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lon3lystarr · 3 months ago

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honey…don’t feed it, it will come back.

•paring: remmick x fem!reader

•summary: the pale moon light shined brightly, illuminating the shadows hidden deep within the tall corn fields, the hot air of mississippi was uncontrollable and uncomfortable but nothing felt more uneasy than the three firm knocks that cut through the still night.

•warning(s): vampirism, blood, manipulation,physical affection, setting is around the 1930s, cursing, the use of y/n, y/n is in her early 20’s, y/n lives alone, hints to dead mom, y/n is a little stupid but this is fiction so it’s whatever, a lot of flirty name calling from remmick, remmick might be a little soft in this <3, just a little smutty;))

•a/n: yeah i needed to write about remmick, he’s just so hot and my new hyper fixation. writing this while listening to “it will come back” by hozier :)). i wrote another remmick fanfic: https://www.tumblr.com/lon3lystarr/782176805690982400/run-lassie-run-pairing-remmick-x-femreader :))

likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!! <3

the sunday morning sun was unbearable. there wasn’t any wind, there wasn’t any shade, there wasn’t any clouds in the vibrant blue sky to provide any shelter from the scolding hot rays the sun kissed upon mississippi. this wasn’t new to y/n, the slow hot suffocating heat embracing her sweat covered form while she did her daily routine, sweeping and mopping the house from the inside then out to the front porch, washing her soiled clothes and hanging them to dry on the thin laundry line, tending to the tall corn fields her mama left her making sure the field was healthy and ripe enough to sell for the folks in town, then preparing dinner all alone in her old creaky home. y/n’s days were selfsame, doing the chores she has done since her early years of living then winding down for the night, humming the old lullabies her mama used to sing to her throughout the quiet nights.

until something in the air shifted

something felt different today

y/n felt uneasy when she woke, the thick morning air was the same as yesterday and the day before that but something deep within y/n’s bones told her today wasn’t the same as all the time, maybe it was the lack of the birds singing and chirping, maybe it was the disgustingly hot air she breathed in or maybe it was the exhaustion that ate away at her every passing day, either way y/n knew if she didn’t attend her chores then no one will. she pushed off her thick wool bed as the wooden bed frame groaned under her weight and walked to the bucket of clean water to wash away the sleep from her sluggish face then she started her day.

sweeping and mopping, washing her clothes that were soiled from the amount of sweat and dirt clinging onto them, pinning those clothes on the laundry line behind the chipped painted house, tending to the towering corn fields as her hands cramped up from the heavy labor, then by sunset she headed back to the empty lifeless home to finally fill her empty stomach. the sun still shined casting purple-pink hues in the sky as y/n made a fire big enough to cook all the food at once, cornbread, sweet potatoes, and field peas was the meal she decided to cook for the night. the sound of crickets rang out and filled the quietness which helped drown out y/n’s intrusive thoughts, the thoughts that she wouldn’t dare say out loud, the growing despair she felt in her heart was becoming intolerable, she never thought this was the life she would be living, the same tired routine over and over again, the silence in this empty lonely house, her years withering away, happiness and enthusiasm drained from her once lively soul, the lack of passion in her life caused all these feelings to bubble to the surface, it was miserable.

by sundown y/n finished her meal and got ready for bed, she peeled off her dirt covered clothes and replaced them with her lightweight flowy white nightgown that was a hand-me-down it only reached just over her knees, she brushed and wrapped her frizzy hair then headed to her room she left earlier today, her aching limbs cracked and popped when she stretched them out then throwing her limp body onto the mattress and waited for the tiredness to hug around her, finally getting the rest she so desperately needed.

but rest didn’t come, y/n stared at the ceiling with her eyebrows pulled together in discomfort, the same feeling from before came back, the unsettling and uncomfortable tension heavy in the night air, the crickets stopped singing, the moonlight dimmed and the air still sticky and hot. y/n tossed and turned in her bed and shut her eyes tightly, hoping sleep will catch her like prey to predator but that was unsuccessful so she sat up and stared out of her window to watch the night sky, the night sky was the only thing giving her peace, giving her tranquility, giving her harmony-

knock. knock. knock

three firm knocks cut through the air, the moment of calmness and silence immediately vanished, now the same uncertainty and uncomfortable feeling returned. who would be knocking on her door at this time of night? y/n stayed seated on her bed, unmoving, maybe the person outside of her door would assume she was asleep and leave but that wasn’t a good plan. three more firm knocks rang out followed by a masculine voice “hello? is anyone home? please help me i’ve been hurt” the desperation muffled behind the door “please i won’t be much of a bother! i just need a little of ya assistance” the voice said as y/n got closer to the door, wary and uncertain “how are you hurt?” y/n asked, her palm pressed against the door, adding a little more security and support to the old door “i was walking from the pub and i wasn’t lookin’ at my surroundings, i ended up cuttin’ my arm on a nasty ole poll..” the voice explained, sounding a little closer, a little more quieter “well sir i won’t be much help, i wasn’t gifted with the ability to heal anyone back to health” y/n replied, the feeling of uneasy growing bigger in her chest “well darlin’ i promise ya a place to rest my head would be more than enough” the tenderness in the male’s voice outside pulled at the heartstrings of y/n softly, feeling needed was something y/n didn’t know she was able to feel in a long time it was a little selfish to feel this way or even stupid but fuck, did it feel nice. y/n slowly turned the cold metal doorknob making the old door squeak open revealing the male in front of it, standing on y/n’s porch was a handsome, muscular man with brown short sweaty hair, his dark eyes connected to her’s immediately“well aren’t ya a beauty, didn’t expect that face” said the taller male in front of her, making a new emotionto erupt, it felt like heat in her stomach and her heart skipped a little from his words “i’m remmick, what’s your name dolly?” asked remmick, a smirk painted on his chapped pink lips as his accent seemed more thicker now that there wasn’t a barrier between them “i’m y/n” she replied in a hushed manner “hmmm y/n, just rolls off the tongue. leaves a little sweet taste” remmick said, husky and sly leaning against the door frame, he lifted up his left arm and the nasty cut showed, the skin around it was red and raw while the blood dried up and crusted over “that sure does look painful, washing that wound would be best” y/n said, still focused on the long cut on his pale white skin “why don’t ya let me in and we can get this taken care of” remmick smiled a reassuring smile, y/n stood there thinking of the situation she’s now in, this attractive stranger needed help and a place to stay in the middle of the night…this wasn’t good…the choice she was about to make wasn’t the smartest at all but maybe doing a good deed for someone in need could break the curse of feeling unwanted, unneeded, useless every waking hour “alright, come in” y/n said, moving a little to the right to allow remmick to past by and enter into the candle lit house, the aroma that slapped y/n as the male walk by was intoxicating, the smell of sweetness like a ripe juicy berry mixed with the tangy smell of his sweat that covered his firm frame

“what a beautiful house, are you livin’ all alone here?” he asked, his eyes glued to her face, scanning her features that shined with the yellow-orange candle light “yes, my mama passed away a couple of years ago. leaving me to take care of the house and the corn fields” y/n stated, her voice still low and airy “my condolences dolly. you’ve done a fine job maintaining everything. must be stressful on a sweet little thing like you huh?” remmick said, his voice sweet and kind “time to time, being on my lonesome is quite the hassle but i manage” y/n replied truthfully walking to the same bucket she used to wash away her tiredness this morning, sitting across him in a shorter chair “sweet thing like you shouldn’t manage. you should be taken care of, loved upon, cherished and protected from the evil in this world.” remmick stated, stern and serious as he sat on the old dusty wooden rocking chair “well some of us aren’t as lucky” y/n said, softly tending to the wound on his arm. while she carefully rinsed off the dried up blood she noticed something..strange…the cut wasn’t as big as before, actually it seemed like there wasn’t a cut there at all, the only evidence was the blood that was now tinted the water red “i can free you. i can free your poor soul from the long lonely days you live, finally feelin’ freedom that’s the thing you wanted to feel since ya mama passed on, isn’t it?” remmick whispered, softly pulling her in like a siren to a fisherman “don’t ya want want to break free from all that baggage?” remmick egged on, his powdery white hand gently caressing y/n’s cheek, soothing her from any doubt or fear “how? i can’t be free…i ain’t never gonna be…i’ve been trapped in a loop for years” y/n shook her head, defeat heavy on her heart “no no honey, don’t say that, don’t give up on me now. i promise i can make ya feel better, i can make all those nasty feelings disappear in a blink of an eye” remmick said, his hot palms on each sides of her face, brushing his thumb against her soft lashes.

remmick and y/n gazed at one another, time was still and the tension was heavy. both didn’t speak another word nor didn’t move a muscle, too scared to ruin this moment. seconds ticked by with them still so close to one another, breathing in each other’s aroma, feeling the body heat of each other “this may be ill mannered but i wanna steal a kiss for you sweetheart” remmick said, his eyes still gazing into y/n’s, a smirk on his appetizing lips “why just one? steal as many as ya want” y/n said, a groan deep in her throat “hmmm careful dolly, you might not handle what you let in” remmick moaned out, softly caressing y/n’s hot cheek and his lips kissing against the soft skin of her neck, sensually kissing and licking the exposed skin, tasting and savoring the flavorful flesh gradually kissing up to her impatient lips, their lips danced against each other in sync, it was slow and sensual “honey i gotta taste more, wanna give me more baby?” asked remmick, gripping y/n’s hips firmly and strongly, y/n nodded obediently “yeah i know you wanna give me more” remmick teased, his deep voice made y/n’s heart jump with excitement, this was such a new and addictive feeling.

remmick kissed her neck and the spot he once abused down to her exposed chest then to her soft stomach “god, baby i can’t wait to taste ya, need to clench my thirst” remmick groaned out, squeezing and squishing y/n’s thighs like he was needing bread, greedy and hungry “remmick please” y/n begged impatiently “please? fuck, i love a pretty lady with manners” remmick’s husky voice became muffled from kissing y/n’s soft plush thighs, his knees thumping against the wooden floor,the brown haired male slowly kissing closer to the area that ached the most for his attention.

his soft lips finally latching onto her achy pearl, y/n gasped at the feelings, her hand immediately flying to his short soft hair, guiding his head to where she wanted him most, moaning and crying out as remmick licking and slurping up all the tangy slick that seeped and gushed out “mmmhmm just like that sweetheart, keep cryin’ out for me” remmick groaned, wrapping his masculine hands on y/n’s hips “remmick please! oh god please, right there” y/n cried out, bumping her hips against his eager hot wet lips “i want ya to be with me, if i make you cum, you’re mine dolly” remmick moaned out, gently grazing his teeth against y/n’s soft pearl, y/n jumped a little with a sharp gasp “yes! yes! i’m yours! please remmick!” y/n begged and pleaded, mind mushy and in the clouds with pleasure “that’s what i like to hear, give me what i deserve baby” remmick grinned up at the ruined woman above him then diving back down to his savory meal. his skillful tongue drawing circles around her sensitive and pulsating button while his middle finger gently rubbed her entrance slowly inserting his meaty finger inside, the slippery essence dripped onto his finger and his lips. loud ecstasy, lustful moans bounced off the walls of the old candle lit house, the lewd sounds coming from the slick wet flower remmick was pumping in and out of “hmmm yeah give it to me baby, make me proud, give me what i deserve” remmick’s husky words rang in y/n’s ears, the heat building up in her lower stomach, getting closer and closer to release “re-remmick! oh fuck! mmm please! right there” y/n yelled out with pleasure, dizzy head spinning with thick sin, y/n legs shook aggressively and her frame slumped against the slippery white painted chair, moaning uncontrollable as remmick ruined her. he drank all the nectar that flowed out overstimulating y/n’s abused pearl, y/n whined out and weakly pushed the male from her, still shaking from her release “sorry baby, i had to get every drop outta you” remmick snickered out while caressing her soft flesh, the ripe heated flesh giving off a sweet scent that remmick couldn’t help but take in a deep breath of “fuck you smell sweet…just wanna take a bite” remmick moaned out, gripping y/n’s chin, forcing her to look at him, to look at his glowing red eyes, those red haunting eyes looking deep into her soul “i made you cum honey, you’re mine now” remmick smirked, his sharp knife-like teeth showing, his head dropping to her sweat covered neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her flowing blood “we’d be beautiful together my love. this might pinch a little but it’s so worth it” remmick assured her with such a surgery sweet tone, giving her hope, giving her comfort and warmth, something her heart cried out for years.

everything happened so quickly, one moment the sensation of sharp needle like pain shot through the left side of her neck, hot burning sticky blood oozing out of the open wound then darkness encased her vision. the silence in the house was deafening but it didn’t last long until the loud, panicked gasp was heard from y/n, she felt muscular arms wrapped around her, protecting her, remmick didn’t leave her even when her heart stopped “and she’s awake. welcome back my love. you look as gorgeous as ever” remmick smiled brightly, placing a gentle kiss on the apple of y/n’s cheek, bloody lips leaving a red stain on her cheek “i think it’s my turn for a taste, don’t ya think?” y/n teased, her eyes now red and glowing in the dark room “looks like i created a minx” remmick teased back, biting the plush soft skin of y/n’s bottom lips, moaning in sync with one another quietly “you’re mine sweetheart.” remmick stated, no room for discussion “and you’re mine” y/n replied, her hands running through his soft hair “damn right dolly.” remmick proudly said, pulling her into his warm chest. embracing each other without any worry in the world, the way how it should be. finally at peace, finally feeling worthy and loved, all of remmick.

#my post #sinners 2025 #sinners #jack o'connell #remmick #remmick x reader #i need him #i want to marry this man

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cheriecoke · 23 days ago

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˚₊‧꒰ა GIRL'S NIGHT OUT ! — bucky barnes

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. you go out for a girls night with yelena and ava, drink more than you can handle, and remember how much love you have in your life.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. f!reader, avenger!reader, takes place between thunderbolts and post credit scene, new avengers, found family, tower fic adjacent let’s goooo, established relationship, references to depression, reader is the same age as yelena, very light moments of angst but mostly fluff, pet names (baby, sweetheart), alcohol, non-descriptive scene of vomiting, drunk!reader who is kind of a lightweight lol, bucky (+ the others hehe) take care of her, honestly idk what this is it’s kind of silly goofy — 8.3k words

𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒. making my official comeback to the mcu after a few years, i am a bit rusty pls be nice to me <3 reader is based off my self-insert/oc, who was taken in by tony when she was a teenager and he’s like her older brother. so there are mentions of that, as well as being in the og avengers. also references to her having powers but feel free to imagine them as whatever you want :) also thank u to my lovely aimsies for reading over it for me mwah!! <33

You blinked down at your glass, feeling your vision already beginning to go in and out of focus, a camera trying to capture a moving image. But the longer you stared down at the alcohol, the more uncertain you became that the liquid was actually sloshing around the rim — the ice seemed rather stagnant.

Perhaps it was just your head that spun.

You weren’t sure how you’d already drank enough to feel so disoriented. It was still early in the night. Moonbeams filtered through the few windows, but they were fresh, luminescent balls of light that had only just arrived.

The club, wherever it was that Yelena had chosen to take the three of you, was obnoxiously loud, a heavy rhythm playing over the speakers. Although you’d never really minded the way music drowned out your own thoughts, the flashing, hazy lights made it difficult to focus on anything at all.

A hand curled around your bicep, dragging your attention away from the drink below you, back towards the face of your friend.

“Come on,” Yelena said, a laugh bubbling up out of her, choppy from the alcohol. Her accent sounded thicker, sticking harder to the syllables, as the words left her lips. “Don’t tell me you’re quitting already.”

You made a face, but before Yelena could criticize your inability to hold your liquor any further, Ava had already interjected.

“Right, so unlike you, the rest of us don’t consider Vodka to be our closest companion,” Ava snorted, rolling her eyes. Always getting a jab in, even though, half the time, she didn’t really mean the unkind words. She just couldn’t help herself.

Yelena smiled, but there was sarcasm dripping from the corners of her lips, her eyes squinting with annoyance. She lifted her hand, flipping Ava off, as her rings reflected the neon lights of the interior. Then, without looking away, she took another shot.

It made you laugh – the sound of your own humor was already beginning to grate at your ears, loud and off-putting. It said enough — you were tipsy, if not edging past it.

Despite your strengths, of which there were many, you were not good at drinking. A talent that did not seem to improve upon with time, nor did it impress Yelena.

At the sound of your laughter, Yelena turned, and made a face, one that seemed dark and overdramatized in the blue tint of the club. “It wasn’t that funny,” she said, though it was without any surprise. “Bucky wasn’t kidding when he said you were a lightweight.”

You pouted. “I’m not.” The objection was weak, even to you, and an exaggeration, at best, to the other two. “It’s just…” For a few, long seconds, you tried to think up an excuse, but nothing came. Straightening, you sobered your face, and took the shot in front of you. “Forget it.”

“Okay,” Yelena snorted, drawing out the first syllable. “You’re a wonderful liar. Remind us to rely on you next time we’re in a bind.”

The damn alcohol was already infecting your brain, and where you normally could muster up a witty remark, you felt slow, and horribly incompetent. “I’ve helped you out plenty of times,” you said, humming, “like…”

You drummed your fingers against the counter, trying to think of a time where you’d actually needed to lie on a mission. Even before you’d become the New Avengers, your face was too recognizable, too famous, for you to be undercover in any capacity.

“Give her some time. I’m sure she’ll think of something tomorrow,” Ava said, amused. “You two are already giving me a headache. I’m getting another drink.”

“Is that it?” Yelena spared a quick glance at the glass in Ava’s hands, one which was only halfway empty. “Or are you going to go flirt with the bartender?”

That sent you into another fit of giggles, to which Ava glared, her expression souring. “Well, we can’t all be lucky enough to be in happy, loving relationships, now can we?”

This was directed at you, and you only smiled in return, gesturing her away with the back of your palm.

“Good luck!” Yelena called, smiling to herself. “Let us know if you need any help!”

“I’ll manage,” Ava said, mouth in a thin line, before she disappeared into the crowd, a few people out of your line of sight.

“Wonderful. I’m sure we’ll have to break up a fight soon.” Yelena’s face fell into resignation, as she sighed. “As usual. I don’t know why we ever invite Ava, anyway.”

Ava’s attempts at flirting were usually laced with the undertone of sarcasm and cruelty, and though you had learned to see the fondness wrought within her words, it wasn’t something many accepted easily.

Most people – men, in particular – reacted to it with a shade of aggression, one Ava never seemed to like. Nights like this often ended with you and Yelena intervening in tense interactions, gently reminding Ava that she was now a public figure, whether she liked it or not.

“Well, we are your only friends,” you said, softly teasing Yelena as you leaned against her, already starting to become clingy in your intoxicated state.

You weren’t sure why the alcohol brought that out of you – normally, you held everyone at a distance, awkward with physical contact.

Maybe what you really wanted was to be closer to them all, you just let yourself when you were drunk.

“Besides, I think Ava invites herself half of the time. Better than hanging out with John and Alexei.”

Yelena eyebrows raised, like she hadn’t considered the alternative. “You’re right. I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone,” she said, suddenly serious. “Come on, we should go dance.”

You laughed, and stumbled after her, grabbing her wrist, in an attempt not to lose her in the crowd.

The music, paired with the alcohol in your bloodstream, made you feel lighter, like you were walking on a cloud. It infected every ounce of your being, rattling your brain, energizing you in a way so different from the adrenaline you normally felt on missions.

There’d been a point, in recent years, where fun had been a foreign word to you, perhaps, as it had, with Yelena. But, being friends with her, even for a short while, had brightened some part of you that had dimmed.

In other ways, before, you’d been fulfilled; whole, even. You loved Bucky, loved him more than you’d ever thought you’d be capable of loving anyone. You loved your job, most of the time. You loved yourself, on occasion.

That was more than you could’ve asked for, after everything with Thanos had happened.

Yet, you’d lost most of your friends, some of the people you’d called family, and that had left a gaping hole inside of you that you had ignored, for months.

Pepper, who had always been there for you, tried her best. But she was a grieving wife, and a mother to a child who would never see her father again — she couldn’t be what you needed anymore, and you didn’t want to bother her, even if you had lost Tony, too.

So, perhaps it was because Yelena understood, that had caused you to form a fast friendship. She’d lost someone who wasn’t quite her family, but was the only family she’d ever had.

Whether you’d known it or not, you both had needed your friendship more than anything.

For a while, the two of you danced, letting your worries drift away, catch on the wind and leave the club behind.

The air was smoky, the scent stagnant in the air, along with the smell of sweat that continued to accumulate. A song played, then another, and after a few more, you’d begun to feel more sober, no longer as light on your feet as you’d once been.

“I’m going to get another drink!” you yelled to Yelena, over the music, and she gave you a thumbs up, glancing over at you for just a moment. A song she liked was on, and she was in her own world.

You smiled, and pushed your way through people, hoping Yelena wouldn’t drift too far from where she was. It might be impossible to find her later, if she let the crowd carry her deeper into the dancefloor.

As you made your way to the bar, you couldn’t tell if you were stumbling, or if people were just that clumsy, as you knocked into one after the other. A young woman nearly spilled her drink on you, apologizing profusely.

You laughed it off and righted her carefully, before reaching the bar, and ordering the first thing you could think of.

The bartender gave you a look — she recognized you, but couldn’t quite place you. But she didn’t comment on it, instead, turning back around to the bottles.

As you waited, chin tucked into your palm, you felt someone come up beside you, far too close for comfort. The cologne on his collar was heavy, curling around you in a suppressive cloud, nearly making you cough.

You did your best to ignore him, and it worked, for a few moments. Until a hand crept up on your back, gently brushing your shoulder, and you jerked away, shooting your gaze over to the man, a mix of surprise and disgust.

“Woah,” he said, hands held up in surrender, though he looked anything but guilty. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I was trying to get your attention, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

He was older — much older than the majority of people here. His beard was grey, trimmed nicely, but there was something unkempt about him. The clothes he wore were expensive, but they fit poorly, and his watch was far too flashy for the rest of his attire. His smile was bright, teeth all the color of a shiny pearl, but he reeked of sharp whiskey and the overabundance of aftershave.

You held your tongue; as much as you would’ve loved to tell him you’d been ignoring him on purpose, he didn’t seem like the type of person who would take that very kindly. You didn’t feel like getting in a fight, tonight.

“I guess not,” you said, coldly, instead. “Can I help you?”

The bartender came over, placing the drink in front of you, before sliding her eyes between you and the man beside you.

Gently, you smiled, assuring her you had everything under control. She really must not have recognized you, if she thought he would be an actual threat to you.

The man looked at your drink, voice going lower. “I just wanted to talk. Buy you a drink. You looked lonely over here.”

“My friend is waiting for me,” you smiled, tightly, though a hint of poisoned sweetness seeped through. Although Yelena had a tab running, and you weren’t planning on leaving soon, you slid a card out of your wallet, wanting to make a point. “I’ll take care of the drink. Thanks for the offer.”

You turned to the bartender, beginning to hand your card over to her. “You can close out the tab–” you said, but the stranger stopped you, a large, hot hand curling around your wrist tightly.

It burned where he touched you, the grip tight and possessive, even though he had no claim on you. A sour taste swelled up in your mouth, anger flashing hot in your chest.

“Come on, I insist. A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t have to pay for her own drinks.”

Your jaw tightened, and you yanked your hand away, eyes cold. Although you’d been content to play nice, he wasn’t making things easy for you. “I’m not,” you said. “It’s my fiancé’s card.”

While your connection to Tony Stark meant you had, and would always have, more money than probably everyone in the club, you thought pulling the fiancé card might deter the man. Instead, he seemed to enjoy playing the game. His grin widened, like you were merely teasing him.

“Well, don’t you think your fiancé would appreciate having someone else take the bill off his hands?” The man placed his hand on top of your own, trapping the card beneath your palm, where you’d tried to slide it across the countertop.

Exhaling hot air through your nose, you looked up at him, narrowing your eyes.

“Hey, man, she’s not interested–” The bartender began, but quickly, you cut her off, not wanting the man to turn any anger onto an innocent employee, who was only trying to help.

“I really don’t think he’ll mind,” you said, shrugging with indifference. “He used to be in Congress, up until recently. It was a whole mess. Not really his fault.” You stopped yourself before you could go any further, waxing poetry about your beloved. “Anyway. I’m sure he won’t even notice the charges.”

With that, you gave him a satisfied smile, noticing that the comment ruffled his feathers, if only marginally. Men like that always hated when their material possessions did little to impress others.

“Congress, huh?” He tried his best to remain unfazed, indifferent. “What’s his name?”

You brightened.

It was almost too easy, getting him to fall right where you wanted him. You supposed you could’ve gone the easy way, the I’m an Avenger way, the You know Tony Stark? way. But, you loved Bucky Barnes with every ounce of your being, and a part of you was always just waiting for the opportunity to bring him up

“James Barnes – Bucky. Do you know him?”

The man laughed, loud and exaggerated, a gut reaction without any thought. He pressed his hand to his stomach and shook his head, waiting for the punchline. “Hilarious. The Winter Soldier?”

You tilted your head to the side, blinking up at him innocently. “What’s funny about that?”

“Nothing. It’s just… That would mean–” Then, he squinted, regarding you carefully, eyes flitting from your irises to the curl of your lip, from ear to ear, down your body. Within a second, horror began to bloom in his dark eyes, even as he tried his best to subdue it. “Oh. Oh, shit–”

Maybe all those ridiculous superhero movies were right – putting someone in a baseball cap and glasses really could hide you from the world. You’d only done your makeup and hair differently this evening. It was hardly enough to look like a new person, but for some reason, people were finding it difficult to place you without your usual uniform.

“Hey, is everything okay here?” Yelena came up behind you, eyebrows pinched together as she looked between the three of you.

“Oh. Fuck. I’m– Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. Shit.” The man was still rambling like a fool, before he looked at Yelena, then back at you, combing his hand through his hair. His cheeks were flushed, visible even in the dim light of the club. “I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you.”

“Clearly,” you said, frowning as you leaned against the counter. “Lucky for you, I’m not in a bad mood tonight. I’ll let it slide.”

You thought it would be enough to encourage him away, but for a moment longer, he stood where he was, chewing the inside of his cheek.

Yelena, beside you, looked annoyed with the entire ordeal. It wasn’t the first time you’d been forcefully hit on, and it usually went something like this.

“You’re not gonna– you’re not gonna send someone after me, are you?”

You frowned. “Why would I do that? You think I can’t pick my own battles?”

“Oh, here we go,” Yelena said, under her breath.

“No!” He said quickly, his voice growing louder. “I didn’t mean that. I just… You know…” The man stuttered through the words, afraid to say what you knew he was thinking.

You narrowed your eyes. The pull of your powers swirled in your chest as you stared into the frightened gaze of the stranger. Fear curled around him, a chill sliding up his spine as he remained frozen in place, gaze locked onto yours.

“First of all, I would never send someone else to do my dirty work,” you said, pointing a finger square into his chest. “The only person you should be worried about coming after you, is me.”

He nodded, his hands up in surrender, lips sealed together; a promise that he would leave you alone, after all this. It didn’t give you as much satisfaction as you would’ve liked.

Sighing, you deflated, a frown taking over your features. “Secondly,” you said, feeling fiercely protective, “Bucky doesn’t do that. I wouldn’t ask him to do that.”

No matter how many years passed, no matter how many things changed, there would always be people who still hated Bucky for the things he could not control. Maybe he had accepted that, acknowledged that he couldn’t change everyone’s opinion, but you never would.

“I-I know. Of course not. I’m sorry.”

“You are now,” you said, huffing. “Not that it matters.”

The man opened his mouth, jaw going slack as he fumbled for something more to say. But you’d already grown bored of the conversation, and Yelena could tell.

Swiftly, she cut in, patting the man on the shoulder, ushering him away with a few quick, steely words.

Finally, he was gone.

“So dramatic,” Yelena said, rolling her eyes. “Can we be normal anywhere we go? You could’ve just punched him and been done with it.”

Ignoring her, you slid the card back into your wallet, exhaling wearily. “You don’t actually have to close the tab,” you said to the bartender, apologetically. “Sorry for the trouble. I might need something stronger than what I ordered, though.”

The bartender laughed. “Don’t apologize. I’ll get you something else – on the house. Not because you’re an Avenger, by the way, but that is pretty cool that you came here.”

“Thank you.”

You smiled as she turned away, but it was small, sad, as it formed on your lips.

Still being an Avenger, using that title – it’d never felt right, not with half of your original team dead or gone. How many times would you see The Avengers rise and fall? How many people would die, and you’d still be alive?

Yelena called your name, snapping you out of your haze, and you glanced over, right into her knowing eyes. She was like your reflection, sometimes. All the loved ones you’d lost, all the emotions you shared, all right in the glass of her dark eyes, shining back onto you.

You shook your head, putting the smile back onto your face. “I’m okay,” you promised, squeezing her hand. “Come on, let’s dance.”

It was hard to pinpoint the moment you went from being tipsy, to nearly throwing-up on the dance floor.

You’d never been good at drinking in moderation, nor were you good at pacing yourself. You weren’t good at a lot of things which included alcohol, if you were being honest with yourself, and yet, you were too stupid to stay away from the stuff.

Yelena, unlike you, had noticed when a queasy look had begun to form on your face, and had taken you outside before you could spill your dinner down the front of her shirt.

“Alright, we’re done,” she said, pushing you towards the door. “Time to go home.”

“I don’t wanna leave,” you complained, whining softly, but Yelena ignored you, too busy searching for something on her phone. You stumbled along with her outside, unwilling, and yet, complacent, as she sat you down on the curb.

“Stay right there,” she said, a finger outstretched, like she was scolding a child.

You frowned, but couldn’t think of the right words to say, and gave up.

Yelena’s voice was hushed as she spoke into the phone, taking a few steps further down the sidewalk, to peek back inside the club. Aimlessly, you stared across to the other side, where a few people kept to themselves, blowing smoke out their lips. They paid you no attention.

It felt like only moments you’d sat there, when Ava emerged from the doors, and Yelena said. “Finally. Bob’s here.” She shoved her phone back in her pocket, squinting down the street. “That was fast.”

“Too fast,” Ava said, flatly. “I almost would’ve rather you called John. At least he could get us back in one piece.”

“Well, I could’ve called Alexei.” Yelena’s voice grew closer as she bent over, grabbing one of your arms and throwing it over her shoulder. “None of our options are great.”

You’d been zoning in and out, until she lifted you, pulling you to your feet. The conversation, though muddled, slowly but surely reached your ears, as you leaned against Yelena, letting her take most of your weight.

“You could’ve called Bucky,” you said, slurring your words together.

“Hmm,” Yelena said, huffing, as she practically carried you down the street. “He’s not home.”

“Really?” you frowned, blinking heavy eyelids at her. That was news to you. “Where did he go? He didn’t tell me.”

“Emergency,” Ava said, waving it off. “Pointless meeting. Don’t worry about it.”

It didn’t make sense, but nothing really made sense then, with your brain so blissfully empty. You were certain that you’d talked to Bucky just minutes ago, sending him a mess of letters that probably spelled nothing, but neither of them seemed concerned about it, so you decided you wouldn’t be either.

“Okay,” you shrugged, walking alongside the two of them, lazily. “I’m tired. I want to go home.”

“You just said you wanted to stay.”

“I don’t anymore.”

Yelena gave you an appraising look. “Well, trust me. We’re going home.” A pair of headlights blinked. “See, there’s Bob. Let’s go.”

You followed her and Ava, finally pushing off of Yelena to walk on your own, even if it was mostly stumbling. She remained just inches away, in case you tripped over your own feet. Which it took all of fifteen seconds to do.

Another loud laugh escaped you as you grabbed Ava’s wrist, catching your fall. The two of them had both jumped for you, arms outstretched, which was even more ridiculous, considering you had powers.

You didn’t need their help, even if you had almost landed face-first.

“Please don’t crack your head open,” Yelena said, lips pursed. “That would be such a mess.”

“Like Humpty Dumpty,” you said, pointing to your head with a wide, lazy grin.

Yelena just blinked at you, preparing a response, though whatever she was planning on saying fell away, as Bob pulled up to the curb, idling beside the three of you.

“Hi Bob!” you shouted, waving enthusiastically at him, your voice much louder than you’d meant it to be. “Look, it’s Bob, Yelena!”

She shushed you, even though there was no one else on the street, and pushed you forward, towards the car.

“Very observant,” Yelena’s words were full of sarcasm that you missed completely.

Stupidly unaware, you smiled back, proud of yourself.

Bob stuck his head out the window, dark waves of hair falling onto his cheeks. “Hi,” he said, watching as you waved again, with even more enthusiasm. A few, slurred phrases of nonsense left your lips, and Bob’s eyebrows raised, eyes wider. “Oh, wow. How much did you drink?”

“Not as much as you’d think,” Yelena answered for you. “Come on, in you go.”

Ava opened the back door, and the two of them practically pushed you into the car, causing you to land on the seat, flat on your face. It was cold, and the leather was rough against your skin, but you still laughed, rubbing your cheek as you righted yourself.

Another loud sigh came from Ava, as she climbed in next to you.

“You made it look easy,” you said, blinking at her as you slumped down, resting your head on her shoulder. The hint of a soft, sweet perfume still lingered on Ava’s skin, even under all the layers of sweat and grime from the club.

Ava stiffened, but then relaxed, humming to herself. “What, getting in the car?”

You nodded, slowly, your cheek pressed into her shoulder.

“Well, it’s not exactly rocket science.”

Yelena slammed the door behind you, shocking you back to attention. You watched as she made her way around the front of the car, into the passenger seat next to Bob.

“Okay,” Bob said, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. “Does everyone have their seatbelts on?”

“Just drive, Robert,” Ava said, rolling her eyes.

Bob hesitated as he looked at you through the mirror, concern flashing through his eyes. “Are you sure she’s okay? She looks like she might be sick.”

“She’s fine,” Ava snapped, exhaustion becoming evident in her voice. “And if she throws up, it’ll be all over me. Just drive.”

“No need to be so rude. Bob came to pick us up out of the kindness of his heart,” Yelena said, fumbling with the music, intent on picking the perfect song, even for such a short distance.

Outside, New York became a blur as you began to move, and you returned your attention to the front of the car, watching Bob focus on each turn and stoplight.

“That’s so nice, Bob,” you said, each syllable being drawn out carefully, slowly. “You’re such a good friend.”

The words hung in the air. It made you emotional, all of the sudden. A wave of sadness washed over you, dousing you in an ice bath that brought you back to a semblance of sobriety. There was a time, once, when it would have been Tony’s shoulder you rested on, Natasha adjusting the radio, Steve driving you home.

Now, they’re all dead.

An ache, like a blade piercing straight through your chest, carved out that empty, lonely part of your heart. You’d offered it to the other three, not a replacement for your old friends, but something new, something different. A risk, to be so vulnerable, but not one without the greatest reward.

“Oh,” Yelena said, and it was the softness of her voice, her eyes pinned on you with understanding, that made you realize tears were streaming down your cheeks, coating Ava’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re all good friends,” you wailed, rubbing your eyes. “It’s nice… to have friends again.” The words hung there, before you were bursting into tears, profusely scraping at them like a child, apologizing over and over again.

Ava put a soft hand on your forehead, brushing the stray hairs away from your face, sticking to your skin from your tears. As hard as she was on the outside, there was kindness, underneath it all, cased in the armor that had been crafted by a hurt girl who hadn’t had the chance to love.

“You’re a good friend too,” Yelena promised, leaning over the backseat to squeeze your hand. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize.”

She was understanding like that, so caring and warm, even when she thought she wasn’t. It only made you cry more, which made you feel more guilty, and had you curling in on yourself, shrinking away from the others.

Drinking was always fine, until it wasn’t. Bucky would have never swayed you from doing anything you wanted to do, but he had reminded you, gently, that all the emotions you tended to bottle up were released when you mixed them with alcohol.

You probably should’ve listened to him. After all, he knew you better than anyone.

“It’s stupid. I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m sorry. I’m ruining everything.” The optimistic evening had been lit on fire, burning into a pile of ash that wouldn’t die out with your tears, which only kept flowing, even as you tried your best to suppress them.

“It’s okay,” Bob said, looking at you through the rearview mirror. He offered a self-deprecating smile, face wrinkling at the edges. “Remember when I had a bad day and made half of New York disappear? That was ruining the evening.”

Despite yourself, you laughed through your tears, a hiccup erupting from your chest. Ava squeezed your arm, the most affectionate embrace she could offer you.

“But now we’re all–” you choked through your own tears, “friends.”

“Exactly.”

You thought there was a message in there, somewhere, hidden beneath the letters strung together to make the word. But exhaustion was wearing on you, and your sadness had drained you, leaving you a mopey mess to seek comfort in Ava’s subtle embrace.

“Hey, Bob?”

“Hmm?”

“Where’s Bucky? Ava said he had a–” you pinched your face together, trying to remember what she had said. Something… about a, “meeting. When will he be home?”

“What? Bucky’s not–” Bob began, confused, before Yelena slapped him on the bicep, effectively shutting him up. They shared a glance, one you didn’t understand, before he exhaled, and continued. “Oh. A meeting. Right. I’m sure he’ll be back. It’s late now, anyway.”

“Okay,” you said, satisfied. At some point, you’d stopped crying. What a relief. “I miss him.”

“You saw him, like, three hours ago.” Yelena wore a barely-contained grin.

“Well. It feels like a long time,” you frowned, dramatically, your lips pulling down in a curve. “Maybe I can call him. Do you think he’ll answer?” You started to pull out your phone, though it was caught, somewhere in between you and Ava, wedged far enough into the seat that you quickly gave up. “I can’t reach my phone.”

“We’ll get it when we get out,” Ava promised.

“But I want to call Bucky,” you said, trying again for your phone. “Tell him I love him.”

“I think he knows, darling.”

“What if he doesn’t? What if he thinks I went to the bar to find someone else.” A burst of panic sprouted in your chest, matched with an endless sadness that alcohol seemed to free in you. “What if he hates me?” you said, squeezing Ava’s arm, nails forming small, crescent indents. “What if–”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Bucky would rather die than leave you. You don’t need to worry about that,” Ava grabbed your hand, the one digging between the seats, almost stuck, as you searched for your phone. “Just – close your eyes.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. I’m always right.”

For a moment, you considered arguing more, but she was so stern in her words that the fight died out of you quickly. “Okay, fine. I believe you.”

You weren’t sure when Ava, of all people, had gotten so soft, but she seemed to have something in her heart that had latched onto you, in the way Yelena had with Bob.

“You know, I love all of you too,” you mumbled, quietly. For not sharing an ounce of blood with Tony, you sure shared the Stark gene of being unable to effectively shut up. “You’re like my family, now. My best friends.”

None of them replied, but you could feel the heavy blanket of emotion that settled over the car, a gift that came with the knowledge that they were loved.

You did, in fact, fall asleep on the ride back to the tower, and when you awoke, you were groggy and disoriented, all of the past few minutes a blur. All you wanted was your bed, yet it felt so far and out of reach.

“Alright. Here we go,” Yelena groaned, yanking you out of the car with all her strength.

Bob helped her haul you up, the three of them lugging you into the tower.

“Maybe you should stop her earlier, next time,” Bob mumbled, as your head lolled against his bicep, feet clumsily going in a jagged line.

A small crowd of guards watched the four of you, but didn’t move a muscle as Yelena glared daggers at them, daring them to comment on your drunken state.

Finally, the elevator stopped at your level, and you climbed into it, taking the ride to the top floor.

Within seconds, the elevator dinged, and you were graced with a view of Manhattan glittering beneath you. You stumbled out, doing your best to hold up your own weight. With the three of them hovering around you, though, it was hard to move at all.

It was still bright on the floor, but the lights had been dimmed, leaving an atmospheric glow to the room. John was sitting in front of the television, the images casting shadows on his face when he paused it, causing the room to go quiet.

Amused, he watched the three of you return home in a miserable state. “Jesus,” John said, laughing loudly as he leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. “Did you drink the whole bar? You look like shit.”

Of course, the shit in question was you, but you were too dazed to realize who he was talking to.

“Shut up, Walker,” Ava scowled. “You can thank Yelena for that.”

That, for some reason, resonated in your brain. You looked up, smiling, before saying in a quick, clipped succession, “Thanks, Yelena.” Another fit of laughter erupted from your chest.

John’s eyebrows lifted. “That was rhetorical, genius.”

“Rhetorical…” you frowned, trying to sound out the syllables. “That’s a long word.”

“Is it? I never noticed.”

“Fuck off, Walker. If you’re not going to be useful, I’ll start a fire under your ass to make you evacuate the room.” Ava guided you to the couch, pushing you down into the cushion, right as John stood, regarding you with a thinly veiled uncertainty.

“Always resorting to violence.” John tucked his phone into his pocket, watching you move to lay down on the cushions, still warm from where he’d been sitting. “I’ll go get the lover boy. Surprised he wasn’t waiting by the door.”

You perked up. “Bucky’s here?”

John snorted. “Yeah, he’s been here all night.” He ignored Ava and Yelena’s gestures at him to stop. “They didn’t call him because they didn’t want to get in a crash – which would happen because you try to make out with him, in front of us, every time you’re drunk.”

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

You frowned, but you were too relieved at the prospect of your fiancé being home that you forgot to be mad at your friends for lying. “Hm. I’ll go with you.”

As you started to stand, the blood rushed to your head, and you took one step forward, knocking into the coffee table, before you nearly fell onto it, catching yourself.

“I think you should stay right there,” John said, amused, as a small smirk pulled at his lips.

“But–” you knocked something off the table, then something else, glass shattering by your feet. “Oh no. I’m sorry,” your frown deepened, the frustrated tears rising to the surface again. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t move,” Bob screeched, grabbing your wrist before you could reach for the glass. “It’s okay. It’s just water. Not a big deal.”

“I’m sorry, Bob,” you frowned. “I’m–”

“It’s okay,” he promised again, trying to force you back onto the couch. “We’ll clean it up.” Bob turned to the other three, his smile helpless. “Can one of you just go get–”

The elevator dinged again.

“Hey, Walker, have you heard from–” Bucky stepped off the elevator, dressed in casual clothes, a pair of dark sweatpants and a regular t-shirt. He was freshly washed from a shower, wet strands pushed out of his face, falling around his jaw. There were a few damp spots around the neck of his shirt, droplets dripping from his hair. “Oh.”

He looked at the floor, the mess of water and glass, then back up to your tear-streaked face, hazy eyes.

“Jesus. Yelena, I told you.”

“Hey, it isn’t my fault!” Yelena said, defensively, hands raised. “She bought her own drinks.”

“I’m sorry,” your lip stuck out, eyes blinking back the tears. “It was an accident. Are you mad?”

“What?” Bucky stared back, confused, before he realized you were talking about the glass – or maybe the state of your intoxication, and shook his head quickly, beside you in a second. “No, of course not, baby. It’s fine. Just a glass. Are you okay?”

You nodded, slowly, as he came around the side of the couch, guiding you away from the mess of glass and into his arm. The scent of his body wash, still lingering from the recent shower, relaxed you immediately, evaporating your tears as you fell against him.

“I’m okay. Tired,” you mumbled into his chest. “Love you. Did you know that?” You tilted your head, making to kiss him, but you missed his lips completely, landing somewhere between his cheek and his chin. “I wanted to tell you on the phone, but Ava said that was stupid, because you already know.”

Bucky laughed, his eyes so soft as he smiled at you. How lucky you were, to still have the brilliant smile that took over his face, even after everything he’d suffered through.

He took your head in his hands, thumbs gently caressing your cheekbones. One warm against your skin, the other, cool metal. “I do know. Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna hear it again.”

“Okay. I love you,” you drawled out, extenuating the letters, satisfied by his reaction.

You stood tall to kiss him again, but that time, he dodged it on purpose, kissing your forehead instead as he pulled you back into him.

“Gross,” Yelena said behind you, but you could hear the affection in her voice, happy to see the two of you so in love.

Bucky laughed again, a small one this time, as he took your hand and kissed it. “Come on, pretty. You can barely stand up.”

“I’m fine,” you slurred, but you let him lift you anyway, one arm under your knees, the other against your back. “I can walk.”

“I’m sure you can,” he agreed, but made no move to put you down.

Bucky kissed the top of your head again, unable to keep his lips from pecking you gently, with a warmth that spread across your body. He said a few more words to Yelena, something about cleaning up the glass, but she promised she didn’t mind, and sent the two of you away, back down to the floor you shared.

Technically, Bucky had his own floor – a product of Valentina’s ridiculous idea to discourage the two of you from acting like a normal couple.

The Watchtower might have been your workplace, but it was also your home. It had been before, when it was Stark Tower, Avengers Tower, and now it was again, after it’d been renamed and renamed.

Despite the challenges that never stopped coming, you weren’t going to keep yourself away from the man you’d loved for years, just because Valentina thought it would cause problems.

“Maybe I should buy the tower back,” you said, not to anyone in particular. “Tony would want that.”

“Do you want that?” Bucky seemed unsurprised by the question. You’d mentioned it in passing, a few times, when Valentina had tried to enforce rules you didn’t approve of, paired with frustrated remarks of, “How could Tony sell it to her?”

You’d already made a few deals with Valentina, all but forcing her to let you take over renovations, return some of the suites to exactly how they’d been before. You couldn’t bring Tony back, but you wouldn’t forget about him, any of them, just because it hurt.

“Yeah. I think so.”

At first, you’d wanted to stay far from the tower and the memories that haunted these walls, darkened by the lives that had been lost. Now, though, there were new ones, and it didn’t seem so scary to live in a place that had always, really, belonged to you.

Bucky hummed, thoughtful. “How about we talk about it when you’re sober?”

“Okay.” You made a face, uncertain if he was just humoring you. “I’m not kidding. I’m being serious.”

He smiled. “Oh, I know. I’m not going to try and talk you out of it.”

You searched his face for any hint of a lie, and when you found none, you relaxed back against him, satisfied. A peaceful calm began to wash over you, and you closed your eyes, the edges of rest reaching for you.

“Anyone hit on you at the bar?” Bucky asked, an effort to keep you from falling asleep in his arms.

You opened your eyes, processing the question, before thinking hard on your answer. It had just been a couple hours ago, but it felt like a long time. “Just one person. An old man–”

“Hmm. Older than me?”

You laughed again, girlishly, as your grip around his neck tightened. “No one’s older than you.” A kiss landed on his cheek – somehow, some of your lipstick still remained, and it smeared on his skin. “I told him I was getting married. He didn’t care.” You yawned. “I scared him away, though.”

“I can imagine.” You’d never been good at accepting criticism of your relationship, or your lover, from anyone. Bucky had never thought he was worth all the trouble, but time was beginning to convince him otherwise. “You sure you still wanna marry me? I’m sure he’d forgive you if you called him, let him know you dumped your boyfriend.”

“You’re not funny, Bucky.”

“No? I think I’m a little funny.”

You hadn’t noticed that you’d gotten into your apartment until Bucky was sitting you down on the sink, kissing your forehead one more time. “I’ll be right back. Stay there, okay?”

“Why?” You said, stumbling after him, rubbing your eyes. “I’m tired.”

“Because you’re going to kill me tomorrow if I let you pass out like this.” Bucky lifted you back onto the counter, pushing you forward until you rested against the mirror. His eyes narrowed, serious. “Will you please listen? I’ll be right back.”

You glared at him, but felt too lazy to move, letting your head drop against the mirror. “Fine,” you relented, without much of a fight at all. Then, feeling stupidly childish, you stuck your tongue out at him.

Bucky rolled his eyes, before turning back around, leaving you.

Exhausted, your eyes closed once you rested against the mirror. For a moment, you waited, attention fading in and out, before the room started to feel a little tilted, and your stomach lurched.

You stumbled off the sink, suddenly feeling awful, before you covered your mouth quickly and took the two, quick steps to the toilet. It was only a moment before you were spilling the contents of your stomach, all the alcohol you’d drank, out into the toilet, head bent over your forearm as you heaved.

A hand roamed over your back, pulling your hair away from your face as you waited a few more seconds, before you vomited again, tears pricking at your eyes from the taste.

“Sorry,” you said, perhaps for the last time, the word tasting familiar on your tongue. “This is gross.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen a lot of gross things — this is nothing. I’m impressed you made it to the toilet,” Bucky’s expression was completely neutral, unfazed, when you tilted your head to look at him. “Feel better?”

You nodded, a small movement, with wide, sparkling eyes, despite the disgust lingering from your actions. Every day, you thought it was impossible to love him any more, and yet, here you were, falling for him all over again.

Bucky took a few squares of toilet paper, wiping your mouth before he flushed the toilet. When he stood, your head fell onto his thigh, the muscle hard against your cheek.

“Come on,” he said, dragging you to your feet. “Back to the sink.”

This time, you let him pull you along wherever, his hands gentle against your hips, as he settled you back down on the countertop. The granite was cool against your skin, a nice feeling after the hot flash that had come from spilling your insides.

You slumped down, running on fumes of energy as you watched Bucky squeeze toothpaste onto a toothbrush, before attempting to poke it between your lips.

Your eyes widened, and you swatted him away, groaning, even as he insisted. “I don’t want to,” you said, falling forward, in an attempt to sneak past him.

But Bucky was stronger than you, and you were barely able to hold yourself up. He blocked your movements easily, releasing a heavy sigh. “Would you just let me help you?”

“I’m not a baby,” you started to say, but the minute you’d opened your mouth, he’d stuck the bristles against your teeth, scrubbing quickly, worried you might reject the movements altogether.

“I know you’re not, but you’ll feel better in the morning,” he promised, focusing on his task as he placed a thumb on your chin, gently forcing your mouth open a little wider. Reluctant, you let him, and he smiled, caressing your jaw affectionately. “Thank you.”

You endured the toothbrush in your mouth for a solid thirty seconds, before you finally swatted him away, spitting in the sink next to you. Amused, Bucky handed you a glass of water, which you also fought, but managed to swallow down a few sips.

“You were supposed to–” He stopped himself, giving up. “You know what, never mind. Drink the rest of it.”

Bucky rinsed off the toothbrush and the sink, before reaching over to a drawer and pulling a singular wipe from a violet-covered package. He dragged it against your skin, careful not to scrub too hard, but made sure he got as much makeup off as possible.

“Are you done now?” you asked, blinking at him, feeling dizzy and off-kilter.

Your fiancé threw the cloth away, assessing your appearance before he yielded to your requests. “Alright. Come on.”

Finally, you thought, as you hopped off the counter, practically falling into him as you staggered on your feet.

Bucky let you rest against him as he slid a cool, metal hand down your back, unzipping your dress. It fell around your ankles in a pool of dark, burgundy tones, one he helped you step right out of. With a look of endless adoration, he pressed his lips to your shoulder, dipping around your collarbone, before slipping a soft, black t-shirt over your head, one that was warm and smelled like him.

“There,” Bucky said, kissing you, for the first time all evening, on the mouth. “All done.”

You chased after his lips, but he didn’t indulge you as he dragged you to the bedroom, making a comment about how you were far too gone to do anything more than sleep. The sheets had already been pulled down, the pillows organized exactly how you wanted them.

Without another thought, you fell on the mattress, eyes closing as soon as your head hit the pillow.

The bed dipped beside you. Bucky slipped off both your heels, his lips lingering around your ankle. “My gorgeous girl,” he said against your leg, the words tickling your skin.

You hummed softly to yourself, feeling like you were floating on a cloud as he squeezed your calf, before retreating back into the bathroom.

Bucky was only gone for a few minutes, organizing the mess you’d left behind, before the lights went out, and he was back in the bed beside you, pulling you into his chest. You went easily, tucking your head under his chin, one arm draped across his stomach.

Although sleep called for you, you were kept awake by a lingering regret that you’d spoiled the evening by being such a mess. You tilted your head, propping your chin up on his chest, before whispering his name in the darkened room.

Bucky made a small sound, barely an acknowledgement. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry.”

This time, he cracked open his eyes, sharply blue in the moonlight, before sighing. “What can you possibly be sorry about now?”

“I feel bad.” It was difficult to form the right words for the horrible ache that struck your chest at that moment.

Bucky shifted, a warm palm resting on your cheek as he turned his head to face you. The tip of your nose brushed his own. “Why?”

“I’m… stupid.”

His eyebrows raised, and then he laughed, hot breath ghosting the bridge of your nose. “Well you’re not stupid, you’re just drunk, and no one gives a shit about that. Pretty sure they all just think it’s funny.”

Somehow, that calmed you. It must have been exactly what you needed to hear, the words soothing over that anxious knot in your mind. “And you?”

Bucky’s face softened, knowingly, like this wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation. “Yeah, it’s funny, but I also think it’s nice that you trust me so much – and them.” He squeezed your hand that was lodged between the two of you. “Besides, we’ve been through a lot worse than this, and I still asked you to marry me, didn’t I?”

“I guess,” you said, mumbling, but you were running out of arguments that he couldn’t refute.

Your stomach was beginning to ache, a weird feeling in your gut, paired with a growing headache that was a mixture of exhaustion and the effects of intoxication. A few more incoherent words left your lips, and Bucky listened for a while longer, blinking back in exhausted confusion, before he finally pressed one last kiss between your brows.

“Go to sleep, baby,” he said, closing his eyes wearily. “You can tell me in the morning.”

Despite another anecdote on your tongue, you gave into the wave of exhaustion that rolled over you, your mind finally beginning to still. You let the heavy wave of rest curl around you, a blissful comfort, before, at last, you were asleep.

thank you so much for reading! please consider leaving a or reblog if you enjoyed it ❤︎ feedback is greatly appreciated!!!

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bonesvoid · 5 months ago

Text

Risky Business

word count: 5.5k

contains: modern/college au, no preestablished romantic relationships (viktor and reader are besties that torment jayce /hj), frat bro/lacrosse player!jayce, honors student!viktor, art kid!reader, switch!jayce, dom!viktor, switch!reader, bottom!jayce, top!viktor, alcohol, weed, drug use, stoner!viktor & stoner!reader, oral sex (blowjob & pussy eat), anal sex, cock milking, safe sex & proper use of lube!!! (wrap it before you tap it & never do anal without lube), doggy style, too many mentions of prostate/cock/dick/pussy/cunt, praise kink, corruption kink, virgin!jayce, teasing, praise, pet names (golden boy/darling/sweetheart/baby), vaginal sex, somewhat animalistic/rough sex, we swallow not spit, cervix bruising, multiple orgasms, jayce aims to please, jayce’s cock is too powerful, lightweight!jayce (bro can't handle the weed), viktor and reader are menaces, one off mention of public sex, humiliation if you squint

summary: jayce embarks on a spiritual journey of sex, drugs, and rock n' roll with the help of his two hottest classmates at his fraternity's risky business themed party.

a/n: shoutout to this fic's beta reader @zevrra <3 they're awesome and write amazing arcane content!

Stale booze, pungent smoke from loosely rolled joints, and people making out in every room of the house are the trifecta of a typical frat house party. Yet, things have been turned up to a hundred and fifty for Greek Week’s Battle of the Greeks, each frat and sorority house on the Row competing to be the Greek Life chapter. For Piltover University’s Sigma Phi Delta, Greek Week means maintaining their incumbent title.

Jayce, the newest recruit and brother, has the most unfortunate task for the party: keeping drunken idiots from destroying every inch of the frat house. Not that he minds, of course! Despite his charming looks and demeanor, Jayce Talis despises parties. Sure, a party of twenty people or less is fine, but a party at this level of insanity? Pure nightmare fuel.

To make matters worse for poor Jayce, someone from Sigma Phi Delta (he has his suspicion of who was responsible, a certain snobby blonde named Allira Salo) had suggested Risky Business as the theme for this year’s Battle of the Greeks. Now, here’s Jayce, standing by the drinks table in nothing but grey boxers, crew socks, and the longest button down he could find. D.M.S.R. by Prince plays over the speakers, a staple from the movie and the perfect party song.

Jayce nurses a Red Solo cup of cheap liquor in his hands, but he hadn’t taken a single sip. Whenever a frat brother or chatty drunk girl would come up to him, Jayce would feign drinking and laugh like a gleeful drunkard, playing along in the hopes they would skitter away to their next victim.

“Not much of a drinker, huh?” someone shouts to him over the loud beat of the funk track. Jayce looks down–he has to look down at everyone on the campus–and sees you, a classmate from his ART 106 class, Drawing for Non-Majors. Everyone pursuing a degree at Piltover University is required to take a “Creativity and Creative Development” class as part of their core curriculum. Drawing for Non-Majors happens to be the only art Jayce believes he could net an easy ‘A’ in.

“How could you tell?” he yells back, as the music switches to The Dream is Always the Same, a somewhat psychedelic song. You tease the rim of your cup, bubbling lemon-lime soda inside, “You’re the least giddy frat boy at the party.”

Jayce eyes the way you guide your manicured finger around the cup and has to tear away his gaze to answer, “Yeah, makes sense. I got tasked with ‘drunk dumbass’ duty, so it’s better to be sober if some ass tries to pick a fight and break something.”

You give a nod and hold up your cup to Jayce, “Care for some Sprite then?”

Jayce’s eyes widen at your offer, “But you,” he blinks his surprise away, “That’s your drink.”

“Sharing is caring,” you chuckle.

Jayce grabs the cup from you and examines it; never has he taken an already consumed drink from someone else, nonetheless from a cute girl like you. It’s like an indirect kiss! Oh, Jayce Talis–the cheesy romantic–is not one to kiss and tell, but he could count on one hand how many people he has kissed. Now or never. Jayce takes a timid sip from the cup and relishes in the refreshing taste, “Oh God, I needed that.”

“Good!” you take the cup back and down the rest of it. Now, this is an indirect kiss! Jayce’s tanned cheeks warm up at the realization and he fans himself with his free hand. Seeing his overheated face, you tilt your head and ask, “Too hot? Wanna come with me to a cooler spot?”

“Oh! Uh,” the frat boy runs through the possible outcomes if he does or doesn’t follow you. What if a fight happens while he’s occupied? What if you think he’s a bummer for not joining you? What if– “You don’t have to,” you add on and shrug, “If you don’t wanna.”

“No!” he exclaims, a bit too loud. Jayce quickly masks his enthusiasm with a fake cough, “Lead the way,” he flashes you his ‘Golden Boy’ smile. Please don’t think I’m an inexperienced loser.

“Cool,” you toss your cup in the nearby trash can and grab Jayce by the wrist, barely able to wrap your whole hand around it. Through the mobs of partying sorority girls, people cheering on a frat brother’s keg stand, and folks getting way too into dancing, you lead Jayce outside to the back of the frat house. A few party attendees are lounging about in the backyard, some of which are couples making out or people exchanging joints.

“Viktor!” you call out. Sitting around some abandoned lawn chairs, a thin man with shaggy shoulder-length hair and a flannel perks up. He waves the two of you over and you each find a chair to occupy. Jayce examines the stickers on Viktor’s cane.

“Hey,” Viktor greets you both, his accent rich and thick.

“H- Hey,” Jayce attempts to be nonchalant, but fails miserably when his baritone voice cracks into soprano range. He recognizes Viktor from many of his engineering classes, but he never had the opportunity to chat one on one with him. Yet, judging by the hordes of engineering students seeking the cane user out for tutoring, Jayce doesn’t want to come off as needing such assistance–well, some assistance would be appreciated–or that he would use Viktor for it.

“Cute,” Viktor lets out a deep chuckle, honey amber eyes glowing almost eerily under the full moon’s light, “The Golden Boy’s a bit shy, huh?”

“Oh, for sure,” you snort. Jayce pouts and averts his eyes from the two of you, only to have you tilt his chin back up with the tip of your finger, “We only tease in good faith,” you coo, “I take it that you know Jayce, Vik?”

“Everyone does,” he answers. Jayce pouts again and Viktor stifles back a laugh, “Also he’s my classmate in about half of my classes,” the pretty haired–Pretty haired?! Jayce, get it together!–boy leans closer and Jayce can smell the familiar stink of weed on his flannel, “I thoroughly enjoyed seeing your Rube Goldberg machine unfold during our class with Professor Hemingdinger.”

“Haha, yeah, that machine,” the engineering student cringes. You raise your eyebrows at the exchange, “Oh no, what happened?”

“The concept was ingenious, I must say,” states Viktor, “A creative way to dispense a cup of coffee for our dear professor,” Jayce buries his face into his sleeves of his varsity jacket, as Viktor continues, “However, Jayce miscalculated the placement of the coffee pot.”

“Don’t tell me,” your cheeks puff up to hold back your laughter.

“Cue our poor professor drenched in coffee!” the cane user laughs. You break and join in, boisterous laughter ringing through Jayce’s ears. The frat boy peers up at the exchange and comments, “At- At least, it was lukewarm coffee…”

“Thank God,” you calm down from your laughing fit, “If it was any warmer, I’m afraid that you would have been sued,” Viktor nods along in agreement. Jayce runs his large, veiny hands through his clean-cut hair, “Okay, okay. Enough is enough.”

“Sorry,” you throw an arm around Jayce’s shoulders and pull him close, the scent of your strawberry perfume strong and intoxicating to the frat boy, “We can make it up to you, if you want.”

“How so?” he inquires.

You give Viktor a wink and he returns it with a thumbs up. Viktor snatches his worn out satchel from the leaf-covered ground and rummages through its content. It takes a moment or two before Viktor procures the object of desire, a baggie of green flowery clumps.

“Please tell me that’s oregano,” Jayce pleads.

“Nope,” the cane user confirms, “One hundred percent pure marijuana.”

“Don’t worry! Vik has a med card, so it’s like… totally legal,” you reassure Jayce with a pat on the cheek. Jayce bites his tongue to prevent himself from saying something utterly stupid, “Are you sure it’s okay? We won’t get in trouble?” Okay, nevermind, he does say something utterly stupid.

“As long as you’re not a narc,” replies Viktor. He sets the baggie down and pulls a few more items from his satchel: rolling paper, filter paper, and a grinder, “Watch the master at work,”

Viktor grinds up a clump of flower; once properly grounded up to his liking, he places the filter paper on one end of the rolling paper, followed by the flower. He rolls it up flawlessly and seals it, producing a perfectly made joint, before making two more joints.

“Here,” he holds out a joint to Jayce. With shaky hands, Jayce accepts the joint with visible hesitation, almost dropping in the process. You squeeze his shoulder and murmur, “Don’t worry, the first time can be scary, but we can help you.”

“How?” questions Jayce. A sparkle of mischief flickers in your eyes, “Lemme show you,” you hop off your lawn chair and approach Viktor. You plop down on his lap and throw your legs over the arm of the chair, twirling a strand of Viktor’s tousled locks, “Light me up, baby.”

Viktor pulls out a silver lighter from his jeans pocket and you place the joint between your lips, letting it dangle. Jayce watches with bated breath, as Viktor flicks the lighter open and holds the flame by your joint. Once lit, you take a drag of it and inhale some of the smoke. You pull the joint out, cheeks puffed out with smoke, and beckon Viktor to come closer. Leaning in, you press your lips against Viktor’s and exhale, allowing the thinner man to consume the rest of the smoke, as the two of you kiss.

Jayce gawks at the sight of you making out, the way you tug at Viktor’s hair and the way he grips at your sides stirs something inside the frat boy, “And that’s called shotgunning!” you finish the kiss up and inform Jayce, “Just make sure you part your lips before I shotgun you, or else we’ll waste some good smoke,” you offer him a lopsided smile, “Wanna give it a try?”

“Sure,” he nods. You move from Viktor’s lap and onto Jayce’s, the joint still lit in your hand. Jayce swallows any fear away, as you lay the joint between your lips and breathe in the smoke, the lit end lighting up with the inhalation. You pass the joint over to Viktor for him to hold and he steals a few hits, as you moved closer and closer and–

Jayce’s lips connect with yours and he parts them just enough for you to push smoke into his mouth. It travels down his throat and into his lungs, burning and irritating. Jayce breaks away from the kiss to cough, spluttering out hot smoke. You rub his back while he hacks up a lung, “Yikes, yeah, that happens a lot to beginners.”

“Have some water,” Viktor passes off his water bottle and Jayce snatches it, drinking up all the liquid like a dehydrated man crawling through the Sahara Desert. He coughs a bit more up and finally settles down, “When does this-” he cuts himself off, as a fuzzy feeling suddenly clouds his mind. Jayce closes his eyes, then opens them, and then closes them again, “Wow,” he giggles, “Feels nice…”

“Please tell me that he didn’t just get high off one hit,” begs Viktor.

“I think he got high off one hit,” you answer. You prepare yourself to disembark from Jayce’s lap, but stop yourself, “Jayce,” he looks at you with wide eyes, “Yeah?”

“Why are you hard?” you question him.

Jayce’s eyeballs nearly popped out of their sockets at your inquiry. He jerks his head down and sees his predicament, a noticeable tent in his boxers. His face turns a deep shade or crimson red, “N- No, fuck, I’m so so so sorry- I don’t know why-”

You place a finger against his lips to shush, “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll take care of you,” you whisper into his ear and stroke his cheek with your thumb, “I know for a fact that you find me and Viktor very attractive, mhm? I saw the way you looked at us while we kissed.”

“And so what if I do?” the frat boy retorts, puffing out his chest in an effort to appear manly and confident. Yet, his resolve crumbles the moment you press your chest up against his torso, the fabric of your shirts being the only barrier, “We find you very attractive, too.”

Between the haze dulling his brain and the lustful stares of two stunning individuals on him, Jayce Talis caves in and whimpers to you, “Please, take care of me.”

“Good boy,” you peck him on the lips, “Show us the way to your room.”

Like an obedient pup, Jayce rapidly nods and helps you off his lap. Viktor nearly chokes on his joint when he sees Jayce’s boner, “What the fuck, you’re huge,” and earns a slap to the back of the head from you, “Don’t announce it!” you hiss to him, “He’s ours.”

Those two or so words send shivers down Jayce’s spine. He’s ours. All Jayce ends is to be wanted; his efforts on the lacrosse team, his performance in class, everything he does is motivated by his need to be praised. He squeezes himself between you and Viktor in a line as a makeshift hiding spot for his boner and guides the two of you back inside the frat house. You three weave and dodge various obstacles, such as neglected soda cans and a sorority girl threatening to puke on you. Upstairs, a few people are scattered about the hallway, but none pay any mind to you all. You make your way to Jayce’s room and he opens the door, allowing you and Viktor to enter.

Jayce’s room is somewhat stereotypical of an athletic frat boy with messy bedsheets and posters of famous athletes on his wall. However, he has a few so-called nerdy things in his room, including a mechanical model of the Solar System and a Lego-built U.S.S Enterprise from Star Trek. You make yourself comfortable on Jayce’s bed while Viktor borrows the desk chair and Jayce sits on the floor.

“Sooooooo…” the lacrosse player twiddles his thumbs, “How do we fix this?”

“What do you mean?” Viktor scoffs, “Haven’t you gotten a blowjob or a handjob before?”

Jayce’s silence speaks volumes and you connect the dots, “Oh. My. God. Jayce fucking Talis is a virgin.”

“No! I’m- well-” the virginal accused racks his brain to deny the allegations, “It’s- Ugh, okay, it’s true,” he confirms to you and Viktor, “It’s not that I have a vow of celibacy or anything, just that I wanted to save it for someone special.”

“It’s kinda cute,” you giggle softly while Viktor jokes, “And they say chivalry is dead. Good on you for defying frat bro stereotypes.”

“Are you gonna tease me all night or is one of you gonna choke on my fucking cock already?” Jayce’s filter went offline, the effects of weed taking more of an effect.

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” answers Viktor. You blow him a ‘good luck’ kiss and get cozy for the show. Viktor rises from the chair and leads Jayce to the bed; he sits down next to you, now face level to Jayce’s pelvis, “Drop those boxers, Golden Boy.”

Jayce tugs down his boxers and haphazardly shakes them off his legs. Now free from its confinement, his cock bounces freely, on display for you and Viktor to admire. Viktor sizes up Jayce’s dick—as thick as his wrist and as long as one and a half pencils stacked—and mumble to himself, “Damn, this is a virgin killer.”

“Impressed?” Jayce strikes the Superman pose and smiles. Viktor wraps a hand around his cock and gives it a light tug, watching as Jayce’s cockiness vanishes in an instant, “Yeah. It’s pretty impressive,” Viktor lines his lips up to the top of Jayce’s dick and opens his mouth, carefully sliding him inside. A soft moan tumbles Jayce’s lips from the sensation, as Viktor’s hot and wet mouth costs his cock. Inch by inch, Viktor takes more and more of Jayce’s length until he gets all but an inch in, a small bulge pointing from under his Adam’s Apple. Testing the waters, Viktor goes agonizingly slow with the blowjob, taking his sweet time to pull back until only the tip is inside.

“Please go faster,” Jayce whines. Viktor lets out a muffled chuckle, the vibration ever so pleasant against Jayce’s shaft, and picks up the pace. He bobs his head up and down the length of Jayce’s cock, occasionally running his tongue down the prominent vein underneath and twirling it around the mushroom tip. Combined with the weed, Jayce is experiencing pure bliss, as he jerks his hips forward and shoves his dick deeper down Viktor’s throat. The smaller man gags at the sudden change, but quickly recovers, letting Jayce fuck his throat. Jayce thrusts his pelvis forward and slams his cock deep inside Viktor, gripping the receiver’s shoulders for extra support. Spit leaks from Viktor’s mouth, his hooked nose smacking into Jayce’s well-trimmed pubes, as Jayce assaults his throat with his fat cock.

“Oh, shit!” the lacrosse player grunts, “I think I’m gonna-” he doesn’t have time to warn Viktor before climaxing, shooting sticky hot cum down the other man’s throat. Once positive that Jayce had finished orgasming, Viktor unhinges himself from the taller man’s cock and coughs up some cum. He swipes it off his lips and licks it off his fingers, “Salty.”

“Did you swallow all of that?” you ask, eyes as big as saucers, “He came for- like- two whole minutes.”

“Spitters are quitters,” he jests in retort. You playfully smack his arm and turn your attention to Jayce, “How are you feeling?”

“Amazing,” he pants, face flustered, “Just one issue, though.”

“What’s up?” you furrow your eyebrows.

“I’m still hard,” the frat bro points downward, his cock still hard as a rock. Viktor looks over at you and rasps, “Tapping you in.”

“More than happy to have my turn, take five to recover,” you tell Viktor. He leaves the bed and returns to the desk chair, massaging his throat. You focus in on Jayce and pull him onto the bed, “Ready to try some pussy?” you coo.

Eager, Jayce nods in response, his mouth salivating at the thought of eating you out. You obligate his desires and strip yourself of your jeans, leaving only your cherry red undies left, “Take them off and have a look.”

Jayce follows your command without question, pulling your panties down your thighs and off your legs. You spread your legs open and Jayce bears witness to his first ever not porn-related pussy. Some wetness spills from your slit and onto the bed, you’re simply drenched. He hooks his hands around your legs and pulls you closer to his face, inhaling the smell of your divine cunt. The scent alone sends Jayce into a needy state, rutting his weeping cock against the mattress for some form of relief. Yet, he wants—no, needs—to focus on the task at hand, pleasing you.

“Give it a try, I’ll guide you,” you inform Jayce. With a timid nod, the frat bro dives right in and licks a long stripe from the bottom of your entrance to the top of your clit. You shudder and curl your toes, as Jayce experiments with a variety of methods. He sucks on your clit, first gentle then hard, altering to see which one you like more. It seems that you prefer hard, taking sharp breaths whenever he sucks like so. Above, you rip off your T-shirt and bra, freeing your breasts. You gesture for Viktor to come over and he does, finding a suitable position before latching onto one of your tits. Sweet mewls escape your lips while your boys have their way with you, Jayce now confident enough to devour your cunt like an animal and Viktor groping at your unoccupied tit while he suckles the other.

“Fuck!” you croak out a shaky moan, as the knot in your stomach snaps, releasing a wet wave onto Jayce’s mouth and face. He happily laps up your juices, consuming every ounce he possibly could. You give yourself a minute to recover, Viktor laying beside you and tracing miscellaneous shapes on your skin while Jayce rests his head on your thighs.

“Good job, boys,” you announce. You give each man a tender kiss on the lips as a reward, “You two should make out with each other.”

“Okay!” Jayce cheerily complies while Viktor merely shrugs. Viktor takes your spot on the bed and lays down fully. Jayce hovers over him, one leg on each side of Viktor’s petite waist. Only once did Jayce Talis ever kissed a boy and that had happened in middle school, but kissing boys is just like kissing girls… completely nerve-racking!

“Just kiss me already,” huffs Viktor, yanking Jayce by the collar and slamming his lips against his. Jayce lets out a surprised yelp, but adjusts. Viktor’s free hand travels around Jayce’s waist and to his back, landing on his ass. He smacks Jayce’s ass, earning a moan from the other man, and begins groping it without remorse.

“Dude,” Viktor pauses the kiss to get your attention, “You have to feel this ass, it’s like pound cake.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice!” you make your way to Jayce’s backside, grabbing his ass and feeling it up, “Damn, Jayce! You have a whole bakery here!”

“Uh, thanks?” Jayce answers, unsure if that’s a compliment or not. You give Jayce your own smack on the ass, “Nice ass, Golden Boy. Now, get back to making out with my best friend.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he exclaims before he resumes kissing Viktor. Meanwhile, you utilize this opportunity to ‘rub one out’, as you play with your clit and folds. You shove a finger inside and whimper, visualizing Jayce’s finger in its place. Another finger is soon added later and you bite your tongue to suppress any ungodly noises.

“Hey, is it cool if I fuck him first?” Viktor asks you, receiving a weak thumbs up in return because you’re too busy jerking off to properly speak, “I’ll take that as a yes. Jayce, go get a condom from my bag.”

Jayce picks up Viktor’s satchel from the side of the bed and peeks inside, scooting various items out of the way before locating a roll of condoms, “I didn’t think you were the kinda guy to have a whole roll of condoms in your bag, Viktor.”

“Blame that one over there,” Viktor points over to you, who’s too entranced in pleasure to comment, “She likes to fuck everywhere.”

Jayce blushes at the thought; if you like to fuck everywhere, did you ever fuck in the arts classroom? His cock twitches when he imagines you and Viktor fucking in that classroom. Maybe, they’ll let me join them next time, Jayce ponders.

Viktor shimmies off his pants and boxers, revealing his own equally impressive cock. It’s definitely not as long as Jayce’s, but Viktor rivals him in terms of girth. The man in question rips off a condom from the roll and opens up its packaging, rolling the condom down his shaft, “Ready?”

“Wait, why am I the bottom?” he huffs.

You and Viktor stare at Jayce in silence, only the muffled echos of the party downstairs can be heard.

“Okay, you’re right, but still,” he concedes.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you,” states Viktor, genuine care in lieu of dry humor. Jayce smiles to himself at the reassurance and positions himself above Viktor, his hole dangerously close to his dick.

“Got any lube?” asks Viktor.

“Yeah, in the top drawer of my dresser,” responds Jayce.

“Sweetheart,” the smaller man calls out to you, “Be a dear and grab the lube. No one’s raw-dogging anal tonight.”

“On it!” you approach Jayce’s dresser and open the top drawer. Among the stacks of underwear and socks, you find a bottle of lube, half of it already used, “Want me to lube you up, Jayce?”

“Sure,” he consents. You squirm some lube on your hand and Viktor pries Jayce’s cheeks open, granting you access to his hole. Jayce hisses at the coldness while you lube up his hole, taking time to finger him loose for extra measure, “All ready!”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Viktor smiles and pecks you on the lips, “Now, enjoy the show,” he lines his cock to Jayce’s asshole and guides him downward. Viktor’s cock pierces through Jayce’s untouched hole and Jayce swears he sees stars in that moment. The feeling of a dick in his ass is definitely a new feeling, as Jayce gives himself grace to adjust to Viktor’s size. The other man strokes the sides of Jayce’s legs as a means of distraction, “Take all the time you need, darling.”

Pain soon morphs into pleasure and Jayce moans loudly, “Fuck! This is nice!” He begins to ride Viktor’s cock, his own dick bouncing up and down with each movement. His tongue rolls out of his mouth, the overwhelmed pleasure incapacitating any reasonable thought in Jayce’s head. Jayce steadies himself with the help of his headboard, continuing to hop on Viktor’s dick like a rabbit in heat. Cum drips from his cock onto Viktor’s pelvis, but he pays no mind to it, too fixated on Jayce’s blissed out expression. Viktor joins in with Jayce’s bouncing and thrusts his dick upward whenever Jayce goes downwards. He positions his cock just right to hit Jayce’s prostate, sending full body shivers through the larger man.

“There, there!” Jayce eggs Viktor on. Using Jayce’s hips for support, Viktor pistons his dick in and out of Jayce, relishing in each inclited moan and plea from the lacrosse player. To Jayce, each collision against his prostate feels like winning at the slot machines. One final thrust grants Jayce with the jackpot win, as he climaxes and coats Viktor’s torso in cum. Viktor follows afterwards and grunts, spilling his cum into the condom.

“Congratulations,” Viktor lets out a pant, rubbing circular motions with his thumbs against Jayce’s aides, “You just lost your anal virginity.”

Jayce tries to reply, but all that comes out of his mouth is incoherent babbles of pleasure subsiding. With Viktor’s assistance, he carefully slides off Viktor’s dick and promptly collapses on the bed beside him, his poor hole throbbing. Viktor removes the condom from his now flaccid cock and ties it shut; he tosses it into the small trash can and eyes you up, “I think he might be done for the night.”

“I’m not!” Jayce refutes, “See, look!” he gestures to his cock, still hard.

“Jesus Christ, did someone spike your drink with Viagra? How are you still hard?” you sputter, “This calls for drastic measures.”

“Drastic measures?” questions Viktor.

“I’m gonna milk that cock,” you proclaim.

You and Viktor swap places while Jayce regains his energy for another fuck. Engulfing Jayce in a side hug, you quietly hum to him, “What position do you wanna do? I’m a fan of missionary and doggy style.”

“Can we do doggy style?” he requests.

You snicker, “You’re not gonna be beating the golden retriever boy allegations anytime soon,” you roll over and get on your hands and knees, “I’m all yours for the taking, Golden Boy.”

Jayce rises up from the bed and gets behind you, your ass hitched up and slick leaking down your inner thighs. He gropes your ass a bit and gives it a few smacks as playback, “Nice,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Are you gonna keep admiring me or are you gonna fuck me already?” you sway your hips at Jayce, his cock twitching hard. Viktor tosses him an unused condom and Jayce rolls the rubber over the entirety of his shaft. Now properly prepared, he lines his dick up to your entrance and rubs it with the tip, making sure you’re wet enough for him to enter. You let out a low whine and Jayce takes it as a sign to slide in, doing so methodically and with as much gentleness as he could muster.

“So big…” you mewl, taking each inch of Jayce’s length like a trooper. By the time he finally bottoms out, there’s a noticeable bulge by the lower half of your stomach. Jayce caresses your stomach and finds the bulge, silently gawking at the sheer power of his size. On the other hand, you’re able to faint if Jayce Talis doesn’t fuck you yet, so you take matters into your own hands and pull back a bit on his cock before smacking your bottom against it. Jayce snaps into focus and grabs your hips, digging his nails into your supple flesh. His chest presses up against your back and he groans in your ear, “Eager, aren’t you?”

“Says the guy who just lost his virginity five minutes ago,” you fire back. Jayce responds with a sharp thrust and you replace your sass with a shameless moan. The frat bro starts thrusting in and out, making small modifications to his movements that incite the biggest reaction from you. Jayce finds it very hard not to pin you down and fuck the life out of you, he’s a gentleman like his mamá raised him to be. However, you’re more than willing to get the life fucked out of you, as you beg to Jayce, “Please! Fuck me, fuck me like an animal! I want you to destroy my cunt!”

All logic, all reason, went out the window the moment you tell Jayce to destroy your cunt. He buries your face into the bedsheets and latches a hand onto one of your tit while the other locks around your waist. You realize what a big man Jayce Talis is when he pins you, easily trapping you under his size. The sound of skin slapping against skin and filthy moans fill the bedroom, as Jayce growls to you, “You want me to destroy your cunt, huh?”

Smack!

“You want me to bruise that cervix of you, make you unable to walk for days?”

Smack! Smack!

“I wonder what kind of excuse you would have to use to justify such a prolonged absence.”

Smack! Smack! Smack!

“Sorry, Professor! I missed last class because Golden Boy Jayce Talis destroyed my tight, little cunt!”

“Jayce, please, please!” you sob against the bedsheets, tears of pleasure and arousal running down your cheeks, “Bruise my cervix! Do whatever you want, just fuck me!”

Jayce grits his teeth and picks up his pace, the bed rocking and creaking with each thrust. He looks over at an awfully quiet Viktor, only to see the stoner stroke himself off at the sight of his best friend getting fucked. That pushes Jayce to the limit and he lifts you up, holding against his body while he relentlessly fucks you. Any noise that comes out of your pretty little mouth is either pitiful cries or moans forced out by Jayce’s pistoning.

“Ready for me, pretty girl?” he rasps, as his third orgasm of the night builds up, “Want me to fill you up?”

“Yes! Yes!” you wail. In a flash, Jayce flips you over so you’re facing him and his lips clash against yours, a passionate kiss to silence his orgasmic moans while he climaxes. Near the desk, Viktor climaxes, as well, covering his mouth with his hand to suppress his moans. Your walls clench around Jayce’s shaft and you keep him inside your pussy until you milk every last drop from his beast of a cock.

Finally flaccid, Jayce pulls out of your cunt and falls exhausted by your side, completely drained. Viktor joins the two of you on the bed and snuggles up close to your left while you rub Jayce’s back on your right.

“That was so hot,” comments Viktor.

“Agree,” you tack on.

Jayce mumbles something against the bedsheets, but neither you nor Viktor can decipher what he says. You turn on your side and hug Jayce from behind, “Congratulations on losing your virginity, we’ll get you an ice cream cake to celebrate it tomorrow.”

“Yay…” he weakly cheers, “I love ice cream cake,” you chuckle quietly and kiss his back a few times, “Good job, very good job.”

“Hey, where’s my aftercare?” Viktor mockingly frowns. You pull away from Jayce and kiss him on the lips; you then pull away and pinch his cheeks, “Ouch!” he hisses, “You’re a dick.”

“And you’re my bestest friend in the whole wide world!” you tease. Viktor rolls his eyes and sets back into the bed. With a handsome boy on each side of you, you smile fondly to yourself and bask in the glory.

“We’re definitely doing this again.”

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st7rnioioss · 8 months ago

Text

˚𝜗𝜚 warnings... mentions of alcohol consumption, reader being touchy

… your head felt all fuzzy and lightweight as you stumbled around at the frat party, the loud bass going right through your body as you drunkenly looked for chris.

you had no idea how you had even agreed showing up to a party, but it was probably from days of complaining and pleading from your friends, telling you to get loose for a moment, and that not all weekends are made for studying.

you and chris had hung out a few times after school, eventually also attempting to study together, which chris didn’t like. at all. he couldn’t deny he thought you were the prettiest thing to ever walk the earth, but he was scared shitless you’d turn him down if he’d ever ask you out. so, he tried is best to keep his calm around you.

after running around, stumbling into people and mumbling ‘sorry’ quietly a million times, you saw chris sitting on a couch in the corner, all by himself. he immediately looked up when he saw a figure wobbly making its way towards him.

your skin was flushed due to the alcohol, a hazy smile on your face as you waved at chris, too drunk to notice him messily push a ziplock bag and some cash into his pocket, waving at him.

“hi, chris!” you chirped as he waved back, gazing up at you and your pretty form. “hey there. y’look pretty.” he said, raising a brow at you when you went a little too giggly at his words, obviously not in your right state of mind. you did a quick spin for him, before pointing at the empty space next to him on the couch.

“can i sit?” chris nodded immediately, patting the soft cushion next to him, watching as you sat down, your body rubbing up against his as you placed your purse in your lap. “are you having fun?” he threw an arm around you, sliding it down your side to push your dress back down so no one could snoop a look at the color of your underwear, before bringing it back up to your waist.

you nodded with a laugh, shuffling closer to him, an arm around his neck as you looked up at him, smiling drunkenly. “yes! me and my friends went daaancing,” you wiggled your eyebrows, and chris could basically taste the alcohol from here, even though he could already tell you were drunk from your overly-bubbly state.

“yeah? that sounds nice,” he smiled back at you, a part of him enjoying seeing you a little more relaxed and loose than usual… well, until:

“you know, you’re really nice… and you look nice too,” you whispered, bringing your lips to his ear, your hand resting on the back of his neck, before making its way through his hair. chris immediately caught onto what was going on, shifting just a little back from you, his face red as you continued caressing his hair.

“o-okay, hey-“ he said, feeling your fingers start to slide up the side of his face. despite his flustered state, his hands went to cup yours, taking them off of his, now warm, body and face. “i like your face..” chris nodded, a hum escaping his lips as he managed to get a hold of your hands, looking up at you to meet your droopy eyes and flushed face. “take me home, chris…” you breathed, leaning closer to his body.

“sure, let’s get you back home,” chris let one of his hands slip from yours, wrapping around your waist to hoist you up from the couch, until your voice sounded again. “no, chris! take me home..” he was quiet for a second, until you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, looking up at him with a sly expression.

“all right, what the hell did you have to drink..” he mumbled to himself as he felt his face turn red, pulling you up from the couch, a tight grip on your waist, his other hand carrying your purse as he guided you outside. “um- i dunno, i can’t really remember..” you slurred your words, leaning into his body as you finally reached his car, a squeak slipping past your lips when he hoisted you into the passenger seat.

౨ৎ

after chris drove you home, getting you to change out of your dress after minutes of explaining to you that you weren’t taking it off to have sex, taking your makeup off for you, and making you chug down an aspirin or two, he sat by the edge of your bed, watching as you were practically dozed off already. as he got ready to leave, you held onto his hand before he could even stand up. “chris?” you mumbled tiredly, looking up at him with barely open eyes. “yeah?” he glanced back down at you, his thumb carefully caressing your soft skin.

“will you still be here when i wake up?” you asked as if this was all some sort of dream to you, and he didn’t exist at all. he chuckled, letting go of your hand to run his fingers through your hair. “‘course i will. i’m stayin’ right where i am,” he said as he watched you break into a wide smile, your cheeks flushing again.

“good.”

more skater!chris here!

୭˚. ᵎᵎ tags: @chrissgirlsstuff @toriinie @cupidzsq @lacysturniolorevamp @iluvmattyb @ratatioulle @riasturns @sstvrniololuvr @sweetbabydoe @its-jennarose @abbypost @chrisstopherfilmed @sturniolossss @ducksturniolo @junnniiieee07 @vschrissturn @keerahsturn @k-l-a-w-s @pearlzier @pjmpcyy @mbsbaby @christhopersturniolo @mattspolitank @asherrisrandom @missmimii @mattscoquette @witchofthehour @elizasturn

#🐇་༘࿐ works #chris ₊˚⊹♡#⌗⋆. skater!chris x girly!reader ⋆. 𐙚 ˚#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo imagine #sturniolo triplets

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theactofknowing · 7 months ago

Text

take a shot for me

You and Jayce Talis are friends — good friends, even — and it’s no surprise for the two of you to be found drinking. You’re young, free from the shackles of true responsibility, and the bar is the perfect place to go.

What does surprise you, however it came to be, is what falls into your hands when you invite him into your apartment after a night out.

tags: smut, mutual pining, AU!modern setting but it’s not explicitly stated, sub!jayce, WHO SAID THAT(!!!), loss of virginity because HELLO JAYCE ARCANE. NOT beta read. forgive me

wc: 4.5k

Golden eyes — happy sun-yellow, warm and bubbling companionably with tipsy indulgence — meet yours.

Your gaze falters for a moment as you take him in; the unsteady lean against the bar which he tries to play off as a suave stance, the slight shine on his lips from his drink.

“You’re such a lightweight,” Jayce says, small smile curling his lips — which are only slightly asymmetrical, you’ve stared at them often enough to recognize it.

The recognition you have has been built over the past months. Two academy students; oriented together in the same lectures seats apart, till the courses increased and the distance dimmed, sat side-by-side.

Your connection had grown in the class setting, though it thrived outside of it— blooming like a flower exposed to the sun. Conversations started with work, class, then shifted into something more boisterous, entertaining, to nights in the bar more than was healthy.

“Bull,” you retort, making move to stand from your chair. You’d meant to leave ages ago, when you saw how depressing the bar life had been. It was a weekday, and you and Jayce were mixed along with divorced singles and depressed fathers. Jayce’s company, however, kept you idle.

He’s kind enough to not mention your slight sway when you rise from your seat. You pull your coat on, closing it under your chin, and he does the same.

“Take me home,” you say, joke lacing your tone, and he complies. He holds his arm out for you to grasp onto, which you gratefully take as he leads the two of you into the chilly night.

“Do we have a drinking problem?” You ask, recalling your frequency at the bar. You pull yourself closer to his side, leeching the warm heat that emulated from him as easy as breathing.

The night streets are dimmed, shrouding the intricate architecture and well-loved streets from your eyes. It meant little, not when the both of you knew the way like muscle memory. Your feet carry you easily, shuffling softly against the streets.

In the dark, you can’t see his features when he turns to look at you, making his voice more clear in the position. “Maybe you do,” he says, and you know he has a smug look on his face, one eyebrow raised — the right one, with the knick in it. Part of you wishes to see it.

You scoff, playfully swatting his padded arm as you accuse him of being beside you all those drunken nights. Youthful laughter echoes through the street, quieting down as you turn once, twice onto your street.

He departs from you, keeping an eye as you reach your apartment door. You stand there silently for a moment, contemplating, then turn towards him. You know you must look odd, fondling the doorknob and standing still like you don’t know how to open your door.

“Do you want to come in?” You ask, surprising yourself with the question as you do. You aren’t sure what your intentions are; helping a friend get out of the climate, or help him take his pants off. Either would be fine.

Fortunately the weather has long turned cold, winter swirling around the corner, and the wind is the perfect explanation for the heat in your cheeks — just nipped numb and warm from the weather, nothing more.

His brows raise in surprise, like he isn’t sure either of your intent either. “Yeah, yes.”He nods quickly, taking a moment to bury his face in his coat as you turn away.

Your home is dark, quiet, with midnight-moon light painting a cool glow over the belongings within. Flicking on one light, a lamp near the couch, you move with a one-track mind.

Shucking off your coat, then hobbling over to rip your shoes off, which Jayce laughs at when you stumble, though he denies this. You ask yourself why you invited him in as you move about, though you aren’t opposed to the idea — you enjoy his company, his refreshing intelligence, the kindness he possessed to do good and share it.

You plop yourself on the couch, your lack of full sobriety existing as a slight tingle behind your eyes, giving you the kick you need. “Come hither,” you joke, motioning with your finger as you rest your head against one cushion.

Jayce has been in your home often enough to recognize where his belongings go, how you want him to kick his shoes off at the door, before moving to join you. He laughs quietly and sits down next to you, eyes swimming with subdued mirth.

It’s comfortable, sitting together and letting companionable silence come and go like the wind. Easy conversation flows between you, speaking on projects and things processed in the academy, papers to be done and stamped.

Eventually, your mind starts to wander. His voice fades into the background, a warm sound that reminds you of blankets and drinks together, although it means little in the moment.

Openly, you watch his lips. You wonder if they’re soft, if you can taste the drink on his breath and lick the remnants from his mouth. Typically you’d reel these thoughts in, slap a big shame sticker atop them, though you have little care in your happy state.

You begin to scoot closer, inch by inch. Jayce doesn’t notice till he does, eyebrows silently furrowed as he tries to deduce if you’ve moved closer, or if he’s had too much to drink.

You’re not quite sure what your plan is, what your means are. Distracted by the premise of your feelings, Jayce could ask you if you were an idiot, and in your otherworldly state you’d probably say yeah, sure, without processing the question.

One inch, then another, and you’re sat beside him. You can feel his legs shift beside you, always having to move, to fidget. He’s long been quiet, watching you with open curiosity and, perhaps wariness, as you gaze upon him.

Your head comes to rest upon his shoulders, and you know the angle looks good on you — coy smile pulling at your lips, long lashes fluttering around your open, speaking eyes — and he stares at you in surprise.

Slipping slowly, your hand trails up his bicep — you’re unsure what your plan is, but it feels good to exist here, here in the moment, and maybe your past self was wrong for withholding you — and settles on the curve of his chest.

There’s a clear shift in the means of his visit by now, and he’s caught on. He’s watching, waiting expectantly, seeing if this is a prank or something more, something real and curling around his heart.

Yellow eyes turned sunset-sky dark, overshadowed by the slight of his dilated pupils, watch you. There’s a question lingering in his open eyes, one of uncertainty and for the knowledge of more.

“Jayce,” you sigh, unable to articulate your want and your certainty through nothing more than a whisper. Your hands are at his chest — not quite pawing at the softness like you’d like — fingers drawing impatient lines.

A breath, two, then you will yourself to move in. You feel air pass between you, still shifting into electric sparks as your lips near one another. You can envision the curve of his lips as your lids shut, how it’ll feel licking into his mouth. Just before they do, Jayce stops you.

“I’m…” his voice is low, face pinched in a grimace. “I’ve never, I’m…”

Never… what? And oh, surprise hits you like a truck when the realization settles. Jayce Talis, a virgin? Your thoughts must show on your face because he starts to scoot away from you, shutting himself out.

Quickly, you grab his bicep. “That’s okay.” You squeeze reassuringly, hoping and praying you haven’t scared him off. Jayce was, above all else and the lust in your brain, once of your closest friends. “Seriously. And I’m fine going as fast or… or as slow as you want.”

He looks at you disbelievingly, though a hesitant smile plays on his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. Shamefully, part of you revels in this. Heat licks at your groin at the thought of being the only one to see him so, to have his hands on your skin and voice in your ear.

He’s not saying no to you, he’s warning you, between the lines saying he wants you to be the first. You should take this revelation slow, have a first date and build up the promise of the good he could have. Your mouth moves before you can decide. “Let me… show you a good time?”

He nods, both of you lost for words as the gap diminishes. The ache inside you — thumping heavily in your chest and urging your hands to move, feel — burns brighter, gasoline of his lips exciting it so.

The moment your lips connect, you can’t help but sigh. The sparks you felt are burning, urging you to slip closer, to shut your eyes snd let the waves wash over you.

Jayce is enthusiastic, lips clumsily pressing against yours in a rhythm that’s hard to follow. You don’t find fault in that, not when you know you’re shaking with just as much need as he is. In the interval, where your breaths are one and your skin is hot, his need slips and he begins to follow your lead.

You push him against the couch, eyes still shut and unwilling to depart from him more than necessary. He gasps into your mouth when you settle in his lap, fists clenched painfully at his sides as he’s uncertain of what to do, how to do it.

Unrelenting, you push further into him. He loves this, it seems, as he arches in response, curling himself into the warmth and smell of you. Your hands slip beneath his shirt, memorizing the dips and curves of his body on the chance you’ll never experience this again. Ever the multitasker, your hands begin to fumble the buttons on his shirt, painstakingly slipping them free till his torso is bare to you.

Your lips separate from his, dragging a slick trail of kisses of want across his cheek, jaw, the thin skin by his ear. Oh, you know you’re doing something right when his head falls to your shoulder, pitched sigh of his gracing your ear as you suck the skin.

Flushed, the mark left behind blooms. There’s a tenseness in his shoulders as you draw back to review your work, and for a breath you worry that you’ve done something wrong. It dawns on you when you see the shift of his hips, the slight press into the seat below, that he’s resisting the urge to grind.

Heat blooms in your core when you realize he’s trying to be good, to follow your unspoken instructions to follow your lead. You take incentive and grind your clothed cunt against his tented trousers, the grind wonderfully heavy as the seam of your pants press against your clit.

His hips rut upwards sharply, surprised moan warm against your collarbones. Open-mouthed breaths pass between you, swirling in the air and suffocating in your ears, as the two of you curve together. His upwards grinds are inconsistent and fueled by his natural instinct to move, but lack of experience simmers alongside it.

You whisper Jayce’s name with a soft hand on his chest, which he takes as sign to stop. He doesn’t seem to process that his hips are still shifting an inch, like he’ll explode if he ceases his movements, but he watches you painfully expectantly.

The room is dim as you hadn’t bothered to flick on the light, though an adjacent lamp beams behind your head, haloing a soft glow around your head that blocks the light from kissing along his frame. For a moment you wish you withheld till you got to your bedroom or at least flicked on more light.

That worry passes by quickly when you take in what you can see — the soft parting of his reddened lips, the pleased furrow of his brows — he’s looking at you like you’re the lit candle in a shrouded room, like you’re the illuminated masterpiece of art in a room of lackluster beauties.

You can feel his clothed cock against your core, impatiently pressing close enough as though he could break out of his pants and yours. Grasping the back of the couch, you lean forward. You lift your hips by a few inches, punctuating your lifted dance with a hearty grind.

Curling and warming; you’d been tipsy when you entered your apartment, drink pulsing in your blood and inebriating your veins. Arousal and want for more pulsed instead, shaking your hands and holding your breath, and you weren’t sure you could live with the unresolved tension.

“How do you want me?” You ask breathlessly, though you aren’t sure he could answer. He’s been panting against your skin, wet lips dragging along the unmarred canvas. His grip on you, once shy and courteous, now hold you with such strength that he could fuck up into you however.

A whine. “My hands? Mouth? …” there’s a question that hangs in the silence. Do you want to fuck me? It asks. You swallow thickly imagining it, of him bending you over the couch or you in his lap, whispering in his ear as he whimpered in yours. He must be imagining the same because he presses into your heat, jumpy for you.

“You— well, hah,” Jayce babbles, sentence accentuated by his soft moan. You can hear the click of his throat as he swallows, voice almost hoarse as he speaks, “anywhere, anything. Just you, please.”

Your breath stutters for a moment, unsure how to respond appropriately. You lean forward and press your lips to his — sharing your unspoken want through unrelenting kisses, your shared pining in your teeth as you nip at his lip.

After a breath and slick kisses, you part from him and he lifts himself trying to chase your lips. He looks almost pained to be separated from you, the heat of your body. You shimmy down his frame, nudging his legs apart to kneel between them.

“You’re going to— you want to—?” He asks, shocked at the motion you’ve set. You give him a look, one of disbelief and certainty. He nods, understanding, more than excited to let the waves pass over him.

Your hands settle first at his knees, then slowly dance up the covered skin, fingers twirling and leaving a trail of promises as they near where he must be aching. Every drag upwards seems to hurt him with the way his muscles dramatically tense, brow pinching inch and inch further.

With you gripping his thighs for support, you lean in. You press your mouth against his groin, cheek petting the fabric as you kiss where his cock rests. He jumps like he’s been burned, then curls in towards you like he isn’t sure if he wants to run away or into the feeling.

You take a breath to look up at Jayce, though you don’t separate yourself from him. You imagine that the sensation is dimmed through all the fabric, but his mouth hangs open like you’re already sucking him off. His arm sits on the backrest, curling to press the back of his hand against his open lips.

It must be an erotic sight, you realize. Your frame, small when compared to his in this scenario, pressed against his long, long legs, like you’re trapped there. His eyes — golden sun, marigold circle around his blown pupils — won’t leave yours as you blink hazily up at him, nuzzling against his cock like you’re worshipping it, him.

Pressing your cheek against his thigh, you lift your free hand up. Your fingers dance along the seam of his pants, curling excitedly along where the button rests. One of the two layers that separates you from the heat of him, you’re glad to be rid of it.

You look up to him, silent question gracing him as your nimble digits circle the button. This is his first time — you don’t want to push him, overwhelm him, but you want him — and you can see he’s nervous in the stiffness of his frame.

“We don’t have to do anything.” You softly remind him, fingers smoothing away an invisible wrinkle in his pants. Your hands are antsy.

“No, no— Gods, please—“ he closes his eyes, legs spreading further in an invitation, “I want you.” I want you if you want me, he means.

Jayce’s hands slip to his pants before you can, pushing the button through the eyelet and hold your breath in your chest till it hurts, and you aid him the rest of the way. He moans unashamedly as the heaviest restriction on his cock is freed, leaving him nearly skin clad.

His boxers are still on, too shy and riddled with nerves to expose himself just yet. He’s watching you carefully, waiting to see your reaction as if you’d ever react negatively. You halt his worries by returning to your spot, lashes tickling your cheeks as you mouth along the clear shape of him.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Jayce whines as you suck on the covered tip of his cock. He can’t sit still while your tongue laves the precum-dampened spot on his boxers, wetting the fabric till it plastered to his cock within. His thighs are shaking next to your dipped head, like he’s fighting the urge to clamp them against your skull.

You’ve hardly done anything and he’s already falling apart. You peek up at him to the best of your ability, unwilling to pull away your mouth; his head is tipped back, only leaving his heaving chest for you to see, in and out.

Such open and honest responses have you sighing against him, focusing on the feel of him against you and the heavy pulsing in your cunt. You feel like you’re about to explode, like a bubbling kettle bursting with steam at the edges. Your lid is about to pop.

The pressure has long gone past aching, so you decide to relieve yourself with your free hand. You pop open the button on your pants with a quiet jingle, fingers slipping between your folds. You huff, warm breath wrapping around Jayce’s cock and it jumps against your skin.

There’s a sharp intake of air above you, and you open your eyes to find Jayce watching you. Your gaze meets just as the meat of your palm grinds against your clit, mouth dropping open as pleasure shoots up your spine.

You whimper his name, face shifting momentarily away as you forget what you were occupied with, and he chokes on air. His hand comes down quickly to grasp himself, breathing through the motions, like he was about to cum. “You… oh,” he whispers, starstruck. He’s getting off on this, seeing you lose yourself with his name in your mouth.

He can’t help himself, it seems, as he takes himself fully in hand and his boxers start to fall away. There’s a soft shlick sound that fills the air, wet head of his cock sliding his hands smoothly. His open-mouthed panting shows how overwhelmed he is, how one squeeze too many could have his cum painting his knuckles.

You wonder what he’s thinking about, if he’s imagining fucking you or painting your face. Watching him, you ache. You have to have him now, you decide as his thick hands squeeze himself indulgently.

You bat away his hand and he easily complies, nails poking under the band of his shifting boxers as you look up to him with the unspoken question. He nods enthusiastically, no longer shy and embarrassed, and lifts his hips to assist you.

He pops completely free from his boxers and exhales thankfully. You, on the same level, are incredibly thankful to be here. The tip of his cock shines with precum, twitching something fierce when you reach forward and use your still-slick hand to pull the foreskin down and expose him to the cool air.

Your hand slips, inching down the length of his shaft till your thumb rests on the sensitive circle of skin just by his sack, thumb circling softly. Jayce squirms under the pressure, though unwilling to voice his needs without your say-so or inquiry — always looking to please.

Lips trailing, you kiss up his exposed thigh, biting back a pleased smile when the muscle twitches beneath your touch. Trailing further and further up… you pass by his cock, much to his dismay.

The soft fuzz of his abdomen tickles your face where you press against him, stomach twitching beside you. As you lean more into the couch, his cock presses against your chest. He squirms, as if burdened by the uncomfortable pressure.

“Please,” Jayce says, never having been burdened by his open emotions and desires. You love that about him. He begins to murmur nearly inaudibly, “please, please, please…”

You draw back, looking inquisitively at him. You know you’re playing mean, though you can’t bring yourself to feel guilt. “Please what?”

“I want…” he swallows, thinking about how he should respond. “I want your mouth on me. Please.”

“My mouth was just on you.” You remind him, head tilted to the side.

“My— my cock.” He relents. His ears must be burning with a shocked flush, but you aren’t paying enough attention to actually check. “I want you to suck me off,” he rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, “I feel like I’m about to explode.”

Laughing softly, you move to fulfill his request. The air in your living room has shifted multiple times throughout the evening — once electric and stifling, now shifting into something slower, more memorable.

Your mouth falls open and you lick up the side of his cock, lips plump around his shaft. You can tell he’s shaking from the anticipation, and you wonder how long he’ll last.

You breathe in once and then wrap your lips around the head of his cock, sucking softly as to not overwhelm him.

“Yes— oh, yes,” Jayce is loud with it, his gratitude and pleasure. He’s trying not to move too much underneath you, to let you work as you please, but he can’t resist his back from arching dramatically. You pray the neighbors don’t hear his cries. “Hah, oh…”

Bobbing slightly, you let yourself be lost to the sensation. You urge yourself to take him in further, to press your tongue against his sensitive underside as the head glides smoothly into your waiting mouth. With each slip down, you catch a whiff of him — woodsy like charcoal, mixed in with the natural scent of him that embodies him so well.

You know he’s not going to last longer when his cock twitches in your mouth, gasps of his filling your ears and traveling straight to your clit.

“Oh, you—“ he’s mewling now, unable to resist the slight curve of his hips into your mouth. His hand comes to curl in your hair, not demanding, but rather grounding himself as the world slips away. “Fuck, yes— yesyesyesyes—“

You pull your mouth up as spurts of him start to coat your tongue. He’s fighting to keep his lids open, to watch as you open yourself so readily for him. Lips parting, your tongue cradles the underside of his cock as his cum paints your tastebuds — salty, enticing you for more — and his jumping tip.

He sits still for a moment, recalibrating his sensors as you let the sense wash over you. With one final suck and kiss, which Jayce gasps and jolts with as the sensitivity burns him, you pull off him.

“That was…” Jayce wheezes, dopey smile pulling at his uneven lips. You laugh in agreement, taking in his wrecked form as you do, the sheen on his bare skin. “Holy shit. Get up here,” he leans over and pulls you up onto his lap with a strength you forgot he possessed.

He breathes against you for a moment, arching into your touch as your hands glide across his skin. If he could, you imagine he’d be purring. He pulls back from you to meet your eyes, a powerful glint in his own; the same one he possesses when he has an excellent, exciting plan.

“Can I… return the favor?” His fingers curl at your open waistband, still unbuttoned from your earlier pursuits. At the mention, your arousal floods back overwhelmingly fast, knocking your knees weak. You nod quickly, afraid words would fail you.

Your pants are gone in an instant — albeit with an awkward dance as neither of you want to separate, chests heaving and dragging together in the tight spot you’ve dug — leaving you bare at the waist down. Wet, damp, you press against his open thigh and the slight pressure has your back curling.

“Show me how,” Jayce says, unashamed and eager with a boyish giddiness.

“Take your hand… here like— uhn,” you hold his wrist in your hand, curling his longest fingers forward before his palm kisses your oversensitive clit. His chest puffs out a smidge at your moan, though you make no move to comment on this.

His fingers are stiff in your cunt as they separate your folds, curling in that ‘come hither’ motion you directed to earlier. You’re going to love teaching him, you realize, as he soaks up every lesson you grace him with, responding back as a student more enthusiastic than you.

Overwhelming gratitude falls over you in heavy bursts, trickling down your spine like a thick rainfall. Grinding softly, you lean forward and swallow his fingers in your heat.

You’re not sure if he’s trying to be subtle or doing it subconsciously, though you don’t have the energy to ponder; his cock, not hard, rubs against your leg as your whines and huffs kiss his ears.

“Gods, you’re better than I imagined.” He says against your temple as you lean forward for support, fingers curling in a mind-numbing race that leaves you unable to respond. You moan loudly at the image this paints; him, fucking his fist or his pillow, stifling his whines as he imagines you bent over, mouth open and saying his name. Jayce, Jayce.

You find yourself hurrying, grinding your clit as hard as possible till it hurts. You’ve been on the edge for ages, and now you find yourself overwhelmed by the sense of all around you. Each push of his fingers into you follows the grind of his hips, and you hope he’s imagining taking you, how the warmth of you would envelop his cock.

One proper twist has your legs buckling, clenching as deep as possible around his fingers as your hips stutter. You’re huffing in his ear and he whimpers in yours, dragging his oversensitive cock against the curve of your thigh, and oh, Jayce—

Your head falls against his shoulder. You feel as though you’ve been beaten, dragged, and wrung out— but in a good way, akin to the soreness that follows a massage.

Kissing up his neck when you find yourself, you peck at the spot you left before. He sighs happily, readjusting you in his arms.

“So,” he says, and you can feel his voice vibrate against your lips. You imagine his neck words are partnered with an excited grin, masking the uncertainty he showcased earlier, “how’d I do?”

my inbox is open! feel free to leave comments/ requests, or maybe suggestions for a part two…?

#jayce talis #jayce talis x reader #jayce talis x you #jayce arcane #jayce talis arcane #arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane fanfiction #arcane fandom #jayce talis smut #arcane jayce

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joelslegalwhre · 11 months ago

Text

drunk confessions

word count // 2.056k

pairing // jake “hangman” seresin x f!bradshaw!reader

summary // You’ve had enough of hiding your relationship with Jake, so you drink yourself a little courage and just screw it

warnings // established relationship. (slightly)drunk!reader, mentions of alcohol, lightweight reader, nicknames for reader (bubbles, sweetheart, etc.), Bradley is in big brother mode, the mission I mentioned isn’t from the film, the pilots still live in their own apartments (all near the base) for this fic, soft!hangman (that man alone is a warning but him being soft???), affectionate Jake and a ton of fluff

a/n // This is the new version of "drunk confessions" from '22! I just changed the wording a little, but nothing of the plot has changed. I loved writing this two years ago and if anyone wants more Hangman, don't worry I have more to come because same haha Thanks to @saradika-graphics for the beautiful dividers ❀

(as always, please tell me if I missed a warning)

Masterlist

You and Jake started dating almost a year ago when Bradley and him were together at Top Gun.

Rooster and Hangman had never been the best of friends, everyone knew that, so it was never the right moment to tell him about the two of you. The risk of Bradley being angry or perhaps even disappointed was too big. At least that’s what you thought.

Jake understood why you didn’t want anyone to know. And although he’d love to just scream it out into the world, that he was dating the younger Bradshaw, that he was without a doubt the luckiest man on fucking earth, he respected your decision.

Jake knew that you’d do the same for him without a question.

You wanted to tell Bradley eventually, just right now wasn’t the right time. But the real question is, when was it really?

Jake had a hard time keeping away from you whenever you were at the Hard Deck with the team. You mostly spent your time at the bar with Penny, to keep her company and to catch up with the latest news - often involving your godfather.

She and Maverick were so obvious sometimes it made you chuckle, but you really hoped he wouldn’t let her down this time. But Amelia and you would ensure that.

From your seat at the bar, you also had a perfect sight at the pool table. A lame excuse to stare at a certain blonde pilot all night.

Jake would always be the first to voluntarily get a new round of beers for the group, and no one complained about it. They were all so caught up in what they were doing, that no one noticed how he eyed you all night, ready to be by your side in seconds if anyone were to bother you.

“Hey Penny, sweetheart. Another round please!” he gave her a wink and shot her one of his handsome grins. Penny nodded with a smile in return and turned around to get seven cold beers for the young pilots.

“You look smokin’ hot, baby.” he whispered to you as his bright eyes met yours. They had this glow in them every time he looked at you.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Seresin.” you teased him with a wink.

“I can do way more than look good. Whatever you want, Bradshaw.” he grinned while his hand secretly found yours on the bartop, his broad frame shielding it from preying eyes.

You chuckled lightly, “Oh really?”

“Oh yeah, babe. You better wait for me when everyone’s gone. I need to take ya home with me.” he flirted shamelessly in his southern accent you loved so much. Jake knew you’d do exactly that anyway, since you basically lived at his apartment at this point, but where would be the fun?

Not even Phoenix knew about the two of you, so you could say both Hangman and yourself did a rather good job.

This time was different though.

They were all going to meet up at the Hard Deck tonight, for another night of pool, darts and what not. The next mission was in less than a week, and you just wanted to spend as much time with Jake as possible. Just like he wanted to with you.

Jake hated to keep his hands by himself when you were just a few feet away, playing darts with Fanboy or Bob. You never hid from them, after all, Rooster was your older brother. If you weren’t talking to Penny, you spent your nights with them, laughing, drinking and chatting.

Not tonight… tonight would be different.

You met Penny at the bar in the late afternoon, to help her get everything ready before the first guests would come in. Amelia was staying at a friend’s house, so you gladly took over her part.

When everything was ready for the Hard Deck to open, you sat down at your regula seat at the bar.

Penny looked at you from the side while she turned on the lights underneath the bar. “Can I get you anything?” She asked, a hint of worry in her voice.

“Can I get a beer?”

“Sure, sweetie.” Penny smiled gently. She put the bottle down in front of you, and you took a large sip.

“So,“ Penny started, putting her hands on the bar, arms on each side of your beer. “What’s on your mind, sweetheart? You’ve been out of it today.“ You looked up at her, and she had this look on her face that gave you so much comfort. You knew you could tell her everything and she’d keep it safe.

„I… I’ve been thinking about…„ Yeah, what exactly was it that you thought about ever since opening your eyes today?

You didn’t even know. Not really.

You thought about telling Bradley about your relationship with his rival, screwing everything. But you’ve also thought about keeping it to yourself just a little longer. The upcoming mission was creeping into your mind at every thought; What if they didn’t make it? You didn’t want to think about that more than just a second. Not about your brother nor Jake.

He would come back, and he’ll be fine. This wasn’t his first mission.

“I don’t even know Penny, I’m so confused.” you sighed and let your head fall into your crossed arms.

“You’ll figure it out, sweetheart. I know you will.” she said, caressing your hair. You lifted your head to look into her eyes, her kind smile calming your racing thoughts a little.

Not enough, though.

That night, you kind of ignored your limits of how much alcohol you could handle in one night. You got pretty much drunk. Not to a point where you could throw up or blackout, Penny was in charge of the bar after all, but the kind you’d be rewarded with a nice headache the next day and your mind to be pretty foggy.

Drinking wasn’t one of your strengths. That’s why Jake liked to jokingly call you a lightweight, and he couldn’t be more accurate with it.

You’ve been sitting at the bar for a good part of the night now. The team had already greeted you when they came in, asking you to come with them, but you declined, telling them you’d maybe join them later.

“Penny.” you tried to get her attention, a sudden certainty in your voice, “Please excuse me. I have to go and get some kisses now.“

“That’s his boyfriend duty,” you said with a confident nod. “You know, happy wife, happy life.”

Penny had no idea how no one of the team could see the glances Hangman gave you. How he couldn’t tear his gaze away from you even if he tried. If anything happened, he’d be there in a heartbeat. And those poor guys who tried to flirt with you were quickly intimidated by his death stare.

Penny just laughed. She had kept a close eye on you since your third drink of the night, the last two she gave you were non-alcoholic, but you didn’t have to know that.

She ignored your choice of words at the saying, not changing ‚wife‘ to ‚girlfriend‘ with a chuckle and motioned you to go. “Go and tell Jake then.” You looked at her with wide eyes, “How did y‘know I’m talking about Jake?”

Penny tilted her head with a smile, “Sweetheart, I notice things.” she winked, “Now go and get your man.”

The next thing you knew, you were trying to your boyfriend at the pool table.

“Hey, Jake!”

His head snapped in your direction at the use of his first name. You were the only one calling him that. And the first name basis got everyone else’s attention as well.

“Yeah?” he tried to not be too obvious. But his concern about how you were feeling was rising with every second.

You didn‘t stop at the pool table, but walked up to him. Until you stood right in front of him. You looked up into his bright eyes, filled with curiosity.

“I need kisses.” you told him with a pout, wrapping your arms around his neck. He was so thrown off by what you were saying, that he almost forgot the others around him.

Jake unwrapped your arms from his neck and placed his hand on your lower back. “I think you need some water and sleep, bubbles.” he couldn‘t suppress the small grin that grew on his lips.

„Kisses?! What the fuck is-„ Rooster started but was quickly interrupted by you, “Oh for god’s sake shut up Bradley.” you hushed your brother in honest annoyance, turning to him.

“I love you, but I’m sick and tired of hiding something from you that’s important to me, just because I’m scared of what you’ll think or do.”

Hangman’s gaze was a mix between shock and pride. That you just straight out told your brother and all of your friends standing around you, about the two of you. Not keeping it a secret anymore. He knew it took a toll on you, and he’d told you multiple times to just tell Bradley for your own sake.

“Oh my god” you heard Phoenix breath out a laugh, while the others couldn‘t find words, still shocked, while some of them were exchanging amused looks.

Bradley didn’t. He looked back and forth between you and Jake, not able to process it all quite yet.

„Sorry man, listen I-„

“Just give me a second, okay?” Rooster cut Hangman off, stomping to the bar.

“Let him be,“ you said while curling yourself into his side, hugging his arm close to your body, “He’ll be fine by tomorrow, the old drama queen.” Sober-you would probably be scared Bradley would be angry or disappointed.

Good thing you weren‘t sober right now.

“Babe, how much did you have to drink?” Jake whispered, as he bent down a little until his lips reached your ear.

“Ohh, not that much.” you assured him as you tried to sound sober, looking up at his face, only inches away from yours.

He looked back to the bar, finding Penny’s gaze. She mouthed something like “water” easing Hangman’s concern about your drunken state.

“Let’s get you to bed, huh, sugar?” he softly smiled at you. A real smile, one he had reserved for only you.

You instantly shook your head in disagreement, “I swear, I’m not-„ you yawned, “that tired.”

“‘Course you aren't” he mockingly smiled down at you.

“C‘mon, on my back.” he ordered, putting his hands behind his back, ready to hold your legs for support. He bent down, and you tried your best to hop on his back. You wouldn’t win anyway, and sooner or later - you preferred later - he’d carry you out the bar.

You rested your head on Jake’s shoulder and wrapped your hands around his body. Your eyes already closing as the exhaustion betrayed you.

“Wow, Hangman, nice one.” Coyote teased him, the others joining in with laughter. Who would’ve thought Hangman had a soft spot.

“Shut it, Coyote.” Jake said with a look that would make anyone run for the hills.

“See you tomorrow, lover boy!” Phoenix joked.

You giggled on Jake’s shoulder, “That’s a good one!” you lazily turned your head in her direction and smirked, Phoenix and the others laughing back at you.

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” Jake complained, giving your ass a little smack.

“Hey.” you giggled, but did nothing in response. Your head ached a little, and you hadn‘t had the strength nor willpower to do so. Just relived to be carried, you let your head sink back on Jake’s shoulder.

“I love you.” you whispered to Jake as he carefully sat you down on the passenger seat of his car. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes finding yours. Jake bent down to place a soft kiss on your lips and he smiled.

The slight smell of alcohol was surrounding you, but Jake couldn’t care less. „I love you, and I’ll never let you go, that’s for sure. You’re all mine, baby.“ he whispered back between small kisses, giving you goosebumps. His scent surrounded you as you wrapped your hands around his neck to bring him even closer. “Good.” you grinned and pulled him into another, longer kiss.

Masterlist

#em's masterlist #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #top gun hangman #jake seresin #glen powell #glen powell x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fic #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic #fanfiction #x reader #female reader #x you

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ameriize · 14 days ago

Note

I LOVE UR SUB ANTON FIC OMGGG FINALLY A DOM READER WRITER😭🤧

cld i pls req lightweight anton who drank too much while out w his frnds after an argument and he comes home drunk needy and sad so reader has to help😉him😉out😉 and comfort him cuz hes crying hehehehehhehej

IKKK RIGHT, I LITERALLY ONLY STARTED WRITING BC THERES BARELY ANY RIIZE DOM READER like damnn i’ll do it myself

i got a little carried away so it’s abit long apologies😛

also if you send an ask and you wanna be an anon with an emoji, add that in your ask !! i wanna be able to recognise you guys ��🥹

you and anton don’t usually argue. if there’s conflict, you both take time to yourselves them come back to discuss and fix. however, this time was different.

you’re not sure why you were so emotional this week, maybe because it had all been building up, but for the fifth time this week anton had forgotten to text you back. multiple conversations just left unfinished. you understand he’s busy but sending a text to tell you that would be better. you’ve brought it up in the past and he says the same low-effort statement of “i’ll get better baby i promise”

well he hadn’t. so you blew up on him after he came back home from work. a heated argument struck up between you two, with you raising your voice and him rolling his eyes and sighing at you. you told him not changing is a sign of not caring for your partner and he responded with telling you you’re overreacting.

one thing led to another, and he grabbed his keys and headed out, saying “i’m gonna go meet my friends. use this time to calm down baby because i’m not dealing with you right now. it’s too much”

it’s too much?? is he saying you’re too much?

the sadness and frustration that was bubbling up in you was better dealt with sleep.

however you couldn’t sleep. not when he hadn’t come home for 4 hours. it’s almost midnight and you were getting worried. he wasn’t picking up any of your calls which he never does. you were pacing up and down your living room trying to figure out what to do next.

just as you were about to dial the police to order a search party, you hear keys jangling in the main door.

you stand up, and walk towards the door to see a red faced, teary eyed anton, who was stumbling and swaying side to side whilst trying to walk in. you hurriedly walked over to him and quickly placed his arm around your neck, ignoring his strong smell of booze, and tried to help him settle down on the couch, but he grabbed you aswell. you both landed down and anton readjusted to lay on your chest, sticking to you like glue.

he’d been babbling about how he was sorry, sorry he hurt you, sorry he made you feel unloved, uncared for. tears were strolling down his face and landing on your chest. good thing your silk nightgown had a low cut neck.

“baby please forgive me. please. all i want is you. i never meant to hurt you. baby i love you so much. i’m so sorry”

“tonnie hey it’s okay it’s okay , i said stupid things too i’m sorry aswell. i’m just happy you’re okay my love”

you gently cupped his face, wiping his tears away. he looked so cute with a red flush on his cheeks, and his teary puffy eyes.

you gave him a peck on his eyes and then worked your way to his lips. you noticed he was being more responsive than usual when he’s drunk. he was shifting around a lot more and letting out more small whines as you kissed him.

“thank you baby thank you. i just- i just needed you so bad. all i could think of was you when i was out. i only wanted to be next to you.”

“aww tonnie you needed me?”

“yea, so bad. so so bad. i just wanted to feel you. just wanted you to have your hands on me.”

you forgot how needy he gets when he’s drunk.

“oh? where on you?”, you said, deciding to play along.

he buried his head deeper in your chest and shyly moved your hand closer to his dick, that was now stiff and throbbing.

“here. i needed you here. fuck please touch me baby please”

“i don’t know… you were pretty mean to me earlier?”

he whined at this and raised his head to look at you. tears threatened to fall from his eyes, barely hanging on by a thread.

“i’m so sorry baby please. i didn’t mean all that i said. i’m sorry please forgive me. i really didn’t mean to hurt you.”

now you had no choice but to take pity on him and comfort his poor self. i mean his dick was throbbing and pulsating so much for you.

you moved your hand past his trousers onto his boxers and began palming and squeezing his whole length, lightly but enough for him to feel it.

“ahhh!! fuck, yes!”

he started bucking up into your hand, desperate for more. after some minutes, he removed his trousers and boxers, per your request, and straightened his back on the couch. while maintaining eye contact, you straddled his legs and continued palming his dick.

but it wasn’t enough for him.

“shit shit baby please let me be inside. i need more. i need you”

you weren’t sure if you wanted him to wait and get even more desperate or fuck the life out of him. but he was so sad and remorseful, how couldn’t you side with the latter option?

you lifted up your nightgown then drew your lace panties to the side. anton watched you mesmerisingly, like you were the sun. he wanted nothing more than for you to bounce up and down his dick, making him take everything you give him. and you would do just that.

you hovered your cunt over his pulsing red hot tip and dragged his dick across but never putting it in. you could see him starting to get more restless, with whines and pleas leaving his mouth. then you finally inserted it in, and slowly sunk down on his whole length.

“ohhhhh fuck.” he moaned, eyes rolling back.

you begun to move, grinding back and forth, so slowly. it was agonising for him.

“please move my love. fuck i need you to fuck me faster baby please”, he whined, tears once again threatening to fall.

you decided you’ve tortured him long enough so you started moving, slamming yourself down with every movement. strings of delicious moans, whimpers, “yes”s and “fuck fuck fuck”s , fell out of his mouth. you felt so fucking good and anton wasn’t sure if he could hold it any longer.

“baby i’m close i’m so fucking close. please can i cum?”

“no. not yet. hold it for me like a good boy okay?” you said in his ear, then you dragged your tongue up his ear. he shivered and whimpered, and whined, “please baby. i can’t hold it anymore, i really can’t! it’s too much, it feels too good!”

“don’t you wanna be good for me?”

fuck yes he does. he always wants to be good for you.

“yes yes yes i do. i’m your good boy.”

“good. so then wait and take it.”, you said, authoritatively but still in a soft tone. you placed your hand over his mouth and started roughly riding him, making his dick hit that spot that felt like heaven.

anton swore he could see stars. the stimulation was too much, and his dick was about to explode. muffled, high pitched moans - borderline screams at this point - filled the air, as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“fuck”, you moaned, “anton i want you to cum with me. okay baby?”

he nodded his head rapidly, praying and begging for you to cum all over his dick already. you removed your hand from his mouth and placed it in his hair, grabbing a few locks. he shuddered at this.

“i’m cumming, tonnie! cum inside me!”

“fuck fuck fuck fuckkkkk!”, he whined, with his eyes rolled back in his head, back arching off the couch as he shot his hot load inside you, filling you all the way up.

you both came down from your high, chest heaving. he kissed you softly, hand cupping your face.

“thank you baby”, he whispered.

you hummed in return and just as you were about to get off him, he stopped you.

“let’s just stay like this. i don’t wanna be away from you.”, he said sincerely, looking up at you with the most adorable puppy eyes.

you laid your head against his chest and snuggled in.

“i really am sorry for earlier. i should’ve never left, and i should’ve never hurt you in the first place. you know i love you right?”

“yeah, i know anton.”, you said with a smile.

a/n : hope that you like it anon !! not sure if it’s how you wanted it to be so, sorry for that :( also send in asks plssssssss and let me know what you think🙏

#riize x reader #riize smut #sub character #dom!reader #anton x reader #riize hard thoughts #anton smut #riize anton #riize hard hours #sub!riize #sub!anton x reader #sub!anton #sub!kpop #sub!character #ameriize #asks

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koyagifs · 28 days ago

Text

EP. 19 Where is this going?

1.8M views | 96k likes | wc: 2.2k | 9th member WARNING: this episode contains alcohol, teasing, reader is a lightweight. yeosang focus.

i'm still okay.....

In goes the alcohol! chug chug!

* too much alchol consumption is harmful to the body and especially harms mind and body of minors*

You walked in with Yeosang and Wooyoung, trailing closely behind the former.

“Excuse me!” Yeosang said cheerfully, flashing a smile at Seonghwa and San.

Without missing a beat, he pulled out your chair and waited for you to sit before taking the seat beside you.

“Smash the glasses! Shamsh ‘em all!” Wooyoung whooped as he dropped into the seat next to Yeosang, clearly already in party mode.

“Are you ready?” Seonghwa asked, his eyes lingering on you more than the others.

You gave a slow nod, briefly side-eyeing the camera. The crew stifled their giggles—they knew exactly how you got after a few drinks.

Lightweight queen, through and through.

“I’m ready!” Yeosang chimed in, his hand resting lazily on your thigh.

“I’m drinking ‘til the end today,” Seonghwa declared with a small smirk.

You and Yeosang turned to him with wide eyes. “Really? All four glasses?”

Seonghwa cocked his head slightly, fiddling with the edge of his coat. “You’ve been working too hard, oppa. Don’t do it,” you teased with a pout.

He chuckled and gave your back a gentle pat. “Just make sure you get me back to my room, yeah?”

You gulped, making both Yeosang and Seonghwa laugh.

“How about Sannie-oppa carries you back instead?” you offered with a teasing grin.

Seonghwa shrugged. “As long as someone gets me there in one piece, I don’t care who.”

Wooyoung was already scanning the menu, eyes wide. “Wow... 5,000 won for a bottle of soju?”

San turned to him, genuinely confused. “Is that pricey? It’s pricey, right?”

You shook your head. “Not really, oppa. That’s just the average price these days.”

“It’s expensive!” Wooyoung whined, pouting dramatically in your direction.

“Isn’t it normally like... 3,000 won?” San asked, furrowing his brows.

Wooyoung grinned cheekily. “We’re way past the 3,000 won era.”

A loud bang from behind startled you, and you instinctively jumped closer to Yeosang, who chuckled at your reaction. He reached over, pinching your cheeks gently.

“So cute,” he cooed.

You blushed, swatting at his hand just as Mingi approached the table.

“Why are you walking so majestically?” San asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mingi paused mid-step, looking genuinely stunned before breaking into song. “I’m alcohol free~ and I’m drunk~” he sang, dancing along to TWICE’s Alcohol-Free.

Silence.

Everyone stared at him, grinning.

“I have nothing…” he said with a sheepish shrug, standing awkwardly in place.

“What was that dance?” Seonghwa asked, deadpan, then looked at San. “And he’s always the one worried about his image.”

“Is Sae** the trending soju right now?” San asked, shifting topics.

“I’ve never had Sae** before,” you admitted.

“It doesn’t have that sweet taste—you wouldn’t like it,” Mingi said, noting how your face scrunched in distaste.

Wooyoung tilted his head. “Huh? It tasted sweeter to me.”

Mingi turned to him, completely serious. “That’s because you had Garo.”

You snorted, immediately burying your face in your hands as laughter bubbled out of you, while Wooyoung looked at you in disbelief.

Your head perked up at the sound of the staff announcing the food was ready. Yeosang chuckled beside you, but your attention quickly shifted to San, who was busy twirling a soju bottle in his hand.

“What are you doing, oppa?” you asked, amused.

“No, hyung, that’s not how you do it,” Jongho said, shaking his head. “6, 1, 12 o’clock.”

San kept spinning the bottle anyway, clearly ignoring the instructions. Your eyes stayed fixed on him until Jongho chimed in again.

“Hyung, look at this,” he said, grabbing the soju bottle in front of him. “This is the time method.”

Mingi looked totally confused, brows furrowed as he tried to keep up. Meanwhile, Yeosang beside you executed the motion effortlessly, the liquid inside the bottle swirling smoothly. Your eyes widened in surprise.

You glanced at Mingi, who was still struggling—and that just made you burst into laughter.

“Look who’s laughing! We haven’t even started drinking yet, and you’re already a giggly mess,” Hongjoong called out from across the table.

You shot him a glare and snapped your teeth playfully in his direction, making a biting motion.

The boys all burst into laughter, the room already buzzing with warmth and chaos before the first glass was even poured.

You glanced over at Jongho as he makes a toast, his expression sincere, glass raised with just the right amount of charm. Nerves bubbled in your chest—you hated the first sip of soju. That sharp, burning taste always made you flinch.

Still, deep down, you already knew how the night would go.

You’d laugh too hard, drink too much, and end up having the time of your life. And when the night wound down, one of the boys would inevitably end up curled beside you, snuggled under the covers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

So far? It looked like Yeosang might be your pick tonight.

He caught your eye just then, smirking slightly like he already knew. His hand was still resting on your thigh, fingers drumming lazily as if claiming his spot early.

Yeah. You were in trouble.

Once Jongho finished his toast, everyone clinked their glasses together with a soft chorus of cheers. You tilted your head back and took the shot.

Immediately, a shiver ran down your spine, your body reacting before your brain could catch up. Your face twisted into a dramatic grimace, lips puckering as a sharp “yuck” escaped you.

Yeosang burst out laughing beside you, clearly entertained.

“You never change,” he said, still chuckling as he reached for the next bottle. “One sip in and you’re already suffering.”

You shot him a playful glare, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Why do I do this to myself?”

“Because you know it only gets more fun from here,” he winked.

And unfortunately… he was right.

so bitter..

You tuned out the bickering between Mingi and Jongho, your attention fully captured by San as he began parting the fried chicken, steam rising temptingly from the golden pieces.

Your eyes practically sparkled with anticipation.

“You look like you’re about to kiss San,” Seonghwa teased, chuckling at your expression.

San glanced up, catching your gaze. “No way you’re already tipsy?” he grinned, throwing a wink your way.

You rolled your eyes. “I’ll bite him if he doesn’t hand over some of that chicken.”

“Violence over food?” Yeosang smirked beside you, leaning back with amusement.

“You love it,” you shot back, making the boys laugh again as San finally held out a piece of chicken with mock hesitation.

“Please don’t bite me.”

You thanked him sweetly, your mouth already watering as you took the piece from his hand. Unbeknownst to them, you’d already had two shots before the toast—this was technically your third. Lightweight queen in action.

As you savored your first bite, Yeosang suddenly let out a startled gasp, causing you to flinch and lean back slightly.

“Whoa—scared me!” he said, holding up a piece of chicken with wide eyes. “This was the head.”

Your stomach turned a little at the thought, your face twisting in discomfort.

“It's a wing,” Mingi chimed in confidently.

“No, it’s a head,” Yeosang insisted, inspecting it more closely.

At that, both you and Wooyoung immediately shut your eyes and turned away, groaning in sync.

“Don’t do that!” you both cried, nearly in unison.

Your eyes were droopy with sleep—or maybe the alcohol—before they suddenly lit up with delight.

Yunho had just walked in.

A wide smile spread across your face as your heart gave an excited thump.

“Hello everyone, welcome to Gangwon-do~” Yunho greeted, sending a playful wink your way.

Your cheeks flushed a deeper red, thankfully hidden by the camera angles. Yeosang, clearly noticing, squeezed your thigh a little harder under the table, making you jump slightly in your seat.

Wooyoung and Hongjoong laughed at Yunho’s entrance.

“Ah, so this is where you disappeared to,” Hongjoong said with a smirk. “Already in Gangwon-do, huh?”

“You’re late, which means you owe a full glass,” Jongho added, lifting his shot.

Yunho just laughed, unfazed. “Let’s drink up!”

Everyone raised their shots as Yunho led the cheer. “In goes the soju~!”

Wooyoung clinked his glass with yours and Yeosang’s, chuckling. “That’s a Chungcheong dialect, you know.”

You threw your head back and downed the shot. The once-bitter soju now tasted suspiciously smooth, almost like juice. Your eyes widened in realization, and when you turned to Seonghwa, he was already watching you with a knowing smile.

Yeosang stared into his glass. “The first taste is like a beverage,” he said thoughtfully.

You looked at him in disbelief.

“But the end taste… that’s all soju,” he finished.

You nodded in full agreement, lips slightly parted from the kick of it.

A few minutes passed as everyone returned to eating, the atmosphere buzzing and light. You tugged gently on Yeosang’s sleeve. He leaned down, his fingers lazily tracing shapes along your thigh.

“Yes, baby?” he murmured, voice low and warm.

You blushed, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve. “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

He nodded. “Where's the bathroom here?”

He stood up, offering his hand to you. You took it without hesitation.

Hongjoong looked up from his plate. “You need a key,” he said, pointing behind him. “It’s over here.”

You nodded, slipping around the table as you reached back to switch off your mic pack. Yeosang was quick to do the same, already holding the heavy bathroom key. His hand found your hip as he guided you through the hallway, his touch grounding despite the slight sway in your step.

After washing your hands, you peeked out the bathroom door, spotting Yeosang leaning casually against the wall, waiting.

A soft giggle escaped you.

He raised an eyebrow as you stepped out, rubbing your damp hands together. Without warning, you flicked a bit of water toward him.

He blinked and held up his hand in defense, laughing. “Yah—what’s this? You’re drunk, hm?”

You smiled wider, teetering on your heels as you tilted your head at him. “A little.”

He stepped forward, gently taking your wet hands into his. “You’re cute when you get like this.”

You bit your lip, eyes soft as your fingers curled around his. “You like when I’m like this?”

He leaned in just enough to make your breath catch. “I always like you, baby.”

Then, he pressed a soft kiss to your nose, making a quiet giggle slip from your lips—right before he gave you the quickest kiss to your mouth. It wasn’t nearly enough. A sigh escaped you as you instinctively chased after him, your lips forming a small, dissatisfied pout when he leaned away.

“One more,” you whispered, pleading as your fingers tugged at his sleeve.

Yeosang shook his head, smirking. “We both know where that leads… and we really don’t need hyung worrying about you right now.”

You whined in protest, but he gave you a firm look—one that shut you up immediately, though your pout stayed intact.

Still holding his hand, you followed Yeosang quietly back to the group, your cheeks warm and heart still fluttering. You slipped into your seat just as San began to whine.

“When people say alcohol is yummy… I seriously don’t get it,” he huffed, clearly already feeling the buzz.

Hongjoong chuckled, leaning back as he pointed at San. “Yeah, I think he’s officially done.”

San shook his head defensively, waving his chopsticks toward you. “What about her? She’s literally clinging to Yeosang right now.”

You let out a dramatic whine, ready to defend yourself—until your eyes landed on the untouched shot glass in front of Seonghwa. Without thinking, you grabbed it and knocked it back in one go, slamming the glass onto the table with a sharp clink.

“Yah! Choi San, why are you ratting me out?!”

The boys erupted into laughter as San looked away dramatically. “I’m fine,” he muttered, shoving a piece of chicken into his mouth.

Wooyoung nudged you with his elbow, whispering through his grin, “You’re so not fine.”

You just giggled, already reaching for another piece of food like nothing happened.

San was dozing off, his face noticeably flushed—a dead giveaway that he was tipsy. When your eyes met across the table, you both just smiled at each other, sharing a quiet moment of mutual understanding.

“Do you see their faces getting red?” Wooyoung pointed out with a grin, eyes darting between the two of you.

You and San immediately touched your cheeks, looking away in embarrassment.

“It’s just… hot right now,” San mumbled, trying to wave it off.

Seonghwa and Yeosang chuckled in sync.

“Wow,” Seonghwa said, amused, “you both really can’t drink, huh?”

You rolled your eyes and leaned into Yeosang’s side, pouting as your fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt. San turned to Seonghwa, blinking slowly.

“I’m feeling hot. My face is hot,” he declared, like it was the most serious diagnosis of the night.

The group burst into laughter again, and this time even Jongho cracked a rare smile. Yeosang kissed the top of your head, shaking his own with amusement.

“Lightweight twins,” Wooyoung teased, lifting his glass.

#ateez 9th member #ateez added member #9th member of ateez #9th member ateez #ateez ninth member #idol reader #ateez x idol reader #ateez scenarios #ateez x y/n #ateez addition #ateez extra member #ateez female addition #ateez imagines #ateez female member #ateez x reader #ateez extra member au #ateez #ateez poly #⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ wanteez ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

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hivemuthur · 2 months ago

Text

To Be Known - Ch.10.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. It's just a love story.

<- previous chapter MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 7,6K

warnings, or rather this chapter contains: Viktor's POV + some glimpses of Reader's POV, more so toward the end, period sex mentioned with some more wordy imagery, some anticipated flaccid cockwarming (like, one person asked) leading to a good old blowjob (are you bored yet? I'm not), mentions of pain and neglection on Viktor's side causing a slight domdrop, ghosting, lover's quarrel, some crying, angst but they work it out and it carries on smoothly to the next chapter where more angst happens.

author’s note: As usual, playlist here (updated with some new songs) and artist is @petitesieste ♡ @rennethen beta read, thank you ♡

Cross-posted on AO3

—

Viktor can’t remember the last time he was this angry. He would even go so far as to call himself pissed, or inching toward livid—blood boiling, running fast beneath his fingertips. Every time he reaches for the sweaty glass, he’s prepared for his skin to hiss at the contact.

The moment you stepped in, he knew there would be trouble. Mostly because he’d already had the displeasure of sitting through a fifteen-minute bickering session between Lucian and Salo, arguing over which wine would complement which dish. Then the conversation shifted to you—fashionably late, and a potential object of interest. He and Jayce had exchanged eye rolls, already tired and bored, while Mel kept her face pulled taut over her cheekbones, nodding and giggling where politeness dictated.

From that moment, he knew that a cunt as posh as Lucian would die to sink his teeth into something as raw and genuine as you. The anger had been stirring ever since—at first faint, bordering on annoyance, then eased by the first glass of ice-cold vodka. Almost completely gone by the time Lucian mentioned textiles—only to bubble up again when all his attention turned to impressing you with his fucking carpets.

But Viktor had promised you that he’d play nice. He’s emboldened by your "hi"—graced by it, spellbound by your voice alone. It wraps around him like warmth, like a secret passed under the table, and in his palm it feels heavy with promise. For a few moments, it’s easier to spectate the idiotic display of social decline unravelling above white linens and polished cutlery—but the energy you gave him runs out quickly.

The alcohol in his veins burns through it, and Viktor is not a lightweight, not at all. But the weight with which the sight of Lucian’s hands on your thigh presses into his chest is more than his lean body can accommodate. At some point, he stops looking for the sake of his own sanity. And when your foot nudges him under the table, he does everything in his power to remain adamantly indifferent to your advances—or your apology. He can’t tell which.

He has to close his eyes when your cruel mouth wraps around a maybe—a sickly-sweet poison seeping into his already open wound. There are many things he wants to say in that moment, but he opts instead to bite the inside of his cheek. A sigh escapes him when you excuse yourself from the table, but the reprieve lasts ten, maybe fifteen seconds, before Lucian declares that the deal is nearly sealed and that he can’t wait to bring you home.

In that moment, Viktor detests himself for ever saying you were allowed to flirt, because this internal crisis is beyond anything he can manage.

He waits another ten seconds before dropping an excuse, congratulates himself on not snapping Lucian’s neck on the way, and walks in long, lanky strides toward the corridor leading to the bathrooms. There, he takes a moment—tries to think about what exactly it is he’s going to do—but his mind is blurred with it all. With anger, with alcohol, with jealousy, with want. With the sheer incapacity to touch you the entire evening. He scolds himself for rejecting your pretty foot and knocks on the door.

When it cracks open, you’re there with a smirk—and he wipes it off your face with his mouth. He thought he’d be more aloof. Definitely hoped he’d be cooler than this—than throwing himself at you with no innuendo, admitting his jealousy outright.

But you—you more than comply. You read this pathetic display of weakness as a call for submission, one you answer with a lack of grace that compliments his—legs spread, ass snugged into his groin, mouth slackened. He watches the transformation in the mirror, softened and quickened by alcohol—a beautiful spectacle of a run-free brat becoming his girl once more.

Again, not much convincing has to be done. It’s almost by his hands alone that you surrender, and he feels stupid for being so wrong-footed by a mere suggestion of tease. Through blurry vision, he sees almost nothing—gets you only by feeling, by touch—when you wrap snugly, wetly around his cock and let him use you against the sink.

He misses the moment when the spiteful jealousy burns through into pure passion. And even though the bathroom is clean and on the posh side, it’s still dirty and vulgar to fuck there—and you deserve so much better. It strikes him then, when you clench around him, pulling him with you. The vulnerable truth gets pumped out of him, when he confesses into the stuffy air how afraid he is, and how far gone he is.

Then, it strikes again—when he pulls out and finds his cock covered in blood. His mind sobers in an instant—clear as day. The first thought that lacerates his brain is: he’s hurt you. Idiotic, really, given it wasn’t nearly deep or manic enough to actually damage you—but the fear remains. And it speaks louder than reason. Before a yelp can push past his mouth, he sobers further and pieces it together. A mundane thing, really—natural and intimate—but one he’s stumbled upon uninvited again, without asking again. Another mistake, another tally in a short span of time.

The punishment is instant. It comes in the form of a throbbing pain in his leg when he fumbles clumsily for paper towels—another thing completely undeserving to touch your private parts. It’s awkward and abrasive, and he sees the shame pooling at the corners of your eyes. He’s baffled by the fact that you still feel anything close to this poisonous emotion when you’re with him. Another milestone, paid for in literal blood, sweat, and tears.

For what, he doesn’t know. But he gets granted a mercy that feels like grace, when you clasp his hand in the corridor and look at him with tearful eyes, seeking an answer to a question that should be obvious. That he wants you at his home. Always. Crying, bleeding, laughing—he doesn’t care. So he tells you again, in a way less cowardly than the last time. In a way more: Mám tě ráda.

“And what does this mean?” you ask, sniffling, your tears wetting his thumbs.

And he knows—of course he knows—how much weight the phrase holds. Knows what it really means. What it has meant every time it left the mouth of someone who loved him. His mother’s farewell. The hesitant admissions of past lovers. The truth sitting heavy in his own chest right now.

“It means I like you,” Viktor lies in a calm voice, hoping the warmth of it will somehow transfer the meaning.

You chuckle, startled maybe, or awed—were he so lucky—and tell him, “I like you too.”

When you return to the table, Viktor feels the heavy press of Jayce’s eyes on him, but decides to leave it for tonight.

“What took you so fucking long?” Mel turns to you, words slurring as she points an accusatory finger between you and Viktor.

“Ah, something you’ll be upset about,” you say innocently. It amazes Viktor how quickly your accent has fallen back into place, and how your voice doesn’t sound all that teary anymore. “I got a call, and I have to be sharp in the morning,” you trail off, earning yourself a disappointed sigh and a dismissive handwave—a silent permission to leave.

“And what took you so long?” Jayce turns to Viktor, eyes narrowed as much as he can manage after all the drinks, leaning over Mel to reach him.

Viktor raises his eyebrows and shrugs. “I’m disabled.” Then he sits, making sure his pain is on full display—and he doesn’t even have to fake that much. Jayce scoffs and shakes his head, but there’s no bad intention in the gesture. Just fondness, dulled by alcohol.

“Wanna share a cab?” you ask him, tone lilting, eyebrows raised, feigning innocence. Viktor nods with a thoughtful pout.

Lucian sucks in a wet gasp and his mouth smacks, beyond displeased, but you hush him with a raised palm while staring at your phone. Your foot grazes Viktor’s calf again, and this time, he doesn’t flinch. Something festers within him, and it’s no longer jealousy. It’s adjacent to pride.

“Two minutes,” you announce, shoving the phone into your pocket. “Better get going with your condition.”

“Bite me,” Viktor says, with a smile a tad too warm, and offers you a gentleman’s hand.

Both Jayce and Mel stare at you as the realisation dawns—but none of you notice. You’re already close, and your hand slips into Viktor’s with ease.

“Later,” you whisper, leaning in just slightly, close enough to brush your breath against his ear. Then you turn to wave everyone goodbye.

There’s something Lucian clearly wants to say, but you only pat his shoulder and tell him, “It was lovely meeting you,” in a disgusting caricature of a posh accent.

As soon as you’re out of sight, Viktor takes your hand and squeezes. His gait is uneven and clunky, so you slide an arm under his armpits and splay a flat palm on his chest—keeping him close, keeping him steady.

The cab is warm. Stifling, maybe, but neither of you minds. Viktor sinks into the corner, and you curl next to him like a second thought—easy, like you were always meant to fit there. His hand never leaves yours.

The driver doesn’t speak, thank God. The hum of the engine fills the silence, punctuated by the occasional lurch at traffic lights. Somewhere behind the alcohol and the remnants of tension, something heavy and sweet settles over both of you. It makes your limbs slow. Makes the air feel thick and honeyed.

You press your nose into Viktor’s shoulder. His coat smells like the restaurant—like wood polish and pepper and vodka—and underneath that, something colder and cleaner, like his flat. Like him.

He shifts, just enough to angle his face toward you, and when you look up, his mouth is already there.

This time it’s not frenzied. Not needy. His lips part against yours with patience, reverent and warm. You kiss like people who have already decided something. There’s no chase. Just contact. You feel his hand rise, touch your face, stroke your jaw. One of his fingers tucks a stray hair behind your ear with a tenderness that shouldn’t exist after what you did to each other less than an hour ago. But it’s here anyway.

Then again, slower. A second kiss. A third. Lingering, quiet. You feel his lips shape themselves into something soft between each pass.

“Thank you,” he says, against your mouth. You don’t ask for what. He probably couldn’t name it if he tried.

You just kiss him once more, and rest your forehead to his temple, the cab rumbling steady beneath you.

By the time the car slows in front of the building, you’re halfway asleep, limbs heavy, cheek pressed against Viktor’s shoulder. His hand rubs idly along your thigh, fingers curling over the hem of your coat like he might keep you there forever.

“Come on,” he murmurs, voice quiet enough not to jar you. You hum and let him peel you off the seat.

The night is colder than you remembered. You lean into him on instinct, and he lets you—lets you tuck yourself into his side as you climb the steps to the front door. He puts in the code, curses softly under his breath, and then the lock buzzes you in.

Inside, the flat greets you with stillness and stale heat. Viktor doesn’t bother turning on the lights, just shrugs off his coat and leaves it draped over the radiator, then holds out his hand for yours. You drop your shoes at the door and pad after him barefoot, tipsy and pliant, fingers linked with his like some promise still holds.

The living room is faintly lit by the streetlamp glow filtering through the blinds. It casts grey shadows across the floor and over Viktor’s face when he turns to look at you.

“Do you need anything?” he asks, voice low, throaty now that the adrenaline has worn off.

You shake your head and step into his space instead. He takes the cue—just pulls you close, palms cradling the back of your head and the base of your spine, grounding you. He doesn’t kiss you this time. Just holds you.

Eventually, your cheek finds its way to his chest again. You feel his heartbeat. The steady rise and fall of his breath. He smells like outside, like cold air and salt, and something slower, more human beneath it.

“You alright?” you ask against the fabric of his shirt.

He presses his lips to the top of your head. “Now? Yes.” He rocks you back and forth, heavy sighs threading through his breaths. Then, “Shower and bed?”

You nod. “Shower and bed.”

By a reluctant choice, you find yourself in Jayce’s t-shirt again when you step out of the bathroom into a cold room that Viktor insisted on airing out before sleep. He sits on the bed, barefoot, a book in his lap, and you almost snort at the sight—every other man you know would be snoring loud with his shirt rolled up or worse, on his belly, arse crack on full display. But not Viktor.

He looks up and smiles when he sees you, eyes sleepy and body stiff with the exertion of the evening. You step through the room so softly there’s almost no sound, and when you reach him, you kneel at the altar of his legs, gaze holding his the entire time. Your hands come to rest on his cold feet, fingers curling under the soles.

“What are you doing?” Viktor asks, tone almost patronising if it wasn’t so gentle. His knuckles brush your cheek when you rest your head on his lap, and he sets the book aside.

“Nothing.” A beat. Then you murmur, “You were very far the entire evening.”

His mouth quirks. “I thought this is what you wanted.”

“Yes.” You pause. “But it doesn’t mean I liked it.”

“No? You seemed quite content with the attention.” Viktor hums, voice teasing. You answer by cuddling further into his lap. Your hands slide up his legs, over his hips, to the base of his spine where they rest, entwined.

Then you sigh—half-tired, half-exasperated. “Do you even know me?”

“I’d like to think so, yes.” He tilts his head. “Do you even know me?”

“Well,” you say, and he already regrets asking. “Your name is Viktor.” You nuzzle your nose into the crease of his thigh. “You’re a scientist. Jayce’s friend and colleague.” Your hands return to the front and untuck his shirt to reveal a slither of flesh. “You like documentaries and books.”

“Brat,” Viktor says so softly it might as well be a love confession. “What else do you know?”

“That you like when I do this,” you hum against his stomach, and Viktor giggles, startled, muscles contracting to escape the tickle of your mouth.

“Let me shower first,” he says, fist clenching in your hair.

“No,” you murmur, glassy-eyed. “I want you dirty.”

Viktor pauses. Looks down at you, considering. “Open your mouth,” he says, and your lips part instantly.

He leans in and works his jaw gathering the spit in his mouth. Rolls it under his tongue, heat blooming behind his teeth. You’re looking up, obedient, lips slack. When he releases it, it lands heavy—thick and hot—on your tongue, a string of it clinging before snapping loose.

He watches your eyes flutter closed as you swallow. Follows the gulp moving through your throat, down into your chest. “That’s all the dirty you get tonight,” he says, brushing your lower lip with his thumb, smearing what’s left of the taste. “What do we say?”

“Thank you,” you breathe.

“Good.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Now, let me shower, impatient creature.” You pout but crawl into the bed and wait for him, hugging his pillow.

When Viktor comes back, his body is hot and damp, wet hair abused with a towel and sticking in every direction. He’s naked as the day, shoulder blades red, skin raised from the heat of the water. He takes the crutch out of the wardrobe and places it by his bedstand before joining you.

Then, he climbs onto the mattress with a wince and reaches for you, tugging you close with a firm hand at your waist. Gives you a hard, slow kiss, tongue deep between your lips. His mouth tastes clean, flushed warm from the shower, and when he pulls back, his forehead presses to yours.

“So, what do you want to—?” he asks, cautious.

“Fuck my mouth,” you finish for him, voice just a breath. “Please.”

Wordlessly, his hand curls around the back of your neck and guides you down, steady, until your head rests in your favourite place. Your cheek fits perfectly into the lust-gauged depression between his hipbones, especially when it gets filled with his soft cock. You stay there, relieved, breathing through your nose, hand cradling his balls in warmth.

Viktor feels his head draining of blood when he strokes your hair and grows heavy in your mouth. It tightens around him when you swallow, lips flush to the base, and he shudders at the heat of it. Then you hum—soft, content—and the vibration makes his skin weep in the well of his spine.

He laughs under his breath, a hollow, stunned sound, and strokes your hair again, thumb brushing the shell of your ear. “Good girl,” he murmurs, voice thick with wonder. He lifts himself onto one elbow to look down at you, eyes half-lidded and burning, chest rising with each long, controlled breath. “My perfect girl,” he says, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

Blood runs hot under your lips where Viktor thickens slowly, filling your cheeks inch by inch. You hug him tight, the salt of his precum rubbing into soft tissues, and he swells with each slick pull of your tongue. He becomes heavier, his weight shifting against the roof of your mouth, nudging deeper toward your throat. Fingers curling around his balls, your touch still soft, you swallow around him and Viktor sucks in a wet gasp.

The claim of your mouth—stagnant and unwavering as it moulds tighter around him—coaxes him fully to life. His hand doesn’t leave your nape. He strokes down the curve of your skull with an unsteady hand. “Just like that,” he breathes. “You are so, so good.”

Soon, his cock clogs you and your breaths become shallow. Air squeezes, barely, through whatever fissure is still granted as you take him deeper, until he is fully sheathed in your throat. Your fingers dig into his ribs, but you don’t tap yet, dedicated to the caress lower. It’s only when you finally see nothing and hear nothing that your hand slides to his thigh and you give him three gentle strokes.

He pulls out in an instant, a groan falling from his mouth, drool welling from yours. It pools in the hollow of his stomach, wetting your cheek and hair. You take a deep breath, chest expanding and deflating, just as Viktor pushes you down once more. “Again,” he says, and it sounds like a plea.

Your lips glide down on him, mouth pliant, throat already familiar with the shape of his cock. He groans your name—broken and quiet—when your nose presses into the hair at his base. No more tremor in your breath, only earnest intention, the twitch of muscle as your jaw adjusts and your tongue flattens to cradle him. You hold still.

His hand curls tighter around the back of your neck. “My girl,” he rasps. You hum softly in reply, and it carries into a shudder rippling through his abdomen. His thighs flex, the skin warm and taut. His cock pulses where it rests lodged deep inside, each throb a non-verbal praise.

“You like this?” he asks, trying, in vain, to sound smug. “You like when I use your mouth like this?” Your fingers dig into his hips in confirmation.

He breathes deep. Then, slowly, he starts to move. Barely a thrust, more a measured rock of his pelvis, enough to shift the pressure and make your throat constrict and release steadily. The angle is intimate. If Viktor measures beauty by the amount of spit slipping from the corner of your mouth, there is nothing more beautiful than you at the moment.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Such a perfect little mouth.”

He fucks into you slowly, hips lifting just enough to slide his cock in and out. You drool freely now, body slack, hands clenching rhythmically against his ribs. No need for roughness, it’s easy. Every inch he gives you, you take. Every twitch in your throat around him makes his spine arc.

“Fuck,” he gasps, breath stumbling over itself. “I’m—”

Your nails bite into his thigh. You want it, all of it, and he knows.

The warmth floods your throat as his hips jerk. A stifled moan bursts out of him as his fingers tangle in your hair tightly, holding you there while he spills. He twitches against your tongue, and you swallow around him instinctively, your throat milking him until he’s fully spent. Even then he stays—battling the bewilder, the overwhelming sting in flesh, not ready to part from you. Rocks into you gently until he’s back soft and your mouth feels empty.

When you finally lift your head, Viktor strokes your cheek with a thumb slick from your spit, dazed and breathless. “You’re going to kill me,” he says, smiling like it’s the sweetest threat he’s ever received. You say nothing, granting him your thanks by rubbing your disgustingly wet face on his.

And there you remain—in the crook of his neck, sticky and warm, completely unbothered. Arms and legs tangled, warm and heavy, one body made of two. Where he is angular, you are smooth. Where you are hollow, he is full.

On the precipice of sleep, Viktor asks, “Are you staying for the weekend?”

“Hmm, no,” you say. “I didn’t lie about the meeting. Sunday, though?”

He only hums in response, before sleep takes you both. In the morning you slip out before the morning light floods his bedroom, without waking him. It’s hours later when Viktor’s eyes crack open to find himself alone, a text message of apology the only trace after you, and the dip in the mattress next to him shaped like you.

Thoughts flow differently when you are not there to reassure him. It’s an unfair fight in his head where you exist only in spirit and inevitably lose to the consequences of Viktor’s indulgence. His own body is out to get him—his leg throbbing and screaming, despite not having a mouth.

The weekend passes in the purgatory of doubt, when Viktor finally decides that somehow your absence is better than for you to see him like this—wincing and hissing with each step, barely moving around his apartment. He’d rather be alone than have you eye him with pity. He promptly ignores your texts, and you promptly send only two, letting pride get the better of you, thank God.

On Monday, another crutch day, Viktor stumbles into the Institute late and grumpy—October seems to have lost its charm and broken down into a relentless pour of rain slanting on the streets. The cold has arrived as it should, and it only adds to the overall misery. His coat drips on the floor, hair damp and clinging to his forehead, and his expression is enough to turn a hopeful intern the other way.

Jayce is already there, comfortably leaning against the kitchenette counter with two cups of coffee in hand and an eyebrow quirked. If kicking one’s feet could be dignified, he’d be doing it now.

“Well, well, well,” he says, holding out one of the coffees.

Viktor grunts as he drops his bag onto the couch in their cramped break room, then shrugs off his coat. “Well, well, well, what?”

“Anything you’d like to tell me?”

Viktor narrows his eyes. “Uh… you look nice?”

Jayce huffs, amused, and takes a sip from his cup. “Nice try. Are you alright?”

“I’m managing,” Viktor replies stiffly, adjusting his stance with the crutch. “What is it, Jayce?”

Jayce tilts his head, grin growing slowly. “Friday night? Rings any bells?”

Viktor exhales through his nose, already exhausted by the turn this is taking. “Other than the bell ringing in my head the day after, no, I do not think so.”

Jayce’s smile widens into a full smirk. “That’s what I thought,” he says, dragging out the moment before casually dropping your name like a card on the table.

Viktor freezes for half a second, then gives a nonchalant shrug, innocent as ever. “What about her?”

Jayce leans in, tone shifting with exaggerated scandal. “I saw you guys.”

Viktor doesn’t flinch. “You’ll need to be more specific.”

“I saw you by the bathroom,” Jayce says, voice lowering to mock secrecy. “Eating each other’s faces. God knows what happened before, but I have some idea, given your limp afterwards.”

Viktor considers. Caught with the hat burning on his head, he might finally rid himself of this ballast and tell Jayce more, but chooses to deadpan—courtesy of a bad mood. “We had sex in the bathroom, as you clearly worked out yourself. What is there to tell?”

“Viktor!” Jayce groans, throwing his head back. “That’s not what I’m talking about. How long?”

That finally stills him. Viktor’s eyes dart briefly across the room, then settle somewhere on the floor. He exhales slowly, defeated. “Since Mel’s birthday in Camden,” he mutters.

“I knew it!” Jayce smacks a palm onto the counter with such force the mugs rattle. “Why would you lie?”

Viktor pinches the bridge of his nose. “Because,” he says slowly, “it’s very much undefined, Jayce.”

Jayce’s brow furrows. “And why is that?”

“That is how she prefers it.”

Jayce squints at him, unconvinced. “Really? Didn’t look that way on Friday.”

Viktor sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “Jayce. Are you not entertained enough?”

Jayce puts up both hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m not making fun of you. I’m really, really glad.” He pauses, voice dropping a little. “Unless, of course… it’s not going well?”

“It is,” Viktor replies quickly, then hesitates. “Just… slow.” He gestures vaguely toward his leg, flexing the knee with a grimace. “I might be having a little… hiccup. But overall,” his mouth softens, “she’s wonderful.”

Jayce makes a high, strangled sound of joy and immediately closes the distance with a hard slap to Viktor’s back. There’s even an attempt at a hug—awkward, brief, and overly enthusiastic. Viktor shoves him off with a glare, adjusting his crutch. “Enough. Let’s get to work. What’s the situation here?”

Jayce, still beaming, snatches his tablet off the counter. “Moderately good news. Mel’s influence helped. Check your email—they are close to dropping the topic.”

“Brilliant.” Viktor reaches for his laptop. “Where do we start then?”

It’s a gentle slide. They begin right away, and Viktor throws himself into the week, abhorring the resolution of one problem for the sake of another. Now that the green light flickers on the horizon, the path forward is clearer than it's been in months, and work, oh, it’s a balm.

Not a cure—never that—but something sharp enough to override the throb in his thigh and the way his knee catches on every uneven surface. The ache recedes gradually, fading from fire to background noise, and by Thursday, Viktor no longer winces every time he sits down too fast or stands without thinking. There’s a kind of false confidence in that: the illusion of recovery, the belief that momentum is enough to outrun the damage.

Days slide into one another. Coffee cups accumulate. A single unopened message lingers on his phone—Y.V.: Viktor, are you alright? He sees it each morning, unread but burned into his screen. Instead of solving what’s heavy at heart, Viktor throws the weight of his mind at the issues it can actually solve, and it’s a little bit frightening that you seem to be more complicated than cancer.

By the time it’s Friday, and Viktor finally sits down in his flat, phone in hand, the universe outspeeds him—insistent sound of a buzzer being jabbed rings around the apartment and he already knows who would have the audacity, and not a misplaced one, not at all.

He sighs in brace and presses the call button. There is a breath of relief, and then: “Viktor?”

“Yes?” he answers smoothly.

A pause. “Uh… hello?” you say, voice sceptical, like you’re testing the line for sarcasm.

“Hello?” he repeats, lilting, far too innocent.

“Alright, are you fucking with me?” you ask, tone brittle—half joking, half genuinely annoyed.

“Not that I noticed, why?” he replies, almost cheeky, though tight, his nonchalance too practiced. He scratches at the tear in the wallpaper, then adds, softer, “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you were gone for a week,” you say, the levity in your voice clearly forced, like you're trying not to sound as concerned as you feel. “I was… worried. I came to check if you are still alive.”

“And what’s your verdict?” he asks lightly, like the question doesn’t land square in his chest.

“I have no idea. Can’t say until I see you.”

“Is my voice not enough of a proof?”

“Of course not,” you say, a huff in your breath. “For all I know, you anticipated every question and left a voicemail trail.”

“What if you tell me how many times do you want me to buzz and I will prove myself this way?” he offers, trying for charm, even though guilt is starting to erode the edges of his tone.

“Absolutely not. That could’ve been foreseen too.” You let out a breath that might be a laugh, might be a sigh. “I will remain unsatisfied until I see you in the flesh and poke your ribs, sorry.”

“You are so persistent,” he murmurs, voice low, quietly moved.

“I’m not leaving,” you say, a little sharper this time. A promise and a warning.

There’s a long pause. “I am not trying to make you leave,” Viktor says at last, gentle, the playfulness gone now. He presses the buzzer. “Come on up.”

Deflated, you drag yourself through the door and slump against the lift’s wall with a dull thud. Relief is momentary—it quickly flees, leaving anguish to settle back in your chest. The first crack has appeared, and it’s partly on Viktor whether it will spiderweb into full-blown damage or be mended.

You stumble out, and Viktor is already waiting, leaning in the doorway like he’s been planted there. You pass him without a word, just an expression carved from worry. He has the nerve to ask, almost light-heartedly, “No bag today?”

“I didn’t want to be presumptuous.” It comes as a wounded grumble, undignified and sulky. You eye him head to toe, deeming his existence much more than few steps away from the finality of death—and then a vile selfish thought plagues you. That it’s only the Grim Reaper who wouldn’t have your voice rising in hot wrath over the torment of Viktor-withdrawal symptoms. And then, frightened beyond what sanity allows, you realise your voice would hitch for an entirely different reason altogether—had the reaper taken him from you, you would howl first, and then beg at the construct’s feet to take you as well.

Blink it away. “Alive and kicking, I see,” you say, settling on a throaty snarl that nearly chokes you when you realise Viktor is wearing fucking jeans.

“Kicking might be an overstatement,” Viktor replies, pushing lightly off the doorframe, attempting at a joke which not only not lands, but bounces right off you and hits him in the face.

“Well, but your hands work, don’t they?” you say losing your shoes, worry stepping down for fury to take its place.

“I’m sorry, I was—”

“What?” You cut him off. “Run over by a bus? Trapped? Kidnapped? Bound? Somewhere with no mobile service?” You march past him into the flat without waiting for an invitation, stripping off your coat like it weighs a hundred kilos.

“I wasn’t feeling well,” Viktor says quietly, shutting the door behind you with more care than he feels. “I am better now, thank you for asking.”

“I was getting there.” You whirl to face him. “Again, were your fingers unwell too?”

He falters. Then says your name, a soft warning, disbelieving. He’s never seen you this angry, the mixture of shame and guilt rising an alarm for his defences to go right up.

“Viktor,” you sigh. “Don’t fuck with me, okay? Explain yourself. Now.”

“Excuse me?” His voice sharpens, as anger apparently is contagious. “What is this supposed to mean—did you come to check on me or interrogate me?”

“I came to check on you and then interrogate you.” You cross your arms, daring him to object.

“That’s not what I agreed on when I let you in,” he says, exasperated, turning from you toward the kitchen, hands seeking distraction.

“Well boo-fucking-hoo,” you snap. “I’m here now, so you have to endure it. What the fuck, Viktor?”

“Elaborate?” he asks tightly.

“Viktor,” you say again, pacing now. “We see each other every third day. Or every second day, for months. And suddenly you disappear for a whole week? And with nothing? No note, no text? Just… ghosting me?” Your brows scrunch and voice begins to fray. Oh, you are so hurt. He sees it and once more, it hurts him back, as he has nothing to offer you in return, nothing to soothe this, except to admit that he just outright fucked up.

“My… leg ached,” Viktor says, eyes drilled into the floor.

“Excuse me?” You stop dead in your tracks. Then, you walk up to him and grab his palm. “Did I just hear that right? Not your hand? Not your fingers? Your leg, is that right?”

“What—” Viktor recoils, eyes narrowing, his hand sliding out of your grip as if it burned. “What is the matter with you, why are you being so cruel?”

“Because!” You nearly stomp, throwing your hands, frustrated and sad. “The last time I saw you, you threw a fit about being jealous, fucked me in the bathroom, and then wiped period from between my legs!” You glare at him, your breath catching in your throat, voice breaking. “For all I know, you could’ve been so grossed out you don’t want to see me again.”

Your name stumbles out of him, a tentative plea as understanding finally begins to dawn in his eyes. He reaches out toward you, but you take a step back, heart hammering, annoying the way it won’t calm down.

“Well, what is it then?” You say again, quieter. “If you’re so bored with me, at least text me. ‘Sorry, grew tired of your stupid bone-cracking, not fucking you anymore,’ would’ve sufficed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Viktor replies, his voice strained, out of ideas, out of arguments, as he cannot bring himself to say what should be said.

“Ridiculous?” You bite back a hollow laugh. “Who’s being ridiculous, Viktor? You think I don’t know your leg aches? I’m here three times a week, I know when you pretend! I know when you are in pain, you fucking tosser!”

Viktor quirks a brow. “Did you come here to call me names?” he scoffs, tone clipped, panic seeping beneath.

“No,” you whine, fists tightening. “I would’ve called you a wanker then.”

“How merciful,” Viktor mutters rolling his eyes.

“Fuck off,” you snap, the anger coming back, whistling like a kettle. “How dare you leave me without a word for a week. How dare you act jealous over some wanker I have no care in the world for. How dare you—”

“Why are you being like this?!” Viktor interrupts, his voice rising, desperate and confused. He is utterly unprepared for this. You, the perfect picture of independence almost flailing him with the scourge of your tone, makes him feel so small, he’s on the verge of vanishing.

You stare at him, bewildered. “Because I am so angry with you! I’m so fucking cross with you right now!” Your words come out in a rush, chest tight, throat burning with unshed tears. “You… you try to beguile me with all your cryptic phrases, with your fucking domestic bliss, and you dare to allude to coming out in front of our friends, and now your leg aches and you ghost me? Me?”

“Look—” Viktor starts, his voice faltering. “I just… work picked up, we’ve been—”

“I do not care.” Your voice shakes, but you press on. “You do not get to get swamped or be alone without telling me that you need it, do you understand me?”

“Forgive me, but aren’t you forgetting yourself?” Viktor retorts, sharpness creeping into his tone.

“No! Viktor, I—” Your voice cracks, but you push forward. “I am really trying here. I wouldn’t come, I usually don’t,” you say, the words coming out in a breathless rush. “I do know when you are in pain. I know when you limp but refuse to use the crutch. I know when you overwork yourself and when you push it too far because you’re trying to prove something—”

“Must be truly amazing to be able to read people like this,” he says bitterly, his eyes avoiding yours.

“No, I am not good at this. I am terrible at this, at reading people. But I know you,” you say, stepping closer, your hands trembling as you reach for his face, cupping it gently in your palms. Your eyes soften as you speak the next words, raw and real, piercing right through him. “I know you. I am so, so sorry you are in pain, but you cannot do this to me. You can’t say all the things you say and then abandon me without a word, do you understand?”

Viktor thinks you don’t realise how much you’ve just said. The admission tumbles down his body. Abandoned. He would never. “I didn’t mean to,” Viktor says quietly, his voice a whisper, eyes lifting only to your lips.

“No, I don’t care,” you reply, shaking your head. “Just tell me you understand.”

He nods slowly, and then, “I do.”

“And promise me you won’t do this again. Promise me on Jayce,” you demand, thumbs pressing in on his cheek bones.

“Why on Jayce?” Viktor chuckles, momentarily confused.

“Because he’s a precious little thing,” you reply, offering a forced half-smile.

“I promise on Jayce,” he says sincerely, placing his hand on yours. It’s cold and heavy where skin meets skin.

You stare at him, eyes searching, and then—“Okay,” you nod, feeling the tension in your chest ease, but not gone. You let go of him, sigh, and turn toward the kitchen.

“Where are you going?”

“Well, I need a fucking tea now, that was awfully stressful,” you mutter, trying your best to sound light. Trying your best not to break down right there in the corridor. When you reach the kitchen, you put the kettle on, sit on the chair and sob into your hand.

You hear Viktor’s cane tapping against the floor—a steady sound, closer and closer—and then it stops at the threshold. He doesn’t speak, just watches. There you are, heart pouring out through your eyes, anger finally departing to make space for something else, harder to deal with. He drags a chair across the tiles with a scrape and settles opposite you. Crutch thunks dully on the table while you snot into your palm, trying not to make a scene.

Then: kind arms. They fold around you from the side, cautious but certain. His cold hand settles on the back of your neck, thumb grazing your spine. Forehead rests against forehead, a delicate press. Viktor exhales shakily, his voice barely more than a breath. “What’s happening?” he asks, tender, like he truly wants to know.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, voice cracking. “I really don’t like fighting.”

“Me neither.” His reply is instant, quiet. Then: “Come here.” He draws you into his lap, and that’s when your throat gives in. The sob rips through you with no grace, loud and stifled in the crook of his neck.

“Oh, darling,” Viktor coos, wrapping his arms tightly around you.

You collapse fully then, no longer holding yourself up, tension leaving your limbs. Your shoulders quake and his shirt dampens under your cheek as the tears keep coming. “Have I done something wrong?” you mutter, broken and uncertain.

Viktor inhales sharply, holding you closer. “Of course not,” he says, and it sounds like it hurts him to have to say it.

“Are you bored with me?” You dig, fingers curling around his collar.

He speaks your name so softly it trembles. Then, he tilts your face to his, and when you look up, his mouth presses to yours. “I’ll sooner die than grow bored of you,” he whispers.

“Are you still angry about the restaurant?” you ask, eyes closed, lips catching on lips.

His arms tighten instinctively, protectively. “No,” he says, fingers stroking gently through your hair. “Are you?”

You shake your head against him. “No, you were great,” you manage with a wet snort that catches him off guard. And in that instant, he understands. The realisation hits his face like a blow: what went so wrong, and why.

He leans back just enough to see you properly. Then he cups your face with both hands, careful and seeking touch, thumbs trying in vain to chase the tears from beneath your eyes. “Who hurt you like this?” he murmurs. “What have they done?”

You blink at him, confused. “Why are you asking me this?”

“So I can do better,” he says, not breaking eye contact, voice steady despite the ache behind it.

You gasp, look away and back at him. “You are better, Viktor.” Your presses over his, where it cradles your cheek. “Just don’t disappear on me.”

“I promise,” he says, kissing you again. Your mouth is salty and wet, but he doesn’t care. “I swear,” Viktor says, when his tongue parts your lips. He pulls you closer and mutters playfully, “Oh, you look so pretty crying.”

“Freak,” you snort, but take it.

You curl into him again, and Viktor’s mouth is soft—one kiss, then one more, slow, and unhurried, as if to calm the last of the storm. The two of you sit in the chair like that for a while, shackled together, breath steadying.

His fingers trace lazy shapes along your spine, until finally he murmurs into the curve of your neck: “Is that what you are like at work?” His voice is muffled, lips brushing your skin.

“Yes,” you mutter, cheek resting against his shoulder. “Scary?”

“Hmm,” he hums, a quiet chuckle vibrating through you. “And sexy.”

“Oh? Would you like me to call you some more names, Viktor?” You tilt your head back to peer at him, smiling faintly.

“Please do,” he replies with a serious nod, completely unfitting.

“Tosser.” Your lips press to his cheek. “Wanker.” A kiss to his jaw. “Twat.” This one lands right on his lips, and he catches it, deepens it.

“Oh,” he breathes against your mouth. “You flirt.”

“You laugh now,” you say, pulling just far enough to narrow your eyes at him. “I am still a bit cross.” Your voice softens. “Viktor, I—”

“I know,” he interrupts gently, hands rising to cradle your face again. “I know. I am so sorry. I promise I won’t do this again, I swear.” He searches your face, gaze tender. “Do you believe me?”

“It’s good enough,” you murmur, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead. It’s good enough for now, the fracture patched up, the anger worn down to exhaustion. Viktor nods once, slowly—he’ll take it. It’s good enough.

“Do you still want your tea?” he asks after a moment, voice lighter, but no less sincere.

“Of course,” you say. “They revoke our passports if we don’t have a cup of tea after a difficult conversation.”

“I see,” he hums with a small smile. Then, more hesitantly: “Will you stay in my bed tonight?”

You raise your brows, letting your fingers play idly with the ends of his hair. “Did you miss me?”

Viktor exhales hard, then looks you square in the eye, something aching and honest flashing in the lines of his face. “Insurmountably.”

He reaches for your hand. “Are you tired?”

“A little.” You squeeze his fingers. “What do you have in mind?”

“Something that will seal this all up nicely,” he says, lips quirking into a smile that’s both suggestion and softness.

Much more could be told—and Viktor knows it. All of his confessions stay trapped deep in his chest, words remain scant. But he’s found a way to navigate this strange landscape, where the love is skinny, bodies speak volumes and mouths are cowards, he hopes.

#my writing #viktor arcane #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader #viktor x reader smut #viktor smut #viktor x f!reader #viktor x oc #arcane #arcane fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor nation #to be known

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