⟡ ݁₊ . ˎˊ˗ THE LONGEST TEXT MESSAGE
ෆ ･ request? NOPE! ₊ ୧ genre: angst, smut, toxic romance, realism
. ↳ paring: keeho x fem!reader
⦂ 𓈃 warnings/tags: manipulation, cheating, heartbreak, emotional dependency, explicit content, language, creampie, fingering, toxicity, adult themes, mutual obsession, reconciliation, heavy angst ⦂ 𓈃 word count: 1933
┊❛ ❜┊summary: what started as a friendship turned into something that ruined you both. years of love, betrayal, silence, and relapse. the kind that never really ends, just changes shape. you can’t stop loving each other, even when you should’ve stopped trying a long time ago.
ෆ ･ m.list! . ↳ taglist! ₊ ୧ a/n: okay so like idk why anything i write about keeho is so toxic but i like seriously have stockholm's syndrome so the shit speaks to me ngl.
it started off with a friendship, one that was unbreakable. after that turned into something more, you didn’t know what to expect. stephen had always been the type to fuck around. every other day he was with someone new. that alone should’ve been your warning. but you never listened. it didn’t matter how much your friends tried to put shit in your head, he had you wrapped around his pinky. he knew how vulnerable you were. you’d known him for years, so why wouldn’t he? but still, you decided to fall the minute he pulled you under.
stephen: “i love you, i always have.”
that was all it took for your mind to go foggy. everything that should’ve scared you away just… disappeared. all the red flags turned pink in that moment. there was no lie when he said he loved you though. he really did. he would’ve done anything for you, except stay loyal. and god, you tried to convince yourself that was enough. the man was so openly sneaky, like he didn’t even care to hide it. he could never stay for more than a night; anytime he was around, you saw the lipstick stains, smelled the perfume, felt that familiar sting crawl up your chest. you weren’t oblivious, you were just desperate to believe him. it hurt, it always did. and he knew it. could you blame him though? you let him. you wanted him. you were used to it.
it got to a point where the pain started feeling routine, like you expected it. and one day, that realization alone made you sick. you couldn’t do it anymore. so what did you do? you broke up with him. he wasn’t happy about it, but deep down you knew he wasn’t worried. he knew you’d come back. you always did. you kept yourself in that cycle so long you forgot what peace even felt like. but the second he and your best friend got together behind your back, something in you snapped. man oh man; you were done. and for the first time in forever, you actually meant it. you caught them having sex in your bed. your bed. and the craziest part? you didn’t even cry. you just stood there, quiet. you’d dealt with so much that spazzing wasn’t even an option anymore. you just waited until they finished, looked at them like strangers, and that’s when you knew it was really over.
stephen: “so you’re really done? or are you just gonna come crawling back?”
you didn’t even flinch. no yelling, no tears, just silence. the kind that made him shift on his feet. he tried to laugh it off, like it was another one of your little breakups, but the way you looked at him? it was different this time. cold. distant. untouchable. you said nothing and walked past him. he didn’t chase you. not because he didn’t want to, but because for once, he couldn’t read you. and that scared him more than losing you ever did. you reached for your keys on the dresser.
you: “nope. you both need to leave.”
you said quietly. he blinked, like he didn’t hear you right.
stephen: “wait, what?”
his voice cracked halfway between confusion and disbelief. he’d never seen you this calm before. you didn’t look at him again. the sound of your keys hitting your palm was the only answer he got before the door slammed behind you. for the next few days, you were gone. nowhere to be found, nowhere he could reach. your phone stayed off, your bed stayed cold, and for the first time, the silence wasn’t yours to bear. it was his.
when you finally came home after a week, the sky was that kind of gray that matched the ache behind your eyes. you didn’t expect anyone to be there. you thought the world had moved on like you did. but there he was. stephen. sitting on the front steps like a ghost that refused to leave, elbows on his knees, head hanging low. the second he saw you, he stood up fast, like he’d been rehearsing it all week. you didn’t even look up at him. your bag was heavy, your body heavier. you just walked past, keys already in your hand.
stephen: “can we talk?”
his voice came out softer than you remembered, cracking halfway through. you didn’t stop. didn’t even turn around.
you: “there’s nothing left to say, stephen.”
stephen: “please, just-”
you: “no, you don’t get to do that. not after what you did. go home.”
you cut him off, finally meeting his eyes. he froze. his mouth opened like he wanted to argue, but nothing came out. you didn’t give him the chance anyway. the door clicked shut, and the silence that followed felt like closure. for months, there was nothing. no texts. no calls. no accidental run-ins. you disappeared from his world completely. and for once, you didn’t miss it. the first few weeks were rough. you’d wake up half expecting to see his name light up your phone. you’d catch yourself looking for him in places he used to take you. but the longer you went without him, the more your chest stopped feeling so damn tight.
you started working out again. got a new haircut. went out with your friends without feeling guilty about it. you even laughed; like really laughed. the kind that hurt your stomach and left you gasping for air. you felt lighter. you started to remember what it felt like to exist without constantly checking who he was texting, who he was with, or whether you were enough. stephen became a memory. not a wound. not a ghost. just... something that happened once.
until that night.
the club was packed. bass thumping, lights flashing against your skin, bodies moving like they had no care in the world. your new boyfriend had his arm around you, fingers tracing lazy circles on your waist as you laughed into his shoulder. he was calm. safe. the kind of quiet love that didn’t make your heart race in panic, just steady warmth that settled under your skin. you didn’t see stephen right away. but he saw you. he’d been standing in the corner, drink in hand, same careless posture he always had, pretending he wasn’t looking for you. until suddenly, there you were.
until you felt it. that stare. that pulse in your chest that never really went away. you looked up and there he was. stephen. across the room, leaning against the wall, jaw tight, eyes locked on you like he was watching something that used to belong to him. you froze, heart tripping over itself before you caught it. you wanted to look away, to pretend he didn’t still have that kind of pull on you. but you couldn’t. he was magnetic. even now, even after everything.
his eyes dragged over you like a memory he couldn’t let go of. you could practically hear his thoughts in the way he looked at you; that guy won’t love you like i did. and the worst part? he wasn’t wrong. no one ever would. but that didn’t mean he deserved to. so you smiled anyway, the kind of smile that hurt to hold, leaned into your boyfriend’s touch, and kept dancing.
stephen didn’t move. just stood there watching, drink untouched, jaw tight enough to crack. he’d loved you like a storm. wild, consuming, impossible to forget. and now someone else was loving you in the calm that followed it. he’d broken you in ways no one else could. and you’d spend the rest of your life pretending that didn’t still mean something.
after that night, everything turned hazy. the weeks bled into months, all noise and movement. new faces, new places, same dull ache under it all. you weren’t really living, just passing time. the only thing that stuck was his name, stephen, floating somewhere in the back of your head no matter how far you tried to run from it.
then came the party.
a mutual friend’s birthday. one of those nights that felt like it could either save you or ruin you again. the house was full, lights low, music too loud to think. people you hadn’t seen in months, some you hoped you never would again.
you’d spent too long getting ready for something you told yourself didn’t matter. the dress was black, short, simple, but dangerous. it hugged every inch of your curves, legs exposed, boobs about to pop out the second you leaned forward kind of dangerous. you looked good, maybe too good for the kind of night you were walking into. when you arrived, it felt almost normal. laughter, drinks, flashes of cameras, the floor vibrating under your heels. and for a second, you forgot to care who might be there. until you saw him.
stephen.
he was by the kitchen counter, half-lit by a cheap LED strip, one hand wrapped around a red cup, the other shoved into his pocket. same smirk, same watch, same posture like he owned every room he stepped into. he looked good; annoyingly good. the kind of careless beautiful that made it hard to hate him the way you should’ve. you froze. not long, but long enough for him to notice. and just like that, everything you’d built to forget him started to crumble.
you hadn’t seen him move through the crowd, but suddenly he was there, standing a few feet away like he’d been orbiting you all night. the noise of the party stretched thin around you. bass shaking the walls, people shouting over music, laughter breaking against the ceiling. but somehow, it all felt distant. stephen looked the same and nothing like the boy you remembered. the hairs at the nape of his neck were longer now, his shirt half-buttoned, sleeves rolled to his forearms. he carried himself like someone who’d had too many late nights and not enough sleep, the kind of tired that makes you mean. his eyes swept over you once, slow enough to make your stomach twist.
you forced yourself to stay still. not to fidget, not to give him the satisfaction of seeing what his presence did to you. he smirked. barely there, like muscle memory.
stephen: “you look different.”
he said, loud enough to be heard over the music. you shrugged.
you: “so do you.”
for a second it almost felt normal, like small talk between old friends. but the tension underneath was thick, sharp, an electric hum that neither of you knew how to turn off. he shifted closer. you could smell the faint cologne you used to steal off his dresser — the same one that clung to your sheets for weeks after he left. he leaned in just enough for you to hear him over the music.
stephen: “so, who’s in love with you now?”
he said, voice lower now, something rough in it, the words landed heavier than you expected. they weren’t teasing; they sounded like an accusation, like he’d been holding them in for months. you blinked once, slow. tried to keep your expression blank, but your throat went tight anyway.
you: “does it matter?”
you asked. his jaw flexed.
stephen: “it shouldn’t, but it does.”
he said quietly, eyes not leaving yours. you looked away first, pretending to check your phone, pretending your pulse wasn’t loud in your ears. the silence between you buzzed. all those things you wanted to say but couldn’t without undoing every bit of distance you’d built.
someone called your name from across the room. you took the excuse, turning toward the sound before you could change your mind. as you walked away, you could still feel his gaze burning into your back, like a weight you thought you’d dropped but never really did. you left the party before midnight. or maybe it was later, the hours blurred together under strobe lights and cheap drinks, the kind of night that makes you feel both weightless and sick. your boyfriend had his arm around you the whole time, steady and warm, grounding you in a way that should’ve felt safe. it did. but not enough.
you didn’t see stephen again after that, not really. maybe you caught him once in the crowd, standing against the wall, a drink hanging loosely from his hand, eyes locked on you through the noise. it was hard to tell if he was angry or just…hurt. like he couldn’t decide which one would keep him standing. you got home that night and sat in your car for a long time, headlights off, the streetlights painting long shadows across your dashboard. you told yourself you didn’t care. that he could say whatever he wanted. it didn’t change the fact that you’d moved on.
but his voice lingered anyway, replaying like a broken record: who’s in love with you now?
you hated that it stuck. hated that it made you question things you thought were settled. the next few weeks felt like recovery in reverse. you smiled more, posted pictures, laughed at your boyfriend’s dumb jokes. but every now and then, something small would break through: a song on shuffle, a scent on someone’s jacket, a text you started to write and never sent. stephen stayed silent. no texts, no calls. but sometimes you’d catch his name on someone else’s tongue; mutual friends saying he was around, that he was doing fine, that he’d been talking about moving.
you told yourself it didn’t matter. and maybe it didn’t, not really. but late one night, after your boyfriend fell asleep beside you, you found yourself unlocking your phone, scrolling to his contact, hovering over the message box with no idea what you wanted to say. the cursor blinked back at you. your heart thudded once, loud. and then you started typing.
no greeting. no overthinking. just words pouring out, unfiltered. everything you never said, everything you swore you’d buried. a message too long to make sense of, half-confession, half-apology, bleeding between love and resentment. by the time you stopped, it was three in the morning. the text box was full, your chest hollow. you didn’t send it. not yet. you just stared at it, breathing slow, like the words themselves were enough to pull him closer again.
-
he hadn’t seen you in weeks, but somehow it still felt like you were everywhere. in the perfume lingering on his jacket, in the taste of someone else’s lip gloss that wasn’t yours, in the silence right before dawn when he was too wired to sleep and too empty to move.
stephen was drunk. that kind of heavy, mean drunk that makes everything feel like it’s your fault. he was slouched on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, screen lighting up his face in the dark. no messages. nothing from you. nothing to look forward to. he laughed under his breath, bitter. figures. he told himself he didn’t care. he told himself a lot of things lately. but every time he scrolled past your name in his contacts, something inside him itched. like a nerve that wouldn’t stop firing. he started typing a message once. deleted it. started again. deleted that too.
stephen: “who’s in love with you now, i swear to God..”
he muttered to himself.
stephen: “i swear to God, i am..”
he said it almost like it was a joke. but it didn’t sound funny. he pictured you with him; that guy. the new one. probably texting you good morning, kissing your forehead, saying all the right things stephen used to fake. maybe the guy didn’t even have to fake it. maybe that’s what made him mad. he set the phone down, rubbed his face, exhaled hard. he couldn’t even tell if he missed you, or just missed being the one who could ruin you and get away with it.
stephen: “you were supposed to be different,”
he said to no one, voice low, slurred.
stephen: “you were supposed t-…”
he stopped. in his head, you were still looking at him like you used to. like you saw through him and loved him anyway. it was unfair how real that memory still felt. his phone buzzed. his heart jumped. but it wasn’t you. just some friend asking if he was coming out tonight.
he didn’t reply.
he just sat there, staring at the message you’d never sent, the words he’d never get to read, and the silence that stretched between you like it was permanent now. somewhere, he thought maybe you were thinking about him too. but he knew better. he laughed again, softer this time. he whispered, eyes closing.
stephen: “yeah, that’s what i get.”
the morning light was too loud. it cut through the blinds, painted across his face, hot and sharp, like punishment. his mouth was dry, his head pounding, and his phone was still next to him. dead battery, cracked screen, same empty message thread.
he groaned, dragged himself upright, elbows on his knees. the apartment was a mess. empty bottles, clothes he didn’t remember taking off, the smell of smoke and old perfume still hanging in the air. it wasn’t yours. it never was. for a while he just sat there. no music, no phone, no noise. just the hum of the fridge and the ache behind his eyes.
he hated mornings like this; the ones where he didn’t have anyone to blame but himself. you were gone. properly gone this time. not in the way you used to be, where a few texts or an apology would bring you back. this was different. it had been months. and you were happy or at least good at pretending to be.
he leaned back against the wall, rubbed his temples. you don’t need her, he told himself. you’ve been fine. but he wasn’t. he missed the way you used to say his name like it meant something. the sound of your laugh when you were mad but trying not to show it. even the fights. god, he missed those too. at least those meant you still cared.
he thought about calling you. just to hear your voice, maybe. no expectations, no plans, just…something. his thumb hovered over your contact again. the picture was old. blurry, taken at some party when you were half hiding behind your cup, smiling like you didn’t know he was watching. he swallowed. the memory felt too sharp, too alive.
stephen: “guess i didn’t think it through, huh?”
he muttered under his breath, voice rough from sleep and regret. for the first time in a long time, he realized he didn’t just want you, he needed you. not the chaos, not the games. just you. but you’d stopped being reachable the second he let you walk away. and now he had to live with that. he plugged his phone in, stared at the black screen as it flickered back to life. still no messages. still no missed calls. it felt like the universe was mocking him.
-
you woke up late that morning. the kind of sunlight that slips through your curtains soft and gold, not harsh, just enough to remind you that the world kept moving even when you didn’t. the bed felt too big, but not lonely. your boyfriend had already left for work, his side still warm, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with laundry detergent and something safer than anything you’d ever had with stephen.
you lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, hair messy, phone heavy in your hand. there was no reason to check it, but you did anyway. old habit. no missed calls. no texts. nothing from him. you exhaled. it didn’t hurt the way it used to. for a second, though, you felt it. that weird, invisible pull. like somewhere out there, he was thinking about you. it wasn’t love, not really. it was just that leftover static that doesn’t fade, even when the fire’s been out for months.
you thought about the party. the way his voice sounded when he said ’who’s in love with you now’. like he already knew the answer, but still wanted to hear you say it. you never did. you got out of bed, hair falling in your face, and caught your reflection in the mirror. there was something new in your eyes. softer maybe, or just tired in a different way.
you weren’t angry anymore. not even bitter. you’d spent so long trying to prove you didn’t need him that one day, without realizing, you actually stopped needing him. you made coffee, scrolled through your camera roll, stopped on a random picture of you from a few months back. laughing, sunlight in your hair, no trace of him anywhere. it looked foreign and familiar all at once.
the cup warmed your hands. you smiled, small but real. maybe he was out there missing you. maybe he wasn’t. it didn’t change a thing. you put your phone face down, took a sip, and whispered into the quiet. not for him to hear, not even for yourself really, just because it felt like closing a door:
you: “no one.”
it’d been two days since you found out. the texts. the lies. the way he didn’t even bother to hide it. you didn’t cry right away. you just sat there, staring at his phone screen like the words weren’t real, like maybe you were just reading them wrong. but then it hit. slow at first, then all at once. that dull, choking pressure that made your throat ache and your chest burn. you’d done everything right this time. you’d been patient. loyal. soft in the ways stephen said you never could be.
and still, it ended the same.
the next night, you ended up at a bar you hadn’t been to in forever. somewhere dim and loud enough that you didn’t have to think. your hair was messy, mascara smudged from earlier tears, a jacket thrown over whatever you’d managed to put on before leaving. you weren’t there to drink, not really. you just needed the noise, the distraction. something that didn’t sound like your own thoughts. you slid onto a stool near the corner, ordered something strong, and stared down at your glass. your phone sat face down next to it. you’d opened your notes earlier that day, scrolled past the one that was always there. the longest text message ever. the one meant for stephen.
you hadn’t added to it in months, but you read through it again anyway. the words blurred, old versions of yourself bleeding through each sentence. you’d meant every word once, and that scared you. you shut your phone off before you could think too hard about it. meanwhile, across the room. stephen sat at the bar, hunched forward, elbows on the counter. he looked rough. black hoodie, hair pushed back like he’d run his hands through it a thousand times. eyes ringed with that kind of exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix.
he didn’t even like bars anymore, but he kept coming back here. maybe because it was easy to disappear, or maybe because some part of him hoped you’d show up. not that he’d admit that. he’d been trying to get better or whatever that meant. working, sleeping, pretending. but no matter what he did, you were always there. your laugh. your ghost. the weight of everything he’d done wrong pressing against the back of his mind until it felt like static. he was halfway through his second drink when he saw you.
for a second, he thought he was imagining it. you walking in like that, tired but still beautiful in that careless, real way that made his chest ache. your eyes looked different though. older. colder. he didn’t move. just watched as you sat, unaware of him, the glow of the bar lights catching the curve of your face, the faint shimmer of your lip gloss. he hated himself for it; the way his heart jumped. the way everything inside him still recognized you.
you didn’t notice him until maybe twenty minutes later. you turned slightly, eyes sweeping the room and that’s when they met his. you froze. for a second, neither of you moved. the noise of the bar faded, the chatter and music blurring into nothing. it was just him. same dark eyes, same quiet pull that made it hard to breathe. you looked away first, fingers tightening around your glass. he looked down too, pretending to check his phone, pretending not to care.
but then he stood up.
he didn’t know what he was doing. if he was supposed to apologize, or just say hi, or walk away like a sane person. but his body moved before his brain caught up. he stopped beside you, close enough to smell the faint scent of your perfume, the one he’d once memorized.
stephen: “hey..”
he said softly. you didn’t look at him right away. you just stared at your drink, forcing your voice to sound steadier than you felt.
you: “you shouldn’t be here.”
stephen: “neither should you,”
he said, tone low, rough around the edges. you laughed once, no humor in it.
you: “yeah, well. guess we’re both doing great, huh?”
stephen: “guess so.”
he smiled; barely. you finally looked up. your eyes met his again, and this time you didn’t look away. he looked tired. like every sleepless night since you left had caught up to him all at once. for a while, neither of you said anything. it was almost peaceful. he broke the silence first.
stephen: “you okay?”
you almost said no. almost told him everything. about the betrayal, the heartbreak, how empty you felt. but the words caught in your throat. instead, you shrugged.
you: “i’ve been worse.”
stephen: “yeah. me too.”
he nodded slowly. and that was it. two people who once knew each other better than anyone else sitting side by side, both pretending not to be broken in the same exact way. you didn’t talk about the past. you didn’t talk about him or the text sitting unread in your notes. but the air between you felt thick, full of everything that had gone unsaid. after a while, he ordered another round. one for him, one for you. you didn’t refuse. neither of you said it out loud, but you both knew it. you were still each other’s comfort. and that was the most dangerous thing of all.
you didn’t know how long the two of you sat there. maybe minutes, maybe hours. the clock over the bar kept ticking, but time felt strange. stretched thin, like every second dragged itself out just to keep you sitting there with him. the bartender slid your drinks over without a word. you took a sip, the alcohol burning in a way that almost felt good, familiar. you hated that; how easy it still was to fall into rhythm beside him.
he was quiet at first, just tracing the rim of his glass with his thumb. he always used to do that when he was thinking too much. back when he’d lie next to you, staring at the ceiling, pretending he didn’t care about anything. you glanced at him, catching the way his jaw tensed before he finally spoke.
stephen: “so,”
he said, voice rough.
stephen: “you and that guy. over?”
you blinked, taken aback.
you: “that’s what you wanna ask me?”
he shrugged, eyes on his drink.
stephen: “just wondering.”
you: “yeah. it’s done.”
he nodded slowly.
stephen: “he hurt you?”
you let out a dry laugh.
you: “don’t act like you suddenly care.”
he looked at you then, really looked. eyes sharp, unreadable, like he was trying to find something buried in your expression.
stephen: “you think i don’t?”
you didn’t answer. you didn’t need to. you both knew better. he sighed, ran a hand through his hair. he shook his head, and laughed quietly to himself.
stephen: “i just- forget it.”
the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. it was heavy, but not in a bad way. just… familiar. like an old song you didn’t realize you still knew the words to. the light caught his face, tracing the faint scar near his eyebrow, the dark circles under his eyes. he looked older. worn. but still him.
you: “you look tired,”
you said without thinking. he huffed out a laugh.
stephen: “haven’t been sleeping much.”
you: “figured.”
he turned toward you, one arm resting on the back of your stool, closing the space just enough that you could feel his breath when he spoke.
stephen: “missed this,”
he said quietly. you froze.
you: “missed what?”
stephen: “this. you. all of it.”
his voice cracked just slightly on the last word. you swallowed hard, looking down at your hands.
you: “you shouldn’t say that.”
stephen: “why not?”
you: “because you don’t mean it.”
he smiled, small and sad.
stephen: “you still don’t get it. i meant it the first time too.”
you didn’t have an answer for that. your chest felt tight, your throat thick. you wanted to say stop, but you didn’t. you wanted to tell him you hated him, but that wasn’t true either. so you said nothing. the two of you just sat there; two ghosts sharing the same body of silence. the music shifted, a slower song coming through the speakers. low, melodic. something about it hurt. he leaned forward, voice low enough that only you could hear.
stephen: “you still think about me?”
you exhaled, steady but quiet.
you: “every once in a while.”
he smiled, not satisfied but not surprised either.
stephen: “me too.”
it wasn’t a confession. it wasn’t forgiveness. it was something else entirely; an acknowledgment. that no matter how much time passed, there’d always be a part of you that remembered exactly how it felt to be his. and for a moment, sitting there under the haze of bar lights and whiskey and everything you shouldn’t feel anymore. it almost felt like you were back where you started.
but you weren’t.
you were just two people trying to drink away the ghosts of who you used to be. you didn’t plan on leaving with him. you weren’t even sure who suggested it. maybe you did, maybe he did; but the bar had started to feel too small, too warm, too close. outside, the air was cold. sharp against your skin, sobering in a way the alcohol never could be. the street was half-empty, the sound of cars distant, the city lights bleeding orange across the wet pavement.
you walked side by side without saying much, both of you lost in that strange in-between. he had his hands shoved deep in his pockets, head tilted down, breath fogging in front of him. you caught yourself glancing at him more than once, taking in the familiar slope of his shoulders, the way his hair fell into his eyes. he was wearing the same leather jacket you remembered. cracked at the edges, a little worn, like him. he noticed you staring.
stephen:“what?”
you shook your head quickly.
you: “nothing.”
he smiled, quiet.
stephen: “still can’t lie to save your life.”
you: “you’re one to talk.”
he laughed under his breath. low, genuine, the kind that hit right in the center of your chest. it’d been so long since you’d heard it, you almost forgot how much you missed it. you stopped walking when you reached the corner, the neon light from a nearby store painting the both of you in soft red. he leaned against the wall, watching you.
you: “you really shouldn’t be out here,”
you said, eyes fixed on the ground.
stephen: “why? scared i’ll ruin you again?”
you glanced up, met his gaze.
you: “scared i’ll let you.”
he went quiet after that. not offended, just hit. a few seconds passed. a car drove by, headlights sweeping over you both, and when the world dimmed again, something between you shifted. he took a step closer. you didn’t move.
stephen: “you shouldn’t look at me like that.”
you: “like what?”
stephen: “like you still remember.”
you: “i do.”
he laughed softly, but there was no humor in it.
stephen: “you always did know how to fuck with my head.”
you smiled a little.
you: “guess you deserved it.”
the air was heavy, tight. his hand brushed against yours. not on purpose, but not entirely by accident either. the touch was fleeting, but it burned. he pulled back immediately, ran a hand over his face.
stephen: “this is bad.”
you: “yeah, it is.”
you whispered. neither of you moved. you could feel his eyes on you, could feel your heartbeat syncing with the same rhythm it used to. too fast, too reckless. you wanted to kiss him. he wanted to let you. but you didn’t. instead, he took a step back, exhaled slow, trying to ground himself.
stephen: “you still make it hard to walk away.”
you swallowed hard, forcing a shaky laugh.
you: “then don’t.”
the words slipped out before you could catch them. his eyes flicked up, searching your face, trying to figure out if you meant it. you did. but you weren’t supposed to. he shook his head, smiling like it hurt.
stephen: “you don’t mean that.”
you: “it’s true.”
for a long time, you just stood there, breathing the same air, pretending the distance between you was enough to keep you safe. it wasn’t. but both of you kept trying anyway. the night had grown colder, the city lights bleeding into the dark around you both. you didn’t say anything as he walked you to a quiet alley just off the main street, the distant hum of traffic a muted backdrop.
he stopped, just far enough that it should have felt like a polite distance. it didn’t. it never had with him. the space between you was charged, alive, taut like a wire strung too tight. you looked up at him, eyes meeting, and everything you’d bottled up over the months pressed into that one gaze. a pull you didn’t want to feel but couldn’t resist. he shifted, and suddenly his hands were at your waist. light, tentative, as if he was testing the air, testing you, testing himself. you didn’t move. didn’t flinch. didn’t push him away.
stephen: “you’re cold.”
he murmured, voice low, rough. a whisper meant only for you.
you: “i’m fine..”
you said, even as your body betrayed you, leaning in just enough to feel his warmth. his hands moved a little, brushing over your sides, the faintest pressure, gentle like he was memorizing the curve of you again. your breath hitched. soft, barely audible. and he leaned in, slow, like the world was holding its breath with you.
and then it happened. his lips grazed yours, feather-light, a ghost of what it used to be. you froze at first, not sure if you were allowed to feel, allowed to remember, allowed to want. but he lingered. just a breath, just a taste, just the weight of him there. the world contracted to nothing but that small contact, that tiny spark of heat pressed into your chest. your hands lifted, almost instinctively, resting on his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his hoodie like a lifeline. he responded without hesitation, leaning closer, letting the kiss deepen just slightly.
it wasn’t a first kiss. it wasn’t gentle. it wasn’t soft. it was hungry, careful, testing boundaries, brushing against nerves you hadn’t realized still tingled under his touch. he pulled back just a fraction, enough to catch your eyes, searching, questioning.
stephen: “you okay?”
you swallowed, chest rising, voice husky.
you: “yeah.”
he smiled. slow, crooked, that same one that used to make your knees weak and pressed forward again, this time harder, but still teasing, slow, drawing it out. your hands roamed slightly, brushing over his chest, feeling the tension there. his hands moved lower now, tracing the curve of your hips, the sides of your waist, careful not to cross lines you weren’t ready to cross, but not stopping the electric friction either.
you tilted your head, matching his movement, lips pressing into his again. teeth barely grazing, breath mingling, slow exhalations that left you dizzy. time seemed to stretch. seconds became minutes. minutes became an eternity. every touch, every sigh, every small movement was magnified. the brush of his hand on your back, the slide of your fingers through his hair, the heat radiating from each other, the way your bodies pressed closer without fully giving in.
he groaned softly against your lips, a low sound that vibrated through your chest. your own body answered, leaning in closer, tilting your head, allowing the space between you to vanish entirely. it wasn’t about a finish. it wasn’t about claiming or taking. it was about feeling again. letting yourself remember the heat, the closeness, the raw electricity that had always existed between you.
his hands cupped your face now, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones, pulling you in just slightly more. your lips parted without thought, letting him explore, letting yourself fall into the memory, letting yourself feel what you’d been denying. and there it was. that friction. that ache. that quiet knowledge that no matter how much time had passed, no one else could touch you like this.
the world outside the alley didn’t exist. the noise of the city, the memory of the betrayal, the months of absence. none of it mattered. there was only this. only him. only the slow, impossible, aching sensation of finally allowing yourself to feel again. you pulled back just enough to breathe, foreheads resting together, both of you trembling slightly. his lips brushed yours once more. teasing, claiming, longing, and you knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning.
you unlocked your apartment door with shaky hands, the key rattling in the lock like it was announcing your nerves. he lingered behind you in the hallway, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, yet just far enough to make your pulse spike. the moment the door closed, the city outside disappeared. no lights, no distant traffic, no noise. just the quiet hum of the apartment, the lingering scent of your perfume, the faint scent of him following you in. he leaned against the wall, one hand pressed lightly against the doorframe, watching you. you felt exposed and invincible all at once.
stephen: “you sure about this?”
he murmured, voice low, rough, teasing, like he already knew the answer. you didn’t reply. you didn’t need to. the answer was in the way your body pressed forward instinctively, letting him close the last distance. he moved first, sliding his hands down your sides, gripping you lightly, testing, teasing. the brush of his fingers made your knees weaken, the heat spreading through you before you even realized it.
you pressed yourself into him, chest to chest, feeling every inch of him. the kiss was slow at first, teasing, exploratory. lips brushing, teeth grazing, breaths mingling. it wasn’t desperate; it was aware, each movement deliberate, each pause charged with the memory of everything you’d denied. your hands wandered, one running up the side of his neck, threading through his hair, the other exploring his chest, feeling the tension coiled under his hoodie. he groaned softly, low in his throat, and leaned into you harder, tilting your head, deepening the kiss.
the air in the apartment seemed to thicken. every small sound. the creak of the floorboards, the shallow intake of breath, the low hum of his voice against your lips; felt amplified. your heart hammered against your ribs, echoing his own rapid pulse .he pulled back slightly, just enough for both of you to breathe, foreheads resting together. his lips hovered over yours, just brushing against them, teasing.
stephen: “you have no idea what you do to me.”
he whispered, voice rough and low, vibrating against your skin. you swallowed, lips parted. then shut his hands slid lower now, tracing the curve of your hips, brushing against the edge of your thighs, just enough to make you shiver. every touch was deliberate, teasing, dangerous. reminding you both of everything you’d been missing. you pressed back into him, moaning softly into the kiss, letting your hands roam further, feeling the heat beneath his hoodie, the tension in his chest, the subtle muscle movement under your fingertips.
he tilted your head again, lips pressing harder, teeth grazing, tongues brushing in slow, teasing circles. letting you both feel, remember, taste. the restraint you’d both held for months shattered in small increments, each kiss, each touch, a confirmation that this wasn’t going to be a gentle reunion. it was going to be all-consuming. he broke the kiss briefly, just enough to drag his lips along your jaw, down your neck, the feather-light friction making your skin tingle. you gasped, pressing closer, letting him feel how much you’d been holding back, how much you needed him too.
his hands roamed freely now, holding you closer, cupping your body, tilting you into him. the brush of his lips against your collarbone, your shoulder, your neck, set your skin on fire. every inch of contact made the months apart impossible to ignore. and through it all, the air in the apartment was heavy, electric. every breath, every gasp, every whispered word and moan suspended in the small space. your bodies moved together like a single entity, hands exploring, lips seeking, heat building, teasing, dragging out every sensation until it felt almost unbearable.
you weren’t thinking. you weren’t planning. there was nothing left but this. the touch, the taste, the feeling of finally letting go together. and even as your lips parted again, pulling back just slightly, eyes locked, breathing heavy, you both knew this was only the beginning. he pressed you against the doorframe, hips flush, chest against yours, and everything slowed down. every sound; your quickened breaths, the faint hum of the city outside, the soft scrape of his hoodie against your skin; became amplified, electric.
his lips found yours again, slower this time, softer at first, then insistent, teasing, exploring. teeth grazed, tongues brushed, breaths mingled. you tilted your head, letting him guide the rhythm, letting yourself get lost in the weight of him, the warmth, the memory of everything you’d held back. hands roamed without permission but with care; his cupping your face, sliding into your hair, tracing the curve of your neck, the slope of your shoulders. your fingers tangled in his curls, pulled lightly at the nape of his neck, exploring, memorizing. every inch of contact made your pulse spike.
he kissed your jaw, your neck, brushing the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. you moaned softly, shivering against him, chest rising and falling. he responded by tilting his head, dragging his lips across the shell of your ear, teasing, coaxing, letting the moment stretch impossibly long. your hands slid down his chest, over the ridges of muscle beneath his hoodie, feeling the tension in him, the heat pressing back against you. he groaned, low and rough, pressing closer, hips brushing yours, tilting you slightly against the doorframe.
every kiss became slower, heavier, more demanding. his tongue traced yours, exploring, tasting, claiming without words. you moaned again, soft, breathy, letting him feel how much you’d wanted this for months. he pulled back just slightly, forehead resting against yours, eyes dark, lips swollen, breath shaky.
stephen: “fuck…i’ve wanted this.”
he murmured, voice rough, barely above a whisper. you shivered, pressing closer.
you: “so have i.”
you admitted, voice trembling, chest tight, heat crawling up your spine. his hands slid lower now, cupping your hips, pulling you flush against him, letting his warmth engulf you. every press, every brush of skin was electric, teasing, the friction making your knees weak. you tangled your legs slightly with his, hips brushing, teasing, testing boundaries. every gasp, every moan, every breath dragged it out, pulled it thin, thick with tension.
he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, hands exploring, lips teasing, dragging out the sensation, letting you both remember, feel, crave. his lips trailed down your neck, over your shoulder, lips brushing against sensitive skin. not yet taking, just teasing, exploring, leaving fire in every place he touched.
you arched against him, letting him feel every shiver, every small movement, every gasp. it was intoxicating, drawn out, heavy, impossible to ignore. and still, he didn’t stop. he let the teasing last, let the sensation stretch, let you both exist in that moment. two bodies pressed together, tasting, touching, feeling, aching without crossing the line. every small movement, every sigh, every brush of lips and fingertips was electric. drawn out. teasing. relentless.
and through it all, you both knew. this was the beginning, and neither of you would be able to resist for much longer. the air between you felt heavier by the second, every heartbeat syncing until it was impossible to tell whose pulse you were feeling. his breath was warm against your skin, his thumb tracing absent circles along your waist like he was trying to memorize the shape of you all over again.
you didn’t even realize you were moving until the back of your legs brushed the edge of the couch. he caught your eyes then: half-smile, half-plea; and for the first time all night neither of you looked away.
you: “we shouldn’t..”
you whispered, though it came out softer than you meant, already unraveling in his hands. he nodded, but his gaze didn’t drop.
stephen: “i know.”
still, neither of you stepped back. you exhaled, shaky, and the sound filled the quiet room. his fingers slipped from your waist to your hand, slow, careful, like he was asking a question without words. you answered by curling your fingers through his, guiding him closer, letting the silence speak for you.
the couch was only a few steps away. your knees brushed the fabric as you sat, breath catching as he followed, hovering close but not touching yet. the space between you was electric. an invitation, a warning, everything you’d both been avoiding. he leaned in again, voice barely above a whisper.
stephen: “tell me to go if you want me to.”
you looked up at him, your lips parted, your pulse racing.
you: “i dont want you to leave…”
and that was it; the quiet surrender. the choice neither of you could take back. you could’ve stayed there, tangled in that half-light, but something in the way he whispered your name made you move. you caught his hand, stood, and let him follow you down the short hall, neither of you saying it but both of you knowing what it meant. each step felt like surrender. by the time you reached the doorway, his breath was shaking. this wasn’t a ‘i missed you’. it was a ‘never stopped wanting you’.
the bedroom was dim except for the streetlight cutting a line across the floor. you barely had time to breathe before his hands found your face again, thumbs brushing your jaw like he couldn’t believe you were real. the kiss started slow, almost careful, but it didn’t stay that way. months of silence, months of pretending. it all came back at once. his mouth moved over yours like an argument, a confession, a plea. you answered with your hands in his hair, pulling him closer until every breath felt shared.
he walked you back step by step, never breaking the kiss. every time your heel touched the floor you felt the shift in gravity, the weight of it pulling you both deeper. when the back of your legs met the edge of the bed, it was like the world stilled. you felt the mattress behind you, the warmth of him in front of you, the press of his heartbeat against your chest. he stopped kissing you long enough to look at you, really look. eyes dark, pupils wide, chest rising fast.
stephen: “tell me to stop,”
he whispered. you shook your head, breathless.
you: “don’t.”
he exhaled, shaky, relief and want tangled in one sound. his hands slid to your sides, guiding you down until you felt the sheets against your palms, the air between you heavy with everything you hadn’t said. you tug his hoodie off first. he’s flushed pink down his chest, jaw tight, arms trembling a little as he helps you peel your shirt off next. you’re both quiet for a second. just breathing. just looking.
stephen: "damn, your not real."
your fingers run down the line of his throat. his collarbone. lower. you lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth. his cheek. his jaw. then you sink your teeth into his neck, and he groans. a quiet, wrecked sound that settles between your legs and makes you ache.
stephen: "mm, it seems like someones still mad at me?"
you: "i’ll alway be mad at you."
stephen: "i know."
next thing you know you’re on your back, his body hovering over you. you kiss him again, harder this time. he tugs your jeans and panties off in one swift motion. now there’s nothing between you but heat, his jeans, guilt, and want. his hands trace every inch of your thighs. your waist. your stomach.
stephen: "fuck, you’re so soft."
he slides his fingers between your legs and groans at how wet you are.
stephen: "you missed me this much?"
you grab his wrist, breath catching.
you: "steph-"
your hips were already twisted up, desperate for contact. his eyes were dark, locked right on the spot. he dipped his head, focused, licking a slow, hot, wet stripe up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. the shocking sensation made you gasp, and your body arched right off the bed, pushing yourself into his face.
he braced one hand hard on your knee, a firm, possessive anchor, and the other hand found the junction of your legs. two fingers. slick, warm, and basically perfect, pressed against your entrance. he didn't rush it; he paused, letting you feel the promise of the pressure, letting you adjust to the new, insane heat. then, he made this low noise that got totally muffled by the couch cushion, and he shoved his index and middle fingers inside you.
the feeling was instant and overwhelming. a rush of super intense fullness that honestly just stole the air right out of your lungs. you cried out, a raw, helpless sound, and your hands shot out, gripping the nearest thing they could find: the thick muscle of his shoulder. he started to move, slow at first, like he was mapping out the hot, tight space he'd found. his thumb, though, didn't stay still. it pressed down, finding and rubbing the tiny, hard nub with a quick, insistent rhythm that was agonizingly good.
he drove his fingers deeper, finding the exact spot that made your toes curl and a helpless whimper catch in your throat. he was relentless, totally efficient, focused entirely on what you were feeling. the rhythm he set was building way too fast, too hard, and you felt the frantic, heat start to peak inside you.
stephen: “let it all out right here, right now.”
your vision tunneled, the pressure tightening into one blinding knot of need. you couldn't speak, could only squirm against the perfectly targeted thrust of his fingers, your cry of pure, desperate release swallowed by the matterss as the climax tore through you. he didn't stop, continuing the friction until the last wave broke, then slowly pulling his fingers out, leaving you shuddering, soaked, and completely wrecked beneath his heavy gaze. he pulls his fingers out slow. you whimper. he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean.
stephen: “fuck baby, i need you.”
you: “you have me”
the words were out before you could catch them, a total surrender, and that was all the permission he needed. he surged forward, his body covering yours, the heat of his skin pressing down, trapping you. he didn't kiss you first. his hand found the back of your neck again, pulling your head up, and he took your mouth with a rough, immediate need that was all teeth and desperation. it wasn't a sweet kiss; it was a hungry, punishing demand for more. he pulled back only to growl, his voice thick and low.
stephen: “you’re mine now. you know you’ve always been.”
you couldn't even speak, his jeans were dropped in less than a few seconds. you had that desperate plea for him to just take you. he didn’t need to be asked twice though. he grabbed your hips, lifting you slightly, and then he was slamming into you, the force of the connection pushing the air right out of your lungs. it was raw, aggressive, and entirely consuming, filling every inch of the space he’d been craving.
he held your face between his hands, forcing your eyes up to meet his. his movements were brutal and fast, rocking the mattress with every powerful thrust.
stephen: “you want this, don’t you? you want me deep as i can go. say it. say you’re mine, mama.”
you: “y-yours.”
this shit was the fuel. he roared, a guttural sound of pure pleasure, and the pace intensified, faster and harder than before. he was pushing you to the edge, refusing to let you look away, demanding that you feel every single, desperate stroke.
stephen: “look at me. watch yourself come apart for me. i waited too long for this, you know that? i waited for you to finally break. you’re so beautiful when you’re like this. dripping all over my cock. i need to know you won’t look at anyone else ever again.”
he hit your deepest spot again and again, and the second climax tore through you, a searing, bright wave that made your body pulsate around him. he followed instantly, his own body tightening, his eyes closing on a sharp exhale as he poured himself into you.
he collapsed against you, his weight pressing you into the sheets, arms locking around you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. his breath came in ragged bursts, hot against your ear, the sound breaking in the quiet. then: softer, trembling. he lifted his head just enough to find your face, eyes raw and glassy.
stephen: “i love you. i don’t think i’ll ever stop. you’ve always been the only thing in this world i don’t want to keep ruining.”
you didn’t answer him. you just held on, letting the silence say everything words couldn’t. outside, the night was quiet again, and for once, neither of you tried to break it.
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