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skzdarlings · 7 months

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vexatious vixen ; felix x reader ; part 2/2

masterlist.

PART 2/2. READ PART 1 HERE. ( READ ON AO3. )

You always get what you want. When an unassuming security guard named Felix stops your latest venture, you escalate the stakes until he has no choice but to put you in your place.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: romantic comedy. strangers to enemies to lovers. cat-and-mouse. dom/sub dynamics, dom!felix and sub!reader. brat tamer!felix and brat!reader. everything that transpires is fully consensual with implied conversations on kink preferences, and an established colour safeword system before the scene. that being said, they still get a lil kinky. please heed the following content warnings: fear kink/cnc, hiding, chasing, lots and lots of dirty talk, fingering, blow jobs, face fucking, throat fucking, a little bit of crying, penetrative sex. (protected but dirty talk like it's not.)

(chapter word count: 7750 words.)

enjoy! <3

The gentlest nip of a summer breeze moves through the settling blue darkness. Everything feels romantic. Everything except the handcuffs chaining you to Felix, Security Guard of the Year, Man of the People, and Defender of Propriety and Pop Star Penis.

Felix does not look at you as he drags you away from the stadium. He smiles sweetly at passersby, doing his best to hide the handcuffs no thanks to your flamboyant gesticulations, but it dissolves again to that grim, determined countenance.

Felix has an interesting face, so many sharp lines, but the overall effect is somehow delicate. A body of contradictions, slender but strong, a stark masculinity rippling beneath the glittery prettiness he happily indulges in. Blue hair should not look that good on anyone, but you doubt anything could make him look bad. He sparkles like the glitter star on his cheek.

You poke that cheek. A muscle in his jaw twitches. He looks at you sideways, all pretty brown eyes and a constellation of even prettier freckles.

“Do not,” he says.

“Do not what?”

“Just. Do not.”

You obey his demand for silence. For about six seconds.

“So how long have you been a security guard?” you ask amiably.

“You’re really trying to have a normal conversation with me,” he says. “Now? After that introduction?”

“I prefer the term meet-cute.”

“We wrestled on the ground then you handcuffed us together and threw away the key—”

“Adorable.”

“Right.” He picks up his speed. You could easily keep pace but you decide to stagger along like he is too fast for you, whining as he drags you behind him. Felix sighs but slows his pace. To your surprise, he answers your question. “A month,” he says. “I’ve been working there a month.”

“And you’re already gunning for CEO,” you say. “Considering how dedicated you are to bringing justice—”

He slams to a stop. Your chain jingles when you collide, hands smacking together. He faces you. Wisps of blue escape from his half-ponytail to dance across his face.

“I already told you,” he says. “My job is checking tickets. Chasing you down was my personal pleasure.”

“You’re a sick bastard,” you say.

He smiles. It is a gentle smile, seemingly sympathetic out of nowhere, his eyes softening with the lift of his brow. He has an uncanny ability to make softness more threatening than roughness. It gives you a shiver.

“Let me guess,” he says. “You don’t have a job, do you, sweetheart? You can’t hold one down. You don’t know how. Your parents have money and it’s nice, sure, but they were overbearing your whole childhood, weren’t they? Until one day they decided you were grown and just stopped caring. And now you’re out in the world with no more rules and you don’t know how to deal with it. Except by acting out. It’s fun, right? Looking for trouble. Makes you feel something for a minute. Because even though you have everyone fooled into thinking you’re this wild and carefree person, you’re locked up inside. You’re not scared of consequences because you’re already trapped. Oh, uhh, stop me if I’m getting cold, yeah?”

You just stare as he blithely runs his pretty mouth.

“You don’t really care about the prize, it’s just about the chase,” he continues. “You told me I was a good boy, yeah? Your words. And you think you’re bad. A bad, bad girl,” his deep voice drops even more, like the heavy-handed thud of a low blow, striking some place intimate inside you, “but that’s not really true, is it?”

He smiles that particular smile again, full of affection and tenderness, an expression that is completely alien to your brash and aggressive nature.

“Deep, deep down, you just want to be good,” he says. “But you need to earn it to enjoy it, don’t you? You need someone to tell you that you can, that it’s okay. But you don’t make it easy. And you’ve been running for so long, you probably can’t even remember how it feels when someone cares enough to catch you.”

You suddenly feel the weight of the handcuffs. You expected this dull pretty boy to have a hidden mean streak to rival your own, not for him to blast through your barriers and drag your innermost thoughts to the surface. To say nothing of his perfect speculation on your background.

“So what, you’re some kind of stalker with a philosophy major?” you ask.

He is still smiling.

He laughs, a low chuckle. He looks like a star, glittering silver and blue in the moonlight.

“No, I’m not,” he says. “I’m just the same as you. Vexatious, apparently, because I’m all smiles all the time. Just so good, you know?” He is almost theatrical in tone. “Of course, that’s technically the opposite of you. Isn’t it?”

When you don’t answer, he touches your chin, just his fingertips. It is still enough to guide your face to his, locking eyes.

“I said, isn’t it?” he asks, his tone sharper.

If he is insinuating that you are only pretending to be bad, then that means he is only pretending to be good. If you are secretly good, then he is secretly—

His mouth hovers close to yours. He abruptly steps back.

Oh. You blink quickly. Yes. Of course. It is always the real bad boys who take care to be good, isn’t it? He does not need to flaunt it. He can just smile at you.

“Come on,” he says, interlocking your fingers with his. He tugs you along, humming to himself as he leads you down the street. So seemingly innocent. Grinning to himself like the cheshire cat.

You stare at those freckles, the glitter stars, his dimples.

A vexatious vixen, indeed.

“So that Jisung guy,” you say. “The one who gave you these handcuffs. He thinks you’re a nice guy who needs some adventure in his life. It was just a prank gift and he thought he was being funny.”

“Yup,” Felix says, popping the sound.

“Little does he know you’re actually some sick and twisted pervert,” you say.

“Tsk,” he says, looking at you with a cheeky grin, as if to say what a silly girl you are. “I’m not sick. See, unlike you who bothers everyone whether they like or not, I only chase the ones who like to run. Twisted, on the other hand… well…”

The handcuffs jingle, strung around your joined hands like the red string of fate. You look at each other, starlight on your faces, a noisy arena behind you and a game ahead of you.

You smile back at him.

You still intend to win.

It is a twenty minute walk. Your conversation weaves around implications, some very forthright flirtations, and a couple scandalizing explanations. Despite his previous goading, Felix is far more reserved in his desires. He blinks when you describe a very dirty scenario and get detailed. Very, very detailed.

“Um, right,” he says. “Fun as that sounds, I’m pretty sure that constitutes as a human rights violation.”

“So?”

“I, uhh, prefer to do things that don’t get me put on an Interpol watch list.”

“Coward.”

You nonetheless accept this and describe a totally different scenario. He looks a little wan.

“Where would I get a rocket launcher?” he asks when you are finished.

“I dunno, get creative. My friend Seungmin once—oh shit, my friends!”

“Wait, huh? Your friend Seungmin has a rocket launcher…?”

You take out your phone to find a gathering collection of texts from Seungmin and Minho, ranging from teasing you about losing your touch to asking if you got arrested and they need to bail you out. Your friends are a nightmare which is why you like them, but they always get you out of trouble in the end.

You confirm you are safe, that you already left, and that you are trying to have sex with a hot, insane, kinky sadist of a security guard.

“You know I can read everything you are typing right now,” Felix says. “I am standing right beside you. You’re typing with a hand literally attached to mine.”

“Well, mind your own business.” You do not bother hiding your texts.

“You are giving them my name and address,” Felix replies. “It sounds like my business.”

“Well, it’s not. We’ve already established the world revolves around me. You’re the supporting character, pal.”

“Right,” he says. He blinks at the screen. In a more serious voice, he asks, “Do you want the postal code too?”

It never hurts to be thorough. You type the address and send it to the boys.

Good thing you waxed, Seungmin writes.

Felix squints at the screen and tilts his head like a curious cat. “You waxed for a concert?” he asks, giving you a once-over. “What did you think was gonna—”

“I am prepared for every eventuality,” you interrupt. “It’s why I always win.”

He holds up your handcuffed wrists and cocks an eyebrow. “Is this what you call winning?” he asks.

You smirk, your whole expression bright despite the suggestive wiggling of your eyebrows. “Matter of opinion, I suppose,” you say. “And my opinion is the only one that matters.”

“Right,” he says, forcing a frown. Despite his efforts, a smile is tugging at his lips. He suffices to roll his eyes and march ahead, yanking you along behind him. “Come on,” he says. “We’re almost there.”

Once your friends have your information, you put your phone in your little purse. You turn the corner and find yourself looking at an absolutely gorgeous house. Your jaw drops as Felix leads you up the driveway. It is an ostentatious design to say the least. You pass a gate mounted with two lion statues.

“Not my style,” he says when you gawk at the stone kitties. “This place belongs to my parents. They usually rent it out but they let me live here while I go to school.”

“So you weren’t kidding,” you say, a funny sensation in your chest and stomach. “About your background, I mean. You and me really are alike.”

You realize the sensation in your chest is an inkling of feelings. Genuine, heart-felt, soul-stirring feelings. You look at Felix and see a lot of yourself, though he is like a mirror version, exactly the same and completely the opposite. It makes you huff, holding a hand to your stomach like you can control the butterflies there.

“What’s wrong?” Felix asks, pausing at the front door.

“When was the last time you had a feeling?” you ask.

“A… feeling?” he asks. He stands silent for a long moment. When he realizes you are not going to elaborate, he asks, “What kind of feeling?”

“Just a feeling,” you say. “You know.”

“Uhh.” He blinks quickly. “I have feelings all the time. Every day.”

“Wow,” you say. “That sounds exhausting. Explains a lot about you.”

“All right.” He shakes his head. He reaches into his back pocket and fishes out a set of house keys, twirling them around his fingers until he finds the right one.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I threw those keys too?” you ask.

He gives you an exasperated look. You grin.

With a shake of his head, he sighs and unlocks the door. The foyer lights flicker to life and the house alarm starts ringing. It gives you a punch of adrenaline which has the predictable effect of getting your blood pumping. Your body does not know the difference between fear and desire. You have only been here two seconds but you are already licking your lips.

Felix is none-the-wiser. He flips open the alarm panel and punches in a code. It beeps and goes quiet. You look at each other in the soft golden glow of the foyer lamplight. He still looks stupidly pretty, blue hair and glitter, sleeveless shirt and jeans. Unassuming, gentle, sweet. Not at all like he could throw you over his shoulder or manhandle you in the grass. But he can. He did.

“Come on,” he says, tugging on the chain between you.

You feign disinterest but your eyes scour his space. You pass through the kitchen where there is an array of baking utensils drying in the dishes rack. The entire kitchen is clearly maintained with great care. The rest of the space is a little chaotic, shelves and desks and units overflowing with technological equipment that you can neither recognize nor name.

“I build computers,” he says, catching you staring at the pile of miscellaneous parts. “Sorry for the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”

This is uttered dryly and you wave it away. You do not want to admit you find it somewhat endearing. Your hobbies primarily consist of keeping the local PD on their toes, but you appreciate the practice of a craft. It only adds another layer to this weird dude, pretty but athletic but intelligent but ridiculous but charming but geeky. And just as competitive and crazy and freaky as you.

“Bedroom’s this way,” he says. “And, uh, don’t get any ideas.”

“Too late,” you answer, though truthfully your filthier fantasies are fracturing in wake of the reality of him. The computers, the baking tools, the wall of games and consoles, collectible toys and ughhh why did he have to be kind of adorable and secretly have a personality. Mutual objectification is more your style. Not quivering under a gentle touch and feeling… feelings.

“You look like you are thinking way too hard,” Felix says, pausing at his bedroom door. “It’s freaky.”

“Not thinking anything,” you say, because you are too busy feeling to be thinking. Ugh. You shake it off and push open his bedroom door.

He shakes his head and leads you in. He has a pretty elaborate gaming setup, the rest of the room plain in comparison. His bed is neatly made and you cannot help but envision a mess of sheets. Yes. That is more your thing. Taking that sweet and gentle façade and corrupting it, right down to the core. You want him to lose control. You want to drive him crazy. You want to draw this out, use the handcuffs and—

“Aha,” he says. “Right here.”

He pulls open a bedside drawer. A pair of handcuffs is sitting inside it, the key right on top. He takes it out and immediately unlocks you.

The cuffs fall to the floor. He scoops them up and jingles them in your face.

You stare at them then slowly meet his gaze.

“Oh,” you say. “You evil son of a bitch.”

He looks at you with a soft little pout, like he cannot imagine why you would be upset and you are hurting his oh-so sensitive feelings. But he knew you wanted to play him. He knew you wanted the handcuffs a little longer. Now there is no reason to linger. Now you can just walk out the door and never see him again.

He is going to make you ask for it.

That is not your style. You hate being out-smarted. And you really, really, really hate losing.

“Right,” you say. “I guess that’s it then.”

“Guess so,” he says. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

You are still standing in his bedroom. It is dark but there is an elaborate lighting rig around his computer, all bright blue neon and blinking lights. You are swimming in blue, breathing it in. His hair, the room, and moonlight.

You will never see this colour the same way again. Of that much you are certain.

“Blue,” you say.

His brow crinkles. “Blue?” he repeats.

“Mm.” You look around the room, pretending you are unbothered by the intensity of his gaze. “Red. Yellow. Green. Colours can say a lot, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” he says, exhaled on a breath. The neon light catches the little star on his cheek, glinting at you. He is dazzling. This moment is larger than life.

You take a step back, holding his gaze.

“Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for go…” you drawl, backing out of his room. “It’s amazing what you can say with just a colour…”

“Uh-huh,” he says. He looks at you like he did at the arena, maybe even more intensely. Now he knows what you are capable of doing. Now you understand each other.

He follows you, assessing every step you take. There is a subtle flex to the lean muscles of his arms, reminding you that while he is beautiful, he is also capable of more.

“And what does blue mean?” he asks. “To you?”

You walk backwards, an unspoken understanding that once you turn your back, the game begins. So you hold his gaze, smirking, inviting. The foyer lights flash on and gold light fills the space between you, casting shadows across your smiling faces.

He walks like a predatory cat, slow and smooth. His confidence is easy. He needs no grand display of machoism. He just smiles that pretty pink mouth. The glitter on his cheek sparkles.

“Blue is the colour we show on the outside,” you say, “when deep down we really want something else.”

“I see,” he says. Abruptly, his intensity vanishes when he laughs and says, “Put it back.”

Somehow, despite diverting his attention, he still saw your slight-of-hand. You swiped the closest object, a little jewel-encrusted clock on the nearby table. You waited until your body obscured the view but he still saw.

He can read you that easily, predict your moves that well. Because it is not as though he loves the clock. It stands out from his things, clearly one of the ostentatious designs, courtesy of his parents. You can read him that easily too. He does not like gaudy, shiny little knick-knacks. He likes neon and blue and you.

“Put what back?” you ask. You have reached the front door. Your hands are behind your back, the bauble in one, the other twisting the doorknob.

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says.

You push the door open.

“I’ll give it back, if that’s what you really want,” you say. With a suggestive little smirk, you ask, “So what’s your colour?”

Red to stop. Yellow to pause. Green to give in.

“Blue,” he says. To play.

You smile. You hold up the bauble, wink, then zip it into your purse.

“In that case,” you say, “you’ll have to catch me first.”

His expression changes in an instant, that playful giggling gone as quickly as it came. He breathes and it fills him, makes him look sturdy, makes him look ready.

“Sweetheart,” he says. “Don’t make me do this.”

The softness of the pet name is completely undone by the dark tone of his voice. There is nothing soft about him. He is ice cold blue and burning red heat at once, searing you with his eyes, the way they rove your whole body. You feel each glance. A shiver races down your spine. Instinctively, your body braces itself, fearful of that voice and that gaze.

It also gets you so, so hot.

All that tension snaps.

You turn and run, bolting down the driveway and past the fancy gate. You are quick on your feet, practiced and lithe. You show him no mercy this time. Earlier you were unprepared, severely misjudging his capabilities, but you will not make the same mistake again.

You glance over your shoulder. He is no where to be seen so you slow your pace, bemused.

A minute later, he comes tearing around the corner and your heart starts pumping again. Just like back at the arena, he grins as he thunders after you.

An instinctive little yelp leaves your mouth. You resume your pace, booking it for the corner of the block. There is a little patch of green park so you run there, disappearing between the bushes.

It seemed like a good idea but the streetlight barely breaks the thick tree branches. It is darker and eerier here, genuine fright overcoming you. You come to a clumsy stop, fumbling with your purse to grab your phone. A flashlight will stop you tripping, but it will also lead Felix right to you.

You hear him behind you, clambering through the bushes. Your heart leaps. The darkness makes you forget this is all pretend. You run without a light, dashing down the narrow path and squinting for even a glimpse of street light. You need to get out of the bushes otherwise you risk falling on your face, then he will be right on top of you in seconds. But running on the road will expose you too quickly.

You will not surrender that easily. He knows that.

Torn between the garden and the road, you get a brilliant idea. You dash back onto the street and hope it takes him a minute to follow. He is not behind you so you race back to his house.

There is no way he will circle back here. He knows you want a chase, so a chase is what he anticipates. He would never guess you ran back into his house. Oh, you can’t wait for the look on his face when he finds you perched on his bed, feigning boredom as you wait.

You run back up the driveway. The front door is closed and you crash right into it, assuming it would be unlocked. Nope. He locked it. Maybe that is why he was delayed.

You spin around, halfway expecting to find him there, ready to push you up against his door and cage you in. But no, you are still winning. He is undoubtedly still running through those bushes. He will circle the whole block before heading back here.

You hurry down the side of the house, looking for any open windows. You do not think he had time to set the alarm. Did he? Maybe that is why he was so far behind.

The side gate is unlocked so you slip into the backyard. You come to a surprised stop because it is a beautiful landscape. The greenery is pristine and there are little couches and chairs scattered around. There is a shed, some storage trunks, a fire pit. In the middle of everything is a pool, sparkling blue in the golden lamplight. Of course.

You do not rush. You cross the yard in a slow walk, taking a moment to catch your breath. You strategize your next move. Should you pose on one of the pool chairs? Wait by his back door and knock when he gets home?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a low hum. Someone is making their way down the side of the house.

You panic. You are often caught scampering around places you are not supposed to be, so instinct propels you to hide. You run to one of the storage trunks and duck behind it.

No sooner have you hidden does Felix stroll into the backyard. He is a little dishevelled, a few strands of hair escaping from his half-ponytail, but he seems mostly unbothered. He moves at a leisurely pace, humming to himself as he swings the gate open.

He pauses there, leaning against the tall fence. You are quite certain the world has never been this quiet.

“I know you’re here,” Felix says, his deep voice shattering the silence.

Your heart leaps into your throat. You should have known better. Of course he had the same idea as you. Now what? How can you outsmart someone who can predict your every move?

You peek around the storage trunk. Felix is smiling, all dimples and delight. Even his eyes are glittering as he swings the gate shut. He looks across the yard as he curls his fist around the padlock. He slams it shut, effectively locking you in with him.

So that is why he took so long. He unlocked the gate before giving chase. He laid a trap and you ran right into it.

His walk is more of a prowl, a slow but steady tread across the grass.

“Come out, come out,” he sing-songs, uncannily chipper.

You cannot believe you are about to be beaten so quickly. It has your head spinning, your heart racing from your run, your adrenaline pounding as he approaches.

Your heart tempers itself when he stops. He pokes his head around the fire pit to see if you are hiding there.

“Sweetheart,” he says, casting his gaze around the yard. “You don’t need to hide. I promise I’m not mad.” He strolls around the pool, looking from here to there, even up at the trees. He hums thoughtfully to himself. “Now, now… If I was a troublemaker who needed to learn a lesson, where would I hide…” He ducks behind a pool chair, frowning. “Hmm, hmm, hmm…”

He stands for a minute, tapping his chin. You want to glean some semblance of your surroundings, but you do not want to take your eyes off him. You are convinced if you do, he will manifest right beside you. So you look at the house then at him, the gate then at him, the trees then at him. You almost want to scream. He is not even moving and he has you completely captivated, every last sense in your body attuned to him.

“Pleeeeease,” he says in a long drawl, a cute little tone. He ambles over to a different storage trunk and lifts the lid. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

He slams the lid down so hard it makes the unit wobble. Even though you are far away, it makes you jump. You have to cover your mouth to stop a yelp from escaping.

You stare as he leans over the other unit, peering behind it. He huffs in frustration when he finds nothing. Despite the angry grimace, when he stands upright, he is wearing that saccharine smile.

“You’re hurting my feelings, sweetheart,” he says. “I thought we were turning into friends. Don’t you want to be my friend?”

He flings a chair out of his way, then swiftly drops to his knees to peer under the picnic table. He is getting closer, bit by bit, which is somehow more terrifying than if he beelined right at you.

He is giving you time, you realize. He wants you worked up. He wants your heart racing. He wants you quivering and soft and afraid.

You look around frantically, searching for an escape.

Your hope rises then plummets. The back door is ajar but that is an obvious trap. It leads into the house but there is no way you are crossing the yard without him seeing you.

You jump at another slam. It was the shed door. He is stepping inside it, rifling through the yard tools in case you are crouched inside.

“Come on,” he says into the shed. “Don’t be scared.”

You take a deep breath. You have only seconds to cross the yard while his back is turned. You do not waste another moment, jumping to your feet and running as quietly and as quickly as you can.

He is just as quiet. You shriek at the sudden arm that catches you, just like it did at the arena. Felix tackles you onto the grass again, pushing you down on your back and covering your mouth.

You wrestle him, just like last time, ignoring his laughter as you claw and bite at him.

“You’re a little mean, you know that?” he says, waving his hand after narrowing dodging your teeth. He dives back in, undeterred, grabbing your face in one hand. “Yeah, that’s it,” he says. “Fight me. Brat.”

You do not surrender easily, but he manhandles you with the same effortless skill as before. There is no doubt he has training that you lack, flipping you in his arm then pushing you down on your front. You kick your legs as he straddles your backside. He brings your hands together on the base of your spine.

You know what is coming and it makes you shriek with frustration. Just like last time, he slaps the handcuffs on your wrists and locks your hands behind your back.

“You stupid little—” you start, your words stifled when he puts his hand over your mouth and yanks your head up. He holds the handcuff key in front of your face, then makes a show of throwing it. You are pretty sure it is still in his fist, but the very idea has you whimpering into his palm.

“That’s better,” he says, slowly taking his hand off your mouth. It hovers like he expects you to start screaming. You just exhale heavily, glaring. “All right,” he says. “Very good. Come on.”

You play at obedience long enough to get off the ground. He helps you stand, then you immediately kick at him. He tries to grab your leg but you dodge the swipe of his hand, running the opposite way.

Your balance is thrown, dizzy from the takedown and the handcuffs. He catches you quickly. You yelp when he sweeps you off your feet, boasting all that hidden strength again.

He carries you over to the deck where he drops down, sitting with his legs spread to fit you in between. With your back to his front, he pulls you against him, an arm across your chest to keep you pinned together.

“Oh fuck you,” you say, wriggling helplessly.

“Not quite,” he says, laughing. “I’ve been picturing something else.”

He covers your mouth again, catching your shriek when he tugs your shirt open. The flannel falls down your shoulders and he yanks the tank top down, getting a handful of everything you inadvertently flashed him earlier.

Despite the force of his initial touch, he is not rough. You might have kept your cool if he was; you are used to rough, fast, hard. But his hand is tender, almost loving, a slow touch that trails from your neck down your chest, thumb circling the peak of your nipple before he squeezes your curves in the cup of his hand. It is maddeningly slow and careful, your whining trapped in the palm of his hand.

“This is what I was picturing,” he says. It sounds like a growl, his deep tone just above a rough whisper. His lips graze your ear and you shiver.

You gasp, taking in deep gulps of air when he frees your mouth. A weak whimper is all you manage when he hooks his legs around yours and pries them apart. His hand dives down to your shorts, making swift work of the buttons.

“Yup, just what I thought,” he says as his fingers sink inside you. “Do you feel that?” he asks, as if your attention could be on anything but the thorough, rolling touch of his fingers, torturing the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. He slides his fingers into you with no resistance whatsoever. He starts finger-fucking you, laughing when you moan, when you rear up under his hand for more. “Mmm, yeah, you want it don’t you?” You try to resist but it is hard, especially when he teases you, making you chase him with your hips. He just laughs again, slowing his touch maddeningly. “God, that’s hot,” he says. “You might be a brat but your pussy... It’s begging for it, isn’t it? Does it like this, sweetheart, hmm? Hmm?”

He is absolutely torturing you, rubbing those swollen nerves to the crest of an orgasm then withdrawing, again and again, until you swear it burns. You make a strangled sound, clutching his hand on your chest, still cupped possessively on your naked breast.

“Tell me,” he says. “Tell me how much you want me to make you come.”

“Mmmph,” is your oh-so intelligent reply.

“You can do better than that,” he says. “Come on. Show me how much you want it. You can’t lie to me, sweetheart. I can feel it, hmm? Gonna feel it when you come. Gonna feel your pussy get nice and tight around my fingers, asking for it, baby—oh yeah, what’s that? What’s it want?”

“Ugh, fuck you,” you whine.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” he says. “Fuck you. You can run that pretty mouth but I know what you really need. You’re gonna be begging me for my cock, to fill you up and make you feel all full for real. Isn’t that right? Go on. Show me you want it. Show me.”

Your chest is heaving. Your eyes close. You concentrate on that orgasm, chasing it desperately. It approaches rapidly and your thighs start shaking.

He covers your mouth again, once more predicting you. He knows you are about to come. This time he takes you right over, groaning in your ear, clutching you tight while never once slowing the deft thrust of his hand. You scream into his palm, the intensity of the orgasm washing over you. The blue light of the pool flickers even with your eyes closed, seeing nothing but blue, blue, blue. He surrounds you, his voice, his moans, his touch.

Your hips buck, your heart skipping a frantic beat when pleasure turns to sensitivity. He chuckles but stops, dropping his hand off your mouth. You catch your breath, slumping against his chest.

He touches your face with the hand he just used to fuck you, wet fingers streaking across your mouth as he turns your head. You blink at him and part your lips just for him to shove his fingers in your mouth. You cannot help but moan, eyes closing as you suck the tangy wetness right off his fingers. You watch when he takes them back, when he licks them for himself. Strands of blue fall across his forehead. He looks as flushed and filthy as you feel.

He grins around his fingers. Then he grabs the back of your neck and pulls your face to his. He kisses you for the first time with the taste of your pussy on both your mouths. His kiss is deep and bold, as if you are already his. You are dizzy when he stops, gasping when he pecks your lips with sweet, chaste little kisses.

“Gonna uncuff you now,” he says softly. “Because for what we do next…” He grabs you by the throat and you mewl, clenching around nothing when he rolls his hips under you, showing you how hard he is. “Yeah, sweetheart. For that, I need all of you.”

You sit quietly while he uncuffs you. You feign complacency, standing on shaky legs when he guides you upright. You fix your shirt, glaring at him, though it is a little harder while you are still catching your breath.

He was right about one thing; you need him like you have never needed anyone. You are throbbing, completely and totally aching with the loss of his touch. You have never felt such clear pulsations, your body begging for more even while your expression is petulant.

You follow him to the open door. One step, two steps.

Then you say, “Blue.”

You take off running into the house.

He laughs incredulously, not even making an attempt to grab you.

He slams the door shut behind him. You skid to a stop in the hall, listening to the gentle beeping of the alarm as he arms it from the inside. It is the same quiet threat as the padlock; there is no escape.

Giddy, excited, practically vibrating with anticipation, you run and hide. There are boxes and tables piled high with gadgetry, not to mention his couch and bookshelves and general appliances. Plenty more places to hide than that big back yard. And when he finally does find you, when you have worked him up the way he worked you up—

That is what winning is all about.

You sit in your hiding place, breathing hard.

“Sweetheart,” Felix says in that too-sweet voice. His footsteps are slow, unhurried, casual. “Stop hiding. I said I didn’t want to hurt you, but if you keep this up…”

You peer at him between some boxes. He stops in the middle of the room, catching his breath too. The glittering amusement has left his eyes. They are narrowed, his flushed cheeks and sweaty hairline only exacerbating his predatory air.

He unties his half-ponytail, then bends over to run his fingers through the length of it. He flips back up, all that blue falling prettily in place. He licks his lips as he prowls through the room, looking behind boxes, ducking under tables.

You shuffle with him, moving when he does. He checks your previous hiding space with a jaunty, “A-ha!” then curses.

“Come on now,” he says, turning around. He smiles like a shark, all teeth, hungry despite the innocent flash of a dimple. “You’re only hurting yourself,” he says. “I know you, sweetheart. You’re in here somewhere, and you can’t tell me you’re not thinking about what it’s gonna feel like when I catch you, yeah? Hmm. You’re fast. I bet you’re flexible too. I bet I can get you into all sorts of positions. Get you making all sorts of noises for me…”

It is a struggle to be quiet as you move. Your limbs are still shaky. Every word out of his mouth makes your breath catch.

You swallow hard, freezing when he pauses. Did he hear that? Maybe not. He turns the other way, heaving a deep sigh before he laughs. It lacks amusement, a harsh sound as he turns and turns.

“Come out, come out,” he sing-songs. In a harder voice, he snaps, “Stop hiding from me.” Then he smiles again. He turns in your direction slowly. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

You cover your mouth, cowering down when he seems to look right at you. Your heart is pounding so hard, you would not be surprised if he could hear it, even feel it, shaking this whole damn house.

“If you come out on your own,” he says, “I promise to make you feel good. You’ll come so hard, you’ll forget how scared you are.”

You keep that hand over your mouth, fighting to keep quiet. It stifles a shriek when he suddenly waves at you, a drole little finger-wiggle.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says. He crouches down, putting himself at eye-level, peering between the boxes that shield you. “Don’t make me come get you,” he says. “I’ve been nice, haven’t I? Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret.”

You shuffle to the side. He slaps a hand over his face, shaking his head while he laughs.

“Right,” he says. “Fine. We’ll do it that way.”

You bolt when he does, shrieking as you clamber around some equipment to get away. You manage to escape to the foyer, cursing when the automatic lights flash on. It feels like a spotlight, illuminating you in the middle of that big empty space with no where to hide.

You can hear Felix stomping after you. You scurry into the kitchen, looking around frantically for somewhere to hide.

You yelp when he bursts in behind you. This time, he does not give. He grabs you roughly when you try to run again. With very little effort, like you are scarcely more than a mild inconvenience, he lifts you off your feet and slings you over his shoulder. He says nothing while you curse and squirm and slap his back.

“You know what I wonder?” he eventually says, marching you right into the bedroom. “I wonder… if I make you cry, is that gonna make you tighter, you think?” He slides you down his body, holding you flush against him. He smiles. “Worth a shot, no?”

And then he handcuffs your wrist to his wrist and tosses the key across the room.

“Oops,” he says.

He grabs your throat and you gasp, spilling onto the bed when he pushes you. He puts your on your back then straddles your chest, swiftly unbuttoning his jeans.

“Open up,” he says, practically prying your mouth open, just giggling when you bite at him. “If you bite me,” he says, two fingers shoved deep in your mouth, “I promise, I’ll give you something to be fucking scared of.”

You were right. You will never see the colour blue the same way again. You will never be able to settle for anything less than Felix again.

With a whimpery sigh, you relent, blissful as your mouth falls open. He shoves his clothes out of his way, just enough. He is rock hard and wet at the tip when he guides your mouth around his dick. He cradles your head gently, even if the rest of him is not gentle.

You moan, your pussy literally twitching for attention as he shoves into your throat and makes your eyes water. You take him well and he groans, pulsing in your mouth when tears start running down your face. He fucks your mouth and throat, a back and forth that has your seeing stars. Eventually he pulls back, laughing as runs his fingers through his hair.

“Oh, baby,” he says. He reaches down to wipe a tear. “I wanted to do that the second you started mouthing off to me.”

“Asshole,” you say, though it comes out with a giggle.

He laughs, sliding down your body to get between your legs. He gets your shorts and underwear out of his way, kissing across your pussy and up your stomach. He lifts your shirt and crosses your breasts with his mouth, leaving little bite marks in his wake.

With the hand cuffed to yours, he interlocks your fingers sweetly, pressing it into the mattress. Then he swoops up. He kisses you, his tongue a soothing touch after everything.

You moan, literally shaking with need as he smiles against your lips. He speaks in that low, rasping voice when he says, “I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you realize you’re gonna come all over my cock.”

“Oh god,” is your rough reply.

“It’s Felix,” he says. “You’re gonna be screaming it in a second, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

He has a condom in his bedside drawer. Though you see him put it on, he still leans down to dirty talk, holding your throat as he whispers, “Was gonna be nice and wrap it, but you don’t like it nice, do you?” He spreads your legs with his own, pushing down with his hips. You whimper when the head of his cock glides over where you are very wet and very needy. “No, sweetheart,” he says. “I’m gonna have all of you. And you – are gonna – take it.”

He punctuates this with short thrusts, gradually easing inside you. You moan, canting your hips to meet him, needing more. When he starts fucking you in earnest, your whole body gets pliant like it never has before. You let him hold you, tethered to him by the handcuffs and something else, something to do with those feelings inside you. You let them melt into the physical sensations. When he touches you, working you into an orgasm while he is deep inside you, it all washes over you. You come with a cry, screaming his name just like he said.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he says. Your bodies are flush together, chests touching, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. His face is in your neck when he laughs. It is not a fake laugh, not coloured darkly, but ringing with true amusement. “What’s your name?” he asks.

You laugh too, whispering it against his mouth when he leans in to kiss you. He groans, kissing you, and says your name against your lips when he comes. It binds you to him more effectively than the handcuffs.

You lay there for some time afterward, all that pent-up adrenaline taking its time to dwindle. He lays on your chest, your free hand in his hair, stroking it. Eventually he looks at you with wide eyes.

“I’m not, you know, like that, I mean—” he says.

“I know,” you reply, massaging the nape of his neck. You get uncharacteristically bashful. Usually your partners, being more dominant, are the ones offering consolation to you, and you seldom need much. Felix, you can tell, needs something, and it draws something out of you that you hardly knew existed. Something tender and soft, that enjoys touching him and soothing him and making him smile.

“Do you still have that, uh, feeling?” he later asks.

You nod. He smiles.

“Me too,” he says.

“That’s nice. Can we get the handcuff key now?” you ask, making him laugh.

The handcuffs end up on the floor with your clothes.

This is usually the part where you run away, but you think you are done with running for a while. You lay down with Felix, side by side, washed in the neon blue light. You take a breath and roll onto his chest, resting your head there, and he runs a hand down your back in a soft caress.

“I’m just glad I didn’t wax for no reason,” you break the silence, making him snort. He slaps a hand over his face, shaking his head. “What! Don’t look at me like that or I’ll try and sneak into another concert when you’re on the clock.”

“Mm, will you?” he asks, grinning. “I better be prepared.”

“Oh no, I’m not messing with you. I’m picking an easier target next time.”

“I’ll find you anyway,” he says. “Can’t hide from me, sweetheart.”

“Hmm,” you say, hiding your face because that squishy feeling in your chest is back. “I still won this round.”

He lifts your face so he can look at you. Your eyes close when he swoops in and kisses you. You can’t even pretend to be annoyed with him anymore. Vexatious vixen, indeed.

“I think,” he says, “we might have tied this round, sweetheart.”

“Fine,” you say. You kiss again, long and sweet. Then you bop him on the nose. “But next time it’ll be me.”

He sighs but smiles, shaking his head. Then he cups your face and pulls you in for another kiss.

#lee felix x reader #felix x reader #lee felix smut #felix smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix x you #skz x you #stray kids x you

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suosgirl · 2 months

Text

Keeping It Cute (& Dangerous) - Hayato Suo x Reader | Ch. 5

Word Count: 6197

୨ৎ Read me before interacting!

୨ৎ Pairing: Hayato Suo x Reader feat. Haruka Sakura, Akihiko Nirei, Taiga Tsugeura, Mitsuki Kiryu, Hajime Umemiya, Kotoha Tachibana

୨ৎ Warnings: mdni, smut, f!reader, manga spoilers (?), ooc (?), fighting, slowburn, penetrative sex, use of f!bodied language, teasing, creampie, squirting, oral (fem!receiving) praising, pet names, filth, 2 stubborn idiots falling for each other – if I’ve missed one, I apologize + please let me know!

୨ৎ Note: Long ass chapter. There's smut in here. I'm delirious - but happy. Hugs and kisses for all who waited hehe! ♡♡♡

୨ৎ Keeping it Cute (& Dangerous) Masterlist

“You don’t have to be so careful Hayato – I won’t break ~” He hums thoughtfully, before bending down to whisper in your ear. “And if I do? Break you, that is.” That catches you off guard. You laugh, loud and boisterous – “Then I expect you to fix what you break, pretty boy.”

Every couple of months, Bofurin holds a sparring match within their ranks.

It’s meant to be fun, friendly, and maybe just a little competitive. But, the main intention? To see where everyone is strength-wise. No one’s meant to get roughed up so badly that they’re out of commission.

At least, that's what you’d thought when Umemiya had extended the invitation to you. Still, as you stand in the sweltering, stuffy gymnasium room surrounded by the grunts and groans of the skirmishes going around you, you’re not so sure.

Granted, no one’s fighting with malicious intent, but you can feel how serious everyone is, and you’re starting to wonder now if your presence is really as needed as Umemiya made it sound.

“I think it’d be good for you to be there. It’ll be a nice change of pace for everyone!”

And it’s not because you don’t want to fight. Quite the opposite, actually.

You were itching for it – willing, ready, and eager to pounce. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d been able to let loose and enjoy the thrill of a well-matched scrimmage.

No… it’s because you were fully convinced that you’d absolutely obliterate most of them.

Within just a few minutes of observation, you’d assessed the fighting styles, expertise, and strength levels of almost all of the matches happening throughout the gym.

This wasn’t to say that anyone in the gym was weak. No, they were all incredibly strong – some intimidatingly so. But, you knew how to use their strength against them, how to parry, how to defend – which was so much more dangerous.

And now, you’re starting to get it – why Umemiya invited you.

Sparring against the same opponents year after year could only permit so much growth, but you, a wild card, could prove to be difficult.

You let out a small smile.

Alright, you were game.

You were so game.

“Heyyyy! Didn’t know you were coming – I call dibs on your first match!”

Tseguera’s calling for you from where he’s sparring with Kiryu, and you chuckle at the sour look on Kiryu’s face.

“Tsuge-chan, I’m fighting you right now – shouldn’t you be focused on me?”

“Oh! Ha, sorry Kiryu-kun, you’re right! Okay, I’m ready, hit me again!”

Kiryu, exasperated, sends a weary but good-natured smile your way, and you send him your condolences.

“Sure, sure — let me warm up first!”

You nod to everyone who you pass as you make your way to where Nirei’s got a table set up with refreshments and disposable cups. He’s got his notebook in his hand, furiously taking notes as he watches all the fighting unfold.

“Hi Ni,” you greet him with an affectionate pat on his head, and he leans into your touch.

God, just like a puppy.

“Hi! Happy you’re here! You don’t work today?”

You drop your bag on the floor behind him and gather your hair into a tight ponytail.

You can feel Suo’s eye on you, but you’re not sure from where – and you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of watching you try to find out.

Besides… what would be the fun in that?

“Nah, Kotoha said she’d cover my shift today so that I could come. What’s in the jugs?”

You stretch out your arms and roll back your shoulders before tilting your head from side to side.

Your little game with Suo was still in full swing, but you had to admit, you were starting to crack just a bit. Every touch lasting a little too long, every whisper cutting a little too short – but you knew, Suo was losing his composure too (if the way he was finding it harder and harder to not follow you into your apartment at the end of every shift was anything to go by).

You were starting to grow restless, but your pride stopped you every time – because you were set on him giving in first, not you.

“Oh! I’ve got sports drinks and barley tea for optimal hydration! Want some?”

“Ah… I’m okay Ni, thank you though! Have you just been watching everyone?”

Nirei turns to you in excitement, ready to prattle off about all the learning he’s been doing and all the notes he’s been taking, but the words die out as soon as he lays his eyes on you.

Because – you’d taken your sweatpants and jacket off.

You’d taken your sweatpants and jacket off, and all you had underneath those two bulky layers was a tight long sleeve and even tighter shorts.

And Nirei is just – well, he’s just caught off guard is all.

… and you looked very pretty, very cool, very strong.

His (surprising) lack of response has you looking up from where you’re seated on the floor, but you continue stretching out your legs.

“Ni, did you hear me? I asked if you’ve just been watching everyone?”

All Nirei can offer back is a strangled uh-huh, and now you’re starting to get a bit worried.

Standing up, you repeat his name once more as you press the back of your hand to his forehead.

“Oh… is it too hot in here? Do you have a fever? You feel so warm –”

Adept, familiar fingers are wrapped around your wrist before you can diagnose any further.

“Sorry bunny, it seems like Nire-kun’s a bit overheated right now. How about we let him cool down?”

You turn to Suo with your lips parted in surprise at his sudden appearance, but you let him pull your arm away from Nirei before enveloping your hand in his.

You peek down at your conjoined hands.

He was totally breaking.

(You are too, but the longer you can deny it, the better.)

“Hayato, did you come over to help me stretch?”

There’s a playful sparkle in your eyes that Suo knows is only reserved for him, and it makes him smile.

He hums in thought while his thumb softly strokes over yours, but you can see it – the hint of mischief on his lips.

“Depends bunny – what part of you needs stretching?”

You bite your lip with a coy flutter of your lashes, even though you and Suo both know that you’re anything but demure.

“All of it – every inch.”

He blinks at your words, but there’s a weight to them – it’s slow, drawn out, and ravenous.

You feel lightheaded just maintaining eye contact with him.

Thankfully (or not, you’re not quite sure yet), Tseguera’s calling out your name before Suo can further double down with an equally suggestive response.

You give him an apologetic smile before balancing on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

“Aw – I was really looking forward to you stretching me out Hayato, but I guess there’s always next time ~”

Just because he couldn’t double down doesn’t mean you couldn’t.

All is fair in love and war, you suppose.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

As you make your way to Tseguera, you don’t miss the trailing of eyes that follow you in your wake.

Eyes full of curiosity with a hint of skepticism.

Granted, you didn’t know everyone in the gym, but you knew a handful – at least, enough to be invited here.

The stares don’t phase you – in fact, they add more fuel to the fire. You were going to show them that you were someone to remember.

Fighting was your bread and butter, and you’d be damned if you let anyone else think differently – because you were your brother’s sister, and you kicked fucking ass.

You bow to Tseguera to show your respect, before assuming your position.

And then –

Everything changes.

You hear the comforting voice of your brother in your ear, and it eases any hints of anxiety that you might’ve had leading up to your first match of the day.

You breathe in – slow, controlled, and relaxed.

You breathe out – observing, calculating, and strategizing.

You blink slowly – a menacing glint in your eyes.

And then, you smile.

Tseguera briefly wonders if he’d bitten off more than he could chew, but he can’t deny the way he’s psyched to fight this version of you.

The real you that he’s heard so much about.

He’d watched you fight before, sure, but that was against someone who couldn’t even hold a candle to your raw strength. Tseguera on the other hand? Call him optimistic, but he liked to think that he had better odds than the average run-of-the-mill fighter.

So he rushes in, and you’re ready.

Suo watches, sharp-eyed as ever. He notes the assertiveness in your body language, the fluidity of your moves, and the intensity of your power.

All of Bofurin could see it now – why you were called tiger.

You were patient, cunning, and precise. Never exerting more energy than necessary. Never wasting time on flashy moves. Never giving more than what you’re opponent's worth.

You took your time with your prey until they were in a position that benefitted you – and then you’d strike.

And, within minutes, Tseguera’s flat on his back, every little bit of air being pushed out of his lungs.

It’s gone quiet, everyone turning their heads just to try and catch a glimpse of what’s just happened, but all they can see is you.

You’re standing over Tseguera’s body, with a hand on your hip and a smirk on your lips.

And they see him shiver under the weight of your stare.

“Come on, Tsuge – don’t tell me you’re tapped out already~”

You give him your hand to help him up (no one could ever say you’re a bad sport), but with the way your hips swish from side to side as you head back to your starting position and the wicked gleam in your eye, Tseguera’s just the tiniest bit distraught.

Umemiya smiles – he was right.

You were a great change of pace.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

It’s meant to be fun, friendly, and maybe just a little competitive – but with you as an opponent, well…

You amped up the competitive aspect to a whopping 100% – and you were loving it.

Objectively, you could say that everyone else was too, based on how they were lining up to squabble with you.

And – it’s not like you won every single fight. But, you had even Hiragi huffing and puffing just trying to keep up with you – and that? That felt good.

Because fighting was so much more than just winning. To you, it was about learning, communicating, understanding, and most importantly – evolving.

That was something your brother had taught you.

You can’t strive towards your fullest potential without the guidance, support, and help of others – and fighting was an extension of that. Every person and every fight was a wonderful new experience to learn from, and you were so happy.

Suo, on the other hand …

Well, he was happy for you, but he, himself?

Absolutely, tragically vexed.

Because you really had no idea how much of a tease you can be when you’re not even trying.

Between every fight, you’d stretch out your body in those sinful shorts and that thin little long sleeve – and he wishes he was stronger, really.

Wishes he was strong enough to look away when you use the bottom hem of your top to wipe away the sweat from your forehead.

Instead, he drinks in the exposed skin of your stomach and lower back. It’s got a sheen to it, no doubt from the exertion that your body has been going through, but vaguely, Suo wonders if it would look similar to a different type of exertion.

One that involves him and only him.

He focuses on his breathing – no need to get worked over this… really.

He could remain calm and composed, just like how he’s always been.

But when he finds himself next in line to spar with you, well –

What can he say? He just really wanted to get stronger.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

You should’ve known. You should’ve fucking known.

But, feigning ignorance can only go so far.

And with Suo standing in front of you, his hands held loosely behind his back and an amiable grin on his face, you fear that maybe you pushed your luck a little too much.

Because, in all honesty, Suo’s the first person today to actually make you nervous.

And it’s not that you don’t think you can put up a good fight. No, it’s not that at all.

What you’re afraid of is more … personal.

Because when you’re in a fight, well, your hands will go wherever they need to.

And with how pumped you are with endorphins right now, you’re not sure if you’d be able to handle Suo’s hands anywhere on your body.

Even his hand on your thigh had you crumbling, but you held up the good fight as long as you could before excusing yourself under the guise of using the restroom.

But now? Here? You couldn’t simply call for a time-out because you’re getting bashful about his hands touching you.

Fighting, to you, could be intimate with the right person – and lo and behold, the right person just happened to be standing right in front of you.

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’re running out of steam, bunny.”

You purse your lips at his words.

Leave it to Suo to be so insufferable that it brings you back to reality.

You quickly bow towards him before rolling your shoulders back and raising your fists.

“Hmm, then why don’t you fill me back up, Hayato?”

He smirks at your response, and you feel the air thicken just the tiniest amount. His aura is overwhelming, and the hairs on the back of your neck prickle from the eye contact alone.

You take a deep breath in, before steeling your nerves.

Now was not the time to get shy.

You were on your playground, in your element.

You breathe out, feeling the sparks of your competitive spirit quickly fan out into flames.

And then –

Nothing happens, at least, not for a couple of seconds.

“Are ya gonna fight or what?”

You flush at Sakura’s words.

You were slow to realize this, but just like you, Suo (ever the gentleman) was also someone who practiced patience in a fight and let their opponents make the first move – and, you had a sinking feeling that this match was about more than just … fighting.

You shake your head in an attempt to garner back your focus, and once it’s there, you strategize.

Regretfully, you’d only ever seen him in a handful of skirmishes, so you weren’t certain about the exact moves he used, but there was at least one thing that you could go off of –

Suo was pretty damn strong.

You pause, gathering your thoughts as best you can in the little amount of time that you have.

You decide, then, that going on the offense is your best bet. If anything, it would allow you to witness firsthand the type of training he’s received.

So, you move.

You rush him, aiming for a kick to his midsection, but he grabs your ankle – and pulls you towards him.

Off balance and unsteady, you grab onto the first thing you can – his shoulders.

Belatedly, you realize his hands slid under your leg to grip the underside of your thigh, holding you flush to his body.

This … you’d never fought like this before.

As he holds you there, you can’t help the furrow of your brows nor the pout on your lips.

You’d actually wanted to fight, but he …

He was toying with you.

“... why aren’t you going full out?”

He’s looking down at you, and for the first time today, his face is unreadable.

“Would you like me to use my full strength?”

You sputter at his words, “Hayato, yes? Isn’t that the whole point of this?”

He laughs, and it makes you swoon just the tiniest bit – as if the way he’s holding you right now isn’t already making you feel that way.

“You’re right, I’m sorry bunny. It seems I got ahead of myself.”

He lets you go, and you only let yourself mourn the grip of his hand on your thigh for a second, you swear.

Once you’re properly standing on your own, you look up at him with a playful smile, and he can’t help the endearing furrow of his eyebrows as he awaits whatever amusing remark will fall from your lips next.

“You don’t have to be so careful Hayato – I won’t break ~”

He hums thoughtfully, before bending down to whisper in your ear.

“And if I do? Break you, that is.”

That catches you off guard.

You laugh, loud and boisterous –

“Then I expect you to fix what you break, pretty boy.”

All Suo does in response is smile at you, but you’re much too focused on the sight of him taking his jacket off and expertly folding his sleeves up to his biceps.

Because oh – oh.

That… that shouldn’t have been stupidly attractive but it was.

You take in his forearms, his fingers, his swiftness with it all – and you gulp.

And now you’re doing everything you can to desperately grasp onto that flame of competitiveness that you had just a second ago because –

He stared into your eyes the whole time.

“In that case, I’ll make sure to fix you right up when I’m done, pretty girl.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Watching the fight between you and Suo was almost like watching a tiger and a panther in the heat of battle – and it was mesmerizing.

In fact, it didn’t even look like fighting – it looked like the two of you were dancing.

It was a flurry of neverending moves, from flying kicks to evasive dodging, and it had everyone enraptured at the sight – because they’d never thought that Suo would be able to fight someone who matched his tempo so well.

But the best part? You both just couldn’t land a single hit on each other.

And that’s not to say that you both weren’t trying your absolute hardest, but more so, it was a testament to how adaptive you both were.

However, in all honesty, you were getting worn out.

It was easy to ignore it and push through at first, but you could feel the cloud of fatigue starting to infringe on your battle sense. It was showing in your moves and your muscles – that slight delay between your body and your mind.

And, you didn’t want to admit this, but the forced proximity of it all was starting to make you just the tiniest bit lightheaded – because Suo, despite having been in multiple matches, still managed to smell so good.

Every time you invaded his space, you’d catch a small whiff – and it was intoxicating.

So, when you try to step back from yet another attempt at a palm strike, only to sway just a bit from your lack of balance, well – you don’t blame him for honing in on your error.

What you do blame him for, though, is the position you’re in now.

He’s got you trapped underneath him, your body pressed against the gymnasium floor, and –

Whether it was the exhaustion getting to you, or the fact that Suo’s got both your wrists held in one hand above your head and the other latched onto your hip, you’re not sure – but a whimper slips out of you.

Good news, it’s low enough for only you and Suo to be made aware of it, but the bad news – Suo’s aware of it.

And if his mouth dropping in surprise isn’t a big enough tell, maybe the way his fingers dig deeper into your hips is.

For a second, one split second, you almost give in.

You almost wrap your legs around his waist.

You almost break his hold on your wrists.

You almost pull him in for a kiss.

Instead, you do the most sensible thing that you can think of given the circumstances.

You forfeit.

Did it feel good? Absolutely fucking not. Were you ashamed? Partially.

But the only thing that kept you standing on two feet, the only thing that kept you from running away in utter embarrassment and shame?

… the outline of something thick and hard just barely noticeable through his loose black pants when he sat back on his knees to let you go.

Safe to say … you were out of commission for the rest of the sparring event.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

When Suo offers to escort you home afterward, you don’t say no.

When he offers to hold your bag, you don’t say no.

And, when he drops you off at your door with a lingering look of want in his eye that compels you to invite him inside, Suo doesn’t say no.

You lead him to the living room and offer a seat on the couch to him, but he simply shakes his head, preferring to stand instead.

“Are you hungry?” you ask over your shoulder as you try to still the incessant beating of your heart.

You knew he wasn’t ever one to indulge in a meal, but it would … be rude, right? To just part ways after … all of that? That’s what you tell yourself, anyway. Plus, eating is casual. It’s friendly. It’s safe. You could sit across from him and maintain your distance, and there’d be no reason at all for his hands to be on your body.

And, there’d be no way for him to pull such an embarrassing noise from your mouth again.

You blush as you recall the chain of events that lead up to right now, and suddenly, you’re restless. To busy yourself, you go to get him a glass of water in your kitchen.

He follows you.

“... Starving,” he rasps out, and your body breaks into goosebumps because he’s right behind you.

Your breath is shaky now, his presence much too overwhelming in the cramped space of your kitchen, but you persist.

“Oh… w-what would you like to eat? I’ve got noodles and sp–”

“You, only you – bunny.”

You’re so so glad that you’ve got your back to him because you can’t help the way you bite down on your lip at his words to stifle a whine.

It wouldn’t hurt to get one more jab in, you convince yourself. Serves him right for pulling such an embarrassing noise from your mouth earlier.

“Maybe –” your voice breaks, and you let out a small cough to clear out any residual qualms that might’ve been stuck in your throat.

Screw it – the man could suffer in the same way he’d been making you suffer for the past couple of months with his heated touches and lingering words and his stupid little smile.

“Maybe I’ll consider it, Hayato, if you ask nicely on your knees –”

A soft thud cuts you off, and – oh.

Oh.

You’re turned around before you can stop yourself, needing to confirm with your own eyes –

He’s on the floor, his chest moving rapidly with his breathing, and an absolute disheveled look on his face.

Your lips part and your eyes flutter under his heady stare, and you desperately look away in an attempt to maintain some sort of self-control.

You think – no, you’re sure that you look just as disheveled as he does.

Because how the fuck did you manage to get Suo, the Hayato Suo, to fall to his knees on his own accord on the floor of your kitchen?

You felt dizzy and needy and powerful – and that was so so dangerous.

“Remember when you did this? The first time we met?”

There’s a smile on his lips as he stares up at you, and your knees buckle at his words. He’s chipping away at your resolve and he knows it – if the mirth in his eye is anything to go off of.

All you can manage is a shaky inhale and a small, pitiful nod in response – and he chuckles.

“I helped you up off the floor, remember that?”

You nod again, though he can see the slight glimmer of tears in your waterline from just his verbal overstimulation, and he takes pity on you – just a tiny bit, though.

Because although he was on his knees, he wanted you to be the one to finally break first.

Isn’t that how the phrase goes, anyway? Ladies first? And Suo really was a gentleman to the core.

“So, shouldn’t you return the favor? Don’t you want to help me out, pretty girl?”

You don’t even try to hide it anymore. You don’t hide the shifting of your thighs at his words nor the twitch of your fingers seeking his touch.

You were aching and Suo could see it – and all you wanted, all you needed was right in front of you.

But he doesn’t touch you. He wants to – no, he needs to know that you want it as bad as he does.

That the incessant teasing and flirting is affecting you just as badly as it's affecting him. That he’s not the only one filled with desire and desperation and greed.

He knows what to say, knows what to do to make you finally give in and release your inhibitions.

And all it takes, all it takes are 3 words.

Just 3 simple words, dripping with adoration and filth and yearning.

“My pretty bunny.”

You whimper, needy and desperate, and then, you’re on him – and it’s everything you’ve wanted for so long and not enough all at once.

You’re straddling his lap, and his hands feel so good running up and down your body. They’re mapping out every curve – squeezing, pinching, fondling – and you’re grinding down onto him with abandon.

His tongue is hot and heavy on yours, and the noises coming from your mouth are so obscene that you briefly wonder if the walls of your apartment are thick enough to block them out.

You bury your face into his neck as he grabs your hips to grind your body even harder against his, and he revels in the way that you twitch and moan in his ear.

“Please,” you whisper, so softly that you wonder if he even heard you.

He did. Of course, he did, but he wanted more. He wants you to keep begging so pretty for him with your sinful tongue and sweet words and soft body.

“Oh, bunny – I can’t hear you when you’re hiding from me.”

His words make you whine high in your throat – and oh god you might actually cry now.

You still your hips as you look him in the eye, and he’s kind enough to let you try and form some semblance of control with your words.

“Hayato, please – I’m asking you nicely and I don’t know what else you want but –”

Suo holds back a depraved laugh, because rambling out of frustration, and at a time like this? Because you’re just so desperate? He didn’t think you could get even more cute but you keep proving him wrong time and time again.

So, he concedes – you really had no idea how perfect you were, did you?

You lead him to your bed (“Sorry Hayato, but I am not fucking you in my kitchen after the day I’ve had.”), and once every article of clothing has been discarded haphazardly on the floor, does Suo finally eat.

“Might be a bit rough with you pretty girl, is that alright?”

“Oh my bunny, you’re dripping! Is this all for me?”

He dives in with long, broad strokes of his tongue as he laps up the heat of your cunt, and you writhe so pretty under his tongue. If he every so often dips down to push his tongue past the tight opening of your pussy, well – he was just really hungry.

“Wider bunny, can you spread your legs wider for me?”

“So noisy…”

And god were you the best meal he’d ever had in years. Your pussy was the gift that just kept giving, and he was savoring every little intoxicating drop that it pushed out.

“You’re making all sorts of sounds for me, aren’t you?”

“Won’t you make that sound for me again, bunny?”

But, even after you squirted on his skillful fingers with his tongue lavishly flicking and suckling at your spoiled clit, he still wasn’t full.

No, he needed more – he needed to be inside you.

When he finally slides his throbbing, neglected member into your warm fluttering hole, it takes everything in his willpower and a harsh bite to his bottom lip not to rock his hips into you with wanton – he was so so glad you were on birth control so that he could enjoy this to the rawest extent.

“Wow – ha –- you’re taking me so well –”

And it feels so so good to be stretched out over Suo’s cock. There’s a delicious drag against your walls with every thrust, and he’s so damn big that when he pulls back with just the tip inside, you actually feel empty.

You’re in such a delirious daze that you aren’t even comprehending the noises he’s pulling from your pretty plump lips, but Suo is. He’s greedily eating up every moan, every gasp, every whine – and it’s insatiable the way that he’s craving more.

He’s pushing your legs up into a mating press until your knees are pressed right up next to your head, and he’s so so grateful that you’re flexible enough to allow him to do this because now he can thrust into you even deeper, and hit that spot just right.

And now it’s Suo’s turn to feel powerful because you — who could easily break his hold, who had mercilessly crushed a man’s hand — were letting him cage you in his arms like a domesticated house pet.

“You’re being such a good little bunny, aren’t you? My good girl ~ ”

But Suo … he should’ve known better, really.

Should’ve known based on how long and drawn out this silly little game lasted between the two of you that you were just as filthy as he was.

And, before Suo can react, you’re swatting away his hands and using all your strength to roll him onto his back. It only takes a second for him to adjust to the new position, but the sight of you settled on top of him has his dick twitching and his mouth agape.

“Hayato… don’t you want your pretty little bunny to ride you?”

Your words bring him to ruin, and all he can do is manage a breathless, airy laugh before you plant your feet on both sides of his hips – and when you lift yourself he swears he knows what heaven feels like and it’s nestled right between your perfect plush thighs.

You’ve got just the tip in you now, and he really should take back control now.

He should, but he can’t – you don’t even give him time to think before you’re dragging back down achingly slow and all he can focus on is the agonizing tightness of your wet cunt and the drawn-out squelch of your conjoined bodies.

You’re no better – the feeling of him filling up every inch of you has you reeling from the pleasure and you let out a soft sigh once you’re finally sat and all of his cock is nestled inside you.

And then – you wait.

Because it was unfair, wasn’t it? Letting him be in control for this long, for still maintaining his composure.

You stare down at him with heavily lidded eyes and a coy smile on your face but Suo’s getting, dare he say, desperate. It was all fun and games earlier, sure, but now? He was simply claiming his prize that he’d worked so hard and so long to win and you weren’t letting him.

He grits out a curt “please”, but you’re not satisfied.

Instead, you trace a manicured nail all over him, from his tassel earrings to the sharp jut of his jaw to his collarbones to his chest – all the way to where his cock is currently entrapped in the warmth of your pussy.

“Oh, Hayato – I can’t hear you when you’re –”

You’re cut off by a change in gravity, and suddenly, you’re on your back again, with Suo peering down at you with thinly veiled annoyance and a strained smile on his face.

“On your hands and knees, please.”

Your breath hitches at his tone – because he was losing it. He was losing his composure, and that’s all you wanted, really.

And, with one of his hands pressing your head into the mattress and the other holding your hips in place, well, you get what you wanted real quick.

Because Suo’s thrusting into you hard, fast, and rough – and you love it. Your cunt is squelching with every rock of his hips, and your body’s shaking and twitching with pure pleasure.

“You want me to break you? Is that it? You – ha – need a handler, little bunny?”

When you fail to answer him, he chuckles, before snaking a hand underneath you to rub small, precise circles on your aching clit.

“O-oh my god –”

You’re keening high in your throat, your hands fisting at the sheets underneath you, and all you can do is take it. You press down harder onto his adept fingers and you feel it washing over you – your sweet release.

“Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop,” you whine out, your thighs quivering from the stimulation of it all, and you’re so fucking close.

Suo tuts his tongue at your words, but you can feel his fingers and his hips speed up at your pleas.

“That’s funny, I didn’t hear a please.”

You feel tears start to escape your eyes, all your inhibitions out the window as you try to appease the only person who can grant you the overwhelming satisfaction of coming undone.

“Please please please – Hayato please let me cum on your cock. I’ve been so good for you please –”

Suo doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of your desperate rambling. It’s just too damn hot.

“Then cum, bunny. It’s yours, it’s all yours.”

You scream into your sheets, your body spasming underneath his as you finally, finally allow for the crashing wave of bliss to run all over your body.

Suo coos at the sight, fucking you through it as you clamp down on him with everything in your body, and he’s not very far behind you.

He’s close, so close, but he wants to see what you look like unraveled and raw and vulnerable.

What he plans on doing is maybe lasting a little bit longer, fending off that incessant urge to let his cum paint your walls as he fucks into you nice and slow and deliberate.

But, despite your euphoric state and the puddle of drool collecting around your mouth and dampening your sheets, you manage to shakily reach your hands back to press your fingers into the lips of your cunt and you spread.

You feel his hips stutter as you present yourself to him, and his lips part open at the sight.

He can see the ring of cream coating the base of his cock, as well as the glistening dots of your juices decorating your lips, and he’s entranced by the sight.

A soft, obscene groan leaves his mouth as he looks down with his dark-lidded eye – and with the way that your body was still twitching with aftershocks, he couldn’t help but think that you really did look like a bunny right now.

A thoroughly fucked, thoroughly ruined bunny.

And when you open your mouth, well – it’d be rude, right? Not to indulge in your request when you’ve managed to ask it in such a polite and sinful manner?

“I’ve been such a good girl for you, Hayato…. Won’t you cum in your sweet little bunny’s pussy?”

He denies that he came from just your words alone, but you know better.

You feel his cock twitch, his fingertips dig harder into your lower back, and the jolt of his hips as he tries to bury himself inside of you.

And, when he does come, he lets out the prettiest string of gasps you’ve ever heard, and it makes your body slump with satisfaction.

Because, in your mind, you’d won. Sure, maybe you were the first to break, but as Suo carries you into the bathroom with a towel wrapped around your exhausted body and wipes you down with sweet kisses to your temple, you can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

And when he settles in behind you on your bed as he strokes your head and leaves a trail of kisses down your neck and across your shoulders as he lulls you to sleep, there’s no denying that sense of triumph.

… and when you ask him if he’ll be spending the night and he replies with, “Of course bunny, why wouldn’t I? You’re mine now, right?” – well, you can’t help the drowsy smile you send his way before you’re pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

You’d won – fair and fucking square.

And true to his words, he’d fixed you right up.

୨ৎ Chapter 6 (in progress)

#melody thirsts (& never stops)#wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #hayato suo #suo hayato #hayato suo x reader #suo hayato x reader #wind breaker (satoru nii)#hayato suo smut

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hyunniesgirl · 10 months

Text

Another Love | Part 4

Summary: you've been hopelessly in love with Han since you were children. One night you confess your feelings to him.

Words count: 6,639

Warnings for this chapter: angst(as usual)

A/N: I'm sorry it took me a bit longer to write this part, I'm just in a weird place right now. I'm doubting a lot about my skills as a writer and that leads me to believe everything I write sucks so this was a bit harder to write, I hope you all like it though.

Jisung has been dreaming about you lately. Going back to every little memory he has with you, watching all the signs you gave him while he was oblivious to you, to your feelings.

It's been almost a week since Han ended things with Lia. The things she said are still stuck in his head, he can't be in love with you. Not after rejecting you. Not after everything you went through to get over him. Not now, when you're happy with someone else.

Things are going back to the way they were before, except that now your roles are reversed, he's the one hanging on your every word and movement, all the little details about you look fascinating to him. He's never felt this way before.

You're not avoiding him anymore. Things fell into place slowly, you started having dinner together again, talking about your day. Then you got back to making coffee for him in the morning, waking him up with the nice scent so he wouldn't be too grumpy woking up so early.

He has a mission now: to stop these strange thoughts he's having. Even if he is indeed feeling this way about you, he lost his chance. He knows he did. Right now, he wants to focus on being a good friend to you, the same as he was before the confession happened.

Jisung just didn't expect how he would feel seeing you with Jeongho again. You invited all your friends to dinner in a nice restaurant, to officially introduce your boyfriend to everyone.

This must be how you felt seeing him with all his previous partners, you must have felt this ache in your chest, as if someone was holding your heart and squeezing it to their heart's content.

You look pretty, hair tied in a ponytail and a dress he never saw before, maybe it's a gift from your boyfriend, he wouldn't know. He avoids talking about your relationship, too selfish to handle the same pain you did for so many years.

Your friendship is getting back to what it was, even though he screwed up really badly, you were the bigger person and forgave him, so he has no right feeling this way about you.

Jisung knows it would be better for you and for him if you didn't come back to the apartment but he's too greedy, he wants you close to him.

This whole problem began because he was greedy, afterall. He didn't want to stay away from you, then he hurt you again and again trying to fix things. Now he just wants to make things right, he just wants you to be happy.

You're smiling so brightly it actually makes his heart skip a beat. He sips from his drink, trying to calm his heart a bit and watch as the others try to make small talk.

“So how did you meet y/n?” Chan asks Jeongho.

“I had the biggest crush on her in middle school but she mercilessly rejected me”, Jeongho answers, looking at you and smiling playfully.

“I thought he had lost a bet or something”, you defend yourself.

“Why would you think that?” Han asks, surprised and you stare at him for a second before shrugging. Of course Jisung was not the only reason for you to reject Jeongho, you were just learning about your feelings at that time. You just couldn't get your head around why someone older and handsome like Jeongho would want to have anything to do with you.

“Y/N was one of the prettiest girls in our school”, Han comments, not understanding why you would feel like that.

He always thought you were pretty, that's why he always complimented you and gave you clothes saying they would look good on you.

“I think teenagers are just insecure. I guess it's part of growing up”, you sip from your wine glass.

Jisung never thought you were insecure about anything by the way you carried yourself with your head high, always so sure about everything you put your mind into. Maybe there's too much he doesn't know about you.

The rest of the dinner goes well, your friends are being nice and trying to make Jeongho comfortable, you're happy about it. Everything seems to be falling into place with your best friend by your side being his normal self and your boyfriend, the guy you're falling in love with being just perfect. Your heart is finally healing, you're moving on, things are working out. You couldn't wish for anything else, you just want things to stay like this forever.

“Are you happy?” Jisung asks when you're outside the restaurant, Jeongho stepped out to take a call from work and left you and your friends alone. One by one they called it a night, saying their goodbyes and leaving you and Han alone.

You stare at him for a moment before answering.

“Yes, I am”, you're not sure why he wants to know and not even sure why you're thinking so much before answering.

Jisung smiles, a sincere and bright smile.

“I'm glad”, he says, “I want you to be happy”

You are a bit taken aback, you didn't expect him to react this way, he almost sounds like a grown up now.

“Thanks, I-”

“I'm sorry I kept you waiting”, Jeongho's voice cuts you out. He slides his arm over your shoulders pulling you closer.

“I should get going”, Jisung says, turning his gaze away from you and your boyfriend.

“Aren't you going home?” You ask and he shakes his head, he's not sure if he can stay at the same place with you two for much longer. “Oh, are you going to Lia's?”

There's not a bit of discomfort in your face, so he just nods. He's not sure if now is the best moment to tell you about his situation with Lia.

“Okay, see you tomorrow then”, you hesitate, not sure if it's appropriate, but you try not thinking too much, throwing your arms around him, squeezing him into a hug. You would never think twice about hugging him before your confession, there's no need for you to make it awkward now.

You're trying to get things back to the way they were and Jisung notices that, he's grateful. So the only thing he can do is wrap his arms around your waist, hugging you back.

Jisung didn't want to lie, but he's afraid it may be uncomfortable to you if he says he's not with Lia anymore. And he's afraid you'll be able to see right through him, see that he is giving in to the strange feelings he's trying so hard to avoid.

He ends up sleeping on Chan's couch, if he could call that ‘sleeping’. Everytime he closes his eyes, you show up in his mind, smiling, making a joke, just looking at him. Everytime he finally managed to fall asleep, you would be there, together with your boyfriend, giggling and kissing him while Jisung just watched. He would wake up sweating and stare at the ceiling for at least ten minutes before trying to sleep again.

>><<

After pondering what he wanted to do from now on, Jisung decided he should have some closure with Lia. He didn't like the way things ended with her, he really liked her until a certain point and above all, she is a good person. Even though he didn't want to, he ended up hurting her and he should apologize for that.

Awkward. That's the best word to explain the situation that Jisung finds himself in right now. Lia is on the other side of the table, glaring at him like she could kill him with the power of her mind.

“What is it that you want?” She asks, coldly.

He clears his throat, trying to gather some courage.

“I want to apologize”, he says, “I shouldn't have lead you on even though I already knew something was not right”, sighing he looks at her, biting his lower lip, “I'm just… confused, I ended up hurting you in the middle of this mess and I'm really sorry”

Lia looks at his eyes, staring deeply. She can feel his sincerity but she's not sure if only an apology is enough to make up for the pain he caused. She's not crazy, she knows people can't control how they feel most of the time. Maybe if he just admits he likes you, she'll feel at ease.

“So, have you finally accepted that you're in love with y/n?”

Jisung thinks for a bit, trying to put what he is feeling into words.

“I don't know if love is the right word”, he says, fidgeting with his fingers, “but I'm feeling some weird things around her, when she smiles or laughs, or even when she's doing nothing”, he covers his mouth with his hand in a slap, wide eyes, realizing he is talking about being in love with someone else with the girl that likes him.

Lia chuckles.

“It's alright, I'm pretty sure that's the definition of love though”, she sighs looking at Jisung. “Maybe you never felt that before”

It's not easy for her to be kind and comprehensive at the moment, but it's not like being mean is going to make him like her back. She's not actually even sure if she wants that anymore. Maybe her heart just accepted things ended, maybe she was already preparing herself for this since Han started acting differently, but the pain is not as great as she thought it would be. Maybe seeing him naively admitting his feelings made her have some sympathy for the mess he made of his relationship with you, maybe she didn't like him as much as she thought.

Since the beginning, there were too many maybes in this relationship. Lia knows she deserves better, she deserves someone who's sure about her, no maybes.

“I think I can forgive you, yeah”, she chuckles seeing Jisungs shocked face, “not now, obviously”, with a sigh, she looks deeply into his eyes, “you were always great to me before things started going wrong and I know you're not a bad person”, she stands up, “I'm actually feeling bad for you, with the mess you created I have no idea how you're going to fix it, but I'll cheer for you”, she puts her hand in his shoulder, squeezing it in reassurance. Lia leaves Jisung there, stuck in his head once more. At least that is something they both have in common, because he sure doesn't know how he's going to keep these strange feelings under control while fixing his relationship with you.

>><<

If Jisung had to rate his acting skills, he would be proud to say he deserves an award. He's succeeding at pretending not to be in love with you while maintaining a healthy friendship.

It's almost the same as it was before, except Jisung has to watch his every move. He's trying to act normal while trying to crush the onslaught of feelings in his chest everytime you laugh at one of his jokes, or when you just talk about your very normal day.

You both do your things during the day, have dinner together and talk or watch something before sleeping, that's your routine when Jeongho is not visiting.

You've been watching your phone lately, more than usual, is there something wrong? He's sure you're just waiting for Jeongho's call. Jisung has lost count of how many nights he spent listening to your laughs on the phone with your boyfriend, wishing it was him making you happy like that.

It's true, he's struggling. He's not sure how you managed to like him for so long without freaking out, because he's about to collapse and it's been just about a month since he came to terms with his feelings.

He feels bad just thinking about how much you must have suffered because of him, before and after your confession. Guilt is eating him alive, along with heartbreak.

He's been watching you for a while now, you are washing the dishes while talking about these kids you tutor and how smart they are, he's staring at you with heart eyes—you're not seeing—while he dries the dishes.

“I'm sure they can only learn so fast because it's you teaching them”, Jisung says.

You giggle to his compliment, bumping a shoulder into his.

“Should we watch a movie before going to bed?” You ask, drying your hands on your apron.

“I'm actually kinda sleepy”, Jisung laughs, he can only keep his feeling bottled for so long, he doesn't want to get careless and blurt out everything. He knows that if he gets too comfortable he'll feel at ease and you were always too good at making him tell you what's on his mind.

“Let's do it another time then”, you shrug, taking your phone out of your pocket and smiling when the screen brightens with Jeongho's name.

Han feels his chest tighten, he wants to throw up, he wants to cry, he wants to plead for you to not like someone else. But he can't do any of those things, not when you're so happy. So he won't be selfish, he'll think about you first and keep his distance.

>><<

It's been almost a month since the last time you saw Jeongho. He was not able to come by on the usual weekends because the company he works for is opening a new branch somewhere and he is involved in the project.

He's been busy, texting less and not even calling, so you start getting insecure. What if he's getting cold feet about your relationship? Maybe he met someone more interesting who's near him.

No. Jeongho wouldn't be like that. He would break up if he didn't like you anymore, you know him enough to know that.

When he calls saying he's coming to see you, you feel excited once again. You knew you were mistaken, it's not right to presume the worst just because he's a bit more busy. It must be nothing.

You just can't shake the feeling that you were going through the calm before the storm and now the bad weather is finally coming.

He's waiting for you at the restaurant of the hotel he's staying in, Jeongho is fidgeting with his fingers nervously, looking around until his eyes land on you. You smile at him, waving at him but he doesn't smile back.

“Hey”, you say, dropping your bag on the chair and sitting, “is there something wrong?”

“I received a promotion”, he says suddenly, he doesn't look happy about it.

“That's great”, you smile, taking his hand into yours to hold it, not really understanding his reaction.

He stares at your hands together, taking a deep breath before speaking again.

“Actually, the company wants me to go to Europe”, Jeongho says, fidgeting with his hands.

“Oh”, you frown, “for how long?”

“They are not sure about the exact period, but-”, he clears his throat, looking around, “they are projecting it to be between five and eight years”, he replies, feeling his breathing quickening.

“They want you to move there?” You repeat it to yourself, trying to absorb the information.

“They are trying to make an entry in the European market, so a team is needed there to develop the new branch”

“Okay, yeah”, you feel dizzy, “we can work with that, hm, I can- we can visit each other”, you nod, trying to organize your thoughts.

“Y/N-”, Jeongho starts, his voice fails and he stops for a moment before continuing. “Long distance works right now because we are a 2 hour flight away from each other, not 12 hours”

“What are you saying?” You feel all the air in your lungs escape, knowing exactly what he means but choosing not to believe it.

“I don't think we can keep doing this, I'm not sure our relationship is going to survive and-”, he sighs, running his hand through his hair, “I won't ask you to come with me”

“Why not? Why won't you ask me?” You plead, feeling tears brimming in your eyes. It's not logical what you're asking of him, but you don't want to hurt anymore, not again.

“How could I? I can't make you leave your whole life here, your family, your friends or college to go to a country where you know no one but me”, he explains, “I’ll be in charge of a large project, I'll have to stay late probably everyday and you're going to stay alone, how could I do that to you?”

“Don't you think that's for me to decide?” You ask, feeling your hands shaking. You put them in between your legs, trying not to show him the sight of your broken heart.

“I can't- I can't carry that guilt with me”, he says, “not knowing how happy you are here, if you go with me and things end up not working out I could never forgive myself”

“What if things work out? What if we are happy together forever? Did you consider it for a moment?” You ask, he's not looking at you. Jeongho is trying to hold his own tears, trying to be strong for you, “I guess this relationship is not worth you considering it”, you stand up, grabbing your bag.

He lifts his eyes to look at him, finding your quivering lips and the tears flooding from your eyes.

“Well, good luck then”, you tell him, turning around and walking out.

After walking far enough from the hotel, you let yourself crouch on the floor, scaring the people walking by. You are sobbing, trying to wipe the tears from your eyes, but they keep coming continuously.

You stand up again, walking, what are you supposed to do now? When are things going to finally get better for you? Since you confessed to Jisung things got worse over and over, you should have never told him about your feelings, maybe your life would have stayed the same.

The hurt you felt seeing him with other people was a pain you were already used to, but this? This is excruciating, it's the same all over again, the same as when Jisung rejected you. Will you ever feel complete again?

It's 3 a.m, Jisung went to the studio to work for a bit and to try to forget about everything else. His phone buzzes in his pocket, when he looks at the screen, your name is there. He doesn't think twice about answering, just to find your drunk voice on the other side of the call. He can't understand a thing you're saying just that you'll share your location with him.

He grabs the keys to his car, running to the parking lot, he drives for about thirty minutes until arriving where you are. The bar is empty, there are only employees cleaning and you're laying on the counter, unconscious.

“It's been a while since we closed, but we let her stay inside since it looks like she went through something”, the bartender tells Han when he gets closer.

“Thank you”, Jisung says, before trying to wake you up with no success. He sighs, looking around and thinking about what to do.

He slides one of your arms around his neck, putting one of his hands behind your back for support and the other underneath your knees, lifting you up.

Your face is puffy, he can see it now that he's looking so closely, you probably cried a lot but what would make you cry like that?

Jisung glances at you a few times during the ride home. You groan, whining something in your sleep, even crying a bit. That makes him even more worried.

He repeats the process of picking you up when he parks in front of your apartment, carrying you inside. You whimper all the way to the apartment, he knows you can wake up at any moment.

Han sits you on your bed, taking your coat off and helping you lay down, covering you with a blanket after taking off your shoes. Your makeup is all smeared, so he picks a wet tissue and starts rubbing your face, trying to take off everything he can.

You open your eyes slowly, seeing Jisung with a focused expression while whipping your face.

“What are you doing?” You ask, making him jump. He was so concentrated he didn't even see you waking up.

“I was trying to take your makeup off”, he says, “it's not good for you to sleep with it on your face”

“How did I come home?” You look around, stumbling a bit over your words.

“You don't remember calling me?” He asks and you shake your head. “I went to the bar to pick you up”

Jisung is still whipping your face while he talks, that's when you remember why you were in the bar in the first place and tears run out of your eyes again.

“What happened? Why are you crying like this?” He asks worriedly, helping you sit on the bed.

“I don't- everything goes wrong for me”, you say, sobbing. “Maybe I'm the problem”

Jisung sighs, pulling you into a hug and holding you tightly, feeling your tears soak his shirt. He's worried and doesn't know what to do, should he call Hannah? Or Jeongho? Jisung knows you went to meet with him earlier… wait, did that guy do this to you?

After you stop sobbing for a while, Jisung realizes you fell asleep in his embrace. He lies you on the bed, covering you with the blanket once more. He leaves a glass of water and some hangover medicine on your nightstand so you can take in the morning and prepares his bed on the floor.

You wake up to the bright sunlight coming from the window, your head hurts like crazy and you're so thirsty it seems like a thousand years since you last drank something.

You take the hangover medicine and the water, while sitting down, still a bit dizzy. When your feet touch the floor, it's not the hard ground they meet but something soft. Why is Jisung sleeping by your bedside?

He doesn't look a bit comfortable, although he seems fast asleep. You start poking him, trying to make him wake up, causing your friend to jump and hold your arm.

“Are you alright?” He asks, eyes widened.

You frown at the sight, it's been a while since you last saw Jisung this startled.

“Yeah”, you answer and he can finally let out the breath he didn't even notice was being held. “Why are you sleeping on the floor?”

He looks around for a bit as if he didn't understand why you were asking such a thing.

“Oh, I- hm- I was afraid you would need something so I stayed here just in case”, he tells you and you nod.

It's not an uncommon occurrence for you two to do this kind of thing, even when you were living with your parents. When one of you got sick, it was a tradition to stay by each other's side until the other felt better.

When you moved in with him, naturally, your drinking habits grew since you didn't have to worry about your parents anymore. Jisung was responsible for taking care of you when you came home wasted after partying with Hannah or even when you drunk with him and the boys, he made sure to stay sober enough to still be able to take you home and help you get to your room safely.

“Oh”, you answer, “thank you”

He kept staring at you, waiting for something you're not sure what is.

“Do you want to talk about the reason you got wasted last night?” He asks, awkwardly and the pain comes back all at once.

It was so nice, the period of numbness after waking up from a deep sleep, you wish you could keep feeling that way. Now, your hands are trembling again, just like last night, tears are brimming in your eyes and your lips are quivering. It's obvious to Jisung, you're trying not to cry.

He gets up, collecting the things he used to sleep, without looking at you, he doesn't want to make you any more uncomfortable.

“We don't have to talk about it”, he says, putting the blanket and pillow back in your wardrobe. “Do you want me to call Hannah?” He asks and you stare at him for a moment, nodding to his question, not really wanting to look at your phone.

You're scared Jeongho contacted you, you don't want to see him. But more than anything, you're scared he didn't try talking to you at all, because that means everything is really over.

It's pathetic, you know that break ups happen. But Jeongho was the first guy to ever make you feel the closest to what you ever felt for Jisung, no other could do that and you're scared no one ever will.

Hannah gets to your place about an hour after Jisung called her. She's huffing, hair messed up and puffy face.

“Were you sleeping?” You ask her and she takes a deep breath, seeing that you're okay.

“I'm going to kill that guy”, she yells out of the door to your room, “he made it seems like you were dying or something”

“If I was dying I'm pretty sure he would have taken me to the hospital”, you point out.

Hannah rolls her eyes, dropping her bag on the floor. Closing the door, she walks slowly to sit on your bed, she can clearly see that you cried a lot.

“So, did something happen?” She asks, you avoid her gaze, looking at anything but her face. You find your fingers much more interesting than any part of this conversation, actually. So you pay attention to them, playing on your lap.

“It's nothing”, you answer.

Hannah sighs, if you don't want to talk about it, it means it's bad.

“We don't have to talk about it right now”, she stretches her hand, taking yours and squeezing it. “But you will have to talk about it eventually”

It's your time to sigh now, she's right, you know that, but talking about it makes it real and you don't want it to be real.

“Jeongho broke up with me”, you rip the bandaid all at once.

Hannah gasps, she's speechless. How can this be? She thought he was head over heels for you, so why?

“His company is sending him to Europe and he doesn't want to do long distance”, you feel the tears brimming into your eyes again, voice cracking, “or take me with him”

It's the first time in her life Hannah doesn't know what to say. Your love life is such a mess, worse than hers, so she doesn't have any advice or any comfort to give you.

“Honey, I…”, she tries, but what is she supposed to say? ‘I am sorry?’, that's not it, ‘he is an asshole?’ nothing of the sort.

Looking from outside the situation, Jeongho is being logical, they still are in their honeymoon phase of the relationship, everything is perfect at that time. For most people, problems start to arise after some time. However, when you're in love, you don't want logical outputs, you want what your heart wants.

Hannah is saved by a knock on the door. Han's head pops inside the room and he observes for a moment trying to assess the situation.

“I bought some things you like”, he says, “I'll be going out, so you have the apartment all to yourselves”

He wants you to feel comfortable right now, he doesn't know exactly what happened but you're sad. Jisung knows just letting you enjoy your afternoon with Hannah in the apartment is not going to make things better for whatever is making you feel so down, but he knows you are going to feel livelier after some time with Hannah.

He goes out with Hyunjin, who's buying a present for his mother. It's hot, so if his friend didn't ask very nicely he wouldn't have accepted to go to the mall, since they have to wear hoods and masks. The fact that you're home, crying your eyes out for something he has no clue about, made him want to go out too. It hurts seeing you sad and it's even worse because he can't do anything about it, not when he doesn't know what's happening.

They are looking at bags, maybe he should get you something? You are not really a materialistic person, he's not sure if giving you an expensive present is going to help at all, maybe he should get you that webtoon print you've been talking about, they should definitely have it in the bookstore next door.

When Jisung turns around to tell Hyunjin they should stop at the bookstore, he sees Jeongho. He's looking at bags too, trying to figure out which one he should choose.

Is he giving you a gift too? Maybe he did something and you fought, that's why you were crying so much. Even remembering the way you cried as soon as you woke up makes his heart ache.

Jisung walks to Jeongho, not sure how to initiate a conversation but he feels like he should try and help in some way.

“Hey”, he says, watching Jeongho turn around and look at him.

“Jisung, how are you doing?” He asks, arms crossed in front of chest.

“Fine, are you choosing a gift for y/n?” He asks, awkwardly, “I don't think she likes purple”, he points out observing the bags Jeongho was looking at.

“It's actually for my mother”, he clears his throat, frowning, “didn't y/n tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Jisung asks, confused and Jeongho nods.

“So she didn't”, he sighs, “we broke up”, he struggles to say it.

Jisung's eyes dart directly to Jeongho's face, now he can see the eyebags on his face and how tired he looks.

“Why?” Jisung panics, you shouldn't have to go through another heartbreak.

“I don't think it's something you should know about, if she didn't tell you”, Jeongho shrugs.

“Well, can't you fix it? Whatever it is that is wrong?” He asks, carefully.

Jeongho sighs, he wishes there was something he could do about it, but he's a coward who's too afraid of taking such a big step in the beginning of a relationship.

“I’m afraid I can't”, he says, “take care of her”

Jisung is speechless, he has no idea what to do, so he just watches as Jeongho chooses a gift and walks tiredly out of the store.

Jisung arrives after killing some time outside, he was out for almost the entire day and hopes that you could enjoy a bit of your day with Hannah. He doesn't know if he should bring up his encounter with Jeongho or if he should talk about what your, now ex, boyfriend told him.

He shouldn't mention it, if you didn't tell him about it, it's because you're not ready for you to know and he gets that. Han is not sure about what he's feeling. It hurts his heart to see you in so much pain but he doesn't want to overstep the boundaries you're setting.

So when he enters the house, he sees you and Hannah watching a movie, he greets you both and goes to his room. You clearly cried more since he left and he won't be able to stay in your presence without trying to comfort you.

>><<

Things are difficult for you at the moment. Even though your love for Jeongho never got to its full potential, it's still love. You're mourning what you could have had with him had things been different, you wake up in the middle of the night and can't sleep anymore, feeling your chest hurting and remembering it's over.

It all sank in when he didn't contact you anymore, you're sure he's hurting too but you had hoped that you two could find a solution around this cruel puzzle.

“Should we go out?” Hannah asks while you're watching a drama, burying your sorrows in ice cream.

“I'm not really in the mood”, you say. You haven't cried for some time now, you're too tired, maybe your tears finally dried up.

“I know you don't feel like it”, Hannah sighs, looking at your apathetic face, worriedly, “but I think you should have some fresh air, you have been stuck in this apartment for a week now, it's not healthy”

You sigh, she's right, you know she is, but you can't really find the strength to doll up and go out.

“We don't have to go to a party or anything crowded”, she says, seeing the resigned look on your face. “We can just go to a cafe or something, anything”, she pleads.

You nod, sighing in defeat, maybe a walk can really lift your mood a bit.

Hannah jumps out of the sofa, taking the ice cream from your hands. She talks excitedly about what kind of things you two can do but can't really follow what she's saying, your head is still numb.

You walk around for a bit, looking at clothes in the stores nearby, doing just about anything to think of anything but your break up.

It's already night when you two decide to eat something, there's this restaurant that's kinda hidden so there's not many people eating when you arrive. It's not the first time you eat there, it's a nice and cozy place so you come by when you're needing a little bit of peace.

“Y/N?” You hear a familiar voice calling you, making you turn around to find Lia. She's smiling, there's a man accompanying her. “It's been a while”, she says after telling the man to look for a place for them to sit.

“Hey, yeah it does”, you smile politely. Lia can see the huge eyebags you have and the wide eyes your friend has looking at her.

“Are you alright?” She asks, noticing you barely touched your food.

“Yeah”, you lie, “what about you?” You ask, eyeing the guy who's now looking at his phone while waiting for Lia.

“I'm okay”, she smiles shyly, “it's not easy, you know? But I'm trying to move on, meet new people”

You frown, not really understanding what she's talking about.

“I hope we can still be on friendly terms even though Jisung and I are over”, Lia says, regrets immediately when she sees your eyes widen. He didn't tell you. Shit.

“I didn't know you guys were not together anymore”, Hannah is the one to talk, stealing Lia's attention from your shocked face.

“Yeah, hm, it's been a while actually. I thought he would have already told you everything by now”, she says apologetically. “Well, Han Jisung, let's say that now we are even”, she thinks.

“I should probably go!” Lia points out to the man who's staring impatiently. She waves goodbye to you and walks towards him, afraid she'll tell you something more she's not supposed to.

You find yourself in the dark, seated at the sofa, arms crossed in front of your chest. You can't believe you had to hear from someone other than Jisung about his relationship status. You're mad at him, you were making an effort so things could go back to the way they were so why isn't he acting like he wants that too?

Before, he would tell you everything about his romantic endeavors and even though it hurted, you felt special, knowing every little thing about him. Now, you feel like you know nothing, he's spending less time with you and every time you try doing anything just the two of you, he avoids it like you would jump his bones or something if you stay alone with him for more than two hours.

You may have not gotten over him completely, but you're fine now and for years you could behave yourself, so you're not sure why he's acting like that.

You hear the door being open, Han’s voice comes out in a discussion, he's on the phone. He walks in, putting his phone in his pocket while trying to find his way in the dark. He jumps at the sight of you on the sofa, staring at him with a scowl.

“Jesus christ, y/n”, he says, putting his hand above his heart, “what the hell are you doing there in the dark?”

He turns on the light, turning back at you. You're still staring at him in silence.

“Why didn't you tell me you and Lia are not together anymore?” You stand up, waiting for his answer.

“W-what?” His standing falters and he takes a step back. “How did you know?”

“Clearly I didn't find out from my best friend”, you scoff. “Did you think I would try making a move on you if you are single?”

Jisung frowns, how the hell did you get to that conclusion?

“No, I-”

“I'm sure you already figured Jeongho and I broke up”, you point out, “but you rejected me, I'm over that already”

“I can see why you would think that”, Jisung says carefully, “considering the way I acted when you confessed, but it's not that, I can assure you”

“I'm trying to have a normal relationship with you, you know, but you're just not the same. You don't spend time with me anymore, you don't talk to me about what's on your mind, the only thing I can think is that you're scared of me”

“I'm sorry I made you feel that way, I'm trying to act normally too, it's just-” Jisung cuts himself off, not sure what to say. At the same time he doesn't know what to say to make you stop thinking like that, he's not sure things will get any better if he tells you the truth.

“What's it? Just tell me so I can fix it, please I-”

“I'm in love with you”, he blurts out, hand instantly going to his chest and clenching the place above his heart. “I'm so in love with you it hurts”

You stumble back, almost falling. Did you hear it right?

“I don't think I understand”, you say, frowning, trying to make sense of his words.

“I feel terrible, I rejected you and made you suffer just for me to feel like this now?” He scoffs, “I'm sorry I made you think you are the problem again, but you're not, I am. I'm the one who can't stay close to you because I'm afraid I'll do something that will ruin our friendship”

You get up, trying to function properly after this sudden confession. Never, in your wildest dreams did you think there would come a day when Jisung would actually love you in the way you most desperately once wanted. You fantasized about it for years but you never really thought it would happen for real.

“I can't do this right now”, you say to him, seeing his shoulders slump. The sad look in your face is what he most feared. Jisung didn't expect you to still like him, but it would be a lie to say he didn't have any hope of you telling him he still has a chance.

“I don't expect you to like me back”, he says, voice cracking a bit when he tries to say the words he least want to, “I just don't want you to think I'm avoiding you because of you, it's because of me”

You nod slowly, still not fully recovered from the shock. You walk past him, not saying anything anymore, just entering your room and closing the door silently. This was definitely unexpected.

A/N: If you like what I write please reblog or let me know in the comments, feedback give me motivation to keep writing. Also, you can buy me a coffee.

Taglist(closed):

@hhwangsmoon @weareapackofstrays @shycreationdreamland @adestayskz @skizmee @ca11me3mily @realviviboss @sofix-hc7 @starsandrqindrops @its-hannjisung @redstayrosie @mae-is-cute98 @blithevix @astro-doll-the-star @vlctorriaa @captainchrisstan @rag-iii @notastraykid @jisunghannie @applepie-macaroon @stayingdelulu @sundayysunshine @kidrauhlschik @wolfennracha @meloncremesoda @hanschimpmunk @realrintaro @teejisung @maexc @gyustarzzi @ivaneedssleep @chaeryred @daemon-bunny @broken-glowsticks @ch4nniebang @sleepyleeji @seukijeuxq @luvbangchan @lovesunshinefelix @hyunjins-dimples @castielsfrillywhiteknickers @armystay89 @literallyjustwanttoread @jisunghannie @jungkookies1002 @diorggukie @channieandhisgoonsquad @mamabymychem @ladylexis @bmnyy

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woso-dreamzzz · 9 months

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Youth Team

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: The final of the Under-17 Euros

Your call-up to join Denmark's Under-17 team comes on a random Wednesday.

You're freshly fifteen and have just gotten back from practice, throwing your hair up into a ponytail and shoving your dirty keeper gloves into the washing machine.

"I'm home!"

You don't really expect anyone to answer but Momma appears in front of you in an instant, a phone tucked under her ear.

"It's for you," She says and you take it in confusion - unsure of who would call your Momma instead of just you.

"Hello?"

"Is this y/n?" The voice on the other line asks. It's a little weird hearing someone call you by your name like that. Your mothers never outgrew calling you your childhood nickname and everyone at training just called you by your last name.

"Er...Yes?"

You can hear their smile down the phone and something unknown stirs within you.

"I'm calling on behalf of Denmark's Under Seventeen Squad. We'd be delighted to have you join us at camp this year."

You're speechless for a moment, eyes wide in shock as you look at Momma, who is smiling and nodding at you.

"Y-Yeah! Yeah, I'd love to come!"

"Excellent. Details will be sent to your mothers and we look forward to seeing you at Viborg soon."

That was months ago now and, as you slip into your kit, you can't help but think back on it. You're still fifteen, one of the youngest on the squad but you've still managed to clinch the first keeper position from your sixteen-year-old counterpart.

You're up against Germany (but everybody already knew that you would be, they'd been on a winning streak since before you were born) and you take the time before kick-off to take steadying breaths.

Eriksson-Harder is on the back of your jersey. It was a small consolation prize for Morsa, putting her last name first on your back after you chose Denmark over Sweden for the youth teams. Sweden had called too, only several hours too late and you had to reject their offer in favour of Denmark.

Morsa had been a bit miffed but after you promised to put her name first, she was placated (if only for a moment before she arrogantly reminded Momma that you had all the time in the world to choose Sweden's senior team).

"Alright there?" One of your teammates asks as you ready yourself to walk out.

"Peachy," You say sarcastically," Just..." You shrug. "At least try to keep them from getting close enough to shoot?"

She laughs. "It's Germany. I don't think we get that luxury."

She's right because most of the match is spent viciously defending your clean sheet.

You jump.

You dive.

You punch.

You do everything in your power to keep the German goals from taking this from you.

"Come on!" You yell in triumph as you narrowly grab onto the ball. The speed at which it came at you nearly winds you but you recover quickly, kicking it quickly to one of your defenders to send it further up the pitch. "Come at me!"

It's a vicious game and your whole uniform is dirty and raked with mud from the amount of times that you have dived to the ground to stop the ball.

It all comes to a head though when the ninety minutes are up and neither team has scored.

Penalties.

You despise penalties with all your heart (although you're incredibly skilled at them). They're the bane of your existence (but at this point, you don't know that you'll never let one in throughout your entire career). It's made even worse when Denmark starts it off. The ball tips out of target.

You step up.

Shot.

Deflect.

It goes on for a few excruciating rounds. None of your penalty takers seem to be able to score and you're left to make sure that Germany can't either.

Shot.

Deflect.

Shot.

Deflect.

Shot.

Deflect.

Finally though, on the fifth kick, your captain manages to just squeeze one past Germany's keeper and you're left to make sure it stays that way.

If this next ball goes through, it's more penalties.

If not...Well you knew what happened if it didn't go in.

You bounce on your feet, gloves up and ready as Germany's captain readies herself.

She looks like she's aiming right.

The crowd is silent.

She kicks the ball.

You move left...

And catch the ball in your hands easily.

The stadium erupts.

You scream. Your team mobs you and suddenly everyone is talking over each other and laughing and crying and screaming their joy for everyone to see.

You break from the group, still clutching the ball in your hands as you run to the crowd.

To Momma and Morsa.

Tears are spilling down your cheeks as you hop the railing and crash into their arms.

You're not quite sure who's at your front and who's at your back but you just know that Morsa and Momma are here and they're holding you and you've just won the Under-17 Euros.

You're still crying as you pull away to see Momma's the one in front of you. She's crying too, cupping your face and raining kisses on your forehead.

"You did so well, princesse." Morsa's still holding you from behind. "So well. We're so proud of you."

"Denmark's first goalkeeper," Momma says," Winning on penalties."

You grin, your tears having run dry even as you're still overwhelmed by emotions. "So you think I'll stay first keeper?"

Morsa laughs from behind you and you turn around to face her, seeing the pride shining in her eyes. "Definitely. Although, hopefully, you won't stick with Denmark."

"I don't know," Momma teases," She's just won her first Euros. I'd say that staying with Denmark might be her good luck charm."

"She's going to be good enough not to need luck."

You have to break away from them to collect your medal and have a little hold of the trophy but you head straight back.

You take off your medal as soon as you reach them and place it around Momma's neck.

"There'll be more," You promise her and Morsa," There'll be so many more."

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

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aronkiepronkie · 2 months

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you mumble incoherent curses and erase aggressively on your paper, blowing the eraser shavings, catching tsukishimas attention. "what're you doing?" he asks with a small amount of judgement in his tone as he looks down at the slightly crumbled paper in your notebook. "i'm trying to..ugh." you sigh, lowering your face to the notebook in front of you, light gray strokes connecting with one another. "trying to what?" the blonde boy looks down at you. "talk normally dumbass, i can't hear you." he spits out, you pay no mind to him and move your hair to the side, grumbling angrily about it being in the way. tsukishima hears your frustrated mumbles and takes the matter into his hands before you explode and become pissy for the rest of the day. he grabs the hair tie you gave him off his wrist, gently gathering all of your hair and slowly putting it into a ponytail. "you're welcome." he speaks up after a few seconds of silence. "thanks, kei." you respond quietly, entranced in your drawing, his cheeks dust with pink when his name leaves your mouth, still not used to you calling him by his first name. tsukishima looks down at your paper, analyzing the drawing you're stressing about. he slowly starts familiarizing the doodles and sketches of a person, piecing together the glasses and hair. "is that me?" he asks, his brows furrowed at the scarily accurate drawings of him. "wha- no! that would be so weird and creepy of me to draw you..." you yell out in surprise, trying to defend yourself, jumping from your previous position, snuggled against his pillows, under the blanket that he bought specifically for you. tsukishima chuckles through his nose and smirks. "you're more than weird and creepy yn." he sighs and closes his eyes. "maybe that's why i like you." he mutters, mainly to himself but loud enough for you to hear. your face bursts into a bright red and you grab one of his pillows, throwing it harshly at his face. he catches the fuzzy decorative pillow with ease, laughing at you and patting the spot on his bed next to him, inviting you to sit with him. "don't start getting all cute at me after calling me weird and creepy, you're gonna give me whiplash." you tell him while hopping next to him and he hums in faux confusion. "i'm not getting cute, just saying i kind of like you." he says confidently with a faint smile still on his thin lips while he unlocks his phone, scrolling aimlessly through the many playlists he's made, not sparing you a glance. "oh wow, should i be flattered that the all-knowing, stoic, cold and stingy tsukishima kei kind of likes me?" you joke reaching for your pencil to resume sketching. he pauses his scrolling after clicking on the playlist you two listen to the most together, reaching for his earphones that he, again, specifically got for you so you guys can listen to music together. he glances at your page and he stays quiet, taking your joke into consideration. "mmm, flattered isn't the word. don't take advantage of the situation." he states quietly, leaning into you and sticking left earphone in your ear. your hands halt and you gasp dramatically. "i love this song!" you yell joyfully. "i know you do." tsukishima says to himself, and this time, you can't hear what he says. he wraps his arm around your shoulder, his hand resting on the pillows next to you as he watches the pencil in your hand work its magic, finishing the 'doodle' of him smiling, you would call it, tsukishima would simply call it a masterpiece just because he knows no matter how hard he would try, he'd never get on your level when it comes to drawing. his broad chest rises and falls with each slow breath he takes as he admires your skill. "stop drawing me, weirdo." he says, sarcasm dripping in his tone. you look up at him with sparkling eyes and a candy sweet smile that never fails to make his steady heartbeat falter. "you love it." "i guess i do." is the last thing he says before cupping your warm cheek with his cold, big hands and pressing his lips onto yours, kissing you slowly.

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smoooothoperator · 3 months

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What Was I Made For?

04: Reputation

Charles Leclerc x driver!OC (Dafne Morelli)

childhood enemies, forced proximity, accidental pregnancy, enemies to lovers

Warnings: anxiety, social anxiety, hate, Sebastian Stan (yes, he's a warning🫣🫠)

a/n: Hiiii!!! How are you doing? Here you have a new chapter! What do you guys think that will happen next? I'll read you! Oh! And at the end of the chapter you have some surprises!!

Masterlist

previous part | next part

If you want to be tagged don't forget to message me!

Every way of feedback is very welcomed

They always said that hair holds memories.

When I was little, I always liked to have long hair because I loved standing in front of the bathroom mirror and watching how my mom tied it up in a ponytail, pigtails, or braids. It was a moment for the two of us, watching each other through the reflection of the mirror, my eyes following the gentle movement of her hands and fingers through my hair, and seeing how she wrapped a colorful tie around it. Sometimes she even wrapped a ribbon and made a little bow.

When I started karting, I always tied my hair in two braids and wrapped them around my head, making me look like I was wearing a crown made of my own hair. It was useful, letting me be comfortable with the helmet and not worrying about tucking my hair inside the suit to keep it from going wild while I drove.

Growing up, I always took care of it, sometimes getting attention from my girl classmates who asked me for tips on how to take care of their hair, wanting to know what products I used to make my soft curls look perfect.

When I started to get a little famous, brands like Kérastase and Garnier wanted me to be their face and sponsor me.

My hair holds so many memories. It was part of my identity.

But it holds bad memories too.

Charles pulling my pigtails. Nearly ruining my hair after dyeing it during a breakdown. Charles putting gum in it. Having nightmares after watching “V for Vendetta,” thinking that someone shaved my head.

If I want to be a new version of myself, I have to cut things from the root.

New hair. New me.

“Dafne, why are people saying that you hired a lawyer and you'll file a lawsuit against Charles?”

A few days later, after the unfortunate meeting and call with Fred, my sister Erica came to help me get ready for an event in Tuscany. Something about a high society charity event.

“You are taking it too—” she stopped, turning around and looking at me as I walked out of the bathroom. “Did you cut and dye your hair?”

“Yeah,” I shrugged, grabbing my makeup bag and putting it in the suitcase.

“What? Why?” she frowned.

“Because I wanted to,” I said. “It's easier to style, easier to wash.”

“You never complained about your long hair!” she exclaimed, making me roll my eyes. “And why is it blonde?”

“Because I wanted to, Erica!” I sighed. “I wanted to try something different! Jeez!”

She frowned slightly, scanning me with her eyes. And somehow I felt so small, judged by her.

“Blonde doesn't look bad on you,” she smiled, finally. “But it will be weird, you always had long hair.”

“I know,” I sighed, touching my hair and biting my lip when I felt it barely touched my shoulders.

She looked at me, following my movements with her eyes. It’s like she was waiting for me to talk more, to explain, to break down. She waited for me to say something, to answer that first question she asked, wanting me to tell her what I had been doing the last two days.

“Well?” she frowned. “Why did you hire a lawyer?”

“Take a guess,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “A certain someone just talked shit about me some days ago, and let’s not talk about the so-called punishment he will receive.”

“Look, what he did wasn’t nice. But he was drunk,” Erica sighed, making me feel betrayed.

“So? Does that give him the right to talk shit?” I frowned. “You are my sister, and you are defending him? He won’t apologize for that, Erica!”

She took a deep breath looking at me and I looked away, clenching my jaw. I know she gets along with him, that Jules connects them and somehow they share the pain of losing him. But why is she defending him?

“I’m not defending him,” she said, her voice sounding more serious. “But this is getting out of control, Dafne. You two have to stop now before the whole team and our families get more involved.”

“Sure,” I scoffed. “I’ll make sure to stop this.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed, getting up from my bed and grabbing everything so we could leave for the event. I made sure to leave enough food for my cat and then I grabbed the keys and my bag.

The event was not far from where I live, making it easier and faster to go, just using Erica's car and then reserving a hotel room so I could get changed and ready for the event. My sister Erica always made sure to have everything ready, the makeup and hair artists would be there shortly after we arrived at the room.

“I don’t think the hair team would be necessary,” I sighed, looking out of the window, watching the landscape pass by.

“They’ll find something to do,” she sighed. “I hired them, and if it sounds bad, I won't pay them to do nothing. At least let them… I don't know, do a hairstyle or something.”

“Yeah, sure,” I sighed.

When we arrived at the hotel near the event place, I opened the door and immediately heard people calling my name.

My name and some other nasty names.

“Whore! Slut!”

I clenched my jaw, trying to focus on the people that came to me with a smile, holding notebooks and pens, signing the papers, and taking pictures with those who showed me their phones.

But at some point, the insults grew louder, making my sister walk towards me and hold my arm, pushing me inside the hotel.

“Now do you understand why I'll sue him?” I mumbled, clenching my jaw and pulling my arm away from her hold, walking towards the elevator and waiting for her to grab the room key card.

I looked down at my phone, trying my hardest not to open my social media. If they dare to call me those names in person, I don't want to know what they call me on Twitter or Instagram.

“Erase the media apps,” Erica said, getting in the elevator with me.

“I barely open them,” I lied.

“I don't care. Erase them from your phone.”

I sighed and nodded, grabbing my phone and doing what she said. I should let my manager take care of this if there was something to worry about.

“And that lawsuit…” she sighed.

“I won't give up on that,” I whispered. “He took things too far this time. I won't let him act however he wants and think he can stay innocent all the time.”

“God, if only you two acted like adults and talked things out…” she sighed, rolling her eyes.

If only she knew… All the times I tried to talk to him, he came up with another reason for me to hate him. In the end, it was easier hating him than trying to befriend him.

“I think I reached out too many times, Erica,” I sighed. “And it's time for him to see that I'm not a doll he can play with.”

“But still…”

I shook my head and sighed, walking out of the elevator and going to the room. I opened the door with the card and got inside, sitting on the bed. The stylist team will come soon, so I have to get dressed quickly.

“This time it's his turn to fix things,” I said when I saw Erica walking in. “If he wants to, of course. But I highly doubt it.”

The dress is too tight. I can barely breathe with it.

Or maybe it is because of the anxiety making my chest and stomach feel tense.

The moment I got out of the car and my feet touched the ground, hearing the clicks of the cameras and the calls of the photographers, I felt my breath hitching in my throat. My palms started to sweat, making me rub them on the material of the dress to dry them, but they started shaking the moment I walked deeper into the crowd.

“Deep breaths,” Erica whispered, placing a hand on my back.

I nodded nervously and walked towards the photoshoot zone, watching the photographers take pictures of people in front of me: actors, models, singers, other athletes.

I took a deep breath and looked at the first cross on the floor that was closer to me. I have to wait for them to call my name and place me there.

“Dafne Morelli. Formula 1 driver,” someone said, the man in charge of the photoshoot.

I took a deep breath, two, three. Chin up. Shoulders back. Straight back. Fake smile.

I stood on the cross, looking around at the cameras when the photographers called my name. I tried to focus on the people who called me, ignoring the heartbeat pounding in my ears. Someone led me to the next cross and then to the next one. And when the photoshoot ended, I looked at the people with microphones and cameras.

“It's not obligatory to do interviews,” Erica said, holding my hand. “It's just for the people who were requested for it. And you are not on the list.”

“Oh… Sure,” I nodded. “That's better, honestly.”

She smiled weakly and nodded, walking with me to the main room where everyone would be sitting at tables for the gala.

“Who are we sitting with?” I asked her, leaning closer to her.

“Other athletes,” she said. “And the table closer to us is the one with actors.”

“And they are…?” I sighed, closing my eyes and fixing my hair a little.

“Believe me, you won't believe it,” she said.

“What? Why? Who is there, Meryl Streep?” I laughed softly. “Anne Hathaway? If she's there, please remind me to take a picture with her and invite her to a race.”

“Oh, Anne is, and of course, I'll remind you to invite her,” she smirked. “But someone else.”

“Who? Emma D’Arcy?” I gasped. “I haven't watched the new season of House of the Dragon yet!”

“She won't,” Erica laughed. “It's actually someone you have a crush on…”

“Wh—” I gasped. “No way.”

“Oh yes.”

“Oh God, Erica! If I was anxious now, I'd feel even more anxious!” I groaned. “Sebastian Stan is here?”

“Yep,” she smiled. “And he'll make a speech.”

“Oh fuck,” I sighed. “I can die in peace.”

“Drama queen,” she laughed softly, rolling her eyes.

When we finally walked inside the room, I somehow felt self-conscious. People looked at me the moment I walked in, talking in low voices, hiding their mouths with their hands.

Are they talking about me? Did they hear those false accusations? Do they believe what Charles said?

I sat at our table in silence, looking at the plate and not daring to look up. They are looking at me, right? They are talking about me.

I sat at the table, grabbing the napkin and placing it in my lap. I heard a waiter on my right, asking something, probably about a drink, since he was holding a bottle that looked like white wine. Not finding my own voice, I shook my head, avoiding eye contact with the waiter and grabbing the water bottle that was in front of me, filling the glass with cold water.

Somehow, the food right in front of me doesn't look good. I'm not hungry anymore. I looked around, smiling fakely while I grabbed the glass with cold water, drinking it all and serving myself another glass. I played with the food, tried to eat something, but the knot in my stomach was so tight that I could barely eat more than two bites. The water looks fresh and makes my throat less dry. The next dish looks delicious and smells amazing, but it's too much pasta, too much, and I can't eat it. I played again with it, moving the spaghetti around the plate to make it look like I ate something. The waiter took the plate away, barely touched. My glass of water was empty, I needed more water. More water. More water. The dessert, a tiramisu. My favorite. I wanted to eat it, but…

“I need to get some fresh air,” I mumbled to my sister, grabbing the napkin from my lap and getting up, not being aware that my favorite actor was talking through the speakers.

I walked out of the room, feeling everyone's eyes on me. My chest was burning, my heart was beating too fast.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mumbled, pacing back and forth, with my hand on my chest and trying to breathe.

I don't know what I was doing. My phone was in my hand, reinstalling Twitter and logging in.

Why am I doing this?

Hundreds. Thousands of notifications. Mentions, retweets, DMs.

I installed Instagram and logged in.

Mentions, tags, DMs.

Videos of Charles at that party. Of me screaming at him. My sister Soleil and Arthur holding me by my arms and pulling me away from him.

And then flashbacks came to my mind.

Charles in my room. Charles' lips on mine. Charles kissing my neck. Charles mumbling a name that's not mine. Me trying to fight but giving up. Me taking off his shirt. Him taking off my sleeping shirt. Us in bed. Charles kissing me. Charles moaning—

“Hey, are you okay?”

I gasped, flinching and dropping my phone to the floor when I turned around surprised, being taken out of a spiral of thoughts and flashbacks.

He was standing there. Sebastian Stan was standing there.

“Yeah, yeah, I…” I swallowed thickly, gasping softly when I felt small tears blurring my vision. “I'm okay.”

“You didn't look okay some minutes ago,” he smiled weakly. “I'm…”

“Sebastian Stan, I know,” I laughed nervously. “Big fan.”

“O-oh! Well, I'm a fan of yours too,” he smiled, taking a few steps closer to me.

“Y-you are?” I whispered softly, surprised.

“Of course! The first woman to win a Formula 1 race,” he nodded. “It's impressive.”

I looked at him, surprised. Is he really talking to me? Does he know who I am? Am I dreaming?

“You… you were having an anxiety attack, right?” he smiled weakly.

“I guess so,” I sighed. “Just… Many things happened lately.”

“Oh, I understand,” he nodded. “Let me guess. Something controversial that has everyone against you on social media so you read everything and let it get into your mind?”

“How…” I frowned. How does he know?

“Believe me, I went through the same some years ago,” he sighed. “The best decision is to delete those things from your phone and ignore them.”

“Yeah, well… I did some hours ago,” I mumbled, blushing. “But I installed them again. I don't know why.”

“You were spiraling,” he nodded. “I noticed it. I was giving the speech when you walked out. As soon as I finished, I talked to who I guess is your sister.”

“Erica,” I nodded.

He smiled and nodded, walking closer to me. He knelt in front of me and grabbed my phone from the floor, smiling weakly when he looked at the broken screen.

“I'm sorry, I surprised you,” he sighed.

“No… I think it's better that way,” I smiled, looking at him.

Am I in heaven after dying? Why is he talking to me? Is this some type of game? A dream? A nightmare? Now he will just say that he thinks I'm a fraud and that I don't deserve the seat.

Just what Charles said.

“Don’t believe what they say about you,” he said suddenly. “You know your version. It's their choice to believe you or not. You don't owe them anything. Don't let those words ruin a reputation you fought to build.”

I looked at him, surprised. He knows about the rumors?

“And by the way,” he smiled. “You look amazing with blonde hair. Everyone was talking about it, you are more famous than you think, Dafne.”

I took a deep breath and looked at him, somehow feeling the air getting into my lungs and making the anxiety go away.

There are people who don’t hate me. I’m more famous, he’s right.

This is how I picture the girls

taglist

@racinggirl @elisysd @alltoomaples @ssprayberrythings @rach3164 @yvonne-dump @deliciousfestsalad @janeh22 @hc-dutch @ninifee1802 @kakorrhaphiphobia @ssararuffoni @itsjustkhaos @scaramou @tapedeck-hearts @apollosfavkiddo @sltwins @glitterquadricorn @ladystardust05 @theseerbetweenus @vizzzashley @auawdo @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @leptitlu

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cranberryjuice-posts · 8 months

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Clarisse Larue Dating Head-cannons~

An: reader doesn’t have a set godly parent essentially but this is Clarisse x fem reader HC!

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- before you two started dating she would constantly try to show off, be that in capture the flag regular sparing or bulling new kids

- could listen to you talk for hours

- type of person that can go from threatening someone in a harsh tone to immediately becoming gentle and loving once she sees you

- treats her spear like it’s her baby (especially her second one) once she trust enough she’ll let you train with it though she will watch over you like a hawk

-loves when you do her hair, if your not good with her hair type she enjoys if you’ll simply help her pull it back into a ponytail however if your skillful with hair she’ll let you do what ever style you want on her

-has and will threaten people for you

-one time while playing capture the flag the other team caught you and put you in “jail”, however you ended up getting hurt and injuring yourself in some way.. once the game was over she marched up to the other team and yelled around trying to find out who caught/hurt you

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“Who the hell did it then?!” Clarisse yelled at a Hermes kid, the blue team shifted around trying to avoid the angry daughter of ares.

“Claire im Fine, It’s just a Cut I’ll live” you sighed grabbing clarisses arm trying to calm the angry girl down while ignoring the blood running down your shin as you had a cut in your thigh.

Clarisse Just scoffed and turned back to you kissing your forehead before giving the other kids a dirty look. “Whatever, when i find out which of you punks did this you’ll be face first in the dirt” she threatened and walked away with you in hand… since that day no one’s tried to put you back in “jail”.

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-it’s cannon clarisse is good at wrestling so she most likely will teach you self defense moves that can help you no matter who your fighting (mostly because she’s worried that if/when the camp were to be attacked she would want you to know how to defend yourself)

-her love language is quality time and words of affirmation, so she’ll do whatever she can to spend time with you and be active with you, if you don’t really enjoy sports or training she’ll go on walks with you in the forest, pick strawberries with you and try to do other things like swimming or more

- now if your into sports no matter the sport she’ll gladly play or train in it with you so for example volleyball : shell take you down to the sand pit where the volleyball net is and play a few rounds with you, or if you do colorguard : she’ll watch as you spin flag or rifles and even try it out with you

- keeps EVERYTHING you give her, from a sticky note that you had written a reminder on for her to gifts like bracelets though if you asked her if she had any of the items she would deny it all

- Clarisse is nervous with PDA as she doesn’t want to seem weak so she’ll hold your hand or give the occasional forehead or cheek kiss but once you two are alone she’s like your shadow holding onto you actually kissing you and letting her guard down

- like I said before she loves having you around her so when she’s working out or busy sparing with her siblings or hitting a dummy she likes when you sit near by and watch her (she’s gonna show off)

- while working out she’ll let you try to lift her weights which you can’t and she’ll jokingly makefun it you for it

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You groaned as she tried to lift the heavy weight with one hand. Your girlfriend laughing in the background wasn’t helping. “You can stop laughing you know” you shot her a look.

“Yeah I know” clarisse grinned and walked over picking up the weight with ease. “It’s Just cute to see you struggle”

You rolled you eyes and lightly hit clarisse who was still giggling.

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-if your a medic clarisse will come into the infirmary on occasion giving you a fake sickness or injury just so she can have you take care of her

-one time a group of girls were shit talking about clarisse and normally she would of snapped at them but Chiron had told her that if she caused another scene that she would have to clean the Pegasus stalls.. as she tried to ignore them she saw you step up and yell at the girls telling them off. That’s when she realized she was in love with you

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SPOILERS AHEAD FOR BOTH PJO AND HOO BOOKS‼️

- Clarisse appreciates when you will give her words of affirmation. With how her father is you telling her that she’s good enough and that your proud of her helps her self confidence a lot

- after silenas death in the battle of Manhattan she became even more protective of you. She already lost one person she loved and gods know what she would do if she lost you to

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Clafisse hugged you tight as the two of you cuddled on the bed in the empty ares cabin.

“Clair.. you ok” you asked softly while caressing the girls curls.

“I need you to Promise me something” she sat up and cupped your face looking into it with seriousness but also love.

“What is it” You asked with a soft smile, you knew clarisse was going through a lot and you also k ew you would always be by her side.

“Promise me your not gonna leave..” clarisse whispered, you could see the pain in her eyes. “Promise me your not gonna do some stupid shit in battle and get yourself killed” she spoke in a passive aggressive tone with her voice breaking and her eyes tearing up slightly. You knew clarisse still blamed herself for silenas death and all you knew to do was comfort the girl.

You let out a gentle sigh and sat up hugging the girl. You kissed her shoulder and nodded. “I promise..I’m not going anywhere”

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- while they were preparing for the battle between the Greeks and Roman’s clarisses made sure you were placed as far away from the battle as she could get you (if your a medic this works out perfectly for her)

- after the battle of manhattan and the one against the Roman’s (idk what it was called) if your a medic she only wants to be nurses back to health by you

- something I can see clarisse doing is breaking up with you before the battle of manhattan, yeah she pulled out the war before it started but she’s the type of person that if she feels like she’s going to die she would want you to hate her so you won’t grieve over her however as soon as it was over and you were back at camp she would apologize and explain why she broke up with you and ask to get back together (you agreed of course but you told her if she ever did that again you two really would be over)

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An: 💔 Anyways uh this is my first time posting something like this so if it sucks uhh 🤷‍♀️

#clarisse la rue #clarisse pjo #lesbian #wlw #clarisse x reader #headcanon

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ponderingmoonlight · 9 months

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Kento Nanami and his wife losing their unborn child in Shibuya (major tw!)

Pairing: husband!Nanami x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,5k

Synopsis: It seemed like a normal evening when you passed out on the couch, not aware of Haruta sneaking into your shared apartment until he pierces his blade through your pregnant stomach. How will your husband react, finding out what happened to you?

Warning: MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING!, if you feel uncomfortable with child loss or it triggers you in some way, please don't read this, heavy violence, heaviest angst but comfort (bc Nanami is the best husband ever), didn't proofread this because it hurts my soul, please note that I never experienced something like that and wrote it out of stories from family and it might be bad

This is like the bad ending to Haruta seeking revenge on Nanami's heavy pregnant wife. You can find it here

Thank you @wifenanami for breaking our heart (I love your requests babe) 😭

Your mind is a blur when you open your aching lids against a harsh light. Damn, everything hurts, you feel like someone has stabbed you over and over again. Your stomach aches so bad…why? The last thing you remember is…

A toe-curling scream coming out of your own mouth. Hands that keep you from falling to the ground. Darkness, unimaginable agony, grief. But why? What happened? Out of instinct, your hands wander to your belly. Weren’t you at home passed out on the couch with your heavy belly laying on the side, waiting for your husband to come back to you?

You were, but there’s something else…

Suddenly, a wave of memories washes over you, memories that make your whole body tremble with overflooding emotions.

“I-I can’t feel her anymore. Shoko, I can’t feel her, she isn’t moving!”, you cry on top of your lungs, hands roaming around your blood-soaked stomach in a desperate attempt to find a heartbeat.

You weren’t fast enough. The minute that blond-haired man with the ugly ponytail stumbled into your apartment and shot a sword directly through your belly, you were lost at words, lost at actions, lost at control. As if frozen in place, you watched as he pierced through you over and over again, your blood spilling onto the cold marble floor, discolouring everything in your crimson blood within seconds.

And hers. Your precious daughter. It was only a matter of time said Shoko the other day. A matter of time until you’d be finally able to hold her in your arms, a matter of time to see your husband putting her to sleep.

But time ran out for both of you.

“Send my best wishes to your husband! Well, you probably can’t do that anymore though…See ya!”

You can’t remember what happened next. How did you even manage to let Shoko know that you’re injured? It doesn’t matter anyway. The look of pure horror on her face was enough for you to know that it’s too late.

“Y-you…you need to save her”, you hush, tears now taking your sight completely.

You are nothing but weak. Too weak to defend yourself, too fucking weak to even move an inch when someone attacks you.

Too weak to save the life of your daughter.

Your daughter…

“Tell me she’s okay”, you mumble into the light above you over and over like a prayer.

Maybe all of this was nothing but a bad dream. Maybe Shoko was really able to use her reversed technique on both you and your precious daughter. Maybe she’s laying in her father’s arms right now, safe and sound. Her father…where is your husband? Is he alright?

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). I tried everything I could but…I couldn’t save her, she was already dead when I arrived…”

“No”, you interrupt her immediately.

You hold your breath. How often did you imagine what she might look like? Your little angel. Oh, you were so excited when you found out you’re expecting your first child back then, Kento was so overwhelmed that he even cried. She was the blessing in a world full of curses, your little ray on sunshine in the dark.

She…She can be dead…

“You were there, right? You saved both of us, right?”

Shoko leans down towards you. And for the first time since knowing her, you see her cry. Not only a single tear runs down her face, but a never-ending waterfall while she holds onto your shaky hand.

You feel numb, want to laugh and cry at the same time, want to scream and to stay silent all at once. This…This can’t be reality. This isn’t how it’s supposed to turn out. You’ve read enough books to know how happy endings work, that the people who deserve it will always find happiness.

“My darling.”

His voice catches you off guard, makes your glossy eyes widen and heartbeat pick up. This is him, without any doubt. Your husband is here.

Gently, he grabs your other hand and leans forwards.

Your breath hitches in an instant.

“Kento…”

Half of his body is burned, bruises cover his gorgeous face. But the worst thing is the unwavering sadness that gleams in his orbs. It hits you like a wall.

The things you saw, Shoko’s words.

Everything is true.

You lost your child at Shibuya.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). Everything is my fault. I should have saved you, I should have stayed with you, I should have killed him…I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry…”

And then he breaks down on the side of the bed you’re laying in, head pressed against the soft mattress while crying so horribly that you feel like dying right on the spot.

This, everything that happened…Everything is only your fault. You should have listened when he instructed you to stay at Jujutsu High, you should have locked the door like he always said. You are not only responsible for getting hurt, but also for losing the way too young life of your unborn daughter.

She had her whole life ahead of her. Her first steps, her first time saying “dada”, your precious husband buying her clothes, bringing her to school on her first day, comforting her when he first boy breaks her heart only to scare this poor boy to death…

You didn’t only kill her, but her whole future. And Kento’s on top.

“How are you feeling, love? Are you still in pain?”

You don’t even dare to look at him, numb eyes just staring at the ceiling. No, you don’t deserve this man kneeling in front of you, you don’t deserve him even talking to you.

“You should leave.”

Thick silence hangs in the air, Kento’s eyes darted towards you in sheer disbelief. Why would you ever suggest something like that? When he woke up, the first thing on his mind was you. When Shoko told him what happened, that your daughter died and she isn’t sure if you’ll make it, it felt as if a part of himself is vanishing. You, the love of his life, the baby both of you waited for…

“I will never leave your side, love. Not when we both need each other more than ever”, he replies as calmly as possible.

“Why would you say that when I’m the one who killed your daughter?”

Your words hit him with full force, tear the ground from under his feet. It already hurts enough to know you lost your little angel in than senseless battle to that disgusting creature. But hearing that you make yourself responsible for what happened, that you think he doesn’t want to be with you anymore…

“Look at me.”

Carefully, he cups your cheek with his large hand, forcing you to return his gaze. The empty look in your eyes makes him tear up all over again.

This is so unfair, so unbelievable cruel. Isn’t it enough that you’ve lost your child? Why are you plaguing your mind with blaming yourself for that tragedy, why are you even thinking he’ll leave you?

“Let me tell you from the bottom of my heart that I love you more than ever. Let me promise you that I’ll never leave your side, no matter how numb you feel, no matter how often the pain gets overwhelming. Let me tell you that we’ll get through this together. Because you are my wife, (y/n). And even though it rips me apart to know that we’ve lost our daughter to this fucker, I will always be thankful that you survived. You did so well. I’m beyond proud that you’ve managed to call Shoko, that you pushed through and fought for your life. I will NEVER blame you for what happened at Shibuya. And I will love you through everything.”

“Kento…I miss her so much”, you breathe against his hand with so much grief in your voice that it takes him all his strength so not break down all over again.

“I miss her too, darling. But she’s always with us, she’ll never leave our side”, he whispers gently.

“I don’t deserve you…You, you are injured yourself. What happened to you?”

“Nothing but a few scratches. Let me stay by your side, okay? I never want to leave you alone again, (y/n).”

You can’t contain yourself any longer, it seems like the world around you collapses as you let yourself fall into your husband’s arms. Everything is too much, all the grief, all the sadness seems to swallow you whole. But oh does it feel good to lay against his chest, to feel his fingertips stroke your hair gently.

“I will always stay by your side. And so does our little angel.”

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lottiecrabie · 1 year

Text

don't fuck the line cooks. part one – matty healy

(also lovingly known as linecook!au)

working at your father’s restaurant for the summer, you meet back-of-house line cook matty healy. there’s something impossibly tempting about him, even if you shouldn’t be thinking of him this way. for multiple reasons.

warnings: 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, overstimulation, dom/sub undertones, temperature play, vague authority kink, health code violations, problematic age gap, sleazy man

part one of two

14281 words

His moves are precise and dexterous, a second nature he’s developed through cuts and burns. He fine chops with confidence, raking the onions and throwing them in the sizzling skillet. The sound explodes through the busy kitchen. A dirty joke must be told from the man mashing potatoes in the station next to him because he laughs, shoulders shaking, wrinkling his nose in some sort of snort. His head shakes; his hair with it.

He grabs a towel, covering his skillet with the lid, throwing it over his shoulder. A stained white shirt with short sleeves practically strangles his biceps, showing off tattoos scattering down his arms. They flex as he reaches for a bubbling pan, pouring some cream in his red concoction. His long, spindly fingers grab the pepper, twisting it with two surely rough hands. The fingernails are cut short but clean. Knowledgeable fingers; fast and sure and nibble. There’s a callus at the base of his index finger, a telltale sign of experience. Tough skin that would—

“Are you looking for something?” Matty calls.

You jump, eyes snapping from his hands to his face. He arches an eyebrow, smiling at you. There’s something almost condescending about the look you don’t quite enjoy, something that has you blushing. You twist your fingers in your apron. “Um, yes. Salt? I’m supposed to fill up the shakers.”

Matty nods. “Dry storage.” You must be giving some sort of lost look because he turns to his friend, asking, “Can you watch that for me?”

After a noise of affirmation, Matty throws his towel on the counter, walking up to you. His chin tips to the right, but you wait until he brushes past to follow behind him. You’re practically running to catch up with his steps— once again, fast and sure and confident. It feels like it’s all you've been doing these days: running; trying to keep up with this bustling environment. Everything spins nauseously around you, dizzy and off-kilter, running a hot plate when you’re still scribbling down the order.

“Daddy didn’t show you around?” Matty asks, although the mean tone clearly doesn’t particularly wish for an answer. That, too, is all you’ve been doing these days: laughing off taunts and teases about your father.

You huff. “He’s been busy.”

“I know.”

Matty stops in his tracks. He turns to you, tilting his head towards the door. Dry Storage is labeled neatly on it. You flush, suddenly feeling quite green for needing to be handheld towards it. You open the door, stepping in.

“He’s never here much,” Matty continues, leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed. The end of a seahorse peeks out of his white sleeve.

“He has three restaurants,” you defend. Dozens of quips about your lineage poke at your mind, burned and spiked. It’s because of the uncauterized scabs that you hear yourself retort, “And you should be glad. You guys wouldn’t get into half the things you do if he was here.”

Matty arches an eyebrow, staring you up and down. Suddenly, the carefully chosen outfit feels silly on you: the shirt too modest, the skirt too proper, the ponytail too tight; like a child playing dress-up. Heat burns at the back of your neck, but you stare at him head-on, unwilling to back down.

His eyes snap back to yours, grin digging in his cheek like he’s figured you out in a matter of seconds. Like the results were easy and unthreatening. Matty’s voice is low but teasing when he finally answers, “Oh, you know nothing about the things we do.”

You give him a deadpanned look. “I’m new, not stupid.”

He nods, humoring you. “Okay,” he licks his lips, cheeky. “Then what do we do?”

A sinful thrill pumps up your legs at the sight of him, hot shame contrasting it. He’s condescending you, two steps short of speaking slow and short like you couldn’t figure the words out properly, and you’re clenching your thighs in answer. It’s embarrassing. Still, the low thrum of excitement reverberates up your limbs.

You swallow thickly, redirecting your attention to the overfilled shelves. “What don’t you do?”

Matty tsks. “That’s evading the question.”

“I’m not being quizzed.”

In the corner of your eye, you see him throw his hands in the air. “You’re right.”

You shake your head, looking through the shelves to busy yourself with something other than the tempting need to stare at him. Though your eyes wash over the cans and boxes, your brain registers none of them, too busy playing back the flash of flexed biceps and curly hair falling down his forehead.

Matty doesn’t seem willing to let your thoughts order back to functional sense. Instead, he hums, adding, “Three restaurants, yet you’re still working. You’ve been cut off or something? Been really bad?” You practically hear the smirk in his voice. You shake your head, glancing at him. How wrong he is. You open your mouth to tell him such, but he cuts in, “Let me guess.”

You snort. “Good luck.”

“You got busted at a politician’s son's powder party? It almost made the news, but daddy bought your name out of the press.”

You cock your head, amused against your will. “How rich do you think I am? My dad owns middle-rated restaurants, not the Ritz.”

“Flunk out of college?”

“I’m actually on the dean’s list.” You hate how proud your voice sounds; it’s silly to care about such things in the real world. Matty cooks and sweats and bleeds all day, and a smile sticks to your cheeks for flimsy things that will immaterialize in a few years.

“Bought prostitutes?” You give him a look, which he laughs at. “Alright, fine. I give up. What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

His eyebrows rise. You’re a little glad to unroot him. “Nothing?”

You blush, turning back to inspect your row of dry ingredients. “I just— I haven’t had much to do since I’ve been back from college. My dad thought it might be a good idea to get some real life experience.”

“Nothing to do in New York?” His tone is incredulous. He coos, “You’re really not bad at all.” Again, you feel embarrassingly your age. A little girl amidst the real world, too fast and large for her to make sense of it. You’re ill-fitting.

Annoyed, you scoff, “Cause I’m not doing coke off someone’s tits in the locker room?”

Matty grins, elated. “She finally said it.”

You roll your eyes, electing to focus on the shelves of ingredients instead of the shape of his lips in a lopsided smile. It’s doing too much on your soupy brain, spinning with the inexplicable need to appear older to him, more mature.

His steps ring through the cramped space. Matty brushes against your back. You tense, freezing on the spot, hyper aware of the heat of his body. He smells like cigarettes. You close your eyes, breathing him in, fragile heart racing against your ribs. His arm reaches above you, grazing your shoulder. The ghosting touch is enough to have you shivering.

“There,” Matty whispers in your ear, the letters tickling the skin. He grabs the salt.

He’s off you in the blink of an eye, quicker than you can make sense of. Again, just a few feet behind in a fast paced world, left to catch up in the race. You slowly turn, pressing your back against the shelves, trying to hold yourself up on shaky knees. Matty smirks, still too close to think properly. Between you is the box of salt.

You accept it hesitantly. “Thanks,” you whisper, trying to focus on his eyes and not his lips stretching over spiky teeth.

“You’re welcome, princess.” He goes for the door, leaving you breathless from the sudden lack of him. He lingers in the doorframe, turning to add, “If you need anything, just ask me.”

You grip the salt like a lifebuoy. The world spins beneath your feet. “Okay.”

He’s out the door. You’re out of breath.

—

You slam the backdoor open, stepping out into the alleyway with a scream. You bury your head between your hands, trying to wipe away the boiling frustration, like a soothing hand on your forehead could make it all better. Fuck this job. You scream again, muffled by your palms. Fuck this fucking job.

With a deep breath, you emerge out of the safety of your fingers. You exhale, plastering a fake smile on your face. You can’t see, but you surely look clownesque, all red and puffy from anger, grinning like the butt of the joke.

You turn to get back inside, ready to bite your lip as guests and hosts and waitresses lay into you for being too slow, and too lost, and too stupid. You’re starting to think you might have done something terribly bad after all. This summer job is looking more like some cruel punishment than a special shot at experience.

Something catches in the corner of your eye. You jump, whipping your head, finding Matty smoking on the stairs of the fire escape, grinning to himself. Your heart races. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Evidently.”

You linger in the moment, feet strangely glued to the ground. Matty takes a drag of his cigarette. You follow his lips as the gray smoke pours out of them, drifting around him like some sort of fire signal you’re not decoding.

He holds his hand out, cig burning bright orange in offering. “You look like you need it.”

You stare at the offending rolled up paper. You’ve spent twenty-one years of your life categorically refusing any smoke, wrinkling your nose at the very smell. Yet, it somehow seems attractive hanging limply between his long fingers, one bandaged from some cut.

You nod before you register the action, walking up to him. Matty smiles at that. It’s strange to tower over his sitting body. He always seems larger than life in the restaurant, filling up every nook with his presence.

“Thanks.” You take the cigarette from him, shivering as your fingers graze over his. You inspect it, incertain on how to handle it, before placing it between your lips. You inhale, then cough, bending away and burying in your elbow. You leave it with a grimace, your mouth coated in tar.

Matty laughs. “First time?” You flush, hating to look so inexperienced and young in front of him. That’s enough answer for him. “Cute.”

You scowl. “It’s bad for your lungs.”

“Why’d you take it then?”

You feel strangely cornered, like a finger pinned you in place. You up your nose, “It’s impolite to refuse a gift.” Matty snorts at that.

“You’re real proper.”

“I was raised right.”

Matty smiles to himself, laughing. “I’m sure you were.” Your stomach clenches, unnamed thrill waving through you.

You cock your head, volleying, “Is this where you make a daddy joke?”

He arches an eyebrow, shit-eating grin on his face. “Do you want me to?”

“I think they’re getting redundant,” you sigh dramatically. The cigarette resting primly between your fingers, burning away, seems to give you uncharacteristic confidence. You feel oddly cool, like the tipsy girls smoking on balconies at the parties you never stayed long at. Like you could be anyone.

Matty holds his chest, eyebrows furrowed in hurt. “You wound me.”

“Get some better material, then.”

He tsks, reaching out for the cigarette. You offer it gladly, mostly to get electrified from the grazing touch; alive because he exists to prove it.

Smoking seems so easy when he does it, pouring out of his lips and drenching you in the cloudy air. You can’t look away from him, breath hitched. Your eyes focus on his mouth, following its movements religiously. Matty tips his chin towards the cigarette, grossly misunderstanding your fascination. “Do you want me to show you how to smoke it?”

You resent the idea of inhaling again, smearing your tongue in the awful taste just to embarrass yourself. But you resent the idea of walking away more, finding back the dizzying dance inside. Losing his overwhelming presence, pressing into you even when you’re a respectful foot away.

Your chest feels tight. You shrug, faux-nonchalant. “Sure.”

“You have to suck on it,” Matty says, and you’re almost sure he’s emphasizing the word suck on purpose. Now there’s a dirty vision of your knees pressing meanly on the asphalt, wrapping your lips around— You blush to your roots. Matty continues, smug, “Inhale, let it rest in your mouth to cool, breathe in, let it go down to your lungs, blow it out. Easy.” He offers the cig again.

You grasp it, surer in your fingers this time. “Easy for you.”

“I’m sure a girl on the dean’s list can figure it out.” Your heart skips a beat, but you ignore it dutifully. It’s stupid to care that he remembers. It’s stupid to flush. It’s stupid to feel embarrassed.

You try again, placing the butt of the cigarette between your lips, almost nervous to breathe in after being burned. You inhale, but it goes offly down your throat, and you cough again, blinking away the taste.

You shake your head, giving him back the cigarette. “I don’t think it’s for me.”

Matty accepts it back, taking an easy drag. The smoke blows around you and the warning signs look a lot clearer in the fog this time. Still, you don’t step away and run to the bathroom to wash the smell out of your fingers.

Matty eyes you up and down, raking his burning stare over you. “Do you want to shotgun it?”

The vision of bending down, leaning into him, lips almost close enough to be something — something to prove you’re living, some experience to recount to your college friends — is a tantalizing sight. A thrilling idea, perhaps too much so. You shouldn’t be thinking of him this way. You shouldn’t be pressing your legs together at the very concept.

“Why not?” You smile. You’re weaker than you used to give yourself credit for. A mind of steel, down a straight and narrow path, arrowing to success in a precise line.

It’s one bend, you tell yourself. Barely that. A small curve, like a faltered step.

You close the distance, ready to lean over him, but Matty surprises you. He grabs your wrist, tugging you down on one of his spread knees. You balance yourself from the sudden fall with a grip around his shoulder— strong and big and, shit, now you’re going to be thinking of them all day.

“Hi.”

His eyes dance with amusement. “Hi.”

You sit straight on his lap, prim and proper, almost a caricature of yourself. Matty’s hand travels to your back, spreading across your spine, warm over your flimsy uniform. Maybe to steady you, if you weren’t sitting straight-bolt, fixed. You can’t figure out a reason for it at all, and it leaves you growing hot in his arms.

From up close, Matty looks disheveled. A faint stubble, eyebags, gray-streaked hair drooping down his forehead, small silver hoops looping from his ears; he’s completely unmade. Near like this, you can smell the sweat sticking to his skin under the cigarette smoke. It should repulse you, but there’s something raw and real about him, something tangible and palpable contrary to the white-collared boys your father has paraded in front of you. You’re not against it.

“What do I do?” You whisper, because that’s how loud you need to speak for him to hear you crystal clear.

“Don’t have to do a single thing, princess. Just inhale.”

His lips wrap around the cigarette. A shot of excitement rings up your spine. You wonder if he feels it buzzing under his fingertips. If he hears your heart slamming dizzily fast against your ribs. If he sees the way your stare hangs onto his mouth. It parts and leans into yours, blowing softly.

You inhale just like he asked, but it’s more an inherent gasp at the proximity of him than a fully formed thought. Smoke slips past your lips, swirling down your throat as you breathe in. It doesn’t taste so bad like this.

Matty rubs his thumb on your back as a reward. “Good girl.” You bite your lip to contain the pleased grin, too childish in the lap of a man. “Knew you could do it. How’d you find it?”

“I liked it.”

“And here I thought you were raised right.”

You lick your lips. “There’s been some faults.” He grins at that.

“Do you want another one?”

The thought of his lips nearly pressing into yours again is desperately appealing. You shift on his knee. “Yes.”

Again, Matty blows smoke into your open mouth, practically shoving the warning bells past your lips. They slide on your tongue, but it tastes strangely sweet when you’re in his arms. You exhale a faint cloud of gray. His hand travels down to your hip, squeezing there.

Your thighs press together, hand digging into his shoulder. Arousal drips down your stomach, pooling between your legs. He hasn’t done much to warrant this, other than share a ghost of a kiss. The word spins in your mind, hot and exhilarated. You want to feel the stumble between your palms, want to lick the smoke off of his lips, want to wipe your mind from the mere concept of restaurants and guests and plates.

You think of leaning in. You consider it, clawing at his shoulder, fearing dripping on his thigh. Your fingers tingle. You’re getting a story, an experience, a proof you’re alive— if it’s fucking in a New York alleyway, so be it. At least your heart will beat with something other than nerves.

You’re doing it.

Your chin tips towards him, but Matty retreats, leaning back into the stairs. He takes a drag of his dwindling cigarette, blowing it into the air, far away from your readied mouth. Hurt splashes behind your ribs, but you don’t let it show.

Stealing the cig from his finger, you take the last puff. It falls down to your lungs with more ease and you try to contain your giddy excitement at finally getting it right. Breathing out a plume of smoke in his face, you wash him in gray.

Adrenaline rushes up to your head. You close your eyes, breathing in the dirty air, face buzzing pleasantly. A smile ghosts your lips. Maybe you’ve been wrong all these years. Maybe smoking is for you. Your tongue tastes like fire.

“It’s bad for you,” Matty says. Your eyes snap open, locking with his. His stare is dark.

You arch an eyebrow. “Now you’re concerned for my health?”

He pinches your hip. “Brat.”

You press the butt of the cigarette on the staircase railing, throwing its carcass to the ground amidst the others. Pushing yourself up with his shoulder, you find yourself gleeful that he bends his head back to watch you, literally looking up at you. Your fingers linger on his shirt, itching to climb them up to his neck, his jaw, his cheek. Trace the shape of his lips, then taste them yourself.

“Thanks for the cig.”

Matty nods. “Sure.”

You finally let go of him, taking a step back, then another one, before turning around and walking back to the restaurant. Your whole body is feverish.

You shake your head, making your way back to the table of a prissy elderly couple. Your smile is wide and relaxed. “Is everything good here?”

—

You clutch your handbag as you step through the dining room. The crew crowds around the bar, hunching over the counter in a laugh and downing back shots, spreading through the unmade tables on squeaky clean floors. You’re unsure on your feet. You’ve never been to shift drinks before, instead practically running back home with your sweaty uniform shoved in your bag. This time, as you slipped into your white flowy camisole, you felt a strange resolve climb up your spine.

It’s been happening more and more these days. As you get a feel of the land, zigzagging through bustling tables without a second thought, you find yourself chatting with the other waitresses, pestering the host, bumming castaway cigarettes from line cooks.

Matty spots you from his seat at the bar. A smile splits on his face as he waves you over. “Hey, princess. C’me here.”

There’s a giddiness you can’t control swirling in your stomach. You walk to him, now more certain in your steps. There’s a sense of belonging when you’re near Matty; when he talks to you; when he makes you a plate and slides it your way wordlessly. Like you’ve been tapped. You’re in because he opens the door.

You climb up the stool, slamming your handbag on the counter. “You need to stop calling me princess,” you say.

Matty is already amused, wiping beer foam out of his smirking lips. “Why? It fits you so well.” You narrow your eyes at him. The digs about your father don’t hurt when it’s from him. He makes them bulletless.

“People will get the wrong impression.”

His chin rests on his palm, staring you up and down, tongue digging in his cheek. “And what impression is that?”

You flush, looking away. Your skin burns at the memory of him, feeling his gaze still seeping through your cheek. You inspect the collection of bottles on the shelves behind the working bartenders instead of answering. Painstakingly reading the labels is a better activity for your mind than the whirlwind images of you on your knees, on the floor, gasping, giggling, coming— fantasies you’ve indulged in more times than you can count, although you always close the pandora box almost as quickly as it opens.

Matty follows your eye line. He leans into you, asking, “What do you want?”

For all your meticulous label-reading, the letters suddenly become blurry jargon. The bar is far-stretched, out of your depth. A world of unknowns rippling in amber-colored bottles. You bite your lip, hesitating. “I don’t know.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Have you never had alcohol before?”

It must be written on your face from how quickly he clocks you. Again, you find yourself wishing to grow a few inches taller, be just a little older, more complete.

You purse your lips. “I just turned 21.” Matty laughs, throwing his head back. It’s a nice sound— rare in the overwhelming kitchen where a swear is better currency. Still, you despise the mocking undertone. Defensively, you cry, “What? It’s the law!”

Matty shakes his head, turning to his bartender friend polishing glasses, a constant sour expression on his face. “George, make her a sex on the beach.”

George nods, putting down his glass and reaching for a shaker. He twirls his vodka between expert fingers, pouring it in freely. You watch, a little intrigued by his sure moves, biceps flexing as he shakes the concoction with one hand.

“He’s a show-off,” Matty says. “A sex on the beach does not require all this.”

“Fuck off,” George retorts, though he sounds little bothered. He pours the cocktail in an ice-filled glass, topping it with an orange and a cherry, before sliding it towards you. “There you go, sweets.” Beside you, Matty rolls his eyes.

The drink is an orangey pink, seemingly fruity. You give Matty a look. “Did you give me the girliest drink you could think of?”

“Well, I wasn’t about to start you with straight whiskey, was I?”

Tentatively, you raise the drink to your lips, self-conscious of his heavy stare on you. You throw a glance his way, locking eyes with him as you finally tip the glass. You take a sip, licking the rim clean, smiling as he swallows thickly. “I like it,” you declare.

His hand clenches around his beer glass. “Good,” he says, sounding rough. Thrill beats up your thighs. You clench them, crossing one over the other.

You drink another mouthful. You grin as you lick the pink off your lips, hyperaware of his transfixed watch on them. “Why is it called a sex on the beach?”

“Some bartender named it that.”

“That’s not a very precise answer.”

He scowls, taking a sip of his beer. “Do I look like an encyclopedia to you?”

“Nah, you’re right.” Matty side-eyes your taunting face, pink grin teasing him. He seems to ready for a cheeky comment, which you provide happily, clicking your tongue, “Not smart enough for that.”

He arches an eyebrow, spinning on his stool to face you. His knees trapp your thighs. Your skin is on fire almost immediately. Tingles where his legs graze you climb up and up your body, growing wetter at his unimpressed stare. You’ve lost all of your bravado.

“Miss dean’s list has a lot to say, I see.” You lick your teeth, standing a little straighter. How you want to be good. You shake your head. He peers at you, almost pouting. “No?”

Again, you shake your head, biting down your smile. A sudden paragon of excellence, you affirm, “I don’t have anything to say.”

Matty hums. “Better watch that mouth if you can’t walk it.”

“Why should I when you watch it for me?” Your heart roars under your ribs. Nerves and thrill mixes in your belly, making a heady mix that shoots up your spine.

Matty presses his knees on your thighs. “Careful.” He smirks down at you, leaning in to whisper, “People will get the wrong impression.”

You press your legs back. “They could be right.”

Matty laughs, reaching for his beer and taking a sip. His Adam's apple bobs as he drinks; you clench your thighs together, watching as he licks the condensation off his lips. He narrows his eyes at you. “You know, you got that innocent act, but you’re trouble.”

You chuckle, faux-offended. “You’re the one who gave me my first cigarette,” you argue. Your eyes find your lonely cocktail, grabbing it. “And my first drink.” As though to prove your point, you swallow a long sip.

Matty eyes you. Heavy meaning drips from his lips as he trails, “And…?”

You scoff, swatting his knee. “I’m not a little girl.” Your hand lingers on it. Primly, you add, “I’ve had sex before.”

“Oh yeah?”

You sit straighter. “Yes. I’ve had a boyfriend.”

“And how was he?”

You blush. “He was…” Memories of awkward meetings in his dorm room as he rutted above you flash back to you. The messy rubbing just under your clit, always too hard yet too slow. The falling sweaty over your naked body, laughing to himself, asking if you’ve come. “Fine.”

Matty arches an unimpressed eyebrow. “Fine?”

“Yes!” You cry defensively. “I don’t know. We were 19. It wasn’t gonna— rock my world.”

He smirks, voice low as he says, “Baby, he wasn’t doing it right then. It should always rock your world.”

It’s so fucking obnoxious of him to say. You should be disgusted by the ego-fueled words— should doubt them, coming from a man and all.

Yet all you can think about is the way his hands work in the kitchen, quick and precise and dexterous. How they would feel on your skin, rough and callused. How they would work on your body, expert and certain and steady.

Fuck, you wanna know them. You want them at your clit, fucking into you, pinching a nipple, wiping your lipgloss off your chin.

Dirty images fill your mind. Again, you clench your thighs, soaking your underwear. Your breathing has grown heavy. He watches you with dark eyes, like he can tell. Like he sees the thoughts as they cross your brain. Sinful pressure builds in your stomach.

You take a nervous sip of your drink. You lick the vodka off your lips, but still it’s not enough to stop you from breathing out, “How so?”

Matty warns, “You’re teasing.”

“I’m asking.” Your hand pinches his knee.

Danger pumps in your veins, alongside something dirtier, but still you stare at him straight on. His eyes intensify, his fingers clenching around his pint. You can imagine the feel of them on your trembling thighs, digging into the flesh to bruise it. You think he’s imagining it, too.

“Well, firstly, he needs to make you come. On his knees preferably— just worshiping that cunt. Gotta be fucking starved for it, you know? Dive like it’s his last meal.”

Your breath hitches at the filthy words, toes curling in your sneakers. You swallow thickly, trying to brush away the invading images of Matty devouring you on a table of the dining room. It’s a poor attempt— the idea of his tongue lapping at you, swiping your clit, fucking into you is so vivid you can almost feel it.

Matty gives you a conspiratorial look, whispering, “But I bet he wasn’t doing that, was he?” You shake your head, dazed. He tsks. “Shame.”

You keep a vice-like grip on Matty’s knee, trying to reattach yourself to some kind of reality. He’s tangible under your fingertips— warm.

“See,” Matty continues, smirking down at your clear mesmerism: breathless and dark eyed, following his lips religiously. “After she’s come a few times and she’s all dopey and relaxed and fucked out— when she’s wet enough she’s dripping on your chin— that’s when you can first slide in. Then you gotta find what she likes best, you know? If it’s rough and fast or slow and deep. You can’t just thrust uselessly. That’s what your little boyfriend did, right?”

You nod, too taken in his honey web to care to keep up with your aloof, fine experience act. “Yeah. Yeah, he would just drill.”

Matty shakes his head, rubbing his lower lip. “Fucking nineteen years old. They never do it right.”

“Oh, so you were also kind of shit?”

He smiles. “Well, no. But I’m a prodigy.”

You roll your eyes, laughing, “Oh, my God. Shut up.”

Matty grazes your bare thigh with a cold, rough hand. You shiver, spreading your legs instinctively. He smirks at that, cocky and smug, letting one callused finger draw up your skin.

“Finish your drink,” Matty orders, tipping his head towards the nearly over cocktail.

You don’t even think twice before grabbing the glass, downing the end of it. Two fingers find your thigh in reward, dancing on the flushed skin.

He leans into you, locking his eyes with you as he whispers, “The trick is to never let her get too used to something. Speed up then slow down. Switch positions. Always rub and rub at that little bundle of nerves until she’s come on your cock so many times she’s begging you to leave it be.” His whole hand swallows your thigh. You sit straighter, pleasure coiling in your belly. “And then you make her come one more time. That’s how you rock her world.”

You’re shortwinded, waves of overwhelming excitement razing through your fragile limbs. You open your legs wider, inviting his adventurous fingers, practically begging for them, really.

Matty gives you a purposeful onceover. You must look desperate, staring at him like you could swallow him up.

His hand leaves your thigh, grabbing his beer to finish it in one long sip. He stands up, leaving your burning cocoon. You miss the press of his legs once they free yours.

“I think it’s time to go home,” Matty declares.

Again, hurt at being rejected pinches your heart. He’s raised your temperature to a sinful degree and now he’s backing down, leaving you wet and throbbing around nothing, hair risen at the prospect of dust.

Embarrassment flushes your cheeks. You scowl, crying, “Oh, come on. I’m not a child.”

Matty gives you a dark stare that makes you shudder in thrill. His voice is low and gravelly when he says, “Believe me, I know that.” His head tips back to the door. “Let me drive you home.”

You bite back a smirk. “Yeah?” A drive home, to an empty house without onlookers. You can’t contain your excitement.

Matty rolls his eyes, grabbing your hands to get you off the stool and onto your feet. He takes your bag next, swinging it over his shoulder. He starts walking. “Come on, princess. I can’t have her majesty home after midnight or she’ll turn into a pumpkin.”

You skip after him, knocking his shoulder with yours once you finally catch up. “You got the metaphor wrong. Cinderella didn’t transform into a pumpkin, she lost her dress and slippers.” He gives you a side look which you giggle at, suddenly all giddy. “Plus, it’s already 2:25AM. You’re too late.”

“Yet you still have your dress.”

“That can be arranged.”

Finally outside, you breathe in the fresh air before stepping into Matty’s car. It smells like cigarettes and weed in it, some useless pine car scent hanging from the rearview mirror with blue dices to cover it. You buckle your seatbelt.

Matty doesn’t say anything as he drives, focused on the dark roads stretching in front of you. Your heart beats faster as every known house catches your peripheral vision. Every inch brings you closer to the tantalizing end goal. It’s a miracle you sit still.

He parallel parks in front of your house, gripping your headrest to look backwards before dipping his wrist over the steering wheel.

You can’t wait anymore, unbuckling your seatbelt as soon as the car stops and practically running to your house. Matty doesn’t follow. You turn back to his open car window as he sits still, frowning at him.

“Alright,” Matty nods at you. “Goodnight.”

Your lips gape in utter disbelief. “Are you serious?” All that teasing, all that talk, all that promise. He drove you home, for fuck’s sake. And he’s saying goodnight?

Matty arches an eyebrow, taunting as he says, “Do you want to have a bad night?”

You might very well see red. Fuck him. You scoff, flipping around purposefully and trudging to your house, already apprehending the hour you’ll spend with your hand between your thighs thinking of him.

“Sweet dreams,” Matty screams after you, a fucking shit-eating grin resonating in the letters.

“Fuck off!” He laughs, unbothered.

The sound follows you as you slam the door close. It’s only once you’re inside that Matty drives away.

—

“Can nobody do a fucking sauce right anymore?” Matty yells, dipping a spoon in a brown concoction, anger and stress sweating off of him. Gray streaked hair swoops over his forehead, curls taken inch by inch down through the day’s unstoppable dance. His cook’s jacket is wide open, stained near the hem, sleeves rolled up to reveal just a hint of his tattooed arms.

“What did you say about my sauce?” A fellow cook bites back, several inches shorter than Matty yet crowding him threateningly still.

Matty throws the pot back on the stove’s top and it bangs loudly. “That shit’s runny as fuck. It’s not going out.”

“It’s perfect.”

He scoffs, shoving the spoon on his chest, smearing his black shirt in leftover sauce. “It’s uneatable. Do it again.”

Although the cook seems to want to bite something back, Matty turns back to his station before he gets the chance. Fury radiates off of him as he grabs his knife, making quick work of his peppers, forearms flexing as he chops. His jaw clenches while he works, looking like he has more to say, like he’s actively biting his tongue to hold them back.

You follow the cut of his jaw religiously, wondering if it’d leave you bloody. Scarred on your open palms, on your titled neck, on your spread legs—

“Don’t fuck the line cooks.”

You jump, turning to come face to face with Veronica. Her hair is up in an unmade ponytail, arms full of perfectly dished plates, and she looks impatiently towards you. “What?”

“I said don’t,” each word get enunciated through her red lips, “fuck,” she presses, “the line cooks.” There’s a vague ominous air as she adds, “They’ll destroy you.”

You blush, feeling shy at being caught ogling. “I wasn’t going to.”

A derisory snort comes out of Veronica, looking you up and down. “Sure.” Her stare turns soft, almost worrisome. You realize her genuine care as she sighs, “Just— beware of him.”

Your eyes burn with the need to look his way. “Who?”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “Don’t play dumb. You’re not as innocent as you make yourself out to be.” There’s a note of pride in her. There’s a note of pride in you. Seen through the stuck-up ponytail and daddy’s name; accepted.

She twists around, walking away in a hurry. As you make your way to your recently seated table, you can’t stop throwing a self-indulgent look Matty’s way. He looks back.

You grin, wiggling your fingers in a wave. He snorts, shaking his head as he laughs.

—

You walk into the kitchen still wearing your uniform, although you’ve swapped the heels for some sneakers, your trusty bag swung over your shoulder. You rake a hand through your hair, scalp sore from the pigtails you’ve kept it into.

Matty is bent over the top of the stove, scrubbing at the iron with a dedicated look. You linger in the spectacle for a second, his arm flexed as he works the scraper, his frustrated little frown, his clenched jaw. He’s a sight to be savored; unfortunately, you’ve got no time.

“Hey,” you call, breaking him out of his transe. Matty straightens, turning to you with a nod of acknowledgement. “Front of house is all clean,” you say, pointing towards the doors leading to the dining room as though he could forget where it was. “Adam just left. Wife and kid and all that,” you continue with the lightness of a joke. “I’m off, too.”

Matty discards his scraper, leaning against the stove as he wipes his dirty hands with a towel. He frowns, asking, “How are you getting home?”

You snort at that, as if it was a silly question. “The bus,” you say with a condescending duh tone you must have picked up from one of the waitresses.

Matty throws the towel over his shoulder, repeating, unimpressed, “The bus?”

“Well, it’s kind of like a car, you see, but it’s longer, and it stops at several—”

He gives you a deadpan look, not even upping the corner of a smile for your wit. “Don’t be cute.”

You cock your head, trying to maintain that cool you’ve managed to exude instead of falling into some giggly, blushing thing. He always seems to bring that daunting side of you, like you revert back to a shy, innocent girl in his presence. It’s ironic, considering that divergence from the fatalistic line you’ve always followed is all his fault.

“It’s not safe,” Matty continues.

“It’s the bus.,” you laugh.

He stares at you, unflinching. “It’s New York. And it’s, what, two AM?” Matty shakes his head, falling further into his convictions. “I can’t let a pretty, young girl like you walk around at night.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re not my dad.”

He snorts, though there’s a cruel edge to it. He’s vicious when he retorts, “I think we’re both well aware of that.” The purposeful onceover leaves a dizzying dance through your belly, ravaging down your legs in childish excitement. You can’t stop the blush from spreading on your face this time. Winning, Matty declares definitively, “Just wait for me. I’m almost done. I’ll drive you home.”

“Fine,” you sigh, dropping your bag on the floor and climbing up the counter. You dig your phone from your waistband, scrolling as your feet kick through space.

You take a peek over your screen. Matty turns back to his work, scrubbing at some black grease as his hair falls over his face. There’s a panting, dedicated look on his face that’s not too far fetched from what you imagine— You shake your head.

Biting your lip, you call with faux-innocence, “Be quick, though.” You smirk, gleefully apprehending his reaction as you set the fatal trap, “I’ve got a date after.”

Matty freezes, though he does not look up. Stilted, he asks, “Really? Who?”

You sigh, kicking your feet, acting like you’re not hyperaware of the effect of your words on him. “One of the waiters. He said he’d come over after the crew’s night out. He’s 24,” you start conversationally. Matty's hand clenches around the unmoving scraper. You lick your teeth, trying to kill the devious smile on your lips as you finish, “I listened to your advice.”

Matty whips back to you. He finally sees you, sitting like a queen on your throne made of stainless steel, mischief and tease written all over your grin. His eyes narrow at you. “Are you fucking with me?”

“I don’t know. Am I?”

“You’re fucking with me.”

You cross your arms, shrugging. “Maybe. Maybe I just really want that orgasm you were talking about. Maybe I have to get it somewhere.”

A beat of silence lingers between the two of you as Matty stares, clogs turning in his mind. He takes a warning step towards you. “If you’re fucking with me…”

“Oh, my God,” you roll your eyes. “I can’t be anymore clear—”

Matty stands in front of you before you have time to finish. The words die in your throat as you blink up at him, losing that carelessness you had when he was several safe feet away.

He slithers between your thighs, pressing his hands on your naked knees, cocking his head at you. Your heart races inside your chest, skipping beats every time a fingertip presses into your flesh. He wants you to feel him, feel the merest edges of him like they are digging under your skin.

“You’ve got nothing to say now.” You swallow thickly. His fingers tiptoe up your thighs, smirking down at you as he coos, “Come on. What’s the other advice I gave you?”

“Give her one more—”

“Don’t talk it if you can’t walk it.” His hands near the hem of your skirt. He cocks his head at you. “Well?”

“I was fucking with you,” you breathe out, eyes mesmerizedly locked with his. “I said no to the waiter.”

Matty grins at that, proud. “Good,” he whispers back. “Because 24 years old are just as shit as 19 years old.”

“Except your prodigious self.”

“Except that, yeah.”

You smile. “I’m starting to believe you just think there’s no one who can fuck me like you.”

“Princess,” Matty starts. “I promise there’s no one who can fuck you like me.”

You hook your hands behind his neck, tugging him into you, smirking. “Prove it.”

He catches your lips with no hesitation, drawing you into a hot kiss like a starved man. He tastes like the cigarettes he chainsmoked with two bartenders, like the salt he added to his sauce, dipping a spoon in to taste test it, like the bourbon he let you take an indulgent sip of before downing it, laughing at your grimace.

There’s a giddy laugh threatening to slip out of your mouth, some unbelief that Matty Healy is finally kissing you. You’ve spent hours in that juvenile room of yours thinking back on your exchanges — the glances, the squeezes, the ghost kisses, the unbearable tension — one hand dipped between your thighs, eyes wrinkled close trying to remember the way his lower lip drooped with the weight of his cigarette. Wondering what it would be like to take it out, lick the tar off his tongue, finally know what he tastes like.

Your fingers travel up to his hair, messy and tired from a long day of work in a boiling kitchen. You pass your hands through — finally, finally — kissing him back with equal fervor. You slide your hips closer to him, trying to nestle his body into the crook of yours.

Matty grips your thighs like a lifebuoy, holding onto you like you could disappear from his hands with the trick of the light. There’s hunger in his mouth, hunger in the way he clutches you, hunger in the climbing hand groping one of your breasts, rolling his palm on your pebbled nipple. You moan into his mouth, shocked and terribly turned on.

You realize how much he must have been holding back all the times you’ve teased him, poking and prodding at him in hopes he would snap; the tension you’ve built inside of him, like a string pulled too far. Matty kisses you like he fears it might be the last time, like he needs to make it count. Like there’s a lesson to teach you.

He must not have figured you out as well as he’s been boasting about if he thinks this could ever be the last time.

You grip his hair, drawing him closer to you. He’s all limbs and lips, overwhelming, overheating. You break from his mouth just to catch your breath, forehead falling on his as you pant.

“Fucking hell,” he laughs, lazily thumbing at your tits. You difficultly stifle a moan, your lips parting as pleasure swoops in your belly.

“Don’t stop,” you already find yourself begging.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Matty tuts, sneaking a hand under your shirt to take your naked breast instead. The sensation is double the intensity, and you find yourself incapable of holding back a whiny groan. “When I’m done with you, you’ll have to call in sick tomorrow,” he boasts, watching the spectacle under him with mesmerism.

You laugh at that. “Sure.” Matty dips into your neck, leaving wet kisses down your collarbones. Your breath quickens, though you still find the words to tease, “You know, you’re such a boy still.”

Matty’s head snaps up, daggering you with a stare. You giggle at his offense, petting your hand through his curls. “I’ll show you boy,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

His hand falls out of your shirt, finding back its rising course on your thighs. He flips your skirt up, showing the pink underwear you wore into work. A groan comes from the back of his throat. You smirk, parting your legs further, giving him an eyeful.

You think he’ll kiss you again. Unbuckle his belt. Drag the pink lace off your legs with a wink.

Instead, Matty kneels in front of you.

Your breath hitches at the sight; Matty on his knees, looking up at you with those intense, brown eyes, swollen lips from a torrid kiss parting in anticipation. Thrill descends down your belly, gripping it tellingly. You wait for his next move on the edge of your seat— literally, as he drags you near the end of the counter and kisses up your spread thighs.

Your ex-boyfriend went down on you once, some awkward, wet thing between your thighs he came back up hating. You didn’t mind; you found the whole experience strange too, faking moans as he lapped at the wrong place, overthinking about what you must taste like. You were glad, secretly, that you didn’t have to go through the whole ordeal again, even though you were giving him plenty of head.

When Matty kisses a stripe up your skin, swallowing your thigh with a rough hand, there’s a strange sense of excitement. Through his nonchalance, he’s always been precise and dedicated. A dexterous man, with surely a dexterous tongue.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe 19 year olds are shit. Maybe Matty can blow your mind.

You stroke your hand through his hair, grinning as he shivers. “You’ve talked a big game,” you say, though your voice is choked. “I hope you can back it up.”

Matty hums, sneaking a thumb straight to your clit. He finds it with practiced ease, pressing into it before faintly circling it. Euphoria shoots up your spine. You bite back a scream, gripping his hair, rolling your hips into him for more. Your eyes widen, surprised by your new reaction. Even when it’s your own knowledgeable hand between your thighs, you never find a hit of pleasure this true this quickly, let alone your sloppy ex.

“Don’t you worry your pretty, little head, princess,” Matty whispers, continuing to raise your temperature impossibly high with a focused finger. “I can.”

And then, before you can quip back something else about his clear bravado, his lips latch around your clit, sucking on it. “Fuck,” is your visceral reaction, your head thumping against the wall. His stubble rubs on your inner thighs.

Matty doesn’t stop there, of course, descending his hand to tease at your entrance. His tongue swipes at you diligently, overwhelming you with ecstatic feelings. You can’t make sense of the waves attacking you, following the rhythm he licks on you.

You tug on his curls with a death grip, half-convinced you might unroot them. You grind into his face, your thighs closing in on his cheek in a desperate attempt to keep him close. As though he, too, could disappear any instant. Stand up and leave the room, say he didn’t mean it.

But he doesn't. Instead, he slips one finger inside of you, thrusting and curling expertly. Your free hand grips the counter, attaching you to some semblance of reality.

He leaves your cunt long enough to whisper, all cheeky and smug, “How am I doing?”

“Fuck,” you cry, drawing him back to your soaked entrance. He licks your sensitive bundle of nerves with a smile as you drip on his chin. “You’re fine,” you say, still out of breath, because you can’t stop being difficult.

Matty makes a noise of offense from the back of his throat, breaking away again as he arches an eyebrow at you. “Fine?” He repeats, unamused. He adds a second finger inside of you, letting the pornographic sounds of your sopping cunt ring through the empty kitchen.

You bite your lip to hold back the scream you want to let free, your legs shaking around him. Pleasure so thoroughly builds inside of you, stretching languidly under your heated skin. A moan ends up slipping through your tyrannical guards. Matty latches onto that, fucking into you quicker, drawing eyerolls and whines out of your swollen lips.

You’ve always been implacably in control. A girl of steel, focused and stubborn. How easily he wrecks you, unbuilds you from your very careful bricks.

Matty smirks at your reactions, thumbing your clit next as he watches you washed with bliss. He kisses your knee, quickening his pace. “Is this fine?”

“Yes,” you nod. There’s something boiling under your skin, bubbling in warning. You sense the fire, curling your toes, licking up your weak legs, joining in Matty’s relentless fingers inside of you.

He pouts. “Only fine?” Turning his head, he kisses your other knee. The delicate press of his lips tingles up your thigh.

“It’s—” You cry out a moan, wrinkling your face shut. Fire dances in your belly, pressing against your skin. You want it free.

“What?” Matty asks. He bites your knee, demanding your attention. Your eyes open in electroshocked surprise, peering down at him as you pant. The room spins around you, a world of spice and stainless steel. “Come on, admit it.” Your eyes lock with his, dark and intense and so fucking smug. He’s amused at your pathetic attempts to lie to him. He knows.

You huff. “It’s okay.”

His eyes darken. You halt your breath, waiting for the shoe to drop. You’re afraid he’ll stop, feel his desire to do so in the bated breath, to teach you a lesson. Your legs buzz, ready to trap him between them, beg him to forgive you. Apprehension swoops in your belly, meshing terribly well with the building bliss.

Matty doesn’t even slow. His mouth finds your clit again, furiously licking at you as he thrusts his fingers. You scream once more, your hips moving in instinct, bucking against his sticky face.

“Matty, Matty,” you chant, in complete contradiction to your taunts. Fire climbs up your chest, flushing it, falling down your arms. Your entire body shakes, the hints of an earthquake hitting you. “I’m—“

His fingers curl just so, finding the perfect angle. Your head lits aflame, fire swirling around your putty brain, and you’re burning down. You come with a guttural cry, gripping Matty’s hair, the letters of his name loosening on your tongue.

You come down slowly, difficultly, as your limbs unclench their choking hold on him. You can’t seem to quite catch your breath, panting as you blink and blink, trying to get used to this new world.

Fuck. This is what a real man does.

You grin, a laugh bubbling out of you. “Wow,” you say, smiling down at him.

Matty still looks at you with that dangerous, hungry look. He wipes his chin, sharp teeth flashing at you as he stands up. He kisses your jaw, your neck, relishing in the moans you give back. Your skin is oversensitive, already too hot and only getting worse when he spreads a hand on your waist.

He sneaks under your shirt, raising it, throwing it off your shoulders. His eyes find you, ravenous, taking in the matching pink bra to your long lost underwear. You flush, looking away shyly.

His callused fingertips find your waist again, teasing a ghost touch over your ribs, to your back, up your spine, slowly and faintly enough you’re half sure you might be dreaming this whole thing up.

Matty kisses your collarbone, undoing the claps of your bra with one hand, letting it fall down your shoulders. He dips his head out of your neck, looking down at your bare breasts, nipples peaked in perfect offering. A groan chokes in the back of his throat. His hand finds one of your tits, swallowing it as he grabs it. You sigh, pleasure waving through you already.

Matty finds the crook of your neck again, kissing up its curve to whisper in your ear, “What’s your name?” You frown, cocking your head, telling him.

Matty tsks. “I’m not done, then.” He takes you by the thighs, picking you off the counter and lowering you to the squeaky clean floor. You cry in surprise, clutching his shoulders.

The tiles are cold on your back. He spreads your legs out for him, kissing back down your body. You rest on your elbows, watching him as you pant.

“You’ve already—“ Surely, he must be wanting something more reciprocating now.

Matty shushes you. “Let me do my job.” He unzips your skirt, dragging it off your legs, taking a second to take in the sight of you.

He opens your thighs, readying you for him again. You breathe quicker, incapable of keeping up with his moves, head turning at the idea of another earthshattering orgasm. You want your body to crack and break next.

Matty looks up at you, smirking. He spits on your cunt. His tongue sticks out, licking up your juices next. You roll your eyes, pleasure razing through you, your elbows giving out as you fall to the ground like a wireless doll. A teasing laugh blooms out of him as he dives back in.

It’s sloppier this time, given you’ve practically drenched your inner thighs. He throws two of your legs over his shoulders and eats you like a starved man, licking and fucking and sucking. You can’t keep up with his burning tongue, though you don’t try to, letting yourself be washed in the feelings he coaxes out of you instead.

You moan freely, unashamed of the pathetic sounds you let out for him. You’re glad to be on the floor just so you don’t have to hold up any part of your body. You’re weightless, discombobulated, choosing to exist as only a body overtaken with euphoria.

You say his name most of all, grinding on his tongue. Matty seems to like that, answering with a particularly skillful swipe, gripping your hip bones with two greedy hands.

It’s honestly obnoxious of him to not even use his hands.

His tongue fucks into you, his nose rubbing at your clit. He holds you like you could shatter under him, melt into syrup and seep into the cracks. It might very well be possible with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins.

“I’m right there,” you pant in warning, gripping his hair to keep him still, rolling into his face with sloppy hips. He laughs at that, the sound resonating in your cunt, and ecstasy weeps inside of you. “Just—”

You don’t have time to warn him of anything as he runs his tongue furiously. Your cunt flutters, clenching around his tongue. You scream, your thighs dropping completely open in surrounder. He sucks on your clit and you crack, splintering apart, falling into the ground. You feel yourself shake, buzzing and buzzing, reality slipping from your fingers as he continues to lap at you.

It’s too much too soon; you push him out of your legs with a whine, pouting down at him. Matty indulges in your silent request, dipping into one of your thighs to wipe the slick from his chin. It dries on your skin as he climbs up your body, out of breath.

Matty kisses the tip of your nose, smiling down at you. You’re wrecked, your sweaty hair spilling around your head, your lips bitten raw, your skin flushed. You grin at him still, slack, thoroughly happy and satisfied. You rake a hand through his hair, messier than they were before your ruinous hold on them.

“Fine?” Matty teases.

You hum, looping your arm around his neck. “Maybe a bit better than fine,” you taunt back, raising your head to catch his lips. He scoffs in your mouth, though kisses you back indulgently.

He leaves it to litter kisses down your neck, your collarbone, your chest, finding a nipple and sucking it. Your breaths quicken, something close to pants leaving your dry mouth. As he licks at it with a tongue you’ve grown sinfully familiar with, his hands slip to his jeans, undoing the buttons eagerly. You hear the zip go down, excited shivers climbing up your spine.

Matty tugs himself out of his pants. You look down to watch the spectacle, biting your lip as his hard cock springs into his hand. He strokes it once, twice. Rises from your tits to kneel between your legs, towering over your body.

“I’ll make sure you can’t even walk into work tomorrow.” Thrill burns at your skin. Your legs fall open for him in devotion, obeying to his words like gospel.

“Promise?” You smile up at him, cheeky.

Matty snorts, gripping one of your thighs to raise your hips, lining his cock with your dripping entrance. “Only promise of mine you can trust, darling.” Locking his dark eyes with yours, he slowly enters you.

“Shit,” you cry, spasming around him. You reach out blindly, catching his hand on your hip, wrapping your fist around two of his fingers and tightening. It sends the message clear enough; he chuckles, bottoming out. You moan in relief, bliss blooming around your bones, heart fluttering in great apprehension. You bite back a giggle, playing with the curls at his nape.

Matty bends back down to kiss your cheek, holding himself up with one arm, laying still between your thighs. He’s buried so deep, you feel your nerve endings rearrange for him. Your cunt throbs around him, begging for more, but he just sweetly sprinkles your face with love.

You scrunch your nose, shaking him off. “I want more,” you demand, raising your hips as proof. Faint pleasure ripples through you, but it’s still not enough.

Matty nips at your jaw, torturously frozen between your thighs. “Wait. You haven’t had sex in two years. I don’t want to break you.”

You furrow your eyebrows, a bratty pout storming on your face. Meanly, childishly, you clench your fist around his digits. “You won’t break me,” you argue. “You need to check that ego of yours.”

Matty snorts. “The lady is impatient. As if I didn’t already give her two great orgasms.”

“They were fine, remember?”

“A bit more than fine.”

“Just a bit.”

Even slower than he entered you, Matty thrusts out of you, watching intently as the pleasure reverberates inside of you, all the way to your lips parting in greed.

He lingers in that moment once more. You sigh frustratedly, staring up at him unimpressed. His shit-eating grin catches on his lips. He thrusts back in just as unhurriedly, repeating his vicious cycle until you’re so thoroughly ready you might lose your mind from the lack of something.

Something quick. Something hard. Something great.

“I’m not fucking breakable,” you finally snap.

Matty hums, shaking off your hand easily to palm your tits, kissing down your neck. “This is how you treat princesses.”

“I will make you eat that nickname until you have to spit it out in chunks.”

Matty laughs in the curve of your neck, shaking his head. His hair tickles your jaw. He comes back out to peer at you, amused. He grinds his hips into you, barely any real friction. “She’s got threats.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I’ve got more if you don’t fucking move.”

Matty tsks. “For a smart, college girl, you’re not being very bright. Have I fucked your working brain out of you already?”

You cock your head, frowning at him. Matty smiles, hooking your knee higher. The angle is heavenly— though he still doesn’t fuck, he hits you deep. You bite your lip, shivering, feeling pleasure tingle up your legs. “I thought you were all proper. Raised right. Weren’t you?” Again, you give him a confused look. “Don’t good girls say please?”

Your eyes widen in understanding. You cup both his cheeks, staring into his eyes as you moan, “Please, Matty. Fuck, I need you to fuck me. I need you to—“

Matty snaps his hips into yours, a quick, relieving rhythm. You mewl, head rolling on the tiles. “There she is,” Matty coos. “My good, little girl.” You nod at him, agreeing with anything out of his mouth now that he fucks like this.

Matty searches for the right pace, switching up his flow and scrutinizing your face as he does so. Hard, fast, deep, slow; he tries it all, mixing and matching and making your insides throb around him. Your mouth parts uselessly, slack moans rolling down your chin. He licks your jaw, leaving you wet as he pants.

Your hands on his cheeks flex in place, digging into his jaw, the faint stubble rubbing on your palms. You might very well be hurting him, but you’re too gone to care. He deserves it, anyway. You don’t know why, but you’re sure he does.

“Is this what you wanted?”

You smile wide at him. His eyes narrow, expecting the taunt as you say, “Well, I still know my name.”

“Is that so?” Matty says, sitting up on his heels. He holds his weight with a hand near your waist, using the other to raise your ass up the ground. With this new angle, he fucks into you deeper, quicker.

You whine, your hand wrapping around his grounding arm, holding onto it desperately. Your claws dig into his tattoos. Ecstasy waves through you, pushing and pulling with his strokes. Your head suddenly feels very light, faraway from your bared neck.

Finally, he seems to settle on a pattern. How quickly he’s successfully read the mindless sounds, figured you out from the pathetic eyerolls overtaking your face when he quickens his pace. Pleasure weeps inside of you, burning through your skin. You don’t ever want him to stop.

He thrusts in and out of you frantically. Deep, long strokes that perfectly hit this heavenly spot inside of you. He grins down at you like he knows, burying against it again and again until you’re melting in his arms.

You can’t do anything but cry for him as Matty undoes the last remnants of your brick walls. You lose any semblance of shame, bucking your hips in the same rhythm as his, calling his name in your father’s kitchen. You’re too gone to care, too gone to even think of it.

“My pretty girl,” Matty moans above you. His hand caresses your hip, that godforsaken callus on his index finger rubbing the bone. “Even prettier than I imagined.”

You give him a slack smile, thrill and pride spinning in your head. He thought of you. How you want to know all the fantasies he holds in that treasure chest brain of his. Want to know if he touched himself thinking of them.

Your hands dig into his forearm, staring up at him. “Tell me.” Matty shakes his head. “Come on,” you plea, spoiled. Matty is unflappable, smirking down at you as he fucks into you. “Please, sir.”

Matty’s hips falter in their movement, a low groan slipping from his lips. His hand digs into your hips, staring down at you in shock. “Fuck,” is all he chokes out.

You grin, a greedy thing finding its new weapon. You palm your own breast, playing with your nipple as you moan. “Was it like this, sir?” You whine, twisting your fingers, letting the pleasure wash over you. “Is this how you imagined it?”

Matty moans at the sight of you, flicking between your face and your tits, unsure of where to settle. He’s lost that shit-eating smirk of his, that certainty, that unshakeable control. He’s watching you, obsessed.

“No, you were actually well-behaved in my dreams.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Not true.”

Matty sighs, climbing a hand from your hip up your waist, groping the forgotten, lonely breast. “Nah, you’re right,” he admits. He mirrors your moves, rubbing his thumb as you do. “I wanted you like this,” he whispers, mesmerized with you. “Under me. Fucking purring for me.”

His hips find back that relentless pace between your thighs, quick and hard. Ecstasy coils in your belly, breathing, alive, eating through your limbs. You shiver, moaning his name.

“I wanted you on the steps of the emergency staircase, riding my cock for everyone to see. Good, proper girl like you, fucked dumb by a dirty man like me.” You nod, encouraging him, biting your lip raw.

He lays back over you, maintaining his quick strokes. His pelvis rubs on your clit with every thrust, making your body tingle tellingly. Pleasure presses against your skin, fire simmering beneath it. Maybe you really will crash and burn this time, maybe you’ll split.

Matty leans into your neck, sucking your earlobe into his mouth, whispering in the crook of it, “Bending you over the bar. Tugging on that ponytail. Railing pretty princess so hard she starts crying.” Matty’s hand cups your jaw, rubbing on the skin as he peers up at you. “Fuck, I wanted to ruin that makeup.” One finger wipes at your chin, surely spreading your strawberry lipgloss. “I’d spend my days on my knees.”

His words, his hands, his cock, it’s all too much for you. You scream, the sounds falling into his hand. Hot ecstasy bubbles under your skin, threatening the very edges of you. You roll your head, but Matty keeps you grounded, his fingers digging into your jaw.

He stares at you unflinchingly. “Open your mouth, princess.” You do as you say, parting your lips wide open. Matty eyes you with a smirk.

He leans in, spitting in your open mouth. A thrilled shiver pianos down your spine. You should find this repulsive, but your cunt clenches around him in complete contradiction. He grins condescendingly at you, undeniably aware of his effect on you. “Here’s that nickname.”

You roll your eyes. You throb around him, bliss razing through your limbs. Your toes curl, your fingers flex, and you feel everything in you pull tight in preparation—

“Matty—”

“Tut-tut,” Matty says, patting your lips. “Not my name.”

“Sir,” you whine, throwing your head back. “I’m gonna come.”

He flashes his teeth at you, wolfish. “Magic word?”

“Please.” Matty rewards you with deep strokes, hitting again and again at the exact right spot, and soon you’re trashing under him, completely boundless.

“Oh, God,” you scream, “Oh, God.”

You tremble under him, your face completely shutting, your lips parting. You burst, crying out for him, trapping his hips with two strong thighs. You crash against the floor, spilling on the tiles like dropped salt. Flecks of you roll on the linoleum as you finally come. His name rips from your throat, a delicious chant you can’t control. It’s all you know.

The world slips from your fingers; everything relaxes in great waves. Relieving fingers dancing on your skin, making you not a stone, but a girl. A woman.

You sigh happily, letting go of Matty’s arm, opening your eyes to examine the crescent moons you left on his skin. Some branding iron of yours.

Your head falls back on the ground, rolling lazily. You feel lax, drooping on your bones. Maybe you’re truly one with the ground.

Matty kisses your cheek. “You did so well, baby,” he whispers proudly. You smile, too tired to open your eyes again.

His hips rock into yours slowly, grinding. Everything in you is hypersensitive to him. Your skin buzzes just from the faint movement, burning ecstasy waking up in your belly from nothing.

“Do you want to ride me?” Matty asks, voice rough in the crook of your ear. Just the idea sounds sore and exhausting.

You pout, shaking your head, whining, “‘M too tired.”

“Alright,” Matty kisses your temple. “Just lay there and be pretty.” You nod in agreement.

Indulgently, Matty doesn’t follow that brutal, heart racing tempo. He fucks you slow and deep, grinding his hips into yours, reaching between your bodies to rub at your clit. You whimper under him, clutching his shoulders, wrinkling your eyes as pleasure drips on your ribs.

It’s barely anything, but it’s still too much. You’re fucked out, sensitive and exhausted, and every stroke just resonates deep inside of you. His name dances on your tongue, languid pleasure coursing through your sloppy veins. Matty accidentally slips out of you, his cock hitting your thigh. He groans frustratedly, slipping back into your wet cunt, though you’re barely aware of it.

Your hands paw at his shoulders. A frown dents your forehead. You blink your eyes open, staring at him unhappily. “Take off your shirt,” you demand. Really, it’s not fair you’re naked and he’s perfectly dressed.

Matty huffs a laugh, stilling to reach behind his head, pulling his white shirt off his shoulders. Though he makes an attempt to drape back over you, you keep him away. Your eyes greedily takes him in: his tattoos, his stomach, his biceps. He’s stronger than you had imagined, his muscles sharper, rippling and flexing with strenuous effort. You bite your lip, feeling arousal pool in your belly.

“Happy?” Matty says, although there’s a faint blush on his face.

“Extremely,” you nod curtly, flashing your teeth at him. Matty shakes his head, thrusting back into you.

Your mind drips from your ears, faraway and drowsy. He’s faintly there between your thighs. Your lips part in pleasure, but you’re mostly distracted by the sight of him. Your eyes wash over all his tattoos, tracing a finger over his deer tattoo, trying to memorize it.

Matty slips from your legs again, this time hitting your swollen clit. You jump, biting your lip. Frustrated, he lines himself up, sliding in slowly, watching your face. He makes another low growl of dissatisfaction, leaving you entirely.

“Fuck, you’re too wet,” Matty sighs. You laugh, watching him in disbelief. Too wet. You shake your head. Here’s a fucking problem. “I’m serious,” he says, though there’s definitely an amused smile on his lips.

He grabs his discarded apron, wiping your wetness off his dick. Then he cleans the mess between your thighs meticulously, shaking his head. “You know, it’s not better if you’re too wet. You lose friction. When I’m fucking you, I want you to feel it.”

Matty dips two fingers down your entrance, taking a pool of your soaking arousal, bringing them back to your lips. You open up before he has to say, sucking them into your mouth. He grins proudly, fucking elated to have you finally obeying for him. “Good girl,” he praises, lining his cock again.

He thrusts into you and this time, shit, you feel it.

You feel awoken from your daze, zapped into reality. You grip his shoulders uselessly, moaning around his fingers. He’s wild and rapid, showing you how it’s really supposed to feel. You can’t wrap your head around the feeling, overrun by his hips.

Matty slips his wet fingers out of your mouth. Pathetic whines and moans leave your lips unsmothered, caught in a hot tongue kissing you. His stubble rubs at your chin, but it quickly leaves your mind as his freed digits find your clit again. You hiss at the first contact, sensitive. He circles it gently, kissing you better.

Your lungs are on fire. Your head spins. You’re so deeply aware of his cock inside of you, driving you wild. You can’t make sense of the ground under your back. You scream for him, scream for the sky, scream because you can’t do anything else.

“I can’t—” You shake your head. “Fuck, it’s too—” Another moan leaves your mouth. Pressure grows in your stomach, spreading through each limb. Already, you almost want to snort.

Matty’s mouth grazes over your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. He kisses each spot, leaving a few sweet pecks. The complete opposition of his ruthless cock makes your head dizzy. Licking your shoulder, Matty opens his mouth and bites you. Pain and pleasure strikes through you; you cry, falling apart.

“Matty—”

It almost surprises you that you can still, feeling the edges around you blur into non-existence. You live only in the euphoria, in momentary feelings, in the now. Your body trashes under him, ecstatic, boneless. Your climax hits you hard and true, a mighty hunter hungry for blood.

You come back down slowly, difficultly, trying to make sense of his arms as you breathe. “Fuck,” is all you can say, shortwinded and gooey. “Oh, my— Fuck.”

Matty flutters kisses on your shoulder, surely loving away the marks of his teeth. He rises slightly to whisper in your ear, “Remember what I said?” You shake your head, not in any place to think, let alone remember anything. A smirk grows on his face, tickling your skin. “Give her one more.”

You blink your eyes open, staring at him incredulously. You can barely feel your legs and he wants to— He’s dead fucking serious. “I’m too hot,” you whine. “It’s fucking burning in here.”

“Alright, princess.” Matty slides out of you. A moan of dissatisfaction leaves at the feeling of emptiness. You clench around nothing, suddenly unused to the lack of him. Matty stands up, tugging you with him, picking you up in his arms as he walks the kitchen.

He opens the walk-in fridge. Cool immediately surrounds you, making you sigh pleasantly. He caresses your hair, whispering, “Can I?” Though you know you’ll regret it tomorrow, you nod at him. “My brave girl,” Matty coos, delicately putting you down.

Like his favorite doll, you let him puppeteer you to your knees, pushing you until your tits hit the freezing ground. You hiss, jolted awake by the sudden cold. Your head turns back to stare at him, kneeling behind you. “Does that feel good, baby?” You nod, which he tuts at. “Use your words.”

“Yeah, it’s—” In complete contradiction, heat pools in your stomach. Your hard nipples on the icy floor sends a rush of ecstasy up your exhausted body. You’re suddenly quite aware of the world, though it restricts to this walk-in and Matty Healy’s cock as it teases your entrance.

“That’s not really using your words, is it?” He slides over your wet cunt, hitting your overeager bundle of nerves, but never giving in. You huff, understanding his silent demand.

“It’s really good,” you nod, moving further up to rest your tits on a fresh bout of frozen ground. Again, a thrilled rush makes your head spin. You cry, laying your cheek down, surrendering yourself. “You’re— You were right. No one can fuck me like you.”

“I know I’m right.” Finally, Matty enters you. His hips buck into your dripping core, sloppy and messy from extenuation. There’s a lack of technique, just raw need and want as he fucks into you with abandon. He grips your thighs, bending into your body to kiss at your shoulders, whispering dirty promises again. “Just me,” he pants. “From now on it’s just me.”

You nod at him. He’s ruined you for other men anyway; you don’t think you’ll even be able to walk without remembering the shape of his cock inside of you.

One of Matty’s hands leaves you, resting on the ground beside your sweaty bodies. He lingers there for some time, then sneaks it under you, finding your clit expertly. You gasp as his cold fingers make contact with the hot bud. He swipes them rapidly, making you drip on his cock.

“I’m close,” you moan already, feeling that telltale euphoria wave through your trembling limbs.

“Me, too,” Matty moans above you. He grips your hair and tugs, raising you from the ice, kissing your jaw. His low sounds bury in your skin. His hips snap harder into you, chasing both of your cosmic ends.

Your face wrinkles as pleasure overwhelms you. You shake it frantically, whining, “I wanna see you.”

Matty laughs, slipping out of you just to flip you around. Again, he pushes you on your back, raising your legs until your knees near your shoulders, wasting no time to bury inside of you. He hits you even deeper this time, shockingly possible. You whine. His fingers find your clit, rubbing it with precision. You travel the planes of his back, digging your nails in desperately.

He looks as fucked out as you. His gray-streaked, sweaty hair falls over his forehead. His swollen lips part in euphoria, chin still sticky with you. His skin is flushed. His arms shake, exhausted and overworked.

“I’m there,” Matty pants above you. You nod in agreement, feeling the same building bliss spin around your head. “Are you gonna come for me, princess?” Again, you nod eagerly.

“Yeah— Yes, sir!”

Matty hits the spot with one artful stroke and you’re done, mewling loudly as you come on his cock. You soar out of your bones, pleasure ravaging through you with deadly fingers. You shake under his body, screaming and crying, breaking apart. Vengefully, your nails rake down his back, clawing at him.

With a hot groan in your ear, Matty slips out of you, coming on your stomach. He shivers above you, wrinkling his face in euphoria, white cum hitting the planes of your belly. He breathes in heavily, opening his eyes to smile down at you.

The world sways around you. You’re bone-deep tired, struggling to keep your eyes open, to even think of moving a finger. Everything is hazy, some ghostly daze draping over the walk-in. You sigh, fluttering your eyes closed.

Teasingly, Matty goes down your body, spreading your thighs to lap at your juices. You cry, head raising up the ground miraculously, pushing his head away. “Goddamn, enough. I get it. You’re the best sex of my life.” Matty chuckles, pinching your thigh, before falling beside you. He pants, exhausted. “That was even better than I imagined,” you say languidly, smiling slackly at no one.

“Same.”

“I don’t think I can take the bus now,” you frown. “Or tomorrow.”

“Call in sick,” Matty says, smirking at you cheekily. You roll your eyes at his antics. “What? If one person can do it, it’s daddy’s girl.”

You slap his shoulder. “Don’t talk about my dad when you were just inside of me.”

“No?”

You up your nose. “It’s uncouth.”

Matty laughs, shaking his head, sitting up. He groans as he stands, as though his entire body was sore. His back is littered with furiously red scratches; you flush, recognizing the shape of your nails. He leaves the walk-in just to come back with your clothes, pulling his shirt down his chest.

He wipes at your soaked thighs with his apron, then at the cum on your stomach, cleaning you thoroughly. With delicate care, he puts your shirt over your head, pulling your skirt up. He stashes your bra in your bag, giving you a teasing look as he shoves your underwear in his pants. Again, you roll your eyes at his obvious antics.

“Do you need to eat anything?” Matty asks. “We’re in the walk-in, afterall.”

Your face scrunches. “Oh God, I fucked in the walk-in. I won’t ever be able to come in here, now.”

He snorts. “Believe me, we weren’t the first and won’t be the last.” You wrinkle your nose in disdain. “Wow. Miss can get railed in the fridge but it’s a problem when others do it?”

“It’s unsanitary.”

“I think there's still some of your juices on the floor,” Matty says, pointing randomly at the ground. You flush, trying to spot the rumored stain, embarrassment seeping through your cheeks. Matty doesn’t let you linger on it, grabbing two of your hands and pulling you up on your feet. “Food?”

“Are you hungry?”

“Well,” Matty smiles smugly, and you already groan in regret, “I already ate.”

“Nevermind.” You try taking a step, but your feet wobble under you, pain prickling up your thighs and the inside of it most of all. You fall into Matty, clutching his arm. “Shit.”

“Call in sick tomorrow.” You shake your head stubbornly. Matty cups your cheek, making you look at him. “Call in sick tomorrow,” he stresses again.

You narrow your eyes. “You just want to say you fucked a girl so hard she had to take a day off.”

Matty gives you a shit-eating grin. “Nah. This is a regular Tuesday for me.” You slap his shoulder again, harder this time. “There she is,” he coos. “Come on. Let me drive you home. I’ll make you something.”

You let him guide you out of the walk-in fridge, resting on his body. “I don’t think I have any food,” you warn.

“I can whip something up. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m a chef.”

“Really?” You say in faux-shock. “I just thought you were the eye candy.”

“Not everyone stares at me as much as you, princess.” You roll your eyes, though don’t try to claim otherwise. Matty slaps the lights shut. You leave the kitchen behind, strangely untouched, like it hadn’t seen some very vile things a few minutes ago.

“Oh,” you cry excitedly, “Can you make me some mac and cheese?” Matty sighs.

—

You’re hanging around the host stand, picking your nails and giggling as Veronica describes her recent affair with a pharmacist in explicit details. She mimes the moves, stalling when a guest approaches. You both plaster a smile on your face and point to the bathroom with a sickly sweet voice.

You bite your lip to stop yourself from describing your recent affair. The memory of Matty between your thighs is still omniscient on your skin— mostly because you’re still sore, walking the restaurant a little funny. Although you burst with the need to tell someone, you’re half-convinced Veronica would bite your head off if she knew.

Adam walks back to his stand, sighing as he sees the both of you. “Must you guys hang here?”

You cock your head, teasing, “How else would we annoy you?” Veronica laughs.

He shakes his head, grabbing a pen and pointing towards you. “The boss wants to see you,” is all Adam says.

“Ooh,” Veronica sings, poking at your ribcage. “Someone’s in trouble.” You give her a deadpan look. “You’re right, you’re right.” She nods. “He probably just wants to know which color you want your new pony to be!”

You shake your head, chuckling at her. “You guys are seriously deluded on how much money we have.”

Veronica sticks her tongue out as you walk away. You zigzag through the tables, nodding at a waiter in greeting, grabbing empty plates and piling them on your arms. You push the kitchen doors with your back, dropping the dirty dishes in the sink. You smile at Larry, fluttering your lashes at him. He always cleans your utensils first if you flirt a little with him.

You can’t stay to chat, crossing the kitchen for the office door. You dodge a bus boy, giving him an annoyed look, reminding him to call corners. A small snort comes from beside you. You turn, finding Matty sizzling onions in a pan. He gives you a grin, knowing and smug, like he’s thinking of you naked in the spot where you stand. He winks at you. Your cheeks heat, biting back a smile as you continue your walk.

You knock at the door. Behind, a somber voice tells you to come in. You crack it, peering your head inside. Your father sits at his desk, flipping through papers, frowning.

“You wanted to see me?”

He jumps as he looks at you, seemingly surprised as though he’s not the one who asked you here. He nods eagerly, waving you in. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Dad,” you answer back, walking into the office. Instinctively, you start organizing the messy, scattered papers on his desk in neat lines. “Why did you call me here?”

“I wanted to ask you how you were,” he explains. “I didn’t have time to welcome you. I’m sorry— God, I’ve just been so busy.” He frowns at you, a concerned look on his face. “You like it here, right? I know you missed your shift yesterday.”

Memories of Matty’s tongue licking into you, his fingers curling, his cock pressing— Dirty words sticky with want— Vile things on the tiles— The world slipping from your fingers— Pleasure pumping, coiling, bursting—

You flash your teeth. “Oh, I love it.”

#she is here and she is Foul #linecook!au #matty healy smut #matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #the 1975 smut #writing #smut #imagine

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webslingingslasher · 2 years

Text

The Last I Heard

i may have a seperate part 2 of this on the way, the idea is so cute.

Pairing: Peter Parker (mcu) x Reader

Warnings: peter do be flirting

Genre: Fluffy/slight angst/ pining

Word Count: 15K

Summary: Peter overhears you saying you like him but you're too scared to tell him, he makes you want to tell him.

Peter knows it is absolutely wrong to use his powers for his own advantage.

He also knows that the majority of common folk would disagree and use it to their own advantage if situations were reversed, and that’s fair to Peter. Everyone at one point has sworn that if they had super powers they would listen in to every conversation, or they would read everyone’s mind.

And Peter did do that at first, until he realized that eavesdropping was a terrible idea. Because you start to feel kind of itchy and icky about yourself, you realize that these are conversations that were meant to be personal. Ned was the one that usually begged, he would point out random people and persuade Peter into listening in and giving him dirt.

It was never anything too interesting, just personal.

At lunch Ned would ask, “Yellow jacket is up in hat’s face, what’s going on?”

And Peter would listen in.

“You weren’t there! You have no idea what went down, like, at all!”

Hat defends her stance, “Oh come off it! You’re supposed to be MY best friend, you were mine. And I lost you to him.”

Yellow jacket is upset at her dismissal, “ You decided that, not me. You think this is dumb of us? That we’re selfish? That this was one big ploy to fuck up your life?”

Hat is taken aback, then stands her ground. Solidly, “You fucked my brother, Jessica. You both decided to run around and date behind my back, and if you did it openly it would’ve gone over better. But you conniving with him hurts, I just lost my best friend and I have to watch her walk around my house cuddling up to my brother!”

Peter stops listening, he feels like he should’ve never heard that.

But he still tells Ned.

Once at the mall Ned pointed to a group of girls, “What are they talking about?”

Peter hones in, then repeats. “Redhead is looking for a tampon, Jeans is helping Redhead search for a tampon. Ponytail is talking about wanting to hook up with Jayson but she’s dating Erik, Bangs is telling Ponytail to do it anyways and Glasses thinks you’re cute.”

Ned grins, “Should I go ask for her number?”

Peter frowns, “No.”

He doesn’t like playing this game so much anymore, he’s started to feel like a constant invasion of privacy. He doesn’t do it for Ned much anymore, only sometimes.

“It’s an emergency, Peter! Like a real emergency! You have to tell me what they’re saying!”

Ned shakes Peter's shoulders for emphasis, Peter bobbles his head back and forth then stops to wave and smile like a normal human when you walk by doing it first.

He lets out a sigh, “Who?”

Ned points to Betty Brant and Flash Thompson.

Peter understands why he wants to listen in so bad, he gives in. By the way Betty looked it wasn’t going to be anything juicy.

“Flash is telling her about how his mom is gonna buy him a new car, Betty is saying her mom’s making her favorite dinner.”

Ned pouts, “Nothing about me?”

Peter shakes his head slowly, “Sorry man.”

Ned stays quiet for a few seconds then pushes his head towards them again, “How about now?”

Peter sighs, “No, Ned.”

—------------

MJ wrapped her hand around your neck after you passed by Peter.

“Waving to your future man?”

You turned your head back, panicked he had heard her. Instead you just saw Ned and Peter looking at Betty and Flash.

“He’s so fucking cute, right? Did you see his hair? His curls are like, fucking perfect today.”

Peter Parker made your heart race.

He was a goddamn saint, the nicest person you’ve ever met. He was a genius, the smartest person you’ve ever met. He was funny, the best quick wit you’ve ever heard. His laugh was the best you’ve ever heard. His smile made you feel like putty, his voice woke you up in the morning but melted you down if you’d been extra stressed that day, and his clothes looked down right adorable on him.

Everything about Peter Parker was your favorite thing about him.

“Careful, Y/N. I may think you have a crush on the kid.”

You pushed MJ in her ribs, “Has he ever kissed anyone before?”

“Why, looking to be the first to settle the land, Christopher?”

You gasp, “Did you just call me a colonizer?”

MJ ignored you, “You know, you could just ask him.”

You laugh, “That’s cute.”

It was. You and Peter were casual friends, you’ve hung out in only groups and only had one on one conversations a few times. You did like him, and you did flirt when you were around him but it was so subtle you don’t blame him for not picking up on it.

“I mean, I think you guys would actually work out. Like hardcore, he’s just a little dumb. You’ve gotta be the one to bring it up.”

Here we go again, the same tired piece said over and over. MJ, Betty, even Flash has gotten in on it, they all claim Peter would be down in an instant but would it be because it’s you, or because someone likes him?

“Does he even like me? Or think of me like that?”

MJ grimaces, “Peter’s hard. He doesn’t really talk about girls, you know? I mean, he’ll say when a girl is pretty or whatever but he’s never been one to be like, ‘she’s so hot, i wanna french her by noon,’ so, maybe?”

You tap her arm around your neck, “So insightful, I’m so glad I have a friend on the inside.”

MJ squeezes the sarcasm out of you.

—-----------

Peter’s gotten better at not eavesdropping.

It’s been weeks of fighting off Ned’s request to listen in on an unsuspecting victim.

Until recently.

He kept hearing his name, but couldn’t clock it. He had his head swiveled around the entire lunchroom with no luck. It wasn’t a constant calling, just casual. Peter this, Peter that, Peter, Peter, Peter.

He swears he’s going insane, he can’t jus-

Peter jumps, he’s trying to dial his focus on his name when you slam your hand down on his lunch table.

“Oh.” When he realizes it’s just you.

“Hi, Y/N.” You grin when he does, it’s infectious. You almost forgot why you approached, MJ said Peter would admit when a girl was pretty.

“Hi, Peter.”

Peter looks to the side of him and pushes his backpack away, “Wanna sit here?”

Your heart lurches with the question, he was asking if you wanted to sit next to him.

You shake your head, “I just have a question.”

A grin, “Shoot.”

You gulp, why did you do this again? Oh. To prove you had a chance.

“In a strictly non friendly way,”

“Uh oh.” He voices.

You smile, “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Peter freezes, “Oh! Uh, I mean, me?”

“You what?”

“Me! You’re asking me? Of course I think you’re pretty!”

You smile, “Thanks, Peter. But, am I pretty in a non friendly way?”

He looks confused, “What would be a non friendly pretty?”

You roll your eyes, “Like, pretty enough to date.”

His eyes go wide, pink coats his cheeks.

“Oh, oh!” He nods enthusiastically, “Yeah! You’re dating pretty, don’t worry about it.”

You thank him and walk away with your head a little higher. Your group quiets when you approach, MJ greets you with raised eyebrows. She has to pretend the whole group wasn’t just talking about you and Peter.

“What was that about?”

You sit your stuff down and take a seat, you shrug and look at her.

“He said I was pretty.”

Flash commends the size of your balls.

You thank him.

—--------------

“Y/N asked if she was dating pretty today, what does that mean?”

Ned shrugs, “Google it.”

Peter gives him a ferocious look, “And what would Google say?”

Ned sighs as he looks over Betty, “Are you sure she’s not talking about me?”

Peter looks towards the back of the class, you and Betty sat next to each other giggling. Peter tells himself not to, but he does.

He hones in, he doesn’t get much. He’s learned to listen in enough to get the details, but protect the person at stake.

Peter’s eyebrows furrow, he wants to listen to more.

“Uh, they’re talking about a double date.”

Ned throws up his hands, his jaw is dropped and he’s looking between Peter, you and Betty.

“Well?”

Peter looks around, “Well what?”

Ned tugs at Peter’s arm, “With who?”

Peter’s eyes widened, “Oh!”

“I’m sure Peter would be down, Y/N.” Betty shoulder checked you and winked, you groaned and looked up at Peter, he was looking at you. Even though he was across the room you felt paranoid he could hear you.

You smiled at Peter and turned to your friend, “Sure, you ask Ned first.”

Betty drops her jaw and looks at Ned, she starts to sputter.

“No! That is not the plan, at all!”

You huff at her, “The plan was to use Peter against me? You’re sick for that.”

Peter knows he should stop listening, he’s caught on, the double date was with him and Ned, but he also wants to keep listening.

“No! I never said that!”

You narrow your eyes, “Look, it would make sense for you to ask Ned on a date.”

Betty turns her nose up, “Well, the same could be said for you and Peter.”

Peter Parker can’t help but feel a bit giddy, you asking him on a date? He would never shut up about it again.

Ned is pawing at Peter’s shoulder begging for an update, he shrugs him off and keeps listening.

“What? No, it literally could not. You and Ned flirt all the time, everyone knows it’s gonna happen, it just when.”

Betty is slightly confused, she's wondering if you two are fighting. Just slightly.

“Do you think you’re not flirting with Peter?”

You blink and Peter watches your mouth open, you’re about to reply when Ned shakes him hard.

“Well?”

Peter turns back around and scoots his chair closer to the desk.

“It’s us.”

“What is?”

Peter clears his throat, “The double date, it’s us.”

Ned’s eyes light up, the thing he’s been searching for in conversation is coming to fruition, then dials it back some.

“Betty wants me, right?”

Peter nods.

“And Y/N wants you?”

Peter shrugs.

“I mean, it makes sense. She’s always trying to hook up with you.”

Peter’s head spins, “What?”

Ned pulls his head back, “Well, yeah. I just thought you weren’t interested. She’s always trying to make a move when we hang out.”

Peter is in disbelief, “She is?”

“Bro, she literally only hugs you when we all hang out. When she gets there and when she leaves, she wants you all over her. Like, now.”

Peter is nibbling his lip, he never thought he had a chance. He just thought you were extra friendly towards him, maybe you thought he needed a friend. He didn’t know you wanted him like that though.

He decides to listen in, one last time. Then he swears he was done, forever.

Betty huffs, she’s lovely but absolutely stubborn.

“Then fine, I’m not asking Ned until you ask Peter first.”

“That’s fine, Ms. Brant. But I’m never gonna ask him.”

Betty huffs again then looks to the boys and sees Peter looking at you, she gets a wicked grin across her face.

“Then I’ll make him ask you.”

You turn your head to see her looking at Peter, you start to backtrack immediately.

“No! No, no, no. You won’t. You promise me you won’t get Peter involved.”

Betty pretends she didn’t hear you.

“Betty, I’m serious. Promise me right now you won’t involve Peter.”

She starts to hum, this is a game to her. You know what she wants and you’re about to give in.

“Betty please, don’t involve him. I’ll ask anyone else, if you’re that dead set on a double date I’ll ask literally anyone else.”

She pretends to think about it, then calls out across the room.

“Hey, Peter?”

You whip your head to his, he’s looking at Betty confused. You start to melt and panic.

“You won’t.” You mutter the words.

“Come here?”

Peter looks at Ned and shrugs, he goes to stand.

Your heartbeat is hammering your chest, you grip Betty’s elbow tightly.

“Stop it, Betty. It’s not funny anymore.”

Peter’s walking over, you feel your hands shake. You curl them into fists.

“Betty!” You look over your shoulder, he’s about to be here.

“I’ll ask him! I’ll ask him!”

Betty smiles, it’s like she's asking you if it was that hard.

You can’t help the smile that crosses your face when Peter not only approached your side of the desk, but also smiled at you first and made sure you saw him before looking at Betty.

“You called?”

Betty grins, it makes you feel sick.

“I was thinking of asking Ned on a date, what’s his favorite food?”

Peter thinks of his next words carefully, he makes sure to look at you when he speaks.

“We’re both pizza kinda guys.”

You shudder. it was never about asking Peter for you, it was about forcing you to say yes.

“What’s his favorite? He strikes me as a hawaiian type of guy.”

He grins, “You guessed right.”

You speak up, “You strike me as a cheese or pepperoni type.”

Peter tilts his head, “Do I?”

You shake your head, “Actually, I think you’re a ‘any type of pizza will do, as long as I can pile as much parmesan cheese as humanly possible on it.’ kind of guy.”

He hums, “Are you a crushed red pepper kind of gal?”

You shrug and feel your cheeks get warm, “Maybe.”

“That’s good then, none of the packets get wasted. Look at us, the zero waste couple.”

“Couple of besties?” You give a nervous grin.

Peter nods, “Sure.”

You swallow hard, you were never prepared for Peter to say something flirty to you, he was supposed to be the nervous quiet one, but you have a feeling he can be extremely charming when he wants to be.

Betty eyes you then looks at Peter, you notice they share a look but you can’t place what it is.

“Pizza then?”

“Trust me Bets, Ned is gonna scream when you ask him out. He’s been dying to do it but it’s always nice to know when a girl is into you.”

He let that last line slip, he’s trying to hint to ask him without laying it out. Or let you know he was listening in.

“Does he really? I swear he doesn’t make it known.”

You look over at Ned, you have no clue how she thinks he doesn’t make it known. He followed her around like a puppy and was at her beck and call. Not to mention he’s watching the entire encounter rocking in his seat biting his nails.

And you were scared you looked nervous.

You point at Peter’s best friend, “Really, Bets? He doesn’t make it known?”

Peter pats your head, “What she said.”

You bite your bottom lip hard to stop the whimper from escaping, Peter shares a glance with you, you’re pretty sure he heard you.

“So it’s an easy yes?”

Peter nods, “The easiest.”

Betty nods at Peter then looks towards you, “Y/N? Anything you need to ask Peter?”

Your cheeks feel hot, you give a death stare to Betty.

“Uh, nope. Can’t think of anything.”

Betty pushes, “You sure?”

“Positive.” You push the word through clenched teeth.

Betty waits with pursed lips and when you offer no more she nods slightly, she can play this game too.

“Thanks for the advice, Peter. But I don’t think I’m going to ask yet.”

You want to disappear, and you are extra aware of Peter’s body next to yours. If you leaned against him you would rest into his waist, you wanted to make him proud again, so he could give you another celebratory pat.

“He’s there when you’re ready, Betty. Stays between us, promise.” Then he looks at you before he departs, “Hey, you going to Flash’s party tonight?”

You don’t trust your voice and nod, Peter watches where you chew on your lip.

“Good, I’ll see you there.” He taps your shoulder with a punch and walks back towards his best friend.

Ned looks at him with wide eyes, his fingernails are nubs.

“Well?”

Peter sighs dreamily, “I’m gonna make her ask me out.”

—---------

“Peter!”

“Y/N!”

You both point at each other then meet in the middle for a hug, Peter sways you slightly and pulls away.

“Long time no see!” He jokes, you giggle along. He’s just so funny.

“No kidding, you know time stops when you’re not around.” You wink to play off the joke.

Peter scrunches his nose like a bunny, “I love when you flirt with me. Want a drink?”

You feel frozen for a moment, he’s not supposed to catch on. He was supposed to play dumb until you all grow up and get married and have kids and one night over lunch when you catch up after years you let it slip that you had a giant crush and always waited for him to notice. He wasn’t supposed to notice now.

“What are you drinking?” You clock his red cup, he’s not a drinker but it’s not a water bottle this time.

He holds it out, “Try?”

You take it and raise it to your lips, it’s nearly empty. You can’t help but think about this being the first time you’ve shared a drink with Peter, you’re putting your lips where his were. The only thing more intimate than this is sharing a bite of food. If you pretend hard enough you can say that you’ve technically kissed him.

It’s sweet and you can’t detect alcohol. You pull back and eye him, he’s waiting for your reaction. He hopes you like it. You pull a face then try it again, you’re trying to place it.

“Like it?”

“It’s like a cherry sprite, but like, better?”

“It is! I can make you one?”

Peter pushed you towards the kitchen with a hand to your back, you felt his palm through the material of your shirt and realized how cold the rest of you felt. Small conversation carried you through the wait, he made each of you a cup and handed it over.

You both took a sip at the same time, you pulled back with a slight frown then took another sip. Peter watched you furrow your brows before you reached out for his own and took a sip. You make a confused sound.

“Hm?”

You shrug, “Your’s tastes better.”

Peter thinks it's adorable, he can only hope that if this goes the way he’s thinking that you would carry this over. He always wants his to taste better, just because it’s his.

“I’d offer to swap but then I’d think that one would taste better.”

You nod, “I think you’re right.” Then hold your own out, “Cheers!” Peter obliges then holds his back when you try to tap it, “What are we cheering for?” You pucker, “Do we need a reason?”

Peter pouts, “No, I guess not. Feels better to have one though.”

You think for a reason then exclaim, “Here’s one,” You raise your cup again, “Here’s to new friends!”

“And couples!” Peter taps his cup on yours.

“What?” You eye him down, did he just say what you thought?”

He nods his head towards Ned and Betty, totally wrapped up in each other.

“Right! To new friends and couples.”

Peter was about to speak again when Flash’s voice rang out on the DJ speaker.

“Friends to the inner ring, losers stay away.”

MJ immediately leaves from the inner circle to the kitchen, “MJ! You’re a friend!”

She calls behind her, “I know you consider me one!” She stops when she sees you and Peter chatting closely.

She nods her head in recognition, “Nice.”

“What are you doing?” You watch her open cabinets moving around the kitchen.

“Making toast. Take my place for me.”

You made a pit stop to the bathroom and came back to the living room, the whole group sat across the couches and criss-crossed on the floor, there was not one space open. Peter took the last spot, you were about to sit in the kitchen with MJ when Peter waved you over and tapped his lap. You felt warm just thinking of sitting on his lap, it was closer than you’ve ever been before. You would literally be on top of him, and if you were to move just right perhaps you’d get even closer.

You held your breath as you lightly rested on his lap, most of your weight rested on your feet you kept planted on the ground. Peter wrapped his arm around your waist and tugged you against him, your feet dangled between his knees and his chest was against your back. He delicately wrapped his other arm around your waist, he was hugging you to him.

“Good?” He tried to look around at your face, instead you gave in and rested your head against his shoulder and rested a hand over his on your waist. You nodded against his neck, he grinned softly, “Good.”

The rest of the party went by quickly, it was just a few rounds of some games but nothing too crazy. Some truth or dare, some never have I ever, some beer pong but nothing that led to anything more between you and Peter. He did however stick to your side the whole night.

Betty and MJ had to nearly pull you from his side to leave, you wish they would’ve left you so that Peter would walk you home and you could maybe score a midnight smooch but they didn’t let you get the chance.

“Say bye to Peter, Y/N.”

You pout at Peter, you’re wishing he says he’ll take you home instead. He thinks that’s what you want too, but he has patrol after this, he even has the suit on.

“Bye Peter. I’ll see you on Monday.” You reach in for a hug, he squeezes you and talks in your ear.

“Bye Y/N. Let me know when you’re home, okay?” You grin into his shirt, he’s never said that before. You pull away and he looks over your face and hesitates before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your cheek, “See you Monday.”

The only thing you can do is nod, you smile softly then step back into MJ and Betty who are ‘oohing’ softly at Peter’s move. You can’t even form words, your knees feel shaky and all your pacing thoughts are screaming his name over and over. Peter grins at your reaction before turning and going back to Ned who is now ready to leave since Betty is no longer there to entertain, Peter feels the same way.

—-----------

Okay, Peter swears this is the final time.

He’s never going to listen in on you ever again, he just needs to know what you’re feeling right now. He’s just making sure you’re okay, you didn’t talk over the weekend beyond the ‘home safe’ text and his ‘good, i had fun tonight! thanks for hanging with me!’ text. After he finds out what you’re thinking he’ll trust the process, he just needs to be sure you know he’s interested.

You were distraught, did you go up to Peter? You got closer than ever at Flash’s party, but he didn’t text you all weekend, but you didn’t either. You wanted to pull at your hair, you had a feeling Peter was the ‘what you give is what you receive’ kind of guy. You swallow the lump in your throat and walk towards him.

“Hi.”

Peter opens his arms, “Hi.”

Your face lights up, he’s never initiated a hug before. You step into his hold and melt into him this time, no more pretending you didn’t absolutely love this.

“Good Morning.” He mumbles the words in your ear, you mumble them back into his chest.

“I don’t want to go to math, go for me.”

Peter rests his chin on your head and pulls you in tighter, “Wanna swap? I have advanced trigonometry.”

You pull away and squint at him, “Ew.”

“I know right?”

“It’s cause you’re such a smartie. I bet I could quiz you on anything and you would know it.”

Peter grins, “Wanna come over and test that theory?”

Your eyes widen, “Just you and me?”

Peter laughs, “Unless you want to make it a decathlon.”

A joke.

He’s joking.

“Bet, I’ll start working on the flash cards. Irrelevant question, what is your toughest subject?”

He blows air through his lips and shrugs, he lets out the word with an honest chuckle.

“Girls.”

You swallow, “Noted.”

—------------------

He was losing his window of opportunity.

Good thing, you and Betty sat with him and Ned at lunch. (MJ and Flash followed.) Bad thing, he couldn’t listen to you talk about him. Peter will admit that it feels good to openly like someone and not be scared because he knows the other likes him too, it gives him confidence like he’s never had before.

You sat next to him too, it went: him, you, Betty, Ned, Flash then two seats away from him, one from Peter was MJ. The table was loud, everyone having mixed conversations, once it quieted down some MJ was reminded of something.

“Hey, Peter. Are we still doing the thing tonight?”

What thing? You weren’t told of a thing, was it a Peter and MJ thing? I mean, MJ doesn’t like Peter and you’re almost sure Peter likes you but what is that thing tonight?

“Yeah! I think Ned is gonna invite Betty too if that’s cool?”

MJ nods, “Betty’s cool.”

Peter then nudged his nose against the side of your face, you turn and he’s right there. You notice him glance at your lips for a quick second then asks, “Busy tonight?”

You hum and think, “I don’t think so.”

Peter grins, “Wanna come over? It’s game night.”

“What kind of games?”

“Mostly video games, MJ and Ned have a switch so we all take turns. But I have some two player board games if you want to play me.”

You give him puppy dog eyes, “That is so cute.”

“Is it?” Peter didn’t know it was that easy, he just wanted you to feel included if you didn’t want to watch him or your friends play games.

You bite your lip and nod, without thinking he places his thumb on your chin and pulls down releasing it. You stare at him and he watches your pupils go wide, he was about to apologize but he won’t now. He’ll let you believe he did that on purpose.

“Do you have Guess Who?” You clear your throat and try to level your breathing after his stunt.

“Think so, I have a couple of good ones. I’ll show you when you come over.”

You look him up and down, “Can I wear my PJ’s?”

Peter holds a hand to his chest, “I’d be insulted if you didn’t.”

You hold out your hand to shake his like a business agreement, “Deal.”

He tells you he’ll text you the details and you lean into him as you laugh at something Ned said in retort to something Flash said. Your head was against his arm, he carefully watched as you made eye contact with Betty, she raised her eyebrows slightly and you carefully nodded your head.

He wrapped his hand around your neck and pulled you into him.

Peter knows he has you now.

—--------------

“Okay, what’s up with you and Y/N?” MJ wasn’t one to care, she promises. But you did consider her a friend on the inside and Peter was acting extremely touchy feely with you and he’s never done that before. Not to mention he kissed your cheek the other night.

You couldn’t shut up about it on the way home, and of course the group text with you and Betty had been blowing up like crazy. You were constantly analyzing Peter’s every move and Betty was doing the same with Ned. If MJ was honest, and she would never admit it, Flash was her favorite right now.

“Uh, nothing?”

MJ nodded, “Nice to know we’re lying.”

“I don’t know. I know she’s into me and Betty wants to ask Ned out but she won’t do it until Y/N asks me first, but she doesn’t think I’m into her so I’m trying to show her that I am so she’ll ask me.”

“How the hell do you know about this?”

Peter shrugs sheepishly, “I listened.”

MJ groans, “You said you were gonna stop!”

“I know! Ned was begging me and I accidentally heard it, and now I know she’s into me. I just want to make sure this actually happens.”

Ned walked in the front door and shook his shoulders, “It’s freezing tonight.”

Peter glanced at his phone to see if you texted him again, he told you to let him know when you were on your way up, he wanted to catch you in the hallway. Alone.

“Y/N and Betty are on their way, by the way.”

“Betty’s bringing her switch so we can all game.” Ned shot finger guns at MJ, she blocked the imaginary hits.

“Sweet. I’m gonna kick double ass in Mario Kart.”

Ned looks at Peter, “What are you doing?”

“I think we’re gonna play some games in my room.”

MJ waggles her eyebrows, “Alone?”

“Yeah?”

Ned whistles, “On your bed?”

“Probably.” Peter doesn’t see what’s wrong.

“She’s gonna think you’re making a move, you know that right?” MJ clicks her teeth at him.

“Like what?”

MJ chewed on her lip, “She asked me if you’ve ever kissed someone.”

Ned whoops, “Get it, dude!”

Peter isn’t that surprised, he wants to kiss you too after all. And maybe that was slightly his plan already, he was trying to separate the both of you from the pack. He just wanted to talk with you more and he couldn't spit game as confidently when his friends were watching and listening. Peter also can’t think of a downside of kissing you either, it just seems really lovely.

“It’s almost like I planned it.” He winks at his friends as they realize he did in fact plan it to be this way.

His phone buzzes, “Hold on.”

He opens the door to see you and Betty’s smiling faces, “Hello.” He reaches in for a hug, you first then Betty. “If you wanna head in you can,” He smiles at Betty and watches her step through the threshold, you go to follow and he steps in front of you. He softly closes the door behind her, you watch expectantly.

“Hi.” He smiles.

“Hi.” You mimic.

He almost kisses you now, he opts for pulling you in for a second hug. You’re surprised but latch on tightly, he pulls away and places a delicate kiss on your cheek. It’s softer than the one at the party, it’s intimate, it was a private kiss.

“Thank you for coming.” He whispers against your skin.

Your cheeks flush, you’ve never felt this seen before. Peter notices everything about you, and you wonder why it took him this long. You can’t help but get lost in daydreams where he was truly yours and his kisses never stopped, even as they trailed down your body.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

He didn’t even look at what you were wearing, he tilted your head up with his hand on your jaw.

“You look pretty.”

You blinked slowly, you kept looking between his eyes and his mouth. He said his worst subject was girls, you think he’s a liar, he’s too smooth and quick.

“You’re better at this than me.”

Peter just grins smugly. He’s better at the flirting game and he knows it. Spider-Man has some quick wit and it’s helped Peter out tremendously.

As soon as you both stepped through the door MJ berated you, “What were you two doing out there?” You wince and suck a breath through your teeth, “Making out. Hard core face sucking, had a full round of tonsil hockey.”

MJ narrowed her eyes, “Oh? Peter finally kissed you?”

This is what Peter means when he says his friends ruin his game.

You nod, “Oh yeah. Had me pressed against the wall and everything. I’m still seeing stars.”

It’s funny, nothing actually happened but what did felt more personal than actually telling your friends about a hook up session.

“Really?” Betty gasped, fully amazed that you had actually done it.

You frowned slightly, she seemed so excited for you. You had to let her know you were kidding.

“Yup. He even asked for my hand in marriage, right Peter?”

He nods, “We haven’t set a date yet.”

Betty boos with Ned, “No fair, we actually believed you.”

MJ shook her head, “No way. Peter’s not the make out in the hallway type.”

Peter makes kissy faces at MJ, “Wanna find out?”

MJ gags.

Ned huffs, “Betty and I are setting up Mario Kart.”

“I’m making popcorn.” MJ backs up into the kitchen.

Peter tugs you into him, “Wanna check out my games?”

—-----

You may or may not be trying a little extra hard to make your butt look good as you bend down looking at the games, Peter’s standing behind you and you just hope he’s taking a little look. Your PJ’s did hug you just right.

“You know I’ve never played chess?” You move the box to the right and find Connect Four, you pass him the box and he gasps. “Never?”

“Nope.” You wish you could play Clue, it was a favorite. You’re gonna team up with Betty to get the boys to play with you, MJ was an easy add if everyone else played.

“Never learned?”

You shake your head, “Never did. I dated one guy in middle school who did it competitively, and seeing as he was my boyfriend and a master in the game, or at least I thought he was at the time, I asked if he would teach me and he laughed at me and said it was “too advanced for a brain like mine.” So I vowed to never play it.”

You stood and handed him two more games, Guess Who and Battleship.

Peter frowned, “Sounds like a dolt. If you want, I would love to teach you. The hardest part is learning what the pieces do, after that it’s all strategy.”

You smile, “Don’t make fun of me but that would be a cute date.”

He laughs, “Teaching you chess?”

“Yes! You would be like this does that, and this does that, and you would let me practice on you, but you wouldn’t let me win cause then you can tell me why I failed so I actually get better.”

Peter doesn’t know why he thought girls were so hard to please, he thinks that's just what he’s been told. But so far all you really want to do is hang out with him.

“We can do it later this week if you’re up for it.”

You grin and nod, “Yes! You’re awesome, thank you so much!”

You also are extremely excited to see Peter concentrated and calculated with his moves.

Peter tells you it’s no biggie, then asks if you want to play in his room. You breathe in and nod, you were nervous to be in Peter’s room for the first time ever, and alone with him. It was slightly calmer if you think about how this is the first of many times you’ll see this room. You’re hoping you’ll be looking at the ceiling a lot more, though.

He points to his bed when you enter, “I’m leaning towards Guess Who first.”

You kick your shoes off and sit on his bed, “Comfy.”

“Just big enough for two.”

The way he speaks so casually makes you sweat. He’s a natural when it comes to flirting with you, you feel kiddish thinking about your lame attempts you call flirting. No wonder it went over his head for so long.

“Red or blue?” He holds up the plastic, “Red.” He nods in approval, “Nice choice.”

You hum, “Spider-Man wears red, I like red. I’m easy.”

He looks at you, “You like Spider-Man?”

You draw your head back, “You don’t?”

“I do! I didn’t know you were a fan, that’s all.”

“I’ve never seen him in person though, MJ has and I ask her about it all the time but she’s just super generic. Have you seen him?”

Peter clears his throat, “A few times.”

You drop your jaw, “No way! Tell me!”

“Nothing special, just the usual walking down the street and seeing him swinging.”

“That’s so cool though, have you seen him just fucking people up? Like when he does that web thing when he picks them up and slams them down? It’s so sick. Or when he wraps them up and like, flies towards them and double kicks their chest?”

Peter pretends to think about it, “I think I’ve seen some videos. He’s pretty cool, he’s got a few sick moves.”

“He’s my Harry Styles, if I saw him I’d melt down and cry and ask him to gently hold me. Like, it sounds crazy but I just know he’s cool. I don’t even like him like that, I just want to be his best friend.”

Peter wants to ask how you��d feel knowing you were about to make out with him.

“Total fangirl moment?”

“Pictures and all. I’d ask him to sign my tits, no joke.”

Peter throws his head back in a laugh, you smile at how he lights up. You love making him so happy.

“Okay!” You clap your hands.

“Is your person wearing a hat?”

“Nope.”

“Is your person wearing glasses?”

“No.”

“Fuck.”

“Does your person have a beard?”

“Fuck off, Peter. I’m moving in.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Is your person old?”

“Ancient.”

“Is your person Sam?”

You narrow your eyes at Peter, “Is this how it’s going to be between us? You always winning?”

“I ask good questions, stick around me long enough and you’ll get better at dodging me.”

“I could eat you up in scrabble.” You mutter.

“Yes you could, I’m ass at scrabble.”

Somewhere after the hour mark you’ve made your way to Battleship, it’s been a close game both of you have one more hit on the other person. You’re starting to feel the pressure, you try and calculate where he is, if you guess wrong he’s going to win. You know it.

You hold your breath, “C-4.” Peter looks at you and builds the suspense, then frowns. “Miss.” You groan, “Ugh, go ahead and sink me.” He smiles softly, “D-11.” You grunt at your board, “I’m swimming in the ocean with hope and a lifejacket.”

“Don’t worry, my one boat will come to save you.”

You snort, “Don’t worry babe, I blew your engines. You’re sinking next.”

“Are we gonna Jack and Rose it?”

You nod stiffly, “I’d let you die for me, yes.”

The room gets quiet, it makes you want to puke but you think the time is right. You told Betty you’d do it tonight, and Peter isn’t so scary, you just hate the feeling of rejection.

“Remember when Betty called you over about Ned?”

Peter has to pretend to think about it, he hums as he’s setting up his ships again.

“Well, she was trying to set up like this double date thing cause she’s too scared to go out with him alone for the first time. I mean nervous, not scared. Ned’s not scary.”

He hums again, he’s placing the third ship. He’s nearly holding his breath in excitement.

“And she wanted me to, like she asked if I would, I uh, nevermind.”

You lost the steam, you weren’t even sure how to word it without making it seem like a favor.

“I’m listening, she asked if you would what?”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s stupid. Are you almost done?” You almost looked over to see if he was done placing his ships but stopped before you would ruin the game.

He looked up at you, “Tell me about Betty, come on.”

You shook your head and bit your lip, he took his chance and leaned forward to untuck it like he did earlier. Peter watched your pupils blow like before, he looked between your eyes and mouth before moving in. You felt his hand move to cup at your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek softly before hooking his hand around your face.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, you knew what he was doing. He watched your reaction as he pulled you near him, he leaned in closer. He was taking his time, you were nearly shaking waiting for him to just kiss you, he was slowly building the tension. He wanted you to know he wanted this just as much as you did.

He smiled as he leaned in, just inches away. He brushed his lips against yours, the feather like promise of more. You melted into his touch and closed your eyes, he took that as a sign. His lips pressed against yours and your spine jolted, electricity felt like it ran through you, it didn’t hurt but it woke you up. You gripped at the back of his neck and held him tighter to you, you had dreamed of this for months, you weren’t letting go easily.

Peter moved against you slowly, he felt as you opened your mouth slightly and he took that as an invitation, he smoothed his tongue over yours and you moaned into his mouth. You’ve never felt this way before in a make out session, and this was just starting. He went until he felt choked for air, he pulled away slightly. You made a wet smacking sound when you separated. You raced for breath and kept your eyes closed, still panting you needed more. You opened your eyes to blink then pulled him back in, you were only able to last a minute before you searched for more air.

You couldn’t help yourself, he tasted so sweet it felt impossible to pull away. Now that you know what you were missing you never wanted to go back. You told yourself one more, you tried to pull him in but he pulled your hands from behind his neck, “Breathe. I’m not going anywhere. Can’t make out if you're unconscious.” You nodded and made a show of you breathing, then you leaned in for one more, he bowed his head and laughed. “That good?” You drank him in with greedy eyes, you ached for him. “Please,” You whimpered the words, it sent chills down his spine, he loved the way that sounded.

He nudged his nose against yours, “Please ask me, I’ll say yes.” He whispered his request.

He wasn’t talking about kissing, you knew that. He was asking about you asking him out, you know he was. He tied two and two together, you breathed in deeply.

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

He nodded and placed his mouth on yours once more, you gripped at his shirt before shoving the plastic boxes to the side so you could get closer. You slowly shuffled toward him until you pulled away to straddle his waist, meeting his lips quickly before he could tell you to slow down. You’ve dreamed of this forever, you were in awe of what was happening, Peter Parker was making out with you, and it was really, really good.

Betty tried to walk in to ask what time you were leaving, it was a school night after all. But she decided to back out and give you space when she saw you busy at work on top of Peter. She came from the room glowing, she couldn’t believe you had actually done it.

“What’s going on in there?”

Betty smiled at MJ, “They’re making out.”

“Good for them!” Ned cheered out, he passed the finish line before MJ, “Last lap, loser.”

“That reminds me!” Ned looked over at Betty, “What?”

“Wanna go on a date with me?”

Ned dropped the remote, his character fell off a cliff.

“Yes. God yes!”

MJ is sure Flash is her favorite now.

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