#still to decide if this goes into the mm tag or if i should keep them separate for now

[billdenbrough]

happy kevaaronmas!

similar to microfic monday (which has been on pause a little with how stressy everything has been irl recently, but i've been saving the prompts i've been sent for when i return to it asap!!), but advent calendar edition! basically. didn't have a good day, saw the @allforthegamebingo advent calendar prompts, and figured i could try a microfic a day to get back on vibe.

[asumofwords]

The Sublet - Roommate!AU

Warnings: She/her pronouns, slow burn, angst. Tags will be added as the fic goes along. Smut, dirty talk, spanking, finger fucking, no protection (wrap it before you tap it babies), smut, creampie, Aemond being a douchebag.

Pairings: Modern!Aemond x Reader, Modern!Cregan x Reader

Summary: Living with Helaena Targaryen was one of the best decisions you had ever made. Meeting at university, the two of you became thick as thieves and quickly best friends, moving into a flat together. But what will happen when Helaena has to leave, and her quiet, brooding, brother moves in?

Notes: Bit of a longer chapter than usual here, hehe. You should know me by now, I hate cutting them up, so I hope this feeds you well. Cregan Stark my beloved, take me now ;)

Chapter 4: Bunny

By the time you had gotten through four episodes of Dance Moms, you heard keys in the front door. Sitting up, you turned your head towards the entrance, listening as Aemond dropped his keys into the bowl beside yours and made his way down the hall. 

His towering frame entered the lounge room, silver hair pulled away from his face in a low bun. Turning to the sound of the television, Aemond lifted his eye towards you, giving you a short and curt nod in greeting. 

“Hey.” You greeted back, watching him disappear into his room. You listened as the door shut behind him with a click. 

What was his deal?

Was he always this rude? Or just cripplingly shy? 

But to you, he didn’t seem shy, and now that you thought of it, Helaena had only described him as such when he moved in. Never once before.

Helaena had a great read on people, and he was her brother, they grew up together and were relatively close. Helaena had described her middle brother as many things. Loyal, headstrong, stubborn, but shy just did not seem to fit the ticket, even if she had told you as such.

It made you think that maybe it would be better to have Aegon as a roommate after all.

At least he would talk to you. 

The more you thought about it, the more it intrigued you.

What did he do during the day? Did he work? Did he live off of his parents money? He said he had been studying, but he wasn’t anymore. Aemond truly was a mystery to you, and the less you knew about him, the more you wanted to know. 

Putting your dishes in the sink, you decided to go and talk to the man you would be living with for the next month. And he very well could indulge you. He was under your roof, in your space. It was the least he could do. 

Reaching Helaena’s door, you looked at the small stickers on the wood, rethinking your actions for one moment before you charged forward, knocking. It wasn’t an urgent knock, or aggressive. It was lazy, and casual, and you had hoped that it conveyed the reason why you were there. 

Rustling came from behind the door as you shifted on your feet, waiting as the seconds ticked by, until finally the handle twisted, and Aemond appeared. 

You blinked. 

He was shirtless. 

Aemond looked down at you silently, waiting for you to reveal the reason for your intrusion. And yet as you stood there, looking at the man in front of you, his toned chest and arms on display, small scars littering some of his skin, you felt all the words in your throat shrivel and dry up.

Aemond dipped his head, eyebrows twitching as he looked at you in something you could only describe as slight annoyance, and perhaps amusement. Taking a steeling breath, and trying to keep your eyes above his chest. 

“Hey, have you eaten?” It was the first thing that popped into your head.

Aemond’s eye flicked up and then down your body, and if you hadn’t been concentrating so hard on keeping your gaze on his face, you wouldn’t have noticed it.

You felt heat rise in your cheeks.

“Mm.” He nodded.

His gaze held yours, and tension bloomed around you, “Um, do you want to watch a movie or something?”

Aemond’s lips pursed forward slightly, before he straightened himself, one arm still holding onto the side of the door, “What are you watching?”

“Dance Moms, but we can watch something else if you want?”

Why did you feel so small all of a sudden?

Silence curled around you as you waited for Aemond’s response. 

Then came the rejection.

“I think I’m going to just go to bed.”

Your stomach twisted.

Stepping back away from he door, you gave him a crooked smile and bobbed your head, “No problem. Night.” Spinning on your heel, you walked back down the hall, cheeks hot from embarrassment and a pinprick of spite. 

You didn’t turn back to hear him say goodnight, but you could feel his gaze on you as you moved back to the lounge room. 

The next few days went by with Aemond barely speaking to you. And although he was somewhat polite, his allusiveness to even try and get to know you was wearing down on your patience.

Whats more, was despite his obvious refusal to want to spend time with you, and engage in more than the occasional bout of small talk, you could not escape awkwardly bumping into each other in the house, and a weird energy stretching around the you both. It felt like you were walking on thin ice, one misstep and you were going to fall into the depths below. And it made you angry. 

Why were you the one to feel awkward in your own home?

And on top of all this, Larys had been on your ass more than usual. Constantly hovering over your desk, sending passive aggressive emails, nitpicking your grammar or style in work, to which you would send emails of a similar type back. If you had to write another ‘per my last email’ one more time, you think you would scream. 

The thing that annoyed you the most however?

Was how alluring Aemond was. 

There was no denying that he was attractive, his sharp features adding to his mysterious, and allusive energy. And you thought that was what attracted you the most. The man was entirely a mystery to you, and he knew it.

It was clear he was aware he was getting under your skin in some type of way, because he had begun to smirk and hum to your prodding more often than not.

It was driving you insane.

You were doing your best, or the best that you could, to make Helaena’s brother feel welcome. To make him feel comfortable in your home, but the man had not a shred of decency to do the same. 

So after a long week of tiptoeing around the enigma that had moved into the room opposite you, and the slog of work and leering eyes of Larys Strong, you sat on the train on a Friday evening and sent off a text to Cregan.

Aemond had been in the house long enough, and you needed to let off some steam. 

You smiled at your phone as you got off the train, walking home from work.

Cregan really was a stress reliever for you, and a bloody good one too. Reliable and always on time, you knew that he would be at your door as the clock struck 6, which meant you had about an hour to shower and get yourself ready. 

When you arrived home, you didn’t bother to call out in greeting as you were so used to doing with Helaena, instead silently toeing your shoes off at the door and dumping your keys in the bowl beside the other pair. 

Aemond was home. 

You walked down the hall, and as you turned you saw Aemond stretched out on the couch, phone in hand, with only a shirt and a pair of black nike shorts on. The Targaryen lifted his head and looked at you, almost as though he was waiting for you to speak, but all you gave him was a curt smile as you moved down the hall, hanging your bag on a hook behind your door, before heading straight for the shower. 

You washed and exfoliated yourself, letting the hot water beat against your sore shoulders and back before getting out to apply some light make up. After you had moisturised and gotten yourself ready, you wrapped your towel around your body, checking your phone.

5:30. 

Plenty of time.

Aemond’s head lifted to your body in the towel as you moved to your room, and you felt his heated gaze on the back of your neck, prickling like static. You got inside and shut the door, fishing out a matching pair of lingerie and some cute clothes to throw on. You quickly tidied your room, and before you knew it, you were ready with twenty minutes to spare. 

You walked to the kitchen, hoping to fix up a little plate of snacks for the two of you, Aemond still where he was on the couch. You felt his eye on your the entire time as you fished out a plate and began to put some cheeses and meats on it, giggling to yourself as you remembered Helaena calling it ‘Girl Dinner’.

“I’ve already eaten.” Came Aemond’s voice from behind. 

You frowned, turning slowly to look at him. 

Smug.

Asshole.

“It’s not for you.” You responded, almost shocked at the audacity that this man had. He was really beginning to get under your skin. You turned back around, silently scoffing to yourself as you moved to grab a glass of water. 

You had gotten half way through the glass when a knock at the door alerted you to Cregan’s arrival. A smile wound on your lips as you grabbed the plate, quickly dumping it on the dining room table before you went to the front door. 

Cregan grinned at you, bottle of wine in his hand. 

Your heart fluttered in your chest and you rose on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his lips, “Hey.”

“Hi.” He breathed back, voice deep.

Cregan stepped into the apartment, slightly ducking under the frame as you led him down the hallway he had been through plenty of times before.

As he walked behind you, you could smell him. He smelt safe, he smelt warm. A musky scent that had subtle hints of citrus.

When you entered the lounge room, Aemond was no longer lounging on the couch, instead he was sitting stiffly atop the pillows, head turned towards you. As Cregan finally emerged from the halls, the two men exchanged what you could declare, the most uncomfortable of greetings. 

Cregan, being the warm man that he was, smiled at Aemond and offered his name, moving across the room the shake the violet eye’d mans hand. But Aemond made no move to grasp his, and instead looked at it for a beat as he stood, before finally grasping it and offering his name quietly. 

“You’re Helaena’s brother, yeah?” Cregan attempted to diffuse the tension, and Ameond only gave a noncommittal hum back. 

Sensing the awkwardness, you grabbed Cregan’s hand and dragged him to the kitchen, “Lets get some glasses, yea? What did you bring this time?” You could feel Aemond’s eye on your back.

Cregan gave small amused scoff, holding back his true thoughts, “Spiced wine from Dorne.” His deep grey eyes looked down at you, small smirk winding on his cheeks. 

“My favourite!” You chirped, pulling down two glasses for the both of you, before you took him back to the dining table behind the couch, trying to keep your eyes ahead of you instead of meeting the icy one of Aemond’s. 

It was ironic really. 

Cregan was from the North, but had one of the warmest personalities you had ever met. 

Aemond came from a background of legends of fire and dragons, and yet he was icier than snow.

Cregan and you sat at the table for some time, nibbling on your snack plate and drinking the wine as you caught up on the weeks that had gone past without seeing each other. It was friendly and kind, and you felt the weeks tension slowly bleed out of you as you were able to have a normal, actual conversation with someone. 

Before long, you were feeling warm from the wine, or perhaps it was the way that Cregan kept devouring you with his eyes. Aemond still sat stiff backed at the couch, not having moved once, a stark difference to him usually hiding in his room. 

Cregan’s eyes roamed down your body as he pushed his tongue into his cheek. You rested your chin in your palm and lowered your voice, “I could have sworn there was some sort of lingering threat between the two of us.”

The Starks teeth were revealed as his smirk pulled higher on his face. Your breath caught in your throat.

Gods he was handsome.

“I think there was.” His voice was low and deep, rumbling from his chest.

Aemond would have to strain his ears above the telly to be able to hear the two of you, and so you felt safe having the conversation behind him, “I told you what would happen, bunny.”

Your thighs rubbed together beneath the table.

Grinning at the brunette in front of you wolfishly, you leant forward, giving him an ample view of your breasts from the top of your shirt, “Hm, I could just make you sit here with me all night.” You purred.

Cregan’s gaze darkened, head tilting as he looked at your through his lashes, “You think I won’t throw you over my knee right here?”

Your mouth dropped open, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

The way Cregan was looking at you in that moment meant one thing. 

He was deathly serious. 

Standing abruptly, you grabbed the bottle of wine and your glass, balancing your phone between two fingers and motioned for him to follow you to your room. Your skin prickled as you all but sprinted into your bedroom, placing the wine down on your side table as you waited for the hulking figure to follow you in. 

As soon as he entered, he placed his wine beside yours, towering over you.

Your heart raced as you looked up at him, a knowing grin spreading across your face. Every inch of your body was set alight as he continued to look down at you, piercing eyes boring a hole into your head. 

“Get on the bed, bunny.” He commanded, voice lowering to almost a whisper.

Anticipation worked its way through your bones as you could not help the excitement that continued to burst through your veins, and yet still, you could not help but be bratty, knowing that you were playing with fire.

“Why?” You looked up at him, cocking your head, biting your lips to stop you from smiling.

Cregan sighed, “Get on the bed, or I’ll do it for you.”

Your tongue peeked out of your lips as you wet them, “What are you going to do to me?”

Your world tilted as Cregan hoisted you up in his arms, loud giggle flying from your lips as he stalked towards the bed, before throwing you unceremoniously onto it, your body bouncing atop the mattress. 

Cregan smirked, looking down at you as he grabbed your ankles and ripped you to the end of the bed, air squeaking from your lungs, “Such a tease.” He grunted as he parted your legs, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you looked down at him. 

Cregan knelt at the foot of the bed, hands grazing up your thighs and under your skirt until they reached the edges of your panties. His fingers skimmed over the black lace, eyes peering up at you hungrily.

“Naughty girl. Who’s this for?”

You squirmed at his touch, “No-one.”

“Really?” His large, callused fingers dragged the lace down your legs, swooping them over your knees before tossing them somewhere else in the room, long forgotten as his hands skimmed back up your inner thighs, pausing right before where you needed him most. 

Heat pooled in your gut as you wriggled, trying to get him to touch you.

“Please.” You whispered, pouting down at him.

“Please what, bunny?”

“Please touch me.”

Cregan pressed a short kiss to your knee, causing you to jerk at the warmth, "But you don’t deserve that do you?”

You whined loudly, thrusting your hips up into his hands, “Please Cregan, I’ll be good.”

The man laughed sincerely, “When are you ever been good for me?”

You smirked at him, trying to grab his hands and pull them up, but he didn’t budge. You huffed and flopped back down onto the mattress as the Northerner stood, looking down at you smugly. 

“Strip.”

With quick hands, you ripped off your top and skirt, leaving you in only the small, black, lacy bra. Your hands moved to take that off to, but Cregan stopped you, “Uh uh. Keep that on.” He turned around, grabbing his phone and turning on your speaker, still fully dressed, shoes on, and you bare to him on your bed. 

You shifted in anticipation. 

He turned the music up, you thought a common curtesy for the man who may still be seated on the lounge not too far away, as he stalked towards you, looking down at the way your thighs rubbed together, trying to ease the ache between them.

“Look at you, bunny. So desperate.”

You nodded your head, hand skimming down your body to touch yourself.

“No.” His voice purred, all playfulness gone, “Come here.” A large finger pointed down to where he stood at the end of the bed. 

You wriggled down slowly, keeping your eyes on his as you moved to stand, head craned up to look at him. His finger traced under your chin softly as he looked at you, “You going to be good for me?”

You nodded, leaning your face into his hand, as you reached out to touch him. He let your hands graze over his chest and up to his shoulders, rising on your tip toes to place a kiss at the crux of his jaw. Cregan hummed, large palm spreading across your lower back to press you against him. He shifted his head, bringing his lips to your ear.

“Don’t think you can get out of being a brat.”

With swift hands, Cregan spun you around and pushed you over the bed, your chest and stomach plush to the mattress whilst your legs dangled off the edge.

A small cry slipped past your lips as you landed face first, air pushing out of your lungs. His hand smoothed over your lower back, and you turned your head to look at him. 

Cregan was looking between your thighs, no doubt finding your slick centre. 

“Look at you, so wet already?”

You whined in response, arching your back, the music drowning out the sounds in the room. His other hand began to rub soothing circles against the swell of your ass, and you clenched in anticipation of what was to come next. 

The hand lifted, snapping down onto your flesh with a crack.

You squeaked, heat blooming in your cheek as Cregan cooed you from behind, “Good girl,” He purred, “You’re going to give me ten of these, okay?”

You nodded your head, burying your face into your arms as he lifted his palm again, swatting down on the stinging flesh. The slap rippled through you, and your cry was muffled by the mattress.

You thighs rubbed together as Cregan brought down his hand, again and again. 

By the time he got to seven, your flesh was burning, and you flinched as he brought his hand up to strike you again. You could feel the wetness between your thighs as he tutted, “Come on bun, only three more. Do you think you can be good and take three more?”

You nodded, eyes feeling teary as you squirmed beneath him, hand soothing against the hot flesh of your bum before removing it to strike down again. The hit caused your core to flutter round nothing and you moaned loudly, rolling your back. 

“Good girl, only two more. You’re doing so good for me.”

You keened at the praise and sucked in a breath, feeling his hand come down again.

“Such a good bunny for me. One more, baby.”

Cregan's hand came down a final time with a crack. It filled room, your cry climbing in the space as the song had ended and another had softly begun.

Your face was flushed as he cooed you, praising you for how well you had done, your thighs feeling slick as you rutted against the bed in an attempt to soothe the throbbing.

Lips met your shoulder blade and spine, small moans falling from your lips as Cregan moved down your body, “Good girl. Such a good girl for me.”

“Mm, Yes.” You whined pitifully, spreading your thighs as his hand trailed over your soft, hot skin before diving between your folds.

“Fuck,” Cregan growled, “You’re soaked. You’re not supposed to enjoy your punishment, bunny.” He chastised you, fingers parting your folds as he moved over your clit, your body jerking beneath him. 

“Ah, I d-“ Your words caught in your throat, a rasping breath falling form your lips as you felt two of his large fingers push their way inside of you.

The stretch was delicious, and your back arched as the pressed against your walls. 

“Shh.” He dragged his hand back out, before pushing them back in, giving you time to adjust, each stroke of his fingers curling down to rub over the soft spongey patch inside of you. 

You groaned, head turned to the side as you wriggled beneath him, his hand starting a slow pace as he stretched you open. 

“Look how wet you are for me, soaking my hand like such a good girl.”

You hummed in agreement, feeling his thumb begin to swirl around your clit as he continued to drag his fingers in and out of you, increasing his pace.

Cregan began to fuck his fingers in and out of you, the sound of your slick barely drowned out by the music as you whined beneath him.

“S’good. Fuck.” You moaned, hearing him chuckle, the speed increasing. 

You could feel the coil inside of you begin to wind tightly, his hands slowly tipping you over the edge.

Your breath held in your chest as he fucked you with his fingers, your orgasm rapidly approaching.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-“

Cregan pulled his hands from within and you whined, your release immediately halting. You heard his deep chuckle behind you as you arched your back, chasing his fingers, “Hnng- No. Please Cregan.” You whined.

His fingers moved mack, slowly pushing inside as he began to rub around your clit, and soon the pleasure that had been building began to climb again, your breathing ragged as you chased your climax. 

But as soon as you almost got to the top, core clenched around his digits, Cregan would pull his hand from you. Ripping your orgasm away.

You sobbed against the sheets, one hand winding down beneath you to reach your clit. 

A sharp pain bloomed through your core as Cregan slapped at your cunt. You hissed.

“No touching. This is your punishment for being a brat. You wanna be bratty with me, I'm going to treat you like a brat. And brats don’t get rewards.”

Tears welled in your eyes, all too desperate to get your release, “Please, Cregan, Please. I'll be good. Please, I just-“

“Shhh. Be good and take it then.”

His digits found their way back to your core, sliding in again, this time adding a third finger, the stretch causing you to whine loudly, wriggling backwards against his hand as he stretched you apart. 

“Good girl. See? You can be good, can’t you?”

You nodded your head dumbly, feeling like you were beginning to float away.

“You be good for me, and I'll let you cum, okay?”

“I'll be good. I'll be good.” You babbled, nodding your head, pushing back down onto his fingers, feeling full with them inside. 

Cregan began to drag them in and out again, his thumb rubbing wet and sloppy circles around your clit as he fucked faster into you, your wetness coating your inner thighs and his hands, no doubt soaking the bed beneath you.

The coil inside of you was ready to break, pleasure mounting and mounting, breath caught in your throat.

“I can feel you squeezing me, are you going to cum?”

You nodded your head, not trusting your voice as he sped up his hand, fingers drilling inside of you, the sloppy sound of your cunt making Cregan groan loudly behind you, watching the way his fingers disappeared inside of your folds.

“Come on then, cum for me.”

His fingers pressed down on the spongey spot inside, as his thumb pressed on your clit.

The coil snapped as you came hard on his fingers.

Eyes scrunched shut, you cried out loudly, writhing on the bed. Your limbs tingled with pleasure as you rode out your orgasm on his hand, the man behind you cooing you through it, and praising you.

“Doing so good, good girl. There you are, so beautiful. You’re so beautiful when you cum. Such a pretty pussy.”

“Fu-ck.” You croaked, his hand finally stilling inside of you.

Your core clenched around him as you came down from your high. You felt weightless, but heavy all at once, limbs like stone as you kept your eyes shut, basking in the glow of your orgasm. 

Rustling came from behind you and the sound of a belt buckle being pulled open. 

“Let me take care of you.” A kiss pressed against your shoulder and you sighed, turning your head to kiss him. His lips moved against yours gently as you felt the buckle of his pants press against the hot skin of your cheeks. It was soothing in a way and you pushed back against him.

“Gonna fuck you, okay?”

You hummed in approval, lifting your hips as you felt Cregan line himself up with your folds.

With one smooth thrust, he entered you, your slick guiding him in as he pressed up into your walls.

“Fuck.” He grit out, feeling you clench down on him.

You whined, the stretch of him causing your already sensitive pussy to throb. But your limbs were too heavy, and so you laid beneath him, eyes closed as you panted. 

Cregan began to fuck into you slowly at first, giving you time to adjust to him, but before long, he was thrusting into your wet heat with vigour, your bed and body jolting with each snap of his hips. Airless gasps were pushed from your lips as his length bullied your sweet spot inside. 

The coil that had been battered before, began to wind again, and you reached a hand back to grab the arm that he had planted beside you. 

“You gonna cum again?” He breathed, the slapping of flesh filling the room.

You nodded sluggishly, “Uh huh. Please.”

“Good girl.” Cregan dipped his head to press a kiss at the crown of your head, in a soothing and sweet manner, a complete contradiction to he way he was rutting into you. 

He sped up his movements, his tip jabbing into the end of your cervix meanly as you cried out, soothed by his shushing and praise.

“Doing so good for me, almost there.”

Two large hands grabbed your hips and pulled you further down the bed, using them to guide you up and down his shaft, fucking into you sloppily as he began to lose himself to pleasure and chase his own peak.

The change in angle deepened his thrusts, and your body seized, cry breaking free as you came again around his cock.

“Good girl, such a good girl for me. Fuck.”

Cregan’s thrusts became erratic, the pace faltering.

He came with a cry, collapsing on top of you, careful to not put all his weight on your lungs as his cum coated your walls. You breathed heavily, eyelids heavy as he slowly pushed into you through his climax, small moans whispered into your hair. 

“Fuck.”

You giggled sluggishly, pushing your hips back against him. Cregan hissed, pulling back and out of you, watching as his cum spilled from your folds and down your thighs.

“Stay there.” He kissed your shoulder.

You had no plans to move anywhere anyway, your body feeling like jelly and the sweet hum of your orgasm moving through your limbs. The door opened and closed, and a short while later, Cregan was back in the room with a warm, wet cloth.

He cleaned between your thighs gently, before scooping you up the bed to your pillows, tucking you beneath the blankets as he stripped himself down and curled in behind you, wrapping his large arms around you. 

“You okay?” He whispered into your hair.

You hummed happily, snuggling into his side.

“You’ll need to get up and go to the bathroom soon.” He reminded you, and you whined.

He chuckled, holding you to him tightly.

-

Cregan stayed the night, and you had brushed your teeth together in the bathroom sluggishly, him with the black toothbrush he had left in your apartment once months ago.

The next morning when you woke up, you found that Cregan was already out of bed. Both Aemond and the Stark seeming to be early risers like yourself.

You stretched your limbs before crawling out of bed, bare feet sliding across the floor boards to the kitchen.

Cregan stood in the small kitchen, hulking everything around him. It always made you laugh how big he was, how imposing he could be, but really? He was a big softy.

The Stark was bent over the kettle as he waited for the water to boil. You came up from behind him, pinching his bum cheekily. Cregan jerked with a cry, spinning around with an appalled look upon his face. You both stared at each other for a beat of silence, just the sounds of the kettle coming to boil in the background, before you both fell into a fit of giggles. 

Despite the two of you sleeping together for months, Cregan still didn’t quite know how you liked your tea, and so you moved him out of the way to prepare your own, whilst he made himself a mug of instant coffee, stirring the sand like grains in the hot water until they dissolved. 

You spoke sleepily to one another for a while, leant against the kitchen counters as the sun shone into the kitchen with a soft glow.

The sound of a door opening and closing swiftly made you turn your head, and soon Aemond was walking down the hall, earphones in, and eye ahead on the front door.

“Morning.” You chirped.

Silence.

Aemond did not turn his head to acknowledge you. Nor did he hum, or grumble a good morning. Nor did he even spare you a goddamn glance. He simply kept on, grabbing his keys from the bowl, the front door opening, and then shutting firmly behind him.

“What a dick.” Cregan grumbled.

You sighed loudly, head dropping backwards as you looked at the ceiling.

“You know,” Cregan began, looking at you with something akin to pity, “You can always come stay with me and the boys if you want.”

Giving the Northerner a small smile, you touched his arm gently, “Thanks, but we would kill each other.”

Cregan Stark chuckled warmly, “I suppose we would.”

“Besides,” You started, “I’m not about to let a man chase me out of my own house.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Taglist:

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Bold is who I cannot tag

[darkx-the-dragon-kn1ght]

Chapter 43- Part 7

Okay, that was step one, step two- time to make things even worse for this computer!

Oh, not even a “Yes” or “No” prompt? Just…goes automatically? Yeesh, imagine if someone with a Data Chip triggered this event by accident-

Yeah, yup, mm-hm, this is how my laptop acts on a daily basis, this is definitely normal.

Me too, computer.

GAH, WHAT THE-!? PORYGON WHY DID YOU GLITCH THE WORLD!?

Soooo, uuuh…yeah, that's the last encounter for right now! Porygon! I love Porygon, those who follow my blog should know this, I have a whole tag dedicated to appreciation of Porygon, but I am still very terrified of…whatever this glitchy Field is!

Okay, okay, let's just…take it slow, and start by paralyzing it like usual.

That's…just not correct…

But anyways, Glare™ was successful, so let's just try our first Ball? I don't feel comfortable using any moves on it lest I risk knocking it out, so…

NO, THAT WAS MY LUXURY BALL TOO! Now I have to use a boring ol’ Great Ball!

My first idea was to name it after some kinda coding language, but considering how…quirky some of them are (like- Java, Python, c'mon this guy deserves better than that), I just decided to name it after polygons. I've been rapid-firing these nicknames all day, my brain is becoming more deep-fried by the minute, cut me some slack.

Now, the last thing I wanna check is that new Department Store floor. According to the elevator lady, it's got type effectiveness Berries- but does it have all of them?

Yes they do! Oh, this is so great, I'll definitely have to keep this in mind for future battles, I don't care how expensive these fruits are they are useful! What say you, nameless woman?

I'd like some Berry Trees too, honestly- I just like running around watering and picking Berries from them, that was like a good chunk of the time I spent in Brilliant Diamond.

Alright, I'm satisfied with that, so it's time to get ready for Noel...again. I already discussed my theories and plans for him, but just in case you forgot (and it’s been a few chapters, so I wouldn’t blame you), here's the summarized version:

I already know Noel is gonna have a Clefable, so the other most likely candidates for his team are: Furret, Sawsbuck, Kangaskhan, Kecleon, Blissey, Pyroar, and/or Bewear.

Normal-types are only weak to Fighting, Ghost-types are immune to them and Rock- and Steel-types resist them, not to mention Grassy Terrain provides a boost to both Grass- and Fire-type attacks.

I’m bringing Riptide because he’s the partner Pokémon, Glare for Intimidate support, Bloom for the Growth boost and potential to do big special damage, Wulfrum for the quad resistance to Normal and as a possible Clefable counter, Vulcan as the designated Fighting-type and for the Field’s Fire attack boost, and Jack as the designated Ghost-type and for the Field’s Grass attack boost (on the physical side this time).

Got all that? Great, let's get the team back together! And…huh…

Wasn't that Thick Fat before? I mean Reckless is more accurate, that's what Emboar’s Hidden Ability is supposed to be, fair enough, but still- huh.

Anyways, team's back together:

Same items, Wulfrum with the Zoom Lens, Jack with the Elemental Seed, Vulcan with the Charcoal.

Also it's snowing again, that'll be fun to deal with. No, I'm not going to change the weather to something more advantageous for Xera, I'm only gonna use it for static Pokémon encounters.

Previous

Next

[bemylord]

ꜱ/ᴏ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴄʟɪɴɢʏ │ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪᴇꜱ

↳ characters: satoru, itadori, megumi, toji, nanamin, sukuna.

↳ warnings: it's fluff part, so there's no angst or hurtful things [some parts might be spicy].

↳ butler's remark: finally have dropped the last part of this angst theme.i don't know what kind of dr#gs i used when i was writing the last three.

↳ part one;

ɪᴛᴀᴅᴏʀɪ ʏᴜᴜᴊɪ:

he'd be very sad and angry at himself for screamed at you. he didn't mean to push you away because of his fatigue. as he recalled the phrase you dropped before leaving: 'i'm gonna cuddle with megumi-kun' this phrase goes on and on in his head as he runs into your room. he knocked first, hoping you're alone. he knocked again, but there's no response.

'my baby, i'm so-so-so sorry, baby.' he just jump to the bed, wrapping arms around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. 'no, don't cry because of me, i'm the worst boyfriend ever.' he kisses the top of your head.

yuuji will cry with you if you'd continue to sob your nose, burying your face as deep as it's possible in itadori's chest, unable to deny his necessity. he's comforting you in his arms, whispering praising phrases about you.

'i was a fool, y/n, please forgive me.'

'promise me you'll never scream at me like that.'

instead of words, but kissed your lips, nodded his head. yuuji will show his love and affection by kisses and hugs, holding you tight to keep you from running away.

'y/n, i love you.'

ꜰᴜꜱʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ ᴍᴇɢᴜᴍɪ:

you've decided not to leave but stay home, waiting as long as his malice calm down. you were waiting for him in the bedroom, still grieved by the last words. you know megumi wasn't serious - he hates being beaten up by todo or satoru, you also know that he'll be a puppy right after a bath.

he showed up in the room in the home shorts, aimlessly rubbing the back of the neck, breathing out what caught your attention.

'i shouldn't have let the anger gets the best of me, y/n.'

bruises and abrasions are coaxed on his upper body and face as it brings the pain when he sits on the bed. he again rubs the skin, nervous to ask you to heal him.

'i-i would like..'

'i'll heal you, 'gumi.'

he smiles, seeing you tenderly how you treat wounds. he thought you were going to kill him after the acuteness, but here you are, helping your lover.

'i don't deserve you y/n, you always have been so kind to me. i'm sorry for being a moron, my angel, i didn't mean it.'

you took him of guard by a quick, yet lovely kiss on the lips.

'i will make it up to you, i will change.'

ꜰᴜꜱʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ ᴛᴏᴊɪ:

you may think it'll take days or weeks for him to the realization of what did he do. you were a naive one by leaving the gold wedding ring on the table, thought he won't notice.

'i am not a servant or errand girl, i'm his wife!'

perhaps, you thought he won't sniff as you're leaving the house, silly. he has a perfect hearing to hear where you're going and what you left.

'what a jerk i fell in love for, had the misfortune to marry that...'

'to marry that?'

he finished your sentences, turning your body by your arm.

'need a woman to meet your needs, toji? i've had enough.'

his strong arm didn't let you a chance to leave the place you stand, only pulling you by the chin to look into the loving eyes.

'fool, you're my woman, my wife, and the mother of my future children.'

'regret?' he gasped into your lips before kissing them, nibbling lightly on your lower lip.

'i'll do anything to make you forgive me. should i ea-?'

'home, toji, home!'

'by the way, if you ever take the ring off, ohh. doll~'

ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ ɢᴏᴊᴏᴜ: [i think i was h1gh, no hate on me after]

i heard about the woman that have called her boyfriend about thosand or more times, so.. it's satoru. satoru has been calling you since you've left the house, maybe, you'd pick up the phone if you weren't be fury at your boyfriend.

you were walking in the park where gojo first confessed his love. your first kiss and something more than a kiss. that place you will always remember is the tallest and oldest tree in the park. noticeable and stately. as you came to the tree you heard someone behind you.

'you knew it's my place, y/n!' what? is that a touchy voice?

'whatever i'm leaving.'

'where do ya goinnng~~'

'home.'

'fine, i'm walking home too. take you home?'

'we live in the same house.'

'that's better! wanna watch netflix and chill?'

i'd say you're mad at him, but i'll lie. he's so funny and cute, how can you resist?

'don't act like a clingy, gojo.'

'you began first. ok-ok, i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry.'

you had to gag him with a kiss because he would have continued talking nonsense. acting like a child. he lifted you by the waist, kissing you and whispering sweet phrases.

'i love when you're clingy, my baby, i was- i feel so bad due to the work, my angel. soon we'll be going on the mission.'

he lowered you to the ground, kissing you on the tip of your nose.

'let's pick some flowers and make a wreath, shall we?'

'we'll get arrested.'

'you can run, y/n.'

ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ ᴋᴇɴᴛᴏ:

you were taking a bath on your own, drowning in the tears - as you've mentioned you're overly clingy and vulnerable and nanami had had known this. he knew you could be sticky when you haven't seen him in a few hours - but does it badly? he knocked twice on the door, waiting for your response.

'darling, mm-' he hesitated as if you'll reject him. 'may i come in?' you only made a quiet mumbling sound, but it was enough for him to enter the bathtub.

he took off his suit, joining you. no matter how much you try, he will see your weeping eyes.

'i shouldn't have yelled at you over a hard day. darling, come to me, tell me how your day went.'

'not before you tell me about yours.'

you sat on his lap, massaging his sturdy, tired shoulders, helping him relax.

'taking a bath like that with you after a day's work is what i like best.'

he kisses your lips as your palms still find themselves on his shoulders. anyway, nanami doesn't want his future wife to cry over him - he'll be the best husband.

ʀʏᴏᴍᴇɴ ꜱᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ:

it has been weeks since you didn't interact with the king: neither you didn't come to his domain nor answer on his questions. when his sudden mouth appeared on yuuji's cheek, asking you to immediately come to his domain, you didn't feel the need to respond sukuna, irritating him.

you were waiting 'till the king will utterly be pissed off by your behavior, taking the possession of the vessel body to finally have a conversation with you.

'y/n, do something! sukuna has been so furious that i can hardly restrain him.'

'the king wants to see the stupid girl?' you crossed arms over the chest, letting out a sigh of relief - finally. 'i'm coming, sukuna.' you touches yuuji's chest to find yourself being instantly on sukuna's lap.

'you've been ignoring me for weeks, woman.'

'i wonder why? because i'm stupid and clingy?'

sukuna pulled the loose strands of hair out of your face carefully, so as not to hurt you with a claw. he cups your cheeks, making you stare directly at him in the eyes.

'i won't say it twice, so hear me out.' he kissed your lips with fondness, which was not characteristic of him. 'i'm sorry, okay?'

from now on, you can show off that the king of curses said sorry to you. be proud of yourself, 'till his eyes are cast dark hue, palms found themselves on your hips.

'i've been alone for days and days, y/n,' you could feel something raising underneath you. 'and why through all bastards you've chosen satoru?'

someone is jealous..

however, i have a feeling that there will be some sort of sequel...

tag my cuties <3

@monisi @herhappyplace @h3artfiilia @din0plushie @giaduuh @schleepyflocci @creammy0 @rmjace @whogonprayformee @wwholesome-vibes @blacckkwiddow @sivaneeee @deepcowboywerewolf @royaltyofwinterfell @bakugo1819 @electroniclightjudgeghost @alexganes @tonks221 @spn-obession @superbheropeachtrash @strwbrry-lia @sterieshinso @daynada @butyfigers @lonely-dreamer @adorenoya @fluffymarshmellowcat @cloudsinthecosmos @itsonyxpected @itspastellemons @kingdomblvck @lovliecs @doodledee-png @neo-lucien @fl4mepillar @musichime07

↳ back to the main master list.

[luvrlixie]

KILLING ME SOFTLY

【REQUESTED】 - OKAY OKAY SJDBJSISH I WAS GONNA REQUEST A SKZ SEEING YOU IN THEIR CLOTHES OR SOMETHING BUT THEN I STARTED THINKING ABOUT BINNIE SEEING YOU IN SHORT SHORTS AND HIS SHIRT WHICH IS LIKE HUGE ON YOU (ALSO THIS MAN IS DEF A THIGH GUY) AND MY MAN GOES F E R A L. SO. YOU LET HIM RIDE YOUR THIGH <33333

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tags: changbin x gn! reader, soft dom reader, thigh riding/dry humping, very soft, exhibitionism????????? idk they aren't alone in the dorm but no one walks in. not a lot of smut sorry y'all </3 mostly just sappy emotions.. but still nsfw... lit rally wrote at 4am and don't feel like editing lmaoo

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"seriously binnie! if you're gonna spend so much money on clothes, you should at least wear them. you have so many cute sweaters and the fact that they're collecting dust in the back of your closet is a crime."

changbin sat up and peered over the back of the couch as you entered the room. he was ready to shoot back a snarky comment but his words died on his tongue as soon as he saw you.

you stopped by the studio to visit him earlier, where he and the rest of 3racha were working on a track for the next album. you hadn't planned on staying long since you knew your boyfriend would be busy. but about 20 minutes after showing up chan was ushering everyone else out of the room, claiming that he had everything he needed from the other boys for now and that they both deserved a night off. any worries you or changbin might have had about chan overworking himself were immediately replaced by the realization that the two of you would finally have some time alone.

and that brought you to where you were now. standing in front of a blushing boy, wearing shorts and a long shirt of his that completely hid said shorts. you had decided to change after your boyfriend proposed that you spend the night. (at the time he was excited for movies and cuddles, but now it was an offer that he was starting to regret as he could already feel himself growing hard). the shirt you wore was one that changbin never put on due to it's size, he didn't think the whole oversized clothes style was really his thing.

but holy fuck it was yours.

"you uh- you look good."

changbin swallowed and you squinted. he was always a sucker for you wearing his clothes, but it was still odd for him to be turning so red just from seeing you in an shirt of his. luckily it didn't take long for you to notice the way his eyes wouldn't meet yours since they were focused on a different part of your body. you couldn't help but let out a little giggle. seeing you in his clothes might make him weak, but his biggest weakness was your thighs. he'd never exactly talked about your thighs in particular, but it was something that you had picked up on as your relationship progressed. you couldn't help but notice how changbin was always making sure to leave little marks on the inside of your thighs, and would jump at the chance to lay between them when he got sleepy, and how he would often pull out just in time to paint your thighs with his cum.

"like what you see?" you asked playfully as you took a few steps forward so you were standing in front of him.

"like what i- fuck yes... you're gonna be the death of me y/n."

you hummed in amusement, loving the affected you had on your boyfriend, and tangled a hand in his hair so you could guide him forward and let him press kisses on your thighs.

"mm seriously, on my gravestone it's gonna say your name after cause of death" changbin breathed out as he happily trailed his lips over your skin.

"that makes it sound like I murdered you, I'm not a fan of that"

you stood there for a few more minutes. finally moving away once you sensed that changbin was growing impatient. although you loved making your boyfriend beg, now was not that time for that. even though you moved to sit down next to him, changbin whined when you stepped away. knowing you, the poor boy was worried that you were gonna make him suffer through the whole movie with a boner. however, you had much different plans in mind for tonight.

with a smile, you slid a hand between his legs. "such a pretty noise, that little whine. wanna make it again for me?"

changbin's mouth went dry, he opened it to say something but nothing would come out. how were you always able to make him speechless? he did want to make that noise for you again. he wanted you to coo over how cute he sounded, but not here. not in the living room with minho still tucked away in his room, and with hyunjin and seungmin who were expected back at any minute.

"please, please let's go to my room. I need you."

you shook your head and started palming at chnagbin's crotch through his sweatpants, making his body go slack. "shh baby it's okay, calm down. I was just gonna let you grind against my thigh, let you get off like that. we'll be fully clothed so if anyone walks in it'll be pretty easy to play it off as cuddling or a makeout session."

that seemed to be all the reassurance that changbin needed. the way you were touching him paired with your soft voice was making his head spin. all he was focused on now was making you happy and chasing his orgasm. not even a second went by until he was moving onto your lap so he was facing you and straddling one of your legs.

"there you go! good boy."

you helped him settle into a comfortable position and pulled him close so his chest was pressed against yours and his face was buried in your neck. as changbin started to move his hips, you continued whispering words of encouragement and gentle praises since you could feel how tense he had gotten. changbin hadn't exactly done this before. and although the whole thing seemed rather self explanatory and he had gotten off by rutting against a pillow multiple times, he felt a bit self conscious with you watching his every move.

"It's okay bunny, there's no right or wrong way to do this. just whatever feels good." you whispered soothingly into his ear, catching the nervous look in his eyes and the way his movements kept faltering.

it was silly of him to be nervous, he realized. the safest he had ever felt was with you, and over the course of your relationship you had both tried out plenty of new things together (both in and out of the bedroom). thigh riding? this was nothing, you had certainly seen him in much more embarassing situations. so changbin nodded and finally started settling into a steady pace, trusting your words entirely.

every drag of his cock elicited a soft ah sound from the dark haired boy. luckily, you didn't have to worry about him being too loud. he was vocal and made plenty of noise, but always quiet whimpers and soft choruses of "oh"s. you could get him to be loud if you wanted to, you knew how. for now the tiny noises he was making was more than enough to satisfy you as you played with his hair and peppered his forehead with kisses. "there you go bun, bet it feels so good huh?" as you spoke you pressed your leg upwards, applying extra pressure to the whimpering boy's cock. the gasp he let out made your eyes widen in entertainment and you repeated the action, taking pleasure in how he squirmed everytime. "keep going little slut, don't slow down. doesn't my bunny wanna make a pretty mess for me?"

"m-more'" changbin panted.

normally you'd chastise him for not saying please. but right now you honestly couldn't care less. you just wanted your boyfriend to feel loved. wanted him to be as proud of himself as you are of him. so you smiled and pressed your leg up again, hands gripping onto his hips so that you can help guide his movements. "that song you were working on when I visited sounded so good. I know you've been working so hard on it. you're so talented baby, so amazing." changbin let out a sort of strangled noise and tightened his arms around you, pulling himself as close to you as he could get. the absence of words didn't bother you. sometimes changbin babbled on and on while you ruined him, telling you how good he felt and how much he loved you. while other times he just clings onto you, settling on a variety of whines to communicate. both were good.

as the familiar tightness grew in changbin's body, he focused on following the push and pull of your arms. if it wasn't for you guiding him he would have entirely lost his rhythm. knowing that your boyfriend was getting close, you started bouncing your leg and kneading his ass with one hand.

"changbin.. binnie, hey. c'mon let me see your face" you softly prodded, waiting for him to pull back. when he did, your heart squeezed in your chest.

he was so beautiful.

his lips were parted and his bottom lip was glossy and red from biting down on it too hard. his hair was sticking out in a few places, and his eyes were so full of pleasure. you could tell from the glassy look that changbin wasn't entirely present, his thoughts were elsewhere.

"m'gonna..." changbin slurred, hips twitching and back arching. you caught on immediately and softly grabbed his chin to make sure he didn't hide his face again, you always loved to see his face screw up as he comes. this time was no different.

"good boy, good boy let it all out for me"

you helped him ride out his orgasm and leaned forward to kiss him. not even caring that the kiss was messy and mostly just teeth since changbin was panting far too heavily to give you a proper kiss. when changbin's orgasm had finished washing through his body, you let him crash back into your chest. as you waited for him to catch his breath you rubbed his back and buried your face in his hair, giving him time to compose himself before talking.

"I love you binnie"

"..love you too y/n ... but seriously you're way too hot ... gonna die from sexiness overload"

[xxsycamore]

Hi! It’s my first time asking, your work is so great that I took courage to ask uwu. Sorry if I asked something wrong!

Rio x Female Reader + december 3rd

Thank you, and please continue your great work!!

Ahh, I really appreciate that you decided to come and request! I'm very glad that you love what you do, thank you for reading my stories! 💗💗I hope you like it, happy holidays! 

NOT what you do under a mistletoe  [ RIO X MC SMUT ]

Rating: E

Word count: 643

Tags:  Kissing & Making out; Cunnilingus 

Check my masterlist here! You can also find all my works on AO3 under user xsycamore.  In my profile you can find my Ko-fi if you would like to support me!

Part of ‘Tis the Season for Smut 2.0 Content Creation Challenge, hosted by @voltage-vixen  [DAY 1] [DAY 2]

DAY 3 - “Kiss me under the mistletoe.”

"Emma, stop right there!!"

Hearing Rio's loud, stern voice from the far end of the corridor, Emma gasps and freezes on the spot. Could it be that something bad is happening here, at the palace? An enemy attack, or…

Rio strides towards her, an empty tray on his hand. Despite her mind being on alert, Emma makes out the connection that he must be just returning from Sariel's office. But before she could ask him about that, or, perhaps about the more serious matter at hand, Rio closes the distance more than what she'd expect. Until he is quite literally in her face, and the tray is brought up in front of them, shielding them from the rest of the world.

Smooch!

Ending as fast as it began, the sneaky kiss is still warm against her lips and Emma brings a hand over them, in perplexion. As if reading the question marks in her eyes, Rio giggles and hurries to answer.

"Kiss me under the mistletoe, Emma! C'mon, return the gesture!"

The slightly taller blond turns his face to the side, one white-gloved finger tap-tapping against his cheek as his eyes fall closed in excited expectation. Emma is at loss for words, unsure if it's because of the sudden impact of the public act of intimacy, or the whole absurdity of the situation. Wait, what mistletoe?!

Looking over her head, she can see that yes, there is, in fact, a mistletoe hanging from the ceiling here. But why in such a random spot?

"Ugh, Clavis keeps hanging these things everywhere!"

Rio still remains frozen in his silly spot, a faint irritation nestling on his face due to his kiss's delay, but he still grins at her words.

"It's a scandal waiting to happen, right?"

Opposite to what his implication should be doing to her, Emma shuts her eyes and goes on her tip toes to place the promised kiss on his cheek. Rio happens to be turning at the same time, so it lands almost perfectly on his lips, and he uses it to his advantage to deepen it. Neither of them protests.

"R-Rio…your hands…"

"Mm~"

If their kissing managed to ease Emma's initial worries, then watching the butler descent to his knees is bringing a new shock wave over her.

"What are you-"

"Emma, let me eat you out under the mistletoe!"

There is no use talking sense into him once he is in his horny puppy mode, Emma knows this much. She really wants to shout out "THIS IS NOT WHAT IT'S MEANT FOR", but a bigger concern comes to mind before that.

"What if someone sees-"

"I can hide us with the tray again!"

Rio winks in his trademark way, ready to bring the object in the air where he is already pressed up into her crotch, to demonstrate. Playing silly is surely earning him a frustrated pull by the hair, he should be damn aware of that.

"Y-you're making it just more scandalous-looking like that…"

Soon Emma gives up on words altogether, feeling Rio's hot tongue ravish her pussy with eagerness that only compliments her own. There is no time for much playing around, so she tries to not hold back anything, placing both her hands in Rio's locks to guide him closer to her. It only makes her greedier somehow, pushing him in closer and closer, daring him to suck her clit to a fast and strong orgasm before her sane mind could tell her otherwise. And Rio happily complies, making small content noises deep in his throat while generously licking at her wetness.

As Emma comes, head thrown back in near-ecstasy, her half-lidded eyes spot the stupid mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. She should be careful where she is walking around these days… next thing she knows, Rio would happily bend her over the nearest tabletop…

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @leonardoism @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran @thehappycat123 @pumpumnnnp  @thesirenwashere @theuwuisunreal @ravenarld @kyokirigiri-22 @kimmy-banana @btarinana @animeworldsposts @randomanimatedhusbandoseeker @galaxyprison @trishtori @sadshaxk @starshards26 @pro-cat-stination @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @judgemental-seal @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou @ikemenlover24 @themysticalbeing @canaria-blackwell @otome-scribbles  @rhodolitesrose @fun-ghoul-neela @salty-fed-up-bitch @coornn @toxiicmoron​ @kpop-and-otome​ Please let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[baronessblixen]

One couch prompt! › *whispering sleepily* "mm, we’re so close…" 

Thank you so much for this prompt! It turned into a post-ep for "all things". Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2021

Wc: 1079

Fictober Day 5

The Right Choices

Mulder spends his day missing Scully, like a lovesick teenager who's in love for the first time. This is not his first time, not even his second. But it's the one that counts. He gets up in the morning, disappointed but not surprised that Scully's side of the bed is empty. There's a note saying she'll see him later. Whatever that means. Her skillfully crafted handwriting and her name make him grin. Oh yeah, he's got it bad.

Mulder goes on a long, tiring run and smiles at every one of his neighbors that he meets in the hallway. There's no sign of Scully when he returns to his apartment. No message on his answering machine either. He's pacing his apartment, walking past his phone - his landline and his cell - repeatedly.

He wants to call her. He just wants to say hi and hear her voice. But. If there's one thing he's learned about Scully over the years, it's that you can't push her. Like a cat, you have to earn her trust, wait for her to decide you're worth her while. Last night, under the safe cloak of darkness and his blanket, Scully made that choice, snuck into his room and into this bed.

"Is this okay?" She whispered and he was speechless, having waited so long for this moment, for her.

"More than okay," he whispered back, and they loved each other with their eyes wide open in complete awe.

The memories from last night follow him into the shower, into the kitchen and back into his living room where he sits on his couch. He put the blanket back on the couch and he presses his nose against the soft fabric, inhaling her scent.

"You didn't see that," he says to his fish. "Do you guys miss her too?" They keep swimming and ignoring him. Typical. He sighs and turns on the TV. It's going to be a long, long day.

He doesn't hear her come in but when he opens his eyes, unaware he’d even closed them, Scully stands in front of his couch, watching him.

"Hey," he says, his voice thick with sleep. He runs a hand over his face, wondering how long he slept.

"Hey." She's dressed all in black as if she's just returning from a funeral. "How was your day?"

"Long. How was yours?"

"Long," she echoes. "I spent it with my mom," she adds. Mulder nods; he can be patient if he has to be. He can be patient for Scully.

"It's why I left so early." He nods again. She doesn't owe him an explanation. They're still them, still Mulder and still Scully. "Did you see my note?"

"I did. I was-" she knows him. She knows how desperate he can be, how clingy. Yet, she's here. She wants this, wants him. "I missed you," he admits, deciding to be honest.

This time she nods. "Can I stay?"

"Of course," he says, making room for her on the couch.

"Just for a while," she says.

"Stay as long as you want," he replies. Stay forever, he thinks. "So um, did you and your mom have a good day?"

"Mulder." She turns to him. "Should we- do we need to talk about last night?"

"Oh," he says. "That... depends. On what you- do you want to talk about it?"

"No," she admits, looking sheepish. "Unless you want to talk about it."

"I don't want to talk," he says, inching closer.

"What do you want?" She asks him - or rather, his mouth.

"To kiss you. Can I?" She leans into him, and their lips meet halfway. It starts out slow, soft. Then desperation takes over, hands and tongues joining in.

"This is not why I came over," Scully says breathlessly, still leaning against him, her mouth close enough to kiss again.

"I don't mind."

"I'm sure you don't," she says softly, running a hand over his back. "But um... I'm tired." He looks at her. Really looks at her. Her eyes are small and her cheeks pale. "I didn't exactly get a lot of sleep last night." She smiles at him. It's the most radiant smile he's ever seen.

"Neither did I," he says. "So, do you want to go to... bed?" He can ask these things now. Go to bed, the two of them. Together. Separately, the words make sense. All together? Still too new in his mind. He wants to pick her up and carry her to bed, vow to never hurt her, love her until the end of time. He reminds himself to be patient. To take things slowly. It’s not easy when Scully looks at him the way she does.

"I don't want to go to bed,” she explains.

"Just to sleep."

"I want to sleep here.”

"Here?" He sounds like a parrot in his own ears.

"Your couch. Do you think-"

"Yes."

"You didn't let me finish."

"I've known you for seven years, Scully. I know what you were gonna ask."

"Try me." She raises an eyebrow.

"Mulder," he says in a high-pitched voice, "will we both fit on this couch?" He grins at her, proud of his impersonation

"Am I right?"

"Close," she says, taking his hand into hers. "I was going to ask if you were okay with sleeping on the couch?"

"I slept on this couch for years, Scully. I would be honored to share this space with you. I will sleep with you on any couch, in a bed, or wherever you want."

"Let's start with this couch." Like a well-choreographed dance, they move around each other and find their places. Scully is in his arms, the little spoon against his warm chest. She sighs, sounding content. A noise that sounds like pure bliss. His nose is pressed against her neck, and he kisses her there, already hooked on the smell and the taste of her.

"Hmm, we're so close," he whispers sleepily against her warm skin. He’s been waiting for this all day. Maybe he’s been waiting for years. None of it matters anymore. She’s here, and so is he. They found their way, made their choices, and realized the truth was always right there, walking alongside them on rainy days, sharing an umbrella, driving cross-country, falling asleep on each other’s shoulders on planes.

"That was my plan," Scully says, interrupting his thoughts. She sounds drowsy already and his own eyes drift close, too. They’re safe in each other’s arms and sleep comes easily.

[ddarker-dreams]

Saturnine. Yan Chrollo x Reader [SMUT]

Tags/warnings: Dubcon, oral sex, creampie, my brain melting, condescending ???, Chrollo always has smth to say Word count: 2.2k. Note: it is finally done .

When gazing into the mirror, it should be easy to recognize the reflection staring back as your own. It’s the sight you’ve seen your entire life. Maybe the light in your eyes is less noticeable and your smiles no longer appear genuine, but in the end, it still physically bears your image.

You shiver at the chilly air kissing your bare skin, goosebumps erupting at the lack of clothing. Thin fabric clings tightly around your body, sheer and intricate in its lace design, yet astonishingly soft to the touch. It accentuates the swell of your chest, the black as midnight fabric stopping just shy above your midriff. A matching thong connects to sheer thigh highs through a garter belt to complete the set. Never in your life can you recall wearing such a lascivious outfit. Nor did you think you’d ever wear one for him.

Covering your exposed cleavage with your arms, you lower your head, fingernails pressing so harshly against your skin that it hurts. The pain serves to ground you in reality, proof that this is happening and not a dream.

“Did I… do this right?” You murmur, not used to how Chrollo is wordlessly assessing your trembling figure. Normally the air is full of conversation, equal parts rigid and provocative, a verbal game you’ve been forced to navigate. You still prefer the mind games over this maddening silence. You’re convinced he can hear the way your heart pounds viciously as if it was attempting to free itself from your body altogether, the current stress it’s under too much to withstand.

Chrollo moves a step closer and you take a deep, shaky breath. Grey eyes rake over your body, like a predator monitoring its prey, inspecting every inch of you. He spreads his fingers against your stomach, coarse fingers gliding over your skin, gradually moving upwards.

“Mm. You did perfectly.” His voice is rich and husky against your ear, spoken lowly so that only you may hear it. When his fingers reach their intended target, he cups your chest and lays his head on your shoulder. You watch his actions in the reflection of the mirror, glossy lips parting but no words managing to form on your tongue. Emotions swirl within you like an unrelenting vortex. Repulsion. Frustration. Shame. That it came to this, lowering yourself to a level you never wanted to be reduced to.

While you ruminate in your misery, Chrollo presses featherlight kisses from the crook of your neck to your jaw. His lips are soft and well taken care of, curling into a smile at how your pulse quickens. There are numerous mysterious surrounding Chrollo, but you do not doubt that he’s enjoying himself now. Your attention is brought back to his hands on your chest and how he kneads them. A blush ignites when you feel something hard press brush your ass, already guessing what it is.

“S-so you’re going to,” you struggle to get out, releasing a gasp when he suddenly pinches your nipple, “Keep… keep your promise, right?”

The clarification is for your peace of mind. An internal justification is necessary to continue with this illicit act, doubts plaguing your mind. You feel his chest rumble against your back, a deep chuckle leaving him. Regret comes swiftly, knowing that anytime you speak to Chrollo his responses sting deep, piercing your skin and festering.

One of his hands comes to your jaw, tilting your head back to look at him. The proximity has your eyes wide as a doe, his warm breath fanning against your face, dark tresses of hair tickling your face. His grip is tight but not painful. A not so subtle reminder of the Phantom Troupe leader’s innate strength, that goes beyond any measurement your mind could conjure up. Your squeeze your eyes shut when he leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the edge of your lips.

“What if I don’t?” Chrollo’s question has you frowning, eyelids fluttering open so you can shoot him a glare. He stares back unfazed, amusement visible from his closed mouth smile and relaxed posture, clearly not feeling intimidated by your little show. You decide to give it some thought, knowing he’ll scrutinize your response if not chosen carefully. Though, it’s admittedly difficult to concentrate when your face is burning up and his hand is still groping your chest.

Swallowing thickly, you arrive at a half-decent comeback. “I’ll… I’ll hate you.”

It sounded far better in your head.

Chrollo raises an eyebrow at your rebuttal but decides to entertain it. “Don’t you already?”

“I’ll hate you even more,” comes your reply, stumbling out before you could think it over. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, he doesn’t take visible offense. Instead, the bastard laughs again. Affectionately, Chrollo brushes his knuckles over your cheek, mirth dancing in his eyes.

“Even more, huh,” he hums, your nonsensical ramblings sounding worse when repeated back. “If that’s the threat I’m contending with, then I’ll be sure to stick to my word.”

You’re not exactly reassured by this, but decide to leave it for now. Suddenly, Chrollo steps back, freeing you from his grip. Before you can ask about what he’s doing, his hands start loosening his belt. Ah. So the time for negotiating is over. His dress pants fall, revealing a prominent bulge pushing against his briefs.

“Now get on your knees for me.”

It wasn’t a request. You do as he says, hyper-aware of how he’s staring at you, the tile from your shared master bedroom cold against your shins. To save what little modesty you have remaining, you readjust your bra so your chest no longer threatens to spill out. Heartbeat picking up in pace, you lift a shaky hand, palming his crotch through the fabric. 

The muscles in his thighs tighten, yet every other aspect of him remains thoroughly composed. Playing with the waistband, you slowly pull it down, revealing Chrollo’s half-hard member. It’s long, around six inches when erect, with a prominent vein that you’ve learned is rather sensitive. Precum is already leaking from the head, a sight that worsens the blush on your face.

Chrollo runs his hands through your hair, a quiet sigh leaving his lips. You pick up on the unspoken encouragement to not keep him waiting. Readjusting yourself into a more comfortable position, you take his dick fully into your hands, giving it a tentative stroke to test the waters. No verbal response. He’s excellent at maintaining his composure, creepy as it may be. Pumping his cock from the base, you bow your head down, eyelids fluttering shut as you kiss and lick the tip. That earns you a sharp inhale and a tightened grip but nothing else. Wetting your lips with your tongue, you continue licking the tip while jerking him off, noting that his cum has a slight salty taste to it.

Now that your confidence has somewhat been built up, you part your lips to take more of him in, getting adjusted to his size. Chrollo lets out a shaky exhale, fingers curling deeper into your hair. It’s difficult to get into a solid rhythm as your anxiety is unrelenting. Being so vulnerable in front of a person whose hands, which are now intertwined with your hair, have slaughtered countless people. 

He could do the same to you at any time, you think, despite his insistence for not wanting to. Hollowing out your cheeks, you manage to take more of him in, stopping just shy as not to activate your gag reflex. It makes your stomach churn when he lovingly strokes your cheek, looking down at you with eyes glazed over with crazed lust. Of course, he wouldn’t make this easy on you and act different — he continues with the delusion that this is love.

“Eager, now are we?” Chrollo laughs breathlessly. You decide to ignore the comment, too focused on having him finish so you can move on with your night. The low groans and whispers of your name are starting to affect you, a factor that only adds to your shame.. Pangs of heat are building up in between your legs, which you subconsciously rub together in a feeble attempt to relieve yourself. Chrollo quietly groans, content at the sight, dick twitching in your mouth. You wish he hadn’t noticed just how turned on you’re growing — not that you’re surprised with how unfairly observant he is — fully prepared for more scathing comments.

“I’m glad you stopped being so stubborn,” he pushes himself deeper into your mouth, gripping your head tightly enough not to let you move away, “So I can finally have my way with you.”

You wince at how he forces his dick down your throat, tears stinging the corners of your eyes and lungs screaming for air. Chrollo drinks in the sight, shuddering, bucking his hips, and pulling your face as tight against him as he can. You figure his release is getting closer from how erratic his movements are growing. At least it’ll be over soon. This line of thought is interrupted as he pulls away, saliva and cum connecting your mouth to his dick in a thin line, which has you frowning. Relishing the opportunity to regain yourself, your lungs greedily gulp in air, and you cough from his previous actions.

Chrollo extends a hand out to you which you hesitantly accept. The more human side is starting to show, his skin sheening with sweat, bare chest heaving for air much like yours, and black tresses sticking to the sides of his face. Your lips part, intending to ask why he stopped. He places both his just hands below your ass, hoisting you up as if you weighed nothing. Yelping, you struggle and cling to him as not to fall, eyes wide with confusion.

“W-what—”

“Wrap your legs around me,” he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead and you do as he says, scared that you’ll fall otherwise. “Mm. Good girl.”

Chrollo carries you over to the wall, your back pressing against the hard surface and feeling its coolness on your bare skin. After thinking about it for a moment, you understand what it is he intends to do next, tightening your grip around him. He positions the head of his cock against your opening, smiling at how wet you are. At least he’s too focused to comment on your current state. You look to the side, not wanting to see the pleased expression you know is on his face.

“I’ll take care of you after,” Chrollo promises, slowly pushing himself inside you. You take a deep breath, gripping his shoulders tightly, fingernails digging into his skin. At least he’s allowing you to adjust. You yelp when he grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging it so that you look him dead in the eye. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Hm?”

A half-choked out moan leaves your lips as he fills you, feeling his sizeable length stretching you out.

“Y-yes,” You pant, carnal desire outweighing any solid reasoning at the moment. Chrollo continues to pound relentlessly into your cunt, burying his face in your neck. He’s coming undone, fucking you with a strength that has you breathless. You catch occasional guttural groans of your name and don’t want to admit how nice it sounds.

“I always knew you’d come around.” 

The sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixed in with his grunts and your moans. Squeezing your ass, his thrusts grow erratic, before he finally stills. Chrollo releases deep inside you, pulling you down onto him, hot ropes of cum filling you and seeping out.

He grits his teeth, shuddering at his release. All is still for a moment aside from your heavy chests. Chrollo gathers himself before you do, slowly pulling himself out. You feel his cum as it drips out of you and bite your lip at the possible implications. Everything is so warm and your body feels terribly sore, having to clutch onto him for stability when he puts you back down. Chrollo doesn’t seem to mind this, laughing as he runs his hands through your mousled hair.

“How precious.”

You yelp when he picks you up, bridal style this time, your face pressing against his chest.

“It looks like you needed some help there, dear.” Chrollo hums, placing you down onto the bed with a gentleness you weren’t used to. There’s no way any normal human could be this collected already. Taking deep breaths, you attempt to calm yourself, not wanting to be completely undone before him. Chrollo watches with intrigue while you do so, his eyes piercing through your trembling body. When you finally manage to get your breathing steady, he gently pushes your shoulders down and spreads your legs.

“Now, about that promise of mine,” he presses open-mouthed kisses from your ankle to your thighs, “I intend to keep it. We’ll keep going until you’re no longer able to stand.”

[matbaerzal]

Like This Pt.1 | T. Jost

Summary: Tyson is the best roommate you could ask for, you can't imagine ever living with someone else... no- no not like that, your relationship is purely platonic! > (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) A/N: First fic of the year hafsjkhf.... The reader studies Special Education, which will play a small part throughout this fic. Warnings: A short mention of sexual dreams Reader pronouns: she/her Words: 2,4K Tagging: @konecny-s @vitekvanecek @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69 @ricohenrique @notaccurateornice @tysojost @justjosty ... lmk if you want to be tagged ❤️

As you reach the door to your apartment you shift your second grocery bag into your left hand before fishing your keys out of your pocket. You hurry to turn the key in your lock as your arms are tired from the heavy weight of the amount of food you’d bought. You huff out as you open the door, absent-mindedly throwing the keys on the side table as you set the groceries down on the floor.

“I’m sorry, can you give me a minute?” you hear Tyson speak as you take off your coat and shoes. In the corner of your eye, you see him put his phone down before pushing his chair back, standing up, and walking over.

“Hey, how was work?”

You huff out a breath in reply, and when you see him grab the groceries you almost try to object, but relief washes over you before you can. You follow him to the kitchen with the intent to sort the food so he can get back to what he was doing, but he brushes you away.

“Go sit down - relax” he gives you a pointed look.

“Thanks” you smile, hesitantly making your way to the couch.

“You hungry?” he speaks over his shoulder as you sit down.

“Very” your stomach grumbles as if on cue.

“I made some dinner earlier, want me to heat it up for you?”

“Don’t you have an interview” you shout back.

“Eh, they can wait” he shrugs

Without waiting for you to reply he takes out the tupperware from the fridge before putting it in the microwave. Once it’s heated up he brings it over to you, along with a glass of water before he gets back to his interview, apologizing profusely to the journalist on the other end of the call for keeping them waiting.

Living with Tyson had its ups and downs, but all in all the two of you fit together well as roommates. You’d met him during his first year in Colorado, back then you were living on campus. You’d planned to move in with a friend of yours, but after she graduated she got a job offer in another state and decided to move, leaving you practically homeless as there was no way you’d be able to afford to live on your own at the time - and there was no chance that you were ever moving in with your dorm room roommate again. Tyson offered for you to stay with him for at least a little bit until you figured things out. Then he realized he really liked having you around. You’d hesitated, thinking he was just trying to be nice, before he practically begged you to stay.

Hundreds of comments from friends asking if you’re dating or having sex later, you’re still living with him - not dating, not having sex, never even having kissed, and neither of you wanted to cross that line. With the way you and Tyson clicked, there were a lot of people who had trouble believing you were just friends, but at this point, you felt like you knew each other too well. All your dirty laundry had been aired out between the two of you - both literally and figuratively. The smell of his week-old workout sweat in the laundry room was enough to put you off. It wouldn’t be fair to say it hadn’t crossed your mind though. Objectively he is very attractive - you can’t deny that - perhaps, maybe your mind traveled places as he walked out of the bathroom after a shower with only a towel wrapped around him. You knew for a fact that he’d thought about you too, having drunkenly admitted to you that he had a dream about you once - which explained that one morning where he wouldn’t meet your eye and couldn’t have gotten out of the door quicker.

But neither of you ever acted on your attraction, it was pushed into the back of your minds - ignored completely. Because that’s all it was, an attraction, and nothing more.

You watch him as he continues his interview, zoning out as you eat your food. You hear every tone of his voice, completely focused on him but at the same time not registering a single thing he’s saying. It’s only when he looks over at you that you’re shaken out of it.

“Is it alright?” he whispers, covering the microphone.

You shake your head as you're brought back to the real world, it takes your brain a few seconds to catch what he said and your cheeks feel warm as he chuckles - “Hm?”

“The food? Is it alright?”

“Mm, yeah” you take another bite, resting the fork in the food container as you reach for the TV remote to distract yourself.

You’d been swamped with work lately, between your studies and your part-time job as a teaching assistant, you barely had time to take a breather. Your third year studying Special Education at the University of Denver was hectic, any time not spent at work or on campus or studying at home was spent either eating or sleeping in your bed. Tyson could see how tired you were whenever you came home, he always cooked a little extra for his dinner so you wouldn’t go to bed without eating first. His mediocre pasta meals always tasted like heaven after the long days you had.

By the time Tyson plops down on the couch you’re finished eating and zoned out on an episode of New Girl.

“Do you have any plans on Sunday?” he asks and you shake your head - “just studying, writing”.

“Wanna come to the game? I completely get it if you just want to stay in-”

“Are you kidding? I’d love to” you perk up, you hadn’t been to a game in who knows how long and you’d put aside your assignments at least for a little while if Tyson ever asked you to. He never had to ask before, you’d come whenever you had time, but it’d been seven weeks now - Tyson kept count.

“You sure?”

“Yes, Tys, really” you pat his thigh - keeping your hand there a touch longer before removing it when you meet his soft eyes.

--

You wake up late on Sunday, head stuck to the pillow, body hesitant to leave the bed. You’d already woken up once and decided to sleep longer so you force yourself out of bed, put some clothes on and go to the kitchen to grab a bowl of cereal. Just as you get the milk from the fridge your apartment door opens, signaling that Tyson’s home from his morning skate.

“Good morning” he smirks at you, his eyes running over your thrown-together outfit and noting the remnant of sleep in your eyes.

You nod, trying to speak through the mouthful you just took, making Tyson squint his eyes in a laugh. He waits patiently for you to finish so you can repeat your question to him - “how was the skate?”

“It was alright, easily gonna have a nap after I eat though”

“Want some cereal?” you arch your brow. He stops and thinks for a second, contemplating if he should say yes, or make his usual scrambled eggs - “you know what? Yeah” he decides. You raise your brows at him, about to make a comment but he interrupts you. “Yeah, yeah pour me a bowl before I change my mind”.

You hold your hands up - “wasn’t gonna say anything” you try, but he doesn’t look convinced. You rush to get him a bowl and a spoon, setting them down for him, pouring in some cereal as he comes over to sit next to you on your kitchen island. He pours the milk himself before lifting the bowl to clink against yours, muttering “cheers” before taking a spoonful into his mouth.

You sit in comfortable silence as you eat your food, moving around each other as you put the bowls in the sink to worry about later. You walk to the couch and open your laptop to get some work done before you have to get ready for the game.

“Do you ever take a break?” Tyson yawns, laying down on the couch next to you, his head landing on a pillow close by your thighs.

You figure his questions rhetorical, but his eyes stay on you as you start typing away on your essay. “I’m taking a break later, y’know, at the game”

“No, I mean like a real break, like flat out on the couch, books closed-”

“You’re funny”

“I’m serious”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have time for breaks Tys”

He goes quiet after that, a thoughtful look on his face as he settles into the couch, your eyes linger on him for a moment before you go back to writing your essay. It doesn’t take long for his breath to get heavy, the small snores escaping him making you smile. As you skim through an article you might use for your essay your free hand finds his hair - his curls too soft to resist running your hand through. His snoring stops as your hand first makes contact making you freeze, but he’s nuzzling into the pillow and snoring again before you know it.

Even after you’ve read the article your hand stays in his hair and you do your best to type with one hand, only opting to use your right hand when absolutely necessary. You were in tweaking stages so luckily you could keep one hand planted in his hair most of the time. You’re checking the clock here and there, knowing he didn’t set an alarm and that he didn’t like napping too long on game days, but just as you’re about to wake him he leans into your touch, eyes slowly blinking open as he hums, absentmindedly you brush his hair away from his forehead - “sleep well?”

“Like a baby” he smiles, “what time is it?”

“uh, two-thirty” you glance over at the little clock on your computer.

He leans into your hand one more time as if to savor the feel before he starts to get up, once on his feet he stretches his arms above his head, you can’t help but look as his t-shirt lifts to reveal his stomach, but you avert your eyes quickly and hope he doesn’t notice. If he did, he doesn’t comment, “want me to make dinner for you too?” he throws the words your way over his shoulder as he makes his way to the kitchen. “What’s on the menu?” you tease, fully well knowing the answer, even saying it with him once he replies - “chicken and pasta”.

You turn your head to look at him, and he can’t bring himself to be annoyed at you when you smirk at him.

“Yeah, yeah” he brushes you off - “do you want some or no?”

“Yes, please” you smile.

He quickly makes the food, the recipe burned into his brain from making it time after time. He puts a little extra cheese on your plate, coming over to the couch with both plates once he’s done. You close your computer, place it to the side, and take the plate he hands to you with ease. Once your plates are scraped it’s time for Tyson to get ready, change into his suit and leave for the arena.

He walks out of his room wearing one of his three-piece suits and if you didn’t have the restraint you’d built up over the time you’d lived with him you’re sure you would’ve drooled at the sight. You’d think he was doing it on purpose, but you’d never let your weakness for the vest-jacket pairing slip, and he looks oblivious as he meets your eyes. The little spin he does for you does nothing to help and you have to give yourself credit for being so collected when he raises his brows as if to ask: “Is this alright?”.

“Looking good, Tys. I’ll see you after the game” you get off the couch as you speak and give him a quick hug, his phone pinging with a message signaling that JT is waiting for him downstairs as you break away.

“See you later,” he says.

“Kick some Dallas butt.”

He laughs as he walks through the door leaving you to yourself. You don’t wait long until you start getting ready yourself, not being able to focus on your writing with the anticipation of the game in the back of your mind. You put your lucky Avalance hoodie on, grabbing your coat before leaving with more than enough time to catch the warm-ups. There’s a couple of familiar faces there when you arrive. You’d met the players’ girlfriends a few times, mostly in this exact setting and you fell right back into the group again. You felt for them, having to watch their boyfriends play such an unpredictable sport. You guess you could imagine how it felt at least a little, living with Tyson and all, but the energy they brought to every game was admirable.

The game was tight, the boys fell behind in the first period but in the second and third they were no doubt the better team, but the puck just wouldn’t go in the net. With ten minutes left they manage to tie it and with 5 minutes left Tyson takes a tripping penalty. They killed the penalty and scored not long after to secure the win, but you could see Tyson beating himself up over the penalty that could’ve cost them the game. The look on his face as he sat in the penalty box is something you keep in the back of your mind as you leave with the girls to meet him.

He’s one of the first ones to come out of the locker rooms, head hanging low. Gabe pats him on the shoulder before he greets his wife, Tyson throws a forced smile towards his captain that seems genuine to anyone that doesn’t know him the way you do. The smile reaches his eyes once he sees you though and he drapes his arm over your shoulder when he reaches you, leading you towards the garage - “Let’s go home”

To be continued...

---- Copyright © @matbaerzal (2021)

[bluejayblueskies]

an ill-fitting definition

rating: M words: 4.3k relationships: jongeorgie, jontim, jonmartin, background wtgfs additional tags: canon compliant, pre-canon, scottish safehouse period, canon asexual character, fluff, kissing, implied sexual content, rumors and misconceptions

written for weeks two/three of @archivalpride for the prompts identity and doubt!

cw for misconceptions about asexuality, assumptions made about somebody’s sexuality, rumors and outing somebody without their knowledge, non-explicit/implied sexual content, mention of canonical character death, mention of canonical stalking and paranoia, gossip (including of the sexual nature), food, very mild blood, mild internalized acephobia

ao3 link in source

.

It’s three weeks and two days after they began dating, when Georgie picks up Jon’s hand where it’s clasped in hers and asks with plain curiosity in her voice, so does the ring, y’know, mean anything?, that Georgie hears the word asexual cross Jon’s lips for the first time.

It’s not a word she’s unfamiliar with; she’s run in enough LGBTQ spaces in her time in uni that she has a good idea of the breadth of identities that are out there. She rubs her thumb across Jon’s ring and thinks, in the voice of the gender and equality training instructor with sharp red heels and a “fun” black dress who’d stood in front of the seminar she’d been mandated to take for one of her courses:

Asexuality. A lack of sexual attraction. An aversion or repulsion to sexual activities.

It had been a small word on a large black-and-white slide, crammed in next to aromanticism and overcrowded by a myriad of other sexual identities discussed at length. It had been… quite a comprehensive training, Georgie thinks as she quits fidgeting with Jon’s ring and instead threads their fingers together. For a moment, she considers asking what he means anyway, but she quickly dismisses the thought. She wants to be supportive, and as Jon looks at her with open, trusting eyes and a faint smile, she decides that she knows enough. She doesn’t want to make it awkward, and with things like these, she’s found that asking Jon to explain his feelings in plain terms can be… well, awkward is certainly a word for it. Best just not to bring it up, she decides.

Still, she feels the need to ask, “Can I kiss you?” because the red no sex sign blinking on and off in her head is frustratingly vague on what, exactly, is contained within that stipulation. When Jon voices his assent, she tips her head up and presses a quick kiss to his chin before kissing him on the lips, wiping the disgruntled look off them.

So yes to kissing, she thinks, tucking that away next to no sex. Yes kissing, no sex. Yes holding hands, she adds as she squeezes Jon’s hand in hers and he smiles at her, warm and soft, that special side of Jon that she only sees on occasion. No pet names, she adds a week later when she tries out sweetheart and Jon’s nose wrinkles with displeasure. No foot rubs, when Jon swats at her and says, between giggles, that he’s awfully ticklish. Yes back rubs. Yes cuddling. No PDA. No touching with wet or sticky hands. Yes brushing hair.

That’s as far as she gets before, one year and two months after she begins dating Jonathan Sims, she stops. After which point she stops keeping track, because, well. There’s really no point anymore, is there?

.

.

.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, burying his head in his hands.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tim says quickly, holding his hands in the air in a placating gesture. He scoots a few inches away from Jon on the couch for good measure, unsure just how much space Jon needs right now. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize—I should apologize. I should have asked first.”

“It’s just—” Jon makes a frustrated noise, and when he takes his hands away his cheeks are dark and he won’t meet Tim’s eyes. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s okay,” Tim repeats, watching with a twisting feeling in his stomach as Jon apparently notices that the button of his trousers is still undone and quickly goes to redo it. His eyes follow the movements of Jon’s hands automatically, and just as automatically, he notes the distinct lack of a tent in the front of Jon’s trousers. The same… cannot be said for his own. Particularly after nearly twenty minutes of kissing, which Tim had very much enjoyed.

Christ, had Jon been uncomfortable with that as well? All in a rush, Tim says, “Was the kissing bad too?” Then, he winces—fuck, that sounded accusatory—and adds, “It- it’s okay if it was, I just- I didn’t know, and I don’t want to do something that makes you uncomfortable, Jon.”

“No, the- the kissing was fine, it’s just...” Jon makes an aborted motion with his hands, like he’s trying and failing to find the words.

“... complicated?” Tim supplies.

Jon nods mutely.

“That’s okay,” Tim says, and he finds that he means it. “We don’t have to do anything more than kissing if you don’t want to.”

“I- I don’t…” Jon worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, like he’s searching for the right words, the crease in his forehead deepening every moment he fails to find them. Finally, he lets out a long, labored breath, pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, and says, “Yes, that… that might be best.”

Tim studies Jon’s face. It’s pinched and a bit stiff, like Jon would very much like to crawl out of his skin or melt into a puddle and disappear. “You sure?” he feels compelled to ask, placing a hand carefully on Jon’s knee. “You, uh. You seem a bit unsure.”

Jon sits there a moment more, spine straight and rigid, before melting slightly against Tim’s hand, his face slipping into something more relaxed but no less unhappy. “Yes.” He hesitates a moment, then says, a bit stiltedly, “I’m, um. I’m asexual. Since we’re already talking about this, I… I may as well get that out in the open as well.”

Oh. A few pieces slot into place, and Tim says with perhaps a bit more enthusiasm than necessary, “Oh. Why didn’t you tell—?” He cuts himself off and offers Jon a sheepish smile. “Sorry, sorry. That was rude of me. Thank you for telling me.”

“We’re dating,” Jon says bluntly. “It was going to come up eventually.”

“Still.” Tim shrugs, then reaches for Jon’s hand and holds it tightly in his. “Thanks.” He hesitates only a moment before leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to Jon’s nose. Jon makes a disgruntled noise, which Tim thinks is adorable. Then, because it feels appropriate, he says, “Y’know, Danny… Danny was asexual. Aromantic too, actually. We had a big talk about it a few years ago where he sort of… laid it all out for me.” No sex, no romance, no thank you, had been the overall gist of it. Tim makes a new box for Jon and fills it in with the words no sex, yes romance, it’s complicated.

“Oh,” Jon says quietly, with that same sort of sadness in his eyes that he gets every time Tim mentions Danny, something much gentler than pity and significantly less cloying. If Tim notices the faint discomfort that accompanies it, something that whispers that isn’t my definition of asexuality, we’re not the same, you don’t understand if one were to listen closely enough, he doesn’t let on.

Tim does, however, notice the discomfort in Jon’s eyes—now mixed with anger—when two years, six months, and seven days later, he accuses Tim of murder. But by then, their days of hand-holding and nose-kissing are far, far behind them.

.

.

.

“Maybe he just needs to get laid,” Melanie says with a groan, lying on Georgie’s couch and staring at the ceiling. The Admiral is curled up on her lap, purring contentedly. She scratches absentmindedly under his chin.

“What, Jon?” Georgie appears in Melanie’s field of vision, wielding a damp wooden spoon and frowning.

“No. No.” Melanie shakes her head emphatically. “Martin. He’s been all… sulky lately. I think he’s still upset that Jon came to me instead of him for help, but I don’t know why he has to be all… touchy about it.”

“Ah. Well, you know, he is a bit hung up on Jon. At least, according to you.”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem,” Melanie says grumpily. “Besides, didn’t you say that Jon went on about Martin, like, all the time? Sounds like he’s got it bad as well. Maybe they could just… y’know.”

“Melanie.”

“What?” Melanie tries to shoot Georgie a glare, but it’s obstructed by the back of the couch. “I’m on my last nerve, Georgie!”

“I know, honey. But Jon’s really not… well, he’s not very open about these sorts of things. Getting him to talk about his feelings was like pulling teeth when we were together.”

“It still baffles me that you used to date.”

“He’s very sweet when you get to know him!” There’s a pause, a few clatters from the kitchen. “Besides, even if he and Martin got around to talking, Jon… well, he doesn’t.”

Melanie frowns. “Doesn’t what?”

“Have sex.”

“Really?” Melanie sits up, disturbing the Admiral, who lets out an irritated mrpp before adjusting himself accordingly and curling back up on her lap. “So when you were together…?”

Georgie shakes her head. “Nope. Never.”

“Huh.” Melanie thinks for a moment. “Is he like… religious or something?”

Georgie chuckles. “Jon? No, not at all. He’s asexual.”

“Isn’t that like… that thing that sponges are? Where they self-reproduce?”

“Seriously?”

Melanie scowls at the incredulous look Georgie’s giving her. “What? I’m not being a- a dick, I’ve just never heard of it before.”

“You were a YouTuber. Your job was to be internet famous.”

“Okay, now you’re just making fun of me.”

Georgie shoots Melanie a grin. “Sorry. Basically, it means that Jon doesn’t do sex. Like… at all. He just… doesn’t.”

“Huh,” Melanie says again.

“Yeah.” Georgie turns back to the stove. “Now, come here. Tell me if there’s too much salt?”

“Sorry Admiral,” Melanie whispers as she deposits him onto the floor and crosses the room to wrap her arms around Georgie’s waist from behind and take the bite of sauce on the spoon Georgie holds out for her. “Mm, tastes great. As always.”

And in the back of her mind, Melanie adds another line to the section labeled Jonathan Sims and writes, with careful handwriting, he doesn’t.

.

.

.

Although… according to Georgie, Jon doesn’t.

Martin pauses the tape and rubs his hands over his eyes. His cheeks are burning red, and he takes a few minutes to just breathe.

Doesn’t what? Doesn’t date? Doesn’t kiss? Doesn’t—

Martin stops that train of thought before it goes any further, the flush on his face growing in intensity. It’s none of my business, he tells himself as he ejects the tape and turns it over in his hands a few times before sliding it back into the small box it had come from.

He still can’t help but think about it. He thinks about it before the Unknowing, when Jon hesitates just a moment before wrapping him in a tight hug and whispering, I… I’ll be back, Martin. Then we can talk. He thinks about it when Jon’s in his coma, when Martin sits at his bedside and loses himself in daydreams and what-ifs. He thinks about it when Jon’s hand is clasped in his and he’s leading Martin out of cloying white fog and sea-salt air, his shirt speckled with bits of dark liquid that Martin tries to pretend isn’t blood. He thinks about it on the way to the safehouse, Jon leaning against his side, Martin’s hand clasped firmly in his.

He thinks about it a lot, in the confines of the wooden walls that let in the growing chill of the Scottish countryside.

Jon doesn’t.

He knows what Jon does. Jon makes him breakfast most days, eggs and toast and sometimes waffles, which Martin’s always considered a guilty pleasure but that he’s had more times in the past week and a half than he’s had for the past ten years. Jon puts his head on Martin’s shoulder when they sit on the couch and read, flipping through the dusty novels they’d found tucked in cardboard boxes underneath the bed that Jon had wrinkled his nose at but has been slowly making his way through nevertheless. Jon clings to Martin like his life depends on it when they sleep, and Martin will wake in the morning with one arm slung across his chest, a leg between his, and a sizeable portion of hair tickling at his nose.

And, nine days into their stay, Jon smiles at Martin as he shuffles into the kitchen in the morning, stands on his toes, and presses a soft kiss to Martin’s lips.

“Um,” Martin says eloquently, still half-asleep and trying to process what he’s 98% sure is their first kiss. He’d be 100% sure except for the fact that Jon kissed him like it was nothing, like it was easy, like it was something they do every morning.

The smile slips from Jon’s face, and he looks nervous. “I- I’m sorry, I should have asked first—”

“No, no, it’s- it’s okay,” Martin hastens to say, taking one of Jon’s hands in his and squeezing gently. “Just- just surprised, that’s all. I, um. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to kiss me, given that we haven’t…” He gestures absently, his face heating up. Stop talking, Martin. “Yeah,” he finishes lamely.

“Oh,” Jon says with a frown. “I… apologize for giving you that impression. I- I love you, Martin—I have no problems with kissing you.”

Warmth courses through Martin, as it always does when Jon tells him that he loves him. It all feels so unreal sometimes that he’s here, with Jon, away from it all and living in quiet domesticity. “Oh,” he says, face flushed. “A- all right, then. Great!”

“Great,” Jon echoes.

“Just- just thought maybe you didn’t—”

Martin clamps his mouth shut, face heating up more, this time in embarrassment. Shut up, Martin.

Jon raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t… what?”

“Um.” Martin rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “Kiss?”

Jon looks at Martin blankly. “Oh. Well, I- I do.”

“Right, yeah, I- I put that together. When we, um. You know.”

Jon looks amused. “Kissed?”

“Yep, that,” Martin squeaks out.

They look at each other for a moment before dissolving into giggles. Jon presses another kiss to Martin’s lips and finishes making the waffles and kisses Martin again when he hands Jon his tea, and it’s really quite lovely indeed.

So Martin adds Jon kisses to his mental list of Jon does and finds a sole remainder on the list of Jon doesn’t. And it’s fine with him, he decides, if Jon doesn’t want to have sex. He just wants Jon, in whatever way Jon will have him.

Jon doesn’t do sex, he thinks as he kisses Jon goodnight.

So, three days later, when they’re on the couch and they’ve kissed until Martin is red-faced and breathless and Jon pulls back with a pinched expression on his face, Martin assumes—with hot embarrassment coursing through him—that he’s somehow gone too far and strayed into sex territory and made Jon uncomfortable.

Then, Jon says with cheeks dark and eyes focused resolutely on Martin’s chest, “Martin, would… would you like to move to the bedroom?” and Martin’s thoughts grind to a halt.

“Sorry, what?” is all he can think to say.

Jon’s cheeks grow incrementally darker. “I am asking,” he says slowly, like the words are clunky and unwieldy in his mouth, “if you would like to have sexual intercourse. With me, of course, I- I hope that was implied.”

Martin’s aware that his mouth is quite literally hanging open in shock. He closes it quickly before swallowing and saying, “I… yeah, Jon, I- I’d love that, but I thought you—”

He clamps his mouth shut again, a touch too late. Jon’s forehead creases in confusion and he says, “I what?”

Martin hems and haws for a moment before biting the bullet and saying, all in a rush, “I thought you didn’t like sex.”

Jon’s frown deepens. “What? Why?”

And god, Martin doesn’t want to admit that he’s been thinking about office gossip for nearly a year, but he’s dug his grave—he may as well lie in it. He sighs, worries his hands on his lap, and says, “I… may have listened to a tape where Melanie said that Georgie said that you… didn’t.”

Jon looks at Martin blankly for a moment before his expression flattens into something that’s equal parts irritated and resigned. “Ah. Right. That… that makes sense, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Martin says emphatically, placing his hand atop Jon’s and squeezing. “I- I didn’t mean to hear it; I was listening to the statements and it was just there.”

“No, it’s… it’s not your fault.” Jon sighs and rubs a hand across his eyes. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“What?”

Jon makes an aborted, dismissive gesture with his hand. “I’ve… never been good at explaining my own preferences. I never did with Georgie, just… told her I was asexual and left it at that. I suppose she took that to mean that I, er. Didn’t.”

Asexual. Martin has a vague notion of what that means—he’s been in enough online LGBTQ spaces to have encountered the word before, but he’s never really looked into it much himself. If pressed, he thinks he’d also assume it meant that Jon didn’t. Something a bit guilty twists within him at that thought, amplified by his next thought that Georgie shouldn’t have assumed, because, well, that’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it? Still, he feels the need to voice it; he squeezes Jon’s hand again and says, “It’s not your fault that she just- just made assumptions about what you wanted, Jon.”

“Yes, but it’s my fault that I never corrected her.” Jon makes a face. “Or Tim, now that I think about it. I… I suppose I’m just not very good at talking about these things. Particularly because my own preferences are…” Jon’s pained expression deepens. “Christ, I don’t want to say complicated again, but there really is no other word for it.”

That’s not your fault either, Martin wants to say, but he knows Jon will just contradict him again, and he’ll repeat himself, and then they’ll just be talking in circles, and that won’t help anything. It’s frustrating, but it’s the truth. Still, Martin finds the words waiting on his lips when he opens his mouth, so he shuts it again and thinks for a moment, promising himself later. I’ll tell him later. Finally, he says carefully, “Do you… do you want to talk about it? We don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I don’t want to assume.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Well, I don’t want to keep assuming, I suppose, given that I’ve already assumed quite a lot.” Quieter: “Sorry, again.”

“It’s fi—” Jon cuts off, takes a breath. “Th… thank you, Martin.” He hesitates a moment, then says haltingly, “I- I do want to talk about it, but I don’t—” He makes a frustrated noise. “—I don’t know how.”

“Okay,” Martin says after a moment. “You said it’s complicated, yeah?” When Jon nods mutely, he continues, “Would it help if you described how you feel right now? That’s- that’s less complicated, right?”

Jon’s mouth flattens into a thin line. “I… suppose.”

“All right, then.” Martin makes a go-on gesture, then rests his hand atop Jon’s and applies a gentle pressure.

Jon takes a few deep breaths, squints at nothing, makes a few wordless noises, then says bluntly, “I want to have sex with you.”

Martin tries really, really hard not to blush, but he doesn’t think he quite succeeds given how hot his face feels when he says, “Right, okay.” His voice is a bit higher-pitched than normal; he hopes that Jon doesn’t notice. “And, um. Do you always… want to have sex with me? Or just right now.”

Jon grimaces. “That’s where it gets complicated.” He makes an I-don’t-know gesture with his free hand and says, “No? Yes? I don’t know, Martin. I’m told that not wanting sex all the time is- is normal, that- that you have to be in the mood, but apparently I’m just supposed to know when I’ll be in the mood and when I won’t be, and that- that doesn’t really work for me.”

“Are you—” Martin cringes internally, but forces the words out. “—in the mood right now?”

“Well,” Jon grumbles, “not anymore, but I was. And it’s complicated, because even if I am, I- I don’t always want to be touched, but how do you explain that to someone, how- how do you tell someone that it’s mostly no but sometimes yes and there’s a very good chance that I might change my mind halfway through and decide that it’s no after all?”

“I think,” Martin says patiently, “that you just say that.”

Jon gives Martin a look. “Martin.”

“What? It’s true!” Martin gives Jon as reassuring a smile as he can muster. “It made sense to me, at least.”

“Yes, but that’s not—” Jon makes a frustrated noise. “It’s not whether or not it makes sense, it’s whether or not somebody is willing to put up with a sexual partner who doesn’t know whether or not they’re going to want to have sex on any given day, whether they- they’ll be repulsed or interested or want to give but not receive or the other way around or- or something else that I haven’t thought of but that will likely happen because consistency is, apparently, off the cards for me entirely.”

“Hey, hey,” Martin says gently, placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder and rubbing gentle circles with his thumb. “Jon, look at me.” When Jon looks, albeit reluctantly, Martin continues, “I can’t speak for other people, and I- I can’t tell you how to feel, but I can tell you how I feel, and I… I’m willing. No, more than willing—I love you, Jon, all of you, and if this is how you feel, then I love that about you too. Whatever you’re willing to give me, it… it’ll be enough. You’re enough.”

Jon’s cheeks darken and he looks away. After a long moment, he says in a stiff voice, “Well. Thank you, Martin.” Then, a bit softer: “I… I love you too.” He looks at Martin then and offers him a small, weak smile. “It’s… well, it’s still awkward, but it’s not quite as bad—talking about all of this—as I thought it would be.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. Talk to me about it, that is.”

Jon’s smile turns a bit hesitant. “So you would really be okay if I… if I never asked again? To, er. To have sex.”

“Yes,” Martin says, without hesitation.

“Oh,” Jon says quietly. “And- and if I said that I did? Want to? That… that would be okay too? Even if I’d already said that I didn’t?”

“Yep.”

Jon looks down at his hands where they’re twisted tightly in the hem of his jumper, then back up at Martin. “All right.” He hesitates a moment, then says, “And if… if I said that I wanted to have sex… now?”

Ah. It looks like Martin’s not done blushing quite yet. “Yep, that- that’s fine with me,” he squeaks out, then cringes internally. Fine? Really?

Thankfully, Jon doesn’t seem offended; if anything, he seems amused, his mouth quirking up into a small smirk. “All right, then.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to Martin’s lips, soft and chaste and ever-so-slightly lingering before he pulls away. “I, er. I think I’d like to just kiss for a bit, though.” His smile turns teasing. “Foreplay is very important, after all.”

Martin groans and gives Jon a look, his face likely fully tomato-red by now. “Jon.”

“Need to make sure we’re fully in the mood before beginning proceedings—”

“Yes, yes, you’ve made your point,” Martin says, a giggle slipping out around the words. Then, because he’s nothing if not a little mischievous himself, he leans forward and captures Jon’s lips in a kiss, significantly less chaste and a touch more insistent, pressing until Jon is leaned back against the arm of the couch and Martin is hovering over him. Martin disengages from the kiss so he can marvel at the flushed, wide-eyed expression on Jon’s face. “Like that?” he says innocently.

Jon blinks up at him for a few seconds, like he’s not entirely sure how to process everything in front of him, before he smiles, a warm, happy thing that captures Martin’s heart entirely and steals it away. “I do believe that was adequate, yes. Perhaps you should do it again though, just to make sure.”

So Martin does. I love him, he thinks as he kisses Jon on the couch and kisses him again on the bed, kisses him in the spot between his shoulder blades where he always carries tension and in the dip of his clavicle and on the inside of his thigh. And when he’s curled up next to Jon after, he presses another kiss to the crown of Jon’s head and wraps his arms around him and quietly discards his mental lists of does and doesn’t. He’ll start from scratch, he decides, and after a moment’s thought, he comes up with two more lists, upon which it’s surprisingly easy to add item after item after item.

Jon likes to be kissed. Jon likes eggs and toast, but not jam, and likes his tea black and slightly oversteeped. Jon doesn’t like wool because he finds it itchy. Jon doesn’t like white wine, but he likes red, the kinds that are too dry for Martin’s tastes.

Jon likes Martin, and Martin likes him too. So, so much. And even when things change, when Jon finds a white wine he likes at a restaurant they visit and he takes his tea once with honey and enjoys it and he goes through a period where he doesn’t enjoy open-mouthed kisses and Martin adjusts his lists accordingly, that remains.

[sparetimeimagines]

Better | Kuroo Tetsuro

Tags; Fluff, Smut, Cheating Spouse

Masterlist

He’s been different lately. No more I love yous. Staying out late. Always gone when you come home.

At first you were accepting. Lenient. You let him do his own thing because maybe he was busy or it was a big project he was invested in.

But those late nights on the weekends turned into dinner alone every night. The trust you had in your marriage was heading out the window and all those years of dedication didn’t seem to matter anymore because you didn’t seem to matter anymore.

So you got a second job. You decided to find something progressive to occupy your time.

But that just left you lonely. Spending more time at work and less with your husband.

And that was when it hit you.

You’re always alone, and he didn’t seem to care.

Then there was Kuroo

The feeling to be wanted. That someone is finally listening to you.

It was refreshing. No, better. It was everything.

It started simple. The flirting just by doing favors for each other.

But then one day you stayed late to talk to him. And really got to know him.

You learned his schedule and came in on your off day, just to see him.

The smile on his face when he was simply happy to see you. It was something you craved.

To be wanted.

Was it too much to ask for?

“Hey, wait up.” You hear behind you and you stop your pace.

Dark hair, pretty eyes, he was towering over you once more.

“Kuroo.” You smile, your lips half heartedly curve up and you wait for him to approach you.

“Hey. Where you heading?” You two slow your pace walking side by side until you finally meet unison.

“Station. I’m heading home, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately? Don’t you have someone waiting on you?”

You shake your head no, solemn riding your cheekbones. Your eyes break contact from his knowing you’ll get emotional if you keep watching him like that.

“Do you have to go home?” He perks up, his hand brushing your elbow. “I mean, I have room. You can come home... Err come with me.. I-uh.” He starts to ramble and you laugh “What?” He chuckles blushing.

“Nothing.” You smile and watch the train pull up.

“No... tell me.” He smiles again, this time pulling you in to him.

There it is. That warmth, the feeling to be wanted. It’s back, through the arms of Kuroo Tetsu.

His fingers crawl over your arms, settling with arms folded over your waist. You rest your head over his beating chest, finally feeling your warmth.

“You’re cute, Kuroo.”

The doors open to the train, pedestrians follow suit entering one at a time, yet still, you remain in his arms.

Do you go? Enter the train knowing there’s a 90% chance you will be alone tonight.

Do you stay with him? Follow him home and be of use to someone tonight.

It’s better to be with someone who can make you feel valued. Wanted. Needed. Right?

The train leaves the station, yet you’re still enveloped in his arms.

“Does this you’re coming home with me?” His low voice growls in your ear, nipping at your lobe. You arch your neck in the opposite direction as he slowly begins to litter your skin with open mouthed kisses.

The passion he pursued into each kiss had a feeling different than you have in a while.

The warmth in between your legs is a pool gathers in your panties.

A soft moan releases from your lips and you feel him smirk.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Before he can securely shut the door to his apartment, he slams you against the wall, legs pulled over his waist. His lips attach your neck not giving you a chance to adjust.

“Mmm I’m gonna make you feel so good.” His moans his hands gripping your thighs sliding to your ass. “Make you forget his name.”

His lips litter to your own when he smirks, those hazels staring into yours with a dare.

A dare to push him away.

A dare to tell him to stop.

But you won’t. Because you need this. You need to feel again. You need to know how it feels to be wanted.

“Mmm make me.” You smirk and digs his his lips into yours again.

Hot and heavy, his breathy moans match yours as he takes you to his bedroom, throwing you against his black covers.

“A damn feast.” He bites his lower lip with a growl, palming his cock through his pants.

The guilt grows in the back of your mind. You shouldn’t be doing this. You should be at home waiting on your husband to show up. Maybe he’ll be on time today. Maybe he’ll finally start acting like your husband.

Kuroo drops to his knees and leans over the bed, leaving a trail of kisses starting at your ankle. Slow passionate kisses, more than what you have felt in weeks, force your panties to stick against soaked cunt.

Your heart is racing in your chest. You’ve never been so ready to be touched by someone.

Those hazel eyes look at you from your thighs, a finger tucking into the sides of your panties.

“When’s the last time someone touched you? You’re so wet.” He chuckles observing your slick, resulting in you shifting your legs together, a blush dressing your cheeks delicately.

“No no no.” He quickly sits up kissing your lips. “That’s not a bad thing. Not on your behalf.” He gazes into your eyes and smirks softly. “However you deserve...” his fingers dip under your dress leaving you in your undergarments. He pulls your breasts out from the cups and lips around the areola. “The best.” He kisses each of them then to your stomach which you insecurely cover with your hands.

“You don’t have to hide.” He grabs each hand in his locking the fingers in his hold, kissing your knuckle. “I think you’re beautiful. How can he not treat you better?”

Kuroo releases your fingers to grab your hips, the panties that cling to you, discarding them slow enough to make you shudder growing impatient.

“Woah now.” He smirks at your hips bucking. “We’ll get there. Patience Chibi Chan.”

He sits back eyeing your pussy spread for him in between your legs.

“So pretty.” He moans rubbing your calf. “I wonder if you’re as tight as you are wet.” He slips a finger in, earning a loud moan from your lips.

“Oh? Chibi Chan do you like that? My large fingers stretching your pretty little pussy.” He smirks studying your eyes as they watch him. The leud noises your cunt makes as he slides his finger between your folds makes his cock twitch. You roll your hips, sliding further down to the edge of the bed into him relaxing at his touch.

Kuroo smirks licking his lips at the sight.

“Getting eager huh? Can’t wait for me to fuck you?” The way he speaks to you, edges you with his filthy words; you can’t control yourself. “You’re practically dripping on me. I wonder what happens if I do this.”

He removes his finger and grips each leg, leaving a single strip along your slit. His wet tongue smoothly hits your clit making you gasp.

“Yeah? Chibi Chan?” He mumbles against your cunny looks up at your face. “Mmhmm. That’s the face I want.” He smirks seeing those cheeks red as he flicks your clit with his tongue.

Your legs smack together tightly squeezing his face in your thighs.

“Mmm yes Babe.” His hands slam them down to the side. “Cum on my tongue.”

Kuroo drags his tongue along your folds.

Your mind in a fog you begin to rethink why you’re married in the first place. Why you wait up for someone who doesn’t make your heart pound in your chest like Kuroo does.

“You’re thinking too much again.” He pulls out from your core and comes up to meet your lips.

“Don’t think about him.” He whispers, his lips reconnecting with yours. Your hands reach for his body. His pecks, how perfect they fill out his chest. Those arms, how his biceps flex when he fills you with his fingers. His abs, how they flex with each thrust he makes you moan with. His cock, how it hits your spot perfectly like no one else could.

Pulling his cock out in between your hands, you pump it slowly feeling him twitch in your palm.

“Mm Chibi Chan... that’s a dangerous move.” He kicks his shorts off watching you stroke him hard. “Keep that up, and I’ll make you- that’s it.” He grabs your hips pulling you in, sliding his cock against your tight hole.

“That’s it baby. Take it.” He grunts feeling himself stretch your walls from the inside.

Your breath is caught as he leans down kissing your lips.

“Let me help you forget about him.” He begins to thrust into you slowly letting you adjust to his size. “Think about my cock. Think about how you feel me in places you’ve never felt before.” He sucks on your neck, the love bite bruising your neck.

“Tetsu don’t.”

“Don’t what? Show evidence?” He thrusts harder into you building a cry. “Show evidence that someone could love you better?”

“Please don’t.”

“No. I think I will.” He covers your mouth and drills inside of you, his free hand pushing against the lower part of your belly.

“Do you feel me, Chibi Chan? My cock stretching you, Little One?” He slowly bottoms into pushing into your stomach with his hand.

“Mmhmm.” You nod, your small hands holding his wrist.

With each thrust he picks up his pace, hitting your walls in order for you to really feel him.

You nod once more letting him see how you’re behaving.

“You’re filthy. Letting some guy rail you when you clearly belong to someone else.” He pulls your head back. “Are you proud of yourself? You filthy whore.”

He ruthlessly begins fucking your pathetic sobbing pussy into the mattress, pulling your legs over his shoulders.

“You’re so tight. Tell me. Has he ever made you cum?” He pushes on your stomach making you cry out.

“Ye-yes.” You manage to choke out.

“Hmm. I’m not convinced.”

He feels your walls contract when finally he goes feral.

“So tight.” He moans, his hands moving to your face. “Cum for me Chibi. Cum for me. I can feel those tight walls around my fat cock. Take me.”

His thrusts are fast and you can’t keep up. His reassuring hold on your jaw are enough to make you let go. The convulsions around his size have you creating a puddle on his cock. His head is swollen and he pulls out, his hand rolling over the red as he lets out long groans and warm spots of cum to match it.

Over your stomach. In your hair. Puddled on your pussy. You were covered in his cum.

“Oh.” He doubles over on top of you. “Oh. I’m so sorry.” The pants from his lips match the sweat across his face. He stands up, wobbling to the bathroom and turning on the shower.

When he returns, he stands before you with eyes devouring you again.

“Do... do you need to...” He gestures and you lay back taking everything in.

You did it. You slept with another man. You’re in another man’s bed covered in his cum. What do you do now?

“Y-yes.” You sit up and follow him into the bathroom.

The towels are folded nicely on the counter top and the steam is sneaking out the top of his glass doors.

“Err. You can go first, I-“ he holds the door open for you and you step in. The water is scorching hot and you hear the door shut.

“Tetsu?” You call out and the door opens.

“Err yeah?”

“Come join me.” You’ve made your decision, how much worse can it get?

The glass door opens and in walks the raven headed boy.

“I didn’t think you’d want me in here...” he blushes with a hand behind his head.

“Shush. It’s already been done.”

You grab his shampoo in one hand and his face in the other.

The large hazel eyes stare back at you with shock.

“What?” You roll your eyes lathering it in his hair. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He opens his mouth to say something but shuts it instead.

Your fingers work through his scalp, seeing the foam rise to bubbles.

“Leave him.” He kisses your shoulder massaging circles into your neck. “I can make you so much happier.” He turns you so you’re in between his arms against the tile.

“Tetsu... I’m not looking for a quick fuck. Or a fling. I’m married now, I expect the long run if I’m going to leave him.” You frown starring into his chest.

“I’m not just trying to fuck you.” He chuckles rolling his eyes. “I would have made you leave by now.”

“Tetsu, I’m serious.” You hit his chest.

“I am too. I have feelings for you and I can’t sit here and watch you be with someone who doesn’t deserve you.”

The water trickles over his head, the beads rolling off his fringe dripping on to your nose.

Those hazel eyes look down on to you as he sighs.

“I mean what I say.” He leans in to kiss you, lips inches from yours.

“Prove it.”

“Prove it? What am I supposed to do?”

“Take me on a date. Show me that you mean it.” You move in, barely pressing against his. “Don’t keep me a secret. Show me that you want me.” You kiss him cupping his face.

“Then leave him.” He places his hands over yours. “I’ll show you my loyalty when you show me yours.”

[binniesthighs]

a/n: this piece is a lil gift for by lovely friend arina ♡ (ฉันรักคุณ & ich liebe dich!!) ♡ as well as my first submission for svtredroom!! happy valentines day to you all hehe and i hope ya remember that i love you too so! much! 

~in which getting stood up on Valentines Day goes a bit more differently than you expected 

Like the Movies 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x jeon wonwoo 

Genre: fluffy smut 

Tags: valentines day au, meet cute au, mentions of food and alcohol, sexual tension, hook-up, businessman!wonwoo, wonwoo being expensive eeee, softdom!wonwoo, sub!reader, kitchen sex, oral (f receiving), bondage, unprotected sex (stay safe!!), cockwarming hehe 

Word count: 2.9k 

Tagging: @hongnanglen-arina​ @svtredroom​

He had been sitting there for at least forty-five minutes--or longer--you didn’t quite know, seeing as you had only been there for forty-five minutes yourself. In the time that you had spent waiting, watching him had become a bit of your routine; he wasn’t watching, so it wasn’t like you had been disturbing anyone. 

You couldn’t imagine why someone like him would be sitting alone on a night like this. 

Someone must’ve been a fool to think that they could leave him at that table by himself, for at least forty-five minutes, to read over the menu for the tenth time like you had watched him do. 

Granted, you had also been sitting there for at least forty-five minutes. 

Perhaps the world was much crueler than you had expected...especially on this holiday supposedly all about love and connection. 

He had perfect posture: the kind that made you assume he must’ve been a businessman or someone else important who had to train themselves to keep a strong composure. The suit that he wore was plain, although it looked as if it had undoubtedly cost him a small fortune. Every corner and pleat of the fabric had been pressed professionally and not a speck of dust or dander seemed to cling to it. His raven black hair too looked effortlessly tussled with the stray strand here and there that must have been planned. Those slender fingers of his pushed up his wire framed glasses now and then. Under the dim lighting of the restaurant, his eyes of a dark brown reflected a color of dark obsidian: both cold and testing. 

To his side, he had a tall glass of wine that he had barely touched: you thought to yourself maybe he just liked how it looked here; like he really was just waiting, and not sitting alone. 

“Have you decided if you would like to order while you wait miss?” 

Your waiter with a wispy beard leaned in to speak to you over the noise of the room. 

“Ah-no. Not yet. I think I want to wait a little longer. I think that they should be here soon.” 

“Of course,” He bowed. 

Across the room, his waiter approached him as well, likely whispering the same question. He nodded, and shooed him with the wave of his hand. Lithe fingers toyed with the stem of his glass, he he rose his head. 

In your surprise, he had turned his head over to your direction of the room, and you suddenly became much more interested in the small assortment of white and cream colored roses on your table. You could feel his gaze, but you couldn’t bring up the bravery to meet it. 

Under the table, your watch ticked tiny and nearly silent ticks as you waited for the minutes to pass by even farther. 

How long is it acceptable to wait until you accept that they’re never coming? 

In many ways, you felt pathetic and crinkled like the browning edges of those very flowers in the glass vase before you. Who in their right mind would stand someone up on Valentines Day? Out of all days of the year? 

You thought to yourself that it must’ve taken some kind of evil and unfeeling person to do so...and you were the fool to think that you would’ve thought they would have showed up. For a moment, you had thought that perhaps it would be better if you left, marched right out of that door into the winter cold, gotten a taxi to the grocery store to buy discounted valentines day candy and cherry cola, then ate it all until you gave yourself a headache. As the night drew longer, that didn’t seem like the worst idea. 

“Ma’am? I’m sorry, but we ask that if you are going to sit that you order an item...we have a waiting list still and we would prefer if you got your money’s worth.” 

You could see the remorse in your waiters eyes. Even he felt bad for you. 

Your eyes drifted to the lobster bisque that you had assumed you would have ordered had they showed up. 

Discount candy? Or lobster bisque? 

“--One order of the Burrata please.” 

He had slipped into the chair across with you as swift as a shadow, and you hadn’t even seen him coming. From this close, he was even more breathtaking. His broad shoulders seemed to take up the whole space of the seat before you, and his creeping smile held a type of mystery that was intriguing and terrifying. 

The waiter himself looked a bit surprised. “One...order of the Burrata then.” 

The man sighed, then took off his glasses with finesse. 

“It looks like you and I are in the same predicament.” His tone was deep, but still gentle. “I don’t think its fair to be alone on a night like tonight. I hope you don’t mind that I invited myself over.” 

“N-no. Not at all.” Your throat felt dry. 

Rather than respond, he smiled out in a grin that made you instantly enthralled. Even though you didn’t know him much, you knew him to be the kind of man that could wrap you around his little finger. Had it been any other day of the year, you wouldn’t have given him the time of day, but, today wasn’t any other day of the year. 

“I assume you already know what you’d like to order?” 

“Mm. Yes. I think I’ve looked over the menu just as many times as you have.” 

He folded his arms over his chest with a little chuckle. 

“I’m Jeon Wonwoo. And you are?” 

“Y/n.” 

“Seems like it there’s a reason that we’re both here at the same time, and...by ourselves.” 

“Not...anymore.” You took a sip of your own wine with heart racing. 

“You’re right.” He rose his own glass into the air which he had taken from his table. “To being alone...together.” 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Your heeled shoes fell to the hardwood floors of his apartment with a clack. His whole home seemed to be swelling with the same energy that he held about himself. It was simple, minimal, no room for anything that looked sentimental or unbecoming for someone as proper as him. The layout was mostly open with each of the rooms connecting to the other. Every item in the apartment seemed to be either gunmetal grey, or black. His kitchen was large for a relatively small apartment, and had a centerpiece of a large black marble island. 

“Espresso?” He offered as he pulled at his shirt collar and tie. 

“Sure.” 

You wondered about you, tracing your fingertips over the leather couches and spotless upholstery of his dining table chairs. The far wall of the apartment was made of floor to ceiling windows that gave a magnificent view of the city in all it’s nighttime spectral glow. Millions of lights made up the cityscape and twinkled like faraway stars from the height of his 17th floor home. From here, you could take in the whole city fully and it filled you with an unknown sense of tranquility. 

Behind you his stainless steel espresso maker made a little humming sounds, and then the air was filled with the nutty aroma of the coffee. You walked over, feeling the cold touch of the wood under your pantyhose. He placed the small cup on a saucer and presented it to you. The smell filled up your senses and it was perfectly foamy on the top. From the quality of the brew, you assumed this must’ve been his hobby. 

The both of you drank your shots in silence, and you waited to feel the caffeine rush though your body. 

You placed the cup down, “Thank you.” 

He chuckled a little, then rose his finger to wipe a bit of the foam from the corner of your mouth. Instinctually you licked your lips after with the ghostly touch of him lingering there. He licked the remnants off his finger. All at once, you felt yourself grow weaker under the weight of his obsidian eyes. A tension too held in the air as he leaned his body lower and lower...

He tasted like coffee, much as you had expected yourself to taste as well. It was startling, but he was still gentle in the way that he had pulled your frame into his body with fingers splayed across your back. On your teetering tip-toes, you struggled to keep your balance returning the heat of his mouth. He had been smiling devilishly too as his hands explored your whole body: from the curves of your hips and your shoulder blades, all the way down to your ass which he grabbed at in handfuls. It was no mystery that he had hardened against your stomach and the feeling made you keen even further in his arms. 

A deep groan vibrated his chest when your own hands explored the width of his back and clawed lightly at the fabric of his suit jacket hiding the rippling muscles underneath. He told you to continue by kissing a trail down the side of your cheek to your jaw, then to your neck where he sucked and kissed wet little reminders of adoration into the skin. Slowly, your hands snuck under the jacket and to his crinkling shirt. 

In one motion, he lifted you by the back of your thighs to the stone counter which felt startlingly cold under your nearly bare legs. Here, you were allowed a better angle to throw your arms over his shoulders and push off the thick fabric that kept you at bay. You granted yourself one little peek between the kisses to take up the way that his arm muscles flexed the white cotton. He did the same with hasty fingers going to untie the thin bow that held up your blouse. His fingers tickled you as he tore the shirt up and off your head to throw it somewhere you had no idea where. After, he set to work unclasping your bra with ease, and the same needy hands cupped at your breasts firmly, tweaking your buds in-between his index and middle. Further, he traversed down your chest to suck harshly at your hardened nipples, not even caring when his teeth had grazed them slightly. 

Your arousal had become painfully obvious in your underwear constricted by your tights. You couldn’t help but squirm feeling yourself getting wetter by the second. His teasing gaze never left you while he looked up at you with your perky nipples on his tongue. Shameless moans and breathy gasps from you filled the wide and open apartment, and got lost in the empty corners of the room. 

You felt dizzy and breathless once he had decided to stop and opted to tear his tie off his neck. 

“Can I tie your hands with this? Please?” He kissed the words into your neck and nibbled them into your ear. 

You let out a little whimper saying “yes” and offered your wrists to him. 

You would have never imagined it, but the blue silk looked even more lovely than you would’ve guessed. His eyes darkened too seeing how helpless you had become like this. It as as if he couldn’t help himself: he held your tied hands up to his lips where he kissed at your fingers and palms, giving them gifts of his pleasure to them. 

He lowered you back to lay flat on the marble counter and the cold sensation made your whole body shiver wonderfully. 

“Just relax.” He cooed while kissing down your stomach and fiddling with the zipper of your skirt. 

The heat of your core had become unbearable waiting for him, and each of his teasing touches against your inner thighs and on your sides sent you spinning for more. 

You were colder without your clothes, but soon he had granted you the rub of his thumb on your clit over your panties and a mischievous smile spread across his lips. 

“God, you’re gorgeous.” He said, pulling your thin panties to the side to take a peek. He granted one more finger to rub over you directly and mix with your slick. 

“Mm-fuck.” Your hips twisted with each of his touches and your hands writhed in the knot of his tie. 

Wickedly slow, he removed your panties from your legs, then stopped to let his hot breath swirl over your twitching clit. 

“Such a good girl.” He permitted you one kiss which elicited pathetic and needy moans from your mouth. 

Wonwoo began his tantalizing lapping: thick and slow stripes with his wetted mouth that made you tremble. It was criminal how wet he had made you, and it was obscene how each of his kisses sounded against your clit. His cat-like eyes tested you further as if to say watch what a beautiful mess I make of you. 

The mixture of cold stone on your back and the heat of your waist was terribly confusing, but you couldn’t help but get lost in it. 

“Don’t you look so pretty like this?”  

Your voice wavered and you lost yourself further in him while he continued. Your hands did feel trapped--you wanted nothing more to mess up that hair of his, and make it all yours to take in sinfully...but he didn’t grant you that pleasure. 

It didn’t take him long to build up your orgasm, and each flick over your bud, he drew you closer and closer into melting into a shaking mess over his mouth. He built you up until you were painfully sensitive, then smiled with his gorgeously white smile when you came on his tongue, even grinding slightly to ride your release which he reveled in. 

“Did you like that sweetheart?” 

Airy chuckles shook your chest and you tried your best to calm your trembling body. 

“Y-yes.” 

“Here, sit up.” 

Wonwoo grabbed you by your arms to help you up, and admittedly, you felt a bit dizzy yourself. 

“Grab on.” 

He prompted you to wrap yourself around him, which you were a bit hesitant of, but his now warm smile assured you that all would be well. 

“Don’t worry.” He simply soothed. 

You did so, even getting a little embarrassed over your arousal that must’ve been rubbing off on his clothes. 

He walked the two of you over to his velvety looking couch, having you sit on his lap. Even after this while, he was still as hard as before. He returned his mouth to paint kisses into yours once more, filling your mouth with adoring comments in between each one. 

“I can’t believe that you’re all mine tonight.”  

His hands returned to your breasts to kneed over them more carefully this time. 

“Would you like to ride my dick princess?” 

It had been absentminded, but you had been grinding into his lap and against his swelling dick. 

“Y-yes. Please. I-I want to.” 

Wonwoo carefully helped you off his lap to remove himself of his own pants, then guided your hips over his hardened length which was much longer and girthier than it had appeared to be hidden under his pants. 

“Take it as slow or as fast as you want, okay? We have all night.” 

Once more his smiling kisses peppered your mouth, then you lowered yourself over him, and it was near euphoric how tightly you took him in. It was effortless in the way that the tip of his head would graze your cervix just like this. Both of you groaned out your symphony of pleasure. 

“Oh fuck--” His eyes rolled. “You’re unreal.” 

Wonwoo’s fingers dug deeply into your lower back, guiding the return of your hips over his length all the while giving love bites to the soft nape of your neck. Connected with him like this, the stranger that you barely knew, you felt a sense of closeness unlike anything you had felt before. He must have put a spell on you from the way each one of his kisses and the pull of your lip by his teeth made you fall deeper into him.

Your thighs straddled him harder in all of your want: you wanted to make him one with you, to have him all to yourself even though you knew he wasn’t yours to keep. The way that his faint grunts wavered in your ears was too much for you to handle. You weren’t alone. On the night that you thought you hadn’t been wanted, he made you feel as if you were the only one there was. 

He hushed into you, “Cum for me, beautiful.” 

Your hands now untied, you raked them though his hair just as you had wanted, chasing your orgasm roughly while you made a mess of him just as he did for you. It tightened in your core, and you used every last shred of your energy to maintain your speed over him. It was exhausting, and your legs shook the closer you got. 

It flushed over your whole body, and dripped down your legs: it was electricity through each of your extremities, and then it was heat, warm as the sun that ran from the tips of your ears to your neck still throbbing from his lips pulling there, hard, as he reached his own orgasm that was left throbbing inside your walls. 

A wave of exhaustion swept over you while you clung to him and he to you. He really was unimaginably handsome this close. The side of his hand caressed down the side of your dewy face. 

“Would you like to be alone together...more?” 

[writinglizards]

No One Else

Summary: Jaskier hates winters and he hates Yule time, especially.

How is he supposed to spend the holidays with his loved one when his heart is in the Blue Mountains, tucked away safe in Kaer Morhen?

Read on Ao3

Jaskier hasn't spent many Yule holidays with people he cares about, family or otherwise.

As a boy, he remembers a few Yules, but mostly his parents had gone off to bigger, grander Yule celebrations at the homes of other, more influential nobility, leaving Jaskier and his siblings at home. There may have been a few, insincere gifts as a child, but even those tapered off as he grew older. Then he'd been old enough for school and he’d spent...remarkably little time at home, even on the holidays. And then he'd gone off to Oxenfurt and never looked back.

Oxenfurt is more his home than Lettenhove ever was, but his Yules here are still mostly lonely. As a student, he'd been one of the few not to return home for the holidays and had spent most of them, therefore, shut up in his dorm writing and composing as if it were a normal night. As a lecturer? It's not much different, only a nicer set of rooms. There's no point visiting siblings he hasn't seen in years or spending the night down in a tavern with the rest of the sad sacks.

The only person he wants to spend his time with retreats into the mountains every winter and wouldn't stay in Oxenfurt even as a last resort. Jaskier knows, he's offered him lodgings here over the winter before and Geralt has always been quick with a reason he can’t accept. It’s a standing invitation, but Jaskier knows he’ll never take him up on it--he’s just lucky Geralt lets him stick around the rest of the year.

This year, they'd parted much earlier than normal. Geralt had been following a contract south and Jaskier had needed to be in Ellander for a festival and things just hadn't lined up. They'd parted before the first leaves had even begun to fall and Jaskier hates that he'd missed so much time with Geralt this year. After all, it's only a matter of time until he decides he's done humoring him and letting him tag along. He's lucky to have squeezed so many years out of the witcher already--each subsequent year is a gift and Jaskier is terrified of when they will finally end.

Either way, he hasn't seen Geralt since before the first turn of fall and he's missing him terribly, not that that's new at all. He always misses Geralt when they're apart, but winters are...harder. The chill reminds him of cool evenings camping under the stars, the snow always inevitably makes him think of Geralt's hair, bright in the sun, the lit holiday candles always glimmer in a way that makes him think of gold eyes in the dark.

Winters have never been Jaskier's favorite season, but missing Geralt makes them so much harder. Yule is always somehow the hight of that pain--the holiday meant to celebrate the year, to be spent with those you love--and Jaskier spends each and every one alone.

There's a knock at the door and Jaskier reluctantly uncurls from brooding in the armchair by the fire and goes to answer to find one of the attendants that runs the building. It's bizarre to have a personal visit in general, but especially on the night of Yule.

"Master Jaskier?" He's...nervous?

"Yes, Nichol?"

"There's ah...someone here to see you? We didn't let him in because you hadn't said--"

"It's fine, Nichol," who could possibly be here to see him? "Send him up, won't you?" He moves as if to close the door, but Nichol doesn't move.

The man shifts from foot to foot. "Y-yes, Master Jaskier. It's just--" Jaskier cocks an eyebrow, "he's--it's a witcher, sir." It's like being thrown headfirst into the Pontar in the middle of spring--ice cold and shocking. Something must be very wrong.

"Is he--" but there's no point in asking this nervous ball of a man about what the witcher looks like or how he is, is there? Jaskier can tell now, the fear hiding in the set of his shoulders. That’s not the disposition of someone who could be concerned with the well-being of a witcher. "Give me a moment, I'll follow you down."

Geralt's standing at the desk downstairs, whole and unharmed, and Jaskier lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"Geralt!" He turns as Jaskier approaches and the look on his face brings Jaskier up short. There's...something wrong. "Geralt, is everything okay?"

"Hm." It's one of his cagey hums. Jaskier won't be getting an answer out of him anytime soon.

"Well, come on up, anyway. No reason to stand in the hall and talk." The attendant is visably relieved when Geralt hoists his swords back over his shoulder and follows Jaskier back to his rooms. Mentally, he makes a note to have a very strong word with the head attendant about sensitivity training the next time he sees her.

It's silent the entire walk back, which isn't new with Geralt, but Jaskier finds himself a little nervous about it anyway. What’s Geralt is going to think? He's never been to Oxenfurt with Jaskier, never seen his rooms, never met the people he works with or the shop owners that know him by name. It's...unsettling. And then there's the reason Geralt's here, which he still hasn't given an answer about.

The door is unlocked, so he shoves it open and ushers Geralt in. He ducks a bit as he passes Jaskier and enters the room and then he...stops. Freezes on the spot. Jaskier freezes in the doorway in response.

"What." He means it as a question, but it comes out taunt and frigid, like an accusation.

"Looks like you," Geralt grunts out after a long moment. Jaskier doesn't know if that's a compliment or not (probably not).

"Sorry, I can--" he starts, already darting forward to clean the loose parchment from the divan, stack the books laying haphazard all over the room, do something.

"No," Geralt interrupts, and Jaskier feels his stomach flip-flop almost unplesantly, "No, this is--it's nice, Jaskier. It's you." And that's...he doesn't know what to do with that.

"Oh," he laughs, just a little strangled, "okay then. Um. Make yourself at home, darling. Sorry there's no Yule decorations I'm...a little unfestive this year.” He’s never festive, actually, but Geralt doesn’t know that. “Have you eaten?" He doesn't wait for Geralt to answer, "of course you haven't. I'll call for something. Won't be more than a moment." He ducks out into the hallway again without waiting for an answer.

He spends the entire walk to the kitchen trying to calm his rapid heartbeat, walk off the nerves that have made their home in the set of his shoulders, the fidget of his fingertips against his thigh. It's just Geralt.

He orders a spread and doesn't let the curious look the cook gives get to him at all as he paces in the hallway and waits for her to finish.

"You know we could send this up for you, Jaskier? No one should have to pace the hallway Yule night." The cook says when she hands the plate over, finally. He smiles at her, only a little tightly.

"Oh, I know Margret, darling. Needed the walk, though. Thank you, love." She 'hm's at him but lets him go, something akin to the noise Geralt makes when he's not buying Jaskier's bullshit. It makes him a little sick, how much he both loves and hates that noise--it sounds wrong coming from someone else's throat.

The walk back to his rooms is both too long and too short--he's worked himself up into a minior frenzy by the time he's at his own door again.

He takes a moment to breathe, eyes closed, before he forces a smile back on his face and pushes through the door. "Food's here," he calls, setting the spread down on the low table in the sitting room. Geralt's nowhere to be found. "Geralt?"

He finds him in the bedroom, the spare shirt of Geralt's that Jaskier nabbed in a moment of weakness earlier just this year to keep him company for the winter in his hand. "Uh, I'm--I'm sorry that's--"

"I thought I'd been a shirt short." His tone is even and neutral and it makes Jaskier want to tear his hair out. Does he care? Does he not? Jaskier can’t tell.

"It, um, must have ended up in my pack. I meant to bring it back this spring." The look on Geralt's face says he doesn't believe a word. "Food's here!" he deflects.

"Mm." He allows himself to be redirected and follows Jaskier back into the sitting room, leaving the shirt on the bed. He settles himself on the divan after Jaskier clears him a spot and digs into the meat and cheese spread without a word. As far as Yule meals go, it’s not very traditional, but Jaskier’s sure it doesn’t matter. He settles himself on the floor by the table and picks at the spread absently, giving Geralt the time he needs to eat unharassed. He tries not to think about how this is the first Yule he's spent with anyone in any capacity since he was a boy and very determinately does not get emotional over the fact that it's Geralt here with him, even accidentally. He can feel his eyes on him as he plucks at a loose thread on his doublet and tries not to fret.

"Soooo--" he says after Geralt's eaten his fill and leaned back, kicking his legs out in front of him, "--what brings you here to Oxenfurt, Geralt?" He winces immediately, but he's already asked, so-- "Shouldn't you be at Kaer Morhen already?"

Jaskier can already tell he's fucked up.

"I won't stay long," Geralt says, expression blank the way it only is when he's withholding his true reaction.

"I didn't say you couldn't stay, you oaf," Jaskier snaps immediately, tries not to let his irritation get the best of him because he knows what Geralt’s like when he meets anger for frosty frigidity, "I would be deeply offended if you left, actually."

Geralt stares at him, hard. "I’d be...intruding," he says, no elaboration.

"What? Gods, Geralt, intruding on what? I'm--" he gestures to the expanse of his very empty rooms, "--pretty fucking far from busy, if you hadn't noticed."

Geralt's expression does pinch at that. "I noticed. Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why aren't you--" he pauses, seems to be searching for the right words, "--why aren't you...involved? Doing things. It's Yule, Jaskier, why are you--"

"Alone?" Jaskier interrupts, seeing where this is going. Geralt doesn't say anything, just stares at him, steady. Jaskier sighs, hard. "Who else would I spend winters with, Geralt?"

"I don't know," Geralt says slowly, "I just...I assumed you had someone."

"You assumed I--Geralt. Tell me you didn't think I had some...some lover I'd never told you about waiting for me here in Oxenfurt every winter."

The look on Geralt's face tells him he thought exactly that.

"Melitele's tits, Geralt." Jaskier sighs, breathes in slowly in an attempt to calm himself. "So why are you here, then? Since it's pretty clear you aren't here to take me up on the offer of wintering with me."

Geralt's expression does something complicated Jaskier can't parse before it smooths out into slightly constipated indifference again.

"The passes are snowed in."

And that's-- "Yes, Geralt. I know that," Jaskier says, drawing on the infinite well of patience he seems to only have access to when trying to coax Geralt out of being an obtuse ass. "Why didn't you make it up the mountain before the passses snowed in?"

Geralt visibly swallows. Jaskier can't help but track the bob of his adams apple. "I--" the gust of breath is audible as Geralt sighs, shoulders loosening in something like defeat, "I missed you, Jaskier."

The fire crackles in the hearth. It'll need another log soon. "What?"

Geralt looks like he'd rather be hunting drowners. "I missed you, Jaskier. And I was--I was thinking about coming to see you but I--I couldn't, I wasn't sure--" Jaskier will not faint like some kind of wilting damsel, even if he feels as if he can't get enough air all of a sudden. "--And then the pass was closed and I. I don't--I won't stay if you don't want me to. I'll figure something out."

"Geralt," Jaskier says. It comes out barely audable and he has to clear his throat and try again, "Geralt, love, of course you can stay." Something in Geralt's posture loosens in relief this time, as if he'd still been afraid Jaskier might ask him to leave until that moment, "of course you can. I missed you too."

Something flashes in Geralt's eyes, something that looks a little like surprise. "Oh."

They tip-toe around each other the rest of the evening. Jaskier helps him bring his bags up after a brief visit to Roach during which he slips her a sugar cube he knows Geralt pretends not to see. He gives Geralt space and time to get settled until his armor is off and his bags partially unpacked. They don't really talk until Jaskier realizes he's going to have to either offer Geralt his bed or make up the divan for him. And. Well. He's a weak man, after all.

"Geralt?"

"Hm?" He’s taking stock of his armor by the fire when Jaskier ambles up beside him to stand at his shoulder. He tries not to fidget, despite the nerves trying to choke him. There’s no reason this should be different from any other time they’ve shared lodgings (except of course, it is).

"Going to bed soon, love?"

He stares at his armor just a beat too long before he leans back to look up into Jaskier's face, expression mildly puzzled. "Mm?"

"I--" he can feel his face heat, "I wanted to--to offer to share. You know since I--I don't have--"

"I can sleep on the floor, Jaskier."

"No! No, I--I have plenty of room. And I. I want you in my bed, Geralt." That comes out...not quite the way Jaskier meant it. Or it comes out too honest, actually. He absolutely wants Geralt in his bed like that, he just doesn't think Geralt would want it.

Interestingly, Geralt's cheeks color and he looks away. Jaskier expects him to refuse again. "Okay," he says, soft, and something in Jaskier's chest flutters.

He follows Jaskier into the bedroom and it's...almost normal. Like sharing at an inn, except this is Jaskier's room, Jaskier's space. It's as much a choice as it is a necessity.

The shirt on the bed taunts him. He wants to wear it--has been wearing it--but with Geralt here--

He’s stolen from his painful reverie when Geralt thrusts the shirt at him, gaze averted.

“Wha--”

“Wear it,” Geralt rumbles, already slipping into bed, predictably on the side closest to the door. Something warm and bright burns through him. He does as he’s told.

The material falls to roughly mid-thigh. It fits well enough in the shoulders, but Geralt’s slightly longer and bulkier torso means it billows on him a little like a slip. It makes him feel impossibly small and it’s...nice. Even nicer to settle together, not quite touching, and Jaskier reluctantly relaxes. He's drifting comfortably but not quite asleep when Geralt shifts and tucks himself along Jaskier's side, rests his head gently on Jaskier's shoulder and it's suddenly all too much.

"Geralt," he whispers, afraid to break the spell they seem to have fallen under. They are well outside their normal playbook at this point and Jaskier has no idea how to navigate the situation, only knows he wants it to continue, wants Geralt close.

Geralt stiffens and stays still for a beat too long before he starts to pull away.

"No, love," Jaskier corrects immediately, rests his hand on the back of Geralt's neck to keep him close, tangles his fingers in his hair, "no, please stay." Geralt shivers and tucks himself in closer again, eyes resolutely closed.

"Sorry," he says.

"Don't apologize, darling. I'm--I'm happy you're here, you know? I haven't spent a Yule with anyone in a long time." Geralt makes a tiny noise of acknowledgment. He should say it, he should say it. If there's ever been a time it's now, clothed in Geralt’s old shirt, with Geralt curled along his side, the heat of him radiating through the thin material. He presses his lips to the top of Geralt's head and feels him relax slowly. His heart pounds.

"I know you're in love with someone," Geralt breathes, warm against the soft skin of the bard's throat, "I figured it must be someone you had here. But--" Jaskier's breath hitches, "there really is no one else, is there?"

"No," Jaskier says, voice just a little strained.

"Who is it?" It's barely more than a breath.

"Geralt," Jaskier sighs softly.

"Humor me," he murmurs, presses his lips to the exposed skin he can reach. Jaskier's breath punches out of him.

"It's always been you," he says, running his fingers through Geralt's hair. Geralt makes a small noise. He seems...content. Soft and quiet against Jaskier's side.

"I thought it was too good to be true," Geralt says into the dark when Jaskier doesn't think he'll speak again. "Figured there must be someone else." His chest aches.

"It's only been you since I was twenty years old, Geralt," and oh, that's a bizarre feeling, to get that one off his chest. He's very aware of the fact Geralt hasn't said it back, but...he's here, isn't he?

"Idiot," Geralt scoffs, "I should have left you behind at that inn in Posada." To the ear untrained in Geralt-isms, it sounds dismissive, harsh. Jaskier hears the fondness in it, all the things Geralt isn’t saying.

"Where would I be without you, witcher?" He breathes, feels the tears prickle at the corner of his eyes.

"Safer," Geralt says, without missing a beat. Jaskier scoffs.

"You know, traditionally Yule visitors bring a gift, not verbally berate their hosts." Geralt snorts a laugh, presses his lips to Jaskier's skin again.

"Mm, thought you might like this gift," Geralt says, spreading a palm above Jaskier's pounding heartbeat.

"Geralt, you did not wait until Yule to come to Oxenfurt so you could make a tasteless joke about gifting me your company, tell me you didn't."

"I didn't," Geralt repeats, but Jaskier can hear the smile in his voice.

"Oh, you are awful," he says, delighted.

"There's also lute strings in my pack for you," he says, "I bought them in case...well. They're yours anyway." Jaskier knows what he means. He bought them in case there had been someone else, in case Geralt had been right.

"Thank you, love," he chokes out past the lump in his throat. It's the first time anyone's gotten him anything for Yule since he was a child. "I'm sorry I don't have anything for you."

"Just you is enough," Geralt breathes into the curve of his throat. Jaskier feels fit to burst.

He may not like winter and he may not care for Yule, but this one? This one's just fine.

[xpeachesncream]

acquainted | four

> series masterlist <

summary: the biggest goal of a grad student is to get through school in one piece - no petty drama involved, no sweating over the little things. however, that plan almost always never follows through. sometimes, you can’t help but fall into the most unthinkable, unexpected traps and learn the hard way. like, exhibit a: being unable to resist your engaged, substitute teacher, kim seokjin.

pairing: (2nd bts member to be revealed) x reader x engaged!teacher!seokjin

genre: grad school au, student life au | fluff, angst, smut (to come)

words: 4.2k

warnings: implied sexual content, your friends are still extra, cussing / mature language, relationship issues, angst, making out, slight dry humping, you actually act on your hoe-ish thoughts because seokjinnie keeps testing you??

notes: 2nd member involved in this love triangle will be revealed next chapter and it’s actually gonna start getting messy. are you with me? 😈

tags: @laurynne5 @yiyi4657 @miinoongi @teamtardis-notdead @bluesharksandfish​ @photographic-girl (pls msg me if you would like to be added to the taglist!)

A couple of days have passed and you were only getting more giddy as time passes. It sounds stupid as hell, and sometimes you can't help but curse yourself for having a crush on someone so unattainable. The thrill, though, is what excites you, and knowing that there's a possibility Jin may reciprocate the same feelings. Since he had placed his number in your phone, he had sent you random, occasional 'have a good day!' texts and smiley faces. Maybe it didn't help that he was only fueling the fire by sending you texts like this. You couldn't help but ponder on the thought that you had crossed his mind from time to time, and that my friends, was fucking attractive.

"Her head game was on point." Taehyung smirked and leaned back in his chair, making Ryujin roll her eyes at him.

"You're sick, no one asked about your night."

"Why do you sound so mad, sweetie?" He leaned closer to her.

"I'm not mad." She scooted her chair away from him. "Can you believe this right now?" She shot you a look, but you were too busy texting on your phone, responding to the messages you couldn't get to earlier.

[jin] 3:05pm: I hope your day has been treating you well. See you soon?

[y/n] 5:37pm: Been a little busy, but hasn't been bad. :) Excited for class!

You laughed at yourself because who even says 'Excited for class' like that? You were really playing yourself right now.

"Earth to Mr. Kim's mistress?" You shot Taehyung a look and immediately shoved his face away.

"Jeez, you've been glued to your phone so much lately. Did you find new dick, or something?" Ryujin asked as she rested her chin on the palm of her hand.

"No, god. I've just been trying to keep myself occupied." She shrugs and doesn't press any further. Thank god, because you hadn't told any of your friends how Jin comforted you that evening and how he had given you his personal number just to check in every now and then. You didn't plan on telling them anytime soon, only because they'd be dramatic about it and you didn't have the energy to calm the chaos that would ensue.

"Speaking of - have you guys started the assignment due next week for Mr. Kim's class?" Jimin kept his eyes on the work in front of him.

"No. I'll probably do that the day of." Taehyung says as he texts on his phone.

"I was going to ask him for help later."

"Were you now?" Jimin rose his eyebrow, shooting you a look.

"Yes, and it's only because I can't choose which topic to write about."

"Why don't you ask us?"

"Because this always ends up being an open-ended debate and the conversation ultimately ends with no decision made." Jimin nodded in agreement.

"Touché."

"Bat your eyelashes while you're at it, kay?" Ryujin giggles.

"You guys are free to join me."

"Mmm no thanks, I don't think I need any help right now." Jimin responds.

"Same. Besides, I'd rather not cockblock."

"Honestly so sick of you guys." You all end up packing your things to head to Jin's classroom, all four of you entering one by one and taking your seats near the front. Class goes by rather quickly, you and Jin stealing glances from time to time. Ryujin, Jimin and Taehyung offer to wait up for you near the library and you simply nod, letting them know you'll only take a quick minute to talk about the assignment. Once they've disappeared from the hallway corridor, you turn on your heels to make your way over to Jin at the front desk, where he's arranging his things and getting them together.

"Y/N, hey." He smiles at you, tilting his head to look at you from his stance. "What's up?"

"I uh, just wanted to ask for your opinion about the assignment. If.. you aren't busy?" He chuckled and shook his head.

"No, not at all. What's going on?"

"Well, I've just been having trouble deciding on a topic." You placed your things down.

"Alright, try me." He nods towards the whiteboard, signaling for you to scribble your ideas onto the board so he could help you map out your thoughts. You quietly walk over, grabbing the only black whiteboard marker available and start talking through your thoughts. He sits on the desk, arms crossed, watching you scribble on the board. He chimes in every now and then, either agreeing or disagreeing, and providing his honest opinion as to what might work best for the assignment.

"Mm, okay. I think that makes better sense." You step back and take a look at the things you've crossed out and circled, leaving you to finalize the topic for your assignment.

"Yeah, I think so." He stands and nods in agreement. You turn to look at him, only to realize how close in proximity your body was to his. His hands are tucked into his pockets while he looks down at you. Both of you don't move, regardless of how close you two are at the moment. You feel stuck, and the only option that crosses your mind is something you shouldn't even be thinking about. Yet, you still act on it. You find yourself on your tippy-toes laying a kiss on his plump lips, but you quickly pull away and gasp, realizing what you had done.

"I-I'm so sorry, I-" You stutter as you step back to try and quickly grab your things. "I gotta go." You dash out of the room, your heart beating through your chest. As soon as you were far as possible from his room, you slowed your pace to gather your breathing. You facepalmed so hard because what the fuck! You felt dumb as hell for acting the way you did, let alone for thinking his texts and all the attention even meant anything.

Way to fucking go, Y/N. You could feel how embarrassing next class will be already.

As soon as you spot your friends, you try to put on a smile and brush the thoughts out of your head when you see them waving you over. Jimin instantly throws his arm around your shoulder, helping you feel at ease as you momentarily forget about the events that just transpired.

"Ready? We're gonna go grab some pizza before heading home." You smiled at him.

"Yeah, I'm down."

Jin grabbed his things, feeling a little conflicted about what just happened. He knew this was something that shouldn't have happened, nor should it ever happen again. Yet, he wanted more of this feeling you gave him. He longed for it. He couldn't explain the feeling he got when he felt your lips against his, he just knew he was interested in more. It was bad as fuck, but it was the same thrill you felt that peeked his interest.

Jin pulled into the lot of him and Grace's house, seeing he was the first one home yet again. It wasn't a surprise to him anymore, and quite frankly, he was used to being home first all the time. It would have been a surprise if Grace was here before he was. Not gonna lie, after what happened, it makes him feel a little empty inside. He's starting to feel like he wanted more of you and to see you outside of campus grounds. He wanted your company and enjoyed your presence, inside of the classroom and even through simple things like text. It just made him happy, and like he was appreciated. Wanted.

Yeah, that quick. He was starting to crave you.

He kicked off his shoes by the door and changed into comfier clothes. He took some time to work out at their home gym before eating whatever leftovers were left in the fridge. He happily warms up his food and quickly gobbles it up, leaving the dishes in the sink for him to get to later. He hops into a hot, relaxing shower, letting the heat hit his back and relax him from all the stress he had been experiencing lately. It was so relaxing that he didn't even hear Grace shut their front door. He only found out he wasn't alone when he heard dishes being washed and slammed onto the dish rack and cabinet doors being slammed shut. He dried himself off a bit, before wrapping the towel around his waist and heading into the kitchen to see what the commotion was.

"Hey, you're home." He says with a smile on his face, but she continued to place dishes on the rack without looking at him.

"Yeah, and you couldn't even think to wash your dishes and clean up the kitchen?" His smile immediately turned into a frown when he realized Grace was far from being in a good mood. Over what? Dishes that he was eventually going to wash anyways?

"I was going to get to them."

"Jeez, Jin. I've had such a long day, the least you could do is help out and clean up after yourself." She glared at him.

"Woah, hey. I do my part around here. Just because I didn't do my dishes right away doesn't mean I don't do anything at all under this house."

"Hasn't seemed like it." She walked away, brushing him off completely. If it's one thing Jin could point out about his fiancé, it was the fact that she liked to project when she was upset. It was the one thing that drove him crazy, and the one thing he felt like couldn't be fixed. It was just in her nature, no matter how many times they've fought and argued about it. He tries to be patient and understanding. He tries to relate. Yes, I'm sorry you had a bad day. But just because you had a bad day, doesn't mean you bring the negative energy into this house.

"That's not fair, Grace."

"Grow up, Jin." She snapped as she headed upstairs. "I'm going up to pack and head to bed." He continued to watch her, appalled at the attitude she was throwing tonight. He really couldn't understand why this was happening over some dishes. He didn't wanna be here right now, and he wasn't going to deal with this shit. To be honest, he was feeling a little relieved knowing he'd get some space from her when she flies to New York for a week. She had some work to do for the opening of her restaurant down there, plus some related projects for her book.

He heads upstairs to throw on some jeans, a hoodie and a hat before passing Grace in their walk-in closet.

"Off for a drive again, huh?" She says as she keeps her eyes on the luggage laid out in front of her. It's sad that Grace knows what Jin does whenever he doesn't wanna deal with her attitude. But, no matter how many times he's tried to communicate and talk it out, it never mattered to her.

"Yeah, because it doesn't seem like you can communicate properly tonight."

"And how is a drive supposed to help?" She turns to look at him, but he doesn't say anything. She scoffs before returning her attention back to the clothes she was packing into her luggage. "Perfect. Run away from our issues, Jin. It's what you do best." He shook his head and sighed.

"I'm not doing this with you tonight, Grace. Not over some dishes that were eventually going to get washed and fixed." He walked out, but turned back on his heel to finish off his thoughts. "You know, I really wanted to have a nice night with you. Pop some wine and put on a movie, just to enjoy being in each other's presence since it feels like we haven't done that in a really long time. But, so be it." He threw his hands up in defeat and continued to walk out. He really did want to try, though. Part of him felt like he needed to because he was probably just longing for that attention from his fiancé, which is why he had been feeling the way he had been about you. Maybe it would have helped him brush it off like it was a silly, little crush. However, tonight just amplified those feelings he had for you and he wanted nothing more but to just see you and hear your voice.

He lowers the brim of his cap as he walks to his car, instantly starting it up and driving off. At first, he was conflicted. He wasn't sure if he was making the right decision or not, or if his judgment was cloudy. But something in him tweaked and made him say, fuck it. He was tired, and for once, he just wanted to feel wanted.

You sat on your living room floor, putting together a vision board for yourself. A ton of magazine cut outs and printouts laid alongside of you, waiting to be organized onto the small white board. You had been rearranging the layout for quite some time, feeling a little frustrated at the perfectionist in you. This definitely could have been quicker if you hadn't picked at the fine details too much. It was nearing 10:30pm; after you and your friends had ate pizza together, you all went your separate ways, tired from this week's events already. You especially didn't want to linger around, the thought of you kissing Jin in the classroom still haunting you. You felt your phone vibrating off to the side, signaling a call coming in.

Speak of the devil.

You hesitate, afraid that this had to do with what happened earlier and to be frank, you weren't sure if you were ready to deal with the repercussions just yet. The call ends, but a text notification pops up at the top of your screen.

[jin] 10:27pm: Are you free right now?

[y/n] 10:28pm: Sorry, yeah I am. What's up?

[jin] 10:29pm: Can we meet up?

You stare at your phone, unsure if you should take the opportunity to see him. It could mean a lot of things, or it could mean nothing. It could be about the kiss, or it couldn't be. But, you can't help but feel a little guilty that he had been there for you when you needed someone and here you were, contemplating if you should blow him off.

[y/n] 10:32pm: Sure. Is everything okay?

[jin] 10:32pm: I think, kind of just need some good company.

[y/n] 10:33pm: Oh, okay. Yeah, I'll come. Just let me know where.

You watch as he drops his location into the message, and it's not too far from where you live. You actually are quite familiar with the area to know that he's sending you up to a view that overlooks the Bay Bridge. You and your friends used to go there often during undergrad, just to eat edibles and eat hella junk food. Those were the days. You all quickly outgrew it though.

The drive up is a little scary, with only a few street lights posted as you drive up the hill. You catch a glimpse of Jin's car, being that he's already leaning against it, facing the view. You pull up into the empty spot next it, taking a deep breath and recollecting your thoughts before stepping out. Whatever it is, just be honest. That kiss was because you wanted to kiss him, but perhaps you misread the vibe about everything.

Not perhaps. You for sure misread the vibe about everything. He's fucking engaged. There was no way.

"I brought you brownie." Is the first thing you say as you hand him a ziploc with a huge brownie square. "There's no weed in it or anything, I promise it's clean." He chuckles as he takes it from you. "I just figured you could use a picker upper since you seemed like you might've need it."

"Thank you." His trunk had been open, so he takes a seat and invites you to sit next to him. You leave a bit of space just to be sure, since you already crossed your boundaries earlier and you weren't even sure how that was gonna play in to tonight.

"So, what's on your mind?" You dread asking him the question but you knew there was a reason he brought you out here.

"I, uh. Just had a pretty tough day and wanted to surround myself around good company." He turned to look at you.

"Oh, so I made the good company list?" You chuckle.

"Yeah, you did." He looks back out at the view. You examine him, his body language still a little tense from whatever he had just experienced.

"Was it Grace?" You ask softly and he nods in return.

"We've just been having issues. It's no biggie."

"No biggie, huh? Then why are we out here looking at the bay bridge?" He chuckles again. You think it's cute the way his dimples under his eyes pop out when he smiles and laughs.

"Touché. I mean, what if I just wanted to hang out with someone who could cheer me up?"

"Wow, then that's a lot of pressure on me." You laugh. "I can already tell something's wrong. You were there for me, so I just want you to know that I'm all ears." He sighed.

"It's kind of dumb? Maybe not? Me and Grace just haven't been the same for awhile now."

"How so?"

"We're just distant. We haven't done things together like we used to because we're both busy and so wrapped up with work."

"Jin." You smile shyly because this couldn't be a serious excuse. You always need to try and make things work! "You know being busy shouldn't be an excuse, right?"

"I know, I know." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, it's difficult to explain. I question if we're still in love with each other or if we're just sticking to this because we're comfortable."

"Deep down, I know you still love and care for her."

"I do. It's been hard to show that these past months. I guess.. what I'm trying to say is that it's been easy to focus more on the negatives than the positives. There have been more negatives than positives."

"Why don't you sit her down and talk about this?"

"I can't. I try, but I really can't. She's always coming home in a nasty mood all the time."

"Well, she might have a lot to balance on her plate. Not everyone approaches things the same way and if you know Grace easily shuts people out when she's overwhelmed or stressed, then I think you just need to continue supporting her by simply being there for her."

"I know." He looks down at his hands.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm just thinking. I hear you loud and clear though." He smiles at you toothlessly.

"Try talking to her. Work it out. I know she's important to you."

"She is but," He shakes his head once more. "I can't shake off this feeling."

"What feeling?"

"It's going to sound stupid."

"Nothing is ever stupid." He simply looked at you before responding.

"Earlier, in the classroom—" Fuck, you thought. You thought you had just gotten lucky tonight and that you both had put it past you so that you could move on without ever mentioning it. But half of you knew you'd still have to confront your mistake either way. Nothing was ever that easy.

"Jin, I'm so sorry, I didn't think about—"

"I didn't want you to stop." He spits out, causing you to stop mid-sentence. Your eyes widened after you had just registered what he had said. Was he fucking playing with you right now? This shit really couldn't be real.

"W-what?"

"I can't shake off this feeling because of you and as bad as it sounds, I really don't want that to go away."

"Jin." You say softly. "You should really work this out with Grace. This feeling is just temporary and you know it is because she's your fiancé. What happened earlier was a mistake and it shouldn't have happened." It kind of sucks, but it's true. You don't really know why you did what you did and what you wanted out of it. You knew what this would entail and it would be too messy. People would just end up getting hurt left and right. It would be a domino effect.

"Was it though?"

"I'm not trying to get in between you two." You beat around the bush with your response.

"Then, what did you want out of that earlier?" He stares at you. You can't help but feel yourself melt at the way he's eyeing you and the way he's actually teasing the fuck out of you with his piercing eyes.

"I don't know." He continues to stare, but this time his face is edging closer to yours.

"You can't even tell me straight up that it was nothing." He says, almost at a whisper. Your knees are starting to buckle beneath you and although you knew you needed to stop this, you couldn't see yourself doing it right at this moment.

"We shouldn't be doing this." You whisper, his lips inches away from yours at this point.

"Then why aren't you stopping me, Y/N?" No response. Before you knew it, your eyes were shut as your lips pressed against his. The feeling of his lips sent chills down your spine, his hand now tugging you closer to his body. You waste no time straddling his lap, deepening the kiss as your hands rest on his face and your hips grind against his. God, he was so fucking attractive and everything about him drove your ass crazy. You wanted him.

But you couldn't have him.

"Stop, stop." You edged your head back, reality settling in once his hands start to dip inside your sweats. "We really shouldn't be doing this." You climb off of him and gather your things.

"Y/N, wait."

"Jin." You turn to look at him. "Listen to me. We would never work."

"I wouldn't say never—"

"Look, this is already difficult as is and I'm trying really hard not to make this even more complicated for anyone. At the end of the day, you're still with Grace. You're still engaged to Grace." You emphasized. "I can't get in between you two, and I don't want to hurt her." How in the fuck did things escalate so quickly? How did we get here?

"I know that, and I know you don't. But you can't tell me that you didn't feel anything just now."

"I'm not saying that I didn't. I did, I-I do." You stuttered on your own words. "But I shouldn't be acting on it and neither should you. You should really focus on working things out in your relationship. I know deep down you love her and want to make this work."

"That's the thing, Y/N. I don't know how else I can make this work with her. I've ran out of options."

"Jin, you planned to marry her! You do understand that you can't just give up on someone like that, especially your future wife."

"As much as I appreciate this and understand where you're coming from, you don't know our relationship."

"I just don't want you to give up on her. I want you to try for her, not just because I told you so." He can see how serious things have turned, and  he knew you were right. This would be complicated. But damn, was he undeniably attracted to you and he loved the feeling he got from all of this.

"I-" He sighs. "You make me feel things that I haven't felt in a long time."

"You have your life planned out already, and so does Grace. You obviously saw a life and a future with her, and that's what you should continue building. I don't even know how to get from point A to point B in life and I still have shit to learn. Like-like changing car lights or how to do a fucking oil change by myself! I'm a mess. I'm not the one you should be thinking about."

"I don't care about that." He spits out as he gently grabs your wrist and turns you to face him.

"Don't make this harder than it already is." With all this shit going on, you still found yourself wanting him the same way you did earlier. Looking at him made you want to do unspeakable things and it didn't help that he gave you the green light to do so.

The temptations.

"I'm not trying to."

"We should really keep our distance from each other, okay? You need to work things out and I'm going to give you the space to do so."

"Fuck, Y/N. I really don't want that."

"I'm sorry." You whisper as you break free from his grip and get back into your car. You hear him groan, causing you to cry to yourself as you drive off and get back home. One mistake turned everything upside down, and now everything was suddenly 10x more complicated than it ever was in the beginning. You couldn't help but curse yourself and blame yourself for letting this happen the way it did.

But shit is done. The mistake happened. There was no taking it back.

You just needed to give him space to get over it, and that would be the end of it. Easy.

Or so you assume.

[south-park-meta]

Bunny w/ Mamihlapinatapei if you like that, otherwise Style?

I don't like Bunny tbh but it's fine, there aren't many pairings I hate too much to try writing! (I included Style too though because I'm a simple person).

Mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move.

"I know now that you won't remember, the next time you see it. I just need you to believe me, before we...start anything."

"I believe you," Butters says immediately. He considers, then says, "Y'know, I think we all die a little. It's the comin' back that matters."

Kenny's always been good at reading people. Stan's good at it, too. It's one of the defense mechanisms that they've picked up together but separately. Kenny learned it as part of conflict resolution; it's important to read the mood at home, to decide if he and his siblings should leave the room or if it'd be better to just flick on the TV. If he had to guess, he'd say that Stan got good at reading people at home, too. Neither Stan nor Shelly have ever been hit by their parents-- Kenny doesn't think they were spanked as kids, never mind gotten in a fist fight the way Kevin did sometimes with his dad. But violence isn't the only thing that does it. Stan knows if someone's safe to drive with or if they're going to weave between lanes. He knows the exact way to play babysitter to draw someone back from a nutty scheme. He knows how to mold himself to seem like less trouble to make things easier, when it matters.

Their experiences are different but the same, when it comes to picking up those little hints of a person. The cues that most people don't have reason to learn.

Kenny notices the shift, when Stan and Kyle fall in love with each other. He's always figured they'd end up together, once they figured their own shit out. Over junior year the way they look at each other changes-- not overnight, but not slowly, either, like it's shifting with the seasons. He actually thinks they're together when Stan starts talking about prom.

Except then Stan asks if he wants to skip it to play video games.

Kenny furrows his brows. "Is this a 'Poor Kenny' thing?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Kenny says. Then he stops for a moment to consider which way to take it. His guess is that Stan's feeling sorry for him, because prom's kind of expensive if you do it right. Even doing it a little wrong is more expensive than what Kenny has. It's a hard thing to traverse, though, because if he's honest he likes it when his friends recognize the difference in what they all have to spend. The pop he's drinking is one Stan bought him. But there's a difference in wanting to tag along to McDonald's and maybe, every now and then, letting his friends order a happy meal for him, and wanting his friends to skip out on milestone moments just to play video games. "How come you and Kyle aren't going together?"

"We could," Stan agrees, holding his bottle of Fanta by the neck and spinning it in a lazy circle. Kenny knows he gets the glass ones instead of plastic because it makes him think of beer bottles. It's hard to tell if that scratches an itch or tickles at it. "But we'd just be hanging around, anyway. Same shit, different place."

"Or you could, you know, dance?"

Stan stops spinning his bottle. "With Kyle?" he asks.

He sounds so baffled that Kenny's actually almost surprised they don't need an extra step of 'With who?'

Which makes Kenny baffled, too. "Why not with Kyle?"

"Because we're not dating?"

"Is that a question?" Kenny asks. And before Stan can answer he says, "I thought you were. Finally." It seems like something they'd forget to tell him just because they've been half-dating for so long.He still can't stop himself from making snide comments when they box him out now and again, but when it comes to this--he hadn't even been offended, thinking they'd forgotten.

"Well. We're not."

"So ask him."

"Why would I do that?"

"Why the fuck wouldn't you do that?" Kenny demands. "I love you, Stan, but you're really stupid sometimes."

"Hey," Stan says, but he doesn't sound very offended.

"I know you love him."

"Okay," Stan says, "I love him."

Kenny waits a beat, but Stan doesn't keep going, which is a little maddening. "And he loves you."

"Not like that."

"Yes like that."

Kenny can tell he's not telling Stan anything he doesn't already know, the way he frowns and looks away.

"Why don't you ask Butters, then?" Stan snaps, peevish, looking at his feet. "If you're so smart. He'd go with you."

"Because," Kenny says.

Stan huffs through his nose and opens his eyes a little wider in a way that says, See? And man, maybe Kenny's a hypocrite, but Stan is a smug hypocrite, which is definitely more annoying.

"Fuck you," Kenny says.

"Fuck you, too," Stan says. They sit in silence for a moment and Stan takes another drink of Fanta. Another moment of silence and he says, "You should ask him, though, for real."

Maybe Kenny should, for real. Stan still doesn't like Butters much after all these years--Butters doesn't like Stan much, either-- so Kenny knows it's nothing Stan would suggest if he didn't think it was something that would make Kenny happier. "If I do, you have to talk to Kyle."

"Sure thing, Ken," Stan says. He's still got smug in his tone, like he's agreeing because he knows this is a bet he won't lose.

And it's still kind of annoying, mostly for the 'Ken' that Stan rarely uses except to be condescending, but only for about half a second. Stan can get up his own ass sometimes around Kenny for the same reason Kenny knows he can be petty, bitchy, around Stan. Kenny knows he can't claim a spot at the Super Best Friends table, but they've been regular best friends since they were three. They know each other's entire humanities, even the ugly bits. It's good sometimes, to have a place for the ugly.

They shoot the shit a while longer and then part ways. Stan takes both their empty bottles to recycle them.

Kenny goes over to Butters' house afterwards. He tells himself it's for Stan and Kyle's sake, or at least to force Stan to admit he doesn't have the guts, but he knows well enough he's using them as an excuse. He knocks on the door and waits.

"Kenny!" Butters greets him, bright-eyed. It's really hard to take someone looking at him like that. Like he's the only good thing in all of South Park.

"Hi," Kenny says. "Can I come in?"

"I'll come out," Butters says. "Your shoes are kinda muddy. Y'know my parents would throw a fit."

Kenny doesn't look down at his shoes. It's true, and he doesn't really mind Butters saying so. Even if he does think he could wipe his shoes clean enough.

They take a walk down to Stark's pond. Butters takes his hand halfway there. Kenny slows his pace to make sure it lasts a little longer just in case Butters wants to skip rocks. He doesn't let go, though, once they get there. They sit there holding hands and looking at the water.

"I need to tell you something. Then I need to ask you something," Kenny tells the water.

"Mm, all right," Butters says. His tone stays pitched up, chipper, but Kenny can hear the anxiety stretched underneath, like a safety net waiting to catch someone's fall. "Shoot."

"Well," Kenny says, deciding to back track a bit, because he doesn't like that anxiety. There are too many kids in South Park that have it sitting dormant under their voices, and he likes it least of all on Butters. "I want to ask you to prom. But I need to tell you something first."

The tension slides out at that and Butters smiles wide. "You're doing it all backwards, then, ain't'cha?"

"I do a lot of things backwards," Kenny says, "But you'll go with me? If I ask."

"Sure, I will!"

That doesn't surprise him, for the same reason he knows Stan won't be surprised if he asks Kyle-- or Kyle, if he asks Stan. "I need to tell you," Kenny starts again, "That I die a lot."

Butters tips his head. He looks at Kenny, eyes asking him to continue.

"I know it sounds crazy," Kenny says, "But you've seen me die. You've all seen me die. I used to die every day. And then I came back, and you'd all forget." He pauses as he stares at the lake. There are concessions he's learned he has to make, since the frustrated years of his childhood spent killing himself over and over again, intentionally and not. "I know now that you won't remember, the next time you see it. I just need you to believe me, before we...start anything."

"I believe you," Butters says immediately. He considers, then says, "Y'know, I think we all die a little. It's the comin' back that matters."

"Yeah?" Kenny knows Butters doesn't mean the physical, the way he does, but he also knows that Butters knows he does mean the physical.

"Yeah. I feel it, when part of me dies. Why, there's been times-- there's been times I figure enough of it's gone and died, that I ought to just end it all!" He's not just talking about Reality, and Kenny knows that, too. He's talking about the bits and pieces that have been killed by his parents, by the other students, by South Park as a whole. "But you come back to life. And if you work real hard at it, you come back stronger than before. It gets better...You said it doesn't happen every day anymore, didn't'cha?"

Kenny nods his head. He's a little surprised, that Butters had caught that with his saying it 'used to' be every day.

"Well, maybe someday it won't be happening at all, anymore. Maybe you're coming back stronger and stronger and it won't keep getting you. Not until it's supposed to."

"I'd like that," Kenny says, smiling.

"I'd like to go to prom with you," Butters says.

Kenny nods very fast. He wants, at that moment, more than just prom. He wants every life and every death with Butters. He wants them to go, hand-in-hand the way they are now, and face as many deaths and revivals as they have left in them, together.

[maddiewritesstucky]

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Stripper Bucky / Architect Steve

Words: 3790

Tags: Sexy shower antics, post-exercise endorphin highs, Steve is a badass for like 10 minutes, Bucky is not a morning person (until he suddenly is), enthusiastic morning sex

A follow-up one-shot to the slow death of Steve Rogers. Many thanks to my radiant cassowary @kalee60​ for giving it your clever eyes. Infinite birdseed for you 😘

(Also on Ao3)

When Bucky wakes up, he is aware of two things, and two things only.

One - it’s way too fucking early for his eyelids to have peeled themselves back the way they have, if the rosy tint of the sky outside is anything to go by, and two - his foot should have connected with some part of Steve’s anatomy by now on it’s customary post-waking stretch across the mattress.

His body is coming online one limb at a time, and he grunts his displeasure into the rumpled sheets; gaze firmly averted from the clock on the bedside table. Putting a number to it will only make him angry, and the stupid beautiful soft dawn light filling the bedroom tells him everything he needs to know anyway. 

Why they had decided to move into Steve’s apartment when Bucky’s actually had things like properly functioning curtains, he has no idea. 

"Steve,”  he groans, voice thick with the remnants of sleep and the injustice of waking before he intended to. 

He kicks his foot out a little further; throws an arm out to join the search party too, but finds Steve’s side of the bed decidedly more vacant than it had been when he fell asleep last night. 

Running, some vaguely helpful part of Bucky’s subconscious supplies, you fell for a man who goes running at bastard o’clock in the morning. 

He flops over onto his back and scrubs his hands up over his face; up through the tangled mess of hair that seems to find new ways of defying its scrunchie-prison every night. His vision sharpens into focus and sticks a moment on the giant canvas print photo of himself and Steve smiling back at him from the far wall; a grinning relic of a Bucky who was not woken before his time.

It still makes his stomach flip a little, that picture - the two of them stuffed into the heavy-knit sweaters Bucky’s ma had made them last Christmas; both in the  throes of losing their shit over the comically absurd miscalculation she’d made on size. Steve’s got tears in his eyes, and Bucky’s aren’t even open, and they’re clinging to each other with that special kind of desperation that intense, prolonged laughter seems to spawn.

It’s everything good about their life together, that photo; the sheer warmth and joy they’ve found in one another over the past year, the sense of  home and family and right. 

It’s even more heartwarming, Bucky finds, when the sun is a reasonable distance above the horizon.

He drags his protesting body out of its sleep-warmed cocoon, his intentions set on the brand new bag of espresso grind that Last-Night Bucky had so wisely left sitting on the kitchen counter. 

He’s going to use Steve’s favorite mug, the one he’d happened across in a yard sale that reads ‘architects do it on drafting tables’  with a lewd stick figure drawing. Partially because it holds the most coffee, and partially because if Steve had remained in bed this morning, with all his familiar warmth and dependable big-spoon behavior, Bucky would have remained blissfully unconscious until his alarm went off. 

...Steve’s not here to actually  see  this particular middle-finger of a gesture, but that’s beside the point. Bucky will  know.

It’s not until he’s shuffling his way down the hall, already two steps past the closed bathroom door, that Bucky registers the faint sounds of water hitting tile, and the sporadic, off-key hum of a post-run Steve. 

His feet halt in their tracks before he’s even made the conscious decision that coffee can wait.

He wants to keep walking, to get his precious cup of bean nectar and crawl back into bed for another hour or three, it’s just...

Post-run Steve is kind of Bucky’s jam. 

He’s sweaty, and loose-limbed, and hopped up on exercise endorphins which, more often than not, make him inexplicably horny and give him the closest approximation of a bad boy complex that someone with Steve’s demeanor could possibly get. 

Post-run Steve is the only good thing about being awake at this god forsaken hour. 

The sunrise, and the stillness, and the smell of fresh dew can get fucked, but Bucky will carpe the hell out of a diem for some Post-run Steve.

He slips quietly into the bathroom, and is immediately grateful for the time he spent descaling the shower door yesterday when he’s met with an unimpeded view of Steve’s glorious back. What goddamn right an architect has looking like that, Bucky has no idea, but you wanna talk about some aesthetically pleasing angles?

Steve’s got one hand braced against the wall, head dipped to draw out the line of his back. His skin’s a little flushed; water channeling in fast-flowing rivulets between the soft ridges and swells of his drawn-taut muscles, and he’s breathing those quiet grunts of the recently-exerted. 

He’s a living, breathing thirst-trap, and the knowledge that he’d only blush and change the subject if Bucky told him so just makes it a thousand times better. 

Bucky pushes his soft flannel sleep pants off his hips and lets them fall to the floor, sending up another silent salute to Last-Night Bucky for going commando, and steps forward to pull open the shower door.

...Later on, when Bucky is reflecting on it all, he’ll blame the early hour and his pre-caffeinated state for the fact that he didn’t realise. The soft noises falling from Steve’s lips, the very particular bunch and flex of very particular muscles…

Any other time of day, Bucky would have known straight away. 

Any other time of day, and Bucky wouldn’t have even needed to be in the same room - he could be at the bodega down the street, and his nipples would inexplicably harden at the pluck of Steve’s distant arousal on the cosmic spiderweb. 

But as it happens in the moment, it’s not until Steve’s head is falling back on a low moan that Bucky realizes exactly what it is he’s walked in on. 

“Oh, shit...”

It’s off his tongue before he can reel it back in, and Steve almost jumps out of his skin. 

His head whips around, and for the briefest flicker of a moment, he looks shocked and uncertain and embarrassed as all hell. 

But this right here is no weekday-afternoon Steve. This is not the blushing, bumbling hunk of love meee that occupies the corporeal form of Steve Rogers 95% of the time. 

No, this is Post-run Steve, and it’s all of about two seconds before he’s schooling his features into something more akin to vaguely-smirking indifference; turning until he’s facing Bucky front on, and settling his weight back against the shower wall.

“Babe, I’m sorry, I didn’t--” Bucky begins, as close to apologetic as one can really be about seeing their significant other in a compromising yet Very Sexy position. But the words dry up on his lips as Steve lifts a finger to his own in the universal gesture of ‘shush.’   

He watches, rapt, as Steve first reaches over to the tap and shuts off the water, and then takes up the bottle of Bucky’s conditioner, squirting some into his hand before wrapping it back around his cock. 

And then that jacked-up idiot, that neuro-chemical flooded pseudo bad bitch, looks Bucky dead in the eye...and goes right back to jerking off. 

He’s putting on a goddamn show with it too - pulling at his cock, long and slow and tight; dropping his head back against the wall and letting his moans ricochet shamelessly off the tile. The sound of his fist working over his dick is lewd as hell, so much more audible for the fact that there’s no rush of running water to mask it anymore, and Bucky wonders briefly if he ever actually woke up at all, if this isn’t just all a very believable wet dream. 

It certainly contains all the usual elements - intense eye contact; a big fat dick getting rubbed off by a beefy, naked, wet dude (bonus that it’s Bucky’s actual, real-life boyfriend); the kinds of sounds you usually only hear in porn…

For all Bucky knows, he could still be tucked up in bed asleep, and not standing here naked and painfully erect in this steamed up bathroom, watching his boyfriend jack it like he’s starring in some locker-room porno.

“You need somethin’, or you just come in here to watch?” Steve drawls, arching a brow at him, and yeah  - there’s a  lot of things Bucky needs all of a sudden.

He rakes an assessing gaze over Steve’s body, stepping into the shower and pressing his palms to the swell of Steve’s pecs.

“I just wanted to make sure your run went okay,” he shrugs, “no pulled tendons, shin splints...aching muscles…that kinda thing.” 

He squeezes at Steve’s shoulders and his biceps and his tiny waist; threads his hands up through Steve’s hair and slots a thigh between Steve’s to push their hips together. 

Steve’s skin is so warm, and slippery, and he smells like soap, and Bucky starts mentally calculating just how much time they have and how much energy he can feasibly expend before their respective work days start.

He’s not on stage tonight, but he is on shift for his day job at the community center, teaching a preschool ballet class at 10am, and then a seniors ballroom dancing session at midday before his contemporary classes in the afternoon. Steve’s working from home today, so hypothetically it wouldn’t matter if Bucky wore him out a little…

“Buck...” 

“Mm?” 

He rubs his whole self shamelessly against Steve, pressing in so the barbells spiked through his nipples drag across the wet expanse of Steve’s chest. He kisses Steve’s neck and his tits and his mouth, hungry and handsy and a little frantic, and Steve laughs softly against his lips as he turns them to push Bucky up against the slick tile of the shower wall.

“Your concern is deeply moving,” he deadpans, caging Bucky in with hands planted either side of his head, “but I think we need to talk about your bathroom etiquette...didn’t anybody ever teach you to knock?” 

He’s staring Bucky down with eyes lit up something wicked; his body so very nearly touching Bucky’s but not quite, and it hits Bucky all over again that his boyfriend is, physically speaking...really fucking imposing.

It’s easy to forget, when he’s being...well, Steve. Perpetually polite, kind-hearted, goofy...Bucky feels like when he looks at Steve, he sees the softness of his nature, the quiet goodness that radiates out of him. 

He sees the sensible shoes and the khaki pants, the careful artist hands and the way Steve still sometimes carries himself like the much-smaller man he claims to have once been. 

He’s Stevie, and Bucky wouldn’t have him any other way. 

But all of that also happens to be contained within a 6’2”, 200lb frame, and right now...Bucky kind of wants to suffocate under it. 

“I am so sorry, Steven,” he says, though it’s entirely negated by the raging hard on he’s sporting and the giddy, gratuitous manner in which he’s still feeling Steve up. 

He skates his fingertips down the rippled plain of Steve’s stomach, down to the trail of dusky blond hair leading south from his belly button, but Steve catches his hands and pins them up above his head. 

“I’m sure you are,” Steve hums, “but I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of the situation here. See, you caught me in a very private moment, one that I was very much enjoying, and now I’m all thrown off. You got me feelin’ shy.” 

...There’s some very compelling evidence to the contrary rubbing up against Bucky’s hip right now, but that’s beside the point. Steve’s teeth are scraping a line all the way down Bucky’s neck to nip at the ice fractals tattooed across his shoulder, and Bucky’s more than willing to play along.

“However can I make it up to you?” 

He arches into the press of Steve’s body, the hard line of Steve’s cock nestled into the crease of his hip.

If Steve shifted just slightly, he’d be rubbing up against Bucky’s dick. 

It’s not an accident that Steve isn’t making that shift. 

“You really want to?” Steve kisses the question against his skin, making his way slowly back up to Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky nods vehemently.

He’s already wetting his lips in preparation for all the ‘making up’ they’re about to do; signalling his knees to get ready to bend and pulling at Steve’s grip on his wrists, but Steve doesn’t release him.

Instead, he pulls back just far enough to look Bucky square in the eye, and smiles entirely too sweet for the authoritative edge that rumbles into his voice. “Go back to bed, Bucky.” 

Bucky has to blink a few times as the words circulate in his ears. His expression turns from I’m about to get some D!  to  oh god I’m being denied the D in about 0.2 seconds flat.

Bed is very far away from the dick that is currently in need of reparations, he can’t achieve anything from bed.

“But—you said—I was gonna—”

“Go. back. to bed.”  Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s wrists and leans his whole weight against him, right up in his space so his lips catch against Bucky’s as he speaks, “...and wait for me.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

A big, stupid, ‘bout-to-get-railed grin stretches across Bucky’s face. He wriggles free of Steve’s grasp and stumbles out of the shower, stopping himself just shy of a wildly enthusiastic ‘yes sir!’

He thinks he can hear Steve’s laughter as he takes off back down the hall toward the bedroom, but it might just be his own echoing back to him. He throws himself down onto the unmade bed, still warm from when he got up not ten minutes ago, and honestly who needs to sleep in anyway? Sleeping in is for people who don’t have absolute poundcake boyfriends to screw them into the sunrise.

He should have toweled off, he realizes as his damp skin rubs against the bedding, but he cannot be blamed for life choices made before six am, and there are far more important things afoot anyway. 

Things like the sound of the shower turning back on for approximately forty-five seconds, then the muted pass of a towel being scrubbed over hair, and footsteps on the hardwood growing ever closer to the bedroom.

God, this is gonna be a good day. What  a beautiful day to be greeting the dawn, making the most of his youth, seizing everything life throws at him!

He has the good sense to snatch the lube out of the bedside drawer just as Steve walks into the room, eyeing him with amusement and hunger in equal measures. 

“You know what the problem is, with what just happened back there, Buck?” 

Steve saunters toward the bed with all the nonchalance of a man whose work day doesn’t start for another three hours. 

He wraps his sizable hands around Bucky’s ankles and yanks him down the bed a little - for no other purpose than to hear Bucky’s breath hitch at the unnecessary show of strength - and climbs up onto the mattress to straddle Bucky’s shins. 

“The problem is, I don’t like to make a spectacle of myself.” He plucks the lube from Bucky’s hand and pours some into his own, spreading it over his cock in lazy pulls. “Being the center of attention, having eyes on me...that’s more your speed.”

“Mhmm, yes, I am an attention whore,” Bucky nods, reaching grabby hands out at Steve who refuses to shift any further up his body, “and you are humble and handsome and have a big dick. Make out with me.” 

Steve tuts and shakes his head, reaching his unoccupied hand to flick at one of Bucky’s nipple piercings. 

“Oh, I don’t think you get to make requests right now. See, the worst part of you throwin’ me off back there? I was so fucking close.  So now what you get to do, James, is flip the fuck over, and let me finish what I started.” 

...Jesus, Bucky loves Post-run Steve.

He’s gonna marry Post-run Steve and have his hopped up little post-run babies, and make sure Steve never misses a single day of early morning exercise so he can bask in the glory of this magnificent bastard every goddamn day of his life.

Bucky flops over onto his front and gets his knees under himself, sticking his ass up in the air with a wiggle that’s probably a lot more comical than it is enticing. But the heat of Steve’s palms hook around the front of his thighs and pull them out from under him, sprawling him flat against the mattress.

There’s a sudden clamping of teeth on his ass cheek and the sharp swat of an open palm, and then Bucky’s being pressed firmly into the sheets by Steve’s weight settling high up on the backs of his thighs. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Steve sighs, planting his hands on the dip in Bucky’s spine, “I’m gonna use your ass to get off, and then I’m going to get back into bed, while you go make us some coffee.”

Bucky nods into the mess of blankets under his cheek, futilely trying to rock his hips up against Steve’s considerable weight. “Yes, agreed, punishment fits the cri-hi wow okay.” 

A wholly undignified sound is wrenched from Bucky’s chest as Steve skips all pretense of tease, and thrusts his slicked up cock into the crease of Bucky’s ass, rubbing off between his cheeks with a very singular purpose. 

Bucky scrabbles to grab hold of his pillow and drags it down, wedging it under his hips with as much success as can be expected when you’re being pinned by a 200lb adrenaline-testosterone cocktail. It’s enough though, to very favorably cushion the rub of his dick, and all things considered…this whole thing is working out pretty well for him.

He’s expending precisely zero effort, but the wet glide of Steve’s cock over his hole and the push of Steve’s hips rubbing him into the pillow is very much Doing It for him, and he lets his body go loose and pliant as Steve does all the work for the both of them.

And Steve is putting in work - rocking Bucky into the mattress with a fervor that knocks the breath out of him and sends the headboard careening rhythmically into the wall. 

“Y’hear that, Buck?” Steve pants, not for a second breaking his frankly devastating pace. “That’s what a fuckin’ knock sounds like.” 

“Oh my god.”   

This is exactly how every single day of Bucky’s life should begin. Naked, giddy, cocks enthusiastically rubbing up against holes, and Steve running his mouth like he won’t be turning ten shades of red about it later. 

If this is the payoff, Bucky will bust in on every single shower Steve has for the rest of his life.

“I love you,” he laughs a little breathlessly into the bedding, biting off a moan at the heat coiling low in his belly. 

It’s entirely sincere, and he says it because he means it...but if he also happens to know by now that those words are a direct hit to Steve’s prostate during sex?

That’s just a happy coincidence.

Steve makes a sound like he’s been punched, his thighs twitching and tensing where they’re clamped around Bucky’s hips. 

His breaths are coming sharp and shallow, his movements taking on a frantic edge that betrays exactly how close he is, and Bucky would ask him to slow down, except he really, really doesn’t want him to. 

“I love you, Stevie,” he says again, letting his own building climax bleed into his voice, “love you so much...come on, baby...” 

“Fuck,  Bucky, I...oh...” 

His weight falls forward over Bucky as he comes, and it’s all the shove Bucky needs to tip over the edge with him. 

He spills all over his pillow, burying a moan into the sheets and huffing under the weight of Steve’s body going lax on top of him.   

“Oh my god, Buck,” Steve groans, vaguely awed like it wasn’t his own efforts that just brought them both to sticky ruin, and Bucky reaches a hand back to swat weakly at him. 

“You said it, pal.” 

Steve nuzzles into the crook of his neck, planting breathless kisses against his skin and running his hands over every part of Bucky he can reach. 

It’s so tangible, that shift back to normalcy, back to  Steve.  It always hits Bucky square in the chest, the way he can feel Steve’s edges softening, feel that boisterous energy turn sweet and mellow in the aftermath. 

It’s kind of precious, actually, though Bucky would never phrase it like that to Steve’s face.  

He squirms beneath Steve’s weight, getting himself turned over until he’s on his back beneath him. “Good morning,” he smiles up at Steve softly, running his fingers through the still-damp tufts of his hair. 

Steve sighs happily, letting his eyes drift shut and tilting his head into Bucky’s hand. “Good morning, pervert.” 

“Hey, come on, you know I didn't do that on purpose!  ” Bucky laughs, cupping Steve’s face and kissing him all over his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes, though the smile on his face says Bucky’s doesn’t really have anything to be sorry about. “Guess I can forgive you this one  time.”

“You’re a gracious man.”

Bucky drags him down and kisses him right on his smile, sweet and lazy. When they pull apart, Steve’s got that dopey look on his face like he’s feeling a whole lot of something, and Bucky knows exactly what’s coming before Steve says it.

“Glad you love me, Bucky Barnes.” 

...He knew it was coming, but it still gets him every time. 

“Glad to love you, Steve Rogers.” He feels like he’s glowing a little as he leans up to peck Steve on the tip of his nose. “Now if I’m not mistaken, I owe you a cup of coffee...you’re gonna have to let me up if you want me to follow through on that.” 

“Mm, counter offer - we both go wash off, together, and then I’ll make us breakfast while you handle the coffee?” 

Bucky pretends to consider for a second before he nods, stretching his body out as Steve rolls his weight off him. 

“Agreed.” He waves a hand in the general direction of the door, shooting Steve a wink and a lopsided grin. “Lead the way, pal. I believe you are intimately familiar with where the shower is.”