#i really don’t know if these made sense

[sonarspace]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆STUDY BREAK (FT. GOJO)

꒰ synopsis. being in the same class as gojo satoru was bad enough; having him as the professor’s insufferably smug assistant made it worse. content. college au. nsfw. (teasing. slight praise kınk. fıngering. oräl. p in v. multiple ōrgasms.) wc. 5.3k. an. to clear up any confusion 😭.. satoru’s a senior student + the professor’s assistant in the course you’re both taking. (fic is kinda all over the place so idk if this works but let’s pretend like it does).

there’s something about gojo satoru that drives you insane. not in the fun, heart-fluttering way that comes with a secret crush or the thrill of banter. no—this is the kind of insane where you want to hurl something, preferably at his stupidly smug face.

“class,” he drawls, leaning lazily against the desk at the front of the room, his shirt slightly rumpled like he doesn’t give a damn—and he doesn’t. “these papers? a mixed bag. some of you really impressed me. others… well.” his lips curve into a smirk. “let’s just say the recycling bin was hungry.”

you groan inwardly, already sensing where this is going. he’s done this before, holding your work hostage like it’s part of his routine entertainment.

“and here,” he continues, brandishing a paper like a prop. your paper. “is a prime example of someone… almost getting there. strong ideas, decent execution, but the conclusion? oof. fell harder than my GPA sophomore year.”

a few students laugh. your jaw tightens, the heat in your chest bubbling up into something sharp and biting. he doesn’t have to name you; everyone knows exactly whose paper he’s waving around.

“anyway,” he finishes with a shrug, tossing the paper onto the desk like it’s disposable. “there’s potential. keep at it.”

you don’t even wait for class to end before your resolve solidifies: you’re going to kill him. maybe not literally, but metaphorically? absolutely.

you don’t plan on storming to his dorm room. it just… happens. one moment, you’re replaying his smug grin and the way his eyes gleamed when he mocked your paper, and the next, you’re standing outside his door, your fist raised to knock.

he answers quickly, and the sight of him makes you falter. his hair is damp, sticking out in soft tufts like he just got out of the shower, and his plain white t-shirt clings to him in a way that’s almost—no. you shake the thought away.

“well, this is unexpected,” he says, leaning against the doorframe with a grin that’s all teeth. “if you wanted private tutoring, you could’ve just asked.”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you snap, brushing past him into the room without waiting for an invitation.

he whistles low under his breath. “feisty tonight. to what do I owe the pleasure?”

you spin to face him, your hands clenched at your sides. “what is your problem with me?”

he blinks, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second before returning full force. “problem? sweetheart, i don’t have a problem with you.”

“you humiliate me in class,” you say, your voice rising. “you make these comments, you single me out—what, are you that bored with your life?”

“humiliate?” he echoes, feigning a wounded look. “i think you mean ‘motivate.’ you’re one of the smartest people in that class. if i don’t push you, who will?”

“that’s bullshit,” you fire back, stepping closer. “you don’t ‘push’ anyone else.”

“because no one else is as fun,” he replies easily, his grin tilting into something sharper. “the way you react, the fire in your eyes—it’s addictive.”

your breath catches, the heat in your chest spreading to your cheeks. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, here you are,” he says, his voice dropping just enough to make the air between you feel heavier. “in my room. alone.”

“because you drive me crazy,” you snap, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

his eyebrows lift slightly, as if he’s genuinely intrigued by your outburst. “good crazy or bad crazy?”

he takes a step closer, too close. the kind of close that makes your pulse stutter and your instincts scream at you to step back—but you don’t. instead, you stand your ground, your jaw clenched as he waits for your answer, his gaze steady and almost daring.

“what does it matter?” you mutter, your voice quieter now, the heat of your earlier anger ebbing into something more uncertain.

“it matters,” he says, his voice low as his eyes flicker to your lips. “because I need to know if I can do this.”

before you can ask what he means, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. but you don’t. his hand finds your waist, tugging you closer as the kiss deepens, his mouth hot and insistent against yours.

it’s like a dam breaking. weeks—months—of tension and unspoken words all come crashing down in a rush of heat and urgency. his other hand slides into your hair, tilting your head to kiss you deeper, and the sound you make in response is embarrassing and needy, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

you should stop this. you should push him away, tell him he’s crossed a line. but the way his thumb brushes against your waist, the way he tilts his head just right, the way he kisses like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as you have—it’s addictive. you can’t stop. you don’t want to.

but then reality slams into you like a cold gust of wind. what are you doing? your chest tightens as the weight of it crashes down all at once, the heat between you dissolving into something sharper, more terrifying.

you pull back abruptly, your breathing uneven. “i can’t.”

he blinks, his expression softening from one of heat to confusion. “what?”

“this—this is a mistake,” you stammer, backing away. your hands feel clumsy as they fumble behind you for the door. “i shouldn’t have come here.”

“wait.” his hand reaches out, almost instinctively, but you’re already opening the door, your chest tight and your mind racing as you step out into the hall. you don’t look back, even as the warmth of his touch lingers on your skin.

────

you avoid him after that. in class, you sit as far from him as possible, claiming a seat in the back corner, close to the door. the usual tension he brought to the room—his teasing remarks, his piercing gaze when he caught you rolling your eyes—feels conspicuously absent. he doesn’t call on you, doesn’t glance your way, doesn’t even acknowledge you.

it’s been weeks since that night in his dorm, and as the semester nears its end, the distance feels heavier with every passing class. his silence, once the thing you desperately wanted, now presses on your chest like a weight. you wonder if he regrets it, if he’s just as caught in the what-ifs as you are—or if he’s already forgotten.

the final project looms, deadlines creeping closer, but the distraction isn’t enough to stop the quiet ache that’s settled in your chest. you remind yourself it’s for the best. boundaries were crossed, a line you know you shouldn’t have stepped over. it doesn’t matter how he made you feel, how his kisses left you breathless and yearning. none of it matters.

and yet, every time you leave class, you rush, head down, praying he won’t stop you. and every time he doesn’t, the ache grows.

when class ends today, the air feels heavier than usual. your peers chatter around you, their voices blending into background noise as you pack your things quickly, eyes fixed on the door. if you can just slip out unnoticed, avoid another day of walking the tightrope you’ve been balancing on since that night—

but then a hand wraps gently around your wrist, warm and familiar.

“you’re avoiding me,” he says, his voice low and steady. there’s no edge to it, no teasing grin or smug undertone. just quiet certainty, like he’s stating a fact.

you freeze, your heart thudding in your chest. it’s been so long since he’s said anything to you that the sound of his voice directed at you feels foreign.

“i’m late,” you mumble, tugging your wrist weakly in an attempt to free yourself. “let me go.”

“you don’t have any classes after this,” he says, his grip loosening but not letting go. his eyes meet yours, calm but resolute. “i checked your schedule.”

your jaw tightens, irritation flashing through you. “you shouldn’t have access to my schedule.”

“probably not,” he admits with a shrug, a hint of the old satoru creeping into his voice, “but i’m me.”

you open your mouth to snap at him, to tell him to back off, but he cuts you off first. “come have coffee with me.”

you blink, caught off guard by the casual offer. “what?”

“coffee,” he repeats, his tone light, as if this is perfectly normal. “you like coffee, don’t you?”

“that’s not the point,” you snap, yanking your wrist free from his grasp. “what is this, some weird apology?”

“it’s not weird,” he says, his smirk faltering slightly now, his expression open and strangely earnest. “it’s just coffee. with me.”

you stare at him, struggling to find the right words. “gojo,” you begin, your voice heavy, “you and i are not friends.”

his face falls, the shift so quick and unexpected that it makes your stomach twist. you see the way his shoulders tense, the way his gaze drops for just a moment, but you force yourself to look away. without giving him a chance to reply, you turn and push past him, your steps quick and unsteady as you leave the classroom.

the ache in your chest grows with every step, and even as you round the corner, out of sight, the image of his expression lingers. there’s no relief this time. only guilt.

────

you don’t know why you’re here. no, that’s a lie—you know exactly why you’re here. the memory of his expression, the slight drop of his shoulders at your retort, has been looping in your mind, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

your feet carry you down the familiar path to his dorm, the ache in your chest twisting tighter with every step. before you can talk yourself out of it, your fist is already knocking on the door.

it opens almost immediately, and the sight of him steals the breath from your lungs. his white hair is a mess, sticking up in chaotic directions, and his glasses are perched crookedly on his nose. there’s a faint crease on his cheek, like he’d been leaning against a book, and his shirt hangs loosely off one shoulder, rumpled from sleep or hours spent working. he looks… soft. disarming. almost painfully cute.

“coffee,” you say, holding up the cups like a white flag. “can i come in?”

his lips twitch, a hint of a smile breaking through the haze of surprise as he steps aside. “bribery, huh? didn’t think you had it in you.”

his dorm is as cluttered as you remember—papers and notebooks sprawled across his desk, a blinking laptop shoved precariously to one side. you set the coffee down on the edge of the desk, your gaze catching on the scrawled notes and dense blocks of text.

“grading?” you ask.

“research,” he replies, dropping onto the edge of his bed with a tired sigh. his hand rakes through his already-messy hair, making it stick up even more. “finals prep. you know, glamorous TA things.”

you hand him a cup, your fingers brushing against his as he takes it. the simple contact sends a jolt up your arm that you stubbornly ignore. “thought you could use it.”

he hums as he takes a sip, his lashes fluttering briefly before he lets out a quiet sound of approval. the noise is so low, so soft, it makes your stomach twist. you glance away quickly, your grip tightening on your own cup.

“about the other day,” you start, the words quiet and tentative.

he glances up, the coffee still in his hands. his expression is unreadable, but his fingers still against the cup, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. “you don’t have to explain,” he says, setting his cup down on the desk. “if you don’t want this—if i got it wrong—just say so.”

“it’s not that,” you blurt, the words tumbling out too fast, too raw. warmth floods your cheeks, creeping down to your chest. “i just… i don’t know what this is.”

he doesn’t respond immediately, doesn’t fall into his usual teasing deflection. instead, he stands, crossing the small space between you with deliberate steps. his gaze holds yours, steady and unguarded, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you can’t control.

“let me show you,” he says softly, his voice low, uncharacteristically serious.

he’s so close now, his hand brushing against yours, his touch light, almost hesitant. and then his lips are on yours, and everything else fades away.

this kiss is nothing like the first. there’s no uncertainty, no restraint. his hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moves against yours, hot and insistent. your grip on the coffee slips, the cup hitting the floor with a dull thud as your hands find his shoulders, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

when his hands slide under your shirt, the roughness of his palms against your bare skin makes you shudder. he guides you backward, his body pressing into yours until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. you sink down, the weight of him grounding you as he follows, his lips trailing fire along your jaw and down your neck.

his hands are everywhere—tracing the curve of your waist, brushing the underside of your ribs, exploring like he’s memorizing every inch of you. when he pulls back to look at you, his lips are curved in a wicked, breath-stealing grin.

“you’re infuriating,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as his eyes rake over you, drinking in every detail.

“you’re worse,” you manage, though your voice is barely more than a whisper.

his grin widens, and his laugh is warm against your skin as he dips his head, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. “you’re already so worked up. it’s cute.”

“shut up,” you snap, though the way your hips arch into his touch betrays you.

“make me,” he challenges, his lips brushing against yours before descending lower, kissing down your collarbone and tugging your shirt higher with every inch. his hands roam greedily, tugging the fabric over your head and tossing it somewhere behind him without a second thought.

his mouth is back on you immediately, nipping and kissing along the swell of your breasts as his hands work the clasp of your bra. when it comes free, his lips part in a satisfied hum, his hands kneading your soft skin like he’s savoring every second of this.

“so fucking perfect,” he mutters, his voice husky as he leans back slightly to take in the sight of you. his gaze is heavy, filled with something dark and hungry that makes your stomach twist in the best way.

“stop staring,” you grumble, though the heat in your cheeks betrays the sharpness of your words.

“can’t help it,” he says, his grin tilting into something softer, more genuine. “you’re gorgeous.”

before you can respond, his mouth is back on you, his tongue flicking over your nipple as his other hand trails down your stomach, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of your pants. your breath hitches as he pauses, his gaze flicking up to meet yours.

“can i?” he asks, his voice quieter now, his expression serious.

you nod, and he wastes no time. his fingers hook under the fabric, tugging your pants and underwear down in one swift motion. the cool air against your bare skin makes you shiver, but the warmth of his hands is there immediately, coaxing you to relax under his touch.

“look at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick as his hands part your thighs, his gaze drinking in every inch of you. “so fucking pretty.”

your cheeks flush, and you try to turn your head away, but his hand cups your chin, gently coaxing you to meet his eyes. “don’t hide from me,” he says, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “not tonight.”

his other hand slides between your thighs, his touch featherlight at first, teasing. when his thumb brushes over your clit, a jolt of heat shoots through you, and your hips buck involuntarily.

“sensitive,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a wicked grin. “i barely touched you, and you’re already squirming.”

“shut up,” you snap, your voice shaky as your fingers clutch at the sheets beneath you. but the way your body reacts—arching into his touch, chasing the pressure—makes it clear that his teasing isn’t far from the truth.

“you don’t really want me to, do you?” his voice is low, almost a growl, and the sound of it sends a shiver down your spine. “i think you like when i talk to you like this. when i tell you how good you’re doing, how fucking beautiful you look right now.”

your chest heaves as his fingers dip lower, sliding through your slick folds with infuriating slowness. every movement feels deliberate, calculated, like he’s savoring every second. when his fingers finally slip inside you, the stretch makes your head fall back, a gasp tumbling from your lips.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his thumb circling your clit as his fingers begin to move, slow and deliberate at first. “you feel so fucking good, baby. so perfect.”

your hands fly to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he curls his fingers, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur. “oh my god—gojo—”

he tuts sharply, his fingers pausing inside you, his thumb stalling its maddening rhythm. your head snaps up, breathless and confused, to find him staring down at you with a dark look, his lips curving into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“no,” he says firmly, his voice low and commanding as he tilts his head. “say satoru.”

“w-what?” you stammer, your heart racing as his fingers remain perfectly still, the tension building with every passing second.

“not ‘gojo,’” he says again, his free hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his. his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, his grin sharpening. “say satoru.”

you hesitate, your breath hitching as your body trembles beneath him. he presses his fingers deeper, curling them just enough to make your toes curl, and your resolve shatters.

“satoru,” you gasp, your voice breaking on the syllables.

his smirk widens, something dark and triumphant flickering in his eyes. “good girl,” he murmurs, his thumb resuming its slow, torturous circles on your clit as his fingers pick up their rhythm again, harder this time, deeper.

your head falls back against the mattress, your body arching into his touch as the pleasure builds again, higher and hotter than before. his name tumbles from your lips like a mantra, breathless and needy as he drives you closer to the edge.

“that’s it,” he coaxes, his voice dripping with praise as his free hand slides down your body, his touch possessive. “just like that, baby. let go for me.”

the coil in your stomach tightens to the breaking point, and when he curls his fingers just right, pressing against the perfect spot, it snaps. your orgasm crashes over you, white-hot and overwhelming, and his name spills from your lips in a broken moan.

“satoru—fuck—”

“that’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough with approval as he works you through the waves of pleasure, his movements slowing but never stopping until your body goes slack beneath him, trembling and spent.

he pulls his hand away slowly, his gaze fixed on you as he brings his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with a deliberate, satisfied hum. “even better than i imagined,” he says, his voice dripping with arrogance, his eyes gleaming as they roam over your flushed, trembling body.

you blink, your breath still uneven as his words settle over you. “wait—” you say, your voice catching slightly. “you’ve thought about this?”

his grin widens, slow and deliberate, and he leans down, bracing himself on his forearms so his face is just inches from yours. “oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “you really think i haven’t?”

your cheeks flush even hotter, your pulse racing as his words sink in. “you’re—” you stammer, at a rare loss for words. “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculous?” he repeats, feigning offense, though the wicked glint in his eyes never falters. “i’d say i’m a man of focus. you’ve been in my head for weeks, driving me insane with that sharp mouth and the way you look at me when you think i don’t notice.”

“i don’t—” you begin, but his lips curve into a knowing smirk, cutting you off.

“you do,” he insists, his tone softening just slightly. “and every time you glared at me, every time you rolled your eyes or bit back some little retort, all i could think about was how much i wanted to shut you up. like this.”

his lips capture yours again, and this kiss is slower, heavier, laced with an intensity that makes your toes curl. his hands roam, sliding over your bare skin with a reverence that feels almost out of place against his words.

when he finally pulls back, his gaze is still on you, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “and now that i’ve got you,” he says, his voice dipping into something darker, “i don’t think i’ll ever get enough.”

the weight of his confession leaves you breathless, and before you can respond, his lips are trailing down your body again, his hands parting your thighs as he settles between them.

“what are you—” you start, but his eyes flick up to meet yours, and the look in them steals the rest of your words.

“relax,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a soft, almost mischievous smile. “i’m not done tasting you yet.”

his hands slide to grip your thighs, pulling you apart with ease as his lips descend, brushing over your inner thighs, teasingly slow. his tongue flicks out, hot and wet against your skin, and when his mouth finally finds you again, you feel your body arch instinctively, your breath leaving in a sharp, unrestrained gasp.

he’s relentless. his tongue drags up your folds in a languid stroke before circling your clit with maddening precision. his mouth is hot, the slick, wet sounds mingling with your soft moans, and his breath—warm and uneven—fans against your skin with every movement.

his hair brushes against your thighs, soft and messy, and your fingers thread through it again, tugging sharply enough to make him groan against you. the vibration of it sends a jolt of pleasure straight through your core, and your hips buck against his mouth.

“satoru,” you gasp, but it’s barely coherent, your voice breaking as he latches onto your clit, sucking just enough to make your toes curl. “oh my—”

the cold press of something against your inner thigh pulls you out of the haze, just barely. it’s sharp, unfamiliar, and you glance down—his glasses. they’re still perched on his nose, slightly crooked, the metal frame fogging faintly from the heat of his breath. he’s so lost in the moment, so focused on the way his tongue works against you, that he hasn’t even noticed.

your hand drifts down, brushing against the cool frame, and you slip them off without a word. the absurdity of it—the way he’s been eating you out with his glasses still on—makes you want to laugh. the corners of your mouth twitch, and a soft sound bubbles up in your throat, but then his tongue presses flat against your folds, dragging up in one slow, deliberate motion, and the laugh dissolves into a sharp moan.

your head falls back against the pillow, your hand tangling back in his hair as you toss the glasses onto the bed with the other. the noise they make as they hit the mattress is faint, drowned out by the obscene wet sounds of his mouth, the low hums of satisfaction he lets out as he devours you.

“fuck,” you whimper, your thighs trembling as his tongue flicks against your clit again, faster now, more insistent. your body arches instinctively, chasing the pressure, and his hands tighten on your thighs, pulling you even closer to his mouth.

he growls against you, the sound low and rough, vibrating through you in a way that makes your toes curl. his tongue dips lower, teasing your entrance before sliding back up, and the sharp scrape of his teeth against your swollen clit has you seeing stars.

“so fucking sweet,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your slick skin. “can’t get enough of you, baby.”

you can’t respond, can’t think. the only thing you can focus on is the way his tongue works against you, precise and relentless, building the heat in your stomach until it’s unbearable. your fingers twist in his hair, pulling harder, and the groan he lets out in response sends you spiraling.

“satoru—” his name falls from your lips like a prayer, breathless and broken. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, his mouth dragging you closer and closer to the edge until you can’t hold on any longer.

your orgasm hits you hard, ripping through you in waves that leave your entire body trembling. your hips jerk against his hold, your moans loud and unrestrained as you ride it out. his tongue slows, working you through every aftershock until you’re left panting, boneless against the bed.

when he finally pulls back, his chest is heaving, his lips and chin glistening with your slick. his hair is a mess, strands sticking up where your fingers had tugged, and his eyes—those impossibly bright blues—flick up to meet yours, gleaming with satisfaction.

“twice,” he says, his voice low and teasing as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

he sits back on his knees, his hands smoothing over your trembling thighs as he takes in the sight of you—flushed, panting, your chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. his grin is lazy, self-satisfied, like he knows exactly what he’s done to you.

“you’re staring,” you mutter weakly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“hard not to,” he replies, his tone low and full of amusement. his fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, his touch soft, teasing. “you look so fucking good when you come.”

your cheeks burn, and you want to glare at him, to tell him to shut up, but the words catch in your throat as he reaches for the hem of his shirt. in one fluid motion, he pulls it over his head and tosses it to the side, the movement effortless and maddeningly confident.

your eyes follow the shift of his muscles, the way they ripple under his skin, lean and defined. a faint sheen of sweat glistens across his chest, catching the dim light, highlighting every sharp line and curve. your gaze drifts lower, down to the sharp ridges of his abdomen. the faint trail of white hair starting just below his navel draws your attention, leading your eyes further, until his hands move to the waistband of his boxers.

he doesn’t rush. he hooks his thumbs under the fabric, dragging it down slowly, deliberately, letting the anticipation coil tighter in your stomach. as the fabric falls away, your breath hitches.

he’s fully bare now, and your mouth goes dry.

his cock is… breathtaking. thick and flushed a deep pink at the tip, already leaking beads of precum that catch the light as they drip down the length. it’s long, the kind of length that makes your thighs press together instinctively, wondering how he’ll fit, but the heat pooling low in your stomach burns hotter, overriding any hesitation.

his hand wraps around it, and he strokes himself slowly, his thumb swiping over the head to collect the wetness there. the motion is deliberate, almost lazy, and the soft groan he lets out sends a shiver down your spine.

you’re staring—you know you are—and he notices, his lips curving into a wicked grin as his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing as he leans forward, the head of his cock brushing against your folds, slick and hot. “i’ll make it fit.”

his words send a shiver through you, his voice low and dripping with confidence. the weight of his cock against your folds, hot and heavy, is enough to make your hips twitch instinctively, chasing the friction. but he doesn’t push in right away—of course he doesn’t. instead, he drags the head up and down your slick, letting it catch on your clit with every pass, teasing you until you’re squirming beneath him.

“satoru,” you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. you’re not above begging at this point. “please.”

his grin widens, his head dipping to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “what’s the rush, baby? we’ve got all night.”

“satoru,” you repeat, more insistently this time, and he groans at the sound of his name on your lips, his cock twitching against you.

“fuck,” he mutters, his voice tight now, losing some of that smug edge. “you sound so pretty when you beg.”

he lines himself up, his hand still wrapped around the base as he presses the head against your entrance. the stretch is immediate, a sharp, overwhelming mix of pleasure and pressure as he pushes in slowly, inch by inch.

“holy shit,” he breathes, his voice rough as his head falls forward, his hair brushing against your cheek. “you’re so fucking tight.”

your fingers clutch at his shoulders, your breath catching as he sinks deeper, the fullness stealing every coherent thought from your mind. he pauses halfway, his free hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his.

“you okay?” he asks, and there’s something softer in his voice now, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort.

you nod, your voice shaky as you answer. “yeah. just—keep going.”

his jaw tightens, and he exhales slowly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he starts to move again. every inch feels impossibly deep, your walls stretching around him, and when he finally bottoms out, you both pause, your breaths mingling as you try to adjust.

“fuck,” he groans again, his voice strained as his hips twitch against yours. “you feel so good. better than i ever—” he cuts himself off with a shaky laugh, shaking his head. “shit, you’re perfect.”

you can barely respond, the stretch and fullness leaving you trembling. but then he starts to move, pulling out almost entirely before sliding back in with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. the drag of his cock against your walls is enough to have you moaning, your head falling back against the pillow.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his voice rough and approving as he sets a steady rhythm. “good girl. taking me so well.”

your hands trail down his back, your nails scraping lightly against his skin, and the groan he lets out sends a fresh wave of heat through you. his movements quicken, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, and every thrust has him hitting that perfect spot deep inside you, making you cry out.

“satoru—” his name falls from your lips again, and he leans down, his teeth grazing your neck as he thrusts harder, deeper.

“you’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips tighter, holding you in place as he drives into you. “you feel so good—so fucking perfect for me.”

the coil in your stomach tightens with every roll of his hips, the pressure building higher and higher until it’s unbearable. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing in tight circles that make your vision blur, and your moans grow louder, more desperate.

“come for me,” he demands, his voice rough and low in your ear. “let me feel you.”

the command sends you over the edge. your orgasm rips through you, your body arching into his as you cry out, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. your walls clench around him, and the sensation makes him groan, his thrusts growing erratic as he chases his own release.

“fuck—” he gasps, burying himself as deep as he can go as he comes, the heat of him spilling into you, thick and warm. his head falls to your shoulder, his breath ragged against your skin as he rides out the last waves of pleasure.

the room is quiet except for the sound of your heavy breathing, the air thick and charged as he finally pulls back, his weight pressing into you as he collapses onto the bed beside you. his arm slides around your waist, pulling you against his chest as he presses a soft, lazy kiss to your temple.

“told you i’d make it fit,” he murmurs, his voice still rough, but there’s a hint of smugness there, his lips curving into a small grin.

you can’t help the laugh that escapes you, your body still trembling against his. “you’re such an asshole.”

“yeah,” he agrees, his tone light, teasing, as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “but you like it.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s no heat to it, your lips curving into a faint smile as you bury your face against his chest. “shut up, satoru.”

“never,” he replies, and the warmth of his laughter vibrates through you, grounding you as your breaths slowly even out.

an. gojo with glasses... *hnnggghh*

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!

[keferon]

So I had ideas for Mecha Pilot AU while reading some of the things that other people have sent and those ideas turned into this!

Enjoy some Hot Rod shenanigans!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It starts when Hot Rod catches First Aid trying to smuggle a metal sheet out of the base. 

Well, no, it really started when the higher ups said that Jazz, allegedly, stole a half put together experimental mech unit. Which, Hot Rod would like to point out, makes absolutely no sense. Jazz is smart. If he was going to steal a mech, he’d wait until it was completely built and fully functional. No, there was something else going on and it had something to do with those strange upgrades that a few of the mechs got. Jazz had taken one look at them and booked it. 

Then immediately stole a half made mech that was completely covered in the stuff. 

All of this happening after he had been gone for months before mysteriously returning. 

Point is there’s something going on and it started with Jazz.

Presently, it has something to do with First Aid and the hunk of metal he’s carting around. 

The hunk of metal that looks like that strange upgraded plating. 

“Sooo…” Hot Rod says as he looks the other pilot over, “We stealing now?”

“No, I- this is- Vortex is up next for the-.”

“Nah man, you’re fine.” Hot Rod walks over to the back of the cart and places a hand on the metal. “I’m game for whatever we’re doing, I just want to know if we need to be sneaky.”

“It- what? We?”

“Yeah.” Hot Rod smiles and tilts his head to the side, like this was a given. “So, we stealing?”

First Aid gives him a look that’s a cross between befuddlement and scrutiny. It’s one he gets often, but the newer pilot seems well practiced with it. A solid eight out of ten honestly.

“This isn’t for profit.” First Aid says slowly. “And this isn’t for me.”

Hot Rod’s smile takes a slightly more feral edge. “Even better.”

_._._

Apparently Jazz has an alien robot boyfriend and the higher ups were using parts of his body for upgrades. 

Very morbid, but sadly not surprising.

They need to get as much of the original frame as possible back to Ratchet as that would make repairs easier. 

They’ve apparently been getting a lot of the pieces that had already been on other mechs through “collateral damage”.

First Aid had shrugged, “It’s not my fault if an upgraded mech gets between Vortex and a monster.”

The real tricky bits to get were the ones still on base and being tested. Which, for some reason, included an entire oversized thumb.

An oversized thumb he and First Aid are trying to sneak out from under Shockwave’s nose. 

“The rest of the hand was in random parts of the base.” Hot Rod mutters. “Why did the thumb need to be in such a secure area?”

“Complain louder. I don’t think the bugs heard you.” First Aid sasses in a hissed whisper. 

Hot Rod shivers at the reminder of Shockwave’s “helpers”. Knee high robots with four legs and a hexagonal face. They would’ve been cute had their singular yellow eye not reminded him of the eerie visage that is now the scientist's face. Shockwave used them to help in his work but to also keep an eye on his lab and the surrounding hallways. 

“Don’t even go there, Aid. You’ll end up jinxing-.”

His warning is interrupted by a faint skittering from around the next corner. 

“Crap crap crap crap crap crap crap.” Hot Rod looks around frantically before shoving himself, First Aid, and the thumb into the nearest door.

It turns out to be a closet. What kind of closet? Hot Rod doesn’t know and he refuses to find out. While it could be a normal supply closet, he’s not taking the chance that it could also be storage for strange and dubiously ethical experiments. 

So Hot Rod crams himself into the small space while keeping his eyes entirely focused on the door as he closes it. He and First Aid hold their breaths as the skittering of the bug gets louder, comes right in front of their hiding spot, then continues on without pause. 

They both let out sighs of relief and Hot Rod sets his forehead on the door. 

First Aid makes an inquiring hum. “There’s a vent in here. Think the thumb would fit?”

“Oh no.” Hot Rod says, face still against the door. “Do you have any idea how loud that would be? We aren’t dragging a large metal thumb through the metal vents and destroying our hearing with the echoing screeches.”

“Well, what do you propose we do then? Take it out the front door?”

_._._

“That never should have worked.” 

“You should never underestimate the power of looking like you know what you’re doing while carrying a box.”

“That never should have worked.”

Said large and long box holding the alien robot thumb sat innocently in the back seat of Hot Rod’s truck. 

_._._

“We need a movie for Rachet and Drift.”

Ratchet, who is helping Jazz repair Prowl, gives Hot Rod that “befuddled and scrutinizing” look that everyone seems to give him (A definite ten out of ten for Ratchet; truly a professional in giving out looks to others). “What?”

“Well, yeah! We’ve got Ratatouille for Jazz and Prowl. Aid and Vortex got a reverse Ratatouille-.”

“How’d you hear about that?” First Aid demands.

“Tailgate.” Hot Rod answers easily, then turns back to Ratchet to continue his previous thought. “So now we need to think of a movie for you and Drift!”

Ratchet’s eyes narrow in the unspoken promise of bad things to come. “No.”

Hot Rod, being the one who got a mech that catches on fire and made it work, takes Ratchet’s look as a challenge. He snaps his finger and points at the older man “I got it! ‘The Iron Giant’.”

Ratchet scoffs, rolls his eyes, and gets back to working in the alien robot’s arm. 

“What?” Jazz protests, while keeping his main focus on the internals of Prowl’s arm, “Iron Giant? Really? That’s a loose connection at best and you know it.”

“Oh? And do you have something better?” Hot Rod playfully challenges. 

“Dude, ‘Lilo and Stitch’ is right there.”

“How is that any better than mine?”

“Because War Crimes McGee here,” Jazz gestures to an amused looking Drift before getting back to his work, “is a better fit for Stitch than the Iron Giant any day of the week.”

Jazz may have a point, but while Hot Rod’s mom may have raised a fool, she definitely didn’t raise a quitter. 

“So Ratchet here tells Drift all about ohana and kicks off his character arc?”

“Not everything's one to one, Roddy. I’m not using Prowl to become the best chef is Paris. You just don’t want to admit I’m right.”

“I agree with Jazz.” First Aid cuts in. 

Hot Rod gives him a mock glare. “You’re just saying that so you won’t have to agree with me.”

First Aid shrugs. “True, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong.”

“Children. The lot of you.” Ratchet grumbles. 

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

And yeah! Ideas was mostly ‘Hey, they could probably have Vortex get pieces of Prowl back since fights like that are bound to be very chaotic and Vortex would have no hang ups about attacking allies every now and then’

It went further as the idea of Hot Rod and First Aid trying to do spy things and be sneaky but somehow succeeding due to Shenanigans was too funny to pass up XD

Loving this AU so far and all the cool stuff people are making for it!

OMG THE CHILDREN ARE STEALING FROM THE BIG CORPORATION IM SO PROUD OF THEM~~

Also the way all these different plot lines are crossing each other and occasionally coming together is just so cool I love it

Like, yeah we have fucked up horror, we have space drama, we have Lilo and Stitch aaaaand we have option to combine them together. Also now there is Shockwave so all the guys have the "free angst" option I gues ahahah

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

(more of this, which has become a "trapped together" story because Why Not.)

“T-That’s not fair, Tommy,” Buck said, pulling off a glove to wipe furiously at his eyes.  “Look, I-I’m sorry, that the people you trusted with that, that “real you” didn’t honor your trust.  But if you won’t even let me see him, how can you know I won’t love him?  I—” Buck cut off that thought before it could escape his stupid head.  Telling Tommy that he’d been pretty sure he was in love when he asked Tommy to move in was true, but Tommy would twist it into proving his terrible point somehow.  “I might.  You don’t know.”

Tommy’s face crumbled.  “I was trying,” he said, voice watery.  “I spent so long not telling people anything real about myself that after I came out I was scared of… overcorrecting, I guess.  Being too much.  So, instead, I decided to mirror people.  To give back as much as I was given.”

That… Buck nodded, swallowing around a lump in his throat.  That made sense.  Buck was jealous of Tommy and Eddie?  Well, Tommy was jealous of the 118.  Buck had a mediocre father and a much better surrogate dad?  Tommy never really had a good example of either.  And on and on, in small bursts.  Reciprocal, but… limited.  And Buck had no closet stories to share, no ex-boyfriends to discuss, no sexual epiphanies that Tommy hadn’t been the direct cause of.  No wonder they hadn't talked about this stuff before.  “So we didn’t discuss heavy topics unless I brought them up.”

Tommy huffed a laugh, which quickly turned into a hoarse cough.  Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he said, “I thought I was being honest, upfront, without being overwhelming.  But… the way you described me that last night, the carnival mirror way you said you saw me… were you not listening to what I was saying?”

“Of course I was,” Buck protested, a sinking feeling pooling in his gut.  “But it wasn't true!  Like I told you, that first night—you were part of the 118, remember?  Fake mouth static?”

Tommy choked out a laugh.  “Then why did all of them stop talking to me after we broke up?”

Buck blinked.  “What?”

“Not that I was surprised.  Your best friend, your surrogate father, your brother-in-law… and Hen and I were never that close.  Work friends at best, and we don’t work together anymore.  Of course they would take sides, and take your side.”  Tommy turned, squinting into the setting sun to look at Buck.  His face was blotchy, a streak of rusty brown dust smeared across one cheek, and alarmingly pale where he wasn’t red with dirt or tearstains.  “Why are you surprised?”

[unoislazy]

Take A Break

Viktor x Reader (Part One)

Viktor doesn’t want you to be like him. You’re taking a break and you’re gonna like it.

A/N: Gonna let y'all in on a secret, this is a revamp of a very old fanfic i wrote years ago when arcane first came out. It's on an old account of mine on a different platform, not gonna mention which one, but it's still up if you can find it.

You were committed.

Committed to helping out Viktor in any way that you could. You were just an apprentice in the academy, technically you weren’t even supposed to be near Viktor when it came specifically to rankings, you should’ve been focusing on lesser issues.

But with Viktor it was different. You always admired his want to help people, the way he put his all into every project that he believed would benefit the people of the Undercity.

He saw in you the same passion to help, so he kept you around. He very quickly learned he also just enjoyed your company which made you the perfect lab partner when his original one, Jayce Talis, was no longer able to help as often. The two of you very quickly became good friends, great friends even. It is to be expected for two people who get along that also spend almost every waking hour of every single day together.

The ideas he held for the potential of HexTech and how it could help the people always warmed your heart. It gave you a new spark of inspiration every time he would rattle on about some new idea he had.

Because of these ideas, you wanted to put your all into helping him achieve his goal, even if that meant spending countless hours in the lab overnight. It became a habit of yours, unbeknownst to Viktor, as far as he was aware you just got to the lab really early in the morning and just left very late at night. It wasn’t until one day, he walked into the lab extremely early in the morning, having come up with an idea and wanting to test it out, and found you fast asleep on leaning against your workbench.

The soft clink of Viktor’s cane echoed throughout the room as he made his way over to you. He looked around at all the things you had written down, all the work you had accomplished, as well as the mess that your failed attempts had made. Once he finally got close enough to you, he had noticed the slightest bit of drool that had begun to collect atop your hand that you had resting under your face to give yourself some sort of cushion. He let out a soft chuckle at this before clearing his throat rather loudly.

This attempt to wake you didn’t work, so he tried again. Once that was also met with a fail, he tried once more, this time making sure to tap you on the shoulder with a bit of force. This finally managed to wake you as you shot up from your seat, almost falling back onto the floor from the sheer force you rose with.

“You know, sleeping in the lab… it isn’t exactly advised.” Viktor said in a teasing manner as you looked around frantically before your eyes landed on him. You sighed with relief, calming down as you finally figured out who it was that woke you.

“Viktor, it’s just you.” You said, a hand over your heart as you tried to almost manually lower your heart rate back to normal. The scare he gave you was almost enough to make you think you had entered cardiac arrest. He chuckled at your reaction before taking a seat on the stool next to you, his cane still in hand as he spoke,

“You’ve been busy I see. Find anything new?” He asked, interested in your developments. You sighed, this time not out of relief but instead out of disappointment.

“Nothing yet. I can’t seem to figure out exactly how these runes work. They just don’t make any sense. It's like learning a new language without a dictionary to go off of.” You said as you rested your head on your hand once again, now noticing the drool that you quickly wiped off.

“I see well, there's no sense in returning to it right away.” He said as his eyes drifted from you, down to the pile of papers that had been spread across your desk. Some of them were his, a lot of them were yours. He could easily tell they were yours by the random doodles you would have littered across the margins of your pages. Before meeting you he would’ve thought such a thing would be a waste of space, since then however, he finds it an endearing quirk of yours that he looks forward to seeing when he goes back to look over both of your notes.

“What? But I know there is a way to fix this. I just need to,” You began to explain, eager to finish the work you started only to be interrupted by a sigh from the thin man.

“Can’t believe I am the one saying this, you are overworking yourself.” He said, his face fairly blank of emotion as he spoke to you.

“I can’t believe you just said that either.” You said, your eyes widening slightly as you met his gaze. If anyone had room to talk about overworking oneself, it certainly was not Mr. HexTech number 2.

“Something new every day I suppose. As I said, sleeping in the lab is not advised.” He said with a shrug, one of his hands leaning on his crutch as he leaned a bit more forward, knowing you would still object.

“You’ve done it.” You, as he knew you would, objected.

“Well eh, I’m not exactly the best rule follower…” He retorted with a bit of strain towards the end of his sentence.

“So why should I be?” You asked.

“Because you need a break.” He responded in a lighthearted yet still somehow stern way. He was serious but he wasn’t mad, he knew better than anyone that it was hard for such a committed worker to finally take time to prioritize themself. Half the time he only took breaks because Heimerdinger told him to.

“But you-”

“Ah, no. This is not about me.” He interrupted again, holding a hand up to signal you to stop talking.

“But I-”

“A break.” He said, leaning forward.

“But-”

“A. Break.” He repeated, almost as if he was telling you to drop it, which in a very obvious way he was. You sighed once again, realizing you weren't going to win such an argument.

“Fine, yes I’ll take a break.” You finally agreed. You rolled your eyes before turning back to your desk, and resting back in the position you had once been in. You head of your hand and your eyes facing the ungodly amount of work you still had yet to finish.

“Good, now come with me.” He spoke quickly, getting up from his chair as if he had somewhere to be.

“What, why? Where are we going?” You questioned, propping yourself up as you watched the pale man walk around your desk towards the door before stopping to turn back and look at you.

“We are going to take a break.”

Confused by his words you felt you had no other choice but to get up and follow the strange yet intelligent man. Everything he did confused you, you could never confidently predict what he was going to do next, every time you thought you could he would just add another option to the board. Knowing better than to question him at this point, you stood up from your desk, taking a moment to stretch your limbs which had been held in the same position for hours.

In the process you hadn’t realized Viktor’s eyes had remained on you, taking in as much of your body as he could see whether he realized it or not. You then caught him staring and looked down at yourself, confused as to what he was looking at. Did you have some paper stuck to you?

“What?” You asked him, looking down at yourself before looking back up at him trying to figure out what exactly he could’ve been looking at. He seemed surprised, not just by your question, but also by the fact that he had been staring in the first place. It was a habit he had, but when directed at you it felt different for him… he didn’t know why but he wasn’t going to bother exploring that area of the unknown just yet.

“Nothing, follow me.” He responded quickly before turning back towards the door and hurriedly walking out.

You followed him out of the lab, closing the door behind you, and making your way into the very intricately decorated hallways of the academy. It was a place you prided yourself on being able to work at, they didn’t just accept anyone through their doors so the fact you made it this far, even just to be an apprentice, was something you would never let yourself forget.

Even so, sometimes just being an apprentice did sometimes diminish your excitement about working in such an extravagantly intelligent place. You wanted to do things, you wanted to make a difference, you wanted to help people, and oftentimes being stuck in the role of an apprentice didn’t guarantee much of anything.

That’s why you were so eager to help out Viktor. He saw potential in you and worked upon it, he gave you things to do and actually valued your opinion when working on projects. He made you feel seen more than anyone else in the academy had at this point.

You hadn’t noticed him looking over his shoulder at you once again, watching as your eyes traced the design of each pillar that littered the hallway before smiling a little to himself.

“This way.” He spoke up, grabbing your attention quickly as he turned down a hallway and towards the main doors leading out of the academy.

“Where are we going?” You asked, now walking alongside him.

“You will see.”

“Do you ever give any straight answers?”

“You’ve been around me this long and still don’t know the answer to that?” He teased back with a smile on his face, it caused you to laugh slightly as you rolled your eyes.

“So that’s a strong no.” You laughed to which he shrugged.

Before long he brought you to a place that was rather secluded, in fact, you hadn’t even known it existed. It was, for lack of a better term, a hole in the wall outlooking the water that sat between Piltover and Zaun. It was quite nice as the sun glittered across the water giving it a twinkle that you could really only see from certain angles. It was only then did you realize how long you had fallen asleep in the lab, it was already midday.

Viktor took a seat on the ledge, looking to you to join him, which you did. You were a bit hesitant at first as the drop was quite a far one, but eventually you made your way and sat down properly. There was still enough distance between you and Viktor that it wasn’t uncomfortable as you both looked out at the view.

“How did you find this place?” You asked, looking over to him as he leaned against the wall next to him. There was a certain look in his eye that you couldn’t quite place, almost melancholic, maybe even nostalgic as he looked out at the water.

He shrugged a bit before dragging his eyes away from the water to look at you.

“I’ve always known about it. I come to relax or think, which Is part of what I think you need right now.” He said with a smile as he leaned back on the ledge a bit with his arms behind him.

You nodded before looking back out at the view before you.

You both stayed quiet for a little, just enjoying each other's company as you listened to the sounds around you. You thought it would’ve been awkward to just sit in silence with him but you were actually surprisingly really comfortable with it. You couldn’t help but wonder why he even bothered bringing you out here, if anything wouldn’t it be more important to just get you back to work as quickly as possible. So you asked,

“Hey Viktor?” You began, to which the man responded with a gentle hum, letting you know he was listening even if he wasn’t looking in your direction.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“So you can have a break.”

You sighed and shook your head knowing he was so straightforward that you had to spell things out for him sometimes.

“Yeah, I know that part but… why? Why let me have a break when this work is so important to you?”

His eyes left the scene before him before looking back towards you. A new emotion behind them that you couldn’t quite place, but it looked much more lively than the melancholic look he had before.

“Jeopardizing people you care about is not worth the sake of a project.”

His words seemed to almost float in the air for a moment before sinking in as you looked at him. He was serious about what he had said but it seemed like he hadn’t intended to say something so heavy hitting, but Viktor wasn’t exactly a sugar coater. He didn’t like to dance around the edge of things, if he had something on his mind he would say it.

But he saw your reaction and realized that maybe this once he should dial back his full passion towards everything.

“Eh, and besides, what good would it do me if my assistant was falling asleep on my all the time.” He joked a bit as he nudged you with his elbow. You smiled at him a bit, appreciating his words before looking down once again.

“This is nice.” You said quietly with a smile, now looking down at your hands which we’re responding on your lap.

“Perhaps this means you will take a break more often?” He asks, leaning a bit forward as he looks towards you.

“Perhaps it does.” You said, your smile remaining.

[xetlynn]

Can I ask for claggor x a piltover reader? She was raised in piltover and is very smart but was never ignorant to the condition of zaun and always tried her best to advocate and help the suffering people. I can imagine she would have a strong sense of guilt for loving claggor because she doesn't really understand the struggles he went through but will always try to help. <33 thank youuuu

Of course, I think I made this a little more dramatic than I meant to😭 but I hope this is good!

Arcane Imagines- Claggor

Mysterious

[arcane] [main page]

Prompt: In which reader is from Piltover and makes a friend in Zaun. Feeling guilty for liking him since she doesn't understand his struggles.

My feet achingly moved seemingly before me. My back hurt as I carried a box full of stuff from Piltover to give to a friend in the undercity.

When I was younger I was so fascinated by the people of Zaun. About the difficulties they’ve been through. My mother was always bitter about them. Going on tangents about how the people from the undercity should be more grateful since everything is better now. And whenever she does that I have to remind her of their struggles to get to this wonderful position they’ve been creating for themselves. Supporting them only pisses her off further than before. She asks what about Piltover’s struggles which is never the point of my argument. 

We’re privileged enough to never know what it’s like going without food, running water and a roof being over our heads. Most of Zaun could or still to this day can not say the same. It’s something I’ve written about in school essays, joining groups to learn more about the undercity. 

As a younger teen I snuck into Zaun, wanting to understand them better, know them rather than read about their history. Hear it from the people themselves. I won’t truly ever know their struggles but I still wish to help them. Advocate for their history and their growth as a community. Help them be one with Piltover eventually without there being discourse of if they deserve it. 

Everyone deserves happiness, love, and a life without ridiculous danger. They deserve peace as much as the next person.

I was reckless when going to Zaun. Sneaking out of my house as a teen and somehow to the undercity without being caught will forever blow my mind. The reason I kept doing it though was after I sat down in this bar. It’s called The Last Drop. I just needed a place to rest after walking for miles. 

Talking with the people there. Not really a scene a young teenager should be in but I didn’t care. I just wanted to listen to their stories. And they always enjoyed having me around. Seeing me as a niece of some sort.  Hearing the first one made me want to hear more. Hence why I kept coming back. And more recently there's a new reason.

I met a new friend. His name I still don’t know. He never properly introduced himself to me. Not by his birth given name but by the first letter. He wanted me to guess. 

It’s been 3 months and he has yet to tell me what it is. Or in his words I didn't guess good enough.

I guess his father was the owner, Vander is his name. I’ve met him a few times but I never sat up at the actual bar. Just in a corner keeping to myself before I went to adventure out into Zaun after hearing random stories.

When I met C he had started working more hours at the bar to help out since it was getting busier and busier after some time with people from the Uppercity decided the place was a hit. I guess he worked earlier shifts so that’s why we never crossed paths when I first started going there. 

C and I hit it off slowly in the beginning.  

It was a rough start since we both had different upcomings. I didn’t know what it was like to have to get my hands dirty and work for things I want or need. I’ve always just… had it. 

Talking about C’s childhood and things he went through as I had nothing bad to say except for the fact that my mother is a witch of a woman. It made me realize how weird I am for being so interested in others' lives. It made me realize I don’t have a life of my own. I want to fix people who don’t need to be fixed. They’re perfect the way they are, no matter what they went through. They don’t need me to stick up for them. I also figured out that I’m falling for a friend, who again… I don’t know the name of and we will never share a similar story. He deserves someone who understands the same livelihood he knows. Someone who can appreciate things more than I ever could.

“[Name]!” A voice shouts, shaking me from my thoughts. “C!” I grin, shimmying the box in my hands. “Is this everything?” He takes it from me with furrowed eyebrows, looking it over. “Mhm, every single thing you asked for.” I place my hands on the back of my hips, stretching to crack my back. Letting out a small sigh of relief afterwards. 

“You alright?” He asks with a chuckle, leading me into his apartment that he and his brother share. “Yeah, I definitely got my exercise in for the day.” I half-heartedly joke, shutting the door behind us and he places the box down on the counter. “What is the food for, exactly?”

When he first requested the stuff from me, he told me it was for an experiment. Not really saying much after that. A few foods and then things you can really only get in Topside. 

“To eat.” He grabs an apple and bites into it. My shoulders fall, not expecting that answer. For some reason I thought it was going to be something cooler. “Oh.” I let out a breathy laugh. “I was hungry when I was putting in that request.” He rubs his stomach sadly. 

I shake my head with a smile. “It’s okay. So can I know what this project is now?” I hop up on the barstool in his kitchen. “It’s a secret.” He says briefly, putting the food away in his counters. I frown. “Dang, keeping another thing from me, C?” I tilt my head. 

“Gotta keep you on your toes, by being a mysterious, interesting man. Don’t want you getting sick of me.” He quipped, now giving me his full attention after placing the box on the ground. I glanced down at it then back to him. “I’ll always find you interesting. Maybe even more if you just tell me your name.” I pout.

Have I mentioned that I don’t know his name? No? Yeah, don’t know it. 

“Soon.” He reaches over and messes up my hair. I smack his hand away. Attempting to fix what he did. “I hope so.” I cross my arms. 

“I wish you could guess it. You didn’t even try hard enough.” He exclaims, my jaw drops at his words. “I can’t think of anything else! It has to be some sort of crazy unique name!” I utter, throwing my hands in the air. He lets out a belly laugh, “It’s not super unique.” He shrugs his shoulders. 

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes, jokingly annoyed. “I told you my name.” I murmur. “That’s because you’re not mysterious like me.” He purses out his lips, doing a little peace sign. “I know almost everything else about you. You are not mysterious.” I point a finger at his chest. “Really? What’s my favorite color?” 

“You tell people it’s blue but it’s actually yellow. Like dandelion yellow.” I raise my brows, making a face that expresses that he should try me. “Okay, pssh, lucky guess. Favorite food?” 

“Halibut, but only when it’s fried because you’re weird.” I tease, his eyes seem to widen at my words. “See, not so mysterious, huh?” I cross my arms. “Two things. That’s all you answered.” He walks away over to the living room. Plopping down on the couch. I stand up, rushing over to him. Bouncing on the cushion beside him. My hands holding his shoulder as I shake him. “Then ask more questions. I have the answers~” I sang out, leaning back. 

“Fine, how old am I?” He raises a brow. I put a finger on my chin, pretending like I was thinking. “21.” I simply say. “Okay, I never told you that. How’d you get that?” He scrunches his nose in confusement. I laugh. “Honestly I truly guessed that time. I’m 21 and I always figured we were the same age.” I snicker. 

“Wow, okay. Next question, how many siblings do I have?” I think back to conversations we’ve had or the time I bumped into his brother Mylo. He always talks about a girl named Powder. I want to say there’s one more though. I just can’t remember…

“... three?” I estimate. “Or two.” I perk up my posture. “Hm, it’s three. You really do listen.” He hums out. “Yeah, it’s Mylo, Powder and I’m sorry but I don’t think I ever got the last one’s name.” I press my lips together, trying to rack it in my head. “Violet. She passed away when we were younger.” He sighs, I look at him through my eyelashes not wanting to make full eye contact as my heart drops.. 

“I’m sorry.” I whisper. “It’s alright, [Name]. You didn’t know.” He gives me a smile. It goes silent between the both of us. “Um… can I ask how? If not I totally understand. I don’t want to push that topic.” I shake my hands at the thought of forcing him to say something he wasn’t comfortable with.

“We were doing a stupid thing in Piltover. Sneaking into someone’s house. Just trying to get a few things for our dad. Extra money in his pocket. Something exploded. The impact unfortunately killed Vi.” He seems spaced out as he tells the story. I reach out and grab his hand.

I remember when that incident happened. It was all anyone talked about for a while. An undercity child passes away in an explosion after breaking into a scientist’s home. My mom… was an ass about the situation. 

“Any more questions?” I make an effort to switch the conversation so he doesn’t get upset due to my questioning of his sister's death like the dumb idiot that I am.

He looks down at my hand that was on top of his. “Claggor.” He suddenly says. I scrunch my eyebrows together. “Claggor?” I question, was that something I had to answer? “My name.” He mutters out. 

My mouth goes into the shape of an 'o.' Claggor... An interesting name for an interesting man like him.

“Hm… cute. It fits you.” I squeeze his hand before letting go. I didn’t even notice the dusty rose color across his cheeks. He mutters out a small thanks before we continue the conversation of me knowing certain things about him.

The entire time I think back to his sister, my chest aching. They were only kids trying to help their father. Not knowing that one of them wasn’t going to make it back home. How devastating. 

“You okay, [Name]?” He sits up, turning his body to face me. I fake a smile, waving him off. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just thinking. Sorry.” How am I supposed to be his friend if I carry guilt that has nothing to do with me? How can I like him and not be able to understand him? It’s idiotic looking. It makes me look selfish, turning other people's problems into my own. “Thinking about?” 

“Your name. How I never guessed it.” I force out a chuckle that sounds like a high pitched animal making me wince in embarrassment afterwards. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks me again. 

“I’m fine, Claggor.” His name rolls off my tongue easily. Like it was meant to be said from my lips.

“I remembered I have somewhere I need to be. My mom will kill me if I’m late. See you later?” I ask him, blinking tears away as I abruptly get up. “Um, yeah. Tomorrow?” He gets up with me, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, I can’t. Family thing.” I lied. “Oh, maybe the next night? Mylo wants me to go to this party where his crush is djing. I do not want to go.” He laughs, walking me to his front door. My stomach flips, not knowing how to respond. “Maybe, I’ll let you know the day of.” I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Okay, okay. I don’t mean to cling. I just like spending time with you.” He smiles softly. I avoid eye contact. “Me too, Claggor.” I whisper before pulling him into an embrace. 

He lets out a small yelp of surprise before his hands slowly snake around my waist. “You’re a good friend, [Name].” He mumbles into my shoulder. Tears begin to threaten my eyes once again. “You’re a better one.” I pat his back before letting go. “See you.” I curtly wave before leaving. 

Man, I’m an idiot. 

It’s the day of the party, I haven’t left my bed since I came home after leaving Claggor’s house. My head racing with a million thoughts about how selfish and ridiculous I am. Cringing at all the conversations I’ve had with my friends about the Undercity. How incredibly obnoxious it always sounded. 

How strange I look just being this upset about everything. I wonder if Claggor thought the same about me. How strange it was that a girl was so wrapped up into his struggles. I would never want to tell him that either because I’m overthinking. I know I am. 

He’s my friend. He would tell me if I was being over the top.

Right? 

Right.

Stop it brain. 

A knock at my door echoes in my room. “Yes?” I call out, not bothering to get up. The door creaks open. “[Name] there’s someone here to see you.” A house worker tells me. I sit up, tilting my head confused on who would be here. “Um, tell them I’ll be right down.” I say, climbing out of bed. “Yes, ma’am.”

I grab my robe from my vanity, throwing it on over my pajamas. I slip my feet into my house slippers. I look like a mess but I don't care. It’s probably just a school mate to ask about some homework we have. 

I exit my room, heading down the stairs. I see Claggor and my body freezes in place. Staring down at him. Shit. I look like a mess! And that is not a school mate. 

He was looking around my home before his eyes locked with mine. His face erupts into a smile. “Just wake up or something?” He teases and my face flushes in response. “Uh- yeah, slept in.” I awkwardly chuckle, walking towards him. “How’d you know my address?” I asked him. “Also, why are you here?” 

“Well, first I bumped into one of your friends I met before. She told me you lived here. Second ouch, I can just leave if you want me to.” He points to the front door and I roll my eyes. “Sorry, sorry. I was just wondering, I was gonna come to you.” I cross my arms, and when I do his eyes flicker down to what I’m wearing.

Suddenly I’m extremely aware of how I look. My hair a mess, face puffy, and wearing a fancy robe with slippers. Weird combination. 

“I felt like when you left yesterday it was a bit… off? You seemed like you were about to cry so I thought I’d come here and maybe talk to you about that.” He fidgets with his hands, I observe his demeanor. He seemed extremely anxious. “Oh, I told you I was fine. Might’ve had something in my eye.” I shrug lying straight out of my teeth. 

“You know how I said you are not mysterious like me?” He asks. “Vaguely.” I smile but not understanding why he’s saying that. “It’s because you aren’t a mystery at all. Maybe I’m not either since you seem to know quite a bit about me. Anyways, not the point.” He lets out a heavy breath. “You don’t hide your emotions well. You’re an open book just by looking at you.” He chuckles and I tense up, feeling a little offended. He notices and sighs.

“What I mean is, when I first met you I knew you were a very empathetic person. Your emotions are what drives you to be who you are. I really enjoy that about you. I never thought someone could cry over a bug they killed until I met you.” He laughs at the memory of when we were hanging out one day at the bar and a bug was on the floor by my foot. I stomped on it and immediately felt bad. Thinking about the fact that it could’ve had a family. 

“You care so deeply for people you’ve never met. Wanting them to succeed even if it means you are risking your own happiness to do so.” He says softer than all his other words. “I hope you know that you have never upset me by asking your questions.” His eyes find mine and I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. He read me like a book. He practically studied me. I don’t even know how to respond. 

“I know that’s why you got upset. My sister passing away. I don’t mind that you asked. It happened as unfortunate as it is. You didn’t know and you wanted to. Because you care.” He places a hand on my shoulder. I look down at his arm then back to his face. “Please don’t feel bad for caring.” 

My eyes begin to water and I pull him into a hug. “I don’t deserve your friendship.” I mumble into his chest. “I think you do.” He disagrees. 

“I like you, Claggor.” I told him. “Like a lot. I care for you more than anyone else I’ve ever met. I’m scared that I can’t be what you need. I want to be. Everything and more.” I confess, pulling away from him. “Did you know that? Was I not hiding that emotion well either?” I try to uplift the mood. 

“I didn’t have a clue actually.” He grins. “I like you as well. Like a lot. You are everything I need and more. I promise you that.” He pulls me back into his arms, looking down at me as I look up at him. 

He closes the distance between us, his lips landing on mine. It was a short, soft kiss but it was something I never felt before. Shivers sent down my spine. I flutter my eyelids open, both of us smiling ear to ear like giddy little kids. Taking in the moment for a few seconds.

“Does that mean you’re going to join me at this party that I’m soooo excited about?” He sarcastically asks and I giggle in response. “I guess so. I definitely need to clean myself up first though.” I motion to my hot mess of a state that I’m in. “I think you look beautiful in this. Don’t even need to worry about changing.” He jokes and I lightly hit his arm. 

“What a liar.” I fold my arms. “Hm, maybe a little. Want me to come back to pick you up?” 

“You could hang out in my room while I get ready. Maybe choose my outfit?” I propose and his eyes light up. “Yeah, let’s go.” He happily responds. 

[miaoua3]

(pairing: dino x f!reader)

based on that one video of vernon trying the food that dino made and immediately thinking it’s bad when vernon said that it’s chewy oh my baby how i love you

“babe? could you come here for a second?”, chan lets out from the kitchen, his voice sounding unsure and hesitant.

sensing that this is more than just a favour you could do for him, you get up and walk to where he’s standing in front of a stove.

looking at him expectedly, you smile “yes? what is it, love?”.

fidgeting with the spoon for a moment, he then takes a bit of a food from the pot, before he blows on it to cool it down. slowly bringing it to your mouth, he questions “could you try this and tell me how it tastes? i’m not sure if it’s all that up to your tastes.”

you just take ahold of his wrist before bringing the spoon in your mouth, choosing not to respond to his question and instead just do it.

you chew on it for a few seconds, eyebrows furrowing in concentration, trying to identify everything that he put in it.

hm, maybe a bit more salt would be good you think to yourself.

before you even have the time to open your mouth to sound your thoughts out loud, he interrupts you.

“i knew it, it tastes bad right? i’ll just throw it out a-and we can just order something-“.

sensing that he’s spiralling quickly, you immediately bring your hands to his cheeks and turn his head to yourself.

“hey, hey, hey, baby no, that’s not what i was going to say. i just thought that it could use a bit more salt but otherwise everything is fine, it tastes super yummy.”

chan just looks down to his feet that are fidgeting lightly. you look him with eyes full of pain before you move closer, leaning your forehead against his own so his eyes are forced to look at your own again.

“channie, my love, what is this about really? you know you don’t need to stress this much over some food. plus, you know that i would eat anything you’d make for me, because everything you make tastes divine.”

chan’s hands come to fiddle with the hem of your shirt, insecurity very visible on his face. you rub your thumbs against his soft cheeks as you wait for him to answer you.

after a minute, he finally quietly says “i know i’m not the best cook, so i just wanted to make you something as a way to improve my cooking skills, so you wouldn’t have to do it all the time, like you are doing at the moment…and what kind of boyfriend am i when i can’t even make anything that you like?…”.

your eyebrows furrow on their own as he continues to speak, heart breaking at how broken and sad his voice sounds.

deciding that you have heard enough, you bring his big and buff body down to your height, hugging him tightly as a way to reassure him.

you sigh before you start speaking against his ear “oh my love, you have to stop being so hard on yourself, baby. you know you are the best boyfriend there is, especially for me. you do so much for me, that i actually feel like i’m not doing enough for you. you are always there for me, you take care of me both emotionally and physically. i haven’t paid for anything ever since our third date, and you know how that makes me feel. the cooking…it’s the only thing i know i can do to repay you for being my perfect other half and for everything that you do. so it’s really not a problem for me.”, you pause so you can being his face in front of your own again. “you need to start believing me when i say that nobody could take care of me the way that you do, nor that i want them to…you are my soulmate, sweetheart, okay?”, you finish.

chan has to blink his tears away as he nods his head quickly before he hugs you tightly, hiding his face in your hair.

rubbing his back in comfort, you add “plus you shouldn’t be cooking according to my tastes, you know i like my food so salty, it gives me kidney stones.”, as a way to lighten up the mood.

and as he chuckles, you know that you’ve succeeded in doing it.

then again, if that hadn’t work, you would’ve tried another 200 different jokes, just to make him smile again.

because channie should only be smiling and be happy. because it’s what he deserves.

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Long one shot for Jealous!Toto Wolff with wife reader. With how many celebrities and famous people at the Las Vegas GP, it's no wonder how many times she has been hit. Toto and their son, Jack saved her. Fluff/suggestive. Anything, I don't mind. Thanks!! :)

With prompts : Are you jealous?” “No, I’m not!” “Oh, you really are jealous! Wait, why would you be jealous?”, "I trust you, I just don't trust them." & “Jealousy doesn’t suit you. I like to see you smile more.”

Pairing: Toto Wolff x Reader

i loved writing this fic!! i have a serieus one coming out soon with a rather similar plot just more angst it is toto based!!

Jealous!Toto Wolff - One-Shot

The bright lights of the Las Vegas Grand Prix shimmered like a thousand stars on the Strip, illuminating the desert night sky as the paddock buzzed with excitement. The air was filled with the sound of revving engines, the chatter of celebrities, and the occasional laughter of fans mingling with drivers and team members. But for you, the night had started to feel overwhelming, your patience tested by more than one unwelcome encounter.

You had come to the race with your husband, Toto Wolff, and your young son, Jack. The plan had been simple: enjoy the thrill of the race, soak in the electric atmosphere, and have a good time with the family. But as you wandered the paddock, admiring the sleek cars and waving to some of the familiar faces in the crowd, the attention you were receiving started to feel less flattering and more intrusive.

It wasn’t uncommon for people to approach you—many of them were fans of Toto, or simply curious about the wife of the Mercedes team principal—but tonight, with the who’s who of the celebrity world filling the stands and the paddock, it seemed like everyone wanted a piece of you.

It started innocuously enough. A few polite conversations, quick photo ops with fans, the usual pleasantries. But soon, it became clear that a few of these “fans” weren’t as well-meaning as they appeared. A touch on the arm here, a lingering gaze there—nothing outright inappropriate, but enough to make you feel uncomfortable. And when you tried to escape back to the hospitality area, a certain well-known actor had greeted you with a lingering kiss on the cheek that, while nothing more than friendly in appearance, sent an uncomfortable chill down your spine.

It was at that exact moment that Toto appeared. His sharp eyes, usually so focused on the race, were now locked onto the scene before him with an intensity that made your stomach flutter—though not in a good way. He was standing by the entrance of the hospitality suite, his gaze fixed on the interaction, his posture stiff and controlled.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice calm but with an edge you had never heard before.

You nodded, attempting to brush it off. “It’s fine, Toto. Just… a lot going on tonight, you know?”

His eyes narrowed, and he took a few steps forward, the crowd seemingly parting for him as if they could sense the subtle shift in his demeanor. He turned to the actor, his expression cold and polite. “Excuse me,” Toto said, his voice flat and even. “I’m afraid my wife is not interested in further conversation.”

The actor blinked, startled by the sudden intervention, and gave a half-hearted smile before backing off, muttering something under his breath.

As the actor walked away, you felt the warmth of Toto’s hand on your lower back, a gesture meant to reassure but also to stake a claim. You glanced up at him, catching the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—something between possessiveness and concern.

“Toto, you didn’t have to do that,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “I was fine.”

His expression didn’t soften. “Are you sure? Because it didn’t look like you were fine.”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him, offering a small smile.

He didn’t return the smile. Instead, he took a deep breath and spoke slowly, as if carefully choosing his words. “I trust you. I just don’t trust them.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the admission. “Wait, why would you be jealous? It was just a kiss on the cheek.”

Toto’s lips pressed together in a tight line. “Jealous? Me?” He raised an eyebrow, as though the idea was ridiculous, but the tension in his voice betrayed him. “No, I’m not jealous.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, maybe a little. But only because I don’t like how they treat you.”

Before you could respond, Jack appeared, holding a toy car in his hands and grinning from ear to ear. His innocence broke the tension in the air, and Toto’s stern expression softened. He crouched down, scooping Jack up and planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Are you having fun?” Toto asked, his tone much lighter now.

“Yeah, yeah! It’s so cool here, Daddy!” Jack exclaimed, looking between you and his father. “But I think Mummy’s getting bored.”

You chuckled, even as you shot a playful glare at Toto. “I’m not bored, Jack.”

But Toto wasn’t letting it go. “I think you need a break,” he said, glancing at you with an unreadable expression. “You’ve been dealing with a lot tonight. How about we get some privacy? Just the three of us. We can go back to the hotel, away from all this madness.”

His suggestion caught you off guard, but it was exactly what you needed. A moment to breathe, to relax, to remember why you were here in the first place: for each other. And maybe, just maybe, Toto needed a little time away from the chaos too.

Later that evening, after the race had ended and the crowds had dispersed, Toto had whisked you and Jack away to a luxurious suite in one of the quieter corners of the Strip. The moment you stepped inside, the world felt miles away. The chaos of the paddock, the glittering distractions of celebrity and competition—none of that mattered now. It was just the three of you.

You sank onto the plush sofa, feeling the weight of the day lifting off your shoulders. Jack immediately jumped into your lap, grinning as he showed off the race car he had “won” from one of the games in the paddock.

Toto, still standing by the door, watched the two of you with a soft, almost tender smile, his earlier frustration completely dissipated. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, you know,” you teased, leaning back into the cushions and catching his eye. “I like to see you smile more.”

Toto’s smile grew, but there was still a playful edge to it. “I’m smiling now,” he said, walking toward you. “And I don’t want to see anyone make you feel uncomfortable again. You’re mine, and I protect what’s mine.”

You laughed softly, reaching for his hand as he sat beside you. “Toto, we’ve been together for years. You know I’m not going anywhere.”

He squeezed your hand, the unspoken words between you both speaking volumes. “I know. But I still don’t like the idea of anyone else thinking they can have you.”

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Well, they can think whatever they want. But the only person who gets to be close to me, in every way, is you.”

Toto’s smile turned into a grin, and he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Good,” he whispered, resting his chin on top of your head. “That’s the way I like it.”

There was a long, comfortable silence between you, the kind that only true intimacy can bring. Toto leaned in, placing a soft kiss on your lips, the kind of kiss that spoke more of reassurance and love than anything else. When he pulled back, his eyes softened, and you could see the shift in him—the guard he’d been holding up for so long had finally come down.

“You know,” he murmured, his fingers brushing your cheek as he traced a gentle line along your jaw, “you’ve always been the one to make me smile the most. But tonight… tonight you’ve made me feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

A blush crept up your neck, and you ducked your head, feeling a flutter in your chest. “Stop, Toto,” you whispered with a shy smile, but your heart was racing, his words making you feel cherished in ways you hadn’t expected after a long, chaotic day.

He grinned and kissed the top of your head. “I’m serious. You’re everything to me. And I just want you to know… no matter what happens, you’re the only one I care about.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling. “And I’m the only one who’ll ever have you,” you said softly, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers.

Toto’s grin softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you—no words, just that quiet understanding that had always been the foundation of your relationship. His lips hovered over yours again, but this time, instead of kissing you immediately, he lingered, savoring the closeness.

“Let’s not think about the world outside for a while,” he whispered. “Just us. Here. Together.”

You nodded, a sense of peace settling over you as his lips finally met yours, slow and deliberate. The kiss deepened, and in that moment, everything else faded away—the buzzing, the noise, the world outside your hotel suite. There was just him, and you, and the soft, perfect rhythm of the love you shared.

As you pulled back, Toto’s fingers gently traced the line of your collarbone. “We need more moments like this,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

“Then let’s make them,” you replied, smiling up at him, knowing that no matter how chaotic life could get, moments like this—just the two of you—were the ones that would always matter most.

In the quiet of the hotel room, the two of you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.

[brainrotandbedrot]

i have a cold and feel like a victorian child with tuberculosis so here’s this

(yeah yeah i know it’s been done before but my bursts of creativity are rare these days)

price is the one who won’t come near you with a ten-foot pole. yeah, maybe it’s a controversial take, but that man has responsibilities. and while he loves and adores you, he unfortunately can’t abandon them to sit with you and wait for you to feel better. so instead, he makes sure you get anything you want delivered to the front door. he puts medicine next to your filled water bottle, alongside your fully-charged kindle, a full box of tissues, and the tv remote. by the time you shuffle downstairs, all hacky and achey and tired, the sofa is a little haven of everything you could possibly need. everything’s within reach, there’s a blanket tossed over the couch, and a mug of tea is keeping warm in the microwave. just remember to text him when you’re awake, honey.

simon has an immune system made of steel. he could probably take on the black plague and survive unscathed, considering how many times you’ve had a stomach bug and he’s just totally unaffected. despite that, he’s also a germaphobe. the second you get the sniffles, he’s disinfecting every surface and giving you cup after cup of emergen-c. or anything he can find that has vitamin c in it. sorry, love, but you’re in separate rooms until you recover. that doesn’t mean he abandons you, though — he just brings you everything with a face mask on and gloves, then makes you sanitize your hands after you touch him. he’s an acts of service man: while you’re down for the count, he takes a few days off and cleans the house, takes care of chores, and makes sure there isn’t a thing you need to worry about.

johnny is the one that acts like you’re one foot in the grave even though it’s just a fever. he senses you’re sick before you do — he can see the slight glaze over your eyes, the way you’re drinking more water than usual, the way you seem to be just a bit off. as soon as you’re actually running a fever, he’s right there next to you. lazes on the couch with you, hand-feeds you, takes a swig of your electrolyte drink right after you. even though he’s a very dedicated attendant, handling your every need, it’s really not a shock that he ends up in the same predicament a week later. but he doesn’t mind it. he’d rather catch a bug if it means he gets to take care of you. and with all the naps you’re taking — the fatigue hits hard — he gets to be your pillow. he doesn’t see any downsides, really.

kyle is an angel. he knows you’re not feeling good. he doesn’t hold anything against you when you snap at him — you can’t help it, baby. it’s not your fault you’re sick. just let him take care of you, yeah? he’ll sit you down in the bath, keeping the water lukewarm so it can be made hotter or colder depending on what you need. he’ll wash your hair, scrub all the sweat away, and make sure you feel a bit more like yourself as he rubs in your lotion and dresses you in one of his big shirts and a pair of boxers. anything you ask for is acquired within minutes. you want water? already taken care of. ibuprofen for your sore throat? open up. jello or pudding? already in the fridge. just don’t forget your protein and greens, love, they’ll make you feel better. he’s fixing an omelette for you with all the nutrients you need to shake the little bout of flu off, and he’ll even blend it all up if you don’t like the texture of having everything chopped.

[perdidosbucky-yyo]

I apologize in advance for the person this fic turned me into 😮‍💨😍😩

Bucky’s hand reaches out to touch you, your heart skipping a beat as he adjusts the strap of your dress on your shoulder. His touch lingers for a second more

“Can you blame me, baby? You walk in and suddenly it's like no one else exists,” his tone is softer, yet serious when he says this. Your heart skipped a beat when he called you baby. The weight of his attention felt in every fiber of your being. Bucky only ever called you baby when he wanted to really affect you. Reminding you of the pull he had over you.  

THE SEXUAL TENSION IS PALPABLE and Bucky is so charming 🤭

Bucky clicks his tongue as he eyes you closely, “I didn’t, but I felt like it,” he shrugs cooly. “Didn't like the way he was looking at you.” He adds, his thumb rubbing small circles on your waist.

I-

God damn he is just yummy and so protective 🥹🥵

Almost instantly, a protective grip pulls you away from the drunk guy. A familiar warmth encases you as Bucky pulls you into his chest, your back to him. Your hands find their way to hold his arms to ease the displeasure the drunk had caused

“What the—what’s your problem bro? We’re just—” Bucky doesn’t let him finish, “Shut up. You’re not doing anything. You’ve got two seconds to back off or we’re going to have a problem,”

 “You and your compliments,” you give a breathless laugh, letting your guard down for once and going with the flow. Bucky can sense it. Sense the way there’s a shift between you, the blossoming of something bigger being accepted and not pushed away by you anymore.

“Plus, if I’m going to fall for the most beautiful girl in the world, I have to know how to fight right?” Bucky says this like it's the most obvious thing, smirking at the way you don’t hide the smitten grin he elicits from you.

This made me feel bubbly and warm 🤭 I would be constantly blushing next to that man

“Only for my girl,” he says this like a promise. His right-hand goes up to gently brush against your cheek. You lean into the touch, that same hand cupping your cheek in response.

In the clear slot where his identification should be is a polaroid picture from the weekend camping trip. You’re in that picture sitting next to Bucky on a couple of logs surrounded by your friends and peers. There’s a bright smile on Bucky’s face, his arm around your shoulder as you make bunny ears behind his head.

“If you want something use your words, sweetheart,” he mutters against your lips, you suppress a groan, “You know what I want. I don't have to say it,” you retort impatiently. Bucky shakes his head, smiling despite himself, “I want to hear you say it,” he dips his head to the crook of your neck, his teeth nipping at the skin. The hands on your ass give it a light squeeze emitting a small gasp from you. You can feel the shit-eating grin on your neck.

👁️👄👁️ I want this energy I need it, I love the way you write

“Y/n, I…I wanted to give you some time. Time to figure things out—to figure out what you wanted. I tried pretending I was okay with pieces of you, but I’m not. I want all of you. I want to be yours,” Bucky confesses with sincerity. You reach out to interlock your hands with his, a floodgate of emotions engulfing you. 

JUST WHEN THINGS CAN'T GET ANY HOTTER WE GET THIS FLUFFY MOMENT I LOVE IT😭

He is so needy and precious and he knows what he wants and I love it I love it I love it

Lines Crossed

Pairing: Athlete!Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader (College AU)

Summary: You and Bucky have danced around the lines you've placed ever since that weekend camping trip. Months later, when Tony Stark hosts an extravagant party, he finally makes a move to cross them.

Word Count: 9.3k

Warning(s): 18+ mdni / drinking / jealousy / forced proximity / smut / female reader / drunk jerk (stranger) / tension / will they won't they oh they will 🫣❤️‍🔥 / sex w/protection / pet names / sprinkles of possessive + protective Bucky so be prepared / there's a build-up so enjoy ❣️

Prompt: oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity get us too turned on not to fuck

a/n: Please be kind this is my first time writing something like this. 🥺🩶 I decided to challenge myself and join @mercurial-chuckles‘ smutty September fest. A tad late on the deadline because Hurricane Helene decided to take the power out. 😭 This is a standalone fic, but you can most definitely read it (and is intended to be) as a continuation of the events of A Night of Frights & Delights. Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!! ❤️❤️

part one backstory // divider // ambiance 🤍

You step into the foyer of the Stark Manor, a grand staircase greets you, its golden railing glowing underneath an ornate chandelier. Various guests mingle around the manor, the buzz of conversation accompanying the music that pulses throughout. Everything about the sight in front of you screams old wealth and elegance. 

Your eyes scan the luxurious home with an expression of awe. Despite being invited before, you had never come to one of Tony’s parties. Choosing the comfort of your bed and your favorite show instead. However, this time knowing a certain captain of the baseball team would be here—and your history with him—well you just had to come. 

As you take it all in, your gaze locks on a pair of beautiful blues. The very same ones you were thinking of all day. And by the way he was looking at you, you knew he was awaiting your arrival just as much as you had been waiting to see him. 

There was no denying he most certainly had been. 

Bucky had arrived about half an hour earlier with some of his teammates. His impatience grew by the second at your absence. He was dying to see what you wore for the party. You denied him any sneak peeks, which only fueled his excitement. He tried distracting himself by greeting anyone he could and making conversation, but he continuously gravitated to the foyer, waiting for the moment you stepped in through those doors. 

When you finally did, Bucky knew with the utmost certainty that the wait was worth it. When his eyes met yours you knocked the air straight out of his lungs with the black dress you were wearing. The satin dawning your body accentuated your silhouette perfectly—and the high slit at your right leg showed off the right amount of skin. The way you did your hair and your makeup complimented you perfectly, and Bucky was losing his goddamn mind because of it.  

Sincerely, he was close to whisking you away and keeping you all to himself. 

You looked nothing short of beyond stunning. Bucky had been holding back for months, staying within the lines you drew that night in the tent, and honestly, he deserved a medal for that. It’s the hardest thing he's ever done. What he felt for you couldn’t measure up to anything else in his life. Never had he felt so over the moon in his feelings for anyone. Yet, you brought on those sentiments by just being you. He was sure if he wasn’t in love with you yet, he was damn near close to it. 

And right now, seeing you in that dress, his mind is going to places it shouldn’t. Places that only belonged to him and his bed on those nights you left him wanting more. Thoughts and scenarios where the night ends with him tearing that dress right off you and showing you just how serious he is about wanting you. 

He’s not so sure he can be on his best behavior tonight. 

Bucky discards the drink he had been holding and saunters over to you. Your heart races in your chest when you see the way his blues darken when he rakes his eyes over your form—shamelessly drinking you up. You take in his figure as well, the all-black suit giving him an aura of class and sophistication that was stirring something dangerous within you. 

Bucky cleaned up good, real good.

He stops a mere foot away from you, his eyes twinkling with intentions both of you long for. You didn’t realize you had been holding your breath until his voice broke you out of your trance. 

“There’s no way I’m letting you leave my side tonight, not in that dress,” Bucky’s voice is deeper than usual, contrasting the charming grin on his face. You roll your eyes playfully, “I don’t need a babysitter, Bucky,” you reply amused at the thought. Having Bucky by your side all night would definitely lead to you two enjoying each other’s company in other ways. 

Not that you would object if it did. 

Bucky’s hand reaches out to touch you, your heart skipping a beat as he adjusts the strap of your dress on your shoulder. His touch lingers for a second more as a light chuckle escapes him. “Maybe not you sweetheart, but I might. Someone’s going to have to keep me in check tonight. I already have a hard enough time keeping my hands off of you and now you walk in looking like a masterpiece and I'm supposed to keep my hands to myself?” He bites his bottom lip for a moment, almost as if to stop himself from saying too much. 

“Something tells me you’re going to lay it on thick tonight, aren't you?” You tease him, all the while your body thrums with the way he compliments you. Bucky always knows exactly what to say to make you feel like the only girl in the room. An effortless gift he had only when it came to you.

“Can you blame me, baby? You walk in and suddenly it's like no one else exists,” his tone is softer, yet serious when he says this. Your heart skipped a beat when he called you baby. The weight of his attention felt in every fiber of your being. Bucky only ever called you baby when he wanted to really affect you. Reminding you of the pull he had over you.  

The spell you two were under was suddenly broken by Darcy, who rushed over to where you were standing and linked your arm with hers. “Sorry! I’m going to steal her away for a bit there Bucky!” She says unapologetically as she tears you away from the man who looks like he could have devoured you if your friend hadn't interrupted. Your protests fall on deaf ears so you're left waving a small—but not definite—farewell to Bucky. 

It seemed Bucky’s friends had been waiting for the right moment to steal him away too. As soon as you were in another room Sam and Steve went up to Bucky and dragged him to whatever antics the baseball team was up to. His disappointment matches yours, but if there was one thing he had proven all these months was that he had a lot of patience. He knew you two would end up crossing each other’s paths more than once tonight. It was only a matter of time. 

“You forgot you promised to stick by my side tonight. My ex is here, I need the support,” Darcy reminds you with a slight pout. She looks like a ball of fire with the way she pulls you through the crowd in her crimson dress. Her eyes dart to every guest looking to avoid her ex at all costs.

“I didn’t forget. I was just saying hi to a friend,” you explain emitting a snort from Darcy, “A friend? If he’s just a friend than I’m the Queen of England.” You roll your eyes, a small huff of a laugh leaving your lips. Darcy wasn’t wrong. You and Bucky weren’t just friends, but you also weren’t anything more—and that was by your account. 

You and Bucky have fallen into a grey area of what you are to each other. At first, after the camping trip, you tried avoiding him. Not because what happened upset you—but because you couldn’t trust yourself around him after that. Making out with him in that tent made you realize that what you thought had been an annoyance towards Bucky was actually the beginning of a deep-rooted crush. One that bubbled to the surface after that night. 

Avoiding him altogether was an impossible task when he lived in the other apartment in the duplex you rented. Especially after he insisted on giving you rides back and forth from campus with the excuse that now that you two were friends it's only natural for him to be more friendly. By his definition, it also included things like buying you food on days he knows you’ve been too busy to get something for yourself, walking you to your classes whenever he has the chance, and going with you to art exhibitions to dabble in your passion with you. 

Oh, and it also included kissing you mercilessly during tutoring sessions. 

Around the time that fall semester began, Bucky asked you if you could tutor him on a few subjects. He hadn’t done the greatest academically last semester and he wanted to keep his grades up before baseball season started. You were hesitant at first, but ultimately gave in when you realized how sincere he was about needing the help. 

Tutoring Bucky meant spending lots of time with him after classes. The sessions were innocent at first, but after the first time kissing on your bed, Bucky made it a tradition to have his lips on yours, and his hands wandering your body at every session. He even stopped hosting parties at his place, preferring being in your room and getting drunk on the taste of you. 

Bucky was too infatuated by you to ever want to do anything else. Studying was an afterthought whenever you were around, and yet he was doing better than he ever had before in all his classes. Being someone you could be proud of was honestly the best motivation he could ask for. 

Deep down you knew you were falling for him. There was a bit of apprehension on your part as you hadn’t known Bucky to ever have a girlfriend. From what you can remember, ever since you’ve known him, he was the kind of guy who preferred flirting and casual encounters. And there was no guarantee you would be the one to break that. So to keep yourself safe you drew those lines—built those walls up high to guard your heart. Bucky respected those lines and never crossed them. No matter how badly he wanted to. 

Some days, like today, made you want to say screw the lines and just give in to what you desired most. However, when that desire included lowering those walls you put in place, you weren’t brave enough to risk it—so you didn’t. Instead, you and Bucky danced around those lines until it drove you both mad. 

Your thoughts follow you for the next hour as you stay by Darcy’s side. Bucky has this natural way of consuming your mind lately—and your sketchbook. You wish you had it with you right now because when your feelings decide to overflow you channel that intensity onto the paper. For months, every page had been filled with graphite drawings of Bucky. His smile, his eyes, his determined expression when studying, his confident stance during baseball games, and everything else that sparked the creative fire in you. You found a lot of solace in drawing him. 

Bucky was undoubtedly your favorite muse. 

You're so lost in your thoughts you don’t register you’re in the kitchen of the manor until the guests around you cheer. It seems Darcy and Thor have fallen into a friendly competition of sorts to see who could down more shots than the other in one minute. A group of spectators and friends have gathered in the kitchen to watch the showdown go down. Your eyes dart to Jane who only gives you a half-amused, half-exasperated look. She is not looking forward to having to drive those two home later.

Contrary to your friends, you weren’t drinking much tonight. Bucky’s lingering presence at the party was all your senses needed to feel like you were in a daze. For appearances, however, you decide to grab one of the red solo cups to blend in with the rest of those around you. 

“Hey, Y/n! Enjoying the party?” A male’s voice comes from your right and when you turn to see who it is a friendly smile appears on your face. It was Ian Boothby, a fellow art major at your university. You’ve had him in enough of your classes to consider him a friend. 

“Hey, Ian. Yeah, I’m having a good time. Are you?” Your question is a catalyst for a much longer chat with Ian. The two of you fall into light conversation about the semester, art, and other relevant topics. It's a nice breath of fresh air compared to the thoughts that had been consuming you tonight. Especially when he tells you the story of one of his painting mishaps causing you to laugh along with him.

Soon after, a hand snakes its way around your waist, and when you smell that familiar woody muskiness you know exactly who it is. 

“Having fun without me, sweetheart?” Bucky’s voice has a slight edge to it as he speaks, his lips forming a smirk. You face him and the look in his eyes stills you. 

Bucky does not look pleased. 

“Bucky, hey man. How’s baseball prep?” Ian beats you to it by addressing Bucky first. Bucky's eyes flick between you and Ian before he presses you into his side by the hold on your waist. This does not go unnoticed by Ian.

“Boothby, it's going good. How’s the cross-country season treating you?” Bucky asks, his tone giving away how uninterested he is in continuing this conversation. If Ian picks up on the animosity he doesn’t show it as he goes on and on about the sport. Bucky’s impatience grows the more he speaks and his hold on you gets a little more firm. When Bucky’s expression finally gives way to how he genuinely feels Ian finds a way to excuse himself and exit the conversation.

A beat passes before you finally speak, “Ian’s my friend. You didn’t have to scare him off like that,” you say with slight annoyance. Bucky clicks his tongue as he eyes you closely, “I didn’t, but I felt like it,” he shrugs cooly. “Didn't like the way he was looking at you.” He adds, his thumb rubbing small circles on your waist.

“Oh? And how was he looking at me?” 

“Like in the way only I should be.” 

The possessiveness in his voice catches you off guard. The air electrifying around you both at his words. You weren’t going to drink, but you suddenly felt the need to. You take a sip of the substance in your cup, the bitter liquid doing little to ground you. Bucky can tell how he’s affecting you and joins you with his drink. His eyes never leave yours as he gulps some of it down. 

You have to stop yourself from inhaling the entire thing in one go. 

“Ian’s harmless. He’s just comfortable with me because he’s an art major too. I’ve had a lot of classes with him,” you do your best to continue the conversation and ignore the way your body heats up when Bucky gives your hip a possessive squeeze. Massaging the area afterward in gentle strokes.

“You do a lot of bonding over paint?” Bucky’s response is slightly mocking, licking his lips to catch a drop of alcohol that wanted to escape. His eyes twinkle with mischief as he relishes the way you're looking at him now. Your gaze trained on his lips. When you realize he’s noticed, the heat from your body goes straight to your face.

You wouldn’t let him have the upper hand though. Never. 

“Well, when you have to sketch someone’s naked body you obviously become friendly,” your reply causes Bucky to choke on his drink, the hand at your hip falling as he uses it to grab a few napkins from the granite counter behind him to wipe at the mess he made. You hide a wicked grin behind the rim of your cup. 

He narrows his eyes at you, “Excuse me? What does that mean?” He knows what you mean, but he’s giving you a chance to tell him you're joking. He’s not hiding the jealousy that crawls up his spine at your revelation. 

“It means Ian’s a nude model for some of my classes. He may not look like it but underneath those layers, he’s got the most gorgeous—” Bucky cuts you off with a fierce kiss, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you into him. There’s been plenty of times you’ve shut him up with your mouth and it was his turn to return the favor. Because hearing you talk about the naked body of another man gets under his skin in ways he wasn’t used to.  He wasn’t going to just stand there and hear another word of it. 

The kiss catches you by surprise, but soon your drink is discarded in favor of pulling him closer by his blazer. Not caring who sees or what anyone thinks, since it’s the first time you’ve ever kissed in front of others. Your craving for him was far too loud to ignore anymore. Your lips stay locked until your lungs burn begging for air.

Bucky pulls away with a smug smile, his voice an octave lower as he moves to whisper in your ear, “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart. I know you love getting a rise out of me, but just so we’re clear—next time you want to mess with me like that—I’ll make sure you can’t even stand after I’m through with you,” his declaration causes a shiver to make its way up your spine. 

You swallow hard, your mouth opening to say something, but no sound comes out. Bucky lets out a rough chuckle, ghosting his lips against your cheek before pulling away to stare at how speechless he’s left you. He’s blatantly savoring every second of it. 

You want to say something—anything. Something witty or playful, but the thought of him making good on his promise—the image it conjures in your mind—keeps you silent.

“Buck! You’re needed at beer pong! Tony’s team is winning and the bet is up to five hundred,” Steve rushes into the kitchen, breaking through the bubble you two were in. His eyes dart between you and Bucky with a knowing look. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling at the sight of you two. 

You start to register there’s still an extravagant party happening around you.  

Bucky sighs with slight irritation as he once again gets his moment with you interrupted. He reluctantly tears his attention away from you to call back to Steve, “I’ll be right there!” Steve nods in approval before going back the way he came. 

Now’s your chance to say something, but Bucky pulls away from your body before you can. A coldness replacing where his touch used to be. “Hold that thought, baby. Looks like my team needs their star player,” he winks at you before placing a tender kiss on your forehead, “you keep thinking about what I said while I’m gone,” he says in a gruff whisper, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip in a barely there touch. 

He knows he needs to leave before he takes this somewhere you can’t go back from. 

Bucky doesn’t give you a chance to say anything as he makes a smooth exit. Heading out of the kitchen in the direction of the beer pong game. Your body prickling with an ever growing sexual frustration. You were embarrassingly close to snatching Bucky away and giving in to all your desires in one of the many rooms of the manor. 

“You two need to get a room,” Jane seems to read your mind as she teases you. Appearing from behind you once Bucky was no longer in sight. You can’t deny her words, letting out a small huff, “I don’t know what good that would do. I’ve been clear about not wanting to take things further.” You explain to her, not sure if you could go back on your words for the sake of giving in to what you want now. Jane has had this conversation with you a few times before, and it appears she's hit her limit today. 

 “That man is absolutely head over heels for you. How can you not see that?” Jane shakes her head at you, wondering how she can make you realize what you already know yet deny. There's a vulnerability that overcomes you when you reply, “It’s not that I don’t see it. I just—I’ve never seen him be serious about anyone. The only thing he’s ever serious about is baseball.” Jane looks like she’s about to do something drastic at your denial. 

“Y/n, Bucky is serious about you. He’s literally all about you—he’s chosen you over baseball many times. I’m not around him like you are and even I can see it clear as day. Do you know Thor and like half of the baseball team thinks you two are secretly dating? Stop denying what you know deep down is true and just give in—be happy,” Jane tells it like it is, her tone leaving no room for argument or denial. 

For so long Bucky has shown you another side of him—one not many get to see. He’s given you priority and importance when he didn’t have to. Care and consideration when you needed it most. A shoulder to lean on and a steady support to rely on. Time and time again Bucky has demonstrated how much you mean to him.

Perhaps, you both have been something more to each other for a long time and Bucky’s kept his wishes at bay to make sure things developed at your pace. 

When it finally hits you, you almost feel exposed by how skillfully Jane can read you. At how easily she can see the situation for what it is and not for what your worries twisted it to be. If Bucky had made it clear to you how he felt, what was stopping you from taking things further than they had been before?

At this point, nothing, nothing was stopping you but yourself.

This realization follows you to the dance floor. A very drunk Darcy had pulled you to it along with Jane, babbling tipsily after losing the drinking competition to Thor. You had never seen a living room with such high ceilings before or enough room to host a makeshift dance floor and a DJ booth. The living space had been stripped of its furniture and supplied with top-notch equipment to make it resemble the inside of a club. 

At least in the near darkness, it resembled one.

You’re in a huddle of your closest friends, all of them letting the music guide their movements to their heart’s content. You sway absentmindedly, so you're not merely standing there awkwardly. The kaleidoscope of party lights strobe and kiss your skin with an array of colors as the music thumps around your body. 

A loud cheer catches your attention, the source of the sound coming from a table on the far left end of the room. Tony and his friends were boisterous as they made a shot against their opponent's team in beer pong—Bucky’s team. You had a clear view of it all from where you stood. 

Bucky’s team seems to be taking turns on who drinks every time Tony’s team makes a shot. They look amongst themselves until Bucky steps up and chugs the liquid in the red solo cup. It's like he can feel the shift in the air because as soon as the cup is away from his lips his eyes scan the space and find you, and suddenly it's like you two are the only two people in the room. 

You want him—all of him. You enjoy the teases, the banter, the back and forth, but you know you’d enjoy calling him yours more. 

The music picks up in tempo as your boldness grows. Keeping your eyes trained on him, your hips begin to sway provocatively, tempting him to say screw the game and make his way towards you instead. Bucky’s not even paying attention to the game anymore his eyes soaking up your every move as it fans the flames of desire between you. The atmosphere around you buzzes as the ground shakes due to the sea of dancing bodies, and yet nothing thrums within you more than your need for Bucky. 

The little show you’re putting on for him continues as you roll and wave your body in ways that seduce him. Ghosting your hand along the curves and dips of your figure showing him exactly where you’d like his hands to be. Bucky’s mind is reeling with everything he wants to do to you and none of it involves the dance floor and all of it involves you and him in some private corner of the manor where he can show you exactly what his hands are capable of. 

You are making it impossibly hard for him to concentrate on anything else. 

Slowly and with shady intentions a group of drunk guys circle the huddle of you and your friends like vultures. Finding their way to snake themselves into any corner or crevice they can fit into. Their bodies bumping and grazing against yours. There’s one guy in particular that has his sights set on you. Getting closer to you on the dancefloor and creeping his hands along your waist. You swat his hands away, but he doesn’t disperse immediately. The alcohol on his breath fanning your face causing you to gag. The more you dismiss him the more adamant he was about keeping you close to him. 

Almost instantly, a protective grip pulls you away from the drunk guy. A familiar warmth encases you as Bucky pulls you into his chest, your back to him. Your hands find their way to hold his arms to ease the displeasure the drunk had caused.

Bucky glares at the drunk guy, his gaze cold and unapologetic, “Alright, that's enough.” The drunk guy sneers, his words slurred, “What the—what’s your problem bro? We’re just—” Bucky doesn’t let him finish, “Shut up. You’re not doing anything. You’ve got two seconds to back off or we’re going to have a problem,” Bucky’s reply is sharp and menacing. He directs it to all the men that had swarmed you and your friends. 

Shifting you so you stand at his side, Bucky steps forward to let the guys know he’s not messing around. Your hold goes to his right arm where you’re watching the exchange unfold anxiously. You hope things don’t escalate, not wanting Bucky to get into a scuffle. You know he can handle himself, but the idea of him getting hurt in any way caused your heart to ache. 

The guys size Bucky up and it seems some of them think they can take him on. Until the strobing lights illuminate Bucky’s darkened gaze enough that in their drunk haze, they finally recognize him as captain of the baseball team. That means that fighting Bucky meant taking on the entirety of the team. And with the way Sam and Steve were looking over to see if they needed to step in, and Thor was already storming over—they knew they didn’t stand a chance.

It was comical the way the drunk men scramble to get away as fast as they could. Muttering incoherences and apologies under their breath. They don’t get far as Tony’s hired security for the night promptly kicks them out. 

Thor comes up to check on everyone, giving special attention to Jane who keeps assuring him she’s fine. You turn to Bucky, who’s already inspecting you to make sure you are alright, “Bucky I—” You almost tell him not to worry, that you had things under control, but in reality, you’re glad Bucky stepped in. 

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, Bucky’s tense demeanor softens at your words. He moves to get a better hold on you, his grip at your waist protective teetering on possessive. 

“You don’t have to thank me for that, sweetheart. I got you—always,” Bucky’s genuine response makes your heart flutter and your pulse quicken. Your senses are awakened by his proximity, completely enamored with the way he looks at you. 

“Plus, if I’m going to fall for the most beautiful girl in the world, I have to know how to fight right?” Bucky says this like it's the most obvious thing, smirking at the way you don’t hide the smitten grin he elicits from you. There’s a sparkle in your eyes as you stare at him, Bucky’s heart racing at the sight of it.

 “You and your compliments,” you give a breathless laugh, letting your guard down for once and going with the flow. Bucky can sense it. Sense the way there’s a shift between you, the blossoming of something bigger being accepted and not pushed away by you anymore.

“Only for my girl,” he says this like a promise. His right-hand goes up to gently brush against your cheek. You lean into the touch, that same hand cupping your cheek in response. Bucky has never felt more elated knowing that maybe finally you two can go to places he’s only dreamed of. 

“Yours?” You question him playfully, which causes him to chuckle, the sound a low rumble, “You and I both know you are, sweetheart. I told you I had all the time in the world to make you fall for me—and I meant it,” he smiles, an intense fire in his eyes that only accumulates when you respond, “You don’t have to wait any longer, Bucky.”

He wastes no second to connect your lips, kissing you with a loving purpose. His lips have a slightly bitter taste to them from the beer that still lingered there. And yet, the bitterness disappears when one kiss turns into two and then three. His arms encircling you to pull you into his chest, your hands finding their way to the nape of his neck.

Bucky pulls away to ghost his lips against your jaw until his lips brush against your ear, “Those little moves you were doing for me earlier, do them again,” his husky tone sends a shiver down your spine as he tugs you in to dance with him. Your bodies mold to one another, hips swaying in rhythm with the vigorous music. The beat allows you to gyrate and grind in ways that drive him to the edge of his control. 

His hand rests on the small of your back, holding you close, fingers splayed out as if making a silent claim. You can feel the way his gaze burns into you, the air getting hotter making it harder to breathe. Your hands trail up and down his arms as need be. The rest of the party fades away leaving you two alone in this space of this charged energy. Every lingering touch and longing glance is layered with unspoken urges that would soon intensify to the brink of madness. 

“You have no idea what you do to me do you?” 

“I do. I’m not immune to what’s going on between us, Bucky.”

Your body, your voice, the way you plead with your eyes for him to take this further—it causes a stirring within his pants—the fabric getting tighter the longer the dance goes on. He needs to get you away, to get you alone. Bucky needs to satiate this hunger for you that threatens to consume him or he is going to end up doing something Rated R on this dance floor. 

The throbbing between your legs agrees. 

An idea pops into Bucky’s mind when he glances at his group of friends. He increases the volume of his voice so you can hear him over the music, “The baseball team was going to host a game of hide and seek. Should we play?” Playful mischief glimmers in his eyes as he asks you. 

“Hide and seek? Seriously?” You raise a brow, wondering how that was going to work in a mansion full of a million rooms.

“Yeah, come on. It'll be fun,” Bucky draws you away from the dance floor and over to where his friends are mingling and taking a few shots. Steve sees Bucky approach and they have a quick whispered exchange. Your eyes dart between them, curious as to what they're discussing.

“Seems like we’re getting a head start,” he comments to you as he leads you away from the main party and down a few intricate hallways. His hold on your hand is firm, yet careful—almost as if he’s afraid you’ll get lost in one of the many corners of the manor. The thrum of the music fades the further you slip away from the party. Your pulse spikes, both from the adrenaline of the game and the heat that still simmers between you.

Bucky has been to Tony’s parties plenty of times before, so he knows the layout of the manor pretty well. The clicking of your heels along the marble floors echoes at the pace of the beating of his heart. He tries to focus on the expensive artwork that lines the halls instead of the way your hand perfectly fits in his. The artwork is what’s guiding his path through the manor and you are the best distraction he could ask for. 

“Where are we going?” Your voice echoes down the endless hallway. 

“Somewhere no one will find us,” he winks at you, your heart skipping a beat at his words, his pace steady and purposeful as he turns one more corner and slips you two inside a room. You're encased in darkness, blindly feeling for a light switch until Bucky uses the flashlight on his phone to illuminate the space. You faintly make out your surroundings. You seem to be in one of the many guest rooms of the manor. The attention to detail in the room was no short of the attention paid to the rest of the place.

You knew Tony’s family had money, but seeing how they splurged for a mere guest room, meant his family was beyond loaded. 

Bucky whispered something to you, but you didn’t catch it as he took you by the hand and ushered you into the room’s closet, clicking it shut behind him. He reaches up to turn on the small lightbulb to cascade the enclosed space in a soft glow, turning off the flashlight on his phone and putting it in his pants pocket. The tension is now thicker and more palpable in the small space, causing goosebumps to rise across your skin.

If you had a dollar for every time you and Bucky ended up in a tight space together, you would have exactly two dollars. While maybe strange, it somehow seemed fitting for you two. 

Bucky steps closer to you, your bodies inches apart, the dim light doing nothing to dull the intensity in his eyes, “Now that I’ve got you here—I think I did a good job with the hiding spot, don't you?” His heated whisper brings your breath to a hitch. 

You have to clear your throat to compose yourself, “I don’t know…We had a whole mansion to hide in, and you chose a closet?” You can’t help but tease him, trying to lighten the unbearable tension. 

“Would you rather go hide in the library? The wine cellar? The arcade?” His voice is dripping with mirth taking another step closer to you. He knows what you're doing, but he’s not going to let the tension die down—not this time.  

“The arcade sounds fun,” you quip, leaning back against the wall. 

“Hm, maybe, but I prefer the closet. It’s a lot more private and it has its…advantages,” he reaches out to pull your hand up to his lips, planting a soft kiss across your knuckles. You go to use that hand to lightly push at his chest, but he catches it in time and intertwines your fingers instead. Your heart is racing a mile a minute. 

“Maybe the closet isn’t so bad, but these heels…Worst decision I made tonight,” you shift slightly, not meaning to change the subject, but your heels are torturing you. In the quiet of the closet the pain begins to creep up on you, begging to be acknowledged. After hours of walking on them, dancing, and standing overall—your feet were killing you. You weren’t sure how long you’d be able to stand upright while hiding. 

“Are they hurting you?” 

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Lets get them off then,” Bucky slides his hand underneath your right thigh, eyes locked on yours, as he hikes it up against the outside of his leg. Your hips brush up against his front, your breath catching at the intimacy of the moment. He watches your every reaction as he slides his hand down the underside of your leg until he reaches the strap of your heel. He’s able to undo it effortlessly, relieving you of the discomfort, his fingers grazing your ankle as he slides your right heel off. His every touch leaves heat in its wake. 

“Bucky you really don't have to—” he cuts you off with a soft smile and half-lidded eyes, switching his hold from your right leg to your left one, “I want to, sweetheart. Just let me help, ” he removes the other heel with the same tantalizing tenderness he used for the first one. Putting them to the side where they won’t get in the way.

The relief you feel is immediate.

“Better?” 

“Much.” 

“Good.” 

A moment passes before he speaks, his voice quiet with an underlying devotion, “You don’t get the hold you have on me, do you?’’ His right hand dances along the outside of your thigh while his left plays with the strap of your dress, twirling it between his fingers. The hand at your thigh traces patterns onto it. Trailing intricate swirls across the flesh, along your hips, ascending to your waist, and all the way up to the space between your breasts. The touch lingers there when you let out a soft sigh. 

You honestly forget how to breathe. 

“Say the word and I’m all yours, Y/n,” his voice is rough as his lips ghost against yours—seductively grazing against them. Going so far as licking his lips with an invigorating grin to really drive you crazy.

Bucky is waiting for you to make the deciding move. When you realize this, you throw all caution to the wind, pulling him in for a desperate kiss. You waste no time in granting him access to deepen it. Bucky follows your lead ardently. His hands snake down your body to cup your ass and pull you impossibly close to him. 

Your hands get lost in his hair, a groan rumbling through him at the way you tug at it. You two aren’t sweetly kissing, you're devouring each other. Yearning for the other all night leaves no more room for taking things slow or holding back. You’re both now giving in to what you want most—each other. 

The heat between you intensifies until it crescendos to a boiling point. The aching between your legs imploring you to do something about it. You reach down to tug at the waistband of his pants, causing Bucky to let out a husky laugh. 

“If you want something use your words, sweetheart,” he mutters against your lips, you suppress a groan, “You know what I want. I don't have to say it,” you retort impatiently. Bucky shakes his head, smiling despite himself, “I want to hear you say it,” he dips his head to the crook of your neck, his teeth nipping at the skin. The hands on your ass give it a light squeeze emitting a small gasp from you. You can feel the shit-eating grin on your neck. 

“Bucky….I…” your words are cut off by a soft moan when Bucky’s left hand sneaks its way through the slit of your dress until he reaches the inside of your thighs. He massages the flesh there, his thumb brushing against the hem of your panties. 

Your arousal pools impossibly more, and the lustful haze only increases at the way you feel his hardened cock straining against his pants—right against your hip. 

“Mm? What was that, baby? Couldn’t hear you over those pretty noises you're making,” his every word drips with cockiness. 

“You're insufferable.”

“That’s my girl.” 

Bucky kisses your neck with more fervor. Sucking and nipping at the skin hard enough to leave marks. Your thighs involuntarily close together at the way he calls you his girl. He eases them back apart with his deliberate touches. Kneading the soft flesh in his hands as his breathing goes ragged along your neck, tickling your skin. He was on the brink of losing what little control he had left. 

You suck in a sharp breath, losing what little semblance of control you had left the higher his touch gets. He only goes so far, barely brushing across your clothed cunt to give you a taste of what he can do if you just let him hear it. You were desperate for more and he knew it. 

 “Fuck me, Bucky,” you manage to whimper out, hooking your fingers into his empty belt loops and yanking him towards you. Bucky lets out a low growl at the brief friction, his eyes darkening to an almost unrecognizable color. For a moment, his brain short circuits at your words, processing that you really said that to him accompanied by that alluring sound. He’s heard those sinful noises from you before, but never like this. Never with the assurance of more. 

“Say it again.”

“Bucky, please just fuck me already.”

You don’t have to tell him another time. Bucky crashes his mouth onto yours with a new intensity, mumbling lustful promises into your mouth. How he wants you, how badly he aches to make you feel good, how he yearns for his pretty girl to lose herself with him, and so many more things that make you dizzy. 

He moves to bunch up your dress, hiking it up your legs until it's bundled at your waist. His breathing strains at the sight—your black lacy panties luring him in—his muscles tensing at the growing need to be inside you. His left arm reaches down to hook his forearm under your knee and bring it up to his hip. You wrap that leg around him, steadying yourself on your other foot as you grind against each other. You can feel the way his cock aches to be freed and it causes you to arch deeper into him. Your moans mingle into one, the slight relief overwhelming you. 

Bucky takes his free hand and splays it at the small of your back, offering strong support as your bodies continue to grind against one another. A chorus of moans and yearnful whines erupt from you both. All of the pining and hunger for one another amalgamates into one as you continue to rub against each other. You swallow each other’s sounds, tongues tangling carnally as neither of you leaves any room for air.

“Do you have—?”

“Back pocket. Wallet.”

Your lips barely disconnect at the brief exchange. You reach behind him, patting down his backside until you feel the outline of his wallet in his pocket. You take hold of it and bring it forward. Meanwhile, Bucky decides to leave wet kisses along the valley of your breasts. You can barely contain yourself and your soft moans as you pull out the condom. The wallet almost slips from your grasp as the attention to your breasts causes you to tremble. 

You hold it tighter intending to put it back in his pocket when something catches your eye. In the clear slot where his identification should be is a polaroid picture from the weekend camping trip. You’re in that picture sitting next to Bucky on a couple of logs surrounded by your friends and peers. There’s a bright smile on Bucky’s face, his arm around your shoulder as you make bunny ears behind his head.

You love this picture. You have a copy of it taped to your bedroom mirror back home.

At your stillness, Bucky looks up to see what’s going on. When he notices you staring at the picture, he smiles fondly. " It's the only picture I had of us,” he utters softly, causing a warmth to spread throughout you. You gaze at him in tender awe, marveling at the fact that Bucky is real.

Why had you ever doubted he was anything but yours? 

You kiss him this time with all the unspoken feelings you’ve bubbled up and kept inside. The wallet falls from your hands, but it's no matter as Bucky kicks it to the side with his foot, and shudders at the way your lips claim his. This goes beyond lust. Your heart beats with reason, and that reason is the man in front of you. 

“Bucky, I want this. I want you. All of you,” you whisper passionately, your hands lowering to help him unbutton and unzip his pants, the foil neatly tucked between your fingers. A guttural moan leaves him when you push the layers of fabric down and free his cock, pumping it a few times to get a feel of it. His head falls to your shoulder, sighing softly in a near whine as you tear the foil open and roll the protection down his length. It twitches in your hands, his hips bucking at the contact. 

His arms are preoccupied with keeping you close and steady, so you gently guide him to your center. Moving your panties to the side as he tantalizingly slides along your folds before he slowly enters you. Your mouth goes agape at the sensation while Bucky has to do everything to make sure he doesn’t cum right then and there.

This was so much better than what he had imagined in his dreams. 

It's been too long since you’ve done this and the burn at the stretch causes you to cry out quietly. Bucky peppers your face with sweet kisses and whispers of devotion. Trying to do his best to comfort you as he lets you adjust inch by inch. The hand at the small of your back rubs circles into it with his thumb, your own hands shooting up to grip his biceps for support. 

“I’m not gonna last if you tighten up like that sweetheart,” he hisses a groan at how tightly your walls envelop him. You’re really making it hard for him to not come undone in a short amount of time. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, baby, just relax for me.”

His gentle words are accompanied by thrusts that are slow with a deliberate purpose. He’s careful with his pace as he wants this to go at whatever speed you need. It takes a bit, but his soft kisses and comforting touches coax the burn away until you're left with the ardent ache of needing more. 

“Faster, Bucky,” you plead breathily. He rests his forehead against yours.“Can you handle it, baby?” His question is full of loving concern, prioritizing your pleasure over everything.

“I can…fuck…please,” you assure him, your leg pulling him in tighter causing him to bottom out. Bucky curses and moans all in one. At your assurance, he picks up the pace of his hips, rocking them against you with a fiery velocity. The lewd sounds bouncing off the walls of the closet in waves. 

He gives it to you exactly how you asked him to. That man would do anything for you—just say the word and its done. 

Bucky is on cloud nine at the way you take him. The way your bodies mold and arch into one another’s like you can’t get enough. As if all you ever needed to consume to live was each other. When he goes to kiss you, you can barely kiss back as you’re too lost in the way he slams into you.

“Fuck, baby, if only you could see yourself. You’re so fucking gorgeous making those pretty expressions for me,” Bucky grunts out, drinking up the sight of your face. A string of mewls leaves your lips at the keen attention he keeps on you. Everything about you right now is a work of art in his eyes he wants framed and kept at his bedside. A constant reminder he’s the one who gets to make you look and feel so damn good.  

“Don’t stop, please don't stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to, sweetheart.” 

Your words egg him on to go harder, causing your back to press tightly against the wall. Hiking your leg just a tad bit higher to thrust into you at another angle. This was the best decision he ever made as he hits the perfect spot within you. One that leaves you clinging onto him desperately as your walls tighten on the brink of release. 

It takes a few more fierce drives into you until your orgasm hits you and you're cumming with a feverish intensity. Moaning Bucky’s name in a euphoric mantra that’s music to his ears. It's what brings him over the edge and he stills at the force of his orgasm, his head collapsing into the dip of your neck as he releases into the condom. 

“My girl. My sweet girl. You feel so good, baby,” Bucky softly whispers against your neck. Planting small kisses as both of you come down from your highs. Your arms wrap behind his neck to embrace him and keep him close to you. Bucky continues to mutter sweet praises along your skin, as your hands thread through his hair tenderly. Both of you steadying your breaths as you come back down to Earth. 

If it weren't for Bucky holding your right leg up, it would've fallen from its position at his hip long ago. You’re even more grateful for it now as your body felt completely boneless. And when he pulls out, its the grip he has on your body that keeps your knees from buckling.

Bucky lifts his head so his gaze locks on yours. His blues are swimming with a vehemence that steals your breath and causes your pulse to race.  

“Y/n, I…I wanted to give you some time. Time to figure things out—to figure out what you wanted. I tried pretending I was okay with pieces of you, but I’m not. I want all of you. I want to be yours,” Bucky confesses with sincerity. You reach out to interlock your hands with his, a floodgate of emotions engulfing you. 

“Bucky—” you start, but he’s not hearing it, afraid you’ll want to go back to a place that would devastate him. “Wait, just hear me out. Everything I ever did was to get you to notice me. From the moment we met there was just something about you that kept pulling me in. And I knew—I just knew I had to get to know you. And then one thing led to another and I fell for you—hard. Now I can’t imagine my life without you. There's only you. It’s always been you. Give me a chance, let me prove it to you every day, that I’m yours. That I have been for a long time,” Bucky’s tone borders on pleading, you give his hands a light squeeze to ease the worry in his features. 

“Bucky you have nothing to prove—”

“Y/n—” 

This time you stop him by clamping a hand over his mouth. 

“Bucky, you have nothing to prove because I’ve felt the same way for a long time. I just fought it for so long out of fear that maybe you weren’t serious about me. But I can see now I was wrong. I’ve been yours for a long time too, Bucky. I just pretended I wasn’t—and I’m done fighting it. I’m done being in denial. I want to have something serious with you. I’m ready for it,” your heartfelt confession immediately melts away the tension in Bucky’s shoulders. 

You wanting this as much as he did made him feel like he was on top of the world.

He mumbles something into your hand, the biggest grin on the other side of it. You laugh adoringly at the sight as you remove your hand to replace it with your mouth instead. Both of you sink into the kiss as a deeper devotion is exchanged. 

“Whoever is seeking is horrible at it,” you remove yourself with a light giggle, taking a jab at whoever the seeker of the hide-and-seek game is. A game that was long forgotten by Bucky until you mentioned it. 

Bucky smiles sheepishly, “About that…there's not actually a hide-and-seek game. And if there is they don't know we’re playing,” he confesses with a twinkle in his eyes. You shake your head at him, laughing in disbelief, “Bucky, then what were you and Steve whispering about?” Your curiosity is met with a boyish grin from Bucky, “I was just letting him know not to come looking for me. I wanted to get some alone time with you,” his hands find your hips again to give them a gentle squeeze.

Bucky is far from done with you yet. 

You roll your eyes lightheartedly at his revelation. Of course, he’d come up with a way to get you all to himself. Can you blame him? 

After a few more stolen kisses and lingering touches, you both start to compose yourselves. Adjusting your outfits and collecting your items from the ground. Thankfully, the guest room has its own bathroom where the two of you can clean up much better than in the small closet. Tousled hair, smeared makeup, and sweaty skin required a deeper attentiveness.

You both take your time in freshening up. The bathroom lighting does wonders to reveal every piece of evidence of your sexual encounter. You can now clearly see all the red marks that would eventually turn into hickeys that scattered your neck and chest. Bucky beams pleased at the markings he’s left as you scold him for making them so prominent. 

Bucky doesn’t give a damn. He’d gladly make more in an instant. 

By the end, all that's left is to get your heels on, which Bucky insists on helping you with. He offered to carry you for the rest of the party or even giving you his shoes, but you declined both options. You paid good money for these heels so whether you liked it or not, you were forcing yourself to wear them. 

Bucky helps you up onto the expansive marble counter. Lowering down onto his knees in front of you to slide your heels back onto your feet. Nimble fingers work the straps into place, making sure they're not too tight at the ankles. When he looks up at you, a devilish grin appears on his face. That spark of desire is back in your eyes when you see how good he looks knelt between your legs. Your mind was reeling with ideas as the heat once again pranced across your skin. Bucky’s gaze bore into yours, almost as if he could read your mind. He can’t help but get turned on again. 

You were in the same boat. 

“You know, I have a big stats test on Monday. I could use an emergency tutoring session right about now,” his tone is laced with suggestion as his fingers trace along your ankle. You hum, “Hm? Do you? I think I could accommodate that.” Your reply gives Bucky the go to start kissing up your legs until he reaches your knees. He never breaks eye contact as he places a tender kiss on each one before standing up and giving that same attention to your mouth.

“Perfect. Let’s get out of here, sweetheart,” Bucky mutters against your lips, the kiss a promise of the fun awaiting you for the rest of the night. Now that the lines were blurred beyond recognition, into something deeper, something real, you were both completely all in. 

[ikkyfics]

James Potter x slytherin!reader

Summary: His ambition was to want what he could not have. James was the greatest proof of that.

Warnings: Platonic Love, Angst

Materlist

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“How are you even in Slytherin?” Sirius exclaimed, visibly exasperated.

You sighed, already used to that same old tune. It wasn’t the first time you’d had this discussion, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. But was a little peace too much to ask? It was the last day of summer, with the deliciously warm sun shining in a bright blue sky, and a cool lake right in front of you. Surely, they could find better things to do.

“Get over it,” you retorted with a dismissive wave of your hand, taking the opportunity to adjust the hat on your head.

Sirius clutched his chest with exaggerated flair, as if your words had struck him. Always so dramatic.

“So cruel. I’m starting to worry that spending so much time in that snake pit has done irreparable damage—ow!”

He let out a yelp as you threw an empty plastic bottle at him, hitting him square in the chest and leaving a red mark blooming on his skin.

“Bloody hell, that hurt!” He shot you a wounded look. “I think I’m starting to understand now.”

“You asked for it, Padfoot,” James said, his tone dry, a subtle smirk curling at the edges of his lips.

James. Always him. Always there.

“Wow, why am I not surprised? You’re always ready to defend your protégé, aren’t you, Potter?” Sirius quipped.

You looked down, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. It was silly—you knew it was—but it was inevitable. James was your friend. Just that: a friend. And nothing more. Ever.

Sirius would never really understand, you thought, as a small, awkward laugh escaped your lips. In truth, none of the Marauders seemed to grasp how someone as sweet as you had ended up in Slytherin. But what they couldn’t see was the fierce ambition smoldering deep inside you—ambitions greater than you could bear, ambitions that burned like embers hidden beneath ashes. It was those embers that had made the Sorting Hat whisper decisively about the House of the Serpent. You’d never told them, but you knew the reason.

Your ambition was wanting what you could never have. James was the ultimate proof of that.

“Lily would love this,” James suddenly said, pointing up at the sky as he watched the clouds with a smile. “The colors, the light… She likes things like this.”

Your chest tightened. The smile on his face as he spoke about Lily was almost too painful to witness. He seemed lost in thought, as if her presence were a star he was always trying to reach, even when it was galaxies away. But you were good at hiding your feelings. You always had been.

“She really likes lakes?” Sirius teased. “How fascinating, Prongs. Maybe we should get a private one for the wedding.”

James laughed, the sound ringing out like a melody across the valley. Even when Sirius teased, he never concealed his admiration for Lily. You, on the other hand, felt every word like a needle piercing the fragile barrier around your heart.

James turned to you, smiling in that way only he could—so warm, so unassuming. He ruffled your hair lightly, a gesture he’d been doing since your first years at Hogwarts.

“You’re awfully quiet today. Something about the water spooking you?”

You shook your head, trying to mask the flush creeping across your face. He was so close, the sunlight glinting off the droplets of water on his bare chest. James had changed over the years, growing taller and broader, his lean muscles rippling with every subtle movement. He was only wearing swim trunks, and the sight alone made your heart race.

“Just enjoying the warmth, James. Unlike you, I don’t feel the need to make noise all the time.”

“She’s got you there, James,” Sirius chuckled.

The relief was fleeting, but the sense of closeness lingered in the air. You could hardly look at him directly, because every moment by his side was a silent battle between yearning and reality. He’d never know—he could never know.

Later, when you finally gave in to James’s insistence and waded into the lake, things momentarily felt lighter. He splashed around you, tugging on your arm to lead you into the deeper water. At one point, his hands found your waist to steady you, and the feeling of his touch burned into your memory. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

“You’re looking too serious again,” he said, swimming alongside you. “I don’t like it when you get like this.”

You forced a smile, trailing your fingers across the lake’s crystalline surface.

“I’m fine, James,” you replied, avoiding his gaze. “I’m always fine.”

He looked at you, his expression softening. And there was something in that look, something that made you want to believe—just for a fleeting moment—that maybe he could truly see you. But then he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, and said with the same gentle voice he always used:

“You’re important to me, you know that?” He remained close, the pads of his fingers pressed gently against her chin, lifting her head so their eyes could meet. “Don’t forget that.” You nodded weakly, intoxicated by his closeness. Even in the cool water, he radiated warmth.

If only he knew… If only he knew those words only fed your foolish hope.

Hours later, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the conversation turned once more to Lily, you drifted away. Sitting at the lake’s edge, watching the reflection of the sky shift from gold to purple, Sirius’s words echoed in your mind: “How are you even in Slytherin?”

But you knew. You knew you’d been chosen because of the ambitions that consumed you. You wanted everything, and yet you knew you’d never have anything. Because no matter how deep your yearning for love, it was just a foolish dream.

You looked at James in the distance, his laughter filling the air. And then, almost inaudibly, you whispered to yourself, as if trying to bury the thought forever:

“They were nothing but foolish ambitions.”

[bringthekaos]

Alrighty, here we go. Act III.

Mostly Jayce and Viktor centric, but with some wider thoughts as a whole thrown in. As usual, this is all my opinion, you’re free to disagree with me. Just don’t be a dick.

I am torn. I’m appreciative of the visuals and the JayVik crumbs (even though Christian Linke’s comments post-show have soured it to queerbait for me). But mostly I am disappointed. And I so badly didn’t want to be. I had such high hopes (and that’s probably my fault. I expected too much). They completely massacred Viktor’s character. There was such beautiful setup in season one of his background as a Zaunite living in Piltover. So much of his lived experience came from that—the oppression, the inequality, the xenophobia, the inaccessibility. It formed his opinions and his values, and that’s why he was so adamantly anti-weapon making. That’s why his number one goal was always to help the people in need down in Zaun. They showed us that he was a tinkerer and a builder, that he valued the ingenuity in machinery. They gave us that cute little boat from his childhood and the fucking Hexclaw.

Viktor was supposed to be a Zaunite champion. He was supposed to embrace Techmaturgy as a direct opposition to magic/Hextech. He was supposed to undergo his transformation into the Machine Herald of his own volition, with his own agency and bodily autonomy (yes I know it also stemmed from severe depression and one could argue that it messed with his decision-making, but still… he did that shit on his own). And there were so many opportunities to go this route in Arcane, and it would have worked!! If Viktor augmented his hand and his leg, but it cost Sky her life, he could realize the cost of magic, and turn to Tech. He could have been exiled back to Zaun, where he was supposed to be, and then the shitshow really could have unfolded—having one of Hextech’s creators now working for the other side.

And I know they had to change it so that he could be a bigger part of the overall narrative, as his original lore was rather disconnected. But there were much cleaner ways to go about it than disrespecting his entire character arc by turning him into a grimdark edgelord ethereal magic Jesus who no longer notices or even seems to care about the oppression and class warfare going on in his birthplace. Like. I’m sorry, him “curing” Salo? OG Viktor would have taken one look at a representative of the very oppression he stood against and blown him to kingdom come. (And yes, I also realize that he did it in Arcane because he was “under the influence” of the Hexcore, which only wanted to “infect more people.” But that’s another problem I have. This was never really made all that clear. And watching him go from “we will not be building weapons, that’s not why we invented Hextech/there is always a choice/we were meant to improve lives, not to take them” to making him turn human beings into weapons?? I don’t care that they tried to salvage his character by suggesting he wasn’t in control, it still undermines everything about him. And GOD, original League Vik had so much DEPTH. He was a hypocrite, he was still partly human and so he retained pieces/parts of all the things he preached against, which made him a wonderful contradiction. And he had a sense of humor and whimsy too! He enjoyed sweet milk, he cracked dry jokes and was sarcastic as fuck. He had a personality! And now he’s just… empty space man blinded by forced apathy.

And I think all of this is part of a larger problem—they wanted to use Arcane as a stepping stone to future shows, and as such, the class warfare and systemic oppression plot from season one was completely abandoned. They tried to solve it with “well they have to band together to face a bigger enemy.” Which in my personal opinion is a cheap cop out. There are always bigger fish, that doesn’t change the fact that Zaun has been living in Piltover’s filth with Piltover’s boot on their neck for generations. They’ve suffered injustices most of us can’t even comprehend. And then suddenly we’re supposed to believe they all band together to face this threat, stand side by side with their oppressors because Jayce made one speech about it? With no proof? And then all they get from the deal is one Zaunite seat on the council? And they’re okay with that? I never expected the show to solve systemic oppression, but I also didn’t expect them to abandon it this spectacularly.

The Noxus/Black Rose plot was clearly thrown in to set up future shows, and to show Netflix/investors/whoever that this massive financial investment has a future. And it destroyed the Piltover/Zaun story. I think this could have been a totally isolated story just about Piltover and Zaun, and been completely successful. In fact, I would have definitely watched future projects despite them not taking place in the setting of Arcane. And I’m not at all saying I don’t like Ambessa and Mel. I was very intrigued by the story of a warmonger like Ambessa facing her comeuppance, not just for her warmongering but for her affair with a damn MAGE. And her daughter trying desperately to break the mold her mother has set for her, while also struggling with who she is and these new, incredible powers she has. That shit is juicy as hell, and honestly should have been its own show. But throwing it into Arcane in season 2 with absolutely no hint of the Black Rose or its impending approach (beyond “the people who killed your brother don’t think the score is settled”) in season one, it just felt like the aforementioned cop out to get Piltover and Zaun to get along. And in doing so, they steamrolled Viktor to make him a bigger player in the narrative.

Did I like the final astral plane scene with Jayce and Viktor? God, yes. Is it one of the most beautiful confessions of love and eternal devotion I think I’ve ever fucking seen? Also yes. But it kinda feels like a bandaid on a bullet wound. I got the love I always knew remained between Jayce and Viktor, but I paid for it with Viktor’s entire character. Not to mention Christian Linke keeps pouring salt in the fucking wound, denouncing JayVik and “bromancing” them, and then also suggesting in one interview that Jayce and Viktor are actually fucking dead, and in another that Viktor will be back in future projects (with no mention of Jayce, which suggests that they’re turning him into Sky 2.0 and that he’s dead but Viktor isn’t). And that completely undermines the entire ending of season 2’s “intrinsically entwined/always you/in every universe.” And I know, I shouldn’t listen to this dude’s opinion on the matter, he’s not the only one making this thing, and honestly it was the easiest unfollow/mute of my life. But how hard is it to just shut the fuck up and let people enjoy things? To not comment one way or the other, let people think what they want, and rake in your millions in the process? Haven’t you ever heard of rainbow capitalism, my guy?

Ugh. I’m very sorry for being so negative, I didn’t want to be. I still love the show, and I’d still like to keep writing JayVik, even though it’s just been made near-impossible (I’m actually really glad that I never finished Oasis now, cuz I can go back to that and expand it well beyond what I originally planned cuz… it’s all I have left). I’m just mourning my cyborg wife, and the fact that goddamn SMEECH had what Viktor was supposed to. Hopefully the more time goes on, I can reconcile these changes and embrace them, cuz I love this fandom, I love this ship, and I don’t wanna lose it.

Anyway, I will still be sharing art and memes and posting analyses, because you can like a piece of media and still be critical of it.

[monstersflashlight]

Commission for @silverslutsposts

Request: Sooo I'm thinking possessive demon.. submissive fem reader.... but the demon is confused why he feels these unknown emotions for reader (love obvi 🤪) the smuttier the better imo Maybe he tries to do some hate fucking with reader to rid himself of the odd fluffy feelings? But it doesn't work 🤭🫠 I'd like to think reader is a plump, thicccc thing with a love for Monster romances

A/N: Hi there! This turned out to be a lot more love-love than hate-love for some reason, hope you like it, tho!

Bring it

Demon x chubby fem!reader || dom/sub, dirty talk, praise kink, tail play, impact play (light)

You starting hanging out with demons was almost a surprise.

You worked at the monster bar as a bartender, so it made sense you started to know some of the clientele that was there every other day. Some of them were really friendly, and some of them were jackasses. Especially the demons.

The demons were usually stupid as fuck to everyone… everyone but you. You didn’t know why, but the demons treated you so nicely you became their waitress even thought it wasn’t your job. But none of the other’s would take their orders because they were mean, and after watching the third person crying because of it, you had enough. You marched to their table and called them out, which made them laugh, but somehow, you became their favorite human.

Later, you would discover it was because of the leader, the big red demon that always stared at you across the bar as you talked with everyone. His eyes never left you as you moved around, and it felt nice… You felt seen and desired in a way that should have been creepy, but it wasn’t. So little by little you became friends with them, and developed some kind of tension with the big red leader that had you pressing your thighs together more than once. He was hot as hell (pun intended) and you were a bit thirsty for demon cock. But who could blame you? But apparently he didn’t feel the same. (Or so you thought.)

The bar is closing and you are cleaning the tables absently as he talks about something. Everyone already left, but he insisted on hanging around to accompany you home, which you find as charming as his smile full of pointy teeth.

You turn around to look at him, nodding along and laughing at him when you see his scrunched up nose and the look of disgust when you pick up a half eaten sandwich. He stares at your mouth, and then he quiets down and glares, not saying anything.

You stop laughing, worried you offended him in some way. “What?” You ask, confused by the sudden tension in the air.

“Why do I feel like this?” He asks you, rubbing his chest as if it’s your fault he has some kind of ache.

You are even more confused after his response. “Like what?”

“Like my insides are going to be ripped apart if I don’t get closer to you soon,” he explains, making your heart skip a beat. You know he realizes it skips a beat, because his eyes fixate on your chest when he keeps talking: “Like every breath I take is thanks to you. Like every twitch of my body is a response of you being alive,” his words make your heart beat skyrocket. There’s no way he means what you think he means. But then he breaks the bubble of blooming happiness. “It’s infuriating, I need to get it out of my system. Now.”

“Wha- what does that mean?” You question as he approaches you fast, like you are his prey about to be devoured. You can feel your pussy tingling with that idea.

You walk backwards as he takes step after step getting closer to you. When the back of your thighs hits the edge of a table, you know you can’t run anymore. His eyes are burning with something unknown and you can feel your juices soaking through your panties.

You round the table, getting away from him just in time. “Come here,” he orders, an edge of danger in his voice. You shake your head, playing with him. “Come here little morsel, you wouldn’t like what would happen if I have to go to you.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” you tell him trusting totally on your words. He would never.

And you are enjoying way too much driving him a little bit insane, giving him one taste of the way you’ve felt since you started to know him, since you realized he might be a demon but he was the best monster you’ve ever known. You aren’t ready to use the L word, but maybe… maybe you already felt it.

He sighs, and agrees. “I wouldn’t. But pain is not the only way to make you submit to me,” he teases. You whine low in your throat, making him stop in his tracks as he stares at you like you just grew a second head.

“Bring it.” You smirk at him, your brain going a thousand miles per minute was your brain pictures all the monster romance stories you’ve read over the years. You are so ready to be devoured by a demon… so, so ready.

Suddenly, he’s moving faster than your eyes can process. He grabs you by the hair, your neck pulled back almost uncomfortably as he launches to suck a mark on your neck. You squirm against him, your hands grabbing his hair with equal force as you whimper. He’s biting and licking the soft spot under your ear that makes you see stars and your knees start to feel like jelly. Fuck. He drives you crazy.

“Are you going to be good for me, honey?” He whispers against your ear, his tail wrapping around your middle and making you shiver. His hands are everywhere, your body is pliant under his traveling fingers as you whine at him, unable to form words to answer. “Of course you are, you are so good to me,” he purrs and you blush. You don’t know why, but hearing his praises is doing it for you big time.

He grabs your ass with both hands and sits you over a table, squeezing your soft hips as he does so. He’s groping you everywhere he can and it’s driving you slowly insane. You’ve never felt arousal like that, it’s like burning inside of you and you know he’s the only one who can put out that fire.

“I need you, please,” you beg.

“You beg so beautifully, such a good human for me.” His words are making your head fuzzy, the desire so high you can only think about his dick inside of you. ASAP.

He rips your clothes off your body, leaving you naked in the middle of the bar. That shouldn’t make you as hot as it does, but you are desperate for him. His hands are frantically touching every centimeter exposed until you are screaming his name and begging for him to keep going, to touch you where you want him most, but he does nothing like that.

He opens your legs wide and stares at your pussy. You try to close your legs, embarrassed, but he only chuckles, his tail coming around him and landing a slap against your open center. You scream his name again, this time full of fire and pent up sexual frustration. He laughs and does it again. And again. And again. You’ve never been so turned on.

“Are you going to take my tail like a good human fleshlight?” You whine. “Is that a yes, my little morsel?” He teases and you groan, unable to form words. “I will let you act like this just once because it’s our first time. But next time I’ll make you say it out loud, are we clear?” You nod vehemently, making grabby hands at him and making him laugh.

You feel the tip of his pointy tail at the same time you feel a gush of juices coming out of you. You are almost embarrassed of the sounds your pussy makes when he starts to enter you slowly. You are so wet you can feel it traveling down your ass, forming a pool under you as he fucks you shallowly. His tail is entering you enough to touch your G-spot but not enough to stimulate it. You don’t know who you are anymore, you can only focus on that pointy appendage playing with your aching core.

“Please, please, please…” You chant as he chuckles, his face buried in your neck as he kisses your throat softly.

“What do you need? Do you want my cock?” You nod, grabbing his hair and pulling him back so he’s looking at your eyes. His pupils are blown wide and he’s mirroring your desperation. “Okay, I’ve tortured you enough… for now.”

The last words send a shiver running down your spine and you moan his name softly, making him smile at you openly, his fangs on full display. He’s so fucking handsome you can’t control yourself from moving your hips and fucking you against his tail still in you. He pulls back his tail and you cry out, begging over and over for more, and he gives it to you.

You feel the tip of his cock against your entrance, your pussy quivering at the first intrusion. He’s so big and wide you can barely fit him inside, but when he passes the first tight muscle you both groan in unison. You wrap your legs around his middle and press your heels on his ass, urging him to go deeper, faster, harder. And he complies, his whole body surrendering to the pleasure as he tells you how tight you are, how warm and wet and perfect.

It’s exhilarating to have a demon so desperate for you that he can’t stop telling you how good you are, and it’s driving you completely insane. And when your orgasm hits and you start convulsing against him, he growls and fucks you harder. The frantic pace drives you higher and higher, a train of orgasms hitting your body until you are exhausted and can’t hold your legs or arms around him anymore. But he keeps going, fucking you like a flashlight.

By the time he comes inside of you and his hot seed fills your insides, you are nothing more but a limp body against him, his hands around you as he thrusts a couple more times and a big smile on your lips. You’ve never felt so satisfied in your life, and you have enough energy to tell him that. He chuckles.

And then you pass out.

[monamipencil]

🧍‍♀️i can't even describe my emotional state rn

i was so happy to read pt.2. i thought it'd be happy. v, you weren't lying when you said angst, no comfort. THIS HURTS. THIS IS SO ANGSTY BUT ALSO SO SOFT, AND I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT TYPE OF EMOTION I FEEL ATP

but my god, your writing skills??? i love that so much. and i love LOVE your world building. this was so fun to read. i can't wait to read more from you!!

annotations;

avoiding his reflection in the mirror as usual.

oooh, this makes me curious

Upon the first splash of water hitting his face, he thought of you. It was inevitable. The image of you sitting on the ground, surrounded by trees. That night, he left you for good. That night nothing made sense.

🧍‍♀️it does make sense honey, you're just in denial.

“Jeonghan, don’t go.” He recoiled, shaking his head and mentally reprimanding himself for thinking of you. But your last words to him were a curse, echoing inside him every night, refusing to leave.

ow ow ow, ok. that cut, deep.

How come he did not think that by killing every single demon within the town’s radar he was putting a target on you for other hunters?

since when have you used your brain? (yes im insulting him, how dare he?)

Jeonghan missed you.

THIS IS ANGSTY BUT ALSO SOFT AHHHHHH

The pull. The feeling he got every time he closed his eyes, the need and deep craving for you that made him go insane. He let himself feel it. It tugged inside him, like a thread that was tied to his very core.

your descriptions >>>> i actually felt the pull. v, i love your writing

The same thigh he had been rubbing since he woke up. It made no sense.

IT MAKES SENSE, YOU IDIOT

A sheen layer of cold sweat covered your face and neck, breathing hard. “Fuck you,” you sighed when he stopped squeezing your flesh.

lmfao. i love her 🫶

“Why haven’t you fed?” he asked, and it took you a while to understand that he was reprimanding you.

he's worried.

“I’m not talking about human food,” he said with annoyance, shooting you a look that made you shrink in your seat. “Why haven’t you been feeding?”

HE'S WORRIED. eating my fist rn, this is soo ughhhh, adorable and heart breaking at the same time. idek what emotion im feeling atp.

You saw him walking away from the car, putting his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket, his long hair tied in a messy ponytail.

PONYTAIL JEONGHAN ?!?!

You knew him well enough to tell when something was bothering him. And you knew what it was.

this is ... domestic and soft.

With a sigh, you walked inside the room.  “One bed?” you turned to him with an exasperated look.

qsadfghjnmhngbfrdszghyjuhn, AHHHHHH-wait, you guys have fucked countless times.

Jeonghan frowned, not at you but at the thing stirring inside his chest. That feeling he got only when he was with you. “When is the last time you fed?”

HE'S WORRIED WHAT IF I THROW MYSELF OUT OF THE WINDOW

“You’ll die,” he sentenced after some seconds. “Are you insane?”

me when a man does the bare minimum, but my bar is in hell.

“Why do you want to become human?” the words sounded ridiculous as he uttered them.

oh ... 🧍‍♀️she's down bad

Jeonghan had never seen a demon cry, let alone one that wanted to become human. It made no sense.

IT MAKES SENSE HEXSBKNDFMGFHGVFCDSFGH YOU IDIOT

“Is that necessary?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him as he sank under the covers with you.

lmfao, this guy is slick

He found himself entirely pressed to your body, his front to the back of yours. His nose buried in your mane of hair, an arm draped over your waist.

fuck, this is so domestic, and soft, and cute, and lovely, and sweet, and-i can't.

Jeonghan pressed his fingers on your chin gently, tugging you so you locked your pretty eyes with his. “Does it not, really?”

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH 🦅🦅🦅

“Did you think I would want you more if you were human?” he asked without heat in his words, his gaze reading your features over and over. “Did you think that would give you a shot at a normal thing happening between us?”

🧍‍♀️she's just down bad, ok? go easy on her.

By this, you meant, the out-of-the-ordinary need for him, the desperate craving that refused to let you live. Maybe then, the bond between you would not be so unbearable.

asdfghjkl i love this. so angsty and so soft, and i dont even what the fuck im feeling

“What?” he bit back, holding your face with both hands, squishing your cheeks. “What will you do, eh?”

AHHHHHHWDSNHAOVFUBRHJL DFCVMDSCVBNHDNHTBGFVDC AH YOON JEONGHAN THE MAN YOU ARE

Nothing in existence would make him stop wanting you, damned to hell or not.

But did he miss you the same way you did? Did he crave to hear your voice like you did his?

fucking hell, oh he fucking did.

“Scary baby demon, what are you going to do?” he teased again, kissing the apple of your cheek, his breath caressing your ear. “I want to see that,” he said mockingly. “Make me suffer.” “I’ll be mad at you.” “I ache for you,”

“You fucking brat,” he spat, pressing his face on yours, giving you a hard kiss in the process. “Delusional little demon. Did you think you could get rid of me that easily?” “Did you really think… I’d stop wanting you?” he panted in between his hard thrusts, the strain in his voice telling you how close he was to his release. “I’ll never stop wanting you.”

this is my live reaction. im actually dead, this is my soul typing

“I won’t do it again,” “That’s it… that’s my girl,”

WTF OMG IM JUST A GIRL, I CANT- I CAN'T

“Jeonghan,” you started, your tone reducing itself to a whisper. “There is a reason why we can’t get rid of each other.”

say it. SAY IT

“It makes no sense,” he whispered dejectedly. It made perfect sense.

im killing myself if my soulmate goes through stages of grief instead of happiness when it is revealed.

Jeonghan sighed, touching your forehead with his. “That’s a high price to pay,” he whispered.

well, what do you expect? this is the third time, SHE'S DOWN BAD

“I like you the way you are.”

oh my FUCKING GOD I LOVE THEM, YOUR HONOR.

“Don’t go,” he mumbled. Fool. He was a fool.

whyyyyy NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

FOR ONCE, JUST ONCE, WHY CNA'T THEY BE HAPPY

the traitor | yoon jeonghan

› pairings: yoon jeonghan x female reader › aus: demon hunter jeonghan, supernatural au, demon reader › genres: angst, smut (18+) › word count: 8.4k

› 🎧: mood – dpr ian | shameless – yuni | symphony – highvyn ft. jey | read your mind – meloh | dive – jooyoung | dead man running – seulgi | for us – v | moonstruck – enhypen | war-r-r – colde

› this one shot is part 2 of the curse - hannieween fest

› warnings after the cut! READ THEM CAREFULLY 🗣️

› warnings: smut with plot, unprotected p in v sex, oral sex (both receivers), pussy drunk jeonghan, cockdrunk reader, cum swallowing, creampies, cowgirl, mating press. pet names: baby, baby demon (hers)

› disclaimer: minors dni this post is intended for 18+ readers. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂.

› author's note: this is part two of my demon hunter hannie! hehe i loved writing it sm and thought to give you a follow-up part!

› additional note: this isn't proofread

the traitor

JEONGHAN WAS WOKEN UP BY A TINGLING FEELING. As a hunter, he needed to pay attention to a few things, like sudden surges of emotions. Hunches. Tingling sensations were not particularly something he would consider in the bunch. But alas.

He pushed himself up, swinging his legs at the rim of the bed and stared at his knees for a long second. He took a deep breath, rubbing his leg. It was pointless, he thought when he could not find a reason to leave his bed in the middle of the night.

But being a hunter also meant he needed to be on high alert nearly all the time. In his experience, sometimes it was a good idea to pay attention to those moments when nothing made sense at all, such as this.

Sucking in a breath, he got up, stretching his arms over his head as he went over to the small bathroom, avoiding his reflection in the mirror as usual.

Upon the first splash of water hitting his face, he thought of you. It was inevitable. The image of you sitting on the ground, surrounded by trees. That night, he left you for good. That night nothing made sense.

Needless to say, he was exercising all of his will not to go back to you.

Stop trying to make sense of everything.

After that, he debated whether to go back to bed or not. He could take a bottle, try to numb his senses and finally get a good night of sleep. But he needed to stay sharp.

It was a lost game. He got dressed, throwing his pair of black pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Finally strapping his chest harness on with his knife. Going out in the middle of the night meant to him that he was out for blood.

That was his way to distract himself.

“Jeonghan, don’t go.”

He recoiled, shaking his head and mentally reprimanding himself for thinking of you. But your last words to him were a curse, echoing inside him every night, refusing to leave.

Jeonghan let out a long exhale as he wandered through the night. The streets of the town were completely deserted, he knew he would have to stay out for some hours before he found a target.

These nights, he had been hunting until he travelled three towns over. All because he cannot find it in himself to sleep, he has to fight the urge to seek you out somehow.

Maybe this will be the night he breaks.

There was nothing in this town. It was too safe, too clean. He knew it would not be long until he had to move to a different town and start over. He had been commissioned to travel to different parts of the globe to find something to hunt down, so maybe he was doing his job right.

So why did he come back to this shitty town? 

Something spiked in his nightly walk. There was something unusual in the air and it was not good. Jeonghan had really good senses, but his intuition was something that discerned him from the rest. Sometimes, people would tell him that his intuition was something out of the ordinary for hunters. So he paid more attention to that rather than his other senses.

He subconsciously rubbed his leg and caught his hand just as it dawned on him.

“Jeonghan, don’t go.”

Fear set in, and adrenaline kicked in as he started for a run. He had been stupid. So fucking stupid. How come he did not think that by killing every single demon within the town’s radar he was putting a target on you for other hunters?

Jeonghan knew the town by heart, but he could travel to your apartment with his eyes closed. Countless were the nights he stumbled upon your front door, burdened with misery all over. This cannot be the way he finds you dead.

“No, no, no, no…” he had been repeating the word like a prayer as he climbed through a labyrinth of stairs, panting, sweating until he burst the door open, already knowing you would not be there.

He called your name, either way, his voice bouncing back the walls. There was something off. A glass was shattered, pushed against the corner of the room. One of the chairs was drawn back, in the middle of the way. Jeonghan painted a scene of what could have gone down.

You were probably having the bowl of cereal that was abandoned on the table when the other hunter burst in. Jeonghan could not catch the scent of the other hunter, so that meant whoever that was, they masked themselves well.

No, you would have felt his presence before he could even breathe in your direction. Even if you were young, you were not completely inexperienced in the world of hunters. He made sure of that.

Another possibility was that you were asleep when the other hunter came. The sheets of your bed were tossed to one side. Jeonghan crouched next to the mattress, a terrible feeling sinking inside him upon getting your scent lingering on the pillowcases.

Jeonghan missed you.

“Where are you?” he whispered, closing his eyes to focus on your scent.

You smelled like freshly picked flowers. The smell he would get in the early morning after a night of rain. The fact that you did not smell like death, or blood made it hard for him to focus sometimes.

He opened his eyes, his focus falling on the open window. Then, he knew why he could not make a story from his surroundings. He had been wrong to assume it was just one hunter.

Someone had also come through the window. You were trapped from the beginning. His chest contracted painfully. But somehow he knew you were not dead yet. Have you been taken? For what end?

The possibilities were endless. Even if hunters had a long history of hating demons, some of them were missing some screws in their heads too.

Jeonghan needed to find you, soon.

Making his way down the stairs, part of him wondered why try at all. He could be rid of you once and for all. He could probably turn a blind eye to this and wait for your name to appear on the ledges. He would be free from the fucking pull that lead him to you every time.

The pull.

The feeling he got every time he closed his eyes, the need and deep craving for you that made him go insane. He let himself feel it. It tugged inside him, like a thread that was tied to his very core.

Jeonghan had refused that feeling ever since he met you, thinking it was some kind of trick you played on him. Silly little hunter got all wrapped in a demon’s finger.

But if he dared to give in to the pull, everything smelled of you. Every gulp of air he took as he walked in the direction his senses told him, he saw your face, your teary eyes as he walked away. Fool, he was a fool.

He was led to the forest, the same path he had gone through when he saw you last. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he should go back and hunt you down.

But then he heard noises, leaves rustling, and a small intake of breath. The sweet way you drew air into your lungs.

He thought of risking calling your name, but he did not know if the hunters were around. So he just followed the sound of your movements until he could get his sight on you.

You could barely walk right. Something had brought you to your knees, your arms were shaking as you forced yourself to stand up, with a low grunt.

Jeonghan called your name this time, making you lift your head.

He stopped abruptly at the sight of something shiny in your fist.

“Don’t move,” you said, punctuating each word painfully.

“What happened?” he asked, his tone declining in sickening worry, his gaze coasted at each of your limbs, zeroing in on your thigh. The same thigh he had been rubbing since he woke up. It made no sense.

“Step back, Jeonghan,” you panted in pain, raising the knife at him when he made a motion toward you.

“You didn’t notice me coming,” he muttered, analyzing the situation quickly. He sent his gaze around, seeing if there were signs that there was someone lurking by. “Let me take a look at that.”

“How did you find me?” you asked, letting yourself plop back to the ground, letting go of the knife.

Jeonghan got to your side, dropping to his knees to look at your thigh. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, eyeing you. “I’m going to touch you now.”

You nodded and braced yourself for the searing pain in your leg. “Two hunters came for me,” you said, clenching your jaw tightly to resist the pain throbbing in your skin, around the gaping hole that was turning black.

“I know,” he said, examining the open wound. “Did they stab you?”

You shook your head twice. “They were using a crossbow. Silver arrows,” you explained despite the need to rest your head on the ground and sleep through it. “I feel dizzy.”

Jeonghan shot you a look. He was worried. “It’s the poison, they must’ve poisoned the arrows to neutralize you,” he said at once. “What did you do to the arrow?”

“I used it on one of them,” you replied with half a smirk that slowly vanished as Jeonghan started to press on the wound, seeing any signs of anything odd or unfamiliar.

“Sorry,” he breathed as you tensed in pain. “I need to see if there’s anything in there,” he explained, but what did not satiate the doubts running in his mind.

“I can’t heal it,” you repeated and now he could see that beneath the pain and the need to deflect it with humour, you were scared.

“I know, I know,” he told you, giving you a stern look. “I can help you but you’ll have to be quiet.”

“Are you missing this opportunity to gag me?” you quipped but your tone was made weak by the fear of feeling pain.

Demons were used to pain, yes. But you were a fairly young demon and lived for most of your life in the human world. Such pain was not welcome for you.

“Breathe,” he instructed and used his hands on your thigh to squeeze the blood that had gone black and tacky around the wound.

You gritted your teeth, writhing in pain on the cold ground. “Stop, stop, stop,” you cried out, trying to get his hands off you.

But Jeonghan was quicker, and stronger than you at that moment. He did not deter from his task to squeeze the poisoned blood out of you despite your desperate cries for him to stop.

You lied, nearly limp from the exhaustion the pain had put you through. A sheen layer of cold sweat covered your face and neck, breathing hard. “Fuck you,” you sighed when he stopped squeezing your flesh.

“I’m not done yet, I need pressure on the wound,” he said, moving back to unfasten his belt with his bloodied hands. He strapped the belt around your upper thigh, forming a tight tourniquet.

“Hurry,” you said through heavy breaths. As you eased your back on the ground, Jeonghan caught sight of the dark wings splayed beneath your body, a clear sign that you could not conceal yourself any further.

Jeonghan made no comment about the weakened state you were in. A knot was set in his stomach upon realizing that you were dying. He grabbed one of the vials he kept in his hunter’s belt, it contained a white liquid. “This is going to sting a little,” he murmured, unstoppering the vial with his mouth and not pausing before pouring the antidote on your open wound.

Your hand flew to clench at his wrist, letting out a scream that was quickly muffled by his hand clasped in your mouth.

“I’m nearly done,” he said with a composure that you could see through. Beneath that, Jeonghan was worried you would not make it.

“Am I going to be all right?” you asked in a daze, slurring out your words.

“Drink this,” he pressed the vial to your lips, pouring the rest down your tongue, which you gulped willfully, it tasted like white vinegar.

You rested your head on the ground, taking slow and deep breaths as though you had just finished running a marathon.

“You’re going to be all right,” he said after a quick examination of the wound. “But you’ll need to feed soon.”

“Right,” you mumbled in understanding. By feeding, Jeonghan did not mean human food. Although you could eat human food just all right, it did not sustain what your soul craved.

He meant sins. You needed to feed off human sin. They made you stronger, and faster. They gave you the fuel needed to fight hunters. Going off sins for a while made you just as strong as an average human.

“Why haven’t you fed?” he asked, and it took you a while to understand that he was reprimanding you.

“Been busy,” you sighed, closing your eyes for a moment.

The last thing you heard was Jeonghan mumbling, “We’ll need to move soon,” before you fell into a deep sleep on a floor covered by dead leaves. 

Upon regaining consciousness, you noticed with some slowness that you were not surrounded by trees, and you were moving. Your wings were cradling you, so that meant your horns were on sight too.

You tensed up, drawing in a shaky breath, palming your body in search of the knife that you stole from your attackers.

“Easy,” Jeonghan murmured next to you, a hand on the wheel, the other on the shift stick.

“Where are we?” you said, looking around.

“Radewood town,” he replied nonchalantly, eyes set forward on the road.

“Why?” you asked slowly, hiding your wings, from his view, then your horns.

“How’s your leg?” he asked instead, glancing at your thigh.

The wound had stopped bleeding, it was no longer oozing that black substance that had Jeonghan looking worried. You hissed painfully upon searching it with your fingers. The blood had dried, but it was not healing at the speed you would normally have.

“It hurts,” you mumbled, biting your bottom lip. “It’s not healing.”

Jeonghan nodded. “You need to feed,” he reminded you with the same tone of reprimand of earlier.

“Well, I fled without stopping to grab my purse so,” you sighed. “I don’t have money.”

“I’m not talking about human food,” he said with annoyance, shooting you a look that made you shrink in your seat. “Why haven’t you been feeding?”

You blinked slowly at him and shook your head after deciding that there was no answer that would please him. “I have–,”

“Don’t say you have been busy,” he cut in.

“Well, it’s the truth,” you said with a clear tone that gave away your lie.

But Jeonghan could feel it. Whenever you told a lie, there was a change in the air that only he could notice as a hunter. No human could ever detect your lies, only people like him.

“You know I know when you’re lying,” he said flatly, throwing you a dark look.

“Be content with that,” you bit back. “I’m not telling you anything else.”

Jeonghan shook his head, deciding not to press any further on the matter. He licked his lips, filling his lungs with the fresh midnight air that swept in through his rolled window.

“Jeonghan,” you called softly and did not proceed with your question until he glanced your way. “Why are you helping me?”

Jeonghan turned on a different street again, checking his rearview mirror, pretending to ready his answer. “I don’t know,” he replied.

There it was the empty void extending between you and him. If he lied, you would have sensed it too.

“How did you find me?” you pressed, trying to the best of your ability to analyze him. You were still weak, but you could still observe him despite your foggy brain.

“I don’t know,” he repeated with a low tone that barely cut through the noise of the engine of the car.

It made no sense. The way he found you in the woods was not done with any of his training. He simply closed his eyes and let him be taken to you. He did not even think twice as he carried your body to his car and started it, taking you far away from the town where you would be at risk of being hunted down.

“We have to lay low for now,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes as he cut the engine on an empty parking lot.

You raised your gaze to the motel sign, flaring in red neon light. “Is this your version of laying low?” you said with a sarcastic huff. “We could’ve done that back in the forest.”

Jeonghan opened the door, not bothering to look at you or give you a reply. “Stay here.”

You saw him walking away from the car, putting his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket, his long hair tied in a messy ponytail.

You could run away. You did not know if Jeonghan was even aware of this. Maybe he was, you had a bad leg, and you were growing weaker.

Plus, there was the fact that he was now aware that he could trace you with his eyes closed.

You swallowed hard, waiting for him in the passenger seat of his old Mustang. You were going nowhere.

Some minutes later, you saw Jeonghan exiting the building and walking towards your door, which he opened to retrieve his belongings, which were his belt and his knife.

“This way,” he mumbled, motioning to one of the doors with a jerk of his head.

Reluctantly, you exited the car, closing the door behind you. Jeonghan turned and walked over to the door, introducing the key, and opening it for you.

You knew better than to fight it. There was a quiet storm brewing in the man’s head, and you were in its eye. You knew him well enough to tell when something was bothering him. And you knew what it was.

With a sigh, you walked inside the room.  “One bed?” you turned to him with an exasperated look.

“I didn’t think you would mind,” he froze by the doorframe.

“Whatever,” you waved a hand dismissively before he could offer to change it.

As soon as Jeonghan closed the doors and the blinds, you started to the bathroom, taking all of your clothes off in front of him. You made no invitation, no offer but you still left the door open, the sound of the shower filling the tiny room.

Jeonghan made another small inspection, looking out of the window through the blinds before deciding to relax. He took his jacket off, leaving it neatly by the chair that was pushed to one corner of the room. He took his boots off, sitting down on the chair with a low grunt of exhaustion.

As he sat up straight, he caught sight of his hand, only noticing because he had started moving it, rubbing his palm on the exact spot where you had been injured.

“What the fuck?” he whispered to himself, raising his gaze as you returned to the bathroom, wholly naked, pressing a towel to your hair.

“You okay, hunter?” you eyed him curiously, like a cat that just noticed a flashy light.  

Jeonghan frowned, not at you but at the thing stirring inside his chest. That feeling he got only when he was with you. “When is the last time you fed?”

“Here we go again,” you rolled your eyes but continued towel-drying your hair without bothering to respond.

“Answer me,” he muttered when you turned your back on him. Your reluctance to answer his question might have given him the answer.

“The last time we saw each other,” you said, your words echoing his own thoughts.

“Why?” the word was sharp like it took everything in him to suppress the dark emotion pulling on his every nerve. “That happened months ago.”

“Why do you care so much?” you spat, turning around to face him.

The question seemed to make him return to his senses, his eyes flickered with an emotion that you were to weak to catch. “I don’t,” he replied, stepping back from his initial anger.

“I’ll feed whenever I want to,” you said and this time you did not lie.

Jeonghan stood up, commanding your gaze to lift up to find his. “So you’re not hungry?”

You bit your tongue. Your eyes were dead, and despite the hot shower you had just taken, you were cold to the touch as Jeonghan curiously raised a hand to your shoulder. It was pointless, your plan had crashed and burned miserably.

“I’ve heard stories…” you whispered, closing your eyes to repel the sensation firing inside you. “Stories of ways a demon can become human. You can’t become human if you’re feeding off them, right?”

When Jeonghan did not reply, nor move you opened your eyes again. He was still rigid in the same trance he had been upon finding you injured and bleeding in the forest.

“You’ll die,” he sentenced after some seconds. “Are you insane?”

You brushed his hand off. “I knew you’d say that,” you whispered with a pained look, turning around to sit down on the bed.  

“Why do you want to become human?” the words sounded ridiculous as he uttered them.

“Not your business, Jeonghan,” you replied impishly, throwing the towel to him, which he saw coming, catching it with ease.

“It is if you’re running away with me,” he said. Your temptation to feed could become dangerous. And he was toeing that line too deliberately.

“I didn’t choose to run away with you,” you bit back with an indignant huff.

“That’s the thanks I get?” he rolled his eyes in annoyance. “What was I supposed to do, then? Leave you to die? To be found by them?”

He did not need to explain who he referred to. The two hunters must have noticed that Jeonghan ran away with his things, his car, leaving an empty place behind. And you are nowhere to be found. He was a traitor.

“Maybe,” you whispered, lowering your gaze to your lap. You skirted the pads of your fingers around the wound that still refused to heal completely.

Jeonghan stood before you, using a hand on your chin to force your teary eyes on him. A finger scooped your tear as it rolled down your cheek. The tear glistened on the pad of his thumb as he showed it to you, a shocked expression plastered on his face.

Demons felt emotions, yes. But nothing like sorrow. Jeonghan had never seen a demon cry, let alone one that wanted to become human. It made no sense.

“It’s possible, Jeonghan,” you whispered shakily, letting your tears flow freely.

“Humans are weak. They get sick, they die. Besides, the guilt of everything you’ve done as a demon will crush you,” he said, dropping his hand from your chin. “Why would you want something like that?”

“I’m done talking,” you said childishly, turning over to draw the covers of the bed and tucked yourself in. “Goodnight.”

He blinked perplexedly at you. The best option was to wait for another opportunity to bring up the matter, but for now, he needed to rest. He disposed of his chest harness, and his knives, leaving them on the old and battered bedside table, where he could reach out if needed.

A smile threatened to break on his face when you turned slightly at the sound of him taking his pants off, then his long-sleeved t-shirt, discarding his clothes at the foot of the bed.

He paused, tugging the band of his black boxers with his fingers. He took them off, making things fair.

“Is that necessary?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him as he sank under the covers with you.

“Just playing your game,” he said, tugging the hair tie loose before lying his head on the pillow next to yours.

“I’m not playing any games,” you huffed with annoyance, turning over so your back was to him once again.

There it was the ripple in the air between you and him. Jeonghan did not need to comment on it, but you hated it.

Hunter abilities or not, Jeonghan would be able to read through your lies blindfolded. He was just that good at reading people, reading you.

Jeonghan stared at the ceiling, his heartbeat going a mile per hour, like a bird’s wings batting frantically inside his chest. He swallowed hard, resisting the urge pushing him to raise his hand at you, to reach out and touch your skin.

You closed your eyes, commanding yourself to sleep. But it was nearly impossible. Jeonghan’s scent was too distracting. The hunger caved a hole deep inside you. It was no ordinary hunger, it was one that had your soul twisting.

You balled your hands into fists, sinking your face into the pillow. His lust was nearly palpable, looming over you like a monster preying on you.

However, you were too weak to actually act upon it. Soon, you fell asleep, not noticing when or how.

Jeonghan however, was too riddled with questions to do the same. He turned his head on the pillow, seeing your wet hair, your naked shoulder. His thigh throbbed in something that reminded him of pain, though his flesh was fine and did not hurt.

Why would you want to become human? What could be a good enough reason to want to abandon your life full of pleasures? It made no sense. Jeonghan had never heard of a demon becoming human, but he saw you crying, so that must mean that it could be done.

Still, it meant that there was a price to be paid. There always was.

Wandering through endless questions, Jeonghan fell asleep. Now and then he was reminded of your presence in the bed, feeling your warmth or hearing you move beneath the sheets.

Even if he were not a light sleeper, the distraction of your warmth was enough to stir him awake. He found himself entirely pressed to your body, his front to the back of yours. His nose buried in your mane of hair, an arm draped over your waist.

And he was hard. Fuck, he was so hard it was starting to become annoying. It would be so easy to slip himself inside your pussy, waking you up in the process. He had done it countless times before.

He let out a silent sigh through his nose, only getting the scent of your hair when he breathed in. Your hand found his arm parked on the curve of your waist, you were awake. Jeonghan pressed himself another inexistent inch further, his hard cock wedged on your ass.

“Jeonghan,” you mumbled sleepily, turning over to see him. You threw him an innocent look, big eyes, pouting lips. “What are you doing?”

He responded by giving you a confused look. In other times, you would not even ask questions, you would just let him take you, take whatever he wanted, for however long.

Jeonghan brought a hand to your chin, his touch igniting your skin, making you blink dumbly. “How long are you going to keep resisting it?” the words flew out of his mouth before he could even comprehend his own question.

But he knew what you were doing. He was an expert in pushing his feelings down, particularly, he knew what it felt like to resist this pull.

“However long is necessary, Jeonghan,” you replied, but your tone wavered in the urge to press yourself against his hand, to feel him.

“Why?” he asked, his eyes skirting through your reaction. He knew you wanted this, why were you refusing him?

“If I keep this for long I might get what I want,” you whispered, avoiding his eyes in utter shame.

“Why do you want to become human so desperately?” he asked again, looking at you with an obfuscation that was hard to mask.

You shrugged, keeping your sunken gaze on his chiselled chest. “That doesn’t concern you.”

Jeonghan pressed his fingers on your chin gently, tugging you so you locked your pretty eyes with his. “Does it not, really?”

Your brow furrowed, your gaze darkening. Feeling like you were being mocked, your eyes watered again. “Fuck off, Jeonghan,” you scoffed weakly, trying to free yourself from his grip.

He did not want to see it, but your reaction told him everything he needed to know. It took him some seconds to shake the perplexion off. It made no sense. “Did you think that being human would change things?”

You made no verbal reply, scoffing as you brushed his hand off you one more time.

But you knew him well enough to expect that would not work on him. He needed an answer now, and he would stop at nothing to get it now that he knew it fully concerned him.

“Did you think I would want you more if you were human?” he asked without heat in his words, his gaze reading your features over and over. “Did you think that would give you a shot at a normal thing happening between us?”

“No, Jeonghan,” you rolled your eyes, but he could see how much his questions had pierced through you. “Quite the opposite.”

He made a motion to pull his head back on the pillow as if that gave him a better frame of your face. “What?”

“I want this to stop,” you whispered, rolling over the bed to sit up with a sigh.

Jeonghan looked at your back, you let your head drop forward, sniffling softly but you were fully crying now.

“Maybe being human will make this stop,” you whispered, motioning a hand between his body and yours. By this, you meant, the out-of-the-ordinary need for him, the desperate craving that refused to let you live. Maybe then, the bond between you would not be so unbearable.

Jeonghan sat up too, trying to read any signs of your words being insincere. But he found nothing, the quiet tension falling in the room startled him, and it made him uncomfortable. Even more, the battering inside his chest was making it difficult to even breathe.

“That makes no sense,” he mumbled with a hollow tone.

“It makes perfect sense,” you bit back, throwing him a sad look.

You were weak, nearing a state that you did not comprehend. Becoming human meant that you also had to deal with human emotions, and they were flowing freely through you, giving you a taste of what you were about to face as a human.

However, making yourself human condemned you to a myriad of threats. Not just mortality. You would become a demon that betrayed its own kind. A traitor, too.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, trying to hold your gaze to read you better.

“I want to be rid of you by whatever means necessary,” you hissed, coating your words with venom.

“Liar.”

There was a shadow of a smile on his face, and before you resorted to a crazed fit of violence, you decided to crush your mouth with his, kissing him with enough vehemence it would hurt him if he were human.

But he was tough enough to take you. He released a grunt in your mouth that was from half arousal, half annoyance at you.

“You’re a baby,” he grunted between hard kisses. “A bratty, fussy, melodramatic demon.”

“Shut up, Jeonghan,” you hissed. “Shut up or I swear–,”

“What?” he bit back, holding your face with both hands, squishing your cheeks. “What will you do, eh?”

“Don’t try me right now,” you said, kissing him repeatedly you were running out of breath.

“That’s exactly what I want to do,” he chuckled. “Did you think that making yourself human would make me stop wanting you?”

“Yes,” you hissed, pushing him back onto the bed with all the strength you had.

Jeonghan was stronger than you at that moment, but he allowed you to handle him with a triumphant smirk on his face. Nothing in existence would make him stop wanting you, damned to hell or not.

Though it made him curious to know. “Do you want to stop wanting me, then?” he leaned his head to his shoulder.

“It would be nice to stop craving you all the time,” you said, sinking your face in the crook of his neck to kiss him.

“Liar,” he grunted, holding your hips as you made a trail of kisses down his beautifully scarred chest. “Even worse, you’re a masochistic one at that.”

The guilty giggle escaping through your lips gave him all the reassurance he needed. You were now soaking up his need for you.

“Gods,” he breathed when your lips reached his hipbone. Your touch would never satiate the craving need inside him, but this night he would at least attempt to.

His fingers tangled in your hair, keeping his grip light but it would become difficult as you gave him a long lick from his ball sack to the tip of his cock. “Fuck,” he gritted, tensing as you wrapped your mouth around the bulbous head of his cock. “Yes, baby, just like that.”

The room fell silent again, but now all that surrounded you and him was lust and bliss. It had your blood revelling, sizzling beneath your skin to take him into your mouth. His fingers thread in your hair, caressing you as you bobbed your head up and down on him, sucking him off eagerly. You were tasting him, not only his skin, his arousal, but his lust. It drove you crazy.

“Gods, I fucking missed you,” he drawled, closing his eyes briefly before he lost all control. He wanted to push his hips, to drive his cock into your throat. But he also wanted to take this patiently.

You explored him with your mouth, just like your hands were exploring his body. Not that his nakedness was new to you, but you had just gone months without touching him. And not for a single second did you forget the taste of him, you also missed him.

But did he miss you the same way you did? Did he crave to hear your voice like you did his?

Your transition from demon to human was painful, and you were throwing it all away in one night. And Jeonghan was willingly letting you feed off his lust, you were relishing the taste of his greed, sucking off the last bit of the self-restraint he had in him.

His fingers curled around your hair, clenching his jaw as he moaned in pure pleasure. He let out a gasp when your tongue swirled around his cockhead. “Keep doing that, baby,” he said languidly, following the movements of your head on him.

A strangled moan bubbled in your mouth, and you followed his command, rolling your tongue around his blunt head.

Jeonghan smirked knowingly. You weakened whenever he treated you with softness, so words like baby drove you crazy. He threw a look down at his body, capturing your eyes, darkened with a lascivious greed that only fueled his. “Touch yourself,” he said with a gruff tone. “I want you to come with me.”

You sneaked a hand between your thighs, moaning salaciously when your fingers stroked your clit.

Jeonghan sighed, blinking slowly at the sight of you, thinking of your drenched pussy, your fingers coated in your arousal as you rubbed fast swirls around your clit. “That’s it, baby, just like that,” he praised, brushing your hair back with his long fingers. “You’re such a good girl for me, you don’t even know it.”

You moaned around his cock again, succumbing to a fast orgasm, your body trembled slightly.

“Coming,” he whispered, his mouth falling open as ropes of cum spurted down your throat, moaning at the sight of you drinking him off completely, licking to the last bead of his cum. You littered the reddened cockhead with sweet pecks trailing down to his shaft, eliciting a raw chuckle from him.

“That was amazing,” he whispered, enjoying the twinkle in your dark eyes upon being praised by him.

Jeonghan sat up, hooking one arm around your waist to throw you back onto the mattress. “Your turn,” he said with a wolfish grin.

You had recuperated the color in your cheeks, but you were still weak enough to fight his strength. You grunted as your head hit the pillows, but returned the smile at him. “You’ll see when I get my strength back.”

“Ooh, scary,” he said, grazing his lips on yours.

“You’ll see,” you remarked.

“Scary baby demon, what are you going to do?” he teased again, kissing the apple of your cheek, his breath caressing your ear.

“I’ll make you suffer,” you mumbled faintly, closing your eyes as his lips reached the underside of your jaw, making you tilt your head back for him.

“I want to see that,” he said mockingly. “Make me suffer.”

You sighed a moan when he kissed your throat, giving you a broad stroke with his tongue, tracing your collarbones. “Jeonghan…”

“Don’t throw another tantrum like that again,” he murmured against your skin, leaving another kiss on the plain of your breasts, before adding, “I’ll be mad at you.”

A spark of wrath got mixed along with greed and lust, it was not new to you, but it was rare.

“It wasn’t a tantrum,” you argued, though your tone was made weak by his lips, his tongue licking one of your nipples, making you arch your back.

He paused, “I don’t care,” he decided at once. “You’re not doing it again.”

“You don’t get to decide what I do, Jeonghan,” you mumbled breathily, moaning as his mouth wrapped around your nipple, suckling at it softly once, then swirling the tip of his tongue around it.

Jeonghan did not respond verbally to your obvious lie. He did not have a say in your choices, but there was a force greater than him or you that tied you to him. So every choice you made, every choice he made, was bound to affect you both.

“How’s your leg?” he asked, moving your thighs gently to slot his waist between them. His fingers traced a circle around the scar that was beginning to form.

“Better,” you sighed.

“Mmn,” he smirked at you, leaning over to kiss your lips. “Will it heal completely by the time I’m done eating you out?”

“Why, are you in a rush?” you quipped, arching an eyebrow at him.

There you were, he smirked. “I ache for you,” he whispered, letting his forehead fall upon yours. The shame coursing through him made you recoil but sensing it, he added quickly: “You have not only starved yourself but starved me with your stupid little plan.”

“You avoided me too,” you accused.

“I know, I was a fool,” he confessed, running his palms all over your body as if he could not do anything else. He sank down, leaving wet kisses down your tummy, his hands palming your breasts, his fingers lingering on your sensitive nipples.

You bit your lip, only in your most crazed fantasies did you dare to imagine him saying this. “You were,” you whispered. “The biggest fool.”

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, kissing your mound generously, his hands grabbing your thighs with the lightest of touches before licking your pussy with a broad stroke.

“Jeonghan!” you cried out, brushing his dark hair gently as he ate you out like a starved man, licking your folds thoroughly, his tongue sliding up to your clit to then suckle at it.

You arched your back, not caring about the light pain throbbing on your thigh. Jeonghan was giving you everything you needed, giving your pussy open-mouthed kisses, drinking your arousal in with pleased moans.

“Fuck-k,” you gritted weakly, letting yourself be swept away by the gentle waves of your orgasm building inside you. “I m-missed you too, Jeonghan,” you mumbled.

He raised his gaze to yours, blinking slowly at you, pressing his tongue on your swollen clit, moving it swiftly in figure-eight motions, driving you to the edge. You gripped the bedsheets with one hand, the other flying to grab at the railings of the headboard.

“I’m close,” you gasped, breathing rapidly, welcoming the pleasure barreling through your body. “I’m close, I’m–, Jeonghan…” you closed your eyes, repeating his name over and over as you climaxed in his mouth.

But Jeonghan was not stopping. He continued making out with your pussy, enjoying the taste of your arousal pooling in your entrance, licking your folds with raunchy moans. His hands held you down as you shook with the aftershocks of your orgasm, caressing your tummy languidly.

“Jeonghan,” you called, shuddering when his hand caressed your thigh as he littered it with kisses.

“See? Healed,” he placed another kiss, right where your scar used to be.

You used your newly regained strength to push him, flipping the positions over so you were now straddling him. You let out a pleased sigh, effortlessly pinning his body down on the mattress.

“I take that you’re all set now,” he smirked, his hands roving all over your thighs.

Gods, you were a sight to behold. Your wings were at full display, resting freely at your sides. Your dark horns, curving back from the crown of your head, were on sight too. That meant you were comfortable around Jeonghan. You trusted him.

“Not yet,” you said, grabbing his hardened cock in one hand, planting the other on his abdomen for support as you eased your pussy down his length.

“Fuck,” Jeonghan gritted, his hands flying to grab your hips as you started rolling them on him.

“What’s wrong, hunter?” you teased, leaning down so your face was close enough to prop kisses on his lips. “Lost your footing?”

“You got me for a second there,” he admitted with a smirk. “Didn’t think you’d recuperate your strength that quickly.”

“Mm, keep that in mind next time you kiss it better,” you said, trapping his bottom lip with your teeth, nibbling it softly.

Jeonghan moaned, your hips picking up the pace mercilessly, knowing the exact pace and motion that drove him insane. He closed his eyes, sighing out the euphoric feeling of being with you, like this, consuming each other.

“It won’t happen again. You’re not doing this to yourself again,” he said with a faint tone.

“You don’t make choices for me,” you retaliated, sinking yourself down on him with pleased sighs, planting your hands on his chiselled chest.

In a blur, Jeonghan grabbed your wrists with one hand flipping your bodies over, pinning your body with his hips on yours, his hand holding your arms above your head. Jeonghan moved his hips slightly, finding your entrance with his hard cock quite effortlessly.

Jeonghan gave a few shallow thrusts, stretching your walls, making your mouth part, giving way to a long moan. “Fuck, Jeonghan,” you groaned lewdly.

“Say it,” he hissed, rolling his hips on yours slowly, but pushing his cock inside you deeper each time he thrusted in. “You won’t do it again.”

“Fuck you,” you gritted, falling deeper into the puddle of pleasure he was slowly submitting you into.

“Say. It,” he commanded, his thrusts gaining strength, becoming harder at each motion of his hips on yours.

You wrestled his grip on your wrists, without using your full strength. “No,” you said with a hollow tone, the pace of his thrusts knocking the wind out of you.

“You fucking brat,” he spat, pressing his face on yours, giving you a hard kiss in the process. “Delusional little demon. Did you think you could get rid of me that easily?”

“Stop,” you gasped, shame heating your cheeks.

Jeonghan released his grip on your wrists, not letting you regain control by grabbing your thighs, throwing them on his shoulders before resuming with his near animalistic thrusts, groaning on your mouth as such, like an animal.

“Jeonghan!” you cried out, his cock reaching inside you deeper… and deeper.

“Did you really think… I’d stop wanting you?” he panted in between his hard thrusts, the strain in his voice telling you how close he was to his release. “I’ll never stop wanting you.”

“Jeonghan…” you moaned.

“Say it.”

“I won’t do it again,” you said, trembling on the bed, reaching out to hold him right before you came undone beneath him.

“That’s it… that’s my girl,” he gasped, his bottom lip parting, releasing a raw grunt. Jeonghan moaned your name as he came, fucking his cum inside you with sloppy thrusts until he stopped, breathing hard on top of you.

Jeonghan eased your legs from his shoulders, deciding to rest his head on your chest. The sound of your heartbeat resonated through his head as he took a long breath. Your fingers caressed his nape lazily, shuddering under him when Jeonghan ran a fingertip on one of your wings.

This made no sense. To Jeonghan, everything had been black and white. His world was rigid, surrounded by unbreakable rules that made him into the person he was until he met you. Now, he was but the shadow of the man he was. He used to hate himself for wanting you. You were the thing he was raised to hate, to kill.

He did everything to keep you away. He bedded other women, he drank himself to sleep to not dream of you, he flew himself to different parts of the world.

And there he was, blissfully nestled in your warmth, in your embrace.

“Would you hate it if I became human?”

“No,” he replied after some seconds. “But I don’t want you to do it because you think that’s going to change something between us. Some things aren’t meant to change.”

“How can you be so sure?” you asked with a tiny tone.

Jeonghan raised his head, curiously looking at you. Even back with full strength, you still clung to some human vulnerability. “I’m not sure,” he confessed. “I don’t understand many things. But I know that changing yourself won’t bring you happiness, only misery.”

“I’m just tired of this,” you said, and it did not matter that you could not cry anymore, he knew that the statement hurt to say.

Jeonghan got to his knees, pulling out of you gently to slump his body next to yours. He took one long look at you, reminiscing of what he felt when he knew you were slipping away. It was fear, that was undeniable, he was too familiar with that feeling. But never like this.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said with a light frown.

“How did you find me, Jeonghan? How did you know I was in trouble?” you dared to ask again, now your words taking another meaning.

Jeonghan paused. “I just did,” he said but rolled his eyes when you saw through his lie. “I felt something.”

“Jeonghan,” you started, your tone reducing itself to a whisper. “There is a reason why we can’t get rid of each other.”

He went rigid, his eyes coasting all over the features of your face.

“Have you ever tried to… kill me?” you asked, hating how your words came off while lying naked next to him.

“You’d know it if I had,” he said, taken aback by your questions. “Why are you asking me this?”

“There is a reason why you can’t kill me,” you said, despite how crazy you were sounding. “I know you’ve felt it…”

Jeonghan sat up on the bed, gripping the bedsheets to steady himself. He felt lightheaded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar,” you whispered, sitting up next to him.

He ran his hands on his face harshly. “Stop that. This isn’t a game.”

“The last time we saw each other, you felt something,” you pressed, searching his eyes as he faced you.

“It makes no sense,” he whispered dejectedly.

It made perfect sense. The grip that you had on him was unlike anything else he had faced. Time after time he tried to run away, to put distance between you and him. He always found his way back to you somehow, either by greed, by lust or purely by fate. He never knew why, he was bound to you.

“Look at me,” you said, and his gaze found you. “There’s no point in fighting this. I know you’ve tried it before, I tried too.”

“It’s–,”

“Impossible?” you scoffed with a mocking smile.

It was a sick joke. A demon and her hunter. The lamb and the wolf, chasing each other endlessly.

“Is this why you thought becoming human was an option?”

You paused but nodded slowly after some seconds of pondering.

Jeonghan sighed, touching your forehead with his. “That’s a high price to pay,” he whispered.

He knew your next words before you uttered them, “I’m willing to pay it, Jeonghan.”

“I don’t want you to,” he gritted out his words, even if he did not understand, he could not stop fighting it any longer. “I like you the way you are.”

Demon or not, you felt something in your chest, tugging at you. “That’s not the problem,” you shifted back, looking at his confused face.

“I can’t have any ties to anyone,” he said. “Someday I’ll end up dead fighting something stronger and quicker than me.”

“After today’s events, I think it’s clear that I am chased by the same danger.”

“I’ll grow old, and slow,” he added.

“I would too, if I were human. No one would hunt me down,” you countered, not convinced by the obfuscated look on his face. “I wouldn’t have to feed from you.”

“You could die in the process,” he said, and that was the final reason he needed.

“Jeonghan–,”

“No,” he shook his head.

At that, you stopped fighting. You got out of bed, slowly picking up your torn clothes and putting them on without looking back at him.

His heart faltered, looking at you as you sat down on the edge of the bed, next to him. “Don’t go,” he mumbled.

“Give me a reason to stay.”

Jeonghan swallowed his words, taking a last look at your eyes. Something tugged at his heart, urging him to stop you. But you were slipping through the door before he could spring to action.

Fool. He was a fool.

› author's note: heyyyooooooo

once again i have nothing to say. i just need jeonghan on his knees, begging for forgiveness and mercy

anyway, stay tuned for my next hannieween fest piece!! next post will be loser hannie!! hehe

toodles!

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[kkuzushi]

May I request a Popular kid Scaramouche x Nerd reader (basically a power bottom scaramouche)

Also can I be 🐀anon

“ 𝐀 𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐞 ”

✦ characters: powerbottom!Scaramouche x amab!reader

✦ cw: no nut November, college setting, academic rivals (sort of), handjob (receiving & giving), slight praising but mostly humiliation, riding

✦ word count: 2.549k

✦ notes: I’m inexperienced with writing power bottoms so this took some time, I hope I did it right despite being more used to sub-bottom characters. Welcome to my blog as well, 🐀 anon! <3

You sat cross-legged on the couch, your laptop opened and displaying an earlier announcement. The debate competition you had joined was held today and your opponent? It was no other than the confident and quick-witted Scaramouche. However he was no match to you as always—when it comes to academics, you were simply 1% better, and that’s on being humble.

In your dorm, there was another competition being held. A staring contest between you and Scaramouche, both engulfed in silence. He glared at you, most likely sulking in his defeat.

“Fine.” Scaramouche sighed, putting his hands up in mock surrender, “You won, enjoy while it lasts.” His voice was laced with irritation and amusement. It’s not like he’ll deny that you did good but he won’t admit you were better.

You smirked, crossing your arms, “I plan to.” You looked away once the silent staring ended, taking your laptop and switching to your spreadsheet. There’s still a lot to do before the day ends and you intend to be productive.

You pushed up your glasses to the bridge of your nose, getting ready to continue on your day. Working’s about to be more fun, after all, it’s not everyday you crush someone who’s so sure they’re better than you.

Scaramouche rolled his eyes, seeing you ignore his presence easily in turn of concentrating to your works again. “We’re not done, you know,” He says, pushing himself off the wooden chair he was sitting on.

You glance at him, with a raised eyebrow you replied, “We are, unless you want the principal to reannounce the winner.” Scaramouche glared at your smug smile, he decides to push it aside, this is just one of your few wins over him, no big deal.

He walks closer to you, getting too close for comfort. “Don’t get too cocky now or you might lose this one.”

You blink, “Lose what?”

Scaramouche grinned and quickly plucks your glasses off your face. “Scara–” You warned, your arm extending to take it back from his grasp but he was quicker, keeping it out of your reach.

“Since you made me lose–”

“I didn’t make you lose,” you interrupted.

He rolled his eyes, “Okay, let me rephrase that.” Scaramouche cleared his throat, “Since you won the debate, it’s only fair I win something, right?” He grinned, the curve of his lips reminding you of a mischievous cat.

You raised your eyebrow, crossing your arms, “You’re not making sense.” Before you could even add more to your statement, Scaramouche walked closer and pressed a hand on the cushions behind you, trapping you on the couch.

“A fair trade,” He muttered, “You win the debate, I win this.” To emphasize his point, his free hand pushed your laptop to the side as he straddled your lap. Your legs uncrossed out of instinct despite being caught off guard by his actions.

You moved back against the cushion, feeling rather awkward with the sudden proximity. “A seat on my lap, really?” You joked, but the glint in his eyes tells you there’s more to this.

Scaramouche’s grin widens, his legs closing in on you to further trap your body in between them. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve heard of this little challenge you’re participating.. NNN, was it?” He drawls, his hands tracing your chest.

Is he kidding? There’s no way a childish challenge like that was enough for him to feel satisfied.. I mean, it’s not like you’re taking it seriously, right?

“You don’t dare–”

“Oh but I do.”

Scaramouche chuckles, his hips starting to grind against your crotch. His movements were slow but precise, intended to tease you to your limits.

Your hands gripped his waist, forcing him to pause for a moment. “Stop that.. I have better things to do right now,” You breathed out, a clear sign of warning in your eyes.

Scaramouche almost considered your words but he just smirked, carrying on with his movements. “You expect me to believe that?” His face leans in closer, “You’re getting hard awfully fast.” Without waiting for a reply, he closed the distance and captured your lips in a deep kiss.

He can feel your arousal building right beneath him with every roll of his hips, just the mere thought of turning you on was enough to turn him on. Amidst the kiss, Scaramouche was already thinking of ways he can easily make you lose this no nutting game, and he got just the right idea for it.

The both of you pulled away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. The atmosphere in the room isn’t helping you at all, but then again, making out with Scaramouche means you’re already fucked.

The indigo haired brat was quick to get into action, his movements sharp as if he was determined to either make you lose or get to the real thing. Or both. In a blink of an eye, your pants were pulled to the floor, and next would be your garment which he was already fumbling with.

You gripped his wrists firmly, attempting to push him away. “You can't actually be going through with this,” you protested, voice sharp with disbelief.

But Scaramouche only laughed, the sound low and smug, his mischievous eyes glinting with confidence. Before you could protest any further, he twisted his wrists around to escape your grip. The realization hits you too late—he was completely serious about this.

And just like that, the tables turned, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath Scaramouche. Your cock stood rigid, thankfully not yet leaking precum—after all, that would be quite the embarrassing sight for you, wouldn’t it? But the man before you is nothing if not stubborn, and there’s no chance he plans on taking it easy.

Scaramouche slowly wraps a hand on the base, stroking you to full erection. You bit your bottom lip, suppressing the noise of arousal that’s threatening to escape. You can’t let him win right at the beginning, it’ll inflate his insufferable ego.

His violet eyes observed you intensely, as if daring you to slip up, while his movements grew more deliberate. The room felt warmer with every second, your self-control being pushed to its limits under his relentless teasing. You couldn’t give in, not now—not with that smug grin of his silently declaring his impending victory.

Concealing your noises wasn’t enough to hide the evidence of your arousal, though, as a slick warmth began to drip down to his fingers. The sensation only served to spur Scaramouche on, his movements becoming smoother, aided by the telltale fluid that betrayed your resistance.

“Well, would you look at that..” He murmured, leaning in until his breath ghosted against your ears. The obscene sounds filled the air, wet squelches echoing louder than your restrained breaths. “Seems like all that fight of yours is slipping away,” he taunted, his thumb brushing over the angry tip of your cock.

Scaramouche props himself, nimble fingers working to unfasten his pants. Even with that infuriating smirk plastered on his face, it was impossible to miss the way his breaths had grown shallow, his eyes tainted with want despite the composed facade he’s been putting up.

“I’m not the only one turned on, huh?” You muttered, a teasing edge to your voice as your eyes glanced up to his. His smirk faltered, eyebrows furrowing as he shoved his pants off.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, I’m still in control here.” Scaramouche scoffed as he continued to strip himself. Finally, his own dick springs free from its confinements, hard and almost begging for attention. You stared for a while, temptation waring in your mind. Maybe you can turn the tables if you teased him enough.

As your gaze lingers on him, Scaramouche’s smirk deepens. The obvious look of hesitation and temptation in your eyes was another opportunity for him. “Careful, your stare might melt me,” he teased, his voice dripping with a playfulness.

He shifted, lowering his body to yours, the head of your cock resting in between his ass. “Touch it,” He grinned, grinding himself against your weeping dick. “You want to, don't you?” He adds, there was no mistaking that Scaramouche wasn’t exactly asking; he was commanding.

There goes your chance of regaining control. Your hand trembled slightly, the tension in the room thick as you fought the urge to give in. But Scaramouche wasn’t making it easy. His body was so close, his scent intoxicating, and the way he was looking at you made it hard to think straight.

Once your hand makes contact with his shaft, you feel the man twitch a little. With a quiet gulp, you start to stroke him like he did to you. He continues to grind himself against you, movement in sync with your palm.

Scaramouche’s grin widens as you obey his words, his breath becoming uneven with every passing second. His hands rested firmly on your shoulders, squeezing gently. “Just like that,” he praised, his voice breathless yet undeniably smug, as if he had you exactly where he wanted you.

Were you actually into this? The thought crossed your mind as Scaramouche’s commands and praises echoed in your ears. Pondering over it, the man above can feel your hand faltering, contemplation filling your face.

Scaramouche took the opportunity to lean in, his lips brushing softly against your ear. “Don’t stop now,” he whispered, his voice almost a challenge, one that made your pulse spike. “Unless you’re starting to want more?”

“I don’t–” He was quicker than your protest, a gasp leaving your lips as you feel something tight constrict your length. Scaramouche groaned as he lowered himself further on your cock, precum lubing his insides.

“Fuck– Scara, wait–”

“Gonna cum already?”

“No! That’s not–..”

It felt as though you could dissolve completely under the sheer heat of his inner walls, the tight warmth clinging to your cock already making you see stars. Despite teasing you, Scaramouche had his face buried in your neck and hands gripping your shoulders, hot breath hitting your skin as he adjusts to the intrusion inside him.

After a few moments of silence, Scaramouche began to move, riding you with slow precision. Wet, obscene sounds filling the room in an instant. Every glide of your cock inside him has you moaning, while he was watching you with a smirk.

The brat could see the subtle shifts in your expression—the way your body responded, betraying the calm front you forced to keep. He was in complete control of the situation now as he watched you squirm under his attention, every little shift sending a ripple of satisfaction through him.

“Don’t forget that NNN challenge of yours,” Scaramouche grinned above you. You almost forgot about that, the only thing you can focus on is his weight pressing down on you, tight entrance swallowing you whole.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping lower, teasing you further, “Or perhaps you’re losing already?” He continued as your face flushed even deeper. “You’re halfway there, aren’t you?”

You looked him straight in the eye, lips barely moving as you gritted your teeth. “Fuck off,” You muttered, trying to sound nonchalant, though your voice betrayed the slight tremor of frustration. Your hips start to move with a mind of its own, shallowly thrusting up to Scaramouche, movements small yet evident to the man receiving it.

Scaramouche didn’t miss a thing, of course. Even the slightest twitch of your muscles told him everything he needed to know. You weren’t as composed as your earlier facade tried to show.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “How cute,” he purred. “You can’t stop moving. You’re just giving in without even realizing it, aren’t you?”

Every part of you screamed to resist, to regain some semblance of control, but Scaramouche’s inner walls clung to your shaft, forbidding you to pull away or stop the rise and fall of his hips.

The indigo haired brat’s hands tightened their grip on your shoulders, his smirk never faltering as he tilted his head down to meet your gaze. “Are you finally enjoying this?” He drawled, enjoying his control over you.

He leaned in, lips brushing close to your ear. “How humiliating for you,” he added, his breath warm against your skin. His tone was laced with mockery, but the way he moved left no doubt that he was just as lost in the moment as you were.

Your thrusts were just helping him get his impending victory, but you couldn’t help it any longer. He was clenching around your cock on purpose, making sure you were losing your control without any fight.

Your hands gripped his waist as soon as he picked up the pace, “You’re twitching already?” He teased, voice dripping with condescension. His breath ghosted over your cheek as he whispered, voice soft but full of mocking intent, “Can’t take it anymore, can you?”

Precum starts to dribble out of his hole, the evidence of your crumbling resolve bringing him satisfaction. “Poor thing,” He added, a chuckle slipping through his lips, “and here I thought you’d have more restraint.”

Scaramouche’s chuckles quickly change into breathy sounds of pleasure as your cock hits his prostate dead on. His fingers tightened on your shoulders, grounding himself from the unexpected pleasure.

“So desperate..mnhh♡–” He managed to murmur between breaths, though the quiver in his voice betrayed his earlier dominance, the sensation overwhelming him, leaving him as lost in the moment as you were.

His head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut as another gasp broke through his control. “You’rengh–still pathetic..” He whispered, though the shiver in his tone made it clear he was no better.

“Hmn–ironic.” He glared at you for that. Your patience was wearing thin, and despite everything, your body couldn't stop reacting, your movements becoming more desperate. Consequences be damned, you’re teetering over the edge already. November comes around every year anyway, but coming inside Scaramouche might just be a once in a lifetime activity.

You were already where he wanted you to be right from the start, and for the last time, he smirked before losing himself in the overwhelming pleasure. A knot draws up in your abdomen, your thrusts growing erratic as you chase your climax.

"Don’t stop..hAngh–♡" Scaramouche gasped, voice breaking as you pushed your body into his, meeting his every move with urgency. “F-Faster–go faster!” he stammered, but the need for more was clear in his frantic pace.

With one final thrust, you released yourself inside him, ropes of cum spurting out as he came on your stomach at the same time.

The two of you collapsed into each other’s arms, chests heaving as you tried to catch your breaths after everything that transpired.

As the haze of pleasure began to fade, reality sank in like a cruel reminder. Shame and irritation bubbled in your mind as the thought hit you—you really lost No Nut November because Scaramouche rode you.

“This was.. so lame.” You groaned, burying your face in his shoulder.

Scaramouche heard your muttered complaint loud and clear, a raspy chuckle escaping his lips as he tilted his head to look at you. “Seeing you lose made it worth it.” But amidst his relentless teasing, you can feel him grinding on your cock, pushing your cum deeper inside him.

[silcoitus]

Hello! I think I'm doing this right but if not, I'm so sorry:

What do you think Silco would do if he found out, years later/during Act 2, that a fling he had when he was alot younger and dumber, resulted in him having a Son/Gender neutral child living in Piltover?

(how this is discovered can be completely up to you)

Would the angst of them being a Piltovian(?) citizen permanently leave their relationship undefined or would he push away his hatred of Piltover and try and meet them?

Better yet, how would Jinx react to this?

Just a bit of potential angst to spice things up I guess haha.

Thank you!

Thank you for this amazing prompt, anon! It's one of my favorite ones I've ever received! Why does writing angst soothe me? It doesn't make sense.

Summer's Ghost

Masterlist | AO3 link

Rating: Mature

Tags: Silco, original female character, original child character, angst, depression, reference to character death, character study

Word count: 2.7k

Beta reader: @juniper-sunny

Silco receives a curious letter from a Piltie boy claiming to be his son. Spurred by lingering bitterness and unresolved anger, Silco visits Topside for answers and to finally speak his mind to the woman who left him so many years ago.

Dear Mr. Silco,

I'm not exactly sure how even to begin this letter, so I’ll start with the part that is most relevant to you:

I am your son.

I know, I didn't believe it at first either. But if you keep reading, I can tell you how that happened.

My mother was a brilliant woman, born and raised here in Piltover. She was the top of her class and an artist. My grandparents tell me that, in her university days, she had a bit of a rebellious streak. She ran away from home to live in the Undercity. Over the course of a summer there, she met a man. And fell in love.

You probably know more about how the rest of this story goes than me.

After that summer, my mom had a change of heart. She returned home with a new bundle in tow: me. And while she never told me, I assume she left the Undercity in order to raise me here.

But you probably don’t care about all that. You just want to know why I’m writing to you. 

Well, first off: I'm not asking for money. My mom (and grandparents) provided for me and I have a comfortable life here in Piltover. 

I don't want anything from you. Not really. I wrote because… well… My mother died recently. It's actually how I found out about you. My birth was a closely guarded secret and it was only when I was cleaning her stuff out after her death that I learned. She had a box of things from her time with you: a diary, some photographs, a bracelet. I thought you might want them.

I don’t know what your relationship with my mother was like or how it ended, but this seemed like something she would want me to do. If I crossed a line, I’m sorry. 

I've attached her obituary. It has her final resting place. If you want to collect the box, I've left it on her grave. If you haven’t taken it by next week, I’ll assume you want nothing to do with it. And that’s okay, too.

Sincerely,

M.

P.S I also included a photo for proof. You can hold onto it. I already made myself a copy.

When finally Silco lifts his eyes from the letter, it's with slightly parted lips and inward curling eyebrows. Visions of memories long ago flick across his mind’s eye unbidden, released like water from a dam. 

Setting the letter down, he retrieves the other effects in the pneumatic tube. Fingers tremble as they pull out a small photograph. It's worn around the edges and the ink has faded significantly, but the image is unmistakable: it's him in his early twenties, standing next to the woman who left him.

He remembers that summer clearly, the memories vivid and the feelings so strong it could power a Hexgate. He remembers the late nights talking, the sound of her laugh, the way she was always sketching in her notebook. He remembers the first time they kissed, followed quickly by the first time they made love.

Silco’s lips press into a thin line, something bitter bubbling within him. 

He remembers his desperation when he ran through the Lanes, searching for her. He remembers how he couldn’t sleep for days, worried something had happened. That someone had taken her. Or worse. He remembers crying so hard that he could feel it in his teeth, his cheekbones feeling as if someone was pressing their thumbs to them with the aim of crushing them. He remembers drinking.

And drinking.

And drinking.

Drinking to cope.

Drinking to forget.

Drinking to wash down the bitter taste of the knowledge that he had let someone get so close to him so quickly, only for them to rip his heart out and slash it to pieces. And to add insult to injury—

My mother was a brilliant woman, born and raised here in Piltover.

He stares at that word again.

Piltover

Hand shaking violently, he picks up the pneumatic tube and hurls it across the room. It breaks on impact as it hits the office door, glass shards flying through the air.

Of course.

Who else could chew him up and spit him out? Who else but a Piltie? His home—his life—nothing more than a tourist attraction to her, a vacation away from her cushy, privileged life. 

How could he have been so blind?

How could he have been so stupid?

He can feel his heart rate rising, chest heaving as his breathing grows unsteady. Good eye fluttering closed, he puts one hand out, signaling himself to stop.

Slow down.

Breathe.

He takes one long inhale through his nose, holding it for a moment before blowing it out his mouth through pursed lips. When he opens his eyes, his jaw is set, decision made.

He snatches the letter, photo, and newspaper clipping off the desk, shoves them into his coat pocket, and walks out the door.

As far as final resting places go, this certainly is one of the more luxurious ones. Even in death, Topsiders can’t help but preen and self-aggrandize, if not with their bodies, their tombs. Each gravestone seems to be attempting to outdo the next, growing larger and more gaudy in size as Silco walks down the rows of graves. Subconsciously, his nostrils flare and his mouth twitches into a snarl.

When he finds her name among the dead, he’s surprised to see not a tombstone but rather a park bench. Constructed out of blue pearl granite and polished to a brilliant shine, her name, date of birth, and date of death are carved into the back. The soil around the bench looks freshly turned over and the carved letters barely have any dust or dirt accumulated in them. Studying the dates, it would seem M did not lie; she had died two weeks ago. 

And there—sitting on one end of the bench, waiting for him—is the box.

His chin lifts as his mismatched eyes scan his surroundings, looking over his shoulder, his ears alert and listening for any signs of other visitors. Certain no one is nearby or within eavesdropping distance, he turns his attention back to the bench.

He could just take the box and go. There’s no need for him to linger here. But as he stands staring at her name—carved with such finality into that unmoving stone—he can’t bring himself to leave.

And yet, it’s odd, addressing a bench. On his way over, he had envisioned himself spitting on a tombstone with great satisfaction. But now, as he’s faced with something as welcoming as a bench in a beautifully maintained cemetery, he feels stuck. Any anger that had been boiling in his abdomen before has simmered down, upended by the unexpected appearance of his former lover’s grave.

Reaching into his pocket, he retrieves the photograph. After propping it up on the bench, he addresses the woman who lies six feet underground. 

“You…” He can’t even bring himself to say her name, both hands balled into fists in his coat pockets. “You’ve been here this entire time.”

Both eyes roll as he realizes the error of his statement.

“Not here, but in Piltover.” He brings one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, good eye squeezed shut. “I searched for you for weeks. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I thought someone had taken you. I thought you had—”

Died.

Well.

It’s accurate now, isn’t it?

“Typical Topsider,” he spits out, one hand gesturing as if throwing something away, like the way she had thrown him away, “You come to my home, promising a bright and brilliant future, but all you do is leave destruction in your wake.”

He steps back, pulls his head back, and spits onto the freshly dug soil.

“Disgusting,” he snarls. “And to think, I had lov—”

He pauses, unable to finish the word.

He was young. He was ignorant. That was not love he felt for her. Nor adoration. That was infatuation; merely a young man’s naive idea of what love was.

What that was—it was Not Love.

Silco pulls his fingers through his hair, collecting himself.

“Why?” His hand curls into a fist again. His tone is bitter, full of anger, growing in volume. “I don’t care why you left; I know exactly why you left.” 

As he continues to speak, his concerns about being overheard are overcome by the thundering emotions swelling inside him, churning and bubbling after years of dormancy. “You didn’t want your son to grow up to be a street urchin like his sumprat father. No… all I want to know is…”

His next words are bellowed out, the sound coming from deep within his lungs, each word punctuated with a pregnant pause, as if he means to put his entire body into every syllable.

“Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. Me?”

There’s a flurry of wings as nearby birds take flight, spooked by the sudden noise. 

Silco’s good eye flutters closed again and he takes long, deep breaths, recentering himself. His hand comes up, forefinger pressing to his sternum. There’s a desperation to his voice now, a yearning. Mourning something he didn’t even know he had until a few hours ago.

“I had a right to know.” He opens his good eye, staring at the photograph. Staring at her. “He is my son. He is my blood. How could you have kept him from me for so many years?”

He gathers himself, eyes casting to the ground. 

He had so much more he wanted to say. Years of anguish, torment. But now that he’s here, he’s forgotten them all.

He feels empty.

Finally, he slumps down on the bench, next to the box. It remains untouched beside him. He sits with his shoulders sagging forward, both elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together as his head hangs low. 

It’s quiet in the cemetery.

He turns his face toward the photograph, addressing the woman in it with a whisper of a voice. “All I wanted was for you to be okay. For you to live a good life.”  He lifts his head toward the great, open sky of the City of Progress, free from smoke and fissure gasses and ash. “And I suppose I got what I wanted.”

He hangs his head once more, speaking to the ground at his feet.

“You just did it without me.”

A stiff breeze blows through, tugging at his coat. He makes no move to bundle himself up further, letting the chill air surround him, seeping into his bones.

He sits.

And remembers.

After a few moments, he hears movement. Ears prickling and head whipping up, he spots a boy walking between some nearby tombstones. He looks to be a teenager, fifteen—maybe sixteen—years of age. The boy pauses at one of the graves, looking at it silently, his hands shoved into his pockets. After a moment, his eyes lift and meet Silco’s.

Silco meets his gaze, unblinking. The boy doesn’t seem at all fazed by Silco’s corrupted eye, giving him a small, polite nod. Silco nods in return before tearing his eyes away.

Ocean green and volcanic orange eyes pause on the small wooden box on the bench. 

Mahogany. Expertly crafted. Like the bench, it’s beautiful in its simplicity. Unbidden, Silco’s throat bobs as he reaches for the box and gingerly places it on his lap.

After taking a deep breath, he lifts the lid.

The first thing he sees is a bracelet. Black in color and made of thin strips of leather with small circular charms along the strings, it’s plain and modest. The surface of the leather looks almost brittle, worn around its edges from frequent use.

Underneath, there’s a stack of photos. Lifting them, he recognizes the first as one he had taken. The late woman stands laughing beside The Last Drop’s jukebox, Felicia grinning widely next to her. Vander can be seen in the corner, caught mid-sentence as he speaks with whom Silco can only assume is Benzo. Setting down that photo, Silco’s eyebrows lift when he sees the next one.

He doesn’t remember this photo being taken at all, which is curious given the fact he’s the one and only subject of the photo. Silco—sporting long hair tied back in a low bun—sits at the bar, pouring over his notebook. His right arm is wrapped in strips of off-white fabric and in his hand is a pencil, which hovers over the page, posed to write. 

Silco remembers this night.

It was the night Felicia told him and Vander she was pregnant with Violet. It was the night everything changed.

Funny, how the night he learns of one pregnancy happens to also be the night his lover leaves him because of hers.

He hums, continuing to study the photograph.

He had forgotten what he looked like at that age, so used to seeing his marred reflection in the mirror. So used to covering half of his face with foundation just to regain some semblance of normalcy.

Silco’s about to look through the rest of the box when he sees movement out of his periphery. Quickly, he shuts the box and looks up to see the boy from before, standing in front of him.

“Sorry,” he says, voice quiet. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” Silco replies simply. His good eyebrow lifts in silent question.

“Is it okay if…” The boy gestures to the empty spot on the bench. 

Silco stands, hand offering the seat, the box neatly tucked under his arm.

“Oh, you didn’t have to leave,” the boy says, scooting over to leave some room. “I just wanted to sit for a little bit.”

Silco eyes him for a moment, then, against his better judgement, sits back down. The mahogany box feels heavy in his lap. The boy’s eyes look at it briefly before looking out into the rest of the cemetery.

The pair sit in silence, the only sound the rustle of the leaves as the wind rushes through the nearby trees. Silco’s hand covers the box, fingers idly smoothing over the carving of a rose on the lid.

He doesn’t know why he does it, compelled by a nagging curiosity, but Silco breaks the silence.

“Do you have family here?”

The boy nods. “My grandpa.”

Silco hums.

Silence falls between them again.

“Do you?” the boy asks, eyes lifting to meet Silco’s.

Silco’s lips press together, the tip of his chipped tooth catching the inside of his mouth a little.

“In a sense.”

The boy sighs. “At least it’s a pretty nice view.”

Silco follows his gaze.

“It is.”

“Well, except for that.” 

The boy points to a large tombstone made of porcelain with gold accents all along its edges. Every inch of it seems to be covered in some sort of design, painted in blue. But the patterns come across as less elegant and more like visual noise; the eye given nowhere to rest, the senses overwhelmed by all the complicated shapes and textures.

Laughing, the boy makes a retching noise. “It’s so ugly.”

Silco’s lips pull into a smirk, head tilting.

“There’s no accounting for taste.”

“Yup.”

The boy abruptly gets to his feet, seemingly satisfied. Turning to Silco, he puts his hand out in offering.

“I’m Marlow, by the way.”

“Marlow.” Silco takes his hand and shakes it. “Nice to meet you.”

The boy nods, seemingly out of words. After offering a small smile, he turns on his heel, heading for the gates.

Silco continues to sit on the bench, thumb rubbing absentmindedly on the box’s carvings. After a moment, his eyes widen and he reaches into his coat pocket for the letter, eyes darting down to the bottom.

M.

He looks up to find the boy has disappeared. He lets a short chuckle out of his nose as he shakes his head, rising to his feet.

After one final look at his ex-lover’s grave, he starts his trek back home.

He has a feeling this won’t be the last time he visits this cemetery.

And it won’t be the last he’s seen of that boy.

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[waynes-multiverse]

I was soooooooo excited for this! *breathes in sharply* Okay let's get started 🍿😎👏

“You have my blessing,” she said. “All I ask is that you don’t scar me with any gushy details afterward.”

I love their friendship so much 😂 And kudos to Dory. It takes a lot to agree to this. It could potentially get very awkward 😝

“You know, it’s been about twenty years since I’ve seen him,” she said. “We’ve had entire lives already. I see him now, and there’s some of the Russell I knew when we were kids, but…there’s just a lot I don’t know about him, who he’s become.”

God, I know. This is honestly what I think about the most when I watch Tracker. The whole story line is insane and intriguing and... 😅 I have a thousand questions, and there's so much you could do with it in fics. I love it (clearly) 😂🤍

Dory’s face tightened. “It’s a long story. I’ve told you some of it. But basically, after our dad died, nothing was ever the same again.”

I do think Russell knows a lot more about their past than he lets on. Also, he was way too chipper for someone who was accused of patricide by his own brother for twenty years. The dynamic between the brothers is just... interesting 👀

Barely a date, you reminded yourself, as you unlocked the door to your house. Barely a date, barely a date.

Right... 😆

“You’re a grown fucking man, Charlie! Do you really need me to give you the just say no speech?” you said. 

Oh, she's going full Reagan! 😂 I sense some trouble coming from the brother, though...

“Yeah well, maybe just for one night, I wanted to relax without you harping on my back,” he said, glaring up at you. “Is that too much to fucking ask? For you to give me some goddamn slack?”

Well, I hope he already picked out his casket... 🙈💀

“Hey, there.” He greeted you with a warm hand on your back. He helped you into your seat.

I'd be a puddle before I even made it to the damn seat 🫠

And they are literally so cute together! I'm full on swooning over here 😍

Russell nodded. He wasn’t sure how much Dory told you about their family business, but it dimmed his mood.

Ah, yes, the family business. Love that sublte hint 😆 Would be a good name for a brewery, tho 👍

He was starting to get a clearer picture of who your brother was. It struck at familiar chords inside himself that he wasn’t so comfortable with. He shifted in his seat, fingers flexing over his glass on the counter.

I like that you emphasized the darker parts of his life. Like I said, I don't buy his whole "I'm happy and funny and quirky" act. There's a lot more stirring beneath the charming surface 😅 (Another thing he has in common with Dean lol)

And oh, don't we love a good cry on the first date? Poor thing 😂🤍

“You gotta understand that me, my brother, my sister, we didn’t grow up like a normal family,” he said. “Yeah, I know,” you nodded. “Dory’s told me some of it. It sounded…rustic.” He snorted. “Putting it mildly.”

Indeed 😂 I would've loved to be a fly on the wall when Dory had this conversation with her lol

How he very eloquently avoided talking about Colter accusing him of murdering their father. I wanna be a fly on the wall for that future convo too 🤣

And he slapped you right on the ass.

Loved that she got a punch in before even Russell got there. He might have actually killed that pig lmao

“Aw, it doesn’t look as bad as all that. But can I see?” he asked. You allowed him to take your smaller hand in his. Your knuckles were red and tender to the touch when he gently pressed. You hissed in pain.

I'm having vivid flashbacks to Smoke Eater 🥵🔥

But his hands were gentle for you.

This line just about killed me... 🫠🫠🫠

“Three balls, huh?” you said slyly, and maybe, a little tipsy. “Might wanna get that looked at.”

I appreciate that kind of humor 😂😂

“Now, if I go in for a kiss goodnight, are you gonna deck me?” he asked, with a teasing glint in his eyes.

I absolutely can see him saying that 💯😂

He found no other recourse but to back you up against the side of his car.

Probably one of my favorite scenes is when characters are so hot for each other they lean against a car. There's just something so incredibly passionate about it 🔥🫠

“I’m staying at a motel, if you wanna…” he said, between kisses.

Oh, Russell, this is not what the lady wants to hear. Bless him tho 😂

And I figured she wanted more than a one-night-stand or fling. His job and lifestyle truly is a bit of a problem. But he wanted out anyways, so... 🤞

I loved their first date! 😍🤍 Hopefully, they'll see each other again soon and might give this another shot. I have a feeling it's gonna involve her brother's bullshit somehow 😅

Every Second Counts - Part 1

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the first one you trust to help you find him. 

AN: Finally, here we are at Part 1! Remember that A Line and a Half functions as our prologue here.

Word Count: 5.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only for some mature thoughts. Fluff, angst and hurt/comfort, drug use, mentions of drug addiction and alcoholism, skeevy men, and a tinge of spice.~

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 1: "Permission Granted"

“Are you absolutely sure?” you asked, with your hands on your hips. 

You wanted no miscommunication here, no read-between-the-lines mishaps, no subtext or nuance to bite you in the ass later. So here you stood in the middle of your best friend’s office, still at the Wyoming University campus after your last class.

Dory had to laugh at you. She pushed away from her desk and threw her hands up.

“Yes, for the love of God, you can grab a drink with my brother,” she said.

After brushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, she went to you and set her hands on your shoulders.

“You have my blessing,” she said. “All I ask is that you don’t scar me with any gushy details afterward.” 

Your face began to heat up in a blush. You crossed your arms.

“All right, no one said there was going to be any of that,” you replied. “It’s just a date. Barely a date, mind you.”

“A-huh,” Dory said with a sneaking smile. “Out of curiosity, what was it about him that hooked you? You’ve been dodging Chris’s valiant attempts for like a month now.”

Chris was a French and Spanish professor. His office was on the same floor as yours, so you two occasionally crossed paths whenever you ventured into the teacher’s lounge.

He usually caught you in the morning while you were grabbing your free coffee fix at the Keurig. He’d chat you up about his classes and his dog and his new boat, and all the while you’d struggle to get a word in edgewise. Despite that, he was good-looking and pleasant, for the most part. It was just…

“I don’t know. He’s not my type, I guess,” you shrugged. You kind of liked conversations where both people got to speak.

“And Russell is?” Dory said, in a teasing tone. You chewed the inside of your lip, fighting a smile.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Kind of want to find out though.”

“Okay, well, let me know what you find,” Dory said, more wryly. You caught a bit of melancholy when her gaze drifted off. Your brows furrowed in concern as you drew closer, setting a hand on her arm.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

She was hesitant, but she eventually answered you with a confession.

“You know, it’s been about twenty years since I’ve seen him,” she said. “We’ve had entire lives already. I see him now, and there’s some of the Russell I knew when we were kids, but…there’s just a lot I don’t know about him, who he’s become.”

You could understand that. You squeezed her arm in sympathy.

“Well, he really seems to want to know you now,” you said. You remembered all the questions he asked you when he helped you carry your files back to your office after lunch today—most of them about Dory, about her career, your friendship, and ultimately, if she was happy.

“What happened to you guys?” you asked. “Why are you all so distant? Colter included.”

Dory’s face tightened. “It’s a long story. I’ve told you some of it. But basically, after our dad died, nothing was ever the same again.”

You dimmed at that. You knew their mother still lived in the cabin they grew up in, but Dory had never quite been able to tell you what happened to their dad. You’d never pushed the subject. You knew better than anyone what kind of pain that was. 

“I just wish we’d been able to stay with each other. Me and my brothers, at least,” Dory said. But she adopted a smile for you, before she returned to her desk.

“Okay. Go on your non-date at your favorite bar with Russell. I’ll be here, grading papers until Judgment Day,” she said, with a small laugh that felt like a coverup for thoughts she no longer wanted to think about.

You let her do it. You grabbed your purse and work bag off the spare chair in front of her desk.

“So you’re sure,” you wanted to confirm. “One last chance for me to tell him I came down with food poisoning.”

Dory collected her stack of midterm papers and gave you a cheeky look that said, class dismissed. Then she clicked her red pen and pointedly looked down at the first batch of papers to read through.

You smiled. Okay, you thought, giving her a little wave goodbye when you turned to leave. You had just a couple of hours to drive home and get ready to meet Russell.

“Goodnight,” you called.

“Goodniiight,” Dory replied.

You heard the smirk in her voice without even having to look back.

After fighting through rush hour traffic, you were exhausted when you got home from work. Your tentative excitement and nerves about tonight gave you some new energy though, even if you thought those nerves were silly to have.

Barely a date, you reminded yourself, as you unlocked the door to your house. Barely a date, barely a date.

The Ring Camera beside the door chimed when you entered the house, signaling your arrival. You had to wrinkle your nose at the dank-ass smell that greeted you.

Frowning in annoyance, you dropped your stuff on the kitchen table for now and shucked off your heels. You made a beeline down the hall, to the bedroom that lied across from yours. You pushed it open without knocking. There you caught your older brother, Charlie, snoozing in his bed with the covers half pooling on the floor.

His room was a mess, as usual. Your gaze locked on the evidence of half a blunt on his nightstand and two smoked roaches beside it. You were glad it wasn’t remnants of white lines of powder, like times before, but there was also a large bottle of whiskey. It was almost empty, and hanging loosely from his hand.

He managed to raise his head a bit when you came in.

“Hey,” he said, blinking bleary eyes. He cleared his throat and tried to sit up.

You shook your head and picked around piles of dirty clothes and a couple of used paper plates on the floor. You swiftly grabbed the bottle from his hand and slammed it on the nightstand.

“You promised me, Charlie,” you snapped. “You promised me for the hundredth time that you’d quit all this shit. Where even were you last night? You weren’t home when I left for work this morning.”

He sighed, frowning at how loud you were, and sat up in bed. He swung his legs over the side and held his swimming head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. He ran a hand through his hair. It was nearly black, like Dad’s had been, but he’d inherited Mom’s lighter eyes.

“I got invited to a party,” he said. “I’m sorry, I know. This is the last time.”

You expelled a frustrated breath and shook your head.

“You’re a grown fucking man, Charlie! Do you really need me to give you the just say no speech?” you said. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know how many times I can say it,” he said. He shut his eyes tight, probably trying to fend off a headache. 

Good, you thought. Let that be a reminder of how bad he’d screwed up again. 

“And while we’re at it, what about your half of the bills? You’re a week late,” you said, testily crossing your arms.

“Yeah, I’m a little behind,” he said. Once again, he cleared his throat past a wad of phlegm. He was still a bit crossfaded too, you could tell. “You know they cut my hours to part-time at the museum. I’ve, uh, I’ve been looking into getting another job—”

“I already paid the phone bill. And the internet, the water bill, the electricity,” you said. “The house may be paid off, but the least you can do is pay your half of living here.”

The longer you stared at him, seeing the guilt hidden behind drunken eyes, you realized he wasn’t just late on his half of the bills.

“How much?” you asked.

He frowned up at you. “What?”

“How much do you owe?” you said. Your voice was as cutting as your gaze. Charlie lowered his.  

“It’s okay, don’t worry—”

“How much,” you pressed.

He looked up at you again, this time with pursed lips. After a beat, he sighed and gave in.

“About two grand,” he admitted.

You raised your eyes heavenward, muttering a curse. Your hands went to your temples as you had to pace the room. You were angry and exasperated in equal measure.

“Who the fuck do you owe two grand?!” you asked.

Charlie shook his head. “It’s better that I don’t tell you that.”

You paused. As you looked down at him, your anger dissolved into sadness, like it always did.

“If Mom and Dad could see you now, they wouldn’t recognize you,” you said.

Charlie fought not to react to that, his brows furrowing. Instead, he just looked down, unable to answer you.

“Charlie, you need help. I can’t keep doing this with you,” you said. Your shaky breath gave way to the burn of tears.  

His red-rimmed eyes became glassy as well.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said.

He was always sorry. And you always had to be the one to nurse him back to health, pick up the pieces, pay the bills. You were exhausted. The bone-deep kind of tired that felt like gravity wasn't so much keeping you down, but pushing you.

“I’m going to ask for two things: do what you need to do to get paid, and clean up your shit. If you can’t accomplish that, then I’m taking you to rehab,” you said.

“You know I’ve tried that,” Charlie said, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Didn’t really work for me.”

“You left the program after two weeks!” you retorted.

“I did it on my own! I’ve been clean for months,” he argued.

“And what happened? You go to one party and all your good sense, all your training, mentally and physically—that all goes out the window?” you said. You had half a mind not to believe him.

“Yeah well, maybe just for one night, I wanted to relax without you harping on my back,” he said, glaring up at you. “Is that too much to fucking ask? For you to give me some goddamn slack?”

Your mouth fell open incredulously.  

“I’m on your back?” you said. “Okay. I’ll get off. Do whatever the hell you want, Charlie. I’m done.”

You left his room in an angry huff. You headed over to your room so you could take a shower and start getting ready to meet Russell at Howley’s. 

By the time you got to your bedroom, you heard the front door slam closed.

The truth was, you were no longer in a mood to have fun when you pulled up to Howley’s, but you needed to escape your house. Also, you weren’t someone who canceled on people last-minute, especially not on Dory’s own brother.

You found Russell waiting for you at the bar. He waved to you with a fifth of whiskey in hand and an easy grin. He’d saved you a seat beside him.

You found yourself smiling. Your mood began to lighten as you went over to him. He looked more or less the same, but this time the jacket and jeans combo was navy blue and dark wash, respectively. His hair was swept back, lightly gelled. You smelled the familiar, rich woodiness of his cologne when you drew near, along with a hint of spicy soap.

“Hey, there.” He greeted you with a warm hand on your back. He helped you into your seat.

“Hey, yourself,” you replied, and thanked him for the assist onto the tall stool. You’d opted for jeans and a blouse, paired with your favorite leather boots. It was less dressy than he’d seen you before, but that was “work mode.” This was a more casual affair, even if you’d spent at least twenty extra minutes on your makeup.

You were glad he picked a spot at the end of the bar though. It put some distance from the group of guys getting rowdy as they cheered at the football game playing on the TV.

“How was the rest of your day, Professor?” he asked. “And what’re you wanting to drink?”

You let out a long sigh and turned toward him, resting your elbow on the counter.

“Awesome. I’m going to need two shots of tequila and an order of something fried, and preferably covered with cheese, please,” you replied.

Russell’s grin deepened. “Okay, I’m thinking ‘awesome’ is code for something. But we can get started on that order of Forget Today’s Unfortunate Events.”

He flagged down the bartender with a raise of his hand, but he shot you a glance.

“Though I’m hoping it’s not all of today that you wanna forget,” he said.

Your lips threatened another smile, as the memory of your hand being swept up into his, and soft lips meeting the back of your hand filtered through your mind.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s possible,” you said.

After about ten minutes of playfully debating the appetizer menu (you swore by the pretzel and beer cheese, but Russell had his eye on those spicy wings), he finally settled on ordering both.

“When in doubt, don’t go without,” he’d remarked.

You swept a pretty coil of hair over your shoulder and downed your tequila shots with a lime wedge. Meanwhile, Russell tried not to linger his eyes on the way your tongue swept over your finger to catch a drop of lime juice. Your nails were manicured, and the shade of the polish matched your lipstick.

Russell didn’t pretend to know the art and science of a woman’s wardrobe, but everything about you was thought out, it seemed, falling in line with what he’d expect from a (sexy as all hell) college professor. You’d also told him at lunch today that as of last year, you now had two doctorates: History and Ancient Studies.

Even with all that under your belt, you also seemed refreshingly down-to-earth, a lot like Dory in that sense. He could see why you two were friends.

“So, are you from here, or are you a transplant, like my sister?” he asked.

Dory hadn’t come to live in Wyoming until their aunt and uncle took her in, when she was about eight years old. Before last month, Russell hadn’t seen her since. It hurt his heart to think about, but he tried to focus on you.

You now seemed to be staring a bit listlessly at the glass of whiskey in his hands. He laid a hand on your arm and called your name.

“Hmm?” Your brows rose as you blinked to attention. “Oh! I’m sorry. Yes, I’ve lived here pretty much forever.”

“You okay?” Russell asked. “Tequila hit ya a little hard?”

You shook your head. “No, I’m sorry…”

You raised your hands up to your temples. You debated whether you wanted to open up about this, but…considering who Russell was, you thought he might just understand.

“Dory told me you’ve been trying to reconnect with your brother, right? Colter?” you said.

Russell nodded. He wasn’t sure how much Dory told you about their family business, but it dimmed his mood.

“Well, you could say I’ve got a brother issue of my own,” you said, laughing humorlessly. “You don’t have to talk about yours, but maybe you’ll understand… My brother is a veteran too. He was a Captain, air force pilot. He fought in Afghanistan, mainly.”

Russell processed that with a nod. “Yeah, I was there too. Special Ops.”

“Wow, okay. Then you know what it was like for him, coming back home,” you said. Your gaze fell to your empty shot glasses. “It was hard, after…”

“After?” he prompted.

You sighed. “Near the end, he lost half his unit in a raid, off of some flawed intel.”

Russell’s brows knitted together. Hmm. Grief, survivor’s guilt, feeling like you don’t belong.

He was starting to get a clearer picture of who your brother was. It struck at familiar chords inside himself that he wasn’t so comfortable with. He shifted in his seat, fingers flexing over his glass on the counter.

You didn’t notice, but you did push the shot glasses away from you.

“I helped him the best I could,” you said. “I got him a job at the museum I interned at when I was in undergrad. He’s there as a security guard, but it’s not really enough, you know? It’s like, nothing satisfies him. I just…I don’t think I know how to help him anymore.”

You couldn’t help it. Emotion bubbled in your throat, making it close up on you as tears stung in your eyes. Your lower lip wobbled, and you tried to turn your face away. Embarrassment coiled up in your chest and made your face hot.

You felt a hand cover yours on your thigh, squeezing warmly. You looked up and met Russell’s gaze, both sympathetic and understanding.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, trying to calm your shuddering breath. “This isn’t exactly first date material. I can’t believe I unloaded on you like that.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “Believe me, I get what your brother’s going through.”

He pushed the plate with the last piece of soft-baked pretzel over to you.

“You finish that if you want, then you go ahead and pick something else off the menu. I won’t even argue with you this time,” he promised with a grin.

It got you to laugh, at least, and he gave you a napkin for your tears.

God, get it together, you told yourself. You’re a damn mess.

“Thanks,” you said. You managed to smile as you blotted at one corner of your eye. You hoped you hadn’t just irreversibly smudged your mascara.

Russell surprised you by brushing his thumb against your other cheek, wiping a stray tear away. Your face began to warm with a blush.

“Again, I’m sorry for dumping on you. We had a fight right when I got home,” you admitted.

“What’s his name?” Russell asked.

“Charlie.”

“Older or younger than you?”

“Four years older,” you replied. “He enlisted a few years after he graduated high school.”

Russell flickered at a smile. Enlisted, huh?

Yet another thing he and Charlie had in common, except Russell hadn’t made it through high school in the classic sense.

“What do you think?” you asked.

“I think your brother sounds lost right now. I’ve known a lotta guys like him, unfortunately,” Russell admitted. “Walking back into civilian life, it ain’t easy. That I know my damn self. Just like I know a thing or two about being an older brother. He’s probably doing his best to keep it off your shoulders.”

You shook your head at that. Trying, maybe.

You weren’t even sure of that anymore. Still, it made you all the more curious about Russell and his family.

“I know I said I wouldn’t ask this, and you don’t have to answer. But did you and Colter have a falling out or something?” you asked.

Russell expelled a deep breath and took a sip from his glass. How was he supposed to navigate this minefield with you?

“You gotta understand that me, my brother, my sister, we didn’t grow up like a normal family,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded. “Dory’s told me some of it. It sounded…rustic.”

He snorted. “Putting it mildly.”

He shook his head and drained the rest of his glass. 

“Well, my brother’s got an idea about me that isn’t true,” he said.

Your head tilted in curiosity. “Which is?”

His lips briefly raised in a wan smile. 

“We don’t gotta get into that one tonight. But uh, the truth is, I’ve tried reaching out to him several times now. He just doesn’t wanna hear from me,” said Russell.

You considered him for a moment. You laid a hand on his arm, covered by his jacket. 

“Don’t give up,” you said, with a sigh of your own. “Despite some things I said to him today, I know I can’t. My brother’s the only real family I have.”

Russell grew curious then. “What about your parents?”

You gave a weak smile.

“They passed away when we were young, but…we don’t have to get into that one tonight,” you said, borrowing his words. 

His expression fell. “Jesus. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you,” you accepted, twisting the napkin around your fingers.

An awkward lull of silence fell between you, until Russell nodded and blew out a breath.

“Well. Heavy, huh?”

You chuckled and rested your head against your hand.

“I know. Again, my fault,” you replied. 

“It’s okay, swee—. Mmm,” he cut himself off, shooting you a knowing glance.

“Were you about to sweetheart me?” you asked playfully, nudging his hand. “You know how I feel about that.”

“No, ma’am. Not at all,” Russell shook his head. His smile gave him away though. You laughed and grabbed his arm.

“Come on,” you said.

He allowed you to lead him out of his seat. He already had a tab open, so he’d settle up with the bar later. “Where we going?”

“You’re gonna lose to me at pool,” you said with a smirk.

Russell laughed and wrapped his arm around your waist instead.

“Oh, okay. I’m gonna give you a run for your money, though,” he promised.

And he was true to his word.

Russell Shaw turned out to be a more than worthy opponent. You studied the board as you changed the angle on your cue stick no less than five times.

“You gonna make a move, or we going to be here all night?” he said.

He was smiling as he leaned against his own cue on the other side of the board. His clever moves had left you in a difficult position to get your three remaining solid-colored balls into the pocket.

“You hush. I’m thinking,” you said, fighting your own smile.

“Careful, you’ve got steam coming out of your ears,” he teased.

You shot him a narrowed look for that. But then you smiled, as the answer came to you. You walked around to his side of the board and nudged him with your hip.

“Excuse me, sir,” you said to him over your shoulder.

Russell made way for you, but his eyes followed the way you bent over to line up your shot. Namely the curve of your ass in those tight jeans. He could see you knew exactly what you were doing, in more ways than one.

You shot your shot. The solid green ball leapt over his white-striped blue one and managed to sink into the pocket. You straightened up and gave him a triumphant little smirk.

He tried to temper his smile (and ignore the way his cock twitched).

“All right, go on, do your little victory lap," he said. "But remember, I let you go first.”

“Like that matters,” you quipped back.

You went back to the other side of the board to line up your next shot. Russell noticed a pair of drunk men ambling your way from the bar, but before he could make a subtle move to put himself in between, one of the men’s gazes slid down your form and gave into the base urge to let out a low whistle.

And he slapped you right on the ass.

You gasped, grabbing hold of the pool table. Then your shock melted into ire.

Russell was already heading toward you with an angry frown of his own, but even he had to stop short, when he watched you throw a punch that cracked the drunken man across the bridge of his nose.

Good form, Russell thought, when the guy reared back with a howl. His nose dripped blood when his hands came away from his face.

His buddy started to raise his hackles, but that was when Russell stepped to your side. He angled himself toward you and loosely gripped his pool cue by his hip, like it was an extension of his arm. He was fully prepared to use it like one.

“Fucking bitch!” said the one who was still dabbing his nose in vain. He glared at you, his eyes watering involuntarily, while his friend tried to keep him upright. You rolled your eyes.

"You're the one who's crying, bitch," you returned. Russell held in a snort. He cleared his throat and looked on at the pair of idiots.

“I’d have a little sit down if I were you,” Russell told them, with a smirk. “Let that be a lesson to ya. And if it don’t stick? Well. Whatever you start, I can damn well finish.”

His steely gaze reinforced the promise of his words. The other men were still angry, but even drunks had some sense of self-preservation. They ambled toward the back of the bar to find another pool table.

Russell focused his attention back on you, finding you looking down at your hand, rotating your wrist and flexing your fingers.

“Well, look at you, slugger,” he said. You met his smile with one of amusement.

“That’s just what I needed tonight. A broken hand,” you quipped.

“Aw, it doesn’t look as bad as all that. But can I see?” he asked. You allowed him to take your smaller hand in his. Your knuckles were red and tender to the touch when he gently pressed. You hissed in pain.

Damn, she really gave it to him, Russell thought.

“Sorry,” he said, but your hand felt fine, at least. More than fine. His gaze flicked up to yours as his amused grin deepened. “Good hit though.”

If he liked you before, he might’ve fallen half in love with you right there.

You laughed through the pain. “Yeah, my brother did teach me something. Shit.”

Russell led you back to the bar after you grabbed your purse. There he called to the bartender for some ice. The guy nodded; he’d seen the entire exchange and was sympathetic.

You knew this sort of thing was just par for the course at this kind of bar, but they had the best drinks. Charlie had to carry you out of here on your twenty-first birthday, drunk off your ass. Not to mention, he’d punched out two handsy dicks that night.

You recounted the story to Russell over a couple more drinks. Your conversation was lighter then, filled with laughter and a warm, companiable feeling. He was still rather evasive about his job, but you supposed he had to be, since it was government contract work.

Private security, mainly. Or so he'd said. This man made you infinitely curious, and a bit apprehensive, if you were honest.

And yet, at some point while you two shared and laughed and split a hot sandwich with another round of beers, you realized it.

I like this, you thought. And I like him.

However, the night had to come to an end sometime. Your third involuntary yawn told Russell it was time to call it.

"I'm okay," you tried.

"Nah, you've gotta work tomorrow," he said. He signaled to the bartender. "Let me go ahead and close out my tab."

“Oh, I can pay for half,” you said, reaching for your purse now hanging from your hip.

“You kidding me? Put that away,” he said, guiding your hand with your wallet aside.

Smiling, you accepted his generosity with a small thank you. Then, you let him take up your sore hand again, just to carefully press the half-melted bag of ice over it.

“Feelin’ better?” he asked.

Your smile became softer. “Yeah.”

You had no doubt that this man, tall as he was, with his broad shoulders and the controlled way he carried himself, could’ve laid both of those drunken assholes onto their asses. His intimidating gaze had promised as much.

But his hands were gentle for you.

“I was about to win that game, no contest!” you said, laughing as you and Russell headed out of the bar and into the parking lot.

“Hey, hey, I still had time to win it back,” he argued. “I only had three more balls to go. I could’ve sunk that with my eyes closed.”

“Three balls, huh?” you said slyly, and maybe, a little tipsy. “Might wanna get that looked at.”

Russell snorted. “You think you’re funny, huh?”

“Hey, you laughed!” you said, pointing at him.

He shook his head, despite his amusement. He slowed to a stop in front of his car.

“Where’d you park, huh?” he asked.

“Over there,” you said, pointing several parking spaces down. Your eyes were drawn to his car, however. “Wow. This is your car?”

Russell grinned and patted the top of his black Chevy.

“Aw, yeah. That’s my baby,” he said. “She’s a Chevelle, 1967.”

You didn’t know much about cars, but you could see this was a classic beauty. You passed a hand over its sleek paint job without touching, so you didn't get any fingerprints on it. Though you quirked a smile over your shoulder at him.

“She?” you intoned.

“That’s right. She,” he confirmed.

You smirked and crossed your arms. You paused in front of the passenger door, and when Russell drew in closer, you had to crane your neck up to meet his warm gaze.

“Now, if I go in for a kiss goodnight, are you gonna deck me?” he asked, with a teasing glint in his eyes.

You tilted your head, your own eyes dancing.

“I’m sure you’re brave enough to find out,” you said.

Russell decided he’d take that bet.

He leaned in slowly. He made a show of hesitating, raising a brow, as if waiting for a blow. You were tempted to laugh.

But then he let loose a true smile, and he bowed his head to press his lips against yours. Your eyes fell shut, and your hands moved to flatten against his chest. A firm fucking wall. Jesus.

He circled his arms around your waist, bringing you in closer. Your fingers wound up in his hair, while he tilted his head to kiss you again. You met him with the same fervor with each new kiss, and the feel of your body, soft and pliant under his hands, each little sweet sound that you made, it all drove him to delve in deeper.

You moaned into his mouth at the first warm swipe of his tongue against yours. He tasted like the burn of good whiskey.

You pressed yourself flush against him on instinct. He found no other recourse but to back you up against the side of his car. His hand tangled into your hair, gripping, then easing through the soft strands.

Russell veered away from your soft mouth after a while, just to burn a line of warm, wet kisses along your jaw, and down your neck with the added rasp of his beard.

His lips found the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder. He kissed and sucked at your skin, even grazing with his teeth. You gasped softly in his ear, shuddering against him. You ran your hands over his shoulders and down his strong back out of a need to feel him.

His hands were heavy along the curve of your waist then, squeezing your hips. It all felt incredibly right. And by right, you meant body tingling, warmth churning in your lower belly, and wetness growing between your legs, for sure dampening your panties.

You tugged him back by his hair, so you could reach him for another steamy kiss.

“I’m staying at a motel, if you wanna…” he said, between kisses.

You paused against his lips, parting from him softly.

“Or not," he added. "Just thought I’d mention.” 

You giggled, catching your breath, and then smoothing your hands down his chest. The faint throb of your core was telling you one thing, but the warning signals of your more cautious mind were telling you another. You thought for a moment…but then you sighed. 

“How long are you really in town?” you asked.

His wet lips tugged to one corner, ruefully. “A few more days, probably.”

“Right,” you said with a frown. “Russell, I like you. I actually, I really do. If you were sticking around for a while, it’d be one thing. But you’re my best friend’s brother, and I—”

“No, I get it. I can’t predict when I’m gonna be able to swing back into town, and you’ve gotta live your life,” he said, but not without care. He curled an errant strand of hair behind your ear. 

Your heart tugged, almost painfully.

“You’re a good guy, Russell Shaw,” you breathed. “Why can’t you be a good guy who’s staying?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. Then he cringed, knowing how you felt about sweethearting men. “Ah, sorry—” 

You smiled and covered his mouth with your fingers. 

“It’s okay. You have permission to sweetheart me.” 

After blinking his surprise away, his face eased into a grin.

“Then I’ll wear that badge with honor,” he said. 

Your shoulders shook with laughter when you let your forehead fall against his chest.

Russell remained what he had been throughout the entire night: a gentleman, who accompanied you over to your car.

After another stolen kiss or two in front of your sedan, you parted ways from him with a bit of a heavy heart. You wondered if you made the right decision, or if you should’ve just gone for it for once, instead of second-guessing yourself like usual.

You did know this. The rumble of his Chevelle driving down the opposite road would be imprinted on your memory.

When you returned home, you realized that the house was empty, and in complete darkness.

Charlie still wasn’t home.

Worried, you flicked on the lights and began to text his cell, only to find a note for you on the kitchen counter.

And it worried you even more.

I’m sorry. I’m going to make it right. 

— C.

AN: 😬 Well then! lol We're diving straight into the drama and feels on this one. What did you think of her "barely a date" with Russell? 😂

And where do you think we're going next with Charlie?

Next Time:

Dory was sat next to you on the couch, rubbing your back with sympathy and concern in her own eyes.

“You should call the police,” she advised.

You’d thought of that, but if Charlie was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, then depending on what it was, you didn’t necessarily want him locked up in a cell. He wasn’t a bad person, he was just…lost. You wanted him to get help.

You set down the butterknife beside the jar and turned to her, after drying your eyes the best you could.

“Do you think your brother would be willing to come back to Wyoming?” you said. After a beat of hesitation, you specified:

“Colter, the tracker.”

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