#oh and remember: I am also taking prompts

[rabotimagines]

"Party Dice" GN BOT Reader x Skyfire [Smut]

Summary: You get paired with Skyfire during a cross faction game of "interface dice". Or sucking the soul out of Skyfire because your dependable friend needs it.

Genre/Theme: Smut scenario 🔞 MDNI

Warnings: Voyeurism, Technically public Blow job, throat bulge

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours, they, them

Notes: Skyfire is bigger than bot Reader it's not specified how much bigger just that Reader is a smaller bot than him, Made this with Older flirty Autobot!Reader that both the Autobots and Cons are a touch interested in. Readers an Autobot Officer. The gang watches throat goat Reader suck off Skyfire.

Skyfire quickly looked away when Starscream glared their way once more. A glowering sound makes Skyfire glance at Grimlock, who was glaring openly back at Starscream through his visor.

"King," your voice cuts through his thoughts and also makes Grimlock glance your way. "C'mon, I said we gotta play nice until we get rescued. You're doing good so far. Don't let Starscream mess you up." Grimlock's plating visibility relaxed a touch, and a vent left him in a huff.

"Me Grimlock not mess up because of him!" Grimlock shifted a bit on his spot on the floor, his servos moving to grab at his own thighs. Skyfire could only wonder how you knew exactly what to say to get the dinobot to listen so intently to you. Though honestly... Grimlock being here at all was what made Skyfire assume why the Decepticons were so quick to agree to the temporary mutual peace.

Skyfire checked his chrono and made a note on how five earth hours had officially passed. Five more, and then you should be rescued. At least that was what Optimus said- they were going as fast as they could to get you all out. Skyfire was frankly just glad everyone's weapons were also forcibly disabled while in here. Though the glares and stares on both sides of the room were certainly becoming more heated.

Skyfires optics darted towards the Decepticon circle when Starscream stood up and made his way over to your circle. You didn't hesitate to stand yourself and take to the front of the group. Grimlock and Skyfire followed after. Bumblebee and Beachcomber joined from the side and you all waited.

Once Starscream was in front of you, he smirked before placing a servo on his own canopy. "I Starscream as the highest member of currently present Decepticons. Would like to oh so boldly invite you-" Starscream gestured towards you. "As highest member of the currently present Autobots to a game-"

"Starscream, just ask em if they'll play party dice or not seesh-"

"I'm getting there, Rumble!" Starscream snapped and glared at the cassette before turning back and soothing the rage filled expression off his face. He resets his vocalizor. "Yes, as the insignificant runt said- I the great Starscream, am inviting you to a game of group dice. The party kind." He added at the end, his smirk curling a touch further.

"Woah woah-" Beachcomber leaned forward from the back of the group. "You don't mean 'interface dice'. Do you mech?"

Interface-? oh Primus.

Skyfire remembered those from his early academy days. They were a set of dice that you could set for whatever number of players with designations. One had the designations, and one had the prompts. You would roll the dice, see whose designation it was, then hand them the two dice. Then they would roll a prompt, then the Designation dice again to see whom and what they were going to do with them. Than you rolled to see who would roll next.

You crossed your arms. "Bold is right. Asking to fool around with the enemy so soon, Starscream?" You lightly titled your helm and smiled at Starscream.

Starscream's wings twitched, and Skyfire didn't miss how he quickly corrected them so they wouldn't raise higher. "You should be honored I'm even considering inviting you into this Decepticon-"

"Primus, you suck at this Starscream!" Skywarp had stood and stalked his way over to your impromptu meeting. "Oi! We want you to play with us cause we're bored." Starscream smacked Skywarp in the arm with a loud sound.

"Be quiet!" Only Skywarp didn't take to kindly to that and immediately smacked Starscream back for it.

"What's the deal?" You spoke, and they both stopped where they were. "Where they were" being grabbing onto one another's frames and about to start brawling. "We join, and we pass the time together peacefully?"

Starscream shoved Skywarp off of himself and brushed dirt off his canopy. "No- not you," he gestured towards your entire group. "I mean 'you' as in you." Starscream pointed a digit right at your chassis.

Oh- oh!

"Oh no, you most certainly will not!" Skyfire injected first, a frown quickly pulling his derma. Starscream always did have audacity. But this?

"Yeah, no!" Bumblebee stepped in front and pushed you behind him- or tried to push you behind him. You didn't move when Bumblebee pressed his arm against your frame. So Bumblebee just stepped right in front of you and glared up at Starscream. "You aren't just gonna take them off by yourselves so you can play with them all by your no-good Con lonesome!"

"Me Grimlock say no taking either!" Grimlock pointed a digit before he marched over, stood directly behind you, and glared down at Starscream from above. Which seemed to have a much greater effect on Starscream.

"Woah, my mechs-" Beachcomber came around the side with his servos raised placidity. "Maybe we come to a little compromise- we're all still locked together in this big old box now, aren't we?" His servo clamped onto your pauldron while his other hovered over but didn't touch Starscreams arm. "Would be best if we didn't start what we can't do anything about... right?" 

"Right." You agreed.

Starscream's sneer turned into a frown "Fine-" he muttered and crossed his arms. His gaze not leaving you as he continued to glare.

"Now- how about," Beachcomber waved his free servo loosely as if trying to find the words in the air "We all join the game and we'll play till we get tired of it or we go till we get busted out? Whatever we like first." Beachcomber finished the thought with a lazy smile.

Beachcomber had a point. You were all stuck together for the next few hours without any weapons. And nothing would be changing that fact.

The only things that worked on any of your frames were your basic additions on your internal HUD's and non combative items. Your chronos and your internal coms- Bumblebee had a small human game spike had given him, but it was small enough to fit in Carly's pocket, so they couldn't exactly play it- but it did function. If the dice worked, they could certainly play with them.

"Whatever! Fine! Get over here!" Skywarp shouted, making Starscream snap his helm to the side to glare at him instead.

"Yeah, the fragging boredom is gonna kill me before anything else." Rumble crossed his arms.

"We can still crush you where you stand!" Thrust pointed, but his stance crumbled when Grimlock snapped his helm towards him and growled. The sound still rather loud even when in his root mode. "Crush you in this game- yeah, that's it!"

"If you're as horrendous as you are on the battlefield we can just stop." Astrotrain stated with a shrug and an impassive nod.

Starscream's wings twitched, seeing himself out voted and out spoken he turned back towards you with a stomp of his thruster. "Fine! Very well, it will be a full party cross faction event."

"Sounds great-" one of your servos brushed against Grimlocks chassis, and Grimlock leaned further against your touch. And further down to glare even closer at Starscream. "We agree on four rules." You held up four digits with your free servo.

-

Rule one, and the most important thing you said was that any cross faction fraternizing during this game does not leave this room.

Rule two was if someone wants to stop playing, you can't force them to keep going.

Rule three was they would start the games with the "Spike" and "Valve" options for the prompts locked and have them turned on later if everyone agrees.

Rule four was everyone got one "Chicken" that would allow them to get out of one dice roll prompt with no consequences. If you refused to do the second prompt after that, you would not continue to play party dice.

Though Skyfire had no clue what earth fowl had to do with the term or game- it did have some sense to it.

The game started with Beachcomber having to give Skywarp a wing massage. Which was admittedly a touch funny watching Skywarp curse and panic- only to relax and almost order Beachcomber to keep going since he apparently knew what he was doing.

Time started to practically fly by once the game had started.

Starscream and Bumblebee had already used their chickens. Starscream when he was prompted to lick Rumbles pede. And Bumblebee when Grimlock had rolled the "bite them wherever, your choose" prompt with him.

Grimlock laughed about making Bumblebee panic, but he went dead silent when the next round, you kissed Grimlock on the chassis right on his Autobot symbol.

Skyfire even had Astrotrain's digits in his mouth at one point. And now he's sure they were both making a consecutive effort not to make optic contact with one another.

So he instead watched as you bit Thrust on his wing, and he yelped so loud Skyfire flinched. Skywarp and Rumble laughed loudly at their allies' misfortune. Thrust grumbled and tried to kick them before he went back to his spot on the floor. His optics brighter and his wing you'd bitten twitching occasionally.

An hour into the game, Rumble asked if he could turn the array options on or if anyone cared. Bumblebee almost opted out but decided to stay when no one else tried to leave. The hour that had passed going by so quickly might be why no one really objected. So now there was a  1/16 chance you'd get a valve or spike as the prompt area. No one had gotten either of the prompts yet after about thirty earth minutes of the change being made.

Skyfire took the dice tossed at him when Starscream rolled his name for the next turn. Instead of rolling both dice separately, Skyfire took both in his cupped servos and rolled them simultaneously.

The dice landed with a clunk the hologram displaying the glyphs in the air for them to read.

"Get Spike sucked by-" 

The soft joking and ribbing went completely silent. Skyfires optics widened, and he slowly looked at the designation.

It was yours.

Then the room exploded in a cacophony of noise.

"No way!"

"That's not fair!"

"First panel popped-!"

"Uh, do you need to-?"

"Be quiet!" Starscream shouting a bit louder then the rest made everyone fall silent once more. "Honestly, panicking over such a thing. You don't even know if they'll do it! They both still have an out each-"

"I'll do it." You boldly stated, making Starscream stop short before you turned your helm to make optic contact with Skyfire. "I'll suck your spike, Skyfire." You smiled the simple way you did, and Skyfires optics brightened.

"You'll do it?!" Skywarp leaned forward on his servos from where he was sitting on the floor. Almost like he was a nano-klick away from crawling across the floor.

"Yeah." You shrugged your shoulders as if you were being asked to take notes for a classmate. "I'll suck his spike. I'll probably need the chicken for an actually bad prompt. And sucking Skyfires spike isn't actually what I'd label as bad. So? easy, I suck his spike. That is..." Your gaze went back to Skyfire, "If Skyfires down with it anyway. What do you say, big guy? Down or no?"

Everyone's helms snapped from you to Skyfire, and Skyfire was left listening to his own fans run in an attempt to cool himself down. "I-" What was he supposed to say in this situation?! Skyfire cleared his vocalizor unsuccessfully. "Well-"

You cut Skyfire off. "You can use a chicken if you want Skyfire, I'm not gonna blame you."

"It's stupid as hell to waste the chance, but you do have yours left." Rumble nodded, and Skywarp on his right also nodded in agreement. The opportunity to what?! Get his spike sucked?! Well-

Skyfire didn't think you were any bad- he did enjoy your company and you as a bot. You were his friend. And well- you were correct about the fact that he may need it later. Allspark forbid if Skyfire got this prompt with Starscream. Skyfire would have become one with the electrum level impenetrable walls of your current prison. It's also not like he's- never had the fleeting passing thought of you in some manner of- compromising position. Though they were short-lived and never lingered on for more than a lonely night cycle...

It... made logical sense for him to accept.

So... Skyfire will.

With his thoughts concluded, his gaze met yours once more "I'll- do it as well."

Skyfire promptly tried to ignore how you smiling at him made his array start to become active.

-

That is how Skyfire ended up standing with his back against one of the walls and you in between his thighs. The other Autobots were standing on Skyfires right leaning against the wall to watch. While the Decepticons were on his left. Starscream and Skywarp had started fighting over their spots since they were the only ones who were the exact same height. It ended with Skywarp on his knees in front of Starscream and leering behind Rumble- after Astrotrain had grabbed them both by their wings and told them to knock it off before he quote "made one of them shorter than the other".

"Could you hurry it up already?" Rumble wondered aloud.

"Rumble when you're the one getting your spiked sucked you can be as impatient as you want." You scolded and looked up at Skyfire from where you were down by his array. "You ready, bear?"

One of the Pet names you'd often use for him should not make his array become so active so quickly. But it does, and Skyfire tries his hardest not to lean fully back against the wall he was against. "Yes." With that, Skyfire swallowed once before letting his modesty panel pull back.

Skyfire sighed when the bit of pressure relieved itself when his spike properly pressurized.

"Oh slag-!" Skyfire ignored Rumbles exclamation and focused just on your own. Your optics only slightly widened, and your smirk didn't even fall off your face. Skyfire had his own concerns on the idea of you attempting to service his spike- what with Skyfire being a larger frame class than your own. Your unperturbed reaction at least didn't make that worry hike higher.

However, actually seeing his spike next to your faceplate definitely did everything but quell his worries.

"He's going to break them." Starscream bluntly commented and Skyfire had to fight the urge to shove his servo over his faceplate.

Your optics flicked upwards. "Relax, you're not exactly the biggest spike I've taken." Which was certainly a statement in it of itself-! "You think I'm not old enough that I don't know my own limits?"

Well- no... you certainly were old enough to more than likely know your own limits. And you were high enough in Autobot command that Skyfire was inclined to believe the inherit responsibility you'd have to carry with such a position- "If you wanna make it even easier for me just keep your servos to yourself and try to keep your hips from thrusting forward." You again repeated the opening and closing of your own mouth with your digits squeezing on your jaw- "Jaw stretches." you had told Rumble when he asked what you were doing.

"Alright-" Skyfire believed he could do that. Anything to make this easier for you. "Please stop if it's too much." Skyfire did not want to actually hurt you. Let alone hurt you with his spike. Especially not when your allies and enemies were both watching this-

"Relax," you told him with your servos softly brushing along Skyfires' inner thighs. The gentle act only makes more heat pool further south. His spike twitching heavy from the sudden further flux of arousal "Just think of this as a thank you from your friend for all the hard work you do for the Autobots. Okay?" You smiled up at him easily like this was somehow the least you could do for Skyfire- and he found himself unable to refute the idea. So he just nodded with a hum of confirmation.

"Great, just enjoy yourself, okay?" With that, you turned your attention towards his spike. Your servo wrapped around his length, and you began to pump his spike from tip to base. Your servo would hold firmer when you got closer to the tip of his spike head. Your servo that couldn't close all the way around the girth of Skyfire's spike-

Skyfire lately bit back a noise when you ran your glossia down the side of his shaft. Alongside the side of his spike that your servo couldn't touch in your fist. A breathy vent escapes him when you simply run your glossia back up his spike. Your glossia circling over the head of his spike before- Skyfire sucked in a sharp vent when your glossia lapped flat against the very sensitive slit on his spike head. Your servo squeezes lightly on the base on his spike.

Primus- Okay, you definitely were aware of how to work his spike. So when you opened your mouth to take his spike inside it, he swallowed down his anxiety alongside his extra oral lubricant. Your mouth was warm- oh Primus- Skyfire sighed heavy when you slowly took him in your mouth. You stopped about halfway down his length and simply held his spike in your mouth- then your glossia lapped testing licks on the underside of his spike where he was resting in your mouth- Skyfire sucked in a sharp vent. Heat beginning to pool even further up his frame from his array. Moving up to also start settling inside his fuel tank.

You then pulled your helm back till his spike head was again kissing your glossia. Your glossia lapped at his slit twice before you lowered your helm back down. You got halfway down his length and repeated your actions. Bobbing your helm down half his length again- and again- his spike was starting to leak pre lubricant under your efforts. Making each slide down his length now smoother. Skyfire could likewise feel his own inner thighs starting to get slick with his own valve lubricant gushing over his own arousal.

You circled your glossia around the head of his spike making his knees want to pitch inward before off lining your optics. He imagined you'd needed the extra focus- Skyfire made a loud and embarrassing sound of shock when on your next slide down, you didn't stop till your derma kissed the flat of his pelvis.

"Ayo!?" Rumble shouted alongside the multiple exclamations of varied shock from both himself and around the room.

A low whistle sounded on his left "Woah mech." The words told him it was Beachcomber. And if his own energon weren't pumping near deafening levels against Skyfires audials he probably would have been able to make out more being said around him. But all Skyfire could focus on was how hot and wet the feeling of your mouth was wrapped around his spike. You pulled yourself off his spike slowly back to his spike tip- before taking his spike right back down your intake just as seamlessly as before.

When you got back down to base, you paused, and Skyfire had to rush to clamp his servo over his mouth to muffle what would have been a very loud noise. The noise instead humming audibly in his throat and against the flat of his servo. Because Primus- heat rushed back up his frame and jerked heavy against his own spark when you repeated what you'd done- you swallowed around his spike again and made Skyfire feel like you were trying to offline him with your mouth. Another noise begged for exit at his servo, and Skyfire had to let it sound out of his intake again. The pleasure currently building in his chassis making the sounds even harder to deny exit.

You pulled away from his length again and continued to bob your helm from base to spike tip. Skyfire's free servo fisted tight only he had to unfurl it to paw blindly behind him and rest on the wall for extra support. He needed it desperately when he now found it perilously difficult to keep himself from giving into the urge of bucking into your mouth- and down your throat.

"Huh-?" Skyfire did not hear what was said to prompt the noise of confusion from Astrotrain.

"Throat-!" Was said, and it was loud enough Skyfire could tell it was Thrust.

Skyfire glanced left and watched as shock and amazement flashed over the Decepticon's faceplates locked right on you- Skyfire almost choked on his own vent when you swallowed around his spike again.

"Yo! You're bulging out their throat!" Rumble shouted, and who he thought was Bumblebee made a very loud shout to Primus- and Skyfire should be doing that himself-! Because it certainly felt like Skyfire was about to be meeting Primus himself right now-! You ignored the crowd you both had and merely continued your slow but steady rhythm of taking his spike in your mouth and throat over and over- your glossia pressed and dragged firm along the underside of his spike on your next pull backwards. You then swallowed around his spike head instead of his whole length this time.

Skyfires hips jolted when hot pleasure rocketed up his frame. And in a panic, he forced his frame to slam back against the wall so he wouldn't thrust right down your intake. You hummed against his spike tip, and Skyfire groaned against the palm of his servo. His plating laxing around his own pauldron struts when you pulled away from him- Skyfires com pinging made him open it.

> you okay?

It was from you- Right- Skyfire glanced back down to where you were wordlessly staring up at him his spike covered in your oral lubricant- Skyfire pulled his servo away from his mouth a touch "I-... Yes-.... Yes, I'm... fine-" Skyfire assured his glossia feeling very thick in his mouth and the words much harder to find then they should be.

What sounded like a snort sounded on his left. "Sucked him stupid." Astrotrain was right to say because Skyfire didn't think he'd be able to continue being a scientist after you finished what you were doing to him frame- he'd be stuck imagining your mouth around his spike- glitched off how you were making him feel-! You smiled and took his spike back to base in your mouth, and Skyfire couldn't stop his mouth from falling open or the hearty moan that rolled out of it.

His servos instinctively reached outwards, and he stopped them just before he clamped his servos down on the side of your helm for support. He fisted both servos tight before forcing them back against the wall with the rest of his frame. A broken whine of a sound escaped his clenched jaw when you groaned around his spike, and Skyfire could feel you in his paint. You pulled back off his length, and Skyfire's spike throbbed, and his overload hit him so hard his wings stripped their own paint against the wall when they jerked. You quickly kissed his pelvis again- his spike now resting fully in your throat and mouth- and Skyfire's helm lulled back against the wall, and he groaned loudly when he begun overloading right down your intake.

Skyfire was left gasping for quick vents every time you would swallow around his length- as you swallowed down his transfluid- His valve clenching down on nothing everytime you did so. Oh Primus, Skyfire was going to go insane. Finally, you pulled off his length one final time right at the end of his overload.

"Slag-! slag! Slag!" Rumble shouted, and a few vents and curses sounded around him- So Skyfire pulled his helm off the wall to look downwards- and watched the last few pumps of his transfluid land right in your open waiting mouth. You then tilted you helm backward and swallowed heavy. When you rolled your helm back forward, you huffed an audible vent. Your glossia ran over your derma once before Your optics found his.

And you just smiled and gave him a thumbs up-! Like Skyfire wasn't struggling to stay up right on his own pedes after that! Skyfire could feel how his own inner thighs were damp from the practically obscene amount of lubricant his valve felt necessary to produce.

Skyfire vented harshly at the sight and rapidly tried to catch his own vents. Other than the sound of him struggling to do just that, the room was utterly dead silent.

"... Can I defect?" Skywarp asked bluntly, breaking said silence. Only for Starscream to smack him hard from behind in the helm. Skywarp unperturbed just glared at Starscream after a quick recovery "What!? We're all thinking it!"

And just like that, everyone started muttering and talking.

"No, we most certainly are not!" Skyfire could see how high Starscreams wings were-

"We could just- y'know-"

"Primus, I have seen what you have done for others, and I want that for me-"

"Are you okay? Like actually mech?" Beachcomber had made his way over and was now next to you.

You nodded and gave him a thumbs up. But didn't say anything?

A flash of realization came over Beachcombers face, and he patted you on the pauldron with a chuckle. "Oh! Righto mech. Take it easy for the rest of this trip then."

"Grimlock not have mouth for something like that."

"I don't think they'll- expect you to do that Grimlock. In fact I don't think any of us are gonna be able to do that." Bumblebee had wandered over with Grimlock as well.

Skyfire huffed and let his modesty panel close back over his array. He then pulled himself off of the wall. His wings stinging slightly when he did so. Skyfires optic brightness kicked back up a degree and his faceplate begun burning when you met his gaze. "I-" Skyfire reset his vocalizor "Thank you for that. I-" He should just be honest about this right? "I enjoyed it- a lot." That wasn't quite what he wanted to say exactly but you just smiled and gave him- another thumbs up?

Skyfire's com pinging again made him glance at it.

> My Vocalizor needs to fully reset. Can't talk yet. Should be fine in a few klicks.

Skyfires optic bridge furrowed in rightful worry before you messaged him again.

> Nice spike by the way :)

The compliment punctuated with the small smiling "emoticon" Chip had shown you all how to make. Skyfire had to scrub his servo over his faceplate at the compliment and try to ignore the heat already trying to restart in his array.

...They still had a few hours playing this game after all, Skyfire should pace himself. He didn't know what else could end up happening.

[izzy-b-hands]

it should probably be dishes then diner bros, but I think it's gonna be a few rounds of diner bros and then dishes

...if I don't put them off to tomorrow but i realllly shouldn't considering I have a pot to clean from my lunch (on that note, yeah, actually having an appetite now and again in the middle of the day! weird as fuck, can't decide if I like it or not lmao) and I don't want that to be a pain in the ass tomorrow

What I should really really be doing is editing my latest izzy bingo drafts and the edjack one I wrote (based on that newest Sabrina Carpenter song, not who I expected to get me back into pop music but it's an earworm), then dishes, then if I have time before Housemate gets home, diner bros

If I keep typing, then eventually I run out of time for at least two of these things is the thing of it too fkdajsflkdasj

[krosiefics]

is that a bet? • stray kids ot8 x reader

M D N I 18+

Synopsis: at some point of playing ‘never have I ever’, you make a bet that you could make all eight of your best friends cum within 10-15 minutes…and well, you did.

WC: 3.7k (I have issues)

Tags: PURE SMUT, afab!reader, softdom!chan, dom!minho, dom!changbin, softdom!hyunjin, sub!jisung, sub!felix, dom!seungmin, switch!jeongin, switch!reader, piv, unprotected sex (wrap the eggplant yall), same hole double penetration, ass smacking, squirting, begging, overstimulation, hair pulling, spitting, oral (f. receiving), lwk gangbang, praise (pretty, good girl), degradation (slut, whore), light dacryphilia, breeding kink, creampie, biting(?), grinding, pet names (baby, babe, princess, hun, darling, kitten, bun, etc), marking/hickey, probably forgetting some…sorry :P

a/n: this is so smutty i am so sorry…but yw 🫠

You don’t remember how exactly you ended up in this position…something about a bet, yet here you are, half-naked spread out on the floor with eight pairs of eyes burning into your body.

8 minutes earlier

“Never have I ever,” Minho pauses in thought, “nutted before my partner.”

“What the actual fuck Minho.” Seungmin grimaces, though he takes a swig of soju. “What?!” Minho shrugs defensively, “It makes the game more interesting.”

“That’s a fucking lie though.” Jisung snorts as he also takes a shot of soju. “And how would you know that?” You ask with a sly smirk.

“I’ve seen him watch porn,” He deadpans, which sends everyone into a fit of laughter.

“You wanna bet Ji?” Minho challenges.

“Y’all seriously aren’t about to jerk off right here…right?” Chan looks at them in disgust and then at the white shag carpet underneath them, “Why, you wanna join?” Minho pokes.

“I bet none of y’all virgins can stop yourselves from cumming as soon as someone touches you.”

“You wanna make that bet.” Changbin chimes in. You groan at them which catches their attention, “Do you have something to say princess?” Jisung raised his brows teasingly. You groan yet again at the nickname before saying, “I bet I could make all y’all cum in fifteen, maybe ten minutes.”

“You really wanna do this?” Hyunjin lifts your chin with his finger. “Hmm,” you hum, “if you guys cum before I do, a hundred…from each of you.”

“That’s eight hundred bucks!” Jeongin blurts out, you nod slyly. “And if we win?” Felix tilts his head. “Y’all can decide on that.” you state.

You move to get up, dragging your hoodie over your body and exposing your oversized shirt underneath. You turn around looking at the eight boys. “Are we doing this or not?”

Everyone unanimously agrees. It went so fast, the soju from the previous rounds probably getting to everybody’s heads and letting you carelessly make these decisions.

“Oh and rules-“ “RULES?!” Minho, Seungmin and Jisung cried out. “Guys it’s her body, she can make rules.” Felix interrupts their protests. “Thanks Lix,” You smile before continuing, “no touching…well to be more clear no touching me or yourselves…but I can touch you.”

“What?!” They all exclaimed in disappointment.

“It makes the game more interesting.” You shrug, spewing Minho’s previous words at them, the said boy shoots you a playful glare.

You glanced over at the digital clock that hung from the wall. 12:48.

Present

And well, that’s how you ended up here.

Your hand trails down your body stopping at your soaked panties before circling over your clit, toes curling at the feeling.

You stare up at the eight boys, their eyes dazed on your leaking cunt that stains your panties. You let out a moan as you hook your fingers around the material and slip it down your legs, exposing your now bare glistening cunt. You let a finger plunge into your heat, biting your lip. You lock eyes with Changbin, his knuckles gripping at his sweatpants, the outline of his cock bulging through the material. You bite your lip as you stare at his bulge.

The sound of a small whine prompts you to look over at another flustered and painfully hard boy. Jisung looks at you, his eyebrows furrowed and his lower lip is caught between his teeth. “Please, Y/N.”

“Well since you asked so nicely.” You coo, pulling your fingers out of your cunt and crawling ever so slowly towards the round cheeked boy. As you settle by his side, you purposefully arch your back and push your ass out so that the guys sitting criss crossed on the floor behind me have a nice view. You trail your fingers up his knee and towards his thigh

He shivered under your touch as you made your fingers dance along his inner thigh. A desperate whimper left his mouth as you pulled back teasingly and went back to your original spot on the shag carpet.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin breathed out, “you’re ethereal.” His usually perfectly sculpted face contoured into a needy look- yet through his desperation he still looked as beautiful as ever. You moan softly as his praise. “Oh, does our little slut like to be praised?” Minho said to your right, you turned to him and bit your lip, your legs instinctively closing as his degradation surged throughout your body. “Fuck and degration too.” Seungmin hums as your eyes trail to him.

The hot touch of a hand on your lower hips snapped you out of the trace that Seungmin had basically pulled you into. You look towards your right, and there Minho is, smirking as his hand squeezes at the curve of your ass. “Hey!” You slapped his hand away, “No touching!”

“You never said what would happen if we did though, kitten.” The stupid pet name had you squeezing your legs together even more, “Aw, such a filthy slut for us.”

“Shit he’s right,” Felix breathed out, “what happens if we do touch you?” Shit, you didn’t think this far ahead- fuck you don’t even remember what the prize of the bet was…or if there even was one. Why are you guys even doing this again? “Fuck,” Chan groans gently, “does this pretty little cunt of yours want to be filled, love?” You feel his rough hands cup your bare cunt, jerking at the sudden touch. “Y/N?” Jeongin’s soft voice cracked as he whined out your name. You hummed in response as you fought the urge to grind against Chan’s large hand. “Can we touch you now? Please.”

“Oh God,” You throw your head back with a moan as Chan teasingly slips a finger inside your glistening pussy, “fuck yes! Please Innie!”

With that Jeongin springs up to his feet and quickly makes his way towards you. At the corner of your eye, you see the other five move from their spot to get closer to you. “Fuck,” you moan, feeling Changbin’s hands run under your tshirt, lightly teasing your pebbled nipples, “why did we do this again?” A small chuckle resonated from Seungmin’s sweet lips, “Because you wanted to win a bet, right pup?”

You bite down on your lower lip, Jisung’s lips attaching themselves to your clit next to where Chan’s fingers are plummeted inside. Felix helps you out of your shirt as Hyunjin and Changbin each take one of your breasts into their mouth. It all happened so quickly and at the same time, you feel your climax nearing faster than ever. And just like that your release is stolen from you as the four boys pull away from your body. You whine out desperately, “I swear to fucking God if y’all do that again I’m leaving and finishing by myself!” You threaten, sitting up onto your knees.

“Okay, okay princess.” Jisung purrs as he tilts your head up by hooking his knuckle under your chin.

You whimper as he nears your face, “This okay?” you gulp and nod quickly and to that he just clicks his tongue, pulling back slightly. “Words babe.”

“Yes.” you sigh breathlessly, Jisung attaches his lips to yours ever so roughly, a pair of soft hands grab at your hips, placing you down onto their lap. Your legs slotted against your chest being held by the man whom you’re laying on, while the said man leaves butterfly kisses along the nape of your neck.

Chan slipped his fingers out of your cunt prompting you to whine but the feeling of something warm and wet poking at your clit causes the whine to turn into a gasp, Jisung takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

Your thighs instinctively clench around the head that’s propped between them.

“So sweet.”

Jeongin muttered against your folds before slotting his tongue alongside it yet again. “Holy fuck Innie!” you throw your head back, lips detaching from Jisung’s, with an erotic moan, your head now resting on the shoulder of the man behind you. At this angle you catch a glimpse at the the man- fucking hell.

He sinks his teeth into your neck, though the action seems so rough he doesn’t bite down to the point where it hurts. “Fuck, keep her making those faces.” Felix bites his lip, his hand rubbing himself through his shorts. You whine, shutting your eyes as Jeongin continues to assault your throbbing cunt as Changbin moves into massage your breasts. “Look at you,” Minho purred into your ear as he started grinding his hardened cock against your ass, “being so obedient and submissive for everyone, just like the little slut you are.” You moan out at the overwhelming mixture of sensations; Hyunjin nibbling at your nipple, Jeongin’s tongue running up and down your folds, and Minho breathing dirty words into your ear while peppering your shoulder with kisses and love bites.

The cat eyed boy sneakily brings his hand to your cunt and smacks it slightly, not too hard but enough that it stung a little. “Fuck you,” you groan out as Minho massages your core, his fingers dipping further down towards where Jeongin’s face is buried. “No,” Minho tsked, “I’ll do the fucking.”

“Don’t be too rough on her Min.” Chan spoke, you glance over to him and he had his hand shoved down his pants. “She likes it.” Seungmin said confidently, “Right, whore?” You do nothing but whimper at his words meanwhile your body starts to shake slightly. “Answer with words pup.”

“God, fuck yes! I love it- please don’t stop.” You can feel Jeongin smirk against your heat.

Your eyes wandered to the boy next to Seungmin, his eyes stuck on mine as his pretty face scrunched up, his shorts rustling while his hand too was shoved inside, and his freckled cheeks flushed so very red. “Lix,” you gesture for him to move closer, almost immediately the freckled boy quickly rushed down from his spot on the couch and next to you on the floor. He looks at you with pleading eyes, “take it off.”

You grab at the hem of his shirt, he swiftly pulls it over his head awaiting your next instruction. You were about to ask him something but the feeling of a harsh bite on your inner thigh caused you to squeak out instead. Your head whips down to see Hyunjin licking at the skin he just bit. They’re moving so quickly you can barely keep up with who’s doing what.

“Can we fuck you already?” A voice said from your left, your head instinctively turning towards the source. Seungmin stared at you with prying eyes. “Kim Seungmin!” Chan lightly smacked his shoulder, “Let her choose, remember?” The oldest shakes his head at the younger. “Min,” You whimper from the stimulation. “Yeah?” Both Seungmin and Minho responded. “Lee.” Seungmin pouted as Minho leaned in closer, hooking his chin on your shoulder.

Though your senses are so overloaded, you snake your hands down the space between your bodies, shifting your hips up to grab at his hardened cock. Minho’s brows furrow as you stroke his clothed dick. “Desperate are we?” He smirks, “You want all eight of us tonight? Or just a few?” Chan questions, he’s so thoughtful and that makes your heart hammer in your chest. “All.”

”Fuck.” Each boy’s voice sounds throughout the room, they all stare at you with lust-filled eyes.

Your hand that’s still wrapped around Minho’s cock, begins pumping it. Minho hisses at the feeling, precum leaking from the tip. You tease his slit before shifting your hips in his lap. Lifting your hips, you grind down on his cock, your arousal coating his shaft.

“Oh, fucking hell.” Minho throws his head back erratically as his tip pokes at your clit, he could feel as you throbbed against him. He wanted nothing more than to slip inside you already. Unbeknownst to Minho, you gesture with your head for Hyunjin to move closer.

The taller boy obeys, moving into your space, sealing your lips against his. Hyunjin’s hands moved to your hips, gently- yet quickly- pushing you down onto Minho’s cock. Both you and Minho moan out as you clench around his girth.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so well, yeah slut.” Minho grunts before he slams his hips into you roughly, not even allowing you to adjust. “Min, not too rough.” Chan warned as you dug your nails into Hyunjin’s shoulder as he continued kissing you.

“Yeah, she’s still got all of us!” Jeongin whined from Chan’s left. You clench at Jeongin’s words, the thought of you having all eight of them tonight makes you spiral towards your climax. “Not yet kitten. Hold it off.” Minho snarled into your ear, his cock continuously hitting your gspot.

“Hyune.” You whined, reaching down to pump his cock, jerking him towards your pussy that is getting pounded into by Minho. “Shit, you want me too darling?” Hyunjin smirked, his eyes gazing down towards where you and Minho are connected, where you’re pulling him towards.

You hastily nod, nothing but whimpers and moans spilling out from your mouth. Hyunjin shoots Minho a look over your shoulder, the latter smirks at him, taking your thighs and pushing them farther back to give space to Hyunjin.

Hyunjin’s tip pokes at your entrance before he pushes in. The stretch didn’t hurt too bad, but it was enough for tears to prickle in your eyes. As Hyunjin and Minho fucked into you, tears finally fell, cascading down your cheeks from the mixture pleasure and pain.

“Aw, don’t cry bun.” You hear Changbin coo. The built man moving over to you, kissing the tear stains on your cheeks. “They making you feel that good?” He gives a sly raise of his brow, his bottom lips jutting out. “F-Fuck Binnie.” You moan, you can feel both Minho and Hyunjin twitching inside you.

A harsh slap stings on your ass as Minho rubs at the now red spot. “I’m so close princess, can I fill you up?” Hyunjin grunts against your neck. “Yes, God, please, Hyune.” Your body begins to shake as Hyunjin spills into you, Minho following close after at the feeling of your clenching and Hyunjin’s cum coating his cock.

Jisung pushes Changbin out of his way before helping you up off of Minho and Hyunjin’s sweaty bodies, greedily taking you towards the sofa, sitting down and playing you on his lap. Jisung’s cock slips in with ease after being stretched out by Minho and Hyunjin.

You melt into Jisung touch as his hands guide you to roll your hips. His hands make their way towards your ass, spreading your cheeks apart revealing your swollen cunt to the boys behind you.

“Fuck you’re so warm baby.” Jisung groans into your ear. Suddenly another pair of hands are on you, massaging at your hips before rutting his cock between your ass. “Can I have a turn hun?” You hear Felix hum behind you.

You turn your head and give him a weak smile as a go ahead. With that Felix slips his cock alongside Jisung’s, both boys moaning at the feeling. Having almost orgasmed earlier, you feel it build up quicker than last time. Your thighs began quaking as Jisung bucked his hips and Felix thrusted into you.

Your hands shoot up to Felix’s blonde hair, tugging at it when the two boys hit your gspot directly. Felix released a low whimper, “Darling please, I won’t- last long if you do that.” He stumbled over his words, his freckled cheeks a deep pink hue.

You decide to tease the boy, clenching down on his (and Jisung’s) cock, pulling at his hair. You feel as he twitched inside of you before unexpectedly releasing. The freckled boy’s face scrunched up in pleasure as he leaned his forehead against yours as Jisung thrusted into you a few more times before emptying himself into you as well.

“Holy shit.” Felix shook, biting his lower lip before slowing his thrusts, robbing you from your orgasm again. “Save it for me, yeah love?” You heard Chan chuckle to your right. You turn to look at him, flinching when Felix and Jisung ease out of your clenching cunt.

Jeongin helps you off of the other’s bodies. He holds you up when your legs threaten to give out on you. Holding you by the waist, his pretty brown eyes flicker down to your lips, hesitant to lean in. You chuckle before cupping his cheeks and pulling his lips towards yours.

Jeongin groans into the kiss as he grinds his clothed erection into your hips. He pulls away, an embarrassed flush taking over his cheeks. You chuckle before setting him on the sofa like the other had been previously positioned.

Throwing your legs around his lap, you straddled the flustered boy under you. “This okay Innie?” You asked, even though you’ve already crossed that friendship line with him having already eaten you out, you still wanted to make sure he was okay with this.

“Oh fuck yeah I’m okay.” Jeongin grinned, his hands immediately roaming your breasts, squeezing and massaging at the flesh. You hastily undo the zipper of his jeans before tugging his cock out of the slacks. Jeongin hissed at your touch.

Suddenly a hot sting spread through your ass. You whimpered at the slight pain, turning over to see Seungmin glaring down at you. “Bend.” Jeongin stared up at the elder and you in a daze. You leaned as much as you could onto Jeongin before another slap landed on your ass.

A moan echoing from your mouth. With you moaning into his ear, Jeongin grew impatient, grabbing his cock before pressing inside of you. The mixture of the slaps and Jeongin’s cock filling you up made your back arch.

Before you could even begin to process what was happening, Seungmin rammed his cock inside your sopping cunt. You practically scream from the sudden intrusion, nails digging into Jeongin’s shoulders.

The two youngest boys out of your friends absolutely railed you, both stopping whenever your moans would pitch and you would start squeezing their cocks uncontrollably. “Minnie, Innie- let me please, I’m so close.” You cried, that knot in your stomach so tight that it almost hurt.

“You think you deserve it, after driving us all into this stupid bet, you whore?” Seungmin snarled, grabbing your hair and pulling your head backwards, “Open.” You oblige, parting your lips, lolling your tongue out as you understood what the man was hinting at. Seungmin let a drop of saliva fall from his mouth and into yours before harshly pushing your head back towards Jeongin’s neck.

The two boys continued using your cunt until they were spurting out warm ropes into you. Yet again you were robbed from your orgasm as the two roughly filled up your cunt.

“Fuck, you did so well pup.” Seungmin panted against the nape of your neck, leaving a small kiss there before slipping out of your pussy. When you pulled away from Jeongin’s sweaty body, he stared up at you with a wide grin and a dazed look, he looked absolutely fucked out.

Changbin helps you off the boys before pushing Jeongin off the couch and getting comfortable in that same spot, pulling you onto his lap. “You wanna take a breather?” Chan asked, crouching down to your seated level. “No…just…please, I’m so close.”

Changbin chuckled from behind you, guiding you to straddle him in reverse. You sink onto Changbin’s thick cock, the built man’s hands flying to your tits, holding and squeezing them as they bounce with your movements.

You peer through your eyelashes, raising your brow at Chan, insinuating for him to hurry up and fuck you. The oldest of the eight chuckles before slipping his cock out of his pants. “Gonna fill you up so good, yeah baby?” He says before sliding right inside your stretched out pussy.

“Holy mother of fuck!” You cursed, the stretch of Changbin was already overwhelming- but now adding on Chan’s way above average length…you don’t think you’ll be able to walk tomorrow.

Changbin thrusted harshly from underneath you, roughly pinching at your nipples. “Fuck bun, your squeezing us so much, might just bust right now.”

You loll your head back into his shoulder, “Bin…fuck- Binnie please.” You beg, your arms moving to tug at his wavy hair.

“Shit,” he huffed, his cock twitching inside you as he fastened his speed. Chan just watched as Changbin rammed into your cunt alongside his. The intense feeling of Changbin railing into you from underneath had you reeling, though the sudden circling of your clit made your orgasm finally hit you.

Liquid squirting out of you as you cried out, before Changbin released inside of you, Chan now picking up his pace, edging towards his climax.

“I know love, I’m sorry…just a few more.” Chan cooed as you whimpered from the overstimulation, he continued railing into you, not stopping when Changbin had pulled out of you.

Chan nuzzled his face into your neck, leaving kisses and sucking at the skin there. “Almost there love, gonna fill you up so good, yeah. You’ve been such a good girl for us.” His praise had you crying out, squeezing around his cock. At that Chan finally came, filling you up with his warm release.

Chan slowly eased out of you before gently moving you to lay on the less dirty part of the couch.

“Imma go get the towels.” A voice you’re not even sure who’s said. “I’ll get her some water.” Another stated.

Sometime later, Felix returned with some damp warm towels. As he wiped your lower region, you flinched at the sensitivity. “I’m sorry darling, almost done.”

A sudden hand gently raised your head from the back, supporting you to sit up. “You okay? We didn’t go too rough on you, right?” Seungmin asked as Minho handed you a glass of water. You took the glass with an appreciative smile.

“You guys were fine- oh.”

“Oh?” Hyunjin smiled in confusion. “The time.” You said pointing at the digital clock. 1:03. Exactly fifteen minutes.

“I win.” Some of the boys groaned while some chuckled, a bet is a bet after all.

taglist: @katsukis1wife

[xoxojisu]

"LALALALA"

synopsis: yapper reader x listener katsuki. in which you finally get to see katsuki!

notes: grumpy x sunshine also. basically just yap yap yap reader and bro stfu katsuki. based on some prompt i remember seeing forever ago. deviating from my usual 'reader and katsuki childhood friends go to ua tg' bc this is such a cute idea

the field is buzzing, students from different hero schools gathering in small groups and instructors calling out over the noise generating quite the racket. there’s tension, excitement, and a bit of rivalry in the air. class 1-a stands off to the side, eyes scanning the new arrivals. bakugo stands isolated from the group with his arms crossed, mouth already in a deep scowl.

he hates group exercises. hates surprise training simulations. hates-

“katsuki!!”

and then it happens.

a blur comes flying in from the other side of the field. he hears it before he sees it, and by the time he turns his head, it’s too late. you launch yourself at him from behind, tackling him in a full-body hug that actually makes him take a step forward. his body tenses immediately, hands twitching instinctively like he might throw you off-

but he doesn’t. he would never.

“kats! kats!” you giggle, climbing halfway up his back like he’s your personal jungle gym. you hook your chin over his shoulder, big goofy grin stretching across your face as you hug him tight. “hi!!”

there’s a long pause. bakugo doesn’t move. doesn’t shout. doesn’t blow anything up. the whole world stills in suspense.

eventually, he sighs, a hint of a not-angry expression present on his face. "hi."

“uh… are we… seeing this?” kirishima says under his breath, eyes wide.

“kats, i swear, it feels like it’s been forever since i’ve seen you! i mean, seriously, how is it that we’re both doing this hero thing and still barely getting any time to hang out? it’s like the universe just hates us or something. i’ve been stuck in this crazy hellfire intensity training like all week, and it’s not even the fun kind, it’s just endless drills and lectures and like ugh ohmygod, i’m so over it. anyway, i missed you kats!! how are you? healthy? well? making friends? wait, who am i kidding. youre definitely healthy because youre like a health-conscious old man, and definitely no friends."

you’re talking so fast he doesn’t have time to respond to anything. he just stares down at you, not saying a word or moving an inch.

eventually, he reaches out, drops a heavy hand onto your head, and mutters, “shut up.”

you beam like he just handed you flowers. “there he is,” you giggle, grabbing his arm and hugging it to your chest. “so grumpy. so cute. i miiiissed you!”

he grumbles something pissy under his breath, but makes no move to pull away.

aizawa’s voice cuts through the air. “pair off.”

despite you already hanging on him, bakugo grabs you immediately. “we’re teaming up.”

“wait, what?” mina says from behind him. “you’re not gonna work with us?”

“we’re teaming up,” he snaps again, louder this time, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“but you always-”

“shut up. all of you. shut. the fuck. up.”

you’re already bouncing beside him, eyes bright. “oh my god, kats, i have so many ideas. okay, okay—what if you blow a hole in the wall and you know how i texted you last week about that new feature on my costume? i could use that to- wait! or we could climb over the roof and-”

“you talk too much,” he mutters, dragging you along gently despite his annoyed expression.

“you love it,” you sing, completely unbothered.

he doesn’t answer.

but the tiniest corner of his mouth tugs up.

masterlist

[queers-gambit]

Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - under the checkered flag (part six)

warnings ; oral (f recieving), handjob kinda, lowkey breeding kink at one point, unprotected sex (18+)

prompt ; in which a girl who doesn’t believe in risks takes the biggest one of all—falling for a man who lives for the thrill.

note ; wow!!!! part 6��� the final part :( guys i am SO sad about this. this is my first series for a bts member and the community that you guys have formed in my comments, all your love and feedback, mean the WORLD to me. thank you so much <3 with that being said, please enjoy this chapter, it was so fun to write. psa! under the taglist is a surprise.. my inbox is open ;)

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series masterlist here

There’s no official conversation about it, no moment where you decide, Yes, I’m going to spend every waking hour at Jungkook’s house, making sure he doesn’t do anything stupid while he heals.

It just… happens.

And he lets it happen.

Because somewhere between making sure he eats, fluffing his pillows, sitting beside him on the couch as he watches races he’s too injured to compete in, somewhere between all of that, something shifts.

It’s in the small things. Things that should feel normal, should feel harmless, but don’t.

Like the way you absentmindedly fix his hair, your fingers running through the messy strands without a second thought.

It happens the first time when you’re both sitting on the couch, him scrolling through his phone, you flipping through a book. His hair is falling into his eyes, and without thinking, you reach over, brushing it back, smoothing it down with gentle fingers.

Your hand lingers for a second too long, fingertips brushing the warmth of his skin before you realize what you’re doing.

Your eyes widen, pulling back quickly. “Oh. Sorry.”

But Jungkook just stares at you, his lips twitching slightly, before he hums.

“Nah.” His voice is low, unreadable, and thens softer: “I liked it.”

Damn him. Because that’s when it starts, like a landslide that was long overdue.

Then, there’s the hand thing.

Apparently, Jungkook has developed a habit of grabbing your hand whenever you walk by him. The first time, you think it’s an accident. The second time, it’s not.

You’re walking past the couch, heading toward the kitchen, and suddenly, warm fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging lightly. You stumble slightly, glancing down at him, wide-eyed. “What?”

Jungkook just shrugs, gaze too casual, too innocent.

“Dunno.” His thumb brushes against the inside of your wrist, barely noticeable, but you notice. “Just wanted you closer for a second.”

You swallow hard, the warmth of his skin buzzing against yours, and then you can’t remember why you were going to the kitchen in the first place.

There’s also the way he watches you when you cook.

It starts with little things, like him sitting on the counter, swinging his legs like a child, stealing pieces of whatever you’re chopping.

Then it turns into something else entirely.

One night, you’re standing in his kitchen, stirring a pot of pasta, and you feel it. The weight of his gaze. You turn slightly, meeting his eyes across the kitchen island, and your heart is in your throat.

Jungkook isn’t just watching you. He’s looking at you like you hung the damn moon, like he’s never seen anything—anyone—more captivating.

You try to play it off, clearing your throat. “Why are you staring at me?”

Jungkook leans forward slightly, resting his chin on his palm, a small smirk playing at his lips.

“Because you’re cute when you cook,” he says simply.

Your hands fumble on the spoon, nearly dropping it into the pot. You glare. “Shut up.”

Jungkook laughs in response, soft and warm.

Despite your best efforts, despite the walls you’ve built and the sharp edges you’ve wielded like armor, you feel it. The way your pulse stumbles every time Jungkook looks at you like that. The way your mind stops moving when he leans in too close, his voice curling around your spine like smoke. The way your hands clench into fists, desperate to feign control when all you want to do is give in. And really, there’s no denying anything after the moment that shatters your last defense.

You’re half-asleep, stumbling into the kitchen early in the morning, yawning and stretching as you open the fridge. You’re not thinking, noteven remotely aware, until you hear, “Baby.”

Your blood runs cold. You turn slowly, only to find Jungkook sitting at the kitchen table, completely still, eyes locked onto you like you just did something illegal. And that’s when you realize you are wearing his hoodie.

Not just any hoodie. His favorite hoodie.

Oversized, drowning you in fabric, sleeves covering your hands, the hem brushing against the middle of your thighs. It was the first thing you found in the dark of his room yesterday as you were going to bed.

Your face erupts in flames. “I—”

Jungkook just leans back, his tongue swiping along his bottom lip, eyes dark and unreadable. “You look good in my clothes,” he murmurs.

You squeak, turn around, pretending to be extremely invested in the contents of the fridge, because you are not equipped to deal with this right now. Jungkook just laughs, shaking his head as he sips his coffee.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The movie is playing, yet neither of you are watching.

The volume is low, voices murmuring from the screen, but the real story—the real gravity of the moment—is here, on the couch. Jungkook is stretched out, his head resting in your lap, his body completely at ease beneath your touch. His eyes are closed, his breathing slow and steady, like he could drift off at any second. Your fingers are in his hair, lightly threading through the dark strands, brushing against his scalp in soft, lazy motions. You’re not even thinking about it.

It’s automatic now—something so natural, so easy, that it barely registers.

"You like taking care of me, huh?" His voice is low, teasing, and you feel it vibrate against your thigh where he’s resting.

Your fingers freeze mid-motion. You scoff, shaking your head, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck.

"You wish," you mutter.

Jungkook grins, his eyes still closed, completely unfazed by your weak attempt at denial.

"You do," he hums, tilting his head slightly. "I can feel it in your hands."

Your fingers are still in his hair, but now they’re trembling slightly. His smirk grows, but he doesn’t push further. Instead, he sighs, stretching slightly against the couch.

"You should be working," he muses. "Not playing house with me."

You huff, finally snapping out of it, rolling your eyes. "You’re making it sound like I’m skipping work entirely."

"You’re here a lot."

You pause.

He’s not wrong.

You’ve been here every day since the hospital. And the thing is, it hasn’t even felt like an inconvenience. It’s just where you want to be.

Still, you try to play it off.

"I’m still working," you insist. "I answer emails, take calls. Plus, Jisoo’s been covering a lot of my work. It’s fine."

Jungkook hums, like he’s not fully convinced. "You should quit and take care of me full-time."

You snort, flicking his forehead lightly. "Yeah, that’s exactly what I want. Becoming Jeon Jungkook’s personal assistant."

"You already do everything for me anyway," he murmurs, voice dropping slightly. "Might as well make it official."

You roll your eyes. "Shut up and watch the movie."

But Jungkook doesn’t watch the movie.

In fact, he opens his eyes and his gaze finds yours, deep, dark. His smirk fades, his expression softening just slightly, like something unspoken is hanging between you both.

The room feels smaller, the air heavier, and you realize you’re still touching him, still stroking his hair, still so close.

Jungkook notices it, too. His tongue flicks out, wetting his bottom lip, and your eyes catch on the silver ring piercing through the skin.

Your stomach flips. Your heart pounds. And before you can stop yourself, you lean down and kiss him.

The moment your lips meet, Jungkook goes completely still. For a second, you think you’ve ruined everything. For a second, you panic, about to pull away, and then Jungkook reaches up, his fingers curling around the back of your neck, and pulls you deeper.

The kiss is slow, unhurried, filled with everything you’ve both been holding back since the hospital.

It’s soft at first, like you’re memorizing the way he feels, the way his lips move against yours. Jungkook sighs into your mouth, his fingers tightening slightly against your skin, and it’s hungrier, needy, dangerous in the way it completely ruins you.

His lip ring is cool against your mouth, the sensation sending shivers down your spine, and Jungkook must noticebecause he groans softly, pressing closer, deeper, like he can’t get enough.

You don’t know how long it lasts. Minutes. Hours. A lifetime. All you know is neither of you want to let go.

When you finally pull away, breathless, wide-eyed, Jungkook’s gaze is locked onto yours, his lips still parted, swollen, pink, wrecked.

"Shit," he breathes, chest rising and falling too fast.

You don’t know what to do. Your pulse is a war drum, relentless and deafening, each beat crashing against your ribs like a tidal wave. The world around you blurs, drowned out by the rush of blood roaring in your ears like the aftershock of something unstoppable, something you can’t take back. and you don’t know if it’s from the kiss or from the realization that you just did that. You kissed him first.

Jungkook: your friend, your maybe-something-more.

He just stares at you, his lips still parted, still pink and wrecked from your mouth, like he’s trying to figure something out.

His head tilts slightly, his dark eyes tracing every inch of your face, and his voice comes out soft, teasing, but careful. “Did you just kiss me because you feel bad for me?"

You blink, stiffening, “Excuse me?"

Jungkook’s lips twitch, and you immediately recognize the mischief forming in his expression.

"I mean," he hums, stretching slightly, lazy and smug, "I am injured. It’s possible you’re just doing a good deed, you know? Kissing the wounded, lifting morale—"

Your face erupts in flames. “Jungkook," you hiss, shoving at his shoulder.

He laughs, tilting his head back against the couch, completely unbothered, and you want to die.

You bury your face in your hands. "Oh my God."

"Don’t be shy now," he grins. "You started it."

You groan. Technically, he’s right. You did start it. You kissed him. And even worse? You don’t regret it, not even a little bit.

Still, you struggle to recover, clearing your throat as you attempt to calm the wildfire spreading through your chest.

"When do you stop being annoying?” you mutter, shaking your head.

"Never."

You glare, but your face is still burning, and you know he can see it.

His grin softens, the teasing flickering into something warmer.”So, what is it then? Why’d you kiss me?"

Your stomach twists, a knot pulled too tight, unraveling something you can’t control. Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that betrays you. And for once, you have no words, because the truth is, you don’t know when this happened. You don’t know how it happened.

All you know is that it did. Somewhere between the stolen glances and the sharp-edged banter, between the push and pull, the lines blurred. And now it feels like the ground beneath you is cracking, like the world you built so carefully is crumbling at his feet.

All you know is that Jungkook is in every part of your day now. That he’s the first person you think about when something funny happens at work. That you check your phone more times than you should, waiting for his name to pop up. That being around him feels easy, but missing him feels unbearable.

So when you finally speak, the words fall out of you before you can stop them. “I don’t know when I started needing you in my life this bad."

Jungkook stills completely, his expression flickering, his eyes searching yours.

Silence. Hanging between you like a thread stretched too thin. Your chest is rising and falling too fast, your heart pounding so loudly it’s all you can hear.

He’s just staring at you, like you just said something that knocked the breath out of him.

You panic. Because what the hell did you just say?

"Oh my God," you blurt, words tumbling out too fast, your brain unable to stop your mouth from running. "I didn’t mean—well, I did, but not like that—not in a weird way. I just— I don’t know when it happened, okay? I wasn’t planning on it, it just—God, I don’t even know why I’m talking so much right now, I just—"

Jungkook doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe. He’s just watching you with that stupidly fond, breathtaking expression, like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“I mean—shit." You run a hand through your hair, completely spiraling now. "I don’t know when it happened, okay? I don’t know when I— when I started wanting to be around you all the time, when I started waiting for your texts, when I started feeling weird about you hanging out with other girls. I don’t even know why I agreed to go on that stupid date because the whole time, I was thinking about you—"

Jungkook’s grin stretches wider. You don’t see it, too caught up in your spiral.

"And I know you’re bad for me," you continue, voice rising. "I know you’re reckless and impulsive and you drive too fast and hang out with models who have legs for days, and I don’t—I don’t do that. I don’t do guys like you. I’ve never done guys like you—"

Jungkook just hums, tilting his head. "Like me?"

You groan, exasperated, flustered, absolutely losing it. “Yes! Like you! Stupid race car drivers with tattoos and piercings and, and who flirt with me when I’m trying to eat cheese!"

Jungkook bursts out laughing.

You want the ground to swallow you entirely. Your entire body is on fire.

"Forget it," you say immediately, shaking your head, embarrassment consuming you whole. "I’m leaving—"

But before you can even attempt an escape, Jungkook moves, sits up, grabs your wrists, pulls your hands away from your burning face.

Then he grins, sowide, so sudden, it could split his face in half. “You want to leave?"

You groan, immediately hiding your face in your hands. "No."

Jungkook laughs, a low, delighted sound that hits you like a slow-moving car crash.

"Baby," he murmurs, soft, warm fingers cupping your face, tilting your chin up until you have no choice but to look at him.

It’s ridiculous, really. One stupid word, rolling off his tongue like it belongs there, turns your spine to jelly and your brain to static. Baby. Soft, easy, like he doesn’t even think twice about it, while you’re over here barely holding onto the last functioning brain cell you have left. Every time he says it, warmth floods your veins like a slow burn, creeping up your neck, curling into your chest, making your knees feel just a little too weak for comfort.

It’s infuriating. Unfair.

And if he doesn’t stop soon—if he doesn’t quit with that lazy smirk and the way he drawls it out like he knows exactly what he’s doing—you’re going to collapse right here, dignity be damned.

His eyes are burning into yours, intense, overwhelming, like he’s been waiting for this moment forever.

He kisses you. But this time it’s different. No hesitation from either of you, no fear, no holding back anything anymore.

It’s slow, deep, and sure, the kind of kiss that takes its time, the kind that says you have me, you’ve always had me, I’ve been waiting for you to realize it.

And when he finally pulls away, when his forehead rests against yours, when his thumb brushes over your cheek like he never wants to stop touching you, he smiles.

“I’m crazy about you." He murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

You exhale sharply.

"Since the first day I met you in that stupid VIP box."

You pull back slightly, blinking. "What?"

Jungkook grins, his fingers still cradling your jaw, his thumbs brushing lightly against your skin. “I was pretty much a goner for you the moment you ignored me."

Your lips part, heart skipping a beat.

Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head. "You were standing there in your little corporate suit, sipping wine and nibbling on cheese. And I—" He exhales, tilting his head, eyes scanning your face like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. "I was hooked. Right there."

You just stare at him. He’s dead serious. He’s not teasing, not flirting just to get a reaction.

"You…" You swallow. "You were really into me back then? It wasn’t some plot to get in my pants?"

Jungkook scoffs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

"Baby," he murmurs, voice low, smooth, his hands still holding your face like he’s afraid you’ll run if he lets go. “I’ve been obsessed with you since day one."

You thought you were in control. You thought you could keep this contained, keep whatever this thing was locked behind a confinement in your brain, something you could observe from a safe distance without ever letting it touch you. But you were wrong.

Somewhere along the way, he seeped into the cracks. Slowly, insidiously, until there wasn’t a single part of your life untouched by him. He was in the way your mind wandered at the worst possible times, in the way your pulse quickened at the mere mention of his name. He was in the spaces between your thoughts, lingering like an unfinished sentence, a song you couldn’t stop humming.

Maybe, just maybe, you denied yourself because you thought you didn’t deserve it. Because somewhere deep down, you convinced yourself that happiness wasn’t meant for people like you—people who built their lives on control and ambition, who never asked for more than what they could handle.

But now, sitting here, with the weight of everything crashing down on you, you realize the truth.

This is so much bigger than you ever let yourself see.

And you think you’ve been obsessed with him, too. For a very, very long time.

The words settle between you, heavy and certain, like they belong there, like they’ve always belonged there. You swallow hard, eyes flickering down to where his thumb brushes slow circles against your cheekbone.

"You—" Your voice is barely above a whisper, the syllable trembling in your throat. "You have not."

Jungkook huffs a soft laugh, tilting his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. "You think I’m lying?"

You nod, because what else can you do?

Jungkook is Jungkook. Gold medals, renowned driver, flashing lights, fangirls screaming his name. You are none of that.

Jungkook watches you for a beat. Then another. Then he leans in again, his nose brushing against yours, his lips just barely grazing the corner of your mouth.

"You really have no idea," he murmurs, voice like gravel and honey, "how deep I’m in this, do you?"

Your pulse jumps, your fingers tightening slightly against his sleeves. “I—"

But your voice dies in your throat as he closes the distance again.

Another kiss. Completely consuming you. This one rougher, hungrier. Like something inside him snapped, like holding back isn’t an option anymore. His hands find your waist, grip tightening like he needs to feel every inch of you against him.

You fall into it, into him, clutching at his shirt, nails digging into his skin, because this time it isn’t just heat. It’s need. A craving neither of you know how to control.

You make a small, startled noise against his mouth, and Jungkook groans softly, deepening it, his fingers slipping into your hair like he never wants to let you go.

His lip ring is cool against your mouth, a contrast to the heat of his skin, the way he kisses you like he’s memorizing you, like he’s claiming you, piece by piece, second by second.

And between kisses and shared breaths, he murmurs, “You were the first girl to ever make me feel something real.”

A soft press of his lips.

"And I wanted to ruin you for it."

A deeper, slower kiss, leaving you lightheaded.

"You were so shy, so put together,” He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip. "and I wanted to see what you’d look like completely wrecked for me."

Your breath shudders, your entire body buzzing, warm, overwhelmed. Jungkook just smirks, because he can feel the way your heart is pounding against his own.

"Too much?" he teases, voice low.

You shake your head quickly, embarrassingly eager. "No."

His smirk grows, but his eyes are so, so soft.

"You don’t have to be shy with me, baby," he murmurs, pressing another slow, lazy kiss against your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your lips.

You whimper, gripping onto his shirt as he kisses you again, slower this time, deeper.

And between another breathless kiss, you whisper, “I don’t know what to do with you."

Jungkook’s gaze darkens, his thumb still stroking over your lip, his touch featherlight but devastating. The corner of his mouth quirks up, amusement flickering in his eyes at your quiet confession.

"You don’t know what to do with me?" he echoes, his voice low, rough with something dangerous. His other hand slides down your waist, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against your hip. "That’s okay, baby."

His lips brush yours again, just barely, a teasing ghost of a kiss. “I know exactly what to do with you."

Your breath stutters, your fingers clenching against his shoulders as he tilts his head, his lips skimming along your jaw, down to your throat. His teeth graze your skin, just enough to make you shiver, just enough to make your knees weaken.

"You’re so sweet," he murmurs, his voice a silken taunt against your skin. His hand drifts lower, over the fabric of your shorts, his touch possessive. "So innocent.”

His fingers curl around your chin, tilting your face back toward his, forcing you to meet his gaze. His pupils are blown, his lips parted, his expression drenched in something dark, something hungry.

"But not with me," he whispers, his breath hot against your lips. "With me, you’re gonna let go, aren’t you?"

Your pulse pounds, your chest tightens, the heat in his stare making it impossible to breathe. You can’t think, can’t speak, can only feel.

His smirk deepens, his grip tightening just slightly as he speaks softly, “You wanna know what to do with me, baby?"

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his next words sending a shiver down your spine. “Let me show you."

You don’t know what to do. Your mind is still a mess, still overwhelmed by all of this—the weight of his hands on you, the heat of his body, the way he kisses you like he never wants to stop.

You pull away from him, cheeks burning, lips flushed, “I don’t want to—"

"Hurt me?" he finishes, amused.

You nod, because of course that’s what you mean. He was just in a car crash, for God’s sake.

But Jungkook just hums, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your jawline, his hands tracing soothing circles over your waist. “You’re cute when you worry about me."

You huff, but your fingers tighten slightly against his shirt. “I mean it, Jungkook."

"And I mean it too," he murmurs, nuzzling against your neck for a second before pulling back to meet your gaze again.

His expression shifts, turns serious, tender, something so unlike his usual teasing self that it makes your chest ache. “I’m fine."

You blink, hesitant. “You’re sure?"

Jungkook smirks, before suddenly, his hands grip your waist firmly, and you barely have time to react before he pulls you onto his lap in one swift motion. You gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders, your thighs now straddling either side of him.

Jungkook just grins, watching your reaction closely, his grip on your hips tight, warm, steady.

"See?" His voice is low, playful, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Totally fine."

You’re still too stunned to respond, completely frozen in his hold, hyper-aware of every inch of him beneath you.

"Though…" He tilts his head, pretending to think. "I might have been playing it up a little."

Your brows furrow, breath still uneven. “Playing what up?"

Jungkook’s hands slide down to your thighs, fingertips teasing the bare skin just beneath your shorts, and you shiver.

"My injuries," he admits, smirking. "Just a little."

Your jaw drops. “Jungkook—"

"I mean, come on," he laughs, completely unbothered by your glare. "Do you know how nice it’s been? You taking care of me? Fussing over me? Cooking for me? Sleeping in my apartment?"

Your stomach flips. “You— you lied?"

He shrugs, completely unapologetic. "Only a little."

Before you can respond, Jungkook’s grip tightens on your hips again, pulling you closer.

Your irritation melts into something else entirely. The second you shift against him, you feel it. The undeniable truth that he’s wanted you for so long, for so, so long, and now you’re finally here, finally his.

"Baby," he murmurs, softer now, his voice dipping into something more real.

You swallow hard. "What?"

His eyes search yours, tracing every detail of your face, like he’s memorizing you, like he can’t believe you’re really here straddling him.

"You have no idea," he breathes, "how bad I want you."

Your heart stops in its tracks. Because neither did you—or well, you had convinced yourself you were delusional. Not until now. Not until this moment, until the weight of him beneath you, until the soft press of his hands against your skin, until the way he looks at you like you’re something out of a dream.

You don’t know what to do with that. So instead, you do the only thing you can.

You kiss him again. This time, you let yourself feel it all.

It’s overwhelming the way he wants you. You’ve never been wanted like this before. Never been touched like you’re precious and ruined all at once. And the way Jungkook holds you—fingers digging into your hips, lips trailing soft, lingering kisses along your jaw, breath uneven as he tries to keep himself together—it’s undoing you completely. Because he’s not just any man. He’s Jeon Jungkook: reckless, untouchable, the best in the game, the kind of guy people worship from a distance. But right now, he’s under you, beneath you, pulling you in like he’s afraid to let go. Like he doesn’t just want you—he needs you. The thought of that, of him, the man who could have anyone, losing himself for you, it’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating. It’s something you never saw coming, but now you don’t know how to live without it.

You’re melting like putty in his hands, soft and pliant, your body responding to every single touch, every lingering press of his lips.

Jungkook groans softly into your mouth, his hands tightening on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath hitch. “Fuck, baby."

His voice is low, wrecked, like he’s losing control, like you’re unraveling him piece by piece. He’s always so composed, always the one with the upper hand, cocky, teasing, untouchable.

Now, he’s desperate. Now, he’s pulling you closer, his kisses getting deeper, slower, messier, his need for you spilling into every single movement. Now, he’s breathing your name like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

You whimper softly, hands sliding into his hair, tugging slightly, just to see what he’ll do, just to hear that soft, low groan rumble in his chest again.

His grip on your thighs tightens, his lips moving against yours hungrier now, like he’s been waiting for this, like he’s been waiting for you.

Jungkook’s hands roam your body like he needs to memorize every inch of you, like he can’t believe you’re real. His fingers trail over your waist, gripping your hips before sliding lower, tugging at the hem of your shorts, his touch both reverent and desperate.

"Fuck,," he rasps again, his lips brushing against your throat, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers dip beneath the waistband of your shorts, feeling the heat of you, his movements slow, teasing.

And then he feels it.

The dampness pooling between your thighs, the evidence of just how much you want him, how much he’s affecting you without even having to try.

Jungkook lets out a groan, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as his fingers tease along the seam of your panties, just barely touching, just enough to make you whimper.

"Shit, baby," he mutters, his hands tightening on your hips, his thumbs tracing slow, teasing circles against your skin. He tilts his head back, his dark eyes locking onto yours, pupils blown with something dangerous. “You’re soaked."

Your face burns, your breath catching in your throat, but Jungkook doesn’t let you shy away. His hands squeeze your thighs, grounding you, keeping you right where he wants you, on top of him, right against him, right where you belong.

"All this for me?" His lips curl into a smirk, but there’s something softer beneath it, something almost in awe, like he can’t believe you want him like this.

You nod, biting your lip, your hands gripping his shoulders as he presses you down against him, letting you feel just how hard he is beneath you.

"God, baby," he groans, his head tilting back, his lip ring catching the dim light as his hands slide over your ass, keeping you flush against him. His voice drops even lower, “You already feel so fucking good."

His fingers dip lower, playing with the waistband of your shorts, teasing, waiting. “Can I take these off?" he asks, his voice softer now, more careful.

The way he asks—so patient, so unlike the cocky playboy everyone else knows—makes your heart pound even harder. Because it’s him. Because it’s you. And because right now, there’s nothing in the world except the heat between you and the way his hands are shaking from how bad he wants you.

Jungkook doesn’t wait. The second you give the smallest nod—silent permission, quiet surrender—he moves.

One moment, you’re perched in his lap, your hands gripping his shoulders, your body still trembling from how badly you want him. The next, you’re on your back, legs spread wide over the plush couch, your pajama shorts and underwear long gone, discarded somewhere neither of you care to find.

Jungkook kneels between your thighs, his big hands gripping them, spreading them wider as he settles himself lower, his dark eyes locked onto the sight of your glistening core.

And fuck, he looks wrecked.

His lips part, a quiet, almost awe-struck groan slipping past them as he takes you in, his tattooed fingers tightening around your thighs. His tongue flicks out, wetting his lips, and you realize he looks hungry.

"Baby," he breathes, his voice thick, reverent, dangerous. He leans in, so close you can feel his breath against your slick folds, his nose barely brushing the inside of your thigh as he exhales a slow, shaky breath. "Look at you."

You whimper, your hips shifting instinctively, your body aching for his touch, for anything, but he doesn’t give it to you. Not yet.

Instead, his hands wander, sliding up your thighs, tracing the soft skin with slow, teasing strokes. His fingers spread you apart, just enough to make you squirm, his eyes locked on the way you glisten under the dim glow of the room.

"So fucking pretty," he mutters, almost to himself, almost like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. His thumbs trace along your inner thighs, inching closer, teasing, torturing.

"Jungkook—" Your voice is a breathless plea, a soft, desperate sound, and his smirk deepens at the way you need him.

"I know, baby," he murmurs, his lips hovering right there, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. His fingers press into your thighs, grounding you, holding you open for him. "I got you."

And then, without another word, he leans in. His tongue flicks out, the first slow, deliberate lick making your whole body jerk, your breath catching as a strangled moan slips past your lips. His hands tighten on your thighs, keeping you in place, pinning you down as he devours you, slow and deep and messy

Jungkook is relentless.

The second his tongue continually flicks against you, slow and teasing, a sharp gasp spills from your lips, your fingers flying to his hair on instinct.

He groans, low and deep, like he’s never tasted anything better, his grip on your thighs tightening as he pulls you closer, buries himself between your legs. His tongue moves with purpose, savoring you, teasing you, then faster, filthier.

Your entire body jolts, a choked moan escaping you as you arch off the couch, hands yanking at his hair, but Jungkook doesn’t let up. If anything, he goes harder, tongue working you over, lips sucking, devouring every ounce of wetness you’re giving him.

"Fuck, baby,” he groans against you, his voice wrecked, almost feral, his fingers digging into your thighs. "You taste so good. So sweet, so messy for me."

You can barely breathe, your chest rising and falling in sharp, broken pants. No one has ever done this to you before, no one has ever made you feel like this, so completely overwhelmed, so utterly ruined just by their mouth alone.

"J-jungkook,” Your voice is a trembling plea, your fingers trembling in his hair, but he just smirks, his tongue flicking against your most sensitive spot, making your whole body tremble.

"Too much, baby?" he murmurs, his lips dragging against your skin, but his tone is mocking, almost cruel, because he knows you don’t want him to stop.

His lips wrap around your aching clit, a desperate, filthy pull that makes your legs shake, your back arch, a helpless cry spilling from your lips as pleasure crashes over you, too much, too fast, your vision blurring.

Jungkook moans against you, his hands spreading you wider, holding you there as he drowns in you, his tongue moving sloppier, hungrier, completely insane on the taste of you.

"That's it, baby," he groans, his voice thick with need, with something bordering on obsession. "Give it to me. Let me taste all of you."

You’re gasping, whimpering, unable to handle how good it feels, how intense it is. His tongue keeps working you over, lips sucking, his groans vibrating against your heat, dragging you through wave after wave of unbearable pleasure. You don’t think you’ll ever recover.

Jungkook can feel it, the way your thighs tremble, the way your body arches, the way your breath stutters like you’re teetering on the edge, right there, so fucking close. But he’s not done with you yet.

"Can’t get enough of you," he murmurs against your heat, his tongue flicking one last time before his lips part and, without warning, he slides two fingers in.

Your gasp is sharp, your body clenching around him immediately, and Jungkook groans, his fingers sinking deep, stretching you open as he feels just how tight, how warm you are.

"Fuck," he hisses, pressing his forehead against your inner thigh, his fingers stilling for just a second as his other hand grips your waist, holding you down. "So fucking tight."

You whimper, your hands flying to grip at the couch, your fingers scrambling for something to hold onto as he starts to move, slow at first, deep, deliberate thrusts, letting you feel every inch of his fingers. You look down at him, watch the way his dark hair falls over his face, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he pumps his fingers in and out of you.

He curls upwards, and you’re certain he’ll have to peel you off his couch tomorrow morning.

"Oh!” The sound escapes you before you can stop it, your body spasming, heat flooding your veins as he finds the spot that makes you see stars.

Jungkook fucking smirks like the little devil he is. And you knew he’d be good, knew he’d be more experienced than you, but you don’t even care as long as he doesn’t stop.

"There it is," he murmurs, his voice low, teasing, dangerous. His fingers work into you harder, faster, his thumb rubbing slow, tight circles against your clit, and you’re losing it, your legs shaking so bad you think you might collapse in on yourself.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he coaxes, his breath hot against your core, his lips right there, teasing, pressing soft, fleeting kisses against your swollen heat between every filthy thrust of his fingers.

You’re barely holding on, your mind spinning, the pleasure too much, but the way he talks to you, the way he touchesyou, the way his fingers move with such perfect precision, has you losing all control.

"I— I can’t, fuck, feels so good—" Your voice is wrecked, barely a whisper, your body fighting between holding on and letting go.

"Yes, you can," Jungkook growls, his pace relentless now, his fingers fucking into you with deep, slick strokes, his thumb rubbing your clit faster, harder. "Be good for me, baby."

He presses his lips to you again, tongue flicking in perfect sync with his fingers, sucking hard, and you break. A choked, helpless cry rips from your throat as pleasure crashes over you, so sharp, so intense, your entire body locking up before you’re shaking, your release hitting you like a tidal wave.

Jungkook moans against you, his fingers not stopping, working you through it, dragging every ounce of pleasure from your trembling body as you come undone beneath him.

Your chest heaves, your fingers weakly clutching at the couch, your skin burning as the aftershocks pulse through you. You can’t even think, can’t even process how good it feels, your whole body humming with warmth, satisfaction, something that makes you dizzy.

And then, Jungkook looks up at you.

His eyes are wild, his lips wet and swollen, his jaw tight as he drinks you in, your blissed-out expression, your shaky limbs, your lips parted as you try to catch your breath.

"Good?" he teases, his voice thick with pride, with something darker beneath it. He presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh, watching the way you squirm, the way your cheeks burn as you try to look away.

But he doesn’t let you. His hand grabs your chin, tilting your flushed face toward his, his fingers still teasing you as he whispers, “Bet it feels even better to be inside you."

He stays between your spread legs, watching you like he owns you, like he’s still memorizing the way you look right now, completely spent, your body stretched out along the couch, your chest still rising and falling from the aftermath of what he just did to you.

With a low, deep exhale, he finally sits back on his knees, his hands moving to the waistband of his sweatpants, dragging them down in one smooth motion. His cock springs free, hard and aching, tip flushed and leaking, the very picture of desperation.

You swallow, your throat dry, your lips parting slightly as your wide eyes take him in. Jungkook doesn’t miss it.

"Like what you see, baby?" he murmurs, amusement flickering in his dark gaze as he wraps his tattooed fingers around himself, giving a few slow, deliberate strokes. A shiver runs down his spine, his head tipping back slightly, his breath coming out in a low groan.

Fuck, he’s mesmerizing. The way his muscles flex, the way his chest tightens, the way his lip ring glints as he bites down on his bottom lip. You can’t look away.

And maybe it’s the post-orgasm haze still clouding your mind, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re still so desperate to make it up to him, but before you can stop yourself, your voice comes out, soft and shy, “I can do it."

His eyes snap to yours, his hand stilling around his length as his breath catches, like he can’t believe you just said that, like he wasn’t expecting it from you.

"You wanna touch me, baby?" he asks, voice lower, rougher.

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip, heat crawling up your neck as you shift to sit up slightly, your fingers hesitating in your lap before reaching for him.

Jungkook doesn’t make you wait.

He stands up, takes your wrist, guiding you, wrapping your soft fingers around his cock, sucking in a sharp breath the second you touch him.

"Fuck,” he groans, his head falling forward, his hand tightening over yours as he helps you set a rhythm, slow at first, letting you feel him.

You swallow, watching his expression, watching the way his brows furrow, the way his jaw clenches, the way his muscles tense beneath your touch.

"Just like that, baby," he rasps, his voice strained, almost pained from how good it feels. His hand falls away, letting you take over, his head trained on your movements, his lips parting in a moan.

"Shit, you’re so good," he praises, his voice breathless. His fingers dig into his thighs, his stomach tightening as he watches you, his eyes burning in a way that makes your whole body shiver.

"Thought you were so innocent," he murmurs, his voice laced with something almost in awe, his breath coming out in sharp exhales as you continue stroking him, learning him. "And yet, you wanna take care of me like this?"

You nod, your fingers tightening slightly around him. Jungkook groans, his hand flying to your wrist, stilling you for a moment as he pants, “You’re gonna be the fucking death of me."

Your soft hands wrapped around him, your shy little glances up at him, your fingers trembling slightly as you try to please him—he’s never been this affected by anyone before. But he needs more.

With a sharp inhale, he stills your movements, his tattooed fingers wrapping around your wrist, gently pulling you away before he does something reckless like cum in your hand instead of inside you.

"Come here," he rasps, his voice rough, wrecked, his hands guiding you back down against the couch.

Your breath stutters, your body trembling as he hovers over you, his broad frame towering above you, his toned arms caging you in. His dark eyes flicker down, watching the way your chest rises and falls, the way your thighs part instinctively, welcoming him closer.

"You want to?" he murmurs, his voice softer now, more careful but beneath it, there’s still that same hunger and desperation.

You nod, a shiver running through you as you feel the thick, heavy weight of his cock drag through your folds, teasing, spreading your wetness as he positions himself at your entrance.

When he finally, achingly, pushes in, the first inch has you screaming. Your back arches off the couch, your fingers flying to grip his biceps, nails digging into the solid muscle as your body stretches around him, struggling to accommodate his size. “F-fuck, Jungkook!”

Jungkook groans, his head dropping forward, as he feels you, so tight, so warm, your walls squeezing him like you’re not used to this, like you’ve never taken anything like him before.

"Shit,” he grits out, his fingers digging into your hips, holding you in place as he forces himself to stop, his own body trembling from the sheer restraint it takes to keep from slamming into you.

"You’re—" His breath is uneven, his jaw clenching as he forces himself to be still. "You’re so fucking tight, baby.”

Your thighs tremble beneath him, your hands clawing at his arms, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from how intense the stretch is, from how full you feel.

"Jungkook,” Your voice is helpless, your chest heaving as you try to adjust, try to take him, but it’s too much, too big, your walls clenching around him so hard he nearly loses it.

"Fuck, I—" He stops, his body shaking as he hovers over you, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath coming out in sharp, uneven pants. "I gotta—fuck, I gotta give you a second, or I’m gonna cum right now."

Jungkook has had experience, more than enough. He’s been wanted, worshiped, pulled into the heat of fleeting moments by women who knew exactly what they were doing. He’s kissed with confidence, touched with certainty, learned every unspoken language of desire and indulgence. He’s seen it all, had it all, lived it all. It’s stupid, really, how easily you unravel him, how the years of experience amount to nothing under the weight of this. Of you.

Your body pulses, your breath coming out in short, desperate whimpers as you struggle to breathe through it, your hands gripping his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him.

Jungkook stares down at you, his expression torn between awe and agony, his cock twitching inside you, begging him to move, but he can’t, not yet.

"Baby,” His voice is strained, his fingers brushing your hair out of your face, his lips pressing against your forehead, trying to soothe you. "Breathe. Let me in, just a little more."

You nod, your body shuddering beneath him, your walls still fluttering around him, so tight it’s driving him insane.

And when he finally, slowly pushes in deeper, you both break.

The second he feels you start to relax around him, your walls fluttering, adjusting, he loses the last shred of control he had left.

"Fuck, sweetheart," his voice is low, guttural, completely wrecked as he pulls out halfway before slamming back in, burying himself to the hilt.

The sound that escapes you is filthy, a high-pitched, gasping moan, your body jerking beneath him as the force of his thrust sends shockwaves through you.

He sets the pace, relentless, devastating. The wet, slick sounds of him fucking into you echo through the room, mixing with your choked moans, his ragged, heavy breathing. His cock drags against every sensitive part of you, the lewd slap of skin-on-skin filling the space, so loud it makes your face burn.

"Listen to that, baby," Jungkook groans, his lips hovering over yours, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

“So fucking wet for me,” He grinds deeper, pulling another moan from you, "Making a mess all over my cock."

You can barely breathe, barely think, the pleasure so intense it’s turning your limbs weak, your nails clawing helplessly at his arms, his back, anywhere you can hold onto as he ruins you.

"You hear that?" he murmurs, his lips dragging along your jaw, his hips snapping against yours at a brutal pace. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, angling you just right so he can hit deeper, harder. "That’s all you, baby. That’s this pretty little pussy taking me so well.”

You let out a choked cry, your head tipping back, exposing your throat to him.

"Shit!" he groans, his lips latching onto your neck, sucking, biting, leaving marks he wants you to wear for days. His hand slips between you, fingers pressing against your clit, rubbing in tight, perfect circles.

Your whole body shudders, your walls clenching so tight around him that he hisses, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he pounds into you harder, pushing you right to the edge.

Before either of you can catch your breath, he pulls out suddenly, completely, leaving you empty, a little gasp escaping your lips at the loss. But before you can even process it, he grabs you, his strong hands flipping you over onto your stomach, guiding your knees up, your body instinctively responding to him.

"Nah, baby," he groans, his voice low as he grips your waist, spreading you out beneath him. "Not done with you yet."

His hands drag down your back, fingers teasing along your spine before gripping your hips, tugging you up slightly, pressing your chest down against the couch cushions.

He slides back in. The stretch is even deeper like this, his cock sinking in at a new angle that has you screaming into the cushion, your fingers clutching the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Jungkook snarls, his head dropping back for a second, the tight heat of you making his entire body shake. "You’re squeezing me so tight.”

His hands grip your hips hard, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he starts to move, his strokes slow, deep, deliberate, making you feel every inch of him, every ridge, every twitch.

"God, baby, could fuck you all day," he groans, his voice thick with something dangerous, something utterly possessive. His palm slides down, pressing between your shoulder blades, pinning you down against the couch. "Taking me so fucking well, so perfect for me."

You can barely breathe, your body so wrecked from how deep he is. You swear you feel him in your stomach. You can hear the obscene mix of your slick and his movements, the wet sounds filling the space between his groans and your helpless little sounds.

"Jungkook,” You choke out his name, your voice muffled against the couch, your body shaking with every relentless thrust. “F-feels so good, please k-keep going,”

"Shh, baby," he coos mockingly, his grip tightening as he snaps his hips forward, dragging another high-pitched cry from you. "Let me take care of you."

His free hand grabs your jaw, turning your head slightly so he can watch your face, his other hand still pressing you down, keeping you in place, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

"Too deep?" he taunts, a smirk in his voice, his thumb stroking your cheek as he watches the way your brows furrow, your lips parting, your body writhing beneath him.

You nod frantically, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps, but your hips still push back into him, still chase the feeling of him splitting you apart.

"That’s my girl," he groans, rewarding you with a rough, slow grind, making sure you feel every second of it. His fingers tighten around your throat, his breath hot against your ear.

His body is trembling, his grip on your hips almost bruising as he slams into you, chasing his release with reckless, desperate thrusts. He’s so close, he can feel it, heat coiling tight in his gut, every nerve in his body burning with the need to let go.

"[Y/N]," he groans, breathless, his fingers digging into your waist as he pounds into you. He’s barely holding on, his control slipping with every second, every pulse of your tight, soaking heat around him.

"Where do you want me to cum, baby?" he grits out, his head dropping forward, his jaw clenching as he fights to hold himself back, to wait for your answer.

And when you give it to him—when you turn your head just slightly, lips parted, voice trembling, breath hitching— “Inside me."

Jungkook snaps. In an instant, he pulls out, his hands gripping your waist as he flips you over, not caring how weak your limbs are, how spent you already look. He needs to see you when he finishes, needs to watch your face, your expression, your body taking it all.

His lips crash against yours, messy, desperate, all tongue and teeth as he slides back in, groaning so loud it vibrates through your entire body. His hands grab your thighs, spreading you wide, holding you open for him as he thrusts into you, deep, perfect, his cock dragging against every sensitive nerve inside you.

"Yeah?” he groans, watching you, his eyes wild, his chest heaving. "You’re gonna let me fill you up, huh? Gonna let me fucking ruin you? God, I’m going to give you kids one day.”

You nod, barely able to speak, your voice coming out as a helpless little beg. "Please.”

Jungkook grunts, his thrusts turning sloppy, erratic, and you can feel the way he’s shaking, the way his cock twitches inside you, so fucking close.

"Can I finish too?" Your voice is so soft, so breathless, so utterly wrecked, and when he looks down, when he sees it—the cream collecting at the base of his cock, the mess of slick covering where you’re both connected, dripping down onto the couch— he’s a goner.

"Yes, baby, fuck, yes. Cum for me,” He babbles out, almost incoherent.

His entire body jolts forward, his grip on your thighs tightening as he slams into you one last time, burying himself deep as his release crashes over him, spilling inside you with a helpless groan. His head tips back, his body shaking, his fingers gripping onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

He feels it, the way your walls pulse around him, milking him, pulling everything from him as your own orgasm rips through you, your thighs trembling, your body convulsing beneath him. There’s nothing but heat and skin and the dizzying rush of pleasure crashing through you both, stealing the air from your lungs.

The room is filled with the filthiest sounds—his breathless groans, your high-pitched cries, the obscene mix of both your releases between your thighs.

He just stares.

"Damn, baby” his voice is barely a whisper, his eyes blown wide, completely wrecked as he watches his cum spill out of you, seeping from between your legs, making an absolute mess of both of you. “So fucking pretty."

Jungkook eventually collapses next to you, his chest still heaving, his body still thrumming with the aftermath of what you just did to each other. His skin is flushed, damp with sweat, his muscles trembling from the sheer intensity of it all. But the second he catches his breath, the second his brain starts working again, he reaches for you.

Strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into his body, pressing you flush against his overheated skin. His lips find your shoulder first, soft and lingering, before trailing up the curve of your neck, then your jaw, then your lips.

The kiss is slow, tender, so different from the frantic, desperate ones from earlier. This one is filled with something else, something deeper. His fingers smooth over your back, up your spine, soothing you, keeping you close.

"Hmph," he breathes against your mouth, his voice raw, reverent. His hands roam your body, gentle now, no longer gripping, no longer taking, just feeling, holding. "You okay?"

You nod, still trying to find your voice, still floating in the haze of him. Your body is gone, your limbs weak, but with the way he’s touching you now, with the way he’s holding you, you could stay here forever.

Jungkook hums, pressing another soft, lingering kiss to your temple. "You were so good for me," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair, his hand rubbing slow circles into your hip. "Took me so well, baby. My perfect girl."

His words make warmth bloom in your chest, your face heating, your fingers instinctively clutching onto him, like you need to hold onto something real.

You melt into him, bury your face into his neck. You smell the scent of him, musky and sweet and familiar.

"So beautiful," he whispers against your skin, his lips finding your cheek, your jaw, your shoulder. His fingers trail up your spine again, his other hand tangling in your hair, tilting your face up so he can kiss you again. “Don’t even know what you do to me."

You’ve never had a man want you like this before, and you don’t think you’ll ever want anyone else ever again.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The next few days pass in a soft blur of stolen moments: whispers exchanged in the quiet of Jungkook’s living room, fingers brushing absentmindedly over each other’s skin, laughter spilling into the air delicately, something fragile but unbreakable.

You’re not dating, not technically. He hasn’t asked, and you haven’t said anything, and yet…

He still grins when you walk into the room, still pulls you into his side when you sit next to him, still leans in just a little too close whenever he speaks, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice a low murmur meant just for you.

You let him tangle his fingers through yours when you’re watching a movie together, let him play with the hem of your sweater when he’s feeling restless, let him kiss you, lazy and unhurried, in the middle of a conversation just because he can.

He’s letting you take your time, giving you the space to ease into this, to figure out what it all means.

God, you appreciate it.

Because with Jungkook, there’s no rushing. No expectations. No pressure.

Even though neither of you have said it yet, you know.

There’s a weight of his upcoming race, his comeback race, that lingers between you, unspoken but heavy, pressing against your chest like a storm waiting to break.

You know what it means to him. How much this race matters. How much winning it would mean for his career, for his legacy.

Yet, you can’t shake the fear coiling deep in your stomach, the memory of his last crash seared into your mind like a scar that refuses to fade. The sound of metal colliding, the gasps from the crowd, the way your entire world had tilted on its axis, throwing you into a free fall of panic and helplessness.

You don’t know if you can do that again.

You don’t know if you can sit in the stands, heart in your throat, watching him push himself to the very edge of danger, knowing that one wrong move could take him from you.

He knows. Even before you say anything, even before you have the chance to voice the tangled mess of emotions inside you, Jungkook notices. You catch him watching you when you think he isn’t, his sharp gaze softening whenever he sees the crease between your brows, the way your fingers absentmindedly fidget with the hem of your sleeve, lost in thought.

And then one night, while you’re curled up next to him on the couch, his voice cuts through the quiet. “You’re not gonna come, are you?"

You hesitate for too long, and that’s answer enough.

Jungkook exhales, tipping his head back against the couch, his jaw tightening for just a second before he looks at you again, eyes searching. Not angry. Not upset. Just… knowing.

"Baby," he says, voice quieter now, like he’s picking apart every thought racing through your head, "Talk to me."

You swallow, staring down at your lap. "I just— I don’t know if I can watch."

He doesn’t speak, waiting.

"Last time…" You inhale sharply, voice barely above a whisper. "Last time, I thought I lost you, Jungkook."

His eyes darken, his features softening in a way that makes your chest tighten.

"I know."

"You don’t," you murmur. "You don’t know what that felt like. Watching you crash. Not knowing if you were okay. Having to stand there, completely helpless, while everyone else ran to you."

Jungkook’s jaw flexes, his hands clenching into loose fists before he lets out a slow, measured breath.

"I get why you’re scared," he finally says. "But I need you there. I need you in my corner."

His words send a sharp pang through your chest, and when you glance up, you find him watching you so intently, like he’s trying to anchor you to him, like he’s trying to make you feel how much he means it.

"I know how dangerous it is," he continues, softer now. "I know what you’re afraid of. But I also know that when I look up from that track, and I see you there, nothing else matters. I race better when you’re there. I race smarter when you’re there."

Your throat tightens.

"You’re my good luck charm."

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until Jungkook reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. “Please."

And how the hell are you supposed to say no to that?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

(pause.. authors note.. turn on ‘the alchemy’ by taylor swift for this part. thank me later.)

The energy is electric, the kind of palpable excitement that sits thick in the air, buzzing through the massive crowd gathered around the track.

Engines roar in the distance, mechanics make last-minute adjustments, reporters weave through the pit area with cameras flashing, and yet, none of it matters.

Because all eyes are on you. Or rather, on Jungkook, and the way he doesn’t even try to hide it anymore.

The moment he spots you, draped in his jacket, his VIP lanyard with his name hanging around your neck like a permanent claim, something flickers in his expression. Something proud, you think.

Then he’s walking straight toward you, completely ignoring the cameras, the crew, the other drivers waiting for pre-race interviews.

His manager clears his throat. “Uh, you have press, Jungkook.”

Jungkook doesn’t even acknowledge it. He just reaches for you, hands settling firmly on your waist, his grip warm, grounding, and before you can even react, he kisses you. Loud. Unapologetic. Completely and utterly certain.

You’re melting into him, hands gripping his racing suit, your heart hammering as his lips move against yours, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to brand you into him before the race even begins.

When he finally pulls back, his thumb brushes over your cheek, a cocky little grin stretching across his face. “You look so fucking good in my jacket. Can’t wait to get home and rip it off you.”

You swallow, dazed, heat blooming across your skin. “You should focus on the race.”

“I am,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing. “I’m gonna be thinking of you the whole time though.”

And then, just like that, he’s gone, disappearing into the pit area, leaving you completely breathless, your lips tingling, your heart somewhere on the track with him already.

You hear a low whistle behind you.

One of his crew members, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Yeah, we’re just gonna start calling you his girlfriend now.”

You stammer. “I—I’m not—”

“Sure,” his manager cuts in, grinning, arms folded across his chest. “And I’m an astronaut.”

Laughter ripples through the pit crew, but before you can come up with some kind of defense, the announcement blares over the loudspeakers.

You’re with his crew, standing in the VIP pit box, his manager beside you, engineers monitoring real-time data, the pit crew ready for anything.

You’re also clutching onto his manager’s arm like your life depends on it.

“Relax,” he mutters, chuckling under his breath. “You survived the last one.”

You exhale sharply. “That was before I knew how dangerous this actually is.”

His manager glances at you. “You’ve been paying attention, huh?”

You don’t respond, eyes locked onto the massive screen displaying the race track, the live coverage cutting between Jungkook’s car, the cockpit camera, the overhead shots.

Before you can prepare yourself for the impact, the signal goes off. The engines roar to life. And Jungkook is off.

Your heart jumps into your throat as his car flies forward, cutting into position effortlessly.

He’s fast—you always knew that. But watching him like this, seeing him maneuver through the chaos of the starting lap, weaving between other drivers with a confidence that borders on reckless, it’s something else entirely.

“You know he likes to push aggressive in the first few laps, right?” The voice beside you startles you. His engineer, watching the data on the monitor, tapping his chin in thought.

You nod. Of course you know.

Jungkook’s racing style isn’t just speed. It’s strategy, it’s unpredictability, it’s sheer talent that makes him one of the most feared competitors on the track.

Still, something feels off.

You bite your lip, eyes narrowing at the positioning of the cars ahead. The driver in third place is blocking the inside lane, forcing Jungkook to take a riskier approach.

If he goes outside, he’ll lose too much time.

But if he waits too long, he’ll lose the gap entirely.

You can’t stop yourself. “He’s not gonna make that pass on the outside.”

The engineer raises a brow, surprised.

His manager glances at you, amused. “Yeah?”

You nod, suddenly certain. “He needs to bait him into thinking he’s going wide, then cut inside at the last second. It’s the only way he’s getting past clean.”

The pit crew stares at you like you just grew a second head.

His manager laughs under his breath. “Damn. She really is his girl.”

And then, as if he heard you through the screen, Jungkook makes the move.

The driver in third takes the bait, moving to cover the outside and Jungkook cuts inside, passing clean, just like you said.

You exhale hard, your entire body untensing at once.

“Holy shit,” one of the crew members mutters, blinking at you. “You actually know your stuff.”

But you don’t respond, because you can’t take your eyes off the track, can’t take your eyes off him.

Jungkook is still in it, still pushing, still dominating the race, still looking absolutely unstoppable. For the first time since you got here, since you stepped into his world you finally realize: you’re not just watching anymore. You’re a part of this now.

The final lap feels like an eternity.

Your fingers are clenched so tight around Jungkook’s manager’s arm that you’re sure you’ve cut off circulation, but you can’t bring yourself to let go. Your heart is slamming against your ribs, your breath coming in shallow bursts as the cars blur past the final turn.

He’s in first place but barely.

The driver behind him is closing in fast, their front wing nearly grazing Jungkook’s rear tire, and it’s too close, too reckless, too much.

Your nails dig into your palms, your legs swaying restlessly. You can’t stand still, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but watch, helpless and desperate, as he flies toward the finish line.

The crowd is screaming, his crew is yelling stats into the comms, but it’s all just noise, buzzing around the only thing that matters: him.

"Come on, Jungkook," you whisper under your breath, hands tightening around the edge of your jacket. "Come on, come on, come on—"

The checkered flag waves.

The moment his car crosses the finish line, the world tilts, the tension shatters, and your breath finally, finally releases.

You don’t even realize you’re grinning, shaking, nearly collapsing from the sheer relief and overwhelming joy of it all.

The stadium erupts the second Jungkook’s car flies across the finish line.

The sound is deafening—a rush of cheers, of voices screaming his name, of reporters scrambling to capture the moment. Confetti bursts into the air, flickering under the bright stadium lights like a million tiny stars. His pit crew is going wild, throwing their arms up, chanting, celebrating the biggest win of his career.

But Jungkook doesn’t stop for any of it.

He barely lets the car roll to a stop before he’s unbuckling, pulling his helmet off, his eyes already searching.

He sees you.

Standing in the VIP pit area, his jacket still wrapped around your shoulders. Suddenly, everything else fades.

His team? The cameras? The press waiting to get their headline? None of it matters.

All he can think about is you.

So, he runs. Straight past his team, straight past the cameras, straight past the screaming reporters, straight to you.

Before you can even say congratulations, before you can fully comprehend what’s happening, you’re in his arms.

He lifts you clean off your feet, arms tight around your waist, his laugh breathless against your cheek, giddy, boyish, unfiltered joy.

Then he kisses you. Right there, in front of thousands of people. In front of the flashing cameras, in front of the roaring crowd, in front of his crew and the entire racing world. He kisses you like there’s no one else but you and him.

It’s not careful. It’s not slow. It’s pure feeling, pure adrenaline, pure Jungkook.

He kisses you like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it, like he couldn’t have gone another second without making sure you knew.

Your fingers clutch at his racing suit, your heart pounding harder than it did during the race itself, your body sinking into his like it was meant to be here, like it’s the only place you’ll ever belong.

Somewhere in the background, you hear the cheers get even louder, hear the reporters frantically calling his name, hear the cameras capturing every second of this moment.

But none of it touches you.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless, lips swollen, his forehead dropping against yours as he grins, bright, wide, unstoppable. “Told you I needed my good luck charm."

You let out a shaky breath, laughing softly, hands still gripping his suit. Still holding onto him like you’re afraid to let go. “Jungkook, that was in front of—"

"All of them?" He grins shamelessly, still so out of breath. "Yeah, I know."

You giggle, pressing your forehead against his chest for a second. "Oh my god."

"What?" His voice is teasing, his fingers toying with the hem of his own jacket wrapped around you. "You didn’t like it?"

You open your mouth, ready to fight him on it, ready to pretend like you weren’t just completely, devastatingly ruined by that kiss but the words don’t come.

Because when you look at him, really look at him, you realize you’re done pretending. Suddenly, it’s not scary anymore. Suddenly, it’s the easiest thing in the world.

You swallow. "So am I your girl now?”

His breath halts, his fingers tighten just slightly on your waist, and for the briefest second, you see it. The relief. The realization. The pure, undeniable certainty that he’s got the girl.

He exhales, grinning so wide it could split his face in half, and tugs you in for another kiss, this time softer, slower, like he’s sealing the moment between just the two of you.

"You always were."

And as the celebrations explode around you, as the cameras flash, as his crew cheers, as Jungkook beams like he just won something even bigger than this race, you know, deep in your chest, in your bones, in every fiber of your being, there is no escaping this man.

You realize something with absolute certainty. This was never just about luck. It was always meant to be him.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

extra extra note!

i wanted to thank you all again for reading this story <3 this OC means so much to me. with that being said, i never want to leave you guys hanging, so i’ll be doing 3-4 epilogue drabbles/blurbs based off your guys’ requests (bc it’s no fun if im just doing whatever i please, duhh)

send in some ideas (smut, fluff, even some angst) of what you would want to see as epilogue blurbs and I’ll choose the ones that inspire me :-) click here to send em in! [THIS IS NOW CLOSED, THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVELY REQUESTS]

love you all… catch ya on the next fic <3

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

taglist ; @yooniepot @bookstoread199 @pipipipiiiii @someonegoood @vintagemoonsstuff @kittisuuuuu @ttanniett @loonareads @jincapableoflove @jkxlvrr @taekrve @jenniebyrubies @senaqsstuff @somisarchive @somehowukook @mysjammy @busanbby-jjk @mimi1097 @mikrokosmosellen @indyuhhhhh @vantelover1306 @haru-jiminn @sky-23s-world @minimoninini @bighitfics

@outofworldvy @smartkive @dontcallmeelle @beomluvrr @tatamicc @seokout @ashslight @avawants2havefun @bjoriis @jjeonjjk7 @mar-lo-pap @parkinglot-nights @coletaehyung @mellyyyyyyx @magicalnachocreator @royalguk

[gilbertscurls]

Taste ➵ Matt Sturniolo

warnings: SMUT, virgin!matt, softdom!reader, unprotected p in v, heavy on praise and consent, oral!f!receiving, can't tell if it's cringe or not lmao

synopsis: on their first anniversary, y/n and matt finally decide to go all the way.

“I can't believe it's been a year already.” You let out a quiet sigh.

Matt nodded, the thought of their year together bringing a smile to his lips.

“Yeah. It feels like just yesterday we had our first date,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia.

He remembered every detail of that day, the way you looked, the way he'd been so nervous he felt like he might throw up. But he'd found the courage to ask you out, and you'd said yes. It felt like a dream come true.

Matt's gaze drifted from your face to the room around them. The soft, warm light of the lamp by the bed was casting shadows on the walls, the room cozy and intimate. The silence between them was comfortable, broken only by their soft breathing. Matt couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment, a feeling of being right where he belonged.

“I can't believe how lucky I am,” he murmured, his voice low. “To have you, I mean.”

“I'm the lucky one,” you whispered.

Matt chuckled softly at your words, his fingers still tangled in your hair.

“Oh, please,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I'm the one who gets to hold you like this, to call you mine. I think I won the lottery.”

You giggled, a sound that always made Matt's heart skip a beat.

“I can't argue with that,” you conceded. You snuggled closer to him, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “But I get to hold you back, so we're even.”

Matt's hand moved to your back, gently tracing circles on your skin. The feel of you against him, the sound of your voice, was comforting and soothing, but it also stirred a different kind of feeling in him. A feeling of desire and longing.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

He tightened his arm around you, pulling you even closer, his fingers tracing your spine. Matt's heart thrummed with anticipation. The fact that you've never done more than kiss had been on his mind a lot lately. He wanted you, more than he could say. And tonight felt different, special. It was their anniversary, a milestone in their relationship. A part of him ached to take things further, to show you how much he loved you. But his insecurities and anxieties held him back. What if he wasn't good enough? What if he disappointed you? The thought was terrifying.

“Baby,” he finally said, breaking the silence between them. He swallowed hard, his heart beating a little faster. “Can I ask you something?” His voice was nervous, and he was suddenly regretting asking you anything at all.

At his anxious tone, you knitted your brows and turned to face him. “Of course. What is it?”

Matt looked down at you, his thoughts a swirling mess of anxiety and desire. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “It's… It's our anniversary,” he started, his voice a little shaky. “And I was wondering…”

He trailed off, the words failing him. He felt like a complete idiot. He'd never been good with expressing his desires, especially when it came to physical intimacy.

You gazed at him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. You could tell he was nervous, and it made you worry. You reached up, gently caressing his cheek. “Yes?” you prompted, your voice gentle and encouraging.

Matt's heart fluttered at your touch, and he took another deep breath, summoning his courage. “I was just… I was thinking…” he mumbled, his words barely more than a whisper. “Tonight, I was hoping we could… Take things further.”

He felt a blush rising up his cheeks, and he quickly looked away, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “Are you sure? Like, 100% sure?”

Matt nodded quickly, his heart hammering in his chest. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice trembling slightly. “I'm sure. I've been thinking about it for a while now. I… I want you, baby.”

Saying the words out loud sent a shockwave of adrenaline through him. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and wonderful all at once. But he knew he needed to be honest, to lay it all out on the table.

“I'm just... nervous,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I've never done anything more than kissing, and I don't… I don't know if I'll be any good.”

“It's okay,” you whispered, reaching up to caress his cheek. “But are you sure? I don't want you to do anything you'll regret.”

Matt leaned into your touch, the warmth and tenderness of your hand calming him down a little. But your words also made him pause. Was he sure? He desperately wanted this, wanted you. But his insecurities were still looming, a dark cloud in the back of his mind.

“I'm sure,” he replied, his eyes searching yours. “I want this. With you.”

“All right.” You nodded. “How… How far are we talking?”

Matt felt his cheeks flush even more, but he forced himself to keep eye contact with you. He appreciated your directness, and your willingness to talk about this openly.

“I, uh…” he began, his voice still a little shaky. “Everything, I guess. If you want that.”

He swallowed hard, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He hoped he wasn't pressuring you or coming on too strong.

You felt your heart skipping a beat and heat already pooling in your lower abdomen. “I do,” you said softly. “But I want to make sure you're completely comfortable.”

Hearing your confirmation sent a pang of excitement through Matt. He felt a mix of emotions, desire, affection, and a hint of fear. But overruling it all was a deep sense of trust. Your words, your reassurance, it was all he needed.

“I am,” he said, his voice a little steadier now. “I trust you, baby. Completely.”

A small, tender smile crept onto your face. “Okay.” Your voice was so soft, so sweet, so kind. “Do you… Want me to take the lead?”

Matt's heart leaped at your question, a mix of relief and desire coursing through him. The idea of you taking control was both frightening and exciting. He hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “I… I want you to take the lead.”

You put one of your hands on his cheek before slowly and gently pressing your lips against his.

Matt's heart skipped a beat at the feel of your lips on his. He'd kissed you countless times before, but this kiss felt different, more intimate. He let out a soft sigh against your mouth, all his anxieties and worries melting away as your touch filled his senses. He brought his own hands up to cup your face, his fingers gently tracing your jaw, his touch soft and reverent.

The kiss deepened, their mouths moving against each other in a slow, languorous dance. Matt could feel the heat pooling in his stomach, the desire for you growing with every passing second. The fear was still there, but it was muffled by the overwhelming sensation of pleasure. He pulled you closer, his hands moving to your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin.

Not stopping the kiss, You moved to straddle his lap, your knees on both sides of his thighs.

Matt felt a shiver run down his spine as you straddled him, your body suddenly so close and so warm. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you even closer, their bodies now pressed together in a way you’ve never been before. The feeling of your weight on his lap ignited a new wave of desire in him, his kisses growing even more intense. He wanted you, desperately.

“You okay?” you mumbled into his lips.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as you spoke, the feeling of your words more like breath than a sound. He couldn't even form a response, his mind completely consumed by your touch and the taste of your lips. He managed a nod, a weak yes whispered against your mouth. He was more than okay. He was on fire.

Matt groaned involuntarily at the feel of your tongue against his lip, the sound more a mixture of pleasure and need than anything else. He immediately parted his lips, granting you access without a second thought. His hands moved to your thighs, his fingers gripping your flesh as he opened his mouth to her.

The kiss grew hungrier, more urgent. Their tongues tangled together, exploring each other without restraint. Matt was lost in the sensation, in the feeling of you in his lap, your body pressed against him. He could hardly think straight, his mind clouded by desire and need. His hips involuntarily bucked slightly, seeking more contact.

“Impatient, huh?” You teased softly, pulling away a little.

Matt let out a low growl of frustration as you pulled away, a mix of desire and irritation in his expression. He was getting so lost in the moment, he was aching for more. Your words, your tease only heightened his need.

“Baby…” he breathed, his voice a mixture of pleading and impatience. “Don't tease me.”

You smiled tenderly before grabbing his both hands and sliding them under your crop top, urging him to take it off.

Matt let out a sharp breath at the feel of your skin under his hands, your top soft and warm. Without hesitation, he moved his hands slowly up your stomach, his fingers exploring the planes of your skin as he helped you pull off your crop top. It fell to the floor, forgotten. His eyes went wide at the sight of your half-naked upper body, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Oh God,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.

Matt couldn't have looked away even if he'd wanted to. His eyes were drawn to your chest, his breath hitching at the sight. It was as if his brain was shorting out, his desire for you overwhelming everything else. He felt a mix of awe, arousal, and a hint of nervousness. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly very dry.

“You're… You're so beautiful,” he managed to whisper, his voice thick with want.

You smiled softly, your fingertips tracing his shoulders over the t-shirt. “Can I take it off, baby?”

Matt's muscles twitched under your touch, your words sending a shudder down his spine.

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice a little shaky. “Please.”

He wanted to feel your skin on his, the touch of your fingers on his bare chest. He raised his arms to help you as you tugged his t-shirt over his head, discarding it to the side.

Matt's muscles twitched under your touch, your words sending a shudder down his spine. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice a little shaky. “Please.”

He wanted to feel your skin on his, the touch of your fingers on his bare chest. He raised his arms to help you as you tugged his t-shirt over his head, discarding it to the side.

Once the shirt was off, his chest was now bare, exposed to your touch and gaze. Matt felt a mixture of vulnerability and excitement, his heart beating fast in his chest. He could feel your eyes on him, your fingers tracing soft patterns on his skin. He wanted you, all of you.

“Baby,” he murmured, his voice ragged with need. “Touch me.”

Obediently, You ran your fingertips through his shoulders, to his arms, to his chest. “God, you're so beautiful,” you whispered breathlessly.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as your fingers glided over his skin, your touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. He shivered under your touch, a small moan escaping his lips. Your words, your voice, your touch — it was all almost too much to bear.

“No, you are,” he breathed, his own hands moving to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. "So beautiful. So perfect."

You were doing everything so slowly and gently, knowing that he'd never done anything like that before. You wanted to make it so good for him. Matt was both grateful and frustrated by your slow and gentle pace. Grateful that you were so patient, and so understanding, but frustrated because he just wanted more. He wanted to be consumed by you, to lose himself in your touch. But he knew you were doing it for his sake, to make it easier for him, and that only made him love you more.

“Baby,” he gasped, his voice pleading. “Please. More. I need more.”

You smirked before leaning a little closer to his face. “You want more?”

Matt looked at you, his eyes dark with desire, his expression a mixture of need and pleading.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice a little breathless. “I want more. I want all of you.”

He reached up to you, his hands skimming up your sides, his touch firm and possessive. He wanted to touch you, to feel you, to lose himself in you.

“Please,” he added, his voice a low, desperate plea.

You held his face as you kissed him once again, the kiss sweet and full of emotion.

Matt returned the kiss hungrily, his lips moving against yours with a mix of desperation and affection. He couldn't get close enough to you, his hands roaming over your bare skin, wanting to feel you, to touch you everywhere. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth with a new, more urgent fervor. He could feel his desire for you growing, overpowering everything else.

“Baby…” he breathed into your mouth. “Please, I… I need you.”

Matt swore, his head falling back on the pillow as you ground your hips with his. The feel of you grinding against him, the friction, the heat, and the pressure — it was almost too much. He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, trying to pull you closer, to increase the contact. A low moan escaped his lips, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Oh God,” he panted, his eyes squeezed shut. “Baby… That feels… That feels so good.”

“You sound so pretty,” you praised breathlessly.

Matt blushed at your words, his heart fluttering at your praise. He let out another soft moan as you rode against him, his body responding instinctively. He was completely lost in the sensation, the feel of your body against his driving him mindless. He tried to form words, to respond, but all that came out was another low groan.

“God… Baby,” he breathed, his hands still holding onto your hips. “Don't… Don't stop.”

His body was on fire, his every nerve alive with desire. He could feel his own hardness growing beneath you, a testament to how much he needed you. His hips canted upward, seeking more contact, wanting to be closer, closer, closer. He opened his eyes, looking up at you, his gaze filled with a mix of want and awe.

“Sweetheart… I… I don't know how much… How much longer I can last,” he whispered, his voice thick with need.

“It's okay, baby,” you cooed, halting your movements.

Matt let out a small, involuntarily whine as you stopped moving, his body protesting the lack of sensation. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire and frustration, but also with a hint of relief. He was so close to the edge, he didn't know how much longer he could hold on.

“I… I thought you would keep going,” he breathed, his voice a combination of disappointment and need.

“Patience, sweetheart,” you teased, your hand running down his chest, from his shoulder to his happy trail, before finally resting on the buckle of his belt.

Matt's breath hitched at your touch, your hand igniting a trail of fire on his skin. He watched as your hand moved down his chest, down his stomach, to the buckle of his belt. A wave of heat washed over him, making his entire body shiver with anticipation.

“Patience,” he echoed, his voice a rough whisper. “You're… You're killing me.”

You gently hooked your finger under the belt. “Can I?”

Matt nodded, his eyes locked on yours, his breathing shallow and ragged. He trusted you completely and wanted you to take whatever you needed from him. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice thick with need. “Do whatever you want. I'm all yours.”

“So good for me,” you praised before expertly unbuckling his belt and tugging his jeans down.

Matt's heart leaped at your praise, a sense of pride and satisfaction filling him. He lifted his hips slightly, helping you pull his jeans down. He was now only in his boxer briefs, the material doing little to conceal his arousal. He was completely exposed, both physically and emotionally, and he could do nothing but lay there and look up at you, his desire for you burning in his gaze.

“Only for you,” he whispered, his voice a quiet admission.

“Already so worked up for me, huh?” you asked breathlessly, a small smile on your face.

Matt blushed at your comment, the heat spreading across his cheeks. He could feel the evidence of his arousal straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs. He was so worked up, so needy, so desperate for your touch. He swallowed hard, his voice husky and raw.

“Yeah,” he breathed, his eyes fixed on yours. “Only for you. I want you so badly, sweetheart.”

You sat back on his lap, caressing his cheek. “You want to try to take off my bra, baby?”

Matt's eyes widened at your suggestion, a mix of excitement and anxiety washing over him. He'd never taken off a bra before, and he was suddenly unsure of himself. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

“Yes,” he rasped, his voice betraying his nervousness. “I… I want to try.”

His hands moved to your back, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached for the clasp of your bra. He tried to steady his breathing, but his heart was racing, his mind a jumble of thoughts and feelings.

“I… I'll probably be bad at this,” he admitted, his voice a hesitant whisper.

“It's okay,” you assured him softly. “I don't mind.”

Matt nodded, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He fumbled with the clasp for a few seconds, his fingers feeling both clumsy and inadequate. But finally, with a soft click, the bra came undone. The cups fell loose, revealing your bare chest to him. He stared at you for a moment, his eyes wide, his breath caught in his throat.

“Oh… Wow,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and desire.

You smiled a little sheepishly.

Matt's eyes drank you in, every inch of your beautiful skin, every curve and contour. His hands were itching to touch you, to feel your flesh under his fingertips.

“You are… You are so exquisite,” he breathed, his voice filled with a mixture of wonder and admiration. “You take my breath away.”

Noticing his hands twitching, your smile softened. “You can touch me.”

Matt couldn't believe you were actually giving him permission to touch you, to touch this beautiful woman who was willingly sitting on his lap, your body bare for him. He lifted his hands, his fingers hovering slightly above your skin.

“I… I want to,” he breathed, his voice a shaky whisper. He wanted to feel you so badly, but he was also afraid of doing something wrong, of upsetting you in some way. “Are you… Are you sure it's okay?”

“I am. Don't think so much. Just… Feel.”

Matt took a deep breath, allowing the words to sink in. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting go of the nagging thoughts and doubts in his mind. When he opened them again, his gaze was clear, his expression relaxed.

And then he touched you.

His fingers skimmed lightly over your skin, slowly, delicately, exploring the soft planes of your chest. A shiver ran through him as he felt the heat of your flesh, the suppleness of your skin.

“God, you're so soft,” he whispered.

Sensing that he was still holding back, You smiled softly and grabbed his hand, putting it directly on your breast, and gently squeezing his fingers.

Matt gasped, his breath hitching in his throat as your hand guided his. The feeling of your flesh, your breast, under his palm was almost too much. It was so soft, so warm. He could feel your heart beating rapidly under his fingers. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Oh God,” he breathed, his voice hoarse. “This… This feels… Incredible.”

His fingers traced a slow, tentative path over your breast, his touch firm but gentle. He could feel your own heart hammering against his palm, a perfect rhythm. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of desire.

“Is… Is this okay?” he breathed, his voice a low, raspy whisper. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“It's okay,” you assured him softly. “I'll tell you if anything. Just… Touch me.”

Matt nodded tightly, the lump in his throat suddenly replaced by a wave of desire and need. He took your words to heart, letting go of any lingering doubt or fear. He allowed himself to really touch you, to move his fingers over your skin, to feel the contours of your body.

His other hand moved up to your other breast, gently kneading it in his palm. “Is… Is this good?” he whispered, his voice almost inaudible over the sound of his own heartbeat. “You feel… So perfect, so soft.”

You let out a shaky breath. “So good.”

Matt felt a sense of power and satisfaction wash over him, emboldening him. He could feel your breath catching in your chest, hear the hitch in your voice. He knew he was doing something right, something that made you feel good. He continued to caress you, his touch becoming more confident, more sure of itself.

His breath felt hot and heavy, his heart hammering against his ribcage. “Can I… Can I kiss these, too?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.

You felt a sudden rush of so much love for this boy. “Of course. Anything you want.”

Matt's heart soared at your permission, at the way you were giving yourself to him so completely. You were so wonderful, so understanding. He leaned forward, his lips coming to rest on your breast, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. He was gentle at first, his touch light and tentative. But then he began to kiss you more firmly, more hungrily.

And then, a moan of his name escaped your lips.

Matt's heart leaped at the sound of your moan, the way you said his name. It was like music to his ears. He pulled back slightly, looking up at you with a mixture of awe and desire.

“Did… Did I do something right?” he asked, his voice breathless and shaky. “The way you said my name… It sounded… It sounded like it felt good, like you liked it.”

“You're doing… Incredible,” you whispered breathlessly.

Matt felt a surge of pride and satisfaction coursing through him. He couldn't believe this was actually happening, that he was pleasuring this incredible woman, making you feel this way. But the knowledge that he was pleasing you, making you moan and breathless, only fueled his own desire, his own need for you.

He continued to kiss you, his mouth moving across your chest, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. “More,” he murmured, his voice low and ragged. “Can I… Can I do more?”

“Anything.”

Matt felt a wave of heat and adrenaline wash over him at your word, your permission. Anything? The possibilities, the desires, raced through his mind. He wanted to explore you, to touch you, to make you feel things you'd never felt before.

His mouth moved down your body, his tongue tracing a path down your sternum, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along your stomach. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of need. “Can I… Can I taste you?”

You pulled yourself up on your elbows to look at him. He looked so pretty, looking up at you from between your thighs. But it was his first time, and you wanted to make it special do him. “Are you sure? I want it to be about you. You don't have to…”

Matt paused, looking up at you. Your concern for him, your consideration, made his heart swell. He could feel your gaze on him, warm and gentle. He knew you would never force him to do something he wasn't ready for. But he could also feel his own desire burning beneath the surface.

He nodded, his voice steady and sure. “I'm sure,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. “I… I want to. I want to taste you. I want to please you… If you're okay with that.”

You nodded shakily, before bunching up the fabric of your skirt in your hands, pulling it down and revealing your little lacy panties.

Matt's eyes widened at the sight before him. Your panties were a beautiful lace, delicate and feminine. He could feel his mouth go dry, his heart quickening in his chest. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with an almost reverent awe.

His hands tentatively moved up from your thighs, tracing gentle patterns on your bare skin as they crept closer to your panties. “You're so beautiful,” he breathed, his voice laced with need and desire.

He leaned forward, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. His hands were still tracing feather-light patterns on your thighs, but he was now just millimeters away from your underwear. His heart was hammering, his mind a cacophony of emotions and sensations. “May I… May I touch you there?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.

“Please,” you whispered breathlessly, your chest already heaving.

Matt didn't need to be told twice. With a mixture of nerves and confidence, he let his fingers graze across the fabric of your panties, just touching the soft material. He could feel the heat radiating from you, the moisture already seeping through. He swallowed hard, his own body responding to the feel of you.

His gaze flicked up to your eyes momentarily, seeking reassurance, before returning to his task. “Is… Is this right?” he whispered, his voice a little shaky.

“Yes,” you whispered breathlessly. “Perfect.”

Matt felt a rush of relief and satisfaction at your words. He was doing well, making you feel good. He continued to touch you, to move his fingers across the fabric of your panties, feeling the heat and the dampness beneath.

As his touch grew more confident, more assured, he found himself getting more and more excited. His own breathing grew shaky, his heart racing. “Can… Can I do more?” he breathed, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Whatever you want,” you mewled. “I'll tell you if anything.”

Matt's heart fluttered at your response. The trust, the permission, it was almost too good to be true. He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But all he found was love, desire, and a willingness to explore.

He took a breath, trying to steady himself. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice a little shaky. He moved his fingers down to the edge of your panties, toying with the thin strip of fabric. “I… I want to touch you without these in the way…”

He paused, waiting for your permission. He was already so close, already feeling the heat and dampness of your through the thin fabric, but he wouldn't do anything you weren’t comfortable with. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with desire but laced with the need for your approval.

You nodded. “Do whatever you want.”

Matt felt a shudder run through him at your words. Your permission, your trust in him, it was like fuel for the fire that was burning within him. He gently pulled at your panties, guiding them down your legs, discarding them on the floor.

The sight of you, bare and fully exposed to him, was almost too much. His breath caught in his throat, and he had to force himself to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed. His fingers itched to touch you, to feel the smoothness and heat of your skin, but he waited, looking up for your nod of approval.

When you gave it, he moved quickly. His fingers traced a path up your thighs, moving closer and closer to your core. His own breathing was ragged, his heart pounding in his chest, and he struggled to keep his hands from shaking as they got closer and closer to the most intimate part.

His fingers grazed over your skin, feeling the heat radiating off of you. He could feel the wetness there, the evidence of your arousal, and he couldn't help but shudder. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and hungry, his tongue flicking out to moisten his suddenly dry lips.

“You're… You're so wet,” he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips.

Your breath hitched. “Only for you.”

His heart leaped at hearing your words, at the idea that he was the only cause of your arousal. He could feel the power and the responsibility that came with it, and it only stoked the fire within him.

His fingers were now tracing gentle circles around your entrance, his touch light and tentative. He couldn't believe he was doing this, touching you this way. “Can… Can I… Can I put a finger inside?” he asked, his voice shaky.

“Yeah,” you whispered shakily. “Please.”

Matt could feel his breath catch in his chest at your words, at the desire in your voice. His whole body was trembling, almost overwhelmed by the enormity of the moment. He nodded, swallowing hard, his eyes fixed on you.

He gently, carefully, eased a single finger inside, a choked gasp escaping his lips as he felt your warmth and wetness around him. As he moved his finger, You suddenly let out a gasp.

Matt was instantly worried, his finger freezing in place. “Did… Did I hurt you?” he asked, his voice full of concern. He looked up at you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort.

“N-No, it's just…” Your face flushed. “Your fingers are longer than what I'm used to.”

Matt felt a sudden rush of pride at your words, his chest swelling. He had to admit, he'd always been a bit self-conscious about his long thin fingers. But the idea that they were causing her pleasure, that they were giving her a feeling you weren’t used to, that felt incredible.

He curled his finger slightly, exploring your depth. “Is… Is this okay…?”

Your breath hitched as he reached that one spot, and you almost screamed out loud. “Oh my…”

Matt was surprised by your reaction, the sound you made nearly sending him over the edge. But he was determined to make you feel good, to make you feel better than you'd ever felt before.

He kept his finger where it was, gently applying pressure to that one spot, a smirk on his face. “Is this the right spot, hm?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Matt,” you mumbled in pleasure.

Matt couldn't help but smile at your reaction, at the way you responded to his touch. He couldn't believe he was doing this to you, causing you to feel these things. And he couldn't resist the urge to tease you a little bit.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, his voice low and dripping with barely restrained desire.

“Add a second finger,” you instructed him softly. “And try to move them, curling them to hit that spot.”

At your instructions, Matt felt another wave of arousal wash over him. You were telling him what to do. You were guiding him, showing him how to please you. It was a new experience, but one he was more than happy to explore.

He obeyed, slowly adding a second finger to the first. The feeling was tighter, but also warmer. He began to move his fingers, just as you'd told him to.

The angle was a little clumsy at first, but then he felt that one spot, and he applied gentle pressure, curling his fingers at just the right angle. “Like…” he started, his voice a little breathless. “… like this?”

“Oh fuck…” you moaned, your back arching a little in pleasure.

Matt found himself breathing harder at the sight of you arching your back, at the way you were responding to his touch. He knew he was doing something right, and it only fueled his desire to please you more, to make you feel even better.

“Is… Is this good?” he asked, his voice a little shaky. “Does this feel good?”

“So good, fuck, so good…”

Matt's heart was racing, his breath coming in heavy pants. He loved hearing your praise, and the way you reacted to his touch. It was something he'd never felt before, and he wanted more, wanted to make you feel even better.

He kept his fingers moving and applying pressure, his gaze darting up to your face, watching your expressions. “I want you… I want you to feel… To feel so good,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of breathless and earnest.

Your noises of pleasure, your arches, and your moans, it was all driving him wild. He wanted to make you fall apart, to make you forget everything but him and whatever he was doing to you.

“You… You want to try to use your mouth?” you asked breathlessly in between the moans.

Matt's heart quickened at your request. He'd wanted to do that, too, but he hadn't been sure if you'd be okay with it. But now that you'd asked, he was more than happy to comply.

“Yes,” he responded, his voice hoarse with desire. “I… I want to. I want to taste you, too.”

He gently withdrew his fingers and slowly moved further down your body, his heart thudding in his chest. He settled between your legs, looking up at you as his breath came in hot, uneven pants against you.

As he tasted you, as he felt you against his lips, his tongue, his mind was overwhelmed. He hadn't expected this, but it was better than he'd ever imagined. You tasted sweet and tangy, and it only spurred him on.

He forgot about feeling out of his depth, he forgot about potential mistakes or awkward moments. All he wanted to do was pleasure you, to make you feel good. His tongue moved and explored, and his eyes fluttered up at you. He'd never seen you so undone, so lost in pleasure, and the knowledge that he was causing it only deepened his desire to please you more.

“God, you're so good at that,” you breathed out shakily.

Matt felt a wave of pride and pleasure wash over him at your words. He continued, his tongue moving over you, his lips applying gentle suction. Hearing your approval, feeling you respond beneath him, was intoxicating. But he was relentless, determined to bring you to the brink, to make you lose control completely.

His hands moved up, gently caressing your thighs and stomach, seeking to give you even more pleasure. He wanted you to feel good, to feel loved, to feel worshipped.

And eventually, your moans got even louder as you released on his mouth, his name on your lips like a prayer. Matt could feel your body shaking, could hear your voice as you cried out his name. It was a moment he knew he'd never forget, a moment that would be ingrained in his memory forever.

He slowly withdrew, crawling back up beside you. He couldn't seem to find his voice, his heart still hammering in his chest.

He was a little amazed at himself, too, he had to admit. He hadn't been entirely sure what he was doing, but he'd just seemed to know. He'd found a way to bring you pleasure, to send you over the edge, to make you sing his name like a song.

He found his voice again, his voice low, rough. “Was that… Was that good for you? Was I okay?” His heart was still beating fast, his body thrumming with a mix of adrenaline and pleasure.

“God, you're… You're unreal,” you panted out.

Matt couldn't help but smile at your words, the praise fueling his ego. “I… I am?” he asked, unable to hide the slight tone of smugness in his voice. He knew he should feel more humbled, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride.

He reached out, gently tracing random patterns on your bare stomach as you caught your breath. “I just… I wanted to make you feel good,” he said softly.

When you came down from your high, you sat up to rest their foreheads against each other. “Are you sure you're ready?”

Matt's heart raced as you asked the question, his mind suddenly flooded with thoughts and worries. Was he ready? He had wanted this, more than anything, but now that the moment was here, he felt a twinge of fear.

He looked into your eyes, searching for reassurance. But all he saw was love, desire, and a willingness to wait if he wasn't ready yet.

He nodded, taking a shaky breath. “Yes,” he murmured. “I'm ready.”

In response, you locked their lips in a passionate kiss, one full of love.

Matt responded eagerly, his body pressing against yours as their mouths met in a passionate kiss. Every thought, every fear, was pushed aside in that moment. All that mattered was you, your breath, your lips, your bodies.

His hands found their way into your hair, tangling in the soft strands, holding you close. He poured all of his feelings, all of his desires into the kiss, his heart hammering in his chest.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as he felt your fingers slide under the waistband of his boxers, the sensation causing a shudder to run through his body. He'd been on edge ever since you'd started, his desire already at a fever pitch. But your touch, your gentle caress, only served to drive him wild.

He pulled back from the kiss to murmur against your mouth. “Please…” he whispered, his voice ragged and pleading. “Please, don't tease me anymore. I can't take it.”

You let out a shaky groan before pulling his boxers down, seeing him fully exposed for the first time. You took a moment to really take him in, your eyes full of awe and love.

Matt's cheeks burned under your gaze, feeling suddenly very exposed and vulnerable. He'd never been looked at this way before, never felt this vulnerable. But he also felt a wave of affection at the awe and love he saw in your eyes.

He met your gaze, his own eyes full of a mixture of desire and trepidation. “Is… Is it okay?” he asked softly, his voice betraying a hint of insecurity.

“You're so beautiful,” you praised breathlessly. “So perfect.”

Matt felt his heart soar at your words, the insecurities fading away and being replaced with a wave of intense love. No one had ever called him beautiful before, and certainly not perfect. He'd always felt a bit too thin, too gangly, too nerdy. But to you, he was beautiful, perfect.

He drew in a shaky breath, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “So are you,” he murmured. “Perfect, I mean.”

You reached to gently caress his cheek. “Sit up against the headboard for me.”

At your request, Matt obeyed, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. He felt bare and exposed, but he trusted you and knew that you wouldn't do anything to make him feel uncomfortable.

His gaze met yours, his heart beating fast in his chest. “Like this?” he asked, his voice a little breathless.

“Perfect,” you praised before straddling his lap once again.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as you straddled him, your body pressing against his in all the right places. His hands found your hips, his fingers gently gripping them, as if he needed something to anchor himself.

His eyes roamed over your body, appreciating every curve and contour, before coming back up to meet your gaze. “You… You look amazing,” he breathed, his voice a little huskier than usual.

The corner of your lips went up as you rested your forehead against his, just looking into his eyes for a few moments. You were so close now, the heat and electricity between them palpable. Matt found himself getting lost in your eyes, feeling a sense of calm and understanding wash over him. He could feel your breath against his lips, your body pressed against his, and it was almost too much to bear.

He reached up a hand, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers feather-light against your skin. “I… I love you,” he whispered, the words coming out almost involuntarily.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, and your eyes reflected just how much.

Matt felt your words wash over him, the depth and sincerity of your love sending a shiver down his spine. He'd always known you loved him, but hearing you say it, seeing it in your eyes… It was as if all his fears and doubts vanished completely.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the words sink in, letting himself bask in your love. Then, his eyes opened again, his gaze intense, and he wrapped his arms more securely around your waist. “Show me,” he whispered. “Show me how much you love me.”

“You ready?” you made sure quietly.

Matt felt a flutter of nerves mix with the desire he was feeling, but he nodded, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter. “Yes,” he breathed in response, his voice a little shaky. “I… I'm ready.”

“If anything… Just tell me, and we can stop,” you promised.

Matt nodded again, appreciating your thoughtfulness. “I will,” he assured you. “But please… Please don't stop unless I say so.”

He drew you closer, his hands sliding up to your back, gently tracing the line of your spine. “I… I want this. I want you,” he murmured, his voice a low, earnest plea.

Matt shivered slightly as your hand moved over his chest, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His heart was beating hard, his breath coming in shaky gasps. He'd never felt this alive before, this on edge, this desperate for your touch.

His eyes tracked your hand as it moved, a small, helpless noise escaping his lips. He knew what was coming, and he was aching for it.

Finally, your hand wrapped around him, giving him a few slow pumps. Your touch was like a spark to a flame, igniting a fire within him that he hadn't known was possible. He groaned, his head falling back against the headboard, his eyes squeezing shut as the sensations washed over him.

His hips involuntarily arched into your touch, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter.

“Oh… Oh God, that feels…” he gasped, his voice choked. “That feels so good,” he managed to stutter out, his words a raw expression of pleasure.

The feeling of your hand on him was overwhelming, unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He could feel his body tensing and relaxing instinctively.

You positioned yourself above him, and you looked him in the eyes as if to ask for one last permission.

Matt's heart thudded in his chest as he looked into your eyes. He knew what was about to happen, and he wanted it, more than anything. He didn't want you to stop, he wanted you, all of you.

He nodded, his voice unsteady as he spoke. “Please,” he whispered, his breath ragged. “Please, don't stop.”

And then, you slowly started to sink down. The sensation was almost too much for Matt. It was like a wave of pleasure and heat overwhelming his entire body. He let out a low, guttural moan as you slowly sank down, inch by agonizing inch.

He clung to you, his hands gripping your hips with an almost bruising force. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lips parted as he panted for breath. “Oh… Oh God,” he managed to say, the words a messy, incoherent jumble.

His mind was reeling, every thought driven out by the sheer intensity of the feeling. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before, like nothing he could have imagined. You were warm, tight, and completely surrounding him, and it was everything.

He knew he was probably being too rough, too loud, but he couldn't help it. He was utterly lost in the sensations, losing himself in you. He was yours, totally and completely, and he loved every moment.

As you bottomed out, you rested your hands on his shoulders for support. “You okay, baby?”

Matt was trying to form words, to give some sort of response, but all he could manage was a series of ragged breaths and a nod. He was trying to ground himself, to stay in control, but it was nearly impossible.

He managed to open his eyes, his gaze meeting yours. “I… I'm… I'm okay,” he gasped out, his voice thick with pleasure. “Just… Just give me a second, please.”

You felt incredible around him, almost too good. He needed a moment to adjust, to find some sort of equilibrium, or he knew he'd lose himself completely.

He forced himself to take a few deep breaths, his heart hammering in his chest as he tried to steady himself. “You… You feel so… So good," he managed to get out between ragged breaths. He was struggling to find his voice, to express how he was feeling. “Just… Just give me a moment, please…”

“Of course. Take all the time you need,” you whispered, your hand gently caressing his cheek.

Your touch was like a soothing balm on his over-stimulated body. He closed his eyes and leaned into your hand, drawing in a shaky breath. He focused on the feeling of your fingers on his skin, your body surrounding him, anchoring himself to you. Slowly, the overwhelming sensations began to recede, replaced by a calmer, more controlled sense of pleasure.

He opened his eyes again, his gaze meeting yours. “I'm… I'm okay now,” he murmured. “You can... you can move now.”

You leaned in to press your lips against his before slowly starting to move your hips.

The feeling of your lips on his was like a jolt through his system, reigniting the fire that had been momentarily banked. He responded eagerly, his mouth moving against yours, his tongue caressing yours with an urgent need.

And then there was the movement of your hips. It was a gentle, careful circling motion, bringing him closer and closer to oblivion. Matt let out a guttural moan, his hands gripping your hips even tighter.

It was all too much, but he couldn't get enough of it. He felt like he was drowning in you, lost in the sensations of your body, your touch, your scent. He knew he was being loud, almost embarrassingly so, but he couldn't help it. He was completely yours, completely lost in you.

“Does that feel good, baby?” You asked breathlessly.

Matt could barely respond, too lost in the pleasure to string coherent words together. All he could do was nod, his voice choked off by a moan that tore its way from his throat.

He tried to form words, to tell you how good it felt, how incredible you were, but all that came out was a ragged gasp. “Y-yeah,” he managed to stutter out eventually, his voice hoarse. “Feels… Feels so good…”

You pressed their foreheads together before starting to move a little faster, moans escaping your own lips.

The change in speed made Matt's head spin. He felt like he was on the edge of an abyss, his body tensing and coiling with each move of your hips. He was a tangle of sensations, pleasure, need, and love, all swirling together.

He kept his eyes open, locking them with yours. Your moans, your ragged breaths, only amplified the sensations. He knew he was close, too close, but he didn't want it to end.

His hands left your hips, moving up to cradle your face in his hands. He needed to touch you, to feel your skin under his fingers, to hold onto you as he rode the wave of pleasure higher and higher.

“I… I'm close… I'm gonna… Oh God, I'm…”

You understood exactly what he meant, the urgency in his tone clear. Your movements became faster and more purposeful, pushing them both closer to the edge.

“I know, baby,” you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. “I know. Just let go. I've got you.”

Your words sent a shiver down his spine, the mixture of love and reassurance hitting him right in the chest. He wanted to hold on, to make this last as long as possible, but he knew it was impossible. He was on the edge, teetering on the brink of ecstasy.

“Baby…” he gasped, his voice thin and needy. “I… I'm… Oh God, I'm… I'm…”

He couldn't say the words, couldn't form the warning. All he could do was shiver as his body went rigid, waves of pleasure washing over him. He held onto you, his fingers digging into your flesh, as he rode out the aftershocks.

At the sensation of him releasing deep inside of you, you reached your climax as well, your back arching, and you let out a loud cry of his name. He felt you clenching around him, your own release as you cried out his name, and it was too much. He felt like he was being lifted into ecstasy, drowning in the sensations that swamped his body.

His hands moved to wrap around you, holding you close, feeling the tremors run through your body. He buried his face in the curve of your neck, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Oh God… Oh God…” he managed to say.

“I… I've never… That was…”

He couldn't complete a sentence, his mind reeling from the intensity of it all. He held onto you, feeling the rapid throb of your heartbeat against his chest, the heat of your skin against his, and the sweat that had gathered on both their bodies.

After You finally caught your breath, you looked at him, still straddling him, as you ran your hand through his hair. “Are you okay, baby?”

Matt was still reeling, his body trembling slightly from the force of his orgasm. He leaned into your touch, his eyes meeting yours.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse and raw. “I'm… I'm okay. I just… I need a minute. That was… Wow.”

“You were perfect,” you said softly before lifting yourself from him and falling onto the bed next to him.

He chuckled weakly, still struggling to catch his breath. “Perfect, huh? I'm pretty sure I yelled louder than you did. I think the whole neighborhood heard me,” he teased, half-joking and half-not.

You chuckled breathlessly. Matt, however, could only stare in wonder at how his seed was leaking out of you.

Matt couldn't tear his gaze away, his eyes fixed on the sight in front of him. He had never seen anything so intimate, so erotic. Without thinking, he reached out, his fingers tracing the trail of his release dribbling down your skin.

“God, you're so beautiful,” he whispered. “And I… I made a mess of you.”

Your breath hitched as he touched you, still oversensitive, but you didn't protest. He touched you delicately, his touch light and hesitant, as if he was scared to break the fragile moment. His gaze was filled with a mixture of awe and desire, staring at the evidence of what you have just shared.

“You… You look even more beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “Like I've marked you as mine.”

“I am yours,” you whispered.

The words sent a wave of possessiveness through him. “Mine,” he repeated, his voice almost a possessive growl. “All mine.”

He leaned in, pressing feather-light kisses along your jawline, his hands tracing aimless patterns on your skin. “I don't want anyone else seeing you like this," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “I don't want anyone else touching you like I do. You're mine.”

He continued to mark your skin with kisses, his mouth moving along the length of your neck and down to your collarbone. He wanted to keep you like this forever, covered in his marks, in his scent. He knew he was being selfish, but he didn't care. You were his, and he wanted the world to know it.

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers tangling into his hair.

The feel of your fingers in his hair only served to make him more possessive. He continued to kiss and nip at your skin, leaving a trail of love bites down your neck and chest.

“Mine,” he repeated, his voice almost a mantra. He wanted to keep saying it, as if by repeating it, he could make it more true. “All mine.”

“So… I take that I made your first time good?” you asked, a little jokingly.

Matt chuckled huskily, leaning back just enough to look into your eyes. “Good is an understatement,” he said, his voice still rough with desire. “That was… Mind-blowing. Life-changing.”

He paused, his gaze roaming over your body again, taking in the sight of you covered in his marks. “I think you ruined me for anyone else.”

“Well, I sure hope so,” you murmured before kissing him again.

He responded immediately, his mouth moving against yours with a desperate, needy hunger. He rolled you onto your back, pinning you beneath him, continuing the kiss with a fervor. He didn't want this moment to end, he wanted to revel in the feeling of your body under his, the taste of your mouth, the scent of your skin.

Between kisses, he managed to mutter, “You're the only one. The only one I'll ever need.”

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re

[batchilla]

False Accusations (You know I KNOW right? Chapter Two)

Let me first say thank you for all the kind reception part one received. It was … a surprise, and a welcome one.

Also, a massive thank you to @sunnie-angel for beta reading. If you haven’t read their work… Do yourself a favor and check out their masterlist!

This Chapter takes place over a few days in two mini stories., and I would appreciate being told if at any point this causes confusion. Currently how I’ve done it is as tilted segments. Content warning: this chapter has themes of sexual harassment in the workplace up to the point of groping (from an OC), and corruption. Proceed with caution. Be safe.

The morning after. You are going to murder your partner, Grayson. Perhaps with a gun. Maybe your own two hands. Or maybe you just need coffee.

It's probably the coffee thing. Coffee, then you’ll decide if you're going to kill him and how. As you sit at your table, surrounded by notes you’d made at 4am, the urge to throttle Grayson slowly subsides. You hadn’t slept a wink. You’d had a weird night. But if you were going to do this, help him find this killer… you’d need a plan for if it all goes to hell. A diversion. A plan so that if you’re made, maybe the killer will think you’re on the wrong track. A dummy investigation. But simultaneously one that you won’t overthink, so that you can devote your time and brainpower to the truth. Luckily for you, you have the perfect person to pretend to accuse. After all, your partner, Grayson, is an incredibly weird guy. 8:55 am finds you walking into the station sipping your third coffee of the morning, only to find Grayson sat at his desk. Shirt pressed, tie perfect, hair shampoo commercial glamourous yet slightly messy. The urge to murder your partner returns, just a little. How dare he be so… normal? So unaffected? How dare this man fight crime by night, and be smiling at you as he is now, chipper and bright and perfect, before 9am? The nerve. Maybe you could hit him with a patrol car and claim it was an accident. “Morning detective… Long night?”

Oh.. This fucker. Your partner, Grayson, is the most annoying man alive. You hate how badly you have to fight the urge to grin at the sheer audacity.

She looks exhausted, the poor thing. Dick remembered the feeling, but at some point he’d adapted to running on less sleep than was by any means reasonable. He hoped she wouldn’t need to. That this would be over in a few weeks and she’d be back to getting a full eight hours. “Morning Detective… Long night?” She glares at him like he’s caused personal offence. He raises an eyebrow at her to prompt a response. Inside though, he panics. Had he done something wrong? Could she suspect? No. no of course not. But whatever she said next would surely be important. It was a test of sorts. What would she say she’d spent the night doing? Would she betray his alter ego? Could she sell the lie if she didn’t? “Just had a night in, had a little too much to drink,” she shrugs, opening her bag and removing a notebook. Casual, calm, partially true and nearly impossible to disprove short of a blood test or breathalyser, and even then there was deniability. Dick nods, and looks back down to his computer to hide the grin that splits his face in half. He knows he can’t dwell on it, knows he can’t act on it, but it’s completely unfair that she was that smooth. That helpful. She’d agreed to help him - as Nightwing - instantly. Her words about how Blud owed him a debt had played in his mind on loop for the rest of his patrol. He knew what it felt like to fly. To flip through the air at dizzying heights, gravity a mere afterthought. It was cruel, frankly, that he’d found someone who made him feel even better than that, only for her to be someone he couldn’t be with out of principle and professionalism. It wasn’t that he objected to her as a partner - short of his family, she was possibly the best he’d ever met. Frankly, if she was transferred to Gotham, the bat signal would be turned on far less frequently. And he didn’t object to rules about dating fellow officers, especially one’s partner. Objectively it made sense. But it didn’t change the fact that her smile was the best part of his day. That on the rare times she laughed he could swear he heard an angel just straight up quit its position in the heavenly chorus out of pure envy. That when she’d said she’d help he’d wanted nothing more than to grab her face and kiss her till she was breathless. But he can’t. Or at least Dick Grayson can’t. A new voice breaks him from his spiralling thoughts. “Detective Grayson.” The man standing behind his partner's desk has a hand on the back of her seat, preventing her from swivelling around. 

“We haven’t met yet, I’m Sergeant James McElroy. Seems you spent most of my first day back stuck on a stakeout.” “Pleasure.” he responds, with all the charm he’s learnt to use at galas and parties, forcing down the venom incurred by the way his partner had seemed to lose a gallon of blood at the sound of his voice, and the way she had seemed not to breath since the name was spoken.

He's not touching you. Of course not. He knows better than to do anything so blatant. It's how he’d gotten away with it for so long last time. He doesn’t touch you, or say the things he was so clearly thinking. He would masterfully walk the line between making you feel unsafe, alone, and naked, while never crossing over into anything actionable. Till one day he had. It had been in a crowded lift where he’d used the crush as an excuse to grab and to feel, whispering something vile in your ear. 

He’d figured he’d gotten away with it when you tried to tell your captain and he’d asked if you had a witness. You’d thought he’d gotten away with it too. Till a uniformed officer, Janet Rodwell, had stepped up to have your back. You should have known, really. For the second time in 24 hours you feel like a fool. But while the first time it had been accompanied with a dizzying realisation of love, this time the realisation is dark and chilling to your core. You’d thought you’d won, that it was over. But he’s back and he’s not touching you, but you feel the ghost of his hands all over. You can’t win. He’d been sent away and you thought you were safe again, but he’s back and he’s a sergeant now. Because Bludhaven, as it is, rewards men like him. You can’t bring yourself to look over your shoulder at him, so you look straight ahead, across your desk and to your partner’s adjoining one.

It's not Dick Grayson’s eyes you meet though. They aren’t cheerful, carefree and beautiful. Well, they are beautiful. But they are angry, intelligent, and fierce. You meet Nightwings gaze, and you feel the claws around your lungs relax, even if they do not recede. 

His partner did not rattle easily. Did not panic unnecessarily. 

Pinned down by the Penguin’s smugglers, he’d thought their goose had been cooked unless he could work at his true capacity, so he had shot out the lights and gotten to work. He’d taken out nine, but been unable to find the tenth, until he’d heard the struggle. 

She’d taken him down blind, without drawing her gun. When he’d asked her why she hadn’t, she’d told him she’d lost sight of him in the chaos, and was unwilling to risk it. He wished he hadn’t shot the light out so he could have seen it. 

Still, he had been oblivious. It had hit him like a batarang to the face last night, in that moment where she agreed without hesitation to help him find a serial killer. He’d known she was beautiful, and brilliant. That he had a crush. 

He’d realised last night he was in far, far deeper trouble than that. So, if she was frightened and upset by the presence of this man, then Dick would take his looming over her as a serious threat. He trusted her gut. “You haven’t introduced yourself to my partner, Detective—-” He’s cut off with a dismissive wave that boils his blood. “Oh we’ve met. In fact, she was my partner first. Until the misunderstanding.” There are many ways to snap someone out of a panic. He’s seen sheer rage do it many times. As it does now. “There was no misunderstanding,” she says, her voice firm, her teeth gritted. “Well. I want you to know-” he moves from directly behind her, to her side, leaning down over her, invading her space. Dick wanted to hit him. “I understand that what I did could have been seen as invasive, and you may have felt that I overstepped. I have completed a course, as demanded by HR, and will attempt not to cause you to feel that I have been inappropriate again.”

She takes a deep breath. He can practically hear her count in his head. He stands, moving around the desk to stand beside her, not quite a barrier but a comforting presence, or at least he hoped. “Well. Whatever occurred, we have work to be getting on with, if you don’t mind.” It takes a great deal of the restraint his training has given not to add the words ‘you bastard’, or something far more creative. “But of course. Detective. Detective.”  

Your hands shake as you sit back down in your seat. Your partner, Grayson, returns to his own, his gaze - Richard’s gaze, never leaving your face, crumpled in concern. “I don’t want to overstep… but are you alright? What … did he do?” “I…” you want to tell him, in part. Or maybe you don’t, and you want him to know without having to go through the ordeal of rehashing it all. Maybe by consulting whatever ‘oracle’ he used as nightwing. But you can’t right now. So you don’t. “I… need some air.” Your partner just gives you a comforting smile, a nod, and lets you leave without question. Wingding in the window 

It's five days later, on his patrol, when he notices it. The wingding left in her window. He stops on the roof of the building adjacent to her. As far as city roofs go, this one’s relatively nice. Someone’s placed some potted plants around, in an eclectic attempt at a rooftop garden. Some of these pots contain small pebbles as cover for the soil from the wind. Grinning to himself, he takes a handful. 

Was this a good idea? No. 

Was it deceptive? Well, no more than anything else he did as Nightwing… well, maybe a little more. 

But it hurt, holding her at arm's length, when a part of his soul he tried to ignore yearned to be as close as she would allow. He knows it’s not good. He knows it’s a violation of the utter trust she seems to hold in Nightwing. Really, it would only make things even more messy for his chances as Dick. But he wants to make her smile. Blush, even. He knows she finds him attractive, and in both contexts, but he wants more than that. Over the last week he’s realised just how much he wants to have with her, and it terrifies him. 

If it was simple lust he could deal with it.  But it wasn’t, and so here he was, about to attempt the cheesiest move known to hallmark films, just to see if it would make her laugh at him again. 

He’d managed to be professional while surrounded by highly capable, badass women in skintight clothes for most of his life. He’d had crushes before and gotten over them. He wanted everything with her. And that was not something he knew how to handle, given the mess of their situation. Dick shakes his head, snapping himself out of his doom spiral. He had a detective to meet, and a serial killer to find.

Bap. Bap. Bap. You look up from your book. You’d been getting ready for sleep, wearing your cosy pyjamas, curled up in bed with a book and a hot chocolate. You go still, listening. Bap. Bap. A pause. Then, the rap of knuckles on glass. “I ran out of rocks”

You know that voice. “With you in a moment.” You pull on a dressing gown, and take a moment to curse the fact that your slippers are rabbits before pulling the curtains aside. Nightwing is crouched on your windowsill. You lift it, stepping back as he enters through the window with all the grace of a cat. You know that you shouldn’t be embarrassed to be in your pyjamas, it's late, you had no means of knowing when he’d arrive. But he looked divine in that suit. An adonis. And you're in your old bathrobe and bunny slippers. Truely, you must have done terrible things in a past life. “Nice footwear.” Nightwing says with a smirk. Curse him. Curse his cheekbones and the way his lips look so damn inviting. “You picked up what, five rocks?” you sass right back. Nightwing makes a noise you suspect was supposed to be a scoff, but is more of a squeak. “Do you see a lot of pocket space on this?” 

“Fair.” you say, leading him out of your bedroom and into your living room. He sits on your couch, one leg spread wide, the other’s ankle resting on its thigh, as you open a drawer on your coffee table and produce your masterpiece. Nearly five metres of red string. Names, photos, dates, all studded with pins so pressed so tightly in they haven’t a prayer of accidental removal. You prop it up on the coffee table. 

Maybe your friends were right. Maybe you did need to touch grass. A line of thought for later. You look at Nightwing, who’s no longer relaxed and laying back on your sofa like he owned the place. 

Its years of maintaining a poker face in interrogations and more recently, dealing with his shenanigans that prevents you from grinning. 

He's as pale as you’ve ever managed to see him, and leaning forward now, elbow on knee and chin in hand. “Well, this is… impressive.” He sounded like he’d inhaled helium. “Shall we start with Sergeant McElroy?” you offer, smiling your best ‘there’s nothing wrong’ smile, enjoying making him squirm. “You seem to have … a significant amount of evidence against Detective Richard Grerson?” You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you take a ruler, poking your picture of him between the eyes. You hadn’t planned to do him first, you’d hoped to discuss evidence that would actually lead somewhere. 

This was still going to be fun though. You take a deep breath, and pause for a suitable level of dramatic effect, and begin your game. 

“Detective Richard Grayson. He’s my partner. He’s an excellent detective, and a good man. You might have heard of the charity he founded.” Nightwing makes a noncommittal humming noise. “But is it all too good to be true?” you ask, moving to your first notecard. “Exhibit one. He asked about the file. On its own, innocuous. But then, exhibits two through four. He’s prone to frequent disappearances on cases. He often knows a little too much about the criminal underside of Blud. Things that I have triple checked are not in any police database.”

You run a hand through your hair. “He’s a highly trained combatant. I once saw him take down nine men armed with guns, in the dark. They don’t teach that at the police academy.” “No? No.” Nightwing says, clearing his throat. “I mean yes. That is… suspicious.” “Incredibly. Which brings me to exhibit five. Now I’m no behavioural analyst or shrink. But I know my basics. Childhood trauma and instability can have… lingering impacts. I… don’t feel the need to dredge up his past, but I did look into it… and it’s grim. He was then taken in by Bruce Wayne. His relationship to his father, whatever it is, is something he’s even tighter lipped about then… everything else honestly. It’s not on the board because it’s circumstantial at best… but he has this skill of being able to hold long conversations and yet you come away not having learnt anything deeper about him.” 

He was pretty sure he’d been nodding for a good thirty seconds at this point.  

It would be funny if it didn’t hurt so much. 

The worst part was that it was all well reasoned. Practical. He had done everything she accused him of. She had just drawn a far more down to earth conclusion, that he was a corrupt cop, rather than Nightwing. 

It made sense. Too much sense. How could he shut this down without seeming invested in his own innocence? 

That isn’t what causes his lungs to burn though. No. The root of that was that even if he’d forced himself to maintain a professional - if friendly - distance from her, he would have hoped that she trusted him. 

But in this moment, looking at the evidence, looking at her holding that ruler to his photo’s face like a judge's gavel ready to condemn… he knows. He knows that she will never look at Dick the way she does as Nightwing, happy to see him, believing in his mission, ready to help as soon as he’d asked. Even if he clears himself of this crime, she would surely suspect him of others. 

He’d known it, at least on one level, ever since he’d first met her. He knows it now all the deeper, and he wants to scream. Dick Grayson will never get to tell her how truly wonderful she is.

How highly he regards her. 

How she is one of the reasons he keeps fighting for Bludhaven. 

Dick Grayson will never get to tell her that he loves her. 

But… perhaps Nightwing could have something. Because if she was his north star, then the way he’d felt when she agreed to help him had been like being engulfed by a supernova. 

If she was water, then seeing her cosy and ready for bed and smiling as she let him in through the window had been an oasis in the Sahara. 

If music was the food of love, her attempts not to laugh and stifled giggles over his peeps popcorn had been a symphony orchestra. 

But he’d never have her as himself. Not at all. Nightwing though? She at least found him attractive. Aligned with his ideology. No, he’d never feel that warmth of 10,000 stars directed at the real him. 

No, he’d never be able to be quenched by her life saving presence. 

No, he’d never feel her laughter shaking his bones as if in a musical crescendo.

But even the dimmest and most distant star gave off some light.

Even the last drop in an empty water skin was better than nothing.

Even the memory of a melody could be sweet. True, he would only ever have scraps of her affection. True, he could flirt, and perhaps go even further… but he’d never truly be with her. 

But who was a starving man to deny scraps of sustenance? He’d take what he could have and try to ignore the lingering hunger. 

“Perhaps we should discuss… another suspect?” he prompts, realising how long he’s been silent. How long she had been too, watching him with a strange, concerned look.

She nods, and moves on to their Captain.

Dick is almost relieved when some ten minutes later Oracle calls in a robbery downtown. “Well - sorry Sherlock.” He takes a picture of her board for further study. “I’ll be around next week to continue this discussion, and look over this in my own time till then. Duty calls.” “Be safe,” She says softly, as he’s halfway through the window He looks over his shoulder. “As you wish.”

Taglist: @jasontoddproblems

@sunnie-angel

@stormz369

@love-theangel-blog

@torchbearerkyle

@interwebseriesfan24

@love-theangel-blog

@alwaysnervouswitchprince

@underlinekasis

@tiredsleepyandreading

@soradragon Banner credit is to @strangergraphics

If you would request to be added to my taglist, please reblog the fic. Honestly please just reblog it anyway? I worked hard on this. Nothing more demotivating than a fic getting only likes. If you want part three, reblog part two. 

[jollyhunter]

24 Kinky Days with Dean x reader - Day 22.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW - MDNI! - includes explicit sexual content, Dean being naughty and goofy, teasing, praise kink, bit of fingering, a lil' spankin', biting, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it before u tap it!), softdom!Dean, Dean guiding you through a new s♡x-position, fluff, aftercare and also there's pizza (yes, that's a warning) - no use of Y/N - there's probably more so just let me know if I missed something - English is not my native language and I’m dead on my feet Contains brief reference to Dec.9 (Whip Stroke) and Dec. 16 (Roll Over Rule)

Summary: Your ideas of 'self-care' couldn't be more contradicting: Dean's craddling a pillow and munching on his cold pizza, while you go through your yoga routine next to the motel bed. The entire time he's watching you stretch and bend and arch your back with lingering eyes... until he decides you've had enough yoga. Time for a 'fun way' to relax.

Words: ~6,500 (yeah, I know, prepare for a lot of teasing, but it'll pay off)

Feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated! Let me know in the comments what your favorite part was! <3 A/N: At this rate, I give up on the order of the prompts / days. 🥲 But I definitely want to complete the challenge! (Sorry for the long wait y'all!)

22nd Dec. - Yoga, Kama Sutra - potato, potahto

“Of course pizza beats yoga.” Dean scoffs, his eyebrows pinched together with a lazy shake of his head in disbelief. Like the audacity of you even questioning the superiority of fast food? Unbelievable.

“But- how can you even compare the two? That’s junk food. And this is like…” You think for a moment until you remember the right term, “Self-care. You should try it once.” You try to argue in hopes that this conversion might still turn to your favour. But you know you’re pulling on threads by now.

“Oh I do self-care.” He retorts gruffly, his eyes flickering down at you. And to proof his point, he stuffs a big bite of pizza into his mouth, munching on it while he continues, his words halfway muffled, “Food and beer’s my self-care, baby.”

“But-” You groan with a roll of your eyes but stop yourself there. If that man wasn’t halfway as fit as he is, you’d at least still have the trump card of health factor left. But truth be told, despite that, you didn’t have any more arguments, and you both knew it.

So in Dean’s eyes that settled it. His way of self-care is superior to yours. End of discussion.

His focus shifts back to his pizza and the old TV boxed in by a pair of wooden chairs. The smell of cold junk food mingles with the musty carpet that's infiltrating your nostrils everytime you get a bit closer to the floor. Gratefully the sweet cinnamon smell of one of those Christmas candles you had lit the moment you returned to your room, covers up most of the motels stale stench.

After Dean has been channel zapping through various Christmas movies, he finally gave in and tossed the remote control aside on the bed. The TV is running some ads in the background now and Dean is on his stomach stuffing his face with pizza, while you are on the ground next to the motel bed, doing your yoga session on a mat. "To relax," as you had explained to him. "Desperately needed after this case had turned out to be a damn goose chase all along." You added. And on top of that, the hard mattress you had to put up with for the past week did little to ease your bad mood or aching back pain.

By now, Dean had become used to your sporadic yoga sessions whenever time allowed it. Although it was still a mystery to him how this ‘weird hippie stuff’ was in any way relaxing to you, he always enjoyed watching you. And he’d made it a habit of his own to comment with a lick over his lips – perhaps even a low, appreciative whistle – and shamelessly lustful eyes taking in every detail of your body as you’re going through your routine, “Have I ever told you how lucky I am? Like jesus – you’re so fuckin’ flexible. Like some friggin’ contortionist. I bet you can even hook your foot behind your head.”

So, naturally, Dean isn’t really paying any attention to the TV. Even though the intro sequence of “Die Hard”, one of his favourite movies, is now playing.

As always his eyes are lingering on your stretchy outfit and how tightly your favourite colour wraps your body, highlighting every curve of yours, no matter where. The thin shimmer of sweat on your exposed skin and the way you seemed so in control and at the same time at peace. To him it felt like a big contrast to the moments of action where you’d cut down a vamp or plunge a stake through a pagan’s ribcage, your movements quick, precise and face and clothings always covered in the red aftermath.

He takes another bite of the pizza, attempting to distract himself, but his gaze keeps drifting back to you. Your rear in the air now as you switch into the Downward Dog pose. The soft moans and heavy breaths that slip your lips makes him chew slower. His mind now imagining you arching your body in other ways rather than yoga moves, while moaning his name and – Damnit, Winchester, get your mind out of the gutter.

“You having fun up there?” Your teasing voice rips right through his rather explicit picture of him going through some yoga poses with you at his mercy and he almost chokes on the mouthful of pizza. He forces it down with a swig of beer, while he gathers his thoughts sufficiently to reply with a cocky smirk, “Just enjoying the view.”

“Of course you do.” You roll your eyes but can’t help a soft chuckle before you switch to another pose.

From the corner of his eyes, he watches how you effortlessly stretch your legs apart just to roll over onto your stomach where you continue with propping yourself up on your hands, arching your back and then tipping your head back while pressing your stomach into the mat.

“Tell ya what,” he suddenly speaks up before he interrupts himself, stuffing the rest of the pizza crust into his mouth and swallowing it down. “You could probably do the whole Kama Sutra without breaking a sweat.”

You hold the Cobra pose when your chest briefly heaves from the huff that slipped your nose. “Horn dog.”

“Yoga, Kama Sutra – potato, potahto.” He snorts with a mocking tone, clearly starting to get annoyed from his fruitless efforts to distract you so far.

He shifts on the bed, propping his head up on the pillow in the crook of his arm to get a new angle on your curves. After watching you for a moment, he decides it’s time for a new approach.

He clears his throat before he muses in a sultry tone, “There’s also better ways to relax than yoga.”

While he licks his greasy fingers clean, he can’t help but appreciate the way the tight fabric of your yoga pants stretch over your curves again.

Still playing deaf, huh? A playful Cheshire smile forms on his lips when he finishes to suck his last digit with a obscene pop. He then continues in a demanding voice, “C’mere.”

“I’m not done yet.” You reply curtly, muffled slightly by the mat, your head now dropped down with your forehead resting on your folded hands.

He lets out an amused hum, “Oh yes you are.”

Within seconds he rolls off the motel bed to move on top of you, straddling your thighs and pressing down on you, pinning you against the mat.

You let out a surprised gasp, “Dean!”

But the only response you get is a cheeky “Heh-heh”.

When you feel his warm hands cup your butt cheeks and starting to squeeze and massage them, you lift your head to glance back over your shoulder at him. You give him your warning ‘seriously now?’ look, which he just deflects with a mock-innocent grin of his that said ‘what?’.

The way his palms squeeze firmly against your butt cheeks makes him let out a low satisfied hum in his throat. One hand moves to rest next to your head, supporting him as he leans down. His breath’s hot against your ear when he mutters, “This’ a lot more fun than that bullshit yoga.”

You want to bite back with a snarky comment about it not being bullshit at all – but your thought gets cancelled the moment his lips brush over the sensitive skin behind your earlobe, tracing a path of open mouthed kisses along the side of your neck. You let out a low shuddering breath, instinctively tilting your head for him.

But then a waft of his junk-food-slash-beer-laced breath hits your face and it instantly makes your nose scrunch up in a cute fashion.

“De, you smell like a dumpster.” You chuckle and reach with your hand over your shoulder to playfully shove his face away.

“Oh yeah?” He retorts with a smirk. Meanwhile his free hand snakes to the inside of your thighs, tight fingers sliding up under the stretchy fabric of your yoga shorts.

“Huh… only one way to solve it.” He mutters before he nips at your hand which had been pushing his face, giving the tip of your middle finger a short sharp bite that makes you gasp and immediately pull away.

He chuckles at your reaction and then straightens up to sit back on your legs. He inches further down to your calves, his eyes darting from his fingers wiggling under your short pants, up to your face again with a smirk on his lips. “I know what you’re thinking, sweetheart…”

Your anticipation’s building quickly. Feeling his fingers tracing so teasingly along the rim of your panties made the heat pool in your stomach and your mind throw all other plans for your remaining yoga session out the backdoor. And he damn well knew it the moment he brushed against the damp stain in the centre of your thin patch of fabric.

But then you let out a frustrated huff. He’d suddenly pulled his hand from between your legs to pat your ass with it, his glinting emerald eyes never leaving yours as he continues with a drawled “Nuh-uh.”

Then he leans over to the bed, his hand sliding into the pizza box where he fishes a remaining slice out. “Open wide.” He orders with a grin as he reaches with his hand over your shoulder. There he prods the tip of the pizza slice against your cheek, “C’mon, down the hatch. Commit a sin for me.” He quips with a feigned serious tone.

When you still look at him with that expression of befuddlement, he chuckles, his grin widening, “Take a bite, sunshine. Your breath’s my breath.”

You’re torn between being turned on by his words in some dirty twisted way and being utterly amused by them. It’s not like you were on a diet – heck, you sometimes eat so much junk food with all the cheap diners you’d hit every day on the road, it was a damn miracle you hadn’t gained weight yet.

“C’mon, Say aaaah.” He hums, still grinning from ear to ear as he prods the pizza slice against your lips.

After an amused snort, you can’t help but crack a grin of your own, “You’re a silly man, Winchester, you know that?” You finally give in and open your mouth enough to take a bite of the cold salami pizza.

“Yeah, but I’m your silly man.” He replies as he discards the pizza slice back into the box.

You swallow the bite down when his finger swipes over your bottom lip to clean away a streak of tomato sauce. His eyes follow his thumb’s movement, his touch gentle but the expression on his face more mischievous when he watches the tip of your tongue licking out to chase his finger to catch the bit of sauce.

You hold each other’s intense gazes, eyes darkened with something more. The sudden shift in atmosphere had you both still in your movements, taking in how the air between you had suddenly charged up.

Dean finally can’t take the tension any more and lets out a low growl from the back of his throat. He withdraws his finger, before giving your cheek a soft pat. “There’s my good girl.”

Your lips curl into a proud smile at his praise, “Only for you.”

A soft chuckle slips over his lips as he straightens up to sit back on your thighs again. His hands run down your back until they wrap around your hips, fingers trailing the hem of your yoga shorts. He hooks his fingers into the elastic band, slowly starting to pull them over your butt cheeks.

Your breath hitches when the cold air makes contact with your exposed rear. Next moment you feel his teeth dig into the soft flesh of your left bum cheek which triggers a short surprised yelp of yours.

“It was just too tempting.” He chuckles against your skin before he lets go of your butt with a wet-smooch to the red mark and straightens up again.

He pats the spot where he’d just claimed you, with his hand, “Lift up your hips, sweetheart.”

As you wiggle underneath him, he gets up on his knees, his weight now lifted off you to aid you with it. He leans forward to get a better hold on the fabric to properly pull the yoga pants along your panties down towards your knees.

“There we go… Now hold still for me, sunshine…” He mutters while his hands move along your skin.

A shiver runs through your body as you feel the only thing between you and him being taken from you, how you feel the fabric brush down your legs until you are completely exposed for him. Exposed and at his mercy. And damn it made your breath hitch from feeling vulnerable, as much as excitement.

After his hands had traveled further down, taking your pants and underwear with him, he discarded the redundant pieces of clothing to the side.

Finally satisfied, Dean slides down your legs again until he’s sitting on your calves, his hands on the back of your thighs. “Now where was my good girl’s cute little butt again.” He comments as he gently palms the soft globes of your cheeks with his smile never leaving his lips.

You groan softly and your eyes flutter closed, your body practically melting into the yoga mat under his touch.

“Oh, right, there it is.” He squeezes, his large hands massaging the flesh before he suddenly gives you a firm spank.

“Jesus-!” You yelp up at the unexpected sharp smack, your eyes wide open now as you whip your head to the side to stare back at him.

“Hey, you’re in prime spanking position here. What am I supposed to do, just admire the view and do nuthin’?” He mutters behind a teasing chuckle, his green eyes glued to the spot on your butt that was now slowly turning a light shade of red where his palm had hit you. “Plus, I know ya like it. Or you want me to get out the leather crop and remind you of our spankin’ session last week?”

Your thighs twitch involuntarily at the reminder of that evening. And the heat in your core is tingling from the vivid memory of that sweet-burning sensation that had taken over your body every time the leather smacked down on your skin.

“Guilty as charged.” You mutter while you have to force a moan back down your throat.

Dean’s lips curl into a cocky grin, “Knew it.”

You playfully narrow your eyes at him as you glance back over your shoulder to keep an eye on his sinful hand. But Dean stays unperturbed, if anything, your warning look just spurs him on even more.

“That’s for looking too damn good in those tight-ass yoga leggings.” He continues, giving your butt another firm slap before he reaches between your legs and your breath catches in your throat. His thumb traces the outline of your dripping folds, “And this-” His fingertips just graze over your centre, “That’s for being my good girl.”

He takes a moment to enjoy your gasp and how your head had dropped to the mat, your breath shaky already. His tongue darts out to lick his lips before he orders in a more gravelly tone, “Now be a good girl and spread your legs for me. I need to taste you.”

A shuddering exhale leaves your mouth, followed by a curse that luckily gets swallowed by the yoga mat you’re breathing into. You bend your knees slightly outward, as far as his hips pinning down your calves allow you to go.

“That’s it sweetheart…” He murmurs before his large hands grab the inside of your thighs, guiding your legs to part even further while his head slowly starts to sink down between them.

Your thighs begin to shiver from his warm breath hitting your soaked slit, desperately begging for his attention. Your hands blindly search for the edge of the mat, your fingers clutching it on each side as you prepare for him to dig into you.

Dean of course notices your anticipation and can’t miss the chance to comment on it.

“You’re gonna grab that mat nice and tight for me, sunshine. And you’re gonna hold still, keep those legs spread, and stay nice and quiet.” He instructs, his tone taking on a more commanding one, but still with a mischievous edge to it.

He then lowers his eyes again to admire the slick flesh between your legs where your folds are already parted, practically gleaming in the dim light of the motel room.

“Damn, look at you all nice and wet and open for me.”

Dean shifts his weight to brace his left elbow on the floor next to your hip, the other hand splayed out on the small of your back to hold you in place.

“You’re like a damn waterfall already, sunshine.” He murmurs in awe. The way your body reacts to him never ceases to fascinate him. He leans in, and you feel his hot breath coming in short puffs as he places a gentle kiss on your hooded clit, before he pulls back again.

As you immediately lift and tilt your head to look at him, he lets out an amused hum, “Now now, head down, sweetheart. Remember, yoga’s about relaxing and focusing on your body.”

“Smartass.” you manage to groan out.

“Eatsass.” he corrects you and before you get to be smart with him again, he proofs his point by suddenly parting your slick folds with his tongue, drawing it all the way up until he pulls it back into his mouth with a smack of his lips.

A low moan ripples through your chest, finally feeling that long desired friction that has you melt into a puddle of a blubbering mess. “Please- Dean- don’t stop- I need more- please-”

He grins at your pleading words and dives right back in. Licking, prodding, tongue lapping across your glistening folds, drinking your juice like its the only thing that keeps him sane. He moves up, his tongue circling your clit before he wraps his lips around it. Your legs suddenly tense up and a pathetic mewling-yelp erupts from your parted lips when he starts to suck at your bud like he’s finishing off a flurry through a thin straw.

Your hips jerk back and involuntarily try to pull away from the onslaught. But in vain as his large palm presses down on the small of your back to keep you in place and in reaction to your attempted escape, he just increases the borderline painful pull on your clit even more.

The foam gives in under your clawing fingers, feeling yourself near your climax. You’re close to a scream - until he finally loosens his grip around your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re relieved and frustrated at the same time. Your clit’s now swollen and overstimulated and oh so close to pop you off the edge.

“P-please…” you whimper and turn your head to the side against the mat to be able to look back at him, “De… please – I-… I’m so close-”

“You want to come on my face… or my fingers, hm?” Dean hums with a cocky sound to it.

“Both- anything- please,” you beg now, your chest heaving under the weight of your body, your breaths grown ragged and heavy.

“Such a greedy little thing,” he growls, his tone laced with pride, knowing exactly that he can always drive you mad with need if he wants to.

He shifts his weight, his chest resting between your legs and his free hand snaking over your thigh to join him. His fingertips reach between your legs, running through the folds, as he lets his finger circle around your entrance for a moment. At your muffled whimper, he effortlessly pushes his middle finger inside. “But first, I wanna see if I can make those legs of yours quiver from just one finger…” Dean states, his tone low with a raspier edge, and darkened eyes fixed on your dripping hole.

You gasp at his words, his gravel tone sending a shiver down your spine. But after a moment of enduring his finger’s tantalizing strokes, your patience snaps and you regain your voice.

“Oh fuck you.” you groan in protest, your teeth clenched from frustration. One finger after all this teasing? This was just pure torture now and he knew it.

“What? You want me to go in full house?” He chuckles knowingly, enjoying your worn down patience way too much for your liking, “Want me knuckles deep inside you again, is that it?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, but instead quickly jams his index finger inside you, pumping them both in and out while his lips enclose around your clit once more.

You don’t even have the time to gasp for air when you feel your walls clenching and gripping onto his curling fingers. A few seconds of intense onslaught of his is enough to send you flying over the edge with a loud guttural moan. Your nails dig into the mat, your legs are shaking and your walls fluttering around his fingers while he helps you ride out your height.

Once you fall limp and try to catch your breath, Dean slowly withdraws his two fingers to raise them to his mouth and suck them clean. He grins, wiping his face with the back of his hand before his tongue swipes over his lips, kingly as he does so, savouring every last drop of your taste.

He shifts on top of you to move a hand next to your waist on each side, leaning down to grab the hooks of your sports bra between his teeth. With a swift tug, it falls open and he leans in to kiss you between your shoulder blades. You let out a low hum, enjoying the soft affection with eyes fluttered close. He moves again to gently tug the last piece of clothing over your shoulders and arms until he flings it over his shoulder, where it lands next to your other things.

You feel the rough fabric of his shirt graze your skin, and the buckle of his belt makes you shiver when it lowers down on the nape of your back. Just below it, the growing bulge behind his jeans rubs against your butt when he rolls his hips against you.

“You feel how hard I am just because of you?” He murmurs against your skin, the words almost lost in a stifled groan. But you still answer with a low confirming hum. He continues to plant kisses along your back, taking his time to explore every single inch. His lips send small shivers down your spine and all the way to your core again, each one of them like a spark along your fuse.

“Babe?” He mutters between hot kisses lining up to your ear now.

“Mh?” You hum into the yoga mat while tilting your head slightly for him.

“You ever heard of the elephant position?” He asks innocently.

The what? That name earns him a surprised giggle of yours. It was nothing unusual that Dean would randomly hit you up with some sex-position he’d like to try out with you, but this one was a new one to you. “Are you seriously talking about how elephants mate? Or are you trying to impress me with the yoga pose?” You tease him. Clearly he wasn’t talking about the latter. “Or, let me guess, it’s a Kama Sutra thing.”

He plants another open-mouthed kiss right under your ear, “Mmm-hm,” and his throat rumbles against your neck, his lips lingering there for a moment while he murmurs, “That… Ever tried it?”

With the side of his face he nudges your head further aside before he dives down to take the skin of your neck gently between his teeth, pinching it enough to make you gasp.

At his question, though, you look a bit sheepish and you shake your head, “No… is it… good?”

Dean beams at your admission – he simply loves it whenever he can show you something new, especially when he knows how much pleasure it’ll bring you.

He perks his head up like an excited dog, “Oh you’ll love it, baby. I promise. It hits all your super-sensitive spots.” He leans back in to nibble on the soft flesh of your neck before he continues in an eager tone. “You wanna try it?”

“Uh,” you lift your head now to glance back, meeting his glinting green eyes above his wide smile. Your lips curl upwards at the sight of his excitement and you respond, “Yeah, will you, uh, will you show me?”

“Of course, baby.” He leans back to lower his hips on your thighs again, his eyes raking up and down your buck naked body. “I need you to stay just like this- uh – whatever pose this is.”

You chuckle and raise yourself on your elbows. “The sphinx.”

“Yeah, right, okay, sphinx.” He mutters and pushes himself off you for a second, “Stay. Don’t move.”

He reaches for his belt buckle, the sound of the metal clinking while he unbuttons his jeans and slides the denim along his boxers off his hips. The heavy, worn jeans quickly land somewhere next to your yoga outfit, and his shirt follows seconds after.

“Yeah, that’s better.” He mutters to himself before climbing on top of you again, his knees straddling your legs as he lowers himself down. He runs his hands up and down your sides, his firm pecs brushing against your back. “’M not crushing you, am I?” He asks, his tone softer for a moment.

“No, all good. Don’t worry.” You reassure him before you angle your shoulders to nuzzle your nose against his jawline, feeling the scruff prickle your skin.

“Good.” He nuzzles back into your neck, hands trailing down your arms, “Mmmh… you’re so soft, sunshine.” His hands continue their path until they wrap around your wrists and guide your arms up just slightly above your head as your chest slowly lowers back down. He places them there before he murmurs against your ear, “Keep them there for me, baby, keep them right where I can reach them, yeah?”

“Mhm.” You nod and suddenly become aware of the way the tip of his erection brushes against your inner thighs every time he moves.

“Just wanna make sure I know where those hands are.” Dean chuckles and purposely bucks his hips so that his swollen head briefly kisses your entrance.

His hands slowly glide up the inside of your arm, fingertips ghosting over your twitching skin. He brushes them underneath you, hands up the front of your chest, cupping your breasts and slowly kneading the soft flesh in his palms, “Can’t have you squirming and fighting against me while I’m trying to make you feel good, y’know.”

You arch into his hands, needy little sounds of pleasure dripping off your lips. Your core’s burning again, begging to be taken care of.

“I know baby, I know…” he coos between tender kisses, and in spite of his chapped lips, he caresses your shivering skin with soft love letters.

“Dean- please- I-” you start to plead, your voice bouncing off the pink foam you’re panting against.

But Dean finishes for you with his voice dropped to a rougher octave, while still trying to sound soothing for you, “You just want me to pound you mindless into that damn mat… I know… and I can’t wait to make you cry, sunshine… Gonna make you scream my name so loud, the folks at the front desk will hear it and think there’s a whole exorcism going on or somethin’… But first you need a lil’ patience, sweetheart… alright?”

The question was of course rhetorical. Once your boyfriend has his mind set on something, he’ll pull through with it. Or at least that’s how he’d like to describe himself. You of course know that you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger whenever you really want.

“It’ll be worth it, I promise… I’ll make sure you come so hard, you’ll be seeing nuthin’ but stars for a whole minute.” He adds while he withdraws one hand to palm his erection before he lines up behind you.

“But first… I gotta pump your tight bands of muscles up… the ones closest to your sweet, drippin’ entrance– ” He begins to explain but gets interrupted when he pulls a gasp from your lips, thanks to him suddenly biting down on your shoulder.

His words come out slightly muffled as he continues with a growl, “… get them hot ‘n aroused ‘n sore from all my undivided attention… I want you to come just from my cock inside you.”

You feel his tip tease your entrance, circling it but never pushing in like he’s waiting for the right moment. His feet then dip beneath your legs, before his calves and heels press against your thighs to keep them clamped together. “That’s it… keep ‘em nice ‘n tight.” He husks somewhere behind you while he rocks his hips again. His warm breath’s skimming over your sweat-dampened skin sending shivers of goosebumps in its wake.

Once you’re just in perfect position for him, he finally pushes his cock inside you in one smooth motion which draws a low guttural moan out of your throat.

For the next minutes, Dean does as he explained, taking his sweet time to build up your tension at just the right spots.

He pulls the ridged-band along your slick, clenching walls, slow and ordaining. When he feels you twitch, he knows he’s found just the right spot. With deliberate rolling motions of his hips he begins to push and pull the head of his cock along your g-spot.

Your face drops to the mat, a shaky breath rippling out of your throat when you feel him graze your insides. His slow motions are torturous and unbelievably pleasurable at the same time.

His strong thighs bind yours between his own while he increases the friction, now rutting his swollen tip against your tightly grasping entrance.

“You feel that baby?” He whispers huskily, his lips right next to your ear-shell.

“Y-yeah,” you answer weakly, your breath slowly picking up pace to match his hips new rhythm.

Once he notices your entrance shimmy around his shaft, he knows he’s got you just where he wants you. He swiftly pulls his length out, earning himself a frustrated whimper of yours.

“No- no please, don’t stop-” You start to plead but before you know it, he pushes back in. This time without holding any inch back.

“You did so well, being so patient for me…” He begins to mutter against your hair, “I’ll take care of you now. Let go and just feel me, sunshine.”

You groan, arch your back and raise your chest off the floor, holding yourself upright with your elbows. But you quickly notice it’s in fact, Dean, who’s keeping you from collapsing back into your pink mat.

He had his arm wrapped around your torso, pulling your back close to his chest. His large palm slides along your body until it wraps around your soft, plump flesh to cup one of your breasts, your nipple teasingly pinched between his thumb and index finger. He supports you both on his free hand pressed into the foam, the muscles of his biceps flexing relentlessly from the force of his movements.

All the while he keeps snapping his hips against your bum with precise thrusts, each time taking your breath as he meets your cervix. Each collision eliciting a twinge, like a sweet hurt that has your pupils dive under your eyelids.

He switches his supporting arm, the freed hand roaming every part of your body like he’s exploring and worshipping it at the same time. His large palm comes to rest on your ass, splayed out on your soft flesh. Then you feel him slip out of you, shifting his position as he puts some of his weight on your ass now to hold you down when he begins to pound you into the mat again.

“Oh fuck-” The new angle draws a surprised yelp from you.

But Dean quickly comes to soothe you with open mouthed kisses dancing up your spine, his teeth skimming your skin and his lips tasting the sheen of sweat clinging to your body. Arrived at the nape of your neck, he husks out, “Good girl, takin’ every inch of me… lettin’ me fill ya up all the way…” his voice drifts off when his tongue darts out to lick the sensitive spot behind your ears, sending another shiver down your back.

The new pace of his hips is slower but no less intense. He continues to slam his cock past your slick folds, pulling out almost entirely before he rocks his hipbones back into your cheeks. Over and over, each time all the way to the shaft’s base, drawing those guttural moans from your sweet lips which make him growl with pride.

He rasps out groans and praises against your neck, each spurring you on equally, “You’re taking me so well, baby- Fuck- so good for me… my good girl… bein’ so, so perfect, only for me…”

Your moans grow more desperate, breathless, feeling his cock harden against your soft walls. “D-Dean-,” you whimper as your head briefly lolls back to lean into his shoulder just before it drops forward again with a loud shuddering moan sparked by your core.

Your hands start fisting into the crappy motel rug, pulling at the loose threads of it as you desperately search for something to hold onto. Your frantic actions don’t go unnoticed by Dean who’s watching your every hitch in breath and twitch of your muscles, always making sure he doesn’t miss the signs that the pain’s still pleasurable to you.

He quickly shifts his weight as his hand on your ass darts over to your clawing fingers, doing the same with his other. He untangles your fingers from the fabrics, intertwining them with his own while his forearms come to join yours on the pink foam, supporting himself on both elbows now.

He can feel your legs tremble against the weight of his hips, which he uses to plough you into the yoga mat as he slams into you. His movements now erratic and rough. Squelching sounds mix with your combined moaning and panting. Driving each other closer to the edge with every sound.

“Y-you close, baby?” He growls against your ear, already knowing the answer. He can feel your fluttering walls gripping him tightly, “Fuck-” he groans, his hands squeezing yours and pinning them there when your body starts to buckle and shudder beneath him. He’s now driving his cock inside you with primal need.

“Oh God-” you whine, face pressed flush into the foam as you feel the knot in your belly tighten up and your muscles go tense.

“F-fuck yeah- that’s it- squeeze and come on my cock, come for me-” He growls, his voice dropped to a gravelly, rumbling tone. He runs his nose along your neck, across the trail of red marks, when he suddenly sinks his teeth into your flesh once more.

And that does it for you. Your knot explodes into waves of pleasure rippling through your body. Stars take over your vision when you scream his name. Your walls flutter around his cock, pulling him over the edge along you and coating your walls with his warm seeds. The climax keeps crashing down on you in multiple shock waves until your body finally falls limp, your limbs twitching as if you’d been struck by a lightning bolt.

Dean collapses on top of you, his breath ragged and hot as it wafts against your sweaty skin. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his biceps just barely able to keep his body from completely burying you under his weight.

“Damn… that- wow…” You whisper breathlessly, still trying to regain your vision and collect your thoughts.

“You were amazing, baby.” Dean praises you with a hoarse voice, his lips lingering on your temple.

You tilt your head to catch his lips in a soft, but purposeful kiss. When you pull back just enough to speak, you catch a glimpse of his eyes briefly widen at your words, “No, you are amazing.”

♡

For a moment you both enjoy each other’s soft breaths and the way he hugs you tightly as he wraps his body around you like a heavy blanket. You keep nuzzling your faces into each others hair while you let the silence be filled by your affections. Silence except for the TV which’s now playing the final scenes of “Die Hard” in the background.

After some time, Dean pushes himself off you, gently sitting back down on your bum as he takes in the sight of you in front of him. His hands are kneading the flesh of your ass as he watches you with hooded eyes. Then a cheeky grin begins to form on his lips when he realizes something.

“Y’know, you’re laying down in the perfect position for me to do somethin’.” He states with a full-out grin now.

“Huh-?” Before you can even process what’s happening, his fingers dig into the skin where he knows you’re the most ticklish.

“Dean!!” You squeal like a mouse – but the sound quickly hitches into a high-pitched giggle while you desperately try to wiggle away from him. “St-stop it- y-you jerk!” You stutter between gasps for air and the tears gathering on the rim of your eyes. You kick your legs, throwing him off and not wasting your chance, slipping away to scramble for an escape.

But you quickly find yourself back on the motel rug with a gasp and a thud, thanks to Dean pulling you back by the ankle. His smile has turned into that smug grin of his when he taunts you in a commanding voice, “Where d’you think you’re goin’, hm?”

“Th-that’s- unfair!!” you protest, but your words dissipate in another round of giggles as you turn onto your side, trying to free yourself. But Dean has his calves wrapped around your knee to lock it while his fingers skitter across the heel of your foot. You grapple with his free hand but he effortlessly evades your flailing limbs and grips you by the hip before you get to wiggle away again.

Next moment, you find yourself unceremoniously flipped back onto your stomach and his weight dropped down on your ass to pin you down bellow him. His thighs straddle you, this time reverse as his hands dart out to snatch one of your ankles, bending your leg back so he can continue his assault.

“Unfair? Me?” He lets out a deep chuckle, lips pursed in mock-innocence, his head tilted to glance back down at you over his shoulder. He stills his teasing fingers, waiting for your reaction.

You try to catch your breath while you narrow your watering eyes at him, daring him to go on.

Of course that sly bastard musters the audacity to answer your threat with a wink of his emerald eyes glinting with mischief and his lips flashed into that cocky smirk of his.

“Never.”

A/N: Dean going from goofy to smut to fluff to rough sex and back to fluffy and goofy like 📈 Idk I just see him like this, a caring 'n goofy softdom horn dog who loves it when he can show you new things.

Let me know what you think and if you got to enjoy it my sweet vixens ♡

Masterlist of opened windows:

1st Dec. - Sunshine 2nd Dec. - Spell Book 3rd Dec. - Lights Out 4th Dec. - Tickle 5th Dec. - Dirty UNO 6th Dec. - (TBA) 7th Dec. - Candlelight 8th Dec. - Hex Play 9th Dec. - Whip Stroke 10th Dec. - Barbie World 11th Dec. - Temptation ... (check the masterlist for more!)

Kinky Advent Calendar Tags:

@ariasong11 ♡ @deansjacket ♡ @literallylexa ♡ @lmpala1967 ♡ @foxyjwls007 ♡ @impala67rollingthroughtown ♡ @aylacavebear ♡ @jc-winchester

[i-starcreamed]

Hi I heard you make transformers one oneshot umm I hope you won't mind, this actually a D-16 oneshot " what if his s/o get shoted instead of Orion" or " D - 16 meeting s/o for the first time"

D-16 / MEGATRON X READER

I combined both requests :3

cybertronian!reader SPOILERS FOR TF ONE Puree angst, character death, sadness :(

You were also a miner, like Orion and D-16. You met in a similar way they did.

You grunted, your limbs aching from pushing around the minecart around all day. It was filled with raw energon rock at this point, so it was a lot heavier. Last night, you hadn’t recharged well, and now you felt like you were running on your last drop of consciousness... Your optics widened when you unexpectedly bumped into something in front of you, sending your minecart toppling over and spilling its contents.

“Oh, I’m so sorry—“ You hissed, watching all the progress of the day come crashing down onto the floor. You pursed your mouth in frustration; this really sucked.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. Let me help you out, here.” A calm voice came from in front of you, prompting you to avert your optics toward the bot you had bumped into. You paused--hmmm, he was a handsome bot. You eyed his armor for a moment before realizing you were staring.

“Sorry! Uh, I’d appreciate that. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” You muttered, kneeling down to pick up your rocks, him beside you. He let out a small spurt of a gruff chuckle.

“No worries. Hey, I haven’t seen you around here. I’m D-16.” He introduced himself, you still remember the way he smiled at you. You nervously smiled back

“I’m Y/N. I was actually uh...promoted just recently. I’ve never mined energon before. It’s harder than I thought.”

“Oh, well, it gets easier. You get better at it too.” He said, tossing the last bit of rock back into your cart and helping you turn it upright.

“So where were you headed off to?” He asked, walking beside you now.

You took a deep breath. “To the trains? I was told to report to Elita-1 afterward.”

“Psh, really? That’s a coincidence, so am I.” He said lightly, grinning at you. You couldn’t help but chuckle.

It started as a friendship—you, Orion and D-16. You were a little trio. Despite this, Orion always noticed the particular… attention you paid specifically to D. When the three of you joked around, you would always look toward him to watch his reaction—or rather, his smile. You became bashful when he helped you with something, he, in turn, softened up around you. It didn’t take long for Orion to see right through you—meanwhile, D remained completely oblivious!! History says you were just friends

Eventually, you two started dating! You made a sweet couple, with Orion constantly third-wheeling. You can imagine everything you went through after kind of illegally participating in the race, getting thrown to Level 50 as a punishment, and uncovering the location of the Primes.

You watched as your lover changed, and it pained you. You saw his anger slowly shift and shift, first towards his best friend, then at everyone else. You watched as he became feverishly focused on killing Sentinel.

“D, don’t!”

Your yell went silent as you ran in front of sentinel, the blast from D’s cannon hitting you instead of him. The impact blasted through your chest, ripping through armor, your casing, and your wiring—until it struck your spark. This was the turning point when D-16 became.. Megatron. His optics widened, he stopped seeing red for a split second.

He watch as your body fell, the whole world seemed to come to a halt.

“Y/N!” He yelled and dived after your body, momentarily forgetting about his anger. Before you could fall into the depths of Iacon, he caught your arm. He didn’t waste a second as he desperately tried to pull you up. You had no strength left to help yourself--your body hung limp.

“Why! Why did you do that!?” He yelled at you, his voice shaking. As you slipped between consciousness, you realized you’d never heard your lover so emotional. Not like this.

“You can’t go, you can’t, you can’t you can’t—“

“D…”

Your arm started slipping from his digits. “I’m so sorry…you have to.. stop this. Please,” you whispered out, the light in your optics flickering.

Megatron stared at you, partly in disbelief at you and himself. “I’m sorry. I’m going to fix this, I-I promise,” He hissed, his servo desperately holding on. You knew you didn’t have much time left.

“D, please don’t this. I love you. I always will. No matter what I’ll always remember you as my D-16.” You whispered.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, roaring in anguish as your body slipped from his grip. He watched as you descended into the depths of your planet. You were going to become a part of Cybertron again, just as they all started out as. He’s so sorry.

He’s sorry he’s not the D-16 you knew.

Despite this loss, he still became Megatron. Afterall, he had nothing to lose now.

[auroracalisto]

Hey can you do a fiyero x reader where the reader is afraid of being vulnerable and he helps them?

yes, superfartninja, i think i can.

to be changed.

movie!fiyero x gn!reader, 3.4k words summary: to be vulnerable meant to be defenseless. it was a liability and that's all it ever would be. fiyero couldn't have that, now could he? a/n: please remember that i only have movie knowledge, so this will be based solely on what i saw in the movie. :P also, shout outs to house song by searows (was on repeat for this fic). erm. this kind of got away from me. i started it was 12 AM and now it's nearly 2 AM. hope it's coherent.

It wasn't like you to be vulnerable. It just didn't happen. It was like... asking a fish or an elephant to climb a tree, or some other weird analogy that you heard oh-so-long ago, when vulnerability aged you more than it helped.

To be vulnerable meant to be hurt. To be ridiculed, to be laughed at, to be made a fool in front of anyone who cared to look your way. It was something that you knew was not needed. You would be fine living by yourself. You came into this world alone and screaming, and you would leave this world the same way.

If you cut out the wound before it began to fester, you solved the problem immediately. Or so they say.

So that's what you did, long ago, when you swore to yourself that the pain you felt would be the very last time. It would never happen again. It couldn't happen again.

Oh, Oz, it couldn't. Your heart couldn't take it.

What was left of your heart, anyway. Sometimes you feared you no longer had one, especially when you feared the pain that would haunt you if someone else came along and made you feel that way again.

It's not that you were afraid. No, fear of being vulnerable was foolish. At least... you believed that you weren't afraid of being vulnerable.

Perhaps that was an act of foolishness in itself. Pretending that you weren't afraid. Pretending that having few friends and few moments of happiness didn't pierce your heart with every passing second.

Perhaps you needed to be better. To be vulnerable, to swear off that silly promise you made to yourself so many years ago.

But it was so difficult.

Being vulnerable was to be in pain. To be lost to a world of sorrow. To be... hurt by the very thing you swore you'd never be hurt by again.

It wouldn't happen.

You wouldn't let it.

He existed in the back of your mind. His beautiful blue eyes, the way those pretty locks fell in front of his eyes when he actually studied his books (if he ever did, of course).

When was the last time he actually tried...? No. You couldn't think of him like that. Too much thinking about his pretty face would ruin you.

You had only talked to him a few times here and there, and the first time was to merely ask him to move out of the way. He took up quite a lot of space—or at least, maybe it was his confidence. It oozed from him like an air of upmost superiority.

No...

You were just being cruel. He was just standing in the way, out of breath from singing to Galinda in the library (because of course—who didn't sing to pretty girls in libraries anymore?).

The second time you spoke to him was over the essay you had to write in your literature class. Peer reviews were the bane of your existence, and this essay, because of course it did, had a simple prompt in response to one of your readings: Taking into account the author's sheer disdain for the idea of magic, write what you believe Oz would be like without magic.

Thought-provoking, yes. You wrote a decent two pages, handwritten of course.

He gave you a paragraph.

If the world of Oz existed without magic, perhaps we would all be better off. No more bickering over the usages of it all, no more idiosyncrasies, no more debates on whether you are intelligent or mediocre if you hadn't the ability to wave a wand or utter a simple spell. If we didn't have magic, perhaps life would be far more difficult, but I also feel as if we should see what it would be like. Maybe there would be less heartbreak. More happiness to go around.

Okay. A piss-poor paragraph that made you wonder how he was even passing Madame Lillabet's literature class.

Maybe he wasn't.

You didn't feel pity for the man—nobility had the ability to do so many things that you would only ever dream of. Why should you feel pity—vulnerability—for a man you didn't know, let alone understood?

Oz, even now, his essay haunted you. You did your best with your review, pointing out the obvious things missing—a decent thesis, body paragraphs that proved his thesis, and just in general, an entire essay that was expected of the entire class.

He merely read over your essay and made one simple comment: Excellent.

Oh, yes, excellent. It was excellent to know that he was just trying to help your essay, yes? Leaving that little comment, even though you didn't make full marks—how was it supposed to help you?

Pity be damned. He was a fool, through and through.

Things muddled in your mind like they often did. Thoughts racing, heartbeat close behind the quick pace.

If you had magic, you'd be sure to quell it.

These thoughts were the one thing that you wished you could squash under the heel of your boot. They were the bane of your existence, the utterance of a foolhardy penance to the god of whatever looked down upon you and wished for pain.

Perhaps that was what was meant for you.

A life of pain—of pity from others, of the amenability to be swayed by those around you even when you tried, desperately, to stay away from those who may catch your attention.

Like him.

Oh, Oz, just like him.

Fiyero.

The man who'd lose his head if it wasn't attached to his shoulders. The man who once told you in passing that if he hadn't a brain, perhaps classes would be easier—then he wouldn't truly be all there, and he'd easily get around the... well, specifics of it all. The man whom you felt tugging at your heartstrings, even when you told yourself no.

It would not happen.

It could not happen.

You would not let it.

In typical, terrible luck fashion, you found yourself wandering the halls of Shiz late at night, unable to sleep. The thoughts racing through your head of so many things, not just him (although they kept leading back to the fool), they just weren't stopping.

An exam was to be held tomorrow. Perhaps you could create a distraction—keep the professors from being able to do as they needed. There were a box of fireworks hidden in one of the many corridor closets, kept for special occasion. You could whip a few of them out and create so much chaos that they'd surely have to cancel the exam!

You leaned against the railing, looking down at the stonework of Shiz's courtyard. A chill ran down your spine from the cold breeze, and for once, all was silent if only for a moment.

His voice brought you out from your thoughts.

"Y/n," he said, an obvious smile playing at his lips.

You squeezed your eyes shut and glanced back at him. Without saying a word, you acknowledged him.

"Doesn't look like your dorm," he continued. "What are you doing out here, all alone?"

"Thinking."

His eyebrow quirked. "Thinking? Oh," he softly hummed, coming to stand beside of you. "Well, that's no fun, now is it? What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

He snorted softly. "You're thinking about... nothing?"

"Whatever I'm thinking is none of your business," you retorted.

He stared you down for a moment, tilting his head curiously. He hummed again and looked out at where you had been staring moments prior.

"You are right," he softly said, voice much quieter this time. "Let me lead you back to your room. We have an exam tomorrow, remember? You at least need to pretend to sleep."

You paused. Since when did he care about exams? You glanced at him, fighting the urge to question him. You let out a soft sigh and shrugged, allowing him to lead you to your dorm.

The walk was quiet, and you almost questioned how he knew where your dorm was, but you didn't. He seemed to pay attention better than most (it was part of that aloofness, you've noticed), and it wasn't the first time he had seen you near your dorm.

It was at least the third. The number had to be easy to memorize by now. 133.

As you opened your door, Fiyero spoke. "You know, I've been thinking..."

"Dangerous thing for you, isn't it?" you quipped, not looking at him as you stepped inside.

He let out a soft chuckle. You amused him to no end.

"Yes, perhaps," he softly said. "But besides. I was still thinking. I've been... well, wondering if perhaps you would—"

"—no."

He blinked slowly. "What? No? Y/n, you didn't even hear what I had to say—"

"—the answer is still no," you said. You glanced up at him from the spot you had been staring at, frowning. "I don't know what this is, but we are not friends. Do not ask me for favors."

"Not friends, hm?" he softly hummed, leaning against the doorway as he locked eyes with you. So knowing your dorm number was just a fluke.

"Not friends. Now if you'll excuse me, I should probably go and pretend to sleep."

His upper lip quirked in a faint smirk. Not friends, but you still joked with him as a friend would do. He rolled his eyes and gave you a rather joking half-bow.

"Of course," he said. "Do not let me keep you up. Perhaps I should find my dorm as well."

"You should do that," you simply said, shutting the door right after.

You didn't give him a chance to say anything else, quickly locking the door and heading back to your bed.

Heart pounding, mind still racing, but not with the thoughts of earlier. No, dear reader, your mind raced with thoughts of him.

So impressionable, so—so kind, so—well, was he really kind?

To you.

He was kind to you.

Nearly a week passed you by. The exam went rather well, without any kind of distraction. Passing marks and a somewhat decent night sleep.

You do everything you can to try and avoid Fiyero. Running this way and that, going through all of the longer corridors instead of the shortcuts you knew by heart. You did everything you could to avoid his handsome face.

You did everything you could to avoid the vulnerability that plagued your heart every time you thought of him.

If you simply embraced the wants of Fiyero, perhaps not having a brain would keep you from thinking this way. You'd still have a heart, sure, but it was much better than keeping yourself on your toes wondering if you'd see the damned man at any passing second.

On the hour of the rising moon, almost exactly on the dot, Fiyero spotted you. And this time, you were not evading him.

He practically took off after you, leaving his friends behind. They scoffed and called after him, but he didn't look back. His focus was on you.

He grabbed onto your wrist as you went to leave, not letting you go.

"Y/n! There you are," he softly said. "I have been looking everywhere for you. I wouldn't have thought it would be so difficult to find you, but—"

"—there you go, thinking again," you blurted, unable to stop yourself. Your tongue was wagging faster than your brain was working.

He weakly smiled. "Yes. I know. How ironic, hm?"

You watched as he stared you down.

"Look," he softly began. "I truly—I do not know what I did to deserve you ignoring me at any which way, but I wish you would tell me why. What did I do, Y/n? I thought—well, I assumed that we were friends, but perhaps I was wrong. I find myself wrong quite often nowadays."

"I—well, Fiyero, I—" you paused. You squeezed your eyes shut and inhaled a deep breath. "I don't have friends."

He blinked slowly. "You don't have friends? What of the one girl you were with the other day? Milla?"

"I do not have friends," you repeated. "I have... acquaintances. People I do not get attached to."

"That is sad."

"What?"

He raised an eyebrow. It seemed like a commonality when he spoke with you. The staple eyebrow raise had to happen or else he wasn't really chatting with you.

"It is sad. Why wouldn't you want to get attached to people?"

"I don't want to have meaningless relationships," you said. You avoided saying, I don't want to have relationships at all. "Not everyone can be as friendly as you, Fiyero."

He rolled his eyes. "Friendly. Yes. I talk to people, but I would rather not have all the attention that I do."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "You play the popular little prince and then claim you do not want it? What is that, Fiyero?"

Fiyero pursed his lips. "It is just—this is not a conversation about me. I wanted to have an intervention for you since you seemed as though you were avoiding me every which way. Now. Just—"

"—an intervention? What? Please. You sound ridiculous."

"So do you!" he returned, hands to his hips like an older man scolding a child for something they broke. "You vex me, Y/n! You act as if you are interested in me, then run away hiding like a scared little pup. You act as if you are afraid to get close to anyone."

You stared at him, lips parted ever-so-slightly. But it was enough. You were done for.

He let out a curt laugh. "You are."

"What?"

"You are. Scared. I can see it in you. You listen to what I have to say, even when the others don't. I've made an effort to pay attention to you. To see what you—"

"—Fiyero, stop."

"Do not tell me to stop, Y/n," he said, voice low with conviction. "Not now. Not when I've finally figured you out. You are scared. But of what? Being close to someone? Having a friend?"

You frowned. "I am not scared—"

"—you look at me like if I were to touch you, you'd melt."

"That doesn't mean anything!"

"I can see it in your eyes, Y/n," he said, not looking away. He held eye contact with you and hoped that you would continue to do the same. "You—you're scared. To open your heart to the people around you."

You frowned, again. It was perpetual anymore. "And you're a sad man who dances and pretends everything is fine because Galinda said you looked pretty one day."

He blinked slowly, a smile quirking on his lips. "Maybe. But this—this isn't about me, Y/n. This is about you."

"What even is this? I didn't agree to have you psychoanalyze everything I've ever done."

"Neither did I, yet here we are," he said. "I've had a lot of time to think, to mull it over, and I know it. I know it now. You are scared. I don't know what happened to you. I don't know who hurt you in your past, or if something tragic happened to make you so cold inside, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with being... with being vulnerable, Y/n. There's something... magical, even, about opening up to others."

"Oh, and you would know, wouldn't you?"

He frowned. "Y/n—"

"—no. Absolutely not. You do not get to sit there and ridicule me for not wanting to be close to people and then not take what I give you," you said. "You do not let anyone close to you. Sure, Galinda, but what does she know about you? Does she know how you half-ass everything? How you hardly even talk to your 'friends' and just let them float along with you like everything is fine and dandy? You're as sad as I am, if that's what you're trying to say. Don't try to fool yourself."

"I am not trying to fool myself," he softly said. "I am only trying to make it known that I see you. I see myself in you."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "The rich, popular boy sees himself in little ol' me. That's perfect."

"Y/n—"

"—no. Don't. Stop. Just. I don't want to talk to you anymore. We're not friends. We never were friends. Just leave me alone."

It's simple, but it shuts him down. And with that, you run from his side, rushing to hide away in your dorm.

You couldn't believe what you did. Blowing up at him instead of listening to what he had to say. He read you like the children's book your heart truly was—while everyone else focused on the words, he focused on the pictures. The minute details that seemed to pass by everyone's mind because the story was flowing far too quickly.

He saw the delicate brush strokes, the intricate colors, the pieces of you that the words did not show.

He knew you.

And it scared you.

Only you knew yourself. If anyone else were to know who you were, deep inside, well, that would be disastrous.

It couldn't happen.

You couldn't let it.

Fear.

Perhaps fear was the best way to describe the way you felt.

You sat by the edge of the lake in the forest just beyond Shiz's campus, fingers gently brushing against the water. The surface rippled, sending small waves to the end of the shore.

You were afraid.

Of what?

Of a man knowing you?

Of Fiyero knowing you better than even your family once knew you?

You sat there, thoughts racing through your mind. It was as if you couldn't avoid them anymore.

Days had passed since you blew up at Fiyero and ran. You couldn't avoid him forever, you knew that, but it seemed as if your thoughts believed the same.

Tears pricked at your eyes. The warm, salty tears began to fall before you could even try to stop them, and a soft sob bubbled at the back of your throat.

"Y/n?"

Shit.

You quickly wiped your tears away and looked back at him—at Fiyero. But your tears wouldn't stop. A soft sob rippled through you and you turned your head away.

Fiyero came to your side, kneeling down in the soft earth beside of you. He inwardly grimaced at the dirt, but he said nothing of it. He'd bathe in mud if it meant you would stop your tears.

He reached forward, gently placing a hand to your cheek. He turned your head to face him.

"Y/n," he softly said. "It's alright. You... you're alright."

Another sob.

He pulled you into his arms, and you let him. You didn't pull away, melting into his embrace as he said you would before. He pressed his chin to the top of your head, situating himself so he would be more comfortable near you.

He softly hummed a soft tune—you remembered it. The one thing he hummed quite often when you caught him alone, or trying to focus on his school work.

Dancing through life, skimming the surface... Life's more painless for the brainless.

He was just a sad boy with needs of his own, much like you were scared of being seen. Of being known.

Of being loved.

Oh. Oh, that's what it was.

It terrified you to no end.

Fiyero pressed a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, gently cupping your cheeks in his hands.

"What's got you so upset, love?" he softly asked, wiping your tears away gently with his thumbs.

You shook your head. "I... later," you mumbled. You leaned into his grasp, and you could have sworn you saw his eyes soften.

He released a soft, shaky sigh of his own, before he pulled you back into his arms. He'd hold you until the end of the world if that's what you needed him to do.

Being vulnerable—it was the one thing you had told yourself you would never do. Ever again. And here you were, letting this man hold you and practically lull you into a calmness you'd never felt before.

Is this what it felt like? To be... weak? To be... frail?

No.

Vulnerability... it didn't mean that.

It meant that you were... open. That you had managed to open your heart to a more... malleable form.

To be changed.

To find the one thing in life that you knew would keep you going for as long as it could.

To be vulnerable meant to be loved.

[girasollake]

Hi! Can I request a smut imagine with prompt 48 and trope 8 with Theodore Nott.

She’s a slytherin too and a badass bitch who everybody wants to be or date

Thank youuu!

✧ theodore nott x fem!reader x jealousy x "you. are. mine."✧

(this request is a part of my writing event, here is the link to the masterlist of the fics i'll be publishing from said event:) )

this took longer than i expected, thank you for your request anon! x

told u guys i’d post smth… surprise!!!!

warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, p in v sex, some swear words, some slight cedric x reader, theo being bitchy ig, fingering, general sex stuff, orgasm denial, ummmmmm yeah i think that’s it

i’ll reread it later to fix mistakes cuz rn it’s 2 am where i live and i’m going to bed bye

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

Your relationship with Theo was complicated. At least in your mind that was the most suitable word for this dynamic, you could never find anything else that would quite describe it. You were friends, that’s for sure, this was the only thing you were certain of. Some days you had found yourself tangled in his bedsheets, his soft fingers caressing your back as you lingered in his scent. But, there were also days when you didn’t speak to him at all, strolling through the halls and seeing him tug a piece of hair behind the ear of some Ravenclaw girl while simultaneously giving her his infamous smile. Even though you also flirted and went on dates with others, something inside your guts sunk down each time you saw him with a girl who was not you. And you could barely handle it. Every time you promised yourself you’ll never sleep with him again or give him your attention, you’d always end up doing the opposite. There was something about him that lured you in, it was toxic, but so divine. So, whenever his lips connected to yours in a hungry kiss, you’d forget about all of the other women he probably does this with. It was just you and him and your only thought during these moments was to stay with him like that forever.

‚-it’s not like it’s that important.’

‚Huh?’ You lifted your head and met Pansy’s annoyed face. ‚Sorry, what were you saying?’

¨What is going on with you lately?´She shook her head and sighed. ´I asked if you have a date for the ball.’ She then added.

‘Oh, well, not really.’ You shrugged.

‘Seriously? Is this about Theo again? I’ve told you multiple times that there is a fucking queue of guys just waiting for you and all you do is always go back to him.’ She huffed. ‘What about Mason? Louise? Henry? They were all head over heels for you, I don’t believe they didn’t ask you at least once.’

‘They did. I just said no.’ You mumbled and avoided her angry gaze.

SShe groaned and took a sip of her butterbeer. ‘I was not going to tell you this, but I see there is no other option.’ Pansy took a deep breath. ‘I heard the boys talking about the ball and Nott wants to take Arisa.’

You swallowed a big gulp in your throat and looked down into your drink. You expected that something like this would happen, you just didn’t think you wouldn’t be prepared to hear it.

‘’M sorry.’ She looked at your numb expression with caring eyes.

‘It’s okay Pans.’ You gave her a soft smile. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time to move on.’

Even though you tried to not think about him for the next few days, it was unusually hard. He was on your mind non stop, like a song playing on repeat. On top of that, everyone was talking about the upcoming event. While walking through the halls you overheard people gossiping about the pairs, discussing what they are gonna wear and you were also a witness to roughly 7 performances of the boys creatively asking their crushes to go with them.

You walked into the courtyard and took a seat on the nearest free bench. You pulled out your sketchbook in hopes to finally draw something. Truth is, you didn’t remember the last time you practiced your beloved activity, not that you didn’t have time, you just didn’t have any ideas. This time wasn’t different, you looked around and then your gaze rested on the empty page before you. You made a soft line with your pencil and stopped, it was like your hand didn’t want to listen to your mind. You groaned and closed the sketchbook to put it in your bag again. While doing this, you felt a presence in front of you. Looking up, you saw Cedric Diggory, a charming smile plastered on his face.

‘Hi, do you have a moment?’ He asked and you stood up to face him.

‘Of course.’ You smiled.

‘I have a question.’

‘If you want my help with something, then no. I can barely finish my own essays and-‘

‘No, that’s..’ He chuckled. ‘I was wondering if you’d want to go to the ball with me?’

‘Oh..’ You bit your lip softly from the inside. ‘I.. I’ll think about it. Is that okay with you?’

‘Surely, just don’t take too long, darling.’ He sent you a wink and walked out of the courtyard.

Later that night you were studying in your dorm, soft music was playing in your headphones as you scribbled some sigils for one of the classes. Your back was turned to the door, so you didn’t hear that someone came in. It was the feeling of being observed that made you move your head to inspect the room and there he was. Theodore Nott stood next to your door, his arms were crossed and you couldn’t quite read his expression. You grabbed your headphones and took them off.

‘Knocking exists.’ You told him.

‘Not for me.’ He replied sternly.

‘What are you doing here, Theodore?’ You fixed your position on the bed so that you were fully facing him. ‘Don’t you have any other hoes to tend to?’

‘Are you going to the ball with Diggory?’ He avoided your question.

‘Why do you care?’ You stood up.

‘Answer me.’ He took a step closer to you.

‘Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.’

‘For fucks sake, stop being a brat and answer the question.’ He said through gritted teeth.

‘It’s none of your business.’ You replied while stepping closer to him and poking your finger into his chest.

His scent filled up your nose and you felt this forbidden feeling again. Your body was lustful, for him, but you couldn’t let him win again.

He chuckled, ‘See, that’s where you’re wrong.’

You scoffed, ‘Fine. Yes.’ You spat at him. ‘I’m going with Cedric. Is that what you wanted to hear?’

His eyes darkened at the confession, which wasn’t even true. You just wanted to get on his nerves and see what he would do. You didn’t even have time to react before he pinned you to the wall and hovered over you. Your breath hitched and you tried your best to avoid his eyes, because if you looked into them, you’d lose.

‘No, you’re not.’ He stated. ‘You are not going with anyone.’

‘Why? Why the fuck do you care so much?!’ Your eyes were glued to the ceiling.

He gripped your face with one of his hands and forced you to look at him. You closed your eyes.

‘You.’ He whispered and brought his lips closer to yours before breathily adding the rest. ‘Are. Mine.’

The sound of his voice was angelic and it sent a certain feeling down to your core. You tried your best to resist but your eyes fluttered open and met his. You lost.

He grabbed your face and connected your lips in a hungry kiss. You whimpered into his mouth and cursed yourself in your mind. Why was he so addictive? Why couldn’t you quit? He just felt too good to be true. Kissing you in all the right places, his fingers touching where you needed him most, every time you felt him inside of you, it felt like heaven.

He took a few steps back and tried to not break the kiss. He pushed you onto the mattress and with one of his hands he pushed all the books off the bed. He left wet kisses along your jawline and you moaned at the feeling. He discarded both of your shirts and attached his lips to your chest, leaving a couple love bites along the way.

‘I want you to say it.’ He mumbled into your ear.

‘Hm?’ You were brought out of your trance.

‘I want you to admit you’re mine.’

‘But am I?’ He stopped kissing your neck and gripped your throat.

‘Are you?’ He raised his brow and smirked challengingly, knowing you’d fold under him.

You stared deep into his eyes and swallowed harshly because of his grip, before replying, ‘I’m yours.’

‘Good girl.’ He let go of your neck and connected your lips once again.

Soon enough both of you were a sweaty mess, clothes laying somewhere on the wooden floor, soft sounds escaping your lips as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. His breath on your neck and occasional kisses made you feel dizzy, his fingers making you squirm from the pleasure, but it wasn’t enough.

‘I need to feel you.’ You breathed out and Theo didn’t waste a second.

He positioned himself on top of you and slowly entered your aching pussy. You threw your head back and he used that to immediately attach his lips to your neck once again.

‘’S okay, darling. You’re doing so good f’me.’ He whispered to help you relax.

His voice made you let go of the tension in your lower body, finally allowing him to move at a pace so perfect for both of you. He lifted you up and spinned both of you, so that you were on top of him. His thrusts became quicker and stronger, one of his hands was caressing your breasts, while the other rubbed your clit so deliciously. You cried out his name a few times when you were close, but he always stopped just then. He just smirked every time and continued his actions, it turned him on, watching you whine on top of him. He felt he was getting closer to his release, so he sped up again, and this time his hand stayed on your sweet spot. You reached your high with a loud moan and threw your head back, your hand grabbing Theo’s arm. He released inside of you with a loud groan and you used that to push away his hand which was still rubbing circles on your bud, too sensitive for more. You collapsed on top of him and gave him a peck on his collarbone. Theo reached for the blanket and covered the two of you.

‘I lied.’ You mumbled.

‘What?’

‘I’m not going with Cedric.’ You replied softly. ‘I told him I’d think about it and..’

‘Good.’ He interrupted. ‘You’re going with me then.’

‘Am I?’ You looked up at him playfully. ‘I thought you were taking Arisa.’

‘Who?’ He replied and you giggled. ‘She asked me to go. But I refused.’

‘Why? She’s a nice girl.’

‘Maybe. But she isn’t you.’ He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. ‘And I belong solely to you.’

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

@ girasollake 2024

[multimilfs]

Lilia Calderu x Fem!Reader: In Omnibus Aequitas

Summary: Agatha isn't the only witch with a force of nature trailing after her.

AO3

A/N: oh my god i can't explain how excited i am to post this! so much thought and careful crafting went into this!! actually begging someone to ask for the TED talk on my planning process for this because hooooo boy

this is my first time writing Lilia, so apologies if the characterization is shaky at all!

also to give credit where credit is due, the idea for this Reader was prompted by a post from the brilliant trickofthelights, whom i admire greatly. i'll attach the post here

Tag List: @emiliaisdead @kenzie-floops @nightmare-of-homophobes @thepotatoislost @mckiejames @women-are-so-ethereal @galaxydreamer468 @angeliccss @goldenautomaton @asolitaryrose3 @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @escapetodreamworld

Warning(s): None

Shadows often linger in the periphery of Lilia’s vision; this she has grown to accept, on the basis that they are gone when she turns to face them. And she is glad of it each time. The twisted shapes and figures of the primordial horrors that linger are not made to be witnessed, even by her eyes.

So when a figure lingers, she turns with the expectation of seeing the silhouette vanish, but she’s not the only one who turns.

It strikes her as odd that Rio should see whatever she does. This thought occurs to her mid-ballad, fire licking at the back of her neck. When she looks, though, the figure does not vanish, but neither is it a horror to behold.

You are as beautiful as she remembers. The memory, coupled with your eyes on her, nearly trips her up. But Lilia holds strong through the rest of Lorna’s ballad—even as the burns on her shoulders ache, even as your eyes dart away and meet the curious gaze belonging to Rio, even, even as you watch her with that unerring devotion she had once craved.

When Alice tilts her head back, singing with the full force of her soul, Lilia’s eyes leave you. She watches the curse burn to ash above Alice.

You’re gone when Lilia glances back.

---

Sharon, human she may have been, was right about one thing—no witch can be expected to traverse the road without rest. So, the coven opts to take turns keeping watch around the little fire they’ve built.

Lilia volunteers for the first watch, restless, feeling the weight of eyes on her still. She should’ve known you wouldn’t stay away long.

Your entrance comes when the rest of the coven has fallen asleep; Jen and Alice on one side of the fire, propped up against the rock they sat upon, Agatha furthest from the fire, back to it, while Rio—if that is her true name—sleeps near enough to lay a hand on her waist. Teen, she assumes, remains in the makeshift bed they made for him.

She sees your shadow at the edge of the clearing, hesitant. Looking over her coven one last time, she stands, and walks to where you wait outside the light.

“What do you want?”

You reach out, a hand on either side of Lilia’s face. She doesn’t shake you off. Yet.

“You’re as beautiful as the day I left.” You murmur.

Lilia’s lip curls, “Are your brutal truths meant to be endearing?”

“No. They’re meant to be nothing more than what they are.”

Against all odds, Lilia has yet to throw off your hold. You run your thumb gently over the curve of her jaw. Everything in you wants to kiss her—has dreamt of it for over a century—but you know it won’t be welcome.

Her curls are frayed and wild around her face in an endearing picture. Mess suits her just as well as refinement; though that could be your bias talking.

“Why are you here?” Lilia asks.

“Because you’re here.” And because your job brought you here, but that’s less romantic.

She seems to sense the omission. Any warmth drains from her expression, her hands removing yours from her person. You miss the closeness immediately.

“A truth and a lie. Which will come next?”

“It wasn’t a lie. I could’ve been anywhere.”

“Then go there. But leave the coven out of this.”

“I have no choice, Lilia.”

Lilia scoffs, “You had a choice when you vanished for a century!”

You close your eyes against the reminder. Hurt flares through you. The ache from years of longing, feeling that veil between you exist so thin, yet being unable to reach through. You hadn’t even been allowed a glimpse.

It was torment. A century should have been easy, but a life without Lilia felt like clawing your way through. If you tell her, will she believe you?

“Please.” You whisper. You’re not sure what you’re asking for.

“Goodnight.”

You hear her walk away, can’t stop yourself from blurting, despite the consequences, “Please, don’t put yourself in harm's way.”

Her jaw is tight, eyes wary. She looks you over as if something about you will give away what you know.

She crosses her arms over her chest. You recognize it as both a way to keep you out and support herself. You ache to be let back in.

“This whole Road is a death wish.”

“Don’t put yourself in more danger than normal.” You say, then, smaller, “I can’t protect you.”

“Are you asking for my sake or your own?”

“Whichever you’ll listen to.”

“Why ask at all?”

You step forward, hands outstretched to take hers, but you stop short, “Because I love you, Lilia.”

The admission makes her flinch. Her eyes water and she swallows hard. For a fleeting moment you see the startling vulnerability behind her eyes—the loneliness you should have quelled—before she locks it away.

“You can’t love.” Lilia sneers, “It would tip the scales too much.”

“That’s not true.” You defend.

“Oh? Then who, in this wretched universe, have you decided to hate?”

You bite your tongue. Lilia takes your silence for its own—incorrect—answer. Bitterness creeps into her smile.

“Goodnight.”

---

“Here to watch the big show?” Rio asks, lagging behind while the others move forward.

“Just doing my job.”

“Really? I’d say things were pretty square when you showed up.”

You eye her, despising her knowing smile, “Why are you here?”

“My job.”

“Hm. And how many bodies have you collected, again?”

Her smile is wide, but her eyes are cold. She’s always despised that the two of you are equals; that she can’t add you to her menagerie of bodies. Just the same, you’ve despised that you can’t write her name down.

Agatha looks back and tilts her head. You know she can’t see you. Like nothing has happened, Rio turns that grin on Agatha, skipping back to her side.

You catch Lilia’s eyes on you and ignore the question in them.

---

Lilia watches. She follows you in her periphery, makes note of where you are at all times. Her eyes always dart to your hands. Every time she finds them empty, she relaxes.

She’s taken watch, again. You read the weariness in her posture.

Against your better judgment, you lay your hands on her shoulders. She doesn’t shrug them off.

“You need rest as much as they do, beloved.” You murmur.

She stiffens at the old endearment, “We’re splitting the time. I’ll manage.”

You run a hand through her hair. The curls are still loose, wild. You untangle a few of them. Squeezing her shoulder, you place a kiss to the top of her head, savoring the closeness.

For a moment, your hand quivers. You still it. Your punishment was endured with grace, you must endure the distance with the same.

“Sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

Lilia scoffs, “Right.”

The weight of her mistrust is like a knife in your chest. You do not endure the pain with grace; you flinch, tears springing unbidden to your eyes. Lilia’s eyes close in regret.

You wonder if your presence is more of a burden than blessing. Had you mistaken her intent all those years ago? Love is not an emotion that’d come to you naturally. Perhaps, in your learning, you misunderstood, and Lilia’s kind heart wouldn’t allow her to break your illusion.

She had loved you once, hadn’t she? You could swear she had.

“You have to know I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Unless the greater universe calls for it.”

Her tone is honest, but sadness lingers within it. All you want is to see her face.

“If I thought it would do you any favors, I’d throw it all away.” You admit in a whisper.

Lilia turns, then. Her brows are furrowed as her eyes search your own, frantic, swimming with fear. In another time and place, you’d follow the statement with a smirk; but you cannot bring yourself to summon the facade now, not with her.

It isn’t a lie—your admission. If not for the overturning of the world without you, you’d forsake the job on your shoulders. You’d unmake yourself in a moment for her. For the younger witch who sang freely and lamented her gifts. For the wizened witch who eyes you with trepidation, mind rife with your betrayals and shortcomings.

“Where are your lies?” She asks.

“I tell them to myself, so you can have all my truths.”

Lilia smiles then, but it’s bittersweet. A warm hand settles on your cheek. You can’t help it—grace be damned—when you press yourself into the contact. They’re still there—the callouses you remember, rough against your flesh. She still smells of smoke.

There’s a rustling of fabric across the space. Alice shifts, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes. Lilia’s touch is gone from you. You settle next to her as she rests, not brave enough to lay another hand upon her.

---

You watch the knife fall as if time has slowed; absently, you think it might be, Time always did love her cruel jokes. It falls with Teen in the direct path. You feel the pen heavy in your hand, the paper near-weightless and yet the heaviest thing you’ve come to bear.

But then Lilia moves. The one moment you need time to slow for you, it’s returned to normal. Lilia shoves Teen out of the way and takes his place in the dagger’s path.

You fall to your knees, “No!”

Throwing your arms out, you aim a burst of magic for the dagger. Consequences be damned. Alice is faster, though, and moves Lilia from the dagger’s path before your magic can make contact.

Rio’s eyes are heavy on you. She can’t do anything—you didn’t technically break any rules, but the intent is damning enough.

“Now this is going to be fun.” Rio purrs.

You stare at the pen and blank paper you dropped in your haste to save Lilia. Your purpose. How close you’d come to unmaking yourself and yet… yet, a part of you is ambivalent to this. The larger part is freaking out, though.

Everyone’s eyes are on you. You flinch. They shouldn’t be able to see you.

Checking your mental list of active charms, you realize you’ve made an error; in your grief-induced act of heroism, you dropped every single charm on your person and directed the energy toward Lilia. The cat’s out of the bag, it would seem.

Lilia is the first to recover, moving out of Alice’s protective hold, “Do you ever think?”

You bristle, yet to stand from your kneeling position. It gives her an advantage over you this once.

“Well and often.” You defend.

“Well?” She questions, beautiful in her terror and rage, “You call that thinking well? You could’ve been killed!”

“You were in danger, Lilia.”

“And you’re not allowed to interfere.”

Ignoring all the eyes on the two of you, Lilia turns and storms through the exit that opened. You watch the road-conjured costume melt back into her normal visage as she gets further away.

It’s then that you recognize the silence.

All of them are staring at you save for Agatha, who eyes Rio with a mixture of trepidation and understanding. You stand as gracefully as you can manage. Smoothing down your clothes, you try to smile, but the action feels slippery on your features. How long has it been?

“What is it with you witches and beautiful mysteries?” Jen asks, “And where can I get one?”

You flush and fidget. The weight of their attention is so much less pleasant than your beloved’s.

Alice tilts her head, “Who are you?”

Holding out your hand, you speak your name. Rio laughs. You blush, remembering that mortal creatures don’t comprehend the original language, not like the two of you. Lilia once said it sounded like botched latin. The coven exchanges various looks of confusion.

“Lilia just calls me—”

“A pain.” Lilia’s voice cuts in, “A very severe, persistent pain. Are you all coming?”

You’re the first to follow, which prompts no shortage of grumbling. You find yourself grinning.

---

“Well, at least we have extra help on The Road.” Jen shrugs, later.

“She can’t help.” Lilia and Rio say in unison.

The two share a look. You can read the distaste in Lilia’s eyes. She doesn’t seem to think much of Rio, not that you do either—and you actually know her.

“Seemed pretty eager to help you, Lilia.”

“A foolish, misguided mistake on her part.”

You flinch at the statement, staring down at your hands. With the charms gone, you witness their true appearance; one completely dark, as if left to char in ember, the other so pale-white it is near translucent.

The beauty of a mortal body with a mortal heart is a range of emotion you’d have never felt before. Though lately, the gift feels more like a burden. Pain is your ever-present companion these days. Even when you look at your beloved, the love that overtakes you is laced with poison; with the reminder of what you had to do.

You can’t bring yourself to wish away the heart in your chest. But you do wish Lilia would be a bit more gentle with it. You’re hardly in the position to make requests, though.

“I can assist in small ways. Taking a watch at night, tending the fire.”

“No.” Lilia shuts you down. You freeze, “You are to do nothing but observe. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, beloved.”

You ignore the look between Alice and Jen.

---

The end of The Road is so near you can practically taste it. It tastes of rot and chaos, but you put that down as a symptom of your disposition. You watch Lilia and the rest of the coven relax, inhaling deeply.

A smile teases at Lilia’s lips.

“What do you smell?” You whisper.

The smile doesn’t vanish as you expect. Rather, it extends to her eyes as she regards you.

“Your perfume.”

You melt. Knees like jelly, you take her hand in your own, and press a kiss to the back of it, ignoring the eyes on the two of you. The Witches Road will give you what you most desire at the end. And before the last trial, it gives the traveler a taste of what their prize is. She can’t reach the end without knowing the truth.

“This body wasn’t mine, did you know that?” You ask. Her expression shifts as she grows a bit more tense in your hold. You hold tighter, “The witch before me had a little over a century left in her when I came. As payment, I had to serve out the rest of her years without the one thing that made it feel like living.”

The words are tumbling from you faster than you can comprehend them. You watch her face, hoping that what you’re stringing together makes enough sense for her to see. Even if it takes some other force whispering the facts into her ear for her to understand, you’ll just be happy that she knows.

Lilia’s the brightest witch you’ve ever known. She’ll figure out what you’re saying, but you just can’t stop; you need to say the words you’ve been dying to say for all these years.

“I never wanted to leave you, beloved.”

There’s no privacy on this cursed road, but you don’t care. If she asked it of you, you’d tell every soul you met how you love her. Lilia Calderu owns your heart, but even more than that, she owns your soul, and you have no desire to take it from her hands—even if she decides to rip it to pieces as repayment.

Let the coven know how you lived a century-long prison sentence to be with her. Let Rio and the greater powers know. You have no shame.

Lilia sneers, “You foolish woman.”

Her hands fist in the front of your shirt and pull your lips to hers. It’s messy; a clash of teeth and lips and noses, a poor imitation of the world-tipping kisses the two of you have found in one another. You’re both horribly out of practice. Never let it be said, however, that passion does not make up for tact. The near-quivering of Lilia’s grip and the force of intent behind her kiss makes up for any clumsiness.

The time on The Road has left her lips chapped, bitter with the remnants of lipstick, and never before have you known something so utterly perfect. You wrap your arms around her waist and pull her close enough that not a breath can exist between you. She sighs against your lips.

A curse of a mortal body is the functions that a higher being like yourself wouldn’t deem necessary; in this case, the need your lungs have for oxygen. Your heart is beating out of your chest and not from desire.

You pull back, panting, forehead resting against Lilia’s.

Breath successfully acquired, you tilt your head and press your lips to Lilia’s cheek, her temple, her forehead—anywhere you can reach, murmuring, reverent, “Lilia. My Lilia.”

“Darling.” She whispers with every kiss, voice hushed with devotion.

A lifetime apart seen to its end. Your fingers still itch with the pent up desire to hold her despite doing so. You were shameless before, but now… Gods help her.

Rio watches the entire display with shameless interest. Her eyebrows are high, a small, curious smile on her lips. Teen had been the first to turn away and busy himself with watching The Road. Somewhere mid-kiss, the remaining three found something more pressing to devote their attention to.

The lack of seeing, however, does not stop Jen from sighing, “When will it be my turn?”

Alice laughs at her side.

---

“Did you know all along?”

Lilia looks up at Agatha’s hushed question. She takes in the messy, haggard, but satisfied look of her fellow witch. She also catches the look Agatha throws your way. You sit across the clearing, Teen at your side, listening with rapt attention as you explain something about the moon.

“I had a suspicion when you mentioned my fortune.” Lilia admits.

A suspicion. A burgeoning hope she hadn’t let herself acknowledge.

“Oh?”

“What is fortune if not a lack of balance?” She shrugs, unable to look away from you, “To change it meant the end of my pain.”

“Enter, your solution.”

“Solution and problem.”

The two share a wry laugh. Lilia’s careful not to ask any pointed questions about Rio, though curiosity does eat away at her. Is anyone better suited to appreciate her experience?

Rio, while polarizing, is beautiful—and seems to have attached herself to Agatha in a way best suited to the witch. There is a beauty in it. Though she admits she’ll always prefer your well-meaning brutality over that which Agatha receives. To each their own.

“The Road seems to play favorites, giving you your prize early.” Agatha muses.

“Having her isn’t the prize,” Lilia corrects, “keeping her is.”

Agatha hums, eyes contemplative.

You’re aware of the eyes on you from across the clearing, but pay it little attention, instead devoting yourself fully to the question Teen has asked you. Gesturing with your hands, you weave similarities between the First Coven and their own. He watches you with a starstruck expression.

Something in your conversation prompts him to tilt his head. He fiddles with the little spellbook attached to his hip. Your musings come to a natural close and he speaks up.

“Can I ask—why Lilia? I mean, she’s great, but I guess I don’t understand.” Teen changes the subject.

You smile.

“Do you know the average person’s response to upsetting the state of the world?” You ask. Teen thinks, then shakes his head, “There isn’t one. It doesn’t matter what they’ve undone in the grand scheme, they’re painfully ignorant of what they’ve done. And what’s worse, most don’t care.”

It’s an old grievance you have with the greater universe. You recognize the necessity of it, but will never deny how it grates on you.

“Lilia… Lilia spent a large part of her life as a harbinger of tragedy. She’d travel through villages and upturn their worlds with a prediction.” You sigh, chest aching with the pain you know she suffered, “But when she did, she always sought to fix it. There were times she leveled the scales so completely that I didn’t have to do a thing. Few had ever considered me in such a way before.”

You look up from your fidgeting hands to Lilia. Her eyes are already on you. The warm, steady weight of her gaze makes you melt.

“And the others, well, none of them were her.”

Teen nods, “That’s sweet. I think.”

You chuckle. In a moment of fondness, you ruffle the curls on his head. He rolls his eyes but allows the contact; how do you tell a force of nature no?

---

You stare back down The Road with the coven. Though the return journey will be without any of the usual hassles, you curse the greater powers for not just providing an exit door. Your feet are killing you.

Lilia looks weary despite having rested. You rub a hand over her back, working out the knots you find with a skilled hand. She sighs.

“Where do we go from here?” She asks.

You raise a brow, “Back to the start of The Road.”

Lilia glares, though it lacks significant heat, “Us, darling.”

Ah.

“Wherever you lead, beloved.”

“That’s a lot of control.”

“Give me a century or so and I’ll start making decisions again.”

Her fingers lace through your own. Lilia stares down the length of The Road she has traversed and conquered, yet the greatest battle lies beyond. The world will never again be the same for her.

You raise her hand to your lips. You press gentle kisses to the knuckles.

“To the return of your glory.” You murmur.

Lilia looks at you for a long moment. Using your hold, she pulls you down, into a short but mind-numbing kiss. You hold tight and sigh, content.

She corrects, “To the return of balance.”

[sinofwriting]

Protective - Max Verstappen ( I ❤️ MILFS verse)

Words: 910 Word Prompt: Protective (Part of the I ❤️ MILFS verse) Note(s): Takes place during the Baku 2024 race weekend. Also I hate James Vowles

Masterlist | Support Me! | I ❤️ MILFS verse | Sin’s Sept. Blurbs

Logan is a momma’s boy. It’s something he’s known for as long as he can remember. It’s something that has been thrown in his face, a taunt, a tease, as if he’s supposed to be ashamed that he loves his mom. There isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for his mom and that includes ending what was supposed to be a good month of silence from him other than a short interview he did just after the news broke and the quickly deleted statement he put out.

He’s no longer an F1 driver for the 2024 season, but he still is traveling with the calendar. He hadn’t used the hotel room Williams booked for him since Australia, not when Red Bull always gives Max a suite and there’s always a little envelope with Logan’s name on it that holds a key.

He had stayed completely in the hotel during Monza. He loves the amount of support Charles gets, loves how passionate they are, but it’s a lot to be around, to walk around. He also doesn’t need to hear another drunk Italian man shout about wanting desperately to have Charles’ babies.

He had planned to do the same in Baku just because he didn’t feel like exploring Baku. But then a video gets leaked.

And that’s the end of Logan’s silence.

He shows up on Friday by himself. His parents are already in the Red Bull garage, waiting for him, but they know that he’ll be awhile.

He smiles at fans when they cheer and greet him, taking his time to sign stuff and take pictures, ignoring the hungry photographers and reporters that are watching. He squeezes the hands of fans who despite what happened are wearing his number and telling them how much they love him.

He takes a few more photos before finally pulling away from the fans and beginning to walk. It doesn’t take long before someone finally pounces. A microphone being handed to him, that he easily takes and a camera trained on him and oh great, he wants to roll his eyes a bit, Will Buxton.

“Logan, how are you doing?”

Logan smiles, nodding at some of the people he recognizes from other teams as they pass by. “I’m good. Enjoying the weather.”

Will laughs and it’s so fake it grates on Logan’s ears. “And are you here for duties with Williams?”

His eyes are hungry, his whole expression is. He clearly wants to press and dig deep but is trying to be patient.

He shakes his head, “Here to support my dad. I no longer am associated with Williams.” He knows fans had speculated after seeing his name cleared from their website, but the dissociation had only become official just three hours ago.

“Really? Not even development.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “Ties have been cut, man.” He laughs.

“And Logan, the video that has been circulating these past twelve hours, have you seen it? What are your thoughts?”

“I have seen it. And it’s disgusting really. James has never been shy about sharing his feelings about me and that’s fine, I was a driver on his team, I was a driver. But there’s no reason to bring up and say things about someone who isn’t a part of the team or any of the teams, but is just part of the driver’s staff and a parent. I could see why if they were disruptive or causing a mess, making a scene, but that isn’t the case.”

Will nods, “I couldn’t agree more, Logan.”

“I also want to say thank you to all the people who have been talking about this and talking about the words he said about my mom. I haven’t yet seen a statement put out, but I hope that what he said isn’t brushed aside.”

“I hope so as well.”

“I still say I should get to punch him.” Max comments after they finish watching Logan’s interviews and Logan can’t help but hum in agreement.

“Max.” Christian sighs, though he looks more amused than anything.

“If he wants to call someone a whore, he should call himself that. He has a wife and baby at home and yet is talking about meeting with Carlos in hotel rooms. And calling Pan a bitch just because she supported Logan? Fuck him.”

“We know, Max.” GP nearly looks bored, but there’s a glint in his eyes that Logan just knows means trouble for the Williams team principal.

A throat clears and everyone looks at his mom. “I think we all need to calm down. Especially you,” she gently pokes Logan’s forehead, before running her fingers through his hair. “The protective thing is nice, but it’s not the first time I’ve been called those things and it won’t be the last. We need to be adults about it.”

Logan frowns at her words. “You’ve been called a whore before?”

Max is frowning as well and something churns in Logan’s gut.

“Yes.” She says simply.

“Momma.”

She shakes her head, “No more interviews, Logan. Not about this at least. You didn’t say anything wrong, but I don’t want people thinking that it’s okay for them to just ask and talk about.”

She then turns to Max and Logan watches as she stares at him. “Do I even bother asking you to not say anything?”

Max shrugs. “You could.”

She sighs. “Just don’t threaten him. The FIA is already looking closely at you.”

“No threats.” He agrees.

[captain-huggy-bear]

“how fucking dare you- i am married.” with clayton pls!

also, can i have this emoji 🍸? thanks! congratulations on 1k lottie, big accomplishment and loads to be proud of!!!!

Loyal king who doesn't even look at another woman when he's with you. Of course you can! Thank you <3

1000 Followers Celly Currently ongoing 🥳🎉 (please read the rules) Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

Clayton's not entirely sure why he even agreed to this, he's 5 beers in, definitely a little drunk and he has practice in the morning, but somehow Kess, Cools and Doaner (young and terrible influences) had convinced him to go out drinking.

Clay isn't really concerned with anyone else around him; he's barely noticed the group of young women who keep glancing their way and giggling. Not his scene, not his style, not when he misses you and how normally at this time he'd be in bed, your hands running through his hair, maybe tugging on his chain as he makes out with you for one last time before you both decide to go to sleep like you're 90 years old.

"Oh, she's a dime." It's Kess that says it, sounding like some sort of 1950s greaser wannabe as he looks towards a blonde at the end of the bar. She's twirling her hair around her finger and looking at them, Clay barely glances at her before turning back to his phone to check if you've messaged him since you said goodnight. Not yet...and he sighs heavily, a drunken sort of neediness to see you coming over him. God he misses you.

"A dime? Who even calls a girl that anymore?" Cools and Doaner team up on the larger guy, taking the piss out of him.

"Are you from the 50s?" Clay groans as the three go at each other because he can't handle this right now, he misses you and they're arguing over stupid ass terminology like a bunch of five years. His fault for going out with a bunch of single guys. Besides, if anyone is a dime it's you. You're a dime...the dimey-est dime to ever exist actually.

"So you think I'm wrong? She's not hot?" At this point it's obvious that they're talking about her, Clay can already see her considering whether to sidle up and he hopes she doesn't. Her eyes are flitting between all of them like they're all an option...he is not.

"She's hot, sure, right, Kells?" It's Cools attempt to include him that has him offended, taken aback as he aggressively gestures with his beer, it sloshing nearly over the rim of his glass.

“How fucking dare you- I am married." It's obvious that Cools and Doaner don't understand. They're young. Unmarried. Single. They can't comprehend how offensive it is to ask Clay, a married man, whether another woman was hot or not.

"So you've turned blind?"

"Why the fuck would I look at any other woman when this" Clay picks up his phone, lighting up the screen as he shows off his lock screen, a picture of you smiling as you hold the scraggly cat you'd forced him to let you adopt, "is my wife?"

"But, you can still find other women attractive...you're not dead."

"Listen to me carefully," He throws an arm around Logan, breathing too close to his face in a way that has Cools' scrunching up his nose at the beer breath, "when you fall in love....when you fall in love no one else is attractive anymore. I don't even comprehend other women. I just want my wife." God, when was the last time he found another woman attractive? He actually can't remember, he's been obsessed with you since day one, uninterested in anyone else.

He's getting messy, sloppy, a little soppy and his eyes tear up and Cooley pats him awkwardly on the arm like he's worried Clayton might start crying.

"A...are you okay, man?"

"I just...i'm really missing her, look," He unlocks his phone clumsily, finding his gallery and going throw each photo of you and him, "Isn't she pretty?" God, you're so pretty to Clay. If he were a cartoon Kess is pretty sure Clay's eyes would be heart shaped. He's a little envious honestly.

"Are you going to hit me if I say yes? or if I say no?"

"No! Yes! W-" Clay really is confused, his head is fuzzy, he feels a little sick and all he wants is to see you. God, don't you look so pretty in this photo? Oh, and this one too.

"Okay, cap...let's take that away," Kess reaches over and plucks the beer from Clay's hands, "you wanna see your wife, buddy?"

"Yes!"

"Okay, let's get you home then, c'mon," Kess sighs like he's dealing with a toddler rather than his fully grow captain, still, he helps Clay from his seat at the bar and the three of them make their way to the door. The entire time Doaner and Cools complain about the fact they could have scored a few numbers if Clay wasn't so whiny about his wife.

All Clay can think is that he's so excited to see his wife again.

You are less excited when a very heavy, very drunk Clay flops on top of you during your sleep moaning about how hot you are and how you're such a 'dime'.

[charliemwrites]

Part 4 of Mafia!Price

No Content Warnings

There are many things to appreciate about your boss, but one of them is his respect for routine. You’ve gotten him on a schedule and now he seems happily beholden to it; appreciates your promptness with tea and pastries and morning “briefings” each day.

He’ll happily sit back in his big leather chair and listen to you chatter out his itinerary for the day. Meetings, reports, phone calls. Trips to the dock, now, bless him.

You try not to stare between glances at your tablet. For a rich bastard, he is unfairly handsome. Good taste in just about everything, classy and luxurious without being ostentatious. Old money vibes, for sure, though you know better than to do more than idly wonder. Helps that he’s also remarkably gentlemanly with you. You’re not one to buy into old stereotypes or gender roles, even the ones that benefit you — but you’ll take a chivalrous boss over your old one any day.

Besides, it’s not like he’s spouting off about what women should and shouldn’t be doing. Or trying to use you as an example of an “acceptable” working woman. So, yeah, you’ll indulge in the door-holding and offered arms.

“Alright, best for last — your reservation for Muse is tomorrow. The restaurant is twenty minutes from your penthouse, so Simon will be downstairs by 7:30.”

You check that off your to-do list as you continue speaking.

“Do you have a suit picked out yet, or should I order something? Green is in season and it would go nicely with your eyes.”

He hums; you glance up. Leaning back, one arm lax on the arm of his chair, black watch gleaming. The other is propped to press his index finger against his lips. Like he’s telling you to keep a secret. The corners of his mouth are tilted up.

Your tablet dings and thankfully distracts you from staring.

Oh, for the love of— the only person more inconsiderate than Philip Graves is his damn assistant.

“Is that the color you’re wearing, then?”

Will need to call later today — as if!

“Hm?” You ask, not having caught it.

He arches his eyebrows; ah, you must have been making a face again.

“Are you wearing green tomorrow?” He repeats.

You blink. Are you what?

“Tomorrow, sir?”

He nods, once. “To Muse, luv.”

When you continue to stare with pleasant obliviousness, his eyebrows furrow a bit.

“You do know one of those seats is for you, yeah?”

You press your lips together for a moment. Well… shit. You take it back. You take it all back. John Price is a terrible, horrible, awful man who is so rude.

“I do now.”

Across the office, you make wide eye contact with Gaz. He grimaces in sympathy and ducks his head, though it’s clearly just to hide his traitorous laughter.

“Of course you’re coming along.”

“Sir,” you say, pleasant and sweet, “remember when I first started here? And I told you that I’m not a mind reader?”

“Of course,” he answers. “You threatened to spit in my tea in the same breath.”

“Only if you told me to fetch it for you,” you correct, before continuing, “I feel you may need a reminder: I cannot read your mind. How was I supposed to know you wanted me to go with you?”

“‘S your job, isnit?” He replies. You give him a dark look; he puts his hands up with a chuckle. “My apologies love, I thought you’d be in my pocket next to my handkerchief. Like always.”

You set your hand on your hip, proper cross now.

“It’s outside usual working hours, sir. How could I have possible expected to be invited to your fancy man party?”

“‘Fancy man party’?”

“Well, there’s nothing for it, I’ll have to leave early tomorrow.”

You’re already tapping madly at your tablet, looking up a salon willing to do your hair and makeup. God knows what kind of meltdown you’ll have if you can’t get your eyeliner symmetrical.

“Do whatever you need to do, luv,” Price soothes, standing. “I really am sorry for the short notice.”

You wave him off, then pat his arm as he gently guides you towards the door. Absently, you comply, more focused on getting appointments set and rearranging your own schedule for tomorrow.

“I’ll make it work,” you promise, “I always do.”

You let him bring you all the way to your desk, lower yourself into your ergonomic rolling chair.

“I’ll let you know what color I’m wearing by… one o’clock. Yes?”

“Sounds great, luv.”

You glance at the clock. “Also you have a call with the KorTac Group in ten.”

He chuckles and taps your chin. “Cheers, luv.”

—

Simon is the one to pick you up Friday evening. You both pause in the lobby of your apartment complex, staring.

“You look lovely,” he says at the same time you ask, aghast, “what happened to your face?”

He’s got a dark bruises discoloring the skin around one eye. Clearly some ice has already been applied because the swelling is down, but it must be fresh because he didn’t have it yesterday.

He snorts. “My job happened.”

You tut. “I’ve got something for that but we need to get moving. Mr. Price said he needs some help with his suit.”

You grab his arm without hesitation, habit from any of your escorts or drivers always offering it to you. Usually you accept out of politeness, but tonight you could use the extra stability in your heels. Simon doesn’t seem to mind even though this is the first time you’ve done this.

He walks you to the car, holds the door for you. Sleek and spotless, a black Jaguar — your choice for the evening. You hum in delight at the warm interior as Simon slides into the front seat.

“Oh, thank you for the compliment, by the way,” you add as he pulls into traffic. “You look quite smart as well.”

He grunts, but you notice a bit of color to his ears in the passing streetlights. You smile to yourself and busy yourself with your tablet. Double checking the reservation confirmation, answering messages from Farah and Gaz, updating Price on your ETA.

The car stops at a luxury high rise just at 7. You hop out before Simon can get the door and receive a sharp look. He holds up a reprimanding finger; blink in surprise at the sternness of it.

“You pull that shite again and I’ll handcuff you to the door handle, miss.” He warns. “Making me look bad.”

You huff, amused, and take his arm again. “Don’t threaten me, Mr. Riley, I’m meaner.”

But you squeeze his thick bicep good-naturedly as he leads you into Price’s building. Your boss lives in the penthouse at the very top; Simon has to swipe a card for access. He’s also got a key to let you both in the door, holds it so you can enter first.

It’s all sleek and modern; not at all what you would expect of your boss’s more classical style. His office has a sort of 20s Hollywood vibe (gangster, you teased once) but clearly some interior designer was paid far too much for something out of a drab minimalist catalogue.

You don’t linger long, heels clicking on the polished floors.

“Sir?” you call.

“In here, luv.”

You grimace at the flight of stairs between you and the loft, but force yourself up them. The whole floor is the mater bedroom and it’s the size of your entire apartment. Walk-in closet, sectioned off lounge with a desk. His bathroom door is open, mirror fogged. It smells like soap.

“Bedroom to your right,” he calls.

You tip-tap in and your mouth instantly dries. Price is standing in the middle of the room, half dressed. Nothing unprofessional, no. He’s wearing slacks, a belt. But he’s also in socks, a white undershirt. No watch or rings or anything yet.

It feels oddly more intimate than it should. Your face warms despite yourself.

“E-evening, sir.”

He turns and you’re utterly unprepared for just how handsome he really is. Freshly groomed, hair trimmed and gelled, eyes bright.

“Well, aren’t you just a dream,” he rasps. “You’re stunning.”

You clear your throat, know that all the makeup in the world can’t hide how brightly you’re flushing. It’s pure politeness, he’s not looking at you with anything more than friendly appreciation. Mind out of the gutter, now.

“All the flattery in the world won’t save you if we’re late,” you manage, shaking yourself back into work mode. “So let’s see what we’ve got.”

You pick his shirt, a pocket hanky, his shoes. Tell him to get into those while calling Simon up the stairs. He’s there so fast you blink in surprise, then gesture him over. Sit him on an ottoman and extract the little bottle of makeup you’ve started keeping on hand for situations like this.

“Bullshite you had that in your purse,” he scoffs.

“You remember two weeks ago, when Soap came in with that bruise on his jaw?”

They told you it was a “disagreement” at the docks. You didn’t ask further, figuring it was some sort of bar brawl in that part of town. Rowdy boys.

“Ever since, I keep a couple minis on hand for you all.”

They’re so small that you just keep them in a pocket of your purse with the rest of your makeup and the tampons. Good for emergencies like this.

“You sure you’re not a mind reader?” Simon grumbles as you gently dab it over his face.

“How would being a mind reader even help in this situation,” you scoff, patting at it with your middle finger.

Price steps out of the closet with arms out. He’s picked a waistcoat as well that you hum in approval at.

“Which cufflinks are you wearing?” you ask, turning back to Simon. He’s sitting remarkably still and stoic — reminds you of a big dog trying to maintain some dignity while getting fawned over.

“The silver and diamond.”

You make a noise of disagreement. “The gold and onyx would go better.”

A pause. You sneak a glance and are relieved to see him smirking. “I’ll wear those then. Any opinion on a watch?”

You hum again, carding through your mental catalogue. “Oh! The Bulova you wore during that meeting with Kate Laswell. You remember?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He disappears into his closet again while you lightly blend in the last touches of Simon’s coverup.

“There we are, good as new!” You declare. “Oh, and here.”

You set a couple of ibuprofen in his palm as he stands. “For the inflammation. Take with water.”

“Yes, mum,” he mumbles.

You wince. “Sorry! I’m being overbearing, aren’t I?”

He blinks, then puts a hand up. “No, no. That wasnt — I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

You don’t entirely believe him. Know that you can be a bit much when you’re on a time crunch. Especially for something like this — an important business meeting over fancy dinner. You feel like everyone’s appearance is riding on you; this is your job after all. One thing out of place and everything will fall apart and it’ll be your fault.

“Simon, go take those,” Price orders from behind.

You turn as he approaches, a similar apology all set on your tongue. Instead, he gives you a sheepish smile and offers the cufflinks.

“Bloody useless with these,” he explains. “So unless you want to spend fifteen minutes losing respect for me…”

You laugh, amused by the idea of your hyper-capable boss struggling with a bit of jewelry that cost as much as a week of work. You step in close to thread them through his sleeves, fingers nimble and sure.

“You’re not wearing cologne?” You ask, surprised.

Don’t even realize how that might sound until he arches an eyebrow at you.

“Thought you might have an opinion on that too,” he replies. “And you haven’t steered me wrong, yet.”

He shows you his modest, but impressive collection of colognes. You pluck up one, sniff, and make a face, eyes watering a bit. It’s mostly full; clearly one he doesn’t wear often and you’re grateful for it.

“That bad, eh?”

“Sir, why?” You lament, putting it back.

“Gift from an ex,” he explains.

You store that tidbit of information away for further examination. The idea of your boss in a romance. Right now you’ve got a task to focus on.

“Did they hate you that entire time?” You wonder.

He snorts. “Maybe.”

You shake your head and pick a different one. Blink in surprise and sniff again. Feel your stomach flip.

“That one?” He asks when he notices you hesitate.

“No,” you say a little too quickly, setting it down. This is a business meeting, you can’t afford to be distracted by how he’ll smell with that on his skin.

You settle on one that doesn’t make your head dizzy and your panties shamefully damp. Still feel a bit like you’re shooting yourself in the foot, though. He’s going to smell sinfully good regardless.

You leave Price to his finishing touches and have Simon help you down the stairs. Check through the notes you hurriedly collected when you realized you’d be attending this dinner.

Price comes down too soon for your poor, stupid heart. Looks like something out of a magazine or a novel or a movie or… just too good to be real, really.

“Pass inspection?” He asks.

“Barely,” you tease.

His eyes do that thing where they smile more than his mouth; how you know it’s genuine. You try not to fluster, zero in on his tie, a little crooked and loose.

“Goodness, sir,” you murmur, stepping in close. Yeah, you were right. That cologne is going to be a personal challenge all night. “How did you get along before me?”

“With bad cologne and shitty ties, apparently,” he chuckles.

You grin despite yourself, getting it secure and centered, before smoothing his vest over it. Give him a once over. Feel your stomach flip again.

“If I may say, sir, you look handsome,” you offer quietly.

“Should hope so,” he replies, voice dipping in a way that’s detrimental to the state of your panties. “You dressed me.”

You hum, reach for your usual dry, sharp humor. “I have great taste.”

Instead of scoffing, he hums in agreement. Something flickers through his eyes that you don’t dare allow yourself to daydream on.

Simon, bless him, clears his throat and draws your attention. You check the clock above the stove.

“Ah, we need to get going. I can’t walk fast in these heels.”

You slip your arm automatically into Price’s and try not to obsess over how well you two fit together.

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