#and only 1 more week of work before winter break

[jessequinones]

How to Write When You’re Not Inspired

I’ve been writing for...let’s call it a year or two. Or twenty. And honestly? There are months when I just don’t write. It’s not because of a lack of motivation. It’s more that sometimes, I simply don’t want to. And that’s okay.

The creative bug, as some call it, died in winter (because, of course, it’s winter). It won’t crawl back out until summer, and honestly? It’s infuriating. I want to write. But I can’t.

This isn’t about losing motivation or writers block. It’s the sheer gravitational pull of everything not writing: video games, naps, watching shows/movies, etc.

When this happens, especially to others, they begin to doubt themselves. “Did I ever even love writing?” Might be a question they asked themselves. They haven’t touched it in months, but they’re happy doing other things. And yeah, I’ve had those same thoughts too.

Here’s the first thing I remind myself: There’s no harm in needing a break. Some people swear by the “just write one word!” advice, but honestly? If that one word takes me hours and leaves me frustrated, I haven’t achieved anything. I’ve just made myself miserable. And in a world that’s already exhausting? I’d rather just stay happy.

So how do I fix this?

Honestly? I don’t have a perfect answer. Sometimes, I just have to wait for summer to roll back around before I can write again. But there are a few things that help me ease back into the flow.

1) I Get Jealous

Weird? Maybe. But it works.

I’m in a bunch of writing groups, and when I see them posting about their word counts, their edits, or, their upcoming book releases, that little bug starts gnawing at me. And you know what? It’s weirdly effective. Suddenly, I’m back in my chair, typing away.

Now, let’s be clear: I don’t write because I think I’m better than them (have you seen their work? It’s incredible). I write because I want to keep up. I want to share my own progress, to feel that same pride, to inch closer to finishing my own story. So yeah, sometimes jealousy isn’t a vice. It’s a spark.

2) Write Something Else

Picture this: I should be working on my book. But it’s cold, inspiration is hibernating, and my electric blanket + coffee combo is calling my name louder than my manuscript. (This may or may not be how I procrastinated before writing this.)

Then, the guilt hits. I haven’t written in weeks. But instead of forcing my book, I wrote a random Facebook post, and somehow...it worked.

Weird? Maybe. But sometimes, you need to grease your gears with something completely unrelated. A silly post, a rant about your pet’s weird habits, anything to remind your brain that writing can be easy and fun.

This is why “uninspired” isn’t the same as “unmotivated.” The desire is there; the engine’s just stuck. And sometimes, a low-stakes warm-up is all it takes to get the real work moving again.

3) You Can’t Write on a Cloudy Day

For me, writing requires a clear mind, one that can fully immerse me in my characters and stories. But inspiration refuses to show up, no matter how badly I want to write. Sometimes, the best course of action is to walk away.

Sure, that might mean not writing for three months. But if my brain’s fogged over, forcing it only leads to awful drafts I’ll despise later (and inevitably rewrite).

To ensure I don’t fall behind with my writing, I keep a notebook of ideas. Jotting down random thoughts means I never truly “lose” them. Weeks later, re-reading those scraps might spark excitement all over again.

The planets don’t need to align, just my focus. If my mind’s not on the page today, that’s fine. I know it’ll be there another day.

As long as the want to write is still there, the inspiration will circle back. And when it does? You’ll find me at my desk on a sunny day, ready to go.

[sugarverse]

Hiii! I was wondering if I could request either long or short fic about Tenya Iida. Likes it can be set in a modern setting where's he's a senior college student who's majoring in business and he has to take one more class to get his degree. It just so happened that the class is in the art building, and it is figure drawing (aka nude drawing) . Since he's just now hearing of the extra class he has to take, he's suddenly shocked when the model is an old friend of his from back home, whom he had a childhood crush on. Not only does his feelings for her come back, but he also has to have 1 on 1 section with the model for educational purposes. I kinda want it to be smut and fluff or however you see it fit. Anyway, I hope it's enough+

hi babe! omg I love this idea I kinda went a lil crazy and made it way too long. I hope u enjoy :)!!

𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙬𝙣 𝙏𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧

word count: 3.5k

mentions of: This is really just the fluff portion of it, kinda suggestive bc he pops a boner and leads to sex in part two. I think I’m going to make a third part simply so the two of you can go on a genuine date andsotheresmoreiidaxblackreaderouthere.

a/n: hells yeah that’s enough, hopefully I did what ya asked and so sorry I went overboard I have serious problems. here’s the smut part bc a 6.7k fic is doing too damn much but i can’t stfu my fault gang

moodboard here!

Tenya Iida.

4th year, Senior in college majoring in International Business and minoring in Spanish at Angelwood College of Arts and Sciences.

The visual arts building had only been a few minutes away from the business side of campus, which he gladly enjoyed the walk. This spring all he needed to finish was two gen ed classes, the rest revolved around his major and minor. His counselor helped set up his ‘missing’ classes before winter break considering he had to fly back to Japan to see his family for the holidays. He was ecstatic to learn all he needed was an art class with lab and a communications class. 

When he asked what the class entailed, all he was met with was “beginner artists learning anatomy.” It didn’t sound difficult, just draw what you see. It would be nice to try something new anyway. He was not much of an artist but like all things Tenya does, he planned to give this class his all. The first week had been pretty easy, learning how to draw what you see with the use of models, shapes, and lines. Nothing too hard to follow. He would practice drawing his friends on the sketchpad he bought specifically for the class as a form of studying in the free time he had.

He neverminded it for the most part, excelling his knowledge in different countries in his free time to get better at his major. Sure they could teach you the technical way to do things, but in the end, everyone is still human. It would be inconsiderate to do business with a country and know little to nothing about their culture! It took almost two weeks for him to finally be able to even start the art project anyway.

As time went on and the January snow grew less and less, it was time to start their first real project of the semester. One on One figure drawing. The class needed to fill out a form explaining their free hours due to the limited art space and everyone's different schedules. Tenya happily filled it out when it was posted, continuing to work on class work from the library so that the lecture room could also be used for said project.

Their professor had explained that in-person class would remain on Mondays and Thursdays. It just worked out better for the models and students to have so much space.

He made the small walk over to the arts building for his last class of the day, a small shine in his glasses as he entered the white light of the room. The walls were anything but bare, artwork and unfinished projects sat in every corner of the room. Paint racks, canvases big and small, even stacks of unused clay. There was a stool sitting on a small platform in the middle of the room, assuming where the model will sit. 

He stood next to the stool for a moment, looking up at the grey February sky through the skylight. The natural lighting was great, almost like a spotlight. He adjusted the lights in the room a moment, dimming them slightly so the white light hadn’t been so harsh on his eyes. He headed over to a more organized table, setting out the art supplies how he liked. He knew he was early, but he wanted to make a good first impression. What’s better than being on time?

He pulled out his laptop, checking that the few assignments for today were done and submitted. A small frown tugged at his lips as he realized he hadn’t finished something completely, typing in the last few answers. He always double checked, technology was reliable.. When it wanted to be. He couldn’t hear the shuffle of slippers against the floor over his typing and frankly, loud thinking. 

He could see someone walk past in a teal robe representing the university's colors. Glancing up from the computer to give the model a proper hello, Tenya opens his mouth to speak but pauses. 

“Y/n?” He asked, almost in a whisper in case he was wrong. A small look of confusion caused him to tilt his head to the side slightly. He hadn’t been able to see you for awhile with such busy schedules, but he knew your silhouette by heart. 

You turn at the sound of your name, mid sliding off the slippers and fumbling with the gold silk of the belt. “Tenya?” You smile, asking as you turn to slide your shoes back on and quickly shuffle your way over to him. He felt his face burn red, frozen in place for a moment with his jaw slack. He stood as if needing to detach from the seat, smiling at your happy demeanor and your quickness to wrap your arms around him. 

“It is you! I know those shoulders from anywhere!” You beamed, feeling his hovering hands slowly place themselves on your back to return the hug. He was very hesitant, simply because you were only in a robe. You pull away, hands resting on your hips and giving him a big smile. “Now what are you doin’ taking a figure drawing class, Mister businessman?”

He let out a sheepish chuckle, “I needed an art credit, W-What are u doing here?” He never had any classes with you at Angelwood, A few honors classes and gym in highschool but other than that, nada. Throughout the course of growing up, your interests drove you to different classes. 

However, classes don't matter when your families are as close as yours and the Iida family. Shared Holidays, playdates, game nights.. It wasn’t like you were some stranger. You both always made time to hang out a few times during the year to catch up without the family just to give a real check on each other. It was his favorite, almost like a mini holiday to talk to you.

He loved spending time with you. You were smart, articulated and incredibly creative. You never took slack from anyone.. Even in middle school he can remember you being the one to stand up and say something when things weren’t right. You were headstrong and determined in anything that you did.. Art majors always get a lot of grief but you never let that deter you. And that was admirable in itself! ..And he had always thought you were so pretty. 

He felt like a kid again, heart feeling as if it’d beat out of his chest at the mere sight of you. It had been around Halloween the last time he saw you, and here it was. Almost Valentine's day.. Still as pretty and bright as he remembered. Your next hangout wasn't for another month or so, so it was nice to see you sooner than that.

“I'm your model, silly!” You head over to the stool, continuing to speak. “The art department asked if I’d help in modeling and I said yes! People were too scared to sign up for the most part. I’m surprised this is the class you picked. Did you want to learn how to draw people?” You slide your slippers off once more, untying the cute bow on your hip that held your robe shut. 

Suddenly the room was very hot and he couldn't breathe. Now his heart really WAS beating out of his chest. He quickly did a 180, shielding his eyes and removing his glasses for extra measure. “WHY– do yoU have.. nothing on underrrrneath?” He croaked, voice cracking as his tone raised slightly.

You tilt your head at such a question, the gears clicking a little later than they should have. “Figure drawing is um.. Nude drawing, Tenya. You didn't know that?” You slide the robe back on, giggling at the flustered man across from you. You could see his shoulders tense, shaking his head slowly.

Now how the fuck could he have missed that.

“I um.. No, I didn't. I thought that it was.. I don't know what I thought. My counselor picked it for me and I.. Most models we've used so far have.. had skin colored undergarments… On.” He let out a nervous laugh, keeping his glasses off. He turns around, cleaning them with the end of his shirt but refusing to look up at you. He needed to mentally prepare his brain to be professional in a situation like this. Not that he minded the glance, he just never thought this would be how..

You prop your feet onto the edge of the stool, interrupting his thought. You held your knees up to your chest so he couldn’t see anything but your bare legs. “Oh Ten, I��m sorry! I can ask someone else to-”

“No! I am perfectly.. capable. It's professional and I can be.. professional..” He put his glasses back on, hand refusing to be steady as he did so. He let out a shaky sigh, smiling at you and finally looking at you once more.

You let out a small laugh at the blush on his cheeks. He was so handsome, but to see him so flustered over little ol’ you? It made your week. “We can start slow, that might help.” you slide the robe down your shoulders, slowly putting your legs back down so he could see your robed torso once more. You stopped at the top of your breasts, letting your collarbone show. “Do you have any specific poses..?” You ask quietly, trying to hold back your amusement.

He sits down, red faced and completely flushed. A nude model.. jeez. From sleepovers to recess, studying together to graduating, and now almost graduating for the final time together. That's something you don’t get to have in every lifetime. But why do these thoughts keep coming back to him now? 

There was no way he could still have romantic feelings for you. He’d never put your friendship at risk like that!

..right?

“I um.. yeah, small.” He cleared his throat, “Could you um.. Could you stand slightly off of the um.. Almost like getting up?” He fumbled over his words, staring at the empty paper as if he could burn the quick image in his brain onto the page to get the embarrassment over with. He sighed once more, trying to focus as he began sketching circles and lines as a starter sketch of the pose he wanted.

“When you need to draw a certain part I'll move it, Sound fair?” You ask, resting one foot onto the stool and one onto the ground. Your hand gripped the seat as your butt sat on the edge, similar to when people do that supposedly hot thing where they throw their head back and pull some weird rope to have water get poured on them. 

It was second nature at this point for people to see you. Of course some of them were flustered and it was pretty awkward at first, but normally not to the point of stuttering and stammering. It wasn’t often that you saw Tenya fall apart, but this was way different. Especially considering you flashed him without warning. He was one of the most endearing people you had ever met, there was no way you would have done that without proper context.

He could only nod in response, not wanting to further make a fool of himself. Lightly tapping the pencil against the table, He looks up at you. “You can um.. re.. remove the top part, y/n..” It was hard to simply draw your arms and collarbone without including the robe, so you might as well rip the band-aid off and start with the top. 

You nod, dropping it happily and letting the robe pull around your hips and between your legs. You close your eyes, facing up toward the skylight in an attempt to make him less nervous. “Sorry for flashing you at first, I would have explained but I assumed you had already known..?” You laugh quietly to yourself at your own mistake. Why would someone like him even take this class if he knew what it actually entailed?

And God, did he feel like a pervert staring at your chest like this. The boner poking his thigh almost immediately didn't help, making it even harder to concentrate. Way to keep composure. He pressed his lips together for a moment before speaking. “I had no idea, I’m sorry for my r..reaction.” He answered, stopping the pencil tapping to actually begin sketching more than just circles and lines. He hadn’t meant to yell, but he felt like he was close to passing out. 

“I think it was a pretty valid one.” You send a reassuring smile his way, seeing him send you one right back. Trying to ease the mood, you look back up at the ceiling and close your eyes to avoid staring at the ugly overcast sky above you. “How was winter break? You get to go home and see your family? How are they?” 

His smile grew wider at your question, scooting under the desk a bit more so that you hopefully wouldn’t notice his body reacting. “They’re great, Tensei is getting married soon,” He sounded excited at the thought alone, incredibly proud of his brother. 

“And my mother has started a hobby making soap, if you can believe it. She sent me some to bring back one that smells like lavender and another that smells like oranges mixed with I believe she said papaya.? She made a coconut smelling one for you– I was going to give it to you the next time we saw each other,” 

The sound of his sketching stopped and started as he spoke, giving your body small glances as he tried to study each part of your upper torso. The way your stomach creased, The way your shoulder was slightly lifted causing your collarbone to be more prominent, the curve of your breasts.. “How was your Holiday, y/n?”

“No way, Tensei is getting married?!” You accidentally stop posing, fully facing him in genuine shock. The robe was still covering your lower half, you had tied the belt to avoid accidentally flashing him again but here we are. You watch his face become even more red, eyes very obviously not meeting yours but still like a deer in headlights. 

You quickly get back to posing how you were, “Sorry Ten, That's amazing!! I hope everything goes smoothly for him and his soon to be wife.. And tell your mommy I said thank you for thinking of me. I can't wait to try it!”

A smile stayed on your lips as you thought about the times you’ve spent in the Iida household. His mother always had the best candles and incense burning, you were positive the soap would be the same. “My family is up to the same old shit, you know them..” You let out a small groan, the holidays weren’t an absolute disaster, but after not being home so long makes you remember why you aren’t going to school anywhere near home. 

“I did get some cool stuff for Christmas though! I got some new clothes and they got me a few art kits. You know, where it teaches you how to crochet? I also have a new diamond painting kit, I haven't opened either yet because it's just been so busy.” You replied, tapping your fingers on the side of the stool where your hand sat. 

You look up once more, this time because the skylight was beginning to be covered in snow. You watched as it fell, thinking back to old times when you and Tenya would spend the last three major holidays with each other. You’d always make sure to trick or treat together, your families have been sharing Thanksgiving for as long as you can remember, and spending the night in your basement on Christmas eve to wait for Santa until you were both too old. Then instead of waiting for Santa, you’d all eat at least one meal together on Christmas day. Sometimes homemade breakfast, other times a small trip to IHOP or Waffle House.

“God damn it.. It’s snowing again..” You let out a small laugh, looking over at him over your shoulder, fingers still tapping away at the base of the stool. “Hey Ten, Do you remember when we used to have those big snowball fights? The one near Red Fern?” 

“Of course I do! You refused to wear any kind of gloves and my mother would make you at least put socks on your hands so you didn’t get frostbite!” The two of you shared a small laugh at the memories of being young and dumb.

“Gloves always made my hands too itchy! They still do– But I kicked your ass in snowball fights with gloves or not.” You retort, a smirk appearing on your face. “Ice queen y/n of everything.” You could remember the insane snowball fights the neighborhood kids would have every. time. It snowed. If there was enough to make a few snowballs, there was enough to start a war. Tenya was always on your team, but it never stopped you from throwing a few his way. The ‘winner’ was King or Queen of the hill and first to sled down, which often enough was you.

“Remember when you almost broke my glasses throwing one right at my face?” He snickered, watching your smirk turn into a small pouty frown. He knew you didn’t mean to, that same day you helped your mom make cookies for him and his family as an apology, even though he wasn’t upset to begin with. But you knew it could have broken his glasses and you would be devastated if you were the reason for it. You were a real sweetheart, even if you had a weird way of showing sometimes.

“Hey! You know that wasn’t on purpose, I felt really bad after! I even let you get me back!” Which was true, but he never aimed for your face. Always a spot on your fluffy coat, never your legs because you hated your pants being wet… and a face shot just felt wrong to him. 

“Yeah, Yeah. I remember that part too,” He smiled to himself. “Those were really good times.. I remember Tensei always bringing us hot chocolate and we’d sit on your porch and draw things in the snow..”

“Oh! And when we’d come back all wet and mom already had spare clothes in her hands because she didn’t want it on the carpet. We’d put on too big clothes just to sit and watch Christmas movies..” You missed those times. But they never really had to stop, you two could have a huge snowball fight after this if you wanted to and the snow stuck. Was he too grown for that? Would it even sound fun to him?

“Do you still watch A Year Without Santa Clause every year?” He asks, breaking your train of thought. You nodded quickly at his question, grinning like a maniac. “Of course I do! And I watch Charlie Brown’s Christmas, Rudolph The Rednosed Reindeer.. And sometimes Spongebob's Christmas Special. Do you still watch old Christmas cartoons?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Don’t wanna ruin tradition.” He answered, pressing his lips together slightly as he stared down at the paper. You can tell he freezes a bit, the sound of his scribbling coming to a stop. He set the pencil down, rubbing the sweat of his hands onto his thighs.

 “You can um.. remOove-..” He quickly cleared his throat, “The rest.” He let out a disappointed sigh at his inability to keep composure. This wouldn't be half the problem it was if it was someone else modeling. But this is you we're talking about. 

“You sure? If you need a minute we can take a break, honey.” You gave him a sympathetic look, still smiling but this time more.. warm. The kind of smile someone gives to another when they genuinely care for them. Or love them for that matter. He adored it, it was the same smile you'd give him when saying he needs to take a break, the same smile you give him when the two of you out to get coffee and catch up. The same smile he's fallen for many, many times. 

But to tell you the truth? It’s driving him crazy. All of this. Was driving him crazy. No matter how hard he tried to be professional, he could stop his wandering mind. You were a goddess. What else was there to do besides take a break and hopefully release some steam in the bathroom or something. Completely inappropriate, but the pain from being hard for so long was starting to cloud the best judgment. 

He looks down at the sketch so far, then back to you as he rubbed his hand upward against his face. It pushed his glasses up, causing them to be crooked when going back down. “I um.. I think I do.. need a minute.” His voice died out as he watched you slide the robe back on, words failing him because couldn’t think completely straight.

© if you like what you see please reblog! It means a lot and helps me out. Want more? Heres my m.list! I write for x black reader so throw me some requests :P my other account are icons and x black reader moodboards if you’re interested!

thank you @thecutestgrotto for the banners and thank you @fizzintine for coloring the top pic!

have a good day/night/whatever!

[kazutteoks]

GO FOR IT! 𝜗𝜚 ; masterlist

the one were heeseung and you have been rivals since you started hogwarts, and only takes one event that will turn your world upside down to realize what heeseung's presence in your life truly means for you. you have to do something! you just have to go for it!

pairing: ravenclaw prefect!lee heeseung x ravenclaw prefect f!reader

content: harry potter au , social media au , written parts , rivals to friends to lovers , bickering , friendly rivalry , (something i consider)humor , a tiny bit of angst (school pressure, expectations, fear of failure, yk typical of ravenclaws) , drama lots of drama , peeves mentioned (a lot) , heeseung is a great emotional support , reader is called snow for funsies , reader last name is ashbourne , heeseung is down bad but he knows how to hide it very well , tbh it's just heeseung and reader babysitting the ravenclaws and their friends while preparing to be head boy and head girl of hogwarts , but actually there's a plot , eventually reader is so down bad (as she should) , he fell first but she fell painfully harder , and that's it, that's all.

featuring: the rest of enhypen, bts jungkook and taehyung, nct 127 doyoung, johnny and yuta, ateez seonghwa, yunho, yeosang and san, njz hyein, boynextdoor taesan, txt soobin and beomgyu, p1harmony keeho, zerobaseone gyuvin, hanbin and yujin, riize anton, ive wonyoung, aespa karina, illit yunah and wonhee, itzy ryujin,

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ - read more undercut! ˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ ₊

warnings: this is the beginning of a series i've decided to call enha-gwarts (so original i love myself sm /pat pat), timestamps and dates are not relevant so please ignore it, minecraft references cz ima freak, lots of harry potter world references, lots of swearing, mention of insecurities, anxiety, self-sabotaging thoughts, kms/kys jokes, threat jokes(?, daddy issues jokes idk, modern hogwarts, nothing has really sense i swear it's not that deep believe me (😔🙏🏻), english is NOT my first language, I'm still learning, please excuse any mistakes or nonsenses! lmk if i miss something!

updates: monday , thursday , saturday

start date: 2025/04/19

end date: tba!

༺ ⚝ ; taglist is open!

a/n: lately i've been reading a lot of enhypen hp!au, and after rewatching the harry potter saga last week i really needed to make my own, hope everyone likes my little baby.💗

PLAYLIST!

PROFILES:

0A. purebloods and daddy issues

0B. hogwarts boyband

0C. ravenclaw coven

0D. sides

CHAPTERS:

1. yuta's favourite student

2. i am a supporter

3. you can laugh, but you will cry

4. you were what

4.1 the sleeping charm incident

5. first hw with....

6. oh...

7. you two need to talk

8. coven meeting

9. kicking my feet, twirling my hair

10. come get your brat kid

11. pookie is missing

12. and the drama begins

12.1 worry about it later

13. winter break is over

14. idk what's wrong with me

15. you just have to believe in yourself

16. calm before the storm

17. you think?

18. year is over and we're still the same (1.09k wc)

19. literally flabbergasted

20. the storm (0.5k wc)

21. i failed

22. life looks different from here

23. something weird

24. it's time

25. we're here to help

26. three times i really noticed you before i realized (3.9k wc)

27. first things first

28. take what belongs to u (5.32k wc)

29. muggle date

30. our tradition

31. fulltime professors, midtime cupids

32. dates, lots of dates

33. see you at new year's party

34. i can imagine a future like this (💌)

35. new year's party (keyword: a total mess) (0.0k wc)

36.

37.

38.

39.

40.

mtba!

❗ this is a work of mere fiction, the characters attitudes do not reflect at all the artist's personality here mentioned

© kazutteoks 2025.

[gutsby]

Benign

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Marrying a former Soviet sleeper agent was your first mistake. Letting curiosity get the better of you and saying his trigger words before sex was your second.

Warnings: 18+. DUBCON - Bucky is partly brainwashed; R is reluctant at first. Reliving past trauma (i.e., grief, prior HYDRA captivity). Rough, unprotected p-in-v.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Marrying into the mob meant one of two things: turning a blind eye to your husband’s crimes or taking them up as your own. Most of the women who had gone before you chose the former, leading lives of willful ignorance while their spouses cut deals, shed blood, stole guns, and submitted only to the laws of secrecy and discretion.

You, unlike those wives, hadn’t had the luxury of choice.

Your life, unlike theirs, had been sold to a man you didn’t know, by a father you couldn’t stand, and now your dad was dead, and this man—your husband—was to blame.

The least Bucky could do was fuck you hard to say sorry.

But no, ever since the Winter Soldier had reared its ugly head that dreadful night in Madripoor two weeks prior, your husband hadn’t laid one finger on your body that was not soft, sweet, and sickeningly apologetic to you. He seemed almost scared to initiate sex, and when he did, couldn’t help but act like a touch might break you.

After all, one almost had. Those hands he’d hear you beg and plead to put on you now were the very same ones he’d used to kill dozens, if not hundreds, including blood of your own blood. To the world, Bucky’s reputation commanded fear. To his wife, now, he felt duly obliged to prove he was more—that you were safe with him, not from him. He’d carted you off to every GP, hematologist, nutritionist, and grief specialist lauded among Brooklyn’s elite to make that happen. Fast. Frankly, these days, the thought of fucking was the furthest thing from his mind.

Unbeknownst to Bucky, somewhere along the spectrum of grief, you’d already come to settle comfortably at the ‘Need-to-be-fucked-until-I-can-no-longer-think-or-feel’ phase, and every bone in your body was crying out for respite in the form of ruthless, mind-numbing sex. It didn’t make sense. You hardly knew what to do with it. You should have lashed out, shut down, cried rivers and lakes of tears for that integral part of family that had been lost, but for whatever reason, you had to go numb.

You wanted to do something really, really fucking dumb.

Remorseful as he was, Bucky and his explanations for who or what the Winter Soldier was had been sparse. He’d told you that he had once been held in captivity by HYDRA, had his brain re-wired some way to make him a merciless Soviet sleeper agent, and that the night in Madripoor was the first in ages he had been ‘activated.’ How did activation happen? Of course, he wouldn’t tell.

But Steve would.

Steve had told you everything you wanted to know about your soldat, describing in painstaking detail how he worked, trained, operated, and could be called to action. You were almost certain Rogers had said it all as a way to assure you that it wasn’t Bucky who’d killed your father—it was someone inside him. You were more than positive Steve had never intended for you to use his intel like this.

You hadn’t believed him. Couldn’t believe him. How the fuck could someone sever all ties to their conscious mind and just transform anew into a killer? You got to be hell-bent on knowing for certain whether it’d been Bucky or him, it, whatever the hell the Winter Solider was, and on knowing it now. If your husband was faking it all and simply using this persona to justify the killing, that would be it. Trust gone, marriage over. If he wasn’t, well…you hadn’t gotten that far into your own line of thinking.

“Tell me what you want, doll,” Bucky said, pulling you back to the present.

He shifted gently against you, cotton trousers raising the friction a little as he slotted between your legs. He was still dressed head-to-toe from his meeting that morning.

“I want you to fuck me. Make me cum. Please.”

You were bare, save for one small scrap of linen and lace that somehow passed as a nightie. Your gaze was soft.

Bucky didn’t want to say no, but he also felt too guilty to say yes. The way you were watching him now, eyes so helpless and pleading, body writhing for contact, he knew you didn’t want his touch so much as needed it. Desperately. Couldn’t bear to be burdened with grief so you brushed it aside, to the furthest recesses of your mind until all that was left was desire. Starvation, really.

He could satiate you for now, but that hunger might not ever leave. The corners of his lips twitched into a frown.

“Gentle?” he mumbled.

“Rough,” you countered.

“Baby—”

“I really don’t need another fucking lecture on death, Bucky. I know I’m not myself right now, but I can still make these decisions, okay? Don’t talk to me like I can’t.”

Anger flashed in your eyes for a second, then indignation, then nothing. Without much energy left, you pushed him away. Flopped back on the bed and, seeming to sink into yourself, heaved a low, feeble sigh.

“I know. Hey,” Bucky leaned over to press a touch to your tummy, and it made you want to hurl, “I’m sorry.”

You turned onto your side.

“You still don’t remember what happened?”

The question came suddenly, almost from somewhere outside your body, it seemed. For the hundredth time.

“No,” Bucky answered, for what felt like the thousandth.

“This Winter Soldier—”

“He isn’t me.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Couldn’t know. Wasn’t…programmed for it.”

Bucky was watching you now, eyes as contrite as they’d ever been while you rehashed this subject to the brink of tears. He never could stay composed when he saw you cry.

“Baby…” he started, arms reaching out for you.

Eyes still filling with tears, you shook your head and swatted him off. You sat up, and your brows pinched together in a look he couldn’t read. Contemplating.

At last, you made up your mind.

You would try something new—and really, really stupid:

“Zhelaniye.”

“What?”

Bucky’s own expression contorted with uncertainty.

“—semnadtsat, rzhaviy, rasvet—”

He heard that. He immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Wait—”

You were curious. You had no idea what you were doing.

“Baby, baby, stop—”

“—pech, devyat—”

You were speaking so fast, surely it wouldn’t work like that. Either way, he had to stop you. He seized your arms, giving a sharp, deliberate shake, pupils blown to the size of saucers in his eyes. There wasn’t much time.

“Don’t—”

“—adin—”

No time at all.

“—dothisdon’tfuckingdothishoneyplease.”

Losing himself already. Feeling it stir inside his mind.

“—dobroserdechniy—”

‘Kind-hearted.’ ‘Benign’. You truly had no clue what these words were liable to do, much less what they meant.

Having enunciated this last part, you swallowed. Took the tip of your tongue and rolled it left-to-right across the backs of your teeth, waiting for your speech to take effect like some magical performance before your eyes.

It hadn’t, it seemed. You blinked. He blinked. You sat in a protracted silence for what seemed like seventeen years, and presently, your stomach began to churn. Nothing happened—you’d been right about this fuckery all along.

Then you remembered one last word of the sequence.

Faintly, you said:

“Soldat.”

The man above you straightened. Sitting. Stiff. Still perched by your legs at a comfortable distance but regarding you now with a pointed stare. Expectancy made manifest in a simple, sharp glare from his eyes to yours.

“...Bucky?”

The look on his face grew even harder. For a time, he persisted in that strange and silent grimace, and just when you started to suspect he was faking this whole demeanor of deadened stoicism, you heard a voice. Clawing out of his throat but sounding nothing like him:

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

The words drove a fear to the greatest depths of your bones, and you hardly knew why. You stared back at the handsome, barren man still watching you with severity, and you couldn’t seem to find your husband anywhere.

“James?” You weren’t sure why you tried his name again. You just didn’t know what else to say.

The scowl seeped into his mouth, and he frowned.

“James,” he repeated, like the word was foreign to him.

You found yourself shuffling back on the bed just then—to what, you didn’t know. You just felt a gnawing need to put some space between you and this person, this glowering face, however you could. When he grabbed your ankle, you let out a startled sound, and when he followed you up on the bed, you did more than just whimper; you lifted your leg to knee him directly in the stomach. He caught it.

Then he stared again, expression bloodless and wan.

“You’re scaring me, Bucky.” Your voice trembled as you tried to free your leg from his fist—grip unusually strong.

The man paused another moment, if only to soak in your words and let his gaze trail over your face. Your exertions did not register. And, for the very first time, you felt as though you were something more like a plaything in your husband’s eyes—not a full-fledged human being but a system to be gamed. The feeling was so unsettling that you had to turn away.

Or try to, anyway.

Craning your neck just far enough to spy your phone on the nightstand, your first thought was Steve; he would know what to do. But before you could even think to twist and lift your body in that direction, you felt a hand yank you to the bed, flat on your back. You looked up at Bucky and found yourself caged between two arms. He lowered himself to his elbows, shifted his weight to one side, and seemed not to notice your movements at all when you tried to slide away. The man just splayed his hand across your stomach and pressed it firmly. Stay.

You weren’t one to shy away from a challenge—or keep hope alive against the odds. You put your hand over his.

“James—”

“Zhena.”

The abruptness of Bucky’s word stole the rest of yours. You cocked a brow and followed his gaze to your hand.

To the gaps between your fingers, then the touch that fanned across them to settle on one digit in particular.

Bucky thumbed at the diamond and smiled. He smiled.

“Zhena,” he repeated.

You blinked.

“I— you...gave me that, Bucky. You did.”

He hummed in acknowledgment.

Bucky stared at the ring for what could’ve been five seconds or several years, and then he did something unexpected. He shifted his touch to the bodice of your dress—again, if you could even call it that—and he began to tug at the satin bow situated between your breasts.

Of course, this nightie being designed for honeymoons and supremely easy access, it didn’t take much effort at all for the folds of your dress to come apart. Your breasts spilled out of the fabric without so much as a hint of protest, your torso was quick to become fully exposed, and suddenly, shortly, your hands were fumbling at your chest in an effort to regain some smidgen of modesty. Your husband just shook his head, following your hands.

“Moya zhena,” he said, a touch more emphasis and fervor to the first of the two words.

Now it was you who was shaking your head. Trying to pry his touch away as you slid up the bed. When he followed, you saw the icy expression had been supplanted by intrigue and, though you still felt ill at ease, you couldn’t deny you were curious to know what he was thinking. Who was thinking it? Soft, plush lips swiftly replaced his hands, and before you even knew what he was doing, Bucky, or someone, was latching onto your left breast. Using teeth to graze the hardened nub and send a ripple of thick, guilty pleasure coursing through you.

You whimpered. Bucky groaned.

Your fingers slotted through his hair with every intention of pushing him away, but when you tried, he just flicked his tongue and made another delicious sound against you.

You pushed with even more force, and he groaned again.

Not Bucky, not Bucky, not him, you have to—

“Stop!” you cried.

A set of soft, warm baby blues darted up to meet you.

Some flicker of recognition seemed to cross them, too.

“Honey?”

You almost lurched toward the sound. It was Bucky.

Suddenly, your hands were making fists in the collar of his crisp white button-up, and you were trying to yank him up. You murmured his name in disbelief, relief, and gathered him up in your arms to pull him in for a kiss.

The lips that met you were soft for a moment—just one.

Then the teeth reappeared. Harsh, jarring, biting. You jerked back at the sensation, and when you found his face again, it seemed your husband was lost to you all over. The eyes were attentive still—nowhere near as cold and aloof as they had been before—but they did not radiate the same warmth and admiration that Bucky’s always did. You almost couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He was gone, just like that, and there was nothing you could do to stop it from happening.

A broad palm cupped your cheek to bring you in for another kiss, and you weren’t sure if you should indulge. It didn’t seem you had much choice anyway, because the lips that were seeking yours were hungry. Starved. Searing into your mouth with a force you couldn’t refuse.

But something inside you wanted to find Bucky again.

Somewhere inside this stranger was lying dormant a trace of your husband; you’d seen it yourself, if only for a second. It made you curious. Where had he gone? What did he do when forced to retreat into this strange, preprogrammed being, and how could you get him back?

“Bucky,” you mumbled, more of a plea than a moan.

You were kissed harder than you had been in a long time. You didn’t have to think, or do, or breathe one puff of air that this man didn’t account for. His tongue wedged a gaping space in your wet, welcoming mouth for him to fill, and somehow, you didn’t feel the urge to protest. A familiarity in the way he kissed almost put you at ease, and when his body lifted slightly, yours lifted with it.

Before long, Bucky was sitting. Kneeling between your legs with an eye to your soft, shaking torso. You’d barely even come to notice just how hard you were breathing until you felt a palm on your stomach again. There was an oddly calming insinuation in that one simple touch.

And again, he smiled. Brighter than before.

“Nashe?” He sounded eager as he said it.

You peered up at him and raised an eyebrow in question. Perhaps you should’ve felt more exposed; after all, you were sitting half-naked with your husband’s assassin alter ego stroking your stomach and beaming over you, eyeing you expectantly, and you didn’t know what to say. Apart from the short set of words Steve had taught you, you were totally clueless to Russian, and you weren’t quite sure you were in a place to ask Bucky to translate.

When it seemed words might never come, the gleaming teeth above you were shrouded in a tighter, close-lipped smile, and Bucky nodded. Appearing to understand. Instead of forcing a response from you, he just let his hand migrate down your belly, fingers tracing the skin, then settle comfortably—momentarily—at the crest of your pubic bone. Then he pressed the heel of his palm into the place residing right below it, and without really meaning to, you moaned. A quiet maelstrom of pleasure circled low in your abdomen, threatening to draw noises from your throat you weren’t planning to make with every gentle gyration of Bucky’s lower hand.

You had to purse your lips to contain the sounds.

Again, he nodded.

“It’s okay,” he said, so quiet he almost couldn’t be heard.

He let the friction continue for a while like that: just palming you, watching you react to the simplest of motions against your swollen, aching clit and try not to writhe. At length, you squirmed a little bit. Bucky seemed to want to wait for something to happen, and when you bucked your hips, a look in his eye said that was enough.

He lowered himself between your legs. Shoulders bumping your thighs as he spread them apart, chest rising and falling in measured breaths, and lips smiling all the while. You sucked in a breath when his face came to rest just a few inches shy of your bare, aching warmth.

“Bucky?”

The man looked up at you and blinked.

“Yeah, honey?”

One thumb traced over the seam of your cunt, and your back nearly arched off the bed. There he was, again, gaze safe and secure to yours and hands moving in tandem as they always would. His tongue calmly followed suit. When you fisted his hair, he blinked once more and then directed his attention back to your wet, warm, velvety folds with a pointed look and a purpose.

The sound that escaped you next could hardly be classed as anything less than a scream, but the soft and unperturbed demeanor of the man between your legs showed he hadn’t noticed at all. He just sucked diligently—damn near dutifully—on your clit with a vigor you’d never felt, and when you yanked at his hair, he hummed.

It was like his lips had been trained for perfect suction; that was how well and thoroughly he descended upon your swollen little bud. An airtight kiss and a quick flick of his tongue, paired with his hot and heavy breaths fanning over your cunt, sent your senses into overdrive. Your toes curled inward, your throat let loose a gasp, and without fully realizing it, your walls were clamping down, pulsing and leaking out desire for more of this touch.

Then, without warning, Bucky brought a hand to the throbbing and slick cunt that was presently clenching around nothing, and he fed it two fingers. So forceful and deep he nearly buried his knuckles right along with them. Then he started scissoring those two fingers, sharply.

“Open, milaya,” he said. Again, it wasn’t entirely Bucky.

But you felt a faint remembrance there. You didn’t want him to stop. Maybe you were led astray by the gentle laps of his tongue or the prodding of his fingertips, or perhaps there was something stubbornly familiar about the way he was touching you now. You couldn’t tell.

All you knew was that both of your hands were holding tight to his head and begging him, wordlessly, for more.

Your moans rang all the way through the bedroom in your new, far-too-big penthouse apartment in Brooklyn, down the hall, reverberating through every inch of the space until all that could be heard were your sounds and his and the delectable little noises of your bodies working together. Bucky hadn’t even stirred to pleasure himself.

You wanted that part to change.

With your hip pinned to the mattress and Bucky’s tongue laving over your clit in ruthlessly quick movements, you probably would’ve liked to cum all over his mouth and fingers, but you wanted to see him pleased even more.

Just when he’d worked a third finger inside you and was driving you close to your peak, you pushed him away.

Bucky parted from your folds with a glistening chin and two furrowed eyebrows, clearly frustrated to have been torn from his mission before you reached completion, but you wouldn’t let that look linger for long. You used your leverage in his hair—however slight, comparatively, that grip might have been—to pull him up on the bed.

Bucky surprised you with just how swiftly he moved.

His steel-blue gaze was on yours in a second, equally penetrating and soft.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing—”

“My baby okay?”

He surprised you again; this time by how quick his demeanor was to shift the second he sensed something was wrong. Just like Bucky. It had to be him in there.

You nodded, still out of breath from the wonders he’d been working with his tongue. You squeezed his arm and tried to coax him toward you, to help him lower his body some, and when he seemed uncertain, you offered a smile. It’s okay to touch, you won’t break anything.

Bucky eyed you skeptically, but it was clear he was more wary of himself than of you. He glanced over your body, briefly to his, then slowly, apprehensively, sank down.

“Just fine,” you mumbled, hooking your legs around his back the second his chest was close enough to yours.

You felt an uptick in his heartbeat when your heels dug a little more firmly into the waistband of his pants. While your hands started working their way toward the front of that fabric, wedging clumsily between your bodies, his gaze flitted to yours, and his brows drew even tighter together. He didn’t try to stop you, but he certainly seemed confused as to why you wanted to include him so soon. Why you cared to show concern for him at all.

You noticed that then, and in just about every moment preceding, the man was taken aback by kindness.

Whether it was pulling him closer to you, tugging his pants down with a tender touch, running your fingers across the bulge in his boxers, or simply nodding your head and letting him know it was okay to touch you back, Bucky seemed unaccustomed to any care in this area.

When your fingers made it around his cock and started stroking him, gently, he just might’ve come apart.

His chest shuddered with the inhale of a short, strained breath, and his eyelids fluttered, as if meaning to close.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, and he started to shake his head.

“No, let me—”

“Let me,” you finished for him, wrist flicking back and forth quietly. You paused just to rub a quick touch between your folds, collect some arousal, then return to touching him when he met your eyes again and allowed you to continue. You skimmed his sensitive underside with your palm and let the warmth of him bleed into your fingertips as you worked him up to a comfortable pace.

Bucky rutted into your touch, probably harder than he meant to. Then he planted a hand beside your head and anchored his weight above you so that he was close enough to reach your lips—but he didn’t kiss you.

His expression hardened again, and he forcibly removed himself from the pulse of your fingers. He frowned.

“You want me to fuck you, no? Make you cum?”

He sounded irritated again.

Briefly, you recalled your words from earlier and nodded. It was true, you’d said it to him like that, and you’d meant it. You just couldn’t make sense of what he wanted now.

It seemed Bucky couldn’t wait to indulge you any longer. He fisted his cock in one hand, angled the head just outside of your cunt, and burst in with one thrust.

“Then let me,” he muttered, plunging down to the hilt.

The first go was rough, and the second was no kinder. Bucky’s face screwed up with indifference again, like he wanted to get something out of his brain and just do.

Like there was a task at hand that needed to be finished.

You couldn’t deny it felt fine at first. Fucking edifying after all those horrific thoughts had been eating away at your mind and rousing your own hunger for numbness. The drive of Bucky’s thick girth in and out, in and out repeatedly was no doubt capable of rendering you dumb. But being slammed into and taken so roughly was only good for you when you knew he was feeling good too.

This Bucky was back to being entirely flinty and lifeless—practically devoid of all emotion as he railed into you.

The back of your head was forced into the pillow with the weight of each thrust and Bucky’s thumb pushing into your chin—‘Better, milaya? Is this better for you?’—and frankly, you wanted to push him back and ask the same.

But you couldn’t. The pace he’d set was suffocating, and the stretch of his cock inside you was unusually tough.

Instead, you sank your nails into his arm and mumbled:

“Bucky.”

The man’s thrusts were both stabbing and rhythmic, sending a welt of pleasure blossoming up in your chest. You tried again:

“Bucky.”

He blinked.

And slowed.

“Bucky,” he mumbled back.

Seemingly mindless and mechanical, he snaked a hand behind your head to lift your face and tilt it toward the sight below: his cock splitting you open before him, parting your insides with an easy, welcome glide through the slick of your folds. You watched as your arousal enveloped him fully. Not a single inch of his rock-hard, throbbing shaft was spared; even his balls were soaked. They felt even heavier slapping your ass with each thrust.

“You remember?” you asked, hating how small you sounded.

The man’s nostrils flared, but he gave a curt nod. Expression taut and vigilant, as though anticipating something going wrong at any second. Still, he nodded.

“Years,” he answered.

“Years?”

Since he’d done this? Felt good? Become this way?

No, Bucky was activated in Madripoor just weeks ago. He didn’t look like he was ready to indulge in any ‘feel-good’ pleasure, and you weren’t sure when he’d last been with anyone else before you. Years could mean anything.

You chanced a few soft fingertips up to his cheeks, cupping either side of his clean-shaven face in an effort to anchor you both to one place. The pit of your stomach was reeling with warmth, and friction, and fullness. It took everything in you just to pull him in for a quick, grounding kiss before the feeling gave way to even more.

Bucky’s teeth nicked your bottom lip. He flinched back.

You ignored the sting and repeated his name, murmuring it carefully up to the seal of his mouth as if requesting entry with that word alone.

It seemed to work. Bucky kissed you back with a gentle, albeit guarded, sort of tenderness that made him soften. His thrusts weren’t as rough and punishing as they were before. The dull, throbbing ache between your legs transformed into something sweeter, and your body no longer had to brace itself against strokes that, to you, were nearly bruising and, to Bucky, were just necessary.

For once, your husband let out a soft grunt of pleasure.

“They never let us,” Bucky said as his teeth grit together, “It’s been years.”

“Since what?”

The face above you tempered more—this time with a trace of sadness behind it. He continued to rut into you, but now his thrusts were sloppy, and it seemed as though he were battling against his own pleasure with every motion. He lowered one hand between your legs and began to thumb at your clit, gaze torn from yours.

“Close now?” he muttered.

Ignoring the question you’d asked.

“Years since what?” you pressed anyway. The tiny ripples preceding bliss had already begun to stir inside you, maddeningly, with every flick of his thumb, but your curiosity to know the whole truth was stronger still.

Bucky’s hips were moving at a feverish pace now; his free hand made a fist in the sheets beside your head, and his chest heaved with a series of short, ragged breaths that were no doubt meant to mask his moans as well. Notwithstanding the burn you felt between your legs—he really was much rougher and stronger now, you saw—you cupped his cheek again to tilt his face toward yours.

What you saw made your stomach drop.

Your heart clenched like a fist within the confines of your ribcage, and there it was—that terrible ache you felt each time you saw something awful materialize before you.

Bucky’s eyes were wet with tears. He wouldn’t blink.

He tilted his head into your touch, as if for support, but really, the weight of it signaled to you that he just wanted to feel you. Be assured that you were there. His big, broad arms seemed suddenly unable to hold his weight, and then he sank into your frame with a grunt and another stuttered breath. Like he was ready to collapse.

“Don’t leave again,” he said quietly.

The pain in your chest elevated, in bloom.

“Bucky I didn’t— wasn’t—” you started to say.

The friction between your bodies was almost too much to bear. You couldn’t be sure if you were talking to your husband, soldat, or some strange, inconceivable mixture of the two, but you could tell that this one was desperate.

Pleading.

“I can’t lose you again.”

The head of his cock grazed your most sensitive spot inside, and a whine seeped out through your teeth. Bucky’s whole body was blanketing yours, torso flush with your front and hips working an erratic cadence as he got a glimpse of release himself. He groaned out in pleasure and begged you to stay. You promised that you would. Your legs were still wound around his sides, but both of your bodies were slick with a sheen of sweat; it was hard to hang on. Bucky’s hair was wild and pushed back from his face, but his eyes were clear when they finally met yours, and you heard him mumble again, ‘Please stay.’

You didn’t know what else to say but okay, baby, I will.

You swore you would stay, and in between oaths, your mouth was consumed by a barrage of kisses—Bucky got to feast with a full set of teeth again, primal as ever—and then your climax hit. Euphoria washed over you whole with a force you weren’t expecting to feel, and you couldn’t help but cry out and whine as waves of pleasure coursed straight from the innermost depths of your core.

Bucky’s hips collided with yours in two more stuttered thrusts, and when he bottomed out at the last, you felt a heavy spurt of warmth. A groan coiling out of his chest. Muscles growing lax and two sturdy arms coming to bracket your head as your husband’s whole body weight went folding into yours. You kissed some more, in between frenzied intakes of breaths and steadying moments where you were simply trying to ground your body and get your heart to slow down to a normal rate.

You held each other in silence for a while. Bucky’s head fell next to yours on the pillow when the last of his spend had been emptied, but otherwise, he didn’t stir. At some point, his hands slid behind your back, and the second he hugged you to him, you felt secure in that embrace.

You were probably as far as you’d ever been from understanding who the fuck your husband was, but all it seemed you were capable of feeling for now was pity.

Pity for the years he’d lost to captivity; pity for what was little more than mere existence under HYDRA’s thumb; pity for all the things you still didn’t know about his past.

You held Bucky tighter, and, flooded with this strange, grating emotion and an overwhelming sense of powerlessness, you wished you could protect him, too.

“James?” you mumbled into his hair.

Bucky didn’t respond.

You squeezed his shoulder. Still nothing.

Against your better judgment, you tried to shift yourself underneath his body. You figured you wouldn’t make it far at all, but at least he would be aware that you were trying to get up. Maybe even start to move with you.

He didn’t.

It took everything in you just to wedge an elbow back, struggle to prop yourself up against his weight, and when you were about to let out a huff of an exasperated laugh and tell him, Bucky, you’re crushing me, honey, could you please ease up a little, your request was answered before the words could even leave your mouth.

At the sound of two new muffled voices carrying up from the living room and what appeared to be noises from shuffling feet, Bucky rose straight from the bed, off you.

Your gaze trailed his to the door, and you reached for him.

“Baby, it’s just—”

Bucky was back on his feet. Yanking his boxers and pants up his legs and buckling his belt in no time at all.

The movers. It’s just the movers bringing in furniture—

You moved your hand closer to your husband in the hopes of stalling his movements for half a second, but then a set of ruthless blue eyes had you pinned, quick:

“Stay.”

Your outstretched arm was taken up in a much stronger, stiffer one, and you were suddenly pulled over to Bucky.

But you knew from the eyes it wasn’t him at all.

And you weren’t so much being tugged toward him as you were being hauled to the floor. Thrown on your knees beside the bed, next to Bucky. He was about to leave.

Without thinking, you reached for one of the legs of his trousers and sank your nails into the fabric to hold him in place, to tell him again that there was nothing to see out there but the people you knew, no threat outside at all. But Bucky was deaf to your pleas, it seemed. He shrugged you off easily and made a move for his gun, expression blank, stolid, calm, hardened. Decided.

You tried to rise to your feet but were stopped.

“STAY,” Bucky boomed again, this time an order that he didn’t even deign to complete with a look your way.

If he had—if he even possessed the ability to consider anything but the immediate task at hand—he would’ve seen his own hand knock you to the floor to keep you from standing. Might’ve caught a glimpse of the instant your head struck the edge of the nightstand before you hit the ground. Could’ve even made out the first traces of blood that came trickling out from above your temple. Would’ve seen you cower back, viscerally, out of fear.

But holding the side of your head and watching him leave, grim realization twisted at the pit of your stomach, and you knew the man wouldn’t have stopped if he had.

If your soldat’s objective was to protect you from any harm lurking outside that door, real or illusory, nothing you were capable of doing now could stop that. At expense to yourself, at expense to him, at expense to whatever lives stood between the Winter Soldier and that unwavering, hardwired goal, he still would not ever stop.

Thinking of new, innocent lives in the balance, now, you scrambled for your phone the next second to call Steve.

You tried him once. Twice. A third time crawling on your knees, then standing, then staggering over to the door and pulling the phone from your ear just to send a string of texts to your friend while the thing continued to ring.

SOS

Need help

Pick up please

Bucky’s stuck and he’s

About to hurt people here

A crash sounded outside. You hurried to the door. Your hand closed around the knob and tried to turn it. The handle turned freely, but something behind it was refusing to let you leave the room. You pressed again.

“Bucky!”

Your cry was useless in the face of the barricade outside.

You pushed your shoulder and, behind it, the whole force of your weight against it anyway, trying to get out.

The line went dead. You tried again.

Now with your phone to one ear and the bedroom door taking the brunt of your hits from the other, bleeding side of your body, you scarcely heard much of anything else. The ring started. Stopped. Began again when you pressed a shaky finger to Steve’s contact name, and continued in a cycle for some time while you tried to force whatever was on the other side of the door away.

The second a voice broke through the haze of your frantic, half-crazed state of consciousness, you cried:

“STEVE!”

“Mrs. Barnes?”

You were shocked to hear a woman on the other end. Your pulse was still racing, shoulder aching from the impact of each desperate push you’d been forcing against the door, and then you stopped. Another loud something sounded down the hallway, further away, but you were too startled and unnerved to take any note of it.

You started to ask, ‘Where’s Steve?’ when the voice continued:

“This is Mrs. Barnes?”

“Yes,” you answered woodenly.

You held the phone as close to your ear as you could, but still, the woman’s words were coming in and out in bursts. You must’ve mistakenly accepted the call when trying to reach Steve—you couldn’t think right now; could barely retract the phone far enough to see a strange number displayed on the screen. You swallowed.

“—from Lenox Hill Hospital at Northwell Health—”

The high-rise medical center on the Upper East Side you’d visited that week. Bucky had wanted you tested for nutritional deficiencies and anemia, of all fucking things.

“—if you had a moment or two to chat and maybe—”

No, you needed Steve, not this outpatient courtesy call.

You would’ve liked to hang up. Should’ve hung up. In fact, your fingers were practically itching to hit the button the whole time the nurse was speaking to you, but something in you just couldn’t be persuaded to do it. It took several more seconds before your senses began to creep back, and by then, when you were about to drop the call, you heard a phrase that stopped you on a dime.

“—but the doctor advises prenatal vitamins—”

“What?” you snapped, far more harshly than you meant.

The nurse paused a beat, whether from incredulity at how rude you’d just sounded or to consider something. When she resumed, she sounded a little more guarded.

“Yes…Dr. Watkins did reach out to you about your bloodwork from your last visit, didn’t she? I thought—”

“No,” you said, rushed and painfully brusque, again. You tried to rein in your tone some before continuing, “She didn’t—didn’t reach out about anything. What vitamins?”

Another pause.

“Prenatals.”

You hated that she gave you another second to chew on that word before taking a breath and pressing on.

“I’m terribly, terribly sorry to be the one to spring that on you, Mrs. Barnes—I thought you knew…um—” The nurse was sheepish now, almost embarrassed to be speaking, “—you’re about…three weeks along in your pregnancy.”

Three weeks along.

Advised prenatal vitamins.

For the child growing inside of you.

A rivulet of blood trickled into your left eye.

Your whole body was apt to convulse, but it didn’t.

You hung up.

—

Taglist: (please lmk if I missed anyone! I can only tag 50 at a time so will continue in a separate post) @vicmc624 @she-could-never @mcira @kentokaze @identity2212 @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx @stinkerbelle007 @opibarnes @wilsons-striped-ties @desigirlxx @pono-pura-vida @geminiflanagansblog @buggy14 @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @buckysdoll1520 @armystay89 @minimarvelingmarvel @kunakizen @ghostiebby06 @blackhawkfanatic @dameron-grantspector @sushiseoks @deansapplepie @mrsjoequinn @gyokujyn @lunaroserites @first-edition @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi @excusememrbarnes @daisychainsoflove @mostlymarvelgirl @diannana @shawnberry @yujyujj @urmomsalex @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @athenabarnes @christinabae @sluttylittlewaistenthusiast @wintrsoldrluvr @bethbunnyy @i-heart-smut @aagn360 @dahliawolfe @fantasyfootballchampion @lilyevanstan1325 @kandis-mom @thealyrs

[with-my-calamitous-love]

LEAVE THE WARMEST BED I’VE EVER KNOWN

katsuki bakugou x reader

on a cold winter night, you gain news that your ex boyfriend and pro-hero dynamight has returned from a work trip out of the country. coincidentally, he’s calling your phone right now.

part 1/2

inspired by ‘tis the damn season

everything you learned about katsuki while he was away was against your will.

following in all might’s footsteps, and right after one messy, icy breakup, katsuki left to do hero work in the united states. if you wanted to know who he was hanging with, what girls he was supposedly kissing, or who he was replacing you with, you could have asked. seeing his life in footnotes, on instagram stories and through headlines was the kind of cold that fogged up windshield glass.

theres a lingering ache in your heart, put there by the ache in katsuki’s.

your breakup felt inevitable, more than anything. circumstances, timing, stress… one second, he’s loving you. the next, he’s telling you he needs to think things through. and right after that, he’s on a plane to los angeles with kirishima.

it was almost nice, not having to see him at the agency or anywhere else. you wouldn’t be tempted to call his phone, since the international bill would only break your heart more. you couldn’t go to his apartment because it’d be empty- if you’re not counting the phantoms of lost love.

the 2 weeks he was gone felt like an eternity on your end. you blamed the time zones, though you knew they weren’t capable of freezing time and making your heart ache more each minute.

and with the first snowfall of the season, katsuki bakugou lands back in his home country.

he thanks the attendants in his private jet, shoving his already warm hand into his pockets as he steps out into the brisk air. its colder than he remembered, as if the world felt the same loneliness he was experiencing.

its 10pm, and the snow is glistening against the moonlight like a mirrorball. the sky is blanketed by clouds, a pink hue washing over katsuki as he steps out of the airport and into the night.

he stares at his contacts for a second. he intends on calling an uber.

but either his thumb slipped, or he missed you too much to care about the cold pricking his fingertips. each could be true.

you’re in the process of turning up your heater when your phone lights up through the dark. fingers peeking out the sleeve of your sweater grasp the device, nearly dropping it to the floor when you see who’s trying to reach you.

as if on instinct, your thumb hovers over the green button, before ultimately letting it go to voice mail.

after a hot shower to drown out the chill, you find him calling again. this time, you sit on the edge of your bed, finally resigning to pick up.

you don’t say anything first, wanting to hear him first. maybe you had to make sure this wasn’t some twisted dream.

“…hey babe.” katsuki says, his gruff voice lingering with a soreness in his throat that can only come from prolonged exposure to the cold. that, paired witb the familiar nickname despite the circumstances, makes you clutch your phone.

“hey, kats.” you say, shifting on your bed to get comfortable. after all, any emotional night with katsuki bakugo was destined to be long.

“when did you land?” you ask, fiddling with your fingers. you hope he doesn’t hear the trepidation in your voice.

“an hour ago.” he says, stifling a sniffle like a child would. you almost laugh, knowing him too well. he wasn’t the kind of guy you could forget easily.

“i just needed to hear your voice.” he admits, more to himself than to you. crimson eyes watch the way the snowflakes fall to the ground, dancing around in the wind. he remembers how much you love snowflakes. how you’d always try to catch them on your tongue, and how stupid he thought it was. the things he’d give to go back to that.

the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his voice makes your eyes water. it was something about the cold that brought out the aches in people. like holidays that linger like bad perfume, you both could run from the hurt before getting lost in the snow. you escaped into your warm apartment, away from the world, while katsuki escaped into crowds of adoring fans away from home.

whats funny is that both of you remember how the other left.

the cold air pricks at katsuki’s fingers while he waits for a response. he almost thinks the connections gone out, when in truth, your holding back tears.

with a shaky sigh, you speak. “lets… call it even, then.” you whisper, but he’s captivated by your words like a firework show. “i wanted to hear you, too.”

the breath of relief katsuki lets out can be seen in the cold, night air.

there was about 100 thrown out letters you wished you could send him. you could vomit words onto paper, send them out into the winter air and let the wind deliver your confessions to him.

and honestly, he wants you to. more than anything, he wants to sleep in with you, pull the blankets over that shield you from the cold just for old time sake. and if you don’t want him to stay this time, then he won’t ask you to wait.

if this doesn’t work out, he’ll go back to LA. he’ll let his so called fans write books and stories about him, about his heroism and his nobility without knowing how much his heart hurts on the inside. they’ll wonder about the only soul who knows what that hurt feels like. the only soul who knows all the smiles he’s faking: you.

he hopes that he only breaks his own heart, wanting to spare you from it. if he could, he’d leave you the warmest bed you’ve ever known. he’d call you babe for the weekend, and love you warm against the winter chill.

if somewhere, in his heart, katsuki’s love for you despite the breakup remained the same, then it was the same for you, too. if its okay with you, its okay with him. you could call it even. you’re missing his smile, and you want him to hear you out.

you might have to, with what he’s about to say next.

“…i’m outside, babe.”

part 2 soon 🫧

[f1fantasys]

Thought you were mine all along, guess I was wrong - Part 9

Summary - pretty sure you can guess from the warnings below ;) Can be read as a standalone if you just want smut.

Warnings - filthy smut, minors DNI PLEASE. penetrative sex, unprotected sex, oral sex both m! and f! receiving, blowjob, fingering, squirting, cockwarming, anal sex, swearing, dirty talk.

A/N - THANK YOU so much if you're still following this story. I'm so so happy with how it turned out and I had so much fun writing the never ending smut in this chapter.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8.

6K+ words!

That night was the last time you saw Lando in person. You'd went into it with nerves, fear even, but you left feeling lighter, hopeful. Even though he hurt you, so much, you always knew a part of you could never hate him, but rather always love him, and to somewhat have him back in your life was the best feeling you'd had in recent months, so you'd take it.

Lando was busy preparing for the new season, training camps, assessments, sponsor events, and so he was hardly home in the last couple of weeks, only dropping in for a day or two here and there, never getting the chance to meet up since you yourself were busy prepping, but you were content with how things were at the minute. You'd kept in touch, more so than you'd initially hoped so, but things were going well. Texting through the day, Facetimes almost every other night, talking about everything and nothing. You could see Lando was still reserved, not wanting to push boundaries and make you uncomfortable, for which you were grateful. Things were slowly sliding into place, and you were here for it. Each time you saw his face on your screen, butterflies re-ignited in your stomach, heat crawling through your body whenever he gave you a dimpled-smile, and not to mention how your cunt throbbed for him when he'd called you after his assessment, sweat dripping off his body.

It was the Friday before pre-season testing started next week, so that only meant one thing - a final hurrah at Jimmyz to close in the winter break with all of your close friends, work related and non-work related.

Lando was still in the UK, he was only flying home to Monaco this weekend to pack and then head off to Bahrain. which is where you knew you'd see him again. But as you were getting ready, your phone buzzed with a message from him.

''Flying back home, see you tonight at Jimmyz?''

Your heart pounded. Yes you fucking wanted to see him, but still, a part of you was nervous, shy almost because things were slowly falling into place and it was only a matter of time until there was a shift between the two of you. It suddenly felt like your crush was texting you as a blush crept up your neck and face. But before you could reply, another message came through.

''If you want, I know you'll be there but I can skip it if you're not..ready..no pressure :)''

You smiled to yourself, quickly typing out your response.

''Relax Lan, of course I want you there..can't wait to see you x''

You knew him so well you practically heard him let out a breath somewhere.

Sliding into your white satin dress for the evening, you touched up on your hair and makeup, look finished with a pair of stunning heels. It had been a long time since you've felt this good getting all dressed up, and it may or may not be due to a certain someone.

The night started off well, mingling and dancing, downing drinks like there was no tomorrow, but it wasn't long until you were getting ants in your pants, waiting patiently for Lando to show up. You eyes were scanning the crowds every few minutes, each time disappointing you more and more. You weren't mad, no. Just desperate.

''He's on the way'' George leaned in and whispered in you ear at one point as you tried to straighten your face and not be affected by him telling you that. You responded by downing the little of his drink that was left, walking off and hearing him laugh to himself.

You were currently at the bar, chatting to Carmen when you saw him over her shoulder, greeting fellow drivers but mind obviously somewhere else - looking around until his eyes finally landed on yours, biggest smile gracing his face.

The man looked delicious, if you could say that. He had on a pair of jeans with a black button up, obviously only literally half of the buttons were actually done up, revealing his broad chest and a silver necklace, with a backward cap, a few curls sticking out here and there. You gawked at him as he walked up to you, a heat creeping up your neck as you saw his eyes shamelessly roam your body, spending a few seconds too long on your cleavage, that was barely contained with the dress you were wearing.

Carmen realized the reason for your ''zoning out'' so she not so subtly slid away, leaving an empty spot for Lando.

Finally, he was within touching distance, the smell of his perfume over taking your senses. You legs felt like jelly, suddenly not knowing how to act in front of him, what to say, but you couldn't help but let out a chuckle when his eyes once again landed on your boobs. A deer caught in headlights, his eyes snapped up back to yours as he smiled again, biting his lip.

''Sorry, hi'' he said, leaning in to wrap his arms around you as you did the same. Your whole body was tingling, electricity waking up your nerves. You mentally cursed yourself for being this shy. Lando had seen every inch of you before, the good, the bad, physically and mentally. And vise versa - you'd seen every inch of him. He held you close, tight, and you felt him take a big breath in as he nuzzled his face in your hair. His arms felt strong around you, caging you in and holding you impossibly close against his body.

The next 30 minutes were spent chatting, flirting, touching, the alcohol in both your systems coming to the surface. And it wasn't long until you were on the dance floor with your friends, your ass grinding against his front as his hands roamed your body.

Yes things have gotten from 0 to 100 far too quickly, but you didn't care. You need him. And from the way he was leaving wet kisses down your jaw, he needed you just as much.

You tried to stay put for as long as possible, not give in to you desperation, but when Lando turned your body around to face his, the look in his eyes told you everything.

''Please'' you whispered, not knowing if he'd even hear you but you were pretty sure you were on the same page. That was all Lando needed to hear though.

Before you knew it he was roughly pulling you behind him in the direction of the bathroom, his hands holding yours so tight as if he was afraid you'd change your mind.

Lando opened the door, roughly pushing you inside, locking it. And within seconds he was cupping your face, lips crashing into yours. You were like animals, starved. The kiss was hungry, messy, sloppy, teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance. You won when he took a breath, sliding your tongue across his bottom lip and slipping into his mouth. The first taste you got of him had you whimpering, legs like jelly again because you'd wished for this moment to happen again for months. Lando's hold on your face should have hurt, but it felt anything but that, if anything, it turned you on even more. It almost felt like a claim. A claim he had on you.

You pulled back for air, letting Lando's mouth roam down to your neck, sucking and biting at your sweets spots that he remembered so well while your hands found his head, pulling his cap off and finding his hair, pulling and tugging on it as his tongue soothed over the bruises for tomorrow. His hands slid down to your legs, creeping under your dress as he slowly pulled it up over your thighs.

''This ok?'' he asked, breathless.

''Mm, more than'' you said, pulling his face up back to your for another dirty kiss, letting his tongue into your mouth this time while his hands traveled closer and closer to your throbbing pussy.

Lando pulled back when he realized you weren't wearing any panties, his fingers coming into contact with your sticky juices. His voice sounded raw, hoarse, ''No panties? Should have known'' he said, smirking.

You were about to bite back, but your words got caught in your throat when he quickly thrust two fingers through your hole, deep and hard sending you into a series a moans, biting down on his neck.

His pace was relentless, adding a third finger and repeatedly hitting against your G-spot as you clung onto him for life, not trusting yourself to hold yourself up.

''Fuck, Lando, right there'' you moaned again, already feeling an impending orgasm building up.

''So tight baby, takes me so well'' he whispered in your ear before biting down at it.

''M'close'' you mumbled, concentrating on the way his fingers expertly slid in and out of you, almost to the beat of the muffled music, and before you knew it you were shuddering in his arms, coating his fingers in your milky cum as he slowed his movements, riding you through your orgasm as gasps of air left your mouth.

Lando pulled his fingers out, eyes trained on yours as licked them clean, eyes closing when he got a taste of you while you watched on with hooded eyes, chest heaving.

Time stood still for a couple of moments, the both of you coming to terms of what just happened and what was to inevitably happen next.

You took a few seconds to take Lando in. Your fingers tracing his perfectly contoured jaw, his stubble grazing against you. His own fingers traced the curve of your lips ever so softly, stark contrast to how rough he was just a few minutes ago.

''Ýou okay?'' he asked softly, suddenly worried he'd gone too far.

You quickly nodded your head. ''I am, but..I need more. Please take me home Lan'' you said confidently, because it's what you wanted.

His whole demeanor changed. Worried look disappearing from his face, eyes darkening, his hold on you tighter.

''Yeah?''

''Please''

The next few minutes were a blur. The both of you rushing out of the club, ordering a taxi, you practically on his lap in the back seat as he kissed you senseless, tongues lapping each other.

The uber driver eventually had to clear his throat when you'd arrived at Lando's, and you were sure to leave a generous tip before Lando literally carried you out of the car, throwing you over his shoulder as he practically ran to the elevator.

He put you down before pushing you back to the wall, gently cupping your face as he brought his down to yours for yet another kiss. It was slower this time, so much more meaningful, but still deep and sloppy.

Next thing you knew you were being pushed into his apartment, the door slamming shut behind you as he picked you up again, sprinted to his room and throwing you down on the bed, ripping your dress apart in his hands as you gasped with shock.

''Lando!'' you shrieked, but the look in his eyes was that of a man on a mission. He was ready to devour you and you were so ready for it.

''You look better without it'' he said, eyes trained on your bare boobs, nipples hardening with the cool air.

You watched as he pulled back, unbuttoning his own shirt and discarding his jeans, leaving him in just his boxers.

Before he hovered over you, he had to ask again. ''Are you sure? We can pause if this is too much'' he said.

''I'm sure Lan. I need you so fucking bad right now. Please'' you begged, for the thousandth time tonight.

''I need you too baby. Gonna make you feel so good ok..?'' he said as you nodded in agreement, body tinging with anticipation.

He leaned down to catch your lips again while his hands found your breasts. His touch had you gasping through the kiss, back arching off the bed as he rolled your peaked nipples through his fingers harshly, lowering his head further until he was level with them.

One of his hands reached up, tapping two fingers at your lips to allow you to slide them in, while his own lips closed around your left nipple, sucking on it harshly before soothing over it with his tongue. Your own tongue, was sucking on his fingers, teeth grazing over them every now and then, responding to the overdrive Lando was sending you body into.

You could feel his thick girth through his boxers, a wet patch forming against your stomach as you tried to use your legs to rid him of his briefs, but he was quick to pull back, fingers still pressing into your mouth.

''Patience love, or the night will end before it even begins'' he said, voice stern and hoarse.

''Need more'' you barely mumbled as he removed his fingers from your mouth, a string of your spit still connected to them as he circled them around your nipples, bottom lip between his teeth.

He lowered his hands down your torso, edging closer and closer to you cunt when suddenly he pulled back, completely removed himself from on top of you.

''Why, what are you doi-''

''Touch yourself'' he said, sternly.

''What?'' you asked again, stumped, as he stood back up and rid himself of his boxers. You couldn't help but let out a strangled moan as his cock bounced against his stomach, rock hard, throbbing.

''Lando?'' you questioned when you finally found your words again.

He walked over to his bedside cupboard, fishing out bottle of lube before settling on a couch that was in the corner of his room, a smirk on his face.

''You heard me'' he said, squeezing some lube onto his hand before returning it to his cock, sliding it up and down. ''Wanna watch you get off yourself first''

You let out a sigh as you collapsed back onto the bed, frustrated, turned on, everything. The man was slowly killing you.

''Baby'' he called out, the nickname catching you off guard at the difference in his tone. It was softer this time.

You leaned on your elbows, looking up at him, gauging his reaction to see if he was actually serious, and the look on his face did in fact tell you so.

''Need some lube?'' he asked as your one hand squeeze a boob, while the other slowly made it way down your body.

''No, I'm like fucking Niagra falls right now'' you pressed, sending a smirk his way as his hands quickened on himself.

You finally reached your cunt, sliding your fingers through your dripping folds as you closed your eyes and imagined that it was Lando who was touching you. You thought about his calloused fingers, rough, pressing through your slit before circling at your clit, pinching and pulling at it. Your actions had you let out a whimper, while Lando's own moans left his mouth at the sight in front of him.

You, splayed out on his bed, naked, wet, touching yourself, his name leaving your lips as you finally slid two fingers through your cunt. ''That's it baby, fuck yourself'' he edged you on.

Your walls clenched around your fingers tightly as you set a quick pace, thrusting them in and out, adding a third finger as well. You always needed a good stretch before you had Lando's cock.

''Lan.. I need-fuck, uh'' you whimpered some more, short gasps leaving your body as you felt your orgasm approaching. You managed to open your eyes, look down at Lando who's eyes were fixated on you, his hands moving ridiculously quickly over himself. ''Go on baby, stretch yourself out for me, yeah? Gonna let me fuck you 'til you can't walk?'' he barely managed to say between breaths.

His words were quick to send you over the edge, your body shuddering as you came a hot sticky liquid allover your fingers, crying out Lando's name as you shivered. You don't know how you got the energy, but you somehow mustered some to get up and practically crawl off the bed and down to the floor or reach Lando on the couch, wasting to time in replacing his hands with your mouth as you took him in, sucking hard before deep throating him.

''Huh, fucking hell Y/N'' he stuttered, hands pushing your hair out of your face as he lifted his hips slightly, fucking his dick into your mouth for all of ten seconds before spilling his cum, warm and milky down your throat, screams of your name leaving his own lips.

You pulled back when you sucked him dry, the both of you breathless, chests heaving. Lando looked down at you, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips, contrary to the look he had on not 30 seconds ago. You were a mess.

A complete mess. On your knees, between his legs, his slick juices in your disheveled hair, his cum on your face, dripping down to your thighs, as you let your fingers scoop some up, bringing them to your mouth to suck on, all while looking up at him like a sight for sore eyes.

He reached a hand down to cup your face. ''So fucking dirty, but so fucking incredible'' he mumbled, latching his lips to yours for a slow kiss. ''Think you're ready for me?'' he asked.

You stood up and straddled hi slap, already feeling him growing hard again as your ground yourself down.

''Always'' you said, leaving wet kisses all over his face before eventually moving down to his neck.

His damn thick neck.

Besides his dick, and his hair, and his smile, okay and his eyes, his neck was one of your favorite parts of his body.

You clawed at his neck, nails dragging against his skin as you it down and suckled on random spots, Lando letting out a series of groans, his hands digging into your hips.

''Y/N, no marks. test-fuck. Testing next week'' he mumbled as he bought your face up to kiss you again.

You lifted yourself to your knees, reaching down to take his cock into your hand, pumping him before sliding it through your slick folds. ''Let me ride you?'' you asked, desperately, your pussy clenching around nothing but the feel of him at your entrance.

Lando didn't answer, instead to replaced your hands with his own, his other still at your waist, pushing you to sit down on him with no warning, bottoming out.

You gasped at the intrusion, his thick girth stretching you out perfectly but painfully so, your faces inches away from each others, breaths mingling. Lando's breath cooling your face as he spoke. ''You're so fucking tight'' he said as you braced your hands on his shoulders, lifting yourself up, almost so was fully out of you, before ramming yourself down again, an obscene moan leaving your lips at the feeling.

Lando's head fell back on the sofa, eyes shut and mouth taking deep breaths as you set a relentless pace, slamming yourself up and down his shaft, and with the quick pace you were going, yes it felt bloody amazing but there were sharp pains shooting through your body. You didn't care though, all you knew was that you were right where you were meant to be.

''Lando, fuck, please. Oh god'' you mewled as whimpers, guttural moans left your body, Lando's own matching yours. The only sounds in the room were those of your pornographic groans and skin slapping against skin.

In no time you felt the warmth in your stomach, each movement of yours becoming sloppy by the second, so much so that Lando had to jolt up and fuck himself in and out of you, all while holding your jelly-like body up.

''You feel fucking amazing baby, doing so good f'me. Gonna cum? Then let me take you from behind?'' he said between bated breaths, while you bit down on his shoulder, nodding your head though you weren't even sure if he got your response.

His words though traveled straight down to your cunt, your body trembling in his arms as you came, hard, with a lewd moan of his name, clenching you walls tightly around his throbbing dick.

Lando sat back again and looked down to see his cock coated with your juices, quickly giving him enough adrenaline and energy to stand up, with you in his arms, dick still buried deep within you, and walk over to the bed, flop you both down so now he was hovering about you, setting his own pace of thrusting in and out continuously, ploughing in and out as his mouth latched on to you nipple harshly.

Your mind was blank, the only sense you had was that of Lando's actions, unable to speak, unable to even let out any moans, rather just short gasps for air as you wrapped your legs around his body, tight as possible, hands pulling at his hair painfully.

''Uhhh fuck baby you feel so good, too good, letting me fuck you like this. You like it?'' he asked, nuzzling his face into your neck.

''Fuck-fuck me more. Harder, please'' you pleaded with him.

By now he was like a machine on autopilot. Your bodied moving together like this was all you did all day everyday, perfectly in sync, making a mess of one another.

Sheets of sweat were slowly coating your bodies, sticking to each other in the best ways possible.

Lando knew your body inside out. He knew you were close. You just needed that edge to push you over, and so when he brought his hand down to your clit, barely flicking over it, and you were a mess again.

Body shaking violently in his arms as you released your juices all over his cock again, stars in your eyes, but suddenly it all stopped. He'd pulled out. You opened your eyes, and before you could comprehend what was happening, Lando's tongue was on you.

He was lapping against your pussy, sucking up and swallowing your release while holding your folds open with his fingers. His tongue was hot against you, your back arching off the bed as he repeatedly slid it through your hole.

''Lan I can't! Too much, shit'' you hissed, body already beginning to tremble again.

He pulled back. Lower face of his face messy, dripping, with you. ''Want me to stop?'' he asked, very well knowing your answer.

A blush crept up on your face, because no, you didn't want him to fucking stop. You quickly covered your face with your hands as you said ''no'' but Lando was quicker to stop your movements.

''Don't ever hide your face from me. I want all of you baby'' he said softly, and not waiting for an answer before diving back to your cunt, licking over and over your clit, rolling it between his lips before biting down on it.

Your hands found his hair, tugging at it as you came yet again, you'd honestly lost count of the times of times he'd made you orgasm tonight. But you weren't complaining. You were somewhat surprised at how he was holding on. Yeah, he had the stamina of a fucking bull, but still. He rode you through the orgasm, slowing his movements and being ever so gentle with you.

It wasn't until he rammed into you again with no warning, the both of you grunting at the feeling, his cock throbbing, twitching uncontrollably inside of you as he set another quick pace, clearly chasing his own high now.

''Baby, fuck, I've missed your pretty pussy so much. Gonna fuck you every day for the rest of our lives, stretch your little cunt up and make you mine'' he hissed, spit flying through his mouth as he spoke.

You, for one, were long gone. Too fucked out to react. All you could do was watch, adore him from underneath him, and thank the heavens for putting the two of you together like this. A single tear slid down your face at his words, and he was quick to lean down, take the tear into his mouth as his movements started faltering, barely able to hold himself up now.

''Where do you want it?'' he asked, voice raspy as he was on the precipice of letting go.

''In me!'' you found your voice, all but screaming it out because you needed to feel him fill you up.

And not ten seconds later, you were sent one way, while Lando was emptying his seed deep within you, warm, milky, sheets of cum literally filling you to the brink as both of your bodies shuddering and whimpered in each others arms.

Lando let his weight fall on top of you, both of you panting, chests heaving, bodies shivering from the cool air settling on your sweat.

You wrapped your arms around him, leaving tiny kisses on his neck/shoulder as he continued to tale deep breaths in your neck.

His next words shook you to your core.

''I love you'' every so softly, almost as if he were afraid you'd actually hear what he said.

When you didn't respond, he pulled back, his eyes met with your tear-clad eyes. You cupped his face, running a finger through his bottom lip.

''I love you too Lan, more than anything'' you said.

He smiled, the first proper smile since he'd first laid his eyes on you tonight. No dark, lustful eyes, but just those of love and admiration.

You pulled him down, kissing him for the thousandth time as he softened inside of you.

Eventually though, you both got so cold, so he pulled out, making you wince at the loss of contact before disappearing into the bathroom to get a cloth to clean you up.

You watched with hooded eyes as he returned, and for a split second the darkness returned to his eyes.

Dick half hard (already!) he gently pushed the mixture of cum that was dripping out of your cunt back in, before pulling out, leaning down and licked a hot strip up your slit. You were already numb down there, so hardly even reacted to his motives, but you continued watching him, mouth agape as he leaned down to you and let the cum drip down into your own mouth, before letting his tongue slide in to tangle with yours.

After a few minutes of coming back to earth, he cleaned you up, properly this time, before pulling the covers up, spooning you tightly from behind and whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Just as you were about to fall asleep, you felt his dick twitch against your ass, Lando shifting behind you, letting out a stifled groan. You couldn't help but giggle. Man really had stamina tonight.

''I'm all yours Lan'' you mumbled sleepily, knowing he'd catch on as it was something that you'd done all too well before.

''Fucking hell. You sure?'' he whispered.

''Yes'' you replied, too quickly for your liking.

You shifted your one leg forward, creating just enough room for him to run his dick through your folds, before pushing in ever so slowly, the both of you wincing at the pain of being over-stimulating but not backing out of your motives.

''You ok?'' he asked once he was fully in, pulling your leg back to get you comfortable again.

''Yeah'' you said, a few quick gasps leaving your lips as you got used to the intrusion that was there to stay.

You weren't sure how long you'd been asleep, but at some point Lando shifted, cock still hard as rock, causing your eyes to shoot open, mind scrambling to comprehend where you were.

Then he moved again, and you couldn't help but let out an involuntary moan. You turned your head to look back at Lando, who was still in dreamland, a soft snore leaving his lips.

You should have gone back to sleep, but suddenly your pussy, which was still on overdrive, was throbbing again, painfully clenching around him. You shifted your body again, creating a friction that you so desperately craved, causing Lando to buck

Then, Lando was awake, his hands grabbing your hips tighter than ever and thrusting, hard, deep, slow strokes making you whimper.

No words were exchanged, just the two of your using each other to get off, gasps and moans filling his silence.

You came very quickly, quicker than you did with your other orgasms from the night, biting down on your lip so hard you swore you could taste blood.

His voice then came through. ''Let me hear you'' he mumbled, lips finding your neck, short, labored breathing fanning you.

You listened, letting out lewd moans as you came down from your high, when all of a sudden Lando pulled out, man handling your body to be on all fours in front of him.

He leaned down so his lips were by your eyes. ''Gonna let me fuck your ass baby?'' he whispered as you let out a cry, somewhat excited but nervous with just how much you were pushing each other tonight.

You weren't one to say no though. How could you refuse him?

So you nodded your head, no strength to talk.

''Words, y/n'' he warned. You should have known, he'd never do anything without hearing the words from your mouth yourself.

''Yes'' you managed.

Lando reached for the lube as you braced your hands on the headboard, sticking your ass out in the air and spreading your legs a bit.

You sighed out loud when his finger ran through your folds, collecting your cum before he gentle brought it to your hole, not rushing but rather nuzzling it at your entrance for a few seconds before lightly pushing in. Whimpering, you let your head rest on your arms as your grip on the headboard tightened. Lando was the last you'd had anal sex with, it wasn't something you'd done with Mitch, so safe to say a few months without it had you feeling tight as fuck.

''Feel okay if i add a second?'' he asked, hand gripping your waist tightly as his finger pressed fully into you.

''Yeah'' you barely managed to whisper, gasping some more when he pulled out and applied more pressure when he pushed two fingers in, stretching them out a bit.

''Fuck, Lando. oh my god. Don't-don't know how I'll take you. You're too bi-''

''You'll take me like you've always taken me. So bloody good he said, increasing his pace, letting out moans to match yours.

You were sure you cum just from his fingers, but you tried to hold out as long as possible, getting impatient to feel his cock.

''Lan please, need you'' you said, turning your head back to look at him.

The light shining in the room from the street lights were hitting his face perfectly, making him look angelic even though his actions were anything but. He had a sheet of sweat, dripping down his face and making his curls stick to his forehead, bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he looked down at your ass, concentrating on his task at hand.

He said nothing as he removed his fingers completely, bringing them up to his lips before letting them out with a pop. Then his hands found his cock, squeezing some lube on it and also letting a string of his spit drip down, coating himself.

You internally swooned at the man. Every movement of his hotter than he other.

''Gonna make you feel so good babygirl'' he said, nickname making your curl you toes with anticipation.

You shut your eyes as his tip touched your hole, pushing in inch by inch, grunts along with you, until he was fully in.

''Wait, please'' you asked of him, needing a minute to adjust to the obtrusion.

''Take your time, love, we'll go at your pace'' you said, one hand still pressing into your hips while the other soothes your back, running up and down.

You were definitely high off sex, or Lando rather. You heart clenched at the way he called you 'love,' as a single tear ran down your cheek.

He must have figured you were an emotional wreck when his worried voice came through, pulling you up to rest your back against his chest.

''Baby please. Do you want to stop?'' he asked, wiping away at your tears.

You were quick to shut that idea down, shifting your head from side to side as your hands found his, holding onto them tightly.

''No, I just..I'm glad you're here. I've missed you so much'' you said, saying the last two words so softly you weren't sure he even heard them.

In an instant, his arms were wrapped around your torso, resting his head on your shoulder. ''I missed you too my love. And I couldn't be happier to have you in my arms right now. I'm never, ever letting you go again. I love you too much to even think about it'' he said softly, stifling a sob from you.

You stayed like that for a few minutes, just embracing each other and letting the moment linger. That was until his dick twitched inside of you, making you let out the most ungodly moan.

Lando chuckled at you, eager now. ''Ready?'' he asked.

''As I'll ever be. Take me'' you said, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

His body language changed then and you swooned with anticipation as his hand snaked around your neck, lightly squeezing you as he placed his other hand on your ass, pushing against you to slide himself out, almost fully, before thrusting in again in a long, hard stroke.

Then, it was game on. Lando setting apace that was matching your breaths, hard and quick, rough, thrusting in and out of your ass as you clenched tightly around him, vulgar words and moans flying out your mouths.

''Go one baby, just like that, letting me use you like my whore. Fucking hell'' he moaned, speed increasing but movements getting sloppy very quickly.

''Oh Lan, I'm so close, god it feels so good'' you mumbled in broken sentences, body beginning to tremble.

With no warning an orgasm took over, cum gushing out of your cunt messing all of Lando's thighs and the bed sheets, thick, hot cum leaking out of you as dirty groans left your mouth.

Lando was right behind you. One look at just how much cum had left your body made him spiral, sheets of cum shooting out of him, through you, on your back, everywhere, his hips bucking uncontrollably into yours as he too had to lean over you to grab onto the headboard to steady himself.

You stayed like that, chests heaving, bodies shivering, Lando's cock softening against your ass as neither made an effort to move, until it was all too much and you couldn't hold each other up any longer, collapsing onto the bed.

Your bodies were sticky, messy as you practically let your body onto Lando's, putting all your weight on him as he held you tight.

It was a moment that held a lot, no words needed to be spoken knowing exactly where you were with one another. Lando's hands tangled in your hair, combing it through his fingers while he left soft kisses on you temple.

Turns out you were right, from the beginning.

He was yours all along.

Please please please let me know what you think, and if you have any suggestions on how I can improve my writing. There may or may not be an epilogue coming your way soon because I need to round the story up somehow.

Taglist - @somanyfandomsbruh @lanf1an @annimausi @ernegren @plotpal @hurtblossom @rbv3rstappen @tylerstacobell @wanderingreigns @bowielovesyou @alexanderachillesisgay @sarx164 @xoxomansee @hurtblossom @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @msimpala-67 @jxnellat @chlmtfilms @abq654 @ernegren @stav2004 @myformula1addiction @ayap4paya @l0nelyhe4rts-club @callsignwidow widow-cevans meglouise00 @hoeforsirius @hahdb8 @cmleitora @oscahpastry @maxv33rstappen @saythename-sm @htpssgavi @xoxomansee @anayaverse @rendezvoushn @allywthsr @f1petra @alexisquinnlee-bc @justlando @strawberryy-kiwii @landosnosescar @martygraciesversion381 htpssgavi @fat-meh

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Main Series - Pound of Flesh

You are not a saint. You are not a hero. You’re barely even a living person, because living people have lives that extended beyond work and their apartment. But you’re not quite nobody, either. You’re too much, and not enough, and just in the shadows with a prayer to be saved that isn't genuine and secrets that mean nothing.

They should’ve meant nothing.

Yet here you are. In more danger than usual, being threatened by Hydra without knowing why, and being assigned a security detail you don’t want by Captain America.

Bucky Barnes is good at his job. You’re not going to die.

But you might end up strangling him before Hydra gets to either of you.

Every Devil - Mini-Series

There are a few things that simply aren't understandable in the universe. Things that push the boundaries of what we know, and understand.

Things like how, even through the Winter Soldier programming, Bucky was still able to find you.

Think like how, no matter how hard the world tried, they were never to keep you apart.

One-Shots

It's Been Calling Me - You've had these… dreams. Strange, realistic, detailed dreams of the same man, almost your whole life. But they're just dreams. You've been so sure, for so long, that they're just dreams. So sure, until you're not.

Louder Than Fear - Missions involving Hydra often go very wrong. This is different. This is worse. This is a strange bioweapon, nobody telling you exactly what's wrong, and staring at the ceiling as Bucky roars you name. It's echoing in your brain. And you love him. So you have to fix this.

And You Were Brighter Than The Light Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - There are a lot of Avenger's at the compound. And you never leave your room. It's a good thing you did, though. Just once. Otherwise you never would've met Bucky

Written In Skin - Bucky's been gone on a mission for about a week, and you love him, so you wait. And when he returns, he has a question that might finally let you say those three words aloud.

Look Behind You - You've made a mistake. You've been reckless and fallen in love with Bucky. There's only one way to deal with this. Make a list.

A Long, Long Time - The truth doesn't hurt. It's not freeing, either. It just sits in your chest, until it's pried out, and you're looking it the eyes with nowhere to run, and Bucky knows you love him. But he's not running either.

Fly Back Here, And Keep Warm - Bucky hates you. He doesn't talk to you, or look at you, or linger in your presence for too long. But he's still saving you from the river. From the cold. And maybe, if you're not losing your mind, he doesn't really hate you at all.

Not A Scar I'd Want To Fade - Bucky can't remember anything, but he's not the Soldier. He simply can't remember. If you tell him something, he forgets everything again. But he always remembers you first

All I've Wanted Was You - Request! You have an arrangement with Bucky. You sleep together, and nothing more. Every time is supposed to be the last time. You love him too much keep this up and pretend it's not killing you. But it might be killing him too.

Along the Line - After you get hit with a chemical on a mission, Bucky has to take care of you. But he won't do the one thing that will fix it, no matter how much you want him to. And he wants it too. Maybe more. And, at some point, something has to break.

In Uniform - Request! Bucky brings you a surprise, and fulfills a fantasy.

Feelin' Good - It's been a long, rough day, and it's easy to sink a little lower into worse feelings. Luckily, Bucky is always there to pick you back up.

All The Right Places - Four times you broke the friends with benefits rules, and the one time you didn't.

These Nights - Bucky gets home late, and you take care of each other.

I Must Have Missed it in the Rain - You're, somehow, the best person for this undercover mission. The one where you have to pretend to be Bucky's girlfriend. You don't know why he agreed to it when he can't stand you. But you love him. So you'll get through it, if only to play pretend for one night.

[sweetbuckybarnes]

Who is This?: Chapter 1

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky had a wife during the 40s, she was left heartbroken after the telegram arrived (missing, presumed dead). It's surprising when 80 years later, she was working behind a bar in Madripoor of all places!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Bucky followed Sam and Zemo into a loud bar, he immediately wanted to turn around and go home, why had Zemo demanded he go back to being the Winter Soldier (even if it was one night)?

The sound of heavy drums and guitars also deafened his hearing, a song he had come to learn was The Wild Boy by a band called Duran Duran. A few bartenders and waitresses were walking around, there was only one who stuck out to him - a dark-haired young woman who reminded him too much of his departed wife.

His heart breaks even more, thinking of the woman he had left behind, his girl. The love of his life. Bucky doesn't think he will ever 'get over' her.

The way the young woman walked, carrying a tray of empty glasses (before being tossed an empty bottle by a patron), was so similar to the way his girl walked in the hole-in-the-wall diner she worked in.

She wasn't quick enough to duck under the bar before they got to the door leading upstairs (which was coincidentally next to the bar), Zemo was talking to the bouncer. "Excuse me, gentlemen," the young woman said, squeezing between the back of Zemo and the front of Bucky. Which is when he got a good look at her face.

There she was.

His girl. His wife.

He couldn't even say anything to her, as he was taken upstairs and away from his girl. He could only hope he would be allowed back in at the end of the night to see her.

Y/N Barnes made her way behind the bar, glancing up at the TV where the Kansas City Chiefs were currently playing the Buffalo Bills at Arrowhead Stadium, then down at her phone which showed the live score of the Dodgers game against the San Francisco Giants.

She had been a long-time Dodgers girl, even after she found out they had moved from Brooklyn to Los Angeles.

"Did you see the way he was looking at you?" Yasmine asked, pushing a dry Martini in front of a 26-year-old woman.

Y/N looked up from the glasses she was putting in the dishwasher. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"One of the men who went upstairs. The way he was looking at you," Yasmine fans her hand for dramatic effect. "I would drop my panties for him in a millisecond."

"Like you don't do that every night."

Yasmine rolled her eyes and served the next half-drunk who had come to the bar.

"Don't listen to her," Anastasia told her, rolling her eyes as Yasmine flirted with her current flavour of the week.

"It's not often I do, darling," Y/N replied, fiddling with Anastasia's curls for a second, before spotting a patron. "What can I get for you, darling?"

He hung off the bar, obviously far too drunk to understand what was going on. "Another beer and your phone number," he slurred.

She shook her head, reaching over and grabbing him another beer. As far as the boss of the bar (whoever that was) was concerned unless they were unconscious- why should you stop serving them? Y/N thought it wasn't right, but no matter how often she voiced this - she was shut down.

She set the beer in front of him and then went to the register to add it to his bill (good thing she currently has his credit card behind the bar).

"Oi, sweet cheeks!" He calls, but Y/N doesn't pay attention looking over at Yasmine and Anastasia with a raised eyebrow. "Sweet cheeks! I asked for your number."

Y/N replied by simply raising her hand proudly displaying her engagement and wedding rings to the drunk. It was only a small diamond (given Bucky worked on the docks before he was deployed), and the plain band she inherited from her great-grandmother.

"What's the matter with that 'un?" He hiccups. "He got you costume jewellery or somethin'?"

Y/N shook her head. "I'm going into the back for a moment," she tells Aidan.

Little did the drunk patron know, all those years ago, this was the date she was handed the telegraph - putting in such blunt words. Her James was missing, they presumed him to be dead. It breaks her heart that they never got to have a proper funeral.

"You alright, honey?" Elizabeth (another one of the waitresses) asked, she had been outside on her break. Elizabeth was the only one who knew her true age and about her James.

"It's the day I found out James was missing," Y/N said, before bursting into more tears.

Elizabeth wrapped Y/N up in a hug, everyone oblivious to the fact that Y/N's presumed dead husband was now running through the bar, flocked by Sam and Zemo, and into the alley behind the bar.

When Bucky was sure Zemo, Sam and Sharon were asleep, he slipped out of the safe house and into the night - determined to find out if the woman he saw in the bar was that of his (presumably? should be?) dead wife.

He eventually made his way to the front door of the bar, the bouncers had long since gone home. He could see lights on in the building and just about make out words being spoken thanks to the Super Soldier serum running through his veins.

He grasped the handle and gave it a push, the door hadn't been locked, as it gave beneath the slight push.

He could see three young women sitting on the bar, a man who was counting the money from the register and another man who was dancing.

The young woman sitting closest to the bar, had golden curls hanging around her head. "Mark, you didn't lock the door!"

The man dancing, Mark, looked over at Bucky, eyes widening when he saw the size of Bucky. "I say we just serve him, then lock the door behind him."

As the bartenders and waitress argued amongst themselves, Bucky's eyes never left the woman in the middle. It looked as if she had been crying. "Babydoll?"

The woman stopped giggling, tipping her head back to normal and looked at him, before dropping her glass as tears welled up in her eyes. "James?"

The curly-haired woman gasped, setting her glass down and giving Y/N a push off the bar.

Bucky held his arms out to catch her as her feet landed on the floor. He couldn't stop looking at her big eyes, he'd always loved her big expressive eyes. He always knew how she was feeling by just a look in her eyes.

"James? Is that you?" Her hand came out slowly, and shakily, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing in front of her.

"Hi, babydoll," Bucky smiled, tears starting to fall down his cheeks, a heavy sob held tightly in his chest at the moment in time. As soon as her fingers met his skin, Bucky let out a heavy sigh of relief, reaching over and pulling her into his arms. Y/N's arms dug themselves away from his chest and up around his neck before her hand soon started fiddling with his hair.

The couple stood there for a moment, finally finding their slice of peace. Some came barging into the bar, and the dark-haired woman who had been sitting on the other side of Y/N practically demanded Mark lock the door before the Hounds of Baskerville came in.

Y/N was so happy to finally have her James back in her arms, but there was a whirling sound she couldn't let go. "What's that noise?"

Bucky looked from his wife to his arm and back to his bride. "I'll explain everything to you later, but... I lost my arm, and I now have a prosthetic one," he tells her, letting go of her for a moment so he could take his glove off and show her the black and gold Vibranium one he had made.

"Ok, James. It's a good thing you gave me this," she reached beneath her top and pulled a ring out from beneath, hanging from a chain. "Before you were deployed."

Bucky smiled, cupping her face so he could kiss her. Bucky pulled away chuckling a little. "Babydoll, will you please put my ring back on?"

She reached behind her to unclasp the chain, and slid Bucky's band off, "if it doesn't fit we'll get it resized."

"I don't care what size it is, as long as you put my ring back where it belongs," Bucky almost growled, a piece of him falling back into place with the ring back on his finger.

The next morning - Sam, Zemo and Sharon came into the living room, seeing Bucky sleeping on the sofa (Sam was expecting this, after being told by Steve), however, there was a lump lying next to Bucky they didn't recognise.

Sam slowly makes his way over, gently easing down the thick blanket lying over Bucky and the lump.

Lying there, practically on top of the 'bionic staring machine' was a young woman.

"Did he somehow pick up a girl?" Sam whispered. Sam and Sharon were trying to be quiet - however, Zemo (who didn't care) started clattering around the kitchen, causing Bucky to wake up in a start, which then caused the young woman to look up with tired owl-like eyes.

"What the hell is going on?" Bucky nearly demanded, keeping his arms wrapped around his companion.

Sam raised his eyebrow. "I could ask you the same question, Barnes?" Sam looked at the young woman in Bucky's arms. "Who is this?"

Bucky looked down at her, Sam watched as a smile grew on his face. "This is Y/N. Y/N Barnes. My wife."

[smutmind]

500 Days of Winter

DAY 1

The elevator smelled like paper, perfume, and fate.

You were holding a coffee you didn’t want, thinking about the curve in the ceiling tiles, when she stepped in.

Winter.

Not her real name. But it might as well have been.

Petite. Dark-haired. A blue dress that didn’t quite fit company protocol. Eyes like the moment before a storm breaks. She pressed the elevator button you were already leaning against, then glanced up.

“Sorry,” she said. No smile. Just that voice—cool, dry, velvet with a razor tucked inside.

You said something back. You don’t remember what. What you remember is the way she hummed under her breath after, some obscure jazz tune, like your entire conversation had already ended in her head.

She got off at the seventh floor. You watched her walk down the hall. She didn’t turn around.

Later that day, you found out she worked in acquisitions. Two doors down. Shared the same copy room.

She liked cinnamon gum. Took her coffee black. Always carried a paperback she never finished.

She laughed once, at something your manager said. You watched the sound ripple down her throat.

You were already writing poems about her in your head.

She was lightning in a glass. Bare feet on hardwood. Sex and silence and something else, something sharp.

You didn’t love her yet.

But God—you were already falling.

DAY 5

It starts with a copy machine jam.

You’re leaning over, swearing under your breath, when her voice cuts in behind you.

“Try kicking it. That’s what I do.”

You look up. Winter stands in the doorway, barefoot again, holding a manila folder and a dare in her smile.

“You always this helpful?” you ask.

She shrugs. “Only to men I think about fucking.”

Your brain stutters. She walks in. Drops the folder. Doesn’t blink.

“Close the door,” she says.

You do.

She steps in close, eyes on your mouth. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been looking.”

“I’m not pretending anything.”

“Good.”

Her fingers slip into your belt like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your back hits the edge of the machine. Her body presses up against you—small frame, hard nipples brushing your shirt, mouth tilted like a threat.

“I’ve got seven minutes,” she murmurs. “Make it worth it.”

You kiss her—hard. She moans into your mouth, hands already tugging at your pants. You grab her ass, lift her up onto the copier, and she spreads her legs without a word. No panties. Wet and ready. You groan into her neck.

“You’re soaked.”

“You’re late.”

You line up, cock thick in your hand, the tip already slick from her.

“Look at you,” you mutter, dragging it through her folds, slow, teasing. “So fucking wet for me.”

Winter leans back on her elbows, dress bunched around her hips, lips parted. “You’re stalling.”

“I’m savoring.”

“Then hurry the fuck up.”

You push in.

She gasps—sharp and broken. Her thighs tremble as you fill her inch by inch, her slick walls gripping you tight, pulsing with want. The copier hums under her ass, shaking like it might join in.

“Jesus,” you growl. “You feel like heaven.”

Winter smirks through a moan. “Fuck me like hell, then.”

You grab her hips and drive into her. Hard. Fast. Her back arches, head falling back, hair spilling over the lid of the machine. The slap of skin on skin is obscene. Her legs wrap around you, ankles locked behind your ass, heels digging into your spine.

“Harder,” she hisses. “Use me—like you need this.”

“I do need this,” you snarl, slamming into her. “You’ve been walking around all week like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.”

She moans—high and rough. “I did. Every step. Every look.”

You grab her by the throat—not tight, just enough to own her next breath.

Her eyes widen. “Yes,” she whispers. “More. God, you fuck like you mean it.”

You lean in, bite her lip. “Say it.”

“I’ve been aching for this since the elevator,” she groans. “Every time you looked at me, I got wet. You should’ve taken me sooner.”

You growl, reaching down to rub her clit in tight, filthy circles. Her body tenses.

“Oh fuck—don’t stop—right there—make me cum.”

You keep driving into her, rough and relentless, her cunt clenching tighter, milking your cock like it knows you're about to break. Her moans are ragged now, panting messes of your name and yesyesyes.

She explodes around you—legs shaking, back arched, voice caught in her throat.

You follow—deep, throbbing release that hits like a wave, your cum spilling inside her in hot, pulsing ropes. You stay buried to the hilt, grinding through every last twitch.

Winter collapses against the machine, flushed and panting, chest rising fast.

You brush a strand of hair from her cheek. She bats your hand away with a grin.

“That was minute six,” she pants, smoothing down her dress.

You’re still trying to catch your breath when she grabs her folder and heads for the door.

She glances back.

“Next time,” she says, wicked, “you better make me scream.”

And then she’s gone.

Leaving you ruined in the copy room.

Day 57

You’ve stopped pretending you can stay away.

It’s past midnight. Rain tapping the windows. Her place smells like oranges and sleep. You’re on the couch—half-undressed, half-lost—her straddling you in nothing but your hoodie, legs bare, skin warm from the shower.

“I should go,” you whisper against her collarbone.

She rolls her hips slow, her pussy already slick, already hugging you through your boxers.

“No,” she says. “You really shouldn’t.”

You slide your hand up her thigh, feel the heat between her legs, the soft, wet pulse of her want. She leans in, presses her forehead to yours, breath sweet with mint.

“You feel me?” she murmurs. “Even through the fabric?”

“Like you’re trying to kill me,” you growl.

She lifts just enough to guide you in—no teasing this time. She moans as you fill her, slow and full. You watch her bite her lip, eyes fluttering, her fingers gripping your shoulders like she doesn’t want to float away.

“You’re deep,” she breathes. “So fucking deep.”

You cup her jaw, make her look at you.

“You’re beautiful like this,” you whisper.

She flinches like it cuts. Then she kisses you—soft, open-mouthed, hips rocking slow. Her cunt grips you in lazy pulses, wet and willing, each movement a sigh.

“I dream about this,” you admit.

Winter gasps. “Yeah?”

You nod. “You. Just like this. Moaning. Letting me stay inside. Like you want me there.”

Her lips part, eyes glassy now. “I do.”

You fuck her slow, every stroke deliberate. You want to memorize her—how her nipples tighten when your thumb brushes them, how her throat arches when you hit just right, how she tugs your hair when she’s about to fall apart.

“You’re gonna make me—” she pants.

You rub her clit. Just once. Firm.

She explodes. Quiet and fierce, hips bucking, breath caught in her throat. Her pussy clenches around your cock, fluttering in greedy waves. You kiss her as she cums, hold her like she’s breakable.

You follow with a groan, thick and deep, spilling inside her as her arms tighten around your neck.

She doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

“You okay?” you whisper.

She nods, still catching her breath.

Then—so soft you almost miss it:

“I like when you stay.”

It’s the most she’s ever given you.

And you treat it like gospel.

DAY 88

Her apartment is a fourth-floor walkup that smells like jasmine, candle wax, and old books. You’ve only just kicked your shoes off when Winter grabs your belt and backs you into the hallway mirror.

“You’ve been thinking about this mouth all day, haven’t you?” she purrs.

You don’t answer. You don’t have to. Your cock’s already thickening as she unfastens your pants with one hand and drags her tongue along your jaw with the other.

She sinks to her knees slowly, theatrically, the hem of her sundress riding up her thighs. No panties—of course. Her eyes never leave yours as she frees you, your cock slapping against her cheek, already hard and leaking.

“God, you’re pretty when you’re desperate,” she murmurs, then opens her mouth.

Warmth. Wet, velvet heat. Her tongue swirls the head before she slides you in, inch by inch, eyes fluttering closed as she moans around you. Her lips are small but greedy, sucking deep until her nose brushes your stomach. Her throat flexes as she swallows you whole.

You brace a hand on the wall. The mirror fogs with your breath. Her pace is cruel—slow, then fast, then slow again—spit pooling at the corners of her mouth, fingers digging into your thighs like she owns you.

“Fuck, Winter—” You grip her hair, the dark strands wrapping your knuckles. “You’re gonna make me—”

She pulls back, breathless, lips red and glistening. “Not yet,” she says. “You don’t come until I’m stuffed full.”

She stands, tugs you into the bedroom by your cock like a leash. You follow. What else can you do?

Her bed is messy, sun-drenched. She throws herself down, dress bunched at her waist, legs spread wide. Her pussy’s slick and swollen, pink against the pale of her thighs. She dips two fingers in and moans just to tease you.

“Get inside me,” she says. “Now.”

You crawl over her, press the head of your cock to her entrance. She grabs your face.

“Look at me while you fuck me.”

Her voice is low, thick with need. You grip her thighs and press forward, eyes locked on hers as you sink into her.

She gasps—sharp, unguarded. Her whole body lifts off the mattress like you’ve hit something electric. Her pussy clamps around your cock, tight and impossibly wet. Her eyes don’t break from yours, not even when her breath stutters.

“God,” she breathes, “you’re so fucking deep.”

You bottom out, hips flush against hers. Her heels hook behind your knees, locking you in place.

Then you move—slow at first, letting her feel every inch, every ridge, dragging against her slick walls. Her head falls back, lips parted in a silent moan, chest rising fast.

Her cunt grips you, milks you like it owns you.

“Fuck—yes—just like that,” she moans. Her hands claw at your back, nails biting your skin. “You feel that? That’s how bad I need it. I need you.”

You pound into her now. No hesitation. No mercy.

The bed slams the wall with every thrust. Her cries are high, ragged—pure, broken pleasure.

“Harder,” she pants, breath hot against your jaw. “I want it rough—I want to feel you tomorrow.”

You slam into her harder. Faster. She takes every inch, small frame jerking beneath you, sweat shining on her skin. Her tits bounce with every thrust, nipples hard and glistening. Her whole body shakes.

She grabs your face, yanks your mouth to hers. The kiss is filthy—tongues clashing, breath tangled, her whimpers swallowed between gasps.

You feel her pussy tighten, then seize. She breaks the kiss to scream your name, her voice cracking as her orgasm hits. She trembles around you, thighs quivering, nails digging deep.

“Don’t stop—cum in me—fill me up—fuck—please—”

You groan deep in your chest. Her begging pushes you over. You bury yourself in her, cock twitching as you spill hot and hard inside, her cunt spasming with every pulse. You keep fucking her through it, slower now, watching the aftershocks ripple through her.

She goes boneless beneath you, breath coming in shallow gasps. Her lips graze your neck—one soft kiss, unexpected.

Then she turns, pulling away, collapsing onto her stomach with a satisfied sigh.

“Stay if you want,” she murmurs into the pillow. “But I sleep alone.”

You stand, cock still dripping, heart heavier than you’ll admit.

She doesn’t say goodnight. Doesn’t even look back.

And somehow, that wrecks you more than the sex ever could.

DAY 143

She wears your hoodie like it belongs to her.

You find her in the kitchen, one leg tucked under her on the counter, a spoonful of peanut butter halfway to her mouth.

“You’re out of coffee,” she says without looking up.

“You drank it all,” you say, dropping your keys in the bowl by the door.

“I didn’t drink it. I just used the grounds to exfoliate my thighs.”

You blink. Then: “You what?”

Winter lifts her bare leg, toes pointed, smooth as cream.

“Touch,” she dares.

You don’t. You stare. And that’s worse.

“Jesus,” you mutter, grabbing a glass of water you don’t need.

She grins, slides off the counter. Her bare feet make soft sounds on the tile as she circles you like a cat.

“You always get nervous when I talk about my thighs,” she says.

“I get nervous when you exist.”

She stops behind you, close enough to feel. “You’re cute when you’re overwhelmed.”

“I’m not overwhelmed.”

She hums. “You’re hard.”

You choke on your water.

“See?” she whispers, brushing past you to the sink. “Adorable.”

You should say something snarky. But she’s standing there in your hoodie, no pants, licking peanut butter off her finger like it’s a sin. And she’s not even trying to seduce you. Not really.

That’s the part that wrecks you.

She leans back against the counter, watching you with that unreadable half-smile.

“Want to know what I dreamt last night?” she asks.

“Sure.”

“I was climbing a ladder in just my underwear.”

You pause. “Where was I?”

“Filming it. But artistically.”

You laugh. She lights up.

And for one dumb moment, it feels like maybe this could work. Maybe you could hold her in a life that doesn’t end in silence and slammed doors.

You walk over, wrap your arms around her waist.

“Stay tonight,” you say.

She leans into you, cheek to your chest. Quiet.

“I might.”

It’s not a promise. But she doesn’t pull away.

And that’s enough.

DAY 214

“You can’t keep acting like it means nothing,” you snap. “Like I mean nothing.”

Winter sits cross-legged on the counter, licking peanut butter from a spoon. Her hair’s a mess. You want to fuck her. You want to shake her. You want her to see you.

“You knew what this was,” she says, voice flat. “You just thought you could change it.”

You stare at her. At the way her thighs peek out beneath your old T-shirt. At the soft curve of her mouth, too calm for the war spinning inside you.

“I’m done pretending this doesn’t matter,” you say. “So either tell me what this is, or tell me to leave.”

She doesn’t answer. She hops down, the spoon clattering in the sink. Then she walks to you, presses her bare chest to yours, and kisses you like fire.

Her fingers yank your shirt over your head. You grab her ass, lift her up, her legs locking around you as you carry her to the bedroom. There’s no music. No talking. Just the sound of skin and breath and everything that’s been unsaid.

You throw her on the bed. She moans as she lands, legs open, glistening already. You crawl between her thighs, your mouth hungry. She gasps when your tongue finds her, hips jerking up.

“Fuck—you’re angry,” she pants.

You don’t answer. You feast on her like it’s revenge. Like your tongue can say what words can’t. You suck her clit until she’s begging, fingers in your hair, breath stuttering with every stroke.

“God—baby—don’t stop—I’m—”

She breaks with a sob, cunt soaking your mouth as she cums. Her thighs clamp around your head. You don’t stop until she’s trembling.

Then you move up, cock rubbing her soaked entrance. She grabs your face, eyes glassy, lips trembling just enough to give her away.

“Show me,” she breathes. “Show me how much it fucking hurts.”

You slam into her—deep, punishing. Her scream rips through the room, guttural and unfiltered. You don’t pause. You grip her hips tight enough to bruise and drive into her again, harder. Her slick heat swallows you, velvet walls clenching like she’s trying to keep you inside forever.

She moans, wild and sharp. “Yes—fuck—use me. I want to feel how bad you need it.”

Her tits bounce with every thrust, small and perfect, nipples flushed pink and tight. You lean down, mouth latching to one, sucking hard until she arches, back bowing like a wire drawn tight.

“You love this cock, don’t you?” you growl against her chest, lips brushing sweat-slick skin.

“God, yes,” she cries. “It fucking ruins me.”

You pound her harder, hips slapping her thighs, the sound lewd and echoing. Her hands claw at your shoulders, her nails sharp, dragging down your back.

She pulls you close, mouth at your ear. “Say it,” she whispers. “Tell me you fucking love me while you’re inside me.”

Your rhythm falters. That voice—soft, dangerous, pleading.

“I love you,” you gasp. “I’ve never stopped.”

She kisses you—no tongue, just teeth and need. Her legs lock tighter around your waist, her cunt pulsing around you like it’s echoing your heart.

“Then fucking show me,” she growls.

You thrust deeper, slower now, grinding your hips, making her feel every swollen inch. Her moans are filthy, broken, her body trembling beneath you. You reach down, rub her clit, feel her unravel.

“Gonna cum,” she whimpers. “Gonna fucking cum all over your cock—don’t stop—please—”

She shatters. Her pussy clenches so tight it nearly makes you scream. Her thighs quake. Her nails tear into your skin.

You’re close—too close. The way she’s writhing under you, panting your name, cunt clenching around your cock like she’s trying to trap your soul—it’s too much.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasp against her mouth, breath ragged.

She grips your jaw, forces your eyes on hers. “Not inside.”

You slow, confused, dazed. “Where?”

Winter’s eyes drop to her chest, flushed and rising fast. Her small tits bounce with every pulse of her hips, nipples tight and aching.

“Pull out,” she growls. “Cum on me. I want to feel it.”

You groan, drag yourself from her slick heat with a shudder, every nerve screaming. You fist your cock, throbbing, already spilling as you stroke.

Winter sits up on her elbows, eyes locked on yours, licking her lips as she stares down at her own body.

“Paint me,” she whispers. “I want to see what I do to you.”

That’s all it takes.

Your cock pulses, thick and hot. You explode across her chest, long ropes of cum streaking her breasts, her collarbone, even her throat. She moans at the heat, her fingers dipping into it, rubbing the mess over her nipples with a wicked smile.

“Fuck, that’s beautiful,” she murmurs, lifting her fingers to her mouth and sucking them clean.

You’re panting, cock still twitching, heart hammering in your throat.

She lies back again, cum drying on her skin, expression unreadable.

“Stay if you want,” she says softly. “But don’t expect anything in the morning.”

You lie beside her, body empty, soul echoing. She doesn’t clean herself. She wears you like proof. But her back is still to you.

In the quiet, you whisper, “What are we, Winter?”

She doesn't answer.

She never does.

Day 376

The party is too loud, too warm, too familiar.

You shouldn’t have come. Not after everything. Not after that last night—her body coated in you, her mouth silent.

But she said she’d be here.

And she is.

You catch her in the hallway first—laughing. Head tipped back, skin flushed. She’s wearing a dress that barely clings to her body, loose enough to slide off a shoulder, short enough to tease a promise.

The guy she’s with isn’t you. He’s older. Confident. Hands already low on her back.

You try to turn away. But your feet don’t move.

An hour later, you’re looking for a bathroom and make the wrong turn.

Or the right one.

The door is cracked. Just an inch. Just enough.

Inside, dim lamplight spills across the bed and the edge of a mirror. But it's the sound that stops you—wet, rhythmic, unmistakable. Then her voice—soft, gasping.

You step closer.

Winter's on her knees, facing the wall. Her dress is hiked up to her waist, bare ass flushed, thighs parted, skin gleaming with sweat. Her hands brace against the wallpaper like she needs it to stay upright. Every time the man behind her thrusts, her body jerks forward with a slap of skin, then bounces back to meet him.

His pants are around his knees. His hands dig into her hips, fingers whitening with pressure. He’s grunting, lost in it, like she’s just a body. But you know her sounds.

And those moans—high, breathy, familiar—they’re not just pleasure. They’re performance. Controlled. Measured. Like she knows exactly how it sounds to the person watching.

Her head turns.

She sees you.

Eyes meet yours through the mirror.

Her lips part, not in surprise, but invitation. Her cheek presses to the wall. She pushes her ass back harder, deeper, and moans again—louder now. For you.

You’re frozen. Watching her be taken. Watching her choose it.

She doesn't break eye contact.

And neither do you.

You wait outside. Thirty minutes. Forty.

She finds you on the back steps, barefoot, glowing. You’re smoking a stranger’s cigarette like it might burn the memory out of you.

“You followed me?” she asks, voice casual, leaning against the railing like this is nothing.

“I opened the wrong door.”

Her smirk is lazy, lips still swollen. “You always do.”

You look at her—really look.

Dress clinging to her hips. A smear of cum on her thigh. She hasn’t cleaned up. On purpose.

“You let him fuck you,” you say. “While I was there.”

She shrugs. Bare shoulders. No shame. “And?”

“You wanted me to see.”

Her smile fades, just a flicker. “No,” she says. “I wanted you to feel it.”

She steps closer. Jasmine. Sweat. Sex. Her scent wraps around you like a dare.

You clench your jaw. “I hate you.”

Her eyes flick up, glittering. “No. You don’t.”

You try to move past her. She grabs your wrist. Soft. Sure.

“Ask me why.”

You don’t speak.

“Ask,” she says again, voice low now, threading under your skin.

“Why?” It comes out rough. Broken.

She leans in, lips brushing your jaw, not kissing.

“Because I had to know if you’d still want me,” she whispers. “Even after I let someone else inside.”

You stare at her. Rage. Desire. The hollow ache of never enough.

“I do,” you say. “And it fucking disgusts me.”

Winter steps back, eyes soft for once. Almost sorry.

“Then we’re even.”

You don’t touch her.

But you don’t walk away either.

You just burn, lit from the inside out.

Day 412

You knew it was over when she didn’t kiss you hello.

She opened the door in silence. No smirk. No smart-ass greeting. Just turned and walked back into the apartment like you were the delivery guy she didn’t remember ordering.

You followed.

Her place was clean. Too clean. No jacket on the couch. No half-empty wine glass on the table. Nothing to suggest you’d ever been here at all.

“I’m leaving,” she said.

You blinked. “What?”

She didn’t look at you. Just tugged off her earrings and laid them on the counter like punctuation. “Not the city. Just… this.”

You stared. “You’re breaking up with me.”

Winter finally met your eyes. “It wasn’t a relationship. Don’t give it a funeral.”

You crossed the room in three steps. “Then why does it feel like one?”

She didn’t answer.

You kissed her.

And for one wild second, she kissed you back—open, aching, desperate.

Then she pulled your shirt.

And it all fell apart.

She shoved you onto the couch, straddled you, grinding against your cock with no softness, no buildup. Just raw heat. Her nails scraped your chest, her breath short.

“This is the last time,” she said.

You tried to touch her cheek. She slapped your hand away. “Don’t make it sweet.”

You didn’t.

She pulled your cock out. Lined herself up. No words. No pause.

Just sank onto you with a moan so guttural it didn’t sound like her.

She rode you like a punishment—hips slamming, cunt gripping, hands planted on your chest like she wanted to crush the breath from your lungs.

“Still feel good?” she gasped. “Still think this meant something?”

You grabbed her waist, fucked up into her. “Everything.”

She laughed. Bitter. “That’s your problem.”

Her pussy clenched—wet, angry, beautiful. You felt her getting close, felt her fight it. She came with a cry she bit into your shoulder, her nails drawing blood.

You came seconds later—hot, helpless, pulsing deep inside her.

She stayed on top of you for a moment, chest heaving, cunt still twitching around your cock.

Then she stood. Just like that. Pulled her dress down.

“I meant it,” she said. “This was the last time.”

You sat there, sweat cooling, heart pounding like it could rip through your ribs.

She didn’t look back.

She never did.

Day 437

You called her.

Three times.

She didn’t answer.

The fourth time, you hung up before it rang. Sat on your floor with a bottle of whiskey and the last shirt she left behind—a threadbare gray thing that still smells like her skin.

You haven’t fucked anyone since.

You’ve tried. Twice. Got to kissing. Got to touching. But when one of them moaned—wrong pitch, wrong mouth—you stopped. Apologized. Left. Drove until dawn.

Your apartment’s quieter now. No music. No laughter. No underwear in your kitchen drawer. No Winter.

You check her socials. Of course you do. She posted a story yesterday: black coffee, a book spine, her knees curled on a hotel bed. No face. But you’d know that thigh anywhere.

You jerked off to it.

And hated yourself after.

You don’t miss the sex. Not really.

You miss her mouth when she whispered “again.” The way she bit your bottom lip when she wanted more. The way she pulled away right when you needed her to stay.

You miss aching for her. Because at least when you ached, she was still touching you.

Now there’s just the cold.

And your name, never spoken again.

Day 500

It’s snowing. Of course it is.

You spot her across the gallery before she sees you. Same posture—arms folded, one heel tilted slightly off the floor like she might leave at any moment. Her coat’s new, her hair longer, but you’d know Winter anywhere.

She’s with someone. Tall. Clean-cut. Hands steady on her lower back. He laughs. She leans into him just enough to answer the question.

You should turn around.

You don’t.

When she finally notices you, her eyes widen—but only for a second. Then she smiles. Not the sly, taunting one she used to wear in your bed. This one’s quieter. Warmer. Like a chapter she doesn’t regret but doesn’t reread.

Later, out on the sidewalk, she finds you.

You’re smoking again. Always the wrong cigarette at the wrong time.

“Still terrible at quitting,” she says.

You glance over. “Still terrible at staying.”

She smirks. “Touché.”

She stands beside you in silence. You don’t offer her the smoke. She doesn’t ask.

“I remember the stairs,” she says after a moment. “That party. The night I let you find me.”

Your jaw tightens. “Hard to forget.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” she says. “Not exactly.”

You nod. “Just needed to know if I’d still want you after.”

She looks away. “And you did.”

“Yeah,” you say. “That made me sick.”

She smiles, almost fondly. “You said that. Right before you didn’t leave.”

You laugh, just once. “And you? Do you still want me now?”

Winter breathes in, then out. Her breath clouds the air between you.

“No,” she says. “But sometimes I miss being wanted like that. Like I was everything.”

“You were,” you say.

She meets your eyes. “So were you.”

A pause. Then she reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out something folded. Thin paper, worn soft.

It’s the sketch. The one she gave you. You’d lost it somewhere along the way.

“I found this when I moved,” she says. “You kept it.”

You nod.

“I hated how much I loved that day,” she says. “The hoodie. The peanut butter. You laughing like I was the only joke in the room.”

You smile. “You were.”

She presses the drawing into your hands.

“I’m happy now,” she says. “He doesn’t make me feel like a storm. That’s… good.”

“I’m not,” you admit. “But I will be.”

She nods, eyes glassy. “I hope so.”

Winter doesn’t hug you. Doesn’t cry. She just gives you a look you’ll remember when you’re old and trying to forget.

Then she walks back inside.

You stay a little longer. Staring at the sketch. At her bare legs. That smug, perfect smile.

And finally—finally—you let her go.

Day 501

You’re early. That’s new.

The building is sleek, sunlit. No copy room shadows. No scent of jasmine on the walls. Just light. Clean and quiet.

You’re checking your phone when a voice lifts behind you.

“Hi,” she says. “You must be here for the portfolio review?”

You stand.

She’s petite, soft-featured, with a sharp collar and flushed cheeks. Her smile is immediate. Easy.

“I’m Haru,” she says, offering her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

You take it. Her grip is warm. No games. No storm.

She turns and leads you down a glass corridor, her voice light as she talks schedules and layouts. You don’t hear half of it.

You’re watching how her ponytail sways. How her laugh is real. How your chest doesn’t hurt.

She pauses at the conference room.

“Oh,” she says, tilting her head. “That’s a nice sketch in your folder.”

You glance down. Winter in your hoodie, still folded carefully inside.

You smile. Just a little.

“Yeah,” you say. “She was a season.”

Haru opens the door, holding it for you.

“I’m Spring,” she says, and grins.

And this time, you step forward.

春 | Haru — Japanese for SpringBegin: Day 1 with Haru.

[mercurycft]

‘𝐓𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 (𝟏) - 𝐋.𝐖

## reader x leah williamson (childhood friend) !!

happy new year pookies!!! i hope you all had a lovely festive season whatever you celebrate, and if you don’t i hope u had a lovely nice break away from school, work or life for a few weeks! hoping 2025 brings lots of health, happiness and love to us and our loved ones!! did i listen to 'you could be happy' by snow patrol this entire time? yes. bit of a long one! buckle up! enjoy this, love always — RGx

this IS a christmas themed fic! <3

pure fluffy flirting, unfinished business hints, angst, rough family-dynamic and parent / child relationship, hinting at past experiences with leah & r, childhood memories.

4.3k words.

PART 1 - christmas eve.

"you promised you would be here for christmas this year!" you shout down the phone, fingers clenched so tightly around the device your knuckles begin turning white.

"y/n, don't act like a brat. your father and i work very hard and you know how important our work is to us!"

"i know that mum, but you promised!"

"well there's nothing that can be done now! it's too late!"

"its only an hours drive mum!"

"well it's not happening y/n! and that is final!"

"so you would rather stay in london and work, rather than spend christmas with your daughter? her first christmas back in the country?"

"don't turn this into a big thing, it's simply how life works sometimes."

"whatever. merry fucking christmas."

"don't you dar-"

you don't hear the end of the sentence before the phone call is ended and your phone is laid screen down on the table in front of you. you pace beside the dining table and your eyes meet the piles of presents you had laid out for them, all labelled and wrapped with love. you feel a bitterness that you know all too well course through your stomach and rise through into your throat with an acidic burn.

it riles you up until you're rushing towards the front door, angrily zipping your coat up and shoving your keys into your pocket. you slam it behind you and begin out into the rain, feet stomping with no real purpose but to blow off steam. the rain is aggressive paired with the harsh winter wind, but you're too focused on the millions of thoughts racing through your mind.

memories of christmas past hit you deep in your chest, stinging and stabbing like a vicious blade. the teenage years you spent begging for your parents to be there, to want to spend time with you. the smaller, more confused version of you that would stay awake on christmas eve but not to hear for santa, instead to hear for their keys jingling through the house.

it only fuels the fire behind your eyes and the pain in your veins. so you walk, and keep walking.

you don't, or can't, catch your breath the entire time. allowing the heavy rain to beat against your skin as you keep walking. you pass the familiar streets and houses, all decked out with festive lights and decorations of joy, but you don't stop. keeping your eyes on the concrete, your vision still blurred by tears. the cold is harsh against the skin of your face and hands, so harsh it's almost oppressive. beneath your coat, your outfit is impractical for the weather, but you don't care.

you fight against the rain as you haul through the town, head tucked down and determined to push through it - which has only gotten heavier and is now beating against your skin like bullets and seeping through the fabric of your coat and onto clothes.

the hours leading up to this blur into a pile of madness in your mind, and you don't realise where your body has carried you until you're standing outside her door. bell already pressed and chest heaving to recover from the brisk pace you managed to keep up through the storm. the roof of the porch providing you with a much-needed break from the rain. it feels familiar, the same as it did all those years ago.

you stand still, clenching your jaw and fists in an attempt to still the chattering of your teeth and the shaking of your limbs as the cold finally catches up to you.

a shadow approaches after a few moments, and you hear the muffled laughter as they move towards the door. the door swings open after a second, and she's not there. instead, her mum stands on the other side of the threshold. a santa hat sat perfectly on her head, you can see the warmth in her cheeks from her familiar smile - though it falters when she meets your eye. her previous look is replaced with one of concern, her brows furrowing and eyes widening as she takes you in.

"amanda," you manage to whisper when you look at her. eyes pooling with tears once more. the realisation of your presence hitting her like a ton of bricks. "im so sorry to just turn up, but i didn't know where else to go and i just kept walking and then i was here and i-" you ramble out a string of words that just barely make sense until you feel her pull you into the warmth of the house.

"y/n, love, breath." she says softly, rushing to push the door shut with her foot as her arms move to unzip the drenched and practically useless coat from around you. she lets it fall to the ground with no regard for the carpet and moves to wrap her arms around your shaking body.

you relax into her embrace and continue attempting to drag deep breaths through your nose and into your lungs while mumbling an array of apologies. suddenly you're no longer an adult to her, you're the same child that would rush around after school to yank leah into the garden to play football. the same child she opened her home to countless times when your parents were away.

"y/n, sweetheart, you need to breathe," she says with more conviction this time, bringing her hand to your back to coax a deeper breath and attempt to warm the skin simultaneously.

you stand against her for a few minutes, until your breathing slows to a manageable pace and you can fathom words again. her hand still drags across your back as she lifts her head to turns it in the direction of the living you.

"bubba, can you come here?" the muffled conversations get louder when a door opens and then shuts with a small thud, and footsteps approach you both in the hall.

"what you doing out here mum? we're about to get uno out.." her voice falls quiet. "y/n?"

you turn to face her with tear-stained cheeks and a weak smile.

its been years, enough to forget and move on. but the look on her face has you cursing yourself for being away for so long, and you know that she hasn’t. she hasn’t forgotten. the way her eyes melt when they meet yours tells you everything you need to know. you go speak at the same time, but your voice is weak. it breaks and cracks and she falls silent, brows furrowed with concern as she shuts the front room door behind her, keeping this moment to herself and confined to the small room.

"they're not coming. no one is coming and I don't expect you to do anything, i haven’t even had a chance to settle in properly- but i didn't know where else to go." you breathe a shakey breath, it's quick and shallow but enough to fuel your next sentence. your voice breaks once more, and your shoulders fall into themselves as a low sob raises from your throat again. she makes her way across the small space between you and catches your cold frame with hers, arms wrapping tightly around you "no one is coming," you sob into her chest.

amanda leaves with a pat on your back to go find you some clothes to change into as the pair of you stand there for a few minutes. you feel small beneath her, her chin resting on your head as it lays against her chest.

"why didn't you call? i didn’t know you were back, i could've come to get you," she whispers,

"i left my phone at the house, and i just started walking, and then i was here im so sorry,"

"stop apologising. you know mum loves a guest, especially you." she jokes softly, and you feel her shoulders rise with her smile when you let out a breathy laugh against her.

after a little while, amanda comes back with a change of clothes and a fresh towel, pushing them towards you and gesturing her head up the stairs. "go and take a nice warm shower, then put these on love. that'll get you warmed up."

you reach out take them hesitantly, then pull your arms back by your side. "i'll make my way home in a minute amanda, thank you though-"

"you absolutely will not." she says with typical mum raised eyebrows, pushing them back to you "now go,"

you smile weakly and take them from her, "thank you." you whisper as she waves you off and up the stairs. you turn back to face them from the top step, both of them still watching on.

“just like old times, eh love?” amanda adds with a wide smile.

━━━━━━━━━━

the shower feels like heaven, the warmth spreading across your skin and warming you right to the bone. you take in the few moments of serenity the warm water gives you, allowing your eyes to close and your muscles to relax. you let your mind wander, let it drift away from the sad and harsh reality that has become your life. you use leah's shampoo to wash your hair, recognising the smell immediately and allowing yourself to laugh that she has used the same brand since you've known her.

once you're out you brush your hair, letting it fall down your back as you pull on the clothes amanda had pulled out for you. you recognise an old pair of leah's pyjama bottoms and a smile in acknowledgement of fond memories breaks across your lips.

you make your way back down the stairs a little later, feeling refreshed from your new-found warmth and comfier clothes that lack the ability to stick to every inch of your skin.

the house is the same, and the years feel like they melt away from you. you hesitate outside the door to the front room, a small smile on your lips at the house of laughter from the other side. you reach a knuckle to announce your presence before you open it and enter.

everyone is in their respective spots: david and amanda on the sofa, with leah at their feet sprawled across the carpet; her cousins surrounding her. you feel fourteen again, leah’s clothes still hanging from you in all the same places. you share a smile with everyone, holding up your hands in a make-shift surrender. “apologies for gate crashing, i still like to make an entran-” you don’t manage to finish before jordan and jacob, leah’s cousin and brother are up and wrapping their arms around you hurriedly - tugging you to the floor.

it doesn’t feel different, or strange. you fit back into the same place you left off all those years ago. you play a few rounds of uno with leah and her family, and drink countless cups of tea. amanda always made the best one, even when you were young, so you make use of her skill. it’s nearing 9pm when you finally decide its time to remove yourself from the bubble you’ve been in- and into the hallway beyond the front room.

you try to quietly and quickly slip your still wet coat back onto your frame, but your silent antics are interrupted by leah’s voice.

“where you running off to?” she asks, leant against the small table on the wall with her arms crossed over her chest.

“just getting out of your hair,” you reply, smiling small. “thank you for letting me in, even just for a few hours. it was fun.” you turn back around to zip up your coat and begin dressing again.

“you don’t have to go yet, y/n,”

“i’m sure all of you have so much left to do in prep for the littles tonight so i’ll see you-”

“i mean it, you’re welcome to stay for a bit,”

“plus its christmas, who wants a stranger in the house at christmas?”

it’s as if you’re having two different conversations, at the exact same time. each of your voices overlapping and interrupting - unable to hold steady rhythm. as you speak you pull on your trainers one by one, not really paying attention to the words leah is saying, instead focused on your mountain of excuses to cut the visit short. it isn’t until you hear her voice drop, to barely above a whisper, that you process what she is saying.

“y/n!” her normal voice, calm and collected, snaps you out of your own mind. “please. stay.” its low and quiet, but loud enough for you to hear across the space between you. you whip around to face her, her eyes locked on you and her breathing steady.

“what?”

“stay.”

"leah," you start, head tilted. "i couldn't do that,"

"spend christmas with us," she pauses for a beat, eyes searching yours and your features. "with me,"

you feel like you somehow have managed to travel back in time, transported to the exact moment all those years ago when you told leah you were leaving. you remember how her face fell in the exact same way, how her hands twitched as she fought against the urge to reach for you and keep you with her forever, how she couldn't choke back her tears when she begged you not to go.

the same guilt and pain you knew all too well began to spread through you again, starting in the tips of your fingers and receding up your arms until it sat dormant in your chest.

"i can't." you whisper, unsure whether to yourself or to her.

"you can," she replies anyway. "i already spoke to mum, and to dad, and everyone else. we want you here."

"why?"

"because i'd rather you be here, with us, with me, than alone when you wake up on christmas morning."

you fall into silence, or silence full onto you, you're not sure. taking a deep and quaking breath that trembles through your lips.

you don't say any words, instead, just unzip your coat and slip your shoes off. pushing them back beside the drawers against the wall and hanging your jacket back onto the hook. you turn to face her with a small smile.

"okay."

she lets out a breath you didn't know she was holding and moves to embrace you, you melt into her arms and breathe with her for a few moments. "i would've looked like a real tit if you said no," you both share a laugh. not a small or pathetic breathy one, a proper laugh. a laugh that almost has you snorting like you used to.

"you look like a tit anyway," you add, as you both make your way back into the front room. you don't think twice as you walk towards amanda and david, who sit with their eyes fixed on the tv as an episode recap of eastenders begins to play. you lean between them both, wrapping your arms around the pair of them. it takes them by surprise for a second, before their arms are around you too.

everyone spends the next half hour all huddled around the tv, beside leah. more-so on top of leah. you share the armchair in the corner of the room, your legs on her lap and head fallen on her shoulder. breathing deeply with your eyes closed tight. you don't think you're asleep, too aware of your surroundings to be sleeping properly. but you're calm, very calm.

laughter from the floor is what makes you open your eyes and adjust to the lights again, met with leah's eyes as she nudges you with her shoulder. "alright sleeping beauty?"

"sorry, i didn't even realise i fell asleep," she shakes her head in response, dismissing your apology. "can you take me to mine in a minute, le?" the nickname slips out without you realising, but she doesn’t react.

“thought you said you would stay?”

“i am, i just want to go and get some stuff so that i can actually look nice tomorrow,”

“you always look nice,” she says lowly, looking back out to the distracted room. you roll your eyes, shaking your head at her and lifting a single brow as if to push her to answer your question.

“yes, go and get your shoes on and we’ll go now,” you smile to thank her and rise from the chair beside her.

"where are you two off to?" david asks as you walk past.

"just going to y/n's to grab her stuff to stay over,"

"well, don't be long, love actually will be on soon!" amanda replies excitedly, which david replies to with a roll of his eyes.

━━━━━━━━━━

whilst in your house, you took a moment to look at the presents beneath your tree. to look at the gifts you had accumulated through the months in hopes your parents would have the same childlike joy on their faces christmas morning as you once did. you considered leaving them, maybe shipping them off to their london house for them to enjoy alone. but deep down you knew they didn't deserve it. they didn't deserve the effort you had made for them.

you let your fingertips run across the presents, the new appliances and products you bought for your mum and dad alike. your fingers then fell to the labels you had added. you twisted the tag in your hand, reading the words you had written with love. you let it sit in your palm, dazed by the pain of your parents' missing presence.

"i'm sorry they're not here, y/n." you hear leah speak from behind you, leaning against the kitchen island.

"i'm not," you begin. "i'd rather spend it with people that give a shit anyway,"

you let your fingers wrap around the tag, slipping the attached string out of the piece of tape which was securing it down and screwing it into a ball. you did this to all of the presents, taking each of the tags one by one and removing them until they were left in a pile beside you. you took the presents, piling them into bags you had instructed leah to get from a cupboard in the kitchen.

"be a shame to let perfectly good presents go to waste," you said with a small sigh as you carried them over to your front door, making sure to grab your phone and pop it into your pocket.

you're gone and back in less than an hour, with a bag packed of clothes, your own pyjamas as well as everything you'll need for tomorrow and maybe another night in the williamson household slung over your shoulder and two large bags packed with presents in either hand. leah trailed behind from the car with an additional bag of gifts in her hand, helping you through the door and placing them on the floor.

you stand there for a minute, staring at the bags below you, leah locking the door and placing her keys in their spot before she joins you. standing shoulder to shoulder with you, in a comfortable silence. you feel her fingers brush the back of your own when she lets her arms relax on either side of her body.

"i'm glad you're here,"

"you were the one convincing me to stay,"

"no, i mean here, back in england."

you draw in a breath. "me too." her fingers brush yours again, this time she allows her pinky to link with your own. her hands warm against the chill of yours. "im sorry i left,"

"yeah, me too," she replies lowly.

you stay there for a bit, lost in the forgotten comfort of her and her presence. it feels right, normal. no anxiety or awkwardness. so you bask in the stillness with her, away from prying eyes and the events of life that came before this very moment. you enjoy the hush of the hallway together, standing still, pinkies intertwined. you don't know what to say or to do, so you don't do anything or say anything. you just breathe, together.

"come on then," she says quietly breaking the silence after a minute or so. "we better put these presents under the tree, santa's orders,"

you cant help but laugh at her, and nod along to her words. picking up the bags and pushing them through into the front room, leaving the moment to fester alone in the four walls of the hall. jacob and his family had already made their way to the spare bedroom, and jordan and hers had made their way home - so when you walked back into the living room, only amanda and david remained waiting for you both.

"what on earth is all that!" amanda asks from the same position as when you left, eyeing the bags in your hands.

"presents," you push them to the floor and begin taking them out of the bags.

"y/n, you didn't have to do that love." dad says, shaking his head at you.

"i know, but i would rather give them to people who deserve them. i'd rather you guys have them, and use them and appreciate them." you say, rarely looking up from the gifts as you place them into piles, suddenly too aware of the eyes on you. "it's not a big deal, and i don't want to make it one. christmas isn't about that. but i hope you guys will take them, and enjoy them. just think of them as a thank you, for all you've done for me over the last decade." you say the last bit through a laugh, and finally look up to them. each of them looking back at you with nothing but love in their eyes.

"oh, y/n," amanda says softly, waving you over to them both, which you do - pulling yourself up off the floor and to stand in front of them. you don't get a chance to say anything to add to your previous point before amanda's arms are around you for what feels like the hundredth time tonight alone. "i am so, so happy you decided to stay." she whispers for only you to hear, then pulls away. "and to be honest i was sick of leah barking on about how much she missed you," she says in jest and gets up to walk to the kitchen, "every bloody day," which makes you laugh.

david juts his hand between you, and you take his in yours. "welcome home, y/n love." he says, pulling you into a dad-like hug before following his wife into the kitchen.

the living room was a picture of warmth and cheer, the soft glow of the christmas tree lights casting a gentle hue over the neatly wrapped presents beneath it. the smell of pine mingled with faint smell of tea through the house, you turned to survey the room around you - including leah.

"i feel bad that i haven't got you anything," she says, looking at you from her spot beside the tree.

"this is enough,"

"what do you mean?"

"i mean this, being here with you, with all of you."

the four of you spent another hour awake, watching the rest of love actually and chatting about life. catching up on the years missed from either side. when the fill finally draws to a close, amanda and david say their goodnights and head up to bed, leaving you and leah downstairs on the sofa. the room was lit with nothing but the lights from the tree, and the tv.

you yawn, so large it makes your eyes water and turn to face leah. "you can go up to bed, don't let me keep you down here." you say to her, snuggling your head into the pillow beside you for comfort.

"you not coming up?"

"i can sleep on the sofa leah, its fine."

"but what about santa?" she teases, poking you.

"im fine down here, really."

"come up with me," she speaks whilst trying to find the remote that has somehow disappeared. "it wouldn't be the first time we're shared a bed,"

"i know that," you roll your eyes, stomach flipping with the thought of sleeping beside her.

"then come to bed," finally, she finds the remote and shuts off the tv. her words spoken as if they are final, causing you to sigh.

"fine."

you work together to lock the doors and turn off the lights, then make your way upstairs. so now, you find yourself tucked into leah's childhood double bed. laid stiff as a board beside her as she flicks through netflix for something to fall asleep to. it shouldn't feel different, you've been here, in this exact position a thousand times. but it does, it feels so different that it's blinding. the sound of your heart in your ears is deafening, but you try your hardest to ignore it.

she asks what you fancy absentmindedly, unaware of the way your stomach swills when she speaks. you tell her to pick whatever she wants, unable to process a proper answer in your current state. you try your hardest to swallow your anxiety, to not draw attention to the way your body lays entirely still next to her.

she hands you the remote after she has chosen, in case you want to change it. you don't, instead you smile and put it onto the dresser next to you. you feel her shuffle to get comfy, then she's facing you, hands tucked beneath her head and chin.

"stop freaking out, y/n." she mumbled with a sickening smirk.

"im bloody not,"

"liar."

"shut up,"

"lay down and i will,"

"oh i have not missed this,"

"lay down then,"

"yeah i will,"

"come to sleep,"

you roll your eyes at her persistence, nothing has changed. you have probably had this conversation a thousand times in the years you have known her, and you know better than to try and fight it. so, you turn to put your phone on charge and then turn back to her, mirroring her position.

"goodnight, leah."

"goodnight, y/n."

"merry christmas,"

━━━━━━━━━━

oh em gee i hope you all enjoyed part 1!! part 2 will be released soon! (hopefully)! lots of love! x

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Red Summer | Ghoap x F!Reader | Slasher!AU

After breaking up with your long term boyfriend you take a job working as a camp counselor in Northern Vermont. Seven weeks of swimming, volleyball, archery and hiking. There's even a hot lifeguard. It seems perfect until you find something evil is lurking in the woods

Tags: Slasher AU, Ghoap x Reader, intro chapter, nondescript reader, dark fic

Chapter 1: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

5.5k words

It smelled like Summer. Ozonic and earthy, carried into your car by the breeze as you drove North through winding roads. Montpelier was two hours behind you now. 

Despite the eighty degree heat, Vermont was lush and green. Only a couple more miles of shaded forest roads before you reached camp. At least you hoped so. Your maps app had been slow to load the last twenty miles.

The place was North, nestled between the border of Canada and the New Hampshire state line. It was gorgeous though. Anytime you thought about moving out of New England to somewhere cheaper the next season changed your mind. The trees just didn’t look as pretty in fall or the snow as splendid in winter. You just wished it was cheaper.

Suppose that’s why you took this job, as much as it didn’t appeal to you. Camp counselor for seven long weeks, the pay was shit but your food and board came free. After a bad breakup you didn’t have time to find a new lease so your life was packed up into a rented storage box with anything valuable shoved into the back of your car. 

A friend of a friend recommended it. She’d been working here for years, attended for even more. She was an old money New Englander. Boarding school outside of Boston and all that. She was nice though. Got you the job over any qualified candidates. It wasn’t nepotism but whatever it was called you wouldn’t complain.

Your car dinged. Low gas. Shit.

Scrolling quickly through the map you saw a gas station up ahead. You’d just make it… hopefully. 

You let out a sigh of relief as you pulled into the station. It was older with dusty windows and sun-faded posters for cigarettes. 

A piece of paper was taped to the pump.

“Reader broken. Pay inside” scribbled in sharpie.

You sighed and headed inside. 

It was dusty inside too. A couple aisles of brightly packaged food and walls lined with fridges filled with beer and soda. The man behind the counter glanced up from his book when you walked in.

He was handsome. Black with dark, short cut curly hair and big brown eyes. Much too handsome to be working in the middle of nowhere. He’d look more fitting in the corner of a bar, buying you a drink. He smiled up at you and your heart might have skipped a beat. 

“Pump three? How much?” He was English… strange.

“Just…uh… ten bucks.” You stumbled out. 

“It’s the accent,” he chuckled. “It throws everybody off the first time.” 

“It’s a strange place for an Englishman to be, I guess.” You swayed awkwardly. 

“I go to Middlebury. Easier to get a summer job than fly home.” He shrugged. 

“Understandable.” You weren’t an expert on Vermont geography but you swore the college was on the other side of the state. 

“Ten on three.” He said, nodding his head towards the window.

“Oh yeah. Thank you.” 

“You still got to pay, love.”

“Oh fuck, yeah. Sorry… uh… Kyle.” You read his name tag before digging through your tote bag, finding the last bit of your cash.

“No worries. What brings a girl like you out here.”

“I’m working at the camp.”

“Weldon lake, right?”

“Yeah. First time… I’m going the right way, right?”

“If you continue up the road. There will be a sign when you need to turn.” He handed you your receipt. 

“Thank you.” 

“Hey!” You were half way out the door when he called. “Stay alive out there. Heard the campers can be down right evil.”

“I’ll try!”

The rest of the journey was smooth, there was a sign just like Kyle said. Another one after that taking you down a long gravel drive and into a dirt parking lot. A couple other cars were there already. 

You made sure everything important was locked up in the trunk before grabbing your duffel bag and tote. You hoped you brought enough sunscreen. 

The sun was warm on your back as you made your way up to the main building. Two other girls were hanging around on the porch. They each wore matching white baseball shirts with red sleeves and trim, each labeled with STAFF on the back. 

“Hey, you’re Sophia’s friend, right? I’m Janie.” She jumped down from the porch fence. “I love your braids by the way.”

You’d done your hair before leaving, figuring it’d be easier to keep clean braided than fight for limited shower time. 

“I’m Natalie,” The other girl greeted. You introduced yourself, thanking Janie for the compliment.”

“I think your cabin is next to mine. I can take you over once you check in.” Janie said.

Check in was easy enough. Sign a couple more papers, show off your ID to prove you were you and get your cabin assignment, key and two staff shirts. Tomorrow was orientation before the campers arrived Monday morning. Tonight was for getting to know everyone. 

“So, where’s this cabin?” you asked, walking outside.

The girls grinned and led you down the path. Everything seemed to branch off from here. They pointed out where the dining hall was just past the main office next to the nurse’s station.

“Don’t expect much. They’re still recovering from when Covid almost killed this place.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. They had to raise fees and a bunch of parents freaked out. Guess an extra hundred dollars really threw all the millionaires off.” Natalie laughed. 

Next was the pool, fully fenced in and surrounded by two tennis courts and two basketball courts on either side. 

“Hey lasses!” A man called from the pool, leaning over the chain link fence. Natalie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Who’s the new girl?”

He had a thick Scottish accent. Lots of transplants for the area, you guessed. He was also handsome. Muscular with a dark mohawk and light eyes. He was shirtless with very short and tight red shorts on and a silver whistle around his neck. He was dripping water over the ground.

“You say that like you aren’t also the new guy, Johnny!” Natalie called, clearly annoyed already. 

“Nat hates him.” Janie giggled. 

“It’s been three hours and he’s already tried to fuck half the counselors. He’s a dog.”

“One I’d put on a leash.” Janie laughed.

Johnny walked over, still dripping wet. His crocs squeaked with every step. 

“Johnny,” he grinned, holding out his hand to you. You introduced yourself as he shook your hand excitedly. He had a tattoo on his side, up by his ribs. You couldn’t see all of it but it looked like a heart with someone’s initials in it. S and something else, you couldn’t tell for sure. “Beautiful name for a beautiful gal.”

Your cheeks felt hot as his blue eyes traveled over your body. 

“It’s going to be a fun seven weeks with all you bonnie lasses around.” He grinned. Nat looped her arm around yours.

“Down dog. We still have half the camp to show off.”

“You know where to find me. Pool looked like the lake when I got here.” He raised his hands up as he walked backwards towards the pool again.

“Come on, before we lose Janie.”

“He’s hot!” She defended. 

“You just like him because he got your name right on the first try.”

“He’s intelligent too!”

The cabins were next. Ten white painted buildings split in half with about eight beds on each side and a shared bathroom in the back. They formed a circle around a fire pit with log benches. 

You had cabin room 14. Janie was the building next door in 15 and Nat with 16 sharing with her. They took turns explaining everything.

“Your bed is the only non bunk and the chest underneath locks so anything you don’t want the campers to find should go there.”

“Basically all your shit. I had a copy of Crime and Punishment stolen last year. Fucking Crime and Punishment like any of these kids could read Dostoevsky.”

“Showers are in the back. Hot water is sparse so if you want some, move quick and early.”

“Breakfast is at 8. Coffee tastes like shit unless you pour half a pound of sugar in it.” 

“You can vape just outside but if you smoke you gotta ask your neighbor counselor to watch your kids. At least thirty feet away or they’ll snitch too.”

“Weed is only for days off because they'll either snitch or demand you share. That goes for kids and counselors.” 

“Days off are randomly assigned but you should get one every other week.”

“I don’t recommend sleeping with other counselors but if you must, go to your car.” Natalie said. 

“We’ll leave you to get settled. Dinner is in an hour. You can meet everyone else then.”

“Thank you guys for everything.” You felt overwhelmed just a bit. 

They left, still arguing about Johnny. He was cute but the break up wounds were still fresh. You didn’t want to sneak around either. You weren’t a teenager anymore.

You haphazardly dumped the contents of your duffle into the lock chest before shoving it back under the bed. You had seven weeks to organize it. 

The bed was okay. A plastic covered mattress with an old sleeping bag. You should have brought your own pillow. Maybe a Target run on your next day off whenever that was. 

The ache in your muscles from driving all day hit hard the moment you sat down. 

There was a knock on the door. 

“Hey sleepyhead!” Sophia came in. You rubbed your face as you woke up. Out the window you could see the sky looked darker, a blue summer evening. “I’m glad you ended up coming.”

“Yeah. Thanks for getting me the job.” You stretched, your shoulders cracking. “It’s nice to get away.” 

“I’m sorry about you and Ale.” There it was. She was nice but always craved gossip. 

“It’s okay. Just wanted different things.”

You shrugged. It wasn’t a bad breakup, no arguing, just a slow and painful demise. He’d even offered to let you stay with him when the lease ended and he found out you didn’t have a place to go. You chose this instead. 

“Well, let’s get you something to eat. The food is incredibly mediocre but I heard a rumor that the lifeguard has beer and weed for the fire pit.”

She was not wrong about dinner. Hot dogs with a slice of Kraft cheese melted on top with a bag of chips as a side. 

You sat with Nat, Sophia and Janie. 

“There are my lovely ladies!” Johnny sat down, forcing his way between Cel and Sophia. Nat looked like she wanted to kill him. “Coming out to the lake tonight? Hope you all brought swim suits or birthday suits.”

“Jesus Christ.” Nat groaned. 

“I think we’re gonna have an easy night. Some of us had long drives.” Sophia motioned to herself and you. “Just some girl time.”

Johnny pouted. 

“Fair enough but I do expect all of you at the bonfire tomorrow.” He pointed at all of them, even Nat. “Especially you new girl.”

He got up and jogged off to another table of girls. 

“Am I allowed to call him a slut?”

“What happened to dog?” Janie asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Dogs can be trained.” 

You all laughed. You’d been worried that you wouldn’t fit in. All the other girls knew each other for years at this point. Janie and Sophia had been coming here since they were kids. Nat met Janie in high school and got a job as a junior counselor with her the first chance they got. 

It wasn’t a super attractive job and the pay was shit but it looked good on resumes and college applications apparently. Showed responsibility. Most of your experiences with camp were from horror films. 

The sun was still out as the four of you walked back. Sophia was your cabin neighbor, taking care of room 13. It’s where you all gathered. 

Sophia and you sat on her bed while she did your nails. 

“Red looks nice on you.” It was a bright cherry red. She’d picked it out, saying they should all match. 

The evening was spent talking and laughing. You asking questions about camp life and getting advice from the other girls. 

You had friends back home but you were glad you fit in so fast. Any anxiety and fear for the Summer slipped away as the sun set. 

“I’m beat.” Nat yawned. It was almost midnight now. Janie agreed and the two wandered off back to their cabin. 

“I’ll head back too. Thank you for being so welcoming, Soph.”

“Absolutely! It’s nice to get fresh meat every once and a while. It can be tough with the kids so some people get jaded. I hope you have fun this Summer and if you don’t you can blame me.” She laughed. 

The air was cool on the little porch out front. Most of the other cabins had their lights off by now and the center was lit up with fireflies, neon yellow dots. 

There was an orange dot out towards the back of one of the cabins across the way. A cigarette. The man smoking it seemed larger than any counselor you’d seen but it was dark and he was half hidden behind the building. It was Johnny’s cabin, you think. He was big. 

He waved and you waved back. He dropped the cigarette and stamped it out. The little corner fell dark and you went into your side.

You didn’t realize how quiet the world could be as you curled up in your sleeping bag. No hum of electronics or cars. No people yelling above or below you. Just the stillness of the stars.

It was an early morning. Johnny was running around the circle of cabins playing music to wake everyone up. He was shirtless again and his shorts seemed shorter than the day before. You wouldn’t complain. 

“So why did you choose this wonderful vista as a summer job?” Johnny asked, jogging up next to you as you made your way to the dining hall. 

“Needed a break. Get out in nature for a bit. I grew up in the suburbs and just broke up with my boyfriend so I guess I wanted to breathe for a bit. You?”

“Running from my previous life of crime.” He smiled. “Nah, just also trying to get away. Was military back home, knee injury did me in. Didn’t know what else to do. Hiked part of the Appliachian trail. You know, it's the same mountain range as the Highlands. Felt like I had to see them. Haven’t really felt like going back home yet.”

“You hiked alone?” You raised an eyebrow. You knew that it was one of the longest and hardest trails in the country. 

“Had a mate with me but I’m on my lonesome now.” He opened the door for you. Sure, he was boisterous but he seemed harmless one on one. Maybe a little dogish but he wasn’t going to hump your leg unprompted. 

“Shirts are needed in the dining hall, Mactavish!” Sophia called. He held up his hands in surrender before fishing out a cropped muscle tee that had been shoved into his pocket. It was a nice change of pace to be around a man that wanted to show off his own skin rather than try to get girls to show theirs. 

You told yourself before you got here that you wouldn’t look for that kind of distraction. It wasn’t worth it, especially not this early. You could look though. No harm in that. 

Bacon, Eggs and self-serve cereal was today’s breakfast. You joined back up with the girls from last night. Orientation was supposed to take up most of the day so they encouraged you to grab a couple pieces of fruit and a protein bar.

“Only fill up your water bottle in here. There are fountains elsewhere but I think they taste weird.” Said Janie. 

You were put in a group with Johnny, Sophia, and another guy named Warren. He and Sophia were long term counselors so they gladly took on the role of being you and Johnny’s tour guide. Johnny had been hired because of his lifeguard training so he already knew the layout of the lake and pool. You were scolded for not having proper shoes for hiking.

“What’s your size? I might have an old pair in my car.” Sophia offered. “If not I think there’s an L.L.Bean like two hours away. We can go on our next day off.”

You weren’t sure if you could afford brand new boots so silently hoped that Sophia did have that old pair and they fit. 

“Don’t want ya getting blisters all summer.” Johnny said. He was doing the hike in crocs but apparently did have boots back at his cabin. 

You didn’t do the full trail but Warren pointed out the different routes and how difficult each one was and which ones kids could do by themselves and which ones they couldn’t. The fields were next. A soccer field and baseball field were across the way from the cabins. It was a loose definition of each. One was a huge patch of grass and the other a diamond of dirt. Both looked a little off size wise. There was the sports supply shed that had all the equipment in it. Only a couple counselors had keys to it.

“People kept using it inappropriately.” Sophia smiled.

There was the art building, the rec hall, a path leading towards the archery field and riflery field.

“Riflery?”

“Yeah. We used to teach kids how to shoot. Mostly clay pigeons but it was one of the programs cut after Covid,” Warren explained. 

“Shame I missed it. Could have taught the kids trick shots.” Johnny joked, pretending to aim a rifle backwards over his shoulder. 

The horse stable was also closed. Too expensive to have horses here for even half the season. 

The Lake was the last part of the tour. It was on the other side of the road so to get there was an underpass to get there. It was large enough for five adults to walk side by side comfortably but the yellow light from the lamps gave it a sickly vibe. 

It ended a little ways before the beach. There were several rows of Kayaks and another shed filled with life preservers and paddles. 

“Wow Johnny! You cleaned it up well.” Warren clapped him on the back. For a moment Johnny looked irritated that he’d been touched but he shoved that emotion out of the way to make room for his usual excited self. 

“Yeah. Cleaned up the best I could.”

“It looks great, Johnny.” You were impressed. He’d even sprayed the kayaks down, bright clean plastic in a rainbow of colors.

“Yer making me blush.” He laid a hand over his heart. 

The lake was gorgeous. Cream colored sand feeding into sapphire waters. You could just see the beach on the other side, a small empty dock with a path leading into the woods. The camp side had a floating platform about thirty feet into the water. 

“Campers have to swim there and back to pass the swimming competency test.” Sophia explained. “If you can’t swim on your own you’re stuck in the buoyed area.” 

There was a ten by ten foot area cordoned off by buoys, keeping to the shallow end of the lake. Made enough sense. No one wanted to fish a dead kid out of the water.

“Let’s head back. We don’t want to miss lunch.” Warren clapped his hands together. 

The four of you made the trek back to the dining hall. You did feel like blisters were starting to form on the back of your ankles. You’d have to put band-aids on them later. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent going over itinerary for the following week. Campers would arrive tomorrow between ten and six. It was a day mostly planned out for settling them in with an inaugural bonfire that night. After that it was seven weeks of regular old American camp adventures. 

You went back to your cabin the moment you had free time. Your ankles hadn’t started to bleed but they were bright red and throbbing. You applied the bandaids and grabbed another pair of socks to wear the rest of the way. 

There was about an hour and half before dinner and final orientation from the camp managers, who, you had been told, often made themselves scarce throughout the summer to avoid having to do their jobs. You settled on top of your sleeping bag. A nice breeze came in through the screen door. Janie had told you that it was the best way to keep the building cool.  

You thought about Ale. His smile and deep laugh. How he’d wake you up in the morning with kisses to the back of your neck. How he loved your hair and ass. How he’d whisper in Spanish to you. You still had the English/Spanish dictionary he gave you shoved in a box back in the city. You missed him. Your cowboy. He would have been so disappointed to hear the stables were closed. Maybe you’d call him after all this. Ask to work something out. 

You drifted off daydreaming about the scent of his cologne.

“Bonnie! You’re gonna miss dinner!” Johnny was knocking on the screen door. Maybe Nat was right in being annoyed by him all the time. 

“I’ll just miss it.” you sighed, rolling over on the bed. 

“You never know which meal is your last. Best not to skip any! C’mon or I’ll drag ya myself.”

You would have thrown a pillow if you had one. How did he always have so much energy?

He jogged literal circles around you on the way to the dining hall.

“How are your feet?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“You were limping on the way back to the cabins earlier.”

“Oh…yeah just blisters.”

He tutted at you. 

“Got to get you some good shoes soon.”

Dinner was the same hot dogs as the previous night with a bonus of a bowl of lettuce, cherry tomatoes and a slice of cucumber. 

There was an excited energy in the room. Most people who’d snuck in alcohol or drugs said tonight was the best night to use it all. An unspoken competition of who could drink the most and still function when the first campers started to arrive. It could be fun, you mused. You were never a big partier in college and what was this if not a perfect chance to make up for that. 

The boys built up a nice fire, each poking and prodding their own side with their favorite stick. You sat on one of the log benches next to Sophia and Janie. Johnny was across the fire, his arm around the waste of another girl counselor. Ceilidh you think it was. Pronounced like Kay-lee, she’d said. Pretty name, Gaelic. Made sense for him to go after a piece of home.

“Glad he’s finally left us alone.” Nat chuckled. 

“I think they’re cute.” Sophia said. You pushed down the twinge of jealousy you felt seeing her giggle at his joke. 

Warren came around with a cooler filled with a hodgepodge of beer. He was his fraternity’s president and one of his responsibilities was to get rid of any extra at the end of the term to avoid trouble. Dry campus issues. 

You grabbed a Modelo. Ale’s old go to and one you’d gotten used to drinking. It left a familiar warm feeling in your stomach.

You drank, you danced, you ate s’mores, you laughed with your new friends. The stars seemed so bright and clear out here. Janie had you all lay out on your backs in the grass nearby as she pointed out each constellation.

“That’s the big dipper and above it is the little dipper but Draco is the constellation between them. If you guys tell me your star signs I can point it out for you.”

There was laughter nearby and you glanced up to see Johnny and Ceilidh sneaking in the dark towards her cabin. 

You had another beer. And another. Maybe one more after that. 

Someone offered you a hit off a joint so you did that too. 

The four of you were laughing and stumbling back to Sophia’s cabin. You had no idea how late it was. The fire was dying out. Warren said he would make sure everyone got back inside all right. The designated driver of drunken counselors. He was a good guy. 

You found yourself laying on your side on one of the empty beds. Sophia and Janie were on her bed, half asleep against each other. Nat and you were talking about your childhoods. 

“I broke a bone three years in a row, each time in May. I missed field day every time. My mom once pulled me around in a wagon so I wouldn’t feel left out,” She laughed. 

“How did you break so many bones?”

“Catholic school where the playground was just a parking lot. I was a wild kid. I broke my arm tripping and falling against the priest’s car. I dented it too. I thought I was going to hell.”

There was a shrill noise. Loud and stomach dropping. A scream cut off. You and the other girls all jumped to attention. It was silent except for the crackling of the fire outside. 

“Fisher cat.” Janie said, trying to convince herself.

“Or a fox.” Sophia added. 

“Did you guys hear that?” Warren said, coming in. 

The four of you nodded.

“It sounded close. I’m gonna check it out.”

“By yourself?”

“One of the other guys is gonna come with me. It’s probably just an animal. If you see Johnny tell him to go check on everyone. I want a headcount before we all go to sleep.”

You all watched from the window as Warren met another guy holding a flashlight and a baseball bat. Sophia turned on the porch light. They disappeared between the cabin’s across the way. 

“Johnny and Celilidh went off together. Should we try to find them?” Sophia offered. 

“Maybe we should just stay here. Safety in numbers.” Janie answered. 

“Safety from what? It was just an animal.” Nat insisted. 

“Didn’t sound like an animal.” You thought. No one else would say it but you were all thinking it. A slide show of clips from horror films played through your mind. 

Four sets of eyes darted around, looking out windows and the front door, waiting for some masked killer to seep through the walls.

Bang!

You all screamed as Johnny flew through the door, clutching his stomach. 

“We have to go now!” He grunted. Blood was pouring between his fingers.

“Oh my god. What happened? Where’s Ceilidh?”

“Dead… fuck.. She’s fucking dead. Fucker came in through the window in the bathroom. I tried to fight him off. I’m sorry.” He gulped. “We have to go now!”

“You’re bleeding. Please let me look.” Janie reached out and he pushed her hand away. 

“Don’t have time. We have to go. Get my car keys. I can fit us all.”

“What about everyone else?” You asked. There was so much blood, it was dripping on the floor now. 

“I don’t know… when..when’s the last time you saw anyone?”

There was another scream from outside. Silence took you over again.

“Please… we can get out and get help but we have to go now.” Johnny pleaded. His bright blue eyes were watery and his tan skin was stained red down his legs. 

“I’m going.” Sophia said, grabbing her backpack. “Fuck this. I’m not fucking dying like it’s a movie. We’re all going. Johnny, do you need help?”

“No, I can manage. I need to get my keys though.”

“I have mine. We can just take my car. It’s an SUV.” Sophia urged, crouching down to look out of the door.

“No…no…I…I uh…I have a gun in my car.”

“You brought a fucking gun to camp?” Nat’s jaw dropped. 

“Old shotgun. It works. I’m trained for this. Get to the car and I… I can kill him.”

“You’re bleeding out, Johnny.” Janie cried, reaching for him again and once again being pushed away. 

“Come with me.” Johnny looked at you.

“I…I…I don’t know.” You were shaking. It didn’t seem real. Too cliche. A real life spree killer running around the woods of a Summer camp. Sophia was right, you didn’t want to die like it was some movie. 

“He knows I’m weak. He’ll go after me first. We’ll get my keys and if he shows up… you take them and run.”

“You..can’t sacrifice yourself.” Your voice warbled.

“It was my job to do that. If I can’t die saving my country, I’d like to die saving a group of pretty girls.”

Johnny was pleading. He seemed to know he couldn’t do it on his own. You thought about Ale saying you needed to stand up for yourself more. You never did. You didn’t stand up to bullies in high school, rogue professors in college or shitty demeaning bosses. You didn’t even stand up for yourself when Ale said he wanted a break. 

Nat was saying how you should all just run to Sophia’s car. She had her keys. Sophia was agreeing. Janie was crying silently. 

“I’ll go.” You forced the words out like vomit. It was that or actual vomit.

“Okay.” He almost smiled. “Sophia, turn off the lights. We’ll give you a signal when it's safe to come out. Then we all run to the parking lot.”

“What’s the signal?” Janie sobbed.

“I’ll whistle.”

You were shaking so much you worried you’d fall right down the front steps of the cabin. Johnny was in front of you, shoulders hunched up, his eyes darting everywhere. Sophia turned off the lights, leaving the two of you in near darkness. The fire was nothing more than orange smoldering logs. 

“You seem like you’ve done this before.” You said quietly, finding yourself holding the bottom hem of his shirt. 

“Like I said. It was my job.”

You walked on your tiptoes, trying not to make any noise. Your heart cried for the others. Even if you didn’t know them. You didn’t hear or see anyone. Maybe they all got out? They escaped already…or the killer was chasing them deeper into the woods.

You didn’t want to die. In the movies it always seemed so prolonged. The stabbings and bleeding out. Johnny had been hurt and he was still going on, trying to save you and everyone else. 

“Stay here. I’ll go check to make sure it's clear.” He said. You’d made it to his cabin, whole body still shaking just on his porch now. Your heart leapt into your throat as the door creaked open. 

“Be careful, please.”

He winked at you before heading in. You picked at the skin around your nails, a nasty old habit that you tried so hard to kick. You could forgive yourself for this relapse. It seemed an appropriate time to scratch out anxiety.

The step behind you creaked. Any light from the fire was blocked out. A arm wrapped around your neck and pulled you flush with a wall of muscle. You screamed for Johnny as a knife cut into your stomach.

It hurt worse than you thought it would. He was stabbing you over and over. All those movies and none prepared you for the sound that came from being stabbed yourself. The rush of blood in your head. You kicked and scratched the best you could, catching the gap of skin between his gloves and sleeves. Flesh caught under your nails and tore. The knife cut sideways across your stomach. Something wet and heavy hit the floor by your feet.

“Fucking cunt.” The man growled. You could have thrown up if it didn’t feel like your stomach had been torn open. 

You hit the porch face first, no strength left to even try to hold yourself up. Blood pooled in your mouth. He stepped around you and in the corner of your eye you could make him out. 

Large, well over six feet and bulky with large shoulders. A half skull mask covered the top part of his face. His head was buzzed. He had a hunting knife in his hand and it dripped your blood onto the wood and onto your face. 

“Johnny!” Your killer called. You’d doomed him too. He could have gotten away. Johnny would die and it would be your fault. They all would now and it was your fault. 

You closed your eyes as the throbbing subsided. You didn’t want to listen. He was so nice. He didn’t deserve it.

You didn’t deserve this. 

You closed your eyes and let yourself slip away. 

You heard music. Loud obnoxious music and singing from an off key baritone scot.

You opened your eyes and you were in your sleeping bag in your cabin. It was Sunday morning again. 

Shout out to @ceilidho for being an inspiration to me to write darker fics and letting me use her name for a counselor.

[orchidyoonkook]

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 7

Title: Hard Goodbyes and Favourite Colours

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: Nel flies home, Yuri flies back, Jungkook can't stop thinking about the other night. And you? Gods, don't even get me started.

Warnings: T, language, fluff (?), angst, reader is ~not~ okay for a chunk of this, bye bye Nel! it was nice to meet you, Yuri being the bestie she is, playful antagonism, JK thinking a lot, some photography technical words but nothing scary, reader is painting again, shocker.

Word Count: 4,463

Release Date: July 9, 2024. 2:00PM

A/N 1: Hi this was supposed to be released like a month and a half ago but then i went to europe and my brain was anywhere but near electronics. Anywhooo here she is, as always thanks for waiting and I'll try to be more consistent now that post vacation depression has kicked in.

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

Sometimes life works out incredibly conveniently for you, like when Nel’s flight leaves a half hour before Yuri’s gets in at the same airport. 

But then it sucks again as your week with Nel flies by so quickly it feels like you’ve had no time at all while also having so much because of all the new memories you’ve both made. 

Currently in a rideshare and airport bound, because you will be in no way okay to drive back, your grip on Nel’s hand is strangling as you take in every last second of time you can get with him. He keeps giving kisses to your forehead, nose, cheeks, mouth; anywhere he can get access to really. 

He doesn't want this week to end just as much as you don’t. Fuck this fucking sucks so much.

The driver pulls up to the terminal drop off, and you both exit. Nel grabs his bag from the trunk, now filled with little mementos from your week as well as his clothes. A pressed flower from the greenhouse, museum postcards, a doodle you did for him while he was sketching, and more, all tucked away for safekeeping. All the only physical things he can hold onto until he sees you next. 

Walking into the airport, you make your way up to the check in desk, paperwork already in hand. Nel checks in and you request an escort pass, determined to spend every last moment together. 

There’s a lump forming in your throat that you’re trying to swallow. It’s thick, like a ball of unending peanut butter you can’t get down. And your chest feels like a black hole has opened inside of it, right where your heart is supposed to be. Every second that ticks away allowing another drop of the warmth you have with him to be sucked right out of your sternum.

Painful doesn’t even begin to describe this feeling. 

As beautiful as your week was, the reality of the present is setting in, and the closer you get to his gate, the closer you are to tears. You���re trying your best to blink them away, but you won’t be seeing him until winter break, and even then, that’ll only be for a day or two at most before you have to wait till summer to see him again. So it might as well be goodbye for those full 6 months.

It hurts. It hurts so bad to have to go through this over and over again, to have this separation from the one you love, even if it’s only temporary. Funny how temporary can sometimes feel like forever when you’re in the middle of it. 

Funny how the concept of temporary doesn’t make the gash in your heart open any less.

You don’t want him to go, but you know he has too. The faster he goes, the faster he can come back to you. 

You hate that he has to go in the first place. You just want him to stay. Please, just stay.

But he can’t. 

You reach his gate and before you know it, his flight’s being called to board and your tears refuse to stay inside any longer, the lump succeeding in its plot of victory. They spill down your cheeks in silent rivers, wet splotches on the neckline of your shirt forming as they flow. 

Maybe they’ll create a little lake in the hole he’s leaving you with. There’s certainly enough of them to fill it. Something to fill the void a little until you can see him again.

Nel takes one look before scooping you into a crushing hug, a desperate echo of the one from a week ago. His own tears now staining.

“I love you so much,” he says. You don’t see his eyes squeeze shut, nor do you see him memorizing your smell, as he kisses the top of your head. And his voice wobbles as he whispers, “It’s not forever, it’s just for now.” 

He says those words every time you two part, whether it was for a day or a year. Never goodbye or so long. Never see you later. 

They’ve always been a small comfort in otherwise shitty situations. 

“Just for now,” you get out through quiet sobs, gripping onto him even tighter as you shake. 

It takes you a couple deep breaths before you can say anything without breaking. “I love you too. Please be safe, message me when you land, and do well on your final exams.”

He smiles at that last bit, and your tears free themselves again. You’re going to miss seeing that smile in person.

Nel pulls you in once more, tighter. “It’s always harder when my good luck charm is halfway across the world, but I’ll manage.” Your sobs stutter with a broken laugh, and you’re pretty sure his sweater is going to have tear stains on it. “I promise I’ll message as soon as I can. And I’d wish you luck but you never need it. You always do well.”

The announcement for final boarding calls and both of you freeze in each other's arms. You don’t want him to go. He doesn’t want to go.

But he has too. 

You separate only enough to kiss. It’s messy and wet and gross, but you don’t care. It’s the last one you’ll have for a while and you never want it to end. 

But it does. 

Nel pulls away, and you reluctantly let him. He grabs his bag with one hand, the other holding onto both of yours as he backs away until he can no longer reach. Your arms drop to your sides with the traces of his warmth on your skin.

You watch as the boarding crew welcomes him on, and he takes one look back at you. 

You wave, mouthing ‘I love you.’

He mouths ‘I love you’ right back, and turns the corner.

You waited for Yuri at her terminal after dropping off Nel and taking five—okay ten—minutes to violently sob in the bathroom. 

She took one look at your half smile and puffy eyes and smothered you in a hug. Smelling like sunshine and ocean water, it was exactly what you needed. 

“It’s okay Sweets, you’ll see him again before you know it. This year will pass by so fast, just you see,” she tells you through your whimpers, the tears having returned the second her arms were around you.

They dry sometime on the way home. It was a thirty minute ride back to school, and they fell silently for a solid twenty before you even got in.

You hate goodbyes. 

But Yuri’s seen this three times now, and she always knew that a warm drink and junk food were in your immediate shared futures when she did. Screw healthy coping methods. It may be 9:30pm on a Sunday night, but that won’t stop you from downing a pint as you drown your sorrows in sweet, sweet cookies n cream. 

Yuri also knows you need a distraction, so she doesn’t hold back on telling you every detail of her vacation. 

The duke from a few weeks ago had been a dud. ‘Shit personality and even shittier sex’ according to Yuri. No consultation needed. 

But this new guy from the Ilcalos Islands sounds promising. He’s a Count of something she can’t remember but in her words, “big heart and even bigger dick.” 

That makes you giggle. And you’re happy for her. 

“Bitch, the second night he did this thing with his tongue and an ice cube and oh. my. god. I think I’m in love. That man could do whatever he wanted to me and I’d still say thank you afterwards,” she’s rambling at this point and you’re mentally apologizing to the driver for having to hear all of it. 

You, on the other hand, don’t mind at all; gladly welcome it actually. You want your mind anywhere other than the present right now. 

You don’t want to start crying all over again. By the morning you’ll be fine, you’ll have let out everything you needed too. But between then and now, it’s a matter of mentioning the wrong words or seeing an intriguingly designed building that could trigger those pesky tear ducts.

So you listen to Yuri go on and on about this guy, all his techniques and what she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about since she last saw him. His number is already saved in her phone under a very inappropriate name, but you expect nothing less from her. 

You love her for it. For this. 

For knowing what you need to stay afloat right now and not allowing you to throw the anchor overboard with your leg chained to the end.

You really fucking hate goodbyes. 

You’re staring at him. 

Like, full on, no bars held, staring at him. 

And Jungkook’s pretending he doesn’t notice.

You’re sitting in your chair and he’s back in his beside you at greenhouse cafe. Your half done painting of pink flowers sits in front of you, his laptop screen’s filled with this week's newly assigned ‘Studio Portrait Techniques 1’ homework. 

His half finished coffee on his table. An empty pastry bag on yours.

His hands on his keyboard, yours gripping a brush.

And you’re staring at him. 

He’s hoping it’s because this is the first time you’ve seen him since Nel left. 

But it’s probably to do with the fact that he hasn’t looked at you once today. Or the fact that he’s barely spoken at all when he usually can’t seem to shut up when it’s been more than 48 hours since he last saw you. 

Because it’s also the first time he’s seen you since he was with Adaline, imaging she wasn’t Adaline.

“You’re acting weird,” you say.

“No I’m not,” he responds a little too quickly, eyes still focused on his computer.

Yes he is. He really, totally is. 

“Yes you are, you won't look at me and you’ve barely said two words since I got here.” Well your knack for observancy is still intact.

Normally that's a good thing, but right now?

“Did I do something wrong?”

No. No you didn’t.

He did.

He let his emotions get the best of him in a moment of weakness. He let himself become so overwhelmed with feelings he isn’t allowed to have. He let them win for a single night.

And now if he isn’t paying the goddamned consequences. 

After that night with Adaline, Jungkook had woken up filled with regret. He’d crossed a line he didn’t even know he should have drawn in very dark, very permanent ink.

For letting himself, just for one moment, imagine what it would be like to be with…

And things are harder than ever to shove down now. He can’t look even look at you without thinking about it. About what he did. What he wanted. 

Wants.

Fuck, he’s in over his head.

Jungkook forces himself to look at you, putting his years of social training and emotional masking to good use. It sure as hell came in handy during times like this.

Because you can never know. 

He can’t lose you because he's unable to get his shit together. It’s not your fault he feels like this. 

So he lies. Both to you and to himself, hoping it might help him believe it.

“Nothing’s wrong Dali, just focused on my work is all. We got assigned a big project on Monday and I’m planning out all my shoots.”

You look hesitant, like you can see right through his bullshit excuse that was only a half excuse because this project is massive. 

“If you say so,” your tone implying you don’t believe him, but thankfully, you let it go and lean closer to him to see. He pretends his breathing doesn’t hitch, “What’s the project?”

“It’s my final assignment for a class, I have to do a series of five portraits. Each one with a different style, capturing a different emotion, and they all have to be of the same subject to show the true versatility of my work. It’s easy to make things look different when it’s different people being photographed,” he explains.

Therefore, this assignment, and all of its working parts, is huge. He’s glad it’s due in the middle of December because it’s going to take him almost a month of planning to get it all together; backdrops, concepts, costumes, previsualization, focal lengths, props, equipment, lighting setups, etc. And then when the planning is over: to shoot, narrow down and edit. 

But that’s the point of it. To have the students demonstrate they know how to effectively expand on the definition of a ‘portrait’ instead of having one concept in mind and sticking to it. 

‘To broaden your creative approaches to seemingly simple constructs,’ as his professor would say.

He loves the way this professor does assignments. How she layers them so that not only does he learn how to shoot multi-concept ideas for the same project type, allowing him to add to his creative portfolio, but they also force him to break out of the expected conclusions for an idea and think outside the box. 

“Oh wow, that is a lot,” you say. Because you understand long running projects. 50 hour paintings don’t just happen in a day. “Do you have any ideas yet?”

“Yeah! I have them all already, actually,” he turns his computer towards you and you see a point by point list of summarized ideas.

- Bright and bold - happy, bright smile, colourful gels - Black and white, soft light: gel or bounce? Silk diffuser  - profile with water falling on face - relieved - Focused on passion - candid, regular colour. Diffuser? Or silk flag? - Normal colour profile, stark lighting - serious, front facing body, profile facing left, no visible clothing, “regal” _|(_*-*)>_. Flag.  - Mysterious - black background, white smoke, barely visible model, lower half of face painted black, upper half white, striking purple eyes (contacts?). Flags. Gels? 

“I’m really excited for this project,” he says, “it’s just the prep that’s going to take a while. Getting it all mapped and planned out. It’s mostly concepts right now.”

You nod, understanding once again. Though very different mediums, visual arts and photography are similar in many ways. 

“Adaline going to be your model?”

It doesn’t surprise him you think that, but he has no intentions of ever using Adaline for assignments or homework. 

“Actually, I… uhh…” he trails off. Jungkook’s trying to get the words out, he is. But they’re surprisingly difficult for some reason, and getting caught in his throat. 

Which makes his earlier anxious state come back in full force. 

It shouldn't be this difficult. It won’t be the first, second or fifth time he’s asked you.

Get the words out Jeon. Put on your professional face, this is nothing new.

He fails, instead, his voice comes out barely above a whisper as he says, “I was going to ask you if you would.”

You somehow hear him. 

“Me?” you look dumbfounded. 

“Yes, you.” He’s always used you for homework assignments before, so he’s not sure why all of a sudden this is surprising. Maybe because it’s a final assignment versus a weekly one? The effort will be greater? 

“But you have Adaline? I assumed that she would take up the position of model when you guys started going out.”

Oh. That makes more sense. 

But that is one mistake he won’t be making again, because he did ask Adaline. 

Once.

It was recent, Nel was still here and he didn’t want to disturb you because of that. Plus Jungkook was just trying to get a jump on his upcoming assignments anyway, taking a page from your book.

So he asked Adaline. And she leapt at the opportunity, like he expected.

What he didn’t expect, was when she essentially directed, staged, lit and posed every. single. shot. so that she would look her best. 

All he did was click the capture image button when she said too. 

And after the shoot, before he could even think to look at the pictures, Adaline was already there, holding his camera, going through them and deleting any picture she deemed ‘ugly.’

He was left with less than 20 images from the shoot where he was ordered to take over 200. And she even made him switch out one of the three he narrowed down for one she liked better. 

So no, he would not be asking Adaline to model. 

Ever again.

“Nah. You’re a lot easier to work with because you don't care how the pictures turn out, and let me do my thing. Adaline cares a bit too much, and has to have approval on all of them before I submit.”

You snort. “Seriously? Is she that self absorbed?” a quirked brow places itself on your face to match the smirk now on your mouth.

That’s new.

Your tone towards Adaline has always been neutral, if not a bit sharp when he talks about her. 

But this one? It’s like you know her, and knew she was like that, but didn’t know it was this severe. 

Adaline is very popular...maybe you two met and it didn't go well?

It certainly sounds like you don’t like her, if those six words were anything to go by. Which, he guesses they shouldn’t, but he knows you well enough by now to know the difference.

And if he’s honest, that wouldn’t shock him in the slightest. You two are nothing alike, and thank god for that. 

He covers for Adaline, like any boyfriend would. Though it stings a little bit.

“She’s just careful about what images could be leaked to the press. Can’t really blame her for that.”

Your face changes minutely, as if a second of understanding passes through before you turn to go back to your painting, and mutter, “no, you can’t,” placing a splash of pink on a flower. 

He returns to his work as well, switching the portrait assignment out for a different one. He needs to get his mind off it for a while before circling back. 

And the fact that you didn’t answer him. 

Deciding on a Design and Visual Culture assignment due next week, he dives in head first, resuming his earlier state of focus and avoidance.

Jungkook’s editing a picture when you stretch. 

You often hunch over your work, so you try to stretch every 30 minutes or so. Your arms are in the air and he catches a peek at the nearly finished floral study. 

They’re some kind of vibrant pink dangling flowers, and you’ve captured the likeness of them quite well, to no surprise of his, so he goes to compliment it but you beat him to the punch.

“Shots blurry.”

Jungkook does a double take at his laptop screen. He’d spent the better part of 40 minutes editing the image and hadn’t noticed that.

Because it’s not. It’s perfectly crisp and clear.

When he looks back to you, you have a shit eating grin on your face. 

Ah, he knows that look. 

You love to tease him about little things like that, giving him mini heart attacks. ‘Pay back for that first day,’ you claim. 

Well…

Two can play this game, so he plays off your comment.

“Oh, you're right. Thanks,” and he switches to another image. 

Your grin falters but you recover quickly.

“No problem.”

See, while you know how to playfully harass him about his pictures, Jungkook knows how…particular you are about your colours. How they need to be labelled correctly instead of by their umbrella terms like ‘blue’ or ‘red.’ Because blue or red could mean any one of the dozens of ‘sub colours.’

‘It’s not blue, it’s cerulean,’ you’d remark. 

‘That’s not red, it’s burgundy,’ you’d correct him.

You’re always correcting him, and it makes his pants tighten a little bit every time. But that’s on the other side of the line he does not cross anymore. A nice, big, fat, permanent, protective line. 

Jungkook settles for a more subtle method of attack. Using this little fact and your ridiculously extensive knowledge of flowers against you. 

He never thought the defense and attack lessons his father put him through would come in handy like this. But he’s glad for them now. It was the only time he could ever outsmart you.

He gestures to your canvas. “Those pink flowers are pretty, what are they called?” 

“Their common name is Lady’s Eardrop. And they’re magenta.”

Hook, line, sinker. 

He doesn’t even have to try, you walk right into it every time.

“Lady’s eardrop? That’s a weird name…do they come in other colours besides pink?”

You don’t look up as you reply. 

“Magenta, and yeah. Some are plum and magenta, some are a buttery white and magenta, and then some have this like, almost dark tangerine hue, but they’re a different type, longer. Not the same as those,” you point with the end of your brush to the greenhouse, where the fully magenta lady’s eardrop sits in the window. 

“And are these pink ones your favourite?” he’s really trying his best to keep a straight face as yours contorts with an eye twitch at every use of the word.

“They’re. Magenta. And sure, but the plum ones are pretty too.”

“Noted, the pink lady's eardrop are your favourite among eardrops.”

You break, turning to him, voice raising in minor annoyance. Jungkook bites his cheeks to keep a smile at bay.

“They are magenta. Not pink. Pink entails a lighter hue, there’s more titanium white in pink. That,” you point again, “is very clearly, magenta.”

He has to. 

He can’t help it. 

You’re sexy when you're assertive, he thinks. Tip toeing on that nice, big line.

But also hilarious. 

“Same difference.”

He can see the fire in your eyes blaze.

“No, not ‘same difference,’ they’re magenta!”

He’s leaning in. “Pink,” eyeing your lips as you speak. 

You lean in too, enunciating every syllable to prove your point. “Ma-gen-ta.”

Your noses are mere inches from touching. 

“They’re pink, Van Gogh,” he backs off before he does something stupid that he’ll regret, “Don’t get so invested.”

You back off too, sass still very evident when you reply, “They’re fucking magenta, asshat. Two completely different colours and you’ll label them as such around me.”

You’ve always had a mouth on you. One you aren’t scared to use when necessary, especially around him. So he doesn’t push any farther, knowing he’s already gotten what he wanted and then some. 

But also because sitting has become slightly uncomfortable. There was a stiff breeze, he tells himself.

Thank god for baggy, oversized hoodies. 

Returning once again to his work, he puts an elbow on the table and places his hand on the left side of his face to hide the massive smile that’s trying its best to turn into a smothered laugh.

Unfortunately for him, he lets his Princely guard down around you and so he forgets to force it down to an uncomfortable degree like he would at the palace. His laugh slipping out as a strangled noise and he quickly turns it into a cough, hoping you don't notice. 

But you do, because it’s you. Of course you do.

And the look on your face is priceless.

“You did that on purpose!”

“What?” he says way too high pitched. “Nooo, I would never, one hundred percent intentionally, say pink just to get back at you for pointing out the non-existent blur in my perfectly clear picture.”

He can see you trying to control your features, can see you failing and giving up by facing your canvas again, smiling to yourself.

“I was wondering how many times I could get you to say it. I think that was somewhere around ten? Gotta be a new record.”

You roll your eyes at him, but your quirked mouth remains. 

“You’re such a dick,” you quip.

“Yet, you like me anyways.”

You mumble something incoherent.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Awe, c’mon now. Fess up.”

A pause, before, “I said I just remembered I don’t know your favourite colour.”

No you most certainly did not, but he’ll let it slide.

“Black.”

“Ugh, boring.”

“What?”

“Boring,” you say again with absolutely no hesitation and proceed to grace his eyes with your own. “And technically not a colour. Black’s a shade.”

Jungkook offers up a non-smothered chuckle, saving his throat from further shenanigans.

“Whatever, Seurat, it’s still black. What about you? What’s Miss High and Mighty All Knowing of Colours’ favorite?”

“It’s still a shade,” you repeat.

“It’s still my favourite. Answer the question,” he presses. 

You give him an unimpressed stare. 

“Violet. Royal violet. The one your dad wears a lot,” your expression softens to one of wonder as you continue. Like you didn't just refer to the King of the nation you live in as ‘his dad’ so casually. “And when it’s not that, it’s this bright yellow. Like sunflowers or daffodils. Or the colour leaves turn in the fall when the light hits them from above just right.”

It’s Jungkook's turn to stare now. You look lost in your own head, envisioning the colours you describe, seeing them dancing in your eyes. And he can’t help himself, you glow when you speak about something you're passionate about.

“Why two?” 

“Why not?” you answer, still dreaming, colours swimming in oceans of thought. Your voice is almost whimsical. “Don’t you get bored of one colour for too long? It’s nice to switch things up every now and then.”

His reply brings you back down to earth, albeit slowly.

“Red.”

“Hmm?” you touch ground.

“If you won’t accept black, then red. The rich dark one, like blood.” He chose the first colour that came into mind, not really caring which one. 

He did like red. Red looked good in many ways. On cars, clothes, lips...

But he chose the first one that popped into mind because after hearing your favourite colours and the reasons why, he started to like them more than all the others too.

“Red’s a great choice, strong,” you say, allowing him the blanket term just this once.

“Thanks.”

There’s a moment of comfortable quiet between you before you break it.

“When do you need me for the shoot?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows find his hairline. 

That was a yes, right? You’re saying yes?

“Uhm…soon, I’ll let you know the specifics when I do.”

“Sounds good.”

He was going to leave it at that, but adds, “Thanks, Y/N.”

He hasn’t said your name since the assembly. 

Always nicknames when talking to you. Always. 

Never your name. 

Not once in two months. Almost three.

You—

An inhale.

You…like it.

The way it sounds coming from his lips.

Exhale.

Chapter Eight: Photo Shoots and Blasphemous Discoveries

A/N 2: She's shorter but chapter 8 is like 11k so far, so I hope that makes up for it!

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

[the-screams-of-the-damned]

Making Music Pt. 1

Min Yoongi X Fem! Reader

In which a hard working Yoongi has to make up for ignoring his girlfriend.

Contains: established relationship, fluff, smut, possessive behavior, slightly manipulative behavior, mild angst?, rough, oral (m receiving), face fucking, hard-dom Yoongi, impact play, degrading, praise

It had been three weeks since Yoongi had started work on his new album. And three weeks since he'd taken a break. You only saw him when he came out to the kitchen to grab something to eat or the few times he slept in bed instead of in his studio. You'd seen him like this before, of course. It wasnt uncommon for him to get carried away in his work. You had even gotten him a more comfortable couch for his studio so he could sleep there without hurting his back and neck.

But something about this time was different. Yoongi didn't even acknowledge you when he was around, barely sparing you a "hello" when you saw him. No "thank you" when you made him dinner and kept it warm until he remembered to eat, no goodnight kiss when he came for bed. You began to feel.... lonely.

So here you were, standing in the kitchen, peeling tangerines to bring your boyfriend, and forming a plan.

Yoongi had one very powerful weakness, one that would tear him away from his work long enough to take care of himself and you: possessiveness. He hated the thought of you with someone else, even snapping at his group members when they got too friendly. And he loved that you were his. He lived to mark up your skin, dress you up in his clothes, or pull you close to prove it.

You'd decided on one of his hoodies, a favorite of his that you'd been wearing recently since you missed him. It was black with some of his song lyrics down the sleeves in grey. Way too big for you wear regularly, but perfect for wearing around the house. You matched it with a simple pair of black pajama shorts and a white tank top.

You carefully made your way to Yoongi's studio, located in the basement of your large house. You felt a chill down your spine with how cool the basement air was. It was always freezing in the winter.

You punched in the first code, and then the second, granting you access to the studio. You rarely went down here, only when you were concerned about him.

Yoongi didn't notice when you entered the studio, holding a plate of tangerines and a glass of water. He was wrapped up in his computer, brows furrowed, hair falling in his dark eyes, and biting his lip in frustration.

He didn't look up until you placed the plate and glass beside his computer. His eyes softened when he saw you, if only a little bit.

"Thank you." He said dryly, reaching for the water.

You leaned on his desk, facing him. "It's late. I thought you might like a snack."

He nodded before bringing the glass to his lips. His eyes found your jacket, a glimmer of recognition dancing in them.

"I guess I'll be going," you pout, "unless theres anything else you'd like me to do?" You push off of the desk, standing fully.

"C'mere," he orders, leaning back in his chair.

You smile as he pats his lap, signaling for you to take your place. You do so happily, pressing your side into his chest.

"You're quite eager," he teases, giving you a tired smile.

You sigh, resting your head on his shoulder. "I've missed you."

"I'm sorry, baby." Yoongi shifts a bit, pulling the plate into your lap so he could reach it easier. "Open."

You open your mouth just enough for him to slide a slice of tangerine between your lips. You smile as you sink your teeth into it, tasting the sweet juice.

"They're in season, you know. I bought a whole bag just for you," you inform.

He chuckled a bit, deep from his chest. "I dont deserve you," he whispered. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer.

"Mmmm nope," you tease. You raise your head to kiss him on the cheek, seeing his soft smile widen.

You place your hand on Yoongi's strong chest, feeling his muscles relax under his soft shirt. He sighs, looking back at his computer screen.

"I'm stuck on this one part," he admits. "Can't figure out what's wrong."

"I'm sorry, baby." You reach into your lap, bringing a slice of fruit to your boyfriend's waiting lips. He takes it into his mouth greedily. "That must be frustrating." You spoke in the pouty tone he knew all too well.

He looked down at you, heart beat beginning to calm. "And what have you been up to, hm?"

You take a slice of tangerine before speaking. "Not much. Jimin and I went shopping the other day." You felt him turn towards you, just a bit too fast to be out of regular interest. You had him.

Yoongi swallowed before replying. "Oh? Where'd you go?" Yoongi was especially cautious around Jimin, knowing what kind of flirt Jimin was. It was a bit of a cruel trick, but it was for his own good. And a bit of punishment for ignoring you.

"The mall downtown. We didnt get much, it was really just to get out of the house." You took a slow bite and swallowed as he nodded. "Though he did buy me a new bag."

You felt his heart skip a beat at that.

He wanted to provide for you. That was his job. He took pride in that job, how dare Jimin take that away from him!

"You should've asked me," he said harshly, trying not to snap at you. "I would've bought it for you."

"You've been so busy lately, I didnt want to bother you," you whined.

"Hmph." His grip on your waist tightened a bit. You simply smiled and ate another tangerine slice.

"What else did you do?" He asked. He popped another tangerine slice into his mouth and tried to calm himself. Maybe struggling with the song had something to do with it, he shouldn't be this angry over a bag.

"I went to the gym a few times." He squeezed you just a bit tighter. God you really did miss his touch. You knew the gym would get him. He loved to watch you at the gym, but hated to let others see you.

"Did you use the one at the agency?"

"I can't get in without you. You know that," you remind him.

"Then you should've taken my ID, that would've got you in." His tone was getting harsher. You'd be lying if you said it didnt turn you on a bit.

"Ugh," you weren't sure why you began to get legitimatelyfrustrated, putting the plate back on his desk and standing. This was your plan, wasnt it? "Whats the big deal about me using a public gym?"

Yoongi bit his cheek at that before responding. "It's not safe," he lied. He'd never admit it was just because he was possessive.

Then a truth came out. Something you never intended to say. You barely even realized you felt that way until you felt a lump in your throat as you said it.

"With how you've been acting lately, I didn't think you cared!"

You turned away, not knowing what had compelled you to say it. You couldn't look at him after saying it.

Just as you began to walk away, Yoongi stopped you. He grabbed your waist, almost slamming it back into his desk, and caging you in. He leaned over you, lifting your face to meet his eyes for the first time in three weeks. It looked like he was searching for something, anything to tell him you were lying.

"Have you really forgotten-" his tone was low and dangerous, "- how much I love you?"

You swallowed, a mixture of anxiety and arousal building in your gut at the position you were in. "It's not like you've shown it recently."

He thought for a moment, biting his lip. You watched his eyes as they roamed your body, an odd combination of hunger and rage within them.

"I'll have to remind you then," he declared. "But first-" he pulled you off of his desk, lowering his hand to your neck and leaning into your ear, "- I have to remind you who owns you."

You felt a familiar heat pooling in your core as he said that.

And he knew. He smirked against your cheek for a moment as he heard you gasp lightly. His foot came up, hitting the back of your knee, and causing it to buckle.

Your knees hit the ground hard, making your groan at the impact. He held your neck, keeping your head from hitting his desk. You looked up at him, watching the dim studio lights gleem off of his skin.

"Yoon-" he cut you off with a slap, just hard enough to sting. He'd never hit you hard enough to bruise.

"Did I say you could speak?" He moved his hand upward, letting his long fingers squish your cheeks. He turned you head side to side to emulate shaking it. "No, I didn't."

You gave him your best puppy eyes, a silent and ingenuine plee for mercy.

He let out a low, sadistic chuckle. "Awwwww, pathetic little baby." He plopped back down in his chair, gripping your hair now. "C'mon, Doll. Do I still need to tell you what to do? You've done it a thousand times. Or are you really just a stupid little toy for me?"

[embrosegraves]

𝕊𝕡𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕀𝕔𝕖 𝔸𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥

(request) Kimi Räikkönen x Fem!Reader Kimi only allowed one person to truly know him. You.

Warnings: a bit of cussing, poorly google translated Finnish, and extremely brief research of cities in Finland. Briefly edited.

Kimi famously never allowed his emotions to be on open display for the people around him. He never let people see behind his frosty facade. He never let people get close enough for them to figure him out. He always kept everyone at a distance so there was no possible way for anyone to truly know the type of man he was. Excluding his parents, there was only one exception to all of it.  

You. 

Kimi never intended to bump into anyone on his break between seasons. He had chosen Pori specifically because he knew that no one he worked with knew enough about Finland to know where Pori was. None of his colleagues knew that Pori was roughly a 3 hour drive north west of his home town. With a population of 83 thousand compared to Espoo’s 310 thousand, it wasn’t an extremely well known place. 

Kimi supposed he shouldn’t’ve been so surprised when he bumped into you, causing your coffee to spill everywhere. But he couldn’t help it. He never would’ve expected to literally bump into someone he worked with. 

“Katsu se!” You exclaimed. Too busy trying to wipe off the spilt coffee before it could stain your coat too badly. [Watch it!]

“L/n?” 

Of course you knew who it was, how could you not? It wasn’t like you spent a majority of the year around him, battling it out every weekend for top spot on the podium. 

“What Räikkönen? Didn’t expect to see me over break?” You finally looked up and made eye contact with the Finn. 

“Why are you in Finland?” 

“Am I not allowed to go home during winter break?” This had stunned Kimi more than bumping into you. 

“Home?” 

Your annoyance had disappeared a while ago, the whole situation was too amusing for you to be truly annoyed. “Räikkönen, just because I race under a different flag doesn’t mean I’m not associated with another country. I was born in Pori, spent 14 years here before moving overseas.” 

After that the rest was history. You ended up spending more and more of your winter break around Kimi. So much time that the Finn found himself opening up more and more around you. At first he had been the same cold, closed off Kimi that you were used to, but soon enough his metaphorical ice walls began to melt around you. He learnt that your mother had been born in Finland and had met your father while on holiday. You told him that your father had moved to Finland to be with your mother and that you always spent winter break in Pori. You travelled so much for the rest of the year you found there was no point travelling between seasons. 

Throughout your time together, Kimi found himself telling you things he had only ever told his parents. He told you how he had wanted to eventually settle down and start a family. He told you that he truly did believe that Formula 1 was a hobby, that it wasn’t just something he said for the cameras. He told you that sometimes, in the privacy of his own home, he often thought about his imaginary daughters running around and filling his house with giggles and bright smiles. 

Eventually, the winter break would come to an end, and you would both have to go back to the rush of racing every weekend. About a week before preseason testing, you had been hanging out with Kimi in your living room. Talking about everything you had done so far in your careers. Kimi had smiled when you started to laugh at the story he had just finished telling. 

Watching you laugh at something he said had him feeling almost giddy with nerves. He had never felt this way with a woman before. Not one to let an opportunity slip by, he spoke up softly. 

“Y/n?” 

“Yes Kimi?” You responded, trying your best to calm down from laughing.

“Let me take you on a date.” 

“Kimi- what?” 

“I want to take you on a date. These last months have let me understand that everything I want in life, I want them to be with you.” He said. Taking your hand in his, he spoke with a sincerity you had never seen or heard in a man before. “Let me take you on a date and show you.” 

Your free hand had covered your mouth as he spoke. A month ago, when you realised what your own feelings for him were, you had become determined to never mention them. There was no way The Iceman of all people would feel the same about you. Yet here he was. Sitting on your couch and asking you to go on a date with him. 

“Yes.” 

Kimi gave you a smile that had become less and less rare the more you spent time with him. 

“Thank you.” 

It had been three years since then. In that time you had gone on dates in every country you had travelled to. You both celebrated every win and comforted every loss. Two years into dating, Kimi had asked you to move in and marry him and during the mid-year break, surrounded by both your immediate families, you had become Y/n Räikkönen. Kimi hadn’t cared about telling the other drivers or the media, and you had agreed saying that it would be far funnier if they found out on their own. So nothing had changed in your public routines. In your head you thought the funniest part of it all would be that no one on the grid knew you had even started dating each other. 

Neither of you had gone out of your way to avoid the other, in fact the other drivers often saw you both hanging around each other. Nobody had any inkling that You and Kimi were together as more than friends. Many gossip sources chalked it up to the two “outcasts” of the grid hanging out and left it at that. So it was a surprise to everyone when some fans had pointed out on social media that your signature had changed from your race number and maiden name to Räikkönen. 

Jensen and Fernando, being constantly online, had dragged Sebastian to immediately start searching for the Finn. What they had found was more surprising than your change of signature. Opening the door to Kimi’s drivers room, the three of them saw you sitting on the couch with Kimi lounging on your lap, asleep. You had one hand running through his hair as he slept while the other was scrolling on your phone. Looking up as the door opened, you smiled when you saw who it was. 

“Hello boys. Anything I can help you with?” You asked. Fernando was too shocked to say anything and Jensen had just started stuttering out incoherent sounds, so it was up to Sebastian. 

“There are fans saying that your signature has changed.” 

You huffed a gentle laugh, trying not to disturb your husband from his rest. “That’s because it has.” 

“But why?” Jensen had managed to get his English under control enough to start actually speaking. 

“Why’d you think it would change Jense?” You were having too much fun with this. 

“But you have never shown any interest in Kimi. And Kimi doesn’t show interest in anything, so when?” It was Fernando’s turn to get over his shock. “How long have you been married? Why did we not know?” 

By now Kimi was definitely awake, though he made no show of it. You could feel Kimi’s hand that was resting between you and the couch back start to gently stroke your thigh. You knew he was also amused. 

“I wasn’t aware I needed to tell you who I was interested in. If I’d known I would’ve told you three years ago.” 

“Three years!?” The three of them cried. 

Eyes still closed, Kimi mumbled to you. “Käske heitä naimaan. Nukun.” [Tell them to fuck off. I’m sleeping.]

“Luulen, että olet levännyt tarpeeksi, rakkaani.” You replied laughing. All Kimi did was groan. [I think you’ve rested enough, my love.] 

“If you wake up properly, I’ll give you a kiss.” 

Opening his eyes, Kimi briefly glanced at the three flabbergasted men still in his driver's room, before looking directly at you. “Teet kovaa kauppaa, vaimo.” [You drive a hard bargain, wife.] 

He sat up nonetheless and moved so you could place your legs over his lap. He looked at the others and spoke. “What else did you want to blubber about?” 

 Kimi was aware that he had a resting bitch face, and most times he didn’t mean to glare at people, but the three men in front of you had clearly been terrified of what Kimi might do if they stayed, so they quickly made their way out of the room. 

“I told you they would find out from the fans.” You laughed. A smile broke out on Kimi’s face. 

“I really thought they were smart enough to figure it out themselves.” 

“Sebastian I could understand, but we’re talking about Jensen and Fernando here, my love. They were never going to figure it out on their own.” 

“That’s true.” Kimi shifted you closer to him, so that you were sitting on his lap facing him. “I believe I was promised a kiss, Wife.” 

“How could I ever deny you, Husband?” You whispered, leaning in close and gently placing your lips to his. His hand moved to the back of your neck to pull you closer and deepen the kiss. Both of you aware of the three drivers that had yet to move from the other side of Kimi’s door. 

It wasn’t your fault if they saw something they shouldn’t’ve.

Okay, time got away from me for a bit but here it is!

I hope you all enjoyed!

Likes, replies and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[earier]

・ ROTTEN WORK 京谷 賢太郎 » ❪ KYOTANI KENTAROU ❫

word count. 667.

content warning. f!reader. angst - self deprecation. profanity. smoking cigarettes. bartender!kyotani. mention of one (1) ex-girlfriend.

Loving him is rotten work; he’s known that for years. He cusses, he fights, he’s mean, he doesn’t know when to quit, he doesn’t do the dishes after he’s done with dinner, he walks away, he leaves his dirty clothes wherever he wants to. It’s difficult to love him. He knows that because it’s been said to him time and time again.

“I didn’t even know you cared about me until we broke up,” his ex-girlfriend once said to him. His hands were clenched under the table, eyes roaming over her face. Her hair looked so soft, all he wanted to do was reach out and run his hands through it. “It’s difficult to love someone when they don’t . . . love you the same. Y’know?”

He didn’t know, but he nodded and stood up. Because he’s not a complete asshole, he threw twenty dollars on the table and promptly exited the coffee shop.

And now, three months later, he stands on the corner in front of the shitty bar he works at, resisting the urge to shiver as he takes a long drag of his cigarette. It’s a bad habit that he can’t seem to kick. Not when he gets to talk to you everytime he goes for a smoke break.

You’re nothing special, he tells himself, just a girl who happens to work at the same shitty bar as him. You’re his manager, a little uptight and a lot stressed out. And broke. Which is why Kyotani finds himself buying a pack of cigarettes twice a week, rather than once. Even though he’ll never admit it out loud, he doesn’t mind sharing.

“Hey, Mad Dog,” a familiar voice cuts through the icy air and he resists the urge to grin. He hates that stupid nickname, but maybe it’s not as bad when it comes from your mouth. He turns his head to find you clad in your too-big coat and a scarf. “Can I bum one?” You ask, nodding to the cigarette in his hand.

“You’re cleaning out my bank account with how many cigs you steal, asshole.” His words hold no malice behind them. He reaches into his back pocket and flips the lid of the box open. The tips of your fingers are red, he cringes as your hands shake.

You laugh and stick the cigarette between your lips, tilting your head. “Not my fault you keep sharing with me,” you mumble, grinning the best you can. “Lighter?”

He fishes out his lucky lighter—the one that he got in high school—and stares at the faded red swirls as the lighter flickers alive. You inhale a shuddering breath, letting your eyes close as the nicotine fills your lungs.

“God,” you groan, exhaling heavily. “I needed that. Tonight has been fucking terrible. Two bachelor parties? Who the hell even gets married in winter?”

He snickers and shrugs, shoving one of his hands into his pocket and glancing around the busy street. “Chicks at the end of the bar keep asking guys to buy them drinks,” he says. He turns to look at you and smirks. “They’ve been rejected every time.”

You laugh and Kyotani feels his knees weaken. You’re nothing special, he repeats to himself. Just a coworker—the only coworker that he can put up with.

It finally dawns on him that maybe you’re more than just a coworker, and he almost throws up right then and there. His eyes flit to you; your lids are hazy, lips puckered around the end of your cigarette—his cigarette. Your nails are a pretty color; red, his favorite. He looks away and drops his cigarette, digging the toe of his boot into it until only ashes remain.

“Gotta get back,” he says quickly, turning before you can say anything.

Loving him is rotten work, he reminds himself. He cusses, he’s mean, he walks away. Oikawa tries to talk to him, and Kyotani can only sneer at him. Loving him is rotten work, because Kyotani is rotten from the inside out.

[buttercupblu]

God is Fair|The Lost

Devotional Love with Suguru x Reader|Three-Shot

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3

the deets: sweet reminiscences of a wandering youth in a winter before a spring. you and suguru are older now and on wildly different but similar paths, you just don't know it yet. w.c: 11.4k out of still dk yet pls send help tags: fem!reader, alcohol consumption (don't drink and drive, this is a FIC for a reason plsss and ty), slight coercion, party dr*g use, territorial tendencies, a lil bit of sadism, hair pulling, lip locking, a bit o' biting, fingering, orgasm denial, a hint of emotional manipulation/gaslighting if you have brain angel’s note: don't ask me why these keep getting longer, okay? exposition loves to grab me by the throat and throttle me, idk what to say— earworm 🐛: Nangs|Tame Impala

This fucking sucks.

Napkins. Straw. Sauce...ranch? No. Barbeque. Tea. Fuck, gotta make more tea.

You were exhausted. A bit sweaty. Reeking of fryer grease and beef.

"Welcome to Shake Shack!"

And employed.

You took what felt like your 1000th order of the day, trapped in a vicious cycle of dropping baskets of fries into the fryer, then rushing back to the register to enter what you'd memorized. Often barely avoiding a crash with your co-worker who manned the grill as you cut the tight corner just as the next customers pulled up to the window.

In a town surprisingly smaller than yours, there was a high price to pay for being short-staffed.

For you, that meant having the all-too-often privilege of being the drive-through cashier and fry station manager while working with just two other team members who were also drowning on this sinking ship.

Slipping the last fry in, you finished bagging the hefty order and took and breath.

Work and college were wringing you by the neck, but things could be worse, and you handed the customer their order with a smile.

"Have a great day!"

"My tea?"

Shit—forgot it just that fast.

After waiting all of 30 seconds (give or take) for you to brew and sweeten it to perfection, the customer sped off with it with a grumble. You sighed, leaning your back against the drive-thru window. Your front register co-worker slowly peeked around the corner, having heard the skidding tires. You only shook your head and shrugged. Patience is a virtue.

The air felt so lovely, you thought during break, rubbing your arms and plopping onto a bench outside. It was always so chilly in the restaurant because...shakes, but they should allow you wear a jacket at least.

You pulled up a chair for your feet and slumped back with an exhale. Not a second into your break and you brain was still racking with thoughts.

Not of work, but of next week's exam. And your labs, and your lazy ass lab partner, and your 10-page paper and just...school in general.

You weren't failing, far from it, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to walk the fine line between getting B's and getting by. The major you chose made sure of that—healthcare was no joke.

But neither were you.

Never once a quitter, you'd rather torture yourself with the woes of medicine than admit defeat. Proving yourself day after day as you pushed through the BS, big and small.

Like your chem teacher—you got a headache anytime you thought about him. Accent thicker than molasses that you can't quite place, the guy wore a permanent resting bitch face and never seemed to want to be there.

With so much attitude pent up inside such a small man who was hell-bent on unleashing it, it was a good day if he didn't go off on someone over something as simple as not understanding the words coming out of his mouth.

It had to be his favorite excuse to never explain anything during class when eventually everyone would give up and blankly stare him in the face.

You were sure he got off on being a shit teacher with a crutch called tenure. Ending every semester with a smile as he passed around teacher reviews, knowing your responses were worthless—just like your social life.

Freshman and sophomore year had been the best for late night and regrets in the morning, but junior year? Whopped your ass.

Time for games or friends was over. Textbooks and Shake Shack were your best friends.

You took off your visor that always hugged a little too tight around your voluminous hair, immediately feeling relief before looking at the logo that mocked you.

The money your dad set aside, plus what he'd been saving since you were a baby, was enough to cover most of your expenses, but not all.You had to buy a car, textbooks, and other unexpected but totally avoidable costs that couldn't be covered for...reasons.

But it was fine.

Everything was fine.

School was...doable, and work was preparing you for independence and trust, Miss Independent was in her bag. It wasn't all bad, you thought, fiddling with the neon star on your lanyard. The cool metal nestled between your fingers was a constant reminder of when things were a little easier—you smirked—and the most unforgettable night of sophomore year.

Parties weren't foreign to you during undergrad—scratch that—you weren't foreign to parties who knew your name by heart. But most of them leading up to that night were always mildly disappointing.

Hollywood had painted a very vivid picture of college life, but for you and your roomie, the beginning of undergrad had been painfully black and white.

It wasn't that neither of you, especially Yuki, didn't try. Sometimes, you'd even end up somewhere sketch, following behind Yuki who was always chasing a thrill.

No, it was because there were really only two options for a quote-on-quote "good night": a sweaty, over-packed, testosterone-filled Frat sausage party with shit music and even shittier guys or an on-campus, alcohol-free, school-organized event with crowds of less than 20 that always ended before midnight.

Anywhere else actually worth a damn was 21 and up and off-limits to underaged 19-year-olds like the two of you. To you, they weren't even worth bringing up, but Yuki liked a challenge. A third option was always on the table. And one night, she swore she knew how to get your entire group on the scene and into a rave. All it took was a little finesse and a little dress. And bearing the cold of the December weather in tight skirts and fishnet shirts.

"Yuki, I swear to God," your words vibrated with each shiver, "If we don't get in—"

"You worry too much." She looked over the long line of heads in front of your group.

All week, she'd been going on and on about how "This weekend was going to kiss ass!", with the most boastful look on her face. She was only one year ahead of you but swore the connects she made her freshman year would come in clutch and be there that night. But after everything that happened in high school, you were such a worry wart now.

Always wanting to be sure everything went according to plan and worked out as it should. Especially once you calmed down after losing your shit and running around like a complete lunatic freshman year of college. But by the end of that year, things felt...off. Now you wanted to take sophomore year easy. But Yuki wasn't having it.

Once goosebumps began to creep up your skin as you took wobbled steps towards the front of the line, it was do or die.

Music bumped into your ears, battling your beating heart as you passed the crowd of annoyed faces who'd been waiting for God knows how long to get in. Yuki took long, runway-model strides. Eating up the lethal looks you and your group were getting for being so bold until she stood face to face with security.

His gaze traveled across Yuki's snug black leather shorts and matching thigh-high boots as she rested her hand on her hips, making him smirk.

"Hey, we're on the list," she said cooly, chin high as she ran a hand through her long blonde tresses. "Under Rico."

His smirk disappeared. "Who?"

"*scoff* Rico. Big Rico." She said like it was obvious.

"I don't know that name."

Oh no. Eyes wide, you shifted, hovering just under Yuki's shadow as you clung to her arms for warmth.

You were freezing, nearly nude, feet screaming from only a short walk, and now at risk of being embarrassed in front of a line of irritated individuals who'd probably been praying on your downfall the second you all beelined to the front.

The threat of being turned away burned hot in your cheeks. But Yuki kept her cool. "We should be under Rico." She gave him her name and the rest of the group's, but security quickly scrolled through his tablet and shook his head.

"Oh wait," he stopped at the bottom, "Yeah, Rico. Right here."

Yes!

"He's already gone in, but uh, he didn't mention any extras."

Fuck!

You told Yuki that you guys would be late while she was taking her sweet time getting ready.

Then security gave your group a slow lookover, but not in a 'I'm falling for your slutty outfits and checking you out' kind of way Yuki was hoping for. "You guys got IDs?"

Your heart dropped to your ass. You gaped like a fish.

fuckfuckfuck. You knew you were screwed anything you saw even a smidge of panic on Yuki's usually fearless face.

The situation she swore she had a surefire way to avoid blew right through her and the rips on the sides of the t-shirt she purposely wore to seduce her way out of trouble.

Curse words filled your head, ready to fire them off at Yuki the moment you got back to her car.

She had to think fast.

"Yeah, we um—"

"They're with us."

Your heads snapped toward the voice in unison and you had to crane your neck around Yuki's towering stature to find it, but find it you did—belonging to a Mr. Tall, Blonde, and Handsome—standing right off the entrance to the rave with a drink in hand and eyes firmly locked on you.

"'Bout time you got here, Yuki. Friends." He nodded your way.

You? Us?

For a second, you knew he had to be mistaken but resisted the urge to look around for whoever he must have been talking to. But his gaze didn't waver.

You exhaled, blushing. Relieved but wondering why this appetizing stranger was coming to your rescue.

"You're with Rico?" security butted in.

"Yeah, yeah." And the stranger waved his wristband in air, a small neon star dangling from it for everyone to see. "Now, let these ladies in. They're freezing." And he winked at you.

Yuki wasted no time brushing past the still-skeptical bouncer, greeting your savior with open arms. "Sorry we're late, dude!" Playing up the act as if she'd done it a million times before, and the rest of your group quickly snagged their VIP wristbands before funneling into the booming venue.

It didn't click that you were getting in scot-free until the stranger looked back at you, waiting and holding the door open with a nod. "Coming?"

Your feet couldn't carry you fast enough, rushing forward as he took the last wristband, and secured it snugly around your wrist before flicking the neon star, looking down on you. "Perfect," he smirked. And for the sake of your steadily increasing heartbeat, you could only nod and avoid looking him in the eye.

Damn, what luck. And you slipped inside.

You had an idea of what crossing the threshold into the rave would be like, but your imagination fell unbelievably short.

Instant sensory overload—pulsing beats thumped through your chest, vibrating through the floor and into your bones. Vibrant strobe lights sliced through the dense fog of smoke machines, mixing with the heady air thick with the scent of sweat, perfume, and a faint aroma of smoke.

Every corner seemed alive, packed with swirling seas of bodies moving in sync with the relentless EDM rhythm and snatching so much of your attention that you almost forgot your manners.

"Thanks! Thank you!" you tried to shout, feeling yourself slowly defrost in the humid, rave air. "And Rico."

Stretching your arms out, you admired how the fluorescent purple lights made your shirt, neon nails, and cute new star accessory glow in the hazy darkness. They subtly reflected on the stranger's muscle tee you didn't realize was so close to you. Becoming aware of his gaze at the same time he caught yours.

His drifted over your fishnet shirt, white, tight, and highlighting your already glistening skin adorn with oils and powders—yours drew to his silver eyebrow piercing then to the colorful ink cascading from behind his ears, down his neck, and disappearing into his shirt.

He looked like an undergrad student but would've had to start on a piece like that years ago to finish something so intricate that also flowed onto his arms.

Would his chest be tattooed, too? Now you were staring at it.

Blushing, you looked away, realizing you were actually chest level with a man who practically towered over you.

"Who's Rico?"

Your brows furrowed at the same time a glimmer of light caught a sneaky piece of jewelry, snug on the corner of his bottom lip. Smugly smiling, he held out his hand, urging you to take it.

What the fu—

For the second time that night, you were speechless.

Confusion flickered across your face as you hesitated, studying his confident vibe and easy smile that invited you to continue to trust him.

That calm and collected aura that had finessed your way into a forbidden space when you were ready to throw in the towel and give Yuki the old "I told you so."

Something about him was tempting—maybe the air of mystery draping over him that made you both curious and cautious.

Amidst the chaotic surroundings and nerves settling down after winging your luck, his so-sure presence demanded your attention. But it also made you wonder what he was doing it all for.

Regardless, it wasn't the time to get all psychological. Yuki and the others were already far ahead, soon to be lost in the crowd if you didn't catch up.

He bit his lip, watching your reservations gradually melt away as you nervously took his hand and returned his smile—welcoming yourself aboard the first ride of the night.

He easily parted the sea of people as you followed behind, almost immediately finding your group thanks to your roommate. Always easy to find, she unironically stands out in a crowd—tall, loud, and bursting with energy like everyone else lived in her background.

After socking her in the arm hard enough to bring her down a little for leaving you behind, your unofficial guide for the night suggested you all hit the bar for a round of shots, his treat.

Yuki held her hand to her chest with a smile, immediately forgetting the dull pain in her arm. Leaning in close to you, she whispered, "Okay, Mr. Moneybags." And he soon returned with an amount of alcohol that could rival a Frat Party.

Picking a shot up from the tray, he toasted, "To a great night."

"A kick-ass night!" Yuki added, and you rolled your eyes but clinked shots.

The neon green liquid that looked like coolant and battery acid had a baby flooded your system, making you wince with each swallow. Fruity, sour, and stronger than anything you'd had before. It set your insides of fire, and you tried your best not to show it, but Mr. Calm, Cool, and Collected thought it was cute.

"I'm not a kid," you commented when he suggested you slow down on the shots you were clearly struggling with. Damn Yuki and her 'see a shot, take a shot' rule. She'd always start with two and made sure everyone kept up with each other. "You don't have to baby me."

But how couldn't he with a pout that cute sitting on your face flushed from the eccentric liquor?

"Why'd you help us anyway?" you asked, leaning on the table your group surrounded.

He mimicked your actions, sharp brown eyes glinting as he explained that he was simply a Good Samaritan who happened to be in the right place at the right time to help some girls in need. "Some really cute ones," he said into your ear.

Your cheeks warmed—and not just from the alcohol—as he drew back just close enough to barely graze your ear with his soft lips.

He was flirting.

And you were a terrible flirt—always residing in the back seat, never driving the car. Letting things happen to you instead of engaging. An approach that almost always ended in disappointment.

But there he was, this sinfully attractive man, openly vying for your attention—and shamelessly unafraid to say it. Clearly already into you, evident by his increasingly intimate actions, and assumed you were too because you were still in his face and hadn't run off just yet.

So you wouldn't need to do much more, right? Just do what you've seen in the movies.

Pretending to be unfazed, you brushed off his compliment with a smile, tucking a braid behind your ear. "So...knight in shining armor, you got a name?"

He chuckled and straightened his stance, suddenly making you feel even smaller than before.

"Naoya," he smirked.

You raised your next shot, bright and pink like your shiny lipgloss. "To Naoya," you toasted, quickly downing it with a sly smile that said you were far from innocent. But the OPs couldn't stand to see you be great, sending a dribble to free-dive down the corner of your mouth.

Cupping your chin before you could react, Naoya swiped his thumb across your skin and nonchalantly placed it in his mouth.

"Sweet."

And good fucking God, you didn't know if he was talking about the drink or you. Watching him subtly roll his thumb between his lips made you exhale regardless. Just like—

Thankfully, Yuki came to your rescue, pulling you into the lively crowd before you could probably do or say something stupid.

Unrestrained laughter echoed from your circle, dancing to the pulsating beats.

Yuki, always the life of the party, twirled and pulled everyone into her orbit—your group and strangers alike—while Naoya stuck close. Every few minutes or so he'd mingled with the group he came with, letting them put a dent in most of the shots he bought, but he had a different interest in mind. Stealing flirty peeks at you as you bounced to the techno beat, effortlessly drawing your attention back to him, even in a sea of lingering gazes.

Each time your eyes met, a thrill shot through you that was both exciting and slightly unnerving.

The magnetism between you was undeniable, but another part of you wondered if you were getting too much into your head. Whether it was simply lust making him devour you with his eyes or if it was really just you. There was always the chance he could be just like all the others. And a waste of your time.

But you could only ping-pong your thoughts for so long, and in the end, the thrill of what-ifs, alcohol, and a hint of rebuked behavior outweighed your apprehension until it wasn't enough to matter.

Silly, even.

His attention was simply more intoxicating than the alcohol coursing through your veins.

Just the thought of being the focus of someone so undeniably captivating was enough to entice you to stay within his sight, kick caution to the curb, and give him a show.

Hungry glances swarmed your way, but Naoya just stood back and took you in.

Flashes of your supple cheeks under your reflective skirt, your hair brushing the nape of your neck in those high, perfectly grippable pigtails. Fleeting thoughts of how they'd look in his hands.

A sway here, a caress of your body there, and it was easy to lock him in. Making him give less than a fuck about the "competition" or how they nearly broke their necks to get a glimpse of you.

Because as he watched your fingers lazily glide up your velvety thighs, over your chest, and up your tender neck without a second of broken eye contact between you, he knew this meal was just for him.

And so the night went. Playing the Yandere game. Occasionally being stolen by Yuki or one of the girls to build up a sweat and tease the crowd with bumps and grinds and lingering hands on each other's waists. Syncing with one another. All of you lost in the moment and savoring the night that was far from over.

Until you blinked and a few hours had passed, drenched clothes clung to every body, the once-exuberant crowd thinned out, and the blinking venue lights signaled that the night's event was drawing to a close.

Yuki's face couldn't have been more distraught as she smoothed her sweaty hair back to showcase her pouting face. "What the fuck, dude, it feels like we just got here??"

You opened your mouth, ready to scold her and remind her that, once again, this was entirely her fault for being slower than a DMV line while getting ready, but decided it wasn't worth your breath.

However, Yuki's infectious energy was raging at its peak with no signs of fading, and made sure everyone knew. But what could you do?

Choke your anxiety down and try your luck again with another club, or God forbid, crawl back to frat parties?

Staying in the dorms and bingeing Rom-Coms and junk food would be more entertaining.

Still, Yuki made her problem everyone else's—whining and groaning. Loudly protesting that the fun was just getting started and going on as if her soul was being crushed. Theater was robbed the day she majored in Sociology.

So dramatic. And it should've been easy to say you were fine with calling it a night and returning to your much warmer bed.

But that would've been a lie.

Just a teeny tiny itty bitty one. But big enough to matter.

And you internally rolled your eyes so hard you could almost see stars.

Because Naoya was the reason why.

God, you hated yourself.

The promise of something more was enough to blow hearts into your eyes as it snuck in and wrapped you in its clutches. Trapping you in one of the most intense instances of sexual chemistry you'd felt in a while—budding, simmering, and patiently waiting to spill over.

It was mildly irritating, your mind filling with thoughts of where things could go with this guy you barely knew. That little pinch of hope for a chance of something happening—even after playing hard to get all night.

You wondered if you'd ever see him again.

Ah well. That's nightlife for you.

It was fun while it lasted, but Yuki's voice brought you back to reality, growing increasingly more annoying as your hearing started to return to normal.

Seconds away from you throttling her and telling her to grip, Naoya made his presence known again, having overheard Yuki's pleas to extend the night.

"I know a spot."

Surprise failed you because, of course he did.

Mr. "I know, Rico." It was kinda weird Yuki hadn't asked about Rico the second you all stepped inside but with the crowd as thick as it was earlier, finding him would've been nearly impossible anyway.

But this was too perfect—the savior suddenly swooping in twice in one night with open arms and no hint of wanting more. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe your super quiet, nearly non-existent hopes and prayers for a main character moment had been answered.

But you weren't young enough to be that much of an idiot.

Still, was it a bit silly to be so sketch? Second-guessing this "Good Samaritan"? This casual guy tucking his thumbs in his pockets and holding a self-assured, but trusting smile whom you didn't know from a can of paint?

The back and forth was exhausting.

As if reading your thoughts, his head slightly tilted, signaling the words you wouldn't say.

Could you? Would you?

The unspoken questions hung in the air like Yuki clung to your shoulders, practically begging you to live a little.

Either the night ended there or could evolve into something new.

You just had to use your words.

But a sigh was enough to make Yuki squeal, answer in hand before you could speak.

"Let's gooo," and she beelined out of the rave just as they were shutting down the bar and switching on the lights.

Goosebumps made an abrupt comeback. The transition from humid rave heat to brisk winter air instantly sobered your group, seeping into your pores and drying your sweat.

After making sure Yuki was good to drive, you practically ran to her car. Coincidently sitting just a row over from Naoya's.

Yuki gawked at the sleek, red sports car. "Well, color me impressed." Its blinding headlights flickered as Naoya unlocked it.

You hadn't known someone with a car that nice since the Geto's.

"Follow me to the next spot?" he laughed, leaning on the car's roof.

If there weren't so many of you, he'd tell all of you to hop in and make yourselves comfortable, but he also knew your guards would be up—as they should.

His head tipped at Yuki, but he kept his eyes on you. "Keep her safe, ya?" And ducked into the car.

Your face didn't feel so cold after that.

"Girl."

You squinted in disbelief.

"Is this a junkyard?"

In the middle of old car parts and rusting scraps of metal, a steel warehouse glimmered in the moonlight, confirming that it was. Strobe lights shot out, lighting the bubble of space in the darkness as it came into view.

And just when you thought there had to be some mistake, some wrong turn taken at some point down the long, dark gravel road through the trees, Naoya's car cruised through the chain-link fence, finally stopping in the dirt path after the 30-minute drive outside the city limits.

This was unreal.

Alt Rock—Phoenix?—vibrated through Yuki's car, barely contained by the warehouse walls as it blasted into the open air.

"What the..." You lost your words for the third damn time that night.

The hell is this? Who is this guy???

Asking questions had been the least of Yuki's concerns earlier. Or during the lengthy drive there as you repeatedly asked her if she knew where you guys were. She was just happy to have her prayers to keep the night going and finish burning energy answered—damn how—and repeatedly said you guys would be fine.

But a warehouse?? A damn warehouse???

An after-hours club, house party, hell, even a dive bar came to mind when Naoya said he knew a spot.

What a spot to know and you noticed the numerous cars scattered throughout the dirt yard as you looked around.

Black leather skirts and oversized jackets littered the crowd. Ripped stockings and Demonia's hugged nearly every leg.

This was a scene you weren't familiar with, not that you discriminated, but other than Yuki, the rest of you would be glaringly sticking out like a sore thumb. Neon colors clearly weren't the move here, and you all looked like walking glow sticks in a sea of scene kids and black lipstick—sure to be noticed the second you stepped out of the car.

You knew you should've trusted your gut.

"At least the music's good," Yuki said as if reading your thoughts. Her head bobbed to the seductive beat. “🎶He’s just tryna be cooool.🎶”

You could strangle her.

"C'mon, lighten up," she said, unfazed by your distressed face. "Think of it as an adventure." She turned to the back seat. "Right girls?"

Shoko had stopped caring long ago, and Utahime, still buzzing from the rave, was down for whatever.

Freshman year you probably would've shaken you by your shoulders and called you a pussy by now.

But why were you acting brand new? You knew what this was. Been knew from the moment you agreed to go out with Yuki this weekend that something as crazy as this happening had always been on the table.

She was always so daring, so spontaneous and unpredictable. Always relaxed and in control no matter the situation—all of what drew you into her in the first place. The perfect roommate.

She reminded you of what you used to be—what you were trying to get back to. Even if it meant repeatedly pressing all of your buttons.

You pinched your brows together, secretly regretting the day you born.

"Fine."

"Fuck yeah!" And not a second later, her car whipped into a makeshift parking spot so fast you almost got whiplash.

Just ahead, Naoya hopped out of his car, cooly walking up. "Ha, you made it," he joked, but your resting bitch said nothing was funny.

"Okay, okay, look, I know what this looks like," he began, apologizing for not giving you guys a heads-up. But trust me."

A breeze danced across his face, tousling his bangs and showing off the subtle glint in his pretty brown eyes. And as if on cue, his lips curled into the signature smile you knew was coming, once again offering his hand.

"Will you?"

...Godfkindammit.

What the hell is happening here?

Those butterflies just would not give you a break. And neither would Yuki if you turned him down, especially after coming this far already.

You cursed under your breath and took his hand, hoping the flutters would go away, but only passed them on to him.

His lip ring flashed as he smiled, his fingers lacing with yours.

"Super sweet."

And welcomed you into his territory.

Throughout your life, you've learned that looks can be deceiving. And if you had forgotten, example A stood front and center in that moment.

On first glance, it may have looked like a glaring OSHA violation, but what the warehouse lacked on the outside, it made up for with a jaw-dropping inside.

Head falling back, you marveled at the intricate web of large steel beams weaving throughout the vaulted ceiling. Dancing light bounced off the metal, one-up the rave and casting colorful shadows on the floor, walls, and everyone inside.

Drum-heavy bass and gritty guitar riffs ripped through the speakers, welcoming you. Pulling you into an underground world that was very welcoming to Naoya too.

A hot commodity, nearly every face you saw couldn't help but smile and greet him on the walk-in. Unable to resist his charm. Pandering for even a hint of attention even though his hand remained fixed on you, pulling you through the crowd and bringing a blush to your face. It was clear you were his guest.

Oak and orange blossom clashed with the sharp tang of industrial machinery, heavily perfuming the air thanks to the dense, edgy crowd, but at least it wasn't as packed as the rave. Quite the opposite actually—the space here was wide open, yet surprisingly insulated against the cold. It'd be hard to get lost, but you still told Yuki not to run off because you knew what was coming next.

"Shot o'clock!"

Surprising.

And this time, they were on her.

"A toast, to Naoya." The glass glistened in the lights as she held it high. "And this totally cool spot."

She linked arms with Shoko and Utahime and they tossed their shots back together. Leaving you out—no doubt on purpose.

Naturally, Naoya looked to you, completely oblivious to the ritual but willing to play along if you were.

You steeled your nerves, deciding to get the girls back for that later, and snaked your arm around his muscled one. Snug. Close. No big deal. People totally don't do super intimate things like this at weddings or anything.

Looking him in the eye, you grinned. "To you again." And downed the shot in sync, feeling the cool liquid slide down your throat. Spreading a fuzzy feeling through your body all over again and helping you settle into the reality of the night.

This environment was different.

There was an air of exclusivity in the space—his vibe—this place meant for the in-crowd—something to be a part of that he had access to and personally invited you into.

Like remnants of high school. Drawing you in like a magnet.

And this time, you stuck close to Naoya. Baiting his attention again.

His lingering gaze drew curious glances from your friends that you were quick to brush off, but even you couldn't ignore the nuzzle heat from the way his eyes bore into your swaying frame.

As if you weren't already fully aware, your favorite two-toned brunette, Utahime, kept raising eyebrows at you and tipping her head his way real "smooth-like". Totally not right in front of him where it was super noticeable and embarrassingly obvious.

When she got fed up with your shy act, she lovingly wrapped her arms around your neck, making you both sync to the beat. With a slightly tipsy smile on her face, she said just loud enough for you to hear, "Go get that dick." And quickly twirled you around until you posted right in front of Naoya.

A ditzy look plastered on your face as you froze. Slowly meeting his eyes with a flushed look of embarrassment that pulled a smile out of him. You looked so cute trying to hold yourself together and seem unbothered. But if it weren't for the alcohol swimming through your system, you might've bailed.

Yet, liquid courage ran through you, hell-bent on making you step into your bad bitch shoes because confidence lived in your blood.

If there was any chance of finding out if this was real or not, it was now never.

Eyes locked—his having never stopped eyefucking you—you both smirked. With a tip of your hand and slightly wobbly knees, you invited the man who made you ache between your thighs to dance.

With a small laugh, he gently bit his lip, finding you cute enough to plant a kiss on your wrist then pull you close. "About time," he said, fingers digging into your waist.

What a pretty face you made when you were surprised. But you surprised him right back when you twirled around, your ass grazing his front as you closed the gap between you.

If he was going to beg for your attention, he had to prove he could handle it, and gradually, you relaxed enough to dance—curves winding in beat with the flowy rhythm—enticing him to take the bait and dance his hands along your waist. Syncing rhythm, closeness, and heat to slowly rebuild a sweat.

Your head, light as a feather, fell back against his chest, exposing your shimmery neck. Sugary sweet scents you doused yourself in earlier drew him into your sweet spot, stifling your breath as his grazed your skin, erasing your final remnants of hesitation.

The instinct to draw your hands to his hair reminded you that the freedom to let go was a drug. A heady, intoxicating sensation that mingled with the pleasure of his hands slipping along your thighs and climbing up your sides like ecstasy until you opened your hazy eyes and stared it in the face. Pale blue, tiny, and snug between his peace fingers.

Gasping, you swiftly faced a grinning Naoya.

"What is—"

"X", he replied so casually, as if he hadn't just practically shoved a drug in your face without warning.

What the hell was with this guy???

The anxiety you worked to snuff out all night quickly clawed its way out.

From the moment you met Naoya, he'd been a walking enigma who kept going for broke.

The borderline reckless and carefree attitude could even one-up Yuki's, and freshman you definitely couldn't hold a candle. At least the unhinged version of you knew better than to throw caution to the wind and go around looking for randos who happen to do dRUGS???

What if you were like an undercover cop or something, you thought, crossing your glitter-covered arms.

Was his brain constantly on go—never taking a second to think before acting—or was he so confident in himself that he didn't care if others judged him?

It kinda sounded familiar...and was awfully cringe to think about.

But fuck that, how often did he do this?? Go around seducing girls, saving the day, then dragging them to nowhere to—

"An adventure."

What?

Aw, fuck.

God, fuck, there she goes again.

Feet away, yet in your ear, in case you thought you could ever escape her.

Yuki's annoyingly convincing voice echoed through your head like peer pressure on steroids, telling you to chill the fuck out and stop overthinking. Asking you in the most mocking tone your brain could conjure up, "What are you so afraid of?"

Sure, you were a virgin to the world of party drugs...but you couldn't say you'd never been curious.

Degrassi, Skins, and shows alike all set the bar for what college life was supposed to look like long ago, and drugs almost always had a seat at the table—glimmering and glamorized all over television. Surrounded by fun and pretty people.

But you knew fuck all about ecstasy outside of what high school Health Ed class said it would feel like: energy and euphoria— compressed into a colorful little pill.

It wasn't...the best argument against it.

Still, you were a little virgin baby. Aside from alcohol, you'd only flirted with Mary Jane, and that was only a couple of times at a few frat parties freshman year. You didn't exactly have a bucket list for drugs.

But there it was, an opportunity presenting itself.

And as skeptical as you were about Naoya—the mystery, the conveniences, the 'too good to be true' personality that kept poking you in the gut—those same yellow flag, along with his cunning, almost taunting demeanor, dared you to step up to the plate.

Even now, his confident gaze swallowed your doe eyes with a look you couldn't turn away from—thumb gently pressing into your waist with a silent reassurance. In a 'you don't have to do it' kind of way that seemed to take all the weight off.

Still, he tipped his head, gave you a firm squeeze and a grin, and said, "Take it with me—if you want." And sat the split pill, SKY written on it in tiny letters, right on the edge of his pink tongue.

You thought about home. And then you thought about the thrill you'd been searching for all your life. God...

If this went wrong, at least the girls were nearby to kick his teeth in.

You swallowed hard.

There was only one way to say yes, and it rushed out of your mouth before Yuki's voice could taunt you again.

"An adventure," you breathed, quickly diving in before anyone could see—wrapping your tongue around his and tasting bitterness on yours. Ignoring your racing heart from the sheer audacity to be so bold.

His lip lingered on yours until he was sure you swallowed the metallic pill, a small string of slick glistening as he pulled away.

"An adventure," he repeated before flashing his trademark smile and pulling your arms around his neck.

It finally hit you what Naoya reminded you of. Something you used to look for on purpose. Something that required a bit of work and a firm resolve.

Effort.

A challenge.

And it was time to play catch up.

Minutes felt like hours waiting for something, anything, to happen, but Naoya's secure grasp held you and your attention as you danced. Firm. Warm. Melting.

Melting?

Indeed melting—fingers dipping into the divots of your hips as if they could sink through like butter—coaxing your head to lazily float back under the wavy touch. Wavering a moment and brushing Naoya's fingertips with the ends of your waist-length pigtails that were growing increasingly easier to grab.

Pretty steel beams. Were they always this mesmerizing? Or close? Like they would sink to your level just so you could grab on. Or maybe you'd always been 20 feet tall and never knew?

Naoya snickered, holding the weight you practically threw into his arms. Admiring the strobes of light bathing your softly rising and falling chest as you fell into a trance—your body turning to jelly before you even realized it was happening.

But the awareness of your suddenly heavy eyelids and increasingly ridiculous thoughts of the ceiling slapped you down to earth, sending you into a mini panic. Head, heavier than ever, pulling forward until your fluttering eyes met Naoya's blown-out gaze. Staring. Drinking in every subtle change in your warm, flushed face.

A satisfied smirk played on his lips, watching your mouth part and breaths slow. Dying to close the imaginary and real gap that opened and shut between you all night until he once again flushed his skin against yours. And this time, a switch flipped; it wasn't just his proximity making your chest buzz. You swore you were sharing vibrations.

Warmth grew in your core at his touch. The oh-so-unbelievably soft yet coarse yet caressible feel of his skin pulsing against yours. Flooding your veins, spreading from your tongue to the tips of your fingers.

You were tingling.

And couldn't stop tingling.

And knew you couldn't stop tingling no matter how hard you tried, and for some reason, the euphoric thought made you break out into an uncontrollable grin.

"There she is." Naoya lifted your chin, vibrant colors blurring together on his face like a kaleidoscope.

All you wanted to do was stare at him, the array of colors on the cement floor, and the dizzying visual rhythm beating with the music. Like Nang was literally seeping into your bones, begging you to float and finally touch those steel beams.

God, you'd never been so happy you made a decision. That you chose to be here—that he chose you—that you trusted Yuki, the girls, and yourself enough to get out of your rut and end up here. In the arms of a guy you wanted nothing more than to finally give in and slob down from head to toe for being so hot and intoxicating and slyly nibbling on his lip ring every single time you locked eyes.

"Here I am," you said, teasing a grin you hoped was as good as his. Feeling alive, truly alive for the first time that year—completely immersed in the chaotic blend of lights, sounds, and bodily surrealism. Bliss peeled away your breath as his feverish hands danced along your body in a way that was too much and never enough.

Dainty fingers found your outstretched neck, pleasure etching on your face as you caressed the sensitive areas begging to be touched. Fingertips, music, ego, and air binding like sex in a sinful combo—evident by the full display of the undercuff of your ass, eliciting stifled moans from Naoya as your hips swirled into him.

That state of you was telling, and he hoped he didn't give you too much, but your ass looked so goddamn perfect, molding around the growing ache in his already tight jeans. Like you were trying to pull something out of him, but he only laughed to himself because he was sure you'd actually melt into a puddle if he sank his hands into your plush cheeks.

You looked amazing—you felt amazing—everything was amazing—and should always feel like this, you thought.

This high, this joy, this love—it was universal.

Easy.

So very easy to give and take—and deserving,

Everyone deserved love in some away.

And suddenly you were an ecstasy evangelist, slipping from Naoya's arms into the pulsating crowd.

Naturally gravitating to a drunken Utahime, her swaying form coming into focus with bright and infectious laughter amidst the haze. So happy. So carefree. You just had to have some, reaching out to grab her hand and pull her close.

"Isn't this—your breath felt so light, "—just the best?" You shouted over the music, your voice a mix of exhilaration and disbelief.

You laughed, the sound almost lost amongst the beats, as you tugged Utahime closer. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity and amusement, but her attention drew to the sheer ecstasy etched onto your face.

"Seriously," you said, pressing her hand to your chest, "This is everything."

Utahime's smile was warm, but her brows slightly furrowed. "You've, uh, finally come around, ya?"

She hadn't seen this side of you since you'd met. A state that was a little beyond tipsy, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

Shoko sidled up—the least drunk in the group—casually draping her arm over the girl you knew she'd been secretly dating since the beginning of the semester. Cigarette tucked behind her ear like she was going out to smoke soon, but holding a knowing grin. Her gaze swept over you, lingering for just a moment too long before she said, "Someone's certainly having a good time."

Correction, you were having a fantastic time. Everyone should be, you thought, so glad to have all of your girls with you before realizing that someone was missing. And like you knew she would, Yuki had run off. Probably huddled up by a wall, towering over some poor guy or girl by now.

But Shoko's tone flew right over your head—the heat of the crowd catching you in its web. Your body hadn't stopped moving since you came into the circle—a complete slave to the contagious energy and music. Leaving your swaying hips all vulnerable, freely out in the open and unattended to.

Such a shame, some guy thought, someone should take care of that.

It wasn't until you felt a pair of hands glue to your waist and heat against your back that you stopped mid-motion. Rough, almost aggressive, and hasty gropes squeezing your hips but losing you in the manic energy. And as if it were a natural extension of the night's chaos, the sensation rolled your body into the unfamiliar touch in a way that felt out of your control.

And pissed Naoya off.

He'd been watching the entire show from where you left him, allowing you to go off to be with your girls, not a slut for anyone else.

He tsked, his usually smooth demeanor cracking as he glared. Watching you casually give away what was his to some random guy. As if he meant nothing. As if you didn't owe him.

And the sight of the guy's face—smug and sleazy as if he'd hit the jackpot—and his grubby hands inching closer to the grand prize between your thighs, sent Naoya right over the edge.

He moved swiftly through the crowd, eyes locked on you, pulling you away so quickly you missed the way his jaw clenched. Grip firm but controlled as he wove pasted a stunned Shoko and Utahime, through the space, and out into the cool night air.

The warehouse loomed above, its graffiti-splattered walls bathed in the glow of the quarter moon. Fingers gliding over the dusty lines, you traced the art, trailing Naoya who pulled you behind him until he reached the back.

He took a deep breath, trying to mask his unexpected jealousy, but the way you were being so ditzy and cute and oblivious to the world only added fuel to the fire.

You didn't mean to, his reaction was just so funny, especially when he looked so flustered trying to hide his lingering scowl with a slick grin that, for the first time that night, didn't reach his eyes.

And you wouldn't stop fucking laughing, even as he kept walking towards you until your back hit the warehouse wall.

But that smile was deceiving.

His hand shot out, grabbing a hold of your face, fingers digging into your cheeks and tilting your chin so he could look into your glazed-over eyes.

"Such a pretty girl," he murmured. your lips feeling like putty as he teased with his thumb,

Though his words seemed sweet, a twinge of unease sparked in your chest watching his eyes turn dark, sadistic. Hungry. The playful facade shattering, earning your undivided attention and bringing your giggles to a halt when you realized he wasn't fucking around.

Your eyes widened. Whatever you'd been teasing all night had finally awoken and stood at your door. Ready to devour your faltering heart as slow, heavy breaths escaped your glossed lips.

He had to taste them.

And did, lips crashing onto yours, teeth and tongue dominating your mouth until you moaned into his.

Your arm wrapped around his neck, searching for leverage against the furious energy, before feeling it pin to the wall. His other hand slipped from your face, ghosting from your jaw to your neck—squeezing lightly, almost growling, and stealing your breath.

He pulled away, his eyes following his finger tracing the maze of net resting over your chest. Taking your glinting belly ring—the perfect match to his lip ring—between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a slight groan from you when he tugged.

He smirked—the face you made when you winced was even prettier than your surprise face. He wondered what other ones he could get out of you.

And just when you thought the torture was over, his fingers slid around your back, finally twisting into one of your pigtails with a pull.

Your head snapped back and his lips attached to your neck, breath hot against your skin as he inhaled your intoxicating scent—biting, sucking, trying to mark you. Mind flashing to the guy he should've punched for even looking at you.

You gasped, being forced to use your free arm to hold onto him when his leg swept between your thighs, propping you up on his knee.

He groaned into your neck—your panties were absolutely ruined—damping his skin with so much stringy slick, he struggled to keep himself from rutting into you.

But your hips wouldn't stop moving even if you tried. Grinding into the friction that felt like fire every time your clit bumped into a rip in his jeans. So disgusting lewd, but you were growing so warm with each pulsing thump. Unashamedly needing more. And painting his skin with juicy kisses.

Damn, he thought, smirking against your skin at your whimpers. Wondering if you'd start panting like a dog in heat as your fucks to give flew out the window. Mind only fixed on the lip-biting flick of your feverish clit that made your walls clench around nothing.

But he wouldn't let you cum that easily. At least not like that. No, he needed to do it himself.

He pinned you still, grip tight on your waist and lips finding yours when you whined from the lost of sensation. Sneaking a hand under your skirt and making you moan into his mouth when he grabbed your ass. Finally feeling your soft and warm and plush curves melt into his fingers.

"I want you," he said between kisses.

Your mews as your pressed into his touch told him you wanted him too, but he needed to hear you say it.

Fingers crawling under your things, he drew slow, long hot lines across your skin until they reached your parted valley. Your breath hitched, knowing where he was heading, but you spread wider, hoping he would hurry and get there faster. Inching closer and closer to your sweet heat with a slow breath, he brought you nearer and nearer to a rapture you seldomly experienced when he suddenly stopped at the precipice.

"Say it."

Your brows furrowed.

"Tell me what you want."

You spit out the only thing you knew. "I want you." And your mouth fell open feeling a warm pad on your clit. His thumb just resting there, feeling you throb through your thin g-string. Waiting to see if you'd be so bold as to hump him again. Whining and writhing instead, you fell prey to the touch that was light to most but dizzying in the world of E.

"You want me to what?"

Your cheeks warmed. God, was he gonna drag it out of you if you didn't say it?

Once more, you latched your mouth onto his to avoid saying so, only to accidentally bite the inside of his bottom lip when two fingers roughly pushed inside you.

"Fuck, you're so tight." And warm and soaked.

He didn't even care that you almost bit a hole into him, only focused on stuffing you full until resistance finally gave way and swallowed his fingers.

Your stomach tightened, legs drawing together only to be blocked by his knee as his fingers swam deeper than the nails you dug into his back until he bottomed out.

Fire grew in your hand, his grip sliding from your arm to pin your wrist. You started to squirm. It was too much at once.

And made Naoya's dick stand on ten watching your body resist but betray itself by continuing to make his fingers glisten in the moonlight.

You poor things who couldn't make up your mind, Naoya thought. Teasing him all night only to run from his fingers.

If you were squeezing that tight around two little digits, he wondered how you'd feel on his dick. How long it would take for your eyes to roll into the back of your head.

How quickly he could pull an orgasm out of you.

He let your arm fall, his slipping under to palm your ass and pull you closer. Tightening around your waist so you couldn't escape his fingers brutally pumping into you.

"ff-fUCK!" A gasp ripped from your chest, your eyes screwing shut at the blazing sin that just rippled through your body.

What was thAT???

A funny button in you was assaulted over and over and over again, forcing your walls to clench on command and send fiery tingles straight to your clit.

Desperate hands scrambled to find purchase around his neck, holding on for dear life. You felt yourself go tense at the relentless rhythm, but even moreso at the unfamiliar face shooting through your core. Slender fingers rutting in and pumping out—running juices down his wrist.

The squelching sounds penetrated your ears, mouth falling open as drool began to dribble down. You felt your brain fizzling out, eyes going cross—he was hitting that same spot over and over and over again. Dragging the breath from your lungs with every dip. And the few whines you failed to suppress that did slip out, couldn't compete with his merciless strokes. Purposefully working an angle that sent swarms of vibrations to your curling toes.

An unfamiliar warmth began to pool in your walls, making his dick twitch feeling your little pulses start to clench around his fingers. You were so close so fast, but then he slowed.

"Now tell me what you want."

You could die.

Literally die from the embarrassment, the desperation, the filthy way you were still trying to steal back even a smidge of that foreign but addicting touch by attempting to wiggle your hips you knew he wouldn't allow out of place—if you weren't hoping to die on his fingers first.

But a desperate pout formed, knowing he wouldn't give it to you without you folding.

And your pathetic pussy begged you to bend.

"I-I wan..." He grabbed your chin when your lips pursed closed, slotting his thumb between them to open them again.

No more hiding, no more silence, no more games.

His other thumb pressed right on your clit, fingers curling and stilling right against that magic button that blew fireworks into your rolling eyes. He was gonna make you talk.

And with a shaky breath, defeated and damn near pleading, you begged. "Please...make me c-cum." Looking at him like you were feeble and yearning. Like his demand was all that mattered. "Please."

There it was.

The submission he'd been waiting for all night.

Flushed cheeks and helpless doe eyes. Puffy lips slowly closing around his thumb and planting desperate kisses.

Neediness staring him in the face.

No longer caring that he literally had you wrapped around his finger.

He smirked, fighting the urge to cum just from sight. Right where he wanted you. Less was said.

You gaped when his knee moved, swiftly falling a few inches before he lifted your thigh—pressing it against the wall to spread you wide.

Sounds of your vinyl skirt stretching ripped through the air, and you should've been worrying about the possibility of it tearing if it weren't for fingers stealing your focus again. He hummed feeling easily slip back in, middle and ring fingers this time to hook perfectly inside and blow your g-spot to absolute smithereens.

Crying out, you almost drew blood from your lip as your body went rigid, clinging to him. The sensation you were just ready to sell your soul for relentlessly spamming on 1000.

If it was borderline too much before, with this new angle that lended him direct access, it was torturously too much now. But he could care less if you clawed his back to death as you tried to run to and run from the mouth-watering intensity.

Your pussy sounded so good for him, making him moan and grind his dick into your thigh like it was an extension of his fingers. Leaving hot kisses on your neck as his thumb drew dizzying circles on your clit. Making your toes flex and shaky foot slowly rise up off the ground. Obliterating what was left of free thought as your breath hitched.

He took in your rapturous face, feeling a rush of power and control surge through his veins. The authority he had over your body as he wrestled moans out of you filled him with an intoxicating sense of dominance.

Every gasp, every tremble, only fueled his intention to give you exactly what you didn't know you needed all night. To completely unravel under his command.

The fiery pool returned with a brain-altering vengeance and your pulses grew stronger and closer until he was absolutely positive you were seconds away from tasting heaven. And looking dead on into your blurry eyes, he finally gave you permission.

"Cum."

And the tight coil ruthlessly snapped. Walls surrendering to the all-consuming touch that sent your eyes rolling as your pussy harshly clenched on his fingers. Body arching into the fervid touch before you stopped breathing and your colorful vision went white.

Pornographic moans finally broke from you, loud and lewd and desperate enough you were sure you could draw a crowd.

And what a sight it was for Shoko to witness the very moment you tumbled into rapture, cigarette she stepped outside to smoke almost slipping from her lips.

The only witness of you climbing aboard the ecstasy train didn't think it would have led you this far, but the pledge you made earlier that year to swear off your freshman-year antics—sex and relationships included—was clearly long forgotten. Utahime didn't believe you, often provoked you even, and Shoko, not knowing you as well, just took our word for it.

But there you were, living out your wildest Skins dream. Holding hands with the Little Death with a side of alcohol and ecstasy. Cries falling on deaf ears and he continued to fuck you through your blinding orgasm.

Main character energy, she thought as she lit her cigarette, turning to leave before she was noticed. Taking note to maybe try that with Utahime one day.

Minutes later, you returned on the scene with Bambi legs, finding Shoko leaning against the entrance door. She stayed up front to make sure you made it back in safely and ignored the slick running down your legs you couldn't clean up until you got to the restroom. Naoya gave her a knowing win as he trailed behind you, but she got a weird feeling.

She was all for you finally having a bit of fun, but there was something specifically about Naoya that didn't sit right with her.

Maybe it was the way he carried himself, too cocky and self-assured. Or maybe it was his sly smirk that seemed to hint at something slightly predatory, looking at you in a way that felt less like affection or even lust and more like possession.

But maybe she was just thinking too hard and this was just a simple hookup you needed to shake off your shackles, put yourself back out there and never see the guy again.

That's what college life was. Hookup, discard, and repeat. Just another wild night to bank in your core memory.

And the night had certainly been beyond magic, and definitely home to one of the most intense orgasms you'd ever had, and when you thought back on it, that was one of the few times someone else managed to get you off...ever. But when you really took a moment to think about it, especially knowing what you know now, the more you chalked it up to probably being because of the drugs.

In actually, the frantically hot and spontaneous encounter that had you talking to God (very...interesting conversation) probably wouldn't have been that great if you were in your right mind, but your intoxicated hormones in the heat of the moment didn't care because it was a hell of a lot better than what you were used to.

Before that night, having big the 'O' during sex was like a myth to you.

Satisfaction either always narrowly escaped your grasp or was never on the table from the beginning, and for a while, you thought it was normal to always be left hot, bothered, and wanting more, ever since you first learned to do the horizontal dance.

Your own satisfaction was never a priority, never thought of or talked about, not even to yourself. With every partner, you made sure they were well taken care of, that they met sweet relief with heavy breaths and a smile on their sweaty faces every time. While your desires laid brushed aside, unspoken and unexplored.

But that night with Naoya was different—he was the first to turn the focus on you, the first time someone had taken care of you, even if it was grasping at straws.

He pined for your attention. He gave you effort. A night full of impulsivity, unpredictability, mystery, and challenge—all wrapped up in a flaming hot bow.

Everything you thought you lost, everything you thought you needed in a boyfriend.

Having one of those was a staple in high school that you missed out on because of your hectic and busy schedule on the road. So when you got to college, you sure knew how to pick them. Freshman year was a joke.

You went through one relationship and one 'situationship' before throwing in the towel in favor of hookups. At least those were less painful and had a clear deadline for when they would end.

No surprises, no heartaches, no one to blame. Just a mutual parting

But Naoya was something you simply could not walk away from, and by the way he stuck to you like glue for weeks, randomly popping up at your campus and whisking you away into his world for hours on end until you made him your boyfriend, neither could he.

Everything about being with Naoya was perfect.

His eagerness to chauffer his passenger princess around in his real-life Hot Wheel, taking you to the coolest spots, just like that night, and introducing you to all kinds of mesmerizing people. Always ending the night with feverish, snaking hot that groped your willing body into submission and made you feel more special than anyone else he could ever know.

His.

The ideal boyfriend: attentive and charismatic. A constant thrill.

A bit too much of a thrill.

Slowly, but surely merging into a slightly loose canon as unexpected droplets of a storm began to form. His charm and attention and lust and want and need for you were still there, but so were the cracks that gradually began to chip and show.

For one, Naoya wasn't in school, which was fine; instead, he called himself an entrepreneur. Though, exactly what he did was always a bit of a mystery.

His days were filled with handling sketchy 'business deals' and half-baked schemes that, over time, almost always failed and ended with him turning to you to help bail him out.

Your brains, your beauty, your sweet charm.

Whatever he could use to settle a deal and handle business.

It was what girlfriends did, you thought. Supporting your man was something you never second-guess, never even questioned as you knew he would have your back as much as you had his.

Until he didn't.

Having a habit of making big promises and diving headfirst into opportunities that almost always seemed too good to be true, that fearless confidence you fell in love with, once landed him in an embarrassing mess.

Weeks spent bragging about a "surefire" investment with one of his partners to not only end up in the red but also behind bars. And on the phone sounding like a kicked puppy. Asking you to bail him out.

It was the first time either of you had been thrust into such a serious situation, even if it was just a small charge, but Naoya swore it wasn't a big deal. Admitting that he had made mistakes but promising his intentions were pure.

"I did it for us," he said, voice lined with shame and apology, repeating that you deserved better but that he was trying—really trying—to give you everything you needed. So full of regret for even slightly jeopardizing what you two had built and you had never heard him so vulnerable and sorry as he promised it would never happen again.

Dragging your heart into the ground.

But as painful as it was to hear your boyfriend plead to save your relationship, nothing could have prepared you for the pain of swiping your card and watching the last of your savings disappear to keep it going.

Making up your mind that this was just another storm to weather amidst the whirlwind of hurricanes that was Naoya because he had been so good to you. Surely you could look over his idiotic mistake and help him out this one time. He only did it for you after all. 

To you, he had his quirks. To everyone else, he was shit.

But being there for him kind of reminded you of why you chose healthcare.

Your pocket vibrated, making you let go of your souvenir and memories of that night as you fished out your phone before sighing.

Speak of the Devil, you'd just thought him up.

"Hi, baby."

"Hey babe, how's my Doll?"

You relaxed on the bench, blushing. He sounded like he was in a good mood—always did when he used the little nickname he gave you that made you feel so small and safe.

Stress slowly left your body as you vented about work and how you were not looking forward to getting off only to clock right back in to study for your upcoming exam when you returned to your dorm.

"Aw, baby." You thought you could hear him pout through the phone. "How 'bout we blow off some steam when you're done? A little reward?"

You raised a brow. "Whatcha got in mind?" Hoping it wasn't the usual invitation to just 'solve your problems' with sex or some wild night on the town.

"One of the guys found his Nintendo 64, and I thought we could borrow it and play some games, ya?"

"Oooo," you sat up. "What games?" You hadn't had time to plop down in front of a TV to watch a show, let alone play a game in years.

"Uhh, mostly action, RPG and fantasy. Some kid games like Mario Kart and Lego Racers, but I was thinking we could 1V1 in J-League."

And suddenly, you were back in a familiar living room you hadn't seen in years.

Plush, brown carpet soft beneath your thighs, you sat cross-legged, Wii controller cool in your hands. Room dim, the glow of the TV casts flickering lights across your eyes as sounds of fast-paced music fill your ears.

Suguru nudges your shoulder, "C'mon keep up." And smiles.

And you gently smile back, feeling pulled into the waves of nostalgia. The memory and others alike always so soft, so easy. So comforting to fall into the world of one of the last times you two had fun together, before he made high school hell.

Now you were sure he was off somewhere traveling the world and living his best life.

Your life.

What it was supposed to be.

The walls were back up to shield you from the bittersweet ache.

Naoya was right. Mario Kart was for kids.

"You still there?"

"Ya, babe." You sighed to yourself, reminding yourself that those who needed to be in your life we're here now, not in the past. "I would love to. You're best." You smiled.

He laughs. "In bed, too."

..debatable.

extended angel's note: i hope you guys didn't mind the little "diversion" this story had to take (i am not in control) BUT i promise it all serves a purpose. your basket should be good and full with enough little easter eggs now to finally close out the story in part 3 where it all comes together to absolutely blow your angsty socks (and panties) off. it'll all be worth the wait (is highkey the morale of the story 🤠) thank you for rocking with me

p.s. sorry for the Naoya jumpscare but how are we all feeling about your lovely boyfriend 🤩💗

tag list: @7thsthings @elliesndg @jirishnesensei @blkkizzat