#and i thought that meant the shot didn’t count and we were all silent for a second then we all looked at each other | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cozage · 1 year ago

Note

hii can i request silent treatment with sabo, law, and ace? like the one you wrote before! i love reading it sm i wanted to see how they (sabo, law, and ace) would react if they received/ gave silent treatment !

Characters: gn reader x Sabo, Law, Ace Cw: everyone involved being a bit of an orange flag Total word count: 4k

Silent Treatment

Sabo

Oh sweet sweet Sabo. He didn’t even realize his offhanded joke in the meeting had offended you. He didn’t think about how you and Koala were the only ones not laughing about the jokes the officers said. He didn’t notice how you and Koala immediately left the room fuming as soon as you could.

He had to run to catch up with you after the meeting, and you showed no sign of slowing your pace.

“Hey!” he called out, trying to get to you. “I’m gonna go out with the guys for a bit, I’ll catch up with you soon?”

“Do whatever you want,” you shot back. “The men know best after all, right?”

He must not have heard the sarcasm and anger laced in your voice, because he just gave you a wink and a peck on the cheek and ran off with some of the other leaders.

Koala gave you a side smirk. “They’re clueless, I swear,” she laughed.

“We never get the credit,” you grumbled. “I can’t do it anymore, Koala! I’m so fed up with this!”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“So many times!” you cried. “We’re treated the same professionally but socially-”

“It’s a commanders club,” she finished for you. “Maybe we should make a separate club?”

“Rule One: No talking to them until they apologize.”

Sabo was surprised to find that you weren’t waiting for him in bed when he got home. You weren’t in the spare room, either.

He finally found a note on the kitchen that was short and to the point. “Sleeping at Koala’s.”

Confusing, but he was slightly drunk, so he opted to go to bed and figure it out in the morning.

When morning came, he was disappointed to find that the coffee hadn't started. He went to grab his overnight oats from the fridge, but you hadn’t made that for him either, which was strange. Usually when you stayed at Koala’s, you prepped all that stuff ahead of time. But last night you hadn’t. He’d have to ask you about that before the meeting this morning.

He arrived late to the meeting since the coffee took longer than he thought it would and he had to make breakfast. You were already sitting when he got there, you and Koala talking to each other quietly. Normally you saved a se at for him, but today all of the seats had been filled, and he was left with one at the end of the table.

He kept trying to catch your eye, but you refused to look at him. He finally caught Koala’s at one point, and mouthed “What’s wrong?” but she simply rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Dragon.

If Koala was mad at him, that meant you were mad at him. He racked his brain the entire meeting, trying to think of what he would’ve done to make you upset. But he couldn’t think of anything.

He tried to catch you after the meeting, but you and Koala made a beeline for the door and ignored his calls after you.

“Just let them go, dude,” Jiron said to him. “Those two never want to hang out with us anyway.”

Shit. It all clicked together. The jokes made in the meeting yesterday, him going out with the boys without asking if you and Koala had wanted to come.

“Maybe if you treated them with a little respect, Jiron, they would.” Sabo’s words came out in a low, threatening hiss.

“Look, I know you’re close with them,” Jiron said. “But they’re not very nice to us either. They’re kind of…”

“Kind of what?” Sabo edged, his blood starting to boil.

“Well…bitchy.”

Sabo wasn’t really sure what happened next. He didn’t remember doing anything, but the next moment, Jiron was on the ground holding his nose. Blood was leaking out through his fingers onto the ground.

“Don’t use that word to describe either of them ever again. Got it?” Sabo growled the words, looking around the room.

“What the FUCK, Sabo?” Jiron cried, but Sabo was already pacing toward the door, desperate to get to you as soon as possible.

He caught up with you and Koala quickly and jumped between the two of you, wrapping his arms around your alls shoulders. You tensed at his touch, but once you realized it was him, you just scoffed and shrugged him off.

“Go away, Sabo,” Koala sneered as she shoved him away.

“I’m sorry!” Sabo jumped in front of you all, trying to block your path. “Please, I’m sorry I laughed at those jokes yesterday and even made one myself. That was really shitty of me.”

“Sabo,” you sighed, shaking your head.

He fell to his knees and looked up at you, begging. “And please teach me how to use the coffee machine! And make overnight oats! I’ll make it from now on. I’m starving and I’m sorry.”

His apology made you giggle, and you took his hands and helped him to his feet. Once he was standing, you laced your fingers through his. “You’ll really make the oats?”

“If you want me to.”

“Deal.” You smiled, and gave him a soft kiss to seal his promise. “Can’t go back on it now.”

“And how are you going to make it up to me?” Koala pouted.

“Oh,” Sabo suddenly got very bashful. “I punched Jiron, I think.”

“You WHAT?!”

Law

You bounded into Law’s office, excited to tell him the news. “Law! Shachi just caught-”

“Hang on,” Law mumbled, flicking through his book. He was always looking for something. You were always interrupting him.

After a few minutes, he looked up at you. “Okay, go ahead.”

“Shachi just caught an electric eel! A massive one!”

The moments the words left your mouth, Law was back to looking back at his book. “Interesting. Is that all?”

“Well, I just thought-”

“Hang on,” he mumbled again, already lost on another tangent in his head.

“Don’t worry about it.” You left the room before he had a chance to respond, though you doubt he even noticed your absence.

He got like this sometimes, and you tried not to get hurt by his sudden coldness. It’s just what happened when you were with the Surgeon of Death. A few hours later you had all but forgotten the encounter. There was an island coming up, and you ran to alert him.

“Law!” You slammed his door open, ecstatic. “Law! Guess-”

“Do you mind?!” His loud and hostile voice made you take a step back. “I’m trying to do something and you keep interrupting me!”

You pushed down the lump that was in your throat, but you could feel your lip trembling, threatening to give you away. You couldn’t look weak in front of him.

“Sorry,” you whispered, rushing out of the room.

Shachi found you first, furiously wiping the tears from your face. “I told you, you’re too good for him! Maybe you should give him a taste of what it’s like to lose you.”

“Like how?”

A devious grin grew on Shachi’s face. “Silent treatment.”

“Hey captain.” Bepo peeked in the door nervously, knowing there was tension about to be caused. “We’re heading off to the island.”

Law looked up from his book, confused. “Island?” You always told him when you were about to approach an island.

“We docked about a half hour ago,” Shachi chimed in from the hallway.

Law could hear something in his voice. “Where’s Y/N? Are they going?”

“They're going,” Shachi said, grabbing the door handle.

“Well, can you-” Law’s words were cut off by Shachi slamming the door shut.

That was Law’s first indication of something stirring. Shachi always took your side during squabbles, and he seemed livid today.

Law meant to go talk to you. He wasn’t sure what he needed to apologize for, but he knew it was something. But then he found an interesting article about poisons, and he got sucked into reading. Before he knew it, the sun had set and he had to turn on a lamp to keep reading.

Shachi, on the other hand, kept your mind busy. He took you out on the town, dragging you into every clothing shop and making you try anything on that even might look good on you. He pulled you into dessert shops and trinket stores and forced you to go on a beach walk with him. He was your best friend for a reason.

“What if he doesn’t apologize?” you asked him, watching the sun sink. “Then you don’t talk to him, no matter what,” Shachi responded.

Law was still shut away in his office when you returned, and your heart felt a soft ache. He hadn’t even noticed your absence.

“Come on,” Shachi said gently. “You can sleep in our room.”

“I should go talk to-”

“No,” Shachi said firmly. “He always does this. He needs to learn his lesson.” So you slept in the crew bunkhouse for the first time in months. Nobody asked questions, everyone just accepted it. You suspected Shachi had filled them in.

It took Law a few minutes to realize what was wrong. He had come into his room silently and brushed his teeth in the dark before bed like always. It was quieter than usual. And when he went to lay down, the bed was still made. As he pulled the covers back, he couldn’t help but notice how unnatural it felt. But he couldn’t place why.

It was too cold, he realized. And he quickly flicked on a light in the room to find it empty. Thoughts raced through his mind. Where were you? Had you gone missing? Had the Navy or someone else captured you to turn you in for a bounty?

He quickly walked to the shared common room, where he found Penguin and Ikkaku sitting. “Did you go to the island?” he asked, scanning the room. It was too late for you to be up, but he had to double check.

They both nodded, and Law tried not to panic. “Did Y/N come back?”

“Yeah,” Penguin affirmed. “We had dinner with them and Shachi, and we all walked back together.” He gave Ikakku a nervous glance before continuing. “I think they’re sleeping in the shared bunkhouse.”

“What?” Law hissed. “Why?” But Ikkaku and Penguin both shrugged, and Law turned and stormed out the door, making a beeline for the bunkhouse.

He flung the door open, searching for you. He quickly found you in the bunk below Shachi, and he walked over to where you were sleeping.

“What are you doing?” Law said, shaking you lightly. “Come to bed.”

You groaned in your sleep and pushed him away. You never slept well in the bunkhouse. You were a light sleeper, any type of noise made you wake up.

“Y/N,” Law said, shaking you harder. “Let’s go.”

“Law?” Your eyes finally opened, your voice full of exhaustion and sleep. Once you realized it was him, you slapped a hand over your mouth. Silent Treatment.

Law could see the hurt and anger in your eyes when you recognized him, and his heart constricted when you turned away from him.

“Can we talk about what’s going on? Please?” he begged. He was trying not to disturb others, but you could hear them beginning to stir.

You almost caved, but Shachi came to your rescue. He hopped down from his bed and put himself between you and Law. “You can talk in the morning,” Shachi said. “Y/N wants to be here, so let them sleep here.”

Law tried to look past Shachi to you. “I know you can’t stand sleeping here. Just come to bed. Please.”

“Captain.” Shachi’s voice was on the verge of dangerous defiance. “Leave.”

Law stared at him, not sure what to make of Shachi’s protectiveness over you. His gaze was almost challenging, but Shachi refused to back down. He could hear the others in the room starting to stir, and he knew he was only embarrassing you, so he conceded. “I’m coming back first thing.”

“That’s fine,” Shachi said. “If Y/N wants to talk then, you’re welcome to have a conversation.”

Law slept horribly that night. His fingers kept reaching out for you. The bed felt too big, the covers weren’t warm enough. He finally got up and started reading. He was too anxious to sleep.

So were you. You were tossing and turning every 20 minutes, trying to get comfortable. You couldn’t sleep without Law’s heartbeat thrumming in your ears. But Shachi made you promise to never admit it.

Law was sitting in the hallway outside the door when you went to get breakfast. You almost tripped over him, and when he saw you, he immediately stood to his feet. His tired gold eyes pierced into your soul, and you could see he was in rough shape. “Can we talk now?” He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice, but you could hear it loud and clear.

You gave a panicked look to Shachi, but he only gave you a smile and a small nod, encouraging you on.

You gave Law a nod in agreement. You still weren’t ready to talk to him, but you could listen.

“I did something yesterday,” Law said, closing the door to his office as you walked in. “I snapped at you when you were excited about something. I prioritized my studies over you and I’m sorry.”

You watched him closely, making sure his words were genuine. Law had a tendency to apologize when he knew you wanted to hear it, not when he actually felt bad about it.

“I’ve been doing that a lot lately,” he continued. “I tend to get obsessed with my work, and my relationships hurt because of it. And I know it’s not fair to ask you, but I need you to tell me when I’m hurting you. Because I don’t want to hurt you. That’s the last thing I want. So please…tell me. Yell at me. Smack me. Just don’t…don’t disappear on me. Please.”

Your heart melted at his words. You walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his neck. “And you won’t get mad?”

“I promise I won’t.”

You gave him a mischievous grin. “Even if I smack you really hard?”

“I feel like I’m going to regret saying that,” he groaned.

You giggled and gave him a soft kiss. “Too late, Captain.” You rested your head on his shoulder, his familiar scent making your eyes start to droop. “Can we go back to bed now?”

“Bed would be nice,” he mumbled into your hair, already pulling you toward his private room.

Ace

Fifteen people in the bar, and your boyfriend had flirted with every single one.

Friendly. That’s what he always called it. He was just being friendly. But you saw the way those commoners looked at him, the lust in their eyes. Getting with a pirate would be thrilling, they’d whisper when his back was turned. He never seemed to hear them talk about him, but he’d always be around them. Convenient.

“You shouldn’t be bothered,” he’d always say. “You know that I’ll always choose you.”

But you were bothered. You hated the pit of jealousy that formed in your gut every time a new person walked up to him. They were always so touchy, rubbing their hands along his shoulders, and the daring ones would even venture down his chest. Like he was their plaything. But he didn’t belong to them.

He was yours. Just not in this bar. Or any bar.

Maybe it was time to give him a taste of his own medicine. You were certain he wouldn’t be able to stand the thought of you flirting with another man.

Your eyes met an attractive man across the bar, and you decided it would be a good theory to test.

Seeing what you were about to do, Marco grabbed your wrist, pulling you back down into the seat. “Wait,” he muttered.

“Stay out of it, Marco,” you hummed softly. Your voice was pleasant, but there was a threatening undertone to it.

“If you want to make him jealous that will end in a fight and change nothing except the intensity of your makeup sex, go for it.”

Your cheeks brightened at his words, and you finally broke your eye contact with the random man to look at the commander. “Marco-!”

“But if you want to make him panic and stay by your side from now on, listen.” Marco’s voice got low. “Ace looks over here at least once every five minutes. He’s checking on you. I’m guessing jealous sex is his-“

“MARCO!”

“Anyway, I guarantee if you vanish, it’ll make him sweat. Just go back to the Moby Dick, and crash in my room for the night if you want. Give him a bit of the silent treatment. Don’t lean into what he wants. Push away, and I know he’ll stop.”

“How?”

“Because he’s head over heels for you, dummy. Even right now, all he wants is your attention. Don’t give it to him and you’ll cut the bad habits.”

It was worth a shot, and you wouldn’t have to talk to any sleazy guys to test the theory.

“You’re the best, Marco.” You flashed him a grin and stood, giving Ace one last glance. “But never talk about my sex life again.”

“Oh please,” Marco scoffed. “You have no idea what the commanders talk about during shower time, do you?”

Your eyes widened in horror, but Marco just laughed. “Relax! It was a joke!”

“It better be!” you hissed. “Or I’ll skin that boy alive.”

You gave one more glance to Ace. He was caught up in some conversation with a woman, giving her most of his attention. You rolled your eyes, jealousy panging in your chest, and slipped out the door.

The first two times Ace glanced over at your table, he wasn’t worried about your absence. But the third time, he started to get a bad feeling. You had been gone for too long.

He wandered back to the table, trying to appear casual and unbothered. “Hey Marco,” he said, bringing him another beer. “Where’s Y/N?”

Marco knew he was using the beer as a bribe, but took it anyway. “Not sure, they walked out about thirty minutes ago. Hasn’t been back since.”

“What?” Ace could feel himself sobering up, worried about your safety. “Where’d they go?”

“They seemed tired,” Marco said, watching Ace carefully.

“But they always tell me when they’re going home,” Ace grumbled, looking around. “I’m gonna head back too. Kind of over this whole scene.”

Marco chuckled, reading through Ace’s words, but he didn’t say anything further. He watched Ace walk out the door and back to the ship without so much as a goodbye to anyone in the bar, and he knew his plan would work.

Ace tried not to panic when you weren’t in his room. Sometimes you slept in other places, like the common room or the bunkhouse. Especially on drunken nights, you always seemed to find some random place to pass out. But you always told him when you were going to bed.

He didn’t sleep well. He wandered around the ship several times, trying to appear unbothered. But he was searching every nook and cranny, desperately looking for where you had landed yourself.

He didn’t see you again until the next morning, sitting at the breakfast table with Marco and a few others. You were completely surrounded by people, but Ace stopped by your seat on the way to the breakfast line.

“Hey.” He touched your shoulder and you stiffened at the contact, which was odd. Normally you leaned into his touch. You always looked up at him full of love, silently begging him for a morning kiss. But this morning you didn’t even bother to look his way. “Where’d you end up last night?” he asked.

“My room,” Marco answered for you, laughing. “That sure was a shock to walk into!”

You laughed, shoving Marco slightly. You still refused to acknowledge Ace, though it was starting to get difficult. “Hey Thornton, you left shortly before me. Where did you end up?”

“I swear I could’ve made it back to my room if I wanted to!” he bellowed, and everyone laughed.

“Right!” you laughed. “I bet the deck all night sure was cozy!”

You were ignoring him. Ace was sure of it. Had something happened between you and Marco…no. The two of you had only ever been friends, so close you might as well have been siblings.

He finally left you alone, his brain in overdrive trying to figure out what had made you so upset since the last time he spoke to you.

“You flirt too much,” Marco said, joining him in line.

Ace looked back at him, confused. “What?”

“You’re wondering why Y/N is ignoring you, right?” Ace shrugged, trying not to show that it was bothering him too much, but Marco clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Drop the act, man. You should care. And I know you do. I can practically see the steam coming out of your ears trying to figure it out.”

“I just like to talk to people,” Ace defended. “What’s the harm in that?”

“The harm is you don’t just talk. You flirt.” Marco chuckled, shaking his head. “I know what you’re doing, dude, and I don’t blame you. But you’ve got a good thing. Don’t lose it because you want to…talk.”

Ace frowned, annoyed with being called out so personally, but he thought about it while he ate his breakfast alone. He knew how much you hated the way he treated local islanders when you all went out. But he loved the jealous, possessive side of you. He loved watching you fight for him, even if you were fighting with him.

He found you lounging on the deck, reading a magazine. He walked over to you and sat on the edge of the lounger. He saw your eyes flick up and then immediately back to the magazine, and he could’ve sworn the air temperature dropped 10 degrees.

“Hey,” he cooed, his hands dancing up your legs, finding the spots he knew you were ticklish.

You tried to move your legs, but there weren't many places to escape to without getting up and walking away.

“Please talk to me,” he pouted. He leaned against you, pushing your magazine out of the way and resting his head on your chest, looking up at you with his signature puppy dog eyes.

You turned your head away from him, trying your best to ignore him even though he was physically on top of you, pinning you down.

“Pleaseeeee,” Ace begged. His hands came up and playfully squished your cheeks, and you struggled to keep a straight face. He was so good at making you smile.

“Go away,” you finally said, trying to push him off of you. It was useless, but you had to try.

“You speak!” Ace cheered, and you rolled your eyes. You were tired of his antics. You wanted an apology.

“I’m so lonely without you, babe,” Ace sang offkey, his fingers tracing along your shoulders. “Please come back to me, my loveeeee.”

You didn’t react, but you could feel your vision starting to get blurry. He was too stubborn, but you couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep being humiliated and forced to watch Ace live the best of both worlds.

“I’m sorry,” Ace finally whispered when he saw your eyes starting to get watery. “I know I’m a little insane.”

You finally looked at him, still silent. Waiting for more.

“And I’m sorry I’ve been hurting you for so long,” he said. “I don’t want to lose you. So no more flirting with random people in bars. You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

“Promise?” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I promise,” he said, nuzzling into your chest and hugging you tight. He’d hold you close and never let you slip away again.

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skzdarlings · 11 months ago

Text

sharing a bed ; seungmin ; sequel

masterlist.

original one-shot.

pairing: kim seungmin/reader content info: sexual content. enemies2lovers. sequel to sharing a bed one-shot linked above. morning afters. running from feelings. making reader jealous. confrontation with a creep and light violence. sexual content includes blow-jobs, hand jobs, strap-on blowjobs, 69ing, rimming, pegging, light choking. some brat seungmin and sort of brat tamer reader (kinda just likes the brat lol). word count: 7k.

Kim Seungmin, the perpetual thorn in your side and ache in your head, is torturing you.

Not the fun kind of torture, either. You had your fill of that two nights ago when a silly scheme resulted in a horny happenstance and you let yourself get carried away. Your careful control not only slipped, but fell right into the hands of someone you once disliked.

It left you befuddled in the light of the day, when you woke to Seungmin curled around you, his cheek pressing into your bicep and his leg hooked around yours. Not to mention his morning wood digging into your hip. It surfaced memories of the pretty and unexpected piercing you found there, how your idea of this guy was so so wrong. And it made you wonder what else you were wrong about, and all the ways this burgeoning something could go wrong in turn. Your thoughts spiralled.

You were no longer handcuffed, so you slipped out of bed and walked right out the front door. You hoped a walk through the brisk winter morning would help clear your mind. It did, but only momentarily. When you got back to the vacation house and ran into Seungmin, you fumbled. Badly. You meant to be pragmatic but came across dismissive. Something about how last night was the only night. Something about how you were bad at commitments. Something about being better off friends.

Seungmin was silent the whole time, letting you ramble like an idiot. Then his eyes narrowed and he laughed. It was an airy, unpleasant, and derisive sound.

“Trust me,” he said. “We will never be friends.”

“Well, fine,” you said, bristling despite the fact you were the one rejecting him. What did you care if he hated you again? You didn’t. You shouldn’t. “Good.”

It was not good. Saying it left a sour taste in your mouth and a pit in your stomach.

And despite it all, your stupid horny hindbrain did not relent, purring like a kitten when Seungmin gave you a judgemental once-over and scoffed. You could not help but remember the very different noises he made last night, again and again, in your hands and mouth, from your actions and words.

You will never look at him the same way again. You have no idea how to move forward, but you know you can never go back. Pretending nothing happened will not work for once.

It freaks you out. You are usually good at shucking attachments. His cold acceptance should not have hurt. What did you care? This vacation would end and you would go back to your own lives, right? So you let Seungmin shove past you. He ignored you for the rest of the day. When he started an argument later, causing everyone else to groan, you replied like always, but it was half-hearted at best.

Oh god, you think now, rubbing the bridge of your nose, I can’t start thinking with my damn heart.

Emotional attachments and long-term romantic liaisons never turn out well. You cut a dashing figure but your many flaws eventually find their way to the surface. It is not worth the inevitable heartbreak when someone sees under the charming mask to the real you.

Rather than suffer later, you are suffering now, brooding over a beer while doing your damnest to not look across the bar. You know you will not like what you see.

You and your friends only have a couple more nights at the vacation lodge, so you all went down to the nearby resort to drink and dance and enjoy a fun night out.

You are not having any fun, of course. You are sitting on a bar stool, all alone at the counter, in your signature leather jacket as you hunch over your drink and glare at nothing in particular.

Seungmin, on the other hand, is suddenly a dazzling socializer rather than an obnoxious stuck-up jerk like he used to be. You expected him to sit in a corner, making snarky remarks all night, but instead he has been moving from person to person, flirting with anything that breathes.

He is also wearing an obscene pair of jeans. No one else in the friend group seemed to notice, not a single eye so much as twitching in his direction, but you noticed. Oh, yeah, you fucking noticed. The second he came bounding the stairs, swinging on a stupid baggy letterman jacket like the twerpy little prep he is. His dark hair neatly combed, bangs swept off his forehead, brightening his gaze.

The jeans. The stupid fucking jeans. Straight-cut denim that has absolutely no business cupping his ass the way it does. And why does he have such a nice ass anyway? It also has no business looking that way.

Kim Seungmin. What a nightmare.

You take a swig of beer and glare at the wall. You tell yourself not to look at him. He is probably leaning over some equally prissy knob and offering to buy them a glass of milk or whatever people like them drink.

So, no. You will not give him the satisfaction. It is no coincidence that in all the time you have known him, Seungmin has never been flirtatious or promiscuous, but the second you turn him down he is slobbering all over anything that moves.

You will not let him get to you. You will not look at him. You will not react.

Except he is already getting to you. So you look over. You react.

“For fuck’s sake,” you grumble, abandoning your beer and stomping down from your stool.

Seungmin is huddled in a booth with some colossal bitch of a man. You recognize him from the other night, remembering how much time he spent harassing the bar staff. Seungmin doesn’t know that. He might be your enemy – or whatever – but you are not gonna leave the guy with that kind of jerk. And you are not secretly thrilled that you are justified in storming over there, drawing up to the table with all the aggression that has been building inside you.

You slap a hand on the table, bringing their attention to you. Seungmin gives you a once-over, then smiles that stupid smile of his, all boxy and puppyish, like you are the funniest punchline to the funniest joke in the world. There was a time you used to fantasize about swiping that smile off his mouth. You are still thinking about occupying his mouth, just not like that.

“Move along,” you say to the creep.

“Excuse me?”

He is already drunk. You can smell it as much as see it. Seungmin is looking very smug and you start to feel like he picked this guy on purpose.

Seungmin drives you crazy, he really does. One second he is all good boy, the next he is purposefully throwing himself at a creep just to get a rise out of you. You feel like he would take a running leap off the mountainside if he was inclined to a prove a point to someone. He is fearless and ridiculous and you want to hate him. You want him to be the boring two-dimensional snob you thought he was. You have no idea what to do with the complicated man in front of you.

That’s a lie, you think, meeting his gaze. You know exactly what to do with him.

You swear his eyes are twinkling. He slouches back comfortably, arms crossed.

“I told you once,” you say, tearing your gaze from him to look at the creep. “Now move along.”

“Try me.”

The guy was only bothering women and seems uninterested in Seungmin so you suspect he just wants to piss you off, but then he puts a hand on him anyway, grabbing Seungmin by the arm so suddenly that it surprises him.

Before Seungmin can shake him off, you snatch the guy by his wrist and twist. He yelps, struggling to wrestle his arm back from your iron grip. You slam him against the back of the booth.

“Touch him again,” you say, “and I will break your hand. You wanna try me?”

He opens his mouth, no doubt to spew some smelly rejoinder, but you don’t stick around for it. You grab Seungmin by the elbow and yank him out of the booth. You drag him away.

“Excuse me,” Seungmin says, not politely, ripping his arm back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I think I’m saving your dumb ass from getting felt up by every creep on this mountain.”

“Meh-meh-meh,” he mocks, dodging when you reach for him again. “I’m having fun. I don’t need you to do anything. It’s not like you’d really care if something happened to me. Bad,” he smirks, “or good.”

He knows he has you cornered. You might have the physicality over him, but he is holding this entire scene in his hands. You can only rub your jaw and shake your head, trying and failing to remember how to act indifferent.

He has the tiniest drop of cream on his upper lip, leftover from the sugary abomination someone bought him.

You say nothing in reply to his deliberate antagonizing. You plant one hand on your hip and reach for him with the other. When he tries to dodge, you grab him by the shoulder, firmly putting him in place. He does not move the second time, standing still while you wipe a thumb across the sugary residual.

Then you push at his bottom lip, press down, flicking your thumb so it bounces back. His stare is unwavering. He is not the blushing type, but he noticeably swallows.

“Come on,” you say, zipping up your jacket. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“What if I don’t want to?” he asks.

You grab the back of his neck and drag him right up against you.

“I didn’t ask,” you say.

“Friends don’t get to make demands, dumbass,” he says, sneering the word friends. He does not wriggle away, but he does not fully surrender either. He meets your stare head-on, unmoving and unintimidated.

He is going to make you say it. He is not going to let you act sexy and charm your way out of it. He is going to stand in this bar with your hand uselessly holding his neck until you do.

“Fine,” you say. You exhale. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I said all that dumb shit. I’m a moron.”

“Yes,” he says. “You are.”

“I didn’t think it would matter that much anyway.”

“Because you aren’t the romantic type,” he says dryly.

“Because I didn’t think you’d care,” you admit. “You don’t like me and we don’t get along anyway. I just—” You finally drop your hand, waving at nothing and looking away. You can feel him glaring at you. “Look, I suck, I get it. Believe me, I know all the ways I suck. I figured I’d spare us the mess when you figured that out so I just walked away while it was still good.”

“You’re an even bigger idiot than I thought,” he says. He is still frowning at you. “I already know how much you suck. It was the first thing I noticed, you arrogant, womanizing ass.”

“Hey now…”

“You’re vulgar and loud and, for someone without a dick, you think with it constantly.”

“I… don’t…” You do.

“And for some reason even though you are the biggest idiot and the worst person I have ever met,” he says, still glaring, “I still like something about you. Because even though you’re determined to not let anyone see your good side, unfortunately you have one. Even though it’s buried so deep you have to walk into hell to find it.”

It did not really occur to you that Seungmin has already seen your worst qualities. Because you did not get along, you never felt a need to hide those attributes. Inadvertently, you have been more open and honest with this annoyingly handsome brat than anyone else you have ever known.

You cannot help the smile tugging at your lips. Seungmin rolls his eyes.

“You’re hopeless,” he says, shaking his head as he shoves past you. “Take me home, idiot, before I come to my senses.”

You turn to follow him, only to get bopped on the nose when he shoves a pointed finger in your face.

“If you even think about acting like a moron in the morning,” he says, “I will kill you and make it look like an accident.”

You draw a cross over your heart and nod. He huffs in aggravation, turning on his heel and stomping outside.

“You’re the worst,” he says. He swings open the door and stomps into the snowy night, seemingly unbothered by the fluffy bits of snow swirling around his face. He just swings up his hood and marches through the downy white carpet. “You better make this worth my while,” he says.

Your eyes are on his ass in those jeans, thinking about how you very much will be making it worth his while. You look up when he keeps grumbling to himself, a marked sign he is maybe more nervous than he is letting on. You remember his stubbornness before his eventual acquiescence, the way he hid his face at his most vulnerable moments.

You might be in the habit of ducking out the door, but he deflects just as much with his wit.

You hurry your pace, catching up to him. He is still muttering to himself, head down, a soft layer of snow dusting his jacket and hood. It must be all over your head but you hardly feel the cold. Your mind is on warmth, that stupid heart of yours suddenly flooded with it.

You want this to be good for him, even if he would never outright ask for you to be kind. It is all the more reason to make sure you are. You really were such an idiot.

Your grip is firm but not rough, hand curling protectively over his shoulder. This touch invites more than demands.

He stops in place, looking at you with a wary glare. It disappears when you swoop in. His hood falls as you tug him close. He goes without protest, lips parting under yours with a claiming so heated that the cold does not stand a chance against you.

You try to keep it romantic, a rare act of restraint on your part, but the supposed good boy drags the zipper of your coat down, down, down, then grabs your belt and tugs. You stumble, uncharacteristically shaky, gasping against his lips when he grinds his knuckles against the zip of your jeans.

“Tsk,” he says, lips still brushing yours. “Not prepared.”

“I was planning on sitting around feeling sorry for myself,” you say, with a helpless laugh despite his teasing. You grab his wandering hand, leading it away from your crotch. You are eternally grateful your dick is the kind you can leave in your sock drawer, because resisting him right now would have been impossible otherwise.

“Trust me,” you say. “I’ll make up for it.”

“Fine,” he says. “I will. You better not let me down.” He looks at you when he says this, as close to imploring as Seungmin ever does.

You feel the weight of that trust. You nod, swallowing, looking at his lips, full and pink from the hard press of your kiss. You lean in for more when he abruptly zips your coat again, all the way up to your chin so he smacks your jaw.

“Come on then,” he says with that mean little laugh as he scampers away, grinning at you. “Are you gonna prove it or not?”

It is a short drive back to the cabin, and a torturous one to boot. Not because Seungmin touches you, but because he doesn’t, and he won’t let you touch him either. You try to put a hand on his knee but every attempt is rebuffed. All you get is that cheeky grin or a glare, then a mere flick of his wrist as he brushes you away like lint.

Somehow it is more maddening than a direct touch. You can feel him everywhere just by his proximity. He even jumps out of the car before you unbuckle your seatbelt. He is inside the cabin before you reach the door.

You are panting from the sprint up the driveway, trying to keep up, not entirely convinced he won’t play you for a sucker and run right out the back door. It would be like Seungmin to make you chase him up the mountainside. You wouldn’t blame him for making you prove yourself, considering what an ass you were.

But he is waiting inside the cabin. Everyone else is out for the night and should be gone for hours. When you close the door, sealing out the cold and the world, this cabin feels flush with more heat than you know what to do with.

You do not hesitate. The tantalizing promise of more is like a touch on its own, heightened by his stubborn refusal to give you anything easily. It makes catching him that much more satisfying, that soft sound all the sweeter when you pull him into your arms and finally steal that kiss.

His skin is cool from the weather but his mouth is warm, the kiss searing hot. He digs his blunt nails into the arms of your jacket, pressing the whole length of his hard body against yours.

You remember his unexpectedly tender places, how just a faint stroke behind his ear will have him curling into you, how looping some hair around your fingers and tugging will deepen the rumbling sound that spills past his lips.

You unzip his coat while kissing, licking into him while he scrambles to help strip. The coat hits the floor in a damp heap. You separate for just a moment, giving him the chance to tug his hoodie up and off. You toss your own jacket over the nearby couch, then hook your fingers into his belt loops and pull him close.

His hair is in an endearing state of dishevelment and he looks flushed from the rush of warmth after the chill. Just looking at him like this has you throbbing. You try to imagine telling the old you that you would feel that way, that the annoying friend-of-a-friend who mutually hated your guts would be looking at you like he wants to devour you and let you return the favour.

You can’t imagine believing it. Now it feels completely natural, letting him walk you backwards until your back hits the wall and his chest is pressed to yours, rising and falling with the quickness of his breath.

He is looking aside, contemplatively. You cup his jaw and draw him back to you, unable to resist a breathless laugh when he nips at your fingers. You do not shy away or let go, and that seems to placate him. He practically melts against you, your hand curving around the shape of his cheek, lowering to curl gently around the side of his neck.

“We should go upstairs,” you say. The stairs are right beside you, but somehow the bedroom seems too far.

Impossibly, ridiculously far, when Seungmin flicks some hair out of his eyes and looks at you intensely.

“Don’t you want me on my knees?” he asks.

Your response is not a real word, just a rough sound. He smirks, but is still flushed and a little shaky as he sinks onto his knees. He gets your belt open, tugs it free, and tosses it to the side. The sight of him licking his lips has you seeing stars before he even leans in.

You brush some of his hair back, looking down at his face as he focusses on unzipping your jeans. He has the fly down when you catch your breath and your senses.

You gather the hair at his nape in your fist and tug, firm and sharp. His mouth falls open and his breath stutters, eyes so dark and lips so wet and plush that you are tempted to drive his face right between your legs, where is obviously offering to be.

But that’s not how you want to do this, not yet. You move from his hair to his neck, wrapping your hand around his throat and watching his eyelashes flutter with surprise. There is always a breath of panic in that surprise, adrenaline fueling the flood of desire that follows. He is visibly hard, straining in those sinful jeans, breathing harder as you none-too-nicely push him down onto the stairs.

“What are you doing,” he says, though it sounds like less like a question than acceptance. Continue, waving his hand like a prince on silk sheets even though he is sprawled on his back on the staircase.

“Making it worth your while,” you say. He is not wearing a belt because these jeans are made for his body, snug and perfect and fitted everywhere, so it is just a matter of unbuttoning—

Oof.

He plants his foot on your chest like last time, pushing you back. He blinks innocently.

“Shoes first,” he says.

You smile, though it less playful than predatory, a promise in the flash of your teeth. You nonetheless obey his silly whim as you tug off one shoe than the other. It leaves a damp patch on your shirt which he remarks on. You roll your eyes but tug your shirt off, sports bra following.

The second time you push him down, you are even less nice. You gather his hands in yours and pin them above his head, holding him there when he squirms ineffectively.

“You’re kind of a brat,” you say, yanking his zipper down. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“You,” he says, panting around the word. “Jerk.”

You laugh, then cover his mouth with yours, swallowing the moan that takes him by surprise. His hips buck towards you when you reach into those jeans to take him in hand. He wriggles in your hold, arms straining while his hips lift toward you for more, following the snapping rhythm of your hand. You trace the dick piercings that caught you by surprise last time, the metal smooth under your rolling thumb.

You only release him when you duck down, tasting for yourself, relishing in the sounds that spill out of him. He claws at your bare shoulder, spreading his legs to make room for you to lay between them. His head falls back, resting on the step above while you work him in your mouth.

“I’m—I’m—” His voice gets lighter, breathier, his orgasm hitting him all at once. He throws an arm over his face instinctively, head thrown back, hips lifting. It catches you by surprise, making you choke just a bit, but he is already coming so you ride it out.

He is still twitching when he finishes, gasping behind his arm when you roll a thumb around his piercing again. When he hisses, knees jerking, you let go.

Knowing him better than you ever thought you would, you move, stretching out alongside him. You tug him into your arms and he goes without hesitation, burying his face in your neck. You snake a hand under his shirt, stroking his back affectionately.

Once more, you are genuinely endeavouring to be sweet.

Once more, he shoves his hand down your pants.

“Hello—” It is all you manage before he is touching you, finding all that wet desire and rubbing a little haphazardly. It makes you laugh and you grab his wrist, slowing him down. “Easy,” you say, showing him a better pace. “Just like that is good.”

He learns quickly. It was the same last time. Every idea you introduced, he contemplated, experimented, then excelled. With just a nudge now, he skillfully obliges. He is breathing hard against your throat, pressed so close to your whole body, his fingers finding all your secrets and working them out. You slide a hand down his backside, squeezing a handful of his ass. The sound he makes has you coming faster than usual.

He puts his hand on your thigh, then lifts his head and grins at you.

“I’m still winning,” he says.

“It’s still not a contest,” you reply, quirking an eyebrow.

“It is,” he says. “And I’m winning.”

“I see.”

You scoop him into your arms and cart him up the stairs. He situates himself by the time you reach the bedroom, legs around your waist and arms around your shoulder.

“Still winning?” you ask.

“Obviously,” he replies.

You shake your head and sigh but with no real animosity, just like his smirk is more playful than vicious. You still whole-heartedly believe he is capable of catching you off guard, so you are prepared for the brat switch to flip at the slightest provocation.

You drop him onto the bed with a gentle thump, then cross your arms and look down at him.

“Can I leave you unsupervised for two minutes while I get my dick?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he says, blinking innocently. “Can you?”

“Probably not,” you say, but retreat nonetheless. Your equipment is in your travel bag. You left it behind when you went to the bar because you were not in the mood for a hook-up, which should have been the first sign you were hopeless. You were already in waters far too deep when you tried reaching for that shitty life preserver. Learning to swim is not easy but infinitely more rewarding.

You change into packing boxers and tuck your toy into it, buttoning up the pocket. You grab some lube and a towel, then walk back to his bedroom, certain that he has somehow caused trouble in the five minutes it took to do all that.

He’d naked. Of course he is. Sitting where you left him, perched on the edge of the bed, but his clothes are folded in a pile on the dresser and he has nothing but a bedsheet pulled over his lap. He is not wearing his usual cheeky expression, though, and you are about to ask if something is wrong. Then he says, “I’ve never done this before.”

“Oh,” you say. “That’s fine.” It is the unthinking response, automatic as the admission is not too surprising. You live in a world where strap-ons and gender games are the norm, so sometimes you forget that most people consider it inherently kinky or an anomaly. A lot of men are new to it. Seungmin didn’t even know what was packing was when you first mentioned it.

But then he says, “Any of it.”

And you say, “Huh?”

“I’ve never done,” he says slowly, “any of this.”

“Any.”

It takes a long minute to compute. You think about his clumsy touches and experiments followed by his quick learning. Unabashed and unjudgmental regardless of what he encountered. Testing and figuring himself out just as much as you.

“Oh,” you say. Then, “Oh. Fucking shit. I’m such an asshole.”

Because that was his first time doing anything with someone, and you just walked out the door without a word the next morning.

He does not look upset about it anymore. In fact, he laughs, though he tries to hold it back. It turns into a snort he barely catches, amused eyes gazing up at you.

“Yeah,” he says. “You are. We already knew that.”

“I really, I just—”

“Can you shut up and come take my virginity before I get beatified for involuntary chastity?”

“But you’re so fucking hot,” you blurt.

It is obviously not the retort he anticipated, because he blushes profusely, which is not the response you expected.

He clears his throat and looks away, rolling his eyes to compensate for the obvious vulnerability.

“Thanks,” he says. “Stating the obvious. I’m also picky. And apparently I scare people.”

“Scare them?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow. “Who’d be scared of you?”

“Evidently not you,” he says. His tone is snarky but he looks at you, up and down, and the look is a thoughtful one. “Not ever.”

Agh. There’s that heart again, pounding away. Who knew that thing could race so fast.

“Well,” you say, finally putting the bottle and towel on the bedside table. “That is their loss. Not everyone is built for chasing luxury, I guess.”

“Luxury,” he says with another snort, grinning despite himself. “I’m high-end,” he says it like a fact, not a question.

“Naturally,” you say, approaching where he is sitting.

“I’m going to be honest,” he says, eyes wandering your body before landing on your face. “I thought you were going to be weird and egotistical about being with a virgin.”

It suddenly pings in your head that you are his first, that there is a certain responsibility that comes with that. That the wrong person could make this terrible for him. That you want to make sure it feels better than anything he could dream. These thoughts are completely and truly unselfish.

And there is one admittedly egotistical and selfish thought, of making him irrevocably yours with one really good fuck.

He glares when he sees the look on your face, his lips pursed, though a breath of a laugh escapes nonetheless.

“Wow!” he says. “You’re a pig, go away.”

“No, no, I’m not, I swear!” you say, laughing.

He laughs too but shakes his head, pushing you away when you reach for him. “No way,” he says. “You and your ego. Gross.”

“Please, I promise,” you say, getting on your knees and lacing your hands together like a praying supplicant. “I’ll be so normal,” you say. “I have no ego at all.”

“You’re the worst,” he says dryly.

“Yeah, but…” You wiggle your eyebrows at him. “You kinda like me anyway, right?”

It is a more vulnerable question than you thought it would be. It prompts him to look at you, really look at you, before he huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Unfortunately,” he says.

You giggle and he swats your head.

“Are we just going to sit here all night and look at each other?” he asks, crossing his arms.

“No, no, of course not,” you say. You get back on your feet, standing bedside so you are looming over him.

“What are we doing then?” he asks.

“Well, you know what we’re doing,” you say, laughing when he rolls his eyes and huffs again.

You reach out, cupping his face in both your hands and guiding him to look up at you. Your heartbeat hammers away not only in your chest but everywhere else, a rapid current of heat that thunders most prominently between your legs as shiny dark eyes gaze up at you amorously from such a suggestive vantage.

“First, before anything else, this.” You speak in a lower voice, watching his spine straighten as the sound. You run your thumb across his bottom lip like you did earlier, except this time it is a bruised pink from kissing. It really makes you feel like that extra weight in your boxers is coming to life, connected to you intimately, ready and wanting as you are. Especially when you tug on that bottom lip, when he leans towards your hand like he needs it, needs you.

“Now,” you say. “Now I want you on your knees.”

There is a sharp intake of breath before he nods, subtly, then shifts. The sheets falls away from his lap, revealing he is already half-hard again. There are goosebumps along his skin, from his nudity and the chill or just anticipation.

Last time, he needed almost no direction. He followed his own instinct, logically deducing that the part of the toy you could feel was the part at the base, closest to your body. He uses his usual deductions when unbuttoning your boxers, taking a second to first press the base of the toy against you before leaning back and opening his mouth.

It is not easy to come like this, but you are so worked up that it might happen. It does not matter if you do. It is not always about chasing the perfect orgasm. This time, it is touch and sensuality. He lets you teach him, rather than stampeding like last time. You wonder if his heart is pounding given how red the tips of his ears are, blood rushing everywhere in a hurry. You hold his face and slide back and forth, taking your time getting wet, both yourself and the toy, pushing him a little further each time.

When his mouth is full and he blinks slowly, contently, every bratty remark and combative tone far from his mind, you smile and tug his hair. He moans and you push a little more, gliding back and forward again.

“You’re a fast learner,” you say. “Bet you could get used to this.”

It is a testing tease, to great success if the returned moan is anything to go by. He squeezes his eyes shut and starts touching himself, finally moving his head instead of letting you guide him. Before he gets too lost in the rhythm, you ease him back. You smile and rub your thumb across his shiny lips as he blinks up at you.

“Come here,” you say, and kiss him.

He falls into the kiss, arms wrapping around you as you lay down with him. He is eager in the searching heat of the kiss, long and deep and hungry. You get on your back and pull him on top of you, give him one more drawn-out kiss with a filthy wet lick into his mouth, then smile.

“Turn around,” you say. “Keep going.”

It takes him a second to work out what you mean, but he really is a fast learner. Soon he is laying on top of you, face where it was before, mouth wrapping around the end of your dick and his fingers searching beneath it to stroke you directly.

You snatch the lube off the table and wet your fingers then him, taking it slow and easy, using your mouth and spit then more lube until everything is slippery and he gives in so easily into you. He is breathing hard down between your legs, resting his cheek on your thigh and no longer using his mouth on you. His eyes are closed and his hips are rocking, focussed on the sensations that you are certain are overwhelming him.

You move him around, at which point he comes to attention, looking back at you. This is the quietest he has ever been, all the action in his heart as you expected; you can feel it racing when you touch his chest.

You lay him down in front of you, sidling up behind him. You lay a hand on the wildly fluttering race of his pulse, throat cupped in your palm. You turn his face to kiss him, your wet hand stroking your wet dick. You probably should have thrown that towel down before getting started. The sheets are a mess already.

“Ugh, hurry up,” he says, reaching back to smack your thigh. “You’re the worst. I hate you.”

You laugh. Oh well. No time to worry about bedsheets. You give his throat a gentle squeeze and smile at the noise he makes, strained and needy, his hips rearing back into you.

“What?” you ask, sliding the toy down his backside. “You want something?”

“I will bury you in the mountain pass,” he says. “They’ll think it was a skiing accident. And that you got mauled by a bear. And eaten by wolves. And—”

To be honest, having him distracted and rambling is for the best. It means he is more relaxed, not so focussed when you finally start pushing in. Of course, he feels it pretty fast, and instinctively rebels. You stop clutching his throat and hold an arm across his chest instead, holding him protectively and kissing that sweet spot behind his ear. His groaning turns into a whine.

“Okay?” you ask.

“Gonna kill you,” he says.

“That a yes?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” You hook a hand under his leg and pull it up, giving yourself leverage, then fuck into him completely. His whine turns to a sharp yelp, hand scrabbling against the arm on his chest. You let him catch his breath and adjust. “Still okay?”

“It’s weird,” he says.

“Bad weird?”

“No,” he says. “It’s… it’s good. It’s just…” You move a little and his whole body clenches then loosens. He makes a strangled noise but softens in your arms, though his nails have dug a pretty picture into your skin. You are surprised he hasn’t drawn blood. “Ugh,” he says. “It’s so wet. I feel like a river rafting ride.”

“Not… what most people usually say… but okay…”

“I’m… not… most people.”

“No,” you say, kissing that spot again and finally moving your hips. “You’re not.”

You are not sure if his little sound of submission is in response to your actions or your words, but with it he seems to all at once open to you. You find a rhythm, holding his hand when his fingers search for yours on his chest. He ends up biting your arm, which you should have seen coming, but it’s fine because you leave a visible bite mark on his neck in return.

At that he gets into it, meeting the pace you set, altering it to what he wants. It is a good thing the house is empty because you are not quiet at all. If your fooling around was enough to send an aggravated Minho storming after you, then this probably would have led to him burning the cabin down.

The thought makes you snicker, which makes Seungmin ask what is so funny, so you tell him then he laughs too.

“Ugh, stop making me laugh,” he says.

“You can laugh while making love,” you say, kissing his neck. “It’s okay.”

That does not make him laugh but it does make him sigh. “Making love, huh,” he says dryly. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“It didn’t,” you say, finding another sweet spot that has his whole body rearing into yours. “I guess I’m a fast learner too.”

“Ew, you’re so annoying,” he says, but squeezes your fingers in his hand.

“I think you’re not getting fucked right if you’re still this bratty,” you say playfully, prompting him to roll his eyes.

“What are you gonna do about it? Make love at me? Sap.”

You laugh, kiss his neck, then move away to roll him onto his back. He wriggles a bit, surprised with the change and sudden emptiness. His legs part easily when you move between them, but you still snap, “Spread. Good.” Because it makes him swallow hard, his dark eyes sparkling and his mouth bruised, hair mussed and body flushed. He is already a fucked out sight, but he wants more, and you give it.

You snap your hips together and fuck into him. This time you do hold his throat, gently, not repressing air but showing control. He holds your forearm with both hands, his face scrunching up, eyes closed as he focusses in that intense way of his. He breathes hard, makes sweet sounds, and not a single antagonistic or bratty word leaves his pretty mouth.

“I think I’m finally winning,” you tease, to which he just makes a hiccupping sound of pleasure. “Yeah, that’s right.”

You hold his ridiculously pretty dick and give it the expert treatment it deserves. The combination of sensations has him throwing his head back, clawing your arm as you work him in your head. You cannot feel the end of the toy, but there is a magic in this kind of fucking, and when he comes and he clutches your arm and he screams your name, when the muscles in his abdomen clench and you know he is feeling sensation in every part of his body, you can feel him wrapped around you, wholly and completely, like you could feel him when he wasn’t even touching you at all.

He writhes almost desperately as you keep touching him until he can’t take it anymore, then you ease him down and pull back.

“Good?” you ask, sitting back, looking down at him, blissfully fucked out and dishevelled.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “I won. Again.”

“Gonna need to supply me with that rubric one of these days,” you say.

“Meh-meh-meh,” is the half-hearted retort, delving to a sleepy sigh.

“Gotta take care of yourself before you go to sleep,” you say, though you have a feeling it’s a losing battle, his eyelids already heavy.

“That’s what you’re for,” he grumbles.

That damn heart really does have a mind of its own. It has clearly decided to make its presence known whenever it damn well pleases.

You run your fingers through his messy hair, smiling when he blinks up at you.

You tidy him up then scoop him into your arms to carry him to your bed, because that one is not a filthy sex nest. He wakes a little on the journey. And when you lay down and pull a sheet up, he rolls towards you and throws an arm and a leg around you, pinning you to the bed.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say. “I promise.”

“Good,” he says. “You’re too stupid to be out there on your own.”

You laugh in spite of yourself, shaking your head, but you put an arm around him and nod.

“You’re right,” you say.

“Of course I am.” He snuggles in close and sighs. “Now go the fuck to sleep. Your dick is in the sink so you have no excuse. Good night.”

“Good night,” you say with a laugh.

I think I won too, you almost say, but decide let him believe he is the only winner for now, because he is already falling asleep with his head on your shoulder.

You can tell him in the morning.

#kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader #kim seungmin smut #skz smut #skz x reader

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plushibo · 3 months ago

Text

Walking in Wearing a Maid Dress

Characters included: Aether, Xiao, Neuvillette, Gorou, Itto

Total word count: 2.4k

He/Him Reader

Warnings: slightly suggestive, maid dress referred to as being “provocative”, maybe ooc Aether and Neuvillette?, Gorou’s is slightly cut off but i didn’t want it too long lol, cursing (in Itto's)

A/N: when reading x readers, do you prefer third person pronouns (they/he/she) when talking about the reader, or do you prefer second person pronouns (you/your/yours)? I prefer third, but I wanted to know your opinions!

He drummed his fingers along his thighs as he waited. He had never been a very patient person, however, knowing his boyfriend was preparing a surprise for him made him all the more impatient. Aether tried to distract himself from the questions that swarmed his brain. You had clearly prepared for this, especially when he found out that you left Paimon with enough money to keep her occupied for at least a couple of hours.

Aether hummed to himself, laying his head on his arms and wondering what his surprise would be. A present? Or maybe you had some big news to share! Maybe you had gotten that job you were looking into. That would be amazing. He grinned at the thought. He was always so proud of you, no matter what you did. Aether didn’t notice the door quietly opening and a figure silently slipping through the crack.

You eyed your boyfriend as you debated whether or not you really wanted to do this. Venti had bought it for you, insisting it would look great on you. And, it did(not that you would ever show the outfit to Venti)! You just weren’t too sure if you liked how much skin was showing. With a deep breath, you coughed quietly to gather Aether’s attention. His head shot up and he blinked a few times with a blank expression. You could see the sudden redness start to envelop his pale cheeks.

You laughed softly, fiddling with one of the ends of the dress. It was short, only barely covering half of your thighs. It had come with a garter that was perched prettily on your thigh, right under the ending of the dress. The dress itself was colored in Aether’s signature colors- gold and white. Where one would usually find a deep black, it instead glowed with gold. Your gloves went up to your elbows and were white with little golden bows. Your maid cap was skewed slightly on your head, but it was so daintily set there that Aether couldn’t complain even if he wanted to.

“Love?” You mumbled, feeling scrutinized under his eyes. His expression was unmoving for a moment longer before he stepped closer to you.

“Darling, what are you wearing?” He asked. You visibility deflated. His eyes widened and he backtracked, “No, no, no, no, that’s not what I meant! You look, I mean, woah. You’re mine?” He whistled softly. You laughed, shoving him lightly.

“Aether! Stop!” Your words weren’t very strict. Did you truly want him to stop flowering your self-esteem? Not really. He chuckled, allowing a smirk to fall onto his lips.

“Stop? But, darling, we’re just getting started. You can’t expect to walk in here like that and receive no type of reaction.” He reasoned, moving to wrap his arms around you. Your cheeks felt warmer as he held you close to him, swaying softly as his hands drifted over your body. “We still have a few hours until the emergency food returns, anyway, might as well use it well.”

The moment you walked into his field of vision, he was gone. You weren’t surprised to only see the remnants of his black mist starting to fade when you reached the balcony of the Wangshu Inn. Your appearance was certainly new to him. The maid dress you wore bore his signature colors- green, black, and white.

You debated giving him space or not, but then you decided that this was for him. Surely he should see it! “Xiao?” You called. When he didn’t appear in front of you, you knew he was watching you from somewhere you couldn’t see. You chuckled quietly. Even when he was embarrassed, he still wanted to see your newest mischief, you supposed.

“Xiao, come on!” You said into the wind. “If you don’t come down here, I’ll walk downstairs in front of everyone.” You almost felt a change in the wind, almost as if he was trying to determine if your threat was credible or not. You crossed your arms and turned towards the stairs. Within seconds, the man himself appeared before you. You went to speak, only to immediately be teleported to your room at the Inn. “Xiao-”

“Why are you wearing that?” Xiao asked. He avoided eye contact, his arms crossed. He would look intimidating if it wasn’t for the deep pink coating his cheeks.

“For you.” You teased, swaying on your feet. “I thought you might like it.”

“Well. I don’t. Take it off.” You stared at him for a second before shrugging. You went to pull it off before he stopped you. “Stop! What are you doing? Do you have no respect for the Adepti?”

“I was only following your instructions.” You said with a fake pout, leaning over to him. “Don’t you like my outfit, baby? I had it custom made. Look!” You spun around, showing him the white part of the back of the dress. “It has your tattoo on it!” Sure enough, the back of the dress had his green tattoo imprinted on it. You felt him reach out to feel it for a moment before he coughed. You spun around to see him blushing even more furiously as he avoided eye contact at all.

“I-It’s clothes. Nothing more, nothing less.” He replied, grumpily. He couldn’t look at you at all, avoiding staring at any part of you unless it was your shoes.

You smiled sweetly, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek, “Cutie.” You replied. Within seconds, the black inky substance had taken his place, leaving him nowhere to be found. You chuckled to yourself, landing on the bed, “Well, that was longer than I thought he would last.” You mumbled to yourself with a grin and a laugh.

Exactly how he appeared, Neuvillette was a gentleman. One could tell simply by looking at him that he would be respectful to all who speak to him. This fact applied to all, including you, his fiance. After the many years of being together, he was still just as respectful and polite. And, as much as you liked this, you really wanted him to lose his calm for just a moment.

The plan came perfectly. You had found an intricate blue and black maid dress with matching thigh-highs, gloves, and a maid cap. It was risque and showed much more skin than you usually did. As soon as it arrived, you were giddy to try it on. You suited up quickly, knowing your fiance would be returning home soon. You stood in the mirror, staring at yourself.

Your grin widened as you saw how flattering it looked. It was shorter than you had thought it would be, and somehow, more revealing. The neckline was lower than you thought and there was a little window on your stomach. You looked fantastic, though and you couldn’t wait to surprise him.

The sound of the door of your shared home opening made you laugh in excitement, hurrying to prep your stance behind the door of your bedroom. You heard his deep voice call your name, searching for you. You heard him walking around the house, dropping his stuff in his home office before heading over to the bedroom. The door opened slowly.

“Dearest-?” His head poked into the room, freezing when he saw the way you laid out for him. His eyes roamed your body without an indication of his thoughts. He slipped into the room, closing the door behind him before chuckling softly. “Dearest, I see you found yourself a new costume?”

You grinned at him, spreading your legs slightly more. “Yep. And this is all for you.”

He shook his head softly, the smallest of smiles appearing on his face, “No, I believe this is for you, dear. You look wondrous.” He stalked closer, moving to press his lips to your forehead delicately. “You have an eye for fashion.” You narrowed your eyes. Surely he was jesting? Why wasn’t he making much of any reaction? He noticed your stare and chuckled again. “Expecting more, darling? Well, I can certainly give you more, if that’s really what you want.” You nodded excitedly, sitting up on the bed. He hummed quietly, leaning onto the bed over you, “Well, then let’s get started, hm?”

You were tired of waiting for Gorou to give you attention. Every day these past few weeks, your husband had barely returned home. And when he had, he would hole himself in his office and go over his strategies over and over again. You respected his job and you knew it was very important and you would never want to get between that. But at some point, he needed to give you some type of attention, right?

Well, he hadn’t. It was annoying you. How he would walk in after days of not being home, only to kiss your forehead and move to his office where he would spend all of his time before leaving again in the morning. This time, however, you had a plan.

You didn’t want to take too much of his time, as he was a busy general and you didn’t want to sabotage his efforts or plans or anything, but you needed some attention. You bought a maid dress that fit his uniform’s colour scheme and decided to tease him the next time he returned home. You weren’t sure when that time would be, but you hoped it would be soon. You hated being so lonely all the time.

Fortunately for you, he arrived home only a few days after the clothes arrived. He greeted you like normal, saying how much he missed you and loved you, pressing his lips to your forehead before heading to his office. You frowned at his lack of effort before remembering what your plan was. With a grin, you hurried to your, supposed, shared bedroom and found the dress. Quickly, you prepared the outfit and made sure every part was put together. You glanced in the mirror. You looked good.

With a smug grin, you stalked towards your husband’s office. You opened the door and stood behind his desk. He didn’t lift his head, simply writing a note on a map. “Babe?” You called, trying to earn his attention. His head tilted in your direction, but his eyes remained focused on his paperwork. He hummed softly, inquiring what was wrong. You frowned before trying again, “Gorou?”

He sighed softly before glancing up. He froze once he saw you. His eyes went wide and he quickly turned red. His eyes locked onto your exposed thighs and you were pleased to see his tail begin to wag faster and faster. “Do you like it, baby?” You asked, suddenly very nervous of his reaction. What if he was upset?

Gorou’s eyes snapped to you, “Wh-What?” He asked, completely breathless. You hummed, giving him a little spin. “Wow.” He said quietly. Before stepping over to you. His tail was wagging uncontrollably still. “You look so, so good, my darling.” His hands shook slightly before they became still on your cheeks. He rested his forehead on yours. “I can’t believe you're mine.” You could feel your face get hotter. “I have to say this is unexpected. Why are you dressed like this?” His eyes got wide once more, “Is it our anniversary?!”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “What? No. Do you not know when our anniversary is?” He rubbed the back of his neck and said the date of your anniversary. You hummed before nodding, accepting the answer. “You’ve been distant. I haven’t seen you in a month.”

“You see me weekly?”

“But not really. I see you for fifteen minutes when you first enter the house and when you leave, but I don’t see you between those times. I just wanted you to give me attention.” You gestured to your outfit and his cheeks burned again when he looked down. His hands landed on your waist.

“Well, you certainly got it.” He replied, moving to kiss you passionately.

“Babe-” Itto whined loudly, nearly dragging his knees on the ground as he groveled for you. Your cheeks felt warm from embarrassment as you glanced at the people walking by in the streets. “Please!” He begged, his hands clasping together.

You walked over to him and pushed his arms down, trying to pull him to his feet. “Itto! What the fuck?! Get up, we’re in public!”

You felt him stand with you, allowing you to pull him quickly. He quickly wrapped his arms around you and lifted you up, spinning slightly. Your face was squished against his cheek.

“Baaabeee-” He whined again. “We have to buy it! We were just talking about something like that!” The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow as she fiddled with the packaging on the purple maid outfit Itto was begging you to buy. “I just know you’ll look so fucking perfect in it, baby.”

You smacked his arm lightly and he pouted as he set you on the ground. “Itto, we are in public, stop yelling about our private discussions!” You hissed quietly, pulling out your wallet and placing the mora for the outfit on the counter. “I’ll buy it, just stop putting attention on us.”

Your words fell on deaf ears as he whooped excitedly, taking the packaging and grabbing your hand, rushing in the direction of your house. You made a noise as you were yanked in the direction. You tried your best to keep up with him as he held your hand until you reached the house. He pushed the packaging into your arms, instructing you to change into it.

“Now?! You have a meeting with the gang in twenty minutes!”

He puffed out his chest with a giant grin, “I am the one and oni, Arataki Itto! The meeting starts whenever I arrive!” He said. You rolled your eyes with a small grin before heading inside and changing quickly. Perhaps if you were quick, you could get him to his meeting in time.

His eyes practically bulged out of his head when you exited the bedroom in the outfit. You smirked at him as his mouth fell open comically. “Like what you see?”

“Fuck yeah, I do!” He announced, wasting no time in walking over and pressing his lips to yours. He pushed you back into the door behind you. “Y’know I think I like it when you look like this. Maybe we can use it more often.”

You moaned softly and carded your fingers into his hair. “Itto- your meeting-”

“Fuck the meeting.”

#genshin impact x reader #x reader #x reader preferences #gorou x reader #arataki itto x reader #neuvillette x reader #suggestive #aether x reader #xiao x reader #he/him reader

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hungermakesmonsters · 7 months ago

Text

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Seven

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour, some of it gets a little rough. Some mention of an emotionally abusive parent, and readers problematic views of her own autonomy. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : 4.5k

A/N : I think I've finally sorted the tagging issue.

MASTER LIST

Chapter Seven

“Are you alright?” Karen asked, pulling your attention from your pancakes. “You’ve been really quiet.”

Your cheeks warmed and you immediately felt bad; she’d shown up early to go to breakfast with you before taking you to the Met, and all you’d been able to think about was the Homeland agent who’d approached you the night before.

“I’m fine,” you answered, forcing a smile. “Just tired. We were out late last night.”

“Billy took you out?” She seemed surprised.

“He took me dress shopping,” you explained, reaching for your coffee. “He’s throwing a party next month and he wanted me to have a new dress.”

“Oh, his Vampire Night party,” Karen nodded and you shot her a confused look. “He does it every year, it’s to celebrate the anniversary vampire’s being accepted into society. It’s supposed to be a big deal but, for Billy, it’s just an excuse to throw a crazy party every year.”

“Does he normally invite the person who’s...” you struggled for a moment, not wanting to out-and-out state what you did in the busy little diner, “working for him when he throws parties?”

“Usually - I mean, it’d be pretty shitty to throw a party in the penthouse and not invite the other person living there.”

“So, the others, they all went to his parties and they enjoyed themselves?”

“Yeah, if there’s one thing Billy knows, it’s how to throw a good party,” she answered, fixing you with a look, as if she could sense there was more you wanted to ask. “Why the sudden interest?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. “It just seemed like such an easy job and, I guess, I just don’t understand why anyone would do anything to ruin it for themselves. Do you know what happened to them once they left?”

You needed something, some sort of sign, to tell you that you weren’t wrong, that you were safe with Billy. And, if you weren’t...

Well, in that case, you needed to find a way out that didn’t involve going home with your tail between your legs.

“As far as I know, they all went back to their lives. Though there was one...” Karen trailed off, the thought alone making her wince. You shot her a questioning look, silently begging her to continue. “Not the last one, but the one before, she had to be removed by building security. She tried to come back a couple of times but she eventually got the hint.”

The one before the last one - so, one of the last three, one of the ones Madani thought was dead. She’d been fine when she left and she’d been seen a couple of times since. So, that meant that Homeland was wrong about Billy, right?

With your mind set at ease, you happily finished breakfast and, before you knew it, you and Karen were stepping into the Met. You felt like a kid at Christmas. It was everything you’d imagined and more. Karen could barely hold back her amusement as you moved from exhibit to exhibit, never seeming to lose any of your initial excitement. It was something you’d always wanted to do, filled with things you’d always wanted to see.

By lunch time, poor Karen needed to sit down, and you needed a coffee so you ended up in the cafe. When Karen headed to the bathroom, you looked over the map, making a mental note of what you’ve seen and what you still wanted to see. Distracted, you didn’t notice the figure beside you until she’d taken a seat. The Homeland agent, Madani.

“Are you following me?” You demanded, keeping your voice low.

“I’m trying to keep you safe,” Madani answered, ignoring your sharp tone. “Have you thought any more about what we discussed last night?”

“Look, I don’t know what you think you know, but I’m pretty sure Billy hasn’t done anything wrong.”

She fumbled with her pocket, quickly pulling out her phone and showing it to you. “These are the three missing women; Layla El-Faouly, Krista Dumont and Mary Poots.” With each name she moved to a different photo, letting you see each of the missing women. “Has he mentioned any of those names?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Have you seen anything in his penthouse that might belong to them?” You shook your head, quickly feeling overwhelmed by all of the questions.

“No, and anyway, you said the last three women, right?” You asked and Madani nodded. “People have seen one of them since. She even got thrown out of Billy's building a couple of times.”

“You're sure of that?”

“Yes,” frustration slipping into your tone. “Whatever you're looking for, it's not -”

“Has Russo done anything to hurt you? Is he forcing you into a sexual relationship or have you felt like you’re being controlled?”

“What? No.”

“You might not even realise that he’s doing it. Some vampires are very good at controlling their victims, Russo is -”

“He’s not controlling me,” you told her as firmly as you could, glancing around, hoping to spot Karen. “Can you please leave me alone? I don’t want to lose my job because of this.”

“I can protect you -”

“I don’t need protection, I need this job,” you told her. “Please, I wasn’t kidnapped, he hasn’t hurt me, and I know he hasn’t hurt anyone else. Can you please just leave me alone before you cause any trouble?”

“Okay, I’ll go,” Madani relented, “but I’ll be close by if you need me.”

You muttered that you wouldn’t as she stood and left, just in time for Karen to return.

“Who was that?”

“She was asking me for directions,” you lied, as you stood, not wanting to think about anything Madani had said to you.

It was all crazy, ridiculous. You weren’t being coerced or controlled and you still didn’t believe Billy was capable of hurting anyone. Fortunately, there were plenty of exhibits left to distract you for the rest of the day.

By the time you returned to the penthouse it was getting late. You rushed to draw blood and to throw some pasta onto the stove. When you were done, you found Billy on the sofa, his eyes fixed on the view of the city until he heard you approach.

He smiled and you felt butterflies, and there was a spring in your step as you made your way to the kitchen to grab a glass for his blood before joining him on the sofa.

“You look nice.” His eyes trailing down your body.

“Oh,” you looked down at yourself and the skirt-blouse combination, “Karen took me to the Met. We got back late. I haven’t had time to change yet.”

“I’m glad,” Billy said, taking the glass from your hand, “I love your legs.”

Your cheeks warmed and you bit your lip. As much as Billy liked to pay you compliments, you still weren’t used to it. Honestly, you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to it, especially when Billy managed to make every compliment sound simultaneously sweet and filthy.

“I got you something,” he said a moment later, motioning to a large paper bag on the floor in front of him. Cautiously, you pulled it towards you and pulled out a large yellow, faux-fur blanket. “You can leave it out here for when we watch TV together.”

Butterflies filled your stomach at the gesture, but there was one thought you couldn’t quite shake; “it’s yellow.”

And yellow didn’t exactly match the dark and minimalist decor in the penthouse.

“It made me think of you when I saw it,” Billy shrugged.

The butterflies in your stomach seemed to multiply; it was a warm and happy colour, it was the colour of sunlight, and it had made Billy think of you.

Hugging the blanket to your chest you thanked him before carefully placing it back in the bag.

“I’ve got some time before I need to leave for work, if you want to hang out?” He asked as if he needed to, as if he thought there was any chance that you wouldn’t want to stay there with him.

As he drank, you told him about your day and every little thing you’d seen in the Met. And he listened. It seemed like he was actually listening, hanging on your every word, like he cared, like he wasn’t just indulging you and letting you run your mouth.

“Maybe next time I could take you?” He offered. “They do night openings a few times a month.”

“I’d love that,” you answered without a moment's hesitation.

“Really?”

“Of course. I like spending time with you.”

He finished his drink and quickly put the glass down, licking his lips as he turned himself towards you.

“You like spending time with me?” He repeated.

You couldn’t tell if he was amused or confused. “Yeah, you’re... different to the sort of people I’m used to being around. I like talking to you.”

“Just talking to me?” He asked, a smirk starting to tug at his lips. You felt your face start to heat again as your gaze dropped to your lap. “Still so shy, so easy to embarrass,” he muttered, placing a hand on your bare knee, “but I bet you’re already wet under this little skirt.”

Your breath caught and your thighs clenched together at the realisation that he was right.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look until you realised he was moving. You watched, confused as he slipped onto the floor, his hands on your knees, urging your legs apart so he could sit between them. It wasn’t until he started to slowly kiss your thigh that you realised what he was going to do. Your heart started to race, and Billy noticed.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his cold fingers tracing soothing patterns on your leg.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I’ve just... I’ve never...”

“It’s okay, hummingbird,” Billy reassured you, smiling softly. “Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

While you managed not to show it, those words almost broke you. He always seemed to care about you, about making sure you felt good, and that wasn’t something you were ever sure you’d get used to.

Your cheeks burned hotter when he reached beneath your skirt and eased your panties down your legs, discarding them somewhere on the floor. But you didn’t have time to dwell on it. He pulled you towards him, lifting your legs over his shoulder while continuing to trail kisses up your thighs. Up and up and up, until -

“Remember the rules,” he told you, gazing up at you from between your thighs, “and breathe.”

Until he mentioned it, you hadn’t even realised that you were holding your breath. With a nod, you let out a slow breath, trying to steel yourself for this new experience. His cold fingers gently parted your folds and a shiver ran down your spine. You bit your lip, keeping your eyes focused on him until you finally felt it. His tongue slipped through your arousal, delicately at first and then with a little more pressure. You back arched and your hips pressed forwards, and you could have swore you felt Billy’s lips pull into a smirk against you.

He alternated between long, slow laps of his tongue and faster flicks, obviously taking note of your reactions. One moment he was focused on your clit, the next, you felt the tip of his tongue against your entrance. Your body shuddered, completely overwhelmed, and you almost lost your mind when you heard Billy groan.

“Billy -” you gasped, knowing that you weren’t going to last long.

“Not yet,” he almost-growled from between your thighs.

Before you could even think to beg, his tongue was against you again. Your fingers slipped into his hair, needing something to hold on to as your thighs started to tremble. It felt like you were being devoured by his mouth, his lips and his greedy tongue making you feel sensations you’d never felt before. Soon enough, it felt like his grip on your thighs was the only thing keeping you from crushing his head - it was too much and not enough all at once, you desperately wanted the release of an orgasm but you didn’t ever want him to stop.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck...” you whimpered, barely holding back. “Billy, please...”

It almost seemed cruel when you felt his lips on your throbbing clit, gently sucking. Your back arched again, trying to press yourself closer but his strong grip kept you in place.

Your fingers tugged on his hair, twisting and pulling, earning another groan from Billy. Every muscle tensed and you felt like a spring coiled too tight, like you could snap at any moment. And, thankfully, Billy seemed to realise that.

“Okay, hummingbird, you can come,” he muttered, barely pulling his lips away from you.

One more flick of his tongue and you were done for, crying out as you came undone. All the while his tongue kept moving, lapping the wetness that spilled from you, and not pulling back until your thighs were violently shaking.

While you struggled to catch your breath, Billy lowered your legs and rested his chin on your thigh, grinning up at you.

“What are you smirking at?” You managed to ask, fighting back a smile of your own.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before.”

You bit your lip, your cheeks starting to warm again. “I think the situation called for it.”

That got a laugh from Billy.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said before getting himself off the floor and sitting beside you again. “Did you enjoy it?”

Of course, you couldn’t answer. Once he’d asked the question you couldn’t even look at him. All you could do was give the slightest little nod, suddenly acutely aware that your panties had ended up on the floor in front of the TV and, as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t tear your eyes from them.

That is, until Billy placed a hand on your cheek, turning your face to his. For a few seconds he simply looked at you, almost seeming confused, before smiling again.

“What is it about you?” He asked quietly, his thumb softly caressing your cheek. “Why can’t I get enough?”

Before you could answer, he’d closed the distance between you, kissing you and sending you into a tailspin. How could he keep saying things like that, how could he keep making you feel so special, when he seemed so reluctant to - god, you didn’t even know. You still didn’t understand how this casual thing was supposed to work. The time you spent together left you feeling like there was something, a connection between you, but that wasn’t what you’d agreed to. It was just supposed to be fun.

But, surely casual fun was supposed to lead to sex, right?

“That’s not what I want to see when I kiss you,” he remarked, pulling back a little, leaving you even more confused until he clarified; “you’re frowning.”

“I was just...” you fell into silence for a moment, not sure how to say it. “Do you want me, Billy?”

“Do I want you?” He repeated.

“Yeah, I mean like -”

“Oh, hummingbird, I know exactly what you mean,” he almost laughed, his hand still on your cheek. “I’m just not sure how you can ask me that after I’ve just been on my knees worshipping you.”

Not knowing how to respond to that, you kissed him, tasting the lingering traces of your arousal on his lips and tongue. You pressed closer and closer, until you felt an arm around your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

“I don’t want to rush you,” he muttered against your lips.

“You’re not,” you answered breathlessly, sinking back into his lips..

He pulled you closer, positioning you so you could feel the bulge of his erection against you. The feeling alone was enough to cause your hips to shudder and buck, still feeling sensitive from his tongue. Billy groaned, his lips pulling from yours and finding your neck. You barely noticed the buttons of your blouse being undone until he started to push it off your shoulders.

Trembling fingers started to pull open his shirt, hands exploring every inch of cold skin that you revealed, feeling the raised lines of scars beneath your touch. Billy squirmed when your hand trailed over his shoulder, his body pressing up against yours.

Your heart raced faster when you felt him unclasp your bra. You barely had time to finish removing it before his lips were on your breasts, kissing, licking and sucking. Every cold touch sent a jolt of pleasure right to your core and, before you knew it, you were gently rocking your hips against him.

“Billy,” you gasped as his lips closed over your nipple.

Desperately, you dropped your hands to his waist, fumbling with his belt then, when that was open you started on the fastenings of his pants.

A yelp escaped you when you felt his teeth on your nipple, not biting hard enough to break skin but more than enough to give you a shock. An eager growl sounded in the back of his throat as he moved to your other nipple. But his sudden roughness wasn’t enough to stop you.

Despite his cold touch roaming your body, you felt hot, like you were on fire. Every deep breath you took was him; his cologne, his clean shirt, the products in his hair. You were intoxicated, drunk on Billy Russo. His fingertips pressed into your hips with a bruising force, but all you cared about was getting his zipper down and letting him possess you completely.

“My little hummingbird,” he muttered in that low, dangerous tone as his lips moved back to yours. “I’m going to ruin you.”

He kissed you again, groaning into your mouth with an unbridled want that seemed to match your own. The words didn’t shock you like they perhaps should have, they didn’t worry you at all. You trusted him to stay in control.

Clumsy fingers tugged at his zipper and -

“Shit!” You yelped as the zipper nicked your skin, pulling back from him, lifting your finger to your lips.

Billy’s whole body went rigid beneath you, eyes narrowing, dropping to the finger between your lips.

“It’s alright, I just -” you started and stopped just as quickly, looking at the small bleeding cut before looking at Billy.

His eyes seemed to get darker and you watched his throat bob uncomfortable as he tried to swallow. You squirmed as his grip tightened on your hips, holding you in place. The tiny cut bleeding in a way that only tiny cuts could.

“Billy...” you muttered softly, trying to soothe the monster inside of him.

Gingerly, you reached for him, tenderly running your fingers through his hair while you returned your bleeding finger to your mouth, trying to remove temptation.

His jaw tensed before he lunged forwards, pressing his lips to yours, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, desperately seeking your finger and the tiniest drop of blood. You tried to push his face away, your hand on his jaw, your finger ending up between his lips.

“Billy, stop,” you pleaded, “please.”

Suddenly you found yourself hitting the floor as he stood and moved away from you. It took you a second or so to get over the initial shock before you grabbed your blouse and covered yourself. By the time you got to your feet, Billy was halfway to the elevator, buttoning his shirt as he went.

“I’m sorry.” The words left you in a desperate and broken tone, not knowing what you could possibly say to fix the situation or stop him from leaving.

Billy froze, taking an uncomfortable breath before turning back to you, confusion written all over his face. His eyes moved from you to the elevator and back again, weighing his options.

“Why are you sorry?” He asked, a crack in his voice that made your heart ache. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I was clumsy, and I pushed you, and I -” you sniffled, blinking as your eyes threatened tears.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he told you, voice firm and certain, “that’s not what happened.”

“Then why are you leaving me?”

Billy was at a loss, staring as you tried not to break down in front of him. Your mind was racing over everything that had happened, over everything that you had done wrong - all the things that Billy seemed to want to ignore. You’d always been clumsy, never careful enough. Your mother had always chastised you, telling you that you only did it for attention, telling you that you were needy, criticising you for always wanting to be the centre of attention.

It was easy to spiral into those negative thoughts, to see all your faults and failings, to feel broken and unloveable.

He stepped towards you, confusion softening into something more like concern.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he repeated, “I did. I almost lost control, I could’ve -”

“I shouldn’t’ve complained, I -”

“Don’t say that,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to jolt you from your self-loathing. “I told you that you always have a choice here. Always. No one gets to hurt you, and you never have to go along with anything that scares you or makes you uncomfortable. Do you understand?”

On some level you did, you understood completely, you knew that he was right, but years of being made to feel like you were the problem were hard to overcome.

Reluctantly, he closed the distance between you, his hand finding your cheek, urging you to look at him.

“How you feel matters, hummingbird. What you want matters,” he told you. “I don’t want to scare you. It’s me, I - there’s something wrong with me, something I can’t always control, and you deserve better than that. I don’t want to do anything that you’re not a hundred percent certain about. I never want you to regret anything that we do together.”

It felt like your throat was closing up and your vision started to blur, it wasn’t until the first sob shook your body that you realised you were crying. The idea that you had a choice, that you got to decide what you wanted, and that your feelings mattered - no one had let you have that before. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you tight against his chest.

“No one gets to hurt you,” he told you again. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

Even from himself, though the words went unsaid.

He shushed you as you whimpered the word sorry again and held you tighter when you hid your face against his shoulder. Minutes passed, and Billy held you, not moving, not pulling away. Eventually you stilled, your breathing slowing and the sobs subsiding. But, still, Billy didn’t move. His hold on you didn’t loosen until you slowly pulled back.

Your head instantly dropped, the back of your hand trying to scrub the tear stains from your cheeks. One of his hands remained on you, resting gently on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered.

“What are you sorry for?”

“I don’t know,” you finally admitted.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you?”

The question hung awkwardly in the air between you, neither one of you wanting to answer it. It was more than obvious now that you both had baggage, you both had parts of yourself that you were desperate to keep hidden, but it was also becoming clear that you weren’t going to be able to hide forever.

“I think we’ll have to eventually,” Billy told you.

As much as you hated it, you knew he was right.

Silence lingered for a few seconds before you quietly confessed; “I feel safe with you.”

It felt important to tell him that, like everything else could come after. Despite his little lapses in control, you trusted him. He looked like he wanted to ask how you could feel that way after everything but, at the same time, it was clear that he didn’t want to know.

“Are you... okay?” You asked after a moment of silence.

“It’s complicated,” he said and, for a second, it seemed like he was going to leave it at that. “I just - when you’re a vampire, everything is so loud. Everything feels like it’s too much. It makes you want so much. Sometimes I feel like I can’t control it.”

You stomach knotted as you watched him struggle, the jagged edge to his tone furthering something he’d already let slip days ago; he didn’t want to be like that. He didn’t want to be a vampire.

“I feel like that too, sometimes,” you offered softly. “Not exactly the same but - my mom always used to tell me that no one likes emotional women. Whenever I’d get upset, she’d tell me I was being hysterical or call me an attention seeker. So I started holding it all in. I wouldn’t complain or get upset, I’d just pretend I was fine, and it made me feel like I was going to burst...”

Without warning, he pulled you into another hug, and you let him, your face pressing back into the damp spot you’d left on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, sounding almost guilty, like he thought he was somehow to blame. “You don’t have to hold it in with me, you don’t have to pretend or go along with anything that you don’t want.”

“I do want this though,” you confessed, stopping short of telling Billy that you wanted him, that you were starting to feel something for him. It had only been a few weeks but, already, you felt a connection to him, something you didn’t want to give up.

He seemed torn, almost like he wanted to cut his losses and end things now, and you weren’t sure how you were going to make it through the rest of the year if you had to go back to how things had been at the start. That is, if he even wanted to keep you around. Technically, because of him, you’d broken your contract.

“You need to promise me something; if you’re ever not comfortable, you’ll tell me to stop, and if I ever scare you, you’ll tell me,” he told you in a firm and uncompromising tone.

“I promise, but -” you hesitated, not sure if he’d appreciate your condition, “- but you have to tell me when you’re not feeling well.”

Billy nodded and you sank forward into his arms again, holding him tight for a little while longer until he finally had to get ready and leave for work. And, of course, you felt terrible that he had to go and change out of his crease, tear-stained shirt before he went. He left with the promise of spending time with you tomorrow.

CHAPTER EIGHT

End Note : The Marvel name drops are mostly just easter eggs (and because I HATE coming up with names for side characters. I feel like a lot went on in this chapter but I don't actually have a lot to say about it. I'm just slowly piling on the mystery and angst.

Anyway! Thanks for reading! I've really loved all your comments and questions on this series. Have a great weekend!!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt. (I think I've found a way to get tagging to work properly again, please let me know if it doesn't tag you.)

Tag List : @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock

@snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @lincerad

@vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @glamourbabe17

@sweetserendipity65 @damagelove @strangerfromketterdam @a-starrynightwith-u @readingabouthim

@countryday @weepingwitchofthewest @broadwaybabe18 @bunnygirlwriter876 @oliviaewl

@rosey1981 @benbarnesprettygurl @rachlovesactors @robertthehoover @ladyblacky

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #billy russo fanfic #the punisher #(ob)ts ff #billy russo imagine

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danveration · 8 months ago

Note

Could you do a Cooper Howard x reader angst? Something with the reader getting injured or dying and/ or becoming a ghoul?

You and your stories are amazing btw❤️!!!

Thank you!

Parings: Cooper Howard x reader

Summary: You get shot and Cooper comes to your aid.

Word count: 1344

Warnings: Guns, blood, shooting, reader getting shot in the thigh, Cooper being a softy

A/N: sorry if you meant post-nuclear bomb. (if you wanted cooper howard like.. normal human & stuff) ALSO I JUST REALIZED THIS ISN'T VERY ANGSTY 😭😭 FFS. I hope you like it either way :))

It was a hectic situation. There were at least ten people pointing guns directly at you from all around. This was not how you expected your day to go. You didn’t even do anything remotely wrong. Just stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time. Which was pretty common around here.

You were by yourself right now, which was another downfall. You didn’t have the capabilities yet to kill a bunch of people on your own. Maybe if you sweet talked them..? You doubt that would work. If only Cooper were here. He would have them all dead in a blink of an eye. Especially because they were threatening you. He seemed to have a soft spot for you for whatever reason. You felt the same way towards him. Even though people would look at you like you’re insane, you don’t care. You can see something in him that nobody else can. He always had a bit of a protective nature towards you the moment you two met. You thought he would’ve killed you, but he just laughed at how scared you looked and ensured that he doesn’t kill without a motive. And in his words “won’t dare harm a pretty thing like you.”

He is currently god knows where. You were tagging along with him but he went to go get more vials. He said he knows a spot where he can snag a couple. That was about two hours ago. It would be great if he just miraculously appeared right now.

“L-listen. I don’t want any trouble, okay? I’m just passing through.” You say, trying to sound brave but the whimper in your voice made itself known.

“Yeah, passing through OUR territory.” One of the men said, with a raspy tone.

“I didn’t know! I’ll go. Right now.” You say quickly, starting to move forward.

“Uh-uh!” One of them yelled.

You hear all their guns go off safely and you stop dead in your tracks. The panic and fear you feel makes your skin develop goosebumps.

“We can’t let you go, can we? What kind of example would we be settin’ if we did?” One of them spoke.

“Oh, just walk right into our territory, It’s all good!! It wouldn't be our territory if we did that, would it?” One of them say in a mocking tone.

“P-please. I just-“ You begin to say.

“Now what on hells creation is goin’ on here?” You hear no other than Cooper’s voice in the other direction.

You subconsciously release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

All the people snap their heads to the ghouls voice. Some of them look scared, but some of them look angry that their fun got spoiled.

“Well? Gonna keep gawking or is somebody going to tell me what the fucks goin’ on here?” He says.

“W-well we caught this one roaming on our territory.” One of the people spoke up.

“And?” Cooper questions them, as if daring them to say what they were going to do to you.

They’re all silent. Except for one. He must be new here or something because he speaks up in an angry tone, “and were gonna kill them.” He says, pointing the gun at you. He looks around at all his other gang members, and how they’re not pointing the gun at you anymore.

He raised a brow, “what’s the big idea? Why’s nobody else-“

BANG

Cooper shoots the man in the arm, not letting him finish his sentence.

Everything went slow from there. You see Cooper giving the man cold eyes, and then from your vision, you see the man look down at his arm, then you see him, with his other hand, grab his gun and quickly shoot you in your thigh before Cooper sends another bullet straight through his head, leaving him instantly falling to the ground.

You hiss out in pain and look down, seeing red liquid gush out and stain your pants.

Cooper whips his head towards you.

“Fuckin’-“ He mumbles as he rushes over, getting on his knees in front of you.

Everyone around immediately makes a quick exit, not wanting to suffer the same fate as the other guy.

Cooper would’ve killed them all for that, if it wasn’t for him not wanting to take his eyes or attention off of you. He feels scared, worried, mad, and mostly desperate. Desperate to stop the bleeding, desperate to go back in time and never leave you alone in the first place. He would laugh at himself for feeling these feelings any other time, just not now. Now he has to focus all his attention on you.

“Is it bad?” You mumble out to him, not wanting to fully look at it.

Cooper thankfully notices how it isn’t in a vital place. The bullet went right through, so he doesn’t have to worry about digging it out or it causing complications.

“Well you got shot, sweetheart. It’s bad but it isn’t deadly. You’ll be alright.” He says, trying to ease the worry off of you.

He’s got to get you to a safe spot so he can properly treat the wound. Luckily he has lots of experience with these kinds of situations.

He stands up and leans down, putting his arm behind your knees, lifting you up and carrying you bridal style.

Your eyes go wide and you gasp in shock, but don’t complain. You don’t think you can walk anyhow.

Your cheeks flush and you feel a swell in your heart from his actions. He walks in silence, his brain wracking at how he shouldn’t have left you alone, and how he swears to make sure this won’t happen again. You’re in his arms, hurting, but for some reason you swear it hurts a little less because he’s close to you.

“This won’t never happen again, I swear it. You better be more cautious around these parts though, darlin’. Especially with me not around. People don’t give no mercy.” He says to you.

A little while later, you’re sitting on a mattress in an abandoned building. Your pants are pulled down a bit on one side, so he has access to the wounded leg. Cooper carefully cleaning and wrapping up your wound with a concentrated face. You stare at him and how his eyes look, how his forehead is frowned down in focus, and how his hands are handling you carefully, as if they aren’t used on a daily basis for killing and violence.

“You’re lucky it’s in this spot. A little to the left or right, and you might’ve not been able to use this leg again. Would’ve had to get you those robot leg attachments.” He says, laughing at the end of his sentence.

“You mean the ones that practically rip your leg to shreds? No thanks.” You say, laughing.

You look at him softly as he’s smiling gently, while finishing up wrapping your leg.

“Now would you look at that? All better.” He says, gesturing to your skillfully wrapped leg.

“Thank you, Coop.” You say. “I’m really lucky you came in time.”

“Well, I’d argue I was a tad bit late, but of course, darlin’. I’m glad I got there before things could’ve gotten worse.” He says back to you, adjusting his hat on his head.

He cares about you. It realized that right when he heard that gun shot go in your direction. His heart sank to his stomach immediately, thinking the worse. He’s going to make sure to keep a tight leash on you from now on out. Not in a bad way, just in a way that he’s able to be there if anything happens.

“Thank you, Cooper.” You say softly out of nowhere, looking at him with a bit of blush on your cheeks.

He nods his head in your direction. “You’re quite welcome, sweetheart. Now why don’t you be a doll and rest up. I might’ve wrapped it all neat n’ all, but you’ll still need to let it heal. We can take a couple hours break here."

#my works #fallout #fallout x reader #ghoul #the ghoul #ghoul fallout #cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard fallout x reader #ghoul x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout ghoul x reader #ghoul fallout x reader #cooper howard fallout #cooper howard x you #fallout fan fiction

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foreverisntenough · 27 days ago

Text

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend. You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy?

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: No one is crazy about him atm, me included, so this is strictly for my readers and my readers only. I don’t condone his behavior at all -Just let me finish out this fic please. Don’t come for me. I’m only a girl with a google doc whose spent hours upon hours and days on end on this fic

Chapter 12 - 'Monaco’ | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 11.3k

You crawled into Trent’s bed that night, the weight of the party and the fading liquor settling over both of you like a heavy blanket. The room was still, the only sound the soft rustle of sheets as you burrowed into him, pressing your cheek to his chest. His arm wrapped instinctively around you, holding you close, and for a moment, it felt like nothing in the world could intrude on this quiet, safe space. But then, like a sharp snap, reality crept in. Thoughts you’d been pushing aside bubbled up, tugging at your peace.

“T…” you began hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. He hummed, ready to listen, tired albeit. “Are we ever going to tell people?” You felt him tense slightly beneath you, his hand stilling on your back. You bit your lip, already regretting the question. It wasn’t that you didn’t love the secret moments with him—those were some of the happiest of your life—but lately, the lines between private and public were blurring and not in the way you’d hope.

“Baby,” he started softly, his tone careful. “We gotta think about this.” His hesitation sent a small pang through your chest. Trent wasn’t just stalling for the sake of it, though—you could see the storm of thoughts swirling in his eyes. The things Noah, Aiden, and Bailey had said earlier at the party lingered in his mind, mixing with his own worries about how this would affect you, him, and everyone around you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, trying to meet his gaze. Your voice was light, almost naive, but you were desperate for clarity.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, pretty girl or that we won’t ever but you know what’s wrong,” he said, letting out a soft laugh as he looked at you with a smirk full of sympathy. “You’re not the one who’s gonna get your ass beat.” It clicked immediately, and you couldn’t help but smirk back.

“Oh,” you murmured knowingly. Trent nodded, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm. Your heart swelled at the tenderness behind his worry. “I’ll protect you though,” you teased sweetly, your lips quirking into a grin.

“And that’s well nice, but I don’t believe you for a second,” he shot back, shaking his head playfully. “I’ve seen you try to fight Jack. Not exactly convincing.” He cupped your cheek. You laughed, leaning up to kiss his jaw.

“I’d try for you, though,” you whispered, your giggles subsiding into a softer, more earnest tone. The room fell quiet again, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you. Trent sighed, his hand shifting to cradle your cheek still, his thumb brushing softly over your skin.

“Soon, baby, okay?” he said, his voice steady and filled with promise. “I want you. I want you all the time. I don’t want to hide this way. His words settled over you like a balm, soothing the ache of uncertainty in your chest. You nodded, leaning into his touch as his lips found your forehead. Until, he spoke again. “But we’ve gotta find a way to do it right. I don’t want to hurt people.” He told you and while you understood, it broke your heart. He was hurting you, why didn’t he consider that. But you bit your tongue trying to be rational and understanding.

“Okay,” you murmured, letting your eyes drift closed. You trusted him—how could you not? And for now, that was enough.

“Baby… Pretty girl… you gotta get up for me,” Trent murmured against your skin. His voice broke softly through the stillness of the room, warm and tender, but his words held a weight that didn’t belong to the intimacy of the moment. His lips brushed against your temple, an apology in the contact before the words even came. Trent looked at you with a pout loving how comfortable you were with him, how cuddly you were. It broke his heart but he had to do it.

“No,” you mumbled, eyes still shut as you pulled him closer, clinging to the drowsy warmth of his body. “I want to stay with you, baby,” you murmured, your voice tinged with sleep and longing. His hesitation was immediate. You felt the shift in him before he spoke again, his arm loosening its hold on your waist ever so slightly.

“Baby…” His sigh was almost imperceptible, his tone soft but guilty. “The lads are coming over soon.” Your heart sank. It was a familiar refrain—too familiar. The safety of the morning evaporated, leaving behind the sharp edges of reality. You stiffened in his arms, the weight of his words sinking into you like stones.

“Right,” you said quietly, voice brittle and void of emotion as you sat up too quickly, the ache in your chest making your movements feel heavy. “Got it.”

“Y/N…” Trent tried, his voice laced with regret, but you were already pulling yourself out of his arms, the warmth he’d provided replaced by a cold, creeping frustration. You threw the duvet off with more force than necessary, scanning the room for your clothes.

“No, it’s fine,” you snapped, your voice clipped as you grabbed your shirt from the floor. You yanked it over your head, your movements rushed and jerky, the tension crackling between you both. “Lads coming, so I’ll just—what? Link out? Like usual?” He let out a heavy breath, his hands running over his face and then his hair, visibly exasperated but more at himself than you.

“It’s not like that,” he muttered, his voice soft, almost pleading. You froze, your back to him, before spinning around, eyes blazing.

“Then what is it like, Trent?” you demanded, your voice rising. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels exactly like that. It feels exactly like every other time you’ve made me feel less important than everyone else is to you. You pick them over me.”

“Don’t do this,” he said quietly, stepping toward you, his tone filled with frustration and guilt. “You know how complicated this is. You know what’s at stake. It’s not like I’m doing this to hurt you.” He muttered as guilt ransacked him. You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you grabbed your jeans, the tears already burning at the corners of your eyes.

“I’ve been patient, T. I’ve understood. But tell me—when does it stop being complicated? When do you stop hiding me like I’m something to be ashamed of?” His shoulders tensed, his jaw clenching as he struggled to find the right words.

“It’s not like that,” he said again, but this time, his voice cracked under the weight of his emotions. “You’re being careful about us too. Don’t act like it’s just me. You know it’s not like that.”

“No, I don’t,” you shot back, slipping your skirt on with trembling hands. “Because all I see is me sneaking out of your bed every time someone knocks on the door. All I feel is this constant push and pull—like you want me, but only if no one else can see it.”

“That’s not fair,” Trent countered, stepping closer, his eyes searching yours desperately. “You know how much I care about you.”

“Do I?” you whispered harshly, your voice breaking as you looked at him, the man you loved, the man you’d waited so long for. “Because it doesn’t feel like it, T. It feels like I’m the thing you’re too scared to fight for.” His hand reached out, brushing your arm gently, but you pulled away, the distance between you widening like a chasm. He flinched at your retreat, the rejection cutting him deeper than he expected.

“Baby, please,” he said quietly, his voice shaking. “Don’t walk out like this. Don’t do this. We’ve done this.” He said in a more irritated tone than he meant. You looked at him, standing there with heartbreak etched into his features, and it only made the pain sharper.

“Don’t ‘baby’ me right now,” you whispered hoarsely, the tears threatening to spill as you grabbed your bag.

“Y/N, wait,” he said, his voice breaking as he stepped toward you again, but you were already at the door, your hand on the handle. “I’m sorry I forgot some lad’s from the team had planned to come over. If you want to stay, that’s fine but it makes less sense for us to out ourselves to people before we sort everything out and tell the people closer to us. Why would we tell them before…” his words were course but then his tempter faded out. “Jack… please wait…” He whispered. You paused for the briefest moment, your heart warring with your pride.

“I’m tired of waiting, Trent,” you said softly, almost too quietly for him to hear. Then you pulled the door open and walked out, the slam reverberating through the room like an echo of everything left unsaid. Trent stood frozen, staring at the empty space where you’d just been. His hand fell limply to his side, the weight of your absence suffocating. He sank back onto the bed, burying his face in his hands as the silence swallowed him whole. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. None of it was. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to chase after you. Not because he didn’t want to—but because he didn’t know how to fix the cracks that had been growing between you for so long.

You left Trent’s house in tears, your chest tight with a swirl of frustration and heartbreak. He wanted to chase after you but he didn’t have it in him. He didn’t want to upset you but to a certain point how many times would he have to tell you both of you were doing the same thing. He was just protecting what you had. But you felt hurt. Why did he tell you to come home with him if he was going to kick you out. The walk to your car felt endless, your legs shaky as the cold air stung your skin. You couldn’t shake the ache in your heart, the overwhelming confusion. How could something so right between you feel so wrong when it came to the rest of the world? You wanted him, and he wanted you, but you both stayed trapped in this unspoken fear of making it real. Of bringing it to life.

The drive to Layla’s was a blur. By the time you arrived and knocked on her door, the tears were streaming freely down your face. Layla opened it immediately, her expression softening with concern the moment she saw you. Without a word, she pulled you inside, guiding you toward her couch like she’d done so many times before.

“Okay, sit down,” she said gently, placing a steadying hand on your shoulder as you dropped onto the couch. “What happened?” She asked softly. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady, but it came out in a rush of anger and sadness.

“Maybe I should just stop it all. It’s stupid. This whole thing is stupid.” You rashly told her explaining nothing. Layla sat down next to you, her brows furrowed.

“Erm… okay, but before we decide anything drastic, maybe you need to take a breath.” She grabbed your arms firmly, grounding you. You shook your head, your tears falling harder.

“Lay, it’s so good. When we’re together, god fuck! It’s so perfect.” You dropped your face into your hands in frustration. “But then it’s so bad, and it happens so fast. I can’t do this anymore,” you sobbed, your voice cracking as you clung to her like a lifeline. Layla sighed, pulling you into her lap, her hand gently stroking your hair.

“Y/N,” she said softly, her voice soothing, “you two have to talk. This can’t keep happening. You can’t keep living like this—it’s not fair to you. You need to figure out what you both want and make a plan because seeing you like this upset? It’s really fucked up.” She looked at you, her heartbreaking seeing you like this.

“I don’t know how to talk to him,” you admitted, your voice muffled against her shirt.

“Why not?” she asked, her tone patient but desperate for you to fix it.

“Because what if I don’t know…” You frowned at her pleading for help. She just waited patiently for you to get to the realization that you knew what you wanted. It was obvious you did. You were just scared but that didn’t make it any less true. You wanted Trent. “What if he doesn’t want the same thing I do?” you said, your voice trembling. “What if I tell him I want more, and he doesn’t? What if this is all I get—sneaking around, hiding, pretending it’s not as big as it feels?” Layla’s brows knitted together in frustration, but her touch stayed gentle.

“Have you told him you want it? That you want more?” She looked at you earnestly.

“No,” you hiccupped with a sniffle. “I don’t know how to say it. And if I do, and he doesn’t feel the same…” You trailed off, shaking your head as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks.

“Y/N,” Layla said, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to look at her. “Listen to me. I know you’re scared, but you’re never going to know unless you say something. Even after all these years of so much being said in the silences… now you have to say something. He won’t know unless you do. And here’s the thing—I don’t think Trent’s playing with you. He’s not that kind of guy. But last night at the party?” Her expression darkened slightly. “That fucking bothered me. The way the boys talked about you, like you’re some kind of game or joke to him. It pissed me off, and I know it pisses you off that he lets it go on but he can’t stand up for you if he doesn’t know you want him to. So say something, ask him to stand up for you.” You nodded slowly, your chest tightening at the memory. Layla exhaled deeply, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Look, I get it’s complicated with Jack and everything, but that’s not an excuse anymore. You’re not a secret he should be ashamed of—you’re someone to be proud of. If you say something then it’s on him. He needs to step up. He needs to stop hiding you. You both need to make changes for this to work.”

“Why is he okay with it?” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “Why is he okay with hiding me?” Layla pulled you close again, wrapping her arms around you tightly.

“I really don’t think he is, babe. I think he’s scared too. But the only way you’re going to know is if you ask him. If you tell him how you feel and what you want. Otherwise, you’re going to keep hurting like this, he’s going to keep hurting you when I’m sure he doesn’t want to and you don’t deserve that.” Her words settled over you like a weight, and for the first time, you let yourself think about the possibility of laying everything bare. Of telling Trent exactly how you felt, no matter how terrifying it was.

Days had passed in silence, the kind that echoed loudly in Trent’s chest. Every time he reached for his phone, his fingers hesitated over your name before pulling back. He didn’t know how to fix this—not yet, at least. Summer loomed just around the corner, promising sunshine and indulgence, but the thought of his upcoming holiday to Monaco filled Trent with dread. It should’ve been exciting—yachts, the Grand Prix, endless parties. It was the kind of trip he used to count down to. But now? Now it felt like a prison sentence, especially with Jack coming along. Jack had planned the holiday with Trent, Noah, and a few other boys months ago, hyped about a well-deserved break from football. Trent knew exactly what it would be like: adrenaline-fueled days watching the races and wild, booze-soaked nights in Monte Carlo’s clubs. It had sounded perfect back then—a dream escape. But now? Now Trent could hardly stomach the idea. He didn’t want to be trapped on a yacht or in some overcrowded club, pretending everything was fine while Jack hovered nearby. Jack, who had no idea that Trent had been sneaking around with you for months. Jack, who’d likely kill him if he found out. Jack, who’d likely kill him if he found out he had made you so upset. And there was you. You, who hadn’t spoken to him since you’d left his house in tears. The image of your tear-streaked face haunted him, a gnawing ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away. He hated himself for letting you leave like that, hated the way he’d made you feel like some dirty secret. His own pride aside, he didn’t like that he made you cry so much lately. He ran a hand over his face, sinking back into his couch. What was he supposed to do? How could he fix things with you while being stuck on holiday with your brother? Trent stared at his phone again, heart pounding as he opened your messages. His thumb hovered over the keyboard. ‘We need to talk.’ He deleted it. Too formal. Too cold. ‘I miss you.’ No. Too vague. He wanted to say more than that. His mind raced, trying to find the right words, the ones that could pull you back to him. But every time he started to type, the fear crept in—the fear that maybe he’d already lost you for good.

The moment Jack’s name lit up your screen, you put on your best casual smile, trying to steady your nerves. As his face appeared, you leaned back, feigning an air of indifference.

“Hey, you! How’s Monaco?” you asked lightly, though your heart was pounding in your chest. Jack grinned, clearly in high spirits.

“It’s unreal, honestly. Sun’s out, the cars are insane—it’s all proper vibes here.” He shoot you a genuine toothy grin that reminding you so much of your mum it hurt your heart.

“Nice,” you replied, trying to sound detached as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Race is tomorrow?”

“One more,” he said, glancing over his shoulder briefly. Your ears strained to pick up any faint sounds of Trent in the background—his laugh, his voice, anything—but all you could hear was the ambient hum of a busy room. Jack went on about the plans for the day, but then his tone shifted, a greedy grin spreading across his face. “Oh, and there’s this party tonight. Noah’s got some links here. Meeting up with a few girls.” Your stomach sank like a stone.

“Really?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. Jack raised a brow at your tone.

“Yeah, it’s nothing. Just a bit of fun. Monaco’s full of, uh… opportunities,” he said with a laugh. You forced a tight smile, even as your heart twisted in your chest. Jack was waiting for you too call him out for being rude but to no avail… he was confused.

“So lots of girls for you lot,” you said flatly, the edge in your voice betraying your attempt at nonchalance. He nodded. “Good,” you replied sharply, eyes narrowing as you fought to keep your emotions in check. Jack paused, his expression shifting as he caught onto your mood.

“What’s with you?” he asked, half-laughing, half-confused.

“Nothing,” you said too quickly, your voice pitching higher.

“Y/N…” Jack gave you a look. “C’mon, don’t be like that. It’s jokes. Not serious. They’re just lads going out, let them live. Stop judging.” He fell into a teasing smile.

“I’m not!” you yelped, the words coming out too fast and too defensive. Jack shook his head, still smiling but clearly baffled.

“Alright, whatever you say. I gotta get ready. Try not to stress so much, yeah?” The call ended, and you sat there, the silence in your room deafening. Your chest felt tight, and your mind raced with thoughts of Trent, of the girls, of everything unsaid between you. The distance between you both felt insurmountable, and for the first time, you wondered if it was even worth trying to bridge it.

Jack wasn’t stupid. He’d always been the first to sniff out secrets, and lately, something was off. It wasn’t one thing—it was a pile of little things that didn’t add up. You were distant, emotional even, on edge, and while you brushed it off as work stress, Jack wasn’t buying it. Then there was Trent. Once the quiet playboy, he suddenly hadn’t looked at a single girl since they landed in Monaco. Noah had been ribbing him about it for days, and Trent, usually quick with a smirk or witty comeback, just shrugged it off and stayed moody. It wasn’t like him. The real clue began two days before they left for Monaco. Jack had been doing laundry, trying to pack light, when he came across something unexpected—a business card. It was from a high-end restaurant, the kind of place you didn’t just stumble into. Jack’s brow furrowed as he turned it over in his hands. The name nagged at him.

“Where have I seen this before?” he muttered to himself. And then, flash forward to last night, he heard the name again… he and Trent were at the same end of the dinner table with Noah. They were all talking about random spots back home they’d eaten at lately. Trent had mentioned going to the exact restaurant. It took a moment to put two and two together but even when he did, he dismissed it. Jack didn’t want to think much of it other than it was odd—Trent was always out and about, meeting people, living the life of a big time footballer. But now… now it didn’t make sense. Who had he gone with? Trent was apparently seeing a new girl, the one Noah had mentioned. Maybe he went on a date there but then why did the card end up at your house. Jack tried to brush it off, but the pieces were starting to connect in his mind. Trent’s unusual moodiness, your strange behavior, and now this shared thread. No way, maybe it wasn’t from your clothes, maybe it had gotten misplaced, something lost amongst all the traffic of friends in the house. But if it was yours… who had you gone with? It all didn’t make sense. The realization crept in slowly but undeniably, like a puzzle falling into place. Jack sat back on the couch, staring at his phone in his hand, replaying moments and conversations. Surely not. He clenched his jaw, his mind racing.

A day or so on, deep in your doom scroll, and in your thoughts, you sat cross-legged on Layla’s couch, while she painted her nails beside you. As you pulled down on your screen, your Instagram refreshed, and there it was: Trent’s latest post. A full photo dump from Monaco. Your stomach dropped the second his name appeared on your screen, but it wasn’t until you saw the pictures that the scream escaped your mouth.

“What the fuck! Oh my God! What the actual fuck,” you yelled, nearly throwing your phone at Layla in shock. She jumped, smudging the fresh coat of polish on her thumb.

“Jesus, Y/N! What?” Layla exclaimed, wide-eyed as she tried to figure out if you were upset, angry, or just losing your mind. You shoved your phone in her face, almost shaking with emotion.

“Look at this! LOOK at him! Is this some kind of sick joke? What the fuck is this?” The photos were ridiculous. Trent looked good—too good. He was wearing a pair of Prada dungarees, sunglasses, his smile lazy and effortless. Every shot was like a knife to your chest. Him walking around the grid with your brother and Noah, then laughing over drinks. A candid of him on a boat, the Monaco skyline glittering in the background. Another of him standing in a garage, tanned and glowing. Layla took one look and winced.

“Oh. Wow. Yeah, okay… that’s obnoxious. I mean… what did you expect? It’s Monaco. He’s literally built for a place like this.” She shook her head in faux disbelief because she really could believe it. You groaned, running a hand through your hair, nearly tearing it out in frustration.

“He looks so good, Layla. So good. What the fuck. And all I can think about is how many girls are probably seeing him right now, in real time, in person. Girls who probably feel the exact same way about him as I do. He never posts but of course he posts this. Fuck off!” You yelled annoyed. You collapsed back onto the couch, clutching your phone like it might explode in your hands. “Is he seeing girls while he’s there? Jack did mention Noah had ‘links.’ What if he’s flirting with them? What if he’s—”

“Stop,” Layla cut in, her tone sharp but kind. She grabbed your phone out of your hands and set it on the coffee table. “You’re spiraling.” You stared up at the ceiling, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“I’m not spiraling,” you argued weakly. Layla gave you a look.

“You screamed like someone set the house on fire because Trent posted a couple of photos. You’re spiraling.” She smirked.

“I hate this,” you muttered, your voice breaking. “I hate not knowing what he’s doing, who he’s with. I hate seeing him like this, looking like that, when I can’t even talk to him.” Layla sighed and wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“Look, I know it sucks. But you can’t let a stupid Instagram post drive you crazy. “Millions of people follow him babe but he wants you. You’ll talk to him when he gets back, okay? Just… try to focus on something else in the meantime. And if he is being an prat over there? Then he’s not worth your time, Y/N. Then he wasn’t worth the risk to be honest. Simple as that.” But it wasn’t that simple. Not for you. Because no matter how much it hurt, all you could think about was how much you wanted him.

When you went home that night and you lost your jealousy but you fell into desperation and vengeance. You were so angry Trent seemed fine. In fact he looked better than fine. You cried on your bed as you pulled out your phone. You stared at Josh’s name. And then in a state of delusion and heartbreak you hit send. You started bawling immediately. You felt sick, why did you just do that. Why were you so sure? You slammed your phone down on the bed, curling into yourself as sobs wracked your body. You felt your phone buz almost instantly.

‘My my my… look who it is. Crawling back so soon?’

Your tears blurred the screen, but you could still see Josh’s mocking message, taunting you for your impulsive decision. You hadn’t thought it through—hadn’t considered the consequences of reaching out to him. You only wanted to feel something, anything other than the aching pit Trent had left in your chest. The second you hit send, regret swallowed you whole. Now it was all spinning out of control.Panicked, you grabbed your phone and called Layla. She answered on the second ring, her voice groggy but alert as she heard you crying.

“Y/N? What’s wrong? What happened?” She hurriedly asked, scared.

“Layla,” you choked out. “I did something so stupid. I—I texted Josh.” There was silence on the other end, then a sharp intake of breath.

“You what?” She yelped.

“I don’t know why! I was upset, and I wasn’t thinking, and now he’s replied, and I don’t know what to do!” you wailed, your voice cracking. Layla groaned in frustration.

“Y/N, why would you—why would you even think that was a good idea? You know he’s not worth your time! You said you were going home to sleep not going to text a fucking sociopath!”

“I know, I know! I just—God, I felt so angry, and Trent’s off in Monaco with all these girls, and I thought…” You couldn’t even finish the sentence. It sounded ridiculous even to you.

“You thought texting Josh was the way to get back at him?” Layla snapped, exasperated.

“I don’t know what I thought!” you cried. “I wasn’t thinking! And now I can’t unsend it, and he’s already replied, and it’s just… stupid! I’m so fucking stupid, Layla!” You cried. Layla let out a long, calming breath on the other end.

“Okay. Okay, first of all, stop calling yourself stupid. You made a mistake, but you’re human, alright? And second…” She paused, considering. “What exactly did Josh say?” You hesitated, swallowing the lump in your throat before you read her the message. Layla let out a noise of pure disgust.

“Ugh, of course he did. He’s such a tool.” She rolled her eyes but you couldn’t see.

“What do I do now, Lay?” you whispered, clutching the phone like it was a lifeline.

“You don’t do anything,” she said firmly. “You don’t reply, you don’t engage, nothing. You made a mistake, but you’re not doubling down on it. Block him if you have to.” You sniffled, tears still running down your cheeks. “But what if—”

“No ‘what ifs,’” Layla interrupted. “You’re not talking to Josh. You’re upset about Trent, and this isn’t the way to handle it. You need to focus on yourself, Y/N. Not on trying to make Trent jealous or trying to prove something to anyone.” Her words hit like a slap in the face, but you knew she was right. Still, as you stared at Josh’s message on your screen, you couldn’t shake the sick feeling in your stomach. The damage was already done.

The guilt was suffocating, gnawing at you every second. You hadn’t texted Josh beyond that one reckless moment, but the damage to your conscience had been done. You felt sick—physically ill at the thought of what you’d done, even if Trent didn’t know. The boys’ holiday was finally over, but instead of feeling relief at having Trent back, you were consumed by dread. Jack was hosting one of his infamous movie nights, and you knew there was no escaping it.

“Y/N, come on down!” Jack called from the living room. “It’s your favorite—you love this one!” You groaned quietly, staring at yourself in the mirror. Your face had lost its color, your eyes dull from days of crying and restless nights. You didn’t feel like facing anyone, least of all Trent. But Jack was persistent, and if you didn’t show, he’d come up to drag you downstairs himself. You hesitated at the living room door, anxiety twisting your stomach. The boys turned to greet you as you entered.

“Hey, Y/N!” Noah grinned, lifting his beer in your direction.

“Hey,” you mumbled back, trying to avoid anyone’s gaze. But then you saw him—Trent, sitting on the couch, quiet and reserved. His usual easy smile was gone, replaced by something you couldn’t quite read.

“Hey,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours for a brief, electrifying second. You froze, unable to respond. Your heart ached at the sight of him, at how badly you wanted to talk to him, to tell him everything and fix whatever was broken between you. But the weight of your guilt, of what you’d done and the way you’d left things kept your feet rooted to the spot.

“Come on, sit down,” Noah said, patting the space between him and Jack. You reluctantly made your way to the couch, sinking into the cushions and folding your arms protectively over your chest. The room felt stifling, and your awkwardness bled into your every movement. You kept your eyes glued to the screen, but you could feel Trent’s gaze on you. You tried to act normal, but the tension was unbearable. Every time Trent shifted in his seat or glanced your way, your chest tightened. Your emotions boiled under the surface, threatening to spill over. Finally, the pressure became too much. Your eyes began to well with tears, and you couldn’t stop them. You risked a glance at Trent, and his expression nearly broke you. He looked… pained. Like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. You couldn’t handle it.

“I… I have to take a call,” you lied abruptly, your voice shaky as you stood up. Without waiting for a response, you darted upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. The second you closed your bedroom door, you collapsed onto your bed, burying your face in your hands. Tears streamed down your cheeks as guilt, regret, and longing consumed you. You hated yourself for getting mad about him waking you up before his friends came over, about what you’d done, about how you felt, and about how hopeless it all seemed. Downstairs, Trent’s eyes followed you until you disappeared.

“Been so fucking weird lately”Jack nudged him, frowning

“I don’t know,” Trent lied, though the weight in his chest told him otherwise. He could feel the distance between you, and it was killing him.

Trent came upstairs not long after you fled, lying to the boys saying that he was running to the toliet, his heart racing as he hesitated outside your door. He glanced down the hallway, ensuring no one was paying attention, then knocked softly.

“Hey,” he said, his voice barely audible through the door. The moment you heard his voice, it was like a dam broke. A choked sob escaped your throat, and before you could stop yourself, tears were streaming down your face. Trent pushed the door open gently, stepping inside and closing it behind him. “C’mere,” he cooed, crossing the room in a few strides and pulling you into his arms. His warmth, his scent—it was all too much, and you dissolved into him, your face pressed against his chest. “Baby, please don’t be upset,” he murmured, his voice heavy with guilt. “I don’t like making you cry.” You shook your head, your words tumbling out between sobs.

“I just want you to want me.” You cried. Trent’s arms tightened around you as he let out a shaky breath.

“Please, baby, I do. I do.” He paused, his mind racing. “I’ll go down right now and tell them. Do you want that? Tell Jack everything?”

“No,” you whimpered, your voice small and raw.

“Baby…” he said softly, caution in his tone. He leaned back slightly, cupping your tear-streaked face with both hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Talk to me then. Be honest with me. Please.” He begged you. Asking the very thing Layla was telling you could help resolve it all.

“I just want more than this,” you admitted, your voice cracking as more tears spilled over. Trent nodded slowly, his thumb brushing away your tears with careful precision.

“I know. I know you do. We’re gonna do it, I swear.” He told you softly but surely. You looked up at him, the desperation in your eyes like a knife to his chest.

“I just want you to like me.” Your words hit him harder than you could have imagined. His lips parted as if to argue, but instead, he pulled you back against him, his hand cradling the back of your head.

“I do,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I really, really do, so much. Please don’t cry.” He pressed his lips to the crown of your head, swaying gently with you in his arms. He wanted to fix it all, to wipe away the hurt he’d caused, but your arms hung limply at your sides, and it shattered him. “Can you give me a cuddle, please?” he asked softly, his voice almost breaking. After a moment, you wrapped your arms around him tightly, clinging to him like he was the only thing holding you together. Trent let out a low hum of appreciation, resting his chin on your head. “I’m sorry, pretty girl,” he whispered into your hair. “I’m so sorry.” And in the quiet of your room, you both held on, trying to find comfort in each other even as the weight of everything unsaid loomed heavy between you. Trent went downstairs when it started to get suspicious. And then, after a long twenty minutes of regaining your composure upstairs, you finally mustered the courage to come back down. You moved through the hallway, hearing muffled laughter and the sounds of the movie playing in the cinema room. As you came to the doorway, Jack called out.

“Hey, can you grab me a drink?” He yelled. You stopped in your tracks and turned, your tone sharp.

“Get it yourself.” You quipped. Jack gave you a look, eyebrows raised in amused disbelief. Before you could keep walking, Trent’s voice broke through the tension, smooth and casual.

“Actually, Y/N if you’re up, mind grabbing me a water?” You froze, his request catching you off guard. There was no way you could say no to him right now, not after everything.

“Fine,” you mumbled, trying not to betray the softness creeping into your voice.

“Of course!” Jack and Noah mocked in unison, bursting into laughter. You shot them a glare, your cheeks burning.

“It sounded like more people wanted something after Jack said something, so I thought I’d be nice,” you argued, though even you knew it was flimsy.

“Right, right,” Jack teased, rubbing it in. “You’ve never been this ��nice” to us. Where’s our special treatment?”

“Bro, we’ve never bought her a car. It’s just not gonna happen.” Noah added jokingly

“She lives in my house!” Jack yelped dramatically trying to justify why you should be ‘nice’. He was kidding because if he really took a moment you did everything for him. Rolling your eyes, you flicked their ears as you walked past them.

“Idiots.” You muttered strutting to the kitchen. When you returned with the drinks, you handed them out silently, ignoring their smug grins. You settled into the empty seat next to Noah, which happened to be just at the end of the couch where Trent was sitting. As the others turned their attention back to the movie, you felt a gentle tap on your leg. You glanced down to see Trent’s foot nudging you, and when you looked up, he shot you a wink. A tiny smile tugged at your lips despite yourself, and you reached over to squeeze his foot lightly. The brief exchange felt electric, like your own private conversation in a room full of people. No one else noticed, already engrossed in the film. But for the rest of the evening, the space between you and Trent felt charged, his occasional taps a quiet reminder that you weren’t as distant as you feared.

The air felt thick with tension as you sat at the end of the couch, acutely aware of Trent’s eyes lingering on you. Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, though you tried your best to ignore it, keeping your focus on the film.

“You look cold,” Trent said suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet. Before you could respond, he pulled his jumper over his head and tossed it at you casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Yeah, put some clothes on, sheesh,” Jack, ever ready to tease you, quipped as he glanced at you in your tiny tank top. His joke made you shrink slightly, but your gaze quickly fell to the jumper in your lap. It was that jumper—the one you’d borrowed just the other day when you went to the beach. The one you had wanted so badly to keep, but knew you couldn’t. Yet, now it was here, draped over your legs like a gift. The other boys erupted into playful jeers as you hesitated, examining the jumper. Noah, of course, couldn’t let it slide, teasing and pinching at you like an annoying older brother.

“Oh, look at her blushing now,” he teased.

“Okay, okay,” you muttered, waving them off as you pulled the jumper over your head. The scent of Trent enveloped you instantly—warm, clean, and entirely him. It felt like a secret hug, his presence wrapped around you even when he was sitting a few feet away. For the next half hour, you fidgeted in your seat, feeling distracted by the way the jumper clung to your body and how Trent’s foot occasionally brushed yours. Eventually, you stood, brushing your hands on your thighs.

“I’m actually tired now and done with you lot so I’m going up,” you announced, pretending to be annoyed as you turned to leave.

Once upstairs, you shut your door and immediately grabbed your phone. Your heart thudded as you typed,

'Thank you, T xx. Come give me my goodnight kiss pls'

You hit send before you could overthink it. A few minutes later, there was a soft knock on your door. You opened it to find Trent standing there, his lips tugged into a small, bashful smile.

“Can’t say no to you,” he murmured, stepping inside and pulling you into his arms. You tilted your head up, your hands resting on his chest.

“Good. I’d hate for you to start now,” you whispered before he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, lingering kiss that made your heart ache and soar all at once. But in the quiet sanctuary of your bedroom, the kiss between you became hungry and unrelenting. His hands moved over your body like he couldn't get enough, fingers curling into your hips, tugging you closer, as though even the sliver of space between you was too much. You clutched the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down to your level, your breath hitching as the intensity of the moment consumed you.

"T," you murmured out of breath, pulling back just enough to look up at him. Your chest rose and fell as you steadied yourself, your lips curling into a mischievous smirk. "You like movies so much, maybe we should make one." His brows furrowed slightly, the intrigue written all over his face.

"What are you on about?" he asked, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he tried to gauge if you were joking. Before he could process it further, you moved quickly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone.

"What're you doing?" he asked, his voice laced with both curiosity and amusement. But there was also a flicker of heat in his eyes as he began to realize where this might be going. You opened the camera app, thrusting the phone into his hand with a cheeky grin. Trent looked down at you, bewildered yet intrigued, as you began kissing along his jawline, trailing down to his neck. He tilted his head back, letting out a soft groan, the sensation overwhelming him.

"You're mad," he muttered, but his voice was thick with desire, his free hand gripping your shoulder as you sank to your knees before him. Your hands moved deftly, undoing the button and zipper of his trousers, your eyes locked on his.

"C'mon," you teased, your voice sultry, "just press record." His lips parted as he stared down at you, caught between disbelief and complete surrender to the moment. And so he did. He stared through the screen watching you take his hardening cock out. Your eyes darkened staring up at him as you let a line of spit fall from your lips onto his pulsating cock. He winced. You placed your thumb over his slit leaking pre cum. You massaged over it hard and he groaned as you continued sliding your hand down his base.

“Baby” he said the pet name as he took a few seconds watching the scene unfolding in front of him in two fold; one viewing on the screen reflecting the scene back at him, the other in real time. “So fucking good f’me” he whispered trying to bit back a groan. This was so beyond risky. He needed to be quiet. Giving him head while all his mates were just downstairs. Your mouth perfectly wrapped around his shaft, as it was meant to be there around him. The motion of your head bobbing up and down had him in awe trying to suppress his moans. He reached to grab your hair with vigor, guiding your movements as you hollowed your cheeks around him, the corners of your eyes now shining with tears as he gagged you with his length. “You look so fucking beautiful with my cock in your mouth baby” He cooed as you moaned at the compliment. You could feel your pussy flutter at the compliment. You stared at him through your lashes as you decided to take him deeper, hitting the back of your throat. He fucked your face, his cock hitting deep in your throat with every thrust. You were drooling at the corners of your mouth gagging on him trying to breathe through your nose when he grabbed onto your face.

“Going to be a good girl and take all of me? Swallow for me?” He could barely get the words out when your tongue swirled around him as you nodded. He released into your throat coating it in his cum. He grunted at the feeling. You lazily continued sucking him until you milked him of everything. Finishing by gently kissing the head of his cock as you sat back onto your heels.

"Did you like filming me?" you asked with a cheeky smile, your voice breathless, your chin was slicked with trails of his cum and your spit. Trent’s hand with the phone was trembling a little and it made you smile, a small visual you did a good job.

“God baby … fuck. Yeah, I did.” Trent exhaled trying to regulate his breathing. “You’re so good f’me” he cooed. You smiled again as s he stopped the recording and pocketed his phone before he reached out pulling you up to him by your arms. He kissed your temple pulling you into his chest more as he breathed heavily. You smile continued to grow against his chest.

There was an international break. Trent was away and it was hard on you even if he was only down south. You just wanted to be with him but instead you found yourself with the person you wanted to be with least. The person you were having the hardest time being around lately… your brother. The sun was dipping low, casting a warm, golden light through the car windows, but the atmosphere inside was anything but serene. You sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed tightly against your chest as if to shield yourself from the tension swirling around you. Jack was at the wheel, one hand lazily resting on the steering wheel while he animatedly recounted his Monaco stories, his voice filling the car with a steady hum. The air was heavy, though, and you felt like you were balancing on the edge of a knife. The soft rumble of the car engine mixed with Jack’s voice should have been comforting, but every word he said seemed to jab at the precariousness of your situation. Your heart raced, your palms felt clammy against your thighs, and the suffocating weight of the secret you carried seemed to double with every mile. The car smelled faintly of Jack’s cologne and the remnants of takeaway coffee he’d tossed into the cupholder earlier. You stared out the window, trying to ground yourself in the passing blur of countryside, but it wasn’t working. Jack’s voice kept pulling you back into the moment, into the conversation you weren’t sure how to navigate.

“… and so he was literally mobbed. All these little lads were losing their minds trying to get a picture so Trentski took one with each kid cause he’s Trent but then we were late for the boat...” Jack’s salad of words, you assumed was a story, continued on but you started to pay more attention when you heard his name. The car ride became a minefield of emotions. You tried to focus on the passing scenery, but Jack’s words stuck like thorns in your chest.

“That’s sweet though. I miss him a lot,” you had said, without thinking. The second the words left your mouth, you felt Jack’s sharp gaze on you.

“What?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion. Your stomach sank. The heat of embarrassment and panic crept up your neck as you tried to recover, your voice scrambling for an excuse.

“What?” you echoed back, feigning innocence. “I feel like he’s usually around, and now he’s away.” There was a tense pause, the weight of his doubt palpable in the confined space of the car. For a moment, you wondered if he was piecing it all together, but then Jack’s suspicion lingered for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing slightly before he shrugged and leaned back into his seat.

“Hmm,” he muttered, his suspicion fading. “You never miss me like that,” he snapped, though there was a teasing edge to his tone.You were already in freefall, the tension in the car mounting when Jack’s teasing words finally shattered through your fragile façade.

“You wouldn’t know if I missed you… you’d be away,” you quipped, trying to deflect, but your voice wavered ever so slightly. Jack laughed, a sharp sound that made your stomach churn.

“Fine but Jesus, you’re actually so embarrassing for him. He hasn’t even been around much lately,” he teased, and though his words were light, they landed like stones. You forced a laugh, your heart racing as you tried to mask your discomfort. But Jack wasn’t done. “What are you going to do when he gets married, huh? You know he’s seeing someone, right?” He cooed teasingly. The ache was instant, spreading through your chest like wildfire. You rolled your eyes at him, feigning indifference.

“Shut up, Jack,” you muttered, hoping he’d drop it. But the words haunted you. He’s seeing someone. It shouldn’t have mattered—it didn’t make sense for it to hurt the way it did because you were that someone. But it did. What if you weren’t that someone though…The thought of Trent with someone else, giving someone else the tenderness he gave you in secret, made your stomach twist. The car fell into an awkward silence. You stared out the window, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from saying anything else that might betray you. Jack, oblivious to the turmoil in your chest, hummed along to the music, his earlier suspicion forgotten. But you couldn’t forget. The weight of the lie you were living, the secrets you were keeping from your own brother, felt heavier than ever. You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to push the ache down. And yet, you couldn’t shake it. The guilt, the longing, the fear—it all churned within you as you gripped the edge of your seat, praying that the drive would end soon. Jack laughed again, completely oblivious to the storm raging inside you. You turned your gaze back to the window, hoping the conversation would end there, but the weight of his words lingered like an unwelcome guest. The rest of the ride was spent in suffocating silence, your hands gripping your thighs tightly. You kept your face turned away, willing the tears that threatened to prick at the corners of your eyes to stay hidden. The secret you carried felt like it was suffocating you, the walls of the car closing in as the miles ticked by. And as Jack laughed at his own jokes and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, you felt the crushing weight of the lie you lived—both to yourself and to him.

In the dressing room at St. George’s Park, Trent sat on the bench, lacing up his boots while the chatter of the England squad buzzed around him. They were talking fixtures, rivalries, and upcoming games.

“Man United’s coming up, yeah?” one of his teammates said, tossing his training top aside. “Should be a good one, mate. They’re in decent form.” Trent nodded, keeping his focus on his boots.

“Yeah, big game. Away as well.” He chirped nonchalantly. His teammate glanced at him with a grin, reaching to find Trent’s competitive edge.

“Don’t you have some personal stakes in that one? Doesn’t your best mate’s sister date that Josh lad?” Trent froze for half a second, his jaw tightening. He kept his head down, hoping his reaction wasn’t noticeable. The mention of your name made Trent’s stomach twist, even as he tried to focus on tying his boots. The casual comment about Josh left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he couldn’t stop himself from snapping.

“Nah, bro. She’s not with him. Fuck that kid,” Trent shot back, his tone sharp and unfiltered. The group of players exchanged quick, surprised glances. His reaction was louder than it should’ve been, and he instantly regretted it.

“Woah, relax, mate,” one of his teammates said, chuckling lightly. “Only a match.” he said, holding up his hands with a laugh. Trent sighed, leaning back on the bench and rubbing a hand over his face. He could feel their curiosity thick in the air. Trent’s mood simmered, but he tried to play it off, reaching for his water bottle. He hated that people still thought there was anything between you and Josh. It made his blood boil. The teammate sensed some tension but was unwilling to drop the topic.

“I thought you were seeing that Jess girl anyway,” another chimed in, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction—or maybe just stir the pot. Trent frowned, confused.

“I don’t even know Jess like that. Where’s everyone getting this information from?” Trent asked frustratingly.

“Jess, mate! Megan’s friend. I saw them out in Manchester the other month.” His teammate grinned as if he was solving some puzzle. “Sorry, I just thought you were with her, and I thought Y/N was still with Josh. So… if that’s not true…” He raised an eyebrow, clearly fishing for more information. Trent felt the possessive heat rising in his chest.

“No!” Trent snapped, but it came out too quickly. He shook his head, trying to sound more composed. “No, bro. Just stop chatting nonsense about Jack’s sister, yeah?” Trent said firmly, his voice more serious than it had been all morning. The group fell quiet for a beat before one of them laughed awkwardly, trying to defuse the tension. But Trent’s mind wasn’t in the room anymore. He was thinking about you, about how much he hated keeping this secret, about how much it hurt to hear your name in someone else’s mouth, tied to someone else’s life. He was done holding back. Something had to give. The thought of you with Josh, of anyone else thinking they could have you—it made his blood boil. Trent didn’t want to share you anymore. Not with rumors, not with anyone. He was ready to let the world know. For the first time, caution didn’t seem worth it.

After training, Trent sat alone in his room, his phone in his hand, the tension in his chest making it hard to breathe. The conversation in the dressing room earlier had stirred something deep in him, a gnawing need to reach out to you. His friends’ comments had irritated him, but what really got to him was how much he hated keeping you in the shadows. He hated the uncertainty, the idea that you might not know how much he truly cared. He stared at your name on his screen, the familiar pang of longing hitting him harder than usual. He swiped at the screen, hovering over the call button. His hand trembled slightly as he pressed it, his heart racing as the line rang. You picked up on the third ring.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice cautious, like you knew something was coming.

“Hi, baby,” he replied, his voice immediately dropping into something warm and gentle. It was so full of emotion that it caught you off guard. “What are you doing?” He asked sheepishly.

“Not much,” you answered, frowning at his tone. “Why? You okay, T?” You cooed gently.

“I just…” He paused, trying to gather the courage to say what he felt. His hand ran over his hair as he sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees. “I miss you.” The simplicity of his words stopped you in your tracks.

“What?” you whispered, caught between suspicion and disbelief.

“I miss you all the time,” he confessed, his voice heavy with longing. “Everything, baby. I miss it all; your smile, your laugh… the way you look at me like I’m the only one who matters. I miss having you in my arms.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, and it made your heart ache.

“T,” you murmured, your voice shaky.

“I know this might seem out of the blue,” he continued, pressing forward. “But I’ve been sitting here thinking, and I can’t stop. I don’t want to wait till I’m back. I need to see you.” His vulnerability was disarming. You had heard him sweet before, but this was different. His words weren’t casual or playful; they were raw, unfiltered.

“What’s going on?” you asked softly, trying to piece together the sudden intensity.

“I just… I need you,” he said, his voice breaking a little. You couldn’t believe how sad he sounded. “Come down to London tomorrow. Please. I’ve got the day off, and I want to spend it with you. I want you. No hiding, no excuses. Just us.” Your breath hitched at the desperation in his voice. You tried to stay logical, reminding yourself that traveling down to London wasn’t exactly practical. But the way he sounded—like he was holding on by a thread—made it impossible to refuse.

“T, baby, I don’t know,” you said hesitantly, your emotions warring with your logic.

“Please,” he pleaded, the word coming out softer, more vulnerable. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just… I miss you so much, baby. I just want to hold you and talk to you without feeling like we’re running out of time.” The raw emotion in his words broke down your walls, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek. You were scared—of what this meant, of what it might change—but you also wanted him just as badly.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Yeah?” he asked, hope lighting up his voice.

“Yeah,” you repeated, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the tears in your eyes. “I’ll book a train for tomorrow.”

“Thank you, baby,” he said, relief flooding his tone. You could practically hear the smile through the phone. “I can’t wait to see you. Promise me you’ll text me when you’re on the train, yeah?”

“I will,” you replied, your heart pounding. As you hung up, you sat back on your bed, your phone still clutched in your hand. A mix of excitement and anxiety churned in your stomach. You opened the train app, booking your ticket with shaky hands, all while replaying his words in your head. The thought of seeing him again, of being close to him, filled you with both hope and fear. But for the first time in a long time, it felt like things might finally be moving forward. And as much as it scared you, you couldn’t deny how much you wanted it.

The moment you stepped into the London hotel suite, you felt like you’d entered another world. The soft glow of dimmed lighting reflected off the rich wood paneling and modern gold accents, creating an atmosphere of intimate luxury. Plush furniture, sleek and inviting, filled the spacious room. A bottle of champagne sat chilling on the marble bar, a silent invitation for celebration. Trent was already there, waiting for you. He leaned against the doorway to the bedroom, his casual outfit—just a fitted black t-shirt and joggers—looking comfortably him. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and a warm smile spread across his face as he opened his arms.

“Come here, pretty girl” he murmured softly, his voice filled with affection. You crossed the room to him, slipping into his embrace, his arms wrapping tightly around you like he never wanted to let go. The scent of his cologne enveloped you, clean and intoxicating, and you melted against his chest. He pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his fingers running gently through your hair. “I missed you so much,” he whispered, his breath warm against your temple. You leaned back to look at him, your hands resting against his chest.

“I missed you,” you replied with a pout, your voice soft but full of emotion. He cupped your face gently, his thumb stroking your cheek as he studied you, like he couldn’t believe you were really there. You slipped in comfortable silence after that, the weight of the week melting away in his presence. The city buzzed far below, but up here, it was just the two of you in a cocoon of peace. The night unfolded gently. Trent ordered room service, insisting on your favorites. You laughed as he fed you little bites, both of you teasing and playing but never breaking the intimacy of the moment. You fell into the shower later on, taking the meaning of hot and steamy to new heights with him until the early morning creeped in.

You found yourselves sprawled across the massive bed, wrapped up in each other and the sheets, talking about everything and nothing. His fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin as he listened to you, his gaze never wavering. In the quiet hours of the early morning, you lay tangled together, his arms strong and steady around you as he held you close. The faint sound of the city below hummed through the glass, but you felt safe, cherished, and completely at home.

“Wanted to be with my girl,” Trent mumbled against your skin, his voice low and lazy as he held you close. The sheets of the hotel bed cocooned you both, your bodies tangled in the soft warmth of the early morning.

“Your girl, huh?” you teased, a smug grin tugging at your lips as you felt his arms tighten around you.

“Yeah,” he murmured with certainty, his words melting into the curve of your neck as he pressed a kiss there. “Always have been.”

“Yeah?” you challenged playfully, your voice light but carrying just enough curiosity to coax more out of him. “Even with my ex-boyfriends? Still yours?” You teased him with a smirk. A low groan escaped him, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“They didn’t exist,” he muttered, his tone laced with stubbornness. You giggled, running your hands slowly up his back, feeling the smooth expanse of his muscles beneath your fingertips.

“No? That’s funny because I’m pretty sure they did, T.” You cooed as you ran your hands up and down on his warm bare skin.

“They didn’t,” he insisted, his voice firmer now, though you could hear the hint of a smirk creeping into his tone.

“You’re delusional,” you laughed softly, your fingers playing with the short coils on the top of his head.

“No, baby,” he said, lifting his head to meet your eyes. His gaze was so intense, so full of conviction, it made your breath catch. “You’ve been mine. Always.” He confirmed as if almost a command. His words carried a weight that left you momentarily speechless. He wasn’t just being playful—he was staking his claim, and you could feel the raw emotion in his voice.

“Okay, T,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. But Trent wasn’t finished. His fingers trailed down to the delicate Van Cleef butterfly necklace resting against your collarbones. He toyed with it for a moment, his thumb brushing the charm before he spoke again.

“You knew,” he murmured, his lips brushing your skin. “You wore this necklace. There’s no way you didn’t think about me with other guys while you had this on.” Your eyes widened, a warm flush creeping up your neck. You opened your mouth to respond, but he smirked, cutting you off before you could say a word. He was right though. “My baby… You used to come home from dates,” he continued, his voice low and teasing now, “and still be all over me.” His smirk widened, and you could feel the curve of his perfect, plump lips against your skin. The memory of those days—of how tangled everything had been, how impossible it had felt to stay away from him—flooded your mind.

“You’re so smug,” you murmured, but your cheeks burned as your hands slid up his back again, seeking some sort of grounding.

“And I’m right,” he teased, his lips trailing kisses along your jaw. You sighed, a mix of exasperation and surrender.

“God, you’re impossible.” You feigned a sigh.

“But you wanted me,” he whispered, his voice softening as his kisses slowed, becoming tender instead of playful. “And I wanted you… and now look how good, baby, hmm?” You couldn’t argue with that. Instead, you pulled him closer, your arms wrapping tightly around him.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his temple. “It’s good.” And in that moment, with his warmth surrounding you and his words echoing in your ears, you felt it—there was no one else. There never had been.

Reflecting back, the memories played like a reel in your mind, each frame more bittersweet than the last. You could still picture the way you used to come home from dates. Your heels clicking against the floor, your shoulders slumped, and frustration practically oozing from your pores. Jack always seemed to be holding court in the living room, his friends sprawled across the couches and floor, a casual chaos you didn’t have the energy for.

“How was it?” Jack would ask, his voice tinged with mild amusement as he glanced up at you.

“Shit, if you’re back already,” Noah would add with a grin, never missing the chance to tease. And then there was Trent. Always there, perched on the couch, looking entirely too smug for someone who hadn’t said a word yet. His eyes would meet yours, dark and knowing, and just before you could make it out of their sight, he’d send you a wink. It wasn’t loud or showy, but it was enough to halt your steps and make your stomach twist. You’d plop down on the couch with a dramatic grunt, trying to deflect their teasing, but you never could escape Trent. Not really. The teasing would persist, Jack and Noah laughing and throwing out half-hearted insults, but Trent’s presence was magnetic. He didn’t join in. Instead, he always found a way to tether you to him, his touch subtle but undeniable. A pinch at your side that made you jump, a squeeze on your thigh that sent warmth crawling up your neck, or even a gentle swipe at your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin with a tenderness that felt misplaced—but only because it wasn’t meant to. And then there were his words, deceptively kind but maddeningly ambiguous.

“Not the right one,” he’d say softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. You remembered wanting to scream every single time. You wanted to tell him that you already knew. You’d known for what felt like forever. The right one wasn’t out there, somewhere in the endless sea of mismatched dates and wasted time. The right one wasn’t a stranger you had yet to meet. The right one was him. The right one was sitting next to you, his knee brushing yours, his smirk curling at the edges of his lips, and his fingers ghosting over your skin like he was leaving breadcrumbs for you to follow. And you did. God, you followed him every time.

But Trent never went further, and neither did you. So, you’d sit there, your heart in your throat and your mind spinning with all the things you couldn’t say, while he acted like he hadn’t just unraveled you with a look, a touch, or a single maddening phrase. And you hated it. You hated how much you wanted him and how deeply he had you tied in knots, yet you couldn’t hate him. You never could. Because every time he touched you, every time he said something that felt like a breadcrumb but never a full map, you hoped. You dreamed. And you stayed.

•

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Next part - Chapter 13 - Locked In xx

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bi-writes · 2 years ago

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in silence | the mandalorian

it is in the silence of us that i know where we are.

type: one-shot word count: 10k (holy moly im sorry) pairing: the (dark?)mandalorian x afab!fem!reader warnings: mature language and content, mature (but soft) written sexual content (read at your own discretion), 🔞⚠️ summary: you are unable to spend another day without the mandalorian knowing how you truly feel. complete masterlist

It was quiet, for the first time in a long time. Quiet in the sense that there was no noise around you. There was no hum of a ship, no loud sounds of alarms or radio transmissions from far acquaintances or the press and click of buttons and levers and lights. No, at this moment, it was quiet. The only sound was the slight whirr of wind outside and the gentle sigh leaving you. It was peace, and it was quiet; so why didn’t you like it?

You looked down into your lap, smoothing your hands over your legs. It was too quiet for your taste, perhaps? No, that wasn’t it. Quiet was good; but it was this quiet that wasn’t good.

You had gotten very used to having a presence at your side. For a long while now, a towering, heavy wall was your shadow. They did not speak much; in fact, for the months you had spent sitting beside them, you thought perhaps you could count the amount of words they said to you on both hands. While that was a stretch, it didn’t ignore the fact that the words spoken between you were usually from you and you only.

The helmet was his way of communicating. A slight tilt to the side, a heavy nod, a firm stare. You had become accustomed to this way of speaking, and you even were able to read his silence. Sometimes if you asked a question, he said nothing at all. You recently realized that you knew if his answer was yes or no just by the feel of the air around him. He seemed to realize that, too, and he seemed content at the fact that he could speak to you without speaking at all. It was a quiet, comfortable companionship; a quiet that you adored. A quiet that, at this very moment, you missed very much.

A shared quiet. A quiet that I spend with him, and only him, staring into the stars and wondering where he’ll take me next.

Will we be here a few more days? A quiet linger, a gentle sigh. You understood, preparing yourself to settle down for a little longer. Did you find what you were looking for? Nothing said, but he flicked several switches on the console in front of him with ease, very sure of his movements, and you smiled as you sat beside him. He had indeed found what he had been searching for. Is it okay if I borrow this? No response, but his absence of a protest meant you could do as you pleased.

That quiet was bliss.

You stood up from the small bed you were occupying. You found refuge at a local inn, and he had given you your own room. You had given him wide, wet eyes at this realization. You were rarely apart from him, and when you were, you were left in the protection of his ship, one that had yet to fail you. When you had climbed the mud clay stairs to the lodgings, he made it obvious that your room was right beside his. It was a silent declaration of if you need me, I am beside you. He had even slipped a small device into your hand, one curved in a way that could fit snugly in your ear. Communication, even if you only had to walk a few feet to his door. You looked at the device now, sitting on the bedside table, and your heart ached a bit. He thought of every fear you might have, and he accommodated each one of them.

He would not be far away from you; his room was beside yours. You would not have to sleep without saying goodnight to him; he had left a way into his ear in your hand.

You slipped the blankets back from the bed, getting inside of it. It was a comfortable bed, but you still were not at ease. You wanted to see him. In the dark, sometimes you saw flashes of lights as the buttons and panels of his ship reflected off his armor. It always put you at ease. Now, you stared into complete darkness, with nothing but an ugly quietness that left you breathing shallowly. You reached for the device on the table, fitting it into your ear.

A small beep sounded in your ear, a sound to indicate the connection had been made. You closed your eyes, biting your lip hard.

“Are you still here?” You asked suddenly, very softly. If he was asleep, you hoped your soft voice would not startle him. It was silent for a few long moments, and you sat up as the panic already started to flood your insides.

“Yes.”

You sighed a deep breath of relief, laying back down. “Are you crazy?” You breathed. “Why didn’t you answer me sooner? Geez…”

You closed your eyes, shaking your head as you brought the blankets back up. You wished he had just gotten one room with two beds, you wished you had said something; but you supposed even Mandalorians needed their privacy. You supposed he might have wanted to take off his armor and breathe in fresh air, and guilt crept in you as you thought about how your intrusion of his space probably kept him from being at ease, completely at ease.

“Are you alright?”

His voice brought you out of your thoughts, and you swallowed hard.

“No,” you whispered. You wanted to be honest. You weren’t capable of lying to him. He would know if you were lying, anyways. “I hate it here.”

There was a slight pause. “Are…is the room not to your liking?” He asked. He sounded confused and unsure of himself. He thought he had found a place that seemed comfortable enough for you. He had left a few days prior to find somewhere he deemed appropriate.

“The room is fine,” you said softly. It wasn’t the room. You could sleep on the cold dirt floor just fine, without complaining. “I just…” You closed your eyes tight, squeezing your eyes shut. “I…I’m not used to being without you. I’m…I’m sorry.”

You winced at how pathetic that sounded. Not used to being without him? You had slept many nights without him. You weren’t sure how to voice what you were feeling inside.

“No, I’ve…” You laughed nervously. “I’ve been without you a lot, it’s just…” You took a deep breath, but you hated how shaky it was breathed out. “This place is new, and I’m…I-I—”

“It is safe here,” he interrupted you. You brought the blankets up more, over your face.

“Can…” You turned over onto your side, clutching the blankets to your chest. “Can you get us a room together next time?” You asked quietly. You hoped he would understand the heaviness in your tone. It was your unspoken plea to tell him that you needed him.

There was a long pass of silence, but it was one you were used to. He hummed lowly, but not in a bad way. He was acknowledging your worry, you anxiety, the discomfort you felt without him.

“I miss you,” you said suddenly, your voice clear and soft. “That’s all.”

He did not reply. You smiled to yourself at the comfortable silence. You had no way of knowing how heavy his heart felt, the ache inside of him. Being away from you, even though you were only separated by a thin wall, had him on edge. He enjoyed where your sleeping quarters were on his ship; he could see you always, and this line of sight comforted him to no end. With you apart, there was a voice in him that almost convinced him to take to the wall and break it down just to relax your worries.

“Places are not safe, Mandalorian,” you continued. “You…you are.”

Your eyelids drooped, your conscious slipping a bit as you relaxed into the bed. Knowing he was listening to you made you feel the warm, familiar togetherness that you normally felt with him.

“You make me feel safe,” you finished groggily. It was the last thing you said before drifting off. He said nothing on the other end, but he knew you were asleep when he heard the evenness of your breath. He did not take the device out of his ear. He refused to, in fact, and he had been wearing it all night to make sure he would be able to hear you if you needed him. He closed his own eyes so he could let your words melt into him. He wanted to remember these words forever.

He was never going to get separate rooms ever again. He would appease any request of yours. He did not think he was capable of refusing any wish of yours; not when you asked him in that honeyed voice of yours.

When it was morning, you awoke to the bright sunlight that came in through the window. It was right in your eyes, and you turned over to move away from it. You looked at one of the screens in the room, touching it to reveal the time. It was early in the morning, earlier than the time he had told you to be awake, but you felt rested enough. You didn’t want to be away from him any longer.

You got out of bed and rummaged through your bag for something to wear. You picked out an unfitted white dress, just long enough to skim the tops of your thighs. The sleeves were fitted until your elbows, and then they belled out until the end of your wrist. You grabbed a dark pair of pants to put on underneath and reached for the leather thigh holster you wore over it, and then you bent down to tie up your boots. You had many dresses, but your wardrobe quickly adapted to the lifestyle you now led. The countless times you needed a quick getaway, to bolt into a fast sprint, to face a new adversary, were endless, and simply wearing a dress quickly became unfit for life with a Mandalorian. He had given you the holster you now wore and suggested these pair of boots; you had cooed at him when he bought them for you, and you remembered being restless when he secured the holster on your thigh for the first time.

You always pretended you didn’t know how to secure the holster. You enjoyed the way he was careful to put it on you. You had seen him do this for you every day; if he knew you were lying every time you told him you needed his help to secure the leather, he never said so. Perhaps he wanted to do it for you; maybe he even liked it.

The dress was not fitted to your frame, so you reached into your bag for the leather corset there. You held the corset and the holster in hand before leaving the room, making the short way to his door. You raised your hand, knocking gently on the metal of the door.

“Are you awake?” You asked, shifting from boot to boot as you waited for him to answer you. The door suddenly slid open, making you jump a bit backwards. Before you could fall back enough, a leather glove shot out and held your waist to keep you still. You smiled sheepishly, laughing a bit as he brought you closer. “You’re awake,” you nodded to yourself. Your eyes trailed up gleaming beskar to his helmet, where you looked into the dark visor and smiled wider. You held up the leather items in your hand, tilting your head to the side. His hand had yet to move from your waist. “I was hoping…you could help me.”

It was your usual morning routine. You padded into his room, and his door shut behind you. You noticed, for the first time, that he had yet to put all of his armor on. A pauldron and his belt of shiny rifle rounds and small detonators lay on the bed, and you turned to face him once you did your once-over of his room. He just stared at you, and you moved the items to the side before taking a seat on his bed. He took a chair from the side of the room and placed it in front of you, taking a seat as he took a hold of the thigh holster. You scooted closer to him, lifting your leg for him. He took it into his hands, laying it over his lap as he wrapped the straps around your thigh.

You leaned back on the palms of your hands as he did this. You watched him carefully, your eyes gentle as he worked of the leather straps through its belt buckle, securing it. The Mandalorian was in a well-acquainted place. This procedure was as it always was, and his movements were methodical. He was easily able to find the notch of the belt that he usually put the prong through. The leather was worn there more than the other notches, and it was so familiar the way he secured the strap and pulled on it to make sure it would not come undone. He continued with the next strap.

The silence was warm again. The setting was different, but you were still spending your morning with the Mandalorian, getting dressed with him.

“Did you sleep well?” You asked. He did not respond, still focused on pulling on another secured strap. You reached over gently, putting your fingers on the chin of his helmet and using enough pressure to make him look at you. Perhaps he wasn’t looking at you, but the visor made it seem so. He gave a curt nod, and you hummed with a smile. “I’m glad.”

He finished securing the holster, smoothing a gloved hand down the length of your leg before letting it fall back from his lap. You wished he would’ve kept you there, but he reached over and picked up the corset from your lap, standing to help you put it on. You didn’t completely register the fact that the Mandalorian was touching you; his hands had slid down your leg, he had held you close to him as he had secured the leather to you. He was touching you, more than necessary, and if you had been thinking correctly, you would have realized the significance of it. You weren’t; you were distracted by watching his broad frame sit so close to you, care for you, help you.

You stood up, your eyes now level with the bottom of his helmet. You looked up, keeping this moment still. You stared into the visor for a long while, and then you finally turned your back to him, lifting your arms a bit so he could fit the leather around your middle. You helped move the corset into place. It was comfortable, just a structured piece of leather solely to act as a fashionable overlay. You had, however, sewn a fibrous piece of flexible armor on the inside of it to protect you. Many times, it had stopped an angry blade from sinking into your side.

You let out a soft breath as the Mandalorian put a finger between the first set of laces and tugged firmly, tightening it. You put your hands on the front of the leather to keep it in place as he started to tighten more laces at your back.

Neither of you ever spoke about this routine. It was intimate. In the early hours of morning, with few words spoken, you would get ready for the day together. Fastening armor, tying dresses, fixing holsters, slipping weapons into place; it was a scheduled dance that you both were very used to, and no matter what events had transpired in the hours before, in the sleep or anger of the night, you always got up in the morning and had something for him to fix onto your person. Sometimes, it was just the holster. Other times it was your dress, or you would pretend to struggle with securing your blaster in your belt. In truth, you needed an excuse for the Mandalorian to touch you. He was pure and professional and respectful, always. You had found a loophole in his never-faltering demeanor. It was gearing up, getting dressed, tripping over your feet in front of him. In those times, his touch was never hesitant, nor did it ever shake. His touch was faith and security, supportive and strong.

His touch is fire, and I am ice, and even though it burns, I want more.

You remembered a night long ago; you had gotten hurt because you let your guard down. An ugly bruise had been blooming on your jaw, and he had scolded you like a child, angry that he had to turn his back away from his quarry and get to you. He had trusted you to keep yourself safe, and now he was coming to your aid in the middle of securing an important bounty, a valuable one. You remembered sitting on your bed that night, with tears in your eyes. You had not been hurt by his words and your wounds did not ache; you were embarrassed and feeling miserable that you had let him down. But in the morning, when the suns came out again, he had reached over and secured your holster just as he always did. He had gone slower, soothing your leg with soft touches and squeezes, and when he finished, you felt those gloved knuckles skimming the bruise on your jaw so softly. It had been his silent apology, and the tension simply evaporated when you leaned forward, your cheek against his cuirass as you hugged him.

It was a touch that kept you awake at night. It was a touch that made your skin hot and your toes curl and your brain liquify until all your thoughts were only him and the leather hands he had on you. Even now, with his dexterous hands fixing your outfit, you knew your legs were weakening. The Mandalorian was pure death and smoke in one terrifying hunter, but you had never, ever been afraid. He only made you feel pure desire and unfaltering reassurance.

“This is my favorite part of the day,” you said into the quiet. The Mandalorian continued without pausing, and your breath hitched a bit as he pulled particularly rough on the next set of laces. “It’s…quiet, and…” You looked out the window at the sun rising higher, telling you it was getting later into the morning. “—and it’s just us.”

You let your hands fall to your sides when he had tied most of your corset. You bent down and picked up his pauldron off the bed. The beskar was shiny and incredibly heavy in your hands. It looked freshly polished, and you smiled at the thought of the Mandalorian seated on this bed, a careful hand rubbing a cloth between the crevices of his armor. He was simple, and he did not need much to keep himself together. His armor and his weapons; the Mandalorian needed little more to thrive.

He tied off the last of the laces at your back, his hands smoothing around to touch your waist. It was his way of telling you he had finished. You turned in his grasp, meeting his visor again. You tilted your head to the side a bit, training your eyes on the dark material there. You thought maybe if you stared long enough, squinted hard enough, you might be able to see his eyes, but there was nothing but your sweet face staring back in a distorted reflection. You knew you had his eyes though, since he was unmoving and quiet.

You reached up carefully, breaking eye contact as you lifted the pauldron to his shoulder. You fit it where you thought it might go, moving it around gently until it seemed to drop into place. You heard a satisfied clicking sound that told you that his armor was in its place, and then you smoothed your hand over the front of his chest plate. You stared up at him again for just a moment before reaching behind yourself and picking up his heavy belt of ammunition. His hands left yours to help you, putting the belt around his waist as you brought the strap over his helmet to sit across his front. As he fastened it around his waist, you fixed it to sit properly around his neck. You realized that the strap and his cape were tangled together now, and you laughed a bit sheepishly as you had to lean on him to fix it properly. There were many things the Mandalorian was, but unkempt armor and imperfect dressing was not one of them. You wondered now if perhaps you had gotten him dressed in the wrong order, but he had yet to correct you.

Some of the slots for his rifle rounds were empty, so you simply reached into his open pack on the bedside table and grabbed a handful of them. It was a blissful calm as you began to refill the vacant slots carefully.

“I like it when it’s just us,” you murmured. You fit another round into its place, laughing a bit. “I know it doesn’t make sense. We don’t really…talk,” you shrugged a bit. “But you…you know so much about me already. And…I…” You kept your hands busy, too nervous to meet where you thought his eyes might be. “I-I would like to think that I know a lot about you.”

You might not have known his name. You might not have known his favorite song or where he came from or what the soft words were that he whispered when he was asleep meant, but you hoped that your observations were enough that you knew him in ways that others did not. In danger, you would curl knowingly around his defensive side without being told. He could tilt his helmet just right at you, and you would know if he wanted you to stay or to go. If he used his hands a certain way, if he reached for an extra bite of rations, if he stepped fast or slow or sideways, these were all ways you had learned to observe him and gauge his mood and memorize his likes and dislikes. You had an unspoken, unwritten bond, one that no amount of distance or separation or time apart could break.

“You do,” The Mandalorian admitted. His voice was low and careful. “You know…you know more about me than anyone else.”

You finished refilling his belt with ammunition, and you looked up at him through your lashes, biting your lip gently.

“Is that right, Mandalorian?” You asked, keeping your hands on his chest. The metal was cold under your fingertips; your skin was too hot. He simply moved his helmet just enough to tell you yes, you know me unlike any other being in the galaxy.

You stood on your toes, one hand leaving his chest to cup the underside of his helmet, your lips close to where his ear might be. “You don’t let just anyone put on your beskar?”

He nearly choked on his breath at the tone of your voice. Low, sultry, cooing as it sang along the edge of want and desire. He slid his hands up your back, his fingers ghosting over the laces of your corset he had just tied nice and tight. He moved his head just slightly, angling his neck to get a better view of the knowing expression on your face. You were smug, as if you knew what you were doing to him. As if you knew your words were absolute fire and smoke, and you had just pierced his heart head-on with it. He shook his head slightly to answer you, and he leaned in even closer, the front of his helmet skimming the plush curve of your bottom lip.

“I don’t let just anyone take it off, either.”

Oh.

Your knees nearly buckled at the admission. You swallowed hard, your hand curling around the neck of his cape. You gripped him tightly to keep from collapsing, your mouth suddenly dry and completely devoid of a quick comeback. You stared at him, mouth agape as you registered his retort. He liked this reaction from you. He was never completely confident that he had an effect over you, but the way your body clung to his for support just by a few choice words told him there was a warmth in you that rivaled his own.

“Well,” you laughed breathily, in disbelief almost. You stepped even closer, your hips suddenly flush against his. “Was that…are you flirting with me?”

You broke out into the brightest smile, leaning back a bit to get a better look at him. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling steadily, staring down at you as piercing as ever. You adored him like this; you always wanted his attention on you and only you.

“The Mandalorian flirting…” You bit your lip. “I like it.”

He tilted his head to the side, and you giggled, getting up on your toes to press a kiss to where you hoped his mouth was under the helmet. You nuzzled your nose against the metal for a moment before moving back. You took a step or two back away from him, his hands forced to fall from your waist. Your hands never let go of his though, and you squeezed his palms gently before letting his hands finally fall to his side.

“I had no idea Mandalorians could flirt,” you said as you started to help him pack up his room. His rifle was leaned up against the wall by the bed, and he had other weapons and supplies strewn about. “Is that something you learn during your training?”

“No.”

You laughed at his response, shaking your head slightly.

“I suppose not,” you sighed happily. “I’m sure everything with Mandalorians is very serious. I bet you court each other with a strict protocol.” You made a little salute with two fingers to your forehead.

“I…am not too familiar with Mandalorian courting rituals,” he said lowly as he put the rifle around his shoulder. “I have never felt the need to abide by them.”

“And why is that?” You asked casually, stuffing some credits into a small pouch so he wouldn’t lose them.

“The rituals I’m acquainted with are subtle,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I did not think you would notice them. I have had to resort to other methods.”

Your paused your movements for a moment, frozen in your spot. You swallowed hard, shaking your head again and continuing to organize the bag in your hands.

“Ha, ha,” you said sarcastically. “You’re hilarious. I didn’t know Mandalorians told jokes either.”

“I would never lie to you,” he replied simply. You suddenly had a lump in your throat. Your mouth was dry, so dry it hurt. Your heart tightened in your chest, and you clutched the bag to your middle. You had your back to him, and although he moved quietly, you could feel him stepping closer to you. You trembled just a bit, feeling your hands shake.

You thought this had just been teasing. You thought he was just entertaining your flirty remarks, letting you giggle and laugh and joke because it was what you needed to feel comfortable. You thought Mandalorians were the greatest warriors in the galaxy, and there was no room in their Creed for courting or love or romance, at least not with someone like you.

You did not swear on any Creed. You did not wear any helmet. You were not bound to any covert or Tribe or people of any kind. You were technically not even a warrior. You knew only what the Mandalorian had shown you, and while you could hold your own at his side, you did not grow learning how to make a blade an extension of your hand or the intricacies of a blaster. You were you, and that was all you had to give, and you did not think that would be enough for a Mandalorian. A solider, a warrior, however you wanted to call them, they were master hunters and avid fighters and women like you did not belong with them. In fact, you really couldn’t picture anyone belonging to a Mandalorian except perhaps another warrior of equal standing. You pictured, at the Mandalorian’s side, a woman who perhaps could spar with him and win.

A woman who could understand him in ways that I might never be able to.

When you turned to face him, your eyes were wet with tears. You looked up at him with a quivering bottom lip, and the Mandalorian tilted his head to the side, examining the defeated expression on your face. You were in love with him, more than you had ever been with anyone else before. You had never seen his face, you had no idea the name he was given by his mother, but you were in love with him. Despite the past you knew he had, the Mandalorian was noble and honorable, at least with you and those you had encountered. Every day with him was an adventure. New planets, new people, new languages, incredible experiences, a new skill here and a beautiful view there. Your life was color and vibrance and noise and wonder, and you had never slept more peacefully than in your small cubby in his ship, layered with pillows and blankets that he had bought for you. The Mandalorian showed you, time and time again, that he was not the murderer he once might’ve been. He was care and protectiveness and safekeeping incarnate in impenetrable armor, and you were in love with him.

You had loved him since he first touched your face after you watched him kill his first adversary for you. One green, slimy hand had touched your waist, and that was all he needed to sink the blade from his boot right through the creature’s middle. His violence in response to your wellbeing should’ve terrified you, but it pulled you right in. He had touched your face in a silent question, to wonder if you were okay, and you had just nodded up at him, letting his leather glove sweep over your lip and rub the smudge of blood away from it.

The Mandalorian was not good. In fact, he had a past that followed him darkly, a grey cloud that flooded his mood with rain when you met someone he once knew.

The things Mando used to do…has he ever told you about the bounty we captured in the Outer Rim?

Mando, have you gone soft?

Mando always needed target practice, isn’t that right, Mando?

He took down an entire platoon with just that blade. What he would do with that rifle of his…

You admired the stories, but you could tell they did not soothe him or fill him with any sense of pride. The Mandalorian said nothing about those comments, only moved the conversation forward. He never wanted to be reminded about who he once was; that, or he did not want you to know who he once was. If you discovered the shell of a man he used to be, he feared you might still find him worthy. Worthy of what, he wasn’t quite sure, but he knew he was unworthy, nonetheless.

“I thought…” The Mandalorian paused. He did not want to say the wrong thing. “I know I am not…it is not easy to feel a certain way for me—”

“To love you?” You scoffed, letting a tear finally fall. “Just say it. It’s not easy to love you? Is that what you meant to say?”

Your voice was shrill and hurt. You put his bag down, your fingers fiddling with each other to keep yourself occupied. The Mandalorian just moved his helmet in just a way to agree with you. You shook your head at that, looking away from him as you sucked in a deep breath.

“That’s the understatement of the century,” you murmured. “Not easy to love you? You’re…you’re impossible!” Your voice came out as a curt yell, and you surprised yourself with the heavy anger there. “You’re impossible to love. It’s like…sometimes I feel like I’m talking to the wall…” You closed your eyes, your cheeks wet now as your tears fell and fell and refused to stop. “I feel like I’m talking to the wall, and you still manage to drive me insane.”

He stepped even closer, shielding you from the rising sun. His broad figure cast a dark shadow over you, and despite the heavy ache in your chest, his closeness was welcome.

“You’re—” You continued, and he let you. “You barely talk. You barely tell me anything about yourself. I don’t even know your name…” You nearly whined when his hand came up to cup the side of your face, his thumb wiping the wetness of your tears from your skin. “But I can’t help it—” You relaxed when he brought both hands up to cradle your face in his hands. You were at peace here, so tranquil in the silence of his company. “I have never…I have never felt this way before. And I feel it with a kriffing Mandalorian…”

“What do…what do you feel?”

You opened your eyes again, staring up into his visor. He sounded nervous. It was a tone of voice you were unfamiliar with. The Mandalorian was never nervous; and he certainly was never insecure nor unsure of himself.

“Are you kidding me?” You breathed, putting your hands over his on your face. “You know, for a Mandalorian, you suck at reading the room.”

He tilted his head to the other side, and you squeezed his hands under yours. You slid your hands down the back of his own, over his wrist. You traced the beskar of his vambraces, up and over his elbow and along his biceps. You slid your palms over the pauldrons on his shoulders and then brought your arms around his neck. You stepped even closer, close enough that your hands pushed on the back of his helmet and dipped his head down to yours.

You closed your eyes as the sweet, cool kiss of beskar touched your forehead. You knew the significance of such an embrace; you had asked a member of his covert once, when you and he sought refuge, if Mandalorians were capable of showing affection when they never showed each other their faces. They had mentioned the act of polishing armor, of securing it to each other’s bodies, of giving each other gifts of their signet, but the one that stuck the most in your mind had been the kiss of their helmets. You noted the fact that none of these were words of affection; like your Mandalorian, their rituals were silent in manner and deep in meaning.

You had no way of knowing how wonderful the shake that ran through the Mandalorian all the way through his toes felt. He was warm all over at your kiss, and he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, the only sound that would come over the vocoder would be a groan, a sound of relief at the fact that his all-consuming love for you was in fact not unrequited.

You had learned a meaningful part of his culture and were using it to tell him everything he needed to know about how you felt. It was as if you could peer directly into his heart, as if you knew exactly how to communicate with him. You were so clear and pervasive, and at this, the Mandalorian knew you understood him in ways not even his Tribe was ever able to. This was a union that he would never find anywhere else, an invisible link he shared with you that no one else could ever imitate.

“I love you,” you whispered. Speaking love, this was your way of life. He listened, not daring to speak, to allow you to share your thoughts without interruption. “I…I can’t remember how long it’s been. I’ve loved you for so long, that I…I don’t even remember what it was like to not feel this way.” Your hands curled around the back of his neck again, feeling the rough fabric of his cape there. You had patched this cape many times yourself, sewing up the holes left by blasters and the singed hem from fire. “And I never want to forget this feeling. Ever.”

You stayed there for a few long moments with him. His arms were wound tight around your waist, holding you to him. Your own were wrapped around his neck, your forehead pressed to the helmet as you breathed warmly against the metal, your lips kissing it lightly as you breathed in the moment. He was quiet, and so were you, and it was in the silence of your embrace that you could feel the joy radiating off his armor like heat. The Mandalorian was happy, and you smiled the longer you held each other.

“We should get going,” you said finally, lifting your forehead off his helmet and letting out a content sigh. “Shouldn’t we?”

He was quick. He bent slightly at the knees, his hands falling from your waist to grab at you from under your knees. He lifted your legs to wrap them around his middle, and you gasped in surprised as, with incredible grace and strength, he planted you on the edge of the dresser. You looked down at him easily in this position, and he took his place between your legs, so close that your lips bumped against the forehead of his helmet as he got comfortable here.

You laughed a bit, your hands moving up to hold where his cheeks would be. You had never seen his face, but he was beautiful in ways you couldn’t describe. Physically, the broadness and firmness of his unyielding figure were enough to have you weak in the knees; but his sweltering physique was coupled with a tender heart and skillful hands, and it made the Mandalorian a physical amalgamation of every need and desire you had ever dreamed about.

The Mandalorian was far from perfection; but on the stars, he was perfection in your eyes, and you would change nothing about him. You would not even change the fact that you did not know what his kiss felt like or what color his eyes were. You welcomed the idea that the Mandalorian you knew was faultlessness and loveliness inside (at least to you), and no matter how many layers he was unable to shed for you, you were familiar with the most important part of him all, the part that rested underneath all of the heavy beskar and warm skin.

You knew him. That was all that mattered, and that was all that would ever matter to you.

“There are…” He did not know how to voice the ache in his chest. “There are things I can’t tell you, things that…I might never be able to—”

“Shhh,” you rested your cheek against his helmet, closing your eyes as you hugged him as close as possible. “I…I love you as you are. I…I will never ask for more than you can give me. You are enough. This is enough.”

If he never showed his face to you, you would still be content. If he never told you his name, you would still love him more than anything in the galaxy. If he never let you feel his skin or kiss his lips or understand what colors his eyes were when he voiced his own love, you would still be the luckiest woman that ever lived. There was no need to wonder. You never wondered, in fact. None of it mattered to you; the Mandalorian was enough just like this, staring up at you with firm hands holding the pieces of you together.

“You deserve more,” he said gently.

“I don’t want more,” you shook your head, breathing in the scent of him deeply. He smelled so good; he smelled like warm sand and a spring waterfall, just a hint of smoke and fire. It was more comforting than anything to fill your senses with him. “I want you.”

You said it as if it was the simplest answer; you said it easily, smoothly, with no hesitation or shake or fear. You said it as if it was the easiest announcement you ever gave; and truthfully, it was. You were certain no creature or being anywhere among the stars could ever make you feel this way again. You had discovered your person. Your person was a Mandalorian. This Mandalorian—adorned in sparkling silver beskar, smelling like blaster fire and pretty skies, with an arsenal around his waist and a heart of pliable steel.

Pliable. Not rigid, not unfeeling. Pliable. At least in my hands.

“Did you hear me, Mandalorian?” You asked, a bright smile widening over your face. You leaned back a bit to look at him better. “I want you.”

“Yes,” he swallowed hard. His voice was so low, barely audible over the modulator. “Yes, I heard you.”

You gave him soft eyes as you felt his hand slip low, over the outside of your leg. Your breath hitched as you felt his careful fingers slip over the edge of your thigh holster, undoing the first buckle. Your hands dragged around his neck, your palms pressing flat against his chest plate, letting the cool metal soothe the heat in them. He had spent some time fitting you into your armor, and now he was taking it off just as carefully, just as slowly, just as teasingly. He had to know now what his touch did to you.

He had to.

Once the holster was undone, it fell to the floor, and you both stared at each other wordlessly. You continued to say nothing as you reached around him to undo the ties on your boots and toe them off until they fell with a thud onto the floor. You kept your gaze fixed on his visor as you moved his hands higher up on your waist, hooking your fingers into the sides of your pants and tugging them down and off your legs, discarded haphazardly over your boots on the floor.

This was an invitation. It was a silent offer of you can have me and I am yours. You were perched up in his grasp, sitting pretty in his arms, and while the Mandalorian could not give you all of him, you could, and you would. His resolve was faltering at your request; it was selfish to give into you when he could not give you the same in return, but he could feel himself physically hurting the longer he tried to resist his intense cravings of you.

It was almost saddening to think that he did not know how much you didn’t care. You didn’t care about how much he was able to give you, or for how little time. You wanted him in whatever way he would allow, and you would savor that for the rest of your days. Love was unseeing, and it was not patient, but weakly, you hoped it would be forgiving.

“Din,” he murmured lowly, so quiet, you barely heard it. He could at least give you this; it was a sacred word, but he felt this would be enough for now. “My…name is Din.”

His name. The crackle between his words warned you enough. His name could only be spoken like this; in the quiet of your presence, with no one else around to hear it. He had let you have of piece of him, and you promised, silently, that you would hold it so tight and keep it safe. You would never say his name to another, not even in death.

Is that how far you will go for him?

Your head lulled back against the wall when you felt him for the first time. Filling you to the brim with a warmth and heaviness that you had always longed for, he was perfection in one man, you were convinced of that now. His voice gave in, uttering a broken groan of utter pleasure and relief that made your insides feel as if they were on fire. You were so mistaken before; you thought him flawed to the outside stars but perfection in your eyes, but you knew now that there was nothing the Mandalorian lacked. He was perfect, so perfect, and gods, he felt like he was going to break you in two with how good he was making you feel.

I would do anything for him; and yes, I think I’d even die.

You cradled his head to your chest as you pressed your hips flush against his, your eyes closing tight as he grasped at your waist. He was pawing at your back, his gloved hands clutching onto the fabric of your dress and corset as he tried to calm the feeling of unhinged pleasure that was rippling through him. It was no use; you were so tight and welcoming around him, and the feeling was forcing him to lose all sense of focus. The Mandalorian had never felt so helpless to one single thing; you were breaking his resolution without even trying. No, that was lie; the sudden, aching grind of your hips against his was agonizingly effective.

You didn’t remember how you made it from the dresser to his bed, but suddenly he was on his back and your hands were fixed on his chest plate, and you were pushing your hair back as you kept up the grueling pace he had already begun. His knees bent, supporting you from behind, and you bit your lip hard to keep yourself together. The firmness of his thighs were only heightened by the beskar secured around them, and the metal was digging into your back deliciously. Your teeth biting down into your lip muffled the sounds you might make, and he couldn’t have that. Sitting up to support you even more, he reached up with a gloved hand and used his thumb to open your mouth wide, a high-pitched gasp leaving you as soon as you could voice it.

I want to hear you, the action told you. I want to hear how you sound when I make you mine.

You looked into the depth of his visor, your hands sliding up onto his shoulders, finding the space between his neck and the pauldrons he still wore, squeezing the firm muscle there. You had slowed your movements to look at him, to get comfortable again in his arms, and you both were having a difficult time trying to breathe properly. You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his helmet, whimpering as you sank down even further on him. He was nestled deep, and you were clenching hard. You thought it might be awkward to fuck the Mandalorian with his helmet still on; the thought of not being able to kiss him made your heart ache. Instead, it was an intimacy that comforted you to no end.

You could not know what he looked like, but you knew what he felt like. You would learn what every ridge of him felt like, what every curve of him touched inside of you, how hard he remained even with the relief of how tightly you squeezed him. There was not another woman or creature in the galaxy that would ever memorize this; you were determined not to allow that. The Mandalorian was yours now, and you would fuck him blind to make him understand this.

“Promise me this won’t be the last time,” you begged, tugging his chest to yours, kissing the metal of his helmet wherever your lips touched. “Promise me I can have you…please.”

Gods, he’s making it hard to breathe. I can’t think.

“Please, Din.”

You did not get a response. Instead, he gripped your hips tight and guided them back into a rhythm, a pace that started slow and gentle and climbed in stride as your own desire climbed in you. His touch was soft, but the tormenting feeling of him hitting you deep again and again and again was anything but gentle. The Mandalorian was skilled in not just combat, and you grew jealous wondering how a man such as him learned to be such a capable, intense lover.

“Din, promise me,” you whined. Now that you knew his name, you did not stop. It felt so good to say it, and he seemed to fuck you harder each time you said it. He liked the sound; your sweet, soft voice saying his name like a prayer. You were beginning to think your Creed was this, the panting cry of his name as you met each of his thrusts with just as much fervor, the—Din, Din, gah—please!—it was the mantra you wanted to say for the rest of your days. The Mandalorian had whittled you down to this; a half-naked woman who was beginning to forget every word in her vocabulary just at the feeling of her lover’s touch.

But he wasn’t doing much better than you. His jaw was slack beneath the helmet, his visor fixated on the beautiful bounce you carried as you met each grind of his hips. He memorized the way sweat clung to your skin, beading along your hairline and a little down your neck, and he refrained from the urge to smear it around you and make you sparkle with your own desire. The Mandalorian was fully clothed, gloves still fastened and armor clanking together and digging into your soft skin, but he felt utterly naked at this moment. It was daylight, and the love of his life was whimpering his name—his fucking name—and he had nowhere to go and felt no other sense of purpose except for getting you to that sense of haven and watching you let go. You were tighter than he imagined, taking him so deep he thought he might feel your throat, and the way your body enveloped him made him realize just how much you wanted him in the same way he wanted you.

You were bound. There was nowhere to go. No matter what the Mandalorian did for the rest of his life, this was where he would always end up. You could leave, he could leave, there could be lightyears between you, but somehow, he knew, he would end up here again. He could see it, as if he could see some distant future, visions of himself coming back to you. In some of those visions, he saw his own eyes, brown and blown wide and starving for your touch.

“Din, stars—” You choked out, bracing yourself against his chest. “Focus on me…” You laughed a bit, leaning down and nuzzling your face into the fabric of his neck. Even fully donned in armor, you knew his mind was somewhere else. You needed it to be on you. “I need…ahh…I need more.”

No, that wouldn’t do. The thought of you needing more from him was too much to bear. He took a hold of your throat, gently, but you seemed to enjoy the grasp, and with a startling burst of strength, the Mandalorian flipped the two of you, your back hitting the bed as he curled your leg around his waist. You stared up at him, lifting a hand and putting it to the curve of his helmet, stroking it gently with your thumb.

“Need you,” you whispered, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. You were drunk on the presence of him, feeling as if he had already taken you over the brink of bliss, and yet you were still needing to feel a release. He was driving you crazy, and you hadn’t even come yet. You had never seen his face, and yet there was no one in the galaxy that had ever made you feel quite this lustful; wet, dripping onto him like spring rain, staining the dark of his flight suit, a sinful, gushing reminder of what he was doing to you.

He kept his hand at your throat, soothing your pouty lips with a smooth leather finger. He gripped your face roughly, his forehead to yours as he continued the pace you had both set. Now, he was stuffing you full of him, his weight pressing into you and drilling you into the bed deliciously. You wanted more of him, all of him, heavy and broad all on top of you. He was holding your gaze and gripping you tight and fucking you with the control and determination of a true Mandalorian. He had promised you this, and Mandalorians were true to their word.

It would be against his Creed to do anything else besides make you his.

You let out gurgled moans, your eyes rolling back a bit in your head as he started to hit that warm, spongey place deep inside of you. He could feel how you responded, the way your stomach tensed, thighs trapping him against you, your nails digging into fabric around his neck. You were seeing stars, real stars, blinding your vision of him as you said his name again and again and again. He was so focused on you, starting to lose control of himself and fuck, how he wanted so badly to kiss you. He almost dropped the helmet and forced his mouth on yours, but both your hands rose up and gripped the sides of his helmet for support as you felt that cord ready to snap, ready to break, ready for him.

“Din—” You whined. “Din, I-I…I’m gonna—”

“Take it,” he spoke finally, and you moaned so loud at the heaviness of his tone, the desire in his voice. “Take it…take what you want—”

That was his promise to you. Whatever you needed, whatever you wanted, the Mandalorian would give it to you. If you wanted this moment to last the rest of your days, he would give it to you. All you had to do was take it.

All she has to do is ask, and I will do whatever she says. Whatever burns her, I will set on fire. Whatever hurts her, I will make nonexistent. Whatever wound of her cries, I will mend.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, trying to hold yourself together. It was impossible. You closed your eyes and clawed at the fabric around his neck, shifting your head close enough that you revealed the skin beneath it and kissed it, your lips wet and eager to touch any part of him. You bit down gently, sucking soft, bruising the skin there as he took you to another place entirely. Someplace bright and euphoric and never-ending, someplace where your entire body shook, your thighs closed, your moans never ceased. He was taking you to another planet maybe, at least in your head, and you soothed the bites you were leaving on his neck with wet licks and sweet kisses. He would be bruised when he looked in the mirror. Your insides turned at the thought that when he took off his helmet later, alone, he would be the only one to see your marks littered there.

Even as the searing pleasure faded a bit, you kept your legs tight around his waist. You let out quiet whimpers as he kept up his intense rhythm, your hips still trying desperately to meet his own. You wanted to feel him, needed to feel him, and you pulled away to look into the depth of his helmet, hoping he would see the pure want in your eyes.

“Yeah?” He asked lowly, squeezing the flesh of your throat. You licked your lips, nodding hurriedly. He lost his composure, a few sloppy thrusts before he choked out a low groan, right into your ear. You thought maybe you fell over the edge again as he filled you to the brim. You shut your eyes tight, a soft moan escaping as you reveled in the feeling of being so full and so elated. You felt your thighs become sticky as he pulled out just slightly, wetness pooling between you, and then you yelped with surprise as he pushed right back in, squeezing your throat possessively.

You giggled in a daze, lifting a hand and dragging your fingers down the side of his helmet. You both were panting hard, drinking in the fog of pleasure. You smiled up at him, leaning up and kissing the helmet wherever you could.

You hummed softly when he left you, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to relax. You heard the rustle of clothing, the heavy clank of beskar. You steadied your breathing as you heard him move around the room, and then you sighed deeply as you felt his hands on you, gentle as they wiped you down and got you dressed. You sat up slowly, finally opening your eyes, and you grinned up at him again, feeling warm all over as he fixed your corset again. His thumbs grazed over the swell of your cleavage, and you bit your lip at the feeling. The Mandalorian was touching you now, and he was not shy about it. It drove you wild inside to know he couldn’t help himself.

He picked up your thigh holster off the floor, taking a seat in the chair again. You stood up, on wobbly legs, and you took a seat in his lap this time, one arm going around his shoulders as he fastened the first buckle around you. You were being affectionate now, leaning your head against the side of his helmet as he continued carefully, silently, contently. He did not push you away or tense at your touch. He liked having you close.

“You know…” You said hoarsely, watching him buckle another strap, “I know…how to do this. I…just…I like when you do it. For me.”

He rested his hand on your thigh when he finished, turning his head to face you. You swallowed hard, nervous as he stared at you.

“I…want to do it for you,” he said lowly. You smiled at him, framed by sunshine and soft wind, and he had to tell himself to breathe as he looked over you.

You leaned forward, closing your eyes as you rested your forehead against his. He closed his own, savoring the kiss you so easily gave him, the love you had no problem expressing. You were so at ease like this, as if you were made solely for the purpose of giving the love you held so dearly. In truth, you had bottled up these feelings for so long. You feared crossing a line with him, doing something that went against his sacred religion or the vows he had made to wear the beskar he had become. Now that you had crossed the threshold, you feared not showing exactly what you felt. The Mandalorian made you feel new again, whole again. You would not go another day without showing him the very parts of you that ached to be seen.

Because he sees me. He does not look through me, he sees me. I have no idea what his eyes look like, but I know they are on me, and I know he’s looking at me, and I know he sees me.

In the silence of this room, on a planet you could not remember the name of, you made your own vows; a Mandalorian as your Creed, his name your prayer, and his touch the salvation that brought you home.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian smut #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fic #pedro pascal #the mandalorian imagine

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to-thelakes · 10 months ago

Note

Luke confessing his love for reader during a screaming match/fight after confronting an unsub went wrong and reader being confused as to why he's telling them that now

faltered

pairing; luke alvez x fem!reader

summary; after you put yourself at risk, once again, luke finally snaps but the argument doesn't go in the way you expect.

warnings; fluff, angst, love-confession, happy ending, not proof-read

notes; is this proof-read? hell nah, is it good? honestly, anyone's guess, i am so so so so so bad at writing characters being angry because i just... honestly forgive people WAY too easy and i can't stay mad at people for long. i can probably count on one hand the amount of times i've actually been mad so this was a little experiment for me. and honestly, this little request/ask/whatever had me inspired and i wrote the dialogue last night and then finished it today so here is my little drabble/1.3k word one-shot about this scenario

“What the hell were you thinking!” Luke raged as he closed the hotel door behind him. You clenched your jaw, turning back to glare at him. You couldn’t believe this.

“I saved her life!” You snapped back as you looked up at him. He scoffed, throwing his hand up to gesture at your wound.

“Look at your face! You put yourself in the line of fire unnecessarily,” He argued back. You stared at him, in complete disbelief.

“I did what I thought was right,” You said, voice still loud but not quite shouting at him this time. You could feel the rage bubbling and you felt guilty enough that you didn’t need Luke shouting at you like your cheek hadn’t been slashed open.

“You knew that wasn’t the right call,” He responded, crossing his arms over his chest. You turned around briefly but his words stopped you in your step. You turned to face him.

“I had to do something!” You raged, anger jumping back to the surface within seconds.

“And letting the Unsub get you was the way of doing that, huh?” He questioned, venom lacing his tone. He couldn’t believe you had been so reckless and you didn’t understand why Luke cared so much.

“Yeah! I needed her to get away and if that meant I got hurt, oh well because she’s alive!” You argued, throwing your arm out as you spoke. Luke shook his head, disbelieving.

“No, we had a plan. You put that plan in jeopardy!” His voice raised at the last word, anger morphing his features. It would have bothered you if you weren’t equally as fired up, “If JJ hadn’t been there, you’d both be dead!”

“JJ was there, Luke. So, don’t give me this shit!” You shouted back before you turned around and grabbed your to-go bag. You wanted to get back to the team. You weren’t even sure why you let Luke come with you. Maybe you thought he’d be a comfort but he wasn’t. Of course, he wasn’t. You should have known.

“And what if she hadn’t been, huh?” He asked, voice levelling out as he stepped towards you. His arms still crossed over his chest.

“It doesn’t matter,” You retorted as you glanced over your shoulder. You were stuffing your clothes into the bag haphazardly, hoping that you could just leave this alone. But Luke wasn’t willing to give up it seemed.

“Yes, it does!” He practically shouted and you threw your last piece of clothing into the bag before you whirled on him.

“Why! Why does it matter so fucking much?” You were at your wit’s end with him. You were in pain, you were upset and you didn’t need this, “I’m alive, I’m here, I’m part of the team still! Prentiss isn’t mad at me so what gives you the right!” You were shouting again, rage bubbling over as you stepped towards him. You met his gaze defiantly.

“Because I love you!” He shouted back and you fell silent. Luke’s face suddenly morphed from anger to regret and he stepped back. You just stared, the silence permeating between the two of you. You didn’t know what to say. You were speechless and you just stared.

“What?” You asked softly. All the anger had flooded out of you like the plug pulled out of sink and all that was left in its wake was confusion.

“You put yourself in the line of fire, again,” He tried to swerve away from his confession, ignore it. He tried to go back to what the argument had been about but you cut him off;

“Luke,” You tried to say something but you words seemed to falter. He looked at you for a moment and you opened your mouth before you frowned, “What do-?” You wrapped your arm around yourself, stepping back from him.

“You-” Luke faltered for a moment before he tried to inject the anger into his tone, “That is the second time you’ve put yourself in the line of fire. You can’t-” But the anger seemed to falter again. You were looking at him with an expression he couldn’t read and his words hung heavy on his tongue. Your mind was whirring with thoughts and you were trying to pick them apart, make sense of something.

“Why would you say that now?” You asked. He had never heard your tone so soft and guilt reared its ugly head in his chest. But also, that familiar sting of rejection began to creep in.

“What? What do you mean?” He replied, frowning down at you. You sighed raggedly.

“You can’t just throw around a confession like that,” You mumbled. Luke stepped back again, his face fell and you wrapped your arms tighter around yourself. You didn’t know what to think. You had loved Luke for so long. That’s why you had trusted him to come with you to the room but this, this was unfair.

“I wasn’t trying to-” But you cut him off with a soft; “I know.” Realistically, you did know that he wasn’t trying to use it as a guilt trip but it still felt so cruel. Why couldn’t he have said it some other time? Why now?

“I don’t understand why you’re so reckless,” He said after a beat of silence. You scoffed.

“It’s not recklessness, it’s a calculated decision,” You responded, wanting to shut this argument down before it even started again. Your anger wasn’t clouding your thoughts anymore so you thought you might as well explain it to him, “I knew JJ was behind me. I knew she’d be able to catch him. We had the profile wrong and I realised that. I didn’t have a choice. He was about to kill her.” Your gut twisted as you held yourself tighter. The sting of the knife against your cheek was still so fresh to you. You were lucky.

“And you got hurt,” He responded. You shrugged.

“But we’re both alive and I’m not gonna apologise for doing what I thought was right.” You said simply. He nodded and he stepped towards you. It felt hard to swallow as you stared down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze.

“I don’t expect you to,” His words were a simple reassurance but it made you feel a little lighter. You sent him an awkward half-smile, mumbling;

“Good.” There was silence for a few beats before you took a deep breath. You just had to say it, “But for what it’s worth, I think I love you too.” It was Luke’s turn to be silent this time and he stepped towards you. There was quiet for a moment and you chanced a look up at him. The frown had been replaced with a cheeky smile and you rolled your eyes at him, turning to look away.

“Huh,” He let out, the smile turning into a smirk as he stepped towards you. He wrapped his arms around your waist tugging you closer and you let him. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you looked up at him.

You knew what he intended to do and you were quick to put your finger against his lips, stopping him from leaning any further, “Don’t even think about it, Alvez. Take me on a date first,” You stated. A grin began to spread across your face and you wished you could stop it but you couldn’t.

“Then let’s go out tonight,” He suggested. You hummed in thought before you nodded and pulled him against you.

“Okay,” You said. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly, “As long as you kiss me goodnight,” You whispered against his skin. He chuckled and nodded his head against your hair.

“I can do that.”

#luke alvez x reader #luke alvez #luke alvez x you #luke alvez angst #luke alvez x reader angst #luke alvez fluff #luke alvez x reader fluff #reader-insert

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ryiju-muunie · 4 months ago

Text

The professor is Mine

18+ viewer discretion is advised

trans!student!Satoru Gojo/professor!Ryomen Sukuna Warnings: university/college AU, dubious morality, transgender gojo y'all, dubious age gap [19 and 40], class room sex kind of, cock warming, Sukuna got a big dick y'all, gojo has an obsession with his professor, Grindr mentioned [sadly], finger sucking, creampie, gojo is also a fem boy, bottom growth Y'ALL, neck sucking, and not beta read we die like men Word count: 3310 DESC: Satoru puts together a plan to fuck his history professor and it WORKS?!

This is old but I realize I never uploaded it here

NOTES: Dubious morality and cockwarming! Personally if these were on the ballad I'd vote for cockwarming. Also ignore if it gets incredibly redundant and awful at the end. I had work and my brain is starting to turn to sludge at this very moment

It was so wrong, so utterly wrong, but everyone’s allowed a little bit of fun, right? At least, that’s what Satoru told himself as he stared into the full-length mirror by his bed. There wasn’t any way to beat around the bush: He was going to sleep with his History professor. Well, try to. That man, Dr. Sukuna, was a wall of mystery to anyone who dared penetrate it. There was no good way in and every time he thought he had an opening it was squashed by his glare. It was as dastardly as it was attractive, making him bite his lip in class. Every time he tried to ask a question or talk after class, he was left with hasty remarks that made him want to give up. But the boy never did.

His whole obsession with the older man started when he found on him Grindr of all places. It made the wet spot between his legs ache as he scrolled through his profile. Ryomen, 41, single, and rippling with muscles. Ryomen posted shirtless photos, gym videos, and most importantly … an audio. It was just him talking about his interest in history, some period in Japan he was so fond of, that Satoru didn’t care for. But the fire in his voice, the drive of passion made him listen to it almost the entire night, as he fingered his pussy.

In the mirror, the college student donned a black skirt, cropped to his mid-thigh. It was scandalous and not the kind of outfit you’d wear to visit your history professor when you knew he was grading in his office. But to cover it, and make the outfit a bit more G-rated, he slipped on a white cardigan. A bra to hold his breasts in place underneath as well. Black and lacey. Something … mature. Ryomen was older, he probably liked older guys too. Gojo wanted to show he was mature beyond his years, even if he was just nineteen. This outfit might have no been the best example but it was slutty. That’s all that mattered. Prying his professor's eyes from his grading papers for more than two minutes so he could see his hot skin, dripping in red for him.

The door was unlocked, and he knew it was. The student had his teacher's exact routine memorized down to when he sat in his office with the door slightly cracked so students could come in if they had questions but it was directly advertised to the public. So, most students didn’t. He knew he had a perfect chance of getting that older man alone and he had one shot to seduce him. Even if it meant using a bit of blackmail. Wouldn’t the school want to know that the professor of Japanese history at their prestigious college was on Grindr matching with nineteen-year-olds? It was a last resort if he didn’t get what he wanted, so he wouldn’t play that card unless he absolutely had to.

Satoru pushed the door open with the toe of his foot and marveled for a few silent seconds at the man before him. Grey hairs poured into pale pink tufts, all neatly sprawled across his head. It was messy but meticulous, so he knew his teacher spent a good thirty minutes combing those strands to stand up like that. It was kind of juvenile, still styling his hair like he probably did when he was his student's age. And the white-haired-male couldn’t help but find it endearing, how it stuck up with no regard for his very professional outfit. A soft blue button-up with a darker brown vest overtop, and a dark blue tie. The tie was always plain, as his outfits were. Not like his other professor in economics, Mr. Nanami, who wore patterned ties [which contrasted his very bleak personality].

The one thing he always stopped to stare at was his eyes, which were the color of a light fire. Hazy in the outer corners and burning deep within the corneas. It was entrancing and god was it hot when he’d stare into the other man’s eyes. The fire was always dull, not true fire. Instead of bright orange it always ranged from a more soothing caramel, which complimented his aged features like wine. Even with those slight wrinkles by the corner of his eyes, he was handsome.

Dr. Sukuna didn’t notice Satoru standing in the doorway for at least a moment until he made himself known with a clearing of his throat, “...Professor.” It was a simple word, but it was the way he said it. Breathy, on the brink of pure pleasure. His eyes were slightly closed, half-lidded in his direction and burning with lust. Words’ meanings can change with their tone, and he was trying to convey a single sentence using simplistic words.

Take me right over your desk and pound my pussy until I’m throbbing with your hot seed, as it leaks through my folds.

The boy gasped at the thought, pressing his legs together as he was dangled naked in front of the other man's eye. He looked up, eyebrow slightly arched as he took in that lewd outfit and the even more lewd expression on his student's face. It was obvious. If Satoru had arousal pheromones they’d be radiating off of his cunt in wafts, straight to Ryomen’s nose. Finally, he set down his pen and leaned back in his chair, looking him up and down with narrowed eyes. His eyelids were flat, one plain of skin. Gojo wondered what it would be like to lick his skin, especially around those firey eyes. Yet still, they were dull. He wanted them to burn brightly for him, even if it was one time. Even if it was for one singular moment.

“Satoru. How can I help you?” He asked, with a polite strain in his voice. Satoru had always wondered if his profile came up on his professor's Grindr feed. He wondered if he listened to his breathy voice notes, saw his promiscuous photos, and touched himself. He wondered if that large cock ever got hard because of little old him. He knew he got wet over that man on several occasions, always ending with the male leaving class early to touch himself needily in his car. Mewling as he came all over his hand, wishing it was Ryomen’s fingers sliding around his clit and pinching it between rough pads.

Here it goes. All of this build-up and Satoru just had to come out and say it. He had rehearsed it so many times in his head it was practically memorized by that point. “I want you …” He paused deliberately, bringing an index finger to run against his pouted bottom lip before he continued, “... To help me with my grades.” He noticed right away that Professor Sukuna had a thing with his mouth. Whether it was chewing on the back of a pen in between waiting for his slides to load or biting his bottom lip in concentration, he was always doing something with his mouth. So his student just had to assume he was somehow sexually aroused by someone else's mouth. You know, sound logic for a man who had just stalked his teacher's entire schedule.

Sukuna didn’t look too phased by this, pressing his lips together and nodding his head very slowly. Surely, he had to know where he was coming from at this point. The sultry voice and the incredibly skimpy outfit? He wasn’t stupid, he had his doctorate for godsakes! This man had to know he was being seduced.

He continued to nod, bringing his bottom lip into his mouth and thoughtfully running it against his top teeth. What a teasing motion. It was deliberate, just as Satoru’s words. As if he was challenging him and telling him to stand down. His legs were spread, he could tell from the stance of his shoulders as he trailed a calloused hand to his tie. Delicately, he looped one finger over the top and gripped the edge of the center, tugging and swaying the fabric side to side as he stared at his student. Ravenous. He was absolutely ravenous. His gaze was burning with a sense of passion and desire Gojo hadn’t ever seen in his entire lifetime. This man knew exactly what he wanted out of his plush body, and he was going to get it.

“You’re bold, brat,” a chuckle escaped his lips as he pulled the remainings of his tie and pulled it out from around his head. Then came the few buttons on his shirt, gone and exposing bouts of fresh skin. Skin Satoru wouldn’t have a hard time marking with his pouty mouth, running his tongue along the collarbone and sucking until it was blooming with red.

Within a second, his student closed the door with his hands, clicking the lock between two nimble fingers. Locked. And all mine. A grin pulled at his lips and he strode over to the table, pushing aside a picture of Sukuna’s cat to sit on the edge. If it wasn’t obvious to his professor then, it was now. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. He put one leg in between the other man’s spread ones, almost hitting his crotch dead on. It gave just the slightest view to his dripping folds, slicked with his juices, and aching to be touched. Ryomen glanced over at him, eyes trailing down and slightly widening at the sight of a pussy. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact, he seemed rather pleased. A whine of pre-enthusiasm escaped his lips as the teacher pressed his hand into Satoru’s thigh, sliding up to cup his squishy hip. It was warm as he dug his short nails into the skin, kneading it like it was fresh dough.

“I saw your profile,” he said, without looking up from his college student’s cunt, “I was intrigued as to how someone so… innocent could post those photos of himself,” his eyes flitted to the other, making Gojo’s mouth salivate. Was this, possession? Had his professor been lusting after him as much as he had been lusting too? God!!! This turned him on so much!! But he couldn’t outright say, ‘Hey I’ve been kind of stalking you, marry me :D’.

So instead he leaned forward, an air of seduction to his voice as his right hand's index finger extended and drew a line up Ryomen’s neck, tilting his face up by his chin with ease, “I wanted to show off. Especially in class. For you,” he purred, lids fluttering closed and eyelashes brushing against his cheek. Satoru’s hand caressed his lower jaw, before grabbing his chin with force, a devilish grin taking hold of his features, “I know you liked it. You got so worked up. It was obvious…”

Ryomen was clearly stronger than him, so it made him clench to realize he was letting himself get moved. He was letting this obviously submissive twink take control, even if it was for a minute, to tease and taunt him. His cheeks were burning, and god it was hot. How could such a man exist? His professor opened his mouth and tilted his head to the side in a jerking manner, signaling he wanted something. He wanted … oh. Satoru happily complied and adjusted his hand, sinking his thumb into the other's mouth with ease. His eyes fluttered closed as he took the digit, and began to suck.

“I want you to,” Gojo inhaled shakily, taking ahold of his partner's other hand and dragging it toward his miserable heat, “To touch me. Can you do that?” Ryomen mumbled something against his thumb which was to the degree of yes, but he didn’t care as his thick fingers were getting to work. It was an instant pleasure, feeling three pads delicately rub long circles around his engorged clit. He had bottom growth, and it took the other a few seconds to adjust and pull at it lightly. Before settling on rubbing the tip ever so lightly. What a tease! What a fucking tease! Every touch was increasing his slick and every touch was giving him a taste of what was to come.

It was only a few more seconds of teasing touches that Sukuna let go of his thigh and stopped toying with his cunt. He leaned back and let Satoru’s thumb trail out of his mouth with a faint pop. He inhaled and a small smile pulled at his features. It was devious. Utterly devious. Hungry… aching for more. Wanting to devour the twink until there was nothing left but his skirt as a reminder that he actually existed. His big hands fondled his waist until his pants were gone and what was left was a cock springing from his abdomen. God Satoru could just cry. That was one of the largest dicks he had ever seen, and it was apparent his teacher was only partially hard too. It was beautiful, slightly curved, bulbous and throbbing head, with trimmed hair at the base. What wasn’t there to like?

He didn’t have to be told anything, getting up and turning his behind to line up his entrance with the cockhead. “F-fuck…” Ryomen breathed out, two hands anchoring to Gojo’s hips to guide him down. Being this self-lubricated made it easy as he stretched down that massive log. It felt as though he was going to explode in ecstasy at any moment. Pushing further, his G-spot was roughly kissed by the tip. Satoru teetered a bit at the sensation, leaning up to get a small breath before sinking once again. It was sensitive and intense, just the feeling of bottoming out. And then … that was it.

Satoru sat there in a bit of confusion as his professor wrapped one arm around his waist to pull him flush to his back, and used the other to pick up a pen and begin his work. Was that it? Is this how older men have sex, by sitting and letting you bottom out into nothing? I mean, he had to admit, it was hot. The way he felt every breath, every pulse from his cock, every twitch in his legs. It made him squirm. But … it wasn’t the rough kinky sex he had expected.

“What exactly are we doing?” He asked, raising an eyebrow and looking down at the work. It was just busy work he had given the classes, and he was grading them as if he wasn’t having a twink swallow his cock whole.

Ryomen laughed a bit, strained with an erotic breathy tone as he replied, his mouth dangerously close to Satoru’s ear, “I’m grading, brat.”

“I can see that. But I was expecting to be railed, you know. I got all dressed up for this,” a whine escaped his lips, not out of pleasure, but rather out of impatience. If he wanted to, he could have started bouncing. Well, he wanted to, but he definitely couldn’t. The man realized that Dr. Sukuna’s hand around his waist wasn’t to be intimate but to keep him from moving. That bastard! He was doing this on purpose!

He felt warm and soft lips press into his neck, kissing the skin like it was the finest prize. Satoru gasped and leaned his head to the left, giving his professor more room to kiss along the side of his neck, “But, I find that slow-,” and there it was. Ryomen slowly thrust up into Satoru’s clenched pussy, “-pleasure is always the best.” His breath tickled the white-haired male’s earlobe and for a split second he thought he was cuming, but he wasn’t. The pleasure was slow, and his professor was right it was so much better. It was building, low and deep in his lower stomach. A warm rut was burning and warmth spread across his folds. He could have sped it up by touching himself, but he wanted to see where this would go.

“H-hah…” Satoru found himself whimpering as he felt the cock drag along his walls and then slam back into him, just to repeat the agonizingly slow process. Fuck, it felt so good. And he knew that orgasm would be slow and drawn out, just like how his professor was fucking him. Ryomen’s mouth stayed on his neck, nibbling at the skin before making out with it like it was your second mouth. Tongue licked circles around your skin, before he rolled it around his teeth, then back to his tongue. Oh, he definitely had some kind of oral fixation.

Sukuna was still grading, somehow. By God's strength and will, he was sloppily giving everyone A’s on an assignment they obviously Googled. His mind wasn’t on the stupid papers, it was on Satoru. How he smelt and especially how he felt. Walls clenched around his massive cock, which fluttered with each calculated thrust. It was so good, grinding up into him just to see the Twink's reaction. The professor couldn’t see it, but his student’s eyes were already back into his head, his hips fighting the urge to roll and speed up the friction.

“Grind back into me,” he soon cooed, warm sticky words clinging to his tongue as he groaned into Satoru’s ear, “Ye-a-ah, just like that,” Ryomen exhaled, pressing his forehead against his partner's nape, “Slowly now…” Satoru did exactly as he was told, slowly grinding back onto the cock he was warming. It was so agonizingly hot, feeling it drag in and out of his cunt and then this added friction. If he had a dick he’d be spurting bouts of cum everywhere by this point. I mean, he was close. So close he could practically see the orgasm on the horizon. Just a little bit more grinding.

It wasn’t until he started hearing Ryomen’s noises did it fully pushed him over the edge. It was a few grunts and panting breaths at first, but now he was divulging into being a slobbering mess. The student could feel drops of saliva fall onto his neck as he realized the professor was actively panting like a damn dog, sticking his tongue out as if it would enhance his pleasure. God, that was hot, and hearing him begin to lose his self-restraint was even hotter. His movements were slower, and his muscles were tense. Satoru knew he wanted to savor this as much as he, himself did. All that self-restraint was hot, but he wanted him to let go and fuck him into oblivion.

When Satoru Gojo finally came, it was better than he could’ve expected. It was a fluttering clench deep in his pussy that erupted as his professor kept his thrusts taut. Warm waves of pleasure washed over him a few times until he let out a dramatic gasp and shudder, followed by a submissive sob. His body convulsed faster than the actual orgasm, which was the most painful part. The pleasure was so good, it was too intense. It almost hurt to move as he felt it wash over his clit and slowly begin to dwindle. That was until Ryomen let out a gasp and a guttural, “O-oh fuck,” and shot slow ropes of cum into his cunt. It sent a spike of sensitive pleasure in his pussy again and made the poor guy cry out.

God! How much more intense could this shit get?

Professor Sukuna slowed his thrusts to a stop, dropping his pen onto the table and gripping the edge with white knuckles. Was that as good for him as it was for himself? I mean, he thought so. No man could have a mediocre orgasm and have that reaction.

“Professo-” He was instantly cut off.

“Call me Ryomen,” he rasped into his ear, a ragged breath being pulled from his lips.

Oh. He must’ve really liked it then.

#satoru gojo #gojo jjk #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #gojo x sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #sukuna ryomen smut #smut #jjk smut #yaoi #ryiju-muunie writing

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beyondthesefourwalls · 1 year ago

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Keep It Undercover

Summary: You and Bradley had shared a few beautiful weeks together, years after first meeting. You had been content with leaving it as a beautiful, delicious memory; something that could have been, if the stars would have aligned. Only now he was stationed in Fightertown permanently, and while he didn’t know what exactly that meant for the two of you long term, he knew what he wanted. He didn’t care about your age or that you outranked him. After all, he had always liked his girls a little bit older.

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: Smut. Language, Bradley with an older woman which is a warning in and of itself. Secret relationship, maybe?

Word Count: 4.4K

Notes: Written for @roosterforme's '80s Rocktober challenge using the song Your Love by The Outfield. I've been wanting to write this dynamic for MONTHS and am so excited to finally do it!

----

“We shouldn’t be doing this here.”

Bradley nodded his agreement, even as he nearly ripped your uniform shirt in his haste to unbutton it and get it off of you. He pressed his lips to yours in a desperate, messy kiss. “I know that. But here we are.”

You groaned against his mouth. “We should stop.” But even as you said it, you were undoing his belt and slipping your hand into his service khakis. He cursed when you squeezed his erection through his briefs and pushed you back into the desk, the stapler teetering on the edge of the mahogany before crashing to the ground.

You were right. You absolutely should stop. Bradley hadn’t even come in here for this. He had just wanted to see you. To maybe surprise you if you didn’t already know he was coming. And you hadn’t, and the look on your face when he knocked on your door had been everything he could have wanted. But it had been weeks since he had been able to get his hands on you, and things had escalated once you were in the same room, and now that he was here -

A sharp knock on the door echoed in the room, and you pushed him off of you so quickly that he almost tripped. He grabbed onto the chair in front of the desk to stop himself from hitting the floor.

“Commander? Your next meeting is here.”

“Shit, shit, shit,” you muttered under your breath, hastily buttoning your uniform shirt back up and smoothing back the regulation bun your hair was kept in. You gestured for him to right himself with a frantic hand, your eyes urgent. “Hurry up!”

Bradley could have screamed. He had been so close. So close.

But instead he groaned in defeat and zipped his pants back up. He hissed in discomfort, still half hard, and despite your embarrassment at almost getting caught and your absolute unwillingness to risk doing so, he thought he saw a small smirk curve on those gorgeous lips of yours.

“This is your fault,” he said pointedly, and you shrugged a shoulder as you turned to walk away from him. His arm shot out before you could get far. Your skin was soft and smooth under his where he gripped your bicep and hauled you close to him. Before you could protest, he pressed a firm kiss to your lips. Your eyes were narrowed when he pulled away, and Bradley couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his face. He released you and took a step back even as you pushed him away, no real effort in the shove. “Am I dismissed?”

The look on your face was unimpressed, but he saw the muscle in your cheek twitch. You rolled your eyes and pointed at the door as you settled into your office chair. “Get out of my office, Lieutenant. And send in my next meeting.”

He turned on his heel with a silent chuckle. His hand was on the doorknob when you called his name. He froze, glancing over his shoulder at you. You had let the professional mask slip, your bottom lip drawn between your teeth. You were quiet for a beat, and then you let yourself smile at him - soft and gentle and enough to make his heart skip a beat. And then your words sent it racing. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

He had been content to leave the room, but now he wanted to kiss you again. He crossed the room with large, quick strides. You barely had time to gasp before he was rounding your desk and cupping your face in his big hands, leaning down. It was over as quickly as it started, but he gave himself a half a moment to breathe you in, his nose nudging against yours.

“Me too, Commander.”

___

Bradley tried not to be obvious as he watched you from across the bar. You were nursing a beer that he knew was your favorite. Just like he knew it tasted better on your tongue than it did from the glass. He had found that fact out the last time the two of you were in the Hard Deck at the same time, and he hoped tonight would end up just the same.

He had clocked you as soon as you walked through the doors, and his eyes had been trailing after you ever since. You were sitting with a few of your fellow officers. Your hair was down, loose and kind of wild in a way that drove him crazy. Your low cut black shirt hugged your chest, and you were in jeans so tight he thought maybe they were painted on. He knew he wasn’t the only one looking, but he wondered, hoped, you had changed your clothes after work with him in mind.

You turned your head to scan the bar and paused when your eyes landed on him. You looked away quickly, but not before your eyes raked over him from head to toe. He saw the way you shifted in your seat and smirked as he took a sip of his beer.

“I hope you’re not thinking of going down that road again.”

He was so focused on you that Nat’s voice came as a surprise to him as she slid onto the bar stool beside him, and Bradley felt a flash of panic go through him at her words. There was no way she should know about that. You were careful last time around, and today was the first time Bradley had seen you since arriving back in California. When he turned to her, his best friend’s face was drawn into a sneer that didn’t hide her judgment for a moment. She wasn’t looking at him though, and he followed her gaze with wide eyes. He let out a silent sigh of relief when he realized it wasn’t you who she was glaring at. As his heart rate slowed, he felt his own mouth twist into a frown at the sight of who was sitting a few tables away from you.

“Josie? Absolutely not, Nat. Come on. You should know better.”

She snickered into her beer bottle and took a long pull of it, giving him a pointed look. “And I would hope you would too.”

Bradley wanted to tell her that it wasn’t his ex-girlfriend who he was looking at. But doing that would probably give both of you away, and that wasn’t something that had been addressed yet. He wasn’t sure where you stood on the matter, and he wasn’t going to make that decision for you. So instead, he rolled his eyes and brought his beer to his lips. “Noted,” he mumbled before taking a sip. He took another quick glance in your direction, just in time to see you laugh at something one of the people at your table said, throwing your head back. God, you were so beautiful. He had thought that from the very first moment that he saw you, over five years ago now.

For all intents and purposes, Bradley should have no idea who you were. You weren’t an aviator, nor one of the engineers he worked with on occasion. You were an Intelligence Specialist, interacting mostly with officer’s above his paygrade, just as you were yourself. It was his first stint at Top Gun, and ironically, he had been trying to get away from Josie herself. A fellow aviator, they were in a weird on-again-off-again cycle, and he had been dodging the blonde for the majority of the evening after training. He had narrowly avoided her cornering him in the recreation room and had taken a wrong turn on the way back to his barracks. He found himself in an unfamiliar stretch of hallway, paused in front of a door as he looked around to try and figure out where he was and what his chances of running into the one he had been trying to escape if he turned and came back the way he started when a throat cleared behind him.

“Can I help you, Lieutenant?”

Bradley had just recently been promoted, and was barely used to the title or the new bars on his shoulder, but he whipped around at the voice. That was the first time he had laid eyes on you. He had scrambled for an excuse, catching sight of the name on the door he was standing in front of and claiming he was waiting for a meeting with the Lieutenant Commander assigned to that office. You had simply raised an eyebrow, and when Bradley allowed himself to glance down, he realized both the rank and name on the placard on the door matched those on your uniform. He had blushed so hard he could almost still feel the heat all these years later.

“Want to try again?” you had asked. And he wasn’t sure if it was his embarrassment or his nerves, or simply the way you looked at him that made him feel like he could be honest, but the next thing he knew, he was telling you exactly why he had wandered down that hallway. To his surprise, you had simply laughed. The amusement was written all over your face, and with a glance over your shoulder to see if anyone else was coming down the hallway, you nodded your head to your open office door. “Go on. You can hide in here.”

Hiding in your office had turned into over an hour of playful banter and conversation, which had turned into him coming back the next night, and the one after that, too. You were older than he was by almost a decade, but it didn’t bother him in the slightest. It was refreshing, talking to someone who matched or exceeded his maturity and intelligence. He was older than the majority of his peers who had all graduated from the academy, the difference small but sometimes stark, and you were a breath of fresh air in so many ways.

But you outranked him, and more than that, you had a ring on your finger. So nothing had happened, even though he wished it did. He had said goodbye to you after he got his trophy with a smile on his face and the thought of never seeing you again. When he was called back to Top Gun last month, still a Lieutenant but on the verge of Lieutenant Commander, he couldn’t resist purposely going down that incorrect hallway. The rank on the office placard had increased, and the name had changed. But you were still there behind the desk, only lacking jewelry on your left hand and with a different last name printed on your name tag. The wedding picture on your desk was absent.

You had remembered who he was, and jokingly asked if he was running away from his girlfriend again. He had smirked and asked if he could still hide away with you if there was nothing or no one he was running from. Conversation was just as easy with you then as it had been before, and he found himself coming back.

He kissed you a week later, right there in your office. And then the next night after you ran into each other at the Hard Deck, you asked him to come home with you. What followed was a whirlwind two weeks, filled with take out and movies from your couch some nights, and laughing and dancing around the kitchen as you cooked together for the others. To top it all off was the most intimate, mind blowing sex he had ever had in his life. You were passionate and mature and not afraid to ask for what you wanted or tell him what to do, and it was addicting. You were addicting.

You kept inviting him back, and he kept coming. You were the picture of professionalism during the day, your paths never crossing. He knew how it would look for you. You were a commanding officer, and he was there on a mission. And while you didn’t interact with him directly, you did interact with some of his superiors. The optics weren’t great. When you added in your concern of your age, even if it wasn’t one of his, it was best for both of you to keep it all behind locked doors and under covers, which was exactly what you did. You were the first stop he made after he was back on solid ground after the mission that had brought him there to begin with, and he had spent every day with you until he had returned to Virginia.

His last night in California, tangled together in the sheets of your bed, you had whispered to him that you wished things could be different. But both of you had been content with leaving your time together as a beautiful, delicious memory. Something that could have been, if the stars would have aligned.

Now he was stationed in Fightertown permanently, and while he didn’t know what exactly that meant for the two of you long term, he knew what he wanted. And that started with getting you alone again.

The next time he glanced in your direction, you were standing to leave, draping your bag on your shoulder. You waved your goodbyes to your friends and headed in his direction and for a silly moment, his heart started beating faster in anticipation, thinking maybe you were coming to him. But you only met his eyes for a moment and gave him the smallest of smiles when you passed where he was sitting. It took everything in him not to reach out to touch you, or to turn his head and watch you leave. Instead, he took another sip of his beer, trying to concentrate on his friend's words instead of his own thoughts. Hangman and Coyote joined them at the bar right when Bradley’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Nat was going on about apartment hunting being a pain in the ass as he dug it out of his jeans. His heart started beating faster when he saw your name on the screen.

My door will be unlocked for the next thirty minutes. Come over.

Bradley downed the rest of his beer, tossing a goodbye over his shoulder as he threw down enough cash to cover his tab. As he climbed into the Bronco and gunned it out of the parking lot, he remembered the last time you were together - the way your body felt against his, the sounds you made when he touched you just right. He couldn't wait to feel you again.

By the time he pulled up in front of the cookie cutter house you called your own, he was already half hard at the memories. You had left the front door unlocked, just as you promised. He slipped inside, silently shutting and locking it behind him. He toed his shoes off and didn’t waste any extra time before making his way upstairs. A soft flickering of light from the room at the end of the hallway beckoned him, and the soft vanilla scent in the air became stronger the closer he got.

As he crossed the threshold into your bedroom, he saw you illuminated by candlelight, lounging on the mattress against the mountain of pillows you kept. You were wearing nothing but a sinfully matching set of deep red lace. The soft glow of the flames cast shadows across your exposed skin and accentuated the curves of your body. Your hair was still down and wild like it had been at the bar, but you had taken your makeup off, revealing any imperfections that the foundation and blush kept hidden. It endeared him to you even more.

Against the silk sheets on your bed, you looked like a goddess.

He went to take a step in your direction, but a single shake of your head had him pausing where he was. You smirked at him like a Cheshire cat.

“Take your clothes off,” you purred, and Bradley couldn’t help but groan.

“Is that an order, Commander?”

Even as he asked, he was yanking his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and white tshirt off, quickly followed by his jeans that were suddenly feeling too tight. You raised a sharp eyebrow and glanced down before meeting his eyes again.

“All of it. Lieutenant.”

Bradley smirked as he did as you asked, commanded, pushing his navy blue briefs to the ground and kicking them away. His thick cock slapped against his stomach and he stood there naked in front of you as you licked your lips, eyes trailing over him, humming in what he hoped was appreciation. The silence was heavy with lust and anticipation for what was to come. Finally, you spread your legs and beckoned him closer with a crook of your finger.

Bradley didn't need any further invitation. He crossed the distance to the bed in a few quick strides, climbing onto the mattress and crawling until he was hovering over top of you.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi there.” A shudder rippled through you as ducked his head to press a kiss to your neck, gently licking at the skin, and you tilted your head to give him better access. “You’re here.”

He picked his head up to meet your eyes, only for a second, before he leaned down to kiss you. He coaxed your lips apart and teased your tongue with his, and he was right in his earlier assumption that the beer you had been drinking would still taste better coming from you. You wrapped your legs around his hips and threaded your fingers through his hair while your other hand scraped down his back, and he shivered as he pulled his mouth from yours, nipping at your bottom lip as he went.

“I am,” he affirmed. Your eyes were a shade darker, your lips swollen and parted. “What are you going to do with me?”

You took the challenge for what it was just like he hoped you would. You tightened your legs around him, and suddenly he found himself lying on his back with you straddling him. He groaned when you shifted in a way that made his hard length slide between your center. You were separated by the thinnest scrap of lace, but he could feel how hot and wet you were.

You repeated the motion, and Bradley took a moment to admire the way you looked on top of him. Your eyes were hooded with desire, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. Your hair was wild in just the way he loved it. You were still wearing that sinful red bra, your chest heaving with every breath you took, and he didn't waste another moment before he trailed his hands up your back, unhooking the lace with ease and tugging it off your body so that you were completely exposed for him. He knew it wasn't something you would have done on your own, your own insecurity about the natural changes in your body the older that you got something you had shared with him during one of the late nights you shared. But fuck, you were so beautiful, he almost couldn't handle it. He told you so now, too, and your whole body trembled in response to his words.

You leant forward so your breasts were pushed up against his chest, your hard nipples rubbing against his own. He cupped the back of your neck and captured your lips with his. For a moment, he allowed himself just to kiss you. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, exploring greedily. But he knew it wasn't enough for either of you. He wanted to be everywhere at once - under your skin, in your mouth, between your legs, inside of you. Like you knew exactly what he was thinking, you trailed your lips across his cheek. You nipped at his ear before you spoke against it, your words sending a shudder through him. "Fuck me, Lieutenant."

He moved his hands down to your full hips, gripping them and lifting you just high enough so you could grip his length and position it at your entrance with one hand while you pushed your panties to the side with the other. Then you slid down slowly, enveloping him inch by inch. Your breath hitched, and he groaned deeply at the sensation of finally being inside you again.

"Oh, god, yes," you murmured, your voice rough with want. Your hands trailed down his chest, fingertips dragging along his skin, leaving red marks in your wake. You rose up until only his flushed, swollen head was left inside you. Then you slammed back down, and you both moaned at the sensation of his cock bottoming out inside of you. You repeated the movement, your motions getting quicker with every thrust. You gripped him hard as your body rocked against his and he rubbed against your g-spot. He could feel your walls start to flutter around him. The small noises that escaped your lips drove him crazy. He loved the way you sounded, so desperate for what he was giving you.

He gripped your hips, moving you up and down as he thrust up into you. You met his eyes as you rode him, your gaze heated and devoid of anything save for pure desire. “Fuck, Bradley. You make me feel so good.”

With a growl, he rolled you onto your back, slamming his mouth against yours. Your hands tangled in his hair as he pistoned his hips and your walls started to clench around him with your orgasm. He kept thrusting until the last twitch of your walls was gone, and only then did he allow himself to come. You moaned into his mouth as he spilled himself deep inside you, his hips stilling. When he pulled away, your lips were red and swollen, and your chest was heaving. You ran your hands over his back as he pressed his face into your neck.

You were both quiet for a while until he eventually pressed a kiss to your sweat damp skin and gently pulled out of you and rolled to the side. He laid down next to you, and you turned to lie on your side. You propped your head up on your hand and smiled at him.

“Hi,” you whispered. Bradley laughed lightly, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Hi there.”

You stared at him, and he didn’t shy away from looking right back. The flickering candlelight danced across your face, enhancing the natural beauty you possessed.

He reached out and brushed some of that wild hair of yours away from your face before gently tracing his fingertips down along the curve of your jaw. You sighed softly and closed your eyes, like you were reveling in his touch. He liked you the most like this, he thought. Bare and soft, not hiding anything away. Just for him.

"What are you thinking?" Bradley whispered in a low voice, still tracing patterns along your smooth skin with his rough fingertips. Your eyes fluttered open slowly to look at him, a small smile on your lips.

“That I’m too old for you,” you said, and Bradley couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. The smirk that curled at your lips let him know you were half joking, but he also knew it was something that you thought about. It was an insecurity of yours that didn’t quite make sense to him, because your age was something he couldn’t care less about. Truthfully, it made you that much more attractive to him.

“I’ve always liked my girls a little bit older,” he quipped back, letting his hand drop to rest on your naked hip. He squeezed gently, loving the feel of your skin beneath his touch. At the same time, you let out a breath of laughter and you rolled your eyes, and then silence settled over the two of you again. He knew there was something else, and he gave you the time to work through whatever was going through that beautiful head of yours. Your eyes never left his; he wondered if you could see into him like he thought you could - in a way that no one else has really ever been able to.

Slowly, you reached up to cup his cheek in your hand, just like he had been doing moments prior. It was like you were both trying to ground yourselves and memorize each other. Your thumb rubbed over the faded scars he had carried for so long, and then ghosted over his still kiss swollen lips. “Think we can figure this out?” you asked quietly. His eyebrows knit together for just a moment before they relaxed, a long sigh leaving him. He scooted closer to you on the mattress, near enough to feel your breath on his skin and your body heat radiating onto him. He grabbed your hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of your palm, and then the pulse point at the center of your wrist.

“I want to,” he admitted quietly. You drew your bottom lip between your teeth, but he thought he saw a smile growing. The pulse he was tracing on your wrist quickened beneath his fingertips. “You?”

You leaned forward, and he met you halfway. The kiss was soft and sweet, and you lingered once you broke away, letting your forehead rest against his. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you flush against him. Your fingers threaded through the curls on the back of his head, and you nodded.

“I want to,” you whispered. Your breath ghosted over his face when you exhaled. You looked hopeful when your eyes opened to look into his again. “Can that be enough for now?”

He didn’t know how to explain what he was feeling; he had never been the best with words. But he could feel it in his chest that this could be worth it. All the complications that would come with work and rank and everything else could be made so simple by the way you made him feel.

“Yeah,” he finally breathed out, and you pressed yourself closer, nuzzling against him. “That can be enough.”

---------

Main Masterlist

Notes: Thanks to Mak and Em for all of their help with this one! Appreciate you both so much🖤

Tag List: @roosterforme @mak-32 @wildxwidow @gretagerwigsmuse @lilyevanswhore @too-fangirl-to-fuction @fav-fanficssss @notroosterbradshaw @teacupsandtopgun @sometimesanalice @sunflowersteves @littlezee80 @je-suis-prest-rachel @khaylin27 @infamous-reindeer @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @yanna-banana @avengersfan25 @wkndwlff @sylviebelll @lt-spork @indynerdgirl

@mssleepy876b @kassieesworld @mizzzpink @a-serene-place-to-be @sexualparkour @sadpetalsstuff @almostgenerallyalways @alilstressyandlotdepressy @ccbb2222 @taytaylala12 @shelbycillian @mavrellover91 @vici111 @lunamooncole @blackwidownat2814 @pisupsala @bellaireland1981 @jynxmirage @shanimallina87

@greatszu @na-ta-sh-aa @callsign-magnolia @chaoticassidy @thedroneranger

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drabbles-mc · 2 months ago

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Desperate

Jax Teller & OC Claire Morrow

For @narcosfandomdiscord Book of In Urgent Need of Assistance: "One day I'll wake up and it won't hurt so much." and Desperate

Warnings: 18+, language, angst, smoking/weed, mentions of injury/violence, Jax Slander

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Claire Morrow IS my Roman Empire. i think about her constantly. i have yet to come up with a longfic plot for her, so for now i just keep putting her in angsty little one-shots and calling it a day

By the time they had gotten back to her apartment, Claire hadn't been expecting Jax to wait around for her. It would be far from the first time that he stormed out of her place before they got the chance to talk about everything that was going on. Sometimes she wondered if it was a purposeful move on his part—a way to avoid having to tell her things that he didn’t want her knowing, or hearing about things that he wanted no part of. Other times she simply didn't believe that her brother was that smart.

But there he was, sitting at the tiny table that was in her kitchen. He heard her as she entered the room, but he didn’t turn to look at her. It wasn’t until she was sitting on the chair kitty-corner to his that he deemed to look at her at all. It was the first time in a long time that she had seen anything resembling sympathy on his face, more specifically sympathy that was meant for her. Must've been the bruises littered across her cheek that was catching the light.

She pulled one leg up so that her foot was resting on the edge of the seat of her chair. Wrapping her arms around her bent leg, she rested her chin on top of her knee. There were plenty of things that she wanted to say, but past experiences with everyone in her family had taught her that the second she opened her mouth, their tirades would come. So now, she waited.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Jax finally asked, taking his baseball cap off and tossing it onto her table as he did.

Claire didn’t answer right away, feeling like the question was more rhetorical than anything, like Jax was just coming out of the gate with that to tee himself up nicely for the rest of his rant about what exactly he thought she had been thinking. She sat silently, not breaking eye contact with him even as she reached for the joint and lighter that were on her kitchen table.

Jax raised his eyebrows. “Nothing? You got nothin' to say for yourself?”

“Oh, sorry,” she said, sarcasm etched deep into her tone as she placed the joint between her lips. Flicking the lighter, she spoke around it, words muffled but still plenty clear enough for Jax to hear what she was saying. “Didn’t sound like a question you really wanted my answer to.”

“I can't wrap my head around it. So please,” he held his arms out slightly, “explain.”

Claire nodded but she didn’t get around to answering his question right away. She inhaled deeply off the joint in her hand, letting it crawl down the column of her throat and linger there for a few long seconds before allowing it to slip out as smoke between her lips. For a brief moment she contemplated extending it in an offer to Jax, but thought better of it quickly and kept it for herself.

“It's been an absolute shitshow on set,” she told him, making a point not to look him in the eyes as she did.

“Since when do you care what happens at the fucking porn studio?”

She gestured towards the door angrily with her hand that was holding the joint. “Since Luann asked me for some fucking help!”

He scoffed. “So you thought—”

“I thought,” she cut him off, “that I would help out since all anyone in the club ever does is show up to gawk at the girls. I helped her shoot. I helped her edit. Then all this shit with Georgie started popping off and all the girls started freaking the fuck out.”

“We took care of that.” Jax said it like it was a declaration.

Claire laughed in his face before taking another drag. “Yeah, and then Lyla came in with her nose nearly broken. So, you know,” smoke came out in tendrils with each word she said, “Luann started to think that maybe whatever you did, didn't work.”

“So she asked you?”

“No. She didn’t ask anyone, but I knew that she really didn’t want to ask you again.” She saw the way that indignant confusion went across Jax's face. “Come on, Jax. You guys have been treating her like absolute shit throughout this whole thing. And then you act like you're doing her a favor.” She shook her head, tone dropping to a mutter. “Par for the fucking course.”

“What's your fucking problem?”

She shook her head, kicking off with a lie before getting to the truth. “I don’t have a problem. And now, thanks to me, you and Luann and all the fucking girls at Cara Cara have one less to deal with too.” She stood up. “You're welcome.” She turned and headed for the fridge.

Jax watched from the table as she dug around in her refrigerator. When she popped back up into view again, she had a box of takeout in her hand. Swinging the door shut, she grabbed a fork from the drawer. She tucked into her food without even bothering to heat it up. Even if the day had been a better one, she wouldn't have put that minimal amount of time into prepping the food for herself. She paid no mind to the way that her brother was looking at her as she shoveled one forkful of rice after another into her mouth. Now that her adrenaline had runs its course, all those pesky little sensations like hunger and exhaustion and pain were starting to creep back in.

Silence settled between them again as Claire stood and leaned back against her counter while Jax stayed seated at her table. As Jax watched her, he couldn’t quite remember the last time it was just the two of them existing alone together like this. One of them was always traveling with a crowd—usually Jax. And, more often than not, wherever Claire was, Clay or Gemma wasn't far. It was never just them, and as Jax continued to sit and watch her, he didn’t know what to make of any of it.

He fussed with his cap that was still on top of her table. He knew that there were things that he wanted to say to her, but now it all just came through like static on the radio, one thought not discernible from the next.

“Do you realize,” Claire spoke up, some rice still tucked in her cheek as she spoke, “that everyone just is doing shit to try and keep you happy? Or,” she scoffed, “the closest thing to it?”

Jax shook his head. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Right now, specifically, I'm talking about Luann and the girls. They've been losing it but didn’t want to tell you because they didn’t want you getting upset again. They all feel like they owe you. And you,” she paused, looking at the container of food in front of her, unable to look him in the eye as she said, “you eat that type of shit right up.” She pushed rice around with her fork. “You always have.”

He shook his head, working overtime to not consider the fact that his sister was absolutely correct in everything that she was saying. He didn’t want his world put off-kilter so much. “You're insane.”

Claire scoffed, finally looking at him again. “Yeah, it's in the fucking genes.” She took another bite, granting herself a brief reprieve before asking, “You really going to sit there and pretend you don't know what I'm talking about?”

Jax had no problem lying, to anyone really, but especially to Claire. He'd done it outright and by omission their entire lives. The levels of success varied, but it never stopped him from trying. But now, for some reason, he found himself having a hard time faking genuine denial with her. Maybe it was because for the first time in a long time she was being honest with him too. Real honesty, not the type she usually doled out that was cloaked by layer after layer of sarcasm and well-timed jokes.

He rapped his knuckles lightly against the top of the table as he tried to figure out what he wanted to say. “I don't—"

“Forget about Luann and the girls. What,” she huffed, setting her food on the counter and going back to where she'd been sitting before, “what about me?”

He shook his head in confusion. “What about you?”

She jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards the door. “I'm the one who went and took care of shit tonight, Jax. I'm the one who rolled up to Georgie's fucking house with a crowbar and—”

“A fucking crowbar? Jesus Christ, Claire—”

She continued on like he hadn't spoken. “And you still haven't asked me if I'm okay.”

He gestured to her face. “I can see the answer to that.”

She shook her head, disgust on her face. “Don't do that.”

“What?”

“You know what.” She let that statement hang in the air. “They do all that shit to try and keep you happy. Mom does, the club does. And, as much as I hate it, so do I.”

Jax laughed before he could stop himself. She almost had him. Until those last three words, he was taking everything that she was throwing at him. But that was just a tad too far for him to believe. For as long as he could remember, she'd been a thorn in his side and she loved every second of it. He'd chalked some of it up to typical younger sibling things, the kind of stuff that Thomas probably would've done too if he'd gotten the chance. But then the rest of it? It felt like jealousy, maybe, or even just a desire to nettle him for pure enjoyment on her end. Sometimes he chalked it up to the crazy she must've inherited from Gemma.

But in that moment, the look in her eyes almost seemed heartfelt. If he'd been anyone else he would've taken her at her word but he knew better. He'd watched her grow up, seen the way that she was always so easily able to get what she wanted from Clay and Gemma. Jax and his happiness were the furthest things from her mind.

“You've never given a shit about that.”

Propping her elbows harshly on the table, she raked her fingers back through her hair. It still wasn't completely dry from the shower and left a traces of residue between her fingers. “I've never been able to figure out how to do it, but that doesn't mean that I've never given a shit.” Looking at him, she felt the familiar burn of tears growing in her eyes. “For a long time I tried so hard to just get you…get you to fucking like me. When we were kids I tried so hard. And then I stopped because it wasn't working and you were so mean. I stopped and I tried not to care anymore and I tried to give up. I just kept telling myself, ‘One day I'll wake up and it won’t hurt so much.’ But it never happened. It still does.” She shook her head, just as much at herself and the emotions welling in her chest as at Jax. “And when Luann asked me for my help at the studio, I thought that maybe that would do it, you know? And maybe if I took care of Georgie and you saw that I can pull my weight, then maybe you'd get around to caring about me.”

“It's not—”

“You know how much it sucks, how…how fucking pathetic it feels, that some days I’m trying as hard as those fucking Crow Eaters to get you to give a shit about me? You know how sad and desperate that makes me feel? You talk all that shit about family with the guys in the club, those people you call brother just because they have the same piece of leather on their backs. But then, when it comes to your real actual family…this is all you have left for me? Those guys might be in your club but you're my brother.”

He could tell by the tremble in her fingertips that those were words she had been sitting on for a long time. They'd burrowed and made a home deep down in her chest and she had been content to leave them in hibernation indefinitely. He felt bad, angry too. It wasn't the first or the last time that she made him feel like an idiot, either.

Claire couldn’t make herself look at him. Real vulnerability was something that was so hard to come by in their family, and now that she felt the sinking pit in her stomach she started to understand why. There was a tiny part of her that wanted to take it all back, but it was too late now—she was probably better for it.

He'd never given much thought to whether or not Claire cared about being liked, by him or by anyone else. She certainly never acted like it was a concern of hers. Plus, in his mind, when it came to family it didn't really matter how much someone liked you, because at the end of the day they loved you and that would always outweigh everything else. That's how their family always ended up back in the same messes—no matter the anger, they would always show up at the eleventh hour. What else mattered?

Claire sniffled quietly as she tried to wipe at her face as casually as possible. “Now look who has nothing to say,” she forced out. Leaning back in her chair, she said, “Next time, just fucking say thank you and ask if I'm okay. It's a, a decent place to start.”

The discomfort that was burning a trail down the back of Jax's neck was telling him that this was one of those times when he should be apologizing, but that type of thing had never been his strong suit. This was one of the few times that he wished he was a little better at it.

“This isn't the kinda shit you should be handling on your own,” he told her, voice gentler than it'd been so far as he nodded towards the bruises on her face.

Claire could see it on his face that he was trying. And if she had been less exhausted, if she'd been in a more forgiving mood, she would've given him credit for that. But the Morrow in her was getting the best of her and she wasn’t about to hand him any kind of participation trophy after everything that had happened.

“You're telling me that if I'd called, you wouldn't have sent me to voicemail?”

He sank back in his chair as though her words had physically pushed him away. “This what you're always thinking about whenever you call me?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. Usually it doesn't…” she trailed off, wanting to find the right words. “The stakes felt higher this time, I guess.”

Quiet washed over them again. Claire switched back and forth between looking at the tabletop, and looking at her brother. She was fairly positive that Jax hadn't ever let her go this long uninterrupted. It felt like the first time she was ever able to lead a conversation with him. She had no idea what good it would do, if any, but it was something at least. Part of her was still just stuck on the fact that he had stayed and waited. It wasn't necessarily any great feat, but for Jax it was something close.

“I'm glad you're alright,” he said with a nod. When Claire nodded back at him in response, a small smirk crossed his face as he said, “I'm glad you beat Georgie's ass, too.”

Claire didn’t want to, but she found herself laughing with him for the moment. It helped shed some of the weight that had been crushing her chest. “It felt kinda good. Lyla's busted nose is nothing compared to what his looks like now.”

Jax chuckled and for a moment they seemed like a pair of teenagers, talking to each other about the things they could never tell their parents. It was the kind of moment they never had when they were actual teenagers. It was refreshing in its own way, even if they were still avoiding the gaping wound of a problem between them.

“Did you tell Luann?”

Claire shook her head. “No. Did you tell Clay or—”

“Hell no,” he stopped her sentence short. “Neither of us would hear the end of it. I'd lay low ‘til those fade.”

She grazed her fingers over the slightly raised skin of her cheek. “Right.”

The exhaustion of the evening was starting to hit Jax, too. It felt useless to ask, but he still did. “Need anything?”

She shook her head. “I'm good.”

“You sure? I can stay.”

She laughed, and the sound was as humorous as it was sad. “Don't. It's fine.”

Jax frowned but he didn’t fight her on it. Reaching to grab his baseball cap of her table, he spoke as he pulled it down onto his head. “Alright. I'm gonna head out, then.”

Claire nodded, watching him as he walked around the table. “Night.”

“Night.” He rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment as he walked by. “Call me tomorrow, let me know how shit goes at the studio.”

“Sounds good.”

Jax paused when he was halfway out the door of her apartment. “Claire?”

She raised her eyebrows, and Jax saw every ounce of tiredness that she was weighing on her. “Yeah?”

“Thanks, and…” he trailed off, knowing how he should end the sentence and still not able to say it.

There would be time for more fights about it another day, so Claire let this one go for the sake of her own sanity. “Yeah. I'll call you tomorrow.”

She wasn't able to fully slump back in her chair until she heard Jax's bike start up and then fade into the distance. Once it was silent in her apartment and on the lot again, she all but melted into the seat of her chair, wanting nothing more than to go to bed and disappear under the covers, but feeling like she couldn’t make the last of the trek to do so.

(divider by @thecutestgrotto 💞)

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