#because i have to find a place to stay and the chances are low that I'll find something okay

[sleepless-dreams]

ON THIN ICE

summary: letting your brother convince you to take your nephew to his hockey practice turns out to be more than you bargained for. On thin Ice is a quiet, emotional slow-burn about healing, rediscovering passion and falling in love.

word count: 2.3k

a/n: this is the first chapter in a series. unfortunately, this whole thing will be written in first pov, I find it suits x reader a bit better than other narrative styles. I don't usually write in first person, so I apologize if the text doesn't flow as naturally.

This story was inspired by a work done by @wandasfifthwife, unfortunately I don't think their work or account are accessible anymore. While the initial concept is similar, this is my own creation with its own original arcs, tone, pacing and plot.

₊⊹CHAPTER 1⊹₊

My eyes flicker up to the rearview mirror to check on my nephew as we head toward the East Ice Arena for his hockey practice.

His father, my brother, has a lot on his plate these days. He and his wife are expecting Owen's sibling. The baby is due in late November, and despite it still being a few months away, preparations are already in full swing. On top of that, the pregnancy is high-risk, requiring Owen's mom to stay home from work. That’s why my brother picked up extra shifts and begged me to take over driving Owen to and from practice for the foreseeable future.

I agreed easily. I have nothing better to do with the gaps in my schedule. Being single with a fairly low social life, I appreciate any chance to spend time with my family.

The traffic light flickers from red to orange and I press down on the gas pedal, continuing down the street toward the arena. The closer we get, the more nervous I feel.

It’s been years since I last set foot in an ice arena, and the thought of returning makes my stomach twist. Memories and thoughts I’ve worked hard to bury threaten to claw their way back to the surface. I don’t like dwelling on the past, but to my demise the rink has a way of unearthing everything I’ve tried to leave behind.

But this isn’t about me. It’s about helping out my brother and his family. About spending more time with them.

Either way, there’s no time to get lost in my thoughts, because we’re already pulling into the parking lot of the East Ice Arena.

"Come on buddy, we're going to be late!" I usher the boy out of the car as I step out myself, turning to circle the vehicle and open the trunk to take out his hockey gear.

Owen comes up by my side just in time for me to hand him his duffle bag. I grab his stick and slam the trunk shut. With a click of a button the car is locked and we start the short walk to the side hall C where the practice takes place. As we walk we pass the main hall of the Arena–a large, steel building where the major matches take place. Practices like the one we're headed to are held in side halls, of which there are several in this facility.

I hold the door open for Owen when we reach the building. We walk into the lobby, which has a reception desk and a snack bar positioned by a glass wall, offering a clear view of the rink for those seated in the bar area. There's a door there too, that leads to the rink.

"Hurry up, some of your teammates are already on the ice." I tell Owen as I hand him his stick. With a murmur I don't catch, the boy disappears down a hallway, past the reception desk and towards where I assume the changing rooms are.

There's no-one but what looks to be a couple sitting by one of the tables, quietly chatting to themselves and a lady standing behind the counter of the reception. I take a deep breath in and move forward, heading towards the door leading to the rink area.

It's simple in theory. It's not like I'm going to be the one skating, I'm just there to wait for Owen to finish up. Yet the moment I open the door and the chill of the air bites into my skin with the sound of skate blades slicing into the ice hits me, my heart rate spikes up. Suddenly I'm back, years ago, with the same anxiety surging through my body and heart pounding loud in my ears. I force myself to go on, to walk further into the area with a thick swallow. Sitting down high up on the bleachers, I exhale deeply through my nose, the air clouding into white fog.

I busy myself with my phone as soon as I confirm Owen made it to the ice. I can't bear to watch them skate, sitting by the rink is enough for me as of now.

I'm so engrossed in the meaningless news article that I don't notice someone sitting down in the seat next to me until the person speaks up speaks up.

"Which one's yours?" comes a scratchy, gruff voice from beside me and I lift my head to regard the man now sitting next to me. He is a big guy, balding and with a dark beard that had a few strands of silver already in it.

I turn my head away from him to watch the kids on the ice, they're divided in groups, doing different drills across the ice.

"Number 9. And he's my brother's." I reply with a flick of my hand in the general direction of where Owen is currently shooting at the goal. By the looks of it, every fourth one makes it into the net, the others bounce off the boards.

"The newbie? He's picking it up pretty late." the man observes.

"It's never late to start new things." I counter his response.

The man shrugs and leans back in his seat, "he won't make the team if he doesn't drastically improve, not to mention the varsity. He's too far behind other boys." His words make me frown.

"He still has time to get better. Besides he's only 13, he's not even in high school yet. And it's not all about varsity, it's about the joy he gets from playing." I reply, my irritation seeping slightly into my tone.

"You get joy from winning. And they won't win if they have boys who drag them down on the team. All I'm saying is don't get his hopes up for playing the big games." He goes on with a scoff.

I get up from my seat, having heard enough of the man's nonsense. I have a deep rooted hatred for parents who see their children as just an extension of their own desire for success. They are the exact reason behind athletic burnout and slow degradation of child's relationship with their sport. In some cases, that grows over to something bigger– repugnance. And I know how big of a toll that can have on the child's mental and physical health.

I come down to the plexiglass, watching the group closest to me make sharp turns around colorful cones spaced out on the surface. There's a pull within me, a phantom of a memory. Nostalgia, maybe even longing. Yet at the same time a deep sense of unease, fear and dread.

In the next few minutes, the space between the stands and the rink fills up as parents come to wait for their kids to finish up, a good indication that the practice is coming to an end.

"Sorry, I think we got on the wrong foot." comes the same voice from the bleachers, disturbing my train of thought for the second time.

I turn my head to face him, seeing him already opening his mouth to continue.

"I just want what's best for the team, that includes your boy. I was just warning you, that's all." he says, frustration evident in his voice as he returns to the topic that made me walk away earlier.

"How about I treat you to a coffee. We can start over?" he suggests. I just shake my head at the offer. I have no interest in talking with him more than I already did.

"I'm not in the mood for coffee right now." I try my best to politely decline, but he persists.

"Then maybe something else..." he suggests instead.

"No, thank you." I reply, my voice a bit firmer this time.

"Come on, we still have a few minutes left before the practice is over and even more before the boys come out of the changing rooms." He tries again, his voice tinged with mild irritation he's trying to hide.

In the midst of him speaking, his hand comes up to rest on my bicep. "Please don't touch me." I take a step away from him.

Just when it looks like he's going to retort something, the gate opens and the kids pile out. I take that as an opportunity to fully leave the conversation, walking over to where the group of boys huddle with their parents in search of my nephew. I find him slightly apart from the main group, helmet in hand, face flushed and hair sticking to his head with sweat. He's drinking from his bottle.

"Come on, Owen. Go change." I pat him on the back as he passes me with a soft grumble. "I'll wait for you by the bar!" I call after him before he fully disappears from my sight.

I shake my head, heading for the door to the lobby with a smile when my phone chimes with a notification. As I'm unlocking it, I bump into someone, my phone falling to the ground with a muffled thud as it lands screen down on the matted floor, right next to a pair of skates that definitely don't belong to any of the boys.

Before I can react, a bit shaken, the person turns around and reaches down with a hand in fingerless gloves to pick up my phone from the floor.

I take it when they hand it over before lifting my eyes to finally see who I bumped into. I come face to face with a very attractive woman. She's taller than me, with captivating green eyes and auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail, a few strands escaped the hair tie and are framing her face.

I'm embarrassed to realize she has been here for the whole duration of the practice and I didn't really notice her. Not only is she wearing skates and a thick, half-zipped team jacket, but as I look at her again, there's a faint redness to her nose from the cold. I didn't notice her once, too busy running away either from the infuriating man or from my past to pay too much attention to the ice.

"Sorry," I quickly apologize when I catch myself staring. That's not a good look for me, I'm sure. I don't even know what I'm apologising for, if it's for bumping into her or rudely staring at her for a moment. Both, most likely.

"Don't worry about it. Is your phone okay?" she asks kindly. I take a note of her voice. It's on the lower side, with uniqueness I can't quite place. Maybe an accent? I can't really tell.

"Yeah, not a scratch." I reply, looking down on my phone again just to confirm it's true.

"Sorry, I don't believe we ever met." the woman says, extending her hand towards me for a handshake.

"I don't believe we did." I agree, taking her hand and giving it a small shake. Surprisingly, her hand is rather warm despite her spending the last hour an half on the ice. Maybe she wore the pair of thick gloves that are sticking from her jacket pocket over the fingerless gloves she's wearing now..

"I'm Wanda Maximoff, the coach of U15." she introduces herself and rests her hand on her hip when we drop the handshake.

I mumble out my own name in response, quickly following it up with some clarification. "I'm Owen's aunt." To justify what I'm doing here.

Wanda smiles. "It's nice to meet you. Hope to see you around." She bids her goodbye and moves past me in the direction of the changing rooms.

With a sigh, I resume my original journey to the bar where I promised to wait for Owen. The transition between the cold of the rink and the lobby is stark, but not unwelcome. Owen is already sitting behind one of the tables when I walk in.

"Where were you?" he exclaims loudly as I approach him.

"I met your coach, no need to get worked up." I explain with amusement as he shoots me an irritated glare. "Come on, let's go home," I call over my shoulder, grabbing his stick and walking away.

"Can you take my bag?" he asks, his voice pitched higher into a whine as he trails behind me.

"I'm taking your stick already." I point out matter-of-factly.

"Come on, auntie!" he tries again, running the short distance between us to catch up to me.

"What's wrong kid? Can't handle your own gear?" the same unique voice from before asks from behind us.

Owen and I both turn our heads to look at the coach. Her eyebrow quirks in question and her lips are already pulled into a half-smirk. This time, her skates are thrown over her shoulder with a red duffle bag slung over the same shoulder. She may be smiling, but her eyes are stern as she looks down at my nephew.

One shouldn't look so good lecturing a kid, I think to myself. I exhale through my nose, shaking off the absurd thought.

Owen huffs in response, but doesn’t ask me to carry his things again. He just adjusts the bag's strap to sit over his shoulder better and moves first in the direction of my car.

I flash Coach Maximoff a small, amused smile before turning around to follow Owen, reaching into my pocket for the car keys.

"Have a good one," she calls her goodbye shortly after I move after the boy.

"You too." I reply, although I'm not sure if it reached her ears or not.

We make quick work of putting away the gear and getting into the car before I turn the key to start the engine and pull out of the parking lot.

[katyaromanoffpetrova]

Trojan Horse (crime boss AU: part II)

Natasha gets sent on her most dangerous mission yet: go undercover in the drug operation of the biggest crime empress in the world and take her down. But as they grow closer, she starts to forget about the mission more and more...

• Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC (Katya Petrova) second pov on Ao3 • Wordcount: 3k • Warnings: mentions of crimes, drugs and sex •A/N: if you didn't get it already, this will be a slowburn :) Also, I added this fic to Ao3 written in the second pov. So if you'd rather read 'you' than Katya, click here Masterlist Do not repost my work as your own or translate my work!!

Life at Katya's estate was much calmer than Natasha expected it to be. A serenity enveloped the beautiful property day and night. Birds chirped in the early morning dew, and the evening sun cast an orange glow over the white buildings in the late afternoon. Without the criminal activities, this could have been a holiday destination, hidden away in the gorgeous forest.

Natasha had started to settle into a routine. For the past two weeks, she and the other women who chose to stay—nine in total—had been in training. Getting stronger, handling and firing weapons, learning the ins and outs of the business, and what would be expected of them as one of Katya's Ghosts—the name fondly given to her employees. 

Most days were the same. Natasha would wake up in her single room in one of the outbuildings, eat breakfast in the adjacent dining room slash kitchen, spend a whole day training, have dinner from the live-in cook, and then spend her free evening reading or writing before going to bed. 

There wasn't much she could do yet. In this stage of the mission, it was mostly important to lay low and gain trust. Go with the flow, do nothing that could raise suspicions. So she followed orders, kept her head down, and trained eagerly.

Only when less eyes were watching her around the clock, could she start to reach out. Build relationships, work her way into places that were restricted to her now. She knew that the best place to find the information she was after was the house. And Katya. Getting closer to her was the main objective. 

So far, Natasha hadn't really had the chance to learn a lot about her. Katya only showed herself occasionally. She liked to go on a stroll around the property after dinner, sauntering around alone, chatting up the people she ran into. Sometimes, she stopped by training to see how her new employees were doing. 

Natasha learned that she was very much a hands-on kind of boss. Katya knew all her employees' names, chatted with them like they were her friends, and cared well for them. The bedrooms were clean, the beds comfortable, the food rich. She shared her wealth, because they were the reason she was still alive.

In many ways, it felt like one big family. There was no hostility among the girls. They laughed and joked like sisters, bonded by trauma and fierce loyalty to the one who saved them from it. Because all of them came from human trafficking transports just like the one Natasha was on. 

Some spoke to each other in their native language, but usually, Natasha caught pieces of broken English and thick accents. 

Somehow, it was beautiful. Their pasts didn't matter here. The color of their skin, the culture and traditions they came from… And not a single man in sight. 

Katya had built the strongest army possible. These women would not hesitate to give their own lives for hers. Because she was the reason they still had one.

The sun burned down brightly on the shooting range. Natasha was grateful for the sail canopy above her head, because her pale, freckled skin wasn't made for this weather. Gunshots popped off around her, the "teacher"—which was actually just one of Katya's oldest, most talented employees—pacing behind the row of rookies to give them instructions.

Natasha barely focused on her shooting. She could shoot a moving target in her sleep, let alone a cardboard one that was barely twenty feet away from her. Child's play. 

Instead, she kept a watchful eye on her surroundings. The shooting range was on the far edge of the property, but it didn't mean there was nothing to see. She tried to identify walking patterns of the guards, a building they were particularly protective of, secret passageways... 

It's how she spotted Katya first.

The woman was dressed in a new outfit. Natasha had never seen her wear the same thing twice. This time, she'd traded the darker colors for something more neutral. Sand colored linen pants and a slouchy white tee. Katya made everything look classy.

Natasha's heart skipped an anxious beat as the brunette came closer, her brown loafers crunching the gravel. It was time to be on her A-game. No slouching. 

She straightened her back, and so did the other women down the line, the gunshots halting without anyone telling them to stop.

"Keep going." Katya smiled. An easy smile that meant to settle their nerves. "Pretend I'm not here."

That was easier said than done. Natasha was hyper aware of her presence as she started to walk behind the line of shooters, studying them silently as the shooting resumed, stopping occasionally before walking off with a quiet sound of approval. 

After pacing the line twice, Katya stopped behind her. Natasha stiffened. Katya's steady presence burned against her back as she fired another bullet, pretending not to notice the woman's sharp eye watching over her shoulder and sliding down her body. 

She expected Katya to study her for a moment before moving on, like she'd done with the others, but even after Natasha emptied her magazine and clicked a new one into place, the brunette didn't budge.

With every passing heartbeat, she expected Katya to see right through her act. Not that she doubted her own undercover acting skills, but Katya's entire life and empire depended on her ability to sniff out lies and deception. If even the smallest thing was off, sirens and alarm bells would go off in her head.

Natasha could not underestimate her. And never assume she was safe.

When she fired the last bullet in her magazine and reached for a new one, Katya's hand suddenly landed on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"Leave the gun, walk with me."

Natasha's stomach twisted fearfully, but she nodded as calmly as she could. 

She clicked the safety on and handed the gun back to the teacher, taking one last look at her cardboard target. All the holes were situated around the center. She could hit the red dot in the middle every time if she wanted to. It was actually harder to miss it.

The gunshots faded away as they left the shooting range behind, Katya's steps in stride with Natasha's. They took a turn down an unfamiliar path, hugging the treeline at the back of the property. It was secluded, a perfect place to tell an undercover spy that you knew who she was. Natasha fought to keep her nerves in place.

Katya was unreadable. She stared ahead as she walked, calmly and confidently. Natasha caught whiffs of her perfume. Drifting up her nose and swirling in her chest. Sunscreen, and something very rich—amber. Slightly spicy and musky but not overpowering. Strong. Sensual.

Being next to her was confusing. Natasha expected to feel small, but Katya had a natural gift of making people feel comfortable around her if she wanted to. Instead of hunching forward, Natasha's shoulders pulled back, and she had to actively remind herself not to get lured into the honey trap. Katya was not going to succeed in soothing her into a slip-up.

"You're good with a gun," she spoke eventually, side-eyeing Natasha's expression for a reaction.

Natasha nodded respectfully. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Katya is fine." She smiled. It was a reserved smile. This was her moment of evaluating her rookie, if she could trust Natasha or not. "You've shot a gun before."

Again, Natasha nodded. "I used to hunt with my father." She'd studied the background story of her undercover character Nadia so deeply, that she could make herself believe the lies she told. 

"So you're used to taking lives," Katya concluded, pleased. "Deer?"

"And foxes. Rabbits."

"And men." 

Natasha didn't miss a beat. She looked away, feigning shame to keep up her act. She was Nadia right now. Not Natasha.

Katya smiled, shaking her long hair over her shoulder. Now that she was closer, Natasha concluded that it was, in fact, dark brown. So dark it looked black. 

"I read your file, Nadia. You intrigue me. Revenged the murder of your sister by killing the man who did it. Not many have the guts to do that."

Respect laced through her words, and Natasha cautiously looked back at her. 

It was to be expected that Katya got her hands on "official" background information, received through channels that shouldn't be accessible to her. The tech guys at SHIELD did an amazing job at making Nadia look legit. They chose every detail of her life carefully, trying to appeal to the kind of person Katya was without making it too obvious. 

"He didn't deserve to walk around free after he took her from me," Natasha answered softly, mixing her grief with anger. Katya's eyes lit up curiously.

"Did you enjoy it?"

Natasha hesitated, pretending to think about it. Her type of answer was really important here. It had to keep Katya intrigued. "For a second," she admitted shamefully, avoiding the brunette's bright blue eyes. "Then I realized that his death didn't make the pain any less."

Katya nodded to herself, as if agreeing. "Anger is so powerful. It hides the true emotions that you feel once it's gone." 

For a moment, Natasha thought she saw something flicker in her eyes. Something raw. A memory? But it was gone as soon as it came, replaced with that piercing look that reminded her that she was talking to one of the most dangerous crime bosses in the world.

"Would you do it again? Kill for someone you care about?"

Natasha didn't miss the real question: 'would you kill for me?' 

"Yes."

"Why?"

"There's no better way to show someone you love them." Her character Nadia was a bit twisted, not as pure of soul, wounded by her trauma. But not crazy, and Katya saw that too.

Her expression softened, and something twinged within Natasha's chest. "I think you and I are alike. If we care, we care deeply, and we will stop at nothing to protect and avenge the people we care about." 

The words crashed into Natasha like a reality check. She was playing mind games with a real person, and she was slowly starting to realize that Katya was in no way the cruel, evil woman the world made her out to be. 

Sure, she tortured her enemies, but there was a huge heart in her chest that cared immensely for the few people she did trust. Not only were they loyal to her, she was loyal to them, willing to run through fire. It was admirable.

"Since you are part of us now, we will do the same for you."

Natasha didn't know what to answer, so she just gave her a brief, careful smile. It felt nice, to be wanted. Even though Katya welcomed Nadia, not Natasha.

"Why did you choose to stay?" Katya continued, but it sounded more like genuine curiosity than suspicion now.

"The people of the man I killed are after me, so I can't go home. And I have nowhere else to go." Natasha bit her lip, glancing down at her shoes. More desperation, more ass-kissing. She needed Katya to believe that she saved her. "I guess I just wanted a place where I belong. Where I'm safe."

Katya stopped, and so did Natasha, watching her curiously as a soft smile spread across her lips. "You are. You never have to be afraid again." Katya's hand landed on her arm, squeezing her bicep comfortingly. Warmth bloomed and spread through Natasha's body, starting at the spot where their skin met.

For a second, she was lost, staring into Katya's blue eyes in a trance. This wasn't the sweet honey trap from before, meant to catch out liars. This was genuine care. 

She'd underestimated Katya's character. Knew she had a soft heart for the women she rescued, but didn't realize her care ran this deep. It affected Natasha more than she realized.

She wanted to ask more, but undercover work came with patience, and knowing when to take the victory and walk away. This conversation went so well, she didn't want to risk ruining whatever little trust she'd managed to build with Katya.

Her hand still lay on her arm. They were near the sleeping quarters now. Natasha could almost see her room from here.

"I never said thank you, for rescuing me."

"You don't have to." Katya's hand slipped down her arm, her fingers grazing the inside of her elbow. Natasha's skin tingled. "I'm happy you found a home here. You seem to fit right in."

Standing so close, the sun illuminating Katya's pale skin, Natasha suddenly noticed there were faint, little scars all over her face. Shrapnel? Glass splinters? They were just a tad lighter than the rest of her skin.

"How can I ever repay you?"

"By working hard. And keeping your word." She looked at Natasha pointedly, and the redhead understood what she meant. 

She would kill to protect Katya. Not only to keep her cover alive, but the government couldn't prosecute a dead woman. 

"Katya!" 

They both turned to look at a woman a short distance away, a worried expression on her face as she held up a phone. Something was wrong.

Reality crashed over their bubble like a bucket of ice. Katya straightened up, the softness disappearing from her stance in favor of the businesswoman with an empire to run. Natasha tensed up herself, only realizing how close they were until she took a step back.

Katya looked at her one last time, ready to walk away. "I'm keeping my eye on you." Then she was off, leaving Natasha to celebrate on her own. 

Her boss's words weren't a threat. They were letting her know that her hard work and potential was seen and appreciated, and that she could hope for good things—promotions—in the future if she kept it up.

The things she was doing, the angles she played, were good. She was going down the right path. Hopefully soon, she was allowed into Katya's inner circle and know what crises were going on. 

With a sigh, she returned to her training.

Natasha sat on top of one of the many decorative stone walls of the estate, pretending to read as she watched the back of the main house from the corner of her eye.

Evening had come, the last streaks of orange lacing the dark blue sky. It was getting harder to see the words on the pages of her book, but she wasn't here to read anyway. 

Katya had not shown herself since the crisis earlier on. In fact, she'd called more of her employees into the house and only started letting them go about half an hour ago, when the first ones started to come out the front door. 

They didn't speak a word. Not to each other, and not to the girls who weren't invited to Katya's meeting. Natasha wouldn't get anything out of them. 

So, she relocated to the back of the house, where the pool glistened in the twilight, in the hopes that Katya would come out to make a phone call or speak in private with someone. So far, nothing. 

She told herself she'd sit here until reading became impossible. It would become suspicious if she stayed longer than that. The guards walking their regular rounds around the compound were already eyeing her weirdly.

Movement in the corner of her eye made her head snap up. There, in one of the windows on the top floor—or rather, a door leading out to a balcony—a light flicked on. She saw a part of the ceiling, white, and the edges of a beige curtain. It could be any room, but something told her it was a bedroom.

Nothing happened for a moment. Then, something crashed into the glass.

Or rather—someone. 

Natasha's eyes widened. A woman, half bare, only her bra and a pair of jeans on, was pressed with her back against the glass. 

Natasha knew that dragon tattoo on her back, that impossibly long dark hair that reached her butt. She was one of Katya's Ghosts, seen circling around in her proximity quite often. Ana, Natasha believed her name was.

Firm hands held her in place against the door, another body morphing against hers. 

Katya.

Entranced, Natasha watched the scene unfold. Katya didn't seem to care that the curtains were open. Her lips sucked at Ana's neck, her hands sliding over her bare torso until her fingers hooked into the clasp of her bra.

Natasha tore her eyes away, her pulse racing. She saw what she needed to see.

Katya hooked up with her employees. She was into women. 

This was the type of intel she would have loved to have beforehand. It changed everything. She was trained to be a master of seduction. Closer to Katya than in her bed, she couldn't get.

Euphoric with this new information, she slid off the stone wall. The scene replayed in her head as she walked back to her room and got ready for bed. 

Sleeping with a target was nothing new, but this was on another level. Natasha couldn't ignore that Katya was a very attractive woman. Exactly her type. It wouldn't be torture to eat her out for a few hours. She bet Katya was amazing in bed.

Natasha's stomach clenched, and she scolded herself strictly. If Clint was here, he would be laughing and telling her that she needed to get laid more often. It was sad that she fantasized about having sex with a target like this. Especially when it was a means to an end.

That didn't mean it couldn't be enjoyable, though…

Natasha groaned, splashing her face with ice cold water until the sinful thoughts left her head. 

Yes, she was an undercover agent on a mission, but she was also just a woman with needs. And something in Katya brought out her weakness.

[brunchable]

𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿 [ 3 ]

Pairings: PornStar!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Game of Cat and Mouse. Bucky being stubborn as shit. Summary: Things have turned awkward. You and Bucky hasn't spoken with each other for a few days now. But is the much needed space making things better or worse? A/N: Sorry this took so long lmao. My boy got sick and needed my undivided attention my poor baby but he's better now thank god. A/N: I honestly don't know how to top-up the previous parts but shit, I need them to connect to a deeper level first before jumping into full on smut okay? maybe in the next part. The song sums up the whole fic to be honest lol.

You’d become a master at memorizing Bucky’s schedule, knowing exactly when to leave your apartment to avoid any chance of running into him. But lately, it seemed like Bucky had developed the same strategy, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his presence around the building had become increasingly scarce. It was almost as if he was avoiding you instead.

Today, though, you decided to switch things up by taking the stairs. Sure, it was three flights down, but anything was better than the awkward tension of waiting for the elevator and possibly bumping into him. You clung to the faint hope that the odds would work in your favor, that the stairwell would be empty and uneventful.

But as you descended, the sound of footsteps echoed from below, growing louder with every step. Your stomach flipped, an irrational hope bubbling up before you could quash it. Maybe it’s not him, you thought, though deep down, you already knew better.

Rounding the corner, your heart sank and raced all at once. There he was—Bucky, just a few steps below you, pausing mid-step with his hand gripping the railing. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. His expression shifted, a flicker of surprise quickly replaced by something guarded, his jaw tightening as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Oh,” you breathed, your voice softer than you’d intended. “Hi.”

His lips pressed into a tight line before he offered a stiff nod. “Hey,” he replied, his voice low, carefully neutral.

You stared at each other for a beat too long, the air between you thick with unsaid words. He looked almost annoyed—not at you, but at the situation, as if running into you had thrown him off his game. And maybe it had, because for the first time, it wasn’t you avoiding him. It was him avoiding you.

“So…taking the stairs now?” His tone was casual, but his eyes betrayed a hint of tension, a wall firmly in place.

You forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to your own ears. “Yeah, um… decided to switch things up. Exercise, you know.”

He nodded once, his grip tightening briefly on the railing before loosening again. “Right. Exercise.”

Another awkward silence settled over you, the sound of distant voices from above faintly filling the void. You shifted on the step, clutching the railing a little too tightly, your mind scrambling for something to say—something that wouldn’t make things worse. But before you could speak, Bucky cleared his throat and took a step to the side, making way for you to pass.

“Alright,” he said, his voice clipped. “I’ll… see you around.”

“Yeah,” you replied quietly, hesitating for a moment before you stepped past him. “See you.”

As you descended the stairs, your pulse pounded in your ears, each step feeling heavier than the last. You risked a glance back, only to find him already climbing upward, his shoulders tense, his head down. The image lingered in your mind, the sight of him retreating, the weight of his silence pressing down on you like a stone.

You reached the bottom landing, gripping the railing as you let out a slow breath. Part of you wanted to turn around, to call after him. But the words stayed stuck in your throat, tangled up with your own doubts and fears.

If he didn’t want to talk, you wouldn’t force him. But that didn’t make the ache in your chest any easier to bear.

× × × ×

You arrived at work, your mood sour and your thoughts tangled up in that awkward encounter with Bucky on the stairs. The usual morning chatter of the office greeted you. Trying to focus, you went to your desk, arranging your things in a futile attempt to bring some order to your day.

But then you heard them—Trish and Amy, huddled at the corner near the coffee machine, voices low but still clear enough to reach you.

“I just don’t get it,” Trish was saying. “It’s been days, and there’s still no new uploads from SergeantBarnes. Maybe he’s got a new project or something?”

“Or maybe he’s seeing someone?” Amy added with a conspiratorial tone. “I mean, think about it. He’s been off the grid lately. That’s got ‘new fling’ written all over it.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to block out their conversation. It was the last thing you wanted to hear today, and every word just stoked the frustration simmering inside you. You took a deep breath, attempting to rein in your annoyance, but they just kept going, their words grating at you.

“Honestly, it’s like he’s gone quiet for no reason,” Trish went on, sounding genuinely disappointed. “What am I supposed to watch while I’m waiting for Dan to finish his gaming marathons?”

“Is that all you two talk about?”

You couldn’t help it; something inside you snapped. Before you knew it, you turned around, your voice sharper than you intended.

Both Trish and Amy blinked in surprise, their expressions shifting from confusion to embarrassment. You continued, unable to stop yourself now that you’d started. 

“You both have partners, for crying out loud. Do you really need to spend every second gossiping about some guy online?”

They exchanged glances, clearly taken aback. “Jeez, sorry,” Trish muttered, looking both defensive and a little hurt. “We didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“It is when we’re supposed to be working,” you replied, more irritated than you’d intended. “Maybe keep the fan talk out of the office? Or, I don’t know, find a hobby that doesn’t involve obsessing over someone else’s life?”

Silence fell as they looked at you, wide-eyed and a bit stunned. Realizing how harsh you’d sounded, you took a step back, immediately feeling a pang of regret. But the frustration from this morning was still fresh, and you couldn’t bring yourself to apologize just yet. Instead, you turned back to your desk, jaw clenched, hoping the tension in the office would dissipate as the day went on.

At the end of your shift, the weight of the day felt heavier than usual. The tension with Bucky hung over you like a cloud, lingering in your thoughts despite your best efforts to shake it off. It shouldn’t even be this deep—so why were you so affected? It’s just a casual thing, you reasoned with yourself. We’re barely even… whatever this is.

Yet, no matter how many times you told yourself to move on, the thought of Bucky—the way he’d looked at you, the frustration and hurt in his eyes—gnawed at you. You found yourself mentally bargaining, trying to find some middle ground, some way to keep your guard up but let him in a little, too. Maybe if I didn’t overthink it… if I just let it be whatever it is, I wouldn’t feel this way.

As you gathered your things, ready to head out, Trish and Amy approached with hesitant smiles. 

“Hey, you okay?” Trish asked gently, her earlier excitement replaced with genuine concern.

You managed a small, apologetic smile. 

“I’m so sorry about this morning,” you said, glancing between them. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you both. Just… a rough few days.”

They nodded in understanding, exchanging a quick look before Trish turned back to you. 

“No worries, but hey, if there’s something bothering you… maybe we can help? What do you say to grabbing some dinner with us? We can talk or not talk about it?”

Amy’s face lit up as she chimed in. “Yeah! You shouldn’t have to stew over whatever it is alone. Come on, let us treat you to some comfort food.”

Their unexpected warmth and support tugged at something in you, and you felt the weight on your shoulders ease just a little. 

With a small smile, you nodded. “Sure, that sounds nice. Thanks, guys.”

They grinned, and without missing a beat, each linked an arm through yours on either side, leading you toward the door as if they were determined to help you shake off every ounce of stress you’d been carrying. As you walked together, their chatter filled the air, and you let yourself settle into the easy companionship, hoping that maybe tonight would give you the reset you needed.

× × × ×

Across town, Bucky was pouring everything he had into the punching bag in front of him, each hit landing with a force that reverberated through his whole body. The gym was nearly empty, giving him the space to unload, each punch fueled by the frustration and confusion that had been building inside him for days. His jaw was clenched, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead as he moved, his muscles tense and coiled with pent-up energy. The sharp sound of his fists colliding with the bag echoed through the room, filling the silence as he worked to dump every complicated thought he’d been grappling with.

He had no reason to be as affected as he was, but the whole situation with you had hit him harder than he expected. He’d thought he could brush it off, ignore the strange ache that crept up every time he thought about your last conversation, but it stuck with him.

After a final, powerful jab, Bucky took a step back, breathing heavily as he let his hands drop to his sides. His mind was still a storm of thoughts, the adrenaline from his workout doing little to clear his head.

When he wasn’t working off steam in the gym, Bucky’s day-to-day was far less chaotic than most people would assume. As an automotive engineer at Ford, he spent hours each day under the hood, designing, testing, and refining high-performance engines. His focus had always been on innovation, on precision, on building something that could withstand any test. It was work he loved—real work, with real meaning, where every bolt and every part had a purpose.

The other job, his work in front of the camera, was different. It was an outlet, a separate side of himself he’d chosen to explore. People saw it for what it was on the surface, but it never felt like the core of who he was. You, however, had somehow managed to blur the lines between the two worlds in a way that left him unsteady. And for the first time, he found himself wondering if keeping his other job had been the right one.

The memory of your face—surprised, hesitant, almost wounded—came rushing back to him, making his chest tighten with something more complicated than he was prepared to face. 

Why did it matter so much? She’s just my neighbor, he thought. 

He sighed, pressing his gloved fists to his forehead as he tried to shake off the ache that had settled there. For now, all he could do was keep hitting, keep moving, hoping that maybe, at some point, the weight of it would finally start to lighten.

Later that evening, Bucky found himself in his kitchen, mindlessly stirring a pot on the stove. The rhythmic motion and steady bubbling should have been enough to distract him, but his thoughts kept drifting—inevitably back to you.

He remembered the first time you’d crossed paths in the building, how you’d barely glanced at him as you carried a pile of boxes through the hallway. It had amused him, how determined you were to act unaffected, especially after that sudden recognition flashed in your eyes. That little double-take when you realized who he was had been priceless. He’d leaned into that reaction ever since, throwing little teases and comments just to see your reaction, to see the way your cheeks would flush or how your gaze would flit away, only to sneak back.

There was something refreshing about the way you seemed to care so little about the reputation attached to him—so different from others he’d met. And maybe that was why he couldn’t resist teasing you, why he went out of his way to bump into you, to throw in a bit of banter just to see if he could make you smile or throw him a comeback.

But he never expected it to go beyond that. He didn’t expect that somewhere along the line, those little interactions would turn into something he looked forward to. And now, somehow, it had gotten tangled up with feelings he wasn’t prepared to deal with.

Bucky stirred the pot a little too vigorously, and a few drops splashed over the edge, hissing as they hit the stovetop. His hand stilled as he sighed, feeling the frustration bubble up all over again. This is my fault, he thought, jaw clenching slightly. I shouldn’t have come onto her too strong.

He hadn’t realized he was stirring so absentmindedly until the pot suddenly began to overflow, the liquid spilling over the edge and sizzling against the hot burner. With a muttered curse, he quickly grabbed a towel, lifting the pot off the heat and wiping up the mess, the sharp smell of burnt food pulling him out of his thoughts.

As he turned off the stove, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to make things right with you.

× × × ×

After a long day, you found yourself standing outside Bucky’s door, nerves twisting in your stomach. Just apologize, you told yourself, trying to gather the courage. Get it over with and clear the air. But as you stared at the door, words rehearsed in your mind, you found yourself hesitating. You’d been standing there so long that you’d lost track of time, each second stretching as you cycled through a list of possible things to say, none of which seemed quite right.

Taking a deep breath, you raised your hand to knock when a light, feminine laugh floated through the door, catching you off guard. You froze, your hand mid-air, as the laughter was followed by a familiar deep chuckle. Bucky’s.

"Alright, alright,” you heard him say, sounding more relaxed than you’d ever heard him with you. There was a warmth in his voice that sent a pang through your chest, the kind that came from comfort, closeness.

“Oh, come on, don’t act like you didn’t miss me,” the woman teased, her tone playful and affectionate. “I know you. You’re never this nice to anyone else.”

You swallowed, something tightening in your chest as you listened.

"Alright, guilty," Bucky’s voice softened, almost shy. "Guess you’ve always been a bit of a soft spot."

Your heart twisted, her words and his response echoing in your mind, each line pulling you deeper into a sense of unease. Soft spot? Nice to her in a way he wasn’t with anyone else?

Your mind jumped to the worst possible conclusion, and your cheeks heated as your throat tightened. You felt silly for standing there now, silly for even considering coming over to apologize. What were am I doing? Of course he's with someone.

Just then, you heard footsteps approaching the door, and panic flared. You turned, bolting toward your own apartment, fumbling with your keys as you heard Bucky’s door open behind you. Just as you managed to close your door, you caught a glimpse of him glancing down the hall, his gaze lingering on your door with a curious look.

Bucky’s sister, Becca, caught him glancing toward your door, she raised an eyebrow, nudging him with a knowing smile. 

“What’s up with you?” she asked, a touch of teasing in her voice. “Is everything okay?”

Bucky gave his head a quick shake, trying to dismiss the worry that had settled there. 

“Yeah, yeah… it’s nothing. Just thought I saw something,” he replied, though his gaze lingered a moment longer on your door before he finally turned back to Becca.

She didn’t look convinced. Folding her arms, she tilted her head, giving him a look that only an older sister could manage—the kind that saw right through any attempt to hide. 

“Are you sure? You’ve seemed a little off tonight, Bucky. I don’t think it’s nothing.”

Bucky held up his hands defensively, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips as he tried to brush her off. 

“Nothing! Really, it’s nothing. Now go home, seriously,” he insisted, ushering her toward the elevator with a slight push.

Becca rolled her eyes, clearly not buying it for a second. 

“Right. Nothing,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she gave him a knowing look. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky muttered, a bit more forcefully this time, though he couldn’t quite hide the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Go on before you start reading my palm or something.”

Becca laughed, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. 

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” she said as she stepped into the elevator, though she gave him one last pointed look as the doors began to close. “But, Bucky? maybe figure out what you want before you drive yourself crazy over it.”

With that, the doors shut, leaving Bucky standing in the quiet hallway, he sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he glanced back toward your door.

Later that night, Bucky found himself slumped on his couch, phone in hand as he stared at the search bar. He let out a huff, rolling his eyes at himself as he typed: signs you’re into someone.

The results loaded quickly, and he clicked the first article, skimming the list with a mixture of skepticism and, admittedly, nervous anticipation.

Sign #1: You can’t stop thinking about them. 

He paused, frowning at the screen. “Okay, that’s… kind of obvious,” he muttered, mentally ticking off that box with a begrudging sigh.

Sign #2: You go out of your way to see them.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at his phone, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

“That one’s just stupid. I mean, we live in the same building. I don’t go out of my—” He paused, remembering all the times he’d “accidentally” found himself in the hallway when you’d get back from work, or when he’d gone to the laundry room at oddly specific times. “Okay, fine. Maybe sometimes.”

He kept scrolling, and the list grew more absurd—do you get jealous when they talk about other people? Do you go out of your way to impress them? By the end of it, he’d mentally checked off nearly every box, his expression morphing into a blend of reluctant acceptance and amusement.

Bucky sighed, tossing his phone onto the couch beside him. 

“What am I, sixteen?” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. Here he was, a grown man, looking up articles about crushes and ticking off boxes like he needed some random website to validate what he already knew.

But as he sat there, he realized it wasn’t the checklist itself—it was the fact that, for the first time in a long time, he felt like this. Like he actually cared about where things went, enough to drive him to ridiculous measures for some kind of clarity.

With a sigh, he leaned back, staring at the ceiling, the weight of realization settling in. Bucky stared at the ceiling for a few more moments, letting out a deep sigh before grabbing his phone again and pulling up his contacts. Scrolling down to “Steve,” he hesitated for a beat before tapping the call button.

It rang twice before his friend picked up with a cheerful, “Yellow?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, smiling anyway. “Hey, punk.”

“Bucky!” Steve’s voice was light, clearly amused. “What’s up? It’s been a while since you called just to say ‘hi.’”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “I… actually had a question. Kind of. For… a friend.”

“Oh, a ‘friend,’ huh? Sure, I’m listening.” Steve chuckled on the other end, and Bucky could practically hear the grin in his voice.

Bucky cleared his throat, leaning back into the couch. 

“Right. So, uh, hypothetically speaking… how do you know if, you know, if you’re into someone? Like, in a way that’s… not just friendly?” His words tumbled out, each one feeling more absurd than the last.

“Your ‘friend’ wants to know how to tell if they’ve got a crush, huh? Didn’t realize we were back in high school, Buck.” Steve snorted, not bothering to hide his amusement.

Bucky sighed, feeling his face heat up. “Look, if you’re gonna be annoying, I’ll just—”

“No, no, no, I’m sorry,” Steve said quickly, though he was still chuckling. “Okay, seriously. Well… I guess if your ‘friend’ can’t stop thinking about her, or if he finds himself looking for reasons to be around her, that’s usually a sign. Or if he’s, you know, protective, feels that weird jealousy thing… you know how it goes.”

Bucky was silent for a second, swallowing as he mentally ticked off each of Steve’s points. “Right. Yeah. Hypothetically, that makes sense,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“And,” Steve continued, now sounding suspiciously entertained, “if your ‘friend’ is calling up his actual best friend in the middle of the night to figure it out… well, that might be a bit of a giveaway, too.”

Bucky groaned, falling back into the couch with a scowl. “Alright, alright, I get it. Thanks, Steve.”

But Steve wasn’t finished. “Hey, Buck? If you’re asking for yourself—which we both know you are—maybe just tell her how you feel. You’re not as subtle as you think, and if she’s worth this much thought… she’s probably worth the risk, too.”

Bucky was quiet, swallowing the mix of nerves and excitement that Steve’s words stirred up. “…Yeah. Thanks, pal.”

× × × × 

The next morning, you were practically sprinting down the hall, head ducked and heart racing, when you heard him call out, “Hey! Y/N—wait up!”

You didn’t dare look back, only quickened your steps, praying he’d let it go. But his footsteps grew closer, and just as you reached the lobby, you felt a hand gently graze your shoulder.

With an awkward yelp, you dodged sideways, almost colliding with a potted plant as you called over your shoulder, “Sorry, Bucky—gotta go! Late for work!” 

You bolted through the doors, ignoring the bewildered look he gave you as you disappeared into the morning rush.

You turned off your phone completely, just to avoid the constant notifications. His messages had started out simple—Hey, can we talk?—but quickly escalated. Each ding had become a taunt, a reminder that, even though he seemed persistent, there was no other reason to face him now. You left your phone off for nearly a full day, and by the time you turned it back on, there were over a dozen missed calls and messages waiting for you, each one a pinch of guilt you tried to ignore.

And just when you thought you’d mastered the art of dodging, fate had other plans.

Untik one bleary-eyed morning, as you rushed out of your apartment with a coffee in one hand and your bag slipping off the other shoulder, you came face-to-face with Bucky at the end of the hallway. There was no escape route this time; he was standing right in your path, his arms folded and an expression somewhere between concerned and utterly frustrated.

You tried to step to the left, but he mirrored you, stepping right into your path.

You shifted right, and he stepped left, blocking you again.

You both paused, sizing each other up. Then, in unison, you both moved left, only to collide shoulders. You exhaled in frustration, darting to the right, but he sidestepped with you again.

“Bucky, please,” you groaned, your patience wearing thin, feeling the minutes tick closer to being late. “I have to go.”

His eyes softened just a little, but he didn’t budge. “Not until you stop running away from me. Can we just talk?”

You scowled, giving him one last sidestep to the left, only to be blocked again. With a frustrated sigh, you finally did the only thing left: you placed both hands on his chest and gave him a firm push, slipping past him before he could react.

“I’m late,” you muttered, not looking back as you all but jogged down the hallway, leaving Bucky in the wake of your retreat, his gaze following you with an expression that told you he wasn’t giving up. Hell no.

× × × ×

Until one day, when you were in the middle of work, a receptionist from the ground floor called up to tell you that someone wanted to see you. Curiosity and irritation flared as you made your way down, a frown already forming on your face. And the second you spotted him—standing in the lobby, arms crossed, looking as frustrated as you’d ever seen him—you felt your heart drop.

You turned on your heel, muttering to yourself, “Unbelievable…” But before you could make it far, he called out.

“Y/N!” His voice echoed across the lobby, and you turned back with a glare.

“What the hell are you doing here, Bucky?” you hissed, stepping closer so your conversation stayed private, though part of you just wanted to get him out of the building before anyone noticed.

His jaw was set, his gaze determined. “Can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Nothing should have happened between us. Let’s just… leave it at that.”

He frowned, visibly taken aback by your bluntness. 

“How can you say that?” he demanded, his voice low but intense.

Your throat tightened, but you held your ground. 

“I need to get back to work,” you said, not meeting his eyes. You turned to leave, but his voice stopped you once again.

“I’m not leaving,” he said firmly. “I’ll wait right here until you clock out if that’s what it takes. We’re going to talk, Y/N.”

You groaned, feeling a mix of frustration and disbelief. “Bucky, go home.”

But he didn’t budge. Instead, he took a seat in one of the lobby chairs, crossing his arms and settling in as if he were prepared to stay all night. Despite the receptionist’s raised eyebrows and curious glances from passing employees, Bucky stayed put, a stubborn expression on his face that only grew more determined with each hour that passed.

Throughout the afternoon, you tried to focus on your work, but every so often, curiosity and frustration got the better of you. By mid-afternoon, you found yourself messaging the receptionist, unable to resist asking, “Is he still there?”

The reply was quick and confirmed what you feared: “He hasn’t moved. Just sitting there, staring at his phone.”

You sighed, feeling a pang of guilt despite yourself. “Could you… maybe offer him a drink or something? He’s not going to leave, is he?”

The receptionist’s response was amused. “Already tried. Said he’s fine, but he appreciates it.”

The next day, he was there again, seated in the same chair, his arms crossed and his expression set like stone. This time, he came prepared—there was coffee waiting on the front desk with your name on it. When Trish and Amy teased you about the mysterious admirer, you convinced them to sneak out the back exit with you after work.

The day after that, he stepped it up. Roses. A beautiful arrangement of vibrant blooms appeared on your desk, the receptionist delivering them with a knowing smile. Your coworkers were relentless, whispering about your "secret boyfriend" and giving you sly grins every time they passed your desk. Again, you dodged them and Bucky, slipping out the back exit before he could catch you.

But no matter how much you avoided him, Bucky didn’t give up. Each morning, he was there, as stubborn as a mule—or more appropriately, as stubborn as Bucky Barnes. His persistence was unwavering, his resolve impossible to break.

Finally, on the fourth day, the receptionist herself came up to your floor, pulling you aside with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk.

“Y/N,” she began, her tone friendly but firm, “you’ve got to talk to him.”

Your stomach twisted as you glanced at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She arched a brow, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. 

“Your man. He’s down there again. Same chair, same determined look. And he’s got flowers. Again.” She folded her arms, her expression softening slightly. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but he’s been here every day for the past four days. He’s polite, patient, doesn’t bother anyone, but... it’s obvious he’s waiting for you.”

Your cheeks burned, and you felt the weight of her words settle over you. “He’s not my—”

“Y/N.” She cut you off, giving you a pointed look. “Just talk to him. If for no other reason than to put him out of his misery. I’ve worked here for five years, and I’ve never seen anyone that persistent. Trust me, most guys wouldn’t even wait an hour.”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “He’s... complicated.”

The receptionist chuckled, shaking her head. “Aren’t they all? But the way he’s sitting down there, looking like a kicked puppy one minute and a stubborn bulldog the next? That’s not complicated. That’s someone who cares.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “Don’t let something good slip away just because it’s messy.”

Her words lingered long after she walked away, leaving you standing in the hallway, your heart thundering in your chest. You peeked toward the elevator, debating whether you could sneak out through the back again. But deep down, you knew she was right.

Bucky was waiting. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

With a deep breath, you grabbed your things, bracing yourself for what was bound to be another conversation you weren’t sure you were ready for.

× × × ×

You stepped into the lobby, your pulse quickened. There he was, sitting exactly where he’d planted himself hours ago, looking a little rumpled, maybe even tired, but every bit as determined as ever. His gaze lifted the moment you appeared, and for a second, his whole expression softened in a way that made your heart skip a beat. Relief, warmth, maybe even something more—it was all there, clear as day, and somehow it made this moment feel… different.

Bucky rose, a small, boyish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he approached. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you, letting the silence between you speak. The noise of the lobby faded away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in a quiet, invisible bubble.

You forced yourself to stay steady, trying to keep the upper hand. Arms crossed, you raised an eyebrow at him. “So… you camped out here all day?”

His smile turned a little sheepish, but there was no hint of apology in his tone. 

“Told you I’d wait. Figured you’d come down eventually.” He took a half-step closer, his voice soft and warm, laced with that casual mischief that made it impossible not to smile.

You rolled your eyes, biting back the smile creeping up. “Could’ve just… I don’t know, texted? Called? Like a normal person?”

He tilted his head, his grin widening just enough to make your heart trip over itself. 

“I tried that, remember? Didn’t seem to work on you.” He shrugged, completely unfazed. “So I figured I’d go old-school. Sometimes persistence pays off.”

“Persistence,” you muttered, pretending to sound exasperated. “You mean showing up uninvited?”

Before Bucky could answer, the unmistakable chatter of Trish and Amy echoed from the elevator behind you. Your heart jumped into your throat. Oh no. Absolutely not.

Without thinking, you stepped closer to Bucky, practically pressing yourself against him as you yanked your bag off your shoulder and lifted it up like a makeshift shield to block both of your faces.

Bucky froze, his body stiffening at your sudden proximity, but his expression quickly shifted to pure amusement. His lips twitched as he looked down at you, your bag wobbling precariously on the side of your faces.

“Um… what are you doing?” he whispered, his breath brushing against your forehead.

“Shhh!” you hissed, tilting the bag slightly to peek over it. Trish and Amy were slowly walking toward the front doors, their voices growing louder. “Just… don’t move. They can’t see me with you.”

“And why’s that?” Bucky asked, his voice low and teasing, though he didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned down a fraction, his face hovering closer to yours. “Afraid they’ll get the wrong idea?”

“No, I’m afraid they’ll get the right idea,” you snapped under your breath, glaring up at him.

His eyes sparkled, and his grin widened. “Oh, really? And what idea would that be, sweetheart?”

“Bucky,” you warned, the heat rising in your cheeks as you tilted your bag higher, completely covering his smirking face.

But Bucky didn’t seem fazed. If anything, he seemed more amused, his gaze dropping to your face like you were the most fascinating thing he laid eyes upon. His voice softened, the teasing edge replaced by something warmer. 

“You know, you’re really bad at hiding.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

He chuckled, his chest vibrating lightly against you. “Not gonna lie, this might be the highlight of my day. You, using me as a human shield. Very flattering.”

“Oh shut up,” you whispered, but your voice wavered, betraying the way your pulse was racing.

Trish and Amy finally passed by, oblivious to the two of you tucked against the corner. You let out a breath of relief, slowly lowering your bag. But before you could step away, you realized how close you were—Bucky’s face mere inches from yours, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your heart stutter.

His voice dropped, soft and almost reverent. “You can hide from them all you want. But you can’t keep hiding from me, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare back at him, caught in the pull of his gaze. The noise of the lobby faded again, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

“I told you,” he murmured, his tone steady but impossibly gentle. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

You tried to ignore the thrill of butterflies that his words sparked. “Like I said, there’s nothing to talk about, Bucky. We should just keep our distance from each other okay?”

He took a steadying breath, his brows drawing together, his voice losing that playful edge. 

“How can you just decide that?” he asked, his tone almost pleading. “You don’t even know…”

You shifted, heart pounding. “Because I know you’re already seeing someone else. I don’t need to be another complication in your life.”

He blinked, visibly taken aback. And then, just as quickly, his face softened, an incredulous, almost disbelieving laugh escaping him. 

“Seeing someone else? Where did you get that idea?”

Heat crept up your cheeks as you tried to hold your ground. “I—I heard her, okay? When I was at your door the other day. The laughing, the… the way you sounded with her…” You bit your lip, looking anywhere but at him.

“Oh.” 

He let out another breathy laugh, shaking his head as if you’d just told him the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. 

“Y/N… that wasn’t a date. She’s not—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of exasperation and utter amusement. “She’s my sister.”

Your mouth dropped open, the realization hitting you like a freight train. “… what?”

“Yeah, my sister, Becca. She was just in town visiting.” He gave you a look of pure, amused disbelief, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “God, you really thought I was seeing someone?”

“Well, what else was I supposed to think?” you muttered, cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

Bucky’s smile softened, and he took another step closer, until there was hardly any space between you. 

“You should’ve just asked,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “Instead of. . . I don’t know? Avoiding me like the plague?”

You tried to summon a retort, but your heart was racing, your thoughts jumbled by his proximity and the way his gaze seemed to hold you captive.

Bucky chuckled, the sound soft and full of affection as he reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

“All this because of a misunderstanding?” His voice was low, his hand lingering, fingers brushing against your cheek. “I’ve been going crazy trying to figure out why you’re dead set on ignoring me.”

You managed to look up at him, heart pounding as you searched his eyes, suddenly feeling like all the air had been sucked out of the room. 

“So… you’re not seeing anyone?”

“There’s only one person I want to see,” he murmured, his hand dropping from your face and now brushing against your arm. “And I thought I’m making that pretty clear?”

Your mouth opened and closed then opened again, “Okay. . .”

“Okay. . .” Bucky chuckles and steps back, “Shall we. . . restart?”

A flicker of surprise crossed your face, and a warmth bloomed in your chest at his invitation. You’d spent so many days tangled in your own assumptions, convinced things between you were over before they even began, and here he was, offering an olive branch with that disarming smile.

“Restart?” you echoed, your heart skipping a beat as you met his gaze.

He nodded, his expression softening even more. “Yeah.”

You gave him a small, hesitant smile, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves. “Yeah… I think I’d like that.”

Bucky’s grin widened, relief and something warmer sparking in his eyes. “Great. Let’s go home?”

“U-Uh, sure.”

× × × ×

The streets were alive with the hum of the city—cars rushing by, distant chatter from groups of people, and the occasional burst of laughter from passersby. But despite the liveliness around you, there was an unspoken tension in the air.

You noticed the way women’s heads turned as you passed, their gazes lingering a little too long on Bucky. It didn’t help that he looked effortlessly handsome, his casual outfit somehow drawing more attention than it should have. A part of you wanted to roll your eyes, but another part couldn’t blame them.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care. His focus remained on you, his stride matching yours, though there was a slight hesitation in his step.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured, glancing up at him as you adjusted the bouquet in your arms.

He let out a soft hum, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Just thinking,” he said, his voice low.

“About?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly before he finally spoke. “About that night.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you instinctively looked away, focusing on the ground ahead of you. 

“I thought we weren’t going to bring that up,” you said softly, your voice tinged with both unease and curiosity.

“We have to talk about it eventually,” he replied, his tone steady but gentle. “I don’t like leaving things unresolved, Y/N.”

When you finally reached the corner of your block, you slowed your steps. Bucky noticed, his own pace matching yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

The two of you moved to the quieter steps of your building, sitting side by side. The soft hum of the city buzzed around you, but it felt distant, like it belonged to another world entirely. Your bag rested on your lap, your face soft under the streetlights, but the tension in the air was anything but light.

Bucky broke the silence first, his hands clasped together as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. 

“I’ve been wanting to say this for a while,” he started, his voice low but steady. “That night… I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at myself.”

You blinked, turning to him in surprise. “Mad at yourself?”

He nodded, his jaw clenching for a moment before he continued. “Yeah. I thought I’d scared you off, made you feel like I wasn’t taking you seriously. The last thing I ever wanted was for you to think I was just… using you.”

Your fingers tightened around the bouquet, the ache in his voice tugging at something deep in your chest. 

“Bucky, it wasn’t just about you,” you admitted quietly. “It was me, too. I panicked. I wasn’t sure if I could handle…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Handle what your life looks like.”

His head tilted slightly, his blue eyes softening as he looked at you. “Because of my job,” he said gently, not as a question, but a statement.

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. 

“It’s hard, Bucky. I hear my coworkers talking about you—about SergeantBarnes—all the time. They don’t know it’s you, but it’s constant. They treat you like… like you’re this fantasy, this unattainable thing. And it’s not just them. It’s everyone who sees you online, who only knows that part of you.”

He stayed silent, letting your words settle, his gaze never leaving your face.

“And then there’s me,” you continued, your voice wavering slightly. “I don’t want to be another name on a list or someone who gets overshadowed by… by the version of you that everyone else thinks they know.”

Bucky leaned forward again, his elbows resting on his knees as he turned his head to look at you. The streetlights cast a soft glow over his face, highlighting the sincerity in his expression.

“I get that,” he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “And I hate that you feel that way. But Y/N, you’re not another name on a list to me. You’re not someone who gets lost in all of that… noise.”

You held his gaze, the weight of his words settling in your chest. His patience today, his persistence—it wasn’t the action of someone who saw you as fleeting or inconsequential. It was the effort of someone who cared, deeply.

Bucky sighed softly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, I’ve kept my work and personal life separate for a reason. It’s always been easier to compartmentalize, to keep everything from bleeding into each other. But now? Now I realize that I didn’t think about what would happen if someone—if you—became significant to me.”

Your chest tightened, his words chipping away at the insecurities you’d been holding onto. “Bucky…”

Bucky turned toward you fully, his blue eyes locking onto yours, raw and unguarded in a way that made your heart ache. 

“If I told you that I want to spend every day and night with you—not just because I like you, but because you’ve become the one constant person I can’t stop thinking about. If I told you that you’re my sanity when the world feels like chaos, my laughter, my desire, my comfort, my day and my night, my cold and heat—If I told you that, would you think that translates to only wanting you as ‘one of my girls’?”

Your breath caught, the raw honesty in his words shaking you. “Bucky…”

“I know my job makes things messy,” he continued, his voice quieter now, like he was almost ashamed. “But I get it—I get why it’s hard for you. I hate that it’s something that puts distance between us.”

He looked down at his hands for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “If I could go back and change things, I would. I’d do whatever it takes to make this easier for you.”

Your throat tightened, the sincerity in his voice making it hard to speak. 

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to change who you are for me,” you said softly.

“It’s not about changing who I am,” he replied, shaking his head. “It’s about making sure I don’t lose something.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, his hands fidgeting as he leaned back against the step, staring up at the night sky for a moment before turning his gaze back to you.

“I’m gonna be really honest with you, Y/N,” he started, his voice low, hesitant. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do about the… other stuff yet. It’s not as simple as just walking away. I’ve got contracts, commitments—it’s not something I can just drop overnight.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you nodded, appreciating his honesty even as the knot in your stomach grew. 

"And that means... what exactly?" you asked, even though deep down, you already knew.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, and he let out an exasperated chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Do you really want me to say it? Do I have to say it?”

You didn’t flinch this time, your voice cutting through the tension with unsettling clarity. “It means you have to keep having sex with other porn stars… right?”

Bucky winced at the bluntness of your question, the words hitting him harder than he expected. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze dropping to the ground as he wrestled with what felt like shame.

You sighed heavily, pressing the heel of your hand against your forehead as you shut your eyes tightly. Your mind was spinning, your emotions tangled in a knot you couldn’t untie. Out of all the men that could catch your interest, why did it have to be him?

“You are the most complicated guy I’ve ever met,” you said, letting out a short, humorless laugh that carried no amusement, only exhaustion. “Oh my gosh, I honestly don’t even know—” You paused, your voice faltering as you opened your eyes and looked at him, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “How would you make it easier for me, Bucky? How?”

Bucky swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his lips parted, his gaze flickering over your face. He was clearly thinking, his mind working furiously to find a solution, any solution.

"Do you… not like the idea of me with other women?" he asked tentatively, his tone cautious.

You snorted, narrowing your eyes at him. "That’s a stupid question, Bucky."

"Just say yes or no," he pressed, his gaze intent.

"Yes, I do not like the idea," you snapped, your tone sharp with irritation. "But I can’t prevent it, can I?"

Bucky took a deep breath, his jaw tightening as he stared at you. Then, his next words came out carefully, almost testing the waters. 

“What if. . .you do it with me?”

Your eyes widened, disbelief flooding your expression as his suggestion hung in the air. 

Slowly, a startled laugh escaped your lips. 

"Are you joking? You’re out of your mind if you think I’d showcase my body to the world like that!"

"I’m not saying you have to," he said quickly, his hands raising defensively. "I just thought… maybe it’d feel different. Less like I’m with strangers. Maybe it’d feel like I’m with you."

"Bucky," you said, your voice heavy with disbelief, "that’s not a solution. That’s… whatever that is, it’s insane."

His shoulders sagged slightly, and he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tugging at the roots in frustration. 

“I know it sounds insane,” he muttered, his tone rough. “But I’m trying to find a way to make this work. To make this easier for you.”

You shook your head, letting out a long breath. You stared at Bucky, your frustration and disbelief simmering just beneath the surface. 

“Me… doing that with you? Just so I can handle this better?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“I know it sounds crazy. Trust me, I know. But I hate the thought of you being upset every time I have to perform. And yeah, maybe it’s a selfish thought, but if it were with you… at least it’d feel real. Like it means something.”

You bit your lip, his words tugging at something inside you. But the idea of putting yourself in front of a camera, of having your body displayed for the world—it made your stomach churn. "Bucky, that’s not… I don’t know if I could ever do that. It’s not me. It’s not what I want people to see of me."

He nodded slowly, his hands fidgeting in his lap. "I get that," he said softly. "But if it’s the only way to make this easier for you… I just thought—"

"You thought what?" you interrupted, cutting him off. "That I’d suddenly be okay with the idea of putting my body out there for millions of people to see? That I’d somehow be okay sharing you like that, even if it’s just on-screen?"

Bucky flinched at your tone, his jaw tightening. "I don’t want you to share me. I don’t want any of this to be a problem for us. But you don’t trust that I’m serious about you, and I’m just trying to find a way to show you."

You let out a shaky breath, your thoughts spinning. He wasn’t wrong—it was hard to trust, hard to believe that someone with a job like his could be serious about anyone, let alone you. But his suggestion… it wasn’t the answer. Was it?

For a moment, you considered something that had never crossed your mind before. The idea was ludicrous, insane even, but it lingered in the back of your thoughts like a whisper. Your lips parted hesitantly, the words tasting strange on your tongue as you said them.

"If I agreed… hypothetically," you started, your voice faltering slightly, "would I… would I have to show my face?"

Bucky blinked, taken aback by your question. For a moment, his expression softened, a mix of relief and regret washing over his face. 

“It’s only a suggestion. . . you don’t have to do this, if you’re uncomfortable." he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I just… I threw it out there because I’m desperate to find a way to make this work.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. 

“I don’t know. But the thought of you with someone else… it makes me sick. And now I feel like I’m stuck, like there’s no winning in this situation.”

Bucky studied you for a long moment, his blue eyes filled with understanding. You could see him weighing his next words carefully, as if they could tip the balance in either direction.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice soft yet steady. “You know what? Forget I said any of that,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, almost sheepish smile. “It’s too much for tonight. For both of us.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift in tone. “Bucky—”

“No,” he interrupted gently, shaking his head. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to feel like this has to be some big, impossible decision right now. We’re both exhausted from this conversation, and I don’t want to mess it up any more than I already have.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, a mix of relief and guilt swirling in your chest. He was giving you an out, a way to step back from the overwhelming weight of it all, and you weren’t sure whether to thank him or cry.

“How about this,” Bucky said, leaning forward slightly, his tone softer now. “Let’s just… hit pause for tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll do something normal. Something simple. Let’s go on a date—no heavy talks, no complicated feelings. Just us.”

Your eyes searched his, finding nothing but sincerity in his gaze. It wasn’t an easy fix, and it wouldn’t erase the doubts or the fears that still lingered between you. But it was a step forward, a way to reconnect without the weight of everything else pressing down on you both.

“A date?” you asked, your lips twitching into a hesitant smile.

“Yeah,” he said, his smile growing a little. “Somewhere fun, somewhere we can just… breathe. No drama, no cameras, just you and me.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You make it sound so easy.”

Bucky’s grin widened, and he shrugged, a teasing glint in his eye. “That’s because it can be. We don’t have to solve everything at once, Y/N. We just have to take it one step at a time.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the tension in your chest loosen ever so slightly. 

“Alright,”you said, your voice steadying. “Tomorrow, we’ll go on a date.”

Bucky’s smile was warm and genuine, and for a moment, the weight of the evening lifted. 

"Awesome," he said, standing up and offering you his hand. "Now, let me walk you up. Can’t let you carry bag on your own."

You laughed softly, taking his hand as he helped you to your feet. As the two of you walked back into your building, the night air seemed a little lighter. Although at the back of your thought, a question lingers. Should you agree to his suggestion?

tags: @bohoooitsme @barnescamboy @strangefunthornqueen @mayusenpai666 @seven0714

@rabbitrabbit12321 @alexsl-universe @xunquish-blog @hzdhrtss @winchestert101

@alyana-luvs-u @itsbuckysworld @eternalwinters @am-3-thyst @vaneyvfs

@mochiclouds @yesiamthatwierd @skywalker0809 @19jammmy @quinquinquincy

@morganlolitta @openup-yourmind @urbanleftovers @fallout-girl219 @awenita

@red22wolf @lostboys1987girl @tenmaabnesti @elloredef @daddylorianisastateofmind

@leighta @formulas-bitch @waywardhunter95 @cereal6666 @gg-trini

@ohdrey89 @theboysfanficmaker @clintsupremacy @whatislovevavy @okeypoteto

@lilynotdilly @byunleedy @mrsalexstan @jamesbarneswife @chiseplushie

@antiartemis @imagoddessinmystories @let-it-sn0o0ow @mostlymarvelgirl @crdgn

[filmstarved]

i can fix him and fuck him.

18+ [logan x female!reader]

nobody can break through logan's walls with ease like you can. and he actually lets you, welcomes it even. he needs it to breathe and when he's ready to walk out of the gifted youngsters door, there you are again.

word count: 5,737

logan sulks. he’s so devoid of love and compassion that he sulks. he’s confused most days, too. unsure of who he is and what he even wants. the people who are somehow closest to him can’t even find their way past the fire breathing dragons that guard the drawbridge to his heart. (scott jokes that he doesn’t have a heart and that the adamantium replaced it and he’s fully pumping cold, hard metal).

logan is a man who answers to himself and doesn’t give people even the slightest chance to ask him a dumb fucking question because he’s not in the fucking mood. he’s never in the mood…unless you put him in one. usually a good one.

you earn a smile from logan as easy as the sun makes it seem to rise every morning and the moon to take its place at night. it leaves the team dumfounded. they believe if you weren’t here, logan would have left a long time ago. they’re right. logan used to search high and low for any excuse to leave. he never knew where he’d go, he’d just…go. but you didn’t dare let him out of your sight. not ever since the professor had brought you to what you call home a little over a year ago now.

deep down, he wanted reasons to stay. somewhere deep inside that metal frame…he wanted things to be right again. he’d find it tiring most days to carry around his grief and anger. but you gave him reasons to stay just one more day.

“so we’re working on that thing for charles together tomorrow right?” you asked on a wednesday, standing so cutely in the threshold of his door that it was almost annoying to him.

“so we’re catching that movie downtown with ororo and hank tomorrow right? it starts at 6!” you asked on a thursday.

“heeyyy, lo…do you possibly, maybe think you could sub for scott’s morning classes tomorrow? he has a dentist appointment…,” you shyly asked on a very late sunday night. (logan heard scott’s jokes about his heart so he made you ask. logan was the only one available.)

but behind his stoic stature and intimidating glare fixed on his face accompanied by knitted brows, he’d always say yes…to you. you were his reason for staying. he knew it but would never admit it. you knew it but played the oblivious part well. and the rest of the team would gossip about it when you two weren’t around. but as long as you were here, logan has nowhere else to be.

although as of late, you’ve been busy. much busier than usual. charles has you creating plans for a mission happening soon. when you’re not teaching mutant ethics 101 to freshmen, you’re hauled up in the lab or library; sometimes darting back and forth between the two multiple times a day leaving very little time to worry about logan.

tonight, you brought your work back to your dorm. as you cleaned up a rough draft of an exit strategy, rain began to tap lightly on the window. you had lit candles littered around the room as well as grouped on your table, a small desk lamp illuminated the surface further. as you reached up to stretch your aching back muscles, you were startled by the sound of a throat clearing.

your eyes shot to the sound at your door where logan stood, leaning against the frame; arms crossed and still like he had been glued to the spot. 

“hi lo,” you say. “y’scared me, heh.” you aren’t used to logan greeting you often, especially not this late. he’s over 150 years old, of course he’s grumpy and an early bird. you’re usually the one at his door with requests and invitations to social events he assumes can be nothing short of insufferable. he sighs, his stare dropping to burn holes in the ground. “logan, are you-“

“i think i’m gonna get out of here, bub.”

those words felt like an arrow hitting the bullseye in your chest and then another splitting the first one right through the center.

“wha-what do you mean?…you’re leaving?” you asked, confusion and frustration trembling in your voice.

“it’s too hard being here.”

with that, you stood up from your chair, beelining to him. “c’mere,” you say hushed, pulling on his leather clad arm, trying to unfold them and get him out of the door frame. he doesn’t budge and you pull “the look” that you know he can’t say no to. “come sit with me please, lo.”

he unfolds his arms which allows you to grab his hands to lead him to take a load off on your bed. your bare feet pat on the hardwood floor as you quickly go back to close the door.

you walked back over to him, assessing his body language. ever since he let you use your mutation to “read him” a few months ago, you told him you’d never do it again without his permission. one gaze into his eyes and a touch of his skin and you could feel everything wracking around in his head. anxiety, rage, hate but love, pain. it was hard to feel just for a moment and your heart cracked knowing he was riddled with those feelings constantly.

but right now you couldn’t help it, he was slouched on the edge of the bed, his head dropping to rest in his large hands, and apparently ready to walk right out of the door. your powers are amplified with a touch and even more when you can look into their eyes. from a distance, you could feel a sense of unease and something else… a pressure…built up in your stomach as you surveyed your friend. it didn’t feel bad though…it felt familiar. a good familiar. you stopped reading him and did your best to shrug off the aching stomach feeling and care for your disheveled logan.

he wasn’t emotional, like ever. he hid all that, only showing you what you wanted to see; what he believed you wished him to be — happy, whatever that was. but that couldn’t’ve been farther from the truth. sure, you want him to be happy but also just whatever he wanted to feel, you wouldn’t suppress it or try to change it to fit some ideal of who people on the outside want him to be. yes, he was one of the meanest motherfuckers you had ever met but he was your mean motherfucker. (whatever that means because nothing has ever really been clear between you two).

you walked closer to him, forcing yourself in his diabolical bubble. you stood between his legs, removing his hands from his face to wrap them around your waist. you scooped your hands under his scruffy chin, pulling up to get a look into his bloodshot eyes. oh, he’d been crying.

“lo…,” you muttered. “why were you crying, wolv?” you slide a thumb across his cheek where tears had stained the skin. “why do you want to leave?”

he pulled his face away, breaking his stare with you. he dropped his head forward to rest on your stomach, wrapping his arms around your legs so his hands rested on the back of your thighs. he began to slowly rub the exposed skin of them that your very short night shorts didn’t cover. he lifted the hem of your shirt slightly to press his hot face into the soft, cool skin underneath. he hummed into it, allowing you to feel the vibration.

“logan,” you softly moaned his name under your breath. his fingers press firmly, inching closer to the crease in the skin where your ass meets thigh.

“is this okay?” he asks lowly, when he looks up for confirmation to keep going, you’re already looking down at him nodding. “say it’s okay for me to touch you like this, bub.”

“yes, keep going, logan,” you said curtly. in your voice there is a hint of need. you hadn’t been touched like this since jean’s christmas party, tipsy off spiked egg nog in the garden with a guy whose mutation was a very wet, long tongue. flirting with him seemed intriguing in the moment, but five minutes later, it rendered itself utterly useless due to user error. the sexual tension between you and logan is so potent it usually clears out a room. aside from accidental brushes of hands and quick looks at each others lips mid conversation, neither one of you has acted on it.

his hums turn to growls and soft whimpers as your hands ran through and tugged his hair. your fingers found their way to his nape, splaying out to grip the hair there in your fist. he managed to place a single kiss on the skin right above the elastic of your shorts before you pulled his head back to scrutinize his face.

“you don’t have permission to read me,” he groaned. before you could ask how he even knew that’s what you were doing he said, “you get this serious, focused look in your eyes. i can feel you in my head.”

“logan, what are we doing?” you ask, releasing his hair and stepping out of his bubble. 

his hands drop from the absence of your thighs onto his lap and his sighs frustratingly. 

“what do you mean?” he asks, admiring your body in the dim light with a semi pressing on the denim of his jeans through his boxers.

“i’m…not doing this with you…if you’re just gonna disappear from my bed before the fuckin’ sun comes up. i’m not doing this,” you said, with your hands on your hips.

he pressed his hands into his knees to push himself up to tower over you. he took two big steps forward and stood in front of you. his hand raised up to brush the back of his fingers across your cheek to cup it and rub his thumb over the warm skin. 

he pressed his lips to yours, skillfully allowing his tongue access to it. you let him. “i give you permission,” he moaned in your mouth. “read me. feel how i feel about you…how i’ve always felt about you.”

he welcomed the hesitant slip of your hands past his jacket and under his shirt, shivering and chuckling “mm, cold” into your mouth. you rested your cool touch on his hips and with his mouth obsessed with yours, you read him. 

your head dizzied instantly and the hair on the back of your neck stood up. you had never felt anything as strong as this. you could almost taste the colors in logan’s head. your heart dropped to your stomach like you were on a rollercoaster, feeling sick from adrenaline in the best ways. and then, returned that good familiar feeling. this time buried even deeper in your stomach, moving it’s way lower…and lower until logan was swallowing the noises escaping you. before you literally passed out, you dropped your hands and took back ownership of your lips and tongue. breathing heavily, you moved away from him to collect yourself.

a beat of silence followed by a heavy sigh and a “well, say something” from logan passed and you opened your mouth to speak before shutting it again.

that…was the best thing you had ever felt. no drug could compare to the euphoria that a minute of kissing logan could bring. you could practically feel yourself lubricating and your upper thighs unconsciously squeezed together as you scrambled to find thoughts.

there were none. your mind already dumb and wanting more of him…more of the feeling. your fists planted firmly on both your hips as if you were grounding yourself to the floor to avoid buckling. you eyed the ground, looked back up at him and forwarded with another heated, taking-in-each-others-breath kiss. your hands found their way to the same place gripping the hair on his nape to which he praised the tug with a moan. he supported your balance as your whines got more whiney and needy and your hands held onto him like life support.

“lay down,” he said into your kiss. it wasn’t really a command, more of a warning because he tossed you on the bed like unfolded laundry.

he stood over you as you collected yourself, darting your tongue out to taste the spit he left behind. you propped yourself up on your elbows to get a look at the man casting a shadow over you. without the sounds of pleasure exclaiming in each others mouths, your ears absorbed the comforting sound of the battering rain. a tree branch smacked the window as thunder rumbled outside.

logan took a moment to admire your presence. starting at the top, he gazed upon your hair that he associates with vanilla and roses and the times he’d touch himself wondering how it’d feel being wrapped around his hand and pulled.

as he removed his leather jacket, he took his time mentally undressing you. feeling even more pressure build in your clit, you bore your hips down into the mattress, rolling them in circles to stimulate the swollen nub. he beheld your tits, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip at the sight of your hard buds under your very thin, white tank top. he threw his heavy jacket to the side, letting it thud in a ball on the ground.

“you look so beautiful, sweetheart,” he said, deeply enthralled by your scantily clad figure laid out in front of him. unable to stop staring, you could see the bulge in his pants get larger and it ridiculously turned you on. with you making eye contact with the crotch of his jeans, he effortlessly unfastened his belt buckle. the metallic buckle clanked to the floor as his jeans and boxers pooled around his ankles. 

he stroked himself while he looked upon you. it was like you could read his mind, because you began to touch yourself. the twitch of his lips and darkening of his eyes validated your teasing. letting yourself drop back on the bed, you caressed your body for him. one hand occupied by cupping your tit and pinching and twisting your nipple while the other is exploring the wet spot left on your panties. not being able to handle eye-fucking you any longer, he dropped to his knees on the edge of the bed between your legs. logan hooked his arms under your knees, pulling you close which in your intoxicatingly lustful brain you found funny, so you laughed.

logan spread your thighs open so he could fit in between them to leave wet, sloppy kisses all over your skin. he nibbled here and there, earning soft hisses and hums from your parted lips.

kiss kiss nibble hiss mmm kiss hum nibble nibble bite kiss suck

he spent about a minute just doing that, leaving warm welts in his mouths wake. “i need these off of you, princess.” once he had kissed his way up to the elastic of your shorts, he snapped it. you nodded and he did the honor of pulling them down and flinging them across the room like he was opening presents on christmas morning. 

he let out an amused scoff as he ran his trembling hand down his face, caught between ecstatic disbelief at the sight of your black lace panties with little black bows adorning the seams. you mentally thanked your past self for slacking on doing laundry and only having your “special occasion” panties left to wear.

“d’you know how pretty you are,” he said. his eyes traced over every inch of you in excitement like you were artwork he stole from the louvre and made out like a bandit with.

his hand disappeared to slickly stroke himself, his mouth watering in anticipation for your taste. his chest heaves as he takes in the sight of you, studying every curve prettily laid out before him; thinking about every position he wants to see you in and every way he wants to please you. without another groan inducing thought, he lunged forward to press a kiss to your lips, his tongue demanding attention. you drink his breath like liquor becoming completely intoxicated by him. he needed this, he needed you.

“need…to taste…you,” he breathed in between kisses. with this mouth obsessed with yours, his hands caress your tits, his thumbing circles on one of the nubs while he’s pinching and pulling on the other. your head falls back and your neck rolls at the sensation, earning profanities from your pretty, swollen lips. your tit misses the hand that he proceeds to run down and up your thigh to locate the spot in your panties you were playing with a moment before. as he parts from your kiss, he’s hooked two fingers under the elastic, pulling those off swiftly.

you yelp when he pushes your torso down. you stare up at the decorative ceiling as he savors you, kissing and massaging your thick thighs. he’s enjoying playing with you as much as possible before allowing himself any pleasure. he wants your juice to cover his face…his neck…his arm…the bed…the floor too when he gets you to pop like a water balloon.

“logan…please, please,” you beg, pawing at his hair. you lift your head to watch the man between your legs taking in the sight and smell of your pretty, wet pussy. even in the dim light, he could see how much you ached for him. he not so secretly got entertainment from watching you lightly buck your hips up to his face and he would’ve let it continue but your pheromones became overwhelming for him; engulfing his head in it’s enchanting aroma.

like fresh pie on a windowsill, he was drawn into you. logan opened wide to swipe one flat tongued lick up your slit. he had one goal — to knock all sense out of you, to fully engulf you in pleasure. he wants you dumb and begging for him to stay right where he is — at the mansion and also all over you. 

logan audibly sucked and popped your clit in and out of his mouth, teasing the most sensitive bit. he’d suck and pop and then lick up your slick, repeating the act. one of his big hands reached up to cup your tit, pinching and twisting and circling. from his hair to the tit he wasn’t playing with, you clawed at whatever would ground you. being eaten by logan felt like floating above the stratosphere.

your wet soaked his beard and it only made him more horny, his cock dripping and throbbing in his fist. tasting you, inhaling you, winning pretty sounds from you, knowing he’s the one making you buck up and fuck his nose only made his appetite for you insatiable. he let go of himself to push his pointer and middle fingers into your needing pussy. you hissed and cursed. the thrill of him devouring you began to reach its peak. his fingers pumped relentlessly into you, curling them to stimulate your g-spot. moans, curses, the gushing of your wet cunt, his sucking and popping and vibrating moans mixed with the rain and thunder grumbling outside filled the dorm like mozart’s symphony no. 25.

he wanted to kiss you, so he did. with his fingers still coaxing an orgasm out of you, he shared the sweet taste. he got back on the bed with you, sliding his free hand under your back to push you up to further to see the mess you were making on the sheets.

“look at how good you’re taking my fingers,” he groaned, inching closer to your ear so you could hear his dirty language loud and clear. “you can come for me, baby.” he peppered a few kisses to your forehead, removing his hand from behind you so he could press it into your stomach. this only heightened the overwhelming wash of pleasure coursing through you.

“lo…logan, i’m-“

“fuck my fingers, baby. use them…oh that’s it…that’s it…i feel that clenching, c’mon you can do it for me. go big baby, make me happy.” his dirty mouth and sporadic clit circling and pumping in and out of you with his tireless wrist pushed you over the edge. you cowered into his neck, pulling on his white tank top and biting the salty skin below his ear as your pussy obeyed, erupting with your juices. out of breath and fucking dumb already, you could feel the wet soak the sheets under your ass.

logan pulled his fingers out of you, landing a light smack on your pussy before licking you clean off of his digits. you fell back on the bed, your arms above your head as you heaved and saw stars.

“‘m not done with you, princess.” he slid off the bed, still delighted by your taste and engulfed in your aroma.

“fuuuck,” you groaned. the pulsing lightning feeling spread throughout both legs as an effect of your rocking orgasm. logan was wicked with his tongue, a devious magician with his fingers and you were his sole audience member wondering about his tricks for sleight of hand.

he quickly tossed his tank, that had tug marks from your attempt to ground yourself, to the side, his muscles flexing under his skin. as he let your post orgasm, cock-dumb brain fog clear, he spit in his hand to fuck his fist. his saliva mixed with the pre-cum leaking from the head, he groaned and sighed heavily at the feeling of giving his dick some sort of relief. you, needy for another hit of him, propped yourself up on your elbows to watch the most delectable creature pleasure himself.

just the sight of him illuminated by candles and flashes of lightning outside as he gets off to how fucked out and dumb you look was enough to have you open up again and play with yourself. the sensitivity from your swollen nub required a delicate touch but your pussy ached, clenching around nothing. his knitted brows relaxed, eyes darting from your pretty face, to your tits, to your fingers rubbing circles where his mouth resided moments ago back to look longingly into your eyes.

“you’re gonna stay,” you said. your hand reached your mouth, your tongue swiping a lick up your middle and ring fingers, wrapping your lips around them to coat them in your saliva. “tell me you’re going to stay for me,” you elaborated. your wet fingers found your aching center.

“there’s no where else i want to be,” he answered. he paced closer to the bed where you laid, his dick basically making eye contact with you as he stopped a few inches away. “you’re mine, you know that?” he noticed your hand slow, “keep going,” he commanded. logan reached out to cup your face, tilting his head to get a look at you obeying his every request. “your face…your mouth…,” his thumb swiped across your lips as he spoke. “your body…your cunt.” he leaned down to kiss your mouth, leaving a string of spit attached to your lower lip. “your laugh…your heart,” he said kindly, his hand massaging your scalp. moans earned from his praise escaped you. “you’re all mine. is that okay with you, baby?”

you’re so bewitched by his aura and his subtle touches make your heart race so fast that you can’t do anything but try to maintain his torrid eye contact and nod.

“use your words, honey.” his thumb returned to the softness of your parted lips.

“i’m yours, logan,” you said, taking his thumb in and closing your lips around it. “if you’ll stay with me, i’ll be yours forever,” you breathed around his thumb, speaking from a mix of eager lust and the terrifying need for him to not to be an asshole, just once.

“i’m not going anywhere…i promise,” he said matter of factly before leaning back down to hungrily devour your kiss. “i need to…fuck you…now,” he cursed in between swallowing moans. 

“do what you want…i’m yours,” you said just clearly audible over the storm rumbling outside. you two shared eye contact so intense that you noticed his dick twitch from your peripheral. you took his dick in your drooling mouth, reaching up to squeeze the base of him. it twitched from the warmth, pressure and tongue swiping rhythmically around his angry, red tip. you kept yourself enveloped around his length, bobbing your head to hit your gag reflex. the added lubrication drove him crazy, his abs twitching under the toned skin of his abdomen. you moaned around him purely from the enjoyment you got out of having him stretch the corners of your mouth, feeling the sting from it. 

logan reached down with both hands to hold your head steady while he sped up thrusting into your throat. your gags and gasps for air, his praise and the storm filled the room beautifully. 

“fuuuck, baby, keep that throat open for me please,” he begged. his hands left their position to find a new one — one supporting his thrusting hips, the other petting your head. “oh, you look so fuckin’ pretty with my cock down your throat…you’re taking me so good, sweetheart.”

he pulled his dick out of your mouth to smack it on your face, complimenting how gorgeous you look. he kissed and licked the mess off of your mouth.

“mm, baby i need to know how good you feel.” with that, he rounded the bed to lay down. “c’mere, baby.” you turned around, crawling on all fours to obey him. his cock in its usual place to be, in his fist, leaks pre-cum in anticipation for you to smother it with your warm, clenching pussy.

“lay down,” he said.

“damn, yes sir,” you say, jokingly annoyed with all of his demands. you lay down next to him, your knees instinctively parting slightly. he lays on his side, resting his hand on your stomach, rubbing his large hand in flat circles.

“d’you know how long i’ve thought about this moment with you?” he asked, leaning in to kiss and suck the skin in the crook of your neck. you lustfully sighed at the sensation of his hot breath. his hand finds its way between your legs again, tickling and tapping at your slit. “i want you to read me the whole time i’m inside…can you do that?”

“are you—“

“yes i’m sure, i feel so fucking good right now and i haven’t even felt you. i want you to feel that and more,” he explains, pulling your chin in to taste the desperation on you.

before he came just from your kiss and rutting against the sheets, he hovered above you. his lips stayed attached to your chest, kissing lower and lower to suck a tit into his mouth, flicking your nipple with his tongue then biting softly on the nub. his hand disappeared from the side of your head to grab hold of his shaft, flicking his tip against your clit. his head dropped as he watched and listened to your slick coating his cock. he quickly swiped up and down your pussy trying to savor every fold and feeling. his brows furrowed, not being able to resist your warmth, he lined himself up with your hole, using his hand to guide just the tip into it.

“oh…fuck,” he groaned in excitement. he pushed in just a little more which caused you to hiss. his head shot up and eyes scanned your face for any sign of regret or unsureness. “are you okay? d’you want to stop?”

“no, baby,” you giggled, lifting your arms rest around his neck, one hand always finding a way into his dark locks. “just been a while…keep going, i’m okay.”

with your permission, he pushed in a little more. he let out a deep groan at the feeling of you stretching to form perfectly around him. you gasped, pressing a hand into his chest, feeling a similar sting to the one you felt in the corners of your mouth earlier. against his want to start thrusting his whole length into you, his went slow, watching your demeanor for cues to keep going.

“you feel…fuck…like it was made for me,” he said which caused the butterflies in you to flutter their wings even faster. “are you okay?” his chest heaved and his breath fanned your face.

“fuck me…please logan,” you said. your hands reached his hips, pushing them down onto you. without wasting another minute, he did. 

he bent your knee more to press it into your chest as his hips repeatedly slammed down hard, his balls smacking your ass. with one hand giving him better access by positioning your leg higher, the other cupped and squeezed your bouncing tit.

“oh my…fucking god,” you moaned. you had let the walls of your mutation down, allowing yourself to be flooded by not only your pleasure…but the love logan feels for you plus the absolute sheer euphoria that he was experiencing deep inside of your pussy. it coursed through your body like a steam engine leaving the station. it had felt like you had been brought to five earth shattering orgasms before the one that was bound to shake you again soon.

“you know you feel so good, look at that fuckin’ fucked out smile. can you feel it? can you feel how good you make me feel, baby? don’t stop readin’ me, princess. it’s all for you,” he praised for you to hear every word.

“holy shit…mm fuckin’…ahh!” your hands couldn’t help but find their way above your head, subconsciously reaching for the bed post for something to ground you again.

“here, baby, hold onto me.” logan grabbed your wandering wrist with his free hand, slapping your hand on his chest which you pressed into as if you were pushing him away. before your cock drunk mind could register what happened, he had flipped the two of you so you were on top. 

logan looked so fucking pretty under you. you took a second to breathe and take in the view before bending your knees to put yourself in a squatting position on his cock. you placed your hands on his heaving chest for support as you started to bounce your ass on him. ‘oh this is so fun’, the thought making you giggle in elation as you drilled down your hips, rocking them back and forth to feel him stimulate the deepest parts of you. his thumb bored into your clit, drawing circles on it. 

as you kept bouncing your wet pussy on him just how he liked, logan lifted his knees up behind you and pushed you back onto them. he moved his hand away from your clit and picked his head up to watch his dick disappear deep inside you. then, he spit. his saliva landed on your pussy and stomach. he went back to stimulating you, fully realizing how much that turned you on from the tight clench around him and the extra juice running down his ass onto the sheets under you two.

he, still playing with your clit, summoned your face closer to his with the middle and ring fingers on the other hand. once closer, he grabbed your neck to kiss your fiercely. 

“you’re my good girl, huh?”

‘mhmm’ was all you could muster with his hand around your throat and his hips still ramming his cock into your stretched out hole.

“use those words for me, baby. are…mm, fuck…you my good girl?”

“ye…sss, baby i’m your…good…oh my fucking…girl!!”

“open your mouth.” he fucking spit in it. you moaned tasting him again and feeling it on your face. “good…fuckin’ girl,” he complimented, kissing you and then squeezing your cheeks to spit on your tongue again. 

your body started to go limp and your eyes were practically glued together. you could feel the searing hot orgasm burning up inside. you could feel logan in a way that you never thought possible. everything. 

his love, his passion, his longing, his fear, his anxiety, his lust, his heart…everything was yours in this moment. high on his feelings, you let your head fall back coming undone on top of him.

“oh you’re so pretty…that’s pretty, baby, keep…fuck…use me, it’s all for you.” his words took you further and further into ecstasy. it was a really good fucking trip that you never wanted to end. the pain of his cock fucking you out and his grip clutching your skin like he’d fall off earth without doing so made you moan so intensely that not even the thunder outside could compete.

he could tell you were a few fucks away from collapsing but so was he. 

“baby…you keep clenching around me like that…i’m gonna fuckin’ fill you,” he said. you kept bouncing on it, wanting him to even feel a fraction of how he just made you feel. he closed his eyes trying to last as long as possible in the heaven that he found in you. his thumbs bore into your hips as he used them to ground himself.

“i want it, baby…fill your good girl up.” you leaned down to speak into his ear and then carry on kissing his neck, letting him claim your moans as trophies. 

“fuuuuck…fuuuck,” he moaned as his thrusting became sloppy and you weren’t bouncing as much anymore. his abs twitched again along with his face. 

SNIKT!!

you hissed at the cool metal of his claws against your skin and the feel of him throbbing severely inside you as he let himself paint your walls. you thanked him in pleased moans before falling on his chest. still semi-hard inside, he kissed the top of your head to which you looked up and he gave you a proper kiss. he let himself twitch out a few more dribbles of cum inside you before pulling his claws back in to carefully rub your back.

a few beats of silence went by as you listened to each others hastened breaths and the rain tapping the glass. 

“…i love you, logan.”

“i think you know how much i love you, baby,” he said, smugly remembering how you looked coming on his dick, further escalated by his letting you read him.

you two snuggled naked under the covers and as you laid on his chest and listened to his light snoring, you read him again. 

ease and silence…and love.

[hoonieyun]

so lovey dovey

pairing: sim jaeyun x reader genre: fluff and romance warnings: consensual skinship, drunk!jake, kissing, kinda suggestive, 18+ inspired by jake's live where he says "when i'm drunk i become lovely & cute" as if he isnt always lovely and cute >_<

hoonieyun notes: some fluff because why nawt.. im slowly amping all of the angst in the up coming fics for february so i'm making up for it now by posting a few fluff and romance drabbles :3

wc: 1037

jake was sprawled across your couch as he takes occassional sips from his glass of beer. it wasn’t often that jake drank but tonight he invited the guys over for game night and that usually entails drinks and a bunch of food. you didn’t mind doing your own thing on the side as you lounged in the comfort of your bedroom, every now and then making an appearance to make sure everyone was good and not fighting for losing or winning or even stealing some of the food for yourself. 

and that’s what you were about to do right now. you had just finished your small bowl of tteokbeokki and it certainly wasn’t enough so you decided to grab some more. you walk out of you and jake’s shared bedroom and find the group of guys arguing over mario kart. 

jungwon claiming that niki cheated, jay not paying attention to the argument because he came in 1st place, and jake who was already staring at your figure standing in the hall.

“hi, baby” he says, drawing out the last part of the petname. 

“hi, jakey. i just want some more food.” you chirp as you approach and he instantly takes your bowl to fill it with more food. “you sure you don’t wanna come join us?” he asks, handing you back your bowl. 

“mmm…” you ponder, looking over to niki and jungwon who are still arguing and sunoo who was having too much fun laughing at the two younger guys bicker. before you could even answer, jake is pulling you into his lap and whispering into your ear, “please, stay.” he says. his breath was low and warm and it sent tickles down your back. you nod in agreement and his smile widens at your response. 

jake loved having you around at all times, even when you two weren’t necessarily doing anything, he just loved having you near him. 

the guys often teased him that he was too whipped or down bad for you and jake would just brush it off. of course he was down bad for you, every man should be down bad for his girlfriend, if he wasn’t then he was doing something wrong. 

you silently eat your food as the games continue, heeseung using his eldest privileges to change the game to which jungwon groaned as he wanted another chance at mario kart. 

you weren’t sure what game they were playing but they all took turns passing the controller around to kill monsters and what not. and when it came to jake’s turn, the guys would groan in annoyance after jake causes them to die and lose the game. 

all of them turned their attention to jake who was too busy staring at you eating your tteokbeokki to pay any mind to the game they were playing. 

“dude, you just let us die!”

“earth to jake?”

“hellooo?”

they all tried to get his attention but he was too immersed in you to notice. eyes sparkling as he watches you fondly and lovingly. a cute habit of his whenever he got drunk or even the slightest bit tipsy. 

he would get very cute and lovely and wouldn’t be able to get you out of his head as if you weren’t always occupying his mind. 

“jakey, the guys are talking to you..” you say, blinking a few times at him and his smile widens when he hears your voice. 

jake doesn’t even glance over to the guys, he just sloppily passes the remote to one of them in which sunghoon catches it and continues the game after jake has caused their character to die. jake had you in his lap, gently rubbing your thighs as he rests his head on your back. humming occassionally whenever you leaned closer into his touch. 

“can you ask them to leave.. i wanna be alone with you.” he whispers into your ear. 

“why can’t you do it..” you whisper back and he explains that if you tell everyone to go home they’ll listen because you’re a girl but if he does it they’ll all just ignore him and want to continue game night. you think about it for a second and he’s absolutely right. so you give him a nod and a small kiss on the forehead to which jake gets flustered and shy over, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he blushes at your actions. 

you decide to stand up and do an exaggerated yawn, “gosh, i’m exhausted, what time is it?” you say, looking over to the clock on the wall and just like that– the guys take the hint and start packing up all of the things. they each help with putting things in the kitchen to throw away or to be washed and soon enough they were all saying their goodbyes and filing out of your shared apartment with jake. 

“finally.. i can have you all to myself.”  jake says, a pout on his lips as he pulls you into a hug. he brings the two of you to your bedroom, not letting go of you once. you try to get out of his grasp but he begins to whine and pout, “relax, jaeyunnie. i’m just turning off the lights.” you say and he jumps up from his spot on the bed, running over to the lightswitch and flicking it off before running back to bed and cuddling up to you. 

he nuzzles his head on your shoulder as the two of you cozy up to one another, placing several kisses on your neck and cheek. “i wanna stay like this forever.” he says. you just love whenever he gets like this, so cute and lovey dovey. his ears and cheeks a shade of red from the alcohol and his need to express how much he loved you and loved being near you. 

“goodnight jakey..” you say, waiting for him to say it back but you’re met with the sound of his snores, causing you to chuckle, pulling your phone out and snapping a photo of how cute he looked while sleeping, ears still red and his face slightly buried in the crook of your neck. 

jake, your cute and lovey dovey boyfriend.

ᡣ•.•𐭩♡ @pagemiah @jiiyen @jnysaln @xh01bri @rairaiblog @laurradoesloveu @17ericas @manaah02 @heeseung64 @zorange13 @firstclassjaylee @leipforggy

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

[hivemuthur]

Anon because I am a coward lmao, but a request nonetheless if you want/have the time! Been thinking about a classic!Viktor (because him in that uniform is just so scrumptious) x f!reader in an established relationship where they have a bet going that they can't last a week without sex. They take turns over those 7 days mercilessly teasing the other and trying to make each other lose the bet (errant touches here and there, lingering kisses/looks, etc., and one of those could maybe be a heated up-against-the-wall makeout). Up to you whether they make it to day 7 or not! 🤭 And we stan a soft!dom!Viktor of course

I saw some folks picking anon emoji so I'll pick ✨️Anon if that's okay! Thanks for your time whether this makes it or not, I sincerely love everything you write! ❤️

Guess what. They didn't make it :x

All is Fair in Love and War

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! a lot of teasing + (unsafe) desk sex, if you squint diligently there is some dom!Viktor but he's so whipped he doesn't even have it in him, and there is some maybe a little bit OOC Viktor and love confessions too. Sap, remember?

word count: 5,8K (sorry it got out of hand)

author's note: Nothing, just Happy Freakday :v

—

It is funny, the human nature and the way you leap at the chance to bend and break it whenever an opportunity to prove a point arises. Often against your better judgement, hurting yourself in the process—yet the reward, the being right, you deem worth it. Whether it is or isn’t, you still don’t know. No scientific data on the matter; you'd have to somehow double yourself and join both the control and the treatment group.

It’s also infuriating how once something is forbidden or simply out of reach, it becomes instantly more desirable—damn near essential to your survival.

And it’s not that you lack self-control or are some savage animal. No. Quite the opposite—composed, focused when it matters, dedicated when it’s required, passionate when you allow yourself to be. And most of the time, that last one comes easily, naturally, around Viktor.

You don’t even remember how it started. He said something along the lines of, “Is that so?” in that tone—the one that has your head tilting and your hand bracing your hip, the one that forecasts trouble—and you responded with something like, “Why don’t we find out?” fully aware that the challenge at hand was going to inch dangerously close to impossible.

It is now day four of your ridiculous, point-proving, let’s-see-who-folds, I-can-outlast-you-with-my-finger-in-(insert an offensive body part) bet—for lack of a better name—and you really can’t remember why you picked up that stinking glove in the first place.

Day one was relatively easy. That was back when your tactic was simply to stay docile and survive. Got you all cocky, how simple it was, just to brace through a day filled with mundane tasks—a list long enough you didn’t even see Viktor for more than a minute.

Day two got harder. Viktor, the snarky bastard, had already started playing unfairly—cravat loosened at the neck, top button undone, revealing his Adam’s apple, one of your many weak spots. Another, also shamelessly flaunted: the mole on the side of his throat. One of your favourite places to press your mouth to. It glared at you all day every time Viktor craned his neck or leaned beside you to read something over your shoulder. It became painfully clear then: without proper artillery, this battle would see you utterly, thoroughly obliterated.

As if the sight itself weren’t enough, Viktor was clearly ready to have you rendered stupid and wanting right there in the lab on that second day. Pretending to be engrossed in your notes, he traced his long finger down your handwriting, occasionally tapping, humming—soft and low in his throat. The air from his nose fanned your cheek mercilessly, steady and warm. And then, the wretched scoundrel, brushed his hand against yours. The touch was barely there, a whisper of skin, designed with surgical precision to twist the knife further. To finish the kill, he leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead in a sign of loving approbation, murmuring, “Impressive work, lásko.”

“T-thank you,” you stammered, blinking blindly—trying desperately to blink away the feel of his hot lips on your skin, to scrub the sound of his voice from your brain. The praise had bled right into the spot you had prayed would remain numb. The urge to shake out your hand, to run it under cold water, to splash your face for good measure—you managed to resist. The burn on your cheeks, however, had no such mercy.

Viktor only smiled. The smirk he wore was unmistakable: a shit-eating, obscenely smug thing that sat crooked on his mouth, gleaming with unsaid victory. You could almost hear the remark hanging off the tip of his tongue—something close to, “That’s what I thought,” or, “As expected.” But he had the mercy, that day, to keep it to himself.

As he walked away, leaving you sighing in premature relief, he paused. Turned. Tipped his head, cane idly drawing slow circles across the stone floor.

“What would you say to raising the stakes?” he asked, like it was a casual thing, like it wasn’t a hand grenade tossed over his shoulder.

Impossible, you thought. Absolutely not. I’m barely hanging on, was the reasonable choice. Which, naturally, meant that instead of saying any of those sensible things, your stupid competitive mind stepped forward first.

“What do you have in mind?” you asked, voice already on the brink of cracking.

“Well,” Viktor began, adjusting his grip on the cane, feigning neutrality with such theatrics you wanted to hit him, “if we want this test to deliver true results…” A beat.

“Perhaps we should both refrain from seeking relief by our own hands.” He gave a gracious little tilt of his head, the kind that almost passed for innocence. “Unless, of course, that would be too much for you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you implying that I have no self-control?”

“Not at all, my darling,” he replied smoothly. “I’m merely implying that I have more self-control than you do.”

A scoff—hot, sharp, and angered—left your mouth as you stood and closed the distance between you. Against reason, despite the suffering you’d already struggled to endure, you came so close that the air he breathed out, you could breathe in. You whispered, low and sinister, “Bring. It. On.”

“Very well,” Viktor muttered, leaning in to your ear. “Hands where I can see them, sweet thing.”

“Likewise,” you hummed into the hollow of his neck, and noticed—not without a sickening sense of triumph—that goosebumps rose where your breath had licked his skin. A faint pink bloomed upward from beneath his collar as well.

Sleeping that night? Nearly impossible, of course. Another thing added to the growing realm of forbidden comforts that had suddenly become this much more attractive to you. And you would be a liar if you said your hands didn’t itch. Sleep became another casualty in this battle, but somehow, you managed to stand your ground.

Naturally, you had to brace yourself with tactics of your own. Day three began with a strategy. You'd woken up taut and fraying, sheets tangled between your legs and thighs pressed too tight together. Your fingers stayed loyal to the pact—barely. But if you couldn’t touch yourself, then you’d just have to make him want to.

So you dressed with a mind to war: the cravat from your uniform was nowhere to be found—lost to the laundry or sabotage, you weren't sure, and frankly didn’t care. Instead of a replacement, you simply didn’t wear one. With the first few buttons of your shirt left artfully undone, the slight gap revealed the delicate valley of your cleavage whenever you leaned forward, bent over something, or stretched, as one does.

Then the skirt. It sat a little too low, so you wrapped the waistband twice and pinned it beneath your belt, hiking the hem high enough that your garters whispered suggestively with every step.

You walked into the lab like a provocation made flesh and Viktor noticed immediately—of course he did. He always notices everything. But this time, he said nothing. Just paused, mid-motion with a wrench in his hand, and blinked slowly, like he’d just been struck by something quiet and lethal. His gaze dropped once, flicked back up, and then he returned to his work with all the casualness of a man pretending not to drown.

That should’ve been your victory. Except that twenty minutes later, while you stood at the central workbench, bent over a set of schematics with a pencil tapping idly between your fingers, Viktor came up behind you. Not touching, never touching. But his voice, cool and rich, curled over your shoulder like silk.

“Did your cravat fall victim to a tragic accident?” he asked, as if genuinely curious.

You glanced back at him with a sugar-sweet smile. “Laundry’s fault. Terrible service. Think I’ll lodge a formal complaint.”

He hummed, low in his throat. “Yes, you should. It would be a shame if such... structural integrity failed in more critical areas of your attire.”

You turned, just slightly, letting him see the way your shirt shifted open with the movement. “If you’re concerned, I’m sure you could help reinforce it.”

“I could,” he said, his mouth twitching, his eyes lingering for one heartbeat too long. “But I wouldn’t want to overstep.”

And with that, he walked off. But his limp was tighter than usual, jaw clenched, and his cane struck the tile floor with a touch too much force to be casual. You counted that as a small, simmering win—and an idea, for later.

An idea which, before, you’d deemed a last resort, now begins to seem more and more essential to your survival, because Viktor is utterly fucking shameless.

It is day four, and you are inching toward your wits' end, disbelieving how a mere four days of deprivation have indeed left you nearly drooling over his body—slouched on the couch in what appears to be an innocent nap. But the sighs and groans that leave his mouth are a little too loud, a bit too breathy, and his legs are too far apart, the slope of his groin staring at you with obscene entitlement from where you are curled up on the couch next to him. Not touching, of course.

His chest rises and falls in slow, rhythmic pulls, the fabric of his shirt straining just faintly each time he inhales. You watch the subtle shift of muscle beneath it, the barely-there flutter of his lashes against his cheek, and the way his throat bobs every so often, like his body is caught somewhere between rest and need. His lips, slightly parted, glisten with the faint sheen of sleep, and it would be so easy—criminally easy—to lean in and steal the air right from his mouth.

You shouldn't be looking, you know that. But your eyes drag down the ridges of his ribs, the soft dip of his waist, the hand resting slack against his thigh—long fingers splayed in a mockery of carelessness. You can’t even pretend to read anymore. The words on the page blur while he lays there like a temptation wrought by some divine punishment, entirely unbothered, until—

He shifts. Just a little. One eye cracks open, and the barest hint of a smile twitches on his lips. Then, hoarse and low, without even bothering to fully open his eyes, he rasps, “Seeing anything you like?”

You have enough common sense not to startle. The instinctive reaction would be to deny, deny, deny. But then, a thought strikes you—why would you? The bet entails simply not fucking, not pretending as if you don’t want to. In a swift pivot, your new tactic slides into place like a dagger in silk.

“Very much so,” you say, voice smooth, a soft smile playing across your lips while your eyes narrow. You don’t even try to hide the way you’re ogling him, letting your gaze drag with intention—chest, throat, lips, hips—then slowly back up again to meet his.

“Oh?” he murmurs, finally opening both eyes. One brow lifts lazily. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“Oh, Viktor,” you sigh with feigned exasperation, tilting your head. Your tone is syrupy and sharp all at once. “Are you trying to orchestrate my downfall or yours?”

“Not at all,” he hums, pleased. “I’m simply curious about what’s happening in that pretty head of yours.”

“Very well,” you whisper, fingers ghosting over his wrist as your smile deepens. You cradle it like something precious, your thumb brushing across the knuckles—each one a peak, scarred and calloused with work, each line like a story. He watches you with curious eyes, a tension winding through his jaw, but he lets you guide him. Your lips part. You press them to the tips of his fingers in something that almost resembles devotion—until your tongue peeks out and you drag it, slow and warm, along the pad of his index.

“I’ve been thinking about this hand,” you whisper, eyes locked on his as you press a kiss into his fingertip, “in here.” You take the finger fully into your mouth then, slow and obscene, hollowing your cheeks just slightly.

A hiss leaves him, barely restrained, the muscle in his cheek twitching. He leans forward on instinct, like you’ve hooked a string behind his ribs and pulled. His gaze drops, fixated, almost pained with it.

“And then possibly…” you release his finger with a soft pop, teasing, “somewhere else.”

Viktor makes a sound low in his throat, something between a warning and a plea. He shifts closer, drawn in despite himself, and his eyes flick to your mouth again—wet and gleaming. “This,” he mutters, voice hoarse and fraying where he doesn’t intend it to, “is not fair play.”

You smile, teeth flashing, all wicked delight. “All’s fair in love and war,” you hum. “And as this is both, I’d say it’s more than fitting. Besides—” you lean in, brushing your nose along his jaw, “you know exactly what you’d have to do to end this… torture. All these layers in the way…”

His breath stutters. And then a smile curls on his lips—not soft, not sweet, but predatory. The kind of smile that promises you’ve stepped too close to the fire, and you’re about to feel the burn.

“Oh?” he says, gaze raking over you, slow and thorough, like he’s peeling you open with just a glance. “And how many layers do you think exactly part us?”

You still. Stare. He cannot possibly be serious. But then, with the ease of someone who knows precisely what they’re doing, Viktor shifts back and stretches—arms above his head, spine arching, muscles pulling taut under the fabric. The hem of his shirt untucks from his trousers in the process, rising just high enough to tease at the flat plane of his stomach.

Your mouth parts, uselessly, because the trousers dip. Just a fraction. But a fraction is enough. Low, low enough that where you expect to see the band of his underwear, there is—nothing. Just skin. A sliver of the sharp cut of his pelvis, and below that, the dangerous promise of more. Had the trousers slid even a breath lower—or not been cinched by his belt—you’d have been treated to the base of his cock.

Your heart stumbles over itself. Breath caught halfway between outrage and awe, you stare. Incredulous.

“Viktor,” you scold, voice choked with disbelief. “You slut.”

He chuckles darkly at that, low and pleased, the sound laced with unrepentant menace. “What was that?” he murmurs. “All is fair, something along those lines?”

His hand lifts, fingers trailing up to your cheek with mock-gentle reverence. “Seems you haven’t measured your opponent properly,” he says, almost fond. “A mistake. Might cost you.”

Your lips twitch upward, unwillingly impressed. “We’ll see about that,” you whisper, eyes narrowing with intent.

Because now—now you know. That little move? That wasn’t confidence. That was desperation. Calculated, yes, but desperate all the same. Viktor, flashing skin like a weapon, throwing everything short of actual cock at the problem—it’s telling. And oh, you were saving your last resort. But now you know—he’s already playing his.

And it’s only day four.

It’s unbearable to keep your part of the deal that night. To say that your hands crawl with ants is an understatement, and to say that you’ve slept is an overstatement, since all you’ve done is toss and turn. And in the morning, there is no laundry mishap, no sabotage to blame for what you’re about to do.

With your skirt’s waistband rolled up and your ass outright bare underneath, you walk through the corridors, the air licking at your thighs. You pray, sincerely and repeatedly, that you won’t run into Heimerdinger at any juncture—and as ludicrous as that prayer might seem, you suddenly understand why all the skirts of the Academy uniforms are the length you once deemed too prudish to ever stir Viktor into action.

The source of your frustration is already in his usual spot, scribbling the day’s tasks onto the blackboard. You can read the smile from the back of his head the moment you step in through the door, but instead of focusing on that, your gaze drops lower—to his thighs—trying to assess whether he’s fallen twice, whether yesterday’s stunt has repeated itself today.

Sadly, you can’t tell. So with gathered-up determination, you bid him hello and muster all your innocence as you sit at your workbench, thighs pressed close together, the chair biting cold into your skin.

It’s maddeningly civil throughout the first few hours—so much so that your head snaps up each time an audible sigh leaves his mouth, only to realise it’s not about you at all. Just something work-related, some frustration that has him hunched over and his brows all knitted.

After a while it becomes clear that Viktor is struggling. It begins subtly—grunts of frustration under his breath, the occasional mutter in a tone too low to catch, followed by the sharp squeak of chalk against slate. Again and again, he scribbles something onto the board, only to wipe it away with increasing irritation. The lines start to look like arguments more than equations. Whatever he’s writing, he hates it.

Curiosity gets the better of you. You rise and make your way over, and the moment you’re close—close enough to see the tension in his shoulders and the crease between his brows—it thickens in the space between you, the air charged and humming. He doesn't look at you, not at first.

"What’s the matter?" you ask gently, keeping your voice light.

He scoffs under his breath and waves you off. “Nothing.”

But his eyes betray him. They flick, just briefly, downward. Toward your thighs. Then snap away again, his jaw tightening. Oh, poor thing.

You almost feel sorry for him. Almost. But then you remember yesterday—the stretch, the lazy way his shirt had untucked. Desperation wrapped in smugness. No. This is fair game.

“Want to bounce ideas?” you offer, brushing your fingers lightly along his forearm. He stiffens. Your hand drifts higher, skimming over his shirt, the lean plane of his stomach beneath. Purely helpful. Entirely professional.

He exhales, smiling with a certain defeated amusement. “Sure.”

“Good,” you chirp, turning your head just enough for your breath to graze his neck. “Because you seem distracted.”

His eyes cut to you, dark and narrowed. “If you really want to help,” he says, slow and dry, “start writing from the top.”

You follow his gaze upward, and ah—if you’re not the universe’s favourite today, you don’t know what. You grab the usual board stool, the seat worn out and scraped from shoe soles constantly grinding into it anytime either of you wants to make full use of the black surface. You climb onto it gracefully and, as if it’s nothing, await instructions.

He doesn’t say a word, just steps aside, still holding the chalk in his fingers. His expression is unreadable, but his pulse is visible at his throat.

You hold out your hand. “Chalk.”

He gives it to you wordlessly, his gaze fixed. You begin to write.

“Ready,” you say sweetly.

He opens his mouth, begins to dictate something—but the moment his eyes trace down your back, catch the bare expanse of skin beneath the hem of your skirt, his voice falters.

“Start with—” he begins, and stops. Silence.

You glance over your shoulder. “What?”

He stares at you, mouth slightly parted. His throat works around a swallow. You smile, victorious, as the realisation dawns in his eyes. And Viktor doesn’t speak—at least not right away.

Just stands there, stunned. Caught mid-breath, as though something vital has short-circuited behind his eyes. And then you see it—the unmistakable flicker of calculation. You can almost hear the gears turning in his head, trying to solve this, trying to survive it. But he won’t.

Instead, he takes a slow step forward. Then another. The soft tap of his cane echoes once, then again, before he stops just beside you.

Something shifts, and you feel the motion before you see it—cool wood slipping beneath the hem of your skirt. The cane lifts gently, teasingly, fabric peeling upward, making your breath still.

Viktor exhales like a man broken. “You are so wicked,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, brazen. “This is cruel,” comes next, as pained as his expression.

You smile over your shoulder, saccharine-sweet. “My love. You dug your own grave yesterday.”

A low sound escapes him—somewhere between a laugh and a curse—and then he’s moving with purpose. He hooks the cane over the wing of the board to keep it out of the way, and his hands find your legs. His palms are warm, strong, sliding slowly upward. A sweep over your calves, the backs of your thighs, fingers tightening with every inch until he’s cupping you fully, squeezing your ass like it’s his only hope.

His face presses in, breath hot against where your thighs meet, his nose brushing skin. He breathes in deep, his exhale shuddering out against you.

“I surrender,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, as if anything louder would undo him completely. “Please get down from that chair so I can fuck you or I’ll go mad.”

You exhale a startled laugh—part shock, part triumph, part sheer disbelief that you've actually won—and barely stop yourself from huffing out finally as you hop off the stool.

Your landing is clumsy, the soles of your shoes slipping on the floor, but you barely find your footing before Viktor is on you.

His hands are already on your face, in your hair, his mouth glueing into yours, starving and rough. The kiss is all teeth and heat, his breath ragged, his hips pressing you back into the board as if he means to pin you there permanently.

"You’re a menace," he mutters between kisses, voice low, cracked. "Bože můj, you’ll make me lose my mind one day—"

You gasp against him, laughter catching on your tongue, but he swallows it down. Then he takes your wrist, firm and careful, and brings your hand to the front of his trousers, where he is hot and hard and straining.

“Look what you’ve done to me,” he breathes, forehead resting against yours, words trembling with restraint, rage, want—all of it. "Four days," he grits, biting your bottom lip gently before pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.

"Four days of you teasing me, torturing me—strutting around with those fucking lips and thighs and now this? No underwear?" He kisses you through it—messy, hungry, relentless. His lips smother yours again and again, every breath you try to take stolen from your mouth. His hands don’t know where to settle, roaming from your hips to your waist to your face like he’s desperate to feel everything at once, make up for the time lost.

You stumble backwards, and he follows, half draped over you as he walks you toward the nearest workbench, his hips grinding against yours with every step.

Breathless, you manage to smile again—still daring, still cocky, even now. "You reap what you sow."

“Cruel creature,” he growls into your mouth, words lost in the kiss. “You’ve won. Are you happy now?”

“So happy,” you gasp, catching his lower lip between your teeth. “It was unbearable. And you’re no better,” you add, voice low and accusing, “I hope you got burns from yesterday’s stunt.”

“I did,” he rasps, and his voice is a beautiful wreck of need. “And you’re going to lick me back to health.” Then, a pause. He pulls back just far enough to look at you properly, eyes half-lidded and wild, a grin curling his lips.

“But first,” he says, voice dark and deep, “get on that desk.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You haul yourself onto the workbench with a kind of grace that borders on indecent, your skirt bunching at your hips, legs parting. Viktor slots himself between them without hesitation, hands gripping your thighs like he’ll die if he doesn’t touch you, mouth dragging over your jaw, your throat, your collarbone, buttons of your shirt snapping open.

“Fuck,” he mutters with effort, as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer. His hands slide beneath you, guiding your hips to grind into him, keeping you right where he wants you. One arm braces against the bench beside your hips; the other curls around your back, holding you steady as his lips find yours again.

Again, a lot of teeth, even more tongue, but you don’t care—you’ve missed those teeth and that tongue like an addict. You’ve missed the feeling of his hair between your fingers, his smell, the subtle scent of him that only reveals itself when you're this close. His hands, too, shaped as if they were made to cradle your body.

And then he’s fumbling with his belt, his breath fanning your cheek. And then—oh—you don’t even know when it happens, don’t even see if he’s bare under those pants, too busy staring at his lips, but he’s free and hard and leaking against you, resting at your entrance, his mouth breathing heavily. You twitch to meet him, but he holds you still, hips fixed in place like a statue, only his chest rising and falling.

His forehead presses to yours, jaw slack, eyes fluttering shut as he begins to sink in—deeper and deeper—stretching you out inch by inch. His breath trembles out of him in ragged exhales, mouth open in a silent moan until it finally breaks into sound—helpless and guttural.

“Oh, miláčku,” he breathes. “You feel—fuck—I’ve missed you.”

You’re clinging to him, nails digging into the fabric at his back, your head falling against his shoulder. It’s almost too much—he fills you completely, and still, he’s not all the way in.

And Viktor—Viktor looks undone already. His brow pinches at first, a flicker of pain or restraint, but it vanishes in the next breath. His face goes slack, lax. A visible, physical relief settles in his body the moment he bottoms out, hips flush to yours. He moans, long and loud, like this is the only thing that’s made him feel alive in days.

Your breath is nearly non-existent, lungs almost giving out, air caught somewhere in between them. It’s not just the stretch, though that alone is close to being too much, the sharp pull giving way to a fullness that borders on unbearable. It’s the heat of him, the weight, the press of his body. The air seems thicker now, like the room is holding its breath with you.

Your hands tremble as you clutch at his shoulders, trying to ground yourself, but there’s nothing grounding about this. Your nerves are alight, every inch of you humming with sensation—burning where he fills you, tingling where his chest brushes yours, where his breath ghosts across your skin.

You feel split wide open, every part of you drawn taut around him, and he hasn’t even moved yet.

“Gods,” you whisper, almost to yourself. “I almost forgot how much…”

Viktor lifts his head, his nose nudging yours, the smile he gives you helpless, crooked, all teeth and tenderness. “How much what?” he rasps.

You try to answer but it comes out as a gasp instead, the words dissolving as your body clenches around him. You feel the tremor run through him—see it, too, in the flicker of his lashes and the flex of his jaw.

He’s holding on, yet barely. You feel it in his grip, the way his fingers press into your skin, in the quiver of restraint in his thighs. And somehow, that makes it worse. Hotter. More intimate.

“You feel like—” you choke out, panting. “You feel like you’re everywhere.”

A low sound tears from his throat, somewhere between a groan and a plea. “That’s what I want,” he murmurs. “I want to be everywhere. I want to leave no room for anything else.” His hips roll—just once, shallow—and your mouth falls open, no sound coming out.

“Tell me,” he whispers, lips brushing your cheek, your temple, the shell of your ear. “Say you missed this. Say you missed me.”

You nod before you can form a word, tears prickling at your lashes from the intensity. “I missed you,” you gasp. “I missed everything. Please, let’s not do that again.”

His mouth finds yours again, fully desperate now, and finally—finally—he begins to move. And it’s deep, grinding in slow, restrained thrusts that have your breath stuttering with each pass. It’s all pressure and heat, dragging friction and stretch, every slide of his hips drawing out a gasp you can’t swallow, it just stumbles out.

His lips are on your neck, your jaw, your shoulder as his drool dampens your shirt, mouth panting hot between murmurs—fragments of words, your name, curses in Czech that sound like a praise.

“God,” he rasps, sweat slicking his forehead as he pulls out and sinks back in, slow, careful, so careful. “You’re so—tight, fuck—I can’t, I won’t—”

He cuts himself off with a grunt, hips shuddering against yours. The sound of him sliding inside you, wet and obscene, fills the small space between you. Each thrust makes it louder, harder to keep up.

“You’re not making this easy,” he growls against your ear, pressing in so deep your spine arches. “If you want me to last—touch yourself.”

You let out a shaky breath, not trusting your voice. But your hand slips between you, fingers working tight, trembling circles against your clit. And Viktor—Viktor moans when he sees it. His head drops to your shoulder, teeth scraping your skin through the fabric, sweat dripping from his brow, sinking into your clothes, as he starts to move again, even deeper this time, harder.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he hisses, watching you, wild-eyed. “Just like that—look at you.”

You shift, needing more, angling your hips, one foot propped up on the table’s edge for leverage, other leg hugging his side. It opens you wider, gives him more room, and he uses it—hips snapping forward, the slap of skin on skin filling the lab, occasionally knocking your hand off course.

The workbench creaks beneath you. His arm trembles where it braces beside your hip. His other hand is cupping your thigh, holding it high and tight, your body drawn up taut around his like a bowstring straining at the edge of release.

And still he doesn’t stop yapping—your name, praises, filth, words that blur together into a stream of breath and groans. “So wet for me,” he pants, thrusting deep enough to have you momentarily mute. You melt around him, every time he pulls out it’s like you’re begging him not to.

His eyes meet yours, glassy and undone, and you see it—that tight coil in his gut winding ever higher. His hips stammer, breath breaks, and he’s so, so close. And you are right there with him.

Shaking—hips bucking into your hand, legs trembling where the muscles can’t hold up any longer, every part of you stretched thin and burning. He’s not faring any better. His pace has lost its rhythm, faltering now, every thrust hitting deep but messy, like he’s chasing the edge and barely hanging in there.

“I’m—” you start, breath interrupting. “I’m close—almost—”

A sound breaks from him, torn from his chest. “Thank God,” he groans. “I’m so fucking close—baby, come for me.” A breath, and a pleading hand comes to cradle your neck. “Please,” he swallows, “be a good girl—”

And it’s that. That voice, those words, the begging, cracked raw and full of want—that shatters you into pieces. Your body clenches hard around him, every muscle tightening in a violent rush of release when you cum, mouth loud, nails biting into his back, forehead pressed to his as the string stretches and snaps, ripping you apart in a way only he can undo you.

And Viktor follows immediately—unable to hold back any longer. A hoarse sound like gravel, tears from his throat, and he thrusts once more, buried to the hilt as he spills inside you in hot, thick pulses of cum. His whole body shakes with it, his nose bumping into yours, mouth catching on your moan as he answers with one of his own.

Then, neither of you moves. You’re pressed together, heaving for air, clinging to each other like the world narrowed to this—slick skin, damp clothes, soft gasps, and the slow, sticky pulse of overstimulation setting in.

“Gods,” he mutters, voice barely there against your cheek. “You’re going to kill me.”

You laugh, breathless, threading your fingers through his damp hair. “Like-fucking-wise.”

A beat. Then, with a reluctant groan, Viktor draws back—slowly, carefully—pulling out of you with a hiss. The wet sound makes your stomach flip, and his eyes flutter at the loss of contact, still caught in that delicate haze of aftershock.

“You alright?” you ask, light and shaky. Your hand lifts to brush aside the hair clinging to his temple.

Viktor nods and swallows, clearly spent—tired but blissful. He leans in again, still softening, cock resting against your thigh as he presses back between your legs to kiss you. It’s a grateful kiss, deep and languid, like he doesn’t quite know what he’s thankful for—your body, your presence, or that the torment is finally over.

“You are so horrible,” he whispers fondly against your mouth. Then, quieter, more fragile, “I love you so fucking much.”

“Again, likewise,” you murmur, letting your legs slump off the table, heels swinging lazily against the backs of his calves. “You’re no warmonger though,” you hum, fingertips tracing the slope of his cheek, the swell of his bottom lip.

“No,” Viktor agrees with a tired smirk. “Death by my own sword. How ignominious.”

You grin. “I’m impressed with your tactics, though. You almost had me yesterday.”

“Shut up,” he groans, and cackles—rich and golden and still a little breathless. The sound is honey in your ears.  “You shouldn’t kick a dying man.”

“Not kicking,” you say, mock-innocent. “Just poking. And I died a little too, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Oh, I noticed,” Viktor says, smirking into the curve of your throat. “I’m tempted to make you die like that again, but I fear for my own sanity.”

“Me too.” You kiss his temple, your heart still thudding somewhere under your ribs. “I am completely and utterly mad about you.”

“Likewise,” Viktor breathes against your lips, smiling without shame, pleased beyond dignity. And you are so, so glad the war is finally over.

[julymusings]

i could be yours part one

i could be soft and sweet, i could be hard and loud, i could be anything you ever need somehow.

prequel to simplicity!!!

or; an entire summer of chance encounters with the so-called prince of gotham [9.5k]

Jason todd x f!reader warnings: intoxication & vomiting (w/ description), suggestiveness, discussions of toxic relationships (cheating, emotional manipulation, misogyny); special dedication to @fluffy-anna who inspired this au with the ask that started it all‼️‼️😳

part one | part two | series masterlist

June 12th

Jason finds his brother at the entrance of the event, waiting for him with crossed arms and looking displeased.

“You are very late, Todd.” Damian looks up at him. His face is shadowed in front of Jason, whose head blocks the sun from Damian’s view. He wears a t-shirt with the Wayne Animal Sanctuary logo printed across the front and a name tag on the left side of his chest.

“Sorry, kid,” Jason says, and he means it. “Traffic.”

“No matter. I have a job for you.” Damian turns toward a table with a sign that reads, ‘Volunteer Sign-in”, but Jason stays rooted in place.

“What? No, I’m not letting you put me to work,” Jason scoffs.

“Why else would you be here?” Damian asks, looking affronted.

“You asked me to show up, I showed up. Isn’t that enough?”

“It is not, Todd. All you have to do is sit in a chair and ensure no one steals a dog. Is that too much work for you?”

“If someone manages to steal a dog from you of all people, they deserve to keep it.”

“Flattery is not going to get you out of doing work. Do not push me.”

Jason snickers. “Don’t push you? Or what? You’re half my size. I’m so scared.”

Damian huffs. His bright eyes narrow to something more menacing. He takes a sharp breath in for what Jason thinks is an attempt at puffing his chest and appearing intimidating— he’s wrong.

“Wow, Todd,” Damian bursts out loud enough for the surrounding tables to turn their attention. “You think we should send them to a kill shelter? Shame on you!”

Jason can feel the scathing stares shot at him without breaking his glare at Damian. “Funny. That’s really funny, Damian.” Jason says, sarcastically. “I’m leaving now.��

“You think we should abandon them on the side of the road?” Damian shrieks. “That’s low even for you.” He shakes his head disapprovingly.

Jason doesn’t engage, only turning around to walk back to his bike. He stops short, however, when he sees a little boy looking up at him with widened eyes. He's frowning, one tiny hand fisted in the hem of his cat-decorated shirt. The other is wrapped around the fingers of another man, presumably his father. Though Jason towers over him, the father looks at him with disgust.

He stifles a groan and turns back to Damian, who sports a brilliantly cheerful smile. Jason drops his head and sighs. “Where do I go?”

“You have to sign in, first.” Damian leads him to the center table, and Jason accepts a pen from the stink-eyed woman behind it to add his name to the list.

“Will you be making a donation?” Damian asks. When Jason hands back the pen, the woman purses her lips in contempt. Jason glares at Damian, but he is unmoving in his fake oblivion.

Jason reaches for his wallet.

“You could at least pretend you’re excited to be here.”

You hold your hand in front of your face, shielding it from the brightness of the afternoon. “Why?” You grumble. “I doubt the animals care.”

“Of course they do!” Your friend is much too bubbly for someone who stayed up until early morning drinking wine and watching reruns of nineties sitcoms on cable. “They can literally smell your emotions. They’ll know if you hate them.”

“I don’t hate them.” You roll your eyes, though it’s blocked by your large sunglasses. “I would just really rather be in bed right now. And I’m surprised that you wouldn’t. How are you not hungover?”

“Um, maybe because I didn’t drink an entire bottle all on my own.” He takes your hand and leads you through the throngs of people gathered around playpens of cats and bunnies.

“Did I drink that much?” You say it quietly, more to yourself than to him, but he picks it up anyway.

“Yeah…I only drank, like, two glasses? You didn’t notice?” He’s stopped at the end of a line leading to a pen of small rescue dogs.

You tilt your head, squinting at him through your sunglasses. “Does it look like I noticed?”

The line moves up as others clear out, having had their fill of playing with the dogs. The late spring sun beats down on your neck and arms, the light and sounds intensifying your headache, and you can’t help but sigh.

“Oh, what now? I planned this for you. I thought you wanted to adopt a dog.” He says, lifting up your sunglasses to get a peek of your eyes before you swat his hand away.

“To adopt a dog, you need a place to live.” The two of you move up forward in the line. “I’m sleeping on your couch right now.” Your stomach twists, and you’re not sure if it’s from the hangover or the reminder.

“Right now,” he reminds you. “But you’ll find a new place, and a new guy, and then you can take it on walks to your old place and make it poop on the lawn.”

Your forehead crinkles as you draw your brows together. “The guy or the dog?”

“Whichever one you want.”

This earns your first (sober) smile all week, and he brightens up.

“I don’t think I want a new guy just yet,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Well, you don’t need, like, a serious guy,” he says. “Just, like, a rebound.”

“A rebound? Seriously?” You scoff at the idea.

“Yeah, seriously. Just to get back out there, you know? Take your mind off of…” His voice fades out, both of you already knowing where he was going.

“I don’t think a rebound is what I need right now,” you say, avoiding his eyes. “I just need to find a new place to live.”

“Not even if it’s him?”

You follow his gaze to the person manning the area, his face coming into view as more patrons clear out.

“Damn.” Your friend fans himself as he comes into full view.

“You are so dramatic,” you say, but you can’t stop your gaze from sliding across his broad shoulders.

“Oh my god, I think I’m about to pass out. He looks like marble.” He grips your arm, pushing his weight onto you with a pleading cry of your name. You swat him away. “Please. Please. If not for you, for me.”

The man is…well, he really could pass as marble. His face is composed of sharp angles and rigid features, with a hard facial structure and crooked nose stolen from David himself. He sits in a chair next to the playpen with a relaxed posture, his arms crossed and legs stretched out in front of him. He looks indifferent to the noise around him—lazy, even—but there’s no mistaking the alertness of his eyes, the way they scan along the length of the park, surveying each passing patron with mechanical precision; as the line moves up and people speak to him, he studies their faces, eyes falling to their hands, their pockets, and their shoes. It earns him some uneasy glances— the discomfort his probing, baring gaze causes, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care.

By the time it’s your turn, the crowd has lessened. The sun is just past its peak, and the late-afternoon drowsiness has set in for most people. The dogs are romping around in the shady grass underneath a tent to protect them from the heat, and you’re grateful to get a break from the harsh sunlight when you approach, finally able to lift your huge sunglasses and rest them atop your head.

The man—Jason, the sticker on his shirt reads—takes your tickets and you let yourselves into the playpen. He looks you up and down with the accusatory eye of a trained spy; you begin to feel guilty for things you never did, every small mistake you’ve ever made coming to the front of your mind. He looks at you like he can sense it. Now that you’re seeing him up close, there’s a small tuft of white hair at the front of his hairline that, from afar, looked like a reflection of sunlight. It’s a bit jarring, making someone so young-looking stick out in a crowd. You catch yourself staring, and so does he. His jaw tenses and he looks away.

“Five minutes,” he says.

Immediately, you and your friend are overrun by small and medium-sized dogs jumping onto your legs and climbing over each other for your attention. 

“Okay, wow. Hi there!” You squeal, kneeling on the ground as they crowd around you and your friend. All the dogs have tags on their collars with their names and the Sanctuary logo on the front. Your friend zeroes in on an excitable retriever puppy who jumped into his lap and is licking all over his face. 

“Lucy,” he reads from her name tag. The dog’s tongue lolls out, teeth baring in a smile as he scratches under her chin.

“Cute,” you say, watching their interaction. Lucy jumps into his arms and he coos, attacking her with kisses.

“Isn’t she?” He scoots closer to you. “Aren’t you feeling better?”

“I guess so,” you sigh, patting another dog's head before it notices two other dogs fighting over an enticing twig and scampers away to join.

“You know what would make it even better?” He asks, and you raise your eyebrow, though you know where he’s going.

He jerks his head towards Jason, eyes widening suggestively. When you stare at him, unamused, he scoffs and smacks your arm with the back of his hand.

“Come on, he’s perfect!” He whisper-shouts. “Just look at him. God, if I were single…”

You roll your eyes but look at him anyway. He looks flushed from the sun. That, or his decision to wear jeans and a leather jacket in this weather.

“I’m not sure I trust someone who dresses that warm in June,” you reply.

“Why worry about how he’s dressed? Just worry about un-dressing him.” Your friend snorts at his own joke, and Lucy startles at the sound, sniffing around his face for the source.

“Besides,” he continues, “I’m not sure you’re in the place to judge what he’s wearing.” His gaze drops to your shirt. “Like, I get the whole ‘putting-in-no-effort-post-breakup’ thing, but what is that shirt? Why is there a cockroach on it? And why is he holding a briefcase?”

You’re a little offended by that. “It’s…it’s The Metamorphosis. We read it in high school. Together.”

He narrows his eyes. “You know I blocked out everything from before I turned twenty-one.”

You press your lips together. “Fair enough.”

You spare a quick glance back to Jason, but he’s busy staring down someone walking by. Near his chair, in the corner of the pen, you notice for the first time a slightly older dog sleeping under small streaks of sunlight that seep through holes in the corner of the tent. It’s almost silly how it mirrors Jason— dark, furry legs sprawled out in the grass against black denim doing the same. Its ears flop open, just like the black waves that stick up in some places. The dog is even graying around its nose, white whiskers stark against the expanse of black fur.

You shuffle over on your knees, and the dog’s ears twitch, brown eyes opening to peer at you.

“Hi,” you murmur, palm outstretched for him to sniff. His tail thumps against the grass. You rub his belly and he rolls completely onto his back, tail wagging harder. 

You can’t help but giggle. “What are you doing all the way over here? Didn’t want to play with your friends?”

“Senior dogs aren’t as popular.”

You look up; Jason’s gaze is fixed on you, calculated, yet unreadable. You feel warm under his stare.

“Sorry?”

“He’s a senior dog. Most people prefer the puppies. More energy. Cuter.” He looks across the pen, to where your friend is holding multiple puppies in his lap. “Easier, emotionally speaking. ‘Cause they’ve got more life left.”

Your heart sinks as you look down at the dog in front of you. He pushes himself onto his legs, and it's clear he moves much slower than the younger dogs, but he’s just as adorable. His nose pushes at your hand— a request to keep petting him.

“That really…sucks.” You scratch behind the dog’s ear and his back leg twitches.

“Not much we can do about it.” He sounds aloof, but he rubs at a spot over his chest as he says it.

“Well, I’d adopt him if I could. Little…” You check the tag hanging from his collar, leaning closer to make out the engraving. “…Monster…Truck?”

Jason’s brows knit together. “Seriously?” He turns toward you, and you show him. He laughs— it surprises you. He looks so different when his face is broken into a smile. Nothing like the guarded, indifferent look he wore until now.

Jason looks behind you, squinting. “He seems…eager.”

Your friend is lying on his back, laughing as the dogs climb over him.

“He is.”

“Good idea to come here,” Jason notes. “Seen a lot of couples around; fun place for a date.”

Your lips quirk up and you shake your head, opening your mouth to correct him when you’re interrupted.

“NO!”

You both whip around and see your friend bolting upright. The dogs skitter away from him, and he crawls over to you.

“We are not a couple, I guarantee you.” Your friend is close to shouting. “I’m actually—” He flicks his wrist down, and you stifle a groan. “And also taken. So this—” He gestures between the two of you. “Not happening.”

Jason nods. “Oh, okay. Um…sorry.”

He points to himself. “Not single,” he says, then points to you. “Single. Not single,” he points to himself again, then back to you. “Single.”

“I think he got it.” You keep your eyes locked on the ground in front of you.

“Just making sure! You know, we’re in the middle of a misinformation crisis. So, you should always be fact-checking.” He pats you on the back and looks Jason right in the eye. “She is single.”

You face him, eyes wide with pursed lips. “Thank you,” you say, through gritted teeth. “For that.” 

“Anytime,” He flashes a bright smile and shuffles away.

You take a steadying breath and slowly turn back to Jason. He looks confused more than anything else.

“Sorry.”

“No—no worries.”

You stay silent, patting ‘Monster Truck’ on the head.

“Nice shirt, by the way,” Jason says, after a minute of silence.

“Oh! Thank you,” you grin. “Do you…like Kafka?”

“Yeah, I do. Is The Metamorphosis your favorite?”

“Definitely. Although I might be biased; I have a preference for tragedies.”

Jason leans closer. “You think it’s a tragedy?”

You tilt your head. “How is it not? Gregor never wanted to become what he did, but his parents still blamed him for it. They hated him, hurt him, and were relieved when he died when all he wanted was to keep being their son.” The dog rests his head on your knee, and you move your scratches to his back. There’s a quirk in Jason’s cheek, like an almost smile. “But the tragedy is that, in their eyes, he stopped being their son the second he changed. He was a monster to them, and he stayed that way until he died. He hoped that they would love him again, but he was doomed from the day he changed.”

“You don’t think Gregor was a monster?” Jason asks amusedly; you didn’t mean to get so passionate about Gregor Samsa today, but he’s clearly not complaining.

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Do you?”

“No, not at all.”

“Good. I’m surprised you don’t think it’s a tragedy. What is it to you?”

He shrugs. “Horror?”

You narrow your eyes. “Okay, sure.”

He chuckles. “You don’t agree?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Seems like you don’t,” Jason teases.

“Please don’t put words in my mouth, Jason.”

He laughs again, louder this time, and it sounds like music. You can’t help it; you break into a grin—something about his laugh is so contagious. You want to swallow the sound and be drunk on it for days.

“Seems unfair that you know my name and I don’t know yours,” Jason says.

A high-pitched squeak sounds from behind you, followed by a gruff throat-clearing, and a mumbled Sorry. You ignore it, eyes squeezing shut in a silent prayer that he can’t sense the sheer amount of heat radiating off of you.

You tell him your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. Like it’s something special to be held close.

He tears his eyes away from you when more people approach the pen, a line beginning to accumulate. You realize you’ve been here way longer than five minutes, and stand, brushing grass and dirt from your knees.

“We should probably…” You nod towards the people waiting.

“Yeah,” Jason agrees, sounding disheartened.

He stands, offering a hand so you can step over the playpen walls. His skin is rough, but warm, and your skin buzzes under the contact. As you swing your legs over, Monster Truck whines and paws at the walls of the enclosure.

You frown, leaning down to give him one final scratch under his chin. “Sorry buddy, I’ll miss you.”

Your friend climbs out after you, but steps away, giving you some distance.

“Maybe, um…” Jason’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “I’ll see you later?”

You nod, smiling. “Definitely.”

The sun is setting, and you’re drowsy and sun-tired from spending the day walking around the park. At every table and tent you visited, application forms for adoption and fostering taunted you from their piles, and you thought about little Monster Truck, old and lonely in his cage at the shelter, while there’s nothing you can do about it. Then you thought about Jason, his interesting views on literature that you’d love to hear more about, and how good he looked under the dappled sunlight shining down on him through the trees. Maybe he could be a good rebound, you think as you walk around the park, stealing glances at where he sits in the hopes of catching him as he leaves. But the more you think about him, the more your traitorous mind, too romantic for your own good, spins ‘rebound’ into possibilities of ‘casual’ into ideals of ‘relationship.’

Your friend is pulling the car around when you spot him a few tables down, an easy smile on his face as he talks to a beautiful woman with red hair and glasses.

He’s standing so close to her, you notice. He laughs at something she says. It’s the same laugh he gave to you. It leaves a bad taste on your tongue.

How much do you even know this guy? One conversation isn’t enough to gauge his character. You were presumptuous to assume he was flirting with you; there’s no way someone like that is single. Looking at him now, you’re brought back to days as a bright-eyed tween girl with a crush on the pool’s college-aged lifeguard. In other words— delusional.

He leans down and kisses the top of her head.

‘Relationship’ suddenly follows a thread of lies, manipulation, and excuses, all woven into a tapestry bearing nothing but three wasted years.

And for what? Ideals?

Shame sinks into your stomach, burning through to the surface of your skin. It’s like he can feel your stare because he looks up and his eyes immediately find yours. Frustrated tears prick at your eyelids as he squeezes the woman’s shoulder in goodbye and makes his way over.

Two seconds too late, the car pulls up to the park's edge. Your friend waves you over, and you’re half-tempted to make a run for it. But Jason calls to you, and on instinct, you turn.

“Hey, I was looking for you.”

You manage a strained smile, unable to form any words.

“Are you leaving?”

“Mhm.” You give him a nod.

The minute tilt of his head tells you he knows something is off.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Okay, well, there’s a good place for coffee not far from here. If you’re interested.”

“I’ll be sure to check it out.”

There’s a shift in the air. You both feel it.

“Actually, I meant…if you wanted to go now,” he says.

The fucking nerve of this guy.

“Why would I want to do that?”

This gives him pause. He looks at you with those calculating eyes, searching for something you refuse to give him. After a few too many seconds, he responds.“I thought you maybe wanted to—”

“Oh my god, Jason, no!” You spit. The force of it catches both of you by surprise.

He clears his throat, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Okay. Sorry to bother you.” He walks away before you can say anything.

Your legs carry you through your haze of indistinguishable emotions and into your friend’s car.

“What was that?” He asks, as soon as your seatbelt clicks into place.

“I don’t know.”

You spare one last look at the park. You have a clear view of Jason through the crowd, back with the same woman and now joined by another man. He’s shorter than Jason, and a little more tanned. He claps Jason on the back in a warm, familiar fashion. He and the woman’s hands are interlaced, and from the way she looks at him, it’s clear you made a mistake.

“Oh, fuck me.” You lean back against the headrest, taking a deep breath to soothe the stabbing pain in your chest.

“Do you want to go back?” Your friend offers. He peers at you sympathetically, and that only makes you feel worse.

“No. No, please just drive.” You drop your face into your hands, voice cracking.

His palm finds your shoulder. “Maybe it’s for the better. Like, everything happens for a reason, you know? For all you know, he could be a murderer. Or something.”

You want to find comfort in his attempts, but you just can’t.

“Drive. Please.”

“Things are gonna get better for you. I can feel it.” He shifts gears and peels away from the curb. The park disappears in your rearview mirror, and you can only hope he’s right.

June 30th

Things got worse.

On one particularly difficult day, you drag yourself back to the animal shelter because you just couldn’t get Monster Truck out of your mind.

“For the record,” the employee says as he leads you to his enclosure, “We just call him Monty.”

Monty, having already heard your voice as you approached, was waiting at the gate with wide eyes. His tail swung from side to side, and the sight of him had you melting.

The employee unlocks the gate and Monty lumbers out, panting happily and jumping onto you as you kneel.

“Hi, buddy!” You smush his face between your hands. “I missed you.”

“Have you filled out an application?” The employee asks.

“Oh.” You flush. “I’m sort of…in the process of moving right now. So…no.” It’s a half-truth. Your stuff is all in boxes and ready to be moved. You just don’t know where yet.

“That’s okay, you can still fill one out now! The process might take some time, anyway. Where are you moving to?” He has an unsettlingly bright smile. You feel like he’s already judging you.

“I’m…not sure. Yet.”

“I see.” He smiles even wider, somehow. “Then where are you living now?”

You blow out a sigh. “At a friend’s.”

“So, you’re essentially homeless?”

“Woah, dude.”

“If you aren’t planning to adopt, then you can’t visit the animals as you please. This isn’t a petting zoo.”

You share a few choice words with the employee, including a not-so-whispered ‘jackass’ (to which he says, ‘I heard that’ and you shout a ‘You were meant to!’) on your way out the door.

Later on that month, you heard about a modest one-bedroom apartment from a friend of a friend, whose friend knew the landlord; a little above your price range, but you could manage. You went through all the proceedings— references, background check, credit check, coming up with the money for a deposit—you were all ready to sign the lease and move in when you got the call.

These things fall through sometimes, the landlord said. Sorry it didn’t work out.

So tonight, when your friend, sick of your week-long pity party on his couch, hauled you into his Uber to join his date night, you thought, what the hell. Sure. 

Your friend and his boyfriend are insufferably cute. Normally, you’d smile at the way they’re all over each other on the drive to the club; kissing each other’s palms and stroking one another’s hair. 

Now it feels gloating.

Although this, you suppose, is your normal now, and while you can bear their playing footsie in the Uber, bear the hands in each other’s back pockets while waiting in line, bear playing photographer for them over the first round of shots, you draw the line at the sensuous, touchy dance moves happening three feet away from you. Not wanting to be the jealous and bitter third-wheel, you manage to grab their attention long enough to point to the bar and make your escape.

Still fairly early in the night, most of the stools are empty. You slide into one, and the bartender, a dark-haired woman whose name tag reads ‘Luisa’, approaches with a smile.

“What can I get you?”

You order a shot and, after a quick glance back to your friends (they’ve escalated to full-on grinding), you add a cocktail.

You throw back the shot with barely a grimace and start downing the cocktail. Luisa whistles.

“Everything okay?”

You merely shrug, not bothering to remove your mouth from the glass. Or breathe. The liquid level lowers at a steady speed until you’re left with only a few ice cubes.

Someone from a few chairs down scoots over to the seat next to you. 

“Wow.”

You don’t look at him, but the voice sounds male.

"I like a girl who can handle her liquor. Can—"

“No,” you say, not lifting your eyes from the counter.

You hear him scoff from beside you. “You could at least—"

“Nope.” You swish the straw around in the glass, pushing the ice cubes about. They clink against the corners of the cup.

“There’s no need—“

Something about this guy, and every guy to ever exist, fills you with exhaustion and rage. You drop your head into your hands, and groan. Loudly.

You hear his footsteps receding, as well as some curses flicked your way, but take an extra minute to hide in your hands. You think to yourself, when did men get so much audacity?

Another glass is set down in front of you. You look up; it’s Luisa. She wears an understanding grimace.

“Thanks,” you mumble.

“Break-up?” She asks, and you nod. “This one’s taken care of.”

“By who?”

“Don’t worry about it. Though, I do expect a generous tip later.” She winks, and you crack a smile for the first time that night.

“Why are men so…” You pause, searching for a word that adequately sums up what you’re feeling, but come up with nothing. She seems to get the point.

“Trust me, I know.”

“Yeah? What happened to you?” You sip the drink; the glass is cold in your hands, and it feels good against the humidity of the packed club.

She sighs, resting her forearms against the bar counter, fingers playing with the edges of her apron. “What didn’t?” At your sympathetic look, she continues. “I was with this guy for a few months, and everything was great. He was so sweet and loving. I thought he was, like, the one. Met each other’s families and everything. He started talking about moving in together…I was worried we might be moving too fast but he kept pushing it, saying stuff like ‘I want to be with you for the rest of my life, and I want the rest of my life to start right now!’” She accentuates her imitation with finger quotes and a high-pitched voice.

You squint at her with furrowed brows. “Isn’t that…When Harry met Sally?”

She laughs dryly. “Yeah. I hadn’t seen it. You want another?” She nods toward the glass you set down, now empty.

“Please.”

While assembling yet another cocktail for you, she resumes her story. “So I agreed, and he moved into my place, and then…” Luisa trails off, muddling mint and lime juice at the bottom of a shaker.

“Then…?” You prompt.

“Well, I found out that the day he started pressuring me into moving in together…that was the day he got his first eviction notice.”

“No.”

“Yes.” She pours your drink into a fresh glass and adds a straw, then slides it over the counter to you. “And I found out because he was four months behind on rent, and the landlord came to my place looking for him.”

“Oh my god!” You gasp, your chest burning with anger on her behalf. “What did you do?”

“I called my sisters. While he was at work, we changed the locks, packed up all his stuff, and left it on the curb.” She smiles at the memory. “Then I never saw him again.”

You snort into your hand. “So…you evicted him.”

“Essentially,” Luisa shrugs. “What about you?”

You huff. “Cheated,” is the only word you can get out, shoulders sagging as you fiddle with the straw.

“I’m sorry,” Luisa says.

"S'not your fault," you slur. Your three drinks are catching up to you. That doesn't stop you from ordering another.

Later into the night, when the crowd density around the bar has almost doubled, Luisa excuses herself to tend to the rising drink demand. You miss talking to her as soon as she leaves, but it's no matter because you're not sure your speech is even intelligible at this point. You're left with a grand total of three cocktails and two shots, the empty glasses surrounding your personal pity party at the bar. You're entertaining yourself by stacking the glasses atop one another when you hear a second set of footsteps behind the counter, though you're in no condition to comprehend the exchange.

"Hey, have you gone on break yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Okay, go. I'll cover you."

Your phone vibrates, and it takes a few tries for your clumsy hands to wrestle it out of your jeans' minuscule front pockets.

Unknown Number hey i want to fix this we can't throw away three whole years just because of one silly argument

You sho is yhid

Unknown Number i had to get a new number because you blocked me

You new nuumbrt who ids oj

Unknown Number wait are you drunk right now?

You y7es

Unknown Number i can't believe you, i'm trying to fight for our relationship and you're out drinking?

You fuvk ogg twat

"New number my ass. D'you see this shit?" You hold the phone up, facing the screen to Luisa. "How much you wanna bet he jus' borrowed— oh."

When you look up to where Luisa's face was, you're met with...nothing. A black void encapsulates your entire field of view.

"Am I passing out?" You ask, to no one in particular.

"What?"

The sound comes from above the black, and you follow it.

"Oh, shit."

You find a pair of green eyes narrowed at you, scanning you up and down. If you were more sober, you might feel somewhat intimidated by the burning stare. But any hint of sobriety has been thrown out the window and apparently took your filter along with it.

His face is somewhat blurry, but the unmistakable streak of white hair has you ninety percent confident that it’s...him in front of you.

Jason. From the animal shelter. Who you got along with, and then treated like shit.

“Woah! What’re you doin’ here!” It comes out as an exclamation more than a question and your words blend together, the alcohol making any speech require ten times the usual effort.

“What am I doing here?” It’s not accusatory, but rather genuinely confused. His voice is even, distant. Not a trace of the warmth you had last time to be heard.

You mimic his expression. “Do you, like…work here or something?”

He stares at you, dumbfounded. His face reads, this must be a prank. His mouth reads, after a moment’s pause, “…Or something.”

You sweep another look down his body. A black, short-sleeve T-shirt, well-loved jeans, and a pair of work boots grace his deific figure. You linger on his arms for a few seconds.

He clears his throat, and you’re drawn back to his face. He raises his eyebrows, unamused. The morning will be clouded by a haze of regret for how openly you check him out. But the morning’s not here just yet.

“You’re the barten—the bar…bar-man?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but you answer your own question.

“Nah, you’re…you are…can’t be bar-man. You don’t gotta apron!” You point at him, jabbing your finger so aggressively it shakes your whole body—a clear mistake from the way it makes the alcohol slosh in your stomach.

He says nothing and steps away to deal with the other customers. You return to your cup-stacking but, a moment later, the glasses are pulled from your reach. Your arm follows them with a whining protest, and a tall glass is placed in your hand.

“I didn’t order any more rum.”

“This is water.” Jason begins to turn away, but stops. “Did you think I brought you a full glass of rum?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m kinda drunk,” you mumble. You take a few sips, and then place it back on the table. 

“Oh, are you?” His tone has a bite to it. You look down at the cup, tapping your nails against the glass. You don’t give yourself the right to be offended; you deserve it, you think, as the events of that day replay in your head.

“Sorry for being such a bitch.” It comes out quieter, scarcely audible over the raucous sounds of the club.

“All you said was, ‘You’re not wearing an apron’.”

“Not now. Before. Last time.”

He doesn’t say anything. Then, “Just drink the water.”

“No, I’m gonna go throw up.”

“Wait—”

You jump from your stool, threading through the hordes of sweaty bodies to round the corner and bolt for the bathroom. You barge through the first door marked ‘vacant’ that you see and hurl in the toilet. Several times.

When your stomach is finally empty, you sit back against the wall, head hitting the tiles. A mixture of vomit and spit dribbles down your chin and onto your top. You take a deep breath, but the air stinks of sweat and smoke and you retch, but there’s nothing left for your body to purge.

The cold tiles do little to soothe your damp, heated skin. You need water. Water and fresh air and maybe a time machine, so you can go back and warn yourself to eat something before going out, or to pay more attention to what’s right in front of you, or maybe just go back and make sure you never say yes in the first place to that fucking—

“You in here?”

A swift knock on the door. Stern enough to knock you to your senses, and also rouse some shame. The amount of times you’ve embarrassed yourself this month alone— it brings another wave of nausea.

You don’t answer—you can’t, not with the acid and bile burning your throat and your head spinning from the glaring fluorescent lights. The door handle is pushed down achingly slowly, rusty hinges screaming in protest as the door is cracked open. Jason peeks his head in, the familiar tuft of white poking out from behind the door first, followed by the rest of him.

“Can I come in?” 

You nod. He leaves a crack in the door and approaches carefully, as if you’re a wounded animal in the wild, ready to bolt at the first sudden movement. He squats down to eye-level, careful to avoid touching his knees to the floor. Smart, you think, becoming acutely aware of your shoes sticking to the ground by way of some mystery substance.

“Sorry ‘bout this,” you croak, closing your eyes in the hopes that it will relieve some of the ache.

“It’s fine.”

“No,” you slur, “’s not. Can’t stop embarrassing myself.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen much worse.”

“Doubt it.” You open your eyes to look at him. He remains a respectable distance from you, so his features are still a bit fuzzy, but you can make out the thin line of his lips pressed together. He’s indecipherable, and you wonder if it’s on purpose that he hides himself, or if that’s just his face.

“Can you stand?” He asks, rising back to his full height. Still delirious, you manage a soft groan from the back of your throat and extend your arm to him. He gets the message, taking ahold of your elbow and pulling you to your feet with ease like you weigh nothing.

You hobble over to the sink and splash cool water on your face, wiping at your mouth and neck and cursing at the stains on your shirt.

“Do you need a new one?” 

It almost doesn’t register over the ringing in your ears, which is only compounded by the loud bass that bleeds through the walls and reverberates through your skull.

“You…hm?” Your voice crackles as you turn to face him. He’s oddly relaxed in his stance where he leans against the door, hands in his pockets and watching you intently. 

“I can give you a shirt. If you want one,” he says. His voice is soft, but whether it’s from sympathy or pity, you can’t tell. 

“Yeah, sure. Fine,” you reply, breaking eye contact to stare at the grimy wall behind him. More than anything else, you want a break from the way he looks at you; as if he’s peeling back your layers and staring right into the center of you. It makes you feel like a scolded child, walking to the principal’s office with a pit in your stomach and no idea what you did wrong, but knowing there must be something.

Your hands feel cold, suddenly, and you flinch at the unexpected sensation. Looking down, you see Jason pressing a bottle of water into your hands. You hadn’t even noticed he stepped closer.

He slips out the door, closing it behind him. You rinse out your mouth a few times, but the dry, acidic burn in your throat remains, so you go for the water bottle, but your fingers are too weak and shaky to remove the cap. You set it down forcefully on the sink’s edge and lean your weight against the sink, hands gripping the porcelain so hard your knuckles turn white. You stare at them, unable to bear your own reflection. You can feel the pressure building behind your eyes and screw them shut, clamping a hand over your mouth to muffle the choked-out sob that breaks from you.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself, wiping away at the moisture. “Get it together.”

You’re trying to steady your breathing when he knocks on the door, his request to come in muffled through the wall.

A stiff “Yeah,” is all you can manage; it’s so quiet you don’t think he heard you, but a moment later the door creaks open again and Jason’s head peeks in. You steal a quick glance at him in the mirror, and that’s all it takes for him to notice the shine of your red-rimmed eyes. He freezes, hovering halfway into the bathroom, unsure if he should come in or give you your privacy.

“Here,” he says quietly. You turn around at the light rustle of him holding out a large, light blue t-shirt, and a plastic grocery bag. “I’ll let you—”

“Wait,” you say, without thinking.

He looks at you expectantly, and after a few seconds of silence, you realize you need to say something.

“Can you—” You fumble for the water bottle that sits on the sink and hold it out to him. “Can you open this?”

He twists the cap open and hands it back to you. You take a small sip. The two of you stare at each other.

“Is there…anything else?”

“I, uh…”

There is something else. But you’re not sure what it is. The only thing your drunk—and clearly stupid—mind can think about right now is how much you want him to stay.

“You remember Monty?”

“Monty?” Jason raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, you know. Monty.” You lean against the wall, resting your head on the tiles that are definitely carrying some kind of virus. At least they’re cold.

“No, sorry.” He shakes his head.

“Jason.” You cross your arms. “Monty!”

“I don’t…know who that is.” His ears are turning pink as he looks you up and down, likely wondering if the bacteria in this bathroom can cause hallucinations.

“Monster Truck. The dog.”

You can see the gears turning in his brain, and the moment the light bulb flickers on. “Oh,” he sighs. “Yeah.” His shoulder leans against the doorframe, and he pushes the door open a few more inches.

“Y’know I went to see him?” 

He hums in response and tilts his chin up, signaling for you to continue.

“Motherfuckers kicked me out.”

At this, his mouth falls open. “They…what?”

You nod vigorously, grateful that you’re not alone in your outrage. “Said if I don’t have a place to live, being there’s basically loitering.”

At his silence, paired with his microscopic frown, you wonder if he agrees. It occurs to you that this is the first he’s heard of your living situation—you rush to defend yourself.

“I had a place to live. Then I moved out. Was about to move into this new place, literally jus’ had to sign some shit, but this old bitch pulled it out from under me. Worst part is, she’s not even gonna live there. Just wanted it ‘cause it was around the fashion district, an’ I guess she just wanted a place to, like, put her feet up or something after a long day of shopping.”

If Jason wants to cut in, you don’t notice. You’re fully aware that you’re rambling, but can’t bring yourself to care; it feels nice to finally get all this out. Even if it is making you look even worse in his eyes.

“And you wanna know the worst part? I had the apartment. Was basically mine already. But then she had to go and bribe the damn landlord with all her…damn rich lady money!” Your volume increases as you go on, getting angrier at the injustice. “And then he lied to me about it! Said it just ‘fell through.’ Then I showed up to talk to him in person about it, and he broke like a…like—like something that breaks easily, I don’t know. Like, if you’re gonna fuck people over, at least be good at it. Don’t be a snitch!

“And, apparently, the lady—she said that she wanted that apartment because it was ‘the safest she could find’ and she didn’t wanna ‘get mugged,’” you say, using air quotes. “Bitch! If you wanna live somewhere safe, get the hell out of Gotham!” You’re practically yelling now, and Jason suppresses a smile. You know it’s probably mocking, but still, he listens patiently to your rant.

“But, actually, she was kinda right. It was a nice place. On Tyler Street. Totally bougie—the muggers don’t even come out ‘til after midnight.”

He actually snorts at this, and you feel yourself smiling at it.

Your eyes fall to the shirt in your hands. You hold it up to get a good look. It’s an icy-blue color with a monocled cartoon penguin in front of an iceberg. Underneath is written ‘The Iceberg Lounge: Gotham Waterfront.’ 

It’s so cheesy, you can’t help but laugh. “Why do you have this?”

“From the gift shop.”

“What kinda club has a gift shop?”

Jason shrugs. “This one.”

He steps out, shutting the door behind him. You peel off your old shirt and stuff it in the plastic bag before tugging on the new shirt; it’s soft and surprisingly good quality. After a few moments of deliberation, you decide to stuff the plastic bag in the trash—it’s not like you’ll miss it.

You open the door, startled when you see that Jason is waiting outside.

“I’m good, you can go back to work,” you tell him.

“How are you gonna get home?”

“‘S fine,” you mumble. “I’ll jus’ call an Uber.” You drag yourself out of the bathroom, leaning one hand against the wall for support. Jason follows, hovering like an anxious parent. You shoot your friend a text letting him know, and he replies telling you to call him from the car.

“That’s—” He rests his hand on your back and maneuvers you around a flock of drunk dancers whom you’re too absorbed in your phone to notice. “I can give you a ride.”

“It’s okay. You’re working.” You don’t listen for his answer, making a beeline for the exit. He stays on your tail, and you realize as he guides you in the opposite direction that you don’t actually know your way around this place.

“Not anymore.” He pushes open the front door and holds it for you.

“You can’t just leave in the middle of your shift, Jason.” The door swings shut behind you, and sounds of traffic and light chatter replace the ear-splitting music. Jason nods to the bouncer at the entrance before turning back to you.

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” He leads you around the side of the building.

“No, I will worry about it. You already hate me enough. I can’t be the reason you get fired.”

Jason stops walking. “You think—”

“I’m calling an Uber.” He tries to interject, but you don’t let him. “Look! George is three miles away, and he has a five-star rating.”

“I don’t want you getting into some rando’s car. I can take you home.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “What’s your problem? You don’t like George?”

“I don’t trust anyone in Gotham this late, and neither should you,” Jason says firmly.

“Then why should I trust you?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. You scroll through your recent messages, surprised to see your ex’s ‘new number’ has called you four times in the last hour. Two of those calls have voicemails.

You skim through the voicemail transcripts. “Fuckin’ weirdo,” you seethe.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asks.

“Nothin’.” Your shaky fingers try to navigate to the ‘block’ button, but the screen shifts to an incoming call. It’s him. Again. You decline it. Not even a moment later, he calls again.

“Leave me alone,” you mutter, rushing to press ‘block’ before he can call again.

Releasing a heavy sigh, you drop to the curb, head falling into your palms. After a moment, you hear Jason sit down next to you.

“Is someone bothering you?” His tone is rigid, and it’s a shocking switch, abrupt and cold enough to send a chill down your spine. You lift your head to look at him. “If you don’t feel safe—”

“No, it’s just my stupid ex. Probably only calling ‘cause his fuckin’ mistress finally left him. Good for her, I guess. Bad for me, though. Now he’s lonely and won’t leave me alone.”

“How many times has he called you?”

“I don’t know, five? It’s fine. He’ll give up.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod. His shoulders relax. Barely. You don’t miss the way his jaw tightens, or how his hand flexes as he stares at your phone.

“If he keeps harassing you, tell someone.” At the way he speaks, you almost fear for your ex.

“I…don’t know if I’d call it harassment. He’s just an idiot.”

Jason looks you in the eye. “That’s not an excuse.” His gaze is sharp. You look away, something burning in your chest.

Quiet settles in the space between you.

“Feels like you’re judging me,” you murmur.

“I’m not judging you,” he says gently. “Why would I judge you?”

“I don’t know, just…for being with someone like that.”

It takes him some time to respond.

“People change.”

“And what if I told you he was always like that?”

“I still wouldn’t judge you.” This time, his reply is immediate.

“Maybe you should. I was with him for three years.”

“Why?” He asks, but it’s not critical; it’s curious.

“We were friends for a while first. I guess I was kind of a late bloomer if you wanna call it that. Never got much attention from…whatever.”  The alcohol’s lingering effects weigh heavy on your tongue, making all your admissions come too easily. “Then one day, that changed. He was the first guy who asked me out. Claimed he’d ‘always had a crush on me’. Guess I got excited, or something. I was so high on the feeling of being…wanted. Never noticed how selfish he actually was.”

“What did he do?”

“It was subtle. He wasn’t the only one who started noticing me; I started getting approached more. But it felt worse, almost. ‘Cause it’s like…I don’t know…I didn’t even change anything.” You hug your knees closer to your chest. “But then all of a sudden I was getting all this attention. And I didn’t know why, and he was like, ‘you really don’t know? You got super hot over the summer.’”

You hear Jason wince next to you. You tilt your head back and take a deep breath, filling your lungs with fresh air when all the remembering brings a familiar pressure to your chest.

“And I know it was supposed to be a compliment,” you continue, feeling yourself sobering at the memory. “Every time it happened, I would tell him about it, thinking we could laugh, but then he’d say some shit like, ‘Well they only like you now. I was the only one who liked you even before.”

“So, until now, you…lived with him?” Jason’s eyes are on the side of your face, you can feel it, but you don’t dare to look at him.

“Yeah. Moved in together after graduation with a lease in his name ‘cause I didn’t know any better.” You chuckle self-deprecatingly. “Found out in the spring that he’d been cheating on me for months, so I moved out. Been moving between friends’ couches ever since.”

A bout of heat runs through your veins as the gravity of everything you’ve told him settles in. You breathe out a long sigh, keeping your eyes trained on the sky above. There are no stars in Gotham, not since the sudden boom in factories and highways and airborne bio-weapons, and the moon is barely visible, waxing on the edge of a new moon. The sky is an endless expanse of gray.

“What about you? Don’t make me the only naked one here.”

The blinking light of an airplane catches your attention, and you track it across the sky. The alcohol has slowed your cognition; it’s nearly a full minute before you realize Jason hasn’t responded. You finally look at him—his lips are parted, eyes narrowed.

You frown. “What?”

“…Naked?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Never heard that before? It doesn’t mean naked naked. It means, like…naked.”

His face remains blank.

“C’mon, Jason, I have no interest in seeing you naked naked.” You look him up and down with distaste, hoping to support your statement, but get caught—again—on his arms. But who can blame you? You’re drunk, and lonely, and his sleeves are hugging his biceps like that, and they look big enough to crush your head.

When your eyes find his again, his jaw is tensed.

You dart to your feet, too quick to help your dizziness and burning with embarrassment.

“Whatever, can we go?”

“Please,” he says, and leads you down the street.

You stumble, tripping over your own feet as you walk and almost crashing into him. Jason huffs and reaches out to wrap his hand around your upper arm. His grip is firm, but not painful, and it holds you upright for the remainder of the walk. In the back of your mind, you wonder if he’s holding up your entire body weight in one hand.

“Wait a second–wait.” You freeze in the middle of the sidewalk, and he jerks to a stop. “That thing? ‘M not gettin’ on that.” You swallow back the lump forming in your throat as you stare at the massive motorcycle parked at the side door.

“Why not?” You can tell he’s getting antsy now, having to look after you like a babysitter, but not even the fear of being a burden can outweigh the uneasiness that comes from…that.

You take a step back. “That’s—you know how dangerous those things are?”

He looks to the sky, taking a deep breath. “Only if you don’t know how to drive them. I do.”

“Look, I get it, you got that whole thing goin’ on, with the bike, and the leather, and the big muscles—” His eyes widen a bit at that last part. “—But do you know what the chances are of being injured when you’re in a motorcycle accident? Do you, Jason? Ei—”

“Eighty-two percent,” he cuts in.

You jerk back, narrowing your eyes. “How’d you know that?”

He scoffs. “How did I know that? You don’t even have a motorcycle!”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do,” he snaps. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be throwing a fit right now. So please, just get on the bike so I can take you home.” Jason shoves the helmet out to you, his expression fiery and pleading in a way you’ve never seen before. Still, you hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip and looking between him and the helmet.

Your eyes meet, and he sighs. “I’ll drive slowly.” He speaks softer, and somehow, it settles some of your nerves.

You take a deep breath and take the helmet, sliding it over your head. Jason tightens the strap below your chin, and his fingers brush against your neck. You feel dizzy again, your eyelids drooping with sleepiness. With him standing so close, you can smell the cologne wafting from him, layered on top of something deeper; a mixture of fresh soap and natural musk. 

“You smell good,” you murmur.

He snaps your visor shut.

“Good?” He asks.

“Good,” you say, though it’s muffled through the helmet, so you nod.

Once you’re both on the bike, you wrap your arms around his waist, squeezing tightly for fear of falling off. You feel his body vibrate as he says something, but you’re too tired to worry about what it is.

He revs up the bike and takes off, circling back to the front of the building and merging onto the main road. And yeah, he’s not going that fast, but it’s fast enough to leave your stomach a few feet behind. You cling to Jason, pressing yourself impossibly tighter to him.

Your eyes are closed the whole way, but the cold wind blowing against you feels nice on your skin. You’re so lost in the hum of the engine sending relaxing vibrations through you, how soft Jason feels, and the helmet drowning out the sounds of Gotham traffic that you don’t even notice when he stops in front of your friend’s building and takes off his helmet. When the light taps to your knee don’t work, he squeezes your leg with a stern call of your name. You jump in surprise, knocked out of your reverie, but pry yourself off of his back.

He gets off first, holds his arm out to offer stability as you clamber off, then undoes your helmet. By now, you’ve sobered up considerably, but you still lack just enough of your senses to stand on your toes and throw your arms around his neck. It’s a split-second embrace, so quick that you barely catch the fresh earthiness of his scent before pulling away. You swear the air feels heavier on your lower back, warmth bleeding through fabric where a hesitant touch hovers, but when you step back his arms are firmly at his sides.

Looking up at him, the tips of his ears are dusted with pink, and his eyelashes flutter in a gust of summer wind. 

“Thanks for putting up with me,” You mumble through a drowsy grin. “‘Specially after I fumbled you that badly.”

Jason blushes harder. “Get some rest,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “And call your friend,” he calls as you climb the steps. You wave goodbye, and he just nods, waiting until you get through the door to mount his bike again. 

He’s just about to kick it into gear when he pauses. He stares at the door for several seconds, fighting with himself, before groaning out a string of curses, pulling out his phone, and searching up Tyler Street.

divider

there are so many notes bc this was so long omg. it ended up being longer than i anticipated so i split it into 2 parts don't hate me🫥

omg...the birth of an au...i still can't believe so many people liked the first part, this is a prequel for how they met. ty for reading my writing🤭i looove writing iceberg lounge jason!! part 2 of this fic and more parts coming soon!!!

so uh...maybe i'm going crazy but i could've sworn that wayne animal sanctuary was a canon thing when i started this, but then i tried to look it up and couldn't find anything :/ but then i included it anyway bc i'm The Author and i can do whatever i want!

the metamorphosis shirt is based on this "working bug" design that i ❤️ (i have the sticker!).

the motorcycle accident stats were for 2013-2017 from the new jersey division of highway traffic and safety website- basically if you were in a motorcycle accident in those years you had an 82% chance of sustaining injuries from it. wasn't sure if it was clear😬

[suguann]

✎. you've been on the run for a while. you knew someone would come eventually—but not him.

tags. fem!reader, old west era, bounty hunter simon, size difference, size kink, implied the reader's husband is a terrible human, accidental voyeurism, period-typical sexism, masturbation [18+ only]

masterlist

You’ve been running for months, first from your husband (the phantom grip of his hand still sending an ache through your wrist) and now as a wanted conwoman for stealing the clothes from an unsuspecting cowpoke who thought he was getting lucky. You can only imagine what Mama would say about trading your ruffled skirts for grass-stained trousers and boiled-leather suspenders.

(It’s unbecoming of a respectable woman, dear. Uncouth.)

She’d probably have a lot to say if she knew everything you’ve done to survive.

You hop from one place to the next only by the mere chance someone was willing to let a helpless woman accompany them on their travels. Nearly a month has passed since being stranded in a dusty old mining town after a man and his wife dump you off and leave you behind. Washoe’s a little gritty and not welcoming unless there’s money to spend.

It’s not exactly safe, not unsafe, either, but nobody asks questions as long as you keep your head down and play the part of a mourning widow just passing through.

You know you’ve overextended your stay when you can’t leave your room during the day without worrying about a noose and the open end of a barrel meeting you outside. 

(That your husband or that gun-waving cowpoke finally found you.)

Sleep practically clings to you like a second skin, but you don’t dare close your eyes—you can’t.

This is how you end up sitting in the corner of the saloon, using the last of whatever you have in your change purse to order something strong, something your husband kept locked away, and anything else he thought women shouldn’t have a part in. 

You don’t even realize that your eyelids begin to feel heavy, steadily blurring out the flickering lantern on the wall while you wait for your drink. 

You catch yourself once or twice before your head can hit the table, rapidly blinking away the exhaustion before your eyes slide to the swinging doors.

You should stay awake. 

You need to stay awake just a little bit longer—

Your luck runs out that day. 

It’s one thing to know it’d happen eventually, and something else to realize that you make it easy for him—the man with an infamous name and a faded black bandana covering half his face—how he walked into the saloon and scooped you up (all unladylike sleepy dead weight) out of the weathered booth without a fight.

When you’d woken up to find yourself trussed up and thrown over the back of his horse, you cursed him out with every word you could think of that would make Mama clutch her skirts. Your captor ignored you, only talking to you whenever he warned you he was about to set up camp. 

“Did my husband send you?” Acknowledging him after all this time tasted like pennies on your tongue.

The man, Simon Riley, had leaned back against his bedroll and tipped the brim of his hat over his eyes. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

That was several weeks ago. 

Now, you find yourself stranded in another state that’s more green and vibrant than anything you’re familiar with, stuck with a man who refuses to answer the questions you throw at him. He doesn’t talk outside a few cursory words you greedily latch onto. Anything’s better than silence and the sound of hooves hitting earth. 

The pace he keeps you at is exhausting. You complain about it enough until he moves you in front of him, tying your hands to the saddle's horn.

“I would strongly advise you to shut that mouth for the rest of the ride unless you want me to do something about that, too.” The low growl of his voice in your ear makes the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up, muddling your brain.

You’re distantly aware you had something to say to that, but you don’t. 

And that is really saying something.

It’s because there’s someone he needs to meet in town—an errand that lawbreakers who run their mouths aren’t allowed to go on.

This is how you end up sitting in camp alone, twirling around a knife he gave you solely for emergencies. 

(Surprise, sharp and quick through your middle, when he tosses his pocket knife into the grass beside you. “What’s to stop me from leaving?”

You could’ve sworn he rolled his eyes. “Will you?”

It doesn’t seem worth dignifying with a reply. You don’t want to travel alone, and there’s a high possibility of getting lost, finding yourself saddled up with worse company than the one you’re stuck with.

Until he evidently catches you again.)

He’s a lot nicer than you first gave him credit for—if only by a fraction—not that you know much about Simon other than what you overheard from gossip circles before you became Mrs. Thornton. Afternoons spent sipping tea laden with honey and lounging around a table full of cakes in the sun parlor while wealthy women talked behind their lace-covered hands to hide secret smiles you were too naive to understand. 

Trying not to stare at the bulge of his arms with thin pink scars—unlike the men you’re used to who got through life with a silver spoon hanging from their mouth—as he places his saddle back on his horse, you think you finally know what they smiled about.

You learn those scars also litter his torso from the time you accidentally walked upon him mid-way through putting his trousers on after washing in the river. It’d been too dark for you to see much else, and you quickly returned to camp before he could say something that would embarrass you both. 

Then, of course, tucked away into your bedroll, you can’t help wondering what the rest of him would have looked like if you had stayed a second longer. 

If his jaw is sharp or soft behind that mask he insists on wearing—that’s if he’d let you see at all. 

Simon’s always so serious that it’s often hard to determine whether he’s merely tolerating your existence until he can get rid of you or if he’s unused to traveling accompanied for so long. It’s not as if he goes out of his way to make pleasant conversation with you for you to assume otherwise.

You look off in the direction where he disappeared into the dense line of trees hours ago, wondering if you should go out looking for him (mainly because you’re hot and sticky from the humidity) despite his order to stay put. 

But after four hours turns into five, you head off, searching for something to help cool you off.

Luckily, unlike the heavily eroded lands you’re used to, there isn’t any water shortage in a place that sees rain three times a day, so it doesn’t take long to find a lake. You set your knife down on the stone-covered beach, followed by your boots, until you’re left in nothing but your undergarments. 

The water is icy cold and laps gently at your feet when you step in. You can’t find it in you to complain as the heat from the day slowly washes away the further you walk in and find a wide ledge to sit on. 

Your thoughts drift back to Simon, incessant and intruding even though you shouldn’t be thinking about him while wet and naked. And suddenly, you can picture it: his hands replacing yours as they trace along your neck. You have a feeling they’re probably rough and scarred from years of living hard and gunslinging, extracting the readily available knowledge that they’re big enough to encase your waist.

He could maneuver you around however he wants (you know this), and you feel dizzy just thinking about it.

Sighing, you sink deeper into the water while your hands smooth over the tips of your breasts and down your stomach. 

You wish you could see him without violating whatever personal preservations hide him from the rest of the world. Instead, you’re left with your imagination—the benefits of being a married woman and the little experience you have in the bedroom finally coming into play. 

Closing your eyes, you picture what he might look like under those sun-weathered leathers, knowing that the broadness of his shoulders isn’t only due to his vest and holsters but also from how his job has shaped him.

Your hands travel lower, fingers brushing through the creamy, soft wetness between your legs, evidence of what Simon does to you even when he’s not around. A moan, too high and breathy, slips past your lips as you use your middle finger to circle your clit in slow, clumsy swirls from lack of practice and patience that spreads warmth through your middle despite the cold water. 

It’s good, your fingers discovering places your husband always ignored—too many nights spent with your hand under your nightgown long after he’d tucked his cock away and gone to sleep—but probably don’t compare to the ones you’ve caught yourself staring at far too many times. 

They don’t fill you nearly enough, unlike how you know Simon’s would—thick and unrelenting. Rough and long, reaching deep enough to make you breathless.

Your breath hitches from pinching the tight, sensitive peak of your nipple until you feel a slight sting, and then it slips out, a tiny thing that’s only audible to your ears—Simon—a secret you now share with the lightning bugs and crickets.

“Dirty, no good rotten—” he’d tell you for thinking such lewd thoughts about him, for sinning so easily. Maybe you are, for getting so worked up over a man who isn’t your husband (no matter how terrible a husband he may be).

A man who’s so big that he makes you feel small, the type that gives before he takes. It’s enough to make you work your hand faster—your body vibrating from the chill of the water and the ache between your trembling thighs.  

Fantasies aren’t enough to sate the deep longing in your chest. Yet you’re slipping over the edge of ecstasy before taking your next breath—all of it builds up and gradually crests inside you like the lake rippling against the shore.

Afterward, it leaves you feeling soft and blurred around the edges, a watercolor painting drying under the sun while you wait for your rapid heartbeat to slow.

You don’t realize your eyes have fallen shut until they flutter open, and you’re startled to find Simon standing at the shoreline, his chest heaving as if he ran here. 

(Though he probably did to see if you took the opportunity to leave.)

You’re glued to your spot on the rock, suddenly struck with the mortifying realization that he’d seen you come—that he possibly heard you cry out his name so intimately.

You watch him remove his hat and hang it on a branch with wide eyes. Followed by his undershirt, guns, and—

He keeps removing clothes until he’s completely naked on the shore—aside from his face that stays hidden—scars marred his chest, spreading to his collarbones and below the water as he steps into the lake and sits on another ledge across from you.

His mask makes him look more menacing, erasing any trace of softness there. And you wonder if he’s angry at you for wandering off.

"Come here." His voice is low and deep, rumbling in his chest.

You don't think he'd hurt you. If he wanted to, he would have done it by now.

At least, that’s what you’re going with to settle the nervous fluttering in your middle.

Water laps at your arms as you wade through the water, each shaky step bringing you closer until you stop before him.

"In my lap."

Your breath sticks in your throat as you do as he says, settling down onto his sturdy thighs, palms falling flat against his broad chest. That same breath comes out in one large exhale as his fingers slide along your jaw, to the nape of your neck, curling into your hair, wet and falling around your shoulders.

“Like this?” you ask, trying to ignore how breathy you sound.

He grunts, apparently in confirmation.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so conflicted in your life—fear and arousal turning into a messy cocktail in your veins.

“Why do I always have to use a heavy hand to make you listen?”

Your lips part. Breath growing short. “I’m sorry.”

And then—

Simon pulls your head back sharply, exposing your throat.

Your body goes slack against his. Mind blissfully blank.

“No,” he says, tone flat. “But you will be.”

[allfearstofallto]

When it Comes to You

Yandere! Childe x Fem! Reader

TW: 18+ MDNI, Yandere content, bribery, blackmail, Dub-con, Reader works at a brothel (is not a courtesan)

AN: I've just been watching a lot of apothecary diaries tbh and I needed to write something

A job is a job, you often thought to yourself as you tried not to cough from the smell of booze and tobacco, and mora is mora. You didn't have the luxury of denying yourself a single cent. Every little piece of gold, shiny and polished or scuffed and dirty was one step closer to your goal and another away from your debt. Away from him, who didn't try to hide that he was finding his pleasure in watching you drowning under the weight of your obligations.

You were to pour drinks. Whether it be tea, water, or wine. Scurry around the large main hall, entertain the guests waiting for their chances with a lady of the night and pour their drinks. Keep a smile on their faces and their pockets empty. Keep them distracted from just how much they were spending, keep their cigars lit, keep them cheerful and drunk. All simple tasks, in theory. In practice you ran around like a chicken with its head cut off, all while the guests leered at you like a piece of meat. It was dehumanizing, but it paid well and paid quickly. You'd receive a bag of mora at the end of every shift, the amount varying based on how well you'd done that day.

Most of it, you couldn't keep. After paying for necessities, you'd walk on your aching feet to the northland bank and pay off a bit more of your debt. You were barely chipping at the high fortune that you owed, but anything was better than the alternative.

And much to your dismay, the alternative was sitting at one of your tables. With that same empty eyed smile and one long leg casually crossed over the other. He tapped his finger against the rim of his empty glass, taunting you in the one place where he knew you couldn't retaliate. Another lady approached him, head bowed while she attempted to pour his wine, but he shooed her away just as quickly with a wave of his hand. He didn't want her, he wanted you. He wanted you to see and know that he wanted you.

You couldn't look angry, nor annoyed, anything less than an enthusiastic smile meant less pay. So with your lips curled too tightly, to the point of near pain, you kneeled next to his table and filled his glass with the cooled liquid. Ajax seemed pleased with your service. Although, he always seemed pleased when you were around. He kept a smile on his face in your presence , not because he had to, but because he wanted to, like he was incapable of looking anything but smug when near you. With that same expression, he took a singular sip of his wine before sitting the glass back on the table. 

“Stay,” he ordered quickly when he saw even the flicker of possibility of you leaving. You stayed kneeled next to his table as you were told, the last thing you needed was him complaining to your boss, a habit he'd made to keep you as in debt as possible. And Ajax was a high paying customer, one that they wanted to keep. His words were like law to your employers, anything less than perfection with his service would be met with the dock of your pay.

Ajax wanted you to be as poor as possible. He wanted you to be pressed under his thumb, to be weak to his will and in need of his favors. It was those same favors that'd gotten you into this mess now, and those same favors were only digging your hole deeper. You owed him a lot. Not him, per say, but the Northland bank. Usually owing money meant you'd be shaken down by a low level fatui foot soldier, yet Ajax had taken a particularly notable interest in you. One that did more harm than good. It bordered on obsession, although he'd play that observation off with a smile.

“You're late,” his words were followed by another sip of wine. He didn't have to tell you what you were late on, you knew he was referring to a payment. There was a happy chirp to the way he spoke, a playful sweetness to his tone that would've been charming, had he not been smiling at your misery.

“I paid yesterday,” you insisted. It was difficult getting your anger across with a forced smile on your face, but your strained voice and gritted teeth would have to suffice.

“You paid the principal,” he playfully tapped your nose with the cold tip of his finger and you resisted the urge to snap and bite, “Not your interest.”

“I was told I could pay it later, I'll have it by the end of the week,”

“Told by whom? Was it me?” He looked so proud of himself as he spoke watching you grow more and more frustrated while being unable to express it, “If it wasn't by me then it wasn't part of your arrangement.”

“I can pay at the end of the night if you wait for my shift to be over,” you sighed, letting the smile drop for only a moment. You thought it strange how sweetly the teller at the bank was when she insisted that you could pay the interest later. Against your better judgement, you listened. Why were you dumb enough to think you had allies on your side? To think that he wasn't still pulling strings, even when he was nowhere near.

An expression crossed Ajax's face. A familiar one. A bad one. The look he made when an idea struck him. Or, perhaps when he knew he'd finally be able to get what he wanted. That's the look he gave you, and felt your heart sink. 

“You won't make enough,” there he was again, saying those harsh words with a singsong tone, reveling in your misfortune, “With the late fee on top, you'll be short.”

You scoffed, letting the cheerful facade drop. There'd never been a late fee before, but Childe was insistent in getting what he truly wanted from you. Your one slip up was going to be your detriment, and his greatest achievement so far. You could see it in the sparkle in his dead, hollow blue eyes. He was anticipating just this, almost as if he'd plotted the entire thing himself. A conspiracy like that wasn't far off in terms of what the man in front of you was capable of, the one who was looking down upon your pitiful kneeling form in delight about the ownership of you that he dangled over your head.

“Take me as a client tonight and consider yourself cleared of this weeks payment-”

Your glossed lips parted quickly to stop his train of thoughts, but he cut you off by placing a finger against them. You couldn't see it, but you could feel the soft shade from your lips smear across his digit and onto your cheek.

“-and the next,”

You felt your world stop at this statement. Suddenly, the brothel that was so noisy and overbearing, was silent. Two weeks with no payment? Childe was never that generous. But he was also a man who was always two steps ahead. He'd been wanting to bed you since the day you walked into that bank the first time. All smiles with a hand resting too low upon your waist while selling you a loan that would essentially take your entire life to pay back. You were naive then. Naive and desperate. And somehow, you were worse now.

When things were rough and you knew you didn't have the money to pay him, he'd accept little things. A date. Handholding. A hug. There was even a day where he accepted a kiss upon the lips in exchange for a week's payment. 

A real kiss. 

He wanted you to initiate. He wanted you seated on his lap, your tongue in his mouth, he wanted to claim you completely, while making it feel like you desired it too.

The kiss was suffocating and vile, not romantic at all. It was a kiss that screamed ownership and possession, nothing close to a true affection. You couldn't even pull away when you wanted to, his hand was holding the back of your head, keeping you in place while he lapped at the inside of your mouth, slurping at your tongue while simultaneously tracing his fingertips over your cheeks.

“I don't take customer's, I'm not a-” you couldn't bring yourself to speak the word, but all he did was cock an eyebrow at your silence.

“Anything can be arranged,”

A deal that feels too good to be true, is usually just that. His smirk, mischievous and cold spoke of a desire that wouldn't end with one taste of your body. Silently, you were cursing yourself for even considering it. Having your head above the water, even if just for a week more would be like a balm to your soul, but at what cost?

“Two weeks?” You peaked up at him through your lashes. The way his smile spread told you that you were already making the wrong decision, but you didn't turn back, “You have to promise me Childe, do you mean it?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” his words made you feel even sicker as he mimicked the childish gesture.

His hand was outstretched to you, fingers long and lanky, still wet and cold from the condensation of his glass. The sight of that hand was familiar. The last deal you'd made with the man being the reason you worked yourself to the bone now. The last time you'd shaken that same, cold hand, you'd done something stupid. It was a bad deal. It was always a bad deal with him. There was always some hidden clause or play of words that you didn't decipher quick enough, always something hidden up his sleeve, especially when it came to you.

And despite your better judgement, you still shook his hand. Instead of feeling the weight of the world fall off of your shoulders, you only felt it grow heavier upon your already weak body. It was better to give it to him now, than have him take it later, right? Who knew what he had planned for you if you couldn't pay.

“Shall we take a room upstairs?” He pointed to the staircase. Only courtesans and their clients used those stairs. You were sure he knew that, yet he spoke as if he also knew that there would be one free for the two of you to use together, like he'd planned this very scenario from the get go.

The thought wasn't lost on you. Ajax always planned things to a tee, when it came to you.

[xoxo-lixie]

Gloss and Glances ᝰ.ᐟ

Paring- Felix x Reader

Summary- Backstage, Felix pouts for attention as Y/N, Stray Kids’ makeup artist and his girlfriend, applies his lip gloss. Frustrated by her focus on work, he kisses her, smudging the gloss

The backstage area of the arena was alive with energy—stylists rushing between stations, cords snaking across the floor, and the distant echo of fans chanting outside. Under the bright dressing room lights, Felix sat patiently in a chair, though “patiently” might have been a stretch. His foot tapped lightly against the floor, not out of nerves for the upcoming performance, but for an entirely different reason.

Y/N, Stray Kids’ trusted makeup artist and Felix’s not-so-secret girlfriend, was busy organizing her kit. Her hands moved quickly, adjusting palettes and brushes, her focus sharp. She’d already done touch-ups on most of the members, and now it was Felix’s turn.

Finally.

Y/N approached with her usual professional demeanor, her eyes scanning his face with practiced precision. She picked up the small tube of clear lip gloss from her kit and uncapped it, not noticing the way Felix’s eyes had softened the moment she stepped closer.

“Alright, stay still,” she murmured, her thumb gently resting under his chin to steady his face.

Felix obeyed, but his pout had already started to form, subtle at first. His gaze never left her face, drinking in the details—the slight crinkle between her brows when she concentrated, the way her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she focused. She was always like this when she worked: calm, meticulous, almost too professional for his liking.

He wanted her attention—not the kind she gave to every member, but his attention.

“You know,” Felix said quietly, his voice low and slightly playful, “I think you like this gloss more than you like me.”

Y/N’s hand paused mid-swipe, her eyes flickering up to meet his. “Don’t be dramatic.” She fought the small smile threatening to break through her professional facade.

Felix, not one to back down, pushed his pout out further. “I’m serious. You’re focusing so hard on my lips, but not because you like them. It’s just… work to you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, finishing the last swipe of gloss on his bottom lip. She leaned back slightly, inspecting her work. “First of all, I do like your lips. They’re symmetrical, soft, and easy to work with.”

Felix’s pout deepened. “That sounds like something you’d say about a good makeup brush.”

She couldn’t help it—she laughed, the sound light and genuine, making Felix’s heart flutter. But she didn’t respond with words. Instead, she reached out with a tissue to clean up a tiny smudge near the corner of his mouth.

Felix caught her wrist gently before she could pull away. His touch was soft, but it sent a current of warmth straight through her.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice softer now, no teasing undertone—just sincere, raw affection.

Her heart stuttered. She met his gaze, expecting another playful remark, but instead, she was met with eyes filled with warmth, the kind of look that melted away the noise around them.

“I miss you,” he whispered simply.

Y/N felt her breath hitch. They’d been so busy lately—schedules packed, rehearsals endless. Even though she was always near him, it wasn’t the same. She couldn’t respond like she wanted to, not in the middle of work, surrounded by staff and members.

But Felix didn’t care about any of that.

Without another word, he leaned forward, closing the small gap between them, and pressed his lips to hers. It was soft, tentative at first, as if asking for permission. The faint sweetness of the gloss lingered between them, but neither of them cared if it smudged.

Y/N froze for a heartbeat, stunned by the suddenness of it, but then she melted into the kiss, her hand instinctively finding its place on his cheek. It was brief, maybe only a few seconds, but it held everything they hadn’t had the chance to say aloud.

When Felix finally pulled back, his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners from the soft smile spreading across his face.

“Now,” he whispered, his forehead resting gently against hers, “that’s attention.”

Y/N was breathless, her heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with the chaotic energy of the backstage environment. She tried to muster a response, something witty to break the tension, but all she managed was a soft, shaky laugh.

“You just ruined your gloss,” she whispered.

Felix grinned, unbothered. “Guess you’ll have to fix it.”

Y/N shook her head, her cheeks flushed, but she picked up the gloss again. This time, as she leaned in to reapply it, Felix didn’t pout or complain. He just watched her with the same loving look, his heart full, knowing that even in the chaos, they’d always find small moments like this—where it was just the two of them, gloss and all.

[sqtorux]

saying somethin' stupid like 'i love you'

fwb!gojo saying the forbidden L word during the deed ????

slightly nsfw, minors please don't interact. also fluff bc i miss gojo :(

not proof read !

thankyou so much for all the support on my recent ♡

satoru thinks you're so cruel. one minute you're holding onto him, nails digging into his back as if you needed him to live.

chanting his name so so beautifully as he trapped you between his bare body and the bed, relentlessly thrusting into you.

and then the next you were back to acting like even his mere existence irritated you. in a way it does but not in the way he thinks.

not once had you been there the morning after. only the crumpled sheets and your nail marks served as reminders that you were here, with him.

“gojo can you not-”

“that wasn't what you called me last night. what happened to toru?”

you glare daggers at him as one of his hand held your notebook high up. he was ridiculously tall and he liked abusing that privilege. especially against you.

“shut up” you walk past him without bothering to take your book.

“hey you mad baby?” he chuckled, getting in front of you, stopping you again.

“come on, answer me. why'd you leave? i thought we agreed to go to class together hmm?”

you roll your eyes at him and crossed your arms.

“that's what you said. i didn't agree.”

“aw you're too mean” he pouted as you scowl and try passing him again only to be stopped by his hand on your arm.

“i wanted you to stay.” his words were heavy, his face not showing even the slightest bit of his shit eating grin he always has on.

he turns to you, his round sunglasses were low on his nose and you could see his oh so beautiful eyes.

you look away because if you don't, you were pretty sure you'd be hypnotised and you'd do whatever he wanted.

“if you keep doing this i won't stay over anymore.” your words shot a painful jab at your own abdomen. his grip around you loosened slowly until he lets go completely.

“alright then.” he hands you your notebook, more like placed them into your arms as he walked away, eyes never meeting yours.

the next ‘sleepover’ took place three days after the banter with satoru. he hadn't called or texted the whole time but when you asked if he was up for it, he replied almost immediately.

so here you were again, him ramming into you as you cling onto his bare body for dear life. you could feel your climax coming as your grip grew tighter and tighter.

satoru was the same, chasing his high. he had missed you a lot the past three days but tried distancing himself just so his feelings for you would simmer down.

it only resulted him thinking about you all day and even more during the night. he finds himself wishing you were here with him, either giving you the pleasure you both agreed upon or just you laying down next to him. he didn't care.

he just wanted you to be there. with him.

and now that you are, his heart clenches the way you clench around him as the both of you cummed simultaneously.

he holds your body tight as you both work your way through the orgasm, euphoria rushing through both your veins.

“fuck y/n…” he groaned as he felt your grip loosen. he can't let you go just yet.

“i love you”

he hadn't meant to say it really. not like this at least.

“satoru we've been through this-” you push him weakly but he stays grounded, eyes boring into yours.

“i mean it.” he says, one of his hands found themselves caressing your cheeks as the other supported him while he hovered above you.

“you don't have to say it back or… feel it back…” satoru's voice was full of emotion.

“but just give me a chance to show you how much i love you. then we can work things out from there.”

you find yourself falling into the charms of gojo satoru. it's not everyday he offers his heart to someone. he doesn't offer it at all but now here he is, handing it to you on a silver platter.

“alright”

you could see satoru's face visibly light up and his blue eyes gleammed. he leaned down to place a soft kiss on your lips.

“thankyou” he traced his fingers on your jaw, his touch so soft, so addicting.

“you better treat me like a princess” you chuckle as he physically melted at the sound.

“oh i plan to do exactly that, and more, lovely.” he leaned down to place another kiss on your lips.

[yoonia]

Love is Banned | jay b

— title: Love Is Banned | pairings: Jaebum/Jay B (GOT7) x female reader | genre: pwp (porn with very little plot), post break-up!au, brother’s best friend!au | word count: 10,901 words 

— summary | Heartbroken beyond repair, you escape to your brother’s place hours away from home, desperate to avoid the Valentine’s Day soiree happening around you—only to find yourself trapped in the middle of his love-filled house party. Seeking solitude, you are surprised to find the perfect source of comfort from the last person you had ever expected to meet tonight.

— full fic ratings & warnings | +18 / M for mature; involves swearing, alcohol consumption, drunk sex (with consent), explicit sex, teasing and drunk flirting, sex/dirty talk, soft dom!Jaebum, inexperienced reader, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, clit play, hair pulling (male), restraints/light bondage, light spanking, breast play, nipple play, biting, rough sex, exhibitionism kink, minor pain kink, forced orgasm, multiple orgasms, unprotective sex, creampie, minor aftercare. 

— fic drop date: March 18th, 2025 | read on AO3 | main masterlist | wip | mailbox | feedback box | ko-fi | divider credit

— story note: part of Lost Boys: Threadbare Hearts series | I was supposed to post this on Valentine’s Day, but life kept getting in the way and this took way longer than expected to finish. This fic was roughly edited, but I hope you can still enjoy reading this one. | If you’re interested to be tagged/notified on any of the other stories included in the series, please enter your blog username/url through the taglist form here.

— tracklist: worst behaviour — kwn, kehlani / I can’t wait to get there — the weeknd / slow grind — muni long / slow — wizkid, anais cardot

“You’re not supposed to be here.” 

Those words slip out of you before you can stop yourself.

Because this room was supposed to be empty. At least, that was what you were hoping to find when you came up here. 

Placed far in the hidden corner upstairs of your brother’s home, the small guest room should have been a safe place. It should have been able to keep you far from the racket happening below. 

As far as you know, the room is rarely used—except as a second storage room where your brother would stash his old personal things once he’s no longer using them or when you need to stay over for the night with no disturbance from your brother and his guests. Apart from the two of you, you’ve never known anyone ever using the room. 

That had been the reason why you went upstairs and straight to here once you got the chance to escape. To get away from the damn party that you wanted no part in, expecting some peace and quiet, and a moment to yourself. 

You never expected to find the room—your safe haven—already occupied. 

“I don’t see any rules telling me to stay out of this place,” the man sitting in the darkness responds to you in a mocking tone. You recognise his voice before you get to see his face, as he is almost completely hidden in the shadows with none of the lights turned on, and with his back resting against the foot of the bed where the lights coming through the window can’t reach him. 

Judging from the slight slur in his speech, and the large bottle of liquor sitting on his side with half of its content mostly gone, you can tell that he already has some alcohol running in his system. Possibly from drinking here all alone while everyone else is trashing your brother’s home. 

He lets out a low chuckle and continues, “And, as far as I know, you don’t live here, so I don’t think you’re one to make the rules anyway.”

You cross your arms, going on the defensive—something that your body has been trained to do since you were a teenager facing the group of rowdy boys that your older brother hung out with back in school. “That’s not what I meant.” 

Another low chuckle comes from him before he finally moves, leaning forward until his face is visible under the streaks of dim light filtering from the hallway behind you. Just as expected, your uninvited guest turns out to be Jaebum, one of your brother’s high school best friends who seems to be hanging out around him still. Seeing the recognition on your face, he shows you a grin that no doubt would have been able to make every girl coming in his path blush from head to toe. 

Of course, you would know this to be true. You are a woman, after all, and you used to be one of those girls who were drawn to them. Not just girls, too. Other seniors used to flock around them, following everything they did at school while vying for their attention. With your brother being a part of their group, you would often find them hanging out at your family’s house after school, either in the living room or your brother’s bedroom, something that everyone else had always been so envious of while you could never find the comfort in as they used to invade your safe space.

Just like what he is doing now. 

You should have expected to find at least one of your brother’s friends to be around when you first came and saw the party happening, knowing that they still hang out together even after years have gone by. You just didn’t expect you were going to come across one of them this way. 

“Why are you here anyway? The party’s downstairs,” you curiously ask him once you’ve gotten over your shock. Seeing him now, you cannot help but picture the way you remember him from all those years ago. Years may have passed, but it doesn’t seem like he has changed all that much. He still seems like the same older boy who once made your stomach flutter whenever he was near or when he gave you a bit of attention. 

“I’m not really in the mood to join the party,” Jaebum says, shrugging, “I should be asking you the same thing. Why aren’t you downstairs with your brother? I thought you drove all the way here to join his party.” 

As if.

You narrow your eyes and scoff, murmuring almost to yourself, “I was supposed to come here to avoid all kinds of parties.”

That was the truth, anyway. While you’ve never specifically celebrated Valentine’s Day before, you’re not someone who has any aversion towards it either. Until recently, when you finally have the reason to. 

Dealing with a breakup only days before Valentine’s Day did that to you. It made you become sceptical and bitter, almost allergic to the love fest happening around you. So you decided that you had enough. Knowing how similar your brother is to you when it comes to Valentine’s Day, you drove hours away to his house, thinking that you would be able to spend the night and have the chance to confide in your brother. 

What a surprise it was for you to find the house packed with his friends and colleagues, with most—if not all of them—wearing pink, partying together with your brother who had his new girl of the season clinging to his side. 

How was I supposed to know that he was so smitten and in love with someone he met while we weren’t in contact that he felt like celebrating tonight? 

“Are you staying or going?” Jaebum asks, pointing at the opened door behind you with his chin, with you still standing on the threshold like a lost kitten. “You’re letting all the noise come in. I came here with just as much need to avoid all the ruckus as much as you do.” 

Realising that he is right, and you are at risk of missing your only chance to hide from your brother and all the excitement happening downstairs, you step deeper into the room, closing the door firmly behind you. The moment you are engulfed in the darkness, however, you immediately begin to regret it. 

Shutting the door only means that you are stuck in the same room with him, with no lights—except for the reflecting streetlights you see coming from the window—and possibly no escape. You look over your shoulder, longing for the brief of peacefulness you found in the hallway, instead of whatever awkwardness waiting for you should you choose to say.  

A low chuckle is heard, and you turn to face your brother’s best friend only to see that he isn’t sharing the same uneasiness you are feeling about this odd situation. 

“Now, that’s better. So are you going to join me? You’re not going to just stand there all night until the party’s over, are you?” Jaebum teases you as he leans back against the bed, getting as much comfortable as he can while he sits on the cold floor. “Come sit here with me. I don’t bite,” he says while tapping the empty spot right next to him, his grin widening when he adds, “Unless you ask me to.” 

You are left with no other options. Saying no to his offer would either send you back to the party downstairs or back to the room you’ll be sleeping in tonight, which is the other guest room that is closer to where the party is since your brother had insisted on keeping you close tonight. Just when you try to imagine yourself turning back around to get back to the party instead of staying, a loud cheer echoes through the house. 

Looks like whatever game they did just ended, you wonder, as another cheer breaks through and people start chanting again, telling you that the party is still far from over. Might as well stay here for now rather than regretting it later. 

“Fine,” you say with a sigh, before lifting the bottle of whiskey in your hand—one that you stole from the makeshift bar that your brother had set up in the kitchen. “I’ll share if you share yours.”

Through the dim light, you see the familiar grin spreading on his face again. “Don’t worry, I’m quite generous when it comes to sharing pleasure,” he teases with a wink, causing your cheeks to burn. 

“Whatever,” you respond, trying your best not to get affected by his presence as you walk over to join him. 

As you settle back against the foot of the bed, staying just an arm’s length away from him to stay close yet still distant enough to feel comfortable, your eyes fall on the bottles sitting next to him. The large bottle of high-quality branded liquor has been reduced to nearly half of its content, and there are a couple of small vodka bottles lying close by, with varying levels of contents—either half drunk, emptied, and only two of them still full.   

Was he really thinking about drinking all of this alone? 

Jaebum tilts his head, noticing the way you are eyeing his drinks. “See anything you’re interested in trying?” 

“No, I’m fine,” you hurriedly answer, then take a long drink straight from your bottle to hide your face. You wince at the strong taste of whiskey, but you tough it out and force yourself to speak calmly as if nothing happened, “You look like you’re trying to drink your entire life away.” 

Jaebum follows your gaze and laughs softly. “Is that how it looks?” he hums, picking up a small, nearly finished bottle of vodka and tossing the rest of its content down his throat. He savours the taste with a groan and says, “Hmmm…maybe I am. ” 

He opens his eyes and looks at you with glossy eyes. Combined with the small smile he is giving you, it’s enough to cause those old familiar flutters to rise in your chest and stomach. You pick up your bottle, taking a mouthful of drink out of it that burns your throat, hoping that it would be enough to wash the feeling down, and maybe cool yourself off before it turns into something more. 

Something completely unbidden.  

It takes only a couple of shared drinks before you finally start sharing each other’s stories, spilling all the heartaches and misfortunes that both of you have been dealing with while living away from home. 

It’s quite surreal to think that both you and Jaebum can find something to relate to and share aside from the booze that you’ve smuggled away from the party. You also find it pleasingly surprising that opening up and talking about your problems turns out to be helpful. 

Even more surprising is that it seems equally helpful for both of you. 

For you, who had just been dumped by your college boyfriend merely months after he started his new job in a different city, claiming that being in a long-distance relationship was a risk he wasn’t willing to take when he was building his career. 

For Jaebum, who had to watch his ex-fiancee marrying someone else just over the weekend, only less than a year from the day they broke off the engagement when she first claimed to be having cold feet about the thought of marriage. 

“Well, that sucks,” is all that you can say once he is done sharing his story. 

Hearing your comment, Jaebum lets out an incredulous laugh. “Really? That’s all you’re going to say after I just opened up about the lowest moment of my life?”  

You only laugh and shrug it off. “What more do you want me to say? Are you hoping for some kind of wise advice? From me? Or a pat on the back while I promise you that everything will be okay?” you retort with a snort, and you don’t miss the way Jaebum rolls his eyes on you. 

“I wish I had more to say, but I’m not good with words and I don’t even know you or your ex enough to comment about your life,” you stop with a bitter chuckle, “—or her poor choices.” 

Leaning back, you let out a deep sigh. You cannot help but realise that despite the different circumstances you both find yourselves in, you can't deny how similar your situations truly are. “But I do know how terrible it feels to know that the person you want to be with isn’t thinking the same about you. It just—” You let out another sigh, and add, ”—sucks, to be the one left behind feeling like you’ve been tossed aside.” 

Jaebum says nothing for a moment but clearly appears to be thinking deeply. “I don’t even know your ex,” he says, “but I can judge—hard—and say that he’s a moron.” 

“My brother said the same.” A bitter chuckle slips out of you when you think about your brother’s reaction when you first told him about the bad breakup. You may not have told your brother all the details about your fallen relationship yet, but he was able to comment about what a fool your ex had been to sacrifice a good relationship that he had spent years building with you for a new job that he had barely dedicated a month of his time, much less his entire life to.

But was the relationship you had with him really all that good? Was it enough for you to hold on to those memories as much as you did?

Looking up to the dark ceiling above you, you let your mind wander, as if you can see your entire life written somewhere up there. “I’ve been trying to think of him the same way but it’s hard to do it when I keep remembering all the good things we shared. They might not have been much, but the good memories keep overlapping with all the bad ones just when I try to forget them.”

Jaebum scoffs lightly from your side and nods. “Unfortunately, I can agree on that one.”

To hear the tone in his voice as he says that, and see the haunted look in his eyes when you look at him, an ache pulses in your chest. At the same time, you are surprised to find some comfort just by being here with him, listening to him opening up to you while sharing your own story in a way you haven’t been able to do with anyone else—allowing your lonely, broken souls to meet each other’s match. 

Just as silence forms thickly around you, you find yourself looking far back into a distant past and seeing yourself when you were younger. You can also Jaebum then, existing alongside your brother’s other close friends who seemed hard to reach, much less to talk to. 

Not the same way you’re doing it now, anyway. 

“You know, I always thought you guys were snobs back then. Or maybe I was too intimidated by you. You were all popular in school, and my brother’s warning to stay away from you guys didn’t help much in making me feel less wary about getting close.” 

Jaebum snaps a look at you and barks out a laugh. “Wait—What? What did your brother say about us?” 

You shrug, smiling when you explain with a chuckle, “He just said it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to get close to you guys. Told me to stay away and not fall for any of your charms and get tricked into joining your band of groupies.” 

Once again, Jaebum laughs. “Why the fuck would he say something like that?” 

“Who knows?” you answer with a shrug, feigning innocence as you bite back a smile. 

Because you know exactly why your brother would give you such a warning. 

Compared to your older brother, who was considered one of the most popular kids at school, you were way more inexperienced—both in socialising with people and in relationships. 

Your brother may have managed to keep his dating life private—from you, at least—yet the same couldn’t be said about his close friends. Jaebum and the others were quite notorious when it involved the rotation of girls they were constantly seen dating and hanging out with. Most of the boys were known as players, always spreading their charms to anyone around while breaking hearts left and right. 

“I guess he was just looking out for me,” you finally admit out loud, realising that your brother may have caught your eyes wandering whenever his friends were close. It was hard not to pay attention when you had these attractive seniors hanging around nearby, sometimes even at your home with your brother. “Even if he used to tease me, he’s still my older brother, after all.” 

Jaebum lets out a scoff and laughs. “That’s funny, seeing that he gave us all different kinds of warning when it came to you.” 

“What do you mean? What kind of warning?” 

Turning his head, Jaebum’s grin widens when he sees your reaction. “He told us that you were off limits. That we shouldn’t even think about talking or flirting with you, much less to ask you out.” Your jaw drops, which only makes him laugh. “Some of us suspected that Bambam had this silly crush on you back then, but was quick to back off after your brother warned us to stay away.” 

Surprised to hear this, you cannot help but laugh. It’s not unusual for your brother to meddle with your business. Back then, being a curious teenager, having a meddling older brother felt like a burden. You used to hate it growing up, even if you knew that he only had nothing but good intentions to keep you safe from harm. Looking back at it now as an adult, you only think that the whole situation is hilarious. 

“Can’t believe that you guys were so afraid of my brother to follow his silly rules,” you gently mock him while shaking your head. 

“Hey! That’s not fair! Have you ever seen your brother when he got mad? Like, really mad?” Jaebum defends himself. 

You only laugh in return, knowing exactly what he is talking about. You have seen your older brother’s other side that shows up whenever he is angry, and it’s not often that he may overreact over trivial things that are out of his control. But it doesn’t stop you from finding it funny for a group of bad boys to be so afraid of your brother to not risk breaking his rules. 

Not that you believe that you ever had any chance with these boys in the past. You never even dreamed of having any of them make a move on you, much less pay attention to you. You know exactly what kind of girls they were attracted to, and you never saw yourself as anything remotely on par with any of those girls. 

“I thought you were tough guys who’d love a challenge. At least, if I remember correctly, that was something that some of you used to brag about back then.” 

“You’re one to talk,” Jaebum scoffs. “Have you ever taken a risk, even knowing the consequences and not knowing if it’s going to be worth it?” 

You stop for a moment to think. “Well—” 

You feel hesitant to answer, only because your mind immediately goes to the things you’ve done only to end up having your heart, hope, and dreams broken to pieces as a result. The latest risk you’ve taken, especially, involved giving your heart to a senior you met at college—someone who was smarter, more popular—that you kept questioning if you were living a dream. You’ve even come close to giving up your dream, ready to take a huge risk of moving to another city and starting over just to be with that person.

And look at where it has gotten you now. Abandoned and forgotten, left to pick up all the broken pieces, only because he wasn’t willing to take the same risk to be with you. 

When you still have no answer, Jaebum lets out a scoff. “I knew it. What would a strait-laced girl like you know about taking risks? You should try to live out your life a little, be daring, then you can argue with me about what taking risks truly means.” 

You hear what he is saying, yet your mind is stuck on one simple detail. You’ve never really talked to him so openly before, so you’ve never known how he really sees you as a person. Hearing it coming from him only makes you reflect on yourself the way you never did before. 

Strait-laced? You wonder to yourself. Is that really how people see me?

You must admit that it doesn’t make you feel good to be seen that way. Having good grades throughout school and college and being a nice girl growing up doesn’t make you a prude. 

“Hey, I’ve done stuff!” You turn to face him and start defending yourself. “Unlike you, I’ve done real daring stuff while I was away for college. I climbed a rocky mountain after graduation and built camp on the rocky peaks while there was a storm. I did bungee jumping and paragliding when I went to Bali last summer. I went surfing and—” 

Jaebum raises his hands in surrender mode and laughs, cutting you off before you can continue listing all the extreme things you’ve tried ever since you left home. “Okay, daredevil. So you took risks against nature. That’s great and all, but I’m talking about the other risks. Much like how you’re daring me to cross your brother.” 

You swallow hard, knowing exactly what he is saying. You look away when you start feeling deep regret over your past decisions and heartaches weighing heavy in your chest. “Oh, have I done those as well.” 

Jaebum must have noticed something shifting in your mood, because his gaze softens. So does his voice when he asks, “Was it worth it?” 

You let out a bitter laugh. “Would I be here planning to drink my ass off until I forget my name if it was?” 

A knowing look passes over his gaze. “Your last break up.” He nods, then raises his bottle to knock it against yours. “Maybe you were betting on the wrong things to take a risk on.” 

You can only smile. “And of course, you would know about it.” 

The low chuckle that he gives as a response sounds hollow. “I sure do.” 

Leaning back against the bed again, you take a drink from your bottle—suddenly noticing that you may have gone through more than half of it—and gently ask him, “Tell me then, how do I know what kind of risk I can bet on which I won’t be regretting later on?” 

“You know that’s not how it works,” Jaebum says with a low chuckle, “And I don’t think I’m the right person to teach you something like that.” 

“Right,” you hum to yourself, suddenly realising how silly it is for you to ask him for such advice. 

“Maybe you can start small. Instead of diving directly into something serious like a relationship or making plans to build a future with the first person you meet who gives you attention.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Such as?” 

“Ever been on a one-night stand?” 

You burst out laughing. “What?” 

“No? Never? Yeah, I don’t think so,” he says while shaking his head. While he is right in assuming your lack of experience in that field, it doesn’t stop you from wanting to defend yourself. 

“Hey, wait a min—” 

“How about casual flings? Anything other than your serious relationships? Ever been in one?” 

You open your mouth to answer, only to immediately shut it back up before admitting loudly, “No, not really.” 

He nods. “I figured.” 

Your jaw drops. You look at him with narrowed eyes. “What does that supposed to mean?” 

He tilts his head as he looks at you. At this point, you are beginning to dread the way his grin seems so enticing, and how his low voice is starting to make you feel things inside when he speaks. “It’s just that I can’t see you hooking up with random people just for fun.” 

You bite your lips, hating the fact that he is right. You hate knowing he can read you easily even when he barely knows you aside from being his best friend’s sister. But something must have gone wrong with your head—or perhaps you’ve drunk too much alcohol tonight—because you cannot stop thinking about what he is trying to say. 

“You’re right, it’s not something that I can see myself getting into,” you admit with a small voice, as you look back into your life and wonder how different it would have been for you if you weren’t someone who feels too much, and too deeply, when it comes to relationships. 

“Maybe I should change that,” you finally say, almost to yourself rather than Jaebum. Still, it doesn’t miss Jaebum’s attention that he whips his head towards you.

“Huh? What do you mean?” 

You ignore him, already getting too deep in your thoughts—perhaps something that you shouldn’t be doing when you have alcohol in your system. “I’m saying that maybe you’re right.” 

“Wait, I didn’t say anything,” Jaebum quickly interjects. 

“I never gave casual relationships or hooking up any thought because I’m afraid I’d get emotionally attached, like most girls do,” you turn to him and add, “I’m sure you know this too.” 

Jaebum only raises his eyebrows, knowing that you are referring to his history of hooking up with random girls in the past—along with the series of drama which followed every time he ended a fling—and he just lets you continue. “But maybe that needs to change. That’s a risk that I’ve never taken before, but at least I now know not to get my emotions involved.” 

He laughs, almost in disbelief. “Are you sure about that?” 

“I am,” you stubbornly answer, “because I’ve sworn to keep away from love. Because I’m done with it. From now on, love is completely banned from my life. No more.” 

You take a chug out of your drink and continue to ramble before Jaebum can say anything. “But that doesn’t mean that I can't have fun, right? You said it yourself, that I need to live a little, so that’s what I’m going to do.” 

You can hear Jaebum chuckling from beside you. “Alright, daredevil,” he teasingly says, “And how are you supposed to do that?” You can tell without looking that Jaebum is narrowing his eyes on you when he sounds sceptical. 

So you turn to him, giving him a sweet smile as you explain, “There are people downstairs that I may not see again in the future, right? I could just walk downstairs and pick out someone I’m attracted to and have one wild night before I get home.” 

The more you speak, the more you feel doubtful, but you push it down and take pleasure in the way Jaebum’s eyes keep widening the more he listens. But as the excitement grows on you, so does the pounding in your head. Maybe you’ve had too much to drink already. “Although I might have to wait a minute before going down there to join the crowd of people. I need to wait until my head stops spinning.” 

He lets out a low scoff and shakes his head at you. “You don’t have to go that far.” 

“As a matter of fact, I think—no, I believe I do need to do this,” you cut him off. “I’m done living by the rules and being afraid to take risks that don’t go with my life planning.” Pointing the bottle in your hand his way, you continue to speak, “You were the one who put these ideas in my head, so don’t bother stopping me.” 

Chuckling softly, Jaebum leans closer. “That’s not what I was saying,” he gently says, as if he can read your thoughts and knows that you aren’t exactly sure about what you are saying. 

“What did you mean, then?” 

Jaebum only stares at you with a look that makes you feel like he is trying to strip down every layer you have—not of your clothes, but your truth. 

He softly hums before he finally speaks again. “I’m saying that maybe you don’t have to,” he says, once again with that voice of his that would easily draw people to him. Maybe have women drop their panties for him, even. But there is something different now when he speaks to you slowly, with his glossy eyes looking deeply into yours. 

“I don’t have to do—what?”

“You don’t have to go through the crowds of drunk people downstairs to find someone, is all I’m saying. Aren’t you worried about your brother finding out what you’re up to? He’s still down there leading the party, isn’t he?”

As if the party itself can hear him, a loud cheer erupts from downstairs, answering his question. You can picture your brother, always the life of the party, being in the center of it. You can already imagine him pulling you to join him the moment he sees you returning to the living room. You have lost track of time, and you quickly realise that your brother can notice anytime that you’ve been gone quite a while and that he might start looking for you soon. 

“Then, what should I do?” 

Not a word comes from him while you are starting to doubt anything can really happen tonight. Only seconds ago, you felt like you had found your new self. But you know that this drunken resolution will lead to nothing more once you are sober. Before your mind can get into any further wanderings, Jaebum suddenly shifts closer. You turn to find his face already close to yours, while he has his arm resting behind your back and the other winding around your waist. 

Surprised at the sudden closeness, you make no move to push him away. Your heart makes a stupid, unexpected leap in your chest, which only accelerates when he starts speaking to you in a low, sultry voice, “You could just look somewhere closer instead of going down there. It’s not like you don’t have a willing participant already available nearby.”

You blink, and blink again, your mind taking its sweet time processing his words that everything seems meaningless. Surely, he couldn’t have meant—

“And who might that be?” you ask with a small voice, which only seems to amuse him. 

You watch the grin on his face growing wider before he teases you, “Who else is here? I don’t see anyone else, do you?” 

“Hah,” you let out a sarcastic laugh, still refusing to believe what you are hearing, even if your heart is beginning to react, going out of control with its rapid beating. “Stop joking. Now you’re only mocking me.” 

“I wish I was joking, but I know what I’m asking,” Jaebum says with a smile on his face, his voice lowering when he asks, “Is it really that hard to believe that I’d make such an offer?” 

Before you can process what he is saying, Jaebum leans closer, close enough until you can feel his warm breath falling against your lips. The scent of his cologne, mixed with the strong smell of booze, surrounds you as he keeps you trapped between the foot of the bed and his hard body hovering close so that you can feel his heat. 

“It makes perfect sense, don’t you think?” he asks you, already sounding convincing before he even starts laying out his offer, “We’ve both been scorned by our past experience, and while we’ve learned not to fall for it again, we both still have needs. I still need to forget, which drinking seemed to fail in doing, and you need to discover this new side of you without worrying about getting attached. Maybe I can teach you a thing or two about it since I know just exactly how to do it. And you know who I am, so you’d know how to find me and kick my butt off in case you regret it in the morning.” 

We’re still not friends, and not close enough for that level of trust, is what you want to say to him. 

But the words refuse to leave your lips, and your mind is getting hazy from how close he is getting. His nose brushes against yours, and your heart once again makes a giant leap which is so hard to ignore. He tilts his head, his lips coming closer to yours for a little tease, making your lips tingle. 

“Well? Come on, think about it,” he murmurs, with his lips hovering close but not enough to touch. Yet, between your hazy mind and the alarm bells ringing inside your head—warning you about your brother and his rules, about how much of a bad idea this is—you can feel yourself drawn into it. Drawn into him. 

“I think—” you barely manage to say, “This is going to be a bad idea.” You lift your gaze to look into his eyes and immediately feel like you are drowning in the depth of his gaze. 

Jaebum bites his lips while lowering his gaze. “What if I can change your mind?” 

“What are you planning—oh!” 

Whatever it was that you wanted to say dies on your tongue when Jaebum presses his lips on yours. He tenderly moulds his lips against yours, instead of devouring them in a heated kiss. Yet it’s still enough to steal words from your mouth. 

I must be going crazy, is the last thing that comes across your mind before you wrap your arms around his neck and return the kiss, allowing yourself to melt into his heat. You can feel him smiling into the kiss, pleased to know that he has practically won you over as you press your lips harder against his. 

As he deepens the kiss, the world around you seems like it’s spinning. It takes a moment before you realise that your whole body is tilting backwards, pushed under his weight as he gently lowers you back on the floor. The dust-covered carpet cushions your weight as you rest on your back. While you are trying to get comfortable, your eyes flutter open to see him slowly crawling over you. 

A soft moan slips out of you as he reclaims your mouth again. His tongue reaches inside, as if demanding you to pay attention to him instead of letting your mind wander and let it get filled with doubt. He runs his hands down your waist, his chest pressing you down against the hard floor, and then he stops when you protest with a whimper when your back starts rubbing against the rough carpet beneath you. 

“Hmmm, this won’t do,” he murmurs against your lips, his eyes searching your face to find any sign of discomfort. With a hum, he glances over to the bed and pushes himself up. 

The world around you starts spinning once again as Jaebum scoops you up from the floor and lifts you in his arms. You barely have the chance to hold on when he moves towards the bed and gently lays you down on the mattress. The sheets feel cold beneath you, yet he quickly makes it up with his warmth when he joins you. 

The sight of him hovering above you, with his eyes glowing in the dark, full of dark intent, feels like a part of a fever dream. Everything that he said he wanted to do to you, you can see it in his gaze. It’s enough to leave you breathless, to make you feel hot inside. To feel like you are wanted. 

A grin forms on his face as he asks, “Now, where were we?” 

Once again, the crippling doubt inside you holds you back, when you can easily pull him down to you and take over. “You were trying to convince me,” you answer with a whisper, when you wish to feel his kiss again so he can stop you from thinking so hard.

“Did I do a good job, then?” 

You take a deep breath. “I—” you try to answer, but the moment you see the look he is giving you, everything inside you, including your sane mind, simply stops working. 

Outside, coming all the way from downstairs, the music is still blaring loudly the later it gets in the night. The sound of people dancing, chatting, and cheering over some sort of drinking game can be heard through the thick walls. 

But here, the air is getting thick with tension, and it’s hard to focus on anything else when you are pressed down against the hard mattress beneath you, and you have your brother’s best friend hovering on top of you with a sick, teasing grin on his face. 

And oh, how much you struggle to keep your eyes away from those enticing lips, knowing how good they feel when they are pressed against yours. 

All you have to do is lean closer or pull him down to you, and you can have that kiss once again. 

“So? What do you say?” he asks again while his gaze moves to your lips, lingering for a few seconds too long as he catches you licking your lips, tasting the ghost of his kiss. “It’s a one-time offer, and time is ticking. How much longer do you think before your brother comes up here and catches us together?” 

You cannot help but grin at the mention of your brother. “Aren’t you afraid that he might just do that and break your nose again like he did years ago?” you ask, referring to the infamous incident in the past when they had a massive fight over a silly girl who turned out to be playing these boys around—the perfect reverse play of what they used to do to the girls at school who worshipped the ground they walked on.

Jaebum only laughs it off, and your heart skips a beat when you realise how much his voice has changed over the years. And how much you still love hearing it the same way you did then. 

“I think it’ll be worth the risk. As long as you’re in.” 

Worth the risk. 

Yeah, there’s nothing stopping your heart from trying to break free from your chest now that you hear such words. You shouldn’t believe it. But you want to believe it. You want to believe that he thinks you are worth risking your brother’s wrath. 

“Well? Are you in? Or are you going to walk out that door and forget everything we just talked about?” 

You bite your lip as you consider your options. His offer is tempting, but are you brave enough to take that risk? 

One night. No attachment. No promises. And you get to leave this place free of your pent-up frustrations and needs. Maybe dare yourself to feel some pleasure from the one you are forbidden to touch.

Even if you might have to ignore the familiar flutters in your chest rising the more you look at him—the same way it used to happen all those years ago whenever you saw him when he was hanging out with your older brother. 

“Not a chance,” you answer him with a grin, before you lift your legs and wrap them around his waist, your arms coming around his neck as you pull him down towards you. “Game on.”  

Wearing a victorious smile on his face, Jaebum claims your mouth in a kiss, and your entire body softens. He pushes his tongue to deepen the kiss, taking possession of every last bit of doubt you might still have left until there is nothing more but lust and passion and all you can feel is the need you want him to fulfil. 

Clutching the back of his shirt, you begin to pull it upward, and he slips down to let you strip him off of it before he does the same with your top. Tossing your blouse away, Jaebum begins crawling down, his lips tracing the length of your neck on his way down, brushing gently on your breasts as he peels your lacy bra off of your skin. Then he continues making his way down, his hands grabbing hold of the waistband of your pants before tucking them down your legs, taking your flimsy panties along with it. 

Cold breeze washes over your skin once you are left bare and naked on the bed, but it’s quickly replaced by the heat of his gaze perusing you with a look of hunger written on his face. He runs his hands down your waist, to your hips, sliding them under your thighs as he bends down to trace your skin with his kisses. You feel his mouth moving close to your center, causing your heartbeat to pick up its pace. 

He doesn’t waste his time teasing you. Tightening his grip on your thighs, he smoothly dives between your legs, burying his face at the center of your heat. 

A moan slips through your lips when you feel his tongue slipping through your wet folds. You feel his mouth wrapping itself around your clit and giving it a suck, causing your back to arch and a louder moan comes rumbling out of you when a delectable rush comes flowing through your body. Your hand clumsily land on his head, fingers winding through the strands of his hair as you search for something to hold on to while you rock your hips against his lips. 

You hear him chuckling softly and moaning against your heat, before he begins to move his tongue and mouth more aggressively, alternating between pushing his tongue into your warmth and licking your arousal to suckling on your throbbing clit. His actions drive you over to the edge, your orgasm tearing your body as you continue to rock against his face, following the rhythm of your pulse. 

It comes too quickly, stemmed from your pent-up frustrations and nerves, yet neither of you has yet to have enough. Finger clenching tightly on the strands of his hair, you push his face to your quivering center, wordlessly telling him not to stop. With a hum, Jaebum continues—lapping, licking, and sucking—and adds his fingers into the mix, pushing them deeply through your pulsing walls and causing another dynamic orgasm to tear through your body. 

“Jaebum…fuck!” you curse between your cries of pleasure, unable to hold your voice down. 

Yet he makes no sign of stopping. The sounds you are making only seem to be urging him on, as he continues working his mouth and fingers on your heat. 

It isn’t until moments later, as the spasms coming out of your center begin to subside, that Jaebum finally lets you go. With one last kiss on your soaking folds, he pulls away and shifts back until he reaches the foot of the bed. 

As he rises on his feet, you open your eyes to look at him, marvelling at the sight of him—his chest glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, his messy hair that comes from the work of your fingers, and his slick lips, still wet from your release. 

“I wish I could take a picture of you right now,” he murmurs while he starts working on his belt and pants, his eyes never wavering from you as he takes everything off. 

Keeping your gaze on him, you follow every movement as the final pieces of clothing leave his skin. Your breath catches at the sight of his thick shaft bobbing out of its restraint. You can almost see it twitching and pulsing as Jaebum continues to look at you, his gaze runs from the tip of your toes to your hair, going back and forth as he takes his time to get his fill of the image of you lying vulnerable on the cold bed. 

This is happening, you tell yourself as you inhale a deep breath. You cannot believe that you are seconds away from actually fucking your brother’s best friend. It feels hot and naughty—risky—but the thought itself is so damn enticing that your body is humming with new desire. 

Jaebum licks his lips and wraps his hand around his rigid cock. His gaze remains on you as he slowly strokes himself, getting himself harder. The sight of him touching himself while watching you does wild things to your mind. It feels exhilarating, and you don’t even question if this sensation has anything to do with the drink you had earlier, knowing that this is all because of him. 

Feeling brazen under his gaze, you move your hands to trace your skin, going up until you reach your bare breasts. Gently, you cup the soft flesh with your palms and begin kneading, and embrace the waves of heat rolling through your body. The sensation gets stronger when you watch him licking his lips, his hand moving slightly faster, as if watching you has put him in a trance. 

“Are you going to just stand there and watch? Or am I going to have to do this alone?” you tease him with a low voice that sounds completely unfamiliar to your own ears, while slowly folding your legs up, spreading them open to show him where you want him to be. 

A groan slips out of his lips as he watches you, enthralled, and Jaebum hastily climbs the bed, moving swiftly to cover your body with his. “I already promised that I’ll be the one showing you everything,” he grumbles as he covers your wrists with his hands and gently pulls them away from your chest. Holding your wrists together in one hand, he brings them over your head and keeps them there. 

“Hold still,” he whispers, as if restraining you wouldn’t be enough to keep you from moving. “And try to keep your voice down this time. We don’t know if anyone is going to find their way up here.” 

He covers your mouth with his and your body relaxes against his as you lean into the kiss. He presses you down into the bed under his weight and starts running his free hand down your body. You feel his touch on your breast, already sensitive after your teasing touch, and your chest arches into his palm. 

Jaebum pinches your nipples, and then he bends down, his mouth capturing one peak after another, tongue swirling around the tips until they become hard and raw. 

“Ah, fuck—” you curse with a gasp when each brush of mouth and finger sends delicate sparks that travel all the way down to your core. Everything inside you throbs—not of pain, but pleasure—and you can no longer hold back the cries coming out of your lips when Jaebum latches on one nipple and gives a light bite. 

Hearing your voice, Jaebum releases his mouth from your throbbing nub with a pop and pulls back just enough for you to look at his face. Under the shadows of the limited lights filtering through the windows, his gaze feels intimidating, yet enthralling at the same time. The way he looks at you makes you feel desirable that it unleashes everything inside you that you never knew existed.

“I told you to keep your voice down,” he complains with a deep voice that sounds almost like a growl. “Anyone can hear you if they get anywhere close, and it won’t be long for your brother to find out what we’re doing.” 

“I thought you were willing to risk it?” you tease him, which only makes his eyes grow darker. 

“Are you challenging me?” he asks you with a low voice. It stirs the insides of your belly, yet you ignore it for the moment and shrug playfully. 

“What if I am?” 

A low chuckle rumbles from him. There is a dark glint in his eyes as he gently pulls your thigh up, folding your leg until your hips are slightly lifted from the bed. A wicked smile spreads on his face as he leans down, pressing his lips on the corner of your lips and murmurs, “Naughty girl.” 

Anticipating a kiss, you never expect to feel pain flashing from the side of your bare bottom, inflicted by none other than his wandering palm. 

“Hey!” 

Opening your eyes widely, you see him grinning with pride. He tightens his hold on your wrists to keep you still as you wriggle beneath him while he runs his other hand around the burn from his unwarranted smacking.

“What? Don’t naughty girls deserve to be punished and spanked?” 

Something sparks inside you. While you are more inexperienced compared to him, you have learned about a variety of sex plays that one could enjoy in bed to know what he is doing. “Oh, so you like that kind of game, huh?” 

Jeabum bites your bottom lip. “It’s not a game, baby. I like to be in control,” he murmurs, then lifts his head to look into your eyes to ask, “Are you afraid of me? Will that scare you?” 

Nibbling your lips, you consider his words. You’ve never known that pain could be so pleasing. Your skin still burns after the impact of his light spanking, yet it seems to amplify the pleasure pulsing right inside your core when the pain is slowly subsiding under his incessant touch. 

“No,” you answer with a whimper, “Not at all.” You stop fighting his restraint and instead use it as leverage as you push your hips upward, taunting him, “Come on, show me how you’re going to punish me for being bad.” 

“Fuck,” he chuckles nervously, stunned, but is quick to recover as he folds your legs up and smacks the other side of your butt in response. A sharp gasp leaves your lips when you feel the sting, which turns into a soft sigh as he gently rubs the pain away, giving you a brief moment of respite before landing another smack near the tender skin that he first touched. 

Jaebum repeats the light smacking a couple of more times, going back and forth from one side to another, always followed by gentle touches to soothe the pain away. By the time he is done, the pain no longer stings so badly. The throbbing on your skin has travelled deep into your center, replacing every bit of pain with pleasure so raw that is barely comprehensible to your mind.

“Oh, you liked it, didn’t you?” Jaebum teases you with a low whisper, chuckling softly at the way you are rocking your hips against his palm. Letting go of your hand, he holds down your hips and slips his fingers between your folds, humming softly as he is met with your slick arousal. 

“Look at you, getting hot and wet after a bit of spanking. I never expected that you would have this wanton side hidden under your good girl facade,” he keeps muttering as he continues pushing his fingers inside your heat, moving them between your throbbing walls at a languid pace while you begin rocking back into his fingers. “I kind of like this side of you.” 

You can barely hear his voice at this point. Your mind is blinded by the sensations you are feeling. Incoherent noises keep coming out of your lips, and your body is moving on its own, chasing for every bit of pleasure you can get from his touch. 

Jaebum bends down, pressing his lips on the tip of your breasts. “Fuck, I want to be inside you so bad, baby,” he mutters breathlessly between giving your nipples teasing kisses. The touch of his lips feels distracting, along with the steady thrusts of his fingers inside your heat as pleasure rocks through your body, making it hard for you to focus on his words. Yet you still don’t miss what he is trying to say.

Rocking your hips against his, you look up through your bleary eyes and whisper, “Yes, please. I need you…inside me…now.” 

You are not one to beg for anything. Ever. Nothing like this. But the need to feel him is clawing at your chest. You want him. Your body needs him. And there is nothing that can stop you from begging him to let you have him. 

Jaebum says nothing, but his actions are enough to answer your plea. Pushing his fingers deeper, he presses his thumb against your clit, rubbing the flesh just enough to send your body spiralling towards the edge. 

Trying your best to hold back your cries, you bite your lip and bury your fingers on his shoulders. But Jaebum isn’t one to let you go off easily. With his mouth still working around your breast, he gives your nipple a lick, before capturing the hardened nub between his mouth. You feel him humming against your skin, right around your puckered flesh, before a searing pain sparks across your body when he bites down. 

“Ah…fuck. Jaebum!” 

Screaming out his name, you almost cry as your orgasm tears right through your body. While it’s not yet enough to satiate your need, it is still enough to make you feel like you are floating up high. Every cell in your body sings, all coming alive under his touch, and the heat unfolding in your core spreads like wildfire. 

Before you can recover, Jaebum has already made his move. Looking pleased with himself, a smile spreads on Jaebum’s face as he pulls back, dragging his fingers carefully out of your pulsing heat, leaving behind the rapid throbbing inside you to fill the void he left behind. 

Without wasting any more time, he rises on the bed and pulls your ankles up to his shoulders, keeping your hips elevated. Then he presses forward and drives his full length into your quivering core with one firm thrust. You cry out loudly at the force of his thrust. You may have gotten slick and wet enough for him to slide in easily, but your pussy is still sensitive after the multiple orgasms that the intrusion drives a delicious pain that rocks your entire body. 

Your back arches off the bed, and he is quickly drawn towards your full breasts as they once again rise before his eyes. His hand that isn’t holding your thigh up reaches down to give your soft flesh a firm hold.

He gives your breast a gentle knead, taking away your attention from the tightness down below as he begins to fuck you hard with deep rhythmic thrusts, his hard shaft plundering your body. 

“Oh…oh, God!” you keep sputtering random words when you feel the pleasure rising inside you like a tidal wave.

He continues driving into you, getting deeper with each thrust and sending you almost slipping on the bed. His hands move down, gripping your hips to pull you back to him before you are pushed all the way back to the end of the bed. Driving you back against him allows him to get deeper. You feel the force knocking the air out of your chest, while waves of pleasure keep rolling through your body with each thrust, each rock of his hips, and you find yourself already hanging over the edge of your climax. 

You reach up, grasping a hold of his strong arms as you join the rhythm of his thrusts, rocking and pushing against him at the same pace, until you begin to feel the ripples of your climax rising, uncoiling, ready to devour you as you quickly reach for the edge. 

Opening his eyes, Jaebum drops one of your legs, keeping hold of the other just to keep you spread open for him as he bends forward, enveloping your body with his. His mouth finds yours then, kissing you deeply to swallow the sounds of your moans. Then his lips begin to move away, going down your chin, crawling its way to the column of your throat, before going up again to capture your earlobe. 

“I’ve always wanted to fuck you for so long,” he whispers to your ear, too soft of a voice for such dirty words that it makes your head spin hearing it coming from him. Then he thrusts forward, pressing deeper before he begins rocking again, hard and fast, he continues pumping his thick cock into the depth of your warmth. “Fuck, you feel so damn good!” 

You give in to the rising pleasure, your head falling back into the pillows while your chest once again rises and arches with how intense it feels. Your mind is filled with bliss, that you can barely focus on his words, or anything else that is happening around you. 

The party below seems so far away, even if you can still hear the beat of the music vibrating through the floor and walls. But none of it matters now. What matters to you right now is him; the pace of his thrusts that continue relentlessly without fail, moving faster and harder, and the way he is working your body with his expert hands. 

The grip that he has on your hips feels unyielding, anchoring you to him while denying you escape as he chases for his climax. You can feel his fingers pressing harder into your skin, nails scrapping on your soft flesh, no doubt leaving some marks and indents that you may find much later on once everything is over. 

“Are you close?” he breathlessly asks while moaning, showing you signs of his coming release. 

The answer coming out of your mouth sounds like a sharp cry, “Mmmh—yes!” 

Jaebum captures your chin and turns your face to look at him. “Keep your eyes on the door. You’ve been loud for a while now, and I know you didn’t lock the door when you came in,” he gently says, grinning as realisation dawns on you. He’s right. That was quite a risk to take for you to enter the room without locking and going further with this whole thing without checking things over. Fear grips at your chest, though it only intensifies the pulsing happening down below, right here he is burying his cock into. 

“What would your brother think if he sees you like this, writhing like a pure, little nymph and taking my hard cock deep inside your pussy?” Jaebum questions you with a voice so low it almost sounds like a growl. 

You have no idea which triggers the most delightful, yet the most carnal pleasure to roll through your body; the deep voice which vibrates from his chest, his dirty words that are planting these wicked images in your mind, the steady thrusts of his cock inside your heat, or the visual image of getting caught fucking your brother’s best friend, in your brother’s house, while people are partying downstairs and most possibly hanging out in the other rooms present on this floor.

“Fuck, you’re tightening around me. Thinking about getting caught turns you on, huh?” Jaebum says with a furious grunt, yet without missing a single thrust as he rocks his body against yours. He pushes deep and shudders, just as your walls are clenching tight around him. 

“Oh, yeah. That’s it, baby.” 

He keeps muttering the same words over and over again, coming together with his incessant thrusts. You watch as his eyebrows crease, as the veins in his neck are straining, his breathing laboured heavily, and the sounds he keeps making are mixed with a series of moans. You can feel the telltale signs of his release pulsing inside your depth, going in the same rhythm as yours as it begins to rapidly build up inside you. 

Getting lost in the pleasure, Jaebum digs his fingers into your hips and thighs as he continues to savagely pound into you. When once again his body shudders, your body pleasantly trembles at the same time. 

“Look at me, baby,” his strained voice growls, demanding your attention. And you simply give it to him, wanting to look at the one who is giving you this carnal pleasure right in the eyes just to convince yourself that this is real. 

Once your eyes are on him, your body is giving in to the pleasure, Jaebum moves his hand between your rocking bodies. You feel a slight pressure on your throbbing clit as his thumb finds your sensitive bud, and you can feel your muscles clamping around his cock, sucking around his girth as he slides in and out of you at a rapid pace. 

“Come for me, baby,” he growls, just in time you feel the coil in your stomach snapping, then he gives your clit a sharp flick while he buries himself deep inside you. “Come.” 

Under his command, you tip over the edge, shattering into a million pieces that shoot up through you like a fountain. Your chest feels tight when you scream out your climax, yet neither of you cares to stop it as he joins you with his deep moans. Jaebum continues giving you a couple of more thrusts, until you feel him shuddering at the same time your whole body quakes with your final release, and he joins you with a loud shout coming out of his lips, the warmth of his cum filling your tight walls that it almost sends you to another orgasm. 

You almost lose your sense of balance, when you can barely recognise between left and right, top to bottom, until you feel your body—now all hot and covered with sweat—pressing against the sheets beneath you, all messed up under your weight and the rigorous fucking, and the slickness of his cum seeping out of your throbbing center. 

When you feel him lowering your trembling leg down to the mattress, you slowly open your eyes, finding Jaebum bringing one of your hands to his lips. He kisses your wrist, before stepping away to grab his discarded shirt to start cleaning all the mess pooling on the apex of your thighs. 

“Do you think we were too loud?” you whisper to him once he is done and joins you back on the bed, lying right beside you with a content sigh. 

The sounds from the party below have started to grow distant, a sign that the party is slowly winding down, but not completely ending just yet. 

While the rest of the house is still filled with the remaining noises from the party, the room is filled with the silence that falls heavy once all the delirium comes to a halt. 

As you lie there on the bed, with the shards of your climax still continuing to course through your limbs while you are struggling to control your breath, you feel your body warming up with contentment and the presence of Jaebum’s body heat as he pulls you close to his chest. 

Meanwhile, your mind seems to have sobered up, allowing you to process everything that had just happened. 

As if he can feel the gears in your brain working hard, Jaebum shifts on the bed, and once again his face comes into view. 

“Want to get out of here? My new place is within walking distance from here. Maybe we can continue where we left off and finish the rest of the alcohol we still have before your brother catches us with the stolen goods.”

His offer seems genuine. It also provides a chance to escape the possibility of having to deal with reality, and everything else that involves your brother and facing the consequences of your actions. And you do still have some bottles to finish. 

“I like that idea.” 

Your body is still strained and sore, yet it doesn’t take long for both of you to get dressed and pack up all of the remaining bottles to take with you in your escape. 

You can barely remember how you manage to slip away from the house unnoticed, even with the party still lingering and your brother’s guests lounging tiredly everywhere you look, or how you are able to reach Jaebum’s new apartment on your wobbly legs. 

Everything blurs as you continue your business with Jaebum at his place for the rest of the night until morning comes, only that none of it involves finishing the rest of the alcohol that you’ve managed to snatch away from your brother’s party, but has everything to do with the lessons that Jaebum had promised you about embracing pleasure. And you make no effort to put a stop to it when Jaebum continues giving you pleasure until the next day comes, continuing while your minds are completely sober. 

Seems like you actually are terrible with all this one-night stand business, after all. 

— ©Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind, translations, or unsanctioned adaptations of any piece of writing posted on this blog are NOT allowed.

[tragedy-machine]

for @carebeardean for our dbda anniversary gift exchange! hope you like it <3

and a corresponding little 1.5k ficlet below

(mature rating warning)

“Do you reckon I’d look good in a skirt?”

Edwin pauses his reading, or more accurately freezes, too overwhelmed by dozens of images of Charles in different types of that garment flashing through his mind, effectively blocking the text in front of his eyes.

“Pardon?”

“It’s just–” Charles wrings his hands but takes a brave step towards Edwin where he sits on the couch anyway. “There was a couple in the park today. I don’t think you saw them, but they were tucked away between the trees, talking, and the– and the bloke’s hand was just casually resting on the bird’s upper thigh under her mini skirt and–”

“In public?” Edwin lets out an affronted scoff. “How utterly indecent this generation is.”

“Love, it’s not like we’re that much better,” Charles says and comes up the rest of the way to stand in front of Edwin.

“We do not–” shutting his mouth, Edwin thinks about it more and is forced to change his approach. “We are not visible to most of the population, making our chances of scandalizing someone that much smaller than the couple you mentioned.”

“Right." Charles chuckles, but his face is closed off and he’s not really looking at Edwin, eyes firmly planted on their carpet, posture not as relaxed as it was before. With a little sigh through his nose, he makes to move away, apparently deciding to swallow his disappointment at the fact that the conversation is already over. Edwin lurches to stop Charles and it just so happens that Charles’ legs are at his eye-level, so it’s only natural that Edwin’s hands grab him by the back of his thighs to keep him in place.

The feel of his boyfriend's legs, as well as the sight of Edwin's hands leaving dents in where they’re anchored are arresting enough that Edwin would be happy to just stay dreamily gazing upon it forever, if not for the little squeak ringing above him.

Lured in, Edwin follows the noise to Charles’ mouth, where the boy's lower lips is trapped between his teeth. Focusing on his goal of reassuring Charles, Edwin decides not to look at it too much lest he loses his train of thoughts completely. Their eyes meet and Charles stares at him with two pools of molten heat and suddenly Edwin doesn’t think that that’s much better for the state of his brain. But he pauses his newly-blooming images of kissing up the length of Charles' body with a thought of later.

“I am positive that you would look ravishing in any skirt of your choosing.”

Just as Edwin's hoped for, Charles’ breath hitches. Without even really thinking about it, Edwin’s grip on Charles’ legs tightens, as if wanting to capture the intoxicating feeling that sound gives him.

He’s familiar with this particular area of Charles, having left marks on those thighs many times before, but he still finds himself reverently kneading the muscles and marveling at the part where their give softens.

“Am I to presume,” Edwin thinks back to what prompted Charles to even ask his question in the first place. “That you would prefer skirts of the… shorter variety?”

“Yeah,” Thick like honey, Charles’ agreement rumbles out of him in a low voice. So beautifully strong and boyish just like the rest of him. Imagining all of it nicely wrapped in a flimsy little girly garment sends a thrill down Edwin’s spine. “Ones that’d come up to– um, right about where your hands are.”

“My. That is awfully short indeed.” Not being able to resist the temptation, Edwin moves his hands just a little bit higher and watches a shiver run through Charles’ body. "It would barely cover you up. Would you be wearing anything underneath?”

There’s an infinitesimal jolt to Charles’ hips. Edwin wouldn’t even notice it if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s tantalizingly close to that particular body part. Charles must see something in Edwin’s face that gives away that he’s noticed the movement, because he lets out a half-bitten whine, his eyes fluttering but refusing to close and break their eye contact.

“I don’t– I don’t know. Maybe.”

Edwin can tell that he has the boy close to squirming so he lightens his caresses to a hopefully maddening tease. A suggestion of a touch. What's the fun in giving in right away?

“I would have to wait and see for myself?” Edwin suggests.

“Probably not really wait, but yeah. I’d want you to–” Charles’ hands land on Edwin’s shoulders for support, the twitching of his hips evidently harder to control now that he starts pressing into Edwin’s hands. “To touch me.”

Somewhere on the couch lies Edwin’s book, completely forgotten, but he doesn’t even care about trying not to damage it as he pulls Charles forward so that he’s forced to plant his knees on both sides of Edwin. Now, Charles is essentially straddling him, but not quite, still not sitting down on Edwin’s lap, because that’d make it impossible for Edwin to keep up the steady movement of his hands up and down Charles' thighs after all. Plus, it’s not like Edwin minds the distance between them, having Charles hovering above him is a beautiful view.

“I suppose it is a unique advantage to have you clothed and yet… so accessible to touch as well.” Abandoning all decorum, Edwin starts stroking his hands up and down Charles’ trousers-clad legs. If he could see Charles, if he was bare, Edwin’s sure he’d be able to observe goosebumps rising on Charles’ skin.

“Yeah and if–” Charles kneads his hands where they’re clutching onto Edwin’s shoulders, seemingly steeling himself for what he’s about to say next. “If I did this–” he carefully drops himself on Edwin’s lap, clearly making a deliberate show out of it. Presses every possible inch of his body right into Edwin and slides down, causing sparks to shoot up Edwin’s core. Once Charles is fully seated on Edwin, he gives a tentative roll of his hips that snaps Edwin’s attention down, right where Charles wants it. “You could fuck me with the skirt still on.”

Although he was the one who started it, Edwin can’t take the teasing anymore, so he dives forward to catch Charles’ lips and devour him with a kiss.

It’s a perfect expression of just how much both of them like the idea of Charles in a skirt. Charles spells his love and trust with his tongue, not giving Edwin a chance to do anything but hold on and let himself be pressed into the backrest of the couch. Electricity zaps through the air, both of them forgetting about technique and finesse and both of them adoring it. Because why focus on anything else than Charles moaning right into Edwin’s mouth and tugging at his blazer like he wants to rip it off?

The sharp cut of Charles’ jawline, his big and capable hands, the way the short hair at the back of his neck feels under Edwin’s fingers - it all represents everything that the world tried to convince Edwin he shouldn’t want. But it all makes the picture of the gorgeous boy writhing in his lap while sucking on Edwin’s bottom lip and Edwin would rather die again than ever be denied this.

He loves the way Charles is always gentle with him, but manhandles him when they both get too riled up. Loves his long and lithe limbs wrapped around him, reminding him of how tall Charles is. Loves the fresh yet slightly musky scent of Charles that Edwin swears still lingers on the boy’s skin.

But there’s also no other word than ‘love’ to describe the feeling when Charles lets Edwin hoist him up on their desk or how bright Charles smiles when Edwin buys him flowers or how soft and breathy his whines turn when Edwin does something particularly right during kissing.

“I thought you wouldn’t be into skirts and you know, girly things?” It’s not really a question, but Charles’ tone ends it as such.

“I am not,” Edwin says and caresses the side of Charles’ darling face, so open and vulnerable under Edwin’s palm. “It is the thought of you in something like that which I find myself so enamored by. Everything about you could never be anything less than lovely and completely devastating to my heart.”

It gets him a frantic kiss that Edwin plans to lose himself in, before Charles leans away again.

“You don’t think it’d be weird? That it’d look– off on me?”

Edwin almost laughs at the notion.

“What a preposterous thought. Of course you will look endlessly beautiful in a skirt, my beloved.” A low groan rips itself from Charles’ throat and his shining eyes have never looked this pleading, this desperate. Edwin suspects he knows what they’re asking for. “My pretty girl.”

[darlingdaisyfarm]

haii! i hope that you're feeling the bestest today :D cause that's how i feel when i read ur fics ! your style really resonates with me bc you articulate my feelings about stan & ford like no other writer can. plus your dedication to building up scenes and ending them with a great payoff :}

speaking of, how do you think the grunks would give their partner hickies? or receiving them? >.< i'd die to read a fic or drabble of your take on it, but you dont have to make it, ofc! enjoy the rest of your dayyyy ❤️‍🩹

⋆.˚ how Stan & Ford give (and react to) hickeys .ᐟ

a/n: HII and OMG thank you so much!!! anon, you are a gift to this world, that's so sweet from ur side <333 you have blessed me today especially the fact that you like my writing style ahgghhgg :'))) i hope it's ok that i made some parts nsfw here tho especially with Ford sorry i just really loved that idea and i wanted to write smth intimate with kisses & marking for a while

tags: nsfw (for Ford's part), suggestive, lots of kissing, hickeys

STANLEY / YOU RECEIVING

Stan’s logic is simple. you can’t just walk away without leaving a mark on someone you care about. otherwise, who’s even gonna know that this person belongs to you?

he’s always been a greedy man. greedy for money, for booze, for a good card game. but lately, he’s started realizing that none of that compares to the greed he feels for you

it’s the same every evening now, because every day, Stan and you spend time together. and every day, Stan hates one thing. dropping you off at home. you’re already about to leave his car, stretching sleepily in the passenger seat, yawning loudly and mumbling about how tired you are.

car radio crackles softly with the evening news, but that doesn’t matter anymore. at least, not to Stan.

“c'mon, don't just leave like that, baby.” in the quiet summer air, his rough voice sounds especially low. you smirk, but you don’t even get the chance to say anything before his heavy hand lands on your thigh. “come on, sugar, just one little kiss.”

his breath brushes your cheek, and that’s all it takes for you to give in. your lips meet in a soft touch, but only for a second. because Stanley Pines doesn’t kiss soft or gentle.

he leans in deeper, firmer, catches your breath and pulls you in greedily. his dry lips are insistent, rough, but hot, warm, too impatient. his tongue slides past your lips, finds yours, demands more, demands you meet him with the same hunger. you sink into the kiss like into warm bathwater, the one you’d planned to take after this long day, you drown in this man who holds you like he's never letting go.

suddenly, he grabs you and before you know it, you’re on his lap, wrapping legs wrap around him. Stan grins, keeping you exactly where he loves you best. right in his hands. the car seat creaks under your weight, but neither of you care.

“you taste so good, fuck, i don’t wanna let you go.” his tongue teases yours again, and you can’t help the whimper that escapes you. his hands are fully on your body now, squeezing, pulling you tighter against him. “sweetheart, don’t go home. stay with me.”

oh, here we go again, you think. you love when he starts begging you to stay.

you smile into the kiss, biting his bottom lip gently, making him groan, and Stan grips your thighs tighter in response.

“i don’t wanna let you go.”

you try to pull back, placing your hands against his chest, but he only grips you harder, pressing you down against him until you nearly gasp. “Stan—“

“no, listen,” he bites your lip but doesn’t pull away as he speaks right against your mouth, slipping into a whisper. “stay with me. move in with me, baby.”

“but i’ll be back soon, Stan.”

“not soon enough.” he catches your lips again, but this time, it’s deeper and desperate. it’s hard to breathe and your head spins, but you don’t want him to stop, because fuck, nobody kisses like Stan does. his lips trail downward, leaving hot kisses against your neck, tongue sliding slowly over that one sensitive spot, and you feel your tired body melt.

“you could stay, you know?”

you smile again but don’t say anything.

and Stan can’t stand the silence so he bites your neck, kisses over the mark his teeth leave behind, then finds your lips again.

“tell me you’ll stay with me, baby,”

you stroke his cheek, tracing your thumb over his lower lip, then pull him in again.

“i will. someday. probably.”

Stan growls and kisses you senseless again until your head spins, until it really feels like you’ll stay with him forever.

he doesn’t want to be alone.

he doesn’t want to end up in an empty shack again, where the walls still echo your laughter and the pillow still holds the warmth of your body.

he doesn’t want to fall asleep by himself, knowing you’re not there.

he doesn’t want to smoke at night alone without you by his side.

he wants you.

every night. every day. Stan wants you beside him, wants you waking up in his bed, wants to watch you before he falls asleep, wants to kiss you every morning without letting you leave his arms.

his teeth sink into your skin as he sucks your flesh between his lips until you’re gripping his shoulders. the hot, wet sensation leaves you gasping and breathless until he finally pulls back to admire his work.

a dark mark blooms on your skin, his mark. Stan smirks, running his fingers over the bruise, then looks at you all proud of himself.

“now everyone will know ya belong to me.”

you chuckle.

“dummy, they already know.”

he laughs, kissing you again. and if he didn’t have to let you go, he never would

YOU GIVING:

Stan stands slouched, as always. leaning against the counter, one hand gripping a can of soda, the other pressing his phone to his ear, muttering something, clearly irritated and not particularly attentive. you hear him sigh, stretching out his words with lazy annoyance.

“whaddya mean a whole damn bus?”

oh, looks like your lovely grumpy man isn’t in the mood today. normally, a whole bus packed with walking wallets would make his whole day.

Stan rolls his eyes, taking a long swig of his soda, obviously trying not to lose it because of a dumb person talking to him. youre beside him, leaning against his shoulder, tracing your fingers over his arm, but he just presses his lips together a little tighter.

his attention isn’t on you.

unacceptable.

at first, you just brush your lips against his cheek. a light kiss that’s barely even there. Stan doesn’t even flinch, just waves you off slightly with his hand, signaling you to quit distracting him.

you hum

fine then

you kiss him again, this time closer to his ear

“mhm?”

Stan doesn’t even turn.

he thinks he can ignore you. how cute. guess it’s time to step up your game.

you lean in a little more, trailing your lips toward his neck, first just barely ghosting over his skin, inhaling the sharp scent of his favourite cigars.

and then you latch onto his neck. deep. maybe too deep.

“the hell?”

he nearly chokes on his soda. no, seriously. he full-on sputters, gasps sharply, coughs, and you hear his caller immediately start asking

“mr. Pines? hello? you alright, sir?”

no. he is not alright. he is losing his goddamn mind.

“shit, hold on.”

he tries to say something, but you don’t let him, sucking harder, teasing him just a little with your tongue, and you feel his whole body tenses.

“sweetheart, baby, c’mon,”

Stan exhales roughly, but he doesn’t pull away. in fact, his fingers suddenly tangle in your hair, gripping the back of your head, forcing you even closer.

“mr. Pines? are you still there?”

Stan instantly hangs up. fuck the tourist crowds, fuck the tours, fuck the money, he already has a treasure right in front of him, demanding his attention.

you hear the dull thud of his phone hitting the counter, and a second later, Stan is already gripping your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him.

“you tryna kill me, sweetie?”

his brows furrowed, lips parted. you see his chest rise and fall in quick breaths as he licks his lips nervously.

“you just— you just gave me a fuckin’ hickey while i was on the damn phone.”

he stares at you, completely dumbfounded. but not even a minute goes by as you see the slow curl of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“god, you’re a naughty little thing, huh.” before you can even think of a response, his mouth is on yours.

it's more like an attack than a kiss honestly. Stan’s huge hands grab at your waist, yanking you against him, while his tongue immediately slides into your mouth, and you drown in this, tasting your man, soda, cigarette smoke. he kisses you like he’s starving, insistent, until your toes curl from the intensity.

“that was mean,” he licks your lips before diving back in. “real fuckin’ mean.”

you smile into the kiss, letting your hands wander over his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense under his clothes.

“didn’t hear you complain.”

“oh, i ain’t complainin’, sweetheart. just sayin’ now you’re in trouble.” you don’t even get the chance to reply, because he’s kissing you again

STANFORD / YOU GIVING

Ford Pines has one very dangerous trait, he endures. he endures when you look at him too closely, endures when you accidentally run your hand over his chest, endures when you bite your lip teasingly.

he endures until he’s on the edge. and today, it looks like you’ve pushed him right to it.

from the feeling of you sitting on his lap, Ford trembles beneath you. he’s sprawled in the chair, legs spread wide and awkward, as if trying to somehow hide what’s going on in his pants.

and it definitely doesn’t help that you’re leaning closer, pressing your thighs against him, cupping his face in your hands while his mouth is slightly open, while he, poor thing, is trying to keep up with you but just can’t. he’s pathetic, so pathetic that he can’t even kiss you back. his lips just part under yours, his tongue only follows your lead. such a good boy. so submissive, obedient. Ford can’t give, he can only receive for now

and you take full advantage of that.

“mmmh, wait,” his voice betrays him, trembling, but you don’t give him a chance to finish. your lips greedily cover his, kissing him demandingly. you press closer, catching that shaky breath when your tongue slides inside his mouth.

your fingers tangle in his hair, teasingly scratching his skin with your nails, feeling how he shudders. poor, poor Fordsy. his hands weakly clench on your back, trying to hold onto you, but even that he fails at.

but the worst thing is that hes already at his limit. this pressure, this hunger, your weight on him, your breath, your voice, your desire, all directed at him, is more than enough.

“you like this, huh?” your voice seeps straight into his already non-functioning brain. and he shivers when your lips trail down to his neck. “you like when i treat you like this. when i use you.”

Ford wants to beg to you to slow down, because his pants are so tight that just a little more and. . . fuck, he doesn’t want to cum like this. a scientist who fought for his life in other dimensions for thirty years shouldn’t cum from just kissing. but instead, he just whimpers, because your body rocks against him in gentle movements, just a little, just a bit of friction, but for Ford, it’s enough.

he won’t last.

“wait, darling, wait,” his fingers clutch at your clothes, and he literally whines when you catch his sensitive skin with your lips, finding that sweet spot and latching on, tormenting him.

and Ford can’t fight his own body, so with a long, drawn-out moan, he cums. he fucking cums in his pants just from a hickey.

his thighs twitch, and his limp body involuntarily presses into you. he literally surrenders to you, spilling right into his clothes.

and at first, he doesn’t even understand how it happened. Ford thinks this is fucking humiliating, a goddamn disgrace. he didn’t even need you to touch him, you were just on him, just breathing on his neck, and that was enough to make him cum like some desperate teenager. Ford lets out a pitiful whine, feeling the wetness slowly seep through the fabric as the stickiness clings to his skin down here.

and in turn, you feel it too, how it’s gotten warmer between you.

he’s ashamed. so fucking ashamed. but you only laugh.

“awwwh, Ford, you really are pathetic, huh?” you say it so affectionately, kissing his cheek as he turns away in shame. his cheeks and ears are flushed red, breath still heavy. six fingered hands, which had just been holding onto you, now hang limply at his sides.

Ford agrees with you. he knows you're right

YOU RECEIVING

this man is not okay.

he endured. endured for a long time. bit his fingers, looked away, pretended he had strong moral principles. pretended your jokes didn't get to him, your touches, the way you fix your hair, the way your lips are just a little wet after drinking from his flask.

but his patience ran out. and he was the first to snap.

Ford grabbed your wrist when you laughed again, saying something about his indecisiveness. he yanked you toward him and you didn’t expect it, so you stumbled, but didn’t fall, because his hands were already holding you.

your back hit the trunk of a tree, and you almost gasped, because the ground beneath your feet was damp, too slick, the morning rain had made the forest's ground soft, muddy, sticky. Ford’s boots sank into the soil, and you accidentally stepped on his foot so hard that you could hear the wet squelch of his soaked pants.

“oh, sorry,” you exhaled, trying to pull away, but he didn’t even let you say another word.

Ford wasn’t mad. he just didn’t give a fuck that’s why he leaned in and kissed you deeply, immediately, no words needed.

and that made you lean back a little. the damp spring air in your lungs instantly turned hot, sending waves of fluttering butterflies straight to your stomach.

Ford always kept himself in check. always tried to be rational, serious, careful. but now, with your lips finally pressed together and his body finally flush against yours, he didn’t want to hold back anymore

“mmh, Ford,” you pull away just slightly, trying to catch your breath, but he grabs your waist instantly

“you're not going anywhere,” he murmurs against your lips, and you let out a breathy laugh.

“yep, not if you hold me like this.”

he's gentle, but greedy and you're pliant, but still sharp.

“we’re alone, finally, we’re alone, sweetheart,” he breathes into your lips. six fingers press into your back trying to pull you even closer. “no one can see us. no one can stop me.” you try to squeeze your legs together from the sweetness pooling low in your stomach, but Ford has his knee right between them.

“Ford. . .”

“say my name again.”

six-fingered hands glide down your sides, and his lips are already moving lower, grazing your chin and your neck. you don’t even notice when your fingers bury themselves in his hair, when they run through damp, graying strands. you stroke him like he’s your obedient little pet and he groans at that.

“Forddd, mhmm,”

“you drive me insane," his lips find the spot just behind your ear

“really?” you tease again. “and here i thought we came here for anomalies.”

Ford almost growls. “we did.” his tongue drags over your skin. “and i found one.”

then happens something you never expected from your always shy and nerdy man. your eyes widen when you feel him gently tug at your skin. the first mark is left right by your collarbone. second is lower, near your shoulder and third is somewhere behind your ear, where you’re especially sensitive.

you shudder. “mh, Ford, wow, you really—“

“you wanted to tease me,” his voice is muffled, but you can feel his smirk against your skin. “now, my love, suffer the consequences.”

he holds you so tight you almost forget where you are. the forest, the mud, the interrupted anomaly hunt, none of it matters anymore

[iwritefandomimagines]

NOT MY FIRST RODEO — COOPER HOWARD/THE GHOUL

masterlist

part two | part three [coming soon]

pairing: cooper howard/the ghoul x reader, mentions of john hancock x reader hehe

description: the tension between you and cooper had been palpable for ages, and he was beginning to struggle to deny his attachment to you — despite his reluctance. he’s certain you’d never really be interested in him like that, until he finds out he’s not the first ghoul to enjoy your company.

warnings: swearing, jealous!coop, sexual references/implied smut, angst, making out, mentions of drug taking

author’s note: writers block was POOF! gone the minute i rewatched fallout last week & restarted fallout 4. hancock will always be my bf so i couldn’t help myself from mentioning him. let me know if u want a part two with actual smut! i only left it out because i don’t really usually write smut on this blog haha.

—

Cooper Howard and John Hancock were by no means what you’d call friends.

However, as much as it pained him to admit it, the former knew that the latter was — by the standards of many — a good man who’d do the right thing to help others when needed.

That was why, however begrudgingly, he’d suggested that you spend the last few hours of today’s daylight making the short trip to Goodneighbor to stay ‘for a while’.

It was clear that an intense few days, hunting a difficult son of a bitch of a bounty, had very much tested your limits.

He told himself that, given the amount of caps that said son of a bitch had earned you, you could afford a couple of days laying low in Goodneighbor before picking up another job.

Well there was that and the fact that much to his dismay, in the short time you’d been accompanying him on the road he’d found himself irritatingly attached to you.

When he’d first stumbled upon you while collecting a bounty you’d failed to deliver on yourself, you’d enthusiastically offered your companionship and he’d fervently denied it.

You knew he doubted you’d be any use based on your circumstances when you met, but despite your reassurances that it was just because he was the notorious fucking ghoul that everyone went on about and he had simply beaten you to it, he dismissed you with a “not a chance, sweetheart,” and went on his way.

But when he kept bumping into you in the following days, he’d given in and afforded you the luxury of helping him out on this one job — allowing himself the comfort of the excuse that if he really needed, he could trade you for caps and say goodbye to the pretty girl so oddly desperate to be at his side.

You’d driven him crazy at first — full of questions and curiosity, never refraining from voicing what was on your mind.

The way you watched him so carefully, all doe-eyed and attentive, had initially just pissed him off. But in the weeks that followed this had mellowed, and he’d found himself almost grateful to have someone so comfortable around him.

He’d never admit that though.

You’d just been much more skilled in combat than he had expected. That’s why he told himself he kept you around.

He totally just figured that it couldn’t hurt to have someone close by who can handle themselves and is willing to take just a tiny stake of a bounty (on your part, you figured there was no need to take more — he basically spent his share with you anyway).

You, on the other hand, didn’t want to admit that you had been lonely and desperate and missing the life you’d previously been so comfortable in when Cooper walked — well, stormed, into your life.

He might not ever have intended to (in fact — if he’d known, he’d probably never have let you get so close) but upon gradually letting you into his life he’d nestled his way into the empty little nook left behind in your heart.

“Why did you hesitate when I said Goodneighbor?”

Oh yeah, there was that.

When you’d left Goodneighbor all those months ago, you’d left with a broken heart and a head full of hazy memories of the happiness that the place had once brought you.

“I didn’t hesitate.”

“You sure as shit did, and even you know you’re a damn bad liar,” the Ghoul scoffed, pausing his pacing and turning to look you in the eye, “What does a pretty little thing like you know about Goodneighbor?”

You folded your arms over your chest, shaking your head at him as his steely eyes bore into yours, “Nothing. Just odd you’re suddenly so eager to go hide away somewhere when you’ve called me all sorts’a names any time I’ve asked for even a short rest break.”

“You’re full’a shit,” his hand flew instinctively to the shotgun at his hip before he released a deep sigh and relaxed it, “So I’m gonna ask you one more time. What do you know about Goodneighbor?”

You pondered for a moment whether or not to keep lying to him — he didn’t know much of your full past beyond the fact that you’d been a vault dweller a long time ago and been fighting for a living since.

You’d settled briefly in a number of places, though, and he’d heard too many stories about times you’d left settlements for various reasons to believe that you’d be too scared to return anywhere with him at your side.

Especially not somewhere like Goodneighbor.

“I—was living there for a while,” you shrugged, avoiding his gaze again now, “Didn’t like it.”

The Ghoul laughed humourlessly at that, “C’mon sweetheart, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

“I didn’t feel—look there’s just someone I don’t really want to see round there, okay?” your eyes didn’t leave the floor as he took a step closer to you, heavy breaths almost taunting further information from you.

“And who might that be?”

You looked up at him for just a second before eyeing the dust below your feet again, “I was, well, I lived there quite a while. I was—seeing, well, romantically— uh, there was—,”

“Spit it out, sunshine.”

Sunshine.

You’d not been called that since the day you left Goodneighbor the last time, and you cursed yourself for physically recoiling at the sound of it.

“Well I’ll be fuckin’ damned. You got a thing for ghouls, huh?” the wicked grin on his face set your stomach alight with a combination of emotions, “Didn’t peg a pretty little thing like you as the type. That why you spent so long beggin’ me to take you with me? Little vaultie princess desperate for another ghoul to defile her?”

You were crimson red now.

You didn’t know how to react, startled by the fact that he knew who you meant based upon your reaction to the term.

Hancock had always been charismatic and flirtatious though — it was no wonder Cooper had heard him use the phrase before.

You were almost angry, immensely embarrassed and yet, at the same time, a little aroused by even his insinuation that he knew that you wanted him in that way.

You’d found him attractive almost immediately and yeah, maybe he was right and you did seem to have a thing for ghouls.

But you sure as hell weren’t going to let him stand there and make you feel embarrassed right now.

“That’s not it, it’s not some kind of—like—,”

“Hancock got bored of ya and you latched onto the next irradiated motherfucker you came across?” he spat, “Bet you regret it now you know that I sure as shit ain’t nothin’ like your precious old mayor.”

Somewhere in the harshness of his tone you were sure you could detect a hint of jealousy at the root of his mocking.

You sighed defeatedly, “I wasn’t looking for some kind of fucking replacement when I met you, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I just— you just— well— Whatever, it’s hardly like you’ve made any suggestion you’d want me if I made a move on you anyway.”

His eyes seemed impossibly dark now, narrowed on you as his finger reached up to tilt your chin upwards towards him, “Is that right, sweetheart?”

Your legs were like jelly beneath you, a jolt of lightning in your veins at his touch.

“Sure, you flirt with me, but you’re so damn up ‘n’ down sometimes that I don’t know if it means anything,” you shrugged, skin tingling as his fingers lingered beneath your chin, “If I was lookin’ to replace John, it would’ve taken more than you being a ghoul for that.”

If he still had eyebrows, they’d have been raised now, his eyes rolling, “Right, nobody comes close to Mr. Righteous Mayor.”

His breath fanned over your face, his eyes returning to stare into yours as if looking for a reaction he knew you wouldn’t want to give him.

But you were all riled up now — so he was going to get one.

“What, is this a pity party? You want me to tell you he’s not all that? That I’m better off now I’ve found you? Oh Coop… I want you, I need you, you’re better than him. Only ghoul for me,” you mocked, pressing your hand to your forehead in feigned fawning before snapping back to seriousness, as he watched you frustratedly.

“Like I said, you weren’t a replacement. I wanted company and somewhere along the way I’ve been fuckin’ stupid enough to like your company more than I should,” you huffed, “You don’t have to pretend you want more than this flirty-but-I-hate-you-a-little arrangement ‘cos you’re jealous knowing I’ve had much, much more than that with someone else— and another ghoul at that.”

A growl left his throat at your words, his hand meeting your waist and pushing you forward so that your back was pressed against the wall.

“You’re playin’ a dangerous game here, sweetheart,” he warned, “And it’s one you won’t win.”

Your head fell back in frustration and met the wall with a small thud as his other hand pressed firmly against the wall beside it.

“You think I feel inadequate or something?” he snarled, and for a moment you weren’t sure if the question was rhetorical.

“How the fuck should I know? It’s hardly like you let me know how you’re feeling ever,” you sighed, your mind growing increasingly cloudy at your close proximity and his hand still on your waist, “That’s all I meant about John. It’s nice to know someone wants you… Hell, it’s even nice to be told when they don’t no more just as long as you’re being told.”

He was baring his teeth in a snarl still, but his lips began curling back up into a smirk, “You think I don’t want ya? Think I haven’t thought about it when you’re at my side like a fuckin’ dog on a leash looking at me all doe eyed an’ fuckable?”

Your cheeks couldn’t have been more flushed, and you knew he could feel the way your thighs clenched together at his words.

“Then why haven’t you done anything about it?” your response was a breathy whisper, the hairs on your neck pricking up and your heart thumping hard against your ribcage.

“Oh that’s a whole can of worms you don’t want opened, sweetheart,” he licked his lips, “Sweet little thing like you shouldn’t be with someone like me. But looks like I ain’t gotta worry about that, huh? Hancock’s already spoiled ya.”

You broke his intense gaze for a moment, eyes finding the floor as your teeth grazed your lips shyly at the weight of his words.

You couldn’t help the feeling that swelled in your chest at the lingering jealousy, and hearing him talk about wanting you as badly as you’d wanted him all this time gave you the confidence to push it.

“Oh he spoiled me good, you’re right,” you shrugged antagonistically, trying to quell the pain that still sat in your chest — albeit pain that took up much less space now that you’d found Cooper.

He scoffed, “That’s fightin’ talk for someone who don’t wanna see him again, darlin’.”

“Yeah well, he made me the happiest I’d been in the Wasteland since I left the vault and then tossed me aside ‘cause he got it in his head that I didn’t actually wanna be with him, like I must’ve been using him for his power and couldn’t really love him ‘cause he’s a fuckin’ ghoul — as if I didn’t know that when we met,” you grunted, “That’s all the fuckin’ chems for ya.”

Cooper leaned in closer to you now, “Well he’s a fuckin’ bigger idiot than I already thought he was, giving up you when he had ya all to himself like that.”

“Figure he doesn’t care. Might as well be married to Goodneighbor anyway.”

There was silence between you for a moment, nothing but heaved breaths and heavy eye contact as you pieced together what to do next.

You watched Cooper’s eyes flicker down to your lips for a moment, and could almost see the conflict behind them as he battled the urge to kiss you.

“I don’t wanna see him, but I don’t still want him, if that’s what’s stopping you,” you gulped, “In case it’s not loud and clear, I want you. Just didn’t wanna see him without any confirmation you aren’t gonna rock up there and declare me as some kinda fuckin’ pet and humiliate me even more than he did.”

“Enough talk about him,” Cooper growled, one hand pulling your face to his by the jaw, “If he don’t realise what he’s missin’, I definitely fuckin’ do.”

Finally, he kissed you.

Your hands flew around his neck, lips meeting his with equal fiery passion and pure need.

His one hand still remained cupping your jaw, whilst the other explored the waistband of your trousers earnestly, thumbing at your hipbone.

Finally, after all of these weeks of pining and sexual tension, Cooper Howard was giving you exactly what you needed — and all thoughts of John Hancock melted away.

You found yourself pulling him as close as physically possible, allowing him to press you against the wall as he stole your breath with the intensity of the kiss.

“Mightn’t be your first rodeo, sugar,” his lips pressed just behind your ear as he spoke, “But I’m sure as shit gonna make it feel like it is.”

———

eeeee please lmk if you’d like a part two with smut. or just a part two where they eventually go to goodneighbor. please feel free to request more coop or some hancock, and be warned there are more coop x hancock’s gf/ex!reader fics in the drafts because i can’t stop myself!!!!

in the meantime — here’s my masterlist.

[eddiernunson]

Pathetic | Virgin!Eddie Munson x f!Reader | 18+

Summary: Eddie surprisingly asks you out, despite being in separate social circles. When he doesn't make a move on any dates, you ask and discover the fun of making him whimper

Warnings: sub!Eddie, (slight) dom!reader, edging, multiple orgasms (m), no protection, virgin!eddie, sloppy ending, and just making Eddie whine

Barely edited.

Inspired by a conversation with @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you when we talked about this exact thing.

Word Count: 2.3k

To say it surprised you when Eddie Munson asked you out would be an understatement. You found him decent looking enough, eyes following his slim hips or limber fingers when you had the chance. Since you’re in completely different social circles, tables on the opposite ends of the cafeteria, you never interact.

However, one Friday afternoon he approached you, a shy smile on his face as he asks you to a Drive In, you accepted sincerely.

When you’re in his passenger seat, you find yourself surprised by how his hands don’t even attempt to make their way under your tiny skirt, a feat you’ve faced from every other date you’ve had since reaching high school. It was stupidly refreshing. In fact, so refreshing, by the end of the date as he continues licking the butter of the popcorn your thighs end up tensing up, now wishing he had fingered you in the fucking Drive In.

When he dropped you off at home, he gives a gentle kiss on your cheek, promising to call you the next day. Your fingernails leave moon imprints on the palm on your hand, officially fucking sexually frustrated because of Eddie fucking Munson.

He takes you on a few more dates as the time goes on, still never making a move. Not the restaurant, bowling alley, or the arcade. You got a long well with him, his humour and yours mixing well as you get to know him, but if you didn’t get his cock down your throat soon, you were gonna lose it.

Now you sit on his couch, absentmindedly watching reruns of Bewitched as he practices on his guitar. His nimble and fast fingers distract you, zoning in on them as you watch them, not even noticing that the reruns have ended and the tv is now playing The Mary Tyler Moore Show.

You clear your throat, getting his attention. He looks up, his expression taken aback as his eyes peer up at you with his mouth half open. “Hmm?” He asks, licking his fingers for a slight relief.

God, he’s a tease. “Please just kiss me already.”

His eyes noticeably widen, his mouth partially opening. “Huh?”

You shuffle up to him in the corner of the couch and lift his guitar from him, gently placing it on the coffee table. “Kiss me.”

His mouth shifts into a boyish smile, licking his lips as he glances to your lips, just a little bit. You sit right next to him. You sit on your own leg, grabbing at his face as you finally, finally place your lips on his luscious pink ones. It’s gentle, far gentler than you’re craving from him, been craving. Your mouth opens slightly, leading the way as you swallow a muffled whine from him. Your tongue collides with his, hungrily starting to crawl closer to him. “C-can we please go to your room?” You ask, knowing the couch won’t be enough.

His eyes take a minute to open, glazing over as they switch between yours, his cheeks flushed. In hindsight, you’re not sure how you didn’t see initial signs.

Eddie holds your hand as he leads you to his room at the end of the hall, biting his lips nervously. You lie on his bed, tugging him by the jean vest on top of you, hungrily kissing him. Throughout the kissing, there’s numerous muffled moans you swallow, your hands holding his back as his stay stationed on your hips, fingers unsteady and tense.

“Um…I-I need to tell you something.” Eddie mumbles, his voice low and husky.

“Hmm?” You ask, peering into his now darkened brown eyes.

He looks down between the two of you, an audible gulp leaving his throat. “I’m…I’m a virgin.”

Your eyebrows raise by reflex, suddenly several things making sense. “And…that’s why you haven’t made a move?” You ask, assessing his nervousness.

He nods, entirely vulnerable and the complete opposite of the front he puts up at school.

“That’s okay,” you nod, attempting to calm him down with your soft tone. “We just have a lot of time to make up for.” You don’t give him a chance to register this comment, leaning up for another desperate kiss. “Will you let me suck your cock?” You ask, noting the slight pressure now at your thigh.

It’s visible as he short circuits, his eyes darting as he takes it in. “A-are you sure?”

You swing your weight so you’re now on top, giggling as he gives you this look of pure astonishment. “Mmhmm!”

You quickly crawl down to face the bulge in his pants, drooling gathering in your mouth at the sheer size of him. Your hand reaches out to palm him, his startled and guttural moan satisfying you the shit out of you. Oh, you’re going to have a lot of fun. Your hands move to undo the button on his black jeans with ease, eagerly pulling down his pants has his cock pops out.

“Holy shit, you’re huge.” You mumble, taking in his size. “Ed. Look at me.” You wait patiently as his eyes open to face yours, placing your tongue tentatively on the pink weepy head, a whine escaping his throat as it makes contact. Your hand wraps around the base, licking tentatively at his head, feeling as his cock twitches in your hand. “Cock is so fucking needy, huh?” You ask, just teasing him.

Eddie nods enthusiastically, mouth open and eyes half closed. God, he looked desperate in the best of ways.

Slowly, you wrap your lips around the head, sucking tentatively as you start to stroke the length of him, veins pulsing. His stomach is already starting to tense, a sign that he was close. “You close, baby?” You ask, stroking his cock slowly.

“Uh huh.” Eddie whines, his legs starting to move under you restlessly.

You hum, starting to take a much larger amount into your mouth, bobbing your head quickly. Within seconds Eddie’s tip is shooting cum down your throat, the delicious salty taste making you hum around him.

“Fuck!” Eddie swears, left leg tensing under you. “Fuck, that was fast, I’m so sorry.”

“Aww, it’s okay.” You tell him, still stroking him sleepily. “If your pretty cock hasn’t been touched before, I understand. Think you can cum again?”

Eddie lets out a laugh in disbelief. “Um…”

“Wanna see if I can make you cum again...” You take his length further into the heat of your mouth than before, bobbing your head up and sucking with more enthusiasm.

Under you, he whines more desperately, his torso hiking up in intervals, hands intertwined in his hair as everything you give him sends him dumb.

As your hand moves under to roll his heavy balls, Eddie gasps loudly as he cums again within minutes, sucking him until every drop is shot into your throat again. “Ah, shit.” You lazily stroke him, eyes half open as you watch him get his bearings again. “Fuck, cock hurts, baby.”

“Oh, does it?” You ask, your tone of voice slightly condescending. “I think I’m gonna blow you until you cum two or three more times and then I’m gonna ride the shit out of you.” Your voice is casual as you explain it to him, but your pussy throbs at the prospect of making him whine pathetically even more.

His tip was darkening in shades of red from the sensitivity, gasping as you kiss at the tip. “Ed. Say a random word.”

“Huh?”

“Top of your head.”

Eddie takes advantage of the break you’re giving him, racking his thoughtless brain for a word without question. “Uh, duck.”

“Okay. If you really can’t handle another orgasm, you say that word as a last resort and I will stop, okay?” Eddie nods, his eyes squeezed shut. “Hey, look at me.” Eddie lifts his head up to you, eyes heavy as he nods again. “Okay, now I wanna hear some more of those pathetic little whines of yours.”

His cock twitches in your hand at that, a nonverbal cue that he was enjoying the shit out of this. You lick a long stripe up his cock, the gasp out of your mouth as you do is nearly feral as you do. As your thumb presses on his slit as you go back down to the base, starting to mouth at the skin of his balls. His whole-body tenses up, gasping as you suck at the flesh, soaking him with your spit. You move down, hand still stroking him as you attack the perinium, licking and sucking gently. As your head moves back up to the tip, he’s continuing to twitch. You wrap your lips around the head alone, flicking your tongue it up and down against it, his whine pure music to your ears.

This does it for the third time, the salty taste getting better and better.

Eddie is restless under you, mouth moving like he wants to say words but nothing coming out. “Look at you, so fucking pathetic. I haven’t even choked on your big cock, yet.”

“Pl-please” He chokes out, his voice breathy as he begs for you.

“Please, what, hmm?” You ask scattering wet kisses along the pulsing veins in his cock.

“P-please choke on it?” He asks, licking his lips desperately.

“Oh, baby is so desperate for it, hmm?” He nods shakily, his breathing short and jagged.

You immediately take him into the back of your throat, gagging on his cock with the most sinful sounds, Eddie’s hips pushing up to put more in your mouth, whining as he does. Your hand reaches out for his, placing it on the crown of your head. His hand pushes it on you, forcing his cock down your throat and starting to fuck it. Your eyes burn, a tear dressed in mascara falling slowly down your cheek and onto his thigh. As he finally fucks one last time in your mouth, shooting down your throat, he gasps, starting to feel much more sensitive as he cums a fourth time.

Finally, you as you lift your head he sees the trail of mascara down your cheeks, seeing the concern flash in his eyes. “You, you okay?”

You giggle, wiping the salt away from your flushed cheek. “Oh, that’s just part of the job.” You kiss his twitching tip, tongue lapping at it softly. “Trust me, that’s a good blow job when I’m crying.” His dick twitches, turned on by it. You ignore it, knowing you have plenty of time for him to fuck your throat on your knees. You had one last goal, wanting his hips to twitch.

“Gonna make you cum one more time, baby.” You say, licking thoroughly up and down the length. It’s a bit tamer this time, just jerking him off and playing with the sensitive tip as you maintain the eye contact. As he got close, his hips start to lift at their own accord, the moans on a whole new level. “Look at your hips twitching, baby. Wanna cum all over my face?”

“Please” He begs.

An impulsive thought takes over, stopping the action right as his tummy starts tense up.

Eddie’s eyebrows meet in the middle as he lets out a echo of disappointment. “Baby.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.” You apologize, stroking him quickly again. “Wanted to see that pathetic little face one more time.” You focus on him, getting him over the edge one last time as his hips twitch uncontrollably from the edge, gasping in little moans. As his sticky cum shoots, much less than the first time you open your mouth, wanting to accept his cum with your mouth open and smiling as the cum dresses your face.

You hum, grabbing the edge of your shirt to wipe it off, not caring much for this graphic tee, anyway. As you crawl up to him, you grin madly, taking in the way he’s eyes are glossed over. “You good?”

He nods lazily, breathing heavily. “What the fuck was that?”

You shrug, leaning in for a sweet kiss. “You need some water?”

“No, I want you to ride me.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah I’m fucking sure. Ride me, please.”

“Okay!”

After taking off your panties and skirt, you lift your leg to straddle him, making eye contact as you move his cock to your entrance. “You gonna wear your shirt?”

“You’re still wearing your shirt.” You point out, and Eddie laughs, his palm hitting his face sheepishly.

“Right. Whatever.”

Finally, you sink down on his cock, your pussy begging you for attention as you sucked him off. “Eddie.” You gasp out, his length filling you up deliciously. “Oh my god.”

“Now whos’ pathetic?” He asks, his voice quite cocky for someone who just came five times in what…ten minutes?

“Your cock is fucking good, Ed. Can you fucking blame me?” You tell him, deciding to ignore his unearned cockiness…for now.

“Fuck, this pussy is so tight.” Your hips start to roll, the pleasure all encompassing as he reaches the deepest depths of you.  “Roll those hips, oh my god.”

Okay. You have to point it out. “You’re surprisingly cocky for someone that just came so many times.”

“Wait until I fucking eat you out, babe.”

Your eyes roll in the back of your head, starting to bounce on him as you chase the orgasm that you’ve been denying yourself, listening to Eddie moan and babble even more.

“Gonna cum, Ed.” You warn him, sneaking up on you with how wet and horny you were.

“Me too.” He hums, a stupid silly smile on his face.

When you cum together, sweaty and sunny, you rest on his chest, petting his chest gently as you bask in the afterglow.

Effectively, you have solved your problem as Eddie sneaks his hand under your skirt the next time you’re sitting at the drive in.

-

Thank you so much for reading! I love to read your comments, replies, and reblogs. As always, reblogging is the best way to support your fic writers on tumblr.

Taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinnschesthair @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken @oddussy420