#just got home from a formal event

[planete777]

.

[punkshort]

Just Friends

Thank you @brittmb115 for this prompt!

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: Accompanying your friend Javier to his holiday work party seemed simple enough until it gets a little too hard to just pretend to be dating.

Warnings: language, fake dating, one bed trope, sexual tension, jealousy, flirting, cigarette use, alcohol use, friends to lovers, reader has insecurities about her looks, fingering, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex

WC: 6.4K

dividers by @saradika-graphics

"Please, cariño, it's just one night. The party's at a casino about two hours outside the city. The DEA paid for hotel rooms 'cause they're worried about people drinking and driving. We'll be back by noon on Saturday, you'll still have your whole weekend to mope around over Travis," Javi begged as he followed you around your kitchen.

"Trent," you corrected with a glare over your shoulder. Javi just waved you off.

"Yeah, whatever. His name doesn't matter anymore, now does it?" he countered with an arched brow. You frowned and continued to put your dishes away.

Javier was right - Trent's name didn't matter anymore. Not after he dumped you out of the blue, two weeks before Christmas. He probably didn't want to buy you a gift, Javier had said when you called him up crying. It wasn't exactly the most comforting thing to hear, but at least he made you laugh.

"And why is it you don't want to attend this event by yourself? I thought you would have wanted to take some poor secretary back to your room for the evening," you said, flipping the dishwasher closed before playfully adding, "This better not be some sick move to try to get into my pants again." Javi pulled out his carton of cigarettes and began to anxiously tap it against his palm. When you whisked by, you smacked it out of his hand with a warning: do not smoke in my house.

"You've made it very clear I won't be touching your pants, hermosa," he chuckled, recalling a handful of failed attempts to get you into bed before giving up entirely. "But, uh, I've been taking one too many secretaries home lately," Javi admitted with a lopsided grin. "Got one real pissed at me for not calling her back. Had to make up a lie that I had gotten back together with an ex, so..."

Your jaw dropped and you stared daggers at him with your hands on your hips.

"So not only are you asking me to go with you to this party, but I'm supposed to pretend we're dating?" you clarified, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach. When he nodded sheepishly, you tossed your hands in the hair and began to curse under your breath.

"Oh, come on! It won't be that bad! It's not like she's gonna say anything. It's just for looks. Hell, you never know. Maybe you'll meet someone at this thing. I could be doing you the favor of a lifetime," he said before hopping up to sit on your kitchen island. You smacked his knee when you walked past and he grinned.

"I have barstools, you know."

"Yeah, but I like it up here. Better view," he winked and jutted his chin towards your v-neck shirt.

"Gross," you scowled, making him laugh. He took a handful of nuts from the bowl on your counter and shook them in his hand like dice.

"So? What's it gonna be? You in?"

You watched him tip his head back, pouring some peanuts in his mouth, and you sighed. What the hell. You didn't have anything better to do.

"Fine."

Javier jumped off the counter excitedly. "Thank you! I owe you one!" he exclaimed before heading for your door. "I gotta run. I'll pick you up around noon on Friday. And, hey - bring a dress. The party is a little formal."

You rolled your eyes and groaned, then shooed him out your door. "Thanks. Now I have to figure out a damn outfit."

"You're the best!" he shouted happily from his car. You shut your door and turned around to sag against the wood, finally surrounded with silence. Something you thought you were craving until you had it, and then suddenly you realized you had never felt more alone in your life.

"Where the hell is this place?" you asked, staring out the passenger seat of Javier's jeep. It felt like the car kept climbing higher and higher, and the way your ears were popping, you were thinking your hunch was right.

"It's a hotel slash casino up in the hills," he said with a nod towards the open, winding road. "Supposed to have a hell of a view."

"Yeah, guess so," you muttered, then gasped when a clearing came into view and you saw just how high up you really were. "Oh, my god! Javi - look!"

"I'm driving, cariño," he reminded you with a smirk, but his eyes still flickered quickly over the ridge.

"Wow," you said breathlessly. The view was spectacular. Miles and miles of hills and trees surrounded a sprawling hotel/casino. If you were closer to the edge, you would be able to see a lazy river snaking around the bottom of the mountain.

"Alright. So what's the story?" you asked when you settled back in your seat. There was still a ways to go until you reached the casino, but you could see it from the road nestled into the landscape.

"What story?"

"Our story," you said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You told a girl you got back together with an ex. So, why did we originally break up?"

"Oh," Javi said, scratching his chin. "I don't know. You really think it matters?"

"Maybe. Who knows? Probably a good idea we at least talk about it," you shrugged.

Javi thought about it for a minute before snapping his fingers. "You wanted marriage and I didn't."

You made a face and shook your head.

"That would imply we're on the path to getting engaged. You really think you can fake a whole marriage because you pissed off a girl at work?"

"Yeah, good point," he mumbled before falling quiet to think about it some more. After a few minutes, he came up with another idea. "How about you were gonna move away for a job and we didn't want to do long distance, but the job fell through and you stayed?"

You nodded slowly, rolling the idea around in your head.

"Yeah, that's good. That'll work. Then one day to explain why you're single again, you can say I got another job offer out of state or something."

"Exactly."

"Alright. Easy enough," you hummed, then turned to gaze out your window again. Javi watched you for a few minutes out of the corner of his eye, his jaw working back and forth while he tried to come up with the right words to express his gratitude.

"Hey, uh," he said, clearing his throat. You turned to look at him expectantly. "I just wanna thank you again. I know you're going through a tough time and all that-"

"Don't mention it," you said dismissively. "It's not a big deal. Plenty of guys out there, right?"

Javi gave you a tight smile. "Yeah. Sure."

One thing that you didn't have a chance to fully think through was the sleeping situation. As Javi checked you in and you heard the girl at the front desk confirm one king sized bed, you felt yourself stiffen. He signed and grabbed the keys, then shot you a warm smile before gesturing towards the elevators. From the looks of it, Javier didn't mind one bit. Then, of course, it was Javier...

"No funny business," you declared when you entered your room and Javier flopped down tiredly on the huge bed. "You stick to your side, I'll stick to mine."

"Whatever you say, cariño," he replied with his eyes closed. "I'll be reminding you of that later tonight when you're all over me after a few drinks."

"That was one time and I told you I was sorry!" you exclaimed, cheeks burning from the memory.

Your relationship in the past with Javier was... complicated. When you first met, it felt like you kept seeking each other out at all the worst times. Whenever you made a move, he was unavailable, and vice versa. Eventually, you had decided to just be friends and left it at that. And it worked well. You had an easy relationship where it felt effortless and natural to go to the other with some exciting news, and sought a shoulder to cry on if something bad happened. It just seemed to work better without the romantic element.

All of that aside, at the crux of the issue was you were a romantic, through and through. You liked being in long term relationships. You enjoyed the comfort and peace it brought. Javier, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. You couldn't even remember the last time he brought the same girl out for drinks more than once and you had a suspicion he had never been in love.

"I'm just messing with you. Can't help it, I like when you're all flustered," Javi said before sitting up with a groan. When he stretched, you found your eyes drifting down to where his shirt rode up, revealing a small sliver of bronzed skin. You swallowed and forced yourself to look away because no matter how many times you reminded yourself it would never work between you, it didn't stop you from being unbearably attracted to him.

It was the confidence that he exuded. That was what you had finally decided was the thing that kept you drawn to him in a decidedly less-than-friendly way. But of course, you were quick to remember you weren't the only one who was attracted to his charm. Half the women in the city noticed it, too. You had just gotten very good at hiding it.

"What time's the party start?" you asked, hauling your duffel bag onto the bed so you could begin to unpack your toiletries. The first thing you did was take out the dark red slinky dress you bought so you could steam out the wrinkles with the iron packed away in the coat closet. What you didn't notice was the way Javier's eyes greedily locked onto the fabric while you moved around the room.

"Uh..." he murmured, his pulse quickening when he saw the plunging neckline of your dress. "That new?"

You furrowed your brow and turned around. "Yeah. I didn't exactly have anything suitable so I went shopping. Why? You don't like it?"

"No, no... it's perfect," he assured you. Javier blinked a few times, snapping himself out of it, and looked at you. "Very... festive."

You grinned and hung up the dress on the back of the bathroom door. "Thanks. I thought so, too. So... the party? What time?"

"Oh, right. Cocktail hour starts at five, dinner's at seven then dancing or whatever til who knows when."

You glanced at your watch and made a face after you did a quick pass with the iron.

"I better get in the shower, then," you said, grabbing your things. Javier leaned back onto the headboard and flicked on the television with the ease of a man who didn't intend on putting in much work on his appearance for evening. However, once you finished your hair and makeup and stepped out of the bathroom in that damn dress, he suddenly felt like he should have tried a little harder.

"Maybe I should put something in my hair," he muttered, his fingers flicking through the dark locks as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. You appeared in the doorway of the bathroom looking way too fucking attractive to be his date, let alone masquerading as his girlfriend. Your brows pinched together as you looked at his hair and it took every last ounce of willpower not to let his eyes fall to your cleavage in that tight dress.

"I think your hair looks good," you said. When you reached up to fix a stray piece of his hair, he cleared his throat and twisted away.

"Alright, let's get this thing over with," he mumbled as he slid past you and headed towards the door.

"What's got you so grumpy?"

"Nothing. Just need a drink and a smoke."

"You're gonna abandon me with a bunch of DEA agents to go smoke for ten minutes?" you whined, following him out of your hotel room towards the elevators.

"You could always join me. You'd look like Bette Davis smoking a cigarette and wearing that dress," he replied when you both stepped inside the elevator. He tapped the lobby button and grinned down at you.

"You and Bette Davis," you laughed, rolling your eyes.

"What? She made smoking look so damn cool."

"Yeah, well, I think I'm going to pass," you told him. "I'll get a drink and mingle. Maybe find one of the girls you pissed off and have a cat fight."

Javi chuckled and shook his head. "That's a long list, baby. Shouldn't be too hard."

When the elevator doors slid open, you could hear the music thumping from the ballroom and laughter echoing off the walls.

"Sounds like they didn't waste any time," you said to Javier.

"Are you kidding? When the government gives you an open bar, you fucking milk it," he replied before taking one step towards the front doors. "You sure you're good for a few?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," you said, waving him off. He nodded and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. Before he even made it to the door, he slipped one in between his lips.

The ballroom was pretty full already, Javi was right: when government employees have a chance to let loose, they jump at the opportunity. The entire room was decorated in Christmas lights, garland, and at least five different trees. The DJ was cycling through a mix of Christmas carols, pop music, and classic rock. Some people already shaking their hips on the dance floor with drinks in their hands. You spotted two different bars set up, so you made your way to the nearest one and ordered a white wine. As you waited, you bopped your head along to the beat of Last Christmas while mindlessly scrolling on your phone.

"Jack Daniels, neat," a man's deep voice said from beside you when the bartender placed your wine glass on a coaster. You thanked him and slid a few dollars across the bar before taking a sip.

"Excuse me... have we met?"

You turned to look at your neighbor and slowly shook your head. He was cute. Blonde hair parted to one side, mustache, lean but strong physique and sparkling blue eyes.

"No, we haven't," you said before offering your hand and name.

"Steve," he grinned, giving your hand a firm shake before accepting his drink with a nod and a couple bucks in the tip jar. "What department do you work in?"

"Oh, I don't work for the DEA, I'm here with someone," you said, leaning closer. You watched his face fall when you implied you weren't single and you pursed your lips. How the hell would Javi expect you to meet anyone when you had to pretend to be his girlfriend?

"I mean, just a friend. A good friend," you added, praying you didn't blow Javi's cover the first time you opened your mouth. "Uh, what do you do?"

"I'm an agent," he told you, chest puffing with pride. "Takin' down drug rings one scumbag at a time."

"Wow. That's so impressive," you gushed. You saw the way his cheeks flushed a bit and preened when he glanced down at your chest. "That must be so hard. What's your favorite part about the job?"

"Goin' to the Christmas party and meeting beautiful women like you," he shot back smoothly, making you giggle and toss your hair flirtatiously over your shoulder. Steve's gaze dragged up and down your dress appreciatively before adding, "I mean it. You look stunning. Should've known someone like you didn't work for the DEA."

"Oh, stop," you giggled, feeling your face warm from his compliment.

"Where are you sitting? Maybe I can convince you to dance after dinner? Now fair warning, I got two left feet, but I got a feeling no one's gonna be lookin' at me," Steve grinned, taking a step closer and grazing his thumb along your bare arm.

"Hmm, that sounds-"

"Murphy."

You both twisted around to find Javier storming across the room. And storming was really the only word for it. His fists were clenched and his jaw pulled tight like he was about to take a swing at Steve.

"Javi," you greeted him sweetly with a smile. At the same time, Steve said, "Peña."

"What's going on here?" he asked, sidling up so he could wedge himself between you and Steve.

"Nothing. Steve and I were just talking," you said innocently.

"Looked like more than that," Javier huffed. His tone and the serious look on his face made you falter. Did you do something wrong?

"Well-"

"I was just asking her for a dance after dinner. Relax, Jav," Steve joked with a playful punch to his shoulder. When Javi remained stoic and unmoving at your side, the smile slowly slipped from Steve's face.

"Oh, shit. Sorry. I thought you were just friends."

"We are," you said quickly, but Steve was already backing away.

"Enjoy your night! It was lovely to meet you," Steve said with a wink before disappearing into the crowd. You swiveled on your heel to glare at Javi.

"Why didn't you correct him?" you seethed.

Javi just shrugged, his relaxed demeanor slipping back in place, and leaned up against the bar to flag down a bartender. "You can do better than Steve."

"Who are you to say?" you argued back after he ordered a whiskey. "We were clicking! And he's cute, why-"

"'Cause I don't want you fucking my partner, hermosa, that's why," Javi snapped. Your eyes widened and you clamped your mouth shut for a moment.

"He's your partner? Why didn't you ever introduce us before? He's-"

"C'mon, let's go find the appetizers or something," he said after snatching his glass from the bar top. It was very evident you wouldn't be getting any more information out of Javier so you decided to drop the subject. But as the happy hour inched along with your third drink in your hand and Javi's arm finding a permanent home around your waist as he introduced you to his coworkers, your mind kept drifting back to that hardened look he had given you and Steve. The butterflies in your stomach churned to life every time you thought about it, your memory twisting things so you could pretend he was jealous over you flirting with another man. It wasn't that hard to imagine, really. He could hardly keep himself from touching either your waist or lower back or grabbing your hand. It fed the little fantasy in your head, deluding yourself into thinking he was subtly trying to claim you in front of the whole party, warning others to stay away.

You had given up reminding yourself that the fake relationship schtick was just an act by the end of dinner. It was too nice to pretend otherwise.

Javi had been wrapped up in a long winded conversation with the man seated on the other side of him, but your heart was fluttering the whole time because from the moment he set his silverware down, his hand hadn't once left your leg.

With a dreamy smile plastered across your face, your eyes casually drifted around the room. People were already beginning to dance but many still remained at their dinner tables chatting. You had been quietly admiring the artwork on the walls and sipping from your glass when you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. It was hard to explain, but you just felt like someone was staring at you. Doing your best to be subtle, you shifted in your seat and let your gaze wander around the room again until you found the source.

There was a table to your left, half of which was empty, but five young women remained staring in your direction. Some had drinks dangling from their fingers, one had a scowl and another was leaning in to whisper something in her ear.

There was no question one of the girls must have been one of Javi's scorned lovers. If not all of them. Your heart sunk a little when you saw how beautiful they were and you forced yourself to look away.

Javier was handsome, he had charm, and he was funny. A lethal combination that managed to get him in bed with some extremely drop dead gorgeous women. It was then you felt your insecurities flare up. How could anyone buy you were a couple when he was used to having girls like that on his arm?

With Javier still talking, you stood up from your chair, suddenly feeling flustered and overwhelmed.

He stopped speaking mid sentence to look up and ask, "Where are you going?"

"Uh," you glanced around and swallowed nervously. "I think I just need some fresh air. I'll be right back."

"I'll go with you," he said, immediately standing. "I'll catch up with you later, Jim," Javi added over his shoulder before hurrying to catch up with you. When his palm pressed against your back, your feet automatically slowed.

"What's going on? Drink too much?"

"No. Well, maybe. I don't know," you rambled, eyes scanning for the exit. "I just feel like I don't fit in here."

"What? Why?" he asked, grabbing your arm and spinning you around. His face was filled with concern as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "You're doing great, cariño. I thought you were having fun."

"I was. I am," you stammered, and then your gaze landed on the table of girls, most of which had moved on to something else.

Before you could tear your eyes away, Javier noticed where you were looking and sighed.

"Yeah, sorry. I told you, I pissed off a woman or two here."

"It's not that," you mumbled, now staring down at the floor.

"Then what is it?"

You felt your cheeks flush and you couldn't look him in the eye when you finally admitted, "They're really pretty, Javi."

He just scoffed and took your hand in his.

"You're prettier."

You laughed lightly and shook your head. "Yeah, right. It's a good thing there's an open bar. Otherwise, I'm not sure people would believe we're together when you're usually seen with girls like that."

"Hey," Javi said softly. He hooked a finger under your chin and tilted it up so you would look at him. "Don't say that. You look better than anyone else here. If you weren't already, I'd be trying to get you up to my room right now," he said with a smirk. You giggled a little and sighed.

"Sorry. I guess I just had a moment or something," you said, breathing deep. Javi looked around the room and noticed how the dance floor was beginning to fill up.

"Wanna dance?"

You smiled and pulled your lower lip between your teeth as you watched others having fun on the dance floor. Without waiting for your answer, Javi tugged your hand and tilted his head, urging you to follow him. "C'mon, don't leave me hanging."

You laughed and let him lead you to the dance floor, weaving through the throngs of people until he found a little wiggle room, but right when he turned back to look at you with a big, goofy smile, the fast tempo switched to a much slower ballad. Javi cocked an eyebrow at you and extended a hand, unphased.

With a smile of your own, you took his hand and let him pull you in close. His fingers laced together with yours while his other arm wrapped around your middle and your free hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"Hey, you can dance," he teased when you fell into rhythm with him effortlessly.

"Of course I can dance," you said, rolling your eyes. Being that close to him, you could smell his aftershave, the whiskey on his breath, and a faint hint of cigarette smoke from earlier. The smell you had unknowingly grown to love. The smell that was, simply put, Javier.

You gazed up at him, smiling at the little pink tinting his cheeks and the glassy look in his eye. He looked so fucking adorable it almost pained you.

"Can I ask you something, Javi?" you asked quietly. His eyes softened at your tone and he nodded. "Why were you so mad earlier when I was talking to Steve? Really?"

The corner of his mouth twitched and his eyes flickered somewhere behind you as he considered his answer.

"I think you know why."

When he looked back down at you, the playfulness was gone. His eyes carried something else in them. Something he couldn't bring himself to say. Then your heart skipped a beat and your breath caught in your throat when you saw it. The look you had been aching to see from him for years. The same look you were giving him at the very same time.

And then it hit you. Yeah, you knew why.

It turned out Javier was much more popular at work than you ever expected. You had spent the rest of your dance trying to come up with the right thing to say, but you panicked and lost your chance when Javier's boss nudged his shoulder while dancing with his wife. The four of you fell into a conversation - the men about work, you and his boss's wife about Christmas bargains - in the middle of the dance floor. When you realized you were in the way, the conversation moved to the bar. After that, an investigator joined in the conversation with her girlfriend and before you knew it, it was nearly midnight and the moment you had with Javi on the dance floor was long forgotten.

Or so you thought.

It had been a long night. You were exhausted and your feet ached from the new shoes you picked out to match your dress. You had hoped to possibly find an opening and talk to Javi about what you thought he implied during your dance, but while you were waiting for him to wash up, you passed out cold.

One thing you knew for certain was you were on your side of the bed when you fell asleep. You knew that because your side faced the bathroom and you had rolled over to wait for Javi before you fell asleep. However, you couldn't explain why you woke up around three in the morning with your cheek resting on his shoulder and your arm wrapped around his waist.

Well, maybe you could explain it. It was probably your subconscious trying to seek him out after spending the evening being so close to him. No matter the reason, you knew you had to sneak back to your side of the bed before he woke up, so you slowly began to extract your arm.

"Where're you goin'?" Javi murmured sleepily. Your eyes widened and your heart began to race.

"Nowhere, just go back to sleep," you whispered, pulling your arm away. Just as you were about to roll over, Javi's hand shot out to grab your wrist. You froze, cheek still pressed against his shoulder, and slowly lifted your eyes up to meet his.

It was hard to see in the dark, but from what you could tell, he was wide awake. His dark brown eyes continued to study your face while you fumbled for words.

"Javi?" you said, voice sounding so small in the quiet room. His eyes flickered anxiously between yours for another moment before he came to his decision. In one quick movement, he had rolled you onto your back, his hips fitting perfectly between your legs as he caged you in.

"Javi," you said again, although this time sounding far more breathless and aroused than you intended.

He swallowed tightly, gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips before he whispered, "Do you feel it too, cariño?"

You shifted underneath him, eyelids fluttering when you felt his arousal pressing up against the inside of your thigh.

"Yes," you whispered back.

His mouth crashed against yours in an instant. It was rougher than you expected it to be but you didn't mind. You understood because you felt it, too. All that time wasted, dancing around something that was right in front of you the entire time. It was bound to drive anyone a little crazy, a little hungry.

Before you knew it, your fingers were in his hair, dragging down his shoulders, and then tugging at his shirt, and all the while his mouth remained cemented against yours. He had to pull away to yank his white tshirt over his head and you heard yourself make a pathetic little noise, like you couldn't possibly survive without his kiss, not even for one second.

"Take this off," he panted, lifting your oversized shirt halfway up your torso. You didn't need to be told twice. You flung it off and pulled Javier back down before he even had a chance to take a good look at your bare chest.

Everything was moving so fast but given the amount of time it took you to get there, it felt like a fucking eternity. He expertly tugged your shorts and underwear off while your tongues fought for dominance in each other's mouths. It wasn't even until you felt his fingers brush against your cunt that you realized you were entirely undressed.

"Oh, god... Javi!" you cried out brokenly when he slipped two fingers inside of you.

His mouth fell to your chin and he made a strangled sound, curling his fingers when he said, "Fuck, baby, when you say my name like that..."

His hand maintained a steady rhythm between your legs, reaching for that spot that made your back curl off the bed every time he thrusted inside. His other hand got lost in your hair, tipping your face so he could feverishly lock his lips with yours while dragging your first orgasm to the surface with a few circles over your sensitive clit.

"Javi! Wait... I'm gonna - I'm gonna come -" you gasped, unable to stop your hips from rolling up and meeting his hand.

"Go ahead, hermosa. I got you."

"No," you whimpered, muscles going tense. You were getting to the point of no return and you needed to stop him. "I wanna - I want you to fuck me, Javi. I - I wanna -"

Your head fell back into the pillow, unable to complete your sentence.

"I am. I'm gonna fuck you," he assured you, lips ghosting the shell of your ear and wrist snapping faster between your thighs. "I'll make you come on my cock, don't worry, baby. Just let go, c'mon, you can do that for me, right?"

"Oh, fuck," you gasped, eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck, fuck, fu- yes, Javi, yes! More... please-"

"Christ, cariño, you're gonna wake the whole fucking hotel," he chuckled, but you were too far gone to care. You tilted your chin to the ceiling, his name echoing off the walls as you came. It felt like your heart was going to beat right out of your chest, like your legs were so weak you may never walk again, yet somehow it wasn't enough. Not for either of you. In fact, it only seemed to make you each more desperate.

Your kisses on his skin became messy, both of you so eager to have the other that there was no room to worry about being too fast or abrasive. Your teeth clashed together when your arm curved around his neck, yanking him down to your level. Your shared hot breaths mingled with each pant and gasp. When you reached down to wrap your fingers around the heavy weight of his cock, he moaned into your open mouth and slid his fingers from your pussy so you could line him up with your entrance, neither of you in any mood to wait a second longer.

"Fu-uck," he groaned when he pushed inside of you, burying himself to the hilt in one go. You gasped and sharply bit down on his shoulder when tears sprung up and threatened to spill down your cheeks.

"You okay?" he panted, planting weak kisses against the side of your face. All you could do was nod. He filled you and stretched you so perfectly that it took your breath away and left you speechless. He nodded, too, lips parted as he puffed for air, then began to rock his hips. Slow at first, then steady and deep.

"Javi," you moaned in his ear, sending a shiver through his body. "Shit, just like that. Oh my god, Javi, just like that!"

Javier smirked into your shoulder, fucking you with deep, long strokes as you continued to fill the room with your cries and moans.

"Never thought you'd be so goddamn loud, baby," he teased, nipping playfully at your shoulder.

"Sorry," you whined into the air. Your jaw was clenched tight, fingers clawing uselessly at his broad shoulders while he continued to pump in and out a little bit harder, a little bit faster, setting loose one of the tears that welled up in your eyes.

"Don't be sorry, I fucking love it," he groaned. He lifted himself up so he could watch your face contort with each devastating thrust. "Fucking love how you say my name. Dreamed about it for so long, you have no idea-"

"Me, too," you moaned, a second tear trickling down your cheek. You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto him tightly as he began to fuck you faster. His eyes flickered down to your bare chest, breasts bouncing from the force of his thrusts. Craning his neck down, he latched onto one with a groan, teeth grazing enticingly over your nipple before sucking the other one into his mouth.

"God, you're so perfect," he mumbled into the space between your breasts. "So fucking perfect, hermosa. Drove me fucking crazy all night."

Your heart stuttered before grabbing the sides of his head and pulling him up for a deep kiss. Every time he slammed inside of you, it had you seeing stars. You felt completely at his mercy, unable to think about anything else except him, him, him.

"Tell me you want more," he demanded, pulling away from your kiss so he could look you in the eye. His eyes were blown wide with lust and a few dark hairs were beginning to stick to his forehead, the image so captivating that he had you nodding dumbly to his request.

"Yes, Javi, please," you moaned, "more, please, fuck me-"

"No, I mean-"

His hips slowed and he cupped your face, chest heaving and lips parted for air as he stared down at you imploringly. "I mean, tell me you want more than just tonight. Tell me there's something else here."

You blinked rapidly and nodded, stunned he would even have to ask when you had always been the one to prefer relationships. Hardly trusting yourself to speak, you whispered, "Yeah. I want more than just tonight. I want more than just this."

A smile stretched across his face right before he lunged down to capture your lips with his own. His hips resumed their pace, snapping steadily into you and pushing you higher and higher until you stiffened and cried out his name.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, shit," he muttered, hips stuttering against you, his name still tumbling from your mouth as the last of your orgasm rippled through your body. "Baby - look at me," he begged, and it wasn't until that moment you realized your eyelids had even shut.

Tiredly, you opened your eyes to gaze up at him. The way he was looking at you caused a lump to form in your throat and you had to suppress a shiver. It was too intense all of the sudden, the air thickening between you in a matter of seconds.

"Come for me, Javi," you murmured lowly. You brought a shaky hand up to card through his damp hair, watching as his eyebrows pinched and his chin dropped, pulling out of you quickly and sitting back on his heels to fist his cock. Your hand fell back to the cool sheets beside you, unable to look away. He was hunched above you, one fist pressed into the mattress and the other jerking himself off until he stilled with a deep groan, painting your stomach with his sticky release. You couldn't even let yourself blink, doing your best to commit every detail to memory until he collapsed next to you with a heavy sigh.

"Fucking Christ," he grumbled, forearm tossed over his eyes. You giggled, face warming when you heard how raspy you sounded. Javier removed his arm and turned his head to look at you with a lopsided grin.

"You're a screamer, hermosa."

"Javi!" you cried out softly, but your broken voice only further proved his argument. He chuckled and rolled onto his side to push some hair away from your eyes.

"I was expecting a phone call from the front desk ten minutes ago."

"Shut up, Javi!" you whined, covering your face with your palms.

"Don't be embarrassed, baby, I love it," he said while pulling your hands away. You bit your lip and peered up at him, searching his face for any sign of regret and finding none. Then his face softened and he swallowed nervously before adding, "I'm in love with you."

He said it so quietly, so sweetly, that it had you wondering if you were hearing things. But then you saw the anxious look in his eye and your pulse skyrocketed.

"Really?" you asked in disbelief. Slowly, he nodded.

"Yeah. I think I've been in love with you for a while," he admitted, tracing an invisible line down your cheek.

You laughed and two fresh tears fell when you said, "I love you, too."

His mouth crashed against yours in relief and you wrapped your arms around his neck, matching smiles pressing together in stunned happiness.

"I'm sorry I wasted so much time and didn't tell you sooner," he murmured while stroking your hair.

"It doesn't matter," you replied, "we have each other now."

Javi smiled and kissed the tip of your nose.

"So, now what?" he asked.

"Now? Now I would really like to take a shower," you said, then grinned when you added, "and maybe in the morning we can do this all over again."

He laughed and rolled to his side so you could get out of bed. When his eyes locked onto your ass as you made your way to the bathroom in the dark, he flung the covers off and leapt out of bed to follow you.

"I think we're gonna need a late check out."

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[gloomwitchwrites]

141 What If....

You ask him to leave the uniform on? 🥵🥵🥵🥵

I am feral over this. FERAL. Literally chewing on my own arm because I need to calm down. Your prompts always get me going. I totally blame you for this. Now, I went with a little variety here. We've got Kyle in formal military dress, John coming home from deployment, Johnny returning on break for a quickie, and Simon playing out a pre discussed fantasy. Enjoy!!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: established relationship, CNC, breeding, restraints, welcome home sex, quickies, formal events, semi-public sex, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), sex in a car, dirty talk, brief knifeplay, light degradation

Word Count: 3.3k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John’s return is delayed.

He was supposed to come home to you a month ago. But it wasn’t him that notified you about his postponed reunion. Someone from SAS contacted you via the post. The envelope held a singular piece of paper. No apology. Just black ink on a white sheet with an official letterhead. John has always been good about making sure you know when he’ll return. It's something you constantly worry about.

While on a mission, you won't hear from him—this you know. But whenever he is able, John makes an effort to let you know when to expect him or if he's okay.

To not hear from him is odd, and it stirs up all sorts of emotions, pushing your brain toward any number of possibilities. Each scenario appears briefly before sliding into another. They worsen—and then you’re sick, stomach twisted into a tight knot.

That piece of paper is on the kitchen counter. Untouched—but not forgotten. It said yesterday. And yesterday, John did not return.

You’re chewing on your fingernails. Pacing. Stressing.

It's the familiar squeak of the doorknob from the front door that finally stalls your racing thoughts. All that mental energy becomes physical. You're sprinting, throwing yourself at John the moment he enters.

He chuckles—the sound is pleasant and soothing to your heart.

“Didn’t think you’d be home,” he says, drawing you close.

Your answer is to wrap your arms around the back of his neck, and seize a kiss from him that says so much. You need John to know how much you’ve missed him—how worried you’ve been.

His hands on your hips tighten, squeezing slightly as he melts under your kisses. Each one is desperate. Needy. You savor him like you’ll never know this again. John's grip on you is firm, and much stronger than you can resist. He draws you away from him—not enough to create a separation—but enough to talk.

“Slow down, love. Let me look at you.” His hands move to your face, cradling your cheeks. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," you reply. You pull him close again. "Need you." Just a murmur, hardly audible, but John hears it.

He does not resist. He gives in, accepting your love, answering every kiss and touch with one of his own. Hands roam, fingers cling, and yet you're not nearly close enough. You need him on his back with you atop him.

John breaks away, breathing heavy, lips slightly puffy from kissing you. "Bedroom."

You shake your head. "Right here,” you reply, going in for another kiss. “Uniform stays on.”

The middle of John's brow scrunches slightly in confusion, but your fingers are already looping in his belt buckles, guiding him into the living room. That brief moment of confusion morphs into a sultry smirk.

John allows you to guide, allows you to push him onto his back on the sofa. His hands never leave your body, they roam constantly even as you undo the front of his pants and shimmy them down to mid-thigh.

You have him in hand instantly, coaxing him to hardness quickly. The need for him is a driving force, positioning yourself above him, ready to impale yourself.

John's hand slips between your legs, fingers finding your center. "Your—fuck." The sound of your slickness greets him and John groans.

Placing your hands on his chest, John palms the base of his cock, lining it up. You don't slowly ease down. You drop, accepting every inch of him in one go. There is a brief flare of pain from the rapid intrusion, and then it's gone, replaced with the fullness of him inside you.

With your palms splayed wide, you're able to rock your hips, moving up and down his length in a steady movement that has both of you groaning.

"I missed you," he murmurs as you come back down on him. "Fuck—I missed you."

Your thighs start to burn with every bounce. John's fingers dig into your hips, dragging downward before ascending again. With the next roll of your hips, John meets you, thrusting up. It cuts a sharp gasp from your lips.

He grips harder, taking control. You cling to the front of his uniform, fisting the fabric as John brings you down just as he thrusts upward. It is not sweet. It is brutal and desperate. Each connection drags more pleasure out of you until your head falls back and you clench around him.

With a deep groan, John sits up, and effortlessly flips you over onto your back. Pinned beneath him, there is nowhere to go. All you can do is take what he gives.

John buries his face against your neck. "Love you so much."

You hook your heels behind his legs, urging him on. "Love you," you manage to gasp.

It is all sweat and heat. John's lips graze the line of your throat and then your chin. You turn toward him, the two of you meeting as he holds his body against yours, his release flooding your pussy.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle drapes his arm over your shoulder, tugging you against him, the noise of the function receding with every step. Usually when the two of you attend a formal function together, Kyle is in a suit, but this attendance was requested by Kyle's superior officer, Captain John Price.

Instead of a suit, Kyle wears his formal military dress. The uniform is freshly steamed and free of wrinkles. His shoes are polished to perfection. Like this, he's incredibly handsome. You've been admiring him all night, resisting the urge to touch him too much around people he works with on a regular basis.

"Can't wait to take this bloody thing off," sighs Kyle, lightly tugging on the neckline of his uniform.

You rest your head against his shoulder, savoring his warmth. "I think you look rather dashing."

"Dashing?" he laughs.

As the two of you enter the parking garage, you snag his hat, placing it on your head. Kyle's smile widens. He leans in for a kiss, greedily accepting what you offer him. Removing the car keys from his pocket, Kyle hits the button to unlock the vehicle. The SUV beeps, headlights coming on.

Kyle takes his hat back, holding it with one hand instead of putting it back on his head. He offers his mouth again and you close the distance.

"Can't wait to get that dress off you, love," he murmurs against your lips. “Been thinking about it all evening.”

You place your hand against his chest. "I think I'd like it if you leave the uniform on."

Kyle nearly chokes. "What?" he draws back slightly.

With a mischievous grin, you tug Kyle around the side of the SUV. The vehicle is in a corner spot, leaving the two of you tucked between it and a cement wall. There is no camera and no light. Both of you are hidden in shadow.

No one will notice the two of you unless they come looking.

You lean in slowly, offering your mouth. Kyle places his hand on the side of your throat, thumb slowly rubbing against the front of your neck. The kiss is honey-sweet, and tinted with seductive need. You seek another, and yet another until the two of you are gasping for air.

"Not here," murmurs Kyle, drawing back slightly.

Your hand slides downward, pausing at his belt. Kyle whispers your name, but there is no fight in it. If anything, it is lustful. Fingers toying with the belt, you kiss him again, loosening the buckle and then the front of his pants.

Reaching your hand inside, you find him hard and wanting.

"Someone will see," he groans, grabbing your wrist.

"Who will see us?" you reply softly. Kyle's gaze shifts outward to the parking garage.

"No one is around." You start to descend, opening his pants further.

Kyle's attention returns to you. His pupils expand as you take him in hand, painting your bottom lip with a pearly bead of cum. You present your glossy mouth to him, and Kyle brushes the pad of his thumb across it.

You lightly nip at that thumb, and then take him into your mouth. Kyle stifles his groan, but it comes out as a muted whimper. He gently cups the back of your head as you suck him down, hollowing your cheeks when you come back up.

This is just a tease. You want his resolve to slip.

Kyle doesn't break eye contact. He is completely focused on watching you. His dick twitches in your mouth, and Kyle grunts.

"Fuck, love. Come here."

With gentle tenderness, Kyle grasps the back of your neck, easing you off him. You extended your legs, leaning into him.

His voice is slightly husky. "I can't wait until we're home."

Kyle opens the rear passenger door and helps you up into the seat. You slide backward to the other end, Kyle following. With a hand on your throat, he pushes you onto your back. These next kisses are rough and possessive. Hungry. Claiming. You open for him, wanting to consume.

His free hand is gripping your dress, shoving it upward where it collects at your hips. Your tongue meets his the moment his fingers slip between skin and underwear. It is brief, and then he's drawing back only to bury his face between your legs.

Digging your heels into Kyle's back to stabilize yourself, you give in, moaning loudly as his tongue swirls a path up and down your sex. He teases just like you teased him. But it is short-lived.

Kyle is desperate for you. He finds your clit and stays put, tongue working quickly to send you over the edge. Your body shudders, a breathy groan escaping you as the orgasm hits. Still on your back, Kyle ascends, one hand pressed to the inside of your thigh while the other finds leverage against the car door just above your head. You lift your hips slightly, presenting your pussy to him.

He takes the hint, thrusting deep.

He does not go slowly. It is skin slapping against skin. It is all low groans and desperate fingers. His body weight keeps you pinned, and if anyone were to open door they'd have a clear view of his bare ass.

"Don't stop," you beg. "Please."

Kyle's answer is to seize your mouth, to force his air into your lungs, to firmly press his body to yours and swivel his hips, pelvis grinding against clit. Your hands fall on his ass, and then he's transformed. An animal. Rutting.

Surely, the car is shaking, but you hardly care. You only want him to finish. To give you every drop of his release.

You feel his muscles tighten under your hands, and then your bodies are sealed.

There is a small pause between then and the moment he kisses you, this time tenderly.

"So much for waiting," you tease.

Kyle’s exhalation is a pleased one. "Just wait until we get home."

John "Soap" MacTavish

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?"

Johnny's smile is devilish. "Came to see you."

"Me?" you laugh. "You just saw me this morning."

"And it wasn't nearly enough," coos Johnny, grabbing hip and waist, tugging you against him. "Missed you the whole time. Couldn't stay away."

Before you can form a reply, Johnny is lifting you up and onto the kitchen counter. He pushes everything up and out of the way, revealing your pussy to him.

"Johnny!" you exclaim.

With one hand on your thigh, Johnny uses his other hand to remove his belt and undo the front of his pants.

"I came home to fuck my wife." You instantly feel your cheeks grow hot. With a sultry smile, Johnny leans in but doesn't close the distance. "Would you like that?"

You nod. "Yes," you reply, voice nearly a whisper. "But—"

"But what?" he asks. You gesture at him. "The uniform? That stays on, love."

Guiding you wider, Johnny circles your clit with the pad of his thumb. The touch is electric, making you shiver as he toys with your sensitivity.

"Look at that," he purrs. "Look how wet and ready you are for me."

You whimper as Johnny tests your pussy with a finger.

"I think this deserves something bigger. What do you think, love?" He inserts a second and you whimper again. "Use your words."

"I want you inside me."

"I am inside you," he teases, pumping both fingers.

You shake your head, gasping as his thumb toys with your clit. "Your dick, Johnny."

"That I can do." His fingers are gone instantly, replaced with the head of his cock. He holds himself just inside, inching slowly until you've taken him to the base. "We'll have to make this quick. Can't be late and disappoint Price."

Johnny lightly swivels his hips, and then he's holding you in place, thrusting steadily. He kisses your lips, then your cheek. Resting his forehead against your temple, Johnny boxes you in, using your pussy for himself.

"You take me so well," he says softly. "Watch. Want you to watch."

Your gaze shifts downward, locking on to where your bodies meet. Keeping one hand on the countertop to stabilize yourself, you bring the other between your legs, fingers lightly playing with your clit.

"That's it," purrs Johnny. "Come for me."

A brief swirl and you're gone, squeezing hard around Johnny. He fucks you through it, grunting as he increases his pace. With a moan that claws up his throat, Johnny seals your bodies together, and his warmth floods your pussy. He thrusts lightly and stills.

A beat of silence, and then you both burst out into laughter.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, shaking his head.

"You came all this way on a break just to have sex with me?" you laugh.

Johnny leans back, grinning sheepishly. He glances down at his watch, smile fading. "Shit."

He pulls out and steps back, fumbling with his pants.

"Are you going to be late?" you ask teasingly.

Johnny tightens his belt and then helps you off the counter. With a quick kiss to the cheek, he heads out the door.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Every light in the house is off. The blinds are closed and it's completely dark except in one particular room.

The deep red glow calls out to you like a siren song. You stride toward it, moving through the hall silently like a shadow. The bedroom door stands open, revealing the blood-tinged space. From your point of view, nothing is out of place. All is calm and as it should be.

But Simon is here somewhere. Lurking. Watching.

This is what you wanted after all. An idea you passed off to Simon with the hope that he'd indulge your fantasy. Clearly, he took it to heart.

Adrenaline spikes in your blood as your gaze focuses on the bed. Attached to each corner are wrist and ankle cuffs. To be immobile and bred at Simon's pleasure is all you asked for, and here it is.

As you step forward, a large gloved hand slides over the front of your throat, squeezing. Simon is right behind you, and you feel every inch of him. Without even having to look, you know Simon is in full tactical gear. Parts of it dig into your back.

The leather of his gloves squeak as his fingers adjust against your throat. With a little pressure, he tilts your head back and you meet his whiskey-brown eyes. It's all you can see of his face. The rest is shrouded behind a balaclava.

"Do as I say," he growls. "Or you'll make this harder on yourself."

His command sends a bolt of need straight to your clit. Already, you feel a growing slickness between your thighs.

"Answer me if you understand."

"I understand," you murmur.

Simon makes a pleased sound deep in his throat. His thumb rubs a gentle line back and forth over the same spot.

His head tilts, lips pressing against your ear through the balaclava. "Then be a good little slut and get on your back."

Using his leverage on your throat, Simon lightly shoves you toward the bed. This time you turn around, facing him completely for the first time. He's dressed in all black tactical gear. Every inch of him is covered except his eyes, and his large frame fills the doorway.

When you take a step back, he takes a step forward. The backs of your thighs hit the bed, and you push yourself up and on, reclining until you're nearly horizontal. Simon saunters, gaze predatory and observing. His gloved hands hover just above your legs, pausing there before he bends slightly, reaching for an ankle cuff.

Simon glances between it and you languidly. You're not sure what his intentions are, not until he grabs your ankle with his other hand and tugs hard. You yelp, surprised, and then you kick out, attempting but failing to free yourself as Simon attaches the cuff into place.

"You said you understood," he growls, as you sit up to swing on him.

Simon snatches your wrist right out of the air. He hops onto the bed, kneeling as he grabs one of the cuffs for your wrists. Still, you fight and still you fail as he latches it in place.

You're not immobile but you're more restrained than before, movement restricted enough that you can't fight back like you want to. Not that you want to escape.

With a fluidity that surprises, Simon removes a knife from his boot and hooks it under the hem of your shirt. A sharp tug and the fabric surrenders to the blade. Simon tears it further, removing the garment completely.

As you use your one free arm to lash out, Simon is already prepared, blocking the blow and forcing it back to the bed. He attaches the cuff and returns the knife to your clothes, splitting your pants and tossing the remains aside.

You're on your back, completely naked and cuffed to the bed.

Simon's hand wraps around your throat, the knife tip dangerously close to your face. "I was going to worship your pretty pussy," he murmurs. "But I think I'll just take what I want."

It's all a game—a scene. You want Simon to use you, to fuck you ceaselessly, to do whatever the fuck he wants because he can.

Simon flips the knife and imbeds it into the bed above your head. Slowly, he removes his belt, tossing it aside. When he opens the front of his pants and eases them down a fraction, you nearly groan at the sight of his hardness. Simon palms the base of his cock.

"I won't be gentle," he says, gloved fingers pressing against your pussy.

He rubs back and forth, easing a little more from your body before grabbing your hips and slamming home. There is a brief flare of pain from the intrusion and then nothing at all except excitement.

"Your body is mine," he growls as he fucks you. "And for the next twenty-four hours, I'm going to breed this pussy until I'm satisfied."

You are unable to move, unable to do much but take it. Simon is situated between your spread legs, and you have a clear view of his cock sliding in and out of you. If you want an orgasm, Simon will have to grant it. Begging for it won't get you anywhere. You need to be good, and then he'll reward you.

Simon grunts as he thrusts, pace increasing as he nears his end. Watching him is lovely. His groan is lust-drenched, his orgasm sending a little shudder through him that you feel in your core.

Simon's gaze shifts to between your legs where he slowly pulls out. "What a fucking sweet sight," he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

His cum pools at your entrance, threatening to drip out. Soon you'll be overly full, a mess between your legs and on the bed.

Already Simon is stroking himself back to hardness. "Think that cunt of yours needs a bit more.

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[rhyrhy]

Tryouts! Series

𖤐 Synopsis: Abby Anderson, known for her carefree reputation, finds herself drawn to a no-nonsense cheerleader. What starts as harmless flirting takes a sharp left into chaos, featuring bruised egos, unresolved baggage, As tensions rise, the real question remains—can the two of you move past first impressions?

[Content Warnings:] MDNI, angst, modern AU, sexual tension, fuckboy quarterback Abby x mean cheerleader reader, angst/smut, gays who can’t communicate. Intoxication, Cringe.

࿔ A/N: back from vacation with a little something Based on this drabble. I know this trope has been run into the ground, but let’s be real—the gay version of everything is always better

࿔ Wc: 7k and counting | moodboards

-Chapter Index-

Prologue: (below) “how to ruin a party in 30 seconds or less”

Chapter 1: “denial is a team sport”

Chapter 2: cold shoulders

3 in progress

How to Ruin a Party in 30 Seconds or Less

“Fuckboy, player, heartbreaker.”

She’d heard it all—each insult more cliché than the last.

Abby never set out to be any of those things. It just kind of… happened. She came out later than most, stumbling through her sexuality, unsure how to carry it at first. It felt heavier than the 203 pounds she could deadlift. In high school, dating was a formality—one guy, no real connection.

It wasn’t until college that it clicked: she’d never felt right with them because she wasn’t meant to. Most labels felt strange, even suffocating. “Lesbian” felt too big, too official, so she avoided saying it aloud for as long as possible—unsure if it would even roll off her tongue correctly.

Then came her first real relationship. It ended before it even began. She wasn’t ready, fumbling through the emotional part, ghosting before things got too serious. After that, she stuck to what she did best: keeping things light. Hookups were easier than messy emotions. They didn’t ask for much, and she didn’t have to give anything away. Eventually, the reputation followed. At first, she snapped back at teammates’ jokes, but in time she learned to laugh it off. Honestly? It wasn’t entirely wrong.

Now, she wore what she used to fear as a second skin. Attending her dream school, she earned pats on the back from a team she’d only ever dreamed of joining. Sweat beaded on her forehead after every game—a reminder of how far she’d come. This was her paradise.

But deep down, Abby knew she was just dodging the real issue. She wasn’t afraid of commitment; she was afraid of feeling something for someone and not knowing what to do with it. And so, she remained safely in her own world.

But you? You didn’t get it. How could this possibly be enjoyable?

Sitting in the middle of a frat party, you longed to go home, wash your makeup off, and collapse onto your sheets. You hated events like these—especially when sober. The booming bass, the humid, sticky air, the blinding lights, and worse—the clumsy chaos of students. You never understood why you let your friends drag you here. But as part of the cheer team, skipping meant endless group-chat nagging—and you never were in the mood for that.

Throwing a ball around or getting tackled by girls twice your size wasn’t your thing. But ponytails, the rustle of pompoms, and the feeling of wind with every toe touch—that was your world.

Your best friend and team captain, Dina, who had held your hand through every drill, every first shave in middle school, and your recent breakup, was nowhere to be seen.

After settling in the living room, you figured a joint would help you zone out until Dina—and the rest of your ride—showed up. At some point, you found yourself face-to-face with the campus’ one and only Abby Anderson.

She’d been throwing looks all night, a silent challenge that told you everything: Abby was a well-known player, and the rumors weren’t flattering. Kissing and quitting? Not your scene. You’d crossed paths before—mostly during warm-ups on the field—but tonight, she slunk onto the couch beside you and started a conversation as if it were casual banter. Of course, it was calculated—but you indulged her, if only a little.

You were not interested.

Not after Valeria Martinez paraded you around as her girl, making sure everyone knew you weren’t the only one. Learning it all from some stupid “expose” page run by an idiot with too much time—it had been a sapphic nightmare. You’d poured your heart into routines and performances, trying to block out the frown that threatened to appear every time you entered the locker room. You’d held back soft sobs over a girl who played you like a fiddle—a bench-warming football player.

So no. You were absolutely not interested in going through that again.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Yet, unknowingly, you were judging Abby—a 6’0-something force of nature—entirely by her cover. If you’d looked closer—if you’d seen beyond the cool exterior—you’d know that Abby had her own routine. The gym, practice, study, sleep… it kept her sane. It gave her focus. And it worked… until you.

Until freshman move-in day, when she first saw you and dismissed you as just another pretty face. But then she found herself lingering on your social media, scrolling a little too long, just… staring at certain pictures. When she saw her teammates following you after the breakup with Martinez, her upper lip twitched in unknowing irritation.

She avoided you after that—pretended you didn’t exist—because it was easier than facing how you made her heart hammer against her ribs. The way she wanted you, even if you didn’t notice. But last night, she told herself, fuck it. If you weren’t going to make a move, she would.

A few jokes, a couple of lingering glances, and then—her fingers found their way under your chin, tilting your face toward hers. Your breath hitched. Her grip was firm, yet gentle enough for you to pull away if you dared. Almost as if she was testing you.

So close—just inches away. The heat radiating off her body, the defined collarbones peeking through the neckline of her jersey. Her gaze roamed over your features, as if she were committing them to memory, and when her blue eyes locked onto yours, you couldn’t look away.

The music pulsed around you, shifting, The slower beat stretched the moment, making it feel eternal. You didn’t move—why would you? She was convinced you’d fold like every other girl who caved under her size 10 cleats. But you weren’t going to. You couldn’t.

You were almost certain that if she closed the gap, you’d kiss her back. And that? That would be a problem. Because if she did, you’d pull her closer until the only thing you could smell was her.

Instead, you rolled your eyes and leaned back, your hair spraying across the sofa as you broke the moment.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Abby chuckled, her ego slightly bruised as her hand dropped from your chin. She punctuated it with a dramatic lip smack.

“Because I don’t want to fuck you?” you said, taking a slow drag from your joint. “Or because I’m not entertaining you?”

“Shit, both.” She shrugged, mentally slapping herself. She knew she’d come on too strong, and now she worried you might not even be into her type. So she doubled down.

“Especially the first one,” she added, dragging her eyes down your outfit before flicking them back up.

“Gross,” you scoffed, dismissing her further.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Abby huffed, tossing her head back against the couch. A beat of silence passed before she turned to you again.

“What’s your deal, anyway? You a prude? Because I know you aren’t straight.”

“What if I’m just not interested?” you shot back.

Her lips twitched, and she tilted her head as she studied you. “You aren’t?” Her voice was laced with challenge, and something in that tone made your heart thud. You hesitated—silence stretching uncomfortably as your uniform suddenly felt too tight.

Abby hummed and turned her head to the front. “Sure you aren’t,” she murmured, half-expecting you to correct her, half-expecting you to confirm her suspicion. When nothing came, she pressed on.

“So,” she said, her tone infuriatingly calm, “what’s your major? Or are you just here to shake your little pom-poms?”

You furrowed your brows at her comment before realizing you were still in uniform. A laugh burst out as you replied with your major. “And I won’t be shaking anything, thank you.” You added, taking another slow drag.

That got her attention. She tilted her head back for a once-over, arching an eyebrow. Testing your major like it was a word on her tongue, she paused and studied your face. “Nerdy,” she said with a shrug.

“Oh, I’m sorry—would you rather me throw a ball around all day?” you huffed, rolling your eyes.

“Aww, you jealous, sweetheart?” Abby smirked, shifting closer on the couch until she almost faced you head-on, her body angling provocatively.

You shook your head in amusement. “Aww Fuck no, I’m not,” you mocked in a sing-song tone. “Cute thought, though.”

It was Abby’s turn to roll her eyes, yet her smirk never faltered. “You’re a real smartass, you know that?” She leaned back, draping an arm casually over the back of the couch, fingertips grazing your shoulder.

“And you can’t take a hint,” you shot back, eyeing her outfit as you took another drag.

“And you’re full of yourself,” she retorted, eyes flicking to your hand as you passed her the joint. Their brief contact sent an involuntary shiver up your spine.

“Got your attention, though—so that says more about you than me,” you shrugged back.

Abby hummed in acknowledgment, taking a hit as smoke curled from her mouth. Her knee pressed against your thigh as she handed the joint back.

“But if you’re gonna check me out, at least be subtle about it,” she teased, her voice gravelly from the smoke.

“You wanted me to see you so bad, so I’m doing that. You complaining now?” you scoffed.

Abby exhaled sharply, a quiet laugh escaping her. “Holy hell, you’re annoying,” she said, though her gaze lingered on your face and lips.

“Yeah?” You returned, a slow smile spreading. “Good. Maybe you’ll run a play and leave.”

She glanced over at you, then back again. “You wish.” Abby flashed another grin.

The eye-fucking, the lingering tension, the still-aching wound from a previous heartbreak—it all painted her as a bad decision. You knew it, could feel it in the way your chest tightened, so you broke eye contact, pulling back just slightly.

“Why am I entertaining you right now?”

She followed your movement, not letting you retreat fully.“Because you like me,” she quipped, her hand still under your shirt, tracing lazy circles against your skin. “Because I’m entertaining, and I’m the best thing happening at this lame-ass party right now.”

You huffed a laugh. “Like you?” You arched a brow. “You think me letting you be handsy is a sign I’m falling for you?”

Abby chuckled, shrugging as if the thought had only just crossed her mind.

“Maybe, maybe not,” she mused, her fingers creeping higher, spreading over the bare skin of your hip. “But you’re still here, letting me touch on you… so something’s happening.”

You glanced down at her hand, then back up at her face, leaning against the couch.

“Mmn, I guess.”

A slow smirk tugged at her lips, but you rolled your eyes before it could fully settle.

“But I’d be an idiot to let it go further,” you said, it was something close to warning. “I know exactly how you get down.”

Abby’s grin only widened at that. No denial, no weak attempt to prove you wrong. Just that same wicked amusement as her fingers kept tracing idle patterns over your skin.

“Well, you’ve got me all figured out then, don’t you?” she teased, pressing her knee more firmly against your thigh.

“But I bet…” she started, voice dropping an octave, “if I really wanted a taste, you’d still let me have one.”

narrowing your eyes at her. You scoffed, looking away. “Oh please, I’m not that desperate, Anderson.”

She smirked, catching the way your eyes darted from hers, how the color bloomed across your cheeks despite your words.

“Also Betting you’re real easy under all this, huh?”

Your expression dropped instantly. “Excuse me?” Abby barely had time to react before you shoved her hand away.“God, you’re such an asshole.”

Pushing up from the couch, you adjusted your outfit and grabbed your cup, not sparing her another glance as you walked off. Pushing through bodies, The heat that burning under your skin wasn’t temptation anymore—it was irritation.

Abby watched you go, She hadn’t expected you to up and leave like that. A beat passed, her fingers flexing in her lap before she exhaled, dropping the joint into the ashtray.

Then, with a quiet sigh, she got up. Willing her mouth to say the correct words this go around.

It didn’t take long to find you. The kitchen was quieter than the rest of the house, save for the low hum of conversation from people passing through. You stood by the counter, fingers wrapped around your drink, but you hadn’t taken a sip.

Abby hesitated for the first time that night, her usual bravado dimming at the edges. Still, she approached, the smirk from before vanished, replaced with something else—something that almost looked like regret.

“Hey,” she said softly, her tone much gentle. “You alright? I didn’t mean to—”

“Save it, Anderson.” You huffed, waving a dismissive hand, trying to shake off the heat still simmering from her last comment.

Abby exhaled, rubbing a hand over her jaw. “Look, I was just messing around. You know that, right?”

You scoffed, finally looking at her. “Oh, so it’s just a joke when you’re the one running your mouth?”

Her brows raised slightly, sensing the shift. “Come on, don’t be like that.”

“You and your teammates? All the same. It’s fucking embarrassing.” You spat the words like they tasted bad in your mouth.

Abby’s expression darkened. “And what the hell does that mean?”

“It means what I said.” Your low, red-rimmed eyes met hers, colder than before. “You. Williams. Stevens. Martinez. And every other meathead who likes to parade around campus like they own it. Simple-minded—”

“Hold up.” She stepped into the small space. “You don’t know me, so don’t you dare lump me in with the rest of them.”

She scoffed, her next words hitting hard. “And you call me simple-minded? Look at you—walking around with your prissy attitude, acting like you’re better than everyone just because Martinez screwed you over.”

Your fingers tightened around your drink but Abby didn’t stop there. “It’s not my fault you dated the biggest red flag on campus. Maybe you like getting played.”

The second it left her mouth, regret twisted in her gut. Your eyes widened—briefly, but enough for her to see the impact. The sharp inhale, the tension in your jaw, the way your grip tightened. Abby braced herself, half-expecting a slap, but instead, you exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, a cruel dig following.

“Wow. Funny coming from the girl who just figured out she likes pussy last year and acts like she invented the game.”

So lost in the heat of the argument, neither of you noticed the necks turning, the whispers starting to spread.

“Yeah. Congrats. You finally stopped fumbling your way through your sexuality just to become a fuckboy in a passed-around jersey, cycling through girls because you’re too scared to actually feel something.”

Abby’s eyes narrowed, her jaw clenching. “You think that’s funny?” she shot back. “You’re one to talk. You’re over here holding a grudge like it’s a fucking trophy. Maybe I’ve figured things out better than you, huh? At least I didn’t let one bad breakup ruin my life.”

She opened her mouth to backtrack, to fix what she just broke, but the look in your eyes told her it was already too late.

The murmur of your voice was beginning to cut through the music, unmistakable. Dina peeled herself away from the lanky body pressed against hers, tucked away in an empty bedroom upstairs.

She knew if you found out she was tangled up with Ellie—again—you’d launch into the “you deserve better” speech. She could already see the way you’d cross your arms, the unimpressed face. Tonight she just wanted to be selfish. Indulge. Regret it later.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, sitting up.

The Auburn haired girl, lazily draped over her, raised an eyebrow. “Relax, it’s probably nothing.” Her voice was almost a wine from the loss of contact.

Dina, on the other hand, was already untangling herself, listening harder. “It doesn’t sound like nothing,” she shot back, reaching for her phone off the nightstand.

Ellie finally shifted, more alert now. “Wait—hold on, is that __?”

Dina’s stomach dropped at the sound of your name.

Her feet moved faster than lightning, her mind racing through every possible scenario as she shoved open the door. She just prayed you weren’t in another physical fight. The last one had been bad enough—some girl “coming to you as a woman” when in reality, it was just another cruel reminder that everyone knew about your ex’s infidelity before you did.

“Dina—seriously?” Ellie groaned, pulling her flannel back on and jogging after her.

“Don’t stand so close to me.” Dina shot her a look over her shoulder.

Ellie snorted. “That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

Dina didn’t have time for this. The music was getting louder, the voices sharper. The second she hit the top of the stairs, she spotted the crowd forming in the kitchen. Dina let go of Ellie’s hand without thinking, her pulse spiking.

“What the hell?”

She caught sight of you just as the sea of bodies parted. Her jet-black ponytail whipped over her shoulder, posture wound tight. Across from you stood Abby Anderson—just as tense, just as ready.

Dina’s stomach twisted.

“Oh, shit—” someone in the crowd muttered.

“Damn, they’re really about to throw down in the kitchen?”

“Nah, she brought up Martinez—this is getting personal.”

“She just called her a passed-around jersey? That’s crazy.”

The whispers started almost immediately, people soaking up the drama like it was the halftime show of a championship game.You barely spared them a glance. Instead, your eyes locked onto Dina—and Ellie, standing just behind her, arms crossed.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Ellie muttered making a beeline toward Abby.

Dina, however, reached you first. “Hey—what the hell happened?” she asked, searching your face for answers.

Ellie scoffed, flipping off the nearest group of nosy onlookers. “Mind your business.”

You didn’t answer Dina right away. Instead, you shoved past the crowd, heat radiating off you in waves. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

The words tasted bitter on your tongue as you pulled out a compact mirror. Your reflection wasn’t great—mascara smudged beneath your eyes, making you look like a pissed-off raccoon.

“Can we go now?” you asked, not really asking.

Dina hesitated. “Yeah—uh—” She glanced over at Ellie and Abby, then back at you. “No—yeah, let’s go.”

She draped an arm over your shoulders, steering you away from the wreckage. As the three of you pushed through the crowded halls, a familiar laugh caught your ears, making your throat run dry.

You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. You just wanted to be home, in bed, buried under your sheets until the semester ended.

The second you slid into the passenger seat of Dina’s car, she hesitated again.

“…You sure you’re—”

“Dee. I’m fine. Okay?” you sighed, sinking deeper into the seat. “Just—just take us home.”

Dina exhaled, giving a small nod. She turned up the radio, filling the silence with static as she pulled out of the makeshift parking lot.

Meanwhile..

Abby was still standing in the kitchen, arms crossed, jaw clenched. She refused to leave. If she walked out now, everyone would think she got chewed out by some hothead random.

“Abby, you good?” Ellie’s voice cut in, bringing Abby back to reality.

Steven’s, another teammate, leaned against the counter beside her. “That was… something,” tilting her beer. “Not even five minutes into the party and you’re already beefing with someone?”

Abby leaned back against the fridge, exhaustion creeping in. “She started it,” she muttered, running a hand down her face.

“Yeah, well, she’s been snappy ever since—” Steven’s gaze flickered toward the other side of the room.

Abby followed the line of sight. There she was. Martinez. Already wrapped up with another girl like she didn’t even care.

Ellie exhaled through her nose. “Yeah. Dina told me.”

Abby looked over at her. “Told you what? That you and her are back on?”

Ellie rolled her eyes, shifting her weight. “This is not about me.”

Stevens chuckled. “Well, the night’s still young. You should both just forget about the whole thing. No big deal.”

It should’ve been that easy. But weren’t first impressions everything?

Because in Abby’s mind, she had just made one hell of a first one.

Even now, as Abby retold the story, a stress ball bounced between her hands. Across the room, Nora caught it, her head full of curls bobbing as she processed the information.

“Wait, go back—you said what?”

Abby groaned. “I know, okay? Look, I was high, and I just…”

“Was being a dick,” Nora finished.

“Yeah.”

Nora sighed, barely hiding her amusement behind her hand. “Abs, you are genuinely an idiot.”

Abby threw the stress ball across the couch. “Whoa. Last time I come to you for advice.” She slumped further into the cushions, staring at the ceiling. What a mess.

“Well, I won’t disagree—first impression? F-minus, for sure.”

Abby groaned again. But then, Nora shrugged, something more thoughtful crossing her face.

“Maybe second chances can outweigh the first ones.”

Abby scoffed. “Tell that to her.”

And even as she said it, she felt the weight of last night pressing down on her all over again.

This was gonna be a long semester.

Next chapter >

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Not So Bad After All | CL16

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Valentine’s Day sucks, the bathroom line is too long, and Charles just wants to go home. Until a ridiculous scheme, a fake proposal, and the best tiramisu of his life change everything.

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

Charles Leclerc did not want to be here.

Valentine’s Day was already insufferable, but being dragged to a bar by his well-meaning (and currently very drunk) friends was making it so much worse. His brothers were off on their respective romantic dates, and instead of sulking in peace at home, he was here—stuck in a crowded bar, dodging heart-shaped balloons and being subjected to overly loud love songs blaring from the speakers.

And now, to top it all off, he was standing in an absurdly long line for the bathroom.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as the line refused to move.

“Tell me about it,” a voice said beside him.

Charles turned his head to find a woman standing next to him, arms crossed, scowling at the line ahead. She looked equally unimpressed with the night’s events.

He raised an eyebrow. “Bad night?”

She huffed, tilting her head towards the couple making out aggressively in the corner. “I’ve seen horror movies less disturbing than that.”

Charles snorted, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Agreed.”

They lapsed into silence, both staring ahead at the unmoving line. A few seconds passed before she spoke again. “You don’t look like you’re having fun.”

He exhaled, rubbing his face. “That’s because I’m not.”

She smirked. “Then why are you here?”

Charles sighed, hands in his pockets. “My friends thought I needed ‘cheering up’ because my brothers are both in relationships, and I am not.”

She nodded sympathetically. “Same. Except my best friend didn’t even try to lie about it. She just said, ‘You’re too single, and it’s embarrassing.’” She gestured toward the girl still making out in the corner. “That would be her.”

Charles winced. “Brutal.”

“Right? I told her I’d rather stay home and watch a move or something.”

Charles let out a laugh, genuinely amused. “I think I’d prefer that too.”

As the line inched forward at a snail’s pace, their conversation flowed effortlessly.

"Okay, explain this to me," she said, turning to face him fully. "Why do people think giving someone overpriced flowers that will die in three days is romantic?"

Charles chuckled. "Right? And the price! it's like they double it just because it’s February 14th."

She scoffed. "Exactly! And don't even get me started on the chocolates. You know they just put the same candy in a heart-shaped box and charge extra."

"The worst part is the expectation," Charles added, shaking his head. "Like, if you don’t do something extravagant, suddenly you don’t love your partner enough?"

She snapped her fingers. "Yes! If you need a specific day to prove your love, maybe your relationship isn’t as strong as you think."

Charles smirked. "So, not a fan of grand gestures, then?"

"Oh, I love grand gestures," she admitted, tilting her head. "Just not ones dictated by capitalism."

“So let me get this straight,” she said after a particularly heated rant about heart-shaped balloons. “You got dragged here against your will, your friends abandoned you, and now you’re standing in line for the bathroom ranting at a stranger?”

Charles groaned. “I am beginning to think I have been tricked.”

She shook her head in mock pity. “Tragic.”

He opened his mouth to respond when, to his horror, his stomach let out a loud growl.

She turned to him, grinning. “Oh my god.”

“…I’m hungry,” he admitted, rubbing his neck sheepishly.

She laughed. “You know what? Let’s get out of here. I know a place.”

The place she led him to was a semi-formal restaurant with dim lighting, cozy booths, and the most incredible menu Charles had ever seen. By the time their food arrived, they were already deep into conversation, swapping stories about their worst dates, cringiest romantic gestures, and Valentine’s Day traumas.

Charles took a bite of the cheesecake and immediately let out a sound that could only be described as obscene. “Mon dieu. This is the best thing I have ever eaten.”

His companion grinned. “Oh, you think that’s good? There’s something even better.”

He looked up, intrigued. “Impossible.”

She leaned forward conspiratorially. “They used to sell the most heavenly tiramisu. It was legendary. But they discontinued it.”

Charles frowned. “Then how do you know it’s better?”

She smirked. "Because I’ve had it before and fun fact it’s on the secret menu now. But it’s a whole ordeal." She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice like she was letting him in on a great secret. "The thing is, their tiramisu is legendary—like, hours of prep, delicate layers, the kind of dessert that requires actual effort. It got discontinued because the chef didn’t want to deal with the hassle anymore. But, through my very reliable sources—" she wiggled her eyebrows "—I found out they still serve it. But… only for very, very special occasions."

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

She pulled a simple ring off her finger and slid it across the table. "They only serve it on very special occasions Charles. The chef is a real romantic."

Charles stared at her, unblinking. “You’re joking.”

She shook her head, trying to look serious despite the mischief in her eyes. “Not at all. I’ve tried everything to get a taste again, but my friends refuse to participate in my schemes.”

Charles hesitated, glancing between her and the ring. “You’re telling me I have to propose to you… for tiramisu?”

She nodded solemnly. “For the greatest tiramisu known to man.”

He exhaled, rubbing his temples. “I cannot believe I am considering this.”

She gasped. “Charles. Think of the dessert.”

He groaned dramatically before picking up the ring. “Fine. But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

Before she could react, he got down on one knee.

The restaurant quieted.

Charles took her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he looked up at her with nothing but warmth in his eyes. "Mon amour," he murmured, voice steady, heartfelt. "We've known each other since we were kids. You were always there—my partner in crime, my best friend. I can't imagine my life without you."

A few people around them sighed dreamily.

She felt a laugh bubble up, but Charles was fully committed, his gaze unwavering. "We've had our ups and downs, but through it all, it's always been you. And it always will be." He lifted the ring, giving her a small, knowing smile. "So what do you say, mon coeur? Marry me, and let’s spend the rest of our lives together."

The restaurant erupted in applause as she let out a shaky laugh, nodding. "Yes," she breathed, eyes locked onto his. "Yes, Charles, of course."

His grin was immediate, radiant, as he slipped the ring onto her finger. She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You know... I think I always knew it was you. Ever since the day you carried me home after I sprained my ankle as a kid."

Charles chuckled, squeezing her hand. "You remember that?"

"Always," she said, voice warm. "And now, I guess I get to spend forever remembering this too."

The applause grew louder, a few cheers echoing through the restaurant as the chef himself emerged, grinning from ear to ear, ready to present them with their well-earned tiramisu.

As soon as they sat back down, she burst into laughter. “I cannot believe you just did that.”

He smirked. “Well, I had to commit.”

The tiramisu arrived, and the moment Charles took his first bite, he slumped back in his seat. “Merde.”

She watched, delighted. “I told you.”

Charles stretched his arms above his head as they stepped out into the cool night air, letting out a dramatic sigh. "I hate you."

She snorted, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets. "Wow. Romance is alive and thriving, I see."

"No, seriously," Charles continued, shaking his head. "That tiramisu was too good. Now every other tiramisu I eat will be a disappointment. You’ve ruined me."

She smirked. "That’s the price you pay."

Charles groaned. "I despise you."

She hummed, clearly enjoying his suffering. "Well, if it helps, they have different staff on Mondays."

He glanced at her. "And?"

She grinned. "So, if you want another piece, we could just… go again."

Charles narrowed his eyes. "How do you even know this?"

She took a deep breath, like she was trying very hard to act normal before saying something completely unhinged. "Because I have tried everything to get that tiramisu again. I have studied their staff schedules, noted which days the chef isn’t working, and even considered staging a fake engagement like 15 times, but my friends—" she threw her hands up in frustration "—are all cowards who refuse to propose to me for the sake of dessert."

Charles was already laughing before she even finished. "I cannot believe you have gone to these lengths for tiramisu."

"It’s not just tiramisu, Charles. It’s a masterpiece. A once-in-a-lifetime experience. A divine creation that mere mortals like us barely deserve. And yet, my so-called friends refuse to put their morals aside for the cause." She sighed. "Until tonight. You, sir, are a true ally."

He smirked. "Clearly. And what do allies get?"

She shrugged. "Eternal gratitude? The satisfaction of knowing you’ve done something noble?"

Charles held out his phone. "Your number."

She blinked. "What?"

He wiggled the phone slightly. "So we can go on Monday, obviously."

Her lips parted, eyes scanning his face like she was trying to find the joke. "You actually want to go again?"

Charles shrugged. "I mean… yeah. That tiramisu was worth it. And, you know… you’re fun."

She studied him for a second before snorting. "Unbelievable."

"Believe it, mon amour." He winked.

Still smiling, she took his phone and added her number before handing it back. "Fine. Monday it is."

Charles grinned. "Perfect."

As they walked side by side, their conversation spiraled into absurdity.

"Okay," she said, "how many ways do you think we could disguise ourselves to get another piece?"

"Fake mustaches?" Charles suggested. "Though that might be too suspicious."

"Agreed. What about wigs? I could totally pull off blonde."

"Mmm… questionable. We’d need a full transformation."

She snapped her fingers. "Fake accents! If we pretend to be tourists, they might not recognize us."

Charles gasped. "Genius. We’ll go in, act completely clueless—where should we be from?"

"Not Australia. You could never pull off an Aussie accent."

"Fine. Italian tourists. Very authentic."

She laughed. "You realize this is insane, right?"

Charles smirked, nudging her playfully. "And yet, you’re still planning it with me."

She groaned. "I hate that you have a point."

As their ridiculous tiramisu heist plans continued, Charles found himself thinking that maybe—just maybe—Valentine’s Day wasn’t so bad after all.

[fastandcarlos]

My Hero : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: when your heel breaks, you don’t quite know what to, luckily for you, charles is there to save the day

It was typical. Just your luck.

You were used to going to busy events, glamming yourself up and making sure that you looked the part by Charles’ side. Every time you had the same pair of shoes that you trusted to wear that kept you safe and left you without any injury. You loved how comfortable they were, when everything else around you was so frantic, it was a huge relief knowing that you could get from A to B without worrying about falling over or having to hold onto Charles to stop yourself from losing your balance.

However, as you headed to the restaurant you were meeting some colleagues at, your trusty shoes broke all of that. As you went up the kerb the heel got stuck, and as you tried to untangle it, you could hear the crack. Luckily for you, no one was around to see you troubled, but that didn’t stop you from silently cursing under your breath how you were going to get through the rest of the evening.

Thankfully for you, your colleagues were just as organised as you, with one of your closest friends carrying a spare pair of shoes in her bag which managed to fit your feet in. With that, you tried to enjoy your evening, but it wasn’t quite that easy. Behind your smile you couldn’t help but worry, it would take forever for you to find a pair of shoes that would be as comfortable as these, to find a pair you could wear to one of Charles’ formal events without living in fear that you’d end up embarrassing yourself.

Whilst you sat feeling sorry for yourself, your phone buzzed beside you. You quickly picked it up, feeling your smile turn up as you read a familiar name on your screen. It was if he knew that you needed just a little sign to try and brighten up your evening a little bit. You grabbed your phone, unlocking it so that you could read through the message that Charles had sent you properly.

Charles: hope you’re having a good time love 🥰

Despite the fact he was enduring the busiest time of his year, in the middle of preparing for yet another race weekend, he still thought of you. It was never a text to tick a box, it was always a text because he genuinely cared and was wanting to make sure you were enjoying yourself. Charles was the one who pushed for you to go out that night, knowing that it would be a great opportunity for you to bond with some of your colleagues.

You tended to know where Charles’ line of questioning came from, once he started, it didn’t take long before he desperately asked you how long it would be until you were home and back with him.

You: aside from breaking my heel, it’s pretty fun!

You barely had time to breathe before your phone buzzed.

Charles: damn, you’re not serious right?

You: afraid so 💔

The feeling of someone looking over your shoulder is enough for you to put your phone away again. You shared quite a bit with your colleagues, but your phone conversations with Charles were not one of those. Your attention turned back to what was happening at the table, midway through a conversation you weren’t quite sure what was going on, opting to nod along and hope for the best.

What started off as fun, began to bore you pretty quickly. Your eyes started to dart off in all directions to try and keep entertained, looking around the restaurant until they landed on something you were not quite expecting. A familiar figure is stood in the entranceway to the restaurant, eyes scanning around the room.

Charles looked messy, his clothes weren’t straight, his hair was like a bird’s nest and he still had his glasses on from whatever he was doing at home. You could tell he had moved quickly to get to the restaurant and find you. As he continued to search for you, you decided to put him out of his misery, excusing yourself from the table, dancing through the tables until you were stood directly in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” You whispered across to him, not wanting to cause a scene. “I’m supposed to be having dinner.”

You’d never seen Charles look so relieved as he studied you closely, checking you over. He was silent for a moment, which left you feeling worried, taking a tight hold of his hand and leading him out onto the cold street so that no one was able to see the two of you.

“Charles?” You questioned again, poking gently against his chest. It was your turn to look closer at Charles, he had beads of sweat dripping down his face, his hands were clammy, surprising considering the chill in the air. “Are you planning on talking to me at some point?” You pushed beginning to get concerned as to why he looked so erratic in front of you.

“You’re okay.”

Your brows knitted together in confusion, “of course I’m okay.”

Charles didn’t take your word for an answer and still checked you over one last time. “I thought that you’d hurt yourself, I thought I’d have to take you to the hospital.”

Your head shook in disbelief, “why would I need you to do that for me? Perhaps, do you need to go?”

If it wasn’t for the streetlight next to Charles you were concerned that he would end up passing out. He was barely able to catch his breath, sweat still dripped down him leaving you perplexed.

“What did you do? Run here?”

You were expecting Charles to immediately tell you no, but instead there was a bit of a pause, leaving you wondering if perhaps your assumption was correct.

“I didn’t run here,” he eventually responded, “but I moved a little quicker than I usually do when I think the person I love is in trouble.”

“In trouble?” You frowned, glancing down at the new pair of shoes that you wore.

“I told you I was on my way,” Charles informed you, “you said that you broke your heel, I was expecting to see you on the floor or something.”

The penny finally dropped, pressing your hand to your head. “You thought I meant my actual heel?”

“Oh…” Charles stuttered as you reached into your bag and took out the broken one that you carried. Charles’ smile dropped as he realised his mistake.

Your laughter grew louder as Charles’ cheeks turned darker

He reached out for your hand and pulled you into his body, squeezing you tightly with relief that you were alright. Only when he’s convinced that he’s got the wrong end of the stick can Charles finally let himself laugh about what’s happened, finding himself able to catch his breath and steady the beat of his heart again. You were alright, and that was all that mattered to him.

As funny as the situation was, it was yet another reminder for you as to how much Charles cared about you. He had never felt a fear like it thinking that you had broken your heel, no other thought entered his mind other than the one to get to you as quickly as he possibly could. The only thing he wanted to do was get to you as quickly as possible, terrified that you would end up going through something so horrible alone.

“I can’t believe you sometimes,” you teased, throwing your head back to be able to look at Charles.

“How was I supposed to know it was your damn shoe?” He huffed, smiling innocently back at you, “you gave me such a fright.”

Your head shook as Charles kissed gently against your lips. “You really are my hero sometimes, aren’t you?”

Charles hummed in agreement with you, “you know I always want to save the day for you.”

Again you wanted to snigger at him, but he was just too caring for you. “Are you heading back home? Shall I come with you?”

“Stay. Enjoy your dinner, I’ll be at home waiting for you,” Charles instructed, “but don’t stay too long, it’s lonely being home alone.”

“Try not to break a bone or anything on the way!” You called out as Charles waved goodbye to you, heading down the road.

“Shut up!” He shouted back, earning a few glances from some of the other people around you. You poked your tongue out as Charles as you headed back into the restaurant.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Once you were back at home, you threw yourself down on the sofa and opened up your phone, finding the messages that Charles had left you after you put your phone away.

Charles: I’m coming, don’t move sweetheart

Charles: I’m so sorry this happened

And then came another, sent just after you’d said goodbye to Charles again.

Charles: I’ll always be your hero ❤️

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[dragon-in-a-fez]

incomplete list of fun stories about my dad:

at uni he and half a dozen of his friends stole a half-ton stone statue of a lion from another college, got it on a barge, and hoisted it up under London Bridge where it was found hanging the next morning

my mother and I once lost him at Trafalgar Square and he told us later he was just sitting on top of the plinth of Nelson's Column waiting for us. we never found out how a 55-year-old professor who barely ever went outside scaled a 6 metre bronze relief of the Battle of the Nile or why he thought we would look for him up there

he worked for the UN for a while and ended up in Prague on a research trip in the '60s. within three hours of landing he'd ditched his government handler and found his way to an underground anti-Soviet resistance speakeasy

he was raised Catholic. when the Vatican came out against the birth control pill he formally left the church but only after screaming "all you care about is controlling women" at his priest in public and sending the Pope a personal hate letter

when I emailed him to tell him I had started seeing a nonbinary person he wrote back with a six-paragraph rant about how much understanding of the wondrous variety of human experience had been denied to his generation

he got invited to an event at Buckingham Palace back in the '80s and responded with a letter addressed directly to the Duke of Edinburgh saying he might try and make it if he didn't have anything to do at work or anything he wanted to watch on TV that day

one time I was on a bus with him and he saw someone he thought was doing a cosplay but he was very wrong and basically went up to a stranger who was out having a perfectly normal time and complimented her on looking like a robot assassin

he started a formal debating society in his nursing home without any of the staff knowing about it

[lvlybin]

If you have time OT9 on marking you up? The thought of letting people know you are theirs kinda killing me >< if you have time and willing to write of course ^^

cw kissing, neck kissing, marking, hickies, biting, mentions of sex, mentions of oral sex (f!receiving), lowkey a breeding kink in Hanbin's part, Binnie's a little drunk in his part, jealousy & reassurance :) 18+ MDNI

✉️ hi my love! sorry it took me so long to respond to this :( exams have been CRAZY for me... anyways, I just did legal line with this, but I hope you enjoy!

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓙iwoong ﹙𝓴.﹚

     It was one of those nights when Jiwoong had invited you to a work party with him. Any evening spent with him was perfect, especially when he would show you off. Jiwoong always made you feel so treasured and loved, all while he worshiped the ground you walked on. And the way he’d introduced you to his team members that night with a huge smile on his face only proved that further. It was nice meeting Jiwoong’s colleagues; like you were being shown another glimpse of his everyday, more intimate life. You were shown a glimpse of something else, too.

     After returning home from the party, you’d been quick to head to the en-suite bathroom of your shared room to remove your makeup and get ready for bed. Jiwoong followed closely behind you, you still in your formal dress and him still in his suit as you began to take care of your skin. “I didn’t realize how long these events could go on for,” you hum, still high off the feeling of the amazing evening. Your eyes meet Jiwoong’s in the mirror. They’re a shade darker than usual, his pupils dilated as he consumes the image of you getting ready for bed. What truly sends a wave of warmth through you, though, is the smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

     “They usually don’t,” Jiwoong comments as he moves closer to you. “Everyone just wanted to talk to you, though, didn’t they…” His hands run over your sides before settling on your waist. The touch leaves a tingling sensation in their wake, just like always, but you do your best to continue removing your makeup. Jiwoong’s hands tighten around your middle. “Can’t blame them, though. This dress looks beautiful on you.”

     A small gasp leaves you as his lips lower to the skin of your neck, and subconsciously, you tilt your head back to give him more access. The kisses are warm, lulling you into a familiar state of comfort and beginning sparks of pleasure. Jiwoong’s usually gentle in soft, quiet moments like these. Even with the underlying tension beginning to grow akin to the pleasure heating in your veins. His mouth works to suck gently at all of the sensitive spots he’s mapped out on your body, causing your body to tremble in his arms from the combination of pleasure and the way his tongue licks over your skin before he moves on. 

     By the time he pulls away, you can barely keep your eyes open. Your brain already feels a bit fuzzy from the intense amount of attention, and your panties are thoroughly soaked. Jiwoong smirks a little as he trails his thumb over the string of hickies he’s left on you: a blossoming red that would later darken to purple. You’d be lucky if he let you cover them up. “Should’ve done that before we left.”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓗ao ﹙𝔃.﹚

     “You’re no fun,” Hao whispers to you, his body pressed closely to yours as the darkness of this random storage closet prevents you from fully seeing him. 

     “And you’re acting like a child,” you retort quietly as your eyes adjust. His freshly dyed pink hair is still noticeable even in this dim lighting and is fluffy as always, while his full lips press into a pout. The entire group was excited for this comeback, you included, and performing the tracks at music shows was a highlight for all of you, especially your boyfriend, who put his entire being into giving the fans his best. At least, it was supposed to be fun for him until another male idol got a little too close and a little too friendly to you for his liking. Now, here you were, pinned between Hao and the wall with only a few minutes before your group was due on stage. “You’re going to get us in trouble–”

     “You already are in trouble.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes at his words, opting to reach up to place your hands on his shoulders. “Come on, YNie, reassure your boyfriend.”

     Hao had everyone wrapped around his finger, and he knew it. Knew that he wouldn’t get in trouble for being a little late, wouldn’t be in trouble with you for letting his jealousy get the best of him, wouldn’t get in trouble as his lips find your neck. Your grip on his shoulders tightens as your body presses closer to his at the sudden stimulation, and in turn, his hands grip your waist, ruffling whatever stupid skirt and accessories the stylist had put on you that day.

     “I’ll do it myself then,” Hao mumbles against your skin, the feeling of his breath causing you to shudder. The feeling of him smirking against your neck? That has wetness pooling in your panties. You don’t have any time to protest as Hao busies himself with marking you. His teeth graze against your neck teasingly, reminding you of the way they would play with your clit when his mouth was on another part of your body, and his fingers dig further into your hips to hold you in place. A small whimper leaves you as he bites down a bit harder on an extra-sensitive spot, making you squirm in his grip.

     “Let me finish,” Hao breathes against your skin, the scent of his hair overwhelming your nose as he sucks harshly at your neck. “Want him to know you’re mine. Want everyone to know…” Finally, he pulls away, one of his hands leaving your trembling body to fish his phone out of his back pocket. The brightness of the flashlight feature has you blinking quickly, unprepared for the sudden change of lighting. But you can see the way Hao’s pupils dilate as his fingers find your chin and force you to tilt your head. The only sounds in the storage closet is your and Hao’s heavy breathing as he assesses the marks he’s left. 

     When he’s satisfied with his work, the light turns off. Instead, the natural lighting from the door being opened floods the closet. “If the makeup artist tries to cover them up, tell her no.”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓗anbin ﹙𝓼.﹚

     The sounds of Hanbin’s giggles meet your ears as he rolls over with you on the bed again. You weren’t sure what had caused this burst of energy from him, but it was definitely too late in the day for it. It was probably the alcohol he’d had at dinner with you. Your boyfriend was tipsy. He laughs again as your head hits the pillow, a small huff leaving you. “You’re so cute,” Hanbin mumbles, the tone of his voice making it sound like he’s in awe.

     You would return the compliment if you weren’t so tired and he was the only thing standing between you and sleep. “I’m tired,” you correct. Hanbin grumbles something as he buries his face in your neck. His arms are wrapped tightly around your body, pinning your arms to your sides. “And you’re going to be too when you sober up a little.”

     “M’not drunk,” he protests, voice muffled by your skin. The tickling sensation has you squirming under him. And it certainly doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and you can feel his body tense a little. “I’ll prove it…” The determination in his voice has every bit of sleepiness leaving you, the familiar sensation of arousal beginning to course through your bloodstream.

     Still, you sigh, knowing Hanbin shouldn’t be doing anything like this with you while he’s under the influence. “We should sleep, Bin.” He shushes you, nose running along the curve of your neck as he breathes your scent in. When his eyes flutter shut and a small whine escapes him, you know he’s gone. 

     “How am I supposed to sleep with you underneath me?” Then, his lips find your neck. 

     Hanbin’s such a tease, barely making contact with your neck before biting down a little, making you twist in his hold. Teasing in the way he would chuckle every time some kind of noise would escape your throat and with the way he purposely would brush over the sensitive spots on your neck, neglecting them. He scatters love bites all along the column of your throat, a sense of satisfaction calming his tipsy mind at the sight of you bearing his marks. If he had it his way, you’d be marked in a different way (your stomach round with his child), but now’s not the time for that.      Instead, he continues running his tongue over your skin, sucking hard enough for your skin to bloom with color. When he finally pulls away, he has a dazed look in his eyes that you’re sure matches your expression. “See? M’drunk– M’not drunk enough to forget that you’re most sensitive.” He pauses to press a fleeting kiss to your neck, “Spot is here.”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓜atthew ﹙𝓼.﹚

     Matthew was always busy, always moving, so it was normal for him to have a bit too much energy when he’s been lying with you for a significant amount of time. His hands grip your sides just a bit tighter every now and then, like he’s trying to calm himself down. It’d been a lazy day for the two of you, just lounging around your apartment and enjoying each other’s company. Now, cuddled up on the couch, it was clear Matthew wanted something. And by the way his eyes kept darting to your neck, you had a feeling you knew what it was.

     “Matt?” He hums when you say his name. “What’s wrong?” His body shifts against yours as his warm brown eyes meet yours. 

     “Nothing. Just want to keep cuddling.” Right. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the cheeky smile that grows on his face. “Whattt?”

     “You keep looking at my neck.” His smile somehow gets bigger.

      “I just think it looks empty.” And a few moments later, he had you underneath him as his mouth worked at your neck. Small kisses had been peppered along your skin at first before Matthew bit down against your neck. The feeling of his teeth harshly marking your skin has you crying out, his hands wrapping around your wrists to pin them against the couch cushion. Matthew wasn’t exactly always thorough when marking you, but he definitely left enough marks to get the point across. His need to mark you up came sparingly, but the sessions would always leave you needy and ready for more.

     This time though, he was practically biting your neck, following the feeling of his teeth with harsh sucks, like he wanted the marks to appear right away and be dark just as fast. “Matt…” you breathe, legs wrapping around his middle as he continues sucking your neck. His lips trail down to where your collarbones are exposed because of the loose t-shirt you’re wearing. At this spot, the sensation of his teeth grazing against your skin is heightened, and it has you whining and arching your body up to his. 

     His grip on your wrists tightens. “Stay still.”

     You never thought leaving hickies could be rough, but here you were–Matthew biting down against your skin to make his marks on you as deep as possible. It's probably so they would show longer. Because as much as he loved to mark you up, he knew how sensitive you could get if he was doing it every night.     A particularly harsh bite has you yelping. Matthew pulls away instantly, eyes searching your face in concern. “You okay?” You don’t respond for a moment, eyes half lidded. Then, something clicks in Matthew’s mind. “Aw, you like it when I’m rough, don’t you?”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓣aerae ﹙𝓴.﹚ㅤ

     It was rare for Taerae to get jealous. It was something you adored about your relationship: you both felt confident in each other and knew that the other would never do anything to hurt you. That couldn’t be said about those surrounding you, though. 

     Sat silently in the passenger's seat of Taerae’s car, you watch as his knuckles tighten around the wheel. Seeing one of the workers at the coffee shop flirt with you wasn’t the way he wanted to end his day, especially when the other man just didn’t seem to pick up on any of the hints you were dropping that you were very much already taken. 

     “It’s not your fault,” Taerae says softly when he sees you glance over at him for the hundredth time. “I’m not mad at you.”

     “I know,” you sigh. You were honestly probably as annoyed as he was. “I really thought saying outright that you were my boyfriend would make things clear.” Taerae can’t help but smile a little at your words as he turns the car into the parking lot of your apartment complex. He keeps the car running as he puts the car in park before looking over to you. 

     “I can think of a few ways to fix that.” 

     Taerae maneuvers you to straddle him in the driver’s seat, his hand finding your hips as his lips trail firmly up your neck. A soft kiss is placed on your jaw, then your lips, before he returns to your neck. He has his unmistakable confidence in his movements as he sucks marks onto your skin, his tongue running over your skin in a way that has you squirming on his lap. Taerae focuses on one spot, one that’s visible, one that’s particularly sensitive for you, to leave the largest mark.

     He uses the size of his mouth to his advantage, not wanting anyone to miss the fact that you’ve so clearly been marked. That you’re his. 

     A few more marks are scattered across the column of your throat, but the hickey he’d spent most of his attention on is impossible for Taerae to pull his eyes away from. “There we go… Nothing to worry about now.” There’s a warmth that’s settled in your belly, and it’s only one that Taerae can fulfill. It has you both rushing out of your car and back up to your apartment, not caring about the strange looks you get from the other people in the lobby.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓡icky ﹙𝓼.﹚ㅤ

     You loved kissing Ricky. How soft and comforting it was, especially when you were cuddled up in his bed. The atmosphere was the epitome of calm, his scent wrapping around you in the same way his arms were, the warmth of the blankets making you limp and drowsy. His mouth captures yours in an almost tender way. For a moment, it’s just your lips pressing against his before his tongue runs along the seam of your lips, requesting entrance. When you part your lips, Ricky takes his time to deepen the kiss. 

     His tongue slides against yours slowly before he pulls back just enough to break the kiss, his nose brushing against yours. He can’t help but get a little shy at the way you look at him before leaning in to kiss him again. The movements are slow, like the sleepiness the two of you are feeling, but are full of love. When Ricky abruptly separates your lips, you feel a bit confused.

     “Can I, um… kiss your neck?” The urge to coo over how cute he’s being is hard to resist. 

     “Kiss my neck? You don’t have to ask to do that.” By the way Ricky avoids your eyes for a moment, you can tell that he’s hesitating to tell you something. “What do you want, Ricky?”

     “Want to give you hickies,” he mumbles, and the shy admission makes you feel warm. “Please.”

     You giggle softly as you nod, “Knock yourself out.” 

     Ricky tucks his face in your neck, his kisses light and barely there, feeling like butterfly wings. And then, when he finally begins sucking on your skin, the gentle pressure is enough to have that warmth you were feeling pooling in your belly. His hands aren’t harsh as he holds you, more loving, like he’s reassuring himself that you’re there and this is real. You whimper softly when his lips find a particularly sensitive spot. 

     “There?” he asks breathlessly, and you can only let out a small hum in response. It doesn’t take him long to go back to marking you up, gentle as always with how he handles you. Ricky’s always careful with you, and the small marks he leaves on your neck show that. None of them are too large or too deep, just enough to be visible. Ricky didn’t like drawing attention to the two of you, wanting to keep you to himself, so the marks he leaves on you are there for just yours and his eyes. 

     He pulls away, settling back into bed. “Wanna do me now?”

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓖yuvin ﹙𝓴.﹚

     When Gyuvin got jealous, he wouldn’t get angry or possessive like some of the other guys you’ve been with. Instead, he gets pouty. And part of you feels sad at the sight, but the other part of you can’t help but find it adorable. Gyuvin’s arms wrap tightly around your middle, and he rests his chin on your shoulder as you waddle around the kitchen with him. As you’re filling up your water bottle, your boyfriend finally speaks up, “You love me, right?”

     Your heart breaks a little at his question. “I love you more than anyone,” you say softly to him, turning your head so his fluffy hair presses against your cheek. “You’re everything I need. Don’t even know what that other guy was thinking when I was literally clinging to you.” You feel Gyuvin’s pout turn into a smile against your shoulder. “Don’t be sad, ‘kay? I love you.”

     “I love you too,” Gyuvin sighs, and you can feel all of the tension leave his body as he holds onto you. You finish filling your water bottle up and the two of you head back to your bedroom. Gyuvin climbs into bed first before opening his arms for you. You place your water bottle on the bedside table and practically fall into his arms, only to be met with several kisses on the top of your head.

     “You know what would make you feel even better?” you ask him, looking up at his wide, brown eyes. “Wanna mark up my neck?”

     A light blush covers his cheeks as a sly smile spreads on his lips. “Really?” The excited tone of his voice has you laughing as you nod. Gyuvin’s grin gets bigger as his large hands hold onto your hips, rolling over so you’re underneath him. “God, I love you…” he trails off as his lips meet where your neck meets your shoulder. 

     His touches are eager and loving. His kisses trail up your neck before Gyuvin settles on a spot to leave the first hickey. Strong arms encircle your waist, holding you tightly against him as he sucks on your neck, like he’s afraid you’re going to disappear. Reassuringly, your arms wrap around his shoulders as Gyuvin continues leaving marks on your skin. The idea of marking up your body has any insecurity or sadness fading from Gyuvin’s mind instantly, knowing that you’re so willing to let him have you like this enough to reassure him. 

    Slowly, his lips travel back down your neck, pecking each of the marks he’d left before he continues traveling down your body. “Need to kiss one more place before I fully feel better,” he whispers against your shirt as his fingers hook in the waistband of your pajama pants.

ㅤ ⎯⎯ㅤ 𝓖unwook ﹙𝓹.﹚

     Gunwook’s extra tired when he arrives at your apartment tonight. His feet drag as he follows you around your apartment while you prepare for bed, his eyes drooping. But he refuses to go to sleep without you. You feel bad at the way he’s almost in a daze as you make sure the door and windows to your apartment are locked, with the way he clings to you as you go through your nighttime routine, and with the way he flops down in your bed the moment you finish your skincare. 

     “Let me hold you,” he mumbles, his voice soft yet rough at the same time. And who are you to deny that? You turn off the majority of the lights in your bedroom, leaving the bedside table lamp on to cast a dim, warm glow around the room. Then, you climb into Gunwook’s arms.

     “You’ve been so sleepy recently,” you say gently, one of your hands going up to run your fingers through his hair in a soothing manner. “Feeling relaxed?” Gunwook hums as he tucks his face into your neck. His soft breathing against your skin is enough to make you feel as sleepy as him too. 

     The two of you are quick to fall into the purest state of lovers: vulnerable and completely at ease with each other, your bodies melding together. Instead of feeling turned on when he begins to kiss your neck like you usually do, the sensation just makes you soften even more between his warm body and the bed. Gunwook’s kisses are sloppy against your neck, like he’s too desperate for just even a taste of you, as he sucks on your skin. He doesn’t use his teeth on you, just his tongue presses against the column of your neck as he enjoys your taste. Gunwook’s mind barely registers that he’s leaving several marks on you, just that you’re here in his arms. And all he wants to do when you’re in his arms is love on you.

     “Taste so good,” Gunwook mumbles tiredly, his hands kneading against your waist.

     Your hands trail up to his hair, tangling comfortingly in the strands again. “You’re probably eating my lotion.” Gunwook chuckles, and you squirm at how it tickles.

     “Don’t care. Get to kiss you, that’s all that matters.” You hum at his words, hands moving from his hair and down his back. “Feel very relaxed now.”     “Yeah? Me too,” you agree, body lax in his arms. His weight settles on you a bit heavier as he looks at your neck. “Looks good?”     Gunwook presses one more peck to your skin before he cuddles back into you, his eyes falling shut. “Looks perfect.”

[edamameimei]

in another dimension (daniela avanzini x reader)

"i care for you still and i will forever. that was my part of the deal, honest."

synopsis: daniela was your best friend in high school. however, after she graduates, she cuts contact with you. now, you attend the same college as her and you become face-to-face with the feelings you've tried so hard to push away. tags: mostly angst, cant promise comfort. fluff here n there. college!au. an: this is not a REAL portrayal of the people mentioned in this fic. all events are fictional and are for entertainment purposes only. CW: underaged drinking, lots of swearing wc: 15k (LOL)

⏯ now playing: white ferrari - frank ocean

Something you will always love about Daniela is the way she holds your hand.  

Before officially meeting her, you only ever saw her in the hallways. She was always followed by her friends from the cheer team, smiling widely and talking animatedly about something that happened the night before. She always walked past you at your locker. You would look up and for some reason, your eyes always locked with hers.

As if she had already been looking at you. 

But that was impossible. You weren’t anyone special at your school. 

So, you were surprised when she already knew your name when you introduced yourself to her during your shared chemistry class. Her seat was assigned next to yours and although you were nervous to talk to her, you knew it would only be polite. You held your hand out to her, a small smile on your face. “Y/n L/n.” She looks at you, a bit amused by your formality. However, she humored you, taking your hand and shaking it.

“Yeah, I know.”

The rest after that was history.

Despite your incapability to understand the subject, it became your favorite class that year. Daniela made it enjoyable with her quick wit and whispered jokes about the material. You both struggled together and eventually, you were going to her house every week to do homework or just hang out. She quickly became your best friend and vice versa. 

She would excuse herself from her group of cheer friends to talk to you at your locker. She always waited for you to finish packing your stuff up after class. She often offered to give you ride homes which would turn into a last-minute invite to her home or yours. It was an unexpected friendship, and it was even more unexpected when you started falling for the Latina. 

You realized it on a random day after school. You stopped by your locker, grabbing the textbook you would need for homework and returning the ones you wouldn't need for the night. Daniela came up to you, snaking her arms around your torso and pulling you close to her front. She rested her head against your back, murmuring, “I don't wanna go to practice…” Her statement made you chuckle. You closed your locker and leaned into the hug, cherishing the warmth the older girl provided. Daniela holds you tighter and whispers, “I wish I could just hang out with you.” 

Her words made your cheeks flush. Your heart rate picked up and you felt lightheaded when her perfume began to overwhelm your senses. You were hyperaware of the small circles her thumbs were tracing on your sides and just her presence was sending you over the edge. To your disappointment, she let go, sighing loudly and dramatically. You turned around to face your best friend and you felt your words get stuck in your throat. 

Her cheer uniform looked especially nice on her this day. 

She got on her tippy toes, kissing your cheek before bouncing off to practice. You heard her yell over her shoulder. “I’ll come over after, okay?!” 

You nodded, slightly dumbfounded and more fucked than usual. 

It was a secret you kept to yourself for years and a secret it will continue as you sit with her on her back porch after her graduation festivities. Daniela is finally done with high school and is now ready to start her new chapter. You try to give her your undivided attention as she excitedly talks about her dorm decor ideas but you can’t seem to find the strength to hear her words. 

You know you should be happy for Daniela but she’s leaving you in a few months to live an entirely different life than yours. She’s going to thrive while you stay stuck at your high school for another year. 

You don’t notice when she goes suddenly quiet. You’re pulled out of your thoughts when she grabs one of your hands, squeezing them gently. You look into her eyes and see concern in them. She tilts her head, frowning slightly. “Hey… you okay?” 

You nod, shifting your body so you can have a better look at her. Your shoulders touch and your knees bump into each other. You feel Daniela fidget with one of the rings on your fingers, a habit of hers that you’ve picked up on. You place your other hand on top of hers, caressing it gently with your thumb. “Of course. I’m happy for you.” She rolls her eyes, tilting her head even more to give you a look. 

“You can be sad, you know?” She looks down at your connected hands and sighs. “I’m… kinda sad too.” You furrow your brows at her confession. You lean closer to her, a pout on your face as you squeeze her hand tightly.

“What? You just graduated, Dani…” She looks up at you, her eyes glistening. Your throat tightens at the realization that she is on the verge of crying. You immediately cup her face with your hand, your thumb caressing her cheek gently. She leans into your touch, her eyes fluttering close as she lets out a shaky breath. She whispers, “Everything is gonna change, isn’t it?” Your heart drops at her words. 

You know you should tell her the truth. Deep down, you know she’s right. Everything will change, it’s inevitable. But a part of you likes to believe she loves you enough to not allow your friendship to fade. You like to imagine that the distance wouldn’t matter and even if she did make new friends at her university, you’d still be her favorite person. But sometimes, not even love is enough. 

You lean closer to the older girl, resting your forehead against hers. You let go of her cheek and raise your pinky in front of her. She giggles, bumping her nose against yours cutely. She links her pinky with yours and smiles widely, her dimples coming out after hiding all night. You whisper, “Nothing. Will change between us. Okay?” 

She nods, letting go of your pinky to pull you into a tight hug. She buries her face into your neck, her breath warm against your skin. Her lips ghost over your neck as she murmurs, “Okay.” 

Your hold on her becomes tighter as if scared this is the last time you'd ever get to have Daniela in your arms. 

But it isn’t the last time. 

The last time is in her newly moved-in dorm room. She held you so tightly, her tears staining your shirt. She whispered against your chest, her voice breaking, “You can stay a little longer if you want. You can help me decorate…” Your heart broke at her words. You knew if you stayed any longer, leaving would become much more difficult. 

So, you pulled away. You kissed the top of her head. And you bid her farewell. 

You thought, after this, there would be more opportunities to help her decorate. However, days turned into weeks without a word from her. Suddenly, weeks turned into months. 

And then your birthday passed and you foolishly hoped for at least a text. 

Then came graduation and pathetically, that was when you finally gave up on Daniela Avanzini altogether. 

If it weren’t for the full-ride scholarship you got from the same university as Daniela, you would have moved far away from Georgia. But a full ride is a full ride— and a university campus is much larger than a high school’s. 

After settling into your new space, you decide to take a stroll on the quad, needing to decompress after a very long day of traveling and moving. Your headphones are on as you look around your new surroundings. You take your time, wanting to familiarize yourself with the campus you’ll come to learn for the next four years. You glance up at the sky, getting lost in the different shapes of the clouds. 

You’re shaken out of your daydreams however when you accidentally bump into someone. 

Your eyes widen, your head snapping toward the person who had to become a victim of your recklessness. You open your mouth to apologize but when the person looks back at you, your words lodge in your throat. 

It was Daniela, in all her glory. 

Her hair is now blonde and you note how her hair isn't straightened, now full with her natural curls. She widens her eyes as if finally processing who was right in front of her. You can’t hear her, but you see her lips mouth your name. 

You shove your hands in your pocket, keeping your head down as you walk past her hurriedly. You make your way back to your dorm, pretending the interaction never happened. 

After that day, you’ve avoided walking anywhere on campus that was full of students. You know it’s ridiculous, but the thought of seeing Daniela once more annoys you. Thinking about the Latina in general puts you in a bad mood. Since she cut contact with you, bitterness began to fester in the pit of your stomach. Even though you knew it would happen, it still makes your heart ache when you think about that night after her graduation. 

For someone who seemed so broken at the thought of losing you, of things changing, you would have thought maybe she would have put at least a bit of effort into keeping you around. But unfortunately, it was another thing you foolishly believed and you would be damned to allow yourself to do that again. 

On the first day of class, you tiredly make your way to the science building on campus. You don’t understand what possessed you to sign up to take Organic Chemistry at 8:30 AM but here you were. You’ve heard horror stories about this class from your peers within your major. It was required for nursing and the thought of going through this class for a whole semester makes you want to switch what you’re studying entirely. But it was only the first day, how bad could it possibly be? 

As soon as you walk into the classroom, it becomes one million times worse.

You immediately spot Daniela sitting in the back of the classroom. She had her headphones on and her phone in her hands as she touched up her makeup. You grip the straps of your bookbag tightly, looking around for an open seat that is nowhere near her. Luckily for you, the class takes place in a mini-lecture hall. It’s not as big as your other intro classes, but compared to your English 101 classroom, this one had enough seats for you to choose from. 

You decide on a spot a row away from the front, knowing it would be best to have Daniela nowhere in your peripheral vision. You quickly sit down, unpacking your notebook and other materials to take notes. You lean back in your seat, taking a deep breath. You try to compose yourself, closing your eyes to pretend that the girl who meant everything to you at some point wasn’t right behind you. However, your attempt is futile when you hear a loud squeal at the front of the room. You open your eyes to see two girls standing at the entrance, waving enthusiastically. “DANI!” One of them yells, quickly walking to the Latina with the other girl following right behind her. 

You slouch in your seat. You came to college to escape high school and now here you are— getting a strange sense of deja vu. 

Once the class ends, you quickly stuff your belongings into your bookbag, zipping it up and throwing it onto your back. You leave the classroom with a huff, doing everything in your power to avoid seeing Daniela or even hearing her voice. Questions run through your mind such as: why is she even taking Orgo? She’s a dance major, why is she wasting her time? You shake your head, tears brimming your eyes as you continue walking to your dorm. 

As soon as you walk into your space, you immediately throw your bookbag onto the floor. You run your hands through your hair frustratedly, the tears you’ve been holding in are now falling freely from your eyes. You pace your room for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. You feel like you’re on the verge of a crashout and it has only been a day in college. However, in the middle of your breakdown, a soft voice breaks you out of your head. “Are you… Like, good?” You turn your head toward the voice and your cheeks flare up in embarrassment. You forgot you are now sharing a space with someone. 

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” You manage to say. You sit down on your bed, looking down at your lap. You wipe your tears, not wanting your roommate to feel any pity for you. Also, you only met Megan a week ago and you didn’t want to give her the impression that you were always like this. If anything, this is the farthest from who you are, especially in front of people. 

“No, really. Are you okay?” You look up at Megan, a forced smile on your face. “Yeah. I just– I just came back from my Organic Chemistry class…” Megan nods at your response, taking it at face value. She closes her laptop, placing it at the foot of her bed. The ginger girl sits criss-crossed on her bed and gives you an apologetic smile. 

“God I heard that class fucking sucks,” She throws her head back dramatically, looking up at the ceiling. “I’d be in tears too. You were real for walking in like that.” Her words make you laugh. You sniffle, wiping away the remaining tears on your cheeks. She looks at you again, tilting her head in curiosity. “You’re in nursing, right?” You nod, rubbing the back of your neck anxiously. 

“Yeah… I think I’m starting to regret it.” She laughs and gets up from her bed. She walks over to you and gestures toward the door. “Do you wanna get food with me and my friend? It could cheer you up.” You’re grateful for the offer but you shake your head, looking down at your watch on your wrist. “That sounds awesome but unfortunately… I have like, 30 minutes to relax before my next class.” 

“What’s your next class?” She asks. You smile sheepishly at Megan, responding, “Statistics.” 

She widens her eyes. “Dude, do you hate yourself?” 

You sigh, flopping onto your back on your bed. “Something like that, yeah.” 

The worst thing about Organic Chemistry is that it’s not just a class– it’s also a lab. 

The night before, your professor sent an email detailing lab expectations, assignments, and lab partners. 

You look at the attachment on your laptop, scared to click on the ‘read more’ tab that contains your fate for the rest of the semester. You take a deep breath, clicking on it. It was now or never. 

Group 2-B: Y/n L/n, Daniela Avanzini, Meret Manon Bannerman, & Sophia Lafoteza. 

Group 2-B Partners: Y/n L/n & Daniela Avanzini, Meret Manon Bannerman & Sophia Lafoteza. 

You slam your laptop shut. Megan jumps at the sound, looking at you with wide eyes. 

When you walk into the lab, you can’t help but roll your eyes when you see Daniela sitting at one of the lab tables with the two other girls you saw from class. You feel your anxiety build as you walk toward the table, the grip on your bookbag straps tighten when Daniela looks up and sees you. She smiles but you can tell it was forced. You look away, taking a seat across from her. The girl next to you extends her hand, smiling widely. “Hi! You must be Y/n, I’m Sophia.” 

You take her hand, shaking it awkwardly. “Nice to meet you…” As soon as you let go, the other girl– who you assume to be Manon, waves at you, giving you a friendly smile. “I’m Manon and this–” She puts an arm around the Latina, pulling her close to her side, “Is Daniela!” 

Daniela gives you an awkward smile and a wave of anger spreads throughout your body. You grip the hem of your shirt, trying to remain calm. You simply nod, forcing a smile as you look away to unpack the materials needed for today’s class. The girls continue their conversation, loudly discussing their escapades from the night before. You try to keep your focus on your notebook but Sophia taps your shoulder, grabbing your attention. “What’s your major, Y/n?” 

You clear your throat, your eyes still trained on your notebook as you respond, “Nursing.” 

You hear Manon gasp. “Wait! Me and Dani too!” You look up, surprised. You look at Daniela with a raised eyebrow. “Really?” 

Manon nods her head excitedly. “Yeah! We’re both sophomores right now in the program.” Daniela looks at you and you can’t help but notice a tinge of sadness in her eyes. You ignore it, looking away again once you see the professor walk into the room. 

“That’s cool.” You respond, trying to remain nonchalant. You feel Daniela’s eyes still on you and you pretend it doesn’t bother you. It shouldn’t bother you– it’s been a year without the girl in your life and you managed to make it this far. But hearing her voice again, seeing her right in front of you, it ignited something inside of you that you haven’t felt in so long. And maybe that’s what bothered you the most. 

Manon and Sophia continue pestering you with questions as Daniela sits silently. She nods along to whatever they ask, responding when she feels it’s right to. You find the situation humorous. You and Daniela were playing characters that didn’t know a single thing about each other. The person in front of you doesn’t know where your parents live. She has never seen the room you grew up in and she has no idea what you were like in high school. 

The character you play brings you comfort. As you say your lines, you avoid her eyes, afraid you’ll mess up.

Because she does know what your room looks like. She knows you still sleep with a night light. 

The nursing building was not your favorite place to be in.

Due to it only being your first year, you don't find yourself inside its old and intimidating walls very often. But when you do go, you’re always filled with an overwhelming feeling of dread. Nursing in general is very competitive– known for its difficult curriculum in the first two years solely to weed out the people who aren’t dedicated to the profession. 

That’s why many professors suggest finding your, “people.” There’s no point in struggling on your own. 

But unfortunately, you have come to find out that some nursing students aren’t the kindest individuals to be around. There’s a dog-eat-dog attitude amongst some of them, making alliances purely to benefit them in the long run. Classes have only been in session for two weeks now and there are already several rumors going around. It’s only a matter of time until your graduating class becomes a part of the rumor mill. 

It’s a bunch of bullshit, you think. You’re grateful you never intended to make friends. 

You make your way toward your foundations class, your headphones on to avoid being flagged down by a classmate. You walk to one of the elevators, pressing the “up” button. You wait, your hands finding the straps of your bookbag to grip them tightly. When the elevator doors open, you grip them even tighter when you see Daniela walk out. Her eyes widen when she sees you. 

“Oh, hey…” She says awkwardly. You roll your eyes, pushing past her to go inside the elevator. However, she grabs your arm, tugging you back gently. You breathe out, agitated as you turn around with a glare. You reach up to take your headphones off. “Dude, what?” 

Daniela crosses her arms at your tone. She speaks, a slight irritation in her voice, “Can you stop making this weird?” You give her an incredulous look. You gesture between the both of you, chuckling sarcastically. 

“I genuinely want nothing to do with you, Daniela.” Your eyes look around the hallway, your expression in disbelief. You look back at her with a sharp look in your eyes as you point at her. “We aren’t friends and I’d like to keep it that way.” She frowns at your words and uncrosses her arms. She gestures to you in exasperation, her eyes wide as she whispers loudly, “Can’t you just! Let it go, Y/n? I mean, we’re in college now–“ You hold your hand up to halt her from saying anything further. 

You speak harshly, “That literally doesn't mean anything.” You take a step away from her, your hands finding the straps of your bookbag again. You look at Daniela with a cold expression, your tone low. “Just because we’re in college now doesn’t erase what happened.” You shake your head with a huff. You look down at your shoes as you continue, “We’re only lab partners. Unless we’re in class, leave me the fuck alone.” You don’t give her the chance to respond. You turn away, your lip trembling and on the brink of tears as you walk toward the stairwell. 

A week passes and Daniela has been respecting your wishes. 

For some reason, it hurts more like this. You were the one who told her to leave you alone. But then again, there was a time when Daniela never left your side. You could push her away over and over again yet she stayed. Her unwavering loyalty paired with your stubbornness was what allowed you to let your walls down in the first place. And now, you were both strangers.

You sit at your desk in your dorm, studying notes you took from your Organic Chemistry class to prepare for the lab that awaits you in two days. As you continue highlighting the most important parts, you begin to hear the Fortnite loading screen on your roommate’s side of the dorm. You turn around with a raised brow and an amused smile on your face. “Megan?” She looks up from her Switch, eyes wide. She looks away, murmuring an apology as she turns down the volume. It only makes you laugh, shaking your head. “No, it’s okay. Is that… Fortnite?”

Your familiarity with the game makes her eyes light up. She nods, looking at you with a wide smile. “Dude, yeah! Do you play?” You shrug your shoulders, leaning your shoulder against your desk chair. 

“I used to. I don’t play anymore.” Megan gets up from her bed, padding towards you with excitement. She crouches next to you and shows you her screen. Your eyes glance at her current level on the game and you can’t help but snort, covering your mouth. “Level 110?” The Chinese girl quickly puts her Switch down, looking away in embarrassment. 

“Wait– Don’t judge me,” She brings her Switch back up, pressing a button to indicate she is ready to start a match. She looks at you with a twinkle in her eyes. “Take a break and watch me get a victory royale.” You open your mouth to decline but as she gets put into a lobby, you can’t help but become distracted. You turn your head slightly to check the time on your laptop. 

“Why the hell not? Sure.” She lets out an excited squeal, looking back down at the screen to lock in. You watch her with amusement in your eyes. Something you’ve learned about Megan in the last few weeks is that she is a very silly person. You’ve never seen her open a single one of her textbooks and you always find her in bed, playing a video game on the TV, on her Switch, or her laptop. Sometimes you wonder if she ever actually went to class but then again, with your schedule being so packed, it would make sense for you to never see her anywhere else but at the dorm. 

You watch Megan land in the game and before her character can take a single step, they are taken out with a headshot. In the corner, you notice an achievement, congratulating her for being the first person out in the game. You cover your mouth, trying to stifle your snickers. She groans, placing the Switch in your lap. “I wanna watch you try.” You raise an eyebrow at her, taking another glance at the time. You jump when you feel Megan poke at your side. “Just take a break! There’s a gamer inside of you, I can feel it.” Her words cause you to laugh loudly. You bite your lip, grabbing the Switch to start a new match. 

“I haven’t played since my junior year so don’t give me shit if I’m terrible.” She salutes you, leaning her head against your chair. You shift the Switch so she can have a better view. Finally, you are now in the game. When your character lands in a town, you begin to feel somewhat giddy. 

As you move your character around, Megan begins to engage you in a conversation. From the corner of your eye, you notice her playing with a lock of her hair. “So… How’s nursing?” You shrug at her question, your excitement increasing as you find a chest in the corner of the house your character is currently occupying. 

“It’s… nursing.” You find yourself saying, moving your character into a completely different area. You continue looking for better weapons, not removing your focus from the screen. 

You hear Megan ask, “Are you always this quiet?” Her question causes you to look down at her briefly. She widens her eyes, raising her hands in quick defense. “ I mean like– You aren’t that quiet but, compared to me, you don’t talk much.” You nod at her words, chuckling. 

You look back down at the screen, locking in once again. “I know I’m quiet, it’s okay. I just… don’t really like talking to people…” You trail off as someone attempts to shoot at you but you quickly turn your character, shooting at them until the game notifies you of their elimination. Megan whispers a “nice,” under her breath. You keep moving forward, not wanting to get lost in the storm. 

“Why don’t you like talking to people?” You wrinkle your nose at both her question and the fact you got caught in the crossfire of someone else’s battle. You quickly retreat in the game, your heart rate picking up as you get hit multiple times. Fortunately, you make it out alive and you let out a sigh of relief. 

You realize you haven’t answered Megan’s question, clearing your throat. “I just don’t really like making new friends.” You shoot another person, eliminating them as well. You smile small to yourself, noticing there are only 15 other people in the game. 

Megan grabs your shoulder and shakes you excitedly. “Dude! What the fuck? You’re a liar! You are good at this game!” Her words make you laugh loudly and before you can say anything, you are taken out by a sniper. You two sit in silence as the screen displays your place in the match. Megan covers her mouth and snorts. The sound causes you to lean forward, clutching your stomach as you laugh. You might not be open for friends, but Megan could easily be given a pass. 

You hand Megan her Switch back with a smile. “Thanks for letting me play.” Your roommate takes it from you, a silly smile on her face. You notice how her dimples are shaped like whiskers and her eyes form crescents as she continues smiling. 

She tells you, “You know if you ever wanna make new friends, me and my friend Lara don’t bite.” You chuckle, turning back around to look at your laptop. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The lab doesn’t go terribly. It actually goes a lot better than you had anticipated. You managed to work well with Daniela, Manon, and Sophia. Despite Sophia and Manon’s constant questions about you, you survived. And as soon as the lab finished, you were out the door, not sparing another glance at the group of girls. 

Once you get to your dorm, you are greeted by both your roommate and another girl sitting at Megan’s desk. Your roommate sits on the floor next to the other girl, her eyes lit up at your return. Megan’s friend turns her head toward you and waves. “Hey, you’re the roommate?” You nod, setting your stuff down on the ground. 

“Yeah, that’s me.”  Megan’s friend– who you assume to be Lara, watches as you walk to your desk, sitting down in your chair. You reach for your Nursing Profession textbook, intending to study for an hour or two. But as you open it, you hear Lara snort loudly. You look over at the girl with a raised eyebrow. “What?” 

Lara waves her hands dismissively, pursing her lips to contain her laughter. “I’m sorry, Megan was literally just telling me how you were an academic weapon– Going straight to work after class is crazy. I want your motivation…” You chuckle at her words. You lean back against your chair, crossing your arms.

You look back at your textbook with an embarrassed smile. “I don’t like feeling unprepared.” You quietly say, your cheeks burning even more. In high school, you were never on top of your assignments. Each and every one of them was turned in with a lack of effort but you managed to keep a high GPA. But once you settled on your major and did more research, you realized the summer before your first year, if you didn’t pick up the slack, you were going to crash and burn before your second semester even started. You couldn’t tell if it was motivation or just the fear of falling behind. Or it could be the fear of not being good enough. That one lingers in the back of your mind every other passing second. 

Megan’s laugh pulls you out of your thoughts. You look at her, a playful smile on your lips. “You’ve been talking shit about me?” You gently tease. Megan sticks her tongue out at you and lets out a dramatic sigh, tilting her head to the side. “No, Lara was just asking where you were. And I told her you were out, “Being an academic weapon.”’ She says the last part with air quotes, letting out a soft giggle at the same time. 

You roll your eyes, turning your head toward Lara with a small smile. She looks back at you, amused by the interaction between you and Megan. She turns her head to look at Megan, her eyes widening slightly. She grabs the Chinese girl’s shoulder and covers her mouth. Her words are stifled but you can still hear them through her hand. “You should invite them to the party tomorrow night!” You narrow your eyes as Megan looks at you, a familiar glint of excitement in her expression. She grabs Lara’s arm and looks at her with a dimpled smile. “You might be onto something.” Your roommate’s words cause you to wave your hands, dismissing the scheming that’s happening right in front of you. 

“No, no. She isn’t. I’m not going anywhere…” Megan groans dramatically. She crawls over to you, gets on her knees, and clasps her hands together. She pouts, giving you her best puppy dog eyes. You look at her with a deadpan expression. “Megan, I am saying no.” She pouts even more, leaning closer to you. “Y/n! Please? It’ll be fun! And you said you’d hang out with me this weekend…” You shake your head, turning away from her to face your desk again. “I will but just not at a party.” You look back down at your textbook, trying to ignore the girl’s persistence. 

However, Megan doesn’t give up. She stays in the same position with the same expression. Her eyes burn holes into the back of your skull and you are very hyperaware of the fact Lara is now smirking at the both of you. You clench your fists, sighing loudly.

You throw your head back in defeat. “Oh my god! Fine! I get to leave whenever I want– Even if that means I was only there for five minutes!” Megan squeals, jumping to her feet. She wraps her arms around your neck excitedly and you roll your eyes when you hear Lara’s laugh from the other side of the room. 

The party is full of people you don’t know and you fear no amount of alcohol could make you enjoy yourself for even a second. 

You stand with Megan and Lara in the kitchen, your eyes looking around the new environment anxiously. Your hands tug at the hem of your shirt then rub your palms against the fabric. The music was too loud and the whole house smelled like cheap beer and sweaty frat boys. When Megan finishes making your drink, you take it from her quickly, chugging it. Your roommate watches you with wide eyes. “Damn, we just got here!” Once you finish your drink, you place the cup back down on the counter and glare at the Chinese girl. “Gotta get through this night somehow.” Lara laughs at your words and pats you on the back.

“Trust, you’ll have fun with us.” She extends her pinky toward you and you stare at it, hesitant to trust her promise. Against any other rational thoughts though, you link your pinky with hers, rolling your eyes as the two girls pull you out of the kitchen and shove another cup into your hands. 

Against all odds, you have to admit, you were having fun with Lara and Megan. 

You find an open couch to sit on, grateful that they follow your lead. They begin to tell you stories about their friendship and how they met in middle school. The conversation is mostly you listening in amusement as they bicker back and forth about how a story truly happened. You’d occasionally take sips from your cup, drinking it slower due to the light buzz you already feel in your head. At some point, Megan reveals herself to be a lightweight, leaning her head against Lara’s shoulder and mumbling nonsensical things such as her stupid English 102 professor and how happy she is to have you and Lara in her life. 

You watch as Lara pats her head gently, wrapping an arm around Megan’s shoulders. “How is it always you the drunkest at the end of the night?” Megan mumbles a response to Lara’s question, wrapping her arms around the other girl’s torso. The interaction causes you to look away, suddenly feeling jealous over their friendship. It reminds you of Daniela and thinking about her changes your mood drastically. You raise your cup to your lips but realize it’s empty. You sigh, leaning forward to place your cup on the coffee table. You turn to Lara and Megan, a small smile on your face. 

You stretch your arms. “I’m gonna go outside and get some fresh air.” You say, needing an escape. Lara nods in understanding. She points at Megan with a playful smile.

“I’ll be here and babysit,” Lara says and it causes Megan to whine, insisting she isn’t a baby. You laugh, shaking your head at the antics of your roommate. You get up from the couch and navigate your way through the crowd to find the back door. Once you find it, you quickly open it and step outside, the cold air sobering you slightly. You close the door behind you, taking a deep breath. 

In the backyard, there’s an old swing set. Your eyes light up and decide to take a seat on one of the swings, your hands instinctively wrapping around the swing’s chains. You look down at your feet as you sway back and forth, a lazy smile on your face. The breeze feels cool against your skin and for a second, you feel at peace. Your moment of silence is ruined when you hear footsteps coming toward you. Your head snaps up to see the intruder and your eyes begin to narrow when you realize it’s Daniela. You’re about to stand but Daniela stops in her tracks, looking at you desperately. 

“Wait. Don’t go,” She lets out a shaky breath and continues. “I just. Can I at least sit with you?” You stare at her, keeping your guard up. A sigh escapes your lips as you look away from the Latina. She takes it as an answer and continues walking, sitting down in the swing next to you. You sit in silence, gripping the chains of the swing tightly. You feel overwhelmed by her presence, wanting to be alone for once. But for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to tell her that. So you keep your mouth shut, your eyes finding the ground again. 

She breaks the silence despite your building irritation. “Parties are your thing now?” You purse your lips at her accusatory tone, your grip on the chains becoming even tighter. “What if they are? You wouldn’t know.” Your tone is harsh and you can feel a lump beginning to form in your throat. That bitterness you’ve been feeling the last few weeks intensifies, eating away at you as Daniela continues trying to engage you in a conversation. 

“I literally had to fight you to get you to come with me to a party in high school…” Her voice is soft as she speaks, her words a bit slurred. Your jaw tightens as you try to push down your emotions. You don’t want to reminisce about high school– especially with Daniela. You close your eyes as you hear her talk again. “I can’t imagine you liking them now, I mean, you always–” 

Suddenly, something snaps inside you. The ugly feeling is finally being released as you speak,  “You don’t even know me, Daniela. You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” Your knuckles turn white as you grip the swings. There are tears in your eyes but you keep yourself composed. Your voice is steady as you continue, “You don’t fucking know who I am anymore.” You stand up, turning around to face Daniela for the first time since she sat down with you. You point at her as if accusing her of a crime. “So stop pretending you do! I told you to leave me alone!” You yell at her frustratedly. Your hand falls back to your side as you breathe heavily. 

You take her silence as an answer, turning around to walk away from Daniela, to give her a taste of her own medicine. However, her next words cause you to stop, knocking the wind right out of you. “I can get to know you again then!” She yells. You turn around, your eyes wide in surprise. She is now standing and there is a look of determination in her eyes. She takes a few steps forward and you make a move to step back but you can’t help but feel frozen in place. Once she is only a few feet away from you, she speaks softly, “I got to know you once. I can do it again.” 

You stare at each other, the silence deafening. Your voice shakes as you finally respond. “My- My friends are waiting for me inside.” 

Daniela steps closer to you as if challenging you. She nods. “Okay.” 

You don’t move though. You stay where you are.

You nod, whispering, “Okay.” 

The way she interacts with you changes slightly. 

You can tell she’s holding back as if scared of doing something wrong. But you also wonder if it’s also the influence of Manon and Sophia and the other nursing students. 

Apparently, you’re not very liked. What the reason is, you aren’t sure. You deduce it’s because of your attitude 

It’s not that you weren’t kind, but you also weren’t making much of an effort to get to know your peers within your major. You found it quite useless– if everyone was against each other then what was the point altogether? You’re already against the idea of making real friends, why would you make fake ones just to get through your program? That sounds like a recipe for disaster that you simply don’t have the energy to spend on. Every time you walk into the nursing building, you find everyone in their respective groups, either studying for the next exam or discussing the latest gossip amongst the major. 

So far this semester, only a few classmates have asked you to join their study group– including Manon and Daniela. But you always declined. It’s nothing against them (well, except Daniela), you were never the type to study in a group. You like working alone. It was quiet and you didn’t have to take off your headphones every ten seconds just to hear what someone said. Group projects were always a weakness of yours and that is one of the few reasons why you hated your Organic Chemistry Lab. 

And so, studying at the library is meant to be a solo activity for you. However, Daniela comes to join you randomly one day. She doesn’t ask, simply sitting in the chair across from you and setting her bag in the other chair next to her. You narrow your eyes at her. “Hello?” Daniela looks at you with a small smile and waves. “I saw you in here and decided to join.” You roll your eyes, looking back at your laptop screen. 

You subtly watch as she unpacks her things, taking out her laptop and notebook. She pulls out her glasses case from the front pocket and you feel your heart skip a beat. You’ve always liked Daniela with her glasses on. She always wore them during your shared Chemistry class in high school and for some reason, it always distracted you. You think about the days when you’d lay with her in bed, her glasses on, as you both read a book together. 

Well, it was her mostly reading the book, you always fell asleep in the middle of a paragraph. 

After a few minutes, Daniela gets up from her seat and looks at you expectantly. You look up at her with a raised eyebrow. “I’m getting coffee. You want one?” She asks and you want to say no. But after spending so long already inside the library and nowhere near close to stopping, you sigh, nodding your head.

“Yeah… Actually, can you get me a—“ Before you can finish, she’s already turning around, walking to the small cafe that’s inside the building. You stare at her back, your brows furrowed. You let out a sigh, tearing your eyes away from the Latina to continue studying for your exam. You’re in the middle of one of your readings when Daniela comes back, setting your coffee next to you on the table. You briefly look at the writing on the cup, not registering it completely. Once you realize though, you take a double take, grabbing the cup to get a better look. 

You feel your cheeks burn as you look up at Daniela with a surprised look in your eyes. “You… Remember my coffee order.” It’s supposed to be a question, but it comes out more like a statement. A statement that confirms Daniela still remembers the little things about you and a statement that shows that maybe you didn’t change as much as you thought you did since high school. The Latina looks at you, a twinkle of hope in her eyes that aggravated you but also made your heart race at the exact same time. 

“Of course I do.” She whispers, looking back down at her notebook. You notice how she bites her lip, trying to contain her smile. You narrow your eyes, looking everywhere but at Daniela. You cross your arms and scoff. “Why though?” You ask, looking down at your lap. Your hands clutch at the sleeves of your sweater, gripping it tightly as you prepare to hear her answer. She’s silent for a moment and you begin to bite your lip, scared that you may have offended her in some way. Even though it annoys you that she is trying to sneak her way back into your life, a small part of you is hopeful that she will succeed. As pathetic as it may sound– Daniela was your person. And maybe, she still is. 

You hear Daniela sigh. “I don’t think you just forget those types of things, you know?” You grip your sweater tighter. Your jaw tightens as you keep your eyes on your lap. You want to ask if she got an iced vanilla latte with almond milk. You want to ask her why she changed her major. You want to ask her why she stopped talking to you, why she didn’t want to be your friend anymore after she left. You almost tell her that, for the first time in your life, the loneliness after she left killed you. 

Instead, you shrug your shoulders. You return your attention to your laptop, shaking your head. “I forgot a lot of that stuff, to be honest.” 

After that day in the library, Daniela joins you often. She brings you a coffee every time and never disturbs you, just settling for sitting with you at the table. You both talk sometimes, usually about Orgo, but it has never gone deeper than that. You can tell she isn’t trying to push you and although you’re grateful, you still can’t help but keep your guard up. While playing a game with Megan, you feel your phone vibrate against your leg. You glance at your phone, your eyes widening in surprise to see a text message from the Latina. Megan looks at you curiously, pausing the game. “What’s up?” You look away from your phone, shaking your head at your roommate. 

“It’s nothing,” You say quietly. You turn your attention back toward the TV, sitting up straighter. Your hands grip the controller in your lap tightly, wondering what Daniela could have possibly said to you. Megan reaches out, placing a hesitant hand on your shoulder. “You can… Talk about it.” You turn your attention back to Megan, a faux smile on your lips. “It’s really stupid dude, trust me.” But she doesn’t give up, waiting patiently for you to open up. Another thing you have found yourself liking about Megan is her patience. She might be impulsive and rather reckless in her actions, but she knows when to be serious. 

You groan. You knew this would have to come up eventually, especially due to your growing close friendship with your roommate. But, you’ve never talked about Daniela. Friends from high school often asked you about her and you always lied, not wanting to tell them the truth. You thought saying it out loud would make it real– the fact she was gone and left without even saying a proper goodbye. It was a conversation you jumped through hurdles to avoid. You look away from Megan, not wanting to look her in the eyes as you confide in her. 

“There’s a girl in the nursing program…” Megan lets out a loud “oooh” at your words and it causes you to scoff, waving her off. “Not like that! Just–” You rub your face with your hands, struggling to let the words leave your mouth. Your hands cover your face as you say, “There’s a girl in my program that I was best friends with in high school, and now… We’re like. Not that anymore?” You uncover your face, crossing your arms. You continue, keeping your eyes on your lap. “And she’s trying to be my friend again but it’s… Fucking scary.” 

Megan scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. She rubs your arm comfortingly and asks, “What about it is scary?” You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head. You respond, “I don’t know. Maybe getting hurt again?” Your roommate leans her head against your shoulder. She whispers, “Was she like. Your Lara?” You glance at Megan, your eyebrows raised. Before you can stop yourself, the words tumble from your mouth, “Are you in love with Lara?” 

Your question causes Megan to widen her eyes, sitting up straight. She shakes her head frantically. “Wait– Oh my god, you’re in love with this person? That is not what I was trying to say.” Your admission causes you to widen your own eyes, your cheeks flaring in embarrassment. You look away and try to backtrack. “No, no! I mean– Fuck.” You throw your head, groaning. “Fuck. Like. I guess? I don’t know, it doesn’t matter anymore.” 

Your roommate frowns at your words. She leans her head back against your shoulder and sighs. “It totally matters. Especially if she wants to be a part of your life again…” She continues, her voice soft, “It’s up to you but… I’d keep my walls up. If she hurt you once, then you make her work for it.” You nod at Megan’s words. Make her work for it. You let it linger for a moment before shrugging Megan off of you and pushing her away. You give her a small smile as you wave your controller in front of her face.

“Can we keep playing, please? I still need plates.” Your roommate gapes at you, swatting your shoulder playfully. “Y/n! I’ve been asking you to bring me my fucking bread for the last five minutes, are you joking?!” You place your controller down next to your phone, the text message from Daniela long forgotten as you begin to argue with Megan over the video game. 

Another week passes and you sit outside the lab classroom. Your knees tucked under your chin with your arms wrapped around your legs. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, trying to ground yourself. Your brain felt like mush and none of the material made sense. After you argued with Sophia over the calculations, you stormed out of the classroom, slamming the door shut behind you. 

It’s fucking overwhelming. Everything is so overwhelming.

You sit there in silence, a crushing weight on your shoulders. You know this feeling all too well, yet it still hasn’t become easier to manage. You know it isn’t that deep— everyone else was struggling with the lab instructions. The argument with Sophia was unnecessary but her constant questions and pestering made you go insane. In high school, this wouldn't have phased you. You would have shrugged it off and took the C. But for some reason, this meant so much to you. 

If you didn't do well in Orgo, then what would that mean for the next three years? 

The thought makes you hug your legs tighter.  You feel tears brimming your eyes as you let out a shaky breath. You wonder if this was a sign that maybe– maybe you made a mistake. 

You hear the lab classroom door open but you don’t pay attention to it. You assume it’s your professor checking on you. However, the person sits down next to you on the floor. You glance over, seeing Daniela’s manicured nails. You sigh, your irritation building. You close your eyes again, suddenly feeling exhausted. You two sit in silence for a moment, as if waiting to see who will speak up first. Suddenly, you feel Daniela’s hand grab yours, causing you to open your eyes. You narrow them, attempting to pull your hand away from her grasp but she holds onto you tightly. You open your mouth to say something but she speaks first. 

“Squeeze my hand.” Her voice is so quiet that you almost don’t hear her. She looks at you softly, her brows furrowed. She whispers again, “Squeeze my hand. I don’t care.” You glare at her as your tears begin to spill from your eyes. You feel them roll against your cheek and without even thinking, you grip her hand tightly. You whisper, your tone harsh, “Fuck you, Daniela.” She doesn’t flinch at your words. You feel her thumb caressing the back of your hand. 

“You can squeeze tighter.” And you do, your grip getting tighter around her hand. You close your eyes, shaking your head frantically. You use your free hand to wipe your eyes, but the tears continue falling. Your shoulders begin to shake as you give up, crying freely. Your voice breaks as you speak bitterly, “I hate you so much. I hate you.” 

She lets you grip her hand tightly as she responds, “I know.” 

“I’m so fucking mad at you for leaving.” 

She responds again, keeping the same soft tone. “I know. Mi amor, I know.”

“You were supposed to be my best friend.” You cry, finally looking up at her. The pain in your eyes is evident as you continue, “You were my best friend and you left me! You made me promise nothing would change but you went and did that bullshit!” You feel as though you were crushing her hand but Daniela doesn’t show it. She looks at you, her own eyes glistening. She whispers, “I’m here now, right?” Your lip quivers at her words. 

Your voice cracks as you respond, “Don’t do this to me right now. Don’t.” 

“Then tell me to leave.” You stare at her, your eyes challenging her. She keeps your gaze, her tears falling from her eyes. 

You pull her into a tight hug. You sob loudly as Daniela holds you. You can’t help but feel familiar with this warmth as if it’s home. You wonder if this is home. 

The next day, she shows up at the library and joins you at one of the tables. She sets her stuff down, turning away to go to the cafe but you lean over the table, grabbing the Latina’s wrist. “Daniela.” She looks at you and your breath catches in your throat. Her eyes have always been so mesmerizing to you. Daniela is captivating, catching the eyes of everyone around her. It always surprised you when she always sought you out amongst crowds of people in high school. It was surprising, but also made you feel so god-damned lucky. 

“I got you an iced vanilla latte with almond milk.” You say it quickly, but Daniela hears every word. She looks down at the table and sees the coffee cup sitting on the table. She looks back at you with a dimpled smile. 

You whisper, “You don’t forget those types of things, you know?” She nods, looking into your eyes.

“I know.” 

It’s been a month since you decided to make peace with Daniela. 

Although you were still guarded, it was a nice change to have Daniela back in your life. It felt as though nothing had changed. Conversations were still easy, her energy still had an effect on you. Seeing her in a room full of people made you light up, your heart racing. She smiles at you and your fists immediately unclench. Slowly, the guard you had came tumbling down. And the Latina was now officially back in your life. 

After being so used to her absence, it ends up becoming something you have to adjust to. 

You are currently at a house party with Megan and Lara. You three stand in an empty hallway, red solo cups in your hands. Lara talks loudly about a girl she saw in the dining hall, distraught over the fact she may have lost her chance with the “goddess on campus.” You listen to her, occasionally taking sips from your cup with an amused smile. Suddenly, Megan’s eyes widen and she grabs your shoulder, shaking you frantically. “Do you remember that girl from my Biology class I was talking about?”

You nod, even though you have no earthly idea what she is talking about. She begins talking about the girl from Bio, her hand still on your shoulder. Whenever her voice gets louder, she tugs at your shirt and every time you stumble slightly. Megan’s enthusiasm always amuses you. She is sunshine and everything good, and you can’t help but think you are the complete opposite. Megan as your roommate didn’t make sense, but you couldn’t think of anyone else you would rather share a space with. She always manages to cheer you up with her stupid jokes and incessant need to play a video game together. 

Her constant rambling keeps you up most nights, but she knows you don’t mind. Something you like the most about Megan is that she never pushes you. Becoming her friend was natural, and it was at your own comfortable pace. If you had to go to bed early, she would put her headphones on so her games wouldn’t disturb you. You feel lucky to have Megan as your roommate and you hope she feels the same way. And with the way she always looks at you while she talks, making sure you’re still listening, she probably does. 

From the corner of your eye, you see Daniela walk by with Sophia and Manon. You briefly look away from Megan, your breath catching in your throat when you see the Latina. She wears a short, strapless black dress with heels to match. Her curls bounced with every step she took and you couldn’t take your eyes off her. She is always a sight to see but every time she planned to go out? You really were no better than a man. 

Your thoughts make your cheeks flush, forcing yourself to tear your gaze away from the older girl. You look back at Megan who is still talking at 100 words per minute. You lean against the wall behind you, taking a deep breath. Lara notices your slight change in demeanor and tilts her head at you, her eyes furrowing in concern. “Are you good, Y/n?” Your eyes widen at her question. You attempt to hide your blush by taking another sip from your cup. 

You pull the cup away from your lips and look inside of it. It’s empty and the desire for a refill overwhelms you. You look back up at Lara with a small, forced smile. “Yeah, my cup is just empty.” You flip it over, shaking it with emphasis and it causes Lara to laugh and shake her head. Megan looks up at you, her eyes slightly glazed and sparkling. She finally lets go of your shoulder and takes a step away from you. 

“I’ll come with you to get another!” She grabs your hand without waiting for an answer. She turns her head toward Lara with a lopsided smile. “Do you need another?” The Indian girl shakes her head, giggling at how tipsy Megan seemed at the moment. 

“Nah, I saw a friend from class just walk in so I’m gonna say hi real quick.” You and Megan nod, waving goodbye to Lara before your roommate pulls you with her toward the kitchen. Her hold on your hand is tight as she navigates through the crowd of people. She moves so quickly that you almost walk past someone calling your name. You turn your head, stopping in your tracks when you see Daniela walking toward you. Megan walks up to you with a curious look in her eyes. Your hands remain connected when Daniela finally catches up to you. 

She reaches out, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Hey! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” She looks past you and sees Megan. Daniela tilts her head, looking down at your hands. You notice how she bites her lip and looks back at you, her eyes narrowed. “Who’s your friend?” For some reason, the tone in her voice sends shivers down your spine. You look at Megan, then back at Daniela, a soft smile on your face. 

“This is Megan, she’s my roommate.” Megan waves, her enthusiasm present. Daniela waves back to her with less excitement, responding, “I’m Daniela.” You stand awkwardly between the two girls. It feels like your worlds are colliding and it gives you an uneasy feeling in your stomach. You feel Megan tug at your hand and you look back at her, your eyes softening when you spot her whiskered dimples. “Can we get our drinks, please?” She continues tugging at your arm and you smile gently, looking back at Daniela who does not look too happy. 

“Can I join you guys? I need another drink too.” The Latina says. You nod, and before you can process it, Daniela walks ahead of you and Megan, grabbing your hand and pulling you away from Megan’s grasp. You look over your shoulder, relieved to see Megan isn’t affected by Daniela’s cold demeanor. She follows behind, the happiness evident on her face. You turn away and allow the older girl to lead the way. 

Once you’re in the kitchen, Daniela lets go of your hand. You look back at Megan and notice she got distracted on the way. She’s talking to someone you aren’t familiar with and you wonder if it’s someone she knows or she became friends with along the way. You call out to her, feeling a bit weary at the thought of Megan not being close by. The Chinese girl looks over and smiles widely, she points at the person. “Friend from class!” You sigh in relief and nod, giving her a thumbs up. You turn away to face Daniela but her back is turned. She’s at the counter making herself a drink and you eye the heavy pour of liquor in her cup. You walk over, your nose crinkled slightly. “Someone wants to have fun tonight.” She rolls her eyes at you, taking a sip. She grimaces at the taste and hands the cup to you. “Trying to have fun at least.” 

You raise an eyebrow at her, taking the cup from her hands. “You aren’t having fun?” You take a sip and the alcohol immediately burns your throat. You cough loudly, handing the drink back to the Latina. “Jesus– are we having fun or blacking out?” Daniela laughs at your words, shrugging her shoulders playfully. She is about to say something back but Megan inserts herself in between the two of you, grabbing one of the cups on the counter to make a drink. You briefly look at Daniela who has a slight scowl on her lips. You can’t help but wonder what her problem is. 

The thought doesn’t dwell on you for too long because Megan tugs at your shirt, getting your attention. You look down at your roommate and she shoves a cup into your hands, giggling. “That one is yours. Taste it.” When it comes to Megan and mixology, you aren’t very trusting. You take a sip and you’re taken aback by how strong it is. Megan looks up at you, her brown eyes big and hopeful as you hide your grimace, not wanting her to feel bad. “Not bad, Meiyokie.” She beams at you, grabbing her cup from the counter. 

“I’m gonna go talk to that friend from earlier! Text me if you need anything, okay?” You nod and she hugs you quickly. Before she leaves, she leans close to your ear and whispers, “Yeah, I can understand why you aren’t over her.” You push her away, giving her a quick glare. Megan only laughs, waving goodbye, and leaves you and Daniela alone in the kitchen. You turn your head back to Daniela who still stands with an unhappy expression on her face. Her demeanor causes you to sigh, placing your cup down on the counter. 

You cross your arms and look at Daniela incredulously. “She’s really nice, you know?” The Latina scoffs at your words, bringing her cup up to her lips. After she takes a sip, she places it on the counter and leans against it. She avoids your eyes as she responds, “I never said she wasn’t.” You roll your eyes, leaning against the counter as well. You’re very aware of the fact your shoulders were touching but with how buzzed you feel, you can’t bring yourself to care about the proximity. You look down at her, a teasing smile on your face. 

You bump your shoulder into hers, your arms still crossed. “It feels like high school again.” Your bold words cause her to snap her head toward you, her brows furrowed. She has a slight pout on her lips and you can’t seem to take your eyes off of them. The urge to kiss her is strong but you know better than to give in. It felt ridiculous to you– how quickly your feelings for the older girl resurfaced. It lay dormant in your heart, hidden by all the anger you felt instead once Daniela stopped talking to you. 

But here you were, shoulder to shoulder, with that stupid, familiar fluttering in your chest. 

Your face inches closer to hers and your eyes twinkle with amusement. “You always got so mad when I gave my attention to other people,” You tease. You know the game you’re playing is dangerous. You know it would reopen wounds you’ve tried so hard to heal on your own but secretly, you loved this side of your best friend. Daniela can be possessive and somewhat overprotective, but it makes you feel wanted. And you were so desperate to be wanted by Daniela Avanzini. 

She clicks her tongue, taking another sip from her cup. She grabs your hand and holds it tightly,  turning her head to face you. Her face is so close you could smell the alcohol on her breath. Daniela tilts her head, still pouting her lips. You glance down at them, the color of her lipstick becoming more enticing by the second. You tear your eyes away, hoping she didn’t catch you. She only smirks, whispering, “You’re my best friend, Y/n.” She lets go of your hand, reaching up to cup your cheek. They burn at her touch but you blame it on the alcohol. You open your mouth to respond but she beats you to it. 

“I was here first.” 

“Did you ever find another best friend during your senior year?” The Latina asks you one day. She sits in the passenger seat while you drive to your shared hometown. It was fall break and it only made sense you two went together. Your mother was ecstatic to hear Daniela was in your life again, boasting about how happy the older girl made you. She asked you to bring her over for dinner one night and for some reason, it brought you anxiety to allow her back into your childhood home. But when you asked Daniela, she jumped on the offer, telling you how much she missed your mother. 

It was weird, as if nothing ever changed at all. 

You take a brief look at Daniela before keeping your eyes back on the road. You shrug your shoulders. “I mean. I had friends.” From the corner of your eye, you see Daniela pull her legs up onto the seat, tucking them to her chest. She hugs them while she stares out the window, watching the trees and billboards pass by. Her voice is quiet, as if scared to hear your response. “But like, were they anything like me?” The question makes you chuckle, quickly covering your mouth to stifle the sound. 

She snaps her head toward you and glares. “I’m being serious.” Her tone is sharp but you know there isn’t any genuine anger in her words. If anything, you too were curious if she had ever found a person like you during the year you two were apart. The closest person you’ve seen so far to Daniela is Manon but even then, you wonder if their connection is remotely anything like the one you’ve built with the older girl. You run a hand through your hair, thinking about her question. You set your hand back on the steering wheel and grip it tightly. 

“No one could ever be like you, Dani.” You whisper, your eyes narrowed at the road ahead of you. Daniela reaches out to you, grabs one of your hands from the wheel, and holds it close to her chest. Her thumb caresses the back of your hand, as if silently telling you to squeeze. And you do, tightly, feeling scared she may walk away again. You were scared that these words were all for nothing. That opening up to Daniela again would end up with you sobbing in your bed, wondering what you could have done differently to get her to stay. 

You keep your eyes forward as you feel the Latina bring your hand up to her lips, kissing your skin gently. She whispers, her lips ghosting over your hand, “No one is like you, Y/n.” 

On the last day of fall break, you and Daniela decide to spend the night in your old room together. You two sit on the floor, giggling while looking through your old yearbooks and sharing a bottle of wine that you managed to steal from your father’s liquor cabinet. Daniela rests her head against your shoulder, taking another sip from the bottle. She watches as you turn the page and she immediately lights up, setting the bottle down to take the yearbook from your hands. She places it in her lap and points at one of the photos in the “Homecoming Week” section. “Oh my god! Remember when I forced you to dress up with me?” She exclaims loudly. You shush her, reminding her that your parents were asleep. You look down at the page and you can’t help but snort. 

It was a photo of you and Daniela participating in one of the themed days of Homecoming Week. The theme was “Perfect Duo” and Daniela convinced you to dress up as Winnie the Pooh and she was Piglet. You chuckle at your painted-on bear nose, remembering how Daniela did it last minute in her car. She kept scolding you to stay still that morning and cooed at how “adorable” you looked the entire day. You smile softly at the memory, your fingers touching the photo as if to go back to that day. 

“I was always making you do stupid shit.” She says softly, picking the wine bottle back up to her lips. You shake your head, taking the bottle from her once she takes her sip. You look at Daniela with a sincere expression. “I didn’t care, you know?” You take a sip of wine, putting the bottle down on the floor beside you. “I think I secretly liked all the stupid shit you made me do.” She slaps your shoulder playfully and you laugh, rubbing the area in faux pain. “What? You’re the one who said it was stupid!” She gapes at you, rolling her eyes playfully. 

“You weren’t supposed to agree, asshole.” She reaches over you, grabbing the wine bottle again. Daniela scoffs, taking another sip without breaking eye contact. She passes it to you and you take it from her, holding the bottle in your lap. You look at each other for a moment in silence, your eyes both glazed slightly and soft smiles on your lips. You get a sense of deja vu looking at Daniela. In your head, you’re both still in high school and nothing went wrong. You pretend no time was lost. It’s just you and Daniela against the world and that’s what the universe intended. 

But then the Latina grabs your senior year yearbook from underneath your bed and the bubble you were in pops. 

You take another sip of wine and place the bottle back onto the floor. You watch her open it slowly as if she’s scared to see what you were like without her. She makes comments about the different teachers she sees, laughing when she sees photos of peers she didn’t like back then. You talk about the gossip she missed out on, telling her the outrageous stories you’ve heard from others that year. The mood is still light despite the underlying tension between you and the older girl. Daniela turns the page and your breath hitches. It’s the beginning of the senior section. She flips through the pages, her eyes searching for your photo. She finally finds you and it makes you chuckle. 

“God, I hate that photo…” You reach for the yearbook, intending to take it from her but Daniela grips it tightly in her hands. You watch a tear fall onto the page and you look up with wide eyes, realizing Daniela was crying. You place a hand on Daniela’s shoulder, your brows furrowing in concern. “Wait, what’s wrong?” You ask and Daniela covers her mouth, shaking her head as more tears fall from her eyes. She launches herself toward you, wrapping her arms around your neck. Daniela buries her face into your neck and cries softly. You sit there, stunned. Hesitantly, you wrap your arms around the Latina, holding her tightly. You ask again quietly, “Dani, what’s going on?” 

Her voice cracks as she speaks, “Y- You were my best friend, Y/n,” She clutches the back of your shirt, gripping it tightly. “You were my best friend and I left you.” There’s a lump in your throat as you hear her sob. Your chest aches hearing her in pain. A few months ago, you would have reveled in this sight. It would have been satisfying to see Daniela hurt like this over you. But now, seeing it right in front of you is painful. 

After a few minutes, her sobs subside and she begins to sniffle quietly. Your heart races as you ask softly, “Why did you leave?” Her body feels heavy in your arms as if exhausted from a fight she had been a part of for too long.

“I was scared.” She responds, her fingers now playing with your hair. You sigh, pulling away from Daniela slightly. Your hands stay on her shoulders as you look into her eyes, desperate for an answer. “Scared of what, Dani?” Her lip quivers as she looks back at you. She leans her forehead against yours, her eyes closed as her nose brushes against yours. It reminds you of the night of her graduation. The night when everything changed. The night when you both made an empty promise. You wanted to kiss her that night, and you want to kiss her now. 

“I thought losing you would be unavoidable,” She says weakly. “So, I left first to make it easier.” 

You shake your head, ridding yourself of the thoughts that run wild in your mind. You raise your pinky and whisper, “This time, no one is leaving.” 

She locks her pinky with yours tightly. “I love you, Y/n.” 

“I love you too, Dani.” More than you will ever know. 

You’re lying in bed with your headphones on when Megan returns to the dorm. You sit up when she walks through the door with her luggage, your eyes lit up to see your roommate finally back from home at last. When she sees you, she immediately lets go of her things, jumping onto your bed to attack you with a tight hug. You giggle loudly, the force of the hug causing you to lay back down with Megan in your arms. You hold her tightly, happiness radiating from both your bodies. She pulls away slightly, pulling your headphones off your head. She leans close to your ear and yells, “I missed you!” 

Her loud voice makes you push her off of your body, sitting up with a glare on your face. “Megan, you’re so loud.” She ignores your words, hugging you once again. She erupts into giggles when you try to push her off once again. 

“Admit it! You miss me!” Her hold on you is tight and you admit defeat, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. You squeeze her, looking at her with sincerity in your eyes. “I missed you, Meiyokie.” She smiles widely at you. She rests her head against your shoulder and asks, “How was the break with Daniela?” You smile softly as you think about the time you spent with your best friend over break. Megan catches this and shakes you gently. “Oh? Am I invited to the wedding?” She teases. You groan, pulling away from your roommate. You lay back on your bed, looking up at the ceiling. The Chinese girl lies next to you and looks at you with amusement in her eyes. 

“You think she worked for it?” You continue looking up at the ceiling and you have the urge to ask Megan if you two could put up glow-in-the-dark stars. You find yourself glad to have found someone like her. You turn your head to look at your roommate, a soft smile on your face. 

“Yeah, she did.” Megan nods, turning away to look up at the ceiling. She says, “I think we should put those glow-in-the-dark stars up here.” You giggle loudly, your eyes crinkling in excitement. 

“You read my fucking mind, Ms. Skiendiel.” 

It’s considered crunch time at your college and the work is becoming much more difficult to manage. After one of your library sessions, you and Daniela decide to take a walk around the campus. The walk consisted of you two reminiscing on memories from high school. She talked about her freshman year and how awful it was. You told her how your last year in high school was nothing special. At some point, you end up at the quad, and it makes Daniela giggle. You look at her curiously. “What?” 

She shakes her head, walking away from you. She steps onto the greenery and sits down, patting the spot next to her. You chuckle and follow her command. As soon as you sit down, she lays on the grass, pulling you down with her. Your curiosity is still piqued as you look up at the sky. “Why’d you laugh?” Your question only makes her giggle even more and you roll your eyes. “Dani! Tell me!” 

She bites her lip, trying to stop herself from giggling even more. She looks at you, a twinkle in her eyes. “Remember when you bumped into me that day? It was here.” You look away from the sky to look at her, your eyes widening in realization. You remember how angry you were to see the Latina. It sent you over the edge and you couldn’t believe how bitter you used to feel. You frown slightly thinking about it and Daniela notices it. She grabs your hand and squeezes it. “I’m sorry.” She says, her eyes full of worry. You squeeze her hand back, a sincere smile on your face. “Don’t be. It’s all good now.” She smiles and looks away to look at the sky. You mirror her actions, feeling at peace. 

After a few minutes, you decide to ask a question that has been on your mind. “Why’d you change your major?” She’s silent for a moment and begins to fidget with one of the rings on your finger. She responds softly, “I wanted… To be more realistic, I guess.” You raise an eyebrow at her words. “Realistic? You are so good at dancing though…” You say, chuckling at the absurdity. You always attended Daniela’s dance competitions in high school and she always remained on top. Everyone knew she was talented and it wouldn’t have been a surprise if she became big one day. 

Daniela shrugs, she turns her head to look at you and you turn your head as well. You notice the same sadness in her eyes from when she first told you she was a nursing major. It makes your heart drop. You realize you weren’t the only one struggling last year. You feel horrible for only thinking about yourself. There were things Daniela had kept to herself and you didn’t think for a second how she must have felt to be here, all alone. You lace your fingers with Daniela’s, squeezing her hand gently. 

“I’m so sorry…” You whisper. She shakes her head, a bittersweet smile on her face. She responds quietly, “I did it to myself.” There’s a slight waver in her voice. Her usual confident demeanor is replaced by something you’ve never seen from the Latina. She looks so unsure– almost as if she’s lost. She looks away from you, looking back up at the sky. 

“Maybe in another life.” She says, wistfully. You keep your eyes on her. Daniela closes her eyes as if basking in the current moment. You memorize her features, the gentle smile on her face, the way her chest rises and falls with every breath. Her hand in yours— something you’ve always loved, her hand holding yours. 

You continue staring at her, a longing in your chest. “Yeah. In another life.” You whisper. 

Before you know it, your first semester in college comes close to its end. 

You walk into the science building, a pep in your step as you walk to the lab classroom. The final lab report sits completed in a folder in your bookbag. After a few long nights and many caffeinated beverages, you and your group finally completed your last assignment for the god-forsaken class. You stayed up the night before, making last-minute edits and ensuring everything on the rubric was added to the final draft. You yawn, stopping at the doorway of the lab to check your phone. Daniela usually waits for you in the hallway so you both can walk in together but she’s nowhere to be found. You wonder if the girl is running late and it makes you chuckle to yourself quietly, knowing Daniela hates this class more than anything. 

However, you hear her laugh inside the room. You light up, pocketing your phone to meet her inside. 

You hesitate though when you also hear Manon’s voice. She talks loudly, as if her and Daniela were the only ones inside the lab. “I can’t believe we’re gonna actually pass this class.” You hear Manon say. Daniela laughs, responding, “Me neither. We can thank Y/n for that, honestly.” Your heart swells at the compliment. You smile to yourself, feeling giddy over the fact Daniela mentioned you. 

“No, literally. I don’t know how you did it, but becoming their friend was like, the best idea you ever had.” Your smile falters at Manon’s words. Your hands find the straps of your bookbag, gripping them tightly as you continue listening to their conversation. 

“Someone had to do it,” You hear Daniela scoff, “If none of us got along with them, we would be stuck taking this class again.” You feel tears forming in your eyes. You stand there, letting her words sink in. For some reason, you can’t breathe. Daniela wouldn’t do that to you, she would never. 

But Daniela giggles loudly. “The attitude they have is literally gonna get them nowhere, it’s terrible.” Those words become your last straw as you walk in, a look of betrayal on your face. You glare at Daniela, your voice shaky as you say, “You only spoke to me again because… You wanted a good grade in Orgo?” Your heart breaks with every word you say. You furrow your brows at her, your knuckles going white as you grip your bookbag straps even tighter. 

Daniela gets up quickly from her seat, her eyes wide. She steps toward you carefully, her hand reaching out to you. “Y/n… Wait–” You take a step back, cutting her off. You yell, “Are you fucking joking, Daniela?” Hot tears spill from your eyes as you look at the person you gave another chance to. She tries walking toward you again but you’ve had enough, turning around and walking out of the room. You speed walk down the hallway, ignoring when Daniela calls out your name. 

She manages to catch up to you, grabbing your wrist but you pull away, turning to face her. “Don’t fucking touch me,” You spit out, suddenly blinded by anger. Daniela shakes her head with desperation in her eyes. “Y/n, please. It’s not what you think.” She pleads, trying to reach out to you once more but you push her away. She stumbles slightly as you raise your voice, “So, what the fuck was Manon talking about?” She shrinks away at your tone. Her voice trembles as she responds, “I– At first, that’s why I did it, okay?” You scoff, rolling your eyes as you try to leave again but she grabs your hand, gripping it tightly. 

“But then I really did want you back in my life, okay? I still want you in my life.” Daniela tugs at your hand and continues speaking, sounding helpless, “Y/n, please. Please. You have to understand.” You nod at her words, pulling your hand out of hers. You take your bookbag off your shoulders, unzipping it to grab the folder inside. You throw the report at her feet and zip your bookbag closed. You gesture at the papers, chuckling bitterly. “Well, there it is. I hope you get a fucking A+.” 

You look back up at Daniela. With your dignity gone, you decide to deliver one last blow. “I was fucking in love with you, you know that?” Her eyes widen at your admission and it makes you smile sadly, letting out a shaky breath. You put your bookbag back on your shoulders, shaking your head. “I was in love with you and you made me look like a fucking idiot.” You scoff, taking a step toward Daniela. She steps away from you however and you know it’s over. 

This is goodbye. 

You whisper, your voice steady, “Don’t you ever talk to me again.” 

You turn away, walking away from Daniela for the last time. You’ll make sure of it. 

You walk into your dorm quietly, knowing Megan is still asleep. You tiptoe toward your bed, making sure to avoid the squeaky floor tile on your side. You glance at her side of the room and notice how she is underneath her blanket. You can tell she is awake by the way her blanket is illuminated by a screen. 

You look back at your bed, wanting to get under the covers to avoid the world. But for some reason, the usual desire to be alone is trumped with a need to be around a friend. You look at Megan’s side and pad over, wondering if she had her headphones on. You slowly sit down at the foot of her bed causing her to jump out from under the covers, her eyes wide. You look down at her lap to see her laptop open– on the screen is a Roblox game. You chuckle, looking back up at her. Her eyes have softened and she stares at you with a mix of curiosity and concern. 

You can tell she’s trying to read your expression. As much as you try to hide your feelings with a fake smile, your swollen eyes and tear-streaked cheeks tell her everything she needs to know. Megan scoots over, patting the spot next to her. Without any words, you slip your shoes off, crawling over to the empty space. You lean against her headboard as she places her laptop on both of your laps. Megan leans her head against your shoulder, silently clicking through her game once more. She glances up at you with a smile. “Wanna watch me work at a pizza place?” You let out a soft laugh, nodding. You lean your head on top of hers, watching her change the game. 

Your heart aches at the thought of another broken promise. A second chance given so freely but left you so quietly. The worst part is that you almost believed it was wrong timing and you had the rest of your life to make up for it. 

At the end of it, it was just the wrong person. It was never going to be Daniela. 

You wipe your eyes and wrap an arm around Megan’s shoulders, sighing shakily. 

“Sure. Got nothing else left to do.” She remains silent, playing her game. At some point during the quiet morning, Megan’s head moves onto your chest, and your arm is still wrapped around her. She cuddles into your side, now watching you play the silly Roblox game. Not much has been said between you two but it was comforting nonetheless. 

As you play, you hear Megan whisper, “I think you deserve better.” A soft chuckle escapes your lips. You look down at your roommate with raised eyebrows. 

“What’s better then?” You ask in a teasing tone. She looks up at you, her eyes twinkling brighter than the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. There’s something in her eyes you can’t quite put a finger on. 

She looks away and grabs your hand that isn’t on the keyboard. She laces your fingers together. “I don’t know, but you’ll find it someday.” 

You find yourself squeezing her hand. It’s not a tight squeeze, it’s more gentle. You whisper, “One day.”

an: the president of frown town is back! hope u all enjoyed, lmk what u think <3

requests are open

[3liza]

I feel very defensive about the "goth is bougie" shit because it is historically incorrect, yes, but also and more personally, because it just erases the generations of goth kids who grew up in trailer parks and project housing or just straight up homeless, helping each other out.

it's specifically such a supportive subculture for poor and neglected kids and I really fucking hate that this has been revised and erased. juggalos and goths are very culturally close and many subcultural people are both, and juggalos have the same (and, I would argue, even better defined) culture of collective support. the Skids in Letterkenny are not made up for the show, that's just a real type of rural subcultural person. this has also been forgotten in the interim but in the 90s and 00s we didn't even really refer to OURSELVES as "goths" very much except in a joking way. goths had regional endonyms (like "skids" or "trenchies") even if they could all go to a convention or a club in a city and in that context be all called "goths" together, once they went back home they would go back to being whatever the locals called them or whatever they called themselves. this is a whole linguistics and sociology subtopic that's out of scope for a Tumblr post but is sort of related.

my point is that people who wore actual rags, and sharpie instead of nail polish, and wet n wild eyeliner instead of black lipstick, and dyed their hair with markers or food coloring or kool-aid, were and are the core of the goth scene. the majority of the pictures the mallgoth blogs are posting are from catalogs, fashion shows, costume events, yearly balls and fetes like Wave Gothik Treffen, and other places where people save up literally all year, or many years in a row, to put together ONE outfit. and there's nothing wrong with that, personally I'm proud and pleased that our hard work is being recognized and preserved. but just like formal studio photographs from the Victorian era, it is not representative of the daily or even weekly (for clubs) reality of people in the scene, some of whom were completely out of goth clothing during the day or week just to fit in at work or sometimes just to get along without being bothered at home by family members who thought the Cure was Satanic.

the people who RUN the scenes, the promoters and DJs and gogo dancers and independent designers and people who run the mailing lists and websites, the people who organize the room parties at conventions, and yes even most of the original Burning Man camps like Thunderdome, they mostly live in poverty. especially if they're young. when people organize club nights and shows, they're lucky if they break even. I wasn't aware of any of this until I started working at DNA Lounge in San Francisco, which hosts one of the oldest goth nights in the country, Death Guild. I got to know the owner of DNA well enough to find out about the financial reality of the entire scene, even the people who own the means of production and the actual property in this case, and it's not lucrative. I mean, it sometimes is, if you're running a bar for normal people and have investment captain etc, but the majority of legit subculture economics is just barely breaking even. every single event is 90% volunteer labor.

the issue of labor is maybe the confusing thing for the zoomers who are confused. goth outfits take actual physical work. maybe the Aspirational Spectacle of Labor that makes up most of TikTok has made it appear unreal to the audience rather than something you can just sit down and do?

it takes forty seconds to make the fishnet tights into a shirt. you don't need instructions, you really can just look at it and figure it out. then you think, hm, if I can make fishnets into a shirt I wonder what other things I can turn into something else. your brain will amaze you. my mom would save her tights from her formal work outfits for me when they got holes or whatever and I would just go crazy with scissors and safety pins. lots of young designers are getting attention for this layered, tights-n-pins look at the moment and it really is a fantastic aesthetic but I wonder if people think there's something special about the people who make these clothes? there isn't. you can just do it at home while you watch trashy youtubes.

one time, around 2008 or so, @gothiccharmschool and I were at the photoshoot for tabletop RPG Unhallowed Metropolis. we were there with a bunch of local goths to all make the pictures for this book together. we had all brought tons of our costumes from home to cobble together outfits for the book illustrations, and there was a moment when I just handed Jilli a pile of black skirts and some pins and said hey Jilli, could you please make me up a bustle skirt for this model real quick while I shoot these other models? and of course she did, and they were beautiful, because she knows exactly what she's doing, and because that's all a bustle is: it's a way of bunching up a skirt with another skirt. you can do it at home. you don't need instructions or to hire a seamstress or watch a video. you can just look at something and say hm does it look like a bustle? let's drape it and play with it and pin whatever works. and then you wear it for the photoshoot, or to the club!!! and then next week you pin it a different way and it's a cape instead and you wear it again!!!!!!!

[esmedelacroix]

00 - Pilot

synopsis ! he’s an American football player by day and a passionate mathematician by night. She’s a well-rounded historian and writer who couldn’t evaluate a derivative to save her life. They lived in two different worlds but shared the same study room.

series masterlist | cmnt to be added to taglist !

cw ! no use of y/n, y/n is _____, fluff, slow burn, college au, ooc sukuna, f!reader, child abuse/neglect, alcohol abuse, suggestive

fic radio ! Heavy by The Marías

Ryomen Sukuna knew from a young age that he was a genius. It didn’t take his fourth grade teacher’s praises or his middle school principal placing him in higher level math and science classes. He just knew. But his mother, the resentful drunk, put no effort into his education or his future.

He was the product of her falling in love with an American “businessman” who ended up being a low-level drug dealer who eventually got arrested. On his release day, he had already run away to a distant South American country. So here lived Ryomen and his absentee mother, who moved to America to live in a trailer park.

Ryomen’s mother didn’t bother taking him to school or making sure he got on the bus, so he attended school when he could. His teachers constantly sent notes home begging his mother to bring Ryomen to school, but she didn’t care to read them.

Ryomen picked up small jobs around the park, taking care of the elderly for money and sometimes just a meal. When a social worker was sent home, his mother laughed at the idea of Ryomen being intelligent, chuckling, “That brat will never amount to anything. Both his parents are dumb as fuck anyway!”

By middle school, he was juggling two jobs while attending school whenever he could. He probably broke a good amount of child labour laws, but it’s what kept him and his mother alive.

High school changed his life. His good friend, Toji Fushiguro, begged him to try out for the football team. He mused about how many girls they would get, knowing that he only asked Ryomen to try out with him because he was nervous.

Ryomen picked up football with ease. He was an aggressive tackler, and he was an amazing runner. All those hours he worked at factories and warehouses added to his physique. Having to fight the odd men his mother brought over sometimes also toughened him up. But in the case of football, he wasn't pushing himself because he had to; he played because it became an outlet for him.

He ended up being so good that he and Toji went to college with their amazing skills. Ryomen as a quarterback and Toji as a tight end. Their small town never sent anyone to college for sports, so Ryomen and Toji were practically celebrities. Toji thought it was a miracle that he would be attending a highly selective school just because he could catch a ball and block a few dudes. He had no clue that even without the sports scholarship, Ryomen could have gotten into an Ivy Leauge school with just his grades alone. He was an undercover nerd.

. . .

You grew up in the kind of environment where everything you did was talked about. Being one of the wealthiest families in Upstate New York meant all eyes were on you at all times. You were an only child who was afraid to rebel. So you tried your hardest to be picture perfect. Never allowing yourself to break under pressure.

Attending one of the most prestigious prep schools in New York meant having to be at the top of your class. It meant juggling a full schedule of APs, electives, extracurriculars, clubs, and tutoring. You did all of this seemingly without breaking a sweat. Being the best had a cost. You didn't get to live the teenage life, and it upset you. Your parents insisted on you staying close. But you had different ideas. You were tired of feeling like a hermit. Never having drank alcohol, or dated, or even partied(outside of formal events), you needed to do college right. You couldn’t achieve that close to home.

You could do that at Ohio State. You wouldn’t be the slightly entitled good girl. You'd be the life of the party.

. . .

-> next part

[cavernsandcod]

ESPRESSO | Cpt. John Price

─────dad's-best-friend!price x reader

· · ────── ঌ·✦·໒ ─── · ·AO3 VERSION | MY FIC GUIDE

Everyone has a complicated relationship with their father; the good, bad, and the ugly. Just like every complicated adult has their vices to cope with their issues. Drugs, sex, gambling, work, adrenaline— name it, it's been done.

Yours is a bit different: hooking up with your father's best friend.

WARNINGS: mild angst. reader has a shitty dad(—i.e. neglectful, militant), but no depicted abuse. alcohol. strong language. legal age gap (20s/40s). power dynamic. smut. porn with plot. authority kink, d/s. unsafe, risky sex. oral (f+m receiving). dirty talk. praise. petnames. fluff, kind of. fem!reader. not edited. WC: 7.9k

The carousel never stopped growing up.

Each time you got accustomed to a new home, school, or routine, you had to pack your bags and start over.

Your father had a new assignment; another part of the world to risk his life in while your mother did her best—well, her worst—to cope. The loneliness and sleepless nights of worry got to her once you reached double digits in age. Their conversations turned bipolar, either abrasive spats or days of tense silence. You were too young to understand, really, but you got the gist. Only saw her on weekends because she moved hours away to start a new family.

And your father, he never made an effort for much of anything except his career. He received a substantial pay raise for contracts in the UK in your teens and never looked back to ask you how you felt about it.

You, perpetually on the back burner of his mind, were only supplied the basics a child needs. A bed, three meals, and a decent schooling. Sometimes got to tag along with him to work events if you caught him in a good mood.

The uniformed men were always kind, many with children and families of their own. Made you feel safe from the hard conversations you weren’t old enough to understand. Bled some color into the sterile, militaristic surroundings you grew used to.

Even then, you knew your upbringing was atypical. Knew that you shouldn’t get attached to anything because the rug always gets ripped out from under your feet.

Once you reached your teens, school became your only out. If you had any shot of straying from your father's militant footsteps, it became apparent that a good college was the best way. Excessive studying tarnished every fake friendship and social invite you had—but there weren't many of those to begin with.

Dwelling aside, you made it.

All the hours of academics paid off with the reward of a prestigious university. Being away from home and your father was the best part of it all. A mellow roommate, a group of classmates similar to you—and the culture of uni. How startling it was compared to the environment you grew up in.

It's your last year, and summer breaks and holidays still aren’t any easier. Going back home still has that sour taste. Each time you expect welcoming arms and approval, you get a harsh reminder of why you left.

Dressed up. A camouflaged wallflower. Cowering in your father’s shadow, small like you once were.

Countless galas bustling with formal attire and gowns alike, decorated with fairy lights and the low hum of seasonal music. Men and women with chest candy to show their years of sacrifice. Their dry conversations all start to sound the same after twenty minutes.

Logistics, hardship, and embarrassing tales are a poor attempt at humoring the family members sitting at the table. You don’t laugh, don’t smile. Only think about how good the end of this holiday will be when you can return to junk food and mild rebellion.

The weather this time of year is perfect for beers and barbecue, all humid and sweltering. Perpetually smelling of bonfires and chlorine swimming pools.

At least this year you aren’t on display. No blinding lights, no raffle tickets, or overpriced, butter champagne.

It’s not a formal event whatsoever. Just a backyard party hosted by one of your dad’s esteemed colleagues. Already much preferable to the stuffy venue space that leaves you nauseous.

“John’s a good man,” your father told you as you climbed into the truck. If he’s taking a break from talking about himself, you usually listen. “Made himself a Captain. Some of the toughest maggots I’ve seen in years, that lot.” Maybe this John character will be a kinder man than your father. Maybe he’s seen the lengths of his temper. Maybe he’ll be kind to you like the other soldiers.

Is he kind to his own family?

The house is alive when you arrive. People standing in the front, side, and backyard. Children of varying ages roughhouse, running barefoot in the manicured grass, belting out squeals and babbles of excitement.

The smell of meat grilling makes the humidity tolerable. As you enter the backyard, your father makes a beeline for the patio, more eager than you’ve ever seen him.

A pair of broad shoulders overlooks the party, thick biceps bulging from a black tee. The cherry of his cigar shines like the sun beating down on you, a cloud of smoke evaporating each time he puffs. His aura is different to the other men around him; commanding and reserved, standing in a spot against the railing that you know is only his.

It’s only when your father gives him a harsh pat on the shoulder, that you realize this is John—John, the good man.

He cracks a smile in response and returns the gesture, his voice a soothing thunder. John turns and reaches into the open cooler resting beside him, fishes out a beer for your old man. Placating. Giving him a bottle to keep him mellow.

Your father settles into a lawn chair, posture stiff and manicured as ever. Didn’t bother to introduce you around—not while he’s twisting the cap off his only pleasure in life and gulping it down.

You flinch when his eyes move onto you, squinting. It’s only fair considering you’ve been staring. After a beat, he nods his head, mouth curling into a more genuine smile than you saw before. All you can muster is an awkward wave through wide eyes.

Not your best work.

“Oi—“ A voice belts. “Fancy a drink, hen?”

It’s coming in the direction of the plastic buffet tables. The first has bread and toppings, various platters, and the other is decorated with solo cups and pitchers.

The source, a younger man than John, is sitting beside the homemade concessions. He’s easy on the eyes, with charming features, holding a squirming toddler in his arms. She has his eyes and, no doubt, the same feral energy.

“Oh, sure,” he hands you a cup. “You have anything stronger?” You ask, gazing down at the punches and cans of fizz.

“Afraid not.” He dodged a headbutt by the skin of his teeth, shushing her. “Cap’n has all the good stuff.”

“I see,” you take a small sip, allowing the pure sugar to coat your tongue. ”Well, thanks anyways.” He turns his head to the side to mutter something to her, and you spot a smear of sprinkles and icing. You raise your index to point at his cheek, “you have a little something.“

He swipes it, giving his daughter a look of intense betrayal. “Wee menace—“ he bounces her, blowing a raspberry onto her stomach, “ah told ye not to get into the cake!” She squeals, little flip-flops kicking through the air.

You chuckle against the plastic rim of your solo cup and step away from the chaotic mess.

Working the grill is possibly the most formidable man you’ve ever seen, still wearing a hoodie despite the heat.

Standing beside him is a still muscular but leaner man who’s dressed appropriately. A tank top and shorts showing off healthy, bronze skin, his hands nursing a mixed drink. He clatters into the ear of the big one flipping sausages and patties, leaning in and throwing jabs.

(You decide to skip on a plate since the man you’d have to ask for one looks like he’ll devour you whole—)

The punch is gone and the red cup turns weightless in your grip. Watching your father talk the Captain’s ear off, all smirks and happy-go-lucky makes you want a taste of the good stuff he supposedly has.

You trudge the wooden steps of the porch and keep your head down. Embarrassing yourself in front of your father is one thing, and you’ve done it many times. But doing that in front of the smoking-hot SAS-Captain isn’t as easy to choke down.

“Ah, sweetheart, c‘mere!” Your dad’s voice greets you, foreign in its softness. Sweetheart? Since when? “Come say hello to John. He is your host after all, eh?”

You nod before stepping closer, standing before the two sitting men. As you shift your focus to the man of the hour, your stomach clenches. He’s hotter up close.

“Hello.” It’s simple. Perhaps too much. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

John only stares, a light expression on his face. His thighs, thick and muscular, are spread wide in the patio chair. The bottle he’s been nursing is in between them, resting at the crotch of his denim. Two of his thick fingers caress the bottle neck, toying with it until you can’t help but track it.

“Well, aren’t you sweet? It’s my pleasure.” He responds, showing a half-smirk. You can tell his gears are turning, but can’t figure what about. Suddenly, the silence feels too heavy, and he tosses back the last of his beer—gathering himself.

“Call me John, love. It’s not sir here.” His assertiveness comes naturally, but it is not unkind. The faux confidence in your posture shrivels even more.

“Right. Sorry.” You swallow.

He chuckles, sprinkling some warmth to the tension. “No need for sorry either. Didn’t know better.”

“I tell you what, Cap’n—“

Your father’s voice soils the moment, slurring and obnoxious. It seems to startle the both of you. The Captain’s blues shift to him, his jaw clenching.

“She’s never that polite with me—her own old man. I tell ya, respect is a dying breed with these brats—“

The longer he rambles, reeking of liquor and disdain, you tune him out. Try to calm yourself down before the spell you’re caught in shows in front of all these people. The porch feels small as if it’s groaning and sinking under the weight of your dysfunction. Your cheeks are burning, your chest is starting to heave, hands are shaking—

“I, uh, need to use the washroom.” The words are a blurt; crude, disrespectful, ungrateful. “Is it—?” You point an index toward the screen door beside them, already peering inside at your escape.

“Down the hall, take a left,” John answers, eyes full of knowing scrutiny; you can’t tell if it’s toward you or your kin.

You step inside his home, feeling at ease without all the outside noise. It’s remarkably clean—some of the furniture even appears handcrafted. Wood floors, freshly polished and with minimal scuffs. Sparse picture frames, mostly of the same men you saw out there, posing in formation and nearly unrecognizable. The rest of the home is antiquated and fully furnished, but still lacking any clues to the man’s true personality. He’s probably not here enough to let it show. This place is merely a bed and desk between foreign lines and blazing bullets.

You decide to skip the left.

You ascend the L-shaped staircase to your right, glancing over your shoulder to ensure you won’t be caught snooping. This isn’t your house, your place, nor your crowd—and somehow the distraction of an alluring stranger’s home is more lulling than your own. Things that don’t belong to you aren’t weighed down by baggage and bad memories. They serve as an escape.

The washroom door is ajar when you pass it, creeping further down the hall with your head on a swivel. It’s wrong and you know it, but your feet don’t stop. Floorboards creak and groan once you make it to the end of the hall. A bedroom, a linen closet, a storage room. Nothing spectacular.

The first door left closed catches your eye.

To your surprise, it isn’t locked. You push it open silently and shuffle inside, dabbing at your eyes with your shirt. The fireplace on the back wall is unlit, two bookshelves on either side, stacked full with thick hardcovers. Beams of sunlight shine across the desk in the middle, sleek and lacking clutter. Only pens and a few files that don’t make sense to you. All the drawers have a keyhole, preventing you from trudging any deeper.

Sunlight casts warmth on your arms and legs, finally giving you the boost to catch your breath. Instead of falling further, you lose yourself in all of John’s distractions. There are more photos up here, on the mantles. Still the same men, in pubs and restaurants alike worldwide, throughout the years of their relationship.

John is clean-shaven in the first one, a stern but youthful glow to his face. Tan camo gear, a background of sand and humvees. Your thumb skims over the thick Sharpie scribble in the corner: Lieutenant Jonathan Price, circa 2009.

Somehow, you like him better now; salt and pepper, bourbon-breathed, a toned tummy turned soft—

“Find something you like, love?”

Fuck. Your nervous system goes haywire, body rigid. Frozen in place like a rabbit sensing a predator to avoid becoming dead prey.

“I’m really sorry,” you squeak, setting the framed photo back in its spot. “I was just—” His footsteps are slow, but loud enough for you to hear. He’s heading for the honey-stained cellarate beside the door. He kicks it closed before you can run for the stairs and beg your dad to let you drive him home.

“No more apologies.” The cork pops when he removes it, pouring himself a healthy glass of what looks like an aged whiskey. A deep amber swirling in his grip, glinting in the beams of summer. “Doing a bit of snooping instead of joining the party? Now, that’s curious.”

Cuticles tear when you bite at them, unsure of where to go. The door is closed. You feel like you’re in trouble. John is settling into a chair, getting comfortable. His tone reeks of disdain and ambiguity, impossible to peace together.

“I wasn’t snooping, really, I only wanted a break. I didn’t even want to come to this party either.” You explain, rounding the desk without getting any closer. “No offense.”

He chuckles. “None taken. I’ve heard worse. ‘S not exactly your crowd, I’m sure.”

You hike a brow, “what do you mean by that?”

The ice clinks as he sips. “Don’t know, dove. Bar crawls? Street fights? Speed dating? You tell me.”

“I don’t—” You huff, fighting a smile. “I don’t do things like that. All I have time for is studying.” It sounds pathetic to say it out loud, but deep down, it doesn’t feel that way, and only you know why. Anything to keep from home.

He looks pleased, sprinkling a crumb onto that constant fear of being in trouble. “I know. He told me all about it. Though, I sense I’m more supportive of your studies than he is.” Another swig empties the glass and he stands to refill it.

For some reason, you feel the need to come to his defense. He’s a shitty dad. Your shitty dad—whom you’ve known longer than John, since birth. “He’s not… like that. It just takes awhile for him to come around, I guess. My father is—”

“—A prick?”

Can’t argue with that. “We’re complicated. And it’s hardly your business.”

“He made it mine, he’s at my home.”

Four steps closer. A wide body cloaking yours. You can’t move. “Especially when his daughter would rather be hiding in a stranger’s home than around him.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” you deflect, crossing your arms and tucking your chin. “I needed some air.”

“Been crying too, by the looks of it.” He pinches your jaw, forcing you to turn it back toward him. “Too sweet for all of it. And too smart. Not a bratty bone in your body.” It works because you know he’s right, and somehow standing before him, being steered by his hands feels right.

You close your eyes when his breath fans over your face. His voice is soft thunder, drowning out the rainfall of voices in the yard. “Here, have a sip.”

This should be wrong. No, it is wrong. Still, you nod your head and wait for the rim to reach your parted lips.

It’s pungent. A sharp punch to the nose. Your nose crinkles, mouth starting to frown as if you’ve never tasted liquor. Whatever he has is clearly a different league than the kegs at uni.

“Hm, I figured,” John leans back to finish the drink off, muscles growing looser by the second. “Suppose that means you were telling the truth, then.”

“I was.” Unconsciously, you open your eyes and find yourself leaning closer to breathe him in.

John reaches around you to set the empty glass down, fingers dancing close to your waist before closing in. He notices the hitch in your breathing, the clench of your jaw muscles, and most of all the fight inside yourself.

“It’s okay to like it, love. Just don’t want to see you sad, is all.” The tip of his nose burrows into your hair, the free hand holding the back of your head. “Gonna let me help you, doll?”

You nod again, head spinning. And that seems to be all it takes. Something once tucked neat below the surface unleashes so violently that you feel it.

The cracks widen. He grips your jaw, lips latching onto the apple of cheek and trailing until he reaches your mouth. The beginning is a tiptoe that abruptly turns messy and feverrant.

The levee breaks. Your tailbone hits the back edge of the large desk, digging into it. You wince against his maw, beckoning two large hands to lift you onto it. The part of your thighs widens, his pelvis nestled between the crux of them.

The waves pull you under. You moan into the kiss, muffled and pitiful. The pressure of his erection is just right against your clothed pussy.

His name spills—a desperate plea for more that he stifles.

“Shh.” John soothes, pulling the hem of his shirt until it’s left untucked. The kiss breaks with a wet pop. “We’ll need to be quiet, lovey. Our secret.”

Love; there it is again, sodden with need.

Your hips shift when he leans forward to suckle on your clavicle, teetering close to your breasts without giving in.

“I need,” you whisper, “need more. Please.”

He tuts. Something that says patience. Be a good girl. It’s the perfect high pitched frequency to rewire the clutter in your brain. When he starts to slither lower, working your tank top off, you have wholeheartedly forgotten why you were upset in the first place.

Your nipples pebble from the air conditioning, growing erect through the thin fabric of your bra. They beg for relief from the chaffing—and he begs to feast on them.

“You wanted me to see these today, didn’t you? Perfect fucking tits.” John probes, snapping the strap against your shoulder with his hand. His hot, whiskey breath fans across your cleavage as he unfastens it.

They drop without the support—essentially hanging fruit for a man starved. Sweet and full of life on his tongue.

He suckles until his tongue grows tired leaving a trail of saliva in its way, but the fire in his blues remains ablaze. You gasp when he pulls you off the oak, a hand on the nape of your neck to herd you.

You’re facing it now, slowly tilting down until your tits are smushed against his workspace. Your upper half shivers against it, teeth biting into your bottom lip in anticipation. His fingers dig into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them, and your panties, down to your ankles in one go.

When the breeze settles onto your bare ass, you wait for the feeling of hips against it. To feel the prod of a thick cock against your entrance. For him to slam inside you without preamble, splitting you open and pounding you sore.

Instead, you feel his weight shift. A hot mouth between your thighs, two big hands pulling your cheeks apart to get a view of your pussy. It quivers, already glistening without any touch.

You let out a sharp gasp when he dives in. No time wasted with kitten licks or long, wet stripes along your inner thighs. He shakes his head when his tongue is fucking you, oscillating until you fight a cry.

“Fuck—!” You yell, muted by your gritted teeth.

He hums, and it feels like a vibrator pressed against your clit. “Even sweeter down here, sweetheart.” John’s words are muffled, as if tearing himself away would cause him death.

The captain shifts from your hole to your swollen clit. He laps at the puffy bead, suckling each time you let out a whimper for something more—already knowing exactly what you need from him. Letting you take it from him.

“My sweet girl,” Price mumbles against your sex, gently spreading it open with his thumb. “You just need to cum. Just needed your pussy played with a bit, eh? ‘S that right?”

Your brain turns haywire. Yes, yes, yes. He’s right. That’s what you need—

You can’t answer, not with words. All you want is for that coil in your tummy to snap. It would only take a few more seconds.

He latches again, hallowing his cheeks until slick pools between his lips. The bundle of nerves in your abdomen gives way, off the edge of the cliff in an instant.

Everything stops. Your legs wobble, a drooling mouth agape against the back of your hand, eyes rolling to the back of your head. The only reason he rips himself away is the fear of you falling too deep, growing too loud for any of his to remain discreet.

He can’t toy with you today. Can't push the limits, no matter how tempting it is.

His zipper interrupts the ringing in your ears, forcing you to gather yourself. He isn’t done and you don’t want him to be. You want, no, need more of him, whether you faint afterward or not because he’s too much to handle. The logistics of it don’t matter right now.

“Do you feel it, love?” He peels down the waistband of his briefs, pressing his hard cock against your pussy, gathering the arousal. It feels big—but you knew that when you first saw him. Already had expectations for what it might be like, and though you can’t see it, you know you were right.

“Gonna fuck you now.” His voice grows hard, an arm snaking across your belly to raise you up again. The thought of being moved makes you whimper impatiently. You want him now, bent over his desk as you were.

Despite the haste in his actions, you can tell there is a purpose to him readjusting you.

Your gaze lands on a bare chest. He must’ve taken his shirt off at some point behind you. Slowly, your head dips down to take a gander. John pumps his cock, using the slick he collected for a smooth, repetitive glide.

It curves upward toward his stomach, girthier at its base. Dirty-blond curls conceal some of it, conjoined with his happy trail.

The reddened tip leaks pre-cum that you want to taste. But, selfishly, you only want him to give in and put his dick inside you for being good. His mouth was only a lick of what you know he can give.

He stays true to his word, scooting you closer so his stomach presses against yours. Your legs hug his waist, spread wide to let him take his spot.

“Need you facing me.” The tip notches against your entrance, barely pressing inside. You yelp, sucking in a breath. “See? ‘M too big for you to stay quiet, baby.”

Your hole remains snug, but still eases him in, making room for what your cunt wants. It's too much to choke down without noise. “I can’t- They’ll hear us—“

“That’s why you’re looking at me, pretty. So I can help you. Just need you to trust me, alright?” You nod your head, eyes shifting from his cock to meet his. To trust him.

He raises a hand, clamping it over your mouth with a vice grip. His hips start to move, pushing forward until his pelvis is flush with yours, balls deep.

You squeal against his palm, cunt filled to the brim, womb being butted. She aches, fighting the sheer size of it, welding the pleasure and pain of every shallow thrust.

You want him to take it slow, but you’d only beg for more if he did that.

“That’s it,” he groans, mouth against your ear. The other hand digs into the fat of your hip, leaving indents in its wake. “Just take it for me so you feel better, sweet girl.”

His pace quickens into calculated ruts, causing your muffled noises to grow in intensity. Every drag of his cockhead inside you lulls you closer to that addictive ecstasy. His tongue was surface-level, playful, and exhilarating, nothing compared to the deep den of primal need. Something you ached for the first time you saw him whether you knew it or not.

Someone enters the house downstairs, dishes clattering, and John looks at it as incentive. Both hands tighten as an anchor for deeper, sharper thrusts that send the penholder and paper weight cascading to the floor. “Can feel you getting tighter, love,” he groans, stubble and breath tickling your ear. “You want to cum all over my cock—all stuffed full?”

You nod while slobbering on his mitt.

The air punches from your lungs with each jolt inside your pussy. The coil tightens again, snared and full of tension. Instead of jabbing, he reduces his pace to slow grinds along the front wall of your cunt, massaging the spongy spot that makes your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

His head lifts from the crook of your neck to meet them.

“Just—fucking—need to cum, baby.” John stutters, a drunk expression that warrants the lazy movements in his pelvis. “Ah, shit—Do it for me. Be good.” He holds on for you; bites the inside of his cheek until he bleeds.

The muscles in your stomach throb, your spine goes weak. A warbled cry expels into his flesh when you gush around him, knees shaking against his sides. All the tension you carried downstairs seems to vanish for a moment. The consequences of being caught look meaningless. Giving in, inviting rebellion feels like something you can live with.

Your eyes flutter open, brows furrowed as he shifts his focus onto his own pleasure. All you need to do is keep still and take it. Be the good girl he knows you are.

He pulls out, leaving you empty and clenching around his absence. Subtle, slick sounds echo through the office as he grinds against your pussy, bumping into your clit.

His hand does the rest of the work, squeezing the base until he sputters, leaving fingerprint bruises on your hip.

You feel the ropes of cum paint the outside of your cunt, his mouth latching onto yours as he rides through it. “So messy.” He whispers, stubble harsh against your lips.

Your legs and posture drop as he pulls away, tucking his cock back into his briefs. You don’t feel regretful, only tired and in need of a cold shower.

“You go downstairs first.” He instructs, lifting you off the desk. After finding your shirt, he slips it over your head, leaving your bra somewhere tossed aside. After, he kneels, dangerously close to the mess he made, he helps you step into your panties and shorts again, hiding the evidence.

The fabric sticks to you, full of cum and sweat. Your legs throb and wobble without the support of the desk beneath you, the spend costing them causing them to stick. “Get yourself a plate, too. Can’t have you passing out, can we?”

“O-okay.” You, utterly stunned, aren’t sure what else to say.

His lips find your sweaty temple, hand splayed across your heaving tummy. “Be good.”

The descent downstairs is slow and just short of shameful. You aren’t sure of what you’ll say if anyone asks questions.

Hopefully there’s a snug corner you can tuck yourself into.

Months pass before you see John again.

The music pounds your eardrums. People are yelling over it. Bodies slam into you.

It’s the night of your grad party, surrounded by fake friends and alcohol. You lost track of the only decent one you came here with. A few minutes pass when you stare at her text, explaining why. She got bored and decided to bar hop in the city with her guy. Shit.

Your vision ebbs and blurs and you wonder if you should have joined her. This isn’t your element. This isn’t safe. This house is unfamiliar. How are you getting back to your dorm?

You never do this, never stop being the rational one in the group. Always the designated driver who holds a buzz while your friends get hammered. Yet, here you are, holding onto a bannister so you don’t faceplant. As you thumb through your contacts, you wager the options in your head about who to call.

A family member—you’d rather die.

One of your classmates—either here with you, or asleep.

The SAS Captain you fucked within earshot of all his collegues and your dad after he caught you hiding in his home office—now that’s promising. And somehow less humiliating.

You giggle against the wood grain when you click his name, feeling the sway of the alcohol on your decisions, remembering the euphoria of that day. He’s probably asleep, too. A text might be better. Otherwise, his name will continue to collect dust in your phone.

—heyyy

—are you awake captain?

He reads it after a few seconds.

I am, sweetheart. Why are you texting me?—

You pout, as if he’s here to see it.

—i missed you and i thought it was past ur bedtime

—hehe

Call me now.—

You don’t call him.

Why should you? He’s being a proper sourpuss about a little joke—

The screen flashes with his name and it takes a few moments before you can figure it out. Stumbling to your feet so you can walk outside, you cover one ear and raise the phone to your ear.

“Sweetheart.” It sounds more like a scold than a greeting.

Keys jingle on the other line, a car door opening. “Where are you?” John’s unmistakable voice flows through.

Your shoe scuffs against the pavement, balance off as you look for a street sign. Somehow, he’s able to make out the address you stutter through. Luckily, you aren’t too far out from his place because you won’t be upright much longer.

You lower yourself onto the curb and tuck in your knees, eyes drooping from intoxication. “Am I in trouble?”

Your voice is weak, half-genuine but his is neither. “No, love. I just need you to stay where you are until I come get you. Alright?”

“Mm-hm,” you hum, plucking out blades of grass. “I’ll stay.”

The call ends.

You sit there for longer than you can keep track of. The muffled bass keeps you awake even though you’re fighting it. Knowing you will see John again is motivating, too, but it’s unsure if he’s going to be warm. It’s an extremely unlikely way to reconnect with an old hookup.

An engine grows louder, tires crunching gravel through the ringing in your ears. The brakes squeal, a car door closes, boots enter your swaying sightline.

You lift your head from your lap and chew on your lip when you meet his gaze, feigning innocence. “Mr. Price?” You know who it is.

“C’mon. Get up.” His brows furrow, not giving you the time to follow his commands. Instead, he cups your upper arm and pulls you up, leading you toward his car. The other hand holds the back of your head, shoving it to the center of his chest in case you manage to fall. A few scrapes is better than a drunken head wound.

“‘M not supposed to get in the car with strange men.” Your feet drag, ankles bobbing, but his hold on you doesn’t budge.

“Cute.” John retorts, unamused as he opens the passenger door. “But I think we’re past strangers.”

With ease, he lifts your body into the seat, tucking in your feet and then forcing your hands into your lap. When he leans over you to buckle the seatbelt, you lick your lips and smirk at him, shamelessly breathing in his cologne.

“You think I’m,”—you hiccup—“cute?”

John draws back and pauses, skimming your features with a clenched jaw. Decides not to negotiate with you right now.

“We’ll talk in the morning.” Your door closes.

As you slump against the window, your eyes follow his speed-walk around the vehicle to climb inside, and how abruptly he puts it in drive and takes off. After that, most of it is a blur of neighborhoods and headlights that you’re too out of it to pay attention to.

The trudge inside his place is bits and pieces. There’s a constant hand on the small of your back, up the stairs until you reach the bedroom. His bedroom. You only saw a glimpse back at the party—masculine, simple, and neat. Two hands on your shoulders steer you toward the bed until you lower onto it.

John digs through his dresser, pulling out a clean t-shirt. “Arms up.”

You raise them, and he pulls off the sweaty one you’re wearing, and then your bralette. His shirt is more breathable by far, perpetually smelling of him. You toy with the hem as he reaches for your jeans, tugging them off each leg methodically. “Can’t sleep in these, can you?” The captain mumbles, more to himself. “Probably not the shoes, either.” Those are next, tossed onto the armchair with your clothes.

You chortle, cheeks hot. “I like your clothes.”

“Yeah? Then stay right there.” He turns away and enters the bathroom, returning with a small cup that he extends.

You stare at it, puzzled and hesitant. When you cock a brow, he sighs. “Mouthwash. You smell like a distillery, and I reckon you’ll fall over before we can brush your teeth.”

You toss it back, relying on muscle memory to swish it around your cheeks before spitting it back into the cup. The minty aftertaste is miles better than the remnants of your last syrupy, mixed drink.

“Nauseous?” He returns to the bedroom, peeling off his belt and jeans. “Tell me the truth.”

You shake your head and that seems to burn the energy you have left. The world tilts on its axis.

John huffs when you fall over, cheek squished against his navy bedspread. If he weren’t in such a sour mood, he might appreciate the sight a bit more. Instead, he grabs a throw blanket and drapes it over your crumpled frame before climbing in next to you. One arm snakes around your waist to keep you secure and the other supports your head in case you start to roll, or vomit in the middle of sleeping.

You don’t vomit in the morning.

You have a hellacious headache in place of an alarm, however. The body pressed against you throughout the night is gone and you’re shivering now. With a groan, you climb off the bed and follow the noise.

The bathroom door isn’t shut completely. You can see his shadow moving under it, the sound of him brushing his teeth and spitting out the excess.

“John?” You frown from the bright light when you push the door open. “How am I here?” That question reminds you of how you ended up here—actually, that you can’t remember the answer. All you can do is rely on hope that he was responsible enough to not have sex with you when he brought you home.

“A few texts.” He answers, placing his toothbrush back in its cup. “That’s how.”

“Did we… we didn’t—?”

“No,” he shakes his head, expression stern. “Believe it or not, love, I have a conscience.”

You can finally breathe. “Good.” Your shoulders drop, posture relaxing. “I mean, you were mindblowing, but— I’m glad we didn’t.”

The flattery gets you nowhere; John walks past you and you can feel the cloud that follows him. It makes the air thick.

Though all you want to do is sleep, you follow him with furrowed brows. “Are you mad at me for something? Whatever I said, I was drunk. A-and you didn’t have to come get me. I would’ve asked… I don’t know, someone, for a ride home.”

“I doubt that.” John argues, stopping at the foot of the bed. “You were seconds from passing out when I got there, too shitfaced to stand. You’re lucky nothing bad happened.”

Frankly, you’re offended. No, you don’t get out much, nor have you ever been that drunk without a ride. But this spat isn’t remotely fair.

“I know that. I’m not an idiot.” You roll your eyes, pulling his shirt over your head.

Like an asshole, he does that cocky, knowing half-smile. “That’s my point. You’re not stupid, sweetheart.” Despite the heat in his words, his eyes comb over the sight of your bare chest, then the swell of your ass when you bend to grab your jeans.

With your back turned, literally, you are fully intent on ignoring the domineering lecture you know is coming. It’s not his place. You just need to get home and forget about the whole thing.

“Don’t get dressed yet.” His feet shuffle closer. “We aren’t done.”

You scoff, refusing to turn around. “Or what? You’ll lecture me about safe drinking, Mr. Price?”

A dark cloud casts over your bare body in an instant. Two hands clamp onto your shoulders and spin you. Then, a rough palm shoves you onto the mattress. “I’m not doing this with—”

You let out a yelp, hands digging into the comforter. A flame of arousal flickers in your belly and it wages war with frustration. “This isn’t funny to me, John. My head hurts—”

“Shut your mouth. It won’t do you any favors.” The bed creaks when he sinks a knee into it, one before the other to hover on top of you. John’s eyes singe into every inch of your skin, hands beginning to roam. “Besides, I thought it was Mr. Price, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, sincerely regretting your choice to be snarky. “I-I wasn’t…”

“No?” His thumb toys with the waistband of your panties, stilling when your hips buck upward. “Hm, I suppose ‘sir’ is better, anyhow. Easier for you to remember.”

When your mouth opens, he tuts and brings the hand up to your chest. Too far from where you need him to touch you. It’s been too long since you felt it. Stale memories aren’t enough to get off to. None of your toys do the trick. And the blokes your age are clumsy and inconsiderate—nothing like John.

“Though your pretty head might not remember it,” he licks a nipple, teeth barely grazing it until you shutter. “I said we’d talk in the morning.”

You whine and reach for his belt, but he swats the back of your hand harsh enough for your knuckles to sting.

“Ah-ah— you want it? Want my cock inside you?” He asks, almost deceptively sweet. “Be polite.”

Your throat bobs when you swallow your pride, feeling every ounce of dignity drain from your bloodstream. “I want your in me cock. Please.”

He tilts his head like he’s truly thinking about it. Every second feels a lifetime. His index adjusts a strand of hair sticking to your cheek, sluggish enough to count as torture.

“Much better.” John leans down, pecking your lips a few times. “‘M gonna give it to you now.”

Relief washes over you with a shaky breath. You start to think this will go by quick, that a rough fuck will be all it takes for him to forgive you. One that you’ll enjoy probably too much, but God, all you want is for him to fill you—

“Up.” He fists the hair on top of your head, firm enough to make you raise it. “Follow my hand.”

You gape at him with wet eyes, lip all but quivering. You should be whining from the stretch of him, knees tucked as close to your chest as they’ll go—but instead, you’re sitting up and unsure of why.

It takes a slow blink for him to put a foot on the bed and feed his tip toward your lips. Circling them with it until they part enough for him to slip inside. Despite months of fantasizing about having his cock down your throat, you feel tricked.

“Easy. There we go. Hold onto me.” You grip his thighs tight, tilting your head forward. Halfway inside the warm, wet chasm of your mouth, his eyes flutter shut with a satisfied groan.

”Fuck— you’re bloody perfect.” It’s a new, soon-to-be addiction. He starts to pump his hips cautiously, narrowly avoiding your gag reflex.

Tears prick in your eyes as your throat fights to allow him space in it. You gag when he pushes deeper, giving his thigh a light squeeze, not a full-stop.

He pulls out, gripping the base of his glistening cock. “I-I thought—“ You stutter, voice hoarse. “You said you’d give me your cock, John.”

The hand in your hair tightens, enough for your scalp to start screaming. You whine from the mild pain and he reneges, stroking your temple to keep you dazed.

“Try again, sweetheart. Use your head.” After a beat of silence, you gather the pieces missing. Begin to anticipate what will warrant one of his firm corrections.

“I told you what I wanted, Sir.” It’s the correct answer—you can tell. Your neck is already sore, the agitated muscles putting a damper on your speech. “T-that I wanted your cock inside me. You promised you would—“

“Oh, baby.” His voice softens, less militant and more condescending. The hand on his cock starts to pump slowly, spit coating his fingers.

“I said I’d put my cock in you, but I didn’t say where, eh?” The tip prods at your mouth again and it opens on instinct.

You gulp, desperation breeding. Arguing is futile.

He goes deeper than before, easing through every gag and cough until your throat opens. “Your mouth is just as good isn’t it, baby? You can cum from this?” You won’t. And he damn well knows it.

The shift to rhetorical and demeaning feels like something you should hate. He’s been mean for the sake of it; playing with his slab of meat before devouring it.

With your eyes closed, it’s not as agonizing. You focus on the sounds he makes and keeping your teeth from getting in the way. Every grunt and groan makes your pussy clench around nothing. Makes you want to slither a hand between your legs for relief.

“‘M gonna cum, sweetheart. Keep still—“ he retracts with a wet pop, jerking himself off with only the tip being warmed. Your tongue rolls over the slit, nails digging into his hip bones to egg him on.

His fist balls on top of your head when he comes, costing the roof of your mouth and inner lips in hot, milky spurts. “Fuck, mmfph—“

John loosens the grip, finally allowing your head to rest. His mouth meets yours, tongue lapping at the inside of it despite the remnants of his climax still on your tastebuds. Before you lean back again, he works at your soaked panties, nearly ripping the cheap fabric when he rids them.

After all that, you’re practically buzzing with anticipation. Whining into every kiss. Gripping onto him like he’ll run away. Grinding your pussy through thin air.

“Gonna fuck you now, pretty. Like I promised.” He pecks your collarbone. “Turn over for me.”

With his hands steering you, you’re facing the bed in an instant, staring at the backs of your hands digging into the sheets. You arch your back, putting your head down, but he stills you with a gentle pat on the hip.

“All the way down, love. On your tummy.” It’s unusual, but definitely more comfortable than bending your spine. As you shift off onto forearms, he sets a pillow underneath the spot of your pelvis, elevating your ass.

You can tell it’s a calculated move to drive you mad. The soft arch of your back, how he’s going to drape his entire body on you and crane his hips toward that special spot.

Weight settles across your entire back, a cock head finding your hole. You wiggle your hips and he breathes through a laugh, easing inside you smooth as butter.

He doesn’t waste time, not like before. The stretch is seamless, an instant pleasure that flows to the plug of your womb.

“S-so deep. Mm— fuck.” You moan into the pillows, mouth agape.

His cock bullies for its spot in your guts, deeper than it was the last time. He leans closer, fingers slipping across your belly to massage your clit. The other drapes over your tits, his body forcing you into a bear hug from behind.

“I missed being inside you, sweet girl,” his hip bones bite into your ass, balls flush with it. Every drag of them makes your eyes roll, working the places inside you that have never been abused. “Taking my cock so well.”

The rough pads of his fingers swirl around your clit as he fucks you into the mattress, hearing sounds he couldn’t before. But now, every thrust earns a sharp, overstimulated moan from your lips that he’ll savor; to keep him warm when he’s away.

“‘m gonna cum, don’t stop.” Your voice raises an octave, a fire burning in your stomach. The headboard slams against the wall as he quickens the pace, abusing the aching spot that worked so well before.

You come with a shaky moan, coating his dick in a slick that drips down his inner thighs. Sweat poured from your skin, muscles taut and overworked.

You go limp beneath him, relying on his hold to keep your head from dropping. “Almost there, baby—“ Baby. There it is again, only desperate. “Just keep t-taking what I give you.”

Instead of thrusting, he slows and begins circling his cock inside you, grinding his pelvis into the fat of your ass. “Fuck, fuck. M’filling you up this time.” He mutters into the side of your head, unintelligible.

Your vision blurs, body jolting forward when he stills inside you. Spurts of cum coat the inner walls of your cunt as he slumps forward, bracing himself with both palms on the bed now.

You can breathe once he eases up, panting like a dog into your neck. “You’re perfect.” John’s lips feather against your ear before he shifts beside you.

Your pulse begins to slow, limbs jelly, and therefore useless in leaving anytime soon.

“I think I hate you.” You mutter into the sticky skin on your wrist, curling onto your side to face him.

His lips curve upward, slightly impressed. “I’ve heard that before.” He does the same, scooting close so you can lean against his heart. “How’s the headache?”

“Gone.” You reply, begrudgingly.

“Hm. Suppose you should get out of here, then.” John teases, while making no effort to move or let go of you. “Just a few steps and you’d be out of my hair. Easy peasy.”

You huff, fighting exhaustion. “Please stop talking.”

He chuckles hard enough for your head to jiggle against his chest. “Only because you asked me so nicely, lovie.”

[dexthtoyounglings]

Often

Cassian x Reader Smut

Summary: You had always wanted him to see you other than in anger. It was like your stepping into rooms was spreading a plague, killing him slowly. You just wanted him to hear you. To feel what you felt.

Warnings: slight angst, hate-fucking, p in v, degradation, choking, Cassian's kinda really mean in this one, hair-pulling, creampie, violence, mention of war (kinda), mention of Eris

A/N: Hi! This is my first smut in this fandom after I took a (well needed) hiatus after being involved in another fandom. This is scrapped together over a few weeks as I have been busy, so please bear with me, and let me know what you think!! :)

•--•

You huffed out a sigh, finally flipping the last packet on your desk to its front and adding it to the pile at your feet. Sure, you still had a report to write up, but everything had been annotated, and Rhysand had asked for such before he got the formal write up.

You had fallen into this comfortable rhythm after coming into the position. As the Night Court's secretary, you had become a part of the inner circle after the War with Hybern. Rhysand valued the way that you highlighted and took notes on the side, summarizing information you found crucial. He liked the written reports you made, but you had come to know how he only liked the reports for their keeping history of events -- immediate information was more valuable.

You grabbed your tote bag, neatly tucking the papers into it, careful not to mess with the uniform pile you arranged. Pulling on a heavy coat over your sweater, you shouldered the bag, slipping into warm winter boots and stepping out into the long awaited fresh air.

The streets of Velaris were always pretty. On Solstice week, they were a dream -- the display of lights and joy shining through the city like an array of bubbles. Laughter popped, children drifted around their parents' legs, and you could've sworn the air sparkled with it. But, nothing compared to the month after Solstice. Where festive lights were taken down, but the snow still glowed with the love that consumed its citizens.

Velaris was the Court of Dreams, and like its evil older sister, it proved true.

Losing your focus to the couples hand-in-hand, you barely noticed your approach to the River House, blowing on your cold hands to keep them warm.

Suddenly, the door opened abruptly, Feyre standing there to greet you as she always attempted to.

Your High Lady was nothing but caring, going to far lengths to make you feel apart of their small family. You smiled at her, walking up the steps and right into her waiting arms, the warmth of them engulfing you like a soft quilt.

"Y/n! It's so good to see you," she pulled back, looking at the bag that hung from your shoulder, "Don't tell me Rhys has been overworking you.."

You giggled, "Well, Mother Hen, I assure you I am perfectly comfortable with my current workload."

She rolled her eyes at your teasing, knowing she reflected her mate's protective tendencies. She stepped aside, allowing you into the house. You breathed in the air, grounding yourself as you examined the familiar space.

It looked all the same as the last time you had been. Though, that never stopped the house from amazing you. Decorated like a family home, yet sleek and clean like a palace. How a family could balance such two things in a way that you never felt stiff inside of was truly astonishing.

Despite the wonder of your environment, you knew there would always be a time limit to that comfortability. Especially when your favorite Illyrian male had a habit of interrupting your peace. And destroying it.

You had felt it from the moment you resumed your pace to the living room, following the ghost of Feyre's footsteps. His cold and hateful animosity towards you rolling off his body in dark waves. You would've been able to find him without Feyre's guidance, as if you were being dragged under the surf and kidnapped into the black sea that was his wrath.

Cassian.

He was everything that repelled you and pulled you closer. You resented him, always knowing the disgust he put towards your existence, and yet you fought the urge to tuck yourself closer to him. You wanted to be his friend, wanted to be his right-hand, and he seemed to, at most, believe you were shit stuck on the bottom of his boot.

It made you grind your teeth, lying awake at night, wondering what you ever did to make him feel so poorly for you.

Suffocating was the only correct word for how you felt in the same room as Cassian.

The first step into the room was like a mark on your soul, his steep brown eyes narrowing in, floating that hate through the air. A wretch, disgusting and withered. Through his eyes, you had always wondered what stood in your place. Always wondered what creature you hid inside.

He stood next to Rhysand, attention removed from his previous engagement. His wings were stiff, and if you knew any better, you could've sworn he was holding back from snarling at you.

Flicking your eyes to the ground, you stabilized yourself before examining the rest of the room with caution.

Azriel didn't stand too far from you, back against the wall, as distant from the lit hearth as he could manage, catching the setting rays of sun. The winter closed out days more eagerly, though the night was always welcomed, a comfortable blanket over the restless city. Plus, Azriel seemed to bask in being warmed by a different source.

Amren was curled up in an armchair, in which she had practically claimed as hers these days, picking at her nails as if she didn't just get them done several days ago. Mor sat on the angled love seat, positioned mere inches away from the chair. Her legs were stretched out, a peaceful smile gracing her face. She waved to you.

Bowing your head, you focused in on Feyre and Rhysand. They were both distracted, but Rhys noticed your fixed stare, welcoming you with a smile.

You smiled back, pulling your bag off your shoulder, reaching in to grab the stack of research papers and plopping it on the coffee table before him.

"I gave you those two days ago," he stated, looking up at you with curiosity.

You shrugged, "Winter keeps me inside."

He shook his head, looking back up at you with an individual sincerity, "Thank you for these. Cauldron knows we could use more of your work ethic around here."

He gave a pointed look at Amren, who shot him an icy glare that no longer carried the power it once had. Though, it had the same sway. Rhys' laugh boomed in the room, Feyre smiling gently at the noise. It would've been the perfect picture of life -- family.

Had it not been for Cassian's refusal to take his cold stare from the side of your head.

Mor walked over to the stack, touching your shoulder with a friendly reminder of her presence, picking up a few packets. Sifting through them, her eyes of crystalline honey dragging over the words and annotations. Her finger tapped the back of her mini-stack occasionally, leaving you to the silence of knowingly watching.

She pointed to the paragraph. "Cassian," she looked up at him, "I didn't know you stopped by the Summer Court recently."

The devilish smirk gracing her perfect face spoke words she didn't; she was teasing at his expulsions from that wave-washed court. He was notorious for such things. But, trouble in the Summer Court seemed to especially make his body a home.

Cassian softened at her words-- not even her words, just her. Plain and simple. Cassian softened at her.

You felt the pit of your belly gurgle, bubbles of pointed anger soon popped by the onslaught of shame which ate at your mind. You recognized the sensation, the white heat melting all around it.

Jealousy. You had always know it, deep in your heart, denied and shoved into a corner, but jealousy never hid for long enough. He had defrosted himself for her, as he would have Feyre, or Amren. Gods, maybe even Nesta. At each others teeth; he would've gone soft even for her.

The hollow cave of your throat tightened, pushing out air and snapping your attention back to Rhys, "Is there anything you would like me to work on now?"

His shoulders were slightly tensed at your sudden mood change, yet he just shook his head.

"You're leaving already, girl?" Amren asked, her teeth shaped the perfect semblance of human, her voice still holding that edge, "Ever thought of staying casually?"

You rolled your eyes, excepting the teasing, but denying you heard the underlying quizzing.

The answer was no. You have never thought of staying casually. Not while the beast always lingered, growling at you from the corner of every room. And now, you've realized you find it even worse when he's purring. He's never done such a thing under your watchful eye. But, that certainly wasn't the correct answer.

"I have a few things to do at home," you settled for.

Amren leveled you a stinging glare, a hum of disdain making you flinch. No more words were spoken, like it was so easy to watch you disappear.

You waved goodbye to the select people paying you any attention, leaving without as much of a whisper of protest. You took note of Azriel's shadows, reaching out to embrace your shoulder in comfort, returning to their master quickly after:

That pit in your stomach carried you out the door, a trail of silent envy tainted the freshly fallen layer of snow on the street. You inhaled, feeling it rise, peak, and quell with a loud exhale.

Then, shame.

--

You had fallen into a deep pit of work. Knocking out two written research papers, and writing up a paper from the stack Rhys eagerly returned to you. It had been just a week.

A week.

Like a grueling sickness, your hands refused to stop moving, a temporary distraction from the life around you. While your arm was moving so near to aching and sore by the end of every night, your head was only filled with raw information, the churning of formatting and sentences. You lost yourself in the pen and ink, and let sleep through the bedroom door only after your fingers stiffened to the point of uselessness.

You never even noticed that you'd been alone for the past several days, the house finally an eerie quiet when it dawned on you;

You had no more work to be done.

And it was despair that welcomed you instead of joy. The first and last thoughts that ever seemed to enter your head were that of Cassian, the brute that grew hate like flowers. Telling yourself you hated him back wouldn't be enough. You wanted to truly hate him, so you wouldn't yearn for his toxic attention.

Yet, like a puppy, you felt you were always back at his feet before the night ended, thinking of the heat that would radiate from his hands as they ran down your sides, the weight of his body against your own, the brush of his eyelashes across your cheeks in the most loving fashion.

Maybe he'd come home from missions, allowing you to greet him with tiny kisses, pressing yourself against his muscle-hardened chest, touching-

You flushed those thoughts from your head, face heating with the want of it all.

Cassian was like a forbidden fruit, growing on separate branches just to escape the possibly of your hand reaching out.

You fantasized about this tangible version of him, one that found you nothing but completely delicious, holding you with a grip of iron every night, afraid of the possibility you could slip from him in the night.

A dreamer in a fit court. If dreams of a connection to Cassian weren't just cruel nightmares.

A knock at your door brought you out of the most intense thoughts you'd had all week. Rushing to the door, you didn't check before opening it wide. Revealing Morrigan.

"Mor," you said with relief, "How are you? Is there anything I can help you with?"

She tilted her head at your question, smiling cooly as you stood back to let her inside.

"Why does every interaction have to be about work? What if I just wanna see my favorite friend?"

Blushing, you quickly prepared a kettle with water, setting it up on the stove. Turning, you found Mor sat on one of the stools around your kitchen island, resting her chin on her hands and watching you move around with purpose. Her boots and coat were left at the door, the latter hung up beside it. Glossy golden hair fluffed down over the shoulders of a ruby red sweater, threads of silver shining in the light streaming through the kitchen window.

You felt small under her presence, realizing the only thing further from setting out mugs and teabags was to wait for the water to boil. Leaving you to sit down, and face the hazel marbles that bore into your skin without effort.

A moment of silent took you completely out of your realm, an air of uncomfortability hovering over you.

"Is.... everything okay?" Mor asked, that contented curl of her lips falling to a thin line. The corners of her mouth twitched with concern.

You looked down at the grainy countertops, swirling your fingers around individual patterns, swallowing around nothing.

"Yes, everything is okay."

Mor's head dipped, catching your focus. Her eyebrows were downturned in utmost care. The attempt to float a lie around her was fruitless; it bounced off a clean and unaffected Mor.

"Please," she said, "I want to be here for you."

Your shoulders rose, tense.

"I'm fine, really," you assured, unconvincing to even yourself.

The tea kettle howled at you, disrespected at such a feeble attempt at self-defense. Pathetic.

"Really? Because you've been cooped in your house for a week straight doing nothing but work. When was the last time you spoke to any of us?"

"It's not that crazy. Maybe I have a second life that none of you know about?"

Your walls were slipping, and Mor was gaining height on them. Intent to cross over.

The snort she let out was the first crack. A mocking noise that notched into a sliver that lay along your heart. Your chest ached.

"A second life?" she teased, voice raised, "I'm not that gullible." Standing, she found herself at your side, hip set against the rounded marble edge, "Y/n."

You looked up, picking at the skin on your fingertips.

"Let me in," she pleaded.

A hole in the wall killed the infrastructure.

"Why does he hate me?"

Her nostrils flared at the question. She was expecting a heavier brick than that to strike her foot. "Who?"

You cleared your throat, still rasping, "Cassian."

A bubbling rose through her, air pushing up, searching. And through her chest, into her throat, and involuntarily a boisterous laugh escaped the seamlessly elegant female next to you. The laughing didn't stop, and it didn't touch your own lips. Her laugh fell into breathless huffs, a finger sweeping under her eye.

"Cassian? Hates you?" she asked.

Anger grifted onto your veins, "Yes! I step in a room, and you'd think I killed his whole family! If there was something deeper than hate, I'm sure it would be the perfect descriptor for what he feels for me."

Maybe she had thought you were really joking, or maybe she just thought you had a better set of senses, but her face suddenly turned to something more supportive and professional.

"Y/n," she placed both of her hands on your shoulders, squeezing, "Cassian doesn't hate you:"

You roll your eyes, a human gesture you'd been picking up from the Archeron sisters, spending too much time drinking in their sass.

You pulled her hands off, the kettle whistling in your ear violently, grabbing you away from a dense weight that creeped back into its hidey-hole.

"He's so sweet with you. He was laughing, and he was gentle, and he was just normal."

Mor listened without interruption, even letting your pause pass like a heavy storm cloud.

"But, I only make him go cold. He- He shoves me away. Like I'm- he treats me like I'm nothing, Mor," tears well in your eyes as you pour the steaming water into the two mugs, teabags floating up in response, "What did I do wrong?"

A pair of strong, feminine arms wrapped around you in sisterly support, holding you close to her chest. She smelled like a rich flower, blooming in dark purples and blues. You let your head lean back against the hold of her shoulders, small tears leaking from the corner of your eyes. Falling and absorbing into the environment, you cried with your back to Mor.

You had never cried in front of anyone before, but it was hard to resist the thrall that came with her consuming love.

"Mor," you spoke, voice small.

She guided you to sit, taking care of your current occupation, setting your tea in front of you. Altered to your taste, you took a sip and allowed it to run through you like an open wound.

"You should talk to him," she suggested in return, blowing at her tea, steam rising.

Face pointed to the tall windows, side-by-side on the wall beside your door, you watch the blue of the sky dancing solo.

"How?"

Mor was smirking when you looked back to her. An experienced warrior.

--

The behavior went on. Partly because Cassian was an asshole, and partly because every time you wanted to open your mouth, your throat closed up, and anger ignited pins and needles in every surface of your body. The frost he treated you with spread to your own heart, leading to you upturning your nose at his waking existence. It hurt all the same. Going home to your empty apartment, falling asleep with your heart reaching out through your open curtains, begging for the night to produce what you desired most.

You pushed yourself back into the swamp of work, completing assignments at the same rate, maybe even quicker. This coping mechanism had been a frequent thing, stomped out into the remnants of a kindle after enough time.

The embers burned just as bright as the day it started, this time proving that some fires were eternal.

You rummaged through papers, searching for a missing report, mixing it up in the wrong pile. A frustrated click vibrated off your tongue. Fumbling with the final pile, your eye snagged on a familiar heading, snatching it out of the mussed stack.

You pulled the ream back together, tapping the bottoms on your table and shoving it into the folder it had arrived in. You pulled a string around it, placing it on top of your complete works.

It would be time for a trip to the River House soon.

A pounding at your front door made you jump in your own skin. It bore no familiarity, unrecognizable from the knocks you'd responded to in your prior time in Velaris.

You dropped your bag into the desk chair beside you, brushing your braid to fall over your shoulder. Approaching the door, another round of knocking began, even more aggressive than the last. You hasted your steps in frustration, pulling the door open, your face paling.

Cassian towered over you, broad wings covering the sun from entering in and blessing your person. His hair was down, fluffed effortlessly by the wind, loose strands tickling is face. And by the Gods, he was gorgeous.

He didn't wait for you to step back before he was walking in, forcing you to retreat into your home. In his hands, he held a stack of reports, ones you assumed Rhys sent him in a mission to drop off.

There was no way he would've ever volunteered himself.

He tossed down the stack on your kitchen counter with a grunt, a few papers flying off the top and onto the ground. He stood a moment, refusing to pick it up, but taking in his surroundings.

Disgust painted his face, like even knowing you lived here tainted the idea of it.

He turned back to your door, pulling his leather jacket further on. Under his breath, you heard, "No reason Azriel couldn't have done this..."

Steaming hot anger seared the very air you breathed, the tips of your pointed ears turning a deep red and your eyebrows scrunching, provoked by his mumblings.

"What is your problem?" you asked, voice assertive.

As if he hadn't expected the same tone your bore, his head turned. His body was second to follow, peering down at you, "What the hell does that mean?"

Your nose scrunched.

"It means why the fuck are you such an asshole all the time?" your words were laced with cold venom, "Every time I have ever been near you, you're just an asshole!"

He refused to meet your eyes, staring up at the ceiling, "Why do you care?"

Your heart thundered like a train; accepting the self-destruction, yet fearing the crash. Yearning for him to close in around you, cocoon you in his warmth, the acceptance of failed dreams gnawed at the back of your neck.

"I just want to know you, Cassian. I want to be your friend."

He ignored your words, the picture of pure boredom. His shoulders straight, wings kicking in irritation. It sunk every thought you had right into the Sidra's current.

"What do I have to change for you to accept me?"

Cassian straightened. Stiff, the twin of a board, like he had been struck by lightning. The air stilled like dead wight, time stopping. Electricity rang through your ears, sharpening your vision. A warning.

His eyes met yours. Predatory, searching for the right patch of flesh to mar. His eyes had lost their light, yet something burned in them so pure and full of life that you shivered. He was like a beast in this moment, the image that enemies saw at his approach. Like death and life, purgatory rested within him, trapped like a soulless animal.

His jaw clenched.

"What did you say?"

A raspy grunt came from deep in your chest and you yelled without second thought, "I asked what the fuck I have to do to get you to accept me? Huh? What do I have to do to be acceptable for you?"

You underestimated the speed of the Illyrian in front of you. He was big, a bulky, tall mammoth of a soldier. You assumed swiftness had passed him in the meantime. Though, he turned with such precision, hand swift as he reached out a large hand to grab your wrist. Stumbling forward, your whole face heated, a heaving in your lungs so deep that nobody was prepared to hear the words you bellowed.

But that steaming wrath was interrupted, a quick end.

"You are perfectly fine, Y/n," he seethed.

The response had your brain short circuiting. Perfectly fine. Just perfectly fine.

Before you could stop yourself, you laughed. A deranged laugh that didn't meet your eyes. Short, blunt sounds that were so detached from your usual cadence of enjoyment that you barely recognized it.

"Wow," you said with another snort, "W-ow! Then I guess I should just stop worrying! Because I'm perfectly fine!"

Cassian looked at you from under his dropped brows.

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear, Cassian. The wordsmith you are... it blows us all away!"

You could read him like an open book now, red building in his face, and a simmering thing opening up in his posture.

Just a little further.

You couldn't help yourself from the giggles that pranced through the air, foreshadowing every strike you landed.

"So I guess we can move back on to you shoving your own cock in your mouth while you give me the cold shoulder, right? Because everything is just fine!"

Your last words rang through the air like the final bell.

Disoriented, your location left you, forgetting the surrounding objects that crashed to the floor, scattering around your feet.

Cassian had shoved you back into an accent table, knocking over a potted plant with the force of his ministrations. You grunted at the impact, your lower back feeling the tense pinch that was created by the wood.

You were caged, Cassian's arms like immovable bars. You held one of his biceps with the hand not held in his clutch, maintaining a loose sense of balance.

"What the fuck is wr-"

Cassian interrupted you, drowning your sentence, "You don't understand what it's like. To have to be around you all the time."

Your face morphed into something cruel, mocking him with self-deprecating humor, "Oh, you're a fucking asshole!"

"And you're an annoying bitch, do you know that?" he bit back, "Always acting like you're entitled to princess treatment. Guess what! You're nothing but the scummy secretary of a High Lord!"

Reigning in your hands, your dominant stiffened with fuel. A fire seemed to ignite the nerves inside your arm, hairs standing up like an army of undead soldier. Raised for the battle, your hand held a strong position, moving without warning and landing a swift assault on his cheek.

You backhanded Cassian. Red blotched his skin eagerly, your knuckles surely having left marks on his cheek.

His head had shifted at the impact. A stillness overtook him, the muscles in his neck tensing. The highlights of them popped out with a thrilling pause, his loud inhale laying down a dirty foundation as it hollowed those soft spaces on his throat. Sparks licked up your abdomen. You were sure that the scent of your arousal was like a plague to the situation. The reactions that you tried to keep hidden, your willingness to bend whenever he was around you. It surrounded you now, hovering its needy hands. Warmth clenched at your core, your thighs flexing in restraint.

A rumbling fired into the air, a noise that reverberated from Cassian's center, traveling into his limbs and shaking his hands gently. You felt the vibrations in your connection, his fingers now gripping you with possession.

This moment. This was different. This wasn't the usual hatred that existed between the two of you. This was a deeper hunger, dried out with starvation. Fuck, everything you were made of was hungry for Cassian, clouding your judgment. The self-control you prided yourself in was pulling apart like a frangible cloud.

"You greedy bitch," he said through chuckles, spoken with sharp teeth, "Everything just needs to go your way, doesn't it? No room for patience, or explanations. Not everything is plain and simple, laid out for our sweet little secretary."

His nickname spiked your anger.

"You know that's not true," you spit back.

He rolled his eyes, face closing in on your own, "Sure, and I'm not Illyrian."

You tried yanking your wrist from his grasp, and he only tightened his grip.

"You're doing it right fucking now. You think I can't smell you?" he grit out, "You smell like a bitch in heat. That's all you want, huh? For me to go all soft on you and bow at your feet. Give you the princess treatment, take you to bed all slow and sweet every night?"

Eyes drifting to his lips, you spoke sensually, "And if you're correct?"

His jaw tightened, the bone accentuated sharply.

"Then you'd be wrong."

Your eyes flicked up to stare into his. They had never left your own, as if he were watching every one of your features move in tandem. Cassian studied you, prized in assessing his prey. His brown eyes were a deep pool in the dim space between you. And his own gaze was hot, barely a gaze as it was a brutal investigation. You felt your body melting into the same puddle you did every night, thinking of his calloused hands, and his hard body. Cassian consumed you in the pit of darkness that hovered in his very presence.

"I wouldn't be sweet with an annoying brat like you," he seethed, free hand coming up to grip your chin, "I'm not one of the mindless men you're used to. You'd be mine. It would go my way, and I would fuck you just the way that I like."

Your breathing went shallowing, eyelids drooping. His words commanded your body like the spilling of magic. You reacted readily, nipples peaking under your clothes, reeling in the images he fed you.

"You would like that, wouldn't you? To cut the shit, let me use you like a cocksleeve?"

"Fuck you," you responded, yet it lacked the spunk you were searching for, instead melting into something like a sunken moan.

"Trust me, princess. I will."

Cassian's lips crashed down onto your own in a hurried kiss, like a moment longer without your mouth on his would shatter the world. Mother, you would've believed him if he said such was true.

For the brutish appearance of him, Cassian's lips were soft upon your own. They moved with an uncontrolled possession, capturing your bottom lip prisoner with every passionate lunge.

You were puddy in his arms. Large, muscular arms. Fuck, his whole body seemed to muddle your thoughts, driving you mad. He was a weapon against your own senses, dangerous to any maintenance of concentration.

You reached up to hold his face, rough stubble scratching against your fingers that held lower on his jaw. His hands pulled away, only to move to the depression of your waist, pulling your lower half against his.

A hardness pressed against your lower belly, spreading molten lava through your body as a warning; this male was detrimental when he practically breathed the same air as you. Not to mention that he was steel at your own command, hard to the touch.

You moaned, your kisses turning open-mouthed, tongues tangling with messy abandonment. Spit coated your lips, some smeared further on your chin, teeth clashing in a hungry attempt to tear each other apart.

He wasn't close enough. Your body was groaning like a train, refusing against its brakes. Your hands drifted into his hair, fingers tangling, pulling his face impossibly closer to your own.

Cassian's hands were like hot irons, branding your skin with every touch passed. Your front teeth clanked together, both of you panting into the space as you finally calmed to a standstill.

"Cassian," you breathed out.

He slipped one of his hands under your thigh, hiking it up to rest at his hip, his hands holding you up from the junction of your knee.

"You don't understand what you do to me," he tucked his face under your jaw, silently begging access to your neck.

You let him, tilting your head up and accepting the way his lips latched onto the soft skin there, kissing and sucking, biting into the flesh with unrelenting hunger.

"Let me," you begged.

He stopped, placing gentle kissing along the hallow of your throat, "What do you mean?"

"Let me understand."

Picking you up, hands under your ass, and walking you into your secluded living room, he dropped you onto the plush of your sofa. He crawled over you, touching you with a searing kiss.

Cassian's hands dipped down to the waistband of your pants, the tips of his fingers dipping below to catch the warmth of your skin. He looked up to you, waiting for a confirmation.

You nodded, "Yes."

Those sweet moments were dropped from there on out, his hands like that of a mad male, tearing your leggings down urgently. He didn't waste time before stripping you of your shirt, leaning back to run his eyes over your body.

"You are... intoxicating."

Cassian's voice was strained, as if something was holding his body a slave, yet the words couldn't help but birth themselves. He brought himself down, tongue licking up the center of your abdomen, leaving a wet stripe up to the valley between your covered breasts.

His hands travelled under your back, unclasping your bra with a few tugs. Roughly tearing off your bra, it joined the rest of your clothes, leaving you vulnerable to the male that hovered over you.

A salivating dog, he was eager for you. As if he couldn't have you fast enough, lifting you up to meet his mouth as he latched on to one of your hard nipples.

You inhaled sharply, watching him with droopy eyes. He bit down, pulling a louder moan from you. His smile in return to the noise only made your stomach twist in excitement. He pulled off with a pop, tonguing at the unattended one with the same cocky expression. You felt helpless, on display, reaching for him.

Cassian allowed it, letting your back fall down unsupported as you ran your hands up his shirt, tugging it off before you reached up to pull him back to you. With a stiff spine, he refused, grabbing your hips with a bruising touch and pulling your core against him. You bit your lip, the pressure of his bulge sending your head into clouded territory.

"Yeah, do you like that?" he asked, "Fuck, I can practically feel you throbbing. Pretty little slut."

You sighed, hands traveling around his hips and waist, fingers toying at the elastic waistband of his boxer, peeking out of his leathers. He grinded into you, grunting as he watched your face contort in pleasure. He reached up with a large hand, the span of it wrapping around your fragile throat as his hips ground against you again in a deep motion.

"Mother above, you're like a fucking aphrodisiac. I can barely contain myself, knowing that you exist. Always prancing around our High Lady, all sweet and innocent. I knew what you were playing at. 'Could always smell how excited you got around me."

You tried pushing him away with a snarl. His cocky remarks fueled a fire inside of you that drove you further into this realm of deep hatred.

He tightened his grip on your neck, tutting, "Ah ah ah... You truly wouldn't want me to leave now, would you? Not when you're all riled up. Who would take care of little miss princess then?"

"I can take care of myself," you choked out.

He huffed a laugh, "Sure."

You grabbed his wrist, tugging him off you slightly to remark, "I bet you don't even know how to make a female cum. You're just anther Illyrian brute, after all."

The corners of your living room, quickly filling with shadows. The sun outside faded into the horizon of Velaris, snickering at your words, a display of foreshadowing. You had finally hit it, the one mark that would either drive him away, or drive him mad.

You could've sworn his scent grew impossibly stronger, preluding to the hostile grip he held your hips in, flipping you over without care for the lolling of your head, pushing your body forward into the cushions of the couch. Unbalanced out of your control, you submitted to the brutal way that you were shoved into the pillows, hair tossed recklessly around you in a crown of shame.

You heard rustling, the snapping of elastic, and then the press of hot, bare skin against your backside. What you didn't prepare for was the unprompted, teasing touch of his length at your thigh.

The graze of it made you shiver. He was... thicker than you had imagined. All those nights, lying in bed, sweat dripping from your brow and fingers stuffed between your legs, and you hadn't expected him to be so... big.

Cassian leaned over your back, pressing close to your body as he nuzzled against you. His lips kissed at the tip of your fae ear.

"You wanna be a bitch? Then I'll fuck you like a bitch."

He leaned back, leaving you missing the pressure of his body on top of yours. Though, he didn't let you miss it for too long.

You sucked in through your teeth, jolting forward at the sudden pain before you realized your panties were falling down. They had been ripped to shreds at your knees, Cassian tearing them right at the center.

You moaned at the hasty kindling of a fire inside of your body. Registering quickly the running of Cassian's hot tip through your folds, collecting the slick that dripped slowly from your wanting hole. Your ears twitched with the onslaught of a shyness, so exposed to the large warrior.

"So fucking wet for me," he remarked, "Must be so hard to be such a fucking cumslut all the time."

He teased your center with the tip of his cock, "But, I bet it's not all the time, huh?"

You wiggled your hips, trying to gain some sort of relief, but he moved with you.

"You're only dripping because you just hate me that much. Right?"

He pushed into you slightly, breaching your clenching hole, bringing you to a moaning relief, before pulling back out.

He leaned over you, hand grabbing ahold of your hair from the roots and pulling you back from the cushions.

"Say it. Tell me that it's me that makes you a mess like this."

You groaned in sexual frustration.

"You- You make me a mess like this. It's only you.."

He barked out a laugh, pushing into you slowly, the stretch unbearable.

"That's a good girl. You're all mine, aren't you? Such a sweet girl, all mine to fuck, and ruin."

You nodded your head fervently, mind filled with doughy excitement.

"Say it," he demanded.

You wiggled back against his pulsing cock, "I'm yours, Cassian. I'm all yours, please..."

Chuckling, he sheathed himself into you fully.

Ripping a scream from your chest, all your thoughts dripped into a pit of nothingness. Nothing mattered but him; nothing existed but Cassian. He was thick, huge, fucking hot. And he was so far inside of you, breaching your body in a way you had never felt in your life. The stretch was borderline unbearable, digging into your very soul.

The only tether you had to Prythian was his strong fingers grasping your locks by where they grew. He pulled you back out of your bubbling pit, scalp stinging a little.

"You're... so fucking tight, holy Mother," he moaned, panting above you.

Tiny noises were all you could manage, head clouded, "Please..."

"Please what, sweet girl? Tell me what you need?"

"'Need you to fuck me, Cassie- Please.."

He obeyed you simply, hips pulling back before he thrusted back into you with a power which was held back inside of him.

Resisting. A large man like him had more than just the blow that landed on your body, pushed you forward and smooshed your nose into the pillows. You knew there was more than just the soft ripple of your skin against his. In your mind's eye, you knew full well that a man like him had a dam built to contain.

You decided that you refused to respect his closed off restraint.

You needed it all.

"Don't tell me- oh my go- Don't tell me that- this is all you've got," you managed, testing the waters.

Thrusting into you exceptionally hard, the sting of it making you suck in lost air, he pulled your hair to hold your head up as he pushed his pace rougher.

"You don't wanna feel all that I've got," he snarked, "I don't think you could handle it. After all, you can barely handle being ignored."

Pushing your ass back against his pelvis, you mocked him, "I didn't realize you were a pure-bred pussy. Maybe I'll just have to ask someone else."

He held his breath, body at a halt inside of you. His fingers twitch within the tangles of your hair.

"I'm sure your great friend Eris wouldn't hold back on me. He's never been scared of a challenge."

Cassian's hand let you fall into the pillows, moving to press at the center of your back, between your shoulder blades. He pressed his body into yours, hovering like the embodiment of looming dread, a silent warning.

You didn't dare bite your tongue. It would've fallen off.

All air was drained from your lungs as if his cock was a siphon, pounding into you shamelessly. The slapping of your skins was lewd, disgusting as it absorbed every other noise in the room.

You couldn't help how good it felt though. How you whole body seemed the bask in the way he fucked you like a man gone mad. You didn't know whether to scramble or stay put, walls pulsing with the heavy craving that arose at his touch. He was tearing you in two, the thick length of him running through your walls like the hammering of steel.

He fucked in reckless abandon, gritting out, "Little bitch. You need to learn to watch. your. mouth."

You begged your vocals to respond, but all you could make out was a torn moan, broken in the muffled cushions.

"Nothing to say now?" the leaking tip of him slammed deep into your cunt, "Didn't know it was so easy to knock you off your high horse. Maybe I'll have to fuck you stupid more often."

You whine in response, hands clawing at the pillows in front of you, saliva leaking from the corner of your mouth.

He was ripping your soul from your body, and you vowed with some higher power that you would do anything to feel the delicious drag of his cock again.

With a particularly power thrust, he struck into you, forcing his weight onto you with a hand in your hair again. He pulled your head up, looking into your fucked-out eyes.

"Fuck, you're so pretty when you're helpless like this," he groaned, eyes raking over your face with pleasure, "You wanna tell me who's making you feel this good?"

"You," you said with a shaky breath.

He pouted in an act of hurt, "I need a name sweetheart. You remember my name, don't you?"

You panted, heat blossoming at your core again, desperate on the sound of his voice, and the weight of his cock inside of you.

"Wanna call me by your sweet little nickname again?"

You sucked in your bottom lip, squirming for more. He slapped your ass, stinging the skin in a threat.

"Cassie- please I-" you felt yourself falling apart at the seams, " Y' the only one that c'n make me feel this good, Cassie."

He reclined back into his straightened position behind you, tugging you up with him by your hair. He embraced his arms around you, his dominant hand wrapping around your throat.

"I've got you, pretty girl."

His hips fucked himself into you roughly, setting a sloppy pace. Your brain was putty, fogged with the nature in which he held you, spoke to you, fucked you.

It was all a dream. You'd wake up, and the phantom touch of Cassian's large hands would be a disappointment.

Because there was no way in Prythian such a man like him was real.

Your mind only drifted back down to your body to rekindle itself with the impending override of pleasure. Tightening, your whole body clenched, holding Cassian's length like a vice.

His hips faltered, the restraint with which you clamped onto him slowing his movement.

Cassian moaned loudly, the noise bouncing off the walls like the ringing of a bell, "So fucking tight.. 'm gonna cum. Where- fuck.. Where do you want it?"

"Inside," you cried, "Cassian."

He lost himself, holding you ever more tightly, his cock striking the spot that made you see stars. Your body coiled, fingertips digging into his forearms, needing to feel him.

The tightening of his hand around your throat was your undoing.

That string inside of you, holding you to the realm in which you resided, snapped as your walls sputtered around him.

You screamed his name, drowning in the way his hips careened into you, spilling his hot seed deep inside of you. The roar that paired with the sensation made your vision fuzzy, body limp against his arms.

Five, ten minutes. You couldn't tell how long you panted there with him, helpless to your surroundings.

Cassian steadily let you fall down onto the couch, careful as he pulled out of you, quick to rush around through the closets adoring your hall, finding a washcloth.

You faintly heard the running of water before he came back, a warm, damp washcloth in hand and cleaned you up with a sweet touch.

He got up to dump it off, stalling when he heard your call.

"Cassian."

He turned around, "Yes?"

The moment was stunned, making you wonder if it was all just some hallucination.

"Stay with me?"

Cassian watched you, his big brown eyes filled with something you had never seen before; not with Mor -- not with anyone.

And maybe when Mor had sounded incredulous at your accusations, that Cassian hated you, maybe she wasn't as crazy as she seemed.

And that golden string which you had never noticed seemed to strengthen. It seemed to flourish, expand, and stabilize your souls in a perfectly balanced limbo.

Cassian.

"As you wish."

•--•

ACOTAR Masterlist

[lanf1an]

DREAMS lando norris pt.4 When your childhood bestfriend Flo had convinced you to get the fashion design job at her brother's company Quadrant, it finally paid off when Louis Vuitton was announced as the new sponsor for F1.

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.5 pt.6

The café was one of those cozy little places tucked away on a quiet street in Monaco, far from the usual chaos of the race weekend. You, Max and Keegan had agreed to meet up for coffee today before the whole sleepover fiasco, the three of you now quietly nursing your coffee, the late morning sun streaming through the windows. It was a slow, easy moment—the kind that had become rare with how busy things had been lately, reminding you of old times in London.

Keegan was scrolling through his phone, probably looking at memes, while Max stretched lazily, his sunglasses slipping down his nose. “I’m glad you and Lando get along well now,” he said casually before taking a sip of his drink, not letting his suspicions of the last night when you were at the apartment for your keycard go.

You blinked. “Do we?” You replied casually. 

Max shot you a look, amused. “Well, yeah. I mean, you used to talk about him like he was your worst nightmare during Quadrant.”

“That’s dramatic. He just always wanted to review my designs that we had already agreed on.”

“Is it?” Keegan cut in, grinning. “You hated the guy.”

You scoffed, leaning back in your chair. “Okay, maybe I wasn’t his biggest fan. But I still wouldn’t say we ‘get along well’ now.”

There had been a shift. He had been texting. Not just about work, but little things. A funny picture from a shoot, a comment about a jacket he knew you hated, a random ‘What’s your coffee order?’ text that had caught you off guard. You had chalked it up to him being Lando—charming, friendly, probably like this with everyone. 

“He’s just—” You searched for the right words. “I don’t know, being normal?”

Keegan snorted. “For Lando, that’s basically flirting.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach twisted a little. Because you’d felt it too—that slight shift, the underlying current of something unspoken. And you weren’t sure what to do about it.

Then, a small smile tugged at your lips. “I do have something fun planned for him at the event tonight, though.”

That got their attention. Keegan finally looked up, intrigued. “Oh?”

Max narrowed his eyes. “What kind of fun?”

You just grinned, leaning back in your chair. “You guys will see.”

-

The event was big. Formal. Typical McLaren. It was their Monaco opening. A sea of sharp black suits, starched white shirts, and carefully curated ties. It was the kind of night where image mattered—where every driver, team principal, and executive looked like they had stepped straight out of a luxury menswear campaign.

Except Lando.

He looked good, of course. He always looked good. But instead of a suit like every other man in the room, he was dressed in a perfectly tailored business-casual look: an expensive white knit, sleek navy trousers, and—just to really drive the point home—pristine white sneakers.

Not a blazer in sight.

You watched from your seat in the audience, biting back a smirk as he stepped onto the stage beside Zak, Oscar, and Andrea—all of whom were dressed to the nines in proper suits. Lando barely had time to shake hands before he turned his head, scanning the crowd like he already knew exactly who was responsible. You were easy to find because Max and Keegan next to you had burst out laughing as soon as they saw him.

When he spotted you, sitting comfortably with Max and Keegan, his brows lifted in a silent really? Gesturing to the outfit.

You just smiled sweetly, lifting your hands to applaud like nothing was out of the ordinary. Keegan was the first to crack, letting out a low whistle. “You actually did it. You made him look like he’s here for a tech startup pitch instead of an F1 event.”

Max, already grinning, leaned in. “Wow, you’re an evil genius. How’d you get away with it?”

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “I have enough pull at Louis Vuitton now. They trust my vision.”

On stage, Lando shook his head slightly, fighting off a smirk. Then, ever so subtly, he lifted a hand and gestured at you—one of those small, exasperated motions that said this is your fault.

You just gave him a little wave in return.

He exhaled a laugh, running a hand over his face before focusing back on the event, because, well—he had to. But you knew this wasn’t over.

The event wrapped up smoothly, filled with speeches, applause, and a little too much formal pleasantry. You didn’t see Lando immediately after, but you knew it was only a matter of time.

And sure enough, just as you were slipping past the backstage area—maybe heading toward the afterparty, maybe just trying to make a quiet exit—he found you.

“Undress me. Now.”

His voice was low, but his words were very clear.

You turned, arching a brow as Lando stepped into your space, still looking unfairly good in the outfit you had put him in. “Excuse me?”

He gave you a pointed look. “You picked it. You put me in this. Fix it.”

A slow smirk tugged at your lips. “Didn’t realize you had a problem with it.”

“Oh, I don’t,” he said easily, tilting his head. “It’s the part where everyone else was in suits and I looked like I was about to give a TED Talk, that’s the problem.”

You hummed, feigning deep thought. “Well, maybe I just wanted you to stand out.”

Lando exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “You knew what you were doing.”

You shrugged, gaze sweeping over him. “And yet… you still looked good.”

For a second, he just watched you—like he was weighing his next move. Then, he leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. “I’m serious, though. Fix it.”

You swallowed, pulse kicking up.

Because suddenly, this didn’t just feel like him joking around anymore.

“Fine,” you said, steadying yourself. “But I’m not undressing you here.”

Lando’s smirk widened. “Dressing room backstage”

You exhaled sharply, giving him a look. “I’ll get the suit”

He chuckled, stepping back just enough to let you breathe. “I’ll be waiting, stylist.”

And with that, he walked off—leaving you standing there, heart racing, already knowing this wasn’t going to be just about a wardrobe change.

-

The door clicked shut behind you, the distant thump of the party muffled by thick walls.

Lando turned to face you, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“Well?” He tilted his head, voice a quiet challenge. “You started this.”

You looked at him questionably.

‘’Was this your plan all along? Finding a reason to undress me?’’

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers itched to touch him. “You are such a—”

He took a step forward, crowding you against the wall. “Go on,” he murmured, voice dropping. “Undress me.”

He grabbed your wrist, leading it to his waist.

Your breath caught.

You reached for the hem of his knit sweater, fingers skimming the warm skin underneath. Lando inhaled sharply, his hands finding your hips as you tugged the fabric over his head, revealing toned muscle, golden skin.

He watched you, gaze dark, waiting.

And then he was kissing you—deep, insistent, no hesitation.

No pulling away this time.

No one disturbing this time.

You felt yourself melt into him, hands sliding over his bare chest, his fingers slipping beneath the straps of your dress, pushing it down slowly, deliberately. He didn’t wait for you to undress his pants.

His lips moved down your neck, across your collarbone, down your stomach, lower, leaving a trail of heat. He paused just long enough to meet your eyes, teasing. Worshipping.

“I love your clothes,” he murmured against your skin, voice rough. “But without is even better.”

-

You smoothed your hair in the mirror before stepping back into the party, the energy buzzing around you. Lando, as always, looked effortlessly unbothered, like he hadn’t just had his hands all over you.

You were less successful at hiding it.

Max and Keegan noticed immediately.

“Oh, finally,” Keegan muttered, nursing his drink. “Took you long enough.”

Max smirked, raising a brow at Lando. “Have a nice wardrobe change?”

Lando rolled his eyes, but his smirk betrayed him. “Much needed”

Keegan snorted. “Right.”

Max leaned toward you, still grinning. “You really got him with the dress code thing. Brilliant.”

Keegan nodded. “Never seen him look so much like a finance bro.”

Lando groaned. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Then he turned to you, gaze lingering. “You’re lucky I still look good in anything.”

‘’Glad you two are working well together now.’’

You felt your face heat up, but Lando, the smug bastard, just smirked.  “Oh, yeah, great team effort.”

Max and Keegan burst out laughing again, but you barely heard them—because Lando was still looking at you, that same glint in his eye.

WN: Hope you guys like it! Let me know! All suggestions are welcome. I hope to be updating more regularly, already have many fun chapters for this story.

tl: @freyathehuntress @linnygirl09 @sarx164 @joannaln4 @widow-cevans @444-leqz @laneyspaulding19 @mayax2o07 @n3versatisfied @anayaverse @tvdtw4ever

[sanesaviour]

Psst🤫 I heard yall like him so there is more of him ;)

I wanted to draw him in 2 fits but ended up with 4 lol, ANYWAYS now you have to read my headcanons brainrot bout him:

1. casual fit - I imagine him wearing fits like this all the time, at school at home just everywhere (it gives that old money rich boy energy)… in my head this is like during time when Peter got his spidey powers, still “happy” times, at this point he is very close with Peter and Mj, he spends most of his free time with them or at Peters place bc he don’t like to be home alone (yea in my version Norman is still the same shitty father, but at this point Harry still tries to get his attention)

2. formal fit - there is nothing really much to it, just wanted to draw him wearing suit lol (he wears it often tho to some kind of formal events, u know, rich people stuff)

3. Venom (hell yea) - pretty self explanatory, this is like 1 year after Peter became spiderman which means he have now less time for Harry and Mj, he have lot of work with hero stuff and S.H.I.E.L.D. and also at this time his team (why they didn’t gave team name at usm, I’m gonna call them Spidey team for now lol) starts attending same highschool as them, SO Peter is very secretive and his lame excuses don’t really work on Harry so he is angry about it, feels jelaous about Peter spending more time with other people and their friendship naturally starts slowly falling apart… therefore when Harry finds Venom he doesn’t really hesitate and takes it (yea he wears those venom watches like in show) and for while he become black suit spiderman, but as plot goes on due to his emotions (anger + daddy issues, this guy is mess) he slowly starts loosing control of Venom (he is somewhat still aware of his actions but he is way more agressive and brutal, also attacks Norman). There is like lot of fights between him and Spidey team, but at some point peter finds out about harry being venom so he instead of fighting tries his other super power - let’s talk about it, which obviously doesn’t work. His team still fights him as they seems to belive it is best way how to handle it… later harry also finds out about spideys secret identity so it become even more personal and messy… during last fight peter is one who defeats harry and takes away venom from him

4. post venom - harry now doesn’t really have anyone to trust, he doesn’t wear fancy clothes anymore (he wants to distant himself from the name Osborn), he starts smoking and skipping classes (maybe he even drops out of school but still not sure about that), Peter obviously tries to fix their friendship but it’s still broken beyond repair… althouh they know each others secrets they both won’t share it with world (they might not be friends anymore but they aren’t assholes). Also- I gave him scar, which is probably not from Peter but rather Ava (she scratched his face during one of the figts or something)

This is obviously not everything (it’s like season 1) but the post is already way too long. Also sorry for how shitty my writing is (ain’t writter, just artist), but I still hope you enjoyed my rant :))

[drabblesandsnippets]

Breathe

Hot Bucky Summer 2024 - Week 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (unnamed)

Prompt: “Really? Here?!” | [Someone Else’s House | Public Bathroom | Mile High Club] @buckybarnesevents

Summary: (4k) During a wedding reception, Bucky and his fiancée sneak off to have some fun.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Established relationship. Fluff. Wedding talk? Vague alluding to Bucky’s trauma/past. Bucky’s a switch? Pet names (baby, doll, sweetheart). Oral (both receiving)/swallowing. Fingering.

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

Bucky always looks good to her - whether he’s in jeans and a henley or nothing at all - but there’s something about seeing him dressed to the nines. The fitted tux, the styled hair, the neatly trimmed beard. She rarely gets to see him dressed up like this and she can’t keep her eyes off him, watching him from the across the room while he talks to their friends.

She’s still not entirely sure why they got roped into making an appearance at this wedding reception - none of them know the couple - but she’s not exactly questioning it at this specific moment, no matter how uncomfortable she feels in such a formal setting.

And while Bucky might feel just as out of place here as she does, it’s making her think about their own upcoming wedding. Their plans don’t include anything nearly as fancy as this black-tie event, but as she watches him readjust his cuffs, she’s starting to reconsider. 

She can’t help imagining all the things she’s going to let this man to do her on their wedding night and her inappropriate thoughts only intensify as her eyes drift from Bucky’s fingers to his mouth, watching him take a sip of his drink. Then the tip of his tongue licks the remaining drop of liquid off his lips and she’s flooded by images of their morning shower, heat immediately pooling between her thighs, making her wish it was time to go.

It’s been like this the past few weeks since Bucky proposed - even before that really, but they’ve been insatiable lately. Unable to keep their hands off each other, finding every excuse to cancel plans and stay home. It’s where they should be tonight, but they couldn’t get out of this. 

Just as a flush creeps up her chest, Bucky meets her gaze, the grin on his face making her feel like she can read her mind. With a quick glance at their friends, he takes his leave, his eyes not leaving hers again as makes his way back to their table, the look on his face not making it easy for her to think pure thoughts. 

They’ve only been apart for a couple minutes, but Bucky never needs an excuse to return to her, the magnetic pull to be as close to her as possible constantly driving him. And, as much as he wants to take her home right now, he can’t deny how much he’s enjoyed getting to show her off tonight. 

She may not feel like it, but she belongs here, the numerous eyes on her throughout the evening proving she fits right in. Her satin gown showing off her endless curves, the fabric dipping low enough to show just a hint of cleavage. 

The angle at which Bucky approaches the table gives him more than just a hint though, her seated position causing her breasts to almost spill out of her dress, immediately drawing his attention. And then she smiles that smile at him. The one that reminds him how lucky he is. 

Since the moment he met her, she’s brought nothing but sunshine and beauty to his life. Even during times like this - when he’s so out of his element, having to pretend to celebrate the nuptials of two people he doesn’t care about - she makes it all bearable.

His tux might feel too restricting, the bow tie secured around his neck making him feel like he can’t draw a deep breath, but it’s okay as long as he’s with her. As long as he can continue to look at her, feel her, breathe her in, he’s sure he can make it through the evening.

Bucky ignores the urge to reach up to pull at what essentially feels like a leash around his neck, and keeps his focus on his beautiful fiancee, once again overcome with the familiar need to be as close to her as possible. With his flirtatious smile growing, he sets his glass down on the table and offers out his hand to ask her, “May I have this dance?”

She’s never been much for dancing, but she can never resist Bucky, especially when he’s like this. Tonight’s been hard for him, but he still goes out of his way to be romantic, to try to make the evening about them, wanting her to feel like she belongs here. 

They’ve barely stepped foot on the dance floor before they’re in each others arms, both of them visibly relaxing the moment their bodies are touching. They allow themselves to get lost in the intimate moment, ignoring any responsibility they feel to socialize with the guests. They’d much rather socialize with each other anyway. 

After a tender kiss to her forehead, Bucky murmurs, “Thank you for coming with me tonight,” She didn’t have to come and he’s planning to show her how grateful he is when they get home tonight.

Her eyelashes flutter as she soaks in his affection and she gives him a warm smile, blaming the romantic atmosphere for her sappy reply of, “I’m always happy to be your plus one.”

The sound of his soft laughter makes her heart skip a beat, and her own laughter joins his when he tells her, “You're signing up for forever sweetheart, I’m going to hold you to that.”

“You should,” she grins, giving him a soft kiss, pulling away before he can deepen it. With a deliberate wiggle of her left ring finger, she continues, “There’s no getting rid of me now.”

The playfulness of Bucky’s smile fades slightly and his eyes darken, the look on his face causing her breath to quicken. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He closes the distance this time, his hand moving to the back of her neck to keep her against him as he kisses her, his tongue seeking entrance to taste her.

Despite being surrounded by hundreds of guests, most of which they don’t know, she has no desire to pull away and she grants him access, her lips parting at the first touch of his tongue He has a way of making her feel like they’re the only two people that exist, and soon she doesn’t care about anything except the feel of him against her, her skin growing warmer as Bucky’s hand slides lower, ghosting over the curve of her ass.

He’s too aware of their surroundings though, and as much as he’s enjoying showing his gorgeous fiancée off, he wants nothing more than to take her home and do unspeakable things to her. The thought has him kissing a trail along her jaw to whisper in her ear, “Surely it’s almost time to go.”

With her hands holding onto his shoulders, she gives him a reluctant shake of her head and lets out a slow breath, “We still have an hour.” They can’t leave until the newlyweds do - Bucky and a few of the other Avengers having agreed to be here to send the couple off in flourish with the other guests.

It’s like a bucket of water is thrown on him, his happy thoughts of their future fading into the frustrating memory that they’re here on business. That somehow the new couple’s donation to the city gained them a right to him.

He didn’t have to do this, but he had no reason to say no, and everyone else had already agreed, given how generous the couple will continue to be to numerous charities. All it’s costing Bucky is his time. And a little bit of his sanity.

The suffocating feeling starts to return and his right hand moves off her hip to fidget with his bow tie, a soft grimace appearing on his face as if it’s physically hurting him. There’s a reason he avoids wearing ties, and the fact that it wasn’t optional tonight makes it even worse.

“Baby,” she says softly, interrupting his thoughts with a gentle touch of her hand to stop him from making the tie any more crooked than it already is. He meets her eyes and just a simple look communicates so much, a reminder of her how hard tonight has been for him. She whispers her own reminder to him, gently telling him, “breathe,” as she adjusts the bow.

Bucky knows she means well, and admittedly, just her presence makes it easier for him to simply exist, but he’s not sure he’s going to make it another hour. “Kinda hard to do that with this damn thing around my neck,” he tells her with a slight shake of his head, but his tone remains gentle, a hint of vulnerability seeping out.

There’s no point in suggesting they cut out early - Bucky’s a man of his word and will stay until the end - so instead, with a slight tilt of her head, she offers, “Why don’t we take a walk?” They can kill some time before he needs to join everyone else for their last interaction of the night.  “I’m sure you already know the layout of this place.” 

Bucky laughs softly, appreciating her attempt to keep things light, and nods his head. “Course I do. You think I’m gonna take my woman somewhere without knowing all the exits and places to hide?” There’s not a single part of this manor that’s not etched into his mind. 

With just a bit of encouragement from her to use that to his advantage, he takes her hand in his and leads her away from the dancefloor, ignoring the curious looks from their friends. Bucky could be leading her anywhere, and she’d blindly follow, her trust in him unyielding. He’s not sure he’ll ever feel deserving of it, but he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to prove that he does. 

It doesn’t take him long to find their destination, Bucky leading her down a deserted hallway, passing just a couple of doors before he locates the one he’s looking for. As expected, the room is unlocked and the moment they’re in the unused dressing suite, his hand immediately reaches for his bow tie, not even giving her a chance to offer to help him.

After closing and locking the door behind them, she turns around to find him pulling at the offending silk around his collar, his growl of frustration meeting her ears as he inevitably makes the knot tighter. With a gentle touch of her hand, she stills his movements, and softly tells him, “Let me.”

He gives her an appreciative smile and uses the opportunity to touch her again, his hands seeking out her warmth through her dress. He feels compelled to minimize this, or offer up an explanation, but words aren’t needed here. She understands his aversion to ties - his aversion to anything that feels like a restraint. 

Well, other than the occasional moments Bucky allows her to be in control of his body. He never thought it’d be something he’d enjoy, but he’s been seeking out more of those moments with her lately. Damn, he needs to get her home.

With just a gentle pull of the ends of his bow tie, the first knot is released and Bucky gives her a smile that never fails to make her weak in the knees. The corner of her mouth ticks up into a grin of her own, her gaze drifting from his eyes, to his mouth, then back down to the bow-tie to finish helping him.

After hooking her finger underneath the remaining knot a quick tug leaves Bucky feeling like he can finally draw a deep breath again. He still can’t help but reach up to undo the top two buttons of his shirt, not missing how the quick work of his fingers makes her thoughts obviously stray to the same place his keeps drifting to.

He can’t help but lean close, a knowing grin on his face, as he asks, “Whatcha thinkin’ about, doll?” 

Even with her skin flushing, she has no problem admitting exactly what’s going through her mind right now. Her body presses closer to his, her fingers holding onto the lapels of his tux, and she tells him, “How good your fingers felt inside me this morning.”

Her admission is expected, but it still makes him groan and he pulls her into a kiss, his hand moving to her throat, his possessive touch never failing to make her heart flutter. The feel of her pulse against his fingers has him deepening the kiss, the taste of her not helping to lessen Bucky’s desire for her, nor is it helping him catch his breath.

His need for her outweighs any silly need for air in his lungs though, and for a moment, he refuses to pull away, even as he has to resist the urge to take this further. To undress her and touch her everywhere, to listen to her moan for him. Despite the thought of wanting her naked here, in this ridiculously expensive, lavish room, he tells himself they shouldn’t.

She’s having similar thoughts, but she definitely thinks they should. In fact, she thinks it’s a great way to spend the next few minutes. She wants nothing more than to help Bucky get his mind off of everything that’s been bothering him tonight.

The breathless moan she makes when she pulls away has him immediately reconsidering, but his old-fashioned sensibilities are telling him he can’t let her do this. That he should wait until they’re in the safety of their own home. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice giving away how much it pains him to remind her, “the party.” 

“We have time,” she whispers back, her lashes fluttering at the tender caress of his thumb across her throat. “I just want to make you feel good.” 

Her warm breath against his lips, the promise of more, makes him dizzy with need, but he’s still struggling to shed this last bit of hesitation. He’s not worried about anyone interrupting them, he just needs to be sure she’s truly okay with this. Because as adventurous as their sex life is, this is still a first for them.

She can sense his hesitation, and she doesn’t want to push him if this isn’t something he wants, but she can practically hear the thoughts running through his mind, and she knows how to quiet them. With a quick flick of her tongue to wet her lips, she asks him, “It’s hot to imagine, isn’t it? Me on my knees for you right here, with hundreds of people just down the hall.”

Bucky’s breath catches at her words, his body ablaze with desire, but he quickly lets out a laugh as she reminds him again to breathe. He loves these moments with her, how intense and passionate they can get while never losing their ability to have fun with each other. It has all his reservations quickly leaving him, his body welcoming her hand moving between them to seek out his erection.

Since doing his best to shed his past of the Winter Soldier, Bucky’s become more comfortable with letting her take charge, and right now the need for her to take charge is overwhelming. All he can think about as she quickly unbuttons his pants is how she’s never steered him wrong, and with just a few steps backwards, she’s guiding him to sit on one of the oversized armchairs.

A slight lift of his hips has her working his pants down far enough to pull his cock free and she eagerly wraps her hand around him, settling between his spread thighs ready to worship him. As much she wants to take her time, this moment doesn’t allow for it, and she doesn’t want to give him a second to rethink his decision to allow her to take care of him. 

There’s no going back now. Bucky can’t imagine being anywhere else, and he can’t take his eyes off of her. She’s so breathtaking. Even when she brings her fingers to her mouth to gather saliva, all he can think about is how much she belongs here, surrounded by luxury and elegance. The sudden promising image of her on their wedding day has his cock twitching in her hand and it takes everything in him to keep his hands where they are, gripping the arms of the chair.

He wants to touch her, run his fingers through her hair, but she spent so long getting ready, just to keep him company tonight, and he refuses to risk messing up her hair or makeup. He continues watching her, letting her set the pace as she finally takes him into her mouth, the sudden wet heat surrounding him causing him to let out a breathless grunt of pleasure. “Fuck. I love you.”

She hums happily, glancing up to meet his gaze, the look on his face encouraging her to already take him deeper. She loves sucking his cock, the way he moans for her, the taste of him, the feel of him sliding into her throat. She’ll never get enough of it, and it’s not long before she speeds up her pace, desperate to feel him lose control.

Bucky’s lost in the pleasure, his hips occasionally lifting to meet her mouth, the knowledge of how much this is turning her on making it that much harder to focus. “God,” he breathes, his hands gripping the armchair harder, fingers digging into the upholstery. “Doll… Feel so good… Please…”

He can feel the vibrations of her moans each time his cock slides along her tongue and down her throat, and now he can smell her. It makes him want to taste her, to fuck her, to make her come with him. Just as he opens his mouth to tell her, the entire length of him is engulfed, her nose brushing against the soft curls at the base of his cock.

“Shit,” he gasps, his thighs tensing and his hand shoots out to grip her shoulder, the obscene noises of her throat gagging around his cock causing his balls to tighten. It’s more than enough to make him come, but he’s not ready yet. He wants more from her, and with a needy moan, he begs her to touch herself.

Without hesitation, her hand slides under the satin bunched around her knees, and she spreads her thighs wider as she slips the damp fabric of her panties aside, desperate to please him. The first pass of her fingers over her slick pussy makes her moan against him and both their hips start to move at the same time, Bucky fucking her mouth as she thrusts against her own hand.

He nearly loses it when she meets his gaze again, her lashes wet with tears, her mouth slick with saliva. He manages to hold back though, needing to watch her as she plays with herself, seeing the exact moment she fills herself with her fingers.

Her back arches and she nearly gags around his cock again, but she grips his cock with her left hand, stroking him in time with her mouth as she fucks herself, the heel of her hand pressed against her clit. She’s not even trying to make herself come, more focused on his pleasure, but she can feel the pressure building, her wetness coating her fingers.

Bucky’s senses are consumed by her, but it’s not enough, he wants to drown in her, to know nothing but the feel and smell and taste of her. “Please,” he says, his hand sliding along her shoulder, fingers caressing her skin. “Need… fuck… give me your fingers. Need to taste you.” 

She almost comes just from that alone, the walls of her pussy gripping her fingers, her wetness soaking her palm, but she’s eager to give him what he wants. The instant her hand moves from her underneath her dress, he’s grabbing her wrist, guiding her fingers to his hungry mouth.

With a loud groan, Bucky closes his lips close around her slick digits, the taste of her exploding on his tongue, causing his balls to tighten and pleasure to shoot down his spine. The slight tightening of his grip on her shoulder is the only warning he can give her as the tension builds to a breaking point.

He gasps and moans around her fingers, his tongue licking up every drop of her, the first wave hitting him with such intensity that his hips lift involuntarily. He watches her take all of him, her hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking him as he comes down her throat, the force of his orgasm nearly causing him to collapse.

She swallows every drop, her body buzzing with pleasure as she sucks him dry, not a care in the world that she didn’t get to come with him. She refuses to let him go, prolonging his pleasure, until he can’t take anymore and his body finally starts to relax,  her fingers slipping from his mouth.

Bucky doesn’t even give her a chance to catch her breath before he’s pulling her up, careful not to mess up her dress as he meets her in a kiss, the combined taste of them on their tongues making them both moan. There’s not a chance he’s letting her leave this with room without getting to taste more of her.

He casually pulls his pants back over his hips, happily listening to her explain that this was all about him. And, the moment she’s finished insisting she only wanted to help him relax, he’s just as happy to reject her premise, telling her, “Making you come on my mouth will definitely relax me.”

The laugh she gives him tells him everything he needs to know and it’s his turn to take the lead, guiding her to the armchair he was just occupying. Before he has her sit, he reaches under the slit in her dress to take hold of her panties, not wasting any time to slide them down her legs, kneeling in front of her in the process.

She’s not sure how much time they have left, but she can’t imagine it’s going to take her very long. Not with the taste of him still in her mouth, and the way he’s looking up at her right now. With minimal encouragement, she settles back in the chair, careful not to mess up her hair, grinning as Bucky takes the same amount of care with her dress.

After lifting the soft material to her waist, and guiding her legs back, he takes a moment to appreciate the view of her on display, ready for the taking. Later tonight, when he’s fucking her in their bed, he plans to tell her again and again how pretty she looked tonight, but the words won’t come right now. His mouth only wants to be doing one thing, and it’s not talking.

With one last glance up at her, her hands already gripping the arms of the chair in preparation, he closes the distance, the smell of her immediately overwhelming his senses. She barely hears his soft groan of pleasure, but it’s not hard to miss the way he deeply inhales her scent, his hands immediately coming up to keep her spread open for him.

At Bucky’s instructions, she forces herself to stay still, his playful reminder for her to breathe the only reason she’s taking any air into her lungs at all. She watches as he takes his time, the flat of his tongue licking her from her dripping entrance to her swollen clit, the contact making her legs shake and her eyes roll back.

She’s so sensitive, just a few swipes of his tongue building her towards the edge, but he refuses to rush this, taking his time to the savor the taste of her, fucking her slowly with his tongue. And whenever she starts to move or forgets to stop breathing, he’s right there reminding her what he needs her to do. “Relax. Breathe.” 

He’s not going to let her get flushed and sweaty, not when he knows how much harder it’ll make the rest of the evening for her. That’s why he keeps her in place, the cool metal of his vibranium thumb pressed against her clit making her slick walls pulsate around his tongue, the delicious taste of her making him hard yet again.

She keeps her head lifted, even when her eyes flutter close, her body on fire as she takes slow, deep breaths. It’s becoming not enough and too much all at once, the familiar tingle signaling how close she is, but without being able to chase her pleasure, she can’t help but beg for more.

Bucky’s more than happy to oblige and licks back up to her clit, greedily closing his lips over it as he slips two fingers inside of her, his vibranium arm quick to hold her place. She reaches out, almost grabbing his head, but thinks better of it at the last second, not wanting to mess up his hair, her hands instead gipping his arm, her fingers soon interlocking with his as she takes in lungfuls of air.

It only takes a few strokes of his fingers for her to fall, the deep breathing making the orgasm even more intense, and with his lips suctioned around her clit, his tongue swirling around the swollen bud, her hand flies up to cover her own mouth, barely muffling her loud cries of pleasure as she comes for him.

Bucky’s fingers and mouth follow her body as each wave of pleasure washes over her, her thighs threatening to close around his head, but he welcomes the feeling, relishing the way she comes apart for him, her arousal soaking his hand and beard. 

He doesn’t stop until she grows too sensitive, easing his fingers out of her before giving her one last lick, able to feel the pulse of her aftershocks on his tongue. Careful not to touch her dress with his arousal-slicked fingers, he helps her sit up and kisses her softly, her body still trembling as she slowly comes back down.

Once it’s clear she can finally breathe again, and her heart’s not about to burst out of her chest, Bucky gives her a cheeky grin, telling her, “Now I’m ready to get back to the party.” 

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