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little-wicked10 · 3 days ago

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What’s My Name?

Summary: Alfie wants to hear his name leave her lips.

Warnings: SMUT🔞, dirty talk, swearing, oral, creampie, loss of virginity, it’s filthy so just be warned lol

Note: This has been in my drafts for AGES! It’s my first time writing for Alfie/Tom so I hope you enjoy! Requests are open!

The chatter of the room had become a dull noise in her ears. Those standing in front of her continued to converse even as she stared off into space, completely bored with the event. A cliche in itself to be a woman bored at a party, but you can’t help what entertains you. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d rather be doing, but anything might have been better than this. The air wreaked of cigar smoke from the gentlemen who had taken to the parlor to discuss more private matters. It was a feeble attempt to keep the smell away from the delicate senses of the women. The irony of such a gentile gesture was many of those men had a reputation of hitting their wives and keeping company of women of the night.

It was clear which of the wives were victims of their husbands controlling and abusive nature by the pounds of make up attempting to cover black eyes, bruised cheeks, and busted lips. They were trapped by marriage with no hope of escaping unless their husbands suddenly keeled over or they ran off and were shamed from high society for the rest of their lives.

She was lucky enough that her hand had not been pledged as of yet. It wasn’t for lack of trying from her mother and father, but she always managed to run off any suitors that glanced her way, gaining the reputation as some unruly prized filly that needed to be broke. Said task wouldn’t be so easy as it was clear many of the men who tried, had failed. Needless to say, her parents were frustrated and often berated their daughter with hollow threats to get her to behave.

“Thomas Shelby as I live and breathe,” she smiled.

Tommy smirked, “Good afternoon, my lady.”

“What rotten and corrupt man are you after tonight?” she sipped her drink.

There was always the idle gossip among the ladies that the Shelby family was involved in some lucrative businesses that was rarely legal. After chatting up a couple of his brothers and friends, it didn’t take her long to figure out what Thomas Shelby was up to. Once Tommy caught wind that the little heiress knew some of their secrets, he decided to make her an ally instead of an enemy. He recognized her uncanny ability to make men pour out their secrets to her. Tommy stood next to her observing the party, “What do you have?”

“Would you like to know about Lord Haynes’ under the table campaign parties full of prostitutes to sway votes to make him head of his company’s board? Or would a Father Matthews habit of having his alter boys on their knees in his confessional booth be more interesting?”

“I will never understand how you do it,” he admitted.

“There are benefits to being a woman. Many of the men you call business partners believe the opposite sex is only good for cleaning or fucking,” she rolled her eyes.

A booming voice suddenly called out to Tommy. Both individuals turned their heads to locate the owner of the voice. Her eyes took in a burly man with a cane. He had a scruffy beard and hair slicked back under his cap. He looked out of place with his unkempt appearance. “Alfie!” Tommy called to the man. Alfie’s eyes turned their attention from Tommy to her curvy figure standing near the fireplace.

His eyes held a dark kind of mischief that she couldn’t quite place. It was the type of mischief mothers warned their daughters about when young men came calling. The two men shook hands and began a banter that indicated they had been friends for some time. One might mistake them for brothers with how they bickered.

“Right, who is this lovely creature,” Alfie cut off his conversation with the other man and turned to her.

As Tommy introduced her, title and all, Alfie took her hand and bowed dramatically before kissing her knuckles, eyes meeting hers with the same mischievous twinkle, “Charmed.”

“Quite, Mr. Solomons,” she replied.

He stood up straight, her hand still in his grasp, “Alfie. Any friend of Tommy’s, is a friend of mine. Especially one with a face like yours. You a Jew?”

“Quite a personal question. Why do you ask?” she held his gaze, raising an eyebrow.

“Because I have to tell me ma, yeah, if her grandchildren will be half or full Jew,” he smirked before laying a second kiss on her hand.

“Alfie,” Tommy began before she cut him off.

“It’s alright, Tommy. I’m flattered. Unfortunately, your mother may have a heart attack if you brought me home. I’m not Jewish.”

Alfie’s smile told her he didn’t care one way or the other. He seemed as giddy as a school boy that she was joining in on his little game. Alfie let her hand slip from his, her soft skin scratched against the calluses embedded in his own. The man excused himself to hunt out a drink. As he walked away, she turned to Tommy, “Quite the friend, Tommy.”

He rolled his eyes, “Don’t encourage him. He embarrasses me enough.”

“More than your brothers?”

It didn’t surprise her that Alfie would suddenly appear near out of nowhere. He would rarely talk to her directly, opting to converse with any gentlemen or ladies around her. He wanted to make his presence known and make it clear he was watching her. She was equally as intrigued by him, but she wouldn’t let on that piece of information just yet. All part of the fun and games of the evening.

Upon exiting the powder room, she came face to face with the hulking man once again. There was that mischievous look again. That look mixed with the memory of his rough hands ignited a small flame of curiosity (and desire).

“Shouldn’t you be smoking cigars with Tommy instead of preying on little girls outside the powder room?” She asked.

Alfie chuckled, “I’m waitin’ on a beautiful, curvy lass that has been eyein’ me fondly all night.”

She smirked, “By the sounds of it, you’re the one who has been doing the eyeing.”

As she took a step away from him and towards the party, she was surprised to feel his hulking presence and hear the scrape of his cane as he stepped behind her. She stopped and turned on her heels to face him once again, “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Solomons?”

“Alfie,” he corrected.

“Mr. Solomons,” she repeated, “I don’t know you personally enough to call you by your name.”

“We can change that right quick,” his smirked could only be described as sinful.

A blush flushed her cheeks, and it fueled Alfie to keep up his pursuit. The hallway, though grand in stature, was empty. The bear of a man stepped towards her until her back delicately hit the wall, and she was trapped between him and the solid surface. Her pulse picked up as the smell of him finally hit her for the first time of the night.

Cologne. Earth. Bread.

An odd combination of smells, but when mixed with his naturally manly musk, it had great effect upon her senses. It was the smell of a man that’s worked hard and fought for everything he has. He leaned a hand next to her head against the wall, face becoming inappropriately closer to hers. “Come with me,” he whispered, gravelly voice reverberating through his chest.

“And why should I?” Her confidence returning as she stood up a little straighter, “You and I are both aware the gossip that would ensue should we be seen leaving together without an escort.”

“Right, we sneak out through the servants entrance, yeah? I’ve got a nice bottle o’rum waiting at my office that has been beggin’ me to crack ‘er open,” he persuaded.

She should say no. What they were doing now was scandalous enough to get everyone talking…if they were caught. It wasn’t easy for her to admit to herself that Alfie had an effect on her she hadn’t felt yet. She was a proud woman, and this had her feeling a different kind of adrenaline high than sneaking cigarettes from the servants and ease-dropping on private conversations. This…Alfie was a curiosity she wanted to explore more.

Alfie could see it in her eyes before her pretty lips whispered her answer.

His office was dimly lit, floorboards creaked under their weight as the two walked across the room. Alfie gestured for her to sit before walking behind his desk and rummaging around. He set his cane and hat on the desk before discarding his coat over the back of his chair.

The bottle of rum and two glasses tinked together as he set them on the desk surface. “Ya prefer neat? Cuz that’s all I got,” he remarked as he pulled the cork out of the bottle and poured the amber liquid into the glasses. “Neat’s perfect,” she replied as she reached for a glass.

Alfie’s eyes watched as she swished the liquor in the glass. As the burly man sat down, he took his glass in his hand and propped his feet up, “What shall we drink to?”

“Do we have to drink to something?”

“S’bad luck not to,” he smirked.

She bit her lip as she thought a moment. Alfie would love to feel those lips on his. He’d been staring at every part of her anatomy since he first saw her talking with Tommy. It wouldn’t be a lie if Alfie admitted he felt a small flare of jealousy seeing her talking and laughing with Tommy, but once speaking with her, he knew she was made to give him a run for his money. “How about…to a new friendship?” he asked.

“We’re friends?” she raised a curious brow.

“For now,” he smiled.

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach watching his wicked smile. Both clinked their glasses and took a drink. His groan was damn near animalistic after slamming down the glass and wiping the remnants of the liquor from his beard. She cleared her throat to keep from coughing and set the glass back on his desk. Her eyes began to wander and landed on his cane sitting between them upon the desk. Alfie saw her studying the piece of wood, a question most likely brewing in her pretty head.

“Souvenir from my days in the war,” he said breaking the silence, hand patting his leg. She met his gaze, guilt passing her features a moment for being caught staring at it. He chuckled, “You can make it up to me by bringin’ yer pretty self right round my desk and sittin’ down,” he took his feet off the desk to pat the spot they’d just been, “right ‘ere.”

She hesitated, staring into the playful gleam in his eyes before standing. Alfie removed his hands and sat back as he watched her round the desk and slip herself on to the worn surface. “If I knew any better, Mr. Solomons, I’d say you were a down right cad,” she smiled sweetly.

He smirked playfully, “Am I now?”

Her eyes flicked down to his glass, running her pointer finger along the edge still slick with rum, “Sneaking a lady off to drink isn’t gentlemanly behavior. What would people say if they caught us in such a….compromising position?”

His eyes watched her finger for a moment before looking into her eyes again, “They’d say, ‘He’s one lucky sod.’”

She laughed. She went to bring her finger up to her lips to lick off the rum, but his burly hand quickly grasped her small wrist. Her eyes went wide as he brought her hand closer to his face, inspecting the liquid on her delicate finger before letting his lips kiss the rum away. Alfie noticed her skin ripple with goosebumps feeling his mouth against the pad of her finger. He released her hand with a nonchalant look on his face, as if what he had just done didn’t send electricity through her, before looking at her with a suspicious (more mischievous) look, “I thought I told you to call me Alfie?”

It took a moment for her to regain her composure, but her voice betrayed her, “I only call those by their first name that have earned it.”

A challenge.

Alfie stood, towering over her and leaning against the desk with arms on either side of her, “And how, pray tell, does one earn it, treacle?”

She was at a loss for words knowing the outcome should she continue this game with him. Fall into the darkness hidden behind that mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Cause I know a way I can get you to remember to call me by my fuckin’ name,” he almost growled.

His body pressed against her crossed legs like he was asking permission for entrance and bring their bodies closer. Her eyes ran down his body before looking back into his eyes. She suddenly touched his left hand with her right hand, slowly dragging it up his arm and feeling the hard muscles until she she held the side of his neck delicately.

‘Oh Lord, save me.’

He was completely opposite to the men that had courted her in the past. All well-bred, silver spoon heirs to fortunes that would never come close to eliciting the feelings Alfie was giving her. He was a hard man that worked hard, a man that would scare her former suitors out of their skins. She didn’t know what it was going on between them, but she wanted to revel in him, “Then show me.”

Alfie crashed their lips together as he took a handful of her curls, and she uncrossed her legs, allowing him to step forward and press their bodies closer. His other hand came up holding the side of her face, his rings and calluses grazed her skin and she shivered thinking of how they’d feel all over her body. Her wish was granted as the hand on her face traveled down her neck to feel the rest of her body that he’d been craving.

She wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him further into their bruising kiss. Alfie bit her lip causing her to squeal so he could slip his tongue against hers more. She pulled his hair and pressed her chest against his, needing to feel his hardened body more. Alfie pulled her lips off his with an obscene pop, licking his lips at her taste.

“Fucking minx. What’s my name?” he smirked as he stared at her swollen lips and flush face. He ran a finger down her body and between her breasts, clearly eager to see her dress gone.

Her eyes full of lust and a playful smile on her lips, she replied, “Solomons.”

He didn’t like that answer, “You’ll regret that, love.”

Before she could give a witty reply, the hand in her hair was gone and suddenly threw everything off his desk. He man handled her to lay flat on her back before pulling up his chair. Alfie was an animal as he shoved her dress up her hips and ripped her panties off her body, too impatient to bring them down her legs. She yelped and he growled as she now lay bare, for the first time ever, in front of a man.

“Wh-what are you doing?” her legs tried to close instinctually, but Alfie held them open, fingers digging into her thighs as he stared into her lust-blown eyes.

“Never had a man give you a proper lickin’?” He asked coyly.

She shook her head, embarrassment of admitting she was a virgin taking form as a hot blush creeping into her cheeks. His eyes softened a bit as he remembered she was a high-class lady kept under lock and key, virginity and all. “I’m going to devour you, treacle,” he purred. Before she could question what he meant, he pushed his head forward and his lips met her dewy center. He lapped at her from entrance to clit. Her back arched off the desk as she moaned out, her body quaking at this incredible new feeling.

She couldn’t decide whether to pull away or push further into him, but Alfie made that decision for her as he held her hips steadfast to his mouth. Her hands flew into his hair as she squirmed and writhed, the pleasure so foreign and so delicious all at once. Alfie took her clit into his mouth making her sing out her approval in the form of moans and whines. He wouldn’t relent now. Not while this beautiful angel sang his praises.

Her orgasm was fast approaching. One greater than any she has given herself, so she desperately gave her body to the mercy of his mouth and hands. She nearly screamed as he stuck one thick finger into her channel. Those rough fingers felt better than anything her imagination could cook up. Alfie took note of how she keened even more when he let his beard and mustache scratch and rub against her soft petals. He shook his head like a dog and growled, adding a second finger that led to her explosions.

Her legs and hands had him in a vice grip as her body shook with orgasm. She wasn’t able to form words as her brain went fuzzy and the tingling spread from the bottoms of her feet to behind her eyes. Alfie lapped at her gently to let her ride out the high she was on. He released her hips and ran his hand, the one that wasn’t still inside her, along her trembling body, rings slightly snagging on her clothing only raising her dress further up her body. She thought he’d release her, but instead Alfie sped back up.

“W-what are you…oh fuck! What are you doing?” she stuttered.

Alfie pulled his mouth away, “What’s my name?”

He didn’t care to wait for her response as he was drunk on her taste. Her moaning had him going mad and all he wanted was to hear and feel her cum over and over again. Tears fell from the corners of her eyes as the pleasure was almost unbearable. Alfie was driven by an insatiable need to consume her. Her walls fluttered around his fingers and her orgasm wet his face once again. Tremors racked her body as she screamed, “ALFIE!”

She felt drunk, body buzzing and whimpering pathetically as he pulled his finger out and slowly stood up. Whatever he couldn’t lick off, he wiped away with his hand before adjusting his trousers to make his hard on more comfortable. “Right, you okay then, treacle?” he asked, leaning over her to wipe away tears. She placed her hand over his that was resting against her cheek. Turning her face into his hand, her lips grazed against his thumb before sucking it between her lips.

Alfie set his jaw, internally chastising himself to be patient, “Do ya want more, darlin’?”

Her eyes fluttered open and looked into his own, she made her decision. Repercussions be damned, “Yes, Alfie.”

He didn’t need anymore clarity. Her shaking hands were suddenly at his trousers, pulling his shirt untucked in a desperate manner. Alfie was quick to throw away any piece of clothing she wanted. Sitting her up, he let her greedy hands run along his naked chest while he shimmied her dress and slip over her head. Seeing her naked flesh was like seeing an angel in its purest form. The swell of her breasts as they heaved from her panting caught his attention first. The true nature of her curves had been hidden under her clothing, and Alfie felt he could run his hands along them for hours. Looking at her flush face and disheveled hair, he couldn’t help but wonder how he was lucky enough to be in her presence.

She was a stunning beauty. An angel among men that was allowing a mere mortal like him to gaze upon her. “You’re fucking beautiful, love,” he muttered to her as he stepped closer again, hands delicately holding the sides of her neck and lips ghosting hers, “Do you want me to stop?”

Her mouth was slightly ajar, breathing in his air and hands feeling his tense abdomen muscles, “No. Please, Alfie.”

Alfie gently laid her down on the desk, bringing himself to hover over her, “A lady like you should have her first time in a marital bed.”

“If you don’t take me now, I’ll burst into flames,” she nearly pleaded.

Alfie’s laugh was wicked, looking down to undo his trousers. Her eyes watched intently as he revealed his cock. Shock was evident on her face when she saw what would be going inside her. The man leaned down to pepper her cheek and neck with loving kisses, “I’ll take good care of ya, treacle. Don’t you worry that prettily lil mind about it.”

She flicked her eyes back up into his and wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers delicately playing with the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck. The feeling made the gangster shiver and rut his hips against her center. A gasp left her lips at the feeling of his warm cock rubbing against her clit. Their foreheads pressed together, sharing each other’s air as he teased them both.

A pathetic whine slipped from her throat as she thrust her hips towards his. He was quick to respond, grabbing his hard on in hand and pushing the blunt tip against her weeping center. As he pressed into her, he felt her tense at the much larger intrusion.

“Easy, treacle. Relax ya self. There’s a good girl,” his gruff voice comforted, coaxing her body to accept him.

Alfie saw the tears misting her eyes. He reached up and held the side of her face to stroke away what fell, “Just say the word, and I’ll stop.”

She shook her head, “Please, don’t. I…need you…inside me.”

Alfie continued his efforts. He released her cheek to lick two of his fingers and reach down to draw circles around her pearl. The more his rough fingers toyed with her, the further he could push inside her. She felt so full of him. He took over all her senses to the point that she couldn’t think of anything else if she tried. When he bottomed out, she cried and tightened her legs around his waist. Alfie growled at the feeling of her soft walls clinging to him in a death grip.

In a loving gesture, Alfie smoothed out her hair and began to pepper her face with kisses. When he began to kiss under her ear towards her neck, she began to squirm her hips and making a desperate sound she was afraid to let out. Their bodies responded to one another at a slow pace. Drawing out slowly then pushing in, Alfie cursed in her ear as he felt her cunt trying to suck him back in.

“F-fuck, girl. Your little cunny feels like heaven,” Alfie moaned into her ear.

“I’m so full, Alfie,” she whimpered desperately, “Keep going.”

Who was he to deny her? The man set a slow and gentle pace, stretching her out to get accustomed to this new feeling. Her lips were next to his ear, so all the pretty little sounds he drew from her he could hear. If he looked at her, he would have seen how lust drunk she was. Enough so that she turned her head, wrapping her lips around his ear lobe and nibbling on it. A shiver ran down his spine and his hips harshly thrust inside her. The sharp moan she let out drove him wild.

She stared into Alfie’s eyes as he pulled away from her neck to watch. Her face contorted in pleasure as he began to drive sharp, slow thrusts into her. He was determined to find every little spot that would make her moan and squeal.

“You’re fuckin’ beautiful, yeah. Especially with my fat cock stuffed in ya,” he rasped.

She could only respond with a whine as she let the man do as he pleased her with body. Her head was fogged with lust, nails raking red lines down his muscular back to spur him on. Fuck whoever heard her. Fuck whoever might see her like this. As long as he kept making her feel this way, fucking her this way, she’d do anything for him.

“Let’s see those pretty eyes roll back and feel that tight cunny explode,” Alfie groaned as he sped up.

She could have sobbed at the thought of him stopping. Limbs clutched tightly to him, ankles digging into his ass to urge him deeper. God in Heaven, he wasn’t going to last much longer, but he willed himself to hold off. He picked up the pace of his thrusts, repeatedly hitting that little spot inside that had her voice becoming higher and higher. “I-I’m…I’m…oh god!” she babbled, “Fuck, Alfie!”

“Found it, didn’t I? You seein’ stars, love?” he chuckled arrogantly. Her nails dug into his shoulders, whimpering and panting. The tension was building in his lower abdomen which prompted him to quickly slip a hand between their moving bodies and circle that little wet nerve. That was both their undoings. The moment his rough fingers touched her, she cried out in purse ecstasy, back arching eyes rolling, and limbs shaking. The way her inner walls clamped down on him made it nearly impossible for him to move. A better man would have pulled out, but he wasn’t a better man. He was a gangster. The growl that left Alfie’s chest was animalistic, the tension finally releasing as he came along with her.

“Fuckin’…hell,” he groaned as he rested his forehead to her shoulder, hips still unconsciously rutting into hers. She trembled in his arms as the remnants of her orgasm flooded her body. When heavy panting turned softer, the man sat up to look into her glassy stare, “You alright, darlin’? Didn’t hurt you or nothin’?”

She shook her head, fingers still clutching on to his shoulders, “I don’t…I don’t think I’m going to forget your name.”

Alfie could stop the belly laugh and smile spreading across his lips. Even when she’s just been fucked to the moon and back, she still had enough brains left to tease him.

It had been near a week since their secret endeavor at the distillery. Not a day went by that her mind wasn’t occupied with the Jewish gangster. Alfie drove her home and kissed her goodbye before she left the car. As she watched him drive off, she found herself hoping she’d see him again. Many times she had thought of calling Tommy to ask about him, but she didn’t want to let anyone else know about her sinful little secret.

She was sat in the library, absentmindedly doodling on a piece of paper when the door suddenly opened. Her mother stood in the door way as she called to her, “Your father wishes to see you.”

Rising to her feet, she smoothed out the skirt of her dress and quietly followed. Her mother’s tone gave way that they wanted to discuss another marriage proposal with her. It was a tone laced with kindness but held warning to be polite and behave. One would think they were eager to get rid of her with how often this transaction happened. Approaching her father’s study, she could hear the muffled voices from the other side of the door. No doubt discussing her dowry and pulling out every stop to convince the man to take her off their hands. She knew her parents meant well, but at times, it felt they were more worried about saving face than her happiness.

As the women entered the room, her father looked from the gentleman sat in front of him to the door, “Ah! Here she is!”

Her father came round his desk as the gentleman stood from his chair. She didn’t get a glimpse of the stranger before her father stood before her, eyes glancing over her to make sure she was in proper and presentable order. Once satisfied he stepped to her side, “My dear, this…gentleman is…”

“Al…Mr. Solomons,” her breath caught in her throat.

The gangster of her sinful dreams stood before her with a playful smile.

“Have you two been acquainted?” her mother asked confused.

“We have, my lady. We met at a formal affair a week ago. Mr. Shelby introduced us, as it were,” Alfie answered.

She was no doubt blushing as she stared in awe of her secret lover. He stood tall and proud without his cane, gilded hands clasped in front of him. “Why didn’t you tell us you were acquainted with Mr. Solomons, dear?” her father asked.

She tore her eyes to her father, “It had slipped my mind. Mr. Solomons was a pleasant companion to me throughout the evening.”

“Was that why you returned so late?” her mother questioned.

Flashes of that night played in her mind before she decided to answer, “I’m afraid we were having quite the time socializing.”

Alfie cleared his throat, hiding a chuckle, “Right, we did. I do so enjoy your daughter’s company.”

The innuendo went right over her parents’ heads, neither catching the mischievous glint in Alfie’s eye or her blush. “If it’s alright with you, yeah, I’d like to speak to your lovely daughter in private,” his eyes didn’t look away from her, request directed towards her more than her parents.

Her parents shifted a bit uncomfortably behind her before agreeing to the gangsters request. It wasn’t until the door closed and the sound of feet retreating did either of them speak. “Alfie,” she spoke a bit breathlessly, “Wh-what are you doing here?”

His smirk made her stomach fill with butterflies, “Seein’ as I made a woman out of ya, I came to make you my woman.”

Her eyes went wide, “And what makes you think my father would agree to such a match?”

Alfie unclasped his hands and stepped towards her, “Because he already has, treacle. I’m the suitor that’s come a-calling who’s not going to take no for an answer. And considering I may have put me child in ya, well that makes me want ya more.”

She bit her lip as he towered over her now, unable to look directly into his eyes, “What makes you think I’d say yes? Sounds like you came out of obligation instead of infatuation.”

“Infatuation has everything to do with my proposal,” he grasped her chin between his fingers to tilt it up and stare into her eyes, “The babe would be the sugar on the cream, treacle.”

In that moment, she’d let him put ten of his babes in her if it meant he’d take her as his wife. Delicate hands rested on his broad chest, “Would I have to convert? I’m sure your mother would hate to have a non-Jewish girl in the family.”

“Shiksa or not, I’ll have you to wife,” releasing her chin, he rummaged in his pocket.

With a groan, Alfie fell to one knee and produced a velvet box. He flipped open the lid to reveal a diamond ring bigger than any gem she’d seen her mother wear. Alfie nearly chuckled at the shock on her face but barked with laughter at her response, “I would say you were compensating, but we both know that’s a lie.”

“That we do. I thought, right, if my cock couldn’t convince ya, maybe a nice big diamond would,” his cheeky remark made her giggle, “Marry me, treacle.”

It wasn’t a hard choice. Even though she hardly knew him, it felt right. His proposal felt like a new beginning and not imprisonment. Alfie smiled as an enthusiastic yes left her lips, and he slipped the ring on her finger. Taking his face between her hands, she fell to her knees and kissed him. Strong arms wrapped around her waist as he enjoyed the feel of his new bride’s body against his once again. Albeit with clothes on, they’d have plenty of time to explore each other again once they were married.

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feral-childs-word · 3 days ago

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Hi (It says ur requests are open so I apologize if not) I recently found your profile and rlly like ur work and had an idea too request.

Do you think you could write a scenario where the reader (most likely male) hates the fact that Bruce Wayne is his father so reader presents himself as feminine but ends up looking like a female version of Bruce?

Runway walk

💋 Platonic! batfamily x Male feminine reader

🚬 Hating a man that is considered your blood runs deep. Especially when you do petty things to get back at him which completely backfires on you.

💋 There might be a part 2

🚬 Aww thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed my work. Now I'm not entirely sure if you wanted reader to be trans, cross dresser, Femboy, or drag queen but I'll do my best! And I apologize for the late reply I was starting to do it then I just went blank lol. Also I might make reader have a bf (OC) I got so many ideas for part 2 😼

💋 Pls inform me if anything is incorrect. I do not want to make any gender of sorts in my fics feel excluded or feel like they aren't represented enough so please give me a private DM so I can understand and fix the issue :)

You've always hated your father to the last bit. You didn't care that Bruce Wayne was your father. That he had so much money to spend. He flaunts it like it's never going to end.

That.. mad you angry.

As you stared into the mirror you hated how you looked. How similar you looked to Bruce Wayne. It made your skin itch, like you wanted to tear it off just to not look exactly like him.

You remember when people around you would say you looked like him just because you had the same facial feature. You hated it. You never wished to be with a man who won't love you back. Yet he can love his other kids like he has a heart on his sleeve.

And you despised that.

It made you jealous, angry, and sad. You couldn't believe in yourself anymore because you thought yourself useless and just a waist of space in this cruel cold city.

Until you realized your worth.

You didn't expect to really be interested in it. It was supposed to be something to get back a Bruce but watching these men dress up in such beautiful clothing meant for a women to wear but they made it beautiful elegant on there body. And you admired that. You wanted to be them. So you started trying. Buying feminine clothes secretly using a different card so Bruce wouldn't be suspicious on why there's so many clothes, makeup, and wigs being bought.

At first you couldn't understand it. Failing miserably over and over until you were ready to give up on this stupid thing you decided to do. But you realized you needed to do it. It was like a urge or a guy feeling of some sort to do it. So you did again going on YouTube to do it and even asking the females at school for help on makeup ideas and asking for good products which they happily agreed recommending many products to you which you used. Some worked some didn't.

But hey that was the beginning of it all. Now here you are dressed up in elegant wear. Simple a black dress with a slit. Nothing to extravagant but it was beautiful especially it hugged your slightly slim figure.

Lips a deep red, lashes curled, and wig black and curly. You weren't going to lie you enjoyed the attention feeling stares by others and whispers. Though what annoyed you the most is the fact that people kept saying you looked just like Bruce but female. That ticked you off. You weren't supposed to look like Bruce of any sort this was supposed to be something you did to NOT look like Bruce..

With the responses you just faked a smile and laughed acting like it was nothing but it was something. Your delicate hand clenched the campaign glass your long painted nails tapping the glass in annoyance as you walked around laughing to old folks and refusing drunk heads that tried asking you out or for your number.

Pausing your steps you could feel a stare and it wasn't any stare you knew the stare very well. Shivering slightly you turned around to be face with face with the man you despise the most. Bruce fucking Wayne. Your eyes narrowed back at Bruce who stood there awkwardly like he was going to say something but stopped himself.

"you look...nice" Bruce says. You on the other hand almost scoffed of course Bruce would know it's you. You sighed to yourself and gave Bruce the most fakest smile ever. "Thanks." You says through gritted teeth. "Are others here too?" You asked knowing the answer.. If Bruce was here at least one of them was here. Bruce doesn't respond just stared at you. Of course you sighed softly glancing over his shoulder and seeing the huddled little group you recognized almost immediately. All of them looked like they were chattering with each other and some guests but you knew better seeing their eyes glance over to you and Bruce.

"Of course they will be here" You grumbled swishing your fake wig away from your face and using your hand designed with nails that were a nice red to flick your hair to make it more comfortable. "Look I need to go I don't have time for this." You said scowling at Bruce moving past him and walking to the rich people in this gala with your practiced smile.

Bruce clenched his jaw, gripping the champagne glass cup with all his might shattering the glass cup letting blood dribble down from the cuts. He cursed softly wiping his hand to get rid of the glass shards and the champagne juice from his hand. "Damnit" Bruce mutters regret having a glass cup since he now ruined a really good tux.

Bruce's eyes then fixated over to you again watching as you walked around like you were born for the attention like you were meant for the high life. To be honest Bruce was surprised to see you dressed so feminine so naturally also like you were a female all along.

When people started talking about you saying how you looked just like Bruce but a female version Bruce was confused since he only had 2 daughters...well 1 and a half Cass and Stephanie. But now seeing you he realized how really happy you look dressed like a female.

Your eyes shine when people compliment anything about you. He noticed it. How could he not? You were his kid. But clearly you didn't think of him as a father looking at him so coldly so ditched like you were a stranger to him.

You weren't supposed to act like that. You where his kid for God's sake why couldn't you see that... Maybe he didn't see that.

His eyes lingered longer than it should have your eyes locked into his and you gave him a cold look like you hated his guts. That hurt.. allot. Bruce was the one to break the gaze walking back to his kids sometimes stopping to chat with the other rich people that try to befriend him.

He needs to figure out how to talk to you properly without you looking at him with such hate.

Maybe your siblings can help. God he wishes it'll work..

#xreader #male reader #yandere female #yandere male #yandere batfamily #neglected reader #batfamily #batfamily platonic #platonic batfam #platonic yandere

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trust-is-a-dangerous-thing · 10 hours ago

Text

More for the Nightmare!AU. This one goes into a little more detail about the abuse, nothing major but it is there, and there is some talk of reader starving/being underweight, so just be aware of all of that.

Also, I know one person requested that they be tagged in all future updates for this AU, would anyone else like to be tagged when I update? Just let me know!

The other members of your team get hit with a series of very rude awakenings, very quickly.

The first one happens immediately after you pass out, when they rush you to the medical center...only for people to start refusing to help them when they find out that it's actually you they'll be helping. One doctor, then the next, then the next, nurse after nurse, orderly after orderly, almost everyone says they won't do it---some kind of fear or disgust or just plain indifference written on their faces. It's not until Ghost starts threatening people that a few of the medical staff timidly volunteer their services, finally wheeling you into a private room---the rest of your team following in strained silence.

The second happens when the nurses start peeling off your layers. The first few don't reveal anything except more layers underneath, but eventually they start to see skin instead of fabric---covered in scars and black smoke-like spirals that look like tattoos, but clearly aren't. Once the nurses have finally peeled away everything but a pair of shorts and a tank top off of you, though, the members of your team can't help but flinch. You look like a fucking skeleton. Underweight, starving, in every sense of the word.

It's a miracle that you hadn't passed out weeks ago, and an even greater miracle that it wasn't actually the starvation that made you pass out in the first place. It was heat stroke, the nurses said, after filling a tub full of water and slowly lowering the temperature of it in increments to get your own temperature down to a manageable level. They couldn't stop staring at you, at your "tattoos," at the scars that covered your body that they knew damn well couldn't have come from enemy fire.

You don't wake up. The nurses say that you won't wake up for a while---the heat stroke, the starvation, the chronic insomnia, the near-constant state of panic you were in taking too much of a toll on your body. Ghost, Soap, Gaz...they won't leave your side. They take turns leaving to shower and eat, they sleep in shifts just to make sure that someone is always there and awake just in case you open your eyes, and they make it clear that they won't tolerate any kind of sub-par or mistreatment of you. They won't.

The third, and final, revelation comes when Ghost tells Price what happened, everything they knew and suspected, and Price decides to call the captain of your previous team.

He picks up the phone and doesn't seem all that surprised that Price has called him. In fact, it's like he was expecting him to, sooner or later. He asks Price if he's calling about you, but he doesn't use your name or your callsign, he uses a derogatory word that immediately makes Price's hackles raise and a bitter taste form on his tongue. He has to count back from ten four separate times before he can finally bring himself to respond with anything other than straight acid.

When he tells your former captain about what happened to you, he doesn't seem surprised by that either---telling Price that he figured something like that might happen if you got transferred, which is why he hadn't wanted to let Laswell move you in the first place. He tells Price that you needed a "firm hand," and that him and your former teammates had a system for keeping you in line.

Price has a feeling that he doesn't want to know, but he asks anyway.

What exactly had they been doing to "keep you in line?"

And then your old captain starts talking, reminiscing. He tells Price about keeping you locked up in an old storage shed, about how you weren't allowed to eat unless he gave you permission, about how the layers were mandatory, about how they all watched you like a hawk, policed your every move, how they broke you down until you finally stopped fighting and just obeyed. Like a fucking dog.

All for the "safety of your teammates," he says. Price, mentally, calls bullshit. Your file was clean---no insubordination, no fights with your fellow soldier, no smartass retorts, no threats, no anger issues, hell not even a fucking write up for having a messy uniform. There was nothing in your file that suggested that you would be a danger to anyone.

What was in your file, however, was a pretty hefty medical record, almost as tall as his thumb. Bruises, black eyes, lacerations, broken bones, burst blood vessels, burn treatments, cracked ribs, any and every kind of injury that could put someone in the hospital was in your file.

Except the problem with those injuries was that there were very few corroborating mission reports to go along with them. Occasionally there was a report referenced in your file providing some kind of explanation, but for the most part it was just…empty. You were hurt, and there was no reason given. Not even any record of you telling the medical staff what’d happened to you. Nothing.

Price, of course, mentions this, trying so hard not to throw accusations at your former captain---that might make him defensive, might make him clam up, and Price had to know what they'd been doing to you and why. Whether he liked it or not, this was the best way he could help you, even if listening to that bastard on the other side of the phone made him so angry his hands shook. In the end, it didn't take much prodding to get him to keep going.

All those injuries? "Punishments," he called them. For insubordination or not following orders or putting your teammates in danger, although Price highly doubted that you'd actually done any of those things, given everything the captain had already said about your life with them. He had to know more, though, so he could figure out how to help you---what not to do, what might scare you, what they had to show you was okay, what to watch out for.

He took a breath, and asked for more details.

He really really wished that he hadn't.

Tag List - @yearninglustfully

#nightmare!au #call of duty #modern warfare #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader

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shamo-bird · 2 days ago

Text

Gegenbild

Magic battle between current Lilia Vanrouge vs General Vanrouge

“A practical magic match… in a virtual space?”

Lilia had been cooking a meal filled with love, flavor, and nutrition in the master chef class, enough to make anyone swoon. And yet somehow, he’d ended up being chased by ghosts into the headmage’s office.

How had things ended up like this?

At NRC, full of troublemakers, it wasn’t rare for students to be sent to the headmage during class. But Lilia hadn’t blown up the kitchen or dropped a chandelier on the cafeteria, so why was he here?

While pretending to listen to Crowley’s explanation, he mentally reviewed his cooking steps in his head, and then snapped his eyes wide open at the word "detention."

“Yes. Starting next week, we’re holding special practical magic lessons. I wanted to use a match today after classes to help fine-tune the arcane projector. But the teachers are all busy, so… it’s perfect, really. Would you mind doing it for detention?”

“But I…”

Crowley’s tone made it sound like a simple task, but if this was practical magic, then actual magic would be required.

In previous matches using the projector, Lilia had been surprised by how real the opponents appeared, but the magic he used to fight them actually had been very real.

Even if he had regained some of his strength after the overblot incident with Malleus, Crowley surely knew that his magical power had significantly waned. Yet he made this request without a hint of restraint.

Crowley’s self-proclaimed “thoughtful and kind” nature couldn’t be further from reality. A little consideration for an old fairy wouldn’t kill him, would it?

Lilia frowned openly, but the headmage only smiled more deeply.

“What if… your opponent was your younger self? Wouldn’t it be interesting to register your data from when you were the General of the Land of Briar? You only need to use minimal magic. If you went all out physically, you’d probably break the projector anyway.”

“Hmm…”

But the moment that extra detail was added, Lilia’s shoulders twitched in surprise.

Fighting his younger self—normally an impossible scenario—had piqued his curiosity.

Of course. If the opponent was himself, he would know every quirk and weakness. And if it was the hotheaded, brute-force version of himself who relied purely on magearm and attack spells, he might just manage without using much magic at all…

“What a troublesome task…”

He muttered with mock reluctance, but the sly smirk curling at the corners of his mouth told the real answer.

♢　♢　♢

A mechanical whirr rang out in the distance. In the next instant, the empty coliseum before him transformed into a lush green forest.

“No matter how many times I experience this, it’s such a strange feeling…”

Previous matches with the projector had taken place somewhere on campus. But this setting was clearly the forest of Briar Valley—no, the Land of Briar from long ago.

Crowley must really be enjoying this experiment. His tastes remained as distasteful as ever.

“Who’s there?”

As Lilia squinted and scanned the familiar landscape, a low voice suddenly called from behind him. Despite the dense vegetation, the figure had approached without a sound.

“You,” Lilia answered.

Of course, it was none other than the General of the Land of Briar—Lilia Vanrouge.

“Huh? The hell are you talking about, bastard?”

The voice came from deeper in the brush. He was likely utilizing his small frame to hide behind a tree. Even turning around, Lilia couldn’t see him.

But if the opponent was himself, he only had to think: “Where would I hide?” That made this a very easy game of hide-and-seek.

He picked up a small stone from the ground and threw it hard at a likely spot. No response.

Then he swept his hand across the ground to gather more stones and hurled them all in the same direction. Just as they passed by the side of a tree he’d targeted, he raised his Magical Pen—and with precise timing, redirected the stones at a 90-degree angle.

“Uwah!”

A startled voice came from behind the tree as the stones pelted it—jackpot.

Lilia chuckled in satisfaction and twirled the magical pen between his fingers.

“What the hell was that for, bastard…!”

“I came to play with a hotheaded brat like you, and this is how you greet me? How rude.”

There was no killing intent, it seemed—the young General poked his head out from the shadows, sulking. The magearm visible on his back brought a pang of nostalgia.

It was the very same one Lilia had lost not long ago—when he had fought to bring Malleus back.

“Play…?”

“Aye. If I beat you, my detention is over.”

“Detention? What’re you talking about? And why do you look just like me?”

“Because I am you, of course. The proud, dignified future version of you. You’ll figure it out after living four hundred more years…”

“Enough with the nonsense!”

Young people really were short-tempered.

Even this attitude was painfully familiar, and it didn’t need to be replicated so accurately.

Lilia looked skyward, as if glaring through the field at the man outside surely watching and grinning at this mess.

“Anyway…”

He gripped his baton-shaped magical pen again and narrowed his eyes. The moment he gave off killing intent, the opponent fell silent, crouching low and gripping his magearm.

“I’ll end this without pain.”

With that low, nostalgic voice, Lilia made his declaration.

And in the next moment—the younger man vanished from sight.

So, the duel was accepted without a word.

“Hmph… Was I really this reckless?”

After a short pause, a swarm of bats burst in from behind. But they weren’t real, these were familiars, conjured through blood magic unique to Lilia, the vampire fairy.

As they flew under the branches, Lilia cast a wind spell at a nearby tree. Not overly complex, but powerful enough to sever a main branch.

The branch fell as planned, crushing the bats. He followed up with fire magic, engulfing the area in flames. With a shrill cry, the familiars vanished into smoke.

Very basic spells, but used in tandem with precise timing, they were effective.

The restriction of having to manage his magic output—something he hadn’t needed to worry about four hundred years ago—was, he realized, not something he entirely disliked.

“Hmm. Not so bad after all.”

He placed a hand on his cheek and thought—but this wasn’t the time to admire the flames.

He launched himself into the air just as a massive black mass barreled through where he’d just been standing.

He had revealed himself at last. Lilia soared over its head and landed at a safe distance.

Out of reach, though not if magearm was involved.

A sharp swoosh cut the air, and a blur of green filled his vision.

“Whoa.”

He leaned back to dodge.

But the weapon crackled with lightning. The magical energy expanded the range of the strike. He backflipped to retreat, though a lock of his bangs was caught and singed.

“Aaah! That was uncalled for! I just got it styled all cute…”

He rubbed the frizzed tuft with his fingers, cheeks puffed in frustration.

A tongue click came from the other side.

“Don’t say creepy stuff with my face…!”

Lightning, fire, whirlwinds. What burst forth from the magearm the General wielded were all high-powered spells, one after another.

Relying on the sheer quantity of magic that came with his youth, his attacks were nothing but flashy and aggressive, lacking in any carefully crafted strategy.

“Was I really this wasteful in combat?”

Seeing it now, it was laughable. Of course, with stamina like that, no ordinary enemy would want to face him though…

“Stop dartin’ around, dammit! So annoying!”

“Ku fu fu… But look how nimble I’ve become

He dodged with light steps and a teasing grin.

“You, on the other hand, look rather heavy on your feet.”

The younger man’s face remained a scowl. No smiles. Furrowed brows, clenched jaws, what a tight way to live. If this was during wartime, Lilia supposed he hadn’t smiled much back then either.

But—hadn’t he?

When he exchanged silly jokes while camping with Baur and the others.

When he looked up at the star-filled night sky, and memories of trivial times with Maleanor and Levan flitted through his mind.

He felt as though, in those moments, surely, he’d smiled.

But even then, darkness always loomed.

The fallen comrades. The uncertain future of the kingdoms they fought for.

Those feelings hadn’t been lost. But now, he knew the light they had protected.

“You’ll learn, General. Someday, you’ll move this freely too.”

He softened his eyes, smiling faintly.

“Damn it! Why won’t any of this hit you?!”

“Once you learn to put down that burden, you’ll move like you never imagined.”

The “fear” Maleanor burned away.

The “duty” the Dawn Knight cut through.

The “desire” their comrades struck down.

“And someone will help carry the weight—right beside you.”

The “hope” entrusted to Malleus.

The “path” Baur reclaimed with Sebek and his family.

“Even that heavy magearm… You’ll find someone to take it on.”

The “grudge” Silver dissolved into light.

Piece by piece, Lilia had grown lighter.

“Like hell I’m giving this to anyone…!”

Shouting, the youth raised his weapon, his only anchor in this world.

“Too slow.”

Lilia stopped dodging and dashed in close.

He pressed his baton gently to the boy’s throat, like touching a cherished memory, and whispered as if singing a lullaby.

“So rest easy.”

“Tch…!”

Thorns coiled from the tip of the baton, wrapping around the young general. They snaked across his body, not to harm, but to embrace.

“In this peaceful era… you are no longer needed.”

With those words, the phantom born of modern technology scattered into mist.

The deep forest trembled. The sky split apart.

From above, dazzling light from the real world shone down, glinting in the old fairy’s eyes.

“Farewell, General Lilia Vanrouge. Rest—peacefully.”

#twisted wonderland #fanfic #twst #twst fanfic #lilia vanrouge #shamo twstfanfic

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mimie-and-the-visions · 3 days ago

Note

Hihi! Could I request Herta + Ruan Mei(seperate) with a reader who makes them food with cute little notes?

I like to imagine that since Ruan Mei is so invested in her work, she sometimes forgets to eat. So when reader starts making her lunch after learning about her habits. She would always leave cute notes like "Work is important! But your health is too!", "Did you know? Eating provides energy for your body. You can be 2x more efficient if you eat first!" or with Herta since she likes compliments a lot. The notes could be praising her like "Good job at work today! Hope this meal satisfies you~" etc

Bonus points if reader also like decorates the food too! Like making the food look like a clematis (for Herta) or the food too look like a cat cake(for Ruan Mei)

Thank you so much for considering this! <3

Too cute to eat

Herta and Ruan Mei x reader who makes them lunch

Paperwork, cleaning tools, paperwork again, slow and steadily her hands maneuver around vials and a petri dish before coming to rest once again.. on more paperwork. Any onlooker would assume her work to be boring or tedious, but for a certain genius this sort of study was so deeply engaging that it consumed her focus entirely, barely aware of anything beyond the rectangular frames of her desks. The barely dusty floor, movement outside the windows between rooms, and the buzzing of sterile lamps all became a soft blurry backdrop for whatever unfathomable creation was in the making. Moving back and forth between her desks in her workspace, the sudden appearance of a bright blue box caught her eye.

It was a stark contrast to the dull gray, white and metallic things strewn across her space. As she leaned in from her spot in her chair she saw a note placed on top of the box, an almost comically cutesy look to it with the heart shaped sticker attaching it to the lid. She couldn't hold back the fond smile that bloomed on her usually cold expression. "Work is important, but you are too! Don't forget to eat during your so called "break", i know very well you're probably working right through it! Besides.. if you return the box empty you might get a kiss <3"

Upon lifting the lid from the box she sees that you've taken some inspiration from her. Lifting one of the small catcake shaped snacks as if to admire it, almost too cute to eat.. but then how will she get that kiss?

"Hm.. how sweet", she neatly tucks away the note in a small collection she's started. The front page of her notebook littered with notes form you.

Perhaps she will finally take a much needed break to pay you a little visit, lunch is better enjoyed in company. Little do you know she's also planning a little treat to sneak into your bag for when you to find during your own lunchbreak tomorrow.

She likes trying to guess what you'll make next, having noticed a few patterns in your thoughtful gifts. With impressive accuracy she's able to figure out what you're bringing before you even give her the lunchbox.

Herta is also the type to keep the notes, having a wall dedicated to them in her office. When you first saw the neat composition of written praise on display it was embarrassing to say the least, but your very amused girlfriend simply says it "keeps her motivated" with a teasing tone. She had worried a little that you might shy away from writing the notes afterwards, only to beam a bit as she sees yet another lovingly made lunch on her desk.

She opens the lid, finding a rather endearing scribbly drawing of one of her puppets alongside the words "Prettiest girl <3". The smug look that emerged on her face quickly morphed into surprise as she saw the contents beneath the note. She's quite impressed with how intricate the food was, neatly arranged into the shape of a familiar flower. If there's one thing she happily admits defeat to its cooking, as she's well aware of what the kitchen might look like after her own attempts at it. (And maybe in hopes of praising you into making more for her <3)

She can't help but feel like you spoil her a bit sometimes with how much love and care you put into something as simple as lunch. Taking the time out of your day, making it a part of your routine itself to care for her in such ways. While she eats she arranges ideas of how to spoil you in return, making sure to return your gestures tenfold.

"Well she did say she wanted come with me for my next trip... wouldn't hurt with some new clothes.. maybe some more of that perfume she likes.. some of those pastries she wanted to try- some flowers- some-"

A puppet next to her rolls its eyes slightly.

teehee!

#mimie writings #hsr x reader #hsr fanfic #herta x reader #hsr herta #hsr the herta #the herta x reader #hsr ruan mei #ruan mei x reader #ruan mei

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quietplace26 · 1 day ago

Note

Furina! Mc doesn’t get discovered by anyone from Fontaine, no rather than the hydro dragon or those within Fontaine, she gets discovered by Ganyu, of all people . This is due to Furina! Mc getting dragged to an event (maybe invited as date, maybe as friend, maybe by family.) and Ganyu is there, taking a ‘break’ (she’s been barred from the office. So she’s using this as an opportunity to learn more earthlings and possibly to crack down on trafficking) and from there runs into Furina! Mc and they kinda become sorta-friends and maybe even without Furina! Mc meaning it things slip through (afterall 500 years of acting have left them traits that won’t go away that easily.) as for Ganyu.

At some point, she grasps it. She figured out who Furina! Mc is but.. (she remembers the journal, remembers hearing of the exile, remembers feeling grief for the women who had to suffer at both her god and people’s hands.) she doesn’t say shit, doesn’t speak it aloud to confirm it (the wind has ears don’t you know? Lord Barbatos hasn’t said anything and almost all people forget that he knows everything that can be spoken within winded lands.) and instead she’s oh-so very careful. (She only drags Hu-Tao into it once for a body request, Hu tao seeming assumes the nature of the request, but she doesn’t know who, not yet, She only needs a body for her plan afterall.)

The next week there’s outright in Fontaine after discovering Furina’s Body. Seemingly drowned in waters, but then people begin seeing the claw marks.

…let’s just a lot of accusations are made towards Fontaine’s Chief of Justice.

(Ganyu’s happy for her friend, and maybe possibly something more in her heart. But it doesn’t matter, Furina! Mc deserves kindness, deserves love, deserves to love how she wants. Whether Ganyu’s feelings are required or not, she merely wants to stand by Furina! Mc’d side and see her happy.)

Petty, protective Ganyu is something I never thought I needed, but I love her for that. And Hutao helping out and not asking questions, even better. "Oh, need a dead body? I got ya bestie-"

But the fact this is leads to Neuvillette being accused of murder is the topping on the cake. Don't get me wrong. I love him, but in an au like this the angst is so good! He'd be so crushed-

...You know, this could also lead to the Fatui being accused. Maybe Arlecchino? People do point out the woman did try to assassinate Furina!MC once before-

I do also love the idea of Ganyu growing a crush on Furina!MC... and maybe after Furina!MC learns what Ganyu did for her, she's like "...you did this? F-for me?", and she might cry, cause Ganyu did this on her own, Furina!MC didn't ask her, she was trying, and SUCCESSFULLY keeping her safe.

And maybe this leads to Furina!MC gaining her own feelings for the Adeptus...

On a different note, I think both Zhongli and the adepti have some idea on what Ganyu was up to, and who her little earthling lover was... but they keep quiet, only welcoming Furina!MC to Liyue. Cloud Retainer definitely goes into mom mode and shares the most embarrassing and adorable stories about Ganyu when she was a kid-

Tagging: @platinumrosetail, @arn9tails, @bloodytea, @esthelily, @uniquecutie-puffs

#littlebitshylittlebitangry #ask #genshin impact #furina!mc au #furina!mc #sdrgau #exile au #diary of secrets #ganyu x reader

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stinklebug · 1 year ago

Text

send me some writing requests!

things that i will & won't write under the cut (you can also find a link to it in my pinned. not linking here because for some reason, it sometimes makes it so posts don't show up in the tags)

first things first: i'm only taking hi-fi rush requests.

second things second: what i will write

any hi-fi rush character

i will also write ocs, but you must provide the necessary info about them (basic things, y'know. personality, appearance, etc. telling me their mannerisms (such as speech patterns and whatnot) also helps a lot)

(almost) any 'genres' (e.g. fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, sickfic, etc.)

aus, but you must provide some info about the au if it isn't one of mine

what i will not write

smut

x reader

chai x kale (if you ship it, that's fine, i just don't care for it personally and don't particularly want to write it)

now, some extra things:

try to keep your request somewhat specific. really, anything is better than just, "angst." but a decent example would be something like this: "korsica and peppermint go on a dinner date." more specificity is appreciated, as well.

every request i write will be under/around 1000 words long. if you're wanting something longer, sorry not sorry.

please send your request as an ask, not as a reply to one of my posts. it makes it easier for me to keep track of your request.

i reserve the right to not do your request for whatever reason. all requests that i decide to not do i delete from my inbox. sidenote: just because your request hasn't been fulfilled doesn't necessarily mean i've deleted it. it can take me a bit to get to them sometimes because, y'know, i have a Life and Stuff.

#hi fi rush #writing stuff has been All Over The Place for me lately #i think i need a bit of a reboot #so i figured doing some requests might help #talks.txt

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goldenhourology · 5 months ago

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SLACKING OFF.

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff, coworkers to lovers, friends to lovers

summary: being technologically averse, yet a complete control freak to your core, you tend to annoy senior IT specialist, jeon wonwoo, to no end. but after an apology brings you two closer together, wonwoo finds himself reaching out to you more often than not. on and off slack. despite what you two had originally perceived, you find yourself thrown into feelings that neither of you could've ever prepared for.

warnings: handjobs, fingering, oral (f!recieving), unprotected sex, missionary position, belly bulge, grinding, praise, wonwoo is a service top!!, multiple sex scenes, jerking it in an corporate office bathroom lol, drunk horniness, miscommunication, reader is learning how to open up<3, mutual pining. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).

word count: 19.2k

note: hello new ppl, welcome to the first goldenhourology one shot ✨ I've written things in the past, but this is my first really long one shot. the longer it got, the more I stressed out lol. but I've seen a lot of people do this 20k word one shots, so I thought I'd try my hand at it! also idk much about tech, so if I got anything wrong in this, pls ignore it. thank you to anyone who gives this a read!!

in rotation: picture you, chappell roan / dress, taylor swift / valentine, laufey / diamond boy, sza

Some said your late 20s were the last few years of fun before you fully allowed yourself to be an adult, so why were you always drowning in work?

It didn’t help that you were an executive assistant in one of the biggest software companies in the U.S. When you took the job, surely, you should’ve known that you’d be signing up for an exorbitant amount of work, ranging from invoice management, planning travel for your boss, to even research for senior managers. Despite the constant stress you were under, you liked this job. You liked the trust that your boss had in you. You liked that they let you be independent and figure things out on your own.

And when you couldn’t … you simply contacted IT.

It helped that a senior IT specialist sat right across from your cubicle.

Jeon Wonwoo wasn’t the most talkative cubicle buddy, nor was he the most pleasant. He did his best to give you a smile every once in a while, but he had to fight the urge to throw his head in his hands whenever you send him a message on Slack. You didn’t typically need help with anything, except in the area of tech. You were so organized and incredibly smart – it didn’t take an idiot to see that – but god forbid, sometimes … you could be so technologically averse.

Maybe he just had too many years of schooling under his belt – he was 28 now with both a Bachelors and Masters in Software Engineering – but you surprised him with some of your requests. Sometimes, you’d delete files by accident, need to renew your subscription to important apps, even locked yourself out of your own computer once. He had interns underneath him that could be available to help you, but you had consistently messaged him. And he sat directly across from you. No matter what, it was always going to be Wonwoo that had to help you. Fate had made sure of that.

There were times that you realized you were bothering him. Either you heard him curse from behind his extremely large monitor or he adjusted his glasses so much that you thought he might break them in half. And to be honest, you liked being in control of your own work, so you’d try to find a solution. Typically, solving your own tech problems left your computer in more disarray.

And there was Wonwoo to save the day yet again.

You [10:58 AM]: Morning, Wonwoo!

You [10:58 AM]: I screwed up

You [10:59 AM]: Boss sent me some documents that were password protected, but he’s away for the next two days and not answering his phone

You [10:59 AM]: So I might’ve downloaded some software to help me unlock it and I think it’s attempting to hack my email as we speak

You [11:01 AM]: I’m so so sorry! I didn’t want to bother you

Jeon Wonwoo [11:01 AM]: I’ll be right over.

Luckily for you, Wonwoo was able to fix the problem and stop your email from getting hacked. Whoever was the owner of that virus-filled program you tried to download didn’t gain access to those password-protected documents before Wonwoo secured your computer. But it was close. Too close.

Not only that, but he had a multitude of other projects today. He had to train two new interns … have one of those annual performance reviews with the head of IT … change over a dozen new passwords for people … and then he found out that they’re changing servers. Which meant everything backed up on their former server had to be transferred over to the new one. Fucking great.

He wasn’t sure how many times he sighed today, but it had to be over a hundred. When he couldn’t stand to be sitting anymore, he stood up and paced around the third floor of the building. Today felt like the longest day of his life. And there was a mustard stain on his green sweater vest. And he got a shitty haircut a few days ago. And he probably needed new glasses because he was getting headaches.

It was time for a coffee. As well as a day off.

Coincidentally, you were also headed to the break room that afternoon in need of a green tea. You were about to walk in when you heard your cubicle mate letting out a frustrated breath while talking to another IT specialist. He was clearly fed up about something, or maybe just tired of this day. You hid next to the doorframe, and just when you thought it was safe to step out, you heard your name fall from his lips.

“I don’t understand how she does it,” Wonwoo complained, hands smacking against his sides. “Seriously, it’s mind boggling. I’m pretty sure she has her Masters in Business Administration, but she does this shit that just makes me … Oh my god, she literally tried to download some faulty software off the internet today, instead of just asking me or someone else for help.”

“Oh, yeah, everyone wants to turn to you when you got that attitude, man,” someone – Lee Seokmin, maybe? – joked.

“You get what a mean.” Wonwoo watched the first couple drips of shitty office coffee fill his cup. “I was able to save her computer, yeah, but it would be nice to avoid an emergency for a day.”

Seokmin slapped him on the back. “The joys of working in IT.”

You huffed, stalking away from the break room and back to your desk. There was only so much office gossip you could take, especially when it involved you. As soon as you sat down, you finished typing up an email at the loudest volume possible, your fingers basically punching themselves into the keys. You heard Wonwoo slide back into his desk chair, the fresh smell of burnt coffee wafting across to you, and he didn’t say a thing. Not that he would ever know you had eavesdropped. But not a “hello” or “how has computer been after this morning?” He went back to work, burning his tongue on the overly hot liquid.

Maybe Wonwoo was right; maybe you did need to just stop overthinking and ask for help instead of figuring stuff out on your own. Or maybe this asshole needed an attitude check.

You decided to not bother him for the rest of the week, complaining to your friends that Friday night about your shithead of a coworker. They said he might be looking out for you in his own fucked up way. You said he might just be an asshole.

Come Monday morning, you had realized your ignoring hadn’t effected him at all. He still sent you the same small smile as he walked in and sat down across from you. Could he really not see how pissed you are, or had the facade you’d crafted for so long as the perfect corporate employee work too well?

You should just be upfront with him, take control of the situation. Like always.

You [9:44 AM]: I heard you in the break room a few days ago.

You [9:44 AM]: I just didn’t want to bother you. That’s why I had tried to figure out the issue on my own. Didn’t realize that was a crime

Jeon Wonwoo [9:46 AM]: Crap.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:46 AM]: You weren’t supposed to hear that.

You [9:47 AM]: Well, I did

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: Listen.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: Not that it excuses anything, but there’s so much going on at work. It wasn’t all about you. I was complaining just to complain and I didn’t mean any of it.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: I’m sorry.

You [9:51 AM]: Wow

Jeon Wonwoo [9:51 AM]: What?

You [9:51 AM]: You’ve never come across as someone who can apologize well

Jeon Wonwoo [9:52 AM]: Are you sure you aren’t projecting right now? We sit across from each other. I’ve seen how stubborn you are.

You [9:53 AM]: I thought you were apologizing to me????

Jeon Wonwoo [9:56 AM]: I’m sorry. Again.

You [10:01 AM]: Okay, you’re forgiven

Jeon Wonwoo [10:09 AM]: Can I make it up to you with a coffee?

You didn’t go out on dates. The last one you went on was … years ago, probably in undergrad. Once you go for your Masters, all energy to date goes out the window.

Not that this was a date. This certainly was not a date.

This was an apology coffee after work, since the two of you seemed to have an affinity for caffeine at late hours.

Even if, per chance, he thought this was a date … you’d eventually have to let him down easy. It probably wasn’t in your best interest to date someone like Jeon Wonwoo, but you’d also closed yourself off from love for far too long. It wasn’t that you didn’t get lonely – you did, very much, especially on late nights where it was just you and your favorite vibrator – but it was just … scary. Opening yourself up. Losing just a small semblance of control. You weren’t even sure you could physically allow yourself to do that after being alone for so long.

Your heart had been tucked away so many years ago, locked inside a box, and then in another box, and so on. With the final lock being so complicated that only someone who knew the last four of your social security number could answer. No one was opening up that box. Your heart was safe from the outside world.

You were independent, reliant on only yourself, and you liked it that way.

Once he had gotten both your coffees, he sat down next to you at a hightop table, folding his winter coat over the back of his chair. He had managed to remember your latte order and it tasted perfect. Your eyes flitted up, ogling him for a moment. When you’re not under the fluorescent lights of the office, Wonwoo was … attractive. To say the least. Maybe he always had been and you were too blind to see it. Maybe his face was perpetually hidden by his monitor.

His hair was tousled in the way that it looked effortless, even if he hadn’t brushed it after rolling out of bed. He had a tendency to wear sweater vests with white t-shirts underneath, or button-downs with jeans. But it was only when he showed off his forearms that you realized he was surprisingly built underneath his oversized clothes. He was tall and his shoulders were broad. You liked his glasses too; they always sat on the edge of his nose. A thin line was etched into both lenses, suggesting age, but they framed his face well.

Yeah, you thought to yourself, he is handsome.

“Why are you staring at me?” He asked, knocking you out of your stupor.

You blinked and looked down at your coffee, removing the lid. “Oh, I … uh … good question.”

“Listen,” he started, eyes flickering to his hands, “I’m really sorry about what I said –”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“– And I understand if you want to go to HR about this –”

You shook your head. “Wait, what? Why would I do that?”

He glanced around, until finally, his eyes were on you again. And suddenly, you were wondering if his eyes were dark brown or the color of cinnamon. “Isn’t that what any rational person would do?”

He had you stumped there. If this were a different situation … you probably would do that. “I’m not going to tell HR about this, Wonwoo. You apologized and said you didn’t mean it. I have to trust that.” And you didn’t trust lightly – hardly at all – but something about Wonwoo made you feel like it could be easy with him.

“We all have shit days,” you added, taking a sip of the scalding hot latte. “You have a ton of stuff on your plate. Doesn’t give you an excuse for what you did, but we all say things in the heat of the moment that we don’t mean. I have so many things to organize throughout the day, and sometimes it gets the better of me. Remember when I had book that last minute trip for our CEO and I was on the phone for hours with Delta and Suzanne in finance had the nerve to start bothering me about some invoice? I lost it on her for a straight minute.”

“Oh, my god, yeah,” he chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose as the memory resurfaced. “Her eyes almost came out of her skull at your reaction. To be fair … Suzanne needs to be knocked down a peg sometimes. She always blames IT when she can’t get into her email, but it’s because she’s constantly typing her password with one letter off.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. Your hand hit the tabletop a few times as you let your workplace personality fade in front of your coworker. “Those new IT interns don’t know what’s coming once Suzanne comes for them,” you joked.

“The IT interns don’t know anything. Period.” He jabbed his finger onto the table. “I mean, they’re interns, but it takes so much time to train them. If I have to teach them JavaScript one more time …”

“Say it, Jeon Wonwoo,” you egged him on, a chuckle filtering at the end. “What will happen if you have to teach those good for nothing interns JavaScript?”

A slow smile made it’s way onto Wonwoo’s face, and … damn, you were actually a really cool person. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll tell you what will happen …”

Jeon Wonwoo [12:13 PM]: Did you bring lunch today?

Jeon Wonwoo [12:13 PM]: I just found this new cafe down the street and was thinking about grabbing something there in a few. Did you wanna come?

You [12:14 PM]: Do you think they have a chicken salad sandwich on the menu

Jeon Wonwoo [12:15 PM]: I can only assume so?

You [12:15 PM]: SOLD

You both go out for more coffees, before and after work. You found yourself excited to wake up early, to meet up with Wonwoo at the coffee shop located in the lobby of your work building. Always getting there before him, you typically ordered two coffees – remembering his order to a T – and when he walked in five minutes late, he promised to buy the next round. You never let him.

You began planning lunches over Slack, discussing what was on special at that cafe he found last month. In fact, you two talked most of the day on Slack. A message from you had once gotten on his nerves, and now … he was eager for it. Eager to hear your thoughts throughout the day, excited to talk about what new dumb question an intern asked him today or to see more pictures of your grandma’s cats.

And Wonwoo … Wonwoo was easier to get along with than you thought. You just had to peel back the layers before he finally got comfortable, and honestly, you could relate. To be fair, you had a few more layers than he did, but he was slowly learning that you were more than what he perceived. After that first coffee, he realized how funny you were, and then a couple lunches later, he learned you were an avid romance and thriller reader – and nothing in between. It wasn’t until last week that he finally cracked you open enough to learn about your love for Elder Scrolls Online. He was sure you were joking at first, but when you clarified how serious you were, he almost fell off his chair.

“I’m not shocked that you play it,” he said over coffee one morning. “What I’m shocked at is that you’d rather play Elder Scrolls Online and not Skyrim.”

“Of course, you would say that,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “I don’t really have an interest in the game universe. I started playing Elder Scrolls Online to relieve stress while applying to colleges, and then I just … didn’t stop.” You shrugged.

Much to his own surprise – even with your take on Skyrim – Wonwoo thoroughly enjoyed your company. It was insane that you both had spent almost two years sitting across from each other before realizing how much you liked each other. Words always left unsaid. Eyes staying glued to computers. It had been a routine for you both that you had never strayed from – until now. So many tech requests over Slack … and now he was actively looking forward to work everyday. To seeing you. To talking with you.

You.

Jeon Wonwoo realized how much he liked stockings. Specifically, he liked the way you looked in them.

And that’s when things got dangerous.

He started to notice the days you would wear them, and then concluded which day you did laundry. You liked wearing blouses with a pencil skirt and stockings on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Those were now his favorite days.

Wednesdays you’d wear dress pants and maybe a sweater, whereas on “Casual Fridays,” you were clad in a t-shirt with a cardigan layered and jeans. You always looked nice at the office, but those stocking days … they were getting to him.

Sometimes, he’d watch the way you walked away from your desk – either to the Boss’ office or to the finance department – and he couldn’t help but let his eyes trail down your legs. You had these stockings that had a slight tear in the back, and he wondered if you realized, or was he just too much of a perverted loser to be the first person to notice? He wanted to purchase a new pair for you. He wanted to replace all your stockings and buy you enough that you could wear them with a skirt everyday, just so he could see you in them.

Maybe he was a loser.

You looked up at him, even in heels, and you had this way of smiling at him that left him questioning why you liked hanging out with him in the first place. His personality couldn’t be that charming to warrant your attention. But you were warm – even when your hands were perpetually cold – and kind, never straying once he was in front of you. And you had this lip gloss that stained your lips magenta and made them shine. Even in the dim fluorescent lights. When his chair turned just slightly and he let his eyes glaze over you, one finger rubbing at his top lip, he couldn’t help but be curious if the gloss had a flavor to it … and then, he’d get distracted by your legs again. And your blouse, and your hair.

Don’t even get him started on the way you smelled.

Maybe he was a loser. No, he was most definitely a loser.

It was a Thursday night. Almost 7 PM and you were still at the office. You had plans to go out tonight to celebrate your friend’s new job, but you ended up having to cancel when the Boss placed a stack of paperwork on your desk before leaving the building at promptly 6 o’clock. Why he couldn’t have given you all these invoices and memos hours ago was beyond you, but you weren’t even halfway through this stack and the janitor was now mopping beside you.

When a Slack notification appeared on the side of your monitor, you didn’t even read it before spinning around in your chair. There Wonwoo was, leaning back in his own chair while a progress window ticked on one of his dual monitors. You raised a brow. “I didn’t even hear you over there,” you commented. “Why are you still here?”

“A month or so ago, the IT head told me that we’d soon be transitioning servers, so all of our backups and data need to be transferred over to this new server.” He explained, adjusting his glasses and glancing over at the progress window. It changed from 23% to 24% finished. “Someone had to be the lucky person to stay after hours and make sure it all went smoothly.”

You twirled a pen in your two fingers and crossed your legs. “Oh, that sucks.” Your skirt hiked up a little, and just that small flash of exposed skin had Wonwoo averting his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m assuming you’re still here because of that.” He nodded towards the pile of paper.

“No, no, obviously I love being here after hours with you,” you replied, sarcasm dripping from your tone, but it still ignited a short spark of hope within him. (Wonwoo, can you chill the fuck out? He chastised.) “You know the Boss has a penchant for letting invoices pile up. He just so happened to let that pile end up on my desk before he left today. And some of these needed to be filled out …” Your eyes skimmed the first paper on your desk. “Oh, yesterday!”

Wonwoo offered to help you while also keeping watch of his computer – 28% finished – but you insisted you could handle it. “I already bother you enough during work hours,” you said before turning back to your desk. He knew by now that you were simply too stubborn to give up control of the project. Once you had started it yourself, you needed to see it through. He wasn’t sure if you two were close enough that he could be completely honest, that he could tell you that it was fine to let go this independence that you kept on a tight leash. He was willing to help. (God, was he willing.)

But he chocked it up to telling you once that you were “so fucking stubborn.”

Your reply had come in the form of a swift kick to his knee.

Wonwoo glanced at his monitor. 67% finished.

It was 10 PM and you were just about finished with the paperwork, but you were running on fumes. Just a few memos left and you’d be done. To get you through the next hour, you needed something. So you headed to the break room, suddenly craving some burnt workplace coffee. (What was it about this coffee maker that gave it such a distinct burnt flavor? You’d never know.) After placing the pod of coffee grounds in the slot and filling the water, you pressed the start button, turning around with a huff to see Wonwoo striding into the break room. A crushed, styrofoam coffee cup was clutched in his large hand before he tossed it in the barrel beside you.

“How’s your transfer going?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. Coffee had started to pour from the machine and into your cup.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s at 88% now. Hopefully should be done in the next hour.”

“Me too, if all goes well.” A sigh escaped your lips. “I still have a few more papers to fill out. Shouldn’t take me more than an hour, but I haven’t looked through them all yet.”

Wonwoo stepped forward, reaching in the direction of the styrofoam cups. “If you had let me help you –”

You tried sidestepping out of the way to give him some room, but his hand brushed against your arm anyway. Your chin tilted up as your eyes met his, back pressing against the counter. “It wouldn’t have helped,” you finished for him.

His arm paused mid-air, and he looked down at you. Eyes narrowing, he replied, “You’re one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met. You have this desperate need to be in control of everything.”

“And why is that a bad thing?” Your tone took a hard edge. The last thing you wanted right now was to put effort into arguing, but you were tired and already on the edge of a breakdown. “I’ve relied on myself for as long as I can remember. I like being in control. I like being stubborn. If I didn’t do most things myself –”

“You ask me to fix something on your computer at least once a day.”

“That’s different.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, and you noticed then just how close he was. Your chests were practically touching. “Sometimes you do try to figure things out yourself and almost break your hard drive.”

His progress window was probably at 93% finished now. He should head back to his desk, but his feet stayed planted right where they were.

“Why does it matter?” You exhaled loud, your hands slapping against your hips. “Do you want an award or something? You have your way of doing things, and I have mine. I’m not perfect, but I … I like things the way they are.” Change is scary, you thought to yourself, but didn’t dare voice it out loud.

He was so close that he could smell your perfume. The scent of lavender mixed with orange blossoms and vanilla filled his nostrils, swirling around his brain. He could get addicted to this smell, to you. Maybe he already was. When his eyes roamed down to your legs and he saw his favorite pair of stockings on you, he damn near collapsed. In fact, he hadn’t even realized the soft groan had left his lips until your gaze found his, your pretty irises growing wide.

You were just so … captivating.

His hands were on both sides of you, pressing your back further into the counter. Your black coffee steaming and fully abandoned in the coffee machine. He was holding himself back, his knuckles going white with restraint. But he wasn’t like you. He could only keep himself in control for so long. And with you here right now, your perfume surrounding him, your stockings-clad thigh brushing against his leg, your a hand placed on his chest … he was a goner.

“Wonwoo,” you whispered, palm still resting on his shirt, “we …”

When your voice trailed off, Wonwoo’s instincts got the better of him. “Please, just …” One hand came up to smooth against your cheek, and he was almost out of breath as he pulled your face to his. “Let me do this.”

He gave you enough time to shove him back, to yell at him, to tell him you didn’t like him in that way. But your neck was craning towards his, and he took that as a sign to crash his lips onto yours. They were softer than he expected, and the taste … your gloss tasted like – well, like nothing. But if he pretended, he could’ve sworn there was a slight cherry aftertaste. His glasses bumped into your nose, but he’d been too overwhelmed to remember to take them off. Mouth moving against yours, his hips crammed you more against the counter, hard enough to leave a bruise on your spine. You didn’t care though. His shoulders were so wide that they shielded you, inviting your body into his, and your fingers fisted into his button-up. Tongues tangled, eager to taste more and more of each other.

Wonwoo could kiss you forever. You didn’t want him to stop.

But all good things must end. Because when he instinctively placed his leg between yours, he knew this was going too far. Especially because you two were still at work. In the break room.

He instantly removed his leg, his lips breaking from yours. Your eyes connected, the room filled with only the sounds of heavy breathing, before you wiped a trail of spit from your chin.

Wonwoo’s head spun behind him. Thank god, there was no CCTV camera by the coffee maker.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:09 AM]: Good morning.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:09 AM]: I shouldn’t have done that last night.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:10 AM]: Still friends?

You [9:14 AM]: We probably shouldn’t be talking about this on Slack

You [9:15 AM]: Here’s my number: 855-777-0821

You [9:18 AM]: But yes friends :D

Wonwoo did not want to be just friends. But he was utterly terrified of what you would say if he voiced that. You had kissed him back, yes, but … hadn’t you agreed to be friends far too quickly? You had both hung out post-kiss – he liked to call this period of time A.T.K. (after the kiss) – and you didn’t seem to be ruminating on it like he was. Of course, he didn’t know what you were thinking, and you could be so hard to read sometimes when your layers weren’t stripped back enough. But …

Could it really have meant nothing to you?

If that were the case, he didn’t know how it was possible for you. He couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss even if he tried. When he saw you the next day – Friday, January 9, A.T.K. – the first thing he noticed was your lip gloss and all he wanted was to have it smeared over his mouth again. He noticed the way your hair fell over your shoulder, remembering how soft the strands felt when his fingers had slipped between them. He noticed that you were wearing those jeans that hugged your ass just right, and – god, now he was wishing that he had touched more than just your cheek. Wonwoo wanted to touch you everywhere. And vice versa. He didn’t care if your hands were constantly freezing or if they were dry during the winter. He wanted you to touch him however you pleased. He wanted to grab you and kiss you and hold those cold hands in his warm ones –

Oh, my god. He had a boner. At work. Just the mere memory of a kiss had him shifting himself in his pants underneath his desk, hoping no one noticed.

Eventually, he stood up, trying to keep a casual hand over the bulge in his pants as he fast walked to the bathroom. Nobody batted an eye, but you did steal a glance over at him once his back was turned. Your brow raised at the way he was practically sprinting for the elevator, not realizing that he was heading for the second floor restrooms. He must be excited for something. Probably a package, you thought before turning back to your computer.

Wonwoo felt like he could finally breathe once he was inside a stall. He rested his head against the cool tile wall, feeling the ache start to settle in his groin. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way. What 28-year-old gets a boner from a kiss? You had him acting like a goddamn teenager.

What had you done to him? Just one kiss and he was completely under your spell.

(Or maybe he’d been this way all along.)

His fingers fumbled with the zipper on his jeans as he finally pulled himself out of his jeans, stroking from base to tip. Thankfully, no one was in the bathroom. He couldn’t believe his life had come to this. The last thing he ever wanted was to be that guy who jacked off in the bathroom. But you had to wear those goddamn jeans –

Wonwoo wasn’t good at hiding his feelings, but he was doing a pretty good job even as this was killing him inside. He wasn’t like you; he found it hard to restrain himself, to ignore everything that was bubbling up inside him. He could feel himself cracking. What would be the thing that finally broke him?

The answer was simple: alcohol.

Lee Seokmin [11:26 AM]: Dude lol. Why’d you run away from your desk like that

Lee Seokmin [11:26 AM]: I think you could win the Olympics with that kind of sprint!

Jeon Wonwoo [11:39 AM]: Don’t ask.

Lee Seokmin [11:40 AM]: Alrighty then ;)

Lee Seokmin [11:41 AM]: On another note … you free next Thursday? My buddy in the marketing department, Josh, finally has a night off from his kid so we were thinking of getting a group together for drinks after work. Interested?

The last thing you ever expected was to be invited to drinks with Seokmin and some of the managers in marketing, but Wonwoo said you should come. “In fact,” he had clarified, “you should come so I don’t have to deal with DK’s drunk antics all night.” Who were you to deprive him of your presence when he was that desperate? Plus, there was a nice girl in marketing that was also invited; maybe tonight was the night to befriend her.

But the marketing people knew how to party. You were only halfway through your second beer whereas the rest of your group was on their fourth. And three tequila shots deep. Wonwoo, seemingly, had an affinity for tequila, unlike yourself. He was able to throw them back like it was nothing; he didn’t even need a chaser. When Seokmin had requested they all get a fourth, he was met with a round of cheers, and even Wonwoo – quiet, introverted Wonwoo – threw his hands up with excitement. You placed a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear, “Are you sure about that?”

Wonwoo felt his whole body freeze when your hot breath reached his ear. A pale, pink flush appeared on his cheeks, but you chocked it up to how drunk he was. Eventually, he waved away your worry with his hand. “I’m fiiiiiiiiine. Hey, how about I get you another beer?”

“Are you even coherent enough to get me another –”

“HEY! Bartender! Can I get one more of these?!” He shouted, waving your empty glass in the air. “Oh, and more tequila!”

Seokmin slapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder, laughing along with him. As you made friends with the rest of the marketing department, you found yourself glancing at Wonwoo every so often. His cheeks were so rosy now, and his glasses kept slipping down his nose. To be fair though, everyone in this dive bar seemed to be in the same state of mind. Seokmin was singing along to the Sabrina Carpenter song blasting through the speakers. Josh was so drunk that he was crying about how much he loved his friends. They had even gotten Suzanne in finance to come out, and she was making friends with everyone for once. And Wonwoo … oh, god, Wonwoo’s head was now on the bar top and he was closing his eyes –

You abandoned your beer and walked over to your friend, shaking his shoulders. His eyes instantly opened, expecting to see Seokmin, but when his gaze met yours, he instantly felt all warm and fuzzy. “Okay,” you said, trying your best to hoist this 6 foot man off the barstool, “you’ve had enough. I’m taking you home.”

It was like pulling teeth to get him to tell you his address, but you guessed you shouldn’t be surprised when the man on your arm was blackout drunk. After flagging a taxi, you shoved him in the seat next to you and rubbed your hands together to get them warm. Wonwoo’s head was on your shoulder the second you sat down, his eyes fluttering closed as the taxi sped off into the night. You watched his fingers twitch on his thigh as he whispered sleepily, “I think my family would really like you.”

“Is that so?” You chuckled, squeezing his arm for reassurance, but little did you know just how much your touch effected him. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re you,” he replied, and then yawned. “Only you and Mingyu would do this for me.”

Your brow furrowed. “Who’s Mingyu?”

The taxi pulled up to a brick apartment building then, and your cold fingers struggled to get cash out from your pocket while Wonwoo was practically laying on top of you. Finally, you did your best to haul him out of the seat, thanking the taxi driver before gathering an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulders. The building was definitely old with vines of ivy crawling up one side. There was a dead tree with snow covering it’s branches directly by the door, spilling snowflakes on your head as you struggled to input the code Wonwoo managed to remember. And then, you were pulling him up two flights of stairs, which took far longer than you estimated. You had basically ripped his keys from his hand once you reached his apartment and continued to drag him inside, laying him on the old couch that was conveniently right near the door.

Wonwoo grumbled as soon as his head hit the armrest, and he almost fell off the couch if it weren’t for you catching him and rolling him back onto the cushion. “I’m going to go get you a glass of water,” you said, quickly rushing off to his kitchen. “Please, for the love of god, don’t fall off the couch again.”

He whined for you to come back, but you pretended you didn’t hear it, because if you did, you’d have to reckon with the tingle that bloomed between your legs at the sound of his desperation.

The entrance of his kitchen was right in front of a small hallway that sectioned off two ways. There was a bedroom door on each side of the hall, and once you walked inside the kitchen, you found a tiny table from the 80s and the dishwasher currently running. You didn’t have time to contemplate that now, and instead pilfered through his cabinets until you found a glass and filled it with tap water. Rushing back to his side, Wonwoo was already laying halfway off the couch and you sighed.

You set the glass of water on his coffee table and lifted him back up. With a little bit of help from you, you both managed to shrug off his winter jacket and you tucked a throw blanket over him to prevent him from falling off again. A heavy exhale slipped past your lips as you knelt by his side, and you couldn’t help but reach out to pushed back his hair from his forehead. His eyes were closed, but you knew he wasn’t sleeping. You smiled to yourself.

Were coworkers supposed to show this much affection for each other?

“Wonwoo,” you said softly, and he cracked one eye open. “Do you want some water?”

He shut that eye again, grimacing at the thought of anything entering his body right now. “Ab…absolutely not.”

“It’ll make you feel better,” you persuaded, but he still shook his head. “Okay, so what do you want right now?”

His breath stilled for a moment. “Can I be honest?”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“I …” No, he couldn’t be that honest. “I want you to … keep p–pushing back my hair. It’s … relaxing.”

You chuckled, “Okay, you got it.” Your fingers were at the crown of his head again, smoothing back the strands. You hadn’t noticed until now that he had a freckle on the left side of his forehead; maybe you’d just never been this close to notice. Well, actually, you had. There was this thing you two did called a kiss –

“If you’re going to fall asleep, I’m going to take off your glasses,” you informed him, slipping his glasses off and setting them by his glass of water. It was late, much later than you anticipated on staying out, and you both still had to go to work tomorrow.

But then his hand was grabbing your wrist, his grip surprisingly firm for how intoxicated he was. “Can I b–be honest again?” He slurred, his eyes half open to meet yours.

You sighed, placing your hand on top of his, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Just know whatever you say will be used to make fun of you tomorrow –”

“I can’t … I haven’t …” He took a breath to formulate the words in his head. “… Stopped thinking about our kiss.”

You blinked down at him, watching the way his eyes began to close again as he relaxed into the old couch cushions. “You can’t just say shit like –”

He scoffed dramatically. “I’m noooot,” he defended, his hand slipping off your wrist to curl underneath the blanket.

“Wonwoo …” Your voice trailed off, the words dying on your tongue.

“Who the hell are you?”

You immediately got to your feet at the sound of another person’s voice behind you. Eyes growing wide, you took in the sight of the man in front of you wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, droplets of water trailing down his chiseled abdomen as he shook a smaller towel through his hair. He might’ve been taller than Wonwoo, only by a little bit, and his skin was a golden tan that reminded you of summertime even in this harsh winter. Why was Wonwoo hiding handsome men in his apartment? The man looked at you, waiting for an answer, his brows raised.

“Oh,” you cleared your throat. “Um …”

“Leave her alone, Mingyu,” Wonwoo groaned from the couch, turning away from them to lay on his side.

So this was Mingyu, you concluded. This slightly god-like dude that looked like he walked straight out of a porno was the only other person who’d help Wonwoo when he was blackout drunk. Interesting.

Mingyu raised his hand awkwardly for you to shake. “His roommate,” he clarified.

“Oh,” you replied, grasping his hand for a moment and telling him your name.

Mingyu instantly grinned, laying the small towel over his neck, holding both ends. “So you’re her.”

You blinked, not knowing how to respond to that. Perhaps there was no way to respond; the silence was comfortable enough. You decided to keep that in mind for later though.

“He’s … well, he got very drunk,” you informed Mingyu, gesturing to a now-sleeping Wonwoo with both thumbs. “I wanted to make sure he got home okay.”

Mingyu nodded, and then sighed. “I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry,” he promised, opening up the door for you. “Get home safe, okay?”

Wonwoo: Sorry about that the other night. I won’t get drunk like that again. It doesn’t happen very often

You: it’s okay! I’m used to handling drunk people

You: don’t get me wrong, I like to have my fun but it’s easier for me to take care of other people than like … be incoherent and anxious lol

Wonwoo: By the end of the night I was starting to feel that way. Not fun

You: DRINK WATER

You: your roommate is hot btw. does he always walk around without a shirt?

Wonwoo: Of course, he didn’t have a shirt on when you met him

Wonwoo: Everyone likes Mingyu

You: well, I like you [UNSENT]

The bi-annual sales meeting was started to boost morale and talk with other departments that you didn’t see as often. It was typically held at a hotel in the downtown city, with the company flying in all the sales reps from across the country. There were even a few from overseas. In reality though, this was usually the week where coworkers made mistakes. At least one person was let go after these sales meetings, and HR had their eyes peeled for an entire week.

You never made a mistake at one of these. And you didn’t expect to any time soon.

This was a week of rubbing elbows with slimy sales reps and making sure some old man hadn’t spiked your drink. For most, this was a week to slack off, but a woman working in corporate couldn’t relax in these settings. You’d been making corrections to your boss’ presentation for the entire company for what felt like forever. (Realistically, it’d been almost two weeks.) You probably went through the 50 slides at least twice as much, checking for spelling mistakes and making sure it was in the right place on your desktop. Not on some random external hard drive. Not in the trash.

But it was finally the day you’d been dreading. Presentation day, and everyone at the company was eager to hear the Boss reveal if they hit their goal for the year, amongst other things. You checked the slides another time, and then made sure no one would trip over the HDMI cord connected to the projector. The Boss gave you a reassuring smile, and then it was go time.

Your boss could be a shit bag – what CEO wasn’t? – but he had a way of speaking that made everyone so excited for the future. He was probably the reason why morale was always so high, and everyone looked forward to his presentation at these meetings. Your finger hovered over the right arrow button as he went through his speech, pointing out company statistics and what he wanted them all to accomplish this year, before finally getting to the goal reach. And his answer was nothing short of what the audience wanted to hear. He congratulated all of them, and everyone clapped together at the good news.

When you looked out at the crowd that had gathered, you realized almost every seat in the ballroom was filled. Some were even standing near the door and – wait, there was Wonwoo, leaning against the wall in the back. IT didn’t need to be here for this presentation. In fact, they were encouraged to be doing other things, like manning a table near HR and offering on-the-spot tech help. A smile made it’s way to your lips, watching the way Wonwoo was listening intently.

Once the presentation was over and the room erupted in small talk, your boss came over and thanked you for helping out yet again. “Of course,” you replied, as if there was anything else to say. He gave you a comforting squeeze of the hand before walking off to talk to some of his favorite sales reps.

As you shut your laptop and began to place your things in your backpack, Wonwoo slipped into the chair beside yours. Just the sight of his grin set you at ease, but also made you nervous at the same time. Why were you suddenly so nervous? This was just Wonwoo.

Just Wonwoo. Just Wonwoo. Just … your Wonwoo.

“Congratulations,” he beamed, giving you a high five. “I know you’ve been working on this all week, but you did it!”

You always stressed so much about this presentation, but at the end of the day … “All I did was press a button,” you shrugged.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, but you didn’t accidentally delete your file like every other time you’ve messaged me on Slack.” He chuckled, and you scoffed at his teasing. “I’d call that a win.”

The second to last night of sales meeting week was the longest night of the year. It was a tradition for everyone to go out to a bar the company rented out, drinking whatever alcohol they could get their hands on while celebrating a job well done. You only saw half these people twice a year, and half of the time they’d have a beer in their hands.

You did your best to ignore every sales rep that tried to speak with you without slurring their words, but that was damn near impossible when some were already on their second cocktail. However, no matter how embarrassing it was, you did allow them to compliment you and your hard work. Who were you to turn down the validation? And when the time came, even your boss came over to compliment you again, and you realized there was truly nothing like being good at your job.

Just for a moment, everything felt okay. It was like the loneliness dissipated, the sting of years without pleasure or having someone by your side … it all faded when you were rewarded for your hard work.

Maybe tonight was the night you had fun for once.

When you finally found Wonwoo later that night, he was surrounded by a few younger members of the IT team, debating what computer language everyone should be obligated to learn. You waved to him from where you stood by the bar top, and that was all it took to have him walking away from his team and towards you. He wrapped one arm around your shoulders, insisting to buy you drinks for the rest of the night, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. If there was anyone here you trusted enough to hand you a drink, it was Wonwoo.

Just Wonwoo.

The hour was reaching midnight now, and you weren’t sure how many martinis you had, but you were hiccuping a storm. That was a telltale sign that you were totally, thoroughly drunk. Wonwoo was only drinking beer and pacing himself, unlike that night at the dive bar, but he was enjoying the sight of you finally letting loose. You hung on his arm, staring up at him with your big eyes, glazing over from all the alcohol coursing through your system. He didn’t like how this effected him; he shouldn’t be attracted to the way your gaze looked while you were intoxicated. But he couldn’t help but wonder if your eyes held the same shine while your lips were wrapped around his –

No, this was too much. He should take you back to the hotel.

The two of you glanced around the bar, realizing it was mostly cleared out. You definitely needed to leave now.

He tugged on your arm, wrapping one of his around your waist to support you. “C’mon now,” he grunted, helping you walk out. “Let’s get you back.”

“I didn’t f–finish my drink thoooooough,” you argued, despite letting him lead you out of the bar. “And I can walk … on my own. Swear!”

“Listen, you took care of me once,” he said as you two walked into the brisk cold air. The hotel was, thankfully, only a block away. “Let me take care of you.”

Even with the alcohol pumping in your veins, just the sound of those words falling from his mouth made you grip him tighter. You felt like your bones were made of jelly, and it wasn’t just from the vodka. It was him, and the way he made you feel, and how secretly warm he was, and the way he took care of you as you took care of him, and – oh, god, you wanted to cry because you liked Jeon Wonwoo so much.

So, so much.

It was much easier to get you back to your hotel room than his apartment, seeing as this hotel had a working elevator. You slumped beside him, tripping over your feet every so often, as he hauled you down the hallway to your room. You gave him your keycard easily, and once the door was open, he squeezed your hand to silently let you know it was time to move again. He helped you into the room, shutting the door behind him, before laying you down on your bed with the clumsiness only he could have.

You were laughing now, hiccuping from the alcohol, but laughing nonetheless. And he was laughing at your hiccups. Or maybe he just liked the way you grinned at him.

He assisted with taking off your boots and jacket, too embarrassed to remove anything else. And it definitely wasn’t appropriate to either. Tearing back the covers, he nestled you underneath them, and said, “You got everything, right? I’m a call away if you need me.” He grabbed one of the small trash cans in the room and placed it at your bedside. “If you need to vomit and can’t make it to the bathroom, just use the trash can here –”

You hand came out to wrap around his forearm. “Stay, Wonwoo.”

Your sleepy eyes were killing him, making his inhibitions melt and his cock throb at the same time. He sighed, sitting on the side of the mattress, and before he could stop himself, he was tucking hair behind your ear. “You know I can’t do that,” he said, his voice like a caress. “You know how it would look if someone saw me leave this room tomorrow morning. HR is on all our asses this week.”

“I know,” you slurred, and then pressed your flushed cheek into his palm. “I j–just thought you … were taking care of me thoooooooough …”

His resolve crumbled into a million pieces. This was complete, utter torture. You had to know how you effected him, but of course you didn’t, because you were stretching under the covers and yawning like you didn’t just make his heart stop.

That’s how he ended up in your bed, shutting off the lights and settling underneath the comforter. Until you came closer and rested your head on his chest. Despite how fast his heart was beating, he felt so at peace, and you both fell asleep in the clothes you wore out tonight.

Only a few hours later, you woke with a clear head and the beginning of a hangover. Your head was pounding like crazy, and it took everything in you to slip out from the comfort of your bed and pad your feet over to the bathroom. The bright light was burning your eyes, but you needed it to find the Tylenol you left by the sink. Filling a cup with water, you took the medication and prayed it worked sooner rather than later.

You squinted at yourself in the mirror, realizing you were still in the outfit you wore yesterday. With a sigh, you picked up the big t-shirt you left on the floor yesterday morning and stripped yourself until you were in nothing but your underwear. You pulled the t-shirt on and slumped against the wall, pressing your forehead against the cold tile. Now this felt like heaven for your headache.

It took a couple of minutes to get yourself to move again, feet slapping against the floor as you walked out of the bathroom. You noticed Wonwoo was awake too, in the midst of slinking back under the covers, and you saw his jeans abandoned by his bedside.You crawled back to your cocoon of blankets, and he instantly wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest. And you … you didn’t move away. In fact, you pressed yourself closer, finally hearing how his heart raced. Wonwoo didn’t care if it was probably 4 AM and he probably had to leave in a few hours – before anyone else woke – because he was holding you and smelling you hair. You smelled … god, you smelled so good that it made him hard almost instantly.

You felt his hand splay against your spine, as if trying to hold himself back, and it was then that your eyes opened. The room was dark, but you knew when his gaze was burning into yours only seconds later. You slipped one hand out from the covers, cupping his cheek as your thumb brushed over his lower lip. Under his breath, he muttered a soft, “Shit,” because you both knew where this was going.

You agreed you wouldn’t do this again. You agreed to be friends.

But now you’re kissing again.

Your hand moved from his face to his neck, and his hands are gripping your cheeks to make sure your mouth stayed on his. His fingers were shaking. He kissed you desperately, as if he needed this just to be able to breathe again, and maybe he did. You were like putty in his hands, molding yourself to his body as your tongue tangled with his. Whatever ache you felt in your temples drifted between your legs, causing you to moan into his mouth. And fuck, just the sound of you made his cock swell, precum soaking through his boxers.

The room felt so hot all of a sudden, but your cold hands came in handy as they rested on his neck. His left hand slid down to your ass, finally giving it a firm squeeze after kicking himself for not doing it when he first kissed you. That made you moan again, and he decided he’d never stop touching you like this, just so he could hear these sounds fall from your lips.

He slid his knee between your legs on instinct, and you didn’t hesitate to start grinding against his thigh. The friction felt delicious and soothing. You both kissed each other slower, a little messier, focusing on touching each other everywhere you dreamed about all these months. Your fingers traced down the column of his neck, down the thin cotton of the shirt he was still wearing from yesterday, while bucking against his thigh. His lips left yours, dragging across your cheek so he could nibble on your earlobe, feeling it grow warm and red from all the attention. “You have no idea how long I’ve needed you,” he whispered, and you damn near almost came from that confession.

You weren’t used to this; you couldn’t remember the last time you experienced pleasure like this with someone, but you couldn’t imagine stopping. Not when he angled his thigh just right, the muscle in his leg rubbing against your clit, your panties completely soaked. You cupped him over his boxers, feeling his bulge throb in your palm, and you cooed, “Can I …”

He groaned. You didn’t need to say more; Wonwoo was smart enough to know what you were insinuating. He felt disoriented, drunk off of you and your touch, smell, everything. “Are you … are you sure you don’t want to …” His voice was giving out, but from the way your fingers were slipping under the waistband of his boxers, you knew you wanted just this, and he’d give you whatever you wanted. “Yes. Yes, of course. That’s fine,” he finished.

You chuckled softly. He smiled against your neck. Pulling his cock out and wrapping your palm around it, you began to stroke him slowly. “Oh, god,” he was sighing into the crook of your neck, his brain in such a state of disarray when you resumed grinding against his leg while also pumping him from base to tip. This couldn’t be real; he had to be dreaming, but he could feel your wet panties sticking to his thigh. He could feel himself shake as he clung to you and pressed sloppy, wet kisses to your throat. It was all too much, but not enough at the same time.

“Wonwoo,” you whimpered, and he dragged his lips back to yours just to feel how your mouth moved when you said his name. You bucked your hips faster, your arousal coating his thigh, and warmth bloomed between your legs. When your hand on his cock reached his head again, you rubbed the pad of your thumb over his slit, making more precum bead onto your knuckles. “Wanna cum with you,” you begged, stroking him faster and in time with your hips.

“I know you do, I know,” he breathed against your lips. “Just a little faster … yes, just like that. Fuck.”

Only a moment later were you trembling, hips stuttering as pleasure took over your body. You came hard, squeezing his thigh between your legs, and your cry was swallowed by Wonwoo’s lips. If he didn’t kiss you, he knew he’d moan so loud it would wake the entire hotel. Because – oh, god, he was cumming now, and he was sighing against your mouth as he erupted in your hand, ropes of cum staining your t-shirt. He could’ve swore he saw white. He’d never felt a release like this before; not with anyone else. Not even when he jerked off. But maybe it was because this was your hand and you were cumming on his leg, and fuck –

You were still shaking in each other’s arms, minds blank and reeling, bodies coming down from the high. It took the kind of strength that moved mountains to slip from his arms and clean yourself up. But by the time you came back from the bathroom and cuddled up next to him, Wonwoo was already fast asleep.

Jeon Wonwoo [6:08 AM]: I had to leave early this morning before anyone woke. But if you want, I’d like to see you at breakfast this morning :)

You [7:31 AM]: Jeon Wonwoo, I’m begging you to just text this to me

You [7:31 AM]: Also, was your phone hacked? Since when do you use emojis?

There wasn’t much to do on the last day of sales meeting week. The only things on your plate were to make niceties with some of the new reps, and probably attend a few presentations by HR. When you had finally woken up this morning to just you in the bed, you almost considered skipping the HR presentations, feeling too guilty and like they might see right through you. It was irrational, but you were sure that this was the only way to feel after realizing that you hooked up with your coworker and friend.

Not that you hadn’t wanted to. Not that you hadn’t been thinking about it since your kiss. No, it wasn’t like that at all.

So why were suddenly terrified to see him at breakfast?

You got ready as quick as you could – but of course, making sure you wore that V-neck sweater that showed off your cleavage just right – and threw your hair up before leaving your hotel room. The line for the breakfast buffet was packed, but you waited patiently and decided to sit near the bar once you plate was full. The rest of the dining room was filled with people and you weren’t awake enough to make shitty small talk. Sitting here at the bar top was peaceful and quiet –

“Is this … seat taken?”

Your eyes met his instantly, and you noticed the way Wonwoo was cringing at the line he threw at you. You decided to forget it, for his sake, and gestured for him to sit down. Fuck, you were so goddamn nervous, even though you had agreed to meet him in the first place. You wore this low-cut sweater for him. You both sat in silence for a bit, crunching awkwardly on the burnt bacon, and shifting in your seats.

“Did you …” You were surprised that your mouth was moving on it’s own volition, spilling any words that came to your head. “… Do anything this morning since you were up early?”

Wonwoo choked a bit on a strawberry, but recovered quickly. “Uh … yeah, yeah, sure. Once I came down here, one of the IT interns found me in a panic because he couldn’t set up one of the rep’s new work phones. Created a whole scene over nothing.”

You snorted and sipped your coffee. “Is that intern still breathing?”

His eyes flickered to yours, a slow smile growing on his face. “Yes, actually.”

You fell into sync then, letting the awkward silence melt away as you joked about Wonwoo’s interns. He wasn’t meant to teach college students, god help them. But as your plates became empty and a server came around to take them, you two were left with only the mugs in your hands, strangely reminiscent of that apology coffee he bought for you so long ago.

Wonwoo sighed. “Hey, so about last night – or I guess, this morning …”

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you interjected, setting your coffee down. “I have a hangover, but I am thriving.”

He blinked. “Well, that’s good. But I was referring to –”

You almost couldn’t look at him when you said, “The fact that we’re definitely not just friends anymore?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that part.”

“I …” You licked your lips as you gathered yourself. There was this … terrifying flutter in your chest. You’d never felt something like this before, but you weren’t keen on letting it go. Not yet. “I would like to see you again. Like that. Definitely not during work hours. If you catch my drift. This is awkward.”

Wonwoo had to turn his head so you wouldn’t see him trying to hold in his laughter, but it was clear as day. You sighed loud and hit his arm, making him look at you once again as he snickered to himself. “You know, you could just ask me if I want to hang out.”

You leveled a look at him and huffed. “Okay, Wonwoo, do you –”

“Yes,” he beamed. “Always, yes.”

You found yourself at Wonwoo’s side more often than not. What used to be work get togethers transitioned to meeting up at a bar, or checking a new restaurant on the weekends. Sometimes he’d ask you to come over so you could taste test a new recipe he found. (Unfortunately for both of you, Wonwoo wasn’t very good at cooking, but he was getting better. Somewhat.) Those recipe nights, however, always led to him lifting you up on his creaky kitchen counter and kissing you so hard that you almost forgot to breathe. Until Mingyu came into the kitchen, making a gagging sound, and you two instantly detached from each other.

Friday nights were known as Mingyu’s Movie Nights, and Wonwoo began inviting you to those. He had said that this would help knock a few movies off your Letterboxd Watchlist, but you knew that was just an excuse for wanting to see you. You probably saw him more than anyone now, but you couldn’t deny that you … wanted to see him too. Having him in your life made everything suddenly better. He was kind and smart and thoughtful. He made you laugh in ways you couldn’t explain, and obviously … he didn’t have to do much to make you want him. He’d simply have to look at you and you’d get on his lap. If Mingyu wasn’t there, of course.

Wonwoo seemed to blossomed with you. He was more excited to leave his apartment, more eager to become a better cook. He spoke up often, whether it be at work or out with you, rather than letting someone talk. He wanted to learn all the things that you liked, wanted to touch you exactly where you needed it, wanted to find new ways to leave you breathless. Because it was for you.

Even Mingyu noticed a difference in his friend. He’d known Wonwoo for so many years now, but he’d never made this much of a change for anyone. One night, when you and Mingyu were alone in the kitchen, he mentioned, “He’s different around you.” And then kept pouring wine in three glasses while Wonwoo picked a movie from the living room.

There were also times where Wonwoo was a booty call, of course, and neither of you had any problems with that. Some nights, Wonwoo would call you after Mingyu went to bed, begging you to come over, but ended up settling for phone sex. His attraction to you in stockings only went up, and it was difficult for him to contain his arousal at work when you strutted around just knowing how it affected him. There was days where all he wanted to do was pull you into a janitor closet and fuck the living daylights out of you. But it wasn’t like you’d let him anyway.

You had your fair share of desperate moments too. Especially tonight, as you were out drinking with your friends at a local spot you’d been coming to for years. The live band was loud and you’d had your fair share of shitty margaritas already. One of your friends was tugging on the arm of some rando she met on the dance floor, yelling over the music that she was leaving and she’d text you when she was home safe. That left you shit out of luck for a ride home, and suddenly very lonely. The last thing you wanted was to drink alone at a shitty bar on a Saturday night.

Wandering outside, your heeled boots crunched in the snow as you looked for the nearest Uber. The fastest one around would take over 20 minutes to get to you, and as you looked around the empty city streets … wait, didn’t Wonwoo live around here? Maybe all the tequila was just getting to you. But you called him anyway, and despite the time reaching 1 AM, he answered instantly. He heard the slight lisp in your voice, and once he got out of you exactly where you were, he realized you were right. It only took him about 10 minutes to get to where you were, parking on the side of the road.

He sighed at the sight of you sitting on the curb, shivering and hugging your jacket around you. Various drunk people filtered in and out of the bar, but none of them checked on you – a freezing girl just sitting on the side of the road. “Why didn’t you wait inside for me?” He asked, his breath hot against your cheek when he pulled you up in his arms. Your dress rode up a little, and his hands were quick to yank it back down. “It’s the middle of winter.”

“I jusssst thought … the cold air would sssssober me up,” you slurred, letting him place you in his passenger seat before running back over to the driver’s side. His car was warm, making you bury yourself in your jacket, but his hand on your thigh was even warmer somehow. If your fingers weren’t so cold, you’d wrap your hand around his wrist, inching his palm up higher as he drove.

Once he was parked, he wasted no time getting you out and helping you up the stairs to his apartment. Mingyu was passed out on the couch, an old movie from the 80s playing on the TV, but you could hardly register it because your brain was spinning and Wonwoo was practically dragging you to his bedroom. He was grateful that all the lights were off so you couldn’t see how messy it was, but honestly, it was a miracle if you could see anything clearly right now.

He sat you down on the bed and you looked up at him with bleary eyes, which made you so fucking hard to resist. All the tequila you drank was pumping through your bloodstream, and you couldn’t help but fist your hands in his t-shirt and try to kiss him. He evaded your lips though – no matter how much he wanted to – and you whined, “Whyyyyyy won’t you kiss me?”

“Shhh …” He whispered, yanking off your boots. “Inside voice. Mingyu’s sleeping.”

You smacked your hands against his mattress. “He’s sleeping in the living room!”

Wonwoo got back to his feet, gesturing as he instructed, “Arms up.” You were too intoxicated to do anything but oblige, lifting your arms as he struggled to pull your dress over your head. Once it was off and thrown to the side with your boots, your hazy vision caught him looking through his drawers for clothes for you to wear. But didn’t he just take your clothes off? You could’ve sworn he did that because he wanted you too right now.

You protested when he tried putting you in one of his simple white tees, but your body felt too limp to fight. He slipped the shirt over your head before pulling back his comforter and wrapping you in it. With your eyes half open, you watched him come to the other side of the bed, yanking his pants down and crawling in bed beside you. He reached over you and set his glasses on the side table. You sighed dramatically. Now he was just torturing you. Wonwoo simply chuckled to himself, realizing what you were angry about.

His arms instantly wound around you, his lips pulled into a smile at your hairline. You looked up at him with a scowl and your voice slurred, “Whysss your eyes closed?”

Wonwoo snickered under his breath. “Because it’s late and I’m tired.” His hand on your lower back traced circles, attempting to coax you to sleep.

“I thought you wanted meeeee,” you complained. Your hand reached in between you two, smoothing your palm against his groin as he slowly started to harden under your touch. You heard his breath hitch slightly, so you kept going, a soft ache beginning between your own legs at just the thought of putting him in your mouth.

“Sweetheart, I always want you.” He then grabbed your wrist, moving your hand away from him, and then lacing your fingers together. Pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, he sighed sleepily, “But you’re much sexier when you’re sober.”

You started to realize why you didn’t usually do this, why it had been so long since you let someone see every part of you. What you looked like completely stripped down – both inside and out – completely vulnerable for your person. How your face contorted during pleasure, and how it relaxed when you were taken care of.

Catching feelings like this meant giving up control.

You didn’t work on the weekends unless you had to, and when the Boss sent you a high priority email on Saturday morning, you didn’t hesitate. He had transferred over a bunch of sensitive files that were needed for a board presentation first thing Monday morning. But of course, something just had to go wrong: the files were corrupted and you had no way of figuring out what to do. And it wasn’t like your boss was on call like you were on a Saturday.

This was how you ended up at Wonwoo’s apartment.

You had called him in a panic, explaining what had went wrong, but he didn’t seem too fazed. He was used to your tech emergencies by now. But by the time you got to his apartment, out of breath after running from the train station, he had realized just how serious you were taking this. You both sat down on his couch and you let him work his magic. His fingers moved across the keys as if he were a musician, and you couldn’t stop biting your nail nervously.

Mingyu came back to the apartment after grocery shopping, waving at you before putting all the food away. Seeing as you were here, maybe they could all go out and have fun tonight. He went into the living room, ready to mention a band that was playing at a local venue later, but upon seeing the stressed look on both your faces, he exhaled. “It’s a Saturday,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Why do you two look like that?”

“Corrupted documents,” Wonwoo answered quickly, not even looking up from the monitor.

“I don’t even want to know more,” he said, grabbing his leather jacket from the coat rack and tugging his arms through the sleeves. “Just your faces are making me anxious. I’m heading out. Don’t wait up.”

You gave Mingyu a wave as he left, but Wonwoo was too focused to even say goodbye. It took about another hour and one cup of coffee, but Wonwoo eventually figured out how to uncorrupt the files. You let out a sigh of relief as he handed the laptop back to you and you were able to open each of them without issue. Thank god, you had managed to figure this out before Monday morning. And … having Wonwoo wasn’t too bad either.

“Thank you,” you beamed, not being able to resist pinching his cheek. “My hero.”

Silence engulfed the room as you both noticed how the sky was already getting dark. You cleared your throat, slipping your laptop back into your bag and muttering, “Thanks again. I know I kind of barged in and wasted your Saturday afternoon –”

Like the saint he was, Wonwoo simply smiled at you. “No time with you is a waste.”

Whatever words you were about to say clogged in your throat. You swallowed hard, attempting to hide your fluster, but you ended up choking out, “I … should go.”

“You don’t have to.” He stood from the couch, walking over to you and running his hands down your arms. His brow lifted. “Do you want to?”

You let the strap of your bag fall to the floor as your hands cupped his neck. “No, not particularly.”

Wonwoo chuckled, leaning in and letting his lips just lightly graze yours. “We have the place to ourselves,” he hummed, slowly dragging you backwards with him. “Mingyu’s gone … probably won’t be back until midnight.”

You bit your lip to suppress a giggle, letting him lead you to his room, as limp as a rag doll. Once he shut his bedroom door behind you, he flicked the light on. You pressed your back against the door and your eyes roamed around the space. This was the first time you saw his bedroom with the light on; every other time had been pitch black. You liked that his walls weren’t bare – they were filled with posters of his favorite musicians or photographs. On his desk was a large monitor and a gaming set up, but also a camera with stacks of film next to it. His furniture was old – probably from the 90s, probably passed down from his family – but the scratches within the wood told a story. And unlike most men, his sheets were gray.

Wonwoo realized you were scanning his room, and he became acutely aware of the clothes scattered amongst his floor. He muttered something to himself, beginning to pick up the clothes piles and chuck them into his hamper. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I wish I inherited the organized gene like Mingyu.”

You tilted your head, striding over and pulling him up, making him halt his actions. Your hands went to his face as you brought him closer. With a smile, you whispered, “I don’t want to talk about Mingyu,” before pressing your lips to his.

The kiss became deep far too quickly, or maybe time was passing faster than usual. Your lips crashed so hard against his that they’d bruise. He took off his glasses, setting them on his drawer, before his fingers hooked into the belt loops of your jeans. You stepped forward, making him step back, then another, and another – until you had him falling back on his bed. You straddled him, arching your back so you could lick into his mouth just how he liked. Hands sliding up his shirt, you felt his abdomen flex underneath you. His fingers in your belt loops jerked you closer, pressing your hips to his, and it wasn’t long before he was moaning into the kiss.

You smiled against his mouth, dragging your lips down his neck, and then even further, as you slinked down his body. Your eyes were trained on his, and he was trying his best not to look like a complete idiot in front of you. But it was difficult when you were looking at him with those eyes and – oh, now you were pulling down the waistband of his sweatpants, practically salivating when you noticed how hard he was already.

But … this was what you guys always did. Not that he had an issue with you giving him blow jobs, but none of this felt particularly intimate. You never really let him worship you; you took control of the entire situation. As if you were bringing your professional stubbornness to the bedroom.

“Wait,” he choked out as you palmed his growing bulge. “Can we … can we try something different?”

Your brows furrowed and you continued pressing sloppy kisses above his groin. “Why would we do that?”

Wonwoo let out a frustrated sound, and before you could prepare yourself, he was yanking his pants back up and pinning you underneath him. You blinked up at him in surprise, and he was gripping your wrists above your head now, his bodyweight pressing you into the mattress. He almost looked shocked that he had the strength to push you back, but his blown-out pupils gave away his true desire.

“What was that for?” You asked incredulously. Nerves clouded your thoughts, making you stutter. “I thought … I thought you liked …”

“No, trust me, I do,” he assured you, and then tipped his head as he gazed down at you. “I just … why won’t you let me take care of you?”

You scoffed then, trying to cover up how petrifying this conversation was becoming. Were you that transparent now, or did he simply know you far too well for your own good?

“I have no idea what you’re –”

Wonwoo gave you one of his infamous leveled looks, and you sighed. “You’re in constant need of seeking control when it’s always at your fingertips. It’s okay to let it go; it won’t slip away.” He let go of your wrists then, but kept his body hovering over yours, holding himself up by his elbows resting near your head. “Please, just … surrender it for once. Let me take the lead.”

You glanced down at your hands on your chest, twiddling your thumbs. Eventually, you murmured, “It’s hard. I’ve never done that before.”

“Can we try? I like …” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, then let his head fall as he chuckled to himself. “This is so awkward. I just – I like prioritizing your pleasure. It feels much better for me and I think it will for you too. And if you don’t like it –”

“I’m not good with change,” you blurted.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice taking on that husky tone that made warmth pool in your stomach. His eyes flickered to your lips now, noticing how swollen they still were. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. It was just a suggestion, and I probably ruined the mood.”

You shook your head immediately, allowing your fingers to tenderly sweep over his shirt. “No, I …” A voice in the back of your head told you this was a good thing, and you did want this, but the fear of change was overwhelming. You wanted to step out of your comfort zone, desperately, for once. You were allowed to do this; you were allowed to be happy.

Your gaze met his again. “I want to try.”

His eyes softened with affection, but then he asked, “You’re not just agreeing for my sake, right?”

“Now when have I ever done that?” You laughed, making him smile along with you.

But as soon as his mouth met yours, that awkward, giggling persona seemed to melt away. Jeon Wonwoo morphed into an entirely different person, someone that possessed your jaw in his large hand, pulling at your bottom lip before kissing you harder. It was enough to leave you gasping for air once he pulled away, spit connecting you two, and he continued to suck and nip his way down your throat. He made sure to leave marks in places that could be covered up for work, but he’d know exactly where they were. God, would he even be able to control himself at his desk, knowing where his bites were hiding under your clothes?

Tugging your sweater over your head, he practically whined at the sight of your breasts, constricted in the bra that you told him was too old once, but you kept wearing it anyway because he said it was cute. He lifted you for a moment, expertly removing it with one hand, before licking the valley between your breasts. You arched into him, sighing into your arm when he swirled his tongue around your taut nipple. He glanced up and realized you were hiding your face, so he pushed your hand off. “I want you to look at me while I do this,” he cooed, but it sounded more like a demand.

Despite the embarrassment, you did as he asked, feeling completely bewitched as you watched him cup the swell of your breast, tugging on your nipple. This felt like a goddamn Pornhub video. You two have had sex before, yes, but not like this. Never like this. Wonwoo had always let you do what you were comfortable with, keeping his other side at bay while you rode him hard on the couch. But this … this felt like something else entirely. The way he was lavishing both your nipples, coating them with his spit, demanding you to watch … Expletives filtered softly from your mouth, wetness gathering between your thighs. It suddenly felt too hot and your jeans were still on.

Wonwoo was taking his time with you though, and it was very clear to you that this wouldn’t just be one of those nights where you had sex for 10 minutes before ordering pizza. When he lifted his mouth from your left nipple, he asked calmly, “Do you like this or do you want more?”

You sneered, “Well, of course, I like –”

His hand came up instantly to pinch your other nipple, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that came out of your mouth. “No teasing,” he said, lowering his head to flick that nipple with his tongue. “Just answer me.”

“More,” you choked out, your hips arching off the bed, seeking friction. “Please, more.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss between your breasts once again, before lowering himself down your body. His eyes never left yours as he dragged his lips down your stomach. Eventually, he had to stand from the bed so he could finally unzip your pants, tugging when they got stuck around your ankles. When the cold air hit between your legs, you realized how soaked you were already. Wonwoo smirked to himself, slowly rolling your panties down your legs.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you joked, kicking your panties off into a pile by his bed.

He lifted your ankle, nipping playfully, and replied, “Told you that you’d like me taking the lead.”

You rolled your eyes as he settled between your thighs, bending your knees back so your feet rested beside his head. You bit your lip as he placed sloppy kisses on your inner thigh, biting hard enough to make a bruise. Wonwoo fought hard to maintain a sense of composure, but god, the sight of your pretty pussy oozing slick made him wonder if he could cum untouched. You had let him finger you before, but had never been in the mood for this. And this was something Wonwoo had been fantasizing about since the day he noticed that tear in your stockings. He could jump for joy if that didn’t make him look like an absolute fucking loser.

He pushed your folds apart with two fingers, running a hand down his face as he attempted to school his expression. It was just so fucking hard to act cool when you were this aroused. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. You reached out and brushed his hair back from his forehead, deciding to quip, “Wonwoo, can you even find the clit without your glasses on –”

Without warning, he spit on your pussy and buried his face between your thighs. The words died on your tongue immediately, and you let out the loudest whine he’d ever heard in his life. He smiled, but that didn’t deter him from circling his tongue around your clit. He wound one of his arms around your thigh, holding you in place as he pressed his face further.

Wrapping his lips around your clit, he sucked and drew out the prettiest sounds from you, using his free hand to slip two fingers inside you. You tasted exactly like he dreamed about, sweet and tangy and so unmistakably you. He looked up at you from between your legs, curling his fingers in the spot that made tears prick at your eyes, and when your gaze found his, it was like something in him snapped. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice muffled, feasting at you like he’d been starved for days.

Your fingers were in his hair now, pressing his head more into you, which only made this more enjoyable for him. He nearly came in his pants when your hips began to buck against his face, but this was about you. And him experiencing you cumming on his face. But mostly you. His fingers pumped faster inside you and his tongue was now flicking your clit, allowing more of your arousal to invade his mouth. He’d never get tired of this taste; he was obsessed. Now that he finally got a taste of you … he never wanted to not be doing this. Never wanted his face too far from the apex of your legs. Not when you had the sweetest taste that could move heaven and earth between these thighs.

And when you finally came on his tongue, he noticed that your legs shook like an earthquake. Your essence flooded his mouth, and he moaned – god, did he moan – lapping at you, never missing a drop of what you gave him. His fingers kept curling inside of you, making your orgasm feel like forever. When he finally removed them with a wet pop, he didn’t miss the opportunity to have more of you, wrapping his mouth around those two fingers and licking off the last of your release. You watched him, completely mesmerized by the way he savored you, even darting his tongue out to capture the whatever seeped out of you. Your hips jolted, suddenly so sensitive, and he grinned up at you.

You hardly caught your breath before he crawling up your body, kissing you hard and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Your hands fisted in his t-shirt, and when you ripped your lips away from his, you arched a brow. “You are still fully clothed,” you reminded, and then swiped at the spit lining his bottom lip.

Wonwoo simply smiled, ghosting his lips over yours before trailing them to your ear. “I’m getting to that part. Patience,” he whispered, nibbling on your earlobe. “You must really want me inside you.”

“I want to not be the only one naked.”

“Say it,” he prodded in a weirdly casual tone.

“What?”

“Say you want me inside you.”

“This is ridiculous –”

He lifted his head from your jawline. “I can easily leave this room and order a pizza,” he teased, and you blinked at him. He was actually being serious. He would completely ignore what looked like a throbbing erection in his pants, just to make a point. You knew he wasn’t trying to be mean; he wanted to get you out of your comfort zone. This was so stupid, because you did want him inside you. Embarrassingly so. He had just given you one of the best orgasms of your life, but you still had this … aching need to be filled. Your cheeks heated just at the thought of it.

“I …” Your eyes closed for a moment, trying not to make your whole face turn bright red. With a sigh, your eyes connected again, and you answered, “I want you inside me, Wonwoo.”

He rewarded you with a kiss, pulling away before it could get too heated again, and stood from the bed. “Well, when you ask nicely …” He smiled, that dominating demeanor slipping for a moment as he pulled his shirt off. You’d never get tired of the way Wonwoo looked without a shirt. He didn’t let anyone see it very often – he wasn’t like his roommate – but the moments he did, you felt eternally grateful. His torso was toned, with defined abs and pecks that made your mind boggle. You liked that his arms were long and muscled; his hands large and slightly calloused.

You liked everything about him.

When he finally went to kick off his sweatpants, he noticed a large precum stain on the gray fabric from just eating you out. Which was probably the biggest jab to his calm and collected attitude right now, but he didn’t let it slip. He simply threw the sweatpants to the side, coming up close to the bed again, where your legs were now hanging off the edge. You gazed up at him as if he held the world in his palms, watching the way he reached into his boxers and pulled out his cock. Your eyes widened at the sight, never used to the size. He was slightly thicker than average, but long. Longer than you ever expected. With a pretty pink head leaking sticky precum.

It was killing you how long he was taking. Your legs shifted, ready to make a move to yank him underneath you, but he was faster than you. He pinned your wrists about your head with one hand this time, using his other to keep a firm grip on his cock. “You want to be in control that badly, huh?” He asked, tilting his head.

His hand was moving up and down his shaft now, letting precum dribble on your stomach. Your eyes flickered from his cock back to his eyes. “I just … I need you, Wonwoo,” you begged, your voice taking on a new tone. And somehow … wanting him so bad like this was ten times more arousing than riding him on the couch. “Please, please, Wonwoo. Please, fuck me.”

Your pleas had him falling apart, and he sighed, letting go of your wrists to discard his boxers too. His cock flopped against his stomach, hard and aching and – fuck, had he always been veiny? He got on top of you again, cooing against your lips, “I know, baby, I know.” His rubbed the underside of his length against your wet folds, moaning at the slightest bit of friction. “I’ll fuck you real good. I promise.”

Pressing the head of his cock at your entrance, his breath hitched at just the feeling of your arousal coating his shaft. You both had never taken your time with sex. But he was doing that tonight now that he was in control, letting himself slowly push inside you, feel you completely stretch open for him. You mewled, slinking your arms around his neck and carding your fingers at the nape. And when he finally buried himself to the hilt, his lips fell open and he groaned. You felt so good he could cum right now, but he needed to get a grip. The last thing he needed was to cum too fast.

Not that you would like him any less if he did.

“Wonwoo,” you cried, your hips arching up to meet his. “Please.”

Your voice snapped him out of whatever trance-like state he was in. He settled more on top of you, resting his elbows on both sides of your head, and pulled all the way out so only the tip remained. You whined at the emptiness, which soon changed to a gasp when he bullied his cock back in. Your fingers tugged at his hair; your legs crossed around his waist, drawing him deeper inside. “Fuck,” he muttered, still feeling how tight you were, how you molded yourself for him. “So fucking … god, so wet.”

His restraint could only last so long. He’d gotten his fill of feeling you adjust around him. He couldn’t take this anymore, or he was going to cum before you both had even started. With a deep breath, he set a brutal pace inside of you, his hips snapping forward. Tears rolled down your cheeks; how could something feel so good that you cried? Wonwoo seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he was burying his face in the crook of your neck and groaning, “God, so good … you feel so good … how can anyone feel this good?”

The only word you could choke out was, “Ditto,” which you’d regret for hours after this. But now was not the time.

He was fucking into you so hard that you were already sore, but you were holding onto him for dear life, clinging to him as that warmth burned in your gut. The way his cock curved and grazed your g-spot perfectly, making you tremble and whimper his name like a prayer. He placed a hand on your stomach, feeling how deep his cock nestled inside you, and you noticed him shiver in your arms. He was trying desperately to fight off his release. That coil in your gut began to tighten, and from the way Wonwoo was breathing, you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. He wanted you to cum first though – like always – wanted to feel you clamp around him, squeeze him so tight that he saw white.

So he did what he did best: reached in between your bodies, finding your swollen, sensitive clit so easily, and rubbed slow circles. He lifted his head from your neck, wanting to see that familiar look in your eyes when you saw stars. “Are you gonna cum for me?” His voice was so deep that it reverberated against your chest.

And finally, as he pressed his thumb down hard and pushed into you just right, you felt your orgasm crest. “Fuck, Wonwoo,” you sobbed, body shaking as you came undone.

But Wonwoo wasn’t stopping. He kept fucking into you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. And when your walls squeezed him so tight, he buried himself completely and came hard, a generous amount of fucks leaving his lips. His cheek pressed against yours; his groans muffled by the comforter. You held him close as he filled you to the brink with his release, and it almost felt like hours before he realized he finished.

You exhaled together, allowing your heart rates to settle. He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and then to your nose, and now he was kissing all over your face. Your cheeks instantly tinged pink, but you let him do as he pleased. He didn’t even make a move off you, letting his cock soften inside your warmth. When your eyes opened, he was staring down at you like you were the sun. You searched his eyes, “What?”

His dark gaze flickered to your lips for a moment, and then he asked, “Did you really say, ‘Ditto,’ during sex?”

You and Wonwoo had gotten into a routine. Of course, you saw him 5 days out of the week at work, but you wanted more of him. You figured out Mingyu’s schedule, coming over most nights when he wasn’t home – besides Mingyu’s Movie Nights. You would let Wonwoo cook for you, and he promised he was getting better, before he led you to his room with kisses to your neck and a firm grip on your hand.

He always went with whatever you were comfortable with, but you found yourself letting him take the lead more often than not. You liked letting him prioritize you; you liked being selfish with him. Giving up control felt … much better than anticipated. Everything about this felt too good to be true. But you couldn’t help yourself, and you didn’t want to spoil it by asking him the dreaded, “What are we?” For now, you’d exist in your safe little bubble, where he would smile at you at work and then fuck your brains out after hours. It felt perfect, simple.

You approached sex through a different lens now. Instead of simply riding him on that godforsaken old couch, you let him go at his own pace: placing you on his lap, having his way with you and making you cum at least 3 times before he sunk you down on his cock, bouncing you up and down as you clung to him, practically letting him use you as a flesh light. Even when he let you sit on his face, it was on his terms: his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave a mark, trying to suffocate himself with your pussy, not allowing you to cum until he said so, no matter how much you needed to. But it felt too good to stop. You didn’t want this to stop. You liked the lack of control, liked the way he took care of you. The way he bent your knees back as he slid into you, keeping eye contact, so you’d feel him that much deeper … the way he could feast on you for hours, never getting enough of your taste … there was something about it that made you feel more than beautiful.

Especially when he looked at you as if you were his world.

Especially when he fucked into you and you realized you might be in love with him.

You tended to get lost in thought while laying in bed on an early morning. The birds chirped outside, your phone chimed along with each new notification. Curling underneath your comforter, you held your pounding head, reminiscing on last Sunday. You had gone over Wonwoo’s apartment and he had surprised you with a spaghetti dinner. Mingyu promised that it was “more edible than usual” before he left you two alone in the apartment.

You had noticed the shine in Wonwoo’s eyes, how excited he was to do this for you. He had never bothered to learn anything for anyone, but all he wanted to do was please you. To make you happy. And you could see that in the way he gazed at you, making your stomach do flip flops. Letting him have all this control over you, letting him see past the fortress you’d kept up for who knows how long … it was scary and exhilarating all at the same time.

He taught you how to play his favorite video game after dinner, placing you in between his legs on the couch and letting you lean back against his broad chest. His arms cocooned around you, nestling your body in his embrace. Sometimes he would nibble on your ear as you fought to maintain hand-eye coordination with the controller. Eventually, you had given up and asked to watch him, but that led to his hand dropping the controller as the enemy killed him off. And then his fingers were slowly slipping down the waistband of your leggings, rubbing your slit over your panties. You had arched into him, your ass pressing against his hardening erection as he pulled your panties to the side, already finding you wet and ready for his touch. He chuckled in your ear, “How long have you been thinking about this?” His index finger rubbed tight circles on your clit, and all that you could formulate for a response was a moan as he –

You cut yourself off from the memory before it could end you.

Your stomach churned. Despite your better judgement, you had completely fallen head-over-heels for senior IT specialist, Jeon Wonwoo, and that was terrifying. He had seen your personality unfold, seen the most vulnerable parts of you. But nothing was more scary than admitting to yourself how much you liked him, maybe even loved. You were frantic to the point of exhaustion, so stressed that you felt sick. Soon you were shivering, your head pounding as a fever came on, and you stayed home from work for a few days. Your phone notifications be damned – you stayed in your bedroom with the blinds closed, sleeping the days away.

Every so often, you would hear your phone chime. Your phone screen would light up with another text message. But … you couldn’t bring yourself to answer him. This behavior was illogical and stupid; you just simply couldn’t help yourself. You were an avoidant. The only thing you knew how to do was slowly push him away before he saw all the layers underneath your carefully crafted facade.

What if he finally saw how anxious you were all the time?

What if he knew how you secretly craved to be loved your entire life, but you looked for it elsewhere, in places like workplace praise or crowded bars where you couldn’t see another person’s face?

What if he knew you weren’t as organized up in your head as you were at your desk?

Or worse … what if he didn’t like you back?

TUESDAY, APRIL 22

Wonwoo: What’s going on?

Wonwoo: I managed to find out that you’re sick. I can make you soup, if you want? I know my cooking is terrible. But what if this time it’s good and it cures you?

Wonwoo: If I threaten to message you on Slack, will that make you reply?

Wonwoo: I promise I won’t. Unless … lol

Wonwoo: You’re not dead, right?

Wonwoo: Please, answer me.

FRIDAY, APRIL 25

UNKNOWN: hey, it’s Mingyu. I found your number in Wonwoo’s phone. he’s really messed up right now and worrying about you.

UNKNOWN: idk what’s going on between you two, but I don’t like seeing him like this.

UNKNOWN: just … call him. or text him. or something.

Jeon Wonwoo [10:13 AM]: Did your computer die and you need a new charger?

Jeon Wonwoo [3:21 PM]: I miss you.

When you finally returned to work, it’s on a day that your cubicle mate had decided to work from home. You couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or curse until the next day, when you wished that he decided to work from home forever. It was on a Tuesday morning that you finally faced him again, locking eyes with him from across the boardroom table in an all-hands meeting. You weren’t sure what to say, weren’t sure what you could say, but … he didn’t speak to you any way. In fact, even when you both got back to your desks, he kept quiet, throwing on his headphones and focusing on whatever task was at hand. His attitude change wasn’t exactly surprising, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak to him either.

All your other coworkers looked bewildered. The silence between you two made just about everyone feel awkward. They all saw how close you and Wonwoo had become, and now everything just felt … flat. Silent. Empty. It was like you two were strangers. Maybe you had never really known each other in the first place, if you could both discard each other so easily.

But that just seemed too good to be true. You thought about him everyday, despite yourself, and he had to think of you too. You caught his eyes on you every once in a while, and you couldn’t help but yearn for him in silence. It was probably time for you to take charge again and make the first move, but you found yourself hesitating. Again. You were overwhelmed with thoughts of rejection.

This was why you never gave up control with someone before. It left you suddenly so, so doubtful.

You [1:34 PM]: I can’t get into my Outlook. I think I’ve locked myself out

Jeon Wonwoo is now offline.

You [1:36 PM]: I miss you too

It was a busy Sunday, the first notes of Spring evident in the air. You needed to go to the post office today, the supermarket, probably check in on your parents … but that was all discarded when you made the sudden decision to take a taxi to Wonwoo’s apartment. Your hands were shaking more than his when he first touched you. Your leg was bouncing with anxiety, and when the taxi finally pulled up to his building, you considered never getting out.

But you couldn’t continue being a coward. Besides, this driver had places to be, with the way he was arguing for you to pay in cash.

You were lucky enough to slide in through the building’s entrance while someone was walking out. The less you had to embarrass yourself by calling Mingyu to let you in, the better. The walk up those two flights of stairs was long and tiring, and it wasn’t because you always hated them. You physically couldn’t make yourself go faster, too frightened of what he was going to say when he saw you. Maybe he wouldn’t say anything; maybe he’d slam the door in your face. And you couldn’t blame him, because now you were at his door and – oh, god, you wanted to hurl.

The door was opening before you could even catch your breath. When you caught that first glimpse of Mingyu, you realized how much of a mistake this was. You could always turn back, run down the stairs before anyone could say a word.

But as soon as you both locked eyes, Mingyu raised his brow, but not in a mocking sense. It was as if … he expected you to be here. He sighed, leaning against the door, and without looking back, he called out, “Wonwoo! You got a visitor.”

Your eyes went wide, and then Mingyu was pushing past you, leaving the door open and muttering, “Good luck.” He was rushing down the stairs two at a time before you could even say a word back. But then you were seeing him, and you wondered if it had always been this hard to breathe around him.

Your fingers played absentmindedly as you both stared at each other. His glasses were slipping down his nose, but he made no move to fix them. His own hand was too busy dropping the controller that had been in his grip, now clattering to the floor. His hair was messed up and he was wearing his favorite comfy sweatsuit, and you … you were put together, as always. Your hair unwashed, but pulled up in a ponytail, and wearing that cardigan he liked so much on you. If he wasn’t so hurt, just the sight of you would have him on his knees right now, begging to have you.

He had to turn around and walk away. If he didn’t right now, he’d just –

“Wait,” you said, walking in and closing the door when he spun away. “Please, don’t. I –”

“What could you possibly say?” He snapped, facing you once again. You had never heard his voice at this octave before, never seen so much distress on his face. “I thought we knew each other well enough that you wouldn’t cut me off out of nowhere. As if I’m just some guy you met at a bar last weekend.”

Your mouth opened, and then closed.

“Do you … do you even understand how worried I was about you?” He ran a hand through his hair, voice cracking for the first time in forever. You took a step closer to him. “You weren’t answering me and I just … my head went to the worst. I thought Mingyu was gonna kill me the next time I mentioned your name. And then, to see you at work and realizing that you were actually just ghosting me was a fucking punch to the gut. I didn’t get it. I still don’t get it. But I’m so pissed at you for hurting my feelings that I’m not even sure if I wanna know.”

“Wonwoo –” You started.

“Please, don’t say my name like that,” he sighed and pinched his nose. “I realize that you came all this way to finally break the news to me, but I’m good. It’s very obvious to me now that you don’t like me as much as I like you, and to save us the pity party, let me get you home –” He reached for his wallet to grab some cash for your next taxi.

But you interrupted before he could finish.

“I love you.”

He paused, looking up and making sure he heard you right. “What?”

“I’m in love with you,” you said it again, and it felt so freeing to have this weight lifted off your shoulders. You moved closer, now standing a foot away, but refusing to touch him for your own good. “And I’m not just telling you that as an excuse. Ignoring you was cruel and I can never forgive myself for hurting you. I just … when I realized how deep my feelings for you were …” Your throat closed up, as if your body was acting on instinct, preventing you from being vulnerable with him.

Wonwoo closed the distance. “Hey,” he whispered, tucking a hair behind your ear. “I’m right here with you.”

His voice was so reassuring – as always – opening you up like a blooming flower. And suddenly, your mouth didn’t feel so dry anymore and your nails stopped making crescent-shaped indents in your palm.

“I got scared,” you confessed, your gaze locked on his. “And I ran away, because that was the easiest thing to do. I thought ignoring you would be best for both of us, and I stubbornly didn’t want to hear your opinion on any of this. What I did was wrong and I … I hate myself when I do stuff like this to people I care about.”

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, but he wiped them with his thumb before they could fall. You sniffled, noticing the hurt in his eyes had faded, replaced only by adoration. Your lips pursed as you searched his gaze.

“I’ve just … never allowed anyone to open me up like this. I’ve never given my feelings to someone and let them care for me.” You blinked, your eyes rimmed red. “I’ve hardly been able to comprehend my own feelings because I’ve been scared shitless of them in the first place. But I can’t … I can’t justify pushing you away anymore. Because I love you. I don’t like being alone anymore and all I ever want to do is see you. Sometimes I’m afraid if I stop holding you, you’ll disappear. You do so much for me; you literally fix something on my computer everyday. I think if I let you go right now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life, and I –”

Wonwoo cut you off by pressing his lips to yours. You couldn’t remember the last time he kissed you like this: so gently with his palm cupping your jaw. You felt yourself relax when he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His tongue licked into your mouth, sighing with relief when the familiar taste of you entered his orbit again. The taste of coffee and peppermint gum and the peanut butter and jelly you definitely had for lunch today. It was everything he loved about you, and he smiled into the kiss.

When he finally pulled away, he said, “Sorry, I interrupted your monologue.”

“It’s okay. Someone needed to before I got into the Hamlet soliloquy I prepared.”

He chuckled, grinning from ear to ear, and just that had a blush creeping to your cheeks. “I forgive you,” he whispered, leaning back in to ghost his lips all over your face. Your warm breath fanned his mouth. “Just don’t do that again. I know I don’t show it very often, but I’m secretly very …” He smiled softer this time, pecking just slightly on the corner of your mouth. “Sensitive.”

Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants, wanting him all the more closer. “I know. I promise.” You brushed your nose over his. “If I ever ignore you for even a couple hours, you have full permission to annoy me on Slack.”

Wonwoo had to cover his mouth from letting out the loudest laugh possible, but it made you feel all the better to see him happy. You could spend forever seeing him this happy. You got up on your tiptoes just to stare at him more, to press yourself closer and feel his grin against your cheek.

But he was holding your face now, sighing down at you with a smile that almost made you swoon. “For the record,” he replied, “I love you too.”

5K notes · View notes

sceletaflores · 15 days ago

Text

JACKRABBIT!

|| pedro masterlist || update blog || inbox || taglist || ao3 ||

｡𖦹°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ WC: 3.4k

｡𖦹°‧➵ ANON SAYS: Hi Nat! I love your work. I would like to request a Joel Miller fic where he finds a sex toy on a raid and teaches user how to use it. I hope this isn’t weird lol. It’s fine if you don’t want to write it!

｡𖦹°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, set post outbreak, swearing, drinking, smoking, established relationship…but it’s not like a RELATIONSHIP, unspecified age gap, jackson!joel mmmhhh, sex toys, masturbation, joi but for the girls, pussy pronouns, dirty talk cause he’s old and gross, reader is inexperienced but not juvenile, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S NOTE: anon…i need to just kiss you right on your brain. this is a revolutionary idea…it’s not weird at all! i just about died when i saw it in my inbox, like i had to sit down for a while. you really did something with this one. this is also so not related but this is one of the tiniest titles i’ve had on a fic in a while, it looks so wrong to me LMAO i need long titles to survive but this one was just too cute so i made an exception. hope y’all love it!

dividers by @saradika-graphics! joel icon by angel @iamasaddie!

joel has something he wants to show you...

You’re not sure what you were expecting when Joel told you he had something to show you.

You thought about it a little on the short walk to his house, breath puffing out like little clouds in the cold air as snow crunched under your boots.

Maybe a book he’d thought you’d like to add to the overflowing shelf in your room, all stuffed with the other books he’d quietly left on your kitchen table like they weren’t really gifts. Dog eared, dusty, the pages yellowed by time.

Maybe an old shirt that wasn’t too torn or eaten up by moths. Clothes aren’t hard to come by in Jackson, but you figure it’s the thought that counts.

Hell, maybe even another knife for your collection—Joel likes giving you those.

You definitely weren’t expecting this.

A heavy looking, curved wand with a fat head and a thick cord wrapped around the handle. He tossed it on his bed next to you like it’s nothing, like a can of peaches or some new ammo he wants to show off.

You blink down at the thing, confused. You look up, staring at Joel where he’s standing a little ways away with your brows pinched together. “What’s all this?”

Joel cocks his head, his lips tugged up in a smug grin. “Old folks would call that a vibrator.”

“That’s not what I mean, dumbass.” You roll your eyes, scoffing. “I mean what is it doing here?”

“Well,” Joel starts, overly serious. “You see, some ladies, they’d usually buy one of these and shove them down–”

"I'm not a clueless fucking virgin, Joel." You cut him off with a sniff, crossing your arms in front of your chest defensively. "I know what a vibrator does. I just never got a chance to use one, what with the world ending when I was a teenager and all, you know?"

Joel knows for a fact that you're no virgin, he took care of that little issue a long while ago.

There’s a lot of firsts that Joel’s helped you tick off over the last couple years, ever since he found you at that ghost town back in Pittsburgh. Your first real shot of something clear and mean. Your first cigarette. Your first fuck.

You wouldn’t call what you and Joel have now a real “relationship” by any definition of the word. Not to Ellie. Not to Jesse. Not to yourself. You’re sure Joel would have a flat out aneurysm if you ever called him your boyfriend.

It’s simple. You go to him when you want. He comes to you when he needs. You let him touch you like he means it, sometimes you even stay the night when he’s feeling charitable enough.

“Found it in an old stash house out past the dam.” Joel shrugs, making his way over to the blue armchair in the corner of his room. He sits with a quiet grunt, sinking into the plaid cushions. “It was still in the box, brand new. Thought you might want it.”

Your eyes drop back down to the toy, the white contrasting with the deep green of Joel’s sheets. You pick it up to feel the weight of it in your hand, fingers trailing along the smooth silicone. It’s soft, softer than you thought it’d be—lighter too.

You think back to the group of girls that whispered during your Algebra 1 class, giggling about some grown up shop they found in a bigger city. The dirty haul they came back into town with sparking lots of colorful conversation that you definitely weren’t supposed to hear, despite how loud they were about it.

Joel clears his throat, tearing you from your thoughts. “Go on then,” he says, jerking his chin impatiently. “You wanna try it, don’t you?”

You swallow, mouth going a little dry as you thumb over the switch.

You do want to try it. You’ve always wanted something like this. Something constant and strong—something that doesn’t tire out, doesn’t get distracted, doesn’t stop until you’re shaking and sobbing and wrung out.

You’ve got one of those things now, sitting in a chair about five feet away from you.

The one in your hand might be just as fun, you wouldn’t know.

There’s only one way to find out.

You look up at him again. Joel’s watching you with that lazy hunger he always has. His jaw working like he’s already rolling the taste of you around in his mouth. His eyes are dark, you can tell even from where you’re at.

Fuck it.

“Alright.” You shuffle backwards up the bed until you’re high enough to lean against his pillows. You drop the toy long enough to tug your thin sleep pants down your legs.

There’s a fleeting part of you that wants to drag this out, to tease. The other part of you, the one that thinks with the steady arousal pulsing to life between your legs, wants to get on with it.

So you bite your lip and plug it in, the ancient powerstrip he dragged in from the garage by his bed sparking faintly as the wand hums to life in your hand—deep and low and almost intimidating in how powerful it sounds.

“Jesus,” you whisper, trying it against your wrist. The vibration is intense, direct, not like anything else you’ve ever felt. It’s so much. You look over at him, suddenly timid. “What do I even do with it? There wasn’t a user guide in that box or something?”

“It’s straightforward enough.” Joel leans back deeper in his chair, like he’s settling in for a show. “Figure it out, baby. You’re smart.”

You arch your brow. “You just gonna sit there?”

Joel shrugs, smirking. “Sugar, this is the best seat in the house.”

It’s a terrible line, terrible. You want to roll your eyes, to make fun of him. That’s only stalling, and neither of you want that.

“Start slow,” Joel mutters, voice thickening just a little.

You chew the inside of your cheek and press the toy to your thigh first, just to get a feel of the vibration. It’s intense, buzzing right down to the bone. You leave it there for a beat, sliding it up and down your skin until goosebumps pebble up in its wake. Your stomach clenches with need, with interest.

You hook your index finger into the thin cotton of your panties, pulling them to the side enough to bare your pussy to the warm air of Joel’s bedroom. You can hear the quick inhale from the other side of the room, the creak of wooden armrests under a tight grip. You don’t fight the smug smile that pulls at your lips.

The smug feeling is short lived, laughably so. The second you press the toy to your clit—just a whisper of vibration, even on the lowest setting—your hips twitch, breath catching. “Shit.”

Joel’s mouth tugs into a crooked grin. “Too much?”

You shake your head, breathless all of a sudden. “No, I–I got it.”

“Try small circles,” Joel says, voice gone low and smoky. “Little higher than that.”

You do, dragging the head of the toy up to rock it over your clit slow and gentle like he told you to. It mostly just feels…fine. Not quite right. Not like Joel. Not like his mouth. Not like the calloused pads of his thumbs when he spreads you open.

You’re not shy by any means, not with him. Not anymore. He’s already had you in more ways than you can count—stuffed together in a sleeping bag as you got felt up by practied fingers, bent over the kitchen table, riding his thigh in the bath, panting against his neck while he fucked you into the floorboards.

This feels different somehow. Embarrassing, almost. Your own hands trembling as you try to keep the vibrator steady, the hum too much and not enough all at once.

You press it closer. Try to angle your hips, shift just right. It slips away too easily, or the angle’s all wrong, or maybe it’s just you—too tense, too eager to please.

Joel watches you flinch, watches your thighs clench and strain as you huff. The warmth swirling through your gut is there, but it's a different kind of heat. It’s all edge, no release. The tension inside of you winds and winds but doesn’t break.

You sigh in frustration, dropping your head back. “Fuck.”

“Don’t make a fuss now.” Joel scolds. “You need to ease off. You’re workin’ it all wrong, can’t just mash it on there like that.”

“Don’t say it like that.” You cut your eyes to him, glaring. “I’m not “mashing” anything, this stupid thing just doesn’t work.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re chasin’ it too hard,” he says, softer this time. “Relax, baby.”

“I am relaxed,” you mutter through gritted teeth.

“I can see you, kid.” Joel snorts, amused. “Bullshit you’re relaxed. It ain’t even seen you this tense around goddamn gunfire”

You groan miserably and pull the toy away, your arm falling limp so it can buzz uselessly against Joel’s comforter. “This is stupid.”

Joel sucks his teeth, shaking his head like you’re a bratty child who can’t understand the simple thing he’s asking of you. He rises from the chair slowly, crosses the room in a few strides. “I have to do everything around here myself, huh.”

You scoff, but your pussy clenches weakly the closer he gets. “I can always leave if it’s such a big grievance.”

He sits next to you with a huff, all that muscle and broadness scooting closer. The mattress dips under his weight enough that it has you sliding closer to him. “Shut the hell up and come here, smartass.”

Big hands settle on either side of your hips before you can move, dragging you back until you're snug between his thick thighs. His chest is warm and alive under your back, the same as his hands when he slings your legs over his.

Joel takes the wand from your hand. You let him. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he murmurs, peering down between your legs. “So fuckin’ wet and you can’t even get her off. This what you wanted, baby? Me to do all the work for you?”

“You like doing all the work,” you snap, still a little touchy.

Joel just smirks, dragging the toy down your thigh. You suck in a short breath, hands clutching the rough denim of his jeans.

He slides the toy lower, dragging the head between your folds like he’s getting acquainted with the shape of you all over again. He starts slow. Teasing. Circling your clit but not pressing down, just letting the buzz brush softly. You jolt, hips twitching.

“No ma’am. Quit your wrigglin’,” he says, his other hand squeezes your thigh in a clear warning. “You asked for this. You’ll take it.”

Every inch of you wants to fight him, just to be a real asshole. You’ve had enough of that for one night, now you just want to come. You force yourself to relax, slowly letting the tension leave your muscles one by one.

Joel notices, humming encouragingly. You can feel the rumble of it against your spine. “Atta girl.”

He tosses an arm around your waist, pulling you closer while his other hand brings the wand back to your clit, not gentle now—confident, giving you the pressure you wanted. The kind that makes your pussy jolt and your chest go tight. The sound you make is pathetic, breathy and broken.

“Oh,” you whisper. The heat you couldn’t quite coax to life earlier flares now, quick and electric and embarrassingly easy under Joel’s experienced touch.

“There she is,” Joel breathes, breath fanning over your temple. “Feels better already, doesn’t it?”

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. His other hand slides up your shirt, palm spreading warm over your belly, keeping you grounded while the toy works its way through your nerves like a live wire.

“Joel,” you gasp, rolling your hips up, chasing it anyway, fighting his grip.

“Thought you said it didn’t work,” he mutters with a grin, mouthing at your jaw. “Sure feels like it’s workin’ now, pumpkin.”

Your body shakes, your thighs trembling. You whimper something incoherent and he shushes you, not to be sweet, but because he wants to hear you fall apart properly.

“You keep it right there,” he orders, dragging the toy a fraction higher until it hits just right. You cry out, jerking forward, but he wraps his arm tighter around your belly and holds you there, strong and steady.

“Joel—fuck—it’s too—”

“It ain’t too much,” he growls. “It’s perfect. Just stay still, just like that.”

You feel it coming fast, harder than you expected—a coil of pleasure that sneaks up and grabs you by the throat, all breath and sound and stuttering pleasure. You buck against his hold and he laughs, low and pleased.

Joel leans in close, his nose brushing over the sweaty skin of your throat. “You gonna thank me for bringing you such a nice present, darlin’? That was mighty kind of me, wasn’t it?”

Your slick lips part on a soft moan, your hips twitching up off the mattress uncontrollably. Your nails dig into his thighs, your chest heaving. “Than–fuck! Jesus.”

He coos, a soft noise that’s more mocking than reassuring. He presses a kiss to your jaw. “Words are hard ain’t they baby? You’re so easy you let a little vibrator rubbin’ on this pussy get you dumb?”

You sob, your head falling back to rest on his shoulder. You turn your face, bury it in the crook of his neck to muffle a whine. “Joel—”

“Come on, baby.” Joel circles the wand over your clit faster, your slick making the glide of silicone that much better. “It ain’t that hard, just two little words.”

You can’t form them. Can’t think. Can’t breathe, barely—your hips twitch again, every nerve ending centered on the hum between your legs. You’re trying so hard to stay still like he told you to, but your body’s betraying you, chasing after the pressure like it’s oxygen.

“I c–can’t,” you gasp, half-sobbing into his neck. “Joel, I can’t, it’s too—too much, I need—”

“What you need is to thank me,” he growls, not relenting. “You come without it, you come on my cock, on my fingers, on my fuckin’ thigh—but you get one little toy, and suddenly you forget your big girl manners?”

Your whole body jerks when he tilts the wand just slightly. It presses right where you need it, a cruel, perfect angle. You’re soaked, squirming, and you can’t breathe right—your breath just punches out of you in useless little gasps.

“Thank you,” you finally whimper, and it’s so quiet, so desperate that it makes Joel groan.

“That’s my sweet girl,” he rasps, his lips dragging hot over your cheek. He sounds so proud, so adoring. It should be funny, out of place when he’s torturing you with a vibrator he trekked through snow with just to give it to you—but it only has the coil inside you snapping.

That’s all it takes.

You cry out when it hits you—sharp and overwhelming like a sucker punch. Your back arches off the mattress, thighs closing around his wrist, soaked pussy pulsing hard against the toy. Joel keeps it there, keeps it steady while you ride it out, groaning low as he watches you fall apart.

“That’s it,” he rasps, voice all grit and gravel and satisfaction. “There she is. You just needed a little help.”

The toy keeps buzzing—he doesn’t let up, not yet. He holds it steady while you jerk and moan, overstimulated and dripping, every muscle trembling. You whimper, weakly trying to push his hand away.

“Shhh,” Joel soothes, lips brushing your temple. “Just ridin’ it out, baby. I got you.”

You breathe through it, clinging to him, and finally—finally—he lifts the toy away, flicking it off with a quiet click.

You’re wrecked.

Panting. Slick between the thighs. Legs still twitching where they’re splayed over his lap.

Joel drops the toy somewhere off to the side and smooths a hand over your stomach, holding you there like you might float away if he lets go. “Well,” he says, smug as ever. “Think it works just fine.”

You let out a hoarse little laugh, still catching your breath. “Fucking asshole,” you whisper, voice shot.

Joel leans in and presses a kiss over your temple. His hands smooth up and down the insides of your thighs, the tips of his fingers just barely brushing over your pussy. You flinch. Sensitive. His lips curl against your skin.

Two can play at this game.

You tilt your head, eyes barely open as you mutter, “I think we’ll use it on you next.”

Joel stills. His brows lift, his mouth pulls into a slow, skeptical smirk. “The hell we will.”

You grin, even though your body still feels like it’s made of jelly. “What, too chicken?”

“No,” he huffs. “I just don’t trust you not to get your little petty revenge.”

“Oh, I’d be so gentle with you,” you say innocently, voice low and teasing. “Promise.”

Joel snorts. “You couldn’t even work the damn thing.”

“I learned a lot in the last ten minutes.”

Joel pinches your hip with a tsk. “Don’t start what you can’t finish, sweetheart.”

You look over your shoulder at him, catching the sharpness in his eyes.

You smile sweetly. “Who says I can’t?”

Joel just laughs, shaking his head. Your smile doesn’t fade as you tuck your face back into his throat, breathing him in.

You’ll give him five minutes.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: the fics i've posted recently being some requests? i'm showing growth y'all. i'm being so tumblr.com it's crazy. see? i do the stuff you guys want, i care about you guys...talking to YOU rude ass anon that came in my inbox a few days ago. yes i DO answer these. also me posting this many fics in basically one month is crazy work i have no idea what’s gotten into me. i got bit by the writing bug, or maybe it really is easier to just not write over ten thousand words all the damn time for literally no reason…i guess we’ll never know.

thank you so much for reading, love you!

2K notes · View notes

lvrspiastri · 28 days ago

Note

can i request an op81 smut where she’s landos best friend and he starts to have a crush on her but he doesn’t know if her and lando like each other. but she thinks oscar doesn’t like her because he doesnt really make conversation with her whenever they’re alone but it’s only because he gets so nervous and it comes out weirdly and then lando figures he likes her. but oscar is jealous of their interactions but then lando sets a situation up where oscar n his girl bestie are alone n they have a confession and then fuck.

Earned It. ᵒᵖ⁸¹

sorry for the time this took. exams fucked me up. hope you like it

reminder that requests are open just check out the guidelines :)

masterlist

✧. ┊ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭PAIRING: jealous!oscar x fem!reader

✧. ┊ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭WORDS: 3k

✧. ┊ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭TAGS/WARNINGS: 18+, smut, jealousy, coarse language, fingering, squirting, unprotected vaginal sex, orgasm. wrap it before you tap it pls

He just observes. Silently. With his teeth clenched. Lando squeezes her shoulders, voice smooth as he laughs about some cheesy shit. She's got that distinctive laugh when he's with her. That laugh that rings through a room. And she throws her head back, hair cascading down her shoulders. It's not fucking fair only he can have evoke that within her. Oscar knows they'd been each other's best friends since they were old enough to say the words. Doesn't make it any damn better.

And it was he who had won. Oscar. He who'd gotten pole and kept the lead all the way through. He who fended off his own experienced teammate. He who should get the attention. Why the fuck was she making heart eyes at Lando, then?

They manage to separate. Somehow. He stares on with a clenched jaw and Lando, the bastard, sends a smirk his way before heading out to see his parents. She walks over, chipper, none the wiser to his inner turmoil. He'd always avoided speaking to her. Mainly because he knew she had no feelings for him whatsoever. So why bother? Why bother falling for her, knowing in the end....she's gonna choose Lando. But also because his tongue gets tied. And he can't stop staring at her when she speaks. But he can't escape this, trying to keep his eyes off her figure as she saunters.

"You did so well today, Osco," she drawls, smile twisted up in a charming manner. Fuck. The way she calls him that dreaded nickname...

"Thank you," he nods, arms crossed so his biceps flex. It was always on purpose, contrary to popular belief. "Couldn't have done it without the team."

"Must you be so humble?" she chuckles, leaning on the wall in front of him. No. In fact he wasn't. He knew it was all his own doing. The team didn't exactly help in keeping Lando behind him for 52 laps. He wasn't their second fucking driver. He knows he's just...better. But he forces an innocent grin.

"Ah, it's the car, really. But I appreciate the sentiment." She nods, tucking her soft hair behind her ear. It was almost dusk. Golden hour. So the fiery light floods the room, highlighting one side of her face, darkening the other. Like the moon. Gorgeous...

"How you celebrating?"

"Honestly?" he sighs, scratching his neck, tilting it in the perfect position so she could see just how thick his neck was. "Might just treat myself to some Maccas and watch a movie." He never was the partying type of man, contrasting his teammate. He found no pleasure in seeing men and women get drunk and grind on each other to shitty house remixes of pop songs. And he certainly never looked for a girl to take home. The only girl he wanted to fuck was standing right in front of-

No. Fuck no.

"That's boring, don't you think? Let me take you out." The offer was tempting, to say the least. Wherever she was gonna take him, he wouldn't be able to take his eyes off her. Or his hands. He wouldn't be able to do it. He wouldn't be able to resist.

"Ah, that's kind, really. But I have a flight to catch a 4 AM." Lie. It fucking hurt to lie to her like that. But it was better than potentially jumping her like a wild animal and ruining everything he'd worked so. Damn. Hard. To. Build. She frowns, sighing. It's clear she doesn't buy the lie.

"That's too bad. Some other time, then." He nods in agreement, making a mental note to pack protection for the so-called 'other time.' "I'll see you next week, then?"

"Yeah, yeah, you will. Yeah. You'll see me on the top step again." He hides the cocky smirk daring to embrace his face and just laughs instead.

"Sure. Have a good night."

"And you," he nods, swallowing thickly. His hands are trembling but he hides him by shoving them in his pockets. And the look on her face isn't happy as she leaves. Great. Fucked up. Again.

He's in his room drunk when he sees the videos.

Of them out. Clubbing. They're intoxicated.

Classic.

Singing "Titanium" on top of their lungs (reminding Oscar of the shitty music that frequented clubs and why he would never visit one again), holding each other while making fierce eye contact.

And he damn near breaks the phone.

They're way too close to just be motherfucking friends. In a lapse of judgement, he switches to iMessages, shooting a quick text to Lando.

It's unlike Oscar.

He doesn't call.

He doesn't wake up until there's a loud knock on his hotel room door. The beer clouds his mind, legs feeling like jelly as he makes his way to open the door. Lando leans against the doorway, jaw clenched.

"Mind explaining what that was last night?" Lando lets himself in, gaze steely, voice an eerie calm. Oscar hasn't a fucking idea of what Lando's talking about.

So all he manages in reply is a dumb "Huh?"

While rolling his eyes, Lando takes our his phone out of his pocket and shows Oscar the texts that he sent. Apparently. Must've been piss drunk.

"What...What's this in reference to?"

"Well, you didn't exactly say when you called me a 'cunt' but i'm guessing you saw something from last night." He pockets his phone, crossing his arms.

And then it rushes back. The close lips. The drunken singing. The fucking holding.

"You're fucking her, aren't you?" It just comes out. It's crude but it sums up his thoughts. And he realises his mistake because Lando's eyes widen.

"Are you fucking insane? Seriously? You think I'm fuckin' sleeping with her?"

"Yeah, you know what? Yeah. You think I don't see the eyes you make at each other? The media's accepted her as your WAG, about time I do too-"

"Shut your bloody mouth." He whispers. Low. Dangerous. "She's my best friend and that's all she'll ever be. And I know you're angry but that doesn't give you a right to spew bullshit at me." Oscar looks away. He knows Lando's right. Of course he is. They're better than this. But fuck, that girl has him feeling things he shouldn't. Acting like he shouldn't. He's a damn monster because of her.

"What else do you want me to think? Hm? When I see you and her singing in each other's mouths? Dancing with each other? Do you have any idea how much it stings-"

"Then talk to me, Osc. You never told me you liked her. I figured it out on my own. And honestly, I'm getting sick of being the damn owl in between you two."

Fuck.

Now he feels bad. Lando had always been there for him. Through it all. Through the lows of McLaren he started out with. Through the dumb team orders. He didn't deserve Oscar's selfish episodes. But he doesn't apologise. He just stares at the carpet until Lando speaks.

"I'm gonna bring her here tonight-" Oscar cuts him off.

"I told her I had a 4 AM flight." He mutters.

"Yeah, no shit you lied, she knew it the moment you told her," Lando scoffs. Oscar rolls his eyes, knowing it was a dumb move. Now she probably thinks he hates her for rejecting her invitation... "I told her it was because you're an idiot. I'm gonna ask her to come here. Say you want to apologise. And...you take it from there." He swallows thickly, nodding. He could damn near kiss Lando for his kindness.

"Thanks. Thanks a lot." He fiddles with his maroon shirt.

"If you fuck this up..."

"I won't. Swear. Not this time." He reassures Lando. He'd be the biggest idiot in the world to fumble this opportunity. Which Oscar isn't. Sometimes. They wrap up the formalities and Lando leaves. He's just grateful he didn't cause a rift between them. After Logan left, Lando's the only true friend Oscar had.

He waits the whole day.

He counts every second.

Ever minute.

Every hour.

He irons his shirt twice. Brushes his teeth enough to destroy his toothbrush. Polishes his shoes so one could use it as a mirror. And spends an hour trying to figure out how many buttons of his shirt should be undone so he would look hot but not desperate.

And then he hears the knock, her sweet voice ringing. "Oscar? It's me." She's early by five minutes. He didn't even get to check his cuffs. He breathes deeply, opening the door, putting on his nonchalance act.

"Hey, come in," she steps into his suite. And god, she smells like a dream. Looks like one too. With that lace dress he can see her bra through, the fucking bare legs carrying her. Oh, he was done for. "T-take a seat, yeah, think of it as your own house." Why the fuck did he say that? Idiot!

She smiles sweetly and sits on the edge of the bed. "Lando said you had something you wanted to say to me." He sits beside her. Cautious. Careful not to touch her or the dam of desire he was keeping locked inside him would break.

“Yeah, I did.” He looks anywhere but at her. One look at her perfect mascara-covered lashes and all he’d wanna do is make the mascara run down her cheeks. “Sorry for, uh… blowing you off.” The words scrape out, rough and inadequate.

She doesn’t say anything right away. Just tilts her head, arms crossed, like she’s trying to decide if he’s worth the effort. Again.

“You had a plane,” she says, voice carefully neutral. “That’s what you told me.”

“I didn't,” he lies again, softer this time, and immediately hates himself for it. He exhales, rubs the back of his neck. “Okay. I was. I just… I didn’t think I could handle seeing you.”

Her lips part, confusion flashing across her face before it hardens into something unreadable. “So instead you lied to me. Classy.”

“I didn’t lie...,” he says too fast, too defensive. “I just...needed space.”

“Funny. I offered you dinner. Not a proposal.”

That shuts him up.

The silence stretches. Heavy. Uncomfortable. And all he can think about is how close she is, how good she smells, how stupid he is for missing that dinner—for missing her.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, this time quieter. Real.

“I didn’t come,” he says suddenly, voice low, “because I like you.”

She blinks. The anger in her eyes falters, just slightly.

He exhales, finally looking at her. “I lied about being busy because I didn’t trust myself. I didn’t want to come over and—mess it all up. Say the wrong thing. Or worse, jump you like some idiot with no self-control.”

Her brows draw together, confused now. Not angry. Just trying to figure him out.

“I wanted it too bad,” he says. “You. I wanted you too bad.” He laughs bitterly, eyes on the floor. “So yeah. I lied. Because I liked you. And because I’m a coward who didn’t know how to handle it.”

She doesn’t speak right away.

Just watches him. With a different perspective. Like the sharp edges of her anger have dulled under the weight of something warmer. Softer.

“I liked you too, you idiot,” she says quietly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I invited you out. What did you think that was about?”

He huffs out a laugh, eyes flicking up to meet hers. There's disbelief there. Relief. Want. "Yeah, well, I thought you wanted Lando."

She laughs in a way that makes him feel like an idiot. "Are you serious?"

"You're always so fucking close. But he came in here this morning. Told me I was being a dick."

"You were," she leans in, whispering.

His gaze drops to her lips. He doesn’t even try to hide it.

She leans in just a fraction, eyes half-lidded. “I wore mascara for you, you know.”

His jaw tenses.

“Wouldn’t mind if it ran a little,” she adds, barely audible.

Something in him snaps—not violently, but with aching restraint. His hands hover at her waist, like he's asking for permission even though his body is already leaning into the answer.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasps.

“I won’t.”

His hand splays over the fabric, gripping her dress like it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. And then—he yanks her forward, mouth crashing into hers with a groan that sounds more like a growl.

There’s nothing soft about it. It’s messy. All teeth and tongue and desperation. Like he’s starving and she’s the first thing he’s been allowed to touch in months.

She barely has time to gasp before he’s pressing her into the bed, one arm braced beside her head, the other gripping her thigh and hitching it up around his waist. The dress rides up. He doesn’t even care. Doesn’t think.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he snarls against her jaw, lips dragging along her pulse. “I didn’t come over because I wanted to rip this fucking dress off the second I saw you.”

His teeth graze her throat. Not gentle. Not playful. Claiming.

She moans, fingers in his hair now, nails raking his scalp, and it only spurs him on. Makes him insane.

“You invited me over like it was nothing. Like you didn’t know I’ve been going insane thinking about you.”

He kisses her again, harder, his body pressed flush against hers, hips locking into the space between her legs like he was meant to be there.

“I lied because if I came over, I would’ve taken you right there on the goddamn dinner table.”

Her breath stutters.

He laughs darkly, hand curling around her neck—not tight, just enough for her to feel the tremble in his fingers.

“You want mascara to run?” His mouth is on her ear now, voice low, wrecked. “Say the word and I’ll have you crying in five minutes, pretty girl.”

And the worst part?

She wants him like this.

God help them both.

So she nods.

Small. Slow. But there’s something in her eyes. A glassy, reckless glint , that sends lightning straight through his spine.

His breath catches like it hurts.

Because fuck, she means it.

And she knows exactly what she’s agreeing to.

He laughs. Sharp, disbelieving, half-mad. His fingers dig into her hips, grounding himself before he does something he won’t come back from. But he’s already past that point. Already gone.

“God, you’re gonna ruin me,” he whispers like a prayer, forehead pressed to hers, his voice wrecked with need. “One little nod and I’d burn down the whole fucking world for you.”

She tilts her head, lips parted, panting, daring.

So he does what any man completely gone would do — he takes that nod as gospel.

He drags her to the floor like gravity means nothing, lays her out like she’s sacrament. Worship and destruction all in one. His hands tremble with how hard he’s holding back.

“I want everything,” he breathes, eyes blazing. “Every sound, every tear, every breath you’ve got left.”

He grabs her legs roughly, placing them over his legs. His hands hook into the waistband of her panties and pulls them off so quick they rip. He doesn't apologise. Hell, he doesn't fucking care. He tosses them somewhere before spreading her wide and pressing his tongue against her core. His eyes flutter shut and she tastes like everything he'd ever dreamed of. Whines spill out of her. Whimpers. He eats. Sucks. Licks. Slurps.

His hands grip her inner thighs bruisingly, holding her apart despite her trembles and squirms. Her hand lands in his hair, pulling so hard it hurts. But in all honestly, it just makes him hornier. It takes him a while to realise she's screaming. Spasming. Worried, he pulls away.

"Fuck, you good?" She heaves, breasts bouncing through the dress.

"I just came 3 times in a row, what the fuck do you think?" Three times? Holy fuck, he's going on like a man possessed. He lets out a light chuckle, licking her sweetness one final time before moving to his knees and placing his middle finger on her tongue. He shoves it so far down she nearly gags before snugly fitting in his ring too.

"That's right, pretty girl. Suck."

His fingers get coated in slimy wet. He pulls out of her mouth, teasing her clit with it, earning a sweet sweet groan out of her.

He doesn't give any warning.

Then he sticks his fingers in, making her jerk and tremble.

"Ngh!" she screams and he places a hand over her mouth.

"Careful, my angel. Wouldn't wanna have the hotel staff complaining?" She nods sweetly, fluids dripping out of her and sticking to the carpet. He makes a mental note to clean that later. The repercussions would be embarrassing, to say the least.

A flash and she squirts. She fucking squirts. Screaming. Aching.

He laps up the squirt almost immediately, savouring the sour tang on his tongue. All she does is lie there pathetically, groaning.

"Need...dick inside you..." he heaves, eyes glazed over. He pulls away, lips wet with her fluids. "Is that okay?" She lets out a soft whine as permission, hearing the gentle thud of his belt hitting the carpet. His veins already throb, swollen tip leaking. He's been wanting to intertwine their souls together for far too long. Wanting to leave an imprint on her no one could erase. He slaps his dick on her clit a few times before sliding into her, letting out a throaty growl. "My love..."

"Mghfh!" her hands desperately cling onto something. Anything. For leverage. She settles on his shirt, an iron-clad grip bound to leave dirty nail marks on his skin.

The sounds they make are erotic.

Skin slapping skin.

Whines.

Groans.

Wet squelching.

And fuck, mixed with her pussy, it's all too much.

So much.

Fuck.

"I'm gonna..." she doesn't finish her sentence before he's already spilling inside her, wet bursts filled with cum spoiling the hotel room carpet. He couldn't give a single shit.

His eyes fixed on her. The hair strands that clung to her face. Her flushed cheeks, sweaty neck. Fuck. He could cum right then and there.

"You okay?" He asks, voice raspy. She softly nods, brains fucked out. He knows it's time to stop, time to lay in bed with her, talk about everything he loves about her. Until he hears another squeak.

"Another round?"

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri imagine #mclaren #mclaren x reader #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri #op81 #op81 smut #f1 smut #oscar piastri smut #lvrspiastriasks #lvrspiastriwrites

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dollishmehrayan · 8 months ago

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BATBOYS TOXIC TRAITS / RED FLAGS + GREEN FLAGS ── .✦

a/n: the thing is, they all aren’t like problematic when it comes to relationships but they do have some things and flaws which when heard sound “oh okay that’s fine” but may be like super annoying in a irl relationship also this was a request by anon (here)! (Tags: batboys x reader)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Chronic People-Pleaser: Will prioritize everyone’s needs over his own (or yours), leading to burnout… and you having to remind him you exist.

Flirty by Nature: He’s not trying to flirt… it just happens. That waitress? Nope, not on purpose, but yeah, you’ll roll your eyes a lot.

Hero Complex: He always has to “save” people, including you, even when you’re perfectly fine handling it yourself. “I got it, babe.” No, you don’t, Dick.

GREEN FLAGS:

Emotionally Intelligent: He can read your mood like a book and knows exactly how to make you smile (with pancakes shaped like hearts).

Physical Affection Expert: Hugs, cuddles, forehead kisses—you’re basically his personal teddy bear.

Supportive King: He’s your biggest cheerleader, hyping you up in the most genuine, heartfelt ways. “That’s my girl.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Anger Issues: He’ll throw hands for you at the slightest provocation. Guy looks at you wrong? Jason’s already removing his jacket.

Emotionally Guarded: Good luck getting him to open up. He’s more likely to tell you his deepest fears after you’ve fallen asleep.

Reckless Behavior: He’ll drag you into the most insane situations and act like it’s no big deal. “What do you mean this is dangerous? It’s fine.”

GREEN FLAGS:

Loyal to a Fault: He’ll defend you with his life, no questions asked. “You mess with her, you mess with me.”

Soft Romantic: Beneath the tough exterior, he’s writing you sweet notes and remembering the little things, like how you take your coffee.

Protective (in a good way): He won’t smother you, but he’ll make sure you always feel safe, even if it’s just crossing the street.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Workaholic: He’ll forget to eat, sleep, and sometimes text you back because “the case was just getting good!”

Overthinks Everything: Spends hours analyzing your last text to figure out if you were mad or just tired. “Was that period passive-aggressive?”

Terrible Self-Care: You’ll have to force him to drink water and go to bed like a mom with a rebellious child.

GREEN FLAGS:

Incredibly Thoughtful: He remembers every detail about you, from your favorite flower to that obscure hobby you mentioned once.

Adorably Awkward: His shy smiles and fumbling over words when you flirt back are endlessly endearing.

Problem Solver: He’ll find solutions to all your problems, from fixing your computer to making your bad day better with tea and soft music.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Insanely Jealous: He glares daggers at anyone who looks at you too long. “Why is he breathing near you?”

Judgmental: He might critique your taste in music, books, or anything else with his usual bluntness. “This… is what you listen to?”

Control Freak: He likes things done a certain way and will try to “help” you by micromanaging your life.

GREEN FLAGS:

Devoted Partner: Once he’s in, he’s all in. You’ll never doubt his commitment because he’s always showing up for you.

Loyal Beyond Measure: He’ll defend your honor to anyone, even Bruce. “She’s perfect, Father. You simply lack taste.”

Surprisingly Gentle: Despite his tough exterior, he has a soft side that only you get to see, like the way he pets animals—or you—so tenderly.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

RED FLAGS:

Emotionally Repressed: He’s basically a human brick wall when it comes to expressing his feelings. “I’m… fine.” No, Bruce, you’re not.

Work Comes First: He’ll disappear into the Batcave for days unless you drag him out by the cape which becomes quickly annoying.

Overprotective: He’ll want to track your every move, not because he doesn’t trust you, but because he worries too much. “It’s for your safety.”

GREEN FLAGS:

Quietly Romantic: He may not be overly expressive, but he’ll show love through subtle gestures—like a bouquet of your favorite flowers left on the table.

Ultimate Provider: He makes sure you never want for anything, whether it’s emotional support or physical comfort.

Unshakable Devotion: Once you’ve captured his heart, he’s yours forever. There’s no halfway with Bruce—he’s in it for the long haul.

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vinnyvamppp · 2 months ago

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Two and a Half Graysons

Note: Trust and believe I'm using that horny ass line you ended with as a plot device too. LMFAO. @hhoneylemon

Synopsis: You're not officially a parent, but you might as well be. You're not officially married, but everyone seems to think you are. Between shirtless mornings, grocery store tension, and baby carrier missions, the line between “dating Mark” and “co-raising a purple alien infant with Mark” gets blurrier by the day. But it’s fine. You’re emotionally stable. Probably.

Warnings: Mild Sexual Tension (NO SMUT), Coping With Parenthood, Mild Swearing, Off-screen Canon-level Violence, Found Family & Co-parenting, fluff galour. (Original Request Link: https://www.tumblr.com/vinnyvamppp/783842276548952064/i-have-a-vision-ive-been-thinking-about-when) PART 2 HERE

Mark Grayson (+ Baby Oliver!) x GN!Reader

WC: 1.2k (so cute)

Mark doesn’t ask you to move in. He just starts making space, a shelf here, a drawer cleared there. By the time Oliver starts teething, you’re already brushing your teeth in his bathroom every morning and waking up with a foot in your ribs that definitely doesn’t belong to Mark.

You weren’t expecting him to drop out. No one was. Debbie had offered to help, of course—offered like it was the easiest thing in the world to raise a baby that wasn’t hers, born from a man who had already broken the whole family once. And Mark had just said: “I can’t ask her to do this. He’s my responsibility, my… brother.”

Then he’d looked at you. Like he was bracing for something. For the inevitable pulling away. The “I’m not ready for this” talk. But you’d just nodded. Said: “Okay. We’ll figure it out.” We. His shoulder slumped with a sigh of relief. And that’s how it starts.

It’s not glamorous. Mark’s working two jobs between diaper runs. You’re picking up shifts, catching Oliver when he won’t stop crying, and Mark looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. Some nights, the exhaustion settles over the house like fog, thick and still. Then there’s moments where Oliver laughs or falls asleep on your chest like he knows exactly where he belongs. And everything feels lighter—softer, just right.

Mark negotiated with Cecil… Kind of—out of desperation, moreover. After bringing Oliver back, Mark tried to keep up with college, parenting, and being Earth's part-time savior. It lasted about two weeks. He was late to a Kaiju fight because Oliver had a fever. Left a lab evacuation halfway through to pick him up from your job because the sitter bailed. Cecil nearly had a stroke when Mark fought a teleporting assassin with baby wipes in his pocket.

“I can’t do this full-time. He’s a baby. He’s my responsibility. I’m not leaving him with my mom again and I’m not dragging him into a war zone unless the world’s literally ending.”

Cecil—being a professional manipulator and also somehow slightly terrified of Oliver’s explosive bowel habits, reluctantly agreed. Now, Mark handles non-lethal, low-stakes missions like alien negotiations and minor emergencies.

He takes himself off the active-duty roster unless it’s a Level Red situation, and Cecil sends backup or Eve when something big hits. Mark still trains—still reports in, but often while bouncing a baby on his chest or feeding him yogurt off-camera. So what happens day to day? He flashes by your job to drop off Oliver. Literally, he’ll appear mid-conversation, hair a mess, onesie on backward.

“Hey babe, sorry—can you watch him for like two hours? There's a tidal wave hitting France. Be back by lunch. Probably.” Kisses you mid-chaos, and vanishes in a loud boom. Sometimes he leaves you with a half-full bottle and a sticky pacifier and expects you to just vibe.

If that isn't an option, he wears a baby carrier during missions. Look, not for the big ones. But if the threat is “giant sewer rat” or “angry alien ambassador who doesn’t understand doors,” Oliver is strapped to his chest like a tiny judgmental but giggly backpack with earmuffs. You even designed him a superhero onesie that says, "Invinci-baby," and yes—he wears it at every outing.

“You’re bringing a baby?”

“He likes the wind.”

“He’s drooling on your comm.”

“He’s observing diplomacy.”

Cecil threatens to fire him weekly. Debbie sighs deeply every time she sees the footage on GDA security—just to check in when needing Cecil to make sense of this. All the while watching Doc Seismic scream “IS THAT A CHILD?!” mid-monologue. Today, you didn’t realize how dangerous this grocery trip is going to be until Mark lifts the baby carrier with one arm like it’s nothing. He’s Invincible—what did you expect? His gray t-shirt rides up just enough to make your soul flicker out of your body like a dying TV screen. Focus on the produce section. Innocent terrain, right? You grab a head of lettuce. You do not look at the way Mark bounces Oliver gently while scanning for cereal. You are a good person, a person with restraint. He’s doing that thing again—being effortlessly domestic. Like, hot dad energy turned up to eleven. Every time he reads a nutrition label or wipes drool off Oliver’s chin, your brain short-circuits a little more.

You used to flirt shamelessly. Make out in supply closets, pull him into his room by the collar. But now? Now you’re in aisle six, arguing about formula brands, and trying not to climb him in front of a shelf of canned peas.

“I think we should get the oatmeal-based one,” Mark says, turning towards you. And there it is: that low voice, as he leaned in slightly. The focus with that soft-eyed, fully attentive attitude. You blink at him, trying to play it cool as you bite your tongue. “Whatever keeps his poop neutral. I'm not reliving last week.” Mark gave a crooked grin, brow raised, his shoulder hitching, “The explosion?”

“Don’t—” you groan, covering Oliver’s ear. “Don’t traumatize him again. We had to hose down the high chair, Mark.” A grin tugged at the corners of your lips. He laughs under his breath and sets the formula in the cart. You watch the muscles in his forearm flex as he pushes it forward. You’re sweating now—It’s winter. “Why do you look tense?” he asks. You gesture around helplessly. “Because this is basically foreplay, and there’s a baby in the cart.”

Mark chokes on a laugh, reaching instinctively to cover Oliver’s ears. “You can’t say stuff like that while I’m holding our son.” You freeze. “Our son?” His eyes widen a little. The cart keeps rolling. The baby stares up at the ceiling fan, utterly indifferent to the life-changing moment. “…I mean,” Mark starts, fumbling now, “he’s not yours, but like—well, he kind of—”

“Mark.” You step in close, dropping your voice. “If you keep talking in that voice and calling him our son, I swear to God, I will embarrass us in this store.” Mark’s eyes flick to your mouth, then back to Oliver. His jaw flexes with blotches of pink creeping up his neck. “I hate that we can’t do anything about this.” You both stare at each other for a second too long. Then Oliver lets out a dramatic sneeze that breaks the tension like a rock through a window. You sigh. “We’re in hell.” Mark leans over and kisses your temple. “At least we’re in hell together.” You glance at the shopping list and mutter, “Add wine.” He stares at you in bewildered silence— “For Ms. Grayson.”

You find yourself thinking about stupid things. Like the taste of oatmeal lingering on your tongue. Like whether you’ll need a bigger place. Like whose last name Oliver will have. Like if Mark knows he hums when he’s rocking the baby to sleep, tuneless and low, and how your whole chest aches every time you hear it. You’d marry him. That thought hits you while Mark is on the floor of the living room, one sock on, hair a mess, cooing nonsense while Oliver grabs at his nose. You’d marry him tomorrow. Or bend him or let him bend you over the desk right now. Whichever happens first.

You’ve seen this man explode aliens. Why is him wearing low-slung sweatpants more threatening to your mental health than intergalactic war? But you don’t tell him that. You just hand him the bottle, brush your fingers against his, and whisper, “You’re doing okay.” Mark looks up at you—tired and worn down, but smiling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A/N: Literally kicking my feet as I write this, I will forever love your big, beautiful brain. Hopefully, this was decent, my friend. :)

Part 2: Our Son, Apparently

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

#ask reply #fanfic #invincible #x reader #invincible show #invincible comic #mark grayson #fem reader #male reader #invincible x gn reader #mark grayson x reader #invincible season 3 #invincible mark grayson #mark grayson invincible #mark grayson fanfic #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x y/n #mark grayson fluff #invincible fluff

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not-neverland06 · 11 months ago

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broken promises

pt two

bodyguard!logan howlett x congressman's daughter!reader

a/n: the fact that he was canonically a bodyguard makes me absolutely insane someone congratulate me, I finally figured out how to make my own dividers Summary: He's learned from past mistakes that no matter how tempting the girl is, it's better not to get involved. He just needs some cash, he doesn't give a fuck how pretty you are. He doesn't care about you. He makes it clear he wants nothing to do with you besides seeing you sign his check. But, is that really all he wants? You're not blind to the way he looks at you. 18+ MDNI Shameless smut at the end, I'm not sorry about it at all.

Logan had gotten used to this. The long drawn-out wait to meet with the man who wanted to hire him. He always arrived right on time, not a moment earlier. They all had the same game they liked to play.

The secretary would greet him, a pretty girl in her 20s that the men were screwing or trying to screw. Then they would make him sit in the lobby for half an hour. They’d apologize by pushing the blame on someone else, saying a meeting had gone on too long. But there wasn’t a meeting. There never was.

They liked to make themselves seem more important than they were. It was a power game, an intimidation tactic that he had always scoffed at. He didn’t give a fuck what government ties they had or otherwise. He just wanted his paycheck.

This one was no different. A congressman who had only recently begun to make waves when he started up an anti-mutant agenda. Ironic that he had specifically requested Logan for the very thing he was trying to eradicate.

There was a buzz and then the secretary was picking up her phone. She spared Logan a fleeting glance before whispering something into the receiver. She looked over at him and he already knew what she was going to say. “He’s ready for you now.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” she gave him a coquettish smile as he made his way towards the large office at the end of the hall. The door was closed when he reached it, three quick knocks and then a quiet Come in.

The man didn’t even look up to greet him. He continued signing something on his desk. Logan took a seat in one of the chairs, waiting for another few minutes before he was deemed important enough to address. He received a tight smile and narrowed eyes as the man took in the way he was dressed.

He never dressed up for these things. He’d learned a while ago that a suit wasn’t going to get him any further than his leather jacket was. Might as well be comfortable while talking to these pricks.

“Had a phone call with an associate of mine. Ran on longer than I meant it to.” Always an excuse, never an apology.

Logan scoffed and shrugged. “I was fine.”

The man sniffed, “I’m sure. Look, I’ll cut straight to the chase. You come highly recommended by my peers and I need help fast.” Logan nodded, motioning for him to continue. The man’s eyes lingered on his fists for a long while before he finished. “It’s my daughter. Things have been a little rough for her at school, for lack of a better word. Especially since this new campaign started. I just need someone to keep a closer eye on her.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, “She a party girl or something?” He wasn’t sure he could handle another bratty daddy’s girl again. The last one had nearly made him blow his brains out. They always think flipping their skirts up will let them get away with more and he can’t stand it.

The man’s face blanched and he shook his head so vigorously that his jowls moved with him. “Oh, no, not at all. But she’s,” he paused and lowered his voice. He leaned in closer to Logan and waited for Logan to do the same. He rolled his eyes but did it anyway. “She’s like you, you know.”

Logan shot him a grin, “You mean a mutant.”

“Lower your voice,” he hissed, face tightening up in anger. “But, yes, a mutant. And I need one to guard her.” Ironic, this man was driving a campaign to make mutants second-class citizens, and his daughter was one. But Logan needed a check, he didn’t give a fuck about the morals of it all.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Perfect, you can pick her up from school for me.”

You had your earbuds in, head lowered while you made the trek across campus when you noticed him. He was difficult to miss, tall and buff. Very buff, you’re surprised that tank top of his hasn’t ripped every time he flexes.

Your dad’s newest campaign has you hyper-aware of your surroundings. You can’t afford to let your guard down. Not after the last attack.

There’s something about this man that tells you he isn’t someone looking to jump you, though. You’re not sure what it is. Every part of him screams danger, but not the type you’re looking out for. The cigar perched between his lips, the glistening muscles you want to bite, he’s trouble.

When you spot him outside your lecture hall for the third time that day, you finally figure out what’s happening. Your dad had told you he’d hired someone new to watch over you at school. You hadn’t voiced just how against it you were, but you didn’t like the idea.

You didn’t mind this guy, though. He wasn’t busting into your classes and embarrassing the shit out of you by making everyone empty their pockets like the last guy. He just lingered. You could deal with lingering.

What you couldn’t deal with was the way he was leaning against his motorcycle, smirking as you slowly approached him.

“Did my dad hire you?” You call out, tugging your earbuds out. “Who are you?”

He speaks around the cigar like it's second nature. “Your new bodyguard, sweetheart.” You suck in a deep breath when you hear his voice. He’s extremely attractive, you're surprised your dad would risk this.

One of the other ones had kind of gotten a little obsessed, stalking you even in his off hours. You didn’t think your dad would want another pretty boy around you. Though, you suppose this one isn’t pretty. He’s extremely handsome, ruggedly so, very manly. Jesus, you might end up being the stalker this time.

His lips curl up like he knows what you’re thinking about. You clear your throat, shifting your backpack higher up your arm. “You planning on taking me home on that?” You ask, pointing at his bike.

He straightens up and shrugs. “Got a problem with the bike?”

You grin, “Not really,” but your dad will. “No, not at all.”

You walk towards him and he reaches out, grabbing your backpack straps and tugging you towards him. You stumble, hands bracing against his chest so you don’t land flat on your face. “Sorry, kid,” but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He buckles the straps of your backpack together and tightens them, puffing smoke in your face while he does. “Don’t want this flying off.”

“Mhm,” you hum. You’re not paying attention at all. The only thing you care about right now is just how ripped he is under your hands. You’re not sure how long you gawk at him but he seems to be ridiculously amused by it.

“Ready to go home, or what?” You jump back from him, brushing your hands off on your leggings and clearing your throat.

“Yes, yeah.” You rip your eyes off his body and instead focus on the bike. “No helmets?” You ask.

“You heal, don’t you?” You nod and he shrugs. “Don’t need them then, do we?”

You can’t help the giddy grin on your face at that. It’s gotten tiring being treated like glass. You’re about to get on the bike when you finally process what he said. “Wait, how do you know I heal?”

He doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, his gaze darts down to his fists. Your eyes widen when you see the metal poking through the skin. Of course, your father would only tell another mutant about his abomination of a daughter. You scoff and roll your eyes. He’s such a fucking hypocrite.

Logan climbs on the bike and you follow after him. You're hesitant to wrap your arms around his waist but he just reaches behind himself and jerks you forward.

You suck in a sharp breath, pelvis tight against his ass while he squeezes your hands. “You want to go flying?” You shake your head and he chuckles, starting the bike and driving off without another word.

Part of you loves the ride home, the other part detests it. For once you get to experience a little freedom. You’re not trapped in a steel box staring at the back of a car seat while the man beside you pretends he doesn’t exist.

You can feel the wind in your hair, get a taste of real speed, and enjoy a moment uninterrupted by someone’s expectations of you. On the other hand, Logan does not respect speeding laws. And healing abilities or not, you don’t actually want to experience road rash.

He manages to get you home in one piece, parking the motorcycle in the driveway and waiting for you to get off. But you can’t, your thighs have been clenching the seat so tight you think they might need to scrape you off.

“Kid?” He mutters. You shake your head against his back, arms still strangling his waist. It was actually kind of fucking terrifying being on one of these things. You can’t tell if you loved or hated it.

He lets out a rough sigh, forcibly moving your arms and then tugging you off the seat. Your legs are like jello while you try and straighten out. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks. You can’t manage much more than a strangled hum and he laughs.

You turn to your front door and spot a leering face peering out the window. “Shit,” you huff. Your stepmother sees you spot her and disappears from view. You feel your hopes of ever getting back on that bike go with her.

“You took her home on your bike!”

“Well-”

You flinch at the volume of your father’s voice. “I don’t give a fuck what your excuse is! I will not have my daughter seen riding that monstrosity! You are not to do this again, do you understand me?”

You don’t know what Logan says, but you’re certain it’s not the submissive Yes, sir your father is looking for. He continues shouting at him for another ten minutes. When you hear the door to his office open you scramble to look like you hadn’t been listening in.

But you’re a bad actress and if his huff of laughter is anything to go by, Logan knows what you were doing. “Did you know that was going to happen?” He asks, pointing back to your father’s, now closed, study.

You nod, pursing your lips with an apologetic smile. “If it helps, I was really hoping he wouldn’t do that.”

He shrugs, “I don’t really give a fuck how much he wants to scream at me.” It’s refreshing, to finally have someone in the house who doesn’t kiss your father’s ass. It makes you smile, a real genuine smile for the first time in a while.

You stand from the chair you’d been sitting in, gesturing further into your home. “Are you hungry? I haven’t eaten all day so I was thinking about making something.”

The smirk drops from his face, expression suddenly serious. It makes you tense up. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m here to get paid. I don’t want to be your friend, kid.”

You suck in a sharp breath, trying not to let the rejection sting. He’s a professional, it should be a relief after the last one. “Right, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that.”

He nods, “Right,” tone stiff. You stare at him for another awkwardly long moment before you finally turn on your heel and walk toward the kitchen. You rush there, speedwalking so you don’t have to look at him any longer.

You open up your fridge, keeping your back to him for as long as humanly possible. You can hear him take a seat at the island, can feel the way his eyes bore into you. It’s a physical thing, his gaze, makes chills scrape their way down your spine.

You make yourself a sandwich and finally force yourself to turn around. Like you’d expected, he’s already looking at you. Lips ticking up just slightly when you finally get the courage to look up at him.

Logan feels a little guilty. You weren’t coming onto him earlier, you were being genuine with your kindness. He knows there were no ulterior motives to it and there’s a very slight part of him that feels bad for making you so quiet. “Why’s your dad so pissy about the bike?”

You’re a little startled by the question, after the comment he made you’d thought he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. You swallow down the rest of your bite and cough a little when the bread gets stuck on the roof of your mouth.

“He doesn’t want me to crash.”

“But you heal,” he points out bluntly and you can’t help but laugh a little.

“Yeah, that’s the problem. He doesn’t want me to crash and for someone to see that I miraculously healed. Having a freak for a daughter wouldn’t exactly help his campaign, would it?” You can’t even attempt to hide the bitterness in your voice. And you know Logan picks up on it because he doesn’t ask any more questions.

Your gaze drops to your plate and you finish the rest of your meal in silence. Or, you try to. “Got any plans tonight?”

You chuckle and give him an odd look. “No,” you respond sardonically. “None at all, prepare yourself for a very boring job. I don’t even know why he hired you, I never leave the house unless it's for school.”

“Yeah?” he muses, but he doesn’t seem particularly interested. More like he’s talking just to pass the time. “I heard you’ve been having a hard time at school.”

You suck in a sharp breath, a sudden wave of anger roiling through your gut. The cabinets behind you begin to shake and you wince in embarrassment, tamping down on your powers before you accidentally blow up the kitchen.

Logan watches the moment with subdued interest like he’s not all that surprised or impressed with the display. “Unless they were a PoliSci nerd, I was a nobody up until last year.” There’s no concealing the hate lurking within your words, “And then my dad took up this whole anti-mutant regime. Well, you can imagine how much the activists love me. I’ve just had a few incidents with some particularly passionate protestors.”

“Do you believe in it?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, you hadn’t expected him to actually continue the conversation. “What do you mean?”

He leans back, arms crossed across his chest in a way that makes his biceps bulge. He shrugs, “The anti-mutant regime, do you agree with it?”

You open your mouth, the perfected script almost rolling off your tongue. But this isn’t some politician's son you’re wooing. You’re not the perfect daughter, you’re in your own home, finally talking to someone else like you.

“No.” You answer, voice strong in its conviction. “And every time I see one of his PAs running around with their little signs I want to ram the stick up their ass.”

He barks out a laugh, eyes crinkling up in amusement. “I think we might get along, kid.”

You try to ignore the way your cheeks warm at his words. You don’t want to be this affected by him, you’ve barely spoken to him. But this is the first person in a long time that you know with absolute certainty you can be honest with. He doesn’t care about protecting your political image or bowing to your father’s every whim.

It’s a relief, like a constricting weight being taken off your chest. You give him an easy smile and get up to wash your dishes. His eyes are on you again but they feel less oppressive this time. You’ve already forgotten the rule he’s set in place, you’re not supposed to be friends.

It’s going to be hard to remember that.

Your father tightens his grip around your waist until you feel like you might squeal. “Smile, now.” You raise your hand, taking the stairs up the stage and waving out at the crowd that’s formed. It’s hot today, your makeup would be melting off if it weren’t for the artists who put it on for you.

Always have to look good in front of the camera. All of you. Seeing Logan in a suit was certainly a surprise. You’re almost completely sure that your father had to give him a bonus to even consider wearing it today.

He looks good, but you honestly prefer him in the normal beater and leather jacket. It’s something so uniquely him. This is just a reminder of your reality, that nothing around you is real. It’s all pretty lies wrapped up in expensive clothes.

You have to bite your tongue and hold back a grimace when your father begins his speech. “First, we had to let them into our jobs. Now they’re in our schools! Our children aren’t safe, not when they’ve got loaded weapons sitting beside them! Because that’s exactly what they are, weapons of mass destruction that will take apart-”

“Fuck me,” you hiss under your breath. Your cheeks hurt from keeping this smile on your face. You’re struggling not to flinch every time the crowd surges up to agree with him, bigoted shouts making your ears bleed.

Logan’s brows raise and he gives you a brief glance over his shoulder. Your face pinches in confusion only for a moment before you quickly correct it. Still, you keep your lips nearly completely motionless as you whisper, “Can you hear me?”

You dart your gaze back down to him and catch the barest of nods. Your smile softens, becoming something real if only for a moment. You don’t say anything else, you don’t need to. It’s just a comfort to know someone else is there with you, seeing through the painted faces and plastic smiles.

There’s movement in the crowd. It cuts your father off midsentence. He peers over the podium, trying to get a better look at what’s happening. You hear someone scream and then the entire crowd is getting knocked to the ground.

You jump back in shock, everyone on stage still. The security, however, is rushing to get to you and your family. It’s too late, though, there’s a mutant in the crowd and his eyes are set on you. “Fuck you,” he screams out your father's name and lugs something at the stage.

You hear someone shout your name but it’s too late. Glass shatters against the side of your face. It takes less than a second for the pain to start. You can feel holes being burned through your skin, like living fire melting through your bones and gums. A scream rips out of your throat, your hands coming up to block your face too late.

“Get her out of here!”

As agonizing as it is, you can already feel your skin working to mend itself. You can practically hear the flesh bonding back together. But the acid is dripping down you. It keeps moving steadily through your clothes and skin, your abilities on overdrive trying to repair the damage.

You can’t focus on anything except the sensation of being burned alive. Suddenly, there’s an arm being thrown around your shoulder and you’re being lifted off your feet. Your skin scrapes against the rough material of someone’s blazer and it makes you grit your teeth and scream again.

“I know, hold on kid, it’ll be over in a minute.” Logan rushes you behind the stage, where there are no cameras to watch you heal. You don’t know how your father’s PR team is going to spin this. Everyone saw it, saw the way your flesh bubbled and boiled. There’s no hiding the fact that half your face should be melted off.

“Car,” you grunt out when he puts you on your feet again.

His hands are clamped firmly around your shoulders, inspecting you for any further damage. “What?”

“We gotta get to the car,” the words are a struggle to get out. Your lungs constrict painfully in your chest while you force the rest out. “Can’t let them see.”

He looks pissed off that that's what you're worried about and not the fact that you were just attacked. Finally, after a minute of just staring at you, he nods. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and runs with you back to the limo. He throws the door open, pushing you inside and sliding in beside you.

You take in a deep breath the second you’re no longer in view of the TV cameras. “Fuck,” you gasp out. Your dress is in tatters on your left side and you quickly cover your chest. You pray that you didn’t accidentally flash anything while you were still on stage. Your father would never forgive you for that.

It’s silent in the car for a moment. You feel something being draped over your shoulder and look over to see Logan passing you his jacket. When he catches your gaze he gently grabs your jaw and titls your face towards his.

His eyes rove over the left side of your face and he gives you a tight smile. “You’re fine, kid.”

You pull your chin out of his grip and pull his jacket closed around you. “See why my father wanted you around? How would he have ever explained his daughter surviving an acid attack?”

There’s something pinched in his gaze. A deep-seated irritation and something else you’re too tired to identify. He’s looking at you oddly and you wish he wouldn’t. You press your forehead to the cool glass of the window and slump against the car door.

You don’t know when you fall asleep but by the time you wake up, Logan’s already carrying you up to your room. He sees you shift awake and places you on your feet. You steady yourself against the stair banister and walk the rest of the way to your room, trying to shake off the pain of the day.

You look back just in time to see Logan at the front door. “Goodnight,” you call down to him. You know he can hear you, but he walks through the door without another word. You bite your lip, ignoring the sinking feeling of your gut.

You toss your destroyed dress to the floor and turn your TV on. You surf through the channels for a bit before finding a clip of today’s incident. “-apparently part of a protest for mutants against the government. I don’t know Bill, they seem to just be proving everybody’s point. They are unsafe.”

“I agree, my thoughts and prayers go out to…”

You roll your eyes as they say your name. They’re saying it wasn’t acid, instead it’s some sort of chemical compound that causes extreme pain. Even you don’t believe that bullshit. You have a feeling your father is going to be looking for a new PR team tomorrow.

Your attention is snagged by the replay of the accident. You don’t focus on the acid, you don’t want to. Instead, you see how quickly Logan rushed to your side. He seemed to be right there even as the acid was being thrown.

Your brows pinch together and you glance at the jacket beside you. He’d forgotten to take it back before he left. You pick it up, eyes skating over the fabric before you find what you’re looking for. There’s a large hole in the right sleeve, acid having burned through it.

You hadn’t even realized he was in pain. You know he can heal, but it doesn’t get rid of the fluttering feeling in your stomach. You’ve never had someone look after you like that.

You grin to yourself, tucking the jacket in the back of your closet. You’re sure he wouldn’t want it back and you’re not planning on parting with it anytime soon.

You’re on house arrest for a week after the acid incident. Which includes no school. Your father has to play into the idea that you’re recovering from the trauma and healing. You don’t know how much longer he’s planning on keeping you locked up but you’re going stir crazy.

Not only do you not get to go to classes, but Logan isn’t around either. He doesn’t need to be, not when the only place you’re in is your room. He’s not a friend, he’s made that clear, but he’s something. And you are desperately craving that specific something.

“It was a sickening attack against my daughter that my wife and I are still trying to recover from.” You roll your eyes as you listen to your father spew his bullshit to the interviewer in the next room.

You’re not allowed to be out and about, of course. You can’t risk someone seeing you. But that doesn’t stop you from lurking.

“It was an incredibly traumatic experience for her, I’m sure.” You grin to yourself, picking at your nails. You like this one, whoever the reporter is interviewing him. She hasn’t let him catch a break. Especially not when he tries to capitalize on your trauma. Even though he hasn’t checked in once with you.

“Well,” he splutters for a moment. “Yes, of course,” he tries to sound humble but anyone can tell he’s just covering his ass. “And it just further proves what I’ve always said about mutants. They are animals, they’re not like us.”

You’d think at a certain point you’d go numb to it. You’ve been raised hearing this rhetoric from him all your life. But the sting never eases. That cloying ache in your chest never quite leaves you. Not when you know the only reason he publicly accepts you is for political gains. So everyone can see what a wonderful father he is and vote for him.

You feel sick to your stomach and you don’t think you can listen to much more of this. But right as you’re about to tap out a hand clamps down on your shoulder. You nearly scream but you catch a whiff of the man’s aftershave and your mouth snaps shut.

You leap out of your chair and whip around, a grin plastered on your face. “Logan, what are you doing here?” You can’t disguise the giddiness in your voice. He might constantly be reminding you that you hold nothing more than a professional relationship, but you don’t give a shit. He’s a constant in your life and that’s rare for you, so you’ll latch onto whatever comfort you can find.

His gaze briefly darts to the connecting wall to your father’s study and you flush. He’d probably heard all of that. You’ve never had someone see the side of your father that you do. There’s something shamefully embarrassing about it.

He looks back at you and gives you a sly smirk. “Wanna get out of here?” You’d have to be an idiot to say no.

“Uh,” you can hear the music from where you stand across the street. You shuffle uncertainly on your feet beside Logan, glancing up and down the sidewalk like your father’s going to pop out of an alleyway. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

Logan tugs his cigar out of his mouth. He’s leaned up against a lamppost and he’s watched you struggle for the past ten minutes. “Live a little kid, would ya?”

You look back at the dingy bar and grimace. “Okay, there’s a difference between living a little and having my face blasted on the news. How’s it going to look if I’m photographed at a bar while I’m meant to be healing?”

Logan points with his cigar to the entrance of the bar. “I can promise you, no one in there gives a fuck about who your daddy is.” Comforting, and a little humbling.

You take in a deep breath and Logan must sense the change in your demeanor. He flicks the cigar to the ground, crushing it with the heel of his boot. He holds his arm out, “Ready, kid?”

You nod, hurrying to his side and slipping under his grasp. He lets his arm hang heavily around your shoulder, hand squeezing your bicep gently to try and quell your nerves. You’d be swooning at the touch if you weren’t about to throw up from anxiety.

You used to have a life. Until your father had blown it up. You haven’t been around this many people in ages. Well, you haven’t been around people who are just having fun and not sucking up to every politician’s kid they meet.

The music gets louder as you step over through the threshold of the bar. The soles of your shoes stick to the floor. People laugh loudly all around you, some of them shouting up at TV screens for whatever sport is currently playing. You’re sure half of them don’t even normally watch the game. They just need an excuse to get their wives off their backs.

The thought brings a small smile to your lips. Logan glances down at you and frowns, “You are old enough to drink, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and move out from under his hold. “Yes, Logan. I’m going into a master’s program, my frontal lobe is fully formed.”

He huffs a little at the attitude, cheeks twitching with a suppressed smile. He nods towards the back of the bar, “Find a seat, I’ll get us drinks.” He walks towards the bar without another word and you resent him a little for it.

Without him beside you, it’s like everything comes crashing down all at once. The songs playing grate on your ears. Every laugh feels like they’re screaming in your face. You’ve never been more in tune with your sense of smell and you hate it.

Your hands tremble by your sides and you nearly miss the man in front of you spilling his beer down his shirt. It looks completely unnatural, the way it just flips out of his hand. And you know it’s your doing.

You shove through him and his friends, running to the back and sliding into the first booth you see. You dig your nails into your palms, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm your heart rate down a bit.

Logan slides into the seat across from you, placing a beer in front of you. It’s barely touched the grimy wood of the table before you tip your head back and drain it. You’ve never been a particular fan of beer or any alcohol for that matter.

But right now you need a buzz before you accidentally level the whole bar. You slam the bottle back on the table, taking in a deep breath, and sitting back. Logan gives you a hard stare, glancing between you and the empty bottle.

He clicks his tongue and stands up, “I’ll go get another one.”

You bite your lip and give him a sheepish, “Thank you.”

It doesn’t take long for the buzz to settle in. There’s a slight tingling in your legs and the tips of your fingers. It almost feels like how you get when you’re starting to get aroused. But you don’t know if that’s from the alcohol or the way Logan looks in his slutty little t-shirt.

Definitely tipsy, you think to yourself, nudging your third beer to the side.

“Always been a lightweight?” He teases, watching you with amusement in his gaze while he works on what must be his fifth whiskey.

You shake your head with a soft smile. “No, I used to go out with my friends all the time.” You laugh a little at the memories and lean in a little closer like you’re sharing some horrible secret. Logan rolls his eyes but acquiesces, leaning in to listen to you speak. “We made up alter egos for our drunk selves. Wanna know mine?” You ask, wiggling your eyebrows at him with a stupid grin.

His brows pinch together and he frowns, “I don’t think so.”

You laugh and lean back in your seat. “You’re the worst!” He places his glass down on the table and fixes you with an odd look. You shift around uncomfortably, “What is it?”

“What happened to your friends? Why are you hanging out with me and not them?”

“Oh,” your gaze drops to the table and you suddenly find the stains on it very interesting. It’s practically abstract art. You swallow harshly around the lump in your throat and shrug. “Um, just all the stuff with my dad happened, and,” you shrug, “I don’t know. My life kind of fell apart.”

You try and shake off the funk, bring back the happy-go-lucky feeling you were in only minutes ago. “I had to move out of the dorms and head back home. My friends stopped talking to me. My boyfriend dumped me. It all just kind of blew up.”

Logan frowns and you swear he seems angry on your behalf. It’s a nice feeling, having someone care enough to hold a grudge for you. “You ever tell him how it was all affecting you?”

You snort, “Of course I did. He was overjoyed. He never liked my friends, especially not my boyfriend, they encouraged me to be too independent. He thought I was losing the values he raised me with. He just never cared to learn that I never agreed with them in the first place.”

Logan doesn’t say anything for a while and you let your gaze drift to the karaoke stage. Two women are singing a bad redemption of Led Zeppelin and it makes you smile. You don’t see the way Logan’s eyes linger on the curve of your lips and then drop to your chest.

You never seem to notice how you make him squirm. There is something so interesting about you. Something so different from the families he worked with before. He doesn’t know if it's the whole mutant thing, if you two are somehow kindred spirits in that regard. He doubts it, he’s never really cared much about that.

But he knows that there is something magnetic about you. It draws him in and makes him hate his own rules. He promised not to get involved with another client. It always ends messy, most times bloody.

You turn back to him and smile. Your voice is a low purr as you ask, “You wanna get out of here?”

Of course, he’s never been one to follow the rules.

“I am so sorry about this. Really.”

Logan glares down at you while you straighten out his tie. You duck your head so you don’t have to meet his gaze and he lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Forget it, kid.” He says it with a smirk but it doesn’t make you feel any less guilty.

This will be your first public appearance since the incident. It’s a gala, of course, because your father hates you. He’d demanded you find a date, someone to look pretty on your arm because he doesn’t want you talking while you’re there. You’re meant for pictures and nothing more.

Considering the fact that no one wants to talk to you on campus, the acid incident not helping at all, you had no luck finding a date. You’d had to beg on hands and knees for days to get Logan to agree.

You don’t know what it is that finally made him cave but you’re grateful for it. You think your father was expecting you to fail. To come crawling to him and be forced to go with who he wanted you to go with.

You were not going to spend the whole night listening to some political major try and explain your own father’s campaign to you. You’d rather swallow acid than go through that for another night. Your father, of course, doesn’t know that Logan is taking you.

You’re planning on ambushing him with it. He can’t do anything about it now. He wants you to have a date for some reason and there’s no way for him to find a backup now. You take a step back from him and turn to look in the mirror.

Side by side, you do make an incredibly attractive couple. He looks amazing in his suit, his muscles just slightly pushing against the fabric. And as much as he hates the tie and constricting material, he makes it work.

And you feel pretty for the first time in a long time. You actually got to do your own hair and makeup for once. You’re a lot less heavy-handed than the assistants your father hires. You feel comfortable in your own skin, finally, wearing the deep red dress your stepmother had gotten for you.

“We look good,” you muse.

Logan looks down at you and smiles slightly, “You do.”

You give him a confused grin, “I said we.”

He leans down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers, “I know what you said, sweetheart.” Your heart nearly beats out of your chest at the proximity. Gooseflesh raises on your arms where he’s touching you and your knee buckles ever so slightly.

You can perfectly imagine his husky voice whispering something much, much dirtier to you. He pulls back with a slight chuckle and forcefully turns you around. “Come on, kid, we’re gonna be late.”

He nudges you towards your bedroom door and you nod your head mutely. He keeps doing that to you. These little things that could be so easily dismissed as you reading into his actions. But you know, deep down, you’re not reading into anything.

But you don’t know what to do with this information that he might possibly be into you. Or at the very least, attracted to you. He made it clear early on that he wants nothing but professionalism between the two of you, yet he continually breaks his own rule.

Your father and stepmother are waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you both. Your stepmother smiles when she sees you but your father’s face screws up in anger. “Are you fucking kidding me? The goddamn bodyguard?”

You shrug and slip past him, already walking to the front door. “A date’s a date.” You pause and grin over at him, “What are you going to do about it?” It’s a taunt, one you don’t give him a chance to respond to.

You’re already slipping outside and heading to the town car. Something about Logan being with you emboldens you to act in ways you never would. Even when he’s not there, when you’re just having family dinner and your father says something off-putting. You fight back, you don’t let him steamroll you and your opinions.

You feel better than you have in ages with Logan beside you. Still, the ride there is incredibly awkward.

The hotel is grand and luxurious. But they all are. You feel guilty complaining about your life when this is your weekend. What do you have to be upset about when you regularly stay in five-star motels and wear designer dresses without glancing at the price tag?

Sometimes you feel guilty around Logan. You wonder if he ever resents you for your privilege. You might be a mutant like him, sure, but you’ve never had to struggle to make ends meet. Or try and scrap together enough money to get your next meal. You’ve never had to worry about where you’re going to sleep next or if you’ll have a roof over your head.

Your struggles have been so different that you worry if something ever did happen between the two of you, you might not work together.

But those are spiraling thoughts for another time. Right now, you’re just trying to get through the front door without someone bombarding your father with questions on his stance about whatever.

When it’s clear that he’s going to be there for a while, he sends you and Logan off to the ballroom on your own. You feel bad for your stepmother, having to stay behind and pretend she’s interested as they bore her with stories that have no real meaning.

“Poor woman,” you mutter, watching her struggle to keep the smile on her face.

“You don’t call her mom,” Logan muses. You turn to look at him and he just shrugs. “Just a little weird.”

“Well, she’s not my mom.” His head tilts in confusion and you elaborate. “My bio mom left the second she figured out she gave birth to a mutant. We lie to the public, stepmom’s interfere with the perfect nuclear family ideal my dad’s pushing for.”

“If he cares so much about family then why don’t you have your dad’s last name?” A good question, one you had to field a lot when you first started school.

You give him a sly grin, “Took my mom's maiden name the second I was eighteen, just to piss him off.” There’s no true reason behind it other than being vindictive and petty. “He’s been trying to get me to change it for years but he can’t force me to. Besides, I like having my name separate from theirs. Lets me pretend I’m not a part of the family. Don’t get me wrong, she’s nice and all, we just never really had the chance to bond.”

Someone passes by you. A couple you know you’re supposed to recognize but you can’t place their names. The man calls out your name, coming toward you with his arms open wide. You can see Logan tense up slightly beside you, bodyguard instincts coming out for a moment.

You squeeze his hand briefly before stepping forward to hug the man. “So nice to see you, again.” You tell him. He grins and squeezes you a little closer to his chest than necessary.

Logan clears his throat, glaring at the man’s drifting hands. Before either of you can react, Logan is pulling you back, hand resting lightly over the small of your back. He holds his hand out, forcing the man to shake his hand and take his attention off of you.

You can’t hold back the smile on your lips when you see how much smaller the man is under Logan’s intense stare. You’ve gotten used to the men at these events treating you however they want. They don’t see you as a human, you are your father’s accessory and their toy. You envy Logan for how easily he can dismiss these men, take away their larger-than-life personalities, and reduce them to the sniveling rats they truly are.

He doesn’t even speak, simply tugs you towards the ballroom and away from the man’s wandering hands. You can’t help the stupid smile on your face while you look at him. He glances out the side of his eye and huffs, “What?” He snaps, tone impatient.

You shrug and shake your head. “Nothing, you’re just…” You trail off, unsure how to continue. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable by telling him how you really feel about him. How deeply you appreciate him, how horribly you desire him. You’re afraid it will all just blow up in your face. That you’ll have truly been reading into everything and gotten his intentions all wrong. After all, he’s made it abundantly clear that there’s meant to be nothing between the two of you except a paycheck.

You take in a deep breath, smile faltering, “Nothing.” You finally spit out, slipping out of his grasp and walking quicker towards the doors. His hand lingers on your back, fingers trailing slowly down your spine until you’re completely out of his reach.

The chatter inside gets louder the closer you get to the entrance. You listen to the indiscernible voices, the quartet playing in the corner, and the clink of metal on the glass as they all eat. You straighten out your shoulders and put on your best smile, mentally preparing yourself to keep it stiff on your cheeks for the rest of the night.

Logan catches up to you, the both of you stopping the second you see the inside of the ballroom.

People Against Mutants

Evolution or Monstrosities

Parents for the Removal of Mutant Children

Your eyes widen as you take in the banners and signs hanging off the walls. More and more uncreative rhetoric all for the annihilation of mutants. Of people like you and Logan. Your smile drops immediately and you know you should have expected something like this from your father. He’d been refusing to tell you what this gala was for, saying offhandly he was just raising some money.

You thought it was another charity. Not this. Not people, quite literally, calling for your head. For Logan’s head. You suck in a sharp breath and glance towards the silent man beside you. His jaw is clenched as he takes in all the finely dressed people around you. They’re all laughing and chatting like they’re not actively campaigning for the destruction of children.

“Bar?” You ask, already walking towards it.

“Sounds good to me.” His hand is on your back again and you’re grateful for it. The glower on his face, the attitude that screams I don’t belong here keeps people away from you. He shoulders through the men huddling around the bar, forcefully clearing space for the two of you.

And when they turn around, posturing like they’re going to say something, he only has to look at them for them to retreat with their tails tucked. It’s ridiculously attractive seeing someone command these men so easily.

“Whiskey,” Logan grumbles, he looks back at you and you slide beside him, leaning your elbows against the cool counter.

“Just champagne, please,” you tell the bartender. He nods, quickly making your drinks and handing them to you. You turn with the flute in your hand, surveying the room. It feels less like a gala and more like a production of false niceties that will never end and never be genuine.

“Don’t know how you deal with these fuckers all the time,” Logan mutters, glaring as a man slams into him and keeps walking without apologizing.

You let out a short huff of laughter, “Honestly,” he glances over at you and you shrug. “I’ve got no fucking clue either.” He scoffs and takes a swig from his glass. But you can’t take your eyes off of him. You feel the words on the tip of your tongue, weighing you down until you feel like you have no choice but to spit them out.

“You,” his brows quirk up and he glances over at you. You take in a deep breath and start over, nerves making your palms sweaty around the glass. “You make it bearable.”

Logan’s face falls and he sucks in a deep breath. You see the expression on his face, you know what he’s going to tell you. And you hate how apologetic he looks. You especially despise the way he’s making you feel pitied. He’s never done that before and you don’t want him to start now.

“Don’t,” you tell him before he can say anything. You let out a self-deprecating laugh and place the champagne flute on the bar so you don’t have to look at him. “I know what you’re going to say, alright. So, just, don’t.”

Logan purses his lips and grabs your jaw. You try and jerk your face out of his grasp but he doesn’t let you, he forces you to look at him. He only lets go once you reluctantly make eye contact. You’re surprised by the look on his face. There’s no pity in his gaze like you’d expected.

This is something else, something darker and more twisted. You can’t put your finger on what exactly you’re seeing but you know it makes your heart race and your thighs clench. “Listen, sweetheart, I-”

“What the hell are you doing?” You jump away from him but Logan just clenches his eyes shut with a short huff of irritated breath. You clear your throat and turn to face your father. He’s glaring between you and Logan, but smiles warmly anytime someone looks your way. “I didn’t bring you here so my contributors could see what a fucking whore you are for the help.”

“Dad!” You exclaim, eyes widening in horror. But Logan doesn’t seem bothered by your father’s words. If anything it seems to incense him, his hand drifting from your jaw to drape itself over the nape of your neck. You try not to show just how much the possessive grip is affecting you but you know they can both tell.

Your father’s face pinches and he nearly stomps his foot as he looks between you and Logan. He looks like he wants to say something else but your stepmother, thankfully, calls his name. She waves him over towards her and you hold your breath, waiting to see what he’s going to do.

He takes in short puffs of air, straightening out his suit jacket and glaring at you. “You’re not going to be a fucking wallflower all night, got it?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s stomping off. He calls out a warm greeting to someone across the room and you feel like you can finally breathe again.

You give Logan a tired smile and nod towards the rest of the party. “Time to mingle.”

He laughs, loudly, enough to make people’s heads turn. You can feel your skin heating up from embarrassment and flinch away from the sound. “Sorry, kid, mingling ain’t part of my contract.”

Your jaw drops as you glare at him. “Are you serious?”

He turns back to the bar, flagging down the bartender for a refill. “Deadly,” he tells you firmly, barely looking at you. You roll your eyes and walk away from him, glaring at his back the whole time you do so.

He thought coming to one of these things, being stuffed in a scratchy suit, would be his worst nightmare. He was proven wrong when he heard them talking to each other. Bitching about golf and their mistresses wanting more attention. Their kids nagging them and their wives being bitches.

All of it made him want to down a whole bottle of whiskey and then blow his brains out. His worst nightmare turned into ever having to hold a conversation with one of these pricks.

Then, he turns around, surveying the room for wherever you were lurking. He expects you to be by your father’s side or hiding somewhere in a corner. Instead, you’re standing close -extremely close - to some pretty boy.

His hand is on your waist and you’re laughing at whatever boring fucking story he’s telling you. Logan tries to pick up on your conversation but there are too many things happening at once already. His senses are on overdrive and he’s already struggling against a migraine.

He feels something brewing in his gut, something he’s been trying to just shove down for months. He doesn’t know what it is he hates about this picture but it makes him sick to his stomach. He hears something crack and looks down to find the glass of whiskey split on one side.

“Shit,” he hisses, slamming the glass on the bar behind him. He shakes his hand out and tries to unclench his fists but it’s hard. He couldn’t have possibly been standing here long enough for you to suddenly find the love of your life. Why the fuck are the two of you so close?

This was so unlike you. Rarely did you ever have something good to say about the men you would encounter at these things. He’d heard you bitch about it enough times. Something about this isn’t adding up and he doesn’t know if it’s his own jealousy or intuition.

Still, he finds himself pushing away from the bar and stalking towards you both. Closer, he can finally see what the problem is. Your hands are on the guy's chest but you aren’t leaning against him, you’re actively trying to push him away.

It makes Logan’s blood boil, jaw clenching as he tries to keep himself at bay. He didn’t want to cave some kid’s head in in the middle of the gala. But the closer he got the clearer he could hear your hissed warnings to take his hands off of you.

Logan finally reaches you and the look of sheer relief on your face makes him want to bring the claws out. He’d love to see that smug smirk ripped off his face, but he holds back. If only so he doesn’t traumatize you.

“Alright, bub, hands off,” he warns.

“Why don’t you just leave us alone?” He had to give it to the kid, he’s got balls. Rarely did anyone ever buck up to him like this. Normally, he might entertain him a bit, drag this on longer than necessary to get a kick out of it.

But he still hasn’t taken his hands off of you and Logan’s not interested in fucking around tonight. Without a word, he grabs the kid by the collar of his jacket and tosses him away from you.

He lands roughly on the floor with a loud gasp and people turn to look. Logan pays no mind to the onlookers. He places his hand on your back and leads you out of the ballroom, unwilling to have eyes on you for the rest of this conversation.

“Logan,” you start, tone nervous.

“Don’t,” he snaps. He regrets it immediately from the way you jump in surprise. He lets out a rough sigh, running his hand down his face, and walks through the first door he finds. “I’m sorry, kid, I just-”

“Logan,” you cut him off. The tone of your voice is enough to get him to finally look at you. Your arms are crossed and you’re glaring at him. “Why the fuck did you drag us into a closet?”

His brows furrow in confusion and he glances around, finally realizing what he walked into, “Fuck,” he hisses. He gropes blindly around the room for a light switch. There’s a small click and then an unflattering fluorescent light is shining down on you both. He’s managed to drag you both into a small, incredibly cramped, cleaning closet.

You’re grimacing as you push a few mops away from your head. You look over at him and something about the look on his face must be funny because you start to laugh. “What were you thinking?”

Your smile makes one curl up on his own lips. He can’t help it, something about you eases a bit of the tightness constantly lurking inside him. “Thought it was one of those stuffy conference rooms.”

You scoff and reach for the handle, “Just a stuffy closest, good going, Logan.” You roll your eyes and tug on the knob. Your brows furrow together as you jiggle the handle every which way, desperately pulling on it.

“Move over,” Logan mutters, nudging you to the side. He wraps his hand around the handle and yanks on it, expecting the door to swing open. When it doesn’t his face falls.

“Did you miraculously unlock it, genius?” You demand sarcastically. Logan feels his shoulders tense up, frustration levels steadily rising. He’s already got a shit temper, he doesn’t need you adding to this.

“No,” he snipes, “but I don’t see you coming up with any wonderful solutions.”

You throw your hands up in the air, wincing when your elbow collides with the shelving unit behind you. “I didn’t drag us into this mess! Why did you even come in here?” You demand and he can see how angry you are.

It shows in the way you tapped your heeled feet against the floor and glower at him like he’s the bane of your existence. He doesn’t know what happens, what comes over him, or why this is the moment he chooses to break his rule.

Your back slams into the shelves behind you and you gasp as he surges towards you. His hands come up to cup your cheeks and before you get a chance to question him, his mouth is covering your own. Logan buries his hand in your hair, ruining the perfectly styled curls. You don’t seem to mind much if the way you arch into him is anything to go by.

His tongue runs across the seam of your lips, tasting the cherry-flavored gloss you’d applied earlier. He wants to devour you. Consume you body and soul, take everything you have to give, and then keep going. He doesn’t want to stop, but he’s not sure he wants the first place you have sex to be in a janitor’s closet.

He pulls back, tugging you back when you try to chase his lips with your own. “Shouldn’t do this here,” he mutters. He’s struggling to hold back. And when you look up at him, lips swollen from his kiss, and you mutter why, how is he meant to resist?

He tugs you away from the shelves, pushing you against the door so he doesn’t have to see your face twist up in pain every time the corner digs into your lower back. Your hands drop down to his belt, lips desperately carving a path down his neck.

He’d laugh at your eagerness if he wasn’t just as desperate for you. He reaches for the hem of your dress but it’s one of those floor-length gowns with no slits. He struggled for a minute before getting too impatient and just muttering, “Fuck it.”

You gasp when you feel the metal of his claw against your leg, eyes dropping down to watch as he makes himself a slit. He slices the fabric along your thigh and then just rips it. “Logan,” you hiss as he hikes the silk over your hips.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” You glare at him, eyes darting between him and his pants before you finally shake your head. He laughs slightly, hand drifting under your dress and reveling in the way you shiver under his touch. “Yeah,” he whispers, “that’s what I thought.”

His fingers move gently along your thighs, easing you into his touch. You let out breathy whimpers, tucking your face in his neck the closer he gets to your core. He lets his hand drift lower, searching out the band of your underwear.

He’s pleasantly surprised when he’s met with nothing but you dripping for him. “Shit, you’re not wearing any underwear?”

You freeze and keep your face stubbornly buried in his neck. Logan laughs slightly, tugging you back and forcing you to look up at him. You mumble something under your breath. It’s said so quickly he can barely understand you. “What was that?”

“Ugh, god, Logan.” You groan and let your eyes drop down to his shirt, fiddling with the end of his tie. “I was hoping this would happen.”

When he doesn’t say anything your face shifts, worry gnawing away at you. You glance up at him and are surprised by the intensity of his gaze. He’s staring down at you like he wants to eat you whole. His pupils have consumed all the color of his eyes, there’s nothing but want on his face.

“You wanna know why I agreed to come with you, kid?”

Your mind is completely dulled just by being this close to him. It takes you a moment to process what he’s saying before you nod your head. “Why?”

The look on his face reminds you of a wolf guarding its territory. It’s predatorial, animalistic, it makes you want him even more. “I didn’t want any of these little boys getting a chance to have their hands on you.” His gaze drops down to your lips and he leans in until your breaths are mingling together.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.” He dips his head down and his kiss isn’t as intense as it was the first time. His lips move lazily over your own, tongue stroking against yours like he’s savoring the taste.

You can taste the whiskey he’d drank earlier, can still smell cigars on his breath. It should be revolting, you’ve never liked kissing smokers. But there is something so intoxicating about him. Everything he does is enchanting to you.

It’s a naive train of thought but you trust him wholly. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you’d let him willingly. His hands continue their exploration down your body and you can’t help but arch into his touch. His fingers stroke languidly over your center and you moan into his mouth.

Your lips part with little gasps and your head thunks loudly against the door. Neither of you notice or care, you’ve all but forgotten the gala outside. The government employees and rich socialites that you’re supposed to be entertaining.

And when he slips a finger inside you, you don’t care who hears you call out his name. The rough pad of his finger creates a feeling you’ve never been able to produce on your own. There’s something so exhilarating about this whole situation.

Stuck in this tiny closet, no air to breathe but each other’s. No room for anything other than your bodies pressed as closely together as possible. You're completely surrounded by him and you never want to leave.

“Logan,” you gasp out his name and shove at his shoulders. He momentarily stops his ministrations, giving you a worried look. “Please, I just want you.” You tug at his wrist, hissing when his fingers leave you with a lewd pop.

He looks hesitant, but you can see the way he’s straining against his boxers. You let your hand trail down his stomach, palming him through the thin fabric. His hips buck into your hands and he lets out the most attractive noise you’ve ever heard. You’ve always liked guys who aren’t afraid to be vocal.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers. He swats your hands to the sides, tugging his boxers down and squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise. “Come on, up.”

You jump and he slings your legs around his waist, lining himself up with your entrance. He drags you slowly down his cock, resting your back against the door and giving a hesitant thrust inside you.

You can’t help the low groan that leaves your parted lips. It’s like you’re full of nothing but him. You’d been mentally prepared for the stretch he would present, but you probably should have given him more time to warn you up.

You don’t care though, this is all you’ve been craving for months. To feel nothing, taste nothing but him. You’ve been praying that he feels the same way you do, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, he does.

He looks completely wrecked, head resting on your shoulder while you both take a breath. It’s overwhelming, this feeling of finally having what you’ve always wanted. Someone you can give yourself to completely and still feel safe with them.

You drag your hand up his back, burying it in his hair and reveling in how soft it is. You tug him back by the roots, tilting his neck until he’s forced to look at you. Your gaze drops to his reddened lips and you smile at the gloss you’ve smeared across his chin.

“Come on, Logan, don’t tell me you’re all talk.”

His eyes narrow but you can see the amusement swimming within them. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Oh, yeah?” You goad, grinding your hips down against his and biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. You’re trying not to make a noise, trying to make sure he doesn’t see just how much he’s affecting you. But you can already feel your orgasm forming, it’s a low tingle in the tips of your toes, a burning hot desire rushing through your thighs as you clench around him.

“Yeah,” he promises, thrusting sharply into you. This time the moan is forced out of you, your lips parting unbidden as you slump over him, burying your face in his neck. He doesn’t waste any time, using your hips as handles to pump you over his cock like you’re nothing more than a toy.

The door rattles behind you, each thrust of his hips makes it shake in its frame. His hands fist the back of your dress, grip so tight you think it might tear. You don’t care. He could rip it off of you and you’d walk outside naked right now.

You don’t care what happens, not when he’s beside you. There’s a feeling of security that comes from being around Logan and you can feel it in this moment. You trust him to take care of you in every way.

Maybe you shouldn’t. After all, you two haven’t known each other long. But there’s not much you’re worried about when he’s moving steadily inside you. You can taste the desperation you share for each other in each pump of his hips.

He whispers it into your ear while you claw at his back. The shelves around you shake and you worry you might bring them down if you can’t rope yourself in. But you can feel the wave building in the back of your throat, your vision blurring as you tighten your legs around his waist and begin to match his rhythm.

“There you go,” he mutters, pinning you to the door and keeping your hips still while he moves inside you. “Come on, I can feel you clenching around me, sweetheart.” He manages to hold you up with one hand, the other diving between your legs to rub tight circles around your bundle of nerves.

It doesn’t take much longer for your muscles to seize up, back bowing as you clench desperately around him. “Oh, fuck, Logan,” you shout his name, and his hand quickly comes up to smother your cries. He squeezes your cheeks until your eyes snap open and he drags you down to meet his gaze.

“Don’t want to lose my job, need you to be quiet for me,” he grunts out, his tone breathy and strained. He loses his rhythm, movements speeding up erratically while he lets out low groans and whispers of your name. You almost cum again when he finally finishes inside you.

Your limbs are twitching in overstimulation by the time his hips still. You feel completely boneless, body slumped lazily in his arms. He wraps both arms around you, squeezing you a little before slowly lifting you off of him.

It’s a relief of pressure when he pulls out. His cum leaks out of you, dribbling down your thighs and dripping onto the floor of the closest. Your face screws up at the feeling and you internally cringe. No condom was probably a stupid call.

But you don’t really want to think about the repercussions right now. Not when he’s stroking your hair and rubbing a soothing hand down your back, waiting until you can form a coherent sentence before he lets you go. “Alright?” He asks, voice bordering on something smug.

“Mhm,” you push away from him, legs shaky as you try and straighten out your dress. It’s a loss cause, trying to hide what happened in here at all. You’ve got a tear going up to your hip and you’re pretty sure there are holes in the back. Logan’s tie is gone and you don’t even remember taking that off. His shirt is completely wrinkled and your lip gloss has stained his face.

You’ve both got horrific sex hair and the room reeks of it. You don’t know how you're going to sneak out of here. You still try and relax your hair, patting down the flyaways while Logan retucks his shirt.

It’s silent between the two of you, heavy but not awkward. You don’t think either of you knows what to say now that you’ve physically acted on what you want. A sudden thought hits you, makes your heart clench painfully and your tongue ties up in your mouth.

He’d confirmed that he wanted your body. That he desired you sexually. But you don’t think he actually said anything about a real relationship. There would be problems, of course, your father for one would have a lot to say about it. But you don’t care about that. You don’t care about any of the consequences, you just want to be with him.

You open your mouth to ask him what he wants when the door swings open. Both you and Logan whip towards it. But where you look like a deer caught in the headlights he looks like the epitome of male pride.

Especially when he realizes it's your father on the other side. “Dad-” You start, but you have no idea what you could even say. Your dress is in tatters and both you and Logan are still mussed up. There’s no hiding what happened here.

He doesn’t let you finish, holding up his hand. His voice is eerily calm as he says, “I thought I heard something banging around in here.”

“You did,” Logan scoffs, crossing his arms and glaring at your father. You feel your heart jump to your throat, staring over at him with a horrified look on your face. How could he think that was okay to say? It was so dismissive of what you believed had happened.

This was more than just a quickie in the dark to you. This meant something, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that it was the same for him as it was for you. And that just makes you feel like the stupid little girl everyone seems to believe you are.

Your father says your name but you can’t bring yourself to meet his eye. “You’re feeling sick,” he tells you, no room for argument. “Your date had to take you home. It was just too much too soon after the incident at the rally.” When you don’t say anything he shouts out, “Understood?” That makes you jump.

“Yes,” you clear your throat and face him. “Yes, understood.”

Your father has made his stance on mutants clear. He hates them, despises them to their very being, and wishes he could kill every last one. And as much as you were raised with those ideas, they were never truly turned on you.

But he’s looking at you right now like he wishes you were never born. You feel like shit on his shoe. Something to be hidden away and buried. It makes your shoulders slump like a hundred pounds was just tossed onto your back.

You try to run past him but he jerks you back, fingers so tight around your bicep you feel the skin tear. You gasp in pain but don’t say anything, too afraid to argue. “Put his jacket on, I won’t have you looking like a whore.” He releases you with a rough shove and storms off.

You can feel something burning at the back of your eyes. A moment later Logan drops his jacket over your shoulders, pulling you back into his chest and running his hands over your arms. “Come on, kid,” he mutters. There’s something resigned in his voice that makes your heart drop, “Let’s get you home.”

The walk through the lobby feels like you’re walking through a dream. You’re not completely present for it, or the ride home. Your mind and your heart are warring and you feel like you’re going to be torn apart if you keep lingering on what just happened.

You just can’t understand how you could go from having everything you wanted to feeling like the scum of the earth in less than two minutes. Logan doesn’t speak as he drives you home. His knuckles are turning white around the steering wheel and you’re afraid to even try and start a conversation.

You don’t want to hear him tell you that he didn’t desire you past your body. You don’t want to discover that you’re just another notch on his belt. He seems to do this a lot, sleep with the girls he guards. The idea of just being another job, another fun night, makes you absolutely disgusted with yourself.

When he pulls into the driveway of your house you both just sit in the car. Neither of you knows what to say. And the air between you is so thick with tension you feel like you could choke on it. You stare down at your hands, fingers fiddling with the ripped seams of your dress.

You pick at the threads and feel his stare on you. You can’t do this. You can’t deal with the possibility of rejection. Not after what happened between you and certainly not after what your father said.

You undo your seat belt and Logan watches as you go through the movements of getting up. His eyes never leave you and it’s like a physical caress, his stare. Normally it would make you warm inside, comforted by his presence. But right now all you can feel is the chill of where his cum has dried between your legs and the icy-hot stab of nausea in your gut.

You throw the door open and you’re nearly out when he calls out a quiet, “Goodnight.”

You don’t look at him, you can’t. You slam the door shut and walk silently to the front door of your house. You don’t look back, don’t respond, you just slip inside your house and finally let the weight of the night come crashing down on you.

You don’t cry until you hear him pull out of the driveway.

Your father and stepmother usually stay at the hotel the night of a gala. Most nights you come home and enjoy the house to yourself for once. Tonight, you’re woken up by the front door slamming so hard your walls shake.

You can faintly hear your stepmother’s voice trying to console your father. She’s muttering something to him you can’t make out. You shoot out of bed, running to pull some sweatpants on. After you’d cried yourself out you’d taken a shower.

You’ve scrubbed your skin raw but you swear you can still smell him on you. You rush to your bedroom door, turning the knob quietly and slowly peeking your head outside. Your father’s at the bottom of the stairs, the second he spots your open door he’s screaming your name.

Your stomach twists painfully and you can feel panic starting to overwhelm you. Your hands shake and your legs are stiff as you slowly step into the hallway. You’re a grown woman. You shouldn’t feel like this because your dad is going to yell at you.

But he’s been so good at forcing you to rely on him. At forcing you to bend and break to fit his beliefs and mold. You don’t know what to do if you’re not striving for his approval. And right now it’s very clear that he’s never been more disgusted by you.

If the look on his face isn’t enough to twist the knife deeper, his words are. “I have never,” he screams at you. You take a step back, keeping the stairs between you, refusing to meet him in the middle. “Been more embarrassed to call you my daughter. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me? Do you know how many people saw you being dragged outside like a fucking whore off the corner?”

You clench your eyes shut, turning your face away from him as the shame becomes a physical thing inside you. You can feel it making its way up your throat. Because he’s right. Tonight you were nothing more than a slut without any self-respect.

But you’re also pissed off. You’re fucking enraged at yourself for being so stupid as to ever believe Logan wanted you for anything more than your body. You're mad at Logan for knowing how you feel about him and taking advantage of it. And you’re so fucking tired of doing everything you can to make your father proud and it never being enough.

“Have you ever once asked me what I want?” You raise your voice, screaming down at him with a ferocity that surprises even you. His eyes widen, frame trembling with unreleased rage. You plow through, not stopping because you know if you do, you’ll never get this out. “No, you haven’t. Not once. Because you don’t fucking love me! And it has taken me years to accept that, to finally realize that you’re incapable of loving anyone but yourself.”

You gasp, the noise wet and painful as something warm trickles down your cheek. You stare down at him with your eyes wide in realization. “It’s so clear to me now, I feel like an idiot for missing it for so long. You never loved me. You’re incapable of it!”

You’re embarrassed at the way your voice cracks. As much as you want to pretend you’re stronger than him, not afraid of him. There’s still a little girl inside you who wonders why Daddy doesn’t love you.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you want, Dad. I don’t care what you want my life to look like or if I embarrassed you. I’m glad I did, glad someone finally saw a sliver of the truth you try so desperately to hide-”

“Enough!” He shouts and it startles you so bad that you jump back, your abilities reacting and a vase behind you flying off the shelf. You duck as glass shatters across the stairs and floor. You glance at the scene with shocked eyes, looking down at your father to see that he’s not even a little bit surprised.

Instead, he just looks so deeply disappointed that it makes you shrink into yourself. The anger within you is extinguished in a second. He rubs his face, shaking his head and turning his back on you. “Dad?” You call out, voice trembling.

“Go to your room,” he tells you quietly. “I don’t want to look at you anymore.” You hover by the top of the stairs for a moment, not quite believing him yet. And when he realizes you're still there, that you’re not taking him seriously, he finally looks at you again.

“I wish every goddamn day that those doctors had just put you down. I’d rather have a dead daughter than one like you.”

You stand there, stunned, even after the rest of the house has gone to bed. You clean up the pieces of glass while you try and swallow down your tears. Let the sharp edges dig into your skin and tear until you can feel any type of pain besides the one inside you.

A week of solitary confinement. You’re surprised that you haven’t just been kicked out of college. You’re sure that your father’s many donations to the university are the only thing stopping your professors from dropping you from the class.

You don’t care if they do or not, though. You never actually care about what you studied. You’d just always hoped that it would be a way for you to escape the tight grip around your neck your dad has on you.

You’ve figured out that no matter how hard you fight, you’ll never escape him. He hates you and yet, he can’t let you go. You’d laugh if you weren’t busy wallowing in your depression.

Someone keeps leaving food by your door but you can’t find it in yourself to be hungry. You’ll nibble on something, but you feel like you’re going to throw up when you so much as breathe the wrong way.

You haven’t heard from Logan since that night. You knew your father would fire him the second he woke up. But you’d held out hope - foolishly - that he might still try and reach out to you. You have this childish image in your head of the prince coming to rescue the princess from the dragon.

But you’ve been naive your whole life, you don’t want to keep going down this road. You don’t want to keep expecting the best of people and live your life in perpetual disappointment.

You haven’t seen or spoken to your father since that night. Wordlessly, he’d banned you to your room. No one’s said it, but you know you’re not allowed to come out. You don’t know when he’s going to deem you useful again and drag you back out into the public eye.

Contrary to his belief, no one had seen you leave that night with Logan. You hadn’t been in any tabloids or shitty news articles. Besides emotional estrangement from your father and losing the only guy you’ve ever really liked, there were no consequences to your whorish behavior - as your father so lovingly puts it.

You roll over in your bed and picture yourself taking a shower. It feels like such a workout but you can’t stand lying in your sweat and tears for much longer. With a long drawn-out groan, you throw yourself out of bed and enter the bathroom connected to your room.

You know you’ll feel better afterward, but everything besides sleep sounds like too much work. Still, you force yourself inside and finally clean the grime of laying on your ass for a week off.

You walk naked through your room, making a beeline for your dresser. You feel a little better after washing yourself off and moisturizing. But not much. Physical health can only do so much for how you feel inside.

You hope this will blow over soon, you’re not sure how much longer you can take feeling so awful. You hate pitying yourself, and that’s exactly what you’re doing right now. You huff irritatedly, digging around your drawers for your favorite shirt.

A hand clamps around your mouth, rough and big, yanking you back into a muscled chest and keeping you quiet. You still try and scream, hands clawing at the skin of their hand until you feel blood.

“Fuck, quit that, would ya?”

Your erratic movements slowly come to a halt. You still feel your heart pounding against your chest, adrenaline warming your blood and making you feel like you're on fire from the inside out. But, you recognize the voice, recognize there’s no danger to the situation.

That doesn’t make you any less pissed off. When Logan is sure you won’t keep attacking him, he lets you go slowly. You immediately whirl around on him, uncaring that you’re still naked. Energy moves quickly through you, becoming a physical thing under your skin.

He smiles at you and you push the energy out, throwing him across your room. He flies into your bookshelf, crashing to the ground with a loud slam. “What the fuck are you doing?” You scream at him.

There’s no one home right now, luckily, or else you both would be screwed. He shakes his head off, brushing pieces of wood out of his hair and slowly getting to his feet. “Well, I was coming to say hi-”

“You say hi by ambushing naked girls?” You interrupt, grabbing the clothes closest to you and pulling them on quickly.

Logan rolls his neck out and shrugs. “No, that was just a plus,” he gives you that insufferable smirk and you want to scream.

This is the first time you see him in a week since you had sex together and your father officially disowned you. And this is what he’s leading with? Seriously? “You’re a real fucking prince, Logan.” You shake your head with a scoff and glare at him.

He narrows his eyes, looking to be in disbelief at your attitude. “What happened?” You expect to hear irritation in his tone. Anger that you’re being such a bitch right now. Instead, he sounds concerned, like he can see right through you.

You hate that. You used to love having someone who could see past all the pretenses and walls, but it just hurts now. “Nothing,” you tell him, unable to hold eye contact any longer. “Look,” you take in a deep breath, and your brows furrow in confusion. “How the hell did you even get in here?”

Logan doesn’t look like he wants to drop the topic just yet but he relents. He nods towards your window and you fix him with an astonished look. “I climbed, I didn’t want your dad to risk seeing me on the security cameras out front.”

You feel suspicion brewing inside you, tone turning defensive. “Look, if you came here because you want to fuck again, I suggest you go find another girl. I’m not interested anymore.”

“Well,” he scoffs, “I find that hard to believe.” How easily he just dismisses your words. Like they hold no real importance. It makes you want to scream. Instead, you just flick your wrist, throwing him into another wall. You don’t know how you’re going to explain these holes in the wall to your father but you don’t really care.

“Enough,” he snaps, brushing himself off and glaring at you. Your lips curl up in amusement, the first thing you’ve felt besides anger and depression for the last week. “Look, I was coming here to get you the hell out, kid. Clearly, I’m not wanted.”

He walks towards your window, intent on climbing back down the side of your house and leaving. You almost let him, if only to see him scurrying down the wall. Instead, you take a step forward and stop him with a small, “Get me out?”

He sighs, running an aggrieved hand over his face and propping the other on his hip. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Look, I can’t stand the thought of you cooped up in here, isolated from the rest of the world. It’s not fair, I was gonna see if you…” He trails off and roughly swallows.

Your interest piques. Whatever is this hard for him to get out has to be interesting. “Logan,” you call his name softly. “See if I what?”

He huffs out a rough breath, turning around and staring you down. There’s something in his eyes, something reflected in yours. He’s looking at you the same way you always look at him. “You wanna come with me, kid?”

Well, you’d have to be an idiot to say no.

You don’t leave a note. You don’t give them any clues or hints as to where you might have gone. They can draw their own conclusions about what happened to you. They can tell the news whatever twisted lies they want.

You don’t care, that’s not your life anymore. Your life is packed away in a backpack in the back of Logan’s trailer. Your new life is in the passenger seat beside him. You’re equal parts terrified and excited to figure out what you’re going to do with the rest of it.

a/n: can you tell I know fuck all about politics?

Also, smut, wow, this was hard and rough to write. I don’t know why it’s such a struggle. I just feel guilty writing such dirty words, it’s absolutely diabolical that I have no problem being crazy over a guy whose age gap with me is the same age as my parents, but I can’t write smut.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist: @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp♡

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine imagine #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman

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