#mutual will still be allowed to hit but still

[danysdaughter]

Сетка

pairing | civil!war!bucky x widow!reader

word count | 10.4k words

summary | when you, a former red room widow crosses paths with the man who once trained you—now a ghost of the monster you remember—your collision reignites memories neither of you can outrun. in a world that only ever taught you two to survive, you find something you were never trained for: each other.

tags | (18+) MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, intimate sex, enemies to companions to lovers, angst, slow burn, emotional hurt/comfort, winter soldier triggers, protective!reader, protective!bucky, mutual obsession, feral love, soft intimacy, violence, reader only speaks russian, bucky speaks english, emotionally devastated bucky barnes, shit translated russian (probably), reader does not play about her man

a/n | IMPORTANT TO NOTE: the events of black widow happen before ca:cw in this. Based on this request. (I'm posting this from work lol)

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

Москва, 2003 — Красная комната

Moscow, 2003 — The Red Room

The walls were too white.

Sterile. Silent. Watching.

That was the first thing you noticed—that kind of white that felt wrong. Like it had been bleached so many times, even the ghosts had nowhere left to hide. Even the steel doors looked polished, like they were proud of what happened here.

You sat shoulder to shoulder with the others—seven girls, fifteen on average. Not children. Not soldiers. Not yet.

The floor was colder than ice, and it bled through your thin uniform. But none of you shivered. That had been trained out early—along with tears, questions, and the word нет.[no.]

The air reeked of antiseptic and metal. Underneath it, sweat clung to the walls like memory. Like shame.

Footsteps echoed.

Three sets.

Two sharp. One heavy.

No one turned to look. That was lesson one. Looking got you noticed. Being noticed got you hurt.

But you felt him before you saw him.

The shift in the atmosphere—immediate and suffocating. Like gravity got heavier. Like breath didn’t work the same anymore.

Он пришёл. [He’s here.]

You didn’t flinch, but your muscles locked up. Your knuckles pressed into your knees until they went white.

Then: silence.

Not peace.

The kind of silence that held a knife behind its back.

“Смотри вперёд,” Madam B’s voice cut cleanly through the air. [Eyes forward.]

You obeyed. All of you did. Like clockwork. Chins lifted. Spines straight.

He stood beside her. Taller than you remembered from the rumors. Broader. Real.

Зимний солдат.

The Winter Soldier

His face was half-shadow under the fluorescents, but his eyes—those eyes—were unmistakable. Dead, pale things. A shade too light. Like they’d been bleached, too.

He didn’t look at you. Or at anyone. His stare drifted somewhere behind the wall, like even he didn’t want to be in his body anymore.

That metal arm glinted under the lights. Thick at the shoulder. Seamless. Inhuman.

Madam B clasped her hands in front of her. Her posture was perfect. Her smile was poisonous.

“Ваши инструкторы научили вас дисциплине, послушанию, терпению боли,” she said. [Your instructors have taught you discipline, obedience, pain tolerance.]

“Точность.” [Precision.]

She nodded toward him.

“Теперь вы узнаете страх.” [Now… you will learn fear.]

He moved without signal. No countdown. No command.

Just violence.

One second, stillness.

The next—he was on Yulia.

The smallest one. The quietest. The one who tried to hum to herself when the lights went out.

Her back hit the wall with a sickening crack. His left arm—that arm—pressed into her throat. Just enough to choke. Not enough to kill.

Her boots scraped the tile. A soft panic-sound left her lips—then cut off as her training kicked in.

She stopped fighting.

That was lesson two.

You didn't move. Not even your eyes.

Yulia turned her head slowly. Her gaze found you. Desperate. Wild. The kind of fear none of you were allowed to show.

You didn’t blink.

“Вы будете тренироваться с ним,” Madam B continued, like this was nothing. [You will train with him.]

“Вы выучите его методы. Его инстинкты.”

[You will learn his methods. His instincts.]

Yulia let out a breath that sounded like breaking glass.

And the Soldier?

He still didn’t look at her. Or at you. Or at anyone.

Because you weren’t people. Not to him.

Just shapes to break. Dolls to test.

Madam B’s smile never wavered.

“Если вы выживете.” [If you survive.]

────────────────────────

Красная комната — Тренировка, 2003

The Red Room — Training, 2003

The floor wasn’t white.

It was concrete—cracked, stained, pitted with impact. The kind of surface that remembered every body that ever hit it.

The air in the training room was humid with breath and blood. The walls sweated under the heat of fluorescent lights, buzzing like flies in your ears.

You stood alone at the center.

The others were pressed against the wall—backs straight, eyes forward, silent as statues.

Your breathing was even. Measured.

Your fists curled tight, knuckles aching with pressure.

You didn’t shake. You never shook.

You’d already lost blood on this floor. Skin. Teeth. You’d learned how to fall without sound.

But this was different.

He stepped into the ring.

Black tactical gear. Combat boots. Gloves pulled tight. His metal arm caught the light—chrome and shadow. It wasn’t a limb. It was a threat.

He didn’t speak. He never did.

Not even a command.

Madam B stood off to the side, clipboard cradled in one arm, her pen already moving.

She didn’t call a start. She didn’t have to.

The moment his weight shifted—you moved.

You struck first.

Open palm to the throat. Hook to the ribs. Low kick toward the knee.

They were survival strikes. Precise. Fast. Smart.

He swatted them away like you were nothing.

Effortless. Mechanical. Indifferent.

Then he hit back.

His fist caught the edge of your jaw—crack—and your skull snapped sideways. Your vision pulsed white for half a second, but you stayed upright.

You had to stay upright.

Then came the sweep. His left leg scythed yours out from under you, and before you even hit the floor, the metal arm slammed across your chest.

You went down hard.

Concrete kissed your back. The air tore from your lungs.

And then—pressure.

He was on top of you. One knee against your ribs, hand to your throat.

That arm. Cold. Absolute.

He wasn’t holding you down.

He was claiming the ground beneath you.

You didn’t fight it. Not yet.

You stared up into his face, and for the first time—saw him. Not as the ghost of a myth. Not as the whispered fear behind training drills.

But as a man.

A machine.

Both.

His expression was blank. But that blankness said everything.

This wasn’t a lesson.

This was a warning.

You don’t win.

You survive.

So you reached for his sidearm.

His hand snapped around your wrist. That sound—metal joints locking down on bone.

It should have crushed you. But it didn’t.

You kneed him in the stomach—your knee landing against Kevlar with a jolt. You twisted, shoved your shoulder down, and used his own momentum to roll you both.

It wasn’t elegant.

It was smart.

Calculated. Ruthless.

You weren’t bigger. Or stronger.

But you were sharp.

You learned.

He came at you again, and this time you didn’t flinch.

You dropped beneath the punch, spun inside his reach, and used his arm like a fulcrum—flipped over his shoulder.

You landed wrong.

Your elbow scraped open.

But you were standing.

There was no applause. No approval. Only the scratch of Madam B’s pen.

The Soldier didn’t react.

He reset.

No emotion. No hesitation. Just reset. Like you hadn’t earned a single thing.

But you saw it.

The twitch of his fingers. The micro-adjustment in how his feet planted. The pause—barely a pause—as his eyes followed your stance like he was filing it away.

He wouldn’t remember your name.

You didn’t have one here.

But that day? He noticed you.

────────────────────────

Красная комната — через шесть месяцев

Red Room — Six Months Later

The mat was stained with old sweat and old blood.

You stood barefoot at the center. Bruised. Breathing steady.

Fifteen years old. One of the last still standing.

You didn’t know what day it was. Didn’t need to. You measured time in bruises, in blood dried under fingernails, in how long it took for your ribs to stop aching.

This was your fourth session with the Soldat in six days.

They were testing something.

Durability, maybe. Threshold. Obedience.

Or maybe they just wanted to see if you’d finally break.

Above, behind the black glass, Madam B watched. Her voice came cold over the intercom.

“Начали.” [Begin.]

You moved instantly.

A blur across the mat. Feint left, then up—elbow aimed for the hinge of his jaw.

His metal hand caught your arm mid-strike. Effortless. Inevitable.

He twisted. Spun you. Drove a knee into your side.

You blocked—barely. The pain reverberated through your ribcage like splintering glass.

But you didn’t grunt.

Didn’t cry out.

You never made a sound.

Pain didn’t mean stop.

Pain meant continue.

The room rang with impact. Bare feet sliding. Fists connecting. Breath coming sharp between attacks.

He was bigger. Stronger. His reach eclipsed yours, his strikes heavier, colder.

But you were faster. You had studied him. Memorized every tick, every tell. He never led with his right. The metal arm always came second—the trap after the bait.

You slid low under a hook, came up behind him, and kicked the back of his knee.

He faltered.

A grunt left his mouth—barely audible, but real.

You didn’t pause.

You spun, forearm tucked in, and drove it up under his ribs. You connected.

His breath hitched.

Your chest rose once—sharp.

You’d drawn breath from the Soldat.

His hand snapped out—metal fingers closing around your throat.

You slammed into the wall with a thud that rattled through your spine.

His grip tightened.

But you didn’t fight it. You didn’t blink.

Your stare locked with his—blank to blank.

Two weapons mid-calibration.

He leaned in. Not far. Just enough to study you.

His eyes weren’t flat. Not fully.

Something behind them… ticked.

Then—he spoke.

Low. Controlled.

Almost quiet enough not to register.

“Хватит.” [Enough.]

Your body stilled.

Muscles stopped firing. Breath locked. Every cell in you responded like a command had been entered in your bones.

That word—from him—meant stop.

Session over.

He released you.

You dropped—not from failure, not from injury, but from the vacuum left by adrenaline. Your knees hit the mat. Your hand splayed out to catch balance.

Your chest heaved. Hot. Controlled. Like a furnace behind your ribs.

He watched you.

Still silent. Still unreadable.

But his fists were clenched.

And this time… he didn’t walk away immediately.

He looked at you.

Really looked.

Not like an opponent. Not like an assignment.

Like something had clicked. Like a new file was being written in his mind.

Not fear. Not even memory.

Interest.

────────────────────────

After Hydra took back the Soldat, the others gave you a nickname.

Сетка.

[The Web.]

You weren’t the strongest.

You weren’t the fastest.

But you were the only one—aside from the one they called Romanova—to hold your ground against the Soldat.

You weren’t known for brute force.

You were known for calculated strikes.

For how you waited. For how you wrapped your opponents in silence and then struck.

You didn’t earn it through survival.

You earned it through stillness.

Through how, when the Winter Soldat looked at you—he paused.

Румыния, Бухарест, 2016

Romania, Bucharest, 2016

The world was too big.

You hadn’t realized that until you were freed.

Not with fanfare. Not with chains breaking on a concrete floor. Just… the chemicals gone. The fog lifted. Like smoke peeling away after the fire’s already eaten everything it wanted.

You were free.

And you didn’t know what to do with it.

No one gave you instructions. No handler. No target. No voice in your ear.

So you drifted.

Trains. Buses. The back of a truck once, when it didn’t matter where you ended up. Countries blurred. Time warped. Faces forgotten before they were registered.

You didn’t speak.

Not because you couldn’t.

Because your voice didn’t sound like yours yet. It sounded like property. Like training. Like the echo of someone else’s weaponized breath.

When you did speak, it was only in Russian. A comfort. A shield.

If they couldn’t understand you, they couldn’t own you.

Now—

Bucharest.

A city wrapped in damp air and dull concrete. A sky so overcast it looked like someone had smudged out the sun.

You didn’t pick it.

It just happened.

Like most things now.

No mission brought you here. No ghost pulled you.

Just the weight of motion finally running out of road.

You sat at the corner table of a café so small the world didn’t seem to notice it existed. A chipped white mug sat between your hands. Coffee, cooled and untouched. You hadn’t tasted anything in days, but the smell was something. Bitter. Familiar.

Across the street, a man adjusted a bike chain. His hands were black with grease. Someone shouted upstairs in Romanian. A dog barked. The faint crack of an egg hitting a pan cut through the air.

It should have felt normal.

And maybe that’s what made it unbearable.

You weren’t made for peace.

Peace had no rules. No orders.

Peace expected you to feel.

But you didn’t feel human.

You didn’t feel anything at all.

Just a hum in your chest where panic used to live. Just silence where purpose used to be.

Your fingertips curled against the ceramic like you were checking to see if you were still real.

Maybe you were. Maybe not.

You watched the sky for signs of rain.

And thought: Maybe tomorrow, you’ll leave.

────────────────────────

Несколько дней спустя

A Few Days Later

It started with the color of his eyes.

You didn’t recognize the rest of him at first—he moved differently now. Civilian clothes. Hair tied back. Slower, softer posture. Almost… human.

But then he turned toward the sun.

And you saw them.

That shade. That steel blue.

Unnatural. Icy.

Dead things wearing a face.

And suddenly, the world tilted sideways.

Your fingers twitched at your sides.

Солдат. [Soldat.]

The market noise dulled to a hum in your ears. Just smells and motion. Heat and light. Someone was selling tomatoes. Someone else bartered for lamb. Shoes scuffed pavement.

You didn’t blink.

Your feet were already moving.

He spotted you seconds later. His brows knit in confusion—not fear. Recognition hovered behind his expression, but distant. Faded. Like trying to remember the lyrics to a song he only half-heard.

Then—your eyes met.

His mouth opened, confused.

You lunged.

He moved just in time—sidestepped, arm up, deflecting your first strike. You twisted under him, elbow jabbing into his ribs. He caught your wrist.

“Wait—who the hell are—?”

You dropped your weight, flipped him over your hip. He hit the cobblestone with a grunt, rolled, sprang to his feet.

A vendor screamed. Then another.

Crates of fruit crashed around you. Splinters of wood. Apples underfoot.

He tried to disengage—hands up, defensive, careful.

“I don’t want to fight you—!”

You weren’t listening.

Your fist slammed toward his face. He blocked. You kicked at his thigh, drove your knee up toward his gut.

He grunted, staggered. Caught your leg mid-air.

You spun inside the hold, using the capture, and flipped over his shoulders.

Your knees slammed down on his collarbones.

He stumbled.

You slammed your palm into the back of his skull, forcing him toward the ground.

He rolled, bringing you down with him. The two of you crashed through a vendor’s table, shattering it into splinters and cloth.

“Чёрт—who are you?”

[Damn it—]

You didn’t answer. You wouldn’t.

His face twisted—half in frustration, half in dawning memory. But you weren’t a memory. You were now.

He blocked a knife-hand strike. Caught your other wrist. You twisted under, slammed your head toward his jaw.

It connected. His lip split. A child screamed nearby.

He shoved you off—but not to hurt. To breathe.

“I’m not him,” he rasped. “Not anymore.”

Your heart pounded. Your knees bent. You were ready to kill.

You didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

Every second he breathed in your presence felt like failure.

You were fifteen again. You were on the mat. You were under the metal arm.

You struck low—shin to his knee. He buckled slightly, but rebounded quick, grabbing your arm and twisting. You followed it, using the torque to throw yourself up and over him, body flipping above his head. He ducked, but not fast enough.

Your heel scraped his temple.

He staggered.

You hit the ground in a crouch, surged forward, fists flying—open-palm strikes, throat jabs, knife-hand to his kidney. He blocked most. Absorbed some.

But you were faster.

You always had been.

Around you, the market dissolved. Stalls crushed. People scattered. Screams and panic thick in the air. Vendors grabbed their children and ran. Tomatoes exploded underfoot like bloodstains.

He was breathing heavier now.

You could see the calculation behind his eyes—how he wasn’t hitting back.

Because he knew. He knew the precision in your strikes. He knew where you’d learned them.

“Why are you doing this?” he ground out, catching your arm again, ducking under a punch and shoving you backward into a stack of crates. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

You snapped forward, wrapped your legs around his neck, pulled.

He fell—slammed hard on the ground with you on top. You straddled his chest, brought your elbow up, and—

He caught your wrist. Locked it. Twisted just enough to force the momentum off. Rolled.

Now you were beneath him.

His knees pinned your thighs. His hand gripped your wrist above your head. Metal arm pressed against your collarbone—not choking, just holding.

Your breathing came fast. Harsh. Chest rising and falling in panic, fury, fire.

His hair hung loose now. Lip bleeding. Chest heaving.

And his eyes—

They weren’t dead. They weren’t his. They weren’t the Soldat’s.

His voice came low. Guttural.

“I’m not him.” His hand didn’t tighten. He didn’t shake. “I don't want to hurt you.”

You wanted to fight. Your body ached to.

But your eyes locked with his. And something fractured. Because the eyes that looked back at you now—they weren’t hollow. They weren’t blank.

They were human. Still haunted. Still carrying every sin etched into his bones. But there was no order in them. No command. No programming.

Just… regret.

Your body didn’t relax. But it stopped resisting.

Just slightly. Just enough.

Your breath caught in your throat—not because you were scared, but because you didn’t know what to do with stillness.

Your body had stopped moving, but everything inside was still screaming.

His grip didn’t loosen.

He was still above you, pinning you down—not aggressively. Just… securing the chaos.

You stared up at him, and he stared back, his brow furrowed like he was searching for a word he’d forgotten in a language he hadn’t spoken in years.

And then—

sirens.

Not close yet, but coming. Sharp. Rising.

His head snapped to the side. You tensed beneath him again. His eyes flicked back to you. Jaw tight. Conflicted.

Then, in a movement that felt more instinct than decision—he pulled you up.

You didn’t resist. Not out of trust. Out of confusion.

He didn’t let go of your wrist. Didn’t shove you.

He just moved—guiding you fast into a narrow alley between buildings. The noise of the street dimmed behind you. Fabric flapped on a laundry line above. The pavement here was cracked, lined with moss and cigarette butts.

He stopped. Pulled you behind him.

Pressed your back against the wall, one hand splayed across your stomach to keep you behind his frame.

You should’ve fought him again. You should’ve broken his arm. But you didn’t.

His other hand came up—not touching you, just hovering slightly, as if to say stay.

You both stayed frozen. You could feel his breath against your temple. Still steady. But his hand—

It was shaking. Not from fear. From memory.

Like his body remembered something his mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

He didn’t look back at you. But he stayed there.

And for now, so did you.

The sirens faded.

The city noise returned in slow motion—honking, voices, the far-off clatter of trams and tires. The chaos in the market had been swallowed again by the buzz of ordinary life, like the fight never happened.

Bucky shifted. Just slightly.

His hand eased away from your stomach, the other dropping to his side. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

But you did.

You turned your head—slowly—and shot him a look so sharp it could’ve cut through bone.

You shoved his chest with both hands. Not hard enough to hurt—just enough to get space between you. Your expression was blank, but your body radiated heat and fury.

He didn’t resist. He let you push him.

And you turned.

No words. No explanation. No retreat. Just your back as you walked away—shoulders squared, movements clipped, hair tangled from the fight. You didn’t run.

You didn’t need to.

“…Hey,” he called after you, stepping out of the alley. “Hey—wait.”

You didn’t pause.

Your boots clapped against the wet pavement, turning down another street without looking back.

“Where are you going?” No answer.

He caught up, boots scuffing beside yours. He wasn’t panting anymore, but he was confused. Disarmed in the way only survivors could disarm each other.

“You just tried to kill me,” he said. “You started that. You could’ve—”

He stopped. Regrouped. “Who the hell are you?”

You didn’t even glance at him.

Just one subtle shift in your jaw. Tension in your neck.

That was all he got.

He caught up beside you. Tried to get in front of you. You side-stepped him like he was furniture.

“You speak?” he pushed, breath hitching with disbelief. “You got a name? Or just fists?”

Still nothing.

You barely acknowledged his existence now. That alone made his pulse spike.

“Did we know each other?” he demanded, frustration creeping into his voice. “I mean—really know each other? Because something about you feels… I don’t know.”

You stopped. Just once. You turned your head slightly.

And said, flatly, with razor-edged indifference, “Он умер.” [He’s dead.]

Then kept walking.

The words froze him. Just for a second.

The Soldat.

Dead.

Killed in your eyes the second he hesitated. The second he showed mercy. The second he didn’t fight back.

He kept following. Not at a sprint. Not with force.

Just… there.

A shadow a few steps behind. Close enough to be felt. Not close enough to touch.

You turned corners like the city owed you space. Didn’t rush. Didn’t look back. But you knew he was behind you. Every step. Every breath.

And still—you didn’t stop.

You passed shopfronts. Faded yellow walls. Posters curling off the bricks. A cracked tile underfoot. The stink of wet bread and exhaust in the air.

“Why are you running from me?” he asked, not breathless—just bitter. “You came at me. Remember that?”

You didn’t respond.

He didn’t expect you to.

“I don’t remember everything, alright?” he pushed, his voice clipping at the edge. “There are gaps. Big ones. I don’t know who I hurt. Who I—”

You rolled your eyes.

The noise he made in frustration wasn’t a sound of anger.

It was need.

“Just—just tell me your name,” he said. “Please. I don’t care what you were trying to do. Just give me that.”

You stopped again.

Slow.

Turned slightly.

Your face unreadable.

Voice low. “Сетка.”

His brow furrowed.

“Setka?” he repeated. “That’s not a name.”

You tilted your head—just a fraction. And then you looked at him like he was insects. Not worth a fight.

Just an irritation buzzing too close to your ear.

You turned back. Started walking again.

He followed.

“Is that a code name? What is that? Russian? Hydra?” He caught up beside you, walking now shoulder to shoulder. “Did I know you?”

You gave him nothing.

But his eyes stayed on you.

And you?

You just kept walking.

Not because you were done with him.

Because you were done with what he used to be.

────────────────────────

You ducked into the café like it owed you something.

Not the same one from before—this one was smaller, grittier. Glass smudged with fingerprints. Fluorescent light overhead flickering like a dying star. But the pastries in the case were fresh, warm, and dusted with powdered sugar.

That’s all that mattered.

You didn’t look back to check if he was still following.

You knew he was.

You ordered with a short nod, pointed at what you wanted. Paid in crumpled bills. And sat by the window, legs crossed, posture casual—like this was your place and the world was just visiting.

A sweet bun sat in front of you, golden, soft, still steaming.

You tore into it with precision. First bite was deliberate—slow chew, eyes half-lidded in genuine pleasure.

And then—

He walked in.

You didn’t look up. Not at first.

You licked a smear of sugar off your thumb, eyes fixed on the glass.

He ordered something. You didn’t care what. Until he slid into the seat across from you.

Boots heavy. Posture coiled. Forearms resting on the edge of the table like he was ready to fight if the cutlery moved.

He stared at you.

That stare. Cold. Sharp. Brow low. Eyes locked in.

The kind of look that made grown men flinch. You took another bite of your pastry.

Chewed. Swallowed. Licked your lips. And looked up slowly.

Your gaze met his.Unblinking. Flat. Not intimidated. Just... annoyed.

He stared harder.

You raised an eyebrow—just one.

Bit into the pastry again with a kind of exaggerated grace. Sugar dusted your bottom lip.

He leaned forward a bit.

You leaned back, leisurely, like the air between you bored you.

The silence was so thick it should’ve collapsed the table.

Still, you said nothing. Because you didn’t need to. You’d already won.

He shifted. You didn’t. His jaw flexed. Then—

He moved.

Slowly, reluctantly, like it physically pained him to do it, Bucky brought his hand up and extended it across the table. Palm open. Fingers slightly curled. That awkward, stilted kind of offer people made when they weren’t sure they were allowed to touch the world yet.

“I’m Bucky,” he said.

The words didn’t come easy. They stuck to the back of his throat. “Bucky.” Like he was still trying the name on. Still figuring out if it fit.

You looked at his hand. Not quickly. Not dramatically.

Just… down. Like you were glancing at a smear on your table.

Then you looked back up at him. Dead stare. Cold.

“Мне всё равно,” you said softly.

[I don’t care.]

The words landed heavier than a bullet. You didn’t spit them. You didn’t hiss them. You just meant them.

His hand hovered for another second—like he thought maybe he’d misheard, misunderstood, anything. Then he slowly pulled it back. Fingers flexing once before curling into a loose fist on the table.

You went back to your pastry. He didn’t move again.

────────────────────────

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink when he stared at you across the table. Didn’t soften when he introduced himself. Didn’t care.

He’d held out his hand like it meant something—like the name Bucky still belonged to him—and you looked at it like it was rotting.

“Мне всё равно.” [I don’t care.]

That should’ve been the end of it.

He should’ve let you walk. Let you disappear like every other phantom in his half-formed memory. But—

He couldn’t.

You were like smoke in a room with no fire.

Wrong. Out of place. But present.

Cold. Controlled. Eyes like winter steel and hands trained for death.

You weren't avoiding him like he was dangerous. You acted like he was a fly. An inconvenience.

And still…

He couldn’t stop watching you.

He found out you stayed three blocks away from him, in a run-down building that looked like it had never seen heat. No lights on past midnight. You came and went like habit—not avoidance.

No weapons drawn. Just… presence.

And it started happening before he noticed it: He’d time his walks to cross your path. He’d change course just to track where you ended up. Not to hurt you. Not even to corner you.

Just to exist near you.

Because somehow, somehow—he felt more alive around you than he had in years.

Not safe. Not comfortable. Alive.

Like the weight wasn’t pressing quite as hard against his chest when you were in the room. Even if you never looked at him. Even if you never said a word.

There was something about you.

Not just the way you moved—efficient, brutal, graceful like a damn blade in water. But the way you carried herself.

Like you didn’t owe the world a thing.

You were impenetrable. And it made him feel human.

────────────────────────

Несколько дней спустя

Some Days Later

You were sitting on the edge of a crumbling fountain, half a pastry in one hand, your boot tapping against the stone.

Same coat. Same deadpan stare. Same indifference like it was armor stitched into your skin.

Bucky stood across the square, watching.

Again.

You didn’t look at him, but he knew you saw him.

You always did.

This time, he walked straight over.

No subtlety. No circling. No waiting for a moment that wouldn’t come.

You didn’t move. Didn’t shift.

Just kept eating, like the man you tried to murder in a marketplace last week wasn’t about to sit beside you.

He lowered himself onto the edge of the fountain—not too close. Close enough.

You still didn’t look at him.

“I’m not following you,” he said quietly.

You raised a brow but said nothing. The flake of pastry lingered on your lip. You didn’t wipe it away.

“I just need to know…” He sighed, hand curling over his knee. “Setka. What that name means. Who are you?”

No response.

A pause.

Then, at last, your voice—quiet, flat, “Ты думаешь, ты хочешь знать.”

[You think you want to know, but you dont]

You met his eyes. Still unreadable. Still so, so tired.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, low.

His voice was raw now—not just tired, but unraveling.

“I just… need to know.”

A pause.

“Did I hurt you?”

Your chewing stopped.

You looked forward, eyes tracking something only you could see. Your fingers flexed once on the crumpled pastry paper. Then, softly, “да.” [Yes.]

A beat.

And then, quieter still—

“Но ты также научил меня не умирать.”

[But you also taught me not to die.*]

The words hit him like a blow to the chest.

His throat worked. His fingers twitched against his thigh. He wanted to ask what you meant—but couldn’t even form the question.

So he looked at you. Not with suspicion.

But with that kind of desperate, quiet plea in his eyes—the kind that asked without sound.

Please. I need more.

You finally sighed. A long, slow exhale through your nose. Tired. Annoyed.

Like explaining this was beneath you, but his stare was loud enough to warrant an answer.

“Красная комната,” you said flatly.

[The Red Room.]

His brows furrowed.

“Гидра отдала тебя им.”

[Hydra gave you to them.]

You finally looked at him.

Your face was unreadable. Not cruel. Not soft. Just matter-of-fact. “Ты… обучал нас.”

[You trained us.]

And there it was. The fracture in his expression. Shock, but not surprise.

Like you'd just said something he already knew, deep in his bones—but didn’t want to hear aloud.

He blinked. Swallowed.

“You were a widow,” he said, mostly to himself.

Your silence was confirmation. And for the first time since he met you, you didn’t look like a ghost.

He sat there, silent. Trying to make sense of what you'd just given him. And still—he needed more.

“How…” he said quietly, carefully, “how did you get out?”

You didn’t look at him.

You exhaled sharply through your nose. That specific kind of sigh. The one that said you’re annoying, but I’ll answer because I want you to stop talking.

Then, cool and clipped, “Наталия Романова. И Елена Белова.”

[Natalia Romanova. And Yelena Belova.]

You didn’t elaborate. You didn’t soften. You tossed the empty pastry wrapper into the bin beside the fountain and stood.

Then added, almost as an afterthought:

“Слишком поздно для большинства.”

[Too late for most of us.]

And without a glance back, you turned and walked away. Boots clicking against the stone. Shoulders squared. Back straight.

Leaving him there with a realization that the only person who might know who he was still didn’t care who he is.

You heard his steps before you saw him.

You always did.

He didn’t walk like a civilian. Not even when he tried.

His boots were too heavy. His presence too loud. Even in silence.

You didn’t turn when he entered the courtyard, hands shoved into his jacket pockets like he didn’t mean to be there.

But you knew better.

You were sitting on a low wall, picking at the crust of a tart. Raspberry filling on your thumb. The sun was barely up.

And there he was. Again.

You didn’t sigh. Didn’t roll your eyes. This time, you just… watched. Not with annoyance. Just observation.

He sat a few feet away. Close enough to talk. Far enough not to press.

He looked tired.

More than usual.

Like he hadn’t slept. Like being in his skin had worn him raw.

And for the first time, you wondered.

Not what he wanted.

But why he kept wanting.

You let the silence hang for a moment longer, then tilted your head just slightly.

Voice soft. Even.

“Что ты хочешь от меня?”

[What do you want from me?]

He blinked.

Then smirked—dry, thin, almost embarrassed.

“Your name,” he said. “For one.”

You gave him a look. Half-bored, half-knowing.

“и…?” you prompted, arching a brow. [And…]

That’s when he faltered.

He shifted on the wall. Looked down at his hands. Flexed the metal one like he didn’t trust it.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Not bitter. Not confused. Just honest.

“I don’t know why I keep looking for you. I just—”

He hesitated.

“You’re the only thing that makes sense. And you don’t even like me.”

You blinked at him. Then returned your gaze forward. Back to the rising sun. And said nothing.

But for once, you didn’t get up and leave.

You stayed.

────────────────────────

The fountain was silent, just a hollowed-out shell of stone, stained with rust and time. You sat perched on the rim, arms resting against your knees, watching the last light of day catch in the cracks of the broken tiles. The warmth of the sun was soft on your face, but the air was already turning cold.

You felt him arrive before he spoke.

He moved like someone who didn’t want to be noticed, but was too heavy with memory not to be felt.

He sat beside you—not too close, but not far. He didn’t speak. Not yet. And you didn’t turn your head to acknowledge him. It wasn’t necessary.

You’d started sharing silence like it belonged to both of you.

Minutes passed.

You listened to the slow creak of birds returning to the rooftops, the faint echo of footsteps on distant concrete. The world had quieted around you, and he hadn’t left.

Eventually, his voice broke through, rough and low.

“I don’t think I'll ever stop waiting.”

You didn’t answer. Not right away. The words hung in the air, weightless and unfinished, and part of you wondered if he even expected a reply. Your gaze stayed fixed ahead, tracking the fractured pattern of shadows stretching across the courtyard.

And then, maybe without knowing why—you spoke.

Your name left your mouth quieter than you intended, like it had to sneak past the years of silence it had been buried under.

He turned to you. “What?”

You looked at him.

Met his eyes.

And said it again.

Clear. Certain. Yours.

The way he blinked told you he hadn’t expected it—not tonight, maybe not ever. He repeated it under his breath, carefully, like the syllables might dissolve if he held them too tightly. He said it like he was tasting something real for the first time in years.

Then he gave a small nod, the corners of his mouth twitching into something soft.

“Nice to meet you,” he murmured.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, giving him the same look you’d used on a hundred fools who thought they’d earned something for no reason.

His smile grew—not smug, but amused. Quiet. Unforced.

For a moment, you didn’t mind that he was there.

───────────────────────

You always took the same seat—back corner, right by the window, where the sunlight slanted across the table in late morning like gold dust.

Your coffee was always lukewarm by the time you drank it, and your pastries were always sweet. The music in your ears pulsed soft and steady, a low hum only you could hear. You never shared what you were listening to, and you never offered to.

He never asked.

But he noticed.

He noticed that when you chewed slowly, your head tilted slightly to one side—just enough to catch a particular note. He noticed that you tapped your fingers on the table sometimes, in rhythm with whatever beat lived under your skin.

It wasn’t much.

But it was yours.

And you noticed him too.

He always had the same notebook—small, black, worn at the edges, the kind that could be slipped into a coat pocket without a second thought. He never let anyone else see inside. But he wrote in it often, sometimes mid-sentence, like a thought might escape if he didn’t pin it down fast enough.

You didn’t speak for a long time.

Until one morning, when he was scribbling again inside it, you leaned slightly forward, voice low, words rolling off your tongue like it belonged there.

“Что ты там всё время пишешь?”

[What do you keep writing in there?]

He glanced up, blinking like he hadn’t realized you were watching him.

“Stuff I remember,” he answered, softly. “Names. Places. Dreams. I forget a lot, so I write it down.”

He didn’t ask what you were listening to.

But his gaze flicked toward the earbud still nestled in your ear, and you knew he was thinking it.

You didn’t offer it.

But you didn’t hide it, either.

Later that morning, you both reached for the last almond tart at the same time.

Your hand got there first.

You raised a brow. He huffed out a laugh through his nose and motioned for you to take it.

You did.

You broke it in half and pushed the other piece across the table.

He didn’t thank you. But he ate it.

That was the day you stopped sitting across from each other.

And started sitting side by side.

────────────────────────

The café was nearly empty, just the soft clink of ceramic and the distant hum of an old radio behind the counter. The pastry case had been picked clean, and the overhead light above your usual table flickered faintly, but neither of you moved to find another seat.

You sat beside him this time—shoulder to shoulder, one knee pulled up onto the booth seat, your arm resting lazily along the back of the bench. The hood of your coat was down, loose pieces of hair falling over your face. You didn’t bother fixing them.

You were listening to something again—earbuds in, eyes half-lidded.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. He didn’t speak. He didn’t want to break whatever this was. The fact that you were still here meant something.

You shifted suddenly.

Not much—just a lean, just enough that your shoulder pressed into his arm, your head tipping to the side until it rested against him. Light. Casual. Like it was accidental. Like he wasn’t even there.

His breath hitched slightly—but he didn’t move.

You didn’t look at him.

But you reached up, plucked one of the earbuds from your ear, and—without looking—held it out toward him.

An offering.

No words.

No eye contact.

Just choice.

He hesitated—then took it.

David Bowie’s voice filtered in, old and warm and ghostlike. Something about changes, about time bending and slipping through fingers. The kind of song that made the city feel like it was holding its breath.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t smile.

But your head stayed against his shoulder.

And when the song ended, you didn’t take the earbud back.

You just let it stay.

Несколько месяцев спустя

A Few Months Later

He was on the floor again.

The mattress had been too soft. The air too still. He needed edges. Needed cold.

But even here—against the hard wood, spine pressed into the earth like punishment—it wasn’t enough to keep the dreams out.

They started like they always did.

Flashes of corridors. Screams without mouths. His own hands soaked in red. Russian commands slicing through the dark like razors.

He heard bones snap. He heard a girl scream—

No, not a girl. You.

But the Soldat didn’t stop.

His own voice—flat, mechanized—spoke a language he couldn’t feel, barking orders at children.

And then—

He was drowning in snow. Arms bound. Blood freezing.

He gasped awake like something had clawed through his chest.

His breath came ragged. Sharp. Cold sweat clung to every inch of skin, and the room felt like it was collapsing.

But then—

A hand.

Soft.

Warm against his chest.

Not sudden. Not a jolt. Just there—pressed gently over his heart like it had been holding him for hours.

“Тише…” [Easy now…]

Your voice was the first thing to cut through the fog. Low, steady, threaded with sleep but utterly sure.

His eyes snapped to you.

Darkness wrapped around the room like cloth, but he could see you in the low amber spill from the window. You were curled against him, body bare and familiar, skin pressed to skin. Your thigh hooked over his, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other tracing slow, grounding circles over his chest.

You didn’t flinch at his shaking.

You just held him.

“Это не сейчас,” you whispered again, softer.

[It’s not now.]

And he breathed like he hadn’t in days.

Hands found your back—clutching, clinging, greedy in the way that had nothing to do with sex. Like you were oxygen. Like his fingers didn’t know how to stop searching for the edges of you.

You didn’t pull away. You let him take. You let him need.

His breath stayed ragged for a long time, chest heaving beneath your hand like it couldn’t find its rhythm. His fingers clutched at your back, shifting slightly to your waist, to your shoulder, back again—like he needed to make sure you were real every few seconds.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just kept your arm over his chest, anchoring him.

Eventually, his head turned slightly against your temple. His mouth brushed your hair when he spoke, the words low, scratchy, like they were being dragged out of his ribs one by one.

“I saw them again.”

You said nothing.

“I was holding one of them down. I don’t even think she was older than fifteen. She looked like you. I think—I think maybe it was you.”

You pressed your lips against his jaw.

Not a kiss. Not an answer.

Just pressure.

“I can’t always tell if it’s memory or something Hydra put here,” he muttered, voice splintering at the edges. “Sometimes I remember things I know I didn’t do. And other times—I know it was me. The worst ones… I know it was me.”

His hand moved to your stomach. Held you there like gravity.

“I hear screaming in Russian, and I can’t tell if it’s my voice or someone else’s. I keep thinking I’ll get used to it. That it’ll fade. But it’s like it’s burned into the back of my eyelids.”

You shifted, just slightly, fingers brushing the line of his jaw, guiding his face closer until your foreheads touched.

He exhaled like it hurt.

“I don’t know who I am outside of what they made me,” he said. “But when I’m with you, it’s the first time I don’t feel like a ghost in my own body.”

Your hand slipped behind his neck, fingertips resting just beneath his hairline.

“Ты не призрак.” [You’re not a ghost.]

The words didn’t feel like comfort.

They felt like truth.

And when his breath caught again—quiet, uneven, almost broken—you stayed exactly where you were.

Not fixing him. Not saving him. Just with him.

Because at some point, without meaning to, he had become the only thing in this world that mattered.

The room was still dark, the sky outside only just beginning to tint at the edges. You were still lying there, skin warm against his, your breath a steady rhythm he’d started to match. His body had gone still again—not tense, not panicked. Just quiet. Contained.

But his hand was still at your waist. His fingers drawing soft, slow shapes into your side like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

And you let him.

Because it wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t hungry.

It was careful.

His breath brushed the space just behind your ear when he spoke again.

“You’re the only thing I feel like I don’t need to apologize for.”

You shifted slightly—chest to chest now, one leg brushing between his. Your palm moved up to his shoulder, then trailed along the line of his throat, slow and exploratory. Not a seduction.

A recognition.

The intimacy didn’t build like a fire—it simmered, low and inevitable. He leaned into you like someone who had forgotten how to reach for warmth. His hand moved to your back, spreading wide across your spine, holding you there—not hard, not desperate, but present.

And then—

He kissed you.

Not rough. Not fast.

Just his mouth against yours, slow and searching. His breath shaky, his fingers tightening just a little in your hair.

You kissed him back. Not because you were trying to fix him. Not because you owed him anything.

But because he felt real beneath your hands, and that was enough.

When he pulled back, forehead resting against yours, his voice barely more than breath:

“Please…”

You didn’t ask what he was asking for.

Because you already knew.

Bucky's forehead stayed pressed to yours, his breath warm where it spilled between your lips, ragged in the quiet. His eyes were still closed. Like he couldn't bear to look at you yet—like the weight of being seen might break him.

You moved first.

Your hand slid slowly from the nape of his neck down to his shoulder, tracing the edge of his scars with deliberate softness. His skin twitched under your touch, not from fear—from hunger.

His metal arm lay inert beside him, but his other hand came up, slow and reverent, fingertips brushing your cheek like he still wasn’t sure you were real. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip. His mouth followed.

This kiss was different.

No panic. No desperation.

Just need, thick and quiet and sharp.

You shifted, straddling his hips, your thighs bracketing his waist, your palms splayed flat against his chest. His skin was warm under yours, heartbeat hammering as though his body was still catching up to the permission he'd finally given himself—to want.

His hands found your waist. Traced the line of your spine. One stayed there, grounding himself in the curve of you, while the other slid up your side, fingers memorizing the shape of your ribs like he was trying to draw you blind.

When your hips pressed down against him, his breath caught sharply in his throat. He met your gaze then—fully, finally.

Not as the Soldat.

Not as a ghost.

As himself.

And you saw it—that flicker of reverence buried under the heat. Like even now, even wanting you, he didn’t feel like he deserved to have you.

So you kissed him again.

Not to reassure him.

To claim him.

His mouth opened under yours, hands gripping tighter now, pulling you down, closer, deeper. You rocked together slow, controlled, your rhythm deliberate, the pace of two people not trying to lose themselves—but trying to find themselves in each other.

You whispered between kisses—soft sounds only meant for him. He didn’t understand some of the words, but he held on to the tone, the way you said his name like it didn’t belong to anyone else.

When you sank down onto him, his whole body shuddered under you. His hands gripped your thighs, not guiding—begging. His lips trailed your throat, jaw, shoulder, anything he could reach, like touch was the only language he trusted.

You moved together slowly at first—bodies adjusting, memorizing, matching breath for breath, sound for sound. Every shift brought a deeper connection, every sigh a new thread stitched between skin and soul.

By the time your pace quickened, the air around you had changed. The city had faded. The world narrowed down to this room, this moment, this need.

He moaned your name against your neck like it was a prayer.

You held him like you were anchoring a man about to fall through the floor.

When release came, it wasn’t just pleasure. It was relief. A crashing, dissolving quiet that left you tangled together, chest to chest, sweat-slicked and breathless, your pulse finally syncing to something steady.

You didn't let go.

And neither did he.

Just stayed inside you, forehead pressed to your shoulder, arms locked around you like the world outside your bodies had ceased to exist.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t have to.

You had this.

────────────────────────

Следующее утро

The Next Morning

The market was quiet in the way city mornings could be. Early light filtered between rusted awnings, the smell of spices and stone settling into the cracks of the pavement. You walked beside him, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat of his arm near yours.

He was holding plums.

Inspecting them like they were treasure.

You watched him quietly, a faint, unreadable smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It was absurd—how gentle he looked now, murmuring something about ripeness in Romanian under his breath. You didn't understand every word, but the tone was enough.

Then—

Something shifted.

A sharp prick under your skin.

Like static.

Like danger.

You didn’t know where it came from. A glance. A tension in the air. A silence that cut through background chatter too cleanly.

Your eyes tracked the source—an older man, just across the way, holding a folded newspaper in stiff fingers. He wasn’t watching the stand. He was watching him.

You followed the man’s line of sight, moving slowly, deliberately toward the stand. The vendor was distracted. You picked up a copy of the paper.

Front page.

Explosion at UN Assembly. Dozens dead. Suspect at large.

And beneath the headline—

His face.

Your stomach flipped. You turned sharply, plums forgotten. Walked straight to him.

Bucky looked up just as you shoved the newspaper into his chest.

He blinked. Then froze.

You didn’t raise your voice. You didn’t run. You just leaned in, eyes locked with his.

“Нам нужно уходить. Сейчас.”

[We need to leave. Now.]

He didn’t ask why. He didn’t argue. His fingers clenched the paper.

And together, without another word, you turned and disappeared into the crowd.

────────────────────────

Берлин — Безопасный объект хранения

Berlin — Secure Holding Facility

You hadn't left his side since the arrest.

When the guards cuffed him, you didn’t fight them—not yet. You walked behind him, eyes narrowed, body coiled, your presence like a blade just waiting to be unsheathed.

No one could talk to you.

The blonde one had tried—gentle voice, soft posture, his hands open like that meant anything.

You stared at him like he was furniture.

His friend had watched you carefully, tension in his jaw, waiting for you to snap.

You didn’t.

You just stood closer to Bucky.

Then there was him.

The one in black. The Panther.

The moment he tried to approach, your hand twitched toward your hip. You had no weapon. Didn’t need one. Your body was a weapon. The look in your eyes alone was enough to make one of his guards step between you.

They tried to separate you.

You didn’t let them.

You didn’t speak a word—not in English, not in Russian. You were a storm in the room, silent and immovable. And even Bucky, tired and cuffed and quiet, looked at you with something just shy of awe.

Then the elevator opened.

She stepped out.

Red hair. Calm stride. Cold eyes that knew.

You didn’t need her name.

She didn’t need yours.

Natasha Romanoff approached slowly. Not cautiously. Respectfully.

She spoke in Russian, voice smooth but even.

“Мы никогда не встречались, но я знаю, кто ты.”

[We never met, but I know who you are.]

You said nothing.

She stopped a few feet away.

“Ты Сетка.” [You’re The Web.]

Still, no answer. But your gaze softened—fractionally.

Because you knew her too.

Not from missions. Not from photos.

From whispers in hallways. From training drills where instructors used her name like a warning.

Natalia Romanova. The Black Widow.

The one who escaped.

The one who survived.

“Он этого не делал,” you said finally.

[He didn’t do it.]

Your voice was low. Flat. Carved from certainty.

Natasha studied you. Something passed behind her eyes.

“I believe you,” she answered.

Then, more carefully:

“Но тебе нужно это сказать в суде.”

[But you need to say that in court.]

You stared at her.

Eyes hard.

“You’re his only alibi,” she added. “Without you, they’ll tear him apart.”

The thought made your stomach twist.

You clenched your jaw. Glanced at the camera behind Natasha—at Bucky, sitting in a metal chair, hands cuffed, head bowed.

You gave a slow nod.

And for the first time since his arrest—your eyes left him.

────────────────────────

The lights died without warning.

A loud click. A sharp hum.

Then—darkness.

Shouts echoed down the corridors. Metal scraped. Radios crackled with confusion. Power was down, systems offline, backup still lagging behind.

People froze. You didn’t.

You moved.

No hesitation. No questions.

The moment the lights dropped, your body remembered.

Because this kind of darkness only ever meant one thing.

You sprinted through the corridor like blood in a vein, bypassing the agents stumbling toward emergency protocols, your feet silent, lethal. Every step was muscle memory. Every twist and turn of the hallway a reflex carved into you long before freedom ever tasted real.

The door to the security wing came into view.

Ten guards. No time.

The first went down with a strike to the throat, his flashlight bouncing twice against the wall before silence claimed him.

The second reached for his radio—he didn’t get the chance. You broke his wrist, then slammed his head against the concrete.

They didn’t scream.

You didn’t give them the chance.

Three. Four. Five.

A baton cracked across your ribs—you spun and caught the next one mid-swing, driving his weapon into his own throat. The others hesitated.

That was their mistake.

Six. Seven. Eight.

Blood sprayed against the wall, glistening in the emergency red light now blinking to life.

Nine and ten dropped nearly at once—one from your heel, the other from your elbow, the weight of him crumbling against the wall with a breathless grunt.

You didn’t stop moving.

Not for breath. Not for pain. Not for blood.

You reached the holding cell just as the red emergency lights revealed him through the glass.

Bucky.

No. Not Bucky.

The Soldat.

His expression was blank. Eyes lifeless. Shoulders squared in that familiar, bone-deep way.

Inside the glass room, a man stood calmly—his voice rhythmic, deliberate.

“…Грузовой автомобиль.. Отчет—м…”

[Freight car... Mission report—m…]

You moved. Fast. You didn’t shout. You didn’t warn.

You slammed into the door controls, cracked them open with a guard’s badge, and dove through just as the man turned.

Your fist collided with his jaw before the last word could leave his mouth. He hit the floor, unconscious, blood blooming from his temple.

And then—

Silence.

Just the sound of the red lights humming.

You turned slowly. And looked at him.

Not Bucky. Not anymore.

Those eyes—the ones you’d let kiss your neck, trace your waist, breathe your name like it was prayer—were gone.

What stared back at you now was him.

The Soldat.

Empty. Programmed. Cold.

Your chest rose and fell with sharp, silent breaths. Not from exhaustion—but from adrenaline. From the ache that started deep behind your ribs and crept outward the moment he turned and looked at you with those eyes.

Cold. Vacant. Not his.

Your fingers curled slightly, tension trembling just beneath your skin.

You took one step forward.

“Бакки,” you said softly. [Bucky]

Nothing.

Not even a blink.

Another step.

“Бакки,” you tried again. [Bucky]

Still nothing.

Your throat tightened.

You didn’t let it show.

Then—voice quieter, firmer, the way you’d been taught to never say unless you meant it—

“Солдат.” [Soldat]

His body shifted. Barely.

But his head tilted, just slightly, like the command lodged itself where language became law.

“Готов к выполнению.”

[Ready to comply.]

You closed your eyes for half a second. Just long enough to breathe.

And then you moved toward him. Hands raised.

No fear now. Not anymore. Not after all this time. Not after all the nights he’d held you like you were the only thing in the world that stopped him from drowning.

“Это не ты,” you murmured, approaching slowly. [This isn’t you.]

He didn’t respond. Didn’t move.

You laid your palms on his chest, feeling the warmth there—his heartbeat still steady, still human. You let your fingers spread, grounding yourself in the body you knew like your own.

“Ты не он.” [You’re not him.]

Your hands slid upward—over his collarbone, along his jaw, up to the sides of his face.

His eyes didn’t change. But he didn’t pull away. Didn’t react.

“Посмотри на меня.” [Look at me.]

Your thumbs traced just beneath his eyes. Soft. Intentional.

“Вернись ко мне.” [Come back to me.]

Stillness. And then—

A flicker. Just a breath. The barest crack behind his gaze.

His lips parted slightly, brows knitting, as if a noise were caught in his throat—something unsaid, something struggling to be remembered.

Your voice stayed low. Calm.

“Ты со мной сейчас.” [You’re with me now.]

His breath was just beginning to shift. Something in his face softening, eyes twitching with confusion—recognition pulling like a thread through fog.

Then—

Footsteps.

Boots on tile. Raised voices. Weapons ready.

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Steve’s voice broke through first. “Bucky—!”

And in an instant, the tension returned.

Bucky’s body went rigid beneath your hands. His spine snapped straight, jaw locked, breath shallow and clipped. The softness vanished like it had never been there.

You felt the shift. Felt the Soldat rising again.

“Нет,” you whispered, voice firm, thumb still pressed to his cheekbone. “Нет.” [No.]

His hands twitched at his sides. You didn’t flinch.

You pressed closer, chest against his, forehead nearly touching his now. Then—

Movement behind you.

A shuffle of armor. The slight drag of a weapon’s safety clicking off.

You turned your head sharply—just enough to meet them.

Steve. Sam. T’Challa, face hard with fury, muscles taut with the restraint of a man who wanted to strike.

You stepped slightly in front of Bucky, still keeping one hand on his chest like you were holding a live wire.

Your eyes burned into all of them.

Then you pointed down at the unconscious man—Zemo, still bleeding from where you struck him.

“Вот ваш подрывник,” you spat, low and lethal. [There’s your bomber.]

None of them moved. Not yet.

Steve looked between you and Bucky, guilt bleeding into his features. Sam lowered his weapon just slightly. T’Challa’s jaw worked, but his eyes flicked to the man on the floor. Realisation behind his misplaced anger.

You didn’t wait for them to speak. You turned back to Bucky. Hands on his face again.

“Ты здесь,” you whispered, not begging—commanding. [You’re here.]

His breathing slowed. Not calm. But contained.

The emergency power roared back to life.

Lights flickered overhead, harsh and unforgiving. Cameras reactivated. Screens across the control room sparked awake, broadcasting every inch of the cell.

Security forces tensed.

Steve took a step forward—halted only by the look you shot him.

Deadly. Final. And then.

You turned back. Everyone was watching. But none of it mattered.

You pressed your hand gently to Bucky’s chest again, fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt like you were anchoring him there—in this moment, in this body.

His face twitched. Brows drew together in pain. His jaw clenched. The lines of the Soldat’s posture—so rigid, so familiar—began to shake.

You stepped closer still, voice low, Russian rolling like smoke from your lips. Words meant for him and no one else.

“Ты здесь. Это прошло. Это я. Только я.”

[You’re here. It’s over. It’s me. Only me.]

You said it like a vow. Like something you’d carve into him if you had to.

He blinked once. A flinch. Barely visible. Then his eyes met yours. Not hollow. Not gone.

Still struggling. Still fighting. But there.

His breathing hitched—once, then twice—and then with something like agony, he let out a sound low in his throat.

He bowed his head. And leaned into you.

Forehead against your shoulder, arms rising slowly—tentative at first, then tighter, until he was holding you with a force that felt like drowning. Like if he didn’t hold you, he’d disappear.

Your hands slid into his hair, your fingers cradling the back of his skull.

Not protectively. Possessively.

He wasn’t a soldier anymore. He wasn’t a ghost. He was yours.

You didn’t look up. Not at Steve. Not at T’challa. Not at the dozens of cameras now recording this moment in real time, every politician, every soldier, every damned spectator watching the Soldat become Bucky Barnes again in the arms of the only person who knew how to bring him back.

And inside, rage burned in you like wildfire.

Not at him. At them. All of them.

For letting this happen to him. For dragging him back into it. For daring to treat him like a threat when he was barely holding himself together.

You hated them. Every last one of them.

But him?

You buried your face in his neck, whispering words no one else would ever hear.

He was the only thing you loved in this broken world.

The best way i can describe Bucky and Reader : Docile Dog and Feral Cat

[sweetbans29]

Back to You (6) - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: It's time for the truth.

Warnings: hurt

Word Count: 2.7k

Previous

Sweetbans Masterlist

You do everything in your power to work from home and avoid leaving the confines of your house. Pretty much everything you are responsible for can be done anywhere and Ben has done a stellar job of getting everything you need so you don't need to come in.

After the game, Ben took a few days to send over everything you asked for. You didn't even notice because you didn't leave your bed for several days and allowed yourself to wilt away, almost into nothing. When you finally muster up the strength to get out of bed and shower, all you need is in your inbox.

You jump into work catching up on all the missed emails and projects needing your attention. When you pick up your phone for the first time it has been about a week since the incident and you see dozens of missed calls and texts. Most of them are from Caitlin, but there are some random ones from your staff and a couple from Kate.

You know you'll be talking to your staff later so you ignore those, then look at Kate's.

[K-Money: Hey babes, just checking in - I saw the clip of the game and wanted to make sure you are still in one piece. Love you 💙]

[K-Money: Caitlin called me, please call me back. I am worried about you]

[K-Money: Call me or I am showing up at your door.]

You go to Kate's contact and hit 'call', then close your eyes.

It rings twice before she picks up.

"I thought you were dead," she says and you don't even have the strength to laugh.

“I wish I was,” you whisper as you feel tears brimming your eyes before you can stop them.

You break down and Kate lets you. You tell her everything, even the things that you haven't said out loud before. Things like, how much you still love Caitlin and how it kills you each time you see her knowing she will never be yours again. Also how you hate the fact that you want her to be yours after everything she has put you through and how time hasn’t even begun to heal you.  How it kills you that you have no idea if she was ever really yours to begin with or if any of it was real. Because how could someone just up and end a relationship after 3 years and be okay enough to walk right into someone else’s arms without flinching. 

Kate listens to every word you say, just like she did with Caitlin a few days ago.

Once you are finished, Kate speaks.

"Please listen to me when I say this and I am saying this because I love and care for you," Kate says. "You need to actually talk to Caitlin."

"No-," you begin. But Kate cuts you off.

"Please, you deserve to know the whole truth, let her tell you it," Kate says and you can hear the desperation in her voice.”I know you want to be strong and move on, but I don’t think you can do that until you find some closure. Let her give you that and then you can decide.” 

You want to ask ‘decide what?’. How could you even think of possibly letting her back in? Was there even anything to let her into when she has already taken everything from you?

You change the subject to her upcoming game and eventually end the call.

You lay there for what feels like days before you look at your phone again and at all the messages Caitlin sent. You read 3 then scroll down to the bottom, starting a new message to her.

You retype your message 4 times before you settle on 'We need to talk’. It is simple and to the point and you don't think you can keep overthinking the message.

After sending the message, you try to do some work. There really is no use because Caitlin responds within minutes of your text. 

.[Clark: Just tell me where and when and I will be there]

You decide on Gainbridge, it really wasn’t your first choice but you needed a mutual ground where you could run if needed. The time you offered was also after hours, minimizing the possibility of anyone interrupting the two of you. When you showed up later that night you slightly regret choosing this as the meeting place - I mean the last time you were here you had kissed the girl you are meeting. 

Walking in, you head to the floor and go to stand in the middle of it. You love this place. You haven’t been there long, but there is something about Indy and their sports that has you all in for what happens in this building. You couldn’t imagine ever finding another place like this. 

Per usual, you don’t see or hear Caitlin enter. Ever since day 1 she has had the bad habit of sneaking up on you. Like she usually does, she takes a moment to watch you. She has fallen in love with the way you can just be in a space and not need anything from anyone. 

Cailtin walks up slowly, making sure to make some sound so as to not scare you again. She didn’t think that would be the best way to open this conversation. 

Once you hear her, you jump anyway. 

“Shit,” you say as you whip around to see her. “We need to get you a bell or something.” 

The comment comes out before you can stop it and Caitlin cracks a smile. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I was trying to avoid scaring you.” 

“Never were good at that,” you say with a little chuckle, trying to keep yourself from breaking down at the sight of her.

She gives a shrug and both of you can tell there is a nervousness that has settled between the two of you. Neither of you bring up your last encounter - that would not be a good place to start. 

“You wanted to talk?” Caitlin asks. You don’t say anything immediately and look at her. She is wearing a pair of Nike sweatpants and an old Indiana shirt. 

Caitlin wants to squirm under your stare. She always feels exposed when you look at her, like you can see every part of her. And you do, you were always able to read her like a book. 

“Why?” You ask, no context needed. 

Caitlin knew this was coming. She looks down at her hands, wishing your eyes weren't on her. 

She knew this was a long time coming. It would be one thing if you didn’t mean anything to her and the decision her manager made was one that didn’t affect Cait to the core. But you do - you always have meant the world to her and now she has the opportunity to tell you the truth. She prayed for times like this but now standing in front of you, she’s scared. She’s scared because once you know, there is nothing she can do to change your mind. Once you know the truth, the ball is out of her hands. 

“Because I was a coward,” she starts off. It’s the truth but not all encompassing. 

She was a coward. She feared so many things that she couldn’t begin to think of a positive outcome. Caitlin looks back at her decision and in short, that sums it up. But she knows it’s not the answer you are looking for. It is not the answer you deserve.

“It was what my manager at the time thought was best and I didn’t fight her,” Cait says. “She thought that I needed to show stability as I entered the draft and that was in the form of Conor.” 

“Please don’t say his name,” you say as your eyes close. If there was anyone you hated more than Cait from that night it was him. 

Your chest tightens, the only thing you are hearing is that you weren’t worth it. 

Caitlin looks down and she knows what she was about to say would hurt you, but she knows you deserve the whole truth. 

“It was easy with him, he didn’t crowd and I didn’t have to explain anything to anyone about who I was and I thought it was what was best for me. Until I had to end things with you,” her breath was shaky now and you could tell she was on the verge of tears. To say you cared could have been hit or miss. 

“That night proved my security wrong. I knew it would hurt but I knew I would heal, or at least I thought I would heal. But the healing never came. For months, whenever I closed my eyes, all I could see was your rage, your brokenness. It got so bad to the point where I wouldn’t sleep. That night was and is my biggest regret.” Cailtin says and she is finally looking at you. You, on the other hand, can’t bring yourself to look at her. 

“We never really had a chance,” you whisper. Cailtin had never given the two of you a fighting chance but you also didn’t fight for her to give you one in the first place. It wasn’t until this moment that you realized, you are not completely innocent - even if she is the one to have made the final decision. 

“Don’t say that,” she says, believing you guys did. 

“We didn’t though,” you bite back. “Nobody knew Caitlin, our whole relationship was built in secret, behind closed doors. No one knew anything and when no one knows such a vital part of who someone is, is that part even real?” 

“All of it was real!” She says, exploding for the first time. “Every single part of it was real. You were the most real thing in my life and I had to let that go - I had to let you go. I didn’t have a choice! Between the pressure from the media, my manager, my family - I didn’t have a place for me to be Caitlin except when I was with you, And then they wanted that and took that from me, leaving me even more confused about who I was. And the thing is, I was going to tell my parents, I was going to tell them everything going into the draft because I loved you so Goddamn much that there was no way those that claimed they loved me could not love you. And then I was forced into a relationship to please the world, without even being asked how it would affect me. And then I actually had to do it - cut you from my life without any explanation, any support. What made it worse is the timing.” 

Caitlin is crying at this point and so are you. 

“I know I can’t go back to that night, but if I could I would take it all back. I would tell you that I was ready to tell my parents and we would drive there right then and there. I would show you off to the world because you are the sole reason I am who I am.” Cailtin says. 

This whole situation is fucked. 

“I still love you,’ she says in defeat. “I am still in love with you, have never stopped. And I know I made a mess of things - I probably set us up to fail in the first place, but I am not the same person I was before. I am not the coward who thought I could survive without you because I can’t. I cannot survive without you.”

She takes a deep inhale as if this is the first time she has been able to breathe since that night. 

“But I know you have had to learn to survive without me, I didn't give you a choice. You have healed and have moved on,” Caitlin can’t stop the tears from falling. “And I want to be happy for you, I really do - Kayla seems great.” Her words are forced. “I will be happy for you. You deserve to be happy.” 

You don’t know what it is, it could be the fact that there is a crying Caitlin in front of you or the fact that she just said she still loves you but you reach out to touch her. Your hands come to her shoulders and the second you do, she crumbles. You hold her as she shakes and lets everything she has been holding out. 

She still loves you.

You still love her. 

Is it really that simple? Can it truly be that simple? 

It can’t be, right? Because all you have thought about is the hurt - you haven’t taken any time to think back and remember what it was like to actually be with her. The moments when she was at the center of your world. 

Once Caitlin calms down, you compose your thoughts. 

“You’re right,” you say “I do deserve to be happy.” 

“But you are also wrong. I had to pick myself back up and keep going but I never healed. I thought I did, I truly believed that I had moved on from you and then I got a job here. I had to pick up my life and move it to the one place I did not want to be. And it wasn’t until coming here and seeing you that I realized, I am not healed. I have not healed. Because the second I saw you, I wanted to run back into your arms but I couldn’t and I hated myself for wanting to.” 

It is your turn to exhale. Your eyes close. 

“I love you Caitlin Clark,” you say. “I hate it, but I do. And I don’t know how to live without you and that infuriates me.” 

“Give me a chance,” she says, the table has flipped and now she is the one that has her hands on your shoulders. “Give me a chance to prove that things have changed. That I have changed.” 

You so desperately want to. It is one of the only things you have wanted but you don’t think you could survive if she walked out again. It would end you. 

But then why? Why did you choose to come here? Yes, it was for a job - your dream job but it wasn’t the only place offering. Maybe it was because deep down you knew you had to see her again. Even with the past you had, she was meant to be in your future. 

“If I lose you again, I don’t think I would survive,” you say just above a whisper. 

“You won’t,” she says as her hands now come up to cup your face. 

“You don’t know that,” you say, eyes still closed. You can’t look at her, looking at her makes this all real. 

“I do know that,” she says with such an assurance. “I know it because I will walk away from everything, all of it right now if it means I can begin to fix what I broke in you.” 

Are you an idiot for this? Are you an idiot for wanting to let her back in? Are you an idiot because you are actually about to let her?

Your eyes open and you look at her. Both of your eyes are red and puffy.

“You are not going to walk away from everything,” you say and Caitlin protests. 

“I will-,” she begins but you cut her off. 

“I won’t let you walk away from everything,” you say. “You would drive both of us crazy if you didn’t play.” 

You say it and you mean it. You have no idea how this is going to go but like she said, you deserve to be happy. And if there is anything you have learned without her, it is that you only ever truly learned what happiness looks like for you because of her. 

“Us?” She says, but it’s choked out. 

“Ya, us,” you say. “But I swear, if you even think of walking out again-” 

Caitlin slams you into her body as she wraps her arms around you. 

“Never,” she says and you believe her. 

AN: This series isn't my favorite but we are going to close it out strong, hopefully. Let em know what you think! And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

[slugsby-pt3]

I already know the tcc meet up is gonna be backshotmania

[antiadvil]

sorry people are annoying about your chronic illness lou i think you rock and it sucks that you have migraine 😔 you deserve to have so much fun at tit no matter what tho. love you x1000

thank you <3 i am really excited for tit!! i was talking with some friends the other day and i'm trying to convince a friend to visit for the show so we could go together and even if they can't make it it's going to be so fun. i'm for sure going to be meeting up with a friend who i met up with at WAD and there should be a few other tumblr people there who i'm excited to meet :) i'm planning to take a nurtec beforehand to hopefully help prevent a migraine from the lights/general excitement of the experience and i will have my nsaids and triptans with me in case that's not enough!

my real hope though is that whatever we do at my next neurology appointment will actually help this time (which it should... i think i've finally jumped through enough hoops for botox or a cgrp antagonist but i've thought that before and insurance has told me i am wrong) and i will maybe not need to worry so much about all the migraine stuff. summoning circle or whatever

[faetealights]

give me the strength to shower

[pacofprunes]

my house, your house, aka, my girlfriend, your girlfriend. (mi casa, su casa)

thanos x fem!reader, nam-gyu x fem!reader

warnings — noncon, cursing, lowercase, drugs, injections(1), oral(fem), needles, nam-gyu and thanos argue like children, 3sum, protection not specified but you can assume none, thanos is referred to as su-bong by the reader, nam-gyu calls thanos “T-dog” once, lowkey nam-gyu is manipulating thanos or some shit im ngl, too much to count

“come on bro, cut me some slack, i’ll pay you back, you know im good for it.”

thanos stood in front of his good friend and dealer nam-gyu. desperate for some more drugs. he didn’t have the money though and was damn near about to get on his fucking knees just to get one more pill.

“i cut you slack everytime i sell to you thanos. i’m cutting you slack right now actually and you still don’t have enough.”

thanos runs his hands through his hair about to lose his cool. despite needing more, thanos would never allow himself to actually run out. he always has something on him. if he ever truly runs out, you’ll catch him with a shot of mouth wash in his pocket or some random ass prescription meds.

thanos opens his cross up, frowning at the little amount of pills left before popping one in his mouth. after sitting for a few seconds he shakes his head back and forth intensely before he jumps up.

“alright man! how bout you let me pay in some other way, huh?”

nam-gyu scoffs before he starts to laugh.

“you tryna sell yourself to me?”

thanos pushes him back by his shoulder.

“nah bro, what the fuck? i ain’t that bad! now you? you are an absolute junkie, i could see you doing that. you’re worse than me! stickin’ needles in your arms and shit.”

nam-gyu just scoffs again before biting his lip back. him and thanos were close friends. best buds. in fact, he lost a lot of ‘customers’ due to the fact that he’d sometimes give shit to thanos for free and they all wanted a piece of that. he was thinking of a way he could let thanos pay it off before you pop into his head. god you were fucking gorgeous. perfect face, perfect body, and such a perfect girl. despite dating a junkie and hanging around junkies, you yourself didn’t really use. only thing he’s ever seen you do is vape and smoke some weed. he’s expressed to thanos numerous times how perfect you were, and thanos was probably too high to give a fuck. and he’s high like 90% of the time. you were the one girl thanos actually wanted to date and stay with and not just fuck a couple nights of the week or whenever he hit you up. clearly you were perfect.

“give me a turn with your girl.”

thanos looks at him confused.

“my girl?”

“yes, your girl. i want a turn. you know, fuck, hit it and quit it, whatever you wanna say.”

thanos scoffs at him before looking away for a second. he was never opposed to sharing a girl in the past but you were different. you weren’t thanos’s fuck toy, no, you were thanos’s girl. and there’s a difference. a big difference. but nam-gyu was his bro. his best bro. he could share you with him.

“i’m not opposed to it but she’s not gonna want to, i mean look at you.”

now nam-gyu hits thanos and he just laughs. saying he was joking.

“okay, but seriously. my girl isn’t gonna wanna sleep with you. for one, she’s loyal, she loves me, and,”

nam-gyu stands there waiting for him to say something else and finish his sentence before saying a sarcastic ‘and?’ back to him. thanos shrugs his shoulders.

“that’s all i got.”

nam-gyu rolls his eyes before throwing a shoulder over thanos.

“cmon, you haven’t ever taken no as an answer, huh?”

thanos pouts his lip out to the side and thinks for a second.

“i mean, from her, yeah.”

nam-gyu lets out a heavy breath before throwing his head back.

“just for one night. why don’t you treat her like any other bitch you used to do and just force her to let it happen.”

thanos looks offended at that and moves nam-gyus shoulder off of him. wondering if the drugs were really worth it. yeah if it was mutual between all of you he wouldn’t have really cared but he knew what nam-gyu was clearly insinuating.

“she’s gonna break up with me if i do.”

nam-gyu pauses to think before handing him a pill.

“oh man, really? for free?”

nam-gyu snatches his hand back.

“no. give this to her. it’ll make her a little drunk is all’. she won’t even remember by the morning.”

thanos thinks before snatching the pill out of his hand, looking down and inspecting it. he mumbles something under his breath.

“some fucked up shit,”

he lets out a heavy breath before looking at nam-gyu and points a finger at him.

“alright bro! but ima be there the whole time. and ima be getting my fair share with her too. she’s my girl after all, alright? i’m the one who knows how to please her.”

nam-gyu smirks at him before he gives him a nod.

“whatever you say. just don’t touch my dick or nothin’,”

thanos scoffs before taking a hit of his vape.

“not in a million fucking years! you don’t got nothing to worry about.”

—

“cmon babe, i take em’ all the time! just give it a shot.”

you look at your boyfriend like he’s gone crazy. he’s never tried to make you do drugs except for the first few times you met. the most you’ve done was smoke weed with him, he knew you didn’t do that crap. you didn’t even like when he did it but you supported him either way. why he was trying to pressure you to take this pill? you had no idea.

“what’s going on with you? you know i don’t do that crap.”

he playfully shakes you by your shoulders, giving you a fake pouty look.

“please baby…it’ll put you in this trance and make us feel like you’re on cloud nine. it’ll make falling asleep together in bed feel like a magical dream.”

you give him a concerned look before you act as if you’re gonna grab the pill from him but you just push it up to his mouth. he wouldn’t even let it slip past his lips.

“see! you take every drug under the sun and you wouldn’t even take it. why are you trying to give me something that you don’t even want?”

he lays his head on your shoulder and holds one of your hands and massaging it in his hand.

“it’s not that, i just already took one and you can’t take more than one in an hour!”

you deadpan at him.

“just get some alcohol or something if you’re really concerned on making our bedtime magical.”

he sighs before playfully pinching your arm, you let out an ow.

“you always played hard to get.”

you laugh.

“but that’s why you love me, is it not?”

he kisses you before pulling away and looking you in your eyes.

“you’re right.”

he pulls away completely now before making an ‘o’ face.

“oh, right, nam-su’s coming over in a few. kay’? kay.”

you give him a contorted look before complaining that you wanted to go to bed or that he never told you but he just ignores you, skipping away and shutting the bedroom door behind him. you press your palm into your forehead and let out a groan. he was literally going to be the death of you. but you loved him and his stupid antics.

—

“she wouldn’t take it man. i gave her the puppy dog eyes and everything!”

nam-gyu face palms himself before pulling something out of his pocket. a needle.

“hit her with this.”

“oh hell no. that’s that crazy ass shit you use, we’re not using that.”

nam-gyu shrugs before injecting the substance in his arm and thanos gives him a grotesque look.

“look man, just wait till she goes to sleep. she’s a heavy sleeper. i end up on top of her every night and i got some loud ass snores after drinking too much and she still doesn’t wake up.”

“how longs her going to sleep gonna take?”

“like now,”

“now?”

“yes. what are you complaining for? you took an hour longer to get here so she already fell asleep.”

thanos leads nam-gyu to your guys shared bedroom and slowly creeks open the door and peeks in before signaling nam-gyu to follow. on the bed was you sound asleep, not suspecting a thing.

“aw man, I don’t know if i should let you do this. if she wakes up she’s gonna know and break up with me. she’s already pissed at me for tryna’ get her to take that stupid ass pill you gave me.”

nam-gyu just slaps him on the back and brushes him off before he goes to sit next to you on the bed. the bed dipping down and you slightly moving toward the dip. he moves your hair behind your ear and brushes his hand down your cheek to your neck. your actual boyfriend just standing in the corner hitting his vape. the room starting to become a literal cloud. nam-gyu moves down and pulls down your pajamas, viewing your pretty legs, rubbing his hand on the inside of your thigh before pulling your panties down. thanos takes the vape out of his mouth and moves closer before nam-gyu can even put a finger in.

“you’re not very good at…this. i know what her body likes so i’ll take care of it and then you can do almost whatever.”

nam-gyu rolls his eyes before moving away from your pussy, leaving that to thanos and moving his attention up to your torso.

“could you cut the good protective boyfriend crap? you’re letting your shitty drug dealer best friend fuck her without asking just so you can pay for some more drugs. pretty fuckin’ hypocritical if you ask me.”

he laughs and thanos just stares at him blankly before turning his attention back to you. he lays his head on your stomach, rubbing his hands over it before going back down lower in between your thighs. starting to rub you in all the ways he knows you and your body loves.

“you’re all worried about me gettin’ rough but i’ve seen how you’ve fucked bitches before and it certainly ain’t nice.”

thanos looks back up at nam-gyu.

“oh don’t worry, i still fuck like an animal. i haven’t gotten soft, don’t think that for a second. but her, this is thanos’s girl! i let her get her high and i get mine. don’t wanna rip her pretty pussy apart.”

nam-gyu hums in response and snakes his hand under your shirt, groping you and teasing your nipples between his fingers, harsh pinches that if you were awake it’d have you screaming. such harsh pinches that it might as well wake you up. thanos still focused on your pussy, slaps wherever he can manage to hit nam-gyu without seeing, mumbling that he was gonna wake you up.

“she isn’t gonna see me if she wakes up. she’s gonna see you, so she won’t even be mad.”

thanos sits up between your legs and starts fucking with his own pants and boxers, pulling them down. nam-gyu looks over before quickly looking away, slapping his hand over his eyes.

“man, i didn’t wanna see your dick, put that shit away!”

thanos scoffs.

“we’re fucking my girl and you didn’t expect to see my dick? i’m gonna have to see yours! and i know mines bigger.”

he mumbled that last part.

“ugh, please let me go first. i don’t wanna put my dick in after you, that’s basically me fucking you.”

“okay? you should be honored.”

“honored that i’m fucking you?”

“i’m fucking thanos man. you should be honored you even get to see me like this and that i don’t stab your eyes out!”

nam-gyu scrunches his eyebrows together at him.

“yeah, i kinda think i want you to.”

“want me to what?”

nam-gyu slaps his forehead.

“stab my eyes out you fucking idiot.”

thanos ignores him, mumbling some curses before slowly pushing himself into your tight hole. he sits there for a minute before immediately thrusting himself into you fast as fuck and rough as shit. he grips his hands on your hips, to the point where it would definitely bruise in the morning. he continues chasing his own high until he abruptly stops due to the huge stir you just made in your sleep. nam-gyu holding in his laugh due to thanos’s ridiculous wide eyes. he was so still you’d think he was frozen from the inside.

“what’s wrong? keep going. you wanted to take her first.”

“shut the fuck up.”

thanos lets out a deep breath before opening his cross and popping a pill in his mouth and throwing his head back just staring at the ceiling, trying to stop himself from being so tense. he pulls out of you and decides to just jack off next to you on the side of the bed so you don’t wake up as soon as they start. pouting to himself because he wanted his girl to help him out instead of his right hand. nam-gyu gets up and places himself between your legs now, not hesitating to slide in, ignoring the stirring that you were doing. it just made his dick twitch even more, all your moving doing the work for him. he starts feeling you up as he slowly moves in and out of you, taking his time before he starts thrusting so hard that you smack the headboard of the bed. thanos drops his dick out of his hand and snaps his head up at nam-gyu?

“are you trying to wake her up?”

“not completely opposed to it. i’m livin’ by ‘if she wakes up she wakes up’.”

“it won’t be an ‘if’ she wakes up if you keep this shit up.”

you start to stir but nam-gyu could careless, keeping his rough pace. your eyebrows scrunching together as you place your hand on your face before propping your arms behind you to push yourself up. but the moment you do that you feel something slide out of you. you felt so full, felt good but at the same time this painful burning feeling. you mumble out for thanos, asking what he was doing and he climbs on top of you, laying his body flat on you before holding your face in his hands, pressing a tight kiss. you’re too out of it to reciprocate. having just woke up. although nam-gyu stopped for the second you completely woke, he quickly decides ‘fuck it’ and starts slamming so hard into you that you hit the headboard again. you quickly contort your face in pain and thanos snaps his head back at nam-gyu, causing nam-gyu to shrug. he snaps his head back to you, your face still in his hands before you go to move them.

“have you been fucking me while i’ve been asleep? what the hell has gotten into you su-bong?”

he quickly presses you into a kiss, this time a much rougher one to keep you quiet as you press your hands against his chest to get him off of you. he moves his hands back to your face, squeezing it tightly. finally he pulls away and that’s when nam-gyu finally pulls out. you hadn’t even known that he was there.

“ah man, she’s awake. whatever, can i use her mouth now T-dog?”

thanos scoffs at him and your eyes widen even more. wondering what was going on and why nam-gyu was here. you go to open your mouth but thanos just presses a finger to it.

“shh babe. i won’t let him do all that.”

“psh, maybe not today but sure you will at some point.”

you yell at thanos to get off of you so that you can leave and he just groans at you, frustrated.

“shut the fuck up. i’ve been pretty nice, huh? don’t piss me off now baby. he’s still here, i could let him do so much more.”

he leans in closer to your ear.

“and trust me, i know he wants to.”

he moves away from your ear and just looks over you, still completely on top of you before clapping his hands together.

“in fact, he wants to do shit that i’d never in a million years dream of doin’ to you. but if you’re gonna start being a bitch i’ll be a nice friend and let his dreams come true.”

nam-gyu rolls his eyes.

“yeah, a nice friend for once.”

“you don’t consider me letting you fuck my girl a friendly thing of me to do for you?”

nam-gyu throws his hands in the air shrugging.

“idontknow man,”

you were still so confused and couldn’t grasp the situation, feeling hands who you could assume were nam-gyus gliding up your thighs and fingers starting to play with your pussy, quickly going to kick at him before his hands hold your legs down and he settles for using his mouth instead. your eyes start to tear up and you take as large as a breath as you can with thanos still on top of you. you start to hit at him again, not caring what he’d have to say before he just stares at the wall blankly for a few seconds, letting you have your tantrum, before unexpectedly throwing his hands at your throat and choking you.

“shh, you’re good. i’ll make breakfast for ya in the morning, whatdya say? i think nam-gyus staying the night tho.”

he lets go of your neck with one hand, the other still staying on your neck and his now using his free hand he sticks out his tongue and puts his finger on it making an exaggerated fake disgusted look. you continue to try to free yourself, black spots clouding your vision more and more. god, why would you decide that hanging around, let alone dating an insanely active drug user and constantly partying with his drug dealer buddy’s was a good idea? now this crazy fuck was gonna kill you and he was gonna have a whole conversation with you as if nothing was wrong while he did it. he puts his other hand back on your neck while you just hold onto his wrist, not bothering to actually scratch at him, but just holding it and looking at him with the eyes that he fell in love with. the tears threatening to spill that whenever he saw he always took care of. hoping some slither of humanity was still left in the guy you thought you loved. he frees his one hand from choking you before your vision fully starts to fade, feeling his hand glide against your cheek before it all goes dark and he finally lets go, letting out a long shaky deep breath. the effects of his drugs starting to let up and his actions starting to dawn on him, quickly checking to make sure you were still alive before quickly getting up off of you so you wouldn’t have as much trouble breathing.

nam-gyu quickly pulls his pants back up and leaves thanos to slide yours up as well. he goes over to him and throws his arm over his shoulder before flicking the cross pendant around thanos’s neck. thanos looks down, not thinking to heavy on it and just opens it, taking the last pill out and popping it in his mouth as quickly as possible. nam-gyu reaches in his pocket and shuffles around before pulling out a bag filled with the pills thanos has been desiring, dangling it in front of his face. thanos’s eyes immediately widen in surprise.

“you shouldn’t have to bitch to me about needing more for at least two weeks unless you take like fifteen a day.”

thanos shakes his hands, wiggling his arms around a little, hoping the drug he just took takes its course as quickly as possible so he can feel better about what he just did.

“don’t worry man. as long as you clean her up i’m sure she’ll wake up thinkin’ it was all just a bad dream.”

thanos takes the bag of pills from him. nam-gyu gave him so much that he knew they all wouldn’t even fit in his cross. he looks at the bag one last time before he looks back down at you. he starts tossing the bag back and forth between his hands like a ball, thinking about what nam-gyu said. yeah, yeah he was probably right. you’d probably wake up thinking it was just some weird bad dream you made up. yeah. he’d make breakfast for you, apologize for trying to pressure you into taking that pill and you’d think it was all just a dream. nam-gyu coughs before speaking.

“so will there be a next time?”

the drugs start speaking for thanos before he could even comprehend what he was saying. before he could actually even know what he was saying. and he’s sure he wouldn’t even remember what he was saying either.

“shit, if you’re throwing this much around then hell yeah there’s gonna be a next time.”

[baby-yongbok]

JOI-ful

Hwang Hyunjin x Afab!Reader

✦ Genre - Smut [MDNI] - Established Relationship ✦ Word Count - 1.8k

✦ CW -  Mutual Masturbation + JOI (Guided masturbation), Unprotected sex & creampie (wrap it up for santa), Choking (self-inflicted by hyunjin for like a minute), Odd holiday sexual innuendos.. ✦ Summary - You and Hyunjin are feeling something other than holiday cheer after digging up your holiday decorations. ✦A/N - I'm late asf but life has been a bitch and I wanted to write to that moment in the livestream Hyunjin joined with Innie and Seungmin like a week or two ago? Anyway, enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡

✦ Masterlist✦

He's a fucking tease. 

You've known that since you met him but right now; while you both lounge in your living room after hauling every box of Christmas decorations you could find up from your basement you find that it’s the worst that it has been in awhile.

You’re supposed to be putting your Christmas tree up before heading to his parents house for a holiday dinner but you’re stuck staring. Hyunjin was exhausted by the hunt for the boxes but you didn’t expect for that to lead to him laid back, manspreading on the couch across from you and looking damn good while doing it.  

You told him to rest, but what the fuck?

It doesn’t help that he’s been working you up all. fucking. day. Lingering looks and touches in the kitchen this morning, sexual innuendos while rummaging through the tiny basement and now this. You've been strong, you've gotten through it but you don't know how much more you can take.  

The tease in question is scrolling on his phone while you sit in the chair opposite the sofa. The boxes of decorations are haphazardly spread in the space between the two of you but they do nothing to obstruct your view as you allow your eyes to wander. Your gaze runs over the expanse of his leg, his muscles are hidden beneath the loose cut of his jeans but you have no trouble imagining.

You trace over his pelvis and hip, you take in his large hand rubbing over what you know is a toned stomach that you would just love to mark up right now. Your gaze goes up, up, up until it meets his. 

And he fucking smiles. 

Hyunjin sits up on his elbows, dropping his phone to the side with his eyes on you. You're frozen, shocked and embarrassed that you got caught but that only lasts for a second before you run with it. You keep his eye contact and lean in to challenge it. He likes that. 

“Darling.” Hyunjin's tone is innocent when it hits your ears. Deceiving. 

“Yes, honey?” You lean against the arm of the chair, resting your chin in your palm while he sits up further, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. 

“What kind of mood are you in?” He takes his turn at taking you in, drinking in every inch he can before his eyes are on yours again. 

“What do you mean?” 

“What kind of mood are you in, baby? I think that the question is clear.” The corner of his mouth turns up and he speaks slowly like he handcrafted the words himself.

“Are you asking if I want you?”

“Mhm.” The quick dart of his tongue over his bottom lip distracts you. “Do you want me?”

“What makes you think that I do?” 

“You’re staring.” He shifts, “So obviously too.”

The contents of the conversion goes over your head and crumbles into a thick tension much quicker than you expected it to. You both stayed right where you were but your clothes made it to the floor with the boxes eventually. 

You don’t remember what you said that made Hyunjin decide that it was too hot to keep on his cardigan and black tank top but you don’t care to remember when he undoes his jeans and pulls them down his lithe waist just enough to free his heavy cock from the confines. 

He’s still got his eyes on you, still laid back on his elbows but now he’s got his leaky dick 

in his palm while his long fingers - that you wish would replace your own - work over the head of his cock so expertly that you can hear his breath hitch from where you sit. 

But there’s a catch.

“Oh fuck.” He attempts to whisper but he doesn't quite make it.  “More, more, please.”

You listen, watching him lie back, flushed and deep in the pool of pleasure that you're controlling.

“Twist your hand over the tip.” You whimper from your chair where your fingers are exploring your own soaked sex. “Keep your pace, don’t speed up yet.”

He listens, whimpering so beautifully it makes your pussy clench around nothing while your fingers run up your folds and send a shiver down your spine when you circle your swollen clit. 

“Just your clit.” He orders back, his voice rough and thick with desire. “Tease it for me, just how I would.”

You whisper a curse, following his instruction and moaning at the way it lights your skin ablaze. 

“Hand around your throat.” He moans at your order before his digits can even touch the flushed skin of his neck. “Squeeze, just like I would.” His head is thrown back, long fingers wrapped around his throat while his other hand pumps his leaky cock at the pace you set.

 His hips buck up into his fist and it takes everything in you to fight back a moan. “Shit, please, harder.”

“Harder?” You whisper back to him, letting your finger slip down from your clit to where you’re leaking. “Please.” He moans and you keen, indulging in more than you were ordered to.

“Behave.” He hisses, letting his fucked out gaze linger on your wandering digit. “Just your clit, you heard me.” You pull back and press a firm circle into your clit that punches such a perfect pornographic moan from you that Hyunjin reconsiders his instruction for just a second.

 Instead of retracting his order he squeezes the sides of his throat a bit harder, indulging in the blurry headrush that your moans feed him. 

“Faster.” You moan and he crumbles, complying in an instant. His hand polishes his blushed mushroom tip with newfound fervor. Precum dribbles down and gets caught between his fingers in a sticky mess that you want to swirl your tongue around.

“You’re trying to make me cum.” His words are choked and drowned out by the groan that follows. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“You’re getting distracted, hun.” You tease with stuttered breath and trembling fingers. “It’s your move.”

Hyunjin is a mess, his tongue is heavy and pressed against the roof of his mouth. He can barely hold a word but he tries, uttering a sound that is just an ounce less desperate than the last. “Fuck yourself.” His breath catches, his eyes shut. “Two fingers, hit that fucking spot I’m thinking about.” 

It’s over from there. 

Your fingers slip down and slip in easily. They’re nothing like Hyunjin’s long fingers, the way he’d scissor into you and curl up against your sweet spot is unrivaled but you pretend. You’re knuckle deep, eyes open and watching him with a slack jaw that exchanges lewd sounds with him. 

His hand picks up pace over his cock, ignoring your set pace as he chases his high and imagines that it’s your touch that’s sending electricity down his spine. Your touch, your cunt, your mouth, he’s lost in the feeling. Hypnotized by the delicious burn of his impending orgasm.

“Hyune, fuck, you’re so… so hot like that.” He fixes his mouth to challenge your praise but it only nudges him closer. “Wan’ you, your fingers. Mine aren't’ enough, they - they aren’t yours.”

Your whining breaks him, it gets him up and over to you, kicking the boxes of decorations to the side until he can take a step wide enough to scoop you up from the chair and replace your body with his own. It’s hot, heavy and messy. He sits you in his lap, your soaked heat over his leaky length and his lips crash to yours in a kiss that makes you dizzy. 

Your lips move in a tangled tandem that has you exchanging and swallowing moans until you have to come up for air. He holds your jaw, gentle but firm “You’re gonna sit on my cock and make us cum, okay?” 

You nod, lift up and sink down like it’s second nature. Hyunjin slumps back in the chair, manspreading just like he did earlier but now there’s little to leave to the imagination. He’s sheathed so deep that you can feel his tip kiss your cervix. 

“Baby, I won’t last another fucking second.” His hand is on your hip, long fingers splayed over the plush flesh while the other moves to rub brutal circles over your puffy clit. “Cum on me, c’mon.”

You’d fall back from the bold pang of overstimulation if he didn't move his arm around your waist. He keeps your hips down, guiding you to grind in his lap. He cock twitches inside of your swelling walls, abusing your guts like it’s his fucking job and you come undone. 

“Hyunjin, I’m fucking cumming. I’m fucking - shit, baby, baby.” He takes that as an invitation, joining you in the clouds as he spills sticky white deep in your cunt. His hips buck, his lips fix into a thin line with a choked howl and you collapse forward, riding the wave of aftershocks while he shudders.

“God fucking damn, jagi, fuck.” He wraps his arms around you, grabbing onto you in an attempt to find his bearings but he only finds more of a reason to fall apart. You’ve never been so full of him, dripping his seed with more coming from the shuddering man beneath you. “So much.” You whimper and he keens with his eyes screwed shut and lips parted. 

You kiss him, sloppy and sweet. It makes his hips buck up and you grind down to meet the movement but he squeezes you harder to stop you. “Nuh uh.” He mumbles into the kiss, pulling back just enough to speak. “You will make me cum again.” He pants but you chuckle, kissing him again, softer.

“I think that there’s room for a bit more.” Hyunjin smirks lazily, cracking one eye open to peek at you before the other one follows. “Yeah? You’re leaking you know? You’re stuffed.”

“Need more.” You rest your head on his shoulder, allowing your body to fully sink into the firm yet soft comfort of your boyfriend. “It’s never enough.” 

“You are a greedy girl.” He teases with a rasp and chuckle. “We need to decorate.”

“You can decorate me.” He scrunches his nose at you, looking down and feigning disgust. “You’re still half hard so you didn’t hate that as much as you’re pretending to.”

A quick clench of your stuffed cunt around him both proves your point and milks a hiss from him. He slaps your ass in warning. “Stop it or I will frost you like a cake.” It’s your turn to feign disgust and he grins at the reaction, happy to get some payback.

“Don’t make that face, you started it, my little gingerbread cookie.” 

“Ew, no no no, stop it.” He holds you tighter against his chest and kisses your forehead between each weird innuendo he comes up with. “Creamy like hot cocoa.”

“Hyunjin, stop it!” He kisses you but you squirm with a laugh. “Let it snow, Let it snow, Let it snow.”

“Hyunjin!”

Thank You For Reading! 💕

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[ccazimi]

You Are Also Like Me

pt.1 - pt.2 - pt. 3

cw: incest (uncle/niece but there's some faux dadcest idk how to explain... either way it's only between reader and sukuna), age gap, dubcon, freudian elements, reader's daddy issues are explored in depth, reader has family issues, fluff, angst, mutual hurt, dry humping, kissing/making out, unprotected piv sex, creampies, loss of virginity, degradation/namecalling, dirtytalking, humiliation, sadism/masochism, slight blood kink if you squint, pussy eating/ass eating, blowjob, deepthroating, spit play, cumplay, fingering, mdni, DDDNE wc: 21k a/n: im sorry the if the formatting is ass, apparently tumblr only allows "1000 blocks in a post" so i had to go through and cut a bunchhhh of paragraph breaks D: it might read better on ao3

“I want you to take my virginity.”

Sukuna’s eyes flit to yours as he takes another bite of his food, not answering right away, just watching you.

Annoying.

You put down your chopsticks and refuse to take another bite until he gives you some response.

Finally, he smirks at you, speaking lazily. “That’s a big step. You sure you’re still not just worked up from the other night or something?”

“That was like four days ago,” you hiss, “So no— it’s obviously not that.”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs as he chews. “Maybe you got all horny remembering it.”

You lean forward, teeth clenched, scowling at him hard enough to kill. “Can you please just give me a useful answer, for once?”

His eyes flicker down to the chopsticks laying across your plate of food. “Eat. I don’t pay Uraume as much as I do for you to throw a tantrum and waste your food.”

God he can really be insufferable sometimes.

“I’ll eat when you answ—”

“Eat. Now.” Sukuna’s voice drops to a stern command and he stills, watching you expectantly until you finally pick up the chopsticks and shove a bite of food into your mouth, angrily.

“Good girl.” He resumes eating, and you swear he waits a beat longer just to piss you off before finally adding, “I’ll do it whenever you sign up for classes.”

You stiffen slightly.

Classes. Six months.

You know damn well what you agreed to. Logically, it's the right move—and yet, any mention of it makes your chest tighten with a dull, anxious ache. Makes you want to think about literally anything else.

But Sukuna—in the most ironic way—is actually good at getting you to do things. You know he won’t bend on this, not when it comes to your future.

“You know I’ll have to ask my parents about that, right?” you point out flatly. “Especially if you’re financing it.”

“Already spoke to them,” he says, casually.

“What?! When?”

“None of your concern. But your mom’ll probably call you later today or tomorrow to confirm, so might as well start prepping now.”

You stare at him for a second, then just huff. “Fine. You promise?”

“Of course, princess. You’ll have to show me proof, though.”

Reluctantly, you nod.

Just like he said, the call comes later that evening—your mother’s voice neutral, if a little relieved, as she runs through application deadlines and housing options. She doesn’t say it, but you can hear it in her tone—anything to get you back on track. Back to your degree, to who you used to be.

You tell her you’ll look into it.

And you do, sort of. You open your laptop that night, click through your old student portal and check a few deadlines.

But the tabs sit there open and unanswered. Because you’ve always been like this—avoidant, stubborn when it matters most.

Maybe it’s fear. Or maybe it’s something deeper, some twisted logic that if you never re-enroll, never hit submit, then the end of your six months here won’t come, and that staying will stay possible.

That Sukuna won't actually make you go.

But as the days pass, your need for him grows heavier. Hungrier. Harder and harder to ignore. Sukuna promised you ruin and while you waited expectantly for the next three days, on edge and feeling like a fool, he gave you absolutely nothing, leaving you out to dry.

His way of messing with you, probably. Making you really beg for it.

Just like now — dangling himself just out of reach, so you’ll cave and sign up for those damn classes. The day after he told you his condition, he’s definitely started playing with you more — not cruel, but deliberate.

Close touches, subtle innuendos, intense eye contact.

In the evening, when you come out of the bathroom with your hair still damp and dressed in pajamas, Sukuna calls to you from the dining table where he’s nursing a glass of whiskey.

You expect a lecture—maybe about forgetting to empty the dishwasher again—but instead, he catches your wrist as you pass. You let him pull you in, straddling his lap, pleasantly surprised.

His fingers skim your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“Make sure to dry your hair before bed. Don’t want you catching a cold,” he murmurs.

You snort under your breath, but don’t bother saying anything. In your experience, explaining to anyone your parents’ age that cold wet hair making you sick is nothing more than a myth, is a futile endeavor.

But then his lips are on yours—soft at first, then deeper. All tongue and teeth and the faint bitter taste of whiskey melting into your mouth.

Your hand slides into his hair as you tilt your head back, letting him in, sighing when he nips your lip. Your hips shift instinctively, seeking friction—pressing down against the bulge in his pants in a slow, barely-there grind. His hand slides to your lower back, holding you steady, letting you move just enough to feel it.

Ever since he taught you how to kiss, it’s secretly been one of your favorite things to do with him—making out at odd, quiet moments until you’re breathless and aching without even realizing how far you've gone.

But then he pulls back, leaving you flushed and involuntarily chasing after his mouth.

You blink up at him, frowning, your thighs still tight around him—and the smirk tugging at his lips tells you everything. Abruptly, he pushes you off his lap and stands, tossing back the rest of his drink before looking down at you, smug.

“Well, I’m off to bed. See you in the morning.”

You shoot him the dirtiest look you can manage as he turns away, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Oh, and dry your hair. I’m serious.”

And with that, he’s gone—leaving you alone, warm, aching, and seriously considering banging your head against the wall.

Two more days pass, still no progress.

You want him—crave him in the way your body always does—but your mind keeps recoiling from the one simple task that would make everything easier.

Instead, you take the long way around it.

Late at night, you drift to his room like it’s nothing, one of his shirts hanging off your frame soft and oversized, paired with the smallest pajama shorts you own. You don’t knock, as has become habit lately.

He’s seated in his bed, glasses on, looking at something on his phone, not even bothering to glance up when you speak.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

His eyes stay on the screen, reflecting on his frames. “You’ve got your own room. What’s wrong with it?”

You pout a little, speaking softly, “I just…don’t feel like being alone.”

There’s a pause as he scrolls, and you step a little closer, the air thickening.

“You said you’d do it if I signed up for my classes. I did.”

You didn’t—not yet, at least. But maybe if you keep him distracted, he’ll forget about that part.

Sukuna just cocks a slitted brow. “That’s funny. Don’t remember seeing any proof yet.”

You hesitate, but decide to push on anyway, hoping you can soon make him forget about the proof. So instead of answering you climb onto his lap.

Sukuna stiffens, jaw ticking slightly, but he lets you. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, shaky fingers coming up to unbutton the top of his shirt — in nervousness, frustration, need, you don’t know.

He doesn’t react, just watches you quietly, face impassive before quietly asking, “What are you doing?”

You swallow, trying to sound as confident as you can. “What do you think?”

His hand finally moves, up your back, till the nape of your neck, and you finally think you’ve won. You lean in slightly, but then he tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his narrowed eyes.

“You’ve gotten pretty brave…”

You gulp, and he smiles — all teeth, no warmth.

“You think this is how it works? You crawl into my lap, bat your lashes, and I forget every condition we laid down?”

Your throat tightens, despising how smug he sounds.

“It’s not like that,” you protest defensively.

“No? Then what is it like?”

You don’t answer, as his thumb brushes your lower lip. “I know what you want. You’ve made it very clear.”

Then he pulls away, leaving you sitting on his lap flushed and frustrated.

“You don’t get to change the rules just because you’re impatient. Desperate girls don’t make demands.”

“I’m not desperate.”

Your second lie of the night, and both of you know it.

He snickers. “What’s this little show then, hm?”

You bristle, and he leans in, speaking softly, just a little cruel. “Show me proof, princess. Otherwise you’re just pretending you want it.”

You’re not given a chance to retort before he lifts you off his lap, deposits you onto the bed like a doll, and goes back to whatever he was looking at on his phone.

If he was trying to get through to you, it certainly worked.

“I did it.”

As usual, he barely looks at you. “Did what?”

“My application. I signed up for classes. Check your email.”

He’s quiet for a beat—then his phone buzzes, and he opens the attachment. Your name, bold and official. All real.

He exhales, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Tch. Didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“You said you’d stop dodging me if I did,” you say, voice taut.

Sukuna sets the phone down, gaze cutting toward you like a blade. “And you followed through,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”

Your breath catches, pulse quickening.

Then he rises slowly, deliberate, until he’s standing in front of you. His voice drops; quiet, amused almost. 

“So that’s all it takes to get you to commit to your future,” he says, brushing your hair back. “One fuck from your uncle?”

You tense, but he just leans in to whisper near your ear, “I bet your parents wouldn’t be so proud of you for going back if they knew the real reason…”

You flinch, heat and humiliation mixing in your chest because of course he has to make this as vulgar as possible.

But you refuse to back down.

“You promised.”

“I did,” he says simply. Then he cups your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Just remember,” Sukuna adds, gaze dark and steady, “You signed up for this.”

You don’t look away, not even as the air grows heavier, as you feel a certain thrum starting up between your legs.

“I know,” you whisper, throat dry.

He watches you for a long beat, eyes roaming over your face like he’s searching for hesitation. But you don’t give him any — you want this more than anything.

“Take off your clothes,” he says finally. It’s not a request.

You’ve done this before, you’ve done worse than this before, and somehow you’re still not entirely used to the feeling of undressing in front of someone — certainly not in front of him.

Your fingers tremble as you reach for the hem of your shirt, but you do it, breaking the silence with the soft rustle of fabric, the whisper of cotton slipping off skin, revealing the expanse of your skin.

Next your pants, pulling at your ankles before you step out of them. His gaze darkens with every inch of bare skin revealed but he doesn’t move to touch you, not yet.

He watches, waiting, expecting as your hands reach around back to unclasp your bra. It falls to the ground, exposing your tits, your tightening nipples. You stand there, bare under his eyes that roam your curves, heart thudding, trying to ground yourself.

And still, he doesn’t touch you.

“Are you scared?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You swallow. “No.”

“Liar.”

You step forward anyway, closing the distance between you, resisting the urge to cross your arms over your chest. “Do it before I change my mind.”

His hand slides into your hair, firm but not cruel, tilting your head back. He looks at you like something he wishes he didn’t crave as badly as he did. Something he wants to leave his fingerprints all over anyways.

“Six months,” he murmurs against your lips. “That’s all we’ve got. Then no more of this.”

“Then stop wasting time.”

That’s all it takes. He kisses you—nothing like the last time. There’s no pretense now, no power play. Just heat, and want, and something else buried beneath it all, something like the night he told you he wants to ruin you.

He lifts you like you weigh nothing, carrying you to the bedroom. There’s no hesitation in him, just intent.

You feel it in the way he throws you onto his bed, peels your underwear down your legs, the way he tilts your chin back to bare your throat to him, kissing it like something he owns. Kisses turn into something harsher, sucking, biting, and the rough scrape of teeth that stings enough to make you suck in a sharp breath. You know now there’ll be marks of his claim littering your skin for days after.

But when he pauses—just for a second—eyes meeting yours again, it’s not just control you see there. It’s restraint.

A question, silent but real. You answer it by pulling him down, mouth meeting his again.

And then there’s no more waiting.

There’s a sound that escapes you when his mouth finds your throat again—quiet, startled, and helpless. He drinks it in like it’s what he wanted all along.

Warm palms roam slowly, like he’s mapping out every fragile inch, learning you by feel, by the way you shiver under his touch as his he trails open-mouthed kisses down your neck, along your collarbone.

You wonder if this is what sex is supposed to feel like - being worshipped and ruined at the same time. His hands make their way to your tits, tweaking one of your hard nipples between his fingers, before he bends to capture the other one in his mouth.

You whimper a little at the feel of his tongue tracing wet circles over the areola, then sucking hard enough on the bud for it to sting just a bit before he releases the pressure again.

"You really went and did it,” he mutters against your skin. “All that pouting, all that begging... just to get fucked like a slut.”

You swallow, your own trembling hands making their way to the hem of his shirt, tugging at it, craving more of him, the feel of his bare skin against yours. Sukuna takes the hint, pushing off you with a low chuckle, just enough to pull his own shirt over his head. Dark markings crawl from over his shoulders, along his chiseled abs.

All muscle and sinew rippling under his flesh.

It occurs to you that you’ll never want a boy after this, not after you’ve been with a real man.

“It’s rude to stare,” he comments, arms flexing as he tosses his shirt aside.

“Give me some more to stare at,” you mutter shamelessly.

Eager to see him again, all of him.

Sukuna smirks, an arrogant gleam flickering in his eyes as he steps even closer, his body hovering over yours.

“Mm, you’re getting impatient again. We’ve got all night sweetheart.”

His eyes roam down to the apex of your thighs, where they’re clenching together, trying to relieve some of the ache.

“Spread yourself.”

You take a shuddering breath as you part your legs as wide as you can, heat flowing directly to both your cheeks and your cunt. He lays on the bed, and you leak more arousal in anticipation of his face right in front of your folds.

“I said spread yourself, girl. Do I have to show you how it’s done?”

You frown at him, trying to keep your voice steady. “I d-did, can’t spread my legs any further than this—”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, before taking your hand and using your fingers spread your inner folds open.

“Like this. Hold it.”

The flesh inside is softer, more sensitive, and you cringe when you feel it cool from air brushing against the slick skin.

“Why? It’s not…comfortable…” you mutter nervously.

“It’ll feel better,” he states simply, large hands wrapping around your thighs to pull you in closer while you try to breathe and stay calm.

You trust him and hold yourself open as he leans in, and in a moment you understand what he means now — his tongue hot and insistent against not just your clit, but the surrounding areas of your sensitive inner labia.

You can feel everything, every stroke of his tongue, every small nudge of it against your clit and your sticky flesh. Bolts of pleasure light up your spine, as he works against your dripping cunt, lapping with increasing fervor. You whimper and quiver as he licks inside every crevice of your cunt, sucking on your clit, eating you out greedily.

You pant, feeling hot from your cunt all the way to the backs of your watering eyes as you twitch and tense, feeling yourself come closer and closer.

“Mmh, j-just like that, don’t -ah- fucking stop—” you whine desperately tilting your pelvis into his mouth for more, and soon you’re cumming all over his tongue, his hands keeping your thighs pried apart as they threaten to lock in around his head.

You finish, muscles laxing into a trembling mess and he intentionally gives you one last, harsh lash of his tongue right against your overstimulated clit, making you flinch in pain. He pulls away, inspecting your sopping hole, humming in approval before standing up to slip off his pants.

Down they go, and you can’t help but watch the large bulge in his boxers straining against the fabric, a wet patch already formed. They slip off and you ogle unabashedly at his large, leaking cock, his hard length swaying slightly as he steps forward, crawling onto the bed.

His mouth latches back onto one of your tits, suckling and licking gently as he strokes himself a few times.

“You’re shaking,” Sukuna murmurs, almost amused.

“I’m not scared,” you breathe, though your voice wavers.

He smirks against the slick mess on your breast. “Maybe you should be.”

His hand trails down your waist, rough palm against skin, as he finally rests his cock between your thighs.

Warm, with a dizzying weight. Soft skin against skin.

Just the sensation of his bare cock on your folds feels oddly vulnerable and intimate, enough to make your ears burn hot. Your stomach does a flip when you peer down, finally able to gauge the sheer size of him when his length is laying across your mons like this, his swollen tip reaching all the way till your navel.

Despite it, you could stare at his cock for hours.

And then it occurs to you—

“Wait, do you have a condom? I’m…I’m not on the pill.”

The words come out like a choked gasp, as though something inside you finally gives way. Your mind stutters, the fog of desire lifting just enough for the ugly reality to sink in. The heat that was rushing through your veins turns cold, a creeping dread that coils tight in your chest.

A terrible realization of what you’re actually doing. How real this all is. Because the chance of conception would be horrible enough on its own, but with a family member?

Well, that’s what the natural revulsion to incest was supposed to prevent, right?

Your body’s response is instantaneous—an involuntary shiver that starts deep in your gut, an icy feeling that spreads outward, stiffening your spine. You thought you’d come to terms with this, but perhaps you hadn’t — not all the way, at least.

“I do, but I won’t use them,” he states coolly. “I have more than enough money to afford a plan B pill if needed.”

He’s right, but still…

Sukuna looks up at your face, taking in the hesitation written all over it.

“Having second thoughts?” he asks, voice too smooth, too knowing.

Were you? You don’t know.

Because in spite of the cold, you want this, and maybe the perversion of it all makes you want it more.

“You knew there wouldn’t be any holding back if we did this, didn’t you?” He drags his cock languidly along your glistening folds, the head of it catching on your clit over and over, as he speaks.

Cruelly slow. Like he’s savoring every inch of your hesitation, every stifled breath, every twitch of uncertainty you don’t want him to see.

You can feel the heat in your cheeks, the hesitation still curling in your chest, but it’s fading. Slowly, so slowly.

Your body betrays you, the cold tightening in your stomach transforming into something deeper, more urgent with every drag of his swollen head across your clit, pre smearing with your own slick.

Your hands, trembling but eager, make their way to his chest, pressing against his skin. A part of you wants to pull back, to stop this madness—but the other part? It’s begging for more. The thrill, the perversion, it warms you.

You want to feel him completely.

“I did,” you whisper, “So don’t hold back. Even if you think you should.”

“So you’re really gonna let me do this?” he asks, his mouth brushing your collarbone, tone low and mocking. 

He wants you to want him, but he also wants to test how far you’ll go — and that contradiction is Sukuna’s affection.

You should say something. Anything. But all that comes out is a soft gasp when his fingers ghost over your inner thigh.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers. “I’ll make sure it hurts just a little. You’ll remember it.”

You hate how that thrills you. That you want him more for it.

His hand slides beneath your knee, hitching your leg up around his waist. You feel everything in that moment—his breath, his warmth, the coiled tension under his skin as he presses in closer.

“Breathe,” he says, right against your lips. “It’s just me.”

He finally pushes forward to part your lips, slow and deliberate, and you gasp. Building pressure gives way to pain, sharp and acute as you feel your walls stretching to accommodate him.

It burns.

“Uncle,” you gasp, hips reflexively trying to pull away from the intrusion in your virgin cunt.

But he holds you in place, murmuring against your panting lips, “Almost there, sweetheart. It’ll get better after this, I promise.”

You believe him, but your body reacts of its own accord — walls clamping down, trying to push out the invading length.

“It w-won’t fit—“ You start to panic a bit as you feel the burning stretch.

He hisses through his teeth at the tightening of your cunt, fighting the urge to simply slam in all the way as you wince and tremble.

“Fuck, you need to breathe, I’m serious — take deep breaths.”

“It hurts—“

“Breathe.”

You swallow and nod, forcing a deep inhale all the way into your belly. As soon as you do, he slides in all the way in one final push till he’s bottomed out inside of you.

There’s a moment of stillness, where it all weighs down on you. The feel of him sheathed inside you, the stretch, his breath mingling with yours, the gravity of what you’ve let happen. What you wanted to happen.

He presses a quick, light kiss to your lips. “Good?”

“Uh, y-yes, I think so…” you reply unsurely, trying to get used to the feeling of something inside you. “Feels a little weird…”

“Mm, well we can stay like this till you’re ready for me to move again.” His lips pepper your face in gentle pecks. “I don’t mind having you cockwarm me.”

You stay there for a second, basking in this rare show of affection from him, as twisted as the circumstances might be.

And then, another deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s gonna hurt.”

You pull your face back to glare at him, finding his lips twisted into a smirk. “You fucking sadist, can you just do i— ahh!”

You wince in pain as he abruptly pulls out, till only his tip is left inside and he grins down at you wickedly.

“Okay w-wait not so fas— Uncle!”

Your sentence once again ends in a yelp as he slams back inside of you, hard enough to make your nails dig into his back as you jolt.

He groans obscenely in response at your heat enveloping him again, clenching down on him.

Your face is contorted now as you grit your teeth. “What is your problem?! I swear you’re doing this on purpose—“

“I told you I was going to make it hurt. Or do you not listen to the things you agree to?” he snaps back too quickly. A bit too sharply. 

“I—“ Your face crumples and you swear you see his eyes soften ever so slightly in response, like something akin to pity. Maybe realization that he’s being a bit too mean right now. Especially given what’s actually happening here. You trusted him to take your virginity, after all.

You must look upset—maybe even a little scared—because something in his face shifts. That awful grin fades.

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, his hand coming to cradle your cheek, slow, almost gentle. And then, as if to make up for earlier, “You’re doing so good for me, you know that?”

You blink up at him, breathing uneven. You don’t trust the softness, not from him. But you don’t pull away, despite your trembling. His other hand strokes the inside of your thigh—too gently for someone who just made you cry out a moment ago.

“I’ll go slow,” he says, quieter now. “But it’s still gonna hurt.”

You bite your lip, nodding slowly. He watches your expression, like he’s testing how much of your fear you’re willing to swallow for him.

“But it’ll pass. It always does,” he says, brushing your hair back. “You just have to take it. Be good, breathe through it. I’ve got you.”

He grips your hips, and slowly pulls out again.

It burns still, but less.

And back in his cock goes. You try to keep your breathing even, but it’s true, he shows restraint and goes slow enough for the pain to begin subsiding.

Sukuna watches you carefully, your lip still held between your teeth in slight discomfort, though your body starts to relax.

The pain might be fading, but you’ve heard it’s supposed to be replaced by pleasure. Except you can’t really feel any — you think his fingers felt better.

You look up at him. “More. Go harder.”

“More?”

You nod.

“Finally ready for me to actually start fucking you now?”

He smirks at the slight pout forming on your lips, soothing the slight sting of his teasing with another kiss to your lips as he begins to thrust faster. You’re not sure when but soon your fingers are digging further into his muscle, anchoring yourself there as he begins fucking you with short, shallow thrusts, and soon your mouth parts around a sound you don’t even recognize.

He groans softly in response, and it’s not mocking now. It’s something raw, something real. “There you are, my pretty girl…”

His praise goes straight to your gut, coiling in with the heat slowly building there, more of your arousal lubing your silken walls making it a bit easier for him to slide in and out.

And then he stops.

You look at him confused, as he pulls away, standing on his knees, cock slipping fully out of your raw hole. It glistens in the dim light, flushed and turgid.

“Just wait,” he says as he grabs a pillow from besides you, and drags it under your legs. “Here, put your butt on this.”

You’ve heard something about pillows making penetrative sex feel better — you figure that’s what this is as you shift downward till your ass is cushioned, pelvis raised slightly higher. He kneels a bit to the side, positioning one of his knees under the crook of your bent one, and grabs your other ankle, lifting your leg straight up.

You just can’t help the snarky words from falling out of your mouth, “Thought we were having sex, not doing yoga.”

He gives you a warning glare, the same disciplinary kind whenever you purposefully annoy him, or try to protest against some mundane chore he’s assigned to you.

And then he’s positioning his cock against your entrance again, the other hand coming to toy with your clit, making you sigh at the sensation.

“You’d better shut that mouth while I’m still trying to play nice, sweetheart.”

You want to say something but you feel the round head of his cock breaching your entrance again, and instinctively you tense up as he pushes inside.

There’s still pain, but it’s tolerable now.

Sukuna starts fucking you again, harder now, and this new angle makes you moan, back arching slightly off the mattress.

“Hnngh, m-more Uncle—” you whimper.

“What was all that you were saying about yoga, earlier?”

He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust, a high-pitched noise coming out of your throat as you savor his fat cock massaging that spot in your swollen walls that makes you feel utterly gone.

“’M s-sorry, I didn’t mean it,” you babble mindlessly, eyelids dropping as he fucks all the attitude right out of you.

His pelvis snaps forward, dark pink hair brushing against your burning skin, as he tightens his grip on your ankle, pulling your leg taut with ease.

“Silly girl,” he chides you, though his lips are pressing kisses along your ankle, down the length of your calf. “You never learn, do you?” he mutters against your skin. “Good thing I’m here to teach you your lesson over and over again…”

“Ha—ah!” you mewl when he abruptly bends your leg a bit, placing his lips to the back of your knee to suck and lick at the delicate, sensitive skin there.

“U-Uncle!” You moan and gasp in ecstasy, shivers running down your spine all the way to where his cock is thrusting into your drooling cunt.

And then you take a look at him, a good look at him, in the faint warm light of the bedside lamp falling over his features.

He’s familiar. Very familiar.

The broad shape of his muscular chest, the veins that run down the forearm gripping your leg, the set to his angular jaw as he fucks you, slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

You pull your leg from his grip slightly, moving around a bit in discomfort at staying in this physical position.

“Stop squirming,” he says authoritatively, like he’s talking to some petulant, hyperactive child.

“Mh, w-wait lemme just—” Soon you’re pulling your leg from his grip, planting your foot on the other side of his body as you stand on your hands and feet, arching your back, panting in desperation to feel more of him.

Sukuna lets you change positions, wrapping his arms to support your lower back as you grab his neck with one of your hands, undulating your hips so that his cock hits you in a new place — deeper than before.

“F-Fuck, greedy fucking girl—” he grits out and you can tell he’s losing his restraint now too, slowly focusing more and more on taking his own pleasure from your body rather than just giving. He thrusts into you harshly, kissing your cervix with each squelching movement, watching your tits bouncing on your splayed out torso.

“Yes, yes, fuck yes—”

The musky smell of sex, the salty tang of sweat-slicked bodies now permeates the air as you move sensually, trying to feel him deeper inside you.

“Good girl, keep going baby, just like that,” he rasps, voice rough with arousal as he ruts into you.

The furrow of his brows, the smell of his skin, the warm, steady weight of his hands holding you, supporting you.

Familiar.

“Ah, a-again, say it again, that I’m good—”

He slows down for a millisecond, eyes flicking to yours, at the needy look all over your face as you look up at him with pleading eyes, clouded and hazy with lust.

“Do you deserve that?” he breathes lowly, taking lead and fucking you harder with an intense pace you can’t keep up with. “My dumb, needy little niece. Wonder which side of the family you got all that desperation from, because it certainly isn’t mine—”

The sound of his heavy breathing, the shape of his smirk, slightly lopsided.

“P-Please!” Something claws in you, something desperate and vulnerable to hear it from him, to hear that praise and validation, god, why can’t he just give it to you—

To your dismay he sneers, too far gone in that side of him that needs to degrade you, hurt you, control you.

“Good? You’re bleeding all over my cock like a dumb piece of meat.”

“H-Huh?” You open your eyes, realizing they’re blurry with tears as you look at where you’re connected.

And it’s true, his cock is covered in streaks of red every time it pulls out to slam back into you again. Maybe the sight should’ve alarmed you, or made you feel more cautious or whatever — what it shouldn’t have done was make you moan lewdly, clenching down on his length.

Sukuna notices your reaction, and it only sends him into more of a frenzy, gripping you so tightly he’s practically holding your nearly limp body up like a doll, as he fucks your hole.

“You like that? Sick little slut—” he growls, before leaning in to whisper in your ear, “You think your dad would still call you his daughter if he saw you like this?”

Your watery eyes widen, all the air sucked from your lungs as the words hit like a punch to the gut.

That’s what it is. Who he reminds you of, why he feels so oddly familiar.

Did you forget you were fucking your dad’s brother?

The similarities are undeniable now, a physical reminder of the genes you share.

Something twists in your gut, like a writhing serpent with the realization, yet your cunt leaks more and more, waves of shuddering pleasure only growing in their intensity.

Sukuna grins at your shock, before abruptly dropping you onto the bed, cock slipping out from your abused hole.

“Straighten your legs and turn on your side a bit.”

You obediently do as he tells you, and then he’s straddling your bottom leg, folding the top one and hitching it over his waist. You watch him, spine twisted so your torso lays supine on the mattress.

His other hand grips your ass, before he thrusts himself back into the warm, wet heat of your tight cunt, stretched perfectly in this position so that he hits you even deeper, like he’s in your lungs. He watches the pout on your lips, the crestfallen expression on your tear-stained cheeks as he fucks you so good that he’s forcefully pulling moans from you.

“Still gonna look at me like that? Well cry if you need to — I’ll still be here, fucking you through it.”

And even as he’s fucking you, losing himself in your pussy, Sukuna’s mind is sharp — he knows the reason behind this change in your demeanor. What it is that’s bothering you. It's the same reason you need him, need his validation right now, his words of praise and reassurance.

You don’t care if they’re fake.

“Mm fuck, p-please,” you pant incoherently between moans, crying out when he hits another spot that makes a rush of warm liquid drip out of you, coating his cock. “B-Be good to me—”

Sukuna snickers, reveling in the way you beg. “Why? I’m not your fuckin’ dad, slut.” He slaps one of your tits, making you jolt.

“S’kuna!” you cry his name, slurred with the weight of your tears, at how cruel he's being when you feel most vulnerable.

“I’m not him,” he repeats, hand grabbing your ass, digging his nails in till it hurts. You barely notice that pain amidst everything else right now, with the way he’s fucking you stupid. “But we are blood. That’s why you fit so perfectly around me. Your cunt was made for this, sweetheart.”

He grinds his cock inside you, making you squeal in both pleasure and shame and disgust at his downright disturbing words.

“Don’t say that! You’re gross-”

“Oh please. You fucking love it.”

“I don’t—”

Your words are cut off as a large hand wraps around your throat, pressing down onto your esophagus as he picks up the pace even more, heavy balls slapping against your skin.

“Say it and I’ll tell you all the things you wanna hear,” he whispers darkly.

You don’t have much resistance in you, not when he’s ruining you like this, when your cunt is simultaneously aching and sore but screaming in pleasure.

“I…I love it.”

“Love what?”

“How…fucked up this all is. That we’re related. And that..” you hesitate, and the grip on your throat tightens, making you wheeze a bit, the words coming out as barely more than a whisper from your strained throat. “And that you’ve been like a…father to me.”

“There it is,” he breathes triumphantly, loosening his hold on your neck though his hand still stays collared around it. “My good little girl. Finally being honest for once.”

His thrusts turn sloppy as he leans down to kiss you messily, and murmur against your skin.

“You’re so perfect, you know that? Smart, capable, pretty...”

You moan at his praise, feeling your pussy clench tighter and tighter around his pistoning length. The words go straight to your core, building and building, melting with the pleasure into something that threatens to swallow you whole.

“I’m so proud to call you my niece.”

You cum instantly, wet noises spilling out at you gush slick and kiss him messily, a thin droplet of drool running down the corner of your mouth. And then with a twitch of his cock and a guttural groan, warmth is spilling inside you, the most heavenly feeling, as he fills you with ropes of his hot seed.

A few euphoric moments of him emptying his balls into you, and then the cum stops flowing and he stills his thrusts. Warm breaths fill the silence, then he’s collapsing on top of you, careful not to put the majority of his weight on top of you. Your damp skin sticks against his, and he grabs your body as he spoons you from behind.

“You feel that?” He rolls his hips, slow and deep, his softening dick squelching inside the mess of fluids he’s plugged you up with. “This is what it means to be mine.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath as he pulls out of you, cock exiting your hole with a wet pop.

And then stillness. Too much of it.

The only sounds are the hum of the lamp and the uneven rhythm of your breathing. Your body curls in on itself instinctively, sheets tangling around your legs. You half expect him to push you away as you press your cheek to his chest, listening to the slow steady thrum.

He doesn’t. And the sound of his heartbeat is the only constant you have in the chaos still blooming inside of you.

Sukuna doesn’t speak. One arm lies draped lazily behind his head, the other wrapped around your waist—possessive, but not tight. His thumb strokes the small of your back, lazy and unthinking, like he’s petting a sleeping animal.

You don’t know what you expected after — a sharp word, a joke, indifference, maybe. But not this. Not him letting you hold onto him like this. Not his lips brushing against your temple like it means something.

“You’re quiet,” he says finally, voice low and almost too soft. “Regret already sinking in?”

You don't answer with words. Just shake your head a little against him, like you're refusing to answer something you can't explain.

Numbness. And the physical need to feel him next to you. That's all you feel.

His hand moves up to your hair, fingers threading through it. “Hn. Didn’t think you’d cling like this.”

“I’m not,” you mumble, even as your fingers curl tighter in the sheet between you.

He chuckles under his breath, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Liar.”

There’s no malice in it, no mockery. Just a strange, patient warmth that makes your throat ache. And when you finally dare to glance up at him—at the faint cut of his jawline in the soft light, at the familiar cruelty in his eyes dulled by something quieter—it aches deeper.

Not regret. Something else, something softer and more tender that feels like it shouldn't hurt.

And yet it does.

But then something shifts — imperceptible, but there. The slightest stiffening of his body under yours.

“You good?” you murmur, sleep-heavy, cheek still pressed to his chest.

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand lingers in your hair, then stills. His breathing changes—not relaxed, not calm; more like he’s suddenly aware of something he hadn’t let himself think about.

The silence between you stretches, no longer warm. You’re already half-asleep when you feel the mattress shift, his voice cutting through the haze a moment later.

“Don’t get comfortable. We need to get you cleaned up, and more importantly you should go pee.”

You groan, dragging the blanket over your head. “Are you serious? I don’t need to go.”

He tugs the blanket down with one hand, unimpressed. “Yeah, well you’re still sticky, bruised and probably bleeding a little. Get up.”

You scowl. “So romantic.”

“I’m not trying to be romantic. I’m trying not to let you get a damn infection.”

“I’ll survive,” you mumble, rolling over.

And then—before you can react—his arms are around you, and he’s scooping you up like you weigh nothing.

“Hey!” you yelp, squirming in his grasp. “Put me down! I can walk!”

“You had your chance,” he mutters, already heading toward the bathroom. “You made your choice when you started whining like a brat.”

“I am a brat,” you snap, arms crossed, glaring at his jawline. “And you like it.”

“Right,” he replies sarcastically, “Or maybe I just don’t feel like explaining to your parents why their daughter has a goddamn infection.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, but despite your annoyance, you can’t help but relax a little into his chest, finding some strange comfort in the way he holds you. Maybe it’s the fact that you know he’s right—he’s always right about these things, even when it’s irritating.

“Well actually you’d be the one explaining, in that case. Don’t want Mom and Dad to know the kinda things you’ve been up to, huh?”

You glower at him as he tries not to look too pleased with himself, dropping you clumsily to your feet in the dark bathroom. You suppress a grimace as you feel his cum leaking out of you, sliding down your inner thighs.

It’s an odd, slightly disconcerting sensation.

“Can you at least try?”

“There’s nothing!” you snap, slightly embarrassed that the topic of you peeing is still being brought up. “I went….before, okay?”

Sukuna just sighs. “Make sure you do it next time. Don’t wanna deal with a UTI.”

You make a face but he’s already pushing you with a hand on your back to step into the shower. The warm water hits your skin, and you shiver before it starts to soothe. You’re still sulking, arms crossed under the spray as Sukuna steps in behind you like it’s just another chore he has to handle.

“You gonna stand there pouting all night, or do I need to wash that attitude off first?” he drawls, already grabbing the wash towel like you’re completely useless.

You try to snatch it from him. “I can do it myself.”

“I’m sure you can, sweetheart,” he replies condescendingly sweet, though he holds the wash towel up and away. “But I can do it better.”

You glare at him, but he’s already starting to lather your arms, completely unbothered by your glare. “You’re so annoying.”

“No,” he says, deadpan, “You’re annoying. I’m just responsible.”

You let out an exaggerated scoff, but your shoulders relax under his touch. You hate how smug he is when he’s right.

“You know I hate it when you treat me like a kid.”

“You act like one,” he replies, adding more of the fragrant bodywash onto the towel, before forcefully spinning you around to face him. “Especially when you’re tired. Or hungry. Or pretending you’re not clingy.”

You sputter a bit at the sudden spray of water in your face, before finally giving him another cold look.

“Me? Clingy? Are you out of your mind?” you reply, genuinely a little offended for some reason.

He just snorts, clearly unconvinced, and drags the towel down your back with a slow, deliberate hand. “You literally cried the last time I left for more than two days.”

“That was once,” you bite back, jaw tightening. “And I was on my period.”

“You called it a ‘separation-induced emotional collapse,’” he quotes flatly, then dips the towel just beneath the curve of your ass like he’s cleaning you, though you know he’s doing it just to get a rise out of you.

You swat at his arm, but he grabs your wrist and pins it lazily against your side, still holding the towel in the other hand. The motion isn’t aggressive—just practiced, smooth, like he’s done this a thousand times before.

“Let me go.”

“No.”

“I’m going to push you and you’re going to fall in the shower and not be able to get back up because of how old you are.”

He huffs out a short laugh through his nose, clearly amused. “Sweetheart,” he says, still calmly lathering your skin, “if anyone’s breaking a hip in here, it’s you. I saw you nearly sprain your knee trying to climb on top of me last night.”

“Once again, that was one time.”

“That was this week.”

You squirm against his grip, which only tightens slightly—enough to keep you still, not enough to hurt. He lathers the soap with the cloth on your chest, then squeezes it till the foam drips lewdly down your breasts. You only notice what’s happening when he smirks, eyes trained on the bubbles traveling the curve of your chest.

You swat half-heartedly at his chest, cheeks burning. “You’re disgusting.”

He grins, utterly unrepentant. “You say that like it’s new information.”

“Sometimes I forget how unbearable you are when you get your way."

“And yet, you keep letting me have it.”

His eyes flick down again—languid, slow—watching the water and suds slide down your skin like it’s a show meant for him alone.

You roll your eyes and try to pull away. “Maybe I’m just too tired to argue.”

“Liar,” he murmurs. “You like it when I take care of you like this. Even when you pretend to hate it. Especially then.”

You stare at him like you're about to challenge him, but no words come out.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice low, fingers dragging just slightly along your waist now, “and I will.”

You look at him. He’s still holding the cloth, still waiting—for once, serious.

So you cross your arms to give him another stubborn look. "You forgot to get behind my ears, by the way."

His mouth twitches—not quite a smile, more like a warning.

“Don’t push your luck,” he says, but the way he tosses the towel over his shoulder and leans in tells you he’s taking the bait anyway.

You hold still, stubbornly proud, even when his hands bracket your jaw and tilt your head just so. He uses his thumbs first, rough pads gliding just behind your ears, then switches to knuckles as if he’s mocking the gentleness of the gesture.

“Since when you got so bratty?” he mutters. "This definitely can't be the same girl who showed up on my doorsteps a few months ago."

You glare at him, lips parting for a sharp retort—but he beats you to it, voice dipping just low enough to make your stomach flip.

“She used to be quiet. Timid. Didn’t even look me in the eye.”

You scoff dryly. "I’ve always thought you were unbearable. Difference is, now I say it out loud."

He huffs out a laugh, more breath than sound, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And here I was thinking you’d just grown attached.”

“Delusional and smug. Impressive combo.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, his fingers slide from your neck to your collarbone, slow and measured like he’s mapping you out again.

“Keep talking like that,” he murmurs, “and I’ll start thinking you enjoy mouthing off just to see what I’ll do.”

“Maybe I do.”

There’s a pause. A taut little silence between you—charged, waiting, thick with steam and something heavier than heat.

Then suddenly his grin widens, wicked and boyish all at once.

“Alright then,” he says—and then, without warning, he twists the shower handle.

A blast of cold water smacks your skin like a slap, and you let out a shriek, practically leaping backwards into him.

“Uncle!” you gasp, teeth chattering as you try to scramble out of the spray. “Are you insane?!”

He laughs—really laughs—arms effortlessly catching you as you flail, pressing you against his warm chest like you aren’t soaking and furious.

“You looked like you were overheating,” he says smugly, completely unfazed by your glare. And the ice cold water, for some reason. “Just trying to help.”

“You’re a menace,” you hiss, shivering as you try to reach around him for the handle.

His hand closes around your wrist before you can reach the knob.

“Easy,” he says, voice low but firm. “You’ll throw off your system if you change the temperature too fast too much.”

You blink at him, teeth still chattering, but he doesn’t budge. Just calmly reaches past you and adjusts the water himself—slowly, carefully—until it warms again, just enough to stop your skin from prickling.

“Better?” he asks, like nothing happened. 

“You’re lucky I don’t have hypothermia.”

He raises a brow, unimpressed. “You were flushed and bratty and needed cooling off. Don’t make me explain the logic.”

“There was no logic. That was violence.”

“Soft violence,” he replies. “Therapeutic, even.”

You open your mouth to argue again, but he’s already guiding you gently under the warm spray, his touch firm and no-nonsense now. Not serious exactly, but steadier.

“Head down."

You sigh, complying, letting the water run through your hair as he works shampoo into your scalp with methodical hands—fingertips massaging a little too well for you to keep up your grudge.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumble.

“Mm. Probably.”

He finishes rinsing you off in silence, hands steady and impersonal now—guarded, almost, like the line between teasing and responsibility has been redrawn. 

Soon you’re out of the shower, wrapping yourselves in towels, drying your hair. The bathroom is silent as Sukuna brushes his teeth. 

That feeling, in your stomach again. Something bitter and unpleasant. Fear? You’re not sure of what.

“Can I…sleep with you here tonight?” you suddenly ask, voice smaller than you’d like.

Sukuna pauses, eyes flicking to yours in the mirror, and there’s something unreadable in them.

Uncertainty, maybe? 

You don’t want to think about it — the thought would only make you spiral. If he regrets this, if he sees you differently now. Maybe he’s even disgusted by you. 

He spits into the sink, rinses, and sets his toothbrush down with a clack. For a second, he doesn’t say anything, and your chest tightens.

“Tch. You’re clingier than I thought,” he finally mutters, avoiding your eyes as he wipes his mouth with a towel.

But it’s not biting , it’s hollow. Deflection.

You flinch slightly. “Sorry. I’ll just—”

“I didn’t say no,” he cuts you off, voice quiet but firm, still not looking at you.

You freeze. “So… I can?”

He finally meets your gaze in the mirror — and for once, there’s no smirk, no mockery in his eyes. Just something tired, maybe even resigned.

“It’s your bed too,” he says after a pause. Then adds, almost too low to catch, “At least for now.”

Your eyes flit over to his toothbrush, and as quickly as you can, you reach for it. But Sukuna’s faster. He grabs it out of your hand, squeezes the toothpaste, and tilts your chin up with two fingers.

“What are you doing?” you mumble, brows furrowed.

He doesn’t answer—just shoves the toothbrush gently between your lips and starts brushing your teeth for you, slow and deliberate.

“Are you serious right now?” you try to say around the bristles.

“Mm-hm,” he hums, condescendingly calm. “Since you probably can’t do anything without me, apparently. Mouth open.”

You try to pull back, but his hand is firm against your jaw. “Uncle.”

“Shh,” he murmurs. “Open your mouth wider.”

You glare at him, cheeks puffed up, while he carefully brushes in exaggerated little circles, way too pleased with himself.

“This is so demeaning,” you mutter.

He grins. “Is it? I think it’s adorable. You’re like a spoiled little cat. All hiss, no bite.”

When he finally pulls the toothbrush away, you shove him lightly in the chest, scowling. “I hope you don’t do this with your girlfriends.”

He smirks, not missing a beat. “Well, you’re not my girlfriend, you’re my—”

"Do not," you quickly cut him off, shooting him a venomous glare.

You expect the usual smirk—that smug, needling grin he wears whenever he knows he’s gotten under your skin.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, there’s a flicker of something else—a beat of silence that lingers just a second too long. Then he looks away, the moment slipping like steam through fingers. “Go put on your pajamas,” he says quietly. “I need to change too.”

Your chest sinks. “What? Why?”

He doesn’t look at you as he turns away. “Because we’re not animals.”

That gets under your skin. Deeper maybe, somewhere more sensitive. “Yeah, except we just fucked like animals, so—”

“It’s not about that,” he cuts in, too quickly, too quietly. “It’s just… better this way.”

You watch him, frustration rising like heat under your skin. “You said you wouldn’t do this.”

He pauses, back still turned. “Do what?”

“Draw lines.” Your voice comes out sharper than you meant it to—brittle, breaking around something you didn’t expect to feel. “You promised. Said you'd give me all of you. Until I had to leave.”

He’s quiet. His shoulders rise and fall with a breath that sounds heavier than it should. You’ve hit something, and you both know it.

You press. “What—did you think I wouldn’t actually take it?” you sneer. “And you were the one accusing me of pretending to want it.”

That makes him turn, just slightly. His eyes meet yours, and for a flicker of a second, there's something raw in them. Frustration. Guilt. Or worse—fear.

But he doesn’t argue, just exhales through his nose, tension bleeding from his shoulders.

“Fine,” he says. “Get in bed. But don’t complain if you wake up with my elbow in your face.”

You roll your eyes, but move, letting the towel fall from your body. You’re bare, except for your panties—the liner catching the faintest trace of blood and what’s left of him. You don’t look away as you straighten the blanket and peel it back, sliding under the sheet. It’s cool against your skin, kissing your chest where you’re usually too shy to sleep uncovered.

But not tonight.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him glancing—unsure, maybe even uncertain where the lines are anymore. You don’t say anything. Just wait, still and quiet, as he kills the light and lies down beside you. The space between you feels fragile, thick with everything neither of you is saying.

At first, neither of you moves.

You lie on your side, facing the wall. He’s behind you. Not touching, not close.

You shift slightly under the covers. “Are you really gonna sleep all the way over there?”

You meant it to sound teasing—but it comes out... needy, almost.

A heartbeat passes and then the bed shifts as his warmth touches your skin, his body fitting behind yours. Not quite touching yet, but it’s much closer than before. Tentatively, you push back, your back brushing his chest, careful not to let your ass brush up against his groin. He doesn’t pull away, just lets out a long breath, like he’s been holding it this whole time.

“You don’t have to pretend it didn’t mean anything,” you whisper.

But you know that’s not the real question. The real question is what this is, now, why he’s gone distant, why the warmth of his body doesn’t quite reach the space where you needed it to.

Guys pull away after sex — you’ve heard that. But he isn’t just some guy, and this wasn’t supposed to be just sex. There’s something more to his silence than that, you’re sure.

Or at least you hope.

That maybe the twisted, complex nature of your relationship would count for something here, where it matters more than ever, perhaps.

He doesn’t reply but soon his arm is slowly wrapping around your waist, pulling you into the expanse of his broad chest, fingers resting right beneath the curve of your breast. They caress the underside so softly it almost tickles.

And then, softly—so quietly you almost don’t catch it—he murmurs against the back of your neck, 

“I don’t want to miss you.”

The closest he’s ever come to a confession.

You wake up to the smell of grilled fish and miso.

Sukuna’s here this morning. You’d half expected him to fuck off to wherever he goes for work, just to avoid seeing you after last night.

And not necessarily the sex part—but the part after, where you slept tangled together, limbs knotted, his body curled around yours. You swear that at some point during the night, between dreams, you felt one of his large palms gently cupping your breast. Not sexually. More like the way a kid hugs a stuffed toy in their sleep. Something unconscious.

Possessive yet soft.

But now, there’s nothing in his place except rumpled sheets and an empty stretch of mattress. You get dressed in your pants from last night, then pull one of his oversized shirts over your head to cover your chest. You’re not in the mood to cross paths with him in the kitchen half-naked, just to grab clean clothes from your own room. Finally, you make your way to the dining table and slump into a chair.

Sukuna’s standing at the stove, hair still damp from a shower, sleeves rolled up as he plates breakfast like it’s any other morning.

“You need to talk to your counselor today. About the dorms.”

You blink. “What?”

“For school,” he says, like you’ve asked something stupid. “Next semester starts in a few weeks. You still haven’t put in your housing request.”

You frown, slowly sitting up straighter. “Okay, well—good morning to you too.”

He finally glances over his shoulder. “Morning. Now eat.”

You study him carefully. There’s no trace of last night in his expression. No warmth, no softness, just that familiar sharp-edged irritation, like you’ve already done something wrong. “You’re being kind of a dick this morning.”

“I’m being realistic,” he replies flatly. “You want to finish your program, don’t you?”

It’s true—you do want that degree. But something about the way he says it now digs under your skin. “Yeah, but—why are you suddenly on my ass about it? You’re acting like I’ve been slacking or something.”

He doesn’t answer right away, instead sets a bowl of rice in front of you with a little too much force. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” you challenge, looking up at him. “Why are you suddenly breathing down my neck about this stuff?”

Sukuna dries his hands with a towel, leans against the counter, and stares at you. His face is unreadable—annoyed, yes, but there’s something else under it. Distant and resigned.

“You said you wanted to go back,” he says simply. “I’m making sure you do.”

“Yeah, but why now?” Your voice rises before you can stop it. “We literally just—” You stop, cheeks burning. “You know.”

He doesn’t flinch. “That doesn’t change anything.”

You push the bowl away. “Right. Of course it doesn’t.”

The silence that follows is thick and bitter. “I’m not hungry,” you mutter, standing up.

“You need to eat.”

“Oh my god, can you stop acting like my dad for five seconds?”

He freezes. The words land in the room like something dropped and shattered. You hadn’t meant to say it but there it is, ugly and raw. He stares at you, jaw tight, eyes sharp. “I’m not your fucking dad.”

You cross your arms, scowling—but your insides are trembling. Embarrassed. And you don’t even know why. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” he says, voice going cold. His expression twists, sharp and mean. That look he wears when you push him too far—when he lets something rotting and cruel crawl to the surface just to watch it burn you. “As if your dad’s ever seen you naked. Wrapped around his—”

“Okay, stop!”

He doesn’t stop. Instead, his voice goes low, flat and weaponized. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it when someone tells you what to do. You melt for it. Like a fucking pet. Tail wagging the second someone shows you attention.”

He steps forward, slow and deliberate, letting the silence stretch between each word. “You want someone to feed you. Dress you. Tell you what’s good for you. Praise you when you behave. Punish you when you don’t. Isn’t that right?”

His smile is wrong. There’s no humor in it. “You don’t want a dad. You want an owner.”

Your stomach drops.

“And you’d rather it be me than anyone else. That’s the sick part, isn’t it?”

You clench your jaw, knuckled white around the chopsticks you grip so hard you’re surprised they don’t snap. “Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” you hiss, eyes burning.

His voice is equally low, gaze equally cutting. “Then sign up for your goddamn housing and make sure you’re out from under my roof in six months.”

Sukuna had almost forgotten what you were like before all this. Before you let him in.

But over the next few days, he remembers. He remembers how cold you can be. How distant. How easily you can withdraw behind those walls of yours, quiet and unreachable.

Polite, even — that’s the worst part. Not cruel, not defiant. Just... cordial. Impeccably so. With that measured tone and perfectly impassive face, like he’s a stranger you owe civility to and nothing more.

You don’t sleep in his bed anymore. Most nights, you’re behind the door of your own room. You wake up early, make breakfast before he’s even down the hall. You greet him with a sterile “Good morning,” eat when you’re supposed to, excuse yourself without fanfare.

And through it all, not once do you snap at him. Not once do you cry.

It’s this version of you — competent, composed, independent — that reminds him, with aching clarity, that you don’t need him.

You do the things he used to remind you about before he even opens his mouth. You fold your laundry without being asked. Clean your space, your dishes, your bathroom. You eat, on time, like clockwork. When you struggle with a jar, you don’t ask him. You run it under hot water, twist a rubber band around the lid, and open it yourself.

At first, it annoys him. Then, it sinks in.

You’ve always been capable. Always sharp, always resourceful. You could take care of yourself. You did, before him — before he inserted himself into your life. But now he sees the truth, that all those moments when you leaned on him weren’t signs of helplessness. They were choices.

You let yourself rest, let yourself be cared for, for once. Gave up the exhausting self-sufficiency because, for the first time, someone was there — and you wanted that someone to be him.

No it was never incapability; it was surrender.

And now you’re showing him that you can go back to holding it all again, alone, if you have to. And that, somehow, is worse than any screaming match, any slammed door. You even inform him one evening yourself — perfectly neutral — that you’ve talked to the counselor. That you’ve applied for housing, and the results should get back in a few weeks.

In many ways, you are certainly much more tolerable than before. And at the same time, in the most ironic twist of fate, he can’t stand it.

He can’t stand those guarded, polite smiles you give him. The way you clean your own dishes without being asked. How you only come to him, or speak to him, when it’s necessary. How you seem unfazed by his longer hours, how you barely seem to even care or notice.

Sukuna only realizes then how much you’d opened up to him, how much of you you’d let him see. That the clinginess, the neediness he used to tease you for—those weren’t flaws. They were the soft depths you’d chosen to reveal beneath that armor he now remembers all too well. The quiet trust behind it, the way you’d let him in. And he’d taken your vulnerability and used it against you.

Vulnerability—somehow your greatest strength. Because he doesn’t know how to show it himself. Doesn’t know how to be soft without destroying something in the process.

He knows—as your guardian—that whatever this is between you has to stop. That it’s fundamentally wrong, that you deserve a future untouched by this, by him. That you should go to school, finish your degree, meet someone your age, live clean and normal and free.

But as a man who wants a woman—wants you—he doesn’t want any of that. He wants to keep you close. Keep you his. Make sure no one else ever sees you the way he has, touches you the way he has, ruins you in the way he already has.

And gods, it would almost be easier if you didn’t look at him like that—like he’s worth everything. Like he’s still someone you want, even now. And that’s what makes it dangerous. Which is why he had to draw the line and set the goddamn deadline. Force you to take control of your own life, even if it hurts you. Even if it kills something inside him.

And the worst part is—it’s working, isn’t it? You’re moving on. Maybe not willingly, nor gracefully, but you’re moving on.

And he’s stuck somewhere between what he owes you as your uncle… and what he wants as a man.

He doesn’t say much these days to you.

But he starts showing up in small, quiet ways.

A freshly folded towel left outside your bathroom door. A full cup of barley tea placed by your laptop while you study. Groceries restocked with your favorite brand of yogurt.

Little things. Nothing dramatic, nothing direct.

You ignore them all. Not because you don’t notice — you do. Every single one. But acknowledging them would mean softening, and softening would mean giving in. And that strange, ugly ache still swells inside your chest every time you see him. So instead you harden.

When he knocks gently at your door one night, a quiet “You eaten yet?” slipping through the wood, you pretend you have your headphones on. He waits a few moments, doesn’t push. Eventually, you hear his footsteps retreat. You stare up at your ceiling and feel the guilt press against your ribs, dull and stubborn. But you don’t open the door. Not yet.

Because some part of you still wants him to feel it. That you were hurt and that you’re not just going to pretend like it didn’t crack something open. And until then, you keep that distance. Even as it eats at you too.

A few days later, Sukuna finds you on the balcony.

You’re small in the dark. Knees pulled to your chest, sleeves tugged down over your hands. It’s cold, but you don’t shiver.

He leans in the doorway for a long moment before stepping out. Doesn’t say anything at first, just pulls out a cigarette, lights it with a quiet flick, exhales a slow curling stream of smoke into the night.

You don’t look at him, but there’s that familiar ache in your chest. A tightness.

“You’re freezing out here,” he says eventually, like it’s casual.

Nothing.

He tries again. “Didn’t touch your dinner.”

Still no response, not even a shrug.

A longer pause this time. He shifts his weight, running a hand through his hair.

“You remember that stray cat? The one you used to leave food for down the block?” His voice is low, rougher. “Haven’t seen it in a while.”

You don’t respond but your fingers twitch. Sukuna stares at the side of your face. The line of your jaw, clenched tight, the blankness in your expression.

But inside, you’re fracturing. You don’t know what it is — this urge to hurt him, to dig in the knife and twist, even if it hurts you too.  Some side of you that’s simultaneously sadistic and masochistic, that wants to sabotage everything good, that enjoys the mutual pain.

You suppose that like your uncle, you have a cruel streak somewhere within you as well.

It's been a full week now.

Sukuna lingers in the doorway of your room, like he’s debating whether to say something or leave. Hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes low. He doesn’t look like himself, not in the way you’re used to — no sharp smirk, no biting comment ready to tear into you.

Just that annoying silence again. Heavy and hesitant.

“You doing okay?” he asks, eventually.

You don’t look up from your notebook. “Fine.”

“...You eat anything?”

“No.”

A pause. You let it stretch out, wanting him to leave. Or maybe, secretly, you want him to stay and try harder.

“I made soup,” he says. “You could’ve just—”

“I didn’t want it.”

He tenses — not a lot, but enough that you notice. It makes you feel that rush of power, laced with bitterness. With hurt. And somehow you can’t stop yourself.

So instead you flip a page, scribble down a word you don’t care about.

He exhales sharply. “Look, I didn’t do it to punish you. I thought... if I didn’t give you a push, you’d never try. You’d stay here. Get stuck. With me.”

Now you glance over your shoulder, barely. “So you thought hurting me was a favor?” Your voice is flat, almost bored. It stings.

He clenches his jaw. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

You finally lower the pen, clipping it to the side of the notebook to close it and keep it down. Then, you turn — calm, composed, lips pressed tight.

“No,” you say coolly, “I think you meant every word. That I’m a burden. That I should get out of your hair.”

“That’s not—”

“You don’t have to explain,” you cut in. “It’s fine. You want me to move on, right?” You smile a bit. “I have a date tonight, by the way. Don’t wait up.”

It lands exactly where you intended it to. Sukuna goes still. A slow, bitter kind of stillness, the kind that simmers behind his eyes. You walk past him without another word.

And behind you, he doesn’t follow.

Your date is forgettable.

Some guy from a dating app you downloaded on impulse a few nights ago, during a moment of defiance or loneliness — you can’t tell which. He talks about cryptocurrency the entire time. You nod along, barely listening, more focused on finishing your ramen than the words coming out of his mouth.

When the check comes, he glances at it, then at you. "Want to split?"

You don’t even bother sighing, just slide your card forward and nod.

On the way home, the silence in the train feels more like relief than emptiness. You realize it then — the whole outing was a quiet attempt to prove something. To yourself, or to Sukuna, you’re not sure. All it proves is that he’s still the one you think about, even when you're sitting across from someone else. He would never ask you to split the bill. And for reasons you don’t want to examine too closely, that thought makes your chest ache more than it should.

You unlock the front door quietly, out of habit. The home is dark except for the low flicker of a lamp. You toe off your shoes, slip inside, and pause there for a moment — unsure why.

He’s not in the living room. Not in the kitchen. You glance toward his closed bedroom door

You expected to feel…something. Triumph, maybe. Validation. Or at the very least, distraction. Instead, there’s only that dull, familiar ache settling back in your chest as you wash your face, brush your teeth, change into pajamas..

You should get to bed, sleep it off. Pretend the date meant something, that it helped.

But you don’t.

Instead, like some quiet pull you can’t resist, you drift toward his door, knock once — barely audible — and let yourself in without waiting for an answer.

He’s in bed, half-asleep or pretending to be. The soft glow of the lamp beside him casts shadows over his face. He doesn’t say anything when you approach, just watches you through lidded eyes.

You hesitate at the side of the bed. Then, without a word, you crawl in beside him — careful, uncertain.

His body is warm, solid. You don’t touch him at first. Just lie there, facing away, the space between you sharp with tension. Then, slowly, you feel the mattress shift. A hand brushes your back, barely there.

You don't speak; you don't need to. Eventually, your hand finds his, and holds.

Not an apology. Certainly not a resolution. But something.

You wake up before him.

It’s still dark out, just the faintest grey bleeding into the corners of the sky through the window. His room smells like sleep and the faint woody aroma of whatever soap he uses. You’re curled toward him, one arm tucked under your head, the other resting lightly near his chest.

Not touching. Just…close.

For a while you just lie there, heart aching and quiet. You hadn’t meant to come to him last night but now, in this slow, blurry moment, you realize it was the only place you could’ve ended up.

He shifts a little in his sleep and a quiet sound escapes him, the kind that makes your throat tighten for no good reason.

Finally he speaks, voice low and groggy. “...You came home late.”

You don’t answer. Just breathe slowly, carefully.

His arm shifts, hand brushing your back again tentatively.  “Was he any good?”

You let out the smallest breath of a laugh. Not amused, just tired. “No,” you whisper. “He was boring as hell.”

A long pause. You don’t look at him, and he doesn’t press. “Good.”

Another beat. You almost laugh again, but it catches somewhere painful in your chest. So instead, you let your eyes fall closed again and say nothing. His fingers linger on your back, warm and uncertain.

Still no resolution. Still no answers. But somehow, the silence between you feels less like distance — and more like a thread slowly weaving itself back together. You fall asleep like that, side by side. 

A couple days pass.

Things don’t go back to normal, not completely, but the ice isn’t as sharp as it was before. You’re both still circling each other, careful, cautious. But the air between you is a little less brittle now.

It’s late morning. You’re in the kitchen, halfheartedly eating some toast, still in your sleep shirt. He walks in, dressed and ready to head out, keys in one hand, phone in the other. He says nothing at first, just grabs a bottle of water and downs half of it.

You keep your eyes on your plate, but then, casually — maybe too casually — you ask,

“You working today?”

His brow lifts, ever so slightly though he doesn't turn to face you right away.

“Mmh,” he hums, wiping his mouth. “I am.”

You nod once, like that was all you wanted to know. But the smallest flicker of something akin to disappointment flashes across your face, and he catches it. He leans against the counter, watching you for a beat too long. “…You gonna miss me or something?”

You roll your eyes without looking up, cheeks warm. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He grins faintly — just a hint of smugness there, but it’s gentler than usual. Almost soft. “Mm. That’s not a no.”

You snort under your breath and finally glance up at him, just for a second. He’s already turning toward the door, but there’s something lighter in the way he moves now like maybe your question meant more to him than it should’ve.

And maybe your asking it meant something to you, too.

You don’t say anything else as he leaves. But when the door closes, you sit there with your half-eaten toast and feel the quiet press of his absence in the apartment. And this time, it doesn’t feel like punishment.

It just feels like… missing.

You don’t plan to wait up. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. You clean up the kitchen after dinner. Do a face mask, scroll on your phone. You even get in bed at a decent hour, lights off, pretending you're tired enough to sleep. But you don't; instead you just lay there, staring at the ceiling, wrapped in too many thoughts and too much quiet.

You hear the front door open sometime after three in the morning. The soft shuffle of his shoes being kicked off and keys landing in the bowl. 

You could stay in bed. You should. But before you can put thought into it, you're getting up and padding out into the hallway quietly, not sure what you're doing, until you catch sight of him in the living room — jacket off, sleeves rolled up, rubbing his neck like it’s been a long day.

He hasn’t noticed you yet. You hover a moment, then casually speak up, your voice quieter than you intend. “Late.”

He glances up, just a little startled. But his gaze softens when he sees you — rumpled from bed, arms loosely crossed like you’re pretending this is some kind of ambush and not the result of waiting for him for over three hours.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says.

“You didn’t.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. Neither do you. There's a quiet tension that might’ve been awkward once, but now just feels…careful — like both of you are trying to speak without saying the wrong thing.

Then, after a moment, he gestures with his head toward the couch. “Wanna sit with me for a bit? We can watch TV or something.”

You hesitate but only for a second. “…Yeah,” you murmur. “Alright.”

You curl into the corner of the couch, and he sits down beside you — not too close, but close enough that your shoulder brushes his when you shift. You just sit there silently, some late night talk show on the screen that neither of you are really watching, the clock ticking on the wall.

Neither of you says it, but you’re both thinking the same thing. That this… is better. You missed this.

The room is dim, the air thick with the remnants of the night. You can feel the weight of his presence even without looking at him. It’s strange, how the space between you doesn’t feel empty tonight.

You sit, stiff at first, then relax, just enough for the warmth in the room to seep into you. You can hear him breathing — slow, steady, and soon the quiet becomes comfortable. He’s the first to break it, his hand still lingering in the air, hovering above you, before he drops it to his lap.

“Go to bed if you’re tired.” His voice is low, almost absent, but there’s something in it — a softness you don’t expect from him.

You don’t answer at first. Instead, you just feel the weight of your own exhaustion settle in. The events of the night, the day before, everything else—all of it starts to catch up. You never realized how much you needed this quiet.

“Not sleepy,” you mumble.

“You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Then just let me.”

Your eyelids flutter, and the weight of sleep tugs at you, slow and irresistible. You try to fight it, but your body betrays you and involuntarily you lean back, just a little, and your head slips sideways.

His presence is warm, familiar, an anchor that you can’t seem to pull away from. Before you realize it, you’re not just leaning against the couch anymore. Your cheek is against his shoulder, your body curling slightly in towards him.

You don’t move. His hand is still resting near you, just close enough that you can feel the heat of his skin if you shift an inch. You want to move away, to keep that distance, but you’re too tired. Too drained. And, despite everything — despite the fighting and the sharp edges between you — you feel safer here.

You don’t notice when you finally drift off, your breathing evening out in rhythm with his. Sukuna watches you for a moment, his gaze lingering on the top of your head. He doesn’t move, even as you shift slightly in your sleep, closer to him.

His hand hovers for a beat before he rests it on your head, just a light touch, like he’s afraid of waking you. Or maybe afraid of needing you. He doesn’t let himself think about it too long. He shifts slightly, adjusting his own position to make you more comfortable, but he doesn’t push you away or force you to go back to your room. For the first time in a while, he simply allows himself to be in the moment with you, even if nothing is fixed.

Slowly, your odd relationship begins to rebuild itself. Almost like nothing’s changed. Which feels good, but you know is probably ultimately bad.

There isn’t much left for you to do regarding your college application now other than wait, which works in both your and Sukuna’s favors since he doesn’t have to ask you about it. And for a little while, you can both pretend like it doesn’t exist, like there isn’t a definitive end to all this.

You once again start bugging each other in that way, where it becomes a game to push each other’s buttons. The subtle jabs, the teasing remarks — it feels familiar, like slipping back into an old pair of shoes. Comfortable, easy.

One morning, you deliberately make a mess with the breakfast dishes, leaving them in the sink just to see if he’ll say something. He doesn’t disappoint.

“Spoiled,” he mutters, eyes flicking to the unwashed plates before he grabs his coat to head out for the day. You’re about to say something snarky back, but he catches you off guard when he pauses by the door. “I’m leaving. Don’t forget to eat. Don’t make me come back here to check on you.” His voice is sharp, but there’s something behind it that catches you off guard.

You don’t even reply, just raise an eyebrow as he walks out.

The day stretches on, and as usual, you find yourself stuck between the feeling of wanting to be left alone and the pull of his presence — a silent, strange comfort.

A few days later, you’ve had enough of your own thoughts spinning in circles. You’re lounging in the living room, scrolling through your phone when Sukuna walks in, the air shifting the moment he steps through the door.

“Made yourself comfortable?” he remarks dryly, nodding to the mess of books and papers scattered around the coffee table. You shrug, not bothering to answer, but he continues, his voice cutting through the silence. “You’re avoiding me again. Good to know I’m still that important.”

You roll your eyes but a tiny smirk tugs at the corner of your lips. “Oh? And how am I avoiding you?”

“You’re still keeping your distance. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” He leans against the doorway, his arms crossed, but there’s something different about the way he’s looking at you today. Less guarded. Almost vulnerable, though he’d never admit it.

You don’t respond immediately, the tension in the air thick. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. Then, the game kicks in. You look up from your phone, tilting your head with a feigned innocence. “And what about you? Still not asking about my college stuff? You’d think you’d care by now.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he smirks in that infuriatingly smug way. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For me to care? But I’m leaving it up to you. All of it.” His voice softens just a bit, and for a second, the tension fades. “Just don’t waste the chance.”

It stings. Not because of the words, but because you know they’re true. And deep down, you’re not sure if you’re ready to make that choice.

Sukuna won’t admit it, but he’s secretly thrilled at the way you’ve started to cling to him again.

It begins with you sometimes crawling into his bed at night, asking if you can sleep with him. He agrees, and soon the asking eventually just turns into you announcing that he’ll be sharing the bed with you.

And then the casual, domestic bickering returns full time to your daily life. One morning you’re sitting at the breakfast table, innocently eating leftovers from last night as he opens the fridge to grab some milk from his coffee.

The carton is suspiciously light, but he tries his luck anyway, unscrewing the lid to pour some into his glass.

A single drop falls out.

He catches you trying not to look at him, clearly hoping to escape the reprimanding that’s about to come your way.

“Seriously? Can you just throw away the damn containers when they’re finished?”

You sigh. “Okay, I’ll do it next time.”

“You say that every time.”

“Okay what do you want me to do? Go back in time and throw the carton away? I just forgot.”

He narrows his eyes. Maybe he’d buy into it a bit more if he didn’t see how well you could really do things, when you weren’t talking to him. Weaponized incompetency - that’s what this is.

If you’re not acting like some poor woman’s kind of shitty boyfriend, you’re acting like a spoiled pet.

You stand in the doorway to his office, arms crossed over your chest. Sukuna is bent over his desk, scribbling something on a piece of paper. He doesn’t look up at first, but you can feel his awareness of your presence, as always.

“I’m bored,” you announce, breaking the silence.

Sukuna barely glances up. “Do I look like your entertainment?”

“Not really,” you mutter, stepping closer. “But I’m here, so I thought you might want some company.”

He doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches until you can’t stand it any longer. You move behind his chair and sit down on his lap without asking. He freezes for a moment, but doesn’t push you off. His hands remain on the paperwork, not acknowledging the shift in your position.

You lean in slightly, eyes flicking to the paper in front of him. “What’s this? Planning to buy something else you don’t need?”

“Shut up,” he says, his voice rough but not unkind. “I’m working.”

You roll your eyes, shifting your weight a little to grind—barely—against his thigh. “It must be hard to focus when you’re this uptight,” you say, deliberately lazy in your tone.

He glances at you sideways. “I’m not the one climbing into someone’s lap uninvited.”

“Don’t need an invitation. It’s my birthright as your only niece,” you reply with a half-smile.

His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t bother responding. Pen scratching against the page like he’s willing himself to ignore you.

You want his attention, maybe something more — to get a peek into his head. But you know him; he never gives anything away when asked outright. That’s fine, you’ll go for the side door instead.

After watching him for a moment you lean in a little, voice laced with provocation. “Let me guess—you think this is annoying. That I’m clingy and that you’d rather be alone.”

He pauses just for a second, but you catch it. Still, he doesn’t say anything. Push a bit further.

You tilt your head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Or maybe you’re just trying not to care too much. Wouldn’t want to make things messy, right?”

That’s when his pen stops moving. His jaw tightens, just enough to make you smirk.

“You don’t know anything about what’s going on in my head,” he mutters, low and sharp.

There we go.

“Well, maybe you should share then,” you respond casually.

He leans back in his chair slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, and you feel your breathing quicken. Your pulse stutters—God, you’ve missed this. Missed him like this. Sukuna grins slowly, in that way that tells you he’s up to no good as his hand finds its way to the curve of your hip.

“You really wanna know what’s going on in my head?” He shifts beneath you, just enough for you to feel it—hard and rising under your weight.

“Guess I do,” you breathe, feigning calm.

“I’m thinking,” he says lowly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “That the shipping clause in the new procurement contract’s gonna screw us if customs get nosy in Kobe again.“

You blink before your face settles into a scowl of irritation. “God you’re fucking insufferable,” you mutter, looking away.

“What, did you want me to say I was thinking about you?”

You give him a dry, biting, pointed look that makes him smirk even wider.

“Well I was thinking about you too….”

You freeze for half a second.

“…And how you still haven’t bought the milk you finished without telling me. Or taken out the goddamn trash.”

You turn away, trying not to let the dejection get to you. Sure maybe you’re horny but it was more than that too — you wanted him to want you like that again. To feel that he still desires you in the way you know he shouldn’t.

So you begin to get up with a sigh, when he pushes you back down abruptly before casually adding, “Oh and how I want your pretty little lips wrapped around my cock right now-” He grabs your hips, grinding your throbbing cunt right onto where his bulge is straining against his pants, “So I can fuck your throat till you choke on it.”

Your eyes widen, breath hitching a little in surprise. Exactly the reaction he wanted, clearly, considering how it makes him smirk.

“Is that the kind of thing you wanted to hear? Huh?” he teases.

Yes, it is, but you’re feeling a bit more bratty after the way he just messed with you.

So you purse your lips, trying once again to climb off him. “Nope. Not anymore at least. I think I’m gonna go take out the trash actually since you were so concerned about that—“

His gaze darkens and before you can even catch the movement he’s gripping your wrist. “Knees. Now.”

You shoot him a glare. “And give me one good reason I should do that after that shit you just pulled?”

Of course the thought of getting to feel his cock in your mouth for the first time is more than arousing, but your penchant for demand avoidance proves to be just as stubborn.

“Because you waltzed in here practically begging for my attention—and now you’ve got it,” he says smoothly, thumb brushing along your lower lip, hand cupping your jaw. “Interrupting me while I’m working…”

His eyes drag over your face. “Might as well make yourself useful. Help me burn off some of this stress...”

You don’t respond, but you don’t pull away either. He watches you, waiting. When you still don’t move, his hand trails lower—fingers wrapping around your throat with deliberate pressure.

“Get on your knees.” His voice drops, grip tightening just slightly. “I won’t ask again.”

You swallow hard, eyes locked on his. Then you move. He releases you as you shift, lifting yourself off his lap and lowering to the floor between his legs, gaze never breaking from his. Sukuna’s eyes follow you, widening his thighs a bit more so that you have better access to the bulge now at your face level.

And before he even has to ask, you’re reaching forward, unzipping his fly to expose the swell in his boxers. He exhales softly when you finally pull down the waistband, freeing his erect cock, already flushed and leaking at the tip.

You swallow again, this time louder, the sound exaggerated in the quiet between you. He hears it, clearly, and lets out a low, amused snort.

“Nothing to say now?”

You give him another half-assed scowl, before returning your attention to his dick. His skin is tan against the dark pink of his hair, a contrast that draws your eyes before anything else. And when your hand finally wraps around him, the weight of him is undeniable—solid, warm, real.

His cock is just as imposing as the rest of him. No wonder he acts like that.

“What do you want me to do?” you murmur, giving him an experimental pump of your fist, before bending forward to lick the pearlescent bead of pre gathered at his slit.

A little salty, maybe even sweet, ever so slightly.

Sukuna breathes a bit sharply at the touch, though his voice stays composed, condescending and arrogant as ever. “Suck it? Give me a blowjob? Want me to say it in another languag— ah, fuck,” he hisses when you deliberately stiffen the tip of your tongue, firmly prodding into his slit.

Not hard enough to hurt, but certainly enough to probably feel uncomfortable. You lift away, stroking his length gently with a small satisfied smile.

“Was that good?” you ask innocently, knowing few things annoy him as much as your weaponized incompetency.

“Just open your mouth and let me fuck it since you can’t do it right yourself.”

You place one hand on his thigh, the other bringing his tip back to your lips to give it another kitten lick. “In a moment.”

You tease your tongue around his frenulum, sliding your tongue up and down with soft, almost curious licks. He lets you explore dick as you borderline inspect it, lifting his shaft to peer at the heavy balls sitting below before running your tongue along the seam with almost reverent carefulness. Sukuna’s breath deepens, as you feel his hand coming up to knot in your hair.

“What’s this all about? Never sucked a dick before or something?” he murmurs, though he stays patient, letting you go at your own pace.

“I have. Just not yours,” you mumble, as you bring your lips back up, rubbing it against his sensitive glans just to see what it feels like.

Soft, so soft, almost satin-like.

You’ve sucked dick before, yes, but never felt the need to get so familiar with another man’s intimate areas, to take your time like you’re trying to permanently imprint the memory of it in your brain. You find yourself wanting to memorize every vein you trace with your tongue, the smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him in your mouth.

Perhaps you understand now why he was so adamant on wanting to see every inch of your own pussy. Not to mention no other man’s ever leaked as much precum as he is right now, oozing from his slit as you coat your lips with it in a slick sheen. Sukuna’s muscles are visibly tensed beneath you, you can tell he’s reaching his limit from the steady tightening of the hand gripping your roots. Good.

But you want to push him further, just a bit. So you look up at him as you collect spit in your mouth, before parting your lips to drip it obscenely over his tip. And then, you blow on the wettened skin, ever so gently.

A notch forms between his brows, jaw clenching as it does when he gets irritated. Suddenly your head is yanked back, scalp stinging from the harsh tug.

“Enough,” he growls. “Stick your tongue out like a good slut.”

You do as you’re told, and soon he’s taking his cock and rubbing it against the flat of your tongue as you gaze up at him.

“That’s it.” He slides cock off your tongue, and onto your face, slapping it against your cheek with a wet noise, your saliva sticking to you skin. “Now open up.”

You widen your jaw and take a deep inhale through your nose right before he slides his girth in, inch by inch, feeding it into your throat. Immediately your gag reflex kicks in as he goes deeper than you’d expected, sooner than you’d expected.

Sukuna only snickers meanly when he hears you choke a bit, your throat convulsing around his cock. “Too much?”

You narrow your watering eyes in defiance, inhaling again through your nose before remembering a trick you’d heard somewhere about squeezing one of your thumbs so you don’t gag.

So you ball your left fist around your thumb as hard as you can, and strangely enough, it works. With that you hollow your cheeks and push your head down until your nose reaches the coarse hairs on his pelvis, taking in how tight your throat feels around his cock sheathed fully inside.

He smiles as you still a bit, the grip in your hair loosening so that he can stroke it instead, as he murmurs pleasantly surprised, “Oh, good girl. You learn fast, huh?”

Before he can do it himself, you begin moving your head back before sliding back down again, feeling the velvety skin of his shaft brush along your tongue as you bob your head up and down. Slick, squelching noises fill the study, your throat making wet clicks as it moves around him. You can feel your saliva starting to drool out, dripping down his shaft, some smearing on your lips and chin.

It feels sloppy, even more when you hear him groan in pleasure as he grips your hair again, the noise sending an unbearable warmth down to your core while you try to focus on keeping your teeth out of the way and breathing through your nose.

“Mmh, just like that baby, your throat feels so fucking good,” he rasps.

His praise goes right to your head, feeling much better than it had any right to. It’s enough to make you push away the aching pain flaring in your jaw from holding it open, just to hear more of it, to show him how well you can please him. You unclench the fist you were squeezing to fondle his balls, caressing and massaging them delicately while you work your throat around him, rubbing your tongue along his length and letting more of your spit drip out and onto his cock as you swallow around it.

You know Sukuna. You know beyond a certain point of pleasure, his lust will morph into something worse, something vicious that likes to ruin.

And you know it's what compels him to abruptly grip your hair so tightly it stings, and thrust his hips so hard into your mouth with a guttural noise that you make a muffled squeak of surprise, losing your rhythm and feeling you gag reflex claw up your chest, trying to push him back out of your throat. He grins wickedly, cock only twitching in excitement when he feels you struggling to take him, only encouraging him to go harder, fuck your skull till tears are streaming down your face and spit froths at your lips and dribbles down. Strands of your hair stick to the mess, but he’s too busy bruising the back of your throat to care enough to peel them away.

“Hah, I think this is your birthright as my niece,” he sneers between pants, as you try and regain some semblance of control, fingers trying find some purchase on his thighs to steady you a bit. “Finally putting that fucking mouth of yours to proper use.”

You’d be annoyed normally, but in the hazy mess your mind is in right now, with nothing existing but the wet heat of your throat engulfing his cock, the musky scent of him and the stiff pain in your jaw, you’ve been reduced to a primal need to devote yourself to his pleasure. So you relax, and let him use your throat, gazing up at him through teary eyes, drinking the sight of his face contorted in pleasure, brows pulled together, bottom lip sucked in between his teeth.

Surrender.

Maybe he can sense the moment you finally do so because then his face is crumpling and you feel his hips stutter as he pulls back so his tip rests heavily on your tongue.

“Oh, fuck-“

Spurts of seed spread across your tongue as he fills your mouth, warm and viscous, as he fills your mouth. He finishes finally, pulling out his wet dick from your mouth with a satisfied sigh.

You don’t swallow; instead you keep his semen in your mouth for a bit, tasting it, feeling it, as he tucks himself back in. The texture is somewhere between saliva and diluted syrup, and under the saline taste there’s a strange sweetness — warm, earthy, almost like the smell of skin after sex. You chase it with your tongue, savoring the taste not because it’s objectively good, but because it’s his.

And then, an idea comes to mind.

Before Sukuna can react, you’re getting to your feet and climbing onto him. You tilt his jaw towards yours, muffling his surprised grunt as you abruptly kiss him, pushing your way through his lips, guiding the slick taste into his mouth with the tip of your tongue

You more than half expect him to push you away, but he catches you off guard when he kisses you back instead, deepening it and groaning softly as sucks the cum off your tongue, some of the white fluid leaking down the corners of your lips. When you no more is left, you pull away, breaking a thin strand of fluid connecting your wet lips.

You sit there for a moment, flustered and out of breath, before wiping your lips and face with your sleeve, scowling when he smirks at you completely unfazed.

“Was that supposed to be revenge? Because it kinda turned me on instead.”

“Sorry, I forgot you’re a fucking freak,” you comment dryly.

“Guess you got it from me.”

You glare at him again, pushing against his chest. “I’ve had enough of you.”

But Sukuna’s hand is trailing up your waist, coaxing you to stay there.

“Aw, and here I was thinking about rewarding you for your good work,” he purrs.

“Rewarding me?” you repeat, suspicious but a bit intrigued.

“Mhm,” he hums. “Get on the desk.”

Your brow furrows as you peek at the desk behind you, still covered in documents. “What?”

“You can move the papers to the side.”

You don’t move yet. “For what?”

Sukuna sighs. “Just do it. And take off your pants.”

And for some reason you comply, getting off him to hastily swipe the papers to the side before shrugging your pants down your legs and sitting on the desk in front of him.

He clicks his tongue. “No, I want you to turn around. I’m gonna eat you out.”

Oh.

You’re certainly not going to fight against that. Sure he’s never eaten you out from the back before and the position makes you a bit nervous, but then you remember you only get him like this for a few more months and soon you’re climbing up all the way onto the desk.

You feel a bit more vulnerable like this with your cheek pressed against the cold hardwood, your ass presented to where you can’t see him.

“Perfect. Just stay still now.”

You hear him moving and a warm palm squeezes one of your cheeks, kneading the pliant flesh before his second hand joins on the other side.

“Okay…” you mumble, “Just don’t try anything …weird.”

He doesn’t respond, but you think you catch a light laugh under his breath. Not a good sign, but you’re too far in now.

And then your panties are being pulled down your ass till right above your knees, and you can already feel how wet you are just in anticipation.

Sukuna doesn’t waste any time, and immediately his tongue is caressing at your damp folds, before slipping in and gliding through them till your clit. You moan softly as he begins lapping at your pussy, tingling heat building between your thighs as he licks you firmly, suckling on your clit in between.

Sukuna’s certainly talented at eating a woman out, you’ll give him that, because not even five minutes later you’re whimpering and shaking as the pressure in your clit builds till you cum on his tongue.

A few breathless moments and then you feel yourself loosening up again, coming down from your high, feeling much better now than a few minutes ago when you were sure he had some devious plans in mind.

“Shit, that was good,” you mumble as his tongue pulls away from your sopping cunt.

The relief you were basking in is ripped away when suddenly you feel him gripping your cheeks and spreading them apart.

Uncomfortable.

“I said no weird stuff—” Your words end in a squeak of surprise when you feel something warm and wet press against the tight rim of your asshole. Heat quickly rises to your face in indignation as you shift, trying to get away from the ironclad grip he has on your ass. “Oh my god, do not do that—”

A sharp slap to your ass shuts you up as you wince in pain instead. “You should really try new things, you know that? It’ll get you a lot farther in life.”

“Uncle!” you cry out in mortification when you feel his tongue back on your hole, prodding at it. “Do we really need to do this?”

“Yes,” his answer comes between small licks at your hole, making you flinch when he abruptly spits on it. “How else will you take my cock up here if you can’t even take my tongue?”

“What!?” You squirm, twisting your head to try and look at him. “No, no, that is definitely not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Why does it have to!? Is my pussy not good enough for you?” You can barely see him behind you from the way he’s holding your ass firmly in place, but that won’t stop you from trying, even if it makes your neck hurt a lot.

You hear him audibly sigh. “Do you always have to fucking argue with me?”

And then maybe as punishment, or just because he likes to torture you, he presses the tip of his tongue firmly enough against your puckered hole that it actually breaches through. You yelp at the odd, visceral sensation

He pulls it back out just to laugh at you. “If you can go three minutes without moving around or fucking bitching, I’ll let you go. How about that?”

“You better put a goddamn timer.”

Sukuna sighs, but he agrees, setting the time on his phone before putting it back on the desk. “Now shut the fuck up.”

It is still far from comfortable, this strange new sensation, and at first you’re still fighting to try and not squirm, especially when his tongue presses teasingly into your entrance again, before probing a little deeper. You’ve never done this before, not even with your own fingers, really.

His tongue feels delicate and invasive at once- even though he’s barely in deep, it’s somewhere untouched. Yet somewhere along the way you stop tensing and just let him play with your hole, and when his tongue pushes a bit more insistently against the tight ring of muscle, a quiet whimper falls from your lips.

Then his fingers are joining by pushing into your wet pussy, and the feeling of him massaging your walls as his tongue works diligently at your other hole is enough to make you moan and melt into the touch.

You hate it. That’s he always right. That he really, definitely, knows what he’s doing if he’s actually able to make you enjoy this despite the discomfort and your initial reluctance. And fuck, it feels good- dirty and sinful enough to make your arousal drip down his fingers and your hole clench around his tongue. But then the shrill ring of the alarm cuts through, startling you and yanking you before you can fall deeper into the haze. You don’t even realize you’re panting till he pulls away and you turn to look at him, feeling a bit conflicted.

“You can…keep going,” you mumble. “It felt kinda good.”

And to that, Sukuna looks at you with amusement as he licks his lips.

“Oh, would you look at that? My dirty little niece actually likes getting her ass eaten,” he coos as you stare at him venomously.

“But,” Sukuna leans back into his chair, grinning lazily. “The timer rang, and I promised I wouldn’t go longer than that remember?”

Irritating, infuriating man.

But you did say that, so this one’s a bit fair, even if you always feel like he’s setting you up on purpose every single time. You don’t say anything, just huff and roll over to pull your panties back up before sitting and getting off his desk, putting your pants back on.

Sukuna stands and stretches with a low grunt. “I’m gonna wash my hands. Then I’ve got work to finish.”

You nod, shifting a little where you sit, and watch as he disappears into the bathroom. The sound of running water fills the quiet room for a moment, then cuts off. When he returns, drying his hands on a towel, his gaze flicks to you—still lingering where he left you.

He drops back into the chair, spreads his thighs, and pats one. “Come here. Sit.”

“Do you always have to talk to me like I’m a dog?” you mutter under your breath, though you quickly move to make yourself comfortable on his lap, resting your head against his chest as he gets back to work like you still can’t taste the faint astringent aftertaste of his cum in your mouth, or the dampness on the gusset of your panties.

Your relationship not only returns to what it used to be, but becomes something even more—evident from the fact that you now regularly sleep with him at night. Hours of tossing and turning trying to fall asleep turn into minutes as soon as you’re next to him. But with him next to you, the restless ache that builds in your body each night has nowhere to go—and you can’t exactly handle it the usual way with him lying inches away.

After a few nights, Sukuna can’t take it anymore. You crawl into his bed again, barefoot and sleepy-eyed, and he lets you in without a word—again. You curl into him like you always do, seeking the warmth and safety he pretends not to offer. And as always, he runs his hand down your back, lets you rest your head against his chest, even pulls the blanket up over your shoulders without complaint. But then it starts- the shifting. The sighing. The squirming.

He can feel every frustrated twitch of your body, every little exhale like your skin is too tight to hold in whatever’s stirring inside. He cracks an eye open, jaw clenched. You’re on your back now, eyes open, staring at the ceiling like it’s personally offended you.

He waits. One minute. Two. Then—

“You done?” he mutters.

You glance over, sheepish. “Sorry… I just—can’t sleep.”

“No shit,” he says, voice gravelly with exhaustion. “And you’re making it my problem too.”

You try to apologize, genuinely feeling kind of bad. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what it is—“

Sukuna just sighs and then his hands are sliding to your hips, pulling you closer against him.

You don’t say anything. Words are never needed with him — he understands what you need, even before you do. How to offer you some relief. He notices how your breath hitches, thighs shifting as he slips his fingers under your top, skimming along your skin. He notices all the things you try to hide.

“What’re you…” Your voice trails off as his fingers dip lower, beneath the waistband of your pajamas.

“Shut up,” he murmurs gently, hands slipping fully into the waistband of your panties.

Lower and lower, till they brush against your slick folds.

“You really need me to do everything, huh?” he muses, his voice low and lazy. “Can’t even get yourself off like a big girl?”

“Sukuna,” you whisper, flustered now, but your legs shift again—nervous, needy.

“What?” he taunts gently, like he’s scolding a pet. “You want to toss and turn all night like a brat, or do you want to cum so hard you pass out?”

You glare at him, cheeks flushed. “You’re such an asshole.”

He smirks, leaning down, mouth brushing just under your jaw as he deliberately dips a finger into the arousal collecting at your entrance, before puling it back out to smear your slick across your folds. “Yeah. And you’re wet for it.”

You let out a breathy sigh, just giving in, relaxing your body into his and letting him take over. One of his fingers slips inside you at first, and he presses it right against the spongey part of your wall. He can feel a throbbing under the sensitive, swollen flesh there, like your heart is literally beating in your cunt.

It makes blood flow to his own cock, but he ignores that for now.

He fingers you under the sheets, your juices spilling and dampening your panties, though you don’t really care. Soft, wet noises are audible from under the blankets, amidst your small whimpers and mewls, grinding into his hand for more.

Finally you cum with a small cry, and when Sukuna pulls his hand back out his fingers are covered in a glistening glaze. And just like he predicted, your body stays lax, satiated, no longer restless and squirming, and he can feel you starting to doze off against him.

But he’s Sukuna, so right before he lets you fall asleep he sticks his cum-coated fingers into your mouth abruptly. You make a muffled noise of surprise, and agitation.

“Clean them,” he says plainly. “You made a mess.”

You’re too drowsy to really fight back anyway so you lazily suck his fingers clean, tongue licking at the crevices in between , the taste of your own arousal coating your tongue before you swallow it down.

And when you decide you’re done, you pull his fingers from your mouth with a soft pop, turning your head away in quiet defiance. He snorts under his breath, wiping the damp fingers on your cheek just to get a rise out of you.

You groan, muffled against the pillow. “Can you not?”

“Shhh,” he murmurs, unbothered, like you’re the one making a scene.

You try to swat at him half-heartedly, but your arm's too heavy with sleep, and he easily catches your wrist, pinning it lazily to the mattress.

“Such a brat,” he mutters, voice low and warm near your ear.

You don’t bother answering, just sigh, turning your face into his chest instead, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing pull you down. His hand lingers at your back, a quiet weight as you fall asleep and neither of you realize it's the first time you've addressed him by his name of your own accord.

There’s something about growing up with very little family. No buffer—no siblings to confide in, no cousins to rely on, no grandparents to balance things out. Every relationship carries extra weight.

In your case, it’s your parents. In an ideal world, this would’ve drawn you closer. A small, tight-knit family. But in reality, emotional absence from either parent creates a gaping void—whether you name it or not.

For you, it’s a paternal wound. One that only becomes glaringly obvious when Sukuna slips into your life, uninvited, into the role of a pseudo-guardian.

It isn’t some cliché Freudian desire to date your father; it’s something deeper. What draws you to Sukuna isn’t the simple need for a father figure—it’s how he fills a hollow space inside you. And the quiet resentment that he wasn’t there to do it sooner.

But there are downsides to filling a wound. You haven’t forgotten that moment—the horrible, embarrassing moment the morning after he took your virginity. When, raw and vulnerable, you snapped, calling him "your dad."

Neither of you ever brought it up again. And maybe that’s for the best, because the implication was too real. Because while the sense of protection from him draws you in, it also comes with expectations you never asked for. Sometimes, when Sukuna acts like he cares, it feels like a leash—an invisible tether you never wanted, but can’t escape.

You don’t look too closely at it. You don’t ask questions. You don’t dig into why it feels this way, because deep down, you know that if you did, you’d start trying to excuse it. And that feels worse.

So you let it haunt you quietly instead. You let it settle in your bones, a constant undercurrent of discomfort that you’ve learned to live with. And you don’t question it.

Not even when, one evening, in the middle of one of your usual bickering sessions, Sukuna announces—out of nowhere—that he’s taking you on a date. Especially since, according to him, your last one was pathetic.

You’re pretty sure it’s just his way of proving a point, another game to pass the time.

But still.

Your stomach flips. That giddiness bubbles up, childish and bright, almost shameful in its intensity—not because you crave male attention, not just because someone chose you.

But because he did. Because it’s Sukuna, and everything he represents.

The one person who never had to care, who didn’t owe you anything—but still chose you, regardless. And even if his gesture is wrapped in sarcasm and ego, it feels surprisingly pure. Like something tender buried beneath something cruel.

It disarms you.

Especially when he adds, almost carelessly, that you’ll need a new dress, proper heels, maybe even a little makeup.

“If I’m doing this,” he says, “I’m doing it right.”

Of course, you try to laugh off the part about him buying you things. You’ve been trained to never take from others, to never be the one who gets lavished with attention, and you don’t know how to accept it anymore. Or maybe it’s deeper than that. Maybe you’ve never known how to let yourself be spoiled.

Sukuna, however, just gives you that look—a sharp, unamused stare—and tells you to shut up.

So you do. You nod, face flushed, trying to hide the way your chest tightens. Not just from excitement, but from something heavier, something sharper. The ache of being cared for in a way you were never shown how to care for yourself. Something dangerously close to wanting—no, needing—to be wanted in a way you never learned how to ask for.

Sukuna means it when he says if you’re doing this, you’re doing it right.

Which is how you end up at the store that weekend, standing in front of an employee assigning you a changing room. You hold out the dresses draped over your arm—four of them—for her to count.

“Ooh, those are great choices. What’s the occasion?” she asks, smiling.

And then Sukuna appears behind you like some large, intimidating shadow, and you swear you can see her recalibrating behind that smile—trying to figure out if he’s your dad or an older boyfriend. She definitely lands on the worse conclusion when he smirks and rests a hand on your shoulder.

“She has a date tomorrow night,” he says.

You force a small smile, shifting under his touch, laughing nervously. “Yeah.”

“Lucky guy,” she replies—now clearly convinced he’s your father. "You can take that big stall at the end,” she adds with a knowing look.

You blink, eyebrows knitting as you glance between Sukuna and the girl. “Oh, he’s not co—”

“Thank you,” Sukuna cuts in smoothly, steering you away before you can finish your sentence.

The second you're out of earshot, you twist out of his grip, shoving the door to the stall open. “There is absolutely no need for you to come in with me. Just stay out here. I’ll show you each one when I try them on.”

Sukuna tilts his chin toward the bench inside the stall. “See that? That’s for uncles supervising their bratty nieces. Tradition.”

He gives you a grin so filthy you nearly combust.

“Oh my god—shut up.” You glance around, mortified. “Don’t say shit like that. People’ll get the wrong idea.”

“More like the right idea. Hope they all know you suck your uncle’s—”

You slap him before he can finish, cheeks blazing, and yank him inside by the wrist as he laughs.

“You’re the worst,” you mutter.

The door clicks shut behind you. You hang the dresses up one by one, studiously ignoring him as you grab the first one off the rack. Sukuna sprawls on the bench like he owns the place—and you. Legs wide, arms folded, eyes fixed on your reflection in the mirror.

You peel off your top, then pause at your waistband. “Can you, like…close your eyes?”

He opens his mouth—no doubt ready to say something disgusting—so you cut him off before he can get the words out.

“Ugh, never mind. Forget it,” you mutter, yanking your pants off anyway.

Now you’re hyper-aware of the mirrors. Of the lighting. Of the man sitting behind you who doesn’t even pretend not to stare. “Can you not ogle me like some creep?”

He doesn’t blink. Just watches, then slowly palms himself through his jeans.

Your mouth drops open. “Seriously?!”

You yank the dress down over your chest, catching him trying not to laugh, which only infuriates you more.

“Need help?” he drawls.

“No.” You drag the dress into place and turn toward the mirror.

At least he’s stopped groping himself. But his gaze still drags over you like he’s memorizing every inch.

“Well?”

Sukuna tilts his head, chin resting in one hand. “Cute. But the next one’s tighter, right?”

You roll your eyes—trying to ignore the flutter in your chest—and grab the next dress. The tightest one. Black, short, zipper up the back. You strip off the first dress without looking at him and step into the second.

It hugs you like a second skin. The zipper, of course, sticks halfway up. You grunt, trying to reach around.

“Sure you don’t want help?” he murmurs, smug.

“I said no.”

There’s a pause. Then you hear the soft creak of the bench as he stands. Your breath catches, as you feel him behind you before you hear him. His fingers brush your spine lightly through the fabric.

“Stop squirming,” he murmurs. “You’ll jam it.”

He tugs the zipper up—too slowly, too deliberately, the gliding motion grazing your skin like a tease. 

“There you go,” he murmurs as you look up.

The dress is black silk, soft to the touch and sinfully tight. It hugs every single curve without shame, the fabric catching the light in a way that makes shadows dance across your body. The neckline plunges just enough to make your pulse quicken, and the back dips scandalously low, exposing the gentle curve of your spine.

It stops mid-thigh—short enough to tempt, long enough to tease. The sleeves are off-shoulder, barely clinging to your upper arms, adding that extra edge of vulnerability, like the dress could slip just a little too far with one wrong move.

Sukuna’s gaze is unreadable as he takes in this one, but you’re too focused on one small detail to even worry about that.

Your hands pause at your lower stomach, fingers brushing the slight bump that feels more noticeable in this lighting, in this mirror, in front of him. You tug the fabric subtly, trying to flatten it, your face twisting with discomfort.

Sukuna’s eyes catch the motion immediately. “What are you doing?”

You don’t answer, just keep adjusting, suddenly wishing the lights were a little dimmer. “It fits weird here. Makes me look—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” His voice cuts clean and low, that stern, irritated tone.

You glance over at him, and his gaze has shifted—no longer teasing, no longer just looking for fun. 

“You look good,” he says simply. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Stop pulling at it.”

You try to deflect with a shrug, suddenly warm in the face. “Whatever. I just don’t like how it fits right here—”

Sukuna steps closer, towering behind you as his hands slip down to rest at your waist. His fingers settle exactly where you were trying to hide, pressing just enough for you to feel it.

“This part?” His voice dips. “It’s hot. Not sure who put those silly ideas in your head.”

His eyes meet yours in the mirror—not looking at you, looking through you, like he wants you to see exactly what he sees.

“Wear this one tomorrow,” he says, already deciding.

“What about the other ones—”

“No. This one.”

You try to argue, but the words feel thin. You just nod.

You make it out of the changing room alive—barely—and he lets you breathe for a while.

The next stops are easier. He picks out a pair of heels you actually like, lets you test them with a spin, and even hums approvingly when you twirl for him. Then he lets you drift toward the makeup section like it’s no big deal, arms crossed while you test swatches on your wrist. He even pays for everything without blinking, which should annoy you more than it does.

It’s... almost domestic. Almost.

Too domestic. Which is exactly why the second your guard drops, he grabs your wrist again.

“Wait—where are we going now?”

Sukuna doesn’t answer. Just smirks and steers you with that same annoying confidence you’ve learned to hate. And then you see the store sign. Lace everywhere. Soft light. Satin mannequins. Entire walls covered in things no sane person wears unless they plan on not wearing them for long.

Your stomach flips. “No. No, no, no—absolutely not—”

“You owe me- I sat through the whole makeup segment like a saint,” Sukuna says, voice low and lazy. “Besides what do you think we’re gonna do after I take you out to dinner? You didn’t think it was just that, did you?”

“Wh— First of all you were on your phone the entire time! Second of all, that’s not what I thought,” you stammer, heat crawling up your neck. “I mean—I didn’t think anything! And you could’ve warned me, you psycho!”

It doesn’t help that the saleswoman gives you a courteous, knowing smile.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he murmurs, already plucking something red and lacy off a nearby rack.

He starts picking things out way too fast—like he’s been here before, like he already knows exactly what he wants to see you in. A red lace set that’s mostly straps. A black sheer bodysuit with strategic cutouts. Something so small and silky you’re not even too sure what it actually is.

Your mouth opens. “Are you—seriously?”

Sukuna doesn’t even look at you. “You said you’d try something on. Don’t get shy now.”

“I didn’t say I’d try on whatever sadistic thing you pulled off the wall,” you hiss, snatching the red one from his hands. The thing barely weighs anything—it’s just lace and suggestion.

He finally glances at you, eyes flicking down to the scrap of fabric in your hands, then back up to your face. He smirks. “You’d look good in it.”

“You don’t know that—”

“I know your size.” He grabs another hanger. This one is deep wine-colored and... crotchless? You choke on air.

“I’m not wearing that.”

“No,” he says easily. “You’ll keep that one for later.”

Your entire face burns.

But there’s that spark again—the one he always knows how to strike. A tiny thrill under your ribs, curling somewhere low and secret. You hate how easily it lights up around him, how much worse it makes everything. Your parents would skin you alive if they saw you come home with things like this.

And sure, maybe the lingerie is scandalous. Obscene, even. But it’s also… beautiful. Beautiful in a way that makes you nervous. Erotic in a way that feels like it wasn’t meant for someone like you. This is what people wear when they want to be seen. Worshipped.

Adored.

You’re not used to that, not sure you believe it’s something you’re allowed to want. Maybe that’s why it unsettles you so much. Why you keep glancing away from the mirror, like you’re afraid of catching your own eyes. Why you deflect—tell him he’s a total perv for wanting to see you in all that stuff, pretending to be offended with each skimpier set he picks out.

Sukuna doesn’t seem to care. He ends up with half a dozen pieces slung over his arm—lace, mesh, satin, straps.

“You’re disgusting,” you mutter, trailing after him as he heads straight for the fitting rooms.

“Thank you,” he says, unbothered.

You glance around the store like someone might save you. The girl at the register doesn’t even blink as you pass by. Clearly, she’s seen worse.

You make it to the fitting room and try—again—to shake him off.

“I’m going in alone,” you say, palm flat against his chest, blocking the door. “You don’t need to supervise everything, freak.”

He doesn’t budge, just glances over your head toward the row of fitting rooms, eyes flicking until he finds the one he wants.

“This one,” he mutters, guiding you toward the end of the row. You start to protest again, but he’s already turning the handle and nudging the door open with his foot like he owns the place.

“There’s a seat,” he says plainly.

You freeze. “There’s what?”

He gestures inside. And sure enough—tucked in the corner like some kind of luxury upgrade—there’s a little bench. Padded and polite.

Utterly unbelievable.

“Why the hell is there a chair in here!?”

Sukuna shrugs, completely unfazed. “Probably for men like me. The ones who pay.”

You scowl. “You’re not coming in.”

But it’s already too late. He steps inside before you can close the door, brushing past you with that arrogant ease like this is just his natural territory. The lock clicks behind you, and suddenly the space feels smaller.  The room is too pink, the lighting too warm, too sensual. Too many mirrors.

You stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, lingerie in your arms, staring at him like maybe he’ll take the hint and leave.

He doesn't. Instead he sprawls on the little bench like it’s a throne, legs spread wide, one arm casually draped over the backrest. His gaze is lazy, almost amused, as he watches you, and it grates on your nerves more than it should. You yank a hanger free, desperate to get this over with. You don’t even look at the tag, just grabbing the first thing that catches your eye—something black and sheer, satin and silk, its fabric soft but undeniably revealing.

You take a closer look. A chemise.

But not just any chemise. The front has an open bust, leaving little to the imagination, with two thick ribbons dangling at either side—meant to be tied over your breasts. You can't help but cringe; the ribbon looks thick enough to cover just your nipples probably, leaving everything else exposed.

“I’m not doing this,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, you are."

You sigh, a mix of frustration and resignation, and take off your top, holding the chemise against your torso, trying to get an idea of how it might fit.

“You need to take your bra off too," he adds smugly.

Your face burns, and you’re almost certain you can feel the heat creeping all the way to your ears. You hesitate, the chemise still pressed against your chest, the weight of his words settling heavily in your stomach. You can feel the faint pulse in your throat, and despite the sharp burn of embarrassment, your fingers move to undo your bra, almost without thinking.

Sukuna watches you, the air around him thick with that same, unreadable calm. The amusement never leaves his expression, but it feels like there’s something more beneath it, like he’s watching a very private performance.

You pull the bra off, leaving you bare chested as you pick up the chemise to put it on. Your nipples stiffen in the air, and you try not to look at the way his eyes are drawn to them, how he licks his lips.

You slip it on, the fabric soft and delicate as it caresses your skin, till the underwire sits right below your breasts. Heat prickles all across your skin, and somehow you feel even more exposed with the lingerie outlining your nakedness.

With another swallow you lift the ribbons to your chest, across your nipples, when—

“Let me,” he says, voice low and smooth.

Intense, but not biting. Soft, almost, though the look in his eyes certainly is not — closer to something much hungrier, instead.

But your beyond bound of arguing, not when you feel so vulnerable, so you turn around and timidly walk up to him till your breasts are in his face, holding the ribbons out for him. He takes them from your hands without asking, holding them gently across your bare nipples. The fabric brushes your skin—soft, deliberate, teasing. Then he slowly begins to tie them.

He pulls the satin taut until the soft weight of your breasts spills out around it, obscene and almost delicate, like a gift he’s unwrapping in reverse before finishing it with a bow, neat and centered. You stare at your reflection, heat blooming across your chest, your neck, your face.

“I look ridiculous,” you murmur, voice barely audible.

“Ridiculous,” he repeats, like the very word offends him. His tone turns low, almost lazy. “Then how come”—he takes your hand, guides it lower—“you’re doing this to me?”

He presses your palm against the growing bulge in his pants. Firm, heavy and real. Your breath catches as your thighs tense. Your panties grow damp as your mind short-circuits, shame and arousal folding over each other like waves.

“Gonna call me a creep or a perv again?” he teases, almost gently. Almost fond.

No. Because those were only reflections of your own discomfort with yourself, weren’t they? Because right now you feel desirable, so his arousal makes you want more.

Surrender.

You give in, not caring that you’re in a public changing room, as you straddle his lap and settle, guided more by instinct than thought. Your lips find his—hot, searing, desperate—and he kisses you back with that slow, claiming hunger that always makes you feel like you’re being owned.

But even in that closeness, something twists under your ribs. A voice.

Not loud, but constant, like pressure behind your eyes. It always shows up when you're too close to him like this, when it stops feeling like a game and starts feeling dangerous.

It reminds you, as it always does, that this isn’t forever. That it can’t be, even if there wasn’t that goddamn deadline.

Because what you have isn’t just complicated— it’s illicit. Unnatural. Wrong.

Something that can’t have a future, not with what he is to you and what you are to him. Because of that twenty-five percent. That shared part of you that ensures this can never become love, only shame and ruin.

It aches, sharp and splintering, like a thorn working its way deeper into your heart. You know you should pull back. That you should start untangling yourself now, before you sink too deep into something you’ll never escape cleanly.

But his mouth is like a sedative, his touch a kind of sweet anesthesia that dulls your self-preservation into a low, useless hum.

And so you don’t stop. Because in this moment, he makes you forget. Forget what’s right, what’s wrong, who the hell you’re even supposed to be.

[hyunsvngs]

𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚! - stepdad!bang chan x fem!reader

wc: 10.2k

cw: chan is your mother's boyfriend and you want to fuck him, chan is 30 and reader is described to be younger & in college, lix is a menace, changbin is a moral compass, you do not care about morals, SMUT MDNI.

synopsis: you're home for the holidays, and your mother - who you can't stand - has a new, young, hot boyfriend. it's such a good idea trying to seduce him.. right?

a/n: it's so here <3 my first commission! i hope u all love it <3 smut warnings under the cut ofc. i also tried a new format with this fic so pls let me know what u think?!?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: dirty talk, breeding kink, mutual masturbation, daddy kink, unprotected sex, creampies, degradation, cumplay if u squint?, humiliation if u squint?, anal fingering (f rec), oral (f rec), edging maybe briefly, sex with feelings

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You hated going home for the holidays.

You were a rich kid, to put it simply. Your mother loved to leech off the men that she was with, marrying them quickly and trying to suck as much money as she could out of them in gifts and straight up cash before they eventually clued on and left her. It had been why your father had left when you were a mere infant, but you’d always lived in luxury due to the incessant payments that he was forced to give. You’d never met him, but there was a plus side - he was paying your college tuition, where you met your best friends.

Perhaps if you thought about it a bit more you’d realise that the only reason you went to college was to get away from your mother. She pissed you off, sauntering around the house in silk kimonos with a maid trailing behind her, pausing to look in mirrors so that she could choose where her next round of botox would hit. She frustrated you beyond belief, but you still had to go home for Christmas. Annoyingly early, too, because she had a surprise for you.

Okay, well, it wasn’t a surprise. She’d FaceTimed you a week earlier, an irritatingly wrinkle-free face popping up on the screen as she sipped mulled wine and revelled in your absence. She had a new boyfriend, she said. You’d love him, she said. Your opinion matters most to me, she said. The last one you knew to be a lie. God, you hated her. 

Still, you lugged your suitcase through the front door and huffed, booting the side with your foot to try and shake some of the snow off. No surprise, she hadn’t helped you in from your taxi. She hadn’t even come to get you from the airport a mere twenty minute drive away. You dropped the suitcase on the floor, giving it another kick just for good measure, and then you were trudging into the kitchen. You’d heard voices from there, so it had to be them.

“Oh, honey!” Your mother chirped upon seeing you. You couldn’t see the face of the man washing dishes behind her, his white shirt sleeves rolled up and back facing you. You didn’t care anyway. “You made it home safe, then.”

“Yeah. The taxi driver was super nice and let me call him mum,” You quipped. She furrowed her eyebrows, lips pursed. 

“Okay, you’re being weird already,” She mumbled, and then shook her head, shrugging it off. She walked to the man by the sink, spinning him around by his slender waist to display him to you. “This is Chan!”

You felt silly, stood in the kitchen doorway in oversized clothes and covered in ivory snow. The man’s eyes found you, shocked by your mother’s harsh manoeuvring, and he blinked with surprise at your figure. You blinked with surprise, too.

Chan was hot. Incredibly so, actually, and he looked young. Younger than your mother, with a big nose you wanted to ride and plush lips parting as he raised one hand to wave at you, still wet with soapy dishwasher. You wanted to lick him clean. The white shirt he wore stretched across broad shoulders, and the sleeves were fit to burst around incredibly toned biceps. You allowed your gaze to wander down, eyes focusing on the thick thighs in the black dress trousers he wore. 

There was no way this was real. “Okay,” You burst out laughing, eyes darting between Chan and your mother. “And, who is Chan? A friend? A colleague? He’s not your boyfriend.”

Chan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “No, I am. I’m your mother’s boyfriend, sweetheart.”

His voice was deep - too deep, deep enough to haunt your dreams and those late night sessions you had in your bed with your trusty vibrator. This was going to be trouble. You were going to be trouble.

“You’re shitting me,” You couldn’t get the amused smile off of your face. No fucking way. Your mother hadn’t bagged that. “You’re fucking with me. You have to be. Mum, he’s closer to my age than he is to yours.”

“I’m thirty, actually,” He mumbled, looking sheepish. Your mother stared at you in shock, jaw dropped at your brazenness. 

“I rest my case,” You concluded, nodding decisively. When the two of them just continued to stare, you bristled slightly, starting to hop from one foot to the other. Awkward. “You… are you actually together?”

“Yes, honey,” Your mother confirmed, still looking shocked. You scoffed.

“Okay, I really need to go, actually,” You gushed, turning around to leave the kitchen. “I’m- I’m going to my room. Really nice to meet you, Chan, really.” 

Shooting upstairs, you completely ignored your suitcase still leaking snow all over the hardwood floors and darted into your bedroom. It still looked exactly how you’d left it, band posters all over the walls and teddies littering the end of your bed. You threw yourself on top of the mattress, fingers yanking your phone out of your pocket and clicking the button on the most recent group call on FaceTime. Immediately, your college best friends picked up.

“There’s already a problem?” Felix scrunched his nose up, face way too close to the camera. Changbin was on the other side, face looking confused in the little square designated to him on your phone screen.

“I just met my mother’s boyfriend.”

“Oh, right, how did that go?” Changbin questioned, tilting his head to the side. You caught sight of your face in your own little square, flushed and appalled.

“He is thirty years of age, Changbin,” You began. Felix gasped, tiny hand moving to cover his mouth. “He is thirty years of age, and he is really fucking hot.”

“Oh my god,” Felix mumbled, muffled behind his hand. “Oh my god, you have to fuck him.”

Changbin choked on air. “She has to- No, Felix, no!”

“No, I can’t do that. It would be fucked up,” You mused. Or.. “Wait, would it even be that fucked up? He is closer to my age. I hate my mother.”

Felix’s hand fell, and he giggled before speaking in his trademark goblin voice - “Fuck him.”

“Don’t!” Changbin shrieked, his phone shaking in his hand. “I really think this is a bad idea.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Felix grinned, looking smug. “I’d do it.”

“There’s not a lot you wouldn’t do,” Changbin retorted. Felix stuck his tongue out at him. You, however, were silent, musing on the situation and staring at your wall. Could you do it? Changbin noticed, sighing. “Baby, please no.”

You licked your lips, nodding. You could do it. You wanted to do it - needed it, even. Those biceps were going to plague your life forever otherwise. “Operation fuck my mother’s boyfriend is a go.”

Felix screamed in delight. Changbin ended the call.

SATURDAY

It was time. Your mother was out at brunch with some friends, and you had plans to invade Chan’s personal space because you had a feeling he’d be too polite to tell you otherwise. You knew he’d set up the spare room as his own home studio, because your mother had delighted in telling you how Chan was a super successful music producer and was often tinkering away in there these days. You were going to let yourself in, try to get to know him a bit.

The knock you landed on the door was anything but subtle. Your fist rapped on the door and you heard a little hum in response, so you swung open the door, eyes landing on Chan hunched over his desk. He looked even younger like this, beanie pulled down over dark curls and headphones positioned on his head. He continued to stare at the file on his computer, head bobbing absentmindedly, so you strode up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

He spun around on his computer chair, blinking confusedly at you. “Oh, hello.”

“Hi,” You beamed. “Sorry about last night. I was rude. I was feeling kinda weird, y’know, with the travelling.”

“No, I completely get it,” Chan put his hands up as if to diffuse the atmosphere. You nodded, still smiling. Chan stared at you when you didn’t respond instantly, and you crossed your hands behind your back, pressing against the plaid pattern of the dress you’d chosen for today. It was all part of the plan - the tight, short dress was perfect for seduction. He looked down at your chest, before clearing his throat, reverting his gaze to your eyes. “Um… did you need something, by the way?”

You gasped, as if remembering. “Oh, yeah! I did. My mother told me you were a music producer, and I was really curious. I was wondering if you’d show me some stuff…?”

It was Chan’s turn to smile, nodding excitedly. “Of course. Here, put these on.”

He linked two fingers around his headphones and handed them to you, to which you obediently put them over your ears. He was quieter now, but you could still slightly hear him mumbling as he found a spare chair for you to sit on. Your eyes scanned the files, eventually fixating on a file titled Drive. That one had to be dirty.

“Okay, so. I have this one, it’s my most recent one, and-”

“I want to listen to that one,” You cut him off, pointing at the song. When you turned to look at him, he was biting his lip nervously, pink tinting the ends of his ears and his cheeks. “What is it, Chan?”

“You- that one is a little, uh… heh. A little inappropriate.”

Unsurprisingly, you darted over his desk to grab the computer mouse and double click on the file. Chan squealed, but you ignored him, listening to the song. You were right. It was dirty, the two singers crooning about something that was a thinly-veiled innuendo about driving. It took you a second and then you clicked. One of them was Chan. This was Chan singing, on a song about sex. God, could he get any hotter?

You slid one of the ear cups off of your ear, turning to Chan with a shit eating grin. “This is you singing? You’re really good, Chan.” You weren’t lying. He was really good, and it had you wondering why he was a producer and not singing.

“Yeah, well, it was just an experimental track. Me and my mate were just messing around,” Chan mumbled shyly, hand scratching the back of his neck. You tried to avoid staring at the way his biceps tensed in his tight t-shirt at the movement. He was still blushing, but you had to kick it up a notch.

“It is kinda inappropriate, though, isn’t it?” You chirped excitedly. Chan’s lips parted, as if he was looking for something to say. His eyes stared into your own, piercing and dark and all-consuming. “I think you’re a little dirty, Channie.”

Chan’s eyebrows furrowed at your use of the nickname. “That’s- you can’t say that. That’s inappropriate.”

“What?” You feigned shock-horror. Play dumb. “I can’t call you Channie? Why not?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Chan groaned, pointing an accusing finger at you. You giggled anyway, jumping up and slipping the headphones back onto his head. You made sure to trail your fingertips down his neck after doing so. He shivered noticeably. You smiled.

“That was super good, Channie, thank you.”

You didn’t miss his groan of disbelief as you bounded out of the room. You had him, and it was easier than you’d expected it to be.

SUNDAY

Something was happening. You weren’t sure what, just yet, but something was happening. Chan was acting a little weird after what happened the day before, and you’d already caught Felix and Changbin up on the nonsense plan you had. 

“I think you need to accept that this is just down to you having a fat crush on him and severe daddy issues,” Changbin mused, and you gasped. He was right though. This wasn’t completely about getting back at your mother in a sick, twisted way. You wanted him.

Phase two of your plan was underway as soon as you caught sight of him on the sofa. He was watching some cheesy Christmas movie, your mother tinkering away in the kitchen - when had she ever cooked? - so it was prime seducing time. He had one of the thick throw blankets over his lap, fingers playing with the fluffy fabric absentmindedly. You hopped into the living room in your short pyjamas, frowning at Chan when you felt the goosebumps on your legs.

“Whatcha watching?” You asked, making him jump when he realised your presence. He smiled nonetheless, motioning to the seat next to him, and you took it. You perched and ensured that you left no room between you both.

“Some cheesy film. The woman’s marrying a prince, I think.”

“Sounds awful. I can’t wait to watch it,” You smiled, and Chan chuckled, relaxing on the sofa. You managed to make it five whole minutes before you were rubbing your hands up your legs, trying to create a semblance of warmth. 

Chan turned to you, frowning. “Are you cold, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” You whined, pulling your legs up into your chest. “‘S cold in here, right?”

“C’mere,” He mumbled, reaching for the end of the blanket and throwing it over your lap. You hummed contentedly, inching a little closer under the guise of the cold weather. The blanket was warm. You were kind of jealous he’d been in such comfort this whole time while you’d been thinking of ways to get his cock inside your mouth. 

“Thanks, Channie,” Chan only nodded, continuing to watch the film. You had a feeling he was pretending to be so focused on it, given you weren’t sure he even knew the plot before your arrival. 

You squirmed on your seat, thrashing each way until you found yourself comfortable, hand splayed over Chan’s knee. He tensed under your touch. 

“You’re touching me, sweetheart,” He warned, his voice low and deep. You shivered, turning to him.

“Am I?”

“You are. You’re touching my leg underneath the blanket, aren’t you?”

You hummed. “Is that okay, Chan?”

Chan turned to you, his eyes not even holding any sign of shock. He knew what game you were playing, you realised, and maybe he was playing along. He licked his lips, head back against the sofa, and then he shrugged dismissively. 

“It doesn’t bother me.”

You left your hand there for the whole film. 

MONDAY

The showers at home were something you’d missed. The ones in college didn’t quite cut it - not even now that you lived with Changbin and Felix in your own student home. All three of you were young adults, after all, and that came with you being a little too messy.

At home, you didn’t have to worry about mess. Your mother had cleaners employed with your dad’s money anyway. Admittedly, you realised you were being a little spoiled, so you’d learned to clean up after yourself. The showers were still better, though. Bigger, and the water pressure hit you just right. 

Especially when you detached the shower head and pressed it to your clit. You felt pathetic. You’d only tried to seduce Chan for two fucking days, and there you were, legs shaking at the thought of him. Maybe it was the chase that got you feeling hot, or maybe it was the fact that you might actually be getting somewhere - you might actually be getting close to fucking him, muscles bulging as he ploughed into you. 

It had you pressing the shower head harder, your spare hand coming up to pinch your nipple. You whined, bucking your hips into the water stream. The steam was all over the bathroom by now, staining the shower with condensation and making your skin feel pruned and flushed. Or did you feel flushed from the thoughts of Chan? Maybe he’d fuck you the way you liked. He must have experience, you assumed, being a few years older than you. You thought about how he’d make you feel, how he’d touch you, and how you’d feel in his arms. You thought about how you’d feel when you came, and what it would be like to be with him. You wanted to feel him so badly.

Was he as big down there as he was everywhere else? Sure, he’s not too tall, but he’s every part a man. That much was clear. Would he bend you in half, pushing you into a mating press and fuck you raw the way you liked, cumming inside and letting you call him daddy and-

You wailed, legs trembling with one last buckle before you were cumming. You felt wet, too wet even just from the shower, and you belatedly realised you’d have to wash again. Ugh. This plan needed to end, like… yesterday. 

Coming out of the shower freshly washed, you wrapped a towel around your figure and checked the time on your phone. Your thumb slipped around the screen from the condensation in the bathroom, but the plan was going well. If you left the bathroom now, then hopefully Chan would be heading to bed, and he’d catch you in your towel. Ideally, he’d be so hot for you that he’d just have to have you, and then you could get the thoughts of him out of your head.

You burst out of the room in a flurry of steam and movement, almost tripping over your own feet when you noticed that it had actually fucking worked. Chan stood stock still at the other end of the hallway, his eyes fixated on the way the towel wrapped tightly around your chest, at risk of falling. You smiled, waving innocently, and he stalked towards you. He was seeing red. You could tell from the way he cornered you, crowding around you with the small advantage he had on your height.

“You need to stop this,” He mumbled, eyes looking at your mother’s bedroom door. He was playing a dangerous game. You were, too, and you both knew it. “I’m dating your mother. You need to stop this, sweetheart.”

“Stop what?” You tilted your head, acting confused. “I just had a shower.”

Chan scoffed, shaking his head. “I fucking heard you in there.”

Oh. You couldn’t hide your smirk that time. “Yeah, I missed that shower head. Why were you perving on me, Chan?”

Chan rubbed his temples. He wasn’t wearing a beanie today, only a hoodie and baggy joggers. You liked it. You could see his hair like this, dark and curly and frizzy on his head. He looked cute. Wait, what?

He took a deep breath. His eyes moved to fixate on you, tongue running over his teeth. “Why would I be perving on you?”

“Oh, don’t lie,” You crossed your arms over your chest. Chan’s eyes moved down to stare at where your tits bulged over the towel. “I bet you stood there for ages, cock hard in your cute joggers, listening to me moan in the shower. That’s a little fucked up, no? Thinking about your girlfriend’s daughter like that-”

You were cut off by him pushing you to the wall, lips slamming into yours. He bit into your mouth instantly, letting out a deep groan and hands moving to grab your ass through the towel. You let your lips part in a whimper, pushing your tongue into his mouth and running your hands through his hair. It was a filthy exchange of tongue and teeth, and by the end of it, you were gasping, grabbing him by the waist and trying to pull him closer. You pulled away, breathing heavily and your eyes still locked on each other. You both stood there, not speaking, as you both processed what you had just done. You both knew it was wrong, but you wanted it so bad.

Chan stepped back, breathing out a heavy sigh. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

You watched in shock as he turned around, walking into your mother’s bedroom and leaving you there. You were wet again. This was getting ridiculous now. 

In your room, Felix screamed so loud you had to turn the volume down on your phone. Changbin choked on air again. 

TUESDAY

You hadn’t seen Chan all day. You presumed he was in his studio, working away on another track while your mother was in work. You were bored. Felix had been spending time with his family, and Changbin was out doing rich kid things that you could sympathise with. Thrashing around on your bed, annoyed and huffing, you decided you were just going to go and annoy Chan. It was your newly favourite pastime to get under his skin.

Stalking down the stairs to his studio, you paused when you heard a voice. Not just one voice, two voices. Was your mother there? No, no way. She never goes into that room, it’s his work room. You’d been in there though. You tried to suppress a grin at that realisation. 

The other voice was a man’s. Chan had a call on speakerphone, judging by the tinny effect covering the unknown male’s voice and Chan humming every so often. Who was the other man? A colleague, or just a friend?

“It’s fucking ridiculous, mate,” Chan groaned. You could barely hear him, and you held your breath, coming closer to the closed door. “I want her so bad, and it’s so wrong. I- I kissed her last night, Minho.”

There were a few yells from the other end of the phone. “You kissed her?! Chan, you fucking animal. You want her so bad, just fuck her. She’s clearly hoping that’s the outcome here.”

You grinned. You were.

“She’s- it’s outrageous. She walks around in practically nothing, and she’s got such a tight fucking body, man. She makes my dick so fucking hard, I’ve never felt anything like it before. Even when I met her, in the kitchen, she was-”

Chan cut himself off with a sigh. ‘Minho’ hummed, waiting for him to continue.

“She’s so bratty. She’s exactly the type of girl I would’ve gone for, before I met her mother.”

“Seriously?” Minho questioned, and Chan agreed. “You have to do it.”

“Minho-”

“No, Chan. I’m serious,” Minho’s voice was firm. “If she’s fucking you up this bad, you can’t have liked her mother that much, yeah? Just do it. You know it’s going to happen anyway.”

“It’s-” Chan began. You could imagine him rubbing his temples in distress behind the door. “She’s younger than me. I don’t want her to feel as though I’m taking advantage, y’know? The ball’s in her court.”

The ball has always been in your court.

“It sounds like she wants you to take advantage, to be honest,” Minho erupted in a fit of giggles, and you found yourself almost laughing along. Minho was annoyingly right. You only hoped he could get rid of that stick up Chan’s ass and get you a good dicking down.

It meant it was time for the next phase of your plan. You assumed Chan had wanted you, embarrassingly so, but you weren’t quite sure until he’d kissed you the day before. After hearing this conversation? Well, you had to do it.

You returned to your room, scribbling a quick note on a piece of paper. If Chan found this, which he would, it meant that he’d come to your room tomorrow night and you could maybe talk about what the fuck was going on. The sexual tension was too much for you, and now you knew he felt the same. Why were you beating around the bush? You had to make something out of this.

You ignored the stuttering of breath you heard when you slid the note under his door, and returned back to your room with a cocky grin.

WEDNESDAY

Chan hadn’t mentioned the note. You didn’t think he would, but you felt disappointed nonetheless. You’d woken up in the morning, eaten breakfast with him and your mother - cringing when he kissed her on the cheek when she left for work - and you’d even done the dishes yourself, letting him slip off to do some work in the studio. It was prime time for him to mention what you’d written, and he hadn’t. It was pissing you off.

Still, good things come to those who wait. You were confident. Felix had been egging you on all day over text, Changbin had been sending random upset emojis. It was perfect. 

Settling on your sheets at night, you felt a little pathetic. You’d lit a few candles, left the curtains just right on the window so that the moonlight billowed in, and Chan hadn’t arrived. Maybe he hadn’t received your note. No, there was no way - you practically heard his response through the door when he saw it slid under. He got the note. Perhaps you’d made him uncomfortable, made him withdraw from you despite all the progress you’d made. Why had you put in so much effort? You didn’t like him, not like that. Or did you? You felt ridiculous, almost like a child waiting for-

A knock on the door brought you out of your self-loathing thoughts, and you jumped up, swinging the bedroom door open. Chan immediately crowded inside of your bedroom, pressing the door shut softly. You stood there in silence, taking him in. He looked cosy, in a baggy hoodie and plaid pyjama bottoms. It was hard to believe he was dating your mother, especially when he looked so vulnerable like this - dark, curly hair still slightly wet from his shower, and his eyes blown wide with an unreadable emotion while he looked at you.

Chan sighed. “You’re really playing with fire. Do you know how this could look, me coming into your room at night? Do you know how wrong this is?”

You faltered. For the first time since meeting Chan, you felt as though he was angry at you. “I- I heard you on the phone, Channie. I thought you wanted me too.”

You watched in awe as Chan crossed your bedroom, groaning and throwing himself onto the bed. He was hard, erect in his bottoms. You blinked confusedly. He was hard just from being in here?

“I do want you,” Chan said, but it was muffled, hidden behind his hands that he had placed over his face in distress. He let them fall to his sides, staring up at the ceiling. “I want you so bad that it’s pissing me off beyond belief. I know what you’ve been doing too, trying to seduce me. It’s so pathetic it makes me feel hot, y’know?”

You giggled, following his journey across the room and settling next to him on the bed. You sat cross legged, comfortable in your long pyjamas. The candlelight flickered, casting a glow over his face, and he turned to look at you. He licked his lips, and then he let out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

“This is ridiculous-”

“It’s ridiculous that you haven’t fucked me yet,” You responded, quick as a flash. Chan leaned up on his forearms, raising an eyebrow at you. Now was the time. You had to say it. “You know how bad I want you. I touched you up on the sofa, and you let me. You wanted me to, I think. Correct me if I’m wrong, and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but-”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, and you’re not wrong,” Chan admitted. You could see the blush on his cheeks despite the dimly lit room.  He took a deep breath before continuing. “I want you, too.” 

Chan shot across the bed, leaning in and kissing you deeply, his hands tangling in your hair. It made you wet beyond belief that he just felt like he knew what he was doing, hands travelling down to your waist to softly press you into the sheets. His tongue swept into your mouth, pressing against yours and you whimpered, making him groan into the kiss. When his hands went up to your hair, he intertwined his fingers in the strands and pulled, making you gasp and let out a heady, hot breath. He pulled away, lips parted when he stared at you. 

“You are such a horny little thing, it’s so hot,” He mumbled, lips pressing to your neck. He bit your skin sharply, making you keen and spread your legs, allowing him to position his hips between your thighs. The movement pressed his bulge into your core, and you tried not to shift and move your hips in a rhythm of pleasure. His fingers traced over your skin, and he chuckled, a low, sexy sound that made your heart race. He pulled back, leaning back on his legs and staring at you, eyes blown wide with lust. “I want to see you touch yourself.”

You paused. “What?”

“I want to know what you like. Show me how you make yourself cum, and I’ll fuck you tomorrow night. How’s that sound?” He was propositioning you, teasing you, and you were falling for it - hook, line and sinker. 

You gave him a nod. Right. Touching yourself for him - that was something you could do. This was just another Wednesday for you, you loved putting on a show, especially for a man who was rock hard and obviously desperate for you. But with Chan… why did you feel so fucking nervous all of a sudden? You'd spent your whole day waiting to fuck him, and he’d taken back the power, thrown a wrench into your plans.

You leaned back on your bed. How did you sit sexily? You were stuck in your own head.

Chan moved backwards, hand moving over his clothed erection. He’d spread his legs, thick thighs parted for you to see the promising bulge between them. "Pretend I'm not even here, sweetheart," he said, eyes blown wide with lust. You almost rolled your eyes. Easier said than done, when he was sitting there with his dark curls and his thick, kissable lips and his impossibly huge bulge. “Touch yourself like you’ve done before. Show me how you make yourself cum, and I’ll fuck you tomorrow, I promise.”

Fuck it. You'd never let an attractive man break you down yet, and that wasn't going to change. You nodded timidly, hands moving to grip your breasts through your shirt. It made you sigh, and Chan responded with a noise of his own when you impatiently rucked the fabric up to above your chest. Sucking two fingers into your mouth, you whined when you traced the wet digits around your pebbled peak teasingly. 

“Ah, ‘s- I’m sensitive there, Channie,” You mumbled, and he nodded as if he was making a note for it for later. You trailed your fingertips across your nipples, pinching and twisting them almost painfully just to make your hips cant up into thin air. You were too impatient to do this how you normally would, so you scratched your fingernails down your tummy and shoved a hand in your pyjama bottoms. You were met with slick, wet folds, fingers sliding around in the mess you made. 

“Show me,” Chan said, eyes trained on where your hand disappeared beneath the fabric. “Show me that pussy. You’re meant to be showing me everything, remember?”

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” You huffed, and Chan shook his head in disbelief, grinning. You were shocked to see he actually listened, though, pushing his joggers down to his thighs and letting his erection spring out. It was impossibly hard, pearlescent drops accumulating on his cockhead and you licked your lips subconsciously. “I wanna-”

“No,” Chan cut you off, hand moving to wrap around his cock in a tight fist. He was long, thick and heavy between his thighs and you felt your pussy clench sadly around nothing. “Show me your pussy. I’m not asking again, let me take a look at it.”

You whined, pushing your pyjama bottoms down to reveal your slick core. Your clit was swollen, throbbing with need just from a few kisses and Chan’s general presence, and you could feel a rivulet of wetness sliding down between your lips. Chan groaned in approval, hand quickening on his cock just slightly.

“Spread it, show me your hole,” Chan said, and you moved your thighs further apart for him. Reaching down with two fingers, you moved them into a v-shape and spread your folds for him. Your hole quivered under the inspection, leaking more wetness and Chan’s eyes were hyper fixated on it. “Oh, baby. That looks tight. Has no one ever fucked that little pussy right, huh? Tell me.”

“N-No,” You shook your head, thighs quivering when you finally let two fingers rub over your clit. You started with a blistering pace immediately, making your toes curl into the sheets and your back arch upwards. “No, I- it’s only boys from college, I don’t-”

“Ah, I see. You need someone older, yeah? More experienced?” Chan questioned, his breath coming out heavy with every tightly fisted movement on his cock. You whined, nodding, and then you were breaching your hole with two fingers immediately. The stretch made you groan, head falling back against the pillow. “Is that why you tried to seduce me, yeah? Wanted to have my cock stretching you out just right, wanted to call me daddy while I made you cry?”

God, he’d got it. He was right on the mark. “Yes, y-yes, I- I wanted to, oh, I wanted to call you daddy, and- and feel you inside me, and oh, Channie, please-” You cut yourself off with a moan, perhaps too loud as you curled your fingertips up against your g-spot. Chan threw his head back, letting out a grunt as he pinched his cockhead almost painfully. 

“Say it then, baby. What’s stopping you?” He polished the head of his cock, moaning before he took it into his tight grip again. His precum served as lubrication, his hand now making wet slick sounds on his thick length. You gasped when he moved his free hand to his balls, rubbing calloused fingertips over them and letting out his own gasp. “Beg me for my cock. I know you want it, look at you. Fuckin’ desperate, yeah? Beg daddy for his big cock.”

“Oh, daddy,” You whined, moving your free hand to rub over your clit. Everything was so wet, sliding around your pussy and you were honestly surprised you could feel anything - but it felt so fucking good, having him watch you like this, learning what you liked so he could replicate it. “Fuckin’- daddy, daddy, please, can I have it? Been good, doin’ what you asked, I- hnnng, daddy, oh my god-”

“No,” He smiled, a cocky grin while he rubbed one hand over his cock and the other over his heavy balls. “No, baby. Not tonight. Make yourself cum tonight, and daddy will help you tomorrow.”

“I- need more, need more, I-'' Chan surged over the bed, leaning over your figure to press his lips against yours. His tongue dominated your mouth again, and you could feel his closed fist hitting your stomach as he worked himself to his orgasm. The sensation had you whining against his plush lips, fingers thrusting quicker into your pussy and your other hand sliding around your clit messily. When he pulled away, lips digging into your bottom lip teasingly, his lips were quick to move to your neck to suck some dark purple marks into the skin. You felt yourself trembling, your body tense as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge. Your fingers stroked your walls faster, pussy fluttering around your digits in delight, and your mouth opened in a gasp as you felt your body tense and tremble with pleasure. “I’m g’na- g’na cum, gonna cum, please, can I? Can I, daddy? Can I cum for you, please?”

“Yeah, baby,” He huffed, eyes rolling back into his head. He was practically drooling onto your skin, lips parted against your neck as you whined and thrashed on your bedsheets. “Cum for me. Been good for daddy, haven’t you? You can cum, baby, c’mon. Show me how pretty you are when you cum.”

You fell apart around your own fingers, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave. Your thighs tensed with your orgasm, your pussy clenching down impossibly tighter around your hand and flooding down to your knuckles with your cum. You begged and pleaded, your voice a barely audible babble as your body shook with the sensation. 

Finally, when you’d just felt like you were coming down, Chan pulled your wrist away from your pussy. The movement left you empty, your walls still clenching down except now it was around nothing, and you whined, bottom lip quivering in need. 

“Hands off,” He sighed, hand slowing down on his cock. He was trying to last longer for something - you weren’t sure what, but you let your other hand drop from your clit obediently. “Daddy’s gonna cum on this wet little hole, baby, okay? You gonna let me cum here, mark you as mine?”

“Yes,” You moaned, nodding. You couldn’t think of anything better, actually. “‘M yours, I’m yours, daddy, gimme.”

“Dirty thing, perfect little girl,” He grunted, and then he was positioning his cockhead at your hole. With a few more movements, increasing in speed, you watched as his face screwed up in pleasure. His hips bucked, and with a final thrust, he came. You felt his cum drip down your hole as he groaned through his orgasm, thick white cum plastering your pussy. It was definitely the sexiest thing you’d experienced, but you still felt a little disappointed - why couldn’t he have just done it inside you?

“Wan’it,” You whined, pulling your legs back. Chan chuckled upon seeing the pout on your lips. “Why couldn’t you- in me, wanted it in me, daddy.” 

“Greedy bitch,” He mused, and then he was delving down to your core. Your mind went blank when his tongue licked fat stripes up your folds, collecting all of his cum and your wetness in his mouth. You briefly thought you could cum from this, very quickly judging by the way he knew what he was doing, but he simply leaned over you and grabbed your jaw. 

Oh. You let your lips part, tongue lolling out of your mouth obediently, and he spat the mixture of your cum into your mouth. You felt him lick into your mouth again, groaning at the taste of your pussy and his load. He smiled against your lips and pulled away, your eyes wide as you tried to process what had just happened. 

Chan’s lips curved in satisfaction at your state, your chest still heaving with a blotchy rash that bore the truth of what you’d been up to. He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, and then he was standing up and leaving the room, bottoms barely pulled over his hips. You laid there, feeling an intense mix of pleasure and confusion.

What the fuck just happened?

THURSDAY

You hadn’t even processed what had happened last night. In all honesty, you’d run out of the house in the morning under the premise of a coffee date with friends you didn’t even have. You just sat in the cafe on call with Changbin and Felix and screamed way too loudly for a public area. The whole cafe knew of your predicament by the end of it.

Upon your return home, you’d beelined to your room and kicked the door shut as quietly as you could. Unfortunately, your foot slipped on the floor and you’d ended up face down with a groan.

Turning over onto your back, you huffed at the offending item that had caused your decline to the ground. A piece of paper met your eyes, neatly folded and written on with what looked like black Sharpie when you’d finally unravelled it.

Three words. Three words that changed your life and let you know that what occurred the night before had really happened. No, not ‘I love you’ - it was simple, a scrawled ‘your room, tonight’. It did happen. You touched yourself in front of Chan, and he was planning on coming back to your room to continue what you’d discussed.

You wanted to squeal and kick your feet, but beneath it all, you felt panicked. This plan had gone too far, and you’d perhaps started to think about spending time with your mother’s boyfriend - actual time, not just sexually charged meetings. It hurt a little bit, a pang in your chest when you remembered that what was happening really was just sexual. Your little arrangement being anything else just wasn’t fathomable.

Chan was interesting. He was a fucking music producer, for god’s sake. That was just straight up cool. That, and he was older than you - you did have raging daddy issues like your friends had said, after all. His friend had sounded funny on the phone, which meant he had to be funny, too. 

All things serious, you didn’t really know much about him, but you wanted to know. Felix had encouraged you to find out, and you felt like you owed it to him - or yourself, you weren’t sure. 

The knock on your door once the evening fell brought you out of your reverie. Chan didn’t wait for a response, swinging your bedroom door open and walking straight in as if he owned the house. You huffed at his demeanour, yet your eyes were still fixated on the way he walked over to your bed with intent. You threw your phone to the side. Felix would have to wait for your half-typed text message. 

“Back again so soon?” You quipped, and he raised an eyebrow. He was only in grey joggers, the thin material highlighting his thick dick imprint between his legs. The fabric hung low, showing off the body that you knew he worked so hard for. His chest was honey toned, yet covered in light, sparse freckles - you wanted to make yourself acquainted with every single one. You felt a little overdressed in just an oversized t-shirt and shorts.

Seeing the frustrated expression on your face, Chan’s own face fell. “Do you not want me here?” He said, voice no more than a whisper. “I can go, if you don’t want to see me tonight. I just thought-”

“I do,” You nodded, finally raising yourself from your position lying down to sitting up cross legged. Chan laid on the bed in front of you, one arm propping his head up. He gazed at you for a few moments, and you could see the relief in his eyes at your words. “I do want to see you tonight. I want to see you like… a lot. Don’t you think it’s weird though? I’m your girlfriend’s daughter, Chan, and we’ve kissed and- and done other stuff, and-”

He scooted over so that he was next to you, and you leaned into him subconsciously. He pulled you in with his arm around your shoulders, broad and muscled. You felt content, comfortable and most of all safe. It was a feeling you’d never felt before.

“I don’t think it’s weird,” Chan hummed, his chest vibrating beneath where you’d landed when he pulled you in. He chuckled, then, his hand moving to your hair comfortingly. “Okay, maybe it is a little weird. I’m just very interested in you. I know you heard me on the phone to Minho, and yes, you are my type - I want to know more about you. Like, even beneath the sexually charged tension, heh.”

Oh. You licked your lips, eyes fixated on a random spot in your wall. “You do?”

He nodded. “I do.”

You couldn’t help yourself. You raised your head, surging over Chan’s body to press a kiss to his lips. His hair was soft when you ran your hands through it, despite random curls getting caught in your nails and causing him to groan at the pain flooding through his scalp. His hands went to your waist, licking into your mouth while he effortlessly pulled you on top of him. The show of strength had you whimpering into the kiss, hands moving down to his jaw. It clenched and unclenched while he had full control over your mouth despite you being on top. 

You pulled away with a wet sigh, moving downwards to kiss at his neck. He groaned underneath his breath at the sensation of your lips on his skin. Your bed squeaked awkwardly as you moved down it, too quick for the old springs to handle. It felt naughty, kissing him like this in your childhood room - it felt even dirtier than the night before had, and you hadn’t done anything yet.

“I need you, Chan,” You whispered, nipping at his collarbone. “Need you. Please.” 

He gasped as he felt your tongue trace the outline of his collarbone. He flung one bicep over his dark eyes with a deep sigh, allowing you to kiss and bite all over his skin. He looked like he was trying to control himself. You didn’t want him to.

Your hips started to grind against him, and you placed your palms flat on his chest. Both of Chan’s hands moved back to your hips with a surprised noise, but he didn’t stop you. His dick was hardening in his joggers, and it was providing the best clothed friction to your aching, needy clit below your pyjama shorts. You saw how big it was before, yet the length of it still shocked you when you slid your clothed core up and down the shaft.

“Daddy,” You whined, hips starting to buck frantically. You were sure that you had never felt this needy in your life. “Daddy, daddy, I want you so bad. You turn me on so bad, make me feel so hot, please-”

“Baby,” Chan groaned, his head falling back against your pillows. The soft pink bed sheets juxtaposed completely with what you were doing, and juxtaposed completely with him - Chan, the muscled man with dark hair who wore black and grey clothes constantly. It was as if he was corrupting you, and he was in a sense, being so much older. “Baby, c’mere, come and lay on the bed. Let daddy eat you out, yeah?”

“No,” You shook your head, hips still moving on his erection. Chan’s chest had started to accumulate a thin layer of dewy sweat, slick on his skin and making you want to lick it off. “I want your cock. I don’t wanna wait, I don’t wanna wait, please, just put it in, I’m wet enough, I promise.”

He knew you were babbling, incoherent in your haze of lust, but he still entertained you enough anyway. You spread your legs wider when his hand met your thigh, and then he was pushing two fingers beneath your shorts. He was met with your slick folds, and you gasped at feeling the touch of his fingertips, calloused from years of working with music.

“Oh, fucking hell. Dirty girl, dirty fuckin’ girl,” Chan moaned, his eyes almost rolling back into his head. “This pussy’s so fuckin’ wet, baby. All we did was kiss. Are you that much of a slut for me? Are you that much of a slut for your mother’s boyfriend? That’s filthy.”

“Yes!” You wailed, nodding. You reached down, canting your hips backwards a little bit so you could spread your thighs wider before hooking your fingers in your shorts and pulling them to the side. The movement revealed your pussy, clit swollen at the top of soaking wet folds, covering your drippy hole. “I wan’it so bad, so bad, so bad, please, please. Just push it in, make it hurt, I don’t care-”

Chan shoved the fingers of his spare hand between your parted lips, effectively shutting you up. “Shut up. You’ve got to prove to me you deserve it, baby.”

With those words, he was pushing a finger past your entrance. It breached your hole easily, the digit sliding through your wetness and curving up past your g-spot. Chan shook his head in a mixture of disbelief and shock, and then he was pulling his finger out. With a quick movement, he’d yanked his joggers down and let his cock spring out. The coarse hair was trimmed above his long, thick shaft and you couldn’t help but imagine the type of friction that would give your clit - you couldn’t wait.

“You were right. That slutty pussy is wet enough,” He mused, pulling your hips over his bare cock. Your pyjama shorts were slightly in the way, and you pulled them aside even more, letting your folds leave wetness over his shaft. “Lower yourself on it. Stretch yourself out. Slowly.”

You did as he asked, lowering your body onto his length. You felt the stretch immediately. You moaned, loud and ringing off of your walls. You didn’t give a shit if your mother heard. Fuck, you needed this. You wanted to bounce all over his cock until there was nothing left and your hole could do nothing but remember the tight fit. Trying to sit down quicker, Chan grabbed your hips, stopping you while only half his length was in you.

“You're gonna hurt yourself like that, sweetheart. That hole is so tight around me.”

“Please, daddy,” Your head fell into the nape of his neck. You wriggled yourself in his tight hold, trying to get more of his length in your pussy. He shook his head against you, chuckling.

“You want it? Fine, but don't fucking cry to me when it hurts,” Chan said, letting go of your ass. You realised he'd been holding you up, and within a millisecond you'd slammed down onto him. You wanted to scream, the stretch more than you could take. He laughed again, raising his eyebrows at you mockingly. “Too big?”

"N-No, perfect," You retorted. He moaned, spreading his legs and placing his feet flat on the mattress. More. More. Fucking more. You began to raise on him, expecting to ride that perfect cock, but he started to thrust up into you at an unrelenting place straight away, his balls slapping against your ass. You moaned incoherently, almost babbling, hands digging into his toned biceps. He leaned up to nip at your neck, and then he was pulling your t-shirt off of your body.

“No fucking bra?” Chan laughed in disbelief. His mouth went straight to your nipples, biting and sucking on the hard peaks. You jostled on his lap with his thrusts. You wanted to rub your clit, but you felt like he probably wouldn't let you. “Knew you were fucking filthy, sweetheart. You didn't even care about me going raw, did you? You want my load in that dirty hole. And now I find out these pretty tits were only one layer away from me…”

His voice trailed off. You whined, leaning down to try and kiss him again. He shoved his two fingers back in your mouth, making you suck on them. His bruising sucks caused your nipples to hurt, and you fucking loved it. You knew he was marking you up and you'd just have to deal with it.

You tried to start riding him. He didn't let you, manhandling you off of his cock.

“Daddy!” You whined in protest. Chan chuckled. He lifted you and manhandled you so your back was facing him on your bed, and you immediately repositioned yourself so you were face down, ass up. He reentered you in one swift thrust, causing you to jolt in surprise.

“Fucking tight pussy,” He groaned, thrusting into you with the same vigor as before. You almost screamed, but managed to just moan incoherently. The mattress creaked, the sound of old springs ringing around the room. “Fucking dirty hole. Listen to that, sweetheart. Can you hear how wet your cunt is for daddy's cock? For your mother’s boyfriend’s cock?”

You tried to stop whining and moaning to hear what he was pointing out to you, hearing wet slaps. Your cheeks burned with humiliation, fingernails digging into the mattress. You knew you were dripping for a fact now. You could hear it, you could hear everything, his balls slapping against your clit as well as the wet noise of his heavy cock reentering you. 

You threw your ass back against him, trying to get the tip to hit that special spot inside of you. 

“I think that asshole needs me too, sweetheart,” Chan laughed mirthlessly, his hands resting firmly on your ass, encouraging your bouncing. You moaned in response, clenching your pussy tight. He was going to ruin you for everyone. You'd have to just keep coming back for more. “You want daddy's finger in there? You want me to finger your asshole?”

Oh, yes. “Please, daddy, need to be full,” You said, wiggling your hips against him. You vaguely registered him reaching around you and making you suck on the fingers that had previously been in your mouth. He was going to fill both of your holes, and he moaned loudly at the sight of you sucking his fingers. There was no way that the whole house hadn’t heard you both by now. You hoped they were sleeping.

You sighed in ecstasy, feeling the fingers begin to move inside your ass. His thrusting was now hitting your g-spot in your pussy, given the added pressure from being full in both holes. You felt the orgasm finally begin to build. You liked the way he wasn't rushing you to cum, not like those younger college boys. He was taking care of you and just having good fucking sex. “Feels so fucking good, daddy. Feels so good.”

You were now semi-incoherent, your words all joining together in one long moan. Chan loved it, judging by his moans. His cock was pulsing inside you. You wondered if he was close. You wanted him to fill you up to the point where it was dripping out of you. 

He pulled out of you again, grabbing your leg with one strong hand and flipping you onto your back. You were out of breath from the exertion, despite him doing all the work, and he looked fully composed save for the thin sheen of sweat on his body.

“Feels good, baby?” He asked, looming above you. You squirmed feeling your sweaty back rubbing against the blanket uncomfortably, but you nodded anyway. You wanted to please him. He looked down at your writhing body, letting out another groan. “So fucking sexy. You don’t know how much you fucking killed me, teasing me like that. Touch that pussy for me again, show me.”

He started pumping his shaft quickly, still staring down at you. You reached down with one hand and immediately pressed two fingers against your entrance, collecting the slick gathering outside before diving straight in. You curled your fingers against that spot inside of you, whining out. It wasn't enough. Not after having that fat cock in you. He definitely had ruined you for everyone else, including yourself. Nothing was ever going to feel the same again. 

“Mmm. Looks so wet, sweetheart. Daddy wants a taste, is that okay?” Chan questioned, moving back onto his knees. You pulled your fingers out and tried not to cry at the loss.

“Please, daddy. Wanna cum in your mouth,” You slurred out, pushing his head towards you. He moaned into your pussy, taking his fat tongue and licking one wet stripe up your slit. He pulled your pussy back, exposing that throbbing clit to him, and placed one lick directly onto your button. "Fuck, daddy, feels so good! Suck it, please, suck it. I - please - need to cum so bad!"

“Need to cum, huh, sweetheart? I'll make your little pussy throb for me and then I'm putting my cock right back in that tight hole, where it belongs,” He spoke. He thrust two fingers into your slit, much thicker and longer than yours. You spread your legs, holding them up against your chest. You literally almost purred when he started moving his fingers, curling them up into that spot and sucking on your clit whilst he did so. It wasn't going to take long. The man was clearly amazing at every part of sex. 

You focused on the feeling of his wet tongue rubbing up against your clit and writhed, feeling closer and closer to the edge. He knew what he was fucking doing. Your thighs started to shake, taking everything in you not to just let them go from your hold and clutch around Chan’s head. You wanted him to permanently live between your thighs. Your eyes clenched shut, a deep sigh leaving you. 

“Fuck, I'm g’na cum,” You mumbled out, chest heaving and flushed a shade of crimson. Chan pulled away, causing you to whine. You pouted, reaching up to grab his shoulders. "No, no! You said I could. You said you would help me.”

“What I said was that I'd make it throb for you and then I'm sliding back right in here, sweetheart. Be good for daddy, you'll get to cum,” He positioned his length at your core again, sliding right back into home. You both moaned, and he was fucking you in a mating press this time, almost as if you were a couple in love. You wished you were, and realised this was definitely your favourite position so far. The man fucked like an animal and now he was fucking you like he was going to breed you, and you loved it. He reached down with one hand to rub your clit rapidly, trying to bring you to the edge. “This is my fucking pussy. My favourite fucking pussy, my only girl, the only pussy for me, okay?”

“Fuck!” You cried of overstimulation, hands still wrapped around your legs. “G’na... getting close again, gonna-”

“Cum then, sweetheart, flood my cock. Make a mess for me, come on, do it," Chris encouraged, breathing heavily next to your ear. His eyes were focused on where he was entering you over and over again, taking note of the white ring of slick that had formed around the base of his cock, soaking the hair that rested there. You scrunched your eyes shut, feeling overwhelmed with bliss. “That's it. That's my good girl.”

White hot ecstasy overtook your body. You wanted to squirm, but with the pressure of the muscular man on top of your body, you had nowhere to go. You focused on the feeling of his slick chest rubbing against your sensitive nipples, whining and moaning as the orgasm coursed through your body and made it feel like you were being electrocuted. 

“Fucking clenching on my cock, shit,” Chan groaned, his hand falling away from your clit once your breathing had began to calm slightly. His hands went down to grab your hips, and before you knew it, he was lifting your hips up and fucking you senseless, treating you like a toy. “W-Wanted to be soft with you for our first time, sweetheart. I'm not normally like this, not at all, but this fucking pussy is driving me insane, fuck... I need to fill you up. Will you let daddy fill that pussy with my cum, sweetheart? Let me breed you, make you mine?”

You nodded quickly, unable to speak at this point. Your hole felt raw, sensitive and fucked open, but you needed his cum in you. You thought you might die if you didn't get it soon. His tip jabbed into your g spot incessantly, almost causing you to cum again, but you subconsciously knew you couldn't take another orgasm at the same level as the previous one. You might die. 

“Fucking- g’na breed you, sweetheart. Gonna make you mine. G-Gonna give you a baby, g’na fill you up, fuck!”

With an animalistic growl, Chan’s head dropped to your neck, biting into the skin there and definitely leaving a mark. You felt his hips still and cum flooded out of the tip of his length, flooding your hole with a new sense of wetness. You sighed with content and laid there until Chan’s breathing calmed, his body weight fully on top of you and yet not uncomfortable. 

“I have to be honest about something,” Chan sighed. You looked up at him from your position on his chest, and he looked down at you with an apprehensive look. He looked a lot shyer than he did moments before, when he was fucking you senseless and calling you a slut - he was blushing now, embarrassed. You were sure that’s what you liked about him. “You’re- it’s like you were made for me. I don’t know what the fuck to do, heh. I’m falling for you, I think.”

You blinked, leaning up to rest inches away from his face. Got him. You’d got him. “Well, that’s okay, Chan. You’re closer to my age anyway, right?”

[grantspectortrash]

fantasies & thin walls

Pairing: Rex Sloan/Rex Splode x F!Reader

Summary: post s3 (minus Rex’s relationship with Rae), but everyone is alive and well! nothing bad ever happened! I don’t know what you mean!

You’re apart of the ex-guardians superhero team that are staying at Teen Team’s base. Your room is next to Rex’s, and he can’t ignore the noises he can hear through the wall.

Warnings/tags: Minors DNI, 18+ pls and thank you this is smut. Unknown mutual masturbation, porn reference, smut but no physical contact

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: for all my Rex girlies, because there simply aren’t enough fics so I’m coming out of hibernation after 3 years off.

___

Long days, intense fights, and constant training meant that when you finally crawled into bed way after the sun had gone down, you were knackered.

Your suit was discarded in a heap on the floor and you had told Cecil if there was another emergency tonight he could find someone else. You’d been through too much lately.

All you craved was some time to relax, and nothing seemed to be working.

None of your favourite shows were hitting the spot, you didn’t have the energy to read a book, and the thought of doomscrolling on your phone made your nose wrinkle.

There was only one thing that would help.

You weren’t even sure if you wanted it, but you knew you wanted that release, that blissful chilled out feeling only one thing could give you.

“Fuck it.” You sighed into the darkness, shimmying off your pyjamas and leaving those on the floor beside your suit.

Once you were naked, you loaded up the default porn site you always used in moments like these, and began scrolling.

Your actions started slowly, a hand tracing down your stomach to your folds, where two fingers traced lazily around your clit in circles.

You knew you were doing this just to feel something, anything, that wasn’t to do with fighting or training. Something that didn’t require losing any blood or killing anyone. You just wanted that release.

You just didn’t know the walls were so fucking thin.

For the third time in two weeks, Rex led in bed, wide awake and staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the noises he could hear coming from your room.

He had no idea why the walls were so thin, or why it seemed as if your beds were pressed up against each other, or why he couldn’t bring himself to plug his ears.

He knew he shouldn’t listen in. It was invasive and wrong. But it wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose.

Rex was a good guy now, and he respected you. It just wasn’t his fault that your soft moans made his cock twitch.

He had restrained himself the first time, only allowing himself to listen for the first five minutes while he felt his cock get hard, before shoving headphones on to drown out the noise.

The second time he had truly behaved himself. He had listened to you all the way through, telling himself it was only because he was only curious to see how long it took for you to get there.

And once you had, he had forced himself to sleep while his dick fought against the restraints of his bed covers.

He had woken up in the morning with a wet patch on his sheets, and heat had flushed to his cheeks.

He wasn’t an asshole fuckboy anymore, so why had his dream-self done that to him?

The day after he had punished himself by training extra hard, only taking a break when Rudy demanded Rex had gone beyond the point of exhaustion.

But deep down he knew it wasn’t youthful impulses or ex-fuckboy tendencies that had made him feel that way about you.

Rex thought you were gorgeous.

You had everything he wanted in a woman. The perfect eyes, perfect figure - hell if he had still been the previous him, he probably would’ve saddled up to you the first day you joined the guardians with a “hey sexy mama” and would’ve tried to seduce you into bed.

And while half of him was still tempted to try that, he was different now. He admired you for your powers and skillset, and knew how much you cared about saving people. You inspired him, and in Rex’s eyes that added another level to your beauty.

So while he heard you, moaning and panting, he couldn’t help the reaction his body had.

He couldn’t help it either when he heard his name tumble out of your mouth.

Rex shot up from his bed immediately, his head slamming against the shelves above.

“Fuck.” Rex whispered angrily, a hand coming up to rub the back of his head.

He listened to see if you had heard, but you only paused for a second before the soft moans continued.

Maybe he had heard you wrong. Maybe he was going mad, the sounds of you driving him wild enough that he had reached delirium.

But there it was again.

The faint “Rex” slipping out of your mouth while you touched yourself, your phone and the porn you were watching discarded while thoughts of what you really wanted took over your mind.

You didn’t even know when you had started fantasising about Rex - probably when he dropped the full throttle dickhead vibe and became an endearing asshole instead. Probably before.

You’d fought beside the guy. You lived with him. You’d seen him in just a towel wrapped around his waist after a shower, and you’d seen him beaten and bloody, which shouldn’t have been attractive but absolutely was.

Each and every time you caught a glimpse of his hard abs, or each time the light hit his green eyes just right, you’d felt something stir deep within you.

And now you were wishing Rex was deep within you.

Your legs were spread wide, your hands desperately moving while one fingered your hole with unyielding intent and the other teased your clit.

It wasn’t enough, you wanted Rex, even if you wouldn’t admit it to yourself or to him - ever.

But it was more than enough for Rex. He wanted you, and he didn’t want to hold back any longer.

Rex rested his head against the wall, and took his hard cock into his hand, pre cum already glistening at his tip in the low light.

He took one slow stroke, and bucked into his hand involuntarily. And as your sounds got louder, Rex matched your pace.

He moved his hand at the tempo of your rhythm, straining to control his breathing so he could concentrate on your own.

“Rex”, his name came again, this time a little louder and more like a whimper.

It sent a shiver across his naked body, and a silent “oh baby” crossed his lips.

He could hear your pace quickening, knew that soon you would be feeling that familiar tight cord across your stomach, knew that soon it would be all over and he would have to deal with the consequences of his actions.

But as he fisted his cock in his hand, he didn’t care about what would come after. He only cared about coming now. Coming to the thought of you, coming to the sounds of your pleasure, moaning for him.

He got faster as your panting got more erratic, and suddenly he couldn’t stop himself,

“Fuckkk, come on mama.” Rex whispered low, his voice trembling slightly.

And then the band snapped, and you let out a long, breathy moan as Rex’s rhythm faltered and his dick released long, hot cords of cum across his stomach.

All he could imagine was pumping his seed into you, and his head felt dizzy from the high.

For a full minute, all he could hear was his own panting, his breath hitching in his throat.

His dark red hair was uncharacteristically messy, taken out of his usual bun, framing his face as he breathed hard. He blew a strand away.

“Fuck.” Was all he could manage to say.

He cleaned himself up and sunk back down into his bed, mind wild and heart racing.

He hoped you hadn’t heard him, but couldn’t help but wonder what might happen if you had.

And you hoped Rex hadn’t heard you, but as that sweet release enveloped you in a state of peace, and you started to drift off to sleep, you wondered what might happen if he had…

___

__

-

guys I am so nervous about posting this bc I haven’t written any fics in yonks and this is my first Rex and first smut fic ever. God it feels good to get back in the game. Love ya, Leigh x

[withwritersblock]

Back to Friends

~Back to Friends by sombr~

Author's note: Requested! A lot of the back story timeline is a little inaccurate but anyways its fan fiction for a reason lmaoo... Also it's a long one with lots of badly written vanilla smut so ummmm yeah. The ending could've been a lot better but ummmm anyways... personally I love this fic but definitely a little all over the place plot wise but enjoy :) Summary: A summer friends with benefits that ends? maybe? Warnings: SMUT 18+, pretty vanilla nothing too crazy lol Word Count: 27,254 Jack Hughes x fm!reader

December 2022

He was in Detroit for the night. He had a game against the Red Wings and would get back to Jersey after two in the morning. But tonight he couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t even late, but he always craved a full night's rest before an important game. They were on a three game losing streak and needed a win more than anything.

His phone lit up beside him on the night stand of the hotel bed. He let out a huff of air as he reached for it. He saw a text from Y/N. His eyes widened as he reached for it.

Y/N and Jack have known each other since they were seventeen. While Jack was playing for the developmental league, they met and became instant friends. Her brother used to work for the arena the team had practiced at. In the beginning, there was flirty tension. But for a while after that, there was nothing that ended up spiraling out of it.

She was going to school for soccer and he was on the verge of getting drafted. There was no need. Instead they became close friends. 

Well, she became a close mutual friend. She went to Chapman University for soccer and since she knew Trevor as well. She became good friends with Trevor and with Jack by adjacent. 

Trevor and Y/N were the definition of platonic. She never looked at him in that way and neither did he. It was almost as if they were automatically best friends. But after she graduated from Chapman, she started an on screen reporting job for the BigTen with UMich. She jumped between football and basketball for her reporter duties. 

Jack pulled the phone towards his face, reading the message: Good luck tomorrow! I’ll be there cheering you on! He smiled softly as he read the message over and over. He took a deep breath as he brought the phone towards his ear. It rang a few times before she answered.

“Hey J,” she said cheerfully into the phone. 

“Are you busy right now?” the question left his lips faster than he intended for it. He cleared his throat as he leaned up on his elbows. 

“I’m in bed right now, what are you asking, J?” she asked, laughing awkwardly. 

A wide grin formed on his lips as he tilted his head to the side. A breathy laugh left his lips as he slowly sat up, swinging his legs off of the bed. “Wanna come to my hotel? I can’t sleep,” he asked, his heart slamming against his chest. 

“I probably won’t be there until like 10:30, is that still fine?” she asked as she began to shuffle on her end of the phone. Jack bit his bottom lip as he tilted his head back. 

“Yeah, definitely. If you want to come by,” Jack said as he grinned, hearing her move about on her end of the phone. 

“I’ll be there, send me the address please,” she offered as she drew out the last word. He chuckled as he began to walk towards the bathroom of the hotel.

“Will do, I’ll send you my room number too,” he explained before he hung up the phone. 

He flipped the light switch, letting the LED lights burn his eyes. Jack started typing into his phone, sending her the information. He rested his phone onto the bathroom counter, he looked towards his reflection in the mirror. His hair was messily laid across his forehead. His hair was freshly cut, the shortest it’s been in the past year. 

He walked towards the shower, turning it on. The water shot out, instantly creating steam in the bathroom. He dropped his shorts and quickly stepped inside. His muscles tensed under the hot water cascading over his frame. Slowly tilting his head back, allowing the water to hit his face.

His mind was starting to wander, almost reminding himself of the way he used to think about her. How often her smile lit up a room and how contagious her laughter was for a room. There was a time he did everything in his power to hear her laugh. It was the best sound in the world.

After he got drafted, he was having the hardest year of his life. The NHL was nothing like he had expected. The comments about his abilities were detrimental to his mental health. For a while, the only person who could make him feel better was Y/N. Hearing her voice alone was enough for him to feel better. She even knew what to say to make him feel confident again. 

The summer after his rookie year, she started joining the boys on the boys trip. She fit in like a glove. The three summers since have been the same. Jack wanted to see her more, maybe needed to see her some more. 

After an hour, Jack was waiting for her on his bed. His TV was showing an old romantic comedy from the early 2000s. He couldn’t figure out the title of the film. Instead, his attention was towards his phone. He was scrolling through TikTok patiently waiting for Y/N to show up. 

His phone screen lit up with a FaceTime from Luke. Jack didn’t hesitate to answer it. Luke’s face popped up instantly. “What’s up, Lukey?” he asked as he glanced towards the door, almost expecting her to be here already. It was almost 10:30.

“Do you want to get lunch before your game tomorrow?” Luke questioned as he was walking around his kitchen.

“Yeah definitely, got any ideas?” Jack offered.

“Uhm–” Luke was interrupted as there was a loud knock against Jack’s door. A smile instantly formed on his lips.

“Can we decide this tomorrow Lukey? I gotta go,” Jack offered quickly. 

“Who’s at your door?” Luke asked while chuckling nervously.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jack said as he hung up the phone. He jogged towards it, looking through the peephole. He saw Y/N standing outside of his door. He grinned as he pulled the door open quickly. 

She was standing outside of his door, her frame covered by a pair of sweatpants and an Anaheim Ducks t-shirt. He shook his head as his grin fell from his lips. “You’re evil,” he mumbled as he reached towards her. Pulling her against his chest as he stumbled backwards into the hotel room. 

A giggle fell from her lips as she wrapped her arms around the center of Jack’s back. He rocked her side to side inside of the hotel room, letting the door shut behind them. Her laugh practically echoed in his mind, making his heart flutter slightly. 

“Hey J,” she mumbled against his chest. He ran his hand through her hair soothingly. 

Neither of them pulled away. Staying in each other’s arms for definitely too long. Jack loved the perfume she would always wear. It was a mixture of something floral and sweet. All he knows is that it was intoxicating. 

“I’ve missed you,” Jack whispered into her ear. A soft giggle fell from her lips as she pulled back. Jack’s hands slid off of her frame, slowly dropping them to his side. Awkwardly, she stood in front of him; her gaze avoiding his light eyes.

“I’ve missed you too,” she offered quietly, taking a hesitant step towards him. He shifted his weight form on foot to the other as he watched her avoid his eye. She took a deep breath, “Why didn’t you call your brother? He could’ve kept you company,” she offered.

He chuckled dryly, “I’ll see him tomorrow,”

“You were gonna see me tomorrow,” she said as she stepped towards him. Jack swallowed harshly as he watched her tilt her head up. Their eyes met again, her lips curling upward slightly.

“You’re better company,” he let out shrugging his shoulders. She nodded slowly.

Their eyes remained connected, perhaps saying things that their lips were too afraid to let slip out. Jack’s heart was beating so rapidly as his frame was itching with anticipation. He didn’t know what it was but his gaze lowered towards her lips. Her lips were covered with a clear pink gloss, his mind wandered towards the idea of what it tasted like. If it was a hint of strawberry or if it was just the color of the gloss. 

“J?” she asked softly. 

He began to blink rapidly as he shook his head slightly, “Wanna lay down? Watch a movie, maybe?” he asked, pointing towards the bed. Clearing her throat, she nodded as she began to walk past him towards the bed.

Without fully realizing what he was doing, Jack took a hold of her arm pulling her back towards him. Lifting her head up, a sudden gasp left her lips. Jack leaned down, urgently pressing his lips against hers. At first she didn’t react, the shock froze her body still. 

The moment she began to kiss him back, Jack pulled back. Dropping his arms to the side. Her eyes widened slightly as a wave of heat engulfed her frame.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking–” he let out nervously. He was about to take a step back as she reached towards him, taking a hold of his neck. She pulled him towards her, kissing him with the same sense of urgency. 

He reached towards her waist, pressing her body against his as he began to guide her towards the bed. The backs of her legs hit the mattress, she began to kick off her shoes as their lips remained connected. 

His hands tugged at the t-shirt on her frame. He knew she only wore it to piss him off, it worked. He used the loose ends of the shirt to pull her towards him. Feeling the fabric stretch slightly at his attempt. 

Both of her hands found his hair, tugging at the strands as she craved to get closer to him. He pulled back, his breathing completely unsteady as he took a hold of his own shirt. Taking it off of his frame, he threw it to a random corner in the small hotel room.

She’s seen him shirtless before, more times than she could actually count. But something about the dimly lit hotel room and his shy smile made his muscles look incredible. Her hands glided along his chest, watching the way his body tensed under her touch. His skin was hot as she could feel his heart slamming against his chest.

“Take that off,” he demanded breathlessly. His gaze lowered towards her shirt. She smirked as she tilted her head to the side; almost as a taunt. Jack took a hold of it, pulling her closer to him by the shirt. He smirked as their gaze connected.

He felt drunk by the way her lips kissed his. It was like she knew how to cast a spell over him. “Take that off,” he demanded again. She smirked as she shook her head slightly.

“If you want it gone so bad then take it off of me,” she whispered teasingly. His lips curled up into a cocky grin as he gladly reached towards the shirt on her frame. He tugged it up higher. She assisted in the process. Jack bunched the shirt together and tossed it to the same corner his shirt laid. 

“Oh my god,” he let out barely above a whisper as his eyes scanned her frame. His breath caught in his throat. 

Her chest was now only covered by a black lace bra. He took a delicate hold of the strap against her shoulder. He released it, letting it snap back in place. He’s seen her in bikinis and swimsuits before; but it’s nothing like this. Only his eyes got to see her like this. He took a quick breath, his chest aching from the lack of oxygen in his body. 

Suddenly, she felt self conscious with the way his eyes were roaming her frame. She took a shaky breath as their eyes met again. She dropped her gaze towards the floor. Jack instantly took a hold of her cheeks to force her to meet his eye.

“You’re fucking breathtaking,” Jack let out as he looked deeply into her eyes. The corner of her lips curled upward as he glided his thumbs along the apples of her cheeks. He pressed his lips against hers for only a second. “Don’t ever forget it,” he mumbled against her lips. 

He kissed her urgently again, as they both collapsed onto the bed. Her hands ran through his hair as he held himself up with both of his arms resting on either side of her head. 

Urgently, she bucked her hips up into him; desperate for more contact from him. Her stomach erupted into butterflies as he began to trail wet kisses across her jawline. He continued to lower his lips, swirling his tongue against the skin as he began to suck against the skin. Careful to not leave any marks. 

She pressed her lips together as she tried to prevent a moan climbing in her throat. He pulled away from her neck, looking down towards her. She raised her hand up as she ran her hand from the side of his neck against the curve of his collarbone. 

“I promise I didn’t invite you here for this,” he let out as he scanned her features.

“I know,” she mumbled as she reached towards him again, desperate for his lips against her own again. Their tongues swirled in perfect cadence. Reaching down, he toyed with the band of her sweatpants. Feeling her arch her back into him. He let it snap back against her skin before he delicately grazed his hand up her frame. 

Their lips continued to be sloopily insync more urgently as his boxers were getting tighter and tighter by the second. He thrusted against her clothed center, for a blissful moment of relief. Yet it made him more desperate to see more of her. 

Jack pulled his lips away from hers as he began to trail his lips down her frame. Kissing every inch of her skin on the way down. He pressed his lips against her hip bone, teasingly biting the skin. 

A gasp left her lips while she tilted her head back. Jack pulled at her sweatpants, looking up towards her. 

He watched her in awe as she lifted her hips up. He took that as an invitation, he climbed off of the bed as he pulled them from her frame. He tossed them to the floor. 

Her body was now only covered by her matching lace set. He could come undone just from looking at her so innocently laying on his bed. So innocent and all just for him.

She leaned back on her elbows, breathlessly looking towards him. He took a hold of his own shorts and took them off quickly. She smiled softly as she looked over his frame. Seeing how hard he was beneath his boxers. Her mouth started watering as she scanned his frame back up looking into his eyes. 

He stood at the foot of the bed admiring her frame for a moment. “Wow–” he let out before he climbed on top of her. He looked down towards her, smiling softly. He pressed his lips against hers, she motioned for him to roll onto his back. 

Jack didn’t hesitate as he rolled onto his back. Soon, she straddled his frame. Quickly, grinding slowly, almost teasingly, her hips against his hard clothes frame. He let out a breathy moan that was muffled by her mouth against his. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled while tilting his head back. She smirked as she leaned back, pressing her lips down his neck. Jack bit his bottom lip while she took a hold of the clasp of her bra. 

Quickly, she unclasped it and tossed it from her frame. Jack’s eyes widened as his hands instantly rested on her hips. Slowly squeezing her skin. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he let out urgently. She bit her bottom lip as she fought off a smile. She dragged her hands across his abs while he took a hold of her hands, pulling her to lean towards him.

She pressed her lips against his as his hands lowered down her frame, gripping her thighs desperately. He thrusted up into her, a breathy moan left her lips. She continued to glide her fingers through his hair. She felt her body start to get overwhelmed with desire, desperate to be completely all his. 

His hands glided along her back, feeling her skin erupt in goosebumps beneath his touch. “Get on your back,” he mumbled against her lips. She pulled back, staring down towards him for a second as she climbed off of his frame. 

The second she laid onto her back, Jack started to climb down her frame. This time pressing his lips teasingly, circling his tongue at a slow pace. He looped his finger beneath the band of her underwear. The delicate touch sent a vibration through her whole body, her vision blurring in the process. He pulled it off of her frame, letting it drop towards the floor. Shutting her eyes, she tilted her head back.

Jack took a hold of her legs, pulling her towards the edge of the bed. Carefully, parting her legs. He smirked to see how wet she was for him.

“So wet for me, huh baby?” He mumbled as he delicately caressed the skin of her hip bone.

Anticipation coursed through her veins as she tilted her head back against the pillow. Desperately waiting for him to do something to her. She craved his touch, his lips, craved everything from him. 

He pressed his lips against the inside of her thigh, carefully and slowly trailing his lips towards her center. 

“Fuck sake, J, please!” she begged as she forced her eyes shut. A breathy laugh left his lips as he looked up towards her. 

“So impatient,” he mumbled as he delicately pressed his thumb against her clit. Slowly, circling his thumb. She squirmed instantly, her back arched. A gasp left her lips as he continued. “So pretty and so impatient,” he mumbled as he pressed his lips against the inside of her thigh. He watched her clamp her mouth shut, silencing the moans fighting to come out.

He leaned towards her, his fingertips grazing her throbbing center. Without hesitation, he slid two fingers inside of her in a teasing manner. A breathy moan left her lips as she tried to silence herself. Slowly, he began to curl his fingers. He smirked as he watched her squirm beneath his touch. 

“Fuck,” she mumbled as her legs began to tightened around him. Jack leaned in taking her clit into his mouth. He began to suck the sensitive bud as he looped one of his arms around her thigh. He squeezed the skin, holding her in place.

A moan finally fell from her lips and Jack felt himself nearly release right there. It was the most beautiful sound he’s heard in a long time. He pulled back, bringing his fingers towards his mouth. After a few seconds, he brought his lips towards her center. Teasingly, he began to swirl his tongue.

He stayed there for a while, pulling her towards her edge. Her breathing was heavy as she continued to silence her own moans; afraid of someone overhearing.

“J, I’m so close,” she mumbled. Jack pulled back, licking his lips clean. A frustrated sigh left her lips as her eyes opened; practically glaring towards him. “Why does every guy stop when a girl says that?” she let out breathily. He chuckled as he finally pulled his boxers from his frame. She looked towards him, her eyes widening as she was breathing heavily. 

“Just wait, baby,” he mumbled as he ran his hand up and down his shaft. A muffled moan fell from his lips as he looked towards her. An imagine he never thought he was going to see. 

He carefully pulled her legs towards the edge of bed as he parted her legs again, He guided himself towards her center, carefully thrusting into her. Another moan fell from her lips as he took a hold of her thigh as he climbed on top of her. 

He thrusted again, a grunt falling from his lips. Their eyes connected as she nodded slightly. He began to quicken his pace. Thrusting faster into her, pressing sloppy kisses against her jawline.

“So good, baby, doing so good,” he mumbled before he kissed her sloppily. Her hands found his hair, tugging the strands. He was right, she was right back at the edge he put her on before. Any second she would unwind. 

Jack pulled his lips away from hers, needing to see what he does to her. He needed to watch how her desire consume her. He was getting dizzy, a smirk toyed to his lips watching her breathlessly keep her moans inside.

“Let me here you, let it out,” he muttered through a grunt. She smirked as she finally let herself let it out. A low moan fell from her lips as she dragged her hands across his upper back, leaving nail scratches in their place. 

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna–J,” she mumbled against his lips. 

With another thrust, she had hit her climax. Her breath caught in her throat as she tilted her head back. She couldn’t hold it back anymore as she let out a loud moan. Jack bit his bottom lip as he continued to guide her through her climax.

“That’s it’s baby,” he whispered breathlessly.

“Oh fuck, oh my god Jac–” she moan out. 

He pressed his lips against her jawline as he tightened his grip on her thigh as he reached his own climax. A stifled his own moan as his entire body flooded with desire. His vision went blurry as he pressed his lips sloppily against her jawline. 

He pulled out as he fell onto his back beside her. Both of them laid silently as they were trying to catch their breath. He tilted his head to the side, looking over her side profile. He watched as she chewed on her bottom lip as she took a deep breath. She blinked her eyes harshly back to back. 

Several seconds passed before she turned her head to meet his gaze. A soft giggle falling from her lips. “What?” he asked, fighting a smirk forming on his lips. 

“I cannot believe we just did that,” she let out while shaking her head slightly. 

“It was alright,” he mumbled teasingly. She rolled her eyes dramatically as she shoved him. He laughed as he reached towards her, pulling her towards him. Her head rested on his chest as he looped his arm around her waist. He kissed the top of her head.

“You’re so annoying,” she mumbled. He hummed dramatically as he began to run his fingers through her hair.

“Should we talk about it?” he asked barely above a whisper. She pressed her lips against his chest as she lifted her head up, meeting his gaze. 

“Just a one time thing right? You live in New Jersey and I live here. It wouldn’t make sense for it to be more than that right?” she explained as she ran her hand across his cheek. He nodded slowly as he brushed a few pieces of hair away from her face. 

His heart stung in his chest but he forced a grin to his lips, “Can we make it a two time thing? Another round?” he asked teasingly. She rolled her eyes dramatically. 

“You have a losing streak to snap tomorrow, shouldn’t you be saving some energy?” 

“You just had to remind me, huh?” he asked while shaking his head slightly. 

“I live to keep the Jack Hughes humble,” she shot back. 

He rolled his eyes dramatically as he took a hold of her neck. He pulled her towards him, kissing her urgently.

June 2023

Jack and Y/N’s friendship remained the same like it was before their night together back in December. They slept together and cuddled the entire night. They didn’t say a single word about it when they went to lunch with Luke. However, Jack was convinced Luke had some idea of what had happened. Luke never said anything about it though.

It was as if nothing happened. Their friendship was normal as normal as it could seem. They texted and talked on the phone nearly every day. It was exactly like it used to be. 

But Jack would be lying if he didn’t have plenty of dreams reliving that night. Waking up, wishing she was beside him to fix what he was left with after his wet dreams. But they were friends and friends should not think of other friends like that. 

Today was the start of another summer at the Hughes's lake house. All of the boys wanted to shake off a rough end to the season, craving to let off some steam. While Y/N was frustrated because she was not given a new contract with the Big Ten. She was trying to decide what she wanted to do with her career. This summer was her last chance to enjoy unemployment before she went on a job search. 

The Hughes Brothers were the first ones at the house, making sure the whole place was perfect. Trevor, Cole, and Y/N were on their way. Y/N had promised to pick the other three up from the airport and she texted Jack that she was regretting giving that offer. 

“What time did Y/N say they would be here?” Quinn asked as he wandered back into the living room. Jack tilted his head back looking towards Quinn. A smile formed on Jack's lips at the sound of her name.

“She should be here in like five minutes,” Jack explained as he forced his gaze back towards his phone screen. 

He began to scroll through his Twitter feed, not necessarily reading everything he saw. Mainly trying to keep his mind off of the fact that Y/N was going to be in the same room as him for the first time since Decemeber. Quinn nodded as he wandered back towards the kitchen, leaving Jack alone. Luke was in his room unpacking all of his clothes.

Jack was trying to be cool but he was freaking out. He didn’t know how to be normal knowing that any minute she would walk through that door. Probably wearing something gorgeous since she always looked gorgeous in everything she’s worn; and not worn. 

The front door swung open and Y/N led the charge. “Party’s here!” The three of them shouted as they entered the house. Trevor was carrying six pizzas while dancing towards the kitchen. Completely ignoring Jack who was in the process of standing up from the couch. Cole was holding his phone up playing the pre-chorus of Hot in Herre by Nelly. 

Cole and Y/N were dancing their way inside while leaving their suitcases by the door. Jack stood up from the couch watching Cole and Y/N make complete fools of themselves. Trevor bolted out of the kitchen, “It’s gettin’ hot in here!” Trevor yelled out singing along to the song as he went back towards Y/N and Cole.

The three of them danced and sang loudly. Luke entered the living room, his eyes were wide as he was trying to hold in a laugh. Quinn entered the living room, completely losing balance from laughing. Jack stood up crossing his arms over his chest as he watched three of his favorite people. 

The song faded into another song but Cole placed his phone against the table beside the front door. “You guys are the weirdest people I’ve ever met,” Luke said while laughing. He walked towards Cole first, giving him a quick hug. Cole darted towards Quinn. Luke walked towards Y/N.

“Hey Lukey,” she offered as she gave him a quick hug, “UMich is gonna miss you,” she mumbled as she pulled back.

“They’re gonna miss you too, all of the athletes are going to miss you like crazy. We all thought it was dumb to let you go,” he expressed. She smiled softly as she tilted her head to the side. 

“Thanks Lukey,” she muttered before she saw Quinn walking towards her. “Quinny, how are you?” she asked as she gave him a quick hug. 

“Alive, can’t wait for this break,” he said while chuckling. She pouted her lips as Quinn shifted his attention towards Trevor. 

Y/N looked towards Jack as he was finishing up his quick greeting with Cole. Jack shifted his gaze towards her as he fought off a grin. He scanned her frame, slowly. She walked up towards him.

“Hey J,” she let out softly, feeling her legs start to get weak as she looked over him. 

“Hi Y/N,” he mumbled. Hesitantly, she pulled him in an embrace. He followed in pursuit as his hands loosely looped around her waist. He delicately ran his hand along her lower back. 

She rested her hand on the base of his neck as her body straightened. Her stomach flipped as she felt her breathing catch in her throat. 

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered into her ear. A memory of their night together flashed into her mind with his lips so close to her ear. 

She swallowed harshly as she pulled back, her hand glided from his neck, her thumb ran along the side of his neck for a moment before she fully pulled away from him. He pursed his lips forward as he scanned her frame. He shifted awkwardly as he crossed his arms over her chest.

Clearing her throat, she looked into his eyes for a second before she reluctantly stepped away from him. “We have pizza and there is still a load of liquor in the car. Can anyone help me?” She offered while looking around the whole living room.

“I got you,” Jack said quickly before anyone else had a chance to chime in. Their eyes connected and she felt her heart slam against her chest. She lowered her gaze towards the cocky smirk on his lips. She walked backwards, stumbling slightly. She clenched her jaw as she darted outside of the front door.

He smirked as he lowered his gaze towards the floor as he followed after her. She jogged towards the trunk of her car. Instantly, she opened the trunk and stared towards the four paper bags holding all of the alcohol. 

She leaned into the trunk, taking a hold of one of the bags. Jack walked up behind her, a smirk toying to his lips. She froze in place as her body erupted in tingles. She took a shaky breath as she took a hold of another bag. Jack leaned towards her as he reached towards a bag. 

“Thank you for your help,” she said slowly as she walked away from him. He dragged his tongue across his bottom lip as he took the other bag. He shut the trunk as he quickly followed after her. 

She entered the living room hearing echoes from the boys in the kitchen. “Y/N,” Jack called out in a hushed tone. She turned around, meeting his gaze. “Are you okay?”

She looked into his light eyes as she squinted her eyes slightly. “I’m good, good–yeah,” she muttered before she began to walk towards the kitchen. She entered.

“Our alcohol!” Cole cheered loudly. The other boys laughed as Y/N rested her bags onto the center island. Jack walked beside her, resting his bags onto the counter himself. 

It was normal for her and Jack to be close, not necessarily people that hug and cuddle all of the time. But they were not people to not be in close proximity. She never noticed it much before, or cared much before. Now that they’ve hooked up, she was hyper aware of his presence. The way her body erupted in goosebumps and tingles any time his body was close against her.

She began to pull out the different bottles. Jack stood beside her, their arms bumping against one another as he started pulling out the other bottles. “We’re thinking about going on the boat in a few, you two down?” Quinn asked before he shoved a bite of food into his mouth. 

Y/N glanced towards Jack and back down towards the overwhelming amount of alcohol in front of them. “I’m always down,” she offered as she stared towards the comically large vodka bottle. 

Jack looked over her frame for a second, “Yeah for sure,” he expressed before he looked towards Luke. Luke nodded slowly, his cheeks pinking up as he glanced towards Y/N. 

It was a couple hours later and it was safe to say that most of them were pretty tipsy. She was sitting in one of the corners of the boat. Her swimsuit was covered by an oversized pink hoodie. 

The music has progressively gotten quieter as the hours progressed. Now everyone was starting to get tired as the sun was starting to set. She had her knees pulled up towards her chest.

Their conversations progressively started getting quieter as the sun was starting to create a stunning orange glow over the water. Quinn and Trevor were laughing loudly at something Trevor had said.

Her gaze continued to wander towards Jack. He was sitting on the opposite end of the boat. His frame was covered in a dark blue hoodie but it was once showing off his tanned body. He was talking with Luke,  from afar the conversation seemed serious. Or at least it appeared to be that way.

Cole was laying down beside her. His feet were dangling over the ledge of the boat. His head rested beside her thigh. Every so often she would glance down to see Cole half asleep. His arms were crossed over his chest. 

“Y/N,” Cole whispered. She forced her gaze away from Jack as she looked down towards him. He waved his finger towards her. She squinted her eyes slightly as she leaned towards him. Slowly, she tilted her head to the side, allowing him to whisper in her ear. “Did something happen with you and Jack?” he asked barely above a whisper. She pulled back, her eyes widening.

“Why are you asking me that?” she asked softly. He chuckled as he shrugged slightly, his eyes shutting in the process.

“Because this is usually his spot and he’s busy lecturing Luke about what it takes to be in the NHL,” Cole explained, a dry laugh leaving his lips. “Did you guys get into an argument?”

“No, we’re good,” she mumbled as she shifted her gaze back towards Jack across from them. His gaze was already looking in her direction. The corner of his lips curled upward as he looked into her eyes. He bit his bottom lip as he continued to look in her direction.

Shyly, she dropped her gaze towards her lap. Cole was looking towards her suspiciously. “What?” she asked barely above a whisper.

“Did you two–” he trailed off as he nodded slowly, trying to insinuate something. Her lips parted slightly as the skin of her cheeks heated up instantly. Her lack of defense was enough for him to believe it. “Oh we have so much to talk about later,” Cole offered while chuckling.

“You guys ready to head back? I’m getting cold,” Quinn called out as he began walking back towards the driver seat.

Y/N looked down towards Cole who was fighting off a wide grin. The boys all started making fun of Quinn. While Cole and Y/N were staring towards one another. “We have nothing to talk about, Cole,” she offered while nodding slowly. He chuckled as he shut his eyes.

Quinn began to drive the boat back towards the dock. 

“Cole, I’m serious,” she mumbled. 

“Okay,” he sing songed, “But you two aren’t really keeping it to yourselves,”

“Shut up, Cole,” she let out while laughing.

~~~

She was laying on her bed, struggling to fall asleep. Her mind was busy, nearly impossible to make it quiet. It was a one time thing. They were fine the next day, and didn't even act like it happened. Sure, the faint feeling of his lips against hers was all she could think about that day. But it was normal.

Nothing felt normal. Maybe it was the fact that this was the first time they were sleeping under the same roof since. She let out a huff of air as she stared towards the ceiling. Tossing the blanket low on her frame, her body starting to overheat.

Out of nowhere there was a soft kock on her door. She took a hold of her phone to check the time. It was a little after midnight. She sighed as she tossed the blanket away from her frame. She walked towards the door and pulled it open. Jack was standing outside of her door, a pair of sweatpants being the only thing covering his frame. 

“What are you doing, J?” she asked softly. 

“Can I come in?” he asked nervously. She nodded, stepping aside letting him walk into her room. She shut the door, pressing her back against the door. He walked towards the center of the room; his gaze towards the floor. 

She didn’t say anything. Instead she was admiring the way his back muscles tensed as he breathed heavily. After a few seconds he spun around, resting his hands onto his hips. 

“So you and Cole were pretty close today, huh?” he let out as he continued to avoid her gaze. She squinted her eyes slightly as she pursed her lips forward.

“Haven’t seen him in a year. It was good to catch up,” she offered as she nervously ran her fingers through her hair.

“I meant–like–on the boat. You two were pretty close,” he said as he finally lifted his head up to meet her gaze. Her heart jumped into her throat as her knees suddenly felt weak. 

“Are you jealous that I was hanging out with Cole?” she questioned, a smirk toying her lips.

“I have no reason to be jealous,” he offered as he took a step towards her. Her posture straightened as she continued pressing her back against the door. Almost afraid that if she pulled away she would collapse under his gaze. 

“Right ‘cause we’re completely normal,” she pressed her lips together while breathing started to become difficult. He stopped a couple of steps away from her, watching her intently. He saw the way she was frozen in place; he knew why.

“Right because nothing happened between us,”

“Nope,”

“So I can’t be jealous that you and Cole were flirting for hours on the boat earlier,” he offered before dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. He raised his hand up and dragged it across his chin.

She brushed a few pieces of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear as she continued to look into his darkening eyes. “We weren’t flirting,” 

“Right because his head was practically in your lap. You were laughing a lot, totally not flirting,” 

“His head was not in my lap and he’s funny. Am I supposed to not laugh at something funny?” she said dryly. 

“He’s not that funny,” 

“Why do you care if I am laughing with Cole?” 

“I don’t,” he said bluntly.

“Then why are you–”

He interrupted her by taking a hold of both of her cheeks and kissing her urgently. There was not an ounce of hesitation as she began to kiss him back. Her hands planted onto his chest as he shoved his knee between her legs. His hands slipped from her cheeks as he rested them against the door beside her head to pin her against it.

Her hands glided through his hair, needing him closer. She took a hold of the ends of her shirt, pulling her lips away from his in the process. She tossed it towards the floor to reveal her bare chest. 

Jack instantly connected their lips again as he took a hold of her waist to pull her against his chest. He reached behind her twisting the lock on the door, he didn’t need any surprises. Reaching down he took a hold of her thighs; she jumped up assisting him in the process. Not once did their lips part. Her hands held his head in place, desperate for his lips to stay on hers.

Jack carried her towards the bed and delicately placed her down onto the bed. He stood at the foot of the bed, quickly sliding his sweats down his body. He smirked as he climbed on top of her again.

Their noses brushed as she took a hold of his neck. She delicately ran her thumb along the side of it. Jack hummed as he looked into her eyes, “What?” he let out breathily. 

She shook her head slightly before she pulled him towards her by his neck. He let out a breathy moan that was muffled by her mouth. Slowly, pulling his lips from hers he began to trail his lips down her neck. She tilted her head back, giving him more space.

“Gotta be quiet, yeah? Can’t let them know what we’re doing,” he whispered into her ear. She couldn’t form any words; instead she hummed before she bit her bottom lip. He smirked as he pressed wet kisses down her neck, towards her chest. His eyes lit up in the process.

~~~

She forced him out of her room not long after they hooked up. She was afraid that if he fell asleep in her room then it would be suspicious to everyone in the house. Jack was notorious for sleeping in and it would be difficult for him to sneak out. 

Although, she did feel guilty kicking him out like that. After all, he was the one that snuck into her room to begin with. She laid in the center of the bed, staring towards the ceiling. Her mind was replaying every single moment from the night before. 

The way his hands grazed her skin and the way her back would arch into him. The way his lips and tongue knew exactly what to do to make her feel dizzy. She didn’t know how long the whole night lasted, she knew that it was more than once. 

There was a soft knock on her door, she sat up. Pressing her back against the wall behind her she called out, “Come in,”

She watched as Jack peaked his head into the room. Her eyes widened slightly before she pulled the comforter tighter to her body. He stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. He walked towards her, stopping short near the bed. 

“We need to talk about this,” Jack offered.

She shook her head slowly, “No we don’t. That was a one time thing,” she said in a hush tone.

“Decemeber was a one time thing, last night means it’s gonna happen again so we need to set boundaries,” he offered as he sat down on the bed, their faces a near inch away from one another.

“How do you know it’s gonna happen again?” she offered teasingly, her gaze trailing towards his shirtless frame. He tilted his head to the side as he pursed his lips forward, his own eyes admiring her lips. Her perfect lips that he could stare at all day.

After a few seconds of silence, Jack leaned towards her, kissing her. It was slow, nothing like last night’s urgency. Their tongues connected as he was slowly gliding his hand to the base of her neck.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, “Because of that,” he mumbled before he pressed his lips against hers again for a few seconds. He took a sudden breath, “So we need boundaries,”

She nodded as she leaned back, her head tilting back against the wall. “Okay, what ideas do you have?” she offered quietly.

“None of them can know,” he waved his hand behind them towards the door. She nodded, keeping the secret that Cole figured out it’s happened once. “Your turn,” he mumbled. 

Her mouth fell open for a second before she clamped it shut. She took a deep breath, “No sleepovers,” she let out, “If it happens then there is no cuddling afterwards,” 

He nodded slowly, “Okay, uhm–” he thought about it for a second, “We can’t avoid each other outside of this room, right? It’ll look suspicious.”

She nodded, “Feelings can’t get involved, the second something is different. We stop,” 

“What do you mean by feelings?”

“I don’t know, like if we start seeing each other as more than–” she trailed off as she avoided his gaze. 

“Yeah, I agree,” he muttered before he took a deep breath. He tilted his head back, trying to think if there was anything else to add. “I’m out,” he let out breathily. 

“Me too,” she mumbled. 

“Good,” he muttered as his gaze lingered on her lips. He smirked before he leaned towards her, kissing her softly. “Okay, I’ll see you downstairs,” he muttered against her lips before he kissed her again. He stood up as he began walking towards the door.

“Wait, I have another one,” she called out, standing up from the bed, stumbling slightly as she nearly tripped over the comforter. He spun around, nodding allowing her to continue. “You can’t kiss me goodbye,” 

He chuckled awkwardly, “So the plan is we just have incredible sex and then I am not supposed to cuddle you or kiss you goodbye afterwards?” he said sarcastically. She nodded as she walked towards him. “That makes me like a complete douche, you know,”

“Well, it’s just two friends having sex, right?” she offered as she rested her hands onto her hip. He nodded as his gaze was lingering on her lips. Her eyes widened as she tossed her hands to the side. “I need a verbal answer, J!” 

He tossed his head back, “Just two friends who have incredible sex,” he let out barely above a whisper before he snuck out of the room, leaving her alone in the center of the bedroom. A sudden laugh fell from her lips as she shook her head.

July 2023

She walked through the main doors of the lake house to see all of the boys scattered around the living room. She pulled her sunglasses from her face, while carrying two dozen donuts in her hands. “What’s that for?” Jack called out as he walked towards her. She smiled softly towards him as he took both of the boxes from her. He began walking towards the kitchen.

All of the boys followed after them. “My birthday is tomorrow so I wanted to treat you guys to some amazing donuts,” she mumbled as she leaned agains the doorway. Jack rested the boxes onto the counter while opening it instantly. 

“Have we figured out a plan to celebrate?” Cole asked as he stole a chocolate long john. He smirked towards Quinn who was reaching for the same one. 

“My siblings are driving up for the night. My sister can finally get in the clubs out here, it’ll be perfect,” she offered with a grin. 

“Isn’t she like twenty,” Jack asked as he handed a donut towards her. It was her favorite. She smiled towards him for a second.

“Luke’s twenty,” she mumbled, “And he and Carlee got fakes at the same time. So we know it works,” she said softly.

“You know Y/N’s sister?” Jack asked with a mouthful. 

Luke shrugged nonchalantly, “She dated Matty for a while when he was still at UMich,” he said, “Thanks for these,” he said towards Y/N as he carried his two donuts out of the kitchen. 

Y/N took a bit of her own donut as she glanced towards Cole who was staring towards her suspiciously. “Festivities for your birthday start tonight by the way,” he said as he walked out of the kitchen. Quinn and Trevor were quick to follow after him, leaving Jack and Y/N.

She met Jack’s gaze, squinting slightly. “What did he mean by that?” she asked quietly. He shrugged as he walked around the counter towards her. He stepped up towards her, his gaze scanning her features.

“What are you doing in the next twenty minutes?” he asked, trying to be discreet but he failed miserably. 

“I was going to eat this donut and then maybe another one, perhaps another one after that. Then I was going to shower,” she explained. He chuckled dryly as he glanced towards the living room, none of the boys were in his line of sight. He assumed it meant that they were gone. 

“Want help in that second part?” he asked barely above a whisper. She fought a smile forming on her lips.

“Sure you want to see me after three–” she began but he pushed her delicately to stop her.

“I’ll be waiting,” He leaned towards her, purposely brushing his lips against her ear. She cleared her throat as her body straightened. She took another bite of her donut while rolling her eyes playfully. 

She finished her snacks before she walked into the living room to see Cole was sitting in the corner of the couch. He was smirking as he watched her walk towards the hallway. “Is there any reason why Jack hasn’t brought any girls back to the house this summer?” he called out.

She stopped dead in her tracks, her hands landing on her hips. Slowly, she spun on her heels. She saw Cole resting his head onto the top of the couch. He looked towards her expectantly. 

“No idea,” she let out barely above a whisper.

“Why haven’t you brought anyone back here?” he asked teasingly. He smirked towards her. 

“Why haven’t you?” she shot back. 

He chuckled softly as he tapped his hands against the top of the couch, “Oh I have, you and Jack have just been too busy disappearing for the last month to notice,” he teased.

She shrugged, “I haven’t been disappearing, I don’t know about J though,” she let out nonchalantly as she continued down that hallway. 

“Sure,” Cole drew out the word as he shifted his gaze towards the TV. He turned it on to put on  the new show he was starting to watch. 

She took a deep breath as she walked towards her bedroom. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. Instantly, her back was pressed against the wall beside the door. It was slowly shutting beside her as she looked into Jack’s eyes. She fought off a smirk as he tilted his head to the side watching it shut. 

A soft giggle rose up in her throat, Jack raised his finger up. Carefully, pressing it against her lips; asking her to be quiet. She pressed her lips against his finger as he twisted the lock in the process.  Slowly, he glided his hand along her jawline before he rested his hand on the base of her neck. 

“You gotta be more careful,” she mumbled as she took a hold of his shirt, pulling him towards her, craving his lips on hers. He smirked before he kissed her urgently. Their tongues connected as a breathy moan fell from his lips. He looped his thumbs in the belt loops of her jeans as he pulled her towards him.

“J, I’m serious,” she mumbled against his lips. He pulled back while toying with the buttons of her jeans. Slowly, she ran her hands from his neck down his chest. “Cole’s asking questions,” 

“Let him ask questions,” he whispered before he pressed his lips beneath her ear. He began to suck and swirl his tongue to soothe the skin. He parted her legs as he shoved his knee between them, feeling her weaken beneath his touch. 

“You can’t do that,” she mumbled as she tugged at the strands of hair at the base of his neck. 

“I can’t?” he asked teasingly. She hummed as a reply. “What about this?” he asked teasingly as he unbuttoned her jeans.

“I seriously have to go shower, J,” she mumbled breathlessly. Jack pressed his lips against her collarbone, before he tilted his head back looking into her eyes. He watched as her eyes dilated the longer their eyes met. “Follow me in five minutes,” she mumbled as she unlocked the door and pulled it open. 

He smirked as he watched her take a hold of a random t-shirt and shorts as she slipped out of the door. He stiffled a laugh as he quietly hit his fist against the wall in front of him. He pressed his head against the wall for a second.

He jumped out of the bedroom and shut the door behind him. He crossed the hallway towards his own bedroom, trying to be as sneaky as possible. 

Some of their rules and boundaries fell apart pretty early in their arrangement. Jack couldn’t help but kiss her goodbye, desperate for one last intimate moment. At least until their next intimate moment. 

He was falling for her, falling so hard. But she wasn’t allowed to know that or she would end their beautiful arrangement. He was somewhat convinced that the second she found out the feelings he was having; she would run the opposite direction.

The second their arrangement ends, their whole friendship will fall apart. He knows that. He knows that this either ends with a relationship or as strangers. He was more prepared for one rather than the other.

He’s stayed the night a few times after their nights together. Her back would be pressed against his chest. His hands would delicately graze along her stomach as she would run her hand along the top of his hand. His lips were pressing against the skin of her shoulder. 

He took a hold of his swim trunks and walked towards the bathroom that Y/N prefers. He stepped inside, hearing the shower already running. Quickly, she took a hold of the shower curtain and peeked her head out to see Jack walking inside. 

Without hesitation, he took a hold of his shirt and instantly tossed it to the floor. Instantly, he took off of his shorts and stepped into the shower with her. He smirked as he scanned her frame. 

Her hands instantly took a hold of his cheeks, pulling him towards her. She pressed her lips against his urgently. He hummed against her lips as he guided her backwards. The steaming water started cascading over his body as his hands began to roam over her wet frame. 

With their lips still connected, he lowered his fingers down her wet skin. He took two of his fingers and began to rub her clit slowly. A small gasp left her lips as she pulled back slightly. Jack grinned as he continued to tease her as he rubbed her clit so slowly. She tilted her head back, holding back a breathy moan. 

He leaned towards her, his lips pressing against her jawline. He carefully touched her center feeling how wet she was for him. He bit the skin beneath her jawline before he circled his tongue soothingly. Her arms wrapped around his neck for support. 

“What do you want, mhm?” he whispered in her ear as he returned his fingers towards her clit. She dragged her tongue across her bottom lip as she tilted her head back. Her eyes shut instantly.

“Please,” she begged barely above a whisper. He smirked as entered her center with two of his fingers. He pressed his body into hers as he pushed her against the wall. A moan fell from her lips. Jack’s eyes widened as he took a hold of her chin, silencing her moans with his mouth. 

“What do you want?” he whispered against her lips. Her eyes fluttered open. She looked towards him through wet eyelashes. He curled his fingers inside of her, feeling her react against his body. 

She looked so innocent looking towards him like that, so desperate. He continued to curl and thrust his fingers into her, hearing her breathily moan in his ear, feeling her body tighten under his touch. 

“I need you,” she mumbled out.

“Yeah?” he mumbled as he pulled his fingers out, he instantly took a hold of his length. He ran his hand up and down a few times, his breath catching in his throat. He looked back towards her, meeting her gaze.

“Please J,” she tilted her head back against the tile behind her. He guided himself to her center, thrusting into her slowly; letting her get used to him. Jack kept her body pinned against the wall as he continued to thrust slowly into her. She took a hold of his cheeks, forcing him to kiss her; otherwise everyone in the house would know what they do behind closed doors.

Jack used one of his hands and began to circle her clit and apply pressure as he continued to thrust into her. A surge of desire coursed through her body. Her body shuttered as she dragged her hands across his upper back. Her nails digging into his skin for only a moment.

He liked hearing her desire and pleasure pour from her mouth. No matter how muffled they needed to be, it was everything for him to know what he was doing to her.

“Fuck,” he let out through a soft groan. He moved his hand away from her clit, supporting her body. He pulled his lips away from hers for a second while he admired the short breaths leaving her lips. He watched her tilt her head back and bite her bottom lip. 

A moan fell from her lips, it was starting to get difficult to remain quiet. Desperately, he leaned towards her with an open mouth kiss.

“I’m so close,” she mumbled against his lips.

“Doing so good, baby, so fucking good,” he whispered back as he thrusted into her harder. 

A breathy moan of his own falling from his lips as they couldn’t kiss each other anymore. Their faces were still pressed against one another. 

He could feel her tighten around him, her breath caught in her throat as she tossed her head back, her hands holding Jack’s head in place. “Jack,” she mumbled out. 

His name never fell from her lips like that. She never would say it fully, hearing it fall from her lips like that was practically enough for him to be sent over the edge.

After a few seconds, he reached his climax. He pressed sloppy kisses against her jawline as she was letting out short breaths as she was riding out her own climax. Jack took a hold of both of her hips. 

He didn’t pull out right away as he watched her breathing start to slow. She pulled him towards her, kissing him instantly. He couldn’t breath but he didn’t care, all he wanted was to do it again and never stop. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled against her lips as he finally pulled out. He leaned down and rested his head against the crook of her neck. He let out a giggle as he began to let his hands roam her frame. “We need to do this more often,” he mumbled before he pressed his lips against her neck.

She rested her forehead against his shoulder, “Yeah,” she mumbled.

~~~

The following morning, they were in bed together. No matter how late they were up the night before, Jack would sneak out of her room a little after seven every day. None of the other boys in the house were going to be awake for several hours but they would rather be safe than sorry.

Her head rested on his chest as her arms were practically looped around his body. She was dead asleep but Jack was wide awake. His alarm wouldn’t go off for another thirty minutes. He grazed his fingertips along the skin of her back, every so often running his fingers through her hair. He would slowly twist the strands between his finger tips.

He brushed a few pieces away from her face, his fingertips glided along her forehead. She stirred slightly under his touch. Delicately, she pressed her lips against his chest. His whole body tightened, his heart started slamming against his chest. 

Slowly, she ran her hand along his chest. “Good morning,” she mumbled as she kept her head on his chest. His eyes shut as the corner of his lips curled upward. He could get used to waking up like this. 

“Morning,” he mumbled as he pressed his lips against the top of her head. “Did you sleep okay?” he asked barely above a whisper. She hummed as her eyes fluttered closed again.

“I could sleep a little longer but someone’s heart is beating a thousand times a minute,” she mumbled as she sat up slightly. She looked down towards Jack. Her hair falling into her face as she scanned his sleepy features.

Raising his hand up, he brushed her hair away from her face, he tucked the pieces behind her ear. “Was it?” he mumbled. She nodded as his hand ran along her bare back. Her body straightened as goosebumps erupted all over her frame. “Sorry,” he let out, his lips in a soft smile.

She smiled towards him as she laid back down, this time resting her head in the crook of his neck. “It’s okay,” she mumbled as she pressed her lips against his neck. Their legs entangled together instantly. “What’s got it beating so fast?” she asked quietly.

“No idea,” he said. “I can sneak out now, if you want more sleep,”

“No, no, stay,” she tightened her grip along his center. He smiled widely as he took a deep breath. “Please,” she whispered into his ear. 

“Okay,” he whispered.

A soft giggle fell from her lips, “Are you excited to go back to Jersey?” she asked softly as her eyes remained shut.

“Something like that,”

“What does that mean?” she asked as Jack teasing ran his hand along the curve of her ass. 

“Jersey is so far from here,” he mumbled as he ran his hand along her arm.

“But it’s Lukey’s rookie year,” she offered. He let out a small groan. “J, it’ll be okay,” she said half heartedly; used to his dramatics.

“But you and our arrangement are in Michigan,” he mumbled. 

“That’s true,” she mumbled as she lifted her head up, she looked down towards him. He raised his hand up, running his hand along his cheek. “Two more incredible weeks, J.” 

“Two more,” he mumbled as he swallowed harshly, his heart started beating rapidly against his chest. “Have you started looking for new jobs?” He jumped on topics, afraid of talking about their situation. Her eyes widened slightly as she took a deep breath. 

“It’s going,” she let out while laughing slightly. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” she mumbled. He chuckled as she leaned down and slammed her lips against his. He was shocked for a second as she climbed onto his lap as she kissed him slowly. 

“Why are you avoiding talking about it?” he said as he pushed her back delicately. 

“‘M not,” she mumbled as she took a hold of his cheeks pulling her back towards him.

His eyes widened as he pushed her back, “It’s your birthday, happy birthday,” he let out urgently. 

A grin formed on her lips, “Oh yeah, it is, isn't it?” she mumbled as she ran her hand along his chest. His hands rested on her hips, his gaze lingering on her bare chest in front of him. He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Thank you, J,”

He let out a long breath as a small smile formed on his lips, “How about we start your birthday off on the right track?” he said softly as he continued to glide his hands along her hips. 

His grip tightened along her hips as he tossed her down onto her back. A gasp fell from her lips as she kept her hands onto his chest. He leaned down towards her, hovering his lips over hers. 

There was a loud knock against her door. Jack leaned back, looking behind him towards the door. “Y/N wake your ass up!” Trevor shouted as he started blasting Birthday Bitch by Trap Beckham. 

Jack’s mouth fell open as he tried to stop himself from laughing. “Fuck it up if it’s your birthday, bitch! Fuck it up if it’s your birthday, bitch!” Trevor and Cole started singing loudly outside her door. 

“Go hide,” she whispered towards him, smacking her hands against his chest. He smirked down towards her, leaning down he pecked her lips for a few seconds. Jack hopped off of her frame as soft giggles fell from his lips. 

She followed in pursuit. He leaned down and collected his clothes. He jogged towards the walk in closet. The second he shut the door, he began to cover himself with the pajamas he had on last night. 

It didn’t take long for her to be completely clothed. The boys outside her door were still loudly yelling the lyrics. She pulled the door open, “One time for the birthday bitch, two times for the birthday bitch, three times for the birthday bitch!” They seemed to sing louder once they saw her laughing towards them. 

She tossed her head back, laughing as she saw Cole carrying a comically large plate of pancakes. It was covered in strawberries and chocolate syrup. He was shaking back and forth, shimming slightly as he held the plate towards her with a singular candle on top. Trevor was holding the speaker above his head as he was also recording Y/N’s reaction. 

“Blow out the candle and come into the living room,” Cole offered as he continued to shift the plate back and forth. She giggled before she blew out the candle. Trevor cheered before he stopped recording. He turned down the song as he stepped into the room. 

He quickly wrapped his arms around her. “Happy birthday, roomie,” he whispered into her ear. He pulled back as he smiled towards her. Her eyes widened as she grinned. 

“Shut up, really?” she mumbled. He winked towards her.

He nodded as he pointed for them to leave the room. She nodded as she followed after the pair. Her eyes widened as she saw her sister and her brother standing in the living room. “Oh my god!” she called out. She ran towards her older brother, Oliver, first. “I was supposed to come and get you guys later today!” she called out as she hugged Carlee instantly.

“We’ve got a day full of plans, Y/N. We weren’t going to make you drive us up here,” Carlee said while laughing. 

“What the hell was all that noise?” Jack said as he emerged from the hallway. His frame was fully clothed and he was acting extremely sleepy. Their eyes connected for a second before Jack let out a sudden laugh. “Ollie! I have been begging Y/N to get your ass to the house,” Jack said while laughing. He jogged towards him, hugging him instantly. Oliver chuckled while he instantly returned the hug.

“Hey Jack, we didn’t want her to waste her day on driving three hours to retrieve us,” he explained as he pulled back. “And unfortunately, I’ve got a job that practically forbids taking time off. Otherwise I would be here, Y/N’s knows that,” he said while laughing.

Jack simply nodded before looking towards Carlee, “Little Y/L/N!” he let out as he held his hand up from a high five. She returned it while rolling her eyes playfully.

~

Her door was open as she was getting ready for the club. It was a little after nine and she was still finishing her hair. There was a soft knock on the door frame of her door. She spun around to see Trevor standing at the doorway. “Hey Trev,” she said as she forced her gaze back towards the mirror in front of her. 

“So you’re all set to start working on August 15th,” he offered in a hushed tone. She spun around, resting her straightener onto the vanity. She climbed off of the chair and jogged towards him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, shutting her eyes. He lifted her off of the ground for a second as a soft laugh left his lips.

“It’s only temporary while you’re getting your master’s but it’ll get you more experience. It’s not on screen but you’ll be working for a professional team,” he explained as she pulled away. She sniffled as she tilted her head back, she couldn’t let tears fall onto her cheek. 

“You’re amazing, you know that?” she said through a crack in her voice. He smiled as he shook his head. “Are you sure I can stay in your extra room?”

“Of course, just save up every cent you get. It’s going to be awesome to have you back in Anaheim,” he let out ecstatically as she leaped towards him, desperate to hug him again. He giggled as he held her tightly to his chest. “It’ll be so fun, roomie,” he offered teasingly. 

“You can’t tell anyone yet, especially not J and my siblings. Okay?” she begged. He nodded instantly, pretending to zip his lips shut. 

“I’ll let you finish getting ready,” Trevor said as he turned out of her room. She practically skipped back towards the vanity. 

Jack couldn’t make out what they were talking about. But all he understood was that there was a lot of hugging and laughing. Even though he swore he watched her wipe a tear away from her cheek.

His entire body felt overheated, his chest was heavy as he watched them interact. What was so secret that she had to go to Trevor about it? What did he have that Jack didn’t? Despite everything in his frame, begging to slam the door shut; he shut it delicately as he walked towards the seltzer on his dresser.

He instantly brought the can towards his lips as he began to chug the drink. He realized pretty quickly, he was going to need a lot more drinks to pretend like he doesn’t care about what just happened between them. 

He brought his cologne towards his chest, he sprayed it on either side of his neck  and then lower on his frame. He took a deep breath as he rested it onto the top of the dresser. He took his empty can, squeezing it in his hand before he reached towards the door.

He swung it open as he stormed out of his room. He continued to take deep breaths as he avoided the gaze of all of the people gathered in the living room. He needed more, stronger, liquid courage to pretend everything was normal and okay. Pretend that he’s completely okay with his soulmate hugging and giggling with his best friend. 

He poured out a shot of tequila and instantly tossed it back. He didn’t wince at the taste as he poured himself another one. He rested the large glass bottle onto the counter top as he stared at the small red solo cup in front of him. 

“I thought you hated tequila,” she mumbled as she leaned her head against the door frame. He kept his gaze on the full shot in front of him. His grip tightened on the counter while he shrugged his shoulders. “Are you okay?”

He nodded before he took a hold of the shot and tossed it back. He didn’t react as he took the small plastic shot glass and tossed it into the trash. He lifted his gaze up from the floor, meeting her eye.

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she watched him clench his jaw for a second. She watched as the wheels turned in his head, “Are you okay, J?” she asked again while stepping deeper into the kitchen.

She watched as his body practically says fuck it while he pushed away from the counter. He walked directly towards her and took a hold of her head in his hands while he kissed her hard. Stumbling back, she took a hold of his arms for stability. It took her by surprise but she didn’t hesitate to kiss him back.

The kiss didn’t last long since Jack pulled back almost as fast as he kissed her. It felt like all of her blood rushed to her head and the alcohol in her system took front and center. He kept his hold of her cheeks for a moment, his breathing fast as he was running his thumb along the apples of her cheeks.

Stepping back, he ran his hand along his chin. He walked past her, leaving her frozen in place; in utter shock at what just occurred.

Her shaky hand reached towards the cabinet for stability, her legs suddenly weak beneath her. Looking behind her, she assumed that no one saw what just occurred as they were exactly how she left them. She took a much needed deep breath as she practically stumbled towards the fridge. 

She pulled the fridge open and pulled out another White Claw. She didn’t hesitate as she popped the tab open and brought the drink towards her lips. She walked out of the kitchen towards the living room.

“Finish that drink, asap, we’ve got the Ubers like down the street,” Trevor offered. Her eyes widened as she looked towards Jack who was staring towards his phone in his hand. She nodded before she brought the White Claw to her lips. She began chugging. The entire room beside Jack started cheering for her. She crushed it after she was done and giggled. 

Her gaze lingered on Jack but no one noticed, or cared, at the way she was staring towards him. A sigh fell from her lips as she allowed him to ignore her. 

For the next several hours, her and Carlee were the ones at the center of the nightclub’s dance floor. The boys were all hanging on the outside of the dance floor keeping an eye on the pair. A few girls would walk up towards them, begging for their attention. All of the boys except Jack were taking the bait.

A blond girl parked her way in front of him, “You look lonely,” she shouted towards him. He shrugged as he looked past her, seeing Y/N dance and spin almost as if in slow motion. “Your friends all left you alone,” she called out. She drunkenly rested her hand onto his knee. 

The second she touched him, he forced his gaze towards her. “I’m not available!” he shouted towards her. He stood up from his bra stool chair as he slipped away from her. 

Y/N and Carlee were singing and swaying along to the songs. They were both ecstatic that they were able to do this now. Despite it not necessarily being legal. They spent most of their young adolescent years imagining what it would be like to dance drunk side by side in a sweaty night club. Just them two against the world.

Y/N leaned towards Carlee, “You have to get back out there! Go meet someone!” she shouted. Carlee shyly shook her head as she continued to dance to the beat of the song. “Come on! It’s been too long since you’ve gotten any action!” she called out. Carlee pouted her lips as she rolled her eyes dramatically.

“What about you? You go find someone!” Carlee delicately pushed Y/N back slightly. 

“I have someone,” she said, unsure if Carlee heard her, “Go find someone!” Y/N said, pushing Carlee away from her. She spun around, expecting to just continue dancing alone. She was surprised to see Jack in front of her. She grinned as she saw him. “Hey! Where’ve you been!?” she called out.

He shrugged as he dragged his tongue over his bottom lip. He scanned her frame, truly for the first time that night. His mind was too busy to notice how incredibly stunning she looked. Her frame was only covered by a skin tight short black dress. It was glittery and she was practically reflective from the dark blue club lights.

He leaned towards her ear, “I’m sorry I didn’t say this sooner but you look fucking stunning,” he pulled back, watching her eyes lit up from the words leaving his lips. 

“Dance with me!” she shouted towards him, taking a hold of his dark blue button up. It was only buttoned to the middle of his chest. 

“The others could see us!” he shouted. 

“Let it be a drunken dance!” she shouted as she pulled him closer to her. He didn’t hesitate another second as he looped his arms around her waist. They began to dance insync their bodies pressed against one another. 

They stayed facing one another, dancing to the beat of the song as their faces were near inch away from one another. He smiled softly every time their eyes would connect. 

After a few songs passed, she began to spin away from him. Her first intention was to walk away from him, craving another drink. Instead, Jack pulled her back towards him, forcing her back against his chest. 

“Stay,” he whispered into her ear before he brushed her hair away from her neck. 

“Please stay,” he whispered as he pressed his lips beneath her ear. She tilted her head back as her breathing quickened. She didn’t argue, she didn’t want to leave. She craved their bodies to be pressed against one another; moving perfectly together. Almost as if their bodies were made for one another.

“So fucking stunning,” he whispered into her ear as his hands seemed to pull her tighter to his frame. She grinned widely as she leaned into him fully, letting him take control of the way their bodies moved.

~~~

The rest of the night was a blurr. She barely remembered dancing with Jack for the night. Barely remembered how she got back to the house, barely remembered how she ended up in her bed. She had her pajamas on and was alone. 

It’s been several weeks since the last time she woke up alone. Every day in the last three weeks, she was curled up in Jack’s arms. Waking up alone shocked her. 

It was eight in the morning and the rest of the group was still asleep, well besides her brother and sister. They had to head back to their hometown early and Y/N was barely awake enough to say goodbye. 

Her hair was soaking wet from the twenty minute shower she took. It was mainly to fix the raging hangover she was feeling. She gave Oliver and Carlee one more quick hug before she watched them walk down the porch towards his car in the driveway. 

Oliver had a few questions for her, mainly about how her and Jack were inseparable for the entire night. She claimed that she barely remembers dancing with him and that it was probably because they were too drunk to even know what they were doing.

Which was not entirely a lie but she didn’t know how to tell her brother that she was hooking up with Jack and that she was falling for him. 

But she stood in the living room and spun around to hear steps charging towards her. “Was that Ollie?” Jack said as his voice rasped as he spoke. “I wanted to say bye before he left.”

“He had to get on the road early. I’m sorry,” she mumbled. He nodded as he scanned her frame. He took a deep breath as he awkwardly adjusted his shorts on his frame. “You slept in your own room last night,” she observed as she awkwardly brushed her hair away from her face. 

“You were really out of it. Thought you were better off alone,” he began walking away from her. He let out a huff of air as he started down the hallway. 

Clenching her fists as she followed after him, “Are you mad at me?” she called out after him. He spun on his heels as he let out a dry laugh.

“I’m not mad at you,” he let out somewhat harshly. He rounded the corner, he walked into her room; somewhat reluctantly. 

“I’ve been out of it before and you’ve slept in my bed, what’s so different about last night?” she explained as she followed after him. He shut the door behind her, pressing her back against the door. 

Instantly, he kissed her hard. She arched her back into him as his hands gripped her waist tightly. He took a hold of the tanktop and tugged it up her frame. “J–stop,” she let out, pushing him back. A soft laugh falling from her lips. “What is wrong?” he shook his head as he leaned towards her again, urgently trying to kiss her again. 

She raised her hand up, taking a delicate hold of his neck to stop him. He flung his head back, a huff leaving his lips. “Can we–just please,” he begged as he looked over her features desperately. She shook her head as she pushed him back.

“What’s wrong?” she asked again.

He let out a dry laugh as he walked towards the center of the bedroom. “What was so secretive with you and Trevor yesterday?” he asked while crossing his arms over his chest. 

“It wasn’t a secret. We were just talking,” she said nonchalantly. 

“There was a lot of hugging and laughing,” he said accusatoryly. 

“Okay, well I was going to tell everyone about this later but–uhm–Trevor was able to get me a job with the Ducks. It barely pays anything–barely covers my tuition at Chapman but it’s a job with a professional team so I’ll get expereince. It’ll be an amazing experience,” she explained, a smile forming to her lips.

“If it barely pays anything, where are you going to live? I mean it’s California,” he asked as he forced his gaze towards the floor.

“Trevor said I could move in with him,” she said softly. 

Jack’s head shot up, his eyebrows furrowed harshly. “What? Are you two gonna share a bed or something?!”

“No! What?! He’s letting me have his guest bedroom, J. Why would you think that?” she let out harshly. 

“Why didn’t you ask me for help?” Jack threw his arms to the side. 

“I didn’t ask Trevor to do anything! I’ve spent all summer talking about missing California. He asked around for me! I didn’t even know until the job interview was scheduled. He went out of his way to do this for me,” 

“Oh, so you and Trevor are like best friends now, huh?” 

“Why do you care about what I am doing with Trevor?”

“I don’t.”

“Why do you care!?”

“I don’t care that you’re moving in with Trevor!?”

“Then what is this? What are we doing right now?!” she asked loudly as she motioned between them. The air was becoming thick as their voices were getting louder.

He took a deep breath as his darken gaze was looking to her eyes desperately. Tears started forming in her eyes as she continued to look towards him. 

“I don’t know,” he let out breathlessly. 

“Give me a reason to go somewhere else,” she let out softly, her heart slamming against her chest. Jack pulled his head back, his lips parting slightly as his vision went blurry ofr a second. 

“Give me a reason to go somewhere else,” she let out again, harsher and more urgent this time. 

She stared into his eyes, searching for an answer. Desperate for an answer. He clenched his jaw as his gaze went from one eye to another before shifting down towards her lips. He took a step towards her, their eyes remained connected. 

“I don’t have one,” he mumbled while tossing his hands to the side. Her mouth fell open as she nodded slowly. A scoff fell from her lips.

“You can’t think of one reason why I should go somewhere else,” she let out, her voice breaking softly. 

“No,” he let out barely above a whisper.

She chewed on her bottom lip while shifting her gaze towards the ceiling. It was as if a thousand stones collapsed onto her chest. She nodded slowly again as she dragged her tongue across her bottom lip. 

“Get out J,” she muttered.

“Y/N?” he asked softly. 

“Get out Jack,”

He looked into her eyes, watching a tear fall onto her cheek. Hearing his full name fall from her lips nearly made him collapse to the ground. His body went weak as the realization of what he was doing dawned on him. She never said his name like that. Rarely did it fall from her lips. But he knew that right now it meant something completely different than it did a couple days ago. 

“Why?” he asked softly, stepping towards her. 

She stayed still, keeping their eyes connected, almost as if she wanted to make sure she heard her next words. “So I can pack,” she let out as she walked past him towards the closet.

“Pack? You’re not leaving! We have two weeks left!” He took steps towards her. 

She spun around, their faces a few inches apart as both of their breathing was unsteady. “If you cannot give me a reason to go somewhere else. I have no reason to stay,” she explained as steadily as she could. 

He dragged his tongue over his bottom lip. Tears were on the edge of falling onto his cheek. Jack nodded as he scanned her features. He dropped his hands to the side as he walked past her. He walked slowly towards the door. “Okay,” he let out barely above a whisper.

She pulled the closet door open and took a hold of all of the clothes she had hanging up. Jack took a hold of the door handle, watching her move quickly back and forth, tossing everything into the two suitcases she laid out onto the bed. 

He bit his bottom lip as he pulled the door open and slipped out of the room. He shut it delicately and crossed the hall towards his own room. He stepped inside, slamming the door shut.

It took her thirty minutes to pack. She kept her tears at bay, despite the headache forming from holding it back. Her body felt tense and hot every minute that passed. But it was finally time for her to leave. She walked out of the bedroom, staring towards Jack’s closed door for a few seconds before she walked towards the living room.

“Hey, hey, hey–what’s this all about?” Quinn called out as he saw her walking out of the hallway with her suitcases trailing behind her. Her eyes widened as she clenched her jaw. 

Her lips parted slightly as her bottom lip quivered. “I–uhm,” she cleared her throat as she looked down the line of all of the boys. They all jumped up from their seats and shifted their attention towards her. 

“I’m moving back to California–as in Trevor is letting me stay with him while I go back to school and work for the Ducks,” 

“That’s awesome! That’s a great opportunity!” Quinn cheered happily as he jogged towards her giving her a quick hug. 

“Look at that!” Luke let out with a chuckle.

“The Ducks? Come on now,” Cole said teasingly.

“It’s a professional team, fantastic experience on my resume,” she said softly. 

“Are we sure the Ducks are a professional team?” Cole teased. Trevor gasped as he shoved Cole.

“You’re one to fucking talk. What was your record last season, Caufield?” Trevor teased.

“You have to leave now?” Quinn asked her while glancing towards Trevor. 

“I want to get my apartment packed up and see my family before I move back to California,” she explained, “So I have to leave early,” she further explained while glancing towards Cole. 

The longer she spoke to the group, the more pain she felt behind her eyes. She gave each of the boys their own goodbye. It would be another year before she saw most of them again. Maybe a dinner in Anaheim for a game but it was still not enough. She wanted those two extra weeks wtih them. With all of them. 

“Where’s Jack?” Cole asked as he pulled away from their embrace. She met his gaze as she dragged her tongue across her bottom lip. Blinking rapidly, she pouted her lips slightly. 

“I told him first and he’s not really happy that I’m leaving,” she explained towards the other boys. “So he’s in his room,” she muttered before taking a deep breath.

Her eyes met Cole’s again. Cole’s small smile faltered. Y/N and Cole never talked about it but she knew that he was aware of the arrangement her and Jack had. He was constantly asking questions and teasing her about it. Her lips started quivering again as she saw the way Cole was looking over her features. It was almost as if he was asking if she was okay through his eyes.

“Okay, I need to go,” she mumbled, feeling like her tears were starting to come up and she didn’t know if she could hold them back much longer. It didn’t take long for them to guide her out of the door. 

“Let us know when you get back to your apartment!” Luke shouted towards her.

She spun around smiling toward them as she walked towards her car. Keeping her back towards the boys, her tears started to fall onto her cheek. She couldn’t hold back any longer.

Cole watched the other three crowd the door watching her leave. Quickly he snuck away down the hallway towards Jack’s room. Cole took a deep breath as he didn’t hesitate to push open the door. 

Jack shot his head up from his hands. His face was covered in tears as he looked towards Cole. 

They were not the type of friends who cried in front of one another. Nothing like the way Jack was crying right now. He was never the type of guy to cry like this, but he was so overwhelmed his body lost control. 

A sob fell from his lips as he put his face back into his hands. His body shook as he continued to cry into his hands. Cole’s mouth fell open as he walked towards the bed. 

“Jack,” Cole mumbled before he sat down beside him. Jack continued to cry into his hands as Cole pressed his hand against the center of Jack’s back. 

He lifted his head up slightly, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip. He sniffled while he shook his head. He looked towards Cole while shaking his head slightly. He swallowed harshly.

“I couldn’t tell her to stay,” Jack mumbled as another sob fell from his lips. 

“I couldn’t give her a reason to stay,” he forced his face back into his hands. Cole titled his head back as he took a shaky breath. He’s never seen Jack like this before, he hated seeing his friend like this. “Why couldn’t I tell her to stay?”

June 2024

Jack was sitting in the living room, a Playstation controller in his hand as he was playing Call of Duty. His arm was in a sling from the surgery he had a few weeks back. Luke was sitting beside him, a controller in his own hand. 

“What are you doing!? Dude!” Luke yelled out as he jerked towards Jack. 

“I have like one and a half hands for this!” Jack said while laughing. 

Quinn walked out of the kitchen as he pulled his phone away from his ear. He let out a huff of air as he looked towards the TV. He looked back towards his younger brothers, still yelling towards one another. 

He shifted his gaze from Luke towards Jack and then back towards his phone. Trevor sent him a text saying that they were only a few minutes from the house. Which meant it was now time to tell Jack the news.

Quinn stood at the back of the couch, he rested his hands onto the couch. He stared towards the screen, watching them both lose. He pressed his lips together as he fought off a laugh climbing in his throat.

“What was that, Lukey? You were supposed to have my back!” Jack shouted while laughing.

“I couldn’t fucking see you!” Luke shot back.

“So Trevor, Y/N, and Cole are almost here. Should probably get ready for them to get here,” Quinn said, cautiously looking down towards Jack. He said her name quickly. Luke simply nodded as he turned off the playstation with his controller. He rested it onto the coffee table before he walked towards the hallway leading towards his room.

Jack’s entire body froze as her name left Quinn’s lips. He hasn’t heard her name in months. His heart jumped into his throat as his breathing seemed to stop. It was suddenly impossible to breathe.

“Y/N’s coming?” Jack let out barely above a whisper. Her name felt foreign against his tongue as he blinked rapidly. 

Images of her flashed in his mind. The smile that literally would light up a room as soon as she would grin. The way her eyes would squint at something dumb he would say. Her lips, her perfect lips he could stare and kiss forever. He missed kissing her, he missed the way her lips pressed against his as if they were made for one another.

“Took a lot of convincing but yeah, she’ll be here,” Quinn offered. Jack shot up from the couch as he faced Quinn. He tossed his good arm to the side. 

“You guys convinced her to come here? After last summer?” Jack asked, shaking his head slightly. “Seriously?!”

Quinn took a deep breath as he shifted his gaze towards the front door. His face scrunched up slightly before he pressed his lips together. He took a deep breath, “Look, I don’t know what happened between you and Y/N last year but she’s not just your friend. It would be weird without her,” Quinn explained.

“Don’t you think it would be weird with her here and me here?” he asked, his heart slamming against his chest. “An–And you seriously waited to tell me she was coming until she was down the fucking road!” He called out. 

“What the hell happened between you two? I mean seriously, if any of us say her name you get all jumpy. God fucking forbid Trevor brings her up,” Quinn explained. Jack shook his head, a scoff leaving his lips. “You seriously cannot still be mad at her for–”

“That’s not why we stopped talking and I’m not that fucking petty!” he shouted towards Quinn before he started walking down towards the hallway leading towards his room. Jack stumbled away from Luke who was walking back into the living room. 

“What’s with him?” Luke asked as he pointed behind him. Quinn took a sharp breath as he glanced towards the front door. He saw the Uber pull up towards the lakehouse through the glass doors.

“He found out Y/N was coming,” Quinn mumbled as he watched the three of them climb out of the car. They were dragging suitcases behind them after Cole slammed the trunk closed.

“He didn’t know? It’s always the six of us, why wouldn’t she come?” Luke let out nonchalantly as he saw Cole and Trevor jog towards the doors. Y/N walked slowly, practically not moving at all. Quinn looked behind him, “They’re still not talking?” Luke questioned.

“No,” Quinn let out through a huff of air loving his lips.

“This is going to be so fun,” Luke let out sarcastically as he forced a smile to his lips. 

Cole and Trevor bolted up the porch, pushing the door open. “Quinton and Lukey boy!” Trevor shouted as he bolted inside. He excitedly hugged Quinn before he wrapped his arms around Luke. Cole chuckled as he followed in pursuit. He hugged Quinn, whispering a hello before he walked towards Luke.

Y/N walked up the steps, dragging her suitcase up the stairs. She pushed inside the door, rolling it beside Cole and Trevor’s. She forced a tight lip smile towards the four boys in front of her. 

“We’re so glad you’re here,” Quinn said as he pulled Y/N in a tight embrace. She chuckled against his chest as she returned the hug.

“I don’t think I had much of a choice. Trev threatened to drag me out of the apartment by my ankles if I didn’t come with,” she joked as she gave Luke a brief hug. She looked past him to see Jack emerging from the hallway. Her smile fell off of her lips as she dropped her gaze towards the floor. 

Jack took a deep breath as he forced a wide grin on his lips as he jogged towards the group. “What’s up you guys?” he cheered as Trevor hugged him cautiously. 

She cleared her throat as she took a hold of her suitcase. “I’m going to unpack,” she mumbled as she started walking towards the hallway leading towards her room. Her room has so many messy memories, she was almost afraid to step into it. 

The boys all shifted their gaze towards her. Her gaze was on the floor as she continued walking away from them. Their smiles all faltered as they shared awkward glances. Jack stood beside Cole as he stared towards the hallway, watching her walk away.

Cole looked over Jack’s side profile. Watching Jack clench his jaw, he saw that Jack wasn’t breathing. He saw his cheeks pink up as the lack of oxygen was starting to actually take an effect. Cole punched Jack’s good arm. Jack tilted his gaze to the side, meeting Cole’s eye. Jack took a deep breath before he forced another smile on his lips.

“You boys unpack, we have a boat to get drunk on!” Jack said loudly before he walked towards the hallway. The other boys all shared awkward laughter as they continued to talk loudly amongst each other. 

Jack walked towards his room, he reached towards the door handle. Looking behind him, he saw her door was wide open. His posture straightened as he looked into the room. His heart was slamming against his chest. 

She looked good, better than good. She was glowing. It was like seeing her for the first time again. He never wanted to look anywhere else. She was a breath of fresh air, seeing her after all of this time was like breathing for the first time ever.

He leaned back, chewing on his bottom lip as he scanned her frame. She was walking back and forth from the closet to the bed. 

She lifted her head up, looking into the hallway. Their eyes instantly connected. She froze in place as her breathing started to quicken. She gripped the shirt in her hand tightly as she began to blink rapidly. 

His lips parted as a million different words were at the tip of his tongue. He began to take a step towards her. At his sudden half step towards her, she began to walk towards the door. The corner of his lips curled upward as their eyes remained connected. She took a hold of the door and slammed it shut. 

His head pulled back, almost as if it was slammed directly in his face. He felt his skin go hot. His lips parted as he was now staring towards the closed door. He clenched his jaw as he tilted his head back. 

He opened the door to his own room as he stepped inside. Slamming it shut himself. Jack walked towards the bed and sat back down again, his breathing quickened as he shook his head.

~~~

Y/N sat in her usual spot on the boat. Her legs were curled up against her chest. Trevor was laying beside her, his head was against her thigh. Every few seconds she would brush the hair away from his forehead. Her gaze was staring towards the water as she watched the water lap. The orange glow from the sunset reflected in the water was always her favorite. 

She has hundreds of photos but nothing matched the way it looked in person. No photo could ever do it justice. She brushed a few pieces of hair away from her face as she stared towards the water. 

“Y/N,” Trevor mumbled beside her. She dropped her gaze towards him, meeting his gaze. She brushed his hair away from his forehead again. It was more for her, it was something to distract her from the fact that Jack was across from her on the boat. His body was shirtless, despite his arm still in a sling. 

“Talk to him,” he whispered. She shook her head as she looked back towards the water, her fingertips still running through his hair. She was drunk, that just clicked in her head. She was definitely drunk because she was getting dizzy staring at the water. “Y/N, come on,” 

“I’m drunk, I have nothing good to say,” she mumbled before she looked back down towards him.

Jack sat beside Quinn, his leg was bouncing hard as he stared towards Y/N. He continuously clenched his jaw as he felt his body tense. He couldn’t stand how close they’ve gotten. They could look at one another and know exactly what the other one was thinking. He hated watching her touch him so delicately, exactly like she used to with him.

She replaced him with Trevor. It was obvious. He wondered if they had a similar arrangement. It would be a lot easier. They see each other for several more months out of the year. Share a wall even. Maybe he was right, maybe they did share a bed.

He was getting more and more mad the longer he watched her glide her fingers through his hair. That was his spot. He slammed his fist against his thigh, wincing in pain as he shocked himself with the strength. He dropped his gaze towards his lap. 

“They’ve gotten close, huh?” Quinn said as he subtly pointed towards their direction. Jack looked towards Quinn, their eyes met as Jack continued to clench his jaw. He forced out a hum as he dropped his gaze back towards his lap. He began blinking rapidly, he needed to punch something. He clenched his fist on his thigh again. 

“I’m getting cold, can we head back to the house?” Jack asked softly towards Quinn. Their eyes met again. Quinn looked over Jack’s features, maybe even seeing tears brim his eyes. Quinn squinted his eyes slightly as he looked towards the other people on the boat. 

Cole was laying on the floor of the boat as he was loudly laughing with Luke. Trevor was sitting up now, a decent distance away from Y/N. He was talking to her, instead of a conversation since she was staring towards the water. 

“Are you guys ready to swing back?” he asked the group. Y/N turned her head, her eyes meeting Jack’s. Their eyes remained connected as Quinn hopped into the driver’s seat. Jack ran his hand across his chin as he watched her look away. He tilted his head back, looking towards the sky as a scoff left his lips. 

“Absolutely, I’m fucking starving,” Luke said as he kicked Cole on the side teasingly. Cole jolted before he stood up from his lying position. He sat down beside Jack, purposely bumping Jack’s good shoulder. 

Cole watched Jack stare towards Y/N and Trevor. Cole swallowed harshly as he whispered, “They’re just friends.”

Jack dropped his gaze back towards his lap, “Yeah, well, so we’re we,” he said in reference to Y/N. Cole didn’t say anything further as he awkwardly shifted his gaze everywhere. 

Luke cleared his throat as he leaned back on the boat, “Pool tourney when we get back?” Luke announced, he held his hands to the side. Everyone but Jack and Y/N agreed. She rarely played and she definitely wasn’t going to play when she was this drunk. “Awesome, I’m gonna order some pizza before we start,”

“Do we have any water?” Trevor asked. Jack perked up at the question. He leaned down and took a hold of the last one in the small cooler near him. The medicine he has been on for his shoulder doesn’t mix well with alcohol. He held it up for Trevor. “Great,” he let out as he manuvered his way towards Jack.

Meeting Trevor’s gaze as he handed him the bottle. Trevor nodded slightly as he manuvered back towards his sitting position beside Y/N.

Jack watched as Y/N refused the water for a few seconds. Trevor had opened the bottle and handed it to her. She reluctantly brought it towards her lips.

It didn’t take long for the boat to get docked back by their house. Luke and Cole were the first ones to bolt off of the boat. Quinn was making sure it was secured before he ran off back towards the house. 

Jack stood up, walking towards the edge of the boat that lined up with the dock. He watched as Trevor looped his arm around her waist. She wrapped her arm around Trevor’s shoulder as he helped her off of the boat. 

“Okay, one step–good. There you go,” Trevor mumbled. Jack clenched his jaw as he watched Trevor’s hands lower on her hip as she climbed out of the boat. “Come on, Y/N,” he overheard Trevor say as they continued down the dock. Jack stood still while he ran his hand over his bad shoulder.

“Tell me what happened with you two,” Quinn offered as he stood at the end of the dock. Quinn rested his hands onto his hips as he stepped away from the boat. Jack climbed off of the boat, meeting Quinn’s gaze. 

“It’s a long story,” Jack let out defeatedly. 

“Luke’s probably ordering everything off of the menu, we’ve got time.” Quinn offered as he crossed his arms over his chest, “I’ll walk really slowly,” he let out jokingly. Jack tossed his head back while laughing.

“Okay,” Jack let out a breath he was holding. “I had a game against the Red Wings the Decemember before last summer. I couldn’t sleep and I honestly was excited to see her. So I invited her to come hang out at my hotel room—” he began to explain as he glanced towards Quinn.

“You didn’t,” Quinn mumbled.

“I didn’t plan on anything. I literally just wanted to hang out with her. But I kissed her and one thing led to another and we hooked up,” he avoided Quinn’s eye, “We hooked up and I thought everything went back to normal. I mean she went to lunch with Lukey and I; and she went to my game. It was normal. After that, everything was fine. We texted and called everyday, it was fine,” 

“I was nervous to see her in person again. But it seemed so fine between us that it seemed like it was going to be perfectly normal. And then she walked through that door and I swear to God she was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

“Didn’t the three of them burst into the house singing Hot in Herre by Nelly last year?” Quinn asked while laughing. 

“They did,” Jack chuckled softly, “But she was so beautiful and funny because you know that definitely was her idea,” he shook his head slightly. “We were avoiding each other that first day here until that night when we hooked up again,”

Quinn let out an urgent breath while shaking his head. 

“And then we thought–I thought–why should we stop? So I brought up doing a little arrangement where we have sex and you know be friends,” 

“So friends with benefits?” Quinn asked as he rested his hands onto his hips.

“Uh, yeah. It happened all summer until we argued the morning after her birthday. I got jealous over the fact that she was moving in with Trevor. I was mad that she went to him about her struggles instead of me. I was mad that I wasn’t her person even though we slept together and she fell asleep in my arms every night. I was pissed and she left,” 

Quinn stopped walking, gripping Jack’s good arm. “So she didn’t leave early to pack her apartment up?” he asked. Jack shook his head. “Holy shit,” Jack nodded slowly as the pair began walking again. “Every night, really?” Quinn asked as his face scrunched up slightly. 

Jack let out a nervous laugh while running his hand across his chin. “Sometimes during the day too,” he mumbled while Quinn groaned.

“Oh god, I did not need to know that,”

Trevor guided her towards her bedroom, his arm still looped around her waist to stablize her. Trevor carefully rested her onto the bed. She slumped slightly as she forced her eyes open. “How much did you drink?” he asked her, “I swear it wasn’t more than like four?” he said as he walked towards the closet. He pulled the door open. Looking behind him, he saw her lean back onto her hands. 

“It was four Caufield Cocktails and–” she hiccuped, “I didn’t eat today,” she explained. His eyes widened as he took a hold of a t-shirt and sweatpants. 

“You let Cole make you drinks and you didn’t eat today?! Did you want a death sentence?” Trevor let out urgently as he walked towards the bed. He dropped the clothes beside her. 

“I didn’t wanna see Jack,” she slurred as she slumped her shoulders slightly. 

Trevor straightened her posture. “Let’s get out of this,” he said, referring to the bikini and coverall on her body. 

“I’ve got it,” she mumbled. He stared towards her suspiciously. “Turn around,” she urged. He nodded as he crossed his arms over his chest as he stared towards the closet door. 

“What happened with you and Jack?” he asked, hoping she would spill the beans because she was so drunk. 

“You’re only asking me because you think I won’t remember telling you,” she explained as she pulled the coverall off her frame. She tossed it to the floor. She took a deep breath as she took a hold of the t-shirt. Slowly, she brought it over her frame, carefully putting her arms through the arm holes. Her bikini top was still on her frame but she didn’t realize it. 

“Why don’t you want to see Jack?” Trevor asked, still facing away from her. 

She took in a dramatic breath as she stood up from the bed, stumbling slightly. After a few seconds, she took a hold of her shorts and slid them up her frame. “We hooked up,” she mumbled. 

Trevor spun around a gasp leaving his lips. “You what?!” 

“And then we hooked up all last summer,” she let out as she sat down onto the bed. Trevor dropped his hands to the side. “Like–mind blowing sex all of the time,” she explained drunkenly. Trevor cringed at every word that left her lips but she was drunk so he let it slide. 

“Wait, did you two hook up before the summer?” he asked as he sat down on the corner of the bed.

She laid down onto the bed. “I asked him to gi–give me a reason to not go,” she explained as she pulled the comforter towards her face. Slowly, she snuggled into the blanket. Her eyes shut. “He couldn’t,” she let out as she got teary eyed. She sniffled as she hugged the blanket towards her face. 

“I was in love with him and he couldn’t give me a reason,” she mumbled right before she completely fell asleep.

Trevor froze as he watched her fall asleep mid conversation. He stood up from the bed, his head dizzy from the sudden information dumped onto him. He asked for it and he was expecting anything but the information she told him. He took a sharp intake of breath as he snuck out of her room. 

He walked towards the living room watching Quinn and Jack walk into the house. Trevor’s eyes went wide as he darted towards the basement where the pool tournament was being held. Trevor needed to avoid Jack, desperately needed to hide the drunk information that Y/N told him at his request.

He was better off not knowing. Trevor practically leaped down the stairs. Cole and Luke were setting up the table as they were laughing loudly. Luke jolted back as he watched Trevor nearly fall down the steps. 

“Is Y/N okay?” Cole asked while leaning against the bar countertop. 

“You are not allowed to make her drinks anymore,” he pointed accusingly towards Cole. Cole chuckled while rolling his eyes playfully. “She’s asleep in her room. I’m probably gonna wake her up in like two hours to eat some food,” he explained as he walked towards the pool table. 

“I am a great bartender,” Cole offered before he brought his red solo cup towards his lips. Trevor rolled his eyes as he spun his head around to see Jack and Quinn walking down the stairs. He forced his gaze towards the pool table in front of him, his eyes wide. “Finally, Jacky you’re on scorekeeper,” Cole expressed as he pushed away from the bar top.

Jack rolled his eyes playfully as he sat down on the couch beside the chalkboard. He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he began to scroll through his Twitter feed. Trevor gulped as he ran his fingers through his hair. The only thought on his mind was the drunken words that fell from Y/N’s lips.

I was in love with him and he couldn’t give me a reason. I was in love with him and he couldn’t give me a reason. I was in love with him and he couldn’t give me a reason.

Trevor desperately wanted to tell Jack what she told him but he knew it wasn’t his place. He was forced into silence as he took a hold of a pool stick. 

“Trev,” Jack said as he lifted his gaze up from his phone for a second. Trevor spun around, looking towards Jack. “Is she okay?” the question fell from his lips at a genuine tone. The question had been circling his mind from the moment he saw her stumbling off of the boat.

Trevor scoffed as he rolled his eyes. “So now you care how she’s doing?” Trevor asked as the room fell silent. Cole, Quinn, and Luke shared awkward glances as they awkwardly huddled together on the opposite side of the pool table. 

Jack furrowed his eyebrows as he pulled his head back slightly, “What?” Jack asked as he looked into Trevor’s eyes. Trevor clenched his jaw as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Do you wanna know why she’s passed out drunk at seven p.m.?” Trevor pointed his question to Jack. Slowly, Jack stood up, shrugging slightly. He looked into Trevor’s eyes, squinting slightly. 

“She didn’t want to see you! I don’t know what happened with you two last summer, but it was so bad that she would rather be passed out alone and drunk than be around you!” Trevor said harshly. 

“You’re right! You don’t know what happened, so keep your mouth shut!” Jack expressed loudly as he pushed Trevor back. Trevor clenched his jaw as he scanned Jack’s features. “Especially you!”

“Especially me, what the hell does that mean?!” Trevor shouted.

Jack clenched his jaw as he shook his head slightly. A dry chuckle left his lips while shaking his head. After several seconds, Jack started walking away. “Keep track of your own fucking scores,” he shouted out towards the group as he bolted up the steps.

His entire body tensed as he walked towards the kitchen; desperate for a drink. He wasn’t supposed to drink on the medication he was on but one drink wouldn’t kill him. At least he thought it wouldn’t kill him. He took a hold of the large vodka bottle and poured it into a large red solo cup. It was definitely more than two shots but he didn’t care. He took a hold of a mixer and poured it into the cup; maybe to dilute it.

He brought it towards his lips and took long sips. It didn’t take long for the cup to be empty. He tossed the cup into the trash can before he stormed out of the kitchen again. He walked down the hall towards his room. 

Taking a hold of the door handle, he shifted his gaze towards her room. He took a deep breath as he tossed his head back. She was going to wake up so hungover tomorrow. He shifted back and forth, debating on if he should go inside. 

He sighed as he walked out away from the doors. Jack manuvered through the living room and back towards the kitchen.

He darted towards the fridge, pulling it open swiftly. Jack took a hold of a water bottle. A groan fell from his lips as he slammed it shut. He walked towards the opposite side of the kitchen, flavor packets were all laid out in a container. He took a hold of one of the liquid IV packets and began walking out of the kitchen again.

“What am I doing?” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. He let out a huff of air as he walked down the hall. “Stupid,” he muttered as he pushed the door open. His eyes landed on her, she was asleep. Her face was smashed into the pillow. His heart jumped into his throat. He delicately shut the door behind him.

Walking towards her, he squeezed the plastic water bottle in his head a few times. He sat down beside her, he rested the bottle on the nightstand. He dropped the packet beside the bottle. Carefully, he rested his hand onto her arm. He shook her slightly, she jolted awake. Her eyes widened instantly. 

He muffled a laugh as he watched her blink rapidly. She looked towards Jack, a groan falling from her lips. “Go away,” she mumbled as she smashed her face deeper into the pillow. 

Jack carefully twisted the top of the water bottle off and rested it onto the nightstand. He took the packet of liquid IV and brought it towards his mouth. Using his teeth, he ripped open the packet. 

“Pizza should be here soon, you should stay up to eat and then go to bed,” he explained as he managed to pour the powder into the plastic water bottle. Only spilling some of the powder onto the nightstand. 

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, her eyes shutting again. He covered the water bottle again before he took a hold of it. He began shaking it to mix it together. “Go away, Jack,”

“Drink this,” he slammed it down onto the nightstand, “Or don’t. Whatever,” he mumbled before he stood up from the bed. Without looking back he walked out of the room and directly towards his own room. 

~~~

The following few days were still awkward with everyone. Jack was isolating himself, he thought it would be better to let himself cool off. He was avoiding being social and having to explain his outburst. Even though Quinn and Trevor knew what it was about. Trevor tried to not take it personally. 

Luke was trying to pry, nosy and desperate for details. He was constantly bugging Trevor for details. Y/N was completely out of the loop, no one told her about Jack and Trevor’s argument. They were doing everything in their power to still enjoy their time away with the tension between Y/N and Jack. 

She walked out of her room, her frame only covered by a black bikini. Her gaze was on her phone as she was adjusting the sunglasses on her head. She pushed her hair back as she rested it back down onto her head. 

Lifting her head up, she saw a shirtless Jack standing just in front of the doorway to the kitchen. Their eyes connected. Her lips parted slightly as she felt her legs feel weak beneath her. Suddenly, breathing felt impossible as she continued to look into his softening gaze. Clenching her jaw, she tapped her thumb against her phone screen.

He looked good. She hated that he looked good. She could’ve sworn that his body was not this toned last summer. Her gaze lowered towards his body, scanning each curve of his muscles. A memory flashed in her mind of her sitting in his lap, admiring the way his body tensed and flexed under her touch. The way her fingertips glided along his skin, purposely creating a reaction out of him.

Swallowing harshly, she forced her gaze back up towards him. Their eyes connected again and it felt like time stopped. She took a quick breath realizing she hasn’t took a breath in several long seconds. 

“Where’s everyone else?” she asked barely above a whisper. 

Jack’s eyes widened as he took a deep breath. He dragged his tongue across his bottom lip as he glanced behind him. He flung his arms to his side. His sling is no longer on his arm. He was cleared yesterday to start physical therapy which meant no more brace and sling. 

“Gym,” he let out simply before he nodded slowly. 

“Where’s your sling?” she asked while pointing towards him with her hand holding her phone. 

Looking down, almost as if he forgot it was gone. He took a sudden breath as he leaned against the doorframe. “It’s only as needed now,” he explained while nodding. She hummed as she dropped her gaze towards the floor. 

“Thank you for the other night. I know I was pretty out of it but I remember you helping me,” she explained. The words left her lips genuinely. The space between them is seemingly shrinking. She wasn’t sure if she was walking towards him or if it was the other way around. 

“I just put the powder in the water bottle and put it on the nightstand,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. 

“With one hand, it was impressive,” she let out jokingly. A breathy laugh left his lips as he ran his fingers through his hair. 

“I’ve got skills,” he let out teasingly. 

She chuckled softly as she rolled her eyes playfully. He let out another laugh as he looked into her eyes. Desperate to find out if this was momentary or if she was okay with being around him. But the tight-lip polite smile that formed onto her lips told him that it was momentary and that she was darting to the opposite side of the house again. 

“I’m gonna–” she trailed off before she turned and began to walk towards the backdoor leading towards the back deck. Jack didn’t call after her, didn’t say anything more. He let out a long breath before he plopped down onto the couch; careful of his shoulder. 

It took another twenty minutes before the other boys returned to the house. Luke led the charge. Steam practically spewing out of his ears. He stormed inside. “You and Y/N hooked up?” he yelled out accusingly. Jack spun around, his mouth falling open. His gaze shifted towards Quinn who was following after Luke urgently. “Why the hell would you guys do that!?” he yelled out.

“Fucking can’t tell Quinn anything,” Jack mumbled before he looked towards Quinn harshly. He watched an apology fall from his lips. 

“So that’s why you two can’t fucking stand being in the same room as one another?”

“Lukey,” Jack mumbled as he stood up from the couch.

“You couldn’t keep it in your pants so you made it awkward for everyone else! What am I supposed to do, choose sides?!” Luke continued to shout. 

Trevor and Cole disappeared outside where Y/N was at. Quinn shifted awkwardly as he watched his youngest brother’s skin turn pink from anger.

“This has nothing to do with you!”

“You ruined a perfect thing that we had going here! It was your rule to not pursue her!” Luke called out. 

Y/N was sitting on one of the chairs outside, her sunglasses on her face and her Kindle in front of her. Trevor and Cole were whispering towards one another as they looked back towards her.

Pulling the Kindle away from her gaze, she looked at the boys in front of her. “What can I do for you?” She asked sarcastically as she rested the Kindle beside her. The sound of muffled yelling came from inside. She turned around looking inside. “What’s happening?” She asked softly.

“I think everyone knows,” Trevor mumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest. Her eyes widened slightly as she nodded slowly trying to understand what he meant by that.

“Know what?” she asked, drawing out the words. 

“About you and Jack,” he let out as he took a deep breath. She shook her head slowly, still confused on what Trevor was getting at. He let out a dramatic sigh, “About you two hooking up last summer,” he let out as if it was holding him hostage.

Her mouth fell open as she shook her head. A nervous chuckle fell from her lips. “How did you know about that?” She asked Trevor, mainly pointing her question to Cole.

“You told me the other night,” he let out while looking towards the sky.

“Did I tell you or did you pry the information out of me because I was drunk,” she asked while resting her hands onto her hips. “Wait, how does Quinn and Luke know?” She asked glancing behind her, the muffled yelling was continuing.

“I guess Jack told Quinn and you know Quinn can’t keep a secret,” Trevor said. Trevor’s eyes widened as he looked towards Cole. A gasp fell from Trevor’s lips, “Wait how did you know?!”

Cole tossed his head back and rolled his eyes dramatically. “Because I have eyes, Because I am observant!” he let out through a laugh. Trevor scoffed. “I mean this with love, Y/N, but Jack’s a slut and Y/N likes to have a good time, right? But all of a sudden both of them stopped bringing people home for the night or were disappearing for hours on end together. Ya’ll just can’t pay attention to shit.”

“Were we really that obvious?” she pointed her question to Cole. 

“Clearly not to anyone else,” Cole mumbled as she shoved Trevor to the side. 

The muffled yelling seemed to simmer down but it was obvious tension was still high between the brothers inside. Jack stepped outside, a huff of air leaving his lips. His eyes widened as he was surprised to see Y/N still sitting outside. Her body straightened. 

Without saying anything, Trevor and Cole both agreed to walk back into the house to leave Y/N and Jack alone. Jack’s eyes widened as he watched them walk away from them. She clenched her jaw as she slumped into the chair while she tilted her head back against the chair. 

“So Quinn and Luke know about us,” Jack let out quietly. She rolled her eyes playfully as she pursed her lips forward. “And I guess Trevor does too. I think Cole always knew,” he continued while crossing his arms over his chest. His declaration was left in the air for a second. She nodded as she dragged her tongue over her bottom lip. He chuckled dryly as he began to walk towards the chair on the opposite side of her.

“Jack,” she let out softly as she trailed his movements. He let out a dramatic groan as he flopped down onto the chair. He took a hold of his shoulder, wincing. His face scrunched up in disgust. “So you told Quinn?”

Jack nodded as a hum fell from his lips, “Wouldn’t stop asking me questions,” he explained while looking towards her, maybe meeting her gaze.

“I told Trevor,” she turned her head, looking down towards her lap. She began twisting the ring on her pointer finger. 

“Figured,” Jack mumbled.

Clenching her jaw, she took a deep breath. “It was the other night when I was drunk. He knew I wouldn’t remember telling him,” she explained. Jack’s eyes widened as his posture straightened. “Trev, also wouldn’t stop asking me questions,” she explained. He nodded slowly as he tapped his fingertips against the arm of the chair. 

They sat beside each other in silence, feeling as though there was a literal wall forming between them. Her body was erupting in goosebumps as she kept glancing in his direction. He was already looking towards her with a thousand words on the tip of his tongue. 

“How’s living with Trevor?” Jack as he leaned forward, resting his arms onto his thighs. She pulled the sun glasses from her face, folding them and resting it onto the side table.

“Pretty lonely honestly,” she mumbled. Jack furrowed his eyebrows as their eyes connected. His breath caught in his throat, god her eyes were so beautiful. Clenching her jaw for a moment, “He was gone a lot with his girlfriend and games. I didn’t mind it but yeah it’s been fine,” she explained softly. 

Jack nodded as he chewed on his bottom lip, “How’s the job?” he asked. Instantly, her eyes lit up as a wide grin formed to her lips.

She began to talk rapidly about the experience. It was everything and more than what she expected. She probably was talking for more than a couple minutes but Jack didn’t care. The only thing on his mind was the fact that he has missed hearing her voice more than anything. 

He forgot how much her voice relaxed him, every ounce of tension in his body seemed to disappear. Any amount of frustration seemed to disappear in a moment's notice. All he wanted was for her to know that he missed her more than anything.

She took a deep breath after she explained a story about her new co-workers. He laughed with her as she told the story. Her laugh was probably his favorite sound. No matter how loud or muffled it sounded, it was his favorite. 

After a few more seconds, Trevor stepped out into the back patio. Clearing his throat, he shifted awkward glances between Y/N and then to Jack. “Cole’s dying to go clubbing. You guys in?” Trevor asked, looking towards Y/N if she needed any assistance. 

“Definitely,” Jack and Y/N said at the same time. She jolted her gaze back towards Jack, suddenly hyper aware of the situation. She cleared her throat.

“I’m going to go get ready then,” she stood up as she spoke. 

“It’s like noon,” Jack let out teasingly. 

Her mouth fell open, “I mean if I’m going to a club, I’m going to need a nap,” she offered without looking back towards the boys behind her. 

“Yeah me too,” Jack mumbled as he stood up. He began to walk past Trevor, instead Trevor took a hold of Jack’s arm. 

“I’m sorry about–”

“No I’m sorry,” Jack interrupted, “I don’t know what she told you or how much she told you but I’ve been a dick to you and that’s not on you,” he explained.

Trevor let out a soft laugh, “Okay, well, that’s true but I didn’t have to come at you like that,” he said softly. 

Jack let out a long dramatic sigh as the pair started walking back towards the house, “Yeah, well, I deserved it,”

~~~

It was well into the night and they were all gone. Drunk and dizzy but they were all dancing like nothing mattered. No focus on cameras or wandering eyes, they were there to enjoy themselves and that is what they did.

Luke, Cole, and Trevor had disappeared early in the night. Each of them had texted the group chat that they were busy. Which is code for they found a girl and were either leaving with her or they were sticking together for rest of the night. 

Quinn was in big brother mode, busy scanning the crowd making sure the ones that were still there werwe safe. In reality, he was focusing on Y/N making sure she was okay and able to still function. He was enjoying himself, dancing with a few girls here and there but he kept watching over Y/N.

Jack stood near the bartop, his eye strictly on Y/N. He was leaning back on his arms, a drink still in his hand. His gaze scanned her movements, his frame overheating. Perhaps from the heat of the endless bodies in the night club or because of her. He chewed on his bottom lip, feeling his heart slam against his chest. 

Her body seemed to move perfectly in sync with the beat of the song. Her hips swayed back and forth as her hands seemed to move freely with her. She was alone, between the sea of people; seemingly pushing away any guy that tried to get close and personal with her. 

Jack contemplated on walking towards her, dancing with her but he knew it was better off staying away. 

Until Jack saw a man that seemed double his own size approach her. He titled his head back as he waited for her to send him packing. Yet she spun around looking towards the freakishly tall man. She continued to sway and move to the beat of the song, her hands rested on the stranger’s chest. Jack cleared his throat as he watched her spin around. 

His lips parted as the stranger pulled her against his frame. The stranger was whispering in her ear. It was dark and hard to see in the club but he could see Y/N’s smile from miles away. It was wide and bright. Jack was sure it was a drunken grin but she looked like she was enjoying every second of it. 

Jack’s vision blurred as he felt his entire body tense. He pulled his drink towards his lips as he chugged the whole drink. He left it on the bar top, the ice was the only thing remaining in the glass.

If she can flaunt being with someone else, so could he. 

Sure, he was mad. He was always the jealous type with her. Never was with any of his girlfriends but with Y/N he was so possessive. He hated when any of the other guys were close with her but it never made sense before. For years, he thought it was because she was his favorite and close friend.

But it didn’t take long for him to realize it was because he was in love with her. He never wanted anyone else to be near her with any kind of intentions. But she clearly no longer felt the same way. Or she never felt the same way, he wasn’t sure.

He darted through the sea of people, trying to find someone, anyone, willing to participate in his act of making Y/N jealous. Or maybe make her look in his direction. He could still see her in his line of sight as he approached a model-esq blonde woman. Instantly, she spun around smiling towards Jack. 

It didn’t take much effort from Jack. The girl scanned Jack’s features and instantly took a hold of Jack’s black t-shirt and pulled him towards her. He looped his arms around the girl’s waist letting her lead the motion. She instantly pressed her ass against him. Jack’s eyes widened, as he followed her movements. His body instantly reacted at the contact. 

Jack looked towards Y/N, watching her seemingly ignore him. A huff of air left his lips as he tried to focus on the beautiful girl in front of him. But she wasn’t his beautiful girl. His beautiful girl was in the arms of someone else. He hated it. After a few seconds, he shifted his gaze towards the girl in front of him for only a moment.

Lifting his head up, looking back towards Y/N’s direction and she was gone. Jack froze in place, forcing the girl in front of him to let out an exasperated sigh and slip away from his grasp. Jack barely noticed that she was no longer pressed against him, he stood still. His eyes widened as he watched the sea of people move and shift; hoping for Y/N to be in his line of sight. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket, he sighed as he pulled it out.

Y/N: Ubering back to the lakehouse, not alone!

He stared towards the message and was convinced he heard his heart shatter in his chest. He clenched his jaw repeatedly as he continued to stare at the message. The boys in the chat started sending in messages, wolf whistling through text. He swallowed harshly.

His feet seemed to be cemented into the ground at the center of the dance floor. He couldn’t move. His mind began to replay their last moment together in this club. How beautiful she looked in the skin tight black dress. Memories of him bunching the fabric in his hands, the way her body moved in sync with his. The smile on her lips as he whispered into her ear. His body reacted and blended perfectly with hers. 

He swallowed harshly as the image was soon replaced with her dancing with someone else. How was he supposed to go home and sleep across the hall? He squeezed his phone in his hand before he dropped his hand to the side.

He was jolted, blinking rapidly as he looked towards Quinn beside him. He took a shaky breath as he met Quinn’s gaze. “Let’s go home!” Quinn shouted to Jack, keeping a hold of Jack’s arm. 

“How am I supposed to do that!?” he shouted towards Quinn. Jack’s eyes were tearing up as he looked into his older brother’s gaze. “I can’t!” Jack let out while shaking his head. 

Quinn nodded slowly. “You can! Come on!” he shouted, dragging him through the crowd of people. 

The ride back to the lake house took twenty minutes and Jack didn’t say a single word. Quinn didn’t pry, didn’t say anything about what was probably happening in her bedroom back at the lake house. 

He was practically steaming with frustration. He was mad at himself more than anything. He messed everything up because he was jealous and scared. He couldn’t tell her he was in love with her. He couldn’t bring himself to say it to her and now she’s done with him.

He squinted his eyes harshly as he the image of the man pressed against Y/N, flirting and dancing against one another. He clenched his fist repeatedly as he hit it against his thigh.

Cole, Trevor, and Luke were all going to different girls’ houses, which meant Quinn, Jack, and Y/N were the only ones left at the lake house. The Uber pulled up to the house. Letting the two boys out. 

Jack was darting towards the door, no hesitation in any of his steps towards the house. “Jack!” Quinn called out as he chased after him. Jack didn’t slow down a second as he bolted toward the hallway where their shared bedrooms were at. “Jack! Come on!” Quinn shouted as he jogged after him. Jack was raising his hand, ready to slam his fist against the door. “Jack seriously!” Quinn stopped beside Jack.

A scoff left Jack’s lips as he rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t get to do this! Not with me across the hall!” he let out loudly. 

“She does! She has every right to move on and so do you!” Quinn said as he pointed towards the door. 

“I don’t want–” he trailed off as he tilted his head back. “She can move on all she wants in California but not here! Not in my own damn house!” he whispered loudly as he went to raise his hand up to knock on the door.

“Jack,” Quinn scolded as her door was pulled open enough for her to poke her head out. 

A sudden gasp left their lips as their eyes widened. “Y/N,” Quinn let out quietly. 

“Y/N, please don’t do this,” Jack pleaded as he looked into her eyes. A huff of air left her lips as she pulled the door open to reveal that she was alone in her room. 

“Do what?” she asked knowingly. Jack let out a dry laugh while shaking his head. “I only told you guys that so Trevor would get off my back,” she explained as her hand flung behind her to show that there was no one on the bed. 

“So what is this? Is this some game to you?” Jack asked harshly.

“A game? What are you talking about, Jack?!” she shouted back towards you, stepping closer to him.

Quinn spun on his heel and instantly walked away from the pair. He shook his head as a huff of air left his lips. He jogged up the stairs towards his own room, leaving them alone. He wanted nothing to do with whatever was about to happen downstairs.

“Is this to get back to me?!” Jack shouted as he threw his arms to the side. He took a step closer to her.

“You? Seriously, Jack, not everything is about you!” she yelled towards him tossing her hands to the side.

“You can’t bring guys back here!” he let out loudly. 

“Why do you care!?” she shouted towards him, a scoff left his lips.

“Because–” he let out softly as he glanced towards the living room. 

“You know what, you– you don’t get to care if I sleep with other people! You have no reason to care about me!” she shouted towards him. “You’ve made that very clear,” she let out softer.

He swallowed harshly as he scanned her features. He hasn’t been this close to her in so long he almost forgot how breathtaking she was. She was holding a breath as she looked into his eyes. Her skin ran hot as she saw the way his eyes were looking over her frame. His gaze flickered down towards her lips as he clenched his jaw. Lifting his gaze, he looked into her eyes. 

“Very fucking clear,” she mumbled breathlessly.

“You can do whoever you want when you’re in California but keep it out of my house,” he stepped towards her, their faces were only a few inches apart. Her breath caught in her throat as she scanned his reddening features. She watched him take a sudden breath as he looked from one eye to the other. 

“What are you going to do? Keep me under lock and key?” she whispered harshly.

“If I have to,” he mumbled.

“You’re such a dick,” she muttered as she lowered her gaze towards his lips. “I saw you at the club dancing with that girl, you don’t get to act all high and mighty acting like you weren’t doing the same thing,” 

He clenched his jaw as he nodded slowly. “And what was I doing exactly?” he asked as he stepped towards her, forcing her to step back slightly. 

“Trying to make me jealous,” 

“Did it work?” he asked with a smirk threatening his lips. She felt her legs weaken beneath her. 

“No,” she muttered. “I don’t care about you anymore,”

“Then why isn’t the door in my face?” he asked breathlessly, leaning towards her. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart slamming against her chest. 

“I don’t know,” she mumbled as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him towards her, pressing his lips against his urgently. A moan fell from his lips as he pulled her closer to him. Their tongues entwined instantly as they stumbled back, their bodies pressed against one another. He quickly kicked his shoes off, not caring if they were obviously left outside of her door.

She was mad at him but she wanted nothing more than to feel his lips against hers. She wanted nothing more than to be this close to him again, she craved his touch. He bunched up the fabric of the skin tight dress covering her frame.

Jumping up, she wrapped her legs around his waist. Jack took a hold of her legs, to support her. Hissing in pain, he dropped his bad arm and let it hang beside him. She pulled her lips back, taking a hold of his cheeks. Bumping their noses together in the process.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I forgot,” she whispered breathlessly. A breathy chuckle fell from his lips as a small smile formed to his lips.

“It’s okay, It’s okay,” he mumbled as he slammed his lips against hers. With one hand he kept a hold of her thigh tightly against his frame. He carried her into her bedroom, using his other arm to swing the door shut. He pressed her back against the door, a breathy moan fell from her lips as she tilted her head back.

Jack desperately began to trail his lips down the center of her neck. Slowly, he circled his tongue as he continued to trail wet kisses down her skin. He twisted the lock on the door before he carried her towards the bed. She took a hold of his cheeks, desperately needing his lips on hers again. 

Slowly, she glided down her frame, his hand loosening his grip as their lips remained connected. Her hands glided along his chest as he reached behind her. He took a hold of the zipper and instantly started gliding it down her frame. Without hesitation, he began to pull it from her body. She helped him in the process as she kicked it away from them.

His fingertips glided along the skin of her lower back, his body overheating. Finally and desperately feeling her skin beneath his hands.

She began tugging at the shirt covering his frame. He pulled back, taking a hold of the end of his shirt and tossing it over his head. Their eyes connected again as Jack had a small smile on his lips. She stumbled back as she sat down on the edge of the bed. She took a deep breath.

He stood in front of her, taking a hold of his jeans. He pulled them from his frame. After a second of thought he tugged his boxers from his frame. His body tensed as the cold air hit his overheating skin. 

Pulling her lips back, her gaze scanned his frame. Her entire body erupting in goosebumps watching him drag his hand up and down his shaft, a muffled groan fell from his lips before he looked back up towards her. 

All of the blood in her body felt like it rushed to her head. Y/N sat down on the edge of the bed. He smirked as she slowly laid on her back. Jack climbed on top of her, connecting their lips desperately. He ran his hand along her cheek as he lowered his hand, taking a delicate hold of her neck. His thumb glided down the center of her neck as he pulled back. 

Her eyes flickered open as she was breathing heavily. Her hand glided through his hair, watching him look over her features. “Y/N ple–”

“Please don’t talk just…” she trailed off as she ran her thumb across the apple of his cheek. 

He stared down towards her hesitantly. Still, a thousand things on the tip of his tongue. He took a sudden breath as she pushed him back. He rolled onto his back as she instantly climbed onto his lap. Jack’s eyes widened as looked over her frame as if it was for the first time.

She pulled all of her hair over her shoulder as she leaned down and kissed him slowly. His hands ran along her back, toying with the clasp of her bra. She grinded against his lap, slowly teasingly. He thrusted up into her, desperate for some release. She smirked against his lips while she ran her hand along his chest. He unclasped it watching her tug it away from her frame. 

Time seemed to slow as their lips remained connected as his hands roamed her frame. Ther was no rush in their movements, savoring each kiss. Making up for lost time perhaps. Slowly she began to trail her lips down his neck. He tilted his head back, he bit his bottom lip as he held his breath. 

“Y/N,” he let out breathlessly. He squeezed her thigh as she continued to suck the skin beneath his ear. 

“Don’t talk,” she whispered into his ear as she ran her hand down his chest. He chuckled softly as he tilted his head to the side meeting her gaze. 

“Okay,” he mumbled as he tapped her leg, asking for her to lay down. 

“Your arm,” she mumbled while looking into his eyes.

“I’ve got skills, remember?” he mumbled while fighting off a grin. She rolled her eyes playfully as she climbed off of his lap and laid onto her back; the same time Jack rolled onto his side, pulling her against him. Their legs were entangled as their lips instantly connected.

He took a hold of her underwear, looping them in his finger as he slowly started gliding them down his frame. A breathy moan fell from her lips as she kicked them off of the bed. 

He reached down and instantly began to rub her clit in a slow teasing pace. Her hand gripped his arm. Instantly, she pulled back with a sudden gasp leaving his lips. He smirked towards her, watching her eyes roll to the back of her head. 

She was holding back a moan as she squinted her eyes shut. Slowly, he pushed his fingers inside of her, watching desire pool her features. Her hands took a hold of his cheeks, pulling him towards her. Their lips met in a sloppy cadence as she grinded against his fingers that were thrusting into her. 

Desire flooded her stomach as she ran her fingers through his hair, tugging the strands. “Jack,” she mumbled against his lips as her vision blurred. He hummed against her lips as he pulled his fingers away from her center, her body running cold for a second. 

She wrapped her leg around his waist as he instantly guided himself to her center. Looking back up, meeting her gaze. He was mesmerized by the way she was looking towards him. So desperate and craving him. She ran her hand towards the base of his neck.

Slowly, he thrusted into her, a low moan falling from his lips. He took a hold of her thigh as he continued to thrust into her slowly, feeling her adjust to his size. Their eyes remained connected as he continued the sensual pace. 

She leaned towards him, taking her lips in his. She moaned into his mouth as his hand gripped her thigh tightly. “Fuck,” she muttered against his lips. He could feel her clenching around him, pulling his climax faster. 

It has been far too long since either of them have felt this good. There’s been rebounds. Probably too many to count shared between them but none of them felt this right and this perfect. She couldn’t even remember ever reaching this close to a climax since the last time they were together.

“Oh my god,” she whined out. He missed hearing that, he missed knowing he was the one making her feel like that.

The way their breathing were in perfect short cadences as their lips tried to maintain the desperate connection. But her body was flooding with desire, as her vision was blurring. Every few seconds, his lips would press a sloppy kiss to her lower lip as he grunted.

His thrust started to speed up in pace as a whimper fell from her lips, he nodded, “Good girl–doin’ so good,” he whispered. She let out a moan as she tilted her head back. He pressed his lips to the center of her neck. Her hands ran along his upper back. More muffled moans fell from her lips as she gave all of her to him.

“I’m so–”

A sudden gasp left her lips as her entire body tensed, an overwhelming amount of pleasure coursed through her frame. She dragged her nails across his upper back, “Jack,” she moaned out.

With one more thrust, he reached his own climax, short breaths fell from his lips as he released into her. “Fuck,” he let out barely above a whisper. He continued to ride out his own orgasm as he watched her eyes flutter open. Her hands glided along his upper back to take a hold of his neck.

Their eyes connected as he watched her gaze soften. Leaning towards her, he pressed his lips against hers sloppy. He pulled out as they both pulled back, falling onto their backs. They both laid breathlessly as they stared towards the ceiling. 

They didn’t talk for several seconds as the reality of what they did set in. She felt her heart jump in her throat as she sat up, swinging her legs off of the bed.  

Jack switched his gaze towards her, his eyes scanned her bare back watching her breathe heavily. She pulled open the bottom drawer, she quickly pulled out a t-shirt and shorts. 

“You know how amazing I am?” Jack let out as he leaned back on his arms. His tone was questioning but he had a wide grin on his lips. 

A breathy laugh fell from her lips as she pulled the t-shirt over her frame. “What?” she asked, a smirk toying to her lips as she stood up to pull the shorts up. 

“I got you to admit that you were trying to make me jealous,” he offered teasingly. She spun around looking towards him. Her mouth fell open as she shook her head slightly. 

“I wasn’t, I didn’t…” she stammered as she trailed her gaze down his frame. Jack whipped the comforter over his body as she raised her eyes back up towards his face. 

“Oh, well, you did,” he said as he pushed his tongue into his cheek. 

“I didn’t,” she said as she climbed back onto the bed, pulling the comforter over her. Their eyes connected again.

“Weren’t your exact words you don’t get to act all high and mighty acting like you weren’t doing the same thing–” he trailed off as he watched the realization dawn on her face, her teasing smirk faded on her lips. She squinted her eyes slightly, “And then I asked you what I was doing and you said–”

“Trying to make me jealous,” she finished his sentences as she tilted her head to the side. 

“Exactly,” he whispered as he pointed his finger towards her subtly. She rolled her eyes playfully as she took a hold of his hand. He chuckled as their eyes connected again. She took a deep breath as she scanned his features. 

Swallowing harshly, she dropped his hand. “You should probably go,” she mumbled as she began to lay down on the bed to face away from him.

He furrowed his eyebrows harshly, “What just happened?” he asked as he looked down towards her. 

“This doesn’t change anything,” she mumbled. 

A scoff fell from his lips, “Doesn’t it? I mean seriously, Y/N,” he expressed as he rested his hand onto her arm, pulling her back to face him. Their eyes met as she clenched her jaw. “It has to change something,”

He reached his hand over toward her, taking a hold of her cheek. Leaning into his hand, she shut her eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this again,” she mumbled.

“Then let’s do something else,” he muttered as he ran his thumb across her hot skin. 

“Do what, Jack? If you mean–that, I don’t know if I can, I'm so tired,” she explained as a soft laugh left her lips.

“No, not that,” he chuckled as he leaned towards her, kissing her softly. “I mean let’s try being friends again,” he mumbled against her lips, “Exclusive friends,”

She pulled away, tilting her head to the side. She stared towards him suspiciously for a second, “We tried that, we didn’t talk for a year afterwards,” 

He giggled, “I mean, we work towards something serious,” he offered as he scanned her features again.

“Jack,” she wasn’t sure, she was still tipsy and not thinking straight.

“Think about it,” he mumbled before he leaned towards her, kissing her softly. She parted her lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

“Jack,”

“Think about it,” he mumbled againsat her lips again, a small breathy laugh leaving her lips before she deepened the kiss again.

~~~

Cole and Trevor stood side by side, mugs in both of their hands. They were trying to see who Y/N brought him. Whoever the mystery guy was hadn’t left yet, sleeping in astronomically late. 

Well for their house’s standards. It was nine in the morning and usually the whole house would be awake, especially Y/N.

“She’s still in there, are you sure she didn’t kick him out and leave?” Cole whispered loudly as he leaned into Trevor.

“I wouldn’t be standing here if I was sure,” Trevor shot back in a hushed tone.

“Has she since–” he trailed off as he met Trevor’s gaze. 

“Yeah she’s had her rebounds,” Trevor mumbled, a soft chuckle leaving his lips, “It’s been a few months though,” he mumbled.

Cole cleared his throat before he brought the mug towards his lips. He took a long sip, “Is she okay? I feel like I should knock,” Cole whispered.

“If he was a creep then she would’ve told us,” Trevor mumbled before bringing his own mug towards his lips.

“She didn’t bring anyone home,” Quinn called out as he stood near the entrance to the hallway. Cole and Trevor both turned their eyes towards Quinn at the same time.

“What?” they whispered loudly.

“She only told you that because you were getting on her about ‘moving on’,” Quinn said with air quotes. 

“Well then who’s shoes are those?” he asked, pointing down towards the messily laid out shoes.

“Who’s–what?” Quinn let out as he took fast steps towards them. 

Suddenly, her door pulled open and a shirtless Jack was holding the door open. A gasp left all three of their lips. Quinn raised his hand up and held his hand against his chest. 

“Their mine,” Jack said before clearing his throat. “‘Scuse me,” he said as he stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Cole and Trevor pulled away from one another. They shared awkward glances as they watched Jack walk towards his bedroom, stepping inside. 

They all tried to form sentences but the shock of seeing Jack inside of her room was enough to keep them all frozen with confusion. “He left his shoes,” Cole muttered as he looked down towards them still by the door. 

Suddenly, her door was pushed open, her eyes widened to see the three boys standing outside of her door. “Creepy, all of you,” she mumbled as she pointed an accusatory finger to each of them. “Excuse me,” she muttered as she squeezed past them carrying her clothes. 

“We thought you had a stranger in there! We wanted to be sure you were alive!” Cole defended, “It’s not creepy! It’s caring!”

“God, I should’ve gone to the gym with Lukey,” Quinn said, shaking his head as he walked back into the living room. Cole and Trevor were muttering to one another in the center of the hallway. “Leave them alone,” Quinn called out as he walked towards the kitchen. 

“But–”

“Leave them alone! They’ll tell us when they’re ready!” Quinn called out. 

“They practically already did!” Cole protested.

“Leave them alone!” Quinn scolded them again. The pair let out defeated breaths as they stumbled out of the hallway.

For the next hour, the three of them were talking, more like gossiping about Jack and Y/N. Trying to find puzzle pieces from last summer and the slim information of the last twenty hours. Trevor was trying to convince Quinn and Cole that it was actually happening since the moment they both set foot into the house. 

Y/N sat at her vanity, running her fingers through her wet hair. She could hear the faint sounds of all of them arguing over her and Jack through the walls. Her face was covered in moisture as she was doing her post-clubbing routine. It was an everything shower that rejuvenated herself from the events of the night before.

There was a soft knock on her door as her body straightened. “Come in,” she mumbled. She spun her head around to see Jack walk into her room. His hair was dripping wet as his frame was covered with tight jeans and t-shirt. “Hey,” she let out quietly, a small smile formed on her lips.

He leaned against the door, pressing his back against it as. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I got scared,” he muttered. She stood up from the vanity seat as she kept her distance from him.

He swallowed harshly as he dropped his gaze towards the floor, “When you asked for a reason, I didn’t know how to tell you I was falling in love with you,”

“Jack,” she mumbled.

“I was falling in love with you and all I could see was you running away with one of my best friends,” 

“I wasn’t–”

“I know, but I was so convinced that you were running far away from me,” he let out softly as he watched her walk towards him. “But I realized last night that I was pushing you away,” he mumbled as he scanned her features. She was still making her way towards him slowly, he was not aware of how close she was getting to him.

“I get jealous so easily but I think it’s because you were never really mine,” he explained further as he dropped his hands to the side. She nodded as she walked closer to him, “I got a taste of it last summer and I let you go. I shouldn’t have let you go. I’m sorry,” he let out, tossing his arms to the side.

“Jack,” she mumbled as she was directly in front of him. He swallowed harshly as he scanned her features. His breathing quickened as he watched her lips curl upward slightly. 

“Did you say you were falling in love with me?” she let out barely above a whisper. He hummed as his gaze lowered towards her lips. “Fucking finally,” she said as she leaped towards him, careful of his shoulder as she pressed her lips against his urgently.

“I’ve never stopped loving you,” she mumbled against his lips.

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

Stolas, Millie, Loona, Vaggie, Stella, Husk, Beezlebub and Asmodeus accidentally hitting their S/O During a Fight.

Stolas

It shouldn't have even been an argument.

Looking back he felt awful about the whole thing, it was all so stupid.

Now, despite his extensive and near limitless wealth, at the beginning of your relationship you made it clear you refused to mooch off of him.

Completely that is, he still spoiled you rotten, and you weren't planning on stopping him, But you had a job, maintaining a level of independence, something you took great pride in.

Stolas supported this with gusto, loving your independence as well as adoring the simple assurance you weren't just with him for the money and status.

It all spawned from when he'd asked you to preform a simple chore, something he'd normally do but had a packed schedule, so asked you to do it.

But of course, with your own busy schedule, you'd forgotten, the task going undone the entire day.

Coming home Stolas would snap at you, having endured a particularly stressful day, only for you to snap back.

You'd break into a heated argument, the both of you picking at every petty thing about each other you could.

Snapping at each other for the sort of things you'd never think to bring up before, but in that moment the both of you were just looking for things to get mad about.

But it'd be after Stolas made a remark, a shallow, but derogatory remark on your status as a Hellborne.

And that, well, that gave you something to genuinely be mad about.

You'd snap back at him, bringing up a moment of vitriolic anger, genuinely hurtful information, the sort you'd never have brought up otherwise.

Stolas, completely shocked by such a vicious outbreak, would snap.

Not mentally, but physically.

He didn't even realise what had happened until he looked down, seeing you holding your cheek, staring up at him in horror.

Cold dread filling him, his stomach dropping as he realised what had happened, the man stumbling back, horrified with himself.

"I... I..." He tried to speak but failed, unable to say anything.

You'd turn away, breathing shaky as you struggled to keep yourself composed.

Stolas would reach out to you, hoping to fix the situation. To prove he hadn't meant it.

If you pulled away, the man would break down, apologising profusely, the Owl in an exceptionally fragile state, apologising again and again, having a full breakdown as he begged you for forgiveness.

Your relationship would suffer heavily, but could heal depending on how willing you were, the man profusely apologetic, promising that'd never happen again, terrified he'd be a monster like Stella was to him.

If instead you allowed him to embrace you, he'd pull you close, crying profusely as you held each other, accepting what had happened and your mutual role in it.

You'd end up in his arms, the man holding you to his chest fluff, your favourite spot, the two of you just sat there for hours, holding each other close.

Yous talk softly, both of you apologising, but Stolas practically begging for forgiveness.

He'd feel awful for bringing a physical element to your relationship.

Not that you didn't already get physical, 17 broken bed frames in 9 months proved you got plenty physical, but becoming physically abusive was literally the very last thing he EVER wanted, especially for his partner.

It would take some time, the two of you spending countless hours holding each other close, talking through your issues countless times.

It'd be after stolas would apologise for the hundredth time, you cupping his face and telling him gently you forgave him, that your relationship would really begin to heal.

Stolas would be on edge for a while, going above and beyond for you, ensuring you knew exactly how much he loved you, being extra careful to be as un-intimidating as physically possible.

But your relationship would heal, you loving the owl boi and him loving you, the two of you handling and moving past the bump in your relationship in a surprisingly healthy fashion, the man only loving you even more by the end of it.

Millie

Now, Millie was an interesting contradiction.

On one hand, violence was natural for the girl. Growing up on Wrath It was necessary, becoming second nature for the Imp'et, but despite this she was also exceptionally good at keeping her cool.

She'd only get violent when necessary, and usually in your defence more than anything.

But it'd be some massive fight, the two of you really going at it, that her Wrathern side would kick in.

The girl shoved you.

And this is Millie, so a 'shove' actually meant she pretty much threw you across the room.

Millie covered her mouth as you slumped against the wall, groaning as you got up.

Millie would move to you, rushing to your side, doing her best to care for you, your arm being injured in the crash.

Getting up Millie would attempt to help you, clearly distraught, trying to assure you she was sorry.

If you pulled away from Millie, the farm girl would be totally distraught.

Never had she had to fear her body nor her killer instincts before, in fact, you loved her body, and the way she was usually the most deadly person in the room, hoo boy, you adored it.

That was one of your favourite parts of her.

And not just for the sexual aspect, though there was plenty of that but for her sheet ability.

She was confident and had the physicality to back it up, which in and of itself, was insanely hot.

But, getting hit by her, even it it was unintentional, would drastically change your view of it all.

You'd stumble back, tears building in your eyes as you stared up at her.

Millie, covering her mouth, would feel horrified.

She'd never mean to hurt you. That's literally the last thing she'd ever wanted to do to you, at least not like this.

But sure enough, she'd hit you, her baser instincts kicking in, the girl striking on pure instinct.

She'd move to you, already apologising, trying to assure you.

You'd be emotional, adrenaline pumping hard as you made the choice.

She'd reach out for you, hoping to show she wasn't evil, that she was sorry and meant only the best for you.

If you pulled away, Millie would feel downright awful. She'd probably pull in herself, freaking out internally as she pulled back.

She'd be entirely distraught, the woman becoming horribly self concious, paranoid of her every action, fearful of if she could hurt you again.

She'd try to reach out to you, trying her very best to reach out to you, but unless you were willing to reconcile with her, seeing it from her side, she'd likely have a minor, though well maintained breakdown, the woman freaking out over the whole thing.

Your relationship could recover, but it'd take a lot of communication and understanding, the both of you working through the event and the subsequent issues in a slow, healthy manner.

If you instead leaned into her touch, the two of you would hold each other close.

Millie and you would sit there for a long while, sat there, speaking softly.

You'd go back and forth for a while, both of you apologising. Talking through the issues that led to the argument.

The next few weeks would be tender, you obviously hesitant whenever she got mad, or became physical, the girl noticing how you flinch or watch her warily, fearful of her body.

She hated that. You used to worship her body, and while it wasn't about her ego, she missed be able to be herself around you, it stinging all the more that she only had herself to blame.

As such she would make sure to smother you in positive affection, the girl near constantly hugging or holding you close, never too harshly but enough that you'd get used to her physic, learning to trust being in her arms again.

Her favourite act to simply have you on her lap, holding you close in her muscular, yet feminine form, the girl holding you possessively, gently kissing or whispering in your ear, purring sweet nothing's.

Your relationship would be damaged, absolutely, the whole thing becoming a scar on your relationship, and yet, with some mutual care and respect, you'd not only recover, but your relationship would grow stronger from the affair.

The both of you would acknowledging your part in the argument, promising each other to do better.

It'd take some time to get back to where you were before the incident. To truly trust and love each other like you had before, yet with an abundance of love an dcare for the the other, you'd grow an even stronger, more intimate bond, the two of you coming to truly love and trust each other, your relationship becoming unbreakable.

Loona

Your relationship with Loona would be... odd.

Both in good and bad ways.

You'd have a passionate, if immature relationship, loving each other deeply but struggling to express it properly, the both of you immature and unable to properly work through your emotions in the best ways.

Fights... weren't exactly common, but they weren't rare either, though in fairness, most of your fights were just petty squabbles that worked mostly as an excuse for amazing make up sex.

But well, Loona was a temperamental woman at heart, and well, that temper had a habit of flaring on a whim.

It'd be on a particularly off day, the girl just looking for a fight, but when it became clear you simply couldn't avoid or talk through this random bout of aggression, you'd let her pick the fight.

You'd go back and forth for a while, arguing and yelling at each other, though throughout it, it was clear your heart wasn't in it, you just going through the motions to let Loona let off some steam.

The problem was, Loona's was.

And it'd be after some sarcastic remarks that Loona would snap at you with a genuinely hurtful remark.

You snapping back with a slightly harsher retort, and that's when the actual fight began.

You'd quickly break into a screaming match, the both of you trying to shout down the other.

But after Loona made a snide comment on you, you'd snap back, insulting her just as harshly, if not worst, really twisting the blade as it were.

Loona, shocked you'd make such a comment, would jump at you.

Now, to be clear, you and Loona often got physical, when fighting or otherwise. But this was different then the usual rough housing you'd do.

This wasn't the teasing hands on stuff you'd done countless times before, the wrestling and headlocks she used to do to assert dominance.

No, this was an attack.

She snarled, the two launching across the room, crashing into the wall, you trying to get away only for her to hit you, something halfway between a slap and a punch.

But that was enough to leave you stunned, staring up at her as she raised her fist again.

She sat there, teeth bared, fist clenched, staring down at you as you stared up at her in horror.

Loona, breathing harshly, realised what what she'd just done, staring down at you as tears formed in your eyes.

You looked scared.

Scared of her.

She threw herself off of you, horrified realisation rocking her form, the feeling only growing worse as you moved away from her.

She'd sit there for a minute, processing everything that'd happened, analysing her part, then yours, then her part.

Tears would well in her eyes, the girl slowly getting to her feet.

She'd apologise through tears, hands shaking as she held back ugly sobs, the woman moving to you, pleading and apologising profusely.

She'd get so close she could almost touch you, pleading for you to believe she'd never mean to hurt you.

If you pulled away, Loona would have a full on breakdown, pleading, begging you to believe she never wanted to hurt you.

She'd likely sit there sobbing for a long time before getting up and running to the only person she could think of.

Blitzø.

Now, upon finding his sobbing daughter, he would naturally become enraged, the man wanting to track you down and neuter you.

But Loona would demand he shut up and sit down, the girl explaining what had happened.

Now Blitzø was no expert on relationships, Satan knows had more failed relationships then teeth, and knowing she'd hit you would really put him in the a pickle.

So, he'd pull in the best relationship he knows.

Millie and Moxxie.

Millie would immediately go into mumma bear mode.

She'd be firm, but fair with Loona, the woman acknowledging that she was in the wrong but not entirely one sided, as you had engaged, but ultimately she was at fault.

Striking your partner is never alright.

Mostly.

So, she'd take the initiative, reaching out to you on Loonas behalf.

Now, she wouldn't do all the work, not at all, but she'd open the doorway to reconciliation.

From there, it'd truly be in yours and Loonas hands, the both of having to decided if you could make it work.

But if instead you let her approach you, letting the girl hold onto you.

She'd sob, apologising profusely, apologising for everything, the girl latching onto you.

You sit there for a long time, loona having a good cry. But eventually she'd calm down, the girl apologising profusely for hitting you, for starting the argument. For being such a bitch.

You'd speak for a long, long time, talking over the argument, going over both your parts, acknowledging and apologising for your part in the fight, though loona was far more apologetic, the girl deeply ashamed for her part in it.

You'd set some new rules and boundaries, the two of you knowing you couldn't let something like that happen again, as such you'd both set a list of rules.

The most prominent of which being that when your frustrated or angry with each other, you'd text the other. From there you'd talk a little, likely call the other, then you'd meet, speaking it through.

It was a system you both adhered to religiously, the two of you communicating through text or phone often, discussing any and all issues you had.

Your relationship would be uneasy for a while afterwards, you still on edge, flinching when she was angry. Over all, this whole ordeal got the young hellhound to calm down, learning some much needed restraint, your mutual affection developing in a slow, constructive and healthy manner.

Vaggie

Now, Vaggies temper was actually one of the things you loved about her.

She was firy and passionate and took no shit from nobody, something you loved.

The problem with your relationship was that you loved to tease her, and that got her riled up the quickest.

Now, it was was always in good fun, usually just to get a rise, followed by some soft kisses and apologies.

It was always in good fun.

But, on that fateful day, you made the decision to tease her.

Vaggie, while not the biggest fan, normally didn't mind your teasing, but on that day, having dealt with both Charlie and Alastor, she was in no mood for your teasing.

So, when you prodded and teased, the girl warning you to stop.

You not taking her seriously would prod her again, Vaggie on her last nerve, would slap you, leaving you shocked.

Vaggie, realising what she'd done, would cover her mouth, horrified.

Now it would definitely be stiff for a moment, both of you realising what had happened.

After a moment Vaggie would apologise.

Now you could take this two ways.

You could walk off, Vaggie feeling awful for hitting you.

It would be up to you whether you forgave her.

If you instead stayed there, the both of you would stand there for a moment, the both of you tense before suddenly, a smile broke across your face, the both of you breaking into laughter, the two of you having a laugh.

Vaggie would step closer, gently touching your face, seeing how your cheek swelled in a hand shaped pattern.

She'd apologise, you taking her hand in yours, gently kissing the appendage, apologising as well.

You'd share an intimate little moment, acknowledging your mutual faults, before laughing it off, agreeing to move past that.

You'd hold her close, the two of you sharing a warm smile before a kiss, holding the short Queen close.

Stella

Now Stella... Didn't get violent.

At least not to you. You were her S/O after all.

But the woman was prone to outbursts, usually angry and especially during an argument, the woman able to go from zero to a hundred like it was nothing.

Granted, those fights usually ended in even more passionate fuckings, the two of you having am... unhealthy, yet passionate romance. Both of you aware of the fact yet neither wishing to really change it.

It'd be one night, the two of you at it again, scream and yelling, Stella throwing a pot at you, you mocking her for having shit aim.

Only for her throw herself at you, hitting you right across the face.

You'd both pause, you grabbing her arms, pinning her to the wall, the woman unable to escape your grip.

You'd hold her there, showing her who held the physical edge in your relationship.

Now, this was the first time Stella had actually struck you, as while your relationship wasn't exactly the healthiest, not many are in hell, but it was never downright abusive.

Now, you did have the option to walk away, this potentially becoming a vital role in the development of your relationship and be the catalyst to Stella genuinely changing her ways.

But let's be real, this is Stella were talking about, and you were with Stella, you knew thing about her, so that's not really gonna happen.

What would likely happen was sex.

Hot, passionate, and nasty sex, the two of you going again and again like a pair of Hellhounds in heat, you showing Stella who's the boss.

Youd make it clear that she wouldn't do that again, though with what happened last time she hit you, it was incredibly tempting.

But well, at the end of the day, Stella is Stella and with a sex life like yours, I doubt either of you would really wanna change it.

Husk

Alcohol.

Husk's Sinful mistress. A mistress you tolerated. For a while.

Now you liked a drink, Hell that was how you met. And with Husk, and Drink always became several.

And you had plenty of fun with Husk, both ina nd out of the sheets, but well, there was a limit.

You could barely communicate with the man in the later parts of the day, and with night the man became almost incoherent, not to mention how he reeked of an abandoned distillery at all hours of the day.

Granted, you'd spent plenty a night curled up with the man, Husk drunkenly adoring you, the Kitty cat curling up with you, acting very cat like as he reeked like a seedy bar.

Not that he'd ever admit such behaviour when sober.

But over time, you'd become more adamant that he start controlling his alcohol intake, and with this steady increase in your insistence, came a steady increase in fights.

You'd begin with a minor argument on his alcohol intake, it quickly growing into serious fights.

It'd be one night, you and Husk having plans, only for you to find him absolutely fucking sloshed.

You, sick of your S/O constantly being lost in the sauce, would start screaming.

You yelled at the cat demon, the man quickly yelling back.

You'd really get into it, yelling and screaming, going back and forth, the two of you screaming till your throats were sore.

But it'd be as you tried to snatch the bottle out of his hands, wanting him to pay you, ya know, his S/O, some attention.

And it'd be as he yanked the bottle back, that the man swung his arm back at you, smashing you in the face hit his big paw, knocking you to the floor.

Your face would sting, burning as tears stung your eyes, staring up at the cat.

Husk sobered up real quick as the man realised what he'd done.

There would be a long pause before you got up, sniffling to yourself before turning and walking away.

You'd end up sleeping in one of the other hotel's random rooms, you too emotional and frustrated to care which.

The next day you'd walk down stairs with a swollen cheek.

Husk would be waiting at his bar, the man thinking.

He'd been up most the morning, guzzling 2 pots of coffee to keep himself coherent, the cat waiting for you.

Seeing you enter the lobby, the man would jump up, asking, pleading with you to wait, to hear him out.

You'd pause, staring at the floor for several seconds.

If you just walked past him, ignoring his gaze, the man would be crushed. The cat finding himself torn between the bottle and his want to be with you, a desperate want for the familiar blur of intoxication.

He'd try, really hard to get better, to BE better, but with every refusal to engage he'd become more tightly wound, and unless you opened up, trying to work things out with him, he'd end up right where he began, but this time, it'd be all his fault.

If instead you turned, giving him a chance to speak, Husk wouldn't miss the chance.

He'd apologise, telling you he was painfully sorry. He wanted to change. He WOULD change, he just asked that you'd give him a chance.

You'd stand there for a while, but after a moment you turn to him.

You'd tell him he had one chance, if you saw him change, really change, you'd be willing to work it out.

Husk would agree, swearing he'd do his best to be the S/O you deserve.

Youd simply give him a soft smile, telling you hoped he would. You were rooting for him.

That being all the motivation he needed.

Husk really would do his best to go clean, unfortunately going absolutely cold Turkey wouldn't work, the man almost having a psychotic break at the lack of alcohol, and after finding him in such a state, you made a deal.

You'd ration out alcohol, a moderate amount each day, the man allowed to drink whenever he pleased in hopes it would diminish, if not help to ween him off of his alcohol dependency.

So, that's how it would go for the next several weeks. Husk drinking his daily allowance, working through willpower exercises and general hygiene care.

He'd also spend more time with you, and it'd be over the dates and the nights in that the man realised he barely knew you. The cat realising he'd really been an absent S/O.

The whole thing only solidifying his resolve to be better.

Over the next few months Husk's resolve would grow stronger, his willpower higher and most importantly, your relationship would become incredibly strong, the both of you coming to love each other deeply once more.

You'd never directly say it, but you forgave him for the smack, the man thanking you in his own way.

The two of you living a happy, mostly sober, existence with each other, happily in love and able to appreciate it.

Beezelbub

Fights with Bee would not be common, not at all, as despite her somewhat airheads nature, she was surprisingly mature, as well as able to read emotions well, so if you were ever in a mood she'd be on that like sexy was on her.

But well, we all have our off days.

And it'd be on a particularly off day that it'd go down.

Now, you understood that she was the Queen of Gluttony and a major foodie, the woman always eager to eat or drink something.

The problem was the drugs.

Now, dating her, you'd tasted just about every Sinful substance in Hell, but where as bee was happy to do mountains, you always tried to keep it at a healthy level, or well, healthy enough to not lose it, or developed any serious addictions, something Bee respected.

That night, in particular, Bee was on a real bender, the sort for the history books. If they have History books down here.

It'd be as she liquefied some powdered drug, mixing it into her drink, that you'd try to step in.

You'd ask her to slow down a little, not wanting her to freak out and demolish half the house.

Again.

Bee wouldn't like that, eagerly pulling you into join her, practically forcing the bottle down your throat.

That'd be when you snap at her, telling her that was enough.

You were all for fun and games, but this was too much. Every night?! You couldn't stand seeing her drugged out of her mind, not to mention the alcohol, woman barely able to speak coherently, let alone function as an S/O after her daily bender, even if she didn't suffer a hangover like everybody else.

Bee, while usually the kindest most understanding S/O you could ask for, but after a full night of drugs and drinking, she didn't take so well to you harshing the fucking vibe.

The two of you quickly getting into a screaming match, going back and forth, Bees palace empty by the end of it.

Bee would grow a few sizes, screaming at you, it being as you snap at her, telling her she clearly doesn't care for you as much as she does for her drugs.

The now massive Sin of Gluttony snarling, spinning around as she intended to yell about how much of a pain in the ass you were being.

However she she spun, he now Massive hand, slammed into you, launching you across the room.

Luckily for you both, you didn't hit anything, simply sliding across the palace' polished floors, but it would still hurt like a bitch, knocking the wind out of you.

Bee would shrink immediately, rushing to your side.

You were winded, struggling and whining as you tried to breath, in pain and deep discomfort, unable to do anything as she fussed over you.

Eventually you'd get your breath back, panting and wheezing, body sore from the smack.

Bee would be distraught, apologising profusely, the woman in hysterics, crying her eyes out as she tried to convince you she was telling the truth.

You could let her hold you close, allowing her to apologise, to help you recover.

If instead you pulled away, wheezing and struggling to your feet. Bee of course trying to help, you simply snapping, telling her she's done enough.

Your relationship would he frayed, Bee trying her absolute best to make it up to you, to be better and save your relationship.

If instead you let her hold you, letting the Sin care for you in your battered state, Bee would do everything she could, caring for you until you fully recovered, the woman apologising the whole way.

The two of you would take some much needed time together, talking and working through your issues.

It wouldn't be easy, you making sure she knew you didn't wanna control her, but you wanted to be with your S/O, and when she was higher than a kite every night, that became difficult.

While Bee would explain such indulgence was part of her being. It would be like holding back a laugh to not indulge in it.

It would take soem time but the two of you would come to understand each other on a much better level.

Asmodeus

Arguments and fights weren't really a thing for you and Ozzie.

Like, you'd get into tufts. Squabbles and arguments. But never quite a fight.

But this was different, the two of you getting into an argument.

You couldn't even remember what started it, but it was like you'd both been holding something in for months and it was finally let out.

You argued and yelled, going back and forth, arguing over nothing and yet, everything, neither of you willing to stand down.

It'd be as you screamed yet another profanity at the man, moving towards him to let him know just what you thought about him.

And it'd be as you reached the man, about to scream another explitive, that he'd suddenly spin about face, planning on tearing you a new one, only for a loud 'smack!' to ring out, the Sin freezing in place.

Raising his hand, he'd find it stinging ever so slightly, the man looking up to find you turned away, clutching yourself.

Ozzie, realising what had happened would try to reach out to you, trying to process what had happened.

He'd turn you around, finding you clutching your face, your right cheek already swelling.

Ozzie, lowering himself down would apologise, telling you he was so very sorry, assuring you he meant no harm, he'd never intentionally harm you.

You could pull away, leaving him as he pleaded with you to believe he was sorry, that he'd never mean to hurt you. Never!

This, as always, could be the event that makes or breaks your relationship. You could move away from him, still loving him but unable to truly forgive him hurting you, despite it being an accident, your relationship never healing.

Or, as he stood over you, you could let him care for youthe man pulling you to his massive chest, holding you tenderly as he whispered softly apologies, carrying you to your bed.

He'd curl up with you, checking your swollen face, apologising profusely as he tenderly cared for you.

Ozzie would apologise profusely, the two of you holding each other close, holding the other close for a long, long time.

You'd talk for a long time, softly apologising to the other, you nuzzling the man's neck, the Sin holding you in his powerful arms.

You'd spend some much needed quality time together, the silent, tense moment slowly giving way to a warmer mor intimate moment, the two of you quickly giggling and teasing each other, laughing at how ridiculous the whole fight had been.

It'd be as you shared a kiss, you straddling his chest as his powerful hands gripped your body.

It'd be as you parted, a Web of spittle still connecting you that you'd grin, grabbing his collar as you purred out that you kinda liked it.

Ozzie, snapping out of his schoolboy blush, would grin, the man pouncing on you, the two of you making passionate, wild love all night long.

Congratulations everyone! We've reached 3,500 followers!!!

So, as promised I give you a brand spanking new headcanon, I hope you all enjoy it and I hope you had a fan-freaking-tastic holiday season.

I love each and every one of you and wish you the very best, bye bye.

[berryispunk]

Everything But Us

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: we suffer first we love later, idiots in love, friends to lovers, dual POV, slow burn (but boy! worth it), once again talking is difficult, the boys have an appearance, best friend! Frankie, soft! Frankie, longing, mutual pining, ANGST, love confessions, tiny mention of past addiction,  emotional turmoil, SMUT (🌶️🌶️🌶️), kissing, swearing, wrap it up in real life please, no further physical description of reader apart from wearing a dress and having hair

summary: You danced around your feelings for each other, always toeing the line but never daring to cross it—until one fateful night in October, when hesitation gave way to something undeniable, changing everything forever.

notes: Did I write this in one manic sitting today? Absolutely. Any mistakes you find are mine. Happy Frankie Friday !

word count: 7,3 k

also readable on ao3

How was he supposed to tell you that his whole world revolved around you? That one night back in October had changed everything for him. You were both drunk, out of your minds, laughing afterward.

“Sorry,” you hiccuped, your fingers tracing the one patch on his cheek where his beard never fully grew. You looked at it like it was something special, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be this close to him. Painfully unaware of how even the simplest touch from you set his skin on fire. Your fingers trailed along his jaw, up to his ear, and finally tangled in the tousled locks peeking out from under his cap—the one he was hardly ever without. Your eyes were glazed, unfocused from too many tequila shots. You were absolutely adorable when you were tipsy. Carefree. Relaxed. And, by God, it made him want you even more.

His head fell back against the taxi seat, eyes closing as he prayed to whatever cosmic force was listening that you were too drunk to notice how hard it was for him to hold back. But you were right there, purring next to his ear, your head resting against the seat beside him.

“You’re always so damn sweet, Frankie,” you murmured. “So attentive and kind. Why the hell are you still single?”

The words hit him where it hurt the most— his heart. Up until tonight, he had kept his respectful distance. Admiring you from afar, letting himself be what you allowed him to be: a friend. He even picked you up from all the failed dates, letting you ramble about whatever loser you thought was worthy of your time. He held you when you cried over another broken heart, never once overstepping, even when he wanted to. Even when your head rested on his shoulder, your breathing finally even after a sob-filled night, and he turned his head just slightly—just enough that he could have kissed your forehead. When, in reality, he wanted to kiss your lips. His hand would draw soothing circles up and down your arm, steadying you, grounding you. He stayed longer than necessary, making sure you were okay before he left. Placing water and painkillers on your nightstand because he knew you’d need them in the morning. And you did.

“You’re my lifesaver, Morales🩷”

That was the text you sent the next day, and he had smiled like an idiot at his phone before reality came crashing back. Because even if you meant it, it never meant the same thing to you.

Then came tonight.

The two of you had split off from the rest of your friends, waiting for a taxi on the curb. And out of nowhere, you stepped closer. Wrapped your arms around his neck. Played with the hair at the nape of it like you belonged there.

“You’re so damn cute, you know that?” His cheeks burned instantly.

“You’re drunk and out of your mind, hermosa,” he said, his hands settling at your waist. The warmth of your skin seeped through the thin fabric of your dress—one that you probably shouldn’t have been wearing in the October chill, but you had insisted ‘dress season was all year long’. And, damn, were you right. The way you paired it with tights and Doc Martens was a sight he knew would haunt his dreams. His thumbs traced slow circles over your hips as he held you, watching you carefully, preparing for whatever you’d throw at him next. With you, it could be anything—an insult or the sweetest compliment. There was no in-between when you were like this.

And then something shifted. You looked at him for a fraction too long. Your eyes flickered to his lips before finding his gaze again. You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, and his grip tightened instinctively. You made this so damn hard for him.

“You cold?” he asked, desperate to break the tension simmering between you.

You shook your head, smirking. “I have my own personal heater. I’m fine.”

Then you closed the distance completely, pressing yourself against him. Softness against hardness, in all the right and wrong places, and his head spun. The alcohol in his system didn’t help. He hugged you back, letting your body heat mingle with his. Letting himself close his eyes and pretend—for just a moment—that this was real.

And now, here you were, in the taxi. So close. Too close. Something in him snapped.

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. You leaned into his touch with a small, tired smile, and his stomach twisted painfully. Such a simple gesture, yet so intimate it stole the air from his lungs. He leaned in, just a little, close enough to share the same breath, still giving you space to pull away. But you didn’t. You trusted him. And he would never take advantage of that, so he inhaled sharply, forcing himself to pull back with the last restraint left. But before he could, you reached for him. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, and then your lips crashed onto his. It was electrifying. Addictive.

For a split second, he thought he was dreaming. But then your hand tugged at his hair, and he knew he wasn’t. This was real. And it was better than he had ever imagined. He melted into the kiss, letting you take the lead. Too afraid that if he kissed you the way he wanted to, he might ruin everything. Might scare you off. Your lips were soft but purposeful, tasting like tequila and the faintest trace of strawberry—the lip gloss you had put on before leaving the bar. You tasted like a promise of something he had never dared to dream about.

And then—just as suddenly as it had started—it ended. Your forehead rested against his, your breath slightly shallow. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, something new flickered in your gaze. A depth that wasn’t there before. Then it was gone.

“Are you okay?” he asked cautiously, picking up on the way your expression had shifted. His stomach clenched with dread. Your face paled. Next thing he knew, you were throwing open the window and vomiting onto the street. His eyes widened in horror.

Had he kissed that badly?

Panic surged through him as he scooted closer, rubbing a hand over your back, shouting to the driver to pull over. This was not how he had imagined this moment going. Not at all.

The taxi came to a screeching halt at the curb, and Frankie barely had time to reach into his wallet to pay before he was helping you out of the car. You groaned, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “God, I’m so sorry,” you mumbled, swaying slightly on your feet.

He steadied you with a firm hand on your waist. “Nothing to apologize for, hermosa,” he said softly. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

You nodded, pressing your forehead briefly to his shoulder like you were gathering the strength to move. Then, with a deep breath, you straightened and started walking. Your place wasn’t far, just a few blocks, but it felt longer with the way you stumbled every few steps. Frankie kept his arm wrapped securely around you, guiding you through the quiet streets. The cool night air bit at his skin, but it did little to cool the heat still lingering in his blood from the kiss.

That damn kiss.

He kept replaying it in his head, trying to convince himself it hadn’t meant anything. That it had been nothing more than a drunken mistake. But the way your lips had moved against his, the way your fingers had tangled in his hair—it didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt like everything.

By the time they reached your apartment, you were half-asleep against him. He fished your keys from your purse and guided you inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Alright, let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, leading you down the hallway to your room.

You collapsed onto the mattress with a content sigh, stretching out like a cat before rolling onto your side to look at him. He bent down, pulling your boots off and setting them neatly beside the bed. Then he reached for the blanket, ready to tuck you in and leave before he did something stupid. But then you spoke.

“Frankie?”

His movements stilled. “Yeah?”

Your voice was softer now, almost hesitant. “Did you ever think about sleeping with me?”

His throat went dry. You were looking up at him with half-lidded eyes, your expression unreadable. And suddenly, the air in the room felt suffocating. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to tell the truth. To admit that he had thought about it more times than he could count. That he had dreamed about you, fantasized about what it would be like to have you beneath him, to feel your nails digging into his skin, to hear his name fall from your lips like it was the only thing that mattered. But he couldn’t tell you that. Because you were drunk. And he was supposed to be your friend.

So he forced a chuckle, shaking his head. “No,” he lied, the word tasting like poison on his tongue. “Never crossed my mind.”

Something flickered in your expression—something like disappointment—but it was gone before he could be sure. You hummed softly, rolling onto your back and staring at the ceiling.

“Liar,” you murmured, but there was no bite to it. Just quiet acceptance.

Frankie swallowed hard.

“Get some sleep,” he said, pulling the blanket over you and stepping back before he did something reckless. He turned off the light, lingering in the doorway for just a second longer than he should have. And then he left. Because if he stayed any longer, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep lying.

Winter had come and gone, and with it, any mention of that night in October. You never brought it up. And Frankie never dared to. Not the kiss. Not the question you had asked him in the dim light of your bedroom. Not the way your voice had curled around the word liar like you already knew the truth. So he buried it. Shoved it deep into the same corner of his mind where he kept every other impossible feeling he had for you.

Now, the air smelled like spring—fresh rain on warm pavement, flowers blooming.The chill had faded, replaced with sun-kissed skin and longer days. And with it, you were glowing too. Frankie was trying not to notice, but it was to no avail. You sat across from him at the bar, wedged between two of your friends, laughing as you stirred your drink with a cocktail straw. You were in another one of those damn sundresses, bare legs crossed as you leaned forward excitedly.

“She’s talking about him again,” Benny muttered under his breath, taking a swig of his beer. Frankie clenched his jaw. He knew exactly who him was. Some guy you had met at a coffee shop a few weeks ago. Apparently, he’d bumped into you in line, spilled a bit of his overpriced espresso on your sleeve, and instead of being pissed, you had laughed about it. Frankie hated him instantly.

“He’s just—ugh, I don’t know,” you gushed, shaking your head with a dreamy sigh. “There’s something about him.” Frankie rolled his beer bottle between his palms, staring at the table instead of you. Something about him.

Frankie had been something about you for years.

“I mean, it’s still early, obviously,” you continued, oblivious to the way his grip tightened around his drink. “But I don’t know, it just feels easy. Like we just clicked.” He forced a smirk, lifting his bottle to his lips. “Sounds perfect.” Drowning all the bad feelings bubbling up in alcohol. If you picked up on the flatness in his tone, you didn’t say anything. You just shrugged, swirling the ice in your glass before taking another sip. “It’s nice to be excited about someone, you know?”

Frankie hummed in response, taking another long sip of his beer and glancing down at the nearly empty bottle, as if the answers to all his unasked questions were waiting at the bottom. Excited, right.

Of course, he wanted you to be happy. That’s what he told himself every time you brought up some new guy, every time you smiled at a text that wasn’t from him, every time you looked across the bar for someone else. But tonight, something about the way you were talking about this one was different. Frankie could feel it, tightening in his chest like a warning.

And he knew, deep down, that if he kept lying to himself, if he kept pretending he was fine watching you fall for someone else—

One day, he might actually believe it.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. Frankie had always been the quieter one in your group, measured and steady. A man of few words but with an unwavering presence. But lately, something had shifted. It was in the way he reacted when you talked about the guy you were seeing. The way his usual teasing remarks had dulled, his responses clipped and distant. The way he smiled, but it never quite reached his eyes anymore. You noticed, of course you did. But you didn’t ask. Maybe because you weren't sure if you wanted to know the answer.

Because if you look too closely, you might have to admit what had always been there—what you had spent years trying to ignore. Frankie had never just been a friend to you. Not really. There had been a time, long before that night in October, when you had wondered. Let your mind drift to the thought of what it would be like to be his.

To be the reason behind his softest smiles, the one he reached for without hesitation.

You had wanted that once. Wanted him, but you buried it. Swallowed it down and forced yourself to forget. Because Frankie was good. Too good. The kind of man who stayed. The kind of man who meant what he said and never made promises he couldn’t keep. And you, you were a wreck. A walking contradiction of bad choices and broken hearts. You loved too easily. Trusted too quickly. And time and time again, it left you standing in the ruins of something you should have never believed in to begin with. You couldn’t do that to him.

So you convinced yourself that friendship was enough. That it had to be enough. Because losing him? That was the one thing you knew you wouldn’t survive. But then came the kiss.

And now, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t bury it. Couldn’t forget the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he let you kiss him but didn’t pull you closer, didn’t give in the way you thought he would. Like he had wanted to but also didn’t. Like he had been holding back. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it was nothing. That it was just the alcohol, just the moment, just a mistake. And for a while, you almost believed it.

Then you met him, Luke. Someone new. Someone who checked every box, said all the right things, wanted you without hesitation. It should have been easy, you should have felt relieved, happy even.

But every time you looked at Frankie, you could feel it—the weight of something unspoken pressing down on you. The way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. The way he laughed at all the right times but never really looked at you the way he used to. You told yourself you were imagining it,that you were reading into things that weren’t there. But late at night, when you were lying next to Luke, it wasn’t him you thought about.

It was Frankie. And no matter how much you tried to deny it—that changed everything.

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived at Will’s house, your fingers laced with your boyfriend’s as you stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of beer, grilled food, and whatever cologne Benny, Will’s brother, had drowned himself in. Laughter and music spilled from the open back doors where most of your friends had gathered, voices overlapping, drinks in hand, the kind of effortless camaraderie that had always made you feel at home.

But something felt off tonight. Or maybe it was just you.

Because for the first time in years, Frankie wasn’t there to greet you with that familiar, easy smile. He wasn’t hovering nearby, teasing you about being late or making sure you had a drink in hand. No, Frankie was across the room, deep in conversation with Will and Santi, nursing a beer like it was the only thing anchoring him in place. And he hadn’t looked at you once, even though you were sure he knew you had arrived—if not by seeing you, then by Benny’s over-the-top greeting 

You tried not to notice, tried to focus on introducing your boyfriend to everyone, on smiling and laughing in all the right places. But no matter where you were, some part of you was always aware of him, lingering just at the edge of your orbit. How he kept his distance, how he barely spoke to you. How, for the first time since you’d met him, it felt like he was avoiding you. And the worst part? It hurt. You weren’t supposed to care this much. You had a boyfriend now. A good guy. A guy who wanted you, who didn’t hesitate, who didn’t hold back. 

Then why did it feel like something was slipping through your fingers? Like you were losing Frankie—losing something you never dared to name, but had always felt, just beneath the surface? 

It wasn’t until later, when the party had thinned out and the night had settled into something softer, that you finally found him alone. Outside and smoking, something you always did together. But tonight, he hadn’t waited for you. didn’t even ask. Tonight, it was just him, leaning against the railing of Will’s back porch, staring out at nothing, cigarette glowing between his fingers. And for the first time in weeks, you asked the question that had been gnawing at you since this whole thing started.

“What’s going on with you?”

Frankie didn’t look at you right away. He took another slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a stream of smoke into the cool night air before finally shifting his gaze toward you. His eyes, usually so warm, were unreadable.

"Nothing," he said, voice low and gruff. You frowned, stepping closer. "Bullshit." That almost got a reaction—almost. The corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smirk, but it never quite made it there. Instead, he flicked the ash from his cigarette, shaking his head. "You should get back inside," he muttered. "Your boyfriend’s probably looking for you." The words landed like a slap. Of course he was right, but throwing this at you in this moment felt purposefully hurtful.  Your arms crossed over your chest, not from the cold but from the sudden, unfamiliar distance between you. "What the hell is your problem?"

Frankie let out a slow breath, shaking his head again, but this time, it wasn’t dismissive. It was like he was trying to hold something back, something threatening to spill over.

"You’ve been acting weird all night," you pressed, stepping even closer. "Hell, for weeks now. And don’t tell me it’s nothing because I know you, Frankie. I know when something’s wrong." His jaw tensed, and for a second, you thought he might actually tell you. That maybe, finally, he’d say whatever had been weighing on him. But then he just chuckled, low and humorless. "Nothing’s wrong, hermosa. I’m fine."

You know he was lying. You could see it, the way his shoulders stayed tight, the way he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes for too long. And suddenly, the space between you felt impossible to conquer. 

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. "You don’t get to do this."

Frankie quirked an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"Shut me out," you snapped. "Act like I don’t exist all night and then pretend like I’m the one imagining things." His lips pressed into a thin line, his grip tightening around the cigarette between his fingers. "You have a boyfriend now," he said after a beat, voice quieter. "Things are just… different."

The words stung in a way you didn’t expect.

"Different?" You repeated, barely above a whisper. "You made them different, Frankie. Not me." For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the faint music drifting from inside, laughter from the party carrying on without you. 

And then, softer, almost hesitant, you asked, "Did I do something?" Your brows furrowed, the hurt evident in your voice, written all over your face. His eyes snapped to yours at that, something unreadable flashing through them. "No," he said quickly—almost too quickly. "You didn’t do anything."

Then why did it feel like you had? Why did it feel like something had changed between you, like a line had been drawn and you hadn’t even realized you crossed it?

Frankie sighed, running a hand over his face before stubbing out his cigarette on the railing. "You should go back inside."

But before you could respond, the door creaked open behind you. A rush of warm air, laughter, and music spilled onto the porch. You turned just in time to see Luke stepping outside, his gaze flickering between you and Frankie. His expression didn’t change much, no obvious anger, no accusation, but something in his eyes told you he’d seen enough. Enough to notice the way you stood too close. Enough to feel the tension crackling between you and Frankie like a live wire.

"Hey," he said, his voice even, unreadable. "Everything okay out here?" You swallowed hard, forcing a nod. "Yeah. Just getting some air."

Frankie had already taken a step back. He nodded once at Luke, then flicked his cigarette into the yard, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I was just heading inside." And just like that, the moment was gone. You watched as Frankie disappeared through the door, slipping seamlessly back into the party, into the noise, into the version of himself that had nothing to hide. But you knew better now. Because whatever this was, whatever had been simmering between you for longer than you wanted to admit, wasn't one-sided. And now, someone else had seen it too.

As you sat in Luke’s car later, the air was thick with something unspoken. The only sound was the hum of the engine, not even music to fill the silence. You felt his eyes flicker toward you more than once, lingering just long enough to make your skin prickle. You pretended not to notice, kept your gaze fixed outside, watching the city lights blur past. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope—beautiful, distorted, and just a little unreal.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Is there something going on with you and Frankie?” Your breath caught. It was the question you had been waiting for, the one you had feared. You turned your head, but he kept his eyes on the road, fingers tightening around the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. 

“Luke—”

“Just tell me the truth,” he interrupted, his voice steady, but laced with something raw underneath. “I’m not stupid. I saw the way he looked at you tonight. And the way you looked at him.”

Your stomach twisted. You could lie, smooth it over, tell him he was imagining things, that Frankie was just a friend. But the weight in your chest was suffocating, and you were so damn tired of pretending.

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Luke exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “You don’t know.”

“I—” Your voice cracked. “I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted to hurt you.”

He finally looked at you then, and it was worse than if he had been angry. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes told you everything—he already knew. He had known for longer than he let on. Maybe he could even feel it, that you were never quite there, even though he treated you the way you had always wanted to be treated. And you hated it. Hated yourself for feeling this way, for not being able to be happy with what was right in front of you.

“So you love him.” Not a question—a statement. It crashed down on you, effortless and undeniable, giving a name to the feeling you had denied yourself for so long before you were even ready to do it yourself. Tears burned in your eyes as you shook your head, grasping for words that wouldn’t make this worse. “I don’t.. I-It’s not that simple.”

“But it is, isn’t it?” His voice was quiet, but the weight of it settled deep in your bones.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I wanted this to work, Luke. I really did.” A heavy silence stretched between you. Neither of you had anything left to say. Slowly, he pulled the car over to the curb in front of your apartment. The click of the gear shift the only sound between you. You didn’t ask why. You already knew. With shaking hands, you unclipped your seatbelt, wiping at your cheeks as you reached for the door handle. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered one last time but Luke didn’t respond.

And as you stepped out into the cold night air, you knew this was the end of this chapter and the beginning of a new one you weren’t quite sure you were ready for.

Frankie was barely holding it together. Every day felt like a fight against something clawing at his chest, something desperate and ugly that whispered you lost her, you fucking lost her. He tried to drown it out by keeping  himself busy, working longer hours and spending more nights drinking just to feel something other than the ache. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was.

And then, one night, the thought crept in—familiar, insidious. Just one line. Just to take the edge off. He hadn’t really thought about it in years, hadn’t let himself even consider it, but tonight, with his hands shaking and his heart racing like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest, it was right there. Too easy. The voice getting louder by the second. 

He might’ve done it, too. Might’ve given in if Santi hadn’t knocked on his door like he knew. Like he always knew. Frankie barely got the door open before Santi was pushing inside, eyes sharp, taking one look at him and shaking his head. “Jesus, Fish,” he muttered, slamming the door behind him. “You look like shit.”

Frankie let out a humorless laugh, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, fingers digging into the tense muscles. “Yeah, well. Feels about right.” Santi didn’t push, didn’t pry, just walked to the kitchen, grabbed two beers from the fridge, and tossed one his way. “Sit your ass down,” he ordered, voice softer than his words hit. “And start talking.”

And somehow, for the first time in weeks, Frankie did.

He let out a shaky breath, fingers still rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the beer in his hand. He hadn’t meant to say anything. Hadn’t meant to let it slip. But once he started talking, it all came out—how he thought he was doing the right thing, how he tried to be happy for you, tried to step back and let you have what you deserved.

How it was fucking killing him.

He told Santi about the party, about the way you looked at him like you knew something had changed but couldn’t figure out what. How he avoided you because being close to you and not having you felt worse than anything he’d ever gone through. Worse than any withdrawal, any loss, any mistake he’d ever made. And then Santi said it. Just threw it out there like it wasn’t about to flip Frankie’s entire world upside down.

“You know she broke up with him, right?”

Frankie’s head snapped up so fast it almost hurt. “What?”

Santi sighed, giving him a look like he couldn’t believe he had to be the one spelling this out. “Luke. She ended it.” He took a sip of his beer, eyes flicking to Frankie’s. “She didn’t tell you?”

Frankie could only shake his head, something tight and desperate clawing its way up his throat. Because suddenly, all those nights of shoving his feelings down, of convincing himself that you were happy, that you were better off didn’t mean anything. Because if it wasn’t Luke anymore, if you chose to leave, then maybe… maybe it wasn’t just him feeling like something between you was never really gone.

But still, he hesitated, because doubt was a stubborn thing.  He spent so long convincing himself that he wasn’t what you wanted, what you deserved.  “That doesn’t mean—”

“Fish.” Santi’s voice cut through his thoughts, steady and sure. “You love her. She sure as hell loves you. And if you don’t do something about it now, you’re gonna spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

Frankie swallowed hard, the small flicker of hope battling against the fear still weighing heavy on his chest.

Maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t too late.

It happened after weeks of avoiding each other. After Luke, after everything, you pulled away, trying to get space, trying to breathe. But Frankie noticed. Of course, he noticed. He always did.

So when he showed up at your apartment in the middle of the night, you weren’t even surprised. You hesitated before opening the door, but when you did, the sight of him nearly took the air from your lungs. He looked like hell. Dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, like he had been running his hands through it in frustration for hours. His jacket hung loose off his shoulders, and there was something wrecked about him—something that made your stomach twist.

"You gonna let me in?" His voice was rough, just a quiet rumble in the stillness of the night.

You should have said no. Should have told him this wasn’t a good idea. But instead, you stepped aside.

He walked in like he didn’t even know what to do with himself, pacing a little before finally stopping in the middle of your living room, hands on his hips. The air was thick, suffocating, before he exhaled sharply and turned to face you.

"Are you leaving me too?"

The words hit like a punch to the ribs.

"Frankie–"

"Because I feel like I’m chasing something that doesn’t even want to be caught," he cut in, his voice tight. "Like I’m standing here, waiting for you to just—just fucking look at me, and you won’t." His jaw clenched. "And I don’t know if it’s because you don’t want to, or because you’re too damn scared to."

Your arms wrapped around yourself, like that would somehow hold you together. "I just… I needed time. To think."

Frankie scoffed, dragging a hand down his face. "Right. And did you figure it out?"

You hated the bitterness in his voice. Hated that you put it there.

"I don’t know what I’m doing," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. Frankie took a step closer, and just like that, the air shifted.

"Then tell me what you want." Your throat tightened. "I can’t."

"Why not?" He was closer now, his voice raw, edged with something desperate. "Because if you say it, it becomes real?"

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Frankie exhaled sharply, shaking his head, stepping back like he needed the distance, like if he stayed too close, he’d do something neither of you could take back. "You know, it’s funny," he said, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. "I spent so fucking long convincing myself that I didn’t have a chance. That you’d never see me like that." His jaw tensed. "And then you kissed me. And for one second—for one fucking second—I let myself think I was wrong."

Your breath caught again. "Frankie—"

"But I wasn’t, was I?" His voice was quiet, the hurt in it deafening. "You didn’t want me. You never did."

That broke something in you and you snapped.

"I never let myself want you!" The moment the words were out in the open, you couldn’t take them back.

Frankie froze.

Your hands were shaking, but you pushed forward, because if you stopped now, you’d never say it. "You were safe. You were the one person I could always count on. And I knew if I let myself want more, I’d ruin it, like I ruined everything else. Because that’s just what I’m good at. Being a mess." Your voice cracked, but you didn’t stop. "So I buried it. Every time I looked at you and felt—" You sucked in a breath, blinking back tears. "I convinced myself that friendship was enough. That it had to be enough."

Frankie’s breathing was uneven now, his dark eyes locked onto yours, searching, waiting.

"And now?" he asked, voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because you didn’t know how to say it. But then Frankie moved. Closed the space between you in two long strides, until he was so close you could feel the warmth of him, smell the faint mix of cologne and a cigarette he probably had before he came here.

"Tell me to leave," he murmured, his voice low and unsteady. "If you don’t want this—if you don’t want me—tell me to leave."

Your heart pounded so hard it was unignorable. You didn’t answer, you didn’t need to. The way he looked at you, his beautiful brown eyes you had grown to admire so much, looked right through you. Into your soul, seeing what you didn’t even have the words for. Because you didn’t want him to leave. Not now. Not ever. In fact, for the first time, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be—with him. His hand lifted, hesitated—then cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone like he was memorizing the feel of you. In the quiet of your apartment, the energy altered. Heavy. Electric. Inevitable.

His head dipped, and then his lips crashed onto yours with such force it stole the breath from your lungs, made you stumble back a step. Your hands found his face, holding him close as you melted into the kiss. But this time, it was different. He didn’t hold back like he had all those months ago. His fingers dug into your waist as he coaxed your mouth open, his tongue sliding against yours, deep and consuming. He walked you back with purpose, step after step, until your back met the hallway wall with a soft thud. The impact knocked over a few picture frames from the drawer beside you, but neither of you noticed. Because right then, there was only this. Only him.

The moment your back hit the wall, Frankie was on you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, fisting your shirt like he wanted to tear it off but couldn’t decide if he should. His mouth was hot, insistent, his tongue pushing past your lips as he pressed his body against yours, a low groan rumbling from his chest, deep and dangerous in its intensity.

You whimpered into the kiss, fingers threading through his curls, tugging just enough to make him hiss. It only spurred him on. His hands moved lower, gripping your thighs, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist, locking him to you as he carried you down the hallway, lips never leaving yours, knocking into the walls like neither of you could think straight enough to care. But when he reached your bedroom, he paused.

Breathing hard, he set you down gently, hands still gripping your hips as he leaned his forehead against yours. “Are you sure?” His voice was hoarse, uneven. “Tell me now if you’re not, because I swear, I won’t—”

You cut him off, brushing your lips against his, softer this time, your fingers tracing along his jaw. “I’m sure, Frankie.”

His eyes searched yours, like he was still trying to convince himself this was real. Like he didn’t trust that this wasn’t some cruel trick his mind was playing on him.

“I need to hear you say it,” he murmured.

Your heart clenched. You cupped his face, brushing your thumb over the furrow between his brows. “I want this. I want you.”

Something in him unraveled at your words, tension melting from his shoulders. He exhaled sharply, nodding once before his lips crashed onto yours again, this time with more certainty, more purpose. You gasped when he finally dropped you onto your bed, following you down, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His hands pushed beneath your shirt, sliding up your stomach, your ribs, your breasts—palming you, squeezing just enough to make your back arch. He cursed under his breath, yanking the fabric over your head, barely giving you time to breathe before his mouth was on you again, kissing, biting, sucking a path down your throat.

“F-Frankie,” you gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails dragging down his back as he sucked a bruise into your collarbone. His hands made quick work of your clothes, tugging them off as he peppered kisses down your throat, over your collarbone, down your stomach. Every touch, every glance was heavy with something deeper, something unspoken. He took his time, learning every inch of you with his lips, his tongue, his hands, until you were trembling beneath him, breathless and aching.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped against your skin, his breath hot. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, you cupped his face, pulling him back up to you, crashing your lips into his.

You barely registered him kicking off his own jeans before his hands were on your thighs, spreading you open, gently tracing along the soft skin of your thighs despite the deep-seated need that was mirrored in his dark pupils. His fingers finally found your heat, sliding through the wetness pooling there.

“Fuck. You’re soaked, hermosa.”

You whimpered in response, hips bucking into his touch. “Frankie, please—”

That was all it took. He groaned, deep and low, as he pushed into you, sinking in inch by inch, stretching you, filling you completely. It was almost too much and at the same time not enough. His jaw clenched, his grip on your hips tightening like he was holding on for dear life.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breath ragged. “You feel—” He shook his head, like he couldn’t even find the words.

You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders. “Move, Frankie. Please.”

And then it was desperate. Frankie thrust into you, slow at first, deep and deliberate, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. But when all he saw was pleasure, when all he heard was the way you gasped his name like it was the only thing keeping you tethered, his restraint snapped.

He picked up the pace, fucking you harder now, rougher, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you knew there’d be bruises, but you didn’t care—you wanted them, needed them. A visible reminder of this finally happening.

His name spilled from your lips like a prayer, over and over, breathless, broken. He cupped your face, forcing you to look at him, his own expression wrecked and raw.

“Look at me,” he panted, rocking into you, the friction sending sparks through your veins. “I need—I need to see you when you come.”

It wasn’t a request, it was an order. Your breath caught. The coil in your stomach tightened, tightened, until finally, it snapped. Your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body shaking as you cried out his name.

Frankie groaned, his hips stuttering before he thrust deep one last time, burying himself inside you as he came with a ragged moan, his whole body trembling against yours. You felt it—the warmth of him spilling deep, the way his cock twitched inside you as he pulsed through the aftershocks. A shiver ran down your spine, the intimacy of it all-consuming, overwhelming in the best way.

His breath came hot and uneven against your neck as he pressed soft, lazy kisses to your skin, grounding himself in you, like he never wanted to leave. His hands, still gripping your hips moments ago, softened, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles over your skin. The only sound between you was the heavy rhythm of your breathing, the pounding of your hearts against sweat-dampened skin. Neither of you moved. He didn’t pull away. He just stayed there, forehead resting against yours, hands cradling your face as if you might disappear.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as your fingers trailed gentle patterns up and down his back. After a moment, he brushed a few damp strands of hair from your face, his eyes tired but his smile warm, almost glowing.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle, searching.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, still tracing lazy circles on his back. "You’re asking me that now?"

Frankie grinned, breathless, his nose brushing against yours. "Just making sure you haven’t changed your mind."

Rolling your eyes, you let your fingers glide over his shoulder. "If I had, you’d be the first to know."

His hands drifted down your sides, slow and reverent, as if still memorizing every inch of you. "Good," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

Something tight in your chest loosened, and you swallowed past the lump in your throat. "Yeah?"

Frankie leaned back just enough to meet your gaze, his fingers playing with your hair, his expression softer than you had ever seen. "Yeah," he said, like a promise, like an unshakable truth. "Not now. Not ever."

A shaky breath escaped you, and before you could second-guess yourself, you pulled him down into another kiss—slower this time, deeper. Less desperate, but just as intense. Eventually, he sighed, dropping his forehead against your shoulder, his lips brushing your skin as he spoke.

"So, what now?"

You grinned, threading your fingers through his tousled locks. "Well, I’d say we could clean up the mess we made, but that would require moving, and I’m not sure I’m capable of that yet."

He chuckled, his chest rumbling against yours, warm and solid. "I think I broke a picture frame."

"You did."

"Guess I’ll have to replace it."

Tilting your head, you smirked. "You’re planning on sticking around long enough to redecorate?"

Frankie’s eyes darkened, filled with something you recognized now—something you were no longer afraid to name. His hands tightened around your waist, anchoring you to him. "You gonna let me?" You pretended to consider, but he saw right through you. He always had.

"I guess I can make room for you," you teased, running a fingertip over the patch in his beard, which, from up close almost looked like a heart.

Frankie smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Good. Because I wasn’t asking."

And just like that, the weight of every missed moment, every hesitation, every doubt that had once stood between you disappeared. Because this—him, you, together—was exactly where you were always meant to be.

thanks so much for reading, maybe show some love if you enjoyed it <3

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[willowsnook]

“It was a pleasure to burn” (LN)

Lando norris x golfer!reader

tw: friend’s death

request from @papayadays prompt list here

—--------------------------------------------

Settling down was overrated. 

That had been your mantra for the past couple of years, and at 24, you showed no signs of slowing down. You were at the height of your career, travelling every month, living the lifestyle you had always dreamed of. You could think about finding someone to wake up to every day later. Right now, you were just having fun. 

That’s why Lando Norris was the perfect addition to your life. 

On New Year's Eve, you flew to Dubai at the request of your friend and fellow golfer, Lily, to celebrate with her and her friends. That’s where you met Lando, who was there with his group of friends. Your groups merged for the night, and you found yourself getting to know the McLaren driver, entranced by his carefree attitude. The two of you really hit it off so you weren’t that surprised when you woke up in his hotel room the next morning. 

He on the otherhand, was freaking out. All he could think about when he woke up to you sleeping peacefully next to him was how Alex was going to kill him. Almost a year ago, he had slept with one of Pietra’s friends and he thought it would be a one-time thing, she did not and it blew up. After that fiasco he decided that fucking around with even mutual friends was off-limits; he wasn’t interested in relationships in this season of his life. 

Mind racing, he quietly slid out of bed and headed in the bathroom to shower. He would just act cool about it, not even allowing you to ask to see him again. Yeah, he thought. That would work. So imagine his surprise when he took a deep breath, ready to face you, only to catch you mid-stride trying to sneak out. 

“Where are you going?” He asked, just as you reached for the door handle. You froze, looking back at him with wide eyes, before turning slowly. 

“Oof, this is awkward,” you muttered. “Look I had a great time last night; maybe we can do it again if we see each other again but let’s not make more out of this than it is.” 

Lando's mouth fell open slightly, his rehearsed speech dying on his lips. This was... unexpected. He stared at you for a moment, towel wrapped around his waist, droplets of water still clinging to his shoulders.

"Oh," he finally managed. "That's... exactly what I was going to say."

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at your lips. "Great minds, I guess?"

"Yeah," he laughed, running a hand through his damp hair. "Great minds."

Something was refreshing about your straightforwardness. Most women he'd encountered in the F1 circle were either looking for the glamour of dating a driver or trying to lock him down. But you seemed genuinely uninterested in anything beyond the moment.

"So," you said, shifting your weight, "I should probably go. My flight leaves in a few hours."

“Safe travels,” he managed to get out, and then you were gone. 

The next time you saw him was a couple of months later when Lily invited you to a race in Japan. It worked out - since you were both playing a tournament the weekend before, you were more than happy to extend your trip for an F1 race. 

Decked out in a Williams’ navy tennis dress, you were overwhelemed with how cool everything was, even just for an upcoming qualifying session. Lily was amused watching you, like a kid in a candy store she thought. 

“There are so many people here,” you gushed, waiting up for Alex to finish signing some autographs. “We should have played a cooler sport.” 

She laughed at your comment, bumping her hip into yours, “can you even imagine having this many people at one of our tournaments?” 

“The Open gets kind of close,” you tried to argue but laughed at the look she gave you. 

"I suppose, but it's still not even close to this energy."

As you continued to take in the atmosphere, a familiar figure caught your eye across the paddock. Lando was walking with his race engineer, deep in conversation, wearing his McLaren uniform. Something fluttered in your stomach when you saw him, which you quickly dismissed as the after-effects of too much coffee that morning.

"Isn't that your New Year's hookup?" Lily whispered, following your gaze.

"Shh," you hissed, elbowing her. "Don't be so loud."

"What? It's not like I said anything scandalous," she defended. "Besides, I thought it was just a one-time thing?"

"It was," you confirmed, tearing your eyes away from him. "And I'd like to keep it that way without any awkwardness."

But fate had other plans and Lando looked over to wave at Alex, his eyes catching yours for a moment. They widened in surprise and he jogged over to the three of you. 

“Y/n,” he greeted, “good to see you.”

“Likewise,” you said with an easy smile, forcing the awkward version of yourself down. Lily got pulled away with Alex by a Williams’ PR person so Lando fell in step with you as you walked back to grab a water from your bag. 

“You live in Monaco, right?” He asked, breaking the silence. 

You nodded, “Yeah, moved there last winter, why?” 

“Will you please meet up with me sometime and give me some pointers on the course?” He asked quietly, looking around to make sure no one was listening. Giving him a weird look, you stopped walking. 

“Why?” 

“I’ve been golfing with Carlos so much recently and he kicks my ass every time,” he admitted. “It’s very demoralizing.” 

You tilted your head, not sure if you believed the excuse. “Is this your way of asking me out? It’s very sweet, but again, I’m not interested in dating anyone.” 

Lando laughed, rolling his eyes at you, “You are so cocky, is it that hard to believe that I would not be asking you out?”

You gave him a big smile, motioning down to yourself, “I mean, look at me, so yeah.” 

His gaze traveled down your body, and he nodded, giving you a cheeky grin. “You’re not wrong, but I do really need golf lessons.”

"Fine," you conceded, "but only because I can't stand the thought of Carlos having any sort of advantage over you. That man is already too smug for his own good."

Lando beamed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're the best. I'll text you when I'm back in Monaco."

"You don't have my number," you pointed out.

Without missing a beat, he pulled out his phone and handed it to you. "Problem solved."

You punched in your number, saving it under "Golf Pro 🏌️‍♀️" before handing it back. "Don't make me regret this, Norris."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he winked, then jogged back toward his team as someone called his name.

True to his word, Lando texted you three weeks later when you were both back in Monaco so you met up with him on the course.

The weather was perfect. Blue skies, a light breeze, and the scent of fresh-cut grass in the air. You had to give Lando credit—he picked a gorgeous day for this.

You were already at the driving range, adjusting your glove when he pulled up in a golf cart like he owned the place, dressed in a navy polo, crisp white shorts, and sunglasses that did nothing to hide the cocky smirk on his face.

"Well, well, if it isn’t Monaco’s finest," he greeted, hopping out.

“I’d say the same to you, but I’m trying to stay humble today,” you teased, tossing him a golf ball.

He caught it effortlessly. “Good, because I already know I suck at this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Confidence. That’s what I like to hear in a student.”

He grinned. “Oh, I’m very teachable… in the right hands.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Don’t flirt with me while I’m trying to help you fix your swing. It’s distracting.”

“But isn’t that part of the fun?” he asked, stepping up beside you with that boyish glint in his eye.

You gave him a look, then moved behind him to adjust his grip on the club. “You’re holding it like you’re about to break it in half,” you muttered, placing your hands over his to guide him.

Lando turned his head slightly. “You sure you’re not just trying to hold my hands?”

“Oh, totally,” you deadpanned, then leaned in a little closer. “Now rotate your hips—no, not like that, you’re not dancing.”

“You’ve seen my dancing?” he smirked.

“Tragically, yes. New Year’s was a rough night for choreography.”

He laughed, and the sound was infectious. “You’re brutal.”

“I’m honest.”

Lando finally managed a decent swing that sent the ball sailing down the fairway. He let out a cheer, spinning around to face you. “Did you see that?! That was, like, halfway decent!”

You clapped slowly, amused. “Proud of you. Baby steps.”

They say chemistry is easy to recognize—and out here, just the two of you in the open space, it crackled like a live wire. But after a few more swings and playful banter, you both eventually settled under a shaded canopy, sipping water and watching the other golfers in the distance.

Lando tilted his head, glancing at you. “You know… I actually like this. Hanging out. No pressure.”

You hummed in agreement. “Same. I’ve gotten really good at keeping things casual. No drama, no expectations. Just enjoying life.”

He nodded slowly. “Exactly. I don’t think I’m in a place where I could give someone a relationship. My schedule’s insane, I barely sleep, and most of the time I’m jet-lagged or thinking about tire degradation.”

You laughed. “So hot.”

“Right?” he grinned. “What about you? You dating anyone?”

You shook your head. “Nah. I mean, yeah, I’ve gone on some dates. But settling down? That’s not on the radar right now. I’m traveling constantly, chasing tournaments, trying to stay at the top of my game. A relationship just sounds… exhausting.”

Lando raised his bottle in a mock toast. “To being single and thriving.”

You clinked your bottle against his. “And to fun. Fun is underrated.”

There was a moment of easy silence, the kind that didn’t feel like it needed to be filled. The sun was dipping lower now, casting everything in a soft golden hue.

“Just don’t fall in love with me after I teach you how to drive straight,” you said, breaking the quiet.

He snorted. “Don’t worry, I only fall for women who can’t beat me at sports.”

“Well, then you’re screwed.”

He gave you a look, that spark of challenge in his eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

You smirked, finishing your water. “Come on, lover boy. Lesson’s not over yet.”

—-----------------------------------------------

You saw Lando on and off for the rest of the year, and it really was strictly casual; half of the times you were together, you slept together, the other half, you didn’t. He had converted you into an F1 fan, so each weekend, you found yourself up at odd hours to watch the races. This particular weekend would be good, though, considering that Brazil is a time zone close enough to yours. 

After grabbing dinner from your favorite little cafe down the street, you snuggled into your couch to watch the GP. It was a wild one, the weather causing plenty of crashes and you were disappointed to see it not work out for Lando. You watched some of the post-race interviews and frowned. Lando didn’t seem like his usual bad race self - this time it seemed much worse. 

Sure enough, you checked in later to one of Max’s streams that he was on, and were surprised to see that he was very quiet. 

You felt a pang of concern watching him. This wasn't his usual post-bad-race mood—there was something deeper bothering him. Before you could overthink it, you grabbed your phone and sent him a text.

Y/N: Hey, rough day. Ice cream and bad movies at my place when you're back in Monaco?

You set your phone down, not expecting a response anytime soon. To your surprise, it buzzed almost immediately.

LN: Please. Landing tomorrow afternoon.

The next day, you made sure your apartment was tidied up—not that you were trying to impress him or anything. You just didn't want him judging your laundry pile. You'd stocked the freezer with his favorite Ben & Jerry's flavors and queued up the worst movies you could find on Netflix.

When the doorbell rang, you weren't prepared for how exhausted he looked. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his whole body was just sort of slumped over. Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around his waist, and he leaned into you. 

“You’re okay,” you mumured, rubbing his back as you felt his body start to shake. 

After a minute, he pulled back, quickly rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

"Don't be," you said softly, pulling him inside and closing the door. "That's what friends are for."

He followed you to the couch, dropping onto it with a heavy sigh. "I don't even know why I'm so upset. It's just a race."

You sat beside him, tucking your legs underneath you. "We both know it's never just a race."

Lando ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in all directions. "Everything's just... piling up. The pressure from the team, the media, the fans. Everyone expecting me to perform miracles every weekend."

"And you're too hard on yourself," you added, reaching for the ice cream.

"Says the person who threw her club in a water hazard last month."

You pointed your spoon at him. "That club deserved it. Betrayed me on the 16th hole.”

That got a small laugh out of him and you smiled softly. 

“I just don’t know what to do,” he admitted and you brought your hand up to his jaw, forcing him to look at you. 

“You just have to keep being you,” you said gently. “You are in a battle for the championship for a reason: you are a good driver and you deserve it. Even if it doesn’t work it out, you’re still a good driver. Nothing changes that.” 

He looked at you for a while, deep into your eyes, a small smile seeping through. “How do you always know what to say?” 

“Easy, I’m a genius,” you joked, lightening up the mood. “Now pick a movie please.”

—-------------------------------------

“I just don’t understand the two of you,” Max said to Lando as they got into an Uber, ready to head out to a club. 

“What’s not to understand?” Lando asked nonchalantly, not looking up from his phone. 

“You act like a married couple and you aren’t even dating,” his friend exclaimed. “It’s mad mate.”

Lando rolled his eyes, shooting Max a look. “It’s not like that. We’re just friends who have a little fun together every once in a while.”

“Mate she literally was the only person you would talk to after Brazil,” Max countered. 

“Look I get what you’re saying,” Lando said honestly. “But it’s just casual, we’ve both made that clear to each other many times. We’re both in the exact spot of our careers with no need to put a label on anything.”

“But would you want to settle down with her?” Max pressed. “Once everything settles down?” 

Lando thought for a moment and then shrugged, “I don’t really know. I’ve never thought about it.” 

Max groaned but the car had pulled to the curb, arriving at the destination before he could say anything else. Lando eagerly got out, leading the way to where you and some of your other friends were in a roped off section. 

You were already two drinks deep but that didn’t mean you didn’t catch the way Lando’s eyes flickered over your body, lingering on where your short dress hung tightly against your skin. 

You grinned as you saw him approach, holding up your glass in greeting.

"Look who finally decided to show up," you teased, sliding over to make room for him.

"Some of us have jobs that require actual effort," he quipped, signaling for a drink.

"Oh please, you just sit in a car and turn left sometimes," you fired back, earning a laugh from the group.

Lando settled in beside you, his arm casually draping over the back of the couch behind you. The closeness felt natural, comfortable in a way that should have set off alarm bells in your head. But two drinks in, you weren't thinking about boundaries or what this looked like to others.

"Dance with me?" you asked after your third drink, feeling loose and carefree.

“Nah, not right now, I need to talk to Max about something,” he said and you shrugged. 

“Suit yourself.”

Grabbing one of your other friends, you headed down to the main floor and felt yourself get lost in the music and moving your body. After a couple of songs, you felt a hand rest gently on your right hip and you turned your head to see an attractive guy staring back at you. 

“Is this okay?” He yelled over the music, and you nodded, motioning for his other hand. You wrapped it around your front and danced along to the beat, this guy pressed against you. 

You were having a good time, enjoying the attention and the rhythm of the music, when suddenly the guy was pulled away from you. You turned around, confused, to find Lando standing there, jaw clenched.

"What the hell?" you shouted over the music.

"I changed my mind about dancing," he said, stepping closer to you.

You rolled your eyes. "You can't just pull someone away like that."

"I just did," he replied, his hands finding your waist. "Is this okay?"

You should have been annoyed, but instead, you felt a thrill run through you. You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck as the music slowed slightly. The way he was looking at you—intense, possessive almost—made your stomach flip.

"What happened to talking to Max?" you asked, pressing closer to him.

"He was being annoying," Lando muttered. You looked back over to the section to see Max watching you, a smirk on his face. 

“Whatever, I’m mad at you. That guy was cute,” you whined in his ear. 

“I’m cuter,” he shot back, with a slight grin. You started to argue back, but his lips cut you off, moving against yours lazily. 

You melted into the kiss, your hands finding his hair as he pulled you closer. The bass thumped around you, but all you could focus on was the feeling of his lips against yours, the taste of whiskey on his tongue. It was different somehow—more intense than your previous encounters.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, you studied his face. "What was that about?"

"Just didn't like seeing some random guy's hands on you," he admitted, his voice low in your ear.

You raised an eyebrow. "Sounds suspiciously possessive for someone who's keeping things casual."

Lando's eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Maybe I'm just selective about who gets to dance with my friend."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" you teased, but there was an undercurrent of tension between you that hadn't been there before.

“Something like that.”

—-------------------------------------------------------

The season got busy after that last night out in Monaco and you didn’t really see any of your friends besides Lily for the next couple of months. It was when you were in Scotland for a tournament that you got a phone call that changed the trajectory of everything. 

“Hey dad, what’s up?” You said into your phone, walking through the hotel lobby. 

“Hey sweetheart, how was the tournament?” He asked. You could tell he was trying to be casual but something was clearly going on. 

“It was fine, not my best but whatever,” you started. “What’s wrong?’ 

“Just let me know when you get into your room, okay?” He replied and your heart started to race but you obeyed, moving as quickly as possible to get upstairs. 

“Okay, I’m alone, please tell me what’s going on,” you begged. 

“I wish I was there with you so badly honey, your friend Sophie was in a bad car accident this past weekend.”

Your heart dropped. Sophie’s friendship was something that had stood the test of time, having met one another in elementary school. You saw her almost every time you were back home and chatted weekly on the phone. 

“Is she okay?” You asked panicked, your dad hesitated and you just knew. 

"She didn't make it," your dad said softly. His voice cracked as he continued, "The funeral is set for next Tuesday."

The phone slipped from your grasp, clattering to the floor as your knees gave out. You couldn't breathe. Sophie—your Sophie—was gone. The room spun around you, and you pressed your palms against your eyes, trying to stop the tears that were already flowing.

When you finally managed to pick up the phone, your dad was still there, waiting.

"I'll book a flight home tonight," you whispered, your voice hollow.

The next few days passed in a blur. You withdrew from your upcoming tournaments, packed a bag, and flew home. The funeral was exactly as awful as you expected—Sophie's parents broken beyond repair, her siblings clinging to each other, and you, standing there feeling like half of your childhood had been ripped away.

Her fiance was grief-stricken and you tried to put on a brave face when you ran into him as you were leaving. 

“Luke, I’m so sorry,” you choked out, pulling him in tightly. He accepted your hug, before looking at you with a sad smile. 

“I’m just glad I had her while I could,” he said. “I know we were so young when we started dating but how could I regret when I got to wake up to her everyday.”

His words brought another wave of tears to your eyes and you cried with him, promising to still stay in touch. It was later, when you were back at your parents’ house, sitting on the dock by yourself, that you reflected back on what he said. 

Life is so short; anything could happen. This event shocked you right off the course you were on. You didn’t know if you wanted the carefree, casual life anymore. You decided you want something more, something meaningful, something that would last. You wanted to be more intentional with your life, relationships, and family. 

What was the point of getting to experience all these amazing things if you didn’t have anyone to share them with? Your mind wandered to Lando but you quickly shut that down. He didn’t want something serious. He was the perfect character in this chapter of your life that was ending. 

You stayed with your parents for a couple more days before flying back to Monaco. As you were driving to the airport, a text popped up on your console from Lando asking if he could see you when you got back. 

You hit call before you could talk yourself out of it.

He picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, you—”

“Don’t talk,” you cut him off softly, your voice steady but quiet. “Please, just let me say this.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end. Then: “Okay.”

You took a shaky breath.

“I’m not the same person I was a few weeks ago. I wish I could explain it better, but... something shifted. Sophie dying—it broke something in me. Or maybe it cracked something open. I don’t know.”

“I’ve spent the last few years convinced that fun was all I needed. That keeping things casual made me free, untouchable. But watching someone I loved be buried in a dress she was supposed to get married in? It just made everything… feel small. Temporary. Pointless.”

You closed your eyes, forcing yourself to keep going. “I want more now, Lando. I want something that means something. I want to build a life with someone. A home. Mornings. Boring Sundays. I want the kind of love that stays.”

Your throat burned, but you didn’t stop.

“You’ve been everything I’ve needed this past year. Someone who wanted the exact same things that I did, but things have changed for me, and I can’t be who you want me to be anymore. I think it’s best if we part ways now. It was a pleasure to burn.”

And with that, you hung up.

You didn’t wait for a response. You couldn’t.

—------------------------------------------------------------

You missed Lando more than you thought you would. It had been two weeks since that call and you hadn’t heard anything from him. It was late nights when you were scrolling through your phone that you had to stop yourself from sending him a funny meme or texting him good luck on a race. It hadn’t occurred to you that maybe the two of you were something a little more than casual until now. 

Max had just sent you a frowny face emoji after the call with Lando, so you knew he must be upset, but he never reached out so you tried to shrug it off.

The last tournament of the season was here and you were in Ireland, prepped and ready to go. The first day of practice went by smoothly but you were overwhelmed by the fan attention you were getting on the actual start of the tournament. 

Now you were pretty popular, in terms of female golfers, but your Twitter was blowing up all of the first day. You hadn’t had time to check it, just seen that you were being mentioned a lot, which was confusing because you didn’t even think you were off to a hot start. 

At the end of the first day you were signing a fan’s hat when she said something that stopped you in your tracks. 

“I’m so happy for you and Lando,” she gushed. “I’m a big F1 fan so it’s like my two worlds colliding.” 

You gave her a weird look, “What do you mean?” 

She just laughed, “It’s not a secret anymore remember? You guys are so cute together.” 

She walked off before you could say anything. You wouldn’t have had the chance to anyways because Lily was stomping angrily towards you.

“I thought we were friends,” she yelled at you and you flinched back.

“What are you talking about?” You asked, bewildered. 

“You and Lando?” She pressed, clearly pissed. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?” You exclaimed. 

“That you’re dating!” She snapped. Your eyes went wide as you stared at her. 

“We are not dating,” you said. “I literally stopped talking to him like two weeks ago.”

“Then what’s this?” She asked, pushing her phone in your face. It was Lando’s Instagram story, a selfie of him at this very golf course with the caption: “last tournament of the season for my girlfriend, go get em @.yourusername”

Your jaw dropped, eyes widening as you stared at the screen. The world around you seemed to slow down as you tried to process what you were seeing.

"Girlfriend?" you whispered, the word feeling foreign on your tongue.

Lily's anger softened slightly at your genuine shock. "You really didn't know?"

"I—no," you stammered, taking her phone to look more closely at the post. There he was, looking as handsome as ever in a McLaren cap, the familiar backdrop of the course behind him. "This makes no sense. We're not together. We haven't even spoken since I called him after Sophie's funeral."

Your hands trembled slightly as you pulled out your own phone, ignoring the hundreds of notifications to dial Lando's number. It rang several times before going to voicemail.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. He was here. At your tournament. With that caption.

You weren’t sure if you were going to punch him or kiss him when you saw him.

You found him just off the 18th green.

He was standing beside a sponsor tent, sunglasses perched on his head, arms crossed casually as he chatted with someone from the tournament staff. He hadn’t seen you yet.

But you saw him.

And your heart did that stupid skip it always did when he was near.

You stormed over, not caring who was watching, stopping dead in front of him. He turned just as you approached, the easy smile falling slightly as he read your expression.

“Y/n—”

“You can’t just show up here and post something like that,” you hissed, voice low but sharp. “Do you know how confused I’ve been all day? What are you doing?”

He looked at you for a long moment, then nodded slowly, as if steeling himself. “You didn’t let me talk.”

“What?” you blinked.

“Two weeks ago,” he said, stepping closer, voice quiet but fierce. “You called me, told me it was over, and then hung up before I could say anything. You said what you felt—and I get that, I do—but you never gave me the chance to tell you how I feel.”

You opened your mouth, but he shook his head.

“Let me finish this time,” he said softly.

Your breath caught.

“I was scared. At first, I didn’t even realize what we were becoming. I thought I didn’t want something serious. But then I started waking up thinking about you. Wondering what city you were in. Watching your tournaments when I should have been studying track data. Missing you even when we’d just hung out the day before.”

You stared at him, frozen.

“I didn’t know what I wanted—until I lost you.”

He took one more step, close enough now that you could see the nerves in his eyes despite his calm tone.

“I don’t want casual anymore,” he said simply. “Not with you.”

Your heart was pounding now, so loud it felt like a roar in your ears.

“I want the boring Sundays. I want the quiet mornings. I want you. And I’d only ever settle down for you, Y/n. Because I’m in love with you.”

You let out a shaky breath.

“I thought you didn’t want that kind of life…”

“I didn’t,” he admitted, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Until you showed me what it could feel like. Until you made me realize I’d never be able to find anything better than this—than us.”

You stood there for a second, trying to speak around the lump in your throat.

“I didn’t know,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said gently. “And I don’t blame you for protecting your heart. But I’m here now. I’m ready. If you’ll have me.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming flood of emotion you had buried since the call that day on the dock.

You nodded.

He grinned.

And then you stepped forward and kissed him. Not like you had before—not drunk, not teasing, not fleeting, but real. Lasting. Like something worth holding onto.

[tteokdoroki]

the consequences of constellations izuku midoriya ── ᡣ𐭩 ˙ ̟🩰 !!

⋆˙ᝰ about ! you’re in love with your best friend and you’re sleeping with him too… so you count the constellation-like freckles on his back to cope with the idea that he doesn’t love you in the same way. ( 2K )

warnings ! minors blank and ageless blogs do not interact. nsfw, suggestive, smut, angst. characters aged up to 20s, friends with benefits, unrequited love, mutual pining sorta, experimental piece, i wanted to play around with metaphors to do with space, fem!reader, pro hero!deku.

how do you always end up back here?

the answer remains a mystery to you, really. out of all the things that human-kind are capable of, their powers and prettiness, their strength and their stamina — even their knowledge used to invent the space shuttle that traverses the wonders of the uncharted starry abyss…and you still end up here. 

you always end up in the same place — amongst the crumpled linen of pro hero deku’s one bedroom condo. it’s high up enough that it just touches the skyline, it dips past the surface of powder blue skies into the inky black canvas of night to which you find yourself falling victim to sinful touches and muted whispers of pleasure.

it’s the same every time; izuku calls and you answer without hesitation — come rain or shine. you’ll often tumble past the threshold of his apartment with regret and pain pushed to the back of your mind because you’d much rather kiss him and taste the cigarette ash on his tongue in the moment than think logically or have some sense about you. in your world, there’s no better feeling in the world than deku’s masterful, scarred hands spanning out against the base of hour spine or napping out your curves. nothing beats the euphoric high you get from his hips smacking against yours almost in tune with the beat of his heart. 

he pulls you into his orbit. he places himself at the centre of your universe. he fills you up both physically and mentally to the point where every inch of your body and every corner of your heart is overcome with a scorching need for izuku midoriya, like you’ve been engulfed by the sun, it tingles at the tips of your toes and fingers to the top of your head. when he moans your name after every orgasm you share together desire lights up within you like a solar flare — you feel special, desired and maybe even loved.

but this is just sex.

it’s always been just sex, especially to izuku.

there’s a risk in allowing yourself to believe it could ever be anything more, and yet, you can’t stop yourself from indulging in this sweet fantasy every time you end up tangled in the pro hero’s expensive sheets. how could you not when he fucks you like you’re the only woman he’s ever loved. 

playing pretend in your head while he sends shooting stars of ecstasy across your line of sight.

shame and regret always hits you like a truck right after — forcing you to deal with the derailing reality that is loving someone who doesn’t want you back and sleeping with them just to get close enough to that feeling of adoration. it’s bad in the morning, but worse at night after deku has cleaned you up with a tender touch and tucked you in for some sleep — rolled onto his side as his own breathing evens out and his consciousness floats away into the depths of deep, empty space. 

you think that he’s still sleeping when the constellations of honey brown freckles on his back begin to blur and your vision swims from unshed tears and you curl in on yourself. claw marks and crescent moons from your perfectly trimmed nails have left their mark on his golden skin, etched between sun-spotted freckles and a collection of faded battle scars — if you look close enough, one might mistake the surface level wounds you’ve left on deku’s body as an attempt at scratching through the space-time continuum to be closer to him. 

izuku stays awake, hoping that you’ll find the strength to get up and leave him so that he doesn’t  have to turn around and pretend to love you again. though, there’s a selfish wish rooted in the back of his mind, longing for you to stay. for you to play make believe for a little longer, to wish upon the North Star and beg for some kind of grace from god — hoping that izuku midoriya will love you some way, somehow. 

he’ll fake it for as long as he can, if it means being the only person to touch you and hold you and kiss you. he’ll pretend to rip every star in the sky for you and breathe false affection past your lips with every kiss if it means he can replace the pain in your lungs and help you breathe a little easier. because in his own twisted way, izuku cares about your feelings…at least to some degree. he’d rather pretend than end things right here, right now. maybe that’s his saviour complex and his instinctual, dire need to save people who doesn’t need saving. 

maybe it’s because this little arrangement has gone on for far too long, to the point where he can’t tell what hurts you or what doesn’t.

when the bulking pro hero shifts beneath the linen sheets, you hand bolts out to grab him — and, as if you’re protecting the embers of a dying flame, a fading star between your fingers, you pull him back into your chest. grasping onto him, holding out for something. you’re afraid that if you let go, izuku will disappear into space’s abyss and you might never get to have him like this again. another selfish wish. this time from you, not from him. 

don’t go. you want to tell him. don’t fizzle away. you want to say. you know that it’s wrong to want to keep someone you can’t, who won’t love you, around. it’s testament to how much respect you have for yourself, how much self worth you have. which, from the looks of it, is little to none. you feel like you might die without izuku, even if what you have of him is so little. a plant with a crane its neck reaching for even the tiniest bit of sunlight to grow… that’s how you feel about izuku’s…affections for you. even if it’s not real love, you still yearn for it and blossom underneath it. even if you should let him go because you love him, you don’t want to.

out of fear that he may not come back. 

when izuku says your name, whispers it into the black hole of the night — he treats it as if it’s made of gold. the syllables heavy on his tongue, weighing it down with a force of gravity. “are you awake?” he adds, despite feeling the shake of your limbs behind him from crying. he speaks slow and tender, the gravel of the early morning still in his voice. 

your breath hitches warmly against his bare back like a mist over his sun spotted freckles. “no.” a dishonest answer that would have given you away instantly had the evergreen haired hero not already been up and listening to you cry. you sound strained, stuffy and he knows your pretty eyes are probably a putrid red and that there’s snot stains left in tracks on his satin sheets. and maybe, if he loved you like he should — this wouldn’t have happened, he wouldn’t feel so much guilt to the point where he feels sick to his stomach.

loving you is dangerous territory, like a trip to the uncharted parts of deep dark space. the concept alone is terrifying enough to send icy blood through izuku midoriya’s veins where he’s usually so hopeful and fearless. if he lets himself, for even a second, fall in love with you — there would be a chance your life would change for the worse, a chance that you wouldn’t be able to bare the long nights without him or the weeks where he’s gone. you hardly see deku now, how would you cope when he’s finally yours but too far away from you to touch. you could be in the same bed and he would still be light years away, galaxies ahead of your own train of thought because he is constantly thinking of who and how to save next.

not to mention the very fact that his existence is a threat to your livelihood, with villains lurking around every corner just waiting for a chance to make the number one weak…

…loving izuku midoriya would be like standing still in the middle of a hurricane on jupiter. 

no one would be able to withstand the largest storm in the universe, not even you, and the strength you find in loving izuku. 

still, you’re a liar and izuku knows it. even if he’s not supposed to. the bed creaks beneath his weight as he rolls over to face you, freckled cheek sinking into the cotton hills on his pillows as he finally sets his emerald sights on you. “you must be dreaming then,” he laughs fondly through his nose when he speaks, bringing a thumb up from underneath the duvet to swipe away your drying tears. the ones you tried so desperately to hide. water doesn’t fall in out space, it drifts endlessly and becomes a liquid with no form. izuku wishes you weren’t crying over him. 

shrugging, you lean into the man’s touch, letting deku cup your cheeks and trace your smile lines that don’t seem so smiley anymore. the early morning moonlight ( the sun has yet to rise ), illuminates the stars in his mossy eyes that practically plead for you to let go, and your heart lurches painfully. he feels sorry for you. “i hope so.” comes your tired whisper. embarrassed and heartbroken, you look away and tuck your face under the duvet — chin brushing your naked shoulders, skin bare and bitten and bruised from the night before. “if i am, i don’t want to wake up.” 

“what happens in your dreams?” capturing your chin between his fingers, izuku tilts your gaze over to him — inquisitive, cautious as if you’re an alien life form and he’s trying his best not to scare you away. he doesn’t quite understand you, why you keep returning to him , only to find yourself naked, vulnerable and heartbroken the next day. 

“you love me back, i think. we’re more than what we are right now.”

bitter selfishness tacks itself to the back of your throat like bile — you know that you’re being unkind and greedy to izuku by voicing your thoughts out loud, begging him for even the tiniest slither of love but what’s worse is the lack of compassion for yourself. the endless torture you inflict on your being just waiting for the number one hero to maybe love you back. 

in away, it makes you deserving of one another. whatever it is that the two of you have is no healthier than a pack of cheap cigarettes from the combini at the top of the road. a nicotine addiction that neither of you seem to be able to quit. humming into the moonlit void, deku brushes a thumb over your streaked, pudgy cheek — tracing the tear stains and the tracks left by the lines in the pillowcase. 

his eyes shimmer like the Milky Way on a clear night as he looks at you, strands of longing twisting within the vibrant green flecks in midoriya’s eyes. it must be lonely for him out there — he’s in another universe of his own and you can hardly compare to or comprehend it. “are you still dreaming?” he asks.

reaching up, you grab his wrist from underneath the covers — feeling his pulse beat steadily underneath the pad of your thumb. “i hope so.” you repeat your words from earlier, lashes fluttering against your cheeks — heart pounding. 

“then i’ll love you how you like,” midoriya agrees, masking his sadness with his signature hero smile. the one he uses to let the people he saves know that everything will be okay. even when it’s not. izuku treats you like a damsel in distress and maybe you are. you need saving from yourself, from him and he knows it. you both do. “at least until you wake up.” 

nodding, you close your eyes and lock off the rest of your senses — listening to only the sounds your steady breathing mingling in your own personal pocket of space. time freezes for the two of you, you don’t know how many light years it’s been before you speak again — but izuku’s warmth is still there, still enveloping you like the brilliant rays of the sun at the centre of your universe. he doesn’t dare cast you out into the icy cold of space. not yet.

“then i’ll try to keep dreaming, i’m not ready to wake up just yet.” comes your quiet voice as you lean forward to press your forehead against izuku’s freckled one.

not yet.

he exhales, deep and sad, but cups your face a little tighter and draws you in a little closer. “me either, not yet.” 

not yet. together, wrapped up in one another, the two of you decide that you'll stay lost in the web of constellations for a little bit longer. 

not yet.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[arxiwon]

No Escape from You | Psh

Pairing: Sunghoon x Reader

Genre: Dark Romance, Angst, Smut, Toxic Love

Warnings:🔹 Toxic Relationship Dynamics (Possessiveness, Jealousy, Manipulation), Explicit Smut (Degradation, Rough Sex, Overstimulation), Breakup & Emotional Turmoil (Heavy Angst, Mutual Destruction), Phone Call Breakup (Sunghoon taking full control over OC's relationship), Slight Non-Con Elements (Reader hesitating but giving in), Mentions of Infidelity (Emotional & Physical)

The room felt suffocating. Not because it was small, not because the air was thick with tension, but because he was standing there—so close, yet unbearably out of reach.

Sunghoon’s expression was unreadable, his usual cold stare even more distant tonight. His hands were clenched at his sides like he was forcing himself to stand still. Like if he moved even an inch, he’d break. Or maybe… if he stayed any longer, he’d change his mind.

And you knew he wouldn’t allow himself that weakness.

"Just say it," you whispered, hating how weak your voice sounded.

He exhaled sharply. "I can't do this anymore."

There it was. The dagger you had been bracing for. And yet, it still carved through your ribs like your heart was made of paper.

You swallowed, hands curling into fists. "You're lying."

His jaw tightened. His lips parted, then hesitated. You could see the war behind his eyes, but you already knew the outcome.

He had already made up his mind.

"We’re not good for each other."

A cruel joke. A hollow excuse.

You let out a sharp breath, bitter laughter bubbling up despite the ache clawing at your chest. "We were good enough before."

Before the fights. Before the sleepless nights. Before the love turned into a battlefield where neither of you could surrender first.

Sunghoon’s gaze flickered, but he didn't look at you. He couldn't. "People change."

"So change back." The words slipped out, desperate, breaking. Your fingers ached to reach for him, to pull him back into you, to rewind time to when love didn’t feel like a losing game.

For the briefest second, his eyes met yours.

Raw. Broken.

Then it was gone. The wall slammed back up. "Goodbye, Y/N."

He turned.

Your heart lurched, panic clawing up your throat as you choked out, "Don't—please don’t do this."

But his footsteps didn’t falter.

No looking back. No hesitation.

And just like that, he walked out.

And you stood there, drowning in the ruins of everything you had built together.

Love had never been kind. But this? This was cruelty.

It had been years.

Years since Sunghoon had walked away. Years since you had forced yourself to move on, piece by shattered piece.

And for a while, you convinced yourself you had.

Until tonight. Until you felt his eyes burning into you from across the club.

The music was deafening, bodies moving around you in a blur of heat and sweat, but the only thing you could feel was him—standing there, watching.

Jaw clenched. Fingers gripping his drink like he wanted to shatter the glass.

Jealousy.

It rolled off him in waves, thick and suffocating. And all because of him—the man currently leaning too close, whispering something in your ear that you weren’t even hearing anymore.

Not when every nerve in your body was tuned into the man who once knew you better than anyone. The man who had ruined you for anyone else.

Then suddenly—a firm grip on your wrist. A sharp pull. The world tilting.

"We're leaving." Sunghoon’s voice was low, possessive, deadly.

The man beside you scoffed, stepping forward. "Hey, man—"

One look. That’s all it took for the guy to hesitate, stepping back like he sensed something dangerous.

Sunghoon didn’t even glance at him again. His fingers tightened around your wrist, dragging you through the crowd, past the pulsing lights, until the cool air hit your skin and the night swallowed you whole.

"What the hell is your problem?" you snapped, yanking your arm away once you were outside.

Sunghoon turned, and the way he was looking at you—like he was barely restraining himself—knocked the air from your lungs.

"You let him touch you."

Your breath hitched. "So? You lost the right to care, remember?"

His jaw ticked. His eyes flickered down to your lips, then lower, lingering on the way your dress clung to your body.

Then, he snapped.

A blur of movement. Hands grabbing. Back hitting cold metal.

He kissed you like he was starving.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful.

It was desperate. Rough. Years of frustration, of jealousy, of regret, poured into every clash of lips, every bite, every possessive pull of your hair.

His hands gripped, explored, claimed—running up your thighs, hiking your dress higher, higher—until he was lifting you onto the hood of his car, stepping between your legs like he belonged there.

Like he had never left.

"Tell me to stop," he rasped against your lips, voice wrecked, hands shaking as they slid under your dress. "Tell me you've forgotten me."

You should have.

But when he dragged his teeth along your jaw, when his fingers dipped lower, teasing, taunting, forcing out a sound that was more needy than you wanted to admit—

You knew the truth.

You hadn’t moved on at all.

And neither had he.

The moment your moan slipped out, Sunghoon lost it.

His lips crushed against yours again, teeth grazing, tongue claiming, hands gripping your thighs so tightly you knew there would be bruises. His fingers curled under your dress, yanking the fabric up to your waist, exposing more of you to the cool night air.

His breath was ragged as he pulled back just enough to growl, "I don’t care how many years it’s been. This? This is still mine."

You gasped as he pressed forward, grinding against you, his clothed hardness pressing right where you needed him most. The friction sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, making you arch against him.

"Fuck, Sunghoon—"

He exhaled sharply, forehead dropping against yours. "Say it again."

Your fingers tangled in his shirt, dragging him closer as you rolled your hips against his, a shameless whimper leaving your lips. "Sunghoon."

His name sounded so wrecked coming from your mouth, so full of need, that a broken groan ripped from his throat. His control snapped.

A flurry of movement—he spun you around, pressing your front against the car, one hand pushing down on your back, keeping you pinned while the other yanked at your underwear, tearing the lace with zero patience.

"You don’t get to act like you’ve moved on," he rasped against your ear, pressing his chest to your back, his hand sliding between your thighs, fingers dragging along your slick folds. "Not when you're this fucking wet for me."

You shuddered, gasping as his fingers teased, barely dipping in, spreading you open just to prove how soaked you were.

"I bet he never got you like this," Sunghoon taunted, pressing a kiss behind your ear. "Did he ever make you drip just from a kiss? From just hearing my voice?"

Your nails scratched against the hood of his car as he slid two fingers inside you, stretching, curling, pressing against that spot that made your legs weak.

"Sunghoon, please—"

His free hand caught your throat, tilting your head back so his lips could skim over your jaw. "Please, what?"

He wanted you to beg.

Wanted to hear you admit that no one had ever made you feel like this.

And fuck—you were so close to breaking.

He pumped his fingers faster, curling them just right, rubbing his palm against your clit until you were gasping, writhing, barely holding yourself up against the car.

"I could make you come just like this," he whispered darkly, "but you don’t deserve it yet."

Before you could protest, he pulled away completely, leaving you aching, empty, desperate.

A sharp gasp left you as he flipped you around again, hooking his hands under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the car hood.

His eyes were wild, dark, filled with something dangerous as he unzipped his jeans, pulling himself free. Thick, hard, already leaking.

He grabbed your thighs, yanking you forward until your core was aligned with him.

"Gonna take me like a good girl, or do I have to remind you who you belong to?"

Your breath hitched. "I never forgot."

That was all he needed.

With a rough thrust, he buried himself inside you, stretching you to the point of pain, to the point where all you could do was sob out his name.

"That’s it," he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder as he stilled for a moment, letting you adjust. "So fucking tight. You missed this, didn’t you?"

You could barely think, barely breathe. But when he pulled back, just to slam into you again, harder, deeper, a shameless cry ripped from your throat.

"Say it." His grip on your hips was bruising as he thrust into you again, setting a brutal rhythm. "Say you fucking missed this."

You were trembling, nails digging into his arms. "I missed you. I missed you so much, Sunghoon—"

He broke.

Whatever restraint he had left snapped, and he fucked you like he was trying to make up for every second you had been apart.

Each thrust was punishing, every drag of his cock against your walls pulling out filthy, choked moans that he swallowed with his mouth. His tongue was everywhere—your lips, your jaw, your throat, marking you up, ruining you all over again.

"No one else gets to have you," he growled against your skin. "No one. Ever again."

Your body clenched around him, the heat in your stomach coiling tighter, higher—

"I can feel you, baby," he panted, thrusts growing erratic. "You gonna come for me? Let me feel how much you missed me?"

Your nails raked down his back, legs wrapping tighter around him. "I—fuck, Sunghoon, I’m—"

And then—he reached between you, rubbing quick, relentless circles against your clit.

Your world shattered.

The orgasm crashed into you so hard your vision went white, your body spasming as you clenched around him.

Sunghoon groaned loudly, hips stuttering, and then he was gone too—burying himself deep, spilling inside you with a wrecked, desperate growl of your name.

For a while, the only thing that existed was the sound of ragged breathing, of your pounding heartbeats trying to slow down.

Sunghoon pressed his forehead against yours, whispering your name like it was a prayer, like he was terrified to lose you again.

And maybe—just maybe—this time, he wouldn't.

The heat between you still lingered as you both tried to catch your breath, bodies still tangled together on the hood of his car. Your skin was sticky, thighs still trembling from how hard he had taken you, how deeply he had ruined you.

Sunghoon was still buried inside you, still impossibly hard, like he wasn’t done proving his point. His forehead rested against yours, dark strands of hair falling over his eyes as he let out a shaky exhale. He should have been satisfied. He should have felt victorious.

But then, your phone buzzed.

The soft glow of the screen lit up, and Sunghoon's gaze flickered down.

And just like that—his entire body stiffened.

The playful haze from before evaporated the second he saw what was on your screen.

Your wallpaper.

Not just any wallpaper.

A picture of you and another guy—laughing, standing too close, his arm slung over your shoulder like he had every right to be touching you like that.

Sunghoon's grip on your waist tightened dangerously.

Your breath hitched. "Sunghoon?"

He didn’t answer.

Instead, his fingers curled around your phone, lifting it for a better look. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle ticking. His eyes darkened, the warmth from moments ago replaced by something possessive, something dangerous.

"This is your fucking wallpaper?"

Your stomach dropped.

Before you could respond, Sunghoon scoffed—low, humorless, dripping with jealousy.

"You let him put his hands on you like this?" His voice was deathly quiet, but his grip on your thighs said everything. "You let him claim you like this while you're still dripping with me?"

Your body twitched at his words, still overly sensitive from your last orgasm.

Sunghoon noticed. Oh, he fucking noticed.

And it just made him worse.

"You think he could ever fuck you like I do?"

You barely had time to process before he pulled out of you—only to slam back in, hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs.

A strangled gasp left your lips.

"Fucking answer me."

You were still reeling from the first round, and now he was giving you no chance to recover. No time to think. He was fucking into you like he was trying to overwrite every memory you had with that guy.

Like he was trying to remind you exactly who you belonged to.

Your fingers dug into his back as his pace turned brutal, as the sounds of wet skin meeting filled the night air. Your body was already too sensitive, already on the verge of breaking all over again.

"Sunghoon—!"

His hand grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"Say it." His voice was a snarl. "Say he doesn’t matter. Say I’m the only one who gets to have you like this."

Your head was spinning, pleasure coiling tighter with every ruthless thrust.

"You are," you gasped, "Only you—fuck—please—"

That was it. That was all he needed.

He cursed, burying himself deep, his body shuddering as he chased his release. His lips crashed against yours, swallowing your moans, owning every little sound you made.

"Mine," he growled, "Mine. Fucking mine."

When you came, it was with his name on your tongue and his hands gripping your waist so tight it was almost bruising.

And this time—he didn’t pull away.

Your body was still trembling when Sunghoon finally pulled out of you, his hands still gripping your waist like he wasn’t ready to let go. Like he was making sure you knew—there was no escaping him now.

And maybe... you didn’t want to.

You barely had time to recover before he reached for your phone again, swiping it off the hood of the car with two fingers.

Your breath hitched. "Sunghoon—"

He was already dialing.

The contact name flashed across the screen. ‘Jihyun 💙’

Your stomach dropped.

He brought the phone to his ear, eyes locked onto yours as it rang. One ring. Two. Three.

Then—a voice.

"Hey, babe? What’s up?"

You didn’t speak.

You couldn’t.

Because Sunghoon was still staring at you—his dark eyes telling you exactly how this was about to go.

"Hello?" Jihyun’s voice was light, confused. Still clueless.

Then Sunghoon smirked.

And the next words out of his mouth? Low, dangerous, absolute.

"She’s done with you."

Your heart stopped.

"What?" Jihyun’s voice wavered. "Who the fuck is this?"

Sunghoon tilted his head, still watching you. Still waiting for you to stop him. But you didn’t.

You just sat there, lips parted, body still tingling with the aftershocks of everything he just did to you.

"I’m the reason," Sunghoon continued, voice smooth as silk, "she won’t be coming back to you tonight."

Jihyun cursed. "Who the hell do you think you are? Put her on the phone—"

Sunghoon laughed.

Not a playful laugh. Not even an amused one. It was cruel. A warning.

"She’s busy," he murmured. "Too busy screaming my name to care about yours."

Your breath caught.

Jihyun went silent.

And that’s when Sunghoon really twisted the knife.

"You should’ve known," he continued, "she was never yours to begin with."

Then—he hung up.

The phone hit the hood of the car with a soft thud, but the tension in the air? Suffocating.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering in your chest. "Sunghoon, I—"

His lips were on you before you could finish.

A deep, bruising kiss, one that left no room for second thoughts.

Because Sunghoon already knew.

You were his. You always had been.

And now?

There was no denying it anymore.