#and I'm done reaching out to radio silence

[darth-mortem]

The fourth part of demon!Ghost AU. 141 sets off on a mission, but at the most crucial moment, they encounter an unexpected problem.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Action, explosion, sabotage, cats. 3219 words.

“I don't like deserts.” Ghost suddenly broke the silence.

He and Soap were in position next to the enemy base, ready to infiltrate and carry out a diversion on the orders of Captain Price, who was watching everything through the scope of his sniper rifle. Gaz and Roach had already infiltrated and were now trying to reach headquarters unnoticed to obtain the necessary information.

“Why?” Soap asked, turning off his radio microphone.

Ghost didn't have a radio, so they had to stay together. Colonel Albright said that the demon couldn't use any device with electronics, but MacTavish was almost certain that in this case it wasn't a matter of inability but of his unwillingness to learn. After all, it wasn't a computer or even a phone; walkie-talkies were easy to use, especially if you didn't have to switch channels. However, Soap was fine with working in tandem with Ghost, so he kept his assumptions to himself.

You can keep reading here or on the Ao3

“Albright and his people found me in the desert.” The lieutenant said thoughtfully. ”I don't know which one, but I remember that when I came to, there was sand all around me. I think that's the same desert where I died.”

Ghost's voice was emotionless as always, but Soap's heart sank when he heard those words. He wanted to hug the lieutenant, pull him close, and comfort him, even though he didn't really feel sad. Maybe he would have done so, but at that moment, Price's voice came through his radio headset.

“Bravo 7-1, do you copy?”

“Loud and clear, Bravo 6.” Soap replied, turning on his microphone.

“Bravo 6-2, Bravo 7-2?” The captain continued the roll call.

“Loud and clear, too.” Roach replied for both of them. “Bravo 6-2 downloading information, I'm on guard.”

“Copy that.” Price said. “Bravo 7-1, you and Bravo 0-7 start moving closer to your infiltration point.”

“Rog.” Soap replied briefly, looked at Ghost, and nodded, signaling that it was time to move.

After waiting for the bright beam of the searchlight to pass over the open area in front of the chain-link fence, the lieutenant and the sergeant made their first dash from their cover to a small pile of rocks, behind which they lay down. So far, so good, but Soap had doubts about the next dash: they wouldn't make it to the fence in time, and they probably wouldn't be able to hide from the spotlight on the open ground because Ghost was wearing his black gear, even though he had desert gear.

These fears, however, proved to be unfounded. During the next dash, Ghost managed to reach the fence, which was in the dead zone of the searchlights, while Soap fell to the sand, covering himself with a sand-colored cloak. The lieutenant waited for him, but while the sergeant was getting a bolt cutter with insulated handles, he calmly grabbed the fence. Of course, it was energized, but the electric shocks did not harm the demon, and he easily tore through the mesh as if it were paper rather than 0.16-inch-diameter wire. Ghost held the edges so that Soap could slip through safely and then squeezed through himself. They made their way behind the rear wall of a large building where patrols were rare, so there was a chance that no one would notice the breach until it no longer mattered.

“Bravo 6, how copy? Bravo 0-7 and Bravo 7-1 are in.” Soap reported.

“Copy that.” Price replied. “Move to the diversion zone. Wait for the signal from Bravo 6-2 and 7-2.”

“Rog.” Soap said briefly and waved to Ghost, ordering him to follow.

Gaz watched intently as the download progress bar neared completion. Roach stood at the entrance with his weapon at the ready. He could already hear voices and footsteps behind the door, but there was still a chance that the enemies would pass by or be unarmed, feeling safe in this isolated base far from civilization. Once inside the headquarters, Gary locked the door, so if they heard the lock being picked and if Soap and Ghost managed to reach the diversion zone in time, it might still be possible to avoid a fight here and get the information out unnoticed.

“Well, what's going on?” Roach whispered, glancing at his comrade.

“Ninety-five percent.” Gaz replied just as quietly. ”Oh, ninety-six now.”

Footsteps and voices drew closer and then began to recede. Sanderson exhaled, realizing that they had gotten away this time.

Soap and Ghost used their knives to take out three armed enemies and hid behind the back of an old military truck. The diversion zone was a large fuel tank, which MacTavish would blow up as soon as he got the signal from Gaz and Roach. To do this, he and his partner had to hurry to prepare everything in advance. But as darkness fell, the area around the tank was illuminated by the bright light of two searchlights on the roofs of buildings.

“Damn, I wish one of those lights would go out right now.” Soap whispered, more to himself than to Ghost.

The lieutenant looked at him intently and then held his open palm toward the spotlight. MacTavish stared at him and saw him slowly clench his fingers, and at some point there was a crackling sound, then the light went out and shards of glass rained down to the ground.

“Why didn't you say you could do that?” Soap asked cheerfully, nudging Ghost in the shoulder with his fist.

“You didn't ask.” The lieutenant shrugged and looked at the tanker. “I'll go first. Then I'll cover you.”

Surprised and confused by the sudden failure of the spotlight, almost all of the enemies looked up, glanced at each other, and whispered, and no one noticed the two swift shadows that flashed across the now unlit space and darted behind the fuel tank. Ghost stayed behind to keep watch, while Soap hurriedly took off his backpack and began to take out and install the C4, sticking it to the rounded, metal side that had been heated by the sun.

Gaz pulled out the flash drive with a sharp movement and showed Roach his thumb up. Sanderson nodded, listened to the sounds behind the door, and pressed the button on his radio.

“Bravo 7-2 to all, we're done. Ready to go. Do you copy?” He said quietly.

“I need a few more minutes, Bravo 7-2.” Soap replied, trying to keep his voice calm.

He had already set the C4, but it turned out that the detonators were not responding to the signal. This was absolutely impossible, because he had carefully checked everything before the mission, but yet it had happened, and now the sergeant was trying to fix the problem quickly.

“We don't have a few minutes.” Roach reported and stepped back from the door, because this time the footsteps stopped right in front of them.

“Break through to the exit of the building.” Price intervened. ”I can cover you for a while there. Bravo 7-2, I hope you can finish before it gets too hot in here without an explosion.”

“Aye, sir!” Soap snapped, puffing himself up with concentration.

As soon as the doors to the main headquarters opened, Gaz and Roach, who had been hiding on either side of them, let the enemies in and quickly dealt with them with their knives and bare hands. That was the end of their luck, because there were more than two people, and while one opened fire, forcing the intruders to hide again, the second ran down the corridor, raising the alarm. Price saw from his position that things were going badly and joined the fight, shooting several enemies from the group running toward the building where Harrick and Sanderson were still trapped.

“Bravo 7-1!” The captain called tensely.

“I'm working on it!” Soap replied.

“Johnny.” Ghost put his hand on his shoulder. ”There's no time. Run and meet Gaz and Roach. I'll set off the explosion. Meet me outside the perimeter at the exit point.”

Soap couldn't imagine what the lieutenant could do with the detonators if he, a demolition expert, couldn't do anything. But there was no time for questions, so MacTavish, trusting Ghost again, nodded, grabbed his assault rifle, and ran toward the headquarters building, staying in the shadows.

Through his scope, Price saw that the lieutenant was alone now. After escorting Soap and shooting a couple of enemies who had almost exposed him, he looked back at Ghost and saw that something had changed. Now the lieutenant was standing at full height, his hand resting on the side of the fuel tank. It wasn't visible through the scope, but he took off his glove and touched the metal with his bare hand. With a sense of foreboding, Price switched to thermal vision and saw that the demon's palm was bright white, and the dark mass of the tank around it was rapidly turning red, while the area near Ghost's hand was already turning yellow.

“Lads.” The captain said into the radio. ”You'd better hurry up.”

Soap broke into the headquarters building and went to meet Gaz and Roach. He managed to take advantage of the element of surprise, and, finding themselves together, the three sergeants were able to leave the building and come under the protection of their captain.

“Where's Ghost?” Gaz asked.

“He's covering us.” Soap replied, peeking out from behind the building for a second.

“No, no, lads, stay where you are!” Price quickly ordered, switching back to thermal vision mode and seeing that the fuel tank was now glowing bright white.

MacTavish barely had time to take cover when the ground shook from a deafening explosion. Roach, who was pressing his back against the wall, clearly felt the building shake, and then glass from the windows, blown out by the blast wave, rained down on the three sergeants.

Price saw the tank burst from the heat and pressure, and burning fuel spilled out in all directions, engulfing everything in its path. The air was filled with the agonizing screams of people burning alive, and in the midst of it all, walking slowly through the sea of fire, was Ghost. He spread his arms wide, and streams of white smoke flowed toward him from all sides, souls he absorbed, becoming even more powerful.

The three sergeants realized that this was their chance. The enemies had forgotten about the saboteurs, and the base was in complete chaos. Soap, Gaz, and Roach crouched down and quickly ran to the exit point before the stream of burning fuel blocked their way.

In fact, there was no exit point anymore, because the blast wave had blown away the entire fence on that side. Soap headed for the place where he and Ghost were waiting for the order to begin the mission, and three sergeants, breathing heavily, still stunned by the force of the explosion, fell behind large rocks, hiding from enemy eyes.

“Wait for Bravo 0-7.” Ordered Price, who, after making sure his men had reached safety, turned his gaze to the demon. “He's coming to you.”

Ghost appeared a few minutes later. His gear and mask were covered in soot, and two red embers glowed unnaturally from the shadows of his hood, where his eyes were usually impenetrably black.

“Johnny.” He growled rather than spoke in a voice that was completely inhuman. ”Did I do well?”

“Aye.” Soap replied hoarsely, then cleared his throat, took a step forward, and slapped Ghost on the shoulder. “You did a great job. Well done.”

“All right, lads.” Price interrupted. ”Head to the exfil point. I'll meet you there. Soap?”

“Aye?”

“Tell Ghost from me he did great.” The captain said, then spat into the sand, quickly gathered his gear, and switched channels to call for a pilot.

Despite the success of the mission, the helicopter was filled with tension. Gas and Roach sat next to Price, while the captain himself looked gloomily at Ghost and then at Soap, who had remained loyal to him and sat next to the terrifying demon, whose eyes were still glowing slightly. Only when the silence became completely unbearable did Price break it.

“What happened, Soap?” He asked sternly.

“I don't know, Cap.” The sergeant admitted it honestly, lowering his eyes. “I swear, I checked all the equipment before the mission, like I always do! But when I started setting C4, the detonators were faulty.”

“Sir.” Gaz interrupted. “I don't believe Soap could have missed that. One detonator, maybe, but all of them...”

“I don't believe it either.” Price agreed, looking even grimmer. “When did you check the equipment, John?”

“In the evening, when I got everything I needed from the armory.” MacTavish replied, nervously clenching his fists.

All five exchanged glances. The equipment they had gathered and prepared the night before had been placed in the briefing room, and in the morning, before the sortie, they grabbed their bags and backpacks and hurried to the helicopter. Of course, they locked the entrance to the building and the door to the room itself for the night, but the locks in their block were, to put it mildly, not very reliable, because everything had been done in a hurry to get ready before the unit arrived. And it wasn't necessary to pick the locks if you had a key.

“So, there's a mole at this base.” Roach said, expressing the general opinion.

“We can't say that yet.” Price shook his head. “Ghost, what do you think? Did you hear anything with your demonic hearing the night before the mission?”

“Negative.” The lieutenant replied. “But I wasn't in my room that night.”

“What the hell?” Price frowned. ”Where were you? If anyone saw you...”

“No one could see me when I didn't want them to.” Ghost replied and then placed his hand on Soap's knee, which he was unconsciously jerking up and down.

All eyes involuntarily turned to this gesture. MacTavish blushed and looked away.

“All right, lads.” Price broke the silence again and rubbed his temples wearily. ”So far, these are just suspicions, but stay alert. And Lieutenant, from now on, before missions, when our equipment is ready and in the block, you too must be in the block and make sure no one gets in.”

“Roger.” Ghost replied calmly. “If I catch the intruder, can I kill him?”

“Negative.” Price shook his head. ”If he exists, we need to find out his objectives. It could be us personally or national security as a whole.”

That ended the discussion. The tired soldiers drifted off to nap, and only Soap slept soundly, resting his head comfortably on Ghost's shoulder. When he started to slide off, the lieutenant hugged him, holding him for the rest of the flight. Of course, that wasn't the end of it, and 141 transferred to a plane and then back to another helicopter.

The members of 141 didn't tell anyone about the problem with the detonators, and Price didn't mention it in his report either. Everyone tried to spot even the slightest hint of surprise on the faces of the local soldiers, which might indicate that he or she did not expect the unit to return, but it was all in vain. Everyone, from General Strickland down to the privates, behaved completely naturally.

A couple of days after their return, late in the evening, Soap knocked on Price's door with a mysterious look on his face and asked him to come with him. The captain reluctantly put on his jacket, and the sergeant led him behind their block to the smoking area but stopped at the corner and asked him to peek out quietly. Price, who had no desire to play any strange games, nevertheless complied with MacTavish's request and saw Ghost sitting on the boxes. And he wasn't alone. Cats were sitting and lying on the demon's knees, hands, shoulders, and even on his head, purring so loudly that Price could hear them even from where he stood.

There were about a dozen cats at the base. They used to live on farms nearby, but then the Department of Defense bought the land so that farmers would not accidentally or intentionally breach the facility's secrecy. When they left their homes, people left behind not only their belongings but also some of their animals. Some of them were torn apart by wild animals living in the forest, but the cats managed to reach the base, sneak in, and feel quite at home there, even producing offspring. The general was not thrilled about this, but the animals hunted mice and other small pests that came from the forest, so he allowed them to stay after arranging for them to be sterilized so that the cats would not breed even more.

After watching the bizarre scene for a few minutes, Price hid behind the corner again and looked gloomily at Soap with a questioning look in his eyes.

“The cats love him!” Whispered MacTavish, remembering Ghost's extremely keen hearing. ”So he's actually a good guy!”

“Lad.” Price whispered back. ”Cats are just as much a product of hell as he is. So that doesn't prove a damn thing. Now I'm going to bed, and I hope you are too.”

With a wave of his hand, the captain headed back into the building. Soap watched him go, then sighed and headed for the smoking area.

“Hey, Lt.!” he called cheerfully as he approached. ”Is there a place for me?”

Ghost carefully moved the cat that was lying near, and Soap sat down next to him. Pressing his shoulder against the lieutenant's, he realized that he had raised his body temperature, which was probably why the cats had gathered around him.

“Are you warming them up?” Soap asked, lighting a cigarette.

“Yes.” Ghost nodded and stroked one of the cats on his lap, then MacTavish's head, who immediately lit up with a satisfied smile.

Whatever Price said, the desire to warm the animals was definitely a good thing, and it didn't matter that the demon had to consume souls to provide that warmth. Unlike Ghost, those people weren't good, so Soap had no intention of feeling sorry for them.

“The night before the mission, you left the block for them?” Soap asked another question.

“Yes.” Ghost nodded again and added. “They get cold at night.”

“Not just them.” Soap sighed, rubbing the back of his head against the lieutenant's gentle hand.

“I can warm you up too, if you want, Johnny.” Ghost said.

MacTavish choked on the smoke from his cigarette and blushed, hiding his face in the lieutenant's shoulder. He had once again made the insolent sergeant feel like a little boy, and not because he had said something without understanding the subtext that any adult would have understood, but because Soap wanted something like that more and more every day.

“I'll... tell you if I get really cold.” The sergeant finally managed to say.

“Okay, Johnny.” The lieutenant nodded. “You go; I'll stay here with them.”

“Good night, Ghost.” Soap stood up and, obeying a sudden impulse, reached out and gently stroked the demon's mask.

“Good night, Johnny.” He said and stared for a long time in the direction the sergeant had gone, pressing his palm against his mask where the sergeant had touched it.

[kissmezero]

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄. ⭑.ᐟ - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎.

ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ: There simply weren't enough slow burn dbf!joel fics. This one is for all my readers who yearn for the tension & are in it for the long run. Multipart! Mentions of sex. MDNI!

ᴡᴄ: 1.5k

. . . . . . . . . . .╰──╮╭──╯ . . . . . . . . . . .

previous part.

You were going to kill your dad, painfully & unremorsefully. Not only had you been cornered into helping Joel fucking Miller with some weird wood supply drop off, but he’d also failed to mention the fact that the drive was three hours long. One and a half there, one and a half back & you could throw up just thinking about it. Joel himself hadn’t even bothered to tell you. You had to look over at the GPS, which now felt more like a taunt than anything. Of course, you’d been around the gruff man for long periods before, but never alone. And never inside the front of a truck that was starting to feel smaller than normal. You pulled at the collar of your hoodie, seeking escape. 

“So was anyone going to mention that this was less of a quick stop and more of a god damn road trip?” You huffed, letting your head rest against the still-cold window. It was a welcome relief given the circumstances. 

“What were you gonna be off doin’ instead, hm?” Not once did he take his eyes off the road. It was slightly infuriating. “Sittin' in that bedroom and sleepin’ all day?” You were inches away from opening up the door & rolling out onto the street. Maybe he’d reflect on this moment at your funeral if that took you out. You doubted it. 

“Yes, actually!” Your voice came out higher-pitched than you would have liked. 

“You can sleep when you're dead.” A phrase you often heard said by your workaholic father & the man who sat next to you. They were truly two peas in a pod, and you never hated that more. 

“What I do with my summer really isn’t any of your business.” You mumble, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“And yet you make it my business.” His husky voice sighs. You wanted to slap the man, just give him one good & clean swing. It wouldn’t do anything, but maybe he’d falter for a second. 

Joel was unfortunately right, which is why you were so peeved. You never really had any friends in Austin; all of your connections were made after high school, which meant every summer back home, you were as alone as you could get. It was nice for a couple of weeks, but eventually the boredom would eat you alive & you’d spend most of the day at Joel’s since he had a pool and a nice collection of movies. He even kept a key under his doormat when he left for work, so you could get in. You hated that he was using that against you. 

“You are a real dick, you know that.” Was all you knew to say. You didn’t actually mean it— never did when you bickered with the man, but it felt good to spit off insults at him anyway.

“Hear that one pretty often.” He was so very smug, you’d wondered what he’d done to deserve an ego like that. 

You rolled your eyes. This fight was pointless, like trying to argue with a toddler who’d made up their mind about something, but instead it was a 200-pound man in a flannel. Instead, you reached your hand for the stereo, deciding that if you had to bicker or sit in heavy silence for the next hour, you'd start pulling your hair out. You found his hand quickly around your wrist, engulfing it. You tried to yank it out, but his grip tightened. Jesus, he was strong.

“What are you doing?” You huffed, finally retrieving your arm. 

“Stoppin you from playin whatever kind of shitty music you were about to turn on.” He said it with such conviction, like he knew you’d give in, that honestly, you were a little offended. 

“Do I have to remind you that this is my truck?” You paused, more arguments flowing to your memory. “And everytime i'm over, I have to listen to the same ten shitty eighties songs.” You reached for the radio again, his hand snapped down. You were starting to regret not bringing a pair of headphones. He let go and shrugged. Much to your dismay, the two of you fell into a heavy silence again, which was at least better than arguing. 

. . . . . . . . . . .╰──╮╭──╯ . . . . . . . . . . .

At some point, you’d fallen asleep. The truck seat had started to feel more like your bed, and the sounds of other cars passing in a consistent rhythm provided enough comfort to make your eyelids go heavy. You weren’t sure how long you’d been out, but you did know when your eyes flickered open, the sun was high in the sky, and Joel Miller was staring. He noticed your alertness, his eyes quickly darting forward. The sound of him clearing his throat filled the air, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly amused. The man had finally been caught off his guard, bringing a small and satisfied smirk to your face. You weren't sure why he’d been looking, but you did know that you finally had some sort of upper hand. 

“Enjoying the view?” You weren’t sure why, of all things, you could have said that's what you landed on. Mentally, you cursed yourself, curling back up into your hoodie. 

“Jus’ making sure you were still breathin’.” He replied as stoically as he’d been before you’d fallen asleep. You would assume nothing phased the man if you hadn't seen the way he was white knuckling the leather steering wheel. You were feeling less regretful about your words, noticing that you clearly had gotten to him. You were more focused on winning the argument than thinking about the context of it- blind sided by your stubbornness. He knew that too. 

“Right.” You huffed, not quite ready to let him live down whatever that was, but you knew pushing it too far would result in the teasing being spun on you somehow. So you moved on. 

You guys continued in silence for another 5 minutes before he broke again. Clearly, whatever just happened shredded the possibility of comfortable silence. 

“So uh…” He coughed, still making a point not to look back over at you. “How was college?” 

“We don’t have to do the whole small talk thing.” You responded immediately, shutting down whatever that was. 

“What if I'm actually interested, hm? You ever considered I ain’t actually an asshole.” His defensiveness confused you. He never minded the nickname before. 

You thought about making some sort of point that he just couldn’t stand the silence anymore, but you couldn’t get over the fact that he sounded genuine. A rarity it the world of Mr. Miller. You let out a breath, feeling your body relax again.

“Hard to sum it all up.” You answered honestly, your eyes landing on the quickly passing trees. “It was bittersweet for the most part, knowing it was the last semester. I had to leave behind pretty much all of my friends, and a guy that I thought things were going to work out with. They live so far, ya know?” You felt him stiffen beside you, mimicking the wooden boards that rattled around in the bed of your truck. “Don’t tell my dad.” You added, assuming it was due to him now having to keep a secret. 

“He’d be upset?” His eyebrows furrowed. “You’re a big girl.” Your stomach turned, hunger you blamed. 

“Not usually, but I just never brought the guy to meet him. It would hurt his feelings I think.” You shifted, unsure of why you were talking to him about this. You imagined it was because you didn’t have anyone else to talk about it with. “I guess part of me knew it wasn’t going to work out.” You shrugged, your hoodie bunching with your shoulders. 

“Why not?” He pressed, sounding bored, but there was something there. You didn’t look over and neither did he. 

“I know it sounds stupid, but I felt like I had to keep asking for the little things, like flowers and random dates and stuff.” You paused, hesitation hanging in the air. It was heavy. “Plus, he wasn’t very good at… you know.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows, finally looking at you, still white knuckling the wheel.

“Sex.” You finished. 

He chuckled & you were desperate for him to say anything. 

“You don’t have to make fun of me.” You felt weirdly defensive, as if it were your fault. 

“I'm not making fun of you, kid.” That had been the first time he’d used that nickname in a while, throwing his own defenses up. “Just shocked you stuck around for so long, you’re usually a much smarter girl.” He tilted his head, emphasizing the last couple of words. 

“Well, I'm not exactly used to guys giving me an orgasm. Kind of rare these days, becomes a perk rather than a necessity.” Now you looked at him, his chest rising & falling harshly. Did he usually breathe like that? 

“Shut it, can't be talking to you about shit like this. Your dad’ll put a bullet in me.” He sounded so aggressive, a growl threatening to spill from the back of his throat that made him sound more intimidating than usual. Clearly the conversation had pushed too far for whatever invisible line he had.

“Okay.” You agreed quietly, because he was right. The last person who needed the details of your sex life was Joel fucking Miller. 

You heard the man shift, his flannel sounding much louder than usual. You turned your head, peeking over at him to see that for the first time the entire trip, he was reaching for the radio. The car filled with music, but you both knew neither of you were listening.

next part.

. . . . . . . . . . .╰──╮╭──╯ . . . . . . . . . . .

[ghostedbunnie]

trouble comes in fours; simon's ver

you are trying to scare off your ex and who better to send him running than a masked burly guy you've met at a bar and who bulldozed his way into your bed.

simon riley x fem!reader nsfw, minors do not interact!! warnings: dub-con (drinking), fingering (fem!receiving), car sex, exhibitionism, oral (fem!receiving), doggy style, creampie, manhandling

prologue // other versions (TBA)

Everything that happened after Johnny invited you over (which really meant he pulled you by the hand before you could back out) was a blur. You found yourself sandwiched between the masked guy and the pretty boy who introduced himself as Johnny, speaking with a sexy, thick Scottish accent. You couldn't help but steal glances at the masked guy. He said nothing, merely dipped his chin in greeting and met your gaze with an unnerving stare.

From this close-up, you noticed parts of his blonde buzzcut where he had nicked himself with the razor. He had done it himself without a mirror, resulting in some slightly uneven spots. On someone else, this might make them appear unkempt, but for this giant of a man, it seemed just right—almost endearing.

Everything about him screams danger. His thigh is pressed against yours, and you're already sweating because he and Johnny feel like walking furnaces. When you try to pull off your hoodie, the alcohol courses through you, and your head spins. As you finally manage to take the garment off, you accidentally grab onto something solid and hard for support. Too late, you realize that your hand has latched onto the blond's muscular thigh. You immediately let go, as if you’ve been burned by the touch.

You almost swear you hear him snort under his mask. When he finally speaks, your thighs clench. “I think it’s time for you to head home, doll. Come.”

It sounds as if he is talking to a dog, and you feel a sense of indignation rising within you. "I'm not a dog to give orders to. Besides, I don't even know your name."

He rolls his eyes at you. "Simon. That better now?"

"Not really. How do I know you're not some serial killer?" That gets some laughs out of the rest of the table.

He leans down closer to your ear, and you can almost sense the smirk in his voice when he says, "You don't. It adds to the thrill." It could be the alcohol coursing through your veins or the way his voice, with its rough British accent, sends shivers down your spine, but you find yourself agreeing. In some twisted way, it does add to it.

You discover that Simon doesn’t actually drink; the beverage you saw in front of him was just plain water. When he drives you home, he looks absolutely ridiculous in your small car, taking up all the space. He grumbles about your seat being so close to the steering wheel. When you ask him how the other guys are getting home, he simply replies, “They’ll walk,” along with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

He doesn't touch the radio, and you're too nervous to reach for it. You soon realize that he's not much of a conversationalist. He only answers your questions but never offers any additional information that would prompt you to ask more. After you've exhausted all possible conversation starters, all you can do is sit and look out the window. You swear you see him chuckle at your fidgeting whenever the silence becomes oppressive. As you finally arrive home, you can hardly wait to bolt out of the car. The tension is so thick that you need some fresh air to breathe properly, trying to push away thoughts of the consequences of your actions.

Before you can act on those thoughts, a heavy hand grips the back of your neck. "You think too loud. Stop it." A retort dies in your throat as you're pulled into him so quickly that your head spins. You barely register him removing his mask; you can’t even enjoy the fact that his face is finally visible. He latches onto you with the hunger of a man starved, kissing you deeply and urging you to stick out your tongue more.

Just by kissing him, you can feel the scar running through his lips. There's another scar, one that you noticed before, that runs through his eyebrow. When he finally pulls away for a moment, you see that his nose was definitely broken at some point, and he never bothered to get it fixed. You can't help but wonder what it would feel like to sit on his face.

Unceremoniously, he pulls you over the center console and onto his lap, which causes you to squeal in surprise. He doesn’t even bat an eye as he manhandles you into position, making you think about how your ex couldn't even carry two bags of groceries without complaining about the weight.

Something must have revealed your train of thought, or perhaps it was simply the fact that you were still lost in your thoughts, because Simon growls in response. You can feel the sound reverberating through your hands, which rest on his impressive pecs.

"Stop. Thinking." Every word is punctuated by a grind of his hips. To his great amusement, your mind goes blank immediately.

He guides your hands to his zipper straining under his hard-on. "What if someone sees?"

He only replies with "They'll get a hell of a show then." before he drags the pads of his fingers over the wet patch on your panties underneath your skirt that has already ridden up to your hips. He pulls the crotch of your panties to the side and pushes up to a knuckle, wasting no time and making you cling to him for dear life. After he adds another and starts hitting all the spots that make you whimper into his thick neck, he chuckles. It sounds a little mean but it still shoots right to your pussy anyway. "Finally shut that brain of yours up, doll."

He pulls up your shirt with his free hand and drags the cups of your bra up as well before sucking a nipple into his mouth. In reaction you push further into him, making him hum. He ends up alternating between bites to the side of your tits and sucking angry red marks into your collarbones and neck. Every part of you will be sore tomorrow but that's something you'll deal with later.

He lets you ride his fingers, scratching at his back and shoulders, fisting his hoodie and when you finally let go and the orgasm makes your eyes roll back into your head, he pulls you back into him for a kiss. It's messy, all teeth and tongue. When he pulls back there is a string of saliva connecting you two and if your mind wasn't currently wiped by the mind-blowing orgasm you would be embarrassed by the pornographic imagery. Simon forces you to look at him, his big, rough fingers holding up your chin to make you meet his gaze. You finally see the color of his eyes: brown, with pupils dilated wide. "We're nowhere near done," he says.

Simon is a whirlwind; he makes decisions, and you find yourself following them as if they were orders. He doesn’t wait for an invitation; instead, he stands behind you, his chest against your back, providing support as your legs feel like jelly. The drinks you had are wearing off now.

When you take too long to get out of your shoes, Simon tosses you over his shoulder. "You're taking too damn long," he says. You give him directions to your bedroom, and before long, you're dropped onto the sheets. You’re about to call him a caveman for his methods, but the sight of him pulling off his hoodie, revealing he’s not wearing anything underneath, leaves you speechless.

His skin is pale, but you can still see angry-looking scars on his torso and arms. Some of them resemble cigarette burns, while others look like bullet wounds that didn't heal properly. All of that should make you reconsider the kind of danger you’ve just invited into your bed, but as your gaze wanders lower, following his blond happy trail, you find yourself unable to think about the consequences.One of his hands is tattooed up to his elbow, and you can't really tell the design in the low light but it only adds to his appeal. Something possesses you to act, you end up reaching for his zipper before he can and he only gives you a wolfish grin before you pull him out.

He's not wearing any underwear. Your mouth dries up at the sight of him. That's never going to fit. Only after hearing him laugh did you realize that you had said that out loud. He was already hovering above you, caging you in against the sheets. "We'll make it fit."

Your skirt and shirt with your bra soon follow his pants and are lost to the shadows of your bedroom floor. Your eyes are drawn to his dick, you can't help it. He's big and thick you can already imagine the stretch, there's a vein on the underside that makes you wanna follow it with your tongue all the way to the top to catch the pre-cum already gathered there but he doesn't let you. Instead, he drags you to the edge of the bed and throws your legs over his shoulders. You almost want to argue that you hadn't showered, it's been a long day, and he doesn't have to do this but one look at the intense stare makes you swallow all of that down. You don't want to mention that you've never had anyone go down on you before. Your ex-boyfriend wasn't one to reciprocate.

There is no time to think about how miserable your sex life might have been. A bite to the inside of your thigh serves as a warning, both to stop thinking and not close your legs. In your defense, you didn't even realize you were doing it. His eyes are almost unnervingly focused on you before he dives in. He's always been a bit of a messy eater; the sounds he makes in the back of his throat are nothing short of animalistic. If you weren't shaking from his ministrations, you might think he's enjoying himself even more than you are.

He only moves a bit to lock eyes with you and tell you how sweet you are, juices dripping down his stubbled jaw. "Come on now, gotta make sure you're ready f'r me, doll." He alternates fucking you on his tongue and sucking on your clit, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs to keep them open for him. He's only barely controlling his strength so you know there will be bruises on your hips and thighs tomorrow but you can't bring yourself to care especially not this close to another orgasm. He can feel you twitching, getting closer and closer. There's a second of fear that he'll stop but he doesn't. Instead, he adds a finger and pushes on that one spot that made you see stars. That was all it took to wring the second orgasm of the night out of you.

Boneless, you let go of the sheets you were gripping. You only get a second of rest before he's repositioning you on the bed again; it would be infuriating if you could actually move properly.

He presses you into the mattress with his body, his scarred lips brushing next to your ear. "This will be a rough ride for you, don't say I didn't warn you." that's all you get before he bullies the ruddy head of his cock inside of you. You have half a mind to pull away but his weight keeps you in place, when he finally bottoms out there are tears in the corner of your eyes from the stretch, he only drops a few open-mouthed kisses to your shoulders before he rises to his knees and pulls your ass to him.

Everything after that is a blur, you're going crazy from the echo of the slapping of skin against skin, and your arms gave out on you midway so all you can do is scrunch the sheets in your hands and moan out his name like a prayer, to slow down? To go faster? You don't know. If he set out to make sure you can't think he achieved it. Your brain is fuzzy, your legs are shaking and a knot is unwinding in your lower stomach again. It's all too much and not enough at the same time. One of his hands finds your clit and it's over for you. "Come f'r me, doll. That's it." You can hear him hiss from the way you tighten around him as you come. He doubles down chasing his own orgasm now, balls slapping against your pussy even harder. There is a split second of clarity that he didn't use a condom (even though you are on a pill) but as soon as the thought registers he's filling you up with a groan before again squishing you underneath him, cock still lodged deep inside you, keeping his spend from leaking out. When you try to move from underneath him, he only chuckles before his hands find your tits and knead them, making you moan. It will be a long night for you. You've invited a ghost into your bed, and now you must deal with the consequences.

The picture you took with a large black shadow looming over you in the mirror, with a tattooed hand resting on your neck, might help you get rid of your ex who keeps creeping on your social media posts.

[leclerc-hs]

the prince of monaco - cl16

pairing: prince! charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which a sad prince and a common girl cross paths or charles and you find yourself in a forbidden romance warnings: ANGST, smut, language!!! idk what else I'm missing. ANGST ANGST ANGST. not proofread. word count: 5.6k authors note: SURPRISEEEEEE! FIRST CHARLES FIC OF THE YEAR FINALLY. i hope you guys like it & i know you might haaate my guts after but it had to be done LOL. let me know what you think!! love hearing from y’all ALWAYS. xoxo

The palace was too quiet at night. Not peaceful. Hollow.

The kind of silence that rang in your ears and made your own breath sound like betrayal.

Marble floors stretched endlessly beneath Charles’s bare feet, cold and gleaming under the antique chandeliers. He wandered them like a ghost…aimless, invisible, half-dead in a golden cage. A prince draped in silk robes and golden obligations, walking the halls of a kingdom he no longer wanted.

Every corridor smelled like lemon polish and old money. Every portrait he passed stared down with painted eyes. Kings and queens carved from duty, immortalized in oil and expectation.

But Charles wasn’t thinking of them.

His mind was across the city, far from the manicured courtyards and diplomatic smiles. He was with you.

In that cramped little room above Le Vieux Lion, where the wallpaper peeled and the sheets smelled like your perfume.

Where the sea didn’t sparkle for tourists, it slapped the dock with rage. Where the nights weren’t silent, they breathed. They lived.

Where he remembered what it felt like to be wanted, not needed.

He hadn’t seen you in a week. Not since the news.

His father, Sovereign Prince of Monaco, had announced the engagement over dinner, voice as calm as a guillotine dropping.

An alliance. A family legacy. A strategic merger in the form of a wedding.

His mother didn’t blink, just reached for her wine. His sister, seated to his left, squeezed his hand beneath the table…the only rebellion anyone dared to offer.

Charles didn’t say a word.

Not when they showed him the ring.

Not when the date was set.

Not even when the royal tailor measured him for the suit he’d wear to sign away the rest of his life.

He waited. Watched. Swallowed it all.

And then he left.

He didn’t take the servant’s route. Didn’t don a disguise.

He walked straight out the east wing, through the marble archway, silk robe replaced by a hoodie. Soft, frayed, yours.

He pulled it tight around himself like armor and slipped into the black car waiting at the edge of the drive. No driver asked where he was going. The guards didn’t move. They knew better than to ask.

-

Two Years Earlier

The night air outside was warm and heavy with salt. One of those late summer nights where the heat stuck to your skin like a secret. Inside the bar, the ceiling fan creaked in slow, useless circles, stirring nothing but stale smoke and the lingering bitterness of spilled gin.

You were behind the bar, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, fingers aching from a double shift. The radio played some old French dude, warbling about heartbreak and cigarettes like he’d invented them. A few regulars lingered, quiet and slumped, clinging to their glasses like lifeboats.

That’s when the door creaked open, and he walked in.

Not stumbled, walked. Like he owned the damn place. Like Monaco wasn’t five miles of tight streets and old money and marble prisons, and he wasn’t one of the poor bastards with a crown stitched into his skin.

He looked wrong in the best way.

Dark jeans, leather jacket that probably cost more than your rent. Hair slightly tousled like he wanted it to look like he hadn’t just stepped out of a car worth six figures. And that face…familiar in the way a storm cloud is familiar. You know it’s going to ruin you before it even arrives.

He had that smile. The kind women warn their friends about. Lazy. Expensive. Designed for headlines.

“Got anything that won’t kill me?” He asked, voice smooth like old bourbon, like he already knew you’d give him what he wanted.

You didn’t even glance up. Just kept wiping down the bar with a rag that had fought too many battles.

“That depends,” you said flatly. “You allergic to alcohol, or just fragile?”

The silence that followed was sharp, then broken by a laugh. Low. Rich. Surprised. Like no one had spoken to him like that in years.

“I like you already,” he said.

“Tragic,” you muttered, finally giving him a look. “I already want you to leave.”

He blinked, caught off guard. And then his grin widened, teeth white against the soft shadow of stubble on his jaw.

“What’s your name?” He asked, eyes flicking down, then back up. Slow, deliberate, like he was cataloguing you.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “What’s yours?”

“Charles,” he said smoothly, like the name should mean something.

You gave him a slow, unimpressed once-over. “Charles. No last name? No title? You forgot the part where you tell me you’re a libra and looking for a real connection.”

He leaned forward on his elbows, mouth tugging into a smirk. “I am a libra, actually.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt.

“Of course you are.” You turned, grabbing the cleanest glass you could fine, and poured something sharp and unmerciful into it. “Here. Drink. Leave, Or don’t. Just don’t flirt with me like I’m stupid.”

He took the glass, eyes still on you. Sipped. Winced, just slightly, not used to the burn, but didn’t complain.

He liked it.

You could tell.

You were already walking away when he said it, voice low but clear:

“You still didn’t tell me your name.”

You didn’t stop. Just threw a look over your shoulder, that half-smirk you saved for people who thought they were too clever.

“If you come back tomorrow,” you said, “maybe I’ll lie and give you one.”

He stayed until close.

-

The door opened with a soft groan, that old, familiar hinge that had screamed a hundred comings and goings. But this time, it was different. The air changed. You felt it before you saw him.

The hum of the bar dimmed. Glasses clinked. Someone laughed near the back. But your hands paused, just briefly, over the half-dried wine glass in your fingers.

And then, there he was. In the doorway.

He leaned against the frame like he had all the time in the world—wearing the same leather jacket, but tonight it was zipped halfway down, revealing a black shirt that clung just enough to his chest to make your stomach tighten. His hair was messier, like he’d run his fingers through it too many times. Or maybe he wanted it to look like someone else had.

His eyes found you instantly. No scan of the room. No pretense. Just direct, deliberate contact, like he’d been thinking about you all day and came to see if the memory lived up to the real thing.

It did.

You didn’t look away. Didn’t smile. Just raised a brow and went back to your glass.

He crossed the room slowly, like he knew the weight of every step. Like he was aware that people were watching him but didn’t care. Or maybe he liked it. Maybe he liked knowing he could have anyone in the room. Except the only one he wanted still hadn’t given him her name.

He slid into the same stool as the night before, elbows on the bar, that same infuriating smirk curling at his mouth.

“I came back,” he said. Voice low, warm. Like a promise you shouldn’t believe.

“I noticed,” you replied, not looking at him as you reached for a fresh glass. “Didn’t expect Monaco’s golden boy to slum it two nights in a row.”

He chuckled…and God, the sound was dangerous.

“Slumming it,” he echoed. “That what you think this is?”

You finally looked at him…fully, openly. And it hit you like a slow, burning wave. He was too close. Too handsome. Too confident in a way that wasn’t just money or power. It was something in his eyes—that flicker of hunger, of loneliness, of knowing what he wanted and hating himself for wanting it.

“This isn’t your world,” you said quietly. “You don’t belong here.”

He leaned in a little. Not enough to touch. Just enough that your breath caught.

“No,” he murmured. “But it’s yours.”

Your heart stuttered. You hated the way he said it. Like it was a confession wrapped in silk. Like he didn’t mean to mean it, but he did.

You slid the drink in front of him, fingers brushing his just barely…and even that felt like too much.

“You being here is a bad idea.” You whispered.

His eyes were on your mouth now. His smile was gone. “Then stop me.”

You didn’t stop him.

And he didn’t leave.

- 

He kept coming back.

Not with fanfare. Not like royalty. 

But quietly. Always late, always alone.

There were no photographers waiting outside, no clipped palace escorts, no watchful guards trailing behind him. He wore anonymity like armor. Hood pulled low, hands in pockets, head slightly down like he didn’t want the world to recognize him. Or maybe he didn’t care if it did.

He came as Charles. Not as a prince. Not as a future king. Just…Charles.

Worn leather jacket, soft hoodie, shadows beneath his eyes, and the kind of smile that looked like it had forgotten how to be whole. He smelled like night air and something faintly bitter—like espresso left too long in the pot. And every time he looked at you, it would felt like you were being read, not watched. Like he saw every layer you tried to keep hidden behind sarcasm and smoke. 

You hated how much you liked it.

-

At first, he sat at the bar.

Always in the same stool, hands cradling a chipped tumbler of whiskey he nursed more for the comfort than the taste. He didn’t flirt. Not outright. He asked about your night, the music, the bar fights you’d broken up over that week. He smirked at your answers, raised an eyebrow at your insults. Said your name like he was trying to memorize the shape of it in his mouth.

You tried not to care.

Tried not to notice the way he leaned in, just slightly, whenever you spoke.

Tried not to wonder why a man with the world at his feet kept choosing your tiny corner of it.

But he did.

-

Then, one night, you turned around and he was behind the bar.

Not on the customer’s side, but on yours.

He leaned casually against the shelves like he belonged there, like he hadn’t just crossed the invisible line between your world and his.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You asked, arms crossed, not bothering to hide the irritation, or the pulse suddenly roaring in your ears.

He held up a wine glass and a dish rag with a crooked grin. “Thought I’d lend a hand.”

“You’re holding that like it insulted you.”

“Could be worse,” he said, examining the stem with mock seriousness. “Could be holding my dignity. But I think I left that back at the palace.”

You snorted despite yourself. “You’re useless.”

He leaned in closer, voice lowering just enough to stir something under your ribs. “And yet…you haven’t told me to leave.”

You said nothing. But your silence felt like permission.

-

He started coming earlier. Staying later.

He’d drift in before your shift ended, slip through the back door like he belonged there. Sometimes he brought pastries, sometimes coffee. Once, inexplicably, a worn book littered with his handwriting on the pages.

“Though you might like this one,” he’d said with a shrug.

He’d sit in your space like it was second nature. Perching on the edge of the counter, watching you work, making soft commentary on your music taste.

“You play the same six songs,” he’d mutter, clicking through your ancient playlist.

“They’re classics.”

“They’re depressing.”

You glanced at him. “So are you.”

He smiled softly. “That’s probably why I keep coming back here.”

-

He asked you questions no one else dared.

Not the polite kind. Not surface things. He wanted the bones. The quiet hurts. The dreams you hadn’t spoken out loud before. Sometimes you answered. Sometimes you didn’t. But you never once, told him to stop asking.

And in return, he gave you pieces of himself. Unvarnished ones. The kind they didn’t print in the magazines.

“I hate the palace,” he confessed once, voice so soft it almost didn’t reach you. “Every room echoes. You start to wonder if you exist as all, or if you’re just…noise in a marble tomb.”

You didn’t reply. You just glanced at him until he did that thing with his jaw, the clench, like he’d said too much. Like he was scared of how much he wanted you to hear it.

-

There were moments when it felt like something would snap.

His hand brushing yours when you passed him a glass…not on accident, not anymore. His fingers would linger a fraction too long, just enough to let your pulse stutter, just enough to make you feel it later, alone in the dark.

The way he leaned in when he spoke, low and close, his breath grazing your neck, your jaw, the edge of your mouth like a secret he hadn’t confessed yet.

You stopped hearing his words. You only felt them.

You knew the shape of his mouth now. The way his bottom lip curved when he was trying not to smile. The faint pink of it after a drink. The way it moved when he said your name, like it was something he wanted, no needed, to taste.

And you hated it. 

How much you wanted him to.

-

One night, while you closed up, the lights were low, doors locked, just you and the hum of the city outside...you caught him watching you.

Really watching.

He stood behind the bar, hands in his pockets, posture casual. But his eyes were anything bit. They followed you like he was hungry. Like he was memorizing the way your shoulders moved beneath your shirt, the way your fingers gripped the edge of the counter, the way your lips parted whenever you sighed without realizing it.

He looked at you like he didn’t know how to stop.

You leaned on the bar, trying to keep your voice steady, playful. “You always this much of a romantic?”

He didn’t smirk. Didn’t even blink. Just stared, his gaze flicking to your mouth, then back to your eyes. It was so fast that you could’ve missed it. But you didn’t.

“No,” he said. His voice rougher than usual. “Just with you.”

Your breath caught. Just for a second. 

Your lips parted, something sharp and stupid rising. A comeback, a deflection. But nothing came out.

Your lips moved, then stopped.

And he looked away, jaw tight.

Not because he didn’t want to see what you were about to say. But because he already knew. And he couldn’t bear it.

-

The bar was quieter than usual. Only the hum of the cooler and the occasional creak of the old wood floor filled the silence. Rain tapped softly against the windows, more mist than storm, casting blurry halos around the streetlamp outside.

You should’ve been locking up. Should’ve told him to go.

But he was sitting at the bar again, legs swinging slowly, drink untouched, eyes on you like he was waiting for something neither of you could name.

And you weren’t moving. Not really.

You were pretending to count the bottles behind the counter, pretending your hands weren’t trembling just slightly, pretending you didn’t feel the way the air between you hadn’t changed.

Thicker now. Heavier. Laced with heat.

“I think about you,” he said suddenly, voice low—like he hadn’t meant to speak but couldn’t hold it back anymore.

Your fingers pause over a single bottle.

“In meetings. In cars. In rooms where I’m supposed to be someone I don’t even recognize anymore.” His voice dipped, softening, unraveling. “I think about this bar. About you.”

You swallowed hard. “Charles—“

"I know,” he cut in. “Don’t say it. Don’t say we shouldn’t.”

He slid off the bar in one fluid movement and stepped around it…slow, deliberate, as if trying to give you every chance to stop him. You didn’t.

Now he was standing in front of you. Too close.

The kind of close where the heat of him was brushing against your skin, where you could smell the rain still clinging to his clothes and the hint of citrus on his breath.

His hand hovered between you. Not touching. Just hanging there in the space that ached for more.

“Just…let me look at you.” He mutters, eyes sad.

You didn’t speak. Didn’t even breathe.

His fingers rose slowly, the knuckles of fingers brushed your jaw. Barely. Like even that felt too intimate. Too much.

But it wasn’t enough. God, it wasn’t even close to enough.

His hand turned, fingertips now tracing the line of your cheekbones. Featherlight. The kind of touch that wasn’t claiming, just asking.

He steps closer, close enough that your chests are nearly pressed together with every breath of air.

His thumb slid under your jaw, tilting your face up, and his eyes were fire and ruin and something devastatingly gentle all at once. Like he wanted to memorize you the way people memorize song lyrics. The way they memorize prayers.

His lips part and your heart nearly stops.

Then, he pulls back. Just an inch.

Just enough to break the spell. He stared at you like he hated himself for stopping.

His hand drops to his side like it weighed too much to carry.

Then, just barely, you whisper, “why didn’t you kiss me?”

He sighs, like your words physically pain him. 

“Because if I do,” he says, voice wrecked. “I won’t stop.”

-

It was the first time in weeks you’d let yourself be seen.

You didn’t know if it was the dress; midnight black, backless, clinging to you like it had been painted on, or the third drink warming your veins, but for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t thinking about him.

Or at least, you were trying not to.

The music was low and sexy. Your friends circled you, glittering and laughing, pulling you toward the edge of the dance floor under the pink-gold haze of the club lights. You let them. You let yourself move. Let yourself laugh. Let your head tilt back when that guy James said something cocky but charming into your ear.

His hand found your hip, just light enough to feel like suggestion, not possession. And you let him keep it there.

Because Charles wasn’t here.

Because tonight, you weren’t the girl in the back of the run-down bar, aching for something she couldn’t have.

You were fun. You were untouchable. You were free.

And then, you felt it.

The shift in the room was subtle at first, like a low pressure drop before a storm. You felt it in your spine. In the way the air thickened, charged. In the sudden awareness that someone was looking a you.

You turned. Slowly.

And there he was.

Charles.

Backlit by golden light, framed by the glint of glass and sweat and movement, he looked like something that didn’t belong here. Or maybe something that the room had been waiting for.

Black shirt open at the collar, sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair falling just wrong over his forehead. Jaw tight, mouth set in something between a smirk and a snarl. Like he wanted to smile but didn’t trust himself to do it.

He looked like sin. Like power on the edge of unraveling. 

And his eyes. Locked on you.

Not the room.

Not the crowd.

Not even James.

Just you.

And when his gaze dropped. To the hand on your waist, the fingertips sprawled against your waist, to the way James leaned in a little too close. Something dark flickered across his face.

Something in him burned. You saw it. Felt it.

Like a wire snapped behind his ribs and now he couldn’t breathe.

His jaw locked. His chest rose once, slow and sharp, like even breathing had become too dangerous. Like just standing there and not touching you took every ounce of control he had left.

The heat in his stare could’ve burned a hole through you.

James leaned in closer. “You okay?”

You blinked and swallowed. Tried to smile. “Yeah,” you said. “Just—“

Your eyes flicked back to the bar. He was still there. Still watching. Still not moving.

James turned to follow your gaze. “I can’t believe he’s here. That’s so cool”

“Yeah…me either.”

People moved out of his way without realizing they had. They parted instinctively, like water bending around stone. Like the room itself knew who he was.

They didn’t see the crown. They felt the weight of it.

Royalty cloaked in rage and want, striding toward the storm.

Toward you.

-

The air was hot and heady, choked with perfume and alcohol and the sound of people trying too hard to feel something. The lights pulsed like a heartbeat. It was too fast. Too bright.

He didn’t want to be here. But anywhere was better than the palace.

He spotted her instantly. As if his body already knew where to look before his eyes did. The same way it always did. Like your presence had carved out a space in him long before he even touched you.

You stood near the edge of the crowd, black dress hugging you like a second skin, eyes bright, mouth curved in something that looked like a laugh.

And beside you. Another man.

The hand on your waist, the smug, lazy confidence of someone who didn’t know how precious what he was touching actually was.

The way he leaned in, lips grazing the shell of your ear, like your body was already his to own.

Like your heart didn’t already belong to someone else. Him.

Charles stopped breathing.

The sound around him blurred into static. His hands curled into fists in his pockets, nails biting into his palms.

Something sharp twisted low in the pit of his stomach.

Jealousy wasn’t the word for it.

This was grief. This was rage. This was how dare you.

How dare you let someone touch you where he should’ve touched you.

How dare you pretend you’ve forgotten what it’s like to stand one breath from kissing.

-

The club was still pushing behind you, the laughter and sweat and lights bleeding through the walls…but here, in this narrow, dim corridor, it was just the two of you.

Too close. Too quiet.

Too dangerous.

He’d pulled you through the curtain without a word, fingers laced with yours like a vice, dragging you past confused glances and stunned silence. You’d followed, furious, breathless, burning.

Now, you were pressed against the wall, your back flush to the cold stone, your heart thundering like it wanted out of your chest.

And he was standing in front of you. Pacing. Seething. Unraveling.

“What the fuck was that?” He hissed, his voice low and sharp enough to draw blood. “Letting him touch you like that…was that supposed to hurt me? Was that the point?”

You scoffed, folding your arms to keep from grabbing him by the collar. “You don’t get to ask me that.”

He stopped pacing. His head turned slowly, jaw locked tight.

“You think I don’t see it?” He growled. “The way you look at me? Like you’re still waiting for something to happen, even though you know it can’t?”

Another step. His body inches from yours.

“You shouldn’t have worn that dress.”

Your voice shook when you said it: “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“I know.”

His hand slams against the wall beside your head, not to scare you, just to steady himself. His face was too close now. The warmth of him coiled into your skin. His eyes search yours, wild and desperate and so goddamn full of want that it hurt.

“You’re not his,” he whispered.

You stalled. “Im not yours, either.”

He leaned in closer, mouth almost brushing yours, his breath warm and ragged.

“Say that again,” he dared.

You couldn’t. Not with the way he was looking at you.

“I hate you,” you breathed.

“I know,” he said, voice breaking.

And then he kissed you. 

Hard. Desperate. Starving.

His hands cup your face like he’d dreamt of this a hundred times and never thought he’d actually get to feel it. Your fingers tangled in his shirt, yanking him closer, closer—mouths crashing like waves, clashing with every single ounce of frustration and ache.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t even polite.

It was heat and fury and I’ve wanted this for so long tangled in every brush of lips, every muffled groan, every helpless moan he pulled from your throat.

He kissed you like it hurt.

Like he couldn’t stop even if he tried.

-

You don’t remember the walk to your apartment. Just the quiet tension between you. The warmth of his hand brushing yours but never holding it. The hum in your chest that hadn’t stopped since he kissed you.

You unlocked the door with trembling fingers. Left the light off. You didn’t need to see the room. You needed to feel him.

You tugged at his shirt, breath hitching as your fingertips brushed skin. His hands were all over you now, like he couldn’t decide where he wanted them. Your back, your hips, your jaw, gentle and desperate at once.

He knew he shouldn’t be here. Not in your apartment. Not in your bed. Not looking down at you like you were something he’d prayed for and never dared to ask.

But he was. And he couldn’t stop if he tried.

You were under him, lips swollen, pupils blown wide, your breath catching every time his fingers traced skin. And all he could think, over and over, was mine.

You arched into him, and he couldn’t stop the sound that tore from his throat.

Every inch of you was fire and familiarity, like his hands memorized your body before even touching it. Your thighs wrapped around his hips, nails dragged down his back. 

He groaned into your skin, forehead pressed to your collarbone.

“Are you sure?”

She nods, breathless. “You’re already here.” 

It was more than permission. It was a confession.

And when he sank into you slowly, carefully, the world full on stopped.

It wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t rushed.

It was slow. Intimate. Almost painful in how good it felt, like every thirst was peeling back layers they’d spent building.

Moans swallowed into kisses. Skin against skin. Fingers tangled. Whispers like promises neither of them could keep.

He touched her like she was sacred. She kissed him like she’d never get the chance again.

“You look so good like this,” he murmured, voice thick with awe, like the sight of you beneath him had knocked the breath clean from his chest.

His lips trailed along your jawline, slow open-mouthed kisses dragging fire across your skin. He wasn’t in a rush. He wanted to taste every inch of you. To savor.

You gasped softly when he reached the hollow beneath your ear, and he felt it. The sharp intake of breath, the way your body arched, the flutter of your pulse under his tongue.

His hand slid along your waist, fingers pressing gently into your hip as he anchored himself to you, like he didn’t trust that this moment was real.

He lifted his head just enough to look at you.

Your eyes were heavy, glazed with want, lips parted and trembling.

And he couldn’t help it. He smiled. Not his royal smile. Not the careful, curated one they taught him to wear.

This one was raw. Private.

Just for you.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he whispered, brushing his nose along yours.

Your fingers reached up, sliding into his hair, and you pulled him back down. Kissed him like he was air, like he was yours. 

And Charles, normally composed, trained, restrained. Melted.

Right there, into your mouth. Into your body. Into you.

-

Present Day

You’re pacing now, your bare feet silent on the floor that suddenly feels too cold, too clean, and your hands are shaking. Not violently or visibly, but enough that you can feel your pulse throb between your fingers.

“You should’ve told me,” you say, your voice not quite a scream but not quiet. 

You turn to face him and he’s just standing there. Standing in the middle of your living room like he doesn’t belong to any part of it, like he’s not the reason everything in your body burns and aches.

“You should’ve looked me in the eye,” you breath is shaking now, “and told me you were going to marry her before I had to read it on a fucking television screen.”

He winces. But he doesn’t argue.

Of course he fucking doesn’t.

He never fights when it counts. He just lets things happen.

“I was going to tell you,” he says quietly. As if saying it softer will make it less cruel.

“Oh,” you laugh now. It’s sharp and ugly. “You were goingto?”

You arms fold across your chest because you need something. Anything. To hold on to.

“When?” You ask. Its a quiet kind of fury, tighter and more precise. “After the ring was on her finger? After the palace sent out save-the-dates? Or were you planning to do it after your wedding night, when you needed someone else to fuck.”

His eyes flash and there’s something wild there now, wounded and defensive, but he doesn’t move.

“You don’t get to do this,” your voice trembles. “You don’t get to kiss me, hold me, say things to me like they meant something, and then just leave.”

His jaw tightens but his hands are clenched at his sides. He won’t interrupt you and it only makes you angrier. Because he’s so calm. So composed.

“You were never a detour,” he says. Finally. 

“Then what was I?” You ask, and your voice breaks. “What the fuck was I to you?”

His voice rises now, like he’s been holding it in for hours, for years.

“I didn’t want this!” He shouts. “Do you think I wanted to fall in love with you? To walk into a bar and meet someone who made me question everything I’ve spent my whole life being told I have to be?”

You blink, completely startled by the honesty in his voice. With the way it sounds like he’s choking on his words.

“Then why are you still choosing her?” Your voice softer. “Why are you marrying someone you don’t love?”

He looks at you like he’s bleeding. “Because I don’t have a choice. Because if I don’t marry her, everything I’ve spent my entire life preparing for. The crown, the country, the people. It all falls apart.”

“No,” You say, eyes locked on him. “It doesn’t fall apart. You’re just afraid.”

He doesn’t deny it.

“God,” you laugh. “You’re a fucking coward.”

He’s still just standing there. Looking at you like he’s drowning, like he knows what he’s about to do will haunt him forever. But he’s going to do it anyways.

That’s what love looks like.

A crown. A cage. And the person you would burn for walking away because the fire scares them.

“You don’t get to look at me like that.”

His brows furrow, “Like what?”

“Like I’m the one breaking your heart.”

He flinches. Just barely.

But you see it. You always do.

You walk to the sink, turning away from him, and turn the faucet on just to do something. “I hope she’s worth it.”

Charles swallows hard. “Don’t do that.”

You spin, your hands still dripping with water. “Don’t what? Don’t act like I’m the one being unreasonable while you walk away from the only thing that ever made you feel something?”

“I feel everything with you!” He yells, words bursting from his throat. “Every time I’m with you, I can’t fucking breathe. I can’t think. I can’t fucking sleep. I walk into the palace and I feel your hands on me like they’re branded there. I see your face in every goddamn crowd. I dream about you when I have to lie next to her, and I hate myself for it.”

You blink. Staggered. But he’s not done. 

“You think this is easy for me?” His voice breaks now. “You think I don’t want to choose you? That I haven’t stopped and stood in front of almost every mirror rehearsing how I’d say the words I’m done? That I haven’t imagined running, just running, until I could crawl into your bed and never leave?”

“Then do it,” you cry. “Fucking do it!”

He stares at you, breath heaving, soaked in silence.

And then softly he says, too softly. “I'm not brave enough.”

And that’s what finally does it. Your heart breaks in full. Like a dam giving way.

You let out a harsh sob that tastes like surrender. You push past him, hand over your mouth, body shaking as you try to hold yourself together.

But he follows.

“Don’t,” you say. “Please don’t—“

But his hands are already on you. Not to claim, not to kiss. Just to hold. Just to feel you. His arms wrap around your back like he doesn’t know what to do. His face buries into your neck, and you feel it. His breath hitching, his shoulders trembling.

He’s crying.

“I love you,” he says, muffled. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

And you sob harder. Because that’s what makes it worse. 

Because he means it. And it’s still not enough.

[biteyoubiteme]

apologize

yeonjun x fem!reader

synopsis: you do have to say sorry when you hurt feelings

warnings: 🔞!!! oral (f!rec), slight fingering, orgasm denial/edging, multipul orgasms (f!rec), biting, crying, overstim mentions, no protection, creampie, Yeonjun calls reader baby once, reader mentioned as a girl by gyu, prob forgot some

wc: 1.7k

an: this was a request! hope I did it justice <3 feedback is appreciated :)) [m.list]

it wasn't often that Yeonjun was mad at you, annoyed yes, but never really angry. only tonight was different, all of your friends were out together at one of the dorms. a glorified study session that was only an excuse to hang out and have dinner. all of you are sitting around the couchs joking around after your meal. you should have noticed the switch when you didn’t hear his soft chuckle, Yeonjun sitting between you and beomgyu on the sofa. 

Yeonjun would usually add to the teasing but as you leaned over giggling, playfully hitting Beomgyus arm Yeonjun Reached out to pull your hand back. his fingers twisting in yours drawing Beomgyus attention, “aw is someone upset I make their girl laugh more than they ever could?” 

“you’re asking for it,” you laugh leaning your head on yeonjuns shoulder, “but it might be true,” you whisper making gyu burst into laughter, pointing at Yeonjun as he huffs a humorless laugh. you were always joking, it was never serious, Yeonjun would play along with the fake annoyance, his tongue running along his teeth as he tried to hold back his laugh. but it wasn't like that this time. it was one of the first hints at his mood and you tried to backtrack, “he's good at other things,” but the damage was already done. 

the drive home was spent in near silence, the radio softly playing as you scrolled on your phone. both of yeonjuns hands on the wheel instead of having one on your thigh like usual but you didn’t notice. kicking off your shoes when you got to the apartment you made a beeline to the bedroom to change, following your usual nighttime routine. moving to grab your pajamas from the dresser you don’t even hear Yeonjun following you but when you turn he's sitting on the edge of the bed. leaning back on the heels of his palms as he watches you, his indifferent look the opposite of his usual loving gaze. 

“What's wrong?” Your sweet voice is so sympathetic, ready to fix any problem he has. 

“I didn’t find it funny,” 

“Find what funny?” you’re genuinely curious as to what he's talking about, he can see it in the way you tilt your head, the way you trace your eyes down his body to try to point out what possibly could have started this mood shift. 

“Your joking, from earlier,” your shoulders relax, and his jaw ticks. 

“oh,” your soft laugh brushing him off, “I'm sorry jjunie it was nothing you know that,” 

“Do I?” It's the slight tilt of his head that makes his intentions known, the way that one strand of hair sits on his brow, the way he glances from you to the floor right at his feet. it wasn't often that Yeonjun got this way but you knew what he wanted. you slipped to the floor, sitting back on your heels right in front of him. 

“Do you want me to show you how sorry I am?” you ask hands in your lap waiting for his answer. He sat forward putting his elbows to his knees so that he could bring his face closer to yours, noses nearly touching. 

“no, I'll be sure to get it out of you eventually,” he brushes your cheekbone with his thumb making your eyes flutter. He traces down to your lips tapping along their seam prompting you to open your mouth enough to fit the digit in. With his thumb in your mouth he wraps his other fingers around your chin to hold you in place as he kisses your nose. “Do you think you can handle your punishment?” 

You don’t have much freedom to nod but the slight movement makes Yeonjun smile. He lets you go, taking his thumb back and motioning you to stand. tugging on the end of your dress you assume he wants you to strip only he pulls you forward between his legs before guiding you to bend over his knee, your cheek pressed into the bed's comforter. He flips up the skirt of your dress, feeling along the waistband of your panties. “something I did find funny was how giggly you were with gyu,” 

“yeonjun-“ 

“no, speak when asked,” his finger slips along the seam of your underwear following the curve of your ass before lifting the elastic to let it snap back against your skin. your hips twitch at the sensation, hands twisting in the duvet, toes just barely touching the floor. his fingers dip further tracing over the fabric, running over the outline of your cunt purposefully avoiding your clit. 

you want to push back against his hand he's ghosting over you, the light touch making you want to whine but if you moved he would only drag your punishment out longer. Yeonjun can feel your wetness through the fabric and he circled his fingers over your clothed entrance before moving to your clit. your hips jerk at the feeling and you expect him to pull away but he doesn't fingers picking up speed as he rubs at your clit. “Wait,” you gasp, your orgasm building too fast when he barely had his hands on you but as soon as Yeonjun saw your toes start to curl he pulled his hand away. “no-“ you try to push back against his hand but he tisks sliding it to your inner thigh to hold you still but even that light touch goes straight to your clit making you whimper. 

“If you want to cum I'd listen for when you’re told to speak,” both his hands go to either of your thighs, groping you to make your pussy lips spread. you can feel his erection in his jeans, pressed against your pelvis, every movement from you grinding right down on him. When he thinks you've come down a bit he goes back to feeling you over your panties, slow circles back on your clit to drive you crazy. 

you’re already so close, your soft moans filling the air as you pull your knees together. “apologize,” it is one word but it's in one ear and out the other, your hips moving to try to chase your orgasm before it's ripped away from you again.  

“nooo,” your hips wiggling against him enough to make him completely pull himself away from you. He stands leaving you laid out on the bed. but before you could move Yeonjun was pulling down your panties, not even getting them past your knees, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed and wedging himself between your legs, his mouth on your clit making your back arch. Your shocked yelp turned into a strained moan, white-knuckling sheets, face buried into the mattress as he sucked. it was enough to bring you right back to the brink of your orgasm, thighs trembling with need. you were so sensitive now that if you did cum you would pass right into overstimulation if he kept his mouth on you but Yeonjun pulled away again. you could feel the tears brimming in your eyes, “please jjunie, please,” your begging mixed with a soft sob. 

“Are you going to say sorry?” he asks, rubbing soft shapes on your inner thigh to watch you tremble. he was using his free hand to wipe at his bottom lip collecting your wetness and putting it back into his mouth. 

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I-“You’re cut off by your own throaty moan as he leans back to give one last harsh suck to your clit. your orgasm hits you like a truck, clenching around nothing, you can hardly breathe. you don’t hear the sound of his belt being undone, so out of it until you feel the head of his cock catching on your entrance, your whine at the stretch music to his ears. he's rough as he slams into you pressing himself deep enough to hit your gspot. your hips roll back as you feel your second orgasm hit you out of nowhere, spots in your vision as Yeonjun presses his mouth to your ear. “say it again,” 

you’re too lost to speak, gummy walls clenching around him as he keeps up his pace, your mouth open in a silent moan, a small spot of drool on the comforter where you’re laying your head. “Say it again,” he demands through clenched teeth, your wetness making it so easy to slip in and out of you, all of your slick down the back of your thighs making every thrust leave a wet slapping sound echoing. 

“I know that pretty mouth does more than just laugh at other boys' jokes, say you’re sorry,” when you don’t answer he wastes no time in slipping a hand between you and the mattress to rub at your clit again. your whole body reacts, squeezing around him as you cry out, “I'm sorry!” his hips stuttering as he reaches out to hold one of your hands, his face burying into your neck as he cums, the warmth triggering another orgasm for you, your face now tear-stained as you twitch under him. you bring your interlocked hands to your mouth biting down on one of his fingers, his breath hot on your skin, trailing moans rumbling along your back as his thrusts slow to a stop. he keeps himself buried inside you, kissing along your shoulder and neck as you both wind down. 

you whimper when he pulls out of you, the gush of your combined release slipping out and down your leg. Yeonjun scoops up any cum he can before shoving his fingers back into your cunt finger fucking it back into you. “yeonjun,” your soft whisper is the only sound in the room. He tugs your panties back into place before climbing into the bed with you, pulling you close to his chest. 

“I really am sorry,” you mumble, wrapping your arms around his neck, your whole body feeling weak. 

“I know baby, i'm not upset,” he kisses the top of your head, “I know it was only a joke,” 

“I don’t like it when you’re angry with me,” 

“You don’t?” he chuckles, his hand rubbing up and down your back. “I shouldn't have let you cum at all then huh,” 

“Okay, maybe I do kinda like it,”

🏷 taglist: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez wanna be added to the taglist? send me an ask

[falling-endlessly]

Boomerang (part 1)

Vox x Female!Ex!Overlord!Reader

Summary: When Vox proves incapable of cutting Valentino out of his sex life despite his many reassurances, you decide to break it off with him and leave for good. He doesn’t take it so well.

Just to be clear, reader is an artificial intelligence demon, looks super realistic and human-like, but is actually composed of nanotechnology. She was human once though, like all of the other sinners.

INSPIRED BY THIS POST

Part 2—> Chapter Index

"Y/n?" Charlie poked her head through your door. "There's uh, someone here to see you."

You narrowed your eyes, rising from your bed. A bone-weary sigh escaped you. It was obvious who your supposed "visitor" was. "Did you tell him I'm busy?"

Charlie pursed her lips, looking down. Great, so that meant he was throwing a temper tantrum. And she wanted you to sort him out.

"Alright, fine," you pinched the bridge of your nose. "I'm coming." She was generous enough to let you stay, after all. The least you could do was clean up your messes.

When you finally reached the main floor, Vox and Alastor looked about two seconds away from clawing each other's faces off. Cyan blue electricity was sparking along Vox's entire body, and Alastor's shadows curled dangerously behind him, ready to attack at his call.

Seeing him made a hot fury like no other claw its way up your throat. "What the fuck are you doing here?" You growled lowly, balling your fists at your sides.

At the sound of your voice, Vox immediately broke away from Alastor, a giant smile spreading across his screen. "Sweetheart! There you are!"

You stormed up to him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him harshly into a corner. You let go of him once you were sufficiently out of earshot of the others, crossing your arms and leveling him with a furious glare. "You have five seconds to explain yourself."

"Okay, let's just calm down for a second here," he chuckled, but it was an empty sound. "Is it really that weird for me to want to check up on you? After all, you kind of just disappeared," his smile strained.

"Has it ever occurred to you that the reason you couldn't find me was because I don't want to see you?" You smiled sardonically, patience running thin.

"Uh, what?" He laughed, but his smile was frozen. "Why would you not want to see me?"

That was the last fucking straw. "Are you that fucking delusional, Vox?" You snapped, poking him harshly in the chest. "When I said I was done, I meant it. This," you gestured between the two of you. "Is over. I'm done."

Vox twitched, electricity sparking off sporadically from his antennae. He stared at you in stunned silence, his breathing starting to pick up speed as he processed your words. His eyes searched your face for any sign that you were being untruthful, and when he found none, he glanced up at the small crowd of residents and staff gathered, only to lock eyes with a smug Alastor.

Vox's screen glitched, his features twisting in a rage. "So you're replacing me with the radio fucker now, is that it?"

"Oh, really?" You narrowed your eyes. "Just like you replaced me with Valentino?"

"That's different," Vox gritted out.

"Is it?"

"Yes, for one, Val isn't some archaic cannibalistic fucker with a vendetta against me!"

"Who has the vendetta against who here? Cause it seems like you're the one who can't let things go." You watched him splutter on his bullshit for a few seconds before you shook your head in exasperation, the pounding pressure increasing at your temples. "Alright, that's it, we're done here. Get out."

"Y/n," he narrowed his eyes. "You need to think about this."

"Oh I've had plenty of time to think," you grabbed his tie, pulling him closer to bare your teeth menacingly. "Now get out before I put a goddamn virus in your software Vox!" Your face pixelated from rage at the end of your sentence. You let him go with a harsh shove.

For a long moment nobody spoke, a tense silence blanketing over the two of you. You glared at him venomously, chest still heaving from your outburst. And him, he was looking at you like he'd never seen you before. Good, you thought spitefully. It's finally getting through to him.

Vox's mouth hardened into a thin line, his sharp claws nearly drawing blood from his palms. "Why here?"

You closed your eyes. "It’s not a forever thing. I just—I need to be away from everything for a little while, okay?" Everything that we've built together. Reminders of you. "No flashy shit, no fast life, no technology—"

"You're an A.I. model," he said dully.

"Yeah well, you win some you lose some," you sighed, rubbing at your temples. "Look, I don't want to say it again. Leave Vox, I'm serious."

For a hot second, it looked like you were ripping his entire world apart and stomping on the broken pieces, the way he looked at you so lost, before he hastily pulled himself back together. "Fine," he spat out. It sounded like it physically hurt him to say it.

He lifted his chin, adjusted his lapels, and stormed out of the hotel, slamming the door so hard it blew straight off of its hinges, blue sparks of electricity still sizzling from it.

For a few seconds, a thick tension suffocated the room, as everyone took the time to process the shit show they'd just witnessed.

"Well, that was fun!" Alastor's cheery voice punctuated the silence. You glared at him tiredly.

***

If you thought that he would give up like you so nicely asked, you were sadly mistaken.

Turned out it was just a pre-game warm up for this asshole.

At least thrice a week, he made sure to fuck up your peace somehow. Last time it was spray painting the entire hotel electric blue (how, you didn't even want to know). The time before that, it was trying to sneak some of his peeping gadgets in through the window. And the time before that, it was putting your name up on every billboard in the goddamn city with a red heart next to it.

Now, you stood incredulously in front of half of the hotel. As in, the other half was missing. Blown off by a fucking missile. You couldn't make this shit up if you tried.

"What the fuck is going on?" You gritted out, before taking a deep, calming breath.

Vox's electric laughter rang out from a speaker of unknown source. You turned angrily to face the open air.

"Pathetic," he jeered. "You still want to shack up with these losers, Y/n?"

You shook your head slowly, laughing in disbelief. "Wow," you said sarcastically. "You really showed us, didn't you? Feel better about yourself now?"

You punctuated your sentence with a glare, before turning and storming towards the remaining half of the building.

Vox watched you from twenty different angles across his screens. The moment you turned your back, his wide, toothy grin dropped, eyes squeezing shut. He slammed mute on his microphone.

“FUCK!” He banged a fist on the table, breathing heavily. It had been two weeks already, and you still hadn’t come back to him. He was getting desperate now.

A quick glance at the screen showed Alastor’s glitching picture. The radio bastard snapped his fingers with a raised brow, the missing half of the hotel repairing itself instantly.

“Fucking show off,” Vox growled raggedly.

He needed to change tactics. And fast.

***

Nothing. He had nothing.

No plans, no blueprints, no smart and suave moves to get you back.

Every scenario he ran through his head would inevitably end with you walking away from him. If only he could hypnotize you like with everyone else—but you were a tech demon, just like him. More advanced, even. Your firewalls were just too strong.

Vox poured himself another glass of scotch, solemnly glaring up at the ceiling in frustration.

A clawed hand clasped his shoulder, making him grit his teeth.

“You’re looking a little tense, Cariño,” Valentino purred, trailing his fingers up Vox’s neck. “I can help with that~”

Vox shrugged him off, annoyed. “Not in the mood, Val.”

But Valentino was undeterred. “Is this about Y/n?” He murmured, knowing he hit the nail on the head when the other demon tensed considerably. “What’s so special about that bitch anyway, hm? Is it the pussy? You know I’ve got whores lined up for you, baby. Just say the word and—”

“Fuck off, Val!” Vox exploded, electricity sparking in his eye. “I don’t want just any random bitch from the street, okay?! I want Y/n. I want her back,” he spat miserably.

Valentino went silent, his face twisting into a cruel expression. “Don’t you understand?” He growled. “She left you. Betrayed you. And she’s not coming back, ever. The sooner you see that and stop wasting your time, the better.”

He turned away, his heels clacking against the marble floors until the double doors swung closed behind him.

Vox let out a frustrated yell, arcs of electricity shooting out from him and shattering his expensive collection of drinking glasses to smithereens.

***

A tap sounded at your window, making you tense.

Slowly you approached it, generating a pistol from your nanotech and holding it tightly to your chest. You peered out of the blinds, only to find your ex dangling from the window sill.

“Holy shit!” You screeched, jumping back.

“A lil’ help?” he grinned lazily, reaching out for you. You grasped his hand, hauling him inside of your room.

The unmistakably pungent scent of alcohol invaded your senses, making your wrinkle your nose.

“Jesus fucking Christ, are you drunk?” You dragged a hand down your face.

“No,” he hiccuped, shaking his head vehemently, which caused him to lose balance. You grabbed his shoulders, righting him before he fell and broke his screen.

“Oh yeah,” his face lit up in realization, before he reached behind him, pulling out a bouquet of slightly squashed roses. “For you,” he slurred, offering them proudly.

You looked at them in exasperation, before taking them gently from his hands. Bringing them up to your face, you closed your eyes, sniffing them slightly. A sweet floral scent filled your senses as you regarded them.

“They’re pretty,” you remarked quietly.

“Yeah,” he grinned, your eyes flickering up to catch his. “But you’re prettier.” At your lack of reaction, his grin faltered, and he looked down.

“I…” he started, swaying slightly. “I’m sorry.”

You closed your eyes, shaking your head. “Don’t do this.”

“Please come home,” he continued, expression drooping sorrowfully. He clasped your hand, looking up at you pleadingly. “I’ll…I’ll do better, I promise.”

The ache in your heart grew almost unbearable the more you looked at him, so you averted your gaze. “Why don’t you ever say that when you’re sober?”

Vox let go of your hand, sliding down the wall until he landed on his ass. “Scared,” he mumbled.

You crouched down in front of him, lifting his hanging head from his arms. “Of what?” You said gently.

His eyes flickered up to yours, and the raw emotion nearly stole your breath away. “You still won’t want me.”

“Vox…” You closed your eyes, pained.

“Come home,” he whispered hollowly. “Please.”

“You know I can’t do that,” you said thickly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

He looked at you sadly, but resigned. “Yeah, I know,” he lowered his screen back into his arms. “…miss you,” he trailed off quietly, before soft whistling snores could be heard.

You dropped your face in your hands, breathing raggedly. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. You had almost fucking caved.

After a moment to compose yourself, you searched his pockets, pulling out his phone (he didn’t even change his password) and dialing a familiar number.

“What the fuck do you want now, Vox?” An irritated feminine voice answered the line.

“Velvette,” you said cooly. “I need a favor.”

****

Part 2 —> Chapter Index

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Policy & Procedure | Part 8 | Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Reader | 3.6k words

You and Bucky finally talk back at his apartment. Without work and the public watching, you can finally be yourselves again. But what will that look like now the truth is out?

Warnings: 18+ language, mentions of HYDRA and the Winter Solider, adult content, p in v, dirty talk, mentions of bratting, dirty talk, oral (f recieving). S is for Sir.

A/N: This is the last chapter and I'm so excited to share it with you! Thank you so much for reading, whether it was from the start, part way through or you're just here for the smut! If you enjoyed this series please reblog to share with your friends :)

Masterlist | Policy & Procedure Masterlist | <-Part 7 | Bucky Barnes

The ride back to Bucky's apartment was filled with fraught silence. The driver tried desperately to make conversation before turning the radio up and tuning in to the coverage of what was apparently several attacks on several political offices.

Bucky paid in cash as he always did and you rolled your eyes, stepping out close behind him, his shadow. And he loved it, had missed the smell of your perfume when you tugged on his jacket sleeve.

"Mr Barnes —"

"Let's not talk here," Bucky could feel how tight his smile was, the edge in his voice.

You were finally here, finally coming to his home where he'd spent hours preparing for you — only to come back and shove the flowers into the trash compactor. He'd downed the bottle of wine he picked out sat in the bath while the water went cold and then he'd shoved the dressing gown to the back of his closet and decided he'd done as much crying as he felt became a man of his age.

Now you were here, his apartment was a mess, he had no food in and he was pretty sure he hadn't even put his clothes in the hamper from yesterday. He felt like a boy again and despite the decades of time that had passed since he'd last seen his mother, he could hear her scolding him for his slovenliness. Hear his father's raised voice —his stomach turned.

None of this was right anymore, not his life, not this day, not the awkwardness he felt with you when he'd been so happy before.

He was right, his apartment was as he left it. Dirty dishes by the sink and his coffee table covered in books, candy wrappers and cups.

"Come in, I guess, can I get you a drink?" He offered, getting a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge, at least that was full, maybe Anna had sent someone round.

"Yeah, sure, whatever you're drinking." You sat awkwardly at the breakfast bar, watching him, and a prickle on unease ran up his spine.

He still wasn't sure who you really were. Sam had told him you were security, but did he even know your real name?

Bucky placed the glass in front of you and opted to stand on the other side of the counter, he rolled his shirt sleeves up and undid his tie, watching your eyes tracking his movements as he went. That was real, he knew it, he didn't imagine the way your throat moved when you swallowed, or flick of your eyes to his forearms.

"Okay, you wanted to tell me your side of things so. You said back there —"

He was still replaying what you'd said, that you cared about, had been frightened for him.

"You have to know, I wasn't sent to —"

"Sleep with me?" Bucky took a swig of water to try and calm himself down, "sure, you said."

"I was tasked with making sure you're safe. You get lots of letters, nice letters, from kids and enhanced people and that's lovely. But you get a lot of hate mail too, it just doesn't reach your desk and Sam— he was worried."

"Do you even really know Sam?" This had stung Bucky as much as anything else, that Sam would lie so much something had to be true and he really hoped Sam had been telling the truth about your bravery during Project Insight.

"Yeah, I do.I've worked with him, as Captain America, I've done private security, undercover ops, freelance stuff…that was true. He trusts me, that's why he trusted me with his best friend." You looked at him pointedly, making sure to keep eye contact.

You hadn't looked away from him the entire time, you weren't shaking or nervous, you were telling the truth — or you were an insanely good liar because Bucky could hear your heart beating when you got excited, and right now, it was a steady thump.

Bucky wasn't so sure he was still best friends with Sam, he had a lot of apologising to do for the way he'd spoken to him.

"You worked for SHIELD?" He used his glass to wave at your faded Kevlar vest.

"Yeah, I did." He could see in your eyes, you knew what was coming next.

"Were you there?— Don't pretend you don't know what I mean, were you there?"

"Yes." You said it proudly, chin up, and he he was reminded of why he was so drawn to you. Your persistence, your pride in your role, your willingness to take responsibility. "I was there."

"And did you follow your orders then?"

"I followed the right orders,"

Bucky's heart sank momentarily

"— I listened to Agent Hill. I did my job, not as directed by SHIELD officials, but by the principals it was founded on. I protected the people. I protected Sam and Captain Rogers, Agent Hill and Agent Romanoff. I shot one of my colleagues, point blank, to protect them." You did look down then. "I was mostly a desk agent before then, it changed my life and I'm still not sure if I'm glad of that or not. But it did. I have to live with it, what I did, killing him. I had to make it mean something, so I found Sam after and I've been freelancing for him every since. Is that what you wanted to hear?" You looked like you were fighting back tears.

Bucky ducked his head, ashamed. Of course you did. Sam was a man of principal too, he wouldn't have been friends with you if you'd have run away or listened to the HYDRA agents. But it also wasn't everything he wanted to know…

"And did you see me?" Bucky let the question hang, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.

"I saw you, yes. I saw you as him, the Winter Soldier and I saw you drag Captain Rogers from the river. I saw you walk away a different man. And it's that man I promised Sam I'd protect."

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head, "I don't need protecting, sweetheart."

"Seems to me like you do, if you keep forgetting you're a congressman and not a superhero. You were going to go back into the building today, if I hadn't called that cab."

"That's true." Bucky downed his water, he'd have walked back in without a second thought, he was still a little troubled by how easy it had been for you to lead him away.

"It's what makes me care about you, Mr Barnes, more than the job required."

It was your turn to look awkward now, playing with the condensation on your glass of water, the ice clinking when you moved it between your palms.

"You don't have to pretend I meant anything more to you to make me feel better, I just wanted to know the truth."

He was lying and he knew it, but he hoped you didn't.

"Hmm —" your gaze slowly moved over the counter, tracing up his arms until it felt like you were trying to see his secrets, eyes keen and trained on his own. "It meant a lot more to me than that, and I think it meant more to you. You know — I really never meant to hurt you, Mr Barnes, I got carried away. Sam was right to remove me from the position, I would've got us both in trouble or, worse, killed."

Suddenly there were tears spilling over your cheeks.

Bucky had never been good with crying, it was in many ways his biggest weakness. He wasn't an idiot, he'd spent years comforting his sister, Steve, the Howlies. But crying just seemed to make him panic.

"Oh - oh no —" he rounded the counter and wrapped his arms around you, tucking your head against his chest, one hand rubbing circles on the small of your back, the other stroking over the back of your head. "I hurt myself, I was stupid and reckless, inappropriate and unprofessional. Regardless of who you are, I should never have —"

You looked up, your arms circling his waist and pulling him closer, "I'm glad you did, I wanted to, I still —" you ducked your head, wiping your finger over the smear of mascara on his white shirt. "That'll stain."

"I don't care, what were you going to say?" He cupped your cheek in his vibranium palm, thumb nudging your tears away.

"I hated not seeing you every day, I hate being apart from you, I know that sounds pathetic, we only had a few weeks together but I —"

Bucky bent down and pressed his lips to yours, salty from your tears. He licked away the sadness, holding you steady against his body. You hesitated for a moment and he kicked himself, ready to let you go, back away and call you a cab, then you sighed into his mouth and kissed him back.

Everything felt right again, the way you allowed him to take some of your weight, leaning back into his palm, your lips parting for his own, hands clutching at his shirt and in his hair.

It felt the same. But it was still different, now that the truth was out.

"You're in your head," you whispered, tucking his hair behind his ear and searching his gaze.

"It's hard not to be," Bucky bent forward, resting his forehead against yours, "you taste the same —but—"

"But —"

"At the hotel, you — the things you said and did, what was real?"

You pulled back further, "are you asking me if I wanted to have sex with you? Of course I did, none of that was — no one asked me to do that." A little crease appeared between your eyes and Bucky fought the urge to kiss it away.

"Come on now, you know what I mean. I may be an old man but I understand playing these games, the bratting, calling me sir — I —fuck — I spanked you, sweetheart. What of that was you maintaining this illusion of the sweet little secretary, and what was real?" He could feel his ears going pink at the memory, your gasps, your begging voice asking for him.

"Would you think less of me as an agent if I wanted you to spank me, if I enjoyed playing the little brat for you?"

Bucky paused, "no, of course not, it was so sexy and I was thrilled you wanted to share that with me, sweetheart, I would've been happy no matter what you wanted to do."

"You still call me sweetheart," you tugged on his tie and he allowed himself to be brought closer to your lips.

"You're still sweet to me, regardless of what you tell me next. Unless you don't like it?"

"I like it." Your voice was breathy, dreamy and far away. "And you're still Mr Barnes —"

"That's my name, sweetheart."

"Hmm…." you lifted your chin, your lips against his, "you could still be sir to me, if you want to be."

"Oh I want to be—"

And then he was kissing you again because he couldn't help it, he had to kiss you. And you were pulling at his hair, tugging him down and arching up into him.Bucky slid his hands down your back and scooped you up into his arms marching away from the kitchen towards his bedroom. He didn't care that his sheets were messy anymore, if he got his way he'd have to change them all anyway when he was done with you.

"You like it when I take control, hmm?" He asked gruffly, nipping at your ear. The sharp sensation had you arching in his arms, trying to press yourself against him, get some friction, but it was too hard.

"I trust you, sir, but I also like that frown you get when you want to be mad at me," you kissed his cheeks and then between his eyes where Bucky knew he had a permanent wrinkle forming. "It's so sexy, I just can't help myself." You bit your lip, smiling cheekily.

He debated between dropping you to the sheets to enjoy your shocked expression or lowering you gently, but instead decided to sit himself, keeping you in his lap. Above him your face was all smiles, your eyes lit up with excitement and your mouth parted slightly. Your tongue darted out to lick nervously at your lip.

Bucky cupped your cheeks, allowing you to settle in his lap, arms looped around his neck and your fingers playing with his hair.

"I haven't been able to get you off my mind, sweetheart, couldn't stand being without you."

You both paused, bodies still, drinking in the moment.

"Then don't be, let me stay with you." You kissed him softly, coaxing him back out of the nervous shell he'd found himself in. "Let me be with you."

You pressed your hips forwards to rock against the outline of his cock and smiled when he gasped.

"You're torturing me," he groaned, dropping his head to your collarbone and pressing kisses through your shirt. His fingers made light work of the buttons, pushing the heavy kevlar vest off first and then the softer cotton.

Shyly you brought your hands up to fiddle with your bra, plain cotton to match the shirt, "didn't expect to be doing this today, had a whole lingerie set picked out for after your speech and —"

Bucky took your hands and placed them in your lap before quickly releasing the clasp of your bra and sliding the straps down your arms slowly, "you look gorgeous," he praised, ducking forward to lap at a pert nipple.

"So you don't want to see the blue lace I chose?"

"Oh I definitely want to see the lace, but right now, I just want to see you, sweetheart."

With that he lifted up, easily turning you both so you were sprawled on the bed beneath him.

"I think I promised that I'd kiss every inch of you," he lifted an eyebrow, ghosting his lips down over your collarbone and the swell of your breast. You lifted up into him but all he gave you was a flick of his tongue on your sensitive nipple.

"Tease," you groaned, tugging on his hair.

"Brat," he countered, sliding lower, kissing down to your belly button. "These have to go," Bucky began unbuttoning your office slacks, "god please say you're wearing neat little cotton panties to match that bra."

"Mr Barnes!" You covered your face with your hands and pushed at him with your foot, "you said you liked it."

Bucky caught your foot and kissed your ankle before placing it over his shoulder, "I do, I mean it — wait." His fingers slid over your ankle holster, "do you still have weapons on you?" He could feel himself getting harder, his underwear pressed uncomfortably against the wet head of his cock.

"A few, wanna find them?" You slid your foot from his shoulder down to his chest.

"Fuck, yes." And then he pounced, all pretence of romance and delicacy out of the window along with your trousers, ripped down the seam to allow him better access.

You were wearing neat cotton panties, as predicted, but Bucky didn't think he'd seen anything sexier than your concealed ankle holster, or the knife hidden on your thigh.

Bucky trailed his fingers over your thigh and then followed with his tongue, pressing down under the strap. You writhed against the sheets, "please." You whined and Bucky throbbed — that tone, the pout, your eyes. He was worried things would be different, that he would notice the previous lies in the new truths. But this was you just as you'd been at the hotel. Just as you'd been kissing him in his office.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you can have anythin' you want when you beg so pretty." He slurred, lust drunk, love drunk and preparing to bury himself between your thighs.

Your panties were gone in a second, torn and thrown over his shoulder into the darkness of his room. Instantly forgotten when his tongue touched your clit, swirling and then pressing in a steady rhythm.

"Shit," you grabbed at his hair, mussing it between your fingers and tugging, the pain was a delicious flash down his spine urging him on.

"That's it sweetheart, take what you want," he speared his tongue between your folds, lapping at you, squeezing your thighs and encouraging you to wrap them around his shoulders.

You obliged and with a final tug you went taut beneath him, thighs locking around his head.

"Good girl, give it to me, c'mon," Bucky mumbled against you, pressing you apart with his thumbs and catching your arousal on his tongue.

You panted above him, one arm covering your eyes, the other hand still tangled in his hair as he crawled back up your body, kissing you as he went. He was painfully aware that he was still clothed and though the image of you, naked, aroused, post orgasm, beneath him while he was still in his suit was incredibly sexy. He needed to feel you.

Before he could move though your hands were on him, tugging at his buttons and pawing at his trouser zip, pressing the heel of your hand against the firm length of him.

"Please, Mr Barnes," your eyes were wide, that doe eyed expression back, "fuck me."

"Fuckin' hell," it was like his entire body was hard, his whole being. He shoved his trousers and underwear to the floor, his shirt open and half off his shoulders, undershirt rucked up when he pushed you back down, looping your leg over his hip. "You're irresistible, do y'know that?"

You smiled, slowly, and tugged him down so you could whisper in his ear, "takes one to know one —sir." Your hands were all over him, sliding up his back, teasing down his chest. He was surrounded.

Your kisses were as needy as he felt, fervent, teeth clashing as you attempted to get closer, your hands clasping at each other, Bucky didn't bother to line himself up, he didn't need to. As you writhed and arched into each other his cock caught against your soaking folds, he knew when he was against your clit by the high whine that resonated from you.

"Puh-puh-puh-" your begged, rolling against him until finally he was buried inside you, blissful heat and the tight wet feeling of you thrumming around him overtook you both.

"You feel so fuckin' good, could stay here forever," Bucky kissed your temple, giving you time to adjust, for that glassy look to fade enough to know you're ready.

"God yes," you breathed and Bucky drew back, watching your mouth open in time with his thrusts, almost shocked at the sensation and the little punched out 'uh-uh-uh' noises you made. "Wanna stay, missed you so much - yes -uh - just there - yes!"

Bucky dropped to his elbows, caging you against the bed, narrowing his vision until all he could see was your face, feel the puff of your breath on his cheek and smell your perfume.

It was everything, this is what he wanted, what he'd missed, the hollow part of him that was never satisfied before. He'd known it as soon as you'd walked in his office door and he'd been completely helpless to let go of you. You were meant to be here, with him, around him — you were everything.

"Fuck —" he was close, he could feel it building and he wasn't sure if — "sweetheart, I'm so close, god I —" he pulled back, meaning to finish in his hand, on your belly or legs if you'd let him but..

"Don't you dare," you locked your ankles behind him, "I wanna come with you - I'm so so close — oh god oh god — "

He could feel you fluttering around him and, helpless to stop himself, he came hard, flush against your writhing hips he kept himself buried as he twitched, spent, inside of you. He was so happy, so tired, he let his forehead drop to your shoulder where he placed a single kiss.

"I mean it, I don't want to be without you anymore," he whispered, afraid to look at you.

"I don't want to be without you either." You closed your eyes and he allowed himself to just indulge in the feeling of your warm soft body wrapped around his own.

"I'm glad you're here, sweetheart. Do you need anything? I could order take out, run you a bath?" Bucky offered, lifting himself onto his elbow to better view you.

"I don't need anything…although…"

"Yeah," Bucky felt dreamy and far away, he caught your eye and you were smiling again, that low indulgent smile.

"I can't really keep calling you Mr Barnes, can I?" You smirked.

"I guess not," Bucky let out a chuckle, "you can call me Bucky, that's what all my friends call me."

Your smile deepened and Bucky blushed, of course you knew that, he'd forgotten his own notoriety for a moment.

"Bucky." You whispered, stroking a hand over his cheek, scuffing your thumb over his stubble. "Bucky," you sighed his name again, curling into him, tipping him over onto the bed and moulding your body with his. "I like it, I think we need to try it out properly though."

"Yeah?" Bucky said, half listening while he let his hands wander over your back. "How would we try it out."

"Hmm…" You pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips, rubbing yourself against his half-hard cock. "How about — please fuck me, Bucky?" You did your best pout, eyelashes fluttering and breasts pushed forwards.

Bucky opened his eyes to find you giggling as well.

"Yep, that'll do nicely." He agreed, before rolling you over again with a laugh of his own.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

You get my motor running

Written for the day 27 of the @steddieholidaydrabbles, and for round one of the @steddiebingo

Prompts: Traffic & Handjobs

Rated: E

Tags: Established Relationship; Post-Vecna; Some vague references to PTSD; Handjobs; Semi-public sex

“Paper towels,” Steve barks, throwing himself into the passenger seat and slamming the door. A little avalanche descends off the van's roof. Eddie flinches back to attention. 

“That's a curse word I haven't heard before.”

Steve scowls, brushing snow from his hair. It leaves the carefully styled strands ruffled and sticking up at odd angles, giving him a slightly manic look. 

“Hilarious. There is a fucking truck lying in a ditch, like half a mile from here, paper towels all over the place. Police are waving the cars past, but there’s hundreds in front of us. It’ll be hours before we get out of here.” 

“Huh,” Eddie says.

“Yeah,” Steve huffs, crossing his arms. “Huh.”

They sit in silence for a while. 

“We should’ve gone yesterday,” Steve mutters. His leg starts twitching. “Everyone and their mother wants out of the city for the holidays, we should’ve known traffic would be fucking crazy. We’ll never make it to Hawkins on time at this rate. The others will-” 

“They’ll survive, Stevie,” Eddie says, catching his hand and running his fingers over his knuckles. They’re raw from the frosty air, dry skin coming off where Steve picked at it. A habit he's developed in the aftermath of everything, now that there's nothing left to punch, nothing left to go at with nail bats and axes and molotovs. “It's only Christmas dinner.” 

Steve’s fingers flex and Eddie knows he wants to argue, but then he sighs. 

“Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry, I'm just-” 

“Nervous,” Eddie says, tangling their fingers together. “I know, big boy.” 

It hasn't been easy for either of them, leaving Hawkins, but Eddie knows that it's been even harder for Steve. Steve, who's been involved in the Upside Down shit from the get-go, who's spent the better part of his teenage years fighting monsters - the fanged and clawed kind as well as the human-shaped ones. Who still wakes up screaming sometimes, throwing punches at the pillows, trying to protect his loved ones from threats that are long gone. 

“We'll be here for a while, honey,” Eddie says. “Nothing to be done about it. Just relax.” 

“I wish I could,” Steve groans, head thudding against the backrest, and fondness blooms in Eddie’s chest.

“Well,” he mutters, shifting his gaze back to the road, at the same time that his hand lets go of Steve’s fingers and travels to his thigh. “I think I can help you with that.” 

Steve gasps. Eddie stays focused on the road. He doesn’t need to turn his head to know there’s a blush slowly spreading over that pretty face.

“What are you doing?” Steve’s voice is a low, frantic hiss, but he makes no attempt to swat Eddie off. Eddie grins, shifting his hand just a little bit further upwards, and Steve bucks in his seat. “Are you insane? What if anyone sees?” 

“Well,” Eddie drawls, letting his eyes roam over the surrounding vehicles. Most of the drivers are staring off into space, some drumming their fingers to the sounds of their radios, some arguing with their passengers. Nobody is paying them any attention. His palm finds the bulge in Steve’s pants and cups it in a firm grip. “Guess we’ll just need to be subtle about it, huh?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see how Steve’s face twitches as he silently weighs his options. 

“I mean, we could always wait and pull into a side road later,” Eddie shrugs. “But you said it yourself. It’ll be hours...” 

For a few seconds, the only sound is that of tires crunching on snow.

“You’re such an asshole,” Steve snaps, shimmying in his seat so that he can lift his hips and unzip his pants. “C’mon then, make it quick.” 

“Well, aren’t you generous?” Eddie coos, and reaches over. 

As far as handjobs go, it’s one of the odder ones he’s given. 

He needs to keep one hand on the steering wheel and his feet on the pedals, so the angle is awkward. He also can’t watch Steve’s face as he usually does, but they’ve been together long enough for his imagination to fill in the gaps. Steve makes a needy little noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper, rutting up into Eddie’s hand, and he can just imagine the way he flushes, the way he bites down on that pink bottom lip to keep louder sounds from spilling out. For all his initial reluctance, it takes him mere seconds to get hard, and soon his breathy whines are joined by the wet sound of his precome-slickened cock fucking in and out of Eddie’s palm.

Steve never believes him when he says it, but Eddie can feel his orgasm coming before he himself does. He’s learned to read the little telltale signs - the stutter of his hips, the minute hitch of his breath, the way his cock starts twitching in anticipation. Today is no exception. 

“Shit, I’m gonna-” Steve moans, trying to jerk away, to tuck himself back in, but Eddie makes a soft shushing sound and tightens his grip, keeping him in place. Eyes trained at the snowflakes falling beyond the windshield, he lets Steve shake apart in his hold, head thrown back into a silent scream, spilling hot and wet all over Eddie’s hand and his pants and the seat. By the time his breathing evens out, the cars in front of them have started moving again. 

“Well?” Eddie asks, wiping his hand on his pants. “Relaxed now?” 

Steve huffs, a breathy and incredulous thing, but his features have gone soft and content.

“Relaxed and fucking filthy. How are you gonna explain the stains to the others, genius?” 

“Well,” Eddie winks. “Maybe someone up there can lend us a paper towel.” 

Steve almost makes him walk the rest of the way, but he thinks it’s well worth it.

More holiday drabbles

More Steddie Bingo

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 9: Don't Let The Bed Bugs Bite

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!) Soldier Boy calls the reader "Petals."

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 6.7K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual jokes, sexual tension, Nightmare, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Drowning, Mention of Vomiting, SUPER GROSS SUPERPOWER, Reader is really oblivious, and I mean REALLY oblivious. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

A/N: This chapter is just really fluffy and I didn't want to keep it to myself, because it makes me so happy. Well, after the first part at least.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Spotify Playlist 🪴

Rain glazed all the sharp edges of the world outside the car, smearing the drops against the windows with a heavy hand. The humid air breathed and iced the glass, but did not disrupt the droplets that raced quickly by, catching and sparkling in the sporadic streetlights along the twisting road.

Your mother was singing softly along to "Nights In White Satin", the haunting melody building with every note, your father's deep baritone weaving with hers to make a wonderful melody in the silence of the night. The smell of rain seeped through the ancient air conditioning, the heady scent of wet earth and clean water filling the cab of your family's car.

 You smile to yourself in the backseat, sleepy and content, tracing a single finger against the smudged glass to watch each raindrop race against the fogged glass. You could still taste the chocolate ice cream on the tip of your tongue from the cone your parents have bought you on the way home, your hands and cheeks sticky with the remains. The leather seats of your family car are worn in and soft beneath you from years of family trips all over the United States. There was still a loose marble rolling around back and forth with every gentle rock of the car as it moved smoothly over the wet roads, a comfort when you were a baby and you couldn't sleep and your parents drove around the block to send you into the sweet abyss.

The sharp plunk of rain against the windshield is heavy, but your father reaches to turn up the song on the radio, flicking his eyes to smile at your mother one final time. And as he glances back up he shouts something.

You can't hear what it is, only that when you look out the windshield you see a brilliant flash of white light coming straight for the car and feel the car jerk to the right as your father yanks on the wheel. There's an awful sound of concrete against metal, a high pitched screech that you can't forget followed by the almost inhuman scream of terror that comes from your mother's mouth, as the car breaks through the concrete side of the bridge and goes off the road.

There's an awful moment of weightlessness and when the car hits the water everything goes black.

You jolt upwards out of bed, screaming at the top of your lungs, chest heaving and gasping for air as the memory of water filling your lungs floors your senses. You shudder involuntarily, rocking back and forth as you try to shake off the memory of your parent's death.

No one really knew what happened that night, what the bright light was that you saw or where it came from. The detective said that it had to be lightning, but it hadn't looked like lightning to you. Your parents had drowned inside, but you survived. When the police arrived on the scene of the crash they found you on the bank of the river with the branches of the trees forming a protective cage around you. The back windshield of the car had been completely destroyed, blown inward when the trees along the bank had reached in to pull you out.

You always thought it was funny that somewhere deep down your powers took over, you weren’t  sure if it was when you blacked out or if you somehow forgot what happened in your parent's final moments, but all you knew was that you were alive because you called out for help and the trees answered.

A part of you still felt guilty. It had been your fault that you were out. There was a music recital at school, they'd come to support you, Darren had stayed home too busy doing homework to care. He was taking courses at the local community college, too involved in his own life to pay any attention to yours, except when he needed you. You weren't sure why the trees hadn't saved them too, why you were the only survivor.

You reach for your bedside table, scrambling in the darkness to find the inhaler that usually helps, before finally putting it to your lips and taking in a long puff.  It helps for a moment. Your heart was still beating fast, a cold sweat making your sleep shirt stick to your back, as another involuntary shudder works through your body, the sound of your mother's scream ringing in your ears.

You press your face into your knees trying to calm your breathing when your bedroom door snaps in half. Pieces of the door shoot through the air like shrapnel as Ben appears in the doorway, shirtless, wearing only a pair of black sweatpants holding one of the lamps from your living room.

"Ben what the fuck?" You scream, heart already feeling like it was going to burst out of your chest.

"What happened? What's going on? Why did you scream?" He shouts back, eyes darting around the room as if looking for invisible intruders.

"Get out of my room!" You shout.

"Not until you tell me what's going on." Ben's eyes fall on you once more and you watch the tension in his shoulders drop an inch. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." You lie taking in a deep breath, hoping that you can calm down your heart beat and that he's not paying attention to that.

He was.

"No, you’re not."

"Yes I am." You didn’t feel like doing this with him, didn’t feel like telling him exactly why you'd just woken up screaming or deal with him teasing you.

It had been a few days since the party and you had been trying your best to make things as normal between the two of you as you could, especially after you'd yelled at him. It had been more awkward the day after, not because of what you said to him, but because of what he yelled at you after the supe got away. He hadn't come back to the apartment until after you'd gone to bed and when you woke up on Sunday morning, Ben had gotten you coffee again when he went out to get a newspaper.

You figured that was his way of apologizing for yelling at you. That and he had insisted on walking to "Please Don't Die" with you on Monday and Tuesday morning, as if he thought that you were incapable of doing it yourself and then showed up when you got out of work at 5 to walk you back home. You didn't know how he figured out what time you got off of work, only that when he showed up to get you on Monday, he glared at Jake who was debating with you about which of Rory Gilmore's love interests was the best.

Jake had watched a few episodes with his younger sister when she visited him a few weeks ago to tour some of the colleges in New York, and she'd gotten him hooked. Annie and you had watched Gilmore Girls forever ago, but you'd started watching a few episodes now that it was fall and that meant you were being reminded of how much you obsessed over the show when you were younger.

Ben had stood there watching the two of you, noticing how close Jake was standing to you and how Jake seemed to smile even wider and how Jake spoke animatedly to you over the display of cactus all the while frowning and glaring daggers in the back of Jake's head.

You'd be lying if you said that you weren't reconsidering dating Jake. Ben had made it clear what he wanted and despite how much you were attracted to him, you knew that he didn't want to be what you wanted, and you didn't want to force Ben into something or try to turn him into something he wasn't. So you were trying to think about what it would be like dating Jake. He definitely had the kind of qualities you were looking for, he was one for relationships, he had the same sense of humor you did, he liked plants almost as much as you, he was kind and compassionate, and he had a warm smile.

The problem was you couldn't imagine what it would be like to date him and for some reason the thought of dating Jake didn't bring you as much joy as it would have a few weeks ago, and you had no idea why that was.

You also didn't know why Ben came to pick you up or forced himself to walk with you to work, especially if he hated Jake so much and hated being around Jake, but Ben did, and then bought you a cup of pineapple iced tea from your favorite shop around the corner from your apartment on the way home even though you insisted on paying for yourself. He thought that pineapple iced tea sounded disgusting, but because you liked proving him wrong, you'd let him have a sip and he'd grudgingly agreed that it wasn't "that bad," but then took another sip of it when you put it down on the kitchen counter for a second to pet Bean when he thought you weren't looking.

Honestly you didn't understand why he was so eager to walk with you to work or why he wanted to walk you back to the apartment. Not when Ben seemed to fill his life and all his time endless dates with the women of New York City, something that you noticed he hadn't done in the past three days since the party. You always figured he had better things to do than walk with you, and yet he had making somewhat pleasant conversation, well, pleasant for Ben which was not the same as pleasant for other people. But it wasn't terrible. He did occasionally tease you because you couldn't walk past a wilting plant without perking it up, but that was to be expected.

"No, you're not." Ben put the lamp down on the floor by your door. It didn’t have it's shade on it anymore and you figured that Ben had ripped it from the living room table when he heard you scream, throwing the shade to the floor when he kicked down your bedroom door.

The same door that was lying in pieces on the hardwood floor of your bedroom.

How am I going to explain that to the super?

"Yes-" You gasp for air and shove the inhaler in your mouth again to take another puff and this time it takes. "I am." You finish, swiping your free hand over your face to rid yourself of the tears, but for some reason they won't stop. "Please, Ben just go-" Your voice breaks for a moment and you bury your face into your knees again.

You really wanted him to go, didn't want to talk to him about this, didn't feel like putting up with his teasing or with his disgusting jokes, and didn't want him to make fun of you for using an inhaler, the same one you'd had prescribed by your doctor when he told you that your nightmares were causing panic attacks. You didn’t have to use it all the time, just when you had the dreams.

You feel the end of your bed dip and you glance up from your knees at Ben. He's sitting there, not quite looking at you, instead he's petting Bean where he was guarding over you as you slept.

"You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to, but I don't want to leave you when you're like this Petals." He says it more to the cat than to you, barely audible. Bean was leaning into Ben's hand as if Ben being in your bedroom, sitting on your bed was normal.

You suddenly feel like you’ve been struck by lightning. What he said was so honest so caring so completely unlike the Ben you knew that all you could do was stare at him. If anything the shock of what he said seemed to help you regulate your breathing and calm down from the images you had just seen in your nightmare.

Ben doesn’t say anything, just continues to rub Bean under his chin, sitting on the end of your bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world and as if he hasn’t said anything at all.

You stare at him for longer than you should, tracing the dips of his broad shoulders, the gentle freckles that graces his skin, and muscles as the taper down his back. You’d seen him shirtless before, but every time you’re unprepared for how good he looks.

Right now he looks, different. He looks softer.

You’re not sure if it’s because of the yellowed light from your bedside table lamp or if it’s because he’s petting Bean, but there's something about him that feels more open, as if he genuinely cares, and it makes you want to talk to him. You sit there for another few minutes calming your breathing, still holding on to your knees, but you prop your chin on your knee so you can look at him.

Why won't he leave? Why does he care so much that he wants to stay here?

Bean stands and saunters up the bed to press his head into your shin as if he's checking up on you. "Hey buddy." You whisper hoarsely, rubbing him behind his ears.

Ben turns his body, folding one of his legs under him and the other hangs off your bed so that his bare foot is sitting on the hardwood floor of your bedroom. He's watching you with an unreadable expression, eyes following the trail of your hand on Bean's back, but Ben does not break the silence.

"I have nightmares sometimes." You whisper. Bean's thick gray fur was falling through your fingertips in a comforting way, his luminous amber colored eyes looking up at you. "But I'm okay."

Ben still doesn't say anything.

The high pitched ring of the metal of the car on concrete makes you wince and he doesn't miss it. You watch his hand twitch as if he wants to touch you, but instead he lays it on the bed between the two of you, sinking into the soft comforter.

"I've never heard you scream like that before." Ben murmurs under his breath. "I thought that-"

You glance up at him, eyes wide.

He runs a hand through his hair nervously, as if he's uncomfortable continuing the conversation. "I thought that the supe was in here with you."

"The electric guy?"

Ben nods once.

"No I don't think he's in here. Unless he's hiding under the bed or something." You smile weakly at the joke, but you can still feel the jolt of the car hitting the water and the sharp snap of the seatbelt cutting into your chest. This time you successfully fight the shudder.

Ben doesn't smile. "The nightmares aren't about him are they? Or when I-" He stops mid sentence eyes flicking away from you, ashamed.

You understood what he was asking. Ben and you, like any modern day meet cute, had met mid-fight, the night that Butcher took him to Vought to take down Homelander. Back then you hadn't been working for Butcher, you'd showed up with Annie, and when Ben advanced on her you'd shoved Annie out of the way from his outstretched hands.

You hadn't been fast enough to escape yourself and he had hauled you up into the air by your throat, his chest glowing a dangerous orange spreading up through his skin until it turned his eyes a molten gold. Your hands had held on to his wrists so tight that you felt like your skin was burning and you were desperately trying to think of a way out of this. But just as you thought he was going to explode, his eyes had locked on yours and you watched something move through them that wasn’t rage. Ben had thrown you across the room and gone after Butcher instead.

"Is that why you didn't want me to move in?" Ben's gaze is on you, something deep buried in his eyes that looks a lot like regret. "Because you're afraid of me? Because I hurt you?”

“Ben, no. I’m not afraid of you.” You touch his hand where it rests on the bed gently. He had hurt you. The bruising around your neck for the few weeks that followed was ugly and had to be covered up with turtlenecks and foundation to avoid people on the street asking you if you needed help.

But it hurt you more to know that he thought that you were afraid of him and that he worried about that. Because you weren’t afraid of Ben. Yes he lost his temper and would yell very loudly and always felt the need to scream his opinion to the world, but you didn’t think that he was a bad guy despite what he had done. If you had been afraid of him then you wouldn’t have let him stay with you in your apartment, let alone live with your cat.

He looks relieved when you say it. “Then what are they about?”

“I-“ You swallow, before dropping your gaze back to your knees. You retract your hand, but Ben turns his over, palm up and gently holds yours, not quite squeezing it, just laying beneath yours.

What in the actual fuck is happening?

You glance down at where he’s holding your hand, the warmth from his body comforting like the first day of summer, seeping through your body as it does to take away the chill the nightmare left behind. It seemed a little awkward for him, as if he wasn't sure what to do now that your hand was laying on top of his. He wasn't even entwining your fingertips together, but your fingers just barely curved over the thick muscle at the base of his thumb. His hand was bigger than yours, rough and worn in just the right places.

“It’s about my parents.” The words feel like cotton in your mouth. “The night they died.”

"Oh."

You bite the inside of your cheek. You weren't sure that you wanted to talk to him about this. You'd never wanted to talk to anyone about it. The only person you'd ever spoken about it with outside of your family was Annie. But he was here, and he was looking at you differently, and he was actually holding your hand, sort of, and he was acting so different than any time you'd spent together.

"I was twelve. It was raining and we were coming home from a music recital." You couldn't remember what it was you sang, just remember the people coming up to congratulate you and the large bundle of gardenias that your parents had bought you. "My dad was driving and they were singing in the front seat together."

You felt the tears begin to build behind your eyes, throat closing. You can't really look up at him now, all you do is stare at where his hand sits under yours. " We were crossing over a bridge and there was this brilliant flash of light, my dad swerved and the car went off the road."

Ben's hand finally curls around yours. "You were in the car?" His voice is lower now, emotion lacing his words. 

You nod once. "In the backseat." You whisper. "I can't really remember what happened after we hit the water, all I know is that the trees saved me."

"What?"

"I don't know if I somehow called to them as I was drowning, but they broke through the back windshield and pulled me out of the car, but my parents-" Your voice breaks and you don't try to finish the sentence.

Why am I telling him this? He doesn't care. All he wants is-

"I'm sorry." Ben murmurs, interrupting your chain of thought, sounding sincere.

You shrug. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

Ben raises his free hand to tilt your chin up to face him, and you quickly get lost in the greenish glow that draws you in each time he looks at you. "Don't be sorry for that y/n. I'd rather be wrong and you be okay, than sleep through you screaming like that." Ben swallows. "I didn't like it." You watch the ends of his lips twitch for a second and he smiles. "And we both know how much I like to hear women scream my name.”

Despite the conversation you'd have previously, you snort and smile faintly. "Have you always been like this? Or is it a recent development?"

Ben shrugs, thumb rubbing just barely over your cheekbone. "I like to think of myself as charming."

"Of course you do."

"You don't think I'm charming Petals?"

"Nope."

"Still a bad liar." He laughs releasing your jaw to gently touch the scrunched skin between your eyebrows that gave away your lie.

"I don't really think you're that great at lying either." You roll your eyes, swatting away his hand. "At least I can pretend to like people."

"I can pretend to like people-"

"Oh really? Then what about Jake."

At the mention of Jake's name, Ben frowns.

"See!" You smile wide. "I don't understand why you don't like him."

"He's annoying. No one is that happy Petals. He’s probably been drinking the Koolaid for too long and is trying to get you to join a cult. The pussy is practically part golden retriever." Ben rolls his eyes, but then notices you yawn. "I should go." He stands, letting go of your hand as he does. "You need your beauty sleep."

You fight the disappointment that blooms in your chest as he lets go and the immediate loss that comes when he lets go of you scares you. You're afraid of how you seem to be so attached to him, to someone who has told you countless times he doesn't want a relationship, doesn't believe that you need a strong emotional connection with someone else, and someone who said that the only thing he wanted from a woman was to fuck them.  That last part stung a bit. You remember when he said it to you, when you were looking over the map at the other apartment last week.

But why would he say something like that and act like this with me? Why did he come in here to save me from the supe?

"I think you could use some beauty sleep too Gramps. Without it, you look your age. Can't hide all those wrinkles under make-up." You half-smile when Ben sighs, before you pull your hands into your lap and  cross your legs beneath you. "But, thanks for-well- making sure that no one was murdering me."

"It's what roommates are for." Ben pauses in the doorway before he leaves, the light from the hallway reflecting off the strong muscles of his upper back. His body sways, considering if he should say what he's about to. "I -uh- I get them too." He whispers it.

"What?"

"Nightmares." You see the tension in his shoulders, the word muttered almost like a curse, as if he doesn't really want to admit that.

Your body freezes. "About the lab?"

He looks down and you take that as a yes.

You could only imagine what that was like for him, to be trapped in another country, thinking every day that someone he thought he loved would come find him, but then never did. Again the idea of what Countess did to him, burns hot in your chest. It broke you to think that Ben spent all that time wishing and hoping that she would come for him. You would have. You would have fought tooth and nail to find the man you loved, even if it meant you getting trapped in the process. Not trying wasn't an option in your mind.

Honestly, it was difficult not to come up behind him and hug him, to hold him close and let him know that it was okay to break, that it was okay for him to admit those things with you, and that it didn't make you see him as less than a man. But of course that seemed more like a relationship thing than a friendship thing, not to mention you thought if you tried to do that, Ben would probably somehow get you in the same position you were three days ago when he pinned you against the car with his warm body pressed against you in all the right places and his beard tickling against the sensitive skin of your neck. And that would only send the two of you reeling back to square one, and you thought that in the past three days things seemed to be better between the two of you, more casual and more friendly.

You didn't want to ruin that when you'd practically embarrassed yourself at the party by yelling at Ben outside. So you stay in your bed, your legs still underneath your comforter, your heart no longer pounding in your chest, and your breathing even.

"Well," You say slowly. "If you have one, you know where to find me."

He glances over his shoulder at you, eyes a little wider than usual and you think that he almost looks surprised. Ben nods once and vanishes down the dark hallway going back out to your living room.

You lie back in your bed, placing your inhaler on your bedside before you do, eyes focused on the ceiling and trying not to think about how good it felt to finally talk like two normal people with Ben and trying not to think about how he let you hold on to his hand.

You drag yourself through the front door of your apartment, exhausted, sweaty, and feeling like you'd swum through a dumpster that had been sitting in the sun for a week. You knew for a fact that you smelled, you didn't need super senses for that. The look of the people that lined the sidewalks of New York while you squished down the sidewalk and up into your apartment building was enough of a clue. Everyone had given you a wide berth and you didn’t blame them. MM even rolled down the window of his car when he drove you back. And he’d made you change your clothes into a set of gym shorts and a t-shirt that reached your knees and proudly proclaimed “I love you daddy” on it.

Yeah. It was that kind of day.

MM also made you sit with a plastic bag over your head to avoid smearing the remnants of the supe that was matted in your hair onto his seats.

When you woke up to answer your phone this morning, that was blasting the UK's national anthem aka. Butcher's ringtone, you knew that your day was going to suck. He had proclaimed over the phone loudly, because Mike had already started to screech Beyonce's "Love On Top,” that he needed you to deal with a supe. You thought that he was going to send you after the electric supe, but no, he and MM had caught a whiff of a supe that was robbing banks with his ability to liquify and turn his body into an tomato colored gelatinous mass.

I know, lovely right?

But of course, Butcher had decided that you were the one for the job and so he sent MM and you, while Ben was assigned to something else on the other side of town. The mission had gone wrong in the worst way, when the supe decided that the only way to fight you was to try and drown you in his liquified flesh, bone, and sinew.

When you'd finally scattered his body in the Hudson, you'd vomited for ten minutes, trying to expel as much of the supe as you could, but you still felt disgusting. MM had tried to be supportive, but the sight of you vomiting sent him hurtling to the nearest trashcan while his own stomach heaved. Not to mention  Butcher had chewed out the both of you good for technically "killing the supe."

But you'd rather the supe died than have to go through that ordeal all over again.

You'd tried to get as much of the orangey-red goo off of your body as possible, but it stained your clothes, so you had to walk through New York city looking like a giant bucket of paint was dropped on you and feeling sticky.

You turn around and lean your forehead against the front door with a loud sigh, trying to catch your bearings before you attempt to make it to the bathroom. You were happy that Mike hadn’t come out of his apartment. You didn’t want to have to explain to him why you looked like you’d taken a bath in tomato soup. Every few minutes you'd get a whiff of yourself and feel the urge to throw up all over again, living in the moment of the supe trying to shove his liquified body down your throat.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Ben asks from the charcoal couch, a blunt perched between his lips.

The living room had already started to look like his bedroom back at the other apartment, pieces of his dirty clothing were spread over your hardwood floors, old beer bottles were sitting on your coffee table, and there was a collection of half-smoked blunts in a large ceramic pot that you were letting Ben use as an ashtray. The room was still yours though. The plants on the walls and in pots around the space had not been harmed by Ben's habitation of your apartment. You wondered if that was because Ben actually was trying to respect your rules or if he was afraid you would throw him out.

I'm going to buy him a hamper. The last thing I want is to step on his dirty underwear on my way into the kitchen.

"The next time Butcher calls, tell him I died." You groan moving into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.

He turns his head to stare at you. "Is that paint?"

"Nope." You shudder taking a sip from the water bottle, swishing it around your mouth to wash out the taste.

"Then what is it?"

"It's the supe. He was disgusting." You shudder and take another sip of water. It was helping a little bit, but you eat a handful of raspberries to try and get rid of the aftertaste. "I can still taste him."

Ben smirks. "You can still taste him? What part of him did you put in your mouth?"

"Don't be disgusting." You groan. "His power was liquification, okay, he could liquify his entire body-"

"Did you swallow?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"This is why we don't talk." You narrow your eyes at Ben. "He liquified himself and tried to drown me by shoving himself down my throat."

"Drown you?" Ben sits up straighter. "Are you okay?" You watch something shift through his gaze that looks a lot like worry.

Why is he worried?

"I'm fine." You hold up a hand and watch him relax and take a hit from the blunt. "But worst superpower ever."

"I don't know, kinda sounds like a fun way to get to know someone-"

"He was an idiot. He thought that whatever he lost would replenish."

"Wait what?"

"Whatever he 'drowned' me with didn't reform on his body. So he shoved himself down my esophagus and then he couldn't figure out why he was missing a hand, didn't think about stomach acid. Idiot." You roll your eyes. "But we couldn't contain him and the only thing that I could think of was to dump him in the Hudson. He wasn't strong enough to keep himself together in the current of the bay, it’s gonna take him centuries to piece himself back together." You shake your head. "What have you been doing? I thought you had a hot Tinder date or whatever."

He'd mentioned it this morning when you saw him briefly and grabbed a granola bar on the way out of the apartment. You hadn't spoke much since last night or really had time to talk about what happened, if anything did happen. All he did was let you hold his hand and -well- kick down your mother fucking door.

You weren't looking forward to sleeping without a door, it was the only thing that separated Ben and you, the only thing that gave you a little privacy. You figured that you could just hang one of the crocheted blankets over the doorway, but you were exhausted.

Ben shrugs, letting out a lungful of smoke. "Thought I'd just relax tonight. Didn't feel like going out."

"You didn't feel like going out? Mr. Casual-?" You begin to say, eyes sweeping through the apartment and looking down the dark hallway, stopping on your bedroom doorway.

Instead of the broken mess it was this morning, a new door has replaced it. It's a beautiful dark red wood that matches the floors that run through your apartment, different than the white one that had been there previously.

"Mr. Casual?" Ben asks while raising an eyebrow, clearly confused.

You were going to call him 'Mr. Casual Sex' but you couldn't finish the thought.  "Did you fix my door?"

"Huh?"

"My door." You point down the hallway, eyes shifting back to Ben, who looks suddenly uncomfortable. "The one you broke in half."

"Yeah- uh- I know how much you like your privacy." Ben grunts looking back at the flat screen tv. There was a baseball game on, but the T.V was on mute, the blue light flickering around the small room.

You suddenly have the overwhelming urge to cry. You figured that it was everything from today crashing down on you, the frustration you had with the supe, the smell, and now Ben was actually doing something nice for you.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He still doesn’t look at you and you wonder if he's embarrassed that you pointed it out.

“Well I think I’m going to try to scrub whatever the hell this is off of me.” You say as you begin to walk down the dark hallway and Ben continues to watch the game.

“Wait Petals I’ve got something important to ask you.”

You look up at him expectantly.

“How much do you love your daddy?” His smile slips into a suggestive smirk. “Would you be willing to do anything  to keep him happy?”

“Shut up Gramps.” You flip him off and squish down the hallway to the bathroom.

When you get out of the shower you're missing several layers of skin. You'd scrubbed and scrubbed until you felt red and raw, but it was better than feeling the sticky remains of the supe all over your body. The clothes you wore were ruined and there was no saving them, but at least now you felt better.

You walk back out into the kitchen wearing a soft t-shirt and sweatpants. Ben was still sitting on the couch, but the blunt was gone. You hadn’t noticed before that his dark hair was wet, as if he had taken a shower before you got to the apartment, the smell of his shampoo was strong.

"There's pizza in the fridge." Ben glances over the back of the couch. "Much better Petals, orange is not your color. But I will say I miss the t-shirt.”

"I'm just happy that it didn't permanently stain my skin." You make your way to the fridge to pull out a slice of pizza, eating it slowly. "And very happy I didn't wear my favorite pair of jeans. I'm going to have to burn my clothes I think."

"I'm just happy you smell better." He wrinkles his nose. "Before you smelled like unwashed gym clothes and a fucking yeast infection."

"Thank you for that lovely comparison."

"You're welcome Petals." Ben presses his lips together. "Did you want to-" He pauses. "Watch a movie or something?"

"Oh, um-" You glance down the hallway. You really wanted to curl up with your newest romance novel under your covers and relax, possibly with a cup of calming blueberry tea.

Ben shakes his head. "Just fucking forget it-" He almost seemed angry with himself for suggesting something like that.

"Ben no. I do want to watch a movie with you, I just-" Your eyes flick to the t.v watching one of the baseball players hits a home run. "I kinda wanted to relax with some tea and read. I just got a new book and I haven't been able to start it yet. Annie and I are reading the same one and on Friday we're gonna have book club and I really need to decompress from everything that happened today." You say it gently, trying to let him understand that you wouldn't be opposed to the idea of watching something with him.

"Oh." Ben sits there for a moment considering what you said. "Well, do you want to sit out here? I know you don't exactly-" He clears  his throat. "Have a place to sit in your bedroom."

If Ben wasn’t living with you, you would be reading on the couch. Sitting in your living room surrounded by all of you plants always helped you relax. You hadn’t been able to do that since Ben moved in, not to mention you didn't want to encroach on his space.

“I mean if you’re watching T.V I don’t want to disturb you or anything-“ As soon as you say it, Ben hits the off button on the remote.

“I didn’t get to read the paper this morning and I’ve been trying to find the time all day.” He says, pulling the folded newspaper out from where it was folded and pushed up against the arm of the couch on his right side.

“Oh. Well. Um-“ You didn’t see anything wrong with sitting out here and reading with Ben. “Okay. I’ll just grab my book then.”

“Okay.” Ben breezes, before he glances at the left side of the couch where you would be sitting. The couch was in its upright position, which means it was more couch than bed, but Ben had stacked his blankets and pillows on the other side. “I’ll move my stuff.”

“Okay.” You say again because you weren’t really sure what to say.

You go back and grab the book from your bedside table, but stop just short of the door.

This is weird.

You think to yourself, holding the book tightly by its spine. You weren’t sure what was happening only that Ben and you were going to sit together on the couch in your living room quietly with no tv. And weirder still it was him that suggested you two do it.

He turned off the tv. He asked me to sit with him and suggested something non-sexual. You pause shifting from foot to foot. Because again Ben was confusing you. He was acting like the person you'd occasionally see when it was just the two of you, and it made you anxious. You didn’t want him to do this, to pretend to be someone you wanted just to get into your pants. It was like whiplash. Not to mention you didn't want Ben to force himself to change just for you.

Maybe… Maybe I can just go out there and pretend that this is normal and that he doesn’t just use women for sex like he told me. I will not overthink this. I will sit and read just like I planned.

You come out of your bedroom armed with your favorite crocheted granny-square blanket and the new book. Ben had cleared the left side of the sofa for you as he said he would and was now sitting with his newspaper spread out in front of him, one leg crossed over the other.

“Do you want some tea?” You ask him. You were just being polite, you knew that he would probably say no.

“Pineapple?” He actually kind of perked up as if he would have some if you made it.

“No it’s blueberry.”

Ben shakes his head. “Why do you like so many fruit teas?”

“Because they’re good and they enrich my life.” You snort before placing the book and the blanket on the couch next to Ben and go through the motions of making the tea. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“You’d be right. But could you pour me a glass of scotch?”

“Sure.”

When you’re finally hunkered down with your book and blanket, legs bent at the knee between the two of you, the book propped up on them, facing Ben with the right side of your head laying against the back of the couch, you feel yourself begin to relax. Bean is sleeping in a ball between the two of you. His soft breathing and the sound of pages being turned fills your apartment. The subtle thrum of the plants in the room soaks into your bones and you feel yourself begin to slip into the soft prose and for the first time in a long time you feel at peace. 

A/N: Annnnnddddd we're just gonna keep the Sky High References coming. Maybe the next supe they meet will glow… or turn into a guinea pig? 😅 Is it wrong that it's kinda making me want to do a Superhero High School AU with the Boys characters? That would be so crazy! I already have several other series fic ideas for Soldier Boy, but that idea is definitely going on the list to be considered.

As always thank you so much for reading and all the love and support! If you would like to be added to my taglist please let me know! 😊

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[n3kochuu]

cw: aggressive stranger, implied, and violence angst to comfort (?)

part 1 | part 2

word count: 738

It all happened so fast. It was just an ordinary afternoon. Y/n had just finished her classes for the day and was on her way back to her apartment across campus. The sun hung low engulfing her in a warm blanket on this windy day. She closed her eyes to take in the wonderful weather. She was distracted at the thought of what game she should stream next as she scrolled through her discord server seeing what her chat was anticipating.

But the campus didn't seem as calm as it seemed,

She didn't notice the man trailing her at first, well not until a big shadow loomed over her. Closer than it should have been, and his voice pierced past her ears like a knife flying by her. "Hey, you're that streamer girl, aren't you."

Y/n froze, her pulse quickening, her heart beating out of her chest. Afraid to run she glanced over her shoulder looking at the man behind her. His energy unsettling and his gaze even scarier. There was nothing good coming from this man. The twisted smirk on his face sent shivers down her spine. Fully tuned to the man with the intention of shutting whatever he was going to say down, he stepped closer, and y/n instinctively backed away.

"I've seen you online," he said, his tone hinting at something dark. "You think you're all that huh? Untouchable, don't you?!"

Her heart pounded against her chest in fear. She hadn't felt this fear in years. She had felt so safe lately that she completely let her guard down. She tried to calm down and respond, "I-I think you have the wrong person. Sorry!"

But he still didn't stop. He kept advancing on her. Every step he took towards her, y/n took steps back. His words growing sharper, more invasive. It didn't seem like he was going to stop until he got what he wanted from this interaction. It wasn't until he reached out to grab her arm that she turned around and booked it. She dropped her bag, but she didn't care. Her only thought was to get away.

She didn't stop running until she lost sight of the man as she ran back to her apartment. With the door locked and bolted behind her. Her chest heaves as she had her back pressed against the door trying to catch her breath. She felt tears threatening to spill over. She sank into the floor and pulled her knees to her chest.

For the next few days, she didn't dare leave her apartment. The outside world now feeling more dangerous than ever. The freedom that the night provided didn't even cross her mind. She was so overshadowed by fear.

Ghost and König noticed her absence immediately. They knew after her not showing up to her scheduled stream and the radio silence on her social media that something had happened. And they were gonna figure out what. They hadn't watched her on campus that day and the guilt was eating them alive. Ghost spent hours finding out what had happened, piecing together every detail he could find, while König lingered in the shadows outside her apartment, his heart heavy with worry.

"Whoever had done this, I'm going to fucking kill them." Ghost's voice fueled by anger. "She hasn't left her apartment for days. Or even gone on her night rides. And she absolutely loves them." König voice calm and sharp with determination. "And we will make sure nothing ever happens to our schatzi."

In the days that followed, they had left bouquet of flowers at her doorstep. Another day was a new lock for her door along with instructions on how to install it. Scared of what had happened to her, she didn't dare open the door to accept the gifts.

Ghost and König angered by the fear that man had installed into her were determined to seek revenge for y/n.

One night as she sat by her window, staring out into the late-night empty streets below, she spotted a figure leaning against a motorcycle in the distance. She felt a familiar energy from the figure. It felt... almost reassuring. And for the first time in days, she felt a flicker of safety once again.

She weas reminded that her secret protectors were still there watching over her. And with the world seeming scarier than before, she reminded herself that she is still being cared for.

[scoutofmymind]

Momma I request a prompt inspired by a song of your choosing (: I L Y

Couldn’t Make It Any Harder — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: mental health issues, mentions of past trauma, TorturedArtist!Reader, Empath!Luigi, Luigi says “go birds” after flipping off a woman, confused feelings, situationship, reader is just Very Confused in general, angst, eventual romance.

Wc: 5,107

I couldn't make it

Any harder to love me

Oh, one day, believe me

You’ll want someone who makes it easy

This has been floating around in my asks for awhile, and I wasn’t feeling practically inspired by any songs lately until Sabrina released Couldn’t Make It Any Harder and I couldn’t stop thinking about writing it.

This work was done quickly between my other ongoing Luigi projects, so I apologize for any inconsistencies or skipped backstory (you know I’m a backstory bitch) but I simply needed to get this out of my system, and remembered that an anon had asked me to write something based off of a song quite awhile ago!

Also, how could I leave you hanging on Valentine’s Day? Even if I’m posting this at 2 AM….

It's 8:30 AM at your usual coffee spot — that tiny café two blocks from Luigi's apartment where the barista always draws terrible attempts at latte art, and you’re still wearing yesterday's mascara, not because you've been crying, but because you spent the night in your studio, channeling your frustration into a new piece that's all sharp edges and bold strokes.

"I mean, we had a great time!" You're gesturing with your coffee cup, nearly spilling it. "We went to that new gallery opening, and he actually understood my rant about contemporary minimalism. Then dinner, drinks, great conversation — and now? Radio silence. Three days of nothing."

Luigi, sitting across from you, is trying not to smile at how animated you are, his laptop open beside him — he's probably got a Slack channel blowing up with messages from his dev team, but he rushed to meet you for this emergency coffee session, anyway.

The startup's dress code might be casual, but he always manages to look put-together in that effortless way that makes other tech bros look like they're not trying hard enough.

"Maybe I'm just-“ you pause, stirring your coffee aggressively, "too much, you know? Too loud, too passionate, too-"

"Stop," Luigi cuts in, closing his laptop and fixing his gaze on you again, "You're not too anything. You're exactly enough. So don’t even go there with me.” He massages his temples, “Too early for it.”

"I know that," you say firmly, because you do. "That's the thing — I like who I am. I like that I can talk about art for hours. I like that I get excited about things. I like that I feel everything so intensely. I'm not going to make myself smaller just because some guy can't handle it."

"Then don't," Luigi says, and there's something in his voice that makes you look up from the foam disappearing from your cappuccino. "The right person won't want you to."

"Exactly! And you know what? If Jake can't handle a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to say it-“ you trail off, reaching for your sketchbook. You start absent-mindedly drawing on a corner of the page.

“Ugh,” Luigi’s face screws in mock disgust, “His name was Jake?”

Putting down your pen, you lean back in your chair with a frustrated sigh. "But then again, if I'm so great, why does this keep happening? Three first dates in two months, Lu. Three. And they all end the same way."

"You mean with guys who can't handle someone who actually has opinions?" Luigi takes a sip of his coffee, his fingers tapping absently on his closed laptop. A notification buzzes on his phone — probably his team wondering where he is — but he doesn't even glance at it.

"No, see, that's just it," you lean forward, your hands moving expressively as you talk. "They love it at first. They think it's so fascinating and refreshing that I'm 'not like other girls', or whatever." You roll your eyes at the phrase, hating the taste of the words in your mouth. "But then it's like they realize I'm actually serious. That I'm not just putting on some manic pixie dream girl act for their entertainment."

Luigi's mouth quirks up at one corner. "Heaven forbid you be a real person with actual thoughts and feelings."

"Right? And I know — I know I'm not too much," you say, but your voice wavers slightly. You start fidgeting with your rings, a habit Luigi's seen a thousand times when you're wrestling with something in your head. "But sometimes I wonder if-"

"If what?"

"If maybe I should just- you know.. tone it down? Just a little? Just at first?" The words sound wrong coming out of your mouth, and you can see from Luigi's expression that he knows it, too. "No, you're right, forget I said that. That's stupid."

"It is stupid," he agrees, but gently. His eyes catch yours across the table again, his gaze steady and genuine. "Remember that installation you did last month? The one about authenticity?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you tell that bag of bones professor who said it was 'overwhelmingly honest'?"

A smile starts to spread across your face. "I told him that was the whole damn point."

"Exactly." Luigi checks his watch and starts gathering his things — he's definitely late now. "So maybe the problem isn't that you're too overwhelming,” he pats the top of your head, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “maybe they're just underwhelming."

•

You're standing in front of your last piece, forcing a smile that feels like it's splitting your face in half, as another guest explains to you what your own art means.

Behind you, you can hear snippets of conversations that make your skin crawl.

It's a bit... aggressive, isn't it?

Not quite gallery standard... these nepo kids..

Experimental, but perhaps too experimental..

Your hands are shaking, so you clasp them behind your back. You've been doing this grim waltz for two hours — nodding, smiling, explaining yourself over and over to people who look through you rather than at you, and the gallery owner keeps shooting you these looks, these little disappointed glances that make you feel about two inches tall.

You catch Luigi's eye across the room.

He's been watching, you realize, while pretending to be deeply invested in a conversation with some tech entrepreneur who probably thinks art is a good investment opportunity, and he tilts his head slightly — a question.

You shake yours — you’re not okay.

"The brushstrokes here," the current patron is saying, pointing at your most vulnerable piece, "they're rather — well, chaotic. Unorganized. Muddy. It’s strange to see. Was that intentional?"

Something inside you splinters.

"Excuse me," you manage, your voice surprisingly steady for how the room is tunneling, how your fingers begin to tingle, how your lungs have lost the ability to draw in a full breath. "I need some air."

You make it through the gallery, past the whispers and the stares, past the owner who starts to say something about maintaining appearances, past the front desk and around the corner to the back alley.

Then your legs give out.

You're gasping, trying to remember how breathing works, your back against the cold brick wall. The dress — that stupid yellow dress that Luigi said was his favorite — feels too tight. Everything feels too tight.

You tear at your collar, needing air, needing space, needing- "Hey." Luigi's voice, close but not too close. "I'm here."

"I can't-" you choke out. "I can't breathe, I can't-"

"Yes, you can." He moves slowly into your space, hands hovering but not touching. "Look at me. Just look at me. I’m right here. It’s all good.”

You shake your head violently, sliding down the wall. "They're right. They're all right. I'm not- this- This isn't-" Each word feels like it's being ripped from your throat, bloody and raw and dishonest and horrific. They aren’t right. You know they aren’t.

"Bullshit." The sharpness in his voice makes you look up. He's crouched in front of you now, his tie completely undone, his eyes fierce. "They're not right. They're not even close to right. They're looking at fireworks and complaining about the noise. Old fuckin’ bunch’a assholes.”

A sob catches in your throat, half laugh, half cry. "That's a terrible metaphor."

"Made you look at me, though." His voice softens, his hands resting on your clammy shoulders. "Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe."

You try to match his exaggerated breathing, your hands still shaking. "I put everything into this show," you whisper after your second deep breath. "Everything."

"I know."

"And they just- they- they just-“

"I know." He shifts, sitting beside you against the wall, careful to leave space, but still your shoulders bump together. "But. Want to know what I think?"

You turn your head to look at him, makeup probably ruined, dress definitely stained from the alley ground, but you’ve already abandoned ship, you’ve waved your white flag — there’s no use in pretending you haven’t crumbled in a New York alleyway now. "What?"

"I think they're terrified of you."

That startles a real laugh out of you, “What?"

"You heard me." He's looking straight ahead, but there's something fierce in his profile. "You walked in there with your soul on full display, unapologetic and raw and real, and they don't know what to do with that. People like that, they're comfortable with art they can hang in their dining rooms and forget about.” You watch him blink, gathering the words, “Your shit doesn't let them forget. It makes them feel things they don't want to feel."

You nudge him gently, a laugh flaring your nostrils. "That's a lot better than the fireworks metaphor."

Now he does look at you, a small smile playing at his lips, his cheeks blushed crimson from the wine he’d gulped down just to make himself a bit more sociable. "Yeah, well, I've had three glasses of their overpriced wine. I'm feeling poetic."

Another laugh bubbles up, watery but real. You let your head fall against his shoulder, just for a moment. "I don't want to go back in there."

"So we won’t." He doesn't move, letting you lean on him, his head leaning atop yours. "Let's go get real drinks instead. You can tell me all the things you wanted to say to that guy who tried to explain color theory to you."

"God, he was the worst." You straighten up slowly, wiping at your eyes. "Did you see his socks?"

"I was trying not to."

•

You're standing at the open bar, counting the minutes until it's socially acceptable to leave, when Madison — a college friend you haven't seen in years, who always seemed to help herself to open bars beyond her means — sways over.

Her champagne sloshes dangerously close to your dress, but for some reason, you don’t step back.

"Oh my god, it really is you!" Her voice carries just a bit too loud, and you can feel a few heads turning in your direction. "I almost didn't recognize you without, you know-“ she gestures vaguely at all of you, that sick smile still on her blush pink lips. "All the paint and shit all over you.”

You take a long sip of your drink, hoping it would wash away the rising tide of anxiety in your core. "Good to see you too, Mads.”

"So,” She leans in conspiratorially, her breath smelling of booze and mid-tier champagne. “I heard about your gallery show last month. The one at The Maxwell? God, that must have been-“ She trails off, eyes wide with what looks like concern but feels like something else entirely.

Your hand tightens around your glass. "Must have been what?" Your lips tighten into a line, “It was an- an honor to have the opportunity.”

Words your father had always said to you growing up echo in the far depths of your mind; Honor and Integrity.

There’s a humility in it, in accepting such a nightmare as privilege.

"Well, I mean — I saw that article that was going around Instagram. About how you just up and left? In the middle of opening night?" She takes another sip of champagne, watching you over the rim with her big, stupid brown eyes. "Is that true? That you didn't even come back to collect your pieces? God, that's crazy!"

The word crazy hits like a slap, and you can still feel the panic from that night, the walls closing in as people whispered, pointed, discussed your work like it was a car crash they couldn't look away from and did nothing to aid.

"It's not exactly-"

"And after everything with Matt, and then Jason- ugh,” She shakes her head. "I mean, I get it. Using art as therapy. But maybe actual therapy would be — I dunno — you know, beneficial?”

"Madison-"

"I'm just worried about you," she continues, reaching for your arm and her fingers feel like serpents, coiling around your skin, suffocating you. "We all are. First the whole thing with your poor father — god, remember how he used to say you were just too-"

"Don't." Your voice comes out sharper than intended, your brows furrowed at her like she’d backhanded you. “Don’t you fucking say another word.”

Madison almost gasps, clutching her necklace. “See? This is what I mean. All this reactionary stuff. The anger. The intensity. Have you thought about getting help? My therapist says sometimes when we've been through things-"

The garden somehow feels too small, the fairy lights too bright, the music too loud. Across the room, Luigi is trapped in conversation with the bride's uncle, but somehow he must sense something because his eyes find yours, his head tilted at you, his usual question.

Everything okay?

This time, you look away from him.

"I’m going to leave this conversation before-“

"No, wait, listen." Madison's grip on your arm tightens, slithering, sneering, hissing. Fangs, poison. “That show — people were talking about it for weeks. How raw it was. How fucking uncomfortable it made everyone. One of the pieces — the one with all the broken mirrors? Someone said it looked like a cry for help."

You can feel your pulse in your throat. "It wasn't a fucking-“

"And then you just disappeared! Like, who does that, girl? Just leaves their own show? The curator had to pack up your pieces himself. That's what the article said. Is that true?" She may as well have a microphone beneath your trembling lips, taking on the role of some cheap reporter for a local shittalking magazine.

Of course she read the article.

Everyone read the article.

The one that called your work a disturbing glimpse into a clearly troubled mind. The one that suggested your artistic breakdown was inevitable given your history of emotional instability.

It was laughable, truly, and anyone that knew you well enough had known so much to be so very far from the truth.

"I had my reasons," you manage, but your voice sounds distant even to yourself. “I had reason for leaving the way I did.”

"Obviously you did. That's what I'm saying. Maybe if you got some help, you know, dealt with all this and found ways to properly cope-“ She waves her hand vaguely again, like swatting away a pesky fly. "Then maybe you could make art that's more you know.. accessible. Enjoyable. Less-“

"Less me?" The words come out before you can stop them. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t know, Madison. You haven’t seen a single one of my shows, haven’t shown yourself at any of my gallery openings-“ your cheeks burn red hot, your glass of wine discarded and your hands balled into fists. “You’re lucky I don’t fucking pop that smirk right off your-“

"That's not what I-"

“It is exactly what you fucking-“

“No, it’s not! Look at yourself!”

"Hey!” Luigi's voice cuts through the rising panic. He's suddenly there, solid and real. "Sorry to interrupt, but we have that thing that we have to get to-“ he loops his arm around yours, and he swears he can feel the heat radiating off of you, hot and quivering like a volcano deciding if it’s time to erupt just yet or not.

Madison blinks at him, her nostrils flared at the sudden interruption. It seems as though this is exactly the reaction she wanted, and was pissed the show had called curtains so quickly. "What thing?"

"That very important thing," Luigi says firmly, already guiding you away. "Great catching up. Green is not your color. Go Birds.” As he turns you both, he raises his middle finger behind your back — not because you needed defending, but because that's who Luigi is; all sharp edges and fierce loyalty, a guard dog with his teeth bared in your honor, though, you catch the gesture in a reflection, and something warm unfurls in your chest.

Not because you needed saving, but because he'd always take your side, no matter the circumstances. He didn’t need to know why you were barking at this girl he’d never met before — he already knew you had good reason to do it.

You make it to the venue's back garden before your legs give out, and the fairy lights blur through tears you refuse to let fall. "Did you— fuck,” Your voice shakes as you reach to wipe away the tears before they even get the chance to glide down your cheeks. "Did you actually hear what she was saying or just see it?”

"Caught the greatest hits." His jaw is tight, his hand resting on your lower back as he hunches forward, clearly concerned but approaching all of it carefully.

You can’t help but wonder then how many times you’ll find yourselves like this — Luigi rescuing you from yet another mishap, and that alone could become a new reason to feel sorry for yourself.

And him.

"The article." You wrap your arms around yourself. "She read the fucking article."

Ironically, you had originally taken the article well.

Too well, in fact.

You'd invited them all over — Luigi, Anna, Theo — for what you called A Reading of My Professional Obituary. You'd spent all day in the kitchen, channeling your grandmother's stress-cooking legacy; bouillabaisse simmering for hours, Tarte Tatin caramelizing to golden perfection.

The good wine came out, the kind you'd been saving for a real occasion.

Perched in your chair like it was a throne, wine glass dangling from your fingers, you'd performed dramatic readings of the choicest quotes. "Sources close to the artist describe a history of emotional instability," you'd intoned, affecting a pompous art critic voice that had Luigi choking on his wine. "An unsettling collection that seemed less like art and more like a cry for help.”

The evening devolved into a tipsy game of "Guess the Snitch" — everyone taking turns suggesting increasingly ridiculous candidates for the mysterious source. "It was Gabby, in the gallery, with the emotional manipulation!" Theo had declared, wielding his bouillabaisse spoon like a gavel.

But Luigi had watched you through it all — the way your hand shook slightly when pouring wine, how your laugh got a little too loud to be genuine, and how you'd spent three hours making a perfect French dessert like your life depended on proving you weren't falling apart.

"We all did." Luigi reminds you, his voice gentle but firm. "Christ, we turned it into dinner theater. Remember how Anna did that dramatic interpretation of ' the unsettling collection'?" His hand finds your knee, squeezing. "And it was shit. Not only was it shit — it was cowardly. Didn't even have the spine to name you."

You tilt your head back, using the stars as gravity's help against the tears threatening to spill. The fairy lights from the wedding garden blur into little halos. "I know, but — these people, Lu." Your voice catches, and you hate how it betrays you. "They believe it. They're all walking around thinking I'm some unhinged artist who needs to be sedated and locked away from sharp objects." A laugh escapes, but it's wet and hollow. "God, I wish I'd understood what that article would do. I wish-"

But there's no point in wishing.

The damage was done with surgical precision.

They hadn't needed to use your name — everyone knew exactly whose exhibition had opened at Maxwell Gallery on August fifteenth.

Yours.

•

The hotel room feels smaller with each passing hour.

You've mastered a careful choreography — sliding past each other in the narrow spaces, maintaining precise distances on the king bed as you both pretend to watch some mindless cooking show. But sometimes, despite your best efforts, you slip. His hand brushes yours as you both reach for the room service menu, your feet touch under the shared blanket; each accidental contact sends you recoiling like a startled cat, though you used to fall asleep during movie nights without a second thought.

When your knee accidentally bumps his as you shift position, you jerk away so violently you nearly fall off the bed.

"Okay." Luigi mutes the TV, turning to face you. "We need to talk about this."

"About what?" But you know exactly what, can feel heat creeping up your neck and it makes you want to run.

"About how we used to share my twin bed during college when you crashed at my place, but now you act like my skin is fucking toxic." His voice is gentle, but there's an undercurrent of hurt that makes your core ache. "Remember that road trip to Detroit? You slept on my chest the whole way back because the car heater was broken.“ he looks desperate, grasping at the last straws of you. “I feel like we hardly look each other in the eyes now.”

You stare hard at the geometric pattern on the duvet, picking at a loose thread. "Things were different then."

"Were they?" He shifts closer, and you fight the urge to move away. "Or are you just scared they weren't?"

You get up abruptly, needing to put physical space between you and that question, the Chicago night spreading out beyond the window, a constellation of lights blurring through unshed tears; each one feels like a witness to this moment, to your cowardice.

"You know what changed," you say finally, arms crossed tight against your chest like armor. "After Maxwell, after the article, after everything became public consumption — I can't be that person anymore.”

"Why not?" His voice is closer now — he's moved to the edge of the bed, but he doesn't approach further. Giving you space while refusing to let you run.

Very classic Luigi.

A laugh escapes you, bitter and dry. "Because now everyone's watching. Waiting for the next shoe to drop. And you-“ You turn just enough to catch his reflection in the window, superimposed over the city lights. "You're too important to me, Lu.”

"So you'd rather just — what? Keep pretending?" There's frustration in his voice now, raw and real. "We both know that's not sustainable. Not when we used to-“ He trails off, and you recall the many countless nights on his cramped couch, your head on his chest, his heartbeat your lullaby to the most restful sleep you’d ever known.

"Maybe not," you admit quietly. "But it's safer than the alternative."

"Safer for who?"

The question almost knocks you off your feet.

Because he's right — this careful distance isn't protecting him. It's protecting you. From vulnerability. From the possibility of loss. From the terrifying reality that despite everything, despite all your jagged edges and dark corners, he's still here.

Still looking at you like you're something precious instead of precarious.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with all the things you're afraid to say, all the ways you're afraid to need him, and even more terrified of the way he needs you.

Eventually, you turn from the window, facing him. "It can't be simple. I won't let it be." Your voice catches. "I push and I pull and I keep everyone at arm's length until they prove me right by leaving."

Luigi stands slowly, like he's approaching a wild animal. "You've been trying so hard to make it impossible," he says softly. "Creating distance, convincing yourself I'll give up." He takes another step closer. "But loving you has always been the easiest thing I've ever done."

"Don't." The word comes out choked, your hand pressing against his chest in hopes that he’ll back away. "Don't say that when you know how complicated — how- how difficult-"

"Difficult?" He's close enough now that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, stood firm but not inching any closer. "You want to talk about difficult? Try watching you date other people. Try sitting across from you at coffee shops for years and watching you cry over them. Try fucking loving you quietly through every gallery opening, every crisis,“ his brows furrow, his nostrils flare, “you don’t get to tell me what loving you is like.”

Your breath catches as he reaches for you.

"You think you're pushing me away?" His voice is barely above a whisper, his hands finally cradling your face, tears dampening your cheeks that blaze with warmth. "I've been yours since that first night you fell asleep on my shoulder during finals week. Everything since then — it's just been waiting."

You clench your jaw, your heart a wild thing against your ribs. This tightrope you and Luigi have been walking for years — this delicate balance of almost-but-not-quite, of maybe-someday-but-not-now — has finally frayed beneath your feet. All those careful steps, those perfectly maintained distances, those nights of pretending your skin didn't burn where he almost touched you.

They’ve led you here, to this hotel room in Chicago, where the fantasy of staying safely suspended between friendship and something more has finally given way to gravity.

And what, you wonder, has Luigi seen in you to make him want to dive deeper into your chaos?

He's already witnessed the 3 AM phone calls when your mind won't quiet, the obsessive cleaning episodes that leave your hands raw and your apartment sterile. He's held you through the tears that come without warning, weathered the anger that burns hot and fast like summer lightning.

You're no manic pixie dream girl — you're the real thing, messy and unpredictable, with a heart that bleeds all over everything it touches.

He's either a storm chaser or a fool, you think.

Some hopeless beast tamer who hasn't realized that some creatures aren't meant to be gentled, that some storms leave nothing but wreckage in their wake.

But that's the thing — to Luigi, you've never been a storm to weather or a beast to tame. He doesn't look at you like you're broken machinery in need of repair, doesn't treat your edges like something to be smoothed away.

Instead, he's spent years matching your pace, stepping back when you needed space, stepping forward when you needed anchor. And now, finally, the weight of all that careful patience has brought him here — raw and honest in this dim hotel room, asking you to either meet him in this space between what you are and what you could be, or lay him to rest.

"Touch me," he says, the words falling soft but heavy in the space between you. His eyes hold yours, steady and sure, "Or let me go.”

The city lights paint his silhouette in gold and shadow, and you realize you've never seen him look so vulnerable, so stripped of the careful composure he always maintains. Your Luigi laid bare — not the patient friend, not the steady shoulder, but a man who's finally reached the end of his endurance.

"What if we break?" The question slips from your lips, small and honest, carrying all the weight of your fears that kept you at such a distance all these years — shattering to pieces, left broken by the man you’d loved the most.

Luigi's eyes soften, and something like a smile — sad and sweet and knowing — tugs at the corner of his lips. "Then we break," he says simply, his thumbs swiping away the tears that slide down your cheeks. "But I'd rather that than spend the rest of my life whole and wondering."

His hands haven’t moved. Patient, steady Luigi, who has never pushed but never fully retreated, either. Who has somehow found this perfect middle ground between staying and going, between asking and waiting.

And maybe that's what finally does it — the realization that he's offering you both beginning and end in the same breath. That he's standing here saying yes to all of it; the possibility of breaking, of shattering, of ending up with nothing but deadly carnage between you.

That he knows exactly what he's asking for, and he's asking anyway.

Your hand moves before you can think yourself out of it again, crossing the space between you like a prayer finally answered. When you cup his face, the scrape of stubble against your palm is both foreign and achingly familiar — like a song you used to know by heart, now half-remembered.

His eyes flutter closed at your touch, and you feel the slight tremor in his jaw, the way he leans into your hand like he's been starving for it.

His breath catches, shaky and soft, and when he speaks, his voice is rough with emotion. "There you are," he whispers against your palm, like he's greeting someone long lost, like you've finally come home after years away. "There you are."

His lips brush your palm once more before he lifts his gaze to yours, eyes dark with something between hope and heartache. "Tell me to pull away," he whispers, voice rough. "Tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll go. I'll understand."

But his body betrays him — the slight tremor still present in his jaw under your touch, the way he's still leaning into your hand like he can't help himself. He's offering you an exit, even now. Steady, selfless Luigi, always making sure you have a way out, even when it's killing him to do so.

And that's what breaks you finally — not his touch or his words, but this endless capacity of his to put your needs first.

To stand here offering everything he has left and the chance to walk away from it.

His hand finds your waist, fingers pressing into soft flesh with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. That small sound seems to undo something in him — his control fractures, and suddenly he's pulling you down to him with a urgency that matches your own, your hands bracing against his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart beneath your palms.

"I've thought about this," he confesses roughly, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes heat pool low in your stomach, his thumb tracing a burning path along your hip bone. "Having you like this.”

You can feel the tension coiled in him, the way he's still holding back despite everything. Even now, he's giving you the chance to set the pace, to decide how far this goes. But you're done with hesitation, done with the careful distance you've maintained for so long.

You lean down, letting your lips brush against his ear. "Show me," you whisper, and feel him shudder beneath you. "Show me how you wanted me."

He moves with a swiftness that steals your breath, flipping your positions in one fluid motion. Now he's the one hovering above you, his forearm braced beside your head, other hand still at your waist.

The weight of him, the heat of him so close — it makes your head spin.

"Like this," he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours. "Just like this." He holds you like you’ll run from him — just like he’s watched you run from everything before that doesn’t run from you first.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the way he's trembling slightly despite his strength. "I'm here," you whisper back, one hand sliding up to cup his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."

[alotofpockets]

The ACL Squad | Vivianne Miedema x Arsenal!Reader

Where Viv is the first to get injured and you take care of her, only for you to join the ACL Squad soon after

Woso masterlist | Words: 2.4k

-----

You were playing against Lyon, and while no goals were scored yet, the match was going well so far. However, that all turned around the moment you heard Viv scream out in pain. When you reached her side, she was clutching her knee with tears in her eyes. “It feels bad, Y/n. Really bad.” She said as she took hold of your outreached hand and squeezed it hard. 

The medical team rushed onto the field, but you refused to leave her side. You continued to hold her hand in support until you reached the sidelines, where the medical team stretched her off the field and into the stadium.

Seeing one of your teammates go down and get taken off on a stretcher was always hard, and that was hard. The team had stood close by until the medics had sent them away, and they opted for a water break while constantly looking over their shoulders to check on Viv.

You didn't end up getting the win, but that wasn't what mattered to you in that moment. The second that the whistle blows, you and Katie rush into the physio room to check on Viv.

Before you could ask how she was doing, Viv started talking. “They think I've done my ACL.” The striker says with tears in her eyes. “Scans tomorrow to confirm it, but I felt the pop, so I'm pretty sure that they are right.” 

“Oh Vivi, I'm so sorry.” You sit down on the side of her bed and place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Katie does the same on the other side. “Whatever it is, the whole team has your back. You won't be alone.”

Viv got a pair of crutches and she was free to leave. “Come on, I'll drive you back home.” Viv looked defeated, everything only just started to settle in. “What about my car?” Katie, who was grabbing everyone's stuff, while you were helping Viv stand up, offered her help. “Don't worry about your car. I drove Cait here, so we can drop it off at your place.”

Viv didn't feel ready to face the rest of the girls, so you told her to wait in the hallway, while you got both your stuff. You opted for only changing your boots to your sneakers, so she wouldn't have to wait too long. When you walked your stuff over to Viv’s, Caitlin stepped in. “Let me take her stuff in her car, we'll meet you at Viv’s place.”

What you hadn't realised until you walked into her apartment building, was that Viv’s apartment was on the second floor without access to an elevator. “Oh right.” Viv’s voice trembled. “Hey, it's okay. You can stay with me.” She shakes her head, “You don't have to, I couldn't ask that from you.” With a shrug you say, “You didn't ask, I offered. Plus, I won't take no for an answer.”

Katie and Caitlin both arrived when the two of you were still looking up the stairs. “Oh..” they said in unison. “Don't worry, she'll be staying at my place. We just have to grab some of her stuff.” The girls helped you grab some stuff that Viv would need, and put it into the trunk of your car, before you split ways.

The drive to your apartment was silent, besides the soft music playing on the radio. Viv was clearly in pain, both physically and emotionally, so you let the comfortable silence hang around you. Once you arrived you helped her into your apartment and guided her to the couch. After propping up her leg with some pillows, you headed back downstairs, to bring in Viv’s stuff. “Make yourself at home, I’ll go grab our stuff.”

When you got back upstairs, Viv was already fast asleep on the couch. You quietly moved around your apartment, getting the guest room ready, and cooking something for dinner. She wakes to the smell of food and crutches herself into the kitchen. “Smells good.” She says lacking the enthusiasm she tried to put behind it. You got it though, “Thank you, I see you took making yourself comfortable to a new level.” That got a smile out of the striker. 

“Thank you for taking me in, I don’t know what I would’ve done otherwise.” You shake your head, “You would’ve figured something out, but I am happy to help.” You set down two plates on the table, and help Viv put her crutches to the side. “Come on, let’s dig in. Maybe we can watch a movie after?”

The next few days were tough. The scan confirmed Viv’s worst fears, she tore her ACL. She knew the recovery would be long and draining. You and the rest of the team were quick to reassure her that you had her back every step of the way. 

You took every step of the way quite literally, not only were you helping her at home, but you also drove her to her doctors and physio appointments. After her surgery, Viv had a few rough days. She tried to stay strong when the team was around, they had all shown at one point or another the days following her surgery. But when your teammates left and it was just the two of you, the strong facade faltered. 

Sometimes she would let you in and let her tears flow freely as she spoke about her pain, worries, and struggles. While other times, she would even hide them from you and retreat into her room. Even if she didn’t always want it, you offered her a place of comfort where she didn’t have to hide her struggles. 

During her recovery, you spend most of the day together. In the morning you would drive to London Colney and drop Viv off at the gym, while you would head onto the training pitch with the rest of the team. 

Everyone showed their support in different ways. Caitlin and Katie had designated themselves as Viv’s personal movers and picked up whatever she needed from her apartment. Lia, and Lotte were often found in your kitchen making dinner. Beth and Steph brought their dogs around for extra cuddles. The rest of the girls came around often too. 

On the other hand, Viv supported the team back. She went to the home matches, besides supporting her team, it was also a way to feel closer to them. More a part of the team.

A little over a month after tearing her ACL she was sitting with the girls that weren't selected to play today in a crowded Emirates. She was chatting with Kim, who was out with a small ankle injury, when you went down and reached for your knee. 

Viv grabbed her crutches and moved faster than she had done since her injury. She stood worriedly at the sidelines, as she watched you be helped onto a stretcher. She follows you and the medics inside. 

You knew it right away. It felt exactly as Viv had described her injury. “Don't sugar coat it, I know it's my ACL.” You said to the physio who had a worried expression on his face. Viv stood besides you with a hand on your shoulder. “Yeah, I think it might be, but only scans will be able to confirm it.” 

When the medics leave the room, you turn to Viv. “Well this takes ‘I understand how you're feeling’ to a whole new level.” You scoot over a little, careful not to use your knee, and make space for Viv. “I truly wished that you would've never had to understand at this level.” She carefully sat down next to you, and you let yourself lean into her side. “We'll get through this, I've got you every step of the way. Just like you have been there for me. We're going to come back stronger.”

“I was supposed to take care of you.” With a new found sadness you look up to Viv, who quickly shakes her head. “And you have been incredible, so now I get to return the favour. Except for the driving part, I won't be able to do that just yet, but we will figure it out.” You lean back into her side, “Thank you, Vivi.”

With two pairs of crutches in the trunk of the car and two injured people in the back, Katie drove you back home, while Caitlin drove your car back, just like the first time around. “Are you two going to be okay?” Caitlin asked, after they helped bring your bags inside. “Yeah, I think so.” Viv answered as she looked over to you slumping down on the couch. “We know the drill by now. Thank you though.”

“Are you down for a movie?” Viv sat down besides you and placed some pillows down on the coffee table for the both of you to elevate your legs. “Yeah, not much else I can do right now.” Viv wanted to interject, but quickly realised she should let you feel your feelings. 

You quickly got uncomfortable and twisted so that your leg was laying in the armrest of the couch, and your head was in Viv’s lap. “Is this okay?” You ask her. “If you're comfortable, it is.”

With Viv's fingers playing with your hair, and the emotions of the day, you fell asleep quickly. Viv knew exactly what you were feeling, and hated seeing you in pain. She stayed by your side, and helped in any way she could, despite her own limitations. The rest of the team was still a great help, bringing meals, helping with chores, and plenty of emotional support along the way.

Recovery was tricky, the slowness and occasional setbacks were frustrating and very emotionally charged. You both struggled with the physical pain and the mental toll the injury took. There were moments where you shared tears and silent understanding, since you knew exactly what the other was going through, and there were moments filled with laughter and hope. 

One evening as you enjoyed a meal together, you turn to Viv. “So, I’ve been thinking.” Viv chuckles, “Yeah, you seem to be doing that a lot lately.” You’re quick to roll your eyes, you had plenty of time to think, and Viv had been the listening ear to the many questions that filled your mind. “I was thinking that you should move in permanently, if you want to. I’ve been enjoying your company, and I mean it’s not like you’re going to be able to climb those stairs at your place any time soon.” 

“Watch it, Y/l/n.” She shoves your shoulder playfully. “I would love to move in, but on one condition.” You look over intrigued. “We have to get a dog.” The two of you had talked about it before, how when Calvin or Rona were over, you would feel more motivated to go outside and move around. “I see what you did there, and I am not mad at it. Deal!”

With Viv’s stuff all in your apartment, with the help of your ever patient teammates, it was time to get to the dog part of the deal. Besides the motivation to walk around more, little Myle also gave the best cuddles, that made you fall in love with her instantly.

Everything seemed to be going upwards, both of you were making progress in your recoveries. Myle was settling in well, and was loving all the attention from the girls. But as the saying goes, it’s always one step forward and two steps back.

You were devastated to hear that Laura had gotten injured during practice, and the moment the three dreaded letters were mentioned, you had sprung into action. “You’re staying with us.” You didn’t leave room for arguments. “We’ve got you.” Viv added. 

With Laura moving into the guest room, Viv stayed in your room. While it was new, it didn’t feel weird. You had fallen asleep in her arms plenty of times on the couch. It felt right, natural even. 

Laura craved people around her during her recovery, so the team started doing weekly get togethers, besides the regular visits, where the focus would just be on having a good time. Tonight you were playing games, but you weren’t paying much attention. Katie couldn’t help but notice the playful banter, stolen glances and subtle touches.

“Alright, spill it.” Katie said, cornering you in the kitchen while the others were out of hearing distance. “What’s going on with you and Viv?” You furrow your brow in question, “What do you mean?” 

Katie chuckled, “Yeah, I think it’s too late to play dumb. You are so obviously into Miedema, just admit it.” You realise there was no getting out of this, so you spilled. “Fine, yeah, I like her. I like her a lot.” Katie’s smirk grew, “I knew it! You have to tell her. With the way she acts around you, there is no way that she doesn’t feel the same way.”

Her words kept playing in your head as you were cleaning up from the get together. Laura, who noticed the tension growing in the room, excused herself to lay down in her room, claiming to have gotten tired from all the interactions of the day. 

“Hey Viv, can you help me with these?” You are holding some of the board games in your hand, but you can’t quite reach the shelf they are supposed to go on without standing on your tippy toes.

“Yeah, of course.” With the few inches she had on you, she was able to place them perfectly. “Anything else, my dear?” She jokes, but in that moment there is only one thing that is going on in your head. “Yeah, actually there is.” 

Your eyes move between her eyes and her lips, “Kiss me.” You don’t know where you get the confidence to be so bold, but it pays off as Viv steps closer to you and lets her soft lips meet yours. With your heart beating out of your chest, you kissed her back instantly. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” Viv says with a big smile on her face. “Me too.” Your cheeks flush a dark shade of red. 

Both tearing your ACL’s was something horrible, but it got you together, and you would always be grateful for that. You still had quite a while to go in your recovery, and sadly the ACL Squad would get some new members over the following months. But, it made the team even stronger, as well as your relationship with Viv. 

-----

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[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

6: A FINE LINE

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

You and Bucky deal with the fallout of the undercover mission.

Word count 2.7k

Warnings: Nightmares, angry girlfriends, Steve and Nat being besties to idiots

You were blissfully oblivious to the world while you slept for the whole quinjet flight, waking only as the small plane touched down the runway outside the compound.

"Sorry," Bucky grimaced as you woke with a gasp.

"Are we home?" 

You turned to look at him. As he nodded, you noticed the dark circles under his eyes, accentuated by the lines of worry across his forehead. He was looking at you with so much apprehension, that you almost reached out to comfort him. Almost. The memories of the previous night came flooding back and sadness filled your heart again.

"How're you feeling?" he asked.

You ignored his question in favor of your own. "Did you fly all the way back without stopping?"

"Yeah," he nodded, his chest swelled with pride that you had noticed what he had done for you.

"That was a dangerous thing to do. You're exhausted." Bucky's face fell but you continued to chastise him anyway. "What if something happened? Are you trying to get us both killed?"

The long sleep had done nothing to improve your mood, you felt sluggish and now you were hungry to boot.

Bucky opened and closed his mouth a few times, before the word ‘sorry' came out in a whisper. "I don't want to hurt you."

"But you did."

The uncomfortable silence between you was broken by a crackle on the radio. "Everything okay in there?" Steve's voice sounded over the radio. 

"Yes!" you answered, hitting the button to open the aft exit hatch.

You stood up, the blanket fell off your shoulders and sent a shiver down your spine. You were still only wearing a bikini. Bending down, you picked up the blanket, covering yourself and stalking out of the plane. Bucky followed a few steps behind you. 

Steve took one look at you and knew that things weren't right but he was saved the hassle of finding a polite way of letting you know how rough you looked. 

"You two look like shit!" Nat appeared from behind Steve. "Why did Tony say everything was fine?"

"We got everything we needed but… the getaway was a little bumpy and my stomach didn't do so well," you pouted.

Natasha put her arm around your waist. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up," she said, leading you away.

Once you were out of earshot of the boys, she rounded on you. "What happened out there?"

"What?" You are taken aback by the tone of her question.

"Come on, don't give me the innocent act. Something happened between you and Barnes."

You sighed deeply. Bucky's words played in your mind on a loop. You felt deflated. "Do you think I'm a bad friend?"

"Oh sweetie, no one would ever suggest anything of the sort."

"I said something, I knew he wouldn't like it. And he got really mad and said some really awful things."

"What did he say?"

You couldn't bring yourself to repeat his words, even though they were burned into your brain. For some reason, you still felt the urge to protect Bucky. Logically, you knew he didn't deserve it, but your heart, the stupid organ that loved him unconditionally, had more sway over you in that moment. "It doesn't matter."

You were saved from further interrogation as your stomach rumbled loudly.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up and fed. You can rest after that."

"Nat, did the intel pan out?"

"Yeah," your friend grinned at you. "You did good."

You felt a smile tug at your lips, at least you had been able to achieve something of use. Even if you had tanked your friendship in the process.

*

Meanwhile, back in the hangar bay, Steve was having a similar conversation with Bucky.

"Well I’m assuming from the way you’re both acting, something happened between you two."

"You’re a punk, you know that." Bucky huffed.

"And you’re a jerk." Steve quipped fondly.

"I was a jerk. I think I’ve ruined everything."

"What happened?"

Bucky was too ashamed of the words he had used. His soul burned with shame at the spite he had felt. He had never understood why people used the phrase ‘a fine line between love and hate’, until now. Because in that moment, for the briefest of milliseconds, Bucky had hated you; for what you’d said to him, but mostly because you didn’t love him back. He wanted to give you the world, and you wouldn’t take it. His heart was broken and you had offered to mend it, only to break it again. He would do anything to quash that feeling, shove it back inside a bottle, put a cork in it and throw it out into the deepest of oceans.

Hatred was the feeling that surrounded him as the Winter Soldier. He was hated by his keepers and hated by the world around him. Now it had crept into his soul and stained his thoughts of you. Worst of all, he hated himself for the things he had said to you.

"I think I’m going to lose her."

"Bucky, just tell her how you feel about her."

"I can’t. Not anymore, not after this."

"Bucky-"

"Would you just drop it, Steve? Why’re you so keen on this? Are you trying to get me to destroy everything so you can have her all to yourself?" Bucky rounded on Steve, unleashing his anger on the only other person who had stuck by him unyieldingly.

Steve just looked back at him, pity filling his eyes. He knew how badly Bucky was hurting. Meeting the person who you love more than anything else in life and not being able to be with them, he had suffered the same pain when he had woken from the ice, knowing that he would never get to dance with Peggy in his lifetime.

Bucky’s anger had flared suddenly and was equally as quick to dissipate, his shoulders sagging from sheer exhaustion. He had been up for almost thirty turbulence filled hours. He needed rest. Steve put a hand on his shoulder, waving away Bucky’s attempts to apologize. He guided him back to his room, requesting that FRIDAY have someone send food to his room. Steve sat on his bed, waiting while Bucky showered. Despite the powerful shower sounds coming from the bathroom, Steve could hear you and Nat talking. He couldn’t make out your words, but he heard the gravity of your tone. 

"Oh Buck," he sighed quietly.

Nat left you just before Bucky came out of the shower. Bucky looked surprised that Steve was still here.

"You need to eat." Steve pointed at the meal that someone had delivered. He started unpacking it for Bucky.

"I’m tired. I should sleep," he said pointedly, indicating that he wanted Steve to leave.

Steve picked up the sandwich and handed it to Bucky. "Eat this and I’ll leave you alone."

Bucky complied. He was good at that. He finished the grilled cheese sandwich without any enjoyment, the bread tasting like sandpaper in his dry mouth. "Happy?" he asked, gruffly.

Steve didn’t answer, leaving Bucky to the solace he sought. Not that Steve’s departure did anything to assuage the guilt that had seeped deep into Bucky’s bones. He grabbed a blanket and pillow from his bed, glancing at the door, almost as though Steve would sneak back in. When no one appeared, he spread the blanket on the floor and lay down on it, closing his eyes on the world that was filled with pain. 

Unfortunately for Bucky, his subconscious offered him no relief. His mind was tired, his emotions ruled the roost and left him susceptible for the nightmares to invade. They seeped in with stealth and gripped him like a vice.

It was midnight when a noise woke you. You startled, breathing heavily as your eyes darted around in the darkness, body immediately on high alert. It always took a few days to let the safety of your environment lull your body into a sense of security. You listened carefully for signs of disruption, but for several moments there was only silence. Just as your heart rate settled, you heard it again, much clearer this time and you knew exactly what it was and where it was coming from.

Without thinking, you shot out of bed and rapped your knuckles against Bucky's bedroom door. He didn't answer, he never did when he was like this. Fortunately, you were an old hat to this routine. You crouched on the floor, calling his name gently until his eyes opened. The moonlight flooded through his uncovered window and you moved to an angle where he could see you. Only when his eyes focused on you, did you touch him, lay a comforting hand on his arm.

Bucky sat up slowly, eyes filled with unshed tears as he gazed at you sorrowfully. The anguish in his face was unbearable and you found yourself wrapping your arms around his neck tightly. His arms wormed their way around your waist holding you in a tight embrace, one you never wanted to leave. His warmth, his sturdiness was your strength, your pillar. You needed him just as he needed you. 

You didn't have any plans on moving and Bucky made no move to let you go, but eventually your body protested. You were sitting on your lower legs and the pressure on them reduced the blood flow leading to a painful tingling which started in your toes and was spreading upwards. Maybe a little wiggle would help restore your feeling.

Your movement didn't go unnoticed by Bucky. "Are you okay?" he asked, taking his nose out of your neck. 

"My legs fell asleep," you groaned.

He chuckled in response. "Need to get up?"

You nodded, wobbling to your feet like a baby deer standing for the first time. Once you had recovered your balance and the tingling had ceased to be painful, you jumped up and down a few times for good measure. "Human body wasn't made for this. Come?" You held out your hand for him.

He took it without hesitation. "Where’re we going?" 

"Not far." You led him to the bed. "I thought we'd put a stop to this." You pointed at the floor.

"Sorry," he whispered.

You sighed, jerking your head towards the bed indicating that he should get in. Dubiously he followed your instruction, relieved that you chose to get in beside him rather than running away. He pulled the duvet up to cover your legs and you sank into the pillows beside him. It was so much easier to be close to him physically than emotionally these days.

Bucky was looking at you, you could feel his gaze but you didn't return it, not knowing what to say. He solved your problem by initiating the conversation.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah. But maybe we can discuss your driving skills some time. They need some work."

"I'm sorry for…" he sighed. "For everything."

"Do you really think I'm a slut?"

"No!" His answer came back so fast, there was really no room for doubt. The way his eyes stared into yours, you could feel his regret.

After a few moments of contemplative silence you asked him another question. "Since when do you watch porn, Bucky? I mean, we used to spend all our time together. And it’s not with Steve, I know that much."

"Well sometimes, when Sam, Clint and Tony-"

"Say no more."

"I didn’t think they were realistic, but on the mission, when you started talking like that… it made me wonder if it’s real, and if I’m not doing things right. I mean, what if I’m not good enough, you know? And I was angry. I mean I know it was wrong, I knew it would hurt you. But… you hurt me and … I wanted to hurt you back." Bucky hung his head with the admission.

"I’m sorry about that… I just - it’s just, she makes me feel like I’m not your favorite person anymore and I hate that."

"You’re jealous?"

You shrug. What could you say, of course you were jealous, your insides were withering and dying from the envy that consumed you.

"But you’re never jealous of anything, or anyone!" Bucky carried on, not being able to read your expression in the darkness.

"You have to care enough to be envious of somebody."

"You care about me?" he smiled.

"If you didn’t already know that, you’re dumber than I thought."

Bucky chuckled, but it turned into a sigh. "I’m sorry for calling you a slut."

"I’m sorry for mocking your girlfriend. Just so you know, Priya seems like the kind of person who will let you know if she isn't pleased. Can't imagine she would just lie there and take it."

"Yeah she probably would. I guess you don’t get to her position without being able to speak up for yourself."

"Her position?"

"She just got promoted to head of pediatric surgery. That’s a big deal, right?"

The little green monster inside you growled angrily, amplifying your feelings of inadequacy. "Yeah, that’s pretty impressive," you answered softly. "Congratulations to her."

Bucky curled up beside you, burying his head against your shoulder. "Thanks, Cricket," he muttered, drowsily.

His voice was low and tired and a wave of guilt washed over you. He was trying. You could see how hard he was trying to be a good boyfriend and a good friend. "Go to sleep, Bucky."

"Night." It was surprising how quickly he fell asleep. Even super soldiers needed time to recover.

Once his breathing was shallow and even, you whispered back to him. "Goodnight, Bucky. I love you." You closed your eyes and joined him in slumberland.

*

"Jamie?"

Priya’s voice floated into your ear, waking you.

"Jamie!"

The bed shook as Bucky shot up from his position beside you and you opened your eyes to see a very pissed off looking girlfriend standing at the end of Bucky’s bed.

"Priya!" Bucky exclaimed.

"What’s happening here?" Her voice was quiet, forceful, dripping with anger.

"Look, it’s not what this looks like," Bucky protested.

Priya rounded on you. "Are you sleeping with him?"

"No, Priya. I’m not sleeping- we didn’t have sex," you said emphatically. "We just fell asleep, we were talking and it was two in the morning and..."

Priya’s eyes narrowed and she looked between you and Bucky. "Talking? At two in the morning? Steve said you got home yesterday afternoon."

Bucky jumped in, trying to diffuse the tension. “It’s not like that, Priya. Cricket was just… I had a nightmare and… well,” he shrugged. “We fell asleep. I haven’t had one in a long time. I know you haven’t seen what it’s like, and I’m grateful for that.”

Priya crossed her arms, clearly not buying it. "And you couldn’t go back to your own room after you woke him up from the bad dream?"

You could see the hurt in Priya’s eyes, and you felt guilty for being the cause of it. She had never been outright unkind to you, in fact she had tried being friendly, tried getting to know you. You were the one who had shut her out.

"For what it’s worth, Bucky is the most trustworthy person I know. He would never do something like that to you. I promise that nothing physical has ever happened between us. I’m not a slut. But, I’m going to go,” you said quietly, “let you guys talk."

Bucky hesitated, looking from you to Priya. His heart sank as he processed the words you had spoken, he knew he had hurt you deeply with his words and his heart ached with regret.

She sighed, her anger softening slightly. "Fine, explain."

Bucky took a deep breath, his eyes pleading with Priya. "I know this looks bad, but Cricket is just a friend, I swear. I would never do anything to hurt you."

Priya looked at him for a long moment before finally nodding. "Okay, I believe you. But don’t let it happen again, Bucky."

Bucky nodded, relief flooding his face. "I won’t, I promise."

You stood up, feeling like an intruder in their moment. "I’ll leave you two alone. I’m sorry for causing any trouble."

Priya gave you a small smile. "It’s okay, Cricket. Thank you for being honest."

As you walked out of the room, you could help but feel another pang of jealousy. Since Priya had come into your life, you were on the outside, always looking in. Would you ever be more than you'd always been?

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[pupyuj]

→ “dress.” || ahn yujin x reader fic.

— you thought it was about time that you gift yujin a special present, especially after all she has done for you and given to you...

word count: 8.7k.

dynamic: dom!sugar mommy!ahn yujin x sub!sugar baby!reader.

content warnings: smut, use of strap-on, cunnilingus, fingering, nipple play, overstimulation, edging, praise kink, mommy kink, degradation, spanking, spitting.

requested ? : nope.

a/n: THIS ONE TOOK FOREVERRRR i'm glad to be finally letting it fly 🤓

gift giving had to be your favorite love language. it’s the way your friends’ face lit up whenever they receive something they like from you. their smile, the way they would immediately hug you — it made your heart feel full. sure, the money you used was barely yours but technically, you did have to ‘work’ to get said money. your friends never questioned how you could easily buy them expensive jewelry and clothes at the drop of the hat and you were thankful, because you haven’t got the slightest idea as to how to explain to them that you have a sugar mommy.

and that it’s the very same sugar mommy that you ditched movie night with them for. instead of snuggling with your friends in a pillow fort watching bad 90’s movies, you were sitting at a lavish five-star restaurant that served exquisite french cuisine. and the pretty woman staring intently at you right across the table, wearing a loose suit that looked way too good on her? ahn yujin.

older, mature, clever, and roguishly handsome as much as she is beautiful, ahn yujin was simply an irresistible woman. she was charming, and had given you butterflies in a way nobody ever has when she first approached you with her offer—the offer—so naturally, you couldn’t say no. not that you wanted to say no to her anyway. just look at her!

she smiled once you met her eyes, “you didn’t have to doll yourself up for a simple dinner.” she said, taking note of the branded clothes that you wore. her gifts. you looked down at your food bashfully. was it obvious that you poured way too much effort into your appearance? you did spend at least an hour and a half getting ready for this meeting.

“we haven’t seen each other in a while. i wanted to look good for you.” you confessed, blushing.

“well, you look beautiful,” yujin says as she reached for your hand across the table. you muttered a small ‘thank you’, gently squeezing her hand. “although, had i known that you would do all this just for me, i would have picked you right up from your door instead of letting you take a taxi.”

you shook your head, “you just got off work, and i live on the other side of the city. i didn’t want to tire you out, mo— yujin.” you cleared your throat, hoping that the guests in the nearby tables did not catch on to your slip up. yujin definitely did, seeing the smirk that appeared on her face.

nevertheless, yujin pretends she didn’t hear it. she merely leans back on her seat and crosses her arms, “i guess not. we have a long night ahead of us, don’t we?” she asked. you stared at the suggestive look in her eyes, already feeling your core buzzing from anticipation.

you smiled innocently at her, “indeed.” you agreed, taking a sip of your water.

you couldn’t wait until she takes you to her home.

and just like that, the night went by quickly. after dinner, the two of you decided to take a walk in a park, where you rested quietly on a bench, talking about what each of you had been up to weeks before. the entire time at the park, you couldn’t get over the way yujin’s dark eyes just pierced through you, more than eager to take you home, but she was too much of a gentlewoman to interrupt you while talking.

and of course, when the air got significantly colder, the night finally, finally started. the ride back to yujin’s house (her mansion, actually) was pleasantly quiet with only the soft tunes of the radio filling the silence in the air. yujin had her hand on your thigh, gently caressing your skin with her thumb and totally ignoring the way you occasionally squeezed your thighs together to calm that feeling in your core. towards the end of the ride, you couldn’t resist taking yujin’s hand and kissing it. she quite liked that.

you got some texts from your friends. they were asking if you got home safely from wherever you went and if you had fun, but you really couldn’t be bothered to reply when yujin’s lips were on your neck.

“did you miss me, baby?” she asked between kisses. you were on her lap, trying your hardest not to grind your core on her now exposed thigh because she was taking an excruciatingly long time touching you. it was irritating, but it always started out like this.

frustratingly slow, but so very worth it.

“ye—mhm… yes, mommy.. very much.”

she was leaving marks all over your skin; from your neck, to your collarbone, to your shoulders. she was usually more careful with that whole thing, but after not seeing you for weeks, she couldn’t help herself.

you turned your head to give yujin better access, not at all caring about the questions that might come from people once they see her work. conveniently enough, your phone buzzes. someone was calling.

“hm? who’s riki?” yujin whispered against your skin, glaring at the caller id on your phone.

“a friend… just a friend, mommy.”

“boy?” yujin asked, dark eyes looking up at you.

you nodded, “b-but he’s nothing. he’s not important.” did it hurt you to say that? a lot, yes. did it hurt turning off your phone, ignoring your friend’s call, and kicking it off the bed? oh, yeah. but it made yujin smile, it made her happy. and because of that, you decided that you didn’t care that it hurt.

“i’m all yours, mommy. nothing to worry about.” you reassured her, cupping her cheeks and putting your lips on hers. she returns the kiss, gripping you by the waist and pulling you closer to her. she brushes her tongue along your lips and you open your mouth obediently, moaning at the taste of her tongue.

on yujin’s crotch sat a strap, it was thicker than an average one and colored blue — your favorite. but you didn’t dare to make any movements towards it. as much as you wanted your mommy to pound you, you knew better than to be impatient and test her patience. you knew that yujin would give you anything you want anyway, you just had to wait.

yujin hiked your skirt up to your waist, her other hand making its way up to your thigh and then stopping at your soaked lingerie. she keeps on kissing you and even though your lungs burned for air, you kept the same energy for her. you didn’t want to disappoint her so early in the act.

you felt yujin’s fingers circling your clit gently. too gently.

you broke the kiss, gasping for air. “mmhm… mommyy…” you couldn’t help but whine.

“i know, baby. just be a good girl, m’kay?” yujin smiles at you, a clear message saying that you will be teased like hell tonight. you whined again, shaking your head, but you couldn’t do anything about it. it’s not like you could just push her down on the bed and ride her strap yourself. that would result in a punishment much more painful than being pounded out of your mind, which was being ignored.

“take this off,” yujin said, tugging at your top. obediently, you pulled the clothing over your head, revealing the thin bra that you wore just for yujin. she smiles when she realized your intent. “such a sweet girl. i missed you.” she kisses you again, much more softer this time.

yujin had been gone for a business trip weeks ago and even when she got home, she couldn’t meet up with you due to her busy schedule. and of course, yours as well. you had to suffice with sending her photos and videos of yourself. very rarely did she call you but when she did, you would end the night with your hand inside your shorts, touching yourself while yujin instructed you. none of it was really enough for you, though. even when you came several times during those calls, all you wanted was for yujin to come home and take care of you herself. it was actually a miracle that you managed to hold yourself back from immediately pouncing on her when she took you to her house tonight.

‘my poor mommy,’ you thought to yourself as you threaded yujin’s hair with your fingers while she kissed you. you felt her hands groping your tits and then move to your back to unclasp your bra. as soon as it was off, yujin starts playing with your nipples using her thumbs, smiling in satisfaction when you moaned into her mouth. ‘having to deal with those stupid men from her company for weeks on end.’

‘i’m gonna be really good for her. she deserves that much.’ you decided, throwing your head back in pleasure when yujin captures one of your hard nipples with her warm mouth. she pinches and pulls on the other one with her fingers which only made you tug on her hair a bit and whine. god, you were drenched. and horny to the point where you might just cum from yujin sucking on your breasts. just how much longer was she going to keep you waiting? you just wanted her to fill your holes already.

yujin flicks your hard bud with her tongue, and you grip her hair just a little tighter. yujin releases your nipple with a pop, and immediately repeats the same actions to the other one. one of yujin’s hands slips inside your lingerie and starts massaging your folds, while her other arm kept you close. fuck, it felt embarrassing moaning so loudly when she was barely doing anything but it was so hard keeping any sounds contained inside of you. yujin just made you feel too good.

“are you gonna cum just from this? huh?” yujin asked after a while, looking up at you with a smile. you could only whimper in reply, eyes a bit teary from the desperation. “you’re such a slut. you missed me that much? you’re not gonna wait for mommy’s cock?”

“nn-no… no, i’ll wait… ahh— i’ll wait for mommy…” you promised. she was challenging you. yujin knew from the way you closed your eyes tightly that you were trying your very hardest not to cum. your pride absolutely refused to allow you to, anyway.

yujin grins, “that’s my girl.” she places a kiss on your chest and pulls her hand out of your panties. you pouted, knowing it really will take a while before yujin fills you up. yujin notices this and pats your thigh, “don’t be sad, baby. we’re getting there. come on. on your knees.”

you kneeled down on the carpeted floor in front of her. your face was right in front of her strap, and then it hit you.

yujin chuckles at the way your eyes lit up, “i guess you know what to do, right? i can’t go inside you unless this is all wet.” yujin presses the tip of her strap against your lips and without wasting another second, you took it inside your mouth and started working. you already looked like a desperate whore, why not take it all the way? your eyes flickered up to meet yujin’s, and she was in the process of unbuttoning the white dress shirt she was wearing.

good god was ahn yujin’s body gorgeous. from her round, soft breasts to her perfectly sculpted abs… your clit throbbed just looking at her.

“baby, all of it.” yujin puts a hand on top of your head and pushes your mouth further down on her plastic cock. your hands clutched the bedsheets as you gagged from the size. “look at you sucking it off like it’s the real thing…” yujin says while chuckling. you could care less about how stupid this was — you’d do anything as long as it means getting fucked by yujin faster.

once she was satisfied, yujin pulled your head off the strap by your hair. “i have to admit… this little ‘riki’ boy got me worried about what you might have been doing while i was gone.” she said, pulling your hair down by the back of your head so you’re completely looking up at her.

you shook your head frantically, immediately knowing what she was implying. “no, no, mommy. i would never.”

“really? you’re telling me that you didn’t go around the city looking for someone to fill up that slutty little hole of yours while mommy was at work?” yujin tightens her grip. you could tell she was actually upset by the way her eyes showed zero signs of playfulness. she wasn’t teasing you this time.

“i didn’t. please—” you hissed at the pain. “please believe me. i belong to you, mommy. i promise. i promise.”

why would she even assume that you would even think of letting someone else touch you? even if other people got that chance, which is very fucking unlikely, they wouldn’t be able to make you feel good. nobody knows your body the way yujin does. no one else compares, it’s that simple.

“do you mean that?” yujin asked, her voice now taking on a more softer tone.

“every word.” there was simply no other answer.

yujin grabs your jaw with her free hand, “open up.” and so you do. you opened up your mouth, thinking that yujin was going to use your throat herself but instead, she leans close to your face, and she spits inside your mouth.

yujin quickly closes your jaw with her hand before you could even think of spitting it out, “swallow.” she demands harshly. of course, you had no other choice but to do what she says. you do what you were told, keeping eye contact to prove a point. yujin smiles in satisfaction and pats your cheek, once again happy.

again, you would do anything for yujin.

she lets go of your hair and starts petting your head, “you’ve been a really good girl tonight… wanna get your reward?” she asked.

you perked up, “yes… yes, please.”

yujin nodded her head towards bed and you immediately got up from the floor. your heart was beating erratically. finally. she was finally going to fuck you out of your mind.

you sat on the bed across from yujin, looking up at her. she tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, “you know your safe words, right?” she asked. you nodded, leaning into her touch. of course, despite everything that led up to this moment, yujin will still try to take care of you as much as she could. it makes your heart swell with something. you don’t exactly know what. and do you even want to know?

“tell me.” yujin said, running her thumb across your bottom lip.

“wait,” yujin hums, urging you to continue. “and no more. or i could tap out.”

“good,” yujin brings your face up to her and kisses your lips briefly. “now flip over.” she whispered against your lips. obediently, you did as you were told. yujin held your ass up with one hand and lined up her strap across your dripping, gaping cunt with the other. without warning, yujin plunges half of the cock inside of you, making you grip the bedsheets and gasp loudly.

you turned your head slightly to look at her, and she was smirking down at you. “take it, darling.” was what yujin said before pushing her strap deeper inside of you. you choked out a moan, and buried your head on yujin’s pillow, muffling any other sounds that came out of your mouth. but yujin was quick to grab you hair and pull your head back up, “scream. i want to hear you.”

as yujin thrusted her strap inside of you, slowly but roughly, you didn’t try to hide the sounds that she brought out of you. god knows you both needed this. you’ve gone weeks too long feeling empty, but now yujin was here, really here. she filled you up so well too, always making sure to use the entire strap’s length to penetrate your sweet spots just right. looking at yujin, with her dress shirt open and her black hair a bit of a mess from how roughly she pounded into you… it was enough to send you over the edge but you wanted to enjoy yourself a little longer.

yujin spreads your cheeks, finally picking up her pace and bringing you closer to an early climax. but you refused to give in just like that. yujin hasn’t even gotten started yet, you knew she would be disappointed if you let go of yourself so early. so you held on, completely ignoring the tightening in your abdomen and continuing on taking everything yujin was giving you: from her thrusts, to her hair pulling, her scratchings, and the slaps to your ass.

“if i were given a choice.. shit, baby… i would’ve brought you along with me on that trip,” yujin grips your ass tightly. she was going to leave marks for sure. “you know how much i missed this tight pussy of yours? hm? it was hard—fuck—trying to get through the day without having you writhe under me…” yujin moves down and leans her mouth close to your ear, “i’m gonna ruin you over and over tonight, baby girl. okay?”

god, her words just drove you insane. you nodded your head desperately, “yes, y-yes, mommy..! i’m yours, i’m all yours…”

yujin visits the gym regularly to keep herself healthy. and of course, you would know that because you have, in fact, accompanied her on one of her workout days once and miraculously did not get caught when she fucked you in the locker room. so, basically, it was easy for yujin to manhandle you, especially when you were in such a vulnerable position. she makes sure you were down on your knees instead of just laying down, and whenever you were losing strength in your legs, she keeps you up. you looked at her again, begging her to let you lay down with a look in your eyes but she merely glares at you before continuing to fuck into you like you were a damn fleshlight.

you clutched the bedsheets with a death grip, feeling the familiar pressure in your stomach building up when the strap starts brushing against all of your good spots. yujin would never let you come that easily. but fuck, you didn’t know how long you can keep it up.

“m-mommy…? please… i ha—aghh… i have t-to…”

“no. be a good whore and wait until i tell you when you can.”

you wanted to talk back and get her riled up, but at this point in time, she might just deny you of your release completely.

yujin keeps on thrusting into you in the same, mildly fast pace for minutes on end. every time you were brought closer to your climax, she rips it away completely and ignores your whines. you knew she wanted to make this night last as much as you did but fuck, you didn’t realize she wanted it to drag on! you loved it, of course. yujin was having fun and that all she deserved after weeks and weeks of nothing but work, but on the other hand, you fucking hated it too because you just wanted to cum so bad…

and you really thought she was finally letting you when she hits the spot.

you grabbed onto one of the pillows for dear life, soaking it with your tears. you were so fucking close. you didn’t even know how you’ve managed to hold on until now. “please, mommy..! please, please, plea—”

but all it takes for yujin to shut all your hopes down was to say one simple word, “no.”

fuck. at this point, you didn’t know if you were still moaning from the pleasure, or if you were sobbing from the pain and yujin being stubborn. maybe both. but fuck, you were exhausted and truthfully, a bit scared to make yujin angry so you still. keep. holding on. and it inflated the fuck out of yujin’s ego because wow, the things you would willing go through for her…?

“my obedient little slut… you make mommy so happy,” yujin said. she leans forward, putting her hands down on the bed (one holding down your wrist and the other intertwined with your other hand), and speeds up her thrusts. “you’re really gonna do anything for me, huh?” she says, her hot breath on your ear.

you nodded, leaning against her, “everything, mommy… i’ll do everything…”

���that’s my girl. you always know the right things to say,” she lets go of your wrist and uses her hand to pull your hair back, then she forces you to turn your head and kisses you. she was getting faster, bringing you closer to the edge once again. this time, however, you weren’t going to let her play with you again. you started moving your hips so that you would be fucking yourself into her strap. you feared that yujin might get angry at this but you hear her laugh. “fuck. good girl.” she said and then slaps your ass.

finally, she allows you to lay down. yujin grabs your waist in a tight grip and started moving you. she loved the sight of your ass bouncing as she pounded into you, and the red marks that started to form was an added bonus too. she might come with you at this rate.

“mommy’s gonna make you come real good, okay?” yujin said, peppering your shoulder with kisses while you’re nodding mindlessly. you would agree with anything she asked you, you were completely out of your mind. focused on one thing only. yujin uses her one free hand (she was still holding yours with her other one. she knew it kept you grounded.) and slides two fingers inside your mouth. you sucked on them, moaning and gagging on her long digits before she pulls them out.

yujin reaches down your body, “stay still, baby.” she says before circling your clit with her fingers that were covered in your spit.

you were pretty sure you were hurting yujin with the way you held onto her hand impossibly tight. tears spilled out of your eyes as she kept on pleasuring your clit, making it even more difficult for you to keep your promise of not coming. shit, it was too much. she has never edged you for this long and this intensely before… as bad as that sounded, it brought you comfort and you would be smiling at the thought if you weren’t fucking crying because if anything, this just confirms that yujin really did miss you.

“mommy…! sto—oh, god…!!” you sobbed, shaking your head as you felt yourself slowly losing control. you could feel yujin grinning against your shoulder. what a dick, but you couldn’t say that.

“it’s okay, baby. now. come.” yujin nearly pulls the strap all the way off of your cunt before plunging it back in, hard and using its full length. at the same time, she pressed her fingers against your clit and really, that was all it took for you to finally let go. you came with a long moan, shaking as yujin continues to rub your clit, riding out your orgasm and truly just making it all last.

your cum was seemingly everywhere: on her strap, her fingers, trickling down your thighs, on the bedsheets… it was relieving for all of that pressure that was stuck in your abdomen to finally be gone. after a while, yujin cautiously pulls the strap out of you, takes it off of herself before throwing it on the floor. she was going to have to clean up the mess the two of you made tomorrow. but for now? you needed her in another way.

yujin completely takes off her dress shirt and her bra before she laid down on the empty space beside you, immediately cooping you up in her arms and kissing your damp forehead. you were breathing heavily, chest heaving up and down, eyes dark and unfocused, and lips quivering.

yujin wipes the tears off of your cheeks and held you close, “you did a good job, baby. get some rest. i promise i’ll take care of you lots tomorrow.” unable to reply due to your voice completely just disappearing after you’ve used it to scream ‘mommy’ all night, you merely put your arm around yujin’s waist and rested your head on her chest. it was easy to fall asleep after that, with only yujin’s steady heartbeat accompanying you into your safe place.

the morning after, you woke up alone.

which wasn’t a rare occurrence. considering it was nearly ten in the morning, yujin should be sitting in her office miles away from her house right now. it was routine at this point: you wake up, yujin’s gone and all she has left you is a text message, maybe breakfast, and a hefty amount of money in your bank. so, imagine your surprise when you sat up, rubbing your eyes and wincing at the soreness that coursed throughout your body, and there was yujin entering the bedroom in a bathrobe, drying her wet hair with a towel.

“oh, good morning,” yujin says. she approaches the bed, brushing your hair away from your face. her hands were so gentle, greatly contrasting the way she completely ruined you with them the night before. yujin leans in and leaves a quick kiss on your forehead, and then she chuckles lightly at your dazed expression. “what’s wrong?” she asks, sitting on the bed.

“it’s just… rare to see you here…” you said, your voice hoarse.

“i called in. i promised i would take care of you, didn’t i?” yujin reaches for the glass of water on the bedside table and hands it over to you. yujin watches as you drank the contents of the glass… it was a simple action but for some reason, you got her heart beating louder and faster, and warmth spread in her chest when you smiled at her, saying a small ‘thank you’ before putting the glass back on the bedside table. in yujin’s opinion, you’ve never looked more beautiful than this: a bit exhausted, and very obviously fucked out but the morning glow looked so good on you.

yujin gently takes your chin in her hand and pulls you in, catching your lips in a soft kiss. something about this one felt different. it was in the way her lips quivered as it moved against yours, the way her eyes held nothing but adoration for you when she leaned back, the way she smiled shyly under your gaze, and the way she laughed softly when you gave in to your temptations and chased after her lips.

you spent a good few minutes, maybe even longer, kissing yujin. ocassionally sharing soft smiles, longing gazes, and quiet, short conversations before connecting your lips again.

“i got the bath ready for you. can you walk?” yujin asked after a while.

you nodded, “a little.” it was a lie. you could lay on the bed the entire day if you had a choice.

“you just want me to carry you there, don’t you?” yujin teased, bumping her nose into yours. you giggled, basically throwing yourself on yujin’s lap and lacing your arms around her neck. yujin was able to lift you up easily, and she took you to the lavish bathroom that she had in the house. it was the size of your room in your apartment.

“you can help yourself in my closet after you’re done,” yujin says after you’ve put both of your feet on the ground. she kisses you again, a bit deeper this time but it was quick. you could not express with enough words how addicting her lips were. “breakfast will be ready soon. i’ll be downstairs, okay?” and with that, yujin squeezes your hands before leaving, closing the door behind her.

did she have to be such a heartthrob?

needless to say, you got in the bathtub happy. and as you sat there, basking in the warm water and the sweet aroma of whatever soap yujin used, you started to think about all of the things yujin has done for you. of course, she makes sure you’re secured financially and that every meeting was worth your time, not to mention her randomly-timed and unnecessarily expensive gifts too. maybe it was time that you give back.

but what could a filthy rich and accomplished cfo of a distinguished company want more in life? yujin has it all: looks, brains, a handsome car, a big mansion, the cutest pair of dimples of ever, and a doll she could play with whenever she pleases.

then, it hit you.

“that’s perfect!” you muttered to yourself after putting your idea together in your head.

after your bath, you made your way back to yujin’s bedroom and opened up her massive walk-in closet. there was an array of clothes tailored specifically for yujin, and some she bought for herself taht you imagine costs more than your entire life. but, you headed straight for a drawer filled with her t-shirts. all of them were just as expensive as the dress shirts and the blazers, but yujin allows you to wear them because she knew how much you liked them.

you decided to wear your favorite one: a grey oversized tee embroidered with shooting stars in front. you paired it up with some random jean shorts you kept in one of the drawers and rushed downstairs. you smelled entirely like yujin, you loved it, and you knew she would too.

when you reached the kitchen, yujin, now fully clothed, had just finished preparing your coffee. you reached out for her arm and pulled her into you, “mommy, you like pretty things, right?” you asked with a grin.

yujin turns around and pulls you into her embrace, her hands resting on your hips, “why do you think i chose you, baby?” you swore your heart grew several sizes. you smiled up at her and then put your hands behind her neck, gently pushing her head down and catching her lips in a searing kiss. when yujin’s hands once again sneak underneath your shirt, the next few things that happened became a blur but one thing was for sure… you were going to take care of her next time.

“i’ve noticed something about you recently, (y/n).” your friend, wonyoung, suddenly said as the two of you browsed through a collection of expensive dresses at an outlet mall. her girlfriend, and your roommate, jiwon was elsewhere with your other roommate seonwoo and the friend that you ignored when you were with yujin, riki.

“what, do i have a pimple or something?” you asked, touching your face subconsciously.

“no,” wonyoung takes your hands off of your face with a laugh. “you’ve been looking… happier. not that you were ever depressed or anything but these days you’re glowing, you’re confident, and… you smile a lot more. specifically when you’re on your phone.” and of course wonyoung sees all that. as close as you were with jiwon, it was her girlfriend manages to read you like a book.

“what can i say? i love cookie run.” you joked, barely dodging the gentle slap on your shoulder that came from wonyoung.

“i’m serious, (y/n)-ah! are you dating someone?”

weeks ago, you would have denied her in a heartbeat with a reasonable enough excuse but now you don’t exactly know how to respond to that question. because after that meeting with yujin, the two of you have only gotten closer… and sweeter. you talk to each other in texts and not just send dirty photos, videos, or sexts. and the three previous meetings you’ve had, they have been so fun.

of course, the night always ended with you under yujin, but even the sex seemed to mean something more now.

wonyoung grabs your collar and opens up your jacket, and there she sees fresh hickies and bite marks across your neck and chest. “i knew it!” she gasped, bouncing on her feet and she excitedly hits your arm.

“wonyoung, you cannot be undressing me like that in public and while being taken by my best friend!” you said, swatting her hands away and covering yourself up again. oh yeah, apparently, yujin being careless with how she marked you was an added bonus in this level of your relationship.

'relationship'? you don’t even know anymore.

“tell me about her right now, (y/n)! does she go to our school? or some other university? older? younger? taller? i need to know! is she hot??” wonyoung was shaking you back and forth. the two of you have gotten several glances and looks from the other customers since wonyoung made no effort to lower her voice. nobody can blame wonyoung for getting excited though, you never really indulge yourself in romantic relationships since you had a lot to worry about. school, your family back at your hometown, money, rent… in fact, even before yujin, you’ve never let anybody make it past the first date.

you always thought it would be a waste of time, and that you’d rather put your energy into making yourself happy by tackling your hundred-or-so problems. turns out you can have both. and yujin made you realize that.

huh.

“w-we’re not dating, we’re just…” you sighed, blushing at the mere thought of yujin. this was weird. “it’s complicated, wonyoung. i don’t want to talk about it.”

the taller girl was smarter than that, however, and after staring at you for a good minute or two, she grins. “oh, it’s that kind of relationship.” she teased, nudging your arm while wiggling her eyebrows. you rolled your eyes. as pretty as she was, wonyoung can be so annoying. “wait… you’re shopping for her, aren’t you? oh my god, (y/n), you whore.” wonyoung slaps your arm, giggling.

you bowed profusely at the poor mother with a child who walked past as wonyoung said those words, and glared at your friend, “do not tell jiwon and the boys about this. they’ll have a heart attack.”

wonyoung scoffs, “they can’t just gatekeep you forever! sooner or later, they’re gonna have to accept that you’ll eventually claim your destiny as some sexy rich woman’s living fleshlight.” you kicked her in the shin, but it didn’t affect her whatsoever. god, you wished you brought jiwon along with you instead of her. at least jiwon wouldn’t even think to ask about your sex life!

“is she sexy and rich?” wonyoung asked. she was never going to leave alone, wasn’t she?

with a deep sigh you answered, “emphasis on rich. bigger emphasis on sexy.”

wonyoung squeals, suddenly grabs your arm and drags you away to some other section of the store, “you’re seeing her again soon, aren’t you? i have the perfect dress for you!” well, at least she’s helping. and when you looked in the mirror wearing the sleek and shiny black dress that barely left anything to the imagination, you can’t help but be as excited about this next meeting as wonyoung… perhaps even more.

“you are so going to get fucked out.”

“there are children in this fitting room, wonyoung. please—”

that night, after jiwon and wonyoung, as well as seonwoo, have tucked in for the night, you decided to call yujin, staring deeply at the dress that hung in front of your closet.

“hi, baby. it’s pretty late. do you need something?”

you ran your hand down the dress, feeling its silky material. you could just imagine yujin completely ruining you in it, and of course the thought gets you wet almost immediately.

“just wondering if i could come over sooner than we planned?”

you heard yujin laugh from the other end, “you miss me already?”

“i always do, mommy.”

“really?” you bit your lip, knowing full well what yujin was going to make you do next. you quickly pulled off your shorts, looking at your soaked panties and cringing at how much of a desperate slut you were. but how could you ever resist? especially when yujin says, “show me how much you miss me, darling.”

she was going to drive you mad.

well, three days later, you found herself standing in front of the gates of yujin’s mansion, clad in that black dress and holding a paper bag with cake in it.

yujin had mentioned that she has gotten busy again, but totally agreed on letting you come over and allowing you to do whatever you want in the house before she finishes off what she was doing and joins you. but you had a plan in mind, one that doesn’t require yujin to leave her office, or her chair at all. as for the cake, well, yujin loved caramel cakes so you just thought it would be a nice gesture. especially after you heard how tired she has been leading up to this day.

no, it will not be incorporated into whatever you will be doing with her today… but maybe in the future.

you were forcibly taken away from your head when the gates slid open. you entered and headed straight for the front doors, a duplicate of yujin’s house key ready in your hand. upon entering the mansion, you took off your jacket and hung it in the coat rack by the door before heading straight upstairs where you know yujin would be holed up at. a few ways away from her massive bedroom was her office, and you’ve spent as much of your time there as you do in yujin’s bedroom. mostly because that was where yujin did a lot of her work when she wasn’t in the actual company building, meaning that she would be pissed off more than she was happy, meaning that you would be bent over her desk getting fucked to oblivion as a means to reduce yujin’s stress.

you knocked softly on the door, but there wasn’t a response right away. you were about to knock again when you hear yujin’s muffled shouting, possibly over the phone with one of her annoying coworkers or seniors. a frown makes its way to your face when you heard yujin curse sharply under her breath, then a soft ‘thud’, and yujin speaking more quietly but still scarily.

you wanted your surprise to be perfect, so you stood still in front of the door, waiting until yujin has at least calmed down a bit. but perhaps it was a bad time? maybe you shouldn’t have asked to come over ahead of what was originally planned… yujin sets them up for a reason, after all. maybe this was the reason. she is a businesswoman through and through, and now you were afraid that maybe you were just being a nuisance.

yujin clicks her tongue sharply again, and then she was raising her voice once more. you could hear her footsteps as she paced around her office — frantic, heavy, and angry. then, you heard another ‘thud’, and that was when you decided that you needed to be here. for her.

finally, you knocked. a little more loudly than the last time.

“(y/n)?”

her voice was soft. your heart skipped a beat.

“y-yes. it’s me.”

oh, you were so whipped.

“it’s open. come in.”

you pushed the door open and it turns out that yujin had her back turned from the door, facing her bookshelf with her hand on her hip and her other hand still holding her phone close to her ear. she doesn’t look at you when you came in, probably hasn’t even realized it.

“who is…? she’s none of your business. don’t change the subject. focus, and do your fucking job,” yujin moves her free hand to massage her temple. she taps her foot on the carpeted floor, growing increasingly impatient once again. “if i hear anything about you mistreating my assistant in my absence again, i swear to god you’re going to regret choosing to work for this company. leave rei alone.”

you furrowed your eyebrows at the mention of yujin’s assistant. you’ve met her before. she was always the first one to greet you and talk to you kindly whenever you used to visit yujin at the building. she kept you company when yujin was in meetings, the ones that didn’t require for her to attend too, anyway. at first, you were jealous of her. she got to spend a lot of time with yujin and back then, you thought that maybe they had something together… but it turns out that they have been friends for a long time, and their relationship have always been, and always will be, platonic.

plus, rei recently told you that she was ‘rooting for you and yujin’. so yeah, somebody is going to lose an arm if you find out that they ever messed with her.

“feel free to not contact me for the rest of the week.”

yujin ends the call before the person on the other end could respond. you watched as she sighed deeply, took a few breaths in, and finally regained her composure.

“sorry you had to hear all that. they’re driving me crazy.”

you gently placed the bag on the couch and approached yujin, who was still massaging her temples. you grabbed her wrists and turned her around slowly, and immediately, she hugged you, burying her face on the crook of your neck and tightly wrapping her arms around your waist. you pat her back softly, your other hand combing through her hair before you pushed her back. you cupped yujin’s cheeks in your hands and stared deeply into her troubled eyes.

“are you okay?” you asked. yujin nods wordlessly and leans down to kiss you, which you allow her to. your kisses have turned into something else too. they’re more gentle, slow, and loving. even during the heat of a moment, you feel nothing but your growing feelings as yujin kisses you. you could only hope that she felt it too.

it takes a while for yujin to pull away. when she did, you head was hazy and you were gasping for breath, but you sufficed a satisfied smile when you saw the look on yujin’s face as she scanned your outfit from head to toe. yujin bites her lower lip as she checked you out shamelessly, even taking a step back to get a better view of your look. “for me?” she says, moving her hands to your hips and squeezing your gently.

“it’s always for you, mommy. you should know that by now,” you took note of yujin’s casual attire too. the oversized blue and white striped button-up and some simple white shorts and yet you would let her absolutely ruin you until sunrise. maybe it was the first three buttons being undone, or the half-up ponytail, or simply just yujin that made her so fucking sexy. “do you like it?” you asked.

yujin smirks, she cannot stop looking at you up and down, “you’ll find out.”

merely minutes later, you were sitting on top of yujin’s desk, moaning into her mouth as she kisses you hungrily while one of her hands is in between your thighs, pressing against your throbbing clit through your wet panties. as for yujin’s other hand, it was behind you, taking a hold of the zipper on your dress and pulling it down. you were so glad wonyoung bullied you into not wearing a bra—

(“(y/n), nobody wears a bra in a strapless dress. screw security, let the woman fuck you without interruptions!”

“wait, what?”

“oh shit. hey, baby! jiwon.. uh, long story…”)

—because it was easy for yujin to just lean down and catch one of your now exposed nipples in her mouth. while she did that, you opened up your legs a bit more and started grinding yourself on yujin’s hand, desperate for more but as always, not really having the patience for it.

yujin pinches your clit through your panties and you moan loudly, arching your back a little and pushing yujin’s head further on your chest. it only made you grind on her hand faster, and yujin grins while she looks up at you, loving the desperate look on your face. it felt too hot in here. and not the kind of hot that increased your libido, but the one that fucking irritated you. you tug on yujin’s shirt, “mommy… take it off, please…” you begged. you wanted to feel her skin against you… now that’s the kind of hot you could get behind.

“aw, well. anything for my princess.”

you could’ve come right there.

yujin starts unbuttoning her shirt, looking straight at you as she did so. you helped her pull it off her body and threw it on the ground, and then you pulled her back into you. you put one hand on her toned stomach—oh fuck, those abs—and leaned in, putting your lips on her neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses and a few marks here and there. yujin slides her hands underneath your dress and pulls down your black, lacy underwear before letting it fall to the ground, directly laying on top of her shirt.

you continued on kissing yujin’s neck, relishing in the sounds of her quiet moans. ocassionally, you looked up to find her smiling down at you and during those moments, you share a quick kiss before going back to marking her up.

you were yujin’s, yes. but the world has to know that yujin was yours.

yujin probably noticed your intent, hearing her chuckle before grabbing your face and making you look up at her, “i’m not going anywhere, baby. i belong to you as much as you belong to me.” she whispered against your lips.

ahn yujin belongs to you.

you.

yeah, you were going to think about that all day.

yujin takes a seat on her chair, then she puts her hands on your knees and spreads your legs apart, giving herself a full view of your dripping pussy. you one of her hands and brought it up to your lips, giving it a kiss. “go ahead and make your day better, mommy.”

yujin glances up at you and smiles, a genuine smile, “it already did the moment i saw you.” she keeps your hands intertwined, and you stare at each other for a good minute.

that was where you realized that wow…

you were pretty fucking in love with yujin.

you had time to freak out about this revelation later, because when yujin's lips make contact with your folds, your mind goes elsewhere. your free hand goes to the back of yujin's neck, pushing her in further. fuck, if yujin was going to do two things great, it's using her hands and mouth on you. every lick, every touch, every single one, always had your head spinning, had you begging for more. and more yujin always gave you.

she is your sugar mommy, what else is she good for otherwise?

yujin reaches between your thighs and parts your folds with her fingers, giving your pussy one long lick before catching your clit with her lips. you gripped her shoulder tightly, throwing your head back and moaning when suddenly, yujin inserts two fingers inside of you and starts moving them in and out.

it was a reasonable pace but the feeling of both her mouth and fingers on your pussy was too good that she had your legs shaking already.

“mmhm.. fuck…! more, mommy.. more, please…”

you wrapped your legs around yujin's neck and pulled her face impossibly closer to your cunt. she moans at the flavor of your juices on her tongue, feeling like she could probably eat you out all day if she wanted. you were her favorite taste, and there was nothing better than yujin getting a well-deserved meal after dealing with the annoying fucks in her company. (save for rei, bless her heart.)

yujin was grateful for you, and through this, she gets to express just how much.

“ah— yujin…!”

has she ever told you how much she loved it when you said her name? sure, 'mommy' hits all the right places and that is the name you both agreed to when this all first started, but you saying her name was rare. and whenever you did, yujin feels warm inside. it was in your voice, the way you said it, how yujin knew that even something as simple as saying her name came directly from your heart.

as yujin looked up, head still in between your legs, she realized just how good it felt to be with you. besides the sex, you were good company and you knew yujin in a way some of her closest friends don’t.

ahn yujin has come to the conclusion that she was so sickeningly in love with you.

well, this realization gave yujin adrenaline somehow and she starts sucking on your clit, flicking the bud and moaning at the way you dug your nails on her nape.

“mommyy…! shit shitshitshit… i’m close, i’m coming…!”

you grabbed the edge of the desk with one hand as you fell apart on yujin's tongue. you’d think she’d be done. that’s how it usually was. come once and hard, and scene. but something was in the air today, apparently.

as you come undone, yujin finally lets go of your hand and uses both of hers to hold your hips down while she continues sucking on your sensitive clit. and holy fuck was she relentless. she dipped her tongue inside of your hole, making you writhe and scratch her back.

fuck, this felt good. even though it was more than you handle considering that you just came, you found yourself rolling your hips towards yujin’s face, wanting even more of what she wants to give you. she was completely entranced by your taste, blinded by pleasure and the only thing in her mind being you.

yujin presses her tongue flat against your clit before nibbling on it, sending you near the edge once again. she needed to make you come again. she has to have your juices completely cover her mouth and face again. that’s how thankful she was for your company and comfort.

she loves you, and this shows how much.

this time, you held onto her head when you came, gripping and tugging at her hair. your legs shook as yujin diligently lapped up your cum, feeling your ears burn at the sound of her savoring the taste. god, you were exhausted… although you wouldn’t mind if something takes over yujin and does it all over again, all day.

“mommy… thank you, thank you…” you managed to say.

yujin finished up her work and scoops you up in her arms, having you settle on her lap. your favorite place. “i should be thanking you, baby. you really did make my day better.” yujin said, planting a kiss on your forehead.

looking at her smiling softly at you, something pushes you to say a few words. “i love you.” …out loud, apparently. it was supposed to be a thought!

the complete surprise on yujin’s face scares you, but merely seconds later, she cradles you closer. giggling and… is she blushing? who knew the ahn yujin could be so… adorable?!

“i love you too,” yujin kisses your nose, and presses her forehead against yours. “a lot.”

who knew a few words could make you feel like flying?

for the next few minutes, the two of you stayed cuddled up in her chair. occasionally, sharing kisses and lingering touches in each other’s bodies. it wasn’t until yujin was kissing down your neck when you were reminded that you were still, in fact, clothed.

you sighed, “i should probably take this off before my friend berates me for ruining it…”

however, yujin shakes her head. “no, keep it on,” there was not a single sexual intent in her eyes, nor her words. she kisses you on the cheek, and stares at you in complete adoration and, now, love. “i love this dress on you.”

[nonranghaes]

heads up: feelings of abandonment + reader crying. food mentions. fic can be interpreted as purely platonic, if desired!

when did your apartment start to feel so cold? you weren't sure. but you pull out a hoodie from your dryer and pull it on, just to try and chase away the chill that won't leave you. today's been a shit day, and all you want to do is curl up in bed and sleep until it's over. but it's far too early for that, so you opt to try to take care of yourself instead.

which really just turns into you pulling a blanket over you on the couch and watching whatever seems interesting enough to hold your attention for a while. it takes barely five minutes into the first movie before you start to sniffle again, and you stop fighting it. hot tears run down your cheeks, and you just pull the blanket tighter around you.

is it so much to ask that someone chase you for once? to have someone check on you and make sure you're actually okay? instead, you get radio silence when you pull away from people. it makes you feel sick to your stomach. there's a swirling storm inside you of the knowledge that people can't help you if you don't say something, and the wish that people would realize you not saying anything was a cry in its own right. they've known you this long, haven't they? they know you hate reaching out, that you despise having to say 'hi, i'm struggling' and instead it feels like they've just stopped bothering with you. why bother with someone who won't pull themself out of their struggles enough to say something?

it feels like you're drowning in these feelings. every hiccup and attempt to catch your breath just sends you spiraling further, the weight of the world crushing you more and more. is it so wrong to want someone to reach out and say "i know things aren't okay. can we talk?" or even a "i'm here for you, i'm sorry life is hard now, just say the word and i'll be there, okay?" in some shape or form. it doesn't even have to be so elaborate. it just needs to be something--

someone knocks on your door. you swear under your breath, wiping at your face and hoping that whoever is on the other side won't question it too much. your neighbor's cat probably got out again. you stop on your way to the door, looking in a mirror to see what damage has been done by this sobbing fit. and when you feel a little more composed, you open the door.

"hey." seungcheol has one hand tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie, the other holding a bag of takeout. "have you eaten yet?" he's dressed down, sweatpants and beanie and all. "i was in the neighborhood, and..."

he's lying. you know he is. you can see the label on the bag and this place is nowhere near where you live. but it's your favorite.

his gaze softens when he fully takes in the sight of you. "are you okay--"

he barely finishes the word before you dive forward, wrapping your arms around him as you bury your face in his hoodie. it makes you feel desperate in the worst way, but you're crying already and hiding your face from him makes you feel even a little better. but the feeling of seungcheol's arms wrapping around you feels even better, and he holds you protectively.

"i've got you," he says, and it feels like a promise.

maybe life isn't so bad after all.

[fanficsformyfaves]

I Don't Wanna Live Forever Pt.2

Rhea Ripley x Fem Prostitute!Reader (Pt.1)

WARNING: ANGST, Depressive Episode, Harassment, Bar Fight, Violence, Confrontation, Confessions, Hurt to Comfort

PREFACE: Reader was Rhea's favorite girl to call on a Saturday night, but little did she know that the wrestler was falling harder and harder with each visit

A/N: Special Appearance by The Judgment Day!

Shed a couple tears over this, but it's cool

The radio silence was unbearable. It had been weeks and with each day that passed, I began to regret what I did more and more. If I'd truly done the right thing, why didn't it feel like it? Why did it feel like I'd just lost a part of myself losing her? I had only myself to blame, so it was unfair of me to be angry at her, but I was.

I was angry at the longing stares and the gentle caresses against my bare skin. I was angry at the inside jokes and little secrets that were shared beneath her sheets. I was angry at all the nights we spent in each others arms. All the things that got me in this mess in the first place, but most of all...I was angry at myself.

Angry that I was too much of a coward to tell her that her feelings were in fact reciprocated.

With where my head was at and how devasting everything was, I decided to completely resign from the service that was using me. In no world could I imagine continuing to be in other peoples beds, when all I wanted was to be in hers. Out of every low point I'd hit before, this was by far the worst one.

I could barely get out of bed without tears immediately streaming down my face. Days felt empty and nights felt suffocating like my body knew something was missing. Even simple tasks like eating and breathing had now become burdensome.

I didn't know whether or not I'd make it out of this one, but by some miracle, I was met with a chance at starting over.

An old friend of mine that used to work with me in the same service recently reached out upon hearing about my departure from one of the other girls. I found out, shortly after leaving, that she got a job at a bar closer to the city and that they were hiring new drink-runners. The pay was decent and I needed something to keep me busy, so of course, I said yes to being interviewed.

I sent in my resume, went in on Monday and the next morning, I got a call saying I was hired, which brings us to right now.

The night started of fine with me just serving the drinks and food, when I heard the bell signaling someone came in. It was a group of obnoxiously loud men that immediately had me and my friend rolling our eyes. I picked up some menus and reluctantly headed over to the table they chose.

"Welcome, what can I get started for you guys?", I say,

Placing down the laminated papers.

"No fucking way!", I heard one of them exclaim,

And when I turn to see who it was, my heart dropped. It was a guy that I previously serviced.

"Yes?", I asked,

Playing clueless.

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you don't recognize me...or the fun little night we had"

I could tell by the way he slurred his words that he was incredibly drunk. His group immediately began snickering and raking their eyes up and down my body.

"I'm sorry, sir. You must be thinking of someone else"

"Nah, I'd recognize those tits anywhere", he declared,

Causing 'oohs' to echo from the table.

I held my composure and took a deep breath through my nose.

"Excuse me, gentlemen", I said,

Walking away and heading back to the bar.

"What's up?", my friend asked,

Seeing the irritated expression on my face.

"Old clients at table 6"

"Ugh, again? Do they not have jobs? They're here every night"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, you haven't been scheduled past 8 yet, so you were lucky enough not to run into them", she explained,

"Well, I guess I'm shit outta luck now", I joked.

And as if the universe couldn't have had worse timing, another group walks in and the sinking feeling in my chest had now become a burning sting.

"Wait, isn't that-"

Before my friend could get her words out, I immediately hid in the kitchen. I hear her calling out to me as I left, but didn't bother turning back to look.

Out of any place on earth and out of any bar, she just had to show up at the one that I work at? This had to have been some sick joke. What was I meant to do now? It's not like I could just leave and risk getting in trouble on my second week.

I stayed still a few minutes to recollect myself and once I was successful, I take in one last deep breath, before heading back out.

"You've got this", my friend reassured,

Handing me four menus.

I made my way towards her table and the closer I got, the harder it became for the both of us to ignore the other's gaze.

"Welcome, what can I get started for you guys?", I say,

Putting on my best customer service voice.

"I'll take chicken tenders", the one with the mullet answered,

"We both want steaks, medium rare", the tallest added on,

As I jotted down their orders.

"Alright and...for you, miss?", I asked,

The hesitance in my voice giving my nerves away.

"Just some gin for now", she answered,

Avoiding eye contact.

As painful as it was, I decided against asking any further questions at the risk of making things any more uncomfortable.

"Those should be right out", I nod my head,

Walking off, but as I was headed towards the serving hatch to put the orders in, I felt a hand grab my wrist.

"What time do you get off?", the asshole from earlier questioned,

Causing me to rip my arm away.

"Excuse you", I scolded,

Going to turn away, when he grabbed me by the arm next. I could feel the panic start to set in and my eyes start to water.

"Get off, seriously", my words trembled,

"Oh, what? Does the slut think she's too good for m-", his sentence was cut short by a tissue holder hitting the back of his head,

Causing him to fall over.

"She said get off", Rhea warned through gritted teeth,

"Handle this, I'm taking her home", she ordered her friends,

They all turn to each other smirking, before sauntering over to the table full of the guy's friends. They all immediately took off, leaving him behind to fend for himself.

"Come on", she urged,

"My shift isn't over", I shakily muttered,

She sighed, taking out her wallet.

"Dom, make sure to let the manager knows what happened and that (Y/N) went home", she instructed,

Pulling out a couple hundreds, before dropping them on the table.

"You got it, mami", he said,

Picking up the guy and dragging him outside with the help of the other two men.

"Wait, what are they-"

"Doesn't matter. Come on", she throws an arm over my shoulder,

Leading me outside and helping me into her car. The last thing I saw before driving off was the three men completely pummeling the guy into a pulp. Not to say he didn't deserve it, but, I still couldn't help but feel uneasy.

The car ride wasn't much help either. Besides the quite hum that came from the engine and the passing cars, it was mostly silent. She must've noticed, as her hand gently gripped my knee in an attempt to calm me down.

"Are you hurt?", she finally spoke,

"My arm's sore", I answered hesitantly,

Causing her to let out a shaky exhale through her nose.

He did yank me pretty hard, so I wouldn't be surprised if I woke up to a handprint on me.

"We're almost at mine", she lets me know.

As if I didn't already recognize the street we were on. I mean I'd been down this road too many times not to.

"We're here"

She pulls into her driveway and gets out to open my door for me. She then leads me into the house, urging me to take a seat on the sofa.

"I'll get an icebag. Wait, here"

"It's fine-"

Before I could object, she had already left the living room.

The tension was so apparent, I felt it in my bones. She was cold and guarded, but I had no right to fault her for it. I was the one who ended things and now, I had to lay in the bed I made.

She returns with the ice and lifts my sleeve to press it against the bruise, causing me to wince at the ache.

"Who was that guy, anyways?", she questioned,

"An old client. I don't work there anymore though"

For the first time this whole evening, her eyes finally met mine.

"What?"

"I quit last month. I couldn't do it anymore", I admitted,

As her gaze softened.

"Why?"

"It's not important", I tried to brush off,

"(Y/N)"

"It doesn't matter-"

"(Y/N)", she called sternly,

Causing tears to prick at my eyes.

"Did someone hurt you?"

"No-"

"Then what?"

What was I meant to say? That I was the cause of my own hurting? That I left the only life I'd known because someone showed me that I deserved better than that? That that person was her?

"Then...what?", she pressed further.

With a single tear rolling down my cheek, I finally confessed.

"Because of you", my voice waivered.

Her eyes widened, as she slowly put the icepack down.

"Since the last time we spoke, I've been going through the worst time"

A tear rolled down my cheek and my entire body began to chill. Her brows met in a sadness that was too deep to describe.

“I thought I could get over it, but I couldn’t have been more wrong and it didn’t hit me till I left your house”

“Then why did you?”

“I…”

It was as if all the words were caught in my throat with no way out.

What was I meant to say? What could I say? Anything I thought of wouldn’t excuse the way I’d walked out on her. I would be lucky if she could’ve even look me in the eyes again, much less forgive me.

“I was a coward”

She shakes her head, averting her gaze down to her lap.

“So much so that it made me lose you”

I hear a sigh and I couldn’t decipher whether she was disappointed or annoyed.

“I should’ve stayed. I should’ve given this a fighting chance. It was unfair, cruel and undeserved. You were the first person to show me kindness and it scared me. I didn't know how to receive that kind of care and I know that isn't an excuse, but that was the reason and I can't tell you how sorry I am"

The silence was the most painful part. It sent knives straight through my chest and there was nothing I could do to alleviate that burn.

“I understand if you want me to leave. I deserve that”, I sobbed,

Picking at the lose thread on my uniform, when she takes my hand.

“I don’t want that”, she finally spoke,

"You leaving did hurt me and it was something that I thought I'd be angry for, but...I wasn't. I was sad. Sad because I thought you didn't care for me the way I cared for you. You were my favorite part of every single waking moment. Your laugh, your smile, the way you talk, the heart you have, I've never seen anything like it"

I felt every piece of me break with each word.

"This whole time, that's all I could think about. That you didn't feel the same", she continued,

Gathering her own tears now.

"Rhea", I muttered,

Taking her face into my hands.

"You don't understand how much I love you"