#i fucking hate exchanges i should never do one again

[bitegore]

I know i just have to wait and it's my own fault for being fucking difficult to do gifts for but i cant lie, being the only guy to get a gift way later than everyone else in a holiday art/fic exchange is pissing me off

[primalsharkman]

Petty? Pretty.

Kim Chaewon x M Reader | 🔞 Smut

[Enemies to Lovers, Academic Rivals, Fake Dating]

Word Count: 5,385

You sighed as you put the pen down at the table. It was your final exam for the year, meaning that all your hard work has officially paid off. The projects you made were certainly extraordinary, definitely leagues apart for the company you were in. However, the pressure of coming in second was like a pump shotgun being shot into the back of your head multiple times. You know, you cannot let Chaewon win again this year.

Of course, Kim Chaewon. The school's greatest academe mind since, ever. Always getting the top grades, the top approval, and all the top boys. The latter which, you really didn't care for. But she had the run of the mill, taking the best with her for her own pleasure. Stories and rumors of her taking the university's quarterback spread around like wildfire. She'd deny it, but everyone knew otherwise.

You roamed around the halls in deep thought, the heavy weight of your books in your hand was very aching, but you were close to dumping them into your locker.

"Finally..." You sighed after arriving at your locker and opening the combination, and only then dumping the books inside.

Vacation was on your mind, but you knew the year isn't over yet. A familiar scent was on your tail, and you knew exactly who wears that specific perfume in your school.

Turning around, you found the academic goddess herself, standing beside you with her bag slinging by her side and giving you a stare. "I hope you did better than you did last year, it was almost too easy for me to beat you." Chaewon said, confidently and with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes at her and crossed your arms, "I've had enough of your gloating, Kim. You're an egomaniac and you really need to get yourself checked before you break down once you see I did better than you."

"Big talk for someone who's only ever beaten me once, in a team debate, no less." Her voice pierced through your heart, and it did hurt. Sure, you did never beat her one on one, but you fought her so hard that you'd get recognized and put in the same conversations as her name did.

"What do you want, Kim? Are you just going to ogle your tits in front of me? Because let's be real, I wouldn't fuck you in a million years." She just chuckled at the statement and gave your crotch a light tap using her wrist.

"Trust me, I wouldn't fuck you in a million years too. But there is something I need." That was when you just smiled at her and closed your locker before walking away from her.

Chaewon panicked and followed your pace, keeping up by your side. "H-hey, I just said I need your help!" You waved her off before she grabbed your wrist and sped up to drag you away from the halls and into an empty area away from the students.

"Listen, I know we've had our differences but this is about prom." At this point was already looking at you like she made up her mind and she will do everything to convince you.

You sighed. "Let me guess, you want me to go with you to the prom?"

"Yes."

"I don't think we should, Chaewon."

"But we could win prom king and queen."

"Does that even matter?"

"If it means beating Yunjin and her very clingy boyfriend, yes."

You just stared into her eyes after that quick exchange, but you knew how insufferable the school couple was. They were everywhere, being flirty and just rubbing it in people's noses. It was a sight.

Pacing around the room and opening a window, it was easy to see that this was an opportunity to get your name trending again. But was it worth it when Chaewon's name is going to be beside yours?

"Okay, but I will dictate the ground rules. You will wear a black dress, you will do the talking, telling people that we got together recently and that you were the first to fall for me." Chaewon just looked at you angrily while the demands were being listed.

"Ugh, fine. I'll pay that price just to stick it to her. Just see how she likes it." She may hate you, but she really doesn't like being upstaged, and unfortunately for Yunjin, she got in the way.

A quick thought entered your mind. "Oh and one more thing," Chaewon turned around. "... You're not allowed to fall in love with me."

She just smiled, "Won't be a problem, I'll see you at my place then. Don't forget to bring flowers. Ciao~" She said as she left the vicinity. You were left standing there with nothing but your bag in hand, and shortly afterwards you went home.

_____________________________________________

The drive to Chaewon's was fast, thanks to the traffic not holding people up. Her apartment was still 3 floors up, so you had to climb up the flgiht of stairs to reach her door and give her a knock.

"God why did I listen to her..." You whisper to yourself while holding a bouquet of flowers in your hand as your cheeks fill with a red blush.

Chaewon opened the door and gave you a judging smirk. "For once, you finally listen to me huh?"

Embarrassed, you just looked away and handed her the flowers, which she gladly took and had a whiff of them. "They're pretty, okay? Don't be too shy, you're acting like this is real." She giggled as she went down the stairs waiting for you.

You opened the door for her, and she went inside without a word. You breathed out a sigh of relief and went back inside the driver's seat and started driving.

It was mostly a silent trip, neither even giving each other exchanging hi's and just humming to the song playing on the radio. It was nerve-wracking for you, as she can just say anything crazy in a second.

But then you heard a sweet and soft voice speak, it was soothing to the ear and yet you know Chaewon is never this soft and sweet. "So, this is it. Time to act flirty, you'll take care of me right?" You just nodded at her, "Just behave like a good girl and we'll win your petty prize." Getting out of the car and you open the door and take her hand before guiding her inside the venue.

The vibe around the prom was magnificent. It was themed as a romantic getaway, with beach designs and a drawing of a sunset as the backdrop for the stage. You can only look around as the people start filling in the place and you stare at Chaewon.

You weren't kidding yourself, she was looking spectacular. She left the flowers in the car but even with just one flower tucked on her ear, just looking at her makes your heart skip a beat.

You found some seats for you and Chaewon to sit in, it was in plain sight so everyone could see that the two of you are in this prom together. You put your arm around Chaewon and she gladly put her hands on your inner thigh, dangerously close to your crotch.

"Dangerous game you're playing here. Be careful not to touch anything." You gulp as you say those words.

You only heard a small chuckle as she whispered, "Try not to get hard okay? We don't want you going in the bathroom leaving me out here don't we?" She sure has her way of being very provocative.

Yunjin and her boyfriend finally showed up, dressed perfectly to compliment each other's styles. Everyone was astounded at their sight, looking like the royal couple, everyone was reminded of who they really are.

The grunt Chaewon releases between her lips was pretty cute, she was angry, but most of all she was very petty. "Okay, time to turn up the heat." Those were the last words you heard before you felt her lips crash into yours.

Her kiss felt like floating in space freely. It felt freeing and wonderful. Next thing you know, you were making out with your rival and the event hasn't even begun. You could get lost in this feeling forever, and you wanted to stay in this moment. Somehow, someway, Kim Chaewon is a perfect match for you. The way she holds you, the way she wraps her hands around you, it is truly something worthwhile.

These thoughts were interrupted by the sound of loud music entering your ears once you realize she let go. "...What the fuck was that for?" was all you can conjure up for your first, and possible the best kiss of your life.

"Gotta show them who's boss. And right now, we have the mental advantage. Everyone's looking at us right now." You did look around to see them whispering and muttering to each other about what they saw, even Yunjin was perplexed when she took her seat nearby.

"If this doesn't end in sex, i'm dropping you off the side of the highway." You claimed jokingly.

"Ha! As if you'd actually want to fuck me."

"With a kiss like that, now I know why all the boys want you."

"Is that a fact?"

"Oh shut up, i'm giving you a genuine compliment." Chaewon smiles after hearing that and gives you another kiss. This time, it's even more passionate. Your pants were starting to tighten and it got really, really heated. You knew you had to get some food to calm yourself down before your primal instincts take over and bend her down the table and fuck her brains out.

Once you broke the kiss, you asked her. "Do you want me to get you a plate or no?"

"Okay, boyfriend. Go get me a plate." She hit your balls again as you stood up and you lightly kicked at her feet before walking towards the catering.

Right now, you didn't give a shit about the deal you made. It doesn't matter whether you win prom king and queen, because pretending to be her partner was already a thin line to walk on, but now that she's being very playful and teasing you to great extent, you might not last the night.

You got her the plate, and you sat back down next to her. Before she could even mutter a word you just dug into the food. Thankfully she didn't say anything and just ate.

Thank god no one bothered you two, just having people pass by and smile or even give a simple wave is enough. Chaewon was a tiger in academics but socially, she is so much worse. There's a reason she doesn't have a clique, or even a best friend. She just preferred studying and going at it alone. Even with projects, you saw firsthand how she asked the professors if she could do it alone. She was granted her wishes, and she's done better than all of them. You were no slouch of course but, you're not insane enough to do group work solo.

"Let's go dance. We need to be as cute as we can." She said as she put down her fork and wiped her lips with a tissue.

"Don't fucking tap my balls again, you stand up first." Chaewon nodded and stood up, waiting for you to join her.

Taking her hand, you guided her to the dance floor and thankfully, the music was set low. There were a few people on the floor including the royal couple but the spotlight was on you. Nobody thought the two best minds in the entire university would be on good terms, let alone dating.

Chaewon did her best to act as subby as possible, knowing that it was her best chance to win those votes. She smiled, giggled at your jokes and even started talking to the other students on the dance floor while you roamed her around in the dance. If this was the Chaewon you saw in school everyday, you might've just fallen for her instantly.

"Hey, look at me for a while would you?" You said as you grabbed her chin and made her face you.

"What do you want? I'm trying to win us some favor here..." She said in a quiet but rage-filled voice.

"Is it so bad for a couple to actually look at each other and talk? Come on, you know better than that."

Chaewon just nodded and looked at you. Your heart melted through every wall you ever put up once she did. How in the hell are you falling for Chaewon? You know how she is. You know every dirty tactic and every move she's done to you. You hated how she tapped your balls everytime she found an opening. You hated the way she liked other boys. You hated it when you found out she was absent for a week due to a fever. You hated missing her. You hated falling for her at every step of the way.

Chaewon yelped when you firmly grabbed her waist, pulled her close and straightened her hair out behind her ear. "If you're gonna kiss me, I'd do it that way too."

You ignored her words and just kissed her. You didn't care if everyone was watching, you didn't care if anyone actually wanted to see it. All you wanted to do was kiss your rival. The rival you desperately tried to hate because you knew she'd never love you. The rival you never asked out because she was too busy studying her tits out. The rival you only ever loved.

As you let the kiss go, Chaewon stared at you for a moment. She immediately let that go and went back to being the same Chaewon you know. For that night, she belonged to you. And you took full advantage of that fact. You ate, you danced, you loved. It was all you could think about for the rest of the night.

It was over soon enough, and you remembered why you were there in the first place. You breathed in heavily and made Chaewon put her arm around your waist as you waited for the announcements. You didn't even listen to the announcement, all you did was feel her touches and let her hear the names she wanted to being called. Next thing you know, you were up there with her, taking a ribbon and a crown. It was pretty funny looking, but seeing Chaewon's face light up is a pretty good sight. You smiled at the crowd and thanked them for the vote.

This was when Chaewon broke free. She let you go and went to the car so she could celebrate her victory. You followed suit and went back in your car.

"Well, i've had my fill of achievements for the day. Take me home." You just nodded and drove. It was a pretty slow night drive. You didn't go over 40, mostly because you just wanted to enjoy her company more.

"That's all you wanted? Seems pretty shallow to go through all that trouble." You said.

"Then I'm shallow. All I care about is that I am on top again." Spoken as softly as she could.

"You do realize we're gonna have to break up during the summer right? I can't fake date you forever."

"Then let's break up."

"Fine."

"Fine." She just crossed her arms and sat on the passenger's seat and stayed quiet.

----------------------------------------------------------

You parked your car in the back, you wanted to clear your head space once you drop her off back at her door but you just stayed in the car first, and so did she.

The crickets chirping made the deafening sound of night feel, not so deafening. You took time to process everything that happened in there, and you looked at Chaewon, who seems to be doing the same thing.

"Hey, can I see your cock?"

"What the fuck, Chaewon?"

"Don't be a fucking pussy about it."

"I'm not in the mood."

"Why not?"

"Because... because I'm not sure if I like you or not."

"What?" Her eyes grew wider as you dropped those words.

"Just... let me think, okay? You were out here all night flirting with me like... it felt real chaewon. It felt real, all of it."

"You don't have to think about it..."

"Oh so now you're trying to restrict my thoughts of you? Don't play games with me Chaewon."

"I'm not!"

"Then why—"

"Just listen to me! You boar-headed dipshit! I like you too! Okay?! Is that enough?!"

You two just looked at each other with your eyebrows furrowed and neither of you were able to land a word after she confessed her feelings to you.

"I like you too. I didn't want to, but I like you! Get that through your thick fucking skull." She said angrily.

It was a lot to process. You both broke the rule of not falling for the other. And now you are at each other's throats because you both were confused and angry that the person both of you were trying to beat at every turn, was someone you actually were into.

If academics didn't mean a thing, you two would probably have hit it off at some point. But unfortunately, that pressure got to you both. For the first time, the weight of that pressure was actually lifted and you could only breathe out a strong, relieving sigh.

"Damn your kisses, Chaewon." You joked.

"Oh boo-hoo." She went for you and kissed you again. This time climbing out of her chair and sitting on your lap. This time, the kiss was different. It was more carnal than romantic. There was more tongue involved as you swing yours with hers and intertwined then as the shared kiss continued.

You grabbed her waist, and slowly reached out those hands into her ass. She gave out a lot moan and adjusted her position so you have full access to her plump, round ass.

She leaned her kisses towards your cheek and towards your ear, where you can hear every small moan and whimper she lets out of her mouth.

The hands you had around her ass were fondling them and enjoying the soft cushions they gave you. Chaewon was already getting wet, but you have yet to know that. You didn't want to go over what she considers her boundaries so you didn't move a muscle.

She felt your cock under her getting bigger and she just looked into your eyes. "Hey... we should take this inside."

You nodded and opened the door so she can climb out. You followed her and locked your car before heading up those dreaded stairs to her door. Once the two of you get there, she immediately opened it with her keys and dragged you inside by your collar.

It only took a shut of the door for her to throw herself at you with another kiss, jumping into your arms so your hands can carry her thighs as she wrapped her legs around you.

"Fuck..." you could only mutter as she rained down heavy kisses on your lips, your ears, and even your neck. It seemed like she knew what she was doing, and for your virgin ass, you went along for the ride.

"Take me to my bed. And take that goddamn suit off already."

"Yes, baby." You dragged your feet through the room and plopped her down the bed. You untied your necktie and threw it across the room. She kneeled on the bed as you stood over her, and she grabbed your polo and unbuttoned each and every single one while giving you the hungriest look a horny woman can give.

It was obvious she was having fun playing this game, and it felt like hell for you. Your cock was twitching in your pants and it started to hurt. She noticed you wincing and took off the polo before unbuckling the belt in your pants.

Her head was dangerously close to your cock and your hand moved itself to brush her hair and hold it down to your crotch, which was her eye-level. She pulled it all down and your cock sprung to hit her nose.

"Ow..." she said as she grabbed the hard cock in her hands, smiling.

"Your hands are pretty nice..."

"It fits your cock really well." She giggled and hummed as she dragged her hand down the length of your cock as you moan out quietly. She knew not to put too much pressure and she knew the perfect way to touch your cock and give you the pleasure your body is used to.

All you could do was grab her hair and turn it into a makeshift ponytail, where she smirked. "You know what it means when a guy does that to a girl right?"

"I think so. Do I get a guess?"

"No. You just get to feel your consequences." Her lips enveloped itself around the head of your cock, and the heat from her mouth makes you hold on the ponytail tighter.

She looks up at you as she takes your cock in painfully slow, licking along the way. You were panicking as the pleasure was getting too much for you, and Chaewon was just getting started. You didn't want to be a 10-second wonder.

She kept working around your cock, drenching it in her spit and sucking it like it was her final project. She's making sure it felt perfect.

Your legs were shaking at this point, your cheeks turning red at the possibility of you not being able to control yourself and not cum in her mouth. These sensations got you to let her hair go and put your hand on the wall nearby so you won't fall down.

Chaewon dragged her mouth down to the last inch of your cock, and tightly pulled out giving your cock a light lick at the end before she sat up and looked at you. "You're gonna cum, aren't you?"

"I'm trying so hard not to." You decided to be honest with her.

She pulled your waist down so you're sitting beside her. She gave you a smile and said, "Cum inside my mouth. I really want to know how nerd tastes." She giggled as she went down on your cock again, not holding out anymore and giving you the most sloppy and disgustingly heavenly blowjob you've ever had.

Her tongue was circling around your length as she bobbed her head up and down. You couldn't even speak due to how good she was sucking your cock. All you could do was grip her sheets and moan out her name again and again.

Her lips kissed your underside, and her free hand gave your balls some love, fondling them. She took your cock inside again and deepthroated every inch you can give her.

She was blushing. She enjoyed sucking cock, especially if that cock belonged to someone she knew on a personal level from many years ago. Sure, it was all on hatred, but she knew you better than anyone, and that turned her on even more.

Your cock was twitching in her mouth, she knew you weren't gonna last longer, so she pumped and sucked and the same time, and that was all it took for you to explode.

"M-ngmhHgh! Chaewon...! mmgh! fuck!" That was the most coherent sentence you can come up with while your body was in ecstacy. Orgasming to the point not even you have reached before.

Her mouth stayed where it was, your cum filling her cheeks as she swallowed each strand of cum, one stroke after another.

When she was done, she sucked your cock to clean it, and wiped her lips off before laughing.

"Nerd doesn't really taste different from jock. But I gotta say, your cock was so much cleaner and doesn't smell as bad."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"Yeah, no one sucks cock better than me."

You sat up and put a hand around her thigh. "So, what's next?"

She smiled as she pushed you down, "You're the first guy to ask for what I want."

You turned your head to look at her and she was taking off her dress, and you were watching her show off her body to you.

You were blushing but the next thing you see was her towering over you, and you get a VIP look of her beautiful pussy. It was shaven, it was perfect, and you wanted a piece.

Your mouth opened and she smiled before lowering herself down to you and sitting down on your face. She grinded slowly as you moved your tongue to eat her pussy out.

Her taste was a new sensation to you. The first time you've ever ate pussy, and you're already getting addicted to her taste. She was sweating and that only added to the tang of her flavor, you dug your tongue deep in her folds.

Your tongue found her hole opening up and you slid it in. "Oh..! Good boy... that's a good boy..." Chaewon muttered while hissing and holding on to your hair.

You closed your eyes and moved you head to tongue fuck her, as she moaned loudly like she had no neighbors. She gripped her bedside and bounced on your tongue as she kept moaning.

"Yes... baby... oh fuck! come on..." She kept hissing and moaning under the sensation of your upper lip kissing her clit and tongue fucking her. You picked up the pace and held on her thighs, taking your tongue out of her hole and focusing on licking the clit fast and good.

"Oh it has been a while! Yes! Don't you dare fucking stop, don't stop, don't stop!" She kept screaming while grinding her pussy on your tongue on her clit. You put more pressure by pushing your tongue into her sensitive clit more and more as she gets brought to the brink of her orgasm.

"I'm gonna cum! Please, don't stop! I'll get off if I want you to stop, okay? Please just... ah! Keep going!" Chaewon says as she reaches her orgasm and grinds on you harder as her moans become more hoarse and heavy.

You kept licking her to destroy her senses and feel an seemingly un-ending orgasm for Chaewon. She got off you and laid down the bed before catching her breath.

"Where... how did you learn... to eat pussy like that?"

"I never did. I only know the clit is the most sensitive part so, I guessed."

"You're a natural then, god damn. Despite being a nerd, that knowledge came in handy. Try using that knowledge to beat me next year okay?"

"What if I beg you to lose for once?"

"That's a price you don't wanna know." She smirked as she recovers.

"More pussy eating?"

"I have a list of demands. I'd rather show them to you before we start school next year."

"Good. But we're not done here Chae." You show her your hardened cock once again, showing her you have recovered from her blowjob.

Chaewon smirks and lifts her ass a little bit. "I want it deep, hard, and fast. None of that slow, methodical, romantic bullshit."

"You got it." You lined yourself up behind her and didn't even hesitate to stroke your cock and slide it deep in her.

"Mmph! Good! Just like that." All Chaewon could do was moan on her pillow as you started picking up the pace and fucking her pussy like your life depended on it.

You grabbed her ass and spanked it, earning a yelp from the girl. She kept asking for more, so you put a strong hold on her hips and crashed your cock deep inside her wet pussy again and again and again.

The sound of your sex was echoing across the room, it was erotic and accompanied with her moans after every thrust, it was truly music to your ears.

"Yes! Your cock is so big inside me! I love every single inCh of it! Mmm!"

Slapping her ass, you kept your mouth open and joined her moaning. "Good god Chaewon, your pussy is so good! So wet and so fucking delicious." You gave her ass another slap.

"Ah! So it is! Fuck I wanna fuck you again and again. Please, make me cum again, make me yours and I won't ever be a bitch around you again!"

"Good girl, I like that." You pulled her arms back into you and grabbed her head so your face is buried in her neck while you fuck her from behind.

"F-Fuck! Rub my clit!" You follow her command and rub her clit in the same pace you're fucking her pussy.

Her moans get even louder and you had to use your hand to cover it up so her neighbors wouldn't get the wrong idea.

Her bed was rocking and it was making a lot of noise. Between the creaking, the moaning, the sloshing sounds the sex was making, it was very hard to hide the fact you were fucking her like a machine.

She kept begging for you to cum inside her and you keep telling her to wait. You were looking for your orgasm but she was ready to unload hers.

"I'm gonna fucking squirt all over! Please I want your cum! I'm gonna fucking... ah!" You pulled out as you felt gushes of water from under her. You held on to her neck as she gripped your arm tightly while she was squirting. Your arm reached down and rubbed her clit so it felt extra pleasureable to her.

"God! I made a mess..." She yelped before you took her body and lied it down on the dry part of the bed and kissed her hard.

You slid your cock back in and fucked her in missionary. Her legs were up in the air as she was moaning in your kiss. The thrusts your cock was giving to her kept sloshing as the rest of her squirt and the never ending wetness of her pussy was lubricating your cock to the point where it looked like cum.

She already came multiple times and she wasn't going to stop, until you did. "What is taking so long?! Mm! My pussy is destroyed here... you need to fill me up, please daddy."

That was the last straw. The final push you needed. Once you heard her say daddy, your senses kicked into overdrive and you fucked her like a machine one more time before unloading your second round of cum in her pussy.

This orgasm hit you like a truck, it felt good, but once it was finished you feel like you have been ran over by a truck. It was tiring and you were drained.

"I guess... daddy is the magic word then." Chaewon giggled as she wrapped her arms around you and pecked your lips.

"I'm sorry I didn't warn you. You must've been so surprised."

"No, actually. I knew you were tightening up when your cock pulsated aggresively. So I expected the creampie sooner."

"God damn it, you're not gonna get pregnant now are you?"

"I'll be okay. I wouldn't have let you fuck if I was in danger of getting pregnant anyway." She giggled again.

"Really? Even after the kissing we've done earlier?" You sound a bit perplexed at this point.

"I'm not an idiot. I'm smarter than you, remember? Don't feel superior just because I called you daddy once."

"I'm just curious, no need to gloat."

She kissed your cheek and chuckled. "I'm okay, you don't need to worry."

You nodded and pulled out her before lying down beside. "So, what now?"

"What about it?" She looked upwards at the ceiling.

"What are we?"

"Right now? I can't say."

"We just told each other we liked each other. What else is there to think about?"

Chaewon playfully hits your arm. "You need to court me, genius."

"Wouldn't you just say yes immediately?"

"I probably would."

You held her hand and kissed it. "So, will you be my girlfriend?"

Chaewon smiles, and turns towards you. "Yes. I'll be your girlfriend."

~FIN~

A/N: That was rough for a first fic, I didn't proof read this so I'm open to suggestions and whatnot. Twitter is the same handle as this one, you know where to find me.

[kooyabooya]

SUITS, (STOCKINGS), & TIES

m reader x minju // 9k words

For the record, there aren’t any fingerprints seen underwater. Nothing to tie one to a crime. The trial itself is already a rapid current, pulling you and everyone around the bullpen into the endless sea of papers, payment record documents, video recording transcripts, then more fucking papers, and you absolutely hate it.

Files boxed in dating back to even before taking the damn job, the amount of trips to and from the copying machine, getting the materials right. Avoiding any fuck ups; that too, was always the end goal - staring at the blue folder sitting on your desk until–

Your fucking intercom’s ringing again. 

It’s always a trip, that’s how it usually flows around here: a turn to the left, round the front desk of the floor, hook right down the insanely long walkway, glass windows giving you this nice view of the city skyline. Pretty, at around one in the morning of another late night of work stacked upon your desk. 

Easy enough to also: take a moment to admire the view, since it’s the kind of view that you’d never get over no matter how many times you look at it. You sigh at the playback in your head, something that Chaeyeon talked to you about while hiding away from the pressures of work in her own office, bumping coffee mugs and wishing that the building had sliding windows to let the high breeze through. 

They would never allow that. You tell her, keeping the vibe lighthearted with a laugh. I mean seriously, even if we did, it’s all fun and games until someone in one of the conference rooms below us sees a body hurling down towards the ground at a hundred miles per hour. Chaeyeon complains that the air conditioning doesn’t even reach her office sometimes, and tells you that she’s jealous, wanting to switch places with you since the sun hits her back during the work hours. 

Sweeping past her office, since she’s gone for the day, the carpet gets pressed down by your loafers, tilting your head to see that the office at the very end of the walkway has the lights on, and you do notice the gap where the door should be; meaning that it’s open or someone stepped inside. 

This was the end point of this overbearing yet brief journey. The office that was considered to be base camp, the command center, the brains, one would say. One of the firm’s most well known figures with how she leans back into her chair with a leg across the other, showing that she means business, and knows how to look good while doing it. 

Prior, you loop around the pane entering the room- 

“You’re saying that I should sit back and do nothing?” Minju asks, finger tapping the peak of her nose, clearly pressed. 

“I’m not telling you to,” the woman standing across her with a left hand fastened to the hip with a lean to her right side, “We’re backed into a corner and all I’m saying is that we have to draw back and take this at a new angle.” 

“But you said that last time! And look where it’s got us.” Minju shoots back, both feet on the floor now, drawing herself closer to make a point. You’re trying to not make your presence known, seeing where this exchange is headed, fighting the urge to not butt in and make a fool of yourself. “Cutting a deal with the very same person that is trying to come back and rip everything from us was all part of your plan?” 

“Minju, I know you’re angry but–” 

Minju slaps her hand down on the desk, “We’ve got them right where we wanted, pulled all the stops, and now you want to just back off?” 

“I’m not backing off, I’ve managed to buy us more time.” the woman says, pressing on the rim of her glasses, sighing when Minju doesn’t even bother to look back at her in the eye, flipping through a packet with a pen in her hand to check and see if there was anything that was usable to help the situation. You’ve seen the packet on her desk earlier that way, ran that by Hyewon, her secretary, and now she’s finally looking at it. 

“Two days. That’s all I got until we fall back with the judge.” she says to Minju, “Unless you have something for me on my desk later today, I’m officially and unofficially grounding you.” 

“Dahyun-” 

“Zip it.” Dahyun says, mimicking a pulling motion with her right hand to her lip, “You’re already stretched thin as it is, this case is already taking a toll on all of us and this would be the last thing I need on my mind.” 

A tap to the glass on the entryway, “Is this a bad time?” 

The two women look at you in suspicion, both of them not even realizing that the door was open the entire time, listening to the conversation, “How long have you been standing there?” Dahyun asks, pointing at you while you’re leaned against the glass, foot pointed to the floor all relaxed and everything. 

“I’ve been here long enough, but a little over five minutes.” you answer, blue folder in hand. “Didn’t want to interrupt the usual bickering on a casual Thursday evening.” you also add, stepping inside Minju’s office where it opens up.  

The great Kim Minju, one of the firm’s best lawyers, and Dahyun’s right hand woman, one of the key people sitting at the high table; also your handler of these different cases and adventures that she usually sends you to do or help her with. Her office was classy, a row shelves off to the right side filled with an assortment of vinyls and picture frames of the people that she holds most dear to her heart. A record player was next to this trolley that had a kettle and a bowl of candies (though she doesn’t like to admit that she’s got a sweet tooth); there’s also her violet couch in velvet that you’ve also passed out on multiple times, drunk on the sweet scent that you still have to figure out which one she uses for that. 

“This is the last file for the case I managed to scrounge and put together.” you tell Minju, sliding it over across while her inky eyes dart at you, prompting a questioning eyebrow out of both of you while Dahyun’s gaze falls on top. “Everything in terms of deals within the last year from our target man should be all in there. Though, we had a minor hiccup earlier this week with–” 

“Don’t remind me,” Minju vexes, “That was my screwup with the family and now I’m paying for it.” 

“After I told you not to jump the gun.” Dahyun jumps in, hand on the corner of the granite. She sounds annoyed; after all, she was technically the ‘fall guy’ in all of this with her hiccup also in mishandling the exchanged information, not her fuck up though, since she was set up from the beginning after a hidden clause she signed a long time ago. She also swoops in to grab the file, opening it to skim through the papers, slightly nodding at what she could read for a few seconds. “Impressive,” Dahyun nods, “this is good leverage.” 

“Thank you,” you say, smirking while Dahyun hands you back the file for Minju to look at, pulling it out of your fingers to flip through. “Had some help from Hyewon, but didn’t want to take all of the credit.” 

“Well I appreciate you both.” Dahyun adds, “I had my doubts when I got the call to come back and see what all the fuss was about. Now, I can breathe a little more easily knowing that we have this in the bag, I hope.” 

“I’m still here, you know.” Minju huffs, rolling her eyes.

“Hush,” Dahyun scrunches funnily, taps your shoulder, causing you to shrug nonchalantly, “Thank you for hanging back to help me take care of this while I’ve been dealing with my moving situation. God, it's been a back breaker for me.” 

“How’d that go?” 

“We finally settled in, I had a small housewarming party about a few weeks ago or so, but I’ve been keeping in touch with–” 

“You said that your friend Sana was living in the area too, right? From college?” Minju suddenly asks, pen flat on the paper and fully invested in the life update. Dahyun nods to this while you’re pursing your lips at the news. You’re not one to lend an ear to these things, but you just can’t help yourself when they’re being talked about in the open. Talk about separating privacy and professionalism. 

“Yeah, it’s been good to see her, if it wasn’t for this fucking cas–” 

“Dahyun, it’s fine. We got it.” you tell her, slowly nodding to ease the stress, “You’re already doing so much by coming back from leave to deal this along with us. It shows that you do care about this firm and the reputation that it has.” 

“Look at you being a kiss ass.” Minju deadpans. You pay no attention to that. 

“And not taking this ordeal would've put the firm into crisis mode having the last thing I’d want to happen.” Dahyun scoffs, “Besides, the value is way more than that once all of this is over.” She starts to make her way out of Minju’s office, turning around to face both of you with eye contact, “I assume that you two will close up shop when you’re done?” 

“Don’t even need to remind us.” you tell her, Minju looks up with a soft smile across her face, lightly waving at Dahyun before she gives you two a quick goodbye, leaving shortly after. “She seemed a little more dismissive than usual, like she wanted to give us alone time don’t you think?” 

“I can’t stand her nosy ass sometimes, trying to veer the way how I want to do things.” 

“Ouch.” 

“I’m serious,” Minju shoots back, flipping through the packet, not giving an ounce of care through all of the blacked lines or different clauses in the suggested proposal that would settle this whole case. “I love Dahyun - I mean - she has the spare set of keys to my damn apartment since she moved away, that’s how much she means to me.” 

“Didn’t think you’d be sappy over your boss, especially after the shit show that we’d–” 

“One more word out of your smart mouth and I’ll stop looking through your documents to stall time.” 

“You already signed it, though.” you say, pouting with a frown, “Which also means that this should all officially end by tomorrow.” 

Minju sweeps through the row of open and unopened files spread across her desk, eyes canvassing between the texts and dried ink of signatures, vying for some sort of leverage that would go against Dahyun’s wishes. It’s natural for her to be extremely nitpicky - highlighted with a small curtain of hair falling in front of her forehead, pulling the side of her index finger back while her pretty eyelashes flutter about. She’s refined and very sophisticated, the kind that makes you stop in your tracks one day when she waltzes in the office on her own time, and not that she’s thirty minutes late in the morning. 

Throw the law degree away bucko, maybe that avenue of studying art and architecture would’ve been the better option considering how much you’ve been staring for the past five minutes. 

To fill in, here’s the brief rundown of the position. 

A lot of people would’ve killed to be Minju’s associate. I mean, the woman seeps in ‘getting what she wants’. You could consider yourself lucky, but Minju already had eyes on you from the first second you stepped into her office for the interview. The interview itself wasn’t all that glamorous: renting one of your best friend’s designer suits that would’ve been more usable for a fucking award show spritzed with a cologne that was way out of your league in terms of scent let alone price, a typo on the fucking resume that she looks with an eyebrow for an explanation, and a lasting impression that whatever happens would deem only to be the best going forward. 

Minju wanted someone who excelled both in book and street smarts, be able to get a grasp on the situation faster within the first few seconds of receiving the case or news, and most importantly, to steer Minju’s level of thinking where even the most irrational decisions would be reasonable. 

You hit all the marks, and qualified to be associate. End of story. 

“Everything that we all have here is solid substantial evidence,” Minju cuts in with a paper flipped back to the top of the page, pen flat on her fingers as if she’s fed up with playing reviewing proctor, “Nothing would change with what we already have on the case.” 

“But the conclusion would be different,” you reply, sitting opposite to her, respectfully doing nothing but twiddling a pen between your fingers, considering that you were pretty much done with your bout in the file room earlier today, finding the last bits of documents from the archives that would help into comprising the settlement. “After all, it’ll be you and Dahyun in that conference room tomorrow closing the deal. I’m just passing papers.” 

“I suppose that you’re afraid of taking credit where it counts. Because why put in much effort for this case especially when someone else could’ve handled it when I asked?” 

“Dahyun insisted on coming back to oversee this. Had it been anyone else, the firm would’ve been up in flames if it wasn’t for her quick thinking pulling up the memos and signing payments from all those years ago.” 

Minju closes your blue folder, sliding it off to the side, flipping open her laptop without a flinch before typing away. “You know,” she starts, giving you this quick gaze that has you nicking your head a few millimeters, catching the pen in between your fingers to highlight that she has your attention, “I could’ve done this myself with Hyewon’s help, give you at least some days off after working you down the bone.”

“Now why would you do that?” you ask, four fingertips on the back of Minju’s laptop, closing it slowly while you’re rounding the fine corner of her obsidian desk, thumb wrapping underneath when her chair meets square with your hips. “That’s not very work-efficient for you to do that to me now, is it?” 

“You want to lecture me on how I should make you operate?” 

“She knows about us…by the way.” you tell Minju straightforward, smirking when you see that high arch of her brow, grimacing at the faulty accusation that she already knows by way of presentation. Doesn’t take long also for the different neurons firing in her brain that’s filled to the brim by the way of the law - only for that to be completely flattened out in one of those lobes replaced with various details of what you’re talking about.

“What are you talking about?” Minju asks, tilting her head upward that makes the sight of the high ground utterly so familiar. 

“Dahyun can easily tell that we have something going on,” you remind her, “She can easily read the both of us like a children’s book and–” 

“Bullshit,” her face crinkling with a tone more deaf the the simple drone of a dead phone line, “You know damn well that there’s nothing happening between us, so stop with the conviction.”  

“I’m not saying that you’re being convicted of my point,” you start, pushing her chair away to leave you space when you’re leaning over, seeing her back hit the cushion of the chair where she wiggles more comfortably with both hands on the armrests, “if anything, you’re just simply denying that there was ever really a thing between you and I.” 

“And that should be the end of that, no?” Minju coos, tipping her head a little bit higher, “Can you concur that there is nothing happening between us, especially in the workplace?” 

Minju is a professional, on par with the same archetypes like Dahyun. She’s witty, calculated, knows a lot more things from her experience compared to you, and blowhards herself way too much for anyone’s own liking. Every argument with her always starts with her leading the charge, to make you feel smaller right off the bat so that you’d have no way to counter unless your point seems fit to her points of focus. 

Okay, it may not be every verbal exchange with her on a day to day basis, considering that it’s also filled with witty banter and small inside jokes that could totally fall within the implications of the term ‘flirting’, but nothing ever really escalated from that. 

You also stuck your ears in between conversations during various corporate events and coworker mixers. Hell, even the pool of associates away from the main quarters of partners and senior partners all gave you the necessary praise for the chemistry that you’ve developed with Minju. Some days she wants to have your head on a platter, other days the talks were good, and you two managed to get things done around the office. 

Except for one day, and the details are still a bit murky for you to put up in recording: another workday in the office, maybe a little slow for Wednesday transition from morning to an afternoon -  but a free flowing circulation of phone calls, fax reports, conference appointments with clients, and a running order of Hyewon’s go-to latte from the coffee shop on the first floor. 

Bouncing back and forth between Dahyun’s office and Yuri’s, you make a quick detour towards Minju’s office who happened to slot herself on the left side of you while matching your walking pace. Expecting a quick quip from her like any other morning, you were waiting for it, but she hits you with the ‘file room, now.’ order that has you in-tow right behind her on the way there. 

Though your mind was already in overtime mode with the workload that was dropped to your desk roughly about two hours since arriving, it had already been nonstop and maybe Minju’s time could be quick if it was related to saving the firm from being purged by pulling some old papers in the filing room. Somewhere along those lines, your mind gets blanked out from the cramped space of the metal shelves, those dusty boxes, compounded by dim lighting in the room already. 

What you do remember: 

The small little gasps and hums when you’re sucking along the line of Minju’s neck, gripping the fistfuls of her dress and sliding your hand along her thighs. 

(So much for keeping it professional with the woman who’s also technically your primary boss.)

“How do you want to go about this?” you ask, “Do you want me to persuade you into telling Dahyun that we need a little more time?” 

Minju hums, pensively, as the question itself is rather a tempting decision that’s also actionable at best. You could see the small lump from the inside of her cheek before she shifts it across her upper lip to the other side, twisting her chair forward to place both elbows on the desk with fingers intertwined like she’s praying for the Lord’s insight from above. “We’ve been on the nose with this thing for too long now, I think it’s about time to cut our losses before things get ugly.” 

You don’t say anything, leaning yourself onto the obsidian while your arms bridge themselves together, flexing the wool in the threads when she makes eye contact with you, flicking her eyes back onto the paper where there’s a few blank lines that still need to be written in ink. 

With a simple lift of her signature ballpoint pen by you, she takes it, twirling it around like you were doing a few minutes ago to imply that your point finally got through to her, fingers grazing along the fine paper to fill in the gaps. 

But the vantage point where your ass is pressed against the edge is proving to be some sense of uncomfortability, so you change course, from left to right, vacant chair adjacent to the desk in your hands in a fraction of a second, scooching closely while Minju scoffs at the prying during the task, “Didn’t think it’d be that easy for you to be cooperative with the demands.” 

“Stop,” and Minju sings this with the better facade of her naivete, “Unlike you, I’m willing to actually listen to what's being asked from the first try, and not have it repeated to me through different remarks.”  

You get too close, too soon, when the ends of her hair brushes against the front corner of your lips and cheek, she could hear the air close at the bottom of your throat when the tip of your nose barely grazes her cheekbone. A moment like this occurred before, you could say it’s in the sense of deja vu: Minju invites you out for some quality time between partner and associate, a few drinks were on the table, and Minju challenges you to a simple game of pool. 

Sounds pretty mangable and straightforward, right? 

Wrong. 

You get shafted by Minju the first game, pull yourself back the next round. There’s this back and forth like usual banter between colleagues, dishing out trash talk for some good ol’ competition. The count of drinks gets lost along with the perception of time, and this happens on impulse when you’re backed into a corner with the eight ball being the last one for Minju while you’re behind on three solids. She rambled about you being always two steps behind and you can’t blame or deny the fact that she’s also way out of your league, so what do you do? Take the pleasantries of hums to your advantage, molding your hips along with hers, calloused hands lightly clinging onto the denim while your chin nestles into her collarbone, saying carelessly with intent of taunting, don’t you think you should call the last shot if you do make it? 

Minju nips her lip triumphantly, turning her head, catching on with what you’re incessantly doing, whispering her call: left corner pocket. The attention to the black ball slips out of your mind when she presses your lips onto your cheek, a fatal blow while the space opens up between you again, tipping her head back also lets you know that you lost the best of three series, which also meant that the loser has to pay the bill. 

(You pay your dues, but also add the pay up by making your own call: pocketing yourself into Minju’s cunt on her bed later that would only serve all the wiser.) 

A flashback in your mind that took minutes, only to be reeled into the real world by merely seconds, “You missed one more claus–” 

That gap could be filled after, because this deal on the agenda was more important to deal with. 

Minju grabs you by the tie, leveling your head with hers. Your hands are quick to smooth out her skirt from behind, letting the various files and dossiers rest across the desk or on the floor, depending where her hands land for a proper hold. Some lights stay on long after hours, to serve as a subtle ambience that no matter what time it may be, someone’s still hard at work on a case, or waiting for their personal driver on the ground floor. Though, some other cases include a well-spoken conversation, or even just chatting between colleagues - this chat about work with Minju however, was anything but that. 

Right off the bat, you’re reminded of how Minju is so easy to break down, despite her having a front that has every possible contingency of shutting herself away from others because she’s not that kind of character to be soft and open, until where your fingers are dancing alongside the slope of her bottoms at the hips, thumb rounding the hard end with a slow pull of her chair to reel closer until you’re at the edge of your seat. 

The move itself is so subtle, setting her on the desk in a similar position that you were in while she was signing through the documents with her ass pressed against the desk, scooching back while dancing with her tongue, lips parted with her head tilted. You’ve also managed to get your hands underneath Minju’s perfect thighs, lifting her up to the tabletop, spreading her long limbs much like to that excerpt of Moses parting the Red Sea, dipping your hand underneath to get a feel of her lace. 

Minju’s breaths become slightly erratic, nearly short-circuiting the more your fingertips dance along the line of her skirt; inner thighs pressing along the side of your hips while you cater your mouth and fingers in her hair, her neck, the growing heat rising in the skin when she whimpers through your teeth given how cold it was in the room. How your fingertips graze along the slightly damp fabric with one- maybe two tips, you chuckle softly at how she’s very responsive to the touch, the small clutch around your neck and back from her arms to serve as a safeguard. 

This is something that you’ll probably take to the District Attorney, let alone have Dahyun in the loop, in the specific case where you find yourself with no other option, a last resort to drown her into the ground: 

“Let me ask you this again,” you prompt with another received kiss to the growing swell of your bottom lip, “Are you sure that there’s nothing happening between us? Especially in the workplace?” 

Minju gasps out before you shut her up with your lips, channeling the moan when you increase the intensity of swirling around her clit, putting her hips out forward to sate that ache for at least something, anything. 

“You’re certain that you can say with full confidence that you have no kind of interest in me, whatsoever, admit to me right now that I’m correct.” 

You could tell from the look on her face and the moan she lets out, vocal cords open and freely flowing with the heavy tone while crumbling at the touch, all hot and wet and losing most of the plot at this point before even getting to the real business. It’s really wicked, how this woman as your boss flaunts around the floor, knowing that she won’t let anything get in her way for getting the case done, doing whatever it takes to see it through to the end and even if the methods aren’t within the boundaries. 

Like you could handle the boundaries yourself, playing nice isn’t always the way to go. 

While your hand hikes up the smooth skin of her thigh, feeling an unfamiliar ridge, a weave, something that hugs her leg that probably deserves to be there, to help with the appearance and everything- maybe not or maybe so, you’ll assess when the moment gets there. She grips around what she could touch in terms of your blazer, hips pushing forward at the flex of muscle when you’re scratching the surface of her clothed cunt, the ripple effect shown in her body as she arches first, then sighs into your collarbone the next. 

“Mmn, pretty–” Minju groans out, letting a small hiss through the porcelain cracks of her teeth, “so well, so, so amazing.” 

You’ll seek out the wants, the needs, the odds to break even, testing out the very little restraints in patience left while this cold-hearted woman is melting into your touch, giving you the benefit of having free reign over her body, when she’s murmuring these little hums and broken phrases that switches back to yours with more perversion. 

“I need an answer from you.” Playing prosecutor against the defense wasn’t always ideal unless it’s a mock trial, but you’re always one to challenge Minju, getting her to see your points on a day to day basis, proving her wrong when you know it’s impossible to. She can see right through you, always letting you take the loss, never accepting a victory that you rightfully deserved. You’ll be good, go to her when you’re in a rut, she expects it to happen, that’s how loyalty works. Though, there’s nothing wrong with being defiant. “Don’t make me ask again.” 

It’s all a tease, the way you let the lace dip underneath the slit with the extra press of fingers, toying with the soaking walls and fighting the urge to tug the strings the more you repeat the same fucking routine–

“Baby,” she croons, it’s pathetic. You’re about to get worked up too if you play the waiting game, dragging your thumb across her clit so delicately that she’s quivering, squirming, feeling the tense in her shoulders through the button up, hanging onto your forearm when the hold gets a little too tight. Those breathy gasps get your mind ahead to what’s coming, the natural instinct of what you’ll do to her in her office, on top of her desk, and maybe even on that stupid velvet couch if need be. 

You can hear the huffs more clearly down your ear, the rise and fall of her upper body when you coax her for a few seconds; she’s spiraling out of control, a whine gets suppressed with a press of lips to her throat, and she stumbles back on her arm, spreading wider in mirth. 

She’s shaking her head, eyes screwed shut, like wincing, the whine too - holy hell - it’s reminding you after that night at the bar with her, a moment coming full circle. 

A hand sweeps through her hair, fingers carding, you kiss that sweet spot just underneath her earlobe, a lick from the tip of your tongue to get her more fitful, bring the desperation and sluttiness out of her lips. 

“Do you have- “ she’s sputtering out the letters and consonants, intertwined with hitches and moans, “any idea of what you do?” Minju can’t stay composed while the nips at her jaw and neck close the distance between her mouth–

“Haven’t had the slightest.” you whisper, hiking up the last bit of her skirt to see the new piece to untangle, “God, Minju- lacy stockings? Really?” 

The laugh she lets out should set you off in annoyance, almost like a border that’s meant to be there and never to be touched - let alone cross, fingers clasped around the nape of your neck to keep you trapped while she smiles to the small victory, “You sound surprised. I always come to work with these pairs from time to time, but you don’t leer when I want you to.” 

Her eyes flutter shut once again when you tend to her pulse point, mouth gaping open when you’re doing two things at once: soothing the warmth on her neck while your fingers work teasing her clit and walls, a punishment of sorts when she’s reeling back onto the desk with a slipping hand, her other limp gripping your forearm to not stop - but keep going. 

“How long–” Minju asks while she’s practically sliding off of the polished bark, “have you waited to do this…to me?” Strands of hair falling forward ever-so slightly in front of her forehead, hand tangled to the back of your head while your ear is pressing against the hard line of her collarbone. You don’t pay any attention to her subjective inquiry, replacing it with another strand of moans leaving her lips when you skate her ass across the table again, the bottoms of her thighs meeting yours, melting a bit more when her core rubs against the emerging bulge from between your legs. 

She knows what she’s doing, it’s a trade off of pushing buttons. Trying to get you to lose all the sensible urges just to give her what she exactly wants. 

You let your hands map out the case: her hips, the flat plane of her waist, where the peak of her hips meet at the hint of her obliques, only for your digits to spread out behind on the curve of her ass, feeling the lacy panties that might go against dress code policy because of how too fucking thin they were. Minju grins against your mouth, the exchange of hot air serving to be this addicting oxygen that you can’t get enough of. “Who knows how long I’ve wanted to have a crack at you. I just put myself off to the side because I knew that I’d never stand a chance.” 

She laughs, and you hate to admit how much you like it. The image of her being disheveled in front of you, just inches away from the fingertips; legs spread out wide on her own desk, waiting to be ruined. 

“What’s going through your head right now?” Minju asks, tossing her arm on the lower section of your waist, seizing you while failing to meet her glazed eyes. “Have you…fantasized about me? Tell me all about it. I’m intrigued. Want to know what gets you off after work.” 

And there it goes again: the banter. She’s always quick for a couple liners, sayings and slang that you’ve shared with her day in day out. Minju isn’t the kind of person to greet you with a ‘good morning’ or ‘want to get a quick drink or bite from the cafe downstairs?’ - but rather: right down to the dirty business of what she needs you to do in the long, extensive hours of the workday, dealing with clients, putting up with her and Hyewon’s bullshit, getting the necessary paperworks, and having some random beef with Yena in the break room. Minju is always quick to give you insight on what needs to happen, you also supply your own opinions and takes where Minju does accept some of them (most of the time). 

Except for this, when her cropped blazer is barely hanging off the shoulders, skirt hiked up past the peak of her thighs, displaying that wet spot in between her unbelievable legs, pulling you by the tie because she doesn’t have time for you to fucking daydream saying: “C’mon, pretty boy. You’re basically drooling in front of me and we haven’t even got to the fun parts yet–” 

She stops short when you lay the rough palm of your hand against her pussy, hushing through the cuff of her ear, grip tightening and muscles tensing in her body as if something snapped within you - which it did for a slight second - before you draw yourself back, finally looking her in the brown ambers of her eyes. 

“I had a dream once,” you finally built up the courage to start, “about being here, in your office.” landing a kiss to the corner of her lip to keep yourself focused. On a night just like this, where you’re sitting nicely on top of your desk. Your legs were spread apart like so. Minju coos when she sees you lightly licking your lips. It would’ve been better if you were already out of your clothes, naked for me. Her head dips forward when she feels the languid circles rubbed across her clit, I fucked you right here, on this desk. And then, I ruined that pretty little couch that you love so much apparently. 

“God, you’re insane.” She’s acting innocently like she too hasn’t been teasing you out and around the workplace before this. 

Insane? It becomes a little bit more deranged where Minju’s jaw drops to the floor when she hears the sinful sound of her lacy panties being ripped away from her hips. 

“Oh, I could do a lot more for you right now, and believe me, I will.” You assess the drainage when your finger plunges into her cunt; the sharp inhale she takes in while saying ‘shit’ is only brief when you’re thrown off by her walls tightening around you, her hands working the buckle of your belt and slithering past the pants. 

“And how do you suppose you’ll keep your word?” she asks, fingers coiling your cock, the reaction easily readable judging from the loss of breath through your windpipe.

“Consider this as wet work.” 

“Wet work?” 

This attractive woman who’s posture could rival classy models, with those perfect lips in both sets, the image now being unraveled like an item being auctioned off to the highest bidder: how her legs open enough for you to fill the space, the way her bra sits across her chest once the blazer is finally discarded onto the floor. (She’s pretty now, she’ll be even prettier when you have your way over her, helplessly letting these soft sounds out, coming undone over or underneath, it won’t matter either way, because that’s always the endgame.) 

“You’ve got your skirt on still,” you observe, pulling her closer to the edge of the slab, “I don’t know if-” 

“Ignoring the double entendre you made?” she gasps, struggling to keep composure when the ends of your fingers, tightening her grip around your cock while the other arm is thrown around your shoulder, “just-please-like that-fuck-oh fuck-” 

Minju sort of hides away from the immense pressure in her cunt and her clit, seeing the usual features on her face show a little more crease to them, slacking with her words, lost, feeling every bit of you, huffs of poor syllables and consonants, octaves going up in keys. You’re loving how needy she’s getting. 

What’s the matter? You whisper against her chin. You don’t seem too well. Body burning up? Too hot for you to handle? She’s gone too far off to answer, only by huffs and light nods of her head, the flex in her knees, hands across your broad back, working herself around your fingers, groaning when it gets all too much. 

The idea of staying at the firm for the night doesn’t seem that bad of an idea to do. 

“Fingers, babe,” she whines, rasping in moans at the ends of them, “fingers are too fucking good, want it- so bad-give me a–fuck-” 

Her eyes are screwed shut, clinging onto your body desperately while she starts to work the buttons off your shirt; starting in the middle rather than the top or bottom because she can’t think straight. But she diverts her hands instead to the loops on your sides, wiggling you out of your pants more - keeping herself moving while trying to ignore the throbbing that’s happening between her legs. 

“Tell me what you need, boss,” you say, a little tinge of sincerity behind the professional title. “Maybe put some solidity to this little affair?” 

Minju gives you this glare, scattered ends of her hair covering the little blush that’s all too apparent across her cheeks, failing fantastically the way she lets out this wail when your two fingers fill up her cunt completely, pulling her over the edge of the desk one last time as you mesh your hips right in the underside of her thighs, body leaning back with the arch bending a whole lot deeper, head back while you lean yourself forward that tips over a few trinkets across the desk; some picture frames fall face flat, that one pendulum set you’d always mess around with in the morning briefings nicks around in disarray, and her nameplate kinda just gets hit in the crossfire by Minju’s stray hand and onto the floor. 

“Call this,” she sputters, gasping, heaving most likely, “a hot and steamy affair.” 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” you retort, “don’t get smart with me now.” 

She just looks at you with that same sly smirk she’s been wearing whenever she teases you about anything. You find it annoying at times because of how effortless she does it, this time her breaking smile doesn’t match up with her eyes and how they are dead, sincere with a desire waiting to be fulfilled, a craving that’s been long overdue simply because you know that Minju is not an easy person to break down, though that’s been proven to be the complete opposite now. 

There’s this priming for a second, your own hand wrapped around your cock, getting close, until you nudge yourself from the first few inches inside her cunt, feeling the small press to push more, replaced with the easy glide inside the compact, yet addicting heat. It’s also kinda cute how you and Minju share this quick inhale - a hiss would be better to describe it - then you see her blown out irises, that sly smile getting more lazier, lost completely when you drag the half of your length out, slowly, steadily. 

“Wait, fuck-” she mumbles out, laying flat across the top. Her chest rises and falls a little more erratically, eyelids fluttering shut when you sink back right in, deeper this time, delicately, a little tease with the pullout before feeling her out completely. You learn for the first time ever since stepping inside that one room that day for the interview: that small thought of how it would be so easy to slot yourself right into Minju would be nothing but a pipe dream, becomes too real to relish in the feeling now. 

Then she mumbles again: “holy fucking shit.” 

You give one good snap of the hips for good measure, and the ripple effect of Minju’s body sliding across the desk, the wiggle in her perfect tits, her hands hold fast to yours around her thighs as if she’ll do the fucking all by herself while you just stand there in awe. 

But you’re good as fucked if you weren’t already, so you snap your hips back into her again, harder. Then again, filling up her perfect cunt each and every time you bottom out. You’ll take this image to your grave, let this be the last piece of evidence submitted to the judge who’ll sentence you do a much safer place in hell: MInju’s pretty body, with stockings around her perfect legs, tits sliding across her chest in every stroke, cock disappearing inside her cunt as her pretty lips fit around them with ease. 

“Minju, I - God,”, you try to tell her, the promise buried in your throat, buried underneath the air that flows right above the words, as your hips meet hers, the audible smack of her thighs filling up the office, how amazing she’s massaging your length well deep inside her, all slicked up and smooth for you to keep going. “I’ve been waiting for this- dreaming how to get you all stretched with this tight pussy. Your cunt, baby. Minju–” 

“You’ve shown me why - why I chose you, out of everyone else - show me again how good you can-” she breathes. When her mouth trails off again, because of the strokes, the clench in her pussy, hands clinging onto your wrists as you cast your own hands onto her waist. 

Eventually, nothing sounds better than the noises she makes against your collarbone, angling deeper where - you find out on the fly, and maybe something to keep in mind for later. It’s all coaxed out when you’re working her to the wall, holding her carefully while she can just keep herself stretched out, working all of the bundle of nerves across the spots inside her cunt. 

“More, honey,” and the pet names just seem to escalate as they come, do they? She sets herself up on a wobbly elbow, seeing the flex of muscle across your arms and stomach each time you rip into her, fucking her with a steady pace, but teetering on the subtle rawness, that hidden potential that sets yourself apart from the other talents you have working as one of the top employees. “Love it when you- fuck me to pieces.” 

"Anything else you want to say to me?"

“What’s also nice is that,” she continues to ramble (another thing that you’ve heard make rounds through the wings), dizziness shown in her eyes, the continuous clapping of her pulsing cunt, tightening around you, molding her into the perfect shape of - “how you continue to surprise everyone here, including me-” 

A string of curses spill out your mouth, Minju can’t help with the mix of laughs and moans at how good you feel inside her, the sight of your cock vanishing between her legs, putting one past the degree where her knee nearly touches her clothed tit, and that gets her wincing for a quick second. You’ll probably put this in a mental file, how you’ll get her to molten cunt more creaming until she cums, cums, cums and cums-

“-you’re like me, but only as a handsome guy who continues to impress-” 

Anything else that comes out of her mouth in lieu of praise will only feed that ego in your mind to get one over her, to say that you’ll always be two steps behind her while she’s five ahead. She doesn’t let you off easily, so why would you do the opposite for her? Rocking your hips towards hers makes the legs of the desk mirror the motion of your tempo, thumbs pressed up against the mold of her ribs just underneath her breasts, deep into the skin where you could also bend the bones beneath them while they rebound off of the smacks. 

You’ve got your hand over her mouth, to shut her up, eyes squinted tight to where her brows could meet in the middle, grasping onto your wrist while the muffles of your name reach higher in octaves, sobbing in her moans while she’s suffocating against the roughness of your palm.

She can’t keep focus for any moment longer, eliciting shorter gasps when you tease by slapping your cock head on the nub of her clit, gritting her teeth at the shameless tease you’re giving. 

“Can-” it’s a little sweltering to notice that she’s reduced to helpless one word blurbs, slipping inside of her once again to make her chest freeze off of the flares in her waist. “harder- i need you to-” 

The shiver that erupts through your fibers sends you in limbo, feeling Minju’s ankle anchor behind your back, serving as the reins when you stutter in pace, ass hanging off of the desk to completely bottom her out, and your cock is constantly getting soaked with a new layer of her slick each time you pull back. 

That low groan she lets out meshed with the word ‘fuck’ undermines her whole persona. Once known for being straightforward with her words, now lurching you in to keep pounding into her, slaps bouncing off the windows when she tries to perch her head upwards to see the damage, but slowly losing tension in her neck, deprived of focus when she lolls her head back to the original spot, sucking in air, sobbing even more loudly. 

“Please, like that, keep doing that, I’ll let you anything to me, just–” You could see her lip wobble a bit slightly, cunt shaped to every minute detail of your cock, “i’m so- so fucking close, you fuck me so good- so well–” 

“So tight,” you say, deep of that desired well. Minju is past the point of where the obscene words and demands can’t even be verbally said anymore. She’s whimpering, lazy wrist over her mouth again, the little strands in her hair bouncing along as one of the ripple effects caused by your length. “Gonna have you aching for me long after-” 

It’s all royally fucked. 

The way that she, oh- 

How she clamps well around you, the new coat of her arousal soaking your crotch. When you’ve edged her out past the bar and how her whole body spasms in strain and ease, she’s clutching for something within arms reach - your hands and fingers, or anything that she can grasp - while these sinful sounds unravel her from her vocal cords. Her eyes look like they can’t open at all; with the small stream of stray tears falling from her cheek. You’re also crinkling your own features, jaw hung low with the bellowing moan leaving your mouth along with hers. 

You could easily get lost in the reveling of Minju cumming over your cock, but you’re not seeing this through to the end not just yet. 

In one swift motion, you flip her over, hook her waist, pull this one party trick of stripping her bra away from her chest, pushing her back down to which she giggles slightly. “Here.” you tell her, mouth well above the lobe of her ear, hanging her ass off the desk again. “I’m just getting started.” 

Minju puts this lazy smile on her face, eyelids still closed, using whatever energy left that you haven’t dicked out of her to catch her breath, sliding her palms across the desk downwards to set herself in place. “God,” she says this as a revelation, “you are so fucking good.” 

A low chuckle is all she hears while you pull her back up against your stomach, twisting her head up to your lips, pressing them to her cheek, while she traps her bottom lip between her teeth. 

You say this as a serving rebuttal: “I’m better than good.” 

Minju can be selfish at times, always willing to put her own personal interests over yours or anyone else’s (most of the time). But when you’ve broken her down to this: knees apart, your back flush with hers on her favorite couch, pushing well past the limit, driving your cockhead down the deepest depth to where you could get it, cupping the crease where her leg and hip meet, clasping with the pads of your fingers, dragging and impaling her what could be a punishment for her - or a reward to the limitless amounts of things that she wants and receives on almost every occasion. She’s the kind of woman to play the long game, hard to get, make someone like you grind your way in order to rail her in the most intense-rough fuck that she loves (but won’t admit), or the excruciating delay of feeling every nerve binded inside her walls, where the veins of your length just graze slightly enough to feel the tense in her muscles, her hands; going limp while lazily whining at the slide of your dick inside her cunt, playing with her while she’s whimpering at you to finish the job. 

“God fucking dammit,” she manages, laying herself flat while you’re hovering right on top of her, taking your cock while she can only grip the seat covers. It’s all there, bare back and ass, the set of stockings still on her majestic thighs. You’re hitting her hips hard and heavy, the stable and slow strokes while she fills your ears with these strings of babbles that aren’t really conceivable to decipher or understand. She got a little to excited, bouncing her ass back against your cock while you just drop your arms and admired the show, before pushing deep with your balls nicking the clit at the end of every thrust, and that earns you these thick gasps, only taking you whole with every slam of your weight against her nimble body. “God, I- fuck- need you all the time, please.” 

“Whatever you want,” you hush against the crook of her neck. That is something that you’ll take to heart under oath. She croons at how you're spilling all of these filthy things in her ear, a guarantee of sorts to the promises that have already bent the both of your minds into obliviion. "If it helps to stop you from fucking those other scumbags you call 'your clients' on a weekend basis, then I'll give it to you, sweetheart."

The self-control went off the rails a while ago, this was just free real estate with the endless cantations of moans coming out of her. "Need me to cum inside this sopping cunt so badly?" you ask, pulling a handful of hair that lifts her by the neck, "love using this pussy to get myself off."

She's giggling at the action because it's necessary. You could imagine the grin on her face for the entire world to see. "Words baby, or I'll cum-"

“Fuck- just, do anything- I want you.” Minju gasps with a whine tinged behind the words. It’ll be in the records, spoken into existence. She could care more less than a fuck of what others think after all of this is over. Pace slowing down, feeling that throb tremor against her walls when you’ve held out for this long, an overdue reward in itself. 

It just took one more good hit to bury your cock into that perfect pussy, spilling everything, sending it deeper in the trenches of her cunt, fucking yourself in while she’s putting some effort to say your name, only for it to be overpowered by the gluttal moans you’re letting out while the shackles of tension finally come loose. Her head is pressed enough to leave a visible print on the cushions, crying before the shudder translates to her noises when you drive all the way in for one final time, letting the pulse die out; every heartbeat, every drop. 

Your nose is pressed into the side of her head, taking in that sweet scent from her hair, showered in bliss, tangling and untangling until she takes rest in your arms, straddling your lap, chin forming alongside the small dip in your collarbone. 

Minju offers this lazy smile, matching your rise and fall of breaths in your chest, blowing this hint of cool air to your neck that makes you twitch slightly from the sudden sensation, lips against the line of your throat: 

“A hot and steamy affair, huh? I think I can let that pass by.” 

“You really want to call it that?” you inquire, hands sliding down to the plush of her ass. 

Minju simply laughs while you shake your head at the rhetorical question. “All honesty though, I thought that you and-” 

“We are not going there.” you tell her, leaning back when she sets herself straight in your arms, hands along broad shoulders with the curtain of her hair falling towards one side. Definitely something that you’ve had in a wet dream before - talk about having deja vu. “Absolutely not.” 

It’s when she trails her fingertip across the chiseled form of muscle across your chest, elevating her hand higher to cup your face. She gives you this look in her eyes, the kind that would make anyone keel over because as you’re reminded: Minju is someone who always gets what she wants. And when she rubs her thumb across your cheek, your cock jumps a few millimeters underneath her hips to which she notices, and seizes the opportunity presented to her. 

Leaning forward with a purring whisper in the act, and you’re suspended in time while she moves. “I think I should repay you for treating me right just now.” 

Minju has never owed anything to you. For the most part in your career, it was her that has given you these chances to make a name for yourself, to prove that you could go toe to toe with the best in the court, to prove to her why she chose you out of countless others to be her associate. If anything, you owe pretty much everything to her. 

But maybe-

Maybe just this once-

“My little pretty boy needs to have his cock all cared for, right?” she asks when she sinks down to the edge of the disgraced couch, spreads your knees apart, eyes trained on you, lowering her head to swipe her tongue across your balls and the base of your shaft, feeling that same twitch in your cock when she gets a dainty hand across the length, well trained with the languid strokes that she’s giving you; it’s not hard to give in to that searing heat of her mouth while you’re trying to find the right words to respond. 

(The options here are very limited: considering the fact that you have your hips forward with your friend / partner / new love interest slobbering all over your length, rubbing the head of your cock across her pretty face until she drains you out completely, painting her cheek white and bathing in the taste of your cum while you’re struggling to stay awake. 

After all, you could just spend the night here at the firm bearing in mind how late it is. 

Or better yet, have Minju stay at your place to not give Dahyun another headache to deal with the next morning.) 

[pinkrelish]

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬.

ex-con!linecook!eddie x fem!reader

✶Steve messed up. He assured you over and over again that you could have the spare bedroom in his apartment, but while you took your time mulling over his offer, someone else moved in: his down-and-out best friend who needed a place to stay. When you show up at Steve's door with little warning due to your job relocating you, he suggests you and Eddie share the bedroom. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Besides the fact Eddie hated you, and in turn, you hated Eddie.✶

NSFW — smut, masturbation, eddie watches porn, dry humping, cumming in pants, reader flashes her bra & wears a pencil skirt, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, there was only one bed(room)

↳ teaser oneshot | [wc: 9.3k] | series tba!

⋅line cook hc from @bewilderedbunny⋅

Steve was a nice guy. Really.

He was your pen pal since meeting at summer camp when you were both eight-years-old. He was sweet, and wrote you back within a week, without fail. He was your first kiss one sweltering afternoon on the dock over the lake; a quick peck when the counselors weren’t looking. He was one of your first contacts in your flip phone, and his picture occupied the first circle when you got a smartphone, after pestering him to meet up with you in Indianapolis, snapping the pic at a crosswalk; a day where your conversations spanned nothing and everything. What was there to talk about when you talked via pencil, pen, markers, emojis, and photos for years, and suddenly forgot the past decade when you encircled your arms around each other?

He was a nice guy throughout all of college. He’d text you during class. You’d text him from states away, falling asleep at your dormroom desk. He worked at his father’s business. You started as an unpaid intern collecting coffee orders, and pulling all-nighters doing spreadsheet grunt work your superiors didn’t deem worthy of their time.

Stevie 🌞: just quit your job and live with me!

Stevie 🌞: I still have that spare bedroom

Stevie 🌞: rent free

Year after year, you always declined. Climbing the ranks at your job was important to you; and one day it paid off. They were relocating you to the Chicago, and if you didn’t take their pitiful relocation package, you’d get a decent advance on your next paycheck (which was dire considering your salary was roughly the same, despite the ever increasing cost of living); and knowing Steve always had that spare furnished bedroom, and most of your belongings could fit into your car (as long as you didn’t need to see out the rear window), it seemed like a done deal.

Until you surprised him.

You: hey! can i move in w you? my jobs relocating me to chicago and i might already be two hours out. sorry i didn’t text sooner. i had to leave my apartment asap. fuck paying for the damage cindy’s doberman did to that place 😬

Stevie 🌞: Lets talk when you get here

Stevie 🌞: I’ll meet you for coffee

Let’s talk? Never a good sign, even when he was smiling at you from over his latte.

————

“My friend needed the spare room, but he’s a good guy, I swear,” he told you.

“He’s just a little rough around the edges,” he told you.

“He’s understanding; I’m sure you two will get along,” he told you.

“He can make space in the closet for your stuff, and one of you can sleep on the couch,” he told you. “Maybe you can alternate! Bed, couch. It's not like I’m charging him rent, so he should be cool with you living with us until you can afford to move out, or whatever. No big deal. I don’t really care when, you know that. No rush.”

Right. Just share the room.

You weren’t present for the conversation; Steve and Eddie were in the bedroom while you stood awkwardly in the living room, but the result of the exchange made quite the first impression.

“I dunno,” Steve’s voice carried, “maybe you could work something out like you get the room Monday through Wednesday, and she gets it Thursday through Saturday. Sunday’s up in the air?”

“Oh, just share the room like I used to, huh?” Eddie asked, alluding to the life he lived several months ago. “Finally got some privacy to breathe around here, and now you’ve invited some chick to live with us without telling me? Actually–no–you invited her to live here. In my room. No heads up.”

Steve’s wince was audible in his heavy sigh. “You work weird hours, you probably won’t even have to interact with her. C’mon, man. She’s been my friend since we were kids, and it’s just until she finds her own place. She’s cool. She’ll sleep on the couch, or whatever if it really bothers you; just like, let her keep her clothes and shit in here, and let her use the computer for work.”

“Whatever, man.”

“Eddie, wait!”

Thunderous footsteps and a seething, “Fuck this,” followed the heightened emotions, and before you could straighten your spine, you were introduced to your new roommate.

His pace faltered, not expecting you to be standing there. The fine wrinkles in the outer corner of his eyes pinched tighter, and his long hair flowed around a faded black snake tattoo on his throat, stretching across the strained tendons it was inked over, reaching the twitching muscle in his jaw from his clenched teeth. It took him a narrow-eyed glance to sum you and your pink luggage up, and place you firmly in the ‘I don’t like you’ category in his mind, and he continued his march.

“Hi! I’m–”

Your outstretched hand went ignored as he passed you.

He shoved on his boots, and slammed the front door behind him, rattling every piece of metal in the apartment. You stared at where he was just standing, vision marked with a black silhouette of the good guy you’d be sharing intimate space with for the next.. however long, and still with your hand out, you swiveled to Steve. “Yeah, he seems nice.”

————

Eddie Munson glared at your very existence. He wore a permanent crease between his brows when you were in his vicinity. Apprehension tensed his muscles when your soft gaze slid from Steve, to him. There was distaste in his frown. He rolled his eyes when you laughed too loud at the TV. His voice was vitriol, words clipped when he had to speak to you. His shoulders hiked to his ears when you entered the kitchen for a glass of water and caught him mid-chew on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich after he got home from work. When it was your turn to sleep in the bed, he made it a point to come home as loud as possible–yanking open the drawers on the dresser, waking the computer to blazing home screen, and leaving the light on when he went to shower across the hallway, pretending he didn’t hear you grumble at him to turn it off.

You wore a sleep mask to bed after that.

And when you slept on the couch, it was the only time he cooked for himself. Scraping pans across the burners, clinking silverware, gathering his hair off his neck and twisting it between his laced fingers, creating a cradle for him to drop his head back and sigh at the ceiling, just loud enough to stir you from your sleep.

You wore earplugs to bed after that.

Eddie Munson made it known you were not welcomed in his territory, and saw your accidental warm smile thrown vaguely in his direction as a threat to his well being.

But as much as he ensured misery every second you had the fortune of spending in his presence, you weren’t so innocent of terrorizing his every waking moment either..

Soon, Monday through Wednesday, and Thursday through Saturday, and a chance at a lazy Sunday were not enough.

————

When Steve was home, he acted as the mediator when it came to you two being at each other’s throats after another vicious stare-off. Currently, Eddie was standing with his arms crossed, leaned against the counter with his cheeks darkened to a fleshy red, and you were pacing the kitchen, wrapped in a bath towel, stating your case to Steve. You argued since most of the hair clogging the drain belonged to Eddie, he should be the one to clean it. And Steve, not knowing how to interpret Eddie’s steely focus on the fridge as if you didn’t exist, nor the fact a woman was dripping wet and yelling at him, he put his hands up in defense.

He edged away from your ire until he was at the cabinet housing a toothpick dispenser, and depressed the mechanism for one to roll out. He snapped it, put his hands behind his back, and shuffled the two ends into his palm, and had you choose one. Eddie kept his gaze averted, but grasped the other.

You held the long end of the toothpick above your head with a smile to rival the kitchen’s daylight bulbs searing into your retinas. You were the winner, and Eddie was the loser who had to clean the bathroom.

This worked swell when Steve was around to mitigate the tension. But when he was on a business trip, or out on a date, the Bed Schedule was a formality at best, and largely ignored at worst.

Meaning, the bets, deals, and favors began.

They started small: Rock, paper, scissors; winner gets dibs on those just-washed sheets. Flip a coin and see who has to rough it in the living room for the next two nights. Draw the shorter toothpick and try not to stab it in Eddie’s eye when he smirked.

But those were childish games. It was the deals and favors that proved more interesting.

“Can you help me punch holes in these?” you asked, voice high and urgent as you rushed to grab your color coded pie charts from the printer and clip them into a presentation binder.

He scoffed from the bedroom doorway, smelling of fryer oil and bacon grease. “What makes you think I want to help you after cooking for assholes all night?”

“Because you’re nice, and you love me.”

“I despise you,” he corrected, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while you organized the pages, resisting the bait to give him what he wants, but you knew in your heart it was the only way to not be late for work this morning.

“Fine. You can have the bed tonight.”

He stayed put. “Nope. You know I’m working the overnight shift until Thursday.” That way, he slept while you were at work, and you slept while he was at work.

You glanced at the blue dawn creeping in from the window, then red the time on your watch. “Okay, fine, whatever! Have it all next week. I don’t give a fuck, just help me!”

Reveling in his victory, his plush lips stretched into a wide grin, showing too much teeth. He sauntered at his leisure, closing his eyes half-way, and gazing at you down the long slope of his nose. “Good girl, I knew you could do it,” he mocked.

You wanted to strangle him.

–And another time–

“Shut the fuck up for an entire day, and you can have to whole fucking closet,” Eddie snapped after your fifth instance of complaining about your professional office clothes not having available hangers due to him taking them for his old, ratty band tees.

Centering yourself, you brushed the dust off your favorite pants after finding them wadded up on the floor, and whispered, “I hope a rogue knife finds its way into your thumb again tomorrow.”

You swore you saw his hand flex out the corner of your eye, reacting to your curse.

–And the week after that–

You: come help me bring up these groceries

You: elevators broken

You: we can race up the stairs

You: loser washes dishes and takes out the trash

😒dumb: as long as the loser doesn’t cry about it when she sleeps on the couch

You: whatever

😒dumb: i’ll even give you a head start to make it fair

Struck with being that person grinning down at your phone in the stuffy underground parking garage, you gilded your thumbs over the keyboard in a fluttery tease.

You: you just want an excuse to stare at my ass

It took Eddie longer to reply, fumbling with his phone to find the emoji keyboard, only to send–

😒dumb: 🙄

–And the week after that–

“Get a life, you fucking loser,” you yelled from within the metal cylinder of the dryer, bent over on your hands and knees to wrestle your silk blouse free from where it was tangled in a rope of bedsheets, after you told him–explicitly–to never wash it because he’d do it wrong.

He merely watched you struggle from the sidelines, informing you, “You’re the one who asked me to do laundry. Don’t toss your precious, delicate shirts on the bathroom floor if you don’t want them thrown in with everything else. And by the way, I did my part of the deal, so the room is still mine tonight.” As a bonus, he added as he walked away, “Suck my dick, sweetheart.”

Your gums ached from how hard you clenched your teeth. You didn’t leave your blouse on the floor. He did, when he went hunting for his wallet he left in his jeans, and dumped all the clothes out of both baskets, mixing your work clothes with his.

That night, you locked him out of the bedroom. Fuck him.

————

After tireless days of the same back and forth, the juvenile deals and favors were losing their significance. Someone needed to up the ante. And a certain line you two skirted taunted you both, but remained uncrossed until..

————

The hallway leading to your apartment was stale with inactivity. Most people had been home for hours, or were back from bars and crashed on the couch, drooling on their girlfriend’s favorite decorative pillow–the kind with the pom poms. You thought of them with envy. Snoring, dreaming of some blissful shit like sheep hopping a pasture fence. But not you. Your 9 to 5 extended far past those numbers on the clock. It skipped right over them, just like you were skipped over in meetings, being told the extra burden you were taking on was good for the company, and the programs you were learning would be paid in experience. Bullshit. You were tired, and the last thing you needed was some long haired man stubbing his toe on the coffee table to wake you up–morning or night.

But perhaps you were blessed.

You opened the door to near-darkness. Not a lamp, or TV on inside to show someone was home. Not a groan, sigh, or blast of music funneling from a set of oversized headphones. Not a creak of movement from the hallway, or bathroom; surrendering your heartbeat as the loudest feedback.

It appeared you were alone. What a wonderful thing.

The muffled thud of the low pile rug under your heels gave way to silky sweeps of plush carpet welcoming your aching pantyhose-covered feet. Moving further into the apartment, you knew the shapes to avoid in the dim light coming from above the stove, casting the coffee table and scattered stools at the breakfast bar in shadow.

Groggy from exhaustion, you blinked at the spice cabinet door Eddie left open before leaving for his shift. During a conversation with Steve, you let it slip that people who leave the cabinet doors open annoy you, so of course he began leaving one open as a greeting when you came home.

You closed it with your right hand, swinging your laptop bag wildly, and before you could react, the strap caught the top of the glass sugar jar and knocked it over in a wincing crash. Luckily, after peeping one eye open, you assessed nothing broke, but now there was a streak of glittery white dust on the countertop you definitely weren’t going to clean up.

Maybe you could strike a deal with Eddie to wipe it up for you. It was–in a way–his fault, since he left the cabinet door open. If you didn’t need to close it, none of this would’ve happened..

You made a gagging sound.

Since when did your immediate thought process swing to him, and how do you get it to stop? It was bad enough you peeked around the corner into the hallway, praying, praying, praying the bedroom light was off, and feeling your body slump with utter relief when it was. Being on the same planet as him was hell, you didn’t need your private thoughts to linger on him, too.

Mentally dismissing Eddie Munson from your brainspace, you invited yourself into the bedroom. You sought the cushy mattress to cradle your weary body after a long day, and the nest of cozy fleece blankets to swaddle you as you drifted to sleep. Unfortunately, the idiot’s pillow smelled far too much like him; cigarettes and cheap vanilla cologne combined with his hair products, burning your nose like toasted sugar. Despicable. Just the worst. You should exchange it with your own pillow, but you forgot it on the couch, and the couch was so very, very far away..

~~~

Eddie sat crouched in the alleyway outside of Benny’s Diner with a stubby cigarette balanced between his lips, blowing the smoke out in a slow exhale like a roll of fog on a misty morning. Cold emanated from the bricks pricking the expanse of his shoulders, and the night air chilled his damp shirt to his sticky skin, erupting goosebumps along his forearms. Standing around him were the other cooks on break. He didn’t share a common language with them outside of gestures, curse words, and kitchen lingo, but they gathered in a semi-circle as if to include him.

His shift was over. He’d technically clocked out, but he loitered until their vices were stomped under their shoes, and he snuffed his glowing ash on the wall behind him, and followed them inside.

Washing his hands first, he dried them on the towel tucked under the string of his apron tied around his waist, and set up a space on the flat top for him to occupy since the dinner rush had long since died, and the only patrons on the floor were drunks wandering in for greasy hashbrowns. He grabbed the four quart Cambro from the fridge beneath the prep area, and ladled enough batter for two large pancakes. Borrowing a station, he sliced up a ripe banana from the walk-in, and dropped it into a hot pan with a bit of butter, caramelizing them on the range while he waited for the pancakes to be flipped.

The guys behind him read off the few tickets, and carried their conversation from earlier. Eddie caught some of it, learning a few words here or there, but regardless of the language barrier, he knew they were talking about him. They were snickering with their heads together, pointing at the pancakes he was making despite being clocked out.

Eddie spoke with a sneaky grin, “If I make them for her, she’ll leave me the fuck alone on my day off.”

The guys may not have understood entirely what he meant, but his sunny disposition juxtaposed by his wry gaze communicated a universal plight: girls.

One of their hands landed hard between Eddie’s shoulder blades when they doubled over in a belly laugh, and the other one made whip-cracking sounds, calling him the same slang word he called the married cooks. It wasn’t worth it to attempt to correct them that these pancakes were not for his girl, but for his future migraine, so he hummed along with them, and flipped the pancakes with his right hand while tossing the bananas with a swift jerk of his left.

After their gossip, they went back to work, and Eddie grabbed a to-go container, loading it with the two pancakes and sliding the caramelized bananas on top. He brought it to the prep area to drizzle with chocolate sauce, and finished it off with heart-shaped strawberries, a dusting of powdered sugar, and a sprig of mint. He didn’t cut the strawberries that way with ulterior motives, it was just something he did when he had spare time in the morning. Cutting a wedge out of the stemmed top, and slicing them vertical. The customers liked it. It was cute, supposedly. There were no hidden intentions to him taking his time to place them just so around the box; it was merely him taking pride in how he plated his dish.

Clamping the container shut, he untied his apron, changed his shoes, and left out the back entrance, kicking pebbles under the crescent moon, and walking through the front door of the next building over. Gray concrete, a faulty elevator, ugly rugs to feign elegance, and high rise as far as ‘high rise when you live next a bunch of squatty buildings’ went. It was home, and it was blissfully dark inside.

Eddie worked his feet out of his tied-once-and-never-untied street shoes, and dropped his non-slip clogs next to them in a loud clatter.

He breathed. Inhaled deep. Sighed through his nose.

Quiet. Peaceful respite behind his eyelids.

The adrenaline ebbed. The hours of shouting and being shouted at, metal on metal clangs, timer beeps, and mechanical whirr of a ticket being printed out would never cease haunting his mind, but he should stop flinching from the imaginary sounds after a few hours. The pain stretching the length of his back should ease under a hot shower. The throbbing ache in his knees should lessen once he sleeps. The fatigue, like needles driven into his bones, should heal so he could be on his feet for thirteen more hours tomorrow.

Warmth worked its way beyond the calluses creating a barrier in his palm supporting the styrofoam container. Syrupy sweet hot sugar invaded his nostrils from the pancake bribe, battling the stench of his dried sweat and body odor baked into his t-shirt. The tiled entryway beneath his feet woke him out of his daze, and he slid his heavy-lidded gaze to the vacant couch; the comforter was folded, and the pillow was propped up, unslept on.

Briefly he wondered if you went out with your friends after work. But as he approached the kitchen, his dreams were crushed by a single closed cabinet door.

You were home.

You were home, and you weren’t on the couch, nor in the shower.

Eddie allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he hung his head back. In that position, he rolled the disappointment out of his shoulders, and braced them with something new.

Irritation.

Tamping the frustration in the pit of his stomach from bubbling up, he exhaled another calming breath, and opened the fridge, placing the pancakes exactly front and center amongst the fresh produce he was sometimes excited to create with, and sometimes slammed to the bottom of the trash when he was too exhausted and uninspired to do anything with their rotten corpses.

He prepared his expression into one of unbudging indifference. Flat, and unwilling to back down.

And yet, his nose scrunched when he pushed open the bedroom door, and there you were, as predicted, lounging amongst your hideous blankets spilling out from under you as if you were an opulent pearl nestled within an oyster shell.

The resentment built as he assessed your form delicately painted in a red glow from the ugly neon sign in the shape of a lipstick kiss tacked alongside his favorite band posters. He’d only lived with Steve long enough to feel comfortable decorating the blank walls, and you ruined the Rob Halford flow three days into your invasion. Your face was highlighted by the dim blue light of your laptop resting on your stomach, rising and falling with each gentle breath, and you were haloed by the Himalayan salt lamp crowding the nightstand. It’s trendy, you explained.

With vehemence, he flickered the light switch.

You cringed from the bright assault, and clacked your fingers on the keyboard, pretending you weren’t dozing off a second ago. “Can you go away?”

“What’re you doing in here?”

Unimpressed by his tone, you glazed your response in insolence. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m minding my own business.” At that, your attitude was solidified, along with how this interaction would go.

Eddie stared at you for a long minute. Not once did you acknowledge him. He watched your eyes dart across the screen, probably watching one of those Youtube videos where girls walked around exciting cities with a camera way too close to their face, and he dragged his gaze downwards, noticing you were still in your work clothes; though, your blouse and skirt were disheveled, and your pantyhose were discarded on the floor, still holding the vague shape of your legs, resembling a flattened rotisserie chicken.

He focused on your eyes again. Bloodshot, rimmed in red with a suggestion of water clinging to the outer corners where your eyelashes met, and sporting a hefty burden of bags beneath them.

“It’s Wednesday,” he reminded you, voice heavy in his chest, but sounding scratchy, and hollow. His throat was shot.

“Mm,” you hummed and glanced at the clock in the corner of your screen, “it’s Thursday, actually.”

White hot anger boiled in his veins, striking his skin like a leather lash. It simmered, popped, sizzled, boiled over. The yelling, the timers, the cacophonous clanging. The ticket machine, the keyboard, the stinging cut on his thumb. Smug fucking brat laying in his bed on his night to have it. It was sudden, it was stark, and it was hatred.

“Make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“A fucking deal,” he repeated. “You know, like we’ve been making?” He stopped himself short of calling you a dirty name, but you must’ve gathered it from his tongue’s hesitation, because you turned your head a few degrees to challenge his temper.

“Oh, lucky for you, there was a two-for-one deal at the store.”

You waved two middle fingers at him, showing a bit of teeth with your crooked grin.

The hatred festered, but not as vicious. The anger was there–oh, the anger was there–but the energy to keep this going hit its peak, and fizzled. There was no sense in reasoning with you. The pancakes in the fridge were for a different occasion, he couldn’t waste them on this, and he was too tired to come up with his own bet, deal, or favor. “Just think of something so we can get this over with,” he nearly begged.

After some consideration, you held your fist out for rock, paper, scissors.

“Where’s the option for a gun in my mouth?”

“Harsh,” you pouted. Instead, you pointed at the 20 sided die on the desk. He inclined his head, shaking it with a slow sort of intention, eyes wide to express his warning to knock it off, and give him a true answer, something to make this worthwhile.

Finding the whole ordeal dull, you returned your attention to your laptop, pressing the white earbud into your ear before unpausing the video.

It took seconds off his life, but you finally spoke again.

“How long were you in prison? Six years? Bet it’s been a while since you’ve seen one of these in the flesh.” Due to your satin cream blouse being unbuttoned at the neck, you dipped your thumb under the collar, and traced the vibrant temptation of your red bra strap in a long, deliberate stroke. You hooked the soft pad of your thumb under the luxury, and brought it out for his viewing pleasure. A moment later, you snapped it to your skin, and went back to typing, not once breaking concentration with your video.

Eddie’s fascination, however, was trained on the dainty crimson gift slipping under the shimmery cream, sliding against the soft slope of your shoulder.

Heat thrummed in his chest. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, sloshing his blood like viscous tidal waves, muting the clacky sound of your keyboard. Anger mixed with something more, something worse. It warmed his cheeks, and reignited the cold sweat prickling his back. It honed his curiosity, sinking every detail of the second tortoiseshell button on your blouse into his mind. Memorizing how the fabric around it went taut, and glinted honey at the height of your breath. Noticing how the bottom of your shirt was wrinkled and pulled slack, but still tucked into your pencil skirt. Remembering how the tight material hugged your thighs when you traipsed around the apartment. Although, the navy blue number was less defined now, fitting looser around your hips.

He didn’t know how long he was fixated by your clothing, until you sighed.

“Not enough for you?”

You asked it with forced casualness, he could tell. Your voice was too even, tone too polite, eyebrows too raised in mock indifference. You were introducing a line that had yet to be crossed. A door which, when opened, would give access to more possibilities than the usual bets, deals, and favors. An enticing offer, and he didn’t deny the nervous flutter of intrigue arousing his blood elsewhere.

But past the line was dangerous territory. Right? That’s where things got muddied, and feelings got involved.

Or maybe not. Because, above all else, he hated you, and you hated him.

This was a deal like any other.

“Maybe this’ll help,” you said, never breaking eyesight from the screen, its colors reflecting in your pupils.

You were the epitome of cool pinching the blouse between your fingers and slotting the buttons through the holes one after the other. Down, down, down to your navel, tugging either side of the shirt open, letting the elegant cream frame the aggressive scarlet.

Eddie was taken off guard.

The bra was more akin to lingerie than he expected. Its cups contained you like a poorly kept secret. Curves of red peonies covered your nipples–hard bud pressing against the center of the flower from the thrill of exploring a new end to your daily arguments. Your areolas peeked from between the petals, where the intricate lacework went see through, granting him a preview to the smooth flesh beneath.

Click clack, click clack, space bar, space bar, space bar, he swore you pressed your arms together to make your breasts rounder. Actually, he didn’t need to second guess. He saw the cusp of cleavage squish before his very eyes.

“Satisfied?” you inquired.

No, he ached.

The voice in his head was so automatic, so sure, he didn’t question it, either.

When he refused to verbalize the things which made him nauseous, his opulent pearl rolled onto her shoulder and lifted the laptop the pillow, turning over onto her stomach to engage with it solely, circling a manicured fingernail over the trackpad, and clicking.

To his surprise, the video on screen wasn’t of the vapid people you watched, but of a troubleshooting guide to the program your company was having you learn in order to teach it to the higher ups next week. (Or so he heard when you told Steve yesterday.) You tabbed out of the video, fixed a property in a column, checked the statistic it was evaluating, and added in an aesthetically pleasing green color before tabbing back.

He couldn’t parse how he felt about you having to do more thankless tasks off the clock, especially when you were clearly tired, but something else stole the last of his fiery anger, and doused his willpower to resist a glance.

Your habit of unzipping your skirt as soon as you walked into the apartment proved evident when you rolled over. The silky polyester lining slipped against your skin, shifting the long zipper from your hip to your backside. The halves parted, showing the end of the cream blouse, and a peek of skin. You adjusted how you laid, rocking your hips back and forth until you sank into the plush blankets, and propped your chin in your palm when you weren’t typing. Small movements working the skirt higher, and higher, bunching the fabric around the fat of your ass. Squirming, and stretching, tugging on your blouse, pulling, pulling, blouse, skirt, blouse, skirt, and then he saw it..

Red.

Delicate, feminine.

Tucked, hidden from anyone’s view but his, were the matching red panties to your bra. Trapped in a valley between thighs and ass, and stretching over the swell of your heat, embellishing the mouth watering desire in opaque lace strained firm against the outline of his treasure.

Eddie swallowed.

“Why’re you still in here?” you asked with a bite of annoyance. “You got to see a girl’s bra for the first time ever, probably. You should be celebrating, throwing yourself a party. In the living room. On the couch.”

The anger had returned like a slap of reality across his cheek. He narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, remembering why he loathed you with every fiber of his being. “I’ve seen a bra before.”

“Pictures don’t count.”

“Whatever, bitch.”

Your body jolted with a snort, and he flung open the door hard enough for it to bounce off the door stop. He heard your infuriating inhale, and slapped the lightswitch off, shutting the door behind him with excessive force before you could ask more demands of him. Gladly, he closed himself out of his own bedroom. The physical barrier under his trembling fist had never felt better, still gripping the knob as if he’d go back in there.

He wouldn’t.

He let go of the chilled metal and stalked down the hall, curbing himself from stomping out his frustration, only to throw himself onto the couch. Stomach burning with hunger, hatred. Chest heaving with rage. Pulse rising in his throat, beating against the ball chain necklace he wore. Breathing so hard, sounding as if he’d ran laps before collapsing onto his bed for the night, crossing his arms to squeeze his biceps, massaging his fingers down the muscle. Occupying himself. Distracting himself.

It wasn’t working.

He was mad.

Furious.

Draping his hand over his eyes, he gave himself a moment to make a decision, and pushed his bangs off his forehead. They stayed in their gravity defying position due to the oil. He needed to shower. He needed to clean himself of this day, and go to sleep. But he couldn’t.

The fever in his veins was too distracting. He needed to take care of it. Get rid of it.

Sitting up, he unfolded the comforter from the end of the couch, and propped the pillow against the armrest to angle his head slightly up, where he could see the hallway.

From his front pocket, he collected his phone and laid it on his stomach while he unbuttoned his pants, pinching the waistband together and pulling the zipper down, sighing through his nose at the relief of the lines he was crossing.

He grasped his phone and brought it close to his face. Cupped in one palm, and using the other hand to tap it twice. A streak of perspiration was left on the screen where he swiped in his passcode, using his index finger to open a private browser and type in a porn site. Any porn site. Whichever variation of the word porn + noun he thought of first. It didn’t matter much to him; that’s not where his preferences lie.

office worker

co-worker

secretary

office worker tight skirt

office worker pov skirt grinding

His brain went stupid for synonyms trying to narrow down his search. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew the ultra HD, professionally lit, fakey acting wasn’t it. He scrolled, and scrolled. Narrowed his search again. Ticked off boxes on the side. Tried broader genres. Went back to the results he was on, and traveled down the rabbit hole a few more pages until, at last, he found what suited him.

The thumbnail appeared promising. Dimly lit, sorta bad quality, and clearly shot at home with a woman whose body type wasn’t far off from what he was hoping for. He even appreciated the visual similarities in the amateur actress’ navy blue skirt, and off-white blouse. As long as he scrolled down a tad to crop out her face, it was perfect. Plus, it was easier to insert himself into the scene that way.

He clicked it, and– ”Jesus Christ,” he turned down the volume as quickly as he could, accidentally pressing down the two buttons on the side that took a screenshot and saved it to his gallery.

The video started a little further into the act than he anticipated.

Such a fucking idiot, Eddie, Jesus Christ. Sitting in thick silence, he waited to see if you’d heard, and once his face calmed of the embarrassed flush stinging his cheeks, he moved on.

Eddie worked his right hand under the comforter, but heeded his boxers as a layer of separation. At the first contact with the parts of him he denied aching for the bane of his existence, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed. Gently, he raked his fingernails down the base of his shaft, and over his balls. He cupped them. Felt their heft. Cradled them and dragged them softly upwards, letting them fall and stretch before repeating the motion, enjoying the tickly sensation of being the first thing he touched. His most sensitive, most susceptible part of himself. Meanly ignoring the other part of him twitching, throbbing, begging to be catered to.

He kept some fraction of his brain alert to the hallway, senses sharpened by the spike of adrenaline, listening out for any sound of you exiting the room. But most of him was focused on hitting the play button, sticking to his decision that he couldn’t wait to do this in the shower. He needed it now.

It started with the woman already in motion. Shot from the guy’s point of view laying on the bed, his obvious hardon pressing through his slacks into her pussy grinding down on him. Her skirt lifted with each motion, showing her black underwear. Not that he was complaining they weren’t red, but he didn’t concentrate on them.

He switched from playing with his balls to gripping his cock. Finally. It buzzed with the rush of pleasure, harder than it had ever been, even in his youth. His fingers hardly met through his boxers, but he encircled them the best he could, and started with fast, desperate, stunted strokes, getting himself to where the guy in the video was in a matter of pent-up seconds, clenching his ass to buck his hips up. Heart pounding. Inhales shaky from the speed at which he took care of his problem, exhales interrupted by muted huffs.

Maybe he should be embarrassed, but it didn’t take him long to feel that encouragement to keep going, keep going, keep going. Where each frantic pump along his length was better than the last. Where each accidental graze of his fingers over the lipped edge of his tip sprinted towards his bliss.

In the video, the woman dipped a finger between her lips and moved her panties aside.

There was a low hum in the back of his throat, engrossed by the wet warmth opposed to his dry fist.

Metal knob turning–door creaking–carpet groaning, step, step, step–

It was a fucking miracle he managed to close out of the window in his panic. His thumb missed it the first two times as fear coated him in a cold sweat, and the phone fell out of his palm, smacking him in the chin as you rounded the corner.

You didn’t spare him the time of day as you walked into the kitchen and got a glass from the cabinet. Didn’t bother looking at him as you stood at the fridge with your hip cocked out, holding the cup under the outer dispenser and depressing the button for ice.

The fridge made a mechanical whirr, and filled your glass. Ker-chunk, ker-chunk, ker-chunk, the ice cubes tinked into the cup for the longest seconds of his life. His hand was frozen mid-tug on his dick, and you were wearing an oversized t-shirt, and nothing else. Truly, it hardly covered your ass. It clung to your hips, brushed the height of your thighs, and suddenly, he was checking how obvious the bulk of the comforter was over his lap, and if it creased when he moved his hand upwards.

Nothing. Not a fold out of place. He could keep it up. Stroke, by stroke, brushing his fingers over the head only, testing his limits to keep discreet while you switched to the other spout on the fridge for water.

Even when you turned to him, he massaged himself over his boxers, soaking the sticky slick beads of precum into the fabric.

“What?”

Your tone didn’t deter him from tracing the underside of his swollen head, caressing the glans with the same sort of sentiment he experienced in the homemade porn between a real couple–all gentle and nice.

He mustered enough brain cells to respond, “What? I’m already sleeping on the couch. Can’t you leave me alone for one night? Or are you that desperate for attention?”

None the wiser, you took a sip from your glass, and folded your other arm across your stomach, making it obvious from the natural sway that you weren’t wearing a bra. Probably weren’t wearing panties either..

Swallowing the ice cold water with a satisfied ‘ah’, you went on your merry way. “Just came to gawk at the bridge troll, is all. Night night!” Your annoying farewell was followed by the creak of the door, and the faint click of it closing.

What a fucking irritating person.

The anger bristled again. Definitely anger. It was there, lurking, when he rubbed at the sore spot on his chin and picked up his phone, unlocking it to stare at the homescreen.

There was no patience within him to find the video. Besides, the sanitized professional thumbnails on the homepage were enough to have him dropping his phone to the cushion crevices beside him, surrendering himself to his imagination. Nothing lived up to the scenarios in his head, anyway.

Before getting ahead of himself, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic waistband, and gripped himself wholly. There was no sense in denying what he wanted: the raw desire of his hand wrapped firmly around his cock, not caring about creating a mess. It could be cleaned up later. He needed this. Now.

He immersed himself in the fantasy.

The visuals took place minutes ago, if he hadn’t backed down. It was based on you refusing to give him the bed, and instead of walking away from your bratty attitude, he lifted his chin, and broadened his chest with a confidence he didn’t possess. Fantasy Eddie had the courage to kneel on the mattress like he belonged there. Your body would dip, rock towards his imposing knees straddling either side of your calves, and in his strongest dreams, he acted out what should’ve happened.

If he had his way, he would begin with your hips. A single strong palm on the curve would have you hiking them up to greet him, and he was a gentleman. As soon as you presented him with the opportunity, he was scrambling to spread your legs so he could dip between them, eager to please. He wanted to know the sensation of coarse red lace scratching across his tongue; it would be a novelty only he would know. His hands would be on your upper thighs, bringing you closer, closer, to where his mouth awaited you. Persuading your face to the sheets. Putting a wicked arch in your back, granting him permission.

He’d angle his mouth to your clothed clit and collect spit to his bottom lip, parting, and lapping his tongue over the pretty thing, suckling it through the fabric. His nose would be to your cunt, inhaling the musky pheromones. Didn’t matter how long you’d been at work, proving yourself to people who would never appreciate you like he did. He cherished every bit of you so much. The heady scent intoxicated him like a drug, the dimples when he smashed the fat of your ass around his face, your silly whine when he pressed kisses up your pretty pussy. The anger was gone. Like that, he adored you. After all, you craved him. And it’d been a long time since he was wanted. It felt nice to not be rejected.

Eddie, Fantasy You gasped when the wet sound of him sucking your clit through your panties grew in fervor. He was drunk on you. Trying hard. Giving more. Licking at the dark patch he created. God, he loved it. He loved the evidence. He could suckle, moan, flatten his tongue like torture and just breathe on you until he fell asleep, waking up to nudge his teeth over the sensitive areas you presented to him. Spending hours getting you to your peak, over and over.

But in reality, he was approaching his end rather quickly.

My turn, sweetheart, he regretfully informed you.

Getting to his knees, he positioned himself behind you. His cock slotted so nicely against you; red lace meeting unzipped gray uniform pants, and he wasted no time stoking the flames from where he left off.

He clapped your cheeks around the hard outline of his cock. His black boxers stretched to their limits to contain him. There was a dark patch at the tip peeking out between your ass, growing with each slow, assertive grind he committed to, fucking himself into the curve of your cunt with ragged breaths. Losing himself. Mouth agape, and eyebrows pinched as his needy head was swallowed when he rocked his hips back, and reappeared with a rough thrust.

Again, it didn’t take long until he needed a break to make himself last longer.

He draped his weight over you as he slid his rough, calloused palms up the backs of your thighs, creating goosebumps along the sensitive flesh on his way to your sorry excuse for skirt. He bunched the pitiful thing to your waist, and reached for the hem of your shirt.

You hummed in approval, pressing against his lap.

It was hard to balance, but you supported him as he yanked your blouse up–sucking in a sharp breath when you moaned, and rutted yourself on his length–and he brushed his fingers along your soft skin in search for the bra clasp, and when he found it, he pulled the band tight. The latch gave. He caught sudden heft in his palm, cupping you and the bra together, massaging lightly until your nipple slotted between the base of two of his fingers, and he applied the gentlest pressure.

Oh fuck, you whined so nicely for him.

They’re extra sensitive after being caged all day, you explained.

Yeah? Does it feel good?

You nodded, cheek smashed against the wrinkled sheets.

He pinched harder.

Saliva gathered at the corner of your lips, spilling in a sticky string as you dragged your head in another nod, heavy-lidded eyes just visible through your lashes, open mouth panting for him.

True satisfaction spread like weightlessness from the pit of anger in his stomach. He wasn’t supposed to be making you feel good, not the person ruining the one place he found peace after six years of paranoia, but here he was, wishing the taste of your pussy lasted longer in his mouth. Here he was, anchoring his forearm alongside yours, gripping the same sheet you gripped while he beared his weight down on you, and pressed kisses to your clothed shoulders.

His other hand was trapped between you and the bed, but each pulse around your nipple was another long stroke on his cock.

The scene had been set. The build up and story line were crafted. Now, he could play.

He worked kisses under your collar, tasting the sheen of sweat at your hairline, leaving trails of spit to cool as he lolled his head on top of yours, resting his forehead amongst your hair, and he put his lips to the shell of your ear, feeling you shiver beneath him.

Do you think you can treat me that way, and get away with it? Fantasy Him asked. Think you can boss me around whenever you want? He punctuated his question with a hard, unexpected thrust, earning a gasp from your pretty mouth.

Turn over. He didn’t command it verbally, but when he took away his hand to smack the side of your ass, and sat back, you were aware of his unstated switch in position.

You laid on your back, legs spread for him. Skirt bunched around your hips, blouse fallen open, except for the one button remaining. He grasped his cock, and stroked himself through his boxers for you. His brows were drawn together in a gentle question, gaze locked onto yours. This was supposed to be about him, but he still asked, Is this okay? Is this what you want?

The source of his anger, his rage, his frustration–all the blame, burdens, and negativity he attributed to a single woman–opened her arms to him, and nodded.

He passed over your pussy to praise kisses to your stomach. Deft fingers working to undo the last button on your blouse, and explore upwards. Wet smacks of his sloppy gifts arched your back the higher he traveled, molding his large hands to your body. Brushing his rough fingers to the junction of your inner thigh and hip, and spreading you open so your pussy swallowed the fabric, wedging the red lace tight to your clit for later. Up, up, his kisses covered you, until he nosed at the underwire of your bra, and lifted it out of the way.

Fuck, Eddie.

You pushed his hair out of his face. The shorter curls fell from the low bun at his nape, and you tucked them behind his ear so you could watch his tongue lap and swirl at your nipple. Your fluttery moans were heaven, as were your tits being shoved in his mouth. You squirmed for him, clamored for him. You wanted him, needed him. Did you care that his hair was greasy? Did you care that dried salt crystals from sweat scratched your fingers when you cradled his jaw? Did you care about his smell from thirteen hours of being in a hot kitchen when you cupped him under the armpits, encouraging him with a buck of your hips to get back to business?

He supposed not, since it was his fantasy.

But just like reality, you were trying to boss him around.

Want me to fuck you, sweetheart?

You could hardly meet his gaze, eyes so heavy with lust you couldn’t keep them open long enough to beg.

He aligned himself, nudging the tip of his cock to your clit, and he savored the experience of watching the bliss wash over you. It took him a beat to realize, but he moaned in response to your moan. Watching you react from where he picked up his head from your chest, memorizing the fake vision of your face losing the usual harsh distaste for him. Your lips were better this way–lush, and making an effort to sound out his name as he drew his hips back–not sneering because you had the displeasure of asking him a question.

Still, he drove forward with haste. Cotton on lace. Layers of separation. Anything else was too intimate for how he wanted to fuck you, rough and fast, caring only about himself and not about your poor neglected clit, swollen and pleading for his soft tongue, only to get rough, unmeasured thrusts. Messy, and unintentional, and denying. Until you made them work for you.

You used the meat of his shoulders as leverage. Digging your fingers in, holding tight as you rocked with him and raised your legs, wrapping them around his ass. The squeeze of your thighs, and pressure built from your locked ankles tipped you into a better position, and now, his entire length was flush to your clit, not simply passing over the top of it.

All of him was touching you, touching you, touching you. Trapping his cock between your stomachs, damp with reignited sweat. Back to rutting against one another at a desperate pace, chasing the tension, the high. The snap of his hips. Your stuttered groans for more. The anger, the hatred. Festering under the surface, bubbling in your insolence. Present in his teeth grazing your throat, nipping at the pulse, kissing, sucking, licking, tasting.

You’re gonna make me cum. Even Fantasy You said it in a lower register, reaching where the molten resentment laid dormant.

He found the same gravelly animosity and warned you, “I’m too close, I’m too close.”

You cradled him tighter, burying your heads in each other’s embrace. Muscles quivering from effort, burning with each grind, tensing under curious hands finding new places to cling to, curves to admire. Until they stayed put.

Nails bit flesh. Strong fingers dug painfully at bone. Mouths fell open. Eyes closed. Writhing flesh on fabric, and flesh, you trembled under him.

I’m–mm, Eddie–I’m cumming–

His thrusts faltered, jerking into short bursts, and his gracious moans went high and tight in his throat, spilling out as he panted, “You make me feel so good, baby. Fucked you so good. I can’t–I’m cumming–fuck–”

Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–

–”Fuck,” he babbled aloud.

The climax took him to the dark apartment. The overwhelming shadows of sleeping in the lonely living room on the flat couch under an extra blanket not yet broken of its factory starch, scratchy on the skin. His muscles were still tensed into him curling in on himself, lifting his aching neck and shoulders off the pillow for a few more pumps of his hand sliding over his slick shaft, spreading the warmth oozing towards his hip, no doubt tangling the curly thatch of hair above the base. In lip-biting silence, he stroked himself, not daring to breathe after he knew he said something out loud from his imagination. He listened. Eyes straining to see the hallway.

His bangs stuck to the heavy sweat on his forehead.

His entire body was heated beyond belief.

Anticipation sat heavy on his tongue.

But as he came down from his peak, nothing happened. He stayed lonely. His heartbeat pounded against the guitar pick sticking to his chest, and that was it. Now his head was cleared of distractions, and he could sleep. The fantasy was a fantasy, and in this reality, he wouldn’t do this again. It was too weird to muddy the multitude of negative feelings he had for you with.. whatever this was.

A release, that’s what this was.

Kicking the blanket off, he swung his legs to the side to sit up, socked feet softened by the plush carpet. He pressed his palm over the sticky substance dripping downward, and soaked it up to the best of his ability. And as his cum hit the fresh air, and his inhale was cut short as he smelled his shirt, he thought about the shower he needed. And he thought about the dark patch on his boxers. And he thought about his clothes in the dresser in the bedroom.

Looking down, he inspected his gray pants, and groaned.

They were ruined.

So, so ruined and obvious as to what he was doing.

There was no way he could go into there and grab new clothes for a shower. The thought of facing you after this, and you seeing him in this pathetic state–and God, if you knew it was because of you, and because he couldn’t control himself–he’d rather die than admit you did this to him.

Fuck.

Couldn’t even go to his own room for some fucking clothes so he could shower after working all day.

Yeah, that confirmed it. He fucking hated you.

Hated you even more when he thought about you sleeping on his mattress, wrapped snug in his bedsheets wearing only a t-shirt with nothing else to cover you, and his dick twitched again for that red lace he knew was discarded in the laundry basket.

“Fuck my life.”

[elliesdoll]

pt.2 to my angsty loser!ellie drabble 𝜗𝜚

nsfw! ellie gets caught and that’s literally it. i hate this so bad but it’s whateva

(part 3 will have lesbian gay lesbian boob vagina butt sex i promise. no more ellie masturbating)

find pt.1 here! & pt.3 here :3

daily click! don’t buy tlou free palestine

after ellie’s pathetic masturbation sesh, she vowed to herself to fucking pull it together.

she wasn’t gonna let herself mope over you, because she knew you had an active sex life. she forced herself to be fine with it. to be fine with the people you decided to bring to your bed. she wanted to be near you without feeling this suffocating feeling of yearning and lust filling her insides.

and if that meant tucking her feelings to the deepest pits of hell, then so fucking be it.

a few weeks had passed since that little moment you and ellie had. the one where she had showed up to your house in the middle of you hooking up with someone.

the morning after, she has awoken to a string of texts from you, all apologizing for that awkward moment.

11:34pm

ellie i’m so sorry you had to see me like that. i didn’t mean to come off rude.

i wanted to go after you but i couldn’t really leave her alone in my house lol

els?

i’m really sorry. i hope u don’t think you can’t come to my house ever again ☹️ i actually thought it was sweet you showed up like that.

2:12am

goodnight ellie. i hope things aren’t awkward between us.

god, you made her feel awful. you were too fucking sweet to her. the way you never missed a single night when telling her goodnight, even after something like that. she rubbed her swollen face, mainly from crying, and typed a short message to you.

9:47am

hey, sorry for rushing away like that. idk why i did that lmfao

and things aren’t awkward at all, i shouldn’t have just showed up unnanounced

no els seriously! you should do that more often. tbh i wanted to hang out with you more than that girl… but yk i couldn’t 💔💔

she smiled at your kind text, glad that you two could just put it behind yourselves. her moment of relief was quickly replaced by disgust, when she saw the state of herself and her bed. her inner thighs sticky with dried cum, and her sheets below her still damp with all the extra release.

“gross..” she mumbled to herself, getting up and immediately throwing on some boxers and a tshirt, feeling way too vulnerable being naked like that. she went to the bathroom and cleaned herself up, then threw her sheets in the wash.

since then, you two have been fine. you do your weekly hangout sessions, where you grab food and talk about anything for hours on end. it’s almost as if nothing happened.

until one of your sleepovers.

you always convinced ellie to spend the night at your house, at least every other week. whenever it’d get dark outside and ellie would start to get up, you’d give her that irresistible pout and “ughhh, c’mon els.. just spend the night. it’s too dark out for you to go home.”

and every damn time, she agreed. how could she ever say no to you?

one night, you and ellie are high out of your minds, talking about god knows what. all giggly and soft, you two exchange jokes and stories that really make no sense. but, to you two, it’s the funniest thing in the world. after a laughing fit between the two of you, you wipe your tears and sigh.

“god, i love you.”

you say, still catching your breath from that tummy tensing laugh. the words were just an expression of admiration for her. but to ellie, they were so much more.

“i love you too.”

she says, looking you in the eyes. she’s high, so she’s not thinking too hard about how sincere she sounds. but she really should’ve, because that soft tone of her voice and the glint in her eyes make it sound way too fucking real.

“woah,” you let out a nervous, breathy chuckle. “that was a bit theatrical.”

“wh..what do you mean?”

ellie asks, getting a bit nervous. she’s not her usual, stuttery self though. she keeps it together. thanks to the weed.

“just the way you said i love you. it felt like… deep.”

you move your hands as you talk, and ellie just shrugs. but she knows she’s fucked. before she could stop her feelings from resurfacing, she gets that familiar tingle in her belly and pounding of her heart.

“shut up,” she rolls her eyes, trying to play it off.“you’re dramatic.”

her voice wavered with those last words. fuck, her voice wavered. why did she feel like she was gonna have a breakdown any second now? she had to get the hell away from you.

“gotta piss. be back in a bit.”

ellie says quickly, so quick you don’t even have time to retort to her calling you dramatic. you just sit there, confused. you could’ve sworn you heard some uncertainty in her voice, but you let her go.

meanwhile, ellie made a beeline for your bathroom. she shut the door and leaned her head against the wood. she let out a deep sigh, trying to calm herself. the fact that she felt the most intense feeling that she couldn’t even describe over a mere “i love you” had her cringing.

she just couldn’t get over you. the entire night, she tried her best not to think about how good your tits looked in your pajama top, or how badly she wanted to just shove her face into your ass in those little shorts.

her thinking over these details led to the predicament that she’s in right now. sweatpants around her knees, legs slightly spread as she rubs one out while leaned up against your bathroom sink. her eyes are shut and her head is thrown back, letting out the quietist grunts she could muster.

she knew she shouldn’t be doing this, she promised herself that she would stop. but god, you made it hard. she was so wet, it made her cheeks flush red. the simple thought of you had her literally dripping around her own fingers.

you were still in your room, biting your thumbnail as you wait for ellie. you start to get worried, thinking you made her upset by commenting on how she said ‘i love you’. so, you being the thoughtful friend you are, go to check on her.

you quietly walk to the bathroom, putting your ear against the door. you were going to knock and mutter a little “els? are you okay?”, but the sounds you heard made you lose all the words in your mouth.

soft, sharp inhales and tiny sticky noises is all you can hear through the door. it’s a bit hard to listen to, since the soft buzz of the yellow light in there overpowers it. what the hell is she doing in there?

you knew this was wrong. an invasion of privacy to the max. but your curiosity was getting the better of you, and you were worried. you put your hand on the doorknob and slightly twisted it, not expecting it to open. but it did.

did ellie forget to lock the door?

ellie doesn’t hear the soft click of the door opening, too lost in her own pleasure as she practically humps her own hand. it had been too fucking long since she could touch herself to the thought of you. her only guilty pleasure.

her head was still thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as she rubbed her clit at a shockingly fast pace. and you saw it all. you had opening the door just enough for half of your face to see through the opened crack. your whole body froze at the sight in front of you.

she was so captivating. her face looking all fucked out, her pale thighs that were so tensed up, the shininess of her slick that smeared on the heel of her palm. even the quick glimpses of her gorgeous auburn bush that you could see if her hoodie rode up enough.

your tummy felt weird. first, you felt guilty for eavesdropping on your best friend. second, you were confused why the fuck ellie decided now would be the best time to masturbate. third, you were turned on. disgustingly turned on, at that.

a few seconds of watching ellie made your panties get all sticky and wet, and that burning hot feeling in your lower belly. you couldn’t look away.

“ohh, fuck— please,”

your brain short circuited hearing ellie say that. god, she was so lost in her own pleasure. so lost that she accidentally knocked over your toothbrush and hand soap on the sink, causing her to jolt and snap her eyes open.

she looks down at the bottle of soap and toothbrush that landed in front of the bathroom door. the door that’s cracked. her eyes shoot up, and there’s where she sees a glimpse of you running away. a quick flash, but she knew it was you.

she is so fucked.

I HATE RHISNSO BAD RRRR😡

btw i finished this literally like 3 days ago and didn’t wanna post it hut i did anyway ☺️☺️

[brucewaynehater101]

Imagine Tim holding Brucequest over the Justice League & even Dick & Jason's heads 💀💀💀💀

Heck Tim holding the Timestream incident over Bruce's head because Tim was the only person to actually do anything to save him

((Damian gets a pass because 1. He's a KID whose cult leading gramps was involved, how about No?))

((And 2. The priority for him at the time should have been unlearning the cult teachings of the LOA))

((and also all his other siblings. Alfred too since he has a job dammit))

Tw: Violence

I love petty Tim Drake so much. He deserves to be able to hold his trauma over the people who caused it.

Jason takes the last cookie? "You might as well take me back to Titan's Tower and slit my throat again."

Dick tells Tim he needs to go to bed? "Oh. I see how it is. I thought we talked about you questioning my judgements again, but I see I was wrong."

Alfred lectures Tim about his health? "Now you're concerned about my health? You should have thought about that before putting my mental health in peril for my sixteenth birthday."

Bruce is concerned with Tim's workload? "Maybe the next time you want me to take on less work you'll write a fucking letter instead of spreading vague clues no one else believes is actually from you."

As for Damian? They exchange verbal barbs for fun and take notes from each other. It confuses the hell out of the others because do they hate each other, or are they bonding?

Steph and Tim like to get into screaming fights with each other in public. It's never about their actual fights, but they like how Gotham reacts to it (bonus points if they end up in the news).

Tim and Babs try to sabotage each other's unimportant technology. That fifth tablet Babs hardly uses? Bam! Tim's made it so it plays music whenever it's on and the music can't be turned off.

Cass and Tim just make faces at each other. Bruce has been confused as hell when one of them randomly shouts in outrage due to the other twitching their eyelids wrong.

Tim likes confusing and horrifying Duke by telling him fun facts about the family. He'll tell them in the most damning way to watch the chaos. "The scar on Jason's neck is from Bruce choosing the Joker over Jason."

And that is Tim taking it easy on the Bats because he loves and cares about them (and because it's funny).

The JL?

Red Robin terrifies all of the members who doubted him. The terror doubles when they see him happily chatting with YJ or the Bats. The version of Tim the JL gets is a scarily competent and cold persona. They thought he lost the ability to smile until Red Hood (and who let a crime lord into the Watchtower???) grabbed Red Robin a peace offering Zesti.

[rosenclaws]

Come back (erased part ii) || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: Logan doesn't remember you but he can sense you. He can tell you were someone important so when the team hatches a plan to find you he's the one leading the charge.

warnings: she/her pronouns, violence, killing, blood, reader gets hit/threatened, mental torture, injuries, logan goes feral, illusions.

wc: 3.5k

link to part 1

a/n: Part two is here!! Finally omfg im sorry this took so long. I hope this is a good part two i had a fun time writing the angst and stuff. It maybe ended a little darker than I meant but oh welll. We love some angst. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

The sound of the grandfather clock echoes in Logan's ears. The faint sound of students walking around the halls, playing outside. All drowned out by the clock. The heart necklace sits in his palm, his rough fingers tracing the shape over and over again.

When Logan had gotten back to the mansion he was bombarded with questions. All about a person he had never heard of. He grew angry and confused, wondering who they were talking about. It wasn't until he saw the look on all their faces that he realized something was wrong.

Memory wiped. He was fucking memory wiped again. Charles tried to explain it all but his brain went fuzzy. He tried to restore them but whatever you had done was too powerful. Only faint distant feelings. They tried to jog his memories with pictures but nothing worked. Whoever you were you were, you and him were close.

He's got a look on his face that he doesn't even recognize. One of pure adoration. The stories they tell, it was like hearing stories of someone else. He went through his room. He could smell this faint vanilla scent. The same one from the motel room. It was you. He was with you. But just who are you?

He turns the heart around in his hands. It’s faintly familiar. He closes his eyes and tries to wrack his brain for anything. Just something. There's a gaping hole in his chest, a sense of dread and something lost. A surge of anger takes over him as he shoves the necklace back in his pocket. He feels helpless and confused and he fucking hates it.

They're planning something in Chuck's office and they kicked him out. Why he doesn't know. They're planning a rescue for you and apparently he was the most important person to you so why wouldn't he be in there. Even if he doesn't remember. He should be in there. He stands up and barges through the doors, not caring anymore.

"Tell me what the hell is going on. Now." He stands with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face.

"Logan..." Jean starts but he brushes her off.

"I don't fucking care if I don't remember her just fucking tell me the mission." They team exchange looks and Logan resists the urge to roll his eyes. He's not a child. Whether he remembers you or not you were important to him and to the team. He needs to get you back.

"The mutant group, apparently she knew of them. She used to work with them years ago before any of us knew her." Charles explains and Logan listens. His hands tightening into a fist.

"We believe that she went after them for reasons we do not know. But what we do know is that they're dangerous. More dangerous than what she remembers." He can feel somethings off. The way the team shifts in their seats. The way Ororo won't even look him in the eyes.

"Logan, we think they have her." Scott says slowly.

"So we go find her."

"It's not that simple-"

"No it really fucking is that simple." Logan growls.

"You all talk about her like she's the heart of the fucking mansion so why am I the one who seems to care the most right now! I can't even remember her!" Logan slams his fist hard onto the table it almost breaks.

Why aren't they as worried as he is? Why don't they seem to care? Silence casts over the room but slowly everyone nods, agreeing with him.

"We leave in 15." He says with such severity that no one argues. Logan turns and leaves. Ready to come and find you.

-

The jet engine hum is the only sound inside. Everyone is quiet. Waiting. Normally Logan hates flying but right now he's too focused on getting you back. His eyes are closed as he tries to pull anything from his head. The faint sound of laughter, the feeling of warmth, the smell of vanilla. All of it was right there. Locked behind a door he couldn't get through. He feels someone sit in the seat next to him.

"What." He growls as he turns the necklace in his hand around and around.

"Are you okay?" It's storms voice. He sighs and opens his eyes.

"Just fine." She's quiet for a moment before she decides to talk.

"We're going to find her Logan." She says with a confidence he just doesn't have.

"You and her, I've never seen two people more meant for each other. She made you happy and you made her feel less alone." He wishes he remembered you.

He really does.

He can't think of all the moments he's been told about or the pictures that have been taken. He doesn't know what it was like to love you or to be loved by you anymore. It kills him. If he was happy, if you made him happy, then he's lost it all. Why would you take that away? From him and from you. Why couldn't you trust him with this?

Even though his memories are gone he can feel this sense of worry building in his chest. He needs you to be okay. He needs to protect you. Fuck he doesn't even remember you but that deep primal urge is still there.

"Five minutes out. Everyone brace for landing." Logan tucks the necklace into his suit, keeping it close to his heart as he unsheathes his claws and waits for landing. He will find you. There's no other option for him.

-

Your whole body ached. After leaving Logan you tracked down Mack and his gang but they had the one up on you. New, powerful mutants. They already knew you were coming the second you had the thought. They ambushed you. Attacked you and rendered you useless. They should have just killed you but Mack wanted to keep you. To lure your team out as a trap.

"They aren't coming." You hiss as he stands in front of you. He's crouching down and grinning.

"I don't know sweetheart, my sources tell me there's someone on the team who is quite fond of you." He brushes your cheek and you recoil in disgust.

"Get your fucking hands off me." He chuckles and one of his followers hit you hard in your leg.

"Feisty. Tell me, is that because of Logan? Did he rub off on you?" Your blood runs cold. If they do anything to him.

"Don't touch him." You lunge at Mack but you're restrained. to the ground. Mack presses his foot onto your throat and his smirk turns into something dark.

"You're funny. Tell you what." He puts more pressure on your neck and you start to see dots in your vision.

"When the Wolverine gets here we'll make him watch you die...and then kill him." Mack laughs and another hard blow to your head sends you into darkness.

You can only hope that Logan stays far, far away from this.

-

He can hear them. Fucking idiots not even trying to hide. They're bragging, laughing. Well they won’t be laughing for long. Logan’s claws gleam under the moonlight as he stalks like an animal.

The plan was to create a diversion while a rescue team goes in to get you. He wasn’t exactly know for his subtlety but no one wanted to argue him being the one to find you. It was a one man rescue team.

The sky rumbles and a loud explosion from far away leads the mutant group away. Logan springs into action. He takes out the few bodyguards around camp with ease.

He finds you alone and unguarded. A sense of relief washing over him as he bends down and scoops you up in his arms. Though he can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. That this was too easy.

“Logan?” Your voice is quiet, broken.

“Hey, we’re gonna get you out of here.” He gently holds you as he looks for a way out.

“No.” You say. Your voice stronger than before. Confusion washes over him as you push him away. The injuries on your body seemed to disappear as the world fades around him.

“You think I want you to save me? I ran away from you Logan. Couldn’t you get the fucking hint?” Your words spit like venom. You were not the person he thought you were.

“It was all a lie, a cover.” His claws come out, teeth baring as his anger grows. But then he catches a whiff of someone unfamiliar. He hears the faint calling of his name.

“Yeah?” He walks closer to you. A taunting look on your face. Without warning he swings his claws right next to your face.

“Tell him that it will take more than a weak illusion to fool me.” Logan whispers in your ear.

Slowly the world he thought was reality melts away. Your tied up, held by force by one of Mack’s followers. Had he given in and swung at you he would have killed you. That must have been their plan. He looks to the side to see a body with three claw marks on the ground.

“Well, you’re smarter than I thought. Well done Wolvie.” He hears a slow clap behind him.

”Fuck off bub,” Logan growls as he holds up his claws. Ready to pounce. He hears the rustling around him. He’s not alone, they’re hiding, waiting.

“It’s a shame really, we would have gotten along great.” Mack smirks as Logan grows angrier.

“Fat fucking chance.” Logan lunges at Mack but he’s tackled to the ground. Held down by some sort of force he can’t fight.

“You may be physically strong but let’s see how you do when someone fucks with your mind. Just like she did.” Logan struggles baring his teeth as he tries to fight out of whatever hold they have him under.

“Stop!” You cry out. Your voice is strained and tears are falling down your cheeks.

“Mack please, just leave him alone.” You fight out of the grip on you with all your strength. Falling to the ground roughly. Your hands are still tied behind your back as you struggle to get up.

“Please don’t hurt him.” Your desperate.

Mack stands up crouches over you. He grabs your face roughly, digging his nails into your face tightly. Logan growls when he sees you wince in pain.

“Aww so cute.” He taunts and throws you to the ground.

“The question is which one of you has the biggest hero complex hm? You left us because you thought we were wrong, evil. You wanted to play hero.”

“What we did was wrong Mack. We hurt innocent people for our own good.” Logan stares at you and you can’t find it in yourself to look him in the eyes.

You can’t bare to see that look of nothing. He doesn’t know who you are and its your fault. But this is for the best. You can get him out of here and he can walk away from you without the pain.

You feel a sharp pain as Mack slaps you hard. “We were surviving!” He yells.

“Why should we care about the world when they don’t care about us!” He takes out a pocket knife and you tense up.

“Get the fuck away from her.” Logan roars and Mack just grins.

With a snap of his fingers one of the other mutants starts to crush Logan. It was a subtle pressure at first but he could feel the discomfort. They were sinking him into the ground. They were going to bury him alive. You can see a flash of panic. He hates that suffocating feeling. So reminiscent of his nightmares.

“Mack please, we were family once.” You beg as you watch Logan struggle. You can’t let them do this to him.

“Stop please!” Mack grabs your face and makes you watch.

“We were but you picked a new family. Now you can watch him suffocate.” Your eyes meet with Logan’s and you start to cry. He’s afraid. Its your fault. This is all your fault.

“I’ll stay! I’ll stay and help you again just let him go!” You cry out. The weight is lifted off Logan and he scrambles to breathe.

“I promise. I won’t fight and I won’t run. Just please, leave him alone.” Mack thinks for a moment, its a tempting offer. Your powers are strong and he was never able to find anyone quite like you.

“No! Logan shouts, he can’t let you do this. Not for him.

“You got yourself a deal. But if you ever try anything. We’ll hunt him down and kill him. Then the rest of your little family.” Your eyes flash with fear and you nod.

Logan’s heart twists as he sees the broken look on your face. You’re condemning yourself to a torturous life for him. When you look at him he feels a horrible feeling. He longs for you. Your eyes are full of a love he’s missing from his life. You love him and he can’t even remember what it was like. Did you calm his nightmares? Keep his deepest secrets? Did you know all his faults and choose to love him anyways? He needs to know. They pick him up and force him onto his knees.

"Tell your team to stay away." Mack wraps his hand around your neck, his knife pressing against your skin, taunting Logan.

"Logan...I love you and I'm sorry." Your voice is raspy as you choke out the words. He needs to know. You smile painfully as Logan just looks at you.

"Go on, run away Wolvie." Mack snarls.

Even in pain your eyes are full of love just looking at him. He was your everything. You love him so much you're willing to sacrifice yourself, your happiness, all of it for him. How? This kind of love...he's never felt this before. He may not remember it all with you but fuck he wants to know what its like. He wants to learn what it was like to be loved by you. He can't let you go. Not when his future happiness is in your hands. The rage builds. He will not leave you. Doesn't matter how much blood will be shed tonight. He will save you.

With a loud roar Logan unsheathes his claws and with all his willpower throws off the weighted feeling. He's like an animal, snarling and growling as he drives his claws into your captors. There's no mercy in the way he takes each and everyone of them out. They try to stop him but when they realize their efforts are futile they start to run.

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice is cold, void of any emotion as he digs his claws deep into someone chest. Mack's confidence fades as he watches Logan's rampage. He grabs you and tries to run. Dragging you along the forest floor.

"Logan!" You shout and he instantly turns around.

On all fours he uses his claws to launch himself towards you. Chasing Mack down like prey. It's really a pity how fast he catches him. At another time he would have enjoyed playing with him, toying with his fear. All the pain he's caused, not just your pain but the innocent people he's ruined. He deserves to pay.

"Not so tough now huh?" Logan stabs him right through the heart.

When he's sure he's dead he stands up, blood soaking his claws. His head turns to you and you freeze. You know he won't hurt you but apart of you worries this is a trick. Another one of Mack's illusions just to fuck with you. Logan gently bends down and cuts you free.

"He's gone sweetheart." Tears start to fall down your cheeks as he scoops you up in his arms.

"I'm sorry I'm so sorry." You babble over and over as Logan holds you tight. You fit just like a puzzle piece into his arms. This feels right. This feels like home. The sound of footsteps sets him on edge but he calms down when he sees the familiar faces of his team.

"Where the hell were you guys?"

-

No one dared bother Logan. They let him take you back to the jet. He held you the whole time. Even when you fell asleep from utter exhaustion he kept you close. He was with you every step of the way. Bringing you to the lab, watching as they run tests and stick needles into your arm. On your recovery bed with the ugly white lights he sat until you woke up. Sometimes you stirred, whining and you sounded afraid.

He wonders what fucked up things Mack made you see. The bruises and scars on your body told only half the story. With each fearful sound he wishes he would have taken longer to kill that bastard. But he's gone now and you seem to calm down when he's with you. Sensing him through your sleep.

The necklace sits in his hand. After he got back he had to make sure it was still with him. It was bloodied now, and had some wear and tear from the past. So he busied himself fixing it up, cleaning it until it shined like new. He doesn't know when or why he bought it for you but clearly it was special. The two stones meant something. He knew they did.

When you finally came to he jumped into action. Calling hank to come check on you while he slipped away to get you water. There was a big fuss, people scolding you for leaving and crying from happiness that you were back. Apologizes poured out of your mouth as you faced your family. Logan hung back and watched you be embraced, be loved. Your powers seemed to settle after this. The fear of touching other people was gone as you hugged people without a second thought. He waited and waited until it was just the two of you.

"Hey there," You can barely look at him as he sits in the plastic chair next to your bed.

"Logan I..." You can't get the words out. How do you even begin to apologize.

You bury your face in your hands but Logan isn't having it. He had a lot of questions but they could wait. He takes your hands away from your face, cupping your chin to make you look at him. Your heart breaks a little when you look into those eyes. He still doesn't know you. Of course, his memories are still gone.

"Why did you come? You don't remember me." You ask him. He risked his life for you, he killed for you. The Logan you knew at the start wouldn't have done that for you. Maybe with the team but to risk all of it alone. Why?

"I don't have to remember you to see you were important to me sweetheart, though I would really like those memories back." Of course.

You never took them from him. If anything you locked them away. You couldn't bring yourself to truly erase yourself from his mind. With a gentle touch you release his memories like a tidal wave. They pour into his brain, flooding his senses as memory after memory flash into his mind. Ending with your final moments together in that motel room.

Your first kiss, you told him you loved him. You took that from him. He should be angry with you. You stole his memories just like they did before but when he opens his eyes there's no anger.

Only love.

He smashes his lips onto yours. Capturing you into a heated kiss. This is what he dreamed of. Getting to touch you like this, to show his love. He's rough with his motions. He should be gentler but he can't help himself. Years of desperation building up into this. He can finally hold you, finally claim you as his.

"Logan I'm so sorry." You cry. He shushes you with another kiss.

He doesn't care about that right now. You were afraid and though he wishes you came to him he's just glad to have you back. You scared the fuck out of him.

"I love you too sweetheart, you didn't give me the chance to say it but fuck I love you." You claw at his shirt to get him closer.

You need him to be as close as he can. He ignores the wires and climbs into the bed with you. Situating himself so that you're as close as you can get. Legs intertwined with each other. He takes the necklace and places it around your neck. Clasping it and smiling as it rests above your heart.

"I'll always fight for us sweetheart. I'll fight for you." Even if he doesn't remember you he knew deep down that there was something there. That you were important to him. No one could take that away from him.

You curl into his arms, finally feeling at peace for the first time. Not worried about your powers or about your past. You felt protected and loved. Logan lulls you back to rest promising to keep watch. He knows that what you suffered won't go away easily but he'll be there every step of the way.

Nothing will take you from him again. Not ever. He'll make sure of that.

[hairmetal666]

It starts in Eddie's second senior year, close to the beginning of the semester. Eddie's in trig (again). He's good at math, but Mundy fucking sucks, always giving Eddie shit for breathing, or his shoes squeaking on the linoleum, or whatever, and he ends up with detention most days. So, he hardly ever shows and can't be bothered to do the homework, even though he knows the answers more often than not.

On this particular day, Mundy is in a bad mood, on Eddie's case way more than normal. In the heat of frustration, Eddie scrawls, "I fucking hate this class" on a scrap of notebook paper, and for reasons he can't begin to explain, leaves it folded on the window ledge. He doesn't think anyone will answer; fully expects the paper to be gone come morning with maybe another detention slip under his belt to show for it. He's a little flabbergasted, the next day, when the note is still there, and loses his mind a little when he sees the words "tell me about it" underneath his first message. He doesn't recognize the handwriting, sloping and a little looped, and for most of the class period, he's too bemused to respond. Right before the final bell rings he scrawls, "trig. You?" He leaves the paper on the ledge again. "Algebra 2 :(" is the response.

They keep it up, just a few words at first, before Eddie accidentally doodles on the page, and the other guy scribbles a hasty formula, the math spectacularly wrong. There's a little arrow leading to the words, "this shit sucks." Eddie re-writes the formula with the correct math, leaving careful notations of how and why. The next day he sees, "Shit, dude, I totally get this now. Mundy should retire and let you take over." Which pleases Eddie down to his core.

The messages get longer, nothing super personal, but complaints about life, math help, Eddie's silly little doodles, bad jokes, the slightly lewd drawings typical of teen boys. Eddie's never had a better attendance record in his life, but there are some days where his notes are left unopened. Most remarkably a couple week period before Thanksgiving, where he goes unanswered for so long he figures whatever thing they had going is done. But after the holiday, the notes start up again, with no acknowledgement they ever stopped. Eddie doesn't bother questioning it.

They keep it up almost all year, and they're definitely friends, even though they're totally anonymous. And that wouldn't have changed, except it's the day before spring break and Eddie's vibrating out of his skin with anticipation of the time off, so he forgets his dnd notebook in Mundy's class. He makes it all the way to Click's before he realizes, then sprints back across the school. He crashes through Mundy's door, tripping a little over his own feet.

"Sorry," he pants. "I just left--" he looks over to his desk, far corner right by the window, and then forgets every word he's ever known because Steve Harrington Steve Harrington King Steve, stares right back at him. And he just. He stops and fucking laughs, because all this time--this whole goddamn year--it's been Harrington he exchanged notes with. And sure, the jock's star has fallen in the last few months, with the breakup with Nancy and all that shit with Hargrove, but it's still Steve Harrington. With his big house and his fancy car and his girls. It's pretty Steve Harrington, the focus of Eddie's most hopeless daydreams.

He has a few seconds to see Harrington's hazel eyes go wide, before Eddie spins on his heel and makes a hasty exit. He absolutely doesn't spend the break thinking about the notes, matching what Harrington wrote with the gossip Eddie heard on him from the past few months.

Once break ends, he doesn't bother going to Mundy's class at all.

The Friday of the first week back, Eddie walks out to his van, only to find King Steve leaning up against it. He's doing that obnoxious thing where he has one leg bent, foot resting against the side panel, arms crossed over his chest, stupid hair falling in glorious cascades around his face. It's ridiculously, unfairly attractive.

"What do you want?" Eddie asks. He opens his front door without fully looking at Steve.

"Can we talk?"

Eddie snorts, "what could you and I possibly have to talk about."

Steve narrows his eyes. It's so bitchy and so fucking cute it makes Eddie queasy. "You know what."

"Enlighten me, Harrington."

"C'mon, man, the notes!"

"What about them?

"Don't be stupid, Munson, you know what. Why'd you stop?"

Eddie pulls a pack of camels and his lighter out of his jacket pocket. "Lost its appeal once I knew who was on the other side. Surprised you even want to keep it up now that you know you've been writing to the freak."

He pointedly ignores the little jolt Harrington gives at that, like the words hurt. Which is pretty rich from Steve Harrington, former #1 bully of Hawkins High.

"I've always known it was you," he says.

"You don't--wait what?"

I've known since, like, the first week, Munson."

"How??"

"What do you mean 'how,' dude, you're always drawing little pentagrams and d20's. Writing the word "Slayer" over and over. Who else would it be?"

And he can't even deal with the fact that Harrington knows what a d20 is (what the fuck) with everything else the other boy just said.

"I gotta go," is his only response. He ducks into his van, slamming the door basically in Harrington's face, before peeling out of the parking lot.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

It's the last day of school. Eddie's failed again. His grades, which weren't great to begin with, took a sharp nosedive after spring break, and he just can't wait to be done with this place for a few months. Harrington hasn't spoken to him again, and Eddie tries his hardest to ignore the other boy (aside from seeing him hanging out with Robin Buckley, a junior and a band geek, besides, and he forcibly has to remind himself that he doesn't care what Harrington does).

He slouches into his last math class of the year, slumping over in his seat. He rests his head on his desk, eyes blankly staring out the window as Mundy talks about what a joy most of them were to have in class. His eyes are unfocused, he contemplates a nap, and then he sees it. The tightly folded piece of paper resting on the window ledge.

Eddie almost doesn't take it. He almost ignores it, but he physically can't stop himself for reaching for it, unfolding it, staring at Harrington's now familiar handwriting.

Hey man, I'm pretty sure I fucked things up with us, and I owe you an apology. I've always known who you were, but you had no idea I was me. Buckley helped me see how that maybe freaked you out a little. I know I used to be a piece of shit. But I'm better--or I'm trying to be. And I'm so fucking sorry for the shit I did to you before and the things I didn't bother to stop. You don't owe me forgiveness, but you should know that I regret all of it. I liked passing notes with you. You made me laugh, and I don't know. It was nice to think someone liked me for reasons other than that I'm Steve Harrington, or whatever. I'd really like it if we could be friends. I get if you can't do that or don't want to.

Whatever the note actually ended with is scribbled out in pen so thick Eddie can't make it out.

All day he thinks about the note, the apology, all of it. Eddie thinks, if he's smart, he won't forgive Harrington. That he knows better than to trust him. But Eddie's never actually been that smart in this way, so he's not totally surprised to find himself walking to Steve's car after the last bell rings.

This time, Eddie's the one with his foot resting on the side panel of Steve's BMW, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn't have to wait long before Harrington makes his way to the car, chestnut hair dancing in the breeze, biceps on display in a short-sleeve polo. A little smile dances across his lips when he spots Eddie.

"So, you gonna tell me how you know what a d20 is, Harrington, or do I have to guess?" Eddie offers the other boy a cigarette.

"Babysitting?

"Babys--Are you serious??" Eddie splutters. Steve Harrington babysits. Steve Harrington babysits little dnd playing nerds. Steve Harrington wants to be his friend.

A full grin spreads across Steve's perfect face and Eddie is absolutely, 100%, fucked.

(Part 2)

(Steddie Notes is now posted in full on ao3!)

[saltandfire-blog]

All Time Favorite Lucemond Fics

Thought I’d post some baddies to help us heal from this last season.

ñuhon - When Lucerys lives and wakes up to oblivion, Aemond decides that—more than an eye for an eye—Lucerys in his entirety would be for Aemond to completely own.

In other words: Omega Lucerys survives yet loses his memories, and Alpha Aemond takes his revenge on him creatively.

Holy fuck, this might actually be one my favorite fics of all time. INCREDIBLY well written and perhaps one of the most tragic/romantic lucemond pieces I’ve ever read. I also find myself adoring the Daeron/Joffrey dynamic that is unexpectedly thrown in that I didn’t know I wanted.

all I had to give - Lucerys has waited for Aemond to find him again since his fall. He is only surprised it took this long.

I think this was technically my first a/b/o lucemond verse fic that blew my heart away. Aemond and Luke’s portrayal in this might actually be my favorite. And the added Alysmond is a +❤️

real gods require blood - Before King Viserys I Targaryen draws his last breath, the Greens make their move. Rhaenyra Targaryen and her family find themselves prisoners in the Red Keep, cut off from their dragons and at the mercy of a new king.

Terrified of what fate awaits his family, Lucerys Velaryon turns to the only person at court willing to help him, no matter the price he has to pay.

Or: Lucerys offers himself in exchange for his family’s safety. Aemond could never refuse.

Not only is this fucking incredible to read, it might be my favorite smutty fic out there. The dialogue between Aemond and Luke just hits sooooo amazingly, this is one of those fics I go back to regularly to reread. I await the authors part 2 of this with baited breath!

Consanguinity - When the bastard Addam of Hull claims Seasmoke, it throws House Velaryon into disarray. All except Corlys, who spies the perfect opportunity to help his heir out of the delicate situation he has found himself in with an impromptu suggestion.

Though quite why Prince Aemond seems so affronted by the match is anyone’s guess.

Speaking of fics I go back to reread - this is definitely another one!! @nashiriel is an absolutely incredible writer and I can’t wait to see where she goes with this! I don’t like to spoil other people’s work…but I love a pregnant Lucerys a/b/o verse with a deliciously angsty twist ❤️

Divenire - Lucerys survives Storm's End however now he needs to survive Aemond, his obsession over a debt paid and the Dance of the Dragons.

This is one of the first Lucerys/Aemond fics that blew my mind. Is it insanely demented and toxic? Yes. Is it amazingly well written? YES! You decide if it’s your cup of tea, but I always return back to this one every once in a while when I want a pure hate no happy ending fic.

Heir of the Tides series - In 120 AC, Aemond Targaryen lost an eye to his nephew. In 129 AC, he demands the price to be paid.

Later on, Lucerys Velaryon will tell his mother that it was a fair exchange. (or, the author went out and wrote the eye fic she so wanted to read).

I admit, I am an absolute sucker for the idea of Luke taking his own eye out. Add on top of that a Luke who takes more of a role in his Velaryon inheritance - and can’t forget the battle of the Gullet 🤌🏻 !! Definitely a series to invest in.

Life for life, eye for eye - Aemond finds his nephew, somehow surviving the death of his dragon over Shipbreaker Bay, washed ashore, an empty socket where his right eye should be. The message, to Aemond, is obvious: the gods have given Luke to him, to do with him as he sees fit.

Meanwhile, when Luke wakes up, prisoner to his uncle, his world quickly narrows to one thing and one thing alone: surviving, so he can return to his mother, and the rest of his family, alive.

--

In which Aemond surpasses Daemon for title of 'worst uncle' by several miles and Luke suffers.

Ok so please beware, this is about as dark as it gets. If you’re triggered easily, this isn’t the fic for you. It explores extreme Lima and Stockholm syndrome forsure, but if you’re into this ship I’m sure you must know it consists of a broad spectrum of very dark, toxic fics, and this is one that just so happens is amazingly well written. Please keep in mind, if you don’t like, don’t fucking read.

Portrait of a Prince on Fire - Ser Luke Strong, legitimised bastard of the lord of Harrenhal, has found favour at the sumptuous court of Viserys I as a court painter. But he is also Lucerys Waters, unacknowledged bastard of Princess Rhaenyra of Dragonstone. The secret of his true parentage and the life he could’ve had eats him up, and he drowns his regrets in drink and brawling.

Prince Aemond hasn’t been seen outside court since he lost his eye, over a decade ago. Now he is about to be wed — and the king commissions Luke to paint the portrait that will be sent to Aemond’s betrothed.

They hate each other at first sight — but as Viserys lies dying, the portrait sets them on a collision course that will send them spiralling inexorably together. And as the realm descends into war, they will have to decide whether to hold on to each other as the world they knew begins to shatter.

Another fic I am completely obsessed with! @fruitageoforanges has probably written one of my all time favorite portrayals of Aemond and I love the refreshing take on Lucerys I’ve never seen done before in this ship. A 17th century AU that has an awesome amount of fashion I adore and is an absolute must read 😉❤️

Star-Crossed - Lucerys is taken captive by the Greens after his fall. When Aemond is assigned as his constant guard, and so constant companion, the romance that blooms between them spins the Dance of the Dragons on its head.

Or: two young lovers from rival factions of the royal family come together in a violent world.

I can’t list off lucemond fics without giving this one an honorable mention.

Dirección de la Luz - A decade had passed since Hwa Yeong was exiled from Yin. He had traveled through the entire empire three times and still had not found his death.

Until one day he met the dragon prince.

Or: Pregnant and solely with the company of his dragon Arrax, Lucerys Velaryon travels to the Yi Ti Empire and begins a new life away from his family and Aemond Targaryen.

A fic published in Spanish, but there is a translated version linked or you can translate yourself as I found myself doing because this story drew me in SO hard I couldn’t wait for the translator to update lol. This is such an original idea and SO fascinating to read with the authors portrayal of Yi Ti culture with such amazing detail!! I can’t give this author enough praise and encouragement to keep going!

the beast you’ve made of me - Lucerys Velaryon is no coward. He is frightened. He is alone. He is a bastard. He is a prisoner of a war he would do anything to stop. But he is no coward.

Lucerys survives Shipbreaker Bay. Aemond is baptised in the storm. This is the aftermath.

If you want Team Green Lucerys, this is your story. When you have to join the enemy to save your family with long term goals, Luke really goes through it in this one, but the political seesaw between his love for Aemond and his family is fabulous to read unfold 🤌🏻

Hope I’ve given you guys some beauties to read if you haven’t already 💎🗡️��

Lucemond is a beautiful, terrible place 😉

(Tried to @ as many as I could that are here on tumblr)

[realcube]

WRATH & LUST . t.kei / y.tadashi

synopsis ✧ you hate tsukishima kei. you do everything in your power to make his life miserable but nothing works. now you have no choice but to fuck his best friend

cws/tags ✧ college au , enemies to enemies who screw, cursing, slut-shaming (both ways)

parts ✧ i. ii. iii. iv.

your friends call it 'inexplicable hatred', 'misdirected anger' and 'envy' but they couldn't be more wrong.

your feelings towards tsukishima kei were completely rational in your mind. he carried himself as though he was better than everyone and treated those around him like filth, yet he's still tolerated and his shitty attitude is even deemed charming by some self-loathing girls at your college.

it irritates you to no end how he behaves. too cocksure and too sassy; no dignified man should never act in such a manner, you believe. you could go on about other reasons you dislike him — his style atrocities and his punchable face, to name a couple — but you shan't.

you intended on going about your life, simply hating him from afar as you didn't see the need to stir up petty drama. but he made it impossible for you to do so.

one day he was sat behind you in a maths lecture. the seats are tiered so he is slightly higher up than you are. while making notes, his pen slips out of his hand and tumbles forward, landing somewhere under your desk.

you do the polite thing by making an attempt to search for it, but it is dark under the table you can't seem to find it.

a couple moments pass, and he remarks lowly, "are you just going to stare it?"

white hot rage courses through you at his comment. what ever happened to 'please'? to 'would you mind'? you were about to do him a favour by fetching his pencil and he still has the audacity to be snarky.

fuck that, he can pick up his own damn pen. you leave it alone and try to focus on the lecture.

you make it through the whole thing without him bothering you again, probably using a spare or borrowed pen. once the class has been dismissed, you gather your things and wait for the people in your row to start filtering out so you can leave, that is when you feel a gentle tap on the shoulder.

you turn around and lock eyes with a tan, freckled boy with mousy brown hair, he wears an awkward smile and point to your desk, "excuse me, my friend dropped his pencil and i think it landed under your desk. could you get it, please?"

his voice is meek and demeanour similar to that of a shy puppy, which is why it almost pained you to scoff at him and say, "tell your friend to stop being such a cunt, then maybe."

you rush out of the door, keen to get as far away from those two boys as you can. yet as you leave you hear the blonde's voice mutter in your wake, "what a moron."

after marinating on the situation during the retelling to your friend group, and a group vote, you came to the conclusion that perhaps your response to yamaguchi — you learned his name from one your friends — might have been a bit severe. but in your defence, you were peeved by the comment tsukishima had made prior.

it's as though manners and etiquette are totally lost on him.

ೃ⁀➷

two weeks passed since your last little altercation with tsukishima, and you were proud to say you haven't been involved in any conflict with him since then. mostly making snide remarks in passing or exchanging dirty looks in the hall.

however, that all changed when your professor was late to one of your classes. they expressed in the past that they prefer students to wait outside the lecture theatre when they aren't present, so naturally this caused many people to be clogging the hallways.

there was a long queue of people waiting to enter, you stood far away from the door, while tsukishima and yamaguchi happened to be standing opposite. you couldn't help but notice the outfit tsukishima had on: skinny light brown trousers with a black belt, and a pressed short-sleeve white shirt, that was a bit see-through.

you didn't know much about this guy but from his slightly toned figure, which was made apparent by his choice in clothes, you could tell he does some sort of sport. probably basketball, considering how tall he is, but maybe golf. he acts like a golf player.

lost in thought for too long, your finally yanked out of your own internal monologue by a familiar voice snapping, "what are you staring at?"

you blink, and before you even have time to process what he just accused you of, you blurt out, "has anyone told you that you're dressed like a slut today?"

yamaguchi must slap a hand over his mouth to suppress his burgeoning laughter. tsukishima's eyes narrow at his friend's offensive display, before they snap back to you and he argues, "really? me? i'm dressed appropriately. take a look at what you're wearing."

he motions to your outfit: jorts and a tank top. maybe not the most stylish choice but definitely not as whorish as his attire. "it might be more revealing but still not as slutty as you."

he rolls his eyes like what you said was contradictory, wearing smug smile. he wants you to believe what you said is nonsensical and 'proved his point' but all it does it anger you to no end.

not fond of his facial expressions, you retort, "don't pull stupid faces and play dumb. you're already dumb enough as is, so it isn't a very becoming look on you."

with furrowed brows, he opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off, "and i can see your chest through your shirt. no one wants to see that!"

"you say that while your tits are out, have some self-respect."

"at least i have tits. you're wearing a short sleeve to show off the muscles you don't even have!"

yamaguchi is thoroughly entertained by this squabble, which is why it pains him to chime in, "uh, tsukki. the lecturer is here, let's go."

as much as he wanted to get the last word in, tsukishima glances between tadashi and the empty halls before he decides his education is actually kinda important and begins to make his way inside the theatre. it was good timing because he didn't have a witty response anyway.

your heart is beating rapidly, though you're unsure why. you gaze at the empty walls for a minute to collect yourself before heading into class as well. you totally won that fight, is what you tell yourself.

ೃ⁀➷

ever since the disagreement you had with tsukishima in hallways of the maths building, what was once comments and glares has escalated to threats and insults being made boldly in each other's face.

despite the fact you ate him up the first time, you've been on a losing streak since then. you feel as though nothing you say gets under his skin anymore.

you've tried belittling his face, his smarts, his personality, his mother but nothing seems to work. you even tried to ridicule his glasses but that didn't work either!

"hey, four eyes!"

"hey, five guys."

what the fuck? you weren't sure if that was a dig at your diet, your weight or your quantity of sexual partners but regardless, you could not let that slide.

verbal abuse wasn't working so naturally the next option was physical. you attempted to trip him in the halls but his legs were so long he stepped over you without even noticing. you attempted to pour milk over him but tadashi noticed and pulled him out of the way. you considered pushing his knees while he was standing in front of you but you realised that if he fell backwards his weight would crush you and you'd probably die.

all of that was so elementary and childish though; high school bullying at best. you need college level bullying. you thought about planting weed in his bag and calling the campus police on him but your friends said that was 'too far'. you thought about leaking his nudes but firstly you don't have them and secondly, he's already walking around college half naked anyway so he likely wouldn't be phased by it.

the hard thing about trying to torture a boy like tsukishima is you don't know enough about him to know what will truly drive him insane. you know he cares about his grades but sabotaging his test scores is beyond your means. he doesn't have any dignity so you can't humiliate him. even if you tried, his little gremlin of a best friend would probably catch onto you anyway.

that green haired boy was just as bad as his handler. always gawking at you to make sure you don't try anything; literally glued to tsukishima's ass at all times — it's so gross. and it gave you the most disgustingly perfect idea.

[hyunniesgirl]

Can you make a one shot smut where like reader and Chan like REALLY hate each other, like CANNOT stand each other but like while reader is out partying she like sees Chan so for shits and giggles she goes up to him and flirts with him which ends up w Chan subbing and begging to cum. I’d like to be 🪼 anon pls :3 and ty if you do this !! 🙏🏼

I love the hate concept (I'm literally obsessed with hate sex), thank you for the ask ❣️ I hope you like it, I'm not really good with smut but I'm trying to get better!!

Something bad

Pairing: Bangchan x reader

Words count: 2,006

THIS CONTENT IS +18 ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: switch!Chan, switch!reader, hate relationship, handjob

You hate his guts. Bang Chan thinks he's all that, but in your opinion he's actually an asshole. You have known each other for so long you're not sure if you always hated him, but if not, you don't know when it started.

He's your brother's best friend, so he is always around, teasing you, making jokes about your hair in the morning or even bringing his hookups late at night, banging them in his room so loudly as if he wants you to hear how good he's making them feel.

You listen to everything from the guest room you sleep in when visiting and the smug look on his face when he sees your eyebags the next morning make you even more mad.

He's not much different from you, Chan likes to see your reactions, how red you get when you're angry about the simplest things he does to tease you or even how you avoid his eyes when you find him at the front door in the morning, saying goodbye to the people he fucked.

He'll look at you waiting for a complaint about the noise but you just look everywhere but his face. He loves that, love that your feisty attitude dies down after hearing him going on all night long. You're back to your usual self by lunch time, that's why he keeps bringing people every night when you visit, he wants to make you angry.

You're currently looking for an apartment, you just got out of uni and got a nice job, so you're staying with your brother just until you can sign the lease of the apartment you're renting with your two best friends.

They invited you to go out tonight, have some fun, maybe fuck a hot random stranger or just pass out drunk anywhere but your brother's house. Literally anything is a better option than another sleepless night of Chan fucking someone senseless and making you horny.

You would never, ever, admit this out loud, but the way you can hear him groaning sometimes when you get close to his room, just messes with your head. He IS an attractive man, even though you hate him, you cannot deny he is hot. Beautiful dark wavy hair, nice broad shoulders and that physic is just… you just know he could break you in half if he wanted to.

You shake your head, why are you having these strange thoughts again? He's your brother's best friend and the guy that makes your life a living hell every time you're in his house. Is it because he's here? Out of all places, why did he and his friends decide to come to the same party as you and your friends did?

“Should we go home?” You sigh, making your friends glare at you.

“Not even a chance”, Sana says, making you sigh. “Should we play a game? Maybe that will get you to relax”

She exchanges a glance with Yeji, smirking. You're already kinda dizzy from your previous drink, so you're not sure you understand what that look means. But you nod, drinking games are your thing, you love them all.

It was all premeditated, you're sure your friends knew Chan would be there with his crew, they are acquainted, after all. You know it was all planned when Yeji giggled, saying “I dare you to flirt with Chan”. Sana laughed so hard at your face after hearing that, saying “we are talking about a hard flirting, literally get a hard on out of him”

That's how you ended up walking in his direction now, feeling your face warm, at least the alcohol makes you feel more secure about yourself. You're looking hot today, wearing a tight short black dress with a neckline lower than how you usually wear, exposing a good piece of your skin and breast. You're sure you can pull Chan.

He stares at you up and down when you show up in front of him, you look smoking hot. He knows you're attractive, it's such a shame you're so annoying.

You greet his friends, you know all of them since they come buy a lot to your brother's and Chan apartment.

“Can I have a sip?” You ask Chan, sitting by his side at the booth. His friends look at each other, saying something you can't hear because of the loud music and then going to the dance floor.

“What do you want?” He ignores your question, scowling when you do the same to him, grabbing his drink and tasting it.

“Woah, this is bitter just like you”, you smile seeing him rolling his eyes.

“Are you drunk? Should I call your brother?” He asks, sighing.

“No, Channie”, you pout, calling the nickname you've heard so many people scream when they were fucking, “let's have some fun, hm? What do you think?”

You turn your body to stare at him, putting your hand on his chest, snuggling closer to him. He smells nice and the warmth his body emits makes you want to get even closer.

“What game are you playing?” He asks with a smug smile on his lips, brows lifted in question.

You sigh.

“It's truth or dare”, you tell, rolling your eyes. “Can't you just get hard already so I can be done?”

Chan chuckles, throwing his head back in a loud laugh, you know it's loud because you can hear it even with the loud music playing in the background.

“Do you really think you have what it takes to get me hard, little girl?” He asks playfully, making you scowl.

“Of course I do”, you tell him, crossing your arms.

You can't help but notice the look he sneaks at your breasts almost popping out of your dress. You decide to use that, in your favor.

“Do you wanna touch it, Channie?” You ask, touching your chest with your hands and squeezing your breasts up so he can have a better view.

“If I do get hard”, he clears his throat, “you should think about the consequences of what is going to happen after that”

“I will win the dare and go back to my friends”, you shrug.

Chan smiles, diabolically. Clicking his tongue.

“I don't think so”, he turns to you, sliding his hand on your thigh, squeezing the flesh while he gets closer to your face. “If you do manage to get me hard, I'll take you home and you're going to take care of it. So you better think carefully about your next move”

You feel goosebumps all over your body, it's because you're grossed out, right? You would never feel turned on with Chan speaking so closely to you, his hot breath hitting your skin has nothing to do with the warmth growing in your lower stomach.

“You know what I think, Channie?”, you try to take back control over the situation, “you're afraid your best friend's little sister is going to make you so horny you won't be able to do anything other than beg to cum”, you slide your hand to the hem of his shirt, sliding it under the fabric and brushing your nails on his stomach, close enough to his cock to provoke a reaction out of him.

Chan breaths through his teeth, trying to control himself. He tried being confident, saying those things to you so you'd get scared and go back to your friends. He didn't think you would keep going and now he's not so sure about what he said, since you clearly are managing to get him hard.

He slides his hand under your dress, feeling how wet your underwear is and decides to use that in his favor.

“Are you sure you want to keep this up?” He asks, brushing his fingers over your covered cunt. You don't avoid his gaze, staring at him intensely, you're not going to give in. He smirks, well, if he can't escape this, he better have some fun. “Let’s see who's gonna be the one begging”

You're not sure how the hell you got there, in a moment Chan was whispering something to you and the next he was dragging you to the bathroom, throwing you against the wall. His lips are attached to your neck, sucking so hard you're sure it's gonna leave marks. Your body is pressed against his and you feel his hard cock on your stomach, now that you manage to get him hard it's time to stop it, so why is the only sound that comes out of your mouth muffled moans?

He slides his hands under your skirt, moving your underwear to the side while he presses a finger on your clit.

You have to do something, you need to take control. Your hand touches his covered cock and Chan groans, resting his head on the wall. He hates the idea of leaning on you.

You work fast, unbuttoning his pants and sliding your hand under his underwear, grabbing his cock in a fist, going up and down, feeling his cock twitching in your hand.

Chan was too cocky, he shouldn't have let you do this. Your touch is just too good, he can't help but moan subtly with every stroke you give to his dick.

He's growing restless, even though he's working with his fingers on you he knows it's a lost case. Your hand is soft, massaging his cock gently but firmly and the look in your eyes, like you're watching your prey, the way you have your bottom lip stuck between your teeth, enjoying seeing him panting while you play with him, it's just too much for him. He feels his orgasm getting closer, you can tell by the way his cock is twitching so you slow the speed of your hand, earning a frustrated groan from him.

“Do you like it, Channie?” You ask playfully, watching his voice crack when he tries to speak.

“Stop teasing, you fucking brat”, he grunts.

“That's not what I want to hear, baby”, you say as your index finger twirls over the head of his cock. “Do you wanna cum?”

He nods, feeling the blush on his cheeks grow, he can't believe he's humiliating himself like that.

“Tell me”, you smirk, “tell me what you want, be a good boy for me, yeah?”

You're feeling extra confident now, seeing him whimper when you get back to jerking him off.

“L-Let me cum”, he whispers too low, you're not even sure if you heard him.

“You can do better, Channie”, you tell him, fastening your movements.

“Please”, he whimpers, “let me cum”, he throws his head back, he doesn't want to give in so easily but your hand around him is just divine, he wants to cum so badly he doesn't mind begging at that moment.

“More”, you tell him simply, “beg more”

“Please, I just-” he whimpers.

“Are you going to stop being so mean to me?” You ask, trying to get something out of this, since you have him so vulnerable right now.

He nods frantically, needing his release more than anything. You keep jerking him off faster, while watching him moan, your hand going up and down on his cock.

His cum springs all over your hands, while he groans with faltering movements, trying to calm down from his high. You're almost sure you heard him sob, but if that really happened, he hid it really well.

After cleaning up the mess he made on your hand, you look at him with a pretentious victorious smile.

“I guess I won”, you cross your arms in front of your chest and Chan sighs, not able to look you in the eyes. Acting exactly like you do when you find him and his last fuck in the living room of his apartment.

“Let's just pretend this never happened”, he tells you, turning around and going out of the bathroom.

But you're not so sure if you'll be able to leave him alone now that you tasted this side of him.

[struggling-with-drivers]

No Red Flags - Oscar Piastri

⋗ Pairing - Oscar Piastri x Mechanical Engineering Student!reader

⋗ Summary - Oscar comes crashes back into your life, quite literally when he barrels you down on the paddock, bringing with him all types of unwanted feelings and a whole slew of problems.

⋗ Word count - 11.2k words, fluff, Oscar being emotionally unavailable

⋗ Masterlist - requests are open, I hope y'all don't mind this long fic, this was a reminder to myself that I hate type-setting texting, feedback and reblogs are appreciated

Oscar has never been the type to keep a girl for long, a mix of not having the time, and focusing all his efforts on karting, which has finally turned fruitful and given him a contract in F1. 

A series of events has led him to exchange the girl on his arm just twice this year, one for another. His feelings just seemed to change, he tells you. 

And you? You aren't much better, never able to hold onto a relationship, never falling fast, but always falling hard. The havoc the last guy left you in is still fresh in your mind, even if the guy isn't. 

You're doing your internship at McLaren for their mechanical engineering department, and Oscar is in and out of the factory constantly to get ready for his debut next year. There aren't a lot of people around your age in the department, most are a lot more than a few years older. You would be as well if you managed to get a job when you're done with your master's. But that is years into the future, and you’re still writing your bachelor's. 

It leaves Oscar to gravitate towards you, still not used to all the people constantly trying to get him to do this, do that, stand here, stand there. You're asking none of those things of him, mostly because you're stressed out of your mind with the looming deadline, and that you know you're behind on your bachelor. 

But you get talking, a few words at first, which turns to exchanging weekend stories, turns to deep conversations when you're the only ones left in the department that one Tuesday afternoon. And you show him what you've been working on for your bachelor. 

Oscar is intrigued, seemingly asking the right questions, admitting he would probably have been an engineer if he hadn't become a driver. 

You mention offhand that you don't want to go home because you have to eat leftovers again, and Oscar pipes up with "I like food."

"What?"

"I like food, I can eat the last of your leftovers."

The already long Tuesday turns longer as you find yourself heating pasta and tomato sauce for this guy. Both are things that are definitely not on his dietary plan, but you're not complaining. Just happy to finally be rid of the last of your leftovers from the week before. 

Oscar starts to talk about himself and tells you he used to go to boarding school, and you slowly realise you have quite a few things in common as the evening progresses. You tell him about your own short stint at a boarding school while your parents lived abroad. When the topic comes to past partners, Oscar tells you of how he kind of met his current girlfriend while being with his past one, how that was a dick move that he broke up with her 2 weeks after telling his ex that he was up for the long distance. 

You tell him of the guy that fucked you up, how he had promised the world, only to go ahead and break your heart, and like a fool, you had taken him back when he apologised, only for him to go ahead and cheat on you, not just 1, not 2, but 3 times within the summer months. How he had wrecked your self-esteem, as he hadn't left quietly but wanted to tear you down as he left your world. 

Then you sober up a bit and ask Oscar "Does your girlfriend know that you're here?" 

Oscar shrugs, and goes "She doesn't have to if you don't tell her." The air shifts and it all feels wrong. He is sitting too close. You’re feeling nervous. A look of worry flashes on his face. You tell him he should get going.

“It's getting late, and I have work early in the morning.” 

Oscar doesn't understand why you're kicking him out, and why you've suddenly closed yourself back up. 

Once you've practically shoved him out of the door, you realise that you've fucked up. That was not what was meant to happen. That was not how you needed the last few weeks of your internship to be used. 

But here you are, with Oscar in your vicinity at work, and he’s not understanding why you're so curt with him, why you aren't having the same kind of conversations with him anymore. And then one day you're gone, and he's told that your internship is over. 

You become a passing thought in his head, and he becomes a distant memory in yours, something that happened during your internship. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦

2 years later, you’re in the beginning stages of your master's degree. Oscar has had an amazing first year driving for McLaren and is still living his best life, although his relationships only seem to become even more short-lived than the last one. His current girl won't stick around for long, he knows this, it doesn't take an intellect to see that she's here for the travels and followers she gets on Instagram, and Oscar doesn't really care. 

But then he sees you in Silverstone, at least he thinks he does. He tries to unsubtly turn around and walk past the Mercedes garage again. Instead, he ends up turning around and just staring straight into the group of students who are talking to the engineers. And sure enough, right by the group of guys you stick out. 

"Oscar, what are you doing?" The PR manager asks, "We have places to be." 

"Uh, yes, coming." Oscar turns away and catches back up.

"If you're going to steal secrets, don't do it so obviously,” his PR manager jokes, before rambling on about all the interviews he has to do after free practice today.

Oscar doesn't get why he can't get the image of you out of his head. He had honestly forgotten about you, but here you are, wearing Mercedes clothes, and for some reason, it unnerves him. You had always worn your own clothes or something with McLaren branding back 2 years ago. But now you're sporting an ever-usual ponytail and Mercedes clothes. 

You stroll past the McLaren garage, hopeful to spot familiar faces from your internship. Instead, you find yourself halting, taking a moment to point out details on the car that you saw being worked on to your classmate – a reminiscent gesture from your internship at the McLaren factory. Unintentionally, your eyes briefly catch Oscar's. Witnessing a moment of hesitation, he pauses his conversation with Lando Norris, the first seater at McLaren. Choosing to move forward, you leave the scene as Patrick wants to see the Red Bull team before the qualifier kicks off.

Instead, Oscar comes barrelling out of the garage, yelling your name after you, causing you to flinch and stop. You turn around slowly, fully aware of the hundreds of eyes that have turned onto you.

"Hey." Oscar breathes out, his lips gracing a small smile. 

"Hi?" You question back before your classmate sticks his hand out.

"Hello! I'm Patrick," your classmate says, waiting for Oscar to take his hand, and a few seconds too long passes before Oscar does. 

"I'm Oscar, the driver for McLaren."

Patrick smiles wide, "I know! Can I take a picture with you? I'm sorry, I've just been a massive fan the last few years, tried to get in to write my master's degree but there weren't any slots open for our year and-"

"Yeah, sure." Oscar cuts him off, with a nod and a pr practised smile. Patrick fishes out his phone and quickly makes you snap a picture of the two. 

"Thank you so much!" Your last lifeline, says as he's hurrying down the paddock ready to brag that he got a picture with Oscar Piastri. 

"I thought you were a McLaren fan at heart." He tries to joke, as you shrug your shoulders. 

"You heard him, there weren't any spots for our year, and I was lucky to get a foot in the door at Mercedes. I wasn't going to turn that down,” you tell him, looking around awkwardly, fully aware of how it looks to have what looks like a Mercedes engineer talking to the McLaren driver. 

"You could have asked me?" The two of you aren't sure who's the most surprised by those words. Oscar for saying them, or you for hearing them. 

"What?" 

"I mean, you could have, eh, asked me?" Oscar realises how it sounds as he tries to defend his previous question. How could you even do that? You two never exchanged info, you were only friendly at work, and then you just stopped talking to each other. 

"I will... I will keep that in mind?" You say although it comes out as another question, the surrounding air is turning awkward, and you know you should probably leave. "I will see you around. I just have things to do, and you know, Mercedes... Yes." You make a weird hand gesture before hurrying off down the paddock. 

Oscar waves after you awkwardly, before stopping himself, realising that you aren't turning around to look at him.

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦ 

The next time you see Oscar, it’s a lot less you see him, and much more you barely hear him calling out your name before he rams straight into you, sending both of you tumbling to the asphalt of the paddock. 

“I’m so sorry!” Oscar is quick to apologise, as you’re trying to untangle yourself from the surprise attack. “Hello to you too.” You run a hand over your left elbow, you’ve scraped it. Oscar finally gets up on his feet, staring at you as you sit on the ground. “If I get blood on my shirt, I’m definitely sending you the invoice.” 

You crack a small smile at his dumbfounded look, nodding to his hand before he reaches forward and you grab it. You let him help you up. 

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to catch you before you were gone,” Oscar repeats himself. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to get the chance to give you my number.” He hands over a piece of paper. Chicken scratches in a surprisingly neat row, spelling out what you can barely decipher as a phone number. 

“Thank you… Oscar?” 

He smiles for a moment before the silence falls and his face seems to as well. He’s openly searching for a response, and you aren’t sure what it is. Apparently, thanking him wasn’t what he was hoping for. 

You bite your tongue, before sighing. “You shouldn’t hand out your number to other girls when you’re in a relationship.” 

Oscar blinks at you, “I’m not?”

“Then what about her?” You nod at the girl standing by the garage, wearing a hoodie with Oscar’s number on it. She’s looking more and more uncomfortable by the second as Oscar turns around and looks at her. 

“Oh that… Yeah.” Oscar shrugs. It sends a shiver down your spine, his dismissal tone mixed with his indifferent facial expression. All of it screaming to you, he’s a walking red flag. Don’t do this to yourself. 

You take a step back, your scraped elbow forgotten in the sudden surge of discomfort.

"Yeah," you manage to mumble, not wanting to linger any longer in this awkward exchange. You glance at the girl by the garage, whose eyes briefly meet yours before she looks away. It's clear she's caught in the middle of something she probably didn't sign up for.

"I... I thought..." Oscar stammers, seemingly at a loss for words.

You shake your head, deciding it is best not to delve into the intricacies of his personal life. "It doesn't matter. I have to go," you say, tucking the paper with his number into your pocket, the weight of it feeling surprisingly heavy.

As you walk away, you can't help but replay the brief encounter in your mind. It's a strange mix of nostalgia, irritation, and a newfound realisation that some things never really change. Oscar seems to be stuck in the same patterns, and you don't want to be a part of that cycle.

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦

Days pass, and you find yourself torn between dialling the number and simply discarding it. The rational part of your mind screams at you to let it go, but there's a small, persistent voice that wonders if people can truly change. Another one telling you that you won’t be part of whatever cycle he’s going through if you just keep him at arm's length.

Eventually, curiosity gets the better of you, and you type in his number. Chuckling to yourself at his contact name, before you decide to send a brief text. 

You: Hey finally deciphered your chicken scratches how have you been?

The response is almost immediate. 

Os🚗: Hey! I've been good. Any invoices I need to pay? You: Invoices? Os🚗: Yeah, for your team shirt, I know the first few ones are special. You:  Ah no got it out with cold water and soap You: Thanks for that btw

You wait a minute before sending another text.

You: My elbow is all healed up as well  Os🚗: Good to hear 👍 You:  You text like my dad Os🚗: 👎 You:  Skill issue

You laugh to yourself, before realising half your lecture is now looking at you. It pulls you right back to reality. You only texted him because it seemed slightly more fun than listening to a guest lecture on spring physics. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦ 

The days pass, and your interactions with Oscar continue sporadically through text. The initial awkwardness fades, replaced by a casual banter that surprises you. It's almost as if the past is being overwritten by a new script, one in which you're just two acquaintances catching up.

Yet, in the back of your mind, the warning signs still linger. The memory of that awkward encounter with the girl by the garage and Oscar's dismissive attitude towards her. Then add on all those years ago in your apartment where he told you to keep quiet, it all sits as a constant reminder. You find yourself treading carefully, keeping the conversations light and steering clear of anything that could lead to future problems.

As you're scrolling through your phone during a break, TikTok seems to think you’ve found a sudden interest in the edits of Oscar. A notification pops up. It's a message from the man of the hour.

Os🚗: Hey, I have a weekend off, and Lando has me coming to the UK. Do you have time to meet for some time?

You hesitate, considering the invitation. A part of you is curious about how a casual meeting would unfold, but another part is wary. Oscar has been very clear in every single one of your interactions that he wants to get closer to you, in a way that’s intruding on all your thoughts, will only bring you trouble, unwanted complications, and unneeded problems. You know he will try to mask any advantages with the simple gesture of just wanting to be friends. 

But friends don’t look at each other the way Oscar looks at you, and it’s weird, you don’t want to find out why he does look at you like that.

You: Thanks for the offer but I've got plans this weekend. Maybe some other time

Oscar's response is swift.

Os🚗: No problem. Just let me know when you're free.

When you’re free? You really shouldn’t, you absolutely shouldn’t be considering it. 

As the days pass, you find yourself contemplating the situation. The cautious voice in your head warns against getting too involved, while the curious side wonders if people truly can change. It's a delicate balance, and you're not sure which way to lean.

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦

The allure of a face-to-face meeting lingers, but so does the memory of that uncomfortable encounter at the paddock. Oscar keeps pestering you through texts as the months pass, you’re making up excuses as you go, yet your reasoning keeps running thinner until you’re left with nothing to justify your rejections.

You're sipping coffee and reviewing some notes, as your phone buzzes with a call from Oscar. Why would he be calling you, he never calls, he only ever texts in that dad-type of way. Curiosity gets the best of you, and you answer.

"Hey, it's Oscar."

A small laugh slips past your lips, "Yeah, I know, caller ID was invented half a century ago."

"McLaren has me in London, well, south of it, and I was thinking we could grab a coffee or something. Face-to-face, you know?"

“Oscar… Why are you so insistent?” The question blurts out of you before you seem to realise you actually said it out loud. 

“Because we’re friends?” It’s meant to sound like an answer, but to you, it sounds like he’s inquiring about the most obvious thing in the world. And for a moment you feel like an asshole.

A small moment of weakness shows in the way you say, “I don’t have the time to come to London, but if you find yourself in Brackley on Thursday.”

You never mention a time or a place, yet he agrees so easily, and you wonder if you’re going to regret this. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦ 

Thursday arrives, and you’re nervously glancing at the clock as the appointed time approaches. Your work at Mercedes keeps you occupied, but there's a subtle anticipation building in the background. The decision to meet Oscar has left you in a state of conflicting emotions, and you're not entirely sure what to expect.

As the clock strikes the start of your lunch break, you're surprised to see Oscar approaching the entrance of the Mercedes facility. His casual demeanour contrasts with the high-security surroundings, but he seems unfazed. You meet him at the entrance, exchanging a brief nod.

"Hey," he greets you with a warm smile.

"Hey," you reply, feeling a mix of uncertainty and curiosity.

Oscar suggests grabbing a coffee from a nearby café, and you agree yet again. The conversation flows more smoothly than you anticipated. It's easy and casual, and you're reminded of the times when you first met at McLaren. The awkwardness seems to have dissipated, replaced by a shared understanding of each other's worlds.

As you discuss work, life, and everything in between, you notice a genuine interest in Oscar's eyes. It's a stark contrast to the distant look he had during your internship. Maybe people can change, you think, or at least, they can show different sides of themselves.

As the coffee date comes to an end, you both stand outside the café. There's a moment of silence, and you can sense a question lingering in the air.

"Look," Oscar starts, "I know things got weird back then, and I probably should've been more upfront. I just want you to know that I genuinely enjoyed our conversations, and I'd like to keep talking, don’t… run away again, please."

You appreciate his honesty, and for a moment, you contemplate sharing your reservations. But you decide against it, choosing instead to take things one step at a time.

"I appreciate that, Oscar," you reply, offering a small smile. "But let's just see where things go."

The two of you part ways, and you can't deny the subtle warmth that lingers. Maybe, just maybe, this time around will be different. As you return to your work at Mercedes, you can't help but wonder how the next chapter of your story with Oscar will unfold.

That voice in the back of your head is screaming that Oscar is going to cause you problems, yet you can’t help but feel a bit giddy. And as much as you know you should agree, you find yourself ignoring it. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦ 

You're not quite sure how Oscar ended up in your apartment once again, however, you can not find it in yourself to complain. Nor do you want him to leave. The smile that rests on his lips has your heart fluttering, despite your mind knowing Oscar is nothing but trouble. 

The soft hum of a familiar tune plays in the background as you move around your kitchen, gathering ingredients for a simple pasta dish. Oscar sits at the small dining table, watching with genuine interest as you go about your culinary routine.

"Do you cook often?" he asks, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

You chuckle, glancing over your shoulder. "Well, I try. It's therapeutic, you know? I want to say it's cheaper, but we both know in this economy nothing is cheap."

Oscar smiles, appreciating the casual atmosphere that envelops your apartment. The aroma of garlic and tomatoes begins to fill the air as you start chopping vegetables.

"Need any help?" he offers, standing up and joining you at the counter.

You hand him a knife and a bell pepper. "How about you tackle this? Just chop it into small pieces."

Oscar nods, mimicking your chopping technique. The rhythmic sound of knives against cutting boards fills the kitchen, creating a comforting melody. As you work side by side, a gentle ease settles between you.

"So," Oscar begins, breaking the silence, "what's the secret ingredient in this pasta?"

You wink playfully. "That's a trade secret. But I'll give you a hint – it starts with 'herbs.'"

He laughs, and the genuine warmth in the sound makes your heart flutter. As the vegetables sizzle in the pan, you find yourself caught in the simplicity of the moment. The soft glow of the kitchen lights, the shared laughter, and the anticipation of a homemade meal create a cocoon of tranquillity.

Once the pasta is perfectly al dente, you drain it and add it to the simmering sauce. Oscar takes a step closer, his eyes fixed on the creation taking shape before him.

"Looks delicious," he remarks.

You grin, handing him a fork. "The real test is in the taste."

Together, you sit at the table, savouring each bite of the pasta. The flavours dance on your taste buds, and you can't help but appreciate the quiet joy of sharing a meal you have prepared together.

The dinner table is adorned with the remnants of the delicious pasta, and the two of you sit comfortably, basking in the warmth of shared food and easy conversation. The soft glow of the kitchen lights casts a cosy ambience.

Oscar looks at you, a gentle smile on his face. "This is really good, you know. You've got some serious cooking skills. It's even better than last time when I got to eat your leftovers."

You return the smile, appreciating the compliment. "Thanks, Oscar. I'm glad you like it."

There's a brief pause, and Oscar's expression becomes more contemplative. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," you reply, taking a sip of your drink.

Oscar hesitates for a moment before speaking. "I've noticed that things have been a bit... different between us. You seem to be, I don't know, running away or avoiding me. Did I do something wrong?"

You take a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. "It's not that you did something wrong, Oscar. It's just that... it feels like you're set on making things complicated for me."

His brow furrows in confusion. "Complicated? What do you mean?"

You chuckle, a hint of irony in your tone. "Oscar, you're a walking enigma. You come into my life, seemingly wanting to be friends, and then there's this underlying tension, this feeling that you're here to stir up trouble."

He looks genuinely perplexed. "Trouble? I don't want to cause trouble for you. I just want to get to know you better."

You meet his gaze, sincerity in your eyes. "I appreciate that, but there are moments when it feels like you're intentionally making things challenging. Like you enjoy the chaos."

Oscar leans back, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I genuinely don't want to complicate things for you. If there's something I'm doing that makes you uncomfortable, please let me know."

You sigh, realising the complexity of the situation. "Let's not dwell on it too much. It's just a feeling I get sometimes."

He seems about to press further, but you change the topic with a light laugh. "Anyway, did I tell you about the time I accidentally set off the fire alarm at University? We were trying to test out this new engine, but it caught on fire. Disaster in the garage, trust me."

Oscar chuckles along, as you make a point to ignore the way he's staring at you. You can feel his eyes searching for your face for something you won't give to him. Instead, deep inside of you, you realise that little voice in your head has been quiet the entire time Oscar has been in your apartment. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦ 

You’re neglecting your book about fluid physics as you and Oscar are talking over Facetime. The idea of going clubbing has just been tossed into the conversation, and Oscar, ever the persuader, leans closer to the camera with a playful glint in his eyes.

"Come on," he says, a charming smile playing on his lips. "Even university students need a break, you know? It's all about finding the right balance between work and play."

You raise an eyebrow, sceptical but intrigued. "Balance, huh? I do have assignments due next week."

Oscar chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "And that's precisely why you should take a break. Trust me, a night of dancing and fun is the perfect way to recharge those academic batteries. Besides, Lando and I have been planning this for ages, and it wouldn't be the same without you."

He glances towards something out of the camera's lens, you aren't sure what, yet you can sense the anticipation in his demeanour.

"I'm not sure," you admit, considering the proposition.

Oscar leans in again, adopting a more serious tone. "Look, I get it. University life can be hectic, but you deserve to have some fun too. It's not just about the grades and deadlines; it's about creating memories and enjoying the journey. Tonight, let's forget about responsibilities and just live in the moment."

His words resonate with a certain truth, and you find yourself swaying toward the idea. Still, a hint of hesitation lingers.

"I promise it won't be an all-night affair," Oscar reassures, sensing your wavering resolve. "Just a couple of hours of music, laughter, and good company. You won't regret it."

You weigh the options, glancing between Oscar's earnest expression and your open book about fluid physics. A sigh escapes you, accompanied by a smile. "Alright, fine. But just for a couple of hours."

Oscar's face lights up with triumph, and he gives you a playful wink. "That's the spirit! Trust me; you won't regret this."

The pulsating beat of the music reverberates through the club as you, Oscar, and Lando immerse yourselves in the vibrant atmosphere. The dance floor is a sea of moving bodies, and the colourful lights create a kaleidoscope of patterns.

Lando, with his infectious energy, is already lost in the rhythm, leaving you and Oscar to navigate the crowded space. The bass thumps in your chest, and you sway to the music, caught up in the electrifying ambience.

Oscar, with his hand on the small of your back, guides you through the sea of dancers. The touch is subtle, but the warmth of his palm sends a shiver down your spine. You can't help but notice how close he is, the proximity making your senses come alive.

As the music intensifies, Oscar pulls you into a spontaneous twirl. The movement is fluid, and for a brief moment, everything else fades away. The chemistry between you two on the dance floor is undeniable, a magnetic pull that defies logic.

You catch a glimpse of Lando, who's thoroughly enjoying the night, his carefree spirit infectious. But your attention keeps drifting back to Oscar – the way his body moves in sync with yours, the fleeting touches that send sparks, and the undeniable connection that lingers in the air.

Amid the chaos, you try to remind yourself of the reality. Oscar has a girlfriend, and this moment on the dance floor should be nothing more than a carefree escapade. Still, the pull between you two is undeniable, and your mind can't help but wander to places it shouldn't.

The bass drops, the lights flash, and the intensity of the music amplifies. Oscar's hands find their way to your hips, the touch sending a surge of electricity through your veins. It's intoxicating, and for a fleeting second, you forget the boundaries that should exist.

As the night unfolds, the three of you lose track of time on the dance floor. The chemistry between you and Oscar continues to spark, creating a tension that hangs in the air. Each touch, each movement, is a delicate dance on the fine line between desire and restraint.

Finally, as the music winds down, you catch your breath, the thumping beat still echoing in your ears. Lando grins, thoroughly pleased with the night's festivities, while Oscar's gaze lingers, a silent acknowledgement of the shared energy on the dance floor.

You step away, the cool air outside the club hitting you, offering a momentary respite from the heated atmosphere within. As you take a deep breath, you can't shake off the lingering sensations – Oscar's touch, the rhythmic dance, and the unspoken tension that hangs in the air.

You remind yourself once more, that you're just friends. You're just friends. You're just friends. You repeat this as your mantra.

You are not a homewrecker. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦ 

You're engrossed in your studies at the university library, and your defence of your master's degree is around the corner. You need every moment you can get to study your thesis when a voice interrupts your concentration.

"Hey there."

You glance up, and to your utter surprise, there's Oscar standing right beside your table, a grin on his face.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, a mixture of shock and concern in your voice.

"Thought I'd surprise you," he replies casually.

You cast a wary glance around, acutely aware of the studious atmosphere in the library. "Oscar, you can't just show up here. People will talk."

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Let them talk. What's the big deal?"

You lower your voice, trying to convey the gravity of the situation. "The big deal is that you're dating someone else, and it's not a great look for either of us if you're seen here."

He glances around, noticing a few curious stares. "Come on, it's not a big deal. Let's grab some coffee or something."

Despite your protests, Oscar leads you out of the library, and you can't shake off the feeling of eyes following the two of you. As you walk through the campus, people start recognising Oscar, and the camera shutters start clicking.

"Oscar, seriously. This is a bad idea," you insist, glancing nervously at the onlookers.

He brushes off your concerns. "Relax, it's just a few pictures. No one will care."

But you know better. You can already feel the whispers and stares, and you're caught in the uncomfortable spotlight of a situation you never signed up for. As you enter a nearby café, the buzzing of conversations seems to rise.

"This is not how I imagined spending my afternoon," you mutter, frustration evident in your voice.

Oscar, however, seems unfazed, ordering coffee as if everything is perfectly normal. "It's just people taking photos. It'll blow over."

You glance at the coffee cup he hands you, the whole situation feeling surreal. "Oscar, you're dating someone else. This is not fair to anyone involved."

He chuckles, dismissing your concern. "Let them speculate. It's not like we're doing anything wrong."

Despite his nonchalance, you can't shake off the unease settling in your stomach. As the two of you sit in the café, surrounded by curious glances, you realise that Oscar's surprise visit has turned into a spectacle – one that you would have preferred to avoid.

"Oscar, be honest. Why are you here?" you ask, watching his facade of nonchalance crumble.

"I missed your cooking?" he tries, but the way he winces completely gives away any chance that the lie might have worked.

"You're supposed to be, like, in the US," you say, your gaze making him squirm in his seat.

"Brazil, actually," he corrects, avoiding eye contact and glancing around at the spectacle he has unwittingly created. Phones around the two of you are noticeably pointing in your direction. "Maybe we should leave?"

"Oscar–"

He grabs your hand, tugging you along with him. Your coffee, still hot and now abandoned, sits on the table inside the store. As he leads you away from the prying eyes, you can feel a mixture of frustration and confusion bubbling inside you.

"Where are we going?" you ask, trying to keep pace with his hurried steps.

"Anywhere away from here. Let's find someplace quiet," he suggests the urgency in his voice betraying the fact that he recognises the magnitude of his misstep.

The two of you navigate through the campus, Oscar leading the way with a determination that seems at odds with the careless attitude he had displayed earlier. As you distance yourselves from the buzzing crowd, he finally slows down.

"I didn't think it would be this... chaotic," he admits a touch of regret in his voice.

"You didn't think? Oscar, you're dating someone else. This isn't just about me. What were you expecting?" you say, frustration lacing your words.

He looks genuinely remorseful. "I just wanted to surprise you. I didn't realise it would turn into this."

"Well, surprises come with consequences, especially when you're in the public eye," you reply, your tone firm.

Oscar sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I messed up, and I'm sorry."

You stop walking, forcing him to face you. "This isn't just about today. It's about everything, Oscar. You're dating someone, yet you keep showing up, making it complicated."

He looks down, seemingly at a loss for words. After a moment, he meets your gaze. "I don't know what to say."

You take a step back, disentangling your hand from his. "Maybe it's time to figure that out. For both of our sakes."

The weight of the situation hangs in the air, and you realise that this unexpected encounter has unravelled more than just a quiet afternoon. As Oscar searches for words, you can't help but wonder how he thought this could have ever been a good idea. 

“Why can't you let me be your friend?” He asks. Oscar has the audacity to ask that? As though he didn't fly across the world to surprise you on a race week. 

“Because friends don't act like this, and I don't want to be a home wrecker.” You tell him, frustration bubbling in your blood as he seems to keep missing the point.

Oscar looks at you, a mix of confusion and perhaps realisation in his eyes. "Home wrecker? We're just friends hanging out."

You can't help but scoff at his apparent obliviousness. "Friends don't cause scenes, Oscar. Friends don't make grand gestures across continents when they're in a committed relationship."

He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration. "I just wanted to see you. What's the harm in that?"

"The harm, Oscar, is that you're not being fair to anyone involved. Not to me, not to your girlfriend," you reply, your voice carrying the weight of your exasperation.

He looks at you, a hint of defiance in his eyes. "She doesn't have to know every little thing. We can just enjoy our time together."

You shake your head, feeling the need to make him understand. "It's not about keeping secrets. It's about respecting boundaries, about being honest with yourself and the people around you. I can't be a part of something that feels like it's headed for disaster."

He seems to be grappling with your words, his expression shifting between frustration and a realisation that maybe this situation isn't as casual as he thought.

“I didn't mean to complicate things,” he finally admits, a rare vulnerability in his voice.

You take a deep breath, the frustration in your blood now replaced with a sombre resolve. "Oscar, sort things out on your end. I need to focus on my studies and my life. I can't keep navigating this uncertainty."

He nods, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I didn't mean to make things complicated… For you."

“You keep saying that, and then… You– you do things like this.” You take a deep breath, “I'm going home, I have things to study, and you have somewhere to be across the– god, Oscar… You're supposed to be halfway across the world.”

You tighten the grab on your bag as you watch his eyes flicker over your face, before turning and walking away. Leaving him standing there. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦ 

The world is cruel, horrifically cruel in fact. Your nerves are all over as you wait outside the set of doors that's going to decide the fate of your master's degree. You're about to go defend your thesis when your phone flashes with the words. 

Os🚗 is calling… 

You're quick to swipe it, the last thing you need is to talk to Oscar after 2 months of silence. Especially not right now, not before you're going to defend your thesis. 

Os🚗 is calling…

Flashes once more, you glance up at the clock. 15 minutes before it's your turn. 

You deny the call. 

Os🚗 is calling…

Fuck. 

“What?” You hiss into the phone. 

“I broke up with my girlfriend.” His voice is slightly chipper, as though the news is supposed to make you rejoice with glee. 

“Good for you? Oscar, I don't know what to say, what do you want me to say? I don't have time for this!” You're stressed, the clock reads 14 minutes till your defence. You're pacing the floor, unable to stand still, your nerves are eating you from the inside out. You wish this could all just be over with, you need it to pass you by in an instant. 

Oscar's voice on the other end remains unnervingly nonchalant, a stark contrast to the chaos of emotions stirring within you. "I thought you should know. You know, in case you cared."

"Oscar, this is not the time," you snap, the urgency of the ticking clock amplifying your frustration. "I have my master's thesis defence in a few minutes, and I can't deal with this right now."

There's a brief pause on the line before Oscar continues, seemingly undeterred. "I just thought you should know since, you know, we're friends and all."

The word "friends" echoes in your ears, a reminder of the blurred lines that have caused so much turmoil in the past. You take a deep breath, attempting to centre yourself amidst the storm of conflicting emotions.

"Oscar, please. I appreciate you letting me know, but I can't handle this distraction right now. I need to focus on my defence," you plead, trying to convey the urgency of the situation.

"Right, right," Oscar says, the realisation in his tone belated. "Good luck with your defence. I'll, uh, talk to you later?"

You nod, even though he can't see it. "Later, Oscar."

As you end the call, you glance at the clock – 12 minutes left. The weight of impending judgment looms over you, but you shake off the distraction, determined to face the panel and defend your thesis with the focus it deserves. The world may be cruel, but you're not about to let it derail the culmination of your hard work and dedication.

The defence room is a blur of questions, explanations, and nods of approval. Somehow, you manage to navigate the academic minefield, answering each query with a precision that surprises even yourself. As the last question concludes, the panel members exchange satisfied glances, and you feel a wave of relief wash over you. The defence is over, and you've held your ground.

Exiting the room, you're greeted by the smiles of your family, the relief in their eyes mirroring your own. You share a moment of celebration, the culmination of years of hard work and determination. The weight on your shoulders begins to lift, replaced by the joy of accomplishment.

Just as you're about to immerse yourself in the warmth of your family's congratulations, a familiar voice cuts through the air. "Congratulations!"

You turn, and there he is – Oscar, standing in the corridor, an awkward smile on his face. The shock of seeing him here, especially after the phone call just an hour ago, momentarily freezes your elation.

"Oscar, what are you doing here?" you ask, a mix of surprise and confusion in your voice.

He rubs the back of his neck, a nervous gesture. "I wanted to congratulate you. I mean, you just defended your thesis, right? That's a big deal."

Your family exchanges curious glances, and you can feel their unspoken questions. You take a deep breath, deciding to focus on the achievement at hand. "Thank you, Oscar. I appreciate that. But I'm with my family right now, and we're celebrating. Maybe we can catch up later."

His smile falters for a moment, but he quickly recovers. "Of course. I just wanted to say congrats. I'll see you around, then."

As Oscar walks away, you turn back to your family, their expressions a mix of understanding and concern. The elation from your successful defence is now tempered by the unexpected encounter with Oscar. You push the lingering questions to the back of your mind, choosing to savour the joy of the moment with those who have been with you through thick and thin.

Your dinner out with your family is nice, but your mind is solely on Oscar. You didn't know he was in town, not that you wanted to know when he was. A headache works its way through your head, as you put on a smile and cheer with your parents and siblings. Brushing off questions about the cute guy who came to congratulate you, forcing you to call him a friend. That stupid word still doesn't sit right in your mouth, it never does when it comes to Oscar. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦

You find yourself unable to think about anything but yesterday, your phone is in your hand as Oscar’s contact is pulled up. Why did he call you about breaking up with his girlfriend? Why did he then show up? What did he expect you to do? To say? To… You’re frustrated, pacing the floor once again, as you can’t figure out whether or not you should call him. Instead, the universe seems to decide for you, as his contact flashes on your phone, mirroring yesterday. 

Os🚗 is calling…

You stare at the screen, contemplating whether to answer or not. The events of the past 24 hours have left you emotionally drained, and you're not sure if you have the energy to navigate through another conversation with Oscar. However, a part of you, perhaps against your better judgement, decides to answer.

"What now, Oscar?" you answer, your tone a mix of exhaustion and frustration.

"Hey," his voice sounds through the phone, and you can almost picture the casual smile he might be wearing.

"What do you want?" you ask bluntly, not in the mood for small talk.

"I just wanted to check in. You know, after your defence and all," he replies, feigning innocence.

"Save it, Oscar. I don't need your checking in," you snap, the irritation is evident in your voice. "What happened yesterday was unnecessary. I was celebrating with my family, and you just had to insert yourself into the moment."

There's a moment of silence on the other end of the line before he speaks, his voice carrying a sincerity that catches you off guard. "I genuinely wanted to congratulate you. I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

"Well, you did," you retort, feeling a mix of anger and disappointment. "And I don't need your congratulations. I need you to respect my boundaries."

Another pause follows, and when Oscar finally speaks, his tone is more subdued. "I get it. I messed up. I'm sorry."

Sorry. It's a word you've heard from him before, and each time it feels less convincing. You take a deep breath, attempting to collect your thoughts. "Oscar, I don't know what you expect from me, but we can't keep doing this."

"I know, I know," he says, and you can almost picture him running a hand through his hair, a gesture you've come to associate with his moments of frustration. "I just... I thought we were friends, and I wanted to be there for you."

You let out a bitter laugh. "Friends? Oscar, friends don't complicate each other's lives like this. We've been through this before. I can't keep playing this game with you."

There's a heavy silence, and you wonder if he's even listening or if he's already moved on to the next distraction. Finally, he speaks, his voice softer. "Then let me be more…"

"Oscar, let me be clear," you assert, the frustration evident in your voice. "I need you to get your shit together. This constant back-and-forth, the unexpected appearances, it's not fair to anyone involved, especially not to me. Figure out what you want, sort out your own life, and maybe then we can talk about what 'more' means."

His silence hangs on the line, and you take a moment to collect your thoughts. This is a conversation long overdue, and the weight of the words you're about to say carries a gravity you can't ignore.

“But once you do…” You are already regretting the next words you are to speak. "I will not wait around for you, but... But I wouldn't be completely opposed to finding out whatever ‘more' means."

“Okay, okay I can do that.” Oscar sounds, not happy, but rather optimistic and hopeful. “Do you think you would want to… Maybe let me cook for once?”

“Yeah…” You breathe out, “I think I would like that.”

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦

The hum of machinery fills the air as you make your way through the bustling Mercedes factory, a stark contrast to the chaotic world you left behind. The engineering department is your sanctuary, a place where the precision of machines and the logic of design bring a sense of order to your life.

You sit at your desk, surrounded by schematics and blueprints, immersing yourself in the intricate details of your work. The rhythm of your routine is comforting, and you've come to appreciate the stability your job offers. As a mechanical engineer, your skills find their purpose in the assembly and improvement of high-performance engines, a far cry from the unpredictable whirlwind that was Oscar Piastri.

Today, a new intern, Gabbie, has joined the team, bringing with her a fresh enthusiasm that seems almost infectious. She approaches your desk, curiosity written all over her face.

"Hey there! I heard you're one of the seasoned engineers around here. Mind if I pick your brain a bit?" Gabbie asks, her eyes wide with excitement.

You offer a friendly smile, welcoming the chance for a break from the monotony. "Sure, what's on your mind?"

Gabbie hesitates for a moment before blurting out, "Oscar Piastri! Do you know him? The McLaren driver?"

Your eyes narrow slightly, caught off guard by the unexpected mention of Oscar in this professional setting. "Yeah, I know him. What about him?"

Gabbie grins, oblivious to any subtleties. "I heard he's a pretty cool guy. You know, being a Formula 1 driver and all. Any interesting stories or insights about him?"

You take a deep breath, contemplating how to navigate this conversation without delving into the complexities of your history with Oscar. "Well, he's certainly talented on the track. As for stories, you might want to focus on the engineering marvels we're creating here. That's where the real excitement is."

Gabbie seems undeterred, pushing for more details. "Come on, there must be something. What's he like in person? Is he as cool as he seems on TV?"

You lean back in your chair, trying to redirect the conversation. "Look, we're here to work on groundbreaking technology and push the limits of performance. If you want insights into the world of Formula 1, maybe you should visit a race or something. But around here, let's focus on the engineering challenges ahead of us."

Gabbie, slightly disappointed but still eager, nods and scurries off, likely in search of a more willing source of gossip. You return to your work, the hum of the factory providing a comforting backdrop.

As you refocus on your work, another colleague, Tom, strolls over, his friendly demeanour evident. He glances at Gabbie retreating in the distance and raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

"What was that all about?" Tom asks, nodding towards Gabbie's disappearing figure.

You can't help but smile, the memory of Oscar and the whirlwind of emotions he brings resurfacing. "Oh, she just wanted to know something about a friend of mine."

Tom chuckles, sensing there's more beneath the surface. "Friend, huh? Spill the details. You've got that mysterious smile on your face."

You shake your head, a playful glint in your eyes. "Nothing scandalous, just Oscar she's curious about. You know how people get star-struck."

“Ah, Piastri, right? I forgot you know him.” Tom laughs, "Well, since you mentioned that you're friends with an F1 driver, you've got to share some perks with the rest of us, right?"

“Shut up Tom,” you roll your eyes at him, as he wiggles his eyebrows. “What did you drop by for anyways?”

He waves his iPad in the air. “I got the analytical data back from the stress test, and I need you to go over it before this afternoon.”

Your thoughts of Oscars are washed away in an array of statistics and equations. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦

Despite not being on the best speaking terms with Oscar for the moment, you truly can’t seem to escape him. Twitter has become obsessed with a recent interview with Oscar. You try not to follow his life through the media, an attempt to respect him enough to let him tell you what he wants you to know about him. That said, sometimes the internet makes that an impossible feat. 

In the interview clip circulating on Twitter, Oscar sits comfortably in the studio, a backdrop of sponsor logos and racing memorabilia behind him. The interviewer, armed with a charismatic smile, delves into various aspects of Oscar's life, from his recent races to his off-track interests.

As you scroll through the snippets, you can't deny the pang of curiosity that tugs at you. The dichotomy between the Oscar you know personally and the one presented to the world through interviews is stark. It's a reminder of the deliberate distance he maintains, carefully navigating the narrative of his public persona.

The interviewer grins, steering the conversation towards personal anecdotes. "And what about love, Oscar? Any new special someone in your life?"

Oscar squirms in his seat, as a blush spreads across his face. “Well…” His eyes flicker around the room. “No, not recently.”

“Oh really? That’s a surprise, you’re otherwise known for changing it up quite a bit.” The interviewer winks, as though that statement wasn’t wildly inappropriate. 

Oscar chuckles nervously, clearly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation has taken. "Yeah, well, I've had my fair share of changes. But, you see, there's someone… someone I've known for a long time. And, uh, I guess I messed up. Big time."

The interviewer leans forward, sensing a potential scoop. "Care to share more about this mystery person?"

Oscar hesitates, glancing at his hands for a moment before meeting the interviewer's gaze. "We've been through a lot together. I've known her for years, and I can honestly say she's the one who knows me best. But, you know, life happens, and I've hurt her more than I care to admit."

The revelation hangs in the air, leaving an unspoken weight. Your heart skips a beat as the pieces click into place. The cryptic words, the veiled references – it's about you. The interview, unbeknownst to the public, has become a confessional, a subtle admission of guilt and remorse.

The interviewer, sensing the delicacy of the situation, shifts gears. "It sounds like a complicated story. Do you think there's a chance for reconciliation?"

Oscar's gaze falters, a mixture of regret and uncertainty in his eyes. "I don't know. I hope so. But I've got a lot to figure out, and it might be too late."

The vulnerability in his admission is palpable, and the internet, now buzzing with speculation, picks up on the emotional depth of Oscar's words. As you close the app, a whirlwind of emotions engulfs you, surprise, sadness, and an unexpected twinge of hope as your phone pings with a text message.

Os🚗: Don’t open Twitter.  You: Good morning to you too Os🚗: I’m serious. Os🚗: Remember that old picture from a few years ago? You: What picture? Os🚗: When I ran into you, and we both ended up on the ground, that one. 

You snort, you absolutely remember both the picture and that day.

Os🚗: I gave an interview, and I might have mentioned you by accident? You: You don’t sound sure   Os🚗 is calling…

You’re quick to accept the call, as you twirl your coffee. A long day of work ahead of you, and now a mess that Oscar has apparently dragged you into it seems. “Okay, so I just wanted the interviewer to change the questions, and I mentioned you, and I’m sorry, and then someone started digging online, and that you’ve been around me for years, and that stupid picture from back then got dug up, and someone else then found out that you’re still working for Mercedes, and please let me pick you up Friday?” All the words come rushing out of Oscar's mouth at once. 

“I’m sorry what?” Your head is already spinning. 

“Go out with me,” Oscar repeats. “Friday, I’ll pick you up.”

“Yeah, okay, okay, okay, I got that part. Now back up. What about the rest?” You suck in a deep breath, as you prepare yourself for what the hell Oscar just said. Oscar takes a moment to gather his thoughts, realising he might have split too much in a rush of anxiety. "Look, I messed up during the interview. I didn't mean to bring you into it, but then people started connecting the dots, and now it's all over social media. I didn't want you to be dragged into this mess, especially considering everything."

"Considering everything? Oscar, what did you say?" Your tone edges towards frustration. “I saw a few clips on Twitter.”

“I thought I said not to – never mind.” He sighs, "I might have hinted that you're someone important to me and that I've messed things up with you. It wasn't supposed to be like this, and I'm genuinely sorry for bringing you into it without your consent."

Your mind races, both with irritation at the situation and a surprising warmth at Oscar's unexpected admission. "Okay, I appreciate the apology, but fuck, I don’t need my job jeopardised because of something online. What if someone reaches out, I mean my supervisor is already not ecstatic about the fact that I’m good friends with you. The last thing I need is for him to think I’m dating you.”

“But –” Oscar starts before you cut him off. 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” You tell him. 

“So you’ll let me take you out on Friday?” He asks, anticipation hanging in the air, a soft smile on your lips. One he can’t see, and one you would not admit to if he were to ask. 

“Yeah, yeah…” You breathe out, “I want you to bring the ugliest bouquet of flowers though, that’s the only thing I ask of you.”

“The ugliest?” 

You hum in approval. “We’ll figure out the rest later, I have to get back to work before I get too far behind on my assignments for today.”

“I’ll text you the details,” Oscar says before hanging up, you keep the phone against your chin as you take a long slurp of your coffee. You can’t believe you actually agreed to go out with him, especially in the middle of the mess he has just created. 

Oscar drives you insane, and it seems to be in the best way possible. You smile as you finally put away your phone and start up on your first assignment of the day. 

◦━⇜━❈━⇝━◦

The anticipation builds as you wait outside, glancing at your watch and then at the passing cars. It's Friday evening, and Oscar is supposed to pick you up. Your attire is casual, as per his instructions, but you can't shake off the lingering nervousness and excitement.

Finally, you spot his distinctive car approaching, the engine's low growl hinting at its power. Oscar pulls up with a confident smile, and you can't help but notice how his presence seems to fill the space around him.

He steps out of the car, wearing a simple yet stylish outfit. "Hey," he greets you, his eyes reflecting a mix of eagerness and uncertainty.

"Hey," you reply, a small smile playing on your lips. "Nice car."

Oscar grins, clearly proud of his choice. "Thanks. Ready for an adventure?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Is this going to be an adventure?"

He chuckles. "Well, let's just say, it's a night of surprises."

As you get into the car, you can't help but wonder what exactly Oscar has planned. The tension in the air is palpable, a mix of unresolved emotions and the promise of something new. The drive is filled with light banter, both of you carefully avoiding the elephant in the room – the mess created by Oscar's interview.

The car pulls to a night school, you look over at Oscar, a smile on his lips. Secrecy in his eyes, as he’s quickly out of his door. Walking around the car to help you out of it, a hand in yours. 

“I promised I would cook for you,” he reminds you, as he leads you through the hallways of the school, before reaching the kitchen, “except I would like for it to be edible, so I got us into a cooking class.”

He opens the door, and two other couples are already inside the kitchen, including what you’re guessing is going to be your teacher. 

“Oscar Piastri,” He tells the teacher, who notes it down before remarking on there still being a couple missing. She points you and Oscar to stand at the front right kitchen island. 

“You’re so stupid.” You whisper to him, as he eagerly drags you over to the island. Helping you get your apron on. 

He leans in, his breath hot on your neck as he’s tying your apron. “You haven’t seen the half of it yet.”

As the class begins, you find yourselves surrounded by the aromas of various ingredients and the lively chatter of the other couples. Oscar seems surprisingly excited about the cooking class, and you can't help but be swept up in his enthusiasm.

The teacher, a seasoned chef with a no-nonsense attitude, introduces the menu for the evening – a complex dish that involves a delicate balance of flavours and precise techniques. As the instructions are given, you exchange glances with Oscar, both of you silently agreeing to tackle this challenge together.

Oscar takes charge of the first step, expertly handling the knife as he chops vegetables with precision. You observe his focused expression, the playful glint in his eyes occasionally surfacing. The air between you carries a comfortable warmth, a stark contrast to the earlier tensions.

As you work side by side, the occasional laughter and banter with the other couples create a communal atmosphere in the kitchen. You can't help but be grateful for the distraction – the opportunity to focus on something other than the complexities of your relationship with Oscar.

The cooking process unfolds smoothly, and soon, the kitchen is filled with the enticing aroma of the dish coming together. Oscar steals a moment to glance at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "How are we doing so far?"

You return the smile, genuinely enjoying the experience. "Surprisingly well, considering your questionable reputation in the kitchen."

He mockingly gasps, placing a hand over his heart. "Ouch, right in the culinary skills."

The teacher makes her rounds, offering guidance and checking on each couple's progress. As she approaches you and Oscar, you brace yourself for scrutiny. To your surprise, she nods approvingly. "You two seem to have a good handle on things. Impressive."

You share a triumphant look with Oscar, the sense of accomplishment strengthening the connection between you. The dish is finally plated, and the class gathers to taste each other's creations. The blend of flavours is exquisite, a testament to the collective effort of the participants.

With the cooking portion complete, the teacher commends the class and invites everyone to enjoy the fruits of their labour. You and Oscar find a quiet corner, plates in hand, and sit together.

As you take the first bite, the rich flavours dance on your palate. Oscar watches you, anticipation in his eyes. You meet his gaze, a silent acknowledgement passing between you. Despite the chaos and unexpected twists, this evening has become a shared memory, a moment of unity amidst the complexities of life.

"So," Oscar begins, breaking the comfortable silence, "how would you rate my cooking skills?"

You savour another bite before responding with a playful grin. "I'll give you a solid eight out of ten. Surprisingly, you didn't burn anything."

He feigns offence, but the smile on his lips betrays him.

You lift your fork to let him taste a part of the elderly couple’s dish. You expect Oscar to take your fork. Instead, he leans in, keeping eye contact with you, as he eats from your fork. Your breath hitches, and his eyes are staring into yours intensely. Warmth spreads from your neck and up. Then he pulls back, finally chewing on the food.

He uses the back of his hand to dry off his mouth, still keeping his eyes locked with yours, as he flashes you a cheeky grin. “That was delicious.”

A sudden shyness overtakes you, as you look away. Why did he…?

Then the teacher claps her hands, telling everyone it’s time to start doing the dishes, and your small intimate moment is broken and forgotten as Oscar springs to his feet. Already holding his hand out to help you up, no need for you to tell him this time. 

The scene replaying in your mind as you’re going through the motions of washing up, it’s still fresh on your mind as Oscar is thanking the teacher for the great lesson. Even when he slides his hand into yours, and you walk out to his car.

He once again opens the door for you, helping you get into the car.

“Oh, before I forget.” His voice pulls you out of your thoughts completely as a bouquet of the ugliest flowers you’ve ever seen is presented in front of you. Oscar smiles proudly at you, happy that he has taken you by surprise. 

“I didn’t…” You trail off. The flowers are horrendous to look at, an absolute horror show in floral form. “They’re hideous.” 

“Just like you asked.” He finally slips into the driver's seat, smiling at you, waiting patiently for a bit of praise, as you can’t seem to find the right words to describe the warm feelings inside of your heart. 

“Thank you.” You settle on, “Thank you, Oscar. You did good… You are good.” 

You look over at him, and the flowers in your hands are quickly abandoned and forgotten, when his face is right there. You place your hands gently on each of his cheeks. He leans in close to you, placing his own hand on your cheek. You close your eyes, as his lips finally meet yours. 

The car falls away, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, the taste of rich food lingering on your lips. His lips move against yours with a tender rhythm, a silent language conveying emotions that words have struggled to express.

His hand, warm against your cheek, sends a shiver down your spine, and you tighten your grip on his cheeks, deepening the kiss. The connection is familiar yet different, a blend of shared history and the uncharted territory of something new.

Time seems to stretch, the world narrowing down to the sensation of his lips, the warmth of his touch. It's a kiss that holds the weight of unspoken apologies and the promise of something more. At that moment, the complications and uncertainties fade into the background, leaving only the raw, honest emotion exchanged between two people on the precipice of change.

As the kiss finally breaks, you find yourself breathless, a silent understanding passing between you. You open your eyes to meet his gaze, the vulnerability mirrored in both your expressions. There's a question in his eyes, one that lingers in the air, waiting for acknowledgement.

The taste of the kiss lingers, the sweet aftertaste of a decision made, of boundaries crossed. It's a moment suspended in time, a threshold crossed, and you can't help but wonder where this unexpected journey with Oscar might lead.

"Wow," he breathes, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. "That was..."

You finish his sentence with a soft smile. "Unexpected?"

He chuckles a sound that resonates with shared joy. "Yeah, unexpected. But good. Very, very good."

The shared laughter dispels any remaining tension, replaced by a newfound ease. As you sit there, still holding each other's gaze, you realise that the evening has become a turning point. The kitchen adventure, the banter, and now this shared kiss – it's a series of moments that have rewritten the script between you and Oscar.

The reality of the situation lingers in the air, but instead of feeling weighed down, you find a sense of lightness, a subtle shift in the atmosphere between you two. The kiss becomes a symbol, a bridge between the past and a future that holds the promise of understanding and growth.

With a contented smile, you break the silence. "Well, I guess we've officially moved past the 'friends' territory."

Oscar grins, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and anticipation. "Yeah, we have. And I'm looking forward to wherever this takes us."

Your worries about your supervisor and what it might mean for your job at Mercedes fade away as Oscar leans in again, capturing your lips once more. You can get used to this. 

Oscar might be someone who only brings chaos and problems into your life, but you’re all too prepared to deal with that now. Willing to deal with it all, and happy to have him by your side as you do.

⋗ a/n - thank you for reading this, shout out to @pucksandpower for making me not kill Oscar, and for them to actually end up together. Also my beta readers Fari and @thisismeracing for editing this.

[purple-obsidian]

miscommunication; option 2 (18+, dick grayson x fem titan reader)

⭓ !PLEASE READ! this is part of a choose-your-ending story. it will not make sense unless you start from here.

"No! Dick, please!" You stand from your chair, cloth napkin falling to the floor, watching him stalk past you towards the exit of the restaurant, anxiety filling your stomach with dread. "You're not even going to let me explain?" You call after him, ignoring the weird looks you're getting from the other guests enjoying their food.

Not about to let him leave things like this, you rush after him, finding him waiting at the valet stand outside. "Dick! You're seriously going to just walk away like that? What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" He sounds taken aback, crossing his arms and glaring at you. "What about you? What's your problem, huh? You really think I would take you somewhere as nice as this, if all I wanted to do was get into your pants? You really think that low of me?"

A loud crash of thunder echoes against the tall buildings surrounding you, but neither of you pay any mind to it, even as a light drizzle of rain begins to fall. The valet, obviously uncomfortable with the exchange that's happening, slips away to retrieve Dick's car.

"No! That's not what I- I didn't even-"

"This was a mistake. I never should have asked you-"

"DICK GRAYSON!" You shout, unable to hold back your own anger now. "You are going to shut the fuck up and let me speak, or I swear I'll-"

"You'll what?" His tone is low, and he uncrosses his arms, hands clenched into fists at his side.

You close your mouth, seething in anger at being interrupted yet again. You feel the tears coming. You can't help it. You cry when you're angry. It's something you hate about yourself, and the last thing you want to do is cry in front of him. Luckily, the rain that's slowly starting to fall helps mask it just a little.

"I didn't realize this was a date!" You finally shout, hands shaking with how worked up he has you.

Dick scoffs, looking you up and down. "What the hell is wrong with you? Are trying to backpedal now, or something? I very clearly asked you out, we have the texts to prove it."

You take a deep breathe before speaking. "I thought you were asking me to work. You've done it before, haven't you? Just last month, you texted me, last minute, asking me to help you tail that arms dealer. I thought this was something like that."

Dick's angry expression morphs to one of confusion, now second-guessing himself. "Are you being for real?"

"Yes!"

More thunder. A loud clash, and the rainfall grows heavier, slowly soaking both of you as you glower angrily at one another.

Dick finally pulls you aside so you're both standing under the awning of the Italian restaurant, safe from the oncoming downpour. He feels something hard strapped to your upper arm when he does so. "What's this?" He asks, feeling the object through the wet fabric of your sweater.

"What do you think it is? A knife." You explain, hoping he's finally starting to believe you. "I told you. I thought this was Titan's business. You didn't tell me what we were getting into, so I came prepared." Shrugging away his hand, you reach down to pull the damp garment off over your head. You're left in just your tank top now, giving Dick full view of the weapons you had concealed, along with the comm wire you two and the other titans will wear on missions.

Any trace of anger left on his face is gone. He opens his mouth to speak, stammering a little. "You mean.. but I thought… my texts…" He looks mortified. Dick isn't a man that finds himself speechless very often, but now is one of those times.

A long exhale escapes your lips, releasing a breath you didn't realize you were holding. You glance around you, and wring out the excess water from your sweater a little before pulling it back over your head, not wanting your knives to draw too much attention. "Do you understand now? I fucked up, okay? I should have clarified with you, I misunderstood what you were asking me. That's my fault. But I did not agree to this with the intention of fucking you all night. I promise."

"Fuck." Dick runs his fingers through his shaggy hair, which was styled neatly earlier but is now wet and messy from the rain. He looks at you and says your name in an apologetic tone. "I really just made a fool of myself, didn't I?"

"Yeah, no shit." You cross your arms over your stomach, rubbing your hand up and down your arm to fight off a chill. "Dick, you are one of the most amazing people I've ever met. I care about you. You're a great leader, and an even better friend. I could never just see you as someone to hook up with. Even if…" You lose your confidence at that last sentence, trailing off a little, hesitating to finish the thought.

"Even if what?" He takes a step closer to you, his hand resting on your shoulder. His eyes search yours, looking you over, trying to read you.

You swallow the lump in your throat, and reply, "Even if you're, like, the hottest guy I've ever seen." You look off to the side, avoiding the intensity of his gaze.

Finally, a smirk appears on his lips. "So… you do think I'm hot?" His embarrassment would surely be relieved somewhat, if he could confirm you did reciprocate some of his feelings.

"Objectively, yes. But I promise, that isn't what's most important to me." You see the valet arriving in Dicks car. Looking towards the bright blue vehicle, then to the dazzling eyes in front of you sporting the same hue, you try and find the right words to express what you feel. "The last thing I want to do is to make you feel objectified. Please, Dick, could we just start over? I'd love to continue our date, now that I know it is a date."

Guilt is tugging at his heart. Your sincere words have diffusing any remaining doubt or irritation that may have been lingering in the back of his mind. The hand that is on your shoulder snakes up to tangle in your hair, close to the base of your skull. "I'd like that." His tone is softer now that he's closer to you. "And I'm sorry, too."

"You don't have to apolo-"

Dick cuts you off, yet again. But not with words. This time, it's with a kiss. You freeze for a moment, not expecting the forward affection after how upset he was with the idea of you just wanting him for his body. But it only takes a second before you relax into him, hands snaking around his broad frame, relishing the feeling of his strong arms pulling you tight against him. His body heat is welcoming, but even more so are his lips, eager and assertive against your own.

The valet exits the flashy car once its parked in the loading zone. He retrieves an umbrella, but stops short when he sees the couple that were yelling at each other just a few minutes ago, now making out, soaking wet, zero regard for who's watching. He looks to Dick, then behind him to the running vehicle, unsure of what to do next.

"Sir? Excuse me, sir? Your car is ready!"

Dick ignores him. And so do you. His kisses are quelling the guilt and frustration you feel towards yourself. Its like he's pouring his love and reassurance into you with every movement of his tongue, every brush of his lips against your own. You never imagined that Dick Greyson, son of Batman, leader of the Titans, former Robin, the one and only Nightwing, would be clutching you and kissing you so passionately in a place so public. The valet continues to awkwardly try to get his attention, but Dick doesn't care. His focus is on you, and he doesn't intend on stopping until he's made this right.

⭓ go back ⭓ masterlist ⭓

what ending did you choose first? let me know here, or leave a like/comment.

don’t steal my work. don’t repost it somewhere, upload it to another site, use it to train ai, or claim it as your own.

[littlefireball]

ʏꜱ|ɪ ʜᴀᴛᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ (ᴍ)

ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ! ꜱᴘʏ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ x ꜱᴘʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴀʀɢᴜᴍᴇɴᴛ|ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ʜᴜʀᴛ|ᴄᴀʀ ꜱᴇx|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ|ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.9ᴋ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ. ʏᴇꜱ, ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ ʜᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ꜱᴏ ʀᴏᴜɢʜ, ꜱᴏ ᴛᴏᴜɢʜ; ʏᴏᴜ, ᴀʟꜱᴏ, ʜᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴏꜰᴛᴇɴ Qᴜᴀʀʀᴇʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ. ʙᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴛᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ? ᴡᴇʟʟ, ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴏᴛʜ ʜᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟᴠᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴇᴀᴄʜᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜱᴏ ꜰʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ.

"Get off me, you asshole," you spat at Yeosang, the tension between the two of you palpable in the air. The childish argument seemed to have no specific reason, just a clash of personalities that had been brewing for some time. Maybe you both hated each other, or maybe it was just a clash of egos.

"Fuck you, Y/N," Yeosang shot back, his eyes blazing with anger as Seonghwa stepped in to prevent any physical altercation.

"Can you guys just keep the peace for at least a minute?" Hongjoong interjected, trying to diffuse the situation.

"Impossible," you retorted, your voice filled with frustration. "Unless he apologizes first."

Yeosang stepped forward, ready to defend himself, but Hongjoong held him back.

"Its your fault! You should be the one to apologize!"

"Me? Seriously? If you hadn't missed your shot, the target wouldn't have escaped!"

"Tsk! Who distracted me and made me miss?"

"That's because I was busy dealing with other threats!"

As the argument escalated, the rest of the group watched in disbelief. San and Wooyoung exchanged worried glances, unsure of how to intervene.

"Enough!" Mingi's voice boomed, cutting through the tension in the room. "This is ridiculous. We're a team, a family. We can't let petty arguments tear us apart."

"A family? Funny," you scoffed, the anger giving way to a deep sense of disappointment. "We're not. Maybe you guys are." The words stung as you turned to leave, not waiting for their response.

"Hey, where are you going?!"

"Prepare for the next mission."

You had originally belonged to the enemy's camp, but a betrayal by your superiors had led you to join the ATEEZ gang, relying on your exceptional abilities. However, fitting in with them had proven to be a challenge. They resented your past affiliations and the favoritism shown to you, especially Yeosang. Your personalities clashed like water and oil, unable to blend together harmoniously.

As you stormed out of the room, the weight of the tension and conflict pressing down on your shoulders, you couldn't help but feel a pang of loneliness. Being a part of the ATEEZ gang was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance to leave behind your troubled past and forge new bonds.

You actually love them, not as a boy and a girl, but as a family bond. They treated each other as brothers and cared and loved each other like you've never felt before. But it seemed that the ghosts of your previous life were still haunting you, threatening to tear apart the fragile connections you had tried so hard to build.

"Just go away and never come back!" Yaosang shouted into the air, then turned to leave. You stopped a moment, took a deep breath as tears welled up in your eyes. His words seem to have a stronger impact on you than anyone else's. Why? You didn't know. You were always relatively slow in terms of emotions.

You should despise him. Yet, at times, you found yourself drawn to his combative stance, akin to a captivating oil painting. When not engaged in conflict, he exudes friendliness and occasionally reveals his innocent and endearing side. However, this tranquility was short-lived.

"Hey! Don't say that!"

"What you said is too harsh, yeosang."

"I don't care." These words left him feeling somewhat remorseful. The image of your heartbroken expression lingers in his thoughts for a prolonged period.

"You owe her an apology!"

"Just leave me alone."

"Where are you going?!"

"Prepare for the mission."

"Didn't they go out together again?" Jongho asked.

"Oh shit, really? Why do the superiors always like to put them as a team?" Everyone questioned.

It was peculiar to acknowledge that your superiors were aware of the mutual dislike between you two, yet they consistently pair both of you up for missions. Perhaps it was due to the striking similarity in your fighting styles and your exceptional track record of mission success. The errors you made in your previous mission were truly an anomaly.

"How troublesome they are…"

Yeosang, in particular, found you to be a formidable presence, not as gentle as the others. He understood that your past experiences had shaped you into someone fierce and at times, unkind. Despite this understanding, there were moments when he found himself at odds with you.

Yet, what truly irked him was not your demeanor, but rather your undeniable allure and allure. Your prowess and allure were undeniably captivating, especially in moments of intensity and danger. The sensation of your breath against his skin and the gentle touch of your hands when you were in close proximity left him feeling a mix of desire and frustration.

He would never admit you were attractive to him and you also.

"Shit!" The task proved to be more challenging than anticipated, resulting in both completion and injury. A visible wound on your arm quickly stained your sleeves with red blood. Despite the pain, you gritted your teeth and hurried back to the back seat of the car, and Yeosang followed you.

"Hey…are you okay? Your arm…" Yeosang's voice was filled with concern as he watched you retrieve the first aid kit and hurriedly apply disinfectant.

"It's none of your business," you retorted, turning away.

"Tsk…again? Can't you let me help you?" Yeosang's irritation was palpable as he spoke.

"Why would you care if I'm hurt? Don't you want me to die?" you shot back.

"What? Why do I want you to die? I am not you, okay?"

"Because you hate me."

"Who the fuck said that? I like you but not hate you." He blurted out, blushing with embarrassment. But you didn't seem to hear clearly.

"Errr…no…I mean I don't like you, yah. I….I…don't…you…"

"Stop stuttering and just say it, damn it," you snapped, your voice tinged with frustration.

He hesitated, his eyes darting away before finally meeting yours. "I…I don't like seeing you hurt, okay? It's not about me hating you or anything like that." Yeosang's voice softened, his concern evident.

"Hand me the first aid kit. How do you want to bandage the wound?" he asked, as you reluctantly handed him the kit.

As Yeosang tended to your wound with gentle care, a mix of vulnerability and comfort washed over you. His touch was soothing as he cleaned the wound and applied a bandage, his focus solely on your well-being.

"Thank you," you mumbled, feeling grateful for his help.

Yeosang simply nodded, his expression softening as he met your gaze. "You don't have to push everyone away. We're here for you, even if you don't realize it."

You sighed, feeling a sense of relief at his words. Maybe it was time to let down your guard and accept support from others.

"I'll try," you admitted, a small smile forming on your lips.

Yeosang returned the smile, his eyes warm and understanding. "That's all I ask. I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

As the tension eased, Yeosang spoke up, apologizing for his earlier words. You reciprocated the apology, both of you acknowledging the need for understanding and improvement in your interactions.

"Okay, done," Yeosang announced as he finished bandaging your wound. "Any other injuries?""Maybe not," you replied.

As he closed the first aid kit, Yeosang noticed a wound on your back, partially hidden by your hair.

"Wait, your back," he said, leaning in to inspect the wound.

"Hm?"

"Don't move." He leaned in, without thinking that you were a girl, he unbuttoned the back of your shirt.

"Don't you feel any pain? The wound is really deep."

"Wait…wait…yeosang…" As he pulled down your clothes, he saw your bra and stopped immediately.

"Oh…I…I'm sorry!!" Yeosang apologized, his cheeks flushing.

"It…it doesn't matter…I can handle myself…"

"Hmm…can you? Because your arm hurts…"

"It's fine, I'll take care of it," you replied, trying to diffuse the awkwardness. Not noticing him grabbing the clothes, you turned around suddenly, allowing him to pull your shirt down in one breath, exposing your fine breasts.

"WTF!!Oops, I'm sorry!! i don't mean to!!" In a fit of nervousness, Yeosang accidentally pushed the first aid kit to the ground, and the first aid supplies inside were scattered everywhere. "Shit." He immediately bent over to clean it up.

"Let me help you." "Don't! You don't move! Your arm hurts!" As you sat back in the chair, observing him clean up, he let out a frustrated sigh upon seeing a roll of tape roll under your seat. "Why did it have to roll there?" he grumbled.

"Y/N, your legs," he pointed out, prompting you to lift your legs so he could reach the tape. As he stretched forward, his chest almost touched yours.

"Get it!" he exclaimed, trying to straighten up but accidentally stumbling between your thighs. "Oops!" His face inadvertently brushed against your chest, leaving a kiss on your collarbone. Both of you blushed deeply, unsure of how to react, caught in a moment of unexpected intimacy.

"I…I'm sorry," he stammered, attempting to move but finding his foot stuck. "Just give me a second." He struggled to free himself, growing more flustered by the second. You felt something hard pressing against your thighs, sending a wave of warmth through you.

Glancing down, you realized he had become aroused from the accidental contact. He avoided your gaze, his embarrassment palpable.

"Do you…need some help?" you offered, feeling a rush of excitement as his hardness brushed against you, causing your underwear to dampen. Your heart raced, and your body temperature soared, the sensation overwhelming.

"What?" he looked up in surprise, blushing even deeper when he met your innocent gaze. He scolded himself for the erotic thoughts that crossed his mind.

"Um, yeah…no, I'm fine," he stuttered, looking away. In a bold move, you grabbed his neck and pulled him into a kiss, surprising both of you with the sudden intimacy.

"I mean this."

After a moment of stunned silence, you both realized the unexpected turn of events and exchanged a bewildered glance.

"Don't regret what you had done. Do me a favor." He leaned in to kiss you, his hand wrapped around your waist while the other pulled down your pants.

"It seems like you're the one who needs help," he said between kisses, his gaze lingering on your soaked panties. You couldn't help but find him incredibly attractive, especially when he smiled. His smile turned you on, and you surprised yourself by arching your back to press closer to him.

"Shut up."

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him into a passionate kiss. Your tongues danced together, sending shivers down your spine. The sound of your combined moans and the sucking noises filled the car with an erotic energy.

Soon, both of your clothes were discarded on the car floor, leaving you both in just your underwear. You could feel his hardness pressing against you, the desire between you palpable. If there were no barriers, he would have entered you effortlessly.

His lips trailed down your jaw, neck, and chest, each touch sending waves of pleasure through you. You couldn't help but moan softly, enjoying the sensations he was creating.

"I didn't know your voice could be so alluring," he murmured as he kissed your chest gently, not wanting to leave any marks.

"Yeo…Yeosang…" you whispered, catching his attention. He looked at you with a blush, his rosy lips inviting. You reached out, tracing his lips with a finger, feeling the heat between you.

"I…actually don't hate you," you admitted before he cut you off with a deep, passionate kiss, leaving you breathless. "Me either. You're just…a little intense…"

"Then be intense with me," you urged, feeling a rush of desire. His eyes widened briefly before he regained his composure.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice husky. "Just fuck me," you replied, your desire evident.

"Then no regrets," he whispered before undoing his belt and freeing himself. As you caught sight of him, your eyes widened in surprise.

"You can handle it. It won't hurt," he assured you. With a nod, he slowly entered you, taking care not to cause any pain.

Your mouth formed a perfect 'O' as he thrust inside you, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and satisfaction that left you gasping for more.

"So fucking tight, aren't you?" Due to the unfamiliar sensation, your walls tightened around his thick cock, eliciting more arousal and causing you to gradually acclimate to the feeling.

"Ah, I don't know how much longer I can hold on," he confessed, maintaining a steady rhythm of thrusts that grazed your sweet spot, resisting the urge to ravage you with abandon.

Your hands found purchase on his back, digging in slightly, the sensation bordering on pain and pleasure, heightening the intensity of the moment.

A sharp intake of breath escaped him as the conflicting sensations of pain and pleasure melded into a symphony of ecstasy, creating a sense of comfort and connection between you both.

Your own moans, initially timid and restrained, grew in volume, the urge to release building within you until you could no longer contain it.

"Don't hold it. I like your moaning," he encouraged, his words acting as a catalyst that shattered any remaining inhibitions, allowing you to fully embrace the pleasure coursing through your body.

With a newfound sense of freedom, you abandoned all reservations, giving in to the overwhelming pleasure as your moans filled the car, a symphony of desire and satisfaction.

"Right there~faster~yeosang~~"His touch hit the perfect spot, causing your body to writhe and moan. "Right here?" he asked, hitting the same spot again, making you throw your head back.

A smirk played on his lips as he thrust faster, the sound of skin slapping filling the car, mingling with your groans and panting, creating a passionate melody that urged for more.

"Sang…Sangie…" "Oh, I love that name, say it again." "Sangie~" "Fuck!" Your moans became erratic as he continued his rough, yet pleasurable thrusts. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, fingers intertwining while he sucked on your skin.

"Sang…we shouldn't…they might see…" "Oops, too late." As he pulled away, a prominent red hickey marked your neck.

"You jerk!" "Guilty as charged." "Ah!" With a sudden forceful push, he pushed you to your limits, eliciting a scream as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

"Watch what you say." "You—Ah!" Once again, your words were interrupted by his relentless thrusts. He pounded into you, the rhythm of his balls colliding with your skin adding to the intensity, pushing you closer to the edge. "Oh my god!" Suddenly, he lifted you up, sat upright, and placed you on his lap.

"Ride me." "But I…I don't know how…" "You've never done this before?" You nodded with a shy smile, and he cupped your face.

"It's okay." Leaning in for a kiss, his tongue danced with yours as he thrust upwards.

"Let me teach you." Moans escaped your lips as the new angle allowed him to go deeper, hitting that sweet spot with precision.

Breaking the kiss, you buried your head in his neck, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

"Hmm…Sangie…I…" "You want to cum?" You nodded as he caressed your backside, reveling in the softness and warmth you brought him.

"Cum." With a whimper, you released, collapsing against his body. Your essence enveloped him, sending waves of pleasure through his body, urging him to climax.

"Fuck." He guided your movements back and forth, chasing his peak. "Sang! Sang!" "Hold on, babe." Biting his lip, he finally reached his climax, releasing inside you.

Breathing heavily, neither of you wanted to move. He tucked your hair behind your ear and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Shall we head back?" You nodded, allowing him to help you dress.

"I didn't realize it was your first time."

"Is that strange?"

"No, not at all! I said nothing." You narrowed your eyes and pouted. "Hey, you."

"What?"

"You better take responsibility, or else I'll have to kill you." He smirked, ruffling your hair. "Yah,yah. You know now we can't leave each other." He pecked at your hand before intertwining with you.

You arrived back at the residence first, with Yeosang heading off to park the car. As you opened the door, you were met with the concerned faces of the group, worried that you and Yeosang had encountered some sort of trouble or disagreement.

"Hey, guys," you called out, flashing them a reassuring smile.

"Hey, Y/N!" Seonghwa responded. "Where's Yeosang?"

"He's parking the car," you replied. Seeing your calm demeanor, the rest of the members exchanged glances, their concern easing slightly.

"Did something happen between you two?" Seonghwa asked cautiously.

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "No, we're good. We worked things out."

"Really?" Wooyoung's eyes lit up with relief. "That's great to hear."

"It's good news indeed," Hongjoong added with a smile.

"So, what's the secret to your quick reconciliation?" Yunho inquired, curiosity evident in his voice.

Before you could respond, Yeosang burst into the room, completely oblivious to the group's presence.

"Hey, Y/N, you left your bra in the car," he announced casually.

A moment of awkward silence descended upon the room as everyone exchanged uncertain glances.

"Is that a hickey?" Yunho suddenly pointed to the mark on your neck, causing you to blush furiously.

"I…uh…Ye…Yeosang, you…I swear, I'm going to get you for this!" you exclaimed, playfully chasing after Yeosang as he darted away.

"Hey, come back here, you brat!"

It seemed that some things never change, no matter the circumstances.

[aithusarosekiller]

Why Jegulus would actually work with their (barely existent) canon personalities:

This isn't a place for a debate so literally don't bother, I'm just trying to articulate to appeal to the 'iT maKEs No seNsE' crowd because while I don't care about canon, some Jegulus haters don't respect you unless you worship it so

-

First: James' benefit from it-

To begin with, you have the superiority complex. As much as fans (and Sirius) like to say that Sirius immediately saw through his parents' beliefs when he was born and was a perfect activist from infancy, this is not true. First of all it's highly improbable and much more likely that he told that sort of tale that in order to convince himself and Harry that he was always good, but he isn't and we see that. He is progressive but he still treats Kreacher incredibly poorly, he uses oppressed creatures as jokes and sees no issue with it (yeah, canon-worshippers, sorry but in PoA there is no remorse for the prank, he laughs about it proudly) so he would have had to grow out of most of the behaviours he did have when he was sorted. He would carry some leftover beliefs from his family that James and the others had to help him unlearn. He would be willing to of course but it was still work. Why on earth would James not have reason to think 'I can do it again! They were raised in the same house they're practically the same.' Sirius had described his brother as weak and idiotic so James sees it as an easy win for his ego and the worth of his name, maybe even in Lily’s eyes.

And even when he falls in love and realises he may not be able to change them? Canonically? James wouldn't care. Not before he was 17 at least. He only ever relies on equality when it matters to him. They bully for no reason but target Snape a lot anyway, they already hate him when James sees the opportunity to stand up for Lily, speaking over her wishes instead of with her. He seems more intent on humiliating Snape and making a scene than actually fixing any issues. He's never truly evil but he's not a perfect virtuous angel. So him staying with someone who's morals are compromised wouldn't feel evil to him, he still thinks he's great and perfect, he just loves people who aren't. Let teenage James be morally grey, it's all he ever has been. It would give a pretty cool exploration of his growing maturity in the later school years. There's no real explanation for it apart from 'well it worked for him getting Lily' (which I hate, he nastily jokes about dating her infront of a crowd in exchange for not physically assaulting her friend and then she marries him? Give them more fucking depth than that, it reminds me of too many creeps I know) so it would be kind of cool to explore what could have set him off down the path of becoming a better person. Maybe age or outside pressure but I like the idea of him having a personal relationship that helped him to grow. He's with someone he can never be open to the public with and it's eating away at him because technically he should call it off but he doesn't bloody want to. When it ends, it's all too much and he chooses to flip his life over. He realises how Lily must have felt having Severus turn around on her and force her to leave him; he looks at the war and social climate with more integrity. He begins to change for the better in response to this upheaval of his life and his heartbreak. Also regulus gave him that snitch he was playing with and nobody can convince me he didn't.

Now for Regulus:

The betrayal is the obvious one, he'd always been tentative and naive according to Sirius. Sirius is under the impression he would've just tried to run when it got scary and we can assume he just misjudged him but wouldn't it be interesting if somebody was there to help him embrace his courageous, reckless side? If James sat there whispering words of victory and bravery to him, planting the seeds for his later rebellion? It could also have begun to place seeds of doubt in his mind surrounding the death eaters, even if they did not come to fruition until later. Even if you think he only changed due to Kreacher being hurt, the disproportionate response of sacrificing his entire life over it in some grand display of power is SO JAMES of him.

Then there's the opportunity to explore him on a more personal level. Who is he outside of his family? Was the locket the only secret betrayal or were there more? How does this impact his relationship with Sirius, regardless of him knowing of it or not? It adds even more layers to the meaning of his name and it helps to explore his own doubts before they are ever apparent to his family. James would likely not feel a sense of betrayal in not telling Sirius due to his ego and the fact that British teen boys are just like that™️ with their friend groups. But would Regulus? He would likely feel guilt anyway, but towards his brother? Did he still see him as a family member, as someone worth telling things to, as someone James belonged to? Well never know the canonical answers to this and that's why it's so FUN to explore. The layers to the secrecy and hope in their relationship is amazing.

What are his lingering feelings like after it ended? Hatred, regret, jealousy? And for James- guilt, sorrow, crushed hope?

The timelines add up too- the mark, James growing more mature, the snitch and the bullying of Snape.

And if your argument is 'they're not gay' tell me what makes you think that. Their personality? There isn't one 'way' to be gay. Prejudices? You think gay people are born holding a rainbow flag and chanting peace and love? So may gay ppl are vile to other marginalised groups. James married a woman? Bi people exist.

You don't have to like it, but don't say it makes no sense becuase it can and neither do half of your hcs about wolfstar and the prank and James' sunshine personality and how perfect jily were

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Cherry Pie Kiss

Slice Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Summary: Out on the hunt, out of state and out of options; with your life on the line, Dean makes a call you're not happy with. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he brings a peace offering.

Haven't read Part One? - Catch up here.

Words: ~3.5k

A/N: This is part 2 of 3 of what started as a short one shot, but someone asked for another slice of pie so I'm here to deliver. There isn't any smut in this part (its all going to be in part 3 😂) but there are graphic depictions of gore, violence and death which is why I ask minors not to read or interact. Reader is female but generic, and obviously has feelings but is kind of stuck in this hate to love him type thing which carries on from part 1. I hope you enjoy the read and are ready for the goonfest and gratuitous smut coming in part 3.

Warnings: gore, death and gruesome depictions of canon-type violence, profanity as standard for my work, bit of angst, bit of fluff right at the end.

***Minor do not read or interact***

Dean Winchester.  You hate him.  His saviour complex, his unwavering strength, the way he’s so damn selfish though not in the ways that count… But boy, can he wear a pair of jeans.  Phew-ee!

You hate that you can’t stop looking at him, leaning on the jukebox of the bar you’re in, feeding it quarters in exchange for some feel-good tunes.  Ugh!  Asshole!

Tonight had been a tough night.  Even Sam was feeling the burn.  Out on the hunt, out of state and out of options, the three of you had played a Hail Mary and it had paid off.  Those damn vamps had just kept on coming.  Sam was down and you were in a bad way with what felt like a hoard of those fuckers piling into the abandoned factory to make a meal out of you all.  Starting out, you had all been so sure that you had this little group in the bag but, as per usual with these goddamn things, the plan didn’t pan out.

Dean had dragged you and a semi-conscious Sam into a tight space between the machines.  One way in, one way out.  You were both toast if you were found and of course you would be found; the vamps had your scent.

Groggily, you watched dean uncoil something from his pocket and string it across the opening at about neck height.

“Guitar string.”  He winked at you as if this idea was the best idea he had ever had and should have been plan A from the start.

“We’re fucking bait?”  You hissed furiously.  No, surely not?  Dean would never use his brother as bait.  Would he?  “Goddamn asshole!”  You snarled with as much vitriol you could muster between your gasping breaths and painful ribs.

He just gave you that weary look he had been wearing for the past hour and shrugged his shoulders before pulling out his machete and hiding himself out of sight.  “Get ready.”

You brandished your blade and hauled yourself to your feet, ready to fight.  There was no point wasting any more breath insulting him.  If you got out of this alive, you would have plenty of opportunity to call him all the names under the sun.  IF you got out alive.

The first vamps that found you came rushing in, right down the tight alley framed by the large machinery and with a sharp twang, Dean’s trap garrotted them straight through, taking their heads clean off.  Of the next three, the wire took the first two but the third approached cautiously despite you calling him to come get you.

Dean ran out from his hiding place and attacked the vamp from behind, slashing at the guy’s thick neck twice in order to cut all the way through.  As the body fell you saw why the vamp had stopped – the trap had remnants of flesh and blood along it from its previous victims making it easier to see.  You wiped your sleeve along it to clean the bits of hanging flesh off making it almost invisible again. Dean gave you an impressed nod.

Another two vamps fell to the wire but the last one got snagged as she fell, snapping it and making it useless.  Well, it was a good idea while it lasted, you thought.

It took you two a little while longer to attract the remaining few vamps who obviously knew something was up.  Sam was in no fit state, still groaning on the ground.  You were weak and in a lot of pain but you kept swinging your blade, struggling to breathe let alone stand.

The fight had been brutal and both you and Dean were covered in blood by the time it was over.  You were on your knees, slumped over a vamp you had had to hack into to remove the head, your blade surely blunt by now.  You were ready to close your eyes and give up when Dean pulled you to your feet.

“C’mon,” he said gruffly, “up and at’em.”  Helping you out over the pile of decapitated bodies, he hauled a now mostly conscious Sam through the mess.

You had made it to the Impala and, for once, Dean hadn’t grumbled about getting blood on Baby’s seats but throwing a couple blankets down instead.  Sam slumped in the front while you crawled in the back, weary and sore.  Your eyes met Dean’s in the rearview mirror but yours flicked away immediately, unable to look at him without getting angry.  When you looked back so did he, like he knew you’d be looking, and held on, asking if you were okay without actually asking.  If he really cared he wouldn’t have used you as bait.

You let your head fall back onto the seat and closed your eyes frustrated by his dichotomy.

After a while on the road, Dean turned the radio on, breaking the silence which opened the door for you to say what was on your mind.  Sam hadn’t been bothered one bit by the fact that Dean had used you both as bait, but you were furious.

“It worked, didn’t it?”  Dean snapped, frustrated by your anger.

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you and a whole long list of other people.  Aint nothin’ new.”

Around five miles out of Crocker, Missouri, Dean pulled into a truck stop complex which had a convenience store, gas station, diner, a small motel and a dive bar.  The dawn was still hours away and the need for a couple of hours sleep in a comfortable bed was showing on all three of you.  Sam was the cleanest so he made the arrangements; two rooms because there was no way you were sharing a room with that asshole after what he did.  You were just as likely to fuck him out of anger as fight him at that point.

You used the showers in the truck stop to clean off all the blood and get into some clean clothes, relishing in the feel of the warm water and decent water pressure.  You felt a slight pang of guilt that someone would likely be picking vamp chunks out of the drain in the next couple of days but it passed quickly, it probably wasn’t the worst thing these truck stop attendants had seen over the years.

Refreshed by the shower and a take-out burger from the diner, you decided you needed a drink or five, which sounded good to Sam and Dean – you all deserved it.

So, here you are, several drinks in, pounding another tequila shot, trying not to stare at Dean Winchester’s ass while Sam bids you goodnight and takes himself off to one of the two rooms you had paid for at the run-down motel on site.

It seems as if you’re not the only one with an eye for a firm ass in tight Wranglers; a scantily clad barfly sidles up to Dean and strokes her hand down his back as he plugs his final song into the jukebox.  When her hand reaches that ass of his, he straightens and turns, grinning at her with that look you know means he’s going to ride her all the way to dawn.

You can’t watch this.  You don’t have the stomach for it, not tonight.  You pound your remaining two shots and eat the lime slice, peel and all.  Then you’re up off your stool and pushing past Dean and his lady friend, and out into the night where the air cools your heated skin but not your confusing emotions.

In the second of the two rooms, you look at your bruised face and neck in the mirror.  No wonder he didn’t look twice at you, you’re a mess.  It shouldn’t pain you like it does to think of him with another woman.  He asked once and you said no, so that is the end of that.  Plus, you hate him, can’t forget that.  Still, it gives you some small satisfaction that he now has no empty room to take his new friend to so he’ll have to bang her in Baby, on the bloody blankets.  With a spiteful smirk you flop on the bed and fall into a light disturbed sleep.

A loud knock on the door wakes you up with a start.  At first you don’t know where you are.  So used to your room in the bunker, you had almost forgotten what it feels like to sleep that first night in a new place, never truly resting for fear of attack.  It’s only an hour or so since you left the bar and you’re groggy from the tequila and from the waking.

You don’t turn on the lights when you go to the peephole, looking out with your pistol muzzle pushed up against the flimsy wood door.  Dean sways on the other side, his head turned as though he’s listening.

“Sam’s in the other room,” you call, clicking the safety back onto your pistol.

“I know,” he grumbles, “open up.  I got something.”

“It can wait until the morning.”

“Can’t wait,” it sounds muffled, “owwww!” he hisses.

“What the hell,” you sigh, sliding the chain and turning the handle.

Dean stumbles in with his mouth shaped like an “O” as he slides two bowls onto the unit next to the TV, shaking his hands afterwards as if burned.  You close the door and engage the chain out of habit.

“Got you something.”  He grins goofily, obviously much more drunk than you had left him in the bar, and you wonder what happened to the barfly.  Surely the womanizing Dean Winchester hadn’t banged and dropped her in that short a time?

“It’s two in the morning, Dean.”  You wipe a hand down your tired face, lifting your eyes again to see him handing you one of the bowls from the diner.

“Peace offering.”  He says with a smile as he pushes the hot ceramic into your hands, his eyes glistening with mirth and the effects of all the whiskey he shot back earlier.

You look at what he brought you and your heart almost stops.  It’s a steaming hot piece of cherry pie, drizzled in a large puddle of vanilla custard just the way you like it.  You look at his, with his tiny dollop of cream just the way he likes it, and you can’t help but smile.

“Why?”  You ask as you sit on the edge of the bed with him in the chair by the TV, the bowl in your hand, spoon loaded with goodness.

He finishes chewing a piece of the hot pie, sucking in air to cool it in his mouth before he replies.  “I know you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you admit too quickly but the words are out now whether he believes them or not.

“And I know it’s my fault,” he looks at you with those eyes, “I shouldn’t have made things awkward from day one.  So, I’m sorry about that.”

“Thank you.”  You never thought you would ever hear Dean Winchester apologise, or what you would say in return.

“I didn’t know how to take the rejection,” he sighed heavily, “especially not from someone I have this amazing chemistry with, y’know?  But that’s on me.”

What great chemistry did Dean think he had with you?  All the years you had known him, you’d harboured a bit of a crush on him but he always acted like you were one of the guys.  When you two crossed paths it had felt effortless to slip into the old camaraderie but he treated you like a sister, a fellow hunter, until you had shown up on his radar this time covered in blood and all kinds of messed up and he’d gotten all pissed and… ohhhh.

“You were right all those years ago when you said hunters shouldn’t get close,” he continues, “I should’ve listened and never asked that question.”

You remember the conversation clearly.  It was something you had said because you thought it was what he wanted to hear from you.  Younger and more naïve, you had thought that what he wanted was for you to be like one of the guys so you had said the words and hoped that you could remain where you were with him, always close but never at risk of blowing everything.  Over time you had begun to regret that decision, and as soon as he started acting like an asshole it had been easy to trade the feelings you had for ones of resentment.

“I wish I never said it.  I didn’t realise what I would be losing when I asked.”   He looks at you again, beseechingly.  “Do you think we can start again?  Be friends like before?”

You think about it for a moment but the more you think the surer you are that you can’t go back.  You can’t know these things and have these experiences and go back to the beginning.

“No, Dean, I don’t think we can.”  Your words are soft but the devastation in his eyes is sharp and painful.

You stand, placing your untouched bowl on the bedside table, and walk towards him.  His bowl is empty now, but there’s a little piece of pie left on his spoon when you take it from him.  He’s confused but follows your every movement with a mixture of sadness and reverence.

The pie is sweet on your tongue and the way his eyebrows raise when your lips close around the spoon brings a cheeky glint to your eyes.  You sit on his knee, wrapping one arm around his shoulders while the other pulls the now clean spoon past your lips.  You swallow with a sigh.  His hands go to your hip and thigh to steady you as he looks up at you.

You dip your head slowly and he tilts up to meet you, his eyes flicking between yours and your mouth.  He tastes sweet just like you do when you lay your lips on his, a soft kiss that is both the testing of waters and the soothing of sharp emotions.  He squeezes your thigh tighter for a brief moment and you pull back to see the questioning look on his face.

“But you said…”

You shush him with a finger laid over his lips.  “I know what I said.”

“Then what did you mean?”  He swallows hard, licking his lips nervously afterwards as if you’re about to pull the rug out from under him.

“I wish I’d said yes.”