before, mainly from Aaron by way of choking, or spanking.

The second one, bondage, was one that you had also done with the two of them, but it'd only been done on you with the thin fabric of Spencer's tie. Unlike those times, Aaron and Spencer would be using real handcuffs on you.

The last one, probably the kinkiest one on the whole agenda, was one that you had never experienced before. Not from Aaron, not from Spencer, and not from anyone else.

Knife play.

It was one that you had considered, due to seeing or reading it in media, such as books, shows, and movies, but never something that you believed you could really try with your two boyfriends. It was incredibly kinky, and likely unscrupulous for three FBI profilers to be engaging in.

But then again, you didn't really care.

Once the three of you went over safe words and rules of thumb, Aaron made the first move, pushing you back onto the bed. "Clothes off, baby," Aaron whispered to you, his mask in your face as he did.

With your back now leaning on the headboard, you wordlessly removed your dress, pulling it over your head to reveal your bra and underwear to your boyfriends. Then off came your heels, jewelry, and underwear.

Your bra was the last thing that came off your body as you slowly removed it, throwing it on the ground without a care in the world about it.

The two men reveled in the naked view of you, Spencer giving you a small smirk before putting his mask back onto his face.

"God, look at you, princess," Spencer cooed, running his hands over your thighs in a gentle caress.

"Gonna have so much fun with her, aren't we?" Aaron mumbled more to himself than to Spencer, taking the time to let his eyes roam over your body.

Aaron then got on the bed and crawled in the middle of your legs, spreading them open for better access to your body. His hands danced along the insides of your thighs, causing you to shiver in desire. "Remember, honey. No talking."

You gave him a silent nod, eager to please both him and Spencer.

And, really, you were eager for some much needed attention that you'd been craving since the party.

"Good girl," Aaron whispered, before removing bis mask and attaching his lips to yours, locking you into a fervid kiss.

Your tongues moved together in a passionate whirl as Spencer walked around the bed and sat down next to you, gazing at the two of you as you made out. Desire bubbled inside of you at an incomprehensible speed as the kiss ensued.

Aaron's hands were moving down to rub hard circles into your thighs as his mouth moved in time with yours, and you did your best to move them closer to him. Taking note of your need, Aaron began to touch you where he knew you needed him most.

As Aaron's fingers ran circles into your clit, a new pair of hands grabbed hold of your nipples: Spencer didn't misuse a second as he fondled you in a similar manner to Aaron, mirroring the speed that he was going at.

"No words, honey? None at all?" Aaron asked you in mock surprise, holding back a chuckle as he observed your needy behavior.

Not that you blamed him for sounding so shocked, even if you knew he was just messing with you. It was a wonder you weren't screaming yet from such simple touches; The masks should have had you doing so then and there.

When you shook your head, the two only went on with what they were doing. But when they noticed that you weren't going to budge anytime soon, they knew they'd have to push you even harder.

"Fine, then," Aaron said as he ceased from rubbing you and put his mask back on, leading Spencer to do the same. "We'll just have to fuck it out of you, then," he smirked.

It was Spencer's turn to grab you, making it so that you were no longer on your back, but on all fours, with him behind you. He played with some of your hair for a few seconds, before pulling it, so that you were closer to his body. You let out a squeal in response, blushing as he handled you so roughly.

"Maybe feeling me inside of you will work, hm?" Spencer hummed in a teasing voice, settling both of his hands onto your ass. He squeezed down, earning one more noise from you in the form of a whimper.

You tried not to react as Spencer filled you with his cock, pushing himself as deep as he could possibly go without harming you. You shut your eyes as tears pricked the corners of them, causing Aaron to chuckle.

"Fuck, tears again, honey? That difficult, huh?" Aaron laughed at you.

And if there was one thing about him, it was that he was about to make it a whole lot harder.

Aaron began to rub your clit as Spencer pounded into you from behind, not giving you any time at all to process it. His fingers moved over you with force, rubbing circles that shouldn't have felt as good as they did.

Meanwhile, Spencer, just to add fuel to the flame, issued a few slaps to your ass, rubbing his hands over the reddened areas after each one. At a time like this, some sort of cuss word would have escaped your lips; Maybe even Spencer's name.

But you were hanging on by a thread, trying so hard not to talk for the sake of what would happen if you did.

Aaron and Spencer clearly weren't aware that you would hold out for this long, knowing how vocal you tended to be in the bedroom. Aaron sat up on his knees on the bed, pulling something from his belt buckle.

You hadn't seen it before, because Aaron had never turned his back to you for as long as he'd been in the room, but tucked into the back of his slacks and under his belt was a vision that made your heart race.

A knife.

All you could do was whimper as he wordlessly handed it to Spencer and put his thumb under your chin. "You're doing good so far, honey. But you won't last for long."

That was when Spencer held the knife a mere few inches away from your throat. Looking down at the shiny object was a new experience for you, but it was one that sent a rush of butterflies to your chest.

They knew just how to get you.

Maybe it was the thrill of the possibility of getting hurt that made you more attracted to knife play than you initially perceived you would be; Being under the control of your two boyfriends, and having to submit to their mercy.

But that very thing was about to get you to burst in a few seconds.

"You like this, princess?" Spencer let out in a grunt as he fucked you from behind, his voice a hoarse whisper as he spoke. "You like how helpless you feel?"

Again, you couldn't answer. And, really, what would you say?

"We could do anything to you, and you wouldn't say a thing. Tease you, play with you, hurt you. And you'd probably even like it, wouldn't you, honey?" Aaron teased you even further, resuming his attack on your clit with his thumb.

You shut your eyes, so, so close to the edge, and trying to focus on that as opposed to the two men's taunts and jeers. You zoned in on your breathing, and the filthy notions that were plaguing your mind as the seconds passed.

When you didn't speak again, the pair was forced to take more excessive measures. Spencer's hand closed around your neck, and, with force, the brunette genius began to squeeze down.

Your eyes shot back open as pain mixed with pleasure, your brain fogging with lust as you were robbed of your oxygen. "Come on, princess. I wanna hear you," Spencer mindlessly encouraged you, trying to coax the words out of your mouth at this point.

"Mmhm. That pretty voice of yours," Aaron said to you, moving his hand from your clit to tease your nipples. "Where's our little whore, huh?" asked Aaron.

You wanted so badly to hold on, your body begging you to keep your mouth shut so you could finish and not be punished, but it was safe to say—You failed.

Because then, and only then, did it happen.

"Fuck."

The swear left your mouth before you could think it through, and your eyes widened as you slapped your hand over your lips. Spencer's body paused as soon as you had said it, and Aaron moved his hand away from your figure.

"Well, would you look at that," Spencer chuckled, pulling out of you.

"Wait, wait, I didn't mean—I—Oh, God," you muttered, shutting your mouth as you realized that you were still talking. You turned to look at Spencer, being met with nothing but the Ghostface mask that he was wearing, that seemed to mock you as you gazed at it.

They were cruel, so fucking cruel for this. Driving you to the edge, filling you to the brim with dirty words, and sweeping the orgasm out from under you, just. Like. That.

"Sorry, princess, but you know the rules. Off the bed, and on your knees, now," Spencer commanded you, getting off of the bed himself, Aaron doing the same

"Wait, wait, wait, please, I'll be such a good girl. Please, give me another chance?" you aimlessly begged them, sitting down on the bed as you gave them your best pleading eyes. "Please?"

"No. We had one rule for you, and you broke it. Now stop being a brat, and do what Spencer told you to do," Aaron said meanly, crossing his arms and refusing to budge.

Your eyes were tear-filled as you then looked at Spencer, begging for even a smidge of one more chance. You tried to use the fact that he was usually the nicer dom of the two to your benefit. "Spencer? Please?" you whined.

But he wasn't letting up either.

"Sorry, angel. What Hotch said," Spencer said simply, his hands in his pockets once more.

Sadly, you got up with a sigh, getting down to your knees in front of Spencer. Aaron walked to the other side of the bed, and, without a word, grabbed a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.

You were an aching, leaking, and whimpering mess as your hands were bound by the cuffs, your body trembling in both fear and the heat of the moment. Spencer's cock, which he hadn't put back in his slacks, was in your plain view, aching from how close he had gotten the two of you to release.

Aaron got on his knees behind you and let his hands roam over your body. You moaned with need as he touched you, eager to feel even a little bit of him.

But he gave you nothing.

Instead, he held the knife to your neck again, with it being closer to your neck then it had been the first time. Your abdomen whirled as Aaron's mask looked back at you, causing you to squirm under his grasp.

"You've been bad today, princess. Really bad. And you know what bad girls get?" teased Aaron, his voice incredibly deep as the words flowed from his mouth.

"P- Punished," you said softly, your eyes on the ground as you did.

"Mmhm," hummed Spencer, putting his thumb under your chin. "Precisely. Now, what we want you to do is very simple, princess, mkay? Nothing you haven't done before. All we're going to do is use that pretty mouth of yours."

"That is, until you can't take anymore. Until we've fucked you dry," Aaron smirked. He ran the blade of the knife across your neck, and you shivered as the cool metal touched your skin. "Because that's all you're good for, really."

"That sound fair to you, angel?" Spencer asked you.

It was a wonder the genius could call you "angel" while the two of them behaved so cruelly towards you. You knew better than to deny them, so you nodded.

"Use your words, baby," said Spencer, bending down a little just to get closer to you and make you nervous, which sure as hell worked.

"Y- Yes, it sounds fair," you voiced.

"There we go," Spencer murmured. He took you by the hair, pulling you closer to him without one more word. Already knowing what it was you needed to do, Spencer pushed his cock into your mouth, and you quickly wrapped yourself around his dick.

Neither of them were joking when they said they'd use your mouth. You had made them cum several times each before you had finally reached your limit. Aaron's blowjobs were especially rough in nature in comparison to Spencer's, but his weren't much better, either.

And it felt impossible to do any of this with your hands cuffed behind your back, the lack of free will making it more difficult, and less comfortable.

Not that it mattered, anyway, because neither man was concerned about that.

"Guys, I- I can't, please, I- I can't take anymore," you finally begged, your face covered with tears that had since been running down your face in response to the roughness of Aaron and Spencer.

Aaron and Spencer looked at each other, clearly sharing a similar notion, because Spencer then said, "Okay, sweetheart. I think you've done enough, anyways."

"You were very good," Aaron praised you for once as he helped raise you from your knees. "And I think you deserve a reward for it, princess."

"R- Really? I do?" you perked up, trying to hold back your smile at the idea of finally getting what your body craved.

"Yes, baby. You do," Spencer chuckled, running his fingers through your hair. "Can you get on all fours again for me, please, angel?" Spencer cooed in his usual honeyed tone of voice.

You were way too quick to oblige, not even bothering to ask either of them to remove your handcuffs as you got back onto the bed. You shook with arousal as Spencer moved behind you again, Aaron walking around the bed to lay down next to you.

Spencer rubbed your clit for a bit just to get you going again, before pushing himself inside of you once more. However, there was a noticeable difference from how he had fucked you before in comparison to how he was doing it now; There was no more pain, no more roughness, and having sex had dissolved back into making love.

Aaron removed his mask for the last time, his face a vibrant pink as sweat stuck strands of his dark brown hair to his forehead. His lips for which you had been longing for, attached to yours after what felt like forever, sweeping you away in another passionate kiss.

All of your pent-up need was beginning to come to the surface, and Spencer could feel you compressing around him as your orgasm danced around the corner. Spencer grabbed hold of your tits like he'd done before, teasing each nipple in circles.

Aaron reached his hand down and began to rub your clit again, focusing the attention that wasn't on your lips onto your small bundle of nerves.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you pulled away from Aaron to groan, your face scrunched up into a pornographic expression as Spencer quickened his pace. "Fuck, please, I'm so close."

"We know, angel," Spencer cooed, trying and failing to calm you down as he used one of his hands to pet your hair, the other still fondling your nipple. "Let go when you're ready."

Aaron began to kiss and suck at your neck, no doubt leaving red marks all over you as he did. His pace on your clit mirrored that of Spencer's cock, and you could barely find it in you to hold back much longer.

"Aaron—Spencer—" you muttered in a broken, whiny tone of voice, shutting your eyes as your climax brimmed to the surface of your body.

"Go ahead, princess. Let it out," Spencer finally encouraged you, his voice making clear that he was on the verge of pleasure as well as you.

You were screaming both their names as you were drowned in pleasure, your eyes rolling back into your head as your release flooded you like a tidal wave; Aaron and Spencer talking you through it only maximized the experience.

You lay limp next to the two of them after all was done, and Aaron grabbed the key to the handcuffs from his pocket. He unlocked the cuffs and put them on one of his bedside tables, before pulling you close to his body.

Spencer removed his mask and then spooned you, wrapping his arms around you as well. He pressed several kisses to your face, as Aaron drew figures into your hips.

"How'd you like that, princess?" asked Aaron softly.

You smiled up at him, burying your face into his chest as a means of feeling his warmth. "I liked it. Like, a lot," you giggled in response to his query.

"Good," Spencer smiled from behind you, kissing the back of your neck. "So—Would you do it again?" Spencer asked you, as if there wasn't an obvious answer to that.

"Yes," you said without having to think twice about the answer.

Aaron chuckled in response to your eager attitude. "That's our girl."

—

reblogs are very much appreciated <3

—

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #aaron hotchner #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction

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fueledbysano · 10 months

Text

𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋 kazutora hanemiya

"I can be a better man. I can be a better man for you. I hope, you know, if you'll let me. I can be a better man with you."

♱ pairing: kazutora x afab!reader

♱ content/warning: MATURE. MDNI. unprotected sex

♱ a/n: everyone say thank you to @mztoman for commissioning this fic! 🤍 if you are interested for commissioning a fic, full details are in my navigation^

mdni banner by benkeibear 🤍

♱ 2.9K

Kazutora was at a loss. He had been released from prison after several years, but his friends were nowhere to be found, and he had no place to stay. With Chifuyu gone, and Takemichi in jail, he had no choice but to start from scratch, and that meant finding a job and a place to live. He wandered around the city, which once knew in the back of his mind but now seemed like a different place altogether.

Without a family, his gang, and his best friends, he was a new man.

It was the third day Kazutora had spent the entire day searching for a job, finally landing success. He was tired, but as he stepped on the train to head home, he couldn't shake off the feeling of relief instead of the hopelessness that had been gnawing at him for the past few days. Just as he was about to take his seat, he accidentally bumped into a young woman standing nearby, and they both stumbled forward.

Instantly, they both started to apologize to each other, their voices meshing together in a jumbled mess of apologies. Kazutora couldn't help but notice the woman's bright smile, her gentle voice, and pleasant face. Even though it had been a long day, she exuded a certain energy that was infectious.

As they sat down, she let out a sigh of relief and apologized for the inconvenience once again. “Are you okay?” Kazutora asks, “Yes, thank you.” She kindly replied before shortly noticing the stack of resumes on Kazutora’s lap. “Any luck?” Kazutora was surprised by her empathy, and found himself making conversation with her.

“Yeah, a record store.” He softly chuckled. “Record store? How cool… to be honest I thought you were some sort of pro musician, but, near enough.” She chuckled, and Kazutora was intrigued.

“Oh yeah? What made you think that?” He asks. “Well, you have a very unique hairstyle and clothes. And that cool tattoo too! At least, it’s the vibe you give off.” She answered, feeling a strange sense of recognition.

He chuckled at her enthusiasm softly with a smile, “That would be really cool…” He nodded, “But yeah, I do love bands. That’s why I also considered working at the record store.” He explained. Kazutora had always been a solitary person, spending most of his time alone and not really paying attention to the people around him, but something about her felt familiar.

“Congratulations again for getting the job, …” She paused for a moment, realizing that she hadn’t gotten his name yet. “Kazutora.” He smiled and shook her hand. “Kazutora…Hanemiya?.” He chuckled softly, not used to being referred to with his last name, the one that he shared with a terrible human being he unfortunately once called “father”.

and that was the moment when it all suddenly connected for her— this was the delinquent Kazutora she once knew in middle school. The one who pulls his friend out of class, and goes out to gang fights. She couldn't help but think about the incident that had happened in the past. She remembered the day when he was caught stealing from a motorcycle shop, and how he accidentally killed the owner. It was a horrible incident that had left a lasting impact on the whole school and town.

But despite that, she knew that she understood that there was a whole story and context behind that. She had always seen the best in people, and she believed that everyone deserves a chance to redeem themselves. And now, as they had reconnected, she felt as though they were put in each other’s paths..

“It’s me, [ Y / N ] —” “[ L / N ]...” Kazutora finished for her.

Life is funny. They weren’t so close in high school, they’ve had a couple of interactions, all of which were pure, pleasant memories. She was kind, understanding, and she truly saw the good in people, even when they didn't see it themselves.

“You remember.” She was quite surprised, not expecting him to remember her at all.

“Yeah, I have a pretty good memory.” He smiled. “What are you up to these days?” He asks.

“Well, that story is going to take longer than my stop.” [ Y / N ] simply said. “I’ll just say that… it’s nice to have a fresh start.” She added.

“I know what you mean.” Kazutora agreed, and she smiled back, understanding where he was coming from.

Finally, when the train reached its destination, he mustered up the courage to ask for her number. And to his surprise, she gave it to him, with a small smile and a soft "good luck" as the train doors opened.

As he stepped off the train and into the night, he knew that she had given him more than just her number— she had given him hope.

As Kazutora walked through the bustling city to his new job, he couldn't help but think about her. The girl with the sweet and bubbly personality who had shown him so much kindness all those years, and when they met each other again on the train. He wanted to have a connection with her, but he also knew that he first needed to get his life together. He wanted to be the best version of himself for her, to be someone she could be proud of.

He reached the job site and got to work, feeling nervous but also excited at the prospect of starting a new chapter in his life. The work was tough, but he threw himself into it, learning as much as he could throughout the day and impressing his boss with his work ethic.

As the day wore on, while closing up the shop, Kazutora found himself thinking more and more about [ Y / N ]. He wondered if she was thinking about him, too.

"Good job today, Kazutora," she said, a warm smile on her face. He turned around to see her, looking just as beautiful as he remembered. She was holding a cup of boba and had a bright, energetic attitude that made him feel light and confident just looking at her.

“[ Y / N ]? Hey, I wasn’t expecting you.” He gave her a soft, welcoming smile. “I know, I’m sorry…” She chuckled. “It’s just that… you said you work in a record store around here, and… funny, because I work at a dental clinic a couple blocks away.” She says.

“Really? Well, that’s perfect… because then… I can take you home~?” He offered his hands for the bundle of shopping bags in her other hand.”

“I’d like that.” She smiled and handed him her bags.

As the day ended and they made their way back to the train station, they found themselves opening up to each other and getting to know more about their lives. As they talked, Kazutora couldn't help but be struck by how much she understood him. Even though they'd just met, he felt safe and comfortable in her presence.

And as they continued to talk, as the train rumbled on towards its destination, he knew that there was a reason why they were brought into each other’s lives. He was determined to make something more of himself, to be the kind of person he could be proud of, the kind of person she deserved.

“I never really planned on staying here, basically. When I landed my first job out of the city, I got into a relationship with my superior and… well… the jerk turned out to be married. The wife showed up at work and started rambling about how I was a homewrecker.” He couldn't help but feel a sense of anger and frustration on her behalf, angry how someone could take advantage and betray her like that.

“Since then, no one would hire me in town. And I thought fuck it and returned here.”

He asked her what he could do to help, and she told him that she just needed someone to listen. He was happy to do that for her, to be there for her and to offer her a listening ear. And as they talked, she felt a sense of peace and calm wash over her.

They have reached their stop and headed to [ Y / N ]’s apartment complex. “I’d invite you inside, but my roommate is currently moving out so it’s really cluttered.” [ Y / N ] explained. “Ah, I understand, I’ve lived in worse circumstances.” Kazutora jokes. “I practically live in a can of sardines. Plus it’s under a train track so I get three hours of sleep max. But I guess that’s an upgrade from prison.” He chuckled.

“Come live with me.”

"What!?" he asked, unable to hide the shock in his voice

“Yeah… it’s hard to look for a new roommate anyway. I don't have the time for doing all that.” She explained.

Kazutora couldn't believe his luck. He had just met her again after all these years, and now he had the chance to live with her, to spend more time with her, to get to know her even better. He didn't want to mess things up, so he did his best to act calm and collected.

“Are pets allowed?”

“Sure.”

She smiled at him, clearly pleased with his response. "I'm sure you'll be a great roommate," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "And besides, it's not like we're strangers. We're old friends, remember?"

He was determined to not make her regret meeting him again, to make himself into the person he always knew he could be, and to show her that he was worth the chance she had given him. He knew that he had a lot of work to do, but with her by his side, it’s like he took a big step forward. After all, maybe he didn’t really lose everything…

Christmas is a time of year for joy, for spending time with loved ones and creating memories that will last a lifetime. And for [ Y / N ], Christmas was supposed to be a time to escape the cold and spend some time with her ex-boyfriend. That's when she remembered the vacation house she had booked, but with no one to go with, she wasn't sure what to do. But then she thought of Kazutora, and how he had been there for her through everything. She decided to invite him to join her on the trip, hoping that he would say yes.

At first, Kazutora was hesitant. He wasn't sure if it was a good idea to go on a trip with someone he had such strong feelings for. But after thinking it over, he decided that he couldn't pass up the opportunity to spend some time with her outside of their daily routine.

As they made their way to the vacation home, they couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation. They couldn't help but notice the romantic atmosphere. Each corner of the house was decorated with lights and Christmas ornaments, and the scent of fresh cookies lingered in the air. They could feel the tension between them growing, and they both knew that this trip was going to be different from anything either of them had experienced before.

As the fire crackled in the fireplace, Kazutora and the[ Y / N ] sat close together, lost in their own thoughts. The comfort of each other's presence was palpable, and they both knew that they had been dancing around their feelings for each other for far too long.

Kazutora finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know that you were supposed to go to this place with someone else, but I'm glad that it ended up being me." His eyes were locked on hers, and there was a warmth in them that made her heart flutter.

She smiled, taking his hand in hers. "I'm glad it was you, too." She paused, searching for the words to express what she was feeling. As she looked into his eyes, she knew that he felt it too.

They sat in silence for a moment, taking in the weight of their confession.

Kazutora leaned in, his face just inches from hers. "I love you," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've loved you for so long, but I was too afraid to say it."

[ Y / N ]'s eyes filled with tears at his words, and she pulled him close, kissing him passionately. "I love you too, Kazutora," she said, her voice shaking with emotion. "I've always loved you." [ Y / N ] soon found herself sitting on Kazutora’s lap, leaning in for another steamy kiss.

His fingers slowly rested on her hips, his heart rate picking up when he felt a surge of emotions wash over him. For the first time in his life, he was experiencing something so pure and beautiful, and it was with someone he cared about deeply. He was nervous, but excited, and as their lips met, he felt like he was on top of the world. He had never done so intimate before, and he didn't know what to expect, but he knew that this was special.

As they pulled apart, he looked into her eyes, and he could see the love and the kindness that he had always seen in her. He knew that this moment was the start of something beautiful, and he was ready to give his all to make it last.

“You look even prettier straddling me like this, sweetheart~” He admired her face, stroking her cheek. As [ Y / N ]’s lips begin to descend onto him, Kazutora could feel his heart pounding furiously in his chest. He can tell that her body is just as passionately waiting for his touch and kisses. So his hands go over her hips, pulling her closer to his body.

Kazutora’s hands slowly start to move upward, brushing up against her panties. He starts to pull on the fabric, looking at her with intensity. Her heart is beating rapidly right now as she breathes heavily above him. He feels the heat coming from her body, feeling her touch against his. He slowly brings his lips back up to her lips and kisses her deeply, his lust and desire overcoming him now.

He pulls her dress up, leaving her in her bra on top of him.

“Mr. Hanemiya…” She whispered sensuously, slowly working her hands down his pants. “It’s cold, isn’t it? May I warm you up~?” [ Y / N ] bats her eyes, enough for Kazutora not to notice her fingers beginning to undo his jeans. The way his last name rolled out of her tongue perfectly, the only time he’ll ever feel loved hearing it.

He pulls her closer to him and lets out another soft moan, feeling her bare body mold and conform against his.

Kazutora’s eyes go wide as he realizes that she is making this quite intense. At the feeling of her hands going into his underwear, his breathing begins to quicken and his body tenses up as he feels his desires go out of control.

He slowly pulls her up just a bit, just enough to touch his aching tip to her entrance.

“Only if I get to do it first…” He whispered, finally feeling all of her in one swift movement. [ Y / N ]’s hands rushed to his long hair to tug on them, discerning Kazutora’s body as they connected for the first time.

Kazutora feels [ Y / N ]’s lips on his, as gently pressing into his again and again, in sync with her rocking hips. Her kisses and thrusts send a wave of pleasure through his body, making him moan softly and unable to control his desires.

Kazutora wanted to cum right then and there, but he knew he wanted to make this last for her. “Ugh, I love this.” He shuddered, body jolting slightly as she pulsed around his cock. She rocked down on him, purposely letting her hear his desperate whines. Kazutora clutched her ass tightly, her pussy touching his base and breathing heavily as he hit deeper.

[ Y / N ] rocked her hips back and forth, enjoying the sensation of the stretch by his thick cock. Within seconds, his pace starts to grow wild, drilling into her pussy, their hips now clashing together. He was finally getting some action after using his sole imagination in so long.

Gripping both of his shoulders tightly, she began to bounce harder on his cock, the ginger radiance of the fireplace shining on her face which made it heightened the experience for Kazutora. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted so badly…” He whispered right next to her ear.

“I love getting to know you like this…” Her cheeks flushed warm. “I wanna cum…” He sighed and planted his hands back on her hips, his thrusts growing more desperate. “I wanna help you with that.” She moaned softly before speeding up her own pace. “What a good girl, showing me those cute tits bounce while you fuck yourself on my dick.” He grunted, bleached hair sticking to his forehead as they continued to fuck each other.

“Ah, Hanemiya-sama~” The explosive sensation ricochets through her body, making him feel her warm cum gushing down his balls just as he spilled into her pussy. He pulls out and you breathlessly collapse on his chest, feeling the light afterglow from the intense moment.

His eyes softened as he watched you snuggle up to him breathlessly. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he knew that he was going to remember this moment forever. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her body against his, and he knew that he was exactly where he was meant to be.

#tokyo revengers #kazutora x reader #kazutora x reader smut #kazutora hanemiya x reader #kazutora hanemiya #kazutora smut #kazutora x you #hanemiya kazutora

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rthko · 1 year

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Is it some kind of evil coincidence or a coordinated plan that as I got older the idea of and discourse around genderqueer male elegance faded away and was replaced by the marketable femboy?

I've had the same thought. There is no pretext in which anyone assigned male at birth presenting in a feminine way will be universally celebrated, but it's weird to see even straight up reactionaries develop a soft spot for femboys. Maybe it's in the name, which implies two things: 1. That they're young and will grow out of it. 2. That, don't get it twisted, they're still boys. People create allowances for gender nonconformity in specific contexts and then revoke them as soon as you stumble outside of these contexts. The message is: "you can present in a feminine way, but only if you limit this behavior to sex and the internet, don't bring it into your day to day life, and you call yourself a boy or a man on top of it all." I know of trans women who discovered their gender through "cross dressing--" this is a hard topic because of the fetishization of trans bodies, but the uncomfortable truth is that they wanted outlets to be feminine and settled for any chance they could get.

I'm not a trans woman, nor do I even consider myself nonbinary most of the time, but it's very meaningful to me that I get to break free of the masculinity that's expected of me. When I worked up the courage to buy a skirt at the vintage store and took pictures, I fantasized about dressing this way at work, at the grocery store, getting coffee, just living my day to day life. So when I got the response of "wow, I'd love to lift up that skirt and fuck you 😍," I was more than a little miffed. I want to have my own little genderqueer male elegance, as you describe, which is already hard enough once I take it offline and try to live my life that way. I can't imagine the level of scrutiny and cruelty that would come with living as a trans woman, or the allowances that come with identifying as basically cis.

I know some people use the title of femboy beyond its stereotypical online or pornographic connotations. I guess that's up to them. But yes, I share your cynicism and think the tongue in cheek celebration of femboys online doesn't necessarily point to a world of celebrated gender diversity but a world where said diversity has to follow specific rules and relegate itself to roleplay.

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eddiesghxst · 11 months

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i’m the one that sent the original box and polaroid fic!!

i want to double down on the post about robyn and steve finding the polaroid box, ride that train so to speak.

after they leave, and eddie is thoroughly redder and brighter than your thighs when you leave his house some nights, you arrive to the trailer and he reluctantly has to tell you. it’s only fair, and he can’t deal with keeping secrets from you if they don’t land him in delicious trouble (not this)

again, i’m pointing out how perverted the two of you are together which nobody knows. so when you smile at him, he starts to wonder if there’s anything that won’t make you want to jump his bones. him tying his hair up to work on a car, him leaning over the counter and his boxers peek up a bit, him literally making coffee.

but you ask him what it would be like if someone watched. i don’t think eddie would rationally EVER do this in real life because of the reaction he had when steve and robyn found the box. he would slit somebody’s throat if they saw you in the vulnerable state you bless him with. but he listens and listens as you tell him what it would be like to ride his dick while someone was sitting there. unable to touch either you or eddie. just in pain as they see you and your man fall apart from pure bliss again and again over and over. (inspired by an ex’s fantasy lol)

he leaves your thighs red again, burning and glistening that night. robyn catches him the next day at the store with a six pack in one hand and a brand new empty box decorated in the other as he buys them. she turns redder than your thighs if that’s even possible

- 🫶 anon

YES. A MILLION TIMES YES. I REALLY RAN WITH THIS ONE

also this is definitely not proof read

18+ — MINORS DNI

word count: 1k

for context: part one | part two

————

For a moment, Eddie is surprised you’re not upset about Robin and Steve finding the box. He had worried that you would be too paranoid about more people finding your dirty little secret and make him throw out the stash entirely, but to his surprise (yet again), you weren’t upset at all. In fact, you were the exact opposite of upset. Eddie didn’t understand at first, but he quickly remembered how you and he ended up together in the first place, and that settled his confusion.

It’s been two months since you and Eddie hooked up, and since then, Eddie has fucked you enough times to notice when you’ve got that glint in your eyes, that means you have something brewing in that pretty little head of yours. He asked you just to come out and say it, but Eddie hadn’t expected you to tell him that you wouldn’t mind having Steve or Robin or both of them watch you and Eddie have sex.

“What do you mean?”

You shrug, feigning innocence as you fidget with the hem of your skirt. “I think it’d be hot, just letting them watch, you know?”

Eddie blinks at you, a hint of disbelief flashing behind his eyes before he shakes his head. “No. Absolutely not; I’m not giving Harrington, of all people, front-row tickets to watch me screw your brains out.”

Eddie was very solid in his decision then. He even emphasized his distaste for sharing you with a handful of hefty slaps to your ass and thighs topped off with hours of edging. Trying to explain to Robin why you hissed each time you took a seat was difficult. Still, she eventually understood when she remembered seeing a glimpse of a Polaroid in Eddie’s box—- the backs of your thighs red with visible hand marks across them, Eddie's hand splayed wide across your ass cheek, and a glistening white substance dripping over the red skin of your thighs. You’d never seen Robin’s face so red in your life.

Truthfully, Eddie doesn’t have a backbone when it comes to you, so it was only a matter of time before he gave in and granted you your filthy wish. He invited Robin and Steve over under the guise of a friendly hang out, blowing through a blunt before asking them if they wanted to watch him fuck you. You were initially shocked since Eddie hadn’t told you of his devious plan, but you certainly didn’t object. Robin, bless her sweet heart, had quickly made an excuse to run some errands and made a run for it, leaving behind a very willing and eager Steve to watch the show.

You’re not entirely sure what changed between then and now, but you don’t have it in you to ask, too overwhelmed with the sensation of Eddie fucking you within an inch of your life and the heated gaze of Steve from across the room.

“You’re putting on such a good show for Harrington, sweetheart,” Eddie hums from behind you, smirking when you mewl into his sheets, thighs shaking in pleasure. “My little movie star,” Eddie’s palm cracks down on your sore ass, a gasp ripping through your body as you spew out a line of Thank you’s.

“You wanna go ahead and tell Harrington how badly you wanted this, hm?” Eddie snickers when you shake your head no into his sheets, reaching forward to loop his fingers around your neck and pull you up against him. You moan as Eddie’s cock sinks deeper into your cunt, and Eddie groans at the feeling of you squeezing around him.

Steve can hardly believe any of this is real, shifting in the seat across the room as he palms his aching cock beneath his jeans, searching for any relief he can get.

Eddie’s lips brush against your ear as he speaks, “I want you to tell him. Tell him how badly you begged me to let him watch you turn into a slut for me.” Your hand falls onto Eddie’s that’s gripping your hip, pulling you up and down onto his cock. “I-I… please.” Words seem to fail you due to how deep Eddie is. Steve watches in awe as your eyes roll back and flutter shut. Eddie breathlessly chuckles, locking eyes with Steve over your shoulder as he continues to fuck you.

“Make yourself useful, Harrington; grab the camera.” Eddie nods towards the Polaroid lying on his dresser and snickers when Steve practically scrambles to grab it.

Steve steps forward to stand in front of the bed, wide, intrigued eyes stuck on the movie unfolding before him. Eddie gives you a short thrust, and you let out a broken moan as he speaks, “Go on, start snapping shots.”

Steve quickly complies, heavily swallowing as he raises the camera to his face and snaps a shaky photo of you and Eddie.

Eddie pushes two fingers past your lips and sinks them into the warm cavern of your mouth, humming when you clench around him as your jaw drops. Steve quickly takes a close-up shot of Eddie's ringed fingers against your tongue.

“Get her pussy, Harrington.” Steve sinks to his knees, marveling at the sight of you taking every inch of Eddie. Wet sticky arousal dripped onto the bed and smeared across your and Eddie’s thighs. Eddie’s hand slips past your hip and spreads your sticky lips apart, putting your swollen clit on display for Steve.

Steve prepares to take the picture and groans, “Holy fuck,” Snap.

At the sound of the camera snapping, you topple over the edge of your climax, crying out Eddie’s name as you tremble within his grasp. Steve watches from the ground, lips parted in awe as he tries to submit every second to memory.

Snap.

Eddie doesn’t take long to follow you, pushing you forward to fall onto the bed in exhaustion, moaning as he slips out of you before flipping you over. He nudges your thighs open, smirking when you moan as he runs a shaky hand through his damp curls and wraps the other around his aching cock. Steve watches as Eddie jerks himself off to the end, aiming his release at your heaving chest.

Eddie is panting with hooded eyes as he glances toward Steve, still stuck in a trance at the foot of the bed. Eddie reaches out and gestures for Steve to pass him the Polaroid. Steve hands the camera to Eddie and watches him snap a photo of your cum covered tits, snatching the picture once it prints.

Eddie tosses the picture towards Steve and grins with a wink, “A gift for your services, Harrington. You know where the door is.”

When Steve settles into the driver’s seat of his car, he looks down at the newly developed photo in his hands and takes a deep breath.

What the fuck just happened?

#🫶 anon #i love perv loser eddie sm ya'll #my man my man my man #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #drabble #eddie x reader #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson au #eddie x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #eddie munson x you #perv!loser!eddie #perv!eddie #perv!eddie x reader

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thebiggerbear · 5 months

Text

Tom Hanniger x Reader - Prompt Response - "I hate you." "You have a weird way of showing that."

Summary: You went to visit Tom in the mines for a little Valentine's Day fun. Who knew that one decision would lead to everything that's happened? Will you be able to help Tom or will he be lost to you forever?

Pairing: Tom Hanniger x Female!Reader; Tom Hanniger x Sarah Mercer; implied past Deputy Martin x Female!Reader

A/N: Prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting (#941). This was so much fun to write. I just love this character and there is so much to explore with him. I also really love the dynamic between him and the reader in this one. Hope it came out alright.

I decided to give Deputy Martin a name. He deserves one. Also, I loved Tom and Sarah at the beginning of the movie. I had actually been hoping Sarah would leave Axel and be with Tom again until it was revealed that he was the one doing the killings. That grocery store scene when they see each other again for the first time after a decade...it broke my heart in the best way. Jensen and Jaime did a great job (Kerr too though I hated his character the entire time lol). So I kind of feel a little guilty here but I had to throw in the Sarah factor; not trying to crap on their relationship, I promise.

I tried my best do my research and be respectful in regards to DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) but also keep this a few years post-movie (2009) while also staying within the context the movie provided but also explore a bit, if that makes sense. Please note I do not work in the psychiatry, psychology, or medical fields. If I got anything appallingly incorrect about this disorder, its symptoms, its treaments, anything, please let me know. Also, I think it goes without saying (but I’ll say it anyway), not every single person who has been diagnosed with DID is violent or a threat to others nor are their alters violent or a threat to others. Obviously, this is just a work of fanfiction based on a fictional story where the main character had an alter that was violent and a threat to everyone. No harm or disrespect is intended with this fanfiction at all.

There is a note at the end.

This takes place pre-movie, all throughout it, and post-movie.

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Warnings: violence; description of injuries; blood; sex (smut-light); angst; mentions of murder; semi-hostage situation; threats of harm/murder; psychiatric hospital treatment (I'm not sure if that's an actual warning or if it should be but I'm putting it in case)

Sidenote: I'm sure we all know this but I'm putting here in case anyway: if you ever go into any mines or similar underground structure, please always wear your hardhat and do what your guides/experts tell you/follow the rules to stay safe.

Word Count: 11k+

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

Tom Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

"I hate you." "You have a weird way of showing that."

<-->

You pulled up outside of Tunnel 5 in your car, your friends laughing and cheering as you parked. You weren’t as excited to be here but they managed to talk you into it.

A Valentine’s Day party was happening in Tunnel 5 and most people your age were going to be there. Why they had decided on a tunnel in the Hanniger mines as the primo party spot you had no idea. If there was one thing you had learned in your life so far, people were weird and most college-aged kids would party wherever, whenever. Especially in a small town like this one.

You got out of the car, heading towards the trunk, ignoring the dibs your friend Destiny was calling on every hot single guy to your other two friends, Carina and Taylor. You handed six packs of beer out to each of them before grabbing the last one and shutting the trunk lid.

“You okay, Y/N?”

You glanced up to find Carina watching you while Destiny and Taylor were waiting impatiently to get to the party. You forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m okay, Rina. Promise.” She knew how hard this might be for you and you appreciated her checking in with you. She returned your smile and turned to follow your two other friends, with you close behind her.

You passed a few cars until a familiar tall figure entered your vision, sans his usual ball cap. You watched as Tom Hanniger opened the back door of his truck, searching for something. You moved a little closer to Carina and discreetly handed her your six-pack. “I’ll catch up,” you whispered.

She glanced over to where you were staring and gave you a look. “Y/N…”

“I’ll be fine, Rina. You go ahead. I’ll catch up with you guys in a few.”

She seemed uncertain but nodded, doing as you asked. You watched her hurry to catch up to Destiny and Taylor, and then you turned your attention back on Tom. You waited for two people to pass by before you made your way over to him.

He had a six-pack in his hand but he was standing stock still, almost as if he was lost in thought. You then watched as he put the beer back down, holding a hand to the side of his car, and you could tell he was taking a deep breath. Your heart broke for him a little. This couldn’t be easy for him, being here, and being back here especially. You wondered what had prompted him to come here and then you realized, your heart breaking a little further: Sarah.

You pressed your lips together and decided to get this over with. “Hey, Tom,” you called softly.

He spun around, surprised to see you. “Y/N…hey.”

You took him in and you hoped your pain wasn’t showing through. He looked good for the most part, still handsome, still tall and statuesque, his figure being cut from playing football. The only difference you could make out was the nerves that were plain as day though he tried to hide them from you. “How are you?”

He shrugged. “I’m doing alright, I guess. How about you? I hear congratulations are in order. You got into med school. I always knew you would.”

“Thanks,” you whispered. You had worked hard in school, filled up your interim semesters with classes to help you get closer to graduation, studied like hell for the MCAT, and got into the med school of your choice — well, one of them — just like you’d been hoping for the longest time. “Are you here alone?”

“No, uh, I’m here with…” He gestured back towards the tunnel.

“Sarah,” you supplied.

“Yeah.” You could see some of his discomfort showing through. “Sarah.”

You attempted a smile. “That’s good.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything, just kept his eyes trained on the hat in his hand.

You wished things weren’t so awkward now between you. They never used to be.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, his eyes lifting to yours. “For how things turned out. I never meant— I never meant for any of this to happen.” You could see the regret in them, an echo of some of your own regret.

“I know,” you whispered, your eyes burning at the corners. “I’m sorry, too.”

And you really were. Perhaps if you had been a better girlfriend a year ago — a better person even — you both wouldn’t be here now, feeling as if the blood on your hands would never wash away.

It was Valentine’s Day and you knew Tom was working in the mines all day. He still promised to take you out afterwards, once he’d gotten a chance to shower and clean up. You were looking forward to it.

You had no idea when the thought popped into your head but once it did, it took root and stayed there. Until you found yourself visiting him at the mines. Of course, you’d gotten a lot of dirty and suspicious looks as you dressed in a miner’s uniform and plopped a hard hat on your head (it was the rules). Some guy you forgot the name of the second you’d been introduced to took you down in a cart. While you weren’t crazy about going further underground, you told yourself that once you were with Tom, you would be safe. And it would all be worth it once he saw the present you had for him.

You got to your stop, the guy called for Tom to come down and mentioned he had a visitor, and not too long after, Tom appeared. You grinned at him when you saw the look of surprise on your boyfriend’s face.

“What the— What the hell are you doing here, sweetheart?”

“Surprise!” You hugged him as fiercely as you could with his equipment on him.

He shook his head, smiling as he took in your outfit. “You came all the way down here just to surprise me?”

“Of course I did.”

“But sweetheart, it’s not safe.”

“Don’t tell me that, Tom. I worry about you enough being down here as it is. And don’t worry, I won’t be long.” You smirked up at him and he immediately got your meaning.

He uncomfortably cleared his throat. “I can take it from here, Fred. I’ll call a cart down when she’s ready to go back up or you if you’re still around. Thanks.”

Fred shook his head, most likely knowing what you two were up to. “I’ll be over in 3 if you need me,” he gruffed out. You both watched as the cart disappeared down the shaft.

“Sweetheart, you really shouldn’t have come down. It’s not safe,” Tom told you but you could feel his hand resting on the seat of your uniform.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” He smiled. “What kind of surprise?”

“You’ll see,” you teased. “Is there somewhere we can go?”

He glanced around quickly before taking your hand. “Yeah, there’s a place. Come on.” He led you back up the shaft a little ways and into a pocket, hidden from view. He whisked off his hard hat and yours before eagerly pulling you to him, making you giggle into his mouth.

“I’ve never had a girl visit me at the mines before,” he murmured, kissing your jaw.

“And you better never have any girl other than me coming to see you.” You playfully poked his chest in warning.

“No other girl for me,” he whispered to your lips before kissing you again. “You’re it. Always.”

“Awww.” You began to unzip your uniform, wanting to give him his present already. Something sweet like that deserved a reward.

He pulled back to help you and once the top half was off, his brows drew together in mock confusion. “My surprise is your jogging sweats? I really appreciate the thought, sweetheart, but you could’ve given that to me later tonight and not risked coming down here.”

You swatted at his shoulder, making him snicker, as you slowly unzipped your top half. His eyes followed the trail of the zipper and they widened when you opened the shirt and pushed it back to your shoulders. You smirked, seeing his reaction. He wasn’t laughing or making fun now.

Underneath your sweats, you wore new lingerie you had bought just for this moment. It was a red and white lacy bra that had hearts all over it, ending in a cut-out heart design over your breasts, with a little bow holding it altogether. “You like?”

“I like.” He trailed a finger along the edge of the cut-out heart. “I like it a lot.” He twirled the ribbon over his finger, smirking over at you. “Do I get to unwrap you?” He teased.

You shrugged. “It is your present. Don’t forget about the bottom half, too.” You pushed down your uniform and sweats to reveal similar looking underwear. “But the tie’s at the back.” You leaned forward slightly so he could see. He grinned as he ran a hand over the cut-out heart shape back there, tugging at the ribbon playfully. “So you like your surprise?”

“I love my surprise.” He kissed you as he untied the underwear and let them fall forward into his waiting hand. He stuck them into the pocket of his mining uniform and you felt him begin to touch you in the way he knew you liked. He groaned into your mouth when he felt you. “You’re all ready for me.”

“Of course,” you hummed. “I never half-ass a present.”

He brought his hand down on your bare ass cheek in a slap, making you squeal, and squeezed it. “No, you do not.” He stuck his tongue back into your mouth and you worked to get his uniform unzipped and off of him. He had untied your bra and he broke away from you to take one of your nipples into his mouth. You gasped and arched your head back, your fingers gripping the back of his hair to hold him to you. You let out a moan while he nibbled away at you. He had you on the edge already and he’d barely touched you.

You pulled him back up to you, kissing him deeply, as you started working on his belt. You had just worked his jeans down enough so you could pull him out to stroke him when his hand stopped you. “Sweetheart, wait, wait.”

You pouted. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have a condom.”

You smirked. “Is that all?”

“Is that all? Uh, yeah, and that’s a problem. My wallet’s in my locker up top. I know we usually just…you know, if we don’t have them, but uh, I’m not going to lie, I really want to enjoy my present right now,” he ended with a nervous laugh. “Every inch of it.” He slapped your ass cheek again and leaned forward, nipping at your breast before kissing the sting away.

“Well, then it’s your lucky day that I’m the world's most amazing girlfriend, Tom Hanniger.” You reached into the pocket of your jacket and pulled out two condoms, holding them up in front of his face.

He glanced up at you in awe. “You really are.” He snatched the condoms from you, putting one into his pocket and opening the other. You leaned in and kissed the spot underneath his ear while he got ready for you. “I told you,” you murmured. “I never half-ass a present. Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

He turned to look at you, holding you steady as he made sure your uniform was covering your back. He began to slip into you and you both groaned by the time he bottomed out, he was a few inches above your lips, smiling. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.” He then kissed you and began to give you what you both wanted.

It was quick, hurried, frenzied even. As much as you loved each other, this wasn’t the time or place to take your time. You both could be caught at any moment, it was dangerous like Tom said… You could take your time with each other later.

Tom had to cover your mouth when you came and you’d had to cover his when he crossed the finish line. You’d felt every grunt sound he made against your palm and it only turned you on more. You almost wished you had forgotten the condoms but you knew Tom wouldn’t be deep inside you right now if you had. Tom was adamant about protection, just like you were, but you loved him and trusted him. Plus, you had been on the pill for years but you knew Eli Hanniger had drilled it into his son’s head to always cover it up unless he wanted some girl to put him in a position someday where he’d be trapped into a marriage and forced to share half his money. You tried not to take it too personally when Eli had looked over at you after that little nugget of his own brand of wisdom on one of the many nights Tom had to pick his drunken dad up from the local bar.

Eli couldn’t have been more wrong. You loved Tom but you also had your own goals in life that you didn’t want deterred by parenthood earlier than expected. Not to mention, Tom could be the poorest guy in town and you would still love him and want to be with him. You’d loved Tom since you were five, ever since he’d seen you crying because all of the markers were gone in kindergarten class and everyone was making a picture but you. He came over to give you the red one he’d been using with a cute smile that was meant to reassure you. You’d smiled back at him, sniffling, your face wet, as you both worked together to make a picture. You’d been close ever since.

Once you were in high school, things changed between you. You’d had to watch as he dated girl after girl until finally junior year came. You changed up your look a little, didn’t have your nose stuck in a book every other minute, and the guys began to slowly take notice of you. Tom had been jealous when you told him you were going on a date with one of his teammates. You two had been arguing in his car when he leaned over and kissed you out of the blue. Needless to say, you had canceled that date and Tom stopped hooking up with one of the cheerleaders he’d been casually seeing at the time.

You both were happy. You both attended the same university and you spent the holidays together with your families. Well, you and Tom spent the holidays with your family; Eli wanted no part of it. It was almost as if because you weren’t a mining family or a well-off family, you weren’t good enough for him to bother gracing you with his presence at your dinner table. Just like you weren’t good enough to be dating his son, unlike Sarah Mercer whose parents owned the grocery store in town. That was who Eli kept pushing Tom towards but Tom told his dad he didn’t have eyes for anyone but you. He loved you and someday, he wanted to marry you. Your heart warmed when you overheard him say that. Which immediately hardened when you heard his dad then say “You’re a fool. That girl just wants your money! Sarah’s an actually decent hard-working girl. You’d be better off with her than that other one.” Tom didn’t say anything else and you had gone back to the book you were reading, pretending to be caught up in it, when he came out, hurrying to take your hand and get out of there. You never let on that you’d heard what he said…and what he didn’t say.

And you may have taken the initiative to show him how much you loved him and wanted to keep you with him. Which is why you had risked coming down here to have semi-public sex in a dangerous mine, wearing a lingerie set you would usually never be caught dead in. You had already planned to go all out that evening once you made it to the hotel room you’d reserved in town, but you also wanted to give him something to remember, something he’d never ever forget. Now, you would always be in his mind, having made your mark, no matter what might happen with your relationship. You just hoped you made a mark on his heart, too, at some point while you’d been together, and that he didn’t let his dad’s obvious prejudice against you and your family sway him away from you.

Tom’s head dropped to your shoulder as he attempted to come down from his high, trying to catch his breath. You kissed the side of his head, not caring about the damp sweat or coal mine smell coming off of him. You leaned your head up next to his ear. “I love you, Tom. I’ll love you forever,” you whispered. You knew he heard you when he squeezed you, still panting harshly against your skin.

“Always,” he whispered back to you.

You hugged him tightly then.

A little while later, you were both redressed, hardhats back on your heads as you waited for Fred to arrive with the cart to take you back up top. Tom had called Tunnel 3 to ask him to come back for you. He had his arms around you from behind and he was smiling down at you. “Thank you for my present,” he murmured. Unable to really kiss you or nuzzle you thanks to the hardhats, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder and tightened his arms around you.

“I’ve got another one for later.”

He turned to look at you quizzically which then turned into a glimmer of hope.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I bought another set. Deep red and more ribbons.” You wiggled an eyebrow playfully at him.

“I fucking love you.” His smile was bright as he carefully leaned in to kiss your neck, making you giggle.

“Hey, lovebirds!” You both looked up to see Fred turning the corner a little further down the shaft, having a clear view of the two of you. “Break it up! I haven’t had my lunch yet and I don’t want it spoiled!”

Tom rolled his eyes but let you go. “Ha ha, Fred. Very funny.”

Fred came to a stop in front of you, scowling at both of you. “Time to go.”

You hugged Tom quickly and then climbed into the cart. He had his hands out around you, ready to assist you if need be. Once you were settled inside, Tom hurriedly took his hat off and leaned in to kiss you.

“Hey, hey! Put your hat back on, Tom! Don’t be even more of an idiot! This whole thing could come down at any time, you know.”

Tom kept peppering your lips with kisses, making you laugh and him smile, before he finally heeded Fred’s warning. He straightened up and slipped his hardhat back on, grabbing your hand and kissing it. “Take care of my girl, Fred. Get her back safe.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fred muttered and started up the cart.

Tom walked beside you, still holding your hand. “I can’t wait for later.”

You smirked. “I know you can’t.”

His cheeks darkened a little and he gave you a sheepish smile, letting out a laugh. “That, too, but I was talking about our date. I think you’re really going to love the place I picked out for us.”

Your smirk melted into a genuine smile. “I know I will because I love anything that comes from you.” You heard Fred snort next to you but you couldn’t care less. So what if you were being cheesy? It was Valentine’s Day and you meant what you said.

Tom’s smile grew and you could see it reaching his eyes. “I love you.” You both noticed you were about to make a turn that he couldn’t follow you down. He kissed your hand one more time and let you go. “See you tonight.”

“See you then. I love you, too,” you called back to him. You watched as he got further and further away, the last thing you saw being him holding his hand up in a wave as he smiled. You waved back before the cart completed the turn and he completely disappeared from your view.

The date didn’t end up happening due to the collapse that happened later. Word of it spread fast once it happened and even though you knew Tom should be home by then, you still worried. Thankfully, he returned your call ten minutes later and told you what happened. You rushed right over to be with him, all plans for the night forgotten, though Eli was less than pleased. Apparently, word of your visit had spread around the mines well before you had made it to the top.

“That girl is a problem!” Eli yelled. “She’s reckless! And now she’s made you reckless!”

Tom let go of your hand and jumped to his feet. “Don’t talk about her like that!”

You got up and hugged Tom’s arm, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. “Shhh,” you murmured. “Don’t. It’s not worth it. Okay?”

Eli didn’t like seeing that. His face got red and he was louder than before. “It’s like I’ve been telling you! That girl is only after one thing and that’s your money! When are you going to wake up, start using the other brain God gave you, and see it for yourself?” He threw his glass of Scotch at the wall, making you wince at the shattering sound, and left in a huff.

Tom went to follow him, to yell back at him, but you kept him there. “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. He’s upset. Here, sit with me.” Tom did as you urged and you rested your chin on his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He glanced over at you, his eyes glassy. “I think I really fucked up, Y/N.”

“What do you mean?”

“After you left, I went back to work. I was in the cage, adjusting my gear, when the condom and your underwear fell out. I forgot I had them. I picked them up as fast as I could and stuffed them back in but Harry Warden saw.” He shook his head. “He gave me a hard time about doing my job and I told him I had it, I knew what I was doing. They now think he’s one of the miners trapped. He’s unaccounted for.” He compulsively swallowed and turned to look at you, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I forgot to bleed the lines,” he whispered.

Your eyes couldn’t get any wider if they tried. You reached out to wipe his tear away as you tried to rein in your reaction.

“I was thinking about our date tonight, about you, and I got distracted. I forgot to do the one thing I’m supposed to do every day before I leave. This collapse happened because of me,” he choked out before breaking down. You pulled him into you, holding him and shushing him, whispering reassurances to him. All while the heavy truth settled down around you and began to constrict your chest. It wasn’t Tom’s fault; it was yours.

It didn’t surprise you one bit a few weeks later when Tom broke up with you. He explained it as there was a lot happening, he was being blamed for the murders of the other miners that Harry committed, and his dad told him he just needed to continue working and keep his head down. No distractions. Which meant no more you, though Tom never actually said it but you knew that’s what he was implying Eli had told him.

It broke your heart when he broke it off between you but you understood. Tom had basically become a pariah overnight. Once he admitted to the investigators that he forgot to bleed the lines, the town he’d lived in his whole life turned against him. Harry may have done the actual killing, but it was Tom who’d put Harry in that position in the first place, or so they’d said. Some folks even gave you dirty looks in town as well but it was nothing compared to how Tom was treated. While you loved him and wanted to stay together, you could understand if he needed some space. You let him go with a hug, telling him you were still around if he needed a friendly ear, trying your best not to let any tears fall so you wouldn’t make him feel worse. His jaw had clenched but he nodded, choked out a “Thanks”, and walked to his car. You watched as he left, remembering back to the image of him getting further and further away from the mine cart you were in. Once he disappeared down the street, you finally let out the tears you’d been holding onto. A sob tore its way out of your throat when you remembered he had held up his hand in a wave, smiling, while you smiled and waved back. Because all you could think about was what you thought in that moment: Let this be the last time we separate like this.

And as luck and Eli Hanniger would have it, in the next month or so, rumors spread that Tom Hanniger was now dating Sarah Mercer. You didn’t want to believe them, to believe that he’d finally pushed you aside for one of the girls you’d both grown up with who always had a gooey-eyed expression for Tom, the girl his father had wanted him to date in the first place. You didn’t want to believe that he would be so quick to throw away what the two of you had just to make his father happy. But deep down, you knew it was true. Tom had always wanted to get his father’s approval and he always had a soft spot for Sarah so why wouldn’t it be true? You could even understand a little, considering what had happened and Tom was in the hot seat with every resident of Harmony, thanks to you. But it still hurt like hell. You still loved him enough, though, to hope that he was happy.

You pushed those thoughts out of your head. No use in continuing to blame yourself now. It didn’t change anything. “Are you okay…being here?”

He seemed a little caught off guard at the change of subject but then he glanced back at the tunnel entrance. “Yeah.” He turned back to you. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

You nodded and dropped your gaze to the ground, not sure what else to say.

“Did you bring your hardhat this time?”

Your head snapped up and he was giving you half a smile, his eyes having that familiar teasing gleam in them. You couldn’t help but smile back, appreciating the attempt at levity and familiarity. “Did you?”

He snickered and shook his head, biting at his lip.

You chuckled and took a step closer. “How are you really, Tom?”

His smile faded. “Better.” He then briefly dropped his eyes. “Sarah. She helps.”

Your smile dropped altogether and you could feel that stinging sensation in your eyes again. “Oh.” You bit the inside of your cheek to keep tears from welling up. You didn’t even know what to say to that. “I’m glad, I guess.”

His expression fell and he took a step closer. “I didn’t mean—”

You took a step backwards, your hand up. “It’s okay. Really. I’m happy that she’s able to do that for you.” You took a breath. “I should go. Rina and the girls are waiting on me, so… Good to see you, Tom. I’m glad you’re doing well.” You gave him a wan smile and turned to leave.

“Y/N, wait. Y/N.”

You continued walking, eager to put some distance between you two until you could rein in your emotions. While Tom and Sarah might go off in their own section of the mine, you also might have to see them together. And you needed to prepare for that, especially with your last memories of the time you were here and all that occurred after.

You were halfway to the entrance when you heard a scream. You stopped short, wondering if it had just been someone fooling around and having fun though it sounded terrified. You heard it again and before you knew it, people were running out of the tunnel at a fast speed, hurrying to their cars. “Oh no,” you gasped when you realized something was wrong, thinking another collapse must have happened. “Rina.”

You were just about to run towards the tunnel when a strong hand gripped your arm, whipping you around to face Tom. “I don’t know what this is,” he said. “But get out of here. Go back to your car and get the hell away. As fast as you can.”

“What? No! I can’t leave! Rina, Taylor, and Destiny are in there! We came together!”

He framed your face with his hands. “Y/N, listen to me. You need to go. It could be another collapse.” He released you and urged you to go.

“No! I told you, I—”

Just then there were more screams as more people ran out. Tom turned back to you. “I have to go get Sarah. Run back to your car, Y/N! Do the same as these people! I’ll catch up with you later!”

Your eyes widened. “What? No, Tom! If you’re telling me not to go in, you’re not going, either!”

He went to answer you when a guy running past you yelled, “There’s some crazy guy in there killing everybody! Run!”

You and Tom glanced at one another, both shocked. Neither of you knew who the guy was talking about or why this was happening. But that didn’t matter. Screw holding your tears back. “Tom,” you sobbed. “I can’t lose you, okay? I know you want to go save Sarah but she’s probably hiding somewhere with Rina and the girls and they’ll be safe, okay?” You knew that probably wasn’t the case and it was wrong of you not to let him run in to help but you were terrified of losing him. “Please, don’t go in! Please!”

“I’ve got to go! I’ve got to get her! I’m sorry!” He yanked his arm out of your grip and turned to leave.

“I’m going, too! I can help!”

You didn’t make it two feet until you were picked up and placed back down in front of Tom who was ducking his head to look you in the eye. “I can’t lose you, either, okay? I need to know you’re safe. Please, sweetheart, go get in your car and drive out of here.” He picked up a flashlight someone had dropped while running. “I’m going to get Sarah and get out of here myself. If I see Rina and the others, I’ll grab them, too. I’ll meet you at the hospital. There’s probably going to be a lot of people who need help.”

“That’s why I should stay. I may be pre-med but I can—”

He huffed out a breath and leaned down to kiss you. As he had probably planned, it stunned you. He placed his forehead against yours. “Go, baby,” he murmured. “To the hospital. We’ll be right behind you.”

Before you could say anything else, he hightailed it down to the tunnel, running past people who were still spilling out of the entrance but in fewer and fewer numbers. The last thing you saw was him disappearing inside before you turned and ran back to your car. You didn’t feel right leaving, especially with your friends and Tom still in the tunnel, but you would do as he asked. You’d already selfishly distracted him once; you wouldn’t do so again.

<-->

You rang the bell of the Hanniger household for the third time, feeling impatience and worry gnawing at you.

You shouldn’t have been surprised when a swaying Eli finally opened the door or that it was only 1:00 in the afternoon yet he was this inebriated. If he were a better man — a better father even — you might feel sorry for him. His mines weren’t doing too well these days.

“What do you want?” He slurred out.

You lifted your chin. “I’m here to see your son.”

He snorted. “You mean my fuckup of a son?” He held the door wider in invitation.

You stepped in before he could change his mind. “No, your son. Not his fuckup of a father,” you spat before storming off to find Tom.

“Sure, come into my house and talk to me like that! You kids have no goddamn respect these days!” He yelled.

You spun around and yelled back, “Go and get another drink, Eli! That’s all you care about anyway!”

“You little bitch!”

You ignored him and ran upstairs to Tom’s room. You found the door closed and you gently knocked. “Tom?”

No answer.

You knocked again. “Tom, it’s me.” You briefly closed your eyes, remembering things were different than they had been the last time you were here. “Y/N.”

A moment later, Tom opened the door and stood there. He did not look well. He had deep, dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept since what happened. His face was drawn, pale, and it was obvious he hadn’t shaved for a bit. His hair looked as if he had just recently run his fingers through it. He was in a hoodie, sweat pants, and socks. It was hard to tell in this light but it looked like he had lost a little weight.

“Hey.” His voice sounded rough, as if he either hadn’t been using it for a while or he had been yelling and near losing it. You hoped it was the former. If it was the latter, then that could mean possible night terrors and you didn’t want that for him.

“Hey. Is it okay if I come in?”

He nodded and walked away, leaving the door open. After you closed it behind you, you noticed he was trying to cover the messy bed with the blanket. You noticed a stale smell, as if a window hadn’t been opened in some time, and you spied dirty plates spotting the landscape of his room. You also took note of a half-empty bottle of liquor on his desk. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting company.”

“That’s okay. Don’t worry about it” You laid a tentative hand on his back as he moved and was pleased to see him not immediately shirk it off. After what happened with Harry Warden in the tunnel, for a while he hadn’t wanted anyone touching him. “I just came to see how you’re doing.”

“Not great,” he muttered, turning to sit on his bed. You took a seat next to him, waiting for him to elaborate. “I don’t know what to do, Y/N,” he eventually confessed. “I see him everywhere. I see him when I sleep, I see him when I’m awake. I see him everywhere I go, no matter who’s around, night or day. I don’t know what to do.”

Harry had woken from his coma that night and gone on a killing spree. First at the hospital and then at the mines. Right to the Valentine’s Day party that was being thrown. He didn’t care who he came across, Harry killed them one by one. Sadly, Destiny and Taylor hadn’t made it. Rina had; she was injured but she’d survived. Sarah, Axel, and Irene made it, too, though they were traumatized. They were all traumatized, just like Tom. Tom, who had gone back for Sarah, urged her to run out of there with Axel, and had nearly gotten killed for it. When you thought about how close you came to losing him… You really didn’t want to think about it.

You carefully placed a hand on his bicep and when he didn’t tense, you rubbed your thumb back and forth soothingly. “Have you given any more thought to seeing someone…and talking about it?”

He pulled away from you and ran a hand down his face. “They’re just going to think I’m crazy and want to throw me on meds.”

“Maybe not,” you whispered. “You’ve been traumatized, Tom. They might give you medication to help you sleep but trauma isn’t something that has a magic cure all. I’m not a doctor but I would think that they’ll probably recommend therapy. I mean, is Harry…talking to you when you see him?”

“No, Y/N, I’m not hearing voices in my head if that’s what you’re asking,” he snapped before getting up and walking away.

“Tom, that’s not what I— I’m sorry, I know you’re not hearing voices. I was only trying to make you feel better by ruling it out. That’s all.”

He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. He glanced down at you, his jaw tight. “I’m glad you came here today. You should know, I’ve decided to leave town.”

You were immediately on your feet. “And go where?”

He shrugged. “Wherever that isn’t here.” He moved over to the bed and threw off one corner of the blanket to reveal a bag he had been packing. “I can’t stay here, Y/N. It’s too much. Maybe if I can get far enough away…”

“He won’t follow you,” you finished, still staring at the half-packed bag. You almost had to wonder if he would have told you if you hadn’t shown up today. He hid the bag from you for a reason; he knew you wouldn’t want him to leave.

You should’ve known it was coming to this or Tom would have a full on breakdown. First, he broke up with Sarah. Then he withdrew from the public altogether. Now, he was holed up in his room, never leaving it, and repeatedly being terrified and thus re-traumatized each time he saw Harry. Something had to give; he needed to get out of here.

You felt a lump forming in your throat at the idea of him leaving but you swallowed it back down just as fast. This wasn’t about you. If this was what Tom needed, you would support him. You met his gaze. “Will you call me once you get to where you’re going? Just so I know you made it safely and that you’re okay?”

His eyes softened and he came towards you, cupping your face. “You’ve always understood me. Better than anyone else in this goddamn town.” You noticed he didn’t answer your question and you had a feeling that he planned to leave permanently, never looking back. This time, you couldn’t prevent the lump from forming in your throat or the tears building in your eyes.

“Are you going to be okay?” You nearly winced at the breaks in your voice.

“I will be,” he whispered before pulling you into him and pressing a kiss to the side of your head. Sighing into your ear, he hugged you tightly. “I will be.”

You burrowed into him further, whispering against his shirt, “I love you, Tom. I’ll love you forever.”

You knew he heard you when he murmured back to you, “I love you, too, sweetheart. Always will.” You could hear the breaks in his own voice but still, you smiled. As painful as this was going to be, as heartbreaking as it was, Tom still loved you, just as much as you loved him. Always…and forever.

<-->

You were just finishing up notes in a patient file when someone knocked on your open door and stuck their head into your office. You glanced up to find a familiar face and smiled.

“Well, if it isn’t Dr. Y/L/N,” he said, waltzing in.

You closed the file and took off your glasses. “Well, if it isn’t Deputy Martin,” you laughed. He handed you a cup of coffee. “Aww, thank you. You don’t know how much I needed this.”

“No problem. You still take it that way, right?”

You took a sip. “I do,” you smiled.

“So, how’s things in the world of psychiatry?” He took a seat on the edge of your desk.

“Interesting. As always. How about you? How’s things in the law enforcement world?”

“Interesting. As always.”

You chuckled and took another sip of your coffee. “So, what brings you to my side of the hospital? And bearing gifts, no less?”

He shrugged. “I was in the neighborhood and figured I’d check in.”

“Oh? That’s nice.” Chris pressed his lips together and you tilted your head at him, knowing what that little tic meant. “Uh oh. What’s going on?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “I hate it when you do that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Then don’t be so obvious. I know you too well, Chris. Come on, tell me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just… I was wondering if you knew that Tom was back in town.”

Your smile immediately dropped and you placed the coffee down. You put your glasses back on and opened the file back up, holding the pen in your hand as you glanced over your notes. “Yeah. I heard he was here.”

How could you not? It was a small town after all. News and gossip spread faster than wildfire here. The word on the street was that Tom was back to sell the mines and no one was happy about that.

When you didn’t hear anything else, you glanced up to find Chris giving you a knowing look. “What?”

“Has he been by to see you?”

Well, that hurt. You knew Chris wasn’t asking you that to hurt you but it didn’t mean the question still didn’t cause you pain. You shook your head and went back to your file. “No. And I don’t expect he will be.”

Ben had already complained down at the local bar, before Tom even showed up, that the damn kid was going to sell the mines and Eli would be turning over in his grave if he knew. He was only coming into town to sign the paperwork and then he’d be off again to God knew where. He’d even assured everyone he switched the paper signing until the Monday following Tom’s arrival, in hopes that he could get him to change his mind.

When you heard Tom was coming back, you didn’t get your hopes up though your heart lightened at the news. You hadn’t seen or heard from Tom in ten years. He’d literally pulled a disappearing act. While you expected it, it still hurt that he never once called or wrote to you to let you know that he was still alive. Not once.

Besides, you already knew who he’d dropped in to see the minute he hit town. You supposed one needed groceries and toiletries, that sort of thing, if they were going to stay for a weekend they hadn’t initially planned on. And the fact that Sarah now ran the store and was there practically all day every day was just a coincidence.

You knew better of course and you couldn’t pretend like it didn’t break your heart just a little more. So, no, you didn’t expect to see him at all. And as much as it hurt to admit it to yourself, it was probably for the best.

While a part of you still loved Tom and always would, you now had the benefits of maturity, age, and experience. When you looked back on your relationship, it had been one of intense young love and folly for you, first love even. And while you had more compassion and understanding along with a more detached view of things through a different lens now, you could admit there were some things that occurred that weren’t so great. For example, your decision to surprise him in the mines for a Valentine’s Day quickie, all because you loved him so much and was desperate to do whatever it took to keep him with you. You’d put both of you at risk and while Tom was an adult who was responsible for his own decisions, you still took responsibility for being the one to initiate the whole thing. It had been your idea after all. Then there had been his breaking it off with you and choosing to date Sarah not even a month later. While he was single and an adult, free to make his own decisions, the fact that he did it partially to please his father was not an okay reason in your book to hurt you and toss you aside as if you meant nothing. As the adage went, hindsight was truly 20/20. You were no longer that young, foolish girl anymore. If Tom wanted to see you, he would see you. If he didn’t, then he didn’t. It was that simple. You weren’t going to sway things one way or the other.

“Come on, Y/N. I know you just as well. You’re telling me, you don’t hope he stops by before he skips town again?”

You smiled up at Chris. “Not in the slightest.”

<-->

You threw on your lab coat, lifting your hair out of the neckline. You twisted your hair up into a bun and stuck a pen through it. You placed your stethoscope around your neck and then traded your heels for the nurse’s shoes you kept in a desk drawer for situations like these.

There had been an explosion at the mines and it was an all hands on deck situation in the ER. So far, two survivors had been found and were being brought in. They were still clearing the mines to make sure no one else had been hurt. You were getting ready to lock up your office and head down to see what you could do to help.

You were grabbing pens to put in your pocket, tossing a red pen back into the drawer, when out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a figure in the doorway.

“Doc,” a man gasped.

“I’m sorry. I’m about to run down to the ER. There’s been an emergency in town and all doctors are needed. I can find you a nurse if you—”

You dropped the remaining pens in your hand when you glanced up to find a bleeding Tom Hanniger standing in your doorway, holding onto his side. “Tom,” you gasped, frozen.

His pained glare suddenly transformed into one of the most terrifying smirks you had ever seen in your life. “Guess again.” He then shut the door behind him, locking it, before he started making his way over to you.

<-->

You rushed off the elevator, hurrying over to where a bloodied Sarah was nervously pacing in the surgery waiting room. You noticed Chris was with her as was Deputy Ferris. Sarah’s little boy, Noah, was sitting on one of the seats behind her, playing quietly with his toy.

“Sarah,” you called.

She turned to see you approaching and immediately hurried over to you, throwing her arms around you, beginning to cry. You rubbed her back soothingly and shushed her. “You’re alright now.”

Sarah pulled back out of your embrace. “Tom, he’s… He’s gone.”

You pressed your lips together, your eyes tearing up. “I know,” you choked out. Based on what you had just seen and heard, you knew she was speaking the truth.

She hugged you again and you embraced her back tightly, tears rolling down your cheeks as you saw Chris watching you both. You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a quiet sob when you heard Sarah crying again. You both held each other as you both quietly mourned the Tom you both had loved.

<-->

You unlocked your office door and stepped inside before locking it again. You began to empty your pockets of the supplies you’d nabbed when a figure moved from behind a filing cabinet in the far corner and appeared in your vision, making you quietly gasp.

There stood Tom, still holding his wounded side. “What took so long?” He demanded.

Your jaw tightened as you remembered who you were dealing with now. “Sorry, Harry. I had to get supplies without causing any eyebrows to raise. That takes time. Now, come sit down.”

He warily approached and sat down on the edge of the desk as you directed. You snapped gloves on and he moved his hand away from his side when you prompted him to. He hissed in pain as you began to prod at the bullet wound.

“Can you fix me up or not?” He growled.

“Well, Harry, as I told you, I’m not a surgeon. But I will do my best.” You began to gently wipe away the blood, from both the entry and exit sites. “The good news is it looks like the bullet went straight through.”

“I told you that,” he snapped.

“Yes and I’m confirming it,” you snapped back. It was very strange to have someone you hated so much inside of the body of the person you loved most.

“Just do your goddamn job, Doc.”

You snapped up straight and looked him right in the eye. “Let’s get something straight, the only reason I’m helping you right now is because of Tom. I could care less what happens to you, you son of a bitch.”

He gave you that smirk again that made your blood run cold. “And let’s get something else straight. If you don’t fix me up, I’ll kill you. Got it?”

You didn’t answer him. Instead, you grabbed a pad of gauze, dumped some of your finest alcohol on it, and slapped it onto the injury site, making him yell out in pain. You smirked in satisfaction though inside you felt guilty. Sorry, Tom. You really wished you could expel Harry from him, like he was some sort of demon you could exorcise.

“Sorry about that.” You were anything but. “I have to clean the site before I inspect it for further damage.”

His chest was heaving and he was glaring at you. “Just do your job, bitch. Or you’re dead,” he grunted.

You huffed out a snort and repeated the process with the exit site, making him grit his teeth, a pained yell straining against them. You proceeded to make sure there wasn’t any critical damage that you could see and then went about starting to suture the wound. You ignored the grunts and gritting of his teeth the entire time and just focused on falling back on your training. You’d barely flinched when he started drinking your booze. (it was his fault he wouldn’t let you use any needles to apply local anesthetics) When you were done, you snipped the loose tail of the sutures and then bandaged up the area. You quickly cleaned and bandaged the wounds on his face and treated any burns he might have. The entire time you did, you felt pain and remorse for Tom for each wound you found that would now scar his body. Though you supposed scars were a small price to pay considering the explosion he’d been in that could have killed him. Your jaw clenched at the thought and you hated Harry even more.

You finished cleaning him up and threw out the last bit of bloody gauze. “It’s probably a waste of time to say this to you but you need to take it easy with that bullet wound, keep the area clean, and come back in two weeks to have the sutures removed. If any extreme bleeding occurs, you should get to the ER immediately. If the sutures pop out, you should do the same. If you start to develop a fever or other—”

“Yeah, Doc, I got it.” He slowly got to his feet and held a hand to his side. “Not bad.”

You took off your gloves and threw them to the side, crossing your arms. “Am I free to go now?”

His eyes snapped over to you and you could swear you could see a whole other person. In Tom’s eyes, the eyes you loved, you saw Harry, and they were darker and harder than Tom’s green could ever be. Tom clearly wasn’t the one in the driver’s seat, even if his behavior and personality right then weren’t already making that obvious. “For now. But if you screw me over, I’m coming back for you.” A hint of a smirk appeared on his face as if he enjoyed that idea, almost hoping you would give him the excuse.

You knew he was waiting for you to tremble in fear at his threat but you didn’t. “Truly, Harry, I hope I never see you again.” With that, you walked out of your office and you refused to give him the satisfaction of looking back.

<-->

You knocked on the open room door and stuck your head in. “Hey,” you greeted with a small smile.

Axel and Sarah both glanced over and saw you.

“Hey.” Axel faintly smiled.

Sarah got up and gave you another hug. You rubbed her shoulder as she returned to her seat next to her husband and you came to a stop at the foot of the bed. “So, how’s the patient?”

“He’s doing well.” Sarah smiled as she took Axel’s hand in hers. “He’ll be in here for a little while but then he can come home.” Axel turned his smile onto her. You glanced back and forth between them. Apparently, that marriage was no longer on the rocks. You were glad for Sarah’s sake, though you still thought she could do better. Despite how things went with Tom, you didn’t blame her or hold her responsible. She had always been kind to you, good to Tom, and you knew she was a decent person. You could almost understand why Tom had loved her so much.

You forced a smile onto your face. “Glad to hear it.”

Another knock on the door garnered your attention. You turned to see Chris walk in. He came to a stop next to you. “Hey, Sheriff. Sarah. Y/N.”

“Hey,” Axel greeted. You gave him a nod and Sarah gave him a smile.

He turned to look at you but you were already steps ahead of him. “Did you do as I asked?”

He nodded. “Picked him up about an hour ago. Had to ask for that town’s sheriff to help but we got him. And he doesn’t know it has anything to do with you. We purposely mentioned in front of him that a store owner from that town called it in after recognizing him from the news.”

“Thanks.” He gave you another nod.

“Wait, what are you two talking about?” Axel asked. Sarah looked just as curious while also fearful.

You pressed your lips together and Chris turned to face his boss. “We picked up Tom Hanniger in the next town over. We have him in custody and we’re starting processing.”

Both of their eyes went wide. “Tom’s alive?” Sarah gasped.

The deputy exchanged glances with you. “In a way but he goes by Harry now.”

“Shit,” Axel breathed. “You need to call in every reinforcement. We don’t have the manpower to hold him.”

Chris held up a placating hand. “It’s already done but trust me, we’ve got him locked down. As it is, the DA and the Judge are deciding what to do with him.” He looked over at you.

“Deciding what to do with him? What does that mean?” Axel’s eyes were on you, too.

“Harmony isn’t the place for Tom to be right now. It’s his trigger and that’s why Harry is currently in control. I’ve asked for a meeting with the DA and Judge Harrison as well as the Chief of my department to discuss Tom’s case.” You took a breath, knowing this next part wasn’t going to go over well. “We’re looking to get him moved to a maximum security psychiatric hospital up North.”

“Are you kidding me?” Axel started to sit up but grunted in pain.

Sarah got up and gently pushed his shoulder down. “Axel, be careful. You just had major surgery yesterday.”

“Sheriff, easy. You’re still healing,” Chris chimed in.

He ignored both of them. “After all of the people he’s killed? People are going to want justice and to see it done here in Harmony.”

You could feel an age-old anger welling up inside of you but you tried to tamp it back down. “He’s not mentally competent to stand trial, Axel.”

“Not mentally competent? Really? That’s the excuse we’re going with here? He was mentally competent when he killed those people! When he lied about it and tried to cover it up and blame me! When he attacked me and my wife, about to kill us! When killed Rosa and came for my son!” He gripped onto Sarah’s hand.

“I understand that. But the law states—”

“No offense, Y/N,” Axel interrupted. “But you’re not an expert on the law. Leave that to people like Judge Harrison who actually know the law.” Well, so much for you keeping that anger and resentment in check.

“None taken. And no offense, Axel, but you’re not an expert in psychological disorders, either. Leave that to people like myself who know what we’re talking about,” you snapped.

Chris laid a gentle hand on your shoulder and held up his other hand in Axel’s direction. “Hey, hey, now. We’re all on the same team here. We all want the same thing.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Do we?” He dropped his hand. You then glared over at Axel and Sarah. “Let’s not pretend like you two and Irene didn’t leave Tom there to die back when Harry was on a killing spree which severely traumatized him and that’s why all of this happened in the first place! That’s what started this whole thing!”

Sarah looked ashamed and stayed quiet. Your ire wasn’t really for her anyway. You knew she had been wanting to go back to help Tom before Harry threw that pickaxe. Axel, on the other hand, saw red. “Are you kidding me? We were about to be killed! I had to get her and Irene out of there! Tom would have done the same had it been him and it would’ve been the right thing to do! Regardless, it doesn’t excuse anything that Tom or Harry or whatever the fuck he calls himself now did! And us leaving him alone started this? No, let’s talk about really started this whole thing off! You decided to go down into the mines to give your boy toy a little nookie, he got distracted and forgot to clear the lines, then boom! The mines collapsed on top of Harry Warden and the others and that’s what really started this off! Because Harry wouldn’t have been in the mines a year later, killing people, and nothing would have happened to Tom or any of us! So you want to play the blame game? Look in the mirror, Y/N!” Sarah was softly telling him to stop but he ignored her. “Oh, and let’s not pretend that you’re not doing anything but trying to make excuses for the guy you’re still hung up on after all these years who didn’t give a fuck about you and dropped you like a bad habit the minute his daddy told him to! Who left you behind to rot!”

Your left eye was starting to twitch, something that only happened when you were either very stressed or very angry. Right then, it was definitely the latter. Sarah’s gaze was trained on her hand covering her husband’s and Chris was looking down at the footboard. You forced yourself to speak calmly but firmly. “That has nothing to do with this. It has to do with helping someone who needs help. I’m simply doing my job and the right thing at the same time. When was the last time you could say the same for yourself, Axel?” His jaw clenched but he stayed quiet and you gave him the worst glare you could summon up. “Get well soon.”

You turned and walked out of the room. You were right about one thing; Sarah could do better.

You were waiting for the elevator when you heard Chris come up behind you, laying a hand on your shoulder to stop you. “Hey, hey, hey.” You spun around to face him and he rubbed his thumb back and forth over the fabric of your coat. “Are you okay?”

You unclenched your jaw long enough to say, “I’m fine.”

He nodded and lowered his hand. “You know, it’s no excuse for the things he said but Axel’s in pain right now, he’s not thinking straight, and they just went through another traumatic experience of their own. And they have their son, who was there when Rosa was killed. He’s just dealing with a lot.”

“I get that, Chris. I do. But Tom didn’t do those things, Harry did.”

He sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Y/N, I’m not disagreeing with you but Tom did lie, he covered it up. Like the motel killings. Did Harry drive away from the scene, ignoring the trucker’s dead body in the lot, before we arrived or did Tom?”

You shook your head, looking away from him.

“I know Tom means a lot to you and I respect that. I know you have history and you want to help him.” He cupped your chin and forced you to meet his eyes. “But I also care about you. I don’t want to see you get hurt. There’s a possibility that Tom himself may not be who you actually think he is. Who any of us thought he was growing up.”

You gently lowered his hand. “Chris, I appreciate your concern and I know we had…something between us for a while. And I’m grateful that you helped me earlier, I really am. But I know Tom. He’s not a killer. He’s not Harry. Harry only exists because of the trauma he suffered. He doesn’t even know who he’s killed or what’s happened. I need to get him out of this town so I can begin working to get him back.”

Chris sighed and studied you for a moment. “Then how did he know about Megan and the words written above her body?”

“He got it from the card she wrote. You told me that yourself, Chris, because Sarah told you about it.”

“No, I mean, if Tom saw the card and Harry killed Megan and wrote those words in her blood, then how did Tom know they were written above her body?”

You realized he was making a good point but that didn’t change your mission. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” You then got onto the elevator that had just arrived, you and Chris watching each other as the doors closed.

<-->

Tom didn’t remember how he got here. He didn’t even remember waking up. One moment, Harry was about to attack him and Sarah wouldn’t save him, again. The next moment, he was in a white t-shirt and white pajama pants, stuck in a cell that looked strangely familiar. Had he dreamt all of it? Going back to Harmony, seeing Sarah again, dealing with that asshole Axel, trying to figure out who the killer was — all of it —had it all been one big nightmare?

He soon realized that wasn’t the case. His lawyer came to see him and informed him of the things he’d been accused of (after the man had been contacted to come back and speak to his actual client). As of right now, he was found to be mentally unfit to stand trial thanks to an impassioned argument by his doctor as well as himself. But that could change at any time. Tom insisted he hadn’t done those horrific things, that Harry Warden did, but nobody seemed to believe him or was even listening.

For the first few days, Tom had been desperate. A doctor came in and met with him, asked him how he was feeling, and then fully explained the disorder he had been diagnosed with. It turned out that he had been misdiagnosed in the last institution he had been in and improperly medicated. That was why the medication never worked. They had been treating him for delusions when in reality he had Dissociative Identity Disorder. He was going to be starting a therapy regimen as soon as possible. Harry had already been involuntarily involved in the program since his arrival here. The doctor also informed him that they had to keep Harry heavily sedated but depending on how things went with Tom, they might not have to do the same with him.

Tom had been completely dumbfounded. It was bad enough that he still carried the trauma of what happened back in ‘98 and it had followed him around for a decade, literally, but now Harry had become a permanent part of him? He would now never be able to outrun Harry. Not to mention, he was now officially on the hook for multiple murders thanks to the surly son of a bitch, even after what happened in 1997 and then a year later when he woke from his coma. Tom’s body count was extensive and he himself hadn’t even done anything. Well, except forget to bleed the lines that one time which led to the collapse that then started all of this, he supposed. So maybe he truly was responsible for all of those people’s horrific deaths, whether he swung the pickaxe himself or not.

One morning before the therapy began, they came to get him and brought him to a room that looked strikingly similar to a police interrogation room, with the two-sided mirror and everything, though there was white padding on the walls. He protested when they strapped him into a straitjacket but they told him it was for his own safety as well as the doctor’s. As if that weren’t enough, two large orderlies picked corners of the room to stand in, watching his every move.

Someone popped their head in to tell Tom his doctor would be meeting with him shortly, they were just finishing up with another patient. All Tom could do was nod. “Thanks,” he muttered.

A few minutes later, the doctor he’d been waiting for walked in. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw it was you. You gave him a small smile and took the seat opposite him. “Hello, Tom. I’m Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. How are we feeling today?”

“Um…okay.” He was still trying to recover from the shock of seeing you there. He hadn’t seen you since that night all of those years ago, right before he left town. He also thought you were working at Harmony Memorial last he heard, a pit stop he planned to make once he’d signed the papers to sell the mines. That is, before everything went to shit. “Y/N? What’s going on?”

“It’s Dr. Y/L/N,” you corrected. “And nothing’s going on. I’m here to evaluate you before we start your therapy regimen.” You opened a file and began glancing at the papers within. “The court requires it.”

Tom felt so lost. It had been hard enough waking up to what he did but now you were here? Clearly his doctor? And you were pretending not to know him? He didn’t know what to think or where to stick his head. “This can’t be real,” he said to himself and shook his head. “This can’t—”

“Shhh,” you soothed. “It’s okay, Tom. This is very real and we’re going to help you.” You clicked your pen and began making notes in his chart.

“Yeah, but you— You’re— And you’re pretending like— This can’t be real.”

Your eyes snapped up to his and you stopped writing. He didn’t know what you saw but you got to your feet and circled the table. You snapped your fingers and both orderlies looked away. “Actually, Tom, there’s something I forgot to mention.” You came up behind him and his nerves began to spike. Was he about to be drugged? Attacked? Would he finally wake up from this nightmare? Maybe he’d wake up to you; he’d give anything to have that happen.

He jumped a little when he felt your lips at his ear. “I’ll love you forever,” you whispered.

Automatically, the corner of Tom’s lips tipped up in a smile. Hearing that from you brought back so many good memories of your times together, of your relationship. He didn’t instantly relax but he felt a little lighter than he had a moment ago.

“Welcome back, Tom. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too, sweetheart,” he whispered back to you.

His smile grew when he felt you brush a tender kiss to the side of his head before you straightened up and made your way back around the table. You snapped your fingers again and the orderlies were now facing forward, watching you both intently.

You sat back down and picked up your pen, giving him a genuine smile. “Now, Tom, shall we get started?”

He wished he could reach across the table and take your hand in his. You still looked at him as you did all of those years ago, like he didn’t have a murderous personality that left pain and suffering and dead bodies in its wake. You still looked at him as if he was the same guy you’d given your heart and body to back in high school. The same guy you’d once told that after you finished med school (when you got in), that you’d want to settle down with him and eventually start a family with him. The same guy you said you’d move wherever whenever for him if he didn’t want to stay in Harmony, if he didn’t want to take over for his dad one day. The same guy you looked at with complete devotion, affection, and reverence that he knew he didn’t deserve. And with you looking at him just like that right now, he knew he still didn’t deserve it but God did he love you for it. You still loved him; it was clear as day in your eyes. He realized then that you had meant back then every single word of what you just said; you would love him forever. He had meant what he said to you back then, too. Though he never should’ve given you up when his old man demanded it. What the hell had he been thinking?

You arched your brows at him expectantly, almost as if you knew what he had been thinking.

He leaned forward a little and gave you a soft smile, hoping you would understand what he was trying to tell you. “Always.”

You returned his smile, giving him a wink. You’d heard him. He began to relax and your smile then turned into a more professional one. “That’s what I like to hear. Alright, Tom. Let’s begin, shall we?”

A/N: For the record, I highly doubt Y/N could have been Tom's doctor, especially since a prosecutor could have argued that it was a conflict of interest and possibly gotten any records she'd made inadmissible. I think, anyway. But it was too fun an idea not to explore. Plus, I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that someone who has been diagnosed with DID is not incapable of being tried by the law for crimes committed, even if it was committed by one of their alters and they are completely innocent (I think). But I couldn't just have Tom go straight to jail in this one or even to trial. I wanted to focus on him coming back and Y/N helping him as well as their sort of reunion.

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