#45% chance fic

[antilocaprine]

I got an anon ask that wondered if I had any plans to continue this prompt fill, which is an AU of my already-an-AU Among Us/HLVRAI crossover Some Stars Are Not Enough. This is the result. (You don’t have to read Some Stars to get this, but you should read the prompt fill linked above, since this picks up right where that leaves off.)

45% Chance

The ship groans around Benrey as he sprints through the corridors. This time, he’s literally going through them - with no humans left on the ship, he’s free to clip through the structure. It slows him down a touch, since he needs to make sure nothing is exposed to the vacuum of space before he steps into it, but he’s got all his senses flared out like a net, his form warping into a dish-like shape with limbs in order to catch all the information he can get before he reaches the lab and the spacewalking suits.

Something cracks on the other side of the bulkhead he was just about to cross into and he jukes to the right, pounding through several hissing pipes and another bulkhead. He stumbles out into the lab and steps sideways to get himself free of the bed he’d walked into. Casting a frantic glance around, he lunges for the spacesuits and wrenches them out of their cabinet, breaking the door lock so he can pull them free. 

The lock floats by his face and he pauses to stare at it, then at the rest of the room. The lab is a mess of floating jars and colorful liquids that are coalescing into wobbly balls, drifting aimlessly through the air. The gravity is failing, and that means the second reactor is close to failing, too. Benrey moves faster.

There isn’t enough time to try to rig the suits together. Benrey jams himself into the biggest one, which will allow him to keep his own suit on with its auxiliary oxygen pack. However, that means he’s down to two arms and two legs - the spacewalking suits weren’t designed to change with him.

The screaming alarms rise in pitch and distort, then fall silent with a strangled chime. Benrey whips his head around and listens. There is a faint whine coming from the rear of the ship, which is now below him - he had to brace himself against the wall to get into the suit in the failing gravity. The reactor is going, and he’s running out of time.

He’s not really sure what his plan was beyond this. He’s in a suit that will give him four hours of oxygen on top of the two hours of oxygen his own everyday suit contains. (The people who sent them on this mission - the humans, not the Supervisors - figured if something in the ship broke and they lost oxygen for over two hours, it wasn’t going to be fixed. Why waste resources?) Benrey’s own, ahem, unique physiology means that he can use the same amount of oxygen for about twice as long as a human. It’s still probably not going to be enough.

The ship groans in protest of what’s happening to it. Benrey feels a bit bad - it’s not the ship’s fault it was chosen for a mission that was doomed to fail. They’re all just playing pieces in a bigger game that none of them know the rules to. It’s not fair - but what is?

Gordon’s shocked face flashes through Benrey’s mind, and he takes a sharp breath. He shouldn’t leave it like that. If there’s any way to get back to them - 

Probably not quite a 45% chance, now. Maybe 20%, at least? Benrey’s not great at calculations, but he can probably swing 20%.

The ship screams and something wrenches. Suddenly, half of it falls quiet.

“Hull breach,” Benrey hisses. “Fuck.”

He shoves the huge spacewalking helmet between his legs, locking his ankles around it. Upside down in the far corner of the lab, he pulls his torso out of the spacewalking suit and shoves more arms out, catching the walls and ripping them free. Rivets ping loose and tumble through the air as Benrey curls the walls around himself. He doesn’t need a lot of room - just enough space to keep all the suits folded inside with their fresh caches of oxygen. The tricky part will be getting a solid enough seal to maintain the atmosphere with no gaskets and no external bulkheads.

Unless…Benrey glances up through the narrowing space above his head. If he can reach the right wall panel, then maybe he could get a secondary layer. He’ll have to move quickly, though. Already he can hear cracks forming in the nearby bulkheads.

The vacuum is closing in.

 *   *   *

“Dad? Shouldn’t you put your helmet back on?”

Joshua’s voice is shaky, and Gordon snaps back to himself. He’d been floating away, his eyes on the porthole window of the escape pod that is rocketing away from the stricken spaceship.

“Yeah - yes, right.” He shoves the helmet back on and engages the locks with a hiss. Then his eyes flick to the control panel and he curses. 45% oxygen? That must be what Benrey saw, what made him back out. Just Gordon and Joshua will be okay, but adding another adult would have shortened their conscious time by a potentially lethal amount.

“Is Benrey gonna be okay?”

The pod is traveling on a surprisingly straight path, and Gordon can still see the ship. The pod must be rotating - or the ship is, because it’s tilting nose-down in the porthole view. He finds himself thinking about terrestrial ships sinking at sea.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Gordon reassures his son, though his voice is strangled.

He feels like he’s going insane. Benrey kissed him. What the fuck?

“Oh. Okay.” Josh looks around, but the jumpseat harness keeps him from moving too much. “Where’re we going?”

Gordon glances back at the control screen. “The pods are all - uh, they’re programmed to rendezvous with each other to form a raft. Then they’ll send out a distress signal, and someone will pick us up.”

“Okay.” Josh kicks his feet. “Um. How long?”

“It depends, buddy. Might be in ten minutes or two hours, or tomorrow.” Or a week, but Gordon isn’t going to mention that. Hopefully someone had gotten off a long-range distress signal from the ship’s transmitter while he and Joshie were locked in the stargazing room. Otherwise they’ll be at the mercy of interplanetary shipping schedules. All the planet-to-planet people transfers are limited to once a month, and they certainly don’t have enough air to hold out that long.

“Okay,” Joshua says, sounding preoccupied.

Gordon knows that tone. He tilts his helmet against the shoulder harness to look over at his kid. “You have to go to the bathroom, don’t you?”

Joshua nods. 

Gordon sighs and checks the control panel. “Can you hold it for ten more minutes? We’re supposed to dock with the rest of the raft then, and after that you can get up and use the cubicle.”

“Can I go now?”

“No. If we get knocked around by something you could get hurt.”

“Okay,” Joshie sighs, and Gordon stretches himself up to peer back at the ship, now inverted in the pod’s window.

It looks…weird. Some sort of vapor is coming off the snout, and it’s tilting away from the wispy trail.

Gordon breathes in sharply through his nose. That’s atmosphere. The ship is venting atmosphere, which means there’s a hull breach, which means -

“Shit,” he swears under his breath.

“Huh?”

“Nothing!”

Joshua seems like he’s ready to protest, but Gordon holds a hand up. “I’m - watching the numbers, okay?”

Apparently that sounds boring enough to satisfy Joshua, and he ducks his chin and pats his legs in an off-kilter drumbeat.

Through the window, the ship cracks in half. 

Gordon’s muscles are so tense his vision is starting to darken around the edges. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears, and he forces himself to breathe steadily as he watches the front half of the ship droop, then disconnect from the back half. A burst of debris is expelled from what must be the cargo hold - Gordon clinically picks out chairs, gas cans, crates, and tables.

He doesn’t see another pod. He’s not sure there were any left. Benrey was bunking with Tommy, and Tommy’s pod is blinking in the image of the raft on the control panel, so that means that, unless someone else hopped into that pod and left their own, Benrey’s trapped on the dying ship.

He must have a plan, Gordon’s sure of it. He must. There’s no way he would have sent Gordon and Joshua away without having a plan - right?

But he’d kissed Gordon. And it felt like a goodbye. It feels more and more like a goodbye with every passing second, as Gordon watches the field of debris expand into the vacuum of space. 

“Dad, can I -”

Gordon can’t pay attention to what Joshua says, because at that moment, the ship explodes.

It should make noise, he finds himself thinking wildly. It should be making a sound, or there should be a shockwave that hits the pod and sends it spinning. But this is the void of space, and all there is is a bloom of terrible light that obscures the intact rear half of the ship. When it clears - fire can’t live without oxygen - the entire stern of the ship is so much blackened debris, scattered chunks of bulkhead tumbling away in all directions. Without air resistance, their momentum will keep them going practically forever. Maybe someday, one of them will end up crashing through the atmosphere of the planet the ship came from. Maybe someday, some tiny remnant of their vessel will find its way home.

The pod’s transmitter crackles with static. “...Freeman! Mr. Freeman? Can you hear me? Mr. Freeman, come in!”

Gordon reaches out and hits the transponder button with numb fingers. “I can hear you, Tommy,” he says, voice hollow. “Can you see -”

He can’t finish, but luckily Tommy doesn’t need him to. “We saw it. You’ll connect, um, you’ll be docking with us in just a second.”

Sure enough, a heavy clunk sounds through the bulkhead behind Gordon’s jumpseat, and the whole pod shudders. Some sense of motion that he hadn’t even noticed ceases. He twists his head around, but he can’t see past the helmet, and there’s no window back there, anyway. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know what to think.

“Fucking finally,” Forzen’s voice snaps through the static. “What took you so long?”

“We were trapped,” Gordon rasps. “On the observation deck. The doors locked on us.”

Several voices clamor at that, but Gordon can’t pick any of them out.

“Dad!” Joshua whispers. “Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Yeah - yeah, go ahead.” Gordon unclips his own harness at the same time as Joshie does, but he kicks away from the jumpseat and plasters himself against the window.

In the distance, the ship continues to drift apart.

Tommy’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Mr. Freeman, is Benrey with you? He’s not showing up on the scans.”

Gordon swallows. “No,” he chokes out, then stops. What else can he say? They already know he’s not with any of the others.

“Oh,” Tommy replies, and then he, too, falls silent.

“So…maybe he’s the one who sabotaged the ship,” Forzen says after a moment, and Gordon’s vision whites out. Luckily, several other voices are jumping to Benrey’s defense, Dr. Coomer and Bubby flinging curses over the channel and Darnold’s voice trying to call for calm.

“It wasn’t him.” When Tommy speaks, the others go quiet. “One person couldn’t do that. Watch - look at it! It was broken from the start.”

The others go quiet, and Gordon’s throat is hot and thick with grief and fury as he looks at the desolation. Benrey was supposed to get out of that. How could he just kiss Gordon, push him away, and then - and then die?

How dare he?

“I got a signal out before the, um, the ship’s communications went down,” Tommy continues. “My - um, I mean, we should be getting picked up soon.”

“How soon is soon, my dear Tommy?” Dr. Coomer’s normally jovial voice is tight.

“Um, really soon.”

Light blooms across the pod window again, and Gordon flinches back, squinting into the glare. This isn’t the dirty yellow-orange glow of an explosion - this is the clean white light of a spaceship.

“Is that a courier?” Forzen’s tone is disbelieving. “Is that a fucking courier? Who the fuck heard you and has the clearance to re-route a fucking courier -”

His voice cuts out with a screech of static. 

Please stand by, the courier says in a gentle voice. You will be relocated shortly.

“Dad?” Joshie has finally emerged from the tiny restroom cubicle, and pulls himself along the wall to reach Gordon. “Who’s that?”

“It’s a courier,” Gordon says blankly. “They’re - living ships, with a mind and everything. They’re the fastest commercial vessel in the quadrant.”

Joshua peers through the window at Gordon’s shoulder and gasps. “Is that our ship?”

“Um-”

“But where’s Benrey?” Joshie twists around to look up at Gordon in distress and ends up knocking himself loose from the wall. Gordon catches him as he floats by upside down. Zero-G is weird. “He was supposed to follow us - you’re supposed to get married!”

“What?” Gordon sputters, completely derailed.

“He kissed you, so he has to marry you!”

“He did WHAT?!” Several voices shout in unison from the control panel.

“Fuck,” Gordon swears vehemently. He’d thought the courier had cut them off, but apparently it had just overriden their speakers for a moment. “Uh - nothing! It’s not - it doesn’t…matter.”

He clenches his teeth and listens to the others yelling at him. 

“Is Benrey okay?” Joshua whispers.

Gordon bites the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know,” he says quietly, even though he does know. No one could have survived that explosion. Hell, he’d probably been killed when the ship broke in half and started venting atmosphere. 

He’s probably been killed.

The pod shudders, and Gordon’s boots hit the floor with a clank. He curses and stumbles, juggling a suddenly-heavy Joshua, and they both nearly fall before the gravity slips and they tumble weightlessly up into the air again.

My apologies, the courier says calmly. Please be seated for relocation.

“Shit - sorry! Let’s strap in, Joshie.” Gordon kicks off the wall and fumbles them both into their jumpseats, fastening Joshie’s harness, then his own. He looks over at the control screen to see that the raft of pods has detached and is rising in a steady line into the bright spot of the courier above them. 

Are you fully secured? The courier sounds slightly tetchy. 

“Yes - sorry, yes, we’re strapped in,” Gordon replies, and the weightless feeling disappears as the courier pulls them into line. On the control screen, Gordon can see the first two pods already vanishing into the courier’s cargo hold.

Thank you, the courier replies blandly. Gordon catches a glimpse of the vessel’s hull as the pod passes by, and it is just as sleek and white as the advertisements make it seem. Then the hold encases them and his view of space is cut off by the darkness of the ship’s interior.

The pod slows, then settles with a clank as some sort of mag-locks catch it with a hum. The view outside the window spins, then flips, and then Gordon can see two other pods facing him across the open hold.

Please remain seated and secured while retrieval continues, the courier says.

“Continues? Who’s missing?” Tommy asks. “Mr. Freeman?”

“We’re here,” Gordon replies. One by one, the rest of the crew responds.

There is one more signal to retrieve, the courier says.

Gordon freezes. “Who is it? Can you hear -”

One moment, please, while the signal is boosted. The courier sounds tired already.

Static buzzes, then resolves into the monotone beeping of a spacewalking suit’s emergency beacon. 

“No fucking way,” Forzen growls, but even his bad attitude isn’t enough to keep Gordon’s heart from lifting in his chest. 

The beeping stops. And now that Gordon thinks about it, it hadn’t sounded like an actual machine beeping so much as someone saying “beep beep” in the same tone as the emergency beacon.

He takes a breath, and hopes. “Benrey? Is that you? Can - can you hear me?”

“Uh…beep…beep…nope…beep…”

Gordon laughs in disbelief. “I heard that! Where are you? What happened? Are you okay?”

Fifty-three meters and closing, the courier says. Then it says, What is THAT?

“Uh…I’m fine, I'm in a burrito. Beep.”

“You don’t have to keep saying ‘beep,’ you idiot, we can hear you,” Bubby bursts in.

“Oh hey, cool, everyone’s here.”

“What happened to you?” Bubby snaps. “The ship blew up!”

“Yeah,” Benrey hums. “That was…kinda sucks.”

Stand by for relocation, the courier says.

“Can’t really stand, bro,” Benrey replies over the comms. “There’s, uh…no gravity out here.”

Please be secured for relocation, the courier tries.

“Yeah, this, uh, burritos’s not very secure.”

“Why the fuck do you keep saying you’re in a burrito?” Gordon laughs. Just hearing Benrey’s voice is filling his chest with bubbles.

“It’s a metal burrito,” Benrey replies, as if that’s supposed to make any sense.

The courier apparently gives up. Just don’t move, it tells him.

“Sure,” Benrey says easily. “No controls on this thing.”

The object that rises into the hold a few moments later defies explanation. It’s a long cylinder of metal that’s rolled up and twisted around itself at least twice like some sort of giant soot-smeared pirouette cookie. One end is blown open like a cartoon cigar, and it’s from that end that a battered spacewalking helmet pops out.

“You look like a weasel in a cardboard tube,” Bubby says.

“Thanks,” Benrey mumbles over the comms, and attempts to pull himself free.

What are you doing? the courier says sharply. Remain seated - remain still - stop MOVING.

“Kinda busy,” Benrey says as his makeshift pod spins. The spacewalking suits have darkened helms, but Gordon can see his head turning as he peers at each pod. “Where’s Freeman?”

“Over here!” Joshie bounces up in front of Gordon to wave through the porthole, and Gordon yelps and swipes his kid out of the air.

Can none of you follow orders? the courier asks in apparent exasperation as it closes its hull doors.

“Not - not really,” Tommy replies. The courier sends a burst of static over the comms in a machine version of a sigh. 

Pressurizing atmosphere, the courier says, then it says, Seal lock. Atmosphere present. Gravity is not available at this time. For your safety, please remain seated.

“Fuck that,” Benrey mutters, half-out of his handmade pod and spinning around upside down. He seems to be hung up on the bulky spacewalking oxygen tanks.

Yeah, Gordon agrees. Fuck that. He plonks Joshua down into his own seat and straps him in. “Stay here, okay? I’ll be back when it’s safe to grab you.”

Joshua tries to protest, but Gordon is already keying in the sequence to check the outside conditions and open the pod door. The pod seems to open almost sulkily, and Gordon tumbles out and kicks off the hull in a trajectory he hopes will send him colliding with Benrey.

He almost misses, but Benrey flings out an arm and Gordon snags the oversized spacewalking suit’s glove. They spin together and smack into each other, and Gordon kicks his feet down and engages the mag-locks on his heels, slamming his boot soles onto the floor of the hull.

Someone is applauding on the comms, but Gordon isn’t listening. He needs to see Benrey’s face. He frees one hand to wrestle at the clasps of the spacewalk suit’s neck, popping them loose with a series of clicks. Once it’s free, he bats it away and it tumbles lazily through the air, fetching up against one of the pod windows.

“Hey, I can’t see!” Forzen barks.

Benrey’s eyes are golden, with a red ring around the outside of the pupil, and they glow. Gordon always figured it was just a bodymod, but now he wonders. The explosion certainly couldn’t have rolled this sheet of metal up so neatly. And Benrey had talked about “humans” like he wasn’t one.

“Hey,” Benrey smiles lazily, sticking sideways out of his horizontal tube. He reaches out with the massive, clunky spacewalk glove and taps at Gordon’s helmet. “Off, please?”

Gordon pulls Benrey’s other hand down and fastens it to his waist so he can reach up with both hands and pull his helmet off. He feels his hair float up behind him, and Benrey’s grin widens, his glowing eyes crinkling at the corners. He wiggles and pulls his free hand out of the heavy exo-suit’s shoulders to flick his own visor up so he can lean forward, but Gordon is already pushing in to meet his lips.

This time, he closes his eyes and kisses back. This time, he savors the touch of Benrey’s chapped lips, feels the rush of air against his cheek as Benrey inhales sharply through his nose and presses harder into the kiss.

The comms are a cacophony of whistling and clapping, cut through with Forzen complaining that his view is still blocked and asking for someone to describe what’s happening. Gordon leans back and opens his eyes. Benrey looks concussed, slowly rotating in his “burrito” until he is nearly vertical, with his head facing down. Gordon snorts and pulls his helmet back on.

Please do not engage in dramatic emotional moments in my hold, the courier says. Save that for the private rooms.

Benrey blinks several times. “You, uh, have private rooms?”

Of course. 

“Can I, uh, request - oh, hey, where are you going?”

Gordon had started to pull away, but Benrey tugs him back with the grip on his waist. Gordon is suddenly very angry again.

“I’m going to get my kid, Benrey, so he can see that you’re alive. The ship blew up, dude! We thought - I thought you’d died.” His voice cracks awkwardly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Bubby squeeze out of his own pod, muttering something about claustrophobia. Dr. Coomer soon follows, and Darnold joins them with a sigh, tapping something into his wrist panel.

“Oh…well, I’m okay, see?” Benrey spreads his arms, then has to grab Gordon’s waist again to keep from rotating away.

Gordon reaches out and smacks his shoulder, hard enough to knock him loose. “You’re an asshole,” he snaps. “What the fuck was your plan?”

Benrey’s makeshift pod bounces off the ceiling and starts to descend again. “Oh…you know.” He pulls both arms out of the exo-suit and wiggles himself free, kicking off from the metal tube, which flies like a javelin straight at Dr. Coomer. Dr. Coomer catches it and flings it away, where it slams into Forzen’s pod just as the door opens, knocking him back inside with an inarticulate curse.

“No, I don’t know, dude,” Gordon growls. “Enlighten me.”

Very suddenly, Benrey is in front of Gordon, both hands on his helmet. Gordon’s own hands snap up to keep him from pulling it off - but he’s not doing that. He’s holding down the comm button, which means they’re on a private, proximity-based channel.

Benrey leans in close, golden eyes flashing intensely. The red ring around the outside seems to be growing. “The plan was to keep you alive,” he says quietly. “Mission fucking accomplished, huh?”

Then he presses a smacking kiss against the curve of Gordon’s helmet and flicks his visor back down, pushing away from Gordon and corkscrewing through the air with a shout of “TOMMY! Did you see that explosion? Fucking sick, right?”

Please be warned that this hold is equipped with liquid water hoses, if their use becomes necessary, the courier says pleasantly. 

“Uh - sorry,” Gordon waves a hand. “Won’t happen again.”

Please refrain from lying, the courier says.

Gordon ducks his head and clomps across the hold, heading back to his pod so he can release his child, who will probably immediately attach himself to Benrey and ignore Gordon for the rest of the cycle. He can’t win.

But then again…

He pauses and glances up at Benrey and Sunkist spiraling around each other, the giant dog apparently perfectly accustomed to moving in zero-G. The other crew members stand or float below, commiserating and complaining, but miraculously alive.

Then again, maybe he’s already won.

[aenslem]

okay i did not expect that i will be SO into young and rush when i decided to finish sgu 10 years later since i dropped it after s1, but now all i wanna do is read all the fanfiction i can find and rewatch it

im gonna yell

[genderqueer-karma]

imagine being 50 years old with a toddler… could NOT be me…

(of course this isn’t saying that people who have kids later in life are weird or evil or anything. i just weep at the thought of starting all that shit when your life is probably already stable and calm… yikes…)

[berryberrytaeberry]

God yoonmin are so midnight neon city lights

[winterarmyy]

Welcome home... Soldat? | Part I

That time when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Summary: Y/N had make a habit of greeting Bucky a warm 'welcome home' everytime he came back from his missions, but there was one particular day when she unknowingly greeted someone else.

Navigation: Part I || Part II* || Part III (end) || Extra

Words: 2.9k++

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: implied 18+ content, implied smut, dubious con on groping reader's body, dark(?) possessive behaviour, google translated russian, our soldat is kinda cute(?) in his own twisted way, and well, basically fluffy times with the soldat.

P/S: Guys, I never planned this at all. I mean, who am I kidding? All of my fics are not planned and I clearly write things out of impulse. Therefore, this one don't have much of a story building/plot because it was born out of one scene that flashed in my head and has been replayed way to many times that I need to let it out. Anyway, I still hope you enjoy it, somehow.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N didn't know when exactly she started this habit but she swore to herself to never grow out of it.

It's been nearly 2 years since the fall of Hydra and the avenger has accepted the winter soldier under their wing. Begrudgingly by Tony, but the rest of them seemed like they're not against it.

Y/N used to be an agent from SHIELD but since the fall, she had been recruited under the avenger's programme and had been living in the tower since.

She remembered the day when Bucky first came in, he was quiet and weary all the time. Like an abandoned cat, picked up by a stranger to come to their home. And it took the whole team months before he slowly adapted.

Who knew he would morphed into a sassy, grumpy little shit, right?

Since the first day, Y/N had been making an effort to make him feel welcomed. Helped him to adjust to modern times. Though it was not regular but she's glad he came to her from time to time to ask about things.

Y/N only meant it to be casual when she greeted him back from his missions. Usually, it'll be something like,

"Oh you're back?"

"How's the team?"

"Good to see you well put together from such horrendous mission."

"God, you look like you fell from 5 flight of stairs."

"Are you even trying to fight back, Bucky?"

But one time, Bucky came back in the morning around breakfast, she wasn't feeling sassy or clever. So, instead of greeting him with playful remarks, in the glory of her messy bed hair and iron man pyjamas, she greeted him with a sleepy smile, "Welcome home, Bucky."

And that surely made the 6 foot, bulky hunk of a soldier paralysed in his spot. His ocean blues slightly widen, and his cheeks deepen in blush.

For a moment, he wondered if this is how he would feel if he had a wife waiting for him to come back from war back in the 40's. But, then again nothing can be compared to the sight he was seeing as he is now.

And Y/N didn't want to ever lose that memory of him.

Cute and flustered Bucky is a very rare sight to see. Perhaps, this was the only time she could witness it and she want to cherish it for the rest of her life.

Though Bucky never replied to Y/N's greeting, it didn't stop them from starting a whole new routine.

Y/N always knew that she had a thing for the sargent, but about 2 months from that moment, Y/N realized she was in love.

And she waited for him, every single chance she had for arrival of the team to come back. Just like she is now, at 03:45 in the morning, while scavenging for something sweet she can eat as she waits for Bucky's return.

When, she turned around she was not expecting to have her face into clashed into something, "Oww!" Y/N shuts her eyes close as she rubbed her aching nose to ease the sharp strike of pain.

For a moment there, she seriously thought she might have just bumped into some kind of a solid air that appeared out of nowhere, but when she opened her eyes, it was just Bucky who was standing rather ominously still.

"My god, you scared the shit out of me. I know you used to be an assassin but, you gotta announce yourself sometimes, man." She joked. Although she did find it impressive that he managed to silently sneak up on her with those thick, heavy combat boots he was wearing.

"Woah, someone's been having a field day kicking your ass, huh?" Y/N's eyes lingered a little longer on the wounds at the side of his temple that she didn't notice the void in his eyes.

"Anyway..." she continued as she shook of the thoughts of caressing the cut on the corner of Bucky's lip, before greeting him with a gentle smile, "Welcome home."

Bucky's unresponsiveness was nothing new to her. With the amount of silent glares and gruff eye-rolls that he had shot at her these past few months, she's used to it by now.

But, when she finally had the guts to look him in the eye, only then she noticed the underlying shift. Albeit, his signature frown was still as present as ever but, those eyes had made her questioned of the slight difference from what she recognized.

Bucky wordlessly step forward and cornered her until her back meets the side of the kitchen isle. He took his time assessing her, almost admiring the way her iris wavered in confusion.

Something is wrong.

Her guts were screaming at her to notice it but her body wasn't reacting accordingly. That's when the voice of the AI, Jarvis echoed through the walls.

"Emergency alert: Code Winter. Initiated by Captain Steve Rogers. All agent is advised..." The announcement went on based on protocol while the cogs in Y/N's brain finally moved, "Code Winter? That means..."

 "...to be cautious of Sargent James Barnes; reprimand on sight however try not to engage alone. Agents is..." Jarvis voice in the background interwoven with Y/N's internal deduction, "...This is not Bucky?"

As she tried to put her own mind into perspective, trying to make herself believe that this man in front of her is not Bucky Barnes who she had been adoring over for these past few months, the soldat's hands reached the side of her neck, squeezing the softness of her flesh while his thumbs grazed the shape of her jawline.

His heavy gaze remained on hers, willing her to stay as still possible.

"Bucky...?" She called his name in hopes of triggering something, anything for within his controlled mind.

At end of the corridor leading towards the kitchen, Steve could see how the soldat had already gotten his hands on Y/N and panic strike him like lightning, he sprinted towards her as he despretely shouted, "Y/N! Stay away from--"

But Y/N was not able to render anything she heard from Steve, especially after a long silence, the soldat finally spoke, "Yes, I'm home..."

He carefully pulled her face closer to his as his lips planted on her soft cheek, "...мое cолнышко (my sunshine)" he lifted for a second just to kiss her again on her temple as he whispered lowly, "...мое Родная (my darling)"

Y/N's heart was beating madly for several different reasons. Parts of her was terrified that the soldat might break her neck within an instance, but it gradually changes into something much more confusing, a conflicted joy, when he keep on trailing his lips all over her face.

What is happening?

Both her and Steve was practically frozen in pure confusion.

Steve's mouth hanged open as words failed to form, while Y/N was unable to comprehend any sort of thoughts, let alone counter movements; when the soldat continue to whisper Russian endearments against her skin, littering sweet kisses on every part of her face, except for her lips as if he wanted to tease her.

His hands slowly travel down her back and stopped on the side of her waist, pulling her body closer until there was no space in between them anymore, before he wrapped his arms around her.

The drag of his stubble on her skin burned but it felt so good when he kissed it after.

Seconds later, Sam managed to catch up with Steve and his cautious approach fell as he witnessed the soldat's rather domestic actions towards Y/N.

Sam foolishly let his guard down as he approached with a question directed to Steve, "Is the tin man back?" That was when a bullet barely grazed the tip of his ear that then buried through the wall behind him.

Both Steve and Sam forced to stop any sort of movement as the soldat's aim was still locked towards their direction; his cold blue eyes pierced with a menacing warning, all the while posessively holding Y/N in his arms as his kisses trailed the side of her neck.

"Nope, not yet." Sam answered his own question as he waited for Steve's order.

Y/N felt like she have to do something to de-escalate the situation. After a quick deduction, and based on the soldat attitude towards her, she took the risk of believing that he would not do anything to hurt her, so she decided to play along.

Will it work though?

Well, she got to have to try for it work.

She gulped nervously before softly calls for him, "Soldat?" she looked up towards him.

When the soldat gave her his attention, she watched the loose strand of his hair fall down to his face. Her hand went up and reached for it, "How about we go back to your room and let me tend these wounds, hmm?" She cooed while tucking his behind his ear and briefly caressing his cheek with the back of her fingers.

The soldat didn't reply but instead silently process her proposition.

However, the hesitation only worried her more, so she continued to persuade, as she cautiously slide her hand, following his arm that was holding her teammates at gun point, "It'll be just the two of us. How's that sound?" She smiled warmly at him as she managed to lower it enough to grab the gun away from his grasp.

There was a glint of indecipherable emotion in his eyes when she mentioned that, which then he nodded in agreement.

"Okay then, let's go." She put the gun on the kitchen isle behind her and replaced her hand in his, pulling him towards his bedroom. The soldat did not protest to her lead, in fact her followed her obediently.

But before Y/N makes an exit, she looked back towards Steve and mouthed a reassuring message, "I got this."

The captain had all the rights to be weary but at this point, he just had to believe in Y/N's action plan. He nodded and replied, "Be safe. We'll be outside."

Along the walk towards Bucky's room, all she could think was that she can handle it and she got this under control.

But, does she?

Well, Y/N did have it under control, in terms of keeping the soldat from going on a berserk rampage but what she didn't think through was how the fuck she should handle his behaviour towards her.

After they arrived to Bucky's room, she had instructed him to strip off his tactical suit and leave him sitting at the edge of the bed, only in his short to avoid him reaching for any hidden weapons he had, all the while she went to grab the first aid from his bathroom.

Now that she almost done tending the small injuries on his face, it finally dawned to her that the soldat had her immobilized in between his legs as his hands rubbed the back of her thighs, occasionally squeezing the softness of her body in his tender grip.

His intent gaze waited patiently for her to finish and as soon as she did, he pulled her on his lap, making her to straddle on top him as he smushed his face on her chest, "Oh, Родная (darling)... I have missed you."

Her hands found her balance on his shoulders while the soldat roaming hands held her body still by the back of her waist.

It will be a lie if she said her heart didn't skipped when he confessed; even if it was still the soldat's thoughts and words but it was Bucky's voice.

The soldat pulled his other hand to play with the buttons of her pyjamas shirt, specifically around her chest area.

Part of him wanted to just rip her clothes off from her body but another part of him didn't want to. He didn't want scare her; and his precious little darling deserved to be pampered.

He had her buttons popped off; one by one, slow and almost sensual while Y/N was still in a heated debate with herself on what she should to next. She wanted the soldat to stop but god the temptation of wanting more was beyond her will power.

This is not Bucky.

She knew that. But, she had been bewitched by the look in those familiar blue eyes. So enthralled and so keen to unwrap her.

Y/N let out a low yet sharp gasp as her chest was finally revealed, "Soldat, what..." The soldat take a quick glance into her eyes, "...are you doing?" before trailing back down to the curve of her breasts, cupped so beautifully with a simple black bra.

His hands went back to grabbed her thighs as he replied, "Just wanna hold you." He leaned closer and left a lingering kiss in between her breasts, mumbling deep, " Wanna feel you, мое Родная (my darling)"

Fuck, it feels so good.

"Wanna feel you..." Y/N's grip on his bare shoulder tightened as he lips warmed the top of her right breast, "...here." An unexpected moan slipped out of her lips as the soldat latched his wet mouth on her skin, bruising it with his mark.

He groaned to the taste of her, so sweet and soft, he wanted to pull the bra off her and suckle on her nipple. He bet that they're perky and so sensitive. Bet he could make her cum just by playing with them.

He wanted to leave his bite mark around them, make them look much more prettier. But, he needed to be patient.

He brought his left hand up to hold the other side of her chest; pulling another pretty noise as the cold metal of his thumb gently stroked the exposed skin of her breast.

"Wanna feel you..." His flesh hand made its way lower and cupped her clothed sex, unexpectedly making her grind down to his hold, "...here."

She couldn't help to find shelter in the crook of his neck when he began to stroke her sensually.

This is getting out of hand.

Y/N doesn't mind to entertain him if the soldat only asked for him to hold her but it was clear that he wanted so much more than just innocent touches. Especially when he languidly rubbed his middle finger in between the slit of her pussy.

She hates how easy it was for Bucky's touch turned her on, his hands and his lips; regardless if his actions was someone else's.

This is wrong.

This has to stop.

"No... soldat." She whimpered in his ears as his finger drew slow circles on her clit, his mouth latched on her shoulder.

"I can't touch you here?" He murmured softly as he pressed harder. Even with the barrier of the cotton panties, she was so sensitive to his touch; he loves that about her.

"N-no. You can't." She choked back a moan as she replied.

God, what if he doesn't care?

What if he'll get mad and force it on her?

She can't imagine the guilt Bucky had to experience if the soldat take her right now. And all because her stupid little brain cannot comprehend a plan to stop him, all because she let the soldat touch her as freely, as willingly.

Salty tears started to blur her vision when she sniffled them back.

Much to his deperateness, the soldat pulled her away and watched as her tears spilled out, "Oh darling, don't cry." He leaned in and kiss the corners of her eyes, murmuring his words of comfort, "I hate to see you cry, мое cолнышко (my sunshine)." His metal hand slithered to her back and his palm stroked her lovingly.

"Okay, okay. I won't touch your sweet princess part, okay?" He patted her pussy one last time before reaching to swipe her tears away. "I promise." He whispered.

As much as he wanted to fuck her stupid, fill her hole full with his load; however the soldat does hold her very dear to his heart and hates to see her sad.

"Just let me hold you close, darling?" He cooed as he kissed the edge of her lips.

Y/N didn't know why but she trusted his words. Maybe it was because he was so gentle with her, that she was tricked into believing him.

She watched the soldat waited patiently for her response and when she nodded softly, he swiftly lifted her in his arms and lay her down on the bed.

He tucked himself in under the sheets with her and naturally rested his face on her chest. His fleshed arms wrapped securely around her waist and his metal one around her thighs, as he pulled her closer; almost suffocating himself in between her warm breasts.

It was like an instinct for Y/N to encircle her arms around his neck while her hands run through the thick of his hair, absentmindedly playing with the softness of it.

She almost giggle when the soldat let out a deep-throated sound of relieved sighs as she continued to massage his scalp.

As the soldat started to sail deeper into dreamland, Y/N thought that maybe this will be the only and the last time she had the chance to hold Bucky like this and she knew it was wrong to feel grateful to the soldat because had done nothing but terrible, despicable things in the past.

But when she thought about it, none of those sins was his choice to make. He was created to kill and nothing else.

But what if he had something to hold on to?

A hope to look forward to?

A person to protect?

Or a home to go back to?

Would he still be the same monster he had been before?

She have not a slightest clue.

But, what she does know that this soldat who's clinging in her arms, deserves something kind.

And she hoped that she managed to give him a sense of peace for once in his life.

Y/N nuzzled to the side of his tired-looking face and placed a sweet kiss on his temple as she whispered ever-so-softly, "Welcome home, soldat."

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: This is possibly part 1? I'm not sure either. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments! And reblogs is much appreciated!

[ssinboo]

Say Yes to me

summary: You've been in love with Jeon Wonwoo since forever, and due to your family relations, you had hopes you'd marry him. Your only problem? he's getting engagement to someone else.

or

During his Engagement party, your childhood best friend and love of your life, Jeon Wonwoo, asks you to run away with him.

pairing: 1960s!AU - Childhood bestfriend! Wonwoo x F!Reader

word count: 10k (45~ minute read) – My longest ever!

warnings: unrequited crushes and overall foolishness, idiots in love, best friends to lovers to not lovers to lovers again, some angst?, Wonwoo is such a nerd, making out in dingy motels, unrealistic mileage for gasoline, seokmin being the sweetest

a/n: This will most certainly be my last fic of the year! So, Happy Holidays everyone! This year has been so troublesome, but I've grown so much and written a lot more, too! I'm so, so grateful for everyone I've met and everyone that's enjoyed my stuff! See you in 2024!

Had you been questioned, there would never be a concrete answer to the question of just how long you had been in love with Jeon Wonwoo. 

You’d know him forever, and maybe you loved him all along.

Your families were business partners turned friends. And there had always been talk of marriage between the children. Of course, for convenience. The Jeon’s produced top-class racing and sports cars, while your family were in the chemical business, specialising in industry paints and finishes, it was only natural to unite the two families and profit. 

Although your wealth was vast, it was nothing compared to the Jeon’s, despite always having the chance to frequent the same environments, you often found you were on different levels altogether. 

Jeon Wonwoo was the eldest son, and he carried himself as such — with all the poise and arrogance of the heir to a global conglomerate. He liked golfing and late night swims. Always took his coffee black with no sugar, and barely had anything for breakfast, preferring a hearty lunch instead. 

His younger brother, Lee Seokmin, was the result of an affair with a secretary, though that did not mean he was loved any less, no. Seokmin lacked a single mean bone in his body, he had a pure heart and a contagious laugh.  

They were by all means what people liked to call Irish Twins, born less than a year apart. And the nature of that fact only made their differences more apparent. Complete opposites they were, and that extended to how they treated you, too. 

Every summer growing up, your family would travel to the country house and you and your sister would spend the better part of the months at the club. Oh, how you loved the country club with the fun summer activities the clear chlorinated water, having a meal under the pool umbrellas and getting funny tan lines. 

But most of all, you enjoyed Jeon Wonwoo.

His family frequented the same club and every summer, you’d be practically glued to Wonwoo, even if he didn’t dare to pay you any attention.

You were only three years apart, yet he acted as if you were an immature brat. Seokmin had always been happy to play with you and your sister, though. 

More often than not, Wonwoo would lounge by the pool with a book, never daring to go in. And you would cross your arms over tile by the sides and try your damnedest to strike a conversation with him. He would ignore your every word, or worse, poke fun at your latest obsession. 

“Wonwoo, at what time where you born?” You ask, spitting out any chlorine filled water off your mouth. 

He arches an eyebrow, looking up from his book.

“What?”

“What time were you born?” You repeat, unbothered by his acidic tone.

“Why would I know that?”

“Can’t you ask your mum?” 

He rolls his eyes, “Why do you wanna know?”

“So I can see your birth chart,” You shrug, twirling a wet strand of hair around your finger. 

“The fuck is a birth chart?”

“It’s like… It’s a way to see your personality… And I can check to see if we’re compatible.”

“That’s stupid…” He rolls his eyes, again, “You’re stupid.” 

You scoff, “You won’t play along— You’re such a bore!” You yell out and dive back in the pool, leaving behind a cackling Wonwoo. 

Those hapless summer days were spent lazing by the pool with your sister and Seokmin — without a care in the world, laughing about nothing. With the isolated water-balloon fight every now and then. 

You’d grown up before you could realise it, never truly leaving behind your childish crush on Wonwoo. Even if by the age hierarchy, you had no chance of marrying him — Your sister were to marry Wonwoo and you possibly married Seokmin. 

Though you held hope, it crumbled away with every passing minute. 

But that year, your sister had the greatest early birthday present: She’d found the man she was to marry and best of all, your daddy could never say no to his girls. 

With your sister marrying the love of her life, it meant that you would marry Wonwoo, right? It was only a matter of time and you would be sworn to each other before God, your friends, and family. And your first love would blossom. 

On your 21st birthday, your father took you to work with him for the day, though you most lazed around and answered his calls. You only expected to have lunch for your birthday and a party on the weekend.

At noon, he drove to the Jeon’s factory to deliver the new paint samples. 

The workers, most of whom had watched you, your sister and the Jeon kids grow up, greet you excitedly and some even wish you happy birthday. Your father goes straight to the floor to speak to the manager.

Unexpectedly, Mr. Jeon himself shows up.

Mr. Jeon was a handsome old man a captivating smile, he was incredibly passionate about his work and adored mechanics, but he loved his sons above all — And he had great expectations for his boys. 

He greets you with a warm hug and wishes you a happy birthday before discussing business with your father. To which you busy yourself with staring at the pieces waiting for a coat of paint.

“Hey, baby, why don’t you come with us to the patio?” Your father calls and you oblige, skipping toward the two men.

The patio is where they stored their models waiting to be shipped out to agencies or sometimes, for the higher profile clients, directly to the customer. You look at the new line to be launched next winter: sleek and modern with leather seats and wooden accents on the interior. You could never criticise the Jeon’s for their taste, they knew their stuff. 

“Come here, baby,” Your father waves his hands, “What do you think of this car?” 

You study the convertible in a bright red with a cream leather interior; a classic. 

“It’s gorgeous, daddy, when are they launching it?”

“It should be out next year, but what do you think of the colour?”

“I like it,” You nod enthusiastically.

“That’s great baby, why don’t you read up on this model?” He hands you a tiny card, common in the factory, that has the model and batch number, as well as the signature from the supervisor. But just underneath the model, you see the colour name: your name.

As you look at your father, completely astonished, he just lets out a warm laugh and opens his arms for a hug.

“You named a shade after me?!” You glue yourself to him, still in shock. 

“Happy birthday, princess.” 

“Thank you, daddy, you’re the best!” 

“That’s your dad’s present, how about you open mine, now?” Mr. Jeon interjects, waving a tiny jewelry box in the air. 

You fix your hair and take it from his hand, expecting maybe a ring, or earrings. 

But you find brand new car keys.

Mouth agape, you look at him while your father can only laugh at your surprised expression.

“Why don’t you give it a spin?” Mr. Jeon encourages, rushing you toward the convertible. 

And though your father is beside himself with worry for you driving during rush hour, he settles for sitting in the passenger’s seat and doing some good old backseat driving, even though you barely make it past 30.

You drive around the block and return to the factory before your father has an anxiety attack over your driving. 

“Thank you so much, Mr. Jeon! When did you even do this?! I had no idea!”

“Wonwoo oversaw the whole thing, he’s the one you should thank,” He laughs it off, but your heart can only skip a beat at the mention of your beloved’s name. Especially thinking he was the one to take care of such a great gift.

Wonwoo loved mechanics as much as his dad, sometimes even more. He even went to a good college for it, coming back even smarter than before — and much sassier, too. He never stopped doing manual work in the factory, guaranteeing every car made was up to the Jeon standard.

And you were very biased toward his mechanic abilities, especially when he would furrow his brow, glasses perched on the very tip of his nose; he would wipe off sweat off his forehead with his grease covered arm. 

You remember to this day the last time your father came to discuss swatches and you stopped by the shop. Watching Wonwoo work on an older model with a leaky oil tank. 

He did everything himself, changed the tank perched under the car, soldering a brand new one. He also did a once over on anything else that could become a problem in the future, any filters needing change, checking wires and gears, making sure the oil was fresh. The problem came with the lights. He had such a hard time wiggling his thick arms through the machinery to reach the right spot, and you watched very intently how his triceps flexed, deep green veins bulging under his skin.

Wonwoo had gotten so frustrated he’d shed off the top part of his coveralls, sporting a white undershirt so tight you could basically tell the shape of his sweat-clad torso. Oh, how you’d hoped he never got that bulb in place.

“Come’ere,” Wonwoo calls out without further ado. 

“Why?”

“Need your help,” He mumbles under a sigh.

You rise from the barrel you were sitting on and approach the open hood. “With what?”

“Getting this fuckin’ bulb in place,” He hands you the tiny light bulb.

“Where do I need to put it?”

“See— in between this part, need to shove you hand until you reach back here in the light, then you just screw it in.”

“What if I get stuck?” 

“You won’t, you’re so petite,” He smirks.

You scoff, “Shut up.”

Leaning over the hood, you place your left hand on the chassis to steady yourself and shove your right hand in between gears and machinery, trying to find the spot he mentioned.

“I can’t find it,” You complain.

“Keep trying.”

“I am!”

“Here, deeper—“ He reaches for you, one hand on your waist and another on your arm, forcing you toward the place.

You’re way too focused on finding the damn spot for the light, that you barely notice the proximity at all. 

“Can’t find it!”

“Right, right— My right.”

“It’s the same freakin’ right, you idiot,” You hiss.

He laughs, “Fine, our right,” you groan at his stupid joke, “It should be there, try to bring it closer to you.” 

“Found it!” You squeal with a smile, screwing the bulb in its place. 

“Atta girl,” Wonwoo smiles. 

“There!” With a relieved sigh, you finally free your grease-clad hand from the machinery, slightly cringing at the black covering your fingernails — It’d be such a bother to clean it up. 

When you finally lean back, you stumble onto Wonwoo’s firm chest. Lucky for you, he catches you, steady hold at your waist. You’re finally aware of his proximity, to which he only smiles. 

Looking down at where his warm, tauntingly large hands meet your waist, you’re suddenly filled with nothing but rage. ‘

“You got grease all over my dress!” You whine, looking at the perfectly stamped print of his hand over your brand new summer dress. 

He only laughs, “Looks better this way, trust me.”

“Ugh!” You groan, stomping toward the washing area where they kept clean rugs. 

He closes the hood with a loud thump that echoes through the shop and slides into the driver’s seat. The car comes alive with a loud hum and ta-da! The headlight works. 

You are a little proud of your work, yes. But it’s not like you’ll show it.

“Do you not anything clean in here?!” You complain, eyeing the pile of grease-covered rags thrown in a corner. That had to be a fire hazard.

“What?” Wonwoo shouts over the running engine.

You huff and stomp your way back to the car, throwing open the driver’s door. “I have a formal dinner to go to,” You state, leaning over the door.

“Okay, then go.” 

Rolling your eyes, you hold back any possible insults, “Like this?” You gesture toward your otherwise perfectly fine dress. 

He holds back a little mischievous smile, “I have some clean clothes in the office.”

Wide eyes, mouth hanging agape, you stare at him dumbfound, “I hope that’s a joke, Jeon Wonwoo.” 

He laughs, genuinely. That sweet, deep, dorky laugh of his that reverberates through his chest and plunges straight into your heart. 

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

As much as he did tease you, Wonwoo never made short on his promises. 

“Is he around?” You ask Mr. Jeon, trying your best to suppress any expectations.

“Oh, he had some business… But he wished you a happy birthday.”

Your smile falters before your catch it, forcing the corners of your lips into a beautiful, rehearsed smile. “Let him know I’m grateful. For the wishes and for the amazing present.”

It would soon be Wonwoo’s birthday and you had been preparing for what felt like ages. You got him a really nice set of electric work tools since he complained often about how the shop’s tools were always malfunctioning. But you did feel somewhat bad about only getting him a gift relating to work on what should be a day about him. 

So you caved in and got him a gorgeous wrist watch with classy black leather straps; on the underside you had his name inscribed with a heart. — You actually hadn’t planned for the heart, but the jeweller got confused in between so many orders and it was too close to the date to have it re-done. You hoped you could play it off in a cool manner, maybe he would laugh at your story.

The party would be held the eve of his actual birthday, and you arrived at the venue with hours to spare. Your father and sister are by the entrance, speaking to Mr. Jeon, you greet them.

“Hi, Mr. Jeon! Where should I put the gifts?”

“Oh—“ Surprised, he looks at your father, “You’ve brought gifts—“ He seems… surprised? As if it were so weird to bring presents to a birthday party. “Uh— I’m not sure, let me check with my wife where you could place those.”

You father nervously sips on his champagne, avoiding your sister’s burning looks.

“You haven’t told her,” Your sister turns to your father, “Why didn’t you tell her?”

“Tell me what?” You ask.

“Honey… This isn’t Wonwoo’s birthday party…” Your father speaks very slowly, gauging for your reaction at his every word.

Eyebrows raised, you question, “What do you mean?”

“It’s an engagement party, he’s getting engaged to Suzy,” Your sister rips the band-aid off.

And you feel the air being sucked out of your lungs at once, an agonising knot pulls at your throat and your nose stings with the threat of tears. The shopping bags fall from your hands and you fight off the urge to bawl your eyes out. 

Before you actually do cry your eyes out, you rush outside.

“Baby—“ Your father calls but you just storm off, not wanting to be near anyone. 

Engaged? Engaged!

Engaged…

Wonwoo was getting fucking engaged. 

With a bitch named Suzy who had the prettiest hair you’d ever seen and knew how to talk to investors and could speak a thousand languages. And worst of all, she was the kindest, sweetest girl ever. You couldn’t even hate her!

You weren’t even allowed that! As much as you weren’t allowed a simple heads up. How hard was it to tell you beforehand “Hey, the guy you’ve loved your entirely life is getting married to some girl and you just brought lemon pies to his engagement party, thought you’d want to know.”

Maybe you should’ve taken the pies with you, at least you’d have some comfort. 

You know what, what the fuck. Why didn’t Wonwoo tell you anything?! It had been barely a couple of days since you saw each other, why couldn’t he tell you? Were you not even worthy of that? 

Like having known each other your entire lives doesn’t make you worthy of such ”wonderful” news? How hard is it to tell someone in passing that you’re getting engaged! And now, you’re supposed to smile all night and pretend like your guts aren’t festering in rage and melancholy and your blood doesn’t run cold at the mere thought of Wonwoo walking down the aisle.

Giving it a second thought, maybe it wasn’t set in stone yet. 

It’s the modern times and even back in your parents’ days, engagements were broken off all the time! He might not marry Suzy. You might have a chance. 

Maybe you could ask— no, you could plead with your father to tell Mr. Jeon to think it all over. Wonwoo is still young, it’s not time to settle down just yet. He wanted to study abroad, he talked about the automobile industry in Europe with such amaze, and if that took a little longer, maybe Suzy would get tired of waiting?

Who were you fooling? You should’ve seen it coming.

Of course, he wouldn’t have married you, what were you thinking?!

He’s the Jeon’s precious firstborn and you’re… someone who can’t even tell apart the sizing in wrenches —  To top it all off, Suzy was notably great with mechanics. 

You really wish you had those pies with you, it would make your salty tears a little sweeter.

By the time you’re done sobbing in your car, you look a hot mess with runny make-up and swollen eyes. With a sigh, you pull out your purse and muster up any cosmetics that can save you for tonight. 

You could cry all you wanted at home, but right now, you needed to look pretty and have your pictures taken.

By the time you return, the party is to start and guests are gathering at the front, your sister immediately rushes to your side.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, soft hands reaching for yours. 

Forcing out a smile, “Of course! Who do you think I am?”

By the look on her face, you know she doesn’t trust your words not one bit, but will not pry at your emotions any further. At least not for tonight, you’re sure tomorrow she will grill you about this. But for now, you put on a bright smile and greet all the guests.

From the Jeon’s, Seokmin is the third to arrive, missing only by the birthday boy himself. But he immediately greets his parents and comes to greet your family.

“Hey!” You smile, putting aside your glass of champagne so you can hug him properly.

“How you doin’?” He asks, gorgeous smile on display. 

“I’m— Well—“

“They’ve told you then—“ 

You press your lipstick coloured lips into a thin line, “Yeah,” You nod.

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” You shrug, “I’m happy, Suzy is… a—“ Nice words. Nice words. “—wonderful girl.”

Seokmin offers you a sweet smile. “Let’s hope she can handle his tantrums,” he nudges at your arm.

“Oh, please!” You laugh.

Wonwoo was known for sometimes having a bit of a short temper, not often, by any means and maybe that’s what made them so memorable. Like the one time he couldn’t finish a puzzle during game night, so he gathered all the pieces and set the ablaze in the backyard.

“Or—“ A waiter passes by with a tray full of champagne and he so kindly grabs two glasses, offering you one. “Listen to this— He gets to the church, covered in grease from head to toe.” 

You laugh at the thought. Gods, how many times has Wonwoo decided to work on an engine while wearing his most expensive outfit? His mother nearly had a fit every time he would show up dishevelled and smelling like motor oil pretending like nothing’s wrong. 

“Please,” You sip at your drink, “I bet he’s gonna be all greased up tonight.”

Seokmin laughs wholeheartedly. He was the sort of guy to never hold back a fit of giggles no matter how inappropriate it may be, and it was certainly refreshing to know someone genuinely found your company enjoyable.

“For sure, I think her parents will freak out.” 

You nod. 

Tapping at your glass, you hesitate the following words, “Guess we’ll be the ones getting married for the family, then…”

You didn’t hate Seokmin, far from it. You loved him to bits— Not like Wonwoo, of course, you believed you would never love a man like you loved Wonwoo, ever again. 

He was funny, and such a gentleman. Not to mention, handsome, too. If you weren’t hopelessly in love with his brother, he would’ve been the perfect husband of your dreams. But he did deserve better than a wife who could never give him what he deserves. 

“Sorry about that,” Seokmin comforts you and that only makes your nose sting with the threat of more tears.

“Stooop!” You whine in a shaky voice and he’s overcome with worry.

“Hey— What’s wrong—?”

“Don’t be so sweet— I’m emotional tonight—“ You laugh at your emotional state, despite the teary-eyes.

“Are you a crybaby tonight?”

You nod, fanning your eyes in the hope of drying your tears before they can wash away your makeup.

Seokmin smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and you lean against his chest, fighting the urge to cry.

It’s only when you’re certain you won’t bawl your eyes out, that you respond. “It’s not that I hate you, you know I love you, but… You deserve someone that will love you like a husband.” 

He nods, “I know— But it might not be so bad, we’re friends! We’ll have sleepovers every day, and we’ll have Italian every night, we’ll watch those silly movies you like…” Seokmin lists off all the things you would do in your very platonic marriage and it doesn’t sound so bad. 

He knew exactly how you felt, he loved you, of course he did, you were so precious in his eyes, but not like a lover. 

You pull your face away from his chest to look up at him, “Are you gonna let me choose your clothes?” 

Seokmin sighs. You hated his questionable fashion since forever and in only very rare occasions did he accept your input, any other time and he assaulted your spirit with clashing patterns and silly shoes.

“Fine—!” 

You smile brightly, properly comforted. 

Before you can tease him any further, you spot Wonwoo entering the venue. Although he is immediately swarmed with congratulatory words, his shy nature makes it so his only response is always an awkward smile. 

He immediately spots you among the crowd.

You breathe in. In that moment, despite knowing he was sworn to another, that did not stop your heart from fluttering at the sight of him, his broad shoulders and the crooked tie he clearly put on a rush.

“Congrats, bro!” Seokmin is the first one to greet him, not letting go of your shoulder but instead pulling Wonwoo into a semi-hug. 

“Seokmin…” Wonwoo eyes his brother and then you, and then his brother again.

“Congrats, Nonu,” You smile, letting go of Seokmin’s comfort to reach for a hug. 

Wonwoo smiles, letting you cling onto his neck, your citric perfume seeping into his clothes and body. 

Oh, how his warmth could never compare to another. How you craved his affection like no other. 

“Thanks— Uh, did you bring me anything?” He asks in a teasing tone.

“Ey— Nonu!” Seokmin scolds his brother. 

“How did you know I brought you something?” You giggle, pulling away from the hug. 

Wonwoo shrugs. 

You reach for his crooked tie, straightening it to the best of your abilities. “I brought it earlier, but I think your mum took it to the back room,” You explain, focused on the tie.

He, however is focused on your concentrated face, parted red lips and furrowed brows. The proximity that lets him almost feel your chest pressed against his, as if extending the hug. 

“However, you, mister, have to greet your guests!” You scold, setting his tie in place.

Seokmin joins in, once again throwing his arm around your shoulder. “That’s right, mum already gave me an earful about how late you were— And I got here on time!” 

“Yeah— Yeah— You’re right,” Wonwoo nods.

“Liquid courage?” You offer your half-drunk glass of champagne and he downs it in one go.

You and Seokmin goof around a little more and gossip about certain guests behind their backs. Dinner is served and you all sit down to eat, Seokmin insists you sit beside him, which just so happens to also be next to Wonwoo. And you thank him for indulging you one last time.

Wonwoo is mostly quiet, but you were used to him not being rather fond of public parties, especially when all of the attention is on him. On his other side, sits Suzy, the blushing bride-to-be. She tries to make conversation with Wonwoo, though most of it falls flat, he only ever gives her monosyllabic answers and rarely contributes to discussions. 

That is until Mr. and Mrs. Jeon stand up, tapping forks to their glasses to call for everyone’s attention. The room quiets down instantly. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending our little gathering tonight,” Mr Jeon greets the guests. “We have some wonderful news we would like to share with you all.” 

“My beautiful son, how proud I am of you,” He adds, “Every day I am  amazed at your intellect. Often, I question just where did you get those smarts!”

Everyone laughs.

“You have grown into a fine man, and I can’t take credit for any of it. You are the most mature, talented, and intelligent boy and you did it all by yourself— ”

You can watch how Wonwoo’s eyes gloss over with tears. 

“I’m growing old, you know. And every father wants the guarantee that his children will be taken care of… That’s why I’m so relieved and happy to announce that my worries will soon be gone—“ He laughs but his son’s smile falters, “I’d like to announce the engagement of my son, Wonwoo, to this beautiful young lady named Suzanne. Welcome to the family, Suzy.” 

He raises his glass and soon, the room fills with uproar. Everyone claps and you join in, smiling toward Mr. Jeon and Suzy. She stands up, thanking everyone and raising her own glass.

But Wonwoo doesn’t move. 

“Nonu?” You whisper. 

In his ears all that can be heard is muffled screams of joy and the incessant acute ringing. He closes his fists so tight that his blunt nails almost break through skin, he doesn’t look at you, but it’s so clear something is wrong.

You and Seokmin exchange glances. 

Before you can call for him again, he stands up at once, the chair falling behind him with a loud bang that silences the room in an instant. In large and rushed strides, Wonwoo leaves for the patio. 

You stand up and follow him. 

“Wonwoo!” You call out, almost tripping over your party heels. 

He stands in the yard, hand gripping at his gelled hair while the other fights with his tie, pulling at the suffocating fabric until it slides down.

The yard is decorated with a gorgeous fountain, sound of running water somewhat soothing in this moment.

“Nonu, what’s wrong?” You whisper, a hand reaching for his heaving shoulder.

“What wrong?!” He yells back, shoving your hand away, “Did you not fuckin’ hear ‘em?!” 

You step back and his gaze somewhat softens, realising he just pushed you.

“You didn’t know…” You whisper to yourself, epiphany hitting you like a punch to the gut. How could Mr. Jeon do this?! Throw this on him without any previous warning?!

“You— You knew?” His voice is shaky, laced with the sharp sting of betrayal.

“I found it out myself tonight when I got here— I— I thought you knew! I thought you agreed to it!” You argue. 

“How— How can you think I would agree to marry someone—“ His words trail off in the night breeze, never to be finished. 

“Then— What will you do?”

“I don’t know!” 

You bite at your nails, finding a concrete surface to sit on and ponder. 

“I must leave—“ He speaks out, “Run away with me—“

“What?!” you stand up.

“Let’s leave, drive somewhere— Wherever! I can’t stay a moment longer in this place.” 

Oh, what a dilemma it was.

Abandon an engagement party with the groom-to-be, leaving behind furious parents and confused guests. And part of you knew that, despite your family’s closeness and no matter how much your father claimed you were all very close like family, driving off in the middle of the night with a committed man was a blow to any respectable, single, young ladies.

What a dilemma it could’ve been if you weren’t so enamoured with this man you would beck at any given call of his.

“I’ll get my bag and tell your parents you want to stay out here for a couple of minutes,” You announce and he nods.

As you walk back into the venue, all eyes are on you.

“He’s got the wedding jitters, everyone, not to worry. Wonwoo will return after he’s had a bit of fresh air,” You announce with a smile and all guests return to their previous activities.

But Mr. Jeon immediately corners you.

“What is he thinking?!” He half-yells, half-whispers.

“He’s just nervous, it’s a big bit of news…” You lie through your teeth, “I think a little heads up would’ve helped, you know he doesn’t do well with surprises.”

The man sighs, “He wouldn’t ever agree to it. I’ve offered him countless girls to marry and he never accepts any of them.“ Mr. Jeon looks at you and then sighs. “Do me a favour, convince him to come back, will you?”

“Yes, sir,” You nod and head off into the back rooms.

Unbeknown to you, Seokmin is on your trail and he waits until you are in the back lounge, gathering your bags and jacket to close the door and corner you.

“What the hell happened?”

You jump at the sudden intrusion, “You scared me!” You whisper.

“Sorry,” He whispers back.

“He didn’t know!”

“What?!” He says in a normal tone, soon realising just how loud that was. 

“What I said, I think your dad set up a trap… He knows Wonwoo won’t go against his word.”

“Shit. What are we gonna do?”

“He wants to run away,” You announce.

Seokmin looks at you, and then at the purse hanging from your should and the jacket in your hands. 

“And you’re coming with him?”

“I can’t leave him alone, not tonight.”

“And where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” 

“And when are you coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

“You are coming back, right?”

“I have no idea, Seokmin,” You realise, but the prospect doesn’t scare you as badly.

He scratches at his head. “Leave through the kitchen, I’ll hold off my dad. Make sure to give me a call once you guys are… I don’t know— Just give a call, will you?” 

You nod, pulling him into a hug.

Doing as he instructed, you pass through the kitchen staff and rush through the backdoor, unseen by the guests. Wonwoo is sitting on a concrete bench, his head between his hands.

“Ready?” You call out.

Wonwoo looks up, nodding before he rises to his height. You offer him a comforting smile and reach for his hand. 

Once you get hold of his hand, you bolt across the yard toward the parking lot. He almost stumbles over his lanky legs, but catches up rather fast. You throw your stuff on the backseat and enter your car, Wonwoo decides to jump over the door. 

You laugh at his antics with a shake of your head. 

Once your heels are discarded, you start the engine and drive off, leaving behind that dreaded engagement party. Wonwoo busies himself with shedding his formal wear, throwing his tie on the floor and removing his blazer. 

In any other occasion, this could’ve been such a lovely late-night drive, just the two of you in your beloved car, night breeze caressing your faces with her ice-cold kisses, cruising through deserted roads, barely a soul in sight except for the night owls.

And you might allow yourself to enjoy this moment.

The silence isn’t a bother, no, Wonwoo was always a man of comfortable silences to you, but this once, you’re worried about goes on in that busy mind of his.

“You alright?” You ask, looking away from the road to steal a glance or two at him.

“Yeah,” He replies.

“Truly?”

“No,” He scoffs at his own lie. “But I’ll be.”

You nod. 

You drive out of town and on the interstate roads for ages until Wonwoo finally speaks up. You’re completely engulfed in darkness except for your headlights.

“We should stop soon and have a rest.”

“Okay,” You nod, “Any preferences?”

“Anywhere.” 

And so you tell him to keep his eyes peeled open when a sign on the road says there should be a motel in the next couple KM. It doesn’t take too long before you’re pulling into the parking lot of a roadside motel, much of a far-cry from your expensive hotels and luxury living. 

You check in at the front desk with an old man who seems very unhappy with his life, he short of throws the keys your way. 

The room is… surprisingly nice, given the circumstances of the ambience. Only problem is the, although quite large, singular bed. You exchange glances.

“Shit,” Wonwoo curses, “I’m gonna 

“You wanna get hit?” You joke, “He’s minutes away from killing us over this room. We can just share the bed.”

He looks at you with wide eyes. “I’ll sleep in the tub.”

Oh, he certainly seems to hate the idea of sharing a bed with you, huh.

“Nonu, please, it’s late and we’re both tired. It will be just like when we were kids,” You explain, setting aside your stuff.

Wonwoo nods, sitting on the strangely comfortable bed.

“You think they have robes?” You ask, looking around.

“Wouldn’t bet on it.” 

“Oh, I’d kill to get out of this dress,” You whine, running to the bathroom to check for anything you could wear instead of your dress. 

He just bites at his lips, watching you pace from side to side in that tiny bedroom. 

That’s when you remember your forgotten shopping bags sitting in the trunk! Your compulsive shopping habits just saved you from a very uncomfortable night’s sleep, how convenient!

“I think I have some clothes in my car,” You announce, grabbing the keys and heading toward the door.

“Wait, you’re going by yourself? let me go with you.”

“I don’t wanna lock the door, though,” You whine.

He sighs, “Stay here, I’ll go.” 

You jump, “Thank you, Nonu!”

While Wonwoo rummages through your trunk and pulls out the surprising large amount of shopping bags, you shed off your clothes and head toward the bathroom, dying to get some hot water on your body, put on your new PJs and doze off. 

When he returns however, he is greeted by a sight any other man would die to see. You’ve left a trail of clothes from the bed toward the bathroom door. Starting on your pretty dress, splayed out over tiled-floor, and then your tights and then your underwear, matching, too— 

He clears his throat. “I’m back!” 

But you probably don’t hear him through the running shower, so he just sets down the bags and avoid the sight of your clothes. He decides to turn on the tiny TV and browse through any late night re-runs. You take only a couple of minutes in your shower.

“Nonu?” You ask from the bathroom.

“Yeah?” He turns down the TV.

“Did you find the clothes?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you bring me something to wear?” Wonwoo gulps. 

“Uh— Which one?”

“There should be a light blue bag and a pink one.” 

“Okay—“ He stands up and searches for the aforementioned colours. 

Wonwoo heads to the bathroom door and leans against the wall, facing away from the door. He knocks once. You open the door and shove your arm through, reaching for the bags.

“Thank youu!” 

He returns to the boring TV. Though all he could think about was the sight of your wet supple skin, knowing you were bare with only a thin sheet of plywood separating you. 

You leave the bathroom smelling of cheap soap and fresh into your brand new nightgown. It is tentatively short with an almost see-through round of lace over the hems. In your defence, you weren’t planning on showing this nightgown to anyone anytime soon. 

Sitting on the bed, you look around the room, not noticing how Wonwoo’s eyes don’t really meet yours or how red his ears seem to burn.

“Aren’t you gonna shower?” You ask.

“Feels a bit redundant to shower and get back into my dirty clothes.” 

“I think I might have something for you, if you don’t want to sleep in a suit,” You pry.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, “I’m listening.”

“But you can’t judge! I bought this for my dad because you know he deals very poorly with the heat— And he never buys himself anything!” You’re explaining yourself in advance because you remember very well what you bought.

Silky boxer shorts and a tank top, which your father loved to sleep in on stuffy summer nights but you doubted would be Wonwoo’s first choice of wear, ever.

He haggles with his own mind; give into the silky boxer shorts or sleep in the most uncomfortable outfit ever. With a tired sigh, Wonwoo accepts his fate and grabs the bag. 

You smile as he stomps toward the bathroom with a defeated frown.

By the time he returns, you’ve cleaned up your trail of clothes and made yourself very comfortable in the bed. You turn your head to face him.

God, he could make a potato sack look good. 

“How’s the fit?” You pull your eyes away before you look for too long. 

Wonwoo shrugs, “I’ve had worse.”

You laugh.

He coyly joins you in bed, keeping a large gap between your bodies, settling on top of the covers while you’re under their warmth. 

“Ain’t you cold?” You ask, fidgeting with the TV remote. 

Wonwoo shakes his head, leaning back into the headboard. With a pout, you cross the figurative bridge between the two of you and reach for him. He doesn’t shy away from your touch but it visibly confused.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, hands hovering in the air, far away from your exposed back.

“I’m sorry your birthday party sucked,” You murmur against his chest, Wonwoo smiles softly, letting his hands rest on you.

“It didn’t suck in its entirety,” he says, palms slightly tapping at your back, “it was fun running away with you.”

You giggle at his comment, heart fluttering at its meaning, “What are we going to do? About the engagement, I mean…”

“We?” He raises an eyebrow.

You pull away from him.

“Well— You dragged me into this!” You slap at his chest and he lets out a boisterous laugh that almost manages to pull the corners of your from into a smile.

“I know, I’m taking the piss out of you,” He extends his arms, pulling you back to your previous position, resuming the soft caresses he leaves on your arms. “I don’t know— This is the first time I’ve ever gone against my father.”

You sigh. “Don’t you wanna marry Suzy?”

There’s a pause and oh, you’re begging, wishing to hear the words you want most.

“Fuck no!” Wonwoo exclaims and you fail to hide your excitement.

“She is pretty,” You throw the bait, to pry at his true feelings.

“So is your sister, should I just marry any pretty girl?”

You raise from your position, eyebrows furrowed into a deep frown. Wonwoo looks at you, completely clueless to his words and its consequences.

“What the hell?!” 

“What?” 

Kicking off the covers in a flurry, you kneel on the bed, staring at him dead in the eyes.  “You have the hots for my sister!”

It’s Wonwoo’s turn to get angry, “What?! No— You’re twisting my words—“

“I’m twisting your words?! You just said you think my sister is pretty!” 

“Because she is!”

You jaw drops, you can’t believe he is doubling down. “Wow,” you shake your head. 

“What’s wrong with saying that?”

You shrug, turning away from him and crossing your arms. “I don’t know, why don’t you just go an marry my sister, then.”

Only then, does this thick-headed man you love so much realise he has been complimenting other girls without so much as telling you a single nice word — the bare minimum. He sighs and offers you a soft smile, shifting in the bed until he is near you again.

“I don’t want to marry your sister. I think she is pretty, but she’s not the prettiest sister, you are.” He waits for your reaction.

Hook, line and sinker. 

You turn around immediately, a hint of smile playing in your pretty lips. 

That’s enough for him to break into a wide smile, opening his arms to welcome you back into his warmth. You crash into his chest, wrapping yourself around his torso. 

He groans, falling back into the mattress but not letting go of you.

Minutes pass before you speak again. “It’s past midnight…” You whisper.

“It’s well past midnight… Why?”

You shift upwards until your faces are only inches apart, breath tickling his lips, your beautiful eyes gleaming under dim motel lighting. “Happy birthday,” You whisper between smiles, “Make a wish.” 

Wonwoo breathes in, eyes scanning your face, “There’s one thing I want…” 

“What is it?” 

If he said it out loud, he might’ve lost all courage to do so. 

So he just does it, Wonwoo leans forward until his lips meet yours in a chaste kiss. 

It probably lasted a couple of seconds, but those seconds felt like a lifetime when you were finally kissing the man you’ve loved for god knows how long. There’s a spark of electricity that burns bright from the moment your lips touch and travels through your body, blood boiling in excitement, shyness, and pure love. 

When the kiss ends, Wonwoo studies your face, watching for any sign of discomfort. Which is even more worrying when you’re standing there, froze solid with an empty stare.

But thankfully, before he can say anything, you throw caution into the wind. 

You pull him into a kiss. Throwing every sense of morale and shame you had out the damn window. He was a man sworn to another, for Pete's sake! But here you here, crashing your lips into his perfect, soft ones. 

Wonwoo lets out a quiet groan, almost inaudible, but you hear it, oh yes, you do. And it runs straight through your chest and down to your core. 

Although the sensible, rational part of your brain tells you to quit kissing him at once and just apologise, the other 99% of your brain, who’s been in love with him since forever, wants nothing of the sort. And you might have listened to the not-so-rational part of you, because you just deepened the kiss, shifting your weight until you’re partially on top of him.

Your lips move against him, shyly exploring this kiss, engraving every moment into your memory. 

Yet he reciprocates. His warm hands finds your waist, holding you flush against his torso, heartbeats thumping completely in-sync. You wrap your arms around his neck and he takes the chance to pull you deeper into those dangerous lips of his. His tongue finds its way into your mouth, licking and twirling against yours, hot and eager. 

He dips his head, one hand reaches to tangle into your hair and manoeuvre you around, allowing himself complete freedom to explore every bit of your mouth. 

Wonwoo kisses like no other. Not that you had too much of a repertoire to compare him to. 

But he consumes your lips with an unbound hunger, nothing similar to the calm and collected Wonwoo you knew, no. He’s hungry, messy, and very clumsy, clashing teeth one too many times, letting saliva drip down your chins and struggling to move with you on top of him.

When you part the kiss, you lay there breathless, gazing into his ridiculously beautiful beady eyes and long eyelashes, his handsome sharp nose and the most kissable lips you’ll ever see.

 It was breathtaking, mind-blowing and nothing like you’ve ever felt before. Your heart beats so fast you feel as if you might pass out at any moment but you’d die before you give up experiencing that again.

“What was that?” He whispers and his breath tickle your kiss-swollen lips. 

“Your birthday gift,” You bite at your lower lip. “Did you like it?”

Wonwoo smiles, breathless and half-lidded and your heart damn near bursts. “I did. Did you?”

You nod.

He nods. “Wanna do it again?”

You nod and he gives you that stupidly handsome smile of his.

And once again, you’re attached at the lips. This once, nothing like before, which you though impossible. It’s so much more desperate and it burns, it boils your blood in absolute desire. It leaves you light-headed, it wipes away your cognitive thoughts and leaves behind a foggy cloud of barely strung-together words that only translate into wanting more. More of him. 

You sigh into the kiss and he drinks it all up, he consumes everything you give him with erratic hands and eager tongue. 

Wonwoo leaves your lips and you whine with a breathless sigh of his name, almost chipping at any resolve he had left. But he nips at your neck nonetheless, warm, wet tongue trailing along your skin, making you twitch in his arms with the most delectable little ‘yips’ of surprise. 

He bites, feral and determined; determined to make his claim, to leave behind his mark on your body, to indulge in carnal pleasure without a prospect of tomorrow, letting everything else be a construct beyond these motel walls, away from where you laid. Away from this reality where he had you in his hands and you moaned his name with a soft smile.

Practically tearing your nightgown, he pulls the silky fabric just enough until your tits spill out of its confine. Wonwoo sighs at the sight, fingers trailing the contour of your boobs, raising goosebumps along sensitive skin. His eyes are burning in adoration, the most depraved glaze of hunger hidden behind sheer excitement. 

He dives in, hands kneading at the flesh, squishing soft skin. 

Slender fingers caress your aereolas, running fingernails along your nipples in curiosity, watching you squirm and bite at your lips as your nipples begin to perk up. 

And when you thought he was done, Wonwoo attaches his mouth to your nipple, sloppily running his tongue around it before he sucks. He makes sure to let his teeth graze, just to watch you jump.

All while his other hand makes work of your unattended boob, your attention is so thinly divided between his teasing fingers and his hot tongue and the sweetest, most satisfied groans that erupt from his throat. 

Your face burns and you bite at the back of your hand, shoving down every stubborn moan that tries to make it past; but he won’t have that, no. Wonwoo reaches for your arms, pinning them above your head without so much as pulling away from your tits. 

Mindlessly, you’ve been rocking back and forth against him, chasing a gut feeling you’re unsure of but desire more than anything ever. And without realising, you’ve been teasing him just as much as he has you, which is clear by the volume contained by his shorts. 

He wishes he could ravish your breasts all night, but any more of your squirming and he will come undone without so much as a touch from you. 

Wonwoo pulls away, hands once against finding your waist as he pulls you back to his chest.

“You know what comes next, don’t you?” He whispers against your lips, half-lidded, lust-filled eyes gazing so deep into your own. 

“I— I’ve never done it before,” You confess.

And something stirs within him, to know he is your first, the first and only man to every touch you this way, to trace his lips over your gorgeous body, to settle inside of you. 

Wonwoo smiles and kisses your nose, “I don’t care… But only if you don’t care that I haven’t either.”

You’re surprised, to say the least. 

Kissing in between smiles, you raise to your knees, letting him tug at the hem of shorts just enough to free his cock. 

It’s nothing like you’ve seen before and unlike the illustrations you remember from school. It’s red and veiny and it glistens with pre-cum under the dim lighting.

But it’s a part of him and you can’t help that your belly stirs at the sight of him stroking himself. 

When you reach for the hem of your nightgown, his hands stop you.

“Keep it on—“ He whispers.

“Why?”

“We’ve got all night to take it off,” He runs his tongue through his top teeth with a side smirk and you almost smack him up the head for being such a little shit.

As he asked so kindly, you bunch up your nightgown around your waist, hips circling around his warmth, meanwhile he’s playing with the flesh of your love handles, kneading and running his fingers over your skin. 

“Ready?”

You nod. He raises your hips and lets you control the pace, you feed in his cock, centimetre by centimetre, feeling it’s girth tear at your walls with an unimaginable sting, it burns hot and heavy in your hands.  

Crashing onto his chest, you cry out a pained yelp.

Wonwoo run his fingers over your back, kissing the top of your head, his eyebrows are bunched up, face painted with worry.  “We can stop— Let’s stop—“

“No!” you raise your head and he can see the tiny droplets bundling around your eyelashes, “Just gimme a minute!”

So you sit there, his cock half-in, pulsing angry red and throbbing under the  tease of warmth and tightness. Especially when you look so breathtakingly gorgeous, he gulps, leaning back against the headboard, urging his mind to be strong. 

It takes you minutes to get used to it, to slowly let the size settle until your muscles are well and accustomed to it and then you start it all over again, feeding the remaining inches until he’s bottomed out. 

And oh heavens, how utterly full and hot you felt. Despite the stinging pain, part of you wants to chase the pleasure, clenching in sheer hunger. 

Wonwoo stares up at you, looking for any signs of discomfort but he is met with the most enticing, beautiful, and tempting creature he’s ever laid his eyes upon. Your eyes are glassy with tears, but you’ve got a determined look on your face with a hint of a smirk that sends shivers down his spine and up his cock. 

“Shit,” He curses out with a smile, leaning back and rutting into your hips only to watch your eyebrows furrow and your mouth gape, a moan threatening to escape. “Ready to move, pretty girl?”

You breathe out, “Yeah.”

Steadying yourself against his chest, you raise your hips, feeling his absence leave you upsettingly empty until you let your body crash back down, his cock impaling you with its warmth once again. You rock against him, shallowly, though the motion is unbearably teasing, even for you. 

Wonwoo lets out an obscene, strained moan, fingernails digging into your waist, but you’re too focused on rocking your hips to notice. How he wants nothing but to piston his hips into your pussy like there is no tomorrow, he relishes in the feeling of your warmth, tight and gummy around his throbbing member. 

And he finds you might be just as insatiable as he is, especially when you’ve found yourself a steady pace, bouncing up and down, and his name pours out of your lips in such a beautiful manner. Though he can’t just let you have all the control, can he?

“Oh—“ You yip, “Feels so— Good—“ Still unsure of your thought, you explore the feeling, rolling your hips, feeling him stretch your wider, fill your insides and leave you full like you’ve never felt before. 

His hips meet yours half way, chasing your cunt every time you leave and pounding into you when you come back down, filling the room with guttural groans and the lewd sound of skin against skin. 

You run your fingers under his shirt, feeling bare, warm skin, the softness of his flesh against your hands, the definition of his pecs and the way his nipples peek through the fabric. Wonwoo groans at the way your manicured nails scratch at his chest, gathering momentum as you bounce yourself on top of him. 

He notices you’ve started moving faster, practically fucking yourself stupid on his cock and he would tease you halfway through tomorrow if he didn’t find himself in such a similar predicament. His pupils are blown wide, eyebrows furrowed across his brow, pretty lips hanging agape. You’re so utterly perfect and you were all his. 

“Tell me how you feel, baby,” He whispers, slowing down for a second. 

You sigh, nuzzling against his neck, “So good— I can’t even describe it—“ Your words are so airy and mindless, you’ve been consumed by the pleasure he gives you.

He catches the sight of the white rim that pools around his member, a mix of your juices, but it’s gone, sheathed inside you before he can admire it. There’s a poisoning thought that flashes in his mind, a fleeting, tempting picture. Of planting his seed in your womb, watching your grow full with child, his child. How absolutely breathtaking you would look, round cheeks and gorgeous smile, pretty fingers caressing your bump. And he would taint your taut stomach with his cum, watching it drip over your skin.

Wonwoo bites his lips so hard it breaks skin, throwing his head back, willing his mind somewhere else, anything else lest he come undone right then and there. 

Stomach tingling with indescribable pleasure, you lean forward, moaning incessantly, unable to contain your ecstasy. He supports your body, wrapping strong arms around your torso, firm hands planted on your hips, taking over the moving so you can lay still and let the buzz consume your body with its electric touch.

It’s a feeling you’ve never felt before, and it crashes over your body in a colossal wave, building up from the pit of your stomach; sending tingles rushing through your boiling blood. 

You raise your head, eyes meeting his and it seems he is familiar with this pleasure. His left hand meets your face, caressing your cheek, yet holding you still so he can gaze, he can watch you come undone around him. 

Wonwoo watches, unblinking, how your eyebrows furry, your eyes are glossy with tears that cling to your pretty lashes, your lips sit in an enticing pout. Yet you part them, letting out increasingly louder cries of his name. 

And you clench around him like there is no tomorrow, egging him on. He thrusts up into you, riding out your orgasm and chasing his over the edge. 

He crashes his lips into yours, savouring your hazy kiss, your tired sighs and it doesn’t take long before he’s spurting hot white strings into you, it trickles down him and stains the silk fabric of his boxers. 

Soon, he stills all movement except for heavy breathing and the soothing circles he runs over your exposed back. 

He kisses your hair. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” You breathe out, “Tired. But good.” 

His chest shakes with a soft chuckle, he runs slender fingers along your hairline, fixing any hairs that cling to sweaty skin. “Me too.” 

“It felt amazing,” You smile, raising your head to face him. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Wonwoo hums. 

“I’m glad it was you, Nonu,” You hid your face against his neck in embarrassment at your own mushy words, but Wonwoo feels their extent, hiding the blush of his cheeks. 

It doesn’t take long before the post-orgasm haze lulls you into sleep. 

And you slept like never before. 

The following morning, Wonwoo wakes up to an empty bed. He panics for a second or two, scrambling to look for your belongings, only to find everything is still there.

Calm, he washes himself up and gets dressed to leave. Finally having a moment to digest the previous night’s events. 

He had made up his mind, he would confront his father. His future was his to decide on. 

Looking for you, Wonwoo reaches the foyer, only to see you leaning against the wall, attached to the payphone. When your eyes meet his, you immediately say your goodbyes, ending the call.

“Who did you call?” Wonwoo crosses his strong arms against his chest and you try to ignore the sight of his muscly forearms peeking from the folded sleeves.

You don’t like his tone. “Seokmin.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why did you call him?”

“I promised I would,” You shrug. 

Wonwoo can’t believe you would call Seokmin out of everyone, especially after you were glued to him last night at the party. “Why him?”

“He’s worried about you, you stupid— Stupid—“ You choke out on any mean names, simply stomping away from him. 

Why was Wonwoo being so mean so early in the morning? You thought after the amazing night you spent together things would change between you.   Stomping your way back to your room, you grumble under your breath.

While you’re folding your clothes, Wonwoo comes back. 

“I’ll talk to my father,” He announces. 

Before you can say anything about that, he continues. “We’ll get married— You and I, I mean— ” He clears his throat, “Will you marry me?”

Like a deer in headlights, you’re frozen, staring at him big-eyed with a dopey smile on your lips. 

“You’ll marry me?” You question, just in case you’ve tricked yourself into hearing the words you’ve wanted most. 

“Yes. And I— I’ll take full responsibility—“

You smile crashes into the ground. “You want to marry me out of… Responsibility?!” The words choke you on their way out. 

Wonwoo furrows his eyebrows, not understanding why you would be upset. “Do you not want to?”

“No, I don’t want to fucking marry you!” Not like that.

His face falls and he assumes a much scarier look on his face. “What would you rather marry Seokmin, then?”

And in your fury, you blurt out “Yes! Yes, I would rather marry him!”

You realise your rejection hurt him, you do. But you’re so blindsided by your anger you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he sees you as a responsibility. 

Wonwoo is suddenly not so angry, but indifferent. You watch his expression go away, replaced by one much scarier, in your opinion; nothing. A plain poker face. 

“Gather your things and go to the car.”

It’s all he says before he leaves the room. 

The ride back is the most nerve-racking hours you’ve ever experienced. Wonwoo is silent, even you huff and puff under your breath, angrily chewing on your breakfast of vending machine snacks. 

Though he says one phrase as you reach the city. “Leave me here.” 

And that’s the last you saw of him for over a month. 

Your previous anger dries up, turning into sadness. Then you’re furious. And heartbroken until you’ve accepted your reality. You’ve ruined your friendship and lost the love of your life.

It takes your sister plucking you out of bed for you to finally leave your bedroom in weeks. 

She was the first and only person you’ve told about the night spent with Wonwoo. Your parents were absolutely furious that you’d do something so dangerous, though relieved at your safety, they weren’t easy on their words. 

“He’s not doing well, you know,” You sister says. 

You humph. 

“I’m serious. Daddy said he’s clumsy, keeps messing up his work. I think you should go and see him.”

Closing your eyes, you let out a worrisome sigh. You still cared way too much to hear those news and not do something about it. 

So you dress up in whatever you can find and drive to his shop, building up a speech on your way there and practising every scenario. You just hoped everything could go back to the way it was. 

He’s working on an old model, hunched over the hood in his light blue coveralls, stains of grease from head to toe. 

“Knock knock,” You announced your presence, fidgeting with the hem of your dress, looking forward to meeting his eyes as much as you dread to. 

Wonwoo immediately recognises your voice, turning around to meet your eyes. 

And he looks just as wrecked as you felt. Deep-set eye bags and a tired gaze. Yet he still smiles just as handsomely. 

“Hey,” He greets. 

“Busy?”

“No! No,” Wonwoo scrambles, placing the wrench down removing his gloves. 

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah, I actually— I wanted to talk to you, too.”

It’s somewhat relieving as well at it’s worrying to hear him say that, it could be an apology as well as an insult or something of the sort. 

“We should— We should go to my office, someone might come in—“

“Yeah— We should.” You nod.

You walk into his office, one you’ve visited and killed time in quite often. But coming here after everything feels so crushing, all this distance between you. 

“Go ahead—“

“You first—“

You both say at the same time and that seems to ease the stubborn awkwardness pooling in the air. You laugh. 

“How about we say it together?” 

“On 3?”

“1”

“2”

“3”

Breathing in, you say the words that come to your mind from the bottom of your heart. 

“I want to marry you.”

“I love you.”

“What?!” 

“What?!” Once again, you both say it at the same time.

“You want to marry me?” He breaks into a wide smile.

“And you love me?” The words feel so alien to you, you can barely believe your ears, you feel the tips of your fingers shake in excitement, your heart pounds so strongly against your rib cage you can almost hear the thumping.

Jeon Wonwoo just said he loves you.

“I— Are you sure you want to marry me? You said you didn’t want to!”

“Yes. Well— I’ve loved you since forever! So when you said you wanted to marry me just out of responsibility— I was heartbroken! It’s like you were forced into doing it!”

“I didn’t want to marry you out of responsibility! I’ve been planning to marry you since the beginning—“

You choke, “You what?!”

Wonwoo sighs, “I never wanted to marry your sister and she was well aware of that… We were blessed that she found her husband and when everything went well, I thought— I hoped that it’d mean we’d be the ones to be wed.”

Processing every word, you almost feel dizzy. “But you said you’d take responsibility!” 

“For roping you into running away from my party.” 

“Oh.” You’re beyond embarrassed for assuming and above all, for getting so angry you didn’t even let him explain himself. 

“I should’ve been clearer,” He admits.

“No— I should’ve talked to you.”

Wonwoo smiles. “Thank you.”

With tiny tears threatening to fall, you can only confirm what you want to know the most. 

“You love me?”

“Always,” He smiles.

Wonwoo seems to remember something, he raises his finger in a “wait” motion and leans over his desk, reaching for the top drawer. It’s only when you catch a peek of the velvet box that you almost keel over.

Gulping, he gathers his courage.

In his grease-stained coveralls that smells of expensive cologne and lavender cleaning supplies, Jeon Wonwoo gets down on one knee, nervously looking up at your with his stupidly gorgeous beady eyes and an expectant smile.

“Will you marry me?”

And in your least presentable dress, the one he’d ruined with grease stains and an unruly hairdo, you respond with the biggest smile:

“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Had you been questioned, there would be an answer to just how long you will love Jeon Wonwoo.

You’ll love him forever. 

[bratphilia]

glass window (w. afton x reader)

request: "POOHKIE BEAR HEAR ME OUT!!!! dad's best friend!william. y'all just moved into the neigborhood, and you've been oh so busy with college/working that you hadn't had the time to introduce yourself to william (tho steve for the sake of keeping his identity yada yada) and so like, the moment you get the chance to? william aka steve cannot contain his thoughts abt you oml !! ur just so fucking pretty !! delicate !! those fucking skirts you wear, in the summers of utah (i think thats where the movie/fnaf location is canonically) he'd so.. hungry for you.. bonus points if theres a height/size difference omg JUST HEAR ME OUT POOHKIE!!!- i'll be going under as the 🧚‍♀️ anon!"

note: okay yeah i went a lil crazy with this one but i just loved this request sm. probably my favorite fic ive written so far.

pairing: steve raglan / william afton x reader

tags: age gap (reader is college age 18-21 and william is 45-50), creepy and stalking behavior from william, oral sex (m + f receiving), slight dubcon, doggy style, mating press, multiple orgasms, william having insane stamina at his age

you and your parents just moved to hurricane, utah, aka the most boring town you've ever been to. the second day in your new house, while you were at your criminology class, your neighbor, steve raglan came by to welcome your family to the neighborhood. they mentioned having a college aged daughter. he didn't think much about at the time. it was a passing comment after all.

a few weeks pass by and steve started to become a frequent visitor to your household. however, each of those times you have either been at school or at work. he had no idea who you are.

that is, until one day you come home in the evening after a class while steve is over having a glass of wine with your dad. you close the door behind you to see the door to the backyard open. curiously, you poke your head out and spot your dad with an unfamiliar face, and you stand shyly in the doorway expectantly.

"hey, sweetie," your dad says. "this is steve raglan. our next door neighbor i was telling you about."

you walk towards him when steve holds his hand out for you to shake. "nice to meet you, mr. raglan."

mr. raglan. his ears practically perk up at that. he drinks in your appearance. you're wearing a black, short tennis skirt that stops mid-thigh with a pretty white blouse.

"nice to meet you too," he says politely, trying his hardest not to come across as creepy.

your dad turns to you. "how was class?"

"it was okay. i do have a lot of homework to do, so i should probably go," you say, then turn to steve and wave as you go, "it was nice to meet you again."

his eyes never leave your bare legs as you walk away. and well, he wanted to fucking ruin you.

steve notices something interesting about you while mowing the lawn. there's a gate in the back of your house where he can see a glass door from the angle he's at in the front of his yard. a glass door that, he discovers, is the back entrance to your bedroom.

he decides to make good use of his porch.

at this point, he contemplates buying a pair of binoculars, but that felt like a little too much. for now, he had the view he needed to satisfy him. he even took a few photos that he saves for material to use in his personal time.

unbeknownst to you, steve is absolutely obsessed with you.

his heart skips a beat every time you take a walk in the neighborhood, when, coincidentally, he's sitting on the porch pretending to read a newspaper, and you wave at him and smile. he always returns your smile and waves back kindly.

one day, when you're walking past his house, he notices something gold falling to the ground. when you're out of sight, he goes to investigate, only to find a gold ring that could have only belonged to you. the perfect opportunity. steve waits about a week and keeps your ring with him on top of his nightstand.

sometimes, he notices you like to leave your door open on a particularly hot day. surely you couldn't be naïve to think no one would break in, right? you're just so pretty, who knows who could follow you home from the shadows.

on one particularly hot day, you leave your door open. almost invitingly. and steve watches as your mom's car passes by his house, going out, while he knows for a fact that your dad is working. it's his time to strike.

steve makes his way across the street and through the back gate. he looks through the window to find you reading a book while sitting on your bed. he taps on the glass to get your attention. your eyes snap from the book to the door to see him standing there.

"hi, uhm, can i help you, mr. raglan?" you say, getting up. you look shocked, clearly a little freaked out he came through the back of your house, he presumes.

steve smiles and walks in uninvited, making you back up a little as he steps closer. "hi stranger, i just wanted to return something of yours that you dropped a few days ago."

he turns up the ring in his hand and watches your eyes widen. "i've been looking all over for this! thank you so much."

steve watches as you take the ring from his palm and slip it back on your finger. "you know, i've been wondering something."

you look up at him. "what's that?"

he chuckles lightly and closes the door behind him. "i can't help but notice that you like to leave your door open, and i just wonder how you possibly think that's safe for you."

"i—i don't know what you mean," you say, confused. you fidget with ring on your finger nervously, not liking the direction this conversation is going in.

"well, you know just about anyone could come in here and take advantage of you. you wouldn't want that, hmm?" he asks, stepping towards you and cupping your jaw. "or maybe you would. is that why you do it?"

you inhale. "mr. raglan, i don't think this is appropriate—"

"neither is the way you've been teasing me, little girl," steve retorts and you flash him a scandalized look. "oh, come on, don't think i don't notice. your short skirts showing off that even tinier figure and the way you always seem so eager to get my attention. i know the game you're playing."

he cups your jaw as his tongue swipes across your bottom lip for entrance. you grant him access and he slips his tongue into your mouth. it's a slow, sensual kiss. you're moaning into his mouth as he takes full control. 

steve's hands travel from your face, to your waist, and to your ass to squeeze. you whimper into his mouth and he laughs lowly against you. 

slowly he breaks away from you. "take off your clothes and get on the bed on all fours. now." 

you make a show of taking off your clothes for him. you keep eye contact with him as you unbutton your shirt and discard it mindlessly. then you reach around your back to unclasp your bra, baring your chest to him.

"beautiful," he comments. "take off your panties but keep the skirt on." 

you do what he says and get in the lewd position steve requested a moment ago, mind racing with what he would possibly do to you. you grip the sheets almost nervously and rub your thighs together to relieve the tension in your core. 

steve practically saunters over to you and gives a low whistle. "such a pretty pussy." 

you blush realizing your skirt rode up to your waist. you shiver when he places a cold hand on your ass, kneeding it roughly. 

"ooh," you moan, arching your back needily, making him laugh.

"need it that bad, huh, baby?" 

"yes," you say quietly, turning head around to look at him. 

"don't worry, honey, i'll take good care of you," he says with a twisted smile. 

he leans forward to press a kiss on your slit, moaning at the wetness that drips onto his lips. he wastes absolutely no time eating you out and laps at your pussy like a starving man. you can't bear to look at him anymore, the obscene noises of him slurping causing your face to burn with embarrassment.

you can't help but push back against his face much to his delight. you can feel his beard scratching against you, as delicious as you imagined. the friction of him smothering his face into you is making you whimper and moan helplessly. you wish you could grasp onto him or close your thighs, but this position and being completely at his disposal makes it all the more hotter.

he smacks kisses on your clit, sucking and rolling the sensitive nub around with his tongue. one particular harsh suck where he tugs on your clit ever so gently with his teeth has you coming on his face. he keeps going until you're squirming and begging him to stop.

he pulls away from you almost remorsefully. "thanks for the meal, babe," he says, wiping his mouth. something that would have otherwise made you cringe in disgust if it didn't come from him.

"ready for my cock, sweet girl?" he asks.

you can only murmur out a "mhm" as you were already too fucked out to verbalize anything.

he just laughs at your disposition. "don't get too tired on me yet, sweetheart, i still have so much planned for you."

the clinking of metal gets you excited all over again. he pushes into you with a groan. "fuckin' tight like a vice," he curses.

he thrusts into you experimentally, gaging your reaction for which angle makes you moan the loudest. when he finds the right one, he picks up the tempo instantly. your room is filled with the noises of his balls smacking against your ass, his grunts and your incessant moaning. he wraps a hand in your hair and the other rests on your hip for leverage.

"you like that, baby? like the feeling of me inside you?" steve asks you teasingly but you can barely respond. "fuck, you feel so good around me. my good girl."

"please, let me come," you whine desperately, bucking your hips backwards so it meets his thrusts.

"i will, honey, i will."

suddenly he flips you over so you're on your back and bends your legs in half. the manhandling is an added bonus. "i want you to look at me when you come, okay?"

"okay..." you mumble, letting him use your pussy for whatever he pleases at this point.

one specifically hard and calculated thrust has you reeling. your orgasm is definitely in sight. you can feel your stomach begin to coil, ready to snap.

"mr. raglan!" you draw out the syllables of his name, signifying you're close.

"ngh — keep calling me that, honey, it's so fuckin' hot."

you can feel him close as well as his grunts and groans grow louder and his thrusts get more erratic and shallow. he decides to drill into you even harder for the sake of your own orgasm, making you almost scream out his name as you squeeze your eyes shut and come.

he pulls out before he finishes and beckons you over to him. "suck me dry, baby. want you to taste yourself on me when i come."

tiredly, you sit up and take is cock into your mouth. since he's already close he takes the initiative to thrust into your mouth while you gag around him. the noises you're making only add to his arousal.

he's grunting incoherent dirty praises, about how good and tight your mouth feels, and how you're such a good girl for him. he comes with one final, drawn out groan as he throws his head back. spurts of his ejaculate shoot down your throat and you try your best to swallow what he gives you, but some dribble down your chin.

you pull your mouth off of him and he brings his lips to your for another kiss, licking the remnants of his orgasm from your lips and chin. when you pull away breathlessly he's grinning from ear to ear.

"so good f'me," he compliments sweetly, making you smile.

maybe hurricane isn't so bad after all.

[vyntagess]

in my room

in which; billie would do anything for you.

a/n; i was supposed to post this for kinktober but i lost motivation and i find myself physically unable to write smut so take this shitty fic i can’t finish💔😢

vampillie because we love her.

billie slams her car door shut, twirling her keys in her fingers. she’s tense, she’s stressed, she feels like shit. but it would all be okay, because as soon as she returns home, she knows you’d be there.

billie’s that weird neighbour. she never talks to anybody and nobody ever sees her come in and out of her door. by the time she’s home, everything’s dark. nobody dared to speak to her. except for you.

it’s dark in her house. there’s nobody there, and her footsteps echo eerily throughout the emptiness. her tongue prods gently at the fangs in her mouth, desperate for prey. for something to feed on. she wanted to feed on you. you, you, you.

when she finally reached her bedroom, she lays down in bed, staring pointlessly at the ceiling. her gaze fixed on her window, jaw clenched tightly as she waited for that familiar knock on her window, your voice wafting quietly through the screen.

2:45 am, and she finally hears it.

tap. tap.

a pause.

and then, “are you gonna let me in?”

your voice is like a soothing music to billie’s ears. the room is far too dark for you to see anything from outside. your breath fogged up the glass.

“hello? hellooo?”

billie slid her window up, her pupils blowing out with pure lust and desire as she helps you in. her lips messily attach to yours as she practically shoves you against the wall beside the window, sliding it shut. your hands scrabble desperately at her shirt, trying to catch your brain up to the moment.

when her tongue slides into your mouth, that’s suddenly all you can think about. your moan fills her ears and vibrates against her lips. her hands grip down harshly on yours hips, eyes closing as she put her entire soul into dominating the kiss. all you could do was helplessly hold on as she kissed you hungrily, like she was going to eat you alive. and she knew you’d let her.

eventually, after a heavy make-out session against the wall, your hands gently push against her chest, coming up for air. both of your faces were flushed, lips wet and parted and panting. your expression had changed.

“baby, what’s wrong?” billie murmured, gently cupping your cheek and running her thumb along your bottom lip. something’s wrong. her baby was upset.

“i was spotted by the neighbour’s kid…” when those words hit her ears, her pupils contracted into slits. a small growl of annoyance sounded in the back of her throat, her eyes burning into yours.

“and?”

“and i can’t come back anymore. they know our secret.” your whisper was almost sad, and definitely regretful. her jaw clenched, gaze still cold and fierce. she wasn’t about to let you go. never, would she let you go. you were hers.

“you stay here and don’t leave until i come back.” she snarled, and before you could even process what was happening, billie was down in the kitchen, grabbing a knife.

now, she stood in the neighbour’s backyard, knife gripped tightly in her hand. with practiced ease, she cuts through the screen. for the kid, who saw you, she dug the blade deep into his throat. no chance to scream whatsoever as she muffled him, shoving him to the ground, leaving him dead. she had the dignity to at least make his death a bit less… graphic.

the dad and mom weren’t as lucky. she chased him down the hallway. she shredded up the father’s throat, and he was quick to fall.

billie held the mother’s face still as she straddled her hips. she licked her lips, fangs elongating as a cloud of red clouded her pupils.

“you’re pretty. shame i have to kill you.” she leaned in, her teeth sinking into her neck. but her blood didn’t taste as good as yours. nothing could compare to yours. if anything, it was repulsive.

billie made quick work of the family. nobody would suspect her. even if they did, nobody would be able to catch her. when she got back to the house, you were sitting patiently on her bed, mindlessly staring off at the wall. what caught your attention the most was the copious amount of blood that currently covered her. you should’ve been concerned, this should’ve been your sign to leave. she’d always made it clear you could after all. but no, instead, it was actually rather hot.

“bils…” you’d murmur, standing up slowly and walking over to her.

“im sosososorry, i got mad and caught up and i don’t know—“ billie apologised profusely, but she was shut up the moment she felt your lips on hers. she closed her eyes, her hands gripping onto your hips.

she wasn’t going to let you go now. she couldn’t.

[emotionalsupport-ljh]

Breaking and Entering

You don't want Jihoon to worry.

Fluff (a miniscule amount of angst) - woozi x fem!reader

A hell of a lot of words for a sick fic :D Described as "princess treatment" by my friends 😌

AO3 link

Word Count: 3.1k

////////////////////////////////////

Before you even open your eyes, you feel a scratch in your throat that burns like hell. You reach for the water on your nightstand and take large gulps trying to soothe the pain. As your eyes open, they droop heavily and take a moment to adjust to the early morning sunlight that makes its way past your curtains. A chill suddenly attacks the uncovered parts of your body. You duck back under your comforter only to have an oppressive heat come in waves that cause sweat to cling to your forehead. On top of all that, you can’t breathe out of your left nostril. You’re terribly sick.

As you lament in your miserable state, a notification brightens your phone and you have to shut your eyes. You blink them trying to get used to the light, but all it does is give you a headache. You brave through the pain to turn your brightness down and check the notification. It’s a text from your boyfriend, Jihoon.

Jiji: good morning babe~ 😘

You: Good morning!

Jiji: what are ur plans for today? work?

You: No

You pause for a moment before continuing your response. You wonder if it’s a good idea to tell him that you aren’t feeling well today. On one hand, he might want to know that kind of stuff so that he can take care of you. On the other hand, it could cause some unnecessary stress in his already stressful life. Also, with his busy schedule, he probably wouldn’t be able to do much. You decide ultimately that this illness would probably be over quickly, and you don’t want to make Jihoon worry about nothing a little cough medicine and tea would fix.

You: I'm going to take the day off to relax and be lazy lol 😏

Jiji: that sounds nice

i wish i could do the same 😮‍💨

You: Busy schedule today?

Jiji: yup 🙃 but im excited for our date later this week

You: Me too!

Jiji: i have to go to work

text me later

You: Will do! I love you 🩷

Jiji: love u too~🖤

Putting your phone down and taking the chance to move from your bed to at least retrieve some relief in the form of medicine or warm tea, you feel your muscles ache in a way that makes you never want to move again. For now, you stare at the ceiling with the resolve to get over this silly little cold. You fall asleep soon after and stay asleep for many, many hours.

When you finally awaken again, the chill in your bones still hasn't subsided, no matter how many layers of sheet and blanket cover you. You have to force your eyes to open against the deeper sunlight now pouring through the cracks in your curtains. You power through the discomfort to get them to adjust to the brightness. Again, you reach a hand out for your phone and see that it is afternoon and that you have some missed texts from your boyfriend.

Jiji: hey~

wuts up

Jiji: taking an afternoon nap huh

text me when u see this

The messages were all sent about 45 minutes ago. You feel a little bad about lying, but it only strengthens your resolve to get better and put the whole lie behind you. You text back like normal, hoping that he has the time to read and respond even for just a few minutes.

You: Sorry! I fell asleep watching anime

It doesn’t take too long for a reply to pop-up. You had been dating Jihoon for months now, but you still got butterflies every time he texted you. Even now, aching all over and dripping from your face, he makes you feel a warmth you swore would make you even healthier than you were before.

Jiji: oh rub it in my face 🙄 lol

dont get too far without me

You: I would never!! 😫

How’s it been today? You're not too stressed, right?

Jiji: eh

im coping lol

nothing im not used to

You: Don’t push yourself too hard ok? 🥺

You're doing such a great job!!!!!!

Jiji: thx lol

i gotta go. love u~ 🖤

You: I love you too 🩷

You decide to try to come up with the ultimate healing game plan for the rest of the day. You plot out your meals and activities to maximize the time you can spend getting better. Or at least you try to as you come to realize that sleeping an extra 4 and a half hours without getting out of bed means that you’ve yet to relieve yourself. This kickstarts your game plan as you rush to the bathroom.

You power through the aches in your body to finally brush your teeth and put your hair in a manageable bun for the day. You put on your sweats and some socks to keep warm and make your way to the kitchen where you heat up some soup and make a mug of herbal tea. You take medicine and take it easy all day. The change in scenery from your bedroom to the living room not only motivates your mind to change, but also it motivates your body to move. You swear you already feel better.

Unfortunately, the next two days look the same, and you do not, in fact, feel any better. Even with minimal movement throughout the days, you still manage to leave a mess of dirty dishes, clothes, and tissues strewn about the apartment. You are miserable and finally starting to come to terms with it. The delusion of your ability to heal quickly and on your own was finally starting to dissipate. You thought seeing a doctor was a waste of time, but you start to see the necessity of an appointment the more time you spend with a scratch in your throat and a headache hammering your skull.

The worst part, however, is not the pain, nor is it the constant sweating or the need to breathe through your mouth. No, the worst part is that today is Jihoon’s one day off; you are supposed to be ready to go on a date.

It's a little late in the morning when you wake up. You thrash in your bed frustrated that you are still sick and very tired. When you check your phone, there are no new messages. It isn't unusual for Jihoon to sleep in on his days off. You dread having to tell him the truth that you had been sick all week and couldn’t go out tonight. You could anticipate his response: a string of crying emojis and then a laugh where he says he’s just kidding and he’s fine as long as you get better. He wouldn’t really be okay with it, but he would say he is. He would be really disappointed; he isn’t very good at showing his true emotions, but you know he feels them so deeply. You don’t want to cause him any undue stress or heartbreak. At this point, it unfortunately is inevitable.

You grab your phone and hover over Jihoon’s contact, trying to muster the courage to send your good-morning-text and your confession followed by a long apology and promises to make it all up to him one day. You don’t expect your phone to ring, brandishing a very familiar sweet smiling selfie with the name “Jiji” underneath. You are startled then you take a deep breath, clear your throat, and answer.

“Good morning, my baby,” a sleep-rasped voice calls out from the other side.

“Good morning,” you try to answer in a normal voice, doing your best to hide your congestion.

“You sound different. What’s up?” Jihoon caught on immediately.

You whine a little over the phone, only prolonging the inevitable. There’s only silence from the other side. “I’m sick,” you say, then blurt out, “I’ve been sick for the past three days. I really, really tried to get better, honestly. I’m so sorry, Jiji. I can’t go out tonight.”

Your heart beats quickly in your chest, maybe from the nerves of finally coming clean, maybe from the extra exertion on your sick body. The five seconds it takes for Jihoon to respond feel like five hours. All he says is, “Oh. Okay.” After that, he hangs up the phone, leaving you stunned and with a horrible pit in your stomach.

You’re in shock. The kind of shock people feel after breaking a limb or recovering from a disaster. It pushes every other feeling out of your body. You do your morning routine in a fugue state. When you sit back in your bed, it all hits you at once. Tears stream down your face almost unconsciously, and you lay down with your face in your pillow. Eventually, you fall asleep again, too tired from the illness to continue to cry or feel anything.

Jihoon makes up his mind quickly. After abruptly hanging up the phone, he immediately gets up and goes through his own routine faster than ever, even taking 30 minutes off of his normal workout just to have more time for his own plan. After coming home, he does something a little out of character. He goes to the kitchen to cook something that isn’t chicken breast and white rice.

This surprises his roommates. Soonyoung tries to help him with the big pot of what was so far just stock and vegetables. He gets distracted easily, and it takes him a long time to cut up an onion. Jeonghan takes a picture of Jihoon and sends it in the group chat asking if this is normal behavior for Woozis. Seungkwan tries to taste it before the dish is ready and whines when his hand is met with a smack from a wooden spoon.

“This isn’t for any of you. Leave it alone,” Jihoon says in a stern voice.

“Wait, what? Then who is it for?” Soonyoung raises an eyebrow at him.

“Y/N, my girlfriend. She’s sick.”

The mood in the apartment changes. Now, Jeonghan is texting more furiously in the group chat about how Jihoon cares so much about his poor, sick girlfriend. Seungkwan now insists on tasting the dish the whole way through the cooking process to make sure it’s suitable for such refined tastes as his and yours. Soonyoung calls his mom and asks what the best thing is to cure illnesses. It becomes a whole big thing that has Jihoon a little bit annoyed but also grateful his friends care about you almost as much as he cares about you.

Jihoon’s morning and the better part of his afternoon off of work are then filled with surprise visits from Mingyu, Jun, and Seokmin who bring an array of dishes that could feed you for a month and Minghao who brings a special tea blend that he uses when he's feeling sick. Vernon sends a playlist of chill music for you to listen to while you recover, and Wonwoo writes a list of movies he recommends you watch to rest. Chan makes a special delivery of his grandma's famous kimchi, which has the rest of the boys groaning that they don't get any this time. Joshua sends the best essential oil wax melts so you can indulge in some aromatherapy. Finally, Seungcheol makes sure that Jihoon tells you that he can send anything in the world to your house using his card whether it be medicine or a treat from your favorite bakery or even a new designer pajama set to make sure you are at maximum comfort levels.

As he makes his way over to your apartment, Jihoon feels silly carrying a bunch of bags filled with various gifts from everyone on top of the soup he made that seems to pale in comparison. He curses Jeonghan under his breath for telling everyone his plan to bring you supplies, effectively making him the delivery boy because he is the only person who has the passcode to your apartment. He tries to call you on his way over, now adding his phone to the pile he was juggling. It rings a few times and then goes to voicemail. He tries again and meets the same outcome. He assumes that you’re resting; being sick for multiple days sounds exhausting which is why he is so willing to bring over everything he (and the others) could possibly think of to make you feel better.

Jihoon reaches your front door and knocks loud enough that you would be able to hear it from your room, but soft enough that you wouldn’t wake up if you were resting. He waits a beat before just typing the code and letting himself inside. He makes his way to the kitchen and sets down the various bags on the countertops. Only once his arms are empty does he realize the state of the apartment. He slowly takes in the dirty dishes and various random stuff left on the floor. The trashcan is full, and tea bags litter the countertops. There are tissue boxes everywhere, each one full of used tissues.

He walks slowly to your room and, opening the door, he almost couldn’t make out your sleeping shape on the bed. You’re curled up into a ball under many layers of blankets on one side, and on the other was a pile of clothing. There’s more clothing on the floor. Jihoon goes back to the kitchen and takes a deep breath. He meticulously puts all the food everyone prepared into the fridge, rolls up his sleeves, and decides to start there. He makes a list in his head of all the things he could realistically do in the few hours you would be asleep.

The next moment, Jihoon is elbow deep in soapy water scrubbing dishes and wiping countertops. He finds all the cleaning instruments and proceeds to sweep and vacuum. He fills a trash bag with tissues, tissue boxes, and food containers. He gently tiptoes around your room, gathering up the clothes from the floor, which he assumes are dirty, and putting them in the wash. The clothes on the bed, which he checks are clean, are now folded and put in a hamper for later sorting. He even has time to reheat his soup and make a pretty plating of it paired with some rice and a cup of some of Minghao’s herbal tea.

You awaken when you hear dishes clanking in the kitchen. Someone is in your home. You freeze until the noise stops and begin to get up from your bed. With your legs swung over the side of the bed, ready to stand and possibly defend yourself, the door opens slowly and in walks Jihoon with a tray of dishes.

He looks surprised, then flashes a big smile, then says, “Good, you’re awake. It’s time to eat.”

All you can do is stare at him in disbelief as he sets a tray of soup and rice and tea on your lap. He sits cross-legged in the empty space beside you and scrolls through his phone as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

“W…what’s all this?” you stutter out, utterly confused.

“Lunch,” Jihoon answers nonchalantly.

Looking at him beside you, you realize that there is indeed empty space on your bed for him to sit where there was once a pile of clothes. Tears appear behind your eyes when you look around at the spotless floor of your bedroom. You look at your boyfriend as one tear falls.

“Did you…”

“Yeah, it was a real mess in here.” He turns to look at you and uses his thumb to wipe the one tear from your cheek. “Start eating. I bet you haven’t eaten all day. How are you supposed to get better if you don’t eat?”

He was right. You take a spoonful of broth and bring it to your lips. It tastes wonderful. Alternating between tea and soup and rice, you feel fuller, and the heat from the meal eases your throat just a little more. Jihoon looks at you and sees how happy you look to be having a meal that wasn’t microwaved from a package. You are already almost done with the meal after only a few minutes.

“See, you were hungry, huh?” He teasingly shakes his head.

You lightly push your boyfriend's arm. You make a face, suddenly feeling awkward to be around him. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“What? Why? Because you lied to me for days and didn’t let me take care of you? Or because you canceled our date on the day of because you assumed I cared that we went out somewhere?” he starts sarcastically, “I actually hadn’t thought about it all day.”

“I’m serious, Jiji!” you try to whine but end in a cough. He’s laughing at you as you get a little frustrated.

“I’m seriously not mad. I wish you would’ve told me, but being mad won’t fix anything.” His smile is soft, and he’s looking at you with love in his eyes.

“I’m really sorry. I just didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t know it would last this long. Honestly, I don’t know what I have, and you probably shouldn't be sitting so close to me right now.” You weakly try to push Jihoon away, but he sits like a rock, not budging at all.

“I’m fine,” he chuckles, “The plague couldn’t even keep me away from you.” He leans to kiss your forehead.

All your muscles relax as the last few bites on your plate disappear. Jihoon takes the empty tray in one hand and uses the other to guide you to your feet with him. He wordlessly walks you both out of the room. You see that not only is the entire apartment clean, but there are small gifts left out on the coffee table.

“What is all this?” you ask your boyfriend as take a seat on the couch, waiting for him to put the empty plates and bowls from the tray in the sink.

He takes a seat next to you and rubs the back of his neck with one hand and avoids eye contact when he answers, “The guys heard you weren’t feeling great, so, of course, they had to help out, too.” He goes through and shows you the wax melts, medicine, and self-care products. He also tells you about your new stock of homemade meals from the best cooks in the group. You get really excited about the kimchi from Chan’s grandma. He sends you Vernon’s playlist and Wonwoo’s recommendations. He even shows you the text Seungcheol sent him about using his card for whatever you might need.

Everything is perfect for the rest of the evening that was supposed to be a fancy, romantic date night. It turns out that watching movies and listening to music while snuggling and talking is the best medicine for illness and the most romantic date you have ever been on.

[mysteria157]

This! 1000%. Stop valuing good work based on a number and take the time to READ something that a writer put a lot of work into.

the fact that y'all determine if a fic is "good enough to read" based on how many hits and kudos it has is very questionable. a fic with over one thousand kudos does not mean it's good, and a fic with only five kudos does not mean it's bad.

[juyeonszn]

JE NE SAIS QUOI

PAIRING jacob bae x f!reader

WORD COUNT 7.33k

GENRES smut ﹒fluff ﹒itty bitty angst

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, strangers to ?? to lovers, volleyball team captain!jacob (ohhhh ive been waiting for this one..), lots of 97 liner cameos, jacob is an honorary tbz frat member but isn’t actually a member lol, reader is down bad for him, mentions of alcohol, volleyball terms that i learned from haikyuu 😭, an annoying ex girlfriend, AURKAY here we go: bathroom sex, wall sex, bathroom sink counter sex, and mirror sex all in one, doggy style and also missionary? i guess?, NO FOREPLAY BUT FUCK IT WE FALL LIKE SOLDIERS FOR REAL, marking-ish, unprotected sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, and everyone’s favorite! creampie!, a cutesy ending

SUMMARY jacob thought the concept of fraternities was stupid. so stupid that despite every single one of his friends being in one, he still refused to join. however, after meeting you at one of the tbz parties, he’s starting to think maybe they’re not that horrible.

MORE HELLAURRRR ok i know this is 45 mins overdue but i barely finished this last night and i worked at 5 am this morning so 😭 ANYWAYYY this fic is actually my favorite so far… idk i just have this natural writing affinity when it comes to jacob which u can tell by the length…. if u enjoyed pls reblog! and don’t forget to check out the other fics in the series!

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri @deoboyznet @cloverdaisies @vernyangel @ericlvr

TAGLIST @millksea

SERIES MASTERLIST

“And there’s another point for the IST U Bears. Wow these boys are on fire tonight.”

The announcer’s voice booms throughout the gymnasium, intertwining with the cheers of the crowd. They all sound like the buzzing of a bee in Jacob’s ears, but that’s a good thing. It pricks at his skin, lighting it on fire and getting his morale going.

The team just needed one more point and they would win this set, sending them on their way to the championship game. This would be the first time in IST history that their boys’ volleyball team would make it this far, and that was all thanks to Jacob becoming captain for his senior year.

Their coach calls for a quick time out, giving Jacob a moment of reprieve before his final serve of the game. He wipes away the sweat on his forehead, shaking the front of his jersey to air it out and cool him down a little. The team’s manager passes him a water bottle. He loves the adrenaline rush that courses through his veins when he’s on the court. It’s unlike any other feeling he’s ever felt in his life.

“Alright, Bae. You’ve got this, right?” Jacob’s coach gives him a pointed look.

“Of course, Coach. There’s no way in hell that we’re losing this game tonight.” He gives him a firm nod, lips curled into a confident smile. There wasn’t a chance that Jacob Bae would go down without a fight. He was securing that championship seat whether anyone liked it or not.

The team heads back out and a referee hands Jacob the volleyball. He blows a raspberry, twirling the ball on his fingertips while waiting for the whistle. As soon as he hears it, he takes a couple steps back. A breeze cuts through his hair when he runs, executing his infamous jump serve with practiced ease. The ball flies past the players of the other team, hitting the court just in front of the line.

His teammates are yelling and throttling his body around before he even realizes that they’ve won. Some of them are riling up the crowd, others are on their knees crying tears of joy. He was anticipating this outcome, but for some reason he’s still shell shocked. Everything around him is static and white noise.

“Holy shit, Jacob. I can’t believe you did that,” Kim Mingyu, the team’s star middle blocker, slaps him on the back. He’s also drenched in sweat, patting his face with a towel.

“You and me both, to be completely honest.” Jacob laughs a bit, collecting his things so he can head to the locker room.

He’s slightly grateful that tonight’s game ended a little early, giving him enough time to get ready before the Tau Beta Zeta party. He wasn’t even that big of a party person. He only went to provide moral support for his friends who happened to all be in the fraternity. Most people would even go as far as assuming he was also in it considering how often he was spotted at that house, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. He actually thought fraternities were dumb. In his eyes, they held no purpose.

A bunch of guys living together under the guise of brotherhood when in reality they spent most of their time partying was just stupid. You could do that without the fancy titles or the expected respect from fellow students. He loved his friends, truly, but he didn’t understand the hype.

Jacob showers quickly and changes into a hoodie and some baggy jeans. He ruffles his hair in front of a mirror, grabbing his backpack and swinging it over his shoulder. As he’s preparing to leave, someone calls out to him.

“Yo, Cobie! Are you going to the TBZ party?”

He spins around to find the source, learning it belongs to Jeong Jaehyun. The setter nods, pulling his hood over his head. “Like I always do. Why?”

“I heard through the grapevine that Haeun was going with some friends. I just thought I’d warn you,” he squeezes the shoulder that isn’t hoisting his backpack. “I figured you’d want to take things chill this next week with the championship game on Friday.”

Jacob hums in response and Jaehyun takes that as his cue to be on his way. Of course this would be his luck. Just as he thinks life is getting easier for him, something has to come and throw a curveball at him. This something happened to be his ex-girlfriend, who’d done nothing but terrorize Jacob while they were together. Imagine the most toxic, vile person in the world, then dress her in Jimmy Choo sandals and a designer handbag. That was Haeun.

The only logical reason for her to attend the TBZ party was because his friends were still trying to rack up their numbers. He wouldn’t put it past them if that meant acquiring any and every student on campus. After tonight they would find out who won the stupid competition between them and the KAT sorority, hopefully putting a pin in their godforsaken rivalry once and for all. The winner determined if he was even going to the big end of semester party or not.

Jacob sighs, heading out so he can help out his friends in any way he can. Now that he’s been cursed with the knowledge that he might run into his ex, he’s half tempted to just ditch the whole thing. (He won’t, but the idea is flirting with him.) They’ve been broken up for well over a year now, but somehow she always manages to worm her way back and make him miserable. Quite frankly, he’s tired of it.

When Jacob arrives at the Tau Beta Zeta house, his friends are all over the place. Sangyeon is typing away on his phone, pacing back and forth in the living room. The action from the calm and collected fraternity president makes him kind of nervous. He escapes into the kitchen where Sunwoo and Eric are putting away all of the alcohol. Kevin and Chanhee are complaining about God knows what to each other, and he can faintly hear Hyunjae and Haknyeon upstairs. His juniors start clapping and hollering as soon as they see him enter.

“Woah woah woah, we’ve got a celebrity on our hands guys.” Eric jokes, dapping up the older male.

“Congrats, Cobie,” Sunwoo joins in, fist bumping his senior and handing him a beer bottle. “Do you think you’re gonna win next week?”

“I sure hope so,” Jacob snorts, uncapping the bottle with the opener on the fridge. “I didn’t bring us all this way for nothing.”

Nothing super eventful happens after that, just the guys setting up for the party. They’re projecting that this is the one that secures their victory for the competition. Jacob really couldn’t care less, sitting himself on the couch and scrolling through his phone as he nurses his beer. They all maneuver around him, setting up speakers here, lights there. It’s all pointless in his eyes.

When the party has finally started and the house is packed with partygoers, Jacob hasn’t budged from his spot. The only reason he has a fresh beer is because Eric grabbed one for him in passing. This was what he subjected himself to for hours on end every Friday night. His ass cemented to one of the sofas in the living room and his phone being his main source of entertainment.

It’s as you’re exiting the kitchen with your friends that you notice him. You laugh into your drink at the boredom written all over his face. His extremely handsome face. His hair falls into his eyes and slightly obstructs his vision, but that just accelerates the beating of your heart. You don’t know what it is, but there’s something about him that makes you want to learn his name and everything there is about him.

“Y/N, have you found a nice boy to give you a fun time before hell week?” Haeun asks you, running perfectly manicured fingernails through her hair. “That’s the whole point of being here, isn’t it?”

You didn’t want to tag along, honestly. You were content with staying in tonight and studying for your A&PII exam. You only agreed to get Haeun off your back, because you were well aware of how annoying she could get when she didn’t get what she wanted. She gave the KAT sorority president a run for her money sometimes.

“Uh, no. I’ll just see where the night takes me,” you shrug, keeping a poker face so she doesn’t see who you’re already ogling.

Knowing her, she would make it difficult for you. She would torture you and tease you relentlessly because that was just who she was. Haeun wasn’t satisfied unless she felt good about herself. You didn’t know why you were still friends with her. Maybe it was because she was one of the first people who sought you out after your transfer to IST. Maybe it was because you were afraid of being blacklisted by practically every other student if you dropped her. Her power was insane.

“Boring,” she drags out the vowels, rolling her eyes. “I’m gonna see if Cha Eunwoo is here yet.”

You watch as she disappears into the sardine-packed house, looking for the senior. Your other friend, Minjee, just sighs once the dictator is out of earshot— which isn’t even that far considering how loud the music is. She turns to you with a weak smile.

“Don’t let her ruin anything for you. Just go enjoy yourself before she does.”

You don’t need to be told a second time, chugging the contents of your red solo cup for some liquid courage. Your mission was simple; be ten times more fun than the party itself. That would surely catch Couch Boy’s attention. It wasn’t like the Tau Beta Zeta guys didn’t put all their effort into throwing the craziest parties at the school, but clearly this dude wasn’t for it.

Your feet carry you over to the living room, your teeth chewing on your lip nervously. You’d never hit on someone before, let alone at a party. The scariest part was the potential rejection in front of hundreds of your peers. But it was okay! You could do this. You think.

“Hi.”

The word leaves your mouth without your brain even registering it, eyes wide like you’d just done something wrong. He looks up from his phone, mirroring your expression. His tongue darts out to swipe across his bottom lip and then he’s scooting over to make room for you.

“Hi,” he says after a few seconds.

“I’m Y/n,” you extend your hand awkwardly, but he takes it, shaking it with a firm grip that has you crossing your legs. “I— uh— this is kinda weird, but um— I saw you from over there and thought you were cute.”

You swallow thickly, tucking some hair behind your ear. How did Haeun do this on the regular? He smiles at your fumbling and oh God, you think you might pass out from how attractive he is. You don’t have much alcohol in your system and you’re starting to regret how sober you are.

“I’m Jacob,” he rests an arm on the back of the couch. “Thanks for coming up to me. I would’ve missed your pretty face otherwise.”

Is he flirting with you? Holy shit, he’s flirting with you.

“Do you come to Tau Beta Zeta parties often?” You ask to continue the conversation. He nods.

“I practically live here,” Jacob laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. “How about you, Y/N? What are you studying?”

Oh, so he was one of the members. You wouldn’t have guessed with how disinterested he seemed at his own party. It takes you a moment to realize he’s shifted the focus onto you, scanning your features for a response. You purse your lips.

“Not really. I’m more of a homebody. I’m only here to let loose before finals. I actually just transferred to IST U this semester for the exceptional Pre-Med department. I’m still sorta navigating my way around and meeting people.”

So that’s why he’s never seen you on campus. You’re completely new to the school and you’re in a completely different department than he is. Nonetheless, you’re really cute and Jacob hasn’t put himself out there since breaking up with Haeun. He’s been so concentrated on maintaining his grades and putting in the work for volleyball, he hasn’t even had the time to. But now that finals and the championship game are all next week, he supposes he can allot some just this once…

“How are you liking it here so far?” He asks you genuinely. It winds you a little. You’ve never had someone actually care about what you had to say or show interest in you. Even at your old school, no one batted an eye at you. You doubt anyone knew you transferred.

“The campus itself is beautiful. It’s a lot bigger than my previous one. And so far, everyone’s been nothing but kind to me. I wish I would’ve gone with my gut and came here straight out of high school.” You pick at a thread on your skirt.

“We all live and we all learn, that’s a part of life,” Jacob shrugs, nudging your leg with his foot. “Would you like to grab another drink with me?”

“Yeah, that would be great, actually.” You both stand from the couch.

Since sitting with him, the party has grown in size. Fellow students filled every available corner of the house, nearly standing body to body in order to fit everyone in the building. The amount of attendees should be a fire hazard, honestly. Jacob laces your fingers together so he doesn’t lose you in the mass of people blocking the path to the kitchen. There’s a game of Rage Cage going on where there’s usually a round of beer pong and it looks like this one guy is about to die with how many empty cups are in front of him.

“What are you drinking?” Jacob turns to you once you’ve reached the alcohol table. You shake your head.

“Surprise me.”

“You’re playing Russian Roulette here, Y/N,” his lips curl up into a devious smile that most people would run away from, especially when it’s on the face of a stranger. “You’re really trusting me with your life right now.”

Luckily, you’ve always been into that type of thing. Nice guys who looked like they could give you an unforgettable night. And in the short period you’ve known Jacob, he appeared to be just that. All you can do is nip at your lower lip, the fleet of a smile gracing his sight.

He passes you a cup and gestures for you to taste his concoction. It burns the course of your throat, but doesn’t remind you of straight battery acid. You give him a thumbs up of approval and he cheers, fist bumping the air. You giggle at his reaction. Perhaps stepping out of your comfort zone was the best decision you’ve made all night. He knocks his own cup against yours and takes a swig, wincing.

“I might’ve made mine just a bit stronger than usual,” his voice is hoarse and you can’t help but laugh a little harder. “I put all of my expertise into yours.”

“It’s good to know you’re a gentleman and you’re not trying to get me drunk on purpose,” you tease, sipping at the beverage gingerly. “However, that does mean you’ll need to be flashier in your attempts to woo me. I have very high standards.”

Jacob’s smile widens, his teeth peeking from behind his lips. The expression makes you lightheaded. It should be a crime to look as good as he does, without even trying either. “I don’t know… All I’m hearing is that you want me to woo you…”

He’s caught you red-handed, but it isn’t like you were doing much to conceal that fact. You’d like to think you were being very obvious with your intentions on purpose. You glance up at him from the rim of your cup, your lower back leaning on the counter. “Maybe I do… Are you opposed to that, Jacob?”

He takes a step closer to you, and then another until he has you caged between him and the kitchen counter. Really, he couldn’t give any less of a fuck about the clusters of people nearby. When Jacob Bae had a goal in mind, he made damn sure to work for it. His volleyball career could attest to that. His drink slides across the surface, spilling a little on the back of his hand. He leans down to your ear. “Not at all. But I don’t think you’ll be able to handle what happens when I succeed.”

You feel your cheeks warm, your throat drying, and it’s not because of the effects from the alcohol you’ve just consumed. You’ve known this guy, what, thirty minutes max? And he was already figuring out exactly what it took to get your gears grinding? What a quick fucking leaner. He knows he’s won, too, if the way you’ve gone cotton-mouthed is anything to go by. The ghost of a grin brushes the shell of your ear and it requires the entirety of your strength not to pounce on this stranger in the middle of this goddamn party.

“Everybody who isn’t Tau Beta Zeta, get the fuck out! Someone called the cops!”

A record scratch-like halt puts a pin in the moment, forcing Jacob to step away from you with a groan. This would be just your luck, wouldn’t it? You found a ‘nice boy to give you a fun time before hell week’ and then this stupid party gets raided. It’s annoying, actually. Aggravating, even. Your lips unconsciously form pout out of disappointment and Jacob feels a piece of himself die along with it.

“Shit, you gotta get out of here before they show up and start dragging people out,” he runs a hand through his hair with a hiss.

If it had been a minute earlier, you would’ve fallen to your knees by now. Unfortunately, that was not the case. You needed to find Haeun and Minjee. You do a quick 180° in hopes of spotting either of them.

“Yeah, I need to find my—” You interrupt yourself when you see the former of the two stomping towards you with an indistinguishable look in her eye. “—Friends…”

“Let’s go, Y/N,” her tone is snappy and she glances over at Jacob for a brief moment. You don’t have time to realize what’s happening until her petite fingers are wrapping around your wrist, hauling you out of the kitchen. A yelp escapes your lips as you turn to wave to your… whatever he is to you now.

Initially, you assumed she was just ticked off by the whole cop call thing. At least, that made sense if she’d gotten anywhere with that Cha Eunwoo guy she had been talking about all day leading up to the party. But then Minjee’s driving you back your apartment and she’s whipping around in the passenger seat to give you the nastiest glare you’ve ever been on the receiving end of.

“What the hell is your problem?” She looks two seconds away from bursting a vein in her forehead.

“Wh— huh?” You’re thoroughly confused. What the fuck did you do to her?

“Why were you talking to Jacob Bae? You do know that’s my ex, right?” Her gaze has softened, but could still very much kill you if she wanted to. The wrath of Lee Haeun was more terrifying than that of any horror movie villain to ever exist.

No.

No no no no. The world stops on its axis and it’s like you’ve been told your favorite song was written about a used tissue. You don’t hear anything else she says, feeling like you just had ear muffs placed over your head. This isn’t fair. The universe officially hated you. You were number one on the list of people who deserved the worst possible fate, your name underlined twice with red ink and a star beside it.

You really didn’t have it in you to care about what Haeun thought. If this was the reason you were finally given to stop talking to her, then so be it. What you were worried about was Jacob hating you. He clearly saw that you were friends. Why would he want to pursue anything with one of his ex’s friends? Any sane person would avoid that situation if they could.

Despite not knowing that it was Jacob specifically, you knew the details of their breakup and why things ended so messily. It made sense that she was an authoritarian even in her relationships. That was just in her nature. If she didn’t control every aspect of her life, she would lose her mind. Normally you wouldn’t have batted an eye at that, not nearly enough energy in you to deal with that level of bossiness. But it was starting to bleed into your personal life. And that was a line you weren’t so willing to let her cross.

You could only pray that this was fixable.

Finals week passes by in a breeze, and before he knows it, Jacob is on the court for the championship game. There’s a different aura to him than there usually is when it comes to his volleyball games. He feels ten times more determined. (He would never admit to anyone that it’s because he’s hoping he’ll see you at the end of semester party tonight.)

He actually really enjoyed your presence and your personality. The rate at which his heart beat around you was something he hadn’t felt in a while and it was nice. He liked those little butterflies that came with the start of something new. He liked the jitters and the giggles and everything in between. It reminded him that there was still youth, there was still excitement in his life.

Sure, it was kind of weird that you were friends with his ex-girlfriend. The same ex-girlfriend that he couldn’t stand being in the same room as for more than five minutes at a time. But from your reaction to her dragging you away, Jacob thinks that you didn’t know about him and Haeun. If you did, you wouldn’t have gone up to him in the first place. Unless you knew and just didn’t care, then he didn’t care either. It’s not like he ever plans to allow Haeun to resurface and sink her nails back into him. That’s one mistake he’ll never make again.

Before he knows it, he’s swapping back into the game. He rolls his neck and pops his fingers, getting into position to receive this next serve. Even with this fire lit underneath him, both teams are neck and neck. With every point that IST scored, the opposing team would just catch back up without breaking a sweat. If Jacob wasn’t captain and wasn’t used to being so calm and collected during matches, he’d probably start getting as pissed as Kim Mingyu looks right now.

The referee blows his whistle and the ball is over the net. Jeon Jungkook, the team’s libero, dives for it, the volleyball bouncing off the back of his hand and back up into the air. It’s currently the fourth set and IST has two under their belt. They needed to win this one lest they wanted to go into the fifth. Everyone is on edge, but won’t stop at nothing that isn’t victory. Jacob shifts to set the ball to Jaehyun, who swings his arm back and spikes it to the other side of the court.

One of their players receives it with ease, and they’re back to square one. There’s that back and forth of both teams setting and spiking, only for the other to receive and send it back over. Jacob feels like this game is never gonna end, especially with how agile their libero is and how in tune he is with their setter. But then he makes eye contact with Lee Seokmin, an opposite hitter who’s proven time and time again that he’ll go wherever Jacob needs him to, do whatever Jacob wants him to. And that’s exactly what he does.

Mingyu bumps the ball towards the net and just when they think Jacob’s going to set it, he swaps places with Seokmin. The hitter gets beneath the volleyball and pushes it off the tip of his fingers, watching as Jacob perfectly times his jump to smack it with the palm of his hand. It’s something the two had only ever practiced a handful of times, but knew it would come in handy when everything was right. The entire interaction is flawless, and the captain’s spike lands, scoring that final point that IST needed to win the set and the game.

Just like the previous game, Jacob doesn’t even register the roaring cheers from everyone around him until they’re throwing him and Seokmin up like they themselves were volleyballs. The team is going insane, hyping up the crowd and running around the court like children. A sense of pride swells in Jacob’s chest, a crinkly-eyed smile nestling on his face like the fondness of a father.

They continue the joy-train all the way into the locker room. Jacob showers and throws on some gray cargo pants, pairing them with a black half-zip jacket. Most of the team was going to the end of semester party tonight, treating it as a post-celebratory reward for their big win. It was still so surreal for the captain. All of the pressure that had been riding on him the entire season, the strive for being someone bigger than himself. He’s grateful it paid off.

Meanwhile, you were damn near ripping your hair out, nerves eating away at the edges of your stomach like you were with the skin around your nails. After a taxing week of final exams and the anxiety of wanting to see Jacob Bae again to clear any bad air, you found yourself at the TBZ end of semester party along with Haeun and Minjee. You were thankful that your life was intact, Haeun’s irritation simmering into something a lot more bearable.

Though just a smidge pissed off that you didn’t do your research, she wasn’t as mad about the whole break of girl-code incident. She got off of your back a little too easily, though, so you were still waiting for another strike. You couldn’t help but feel as if she was planning another form of action.

You’d been at this party for at least an hour, and the attendance was double that of last week’s. They weren’t kidding when they said this was the party of all parties at IST University. You were starting to think that maybe Jacob really was going to avoid you like you were the Black Plague or equivalent. Why else would he not be at one of his own parties? Wasn’t it, like, a requirement for fraternity members to make an appearance at the things they hosted?

Being friends with Haeun really screwed everything up for you. Not only did you have to sleep with one eye open, but also keep your distance from just about every male on campus out of fear that she fucked with them, too. Why did it have to be Jacob Bae? Why couldn’t it have been someone more douchey, more up her alley? He was way too sweet, way too cute for someone of her kind. He deserved someone that could hand him the world. (Not that you were insinuating that it was you, but even you knew you were a better person than Lee Haeun.)

And as if a higher being truly existed, your prayers are answered in the form of Jacob Bae walking through the front door. A gaggle of partygoers surround him and the group of guys he’s with, including some of the fraternity brothers. You faintly hear whoops and hollers over the near deafening music, everyone patting them on their backs. Most of the attention is on Jacob and his gorgeous smile, though.

“IST U’s pride and joy! National volleyball champion, Jacob-fucking-Bae,” Lee Hyunjae wolf-whistles, shaking him around like he was maraca.

Jacob laughs, looking down at the floor to shy away from all of the eyes on him. He’s glad everybody is pleased with his accomplishment, but really all he wants to do is find you. He’s still not 100% sure you’re even here, but he has high hopes that maybe you were into him as much as he was with you. Now that he’s free of both volleyball and schoolwork for a while, he can take his time getting to know you better.

You psych yourself up to go over to him once his audience has parted and gone back to whatever it was they were doing prior to his arrival. A grimace consumes your features as you knock back the cup of jungle juice in your hand, blowing a raspberry. Minjee gives you a smile of encouragement, like she knows exactly what you’re about to do.

However, someone beats you to it. You watch with bated breath as Haeun flips her hair over her shoulder, her heels clicking on the wooden floor all the way up to Jacob. The sight of another girl talking to the guy you’re interested in has never made you as ill as it does right now, her glossy lips pouted and her hands clasped behind her back.

“Heard about the big win, Jakey,” she smiles almost evilly, calling him by a nickname that he hasn’t been called in months. “Wanna claim your prize?”

Jacob knows what she’s doing. It’s obvious. Haeun saw the two of you together last week and now she’s pretending that she gives a shit just so she can feel like she’s the one in control. He’s seen this scene too many times to fall for it. He pokes his cheek with his tongue, hands shoving into the front pocket of his jacket.

“Don’t you have someone else that you can bother, tonight? I’m spoken for.” He shrugs, stepping around her. Okay, so perhaps you’d only had one conversation together. That was enough for him. He doesn’t have to search far or wide for you, a grin replacing his deadpan once he sees your face. “Hi.”

“H-Hi,” your voice comes out unsteady. “I— uh— wh— well, I kinda thought you were avoiding me.”

His eyebrows quirks up. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m friends with your tyrant of an ex-girlfriend and I’m a horrible person for still wanting you,” you begin to ramble, playing with a strand of your hair. “And then you weren’t here.”

Jacob laughs, pushing your hand down and tucking the same piece behind your ear. “I don’t really care that you’re friends with Haeun. Honestly, no one’s ever *really friends with her. It’s hard to stand a person who’s that insufferable. And I’m on the volleyball team. Tonight was the championship game, which is why I was late.”

“So you don’t hate me and want me to die?”

“I could never.” He shakes his head, taking one of your hands into his.

“If that’s the case, then can you show me how to properly enjoy a frat party?” You trace patterns on his palm.

“I’ll be so real with you, Y/N, even *I don’t know how to do that,” he snorts. “I’m not a Tau Beta Zeta member, so I guess that explains it.”

“Woah what?” You gape at him. “This entire time I thought you were…”

“Nah, I’m just friends with all of the guys here. I might as well be, but I’m not. Frats are stupid to me,” Jacob leads you out of the living room and into the kitchen to get himself a drink. “Though, I don’t think they’re that bad anymore.”

As he’s reaching for an empty cup, a thought crosses your mind. It’s bold, but you don’t have the willpower to force it away. “You know, you didn’t get to show me what would happen if you succeeded in sweeping me off of my feet.”

He pauses what he’s doing, turning to glance at you over his shoulder with dark eyes. Are you saying what he thinks you’re saying?

“And something’s telling me you were extremely successful.”

*Fuck the drink, Jacob thinks to himself, dropping the cup in favor of whisking you away. He pulls you into the nearest empty room, which happens to be the downstairs bathroom. From one second to the next, you’re pinned to the door, both of your wrists firm in his grip. He’s so close that his nose nudges yours, lips only a hair’s breadth from your own.

“Should’ve known you were dangerous from the get go,” he breathes, the distance between you driving you crazy. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

A gasp escapes you, your eyelids fluttering shut. This was pure insanity. Before you can complain about the lack of contact, Jacob’s mouth is on yours, lips moving against yours so skillfully and so roughly. He takes your wrists into one hand, holding them above your head while the other slips beneath your top. His fingertips burn into your skin and you don’t hold back the whine that sneaks out from your chest.

You pull back for air, sighing when his kiss travels down your neck and focuses on your collarbone. It’s not enough, you need to feel him everywhere. Your pulse is racing and you’re sure he can feel it when he leaves a trail of nibbles and kisses along your jawline. They travel south, paving their path on what’s visible of your jugular and sternum.

There’s a haste of fingers roaming and lips exploring. This was uncharted territory for, seeing as you hadn’t been in a situation like this since moving schools. If there was anyone you wanted to get down and dirty with in the bathroom of a frat party, it was Jacob Bae. His free hand wanders under your skirt, a knuckle running along your clothed, but damp, slit. You both hiss.

“Already so wet for me?” He asks you smugly, the curve of his smile carved into the space where your ear meets your neck. You don’t have the patience to power through any teasing.

“Need you so bad, Jacob,” you don’t like the pitchiness of your voice, or how you’re pretty much begging right now. “Wanna skip the foreplay.”

Jacob grins almost wickedly, kissing the tip of your nose. “So ready and so eager for me. Your wish is my command, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t waste any time getting you out of your clothes, starting with your top and then shoving your skirt past your thighs. You kick it off and move to help him. His jacket comes off in one fluid motion, giving you the perfect display of his muscular back and toned abdomen. All of years of volleyball came to fruition in the form of his godlike sculpted body.

You drag a nail through the valley of his abs, unbuttoning his cargoes and palming him through his underwear. He curses under his breath, forehead falling to your shoulder. You may very well be the death of him, he decides. When he’s finally had enough, he swats your hand away, removing the briefs so he can give you what you so graciously asked for. He pumps his length a couple times before guiding the tip to your entrance.

Jacob hooks one of your legs around his waist, pushing your panties to the side so he can slip into you carefully. You don’t even stop the moan that breaches your vocal cords, back arching off of the door and your chest pushing into his. The stretch burns slightly, but not nearly enough to interrupt the pleasure coursing throughout your body. There’s a fire in the pit of your stomach that he fans the flames of the deeper he sinks into you, lips imprinted into the skin of your neck.

His fingers burn the skin of your thigh where he holds it up, slowly pressing his cock into cunt and sliding out as soon as he bottoms out. You’re dizzy, so dizzy that stars have begun to form behind your eyelids and he’s only just started. He rocks into you at a meticulous pace, the blunt nails of his other hand digging into your hip to keep himself composed.

He wants to take his time with you first. He wants you to feel every ridge and vein of his cock as your walls squeeze him in. He wants the feeling of the two of you connected to be engraved into your brain, a memory that nothing could erase even if it tried. Your head knocks against the door when you crane it to give him more access to the column of your throat, whining when he sucks marks into the surface.

“F-Fuck, Jacob,” you whimper. “Feel— god— feel so, so stuffed.”

You practically hiccup your words, overstimulated with everything that’s going on at once. It’s too much. The way he nips at your skin. The way he groans every time you clench around him. The way he’s *buried into you like you were the only source of warmth he’ll ever get. It’s too much, but it feels fucking fantastic.

“Yeah, baby? Am I fucking you good? Giving it to you like no one else can?” He exerts himself, his lips slipping on the thin sheen of sweat coating your bodies. All you can do is moan again, bucking your hips into his to minimize the gap between you as much as physically possible.

His cock is just the right balance of girth and length, filling you up and hitting the spots you need him to. Your sanity falls through the cracks with every click of his hips into yours. He *is fucking you good. He *is giving it to you like no one else can. It didn’t even take him long to figure out what you liked, using that knowledge to his advantage so he could ravage you.

You’re too lost in the pleasure to notice the coil in your stomach curling to the point of snapping. With each ram of his dick in your pussy, he winds you up more and more until it breaks in half. You see nothing but white for a few seconds, spots of various colors bleeding into it. A sound so far away from you bursts out from its home in the back of your throat. Your orgasm coaxes out his, painting your walls with milky ropes and a moan of his own.

The two of you pant breathlessly, lips brushing as you attempt to calm down. Jacob pinches your side, kissing you once before pulling out and letting go of your hip. “Do you have the energy to give me one more? I don’t think I’m finished with you just yet.”

You let out a guttural groan, nodding and colliding your mouths in another desperate kiss. Your fingers run through the strands of his hair, tugging at the nape of his neck as he transfers you to sink. He spins you around, bending you over the counter and pecking your shoulder as he eases his cock back into the velvet of your pussy.

You’re both still sensitive, sighing at the feeling of a second intrusion. He grips your hip and presses down on your lower back just as he speeds up the pacing of his thrusts. Instinctively, you hike up a knee onto the counter, wanting him even deeper and even harder than previously. Heat pools in that same spot at the base of your abdomen, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Look in the mirror, sweetheart,” he grunts, throwing his head back and tightening his grasp on your waist. “Want you to watch me fuck you stupid.”

You wail, eyes heavy lidded as you witness Jacob plowing into you from behind. It hurts, the fact that you can’t even convey into sounds how amazing it feels. They’re all trapped in your chest and throat, begging to be set free. You wish they could bounce off of the walls, reverberating in your ears. Your cheeks are wet from the tears that have spilled over. You look like a mess with your makeup smeared and your face puffy. Anyone who saw you after this would know exactly what went down in this bathroom.

Jacob doesn’t slow his assault, instead hovering over and trapping you beneath his broad frame. He drills into you deeper, harder, faster— and oh god you don’t want him to stop. You think he’s making good on his word, fucking you so insanely stupid that not a single thought occupies your mind. All there is, is Jacob Bae and the deliciousness of his cock wedging itself further into your cunt like he wants to live there.

“You’re taking me so well, baby. So so well,” he coos, your back curving into his chest.

Your elbows might give out from supporting your weight and now Jacob’s too, especially with how empty your head is. You don’t really have the consciousness to keep yourself up. It’s at the point where the mirror has started to fog, a blurry image of him abusing your pussy in your line of sight.

He knows you’re on the brink of an orgasm, your walls spasming slightly in warning. He pulls out enough to flip you onto your back, pushing in and resuming where he left off. His thumb sneaks down to your clit, rubbing in precise circles with precise pressure. Despite there being no mirror covered in steam in the shape of your bodies in front of you, your vision is still hazy. You can barely see the expressions Jacob makes, his brows knitting together and lower lip between his teeth.

You pull him down to connect your mouths, whining into him as he continues to fuck into you like there wasn’t a whole party still going on on the side of the door. Your knees are folded to your chest, allowing his cock to kiss all the way inside of you. “I’m— fuck— so close, Cobie.”

“C’mon, baby, you can cum for me,” he goads, applying more pressure to the shape he’s drawing on your clit.

One particularly timed thrust and the bumping of his pelvic bone on the sensitive bundle of nerves tips you off of your peak. Your climax washes over you, tidal waves of pleasure cresting at full force. You moan loudly, the rippling of your walls triggering Jacob’s own release.

He pulls out gently, for the final time. His chest rises and falls rapidly, in sync with yours. You’re both exhausted, spent from going at it like jackrabbits— as if you’d never get the chance to do it again. You meet eyes and then burst into laughter, your hands coming up to cup his cheeks.

“That was… Wow…” You breathe, moving some of his hair from obstructing his eyesight.

“I always follow through with my promises, you know,” he wraps his arms around your waist. “So, what do I get now that I’ve wooed you?”

You press the hints of a kiss to his lips. “An exclusive all-access pass to me, my phone number, and the rights to ask me out on a date whenever you please.”

Jacob smiles that crinkle eye smile of his, knowing full well that he plans on cashing all three of those right now. He may have not been the biggest fan of fraternities or their parties, but he sure as hell loved them at this moment in time.

He thinks he was a winner in more ways than one that night.

© juyeonszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[madridfangirl]

Star crossed lovers (Jude Bellingham fic)

Chapter 15

Jude * female reader. Mature Language in parts.

Synopsis: A chance encounter in a tiny Madrid cafe with the newest superstar of her fav club. The two couldn't be more different, yet both feel the pull toward the other. Would this girl be the one he finally falls for? Or would life come in the way of these star-crossed lovers?

...........................................................................

‘Wake up, sleepy head.’

Ananya was on her side, facing away from him, when she felt his lips on her shoulder.

She stirred, moving away from the distraction.

‘Lemme sleep, it’s the middle of the night.’

‘It’s 6:45 am.’

‘Exactly.’

It was a rare Saturday off for her and waking up before 11 was criminal.

Jude smiled at her antics and spooned her from behind, moulding her back to his front. She sighed happily in his hold, starting to drift back to sleep.

He would have let her sleep more but his training had moved up and he had to leave soon. In fact, he had been up for a while but had waited to give her full 8 hours before interrupting her peaceful sleep.

His hand slid up from around her waist to her chest, cupping her softly.

She whined and turned around, eyes still firmly shut, and cradled his head against her chest, patting his cheek & the back of his head rhythmically to put him back to sleep, like one would do to a toddler.

Jude was deeply amused. But having his face pressed in her cleavage was not helping the excitement down there.

Time for subtlety was over.

He pulled her closer by her ass, grinding against her once, letting her feel his state, while his mouth bit down on her partly exposed cleavage softly.

That woke her up well & good. She blinked & tried to rub sleep away from her eyes, to find his darkened ones roaming her form.

Before she could protest, he shut her up with a soft, deep kiss, moving his lips expertly against her yielding ones, muttering in between.

‘Been ages since I had you.’

‘5 days Jude.’

‘Exactly. Too long.’

‘Your brother is next door.’

‘He’s a heavy sleeper & we’d be quieter. Also, I don’t really care. Won’t be the first time.’

She should ask what that last line meant. Or maybe she shouldn’t. But she should definitely stop him, she really should. Her body refused to comply though, such was his pull. 

The kiss turned sloppy. Subconsciously, she turned her body further towards him, giving him better access, which he appreciated with a groan.

His hand moved down to stroke her almost bare legs (the dress had moved far up her thighs), caressing her dangerously close to her core, breaking her resolve rapidly.

She didn’t have much resolve left anyway, not when he was touching her like this. But she held on a bit further, wanting to tease him.

‘Don’t I get credit for behaving myself all evening, all night?’

‘Excuse me, what?’

‘For mostly behaving myself?’

Well that was true, she had to give him that. In fact, she hadn’t expected to get much sleep last night given how horny some of his texts/calls had been lately. Poor boy did deserve a reward for his misery.

Ananya cupped his face with both hands, nudged her nose against his and pecked his cheeks affectionately. 

‘Come here, you.’

He went gladly, rolling on top of her, letting her feel his weight, just as she liked it. Lazy kisses ensued, all over her face & neck. She hummed contently all through. Relaxation seeping into her bones.

Jude paused, looking down at that sinful dress, sliding his hand all across it. She reached for the zipper at the back, pulling it down & raised her arms for him, so he could take the garment off easily. Which he did immediately.

Then, in one swift motion, he spread her legs apart, kneeled between them, and started kissing along her legs, all the way up, stopping just short of her core.

She gripped the pillow at the sensations, her delightful whimpers spurring him on.

‘Got hit on at the conference yesterday?’

That came out of nowhere, and lifted the fog building in her head. She looked down to find his eyes firmly on hers, the fiery possessiveness all too evident, while his tongue still played with her inner thighs.

He knew she won’t lie to him, and her silence was answer enough. His grip tightened on her thigh.

‘How many?’

‘Two.’

‘Anyone from your office?’

‘No. Others.’

‘Fucking ASSHOLES.’

She pulled him back up to her face.

‘Maybe I should wear like a big locket with your life-size photo on it, or with JB written on it, for the world to get the message?’

And just like that, she had soothed him again. Despite himself, he ended up smiling.

‘I won’t be opposed to the idea.’

‘They’d think I’m a crazy fangirl.’

‘Serves the purpose.’

‘Serves your purpose.’

‘Same thing.’

‘Idiot.’

‘Your idiot.’

For some reason, that idiot was looking extremely endearing to her right now. Sparkling eyes, full of life, and unabashed smirk. While he was the one who had initiated the intimacy, it was her who was getting impatient now. She had missed him too. Every morning. Every night.

Wanting to move things along, she removed her underthings, baring herself to his hungry gaze. The eagerness pleased him, rushing his blood down south. Jude followed suit, making quick work of his briefs and started turning her to her side, getting in behind her. But she grabbed his hand.

‘You’d like it. I got you, yeah?’

‘I know. But….right now, can we….like….?’

‘Yes?’

He was equal parts glad at her finally expressing herself verbally and amused with how flushed she was still getting with him. It was unbelievably cute.

She cupped his cheeks, pulling him close, foreheads touching, breaths mingling.

‘Do it like….this? Facing me? Nice & easy?’

The naughty smile was back.

‘Do what like this?’

Annoyed, she slapped his bicep in response.

‘Maths.’

His resulting loud, throaty giggle against her lips made the annoyance disappear.

‘Love the lippiness, especially when you are naked under me.’

Unable to handle the sudden heat of his gaze & words, she looked away, but he held her jaw, keeping her in place.

‘Whatever dove wants, she gets.’

Her heart leapt in her chest at the certainty in his words. But he din’t let her ponder over it much when he started kissing all over he body, as his fingers slowly played with her folds. Instantly making her moan.

He bit down the sensitive skin of her cleavage, just enough to leave a mark. His previous marks on her had disappeared, something he wanted to fix straightaway.

She looked so edible, he could eat her whole then & there. But he took it slow, wrecking her with foreplay. Branding her skin all over. 

She was mewling by now, arching her back up, meeting the impossibly scarce friction of his fingers.

‘Jude please…just…’

‘Yes?’

‘Want you.’

‘Where?’’

‘Inside me…..Now.’

‘I am inside.’

He curled the two fingers to make his point, already glazed with her arousal. She cried out, grabbing his hand. Feeling dizzy.

The bastard had her where he wanted her.

‘Need your….your….’

She pleaded with her whole face but he didn’t budge. Desperate to hear her say the word she’d never said before.

‘GOD DAMN YOU. Need your dick you bloody devil…..’

He thrusted inside in one quick motion, going half the way in, making her words choke in her throat, replaced with strangled moans.

Her nails dug into his back as her body stung while accommodating his persistent measured thrusts.

The sensation of doing it without protection this time was blowing their minds - it was a first for both. It hit harder. Felt closer, deeper, more intimate. 

Jude threw his head back in pleasure, while she was barely hanging on to some coherence. Nestled in the safety of his embrace, drowning in his electrifying touch, a scary feeling hit her - that she didn’t want to be touched by any other man like this.

‘You’ll ruin me.’

She whispered, almost to herself.

‘Haven’t I already?’

He muttered in her ear, and she was reduced to a mumbling mess.

Bodies already on edge after the foreplay, they came soon after, him holding back just enough to follow her high, covering her mouth with his hand to muffle her screams.

She trembled underneath him, half-way to heaven, as he soaked in her sweaty, dishevelled form. The sight of their combined releases dripping down her thigh was so erotic he nearly got hard again.

But he regained control, got up to clean them (it was needed more than ever now), then settled next to her in bed, pulling her close. Her body was loose. Content. Pliant. Almost boneless.

He stroked her back gently, his other hand shifting sweaty hair stands away from her face.

‘Baby?’

She nearly cried with the softness and care in his tone. Humming into his chest.

‘Say something.’

Ananya snuggled further into him, playing with his chest hair.

‘I…I love….umm….I love it when you touch me like this.’

She felt his smile against her forehead.

‘Glad to be of service. Do I get a reward for such splendid work?’

Content & satisfied, she decided to humour him.

‘Sure.’

‘Just one question - why bareback with me & not your ex?’

Stunned & appalled, she slid slightly away to look at him in disbelief.

‘You wanna talk about my ex right after sex?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘What the hell kinda question is that?’

‘I’m just nosy. Tell me.’

She gaped at him, unable to string together any words.

‘I could ask you the same thing.’

‘Oh simple. Never been in a proper relationship before. Can’t do this in casual sex. Simple. Now your turn.’

Their eyes met, challenging each other. Jude knew he was onto something, and the answer would please him.

She didn’t want to chicken out, but she didn’t want to say it either. His ego was already too big for his head.

‘Not too frequent with him? Not too good, yeah? Not like us?’

Ananya groaned & smacked his chest, hard. He just laughed and held her hands behind her back, caging her. Something primal flashing in his eyes.

‘Tell me I’m better. Say you like it with me more.’

‘And what if the answer is no?’

She really wanted to bring him down a notch. A few notches rather. 

‘You would have thrown that in my face by now.’

Checkmate. 

The blank, deer caught in headlights kinda expression on her face added to his glee. 

‘I knew it.’

‘I haven’t said anything.’

‘Oh yes you have babygirl.’

She tried to wiggle out of his hold but he just cajoled & took her for another round, assuaging her crankiness, bringing her back to her blissed out state. It was just not fair. She couldn’t even stay mad at him for long. The boy was a living breathing cheat code.

And she was going to miss him loads when he’d leave for his Christmas break. They were only together till this evening. He had to fly out tonight for his match tomorrow and was going back home with Jobe directly from there. They’d be apart for over 10 days, which felt like a month to her. 

Would he miss her too? And not just for sex? 

Unaware of her wandering thoughts, he just laid happily next to her, staring at the ceiling. He’d have to get up in 5 mins and he absolutely didn’t want to. 

‘Jobe liked you.’

It was on her list to ask him that but he had distracted her in the morning.

‘Did he say that?’

‘He doesn’t say much but I know it.’

‘Hmm. Well he was nice too.’

‘Told you you’d get along.’

‘Hmmm.’

She had to spend the next few hours with Jobe alone, till Jude returned from training, and was nervous about that, so this was helpful information.

It was 8 am. He had to get up now, no room to procrastinate anymore.

‘I’d be back soon. Go back to sleep if you want.’

That didn’t seem like the worst idea. She shut her eyes and her relaxed body drifted off to sleep.

The day with Jobe was actually quite pleasant. He happened to mention how he liked to cheat with waffles during his downtime and Ananya ordered some from her favourite cafe. Her and Jude’s cafe.

That was a massive hit with him. They chatted all morning. Jobe even showed her some questionable pics of Jude when he was younger and had far poorer dressing sense. He thought he looked cool but really was quite a dork. 

It so happened that Jobe liked to read English classics too. Not as much as her but they both had Pride and Prejudice as a top 5 book. 

‘Oh did you see Bridgerton then?’

‘Loved it.’

‘Jude thought it was ok.’

‘Yeah his taste in shows & movies is quite sad.’

‘Guessed so.’

‘You know he hasn’t seen Boys yet?’

‘Ya am gonna make him.’

‘Good luck with that. He called it stupid, then called me stupid when we tried to watch together.’

Jobe threw in a few more sarcastic comments about Jude, but Ananya could tell how much he loved and idolised his big brother. Jude had many footballing idols but for Jobe, Jude was his hero. Jobe wasn’t as expressive or vocal as his big brother - he was more like Denise while Jude was a carbon copy of his dad’s personality - but it was clear he would do anything Jude asks him to, blindly. He’d follow his big brother anywhere, like he’d been doing since they were kids.

And Jude loved him loads. Jobe was Jude’s baby, the only one Jude felt responsible for.

Their bond reminded her of her brother back in India. It had been 6 months since she saw her family, and suddenly she felt a tad too nostalgic.

Jobe was alarmed to see her moist eyes, but Ananya clarified they were happy tears. Well mostly.

‘Can you pls not tell him I made you cry?’

The seriousness of his tone made her laugh.

‘You are overthinking this, but alright.’

Jobe shrugged. She maybe right but he didn’t want to find out. His brother was different with her.

The said brother returned soon, as promised, skipping the team lunch. Greeting Jobe with a kiss to his cheek. Greeting Ananya by lifting her by her waist & spinning her around, with Jobe shaking his head at the back, smiling at his brother’s antics.

The lunch together was a lot of serious football talk - it was the first time she heard Jude talk proper tactics in depth. And man was it fun. She wondered what their team meetings would be like, and if she could be a fly on the wall for one of those sessions. 

They retired to their rooms for an afternoon siesta, at least that’s what Jude claimed, but it turned into something else when both of them realised it was the last time they were going to be together in a while.

Limbs tangled, they laid close, basking in the afterglow.

‘Excited about going home?’

‘Yeah.’

Jude loved his life in Madrid but during festivals like Christmas, Birmingham felt more like home.

‘I’ll miss you.’

She snuggled further into his chest, as if he’d slip away any instant. Way past the point of caring about being too attached or too vulnerable. 

Wanna come with me?

He nearly said it out loud but checked himself in the last second.

Jude stroked her cheek tenderly with the back of his fingers.

‘I’d bug you so much you’d wanna block me.’

‘Please do.’

‘Look at me, dove.’

She did.

‘Am I allowed to get you a Christmas present?’

She only wanted him as her present. When did she get so sappy? When did he become so important? She had not seen this coming.

‘Uh-huhh.’

‘You’d love what I have in mind. It’s as pretty as you.’

‘Don’t go crazy with it, yeah?

‘I won’t, promise.’

‘And don’t do something I won’t do.’

Jude pulled her flush on top of himself, holding her tight.

He could tell they were getting into an unchartered territory for him - expectations & accountability & what not. In a different time it would have been suffocating & he would have wanted to run from the idea of it, but it wasn’t even remotely scary this time. It was exciting. The emotional investment seemed worth it.

‘Well if I had that much sense…’

They both smiled. Wrapped around each other. Soaking in the proximity.

‘I was thinking…to tell my cousin about us.’

Jude did a happy dance internally. This was the sister she was closest to, they were practically twins and had grown up together. She was Ananya’s first confidante in the family. 

‘Sure?’

‘Yeah. She’s planning to be here in spring so…..’

‘I’d love to meet her.’

‘Yeah it’ll be nice. She’s a lot like Roma. I mean not as crazy as her, but yeah.’

‘Super.’

They fell into a comfortable silence again, listening to each other’s heartbeats.

‘You know what will help get through next 2 weeks?’

‘What?’

Jude picked up his phone, opened his camera, then looked at her for permission.

She was apprehensive at first. They hadn’t taken naked photos together so far. In fact, she had never done this, ever. She knew he had a separate locked gallery for her photos but still…..the privacy aspect made her nervous.

But this was Jude. And there had already been a few firsts with him. What’s one more?

He was watching her closely and saw the decision on her face before she said it out loud. And he let the photos remain aesthetic, sensuous, instead of the downright filth he would have wanted otherwise. Saving that for next time.

When it was time to leave, they parted with a heavy heart, stealing as many hugs as they could.

The following night, he was off to Birmingham, with a decisive win under his belt. Jobe had been in the away stadium, so the win was extra special to Jude.

It was his first meaningful break in Birmingham since the Madrid madness began. And madness it was. His debut season had been unreal so far, the number of match-winning goals higher than anyone else in the team. It was surreal, even for him & his family. No one thought it could possibly go this well, but he seemed to keep going every match. The fans were in love with him already, as were the squad and the club. He couldn’t put a foot wrong even if he tried. Already the crowned prince of Madrid. At 20. In 6 months of joining the biggest club in the world.

He needed the anchoring of friends and family, so this doesn’t get to him. He also wanted to celebrate with them, since they had been crucial in his journey. He couldn’t wait to visit his boyhood club and meet everyone there. Surely he had come a long way in the last 4 years. 

Every day was packed, with something or the other. Too less time, too many people to meet, too many things to do. Everyone wanted a piece of him. Long lost neighbours and relatives showed up at his door. He was one of the most famous persons in all of England right now, if not all of Europe. 

Jude loved the attention, the praise, the absolute revelation he was getting. He believed he deserved it. And he knew he was just getting started to build his legacy. People were already talking about them winning La Liga and Champions League. And for him to win the golden ball. Not the golden boy one that he had gotten this year, but the proper Balon d’or. He was the front contender half-way through the season. And it was blowing his mind.

So the familiarity of home & friends was a welcome break too. He needed those moments where he was just their Jude, not Jude Bellingham as the world knew him now. Where he could be just one of the boys.

And he did let off steam with his boys, partied to his heart’s content, with Jobe joining them too. When Jude didn’t indulge in some of the things he otherwise would have on their typical night-outs,  despite the overwhelming female attention coming his way, Toby & Noah were curious. Jobe kept a straight face. Jude wanted to tell them, so bad, and on one drunken night he nearly did, but Jobe kicked him under the table just in time. She needed to be onboard before telling more people, and she had specifically asked Jude to not do something stupid. 

Due to all this mayhem, he barely got any time to speak to Ananya in the last few days. They mostly missed each other’s calls, with her work and his commitments. Communicating through small voice notes and asynchronous texts.

Many of her colleagues were on leave during the Christmas period, but since Ananya had to be in India early Jan for a wedding, she couldn’t be off now. The overall work for the team wasn’t much but since very few people were in the office, they had to shoulder whatever was coming.

And it was the absolute worst time to work. 90% of her office floor was empty. The whole city & the world seemed to be in celebratory spirits. Streets were filled with markets, Christmas lights and people making merry. Her apartment building had a slew of people coming & leaving daily for family gatherings or for chilling with friends. Many had taken off for end of year vacations. Including her friends and family in India. She didn’t want to bother them while they were off, so she mostly spoke in texts with them too.

Worst thing of all, Roma had taken off to the US. To celebrate Christmas with her family and her boyfriend. It was the first time Ananya was living alone in her apartment, since moving to Madrid. And she realised how used to she had gotten to Roma’s constant presence around her. She was her own tiny support system in this still new city. Her best friend here. She had a few other friends from work who were still around but Arjun was a part of that group, so she couldn’t really hang out with them. It was awkward enough that Arjun was one of the only 7 people still at work in her 100 seater floor; seeing him in a social situation was extra awkwardness she didn’t need. Plus, Jude would lose his shit.

Jude. How she missed him these days.

Mostly getting to see what was happening with him through his daily Insta dumps. She missed the way he looked at her. The sound of his voice. His attention. His fussing. His absolute theatrics. His goofiness. His possessiveness. His smile. His giggles. His hugs. His touch. His comforting proximity.

She missed him whole. She missed him dearly. Him being away like this could not have come at a worst time for her.

But she understood. And gave him space. She could tell he was genuinely caught up.

The biggest lesson she had learnt from her past failed relationship was that people needed to sometimes go into their own little zones. Their personal time. If you meddle with that, you end up crowding them. Suffocating them. Being able to find these spaces without any nagging was crucial, for both people. 

Surely, one phone call every day could have been managed, especially when he was on a break?

She shushed her brain down. It was fine. It was only a matter of few more days. He deserved to use his time off in the way he wanted.

Well, you aren’t a part of it.

No, it was fine. She was not going to overthink this. She was not going to do the same things that happened last time. 

Plus, she was sure he was thinking of her in his own way. His messages were sweet, as were the voice notes. However few they may be, it still sounded like her Jude.

It was already 22nd night, a Friday night thankfully. Next 3 days were a long Christmas weekend. No office, no work. Not much to do. Maybe she could go visit the Christmas market tomorrow, and treat herself to a nice lunch? That sounded nice.

She had to still think of what to give him for Christmas, given how proud he sounded of his gift for her. But what can you give someone who had everything in the world?

She thought for an hour, then came up with an idea. She was going to make him a scrapbook - of all important events since he joined Madrid. His first goal, his first MOTM, his first trophy, the first time the fans help up a banner for him, his first Clasico (where they met), stuff like that.

It was late. She’d pick up the stuff for it from the market tomorrow, and start looking for the right pictures. After randomly scrolling through Netflix for a bit, she put her laptop aside and willed herself to sleep. There were things to do tomorrow, things to look forward to.

But what she woke up to was not something she was looking forward to, far from it.

It was 8 am, early for her on a Saturday off but more sleep just eluded her. Out of habit, she checked her phone and was alarmed to see 8 missed calls from Roma through the night. And many messages to check if she was up & how she was doing.

She scrolled through her messages to find a tabloid piece link. When she clicked on it, the banner photo was of Jude kissing a very pretty girl last night. The all caps headline screamed in her face:

Jude Bellingham reunites with his ex-girlfriend. His already perfect year just got sweeter!

The phone dropped from her hands, and her breath got knocked out of her chest.

.....................................................................................

So, folks wanted angst and more action right? Told you to wait!

Remember, there are more chapters to come...so don't start jumping from somewhere...

As always, your thoughts / comments / feedback are most welcome!!

[ohmyitsfaith]

50 days of learning love

Y/n L/n, a seemingly normal human somehow survived the apocalypse in 2019, but without much memory of their previous life. It has been almost five years since then and they have completely lost hope of ever living a normal life. That is, until they meet Five, who has been in the apocalypse as long as they had. Together they work on a way out, using Five's powers and the equations he previously worked on. Amongst many things, they have a chance to learn how to love each other.

Table of contents

Part 1: Days 1-5

After surviving the apocalypse, you try to survive in the dusty and lonely world. But it has been five years and you're losing hope of ever living a normal life again.

Part 2: Days 6-10

You and Five try to get along, but now that Delores is in the picture too... well it's harder.

Part 3: Days 11-15

You and Five start to warm up to each other as the days pass.

Part 4: Days 16-20

Stressing is caring. Five is away and you're afraid something bad is going to happen to him. Eventually, it does. Which is followed by a bunch of arguments.

Part 5: Days 21-25

You're sick, he's sick, everyone is sick. Maybe you shouldn't have stayed close to the sick boy with both of your immune systems being so weak.

Part 6: Days 26-30

Now that you're officially besties, your love for the other grows more.

Part 7: Days 31-35

Finding love after being alone for five years comes with a plethora of emotions.

Part 8: Days 36-40

Sometimes there are problems we can't simply solve, so we must ask for help. A situation might seem impossible, bu there's always some type of solution. Even if that solution hurts.

Part 9: Days 41-45

Things progress in the search for an answer and also in your and Five's relationship. The happier times are closer than ever.

Part 10: Days 45-50

This is the end of this short tale. The only thing left is to say goodbye and show how to love.

A/n: Sorry, the other post got corrupted in the editing process, so here's a new one. Hopefully this will be fine.

More umbrella academy fics: The umbrella academy masterlist More stories: Main masterlist

[shadesslut]

Hi!! I have a suggestion for kinktober! Could you please write a fic about ethan and y/n being childhood bestfriends then taking eachothers virginities in college? Please make it very sweet and fluffy

𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻 DAY 7

Virginity

MINORS DNI

Pairing: (Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader)

Content Includes: (Fluff, smut)

Main Masterlist

𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

🦇

🦇

🦇

Y/N could say her life was pretty good and she wouldn’t be lying. She had a good group of friends, enrolled in classes she actually liked, and was happy with herself. The only problem was that she was madly in love with her best friend of eight years. 

He was currently on his stomach as he watched a movie peacefully on her bed. She was at her desk working on homework. 

Ethan groaned for the umpteenth time, causing Y/N to roll her eyes. She spun around in her chair, stopping to be facing him. “What is it now?” 

Ethan rolled on his back, his arms sprawled out. He bent his head backwards to rest on the edge of the bed and looked at her. His curls bounced back as he pouted. “I’m bored. You said it’d take thirty minutes, not thirty hours.” He complained. 

“It’s been an hour.” 

“So you admit it’s been more than thirty minutes?” 

She dryly laughed before spinning back to her desk, earning a groan from Ethan. The truth was, she hadn’t got a single drop of work done. The whole time she had been texting a boy from her class, Greg. 

He sneakily walked over to her and peeked over her shoulder. His face dropped upon seeing her phone. Ethan looked at her sadly, but shook it off as he grabbed her phone. 

“Ethan!” 

Ethan giggled mischievously as he held her phone in the air away from her. She pulled on his arm, but she knew he was ten times stronger than her. 

“Who’s Greg?” He cooed as he teased. He scrolled through the text thread. 

“Ethan give me my phone back!” She yelled as she clawed at Ethan’s chest. His stomach only bubbled with laughter as he held his free hand out to push her away. 

Opposite of what Ethan thought he’d find, Y/N was scared Ethan would see the texts from Greg giving Y/N advice on asking Ethan out. “Wow you’re sending him outfit ideas?” Y/N’s eyes widened as he teased further. “You never send me outfit ideas.”

“Ethan please,” she pleaded. 

Ethan only put on a faux smile as he continued to scroll. His thumb froze on the screen, and his smile faded. His eyes rolled over the words as his arm lowered, allowing Y/N to snatch her phone from him. 

She nervously looked to her phone, seeing Ethan stopped on the texts she didn’t want him to see. 

Greg 

you won’t be happy until you tell him y/n

9:45 pm

Y/N

I cant

Hes my best friend everything would go to shit

9:46 pm

Greg 

Just give it a chance

Maybe he likes you!

9:48 pm

Y/N

I doubt it

He’d probably hate me if he knew

9:51 pm

Her face turned warm as she read the messages, and Ethan stood still. “How could you think I could ever hate you?” Ethan asked smally. 

“Because it’s weird,” she slumped her shoulders, turning away from Ethan. Ethan placed his hand on her shoulder, and he tilted his head to look around her shoulder. 

“It’s not weird. I like you too.” Ethan smiled nervously. “I have for a while.” 

“Really?” She asked, finally turning to him. He nodded and placed his hand on her cheek. They looked at each other for a moment, and then she yanked on his collar, pulling him into a rough kiss. Ethan moaned softly as her lips moved against his. 

It was better than she could ever imagine. His lips were soft and felt as if they were molded to fit against hers. She snaked her hands up his chest, and Ethan’s hands went to her hips. He pulled her closer to his body, earning a gasp from her. 

He backed them up towards her bed, pulling her down with him as he sat on the edge of the bed. His cheeks glowed a light shade of red at their position. 

“Y/N,” He trailed off in a whisper. He played with the hem of her shirt as he looked down. 

“Yes?” She answered softly. 

He pecked her lips. “Are you a virgin?” 

She laughed slightly, and she ran her fingers through his curls. “You know I am.”

“I didn’t know. I thought you and that one boyfriend…” She shook her head. “Good. I-I wanna be your first. I wanna be the one that takes your virginity away. I wanna be the first one inside you.” Her face grew warm at his words. His hands slowly moved under her shirt, reaching to the waistband of her shorts. “I wanna be the first dick you ever feel stretch you, hell, the only dick. I’m all yours, and you’re only mine.” 

He ravished her neck with his lips, and his hand reached to her panties. He smiled against her neck as he felt how wet she was. 

“Y-You’re a virgin too, right?” Y/N asked. 

Ethan nodded as he pulled away. He stretched her with two fingers, slowly curling deep inside of her. She whined softly as her eyes closed. “Please, Eth, I need to feel you.” 

“You are feeling me, sweetheart.” 

She shook her head. “Need to feel your cock inside me, please.” 

He smirked, pulling his fingers out of her. He let her unzip his pants as he pulled her shirt over her head. His eyes froze on her tits, and he practically drooled. “Fuck,” He held her shorts and panties to the side with his fingers, and he pulled his cock out, teasing her entrance with his head. 

“Wait,” Y/N suddenly said, voice lacing with concern. Ethan immediately retracted his hand as his cock bounced against his stomach as he let go. “What if I’m not good enough for you?”

“Babe, I don’t know what I’m doing either. I think you should be a little more worried than me.” 

“I guess, but,”

“Nah,” Ethan cut her off. “I promise you, you will make me feel good. Even if you’re the worst at having sex,” she slapped at his arm playfully. “I will love every part of it. Because I love you, and I will feel all of you. And that’s enough for me.”

Y/N sweetly smiled at his words. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Ethan looked at her longingly, before continuing his previous actions. His head was barely in her entrance, his precum dripping into her hole. Slowly, he thrusted his hips, shoving half of his dick in her. She inhaled sharply at the pain of the stretch. Ethan stopped, letting her adjust to his size. It took everything in him not to throw her on her back and pound into her. But he knew he had to be patient, he needed to be slow for her. So she could feel good her first time too.

After a moment, he thrusted his hips upwards, going deeper inside of her. She gasped, but rolled her hips with him. Ethan shut his eyes as she clenched around him. 

“Fuck, fuck, wait,” Ethan whimpered, pausing his movements. Y/N froze in fear as she looked at him. Did she do something wrong? “I’m gonna cum soon, fuck.” 

She dryly chuckled and kissed his cheek. He nodded, and he started moving again. Knowing that he’d probably finish soon, she reached her hand down to start rubbing circles against her clit. Ethan’s eyes flicked down as he panted. He replaced her hand with his, and he used his free hand to grip her hip, moving her forwards and backwards against him. 

Soft moans and grunts came from the two of them. Both of their bodies moved against each other, sweaty skin slapping. Y/N felt it, felt her stomach heating up, twisting. She was making love for the first time, with the boy she loved, and she was actually going to finish. Ethan was getting close too. He bounced her on his cock as he whined, his fingers still rubbing her clit. 

First it was Y/N, she came around his cock, clenching tightly around him with her walls. Ethan jerked his hips, and his mouth parted open to groan loudly. 

“I love you, fuck, I love you so much.” He whined as he kissed her sloppily. He moved his hips again, stopping as he was all the way inside of her, cumming. She ran her fingers against his chest soothingly as he breathed heavily. “Did I, mm, did I do okay?”

She kissed him in response, sucking on his bottom lip. “Amazing.”

“By the way,” 

“Hmm?” Ethan hummed, his eyes gazing at her lips. 

“I love you too.”

[ww2yaoi]

[here's a little taste of a multi-chapter clegan post-war fic I've been working on. note: I've taken creative liberties with the timeline and John and Gale's post-war lives. it's very much intentional]

Winter 1948

Marjorie Cleven dies on a Tuesday in December, two weeks before Christmas Eve.

John gets the call a few days later. Gale’s voice is steady on the other end of the line, but John knows his heart is broken. It’s the first time they’ve spoken since Marge got sick. After the wedding, there had been some letters exchanged, few and far between, but John has always been a crummy pen pal. There were reunions, but those were annual at most, and John rarely stuck around past a couple of drinks and a war story or two. When they got back stateside in ‘45, he thought the distance would be good for Gale, thought it would help put their past far behind them.

Now, in hindsight, it seems futile. John feels it all rushing back, like VE Day was just yesterday and Gale’s boots are still underneath his bed.

It’s warm in southern Florida. The sun beams down on the tarmac, hot enough to fry an egg on the airfield, sunny-side-up. John watches from the control tower as planes taxi below him. His trainees will be on furlough soon, but he won’t be going home for Christmas this year. Any excuse to maintain the two thousand miles between him and Gale.

It doesn’t last. John should’ve known he could never keep away for long.

Spring 1949

The back of the cab smells like menthol cigarettes and cheap cologne. John drums his fingers against his thigh, feeling suddenly restricted by his uniform now that he’s been let loose in the civilian world. Laramie, Wyoming passes by his window, a cluster of shops and banks and schools on a stretch of agricultural land bisected by historical railways and boxed in by mountains on all sides. The air is thinner here than in Manitowoc, and there are no waterfronts to be found. The terra firma is dusty and brown, the sun a sepia pinprick hanging low in the sky.

The cab weaves through neighbourhoods of modest-looking houses. John had handed the driver the address on a slip of yellowy paper, which Gale had relayed over the phone. John doesn’t know how close they are to his destination, but he can feel his anxiety rising like bile in his throat. He makes nervous conversation, the driver mentioning the geology museum, the fact that the town was named after a French fur trapper who disappeared somewhere in the mountains. It doesn’t do much to calm John’s nerves.

“What brings you to Laramie?” the driver asks, glancing up at the rear-view mirror to get a glimpse of John.

He’s young, probably around Gale’s age. Young enough to have served at least, but he doesn’t comment on John’s uniform. He just peers at him curiously, eyes darting back and forth from the road.

“Visiting an old friend,” John says and tries not to squirm uncomfortably under his gaze. “He goes to school here.”

A moment later, the cab slows to a halt outside of a quaint-looking bungalow. John regards it from his window: white siding, yellow door, slate roof. Rose bushes line the walk-up, not yet blooming, and the grass has recently been mowed.

“Thanks,” John says, fishing a few bills from his pocket and handing them to the driver. “Keep the change.”

The driver smiles at him, close-mouthed, and pops the trunk. John slowly gets out of the car, like he’s trying to delay the inevitable, then fetches his suitcase from the back. He rests it on the sidewalk for a moment while the cab speeds away, looking at the house once more. A gaggle of kids darts down the street on bicycles. A few doors down, a lawnmower springs to life. It’s picturesque, like a postcard Gale might’ve sent him a few years back. John immediately feels out of place, still used to Nissen huts and crowded mess halls and military time. If he wants to turn back, now’s his chance, but he picks up his suitcase from the ground and forces his feet forward, climbing up the porch steps.

He thumbs the doorbell and it chimes. A dog barks gruffly inside the house. John removes his cap from his head and smoothes out his hair. He feels ridiculous, like a socially awkward teenager picking up his sweetheart for prom. His heart is in his throat as the door opens gradually, almost startling as a golden retriever pokes its head through the opening. It squeezes outside and dashes into the yard, yelping happily.

“Archie, get back here!”

John recognizes that voice. The door opens all the way, and suddenly, Gale is standing in front of him. Everything John had thought to say on his way over dies on his tongue. Gale looks practically the same, if not a bit filled out in his middle than he was during the war. His cheeks are smooth and shaven, flaxen hair styled off his forehead in a coif. John could never get used to seeing Gale in civilian clothes, but that’s how he appears in front of him now, crisp, white button-down hanging off his shoulders, navy slacks belted around his waist and brown cap-toe shoes on his feet.

They look at each other for a moment, unspeaking, then a smile splits Gale’s face in two. “Hello stranger,” he says.

“Gale.” John can’t help but return his grin. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

He holds out his hand for Gale to shake it, but Gale takes one look at his outstretched palm and instead, pulls John into a hug. It surprises John, so much so that almost all the air shoots out of his lungs at the contact. Gale’s fingers meld into the muscle of John’s back. It takes John a moment, but he eventually returns the gesture, squeezing Gale gently. They part and Gale turns his attention towards the dog, Archie, who’s taken it upon himself to start digging around in the garden.

Gale whistles. “Come here, boy,” he shouts, clapping his hands, and Archie bounds over.

He pauses to sniff John’s shoes. John crouches down and pats the dog, rubbing his ears, and is instantly reminded of Meatball.

“He’s usually not so ill-behaved,” Gale says. “He gets excited around visitors.”

“I don’t mind,” John replies, smiling down at the dog.

Archie pants, long, pink tongue hanging from his mouth, then he retreats back inside the house. Gale reaches down and picks up John’s suitcase from the porch. John straightens. They look at each other again, a bit too long without words to be comfortable, but John knows they’re both adjusting to being in close proximity again after so long.

“Lead the way,” he says, motioning towards the open front door.

Gale seems to snap out of it. “Of course, come on in.”

John steps inside the foyer and closes the door behind him. The interior is small, but well-decorated and tidy. The ocean blue walls are hung with artwork, the hardwood floors carpeted with rugs. John sets his cap down on a table peppered with framed photographs but doesn’t stop to look at any of them. He follows Gale past the dining room, down a hallway, and through the kitchen to another hallway at the back of the house. Gale opens one of the four doors that line the hall and carries the suitcase inside. John peeks his head into the guest bedroom. A double bed sits against the far wall, night tables on either side of it that host brass lamps with cream shades. On the other end of the room is a cherry wood wardrobe and an armchair to its left, upholstered in a muted green. Above it lies a square window, lace curtains pulled together to drown out the harsh afternoon light. The bedroom is sparse and unlived in, like most guest bedrooms are, but John appreciates it just the same.

“Hopefully this suits you alright,” Gale says, setting the suitcase down beside the bed.

John nods. “Suits me just fine,” he says. “Better than what I have back at base. That’s for sure.”

Gale looks at him. An emotion John can’t exactly pinpoint passes over Gale’s face, something like recognition, bordering on wistfulness.

They return to the kitchen, and Gale beckons John to sit down at a round table in the corner. Archie laps water from a bowl as Gale putters around the kitchen, opening cabinets. He appears tense, but not in his usual stiff, reserved way. His energy is almost jittery, nervous, and he taps a rhythm on the countertop. It’s not like him, at least not like the Gale John knew during the war. He pretends not to notice.

“So, how was your flight?” Gale asks eventually.

“Good,” John says and adjusts his uniform, crossing his legs. “Felt strange not being the one flying the plane.”

“I’ll bet,” Gale replies with a suggestion of a smile. “Do you want something to eat? Some coffee?” He reaches into the cabinet and produces a tin of Foldgers.

“Just coffee, thanks,” John says.

He looks around the kitchen as Gale spoons coffee grounds into the machine. His eyes trace the checkered red wallpaper, the white-tiled backsplash, the laminate countertops, the icebox in the corner. He’s never seen Gale in such a domestic setting, not even during the wedding. Maybe that’s why he stayed away for so long, even when he was invited time and time again. Perhaps he didn’t want to experience Gale so far removed from the world they both inhabited for so many years, a world where the only people they could rely on were their men and each other. Now, there’s no avoiding it. It’s all laid out for John to see.

The coffee maker beeps and steams. Gale rests his elbows against the kitchen counter and looks over in John’s general direction, but doesn’t quite meet his eyes. John doesn’t know what to say to him. He doesn’t know how to fall back into the easy camaraderie they had at the beginning, before the stalag, before the march, before the end of the war. Seeing Gale has ushered back a slew of emotions John has been distancing himself from since they parted ways four years ago. He feels like an intruder in Gale’s home, looking for Marge in the corners of the room but not finding her. Guilt stirs in his stomach, and he asks himself again what the hell he’s doing here. This isn’t his place. This isn’t his life.

“How’s training?” Gale asks. “Are the boys following their orders, Lieutenant Colonel?”

John smirks at that, partly to hide his discomfort. It feels wrong that he should outrank Gale after everything they’ve been through, flight school, then serving together, then imprisonment.

“It’s busy,” John replies and drums his fingers against the table. “They’re good kids. Fucking caterpillars though. So damn young.”

Gale smiles softly. “Were we ever that young?”

“Maybe you were,” John quips. “I feel like my bones have been creaking since before our war even started.”

Gale laughs, and the sound hits John like a fist to his sternum. He realizes suddenly that he’s missed Gale’s laugh so goddamn much. It rings in his ears, out-of-reach and yet familiar, like a favourite song of his he hasn’t heard in years has come on the radio out of the blue. For a brief moment, John regrets denying himself this for so long, even if it was the only way he could get on with his life.

“How’s school?” John asks in turn. “Master’s coming along?”

“Yeah, it’s good,” Gale says, nodding. “I like my classes. Lots of grading, lots of writing, some teaching. I’ve got a meeting on Tuesday with my advisor about my thesis.”

“Well, well, look at that,” John says, the corner of his lips twisting into a grin. “Professor Cleven.”

Gale dips his chin towards his chest, almost shy. “Not just yet, John.”

“You’re getting there,” John says. “Y’know Marge wrote to me about your thesis a year or so back, not that I understood a word. Astrophysics, not exactly my wheelhouse.”

Gale’s face falters imperceptibly at the mention of his late wife’s name, and John immediately feels apologetic for bringing her up without much warning.

“It’s not done yet,” Gale says flatly, his gaze falling from John’s face to look at his interlocked fingers resting on top of the counter. “You can read what I have though if you’d like.”

“Yeah, I might,” John says and grimaces at his own inadeptness while Gale’s eyes are elsewhere.

The coffee maker beeps and Gale goes to it, removing two mugs from the cabinet and setting them down beside it. He takes the sugar out of the cupboard and the cream from the icebox.

John bites the inside of his cheek, knowing what he needs to say but unsure if he has it in him to say it. “Buck?”

Gale’s head snaps up at the sound of the nickname. He regards John with a puzzled look, like he’s no longer used to being called anything other than Gale to his face. The name is a relic from a different time, John supposes, something that belonged to them only, and when John was no longer around to use it, there was no one else around to take up the task.

After a moment, the expression on Gale’s face smoothes out. “What is it, Bucky?”

John swallows, then pushes the words out. “I’m sorry, y’know, that I, uh, I couldn’t make it. To the funeral.”

Gale looks at him for a moment, then his face softens. “It’s alright,” he says. “Marge didn’t much like being the centre of attention anyway.” He pours coffee into the two mugs, then adds sugar to one and cream to the other. “My mother-in-law appreciated the flowers you sent.”

“Oh, good,” John says. “Azaleas were Marge’s favourite, right? I remember them from her wedding bouquet.”

Gale’s eyes grow heavy with sadness. He nods. “Yeah, they were.”

As if on cue, John hears a grumbly cry coming from one of the bedrooms down the hall. It starts off quiet, like a baby stirring from sleep, then gradually gets louder until it becomes a full-blown wail. Archie’s ears perk up before he quickly sulks away.

“Sorry,” Gale says as he grips the coffee with sugar and hands it to John. “I just put her down for her afternoon nap, but she’s in that phase where she’s rebelling against sleep.”

John says nothing, frozen in his seat as Gale crosses the kitchen into the hallway and slips inside the bedroom. John had been so caught up in seeing Gale again that he’d almost forgotten. He stares into the inky well of his coffee, too stunned to drink from it.

Gale emerges a moment later with a bundle in his arms. Now calm, the little girl clings to him, her head tucked into the crook of Gale’s neck as she sucks her thumb into her mouth. She’s wearing cream-coloured footie pyjamas with pink roses on them, her curly blonde hair tangled from sleep. Gale draws circles against her back, rocking her slightly from side-to-side. John regards her carefully. She must be at least a year and a half now, much bigger than she was in the pictures Gale had sent him however long ago.

Gale approaches the table where John is sitting. “Lucy, this is your Uncle Bucky,” he says, pointing over at John. “Can you say hello?”

Lucy turns her head and looks straight at John, and John sees the Marge in her face right away, the slight upturn of her nose, the fullness of her cheeks, the pink purse of her lips, but her eyes are all Gale, blue and round and yawning. She quickly looks away, hiding her face back in her father’s neck.

“Sorry,” Gale says again and rubs her back. “She gets shy around strangers.”

John doesn’t expect it to, but the comment stings. The fact that any child of Gale’s could be a stranger to him is borderline unforgivable.

[To be continued...]

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet + ch 45

a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... all chapters

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

45. halcyon daze

With Christmas on the horizon you take a break from your Persephone-inspired series to work on a present for John. There’s not a thing in the world you could buy him that he couldn’t buy for himself; but you have two hands, some talent and creativity: things that can’t yet be bought on Amazon. You’d noticed that he’s been working on an old set of Russian Fairytales. 

It still never fails to destroy your heart, that John favors mending the binding of children’s stories, as though he can recapture and sew back together some aspect of his own broken youth. 

Some of the illustrations in this edition are faded, one is even half destroyed, the paper torn. The writing is in cyrillic, you haven’t learned to read it yet, but with some [you hope] casually peppered questions, you manage to glean enough information to look up what they’re supposed to be. You make some replacements for him, and in the case of the Knight of Night in the story of Vasilisa the Beautiful, the warrior in black might bear more than a passing resemblance to your own dark assassin.  

When he opens this gift the wonder in his eyes is priceless to you. “I didn’t make you anything,” he apologizes guiltily, and while you are sitting amidst the piles of your freshly bestowed loot, which you still can’t help but feel guilty about. He bought you a stylish new motorcycle jacket, a fresh set of artist series gouache tubes and paper, an antique gold art nouveau lavalier necklace in the form of a flowing narcissus flower with glowing enameled accents and a dangling pearl –you are filled with so much love you fear your heart might burst.

You crawl across the floor, into his lap. He barely has time to set the drawings aside before your mouth is on his, and you are toppling him back almost into the Christmas tree with your ardor. By the time you are finished with him, you’re pretty sure he knows how happy he makes you, but just in case you tell him for good measure. “I love you more than I know how to say.” 

***

As winter drags on you look to John’s in-house gym to get exercise, even though you despise running on the treadmill. You feel like a hamster, jogging your ass off to nowhere. You try to keep up with your yoga practice, though you rarely get to finish a session. Somehow, John always manages to time walking in on you when you have your ass in the air. “Have mercy, I’m only a man,” he teases you, like this is an excuse for toppling you over and pinning you down with his body and his mouth on yours. 

It’s hard to get too mad about it, considering. 

You suppose you do still get a stretch and a workout, not to mention a belly laugh, in the end. 

Continuing your training stays interesting, although he wasn’t lying before when he said he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you. More often than not when you spar, you end up fucking on the floor. He’s never more beautiful than when his dark eyes glitter with anticipation of the hunt; you’ve learned a lot, but you know you stand zero chance against him. 

Maybe it’s not fair, when he loses patience and uses his experience and his size to put you down on the ground, sweeping your legs or twisting your arm behind you while he pulls down your leggings, baring your ass to the room. But he finds you soaking wet every time he claims his prize, guiding himself inside you, your growls quickly turning to moans for the way he fills you up and takes you down. “I fucking love it when you fight me,” he admits breathlessly, thrusting until you both cum loudly, your face pressed into the rubber floor.

It’s a game you love to lose.   

***

Winter starts to thaw, and you have cabin fever, ready to go outside. John is engrossed in a binding project: you finished your illustrations, and now he seems just as engaged in his side of the collaboration as you were yours. You find him smiling at a rendition of Dog as Cerberus with three heads when you pop into his workshop. “Want to go for a hike?”

He looks around at the mess he’s made on his worktable. “I’m not at a good stopping point,” he admits, and you understand that perfectly well. “You can go, just don’t be gone too long, alright?”

He could have pushed you over with a feather, you are so surprised to receive this clearance for a solo trek. 

You kiss him on the cheek in thanks. “I’ll be back soon,” you promise, still hardly able to believe your luck. 

“Y/n?” he calls as you’re at the door. “Take Dog?”

“I’m going too far for him.” Long walks hurt his paws.

“Then take your pistol.” You nod before disappearing up the stairs. Once upon a time, the thought of going around casually armed would have seemed like pure insanity to you. Now it’s simply a fact of life. You don’t have an official license for concealed carry, but after your intensive training at the Continental you feel perfectly confident that you won’t shoot anyone–unless you mean to. You live in John’s world now: survive first, worry about getting caught later…and pay off the appropriate officials if you have to.

That’s just the thug life, you suppose. 

The air outside is crisp and fresh, leaves and pine needles perfuming the woods in a way that intoxicates you more than any man-made scent. You take off down the trail at a brisk pace, feeling like you have wings on your feet. Knowing you could walk for miles and miles in this mood, you set a timer on your phone so you don’t forget yourself. Scaring John after he’s given you this confidence will not bode well for the future. Once upon a time such a leash would have chafed, but now you understand so much better what his fears are rooted in. You’ve peered into the darkness behind the curtain; there’s no going back. 

It’s the middle of the day in the middle of the week and you haven’t seen a soul, and on such a fine day as this, it is easy to forget that there’s a bustling, seething world of human strife out there. Or so you imagine, as you are sitting on the outcrop of your favorite overlook, your feet dangling out over oblivion. Yet, when you think you hear voices coming up the trail a sudden instinct kicks in to hide, to avoid being seen. Without really even thinking about it you tip yourself off the ledge, grabbing a branch of an ancient tree growing out of the rocks to break your fall, and dropping down to conceal yourself flat upon a narrow ledge.

“Dude, where’d she go?” you hear from above, your heart pounding in your chest, the blocky hardness of your little Beretta pressing into the small of your back as you lean against the stone face of the cliff a reassuring comfort. You realize then that John is not the only one with a residual paranoia from your misadventures. As you listen to the obviously harmless hikers above, you feel utterly ridiculous, and you wait for them to go so that you can make your way back in peace. 

Maybe it’s good to be alert, but at what point does one just have to get on with one’s life? If you live like a paranoid little rat scurrying around out of sight, then Dante has won in a different way. You think about this a lot, as you make your way home up the mountain. 

***

Perhaps it’s fitting, that with the renewal of spring all around you, John finishes the binding of your book. He calls you into the basement to inspect his workmanship, standing behind you as you behold the finished tome. The cover is embossed black leather with gold leaf. There is no title, just a design of an upturned skull grown through with blooming narcissus flowers. Slowly, you flip through the pages, enchanted with how he transformed your loose paintings into something so refined. 

“I love it,” you tell him, caressing a page bearing his likeness, the God of Death embracing his consort (that may bear a passing resemblance to you) in a Klimt-esque kiss. He nuzzles into your neck, kissing behind your ear. “But you didn’t sign it,” you complain, noting the lack of his usual This Book was Bound by John Wick plate. 

“I thought…we could do it together, as a wedding present?” he offers. You realize he means signing it with your joined name, and maybe it’s silly, but the thought makes your belly erupt into butterflies. You haven’t really talked about the wedding much. Though you wear the ring happily, he hasn’t really mentioned it at all, giving you space or otherwise occupied, you’re not entirely sure. 

“I would love that,” you agree, tilting your head for a kiss. His fingers dig into your hips as it deepens, a low moan called up from his throat. 

“Have you thought about what you might like?” he asks, kissing your neck again, his hands slipping under your shirt. 

“I don’t want anything fancy,” you admit breathlessly. “All I want is you.” You find the thought of bringing your dysfunctional family together in celebration only inspires anxiety. You have no lasting affiliations with any church–you do not feel the need to seek any god’s blessing of your union. You find you are just ready for it to be so. 

You feel him pause behind you, letting out a shuddering sigh. You wonder if he’s thinking about the journey you’ve taken, to get where you are today, together. You certainly are, looking at your book, and the allegory it tells of your tumultuous courtship. It wasn’t easy, and you can’t say anything so trite as you knew it would turn out–but you realize you did have the naivety to hope. For once…maybe your forgiving nature has finally paid off for you. You feel like you’ve been living in a halcyon daze, you are so happy. You hope it never changes, even if deep down you know it will. 

Change is the only certainty we’re ever afforded.

“Surely you want something nicer than a trip to the courthouse,” he pries, certain there’s something you’re not telling him. You do still feel embarrassed sometimes, about spending his money on things, even though he gives you free reign with unparallelled generosity. 

“I really don't want a big ceremony,” you assure him. “But…would you like it, if Winston married us?”

John huffs behind you, and you hear the smile in his voice. “I'm not sure that's something he does.”

You giggle at the thought, and you can tell John at least likes the idea of his father figure–one of his few remaining friends, being there. And, you like Winston too. “I bet he’d do it for you, John.”

“Hmm. We’ll think on that.”

It’s not a no.

“You know what I do want?” you pose, turning a page of your new book.This illustration is a rather explicit one, Death kneeling at her feet with his face buried in her pussy, her back bowed in sweet agony, the dark waters of the river Styx glittering behind them. He offered her the most exquisite pleasures, but withheld release unless she agreed to be his forever. Though deep in her heart she knew she loved him immeasurably, still she refused.

Neither John nor you are immune to the effect of perusing this pornographic work together; his long fingers dip into the waistband of your jeans, his fingertips just nearly caressing your mound.   

“Anything,” he tells you, nibbling at your ear. It takes you a moment to remember what you were talking about, your clit throbbing in answer to his seeking fingers and his other hand up your shirt. As a result your answer comes in breathy bursts. 

“I want…to go on an adventure with you. A long honeymoon,” you tell him, writhing against him as his hand finds your breast, toying with the taut peak of your nipple. You know he likes to travel as much as you do. Wouldn’t it be novel to go somewhere and not even need to assassinate someone in the interim?

You feel him chuckle behind you, more than hear it. “I might have guessed. Where do you want to go?” He asks you this while his fingers tease your curls, so close to touching you where you need him most. You are past shame, when your voice cracks. 

“Where can we go?” You assume most of Europe is off the table these days. 

“Hmm. You still have a yen for South America?” 

You nod, and he laughs again, though he catches your mouth in a tooth-counting kiss before you can answer–ie defend yourself from the usual allegations. At last his middle finger dips into your wet slit, and the sound of relief that escapes you is barely human.  

“Young lady…” he growls, nipping at your ear. “This is quite a dirty little book you’ve drawn. Do you know how many times I had to come find you while I was working on this?” You moan as he swipes up your juices, finally circling your clit as his other hand dips into your bra. You feel his erection straining against the curve of your bottom; you press yourself back against him, wanting what’s yours. Your answer is part laughter, part moan–for the umpteenth time, you feel like life is perfect with this man. 

“Probably as often as I had to come find you while drawing it,” you answer cheekily, arching back to hold his neck, opening yourself completely to him. Your knees threaten to buckle as he touches you, but soon you find yourself bent over his table, his corded forearms braced like columns on either side of you as he fucks you silly amidst the smell of old books, leather, and binding glue.  

It really doesn’t get any better than this.

***

When warmer weather comes you start to take out the bikes again. After a few outings you feel sufficiently refreshed, and more than ready to take your test. You make your appointment for next week, and you feel like a teenager again, full of nervous energy for the impending exam. John finds this amusing. “You can ride, sweetheart. And if you fail, you can just take it again.” 

But the perfectionist academic in you wants to ace it on the first go. When you express the desire to go for a practice ride while John is working on a new project he nods, not even looking up from his worktable. “Be careful.” 

“Take your pistol. I know,” you tease. This has become a broken record between you two–remembering a time when he wouldn’t have dreamed of letting you out of his sight, you do not mind. He narrows his eyes at you playfully, before letting you off with that slight smile that still squeezes your heart in your chest. 

You gear up in your kevlar jeans, boots and jacket, gloves and helmet. Concealed carry is ridiculously easy, with such bulk about you. You feel a bit like a commando, every time you put on the jacket with its armored panels. You fire up the Kawasaki and potter down the driveway. You like this bike, it’s been great to learn on, but John has been teasing you about an upgrade if you’re a good girl. 

Considering you feel where he’s been inside you every time you sit down, you’re pretty sure you’re meeting the requirements. You think about this with a smile as you hit a straightaway, and let the machine open up beneath you. 

It really is the closest you can get to flying on the ground. 

Exhilarated, maybe even feeling a little cocky, you make your loop of the mountain roads and then decide to make a quick stop down in town. You’ve worn out your three favorite paint brushes, the chisel tip, the angle shader, and the tiny 3/0 you favor for small details. Mr. Morton will get you squared away. 

You park in the lot behind the art store, and carry your helmet inside. You don’t dally long, even though the smell of oil paint and linseed oil inside the little store is a marvelous thing. You chat with Mr. Morton, pet the shop cat, and tuck your score into your inside pocket before walking back out to the parking lot. 

It’s totally cliché, but the rest goes by in a blur. 

A black SUV rolls up beside you, screeching on its brakes, a man jumping out of the backseat making a B line for you. Too late, you realize your rookie mistake. Your jacket is zipped up to your chin–you can’t draw your pistol under your arm in time. But you have your helmet in your hand, and without hesitation, you introduce it to his face as hard as you can. 

“At least offer a girl some candy first, asshole!”

The driver spills out next, cursing and trying to grab you, dodging your second swing with the helmet. You side-step him, but he manages to snag your jacket. Rather than pull against his hold you let him drag you to him, meeting his groin dead-on with your knee. As he crumples you hit him in the face with your armored elbow, and run for your bike while shoving your helmet onto your head. 

Maybe you should have run back to the shop, to the thoroughfare, to the safety of witnesses. But all you can think in that moment is that John might need you. You have a terrible feeling that something bad could be happening at home, and so you start your bike and tear off faster and more recklessly than you ever have before. The handlebars wobble in your haste but you manage to get a hold of the machine, concentrating on working the clutch and the gears to pick up speed as fast as you can. If you look back, you know you’ll crash. You run a stop sign, veering around a car by the skin of your teeth, leaving the sound of screeching wheels and honking horns behind you.  

Out of town, you drop a gear and take off like a rocket up the mountain, passing cars where you definitely shouldn’t. I’m coming, John. Maybe it’s ridiculous. How much help could you possibly be to John Wick? But you won’t rest until you set eyes on him again. 

Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised, when the G Wagon roars up next to you again. In your peripheral you see the passenger in the window, his extended arm, the blocky black shape of a gun. They veer at you, trying to run you off the road. You brake the bike, letting them whip past you, nearly going off the pavement themselves in the confusion. You decide to turn off onto a sideroad, a winding death-trap of a paved goat trail that you know like the back of your hand, though you’ve never ridden it before, only drove. You hope you’ll lose them in the snarl of tight curves. It will take longer to get home, but if worse comes to worse maybe you can abandon the bike and lose them in the trees. 

Home turf advantage, you tell yourself, not entirely convinced. These guys mean business–and you’re fairly sure the driver’s accent was Italian. 

You don’t really hear it past the roar of your engine and your heartbeat in your ears, when they come up behind you. You do hear the shot, and you flinch, ducking low to make yourself a smaller target. But he wasn’t aiming for you. 

He was aiming for your tire, and when it blows the bike goes wild–and you really get to experience flying.

It’s almost exhilarating, sailing through the air, until you hit the pavement hard, skidding across the unforgiving asphalt, rolling to take some of the momentum. You lay there on the tarmac, alive, but completely stunned. You tell yourself to get up–but your body doesn’t listen. You see the shadow of a man over you. It’s Helmet Man–his face is a mask of blood; it looks like you broke his nose, and he’s pissed about it.

He kicks you in the side before shoving a needle through your jeans, into the meat of your butt. On the verge of puking in your helmet, the world swims, then goes black.

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*author's note: Full credit to @discoscoob for suggesting that Winston should officiate, I love it, you're brilliant! 😘 And the yoga scene is totally @treedaddymcpuffpuff 's fault. I love our unhinged conversations boo 🤣 The Brain Rot would not be so strong or so FUN without you!❤❤❤❤❤❤❤ :)))))))))))))))))

**maybe i should also add that certain eXplicit panels in the BRZRKR Bloodlines comic inspired a great deal of this dumpster fire 🥵🤣🤣, y'all should definitely check it out, the artwork is great!

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